#which is to say every cop and soldier

[incorrect-hs-quotes]

Tavros: wHY DO YOU KEEP ANTAGONIZING eRIDAN,,, yOU KNOW HE CAN KILL YOU,,,

Sollux: at thii2 poiint, iit'2 a game.

Sollux: iif he kiill2 me, i wiin. and he know2 that.

#submission #source: dbz abridged #homestuck #incorrect homestuck quotes #tavros nitram #sollux captor #eridan ampora #mod terezi #this is more or less the relationship i have with all geminis in my family #which is to say every cop and soldier #i'm sorry sollux that you're saddled with the lamest bootlickingest members of my family but that's just how it is

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。APOLOGIES — SHIDOU RYUSEI.

✩ — contents ⋮ fluff, gn! reader, established relationship, post argument make-up, annoying shidou as always, reposting bc it got marked w a label the first time even tho it’s sfw

dating shidou is not easy, it takes maturity and patience and the will of god’s strongest soldier. in fact, most of the time, dating shidou means you’re constantly drifting in and out of being mad at him—which, right now, you’re quite mad.

“shidou ryusei, it is one am,” you glare, opening your door and rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. he has a wolfish grin on his face—it’s cocky, and it widens as he stares you up and down in your little batman pajama pants. normally, you wouldn’t answer the door for someone you’re mad at, boyfriend or not, but shidou makes it hard to ignore with his incessant knocking.

you value your sleep—and more importantly, you value not being kicked from your apartment for noise complaints.

“aw, not the full government name,” he says slyly, and it only makes your blood pressure rise even more as you practically feel a vein pop.

“ryusei,” you warn. but he doesn’t pay attention, just as you expect. instead, he whistles lowly.

“i like the uniform. ‘s cute,” he cackles, eyeing the way your pants are hung a little lower on your hips from tossing around in bed, exposing a bit of skin that he drinks in shamelessly.

“thanks,” you say dryly, “they’re fuzzy and they were half off. now why are you here?”

“just visiting,” he shrugs.

“at one am?”

“it’s twelve fifty-two,” he corrects like he lives to defy you in every corner. and you bet he loves it—in fact, you know he’s positively enthused by the way your lips curl into a scowl and your eyes glare at him so fiercely. he stares down at the way your hips slant as your cross your arms, and he chuckles (which you think is almost passable as a giggle at the sheer giddiness.)

only shidou ryusei would be giddy from turning you halfway near homicidal, and only he would find the murderous glint in your eyes cute, wholesome.

“what do you want,” you say bluntly. he takes a step forward, and no matter how mad you are, you can’t help but stand painfully still as he leans closer, trying your damn hardest not to lean in when his hot breath fans over your face as he stares at you.

“your bed would be nice,” he hums, “preferably with you in it.”

he’s insufferable. everything he does and says makes you want to chuck bricks at his head and hope it fixes the loose wires he seems to have. but you don’t even get to finish saying, “fuck off, ryu—” before he cuts in.

“c’mon, don’t make me find a way in myself,” he curls his lips wickedly, like he’s got you in checkmate, like the cards have been in his favor all along as you play the game he’s written. but this time is different—this time, you’re determined not to let shidou take advantage of your weak heart through his rough and tough charms.

this time, you have a point to prove.

“i’m going to call the cops on you,” you threaten, “tell them i’m being harassed by a pink-haired freak.”

“i wouldn’t mind getting married in jail,” he grins, and you can practically make out the hearts in his eyes as he looks at you. it makes you want to slam the door in his face and go right back to bed. but that would only mean he’d go back to pounding on your door and singing your name, and you’re pretty sure you’re one more instance away from your neighbors collectively petitioning your eviction.

“i don’t want to marry you,” you hiss.

“don’t be like that,” he reaches to poke your cheek, “being inmates would be fun. we could give the officers a show as we fuck—”

“ryusei,” you hiss.

arguing with shidou always ends like this. he worms his way in and knocks down your walls without ever saying i’m sorry. he eases his way back into your heart with wide grins and cheeky comments and that charm of his that really shouldn’t be as endearing as it is. he never admits he’s wrong—but the way he tries harder the next time, makes sure he does it right, makes sure he’s better just for you, you know he cares. he never resolves things in the way you would consider the standard method of patching up after those unavoidable couple fights—but this time you decide it’s different. 

this time your feelings are hurt—really hurt. the kind of hurt that makes you wonder if you’re annoying. or if you talk a lot. or if he even wants to be around you. or that maybe you tire him out. or that the sound of your voice is grating. or that you overstep boundaries. 

this time there is no brushing the cracked shards of your heart under the rug and acting like he can kiss the pieces back together. this time you want to hear it from him—and if you have to stand at your door at ungodly hours of the morning and milk it out of him…well, you’re inclined to do that. 

“c’mon, babe. are you gonna keep me out here all night? lemme in—”

“you’re not coming in until you apologize,” you say bluntly. he groans, throws his head back, and slaps his hands over his face as he grumbles into his palms. 

“god, you’re killin’ me here. seriously, you know i didn’t mean it—”

“‘for fuck’s sake, i’m not your damn kid’,” you mock his voice from the other night, reminding him of his own words like he’s forgotten. he only stares at you with pursed lips and a blank face, but that doesn’t stop you, however, as you scowl at him and continue, “i don’t know. you seemed to really mean it when you said that.”

“i was just tired, you know that—”

“i was just trying to look out for you,” you don’t even seem like you’re listening to him anymore, poking a finger at his chest accusingly as he lets you, “i watch you sleep at unreasonable hours only to wake up before the sun itself—”

“yeah, and i told you i’d work on that—”

“and then i ask you, have you eaten today? and you know what you tell me? yeah, i had a protein shake this morning—”

“okay, and that was like one time—”

“and then i hear that you get into a fight, and lo and behold, you show up to my place with a bloody nose and cracked knuckles—”

“but you should’ve seen the other guy—”

“and then i come over to your apartment, and your laundry isn’t done, your dishes aren’t washed, and you have eighty million socks on the floor,” you start to put a finger up for everything you list, making him fiercely fight back a chuckle that he knows would seal his death wish, “and all i try to do is take care of you so that you can be healthy and play your best and what do you do? yell at me and tell me it’s not my responsibility to—”

you’re cut off by lips pressing onto yours harshly, the rough feeling of a calloused hand cupping your cheeks and bringing you closer. and maybe if you had a bit more self-respect, you would shove away the rude, ungrateful, irritating, tacky-haired douchebag of a boyfriend that stands in front of you, but you simply choose to lose all dignity when it counts most. you choose to give in, melt into his touch, lean closer and fist his shirt as your lips press back just as firm. 

and when he gently pushes you back, you let him. you even let him step into your apartment and spin you around, shutting the door and pressing your back against the cool surface. his body cages you so that there’s no room for escape—not that you think you could even run from him now that he’s let himself in, anyway. but with one more peck to your lips, he pulls away, pressing his forehead against yours as he clicks his teeth and sighs. 

“fine, i’m fuckin’ sorry. ‘s that what you wanted to hear?”

“not if you’re only saying it to make me un-mad,” you say stubbornly.

he clicks his teeth again, shoots you a look of irritation that you return tenfold. “‘m sayin’ it ‘cus i want to, dumbass. you think i’d say that shit just to say it?”

“i don’t know, you’re rude,” you shrug, not meeting his eyes. he rolls his eyes before he leans in and kisses your cheek, then the other, then the tip of your nose, then just over your brow, then your eyelid—and when he sees the beginnings of a smile crack on your lips, he nibbles on your cheek and pulls a soft giggle from you against your will. 

“said i was fuckin’ sorry, stop being stubborn.”

“don’t yell at me again,” you huff, “and fix your sleep schedule.”

“okay.”

“and eat proper meals.”

“fine.”

“and maybe clean up.”

“kay, i’ll try. happy?”

“and stop getting into fights—”

“let’s set realistic expectations, here,” he cuts you off, earning a huff from you. but you seem significantly less angry—and he’s glad. because sleeping without your body to squeeze in the dead of night and not hearing you hum that stupid song you always listen to as you wash dishes and not getting those back to back pings on his phone as you spam him with daily updates is starting to get to him. so he wraps an arm around your waist, tugs you flush against his chest as meets your gaze, “are you still mad? because then you’re just being difficult.”

“no,” you sigh, making him grin.

“good.”

“i just love you,” you mumble, and there’s that cute, innocent little pout that you always do tugging at your lips, the one that drives him mad and reminds him he’s just as in love too. “i want what’s best for you—”

“yeah, yeah,” he grunts, “okay. i love you too. i’ll start being more responsible and shit. now can i come to bed?”

“fine,” you cave, “but—”

“great, let’s go,” he drags you along, not wasting a moment before your body is tossed onto the mattress and his lands on top of you, head tucking into your neck. and it’s warm—where his lips are, where he traces kisses along the awaiting skin. 

dating shidou ryusei is exhausting—but there are a few perks, you have to admit. 

“you’re a headache,” you murmur, threading your fingers through his hair. he snorts, shakes his head from his place in your neck, earning a small giggle from you at the way it tickles. 

“yeah? so are you with your nagging.”

“i don’t nag,” you slap his shoulder. he laughs—it’s that low, soft rumble that he only laughs around you, when his head is tucked into your neck, and your hands rub up and down his back, and he’s content. 

and maybe a little in love. 

“you do. but i love it, it’s hot when you’re mad.”

“go to sleep, ryusei,” you roll your eyes. and then you wait a moment or two—just so he doesn’t get a big head when you begrudgingly mumble, “and i love you too.”

half of this is just filler with dialogue but wtv. take this lil scenario in my head of arguing w shidou bc he’s a living train wreck

#teepods.writings #drabbles. #shidou x reader #shidou x you #shidou fluff #shidou ryusei fluff #shidou ryusei x reader #shidou ryusei x you #blue lock x reader #blue lock x you #blue lock fluff #bllk x reader #bllk x you #bllk fluff

[soleminisanction]

I've always really liked DC's in-house choice of referring to their various superhero groupings as "families," but it has gotten a little frustrating recently with people both in canon and in fandom seeming to forget that families aren't just a parental-unit-and-kids formation. They're complicated, and a lot of the DC families are too messy to fit into that neat little nuclear family mode.

Which is to say... here's some scattered thoughts/summaries about how these families are actually structured in canon, because I think it's interesting:

Supers -- The smaller, more traditional Superfamily (Clark, Lois, Kara, Kon, etc.) is a pretty traditional Midwestern nuclear family, with Jimmy Olsen filling the role of close family friend/goofy neighbor sidekick (in the Silver Age, he was Kara's would-be suitor) and Steel feeling more like part of Clark's personal circle of friends. The recent line up, though, with Jon, the twins, Kong and Nat? Starts to feel more like some old dynasty or noble house, complete with fostered foundlings and the Steels acting almost like knights under a noble's banner, possibly reflective of what the House of El would have been on Krypton.

Arrows -- Might currently be the closet to a traditional nuclear family structure. You've got Ollie and Dinah, their younger sisters, Ollie's adopted and biological children, and Ollie's granddaughter through Roy, plus by some counts Roy's co-parent and her sister as "in-laws." Bonnie and Cissie King-Jones are adjacent to but not technically "part" of the family, though I believe it's implied at one point that Ollie might also be Cissie's bio-dad. Pretty straightforward, these guys are actually family and they act like it, for good and ill.

Shazam Family -- Also a literal, actual family. Not originally, the original golden age "Marvel Family" was considerably more complicated and only Billy and Mary were full siblings, but nowadays the whole point of the modern Shazam family is that they're foster siblings united by familial love and that's fantastic. Meanwhile your average Black Adam story is 75% angsty family drama, 25% Egyptian mythology references.

Flashes -- Technically closer to three nuclear families (the Allens, the Wests and the Garricks; four if you include the Quicks), two of whom are united by marriage and all of whom are bound by the Speedforce, which, given its semi-spiritual connections to things like Speedster afterlives, can act almost like a religious force that connects them to the additional members like Avery, Circuit Breaker and Max as Bart's foster-dad. They're a big, sprawling tree with more cousins than siblings, the kind of family that functionally has a reunion every Christmas and Thanksgiving.

Lanterns -- Now these guys are the exception that proves my point about the whole 'family' thing not being straightforward. The lanterns aren't a family, they're a corps. Soldiers. Space cops. Comrades-in-arms. They respect each other, have each other's backs, might even like or care about each other, but those last two are optional, and they don't have the same kind of assumed obligations towards each other that a family would have. They're friends and co-workers, not family, but that doesn't mean their relationships are less significant, they're just different.

Wonders -- Roughly half of them are either one of Hippolyta's daughters (Diana, Donna, Nubia pre-Crisis) or related to them through the gods (Cassie), and the other half (Artemis, Yara, modern-age Nubia) use sister as a term of endearment more in a utopian lesbian commune kind of way. I think they brought Steve Trevor back recently? He's basically the Ken in this equation and perfectly fine with that role. None of which should be surprising if you've seen Professor Marston and the Wonder Women.

Bats -- This is the one that people get really wrong when they try to force it into a traditional family structure. Don't let WFA fool you, the Bats are and have always been way more a snarled mess of tangled interpersonal relationships than they've ever been a cohesive family. Whether Dick is Bruce's son or his brother depends on what era you're talking about, and the former reading is much more recent than you think -- as in "started cropping up in the early 2000s" recent. Barbara is both Cassandra's sister and her mother. Duke and Steph both have living parents and neither of them want or would ever dream of treating Bruce like their dad; Tim was the same way until his dad died. None of the Robins ever lived in the mansion together, nor did Cass. Babs considered Jean-Paul Valley her brother and Huntress is so close to Tim she once hallucinated him calling her Big Sister. They're a beautiful mess of people finding places where their broken edges fit together into something that works for them and trying to reduce it down to a cozy nuclear family is just so goddamn reductive and lazy.

Blue Beetles -- Are only tangentially related to each other. Seriously, they never even get direct mentoring, each one just takes over when the previous one dies and works on completely different rules from the other two. They're complete strangers bound by a legacy and that's honestly pretty fun.

Zataras -- There's only three of them and they're literally a father, daughter and cousin.

Martians -- Not really a family because there's only the two of them, but an interesting case where the two survivors of what was functionally a war of mutually assured destruction came together in an attempt to find some peace in the aftermath of what they'd lost.

Titans -- The JLA and JSA aren't really in the "family" category, but the Titans lean into it hard, mostly because they're a textbook found family. They don't mirror a nuclear family structure, they're simply a group of people who came together to form a mutual support network. They're the idealized college friends you grew into your own with, some of them childhood companions and others you only met once you leave home for the first time, but all of them friends that you manage to maintain contact with for life, with everyone coming back together even as you scatter and do your own things.

Young Justice -- Meanwhile, this team is the chaotic group of misfits you hung out with when you were a teenager, especially when you were just starting to be allowed to act without adult supervision. You drive each other crazy, none of you know you're all queer as fuck, and you'd fight a bear for any of them even if they asked you not to. They'd probably be insulted if you tried to call them a family. They come out here to get away from their families, thank you very much.

#dc comics #meta #batfamily #super family #arrow family #flash family #wonder women #shazam family #batman #superman #wonder woman #green lantern #teen titans #young justice #kinda rambling #just kinda throwing some ideas together #families of choice #non-traditional families

[grimesgirll]

like your weapons trainings or conditioning, getting to rick’s place for bedtime had become a nightly duty.

and okafor stressed the importance of being on time to you. after all, he needed his best soldier bright eyed and bushy tailed in the mornings.

you had to have your ass in rick’s bed by the time he was ready to hit the hay. it didn’t matter if he was planning on fucking you that night or just enjoying having another warm body around. okafor had clocked that you somehow increased the average hours of sleep rick gained each night and assigned you to a semi-permanent sleepover.

you watch from your elbows as the handsome man in front of you brushes his teeth.

this isn’t the first time okafor’s utilized your “girlish charm” or whatever the fuck he sees in you to get what he wants.

this is the farthest he’s ever asked you to go however. it was always innocent before; distracting important people, taking advantage of certain perversions to finish the mission. you shouldn’t complain. okafor did get you the job of your dreams, all things considered.

where else could you spend hours designing maps, establishing operation routes, and do it all with the help of formerly world renowned military engineers and some of the most advanced technology still left on the planet?

besides, the lieutenant colonel had kept his word; there isn’t a thing you want for at the moment. aside from the occasional homesickness which was gradually dulling into a numb, nearly nonexistent feeling, you didn’t yearn for much - only rick.

so now you spend your days in your new state of the art geospatial mapping studio and on your rare but highly anticipated surveying trips. okafor had reviewed your past surveying maps of the delaware valley with general beale and other senior staff - including rick - and your work proved fruitful enough to allow you a small team to continue surveying operations under the umbrella of logistics.

in all reality, okafor’s rewarding you handsomely.

and so is rick.

his southern drawl breaks you from your staring.

“huh?” utterly oblivious, you fall under his deep blue gaze.

“i asked you if i can turn the lights off." he repeats, fingers hovering over the light switch.

you nod. "yeah, i'm ready for bed."

the bed dips with rick's weight and like routine, you're drawn into his crushing embrace. rick liked to cuddle before bed. you don’t ask but there has to have been some wife or some woman somewhere who used to be in your position.

the soldier is stoic and stands on business, but that sour expression had begun to soften since you’d first seduced him on his sofa. little bits and pieces of a southern, east coast kind of background popped up through the twang of rick’s accent. anyone with a history with law enforcement instantly picked up on his past as a cop. you’d playfully asked if he had to cuff anyone before and just received a dim smile that started to sour until you threw yourself into his lap and cast away whatever storm clouds you’d brought on with kisses.

he’ll never outright tell you why he sleeps better with you or how he slept before he was even a consignee, but you don’t mind. the cozy embrace really gets you conked out every night, without fail. his dick does too.

that’s how you end up backing against him and tempting the hard outline that never seemed to disappear due to his size.

rick chuckles behind you but doesn’t move, just pulls you closer. "good night." he says with a kiss to the back of your head.

"night," you return, like you’re not jutting your ass backwards into him.

you’re shocked that he hasn’t said anything. rick doesn’t always take your touch so lightly. he’d punished you for teasing him in front of some of the air fleet’s officers by fingering you until you were begging to come in the repurposed law library next door just the other day.

the man only speaks up once your tight ass is rounding indisputable, deep circles against his groin. you couldn’t be anymore obvious with the gasp that flies out of you like a kite as soon as rick’s newly throbbing length twitches through his sleep pants.

“honey.”

“please, rick!” you pull out the begging already, having expected you would be fucked silly tonight.

“tonight’s not the night, darlin’.”

needy and craving the man beside you, your knees squirm. it’s only when you’re lightly kicking rick that he pays you any mind; your legs are shut closed by the force of his human hand and the prosthetic digging into your soft flesh.

the look he gives you is lacking patience. “now, what’re you doin’?”

“i need you tonight, rick,” you state plainly.

he scoffs and lets go of your thighs. “c’mon, honey, why don’t you just lay down and get a good night’s rest?” the gears are turning in your head and you’re lifting your legs and shifting between his legs before he can even try to draw you back to your pillow. he croaks your name when you start pawing at the drawstring of his pants. “honey, you need to-,”

“you need this,” you insist.

you’re not giving him enough time to complain with his sensitive head already on your tongue. rick curses his traitorous groans, and himself when he does nothing to fight against the firm hand you're utilizing to usher him onto his back.

"so, you want to relax?" he manages, despite the shudder inducing way in which fully go for it and swallow around him. midway down your throat, a light thrust and a near gag from you is all he needs to know your answer.

rick can only lean back and take what you give him. he's pretty sure that you're going to have him coming in your mouth but before he knows it, you’re face to face again. there’s no reason to be disappointed by the firm hold you still have on him with your hand. a few more sluggish licks and you’re readjusting, straddling him to tease his tip with the slick of your entrance.

"what about you?" rick’s rasping, not yet prepared after you removed him from your sweet mouth.

"what if i told you i came here ready?"

the statement has his cock jumping. you swivel slightly, clit bumping his own sensitive slippery skin. spit strewn, his head falls back at the feeling of his dick dipped into your engulfing heat - even half an inch.

“you sure, honey?”

“mhmm,” you confirm with a kiss and a grind onto him.

“really wanted it, didn’t you, darlin’?”

your confirmation comes out as a whimper. "i just wanna be full before bed. i wanna be full of you rick," and once those words leave your mouth, rick is decided and sending you from your knees to your back. he could never say no to those watery eyes.

a courtesy finger and some intricately placed kisses on your knees, thighs, and clit have you straining upwards. you're not burning for long because rick is ready to indulge you just as you wished tonight. without warning - not that you were wanting it tonight - rick fit himself as far inside your thick muscle as he could on the first thrust.

the stretch is familiar but striking enough for you to nearly double over onto him. you won’t fold in the face of your reward - at least not yet. determined to hold on, you plant two hands on the older man’s chest as you sink onto his thick length. his groans and your steady breaths are enough to lower yourself, and even fuck yourself you and down on him.

"thank you for fucking me tonight, rick." you cry through swollen lips and damp lashes. "i really need you to fall asleep," you confess in a tone no higher than a hushed hiss.

you don't know if you're expecting an answer but the quickened pace is to be expected. without a doubt, the man is sinking deeper inside of you as he forces his hips flush to yours.

"does this satisfy being full enough to fall asleep?"

the jolt he’s sending through your abdomen with each maddening plunge into you, has you fluttering around him.

“rick!”

you wake up with a hand on your ass and a breath behind you in your hair. it doesn’t last though. rick is gone before you know it and you’re left aching, craving him. you get him out of your system with your early morning physical training - pt - and a meal with your favorite fellow soldiers.

you’re not expecting to see rick again soon.

the office facing the arboretum and the airfield is typically a still place, plagued by the constant thrum of the planes and helicopters, yes, but those who worked in the building had grown accustomed to the white noise. you're so grateful everyone in your division is out at lunch when rick slams the thick wooden door open.

stirred from your half drafted map of the midwest, your head surges up. you don't have time to open your mouth before rick is talking at you in his sergeant's voice.

“there are ten minutes until i need to be down at the helicopter hanger. you need to get me off in eight.”

stunned, the command doesn't urge you to your feet just yet. it's the sudden slamming of the door that jostles you from desk to the plaid loveseat where you settle onto your knees on a cushion facing sideways.

rick shakes his head. "no, i want you on your knees on the floor in front of me. now." you sigh and carry yourself down to the polished wooden floors. "i don't have time to sit."

"why?"

"because what i said was an order. don't question it."

with that preamble, you waste no time finding his belt and expertly undoing the buckle in record time. your hands move as fast as they can given all of the work this bulky uniform requires. somehow you breeze through the layers and ignore the ache growing in your knees. your second pt of the day is going to destroy you.

as you strip down rick's thermal boxers, you wonder if he's keen on fucking you now too. perhaps you'd gotten your allotted pounding last night and this would be it for the week. you really can never know with rick.

the issue of time returns to your mind however, so when you grip his length, you only lick up and down enough to get him taking coordinated breaths through his nose and tautening.

“you’ve been demandin’ lately, doll.”

your thighs squeeze together at the nickname.

“maybe i want to be a little demandin’ of you.”

a gloved hand shoves your head down. the incentive to keep your moans quiet doubles when you hear commotion outside your office. right on time; your colleagues are returning to lunch.

“think you can quiet that big mouth enough?”

no words leave your mouth, you just swallow around his length, glancing up into his expanded pupils; almost void of blue. hollowing your cheeks, you remember the time crunch he’s in and put a little more pep into your step. this leads to you rocking a bit on your knees.

rick snorts once he catches sight of the development. “so needy, even just with a cock in your mouth, huh?” his teasing is cut off by the orgasm building up as he throbs against your tongue.

putting in the effort to counter more than a couple of gags, you allow your jaw to slack so rick can enjoy the unobstructed tightness of your throat - perfect for him to come without the mess, leaving it to your mouth.

you weren’t prepared to suck rick off in your office today but you’re determined to leave no trace of this interaction. when he spills down your throat, only a little bit remains on your reddened puffy lips. you wipe your mouth nonchalantly once rick flops out of your mouth, still gazing down at you.

“clean me up.”

an order is an order.

exhaustively, you trace patterns from his base to the spit covered tip that’s still twitching. “fuck,” he utters when you take him into your mouth again. “don’t have time for this,” he’s scolding and palming himself back into his pants, grabbing your hand to stand you up with him for some scattered kisses across your forehead.

he presses a kiss to your temple, traveling lower to embellish purple marks on your collarbone. you’re sure he’s about to do more than just wantonly groping your perky tits but a few more moan inducing punches for your nipple and he’s sealing the interaction with one wolffish kiss. you’re nearly stumbling after him when he pulls away, tugging the last of his belts on.

the door is flung shut and that’s that. rick’s gone.

you’re on rick’s bed before he retires for the night.

“good to see you again today.” you purr, nearly kicking your feet. “i’m feeling spoiled seeing you three times in one day.”

the soldier rolls his eyes. he drops his tactical bag on the ottoman in front of the bed. “you here to sleep? or mess around?”

you shrug. “your choice.”

hints of a sly smile are on the sergeant’s face but he walks away shaking his head before you can call him down to bed just yet.

you could just sleep tonight. rick had been turning you on enough for you to take a night off, preferably drifting off in his arms until you had to wake for your quarterly river survey with the geologists, engineers, and biologists in your neighboring divisions. you had a lot to prepare for come the morning. it wouldn't be terrible to unwind by getting off tonight.

the thought's put on pause once rick's arms wrap around you as he sinks into the soft, bedding. smelling of fresh toothpaste and some kind of beard balm, he’s more than ready to hold onto you like a vice for the night.

“hey.” you coo.

“hey there,” an arm escapes you to turn out the wall light still on over on his side of the bed. only the dim glow of the hallway light touches the darkened room now.

you turn slightly so rick can at least see the outline of your face - your eyes, nose, and lips in the dark. “what was that all about early?”

“hmm?”

"the asshole act earlier?"

“you needed to remember rank.”

an exasperated heave almost sends you to a seated position. “rank?”

“yes.”

the lack of playfulness in your voice has you wondrously thankful that he can’t see your eye rolls in the dark.

“that’s kinda fucked, rick.”

“says the one who just loves getting fucked.”

you shut up.

“getting on her knees, i don’t remember you complainin’ once i got you beneath me earlier today.”

you can’t say that you recall complaining either.

it feels like muscle memory when he gets you onto all fours.

set up on his knees with your cunt under his nose, rick licks a devastating stripe from top to bottom. then he’s coming back up again and squeezing muffled shrieks from you.

“you like that, honey?”

“i do, rick,” you reply breathlessly. you dig a clenched fist into the comforter. “fuck!” tears threaten your waterline already.

“like my tongue?”

“mhmm,” you writhe as he makes it his mission to bury his warm, wriggly appendage as far inside of you as he can. he’ll never be as deep as his cock but the difference in sensation has you nearly folding into the mattress.

the added finger has you squirming in conjunction with the taunting, flickering tongue working back out to your clit. eventually there’s a two pronged attempt to open you up. you’re clenching around his fingers when you hear him ask, “do you think you’re ready?”

“one hundred percent,” you breathe.

“‘kay, i need you to be one hundred percent sure of that, soldier.”

you tease on top of him at the mention, nearly jumping once you feel him at your entrance. lust centered, you nod your head assuredly. “yes, sergeant. i’m ready for your cock. ready to fulfill the mission.”

rick’s smirk and tousled curls are the last thing you see before you’re manhandled like a rag doll into the mattress.

then that rhythm that had you so worked up is paling in comparison to how full you feel with just a few inches of rick. whispering sweet praise and reminding you of the task at hand, you exhale and puff soft cheeks. the biting kisses from rick as he settles inside of you have your eyes already rolling back. his newfound rhythm only fulfills the trance you knew only ne could put you in.

crammed tight full of cock, you’re chanting his name and he’s petting your hair, praising you as you squeeze around him just excellently.

“you gonna come on my cock, soldier?”

“only if you’ll let me, sergeant.”

his balls slap against your clit, wonderfully matching the dull tap he’s testing on your cervix. it doesn’t matter though as he’s repositioning constantly and brushing the forlorn parts, placing his fingers in a painstakingly strategic position on your clit.

“want you so bad, rick.” the words tumble out as rick brings another hand from the fat of your ass to your tit. the touch has you arching, gasping and clawing at the sheets. “rick, rick!”

“love hearin’ you say my name,” he’s grunting into your hair when he lowers himself down to fuck you deeper.

this new angle that rick’s fucking you at has you incoherent. hips pistoning you into the mattress and closer to the mounting heat in your core that was threatening to ruin rick’s sheets. the pressure has tears cascading down your cheeks. if it was lighter you’d see them on the sheets but your bleary eyes only take in pillow, as your cunt takes all of rick.

a palm pushing down on the flat of your back. you sink further into the bed, allowing rick to penetrate you deeper. this newfound depth has you face down with a single trembling clawed hand to the sheets.

“rick,” you’re croaking, crying out for him.

one more thrust of his hips and you swear he’s going to break you.

he mutters a “fuck” and croons deep;

“michonne.”

pt. 1

#the walking dead #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes #the ones who live #rick grimes smut #twd towl #towl #twd imagine #twd smut #rick grimes imagine #rick x reader #twd #not beta read #p in v sex #blowy #reader has rick rabies #ditzy thought fr #happy towl sunday! #crm! rick #kinda mean rick 😳 #still getting the hang of writing smut #the pt 2 no one asked for #i’ve been needing to get this out so bad #grimesgirll

[catgirlforeskin]

The new CoD campaign might be the most racist game I’ve ever seen. While Modern Warfare (2019) often felt like a barrage of cynical attempts at generating controversy through shock value moments to the point where the entire experience was numb, Modern Warfare 2 (2022) feels like it was spawned directly from the collective unconscious of every uncle you avoid at thanksgiving because he watches 7 hours of Fox News a day and can’t shut up about it, and it genuinely worries me the effect it’s gonna have

Some highlights include

The game opening with you doing a missile strike on an Iranian general who’s an obvious stand-in for Soleimani. The game portrays this unlawful assassination as an unambiguous good, and the only characters who talk about it as an international crime for which the US military needs to be held accountable are “terrorists” we’re supposed to dismiss

The main plot following this is that, in revenge for that assassination, some other Iranian general is going to get smuggled over the Mexico-US border by some cartel with a missile of his own to strike at the suburbs or whatever.

To give the game the tiniest amount of credit, a character does say that this idea is stupid and that terrorists don’t cross over the Mexico-US border, but that’s why the antagonist is doing it, because it’s unexpected or whatever. The whole thing is really fucking stupid

In one mission you play as two Mexican special forces dudes who try to stop the guy from crossing into the US. The mission opens with border patrol harassing migrants that the antagonist used as a “decoy” so he could cross somewhere else.

You then chase him into the US and go through a town harassing civilians in their homes and asking them where the guy went. You’re prompted to “right click to de-escalate!” which makes you point your gun and threaten them. Most of these people are Mexican immigrants.

Towards the end of the mission you get stopped by American local cops who are threatening you and being racist, but then they get blown up by a rocket launcher right after and it never gets addressed again.

Later you get sent into Mexico with an American private military contractor because they have “less red tape” with unlawful killings, this is shown to be a good thing though.

The game treats Mexico as a Mad Max wasteland where cartels control everything. It handwrings about how awful it is that the military and police are corrupt there and that the cartels target children with their propaganda and let them have guns, and the game of course has zero sense of self-awareness about this.

The two “good guy” Mexican special forces you work with are part of a squad called “The Vaqueros” which feels on par with Overwatch having every Japanese character be a ninja.

You kill hundreds of soldiers in the Mexican Army, just like the normal one, but the game says it’s ok because they were probably all secretly part of the cartels. You then use the pmc gunship to kill hundreds more while destroying towns and farms in the process. It’s never remarked on besides “wow cool explosions, team!”

You finally capture the other Iranian general but have to let him go because of international laws, which are shown to be bad and just slow the good guys down

The quotes that play when you die aren’t anti-war now, they’re either explicitly nationalist crap, are quotes FROM CALL OF DUTY, or are generally inspirational quotes.

And I’m only HALFWAY through the game, and I didn’t even mention everything!

The game isn’t co-op but I’ve been playing through it with my wife in call (she’s generally the one more into CoD), and the one positive thing she had to say is that the Spanish is generally good and sounds like they actually got people who regularly speak Spanish to write and voice act, like they use slang that her dad and her family in Mexico uses and whatnot.

#call of duty

[lassieposting]

So anyway, things I've been thinking about this morning: Garrus Vakarian probably likes foreign films

Like.

Turians are the Proud Soldier Race Guys. They have an incredibly rigid, collectivist, by-the-book kind of culture, where every single individual is obligated to spend a good chunk of their formative adolescent/young adult years in the military, where Turian Ideals are hammered into them. So they don't seem like they'd have a big media scene glorifying tropes which go against their general cultural values - specifically, in this case, an individual going outside standard procedures to Get Shit Done on their own terms.

And this is a trope that Garrus loves. When we first meet him, he's sick of being the Good Little C-Sec Cop who follows orders and gets swamped with red tape and can't get the bad guy because Procedure Says No. He clearly sees himself as/wants to be the cowboy cop, detective-gone-rogue type, and he's got a pretty romanticised idea of what that would look like in his head. Bless him.

But. He's learned about that trope from somewhere, and I can't really see it being his own people. Especially with a father like Castis, who's so staunchly exactly what's expected from a turian. He seems like the type who'd have strong opinions about what his kids are reading and watching and being influenced by, because while he obviously loves Garrus, he wants him to grow up to fit a certain mould. The Turian version of the wish-fulfilment vigilante flick is the Spectre Movie, but Garrus isn't allowed to watch those, because Castis doesn't approve of Spectres being Outside The Law.

So baby Garrus grows up lowkey feeling stifled by the way society works, and maybe that's a problem with him, so he gets his head down and does his best to be a Good Turian and make his dad proud, and then he gets his discharge papers and goes to work for C-Sec, and suddenly he's living on the Citadel by himself, and he's got free time nobody is telling him to do X or Y with. He's basically moved away from home for the first time - the Citadel is not Turian-controlled, it's a thriving multicultural melting pot with plenty of people living there who don't exactly conform to Turian standards, he's got colleagues with interests he's never even heard of, and he's gonna start seeing new things.

Human superhero films and cop movies with lots of explosions and no paperwork. Small-budget Batarian short films about victorious anti-Hegemony rebellions. Even his own people's Spectre films. Some kid selling drugs in the wards has a Batman comic in his confiscated backpack? Garrus borrows it to browse on his lunch break. Some Salarian ex-STG operative publishes a memoir? Garrus reads it on the shuttle to work. All these people who feel like he does.

Like. Give me Archangel who regularly spouts lines from Batman or X-Men or Krogan Thunder 3 (or whatever the fuck else he's been watching) as part of his Good Guy Victory Speeches, that makes at least one of his multispecies team who Knows That Franchise pull up short and go "Oh my god, you're a nerd."

#mass effect #mass effect headcanons #garrus vakarian

[mrrharper]

1000+ followers / Commissions

What's up, everyone!

First of all, the follower count for this blog seems to be glitched, so I'm only 95% sure that the following paragraph is correct. But anyway...

This blog has reached and surpassed 1000 followers, which is kinda insane. Never really expected this collection of my weird little stories would get a large following, and certainly not this fast. And I'm so damn grateful for that.

Especially for all the positive messages you bros sent me. It's such a great feeling when you realize there's a whole community of people that share interests and kinks with you. Thanks for every DM, it's really cool to see a notification about a new message, appreciate that very much.

So I come here with gratitude. Thanks for all the support bros, stay tuned for what's coming next! There are quite a few hot (in my personal opinion) ideas sitting in my drafts, there are sequels and longer stories and more musky jocks and soldiers coming.

I also come here with a proposition.

I am now doing writing commissions - if you would like me to write a story for you, you now have the option to make your wish a reality.

If you are interested, please contact me (through DMs) and tell me what you have in mind. We'll work together and figure out the details. But before we begin, please read the details below first.

What I will write about:

Of course, I am most comfortable with the stuff I've been writing about already - please check out my writing to see exactly what that entails. My interests include jocks, cops, soldiers as well as transformations, mental change, identity change, muscle growth or mind control.

But I am open to other stuff, although in that case I'd like for you, the person commissioning the work, to be more prepared to provide me with the kinds of details you'd like me to include in your story. I will not be able to help you figure the details out as well as with themes I'm more used to.

When writing to me, please be... fairly specific. Come with more than one sentence. If you want to give me a vague idea, you can just send me an ask. Try to also approximate the length of the story, check out my other writing to get a sense of how much detail and story can fit into 500 words.

What I will not write about:

These are my red lines - things, themes, kinks I will not write about because I'm not comfortable working with them. This is not a value judgement - I am not saying that any of those things are bad, that you should feel bad if you get off to stories that include them. With that in mind, the list includes:

Feminization/main focus on female characters

Bathroom stuff (watersports, scat, etc.)

Excessive violence, torture, rape etc.

Chastity

Real celebrities

Feet

Underage (duh)

Inflation/excessive size

This list is not exhaustive, and I reserve the right to say no to your proposal.

And about explicit writing: for now I will not write stories that include explicit scenes, that is characters fucking, you know what I mean. The reasons for this are twofold: I'm not sure in my ability to deliver writing that will be satisfactory in that regard AND it is a grey area when it comes to taking payments for that type of content. So for now its a no, bros.

Pricing:

My base rate is 3 EUR for every 100 words. That translates to 15 EUR for 500 words, 30 words for 1000 words, and so on.

The payment is upfront, the size of which will be decided before I begin writing based on what you'll want and what we will decide your idea needs. The payment will be made through the "commission" section of my Ko-Fi page (https://ko-fi.com/mrrharper). You can also go there and see if I'm accepting new commissions (I will set the number of free slots there and update it).

Other information:

Please, take into account that I have a life outside of Tumblr. I have a family and friends to foster relations with, classes to go to, papers to write. Because of this I might not be able to answer within seconds or complete your story as fast as you would expect or want to, and I ask you to take that into consideration.

After the work is finished I will provide you with the full file containing the story in a format of your choosing (but remember that I'm not paying for any professional word processing software).

I might want to one day post your commission on my blog (with credit). If you'd like for me to not do that, or not credit you, please tell me.

That's it for now, don't be surprised if I add (or ask for) some more details as we talk.

The Ko-Fi page is also open to one-off and monthly donations, if you really want to support me. I will really appreciate every single donation, but please - DO NOT feel pressured to support me financially. You reading my stories, liking and following, is completely enough.

Thanks for everything bros! See ya soon and Fly Eagles Fly!

#tumblr milestone #open commissions

[cchapsticck]

A couple things: 

The first album he ever owned that he got to choose on his own was Master of Reality when Wayne handed him 5 bucks at the used record store after he picked him up from foster. And he’s pretty sure Children of the Grave changed his brain chemistry. Like something in him got hard re-wired and soldered in place. Like there’s no unfixing that fix.

The first song he ever learned to play on Wayne’s old beater acoustic was Here Comes The Sun, but if anyone asks he says it was Smoke on the Water, which was actually second but the truth is possibly humiliating, considering his curated reputation.

He cannot read music. Which is funny, considering he’s had a “band” since 7th grade. He just kind of picks at shit by ear. Which he’s pretty good at, thank you very much. It's why he likes shit with solos, he can pick out a riff better than he can pick out a chord progression.

Said band did not lock down members with any kind of permanence until 10th and no one had any kind of electrified instrument until 11th because Jeff and Phil and Gareth might be better off than he is - drug money notwithstanding - but tuns out parents aren’t keen to just drop that kind of money so one’s kid can fuck around in another kid’s garage every couple weekends for that kind of price tag

Metal shows are few and far between in Roane County, considering all the ways it is. But the couple no-name bands that have breezed through town at the dive-iest of bars the county has to offer well - he doesn’t want to say, changed his life but - but he’s never been so glad to have been elbowed in the face because everyone’s having a good fucking time and without the accompanying “faggot” attached to the act, which he’s had a repeat performance of just. Generally. In his life outside of the shittest bars in Indiana.  

He’s not saying Zepplin II made him gay but Robert Plant’s face pasted onto that German soldier’s body made him feel some kind of way at a formative age and that’s maybe just something he’s going to take to the grave even if apparently the shittiest of shitheads just decided that was a true thing about him on their own.

Steve Harrington has been hot since, like, junior high. Which is horseshit. Because like, first of all. He sucks. Like, he’s a douche. But Barb Holland died and he ended up in the hospital because apparently those two things are related events and rumor has it he got kicked out of his house and he shaved his head about it and there are a shocking number of scars hidden under that disco hair and that, unfortunately, does not make him less hot or less of a douche. 

Another thing: Dustin Henderson is fucking annoying. Like annoying in the unremarkable way all nerds are annoying that he’s a little dead to (like sometimes he catches himself mid-tirade and thinks ‘damn, I’d kick my ass too’) so he gets it but also. He’s fucking annoying. He’s fucking annoying about Steve Harrington in particular which like. Hilarious. Go figure. 

And he’s got a lot of annoying ammunition in that particular annoying gun, because apparently Harrington’s been living in his basement. So the kicked out thing is probably true. A lot of what he’s got to say is anecdotal. Lives in the basement. Pays rent. Makes dinner for Henderson’s mom. Drives him to school. Owns a bat with nails in it? Which. Alright? That makes about as much sense as anything else going on. The weirdly dense law enforcement presence in the wake of the Holland murder (and those are feds, like, he knows cops, he grew up around a lot of cops - thanks Dad - these are not cops) and the ever evolving whatever-this-is of Steve Harrington which he is for sure paying a normal amount of attention to and not unloading his guts at Gareth and Jeff who for sure don’t want to kick his ass about it because are we all seeing this shit? It's been like 5 years of high school and this is a puzzle he is no closer to solving, as he is no closer to graduating. And it's not because he’s being a dipshit about Harrington’s gradual transformation no matter what Gareth keeps insisting. (he’s being a dipshit about graduating because he’s a dipshit - separate problem)

But like, something is for sure going on with Steve Harrington. And fuck him dead because he is desperate to pick it apart. It's got nothing to do with the horny goblin in his brain barking about the, shall we say, aesthetic realignment here (which maybe, like, is coming for the integrity of his own genre cred but like. Come on, man.) and it's got everything to do with someone like Steve Fucking Harrington willfully abdicating the throne to throw himself amongst the Maligned With Problems The World Will Make Your Fault. Like he had to have known the flavor of hell people like him and Hagan and every other one of those silver spoon fucks made of his life. And not just his, just like, anyone remotely adjacent in the social order. 

There’s this kind of unspoken truth at shows. Like metal, hardcore, whatever, any genre within a genre that fills up bars like this, like he’s pretty sure the punks even have this rule, this remains true: the more normal the guy looks the more fucked in the head he is. That guy is dangerous. That guy is working through some shit you cannot even begin to conceive of and this is only outlet he’s got. Like that guy will straight murder you if you come at him wrong in a pit and everyone knows it. You do not fuck with that guy. You do not make eye contact with that guy. So Steve Harrington in his tightass Levi’s and bright white fresh out the 3-pack t-shirt hugging the back wall of the Hideout on a Thursday night sure is a red flag. But red’s always been his favorite color, so-

So he buries his shoulder blades in the wall right next to him and hits him with a of all the gin joints and Steve just squints at him like he’s got no fucking clue what he’s talking about. Figures. Harrington always seemed like a philistine. Steve just runs his hand over his shaved short head, and Eddie swears he can hear the rasp of Steve’s palm over the noise of the bar. 

“You come here often?” And it's not not a come on and he’s a little prepared to get decked but it's also a genuine question. 

“It’s work.” Steve says, not unkindly but not really looking at him either. Like he’s not really interested in the conversation or Eddie at all.

“It’s work?”

And that gets Steve looking and he does not look impressed. It's cute. Which probably says more about Eddie’s ability to turn disdain into some semblance of private affection but we’re not going to unpack that bag we’re just going to throw the whole suitcase out. 

“Well, I can’t work the bar so I just pull people out of the pit. Work the door sometimes.” Steve says over the noise of the bar, by way of explanation.

“How about that?” he says with no small amount of genuine awe. “Mall work not cutting it for you, then?”

Steve just kind of one shoulder shrugs. Not cutting it in the sense that the mall like, fuckin’ burned down but. Y’know. Speaking in kind of a general hypothetical kind of way. Looking for a new career path kind of way. Less about the mall directly. Or at all. 

“Yes and no. I got punched less by skinheads at the mall.” and that almost sounds like a joke, like Harrington isn’t totally hating this conversation. Delightful. 

“And you’d willingly go into this line of work when Henderson says you can’t win a fight?” he says it like he means it, like he’s actually surprised. Because he is. Because getting laid out at a show is just some shit that happens sometimes. Assholes with something to prove, the wrong guy took an elbow at the wrong time, a drunk got in the pit and doesn’t know the difference between a good time and a fight, like, shit happens. 

Steve’s scrunched up face of repulsion and offense is additionally cute. 

“Yeah well, Henderson says a lot of shit about you too.” 

He may have been operating on the assumption that Steve actually had no idea who he was. And was just some weird guy who, for some reason, had a lot of personal information about him that was in no way reciprocated. Just kind of figured he would have been beneath Harrington’s notice in a big picture kind of way. 

Fuck you, Henderson, how dare you. 

“Only glowing reviews, I’m sure.”

“More or less.”

Alright he’ll take back point two, then. You’re on thin ice, Henderson. 

“Is that where the uh-” and he kind of gestures limply at the pit and then towards the thick, formerly stapled up scarring in Steve’s hairline. Like he’s come home from a show with a bloody nose or a black eye or two but nothing like that.

“No.”

It's the finality in his tone, when he says it that makes him suspect he’s fucked this up and the conversation is over.

And it is. 

So he hangs around the bar for the set and then he leaves and its not really all that interesting. 

But he thinks about that for a while, that something rattled Steve Harrington’s cage so hard he’s this now. Somewhere in the realm of quietly fucked up, and on the edges of good sensibility and good taste because its more comfortable out of a spotlight. Even if the dark on the edge of that pool of light is more than a little dangerous, but at least there’s a place to hide. 

And then Chrissy Cunningham dies on his ceiling and he has to keep hiding.  

#i wrote this thing like a billion years ago when punk!steve was going around and this was the closest i could get to it #while still feeling authentic #character wise anyway idk #i think i had other plans for it but i don't remember them now #so i cleaned it up and here it is yall can have it now #prompts #steddie #steddie fanfiction #steveddie #steddie fic #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #punk!steve #steddie au #stranger things fic #steve x eddie #steddie fics #i've been trying other creative outlets and just getting mad so i decided to clean up wips i figure would never see the light of day

[wariocompany]

Anyway I've been here for six days now (basically a naturalised citizen) so here is what I have to say about China

Shit is CHEAP. Worryingly cheap. Don't think about it too much.

Their hourly minimum wage is the equiv of about $5AUD but that's reasonably proportionate to how much a meal is. Rent seems a bit more difficult though so I don't know how people manage that (cheap as dirt places go for 4000yuan a month or so)

People are REALLY nice, even security guards and cops and other people you'd assume would kind of give you a hard time. They'll have a laugh with you about stuff.

The country kind of feels like it's encased in a giant metaphorical glass dome - everything functions using their own special apps, special ways of doing things, etc etc. Breaking into it is difficult, but once you're "in", so to speak, it's very easy.

Public spaces including trains and buses are a bit of an "every man for himself" vibe. People will play their phone videos out loud and no one even gives a shit. Once a security guard on shift was just sitting there playing his 抖音 videos out loud with little concern for anything or anyone. It's not mayhem, but it's certainly no polite affair.

Your phone loses battery very quickly and unless you're just going for a walk it's impossible to leave home without it as any purchase is via WeChat, Alipay et al. Many times I had considered going for a phone free outing before realising it just couldn't be done.

China is beautiful and just about every place has something to offer. There are streets that are clearly just a result of a LOT of urban development being done very quickly but in terms of actual sites, it's hard to find a city that doesn't have something incredible in it.

Their coffee is top notch. Seriously approaching Melbourne level. I'm flabbergasted and slightly concerned because frankly Australia is bullied by China on the daily and our coffee is the only thing I knew for certain we had over them. Now I don't know what the fuck we're meant to do

Trains tend to be in English, even if it's not particularly big with foreigners, though I haven't gone to any suuuuper remote locations so I don't know about those. They're very well maintained; they're more or less indistinguishable from those in Japan, Korea etc.

Bikes and motorbikes don't have to follow traffic lights which will make you shit yourself the first couple times they ride right past you as you cross the road.

There is not as much propaganda around as I was expecting. My uni has a big statue of Mao but as it happens that's just cuz he has a history with this particular university. I haven't seen any pictures of Mao anywhere else that's not, like, a dedicated Spot for that sort of thing (think Tiananmen square etc). I saw one pic of Xi in a museum. Most propaganda is just asking people to become soldiers and cops and stuff. I was expecting it to be like Vietnam or something but it's basically non-existent.

No the social credit memes are not true unless everyone else can see mine and is just not telling me

Those world statistics weren't lying that country really can heavily populayed

People love taking photos of themselves but selfies are not too popular, so dedicated individuals will bring whole stands with lights and shit like that, as though they were dedicated cosplayers. Yesterday we saw a middle aged woman doing a sort of VR anime idol stream (I can't remember what they're called but the one where your face is overlayed with an anime avatar) in the middle of the bridge haha

^ and people will take these sorts of photos in front of ANYTHING. Even if it's... Slightly inappropriate by some standards. It's kind of funny.

People are generally quite chill and don't take themselves too seriously

I'll add more if I think of more

[matan4il]

I admit I’m kinda suspicious hearing that the IDF investigated itself and found no wrongdoing

Maybe I’m just jaded given how often that happens with us military and cops

I usually try to answer by the order I get the asks, but I am guessing you are referring to this IDF investigation, and I think that is important enough to address it right away, as a completion for that daily update.

Anon, IDK if I'll surprise you, but I actually get where you're coming from. It does sound weird for anyone to investigate themselves. I should know, I def am very suspicious of the UN investigating themselves when it comes to UNRWA.

That said, there are a few reasons why I have more faith in an IDF investigation in this specific context.

For one thing, there's a difference between when an organization investigates a specific incident, versus when it is looking at something much more systematic. It's easier for a system to put together a team within it, with independent authority to investigate another part, focus on "a few rotten apples," than if it has to admit that the whole system is rotten, and cut off its own heads, or even worse, admit that the system has no right to exist (*cough* UNRWA).

In that respect, when the IDF has to be checked on how it failed to prevent the Hamas massacre on Oct 7, it is NOT going to investigate itself. It is already conducting an investigative procedure to look into where the issues were, in order to learn from them, but this is done in addition, NOT instead of, an external investigation, with the actual power to recommend for people to pay personal prices for what happened. Which is as it should be. IDK that I would trust it any other way, as much as I do think that quite a few of the heads of the army and security forces are decent people, who have already taken responsibility for the failure to protect Israeli citizens, and will probably resign at the end of the war, regardless of what the investigation will say about them.

In contrast, UNRWA has stopped having a right to exist decades ago. No other UN agency has a similar decades long mandate. A similar UN agency meant to help South Korea following the 1945 partition of Korea into two (UNKRA) operated from 1950 to 1958, and then it was disbanded. As it should be. UNKRA certainly didn't continue operating in North Korea for decades, with an overwhelming majority of its staff being North Koreans, and intertwining it to an inseparable degree with the North Korean dictatorial regime, which is who this agency would have had to cooperate with, in order to continue working in NK. That's the equivalent of what UNRWA has become, so it has to go. It is complicit in employing terrorists, as well as indoctrinating Palestinians to be antisemitic and terrorists. And the UN has KNOWN and HAS ALLOWED THIS TO GO ON FOR YEARS. And that means that, beyond how antisemitic the UN inherently is (especially so long as it gives antisemitic and dictatorial regimes an equal vote), this organization also HAS to delegitimize Israel, because that's the country exposing the UN for its complicity. THIS goes all the way to the top. That's why the UN investigating itself is beyond questionable to me.

Back to the IDF. It's also in its own interest to justly investigate such specific incidents. Soldiers who defied orders are an issue for any army, especially if they show other soldiers they can do the same. Soldiers who defied orders and intentionally killed uninvolved civilians, causing their army and their state real damage (and in this, Israel is inspected in a way no other army and country are), are a danger for everyone. They can get every IDF soldier arrested for a sin only a few people had committed, which is why it is in the interest of almost everyone in the system, to make sure there is a clear distinction between such people, and the rest of the soldiers, who do follow the ethical code of the IDF. In fact, Israel's own legal system stopped an attempt to undermine the possibility of the IDF prosecuting its soldiers.

Lastly, there's past experience. If the record had shown that the IDF always absolves its soldiers, never prosecuting them for breaking orders, then I would be way more suspicious of its investigations. I think the most telling recent example is actually the accidental killing of the three Israeli hostages in Gaza by the IDF. There was no one at the scene other than the soldiers. They were in a war zone, no journalists around, in the middle of the battle chaos, if they had wanted to bury this and claim that Hamas terrorists were the ones who killed the hostages, or that the hostages were killed during an exchange of fire with Hamas terrorists, we'd probably never know the truth. But those soldiers reported what happened. And the IDF passed the truth along to the families, as hard and painful as that must have been, and to the public, whose faith in the army has already been shaken by the failure to prevent Oct 7. That tells me something about the army and the people leading it.

Does that guarantee that everything will always be transparent? No. But I am more inclined to trust an army willing to freely admit its own fuck ups, than the anti-Israel crowd, who will forever call anything the IDF does "a massacre," whether it qualifies or not, and who can't even accept it when foreign countries and independent investigators look into anti-Israel accusations and find Israel in the right, such as in the case of the al-Ahli hospital, where it was determined by multiple external investigations that the one conducted by the IDF was right, and the rocket that landed there was fired by Palestinian terrorists from Gaza, accidentally fell in the parking lot, and didn't kill anywhere near the 500 fatalities figure that Hamas is still claiming to this day.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

#israel #antisemitism #israeli #israel news #anon ask #israel under fire #terrorism #anti terrorism #hamas #antisemitic #antisemites #jews #jew #judaism #jumblr #frumblr #jewish #ask #unrwa #un

[transcriptroopers]

I have a tangent, troopers. I am shot-gunnin’ it, hitting like ten different topics. I think I have a point, bear with me.

Something I have found increasingly important to emphasize when engaging with theory is the ability to delineate overlapping types of violence and to clearly define which is a more immediate threat to life.

I have two personal facts to illustrate my point.

First, I recently began using a cane. This has changed my life significantly. I now need more accommodations to perform the same tasks. Even in a hospital, I have to tell doctors to slow down so I can keep up. My cane upsets able-bodied people and makes them nervous around me. There’s no denying that in being a case user, I face oppression.

Yet, in every way, my circumstances are better than someone who uses a wheelchair. Because I’m not sitting down, everything is still at my height. I may be forced to walk in the grass if there’s no sidewalk, but a wheelchair user is screwed. I can still walk and get exercise and not worry about atrophy like if I used a wheelchair. I would be inconvenienced having to use the stairs during an emergency, whereas in a wheelchair your life may be in danger.

We are both types of disabled people who face oppression at the hands of an ableist society, but we still have different experiences, and have different - sometimes competing - accessibility needs. It is not “oppression olympics” to be able to identify when one type of disenfranchisement is a more severe and immediate threat to life; I am not betraying cane users to advocate for better accessibility for wheelchair users.

Next, I’m a veteran of the United States Army. I am also LGBT, and I am being vague about the specifics of that on purpose. There is an inordinate number of people who think this is a good thing – that I am both LGBT and a veteran. Everyone thinks it looks good for #Diversity for there to be #Representation. 

I understand where this is coming from, because I used to think this way. Being an oppressed group, LGBT people are hungry to see people like them being portrayed positively, and in the US, the military is almost universally revered. I have never been harassed for being a veteran IRL, always praised; in fact, being a veteran has often shielded me from harassment associated with being LGBT, using a cane, etc. But online, folks will very casually wish for your death in the most gruesome ways, accuse you of crimes you’ve never committed, and block you before you can explain that, actually, you purposely enlisted in your MOS in Air Defense (protection against incoming missiles) because you didn’t want to hurt anyone, and even before drone warfare the vast majority of soldiers will never see combat. And it hurts your feelings, because you’re Me, a sensitive LGBT who didn’t expect the people who I thought were my friends to want me violently killed, Just Like my oppressors did, right??

So, here’s how I got over all that and got to the root of the issue: It’s only online that people are free to unload, sometimes; they are frequently shadowbanned by social media. My material reality is that as a disabled veteran, even an LGBT one, I have innate privileges because I am a soldier first. I have free healthcare for the rest of my life, and if I need it, assistance with legal matters, education, and housing. I could get a 10 to 20% discount in almost any store or restaurant in the country. I could get a placard for my car and it would reduce my chances of being pulled over. I opted for the optional “Veteran” mark on my drivers license to endear any cop who pulls me over. There are like three different national holidays celebrating me where I can get free food. An angry person online who says “veterans kys” hurts my feelings, but doesn’t in any way make my life materially worse.

Meanwhile, I have very much been a victim of hate crimes for being LGBT, both online and IRL. Even in the PNW I was assaulted and encountered actual hate groups like Proud Boys. There are no hate groups against veterans. Even if veterans are high risk for homelessness and drug abuse, (just like for example, idk, LGBT people) it is very clear to me which group is more meaningfully affected by violence.

Like I said, when you’re a rather sensitive person, a stranger gruesomely wishing for your death is upsetting regardless of the reason. Obviously I would prefer that people don’t do this at all, just as I would prefer that there be no kind of oppression at all.

But there is, so they do. And because I have a Critical Thinking Brain, I was able to realize that there was a difference between an outburst from someone with the ability to act upon it and an outburst from someone with almost no ability to act upon it. A jailed prisoner heavily draped in chains yells “I’ll kill you!” A well-trained soldier pointing a gun at you says “I’ll kill you!” Which are you more afraid of? 

If you answer “both,” you are being willfully obtuse. You know the prisoner has next to no chance of carrying out their threat, but you know the soldier’s gun is loaded, and they have killed before. We are all capable of understanding that there are degrees of power and violence. I don’t begrudge any person who casually wishes for the deaths of soldiers, even though the soldier is themselves a victim of a kind of violence by the state. In fact, you can read all about the various abuses endured by soldiers on my blog, but the woes and miseries of soldiers are not (and should not be) of consequence to their victims.

Now that I’ve made you read two pages of blathering, guess what this post is really about? That’s right – Palestine. Fuck.

Western colonial nations are responsible for the ongoing genocide against the Palestinian people, and it is with our manufactured consent that the US and Great Britain continue to escalate the violence. Thus, it is more important than ever for us to be able to critically examine the way oppression affects us.

Israel is a settler-colonial state: a group of settlers who have violently expelled indigenous people from their land. This is documented fact; even early on in the occupation, 1948-esque, comparisons to American cowboys were being made, implicitly stationing their enemies as dirty savages on untamed land which was being claimed for use by a pure and righteous civilization. 

Unfortunately, even in modern times, US Americans still believe the above rationale for their own displacement of indigenous people. To do otherwise would be to admit that we ourselves do not belong on this land – land that we live and work on and sometimes have “owned” for generations. We choose to believe what matters is Now, and the other stuff is all in the past. 

Sadly, it’s true that many Indigenous American Peoples are no more. But numerous Indigenous American Tribes and Nations are still around, their customs have endured, their languages are alive, and they are still working their lands, as best as they can given the circumstances we’ve given them. However far back the atrocities were, Indigenous Americans deserve not only recompense, but leniency for behaviors that we on our high horses may find uncouth but otherwise don’t materially affect us or our privileges.

This is my opinion for other settler-colonial states as well, including those of Great Britain, Canada, Australia, etc. If settlers cannot feasibly “return home,” as will often be the case, then they must at least concede ownership of what was never theirs to take and cease reaping the benefits from their settler status. This would involve returning land and power to their original peoples, (likely not all or even most of it, especially as so much is now destroyed and heavily populated) and laws being rewritten so that they are not settler-centric. 

In that case, for me, the Palestinian Genocide has one starting and end point: this is a conflict between the colonized and the colonizer. It is essential to view all further analysis from this lens, lest we lose context and get confused when spin doctors tweak our media, or when our friends accuse us of supporting our own oppressors.

Why am I putting all of this on my soldier blog?

Because it is us, soldiers, who are complicit with this genocide. Even American soldiers right now are complicit with Palestinian Genocide because it’s with our weapons, aircraft, finances, and strategies the genocide is being perpetrated. I remember being enlisted ten years ago trying to argue for the rights of Palestinians to At Least not be war crimed on a regular basis, and was mocked, because I was arguing for rights for “inhumane terrorists,” and aren’t I a hypocrite because aren’t I LGBT, and don’t I know that Palestines hate LGBT people? It frightens me to see how much worse it has gotten in ten years, and how many otherwise peaceful people have bought into this pinkwashing: using LGBT rights as a cudgel to determine who “deserves” human rights and who deserves violence. Palestinians do not have to be perfect victims to deserve human rights, and I find the thought that a person in any context deserves to die to be abhorrent.

I feel obliged to state here that I am not Jewish, though I have been considering conversion for a few years. I first sought out a rabbi in 2020 and paused my journey due to the pandemic. I still do self-study but don’t consider myself capable of speaking on behalf of Judaism. 

I do feel capable of speaking on pinkwashing soldiers, and this is very simple: an LGBT soldier is still a soldier. Being a soldier overshadows all of our other identities, be they gender, sexuality, race, religion, wealth, or ability. This is drilled into us. People tell us to go away and die (if they feel safe to do so) because we are complicit in the overwhelming, overarching violence that is the state. We are no different than cops in this regard. Israeli soldiers, too, are soldiers before they are anything else. Women, LGBT, POC, Poor, Jewish. Often, the oppressor has themselves been oppressed. That's why it's so easy to convince people that their actions are just.

But here we see the same situation as before. The Palestinian, after eighty years of violent apartheid and genocide, bombed, starved, half-dead, says, “I’ll kill you!” The Israeli Soldier, with billions in US aid, who controls the Palestinian’s water, food, fuel, medicine, roads, air, and borders, calls the hospital and tells them, “We will bomb you in sixty seconds.” And then they do, and they want my sympathy because I too am a Soldier, and so I must understand that they have Lost, and it is So hard to lose people in war; so hard.

Of course they have my damn sympathy! I can’t help it; I have plenty of it to go around! Of course I’m opposed to religious persecution, to the killing of innocents, the destruction of culture! That is why I stand with Palestine in the first place! I hate violence, that’s why I joined a strictly defensive branch of the army, and don’t believe in the death penalty even for “really bad crimes" because I know how easily people can manipulate the public opinion against people who’ve committed “really bad crimes” for real this time I promise guys this time. And you don’t have to believe me, you can still tell me to kill myself and that I’m a murderer and I won’t begrudge you for that either.

We are currently seeing an unprecedented rise in antisemitism globally. Indeed, Israel only exists because of antisemitism in countless other nations across millenia. Even the US, Israel’s greatest ally, has deeply embedded antisemitic roots. Unless every other major country in the world immediately and aggressively begins to tackle their own antisemitism within their own borders, something akin to Israel will continue to exist, which in turn makes us responsible for the Palestinian Genocide. 

Until that is addressed, we’re left with the original fact: Israel as it exists is a settler-colonial state, built on stolen land amidst an on-going genocide, and because Israel’s military is conscripted, that makes even ordinary civilians complicit in the war crimes of their armed forces.

American civilians cannot allow this violence to continue. We must reject genocidal rhetoric and demand that we return indigenous land not only to Palestine, but all Indigenous Peoples everywhere. 

Lacking a punchy ending to this tangent, I’ll leave a list of links to various organizations that you can support in this time.

UNRWA United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestine Refugees in the Middle East. Currently on the ground in Gaza attempting to deliver humanitarian aid despite bombings.

Jewish Voices for Peace - This was one of the groups who marched on Capitol Hill declaring “Not in our name.” A civil rights’ group.

Palestine Children’s Relief Fund - They specialize in emergency medical care, training surgeons, and even sending children to the US for otherwise inaccessible treatment.

Decolonize Palestine - A basic resource to start with if you want to learn more about why this violence is inextricable from colonialism.

#free palestine #long post

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

I know you said you’d cry if someone requested it, but - like…

Would you write a short thing about Aemond cleaning his asshole? It’s definitely what the entire fandom needs, lol, and you would do it so well!

Here you go, my boobear. Thank you for waiting so patiently.

Cleanliness is Next to Godliness

Pairing: Aemond and the privy, I guess? Warnings: This is a crack fic. The request is all the warning you need. Word count: ~1k

Author's note: This is written as a joke between a mutual and I. If you're easily offended I implore you to employ the liberal use of "don't like, don't read". Community labels are for cops.

Aemond strives for perfection in all things. Growing up, he is teased mercilessly by his brother Aegon and his nephews, Jace and Luke. They perceive him as weak and pathetic, a Targaryen without a dragon. Truthfully, a more shameful existence does not exist for those of Valyrian ancestry; born with the blood to ride a dragon, yet unable to claim one.

When Aemond becomes the rider of Vhagar, the greatest dragon in all of Westeros, he makes a point to ensure it is an accolade he is worthy of. He studies history and philosophy to keep his mind sharp, trains with the sword to mold himself into a fearsome warrior and works hard to ensure he is viewed as nothing less than perfect.

This extends as far as his habits in the privy.

“What do you mean you don’t shit? Everyone does! I do it all the time!” Aegon says with heated exasperation.

“Not me,” Aemond says simply. “I am above such things. That is concentrated evil that comes out of the back of you.”

Maintaining a flawless facade requires diligence and discipline. Through trial and error, Aemond has managed to uphold his stoic reputation as a man with no taste for depravity for almost a decade. 

There is a minor hiccup on his thirteenth name day when Aegon takes him to a pleasure house on the Street of Silk. The nerves that flutter in his stomach cause him to depart before he engages with any of the women that have been offered to him—not before he leaves a dirty protest on the floor, however, an offense for which Aegon takes the blame. His brother has to pay a fine of a golden dragon for the cleaning costs.

When Aegon questions him about it, Aemond simply shrugs and says, “I am above such things.”

Aemond awakens each morning in the space between the hour of the bat and the rooster, when the Keep is still quiet. As requested, the servants have left him a basin of water and a cloth, as they do every day. They know better than to ask why. Aemond carries it with great care to the privy and sets it on the floor, seating himself on the privy to move his bowels.

As he sits and strains, he ponders on the last time his Uncle Daemon had visited King’s Landing. He’d spent an age using the facilities, coming out afterwards with a smile that was almost proud upon his face, clapping Ser Criston Cole upon the shoulder and announcing, “I’d give that a moment if I were you, Ser Crispin. I’ve made quite the stench.”

He wishes he could shit so brazenly; Daemon is an accomplished soldier, an infamous dragon rider and shameless in his privy habits. Aemond both envies and admires him, but he is too deep into his ruse of not having normal bodily functions to backtrack now. Later that afternoon, Daemon had sliced Vaemond Velaryon’s head in half. Aemond is unsure of which act he is more impressed by; the thought of both makes his cock stir in a manner which disturbs and excites him.

Having had full elimination, Aemond sets about ensuring he is perfectly clean, removing all traces of his defecation from his person using the basin of water and cloth that he has brought in with him.

It is a task that is tricky to manage with just one eye. Over the years, there have been incidents where he has accidently daubed the wall with feces, to be later discovered by furious maidservants who have the unfortunate task of cleaning it off. Thankfully, his mother automatically places the blame on Aegon and he goes free without suspicion or a scolding.

He is better practiced now, however, and leaves no trace of his misgivings behind. Cleanliness is next to godliness, his mother once told him; he sends up a prayer to each of the Seven as he dabs at his soiled ring of muscle. It passes the time and helps occupy his mind from the humiliation of what he is having to endure.

On this particular morning, Aegon throws open the privy door as Aemond squats over the basin of water, his eyes going wide first with shock then delight as he takes in the sight before him.

Aemond freezes, mortification shooting hotly through his body from head to toe. Aegon reeks of wine; he must have decided to stumble back to the Keep, instead of sleeping it off in the bed of whichever whore he’d taken for the evening.

“I knew it!” Aegon slurs with a grin. “That is concentrated evil coming out the back of you! Just wait until Jace and Luke hear about this!”

He staggers away, his laugh maniacal as Aemond shakes with rage and embarrassment, hurriedly pulling his breeches back up.

Aegon says nothing further on the matter as the days pass, and Aemond assumes he must have been too far into his cups to remember. He breathes a sigh of relief. His reputation remains untarnished.

That is, until he flies to Storm’s End to take one of Lord Borros Baratheon’s daughters as his wife. 

Luke arrives as they are getting acquainted, and Aemond wastes no time in ensuring he feels unwelcome. “Look at this sad creature, my Lord,” he says smugly. “Little Lucerys Strong. You are wet, bastard. Is it raining, or did you piss yourself in fear?”

Luke smirks and quips back. “Was your coat tarnished brown when you put it on, or did it get in the way while you washed your arse in the privy?”

Aemond flies into a rage. It is that day that Luke and his dragon, Arrax, meet their end at the jaws of Vhagar. To anyone that asks, it is a terrible accident, but Aemond knows the truth. So does Aegon. But his brother never says a word. And so, the One-Eyed Prince keeps his brown eye clean in private, and the matter is never spoken of again. 

The battle between factions of House Targaryen indeed began over a throne, but not one made of swords as the history books would have people believe.

#hotd crack fic #aemond targaryen crack fic

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。APOLOGIES — SHIDOU RYUSEI.

✩ — contents ⋮ fluff, gn! reader, established relationship, post argument make-up, annoying shidou as always

dating shidou is not easy, it takes maturity and patience and the will of god’s strongest soldier. in fact, most of the time, dating shidou means you’re constantly drifting in and out of being mad at him—which, right now, you’re quite mad.

“shidou ryusei, it is one am,” you glare, opening your door and rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. he has a wolfish grin on his face—it’s cocky, and it widens as he stares you up and down in your little batman pajama pants. normally, you wouldn’t answer the door for someone you’re mad at, boyfriend or not, but shidou makes it hard to ignore with his incessant knocking.

you value your sleep—and more importantly, you value not being kicked from your apartment for noise complaints.

“aw, not the full government name,” he says slyly, and it only makes your blood pressure rise even more as you practically feel a vein pop.

“ryusei,” you warn. but he doesn’t pay attention, just as you expect. instead, he whistles lowly.

“i like the uniform. ‘s cute,” he cackles, eyeing the way your pants are hung a little lower on your hips from tossing around in bed, exposing a bit of skin that he drinks in shamelessly.

“thanks,” you say dryly, “they’re fuzzy and they were half off. now why are you here?”

“just visiting,” he shrugs.

“at one am?”

“it’s twelve fifty-two,” he corrects like he lives to defy you in every corner. and you bet he loves it—in fact, you know he’s positively enthused by the way your lips curl into a scowl and your eyes glare at him so fiercely. he stares down at the way your hips slant as your cross your arms, and he chuckles (which you think is almost passable as a giggle at the sheer giddiness.)

only shidou ryusei would be giddy from turning you halfway near homicidal, and only he would find the murderous glint in your eyes cute, wholesome.

“what do you want,” you say bluntly. he takes a step forward, and no matter how mad you are, you can’t help but stand painfully still as he leans closer, trying your damn hardest not to lean in when his hot breath fans over your face as he stares at you.

“your bed would be nice,” he hums, “preferably with you in it.”

he’s insufferable. everything he does and says makes you want to chuck bricks at his head and hope it fixes the loose wires he seems to have. but you don’t even get to finish saying, “fuck off, ryu—” before he cuts in.

“c’mon, don’t make me find a way in myself,” he curls his lips wickedly, like he’s got you in checkmate, like the cards have been in his favor all along as you play the game he’s written. but this time is different—this time, you’re determined not to let shidou take advantage of your weak heart through his rough and tough charms.

this time, you have a point to prove.

“i’m going to call the cops on you,” you threaten, “tell them i’m being harassed by a pink-haired freak.”

“i wouldn’t mind getting married in jail,” he grins, and you can practically make out the hearts in his eyes as he looks at you. it makes you want to slam the door in his face and go right back to bed. but that would only mean he’d go back to pounding on your door and singing your name, and you’re pretty sure you’re one more instance away from your neighbors collectively petitioning your eviction.

“i don’t want to marry you,” you hiss.

“don’t be like that,” he reaches to poke your cheek, “being inmates would be fun. we could give the officers a show as we fuck—”

“ryusei,” you hiss.

arguing with shidou always ends like this. he worms his way in and knocks down your walls without ever saying i’m sorry. he eases his way back into your heart with wide grins and cheeky comments and that charm of his that really shouldn’t be as endearing as it is. he never admits he’s wrong—but the way he tries harder the next time, makes sure he does it right, makes sure he’s better just for you, you know he cares. he never resolves things in the way you would consider the standard method of patching up after those unavoidable couple fights—but this time you decide it’s different. 

this time your feelings are hurt—really hurt. the kind of hurt that makes you wonder if you’re annoying. or if you talk a lot. or if he even wants to be around you. or that maybe you tire him out. or that the sound of your voice is grating. or that you overstep boundaries. 

this time there is no brushing the cracked shards of your heart under the rug and acting like he can kiss the pieces back together. this time you want to hear it from him—and if you have to stand at your door at ungodly hours of the morning and milk it out of him…well, you’re inclined to do that. 

“c’mon, babe. are you gonna keep me out here all night? lemme in—”

“you’re not coming in until you apologize,” you say bluntly. he groans, throws his head back, and slaps his hands over his face as he grumbles into his palms. 

“god, you’re killin’ me here. seriously, you know i didn’t mean it—”

“‘for fuck’s sake, i’m not your damn kid’,” you mock his voice from the other night, reminding him of his own words like he’s forgotten. he only stares at you with pursed lips and a blank face, but that doesn’t stop you, however, as you scowl at him and continue, “i don’t know. you seemed to really mean it when you said that.”

“i was just tired, you know that—”

“i was just trying to look out for you,” you don’t even seem like you’re listening to him anymore, poking a finger at his chest accusingly as he lets you, “i watch you sleep at unreasonable hours only to wake up before the sun itself—”

“yeah, and i told you i’d work on that—”

“and then i ask you, have you eaten today? and you know what you tell me? yeah, i had a protein shake this morning—”

“okay, and that was like one time—”

“and then i hear that you get into a fight, and lo and behold, you show up to my place with a bloody nose and cracked knuckles—”

“but you should’ve seen the other guy—”

“and then i come over to your apartment, and your laundry isn’t done, your dishes aren’t washed, and you have eighty million socks on the floor,” you start to put a finger up for everything you list, making him fiercely fight back a chuckle that he knows would seal his death wish, “and all i try to do is take care of you so that you can be healthy and play your best and what do you do? yell at me and tell me it’s not my responsibility to—”

you’re cut off by lips pressing onto yours harshly, the rough feeling of a calloused hand cupping your cheeks and bringing you closer. and maybe if you had a bit more self-respect, you would shove away the rude, ungrateful, irritating, tacky-haired douchebag of a boyfriend that stands in front of you, but you simply choose to lose all dignity when it counts most. you choose to give in, melt into his touch, lean closer and fist his shirt as your lips press back just as firm. 

and when he gently pushes you back, you let him. you even let him step into your apartment and spin you around, shutting the door and pressing your back against the cool surface. his body cages you so that there’s no room for escape—not that you think you could even run from him now that he’s let himself in, anyway. but with one more peck to your lips, he pulls away, pressing his forehead against yours as he clicks his teeth and sighs. 

“fine, i’m fuckin’ sorry. ‘s that what you wanted to hear?”

“not if you’re only saying it to make me un-mad,” you say stubbornly.

he clicks his teeth again, shoots you a look of irritation that you return tenfold. “‘m sayin’ it ‘cus i want to, dumbass. you think i’d say that shit just to say it?”

“i don’t know, you’re rude,” you shrug, not meeting his eyes. he rolls his eyes before he leans in and kisses your cheek, then the other, then the tip of your nose, then just over your brow, then your eyelid—and when he sees the beginnings of a smile crack on your lips, he nibbles on your cheek and pulls a soft giggle from you against your will. 

“said i was fuckin’ sorry, stop being stubborn.”

“don’t yell at me again,” you huff, “and fix your sleep schedule.”

“okay.”

“and eat proper meals.”

“fine.”

“and maybe clean up.”

“kay, i’ll try. happy?”

“and stop getting into fights—”

“let’s set realistic expectations, here,” he cuts you off, earning a huff from you. but you seem significantly less angry—and he’s glad. because sleeping without your body to squeeze in the dead of night and not hearing you hum that stupid song you always listen to as you wash dishes and not getting those back to back pings on his phone as you spam him with daily updates is starting to get to him. so he wraps an arm around your waist, tugs you flush against his chest as meets your gaze, “are you still mad? because then you’re just being difficult.”

“no,” you sigh, making him grin.

“good.”

“i just love you,” you mumble, and there’s that cute, innocent little pout that you always do tugging at your lips, the one that drives him mad and reminds him he’s just as in love too. “i want what’s best for you—”

“yeah, yeah,” he grunts, “okay. i love you too. i’ll start being more responsible and shit. now can i come to bed?”

“fine,” you cave, “but—”

“great, let’s go,” he drags you along, not wasting a moment before your body is tossed onto the mattress and his lands on top of you, head tucking into your neck. and it’s warm—where his lips are, where he traces kisses along the awaiting skin. 

dating shidou ryusei is exhausting—but there are a few perks, you have to admit. 

“you’re a headache,” you murmur, threading your fingers through his hair. he snorts, shakes his head from his place in your neck, earning a small giggle from you at the way it tickles. 

“yeah? so are you with your nagging.”

“i don’t nag,” you slap his shoulder. he laughs—it’s that low, soft rumble that he only laughs around you, when his head is tucked into your neck, and your hands rub up and down his back, and he’s content. 

and maybe a little in love. 

“you do. but i love it, it’s hot when you’re mad.”

“go to sleep, ryusei,” you roll your eyes. and then you wait a moment or two—just so he doesn’t get a big head when you begrudgingly mumble, “and i love you too.”

half of this is just filler with dialogue but wtv. take this lil scenario in my head of arguing w shidou bc he’s a living train wreck

[xappetites]

jouissance

Phillip Graves x Reader | political marriage, i saw a hc about Graves being old money and thought: that tracks, reader is a menace and Graves radiates youngest sibling energy so they realize they make a great team | word count: 2,118

The girl is pretty, at the very least. Sensible jeans and a simple sweater, white sneakers as the only indication of the likely tennis lessons she must’ve taken every weekend. Scuffed, against his expectations. All in all, a very East Coast kinda look that almost makes Phillip roll his eyes.

Money’s not the same in Texas as it is in the Hamptons, which is why Phil’s been saying that this is a bad idea from the start, kept dodging this particular ball and chain long as he could. Spent all his time away, off with his Shadows. Busy, busy, busy.

Too fucking busy to be offered up in the altar of the Graves’ family need for strong allies in the Senate.

In simpler words, Phil really, really doesn’t want to marry a pretty little senator’s daughter, but he’s run out of rope and if he struggles too hard, he’s sure his father will not hesitate to garrotte him to get what he wants.

So, he sits there, staring at the ridiculous picture the senator’s boating loafers paint against his old man’s boots and pretending he can’t feel Pete’s eyes on him —golden, first born, married correctly and spitting out grandsons, fucking Pete—, laughing at his misfortune on the other side of the big bay windows.

He’s still a soldier though, he keeps hyper aware of the room, even against his will. So it’s mostly instinctual to follow the movement in his peripheral, an accident to make eye contact when the senator’s girl shifts. Track as she moves in, across the no man’s land of old fashioneds and pigs in blankets scattered over every available surface, until she’s half perched on the armrest of his loveseat.

“What’s so funny?”

Her voice is surprisingly neutral, not a finishing school affectation in sight. And Phil won’t admit to tensing up, won’t —on his life— cop to the rush of liquid heat that has him edging his hips forward at just having her pretty fucking eyes on him.

“Your brother,” she clarifies, looking back out to the yard for a split second of relief. “He seems tickled pink out there.”

“Don’t mind him, he’s just an asshole.”

“He looks it.”

She leans back, casual and relaxed and close. Too close. Enough that Phil’s fingers could dig into the soft flesh of her thigh, could pull her into his lap and taste the bitters on her tongue.

The fantasy shakes a smile out of him. He won’t have to worry about not finding his wife sexually enticing, if this goes the way his father planned it.

Silver linings, he tells himself, and he can’t help teasing her. Testing her confidence against the Graves’ family resemblance that makes Phillip a shadowbox copy of his older brother.

“That mean I look like an asshole too?”

Her laughter shakes her shoulders; she smells like the orange peel in her glass and a solid undercurrent of musk and vanilla that must be her perfume, the scent of an afternoon bumming it out on the lake and cocktails after dinner. She doesn’t answer, but her eyes take on a playful glint, pulling up at the corners until they match her crooked grin.

Then the minute is over. She’s whisked away to dazzle the eldest Graves, tucked under her father’s arm. And it occurs to Phil that she might be a soldier of sorts too, a hostile caught in the same trench.

…

Phil doesn’t linger on it because, again, he has more important matters to attend to on a daily basis. Sure, he doesn’t need to have his proverbial boots in the proverbial ground that his actual boots on the actual ground are currently working on, but things just go smoother when he’s there. And he does so love to see whichever motherfuckers get in his way go up in flames; quite literally on occasion.

So, by the time his father asks, faux casual as all hell: How’s it going with the senator’s girl? Phil’s pretty much forgotten about her.

And he could, all things considered, tell the old man to kick rocks. It’s an itty bitty spark of rebellion, though he’s not gonna do it. Not with the inheritance that could make the Shadow Company into an empire on the line.

What he does do, then, is make a call posthaste, begging for this not to be another fuck up he has to bury, because he’s had enough of those in his career and he never fucking likes them. But she does answer, bless her heart, voice as unbothered on the phone as it was in person; giving him a date and time with as much excitement to see him as a DMV employee.

Consequently, he doesn’t expect much from the meeting. Maybe to get the brush off, officially. Or that she’ll want him to grovel, which isn’t gonna happen.

He’s not braced for the slow drag of a cigarette as she waits, reading a print paper, of all things. And, for sure, not for the smile that lights up her face when Phil finally takes his seat across from her.

“Blink twice if you’re here against your will.”

Her comment comes on the tail of a smoke plume that rises and rises, past him, missing him completely. He hates that he didn’t want it to, that for a single millisecond he wished to take her in his fucking lungs, smoke and black coffee and all of her.

“I look that bad, huh?”

“You look coerced,” she crushes filter against ashtray until it stops glowing. Lets the thing sit between them like a flag, claiming territory.

The whole scene —the pretend familiarity, the friendliness he can’t tell if it’s fake or not, the sexual attraction he can’t quite ignore— makes Phillip snap. He rides the delightful rush of adrenaline before he fully realizes he’s leaning forward, with his elbows on this very polite coffee shop table at eleven in the morning.

“You’re a smart one. So you have to know exactly what they want from us, right?”

Silence stretches for a long moment and then she’s slouching with that same lopsided grin she’d graced him with at his father’s. One of her knees knocks his apart, her foot settling inside the bracket of his own shoes.

Phil’s not an innocent man and he sure as hell ain’t a virgin, but out of the field he’s used to keeping a degree of distance when it comes to intimacy. Sure, he fucks, and he might groan a little praise straight into the mouth of whoever he’s inside of; he doesn’t just sit with someone —someone who hasn’t covered his back in a fire fight or helped him figure out whether the blood on his vest is actually his— this close, legs intertwined while fully clothed. The thing that’s so easy for this woman that it makes him prickle, tightening his stance until he’s sure she’ll need a sharp tug to free herself.

“Political marriage?”

“You see, it’s this blasé attitude that makes me wonder,” he pushes further into her personal space, settles his hand over one of hers just to show her he isn’t intimidated by the way she takes and takes from him. He’s good at this, keeping it civilized even when his intentions are decidedly not. “Why isn’t a girl like you bothered by it? What’s the damage that won’t let you get a husband the normal way?”

“I’m just not the kind of person that falls in love. And Dad’s always made it clear that there’s a suitable husband out there for me, like it or not.”

This is the most honest Phil’s ever seen her look. There’s no mockery in her smile now, at least not at anyone’s expense but herself. And her hand twists until his hold looks natural, affectionate, taking his threat and making it into something no one would look twice at.

He doesn’t ask what she means. He wonders, not to get him wrong; he’s simply trying to pinpoint the exact moment when his annoyance turns into the thrill of the game. When he looks back on this, Phil figures it might be the way she squeezes his hand, giving him nothing more than a hint of nails to prove that he isn’t the only one capable of causing pain or willing to do it.

That or the way her mouth forms the words that seal him as an unlucky sucker, too addicted to the battle high to stop himself.

“You’re easy to look at, Graves. You don’t give much of a damn about me, you’re gone most of the year and you won’t expect me to miss you. You’re the perfect husband.”

And the answer he can’t bite back, all madness and the familiar ache of rising to a challenge, the sting of the muscles before the jump.

“You wanna bet on that, sweetheart? Not missing me?”

“Do your worst.” She laughs at him, straight up giggles at the suggestion, like it’s a dare she’s come out on top of before.

He chuckles along, takes it in stride, because she doesn’t know what it’s like playing against him; not yet.

…

“Sex?”

If Phil was a liar he’d say that he doesn’t know why he asks it. But he does, and he means it. He stands there on the sidewalk, offering his hand for her to dismount the decorative step outside the restaurant, completely possessed by the urge to try and crack her open. Irredeemably charmed by the fact that she just gave her implicit permission for him to do it.

“Right now?”

He gives her a genuine bark of a laugh, stepping into her until she’s left in a halfway state of touch. The kind Phil is good at: strategic, purposeful. His arm hovering around her, his chest barely close enough for him to feel her breath where it disturbs the collar of his shirt.

“So it is on the table?” Philip words his response as a question, but the tone is wrong: statement-steady, as he watches her slowly submitting to the gravity of this position.

And fuck the entryway they’re pretty much blocking when she leans her weight into his forearm, angling herself to look him in the eye.

“I just told you, I find you attractive.”

She does. Goddamn she does. It’s crystal clear in the sleepy sort of look she hits him with. Unashamed. No faux demureness or power games or self protective bullshit; just the way he flexes, nudging her closer still and she goes without complaint, eager for the hip to hip contact, the warm pressure pooling at the base of his cock.

“Oh, we’re gonna get along just fine, ain’t we, sweetpea?”

“As long as you don’t cheat on me.”

Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes this time, those stay sharp. And he’s almost offended.

He knows Pete does it, his father too. Now this raises the possibility that the senator might be fond of keeping a mistress too. It’s normal for Phil, all things considered, though he’s never had to give it serious thought. Not a soul that’s shared his bed has expected him to be faithful, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t capable of it.

Doesn’t mean that he won’t broker his own sexual exclusivity against her shark’s grin, all bared teeth and malice, just to demand the same consideration from her in return.

The notion is whiskey gold on his tongue. Fills him with a rabid, territorial joy.

“Any other rules of engagement?”

“Between us? It’d be code of conduct, right? We’re on the same side.”

The clarification pulls his eyes away from her mouth, to look at her.

“Against the world?” Phil attempts to make a joke of it, he has to. Hiding the way he preens at the thought behind arrogance and a mocking tone.

“Against your fucking brother at the very least,” she leans in, brushes her lips to the corner of his. Soothing, as if he could be mad about her bad mouthing Pete, “I don’t like anyone laughing at me and getting away with it.”

His traitor heart beats double time with the secret core conviction that this is exactly what he deserves, after having to forcefully drag himself out from his brother’s fucking shadow for his entire goddamn life.

Orange twists and honey gold, the hidden fire in her eyes she’s only let him glimpse.

“Right.”

Phil’s first kiss tests the waters, a second of caution while he figures out what someone likes to do with their mouth. Then pressing forward, close, a solid enough contact to have her making a satisfied noise in her throat.

“Let’s make him regret it then, shall we?”

#m: cod #r: smut #ish??? #phillip graves x reader #personal #tell me this man isn’t someone’s baby brother #there’s also a very vague reference to reader being aro but you can ignore it if you want

[utilitycaster]

the thing is, the accounts on cr twitter who have these wild takes aren't even shippers

they're all about nuance about the gods, aeor, ludinus, ruby vanguard.....but then have these extreme views about orym, say he's got bloodlust and pretty much equate him to a cop/military soldier

Hey anon! So I will admit as I have in the past that I largely avoid CR Twitter because I hate Twitter as a platform and the community of CR Twitter specifically (more below) but I will say the tweets I have seen have largely been from people who are, if not the most rabid of shippers, shippers. I did in fact just go there and click on "Orym" as it was trending, and the tweets to this effect are largely from people with black and purple hearts in their names. I don't think they're necessarily conscious that this is the reason why they try so hard to discredit Liam's characters (and I think the desire for Laudna to be a Traumatized Innocent rather than a person who has done her own share of harm is an even larger factor) but I do think it is part of it.

I should note: a significant point of reference for me is that the person who famously said "do not uwuify this" re Orym post episode 63 is Wally Wests on Twitter. Look, I know I use the word "stupid" a lot, and I'm trying to reduce it not because I think it's a problem to use but because it reduces the impact and also heavily implying people are stupid without outright saying it tends to be more effective on every level but god this person is the dumbest motherfucker in the fandom and I'm not even kidding. Like, they're the "Australian white person who writes like Rupi Kaur but worse" I've referenced. Because of The Algorithm they are weirdly popular in that space and it baffles me because I honestly don't understand why every single thing they say isn't just filled with replies saying "are you fucking stupid." Like I physically cannot understand how you can have a brain and read a single word they say and go "this is a person I should listen to." They are also not a big shipper, but they do like the ship from what I understand. Specifically on Tumblr, the people echoing this nonsense are pretty much shippers.

With that said yeah, I do think it's worth addressing the soldier aspect. First off, if we're talking cops, why is Bryce, pleasant but forgettable minor NPC, inexplicably popular in this fandom despite them being an actual crownsguard of an actual authoritarian government. Like are all fictional cops bastards or no (fwiw my opinion is no, because the context of the world in which they exist is extremely important; I'm just pointing out the inconsistencies)? But also...I've run into this with Worlds Beyond Number too, and it actually came up on the Fireside chat, but there are words people hear (empire, religion, soldier) and automatically go "BAD BAD BAD" and don't spend any time thinking about how we've come to these conclusions. And for what it's worth I think Empire is always ultimately going to be bad because of its source in conquest; religion is neutral with the potential to harm or hurt; and soldier is deeply contextual and inherently gray; but all are very valid things to explore in fiction, where the war crimes and abuses aren't real. I remember seeing a take about Candela Obscura shitting on how half the party is former soldiers, and like...the messaging of this season of Candela is undeniably about the immense psychological damage of war, and the soldiers were defending their home against a colonizing force rather than doing any sort of invading, but some people are so high on a paper-thin unexamined concept of what I presume they tell themselves is leftism that they cannot see that. Orym's husband did not die trying to invade a nation for their oil. He died because people trying to unleash a horror ran an attack on their town as a practice run. Orym's experience as a soldier has always been one of defense, never conquest or destruction, and that is important to understand. It doesn't mean that in the future Zephrah couldn't become an oppressive power (and various worldbuilding in Exandria does explore the idea of small community watches or protective guards growing deeply corrupt or expansionist over time, but god knows the people saying this shit have the lore knowledge of a dead pigeon), but the aspects of being a soldier he is engaging with are those of personal sacrifice and protecting one's own, not killing for resources or ideology (which, let's be real, is usually an excuse to take the resources of those you disagree with).

#answered #Anonymous #i've also now gotten like. 3 or 4 examples of how fucking BONKERS this cohort's cherrypicking is re: video clips #they cut off just before the thing that clearly contradicts their point starts. it would be funny if it didn't remind me so much of fox new #anyway uh. sorry anon for going on a rant this is why i don't go on twitter. #long post #cr tag

[thethief1996]

In November, displaced children in Al Shifa posted a video pleading in English to be protected. It was the first of four raids that were conducted on the hospital before Israel burned it down this week. Gaza's Civil Defense Office says all departments and buildings were purposefully destroyed. According to verified reports, two vendors who sold water and food to the refugees at Al Shifa revealed themselves to be IDF soldiers as the raid began and instructed the troops to start the massacre. Anybody who didnt flee was indiscrimately executed. Euro Med Human Rights Monitor estimates that 1.500 people were injured or killed, of which at least 13 were children and 22 were shot in their hospital beds. Some of the bodies found after the carnage were zip tied. Doctors report that some of the victims were buried alive. We have graphic videos of bodies crushed and buried by bulldozers. Al Shifa is the site of a mass grave. I keep thinking how many of those children are still alive.

The official narrative by Israel is that not a single civilian was killed. It is laughable that they expect us to believe this shit. They lie to our faces, against a barrage of videos showing they are conducting a very clear and unapologetic extermination campaign in Gaza, and yet every single western media outlet hems and haws around their intent like there's plausible deniability. Biden approves unconditional military aid for Israel and Gazzans show us the remains of missiles with name and address of the American factories that produced them but he can mumble through phlegm about red lines and no newspaper calls bullshit. Hillary Clinton can come on national television and condescendingly tell voters to get over themselves like they're doing you a fucking favor by putting up a serial killer for you to vote, and nobody calls bullshit on her manipulation. Ursula Von Der Leyen can smile cynically at a protester who calls her a war criminal and nobody calls bullshit. And we know why. The New York Times said they found no anti Palestinian bias in their reporting of October 7th only for a memo to come out showing they instructed reporters to not show any ounce of sympathy for Palestinians, even avoiding the word Palestine. Why are those people up there? Why do they act like we are children, when they are the ones who damned their souls? I refuse that narrative.

Palestinians are not more resilient to atrocities. Do not let the world dehumanize them. The terror Palestinians feel is the same you would feel if babies were killed in your neighborhood. If a crazed maniac started shooting at a family as they walked down the main avenue of their city, it would be national news. War is not an extenuating circunstance for these actions. The people who are conducting these massacres are serial killers who live among you by justifying their murders as acts of war, like Nir Maman, USAmerican cop and Bernaya Cherlow, who was invited to Congress. They should not know peace.

Giving up hope is not a choice for us to make. For 75 years, Palestine has resisted and it will be free within our lifetimes.

I have said this before and I will say it again, The South African apartheid collapsed due to boycotts. We have to do everything in our power to stop Israel's hegemony. Even talking to a group of friends about Palestine changes the status quo. There's no world where we can live peacefully if Israel accomplishes their goals.

If you have Israeli citizenship and wish to denounce it, a group of Jewish anti zionists have organized a guide on how to.

Keep yourself updated and share Palestinian voices. Muna El-Kurd said every tweet is like a treasure to them, because their voices are repressed on social media and even on this very app. Make it your action item to share something about the Palestinian plight everyday. Here are some resources:

Al Jazeera, Anadolu Agency, Mondoweiss

Boycott Divest Sanction Movement

Palestinian Youth Movement is organizing protests and direct action against weapons factories across the US

Muhammad Shehada (twitter)

Hind Khoudary - reporting directly from Gaza.

You can participate in boycotts wherever you are in the world, through BDS guidelines. Don't be overwhelmed by gigantic boycott lists. BDS explicitly targets only a few brands which have bigger impact. You can stop consuming from as many brands as you want, though, and by all means feel free to give a 1 star review to McDonalds, Papa John, Pizza Hut, Burger King and Starbucks. Right now, they are focusing on boycotting the following:

Carrefour, HP, Puma, Sabra, Sodastream, Ahava cosmetics, Israeli fruits and vegetables

Push for a cultural boycott - pressure your favorite artist to speak out on Palestine and cancel any upcoming performances on occupied territory (Lorde cancelled her gig in Israel because of this. It works.)

If you can, participate in direct action or donate.

Palestine Action works to shut down Israeli weapons factories in the UK and USA, and have successfully shut down one of their firms in London.Some of the activists are going on trial and are calling for mobilizing on court.

Palestinian Youth Movement is organizing direct actions to stop the shipping of wars to Israel. Follow them.

Columbia students are organizing in coalition with Jewish Voices for Peace to divest from Israel. Support them if you are on site.

Educate yourself. Read into Palestinian history and the occupation. You can't common sense people out of decades of propaganda. If your arguments crumble when a zionist brings up the "disengagement of Gaza", you have to learn more.

Read Decolonize Palestine. They have 15 minute reads that concisely explain the occupation (and its colonial roots) and debunk popular myths, including pinkwashing.

Read on Palestine. Here's an amazing masterpost.

Verso Book Club is giving out free books on Palestine (I personally downloaded Ten Myths about Israel by Ilan Pappe. If you still believe in the two states solution, this book by an Israeli professor debunks it).

Call your representatives. The Labour Party in the UK had an emergency meeting after several councilors threatened to resign if they didn't condemn Israeli war crimes. Calling to show your complaints works, even more if you live in a country that funds genocide.

FOR PEOPLE IN THE USA: USCPR has developed this toolkit for calls, here's a document that autosends emails to your representatives and here's a toolkit by Ceasefire in Gaza NOW!

FOR PEOPLE IN EUROPE: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace targeting the European Parliament and one specific for almost all countries in Europe, including Germany, Ireland, Poland, Denmark, Sweden, Netherlands, Greece, Norway, Italy, Portugal, Spain, Finland, Austria, Belgium Romania and Ukraine

FOR PEOPLE IN THE UK: Friends of Al-Aqsa UK and Palestine Solidarity UK have made toolkits for calls and emails

FOR PEOPLE IN AUSTRALIA: Here's a toolkit by Stand With Palestine

FOR PEOPLE IN CANADA: Here's a toolkit by Indepent Jewish Voices for Canada

Join a protest. Here's a constantly updating list of protests:

Global calendar

Another global calendar (go to the instragram of the organizers to confirm your protest)

USA calendar

Australia calendar

Feel free to add more.

#palestine #save gaza #free gaza #gaza under attack #free palestine