#by a lefty writer

[fruityroth]

Just something on why representation matters: even the smallest bit of seemingly the most miniscule part of someone's identity being shown will make someone out there happy. It can be the most minor thing in the world to you, but someone, somewhere, will be absolutely ecstatic to see a part of themselves in one of their favorite characters.

Example: I seriously love left-handed characters. As a lefty, this is super cool to me. Seeing someone who uses their left hand in media will always make me smile, and it makes me feel more connected to the characters. Some examples: Ruby Rose, Weiss Schnee, Sephiroth, and, of course, Link. Like, this is why I loved The Legend of Zelda so much as a kid. Link has historically been left-handed since the very first game. Seeing Link pick up the Master Sword in his left hand, being called the Left-Handed Hero, and generally just be awesome while also being a lefty, makes me giddy to this day. It's just such a positive representation of left-handedness, and that probably doesn't matter to *anyone* that didn't grow up as a southpaw, but it makes me happy.

That's also why it's a shame that he's no longer left-handed. Not only do I feel less connected to the character who was, for the longest time, my absolute favorite hero (a pot-smashing, grass-cutting role model, one could say), but it also feels like they cut out a core part of his identity with that small change.

I especially felt disconnected after reading about why they made the change. Apparently, according to an interview, they switched for wii motion controls, since people hold the wii remote in their right hand regardless of "hand preference" (those were the exact words used). I, uh...I don't! I have, and always will, hold a wiimote in my left hand. Learning that *this* was the reason for them cutting out such an enormous part of the identity of my childhood role model, the Paragon of what lefties could be, seriously pissed me off. And again, this probably doesn't matter in the least to anyone who isn't a lefty.

In short: diversity, inclusion, and representation don't have to be massive. It doesn't have to take up the core of a character's story arc. Even something as simple as the character's *dominant hand* can make people feel seen.

This is also why I don't like it when people say not to have representation for representation's sake. "Oh, it's just tokenism if you say that a character's gay and do nothing about it!" No. No, it's not. It increases diversity, it makes people feel closer to your characters and story, it gives positive representation of usually marginalized people (including lefties until recently, believe it or not!), and it adds an extra layer of depth to this collection of traits that you're passing off as a person.

Even if there's an argument to be made that a character is just the "token gay," or the "token PoC," or whatever, it also shows that people from those communities are capable of living normal lives in society, rather than conforming to whatever stereotypes apply to them. I would much rather a writer add an identity to a character and then not mention it much than they try to make a story arc around it that comes off as anything-phobic.

Again, in short: representation matters. Never say it doesn't.

[every-aj-needs-an-angel]

Listen. LISTEN.

The best thing about being left-handed is that when you're sitting next to someone who isn't

YOU CAN STILL HOLD HANDS

Honestly, it's the best thing about it

[gratefulfrog]

Happy Birthday, Townes

Born in Fort Worth Texas March 7, 1994

[subtlehaz]

I’m saying it out loud and not just in the tags anymore

Eddie being left-handed means so much to me put some respect on his name 😤

[august-water]

laughing at tragedy doodles 2: traditional art edition

au by: @inkspottie :D

[silverthief]

(( Before I go to sleep, I'm just gonna share this WIP drawing I'm doing of Charmaine. It's actually a full-body piece, but I cropped it because I am being a tease. Didn't even bother doing the lineart, just colored on top of the sketch, which I did clean up quite well though. ))

[aro-attorneys]

Anyway I love having no subscriptions to anything whatsoever. I am free.

[starwikia]

so like are we done with the idea that james is a victim of the internet harassment mob or whatever you guys like to call it when in reality no one like forced him to be part of the public eye again. he had multiple times to disengage but he threw himself head first into the spotlight with some half assed apology where he used his dead mom, illiterate dad, and like 293 mental illnesses that he was in the right to do a widdle plagiarism but it’s not his fault! it’s everyone else’s fault for not being nice to him about it!!! how dare these people bring these issues to the public not thinking how james would feel about it! like ppl are forgetting there was notable period of time james went off air entirely. and every time he’s jumped back it’s always attempts to paint himself as the victim.

like be real for a second if anyone was weaponizing the internet harassment machine it was james somerton. he knew what he was doing when he posted that note. he knew the shit his victims would get for having the crime of (checks notes) voicing out their issues with him. he knew there’s people out there who are foaming at their mouths to use anything they can get their hands on as a “gotcha!” at hbomberguy (right wing people yes, but don’t act like it’s just them i’ve seen plenty of lefties trying to prove they’re superior to harry). they don’t give a shit about james, not really. he’s the dude who hbomb did a “hit piece” (yes that’s a term i’ve seen people use) and that’s what matters.

not to mention the writing that’s also very clearly targeting nick who’s basically cut ties with him at this point. james pushed all the burden on nick by saying it’s their fault, actually. he’s one of the co-writers and everything going to shit was nick’s fault when they had the audacity to move. james is faultless! with james still trying to monetize stolen content on the blatant lie that he’s doing this for nick’s sake as a portfolio. acting as if nick isn’t an sentient human being who could upload their own content, as if nick would even want to be associated with james at this point. this isn’t a teenager being harassed for an honest mistake, this is a 35-year old con artist who’s stolen hundreds of thousands and peddled the most vile shit as actual history but realized he was in deep shit and weaponizes very serious mental health issues as a “i’m just a poor little gay baby!! my alter ego did it!!!”

for the record if you’re among the people who tried to wash down james’ crimes as “he just did plagiarism!! it wasn’t that bad of a crime!” fuck you, man. i’m not kidding.

the fact i’ve witnessed people whitewash his acts of racism, sexism, transphobia, homophobia, antisemitism and misogyny (in fact i’m probably still missing a few things here), and say he’s being harassed by the internet just because he stole articles makes it so clear they have no fucking idea what they’re talking about. his shit isn’t fucking erased just bc he realized that he has to handle the consequences. he’s grasping at anything he can at this point to make sure that even if he’s not coming back, he’s sure as hell trying to take anyone he fucking can down with him.

he doesn’t get a second chance to be a content creator at this point. he doesn’t get to show himself to do better. he needs to fucking leave. and if he tries to publicly make himself the victim then he better know that he’s going to get public backlash.

if anything situation proves to me that he can never be trusted with a public platform ever again because he will immediately guilt people into feeling sorry for him.

[redvioletarts]

[Image ID: A photo of an 11oz black coffee mug with a custom design in white lineart and hand-lettered text. It says "Dear FBI" in large print over art of an Internet search bar with suggested previous searches below. The text in the search bar says "I'm A Writer I Swear" in all caps, and the previous searches read "detect gps tracker on car," "arsenic lethal dose," and "black market prices for..." with the rest of the text cut off. End ID.]

Lines printed up great on this one! The text came out nice and clear.

Writing research got you looking sketchy lately? Throw the Feds off your trail by also buying this. Guaranteed to not get you investigated for your weird search history. Probably. ...Well, it won't hurt.

(Maybe you should get a VPN in any case.)

The design prints up on both sides, to be fair to the lefties for once. All my mugs do.

Dear FBI, I'm A Writer I Swear <- get yours!

[whiskeynwriting]

Recovery

Simon “Ghost” Riley x OFC “Bones” 

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Word Count: 6.8k

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI)

Trauma, physical therapy, some reader descriptions (strong/muscles), dirty talk, size kink, grinding/dry humping, mentions of male masturbation, spanking, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, mentions of smoking, tattoos.

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A/N: Hope y’all aren’t getting sick of Ghost x Bones because they’re not leaving anytime soon lol. Also this gif has my HEART, baby has some makeup in his eye lol

ALSO also, thank you to @thesleepingmusicneek for honestly just being an amazing fucking friend but for helping me SO much with my writing 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

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Simon “Ghost” Riley Masterlist

Join My Taglist!

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Nothing but scribbles stumble across the page, now disfigured with angry wrinkles. And the writer, no more frustrated than he is stubborn, sitting with the pencil’s tip just at the paper’s edge. What’s worse than watching him struggle, is knowing there’s little to nothing you can do about it. This journey is up to him; his progress, his growth, his recovery, it’s all in his hands. 

“This is bullocks.” Finally, he tosses the pencil down with an aggressive huff. “Never even was a lefty.”

“That’s not the point.”

Looking away with a frown, he mumbles, “I know.”

Simon’s physical therapist tries his best, he really does, but his patient is stubborn, and these injuries are unforgiving. Having you here is the main thing that keeps Simon going, out of both pride and general encouragement. In the therapist’s eyes, your open sass doesn’t help. But hey, it’s how the two of you bond. 

“Try it this way, Ghost.” He then offers, speaking into the growing silence. 

“I’ve already tried it that way. Fuckin’ hurts!” His left hand wasn’t ever his strongest or most favored out of the two, but practicing his writing skills is a step in the right direction in regard to his healing. 

Sometimes, this was embarrassing for him, having you watch him struggle. But even through the bad days, and the really bad days, he insisted that you come. Your support meant more to him than anything, and you were glad to tag along. He found great offense in the mere offer of you leaving, which was suggested many times by his therapist. They claimed he’d focus better without you there. A fucking distraction. 

“She’s my doctor,” He’d state firmly, eyes burning holes into his PT. “Not you.”

And this was true. Price had allowed you to be Simon’s main physician, figuring there really wasn’t anyone better. You had both personal and professional reason to be here. So, Simon’s physical therapist can suck it. 

“Perhaps if we had some privacy, maybe -”

“This again?!” Ghost shouts, and you try your best to hide your chuckle. He should’ve known better than to bring this up now, when Simon is most frustrated. “Bloody fuckin’ hell, how many times do I have to tell you?!”

“Hey,” Laying a hand on his forearm, you request gently, “Take a breath.”

Regardless of his deep inhale, Simon’s dark eyes continue to glare at the physician. Though, as irritated as he may seem now, Ghost truly has come a long way. He’s gotten a lot of feeling back in his feet and legs, and can even wiggle his toes and feel pain. On this area of his body, the therapist has moved onto moving his entire foot. 

“Why don’t we try the lower extremities?” 

“‘S difficult, too.” Glancing away, Simon focuses on the view past the windowpane. It’s a sunny day, soon to rain but nice enough now. 

The soft rub of your thumb on his forearm is what pulls him back, nodding with a sigh. “Alright, fine.”

Redirecting his focus to his feet, Simon concentrates, determined to do… something. He’s been instructed to wiggle his toes, which he does successfully. And the gentle squeeze you give him offers the slightest bit of encouragement. 

“Alright, now let’s try your ankle. Start with the right one.” 

“Rotate it fully?” Scoffing, he raises a brow.

His therapist shrugs. “Any movement at all.”

Narrowing his eyes, Simon zones in on his right foot, doing anything he can to make it move. A twitch, a wiggle, anything. But by his quick yet shallow breaths, his small grunts, you can tell he’s becoming agitated again. 

“Be patient with your body.”

“My body can do so much more than this.” He spits out in return. 

“Yeah?” You return, not one to take his sass. “Then show me.” 

There was nothing more motivating than your snarky remarks, always ready to challenge the man you love. And wouldn't you know it, a small shudder runs through his ankle. The way Simon’s head immediately snaps up toward you makes you grin, his eyes wide with little crinkles on the side, evidence of his eager smile. It's like he himself was surprised by it, and to say you’re proud of him would be an understatement. 

“Way to go, big boy.” With the widest grin, you congratulate him. “You’re making progress.”

And even though he doesn’t respond, he keeps his smile. He’s proud of himself, too.

*

*

*

Subtle glances, small brushes or touches, cheeky grins and flirtatious laughs, that’s what accounts for your interactions. And while your exchanges have been sweet, they’ve also been dulled, in a way. The fire doesn’t seem to be there anymore. Your love still grows, is still everlasting, but the desire you had for one another, it’s faded.

Or at least, it seems that way. 

The first few months of Simon’s recovery were the most difficult. Getting him stable was more important than anything, and you were by his side through it all. You weren’t thinking sexually, those thoughts weren’t anywhere near your headspace, not when you were so worried. But the more Simon healed, the more touchy he should be, right? It makes sense in your head. Going so long without so much as kissing or even hugging you, you’d assumed he’d want to put his hands on you as soon as he got the chance. 

The injuries on Ghost’s face and head have healed, externally, at least. So, he’s been lifting his mask more around you, but only to the tip of his nose. And you wonder if he regrets showing himself to you. But even with that thought lingering heavily in your head, you also wonder, why hasn’t he kissed me yet? Why hasn’t he initiated anything? A small hug? A peck on the lips? Anything? Honestly, it feels like you’re losing him all over again.

Simon has shown his love for you through his actions and words. The two of you don’t often say it, but it comes up every now and then. His physical intentions, though, those were much more prominent. They came in the form of voicing his requests for you to stay, whether it be at his therapy sessions or just throughout the day. He wasn’t shy about that. Occasionally, he’d compliment you, call you smart and sweet, call you his doctor, his girl. But nothing more, nothing even remotely sexual. And it’s strange because Simon used to be so sexual. Even when he couldn't do much with you, couldn't he have said something to express his physical interest? 

On the other end, Ghost’s worrying about this topic just as much as you. While you’ve been waiting for him to make a move, he’s been waiting on you. His body has always been scarred, mutilated with cuts that ran deep and marred with burns over his flesh. But he wasn’t insecure about any of that, not until these recent injuries. He knows he looks different, especially on his left arm and legs, even his face a little bit. Simon hasn’t felt truly insecure in decades, but that rotten feeling has now been clawing at the insides of his chest, breaking free and wreaking havoc on his mind. 

Simon wanted to give you space, give you the option of turning away. He wouldn’t blame you, this wasn’t exactly part of the package. Besides, you can’t help it if you’re not attracted to him anymore because of these injuries. He’d understand it. It’d crush his entire being, but he’d understand. 

And so, he waits, wondering if the day will come where you’ll make a move, where you’ll show him that you’re still attracted to him. But he refuses to bring it up to you, he doesn’t want to push. 

“‘M sorry,” Simon grumbles quietly, somberly. 

“You don’t have to be.” His regret is obvious, and you appreciate the gesture of him apologizing. But you’re used to his attitude during those sessions, and you honestly don’t blame him one bit. You can’t imagine how frustrating this situation would be if it were you personally. 

Moving about the room, you clean up your station, sorting notes into files and wiping down the desk. And Simon watches you with thoughtful eyes, hoping for a chance to reconnect. You’re the most precious and special thing he’s ever had the pleasure of possessing. But not possess in a way of dominance, possess in a way like his own soul possesses his body. Natural, connected, at peace. 

“How was your day?” He asks, voice low and muddled by the rain tapping against the windowpane. 

Without turning, you respond with, “Normal. Nothing too crazy.” 

“What was your favorite part?” Simon pries gently, not wanting the conversation to end.

Now, you do turn. Leaning back against the edge of your desk, you grin. “Spending it with you.”

And it’s true. Regardless of the worries slowly but surely consuming you, it was nice to be with him. 

Swallowing, his pulse becomes thunderous in his ears, heart beating against his chest. He wants you, wants to feel you next to him. So, with great hesitancy, he requests, “C’mere.”

Excitement shoots through your limbs as you all too quickly prance over to him, ecstatic that he’s even asked. And your eagerness makes him smirk beneath the mask. Sitting yourself down on one of those round, swiveling chairs, you rest beside his left arm. Out of curiosity, you look down, eyeing his decorated forearm. His tattoos no longer look the same, some of them having changed with the healing of his stitches. 

“Bunch of bullshit.” Ghost murmurs, glancing down, too. “Paid good money for those.”

Laughing, you give your head a single shake. “They still look hot as hell.”

Eyes widening, he speaks before he can stop himself. “Really?”

With you being so close to him again, and now complimenting him, he feels like he’s soaring. 

“Fuck yeah.” You respond, as if it were obvious. To you, it is.

Impulsively, you lay a hand over his forearm, fingers brushing the black and white ink. And for a split second, it feels electric on his skin. But you’re quick to flinch away, wide eyes staring up at him. “I’m so sorry, did that hurt?”

But all he does is shrug. “Not at all. Stitches are healed, love.” 

Love. You swoon. 

“So, I can touch you?” It obviously isn’t meant to come off dirty, but Ghost’s brain registers it as that, anyway. 

“Of course you can.” He nearly blurts out, his tone hopeful and welcoming. And immediately, you’re wrapping both hands around his sleeve. The small hum he exudes prompts you to glance up, grinning at the sight. Ghost has closed his eyes, chest releasing a relaxing breath. 

“Feels nice.”

“Just this?” Humored doubt laces your tone. 

“Feels like ages since you’ve touched me.” 

His words twist the thoughts collecting in your head into something new. Has he… he’s wanted me to touch him?

“I know…” The way you say it expresses your sadness, your regret. “Just need you to heal, ya know?”

Because of what he’s now said, you feel the need to explain yourself, explain why you haven’t fulfilled his expectations. Throughout this entire healing process, you focused mostly on his physical health. You never once thought to tend to his emotional wellbeing. It’s a failure, on your end. 

“Does it,” Inhaling a motivating breath, he finishes with, “Does it bother you?”

“What?”

Lifting his arm slightly, he gestures to himself. “These stitches, the injuries.” 

Twisting your face in confusion, you lean back a bit. “Um… no? Why would they?”

“Just… missed your touch, is all.” He’s mumbling, quiet and very obviously insecure. “Missed you.”

“Baby… I’m so sorry.” All at once, regret hits you like a truck. He’s been suffering, and you’ve done nothing. “I’m sorry I haven’t done more for you.”

“You’ve done everything you needed to.”

“No, I haven’t. How could I let you feel this way?” 

An abrupt knock on the door dissipates your conversation into seemingly nothing. Instantly, you pull your hands away from him, turning in your chair to greet whoever’s about to approach. And to your delight, it’s Johnny.

“Hey Lt.” He grins, walking in and giving you a nod. “Lovely Bones.”

There’s that flirtatious nature again. As always, Ghost knew it meant nothing, not really. But now that he feels like you’re falling through his fingers, he wants to tighten his grasp now more than ever, wants to pull you back into his chest and never let you go, whisper all the sweet things he’s been dying to tell you. Especially when another man compliments you.

“How’ve ya been?” Striding forward, Johnny takes a seat opposite of Ghost’s bed. Spreading his legs and leaning in on his knees, he flashes that cheeky smile, giving Simon his full attention.

“I’ve been fine, Johnny. Nothing new.” Simon answers simply, almost in a kind of brain fog. Switching conversations so quickly is difficult for him, still trying to regain his focus from the incident. 

“See your scars are healin’ up nicely.” Pointing to his forearm, he nods. “That’s good to see.”

“Yeah, messed up my bloody ink, though.”

“Ah,” Soap waves a hand, “Looks better that way.” 

The team visited Simon fairly frequently. And since you’re by his side for ninety-five percent of the day, you get to see the guys every time they come by. Oftentimes, they’d bring him little treats, a snack from the cafeteria or his favorite energy drink. And while Ghost knew they had the best intentions, their pity disgusted him. Sometimes he wished they would just leave him alone. Especially now, considering the two of you were in the middle of a rather important discussion. 

“Oh!” Johnny then says, startling you. Reaching into his back pocket, he retrieves a small package. Tossing it Simon’s way, Soap says, “Know you like these.”

Catching it easily, Simon reads the wrapping. A Snickers, he can’t remember the last time he had one of these. And that was mainly due to his brain injury. 

“Thanks, Johnny.”

“I know all this can’t be easy, Si. I’m for you, ya know.”

“Yeah, I know.” Ghost sighs, staring down at the candy bar. Johnny rarely called him Si, and it tugs at his heartstrings. 

Soap can feel something is off in the room, the energy is just weird. He’s been wanting to ask about your relationship, but hasn’t had the balls to. He doesn’t want to make either of you uncomfortable and hasn’t had the chance to be alone with Simon or you. 

“Well, I’ll let you lovebirds be.” Smiling cheekily, he stands. “I’ll visit again soon, yeah, Lt.?”

“‘Course, Johnny.” 

Before Johnny leaves, he offers you a hug, strong arms embracing you fully. And you rest against him, leaning into his sturdy frame. He’s been a great part of your support system since all of this happened; Simon’s injuries have only brought you and Johnny closer together. 

“It’ll be alright, yeah, sweetheart?” He sighs quietly against your head. Nodding, you take in a steadying breath.

“Yeah, it’ll be alright.” 

Another knock, another groan from your end. “Come in.”

Opening the door is the other half of the medical team assigned to Ghost, making their way in so they can clean. Their tasks were to change the sheets, wash Simon and his clothes, wipe down surfaces and mop the floor, the list goes on. And while you were more than happy to do these things, Simon wouldn't allow it. Ghost’s recovery prompted new boundaries to arise in your relationship, lines that he was firm on setting. The first regarding this exact circumstance; you already cared for him medically and he refused for you to do anymore, he didn’t want you to be his full time caregiver. He would never want to burden you with that, and he knows it would cause nothing but strife in your relationship. Besides, the mere thought of you changing his bedpan and regularly washing his sheets was humiliating. So, whenever it was time for those types of tasks, you left, fulfilling other duties. 

But why did they have to come now? 

“I’ll, um…” Turning back to Simon, you see he’s already looking toward you with a pleading gaze. Stay. 

All you want to do is stay. 

But at the same time, Simon doesn’t want you to see him this way. 

“I’ll… see you later, Si.”

Swallowing, Simon’s rough voice then appears. “Babe,”

Immediately, your eyes widen, if only ever so slightly. For him to call you that in the presence of others speaks volumes. Sure, Price had you sign those HR papers about workplace relationships, but you hadn’t exactly made it known to others after that. The two of you favored your privacy. But right now, that simple word is speaking louder than anything else he could’ve said.

“C’mere for a sec.” Grunting, he does his best to reach out to you, using his left arm. And as soon as he does it, Johnny is letting you go, wanting you to meet Simon’s gentle plea.

Leaving the sergeant’s arms, you do just that, stepping over to Simon’s bedside. Placing both of your hands in his left, you grin, looking into those deep, warm eyes of his. 

“You’ll come back, yeah?” Ghost asks quietly, your team beginning to work around him.

“Of course, I will.”

“Eh, won’t be long.” Johnny chimes in, “She can come hangout with me and the boys, get a game of pool in.”

“Sounds lovely.” You return with a murmur, eyes not leaving Simon’s. “I’ll be back later, baby.” And that, coupled with the kiss you give his palm, is shocking to your team. Though it sends waves of butterflies through Simon’s stomach. 

These public displays of affection are entirely foreign to your relationship, but you’re both basking in the sweetness of it. And maybe this is the perfect time for you to explore it, for you to outwardly show your love and attraction for him just when he needs it most. 

On your way out, Johnny doesn’t mention the way every single person’s eyes widen in the room when your affectionate nicknames are exchanged, or the way a few heads turn. He chooses to stay silent, smiling to himself while leading you out of the room. 

*

*

*

Returning to a sleeping Simon is bittersweet. You’re glad he’s resting, but you’d do anything to finish your earlier conversation. But it’s late, and you figure at this point, you’ll have to wait until morning.

The rainfall makes you tired, too, yawning as you walk further in. It was only three days into Simon’s recovery that you started sleeping in his room, bringing a small, foldable cot for you to curl up on. His bed wasn’t big enough for the two of you, and besides, you’re pretty sure Price would light a fire up both your asses if he caught you snoozing next to him. 

As quietly as you can, you unfold your small bed and bring it to the side of his. It sits lower, but Simon often made up for that by dropping his arm, letting you hold onto his hand throughout the night. But with him asleep, you don’t think you’ll get that luxury tonight. Nevertheless, you curl up in your blanket, resting only in your underclothes as you doze off beside him. 

“Miss you.”

That rumbling voice almost scares you in the near silence, your body jolting ever so slightly. When did he wake up? Still, those two simple words make your insides burn bright. 

Lips curling happily, you mutter, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Quietly, you then ask, “Want me to come up there?” It’s happened once or twice before, but only for some cuddles. Simon’s grown quite accustomed to your touch. 

With a heavy sigh, he gives in. “You know I do.”

Absolutely thrilled with his request, you pop right up, situating yourself on the right side of his bed. Simon likes it best when you curl up on this side, allowing him to wrap his good arm around you. Cuddling into him, you revel in the closeness - you haven’t done this in weeks. He’s resting on his back, the same position he always sleeps in. And with you by his side, he turns his head in your direction, releasing a contented breath. 

“Hey, gorgeous.” He says to you sweetly, fondly, covered lips pressing to the top of your head. 

“Hm…” Sighing happily, you twine your legs between his much bulkier appendages, draping an arm across his abdomen. You’re so happy he still wants this, wants you and this relationship. 

“Cozy?” He chuckles, eyes closed as he grins. 

“Mhm,” Snuggling further into him, he can feel your smile press against his bare skin. Ghost usually slept nearly naked, only black boxers hugging his body. And you liked it best this way, for multiple reasons. One being that you’re able to see more of his tattoos. He has some on his chest, one reaching up to his collarbones and neck. And you just love them, found them incredibly interesting and undeniably sexy.

“Love this…” Tracing a particularly larger tat, your smile becomes brighter than ever. “Love the way you feel.” 

“Yeah? Even when I’m like this?” His tone expresses the dry humor he’s far too familiar with, the same dry humor that covers up his emotions. 

“Big teddy bear.” And that makes him fully laugh. “Strong.”

“Don’t feel too strong.”

Simon was never one to be insecure of his body, of the multitude of scars on it. Cuts that dug deep, burns that marred his skin, none of it bothered him, not even when he showed himself to you like this. What did bother him, though, was the fact that he looked weak. He couldn't stand it, and to say his ego was taking a hit would be an understatement. 

“Baby,” With a heavy breath, you shake your head lightly beneath him. “You’re so fucking hard on yourself.”

All he does is grunt in response, becoming quite pensive. Though, he tries not to be. Getting lost in his thoughts wasn’t something Simon liked doing. Lucky for him, your hand serves as a distraction. Running your palm down his torso, you take this opportunity to feel the muscles along his stomach and ribs, the v-line leading down to his pelvis. And it makes him shiver with anticipation. 

You’re not sure how to start this conversation again, mainly because of how distracted you’ve become. Feeling Simon’s naked body always made you feel excited inside, always made you feel eager and lustful. But you want to care for him emotionally, too. 

“I hope you know how much I still love you.” Continuing to lower your hand, you suddenly feel Simon’s chest dip, releasing a heated breath. “How much I love your body…”

“Hm…” The further you get, the more interested he becomes. The fact that you still find him appealing, even like this, it’s repairing his ego bit by bit. Truthfully, it’s everything he’s needed. “Miss you touchin’ me…” 

“Do you miss this, too?” Lightly, ever so lightly, you cup him over his clothes. And the gentle stimulation is more than enough to arouse him.

The intimacy you share with Simon is addicting, and the withdrawal has been a bitch. But just like that, as soon as you get the tiniest taste, you’re hooked all over again. 

“Fuck, yes.” Groaning in frustration, he forces out a breath. And fuck you’ve missed that, hearing the eager roughness to his tone. “Been so long since I’ve had you.” 

Feeling your hand on his crotch like that, it lights a fire inside him. All over again, he wants you, wants to throw you down on this bed and take you. Shove himself inside until you’re fluttering, spurting with cum before he releases his own. Hold you down and make you take it, for however long he likes. Rub his face over your chest, down the valley between your breasts, sucking on their soft flesh. Haul your leg up over his waist and grab a fistful of your ass, spanking it until the pain turns into something irresistibly sweet. 

But he can’t. He physically can’t. 

The arm holding you tightens against your body, against your own strong muscles. Irritation courses through his veins, knowing he can’t do much but god damn if he won’t try to do what he can. Turning his head, he ducks down, pressing his covered lips to your own with a forceful breath. Easily, wholeheartedly, you embrace him, hand lifting to cup his jaw. Your mouth presses to the shape of his lips, the covered kiss far too teasing for the current moment. 

“Baby, can we? Please?” Sliding down ever so slightly, your fingertips graze the edge of his mask, wanting desperately to see him; any part of him.

“I… I want to, B.” The hesitancy in his voice is worrying. “But it just… it won’t be the same.” 

Even through the mask, you can feel his breath, experiencing the humid touch of it against your face. 

“I don’t care how it is, I just want it. I want you, Simon. I’ve missed you so fucking much.” Impatiently, you tug on his mask, leaning up against to press your mouth to his skull covering. It’s needy, it’s wanting, so openly throwing yourself at him he honestly can’t believe it. He hasn’t seen you like this in far too long, and he’d be an idiot to let this opportunity go, especially when it’s all he’s fucking thought about.

The way your tongue slides out, pressing against the white and black fabric, it makes him growl with passion. Quickly, yet shakily, his left hand rises, flipping the edge of his mask up before grabbing onto your jaw. Squishing your cheeks a bit he brings you in, bare lips crashing into your own. Open mouths press together, wet and warm and familiar. And those thick fingers dig into the fabric along your hip, wishing it were bare skin. 

“Baby,” With your fingernails scraping down his chest, you have to stop yourself from digging in too deeply. But it’s difficult when he’s kissing you like this, when he’s shoving his tongue inside your mouth so he can map it out all over again. “How could you ever think I’m not attracted to you?” 

The air leaving your chest is instantly sucked back in, your chest rising and falling as you feel Simon’s hand glide down your waist. He’s bringing you in even closer, pressing your body to his, feeling your warmth. 

“Don’t you know how fucking sexy you are, Simon?”

“Get up here,” That gruff voice suddenly demands, “On my lap, B.” 

He doesn’t have to ask you twice, your eager movements are evidence of that. Slipping your shorts and panties down your legs, you leave them on the cot as you slide easily on top of him. Your thighs encase his hips as you make yourself comfortable on him, center lowered right onto his. And your lips don’t even leave, he wouldn’t allow it.

“That’s so good…” Both of Simon’s hands now fall to your hips, holding onto you firmly. 

The way his teeth nip at your lips makes you sigh, little whines spilling from your mouth when they turn into bites. And all at once, his hands are roaming your body, sliding up beneath your shirt to feel your bare stomach, the skin of your hips and sides. The way you’re embracing each other is so lustful, so impassioned and fervent. It’s like it’s the first time all over again.

“You’re fucking perfect, you know that?” His words make you laugh, but he’s insistent. “Every goddamn day, whether you’re working or not, even on that bloody mission, you’re stunning, B.” 

“Simon,” You begin to protest, but he continues, mouthing at your lips as he bursts with praise for you. 

“Such a pretty girl for me,” Your lover says, hips beginning to grind up against you. “Always so pretty…” 

“Ugh, I fucking missed you. I need you, Si. I need this.” Holding his face with both hands, you lean in, resting your forehead over his own as you begin to meet his gentle thrusts. “I don’t give a shit how many scars you have, how many injuries I have to see through. I’m here, Simon. I’m here and I’m not fucking leaving you.”

“I love you.” He suddenly blurts out, as if he’d been dying to say it this entire time. “I can’t lose you, B. Never opened myself up to anyone but you.” 

“I know, baby. I know… and I love everything you’ve given me. Everything you are.”

“Not everything.” Giving his head a quick shake, hands guiding the sway of your hips over him. 

“Everything.” 

Your correction prompts Simon’s direct eye contact, a small pause in this heated moment. Flickering between your irises, Ghost’s own pupils widen, filled with something akin to adoration, something made of lust and absolute devotion. 

“Simon,” Whining quietly, you resume your subtle shifts over his lap, his own hips easily resuming their pace, too. “Please, I need you again, baby.” 

“I, I just… it won’t be the same, Bones.” But he’s still kissing you, still grinding up against your sensitive core and breathing the air puffing past your lips. And you can feel him, having fully hardened and sitting firm between your legs. 

“I don’t fucking care, Simon. If you want this, tell me. And I’ll make it happen.”

“Yeah? And what’ll you do?” He asks, grinning while lifting his good hand to the back of your head.

“Ride you,” Panting, you grind yourself over the thickness of the erection rising steadily in his briefs. “Just like I used to.”

Betraying his rotten inner emotions, the ones that had convinced him you no longer saw him with the same desire in your eyes, a smirk forms on those smooth lips. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Devouring him, your tongue slides into his mouth, swallowing his moan while dragging the wet muscle over his own. But he quickly takes the lead, using the hand on your head to move you how he likes. He takes great pleasure in this, in having some semblance of control while you’re like this. 

“Fuck, do it.” He finally decides, his entire body shuddering with desire. “Fucking do it.”

Instantly, you’re dropping one hand from his face and reaching for his boxers. You find him easily, pulling aside the fabric and watching as he practically jumps into your hand. 

“Christ,” Red and leaking, throbbing, Simon’s cock weighs heavy in your hand.

“Excited?” Grinning wildly, you lean in, running the tip of your nose over his cheek. 

“Very.” Evidenced by the liquid warmth drooling from his cockhead, he’s correct. 

Running your thumb over his slit, you take great pride in watching him twitch. “Don - Don’t tease. Just put it in.”

It’s too damn easy for you to listen to him, to follow his every command. Lifting yourself, your eyes fall to the sight you’ve so dearly missed. And with both of you watching, you line him up with your entrance, licking your lower lip with anticipation. 

“C’mon, come down now…” His hands are pulling on your hips, becoming impatient. “Put the tip of my cock against that pretty little hole.”

Fuck, you missed this, the way he talked to you during times like this. He was always so good with it.

“Mm…” Slowly, you sink down, inch by thick inch. The whine that slips past your lips is shrill, feeling his head spread you open. But Simon is quick to hush you, bringing you in for a bruising kiss. 

“You can do it, just like before.” He says to you through sweet, wet kisses. 

“Simon…”

“Just like that, just like that, princess.” His hands continue to urge you on, pulling you down onto him. “What happened, huh? Get a little tighter without me around?”

“F-Fuck,” Dropping your head onto his shoulder boosts his confidence incredibly; your submissive side is coming out again, and it’s making him feel dominant. 

“Oh, just look at the way it stretches for me, Christ…” Feeling your velvety inside envelope his tip, it’s almost too much for him. “Such a good pussy.”

“Baby…” Turning your head, you press a flurry of fervent kisses to his mask. “I’ve needed you for so long, you don’t know how bad I’ve missed this.” 

“I know, trust me.” Releasing a dry laugh, Simon’s eyes raise with awareness. 

Clinging to his shoulders, you gasp when he finally bottoms out inside you, sitting entirely over his pelvis. And with your ass flush against his lap, he throbs violently against your walls, every thick vein pulsing beneath your core’s hot squeeze.

“Sweetheart,” Taking in a lungful of air, he says, “You know how many times I’ve thought about this? Thought about fuckin’ you again? Thought about this sweet ass on my lap, about the way this pretty pussy grips me…” 

 “Tell me,” Clinging to his shoulders, your nails dig into him once again, lips pressing to his neck. “Please tell me.”

Wrapping his right arm around your back, he pulls you flush against his chest. The sudden movement knocks you away from his neck, with Simon’s lips returning to yours all over again. The embrace is sweet and smooth, his talented lips captivating your attention. 

“Whenever you weren’t here… I took every goddamn opportunity. Fucked my fist to the thought of you, B. But, ngh…” Feeling you wiggle over his lap, he grunts. “It’s never the same. Not even bloody close.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Using those broad shoulders as leverage, you lift yourself, setting a steady pace over him. 

“Christ,” Head lolling back, his eyes follow. “Didn’t, fuck… didn’t want to pressure you.”

“I like when you do that to me. Make me feel small, and needed.” 

The stride you continue with over Simon’s lap is baffling to him, riddling his body with overstimulation. Every time you meet his pelvis, you grind down onto him, onto the grown-out hairs surrounding his base. 

“You’re always needed.” He whispers to you, kissing your cheek as it rests beside him. “Fucking hell, princess, I can feel you dripping down my shaft.” 

The sound your wetness creates resonates throughout the room, prompting a bashfulness to rise hotly in your cheeks. Dropping your forehead to his shoulder, you moan openly into his ear, feeling both of those broad hands lower to your cheeks. Summoning every ounce of strength he has, he bounces you down onto his lap, punching himself into your depths. And every thrust he gives shoves him even deeper inside, his tip nudging your most sensitive skin. 

“No,” He then seethes, moving his head in your direction. “Don’t hide yourself from me, not now. Not when I finally have you again.”

But when he turns his head to the side, his mask shifts, a bout of frustration rising within him. “Fucking, ngh.”

It’s a quick decision, one he makes out of genuine love for you. 

Reaching up, Simon tears his mask from his head, tossing it to the floor and grabbing your face again. Before you can get a good look at him, his mouth is on you, the hand he used on his mask now pawing at your breasts. 

“Take it off, love. Take this off for me.” 

But you’re still processing the fact that he just took off his mask, and you want to see him. He doesn’t let you, though, he’s too busy tugging at the ends of your shirt. So, you oblige him, leaning back to lift it from your torso. Just as it leaves your head, Simon is lifting his chin up to your chest, mouth enveloping your left nipple. 

“Baby, let me,” Hands holding his head, your own tips back, mouth falling agape with a graceful moan. 

Ghost’s mouth sucks on you fervently, tongue flicking over the delicate peak before biting at it ever so gently. 

“Please let me see you.”

Insecurity overtakes him then, now that you’ve fully asked. And you can tell - he practically curls in on himself. 

“You don’t want me to?” And with that gentle inquiry, he’s taking in a steadying breath, eyes beginning to lift. 

From beneath his brow, those dark eyes lift to yours, chin following soon after. And for the first time since this horrid incident, you’re seeing him, fully seeing him. 

“No,” Giving his head a light shake, he stares into your dazzling orbs. “Don’t stop, babe. Please, don’t.” 

And you want to listen, want to give him what he wants but it’s hard when you’re witnessing the beauty of Simon’s face. The scars, the cuts and curves, his nose and jawline, all of his features coming together as one, once again. The memory of his face was once a painful thought, but now… it can be replaced. 

“It’s so nice to see you again, baby.” 

The strength of his arms and hands continues your movement, pushing you forward onto his chest. Here, he nuzzles into you, arms securing themselves around your midsection. Simon’s nose rubs against your neck, committing your scent, your feel, to memory. 

“Only for you.” He murmurs, placing a tender kiss. “Can’t lose you.”

“You won’t.” 

“You’re everything I need.” Grinding up into your center, he forces a gasp from your chest, spreading your cheeks until slight pain begins to bloom. “Christ, I’m not going to last long like this, not with these gorgeous fucking tits pressed against me like this.”

“Baby, we need this more… can we please? Please?”

“Every chance we get.” Nipping at your ear, the low groan he exudes sends a shiver right through you. 

The pleasurable waves flowing through your hips are nothing compared to the sharp jolts of ecstasy every thrust of his hips gives. At times, you think about how foolish he is to think that his strength has left him, what with the way his muscles bend and ripple with every firm grab, every harsh slap he now delivers. 

“Look at me.” Ghost demands in that deep, rough tone. “Look at me, and listen well.”

Lifting your head, you do just that, memorizing every feature of his face. Subconsciously, your hand lifts, cupping his clean jawline with your thumb stroking his cheek. 

“You’re mine, understand? Mine to fucking keep. And there’ll be no more misunderstandings between us.”

“No more,” Shaking your head, you hold his gaze, lips parting from his continued movements. “F-Fuck.”

“You gonna cum for me, huh? Just like you used to? Back when you first cared for me, back when we’d smoke in the Jeep…”

“Yes,” You don’t want to look away from him, but your head drops regardless. The pleasure flowing through your thighs turns every muscle you have to jelly, the wetness growing beneath you evidence of this. “I miss it.”

“Then give it to me, before I give mine to you.” 

The way he phrases it has you falling apart in his arms, still strong enough to keep you together on his chest. His body, thick and bulky, holds you tightly against him, feeling your limbs quiver above him. His fingers continue to dig into the softness of your cheeks before landing another harsh smack, listening to your shrill cry while you shake on his lap. It’s all-consuming, blinding, the euphoria bursting inside your body. 

“Goddamn,” Simon huffs out, his voice tense and strained. 

The grip he has on you turns bruising, his body curling around you as he releases. And his teeth bite into your shoulder as he does, the muscles in his abdomen flinching with every milky rope that leaves him. 

You can feel it, the evidence of his pleasure washing your insides white. The way he throbs against your walls, swollen and pulsing, his entire body releasing. Every ounce of worry and stress, any bit of anxiety, it’s flushed away with the help of your reassurance, of your devotion and unwavering passion. 

Fully wrapping your arms around his neck, you rest flush against him, mouth pressing to his stubbled cheek over and over again. And the next sound to delight your ears is Simon’s laugh. 

“Mm…” His groan sounds… content, relaxed. “You make me happy, B. Happier than I’ve been in… a long time.” 

“Happier than you’ve ever been,” You correct him cheekily, shuddering slightly as you come down from the pleasure he so wonderfully brings. “You can say it, baby.” 

Rolling his eyes, he gives your backside a light tap. “Don’t get cocky with it, now.” 

“Simon,” Inhaling a deep breath, you allow yourself to be fully vulnerable with him. “I don’t ever want to be that far from you again.”

And he knows what you mean. Ghost was never known as an emotional man, and likely never will be. But with you, it’s a different story. 

“You won’t be.” He reassures you quietly, calmly. “We’re here, everything’s just like it should be.”

“Mhm,” Nodding, you keep your arms around him, not wanting to let go. 

“It’s just you and me, B.” 

[aphroditeinthesea]

I love your work so much omg 😭 🙏🏻 you’re such a good writer 🫶🏻

I saw you were looking for requests 👀 and I was wondering if you’d be willingly to do Leo Valdez x f!reader where they are kinda rivals (yk they just bicker all the time) both working on the argo together or making weapons with a team in the forge. But then some guy joins their team and starts mansplaining the basic equipment. There’s just situation after situation where the reader will explain something to the guy and he won’t listen but then the second Leo says it he gets it. And at first Leo kinda notices but just thinks it’s because he’s in charge and stuff. At some point though he overhears the guy showing her how to do something (the wrong way) and he’s like “yo back off man, she knows what she’s doing”. Maybe he even protects her from open flames when the guy almost burns her handling the equipment wrong (something she’d told him a million times before)?? Maybe both happen idk?? The two just become close after that and he ends up confessing or something

Sorry about how much I wrote 😭 your request rules said you liked the requests to be specific and I wasn’t sure how in-depth to write… so if that’s too much you can totally take a bunch of it out lol (I work with power tools because I’m an arts major and I’ve had so many guys trying to explain basic power tools to me… so this has been on my mind for MONTHSSS)

“ i’m a feminist, obviously (but i wouldn’t really mind him saving me) ”

leo valdez x fem!reader 🔨

⚠️ o/c being creepy, mansplaining, almost getting set on fire

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

“That’s not,” Y/N stormed over to the boy. She grabbed the wrench out of his hands and began turning it, “righty tighty, lefty loosey.”

“What did you just say to me?” He scoffed.

“You were turning your wrench the wrong way, Valdez,” she replied, handing the tool back to him.

He grabbed it from her, crossing his arms, “for your information, that’s exactly how I wanted it.”

She rolled her eyes, “did you sleep, like at all?”

“A little.”

She huffed, “get some sleep, I’ll clean up.”

“No,” he defended, “I just need to finish this up-”

“If you try to use power tools why you're half asleep, you'll end up getting yourself killed,” she grabbed the wrench from him again, “and you know who’ll have to clean up your dead body? Me, and that’s gross.”

“You're too good to me.”

“Fuck off.”

He chuckled, wiping his forehead, “okay, fine. I’m heading out.”

“Bye,” she waved him off.

“See you later, sweet cheeks.”

“Shut up!”

He closed the door of bunker nine behind him, leaving her alone. She sighed with relief, tightening a few loose screws.

She hummed to herself as she began cleaning the mess around her. She picked up some tools, placing them back on their shelves.

“Nice song.”

She jumped at the voice. She turned around to see a boy standing by the stairs. “What are you doing?”

“I’m Marcus,” he replied, walking closer to her, causing her to slowly back up, “son of Hermes.”

“Well, what are you doing here?”

He put a hand on the ship, “heard you're working on this Argo thing, figured I could give a few pointers.”

She grabbed a toolbox, quickly walking away, “we don't need any help, thanks though.”

“Come on,” he smiled, following her, “you can always use some help, the more the merrier, right?”

“Take it up with Leo,” she answered, avoiding eye contact with her. She rushed to collect her things and made an escape to the door.

“I’ll walk you back.”

“I’m fine,” she sighed, opening the door and walking out.

She almost forgot about the incident the next day when she walked into the bunker. She found Leo with an annoyed look on his face, digging through a toolbox.

“What’s up with you, Bernard?” She commented as she walked towards the son of Hephaestus. She knew it was a stupid name, but she did love how much he hated it. She also loved the fact that he didn't understand it (she started using it more after finding out he had never seen the Santa Clause movies).

He sighed, “Mr. Macho over there,” he nodded his head toward the boy from the night before playing with a blowtorch. “He convinced Chiron that he should be working on this, too.”

She scrunched her face, “he gives me the creeps.”

“You know him?”

“He came in here last night after you left,” she explained, “I think he has a thing for me or something.”

Leo’s face tensed, his fist clenching around the hammer he held, “you think?”

“Hope not.” She took a deep breath before walking past the tall boy to grab some extra wood.

“Hey,” he grinned at her, “miss me?”

She forced a smile, walking away from him, “you know it.” She cursed herself for trying so hard to be nice to the little fucker, but she really didnt feel like starting something right then.

The day went on with her desperately trying to ignore his comments towards her. She found herself staying by Leo’s side in hopes that Marcus would think they were dating. As much as the idea grossed her out, it was better than some weirdo thinking he had a chance with her.

“I’m gonna head out,” Marcus mentioned, wiping off his hands with a rag.

“Bye,” Leo spoke flatly. Y/N stayed silent but let out a breath of relief when the boy walked out.

Leo looked up at her, noticing her change in demeanor, “are you okay?”

“What?” She met his eyes, “yeah, yeah,” she nodded, “I’m fine.”

He raised an eyebrow, “are you sure? Because I can figure out a way to get him out of here, if you want?”

She shook her head, “thanks, Leo. But, I’m fine, really.”

“Okay,” he breathed out before looking back to continue what he was doing.

She grabbed the blowtorch Marcus had formerly been using. She began using it (i don't know how they work i’m sorry), when Marcus walked back into the bunker, he immediately rushed over to her.

She rolled her eyes as he wrapped his hands around hers, “you're using it wrong.”

“I don't think I am.”

“No, you hold it like this-”

“She knows what she’s doing,” Leo called over.

Marcus just shook his head, “see when you do this,” soon the flames blew back towards them. Marcus threw the blowtorch down in the direction of Y/N in a panic. The flames spewed out and before Y/N could react, she felt herself pulled into a corner, tanned arms wrapped around her.

“What’s the matter with you?!” Leo yelled, his arms tightening.

“Look, it was her fault,” the son of Hermes motioned his hand towards the girl.

“Are you kidding? Since she’s been here, nobody’s almost died (italic). Then the second you walk in you almost turn her into toast!”

She nervously sighed. She slowly reached her hands up to hold onto his forearms, brushing her thumb against his skin.

“You shouldn't have a girl working on this in the first place, there's no way she knows anything about this!”

Leo took a deep breath before yelling once again, “get out!”

“What?” The boy scoffed.

“Get out!”

Her heart rate quickened. Despite all her fighting with him, she had never seen him this angry. She watched as Marcus shook his head before stomping out of the bunker.

Leo’s grip on her loosened, letting turn around to look at him, “are you okay?” He asked, briefly looking her up and down for any wounds.

She nodded, “I’m okay,” she looked up at his face, yet avoiding eye contact, “thank you.”

He softly smiled down at her, “yeah, well, that guy was an ass.”

She giggled, nodding in agreement.

“Don't worry, I’ll set him on fire next time I see him.”

She wrapped her arms around his torso, “thanks, really.”

“Of course,” he nestled his nose into her hair, “if anything happened to you, I think I would have actually killed him.”

“Good to know.”

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The internet is not a (link)dump truck

Monday (October 2), I'll be in Boise to host an event with VE Schwab. On October 7–8, I'm in Milan to keynote Wired Nextfest.

The second decade of the 21st century is truly a bounteous time. My backyard has produced a bumper crop of an invasive species of mosquito that is genuinely innovative: rather than confining itself to biting in the dusk and dawn golden hours, these stinging clouds of flying vampires bite at every hour that God sends:

https://themagnet.substack.com/p/the-magnet-081-war-with-mosquitoes

Here in the twilight of capitalism's planet-devouring, half-century orgy of wanton destruction, there's more news every day than I can possibly write a full blog post about every day, and as with many weeks, I have arrived at Saturday with a substantial backlog of links that didn't fit into the week's "Hey look at this" linkdumps.

Thus, the eighth installment in my ongoing, semiregular series of Saturday linkdumps:

https://pluralistic.net/tag/linkdump/

This week, the miscellany begins with the first hesitant signs of an emerging, post-neoliberal order. The FTC, under direction of the force-of-nature that is Lina Khan, has brought its long-awaited case antitrust case against Amazon. I am very excited about this. Disoriented, even.

When was the last time you greeted every day with a warm feeling because high officials in the US government were working for the betterment of every person in the land? It's enough to make one giddy. Plus, the New York Times let me call Amazon "the apex predator of our platform era"! Now that it's in the "paper of record," it's official:

https://pluralistic.net/ApexPredator

Now, lefties have been predicting capitalism's imminent demise since The Communist Manifesto, but any fule kno that the capitalist word for "crisis" also translates as "opportunity." Like the bedbugs that mutated to thrive in clouds of post-war DDT, capitalism has adapted to each crisis, emerging in a new, more virulent form:

https://boingboing.net/2023/09/30/bedbugs-take-paris.html

But "anything that can't go on forever will eventually stop" (Stein's Law). Perhaps our mistake was in waiting for capitalism to give way to socialism, rather than serving as a transitional phase between feudalism and…feudalism.

What's the difference between feudalism and capitalism? According to Yanis Varoufakis, it comes down to whether we value rents (income you get from owning things) over profits (income you get from doing things):

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/28/cloudalists/#cloud-capital

By that metric, the FTC's case against Amazon is really a case against feudalism. Through predatory pricing and acquisitions, Amazon has turned itself into a chokepoint that every merchant, writer and publisher has to pass through in order to reach their customers. Amazon charges a fortune to traverse that chokepoint (estimates range from 45% to 51% of gross revenues) and then forces sellers to raise their prices everywhere else when they hike their Amazon prices so they can afford Amazon's tolls. It's "an economy-wide hidden tax":

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/the-ftc-sues-to-break-up-amazon-over

Now, feudalism isn't a straightforward proposition. Like, are you sure you mean feudalism? Maybe you mean "manorialism" (they're easy to mix up):

https://locusmag.com/2021/01/cory-doctorow-neofeudalism-and-the-digital-manor/

Plus, much of what we know about the "Dark Ages" comes from grifter doofuses like Voltaire, a man who was capable of dismissing the 800 year Holy Roman Empire with a single quip ("neither holy, roman, nor an empire"). But the reality is a lot more complicated, gnarly and interesting.

That's where medievalist Eleanor Janeaga comes in, and her "Against Voltaire, or, the shortest possible introduction to the Holy Roman Empire" is a banger:

https://going-medieval.com/2023/09/29/against-voltaire-or-the-shortest-possible-introduction-to-the-holy-roman-empire/

Now, while it's true that Enlightenment thinkers gave medieval times a bum rap, it's likewise true that a key element of Enlightenment justice is transparency: justice being done, and being seen to be done. One way to distinguish "modern" justice from "medieval" trials is to ask whether the public is allowed to watch the trial, see the evidence, and understand the conclusion.

Here again, there is evidence that capitalism was a transitional phase between feudalism and feudalism. The Amazon trial has already been poisoned by farcical redactions, in which every key figure is blacked out of the public record:

https://prospect.org/power/2023-09-27-redacted-case-against-amazon/

This is part of a trend. The other gigantic antitrust case underway right now, against Google, has turned into a star chamber as well, with Judge Amit P Mehta largely deferring to Google's frequent demands to close the court and seal the exhibits:

https://usvgoogle.org/trial-update-9-22

Google's rationale for this is darkly hilarious: if the public is allowed to know what's happening in its trial, this will be converted into "clickbait," which is to say, "The public is interested in this case, and if they are informed of the evidence against us, that information will be spread widely because it is so interesting":

https://www.bigtechontrial.com/p/secrecy-is-systemic

Thankfully, this secrecy is struggling to survive the public outrage it prompted. While the court's Zoom feed has been shuttered and while Judge Mehta is still all-too-willing to clear the courtroom during key testimony, at least the DoJ's exhibits aren't being sealed at the same clip as before:

https://www.theverge.com/2023/9/27/23892215/google-search-antitrust-trial-documents-public-again-judge-mehta-rules

In 2023, the world comes at you fast. There's an epic struggle over the future of corporate dominance playing out all around us. I mean, there are French antitrust enforcers kicking down doors of giant tech companies and ransacking their offices for evidence of nefarious anticompetitive plots:

https://www.theverge.com/2023/9/28/23894863/nvidia-offices-raided-french-competition-authority

As ever, the question is "socialism or barbarism." But don't say that too loud: in America, socialism is a slur, one that dates back to the Reconstruction era, when pro-slavery factions called Black voting "socialism in South Carolina."

Ever since, white nationalists used "socialism" make Americans believe that "socialism" was an "extremist" view, so they'd stand by while everyone from Joe McCarthy to Donald Trump smeared their opponents as "Marxists":

https://thehill.com/homenews/campaign/4066499-trump-paints-2024-campaign-as-righteous-crusade/

As Heather Cox Richardson puts it for The Atlantic, "There is a long-standing fight over whether support for the modern-day right is about taxes or race. The key is that it is about taxes and race at the same time":

https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2023/09/american-socialism-racist-origins/675453/

The cruelty isn't the point, in other words. Cruelty is the tactic. The point is power. Remember, no war but class war. All of this is in service to paying workers less so that bosses and investors can have more.

Take "essential workers," everyone from teachers to zookeepers, nurses to librarians, EMTs to daycare workers. All of these "caring" professions are paid sub-living wages, and all of these workers are told that "they matter too much to earn a living wage":

https://www.okdoomer.io/praise-doesnt-pay/

The "you matter too much to pay" mind-zap is called "vocational awe," a crucial term introduced by Ettarh Fobazi in her 2018 paper:

https://www.inthelibrarywiththeleadpipe.org/2018/vocational-awe/

Vocational awe is how creative workers – like the writers who just won their strike and the actors who are still fighting – are conned into working at starvation wages. As the old joke goes, "What, and give up show-business?"

https://ask.metafilter.com/117904/Whats-the-joke-thas-hase-the-punchline-what-and-give-up-show-business

In this moment of Big Tech-driven, AI-based wage suppression, mass surveillance, corruption and inequality, perhaps we should take a moment to remind ourselves that cyberpunk was a warning, not a suggestion. Or, more to the point, the warning was about high-tech corporate takeover of our lives, and the suggestion was that we could seize the means of computation (a synonym for William Gibson's "the street finds its own use for things"):

http://www.seizethemeansofcomputation.org/

We are living in a lopsided cyberpunk future, long on high-tech corporate takeover, short of computation seizing. This point is made sharply in JWZ's "Dispatch From The Cyberpunk City," which is beautifully packaged as a Hypercard stack that you run on an in-browser Mac Plus emulator from the Internet Archive:

https://www.jwz.org/blog/2023/09/neuroblast-dispatch-from-the-cyberpunk-city/

Cast your gaze ahead, to the near future: Public space has all but disappeared. Corporate landlords use AI-powered robots to harass the homeless. The robots, built slick and white with an R2-D2 friendliness now most resemble giant butt plugs covered in graffiti and grime.

Science fiction doesn't have to be a warning. It can also be a wellspring of hope. That's what I tried to do with The Lost Cause, my forthcoming Green New Deal novel, which Bill McKibben called "The first great YIMBY novel":

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865939/the-lost-cause

Writing a hopeful novel of ecological, social and economic redemption, driven by solidarity, repair, and library socialism, was a powerful tonic against despair in this smoke-smothered, flooded, mosquito-bitten time. And while the book isn't out yet, there are early indications I succeeded, like Kim Stanley Robinson's reaction, "Along with the rush of adrenaline I felt a solid surge of hope. May it go like this."

And now, we have a concurring judgment from The Library Journal, who yesterday published their review, which concludes: "a thought-provoking story, with a message of hope in a near-future that looks increasingly bleak":

https://www.libraryjournal.com/review/the-lost-cause-2196385

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/30/mesclada/#melange

[bluebellofbakerstreet]

A-Z Sherlock Fan Fiction Tropes Bingo

Many thanks to @swissmissing for creating this bingo card! Because I'm like that, I decided to go for a blackout bingo! And because, even as I was typing these, I kept thinking of more wonderful fics that would fit the brief, I hope to fill in my bingo card again. Writers are amazing and deserve to be lauded, and I have left off so many amazing fics and authors. Besides, we all need fic recs. 💙

AU/Amnesia The Murder of Emory J Amat by chriscalledmesweetie. Sherlock and John in 1920's AgathaChristieLand. It's a WIP but is currently updating weekly. (52k, T)

BDSM/Bodyswap - Certain Skills by NoStraightLine. John expressly told Sherlock that if he stole his gun again he’d get the fucking he was asking for. Sherlock “Boundaries Are Boring” Holmes stole John’s gun. (3k, E)

Crossover/Crack - Repo Men by Anyawen. In which Mrs Turner's married ones are James Bond and Q. Q is kidnapped; everybody is a BAMF. (7k, G)

Domestic/Disability A Building of Bridges by pengke. Alternate first meeting. No one would ever send Sherlock in to defuse a stand-off; but on one unlikely day, that’s exactly what happened. “Congratulations, Lestrade,” he called out sarcastically. “You’re traumatizing a war veteran.” (11k, G)

Established Relationship/Enemies to Lovers - Interview by bluebellofbakerstreet. In which the boys are in an 80's punk band, and are being interviewed by Rolling Stone. (2k, G)

Future/Fluff 50. Be You - No one Else Can by KittenKin. John's had a bad day and Sherlock doesn't know how to help. They both feel better at the end, and you will, too. (1k, G)

Gen/Genderswap - The Art of Communication by stillwaters01. Lestrade is receiving odd texts from Sherlock; he reads between the lines and brings help. (2k, T)

Historical/Humor - Acceptable Behavior by bbcatemysoul. Sherlock isn't really sure why John wants to shag him, but he's certain that if he's careful to behave properly about it, John can be persuaded to keep doing it. (3k, M)

Illness/imprisonment -  Radioactive Trees in a Red Forest by Maribor_Petrichor. Harrowing account of John's battle with mental health issues and addiction after - you know - everything. (280k, E)

Jealousy/Jilted - Hungry by LipstickDaddy. John can't figure out why Sherlock is being so nice to that new guy working with the yard. (7k, G)

Kids/Kink - The Alchemy of Sea Glass by reveling_in_mayhem. Salt and air and sand surrounded their little party of three. Crashing waves, gull cries, and the exhilarated exclamations of an excited three-year-old served as the soundtrack to a day filled with blue skies and bright sunshine. (22k, E)

Long/Love Triangle The Edinburgh Problem by snorklepie. “A nice holiday, just a bit more...murdery. ” John said drily. “Yes! The best kind of holiday!” Sherlock beamed. “So we won’t get bored!” (152k, E)

Magical Realism/Major Character Death Left by LifeonMars. John Watson is left-handed. He’s tried not to let it affect his life, but as any Lefty knows, that’s almost impossible. (45k, M)

NSFW/Next Gen. Warzone by abundantlyqueer. Three smutty stories that pick up where the first two episodes left off. (13k, E)

Omegaverse/Only One Bed - Scars Don't Lie by CumberCurlyGirl. The prospect of going undercover as husbands to a couples retreat is just too enticing to refuse. (33k, M)

Parenthood/Platonic The Man With the Cartier Frames by JRow. Sherlock's top priority is The Work, just as it's always been ... in between trips to Putney to help with Rosie, collecting Rosie from school, and preparing for Rosie's sleepover at Baker Street. (32k, T)

Queer/Quest Dance With Me by TotallySilverGirl. Sherlock's queer quest for johnlock requires dancing, and some help from Sally Donovan. (28k, E)

Retirement/Road Trip - The Winter Garden by Callie4180. As Sherlock nears the end of his career, he's given the gift of a cottage in Sussex. The honey from the beehives out back is amazing. Almost...magical. (31k, T)

Soulmates/Slow Burn Soul Mate by Mottlemoth. Mystrade. The words appeared on Mycroft's arm aged fourteen. He's now lived with the unfortunate words all his life, not certain that he even wishes to meet his soul mate if that's how the man talks. (4k, T)

Teen AU/Time Travel - The Curious Adventure of the Drs Watson by ShinySherlock. What if ACD Watson and BBC Watson switched places? (40k, M)

Undercover/Unrequited - Last Call at the Homesick Pub by Chryse. During the hiatus, Sherlock is both undercover and suffering from unrequited love. (3k, T)

Vampires/Villain POV - Nine Tenths of the Law by bendingsignpost. John knows what's his - of course he'll kill for it. (Modern vampire AU) (18k, M)

Whump/Werewolves When Your Belly’s in the Trench by Morgan_Stuart. The next time that door opens, John Watson will kill the person on the other side. (4k, T)

Xenomorphism/Xmas - Ghost Stories by SwissMiss. Sherlock's parents think he and John are a couple. They might be onto something. (22k, M)

Zombies/Zoomorphism - Aim for the Head by Breath4Soul. Sometimes you don't really find yourself until everything has ended.A fic about finding love, healing, and purpose after everything has gone to hell. Still a WIP, but worth it. (44k, M)

[sergessuperbsanctum]

X-Men is about civil rights. If you didn’t get that, you didn’t get X-Men.

Black Panther is about civil rights. If you didn’t get that, you didn’t get Black Panther.

Captain America literally fought Nazis. He is the embodiment of fighting the alt-right. If you didn’t get that, you didn’t get Captain America.

The Empire in Star Wars is fascist. The Rebel alliance are Anti-Fascist. If you didn’t get that, you didn’t get Star Wars.

The Punisher isn’t meant to be a role model for police or armed forces. So much so that the writers of The Punisher made him actively speak out against it in a comic. If you didn’t get that, you didn’t get The Punisher.

Deadpool is queer. He’s pansexual. Fact. If you didn’t get that you didn’t get Deadpool.

Star Trek is about equality for all genders, races and sexualities. As early as the mid-60s it was taking a pro-choice stance and defending women’s right to choose. One of its clearest themes is accepting different cultures and appearances and working together for peace. (It’s also anti-capitalist and pro-vegan). If you didn’t get that, you didn’t get Star Trek.

Superman and Supergirl (and a whole host of other superheroes) are immigrants. The stance of those comics is pro-immigration and pro-equality and acceptance. If you didn’t get that, you didn’t get Superman or Supergirl.

Stan Lee said “Racism and bigotry are among the deadliest social ills plaguing the world today.” If you’re bigoted or racist, you didn’t get any of the characters Stan Lee created.

The stories we grew up with all taught us to value other people and cultures and to treasure the differences between us. Only villains were xenophobic, or sexist, or racist, or totalitarian. I can’t understand how anyone can have missed that.

If you’re upset that there’s a black Spider-Man, or a black Captain America, or a female Thor, or that Ms Marvel is Muslim, or that Captain Marvel was pro-feminism, or any of the other things right wing “fans” say is “stealing their childhood” - you never got it in the first place. The things you claim are now “pandering to the lefties” were never on your side to begin with.

If you consider yourself a fan of these things, but you still think the LGBTQ+ community is too “in your face”, or have a problem with Black Lives Matter, or want to “take the country back from immigrants”, then you’re not really a fan at all.

Geek culture isn’t suddenly left wing... it always was. You just grew up to be intolerant. You became the villain in the stories you used to love.

*copied and pasted*

[the-paper-apricot]

Paul, Porter and "I love you"

The accepted explanation of the writing of the Wings hit 'Silly Love Songs', including that offered several times over the years by Paul McCartney himself, is that it was a riposte to criticism of his more sentimental love songs as light and insignificant.

I was getting slagged off for writing luv songs. You see, I’m looking at love not from the perspective of ‘boring old love’, I’m looking at it like when you get married and have a baby. That’s pretty strong: it’s something deeper.

Paul McCartney, from Club Sandwich N°47/48, Spring 1988 (cited here)

Although I've never seen this discussed anywhere, it's long seemed to me that there's another possible influence on the song. To my knowledge no one has ever asked Paul directly about this, so what follows remains just my headcanon. (If anyone knows something to the contrary, please let me know!)

Cole Porter, another preternaturally talented Gemini lefty.

While writing the songs destined for the musical Mexican Hayride (1944), Cole Porter was presented with a challenge by his close friend Monty Woolley. (Woolley was an American actor who you may remember in the delicious role of the Professor in the Christmassy classic film The Bishop's Wife.) Woolley reasoned that because Porter's songwriting mastery came in part from his unhackneyed, fresh lyrical ideas, he wouldn't be able to write a hit song with the simple, rather too obvious, repeated refrain of "I love you".

Monty Woolley with Cole Porter

It became a $25 wager, and Woolley also stipulated that his friend include reheated stale lines about spring and "birds on the wing". Porter duly wrote 'I Love You', which was the only standout in the show and in time topped the U.S. Hit Parade for several weeks, so he won his bet.

I would quite like to have been sort of a nineteen-twenties writer, 'cause I like that thing, you know. You know, up in top hat and tails and sort of coming on ... so, this kind of number, I like that thing. But, so this is just me doing it, and pretending I'm living in 1925.

Paul McCartney, talking about 'Honey Pie', interview with Radio Luxembourg, 1968

Melvyn Bragg: What's the longest you've ever worked over a song? 'Cause a lot of the lyrics, the more you read them, the more - and then they always read very straightforwardly and seamlessly, but when you read them again and again they're very complicated, and a lot of internal rhyming going on and a lot of extremely clever play. Does that - do you work on them quite hard? Do you go over them again and again? Paul: Well, you know I'm a fan of all that, the old-fashioned writing. You know, sort of Sammy Cahn's era, you know, Cole Porter, and I do like all that, when it comes off! I mean, I hate just silly rhymes, just, you know - but when it really comes off those are great little things in songwriting. So I was always aware of that from people like Cole Porter. So I'd always try and put something like that kinda thing in, sorta little internal rhymes, you were always going for that kinda thing. ... I can't explain it, you know, I've never been able to explain it, but it's like it comes in out of the blue. It sort of comes at you, you know, and - I'm sure the funnel that it's coming through's a lot to do with it, 'cause your little computer in here - my computer's sort of heard Billy Cotton Band Show going back there, you know and Cole Porter there, and this there and it's heard millions of influences through to Chuck Berry ...

from 'Paul McCartney: Songsmith' (The South Bank Show) January 1978

George Eells' book The Life That Late He Led: A Biography of Cole Porter was published in 1967 and remained the definitive life for about a decade. It mentions the 'I Love You' wager (p212), which became one of the better-known song origin anecdotes.

I have no idea if Paul McCartney knew this story. But I can imagine the professional challenge appealing to him, and perhaps especially tempting is the playful pairing of commercial reward with artistic defiance. 'Silly Love Songs', like 'I Love You' before it, was a big hit: Number 2 in the UK chart, and top of the Billboard chart in the States.

Did he dare himself to write a pop chorus that repeated the refrain "I love you", because Porter had done so? I dunno.* For what it's worth, I think the three melodic lines in the chorus of 'Silly Love Songs' exceed Porter's tune in both beauty and memorability.** (Although I do enjoy this sultry version recorded by Julie London.)

(*Just like I don't know if 'Why Don't We Do It In The Road' found any precedent in Porter's celebrated and racy-for-its-day song, 'Let's Do It, Let's Fall in Love'.)

(**But I mean, you'd expect me to say that, you know I've made paper dolls of him in his little Wings outfits tbf.)

[tomorrowusa]

Katie Stallard who is a political writer from the UK points out in The New Statesman exactly where three of the six SCOTUS votes enabling Trump immunity came from.

Many observers will also view the ruling as the logical conclusion of the former president’s efforts, along with the then Senate leader Mitch McConnell, to pack the court with conservatives, adding three such justices – Neil Gorsuch, Brett Kavanaugh and Amy Coney Barrett – to the bench during his four-year term. Public trust in the Supreme Court was already at an all-time low, with just 28 per cent of Americans saying that they believed Supreme Court justices would be fair and impartial in a June poll by Associated Press-NORC Center for Public Affairs Research. Along with the decision to overturn Roe vs Wade last year – which had protected the right to an abortion for half a century – this latest decision will only compound the perception among many that this is now an activist court with a conservative agenda. This is particularly concerning given the crucial role the court could play in determining the outcome of a closely contested election this year.

Rightwingers in this country have had a long term agenda which they have mostly stuck to. Almost immediately after the 1973 Roe v. Wade decision they began their efforts to gain control of the Supreme Court. It took 49 years but the Court finally reversed Roe in 2022.

In that period some progressives behaved like the distracted boyfriend meme. When a politically sexy but ephemeral third party or fashionably lefty temptation appeared on the scene those distracted progressives foolishly embraced it and ended up empowering Republicans.

For gaining power and keeping power in the US it's necessary to put long term goals ahead of short term titillations. And part of that means educating folks on how government works in real life — not relying on things like simplistic stick-figure diagrams on how a bill becomes law or how presidents are elected.

Taking back SCOTUS and amending the US Constitution will take years and won't be easy. But if we don't start learning from the persistence and successes of Republicans then things will only continue to deteriorate for democracy.