Patriotism - Tumblr Posts
Major America
Over the last few years, Marvel has made Captain America un-American; they’ve changed his ideology, his morals, and his beliefs to the point where Steve Rogers is not the man he was in the 40s in-universe. Recently, Steve has stated that he does not believe in the American dream (the dream that everyone can achieve their ideal life through hard work and determination) and that was just a punch to the gut, as Captain America was supposed to represent America’s ideals, but how can he represent what he doesn’t believe in? As Cap has betrayed his own role as a patriotic superhero, it’s time for another one to come into play.
Major Jordon Wilkinson has held Captain America in the highest regard since he was seven years old, reading all he could about the war hero who disappeared so suddenly; after the horrible events of 9/11, Jordon entered the service to fight for his country much like Captain America all those years ago. After serving seven years in the military, fighting in Afghanistan and Iraq, Jordon suffered a hip injury, taking him out of action and giving him an honorable discharge for his services in 2009. After coming home to New Haven, Connecticut, Jordon spent the next two years rebuilding his civilian life; getting a job at an OsCorp subsidiary as a security guard, renting an affordable apartment, and finding a local VFW.
In 2012, Jordon was absolutely shocked to find out Captain America was alive and kicking, fighting alongside the Avengers in New York as if he didn’t spend seventy years in ice. At first, Jordon was thrilled to have Cap as a moral standard in America again, but, over the years, he noticed the Captain was changing. Soon Cap was political, where he never was before, he supported ideas he didn’t used to, and his morals began slipping. By 2021, Captain America was a completely different person. On a trip to New York for his nephew’s birthday, Jordon found himself in the middle of a robbery that was soon foiled by the Star-Spangled Man himself.
Jordon, lucky to catch Captain America before he left, began asking why the soldier changed so much over the decade since he had come back; as Cap answered his questions with reasons Jordon believed mental gymnastics had a part in, Jordon found himself getting irritated at his childhood hero’s lack of belief in his own country’s people. Frustrated, Jordon accused Cap of probably not believing in the American Dream, shocked when Captain America confirmed the accusation; infuriated at the downfall of a man who had such strong morals and ideals, Jordon left right then and there to go to his nephew’s party.
After returning to New Haven, Jordon began putting more effort into his workout routine, putting together a costume while he was at it, asking Georgina “Georgie” Berke, a friend with a passion for cosplay, for tips. After putting the costume together, Jordon ordered three steel heater shields, two for testing effectiveness against differing firearms, and one for the final costume. Painting his grandfather’s helmet from World War II to match the costume, Jordon paired the helmet with an odd aviator’s mask he bought from an antiques shop to hide his identity. Using a police scanner app on his phone, a second hand motorcycle, and the pistol he used in the military, Jordon set out as Major America, New Haven’s patriotic son.
Don't judge the drawings too harshly, I suck at shading and positions.
Major America: Ch. 1
Jordon Wilkinson was seven years old when he first learned of Captain America; he and his siblings were told by their grandfather of the time he fought beside Captain America and Bucky in World War II. All were enthralled, but none more than Jordon himself. Jordon began reading all he could about the Captain’s escapades before and during the war, learning his origin, his identity, and his disappearance; taking the hero to heart, Jordon stood up for those who couldn’t stand for themselves throughout his life, even joining the military after the Twin Towers fell, serving seven years before a hip injury took him out of action permanently. In 2012, Captain America resurfaced and Jordon was thrilled to have him as a moral standard in the country again, only to notice a change in the hero over the years.
***
2021, nine years after Captain America was freed from the ice; Major Jordon Wilkinson sits in a security office picking at his spaghetti and meatball lunch, staring intently in thought. Wally Gertz, his partner, is fidgeting with a Rubik’s Cube keychain with his feet up.
“Something wrong?” Wally asks.
Jordon blinks a few times and looks over at Wally. “Hmm?”
“Lunch ended ten minutes ago and usually you finish in five minutes just to keep watch on the feed.”
“No, I just have a lot on my mind.” Jordon takes a bite of his lunch as Wally puts away the cube.
“We’ve been working the same shift together for three years, Jordon; I would think I can read you well enough.”
Jordon sighs and pushes his lunch away before leaning back in his chair.
“You know the phrase ‘never meet your heroes’?”
Wally takes his feet off of the desk and leans forward. “You met him? You met Captain America?” He asks, eyes wide.
Jordon slowly nods. “The saying is true. At least, it wouldn’t have been if I met him when he came out of the ice. He’s changed and I think society was what did it; a man out of time, trying to keep up with the seventy years he missed, and I believe it corrupted him.”
“Sounds plausible; society is a bit of a mess these days.” He straightens his hat. “It’s a shame someone can’t just grab the shield and say ‘I’m the Captain now’.”
Jordon stops completely, an idea forming.
***
Later that day; Jordon is in his apartment on his computer, looking for a shield.
“The shield is the easy part.” He says to himself. “It’s the costume that will be hard to get; how am I going to get an extra thousand dollars for an accurate costume?”
He pauses as something dawns on him.
“Hang on…”
He gets up, grabs his phone, and calls someone as he sits back down at the computer.
“Hello?” Georgie Berke answers the phone.
“Georgie, it’s me, Jordon.”
“Hey, Jordy! How are you doing? How was your nephew’s birthday?”
“Loud, and disruptive, but I love him, so I didn’t leave. So, hey, I have a question.”
“Shoot.”
“How does one get an accurate costume?”
“Jordy.” She says teasingly. “Are you getting into cosplay?”
“Georgie, I’m 43 years old, I don’t do cosplay.”
“I’m 37, Jordy, what’s your point?”
“My point is-.” He says with a tad of frustration. “I want an accurate costume and I would like to know how to get one for a good price.”
“Weeelll… if you had an extra small fortune to spend on one you could do that.”
“Nope.” Jordon shakes his head. “I have bills to pay.”
“Then you could make a costume with your own twist, I’ve seen plenty of cosplayers use this method to save a buck without having to get a cheaply made costume.”
“That sounds doable. Thanks.”
“May I ask what exactly this is for?”
“… No. Bye.”
He hangs up, opens a new tab, and begins searching for his costume-with-a-twist.
***
One week later; Jordon is in his apartment listening to a police scanner app on his phone as he peals masking tape off of the recently painted heater shield; just as Jordon finishes taking the tape off, dispatch warns of an attempted robbery at a nearby bank.
“That’s a mile from here…” Jordon says to himself as he looks at his partly assembled costume on the couch; he looks at the shield and back to the couch, wondering whether he should go without a complete costume.
Jordon sighs and quickly puts the costume on, wearing the shield on his back like a backpack; he jumps down the fire escape and onto a red 2013 Harley-Davidson Breakout, tearing out of the alley way and down the street.
Literally a minute later, Jordon pulls into the alley next to the bank and walks into the rear entrance to hear two men trying to break into the safety deposit boxes; he sneaks up behind them, pulls out his gun, pistol-whips one crook, knocking him out, and knocks out the other with his shield, only for the resounding “clang!” to catch the attention of the crook standing guard at the other side of the room.
The crook shouts at Jordon. “HEY!”
Before Jordon can turn around and shield himself, the gunman shoots him in the thigh and side; Jordon holds in a scream of pain as the gunman empties his magazine into the shield; as the gunman tries to quickly reload, Jordon sprints forward at full speed and punches the man out cold only to find himself in front of the remaining three robbers ready to fire on him.
“Oh, crap…”
Jordon ducks behind the shield as the three men fire at him, emptying their magazines; they stop to taunt him as they reload.
“You supposed to be Captain America or something, man?” One asks.
“He’s got a round shield, you imbecile!” Another taunts.
Jordon takes a deep breath, blocking out the pain from being shot, and pulls out his gun.
“Come on, just like in the military.” He whispers to himself
He stands up and hits the first two gunmen in the shoulder without effort, but he and the third gunman fire at the same time; Jordon hits the gunman in the shoulder same as before, and the gunman hits Jordon in the bicep. The gunman goes down and Jordon holsters his gun, his breathing shaky; he looks around at the employees and citizens getting up from the floor.
“Is everyone okay?” He asks, trying to keep his voice from shaking.
A man in a suit nods. “Yes, we’re fine, but you need a doctor.”
“I’ve suffered worse, trust me.” Jordon says as he turns to go back the way he came in.
“Wait!” A woman calls. “What do we call you?”
Jordon stops and looks back. “I’m… Major America.”
He heads to the back of the bank to leave.
***
Soon, in Georgie’s apartment, Georgie is watching the news as she sips from a cup of tea; the news anchor is reporting on the bank robbery when the footage of the fight is played on screen. Georgia spews her tea out, coughing.
“JORDY!?”
***
In Jordon’s apartment, Jordon is sitting at his dining table stitching up the wound on his side when his front door bursts open, causing Jordon to jump as Georgie bolts in.
“Why didn’t you tell me!?”
Jordon grabs some gauze and puts pressure on his wound that has begun bleeding again.
“I really need to lock my door more often.” Jordon says, wincing. “Can you pass me that whiskey?”
He points to the bottle on the kitchen counter and Georgie hands it to him, watching as he takes a swig.
“Why are you drinking while stitching yourself up?” Georgie asks. “How do you even know how to stitch a wound?”
Jordon continues stitching.
“Back in Iraq our field medic got hit by a frag grenade along with a couple others; the anesthetic was apparently hit and drained out so we raided the basement of a bombed bar and the medic taught me how to stitch a wound because I had the steadiest hands.” He takes another swig of whiskey. “Sometimes the old ways are the best.”
He finishes stitching the wound and places some gauze over it.
“Can you hold that while I wrap the wound?”
“Fine.” Georgie huffs as she holds the gauze in place. “Just tell me what you were thinking when you decided to do this?”
“What are you? My mother?” Jordon quips as he finishes wrapping his wound. “I’m a grown man who can make his own decisions.”
“Not when they get you nearly killed!”
Jordon stands up and puts his shirt back on.
“I fought for seven years in a country that hated my guts, I can stand to fight a few more in another country that hates my guts. Doesn’t matter what you say, Georgie, I won’t stop what I’ve started.”
Georgie sighs and crosses her arms in a huff.
“No, you’re right; you’re an adult.”
She notices his bloodied costume and picks up the sweater.
“Also, what kind of costume is this? A baby could do better!”
“The gloves and jacket hadn’t arrived yet, they’ll be here in a couple of days.”
Georgie looks at him, cocking an eyebrow.
“Are you… Are you cropping a jacket?”
“… Noooo…” Jordon answers reluctantly.
“What color is the jacket?”
“Blue…”
“The only way you’re going to get the look you want is by cropping the jacket.”
“Fine! Yes, I’m going to crop the jacket!” Jordon winces and holds his side after the defeated outburst bothers his wound. “Okay, back to small talk.” He says, pained.
Georgie picks up Jordon’s helmet and mask and gives it a once over.
“Where did you get this?” She asks.
“The helmet was my grandfathers; quick coat of paint and it was perfect.” He takes a swig of whiskey once again. “The mask I found at an antique shop; the tag said it was an aviator’s mask used in the war, but I’ve never seen one like this before.”
“And the shield?”
“Got that online, bought three and tested two of them on my uncles range to see what guns they could handle; surprisingly a lot. I’m going to have to buy more after a while though, I’ll need to make a budget for that.”
“You really are serious about this, aren’t you?” Georgie asks, pulling a chair up next to Jordon.
“I am.”
“Why, though? What on God’s green Earth would get you to do this?” She asks, genuinely concerned.
“America needs a hero who will truly fight for them, a hero who understands what it means to be the little guy, America needs an underdog; do you think Ironman understands what it’s like to live paycheck-to-paycheck, or if Thor understands what it’s like to get mugged and you can’t pay your rent by the end of the week?”
“Probably not…” Georgie says.
“We rely too much on them; yeah, they’ve saved the world, but we don’t need Black Widow to find a stolen car. I’m going to try to be like that spider guy in Manhattan; he sticks to one area and does it well.”
Georgie stands up and stretches.
“If you’re going to do something stupid, I may as well help: if you find any information you can’t track just call me and I’ll see if I can find anything for you; I’m pretty good with computers, you know.”
“Yeah, I know. I’ll see you Monday.”
Georgie smiles and leaves the apartment.
***
A couple days later; a young man is being mugged by two men in an alley way, getting beaten; someone clears their throat and the muggers stop and turn to look down the alley to see Major America wearing a complete costume.
“Alright, boys, we can do this the easy way or the hard way.” He says.
The muggers look at each other and pull their knives.
“Hard way it is.”
He raises his shield and jumps into the fray.
End.
The Incomplete costume.
The Complete Costume.
Don't judge the art too harshly, I know what I have to work on I don't need people pointing it out.
Also, I suck at writing origins, I'm better at writing stories where the reader is assumed to know exactly who the characters are.
This is the America I grew up in, and I’m only twenty.
The Patriot
Name: Thomas William "Tom" Jeffries.
Super Hero Name: The Patriot.
Age: 25.
Team Affiliation: Team Leader.
Abilities: trained acrobat, circus strongman, amateur boxer.
In 1941, after Pearl Harbor, Tom Jeffries, a circus strongman and formerly acrobat, was hired by a production company to play the comic book character The Patriot in a stage show to sell war bonds, looking for anything to do for the war effort seeing as his many circus injuries kept him from being enlisted. After a year in production, the stage show was sent overseas to entertain a camp of new recruits to keep them calm while awaiting their orders; before the show started, however, Nazi troops invaded the camp and took half of the American troops for experimentation, leaving the other half wounded and dying.
During the attack, a small group of German soldiers stormed backstage, only to be subdued by Tom in his Patriot costume. After the attack ended, Tom and the showgirls tended to the wounded as best they could before Tom decided to try and save the troops; some of the showgirls joined him and the rest of the cast stayed to tend to the wounded. After taking some weapons and uniforms, Tom and the showgirls (later dubbed his Patriettes) track the Nazi's to a makeshift camp ten miles from where the American camp is, finding a fleet of trucks to transport the soldiers further into Germany. After successfully liberating the Americans, the U.S. Government recruited Tom to be a symbol of freedom and righteousness in the world, redesigning the costume into a more military look and creating a stronger shield for him to wield. Some of the girls who helped liberate the troops expressed an interest to continue fighting, and Tom was able to convince his superiors to recruit them as part of his team, along with a few of the troops he rescued.
Somehow surviving all of World War II, Tom was asked to return to fight in both the Korean and Vietnam War, and some of the Cold war, retiring in the mid-seventies due to old age and worsening injuries, writing several books about his time as the Patriot and around other soldiers.
This was just a little something for the anniversary of Pearl Harbor; I rewrote and redesigned the patriot after I became more interested in the wars of the 20th century, choosing WWII for Tom because of the affect it had on both America and the world, but also because Captain America is one of my favorite superheroes.
(Sorry for the white background, I couldn't find a flag background that would work, and I couldn't draw one as it was almost eight at night when I finished the picture of Patriot after starting at two in the afternoon.)
Small video I made that will lead to more.
Happy Fourth, Y'all.
Canadian Monopoly Money gets an Upgrade?!
So, yesterday I discovered there was a petition to put Canadian women on Canadian money. This makes perfect sense: historical figures are always portrayed on national currency.
in World War 1 around 8 million horses died but in World War 2 it was under a million which can only mean horses started to evolve bullet resistance
The cheapest sort of pride is national pride; for if a man is proud of his own nation, it argues that he has no qualities of his own of which he can be proud; otherwise he would not have recourse to those which he shares with so many millions of his fellowmen. The man who is endowed with important personal qualities will be only too ready to see clearly in what respects his own nation falls short, since their failings will be constantly before his eyes. But every miserable fool who has nothing at all of which he can be proud adopts, as a last resource, pride in the nation to which he belongs; he is ready and glad to defend all its faults and follies tooth and nail, thus reimbursing himself for his own inferiority.
-Arthur Schopenhauer
Happy birthday, America! (x)
Channeled Angelic Wisdom of the Jewels of Truth Series on Social Pedestals and National Exceptionalism
Hello All,
This week's freshly minted (i.e. channeled via Inspirational psychic automatic writing.) of the Jewels of Truth series is on the dual topics of Social Pedestals and National Exceptionalism. I always try to share these unique topics on a similar theme, sometimes I may have to stretch it a bit for it to fit in, lol. Today is no exception in the sense one is for the Individual in terms of exalting another person and the other topic is with the National State.
As always these are Inspired channeled statements from the angels who without ego go nameless for the most part. On my end, it feels like a hive mind mentality where I listen deeply on an Intuitive telepathic uplink with them. One that has been cultivated for now over 29+ plus years as a Journeyman specialist of sorts.
May you each come away curious if not Intrigued by the heavenly stance of the Divine sharing their discourse with the world at large. Many Blessings.
Social Pedestals:
3341) Be not intimidated by the actions of the once cherished person(s) as friends, loved ones, and esteemed strangers who are now failing you morally. They are allowed these missteps, however, not to the point that it becomes a wholesale gross injustice at large. Where gaps in Interpersonal relations become wholly abusive when such a beloved fall short in your objective/subjective mind's eye.
Many people in your network of contacts are approachable and some even moreso are trusted dearly. As worthy examples of the salt of the earth to be leaned on during times of distress. Over time it is natural to become enmeshed and over-rely on such individuals as a form of cherished endearment. Whereas you'll begin to unconsciously place them on a personal psychological pedestal of your own native making.
This can easily become a dysfunctional fallacy in the making to perhaps Lionize any such persons to such a degree of overt belovedness. Everyone is fallible as a human and equally error-prone in life some may be gifted with strengths and distinct charismatic personalities. By a rule of thumb, it is best in life to never put anyone or an organization on such a cherished stance just beyond the reach of the ordinary world.
There are also times when those you despise with all your heart and mind are akin to loathing. An individual and/or a political organization and equally celebrate them with bravado and/or hold them with contempt. That too is the folly of the human experience to have destructive heroes and heroines whether from this contemperious age or from the distant past. Sometimes those who instill the greatest terror in us are also placed on an impossible pedestal of our own making.
The passions of love and fear are great motivations to pique the sensibilities to exalt what we most cherish and despise in life. Human psychology isn't truly underpinned alone by logic and common sense it can and does spread by non-sequiturs of human-animal emotions of the ego-centric mindset.
To be subjected to the leadership whims of another trusted friend who is having an off day and soon chooses to exploit your kindness. Spells an inadequacy that can lead to a moral dilemma do you brush aside with excuses such as poor conduct by having rose-colored glasses of such an individual? To enable them to the point that you become less than upon your associated presence around them. Just to avoid provoking a tyrant in the making.
Fear-based exaltations can often be seen in domestic abuse cases where the victim claims fault finding within themselves to a ridiculous degree of the fallacy of the self. They are trapped in a destructive master and slave negative loop of social standings with a loved one gone rogue in life. A broken trust with petty often cowardly tyrants abusing loved ones as family and lovers alike. Only a call for help outside of your normal circle of contacts can begin to heal such an abysmal Pedestal of a fearmonger.
Dismantling a social pedestal of your once making can be as simple as changing not just your mind mentally but also emotionally with your heart as well. It takes concentrated efforts to break up old habits and replace them not with another erroneous pedestal of a new person thus repeating a dysfunctional unconscious pattern by mistake.
Many a time groupies as fans and followers get caught up in the nostalgia of fandom of the celebrity personality. This can be a benign process by the general populace for an artist, athlete, political, and religious figure to become exalted by the masses likewise. These can be harmless unless of course an unhinged obsessive personality seeking escapism latches onto them creating a litany of delusions just to feel affirmed and have a renewed purpose for living. This is an extreme example but nonetheless pertinent to such a role-making for Social Pedestals at large amongst society.
To punish socially a bad actor is one thing oftentimes as such impractical motivations do exist. A broken trust whether from a celebrity or a dear person personally if not a despised and feared abuser. Is a hard circle to square completely in living upon the world. With or without the associated endearments that arise from such projections we thrust upon those we place on Social Pedestals.
It would be far better if we held no one in such esteems whether they are familiar to us or not they currently live upon the world. The only ones that often end up on such pedestals of reverence are those that are worshipped upon the afterlife. That is the nature of religion and spiritual traditions that is to be expected as we are groomed by our families and society for such endeavors as sociologists would remark.
Aside from such holier individuals as the saints and minor deities as the angels and archangels. To be held in great almost impossible reverence as ascended masters without the chance for sin to taint their truths. There is the ultimate perfect Pedestal we hold dearly for God him/her/itself hopefully forever by an unconditional faith in its/his/her own native Holy Spirit. Amen. ---Ivan Pozo-Illas / Atrayo.
National Exceptionalism:
3342) When a country practices the State Craft of Exceptionalism it can be a boon to the National Pride of its citizenry. However, that identical stance of exceptionalism if taken to the point of no return to abuse those within another country and/or foreign peoples as a raison d'etre. That too can become a slippery slope to demonize foreigners and shove an unwanted agenda down everyone's throat whether it is deserved or not.
By espousing one set of National Principles over another set of moral ethics by excusing them just because it has become a national and/or a so-called traditional cultural practice of the State. Spells a schism in the making creating one class of leaders over everyone else that doesn't share that belief system. Exceptionalism was never meant to be used as a cudgel weapon against others. Whether this was for domestic political talking points espoused or as a set of policy papers to be held diplomatically abroad as the agenda of the day.
Exceptionalism at its best is meant to educate the masses whether citizens, foreign guests, dignitaries, and all others as to the values of the State. To promote National Civic Pride as a form of living Patriotism that pulls the populace of a nation together with stronger bonds of the demos of the plurality. To celebrate national holidays and to reflect upon national tragedies together as we remember collectively with Thanksgiving to God himself.
The second breath of a nation is the fervor of its citizens to relish its national treasures holistically. To pull together the disparate parts that need to heal with social welfare be it by civic pride and collective volunteerism. To strengthen its national politics without demonizing those with contrary opinions and/or passions from the zeitgeist of the whole populace.
Exceptionalism at its best is National Idealism coming alive. At its worst it becomes the battle cry of the masses to wage Hell on Earth to persecute the Innocent and the guilty alike without humane regard to righteousness in God. Democracies the world over are fragile creations of Institutions that are suggested to work in harmony with other State bodies be they civilian in orientation, paramilitary as the police, and the military apparatus of the Nation.
Autocratic and Theocratic States also have their own hypocritical forms of Exceptionalism. Where the citizen masses are expected to turn out in public whether by voluntary means or impelled force to fly the colors of the National tribal flag. To paint a fantasy mirage for the world that is watching that we are better no matter that the truth is the casualty in our collective happenings. We are special and distinct and let all others be damned whether we are free or not to practice what we preach.
When warfare erupts between nations then the National Propagandists are at their loudest to dispel fears and tow the political party line of arguments. The hypocrisy is at its most fierce when the Name of God is Invoked to banish all doubt that theirs is the moral high ground. No matter if foreign civilians are being slaughtered by the masses it is out of sight and thus it is usually out of mind as a rule of thumb.
This is never the Will of God to have its holy perfect namesake corrupted by horrible violence cultivating Hell on Earth instead. Humanity at its worst tendencies can excuse almost any nonsensical crime to its own animalistic advantage in order to save their way of life. To thump their primate chests they are superior to the conventions of Life on Earth the truth and compassion are the first casualties to suffer the thursts of propagandists.
Oppression could be withstood for up to two or three generations of people of a State. This soon becomes the insidious norm within Dictatorships and other atrocious autocratic rule by the political elites. When religious Institutions are corrupted in tandem by the dictatorial State then God in Heaven isn't to be found in such palatial grounds. He is living amongst the impoverished, the oppressed by the fallen State, and so forth.
Brainwashing by Exceptionalism is a Propagandist's Wetdream in the making as the spin doctors of the political party line. The Rhetoric is already damned since deceivers are speaking in half-truths just to win the talking points of the masses.
Do not be afraid to challenge authorities just do so with throngs of mutual supporters. Otherwise, martyrdom is for certain to be pursued without the numbers in your favor. In order to anchor your arguments as grievances with hopeful moderation when you petition the State by lobbying for Just Cause.
Righteousness demands living proof examples to be held up high for all to see and cherish with Thanksgiving to God himself. Short of this the people become demoralized and lose sight of the importance of engaged civics and the responsibility of an active citizenry. Without an active and attentive citizenry then the political leaders soon run amok pushing for ideologies they only share and other forms of corrupt cynical favoritism amongst themselves.
Many a false prophet rises upon the ranks of elected and appointed political leadership upon the world. Not to strictly disparage the nobleman and woman as yeoman servant leaders who also rise to the political hierarchies. Engagement is a fickle trick when sought from the masses in order to educate them about the machinations of the Nation without boring them outright. Common sense and righteous indignation can only go so far especially when it is linked with political fearmongering as a social tactic of manipulation.
Populists are the most favored to stir up the masses and to lead them as a human sacrifice right off the cliffs of blaming the other political party. Fearmongering is their forte since emotion when it is passionate burns the fastest and stirs up new victims regardless of the premium truths in jeopardy. Exceptionalism is a two-edge broad sword that can cleave a Nation in half or save it from itself in times of public turmoil by leaving no man, woman, or child behind in despair. Amen. ---Ivan Pozo-Illas / Atrayo.
Ivan "Atrayo" Pozo-Illas, has devoted 29 plus years of his life to the pursuit of clairaudient-inspired automatic writing channeling the Angelic Heavenly host. Ivan is the author of the spiritual wisdom series "Jewels of Truth" consisting of 3 volumes published to date. He also utilizes a unique channeled angelic divination method called the Multi-Deck Divination System. Numerous examples of his work are available at "Atrayo's Oracle" blog site of 19 years plus online. You're welcome to visit his website "Jewelsoftruth.us" for further information or to contact Atrayo directly.
My fellow South African…. WOW WOW AND WOW‼️ how you gonna have the audacity to make one of the sexiest breeding kink MINGYU fics I’ve ever come across??!??
(I love you for this🥲)
𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐖𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧
→ Mingyu x Fem!reader
→ Summary: "If you wanted me to get you pregnant so bad, all you had to was ask."
→ Warnings: Established Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Businessman au, Humour, Slight!Body Dysmorphia, Insecurities, Workaholic!Reader, Shy!Reader, Slight Male Manipulation, Slight!Angst, Smut (+18), Semi!Public Sex, Slight Coercion, Needy!Mingyu, He Whimpers, Pervy!Mingyu, Corruption Kink, Desperate Sex, Massive Breeding kink, Mingyu has a choking kink, and a Praise kink, Slight!Daddy Kink, Unprotected Sex
Mingyu likes getting choked, pls argue with the wall
The dollop of heat in your stomach steadily grew into a pool of molten lava throughout the duration of the award ceremony. The entire televised event was supposed to be in celebration of your husband and the diligence he has extended to the company for all of 2 decades.
Instead, most of the evening is spent nursing your anxiety with a flute of champagne, while you attempt to not sweat through your very expensive makeup under the heat of multiple strobe lights.
Mingyu, sitting at the table beside you serves as your only anchor, keeping your feet planted firmly to the ground while the rest of the table exchange pleasantries involving baby pictures and ultrasounds.
The dread in your stomach only multiplies.
You've been made privy to how they speak about you and your husband behind gloved hands in hushed whispers. A husband who has had to be burdened with a wife whose internal clock was no match for the importance of a career. Perhaps they thought you were too self important and too driven. Perhaps that explains why you were always invited to events out of courtesy and never out of true interest. Perhaps-
"Stop that." Mingyu's voice travels to your ear at a low and conspiratorial baritone while the rest of wives and husband at the table talk animatedly.
"Stop what?" You ask while Mingyu draws your attention to his hand now resting on your thigh underneath the table.
"Don't play with me. I can tell when you're overthinking," He says, letting his palm brush over the sequins of your pitch black dress. It matched his all black suit to rude perfection, truly making you believe you were the best dressed couple in the whole event. "If you're gonna be thinking about something, I'd rather it be the likelihood of me eating you out in this dress after we're done."
His words succeed in dragging your thoughts away from the happy couples and their happy families and you meet his eyes and the amusement swimming within them.
"Is sex really all you think about-"
Mingyu answers your question by suddenly grabbing a hold of your hand and forcing your palm over his lap until your palm is lightly grazing the bulge forming there.
"Let's hope this ends soon so we can get the fuck out of here." The rest of the event was spent with you, staring down at the table in a mindless, lustful daze while Mingyu still guided your palm up and down the bulge in his pants. It was conspicuous enough for it to look like his hand was simply resting atop yours, if anyone really got particularly nosy. Luckily, everyone else was too drunk on overpriced soju to recognize Mingyu's forced self pleasuring while he took casual little sips from his glass intermittently.
You were both relieved once it was time to go home.
This inability to adapt into the upper echelons of housewife society had not bothered you initially and it certainly did not bother your husband. In fact, someone as aloof and optimistic as Mingyu was seldom concerned with the matters of holding face for a backwards capitalistic society.
"If we weren't rich I thoroughly believe we would be those 'eat the rich' people." Mingyu announces as he trails into the bathroom behind you. The overhead lights bathe the bathroom's onyx accents in a dim light, successfully relaxing you and easing the bundle of knots that had built up in your shoulders.
Mingyu seems equally pleased to be back home, kicking off his Abercrombie loafers and watching them fly into a corner while he undoes the buttons of his jet black dress shirt. His tall frame is hunched over as he wraps his arms around your stomach, allowing you to lead him to the bathroom sinks with heavy footsteps like a 187 centimetre baby.
You, of course, do not object when he pushes his head into the space between your neck and shoulder as you begin to brush your teeth. If the award ceremony was as draining for him as it was for you, then this truly is the first moment he is able to let himself go the entire day.
"I think we can still be those 'eat the rich' people because it's not like we're rich by choice, right?" Seeing your husband constantly run the risk of impending communism would be amusing, were it not for the sour taste still present in your mouth from the work event Mingyu had just taken you too.
"At least you got to watch me in my element-" He grumbles against your skin before begrudgingly peeling himself off of you to make his way to his side of the bathroom,
"Ugh," Mingyu groans with exaggeration as he commences with his skin care, "You literally got to watch your sexy and talented husband accept a corporate award in a room full of people. I'm so jealous of you,"
"Ugh, I know!" You nod back, "Jihoon looked so good on that podium. Remind me to send him a message later." You evade Mingyu's deadpan look through the oval shaped mirror as you continue to brush.
"On a serious note, Gyu, I'm glad you had fun while I was being forced to entertain those industry housewives." You momentarily stop your brushing, "I'm thoroughly overwhelmed by ultrasounds!" You exclaim frustratedly through a gurgle of toothpaste. The very thought of those women shot your blood pressure to hell.
Their idealistic lives and their idealistic vaginas that could somehow push out a steady stream of babies before snapping back as if nothing ever happened. Business as usual.
Meanwhile, your body threw a tantrum the very second you even had a vague thought of eating something outside the bounds of your diet.
Mingyu adored every part of you - you know this - but that nauseating feeling of inadequacy always crept up on you in moments of weakness.
You sigh, "I think those women have magical vaginas."
"Hey." Mingyu says, patting down his face, "All women have magical vaginas but you especially."
You swiftly ignore him and continue your furious brushing as you say, "Every single day it's 'This one is pregnant!' 'This one wants to get pregnant,' 'This one is trying to get pregnant!'" You rant, completely oblivious to the way Mingyu watches you through the mirror as you continue.
"'I'm not quite sure when it became socially accessible for couples to just air out their breeding kinks to the public-" an ungentlemanly snort escapes through Mingyu's mouth and he pauses to shake his head and compose himself.
"I'm ultra-sounded out!" You exclaim, finally bending over to spit out a wad of toothpaste. In your periphery, Mingyu watches you with that passive look of contentment and unwavering adoration that almost never seems to leave his face in your presence.
Despite his overly humorous tendencies at times, Mingyu also harboured the habit of reading in between the lines - he had to, not only for his job but for his romantic life as well. Being blessed with a shy partner meant Mingyu had to dig just a little deeper past the veneer of everything you say, to get just a little closer to what you actually meant.
Your shyness and stoicism is what initially drew him to you in the first place. Always beating around the proverbial bush to protect your most sacred dignity and independence. It was always a struggle for Mingyu but it turned him on way too easily to picture his put-together, independent little wife needing him in a way she might not even know.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" You ask quietly, lifting your head before reigning your braids into a ponytail.
"How am I looking at you?" Mingyu asks in a voice way too husky to harbour any sense of professionalism.
"Are you seriously turned on right now?" There is no use in denying it because Mingyu knew you could read him like an open book. There's a soberness that hits him when he's turned on.
He jokes less than usual and assumes a more… slutty disposition that neither him nor you have ever been able to tame. Mingyu rubs the excess cream into his hands before leaning against the marble countertops. He watches you with a small, dangerous smirk that sends a flurry of butterflies swimming the pits of your stomach.
"If you wanted me to get you pregnant so badly, all you had to do was ask." His sentence bulldozes through the silence, steals the air right out of your lungs and nearly sweeps your feet out from underneath you. The world practically spins for a second but you grapple desperately onto your sensibilities for your sensibilities are one of the very few things you can arm yourself against your husband's slutty seduction.
"I think I could've squeezed you into my busy schedule," He chuckles lightly before stepping forward.
Almost automatically you step backwards, which evidently gets Mingyu way too excited. He raises his eyebrows with a slight before he's closing the distance between the two of you with 2 wide strides.
The light pouring down from the ceiling suddenly feels too warm, and the air feels like you've teleported to a crowded bazaar in the centre of the desert. You refuse to make eye contact with Mingyu, looming over you. You only splay a hand against his chest as you attempt to chuckle.
"You're being ridiculous." You say, "If you need to cum so bad, use your hand."
It felt like a betrayal on everything you held dear, admitting that the idea of him cumming inside you with the purpose of getting you pregnant turned you on. It felt like a betrayal on your career and your goals and aspirations.
"Nah," He shakes his head without ever breaking eye contact, "That would be a waste, wouldn't it?" Mingyu's eyes frantically search your features for the same traces of lust so shamelessly displayed across his own visage. His lips are parted with his quiet breathing. "Just tell me what you want me to do, and I'll do it."
However, Mingyu's sensibilities are completely clouded by unshakeable lust. He is so easily stimulated by every single thing about you, the softness of your body, the familiarity of your scent and the mental image of seeing you actually pregnant with his child. It has him pushing you further against the bathroom wall until the coolness of the stone sank steadily through your night dress.
Mingyu's hand immediately rips the offending article of clothing, pushing your night dress up slowly and feeling his own cock ache at how you silently comply.
"It's really easy, baby. I just need you to tell me you want me to cum in that little pussy of yours and I'll do it. Just wanna…" Mingyu's incoherence during states of exceptional lust always succeeded in making you absolutely wet. He became an insatiable, talkative and blubbering mess.
"...Just wanna make you happy," His breathing picks up almost as easily as yours, and inside himself, Mingyu releases a shotgun prayer that you want this just as bad as he does. He hopes your mind has been flooded with the exact same fantasies of him, sliding his bare cock into your soaking cunt. Him ramming into you and finishing inside of you and-
"Ah- fuck," He hisses, unable to get your panties down all the way before he's letting his fingers drift across your slippery folds. "Look at how wet you are, baby. You really do want me to cum inside your pretty little pussy, don't you?"
Mingyu's cock twitches uncomfortably in his pants while he drifts his fingers over your puffy clit, pulling a strangled moan from your throat.
"Feels good, baby?" He whimpers before slotting his hips between your legs. Mingyu's breath is warm against the side of your face as he continues to rub infuriating circles on your clit. "I can make you feel even better baby… if you let me fuck you, I can make us both feel good, yeah?" He's a whining mess - you both are as your hips move in tandem against his hands.
"Fuck, baby I need you to tell me you want this. I need you to tell me I can throw away the condoms, that I can cum inside you-"
"F-Fuck, Daddy," Your slip-up would've gone perfectly unnoticed, were it not for the heavy, almost oppressive silence between the two of you in the bathroom. Mingyu's ears perk up like a puppy that had just heard his favorite word, and he pulls himself away to gaze deeply into your eyes with adoration and awe. Mingyu's pink lips hang open as he scrambles back up to his height. He cups your cheeks with both hands, and you lean into his warm calluses as his thumbs rub gentle circles on your cheek.
The kiss he leaves on your nose is delicate and romantic.
The perfect calm before the proverbial storm.
Mingyu then nods slowly as he says, "Well now I'm definitely going to fuck you," the conviction and the bass in his voice urges a pathetic whimper through your lips and you're left to comply limply as Mingyu places a palm on your exposed thigh. He lifts you up until your leg is locked firmly around his hip and he's almost perfectly slotted between your bare legs. The feeling of having him so close to you, in such a starkly intimate position leaves you both momentarily speechless and you're watching each other as if terrified of breaking this spell of lust.
Mingyu is deliberate in his actions as he moves his hand to pull his cock out of his pants, all without breaking eye contact.
"Don't play with me like this, baby," it's the most serious he has ever been, and your back is almost moulded to the wall as Mingyu lines the tip of his aching cock to your dripping cunt. "I was literally so close to cumming in my pants, so if you're playing with me right now-"
"Mingyu," your voice is airy as you push your hips forward, taking initiative, as you always did, until the head of his cock was prodding your entrance. He shivers greatly before stealing a glance down at his cock entering you so swiftly, before he gazes deep into your eyes once more.
"If you want me…" Mingyu whispers as he fully sheathes his cock inside you, overcome by yet another violent shiver. "Baby, you have me."
The first thrust is nearly cataclysmic and he has to stop himself from cumming on the spot. Seeing him so incredibly turned on, so ready to burst at the seams has your cunt clenching around him, pulling him deeper and deeper until his gigantic cock was stretching your cunt to what felt like its limits. That second thrust completely drains him of all his composure and soon Mingyu's fucking you relentlessy into the wall as if he both hated you and loved you and did not know which was which.
"You're doing so well baby" You whisper, causing his hips to stutter against yours while a pained moan releases itself from your throat.
Your mouth hangs open as you watch him absolutely ravage you. His dark eyes are hooded with lust and he's babbling his incoherent sentences while his long, messy hair brushes over his cheeks. He is absolutely fargone as he thrusts his hips into you, while his other hand is stationed against the wall above you. "Thank you for letting me do this, baby," he damn near whimpers as he pushes himself harder and faster into you, unable to stop the neediness from sinking into his tone. "Thank you, thank you, thank you-"
Your mouth is still hanging open and Mingyu takes the opportunity to dip down and crash his lips onto yours. The kiss is furious and desperate and you realise this is exactly what you love about him. You appreciate how easy it is to please him, how unashamed Mingyu is of displaying his emotions. He is loud and passionate and it drives you absolutely insane.
"Fuck-I'm close," He breathes, as he peppers kisses along your face. His hand squeezes desperately at your breasts as he pants in your ear. "Tell me to cum inside you- pleasepleaseplease,"
You are operating purely on the lust distributed from Mingyu's incessant whining and whimpering until an idea strikes you so vividly you almost wonder why you had not done this before.
In between your feverish panting and Mingyu's ravaging motions, you delve your head into his hair before peeling his face away from you. His eyebrows are furrowed in confusion before you slither your hand down to lock your palm around the his throat. Your hand doesn't fully enclose his neck but you succeed in adding pressure, causing the man before you to roll his eyes into the back of his skull in absolutely ecstasy-
"Oh fuck-I'm cumming-" his body spasms before you in a euphoric daze, quickly triggering your own orgasm as you continue to choke him and move your hips in tandem with his cock.
"Fuck, oh fuck!" He swears as he clamps his hand around your thigh as if begging to spread you wider, to push in deeper until he's filling you up completely with his load. It's messy and so wildly intimate, you're both lost in the crevices of your own respective pleasure. How anyone could make someone feel as completed as you two currently feel is so unimaginable, you both struggle to find the words. Mingyu is a panting mess above you while you attempt to ease your runway heart.
It strikes you then that you're perhaps afraid, now that the lust has cleared that the post nut clarity might rid him of his earlier statements.
All you do is watch as he places another kiss on the tip of your nose before easing his cock out of you.
"I'll run out to buy Plan B tomorrow. You don't have to -"
He shushes you almost immediately as he pads over the bathroom sink. Mingyu hums softly as he ruffles through the medicine cabinet until he finds what he's looking for. All you can do is watch as he dumps the entire contents of your birth control pills down the toilet. He never breaks eye contact, only maintaining a wide slightly manic smile.
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Tasteless
People are singing the national anthem on Sheridan Road, screaming outside my window and running up and down the halls cheering, and it just makes me sad.
I can understand if people are celebrating near ground zero, but how many NU students have been personally touched by 9/11? I feel like the majority of the people out there are just in the mood to make some noise because the news is shocking and it's a historical night.
Yet life goes on, and I doubt that the families affected by 9/11 will find bin Laden's death can fill the void left by their loved ones.
Basically, I think people are missing the point.
They’re all, “Be yourself!” Until being yourself means being a patriot and voting for Trump