#and if it's even right to predispose a child to looking like him

[brw]

Were this a fair and just world Hank McCoy and William Grant-Nelson(Pym) would have met at least once and might even have a cute uncle-nephew dynamic. You think William wouldn't love having an uncle whose furry like him but BLUE??? It would be the coolest thing in the world to him. He'd probably try to dye himself blue afterwards.

[jeaninelatragedia]

wait, doesn't personality predate ideology? ideology doesn't create personality, right? (genuine question, i want to learn more)

"personality predates ideology" is a quirky little rhetorical sleight of hand that implies that: 1. people have an innate inclination toward certain or other aspects of personality, 2. ideologies form out of the emotional impulse of (a certain group of) people. what this boils down to then, if we sit down and analyze it, is that it implies certain people are naturally and innately predisposed to agree with particular ideologies, beliefs, etc. this is, to put it mildly, incredibly idealistic and very very dangerous.

this is a belief that's taken a lot of forms and different ways of being expressed, so specifically what i'm honing in on is the time famous gringo comedian Brennan Lee Mulligan said the quiet part out loud in an interview. quote: "people are not motivated by ideological codes, people are motivated by impulse and construct ideological codes to justify and rationalize what they were already going to do. [...] on the level of individuals and civilization, personality predates ideology, meaning that before you were a fascist, you were a bully and an asshole." again, i think this is symptomatic of a larger, yes, ideological trend, and i don't take like, personal issue with the fact this one guy belives that. if anything i'm thankful, because him saying it this way makes the surrounding concept much more easy to analyze!

so let's move around the center thesis point and analyze the surrounding context. many ideologues have spoken at length about the fact that understanding fascism as some kind of catch-all badpersonist ideology is (to not use the also correct term "unserious") not just untrue, but detrimental to how we can study the material weight and implications of fascist ideologies, as opposed to other ideologies that are, frankly, equally as violent and reactionary. "bully" and "asshole" are terms that mean nothing other than like, a vague social idea of "person who other people find abrasive toward those disenfranchised in a setting of comradery" or really just "person who others don't like very much"! to claim that there are people who are fundamentally predisposed (from birth in some models, but really even without that) to being "bad people" as individuals, that then go and adopt the "ideology by and for bad people" is, well. calling it reactionary is genuinely lowballing it. and that kind of sets the tone for the idea, right?

to get really dialectical with it and get into the negative flipside of the idea, think of the common non-denominational leftist slogan of "i wasn't radicalized to the left, i just have empathy and care about people". it's kind of the flip-side to this belief, right? "i don't need a strong framework to inform my political conceptualization, all i need is hope and to #lovethyneighbor! that's true leftism!" but that's not really effective, is it? i don't make the allusion to christianity for no reason, many christians who live good, sinless, charitable lives, are also like, insanely reactionary in a lot of very particular topics! feelings are fickle, and often do not reflect material reality. and so is "personality", so is "belief", these are frameworks that reduce the human experience into the very point at the start, that flatten discursive knowledge, scientific analysis, etc., into being secondary (if even relevant!) against "impulse" and "instinct". personally, i think it's a bleak view!

the first line about "ideological codes" and "impulse" seems to think it's putting the cart squarely after the horse, but looking closer at it, it's doing the exact opposite. sure, a child is not birthed with a fully fledged ideological framework, but a child is not birthed with a fully charted path of "impulses", either. and this is because a child (and therefore all people!) does not exist in an empty vaccuum, their mind does not develop away from a historical context.

people are shaped by context, people interface with other people, and the people of the present grapple constantly with the weight of history. the weight of a history that, in fact, crystalizes ideology within those who live in it! people do not develop ideological frameworks by themselves, their ideological frameworks are shaped by their context. and the same goes for their personality, for their "impulses", for their "instinct". all of these things are built and trained, not innate. people are not, in fact, motivated squarely by an ideological dogma, but they aren't motivated by base impulse either! people are motivated by context, a context that includes both the interpersonal and the broader ideological machinations that have existed ever since society has.

now we circle back to the core phrase. "personality predates ideology", and to your question, which i'll translate for ease of answering into: "does ideology create personality?" both the ideas of "ideology" and "personality" are... very broad concepts, to say the least. at a glance, it definitely seems like a chicken and egg situation. but just like with the chicken and the egg, it's a solvable issue! it's just an answer that may seem unsatisfying without its context.

in short, neither is really true! personality, being the vague thing it is, can't be much argued to have a "starting point", if we define it by a particular set of social traits that form an "identity". what we can say is that the personality of one or multiple individuals did not give rise to the fact that ideological frameworks began to be created as society began to set. ideological frameworks are also messy to define, even if we limit ourselves to the idea of "political ideologies". but what's certain is that, in the thousands of years of human history, frameworks to define society were needed for the sake of, well, defining said society! and that had less to do with personality than it did with the material conditions that shaped societies, and therefore, the people in said societies.

think of the context of the world (geography, biology, every influencial factor on the first societies) as a line, from which the individual personalities of the people in that context split off. eventually the ideology that forms society splits off the same line of context too, and they almost immediately begin to weave together, like a single thread turning into a woven rope. the ideology of the society in which the individual is raised is influential in their personality, and as society develops, ideology too becomes part of the context that informs that individual development, that shapes the individual's personality. but ideology is now so natural in society, it's not able to be influenced by the individual, but rather, by history as a whole.

so, the answer is twofold. the personalities of each and every human individually in all of history were not informed by ideology, because ideology developed with society, and they're both vague terms to define when looking at such a long timeframe. but both those ancient personalities and ideologies were built by their context. and as generations grew within society, ideology became part of that very same context. and now, in the modern day, the ideologies of the world are so inextricably woven into the context of each individual's life, that claiming that ideology is not a major factor in the development of the individual's personality can only really be said if your idea of "personality" is an intrinsic characteristic of a person, and not something shaped by their context. for what i'd argue is basically all of human history, i'd say yes, personality is (mostly if not entirely) created by the ideological context of the individual.

(as an aside: it's also important to understand that even with this model, personality is not actually relevant to ideology! ideology stands without the necessity for an individual's personality, because it needs to be analyzed through the context of history, not the other way around!)

or in less complicated terms: read Dialectical and Historical Materialism by Iosef Stalin.

[muttoncon]

ambulance bay blues

so this was something i started writing for a little 5 + 1 but auuugh i dunno if i'll finish it

Addiction, Frank knew, was something he was genetically predisposed to. His mom survived his childhood by clinging to white wine and Diet Coke while his dad couldn’t be found without some tobacco dip in his mouth or a cigarette in his hand. Frank felt a lot like his dad when he stood outside in the ambulance bay, smoking a cigarette and bitching under his breath about his aching back. 

He started smoking in rehab. One of the counselors suggested it when she saw how restless (aka twitchy) he could get. Some days he’d be accompanied by McKay or Dana. From them he started smoking menthols; patients complain less about the smell than typical cigarettes. Most of the time he tried to be alone; it was his quiet time, his moment of clarity amongst the chaos that he couldn’t live without. Every inhale and exhale of his white trash Kool menthols felt like a meditative practice. Still a disgusting habit, no matter how good it made him feel, but one that wouldn’t cost him his job. 

It had been a shitty day. Not in a PittFest sort of way, but for some reason it was like every annoying, shitty adult decided that today was the day to go to the ER. Frank was on his third smoke break in 4 hours, silently fuming over the father of a colicky baby who asked him if he could give the poor thing some “baby Xans” so he “could go back to playing COD with the boys in peace.” Ungrateful asshole. 

His annoyed musings were interrupted when Mel stormed out onto the bay, actually stomping with her fists clenched at her sides. 

Frank – in the privacy of his mind – thought she looked cute when she was angry. Her brows would furrow, twisting up her sweet nose and pouty mouth. She’d huff and tap her foot on the ground like a rabbit. He knew that she’d most likely hit him if he told her this, she had a bit of a thing about being called “cute.” (“I’m an adult, Frank. Just because I’m- I’m a little… emotional doesn’t mean I’m a child.”). Mel apparently didn’t know he was out there, jumping a bit when she saw him staring. He just cocked his head to the right, hoping she’d get the hint and join him up against the wall. Instead she shook her head and started to pace in front of him, wringing her hands together over her stomach. 

“You okay?” She stopped pacing for a second and turned to face him. Pausing, her eyes closed before she heaved a huge sigh that turned into an angry groan and she started up pacing again.

“I have a patient - Gina - and her parents are driving me crazy. She’s 12 and quite obviously has autism. Her parents brought her in because she couldn’t stop throwing up. They won’t stop getting onto her for stimming, not making eye contact, the way she speaks, basically every fucking thing she does–” and god if Mel swearing doesn’t get his face feeling a little warmer– ”and I keep trying to not upset the parents while also keeping Gina calm. I just can’t stand how someone can call themselves a parent when they don’t parent, they just berate their poor child for not fitting into every box they deem ‘acceptable.’ I mean, why even have a kid in their first place if you aren’t willing to consider the risks of potentially having a mentally disabled child?” 

She doesn’t stop moving until she’s out of breath. She’d faced out into the street, Frank watched her shoulders rise and fall with her huffs. He couldn't say a word before she’s reached into her pocket and pulled out a fucking vape. He was half convinced he was hallucinating as he heard her inhale and then exhale a decent sized cloud of smoke. Just as quickly as the vape appeared, it was back in her pocket. As Mel turned around, she'd started to giggle at Frank’s dropped jaw and the cigarette that threatened to fall out of his limp hand. 

“Am I fucking hallucinating? Is this a really late symptom of withdrawal that I don’t know about?”  

[nemesis-writer]

[Unwanted Ransom (Chapter 5)]

Hollaback Girl TW- Mentions of cheating, a lot of mentions of sex MDNI Masterlist

I always knew that Bruce was never a good father as I've stated before. He technically fucked and cheated on Talia and Regina for fucks sake. He predisposed the others into neglecting me for the 4 years I've stayed with them.

Now they want forgiveness? That's just lazy writing if this goes to Disney. I mean come on I've got a lot of shit to deal with, I don't know why they want me now. I was never a Wayne, first of all, I'm not even a virgin.

They always see me as weak bitch, they "dealt" with a lot of shit. The girls, on the other hand, learned that "you gotta learn jiu jitsu, just to get some dick in you." They think their whole life is some Korean drama movie.

That's why I'm glad to meet someone like Tony, my true father. I learned hacking faster than Bruce Wayne could pull out. So far the only Bruce I love is Banner. I call him uncle Banner, cus' God I hate the name Bruce.

I even got kidnapped once, and they didn't give a shit. Well I kinda lied to dad that I was going on a school trip so...

6 years ago...

Alright so I'd like to take a minute and just sit right here, I'll tell you how I got kidnapped by a girl named Harley.

She threw me on the bed and tied my hands up.

"Alright listen here little bat." She pushed my head into the comfy bed.

"Rich Corinthian leather" was all I could muster out.

"You don't seem scared as I thought you would" she proclaimed. With anger she choked me.

"Listen lady I'm not a fuckin' Wayne. My dad is Tony Stark for fuck's sake"

"Bullshit I've seen the papers"

"Then why would I not be scared?" She then let go of me.

"God, I thought you were gonna kiss me for a second, just know I wouldn't stop you if you did."

"You intrigue me."

"Bitch you just kidnapped me and try to choke me." She then looked at her guards and yelled, "Untie her."

"No need I did it 5 minutes ago." Showing her the ropes, she scoffed at me and had one of them open the door.

"I had a nice time today, plus I only came to Gotham to see Alfred." I winked then left.

"Ms, Jennifer Amala Stark!" a voice yelled. Oh fuck nah men.

"Hey dad. " I scratched my head out of fear, he brought his suit.

"Jennifer" He cocked his eyebrows and looked at me.

"Alright I went to Gotham because I wanted to see Alfred, because he was the butler and wanted to take care of me, and I'll go kill myself." I breathe in.

"You could've told me alright you're my daughter for crying out loud."

"Sorry dad." I looked down like a little child. He wrapped his arm around me and led me to the car.

"It's ok just inform me where you are actually going ."

After that the car ride was silent..

Present...

Alright so technically the when I was a Wayne, the only time I felt truly wanted was when I was kidnapped, ironic huh. I was kidnapped like 7 times, and I laughed at all of their attempts to use me as bait for Batman. So here is my list...

Catwoman, 6 years old. (Let me go)

Penguin, 6 1/2 years old (Let me go)

Joker, 7 1/2 years old. (Jason saved me)

Scarecrow, 8 years old. (Scared him for laughing at the fear toxin)

Two-faced, 8 1/2 years old. (Kept on insulting his Barbie lookin' face)

Random thug #1, 9 years old (shot him in the face)

Harley, 12 years old (Just mentioned now. Plus saved by dad)

To say the least, kidnapping got normal during my time as a Wayne. I used to be so scared of a shithole and ended up in one. This all happened for me to become a Stark.

So back to the story...

I went back home to my bedroom and felt like shit when I saw Jason there. I couldn't help but wonder, why?

Why did Bruce adopted me when I could've gone to a health center?

Why did Bruce adopt me, to neglect me?

Why didn't he save Jason?

Why did he care about shit-head?

Is it because I'm not pretty? Nah, not true, probably because he's gay or some shit. I am irritated of the fact that I was dumb enough to try and impress rocks. This blows.

Oh gosh I remember one of the fights me and shithead had.

9 years ago...

"Hey! That's my seat bitch." Shit head yelled.

"Listen shit head, you don't own the fucking chair." I screamed back, spitting on his face.

"I own the house loser, you don't own shit."

"Alright, so you call the couch, and I call the couch. And we'll see who it goes to."

And then in a blink, I'm trapped in the *white room*, better known as the greenhouse. I hate the smell of pesticide and the fact that the plants that they own aren't even growing.

So, since the door is locked I actually took care of the plants. I'm surprised that they are still alive, I mean they are vigilantes, how would they take care of plants?

I saw one rose wilting, so I quickly poured some water and fertiliser. and I realised how much I related to it. Plants wilt when they're not taken care of properly, just like how I was estranged when they neglected me. Even if others take care of it sometimes, they still need proper love and nurture. Gosh, I look at one fucking plant and all of the sudden I became Socrates.

When Alfred got me out of the greenhouse, he brought me back inside to clean myself up.

"Master Xerxes, I made you some lasagna for dinner."

"Thanks Al, I feel like hell today."

"My pleasure Master Xerxes." And with that he left. I went down just to bring up the lasagna to my room, while eating, I binged watch the Saw franchise. And I can tell you Mark Hoffman and Amanda Young is lookin' fine.

I got bored and when I thought I would fall asleep a message appeared on my phone. I grinned a bit when I thought it was Vincent but by the time I looked on my phone I saw this...

Unknown Number- Hey little bird how are ya' doin?

For fuck's sake now I gotta deal with this bitch now? I quickly blocked him and reported him on my whats-app.

Unknown Number- Come on birdie don't do this to me.

Now he's on my discord wtf is wrong with these people. I blocked him again and then I hacked into their bank accounts and social media accounts. I froze all of their accounts and deleted all of their social media accounts.

Jesus, Tim, you were supposed to put up a fire-wall. Dumbass. And with that I went to sleep in peace...

Taglist-

@lunayaps, @not-aya, @iluvcatzz, @vanessa-boo, @ivyrose9194

{A/N- I'll be sending pics of her room just for a little more detail, but I hope y'all love this chapter.}

[shylyobscene]

If Only for Tonight Chapter 2

Chapter Summary: Two idiots who may or may not be in love convince themselves they’re having meaningless sex.

Word count: 7.6k

Warnings: smut, oral sex (giving and receiving), masturbation in front of an audience (Rocket), dirty talk, slightly rough oral sex, inexperienced partner

Ao3 | Masterlist | If Only for Tonight Index

The aftermath of the snap had hit you heavily and all at once.

It was most noticeable in the little things: well-loved gardens suddenly left overgrown and untended, rife with weeds and ivy; abandoned market stalls full of moldered produce, forgotten until rot had seeped into the wooden displays; the cheeks of a child, studded with tears, who watched their mother blow away with the wind.

Half the world gone.

It was tough on Nebula, too. She was already predisposed to a quiet sort of brooding as she struggled to cope with her brutal past under Thanos’ thumb, and that aspect of her only intensified when she lost her sister.

She spent a lot of time with you, early on. The two of you would sit together, shoulder to shoulder; neither of you spoke, but you’d find solace in one another’s company anyway.

Of the three of you though, Rocket took the loss the hardest, yet mourned it the least.

Pete and the others were gone, and suddenly Rocket was the most qualified of you three to spearhead the protection of a galaxy that still needed guardians. He locked himself in his room for a rotation, but by next morning, he was already back to maintaining the ship or inventing some new weapon of mass destruction like nothing even happened. It made you angry at first, that he was just going to carry on and pretend the whole world didn’t get turned upside down—like half of the people that mattered most to all of you weren’t as good as dead.

The two of you hardly spoke in those first few cycles.

Your frustration with him simmered down over time, before fizzling out completely into pure concern as the days continued to pass and Rocket seemed only to bury himself further into his work. Any gentle coaxing or attempts to tell him to get some rest would fall on deaf ears.

“You don’t gotta coddle me,” he snapped during one particularly bad night, fur prickled and teeth bared. “I’m fine.”

“You haven’t slept in at least a full rotation. You’re gonna crash and burn at this rate.”

“Well, the galaxy’ll keep movin’ regardless of whether I’m up to see it or not, and that’s time we can’t afford to lose right now. As it stands, I got work to do.”

“Rocket,” you said softly. Looking back, the gentleness in your tone was probably what set him off.

“No,” he snarled and slammed a fist on his workbench. You jumped at the noise as his equipment clattered with the impact. “Did you have anythin’ important to say? Or are you just here to waste my time like you always do?”

How fucking dare he. You glared at him, eyes watery. The worst part was that all of your anger was nothing compared to the deep hurt you felt.

“They were my family too, you know. Insult me all you want if that’s what makes you fucking feel better, but not sleeping isn’t gonna bring them back any faster,” you spat. Rocket stiffened under your fury. You struggled to blink back your tears and turned your head away from him, refusing to let him see how affected you were.

The tension in the room ran thick and nauseating. 

Rocket clenched and unclenched his fists, and turned back to his workbench with a sigh. 

You knew he wouldn’t apologize, and neither would you—the two of you remained silent, stewing in the uneasy atmosphere as you were met with an impasse. You sighed and began to step away, but not before leaving him with one final thought.

“I just...take care of yourself, Rocket. I don’t want to see you work yourself to death,” you said, halfway out the door. You didn’t turn to look at him as you spoke. “…You’re one of the only people I have left.”

Rocket said nothing, and didn’t stop you when you walked away.

The next day, his apology came to you in the form of breakfast, and a few hours of relinquishing control to you while he slept in his hammock. He started giving you little gifts as well: freshly polished weapons, upgraded equipment, Terran datapads containing romance novels he knew you liked—little things that he could brush off as meaningless.

“It’s all crap that needed fixing anyway,” he would reason, “and you’re probably the only person planetside who likes this schmoopy-lovey shit; better it goes to you than endin’ up in the trash.”

He insisted they weren’t gifts, but they were gifts nonetheless.

You stopped pestering him as much about overworking himself too, when you sat beside him one night in the cockpit and he gave you one, quiet admission once he’d thought you had fallen asleep.

“There’s so much shit that’s out of my hands. Shit I wish I could go back and change, but I can’t.” His grip on the wheel tightened, his throat bobbing as he swallowed before speaking again. “I’m tired of chasin’ ghosts. Flying, steerin’ the ship…this is the one thing I know I can do right. The one thing I can count on myself not to fuck up.”

You hung around Rocket more after that, curious about what other hidden depths he had to offer. Curiosity gave way to fascination, then respect.

It was probably sometime then, between moments shared beneath the stars, jokes and beers swapped between hands, and little gifts-but-not-gifts exchanged, that your quiet admiration for the Benatar’s surly pilot turned into something much softer and sweeter than you were willing to admit out loud.

–

A part of you wonders if you might just be dreaming.

Rocket sighs into your neck, and begins to plant more suckling little kisses into your skin. You roll your head back and he groans his approval, scraping his teeth along your pulse. You press your thighs together, surprised when you feel your cunt ache, slick and sticky.

When he speaks, his lips and his fur brush against your neck in a way that makes you shiver.

“You ever touch yourself?” he rasps. 

You consider his question.

The Benatar is a technological marvel; Rocket has tuned the ship to perfection over time, but he never did quite get around to adding soundproofing. There’s very little opportunity for… self-care as a result. You wonder if the ensuing sexual frustration is the reason why every little touch from him burns electric, or if your body is just naturally reactive because it’s him.

“Um. Sometimes.”

He pulls away from your neck and lifts a brow at you. “Sometimes? Come on—legs apart.”

You do as he says without hesitation. 

Rocket widens his eyes at your immediate obedience, then grins wickedly.

“You’re the eager type, huh? I can work with that.”

It does occur to you that maybe you should be a little embarrassed at how quickly you respond to his orders, but you hadn’t been expecting him to be so direct. 

It’s not like you haven’t seen Rocket boss people around before, either. As much heart as the rest of your team has, Rocket has always been the actual strategist of the group, able to craft plans and tell people what needs to be done to execute them. Even when Pete was there to act as the guardians’ figurehead, it was hard not to notice how often he relied on Rocket to turn his concepts into reality. That said, it’s downright dizzying to have that commanding energy directly focused on you; you can’t help but give him whatever he wants.

Rocket gives you one last, parting kiss before hopping down from your chair. His tail wraps languidly around your calf as he places his palm on your knee, stroking inward and up towards the apex of your thighs. He pauses right before his claw can even scrape against your cunt, and squeezes your thigh softly before dragging his hand back downward. You want to clamp your legs together and trap his hand between them, to give yourself some friction— but he said legs apart , so you obey.

He watches your reaction closely then backs away, tucking his hands into his pockets. You nearly whine at the loss of his touch. Rocket pretends not to notice, casually stepping back and shifting his weight from one foot to the other, like he’s talking about the weather.

“Why don’t you show me?” he asks, gesturing toward you. 

“Show you? Like—touch myself in front of you?”

“Mhm. Wanna see how cute you look when you fuck yourself before I get my hands all over you.” His lids droop lower and he leans back against the console in front of you, crossing his arms. He’s got a shit-eating grin on his face as he speaks. “Think you can do that, sweetheart? Think you can get yourself to come on your fingers a couple times? Just for me?”

Oh my god—he’s going to kill you. His voice is so deep and rumbly and he talks so filthy. You don’t think anyone’s ever spoken to you like this before, and now every word he says knocks around in your mind. After tonight, you’ll probably end up pavloving your cunt into dripping any time he so much as makes a sound—like a fucking dog.

“Oh,” you say, scandalized.

Rocket snickers.

“Aw. Don’t tell me you’re gettin’ all shy on me. You were real bold earlier.” He pauses to consider you, and his sharp gaze mellows into something sweet and concerned. “Hey. You still alright?”

You straighten in your seat.

“What? Yeah. I’m more than alright. I’m amazing, even.” You try to catch your breath. “I feel like I left my brain at the last jump point.”

The corners of his mouth tug upward slightly, before falling back into a neutral line. “Alright, sweetheart. If you say so. Tonight’s about you. Just—tell me if I’m being too mean, okay? I, uh—“ he clears his throat, looking thoroughly chastised despite you never giving him any indication that you disliked anything he’s said so far. “I’m a talker; obviously. Might be gettin’ a little ahead of myself. M’sorry.”

“I don’t mind,” you squeak. 

Rocket arches his brow. “No?”

“…I like it. When you’re mean. You can do it more. If you want.”

Rocket’s hands twitch where they rest against his crossed arms, and he chuckles darkly.

“You’re fucking adorable. Takes everything in me to not wanna tear you to shreds. But don’t stress, buttercup; I’ll be as gentle or as mean as you want me to be.” He backs away to sit languorously in the pilot’s chair. He then swivels the seat to face you. “So what do you say, beautiful? You gonna lemme watch you play with your pussy? Promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

Your mind buzzes with static, and the best you can do is nod.

“Okay,” you say, looking down at your clothes. You pull at them, and glance back up at Rocket for confirmation. He grins at you again, and dips his head into a nod.

Articles of clothing come off one-by-one. You feel woefully inexperienced, fumbling with the clasps on your top. You even stumble a little over your pants once you’ve brought them down over your hips. Rocket, on the other hand, seems like he’s done this plenty of times before. The part of you that craves his attention—his approval—gnaws at you.

An intrusive thought pops into your head: how many other women has Rocket had undressing for him like this? Were they a little sexier? A little more sensual? Shit—maybe you should be taking your clothes off a little slower. You suddenly wish you had a couple more notches under your belt.

Rocket doesn’t seem to mind your inelegance though, watching you with rapt attention, head resting in his hand and eyes lidded.

His gaze never falters as more of your skin is unveiled. Soon you’re standing naked before him, only in your panties. You wrap your arms around yourself, struck with self-consciousness as you bare yourself for him while he remains fully clothed. His eyes trail over your stomach, the slope of your hips, the curve of your waist—the way your nipples pebble under the frigid air in the flight deck.

His legs spread a little wider, drawing attention to the way his cock strains in his pants. You flush, looking away.

You used to worry that Rocket didn’t really see you that way; that maybe you weren’t his type, or worse—that he saw you as a kid, or perhaps a sister. The hard line of his dick proves that theory wrong, and gives you a surge of confidence. You use your arms to subtly press your tits together, and Rocket whistles appreciatively.

“Can’t frickin’ believe no one else has ever gotten their hands on a sweet little thing like you,” he says. “Go on, princess. Don’t gotta be shy. ”

You sit down in the copilot’s chair, draping a leg over the armrest; your other leg is bent up against you, hiding the view of your soaking underwear from his sight. Rocket doesn’t say anything, and lets you play coy for now. You close your eyes and pretend you’re alone in your bunk. One hand reaches up to squeeze a supple breast, pulling hard against a nipple while the other trails down toward your cunt.

He looks momentarily surprised at how roughly you touch yourself, before humming in approval. You slip your fingers over your panties, enjoying the way the soft, wet fabric drags over the svelte folds of your cunt. Your hand dips under the elastic and your hips roll into your own touch as you rub tight circles into your clit.

“Open your eyes. Spread your legs a li’l wider,” Rocket commands roughly. “Let me see you.”

You do as he says and slowly roll your knees outward, giving him a better view. You then spit on your fingers, dipping them briefly into your mouth. Some of your saliva connects to your fingers in a line and dribbles onto your tits; you rub it in with one hand, while the fingers that were in your mouth sink into your cunt. Rocket groans, dragging his own palm against his length. Your eyes lock onto the front of his pants and you stroke your fingers in and out of yourself at a steady pace.

“That’s right. You listen so well,” he croons, practically salivating over you. “Prob’ly could’ve gotten you to beg me to fuck you cycles ago, huh?”

Everything he says is so hot and so embarrassing. You curl your fingers, and your hand drops from your breast to slide against your clit. “Ah—Rocket,” you moan, tilting your head and panting into your shoulder.

Rocket’s ears twitch at the sound of his own name, and his grin grows dark.

“I oughta just keep you like this forever. Have you fuck yourself for me in the copilot’s seat while I fly. You’re real good at it, you know,” he jeers, leaning forward in his chair, watching the way your fingers move beneath your panties. “Be a shame to let all that talent go to waste. Could be good for morale .”

Rocket laughs at your expense, and you glare at him half-heartedly. He’s just so damn cocky; it’d be irritating if he didn’t already have you practically eating out of the palm of his hand.

“What, did that piss you off, princess? Hard to look intimidating with your fingers stuffed in your cunt,” he says with a snicker. “Don’t act like you don’t love the idea of it.”

A soft schlick, schlick, schlick noise echoes throughout the cockpit every time you drive your fingers inward, giving away exactly how much you like his filthy mouth and even filthier ideas. Your hips begin to lift from the chair as you try to plunge your fingers in deeper and press your hand against your clit harder . Rocket groans at the sight, adjusts himself in his pants, and stands, stalking toward you.

He thumbs the edge of your panties, dipping a claw beneath the elastic then pulling, letting it snap back against your hip with a light sting .

“How much do you like these?” he asks mildly.

“What, my underwear?” You squint at him suspiciously, pausing your efforts. “Rocket,” you say warningly.

His claws dig into the fabric and he tears, ripping it away and exposing your cunt to the cool air. Your jaw drops. He’s such a brat.

“Rocket!”

“I’ll buy you even prettier ones?” he tries, pressing an apologetic kiss to your hip. 

You scowl at him, unamused. “You are so, so lucky I like you.”

Rocket just chuckles and sighs dreamily into your waist. “Oh, I feel real fuckin’ lucky right now, trust me.” Your heart thumps. You roll your eyes and act like you don’t already forgive him.

Rocket lifts his head and his attention drifts downward. He brushes the hand on your clit away and replaces it with the pad of his own thumb. The sensation makes you jolt; his skin is rough and leathery, dragging deliciously against your sensitive nub. Your brain stutters, and you sigh.

“You poor frickin’ thing. Breaks my heart that no one’s given this tight, desperate little pussy the attention it deserves,” he coos. He briefly takes his hand away from your clit and shushes you when you whine. You try to pull him back but he proves too quick for you; instead, his hand dips lower to where your own fingers still pump into your entrance. “Look at you. You’re soaked. ”

His eyes flick back up to you. “Think you can take one more finger?” he asks.

You nod dopily, still missing the feel of him on your clit. You initially think he means for you to put another one of your fingers inside yourself, and jolt in surprise when his finger presses in to slide against your own within the heat of your cunt. “You’re so sweet to me. Takin’ everythin’ I give you so well,” he says, stretching you further. You gasp, mind warped with pleasure.

All too soon, he pulls his finger out of your pussy and holds it in front of your mouth.

“Open,” he says. You stick your tongue out to lap at his finger, and he takes the opportunity to dip it inside. You moan and begin to suck on it while he watches.

“Yeah… there we go,” he croons, pushing in almost far enough to make you gag. You stiffen at the intrusion, but force yourself to relax. “Good girl. Looks like you do take orders from me after all.”

You glower at him, clamping your teeth down gently but threateningly over his finger.

Rocket laughs. “So feisty. Let me make it up to you.” He releases your mouth and runs a hand along your thigh. “Is it okay if I eat you out?”

Your eyes widen and your legs shut reflexively. “No one’s ever…I’ve never done that before.”

He grins indulgently. “I figured. Isn’t that the whole point of tonight though? One last hurrah where you try every filthy little thing you ever dreamed of doing?”

You frown. One last hurrah?

This is more than just sex to you. You had thought…you’d hoped it was for him too.

You can’t contain the slight feeling of dread that starts to seep into you.

Rocket misreads your sudden silence for something else. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

You shake your head and recover quickly. “I want to try it. Please,” you tell him, offering a wan smile.

You can’t change how he feels, but you can enjoy the rest of the night for what it is. He clearly likes you to an extent, and thinks you’re pretty enough to fuck. That can be good enough.

You just need to reframe the situation. Reroute your thinking. This is a fun, spontaneous little stress relief exercise between two people on the brink of death.

Nothing more, nothing less.

You stomp down the ache in your chest.

Rocket, ever observant, can still tell something is off, but can’t place it. “Are you sure?” he presses. “I wanna be clear: I don’t want you to agree to anything just because you think I’ll like it.” He brushes a strand of hair out of your face in a manner that is heart-wrenchingly affectionate. “You call the shots. Whatever you want. That’s all that matters to me.”

This would be so much easier if he weren’t so damn kind.

You look away, because you don’t think you can hold his gaze any longer without doing something embarrassing like crying or worse—telling him you adore him.

“Thanks, Rocket. But I think it’s just nerves. I want to try it, I think.” You give him a shaky smile. “One last hurrah, right?”

“Alright. Just figured I’d check in,” he responds. Rocket tosses you a smug grin. “Bet when you ended up in space you didn’t think you’d be riding this kind of Rocket, huh?”

His comment startles a giggle out of you. You push his face away with the flat of your hand, feeling the way his mouth curves even further into a smile under your palm.

“You’re such a loser. You actually killed the mood,” you tease.

“Whoa, whoa! Get your hands off the goods, pal,” Rocket snickers, trying to turn his face away from your assault, before changing course and licking across your palm instead. You squeal and attempt to pull your hand away, but he grabs it and starts laying kisses into your wrist while he chuckles. You can’t help but laugh along with him.

You know what? At the end of the day, you’re spending what is probably one of your last days alive shooting the shit with your best friend, then fucking him. All things considered, it’s not a bad way to go.

You smile back up at Rocket—genuinely this time.

He lets his eyelids go hooded and heavy as he turns his attention back to his prize .

“I should teach you a lesson for bein’ so rude,” he hums lowly. He drags his hand from your hip and brings it to your core, before pinching meanly at your clit. You gasp, grabbing his forearm as if it’ll hold you steady. Rocket just laughs, and keeps rolling your clit between his fingers in a steady rhythm.

“Rocket, that feels so…” you trail off, riding his hand with a moan. 

“Thought you said I killed the mood. This all it takes to get you to change your mind, sweetheart?” he mocks, bringing his other hand up to flick at your nipple. You arch your back into his touch and whine. “So needy.”

He leans forward, laving soft, wet kisses against your stomach and your hip, before making his way lower. He pauses once he’s kissed the crease where your torso meets your thigh, breaths away from your aching cunt. He cackles. “You’re dripping right onto the seat, baby. All this for me?” He nuzzles his face into your inner thigh, skimming his teeth teasingly against your sensitive, milky skin.

He places both of his thumbs on your core, letting his hands frame your pussy; he then spreads you apart, creating a clear view of your pearly clit and right down your weeping cunt. 

Your pulse jumps up and some irrational part of you worries that he’s gonna stare down your pussy and figure out that he’s been a primary source of your wet dreams for quarters now.

You blush hard , reflexively covering your face with your hands. 

Rocket, on the other hand, looks giddy, like he’s just unwrapped a goddamn present.

“Nuh uh. Eyes down here, dollface—and hands down,” he says soothingly, reaching up to pull your hands from where they press against your eyes. Once he’s placed your hands over your stomach, he reaches down again and pulls you apart even further, watching your cunt glisten. “Just look at you—all pink and perfect. Bet you’re real warm and tight, too.”

“You are so embarrassing,” is all you can think to say. It’s as if your brain flatlines every time he talks…Maybe it’s a good thing that his mouth will be occupied for the time being. 

Rocket pinches the fat of your hip. “Yeah, yeah, whatever you say. You ready for me?”

You giggle a little incoherently, and nod.

Rocket, sharp-tongued and clever-mouthed, begins to lick his talents into your cunt.

His tongue runs along your slit; he pauses at the top to place a heady little kiss against your clit. You whine and grasp his head. He grunts when you tilt his head further into your pussy, letting him lap you up at his leisure.

You can’t tell which sensation to focus on—the heat of his breath on your folds, the slickness of his tongue as he laps his way up and down, or the way his fur tickles against the sensitive skin of your thighs.

His tongue feels completely different from your fingers too—so much hotter and wetter . How are you ever supposed to come again without him to lick you to completion?

And god, is this how it feels every time ? Is this what you’ve been depriving yourself of? You wonder if this is how it always is or if it’s ten times as intense because it’s Rocket . 

His arms wrap around your thighs and he grips them firmly, keeping you still while you fight to grind your cunt further into his face. His nose presses against your clit while he leaves teasing little licks against your pussy, before moving back up to suck on the sensitive nub.

“Ah—go h-harder,” you plead.

You can feel him smile into you as he obliges your request.

You squeeze your thighs against his head, rolling your head back. He groans appreciatively, and continues to work at you, digging his tongue into your folds. 

“Rocket— Rocket —please pleaseplease please—“ you gasp between breaths.

He eats you out like a man starved, like you’re dripping straight honey out of your cunt and he can’t help but take more. Whenever his mouth leaves your clit, one of his hands moves to continue lavishing it with attention.

You’re still so sensitive from his teasing earlier too—every suck and lick and probing press of his tongue onto your clit and into your pussy lights your nerves on fire.

Words pour out of your mouth and you begin to babble nonsensically, whining whatever pleas first pop into your head. Rocket strokes a hand soothingly down your hip as he pulls your legs snugly over his broad shoulders.

“I—I’m close,“ you cry out, sucking in air like you might never get to breathe again.

Rocket pauses in his ministrations to look at you darkly. “Yeah?” he asks, running his tongue up and down the length of you again, suckling at your clit with an obscene slurp. 

“Yes, please don’t stop,” you beg.

Rocket pulls away from your core and you think you might cry. He presses a kiss to each thigh framing his head.

“Dunno…Don’t think you’ve done anything to earn it yet,” he says, giving chaste little pecks to your labia and in the area around your clit but never on it. “You gonna be good for me? Tell me you’re gonna be a good girl and I promise I’ll let you come.”

“I’m good—I’m a good girl,” you sob, “I’ll be good, please, I p-promise—Whatever you want—I’ll be so good , please, please, please—”

Rocket flattens his tongue over your clit and sucks while his fingers dip into your folds. It feels like it only takes seconds before your hips involuntarily jerk up against Rocket’s face and your body begins to burn white - hot . You rut up against him while he groans in satisfaction, muffled against your core. You feel like you’re on fire. You tilt your head back and all you can see are the cosmos coasting past the Benatar—for a second you feel like you might fall through the ceiling and float away into the stars.

Rocket patiently licks loving little kisses into your clit until you’re twitching and smacking his head away from your abused cunt.

“Wait—Rocket,” you slur, unsure if you want him to get away or grind your cunt even further into his mouth.

Rocket grins and keeps licking you just a second too long, enjoying the way your thighs tremble against him, before letting you go and resting his head on your thigh. He heaves a contented sigh into the skin there, and gives it a kiss.

You look down at him, his head still between your legs and the fur around his mouth a little damp; he drags the back of a knuckle across his mouth and licks the slick off of it before swiping his tongue across his bottom lip and oh, it’s a sight you could fuck yourself to for the next quarter at least. 

“Not bad,” you say mildly, still catching your breath and smiling blissfully at the ceiling. Rocket glowers at you from the space between your thighs.

“Not bad?” he snorts. “You ain’t foolin’ me, sweetheart; I know I’m good.”

You swing your legs off his shoulders and stretch in your chair. Rocket stands up from his kneeling position and brushes off his jumpsuit like he just got done detailing a ship. 

“There’s always room for improvement,” you respond breezily.

Rocket’s eyes go lidded and his voice drops an octave.

“Hey, if you’re offerin’ yourself up to me for a future training session then I’m not gonna complain,” he says, leering at your naked body still sprawled across the copilot’s seat. Your thighs inadvertently press together when you move to sit up, and even the minor pressure makes your sensitive clit buzz .

You let out a shaky sigh and lean forward to kiss him. He chases after you when you pull away, and you giggle.

“You’re so arrogant,” you respond. “Can’t blame me for wanting to take you down a couple pegs.”

Rocket scoffs and presses a kiss into your hair in lieu of a response. Your eyes slant downward and you catch sight of his length, still hard in his pants.

It brings you no small amount of pleasure that you did that to him; that maybe you have the same effect on him as he does on you. You feel your stomach flutter and you bite your lip unthinkingly. You suddenly remember that he is still very much clothed and you are very much not , and you decide that you want an opportunity to make his brain melt out of ears for once instead of the other way around.

You think about the way he looked, nestled between your legs, and wonder how it’d feel to return the favor.

“Can I use my mouth on you too?” you ask bluntly, eyes round and curious.

Rocket startles, stiffening beside you. “…You don’t have to do that,” he says, curling his lip and hunching his shoulders in an uncertain grimace.

“I want to try. Please?” You pout at him and his resolve immediately begins to crack. Still, he shakes his head.

“Tonight’s supposed to be about you, sweetheart. Thought I told you not to do anything just ‘cause you thought I might like it?”

“I mean, would you like it?”

He looks a little baffled at your question.

“What? I don’t see how that’s relevant.” He seems genuinely perplexed, like he can’t wrap his head around why his opinion on this would even matter. You glare at him and he concedes, rolling his eyes and holding his hands up in surrender. “ Alright , alright, fine…I’d be an idiot if I said I hadn’t thought about it before,” he says with a cough, sounding almost shy for the first time tonight. 

Your eyes widen. You’re not entirely sure if he means he thought about it tonight, or if he means that he’s been thinking about you blowing him even before this unexpected turn in your relationship. Either way, his sudden bashfulness makes your heart swell with affection for him, and only makes you more determined to get your tongue on him.

“You said tonight was about what I want,” you tell him, dropping from your chair and onto the floor. Rocket wavers, watching you with round eyes. He then sighs, rolls his eyes, and brings your clothes over so you have a soft place to kneel. 

You stifle a grin—he’s so sweet.

He stares at the clothes, seemingly unsatisfied, then unwraps his red scarf from his neck and adds it to the pile. You shoot him a dazzling smile and kneel on top of the fabric, testing the waters by placing both hands on his thighs. You can feel the way the strong cords of muscle in his legs contract under your palms. When he doesn’t move away, you bring a hand up to rest on the bridge of his cock where it tents his pants. It surprises you how thick and rigid it feels, and how responsive too—his dick jumps under your touch. You lick your lips and Rocket’s eyes grow heavy.

“What I want,” you continue, nuzzling your face into the thick length of him, “is you in my mouth.” 

Rocket lets out a shaky exhale, and runs his hand through your hair. “Well shit, princess. How am I s’posed to say no to that?”

You smile in victory and begin to press shy, chaste kisses against him through his pants, trying to mimic the slow, unhurried way he’d lavished his attention into your cunt earlier.  Rocket lets you explore, humming appreciatively before stepping back to undo some of the straps on his clothing and partially undressing. Once he’s rolled his jumpsuit down his torso, letting it hang lowly on his hips, he pulls you up and tucks the make-shift cushion of clothing under his other arm. He then settles back into the pilot’s chair, dropping the clothes onto the space in front of him, and beckons you forward.

Nervousness suddenly racks through you as you approach. You’re worried you won’t be very good.

All of your knowledge about this sort of thing is limited to what you’ve read about in your datapads and occasionally glimpsed in some of the raunchier holovids out there—certainly nothing true to life, and definitely nothing that’ll translate into any sort of skill.

Rocket senses your apprehension, and pats his thigh. “Hey. C’mere,” he says, taking your chin in his hand and tilting your head up to look at him once you’ve settled between his legs. “You’re so perfect. So pretty. So frickin’ eager to please, too. Hard for me not to wanna take advantage.”

You settle your hands on his thighs. “You might have to show me how to do this,” you confess.

“…That’s not a problem, sweetheart,” he says roughly. The depth of his voice sends pleasant shivers rolling down your spine. “I’ll teach you everything you need to know, and then some.”

He nods towards the tent of his pants and waits for you to move.

You reach forward and begin to free his length, fumbling a little with the fabric. Rocket doesn’t laugh or tease you; he just huffs and smiles softly, running his hand through your hair. Your breath stutters and your eyes widen once you’re faced with his cock. It stands rigidly before you, hot and curved; a slick line of precome rolls down his shaft, pooling into his fur.

You lean in curiously, eyes wide and a little manic, and his dick twitches at your nearness. The tip is blush pink and swollen; your eyes are immediately drawn to the sparkling bead of dewy liquid seeping from it. You take a finger and press it to the tip experimentally, tracing your finger down a vein and collecting some of the liquid that seeps out of his cock. 

When you pull back, the sticky fluid connects your finger to his length in a line. You look dazedly at it for a moment before popping your finger into your mouth. 

Hm. It’s salty.

Rocket chokes on his own breath above you, swearing lowly.

You flush, looking down at the floor.

“Hey—none of that. Eyes on me,” he instructs. You drag your gaze back upward. He sighs, and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “ Good girl. Go ahead and spit on it a few times. Lap it up; get it nice and wet.”

Okay. Easy. You can do that…you think.

You hesitantly run your tongue across the head, and Rocket groans at the contact, spurring you on further. You press soft, open-mouthed kisses against his shaft, letting drool spill from your mouth until his length glistens under the low light. His dick twitches, more precome spilling from the tip as you move to suck it into your mouth, letting it slip back out with a pop. 

You furrow your brows and scrunch up your face in concentration, glancing up at him to look for signs of his approval.

Rocket snorts above you.

You pause, tongue still halfway out of your mouth, and look up at him questioningly. 

“You look so serious down there,” he says, brushing your hair out of your face and tucking it behind your ear. He pokes the crease between your brows fondly, then smooths it over with his thumb. “You’re thinkin’ too much. I promise you’re doing frickin’ amazing. Giving me the prettiest fuckin’ show.”

He takes a little bit of his own precome from his tip, and thumbs it into your mouth. You accept the offering eagerly, eyes closed, then focus once more on his hardness. 

You lap at him intently, giving him sweet little licks interspersed with sloppy kisses, making sure to trail your tongue along a bulging vein that runs along the side of his cock. Then you spit on him, letting saliva drip down his shaft. You work until his cock has a slick sheen to it; you can hardly even maneuver around him now without getting spit all over your face but you kind of like it. You like the way you can feel his muscles tense under your hands as you press your mouth against him, and the way sighs rack his body as you move, and the way his dick twitches against your lips and your face.

“You’re so gorgeous, slobbering all over my dick like that. You look like a mess ,” Rocket tells you with a sigh. “I’m such a lucky bastard.” You smile and leave another wet kiss on the center of his shaft, and he shivers. “Why don’t you try wrapping your hand around it? Not too tight.”

You close your fist around his length experimentally, testing feel of his girth in your palm. You give it a gentle stroke upward and back down—a slick noise travels throughout the room as your palm slides against him.

He groans, then wraps his hand around yours. “Here—lemme show you.” He guides you into a gentle rhythm, showing you how tightly to grip him, how to twist your wrist as you slide your fist up and down his cock. He lets go and allows you to try for yourself. His hips stutter almost imperceptibly as you run your hand along his length. You pause for a moment, rubbing your thumb against the sensitive area where the bottom of his head meets his shaft, and Rocket’s hips cant upward once more.

He groans, then asks, “You wanna try sucking on it?”

“Um, yes. Do I just…?” You gesture vaguely. Rocket chuckles, giving you an affectionate pat on the head.

“You’re so flarkin’ cute. Yeah, just put it in your mouth and suck a little on your way back up. Use your hands on whatever you can’t reach. Mind your teeth.”

“Got it,” you say with a nod, heeding his advice with the same solemnity that you would on the battlefield. Rocket rolls his eyes at your seriousness, but still grins down at you indulgently.

You delicately wrap your lips around the tip of his cock, then sink down his length, trying to breath through your nose. Rocket sighs, tangling a hand into your hair. His claws scrape pleasantly against your scalp. 

You begin to bob up and down shallowly, twisting your hand around the base, enjoying the way he fills up your mouth. Your senses are flooded with him and the way his cock feels pressed against your tongue, rigid and salty and warm. Overeager, you quickly attempt to force yourself down even further, only for your throat to reject him with a gag. You pull your mouth off of him with a gasp, coughing and teary-eyed.

“Whoa—slow down, sweetheart. You okay?” His eyes are wide as he strokes a hand soothingly through your hair. 

You nod, clearing your throat with a giggle. “Whoops.” Your eyes are a little watery when you smile up at him, and he traces a knuckle along your cheek to catch a stray tear. 

Rocket looks at you darkly. 

“You know, as pretty as you look choking on it, that might be a li’l too advanced for you right now.” He considers you, on your knees between his legs, lips wet and sticky, eyes teary, eager to stuff his cock back into your mouth. A vicious smile spreads across his face. “But maybe some other time. We’ll train that gag reflex right out of you,” he croons. “Not that the way your mouth feels ain’t already real impressive. Seems like lovin’ dick comes naturally to you, princess.”

You glower at him, moving to lave open-mouthed kisses against his shaft again. “You talk too much.”

“ Do I? ” Rocket tuts at you with mock offense. “Don’t act like you don’t love it,” he says, guiding your mouth back onto his length.

You allow him to maneuver you, humming around him as you attempt to stifle a moan. He grunts and bucks his hips into your mouth as the vibration of your voice carries throughout his cock, and you hold still for him, doing your best to control your breathing. Drool spills out from the seams between where the plush of your lips meet the pulsing length of his cock. 

As you gain more confidence, you begin to bob your head up and down with more vigor, sinking lower and lower every time.

Rocket taps your cheek to get your attention and places his hand on your head once again; he’s not pushing down, but his grip is firm . You still your movements and look up at him, his cock still halfway down your throat as you hum questioningly around him. He sucks in a shaky breath at the sight of you, before drawling his encouragement.

“Come on. All the way down,” he says a little raggedly. You slowly attempt to sink your mouth further onto his cock. Your vision is filled with the fur on his abdomen, and his heady musk fills your brain dizzyingly. You press your tongue against him in your mouth, working him deeper down your throat. “Uh huh. Little further, princess. You can do it.”

You whimper and push yourself to your limits, only stopping when your nose is pressed against the fur at his crotch. “ There we go. A fuckin’ natural. ‘s like you were born to fit cock in your mouth,” he moans, and you swallow around him. Rocket lets out a choked groan and holds you there for a second, before pulling you off of him, a line of drool connecting your mouth to the tip of his cock. You sputter, and smile shakily up at him.

“I must be frickin’ dreaming,” he pants, stroking his cock while he looks down at you kneeling before him. 

You giggle deliriously, leaning forward to lave a playful lick against him while he works his own cock. He twitches and bucks his hips up into the air, rubbing the head of his cock into your tongue for a moment, before gently pushing you away.

You frown. “Is something wrong?”

“What? No. Just, uh…Any more of this and I’ll probably be coming in your mouth.” He holds a hand up when you open your mouth in protest, grinning at you. “Maybe next time. Don’t want it to be your first.”

Your heart pounds. Next time? You will yourself not to get too excited at his offhand comment, but…if the both of you live to see this through, you hope there will be many next times to come.

Rocket stretches and tucks himself into his pants, letting his tail brush against your lower back as he moves past you. You watch him dumbly. He turns and raises a brow, then holds a hand out to you, waving you upward.

“Let me take you to bed, sweetheart.” 

You tilt your head, blinking owlishly. “We’re not gonna do it out here?”

Rocket shakes his head and looks around. He spots one of the jackets he has slung over one of the other chairs, then takes it and wraps it around you as he helps you to stand. Your knees wobble a little as you try to find your balance.

“Listen gorgeous, as much as I’d love to bend you over on my favorite part of the ship…” he starts, looking longingly at the surface of the flight console, “…I’m not gonna let your first time be out here on the frickin’ flight deck. ”

“You sure? I might love it too,” you respond playfully. Rocket gives you an exasperated look.

“You deserve better than that. A real bed, for starters. Hell, I’d get you sheets made of Spartaxian silk and the most expensive bottles of imported wine I could find, if we had more time.” His expression softens. “Let me take care of you.” He holds his hand out again.

“Lead the way,” you smile.

You take his hand and let him guide you away.

—

Ao3 | Masterlist | If Only for Tonight Index

[cenorii]

Hi, I want to ask questions about Wesker, I hope that's okay! Do you think that there is any meaning in making Ms. Muller ca 10 years younger than Wesker? I read a tumblr post from last year where somebody wrote that they think that Weskers type are young brunette women because of that (also because of the Rebecca photo bc it's still not clear if that's canon or not). So maybe they wanted to show that Wesker likes way younger women (even if they are barely legal.. Like Rebecca) but I really hope that Wesker is not really a creep

Hi, thanks for the question!

I will be happy to answer.

I must say right away that the theory that Wesker is not indifferent to Rebecca is just a fan myth, in reality it's just a funny Easter egg. I recommend reading my post about this, where I analyzed in detail what significance this photo has in re2 and re2r. So we will not be looking at Rebecca as Wesker's interest.

I think it's wrong to judge Wesker's preferences by Miss Muller alone. Perhaps he was attracted to women of his age range, or even men, we cannot know, because there is no information about this. He was also obsessed with Chris (in some way), who is 13 years younger than him. But that's all the information we have to judge by his preferences. Of course, there is Excella, who was 26 years old at the time of her death. She is 22 years younger than Wesker and was romantically interested in him, but it was not mutual. And this is important.

I think IF Wesker is really interested in people who are 10 or more years younger than him, it only shows how young he feels (within reason). Compare him and Barry at the time of re1, they were both 38 years old, but while Wesker looked at most 25-27, Barry seemed much older, as if he was almost 50. Wesker looks and feels younger than his age, so it's easy for him to contact people who are younger than his own age range. Well, young people are also easily manipulated due to their naivety, which is also an important criterion.

My verdict: he is not a pervert who will reach out to any attractive person who has barely turned 18. Considering that he has had almost no romantic relationships in his entire life, he is very careful and selective in this regard. And low age is definitely not his criterion. He is predisposed to those who are psychologically formed, who are talented and interesting to him. And it will be some person like Chris: mature, confident, courageous. Is it possible that Miss Muller was just like that?

Despite her age (about 20 years old), she was something special that attracted him. And their relationship was not manipulation, it was not something creepy, they were completely normal. Ms. Muller saved Wesker's child and raised Jake in love with his father, even in a deathbed note asking her son not to hate his father. This suggests that she was in love even when they broke up. This suggests that Wesker treated her well. The fact that Jake was born, and the fact that Ms. Muller remembered Wesker with warmth, tells us that he may not only be the kind of person we were shown in the games. There's a side to him that we didn't get to see. There was something sincere between him and Ms. Muller, and he's definitely not some creep for whom "age doesn't matter." Maybe they broke up because of her age? What if Wesker thought she was too young to stay with him and immerse herself in the horrors he had seen? We can't know.

[waivyjellyfish]

MILGRAM, Made in Abyss AU.

translation:[where the f**k are you going?] BEWARE [a lot of nonsense and lies because author(me) is familiar with Made in Abyss project very superficial, mainly on wikis and memes on YouTube, I do not plan to explore it] [no further development of Au forthcoming, logic also isn't planned, free to use idea] From the creators: FOR FUN and WHAT IF

cw://Child Abuse, Experiments, bodyhorror?

Es, Amane and Fuuta - as one of Bondrewd’s projects on ascent from 6th level. [escaped, wander the abyss]

The Curse was centered on Es and Amane, which eventually led to their merger in Narehate[with a predominance of Es' look and Amane’s personality] and mind degradation to the age of four.

The remains of Amane and Es bodies have been transformed into a pair of ”Your Worth”, the Life-reverberating Stones, from which the white whistles are created. [still not processed]

It was wery fortunate that Narehate’s appearance remained similar to the human appearance, even with a very rabbitish look. [gained curse resistance]

The Blessing was directed at Fuuta. Bondrewd decided to test the approach from the idea that younger children are more tolerate to the Curse of the Abyss, which raises the question what if the Curse is directed at children who more prone to resistance and the Blessing is directed at a less predisposed child.

As a result, Futa turned into something between a lizard and a dog, the mind remained. The distant eye acquired an insect-like appearance. [strong changes in physical development]

Narehate, derived from Amane and Es, Fuuta now calls Blessing, because it’s a real Blessing that they didn’t end like most kids after experiments where they lost their form and their minds and became just immortal blobs.

Fuuta mainly wears full uniform: respirator, dirty colours cloak, boots, dark gloves, hood, giant backpack behind his back. He humps under its weight and even without a backpack looks like a large wardrobe. He will grow big and strong because of the Curse. Behind the hood and respirator you can only hear heavy breathing and see green glowing dots where his eyes are placed. The only thing proved him as Narehate is a long tail that is almost impossible to hide under his cloak.

Blessing is wearing a dress the color of hospital clothes and a coat Fuuta found somewhere. [right after Fuuta began to call Narehate Blessing on the golden ribbon of the coat, appeared strange inscriptions] They are not afraid of temperature changes. They have a bell bracelet on their leg to keep Fuuta know where they are.

Additions:

Grown-up and fucked-up Fuuta with acute lifeguard syndrome, blaming himself for what happened to Es and Amane: 😰 And Blessing, who even with such a body is just: 😊😘😌🥰👏👏💃🌸✨.

Blessing often hides is somewhere in Fuuta's backpack. The backpack is large, there are a lot of things. Sometimes they crawl out and sneaking in the bushes. Fuuta’s worried, but Blessing always comes back so he’s kind of calm about it.

[amykiriwosdefenselawyer]

Some thoughts on Kiriwo's psyche

I know Kiriwo's backstory wasn't meant for us to sympathise with him but I still do.

Neglect fucks children up heavily, but it's often overlooked. He was treated as useless due to something he couldn't control, it would make perfect sense if eventually a child's subconscious normalised and internalised that, and decided that if everyone was going to look at him with hate or disgust or worse, pity, he might as well give them it.

Kiriwo responds so positively to praise, of course a neglected child would do that and run to the first parental figure who'll give them something. Knowledge, guidance. Now Baal practically raised him, and we all know Baal is basically the Andrew Tate of the demon world. Notice how Kiriwo talks about Baal in too-high regard, even though the latter gives him just the bare minimum and objectively is definitely not the best person to him?

Evil cycles are essentially stress-induced, right? Makes me think all of these origins supporters are just extremely traumatised, and Baal leads them to believe it's normal rather than deeply ingrained disordered traits.

Maybe Kiriwo was genetically predisposed to have a higher chance of returning to origins, similar to how mental disorders can be inherited or have a higher rate of being triggered to develop, but good parenting can outweigh bad genetics. He didn't receive that, and this makes me want to cry and scream and hold him in my hands like that scene with his mom who was supposed to at least be there for him rejecting him, a child, in front of the family for something he couldn't control in the slightest, made me want to commit murder to that entire egocentric ass family.

It's also clear this is why he's so obsessed with Iruma. Iruma was also neglected, but he has a good support system now. I think he knows Iruma is what he could have, or might have become, and his subconscious must be interested, if not perhaps jealous, and cling on, somehow. It's such a good psychological dynamic.

[irkimatsu]

physical or emotional characteristics you would like in a human husk

Sorry for sitting on this for a bit! I'll admit, part of me was being autistic and overthinking this. Is this about what I'm personally attracted to in Husk, or what I think would be best for his story in canon? Is this about what he was like before he died, or what he'd be like if he could be human again after everything that's happened to him in hell?

I'm going with "how I see him as a human on Earth before death, and who I thought he was regardless of my own personal attractions and biases". (Well, a little bit of my own biases. No such thing as unbiased fiction. But accuracy is my priority on this one.)

First and foremost - human Husk is black. I will die on that hill until canon tells me otherwise. There could be other pieces of heritage in there somewhere - I don't think I'm qualified to speculate on that too hard - but as far as skin tone goes, he's black. I also like when art gives him dreads, it just looks right, though I'm not as much of a stickler on that matter. Gotta have some scruffy facial hair, though, I demand that much.

As for why... is it all the good fanart that made other options look wrong in comparison? Is it because he's voiced by Keith David and I just can't imagine a white guy sounding like Keith David? Those are definitely pieces of it. I know it's not canon and I'm not out here attacking people who lean otherwise on Husk's race, but as for me, he's black, end of discussion. On the shorter end of the average as far as male heights go, but he's not noticeably short in isolation. Definitely taller than my short and stout self. Weight probably fluctuates depending on his situation - his finances as a gambler would be all over the place, and so would his diet, varying between lavish meals in overpriced steakhouses, and dinners at home consisting primarily of cheese puffs and bottom-shelf beer. I do like him with a gut, though. Maybe he's just naturally predisposed to having a gut, even when he's starving. (Told you there'd be some bias.)

I'd definitely want to put decent thought about what it was like for him as a black man growing up in early 20th century Las Vegas, but without being 110% certain that anything I'm saying makes any fucking sense, I'm biting my tongue on that one. Definitely a topic I'm interested in, though.

I should also probably mention that yes, I know it's a common headcanon for Husk to be a trans man. It's interesting! I have no actual reason for not writing it myself. Not sure what to do with it, I guess? If it was canon I'd of course pay more attention to that aspect, but for now, whoops. You guys have fun, obviously! Just like with the popular ship, if anyone ever took "Irk doesn't write this thing" as "Irk thinks that thing is bad" I'd cry, don't do that

I like the name Oscar for him while alive. Saw it in a post on here once and it just felt right. Thank you, random Tumblr user I forgot who you are whoops again! Until canon tells me otherwise, he's Oscar in my heart.

I think his dress style while alive would match a similar trajectory to his Overlord-to-servant transition - a snappy dresser when he can afford it, would never be caught dead looking the least bit disheveled. Button-up shirts, freshly ironed suits, the finest colognes! But after he's a washed up divorced drunk, who gives a shit. His clothes are a lot more tattered now... but honestly, living in a place like Vegas where half the population are various flavors of downtrodden, washed-up addict, he doesn't stand out. At least he has that going for him.

Personality-wise, I think as a child and a young man, he was a big dreamer, even a bit of an attention whore. He's wanted to be a performer for as long as he can remember, ever since he started seeing magic shows and jazz bands as a kid. He may still be introverted in the sense that putting on a show is exhausting and he needs his space, but when he's in the right frame of mind, the stage is where he belongs. He worked so, so fucking hard to be a performer! He really could have been something if Vegas didn't chew him up and barf him out...

That dreamer attitude also made him a serious romantic when he was younger. If you accept a date from that man, he will spoil you. Flowers, fancy dinner (if he can afford it), a personal serenade... he doesn't fall into actual honest-to-god love very often, but when he does, he falls hard and puts everything he has into showing the person he loves that he cares. He does lean toward monetary gifts = affection, though... please, Husk, sometimes your partner really would be happiest with a hug and a song. But he doesn't see it that way, he has to keep gambling to be able to afford the lavish lifestyle his lover deserves. Fucking Vegas.

As an older man on Earth, after a turbulent divorce and decades of addiction and depression, he's a lot like the version of himself in the hotel. Doesn't give a shit about much besides where he's going to get his next drink. He does miss his dreams and wonder what could have been if he didn't screw it all up... but there's no point thinking about wasted opportunity. It just hurts. Drink it away instead. He spends his last few years alone, gambling and drinking and just waiting to finally fucking die.

Death was supposed to be a second chance for him, you know? He could pick himself, become someone again! Too bad for him that "someone" was once again a gambler, and that addiction is always going to catch up with him...

This is a rambling mess. I apologize! I just hope I answered the question correctly! Sorry if I messed it up!

[ask-thebrothers-kaiba]

which one tends to reinforce the importance of not bottling things up?

[ Oh, this one makes me excited for some reason!

If we're solely basing this question on where I believe my muses to be, then let's dig a little further into where I'm placing them.

Canonically, Seto and Mokuba are adopted at ages 10 and ~6, respectively. I currently have Seto in the range of 20-30 (verse-dependent), and Mokuba sitting at 16-26 (also verse-dependent). That's where I stand with my personal lore, so let's say for the sake of this parenting ask, Seto is nearing his thirties and Mokuba is in his upper twenties. Makes sense for them, I think - I feel Mokuba would be more open to starting a family sooner than Seto might. Both of them are serious about this topic, but they express it in slightly different ways. This isn't the experience of ALL children, I know, but many kids experience bottling up their emotions by using anger as a cover and pushing the people they love away. That's where these ideas are flowing from. If you have a more specific idea in mind, I'm always open to suggestions!

My ideas are as follows:

MOKUBA is very uncomfortable with the idea of his child bottling up or forcing their feelings down. When he notices this behavior, he immediately starts to worry to the point he'd panic if he didn't keep himself together, because "Where is this coming from? Am I not doing enough? Have I failed them as a father? Why do they feel like they can't open up to me?". Much too familiar. Like Seto, he feels entirely responsible for this, even if it has nothing at all to do with him. He would have to settle his fears in his own mind first, perhaps with the help of his partner and a conversation with Seto about how to handle the situation, before bringing it up gently with the child. Mokuba knew if he freaked out about it, they'd never speak with him, so he holds back his anxiety for this rather-uncomfortable conversation. Ultimately, though, uncomfortable conversations were worth having, and he is successful in finding out what's going on and how he can help. Mokuba would knock on their bedroom door and wait for approval to enter - he would ask to sit next to them, and place a gentle hand on their shoulder even when they refuse to look at him. He takes a deep breath before speaking. "Hey. I know you're going through something, and I don't know what it is, but you know I'm here for you, right? I'm never going to judge you for how you feel or make you face anything you aren't ready to face... But you're still my baby, and I want to make sure you're okay. I want to do everything in my power to help you, and that means I'm not going to leave you alone. I mean, I will for a little while if you need me to, but... I'm here. Always. I love you."

SETO finds himself deeply frustrated and acutely guilty when he's met with his child's cold shoulder and cross attitude after what seemed to be a minor disagreement between them. Evidently something much deeper was going on that he hadn't caught onto in the moment. Part of him felt wounded; he had tried so hard not to reach this point with them and it happened anyway, and another, now more tender part of him wondered if he'd genetically predisposed them to this way of being - or perhaps he just wasn't trying hard enough to escape that part of himself. Perhaps it was a trait self-evident on him, like a scent that continues to linger long after a mess has been wiped away. Even in a longstanding, committed relationship Seto finds himself unable to communicate freely to his partner about concerns that directly targeted himself as the problem (from his perspective, anyway; it couldn't possibly be the child simply going through their own motions, it had to be his fault somehow. He knew this would happen.). For all the work Seto had done to self-improve and do better by others, he maintained the position that if he ever truly became the source of his loves'* pain, he would take on those burdens fully, and corrective action would quickly follow suit. Seto would ultimately keep these thoughts to himself, his partner would notice and respect his boundaries, but they'd know what this was about. After some deliberation, Seto would meet his child where they stood - he would get on their level, take their hand if they wanted, and he would be direct: "Tell me what's going on in that brain of yours. If it's my fault, I need to know. I love you, and I'm prepared to fix whatever I broke. Don't keep your feelings to yourself. Talk to me." There was no way on this earth he would allow his own child to end up the way he did, no way he would allow himself to fail them the way he'd failed Mokuba, and he'd make damn sure to take any action necessary to ensure his child lives a happier, healthier life than he and Mokuba ever had.

*"Loves" referring to the people Seto deeply cares about, not just romantic loves. ]

[coulsonlives]

ATLA spoilers/Azula stuff. Kinda big mad now, why does this fandom suck so hard.

I posted something in the ATLA fandom for the first time and was super excited about participating. Then I was immediately grossed out by how much ship hate and toxic discourse there is oml.

The ship wars surrounding Zutara are bad enough, especially when I ship all the things. But on top of that, apparently if you think Azula can be redeemed (not in the sense of being forgiven, but more like coming to terms w her past actions and sorting out her very, very obvious baggage), or are even ambivalent to the idea, you're a fascist sympathizer?!

I don't even care what happens to Azula. but some people really gotta chill with the attacks and tbh, totally reductive takes?

For starters, Azula was literally groomed to become a child soldier by her father. It doesn't excuse her actions at all, but there are so many signs in the show to explain why she is like she is, and why her finding some kind of closure wouldn't be out of the blue. The whole point of her and Zuko's backstories were to show how things came to be how they were. The writers and animators didn't put that stuff there for no reason.

That look on her face when Ty Lee was speaking during the campfire scene, for example? She was obviously sympathetic to Ty Lee, but as soon as Ty Lee looked at her, she snubbed her! She wanted to care, but she didn't want to show it. World's most obvious 'tough guy' act, and how much do we wanna bet it was because her father didn't let her show weakness, and she was just more receptive to indulging it than Zuko was, for whatever psychological reasons? She came off like she was hard-wired for self-interest, which probably predisposed her to all of Ozai's bs. But I also see people calling Azula a psychopath, and I'm like bruh, did we watch the same show?! A psychopath would feel no emotions about hurting people, Azula clearly does feel stuff, even if she takes pride in her war-related work, which does involve hurting/killing people. She's not a psychopath by definition, plain and simple, calling her that is reductive af.

I don't even think 'psychopath' is the right term to use in general for people like that, so there lol. Credibility points -1.

Then she apologized to Ty Lee during the party. Her apology could've just been a way to keep Ty Lee on her side, but then she went a step further and openly admitted to being jealous of Ty Lee. What purpose did that serve in the initial apology? None! She just did it because reasons, it had no functional or tactical purpose. Her interactions with all the party people screamed that she wanted relationships, too, but she didn't know how to communicate, and it obviously bugged her. She was upset about it.

She's shown she cares for Zuko at many different times, for example, she finds out he's been visiting Iroh, but she doesn't tell anyone even though she should. She's 'looking out for him'.

She also had a total breakdown at the end of the show. Again does it excuse her actions? Nah fam, not at all. But her emotional turmoil was super obvious. She'd built up an identity around being strong and winning at all costs, and she lost it, and she never got closure with her mom, so she didn't have anything left and she just.. cried. That doesn't sound irredeemable to me, that sounds like a scared fucking person who is wondering why the f everything they're doing, which they've been told to do from day one, is falling apart.

She's a 14-y/o child soldier, and I'm not about to say child soldiers are all irredeemable (again in the context of finding self acceptance and closure) in spite of the horrors they've done and the brainwashing. She's also a product of her environment and her abusive father, of generational trauma, and I'm not about to say people who grew up in abusive households can never get better from all the harm that was done to em! I've seen some really shitty people totally turn over a new leaf.

One of the best quotes from the show is something Aang says: 'Roku was just as much Fire Nation as Sozin was, right? If anything, their story proves anyone's capable of great good and great evil.'

So I'm not buying the narrative that Azula is pure distilled evil and has nothing going for her, not with what the show has given us. Ozai had virtually no redeeming qualities, but there are so many hints with Azula that it really pisses me off to see so much garbo talk around her.

Anyways that's my complaining for today.

I really don't wanna go near this fandom. I don't know what the tags are for discourse/harassment free stuff, where people can just ship what they want, and want what they want, without being heckled or shit on. If anyone knows a tag or some blogs like that, hmu.

(Inb4 all the people without nuance interpret this as 'I support Azula's war crimes', who are the main reason I sure as f won't be letting this loose with reblogs. I guess people can still screenshot this and take bits out of context, but idgaf. Their problem not mine!)

[the-cat-chat]

October 19, 2024

Caddo Lake (2024)

When an 8-year-old girl disappears on Caddo Lake, a series of past deaths and disappearances begin to link together, altering a broken family's history.

Warning: Review may contain spoilers. Read at your own risk.

JayBell: This movie is listed as horror, which is what placed it in Spooky Month this October. But really is isn't a horror movie in my opinion at all, more of a mystery/thriller. So in retrospect, not a movie that fits the theme.

Anyways, I have to preface this by saying I do love Dylan O'Brien, so I was predisposed to like this movie from the beginning. And I don’t think it disappointed. If you like the (spoiler!) travel travel genre, like I do, then it’s a solid story. It’s not perfect by any means, like I won’t be talking about it to my grandchildren, but it’s good.

I like the mystery aspect as always. I'm very proud of Anzie and I for collectively predicting what was going on pretty early on, although it did lessen the emotional impact of the "big twist." It isn't too confusing for a time travel movie, since we didn't even have to look anything up after we finished it cause we understood what was going on. The time travel itself (the specific hows and whatever) are kept very vague and unexplored. I feel like the movie is trying to communicate a theme about man's destruction of nature and connecting it to the time travel, but it feels like an afterthought.

The time travel is important, yes, but truly this is more of a family drama from multiple angles. I wish they explain more of the relationship between the main girl and her stepfather. From what I can understand, he raised her from a very young age, but all of a sudden she has this big resentment for him and I don't exactly know why. Is this a recent change? What was the inciting incident? And I think the movie spends just a bit too much time setting everything up, and as a result, the time travel portions and the conclusion feel too rushed.

Rating: 6.5/10 cats 🐈

Anzie: Okay so the trailer for this movie is veryyy misleading. And I figured what’s spookier than a swamp and a child going missing, that’s a literal nightmare. And real. I mean swamps are scary without missing children or people in general. And kidnapping stuff (which I assumed it was) is also ridiculously frightening, it’s part of the reason I had to stop watching Criminal Minds. Anywaaaay. It’s not scary or spooky so we kinda messed up but we can blame Dylan O’Brien’s cute face, BUT, BUUTTTT, I have to say I realllly loved it and it might be my favorite movie we’ve watched all year, next to Scream. But it’s also time travel (sorrrrry) which I haaaate. Bc it makes my little worm brain hurt(do worms even have brains?) but it was fun figuring out that this was a time jump concept and the fact that the line between this time and whenever it was to jump back to WAS in the swamp- is creepy. But to get me to love time travelly whatever- the movie has to be good. I will say I was mad at the ending but a girl can’t have everything she wants right? Like he and his kid should meet rigggght- for like two secondssss. Also, what’s the mom’s problem?? I know but she also seems extra hostile? And the family treee uuugh my brain but I with it. I hate it but I’ll accept it. It’s just so crazy but it’s a fun movie to piece the parts and be entertained.

Rating: 8/10 Cats 🐈‍⬛

[sepublic]

            Tbh not a fan of how some people are so obsessed with framing Belos as some sympathetic, tragic character on account of his parallels with Luz, that they basically rob him of any and all agency to reduce Philip to some mindless follower of his puritan community, even in their explicit absence while having the support of Caleb, whose opinion he should prioritize if it was truly about what others have told him. This woobified take of some superstitious dingus/helpless child who can’t make any decisions for himself feels infantilizing and at odds with how Belos is actually portrayed in the show.

         Plus, the whole argument of “That’s how it was back then” in order to justify or at least explain Philip’s bigotry feels rather hollow, because like. Not only does Caleb (who was also a child not much older) exist, but this rationale was used to justify a lot of historical people’s pro-slavery attitudes, because “it was just normal” back then, so surely we can’t judge these people by modern standards, right? Especially not to replace a Confederate statue, right?

         (For the record, I highly doubt people who use this logic in regards to Belos are intentional about this comparison, I don’t think they made this connection and still went with it anyway.)

         Except people back in the day DID call this behavior out, there were always people opposing it, hence the existence of a character like Caleb. And this is a point that’s being raised a lot in regards to this subject about judging people of the past with contemporary values. Abolitionists existed just plenty in the past, and it’s their work that led to this social change over time.

         Plus, the framing of Philip as some superstitious Puritan who genuinely believed in his church’s teachings about sin, and is legitimately concerned for people’s souls, indirectly presents him as only needing a good argument and evidence to change his mind. Except we see how Philip is a highly intelligent, calculating individual who can figure people out like it’s nothing, extremely observant and approaching his analysis of the Demon Realm with a professionalism bordering on the scientific method.

         That scene in For the Future, where he’s confronted by alleged ghosts? I think it’s meant to support what the Titan clarifies in the next episode; That Belos KNOWS he’s wrong, that he’s just lying about it. The problem isn’t that he needs to realize this, it’s that he already has, but won’t admit this to himself to change his behavior in response. I doubt Philip truly believes there’s a God expecting something of everyone. And remember Grom, when Luz says “You’re not coming from a place of intellectual honesty, so debating you would be pointless!”

         Jacob Hopkins strays close to the Dudebro image that Luz directs this line at; And we see how he’s not actually driven by reasoning, but by a delusional need to be the hero. And Jacob’s comparisons to Belos need not be stated; A lot of fascists AREN’T approaching from a place of actual logic that can thus be reasoned with, hence why punching them is a necessity.

         It’s not as if they’re just working with faulty evidence that they’ve drawn a misguided conclusion from; They come in with a predisposed ‘conclusion’ they’ve already decided on, and then look only for the evidence to support it. Which is ironic, given what I said about Philip appearing to be someone who would use the scientific method in his studies, but bias is bias. It’s like how other races being inferior was made up to justify slavery as an economic boon; Rather than people naturally assuming other races to be inferior, and THEN making slavery as a result of that conclusion.

         The bigotry is all an intentional excuse made to justify an ulterior, power-hungry motive; Why else does Thanks to Them frame other witch hunters as just making things up about their neighbors to seize their property? And remember when I compared King James I of historical infamy to Philip, speculating that his real-life book on witchcraft may have influenced Philip’s diary from a writing perspective, if not an in-universe one as well? A lot of people speculate James didn’t necessarily believe in witches as a threat to humanity; He just latched onto them as a scapegoat to legitimize his power. Because if the agents of Hell see you as a threat, doesn’t that suggest you as divinely ordained?

         And I think that ties into Philip’s shallow understanding of the Demon Realm; These people are inherently evil, so if they do anything to hate or oppose him, it’s because Philip is actually an agent of Good, a divine hero, and all of these demons are some magical hivemind that uniformly collaborate to prioritize opposing Good. He’s every bully who needles and harasses a minority, and acts vindicated when they DO lash out, as the creator of a self-fulfilling prophecy. 

        And while there’s a lot to be said about not feeding the beast, sometimes you just HAVE to defend yourself, and not care about proving your worth to someone who isn’t approaching from a place of good faith, whose approval is meaningless, especially if it comes at the risk or even cost of your own safety. Hence all this real life discussion of queers and other minorities not having to be palatable to deserve rights.

         In the end, I see Philip Wittebane as akin to Walter White, of Breaking Bad fame; I’m sure he DID legitimately care about his family, to an extent. But if it really was just about them, and not the cheap thrill of some power fantasy, he’d have accepted the help given to him, instead of going on this ridiculous quest to accumulate strength so he can become the Biggest, Baddest person who can crush his enemies.

        And in his constant pursuit of that high, what concern for his family and others he might’ve had withers away into nothing; Until the Titan’s summation of Philip as someone who only believes in his delusional need to be the hero doesn’t just make sense from her in-universe perspective, but as a description with implied authorial backing. Family? That was just an excuse, but at least Walter White had the guts to admit this aloud to someone else.

[wonderfulworldofmichaelford]

Is It Really That Bad?

Come. Gather round and listen to the legend of the Funny Vampire Director, AKA the Funny Nazi Director, AKA Taika Waititi.

Raised in the way of the director, Waititi was taught to make good movies, delivering the sort of funny and heartfelt films most can only dream of making. He directed, and he wrote, and he acted. He was sensitive, like a smile. And his love of filmmaking did not discriminate in what he could make. He once made a hilarious vampire mockumenatry that got a spin-off TV series. Another time, he proved that you could make Blazing Saddles in the modern day, except with Nazis!

But Waititi's greatest achievement was cameoing in The Suicide Sqaud. Oh, wait. No. It was making a good Thor movie, of all things. But sadly, in making a good Thor movie, he set himself up for failure with the sequel. In fact, he set himself up for spectacular failure. Mediocre reviews. Audience backlash. Criticism from the actors and directors. And bad reviews from all sorts of internet guys, again and again and again. And again.

Poor Waititi had to watch the internet’s respect for him explode. And then he said, 'What have I done?' It seemed that everything he’d worked for with Thor, he lost. And so he maybe got fired by Marvel and went back to making real movies for a change. But just because he was done with Marvel, didn't mean he was done with superheroes. He teamed up with James Gunn and set off to deliver the most powerful and thematic line in The Suicide Squad. He got in shape, putting in the hard yards to become a respected filmmaker again. Taking pains into gains and never skipping the chance to direct a movie based on Tower of Terror. He put in the work to go from the butt of jokes to a guy who would hopefully deserve an Oscar win.

But with all that being said, there was still a confused reviewer just trying to figure out if maybe the backlash to Thor: Love and Thunder was a bit overblown. Because really, this movie couldn’t possibly be as shitty as The Dark World, which committed the sin of wasting Christopher Eccleston. So he sat down and gave the movie a rewatch, accepting he was only good for one thing... Determining that age old question, 'Is Thor: Love and Thunder really that bad?'

THE GOOD

So maybe this is a hot take, but I really did enjoy Jane’s return and her romance with Thor and find it to be one of the film’s best aspects.

Now, don’t get me wrong, a lot of the writing here is clunky and poor Natalie Portman is saddled with a lot of really stupid dialogue now that she’s the Mighty Thor. But seeing her and Chris Hemsworth act off each other again in a less dull and restrictive fashion is so nice, and seeing Portman kick ass is a lot of fun too. She even wields Mjolnir in some pretty creative ways here! And her death is actually a genuinely powerful and touching scene that they don’t immediately fuck up with a lame joke.

The soundtrack, while not even close to touching the Guardians of the Galaxy soundtracks, is filled with Guns N’ Roses banger after banger. I grew up listening to these guys, so honestly I’m predisposed to like any scene where they play one of my favorite tracks by them.”Sweet Child O’ Mine,” “November Rain,” “Paradise City,” and “Welcome to the Jungle” are all whipped out at just the right time to keep my attention from flagging completely, so I’ll give them props for that. They aren’t the most inspired choices, but I’m a sucker for classic Axl.

The Axl above? Decidedly less so. Still, despite this film’s reputation for really bad effects and really bad costumes and just in general looking embarrassingly cheap because Disney abuses the animators, there are some extremely cool visuals here and there. The shot of Falligar the Behemoth in particular is so good they slapped it into every trailer, and a climactic battle on a monochrome planet looks way too good to be in this movie. But by far the most fantastic thing is the comic-accurate depiction of Eternity.

And of course, I would be remiss to not praise Christian Bale’s performance as Gorr the God Butcher. The man immediately has you hooked with the opening scene, which details his backstory and shows how he began his vendetta against all the deities of the Marvel universe. Then we have his fantastic climactic confrontation with Thor on the black-and-white planet, and then there is his final scene before Eternity. Each and every time he shows up, it’s completely clear that Bale is giving it his all and acting his pussy off, giving a performance that is honestly kind of astounding considering what’s going on around him.

THE BAD

Unfortunately, while Gorr is a fantastic performance, he suffers from the fact his character has absolutely no cohesion and is barely in the film. He shows up for maybe one big fight in the first hour, then completely disappears from the film until the third act, during which time he just sits around with a bunch of children and terrifies them. And despite being “The God Butcher,” we see him butcher precisely one single god in the whole film, and that’s in the film’s opening. Groot has as many onscreen god kills as Gorr. That’s fucking pathetic. Bale’s magnificent performance is strong when it counts, but so much of the dramatic moments feel unearned because he hardly does anything outside those moments. The fact they cut out so much material including him meeting with Peter Dinklage’s King Eitri and Jeff Goldblum’s Grandmaster, really stings. Would it have been a crime to cut out those annoying fucking goats and instead give Gorr more to do like, oh, butchering gods?

It doesn’t help that the story never actually refutes any of Gorr’s points. Every other god we see in the film is egotistical, hedonistic, a coward, or all three at once, with even Thor reverting into a corny blowhard for much of the movie. Zeus is pretty much emblematic of this problem; while I actually did enjoy Russell Crowe’s performance (even if it is, ultimately, a half-baked attempt at recapturing the magic of Grandmaster from Ragnarok), the fact that Zeus is nothing more than a blowhard more concerned with orgies and showing off to all the other gathered deities just kind of proves Gorr right. The gods don’t care, they are refusing to help their followers, and frankly the universe would probably be a lot better if it was littered with Knowheres instead of having these horny clowns prancing about.

Then we have the Guardians. The glorified cameo from the Guardians of the Galaxy that was hyped up in all the marketing. Despite being in the movie for maybe ten minutes and despite Star-Lord having 95% of all the lines between them, nearly every single one of them feels completely out of character. Star-Lord, on the other hand, actually feels like he was rerailed in time for Gunn to take the reigns back, but it doesn’t make up for how awkward and pointless it all feels. Although it is incredibly hilarious that after all of them spent Infinity War fawning over him they all now seem to barely tolerate him, with it being confirmed none of them kept in contact with him after the events of this film. I honestly don’t blame them.

A lot of returning characters really suffer. King Valkyrie gets it pretty bad since her subplot where she searches for love was dropped, leading to her feeling really superfluous in the plot. Lady Sif gets it even worse, with her barely even being in this movie; one has to wonder why they even bothered keeping her alive. Thor gets hit especially bad here, because he seems to have reverted from his post-Ragnarok characterization all the way to pre-Thor characterization, with all his hedonism, goofing, gallavanting, insecurity, and egotistical traits ramped up to maximum levels.

But the most divisive returning character of all is Korg. Korg became a fan-favorite due to his appearances in Ragnarok and Endgame, where he was genuinely a funny comic relief character who juxtaposed his intimidating rock golem design with a friendly demeanor and the chipper voice of director Taika Waititi. The thing is, both of those films used him sparingly, so that when he got a lame joke it wasn’t so bad because it’s one up against dozens of good ones. Here though he gets to be a main character and even the narrator, and boy does he get old pretty quickly. The thing is, though, that even if he’s not particularly funny here… I still like Korg. He’s just too damn charming, As lame as his jokes are, as lame as his fake out death is, as pointless as he ends up feeling to the plot, I just can’t hate the guy. I guess it helps that he gets to be Disney’s 52nd First Gay Character, but actually for real this time because in the end he gets to make a baby with a rock guy named Dwayne. I also really like the theory that the reason the whole film is corny is because Korg is narrating it, and he’s an unreliable narrator peppering the story with lame jokes and underplaying elements that should matter. Does it save the whole movie? No. Does it make Korg any funnier? Also no. Does it add an interesting layer that at least keeps me from wanting Korg dead? Yes, yes it does.

And really, every single problem here is something that was there in Thor: Ragnarok. Zany comedy? A terrifying, threatening villain with a murderous vendetta who gets weirdly underplayed and barely interacts with the heroes? A villainous character played entirely for jokes? Jokes that completely and utterly destroy the tension of any given scene? The big difference is that in Ragnarok, at least some of the jokes were funny, and Thor had more interesting characters to bounce off of. And maybe most importantly, that film knew when to dial back the comedy to let cool or emotional moments breathe. And maybe even more importantly than that, it knew to keep Korg to a minimum. This film doesn’t do that at all, with nonstop gags undercutting nearly every dramatic moment. It’s ultimately hard to give a shit about anything going on when the characters give so little of a shit about it that they’re cracking jokes.

And let me tell you, if you couldn’t already tell, the jokes are fucking bad. This is basically what would happen if you asked Seltzer & Friedberg to make Marvel Movie. This is the epitome of all those jokes about Marvel dialogue having the characters go “Well that just happened!” to the point where I’m shocked it’s not actual dialogue. The horrendously unfunny screaming goat meme is a pivotal plot point in this movie; that’s the quality of jokes we’re dealing with here. And while there are a few decent jokes here and there, there’s just too many fucking jokes to pay them any mind.

IS IT REALLY THAT BAD?

Somehow this is one of the most overhated and yet rightfully disliked films ever made.

Like, Schafrillas was right to call this the Shrek the Third of Thor films. It’s not funny, it derails beloved characters, it’s incredibly annoying, it wastes a good villain, and the writing is just so hackneyed and ridiculous. This is absolutely not a good film at all. But the way you hear some people talk about it you’d think this film killed their grandma.

Like I know bad comedies are some of the worst kinds of films out there, and this film is definitely horrendously unfunny at every opportunity, but it has just enough good ideas and just enough strategic deployment of Guns N’ Roses songs that it just barely manages to be passable in my eyes. I definitely think this is a mediocre movie, and it is emblematic of everything a bad Marvel movie can be. But at the same time, it manages to be unfunny in ways I didn’t think were possible from a director and cast this talented. I’ll be honest, on my second watch through of the movie I was more bored than infuriated with this film. It has its moments, but it’s absolutely one of the weakest efforts Marvel has ever put out.

This film is pretty much what critics once accused Batman & Robin of being: An overindulgent, campy, unfunny smear on a cool hero. As you well know by now, I don’t agree with them on that, but it’s a somewhat fitting descriptor for Love & Thunder. I don’t think it’s a smear on Thor, who has been way too inconsistent for me to get mad about him being taken in some wild direction, but overindulgent, campy, and unfunny are pretty apt. Still, I don’t think this is nearly as bad as a lot of people say. It’s not bad in a “crime against humanity” way, at worst it’s bad in a “I know the people making this are capable of better and I kinda feel like this is the fault of studio executives at Disney” kind of way. If you like it, sure, that’s valid! I don’t think there is no value in this film at all, especially compared to some stuff I’ve reviewed for Is It Really That Bad. But if I never have to see this movie again, I won’t exactly lose sleep over it, and I’m sure many people feel the same.

Still, I’d have to have a heart of stone to not find the ending, which features Thor and his adopted daughter (played by Hemsworth’s own daughter) becoming a cute little superhero team and getting a corny title drop right before the credits, really sweet. Yeah, it’s not a good movie, but at least it’s better than the first two Thor movies or the unseasoned oatmeal that is Eternals.

[meirimerens]

so i finally watched the grace relocation quest (the one where she ends up living with peter) and its so silly. those two are crazy in their own way. peterstakh adopting grace vs burakhovsky adopting mishka and spichka. they are meeting for a parents club and argue about how to raise their kids correctly

the Peter Becomes Dad quest is so fucking funny to me. what do you MEAN you put the daughter of alcoholics who likely suffers from some kind of FASD from it and is likely predisposed to addiction with the town's notorious alcoholic!!!! but i do think her and peter make a betiful family... i've spoken about it on here already i think rubin Struggles with being a father figure because 1) orphan behavior 2) he spent the past few years of his life fighting for recognition in the eyes of someone he saw as a father [and who saw him as a foster son from P1 canon] so he's quite uncomfortable being Grace's Dad because he has no good association with fatherhood... so for now he is Grace's Dad's Boyfriend. and they all fuck with it 👍 they're comfortable with it

i know grace is SPOILED in the peterstakh e grace household. both peter and rubin come from Not Only Child households [peter. literally has his twin & rubin has artemy to fight against As The Other Son] so they spoil her. she's like their little princess. i think they both begin to spend a lot of time and energy caring for her bc it helps them keep their minds off The Darkness (and peter keep his hands off the booze). they all kinda. imprint on each other like baby birds.

it's a bit different in the burakhovsky e spichka e mishka household because even if the kids are as independent as Grace / Raised Themselves, they do really like their freedoms still... Murky is still spoiled & cared for more than Sticky because she's younger + needs more support while sticky does whatever the fuck he does but i think this family unit doesn't have the. Fusionality of whatever the fuck peter and grace have even if they love each other very very much... of course they do.

(still holding your leg so you don't try to escape)

peter's mom adores grace btw. everyone goes to her for a holiday & she has been sent a letter that one of her sons has a kid now and she's like. Oh My Fucking God. she fully expects like. a baby. an infant. like one of her sons had one like participated in the making of one. like how babies are made. so she kept some baby clothes for her son's child but instead she meets 15yo Grace. & since andrey would rather khs than have to care for a child that did not already raised themself + peter is like. not making any it's a bit complicated now with the. boyfriend. the baby clothes are useless...... so Grace adopts a bunny & the baby clothes go on it. you know what i mean?

dankovsky's mom adores her grandkids. she does. she always wanted grandkids & when her son came out as Not Doable Sorry she was like "but you can still adopt... right? 🥺 you'll adopt..." so when he comes home with his man and 2 kids gotten for free in the boyfriend package she is so happy. she adores murky because with her dark hair and thick brows she looks just like dankovsky and mom's like omg... it's like she's really your own 👀 and he has to be like YEAH BUT SHE'S NOT. I DIDN'T HAVE ANY HAND IN THE MAKING OF HER. etc... mama dankovskaya wants to take her granddaughter in her arms soooo much but murky doesn't like being touched by strangers too much so dankovsky has to like. brief his mom on how to interact with his autistic daughter. beautiful family.

that was long. sorry. many thoughts.

[ranahan]

Hey, I don’t think ignoring/retconning parts of a media in your mind is incompatible with simultaneously loving it. I think it’s a well-documented fandom phenomenon that there’s like a curve where a piece of media is really bad and also not compelling, or extremely well-made but you have nothing to add (and therefore also not most engaging) at the extremes, and in the middle there’s an optimum of compel where the media is simultaneously brilliant and terrible and you can’t get enough of it.

Ahem. Like I don’t not love Republic Commando. I’ve made a way too detailed analysis of an objectively not that special conlang which was only a side bit for the novels. I wouldn’t voluntarily put in hundreds of hours of work into something I didn’t enjoy. But yeah, for me the novels fall into that “it could be great if only” territory.

I also do get that some fans are probably understandably over hearing attacks on their favourite pieces of media, because the fandom too often gets way too hostile (which is why I’m trying to tag so this post can be avoided if desired). So if you (the general you) don’t want to engage with my belated media critiques, feel free to skip! But I can at least promise I’m not gonna intentionally bash other fans; I’m just trying to figure out why certain elements of the books work or don’t work for me. Or really bug me, like the pregnancy and the weird power dynamics, which for transparency’s sake do bother me for personal reasons, which I don’t expect other fans to share.

while he calls himself a father and adopts his boys, he’s also their training sergeant and even at times their commanding officer. Those roles often oppose each other. The clones are a unique situation given the circumstances, but I do wonder what Mandalorian parenthood looks like in general. It’s hard to imagine raising kids and also sending them into battle. I don’t disagree on Kal’s flaws and decision making, just trying to point out that the context of his role in the clones’ lives is messed up and he did his best (and regretted when he didn’t).

You put it much better than I managed, but yes, this is what I was trying to get at! Kal calls himself their father and invites the clones to call him buir, but he isn’t really. Or at least he isn’t only a father, but also a training officer and a commanding officer. Because even though he is the closest thing the clones got to a father, they don’t get fathers like regular people do, because they’re clones. Who have no rights.

The thing that I find messed up is that Kal doesn’t even attempt to address this power dynamic. He’s blurring the lines, and inviting familiarity that’s not appropriate with people under your command, or taking on a role and decisions that are not appropriate with your adult children. Like pick one, you can’t have both in a healthy relationship.

And I do wonder whether the fact that Kal doesn’t seem to realise this part is messed up tells us something about Kal as an individual person, about Kal’s own upbringing, about Mandalorian culture and what happens when you mix families and military command, or perhaps specifically about the clones’ institutionalised upbringing. Perhaps Mandalorian culture would usually have guards against the kind of weird power dynamics Kal has with his children, but they were absent on Kamino specifically because of Kamino’s isolation and fucked up circumstances? Or perhaps Mando culture is predisposed to something like this, and the Kamino experience turns it into something much worse? Perhaps the thing Kamino was missing was community—mandos seem “it takes a village to raise a child” kind of people to me, so perhaps the norm isn’t that any one parent would be simultaneously both parent and CO. But on Kamino, you’d have had thousands of clones for every training sergeant, which is a really fucked up ratio of kids to adults.

And I do agree that 15 years is a surprisingly short time for actually a fair amount of cultural change in various norms. Perhaps it’s also fair to remember the year when judging media that wasn’t published yesterday. Maybe I wouldn’t have been so skeeved if I had read the books when they first came out, because it was a different world back then, and reading Etain’s intentions as building a cute little family and affirming Darman’s humanity would not have been out of the norm. Maybe that is what Traviss intended, and maybe that plot is there for the hope-turned-to-tragedy element.

Trying the Republic Commando novels again,

spoilers under the cut!

At first I was really skeeved by both the pregnancy storyline and Kal’s character (he’s great as a fictional character, but man, what a piece of work). But now I’m starting to question why these elements were chosen for the story. What questions is the reader invited to ask? Is it just the author’s own biases showing, or are these elements there for a purpose?

I find the choice of Etain’s pregnancy storyline and her reasoning of “giving Darman a future” interesting. The “my line and legacy will continue after me” is a natborn concept. Would clones even attach similar sentiments to reproduction? I think not. If you shared your genetic code with millions of others, would you feel it was tied to your individuality, or would it feel more like common property? Would it be a part of what makes you, you—or would you find the part that’s not genetic to be a more important? Would giving it to a child be an act of tying you together, or would the act of raising them (like you were trained by your training sergeant or brothers) be more salient?

Is this a purposeful “cultural” misunderstanding from the author’s part? I’d find that an interesting angle to explore, but since the pregnancy is hidden, we don’t get Darman’s thoughts on the matter (at least as far as I’ve gotten so far). Or is it simply a misunderstanding the purpose of which is to illustrate the clones’ position and other people making all the decisions concerning them, even outside the military life (Etain’s to get pregnant on purpose; Kal’s to not tell Darman)? Is the whole point of the plot line that there are no civilian lives and freedoms for the clones? Or is it just the author’s own biases showing through?

Similarly, I’m starting to wonder whether the whole point of Kal’s character isn’t that even the clones’ own father figure controls all their choices? It’s repeatedly emphasised how Kal doesn’t like and refuses to share information, makes one-sided decisions all the time, and bullies around everyone from jedi generals to his own sons until he gets what he thinks is best. He’s a control freak who can’t deal with letting other people make their own choices.

I was first disappointed that even the story that was supposed to be told “from the point of view of the disposable grunts,” actually centred on a pregnant Jedi and a rogue natborn sergeant. But now I’m wondering if the point of these characters isn’t to tell something about the clones? Military fiction after all sometimes does include relationship subplots, to explore how serving in the military affects the soldiers’ relationships and lives beyond the military. So are Etain and Kal serving the same function here, only because the soldiers in question are clones without rights, it works out a bit differently?

I don’t know. I hope I’m getting on the right track here, and not giving too generous an interpretation to the books, because I really wanted to like them (military fiction! in SW!) but then to my surprise didn’t. So I’m trying again with a bit more deliberate engagement with the elements that bothered be the first time. 🤔