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mostlysignssomeportents · 23 days

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Podcasting “Capitalists Hate Capitalism”

I'm touring my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me in Torino (Apr 21) Marin County (Apr 27), Winnipeg (May 2), Calgary (May 3), Vancouver (May 4), and beyond!

This week on my podcast, I read "Capitalists Hate Capitalism," my latest column for Locus Magazine:

https://locusmag.com/2024/03/cory-doctorow-capitalists-hate-capitalism/

What do I mean by "capitalists hate capitalism?" It all comes down to the difference between "profits" and "rents." A capitalist takes capital (money, or the things you can buy with it) and combines it with employees' labor, and generates profits (the capitalist's share) and wages (the workers' share).

Rents, meanwhile, come from owning an asset that capitalists need to generate profits. For example, a landlord who rents a storefront to a coffee shop extracts rent from the capitalist who owns the coffee shop. Meanwhile, the capitalist who owns the cafe extracts profits from the baristas' labor.

Capitalists' founding philosophers like Adam Smith hated rents. Worse: rents were the most important source of income at the time of capitalism's founding. Feudal lords owned great swathes of land, and there were armies of serfs who were bound to that land – it was illegal for them to leave it. The serfs owed rent to lords, and so they worked the land in order grow crops and raise livestock that they handed over the to lord as rent for the land they weren't allowed to leave.

Capitalists, meanwhile, wanted to turn that land into grazing territory for sheep as a source of wool for the "dark, Satanic mills" of the industrial revolution. They wanted the serfs to be kicked off their land so that they would become "free labor" that could be hired to work in those factories.

For the founders of capitalism, a "free market" wasn't free from regulation, it was free from rents, and "free labor" came from workers who were free to leave the estates where they were born – but also free to starve unless they took a job with the capitalists.

For capitalism's philosophers, free markets and free labor weren't just a source of profits, they were also a source of virtue. Capitalists – unlike lords – had to worry about competition from one another. They had to make better goods at lower prices, lest their customers take their business elsewhere; and they had to offer higher pay and better conditions, lest their "free labor" take a job elsewhere.

This means that capitalists are haunted by the fear of losing everything, and that fear acts as a goad, driving them to find ways to make everything better for everyone: better, cheaper products that benefit shoppers; and better-paid, safer jobs that benefit workers. For Smith, capitalism is alchemy, a philosopher's stone that transforms the base metal of greed into the gold of public spiritedness.

By contrast, rentiers are insulated from competition. Their workers are bound to the land, and must toil to pay the rent no matter whether they are treated well or abused. The rent rolls in reliably, without the lord having to invest in new, better ways to bring in the harvest. It's a good life (for the lord).

Think of that coffee-shop again: if a better cafe opens across the street, the owner can lose it all, as their customers and workers switch allegiance. But for the landlord, the failure of his capitalist tenant is a feature, not a bug. Once the cafe goes bust, the landlord gets a newly vacant storefront on the same block as the hot new coffee shop that can be rented out at even higher rates to another capitalist who tries his luck.

The industrial revolution wasn't just the triumph of automation over craft processes, nor the triumph of factory owners over weavers. It was also the triumph of profits over rents. The transformation of hereditary estates worked by serfs into part of the supply chain for textile mills was attended by – and contributed to – the political ascendancy of capitalists over rentiers.

Now, obviously, capitalism didn't end rents – just as feudalism didn't require the total absence of profits. Under feudalism, capitalists still extracted profits from capital and labor; and under capitalism, rentiers still extracted rents from assets that capitalists and workers paid them to use.

The difference comes in the way that conflicts between profits and rents were resolved. Feudalism is a system where rents triumph over profits, and capitalism is a system where profits triumph over rents.

It's conflict that tells you what really matters. You love your family, but they drive you crazy. If you side with your family over your friends – even when your friends might be right and your family's probably wrong – then you value your family more than your friends. That doesn't mean you don't value your friends – it means that you value them less than your family.

Conflict is a reliable way to know whether or not you're a leftist. As Steven Brust says, the way to distinguish a leftist is to ask "What's more important, human rights, or property rights?" If you answer "Property rights are human right," you're not a leftist. Leftists don't necessarily oppose all property rights – they just think they're less important than human rights.

Think of conflicts between property rights and human rights: the grocer who deliberately renders leftover food inedible before putting it in the dumpster to ensure that hungry people can't eat it, or the landlord who keeps an apartment empty while a homeless person freezes to death on its doorstep. You don't have to say "No one can own food or a home" to say, "in these cases, property rights are interfering with human rights, so they should be overridden." For leftists property rights can be a means to human rights (like revolutionary land reformers who give peasants title to the lands they work), but where property rights interfere with human rights, they are set aside.

In his 2023 book Technofeudalism, Yanis Varoufakis claims that capitalism has given way to a new feudalism – that capitalism was a transitional phase between feudalism…and feudalism:

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

Varoufakis's point isn't that capitalists have gone extinct. Rather, it's that today, conflicts between capital and assets – between rents and profits – reliably end with a victory of rent over profit.

Think of Amazon: the "everything store" appears to be a vast bazaar, a flea-market whose stalls are all operated by independent capitalists who decide what to sell, how to price it, and then compete to tempt shoppers. In reality, though, the whole system is owned by a single feudalist, who extracts 51% from every dollar those merchants take in, and decides who can sell, and what they can sell, and at what price, and whether anyone can even see it:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/01/managerial-discretion/#junk-fees

Or consider the patent trolls of the Eastern District of Texas. These "companies" are invisible and produce nothing. They consist solely of a serviced mailbox in a dusty, uninhabited office-building, and an overbroad patent (say, a patent on "tapping on a screen with your finger") issued by the US Patent and Trademark Office. These companies extract hundreds of millions of dollars from Apple, Google, Samsung for violating these patents. In other words, the government steps in and takes vast profits generated through productive activity by companies that make phones, and turns that money over as rent paid to unproductive companies whose sole "product" is lawsuits. It's the triumph of rent over profit.

Capitalists hate capitalism. All capitalists would rather extract rents than profits, because rents are insulated from competition. The merchants who sell on Jeff Bezos's Amazon (or open a cafe in a landlord's storefront, or license a foolish smartphone patent) bear all the risk. The landlords – of Amazon, the storefront, or the patent – get paid whether or not that risk pays off.

This is why Google, Apple and Samsung also have vast digital estates that they rent out to capitalists – everything from app stores to patent portfolios. They would much rather be in the business of renting things out to capitalists than competing with capitalists.

Hence that famous Adam Smith quote: "People of the same trade seldom meet together, even for merriment and diversion, but the conversation ends in a conspiracy against the public, or in some contrivance to raise prices." This is literally what Google and Meta do:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jedi_Blue

And it's what Apple and Google do:

https://www.theverge.com/2023/10/27/23934961/google-antitrust-trial-defaults-search-deal-26-3-billion

Why compete with one another when you can collude, like feudal lords with adjacent estates who trust one another to return any serf they catch trying to sneak away in the dead of night?

Because of course, it's not just "free markets" that have been captured by rents ("Competition is for losers" -P. Thiel) – it's also "free labor." For years, the largest tech and entertainment companies in America illegally colluded on a "no poach" agreement not to hire one-anothers' employees:

https://techcrunch.com/2015/09/03/apple-google-other-silicon-valley-tech-giants-ordered-to-pay-415m-in-no-poaching-suit/

These companies were bitter competitors – as were these sectors. Even as Big Content was lobbying for farcical copyright law expansions and vowing to capture Big Tech, all these companies on both sides were able to set aside their differences and collude to bind their free workers to their estates and end the "wasteful competition" to secure their labor.

Of course, this is even more pronounced at the bottom of the labor market, where noncompete "agreements" are the norm. The median American worker bound by a noncompete is a fast-food worker whose employer can wield the power of the state to prevent that worker from leaving behind the Wendy's cash-register to make $0.25/hour more at the McDonald's fry trap across the street:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/02/its-the-economy-stupid/#neofeudal

Employers defend this as necessary to secure their investment in training their workers and to ensure the integrity of their trade secrets. But why should their investments be protected? Capitalism is about risk, and the fear that accompanies risk – fear that drives capitalists to innovate, which creates the public benefit that is the moral justification for capitalism.

Capitalists hate capitalism. They don't want free labor – they want labor bound to the land. Capitalists benefit from free labor: if you have a better company, you can tempt away the best workers and cause your inferior rival to fail. But feudalists benefit from un-free labor, from tricks like "bondage fees" that force workers to pay in order to quit their jobs:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/21/bondage-fees/#doorman-building

Companies like Petsmart use "training repayment agreement provisions" (TRAPs) to keep low-waged workers from leaving for better employers. Petsmart says it costs $5,500 to train a pet-groomer, and if that worker is fired, laid off, or quits less than two years, they have to pay that amount to Petsmart:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/04/its-a-trap/#a-little-on-the-nose

Now, Petsmart is full of shit here. The "four-week training course" Petsmart claims is worth $5,500 actually only lasts for three weeks. What's more, the "training" consists of sweeping the floor and doing other low-level chores for three weeks, without pay.

But even if Petsmart were to give $5,500 worth of training to every pet-groomer, this would still be bullshit. Why should the worker bear the risk of Petsmart making a bad investment in their training? Under capitalism, risks justify rewards. Petsmart's argument for charging $50 to groom your dog and paying the groomer $15 for the job is that they took $35 worth of risk. But some of that risk is being borne by the worker – they're the ones footing the bill for the training.

For Petsmart – as for all feudalists – a worker (with all the attendant risks) can be turned into an asset, something that isn't subject to competition. Petsmart doesn't have to retain workers through superior pay and conditions – they can use the state's contract-enforcement mechanism instead.

Capitalists hate capitalism, but they love feudalism. Sure, they dress this up by claiming that governmental de-risking spurs investment: "Who would pay to train a pet-groomer if that worker could walk out the next day and shave dogs for some competing shop?"

But this is obvious nonsense. Think of Silicon Valley: high tech is the most "IP-intensive" of all industries, the sector that has had to compete most fiercely for skilled labor. And yet, Silicon Valley is in California, where noncompetes are illegal. Every single successful Silicon Valley company has thrived in an environment in which their skilled workers can walk out the door at any time and take a job with a rival company.

There's no indication that the risk of free labor prevents investment. Think of AI, the biggest investment bubble in human history. All the major AI companies are in jurisdictions where noncompetes are illegal. Anthropic – OpenAI's most serious competitor – was founded by a sister/brother team who quit senior roles at OpenAI and founded a direct competitor. No one can claim with a straight face that OpenAI is now unable to raise capital on favorable terms.

What's more, when OpenAI founder Sam Altman was forced out by his board, Microsoft offered to hire him – and 700 other OpenAI personnel – to found an OpenAI competitor. When Altman returned to the company, Microsoft invested more money in OpenAI, despite their intimate understanding that anyone could hire away the company's founder and all of its top technical staff at any time.

The idea that the departure of the Burger King trade secrets locked up in its workers' heads constitute more of a risk to the ability to operate a hamburger restaurant than the departure of the entire technical staff of OpenAI is obvious nonsense. Noncompetes aren't a way to make it possible to run a business – they're a way to make it easy to run a business, by eliminating competition and pushing the risk onto employees.

Because capitalists hate capitalism. And who can blame them? Who wouldn't prefer a life with less risk to one where you have to constantly look over your shoulder for competitors who've found a way to make a superior offer to your customers and workers?

This is why businesses are so excited about securing "IP" – that is, a government-backed right to control your workers, customers, competitors or critics:

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

The argument for every IP right expansion is the same: "Who would invest in creating something new without the assurance that someone else wouldn’t copy and improve on it and put them out of business?"

That was the argument raised five years ago, during the (mercifully brief) mania for genre writers seeking trademarks on common tropes. There was the romance writer who got a trademark on the word "cocky" in book titles:

https://www.theverge.com/2018/7/16/17566276/cockygate-amazon-kindle-unlimited-algorithm-self-published-romance-novel-cabal

And the fantasy writer who wanted a trademark on "dragon slayer" in fantasy novel titles:

https://memex.craphound.com/2018/06/14/son-of-cocky-a-writer-is-trying-to-trademark-dragon-slayer-for-fantasy-novels/

Who subsequently sought a trademark on any book cover featuring a person holding a weapon:

https://memex.craphound.com/2018/07/19/trademark-troll-who-claims-to-own-dragon-slayer-now-wants-exclusive-rights-to-book-covers-where-someone-is-holding-a-weapon/

For these would-be rentiers, the logic was the same: "Why would I write a book about a dragon-slayer if I could lose readers to someone else who writes a book about dragon-slayers?"

In these cases, the USPTO denied or rescinded its trademarks. Profits triumphed over rents. But increasingly, rents are triumphing over profits, and rent-extraction is celebrated as "smart business," while profits are for suckers, only slightly preferable to "wages" (the worst way to get paid under both capitalism and feudalism).

That's what's behind all the talk about "passive income" – that's just a euphemism for "rent." It's what Douglas Rushkoff is referring to in Survival of the Richest when he talks about the wealthy wanting to "go meta":

https://pluralistic.net/2022/09/13/collapse-porn/#collapse-porn

Don't drive a cab – go meta and buy a medallion. Don't buy a medallion, go meta and found Uber. Don't found Uber, go meta and invest in Uber. Don't invest in Uber, go meta and buy options on Uber stock. Don't buy Uber stock options, go meta and buy derivatives of options on Uber stock.

"Going meta" means distancing yourself from capitalism – from income derived from profits, from competition, from risk – and cozying up to feudalism.

Capitalists have always hated capitalism. The owners of the dark Satanic mills wanted peasants turned off the land and converted into "free labor" – but they also kidnapped Napoleonic war-orphans and indentured them to ten-year terms of service, which was all you could get out of a child's body before it was ruined for further work:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/26/enochs-hammer/#thats-fronkonsteen

When Varoufakis says we've entered a new feudal age, he doesn't mean that we've abolished capitalism. He means that – for the first time in centuries – when rents go to war against profits – the rents almost always emerge victorious.

Here's the podcast episode:

https://craphound.com/news/2024/04/14/capitalists-hate-capitalism/

Here's a direct link to the MP3 (hosting courtesy of the Internet Archive; they'll host your stuff for free, forever):

https://archive.org/download/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_465/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_465_-_Capitalists_Hate_Capitalism.mp3

And here's the RSS feed for my podcast:

http://feeds.feedburner.com/doctorow_podcast

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/2024/04/18/in-extremis-veritas/#the-winnah

#pluralistic #technofeudalism #yanis varoufakis #rents #profits #economics #podcasts #locus magazine #mp3s

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vminizzle · 1 year

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Stay quiet for me

pairing : boyfriend!jungkook x f.reader

genre : smut, fluffy tones?

warnings : pet names, swearing, marking, penetration, unprotected sex, cockwarming, slapping (once)

words count : 0.9k

A/N : hi hi everyone, I hope y’all doing good. Here’s a little something to thank y’all for your support on my recent fics and for the 100 followers!! love y’all. My english still sucks but aye let’s go! (also I want to precise that I’m a new writer I’m not experienced, I’ll try to do better for the upcoming fics *sigh*)

FEEDBACKS ARE VERY WELCOMED ♡

M RATED

“fuck, go faster.” Jungkook said as he gripped your hips tighter. You could tell that you were going to have bruises later by the way his fingers were buried into the soft flesh. You were trying the best you could to make the both of you reach your high.

His hard-on was filling you up deliciously, so deep, it felt too good. You could feel every inch of him as you moved up and down on him. His hair was sticked on his forehead, sweat covering your bodies .

Your loud moans escaping from your lips as Jungkook gripped your neck connecting his beautiful lips on the abused skin. Sucking softly, tongue caressing the marks he left, making you whimper at the sensitive stimulation. You were so close to finishing when you heard Jungkook’s phone rang. He cursed before sighing, dropping his head on your shoulder. It was late at night who could it be, you wondered.

He grabbed his phone to check who it was making you stop curiously. Jungkook moved his hand to slap your ass lightly “don’t stop baby” he groaned. He bucked his hips suddenly making you lost your balance. “Jungkook” you moaned. Your thighs were so sore, it’s been more than 15 minutes since you started riding him. “it h-hurts babe” you sobbed softly.

"Yoongi is calling, stay quiet for me, you can do that for me love, huh?” he caressed your cheek making you close your eyes nodding at him softly “ that’s my girl” he pecked your lips.

Before Jungkook picked up the call, he lifted your body laying you gently on the bed considered all the efforts you did. He looked into your eyes to make sure everything was alright for you.

He grabbed his phone, picking up Yoongi’s call, putting it on speaker “wassup dude! sorry I know it’s late but I was wondering if you’re ok if I modify my verse in our last demo. I want to exchange some parts with Jimin. So I could see which one is better” you listened to the deep voice echoing through the room. It was Taehyung…

Jungkook looked at you with an emotionless face, you were about to laugh when he hit your g-spot with a particular hard thrust. You bit your lip trying to block the noises threatening to escape as he smirked at your reaction.

"bro you here?” Taehyung asked “yea yea I’m here. Why do you have Yoongi’s phone ? And yea I think it c-can work. Make sure to not- shit-” He groaned louder than he would had think.

“man, you good?” Taehyung asked confused.

“yes! yes!” Jungkook replied.

“hmm, so yea. I’m with Yoongi that’s why I have his phone, mine’s dead. Don’t worry I’ll be careful not to modify too much since we really liked how it sounded and all. Yoongi is with us so everything will be fine” Taehyung started blabbing while Jungkook tried his best to hit the places he knows that could make you scream his name.

His friend long forgotten when you gripped his long black locks, pulling him in a passionate kiss. He put his hand on your cheek as he kept devouring your lips.

“Kook? can you hear m-”

“yea yea, I-I trust you” Jungkook replied out of breath.

“sorry if i disturbed you this late, thank y-” Taehyung started apologizing.

“It’s o-ok, bye!” Jungkook ended the call, throwing his phone away.

He grabbed your left thigh, lifting it up a little higher so he could hit deeper “f-fuck, you feel so good”. He was getting near, you knew it. You scrached his back as he left little kisses on your chest “Jungkook go faster please”.

He bit his lips as he gripped onto the headboard with one hand for support. You threw your head back into the pillow, the pleasure building in your stomach getting too much. You looked up at him, his hair practically wet, muscles contracting every time he made a move, his lips red from all the biting and kisses, his eyes rolling to the back of his head .

This view made you feel butterflies in your stomach. The bed kept on hitting the wall repeatedly “fuck! I’m gonna cum!” you sobbed.

Jungkook lowered himself to put his forehead on yours, trying to catch his breath “me too!”.

You both moaned as your walls started tightening around him uncontrollably. You grabbed the sheet tightly as you came, your fingernails digging into the flesh of his bicep. He continued thrusting into you to help you ride your high as you pulled on his hair “please cum inside me baby please”. He could only moan at your words. He held your hips as he cummed inside you immediately your words exciting him more than you thought.

The warm liquid filled you up to the brim, some flowing on the bed sheet. “damn” he cursed watching his cum dripping out of you “you’re so hot”.

You laughed pulling him down on you “let’s stay like this for a while please?” you asked shyly.

“you want me to stay inside?” he looked up at you curious as you nod caressing his cheek, your other hand running up and down his scratched back. He kissed you neck whispering an “I love you y/n” before cuddling you. “I love you Jungkook” you kissed the top of his head.

–

“guys is it just me or he seemed weird? like sick?” Taehyung asked a bit lost.

“nah. boy was getting laid” Yoongi said smirking making Jimin laugh loudly his head falling on Taehyung’s shoulder as he clap his hands.

—

A/N : sorry I had to make a little Vmin appearance hehe ,, ♡ I hope you guys liked it :) thank you for your support!

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genderkoolaid · 2 months

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in my sociology class ive started just using "transmisogny" to refer to any intersection of transphobia and misogyny because it's just. obviously the best way to describe something. like if I'm talking about a trans man not being able to get a legal name/gender change because he's legally a woman and needs his father's permission, that's transphobia and misogyny. if im talking about a pregnant black trans man dealing with transphobic medical abuse and the knowledge that black cis women die in childbirth at far higher rates, thats transphobia and misogynoir.

the idea that misogyny only affects feminine cis women is cissexism. why in the fucking world did we just decide to keep that cissexism but adapt it for trans people. all it does is reinforce the same shit that has always been used to silence butches and trans people in feminism by saying they aren't the Real Victims & their victimization is only the byproduct of the Real Victims' oppression. we can talk about anti-transfemininity without perpetuating this! i believe in us! it is vital to the survival of trans men&mascs & trans-others that we are able to discuss the potentially deadly impact of transphobia + misogyny on our lives. i am once again begging us to challenge the implicit cissexism in feminism instead of just adapting it

#m.

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probablyasocialecologist · 2 months

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As environmental, social and humanitarian crises escalate, the world can no longer afford two things: first, the costs of economic inequality; and second, the rich. Between 2020 and 2022, the world’s most affluent 1% of people captured nearly twice as much of the new global wealth created as did the other 99% of individuals put together, and in 2019 they emitted as much carbon dioxide as the poorest two-thirds of humanity. In the decade to 2022, the world’s billionaires more than doubled their wealth, to almost US$12 trillion. The evidence gathered by social epidemiologists, including us, shows that large differences in income are a powerful social stressor that is increasingly rendering societies dysfunctional. For example, bigger gaps between rich and poor are accompanied by higher rates of homicide and imprisonment. They also correspond to more infant mortality, obesity, drug abuse and COVID-19 deaths, as well as higher rates of teenage pregnancy and lower levels of child well-being, social mobility and public trust. The homicide rate in the United States — the most unequal Western democracy — is more than 11 times that in Norway. Imprisonment rates are ten times as high, and infant mortality and obesity rates twice as high.

[...]

Our work has shown that the amount spent on advertising as a proportion of gross domestic product is higher in countries with greater inequality. The well-publicized lifestyles of the rich promote standards and ways of living that others seek to emulate, triggering cascades of expenditure for holiday homes, swimming pools, travel, clothes and expensive cars. Oxfam reports that, on average, each of the richest 1% of people in the world produces 100 times the emissions of the average person in the poorest half of the world’s population. That is the scale of the injustice. As poorer countries raise their material standards, the rich will have to lower theirs.

[...]

The scientific evidence is stark that reducing inequality is a fundamental precondition for addressing the environmental, health and social crises the world is facing. It’s essential that policymakers act quickly to reverse decades of rising inequality and curb the highest incomes.

#capitalism #billionaires #inequality #sustainability #degrowth

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sirdindjarin · 1 year

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The Concession - Din Djarin x f!Reader

gif from @rebeljyn 's gifset here

Din Djarin falls in love. Whoops.

The Savior / The Concession / The Choice (END)

AO3 Link

TAGS: S2 Din Djarin, "Who Did This to You?", P in V, Unprotected Sex w/o consequences because who likes those, m!Masturbation, Fluff, Pining, touch-starved!Din, helmet-less!Din, soft!Din, protective!Din, Grogu bein a sweet shit.

WARNINGS: Star Wars cursing/slang which I know annoys some people lmao, abusive shopkeepers.

A/N: "Shit" is Star Wars canon (thank you, Andor); Din is a groaner (Chapter 5 of TBOBF); & Din is a bit of a poet (thanks pledge to Bo-Katan in Chapter 23); I have cited my sources LOL.

"No," the Mandalorian snaps. "No droids."

A gloved hand flies to his holster and the rusty pit droids screech to a halt, beeping nervously.

Leaning against the frame of the Razor Crest, at the top of the boarding ramp, you roll your eyes at Din Djarin's back. His distaste for droids had been made clear to you the first time he'd stopped for parts.

Those droids had been considerably less polite about Din’s preference, and he had taken too much pleasure in enforcing it.

"Listen, buddy, they're my refueling dr-"

"Then I'll take my business elsewhere."

The attendant sighs loudly, glaring at the Mandalorian. The skinny, maroon male with a fin-shaped head rises from his chair behind his workshop desk. He walks toward a shaking pit droid and grabs the refueler.

"It'll cost you extra," the attendant's eye-stalks narrow at the bounty hunter.

Din comes to an agreement with the disgruntled worker, sullenly agreeing to a slightly higher rate.

As the Mandalorian keeps watch over his ship, your footsteps clang down the steep ramp, and you sidle up to him, saying, "We need some things. Ration packs are gone. And - don't tell him -" your voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper, "But I think Grogu deserves a treat."

"He would agree with you.” Din’s elbow brushes your shoulder, and he realizes he’d leaned closer as you spoke.

You continue, “And you need something to relax.”

At that, Din’s helmet turns. “I do not.”

“You’re even more impatient than usual. You’re on an anti-droid campaign; the last time we stopped, you threatened to yank out one’s navigator circuits just for bumping your foot.” You look up at him, raising a teasing eyebrow.

The Mandalorian goes as still as one of those droids he had deactivated. His intimidating, T-shaped slit brands into your vision. Behind it, you know he’s boring holes into your face.

“Alright. Nothing for you, then.”

Your shoulders drop when you turn away from him, almost relieved to be out from underneath his piercing, hidden gaze.

The Mandalorian had paid you a few days before, and this was your first real opportunity to spend your own money. You can’t stop smiling, even as you place the kid in his white pod and stuff your pocket with your credits. Grogu is as excited as you are - giggling in his quiet way.

As you pass the statue of Din Djarin, he extends a closed fist. Obediently, you hold out your hand. The tan-hide fingers of his gloves open and credits fall, clinking. You look up questioningly at him.

“For the food. Your wages are not meant to be spent on communal necessities.”

Your lips curve into a lopsided, sweet smile that Din immediately commits to memory, and you nod.

Turning to Grogu, his fuzzy ears perked and eyes wide, you ask, “Ready, kid?”

***

The marketplace is huge. Stretching the length of the entire square, it’s busy for a planet this remote, but the size increases the options.

Grogu floats along beside you, and you keep one hand on the lip of the pod, just to be safe. The responsibility of the kid is the greatest charge you’ve ever been given, in more ways than one. Grogu often holds your hand or squeaks to get your attention to point at something glowing or stinky or flashing. His outright affection is a lamp to your lonely heart.

After visiting several vendors, you’ve resupplied what was necessary (with credits left over), and now you move on to something for Grogu. You’d be buying that with your own wages. Din could say whatever he liked, but what else do you have to spend your money on except the cute baby?

You walk past a booth advertising repair supplies, but when you realize it’s for clothing repair, something clicks in your brain. Grogu’s ears flop forward with your sudden stop. Your eyes run over the objects, and you select some, a smile splitting your face. You hope he will be pleased.

Several minutes later, Grogu makes a bah! sound, pointing at a live amphibian display. You’re pretty sure it’s a pet vendor, but the look on the kid’s face tells you he won’t take no for an answer. And maybe you should parent him - tell him no - but that’s Din’s job, not yours.

“Hi. How much for the frog eggs?” You politely ask the vendor, digging in your pocket for credits.

The bug-eyed lady tells you in a language you don’t speak, but she holds up three short tentacles on her hand. She pushes six eggs toward you, which you gratefully take and set in Grogu’s pod.

When you try to hand her the credits, she’s pushed out of the way by someone behind her. A man with a smushed nose yells in the same language the lady had spoken, and points away, clearly telling her to leave.

You watch warily, and once the woman has gone, the man turns to you.

“My apologies. The price is one credit per egg,” he simpers at you.

Disliking the hike in price, you move to return half of the eggs, but he protests, “Once the item has left my possession, they must be paid for.”

“But I can give them back to you,” you assert. “I’m not paying that much for frog eggs.”

His smushed nose twitches up like a feral Loth-wolf, “Yes, you are.”

"I'm not." You set three eggs back on the counter.

The man seizes your wrists, holding you in place. The crowded market is loud, but your indignant cry and the vendor's screamed accusation of theft cause several people to stop and watch.

You try to twist out of his hold, but his scaly skin tears at yours. The snarling vendor suddenly ceases making noise, and he releases your wrists to clutch at his throat. Shocked, your head snaps to the child.

Grogu has one little, three-fingered hand raised and curled.

“No!” You gasp, slamming the button on Grogu’s pod to close it. Far, far too many eyes watch.

The vendor, choking and sputtering, recovers quickly and lunges at you across the table. His hands grip your upper arms, but you wrench out of his hold. Hoping to draw all attention to yourself, you punch the vendor with all your might. The vendor stumbles.

“Never seen someone pretend to choke over three credits,” your lie is an incredibly lame one, but you hope it’s enough for passersby.

He clutches his jaw; his spat insult is garbled, and he begins to inch around the long table, trying to get a better shot at you.

You turn and walk away with as even a pace as you can manage. Running would make his accusation true. The crowd swallows the two of you up well, and you lengthen your stride.

But the vendor is regaining his volume. Nervously, you check over your shoulder. You jolt when Grogu’s pod bumps into your hip, then zooms away.

“No,” you yell again, grasping for the white vessel, but it comes to a hovering stop in front of a tall, silver man.

“Thank the Maker,” you sigh with relief. “We have to go.”

Din immediately notices the red ring of heat around your wrists and along your knuckles. He strides toward you. The closer he gets, the safer you feel - his protective aura slowly engulfing you.

Din grabs your forearm and examines your wrist. There’s a raw quality to your skin where the man’s abrasive hands had clamped down and twisted. After a moment, his face locks onto yours.

“Show me who did this."

Cold, calm, his words are a promise.

Confused by his reaction, and still so used to answering when asked a direct question, you wince over your shoulder. Din finally seems to hear the vendor shouting in the distance as he searches the crowd for a ‘thief’ and her ‘dangerous pet’. Din abruptly straightens and steps past you.

Running after him, you reach for his gloved hand, fingers sliding home. “Din, please; we need to go.”

The familiar contact makes him stop and turn to look at you. He says nothing, so you use the opportunity to explain.

“The ki- I made a scene, and it would be best if everyone forgot about it. A Mandalorian publicly roughing up the very same shopkeeper would give them more reason to gossip.”

Din Djarin frowns the longer you speak. He knows you’re right. The kid is far more important than his sudden anger. He nods curtly.

The man’s vicious insults about your likely occupation and parentage echo down the street and make Din’s lip curl. But for the sake of the child, he manages to turn back toward the Razor Crest. It’s only when he passes Grogu’s stationary pod that he realizes he’s still holding your hand, fingers loosely intertwined.

He gently flexes his hand, letting go.

____________________________________

As the Razor Crest speeds away from the planet, you smile. Vacuous and bone-chillingly cold, space is the worst. For most of your life, the inhospitable conditions had been worsened by your constant transport in the dark hold of some Creator-forsaken vessel.

But the cabin of the Mandalorian’s ship is warm and full of life, occupied by the kid's excited babbling and your semi-nervous laughter.

The kid waves his stubby arms in the Mandalorian’s lap as the Razor Crest dips and rises through a relatively calm asteroid field. Expertly maneuvering the expanse, Din Djarin has little motivation to do so except the smiles on his passengers’ faces. If you ask, he’ll tell you it’s a shortcut to the next system, which is only mostly untrue.

It’s been three months since Din collected the bounty on your former master. During that time, the Mandalorian had found one of the kid’s kind. A Jedi who could’ve taken Grogu, she declined the task. She told the bounty hunter of a place, a Seeing Stone, where Grogu could reach out for a Jedi master himself.

Though a week has passed since learning of the Stone, Din had yet to bring Grogu to it, instead taking a couple of jobs. The stoic Mandalorian won’t admit, especially to himself, that he’s reluctant to let the child go.

Reaching a lull in the slow-moving asteroids, Din draws the thruster back to stationary level, then looks down, his helmet nearly touching his breastplate, at the child still waving his short arms. Din turns his silver face to you questioningly.

Before he can speak, you joke, "I don’t want to learn to fly out here, if that's what you're about to ask.”

He shrugs with acceptance. Your eyebrows pinch in surprise, wondering if he’s playing along or serious.

“Okay, kid. We're done here,” he tenderly lifts Grogu and passes him to you.

Grogu makes a protesting sound and hides one of his hands inside his robe.

“Big, mean Mandalorian is no fun,” you mutter to the child teasingly. Grogu coos in agreement.

Din shakes his head and swivels back to the control panel, flipping switches and entering data. The kid catches your attention, triumphantly showcasing a small metal sphere from his robe. You press your lips together and wink, silently promising you won’t tell.

The Mandalorian’s gloved fingers run over his ship’s control panel like he’s conducting the Coruscant Orchestra, and then, suddenly, his right hand freezes in mid-air as he reaches for the thruster.

“Grogu,” Din growls, spinning in his chair.

You laugh openly, “He’s a toddler, Din. You can’t close your eyes for a second.”

The Mandalorian rises, his bulk taking up the entirety of the cabin. He gently wrestles the ball from Grogu's fingers.

Long, soft ears droop, and massive, black eyes turn glassy.

“Oh, look what you've done,” you croon, looking up at Din with an expression mirroring the kid’s.

Though he doesn't move, you can somehow see when Din’s annoyance is overruled by something stronger. Then the Mandalorian’s wide shoulders slowly rise and fall, a long-suffering sigh leaving his body.

“You are both menaces,” the Mandalorian accuses. He extends his hand, palm upward, “Grogu. Take it.”

You hold your breath, allowing the child to focus on using his power. Grogu closes his eyes. The metal ball wiggles in the concave of Din’s large palm, then zooms to Grogu’s tiny hand.

Din makes a fist in excitement, “Great job, kid.”

Beaming at the Mandalorian, even more enthralled with him than the magic child in your lap, you wish you could see his proud smile.

Noticing your expression, Din's chin swivels to the side, clearly questioning.

"Nothing. It's just that - it’s good to see you like this.” You shrug, trying to minimize your staring. “I know you’ve been stressed.”

The silent moment draws out as he assesses your observation. Still standing, the Mandalorian’s right hand hesitantly rises to whisper across the left side of your jaw. The gloved softness of his thumb caresses your cheekbone for an instant and a lifetime.

Din drops his hand like it weighs as much as a rancor. He turns around and sits back in his pilot's chair. Silver armor reflects the red and yellow lights around the cabin as he finishes his navigational procedures.

Cheeks aflame, you duck your face down into the kid.

___________________________________

“‘Occasional repairs,’’' you quote at the Mandalorian. “Every karking week there’s a new hole in this poor ship.”

On the other side of the wing, busy soldering panels together, the Mandalorian's head snaps up. Unmoving, his expressionless mask simply stares at you. You bite your lip to prevent a grin and continue replacing bolts.

The beskar helmet remains for a while longer, hiding Din’s thoughts. He imagines what you’d look like if he put you on your knees and made you pay for your jokes. If he wiped that pretty smirk off your face. He feels a stirring in his flight suit, so he wrenches his mind away.

The act the two of you committed in that field has not been repeated. His dedication to his helmet - to his creed - is paramount. And you tempt him too much.

For the second time in the past year, Din has accidentally grown attached to someone - first the kid and now you. But with you, it’s a danger of a different kind.

Din had hoped that he just needed to get it out of his system. Get you out of his system. He had won that mock fight in the field, but he had yielded to his desire for you.

Instead of feeling sated, Din feels hungrier as the days go by. Useless information, such as the number of sonic showers you've taken, clogs his mind. He would be ashamed of his counting, but he's too battle-weary to care. He does not count how many times he's taken advantage of the privacy of his bunk, remembering your eager face, your receptive body underneath him.

All that armor wasn't worth a damn thing.

It’s easier for you. As inexperienced as Din but with your self-esteem already in the sarlacc pit, it wasn’t a stretch to imagine he'd had his fill of you and… well, that was that. Though you dream of it nearly every night, waking up to the strange feeling of both gaining and losing something.

Of course, the Mandalorian still needed you to care for the kid or help him replace several wing panels when he inevitably damaged them, as you were currently doing.

At dusk, white trees sway behind you in the biting wind. This planet is rather cold, and Grogu, asleep inside the Razor Crest, doesn’t join you for the lovely, young Gornt dinner that Din had hunted. The two of you butcher it in silence and place it on the makeshift spit.

You then plop onto a log and snuggle down into your clothes, shivering. Though the items Din had given you months earlier are sturdy and warm, some of the chill of the night manages to seep through. You cross your arms, rubbing them.

Din vanishes from the other side of the fire - the smoky, dark air impenetrable. Squinting, you try to spot his reflective armor, but it works against you in this instance, easily blending him into the flickering, dim light.

A heavy material suddenly falls onto your shoulders, and you jump.

"Oh!"

The Mandalorian stands directly behind you, the thick cloak he was trying to give you still partially in his hand.

"I was focused on trying to see you through the smoke. I didn't think you'd be there." You clutch the brown garment tight around you and softly smile up at him, "Thank you."

Din nods, the clinking sound of metal audible as he returns to his log across the firelight. Your mouth gapes for a moment when you realize that the material around your shoulders is his torn cape.

"Do you not get cold?"

"I do."

"Why not wear one yourself then?" You lift part of the cloak in indication.

"Mandalorians are taught to withstand uncomfortable circumstances. As a foundling, I frequently exercised in far less temperate weather."

"A foundling?" You query, your eyebrow raising.

The Mandalorian leans back and shifts his legs apart to better distribute his weight.

"My youth was upended by war. When my village was destroyed, I was found by a Mandalorian."

"The name is quite literal, then?"

"My people are quite literal," Din crosses his arms and his commanding presence is distracting.

He looks so big sitting on the log, his legs open, back straight, and arms folded.

"We have similar beginnings," you swallow, trying to ignore the burning inside that has nothing to do with the fire.

"I was a little more fortunate in who found me," Din states. He leans forward to finally adjust the rod holding your dinner.

You lose your gaze in the flaming light, remembering.

“I still can’t believe how much things have changed,” you murmur.

Din Djarin can’t either. He has a life-altering decision to make, and a child to let go of, and both thoughts weigh on him like a karking Mudhorn. Din sighs internally at his unintended choice of simile.

Your eyes stray upward to the navy sky, breathing deeply. The frigid air burns your lungs, but you only draw more in, relishing your freedom to do so.

"You did not deserve that life," Din’s rough, mechanical voice answers over the sound of the crackling fire.

You frown, "No one does."

Running with the Mandalorian was a great way to stay ahead of the slavers. Paid employment, constant movement, and no one besides Din knowing your name - it was too good to be true.

Dropping your head from the sky, you level the Mandalorian with the most heartfelt gaze you can manage, "Thank you. I would've never had the courage to run without you."

Unable to see his reaction, you feel the distance most acutely. It isn't just flame and metal that divides you.

"I-" Din starts, but you cut him off.

"But mostly it's thanks to Grogu," you grin, trying to lighten the mood.

The helmet bobs as though he's amused, then Din sighs dramatically.

"I need to separate you two."

"I love him," you giggle, remembering a moment a few days earlier when he had picked up a very dignified, sentient species of frog and tried to eat it. "He is such an agent of chaos." You laugh into your cloak-covered hand.

Grateful that you can't see the fervent emotion glimmering in his brown eyes, Din studies you. Your fond smile is lit by the glowing fire and the cold winds blow redness into your cheeks and nose. You’re secure in his cloak, and it makes his chest ache.

"Shit," he breathes. The hiss through his modulator doesn't pick up the word well, to his relief.

It's not a surprise if you do truly love the kid. He is adorable and you've been with him every waking moment for three months, but the word you've just introduced is jarring to Din.

Talking about Grogu brings the dangers you all face to the forefront of your mind. Your smile falls.

"Will you continue to teach me to fight?" You don't immediately register the sudden rigidity of Din's posture, so you press on, "It’s upsetting to me that I'm better with a blaster than with the skills I was taught and trained in by my family."

The Mandalorian is relieved. You've given him an excuse to say no.

"I cannot teach you the methods of your people."

“That’s alright; anything would be appreciated.”

Din shifts his thigh on the log, agitated, and you struggle to fill the silence, “You don’t have to, of course.”

Then, as the silence lengthens, and you watch his helmet glint as he looks away, you realize what he must be so uncomfortable about.

“Oh. I am not asking we repeat that. I’m sorry,” you raise a hand to chest height as if you’re trying to physically defend yourself from the awkwardness. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean-”

“I know.”

“I- Din, really I only meant the…” you grimace and clamp your lips together, unable to bear the tension. Standing, you insist, “I swear to you, I never expected more.”

Forgetting to return his cape, you unconsciously hold it closer as you retreat into the Razor Crest.

The Mandalorian does not watch you walk away. His conflicted eyes remain trained on the crackling fire. Sparring with you brings every heart tug, every little attraction he has to you to the surface, and that's too frustrating to manage while IMPs track him and he deals with letting go of Grogu.

But Din knows he really should continue to teach you. It’s in your best interest, as well as Grogu’s. His hangup is entirely selfish, and Din is not a selfish man.

***

Hours later, when the sun has started to rise once more on this short-cycle planet, the Mandalorian finds his brown cape hung on the door to the refresher. He jerks it off its resting place, and goes to tuck it back around himself, when he notices that something is wrong.

Frozen, the Mandalorian stares at the brown, rough material in his hand. There are no holes in it anymore, only stitches.

_________________________________________

Combined with the sound of intentionally-loud footsteps, Din places Grogu - who had jumped between the two of you all night - on the edge of your cot, allowing the child to wake you up. Din strides to his weapons cache.

You yawn, then snicker at Grogu’s delighted face as he babbles what must be his version of Good Morning.

“Morning, kid.” You pet his ear and he begins to purr.

“You should stop babying him,” the Mandalorian doesn’t look at you as he searches among the weapons.

“Why? He’s a baby.”

Din shuts the doors to his stash. “He is fifty years old."

“He's what?”

Din shrugs and inclines his head in humor. You stare incredulously at the middle-aged child who rotates his little head between you and his father.

“His species is unknown, but they age differently than we do.”

“Uh, yeah. Fifty?”

Din’s modulator makes a rasping sound. It could’ve been a small laugh, but you’re not sure.

“Is fifty so terrible?”

Something in Din’s voice makes you look up at him. He casually leans against the hull.

Unsure if you should have the gumption to even ask, you stutter, “A-are you also fifty?”

The beskar mask does not move as the man behind it debates his reply. He decides on honesty.

“No,” Din states. He clasps one hand over the other in front of him, adding, “But I will reach that number in less than a decade.”

You make a small, accepting gesture as you had subconsciously placed him around his early forties anyway. In any case, it doesn’t matter to you. He is the Mandalorian who (somewhat inadvertently at first, you’ll admit) saved you. Even without that gratitude, you would feel an attraction to him. He was strong and kind and protective. Ruthless, sure, but only when necessary.

Din pushes off the wall, “You didn’t ask why I woke you.”

“Oh.” It hadn’t occurred to you, so used to being woken up - far more rudely or violently - each morning for the prior two decades. “Alright, why did you wake me?”

He reaches behind his back, unhooking an item, and holds out the fighting stick he had used in that skirmish between the two of you.

“I will teach you what I can.”

***

Din Djarin is careful not to touch you, even through his gloves. He doesn’t trust himself anymore. Instead, he instructs you in tactics. After clocking your strategy in less than three moves, Din is worried about your future opponents doing the same.

“You dislike giving ground, but there will be times you’ll have to. It’s how you will outmaneuver them,” the Mandalorian stands, hands folded, his knee cocked, as he speaks.

“How do you know that?” You ask in response to his first statement.

Din clenches his jaw at the memory so very close to other memories, and answers you in a contained voice, “You were not subtle.”

You smile, abashed. “See, that is why I asked you. I’m far too inexperienced.”

Din closes his eyes in frustration.

You continue nervously, thinking about how hesitant he had been to agree to this, “My master took me to many fights, and you’re the best I’ve ever seen. I value your opinion.”

Din is used to compliments. Those whom he returned quarries to often praised him for his work. But your praise is one he actually wants, and something throbs in his chest. Then he grows irritated with his rampant, immature yearning for you.

Din speaks harshly, “This is for the protection of the child. You are his guardian when I am not nearby.”

Locked onto that T-shaped, black slit, your eyes flicker a little at his callous, impatient pronouncement, but you nod.

“Of course. For the kid.”

__________________________________

Unhappy to be removed from where he had curled up on his father’s pilot seat, Grogu had insisted upon sleeping in the cockpit with his little metal ball. You had assured the Mandalorian that you didn’t mind staying in the passenger chair for the night. The cushions were comfortable enough, and it made the child happy.

An hour after Grogu had begun purring in his sleep, you’re brought to consciousness by a deeper, labored sound. Bolting to your feet, worried about the Mandalorian below, you descend the ladder.

The door to the Mandalorian’s bunk had not fully closed, apparently jamming on some loose junk part that Grogu must’ve picked up. There is no light on in the enclosed space, so you cannot see him. But you can hear the way he mutters your name once, rough and agitated. You can hear the sound of material jerking and his rasping, vocoded grunts.

Your throat tightens and your breathing stops. Eyes wide, you slowly back up, terrified for him to find you in this way. A molten weight in your stomach wants you to push open the door and take care of him, but after the manner in which he spoke to you the entire afternoon, and the obvious way he tries to forget about that day in the field, you can’t. You can’t even fathom why he would be uttering your name. It’s too confusing.

Dazed, you return to the cockpit and try to block him out. Sleep does not come to save you for far too long, and when it does, it provides you no escape from the Mandalorian.

__________________________________

Din’s tortured use of your name had kept you awake far into the night. When you groggily open your eyes the next morning, you know you won’t be able to let this go. You must talk to him. Bravery is a muscle you’re trying to flex anyway, so you might as well try it on the scariest thing you can think of: an angry Din Djarin.

While Grogu plays with a ship part you pretend to have never seen, one Din had pried out of the receiving slot of his bunk door this morning, you and he traipse down the boarding ramp, intending to save the rest of the Gornt meat for traveling.

Absolutely guessing at how you’ll begin this conversation, you decide you’ll just hope for the best.

“I- I heard you last night.” It’s barely more than a whisper.

The Mandalorian stops dead in his tracks and you stumble, trying not to run into him. He turns on you, a solid wall of muscle and metal, but says nothing. You swallow and force what shred of courage you have to the front.

“I heard you say my name. You don’t have to do that alone. I can help you,” your final words are almost inaudible.

The Mandalorian provides food, shelter, and companionship. Ignorant to any kind of normal relationship, friendly or greater, you want to show your gratitude. And if that was how you could help him, all the better.

Your inner self, the one that’s been unthawing since the day your master was frozen in carbonite, wants Din in a far more genuine manner. You want him. His compassion and honor, his fatherly love for Grogu, his non-pitying care for you, and his primal confidence have you in danger of becoming a hopeless devotee.

“Help me,” he reiterates, his tone worryingly neutral.

“Passage for assistance,” you try to ease the tension slightly with another old quote of his. “I can still assist you. It’s repayment for your aid.”

Even as you say it, you feel the depth of the lie. You want Din for yourself.

He’s silent. At his side, the fingers on his right hand fidget. The broad bounty hunter leans over you. As he tilts his head, the cold sun glints off his armor.

Din’s voice is as sharp as his vibroblade but twice as lethal, “You are no longer a slave - do not make me say that again. This is not a business transaction.”

Not a business transaction? While technically a rejection, his clarification makes you dizzy. Your breath comes out shakily, fogging in the chill air.

“Okay. What if that’s not my real reason for asking?”

That does it. Stunned, the Mandalorian might as well be a statue made of beskar. Din had found it easy to believe you allowed him to touch you because you felt in his debt, and he hated it. Made him feel as slimy as a Hutt.

“Tell me.”

Din watches your facial expressions run the gamut and he knows that whatever you’re about to say is the truth.

“I care about you.” Will you ever stop whispering? “For you, not just what you’ve done for me,” your second greatest act of bravery this morning is touching his cold chestplate. You swallow as you look up into that blank face.

Din doesn't move. Doesn't think he can move, but then his body responds before his mind does. Soft leather brushes your cheekbones as he takes your face in his large hands. He tilts his cold helmet to your forehead, and you instinctively close your eyes, sighing in relief. This was not what you were expecting when you followed him out here.

You can't hear the first thing he says, but it sounds like dank farrik. You laugh quietly in his hands.

"You are a menace,” he mutters a little louder, the modulator somehow enhancing the timbre of his voice. “You and the kid.”

Grinning, you open your eyes as he lifts his helmet from your skin. “Don’t bring him into this,” you joke.

Din’s thumb ghosts across your lips and you shiver. The Mandalorian is calm. This is inevitable now. He need not fight himself any longer. He grasps your wrist and brings it upward. Gently guiding your fingers underneath the edge of his helmet, Din presses them to his lips.

Utterly shocked at this new gift, you gasp. A scratchy cloth wraps around the bottom of his chin, but above it, his soft, scruffy facial hair and plump lips make your skin tingle. Nerves jumble in your lower stomach. He presses another kiss before slowly lowering your hand.

You tell him disbelievingly, "I thought there was no way -”

“What you thought was wrong.”

Your heat signature rises at the sincerity in his voice. Din tilts his head, watching your reaction to him. He lets his covered fingers drift over your lips again, then he drags them down the column of your throat and past your exposed collarbone, enjoying your whimper. Your pupils are dilated.

“You want me now, don’t you?” He asks, his voice hoarse.

You nod, whispering past your suddenly dry mouth, “Yes.”

The Mandalorian crouches for a split second, hefting you into his arms with no effort. Your legs automatically wrap around his middle, arms around his neck. His hands clasp underneath your thighs as he strides up the loading ramp as though every second he delayed was one wasted.

Din lays you out on his bunk and hits the button for the door without looking at it. He does not turn on the light. In the tiny, black room, you can hear him divesting himself of his flight suit and armor. It makes your heart throw itself against your chest. You sit up and struggle out of your own clothes, wanting nothing between you and him.

“Will I ever get to kiss you?” You ask timidly.

Din answers you immediately. His rough palms bracket your face, then he reverently pushes his lips into yours. His facial hair brushes against your skin and you weakly moan into his mouth, parting your lips for more. The Mandalorian groans, as well, enraptured by this new sensation.

Din wraps a muscled arm around your waist, crushing you to him in the small space. His warm, broad chest forces yours to mold around him. Your hands gently drag along his torso, mapping him. He shudders underneath your fingers.

His lips break like waves around yours. You could be floating above the bed and it would feel no different. He kisses you like it’s what he needs to survive; his occasional noises of desperation stake your heart and dampen your thighs.

“Need to touch you everywhere,” Din’s real, untampered voice knots your stomach.

“You can do whatever you want,” you breathlessly repeat the unspoken affirmation you’d given him the first time.

He chuckles, and you shiver again, drunk with lust. Din lowers you back onto the hard bed, settling over you.

His hot mouth surprises the sensitive skin of your breast. Din moans, involuntarily you think, as he tastes you there, gently pulling and sucking. You jerk, pressing up into him with a cry. Who knew that could feel so good?

His big hands flow down your sides, pressing into you, exploring, and you get a burst of understanding. This man is starved.

Your hands comb into his hair, and while you wonder what its color is, you’re choked up to find that it’s soft and wavy. Din groans loudly when your fingers rub on his scalp. He seems invigorated by it as he growls and returns to your lips with a fever. His tongue demands you allow him inside, but there is no resistance on your end.

Suddenly, Din breaks the kiss with a wet pop of his lips. He vanishes from above you, but then two large hands slide up your thighs. He pushes them apart and your breath hitches.

“You trust me?” The Mandalorian knows the answer, he just wants to hear it.

Nodding dumbly in the dark, you realize he can’t see you and squeak, “Yes.”

He shifts down and presses a row of kisses up your inner thigh. His nose brushes your coarse hair, and your breathing breaks a second time.

Din flattens his tongue and licks the spot he already knows you like. You jolt and his arms wrest around your thighs, holding you in place for him. You whimper as he buries his face in your folds, shocking your system. Your hands return to his hair, and his chest swells as he quickly shoves you toward your end. His nose continually nudges your bundle of nerves and each time it feels like you’re hurtling through hyperspace.

Your back arches when he traps your clit between his lips, and he responds with another obscene noise. This time, the vibration of his deep voice rips your orgasm from your marrow. Crying out his name, you quake, chest heaving through the waves of euphoria.

Too overwhelmed by all his options, Din moves back to your mouth, breathing heavily himself, “Incredible.”

He licks into you again, his hand cradling your face to allow him deeper. Taking advantage of his position, you wrap your legs around his trim waist, pulling him down. His hips cant toward you, and you feel his length fall onto your abdomen. You hadn’t forgotten how big he was, but the heft of it makes your body tremble.

The Mandalorian could be a patient man, but this would never be one of those moments. Din fists himself, rubbing once along your soaked seam. He pushes forward, steadily feeding his cock into your tight, forgiving heat. Din grunts several times, overstimulated.

“You don’t know what you’ve done, mesh’la,” he gruffly murmurs, his naked voice still so shocking to hear.

You have no idea what he means, and you file it away for later study. Solely focused on how he feels halfway inside you, you clutch at the back of his thick thighs, encouraging him. But then he snaps his hips, driving himself to the hilt.

“Din, oh,” you sharply gasp.

He grinds his pubic bone into your mound, stimulating you; his chin tilts up, proud, when you shudder. The Mandalorian grabs one of your hands and brings it to where he’s joined with you.

“You feel that?” Din’s voice is weighty, meaningful.

“Mhm,” you sigh, your fingers leaving his hand to explore his dark curls. He’s right. The deviant way his thick member disappears inside you is intoxicating.

He languidly draws himself out, letting you experience every ridge and vein, pulsing with your filthy sounds. He re-enters you just as intentionally, and when he’s given you everything, he leans down and drags you into a kiss. A kiss that means something to him. His tongue surges through your mouth in a single stroke before his full lips pull on yours, one hand gripping the back of your neck.

He lets you go, trailing his mouth down your throat, obsessed with the taste and the feel of you on his skin.

Din returns to your lips, his forearms framing your head. His fingers twist in your hair, and he begins to pump faster. His length strokes along a spot that makes your eyes flutter in the pitch blackness. Your nails carefully rake at his toned back, drawing a strangled moan from him as he shoves himself inside again and again. Losing a measure of self-control, he thrusts hard, placing a palm on the back wall for stability.

Your hands finally, finally, reach up for his face, expecting at any moment that he’ll stop you. His lips are parted as he pants in exertion, his facial hair fluttering with his breath. Din’s cheekbones are round and high; his nose is angular and fitting.

“I knew you were handsome,” you praise, the words fluctuating in cadence with his pounding strokes. “Wouldn’t have mattered.”

He scoffs, barely conscious of what you’re saying. His forehead drops to yours again, and he can’t believe the life he’d known had unraveled so drastically. In under a year, Din had gained a child and this.

“Turn over,” he orders.

Of course, you obey without hesitation.

His calloused fingers slide around your hips, pulling them upward. With your chest still pressed into the bunk, you moan when he slowly re-inserts himself. He nearly chokes when your body draws him in; the angle and drenched grip of you makes him shake his head in disbelief.

“You okay?” He rumbles.

Your chin scrapes on the metal bed as you nod, “Please move.”

He clasps an arm around your middle, hunching forward. His scruff and lips tickle the top of your spine as he begins to rut into you. It’s already too much - Din grunting, his chest hair scratching your upper back, his muscled arms holding you in place as he fills you over and over. You begin to clench around him again, crying out harshly in a rush of pleasure. Your legs shake, giving out underneath you.

The Mandalorian’s large hand splays across your breast, and he pulls you backward onto your knees alone, welding you to his perspiring chest. As his length plunges up into you, his lips brush your ear. He’s whispering something, but you can't understand the words.

Then, Din exhales with a groan and rolls several long, pulsing strokes, burying his come as deep as he can with a final, gravel-filled grunt.

***

In the dark, there’s only the sound of two people fighting for breath. Din has leaned against the cool wall; he tugs you to him. You sit somewhat beside him, your legs tangled together. Your head rests on his heaving shoulder, and every now and then, you feel the press of his lips in your hair. He laughs once, quietly.

“What is it?”

“Your life is not the only one that has changed.”

Blinking rapidly, your heart glows with warmth. Yours had changed the most. This Mandalorian had come into your non-existence and given you everything. Courage, freedom, responsibility, love.

“I know you like to fight, but this is one I’ll win,” you laugh softly.

___________________________________

Tagging:

@morks-watermelon

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfic #din djarin fanfic #pedro pascal #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin #din djarin fanfiction #my writing #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #my fics #personal #grogu

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fireflysummers · 10 months

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Good Omens S2

Okay so.

Excellent Job, Gaiman

Ouch???

I don't like to publicly talk about my personal life. My academic life is my professional life is my artist life. But my personal life? Not so much, outside of vignettes.

But for the past several months, I've been deconstructing a lot of personal baggage and trauma surrounding both family and religion, after leaving the cult I was raised in (mormonism).

It's terrifying to realize that the framework you built your entire self on is false. It's exhausting and painful to deconstruct that framework, to disentangle your identity in the way that won't destroy you.

And it's slow.

Nobody ever tells you how slow it is to heal. You can't control the rate you heal either. You just have to be patient with yourself, and give yourself an environment where that healing can occur safely and naturally.

Anyways.

Good Omens, and its weird tendency to be exactly what I need when I need it.

I first read Good Omens in high school. And honestly, I didn't quite get it, at the time. I only knew it was different from every other book I've ever read, one that didn't treat religion as stupid or trivial, but also one that called out the blatant hypocrisy and control tactics involved. It helped me safely challenge a status quo I hadn't even realized existed.

I first watched Good Omens partway into my Master's Degree. It was everything that I could've hoped for. I understood the book a lot better, but the TV adaptation captured my struggles with mental dissonance, trying to understand and accept the parts of my identity that I was taught God didn't want.

I watch S2 a year into my doctoral program. I'm out of the cult, and it's exhilarating and painful and scary and fun, but I can still feel the scars its hooks left when they were torn out.

I feel like S2 Aziraphale is in about the same place. He's exploring his freedom, but also trying to reorient himself. He's trying to let himself be. He's healing, but his boundaries got overridden due to circumstances out of his control (naked Gabriel). He's been pulled back into the gravity of the abusive system he tried to escape, given a carrot on a stick, and isn't yet healed or strong enough to resist.

On top of that, Aziraphale is still holding onto the hope that the problem was bad individuals, not a corrupted system. He thinks if the leadership is different, things can change. He thinks if he had more authority in the system, he could make things change. And... that's not how it works.

And Crowley. Dear Crowley.

He wants Aziraphale to be farther along in his healing than he is. Honestly, Aziraphale wants it too. But again, you cannot force this kind of healing, even when it results in a loved one making some truly stupid decisions.

Crowley sees the system for what it is. He's already deconstructed that part. But he hasn't really started addressing his own trauma. He's hinged his entire existence on Aziraphale, on being what Aziraphale needs, that he hasn't allowed himself to heal either. And Aziraphale, who is vulnerable and healing, is not able to provide the support that Crowley would need to recover safely.

Which is why them separating is probably the best thing for both of them.

It won't be permanent.

But they don't communicate, and their relationship while delightful and beautiful risks unhealthy codependency that prevents either from really growing or healing.

Anyways, what I really hope to see next season is Aziraphale's realization that the system never had his back. That the system is what's wrong, and that he can't win by playing at respectability politics or gaining a higher status within it.

I want Aziraphale to get angry.

He deserves it. He's tried so hard. He thinks he's lost Crowley over it.

I want him to feel the gut-wrenching despair of realizing how conditional and fleeting the system's version of love is, and I want it to turn into a rage.

But not a destructive rage--the sort of anger that Pratchett ascribes to himself and many of his works. The sort of anger that fueled Discworld and Good Omens. The sort that can be finessed into a weapon and a shield, that can be used to protect the people who truly love you.

For millennia we see Crowley fighting for Aziraphale.

For Season 3, I want to see Aziraphale fighting for his demon.

For him to apologize, without the expectation that Crowley will come back, but because he was wrong and Crowley needs to know it. To not expect forgiveness, not even think he deserves it.

And then for Crowley--who is trying to hide his heart eyes at seeing his avenging angel coming to save him for once, who he can tell immediately has changed, and is finally going Crowley's speed)--for Crowley to give that forgiveness, without strings attached.

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens season 2 #good omens spoilers #good omens season 2 spoilers #aziraphale #crowley #anthony j crowley #long post #text #religious trauma #religious abuse #recovery

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kindnessoverperfection · 10 months

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I want to break down a common point of conflict when addressing NPD stigma.

A lot of hangups people have tend to be along the lines of "but I DO see a lot of people with actual NPD who are acting in toxic or abusive ways".

This will be kind of long, so bear with me.

Point #1: People are way more likely to be diagnosed if they exhibit "stereotypical" symptoms.

There's this image of NPD as a disorder that is only present in those with patterns of destructive behavior towards others. Many therapists have this conception. (Shockingly, the mental health field is not perfect & without stigma.)

Gonna copy-paste this here from my other blog (so forgive me if you've seen it before), because it's a good example.

Three people are criticized at work. Their boss yells at them for their performance in front of everyone. Person A gets mad and defensive. They yell back, using cutting remarks as a way to try and ease the distress they feel. Person B acts really mature and responsible the whole time, nodding along and agreeing and promising to do better, just desperate to maintain and improve their status. Desperate to be liked. Later they go home and handle their distress through self-destructive means, and spend the next few months overworking themself to the point of illness. Person C doesn't seem to respond much at all. They go quiet and seem distant. They don't lash out or lash in, but for the next month or so, their productivity drops. They simply aren't able to focus on work or self-care, no matter how hard they try. The stress is overwhelming. All three of these people have the same root issues, but only the first would be labeled a narcissist. Outwards behaviors and presentations don't reflect the pain, distress, and difficulties with life that are underlying them.

So, three main things happen.

There ends up being a higher rate of people with destructive behaviors who are diagnosed with NPD

The people who don't particularly exhibit behaviors and are considered ""too nice to have it"" are overlooked entirely (and never get any sort of help for their underlying issues, yayyy)

People are more likely to be more honest about "ugly" symptoms / symptoms that are frowned down upon than they are in other mental health communities.

(Also some people decide to act super edgy about it, which is annoying but here we are. Some of them are trolls.)

(And while I'm at it, some people are misdiagnosed with NPD because a psych sees someone who committed a violent crime and is like "uhh slap them with the Evil Asshole™ disorders!! no further thought given.")

Point #2: People who have messed up are not inhuman monsters who deserve no help or support

While I do think it's important for people to understand that patterns of toxic behaviors aren't the ONLY way NPD can present, I'm not going to let the conversation stop at "some of us are nice though!!"

Human beings aren't RPG characters who can be sorted into "monster" or "ally". Every single person has done something hurtful, has messed up, exhibits some sort of behavior that puts strain on their relationships sometimes.

So I'll bullet point some aspects of this that need to be talked about.

People without NPD also commonly exhibit toxic behaviors, but people ignore that nowadays. Either they armchair diagnose anyone who's slightly rude, or they only focus on it in pwNPD and ignore it in themselves or others. NTs can be jerks too, and they're probably less likely to acknowledge it than pwNPD who are constantly watching and checking themselves and analyzing their behaviors and attempting to do better.

Assuming that NPD makes someone abusive doesn't help anyone. Can it impact behaviors, and make it more difficult for people to be self-aware? Of course. But an important step in healing from any mental health condition (especially personality disorders, ime) is realizing that you're not inherently ""bad"", and that you can take responsibility for your actions and learn to deal with things in constructive ways. Just going "NPD makes people bad, full stop"- other than being a mean shitty thing to say- absolves people of guilt and asserts that there's no reason for them to try and improve.

Yes, it's okay for people to hate their abusers. Their abuser. Not an entire community of people who happen to (maybe) share a trait with them.

Building on the above point, people tend to go in defense mode when they hear things like "pwNPD who have acted in toxic ways can learn to improve their behavior", "people shouldn't be saying awful things about folks with this condition", etc. because they automatically try to apply this to their abuser. Interpersonal situations are very different from society-wide mental health access. No, don't stay with your abuser expecting them to change, and don't hold onto the hope that they will. No, don't censor yourself or your hatred or anger towards them. Just don't make blanket statements about a disorder that they may or may not have- blame their abusive actions, not their mental health.

"I hate you for your abusive actions and the harm that you caused me." =/= "I hate a group of people because of an inherent unchangeable part of them that's tied directly to severe childhood trauma they suffered. Because of it, they're evil and unlovable and are incapable of change. They're inhuman and will never experience real connection with others." ..........See the difference??

Even if there were a disorder with a 100% rate of toxic douchey behaviors, I'd want the conversation around it to be changed. I'd want different words to be used to divide up the spaces and conversations and resources, so that survivors of abusive or toxic behavior can get help, but that the disorder still has space to be treated. Otherwise, there are zero resources for healing. Nothing is being done to help these people or solve the issue. They're just told they may as well not try. They're blocked from healthcare entirely, despite how the entire point of being diagnosed with a condition is supposed to be to treat it.

There's a wide range of people who have NPD- it presents in many different ways, a person who has it may or may not exhibit harmful behaviors- but no one deserves to be denied treatment or told they're unlovable because of a condition they have that was formed from trauma.

Speak out against abusive behavior. Don't destroy healthcare for a medical condition.

#actuallynpd #npd stigma #narcissistic personality disorder

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jessicalprice · 1 year

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christian universalism strikes again

(Reposted from Twitter)

So a rabbi I know came back from LA pretty jazzed about a Jewish addiction treatment facility there called Beit T'shuvah and so we talked about their approach and that got me curious about non-AA approaches to dealing with addiction which, my friends, was fascinating.

I’ll admit that almost everything I know about AA is more or less from The West Wing. I'm fortunate in that no one in my immediate family has dealt with substance abuse issues, and as far as I know, none of my close friends are alcoholics. My knowledge is pop culture knowledge.

But hearing about Beit T’shuvah was very interesting to me because:

I'd heard that a lot of people who aren't Christian have a hard time with AA because it's so Christian.

The difference in philosophy was subtle at first glance but actually paralleled a lot of the differences between Judaism and Christianity if you dug into it.

Anyway, I got curious about whether success rates were different for Christians vs. non-Christians and started googling. I didn't find much in the way of the data I was looking for, but I did find something a lot more disturbing, which is that the whole 12-step thing is not science-based. At all. For example:

The National Center on Addiction and Substance Abuse compared the current current state of addiction treatment to medicine in the early 1900s, when there weren't a lot of standards for who could practice medicine. In order to be a substance abuse counselor in many states, you don't need much more than a GED or high school diploma.

A 2006 survey found "no experimental studies unequivocally demonstrated the effectiveness of AA or TSF approaches for reducing alcohol dependence or problems."

And I want to make clear here that I'm not saying AA is bad--clearly it's helped people. The problem is that it's touted as a universal approach, which is a problem when it's not based on any sort of actual science.

AA claims that its success rates for people who "really try" are 75%. (And boy does that mirror gaslighting diet language.) But the most precise study out there that's NOT coming from AA (https://amazon.com/dp/B00FIMWI1O) put actual success rates at 5-8%. One of the major textbooks on treating addiction ranks it at 38th out of 48 on its list of effective treatments.

So just like most fad diets, it fails for almost everyone who tries it, and then blames the individual for its failure.

A glaring issue is that the 12 steps don't really acknowledge--or provide any guidance or structure for dealing with--other mental/emotional health issues. That’s a giant problem when people with substance abuse issues have higher than average rates of those issues. (Take a moment to consider how the victim-blaming approach of “if you didn’t succeed, it’s because you didn’t try hard enough” is going to intersect with someone’s major depression.)

Now, if 12-step programs were just one available treatment approach out of many, this wouldn’t be that big of an issue.

But 12% of AA members are there because of court orders. Our legal system is requiring people to undergo treatment that is:

Christian-based

Not scientifically supported

A failure for the vast majority of people

I mean, here's a pretty comprehensive breakdown that talks about the lack of scientific support for it, alternative treatments (like those in Finland, and naltrexone), and the fundamentalist origins of AA.

The founder was a member of the Oxford Group, an evangelical organization that taught that all human problems stemmed from fear and selfishness, and could be solved by turning your life over to divine providence, basically. Sound familiar? He based AA on those principles, and given that the only alternative was "drying out" in a sanatorium, and that AA members would show up at bedsides there and invite inpatients to meetings, it must have looked really enlightened to people. In 2022, it bears a queasy resemblance to evangelizing to people in prison, literally a captive audience.

To be fair--to their credit--they were some of the first people out there saying alcoholism was a disease, and not a moral failing. But they didn’t treat it like a disease when it came to testing treatment options:

Mann also collaborated with a physiologist named E. M. Jellinek. Mann was eager to bolster the scientific claims behind AA, and Jellinek wanted to make a name for himself in the growing field of alcohol research. In 1946, Jellinek published the results of a survey mailed to 1,600 AA members. Only 158 were returned. Jellinek and Mann jettisoned 45 that had been improperly completed and another 15 filled out by women, whose responses were so unlike the men’s that they risked complicating the results. From this small sample—98 men—Jellinek drew sweeping conclusions about the “phases of alcoholism,” which included an unavoidable succession of binges that led to blackouts, “indefinable fears,” and hitting bottom. Though the paper was filled with caveats about its lack of scientific rigor, it became AA gospel.

And then Senator Harold Hughes, who was an AA member, got Congress to establish the National Institute on Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism, which promoted AA's beliefs, and sometimes suppressed research that conflicted with them:

In 1976, for instance, the Rand Corporation released a study of more than 2,000 men who had been patients at 44 different NIAAA-funded treatment centers. The report noted that 18 months after treatment, 22 percent of the men were drinking moderately. The authors concluded that it was possible for some alcohol-dependent men to return to controlled drinking. Researchers at the National Council on Alcoholism charged that the news would lead alcoholics to falsely believe they could drink safely. The NIAAA, which had funded the research, repudiated it. Rand repeated the study, this time looking over a four-year period. The results were similar.

The standard 28-day rehab stay, prescribed and insured:

Marvin D. Seppala, the chief medical officer at the Hazelden Betty Ford Foundation in Minnesota, one of the oldest inpatient rehab facilities in the country, described for me how 28 days became the norm: “In 1949, the founders found that it took about a week to get detoxed, another week to come around so [the patients] knew what they were up to, and after a couple of weeks they were doing well, and stable. That’s how it turned out to be 28 days. There’s no magic in it.”

The last sentence here (bolded for emphasis) is especially chilling.

That may be heartening, but it’s not science. As the rehab industry began expanding in the 1970s, its profit motives dovetailed nicely with AA’s view that counseling could be delivered by people who had themselves struggled with addiction, rather than by highly trained (and highly paid) doctors and mental-health professionals. No other area of medicine or counseling makes such allowances.

There is no mandatory national certification exam for addiction counselors. The 2012 Columbia University report on addiction medicine found that only six states required alcohol- and substance-abuse counselors to have at least a bachelor’s degree and that only one state, Vermont, required a master’s degree. Fourteen states had no license requirements whatsoever—not even a GED or an introductory training course was necessary—and yet counselors are often called on by the judicial system and medical boards to give expert opinions on their clients’ prospects for recovery.

And, again, the idea that this is the One True And Only Way to deal with alcohol abuse leads to medical professionals ignoring research and treatment options that could be helping people. They are, in essence, taking all this completely on faith.

There has been some progress: the Hazelden center began prescribing naltrexone and acamprosate to patients in 2003. But this makes Hazelden a pioneer among rehab centers. “Everyone has a bias,” Marvin Seppala, the chief medical officer, told me. “I honestly thought AA was the only way anyone could ever get sober, but I learned that I was wrong.”

Stephanie O’Malley, a clinical researcher in psychiatry at Yale who has studied the use of naltrexone and other drugs for alcohol-use disorder for more than two decades, says naltrexone’s limited use is “baffling.”

“There was never any campaign for this medication that said, ‘Ask your doctor,’ ” she says. “There was never any attempt to reach consumers.” Few doctors accepted that it was possible to treat alcohol-use disorder with a pill. And now that naltrexone is available in an inexpensive generic form, pharmaceutical companies have little incentive to promote it.

I'm not saying that AA is bad. I'm saying its hegemony is bad. It clearly is effective for some people--a minority of people. But it's not for the majority of people, and that's a problem when it's being prescribed by courts (and doctors) as if it's a one-size-fits-all approach.

It’s not an accident that a Christian approach to treating addiction presents itself as the One True Way For All Humankind, insists that courts and doctors privilege it, demands that people take its effectiveness on faith, and blames anyone for whom it doesn’t work for not believing/trying hard enough.

Hegemony is a problem.

(Photo credit: Pixabay)

#christian hegemony #addiction #christian supremacy #aa #maybe courts should be recommending treatment with a better than 8% success rate and actual science behind them just saying

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homeofhousechickens · 3 months

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You may not want to hear this, but none of these cows in the above pictures are being neglected or abused. That last cropped picture is actually from a bigger farm as well during the storms happening during the Loon fallout event.

Mud is a completely normal part of raising livestock, especially in places where it gets wet and rainy during different parts of the year. Even the driest climates will experience a build-up of manure and mud around feeding and watering locations since livestock likes to hang out there for obvious reasons.

The idyllic pictures you see of cows in green pastures likely have a rotational grazing setup or large amounts of land, which isn't possible or feasible for most small farmers. Pastures in this state are a common side effect of having large livestock, but even chickens, goats, and dogs can turn a pasture into dirt if the pasture can't get rest. It doesn't mean the animals are getting neglected or abused, and anyone who says otherwise is likely coming from a place of privilege or ignorance.

The suicide rate for agricultural workers is five times higher than the general population. Farmers experience more debt, indignity, and isolation compared to the general population and what sucks is when I talk about this I get replies that are like "just choose a different profession" when these people are how your getting fed. Food does not magically manifest in the grocery store it comes from farmers, and farmer depression is a global crisis.

I'm sure there are some people who are uncomfortable with those photos but I want you to sit in that discomfort and realize that when you buy beef from the store it's not unlikely that that cow stood on a muddy floor and that cows have been standing in muddy pastures for thousands of years.

This isn't a post bashing rotational grazing and other forms of pasture management. I just think it's ignorant to assume these animals are being neglected because their pasture is muddy and that their owners arent always looking for ways to change that. This stuff does make it harder for people to share their troubles or profession. The cows above likely have less hoof issues then cows only on sand, metal grates, or concrete.

Memes like the above exist for a reason.

#farming #agriculture #real cottage core

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mymoodwriting · 3 months

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10.1k, yandere, hybrid au, hybrid cafe, social awkwardness, biting, clawing, abuse, physical abuse, smut, non-con, dub-con, oral sex, penetration, overstimulation, groping, tit-play, minor somnophilia, after care, minor stockholm syndrome, manipulation, possessiveness (@starillusion13)

“Have you ever been to a hybrid cafe?”

“A what now?”

“You know, like a cat cafe, where you can enjoy some drinks and snacks and play with cats, but instead of cats, they have hybrids!”

“I… no I’ve never heard of one…”

“We should go, I bet you’d love it.”

“Sure.”

You weren’t much of a social person, but the friends you kept close always made you sure you felt included. This outing to a hybrid cafe was the recent adventure you had been invited to join in. It sounded interesting, so you agreed. You went into the city, meeting up at the cafe. Your friends greeted you warmly, glad you found your way without getting lost. You had never been to this area before, so it was a reasonable concern. The place was decorated in such a manner you felt like you were in a bakery.

The hostess asked how many people were in your party, four, and brought you over to a table to seat double. Your friends explained to you how everything would work. You could each request the company of one hybrid, and it would be for one hour at a time. You were given a table and told there were two menus, one for the guests and the other for the hybrids. You could order anything you liked, and could get them something too. As for the hybrids themselves, you were shown the tab where all the hybrids were listed. The list went by ranking, as you were encouraged to rate the hybrids after your time together.

There was a picture, followed by their name and type. You could click on the picture to get more information about the hybrid, as well as more images of them, and you could read some previous reviews. Those that were grayed out were already with someone, but you could still look at their profile if you wanted to. This place had a variety of hybrids and they all seemed very cute and friendly. You kept scrolling down the list until you came to the end. No one had really caught your eye, and then you noticed the hybrid at the bottom of the list. The rating wasn’t low, two out of five stars, and you curiously clicked on their profile.

Seonghwa, a pink haired cat hybrid. You had to admit they were very cute, and you wondered why they didn’t have a higher ranking. As you looked at the reviews you could see why. They were very quiet and didn’t really engage with others. It sounded very similar to you, and so you picked Seonghwa. Most people probably didn’t even see him as he was at the bottom of the list. Once you picked a hybrid you got yourself a little cake and drink, catching up with your friends while you waited. After a moment four hybrids came over. Your friends immediately welcomed them, but you noticed Seonghwa hanging back, a little awkward.

“Over here.” You smiled, pulling out a chair. “It’s nice to meet you, Seonghwa.”

Seonghwa gave you a nervous smile and then sat down next to you. He whispered a small hello to you as well. Since he seemed uneasy you didn’t push him to talk. Instead you slid over the hybrid menu and told him he could get whatever he wanted. After a moment you felt a slight tug on your shirt, looking over to see Seonghwa pointing at something on the hybrid menu. You smiled and nodded, letting him place his order. The other hybrids at the table were very chatty, talking about what they could do, and your friends were eagerly asking questions and petting their heads. You just silently listened and watched, just happy to be included.

After a while you looked over at Seonghwa, seeing him enjoy his little cake. You found him very cute, and then noticed he had some cream on his face. You grabbed a napkin and tapped his shoulder. He turned to you shyly and you offered him a smile, reaching over to clean his face. He stared at you with wide eyes, a little smile creeping on his face. When he finished his treat you told him he could order another one if he wanted. While browsing the menu the waitress for the table came by to inform you the hour was up. You and your friends would be staying for another while so you could switch out the hybrids.

You noticed Seonghwa slowly putting down the tablet and intending to get up but you grabbed his arm and asked the waitress if it was possible for Seonghwa to stay with you for another hour. She said it wouldn’t be an issue as long as no one else had requested him. Thankfully that was the case and you had Seonghwa sit back down, handing him back the tablet. The rest of your friends picked out some other hybrids, and while waiting they tried to talk with Seonghwa but he was very shy, only answering with a few words. Once the other hybrids came to the table he was left alone and you continued with your evening.

At the end of the hour you guys were heading out, and you thanked Seonghwa for his company. He gave you a genuine bright smile and waved goodbye. You and your friends split the bill and also made your ratings. You quite enjoyed having Seonghwa around and gave him five stars, although that didn’t do much for his overall rating. Still, you hoped he had a good time and enjoyed himself, even if only for a little bit. You were glad you had come along with your friends, and they talked about coming again some time in the future. You liked the idea, although you were thinking that maybe you’d return on your own someday too.

🖤

You mainly preferred to stay home, especially since you worked there, but on some occasions you’d go out with friends. It was very rare for you to go anywhere by yourself, so it was a surprise to you too that you were making the trip. Still, you wanted to give this a shot. You returned to the hybrid cafe from before, grateful the hostess didn’t recognize you or comment on you being by yourself. The hostess placed you at a booth and once you were seated you looked at the hybrid menu, scrolling down to find Seonghwa and glad to see he was available. You made your choice and ordered some treats for both of you, getting out your things while you waited. A moment later someone was scooching in next to you.

“Hello again…”

“Hi, Seonghwa. It’s nice to see you.”

“Where are your friends?”

“It’s just me today. Is that okay?” Seonghwa nodded. “Good. I ordered you a little cake, but if you want something else feel free to get it.”

“Thank you.”

Even if it was just the two of you it was clear Seonghwa wasn’t much of a talker in general. You wanted his company above all, so you didn’t mind. You focused on your work, typing away on your laptop. It was kind of nice to be working outside of the house, getting some fresh air and enjoying something tasty. Seonghwa didn’t try to make conversation but he was slowly moving closer to you, wanting to peek at your screen. He thought he was being sly, but you were well aware of his gaze. An author could always tell when someone was peeking at their work. You didn’t mind though, seeing that he was quite engaged. Although you were curious.

“Do you like it?”

“Hm?”

“The story.”

“I… I’ve never read anything like it before.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Yeah, I don’t get to read much…”

“You don’t? What do you do when you’re not out here?”

“Uh… there’s not much to do in the back. Well, if you’re not busy that is. Usually the others get cleaned up in between guests and change clothes too. They talk about the people they entertain and stuff.”

“What about you?”

“I’m… I’m usually in my room sleeping. I don’t do much around here.”

“Oh, I must have interrupted your sleep, sorry about that.”

“No, no, it’s okay. It’s nice to be out here. Thank you.”

“It’s nothing really. So then, you don’t like this much, do you?”

“It’s that obvious, huh?”

“All the other hybrids seem social, but you’re very quiet. Which I don’t mind at all by the way.”

“Is that why you picked me? Cause I’m quiet?”

“No… it’s just… I’m not very… social myself… I don’t really go out alone, but I also don’t like… being alone… you’re good company… your presence alone is comfortable for me. I hope that’s okay…”

“Yeah, you’re good company too… it’s a nice change…”

“Can I ask… how come you’re here?”

“Well… the owners of the cafe adopted me… they liked my pink hair… and said I was pretty… I did try to be… better… but other people get so loud and touchy… this really isn’t my type of thing…”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not so bad anymore. I don’t get picked as much.”

“Well you’re lovely to me.”

“Thank you.”

Seonghwa made some light conversation with you, asking about your story. He was very curious but didn’t pry too much. You didn’t want to spoil it all for him. You stuck around for a few hours, keeping Seonghwa with you. After all those treats he was quiet sleepy, leaning against your shoulder and closing his eyes. He asked you to read to him for a bit, saying he wouldn’t fall asleep. Eventually he did, and you let him rest for a bit. You couldn’t stay all day, so eventually you had to say goodbye. You promised Seonghwa you’d come by again, and you both looked forward to that.

🖤

You couldn’t come everyday as you had meetings and deadlines, and as much as you loved having Seonghwa with you, he’d most likely wind up being a distraction for you every now and then. Still, you were both very happy when you did see each other. Seonghwa got to try every item on the menu, discovering what was his favorite, and stealing a few bites and sips of your things too even though you told him not to. You grew close, and because of that you were both more comfortable opening up. There wasn’t much silence between you anymore. Although the fact you met at a cafe and pretty much paid to see him would cause some issues every now and then.

On one occasion you had come in to discover Seonghwa had actually been taken. You didn’t notice he had been at another table since he usually wasn’t. You asked the waitress how long until he would be available, and fortunately she told you he’d be free in a few minutes. You didn’t mind waiting for him. So you focused on your work until you felt someone sliding into the booth with you and getting close. Seonghwa rested his head on your shoulder, whining and nuzzling into the crook of your neck. It tickled and you playfully told him to stop. He did after a moment, moving a bit so he could wrap his arms around you, sighing happily.

“You good?”

“I’m so happy you’re here.”

“What, you didn’t have fun at your other table?”

“Not at all.” Seonghwa pouted. “They were so loud, and one girl kept touching my ears. Stupid pink ears.”

“They’re cute.”

“But I don’t like people touching them, only you can.”

“Ah, well I am honored.”

“Can you pet me? I wanna get the feeling of those rough hands off me.”

“Alright, alright.”

You pet Seonghwa softly, getting some purrs out of him. You noticed something moving under his shirt, for the first time realizing Seonghwa had a tail.

“Seonghwa.”

“Hm…”

“I didn’t know you had a tail.”

“Oh… that… I hide it to avoid people touching it.”

“Clever.”

“Do you want to touch my tail?”

“It’s okay. Even on normal cats that’s not exactly a place they like to be touched. Maybe one day you can show me, but it doesn’t have to be today.”

“Alright, thanks. Now where’s my cake?”

“On the way, be patient.”

Seonghwa was very happy you had come to save him that day, needing you to make everything better. There were a few times you had to wait for him, which you never minded, and the staff also let you hang out for a bit without a hybrid. By now they knew you were a regular and would spend a lot of time, and money, with Seonghwa. You always looked forward to his company and could wait for him, but there would come a time where that wasn’t an option. You came to the cafe and got your table, browsing the menu when Seonghwa suddenly sat down.

“Oh, hi, Seonghwa. You beat me to it today, I haven’t even picked you yet.”

“Wait, you haven’t?”

“No, I was just-”

“Excuse me, I’m sorry.” The waitress came over. “This isn’t your table, Seonghwa. You’ve been requested elsewhere.”

“What? But-”

The waitress grabbed Seonghwa’s arm, pulling him up and apologizing to you. Seonghwa gave you a sad look, but there wasn’t really much you could do. A moment later the waitress returned, apologizing once again.

“It’s alright. I can wait.”

“The thing is… Seonghwa was picked by a party, so they will be keeping him until they leave.”

“Oh… I see… I didn’t know that was a thing… so you don’t know when he’d be available.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t. It could be two hours or more.”

“Alright, I guess I’ll have to come some other time.”

“We’re really sorry about that.”

“It’s not your fault. Thank you.”

You grabbed your things and got up, making your way out. Seonghwa had not been happy to be taken away from you. His rating hadn’t gotten higher as he asked you not to raise it, but that still wouldn’t stop others from picking him. He asked the waitress what was going on when he was taken to a much bigger table. To his surprise he was told he had been picked for a party, but he also knew what that meant. He was stuck here until the party was over. By now you had probably been told this as well, and he looked over at the table you had been, not seeing you there. He immediately got up, searching for you.

“Where are you going kitty?” A girl grabbed his arm. “You have to say hi to the birthday girl.”

Seonghwa didn’t want you to go, and he tried to free himself from the girl but she wouldn’t let go. Without thinking he bit the girl’s hand and ran after you, catching up to you before you left.

“Y/n, are you leaving?”

“Seonghwa… you’re gonna be busy for who knows how long. I’ll come back tomorrow, okay?”

“No, I don’t want you to go.”

“That’s not how-”

“Ya! Get over here you bastard!”

Another girl suddenly stormed over and you immediately pulled Seonghwa behind you. Now there were all eyes on you, and some of the staff came over to deescalate the situation.

“What seems to be the problem?”

“Your hybrid bit me!” The girl yelled.

You immediately looked back at Seonghwa, giving him a questioning look. He merely avoided your gaze and lowered his head. His grip on your arm got tighter.

“What? Seonghwa.” The staff asked. “Is that true?”

“Look! His bite mark is on my hand.”

“Seonghwa! Miss, we are so sorry, our hybrids are usually so well behaved, we don’t know why-”

“What are you going to do about this? I’ve heard great things about this place but clearly you don’t train your hybrids well. He wasn’t even paying attention to the party.”

“We’re very sorry about this. We can provide-”

“What about the hybrid?”

“He’ll be removed from the party and you can-”

“What else? You shouldn’t have such an animal at your establishment.”

You couldn’t help but worry about Seonghwa. His actions weren’t appropriate, but the consequences he might face could be very harsh. Without much thinking yourself, you spoke.

“I’ll adopt him.”

“What?”

“I’ll adopt Seonghwa.” You looked back at him. “Is… is that okay? I didn’t ask-”

“Yes. Please take me with you.”

“Okay.” You looked back at the staff. “I’ll take Seonghwa off your hands and adopt him. I’ll pay however much you got him for plus fifty percent. Is that good enough?”

“Uh… we can discuss this in private.”

“That’s fine.”

Seonghwa kept a hold of you as you followed a staff member to a back office, speaking to the owner and working out the payment and paperwork. He kept quiet throughout the whole thing, not wanting to mess anything up. Once everything was done he was allowed to go back and get his belongings, but there wasn’t really anything that was his so he opted to just leave with you. It was strange to step out of the cafe, but it felt right since he wasn’t alone.

“Sorry…”

“For what?”

“Causing trouble…”

“You shouldn’t pull a stunt like that, you could have gotten seriously hurt.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you’re a good hybrid, don’t do things to make people think otherwise.”

“I won’t do it again.”

“Alright, well, since you don’t have much I guess the first thing we should do is get you some clothes.”

“You’re gonna take me shopping?”

“Of course. Come on.”

You took Seonghwa’s hand and your adventure began. You rarely went out to shop for yourself, so you really had no idea where to go for Soenghwa. You did a bit of online research and found some places to go. At first Seonghwa was quite shy, but you encouraged him to pick out things he wanted. You got him some regular clothes as well as pajamas, getting another few things he seemed to like. Once you were done with the shopping you took Seonghwa back to your place. This time around he was in disbelief, stepping into your house and being told it was his home now too.

You had a decent sized house, two floors with a basement. Seonghwa looked around curiously putting down all the bags he had with him. It was so quiet compared to his previous living arrangement, but it was also way nicer. You watched as he took everything in, glad to see he liked it. Or at least you hoped he did. Before you could say anything your phone rang and you quickly pulled it out to see who was calling you. Of course you had things you needed to do and the sudden adoption sidetracked you.

“It’s my editor. I need to take this. Feel free to look around and make yourself at home, I’ll be right back.”

“Wait.” Seonghwa grabbed your arm. “Is this… is this really my home?”

You smiled. “Yes. You live here now with me. I… I hope that’s okay…”

“It’s great.”

“I’m glad to hear. I’ll only be a moment.”

Seonghwa watched you head upstairs, hearing a door close a moment later. Now that it was just him he looked around the place properly. He found the kitchen and dining room, as well as the bathroom and back door. The yard looked quiet lovely, you even had a few flowers growing. There was a closet in the hallway as well, and the next door led to the basement, but he didn’t want to go down there. Eventually he came into the living room, seeing all these pictures of you with friends and family. He grabbed one of the frames you had on the cabinet when he heard you calling for him.

“Seonghwa.”

“I’m right here.”

You walked down the steps just as Seonghwa was stepping out into the hall, giving you a smile when your eyes met.

“Are you finding everything okay?”

“Yeah.” Seonghwa held out the picture frame. “I want one.”

“Hm?”

You made your way down and grabbed what Seonghwa was holding out to you. It was a picture of you and your friends, although you weren’t quite sure what he meant with this.

“What about the picture frame?”

“I want a picture of us in a frame.”

“Ah, I should have a camera upstairs and a cool printer. Let’s go, oh and let’s bring your things so we can take them up to your room.”

“My room?”

“Yeah.”

“I get my own room?”

“Of course. Come on, I’m sure you’ll love it.”

You grabbed some of the bags and went back up, Seonghwa grabbing the rest and following you. The second floor wasn’t as big as the first, but it was just as nice. You showed him to what used to be your guest room, but now would be his.

“It’s a little plain, so I guess tomorrow we can go shopping for your things.”

“My things?”

“Yeah, so this room can feel more like yours. I probably also need to get other things too. I’ve never had a hybrid before. I’ll do some research before tomorrow.”

“That’s okay, I’ve never had a home before… so I guess we’ll figure this out together.”

“I like that.” You smiled. “Ah, your picture.”

You brought Seonghwa over to your office, rummaging around your desk for your camera. You were lucky it still had some charge, so you grabbed Seonghwa and found a good spot to take a picture together. You took a couple and picked out the best ones, printing them all out. Seonghwa happily looked over the picture, remembering the last time he took a photo was for his profile at the cafe. He opened up the picture frame he had and put the picture of you and him inside, staring at it for a moment before hugging it to his chest.

“I love it.”

“I’m glad you do. Now let’s get some food, cause I am starving.”

Seonghwa was happy to try new things, and you both ate in the kitchen, talking like old times. You showed him the shower and how it worked. You weren’t surprised when he took a long shower, probably enjoying himself in a way he couldn’t before. You checked in on him afterwards, making sure he had everything and would sleep well. He thanked you again for everything you had done for him, wishing you a good night. It was pretty late so you took a quick shower and got into bed. You moved around as you got comfy, slowly starting to doze off when you felt the bed dip. You peeked an eye open to see Seonghwa.

“Hm… what are you doing?”

“I… I can’t sleep alone…”

“Are you okay?”

“It’s just… I’m used to sleeping with others around… and the silence here… it’s kinda scary… is… is it okay to sleep here with you… I’m sure I’ll get used to it eventually…”

“That’s okay… you can stay here.”

You were used to sleeping alone, but there was something about having a warm body next to you. It was new, but eventually you drifted off to sleep. Come morning you realized you slept really well, better than you had before. You found yourself wrapped up in Seonghwa’s arms, finding him very cute while he slept. You didn’t want to wake him, but you had to get up. You reached over to gently pet him, slowly getting him to wake up.

“Hm…”

“Seonghwa, I gotta get up.”

“Five more minutes…”

“You can absolutely stay in bed, but you gotta let me go.”

“No…”

“Seonghwa, please.”

“Hm…”

You giggled and leaned forward to press a kiss to his head, surprising him. His eyes shot open and he looked at you. This was your chance as his grip had loosened, so you smiled and got out of bed.

“You can stay and sleep some more, I got things to do.”

“Meanie.”

“I’m gonna make breakfast real quick, you want some?”

“Yes, please. I’ll help.”

“Come on then.”

Seonghwa sat up, stretching and then following you out. He freshened up and met you down in the kitchen, coming over to your side.

“Did you sleep okay?”

“Yeah, you?”

“It was nice. I usually had my own bed, but sleeping with someone else is very comfy.”

“I agree. I’m not used to sharing a bed with anyone, but I actually slept really well, so thanks for that.”

“I’m available every night.”

“I’m sure you are.”

Even though Seonghwa had his own room, he liked sharing a bed with you. He was never cold, and even while sleeping he knew he wasn’t alone. You liked it as well, feeling a comfort and joy you couldn’t describe by having someone with you at night. It was a welcomed change.

🖤

Seonghwa was very curious about certain parts of the house, like the kitchen. He had never really been in one before, and he certainly wasn’t used to having unrestricted access to food. Back at the cafe he ate designated meals, and whatever treats he could get with guests. You assured him he was free to grab snacks and drinks whenever he wanted. There was so much he had to learn and experience, but he was excited to get to know it all with you.

Things changed around the house, but in a good way. You were used to playing your music as you worked, although it did take a bit of getting used to the noise of someone else. Seonghwa stuck to your side for the first few days, which wasn’t an issue. He was more than happy to take the books off your shelves and read them, getting very immersed. Especially when he found the ones you wrote. He would ask you questions, and you answered what you could without giving him spoilers.

As he got more comfortable in the house he would spend more time in different places, and he also wouldn’t hide his tail. You taught him how to use the TV and anything else he was curious about. The stove was off limits, but you did promise to teach him to cook since he wanted to be able to do things for you. That wasn’t necessary but you appreciated his intentions. He still figured out some things himself, like peeling fruit and bringing you some to your office. Besides going out for the necessities, you both mainly stayed home. Seonghwa didn’t mind it all, having all he could need right here with you.

If he wanted to get some fresh out he could go out into the yard, which he did daily to water the plants and get some sunlight. He found all kinds of cool shows to watch, and looked for cooking videos so he could make you something. You did scold him when he made instant ramen since that involved using the stove, but you had to take it easy as he hadn’t hurt himself or burned anything. The ramen was actually quite good too. Although as much as you both loved to stay home together you still had some reasons to go out.

“Seonghwa.”

“Hm?”

“My friend invited me out to lunch tomorrow. Will you-”

“Can I come?”

“Uh… I don’t know if the place is hybrid friendly.”

“Oh.”

You couldn’t help but feel sad when you saw his ears drop. For the last couple days you two had been inseparable, and this would be the first time you leave him alone in the house. Thinking back on it you didn’t like that idea.

“Hold on, let me check.”

You looked up the place, and unfortunately they didn’t allow hybrids. That wasn’t good, so you figured maybe you could try something. You took Seonghwa’s hand and led him up to your room. You rummaged through your closet and pulled out a cute little beret, placing it on his head, giving him a smile.

“A hat?”

“The beret hides your ears, and you know how to hide your tail. You’d pass for a normal human dressed like this.”

“You mean I get to go with you?”

“I mean, if you want to. I don’t think hiding your identity is all that great-”

“I can do it as long as I get to be with you.”

“Alright, then let’s figure out your look.”

“I want us to match. Like a couples outfit.”

“Okay, I can do that.”

🖤

The next day you and Seonghwa went out together, meeting up with your friends at this brunch spot. They were excited to see you, although the looks on their faces turned to curiosity when they noticed Seonghwa at your side.

“Is that…?” Lyla questioned. “A hybrid? You-”

“Sh!”

“Oh my gosh…” Misu gasped. “It was you!”

“What are you talking about?”

“Come here.”

You sat down with Seonghwa, all the girls now brimming with excitement.

“What is it?”

“So, a friend of mine told me they were at this hybrid cafe.” Misu began. “And while there they said there was this huge commotion about a hybrid attacking a guest, but then this other person opted to adopt them right then and there. The owner agreed and all, but now others have been asking to adopt some of the hybrids there, but that’s not something they do. I was wondering what cafe it was, and it turns out it was the one we went to. I asked what hybrid was adopted, and they said it was this pink cat. So I had to know if it was Seonghwa, so I went the other day and saw he was gone. I was gonna tell you all this but I see he went to a good home.”

“Why didn’t you tell us you adopted a hybrid?” Ava asked. “How long have you had him now.”

“It all kinda happened so fast, and it slipped my mind.”

“Well, now you gotta tell us all the juicy details.”

You ordered, getting Seonghwa something as well and hoping it was safe for him. Once you got your drinks you began to tell your friends about how you got Seonghwa. You didn’t have all the details, but you at least knew how it went down without exaggerating things. It was quite a fun brunch, but Seonghwa remained quiet. He didn’t really know these people, and he just wanted to be with you. This wouldn’t be the last time he went out in disguise with you. It wasn’t really something he minded, but what he didn’t like was that most of the time when you hung out with your friends it was like the cafe all over again. You were just there with them, sitting in silence and occasionally chiming in.

Of course it wasn’t always restaurants. Sometimes it would be shopping, ro some sort of event, but even then things seemed to be the same. You and him were just there, and because Seonghwa was always in disguise it would lead to some awkward moments. Sometimes girls would come up to Seonghwa, flirting with him and asking for his number. He didn’t have a phone, and honestly wasn’t sure how to deal with the situation most times. He’d always move over to you, and that seemed to imply you were his girlfriend and taken, so they’d leave him alone. Although many times that led to others bad mouthing you. That was the only time he really hated having sensitive hearing.

Other times people would already assume you were a couple, and that would lead to both of you trying to explain you were just friends. It really flustered you both, and it made your other friends giggle under their breath as they knew the real situation. He could get past all of that with no problem, but his real issue was how your supposed friends treated you. He understood you had known them for many years, but he wasn’t sure this was the way things were supposed to go. Of course he knew you were a quiet and shy person, but you had opened up with him. Seonghwa knew what you were really like, and that person didn’t seem to exist outside of him. At least it seemed that way. He didn’t like this, and so he took it upon himself to help. Since he always went out with you he’d be the one to ask if it was time to go home. He was a good excuse after all. If you were out too long with him, the risk of being discovered was greater.

“Y/n…” Seonghwa tugged on your shirt. “I wanna go home…”

“Yeah? Alright, we can go.”

You excused yourself from your friends, heading out with Seonghwa. When you made it back home Seonghwa wrapped his arms around you, giving you a hug from behind. He rested his chin on your shoulder for a bit before nuzzling your neck and tickling you.

“Cut it out, Seonghwa.” You laughed.

“But you’re so cute.”

“Ya, I have some work I need to do.”

“What?” Seonghwa whined. “We’ve been out all day. I want to spend time with you.”

“Seonghwa-”

“It’s not fair.” Seonghwa pouted. “It’s my turn to be with you.”

“You’re with me all day.”

“That’s not enough.”

“Alright, alright. How about this, you let me do some work for like an hour, then we’ll order some food and watch a movie. Is that good?”

“Hm… fine.”

“Good. Here.” You handed Seonghwa your phone. “Why don’t you find a place to order from, but remember, I get an hour to do work.”

“I know, I know.”

Seonghwa let you go and took your phone, letting you go off to your office to get some work done. He went over to the living room and plopped down on the couch, looking at the food options. While browsing he noticed you got a message from the group chat. He shouldn’t be nosy but he was curious when he noticed his name in the preview. He really shouldn’t have clicked on it, but he was also glad that he did. When he looked at the message he saw one of your friends commenting that you left too early,and that you shouldn’t bring him along if he was just gonna take you back home.

Seonghwa had so much to say back, but obviously he couldn’t. Instead he deleted the group chat and blocked them all from your contacts. They weren’t even real friends the way he was, so what they said didn’t matter and you shouldn’t spend any time with them. He was still upset but put it out of his head, setting an alarm for an hour and channel surfing once he figured out what he wanted to order. Time flew by pretty fast since before he knew it an hour had passed. He placed the order and then went up to your office to get you.

“Y/n.” He knocked before letting him in. “It’s been an hour.”

“Already, well, time does fly. Did you pick a place?”

“Yeah, and I already placed an order. So, what movie do you want to watch?”

“Hm, is there any type of genre you’re in the mood for?”

“I’m thinking romance.”

“Alright, I can work with that.”

Whenever you watched movies you’d always end up picking, as you knew more about them than him. Of course you still wanted his input and asked what type of movie he wanted to watch. You both always had fun with movie night. When the food arrived you went to get it while Seonghwa grabbed some plates and utensils. As you set things down on the coffee table you realized he had ordered drinks too.

“Seonghwa, did you order soju?”

“Yeah. I always wanted to try some and I figured we could have some tonight. Why? Can I not have some?”

“I… well it doesn’t hurt to try it. I’m just not a drinker.”

“Oh, sorry. I just-”

“It’s okay. A little drink won’t hurt me either.”

You ate and watched the film, letting Seonghwa have his first taste of alcohol. You weren’t surprised when he grimaced from the taste, and you did the same as well. You poured the drinks, but only really let Seonghwa have two, you didn’t want him getting sick after all. Of course since you didn’t drink much, and had most of the bottle, by the end of the night you were a bit drunk, and Seonghwa was tipsy.

“That was a good movie… so cute…”

“Have you ever had a romance like that?” Seonghwa asked.

“Me? No, no, I only write romance, I don’t experience it.”

“Hm? But you’re so pretty.”

“No, you’re the pretty one, everyone wants your number, mister secret hybrid.”

“It’s not a secret, but it makes it easier to go out with you. Besides, I don’t have a phone, even if I did, I wouldn’t be handing out my number.”

“That’s what you say now, but some of those girls were very pretty.”

“Not as pretty as you.”

“I’m pretty?”

“The prettiest.”

“Nah…”

“It’s true. I couldn’t have a prettier owner.”

“Stop, you’re just saying that cause you’re drunk.”

“Never. I’ll say it when I’m sober too.”

“You’ll just forget.”

“I won’t, I swear.”

“I guess we’ll see.”

Neither of you was really in a condition to clean up, so you both decided to head to bed. You got under the blankets and a while later Seonghwa joined you. He snuggled up against you, nuzzling your neck.

“You smell pretty, y/n.”

“Do I…”

“Like a dream, and I never wanna wake up.”

“Hm… that sounds good…”

“Y/n.”

“What…”

“Do you like me?”

“Of course… you’re the best…”

“What else?”

“Everything… everything about you… is great…”

“But you haven’t seen everything.”

“Like what?”

“Me… me showing you…”

“Showing me what…”

“How much I really like you.”

“Hm… I like you too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah…”

“Then… can I…”

Seonghwa gently moved over to get on top of you. Your eyes were half open as you were already drifting off to sleep. He stared at you for a while. This wasn’t the first time he had seen you sleepy, many nights before he’d watch you sleep, finding you so cute, but tonight he wanted something more. He slowly leaned down to press his lips to yours. It was soft and gentle, a hint of alcohol in the mix. It took a moment to realize what was happening, and then your eyes were wide and you placed your hand on Seonghwa’s chest, pushing him back a bit.

“What are you doing…”

“I wanna show you how much I care about you.”

“Seonghwa… this… this isn’t right…”

“Why? I-”

“You’re a hybrid and-”

“That doesn’t matter. Everyone already thinks we’re together, so why can’t I-”

“Seonghwa, this… I…”

“I won’t hurt you.”

Before you could say anything more Seonghwa grabbed your arms and pinned them above your head, kissing you once again. You were still shocked by his actions, but you couldn’t do much to fight back. His grip was strong, and the alcohol in your system was making everything fuzzy for you. The kiss was deep, and good, and without meaning too you started kissing back. When Seonghwa pulled away from your lips he began to press kisses against your neck, breathing in your scent deeply. He kept you pinned, pressing his body against yours. For the first time you began to notice the thing between his legs.

You both had been sharing a bed for weeks now, but you were never really bothered by his crotch area, that is until today. You could feel it poking at you, starting to see Seonghwa as more than just your hybrid pet. You never imagined something like this would happen. You may have written things alluding to this, but never between two individuals so different. Your heart was racing and you could feel your face burning from the shyness and alcohol. The more you tried to free your arms the stronger Seonghwa held onto you. It was still difficult to think straight but you had to try something.

“Seonghwa… Seonghwa, wait… wait, wait… I’ve never…”

“Me neither.” Seonghwa whispered into your ear. “And I want my first to be you.”

“You’re drunk… we’re both and-”

“I’ve heard that alcohol gives someone courage… and I’ve wanted to do something like this for a long time.”

“Seonghwa-”

“Please, just let me take care of you.”

His lips were back on your neck, pressing more kisses and starting to suck on the skin. You were trying not to get lost in the feeling of him. It was difficult, but you began to whimper when you felt pin-pricks on your arm. All you got was a mumbled apology from Seonghwa, realizing his claws were drawn and slightly digging into your skin. That made you go still, starting to remember his other abilities as a hybrid. Just as you were thinking it, you felt it, this sharpest that came with every kiss.

“Seonghwa…”

“I won’t hurt you.”

“You can’t-”

You let out a yelp when you felt a bite on your shoulder, desperately fighting against Seonghwa, but all you heard was a low growl of the word mine. Seonghwa looked over at you, and his eyes told you he was beyond reason. He wanted you so bad, and no one could stop him, not even you. He pulled you into a kiss, using the distraction to release your arms and begin to undress you. He started by pulling down your pants and panties, leaving you exposed. You thought he might pull off your shirt, but instead he placed kisses on your jaw before diving down under the covers. You only had a moment of peace before you felt him bury his face between your legs.

Your hands shot down to push him away, but he wouldn’t budge. His hands were at your thighs, kneading the flesh and pulling your legs apart, trying to go in deeper. The cold and wetness of his tongue felt so strange, and yet so nice. You couldn’t help the content moan that escaped your lips. Seonghwa purred when he heard you, the vibrations creating a whole new feeling. At first you had been trying to get him off you, but now your hands were merely petting his head, pulling him closer. He kept licking at your folds, sucking on the little bud down there like it was a lollipop. Your mind was spinning as you forgot how you wound up in this situation.

Seonghwa’s hands eventually trailed up, gropping your breasts and massaging them gently, taking you to a whole other world. You kept squirming from his touch, not knowing if you wanted more or for this to stop. This heat was building inside you, making you excited and fearful of what it meant. Eventually Seonghwa gripped your shirt and ripped it apart, his glistening lips leaving a trail of kiss marks as he made his way up your body. You had no idea when he had undressed, but you felt his naked body against yours, and soon enough you felt his length poking at your entrance.

The feeling startled you and you closed your legs a bit. Seonghwa chuckled and pressed a kiss to your lips, one of his knees dipping between your legs and pushing them open. You were out of breath from the kiss, Seonghwa as well. He pressed his head against yours, eyes closed. He knew you better than anyone else. You saved him in ways you couldn’t comprehend, and he just wanted to give you everything he was. This was his moment, and he wouldn’t waste it. Seonghwa’s hands trailed down to your hips, pulling you closer to him, pushing himself into you, inch by inch. Your mouth hung open in silent ecstasy as you felt the stretch, consumed by something you couldn’t describe.

“… fuck…”

“Are you okay?”

“… yeah, yeah… just feels… weird…”

“But you’re alright?”

“I… I think so…”

“Good… good… you feel so good…”

“Seonghwa…”

“I’m gonna start moving… that should make it better.”

Seonghwa started off moving slowly, gently pulling out and going back in, going at a steady rhythm. It felt strange, it sounded weird, but the feelings it created were all new. In a way it was also soothing, letting you relax into the sensation and let it consume you. Of course as he kept at it his thrusts became faster and harder, you felt him wanting to go in deeper, but there was only so much of you he could feel. You were begging to lose yourself in him, in this heat that was consuming every bit of you. Wherever his fingers touched it sparked something inside you. It was hard to think of anything besides the pleasure you were feeling.

“Seonghwa… fuck… feels… feels good…”

“I got you.”

“… please… please… I wanna…”

You never imagined your first would be like this, but there was no going back now. As Seonghwa’s thrusts got sloppy he pulled you up into his arms, moving up into you and making you bounce. He leaned down to kiss at your chest, sucking on your nipples. You could feel him pushing you over the edge, and you were desperate to hold on. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close. One moment you were riding this high and then you exploded with a new wave of pleasure. You were overwhelmed, your whole body shaking in Seonghwa’s embrace, pushing him to climax as well. You felt something warm between your legs, but were more focused on the tiny ripples coursing through you.

Seonghwa laid you back down, his hips twitching and pushing into you, riding out his own high and trying to get this feeling to last as long as possible. His hot breath was against your ear, sending a different type of tingle down your body. He didn’t loosen his hold on you as you both came down from your high, just softly nuzzling your cheek. Your head was still spinning, and you were quite exhausted, but Seonghwa wasn’t done with you. He whispered something in your ear that you couldn’t make out, but next thing you knew he was moving his hips again. You whimpered, your body too exhausted to do anything but take it.

You tried to speak, but you didn’t have the strength to move your lips. Your vision was mostly black as exhaustion was pulling you under, and for a moment you did pass out. When you regained consciousness you felt another wave of pleasure washing over you, whimpering as your body was trembling. Seonghwa was on your neck, sucking on the skin as he kept thrusting into you, taking advantage of your sensitive state. It didn’t seem like he was gonna let up anytime soon, and you could feel minor aches all over your arms and back. Although that wasn’t what your mind was focused on.

Your mouth was hanging open with a bit of drool spilling out. You felt weightless, like you were floating on a cloud, and you felt so warm and safe in Seonghwa’s embrace. It wasn’t long before you slipped under, into the darkness once more, only to emerge from it when the pleasure hit again. You felt a bit bloated down there, not able to see much besides Seonghwa’s blurry face. Despite wanting to grasp reality you didn’t stay awake for much longer, passing out once again. The next time you regained consciousness there was sunlight peeking in through the blinds, telling you it was morning. Seonghwa was hugging you from behind, and you could feel that his length was still buried inside you. Your slight movements stirred him from his slumber. He nuzzled your neck sleepily.

“Morning…”

“Seonghwa… last night…”

“Was amazing… y/n… you’re the best thing that ever happened to me…”

“Hm…”

“We should probably clean up… we made a mess last night.”

“Right.”

You were still half asleep, but you did want to get up. When you tried though Seonghwa moved as well, making you jump a bit. He chuckled and apologized, moving away from you first. His absence felt kind of strange, given he had been inside you all night. Seonghwa got out of bed and helped you sit up. He seemed to be in a much better condition than you. He helped you to your feet and took you over to the bathroom. It wasn’t until you sat down on the edge of the bathtub that you realized you were completely naked. You covered yourself, which made Seonghwa laugh. He was also naked.

“I’ve seen everything.”

Seonghwa placed a kiss on your cheek and turned on the shower head, waiting for the water to warm up before helping you into the tub. You couldn’t really stand so he had you sit, taking care of washing you up. Once you had been completely soaked he stepped in, getting himself wet before plugging the drain and filling up the tub, he sat behind you, pulling you close. He placed lazy kisses on your cheek, seeing that you were dozing off a bit. He didn’t mind, having no problem washing you up, he was just careful not to get any soap in your eyes. After the bath he helped you get out and dried you off.

He set you down on a chair in your room while he changed the bedsheets. Things had gotten messy last night, but it wasn’t so bad. He put the sheets to wash and grabbed some fresh ones. Once that was done he laid you down to sleep, giving you a soft kiss. He made you breakfast and brought it up for you, making sure you ate a bit before going back to sleep. It wasn’t the same though, to be in bed without him. So when he came over to check in you grabbed his arm and asked him to stay. You didn’t need to tell him twice as he happily got into bed with you, pulling you into his arms and spooning you.

That day you practically slept it away, needing the time to recover after such a night. It wasn’t until the next morning that you could actually get up. You left Seonghwa in bed, getting up to prepare for the day ahead. As you were washing up you noticed your arms, seeing all the claw marks Seonghwa had left. They didn’t hurt so bad, but they definitely stung. You had those same feelings along your back and managed to check in the mirror, seeing similar claw marks. It really had been a wild night, and that’s not counting the minor bite marks you had along your shoulders and neck. The door suddenly opened and a sleepy Seonghwa came in, wrapping his arms around you.

“Morning…”

“Good morning.”

“Did you sleep okay?”

“Yeah, and you?”

“Never better.”

“Seonghwa… about us…”

“Hm? We’re perfect, aren’t we?”

“I… what happened…”

“You liked it, right? I looked up some videos and practiced on myself to make sure I did it right.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle. “You looked up porn? And you practiced on yourself?”

“Yeah, it was very helpful.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“But cute, right?”

You looked at Seonghwa through the mirror, seeing that his eyes were on you. He looked so happy and sweet. As you thought back on that night you could only think about how much he cared for you the last couple of weeks, and recently. There seems to be nothing but good intentions behind his actions, and you couldn’t fault him for that. You smiled and met Seonghwa’s eyes.

“You’re very cute.”

He pressed his lips against yours, letting you finish up before he got ready for the day. He helped you rub some lotion over your wounds, still apologizing for them. You spent the day catching up in your office, getting back to the way things were. At least how they are with Seonghwa now in your life. He’d steal kisses from you whenever he could, doing his best to be a good support for you.

“Seonghwa.”

“Hm?”

“Have you seen my phone? I haven’t been able to find it for-”

“I have it.”

“Huh? Why do you have it?”

“Cause you’re always misplacing it.” Seonghwa pulled out your phone. “And speaking of, your editor is calling.”

“Oh shoot, thanks.”

Seonghwa held out the phone to you which you hurriedly took. You stepped away to take the call, Seonghwa watching you go, happy he could help. You returned after the call wondering what he was working on. While he explained what he was making he snuck your phone away from you and put it in his pocket. You didn’t need to have it on you, and of course he’d hand it to you when it was important. Before he didn’t like being stuck in one place, but he much rather stay home with you all day everyday than go out with other people. You were all he needed.

🖤

“Seonghwa…”

“Hm?”

“The door…”

“They’ll go away.” Seonghwa mumbled. “Just ignore it.”

“Did you order something…”

“No, but I’ll go check.” Seonghwa kissed your cheek. “You stay here.”

“Hm…”

Seonghwa groggily got up, making his way downstairs as the doorbell kept ringing. He opened the door slightly, hissing when he noticed it was one of your friends.

“Oh, hi Seonghwa, how are-”

“What do you want?”

“I’m here to see y/n. I sent a message in the group chat about brunch but she didn’t respond so I thought I’d come to see her.”

“We’re good.”

“Uh… can I at least talk to her.”

“No.”

“Seonghwa, I’m not-”

“Seonghwa.” You yawned. “Who’s at the door?”

Seonghwa tried to shut the door, but your friend pushed her way in. She went over to you, meeting you at the bottom of the stairs and pulling you into a hug. You were still in your pajamas, and it was hard for her not to notice the faded marks on your body.

“Uh… what happened to you?”

“Nothing, what are you doing here so early, Misu?”

“I sent you a message in the group chat. We were gonna meet up for brunch today, but we never heard back.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t really had my phone on me anymore.”

“Really? No wonder you haven’t responded.” Misu commented. “Anyway, I came to get you, so, let’s go.”

“I don’t wanna go out for brunch.” Seonghwa whined. “I wanna go back to bed.”

“Actually, I was hoping today would be like a girls brunch.”

“Y/n.”

Seonghwa pouted and came over to you, taking your hands and turning you away from your friend. He was whining and acting childish.

“You can’t leave me by myself.” Seonghwa cried. “I don’t wanna be alone.”

“Awe… Misu, are you sure he can’t come?”

“Fine. I guess he can.”

“Awesome, we’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

“Alright.”

You gave Seonghwa a smile and led him upstairs. He dragged a bit, not wanting to go, but he knew he wasn’t going to let you go alone.

“You know we don’t have to go.” Seonghwa mentioned. “The bed’s still warm.”

“It’s brunch, and I bet the girls picked a nice place.”

“Okay.”

Seonghwa made sure that your outfits were matching, and then you went over to the brunch spot. The other girls were happy to see you and Seonghwa. It had been a while since you last saw each other, so this was a great time to catch up. A while after ordering Seonghwa excused himself to the restroom, leaving you alone with the girls.

“Y/n.”

“Hm?”

“Are you okay?”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“I see the marks on you, did Seonghwa do that?”

“What marks!?” Ava questioned. “Let me see!”

“It’s nothing.” You countered. “You know cats have claws and stuff.”

“Yeah, but you have all kinds of marks.” Misu stated. “And don’t think I didn’t notice the bites on your shoulder.”

“I… it’s nothing…”

“Has he been hurting you?”

“What!?”

“I’ve heard stories about hybrids hurting their owners, it’s not crazy.”

“Has that cat been abusing you?” Lyla asked. “I swear it’s always the quiet ones you have to be weary of.”

“No, no, nothing like that. He’s not hurting me or anything.”

“Then how do you explain all the marks? Plus the bites?”

“Wait…” Misu pondered. “Did he… sleep-”

“Misu!”

“Holy shit.” Ava realized. “You fucken slept with-”

“Lower your voice!” You hissed. “We’re in public.”

“I cannot believe you would-”

“Hold on.” Lyla cut in. “Did you agree to it? Cause a hybrid might-”

“Oh my gosh! Y/n, did that hybrid force-”

“No, no, I swear it’s not like that… we just had some drinks and then… one thing led-”

“So you were drunk?”

“Not really…”

“Y/n, did you like, consent to this?”

“I mean… yeah… it was a whole thing and… yeah…”

“I’m not so sure I believe you.”

“He didn’t do anything I didn’t like.”

“Pretty sure that’s not exactly how those things work.”

“I’m fine.”

🖤

When Seonghwa got to the restroom he splashed some water in his face. He wanted to go back home more than anything, and he needed to figure out a good excuse. He felt the water running through his fingers, noticing he could choose the temperature. He changed the water to hot and grabbed a towel to soak in it. He began to dab himself with the towel, starting to feel hot himself. Before stepping out of the bathroom he made sure he was dry, and that his face was burning. His plan was to head straight back for the table, but he was interrupted.

“Do I know you? It’d be hard to forget a face like yours.”

“Get out of my way.”

“You don’t have to be so rude. I’m just saying you-”

“I have a girlfriend.”

Seonghwa shoved the other aside and returned to the table, making sure to change his demeanor. He paid no mind to the look your friends gave him and merely took his seat. He whimpered and leaned against you, acting sick.

“Is everything okay, Seonghwa?”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.” You reached to touch Seonghwa’s forehead. “Seonghwa, you’re burning up! Why didn’t you tell me you were feeling sick?”

“I’m okay…”

“That’s hardly true.” You got up, pulling Seonghwa to his feet. “I’m sorry girls, rain check on brunch, I need to take him home.”

“But-”

“I’ll make it up to you girls, I promise.”

You made your way out while holding onto Seonghwa, being careful as you got him in the car. He seemed half asleep, and you were mentally cursing yourself out for not noticing sooner. When you got to the house you took him upstairs to the bedroom, laying him down. You started to help him undress, needing to tuck him in and make him some porridge. Next thing you knew Seonghwa yanked you forward and wound up on top of you.

“Seonghwa- I thought you were sick?”

“How else was I gonna convince you to come home.”

“Are you serious? I haven’t seen the girls and-”

“I don’t like them.”

“Who?”

“The girls.”

“Seonghwa, they’re nice and-”

“Not to you.”

“Huh?”

“They invite you out and claim to be your friends, but they don’t really talk to you. It’s the same now as it was then.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Back at the cafe. They brought you along , but you didn’t really talk to them. And every other time you’ve gone out with them, you’re kinda just there.”

“Seonghwa, they know I don’t socialize much and-”

“But you do with me.”

“That’s different.”

“Because I’m a hybrid?”

“No, no, that’s not it. I’m just-”

“You actually like me. You’re comfortable around me, you have been from the very beginning.”

“Seonghwa…”

“No one else knows you like I do. You’re not really you when you’re with anyone else. If those people were really different, if they really cared about you, they’d bring out the best in you, like me.”

“…”

“You don’t need anybody else but me.”

Seonghwa kissed you deeply, pulling you into his arms. He was purring into your ear as he nuzzled your neck.

“Let’s just stay home, just you and me.”

“Seonghwa.”

“I love you, and I don’t want anyone to hurt you. Please, trust me.”

“…”

Seonghwa’s words rang in your head, and it was hard to deny it. You liked your friends, you had known each other for so long, but many times you felt like you didn’t belong. It was only really when you were with Seonghwa that you felt like your true self.

“Do you trust me?”

“I do…”

“Do you love me?”

“I do.”

“I do too.” Seonghwa grabbed your chin, kissing you. “We only need each other.”

#ateez #seonghwa #park seonghwa #ateez au #atz #atz au #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #hongjoong #yunho #yeosang #san #mingi #wooyoung #jongho

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spotlightlowlife · 10 days

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Unpopular opinion, at this point, Blitzø is an issue.

Not because he's in the wrong, his situations suck more than him, so do some of those around him (*cough*Stolas *cough*Loona), he sucks because he's becoming more and more of an outlet for writers to play out power and sex fantasies with whilst being edgy and always quick enough to have a remark ready for others, always managing to be the centre of attention but will always be the victim too.

In every conceivable way, he's being wronged or he's punching up.

The arrangementship with Stolas is a case of him being a victim but for those who don't see it this way, Stolas x Blitzø is a chance at happiness, pauper being picked, even though their union was and will always be an inappropriate power imbalance which has now been the case since childhood, back where Blitzø was a victim of his dad, yet a few years later he somehow developed feelings for his friend who seemed like a sibling to him, but he seemed to envy him too? Either way we are too root for his unrequited 'love lost' that we can blame on a fire accidentally caused by none other than Blitzø, but we can also push blame others for this accident too.

Fizz and Barbie may be victims of his recklessness, but he means/meant no harm and he had it just as bad as them, hence the 'sorry but..' he offered Fizz.

Substance abuse got to be something Blitzø endulged in before we met Barbie who we had already been informed is an addict, Blitzø got to be both a boss and a victim during his binge which had even the sin of gluttony beat and concerned, yet when we meet Barbie, she is composed, working and has some success in being able to freely travel, having a human disguise and being able to easily manipulate others, which could have all been good, a change of tone from yet another downtrodden character and a change from a sloppy addict that may have expected, only, we had to be told Barbie was in rehab and recently so, we had to be informed that Blitzø looks out for her and is worried even though we never had never saw him track her progress previously. We meet her, there's nothing to indicate that they have spoken since Blitzø's fall out with Fizz, Barbie is pretty much work a similar job to her brother of causing destruction on Earth, yet morals come into play for just one of them? Neurotic, antisocial and traumatised, comes to earth as an assassin, excellent, no content yet and seems well put together but we have been told is an addict, comes to earth the deal, scum.

Barbie made Blitzø sad by not listening to him and washing her hands of him (again, when did they last speak? Has there been nearly 20 years of the same conversation?), which yet again has us pouring sympathy into him.

Then there's the clearly hurt and robbed Verosika, who's upset is totally glossed over because 'she's so iconic'.

The power dynamics are entirely power play, because there are too many characters supposedly of much higher standing who Blitzø easily rubs shoulders with, stands out to and crosses to no consequence, all for no particular reason, the dismissal of what he says and does is reminiscent of a movie where a ghost doesn't know they're dead or a character doesn't realise their friend is imaginary. All excluding Stolas of course but this but this is where the power play sex fantasy is.

Why are they together? Answer, Blitzø's desperation to have his business work, the whole plot to the show.

Like Hazbin, the pilot started out rather strong, it ticked every box mentioned in one episode, they were a wicked bunch but morally grey, the trip to hospital being a prime example, we met humans, we saw Earth, Stolas was a intimidating and regal, Blitzø was reckless with money and decision making, the advert on a low rating station being the prime example, along with blind nepotism.

How is it that this series hasn't had the time to return to its roots since half way through season one?

When does Blitzø get a break from all this trauma dumping and actually get to have other things going on in his life?

Realistically, someone who works has work to talk about, it is a major part of their life. Someone who runs a business tends to put in more hours than your average worker. Work gives you something to talk about, creates new experiences and problems to solve, has you mixing with other and takes up a lot of your time. Where is any of this?

Until it returns to the plot where he is a business owner actually running his business, having interactions with customers and victims, travelling to Earth more regularly, facing actual threats from those who don't care about how sad he is and are actually bothered by his obnoxious ways, I have a questions.

Where are the common teething issues business tend to have, like budget, landlords, tax, inflation, lack of exposure?

How do they pay their day to day expenses, especially since they have so much time on their hands?

Why aren't they out advertising?

How do I.M.P catch the eye of those who just died and how do these sinners pay?

When was the last time we saw a sinner?

Blitzø's direction gives the impression that he's being written for the chronically online people who wish this was them, that they were more feisty, outgoing and desirable whilst others just got them and felt their misery, something that can easily be done as a viewer, throw in the tried and tested powerful and dangerous royalty that worked so well for Twilight and 50 Shades and we have a character who can be vicariously lived through, basically the classic fairytale default damsel who people also want to criticize. It's like he's being reduced to an clownish caricature, looks the vibrant and animated character we were introduced to but that's all just in paper now, he barely stands out in any recent episodes because his presence wasn't nessessary and when he was relevant, it's for his ship or drama from his past.

While waiting to see him with his coworkers who he voyers on because he's sad and lonely, his rude and violent adult adopted daughter, or learn about the trauma surrounding his mother, or whatever is going on with his user dad, or when we will next see his troubled sister who is mad at him, his bitter ex, his best friend/ex friend/rival/friend who lives the life he should be living who he sexually harasses since reconciliation, or his transactionship, or whatever else is pushed on him and there no doubt will be more. What about his present? What about his daily life outside the misery forever sent his way for us?

He should be encountering strangers and a massive variety of situations he can't entirely control on the regular, having to draw upon his smarts, experiences and group dynamic to get out of binds or be efficient, his trauma, sadness and his sass could be a force of good.

How much of his likability is nostalgia, maybe from outside of show? Outside of the pity and sex jokes, what is being done with him?

This may all be harsh and funny enough I actually like this character, but never have I known a series where the solution to making a main character more deep was is a simple case of

'Let them get on with it!

Let them do their job!

Stick to the story!'

Well I do know one other case...

#helluva boss critical #helluva boss critique #helluva boss blitzo #unpopular opinion

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mostlysignssomeportents · 3 months

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Prison-tech is a scam - and a harbinger of your future

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/2024/02/14/minnesota-nice/#shitty-technology-adoption-curve

Here's how the shitty technology adoption curve works: when you want to roll out a new, abusive technology, look for a group of vulnerable people whose complaints are roundly ignored and subject them to your bad idea. Sand the rough edges off on their bodies and lives. Normalize the technological abuse you seek to inflict.

Next: work your way up the privilege gradient. Maybe you start with prisoners, then work your way up to asylum seekers, parolees and mental patients. Then try it on kids and gig workers. Now, college students and blue collar workers. Climb that curve, bit by bit, until you've reached its apex and everyone is living with your shitty technology:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/02/24/gwb-rumsfeld-monsters/#bossware

Prisoners, asylum seekers, drug addicts and other marginalized people are the involuntary early adopters of every form of disciplinary technology. They are the leading indicators of the ways that technology will be ruining your life in the future. They are the harbingers of all our technological doom.

Which brings me to Minnesota.

Minnesota is one of the first states make prison phone-calls free. This is a big deal, because prison phone-calls are a big business. Prisoners are literally a captive audience, and the telecommunications sector is populated by sociopaths, bred and trained to spot and exploit abusive monopoly opportunities. As states across America locked up more and more people for longer and longer terms, the cost of operating prisons skyrocketed, even as states slashed taxes on the rich and turned a blind eye to tax evasion.

This presented telco predators with an unbeatable opportunity: they approached state prison operators and offered them a bargain: "Let us take over the telephone service to your carceral facility and we will levy eye-watering per-minute charges on the most desperate people in the world. Their families – struggling with one breadwinner behind bars – will find the money to pay this ransom, and we'll split the profits with you, the cash-strapped, incarceration-happy state government."

This was the opening salvo, and it turned into a fantastic little money-spinner. Prison telco companies and state prison operators were the public-private partnership from hell. Prison-tech companies openly funneled money to state coffers in the form of kickbacks, even as they secretly bribed prison officials to let them gouge their inmates and inmates' families:

https://www.motherjones.com/politics/2019/02/mississippi-corrections-corruption-bribery-private-prison-hustle/

As digital technology got cheaper and prison-tech companies got greedier, the low end of the shitty tech adoption curve got a lot more crowded. Prison-tech companies started handing out "free" cheap Android tablets to prisoners, laying the groundwork for the next phase of the scam. Once prisoners had tablets, prisons could get rid of phones altogether and charge prisoners – and their families – even higher rates to place calls right to the prisoner's cell.

Then, prisons could end in-person visits and replace them with sub-skype, postage-stamp-sized videoconferencing, at rates even higher than the voice-call rates. Combine that with a ban on mailing letters to and from prisoners – replaced with a service that charged even higher rates to scan mail sent to prisoners, and then charged prisoners to download the scans – and prison-tech companies could claim to be at the vanguard of prison safety, ending the smuggling of dope-impregnated letters and other contraband into the prison system.

Prison-tech invented some wild shit, like the "digital stamp," a mainstay of industry giant Jpay, which requires prisoners to pay for "stamps" to send or receive a "page" of email. If you're keeping score, you've realized that this is a system where prisoners and their families have to pay for calls, "in-person" visits, handwritten letters, and email.

It goes on: prisons shuttered their libraries and replaced them with ebook stores that charged 2-4 times the prices you'd pay for books on the outside. Prisoners were sold digital music at 200-300% markups relative to, say, iTunes.

Remember, these are prisoners: locked up for years or decades, decades during which their families scraped by with a breadwinner behind bars. Prisoners can earn money, sure – as much as $0.89/hour, doing forced labor for companies that contract with prisons for their workforce:

https://www.prisonpolicy.org/blog/2017/04/10/wages/

Of course, there's the odd chance for prisoners to make really big bucks – $2-5/day. All they have to do is "volunteer" to fight raging wildfires:

https://www.hcn.org/articles/climate-desk-wildfire-california-incarcerated-firefighters-face-dangerous-work-low-pay-and-covid19/

So those $3 digital music tracks are being bought by people earning as little as $0.10/hour. Which makes it especially galling when prisons change prison-tech suppliers, whereupon all that digital music is deleted, wiping prisoners' media collection out – forever (literally, for prisoners serving life terms):

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2018/08/captive-audience-how-floridas-prisons-and-drm-made-113m-worth-prisoners-music

Let's recap: America goes on a prison rampage, locking up ever-larger numbers of people for ever-longer sentences. Once inside, prisoners had their access to friends and family rationed, along with access to books, music, education and communities outside. This is very bad for prisoners – strong ties to people outside is closely tied to successful reentry – but it's great for state budgets, and for wardens, thanks to kickbacks:

https://www.prisonpolicy.org/blog/2021/12/21/family_contact/

Back to Minnesota: when Minnesota became the fourth state in the USA where the state, not prisoners, would pay for prison calls, it seemed like they were finally breaking the vicious cycle in which every dollar ripped off of prisoners' family paid 40 cents to the state treasury:

https://www.kaaltv.com/news/no-cost-phone-calls-for-those-incarcerated-in-minnesota/

But – as Katya Schwenk writes for The Lever – what happened next is "a case study in how prison communication companies and their private equity owners have managed to preserve their symbiotic relationship with state corrections agencies despite reforms — at the major expense of incarcerated people and their families":

https://www.levernews.com/wall-streets-new-prison-scam/

Immediately after the state ended the ransoming of prisoners' phone calls, the private-equity backed prison-tech companies that had dug their mouth-parts into the state's prison jacked up the price of all their other digital services. For example, the price of a digital song in a Minnesota prison just jumped from $1.99 to $2.36 (for prisoners earning as little as $0.25/hour).

As Paul Wright from the Human Rights Defense Center told Schwenk, "The ideal world for the private equity owners of these companies is every prisoner has one of their tablets, and every one of those tablets is hooked up to the bank account of someone outside of prison that they can just drain."

The state's new prison-tech supplier promises to double the amount of kickbacks it pays the state each year, thanks to an aggressive expansion into games, money transfers, and other "services." The perverse incentive isn't hard to spot: the more these prison-tech companies charge, the more kickbacks they pay to the prisons.

The primary prison-tech company for Minnesota's prisons is Viapath (nee Global Tel Link), which pioneered price-gouging on in-prison phone calls. Viapath has spent the past two decades being bought and sold by different private equity firms: Goldman Sachs, Veritas Capital, and now the $46b/year American Securities.

Viapath competes with another private equity-backed prison-tech giant: Aventiv (Securus, Jpay), owned by Platinum Equity. Together, Viapath and Aventiv control 90% of the prison-tech market. These companies have a rap-sheet as long as your arm: bribing wardens, stealing from prisoners and their families, and recording prisoner-attorney calls. But these are the kinds of crimes the state punishes with fines and settlements – not by terminating its contracts with these predators.

These companies continue to flout the law. Minnesota's new free-calls system bans prison-tech companies from paying kickbacks to prisons and prison-officials for telcoms services, so the prison-tech companies have rebranded ebooks, music, and money-transfers as non-communications products, and the kickbacks are bigger than ever.

This is the bottom end of the shitty technology adoption curve. Long before Ubisoft started deleting games that you'd bought a "perpetual license" for, prisoners were having their media ganked by an uncaring corporation that knew it was untouchable:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VIqyvquTEVU

Revoking your media, charging by the byte for messaging, confiscating things in the name of security and then selling them back to you – these are all tactics that were developed in the prison system, refined, normalized, and then worked up the privilege gradient. Prisoners are living in your technology future. It's just not evenly distributed – yet.

As it happens, prison-tech is at the heart of my next novel, The Bezzle, which comes out on Feb 20. This is a followup to last year's bestselling Red Team Blues, which introduced the world to Marty Hench, a two-fisted, hard-bitten, high-tech forensic accountant who's spent 40 years busting Silicon Valley finance scams:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865878/thebezzle

In The Bezzle, we travel with Marty back to the mid 2000s (Hench is a kind of tech-scam Zelig and every book is a standalone tale of high-tech ripoffs from a different time and place). Marty's trying to help his old pal Scott Warms, a once-high-flying founder who's fallen prey to California's three-strikes law and is now facing decades in a state pen. As bad as things are, they get worse when the prison starts handing out "free" tablet and closing down the visitation room, the library, and the payphones.

This is an entry to the thing I love most about the Hench novels: the opportunity to turn all this dry, financial skullduggery into high-intensity, high-stakes technothriller plot. For me, Marty Hench is a tool for flensing the scam economy of all its layers of respectability bullshit and exposing the rot at the core.

It's not a coincidence that I've got a book coming out in a week that's about something that's in the news right now. I didn't "predict" this current turn – I observed it. The world comes at you fast and technology news flutters past before you can register it. Luckily, I have a method for capturing this stuff as it happens:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/09/the-memex-method/

Writing about tech issues that are long-simmering but still in the periphery is a technique I call "predicting the present." It's the technique I used when I wrote Little Brother, about out-of-control state surveillance of the internet. When Snowden revealed the extent of NSA spying in 2013, people acted as though I'd "predicted" the Snowden revelations:

https://www.wired.com/story/his-writing-radicalized-young-hackers-now-he-wants-to-redeem-them/

But Little Brother and Snowden's own heroic decision have a common origin: the brave whistleblower Mark Klein, who walked into EFF's offices in 2006 and revealed that he'd been ordered by his boss at AT&T to install a beam-splitter into the main fiber trunk so that the NSA could illegally wiretap the entire internet:

https://www.eff.org/document/public-unredacted-klein-declaration

Mark Klein inspired me to write Little Brother – but despite national press attention, the Klein revelations didn't put a stop to NSA spying. The NSA was still conducting its lawless surveillance campaign in 2013, when Snowden, disgusted with NSA leadership for lying to Congress under oath, decided to blow the whistle again:

https://apnews.com/article/business-33a88feb083ea35515de3c73e3d854ad

The assumption that let the NSA get away with mass surveillance was that it would only be weaponized against the people at the bottom of the shitty technology adoption curve: brown people, mostly in other countries. The Snowden revelations made it clear that these were just the beginning, and sure enough, more than a decade later, we have data-brokers sucking up billions in cop kickbacks to enable warrantless surveillance, while virtually following people to abortion clinics, churches, and protests. Mass surveillance is chugging its way up the shitty tech adoption curve with no sign of stopping.

Like Little Brother, The Bezzle is intended as a kind of virtual flythrough of what life is like further down on that curve – a way for readers who have too much agency to be in the crosshairs of a company like Viapath or Avently right now to wake up before that kind of technology comes for them, and to inspire them to take up the cause of the people further down the curve who are mired in it.

The Bezzle is an intense book, but it's also a very fun story – just like Little Brother. It's a book that lays bare the internal technical workings of so many scams, from multi-level marketing to real-estate investment trusts, from music royalty theft to prison-tech, in the course of an ice-cold revenge plot that keeps twisting to the very last page.

It'll drop in six days. I hope you'll check it out:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865878/thebezzle

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