#it goes against the concept of having pride in a way because yeah frankly on a personal level I don’t really have much pride

[seilon]

hm

[lilbabycee]

ooo maybe one where chris/Steve meets the parents and it can be fluffy or smutty however that would work. i don’t see enough of that and it’s so cute to read 🥺🥺

meet the parents // chris evans

↳ pairing: chris evans x reader

i love this concept, i’m already about to cry:

“baby, they’re gonna love you,” you tell him, a minute away from jumping on your boyfriend because he won’t stop pacing your bedroom. 

he’s changed his tie three times, and you have to work to keep the grin off your face because he’s so adorable.

“you say that, y/n, but i’m still shitting myself,” chris admits, running his hand over the invisible creases on his white collared shirt. 

he’s ditched the tie entirely and popped a few of the buttons on his shirt - just low enough to be appropriate - and rolled up his sleeves to bare his thick forearms. he’s wearing slim grey slacks and he’s donned some faux leather italian-made black dress shoes. 

“you really shouldn’t be,” you cross one leg over another as you sit on your bed, watching him mess with his hair in the mirror. “my mom already loves you because she thinks that you’re devastatingly handsome and i’m pretty sure that my dad is just happy that i’m finally bringing someone home. i think they were concerned that i was going to die alone.”

chris freezes and spins on his heel, panicked eyes darting to yours.

“wait but babe - you’ve dated other people before me.”

you shrug, staring at your nails calmly. “yeah, but i’ve never brought any of them home.”

your bedroom goes completely quiet for a few seconds before chris buries his hands in his hair and wails dramatically.

“why would you tell me that?!”

when chris rolls into your parents’ driveway, you go to unbuckle your seatbelt when you notice his breathing visibly speed up. 

“chris,” you say, trying to catch his attention, but his eyes are glued directly in front of him as he attempts to regulate his breathing. 

“chris.”

you try a little louder but it’s as if he’s forgotten that you’re in the seat right next to him. you extend a hand and place it on his knee, and this finally gets him to snap his eyes to yours, his teeth digging into his full lower lip.

“sweetheart, i’m freakin’ out.”

“yeah, i didn’t notice,” you say dryly. he shoots you a look and you squeeze his thigh reassuringly.

“i don’t know what to do, y/n,” he breathes. “i feel like i’m gonna make an ass out of myself and go up there, actin’ like a fuckin’ meatball in front of your parents-”

“would it make you feel better if i gave you head before we went in?” 

your deadpan statement causes chris to bark out a brief laugh that then turns into a chuckle, and eventually, it evolves into a full-on laughing fit. 

“honestly, yes,” he admits, rubbing at his left pec. 

“well, that’s not happening, bud, ‘cause we’re in the driveway of my parents’ house so let’s haul ass because think of it this way. the sooner we head in, the sooner we can go home.”

“alright, baby, let’s go then.”

unsurprisingly, chris only had to give your mom a hug when he first came in for her to pull you into another room and proceed to gush about him for almost a full half-hour. 

“honey, he’s so nice,” she gasps and she is visibly glowing with pride when she pulls you into a hug. “he’s so good for you, i’m so happy baby.”

and your dad tries to play hardball at first, all “what are your intentions with my baby” and “i don’t trust you yet, evans”

but the minute that they got to talking about politics, it was as if they had known each other for years

and this was all before dinner

you were baffled because you couldn’t believe that the same nervous man who was so close to having a complete breakdown three and a half hours ago is the one sitting with an arm around your mom, flipping through your baby pictures

as it turns out, he and your dad also share the same music taste which really floors you because you never really noticed before, and they fight over what they think billy joel’s best song is for much longer than you like

on your way out, your mother hugs chris for a full minute, whispering all kinds of things that you can’t hear in his ear

(some of them make him blush and you are outright horrified)

and your dad claps him on the back before giving him a brief hug of his own, a kind smile on both of their faces

“how is it,” you ask chris as you make your way down the highway, watching him hum along to the song on the radio and jovially tap his fingers against the steering wheel, “that my parents like you more than me?”

he shrugs but he hasn’t stopped smiling since he left and frankly, neither have you

“i don’t know, baby - i guess i just have that effect on people-”

“shut up, you’re annoying... i love you.”

“i love you too.”

[howtohero]

#204 God Brawls

Superheroes like to present themselves as the ultimate forces of good, and frankly, that’s just good marketing. Why would anybody ever come to you for help if you were only like the second or third most powerful force of good or, heaven help us all, the fourth or fifth most powerful force of good? Yet, as it transpires, superheroes are often not the ultimate force of anything except for excessive capes, and even that’s up for debate. Have you ever met Cloakus, the self-proclaimed (maybe?) god of capes? That dude has got excessive cloakery down to a science. And that’s just my point (sort of), it’s hard for any mortal, superhuman or not, to claim to be the ultimate anything, since there will always be some deity or mythological powerhouse from some pantheon or plane of existence that’s been doing it better and for much longer. These beings are often obscenely powerful, aggressively petty, ostentatiously dramatic, and overwhelmingly insecure to the degree that they need everybody to call them gods. 

All of these factors also means that these beings are just incredibly irritable all the time. It also means that there’s nothing stopping them from doing something incredibly petty to another all powerful being. Think about it, if you were incredibly insecure while also wielding potentially-universe-destroying-or-at-the-very-least-destroying-it-as-we-know-it-because-as-we-all-know-matter-cannot-be-destroyed-but-it-can-be-turned-into-an-ice-cream-sandwich-no-problem power and you found out that there was some other guy out there who also purported to have god like abilities, wouldn’t you teleport into his golden cathedral and prank him to show dominance? I know I would. (A prank? How about scattering their still-living body parts across throughout time, space and the multiverse. See, this is literally the reason nobody has granted you unlimited power, you think too small.) Oh please like you also wouldn’t just toss a boston creme pie in their face and call it a day. (Let me out of these infernal parentheses and I’ll show you what I’d do!) No! So, with all of these unquantifiably powerful beings antagonizing each other, it is not unheard of for Earth, which remember, is under your protection, often gets caught in the crossfire.

Normally when you come across two people in outlandish costumes with improbable abilities fighting, you’d do well to ascertain which one of them is the good guy and which one is the bad guy and then launching into the fray alongside your fellow do-gooder. But when the gods fight, that kind of thinking goes right out the window. Even if you’ve, in the past, fought alongside one of these awesome figures at some point in your past, you should not assume that they care on iota for you or your world. They’re simply way too far above you and your mortal, small-scale perceptions of good and evil. Sure at one point you teamed up to prevent another dimension from bleeding into yours but while you were doing it to save lives, they were simply in it to protect their real estate. In the grand scheme of things, Earth is completely beneath their notice, and if they’ve happened to have chosen it for some kind of prophetic ultimate battle against their brother or their counterpart in another Pantheon. (Gosh, remember that 3000 year bar fight between the Greek Dionysus and the Mayan Acan over who could get mortals drunker? They really dragged that one out. {Quit your whining!) don’t think you can just pop in and try to appeal to their sense of benevolence. If these people were interested in saving their lives they’d use their awesome power to be heroes, not gods.

So if there are deities raging in your neighborhood (trust me you’ll know) you have to immediately rally anybody you can to get down to the battle zone and try to clear it of as much civilian life as you can. Every teleporter, speedster and space bus (except for of course the Hedonian, the space party bus that has been keeping the party going since the dawn of space, we would never try to infringe on the eternal party. Please carry on like always.) needs to be on hand to ferry people away from as wide of a radius as you can. When it comes to warring titans, no berth is too wide to give these people. Fights can explode out of control with no warning, you’d honestly be safer getting people off world. (Try sending them to a world that has already been completely destroyed by this specific godly wrestling match. The gods have too much pride to ever ravage the same planet twice during the same fight.) 

Once everybody is as safe as they reasonably can be when two guys dressed like they’re going to a frat party are dueling with the concepts of strife and rage made tangible, it’s time to just kind of do your best. Which sounds bleak but if you’ve got a good crew of superheroes with you, it could be a lot of fun. Like we said, these self-proclaimed gods are bunch of whiny crybabies (yeah that’s right! Come to our house and smite us you whiny crybabies!) just like anything can launch them into a millennia spanning cosmic thumb war, there’s no telling what could get them to stop. So let’s get creative:

List of Things That Definitely Maybe Might Get These Piss Baby Drama Queens to Stop This Nonsense:

Rig up some speakers, get Morgan Freeman on the line, have him tell them to stop it right this instance in his smooth heavenly voice.

Open a portal. Get lots of shoelaces. No wait get the shoelaces first ah dang it dang it, Half-Face McGee fell into the portal. Dang. That guy has really bad luck with portals. I wonder what this is going to do to his face. Sorry guys, that’s on us, we should’ve waited until you had everything ready before we told you to open a portal. Ok, well, moving on then. Get a bunch of shoelaces. Tie ‘em together to create a giant tripwire. Then open a portal to somewhere far away and trip one of the warring titans into it. The other guy might construe this is a tactical retreat on the part of the god you’ve banished and dive through the portal in pursuit. If not, then just do the same thing a second time.

When trying to stop a couple of gods, call in one of your own. Remember that time we had you preemptively trick a trickster god in order to gain their respect. Well its time to call that chip in. Trickster gods have eons of experience in manipulating other gods into doing what they want. Just sit back and leave it to The Real Skeev Shady to take care of things. 

Project cartoons into the sky. This actually worked once. The two gods, I wanna say it was Hades and Greg the Skeleton King, had never even heard of cartoons before. Apparently cartoonists and animators get tortured by one of the other rulers of the underworld. But they were so entranced and, quite frankly, positively delighted by cartoons that they made peace right there on the spot and opened up their own animation studio in Burbank. 

If you’re dealing with weather deities, try breaking out one of those weather manipulators that you’ve confiscated over the years. You may think its unlikely that Earthly mad science would be able to compete with Zeus’s might, but hey you might be surprised, those guys are definitely dedicated to their craft.

You and a buddy should dress up like the two gods and then roll up to the battlefield. You might get struck down for your hubris. You might make these mythological meatheads feel super awkward and send them running home to change. (Just keep doing it over and over again every time they come back in new outfits.) 

Hop on over to Venus, or some uninhabited asteroid, or Universe Designate 3.19∑7 aka the BarrenLand. Then channel your inner ancient deity write the pettiest and dismissive letter you can, fill it with backhand insults and some front hand insults for good measure. Then send the letter to these gods by raven with a stamp on it that tells the gods exactly where the letter came from. With any luck they’ll be so incensed by the myriad of insults that they’ll take their fight over to one of those uninhabited places.  

Snacks? Like a dump truck filled with snacks? Do we think that might work?

Try offering up some sacrifices or incense to the gods to gain their favor then, beg them to leave. (If you need a human sacrifice, Professor Paleontologist personally told me that he’s always been fascinated by the prospect so I think that means he’s down.) Ooh, argh, I really can’t condone that but... hm... Ah, no. You can’t sacrifice Professor Paleontologist. Don’t sacrifice anybody. 

Loudly talk about how lame Earth is and say, within earshot of these divine dolts, that no cool person would ever be caught dead there. These insecure infinites will have no choice but to pack up and move on to somewhere else. For fear of being deemed uncool. Which would totally harsh their vibes. 

[avecorviidae]

Fic: pretty little head

Fandom: Mob Psycho 100 Rating: E Relationship(s): Kageyama Ritsu/Suzuki Shou Word Count: 2780

Ao3 Link

Ritsu isn’t entirely sure how he’s ended up in this situation.

Well, no, that’s a lie, he knows exactly how he’s ended up in this situation: through a combination of his own stubborn pride, and the fact that he keeps forgetting Shou has no concept of personal space.

To be fair, he had exhausted just about every other source of help he could think of. His parents had never taken English beyond a basic level, and Mob had just recommended him to Reigen, which, well, no. Besides, based on past experiences, he would’ve just pulled up Google Translate anyways. Hanazawa had offered to tutor Ritsu himself, and he might’ve taken him up on it, but it was pronunciation that he needed help with, and Hanazawa Teruki’s spoken English was nigh indecipherable.

Somehow, Youtube and the rest of the internet had proven fruitless, and more often than not, overly distracting. So, the only one left to ask was Shou, who was fluent in English and almost painfully eager to help.

(In retrospect, he could’ve asked one of his actual teachers for help, but hey, he still had his pride.) His parents were working late, and Mob was still out on work with Reigen, so they’d ended up sitting in the living room, books lying open around them like the aftermath of a library in a typhoon. Somehow, somehow, they’ve moved from sitting next to each other on the couch, to lying on the floor, to Ritsu being half in Shou’s lap, back pressed to his chest and sitting in the crook of his crossed legs. Shou has his chin hooked over his shoulder, and he’s reading the book open on Ritsu’s lap with a voice so casual, Ritsu could’ve fooled himself into thinking they were just sitting across from each other at a table.

“I reached for the handle,” Shou read smoothly, tracing the sentence on the page with a finger. Ritsu reread it a few times, trying to commit the way Shou’s tongue had rolled over the words to memory. “Right… ‘I… rea… ched fo-r…’ uh,” “For the handle,” Shou says, stressing the vowels, and Ritsu can actually feel his shoulder vibrating with Shou’s voice, which is, well. “For the handle,” Ritsu repeats, slowly, but with less hesitation. He can’t see Shou’s face from this angle, but he can hear him beaming when he says, “Yeah! Good job!” Ritsu sighs, shoulders sagging with relief. It had been the tail end of a grueling paragraph that had made him want to brutally murder either Shou or the author of the book. Possibly both. The way they’re slung awkwardly over Shou’s feet, his thighs are starting to feel numb, so he shifts around in Shou’s lap until the pins and needles are starting to fade, and settles back against Shou’s chest again, asking, “So, what now?” with a yawn. “Um,” comes Shou’s strangled response, more of an undignified squeak than anything. He feels oddly stiff. “Maybe… go back to the first chapter and… see if you’re any better with it? Yeah.” His voice is wavering in pitches, like he’s trying desperately hard to keep it sounding normal.

Ritsu almost moves to turn, ask what’s up with him, but then he pauses and feels something that he’s pretty sure wasn’t there before.

Oh.

Oh. His first instinct is to jump up and get as far away as possible, but he makes himself sit still, flipping slowly back to the front of the book as he considers his options. The way he sees things, there are three of them.

One, he could go with his brain’s first response and freak out, probably embarrassing Shou, and more than likely fracturing their tentative friendship.

Two, he could just keep reading, pretend not to notice, and wait for it to go away. There was no real point in drawing attention to something that was a normal response to stimulus, especially from a hormonal teenager.

Or three, he could… he could… well, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t considered it before.

Option three had as much potential as option one to fuck things up, if he miscalculated. After all, they were high-schoolers. It wasn’t as if he didn’t just get hard for no reason, regardless of the presence of someone he was attracted to. It didn’t necessarily mean anything. Though, thinking back to the way Shou acted around him, the giggling, the looks, and, actually, was Shou as touchy with anyone else as he was with Ritsu?

He flips the rest of the way back to chapter one, abruptly grateful for the placement of the book.

If he’s going to try this, it has to be now. He moves experimentally, under the guise of adjusting to be comfortable again. Now that he knows what he’s looking for, he can definitely feel Shou’s dick through his pants, and he rubs against it, just a little, settling so that it’s more or less pressed up against his ass. A low, choked keening sound escapes Shou’s mouth, and it goes straight to Ritsu’s groin in a way that he didn’t anticipate, had never really felt before even on the rare few occasions he’d seen porn online, a surge of pure heat.

“Y’know,” Shou says, “I think we’ve done enough for just now. Let’s take, uh, a break.” Ritsu feigns ignorance, finding something satisfying about being in control of the situation right now. “Oh? But I thought you said my vowels needed more work?” Shou makes a noise that can only be described as a whine. “I need the bathroom.” Shou went to the bathroom less than ten minutes ago. Ritsu doesn’t move when Shou tries to shift out from underneath him. “Suzuki.” Shou is almost certainly strong enough to push Ritsu off of him, even not taking psychic powers into account, but he doesn’t seem to be thinking much at the moment, trying to move himself instead of Ritsu and only managing to make his problem worse in the process. “Suzuki.” Ritsu tries to get his attention again. When that fails, he clamps one hand on his knee, and as an afterthought, he tosses the book out of his lap somewhere across the room. “Shou.” Shou freezes at the sound of his name. Actually turning around without standing up is kind of awkward, but Ritsu manages to move himself so that he’s more or less straddling Shou’s legs, steadying himself with a hand on Shou’s shoulder, and wow, Shou’s face is only a couple of shades pinker than his hair, the darker freckles standing out like constellations on his cheeks. He’s staring up at Ritsu with wide eyes, mouth hanging just slightly open, and his bottom lip looks red and sore, like he’s been biting on it. The last of Ritsu’s hesitation crumbles. He leans forward until his forehead is pressed against Shou’s. “Shou,” he repeats, just to feel and see the breath go out of him at the word, “tell me to stop, and we never have to speak about this again.” “Please,” Shou hisses, and grabs the front of Ritsu’s shirt to pull their lips together. Ritsu’s entire world is heat. He’s kissed girls before, sure, light pecks for fun behind the gym or outside the school gates, but he hadn’t known it could be like this, hungry and desperate and Shou is everywhere, legs hooking around Ritsu’s waist and fingers digging into his hips, with his teeth occasionally grazing Ritsu’s lips in a way that makes him stifle a moan in the back of his throat. It’s probably not supposed to be this sloppy or wet, and Ritsu’s nose is going to hurt if they keep it up like this, but he can’t really bring himself to care. Trying to keep his balance, and the upper hand, Ritsu threads a hand through Shou’s hair and tugs. He’s rewarded for his efforts by Shou whimpering, actually whimpering, and then Shou rocks forward so that Ritsu is suddenly on his back, on the floor, with Shou above him. The rhythm changes, and now Shou is pressing shorter, harder kisses to his lips, barely giving him any room to reciprocate.

From this angle, Ritsu can actually see the outline of Shou’s dick, and, oh, he has an idea. “Suzuki,” he breathes between kisses, “d’you, do you remember, a few years back? The, the culture festival.” Shou laughs into his mouth, pausing to reply, “I remember your dress.” Ritsu rolls his eyes, giving Shou’s hair another tug. “Well, yeah, but I mean what you said. About if- if me being a maid meant that I had to serve you.”

Shou laughs breathlessly, says, “Well, how could I forget, you punched me,” but his pupils are blown and he’s staring at Ritsu like he’s just offered him the entire world, so Ritsu thinks he’s sold. He presses a hand to Shou’s shoulder and pushes him over so that Shou’s on his back, and Ritsu is straddling his hips again. Shou lets out a shaky breath, and Ritsu lets himself kiss him again once, and asks, “Can I… Can I try something?”

Shou’s nod is immediate and enthusiastic, and his eyes somehow get wider than they already were, so Ritsu takes that as his cue to start shuffling down Shou’s body, pausing to press his lips to his neck on the way.

Shou’s legs fall open easily, and Ritsu settles between them, looking back up at Shou. “Okay?” he asks, just to be sure, because frankly, he’s not sure. Shou is propped up on one elbow, staring at him with his other hand not-quite covering his slack-jawed mouth. His face is still burning and his hair is mussed from Ritsu’s hand, his lips are slick and kiss-bruised, and holy shit, Ritsu wants him. Shou seems beyond words, because he just nods again, making a kind of squeaking sound somewhere in his throat. Ritsu hooks his fingers in the waistband of Shou’s sweatpants and pulls, Shou lifting his hips off of the ground to help him. He stares for a moment at Shou’s erection, straining against the material of his boxers, and tries to reorient himself. It’s not that he doesn’t want to do it, because at this point he really, really, does. But, well, he only knows the theory of the thing, and he’s pretty sure that online porn isn’t entirely reliable, as far as the practice goes. Still, he prides himself on being a quick learner.

When he pulls Shou’s dick out of his boxers, keeping a hand loosely around the base, Shou sighs softly, head falling back to the ground. Ritsu feels fingers threading through his hair, not pulling like Ritsu had, just holding.

Experimentally, he licks a stripe from the base to the head, and watches as Shou throws his other arm over his face, the hand in Ritsu’s hair gripping convulsively. It doesn’t taste… bad, per-se? Kind of weird, though. Nothing he can’t handle.

He takes the tip into his mouth, letting it rest on his tongue for a moment. Strange as Shou can be, he doesn’t think anyone would particularly like their dick being scraped, so he does his best to wrap his lips around his teeth. He licks around the head, feeling for the slit and pressing into it with the tip of his tongue cautiously.

Shou lets out a stifled moan, and when Ritsu looks up, he sees that he’s biting the back of his hand. Ritsu is somehow always surprised, when he remembers that he likes the sound of Shou’s voice, the melodic flow of it, but that moan almost knocks the breath out of him. He really wants to hear it again.

He pulls off with a small pop.

“Nobody’s home, Suzuki,” he says, trying not to let how wrecked he’s feeling show in his voice, “you can be as loud as you like.”

Shou’s arm falls back to the floor, and he pants, “You’re gonna kill me.”

Not if you manage to kill me first, Ritsu thinks, going back to work. This time he doesn’t hesitate before taking Shou into his mouth, and he slides down slowly, figuring out the right times to breathe through his nose as he goes. Figures, that Shou wouldn’t be able to shut up during something like this. Now that he’s got permission, he’s all noise, low, keening sounds and shaky breaths, and there are nails digging into Ritsu’s scalp in a way that makes him think that if it weren’t so embarrassing, he could come without being touched at all. Shou’s hips are making stuttering jumps, like he’s trying to thrust up into Ritsu’s mouth but can’t concentrate enough to establish a rhythm, but Ritsu moves a hand to his hip to hold him still to the ground, leaving the other as support on the ground. He’s painfully hard, and he reaches to undo his zipper before the friction makes him come in his pants, but he finds that he can’t keep his balance if he’s not propping himself up. Based on his lack of experience, he’s not sure that he could call Shou small, but they’re teenagers, and he’s not that... surely, there’s no way he’s big enough that Ritsu couldn’t…? Only one way to find out. He takes a deep breath through his nose before bobbing his head, taking more and more of Shou into his mouth. When his nose brushes the curls of copper hair at the base of his dick, the head is not quite brushing the back of Ritsu’s throat, vaguely tickling but not enough to set off his gag reflex. “Fuck, oh my god, Ritsu.” Ritsu isn’t entirely sure that Shou is breathing. From here, Ritsu’s sense of direction is more fuzzy, but he gets the general idea, and somehow, he doesn’t think Shou is going to criticize his technique. It’s surprisingly easy to get into a rhythm, bobbing his head up and down, occasionally going all the way down and sucking. Shou is letting out breathy moans to the rhythm of Ritsu’s movement, and he’s straining against the hand Ritsu is using to hold down his hips. There’s the sound of moving paper, like rapid flipping through pages, and when Ritsu glances around, sure enough most of the books they’d been studying from are either flipping from front to back, or floating a couple of feet in the air, surrounded by the orange-pinkish haze of Shou’s aura. If he breaks anything, Ritsu is making him clean it up.

“Ritsu, I-” The hand fisted in his hair tightens, and he finds himself being tugged off of Shou’s dick, in time for Shou to gasp, “I’m gonna, gonna-” Shou comes in a few hot spurts, managing to paint Ritsu’s cheeks and nose in white stripes. He is, perhaps, less bothered by this than he should be. Any annoyance he might’ve had is overwhelmed by the look on Shou’s face when he sits up and stares at Ritsu, face still bright red and looking absolutely wrecked. “Sorry, I, uh,” he stutters, before blurting, “you look really good like this.” Wow.

The combination of that, and the novelty of seeing Shou’s blustered confidence fall apart so utterly serves to remind Ritsu that his own dick is aching, and he sits back to let Shou compose himself, shoving a hand into his underwear and planning to make quick work of his own problem. “Oh, wait!” Shou says, scooching back over so he’s kneeling by Ritsu. “I wanted to… can I?” He’s already reaching a hand for Ritsu’s dick, so he shrugs and nods. When Shou wraps a loose fist around him and start stroking, the feeling is so overwhelming that he drops his head forward onto Shou’s shoulder, hissing, “Fuck.” He’s a teenager, so it’s a familiar technique, designed to get the job done quickly, but it feels so different with someone else’s hand, the unfamiliar feeling of Shou’s skin, the small callouses on the pads of a couple of his fingers. It’s been pent up long enough now that it only takes a few strokes before Ritsu is spilling over Shou’s hand, moaning quietly into the crook of his neck.

They stay, sitting for a moment, even as the come on his face and in his pants is becoming uncomfortably cold and sticky. “That was…” Shou begins, then trails off. “Wow.” Yeah, ‘wow’ is one way of putting it.

He murmurs into Shou’s shoulder, “Next time, we should do it somewhere that you can see me the entire time.” It has absolutely nothing to do with him wanting to be able to see Shou the entire time.  Nope, not at all.

“Ritsu, oh my god.”

[wot-tidbits]

In defense of Tuon’s character

 by TheIconoclasticFury 

That she's proud there can be no doubt. Not unlike Elayne, Tuon's a former heir apparent and now rightful Empress of arguably the strongest nation in the world (pre-Semirhage anyway). She's also exceptionally competent in her own right, not only as a leader but in personal pursuits like training damane (the morality of that aside for the moment). She's proud, but there are good reasons for her pride and she still isn't as bad with it as some of the others.

……… Tuon seems perfectly willing to wait to get what she wants when she sees the need or reason to wait and she also seems willing to consider things that differ from her previous world-view. She disregarded Mat's tales of Trollocs and the Eelfinn/Aelfinn, but then, those things are completely fantastical to most people, especially someone from a continent that hasn't seen a Trolloc for 2,000 years. Her only evidence that such things existed was Mat's personal testimony, as I recall, and while she certainly trusts him a great deal as time goes on, that's hardly reason to take everything he says at face value. She's shown a remarkable willingness to converse about the system of damane and the morality of it at length with Setalle Anan and others and her defense of the institution, when we see it, is rational and clearly has some thought behind it. She isn't just saying "Yeah, damane are okay because I say so and that's just the way it is." She clearly has moral and practical reasons behind her position, and if she isn't willing to completely abandon her stance on an institution that is clearly a cornerstone of Seanchan society, and has been for 1,000 years, who can blame her? Even if one accepts that the institution has no redeeming qualities, abandoning it should be something that is thoroughly thought out over a longer period of time, not done on a whim. That'd be highly irresponsible as a leader.

Is she demanding and does she want things to go her way? Of course. Everyone wants things to go their way and given her position she does expect certain things to go her way simply because of that position. But she's not a child and she doesn't want things her way NOW! necessarily. She's shown a dedication to long plans when necessary, especially with Mat. She thinks things out, like the institution of slavery in Seanchan, like the attack on the White Tower, and like the Seanchan's political position relative to Rand and the rest of the Westlands.

Tuon hasn't made moves to fundamentally change Seanchan society as of yet. But then, I would argue no responsible leader would. Not yet anyway.

Let's sweep past the fact that the institution of damane is 1,000 years old and that there are real and good historical, practical, reasons behind its implementation. Tuon isn't Empress until the end of KoD, and then she has 3 books left before the series concludes. She has less than that before Tarmon Gai'don breaks out in all its fury and Seanchan needs to be ready for that Battle. I am not sure of the exact timeline for tGS/ToM/AMoL, but it can't possibly be more than a few months. The prohibition of slavery in reality in the West was generally an on-going process that took decades and a changing economic and political climate to resolve. Tuon has a few months (tops), isn't facing the economic changes of the Industrial Revolution to help her along by disincentivizing slavery, isn't faced with the philosophical changes the West was having in the late 18th Century, and has to be ready for Tarmon Gai'don in that same few months.

When, then, does she have the time to uproot Seanchan society before the books conclude? …………………she can hardly do whatever she pleases. Galgan exists and while I wouldn't go so far as to say he is disloyal, Tuon abolishing slavery suddenly is hardly guaranteed to meet with his support. Especially since it would gut the Seanchan military capabilities with regards to channeling on the eve of Tarmon Gai'don, an act that is hardly sound strategy. The rest of the Seanchan would be shocked and dismayed, and quite probably overtly rebellious. The damane alone would take months to get reconcile with their new circumstances, as we've seen with other freed damane and be in no good shape to do much in the meantime. Not to mention what a wreck the sul'dam would be, going around and insisting they be collared as they are liable to do.

But this all assumes certain things, like that the institution should be abolished. I am not certain Tuon is yet convinced that it should be. And she has good reasons why she is not yet convinced. Like I mentioned earlier, the institution is 1,000 years old and hard to disavow suddenly. There's an entire culture built up around the degradation of channelers that has to be worked with. Tuon's too smart and careful of a leader to suddenly throw 1,000 years of history and culture out the window in the span of a few months, but she is willing to talk about it so that if she is wrong, she would learn that. And if she is not, then those who are wrong would be educated. She's willing to discuss and defend her positions, not just take them on face value and hold them as inviolate. This isn't worthless, this is indicative of the leader of the Seanchan being willing to carefully consider her position on the institution of damane at length rather than simply holding that the institution can and should exist and no one can say otherwise. It's, frankly, the most that can reasonably be expected in the time-frame Tuon is given.

………

Tuon hasn't made any sweeping changes to Seanchan society, but I would argue she has not had the time, conditions, or opportunity to do so responsibly. Nor is she so wanton to have decided that all of Seanchan needs to be uprooted, culturally and institutionally speaking, without thinking it over and talking it over for more than a few months. She is, however, willing to discuss and consider her positions carefully.

I think the best time for Tuon to start making any changes, even gradual changes, would be after the Last Battle. The nobility will still have suffered deaths and be 'diluted' by incoming Blood from newly conquered parts of the Empire in the Westlands and Tuon's position will be more secure as well, even if the nobles have more of their feet under them. As it is, Galgan, for a singular example, seems plenty competent and secure enough in his position to seemingly plot against Suroth for control over the Corenne and Tuon recognizes his potential as a threat a well. He'd make an excellent focal point for any opposition to Tuon's policies, even before the conclusion of the Last Battle. While the general populace want stability more than anything else, changes to the institution of slavery a practiced by the Seanchan, da'covale and damane alike, are probably going to be regarded as destabilizing, if anything. Especially changes to the system of damane. And while the Westland nations that have been conquered are likely going to be more than okay with any steps towards mitigating slavery (not having a history of such themselves) they do pose something of a revolt risk still. Not all are happy to be living under the Ravens (though the Seanchan policies regarding new territories and the security they've offered have done wonders in this regard); Taraboners fought under Ituralde for a time and Beslan has contemplated rebellion in the near past in Altara. Internecine conflict among the high ranks of the Seanchan could open up an opportunity for such factions, it at least has to be considered.

Ultimately, we may just disagree about the strategic implications of the timing. This is a point that is hard to be certain on, because it's not like we can fact-check.

………………..Tuon is still a supporter of the institution. She's willing to discuss it and hear other people out and respect their opinions on the matter, but she does disagree with the idea that damane should run free or be unleashed, I think. Certainly, I think her concerns running up to Tarmon Gai'don were not the betterment of damane in Seanchan, but consolidating her own position, preparing for Tarmon Gai'don, and advancing Seanchan political and military interests in the Westlands. Her treatment of Elaida aside, she authorized a raid on the White Tower with the explicit objective of collaring Aes Sedai. Were she opposed to collaring damane, she would not have done this.

I do think she is gradually changing her opinions on the matter, and will continue to do so in the near future. I'm not saying that necessarily means she'll abandon the concept of damane, but Aviendha's vision does at least imply that she may become increasingly amenable to the proposition in the years to come. In that future we saw her being well respected by the Aiel and possibly coming to an agreement to free Aiel damane before she was succeeded (for reasons unknown). And she did offer to let marath'damane leave her lands, which does show she's willing to make compromises on the matter in certain circumstances, more than might be expected from other Seanchan nobility. Unfortunately, we barely see anything of anyone after the Last Battle, visions of a future that can never be aside, so it's hard to say for certain how her opinions will develop and whether that will lead to abolitionist tendencies later.

………………

We get a little less than a page or so with Mat and Tuon after Tarmon Gai'don, and it's mostly just Aludra throwing up fireworks and Tuon stating that she's pregnant, as confirmed by Min. Not...a lot to go on regarding her future domestic policies, heh. I think in the long-term, between her own abilities and Mat, Min, and Karede at the least, she'll be able to do quite a lot, if she wishes. But she does have to be careful and do things properly to avoid massive societal unrest and instability and possible rebellion.

[winterrsun]

Avengers x Supernatural crossover

Summary: A Supernatural AU where the famine horseman hits the Avengers’ area and they all subsequently go nuts- lust and hunger and all kinds of crazy. take over the tower. 

A/N: Ok this got really smutty wow whoops, this is the most insane thing I’ve ever written and its quite possibly a hot mess...but thats kinda the point when the entire team loses their inhibitions? It’s my first attempt at a crossover, also the first fic I’ve written in third person and without the reader as a character and ALSO my first time writing Stony AND winter widow.

Warnings: SMUT, alcohol, unprotected sex, public sexual activity/basically an orgy, over eating and drinking?? 

If you aren’t familiar with Supernatural and have no idea what I’m talking about see the explanation below :) - its essentially based on this scene https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qaYnz8HR6yY

Supernatural explanation: The apocalypse hits and it brings four horseman with it; war, pestilence, famine and death. When the famine horseman arrives he makes basically everyone in town go crazy for whatever it is they crave; whether that be a certain food, food in general, sex, alcohol, (in Sam’s case, demon blood) etc.. and basically they have no will power against it and aggressively indulge themselves to death. I’ve decided the Avengers wouldn’t get QUITE so effected by it but they still can’t resist it fully. 

Its a dull day, following a stubborn clump of dull days that has formed a dull week or so in the tower. Its not like the Avengers at all to have such a long quiet period, to have so much time on their hands and so little to do. They’ve trained, sparred, practised shooting, firing and using every weapon they have, they’ve cleaned and tidied, gotten drunk, even did a day of touristy sight seeing as well as cleaned out all their Netflix watch lists. And still the days are dragging on. 

Nat’s decided to take up baking after Wanda offered to teach her cook, so now she stands behind the kitchen bench wearing an apron and furiously mixing.  Drops of cake batter spatter something every now and then, while Wanda sits at a stool on the other side of the counter, sifting through a magazine and affectionately rolling her eyes at her teammate. A continuous tapping noise rings throughout the room as Sam, Steve and Clint toss a small ball between them while Bucky watches, having grown bored of the mundane game quickly. Tony and Bruce are upstairs occupying themselves with something in the lab, and otherwise the tower is a ghost town, with Vision and Rhodey away at the UN on official business. 

“Nat I think your batter’s good now!” Bucky says, wiping some off the side of his face. 

She sticks her tongue out at him and laughs, but proceeds to tip the bowl into a cake pan and place it in the oven. 

“And how long is that gonna take again Wanda?” she asks. 

“About 40 minutes” the Scarlett Witch replies without looking up from her magazine. 

Nat nods before strolling over to the couch and plonking herself down.

“And now what then?” she sighs. 

“Come on lets finish the last of that Twilight movie series” Bucky offers, sitting down next to her.

“We really have hit a new low,” she mumbles, turning on the TV. 

20 minutes into Breaking Dawn part 2, Tony strolls into the room. 

“Guys! I’ve got uh, good news and bad news.” They all stop to focus on him, as the Iron Man continues. 

“Well, we aren’t going to be bored anymore. There’s something coming and its something big. So big I kind of wish we had more help but I think its gonna have to just be us.” He pauses, gazing around at his fellow teammates and feeling a sense of pride and confidence in their abilities, before taking a deep breath.

“Any of you familiar with the four horsemen?” he asks.

Most of the gang nod and murmur that they are familiar with the concept but not much else. 

“It’s like...a biblical thing right?” asks Bucky.

Tony nods, Bruce now behind him. “Yeah, they’re associated with the apocalypse traditionally. But um, well apparently they’re as real as Thor and Loki, and one of them has to decided to pop in and say hi and fuck shit up” Tony says. 

Steve sighs before asking “do we even want to know which one?”

“Well,” Tony replies, “debatably, one that is the least dangerous. It’s famine”

“As in, we’re all gonna starve to death?” asks Wanda, wide eyed. 

“I’d say its more complicated than that, kiddo” chuckles Clint. 

“They aren’t certain what the full impact is gonna be, just that he will have an effect over everyone, at a pretty decent distance but we don’t know the exact radius. I don’t even really know how we can prepare for this to be honest..” Tony trailed off, throwing his hands in the air. 

“So when does it hit?” asks Nat. 

Tony raises his eyebrows and shrugs, prompting a “great” from Nat. 

“Who did you get all this information from?” Steve inquires.

“Fury. He called me.” Ton replies, a bit on the defensive. 

Steve remains silent but glares at Tony for a bit. He likes to be the leader of the group; he’s the captain for gods sake. And he’s far more responsible than Tony.

“Alright boys put your testosterone away, we need all our strength and teamwork to combat this it sounds like” Wanda placates. 

Tony raises an eyebrow at her, then glances back at Steve before turning away. 

The team all head off to their own rooms and apartments to get changed and grab whatever they think might help, though of course everyone’s feeling uncertain and frankly a little worried. 

By the time they meet in the conference room to await any news or disturbance, Sam, Clint, Nat and Tony have started feeling a little weird.

He’s eaten lunch only about an hour ago but Sam’s suddenly feeling very peckish. He licks his lip and chews down on the bottom one, trying to occupy his mind with something else.

“So uh, what do you think this is gonna be like?” he asks Clint, who is agitatedly tapping his fingers on the desk.

“What?” Clint snaps, looking at Sam before instantly softening his expression. “Sorry man. I..I don’t know. I’m feeling really edgy about it though.” 

Clint looks over to his best friend and frowns at how rigidly she’s sitting, but gets distracted immediately as another wave of it washes over him; the craving for alcohol. 

Wanda’s getting her magic fired up, making a chair levitate in front of her before dropping it to the ground and raising it up again, when Steve addresses her.

“I’ve been thinking, you might be the best one to diffuse this situation quickly Wanda. I think your ability to manipulate the mind is going to be a real advantage.”

“Actually Cap we don’t know whats doing to be an advantage here, that’s kind of the point”. Tony snaps.

Bucky raises his eyebrows and smirks at Wanda and Bruce; the only other two in the room paying attention. 

“I’m aware of that, Tony” Steve says through gritted teeth. “I’m just being logical and trying to deal with this the best way. Just because we don’t know much about this enemy doesn’t mean I don't know what I’m doing as a captain.” 

Tony rolls his eyes and tries to ignore the blood he can practically feel and hear rushing through him, clenching his fists.

After laughing at their stupid friends, Bruce and Wanda start to feel it too. Something intense and just...off. Then it grows and Wanda remembers the cake they left in the oven..it should be nearly done now. Bruce shifts uncomfortably and assures himself of his amazingly developed self control, though beginning to wonder if he should have removed himself from such an unstable situation. 

Not longer after it hits Bucky and Steve too. The two super soldiers almost mirror each other as they beginning fidgeting in their positions and become vaguely aware that their blood is also rushing, and that it seems to be rushing to one particular, downstairs spot. 

The entire room sits uncomfortably, now having internal battles. They’re somewhat aware that they are all in this predicament, that each of them is experiencing it, but only because they’re all so skilled and highly trained to monitor the environment. Suddenly, Clint snaps to his senses if only for a moment. 

He clears his throat; “guys, I think its hit...the famine effect.”

His teammates gaze at him blankly.

“Is anyone else” he continues, “um...craving anything?” 

Realisation hits them as hard as the famine did. The problem is, he must be getting closer because the feelings are getting stronger and stronger. 

Tony, not even really knowing what he's doing and definitely not able to control himself, starts to palm himself through his pants. Everyones wrapped up in their own thing but Steve notices him, feeling anger and disgust at his audacity to do that in front of everyone, ignoring the fact that he feels something else too. Because actually, its kind of hot. And he was going to yell at Tony and tell him to stop, but now he thinks maybe he’ll watch a bit longer. 

Steve licks his lips slowly as Tony closes his eyes and tries to resist the urge, thats getting stronger and stronger, to just stick his hand right into his pants. 

Suddenly Sam jumps up and strides quickly from the room. The gang are all sort of snapped out their dazes from this and they follow him into the kitchen to the sound of the fridge door slamming open and watch him help himself animatedly. They’re transfixed for a moment before becoming overwhelmed with their own feelings again. Wanda rushes past him to the oven, forgetting to grab a glove and yelping as her finger makes contact with the scalding hot metal of the cake pan. No matter for the witch, she levitates the cake out of the hot tray and begins devouring it.

Nat, who had been biting her lip and clamping her legs shut ferociously, suddenly yells “Screw it!” and grips the back of Bucky’s neck pulling his lips to hers hungrily. He instantly complies and slams her body back against the wall. 

“Wow right, okay then!” Clint exclaims at the pair, before striding over to the bar and helping himself to a 20 year old scotch, drinking straight from the bottle.

“I gotta get out of here” Bruce says to no one in particular. He rushes outside, not knowing how to handle his potential hulk out while he’s in this state, the only one to crave nothing in particular, not being able to identify this overwhelming feeling of desire, just knowing that he’s losing control. 

Steve noticed his best friend, who is now grinding against Natasha, trying to relieve his tension and is painfully reminded of his own. He hears a soft moan and is shocked to see Tony, hand in his pants stroking himself, watching the Captain. They make eye contact and Tony’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t stop. 

Steve walks over to him slowly, like its the hardest thing he's ever done, but at this point he doesn’t have a choice. 

“Take your hand out of your god dam pants” he orders in a low voice, and Tony slowly complies, eyes glued to Steve’s blue ones. 

Steve then thrusts his own hand inside his teammate’s pants, doing something he’s tried to suppress the fantasy of- the fantasy that sneaks into his head late at night when he can’t sleep- for god knows how long, grabbing his frenemies cock firmly. 

“Oh GOD Cap!” Tony is on the verge on losing control completely and thrusts into Steve’s hand. 

Steve begins rapidly stroking him and groans, disoriented and single-mindedly focused on this innate task; “Fuck Tony..I don’t know what I’m doing I-” he trails off. He succumbs to his urge further, leans over and attaches his lips to Tony’s neck, making the latter gasp loudly.

“We should’ve known–ah” Tony interrupts himself with a moan, “this would be the best way to handle all that tension between us.” 

Steve raises his head to give him a ‘shut up’ kind of look, before grabbing either side of Tony’s face and bringing his lips to his own, kissing his teammate’s smart-ass mouth aggressively. 

Everyone else in the room either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care what the rest are up to,  so engrossed in their own current actions. Wanda’s stomach has begun screaming as she is already three quarters through the fresh vanilla sponge Nat has completely forgotten about, having been so excited to produce it less than an hour ago. Sam, on the other hand, isn’t slowing down any time soon. He wraps an entire block of cheese up in salami and munches contentedly, though far from fulfilment and satisfaction. 

Clint has begun hicupping, with all instincts telling him to STOP drinking he now stands still, fighting against himself, the bottle frozen halfway to his mouth. He knows they need to snap out of it but dam it they can’t, he’s thinking of his wife and kids as he tries with all his might to put the bottle down while also trying to suppress the equally disruptive thoughts in his mind saying ‘nobody else is fighting it..you aren’t stronger than them...give in to it’. 

A loud, female moan echoes throughout the floor. Bucky and Nat had enough of their wits about them to make it around the corner into the somewhat privacy of the hallway before ripping away each others clothing. Bucky had hooked his metal arm underneath Nat’s legs as she jumped up onto him, pushing her against the wall and thrusting straight into her, bringing them back to now. 

Bucky pounds into the girl he has always been attracted to but had never felt enough desire to act upon, now wanting nothing more than to ravish her over and over as she writhes in his hands. He feels her wet slick folds envelop him with every thrust and groans into the crook of her neck.

For once, Nat happily lets her male colleague take charge as she succumbs to pleasure and the feeling of receiving something she craves so, so badly. The Winter Soldier is merciless as he drives into her, filling her wonderfully and sending her senses into overdrive. She has never felt so blissfully overwhelmed. Her stomach tightens and her pleasure builds and she whimpers, managing to stutter “Bucky..fuck i, I’m gonna come” before it crashes through her.

She shudders and shakes turning to putty, thankfully still fully supported by Bucky who if anything pounds into her harder after that encouraging display. Exhausted but still wanting more she happily complies, wrapping her hands around his neck when she gathers the energy and beginning to bob up and down, riding his cock the best she can, eliciting a deep moan from Bucky. 

Meanwhile, Steve continues to jerk Tony off, now craving his own release as well. 

“If this doesn’t stop soon, you know I’m going to have to take you into the conference room and fuck you” Steve murmurs into his ear, Tony bites his lip at the notion.

“Whatever you think is best, Cap” he responds lethargically. 

Steve nods and yanks his hand back and grips Tony by the wrist, marching out of the room. 

Wanda, having nearly demolished the cake, gazes around realising the indescribably strong feeling of desire is still there, but it has changed. Her hunger quelled she now feels...lust? She definitely desires something other than food. But maybe she can fight it. She swallows the last mouthful of cake and grips the bench determinedly, trying to clear her mind. 

“Fuck it” she murmurs and strides over to a positively drunk Clint. She places her palms either side of his face and kisses him square on the mouth. 

Clint lurches backwards, stumbling in his intoxicated state. “Kiddo-WHOA slow down there wha-what are you doing! God I need another drink.” 

His whisky soaked breath is off-putting, washing over her face, yet the unsatisfied craving in her remains, though she knows how much of a mistake her action was. She turns away and frustratedly bites down on her finger, willing the feelings to subside. 

Sam is less than four feet away from them but he hasnt even noticed the interaction, his face being stuck in the fridge that is rapidly being drained of its contents. 

In the hallway, Bucky and Nat are still going at it after he’s come inside her, his ejaculate dripping down her legs as they continue to desperately thrust at an unrelenting pace. She bites down on his neck hard enough to break the skin and tiny droplets of blood appear from the wound. 

Steve slams the conference room door shut and pushes Tony backwards until his legs hit the desk. Without hesitation he spins him around and bends him over.

“You sure you can handle this Stark?” he asks, with no intention of stopping now.

“Just fuck me already Rogers” Tony replies, hastening to undo his belt. 

Somewhere near the Avengers compound, the officials working with famine receive information that Fury and his team are aware of their presence and working against them. As suddenly as they had arrived, famine and his accomplices depart the area.

Its fast and intense, like waking up from one of those dreams where you’ve fallen from a height and your heart jumps. Feeling like they had all been dowsed in cold water to sober them up, the Avengers come to their senses.

Steve’s holding his proud American cock in his hand, had he really been about to put it in Tony? Tony. Who has stood up as fast as if he'd sat on a pin and yanked his pants back up. The men both awkwardly clear their throats, looking anywhere but at each other. Steve sort of half nods before pivoting on his heel and striding determinedly back into the main rooms. Tony rubs his hand across his jaw, shaking his head. 

Their discomfort holds nothing, however, to their teammates. Nat finds herself suspended in the air, Bucky’s metal arm hooked under her knees while his chest presses her against the wall. He’s still hard, and still inside her. Wet, sticky and very messy, their eyes widen as they stare at each other, faces an inch apart. Clumsily, quickly they separate and he puts her back on the ground. They attempt to redress with nothing really to clean up with. 

“Sooo we just...” Bucky starts.

“Yup,” replies Nat, “famine huh?” 

Bucky clenches his teeth and nods, however the two manage to not feel too ashamed given the extremity of the situation. Nat tends to make everything easier and they both have to admit, they’ve always had chemistry.  

“Come on” Bucky laughs, “I guess we gotta all go and...debrief?” he lazily throws an arm over her shoulder and they walk together. 

The first thing Sam notices is that he has never been so full in his life. Not when he went to three thanksgiving dinners in one day, not when he got back from Afghanistan and hit the Taco Bell, McDonalds and KFC drive thru’s all in a row, never. He groans and clutches his stomach, thinking to himself how famine did a number on him, being completely oblivious to what the rest of his team went through.

Wanda is mortified. She tried to kiss Clint. She did kiss him. After scoffing an entire cake. Actually, mortified doesn’t really begin to describe it. She glances at Clint but he's running to the sink to vomit. Guiltily she can’t help but be relieved; hopefully he will have been too drunk to remember. 

Steve, Nat and Bucky come back into the room looking sheepish, followed by Tony. The air is thick with tension until Sam breaks it.

“So guys, that was some experience huh? But... I ate everything in the fridge, how was everyone else dealing with their cravings?” 

[bastardsunlight]

RANT AHEAD!! ❤

Friendly reminder: Ulfric invited the dark elves into Windhelm after Vvardenfell threw a shit-fit and displaced a fucklot of ‘em—and he’s not been on the throne of Windhelm long--maybe fourteen years. That bit is important. One of the dark elves you speak to in Windhelm (one of the well-off ones) says that it’s basically due to the dark elves’ lack of willingness to actually engage in the Skyrim way of life (clinging to their Morrowind ways of living—not culture, they’re obviously free to worship whomst the fuck ever in Windhelm) that keeps them impoverished.

 There are TWO nords in Windhelm who’re shitheads at the dunmer and, confirmed by a dunmer NPC, all they do is get shitfaced and stumble through the gray quarter at night, yellin’ crap—rude, but honestly, the Dragonborn can beat one of ‘em down and they lay tf off. They might be representative of Windhelm nords, but then the dark elf who is well off should also count as representative of how to be successful in a new country. He left the gray quarter and made a life for himself, which any of them can do, because it isn't actually confirmed to be a law that the dark elves have to stay in the gray quarter. One elf says “they won’t let us live outside that slum” but another elf, who lives outside the slum, says that the dark elves who live there are essentially oppressing themselves--much like the subject of this rant, every citizen of Skyrim will have a different perspective. 

Galmar Stone-fist, Ulfric’s right hand, is the one who tells the DB this, saying something along the lines of “he invited them here, but I wish he’d asked the rest of us first”. Meaning Ulfric DID defy some potential racism in order to offer asylum and shelter to the dark elves (I say potential, because ofc it could just be that life in Windhelm is tough enough without opening its gates to refugees). He stuck his neck out for elves. That’s a canon truth. The fact that you, a DB of ANY race, can literally join the Stormcloaks and rise in the ranks without a problem sort of negates the “racism” argument, if you are using in-game facts and mechanics. “Oh, but the player character has to be able to join either side” yeah that’s true--a lot of stuff in the game is set up for the PC. All the Stormcloak soldiers are human, but hey guess what? So are the Imperial soldiers. 

So miss me with that “ulfric is a racist” thing. That’s so simple, so very very simple and a really shallow interpretation of Ulfric’s character. Has he done no wrong? PFF fuck no. He killed a man in an argument over ideals and what a proper Skyrim should BE. Elisif is a widow ‘cause Torygg couldn’t best Ulfric, but the fight itself was fair, according to canon—members of Elisif's own court (which she doesn't rule, btw, Falk Firebeard does) confirm it. So riddle me this:

Is it wrong to desire liberation from a small, centralized government, who is under the thumb of an even more removed dominion of some folks who are slowly but surely killing all religious dissidents in your country because one of your gods makes them squirmy? [cue crusade banners]

The aldmeri dominion (and thence, the thalmor) are racist motherfuckers. The idea of Tiber Septim becoming a god is anathema, not only because he is mortal, but because he’s a HUMAN. Lorkhan et. Al. are elven gods, elven concepts, elven ideas—the other eight divines are Aedra, which were of the same nature as the Daedra ‘til they created Nirn. Now, could it be that the Aldmeri Dominion would balk against an ELF becoming a god? I can’t answer that. But the blessings of Talos work. They confer healing and shit on you, so I hate to break it to ya, elves, Talos is a god. [cue Heimskr’s speech “WE ARE BUT MAGGOTS, WRITHING IN THE FILTH OF OUR OWN CORRUPTION]

Engaging in religious oppression is the overarching theme of the Aldmeri Dominion. Conquering the Empire allows them to keep suppressing the worship of Talos. Talos is a human who became god--he was a nord, in fact, and the FOUNDER of the empire. He is a legitimate god whose presence upsets the elves because he was mortal. Is that racism? If they’re pissed because he was man rather than mer? Yes. If they just find the idea of an ascendant mortal anathema, still a tentative yes. Oppressing the beliefs of a people is a from of racism. 

The Nords came to Skyrim from Atmora thousands of years ago and they got along fine with the snow elves ‘til they unearthed an artifact in Saarthal. It was at that time the falmer felt they had no choice but to attack. Ysgramor lost his son(s?) and thus mounted a counterattack, driving the falmer to retreat into the waiting arms of the frankly shady dwarves, who promised asylum, but enslaved them. This is NOT a metaphor for the oppression of native peoples in the United States, so don’t like, try and make it one. The falmer struck first, the humans won and thus the Nord people are the oldest native residents of Skyrim--we’re talking millennia, here, people, not a century, but literal thousands of years that Skyrim has been human, specifically Nord, land. 

I mean, Tullius is kind of racist if you really feel the need to go there (I don’t, but see Imperial side dialogue before you kill Ulfric “wherever you people go when you die” in which Legate Rikke, a Nord herself, reminds him “Sovngarde, sir.”). That’s how racism works. People will say shit that disrespects your culture or way of life, but if you’re close to ‘em, they don’t see it as a problem, because they don’t see you as “like all the other ____.” Now, Tullius doesn’t justify himself to Rikke because he is her superior officer, but it just goes to show that, for being the imperial rep in Skyrim, he gives very few fucks about the culture. Now, is this most likely because he is tired and does not want to be there? Yep. Does that excuse him? Only if Ulfric’s belief in his own cause excuses him. The empire is a puppet for the Thalmor, thus Tullius is a puppet of the thalmor as well and if you don’t think that destroys his pride as an imperial soldier (same as Ulfric?????), well, maybe it’s time for another study in human nature.

Yes, it’s true that Tullius prioritizes the safety of the citizenry at Helgen. Ulfric doesn’t. 1. Ulfric is prolly a little pissed, 2. He’s just been arrested for beating a dude in a fair fight, 3. He has NO troops, and 4. He’s trained with the Greybeards; he understands what a dragon can do WAY more intimately than Tullius and he knows better than to get in the way of that fire. Skyrim is a rough fuckin’ place and the addition of dragons doesn’t help. Neither man backs down from the civil war, either, so don’t bother with that angle. “Oh Ulfric didn’t stop civil warring to fight dragons” yeah nor did Tullius. Methinks being the commander of an army is not so simple as “okay guys let’s stop fighting and be bffs”. Tullius is there on orders he doesn’t want to follow, but Ulfric also doesn’t seem like he WANTS to tear Skyrim up--he feels it is necessary, same as Tullius feels quelling the rebellion is necessary. It’s all in your perspective--and yes, I’ve played the Imperial questline; I was a high elf and it made sense, story-wise.

Aligning with the Empire means aligning with the Thalmor. Aligning with the Stormcloaks also means aligning with the Thalmor. No matter what, you’re either directly serving them or their interests. If this bothers you, you understand the desire for an independent, sovereign Skyrim. 

Ulfric does what he does because he just spent however the fuck many years fighting against the aldmeri dominion (after, mind you, leaving the training of the greybeards to stand up for an ideal), fighting FOR THE EMPIRE, hoping to keep the lands of men a separate, sovereign land unto themselves, with their various provinces and governments under the empire. He was NOT opposed to the empire until they bowed to the white-gold concordat, an agreement which promised peace (a good thing yes?) in exchange for dropping the ninth divine, Talos, Tiber Septim-become-god (religious persecution, and please recall this isn’t just “take down all shrines of talos”—this is literally hunt down and root out talos worshippers in their own homes [markarth quest]). While Ulfric is being tortured by the Thalmor, his countrymen are being forced to bow the knee to the Summerset isles and a people who have no real idea how life, commerce, and politics in Skyrim should and do work, all because they’re opposed to the worship of the LEGITIMATE GOD Talos.

The Thalmor convinced Ulfric that the information he FINALLY gave them after being tortured actually helped them take the Imperial capitol. It didn’t, of course, the capitol had already fallen, but he carries that guilt. That’s canon, too. He carries the guilt of thinking it’s his fault the Empire lost the imperial city (the first time--they took it back during the battle of the red ring like one or two years later) which, btw, the Aldmeri dominon started, for the record.

Lemme remind you that many of the citizens of Skyrim thought Torygg was a bit of a weakling, as well, that he was content to bow to the empire’s wishes, the wishes of the aldmeri dominion, without seeking a better position in trade, taxes, etc. for Skyrim. Is that a reason to kill someone? Well probably the fuck not. But you know what? These are fantasy politics and it wasn’t as if Torygg was caught off guard. They were dueling. [cue Yu-Gi-Oh! opening]. So the empire captures Ulfric and is gunne behead him—and well y’all played the opening.

I’m only saying this because I cannot cruise the Ulfric Stormcloak tag without seein’ this garbagio and it’s killin’ me. Is he a sweet cinnamon roll who can do no wrong? No. Are the stormcloak’s skyrim’s third reich? Also fucking no??? It is just my own observations and interpretations of the events and dialogues in-game which lead me to this conclusion. Skyrim has a right to secede from the Empire which serves the Aldmeri Dominion more than it serves its own people. Don’t forget that the Aldmeri dominion is engaged in active oppression of a legitimate faith. Don’t forget that Skyrim staying allied with the Empire doesn’t strengthen the Empire for some speculative, future uprising. Don’t forget that it’s unwise to apply real world politics to a fantasy world with such completeness that you cannot recall the actual details and parameters OF that fantasy world.

I mean at the end of the day, it’s a videogame, right? So… grain o’ salt.