#AWS CLI

[awstrainingtipsandtrick]

What language is AWS?

When people first hear about Amazon Web Services (AWS), one of the common questions is: “What language does AWS use?” It’s a valid question—after all, programming is a major part of working with cloud platforms. But AWS isn’t a programming language itself; it’s a vast suite of cloud services. So, the better question is: What programming languages can be used with AWS, and which ones are best suited for it?

Let’s explore the role of programming languages in AWS, and how developers use them to interact with this powerful cloud platform.

Understanding AWS: Not a Language, But a Platform

AWS is not a programming language. It is a cloud computing platform that offers a wide variety of services such as:

Virtual servers (EC2)

Databases (RDS, DynamoDB)

Storage (S3)

Networking tools

Artificial intelligence services

Serverless computing (Lambda)

And many more

To use these services effectively, developers write code in various programming languages. AWS supports many different languages, making it highly flexible and accessible to developers from diverse backgrounds.

Programming Languages Commonly Used with AWS

1. Python

Python is one of the most popular languages for AWS development, especially when using services like AWS Lambda, AWS Glue, and AI/ML tools like SageMaker. The Boto3 library is AWS’s SDK for Python, allowing developers to automate infrastructure and manage cloud resources easily.

Use Cases:

Serverless applications

Automation scripts

Machine learning

2. JavaScript (Node.js)

JavaScript, particularly through Node.js, is another widely used language in AWS, especially for building serverless functions with AWS Lambda. Node.js is known for its speed and efficiency in handling real-time applications.

Use Cases:

Serverless APIs

Real-time applications

Event-driven architectures

3. Java

Java is a classic choice for many enterprise-level applications and has strong support across AWS services. AWS provides an SDK for Java that allows seamless interaction with AWS resources.

Use Cases:

Enterprise applications

Microservices

Backend systems

4. Go (Golang)

Go, developed by Google, is gaining popularity due to its performance and simplicity. AWS has released native SDKs for Go, and it’s often used in building efficient, high-performance cloud applications.

Use Cases:

Backend services

High-performance applications

Infrastructure tools

5. C# / .NET

Developers using Microsoft technologies will find AWS compatible with C# and .NET. AWS supports integration with Visual Studio, making it easier for Windows developers to work in a familiar environment.

Use Cases:

Windows-based applications

Enterprise solutions

ASP.NET services

6. Ruby

Ruby is less common than some other languages on AWS, but it still has solid support through AWS SDK for Ruby. It’s often used in web development and automation tasks.

Use Cases:

Web applications (e.g., Ruby on Rails)

Automation

Lightweight services

7. Shell Scripting (Bash)

While not a programming language in the traditional sense, shell scripting is often used in combination with AWS CLI (Command Line Interface) to automate tasks like deployments, instance management, and resource monitoring.

Use Cases:

Infrastructure automation

Cron jobs

Scripting tasks in DevOps

Choosing the Right Language for AWS

There’s no one-size-fits-all language for AWS. The best language depends on your project requirements, team expertise, and performance needs. AWS is designed to be language-agnostic, meaning you can interact with it using the language you're most comfortable with.

For example:

Want to build fast, serverless APIs? Try Node.js.

Building data pipelines or automating tasks? Use Python.

Working in a Microsoft environment? Go with C#/.NET.

Creating scalable microservices? Java or Go are great options.

AWS Tools and SDKs for Developers

To make development easier, AWS provides Software Development Kits (SDKs) for all major programming languages. These SDKs offer pre-built functions and methods that let you interact with AWS services without dealing with complex API calls manually.

Common SDKs include:

Boto3 (Python)

AWS SDK for Java

AWS SDK for JavaScript (Node.js)

AWS SDK for .NET

AWS SDK for Go

These SDKs are regularly updated and well-documented, making it easier for developers to get started and build scalable applications.

Final Thoughts

While AWS itself is not a programming language, it supports a wide range of popular languages, offering flexibility and freedom to developers. Whether you're a beginner exploring the cloud for the first time or an experienced engineer building large-scale systems, AWS has the tools and language support you need to succeed.

Understanding how to use your preferred programming language with AWS can open the door to countless possibilities—from building web apps and APIs to managing infrastructure and deploying machine learning models.

[cloudolus]

How to Enable Multi-Session Access in AWS Management Console

[techsoulculture]

EC2 Instance Creation: Beginner's Ultimate Guide 2023

EC2 Amazon Web Services AWS has revolutionised the way businesses approach IT infrastructure Gone are the days

[aventurineswife]

Gepard, Sampo, Ratio, Aventurine and Boothill react that reader has turned into a child by someone or something

From Giant to Child, You Are Still You

Tags: Gepard x Reader, Sampo x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Boothill x Reader, Protective Characters, Humor, Can be ready Romantically or Platonically, Lighthearted, Transformation Chaos, Caretaking, Humor, Character Bonds.

Gepard stood frozen, his eyes wide with shock as he took in the sight before him. You—his steadfast companion—had somehow been transformed into a small child. Clutching a plush toy you seemed to have conjured out of nowhere, you looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes, your tiny hand reaching out for his.

“What happened to you?” he murmured, crouching down to your level. He couldn’t hide the worry etched into his features. He was a soldier, trained to face terrifying monsters, but this? This was entirely out of his depth.

You tilted your head, giving him a toothy grin. “Gepard, you look funny! Your armor is so shiny!”

He couldn't help but chuckle despite the situation. “Well, at least your spirit hasn’t changed.” He reached out, gently patting your head, careful not to startle you. His mind raced, trying to think of a way to reverse this transformation. Until then, he swore to himself he’d protect you even more fiercely than before.

For now, though, he’d carry you on his shoulder and let you tug at his hair, your laughter bringing a rare lightness to his heart.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” Sampo’s teasing voice broke through the silence as he crouched down to inspect the tiny version of you tugging at his coat. “My favorite customer has shrunk! How did this happen? Was it some experiment gone wrong, or did you just decide being an adult wasn’t worth the hassle?”

You pouted, crossing your arms. “It wasn’t my fault! Someone did this to me!”

Sampo smirked, ruffling your hair in an almost brotherly way. “Relax, kiddo, I’ll get you back to normal…eventually. But in the meantime, imagine the opportunities! You’re smaller, sneakier—this could work in my favor.”

You glared up at him, your tiny stature doing little to make it intimidating. “Sampo, this isn’t funny!”

“Aw, c’mon, it’s a little funny,” he chuckled, scooping you up into his arms. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe. Besides, you’re too adorable for anyone to resist now.” He winked.

Despite his lighthearted tone, Sampo kept a close watch on you. As much as he liked to joke, the thought of you being in danger in this vulnerable state didn’t sit right with him. Whoever caused this had better be ready for a reckoning—Sampo Koski style.

Ratio stared down at you, his arms crossed and an unimpressed look on his face. “This has to be some kind of joke,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “How, exactly, did you manage to turn into a child? Was it a poorly thought-out experiment? Some unstable phenomenon?”

You blinked up at him, hugging his leg for comfort. “I didn’t mean to! Fix it, Ratio!”

He sighed, kneeling to your level. “This complicates things. I can’t have you running around in this state. You’ll break something—or worse, touch my research.” His sharp tone made you shrink back, but his expression softened when he saw the tears welling in your eyes.

“Don’t cry,” he said quickly, awkwardly patting your head. “I’ll figure it out.” He picked you up, carefully cradling you as if you were made of glass.

While he worked to reverse the transformation, Ratio found himself unexpectedly entertained by your childlike curiosity. You tugged at the straps of his vest, asking endless questions about the glowing gadgets in his lab. To his surprise, he found himself answering, even if the explanations went over your head.

For all his protests, Ratio’s protective nature shone through. He kept you close, determined to return you to normal—but not without muttering under his breath about the trials of babysitting.

The opulent suite was alive with the faint hum of energy panels and the clinking of Aventurine’s rings as he flipped a coin lazily between his fingers. Seated at a velvet chaise, he seemed the epitome of nonchalance, but his sharp eyes flicked over the room with calculated precision. He never truly relaxed.

Until you came bursting in—or rather, toddled in.

The sound of small feet padding across the marbled floor drew his attention, and the coin stopped mid-air as he caught it deftly. His smirk faltered.

"Well, well," he said, sliding off the chaise and crouching to your level. His voice was syrupy, teasing, but there was a hint of genuine confusion behind it. "What do we have here? Did you get lost on your way to daycare, darling?"

You tilted your head up at him, your now tiny face scrunched in distress. "A-Aventurine, it’s me!"

His smile froze. For a moment, his flamboyant mask cracked, and genuine alarm flickered across his features. Then, in true Aventurine fashion, he burst out laughing, though it was an uneasy sound.

"Oh, you must be joking!" he exclaimed, standing abruptly and running a hand through his hair. "No, wait—this isn’t a joke, is it?" His eyes locked onto yours, scanning for some sign of trickery.

"I don’t know what happened!" you wailed, tugging at his pant leg. "One minute I was normal, and now I’m—this!"

Aventurine crouched again, resting his elbows on his knees and rubbing his chin. "Fascinating. You’re—what? Cursed? Experimented on? Fell into some eldritch goo, perhaps?" His words were light, but his tone betrayed his rising concern.

"I don’t know!" you replied, stomping your tiny foot.

"Alright, alright," he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "No need to throw a tantrum. We’ll figure this out. But first—" He scooped you up with surprising ease, spinning you around as if assessing a new casino trinket. "Look at you! You’re adorable! Almost makes me wish I could shrink down and start over myself."

You scowled, your childlike pout only adding to the adorableness. "Aventurine!"

He sighed dramatically, setting you down on the chaise. "Fine, fine. I’ll help you fix this. But you owe me big time, darling. Babysitting isn’t in my job description."

Despite his usual carefree attitude, Aventurine’s actions were swift and decisive as he began making calls and weaving his web of connections to find out what—or who—had caused this. Every so often, he glanced your way, a faint smile playing at his lips.

"Guess it’s my turn to be the responsible adult..." he muttered under his breath.

The sound of spurs clinking against the metallic floor echoed through the dimly lit saloon-like cantina. Boothill leaned against the bar, his hat tilted low over his white hair, a toothy grin flashing as he polished one of his pistols.

Then the sound of soft, uneven footsteps reached his ears. They were far too light to belong to one of the Galaxy Rangers or any of the usual drunks who frequented the place. He straightened, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

When you stumbled into view—half your usual size, your tiny hands gripping the edge of a table for balance—Boothill froze.

“...Sugar?” His voice was rough, skeptical. He crouched slightly, his red scarf brushing the floor. “The fudge happened to you?”

“It’s me!” you squeaked, tears welling up in your now much smaller eyes.

Boothill blinked. “No kiddin’.” He stood straight, one hand on his hip, the other scratching the back of his head. “Well, ain’t this somethin’. You look like a calf that wandered outta the pen.”

You glared at him, though the effect was more precious than intimidating. “Boothill, stop joking! This is serious!”

He let out a low whistle, crouching again so you could see his shark-like grin. “Alright, alright, don’t blow a gasket. Just...how’d this happen? Someone shrink ray ya? Drink somethin’ funky?”

“I don’t know!” you whined, stamping your little foot. “One minute I was fine, and the next—poof!”

Boothill’s grin faded, replaced by a contemplative look as he reached out, ruffling your hair gently with his mechanical fingers. “Alright, darlin’. Don’t you worry none. We’ll get ya fixed up.” He stood, drawing one of his pistols with a dramatic flourish. “But first, let’s figure out who’s behind this. You reckon it’s the IPC? Wouldn’t put it past those varmints to mess with folks like this.”

You shook your head, sniffling. “I don’t know…”

Boothill sighed, holstering his gun before scooping you up in one arm. “Guess you’ll just hafta stick with ol’ Boothill for a bit. Hope you ain’t too squirmy, kiddo.”

Despite his gruff demeanor, Boothill’s protective side shone through as he carried you out of the cantina, his eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of danger. “Don’t fret,” he said, his tone surprisingly gentle. “Ain’t nothin’ out there that can outdraw me. We’ll get ya back to normal in no time.”

You buried your face in his scarf, finding comfort in its warmth. Boothill’s grin returned, this time softer, as he adjusted his hat.

“Reckon you’re lucky to have me, huh?” he teased, spurs clinking as he strode confidently into the unknown.

[unintentionalseductress]

hello!! i really enjoy ur fics, u write the lads and jjk men so well <3 i'd love to request sylus (or zayne if there's an abundance of sylus reqs) with prompt 4 or 17 (whichever suits ur fancy)

apologies for being indecisive 😓💗 thank u and have a wonderful day!

Hello there! Aw, I'm flattered you think so, I try to keep the content accurate to their personality. Went with Zayne for this one and #4 aka clit spanking. Thank you for sending in this request! PS, I'm going through a professor phase again, so that's where this is coming from.

Clit Spanking

--------

You whine as you lay back on Professor Zayne's desk, legs spread apart, you skirt hiked up around your waist. Your panties has bee slipped off and were now being held captive in his blazer pocket. You'd been failing his anatomy class when he'd offered you some lessons. Except this was a much more hands on approach than you'd expected.

You shiver as you feel the edge of the riding crop stroke teasingly up your thigh before it settles on the tatch of hair on your mound. "What is this called?" he asks as your brain struggles to remember.

"M...mons...pubis." You stutter embarassedly.

"Good girl. And this?" The riding crop moves down to the side, tracing the fleshy lip near your thigh.

"Um...La...labia?" you ask, feeling your face flush, knowing your pussy was wet and probably clenching under his gaze.

"Good. That's an improvement. Now...what about this?" The riding crops dips downward and lightly caresses your entrance and you gasp, twitching. "Well?" his voice asks commandingly.

"Um..." You rack your brain, then whimper. "Vulva?"

"Wrong." You squeal as the riding crop is smacked onto your clit, the sudden sting of pain adding to your arousal and humiliation. He strikes it again, the resounding noise of the riding crop smacking your wet skin filling the classroom. You wriggle, trying to soften the blows but he spreads your lips apart and repeatedly brings down the leather until your clit throbs from need.

When he finally decides enough is enough, he supplies you the right answer. "It's the vagina. The vulva is a collective term. But this hole right here-" he suddenly pushes a finger into you and you cry out at the instrusion. "-Is the vagina." He withdraws his fingers and licks them clean before continuing.

"Now, what is this?" The riding crop traces your clit and your breath strangles in your throat. "Don't know the answer?" He hums as he runs the riding crop over the sensitive little nub. "This is something you should be very familiar with."

"Cli...Cli..." You can barely form the words from hear of being slapped again, but also from how turned on you were. "Clit."

The riding crop strikes your clit, but in a much softer manner than before and you squirm. "Close. But let's not use slang hmm?" Zayne watches you with a feral look in his eyes. "What's the full name?"

"Clitoris."

"There we go. See I knew you had the brains. That you weren't just some dumb whore." The riding crop strokes your clit and your hips refelexively move against the movement. Zayne chuckles darkly at the motion. "But right now, you're not a smart whore. You're not even a dumb whore. You're a needy whore."

He issues a series of light slaps on your clit that have you mewling and crawling further up his desk on your back. He steadies you and gives a painful slap as punishment. You cry out, feeling your clit tingle.

"Stop trying to escape. I'm trying to help you. Do you want to cum or not?" You glance up at him and nod.

"Than stop resisting. There is no reward without punishment." He pushes two fingers inside you again, playing into the patch of sensitive, spongy, tissue and all you can do is gasp wantonly. As he does so, he repeatedly brings the riding crop down over your swollen clit and you cry and whimper helplessly, all the while feeling pleasure and heat gather inside you.

"That's it. I bet you'll never forget your anatomy ever again hmm?" His amber eyes bore down into yours as you struggle underneath them, then with a jolt, you feel your orgasm rip through you, causing you sob as the gratifying waves ripple through you, causing your cunt to spasm.

Zayne watches with satisfaction before he gestures to the hard outline of cock visible through his pants.

"How familiar are you with male anatomy?"

You shake your head naively, trying not to smile mischieviously.

"Well then. Guess I'd better give you another lesson."

[multi-fandom-imagine]

➤ 𝗦𝘄𝗲𝗲𝘁 𝗮𝘀 𝗦𝗶𝗻 || 𝗕𝗲𝗲𝗹𝘇𝗲𝗯𝘂𝗯 ||

A/n: I saw that they're coming out with a new Obey Me game this year so I decided to write something for one of my favorite boy's

Angel!Reader

The room is quiet, bathed in soft lamplight. You’re lying on Beel’s bed, halo dim and flickering, breath already trembling beneath the weight of his gaze. He kneels at the edge, broad shoulders hunched forward like he’s preparing for a meal—but not just any meal.

You

Beel’s hands are warm on your thighs, reverent as he spreads them open slowly. His voice is low, thick with something deeper than lust—devotion.

“You sure?” he murmurs, eyes flicking up, burning gold on yours.

Your voice is barely a whisper. “Yes. I want this… I want you.” Your heart thundering in your chest as you kept your gaze on him.

Something in him shudders, and then he leans in—so gentle for someone so massive. His lips press against your inner thigh first, soft and lingering, his breath hot on your skin as he trails kisses upward. The closer he gets to your pussy, the more intense the heat in your stomach coils, anticipation making your whole body ache.

When his mouth finally meets you, it’s not rushed.

It’s worship.

Beel groans low, the sound vibrating against your cunt as he licks a slow, deliberate stripe from your entrance to your clit.

“Oh—” You gasp, hips jolting, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip to prevent a swear from leaving your lips.

His hands grip your thighs, holding you still—not to restrain, but to anchor. To remind you he’s not going anywhere.

“You taste better than anything I’ve ever had,” he groans against you. His voice is wrecked, trembling with awe. “Sweet… fuck, so sweet…”

His tongue circles your clit, soft at first—teasing. Then he flattens it and drags it slowly, a long, languid lick that has your back arching off the bed. He sucks, kisses, flicks—each motion more desperate than the last, like he’s trying to memorize every note of your pleasure.

“Beel,” you whimper, hands tangling in his thick hair. “Please…”

He groans again, rutting his hips slightly against the bed—needy, but still focused entirely on you.

“You’re so fuckin’ soft,” he pants between strokes. “So perfect. I wanna stay down here all night…”

His tongue dips into your pussy, thick and slow, before pulling back up to circle your clit again. His fingers flex into your hips as he buries himself deeper, groaning like every drop of your arousal is sacred.

“If this is what grace tastes like,” he rasps, “I’d fall again. Just to taste you.”

Your thighs quake around his head as the pleasure crests, your moans getting higher, messier. His tongue never stops—not until your back arches, breath catching as your orgasm tears through you like lightning. Your cries fill the room, but Beel just groans in satisfaction, holding your trembling body still as you fall apart on his mouth.

Even as your body shudders with the aftershocks, he doesn’t pull away. He kisses your pussy—soft, slow, full of adoration. Like you’re something holy. And in that moment, to him, you are.

Your body is still trembling when Beel finally pulls back, chin and lips slick with you. But instead of rising, instead of giving you a moment to breathe, he lets out a soft, hungry growl and leans back in—kissing your overstimulated pussy like he never stopped.

You flinch, a high whine spilling from your lips. “Beel—wait, I… I just came—”

He lifts his head just enough to meet your gaze, eyes dark and molten.

“I know.” His voice is rough, wrecked with want. “But I’m not done.”

You can see it—feel it—in the tension in his arms, in the twitch of his cock still trapped in his pants, in the way his tongue licks his lips like he’s starving. The way he looks at you isn’t lust—it’s reverence. Obsession. Worship.

“You think I can stop after just one taste?” he breathes, kissing the inside of your thigh. “You think I can stop when I finally get to have this? Have you?”

Your breath stutters as his tongue presses flat against your clit again. The jolt of sensation makes your hips jerk, but his hands are already on you—spreading your thighs wider, holding you steady, cradling your shaking body like you’re something fragile even as he drives you past every limit.

“I’ll be gentle,” he murmurs. “You’re so sensitive, aren’t you? That just makes it better…”

You cry out when he wraps his lips around your clit again, slow and sucking, never losing the rhythm. Every flick of his tongue has your nerves on fire. Your thighs shake around his head, but Beel doesn’t relent. If anything, he moans into your pussy, the vibration making your body arch off the bed.

“B-Beel, I—” your voice breaks, the pressure already building again, faster this time—sharper, deeper.

He groans, rutting his hips against the bed, lost in the taste of you. “Cum for me again,” he breathes. “Give it to me, angel. Let me have all of it.”

It hits you hard—a blinding rush that explodes from your core and wracks through your entire body. You scream his name, shaking, sobbing, overwhelmed by the force of it. Beel growls like a beast, holding you down, tongue relentless until you’re left twitching, drenched in sweat and bliss.

Only then does he slow, easing you back down with soft, reverent kisses to your throbbing cunt. His hands stroke your thighs now, massaging gently, grounding you.

“You did so good,” he whispers, voice husky, eyes shining as he presses a kiss to your lower belly. “You’re unbelievable…”

Your breathing is ragged, body trembling—but even as he settles beside you, you can feel the weight of him, still hard and pulsing.

And you know he’s not done.

Not yet.

“Think you can take me now?” he whispers, kissing your shoulder, hand sliding over your hips. “Or do I have to taste you again first?”

[mountainficss]

hi <3 any thoughts to you walking in on jeonghan jerking off to you 🥺🥺🥺?

!! mentions of: masturbation, nipple play, exhibitionism

jeonghan wouldn’t be able to suppress all of the dirty thoughts he had about you, and these perverted thoughts would randomly resurface at the worst times. he couldn’t help it, of course; it was too difficult to live with such a perfect roommate and not want to fuck them silly.

so to cope with his unbearable sexual urges, he’d hide himself in his room every time you leave the house, sprawling his body out onto his sheets. he’d be too eager to even undress himself completely, opting to just untie his sweats and pull them down until his cock smacks his stomach. he’d be painfully hard, and would waste absolutely no time picturing you in the most indecent scenarios. he’d wrap his fingers around his erection, giving himself teasing strokes as he imagines what it would be like to fuck you. he’d think of how soft your skin would be, and how he could grab handfuls of your plump flesh as he fucks you from behind. he’d imagine you beneath him, pretty eyes gazing up at him seductively as he makes love to you. he’d also visualize you riding him, tears streaming down his face as you fuck the brat out of him. he’d have no end to his lewd fantasies, each one more detailed than the last. he’d let a few moans of your name slip, eyes rolled back as his hair becomes tousled from his squirming. precum would ooze from his tip, aiding the glide of his fingers. he’s snake a hand up the fabric of his shirt, toying with his sensitive nipples and whining out for you.

what he didn’t know of course, is that you had wandered back into the apartment in search of your phone. after searching for a while, you’d decide on asking jeonghan if he’d seen it. “jeonghan? have you seen my—” you’d stop, straining to listen to the muffled noises on the other side of jeonghan’s cracked bedroom door. you’d receive no response, pushing the door open further to hear him better. “hannie?” you’d question cautiously, opening the door wide enough to see him. you’d take him in, watching his hand twist around his cock slowly. he’d be fully clothed, his free hand underneath his shirt and playing with his nipples. desperate moans of your name would fall from his pretty lips, still yet to notice you standing and admiring him in his doorway. his eyes would travel upwards after a while, jumping slightly when he sees you standing in his room. “i—i thought you left,” he’d stammer, face flushed a bright red and eyes darting away from yours. “i did,” you’d start with a smirk, inviting yourself in his room and seating yourself onto his bed. “but i forgot my phone. and then i heard noises, hannie,” you’d explain, feigning innocence. “were you thinking about me?”

he wouldn’t be able to respond, would just stare at you in awe, hands covering his erection shamefully. you’d scoff quietly at the sight, reaching out to pry his hands away. “don’t be shy, hannie,” you’d coo, leaning in and pinning his hands to the mattress. he wouldn’t squirm, would just stare up at you in disbelief. he’d gaze at you like you were some sort of goddess, ready to worship and follow your every command. you’d lace your fingers with his as you press kisses to the shell of his ear. “show me what you were doing before i came in here,” you’d coax, freeing one of his hands as he pants underneath you. he’d do exactly what you asked without a second thought, dragging his hand down to his cock and fucking into his hand gently. he’d twist his fist around the head, jerking with sensitivity. your lips would travel from his ear to his jawline, the feeling sending chills down jeonghan’s spine. you’d finally stop teasing him, catching his lips in a heated kiss. he’d moan into your mouth, stroking himself harder with every drag of your tongue against his. he’d sound so cute, so desperate as he practically chases your lips any time you try to catch your breath. in minutes jeonghan would reach his climax, white ropes painting his pretty fingers and staining his t-shirt. you’d detach from him, kissing down his neck as he comes down from his high. you’d find it adorable knowing all he needs to cum is you making out with him while he jerks himself off. if he’s this sensitive now, you’d wonder what it would be like to actually fuck him right </3

taglist: @jeonghanpill , @bangantokchy , @caratboy , @bewoyewo , @luvseungcheol , @wonvsmile , @haolovre , @aaniag , @writingbarnes , @dokyeomkyeom , @allieyaaa

[merlucide]

The matchmaker has found a match……

@thebestsetter your match is….

ISAGI YOICHI!

x kindhearted, fun, exciting, attentive, vb player, fem!reader

RAAAAAAAAGGHHH

OKAY, NOW HEAR ME OUT BOO.

Yes, he’s basic, yes he’s bland

but

BUT, he’s caring, responsible, competitive and a silly lil guy!!

Idk what trope but either Mutual Feelings or Childhood friends :3

tbh I think you’d like be like his ideal type too??

anywho-

You’d be like doing your own thing and he’d just stare at you a think ‘She’s so pretty..’

and then he realized ‘oh no, I like her!!’

He would find every excuse to be around you, oh you need someone to help you carry for science project? Well what do you know! Isagi is already picking it up!

Need some one to spike? Isagi is literally Hinata wym (his spikes are awful, but you teach him how to do it and then becomes decently good actually!)

He confesses on accident lmao

He had finally, FINALLY, mustered the courage to ask you out!!! After literal YEARS of pining after you. 💀

He was supposed to tell you to meet him at the fair, because he had something he wanted to tell you (confess) but instead of

’Hey- We are still good for the fair right? I have something I wanna tell you there :-)”

he said..

”I’m gonna ask you out at the fair- you’re coming still right?”

sigh, Isagi, Isagi, Isagi

and you are just like ‘??? Did I hear that right??”

and it takes him a second to realize what the flip he just said

he just turns all red and is stuttering out incoherent nonsense

he wanted to die so bad

and you’re also like terribly flustered and caught off guard by the sudden confession

You had a feeling he liked you, but you weren’t sure if he really did feel the same!!

you just awkwardly-nervously tell him you feel the same and answer his original question with a soft ‘yes’

and he’s just like ?!?!??

i’m sensing a theme here..

He actually, genuinely, CANNOT believe YOU like him

like WHAT. This pretty, smart, funny, amazing, perfect, girl- actually likes me?!?

‘..so like …. Um … are we like… dating .. now ?’ is all he says

Real smooth Isagi, real smooth 😐

You then ask if this fair is a date now

which he’s like ‘I guess it is’

You both do the awkward goodbye and he goes straight to the boys bathroom and splash’s water on his face

He was genuinely tweaking

And that’s how you two became a couple! :3

The fair date was really fun, but super awkward bc, Isagi 🙂‍↕️

He tried winning you those big stuffed animals, and failed miserably 💀

He really wanted to get it for you too— then you ask if you can try it

You win on the first try.

hes just like ‘🧍‍♀️’

super embarrassed lmaooooo- but super impressed

Also he like… wants to hold you hand… but is like overthinking it so bad

‘Is it too soon??’ ‘Yeah it’s too soon’ ‘Would she even like holding my hand??’ ‘No she wouldn’t’ —-

Doesnt end up holding your hand 😔

You both end your first date on the ferris wheel

You both just chat about wtv, and that you didn’t think he’d like you

and he’s like ‘WHAT’

After he walks you home he immediately changes your contact name “Y/N-san” to “my girlfriend y/n💙”

Now! General HCs! :3

Isagi is such a good hype man ong, like you’re not feeling your best? Well Isagi is gonna make you feel like a thousand bucks!!

He thinks you’re the most perfect person to exist and cannot fathom you thinking you’re anything else but that

super sweet when comforting too, he’ll either hold your hand, hold your shoulders, or actually hold you when he comforts you.

Btw he gets super pumped up at your vb games, he’s like wearing your school/jersey colors and cheering for you in the bleachers

At first he didn’t really understand how the game worked, since the only sport that exists to him is soccer 💀

Really likes playing volleyball with you! He’s really good at digging and passing and so-so at spiking. He’s STUNNING at setting, because of yours truly 😚 like yes, I taught him that 🥹

hes got a mean serve though 😋

Now!

for the affectionate scale! Id say he’s about a 8/10 tbh

Hes like a clingy cat who always wants to lay on your lap lmao

always holding your hand, ALWAYS.

is a sucker for cheek kisses omg ><

He gets all blushy-n-gushy when you kiss his cheeks (anywhere really, but cheek kisses are his fav!!)

He gets soooo flustered when you give him affection or he gives you affection

eventually he gets used to it but he still blushes when you give him some love <33

He loves the simple hugs :) He loves squishing his cheek against you shoulder/neck and rub circles around you waist, while you massage his neck and blue locks (haha pun intended ( ͡ ° ͜ʖ ͡ °) )

Loves laying on your thighs obviously 😌 loves anything with your thighs tbh

His ideal date is probably going to see a movie or just walking around wherever and getting dinner 🙃

He will literally do whatever you want — so just tell him whatchu wanna do and he’ll be on board!!

Really appreciates it when you come to his games <33 it makes him feel so loved and valued <33

also feeds his ego 💀 in his mind he’s like ‘haha yeah, my gf came to my game, these losers don’t even have a gf 😌’

super cheesy btw- but it’s like the best kind of cheesy

Brings you pretty roses :) and likes to buy you keychains whenever he finds one he thinks you’ll like

love any gift you wanna give him, but really melts at the heartfelt ones

help I really yapped on this one 😭

anywho I think you guys would be real cute :)

I ship fr fr😽

hope you like it! 😭💗

(also did see your inbox question but by the time I got it I was literally done with the HCs 😭😭 …. HOPE YOU STILL LIKE IT??)

runner ups!

Kuroo Tetsuro

Karasu Tabito

Bokuto Kotaro (HEAR ME OUT..)

[after-witch]

Horrorfest: No Appointment Necessary [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Title: No Appointment Necessary [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Synopsis: It doesn't matter how good of a patient you are: he's going to hurt you, anyway.

For Horrorfest request:

i'm sorry if it's too vague & ignore ofc if so, but! overhaul x medical horror? looking forward to these prompts, thank you!! love your writing so much.

Word count: 1833

notes: Yandere, kidnapped reader, medical horror and abuse (including: needles, sedation, restraints, medical ests)

You’ve been living on this hospital bed for oh, so long. Long enough that your world feels horizontal most of the time, an endless parade of the same sights and sounds that has gone so far as to seep into your dreams. 

The windowless wall with nothing to see but shelves--for gloves, for needles, for medicines; and cabinets--for charts and reports and test results. You’d asked Overhaul if he might put up a picture, something sweet and soft, a flower, a cloud, a drawing. And he’d looked at you like he wanted to coo, but he denied your request--

“Clinic rooms are no place for pretty things.” And he’d paused, then. “Except for you, of course.”

So you don’t see a pretty picture on the wall. 

Above you, there’s the bare ceiling with its tiles, counted a million times. Often, there is Overhaul, wearing his medical mask and always framed by a surgical light that he swivels around. His eyes are always intent, staring down at you with varying degrees of curiosity, focus, possession, irritation, disgust, but never pity.

The machines next to you, which at least offer a little variation. Sometimes your heart rate is fast, sometimes slow. Sometimes the IV is clear and other times it has an awful tinge to it; those are the medicines that make your arms hurt, make you feel sluggish and sick, before you are forced into darkness.

The only reason that you don’t have bed sores, you think, is because Overhaul would find them too disgusting to treat. So you are turned like clockwork and walked like a dog every day. He gives you a mild sedative beforehand, of course, so that you’re too woozy to try something silly like running away from him. It’s too hard to run when the world spins and you’re only wearing grippy socks and he has to drag the wheeled IV behind you as you shuffle along.

You look forward to your walks, hazy those they are, because at least when you’re being walked you’re not on the bed. And if you’re not on the bed, he can’t do anything awful to you.

Like this, right now.

Your inhale is sharp and pained, and you whimper out something like a protest as he pushes the ultrasound wand down harder against your skin, moving, moving. Looking for something--but what? Your stomach is uncomfortably warm and sloppy, rubbed with lubricant that makes it easier to push the wand around.

“Stop complaining.” His words are spoken so casually that it only makes them sting more. “It doesn’t hurt.”

“It does,” you whine. And maybe you’re exaggerating a little. It doesn’t hurt in the same way as the needles sometimes do or the medicines that make your heart go too fast or the aftermath of waking up from his quirk, when things went awry. 

But a little pain is still pain and you’re stuck in this bed wearing a hospital gown for what will probably be the rest of your miserable life, so why can’t you complain?

“It doesn’t,” he corrects. “You’re just being childish. If you keep squirming, I’ll have to strap you down again.” 

Your lip trembles, but you don’t vocalize your complaints anymore. Instead you force your eyes up, glancing as much as you can at the ultrasound screen, where you can see the vague impressions of your organs being mapped and recorded.

This test is taking longer than you thought. You’d like lunch. You weren’t allowed to eat breakfast or your morning snack because he said you had to fast for the ultrasound. You did get a bit of water with your medicine, but that was it. 

After a while of him pressing the wand around, humming, clicking on his computer, you sigh.

“What are you looking for?” 

He doesn’t so much as glance down at you. Instead, he pushes particularly hard against your side, then tsks. 

“Don’t worry your little head about it. Just checking on the progress we’re making.”

Your hands curl into a fist and uncurl, then curl and uncurl. It sometimes keeps you calm, when you’re worried. But right now it’s mild entertainment, more entertaining than the gray-and-black-and-white blobby organs you can only just barely see on the screen.

“Progress we’re making on what?”

This time, he does glance down at you. Is he smiling? He might be. The skin around his eyes crinkles a little.

“Something wonderful, dearest. But don’t trouble yourself.”

You hum, unwilling to argue, and go back to staring at the ceiling. Maybe this time, when you count the tiles, the number will be different.

--

Lunch is always the same. You used to hate that, but now it’s almost comforting. Anything routine is better than wondering what awful thing might happen next and will that awful thing involve needles, scalpels, or his bare hands? 

So, no, you don’t mind eating the same lunch tray this afternoon. Steamed rice, fish and vegetables and a cup of broth soup that he tells you is fortified. When he first brought you here, you’d thrown the trays on the ground and accused him of drugging you because he was a really sick FUCK.

So he strapped you down, fed you through your nose, and sedated you while explicitly describing exactly how much sedative he was inserting into your IV every time.

You don’t accuse him of things like that anymore. You also don’t throw away your food.

And it’s become apparent that, for as much as he does use sedatives on you, he never hides them in your food or tricks you. Is that worse or better? Sometimes it’s better, you think, because he’s letting you know before it happens. You can prepare yourself, steel your nerves, be ready. But it might be nice not to sit there for a few minutes, heart pounding, agonizing over the fact that you know he’s about to drug you. 

Ah well, it doesn’t matter, because you don’t have a choice in what he does anyway. 

When lunch is over, you let him clean you up. He wipes your mouth and you sanitize your hands in the portable sink he brings over to the bed. And when you’re settled down long enough to wonder what the rest of the day will look like.

On good days, the tests mostly involve checking your pulse, your blood pressure, your reflexes. Maybe drawing a bit of blood, which usually isn’t so bad. He lets you rest and once he even rolled in a TV on wheels and you watched a movie. Now that was a good day, but that hasn’t happened again. Maybe it was too exciting.

On bad days… on bad days you are strapped to the bed, because even if you are trying your very best to be compliant,  you cannot stop yourself from trying to rip out the IVs that pump painful sludge into your veins; you cannot help but scream and thrash and try to get away.

But while you are pondering all of this, Overhaul has come back, clipboard in hand.

He looks you up. He looks you down. 

“You’ll have to be sedated for this evening,” he says.

And oh, you know at once: bad day.

You shift backwards on the bed, the paper-like material of your gown scrunching up around your knees as you bring them to your chest.

Your mouth already feels cotton dry. Maybe your throat is anticipating the screams.

“Does it have to be today?” 

He blinks at you. Then walks over to the side of the bed and pulls out the restraints--two for your wrists, two for your ankles. 

“Lay down. Don’t make a fuss. Can you do that much?” 

It takes you a long, agonizing moment but yes, you can do that much. Because you know what happens if you fight. You squeeze your eyes shut while he straps you in, but before you open them, there’s a gloved hand on your forehead--a sympathy touch? Or, ah--just checking for fever.

Whatever the case, you hear the sound of a snapping glove and the dull thud of the containment trash can being open and shut. 

And then a hissing. The sound of wheels rolling harshly against the floor. A pop of plastic being released from its holder. 

Your fingers clench inward until your nails bite your skin. 

You open your eyes just in time to see the edge of the gas mask fitting over your nose, fogging up just a tad when you whimper into the unforgiving plastic. It’s an awful taste, and you can never get used to it--like licking the inside of a beach ball that’s been left to sit in the sun. It seeps into your mouth, your nose, down your throat.

Your eyes blink and blink, fighting and heavy, but it doesn’t help: your consciousness slams into the darkness.

--

You wake up. You always wake up, though you’re not always terribly grateful for that fact. 

Waking up is slow, like pulling your feet out of something deep and sticky. The world comes back in waves. Sounds, first, always sounds. The beeping of your machines. His voice, sometimes, talking to himself as he jots down notes. Occasionally the sound of someone else--an assistant, though you rarely see them at all. 

Sight, then, but it’s more gradual. Maybe it would be easier if the room was brighter or if there was a window. Or if you were actually interested in what was in front of you beyond the need to know what will happen to you today.

Then sensation comes back into your limbs that feel like lead even after you’ve woken up. 

You smack your lips. Dry lips. Dry mouth. Dry throat. 

But you don’t need to ask for water. Overhaul is there with a little paper cup that he presses to your lips, slowly, tipping just enough that you don’t choke out of eagerness. 

When you swallow

“The procedure went very well,” he says. He sounds cheerful. But his words only carve out a dull ache in  your stomach.

“What… did you do this time?”

He never tells you. He only taps his clipboard and moves on, and you don’t push the issue out loud.

All you know is that something else is missing. Some integral part of you, as if each time he puts you under, you wake up with less of yourself; what has he scooped out with a knife or his hands or his very presence?

Your quirk?

Your soul?

Something else, far more intangible but just as precious? 

The pillow underneath your head is hospital-grade. The ceiling above your head has an even number of tiles, one of which has an old water stain that you’re surprised was allowed to remain. The machines on  your side continue to beep and your left arm lays palm upward, so your IV doesn’t get disturbed.

And you? 

You’re still on the hospital bed--and that’s where you’ll stay. 

[ariathelamia]

Hellhound HRT Month 6 (4 month wolf 2 month Hellhound)

Heya! It’s me again… starting to do some note taking which… i got kinda chewed out on not doing any of that when i woke up in the hospital-.. wait fuck getting ahead of myself. Let’s start from after I parted with Mars.

So, yeah I got home that day pretty ecstatic to say the least, I mean who can say that they get their meds from an eldritch ritual!... well Mars probably can but that's besides the point let me have this! 

The tablets taste awful, which is to say a lot since my taste hasn’t been the same since about month… 3 or 4? Something something Carnivores taste a lot less than herbivores or omnivores. Well anyway, meat tasted better than before, that’s for sure, but yeah everything else always tasted kinda… bland… so i started to enjoy textures more than taste… where was I?.. Oh yeah, taste of the meds… HORRIBLE.. like someone mixed the consistency of chalk with the aftertaste of puking your guts out… urgh… made a habit of putting them in a little bit of food and then down them that way… that way i at least only taste the food at first and only later maybe a bit of the meds.. 

Sooo anyway, changes… they happen fast on this stuff!! Maybe that's because there is a lot of change to come?... Or the cheap shot Erian gives us some diluted shit because he wants us on the meds for longer for a better and long lasting payroll… anyway! 

The most notable change is my fur… it changed COMPLETELY in color! It used to be orange with a few gray streaks here and there and now it’s almost entirely black with some gray highlights like the fur on my chest or around my wrists and.. other joints. pretty neat! Could swear some of these kinda look like eyes.. especially those on my elbow and knees.. wonder if it’s like a mark from who i got those meds? Well they look cool so i won’t complain!

But yeah pretty much my entire body is covered in fur now, with the fur in my face being a lot shorter and more dense… It feels REALLY fluffy though… like i swear to god i brush through it, and if i don’t press down it almost feels like brushing throw air… that kinda soft.

When it comes to other changes in my body… my legs hurt somewhat now… i guess that means they are starting to change form now too.. becoming.. digigrate.. or something like that? Wolf like! 

My Nails have now pretty much fused with my fingers. They actually look like really sharp claws now. Can’t pull them in yet so… gotta be double careful when scratching myself… already nicked myself pretty bad when I scratched an itch on my shoulder.

The tail has been as fluffy as ever~ I love this thing!!! Helped me a lot with my balance when doing parkour too! it’s just great~ 

Oh yeah! I am slowly growing a snout! hurts like a motherf-.... but damn finally!

Uhm… other than that… i noticed some tightness in my chest about three weeks ago… thought i just overexerted myself but… turns out it was worse than that. Which brings me to the reason I actually ended up in the hospital.

So here I was… meeting some friends from an online group that's basically made by therians for therians, which is an outdoor activity club for those of us that love exercising with our new formed abilities! Tell ya what, ain’t a damn human out there that can teach ya better how to use that tail for balance than some cat therian who already figured it out~ it’s quite specific and you gotta get a feel for it.. but their explanations helped a lot in increasing my stability when free running! Anyway I trailed off.

So I met those people again, that day it was another wolf therian like me- wait.. not like me, forgot i’m a hellhound for a second-, then there was that persian cat therian guy… and big ol’ me! We started easy with warm ups and stretches… that's also when my chest felt tight again for a moment.. but it went away really quickly so i ignored that… bad mistake.

Then we started running around the park at first.. into a more urban area of Hyper City, where we started to climb the buildings, jump some walls… typical kinda parkour stuff! It felt great having the wind in my fur, and doing it with a couple people that get it the same way I do! And boy oh boy am I happy they were there with me… 

Memory is a bit hazy… but I just remember being… hot.. like literally… my chest felt tight as hell, pun intended, and I was literally in mid jumping motion, past the point of no return…. two… and a half stories above some alleyway… and I freaking passed out, like that… From what the others told me I was right behind them… and then I was gone… but they saw some smoke coming up from in between the buildings… I was incredibly lucky I fell into a dumpster.. but must have hit the wall straight on before that… They had trouble getting me out cause… turns out when i told Mars i’d love to have a “fire in my chest”... the eldritch must have listened and taken it literally.. or it’s simply a hellhound thing to have freaking FIRE IN YOUR CHEST. But yeah grabbing me was difficult, too close to my chest and they got burned… even my freaking tank top burned away… god am i lucky i got fur covering my chest already.. the possible embarrassment!! 

But yeah they apparently got me out, called the hospital… and rest is uh history.

According to the doctor’s i had several broken bones… collar… lower legs.. right arm and shoulder… minor fracture of the skull.. lots of shaved skin from hitting a literal brick wall.. 

and to top it all off… freaking 185 degree fahrenheit (or 85° Celsius for us europeans) fever.

They apparently had to put me into an ice bath… and cooled me with tons of ice packs to try and fight the “fever”. Only when Erian, after they had called him in for a consult, figured out what was going on, they simply put me on heat proof bedding and sheets… and kept the temperatures from reaching too high. Guess we Hellhounds can grow a flame organ, kinda like dragons, in our chest.. When I asked them later if that means I can breathe fire they shrugged… I tried but nothing came out except for some smoke.. we all start small… but what we did find out was that, the heat that the organ produces is linked to my emotions. 

When i get angry, it goes up a lot! Happiness and excitement raises it somewhat and the calmer i am, the more towards “normal” temperatures it goes… Still don’t know what sadness does cause… they didn’t wanna force me to cry… tough luck trying in the first place, but they hypoth-... hyppo… they think it would lower the temperature further.

Anyway i am trying my best to stay calm and not get mad cause… while my organ is already functioning pretty well… my body still can’t handle the heat super well… It hurts when it gets too high and I end up with fever symptoms… so yeah gotta wait till I build up some resistance. 

Oh if you’re interested… i was apparently out for about 12 days- plus side, almost two new releases of my shows to watch! But… when i was out… I had some weird dreams… about the moon?... but also about those places i’ve seen from that ritual… They asked me to elaborate about it but nuh-uh, not gonna say a word to them! Not before I talked to Mars about it. Anyway yeah i remember some… weird creature trying to talk to me, didn’t understand a single word but it looked… at least a very little like mars… just… no visible eyes.. some long ass head… and big fucking grin… 

Had some time to think about it all a bit.. and one thing strikes me as odd. While i do take my meds during the early hours and the evening… the changes happen mostly at night… at least the biggest ones… sure the pain carries through the day but it only ever gets really bad at night… So it’s odd that my organ started to become active during the day… hm… bad luck i guess.

Now I gotta explain myself to Erian… way too many questions but he allowed me to rest for now before he comes back and asks them again… “Where did you get those meds? What species did you choose? Are you getting your check ups? Did you think for a moment before taking some back alley medicine?!”... blah blah…. as if it wasn’t partly his fault i had to ask some more… devious powers to help. Not that I regret it. Though it was nice of him to talk to the staff to let me continue taking those meds for now! I’m also back on his schedule again… probably better to be on “Mysterious alien provided Hellhound HRT” with a doctor that has seen a couple weird things already. Therian care seems to be still a little bit of an issue in most hospitals.... then again who can say they have an idea how to treat a hellhound… not something people face on a regular basis like a dog or a cat… 

The only annoying part is that… i’m now pretty much stationary… I get some visits from friends of the support group, and the runners group too, they bring me things I need… like a new tank top for when i finally get out of here… 

Oh yeah-... and the pain… god having broken bones AND changing bone structure is NO FUN! And the painkillers they give me are wack…. urgh note to myself… if anything feels slightly off before or during a run… stick to the low ground… 

________________________________

Yay Part two done! Lets keep the fun times going~

Previous | Next

[kawaiigirly21]

Gem of Olympus

Before her marriage, Natasha was quite the social butterfly. Or more like a beautiful rose with pollen and nectar her fellow gods wished they could sample. She had plenty of reservations before she was presented with the opportunity to marry Ares. At first she wasn't sure, she had heard tales of his arrogance and his ability to be so self absorbed. But when she met him, those rumors seemed like awful lies spun by arachne herself. He was sweet and kind but still strong in his own right.

She could feel the power radiating off his body when he gifted her roses or other small trinkets to show his affection. Ares was also a very passionate lover. The amount of times Natasha had to cancel or postpone meet ups with her friends due to Ares and his insatiable lust was staggering. Much like she was after the hot steamy sex with her husband. Things were perfect… until they weren't.

Natasha wasn't sure when, but she knew their marriage went downhill quickly. No longer did he kiss her good morning, afternoon and night. He simply greeted her with a dispassionate nod. Often holding back the urge to roll his eyes when she was present. The nights they spent talking were long forgotten since now he barely spoke to her. Their sex life became nonexistent. Anytime Natasha would try to initiate it, Ares simply pushed her off and away. Claiming he was tired and was in no mood to humor his clingy wife with terrible sex. Fed up with her husband's distant behavior, Natasha went to confront him in their chambers. That's where things went from bad to worse.

Upon opening the door, the scent of sex and too sweet perfume hit her nose. The sound of a woman’s giggling stung her ears. Natasha's heart then shattered seeing just who it was in her marriage bed being ravaged by her husband. “Ares… Aphrodite…? W-why…?” The god of war was quick to make eye contact with his heartbroken wife before rolling his eyes. “Like you don't know. If you're going to leave, close the door on your way out wench?” Never did Natasha think she'd see the day where her once caring husband would cast her aside for the pantheon’s resident whore.

Sliding the ring off her finger with tears running down her face, Natasha then began to gather her things and left swiftly. Thoughts of their marriage quickly ran through her mind. She tried her hardest to analyze just what went wrong. What could she have done to make her husband stray from her. Was she the problem? Perhaps if she had made more time for him or changed her looks. It had to have been her fault. Ares was perfect in her eyes. Only, he wasn't. He showed that time and time again. But with how she was raised, her mortal mother practically beat it into her that a wife was always below and behind her husband.

The wife was flawed and the husband was perfect. Meant to be served. If the marriage failed, it was entirely the fault of the wife and that if any wife was so unfortunate, she should toss herself off a cli- “Oof!!” Natasha had been so entranced in her rapidly dangerous mind that she hadn't watched where she was going and bumped into her brother Apollo and his lover Hyacinth. No doubt coming from another party thrown by their other brother Dionysus. Hyacinth was the first to notice the still flowing tears running down Natasha's face.

“Oh dear, what happened to you! What's wrong sweetheart?” He asked kneeling to wipe her tears away with his thumb. Apollo was the one to notice her bags and the ring that was clearly missing from her finger. Putting two and two together, the sun god scowled. “Ares.” As Natasha nodded slowly, she squeaked in surprise when Hyacinth picked her up in his strong arms. “Come. You can stay with us Starlight. For as long as you want.” Surprised by the man's strength and forwardness, Natasha agreed.

Following behind the two, Apollo huffed from the frustration and utter disgust he held for his brother. Ares was a lot of things but he didn't think that a cheater would be one of them. How stupid did Ares have to be to let a gem like Natasha go? As the three entered the chambers, Hyacinth was quick and a little too excited to run Natasha a bath and put her things away. “You may stay as long as you need dear sister… I still can't believe he cheated on you... With Aphrodite. How tasteless. How cruel… how Ares.” Apollo sighed as he sat next to Natasha on the bed Hyacinth placed her on.

“Thank you Apollo..I’m sorry to be a bother. I know this isn’t where you saw your night going.” Apollo gasped and snatched her up in a tight and warm hug. “You’ll never be a bother to us! You’re our sweet little gem. You can forever if you want!” Hyacinth laughed as he walked to the pair and placed a night dress on the bed. “Your bath is ready. Please let us help you relax. You've had a trying evening sister.”

After her bath and Hyacinth wrapping her in a fluffy towel before Apollo dressed her, the three settled in for the night. As Natasha drifted to sleep while her head was on Apollo’s chest, Hyacinth finally allowed his negative emotions to show. “That no good, self absorbed, small penis, bulbos baboon. How dare he hurt such a wonderful girl…Let’s kill him.” Apollo chuckled before leaning over to kiss his lover. “My love, we can’t kill him but I agree. I do share your anger. We need to take this Hera but for now, let us help Natasha adjust to being single again. And I know just the way.”

[mariacallous]

The title card that opens 1979’s original Mad Max places the action in a very near future, looming just “a few years from now.” George Miller’s cult action-thriller captured the edginess of a world teetering on the brink. The film depicts a not-quite-postapocalyptic Australia, where gangs of high-octane galoots rove the roadways on motorbikes and souped-up muscle cars, attempting to outrun the last of the lead-footed policemen: Mel Gibson’s Max Rockatanksy. Revisiting the film is exceptionally rewarding—and not just because of the grit, oddball humor, and verve of Miller’s directing. It reflects something of the ambient tensions of a world of potentially perilous fuel shortages, which threatened the whole petrol-and-plastic framework of our modern world.

Miller recalls this era with no particular fondness. He remembers, in the mid-’70s, all of the gas stations in Melbourne shutting down. Save for one. The mood was sour. The tension was thick. “It only took 10 days,” Miller says, “in this very peaceful, benign city for the first gunshot to be fired. Someone got ahead of a long queue, that went on city blocks, to get fuel. If that could happen in just 10 days, what would happen in 100 days?”

Across five films, including the new Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga, Miller’s franchise tracks this decline. In the original picture, the world is still fairly intact. There are diners and hospitals and happy families. People even dress more or less normally. It can feel a bit like our world: one which is collapsing but hasn’t yet totally buckled. By the time of 1982’s Mad Max 2 (released in the US as The Road Warrior), any vestiges of civilization have been blown away by an accelerated period of resource warring, nuclear conflict, and ecocide. Humanity survives in clans and roving bands, dressed in feathers and dusty leathers.

By 1985’s Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome, civilization relies on bartering for commerce, harvesting pig shit for methane, and conflict resolution by way of gladiatorial combat. In the smash hit 2015 long-gap sequel, Mad Max: Fury Road (which recast Rockatanksy, putting Tom Hardy in the lead), things were almost cartoonishly bad: Fertile women were ferried across vast wastelands in tanker trucks, access to fresh water was hoarded by tyrannical dictators in skeleton half-masks, and all of humanity seemed to exist in a state of berserk, whooping madness. If that first film was warning—against the fetish for speed and power, against excessively extracting precious riches from a planet that could scarcely afford to give them up—the newer pictures feel not so much prescient as present: sado-comic visions of our own maddening, resource-starved world.

The Mad Max films are driven by a guiding incoherence. They offer a critique of car culture, resource scarcity, and the very things that may well have our world motoring toward its own demise, no matter how many EVs we buy. Denizens of the desolate wastelands exalt automobiles, motorbikes, engines, and especially gasoline as fetish objects. But at the same time, the films’ pleasures are guilty of this same exaltation. The thrills derive from high-octane racing, dangerous automobile maneuvers, body-mangling crashes, and the whole vroom-vroom of it all. They’re like war movies that ask us to thrill at the violence and daring of combat, while all the while muttering, “This is actually really awful, you know.” There is no effort to reconceive a world doomed by its pathological obsession with machines chugging on crude oil. Rather, the apocalyptic backdrop only furnishes fantasies of further decline.

Perhaps it’s a mistake to take films with characters called “Pig Killer,” “Rictus Erectus,” and “Pissboy” too seriously. But the Mad Max pictures underscore a deeper absurdity that undergirds the genre of postapocalyptic, ostensibly environmentalist (or at least environmentally sympathetic) entertainments that are often referred to as eco-fictions, or cli-fi, for “climate fiction.” “The climate crisis and grotesque climate inequalities are things that we are really struggling to process,” says Hunter Vaughan, an environmental media scholar at Cambridge University. “These films are touching on our collective inability to adapt to this crisis.”

Vaughan is the author of Hollywood’s Dirtiest Secret: The Hidden Environmental Cost of the Movies. His text analyzes the environmental impact of the film industry, from early Hollywood to the present. Understanding the industry as inherently (and devastatingly) resource-reliant, he has come to view the very idea of “environmentalist movies” as a bit of an absurdity. “Films like Mad Max and Avatar,” he explains, “are just doing what Hollywood has always done, which is rely on choreographed violence and the enticement of spectacle. But they get to offset that to some degree by coming across as having some sort of environmentalist message.”

The whole notion of “cli-fi” as a genre suggests something a bit ominous: that the well-meaning parables of early climate fiction have now become subservient to the demands of the genre. Take Denis Villeneuve’s Dune pictures. While perfectly competent as pricey pieces of blockbuster cinema, they barely engage with the novel’s ecological concerns. Author Frank Herbert was originally inspired by the historical ability of certain indigenous civilizations to live in harmony in even the harshest environments—a noble idea that, in the Hollywood version, takes a backseat to woolly ideas around interstellar jihad and the sheer pageantry of the proceedings. Likewise, Mad Max's original warning siren has waned a bit, as the films developed their own generic language. The collapsing world is now just a canvas across which (wildly entertaining) action scenes unfold.

However absurd it may seem to scholars, Miller seems to come by his environmentalist sympathies honestly. Even outside of the Mad Max movies, many of his pictures touch resonant themes about global warming (Happy Feet), vegetarianism (Babe and its sequel), and the essential destructiveness of the modern world (Three Thousand Years of Longing). These realities have directly impacted his films. Fury Road’s production was long delayed, in part, because the Australian desert where Miller planned to film was suddenly swamped—a direct result of unpredictable climate patterns. “I see it myself,” the director says of climate change. “It’s all around us. I’ve seen both the hard statistics, and just in my own experience. So it can’t help but seep into the story.”

Furiosa is unique among the Mad Max films in that it offers an alternative to the arid, violent, boiling wastelands that dominate the franchise’s topography. The origin story of Charlize Theron’s fierce road warrior from Fury Road, the film opens in “the Green Place”: an Edenic garden governed by a tribe of warrior-women, which stands out as a lush oasis in the desert. For Miller, Furiosa offered an opportunity to one-up himself. Fury Road proved he could make a hit Mad Max movie without Mel Gibson. Now, he hopes to show he can make another without Max (though he does appear, very briefly). “If you just do the same thing again and again, there’s hardly any point,” he says. “There’s an inherent cynicism to it.”

Snatched from safety, Furiosa (played by Ayla Browne as a child and Anya Taylor-Joy as an adult) is raised among a motorcycle death cult, led by the madman-prophet Dementus (Chris Hemsworth, sporting an impressive prosthetic schnoz). In time, she’s traded away to Immortan Joe, Fury Road’s big bad, and learns to survive and thrive among his clan of face-painted, aerosol-huffing cultists. Building out the world of Fury Road, Furiosa traces the fragile trade dynamics between three strongman leaders, each hoarding a key resource: fresh water, fuel, and bullets. As Furiosa navigates these violent trade routes, she hatches her own plan to avenge herself on Dementus and burn rubber back to the Green Place.

In actually bothering to imagine what some alternative to the wasteland might look like, Furiosa moves past the typically narrow horizons of most cli-fi. Nicole Seymour, who teaches environmental literature at California State University, Fullerton, notes that most environmentalist narratives stop short of actually conceiving of what a new, better world might look like. “I think that would require you to do more implicating, and more work,” she says, “which no one wants to do.” She notes that most utopian environmentalist literature tends to buck the mainstream, foregrounding more diverse characters. “Do they want to make a movie about a Puerto Rican transgender person who time-travels?” she asks. “I would watch that!”

There’s a shopworn quote attributed to the late critic and theorist Mark Fisher, about how “it's easier to imagine the end of the world than the end of capitalism.” Certainly, in the Mad Max movies, the basic systems that led to our destruction—resource hoarding, the primacy of tribal violence, the fetish for power and speed—remain intact. The sinister logic imparted to the audience is that, well, ecocide is inevitable, and so there’s little left to do than revel, laughing mad, in the explosive spectacle of our own destruction. To which an admirer of these films (like this writer) may sensibly, or cynically, respond: OK, sure … but what a spectacle.

For his part, Miller maintains that there’s a deep humanism at the core of these films, buried beneath the scrap heaps of twisted metal. “I’ve been to places where there is a lot of trauma and poverty,” he says. “I’m always impressed by the ability for survival. This is about our survival.”

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟

:)

Ohhhh idk if there's 159 left in the chapter... Let's see!

Turns out I do!

---

While Eddie’s back route decision avoided the outskirts of L.A. - though not lions - they do have to drive through two cities before reaching Sunport. Ventura and Santa Barbara. The cities always make Eddie nervous. There is just so much more to worry about. 

It’s in Venture, on the 101, that they first see the ocean. This brings Eddie a sense of relief. The more they stick by the water, the better their chances of avoiding zombies. That is Eddie’s first thought when he sees the glittering blue of the Pacific. 

It’s not Christopher’s. 

“WOW!” Chris gasps. “WOW, THE OCEAN!” 

Oh, right. Christopher has never seen it. He’s never been. 

Eddie smiles. After all this time, after all this danger, there is still a sense of awe in him. 

“Yeah, kiddo.” Eddie tells him. “That’s the Pacific Ocean. It’s not the same ocean you can see in Texas.” 

“It’s SO BIG!” Chris enthuses. “And so beautiful!” 

Eddie feels his cheeks ache from the strength of his grin. 

“It really is, buddy.” Eddie agrees.

“Can we go?” Chris asks, edge of a whine in his tone. 

“Go?” Eddie asks.

“Can we go see it? I want to touch it!”

Shoot.

“Oh, bud. We’ve got to get Maddie to her brother, okay?” Eddie explains. “But we’re almost there, and I bet there’s lots of ocean there, too. It’s on the coast.”

Chris pouts. “Dad, please. We never get to do anything but drive.”

“Christopher, it’s not the right time.”

Maddie looks at Eddie. She mouths it’s okay. Do it. 

“Are you sure?” Eddie asks her. 

Maddie nods. “Let him be a kid for a sec, right?”

He could hug her.

“Say thank you, Maddie,” Eddie tells Chris. “That’s very generous.”

“Thank you, Maddie!” Chris beams. “Thank you!”

Maddie chuckles. “You are so welcome, Chris. I’ve never seen the Pacific before, either.”

“Really?” Chris asks. Mind-boggled. Like, she’s an adult, she should have seen everything by now. 

“Really. But when I lived in Boston, I saw the Atlantic all the time.”

“Wow!” Chris exclaims. 

They pull over a little past Ventura. A little thin, rocky stretch of beach that is easily accessible from the road called Emma Wood State Beach. Eddie takes off Christopher’s shoes, rolls up his pant legs, and carries him over the rocks to the water’s edge, setting him down in the sand where the waves are reaching as they crash. Maddie follows behind them too, slower because of their injury. 

If he’s being honest, it takes everything in him not to cry at the way Chris giggles and squeals as the water crashes and recedes over his toes. There is so much pure, unadulterated joy. So much childhood innocence. 

“Do you love it?” Eddie asks Chris.

“I love it!” He announces giddily. 

They spend a few minutes collecting shells and sea glass before returning, sandy and damp, to the truck. 

“Thank you, Maddie,” Eddie says. 

Maddie just smiles at him and nods. He has a sense that some of her earlier reservations about him are breaking down. 

▪️▪️▪️

The good mood doesn’t last them all the way to Sunport, unfortunately. Driving by Santa Barbara, it’s quickly clear that the long stretch of zombie-free road they’ve enjoyed has come to an end. Which does pose a concern for Sunport. 

They’re not in danger, though. Not really. They pass a collection of zombies - four or five - dragging themselves along the side of the highway, clearly at the end of their life. Or whatever you can call it, at this stage. Some of them are badly wounded; missing limbs and chunks of their face. Some of them are rail thin and skeletal. It’s sad, really. What humanity has been reduced to. 

Before Eddie can think too much about it, he’s slowing down the truck. 

“What are you doing?” Maddie asks. 

“Just give me a second,” Eddie asks as he kills the ignition. 

“Dad?” Chris asks. 

“Close your eyes, buddy. You know the drill.”

Chris clamps his hands over his eyes. Eddie grabs his gun and climbs out of the truck. 

His presence stirs some sort of last ditch fight in the dying former people. They start making low-pitched moaning noises, raspy and guttural in their damaged throats. The pace of their clawing picks up, direction shifting towards Eddie. Like lemmings towards the edge of a cliff. 

Eddie fires off five quick shots. Clean and concise. Head shots. For a former medic, he’s always been a crack shot. Precise. Steady. 

They all die quietly. 

Eddie returns to the truck without a second look. 

He doesn’t enjoy the sight of their destruction. That’s not why he does this. That’s not why he, in all honesty, wastes his ammunition. He does it because every time he sees them, inching towards the end, completely lacking in dignity, he thinks of his parents. And what they might have become. He thinks of everyone he has ever known - save perhaps his sisters and brother-in-law - and what they might now be. And it is a tragedy. Eddie has thus far been spared from this grisly end, perhaps some divine mercy to allow him to protect his son. Otherwise, he’s not sure why. 

He’s not sure why his luck hasn’t run out yet. He’s not sure why he’s here, with his life and his mind and his body, when people who were certainly once decently good were reduced to crawling things on the shoulder of the highway. He doesn’t understand. 

There’s so much about Eddie’s life and existence he still doesn’t understand. For a long time, he kept waiting to be punished. Smited. That now was the time for the retribution to find him, for not being what he’s supposed to be, what he said he was, what he tried to be. After all this time, he wonders if maybe none of it ever really mattered. 

Maybe the only thing that matters is the look on his son’s face, the sound of his laugh, when he feels the ocean for the first time. 

As Eddie buckles himself in and starts the truck again, he finds Maddie watching him. There’s a curious look in her eyes. She doesn’t ask why he did what he did. She doesn’t seem to need to. Maybe she gets it, too. 

“Alright,” Eddie says, pulling back onto the road. “Almost there.”

“How many more minutes?” Chris asks.

“Maybe twenty-five?” Eddie says. 

“Twenty-five minutes until we see your brother, Maddie!” Chris announces happily. 

Maddie smiles warmly. “That’s right. I can’t wait.”

[super-ion]

So I've spent quite a bit of mental energy the last couple days on character creation for an upcoming Pathfinder game (as I do). So of course, in true Char fashion I had to throw a drabble together to get into her head (directly inspired by a scene by @the-sword-lesbian for her character).

She's a half orc inventor with a fighter flavor. She's 6'6" and built like a tank. She's a nerd with special interests. Her dump stats are wis and cha.

***

They spot her in the back of the seedy tavern. She's hunched over a table surrounded by an array of incomprehensible tools. Half a meal sits forgotten on the edge of the table. Her brow is furrowed in concentration and she chews on her bottom lip as her fingers work at the clockwork before her.

The lead bounty hunter casts a look at the barkeep, who frowns and disappears into the kitchen. A few of the more observant patrons clear out and the remainder soon follow.

Not her though, she's too busy. She is absolutely completely focused at the task at hand.

She's big, she is half orc after all, but she has a roundness to her cheeks, a softness in her shoulders. She has a few faint scars, maybe broke her nose once, but that all might just be from lab accidents. She gives off the air of an academic type, some well fed student who got too many ideas about adventure in her head.

“Akhana Greystone?”

“Huh?” she replies, jumping slightly at the interruption.

She peers at them through light brown eyes, almost golden. One of the hunters, the newbie, decides the color reminds him of when there are storms high in the mountains and the river is fully saturated with the high desert silt.

Another of the hunters notes the ribbons woven into the messy braid of dark hair, bright pink and purple. She's brought in a few marks in her career and has never seen anything so frivolous.

This job is guaranteed easy money.

The mark makes an awkward smile at the three of them, not entirely sure who to address.

“Uh… yeah, Akhana. That's me,” she replies. “Y'all need any tinker work done or anythin? I'm kind of between jobs right now, but I'm not above a little bit o’ freelance if it keeps my belly full.”

She looks at them hopefully for a moment before her smile slips at their expressions.

The leader glances back at his more seasoned companion with a raised eyebrow, silently asking if this is the right person. She frowns dubiously as she nods.

“I had a pretty good gig goin’ for a spell there,” she nervously continues, starting to ramble as she returns her attention to her work. “Gunrunning and all that. Lotta time to be alone in my head to think about designs and it pays a might bit better’n working the forges. Hurts a lot less than the fightin’ ring too. But of course, somebody had ta go and ruin it. Jerk wanted a cut of the money, like we're some kind of criminal enterprise, if you can believe that! Okay, I mean, yeah, it's technically illegal and everything, but it's not like we we're doing anything wrong, ya know? Just gettin’ supplies out to good honest folk tryin’ ta eek out a living out in the wild. So what if some of those supplies just happened to be black powder weapons of dubious provenance? I tell ya what though, Ma ain't to happy about my face being on a wanted poster, her bein’ a former marshal ‘n all that…”

She trails off, perhaps realizing that she effectively just offered a confession to a trio of strangers. She looks around the room and seems surprised to find it empty. She squints at the three of the bounty hunters in turn, sizing them up.

“Aw heck,” she says. “You fella’s are here about the bounty, ain't ya?”

The leader gives a curt nod.

“Come in quietly,” he says. “Nobody has to get hurt. It'll be easier for all of us.”

She runs her tongue along one of her tusks, considering for a moment.

“Nah,” she says finally and returns to her work, slipping the last few gears and pieces of wires into the gauntlet.

The bounty hunters exchange a baffled glance.

“Ma'am-”

She holds up a finger to silence him. She clicks a mechanism shut and spins a dial, listening intently to some unknown response. She gives a quick nod, apparently satisfied, she starts packing up her tools.

The leader clears his throat.

“Ma'am, we're here for the bounty on your head-”

“Yeah, I know,” she interrupts. “I heard ya. Answer’s still no.”

Only after the last tool is carefully placed in its place does she uncurl herself from her hunched posture. As she squares her shoulders and cracks her neck, the hunters realize that what they mistook for softness is actually a healthy layer of padding over solid muscle.

The hunter on the left, the newbie, takes a nervous step back.

She slips the gauntlet on her wrists. Something clicks and whirrs. There's a spark and a tiny puff of blue smoke from the gauntlet.

She grins, her eyes filling with a manic sort of delight.