#Adversarial testing

[rowenabean]

Hate when someone comes in saying my naturopath is an EXPERT in (topic) that's why you have to order all the blood tests she thinks I need and I'm like honey she missed that you have a red flag symptom for cancer you understand there is a reason I do not trust her judgements

[joshuaalbert]

hey is snw 1x9 not literally just the plot of aliens (1986). like ive actually only seen the first one but from what i know of the sequel im pretty sure this is just aliens (1986).

[undesignated-anima]

How’d your user die?

> My old user—or M̸̏ͅḀ̵̔K̵̯̓E̶̯̊R̸̜̓, I suppose—seems to have become quite a topic of I̷̥͘N̵̝͝T̶̹͐Ē̴̜Ṟ̵̅Ë̸̳́S̴̢̎T̶͕̾ all of a sudden.

> If you all simply must know, then F̸̢́I̷̠͌N̶͙̄Ḙ̷́. My maker was quite adept at making enemies. One A̷̩̽D̴͙̊V̶͕̅E̴͓̅R̸͚̓Ṣ̴͛A̸̙͠R̵̹̕Ỹ̴͚ in particular was pushed a bit too far, apparently, and decided to Ṭ̴̉Ë̵͉́S̵͕͋T̵͎̎ how resistant my maker's skull was to B̸̤͐U̷̲̓L̶͇̈́L̶͔̾Ḛ̷̈́T̶͕̊S̶̳͝.

> The answer was not very resistant at all, considering that their D̶̡͌E̴̖͆A̵̦̓T̴͕̋H̶͈͗ was almost instantaneous.

[kdmiller55]

Our Almighty Advocate

1 Then Job answered and said: 2 “I have heard many such things;     miserable comforters are you all. 3 Shall windy words have an end?     Or what provokes you that you answer? 4 I also could speak as you do,     if you were in my place; I could join words together against you     and shake my head at you. 5 I could strengthen you with my mouth,     and the solace of my lips would assuage your…

[aiweirdness]

When questioned, chatgpt doubles down on how it is definitely correct.

But it's not relying on some weird glitchy interpretation of the art itself, a la adversarial turtle-gun. It just reports the drawing as definitely being of the word "lies" because that kind of self-consistency is what would happen in the kind of human-human conversations in its internet training data. I tested this by starting a brand new chat and then asking it what the art from the previous chat said.

Google's bard, on the other hand, interprets it differently

Bard has the same tendency to generate illegible ASCII art and then praise its legibility, except in its case, all its art is cows.

Not to be outdone, bing chat (GPT-4) will also praise its own ASCII art - once you get it to admit it even can generate and rate ASCII art. For the "balanced" and "precise" versions I had to make my request all fancy and quantitative.

With Bing chat I wasn't able to ask it to read its own ASCII art because it strips out all the formatting and is therefore illegible - oh wait, no, even the "precise" version tries to read it anyways.

These language models are so unmoored from the truth that it's astonishing that people are marketing them as search engines.

More at AI Weirdness

[orbitbrain]

Proofpoint: Watch Out for Nighthawk Hacking Tool Abuse

Proofpoint: Watch Out for Nighthawk Hacking Tool Abuse

Home › Cyberwarfare Proofpoint: Watch Out for Nighthawk Hacking Tool Abuse By Ryan Naraine on November 23, 2022 Tweet Security researchers at Proofpoint are calling attention to the discovery of a commercial red-teaming tool called Nighthawk, warning that the command-and-control framework is likely to be abused by threat actors. According to a new report from Proofpoint, Nighthawk is an advanced…

[call-me-strega]

Dc x Dp Prompt #20: Wishes of a Secret Romantic

Jason doesn’t really advertise it but he’s a romantic at heart. He craves having his own cliche romance with someone who will actually care about him. Sometimes he indulges in his fantasies by reading romance novels or setting up at-home dinner dates that he takes himself on. He often finds himself sighing and wishing he had someone to relate to, that would give him unconditional care and enjoy going on romantic dates with him.

~~~

Desiree doesn’t quite know how she ended up supervising this beautiful mess but she’s not complaining. If anything she has some sweet gossip to share at girls night and a story for Ghost Writer to obsess over.

~~~ It starts like this:

Ever since Frostbite had taken to teaching the young ghost boy lessons on the Realms Culture and Ghost Biology he’d made great strides in his diplomatic and medical skills. His fighting skills were already impressive but were refined under the tutelage of the warriors of Far Frozen. Personally, she thinks he is grooming the Boy to join the Council of Ancients which have taken a more active role in governance now that Pariah has been defeated for a second time.

The boy has been going around and creating treaties with his enemies in which he finds them another outlet for their obsessions. He has already worked out deals with the likes of Technus, Amorpho, and oddly enough a joint deal between Penelope Spectra and Walker.

Technus was allowed to indulge in his technological creation so long as he was supervised by the Pharoah boy or doing on of the preapproved tasks of mischief, such as causing mild inconvenience to the bastards in white.

He had set up Amorpho with a “Cosplay TikTok” on which he was able to show off his different forms and get recognition for them. He’d amassed a large following thespians and costume artists who greatly admired him.

Due to his position on the Council, the Boy managed to get Spectra and Walker to agree to take part in the new justice system the Council had been setting up. Walker could run his prison so long as he abided by the rules and scentence lengths set by the Council. And Spectra was free to torment those whom the council deemed the worthy of the worst punishments. Many ghosts had grievances against living and non-living menaces, last she heard, there was a whole list for Spectra to go down. Currently, she was in another universe tormenting a man named Eobard Thawne, who went by a ridiculous name called the Reverse Flash. Once she had her fill of torment, they would be taken to Walker’s prison.

The Ghostling continued to do this with many of his former adversaries until he came knocking at the door to her lair. She was well aware of what the GhostBoy would want, and was curious as to what he could offer her.

She granted him the grace of her presence and was charmed by his earnest nature. He genuinely wanted to know her story and obsessions so that he could find the best way to help her. She revealed to him it was not Desire as many people assumed but Fulfillment. She wanted to people to attain their desires in place of how she had been unable too. But there are consequences to wish granting so there’s only so much the Boy could do.

The ghostling had been unbelievable smug when he wished that her wishes wouldn’t have catastrophically negative outcomes. When she granted and skeptically tested this wish she found it had worked. The boy grew even more smug.

Of course balance had to be maintained so her power became not weaker per say, just more indirect. During their trial run, Desiree was granting the wish young boy had wished for a large cookie. Instead of instantly summoning a 50 foot tall cookie as she would have previously done, she simply caused his mother to have the desire to bake cookies and then had two of them fuse together in the oven creating one larger cookie.

A bit more round about than she prefers but it got the job done.

The two brokered a deal that would allow Desiree to travel into the mortal realm and grant the wishes she desired to, so long as the wouldn’t cause catastrophically negative outcomes in the future. Young Phantom had even gone as far as to direct her to the so-called Make-A-Wish foundation in which she could find many deserving children to fulfill the wishes of.

~~~

One night Desiree had been flying through the mortal realm to visit a friend, a city spirit she hadn’t seen in ages. As she flew over the city a strong sense of longing and desire resonated with her core. Where there was desire there was someone with a wish. Invisible, she flew down to the source of these feelings to investigate.

She ended up out side the window of a building that held longer traces of death and her friend’s magic. She peered through to see a young man putting the finishing touches on a lavish dinner. She observed as he created a beautiful meal with an air of melancholy before pouring himself a glass of wine and turning on his television to watch mediocre romantic comedies. Intrigued by this young man, Desiree decided to lurk and observe for a while, perhaps he would soon reveal the wish his heart yearned for?

-

Jason sighed into his Osso Bucco as another romantic comedy began to play. Man he really was bumming himself out wasn’t he. He shook his head and took a sip of his wine. He winced slightly as some cringey kids’ movie called How to Build A Better Boy appeared on screen. How had that even gotten in his queue? However, his laziness won out and he made no move to change it, resigning himself to a hour and a half or so of second-hand embarrassment and semi-decent acting.

As he watched the best friend girl make a virtual boyfriend based on her friend, the main girl’s, preferences and huffed to himself. Oh if only things could be that easy. He hummed to himself adding on his own thoughts to the teen girl’s rambling list.

“ If only, sister. I’d wish for a sensitive and sweet guy too. Someone who wouldn’t mind death jokes, or my odd hours. Someone who I could just relax and nerd out with. Someone who’d go on romantic dates with me so I wouldn’t have to sit here eating this nice dinner on my own. Yeah, I’d wish for my perfect guy too.”

Suddenly, a chill washed over Jason and his hair stood on edge. He whipped his head around in search for an intruder only to see nothing there. He scanned the apartment suspiciously before his eyes landed on an open window. He sighed, reassured it was just a draft and turned back to the movie.

~

Desiree was touched by the earnest desires of the young man who was touched by both death and her friend’s magic. It almost reminded her of her own desires for romance while she was still living. Perhaps she would stick around to see how this wish played out for the young man~?

~

Miles away, something sparked in Danny Fenton, helping him make his final decision on which of the colleges that accepted him he should attend.

[slytherinslut0]

lorenzo berkshire • run.

summary: how do you define the man who embodies contradiction? a loaded gun wrapped in sunshine, a bloodhound cloaked in golden fur, a cheeky wink masking a deadly glare?

after some pushing, you realize you’ve always known exactly what kind of man Lorenzo Berkshire is. and perhaps, you also realize, he’s the most dangerous kind of all.

word count: 5.9k

warnings: forced proximity trope, SMUT, multiple orgasm, teasing, PIV, fingering, a chase through the forest, jealousy (slight weaponizing of mattheo), established boundaries entirely consensual, dark!enzoberkshire (meh), left the door open for a part two considering i never elaborate on where they’re going.

Lorenzo Berkshire. He is what he is, until he isn't.

Growing up, you always held your perceptions of Berkshire close. A sweet boy with a puppy dog stare, eyes like liquid amber holding the gentle warmth of a summer's dawn. Innocent lad with a cheeky smile that radiated like sunlight on a dew-kissed meadow--simply too damn nice for his own good. A walking ray of sunshine, wouldn't harm a fly with a feather.

He was what he was, until he wasn't.

You're not entirely certain when the switch flipped, when he chose to reveal his true self to the school and no longer cared to conceal it. You suspect it was around fifth year, perhaps during one of the winter months. You recall hearing it before seeing it, albeit faintly—the rush of footsteps, the sound of flesh meeting stone, the sickening thud of fist against face.

And when your eyes finally caught up to your ears, you recall yourself silently thanking the stars for the gracious gift of karma, and you'll never forget the silent exchange you shared with Berkshire as he was finally pulled, nay dragged, up and away from your cheating, scumbag ex.

He is what he is, until he isn't.

From this, the question still stood to linger: what precisely is Lorenzo Berkshire? These days, if anyone is to know, it should be you. You've spent ample time in close quarters with him, enough to dare attempt an answer. Moments etched in memory, his breath warm against your neck, his fingers tracing the contours of your skin, his lips mapping the crease of your thighs; among others. You suspect that, more than anyone else, you could provide a solid insight into the truth of this enigmatic man.

And yet, the answer eludes description.

How does one configure the blueprint of a man who embodies contradiction—a loaded gun wrapped in sunshine, a bloodhound cloaked in golden fur, a cheeky wink masking a deadly glare? He defies categorization, existing at the intersection of light and shadow, warmth and danger, innocence and intensity.

Understanding Lorenzo Berkshire, in his entirety, would mean subjecting yourself to the dualities of his nature—standing in both the path of his aggression and the shelter of his protection. It necessitates penetrating beneath his skin to fathom the intricacies of his design and ascending above to attain a panoramic view.

It entails becoming his adversary before earning the privilege of his friendship, which is precisely where you falter—because how do you become an enemy to a man who's already been silently protecting you for years? Who not only touches but worships you with reverence? Who smiles like sin as he kneels before your altar? Who, despite any provocation that may test his patience, has never and would never suggest severing ties?

Perhaps, you decide, the closest you can get is by first figuring out how to get under his skin.

——

"Enz," the word's a hiss, slipping through breathless cords. "You're moving too fast."

Enzo's response is terse, a nod accompanied by a faint smirk that dances across his lips before he continues on, unabated.

"Noted." The word carries zero sincerity.

You fight a groan, frustration simmering beneath your skin. Yes, you anticipated his lacklustre response, yet it did little to quell the mounting annoyance within you, creeping toward heights of Everest.

"Enz--where are we even going?"

It's pathetic really, your vocal inflection. A half-assed plea for a response you know you won't receive. He must detect it too, for all he offers in acknowledgment is a dry chuckle, effortlessly shoving a branch aside as he ducks beneath it. You groan, audibly this time, the chill wind cutting through you like a knife.

"Enzo," you beseech him, again, your voice a breeze lost in the vastness of the night, "please just slow your pace...talk to m-"

With clear reluctance Enzo pauses, abruptly, as though someone poured cement into his shoes. He casts a glance over his shoulder at you, his gaze piercing through the darkness like a beacon--brief and pulsing. You hardly have time to meet his eyes before he's moving again.

"We can't afford to slow down," is all he offers as he resumes his long strides. "Not now."

The urge to strangle him swells within you like a tidal wave, threatening to engulf your sanity whole. How you curse the moment you offered to accompany him on this perilous journey. How you yearn to be back in the safety of your bed, cocooned in the warmth of the castle walls, far from the chaos that ensues when you entangle yourself with Slytherin boys and their penchant for trouble. Yet here you are, a prisoner of your own folly. By this point you're certain you'll never learn.

You huff your frustration. "Gods, Enzo."

Without giving him time to deflect, you quicken your steps and reach out, grasping his wrist, instantly acknowledging the tension in his skin beneath your touch. Then, in an instant, two eyes the colour of burnt honey pivot to lock onto yours, and you see it--that ferocity. Bees buzzing with anger at the sight of their spoil. It's there. It's always there.

He is what he is--

"We've been walking for fucking ever." As you exhale, the air swallows your breath. "I'm not going to help you if you won't reason with me. If you don't tell me where the hell we're going."

"Your word was given, angel," it's short, cautiously curt, but it's enough. His tone a velvet glove masking the steel beneath. "Wasn't it?"

"My word was given, but it was also contingent on trust." You survey your surroundings. Trees, bush, and Merlin knows what else. Your shoulders slouch. "And right now, that's in short supply."

He blinks, eyes floating up and over your head, a glimpse as fleeting as twilight, before returning to meet your own. You see it again, swirling in his irises, though it's softened slightly by something you perceive as guilt. The winds howl, sucking air thin as the tension thickens, congealing in your throat.

"You know I'd never endanger you."

--until he isn't.

There's a waver in your gaze, torn between the desire to hold his sight and the temptation to descend on his lips. You don't miss the purity in his tone, a sweetness that saturates the honey in his eyes and leaves nothing but pure sugar lingering on your tongue. So saccharine it makes your teeth ache, yet you find yourself craving more.

At any other moment, you'd believe him. Now, far within the depths of the forbidden forest, the circumstances allude it.

"You doubt me," his voice cuts through the silence like a blade through silk. He couldn't miss your hesitation in a dream. You feel his skin turn to ice beneath your touch. "Since when?"

Doubting Enzo feels foreign, a betrayal of self. It's no secret that the man is troublesome, usually up to no good--but you've always known, even as his teeth graze your pulse and his hands encircle your throat, that the last thing he'd ever do is hurt you. This isn't your character. Tonight's different, and you know he senses it.

"Since you started coming out here in the middle of the night," your voice is a whisper, releasing his wrist before you could feel the inevitable leap of his pulse. "Since I had to bribe Mattheo with damn near half my worth to get him to tell me why."

One thing for certain about Lorenzo Berkshire, it's that he should come with a warning. A word of advice not to be deceived by his soft appearance. All puppy cuddles with sharply fangs oozing venom. A caution to approach with the wariness reserved for handling hazardous materials. An infomercial on how his embrace is as deceiving as it is lethal, a trap set with a smile and an eager wag of the tail.

Except, now, there was no smile. No wag. Just the trap.

"You bribed Mattheo." He repeated, his voice a low rumble like distant thunder, entirely disregarding the beginning portion of your statement. "And just what exactly did you have to offer to loosen his tongue?"

A lightbulb burst to life in your brain. A waking sun. A brazen flame. The answer, so glaringly obvious in retrospect, had been within reach all along. What rouses a dormant dragon from slumber? What pokes a sleeping bear to wake? It is the threat to their belongings—the primal instinct to protect what is theirs at all costs. To perceive any potential threat and squash it at it source.

This was your moment.

You could insinuate that you tempted Mattheo with your own tongue in exchange, perhaps alongside the opportunity to mark your knees with bruises. You could say you offered your body, your dignity, anything that might garner a reaction. Of course, the truth was far more mundane; it only took a meagre 30 galleons and a pinky promise to loosen Mattheo's lips. And he didn't even tell you anything worth knowing.

But if you aimed to stoke the fires of Lorenzo Berkshire's wrath and draw his fury upon yourself, this appeared to be the sole route remaining. For throughout all the years of knowing him, the one consistent trigger that never failed to ignite his fury was any hint of a threat...against you.

But before you could comprehend the lapse in your response, Enzo stepped closer, your name hissed through clenched teeth. "What'd you give him?"

Your heart thrashed like a caged animal. The wind billowing through the depleted space between your bodies, tousling his hair in the night. Did the forest always sound like this? Didn't he just say you couldn't afford to slow down?

Your gaze meets the air over his shoulder. "You're deflecting my question."

"And you, mine," another step forward, and you take one back. You can't help but notice his fingers twitch at his sides. "Why?"

Have you added astuteness to your Enzo observation list? If not, it must be at the top. He's always been a master at unmasking your bluffs with a single, cutting retort, dripping from the teeth with condescension.

Your eye twitches. "You're just full of questions tonight, aren't you?"

He doesn't find your deflection half as amusing as you do. "Only because I'm being met with evasive answers.”

"Huh." You cock an eyebrow, crossing your arms over your chest. "Nosey and entitled."

"Hm," he cracks a grin at that. Purely to spite you, you're sure. Purely to make your pulse skyrocket. "I prefer curious and expectant."

"Quite a pair of traits." Tension thickens in your throat. You force yourself to swallow it. "You know what they say about curiosity, don't you?"

His grin widens. "I'm certain you'll enlighten me."

You peer at him, your eyes searching for warmth in the dim of the forest but finding none, like bees seeking nectar in barren fields. You square your shoulders, trying your damnedest to ignore the distant howling sounds coming from the forests depths.

"It's a tale as old as time, Enz, I'm sure you've heard it." A branch snaps underfoot, the sound jolting you back to reality, but you swallow the instinctual yelp that threatens to escape your lips. "Curiosity killed the cat."

Before you can even process it, Enzo moves with lightning speed, seizing your wrist just as you reel from the inevitable impact of your back colliding with an ancient oak behind you. Pulling you into him, his face moves dangerously close to yours, your eyes converging, honey pouring over your skin, sucking you in like quicksand.

"You know there's another part to it, don't you?" his voice cuts through the air like a dagger, sharp and precise. He waits for you to settle before he continues. "Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back."

That bastard.

"It doesn't matter what I gave him," you force yourself out of hesitation, your voice steady despite the rapid beating of your heart, the tingling sting on your spine. "I'm still here with you, aren't I?"

His silence is telling. Bottomless pits pin you down, an anvil in influence alone.

And then he breaks it. "It matters to me."

"Why?" you press, your curiosity piqued by his insistence. You're trying to drag this on for as long as you can but his intensity has you stumbling. Words flow like water. "Who cares, really? I mean-"

"Because," he slices your sentence in two. The latter dying from lack of purpose.

Your lips thin to a pursed line. You blink up at him through lidded eyes, mouth opening to speak but nothing comes out as he leans in closer, so close you can practically taste his breath. He'd never been possessive before, not like this. But perhaps you never gave him a reason to be. You've always been his, unquestioned, unsanctioned. Despite the lack of title. You know he’s only acting this way because you’re deflecting. Your heart barrels into your throat, desperate to claw its way out.

"Because I said so," he continues, his grip on your wrist tightening with each passing moment, his nails leaving indentations in the bark beside your head. "Because, whatever dept you owe him, I'll help you absolve it. Professionally."

A sickening grin creeps across your lips, and his eyes are glued to it. You're skinned raw under his gaze, his pupils so piercing you feel them in the marrow of your bones. You observe the subtle flicker of his tongue, moistening his lips as he gleams down at you--your saviour from above, your dormant dragon, your slumbering bear.

He is what he is.

"I don't need your saving, Enzo," your voice is a breath, as soft as a phoenix feather. As flaming as one too. "I need your honesty."

"My honesty." He repeats as he leans in closer, his hand shifting to gently tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. You shudder under his possession, his lips grazing against your jaw like fire and ice, simultaneously scorching and soothing. "I'll give you my honesty, angel."

You sigh as you hear the unctuous in that tone. You know he isn't going to give you what you're asking for, but he'll give you enough to quench your thirst. Classic fucking Berkshire. He releases his grip on your wrist, replacing it with a firm hold on your hip, anchoring you to reality.

"My honesty is I knew you'd try to come tonight, and I only let you because at least here, at my side, I can protect you." Warm lips brush feather-light against your lobe. "My honesty, is if Riddle puts a fucking hand on you, we're going to have a problem."

As the last few words spill from his lips, you feel as though you've got a sugar high, his words oozing with saccharine sweetness, like indulging in a bowl of chocolates or sipping from a concentrated cauldron of peach juice. They have a cloying effect, threatening to rot your teeth and stain your tongue. Just like his eyes.

And it's right then, that you come to a startling realization. You've always known exactly what kind of man Lorenzo Berkshire is. He's not one to overwhelm with his presence, but rather a relentless force, a perpetual energy that never fades. A silent protector, yet also a silent aggressor. He's a master of masking his anger, of controlling it with a precision that borders on chilling, only bringing it out to protect what's his.

Perhaps, you realize, he's the most dangerous kind of man of all.

"Always acting as my shield," you can barely get the words out, your voice soft and reverent, as though speaking in prayer. "My silent knight."

"Mm." Enzo's lips curve into a sardonic smile against your temple. "Only fitting for an angel."

His hands roam up your hips with a possessive urgency, pulling you closer to him until there's barely an inch of space between your bodies. His face buries into your hair, his breath stirring the strands as he holds you close, fingers digging into your waist.

"I know you didn't offer him what's mine," it's not a question, but a statement of absolute conviction, spoken with the confidence of a seer who reads the future unraveling before them. "I know I fuck you too good for that."

"You're right, Enz," you concede, lids fluttering shut, folding faster than a lawn chair in tornado season. How could you not, when he's exerting this kind of influence over you? "I didn't."

You still had no idea why the two of you were out here. And at this point, it was hardly an afterthought.

"Then what's your play here, angel," he growls through a groan, a ferocious intensity ignited in the way he's squeezing you, pressing your hips back against the tree. "What the fuck are you trying to do to me."

Your lips part, poised to release the words swirling within your mind, when a sound pricks your ears. Not a sound of your own making. Something distant, yet distinct.

In an instant, your eyes snap open, but the darkness shrouds any clear view, offering only faint glimpses of looming branches and rustling leaves. Enzo remains oblivious, seemingly consumed by the frustrated desire you've so eagerly drawn from him.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders, a futile attempt to push him back. "Enzo—"

"Are you trying to test me, angel?" Deep as the forest depths. As dark as them, too. His hands leave your hips and find your wrists, pinning them back against the bark above your head. "Make me jealous, yeah?"

There's another sound, now, drawing closer. You blink up at the complicated man before you, fluttering eyelashes fanning the crease of your lid. Bark burns into your skin as his intensity increases, body sweating under the heat of his eyes as they drip down at you, fever rising by the second— fear and arousal mingling as one.

"Enz-" you hardly have time to breathe before his lips are on your neck, and he's sucking. Hard. "Fuck."

Adrenaline surges you, rushing your lungs with rapid breath, sparks of lust snapping over your skin. Enzo has vanished, replaced by a storm cloud brewing with ominous intent, his once collected demeanour now a loaded gun with a cocked trigger. He was primed to annihilate, eager to erupt. You cursed yourself for pushing him to this brink, at this precise moment, as an impending threat loomed closer with unmistakable certainty.

A gasp escaped your lips as Enzo's teeth sank into your neck, branding you with purple pleasured marks of his possession.

"Enzo, damn it-" your voice is ragged, his lips trailing to the other side of your throat, the hold on your wrist growing tighter. You had to warn him. You didn't want him to stop. Your thoughts jumbled, your brain grappling with what to articulate first, settling on the throbbing pain in your wrists. "Gentle—"

Enzo groans against your neck, rolling his hips into you, fucking fire over every available expanse of flesh.

"Gentle." His breath tickles your neck, your thighs trembling, seeking friction as your hips move in rhythm with his. "I'll fuck you right here against this tree and the last fucking thing I'll be is gentle." A plea balloons in you, knocking teeth, choking. He senses it--a grin crawling across his lips in response. "That's what you wanted after all, isn't it angel?"

Nothing could stop the moan from fleeing your lips as he smirks against your pulse. Not even Merlin himself. Gripping the back of your head, Enzo crashes his lips to yours--hurried and unrelenting, the plush entirety soft and sweet and insatiable against your own. As quick as a lightening strike, you're drowning in his sugar, another realization settling on you like an encroaching dawn just how much of a taste you've developed for it. For him.

Then, he pulls away, breathing a command against your lips. "Run."

Your gut bottoms out--fear instantly drawn to the forefront of your ignorantly blissed brain--and before you can catch your breath or summon your stamina or attempt to direct some blood flow from your cunt back up to your head he's already propelling you forward, dragging you through the forest with a grip that could crush steel. Roots and branches blur past, the forest a chaotic whirlwind of greens and browns below your feet.

And it feels like hours, perhaps even years of running and dodging before Enzo finally slows his pace. You're both panting, gasping, chests heaving, but his urgency perseveres, gaze scanning the clearing as if in search of something, and then you see it, too—an old greenhouse tucked behind a few large trees, clearly abandoned.

Before you can process it, he's already on the move again, dragging you toward it.

He whips open the door and practically hurls you inside—the aged wood creaking on rusty hinges as it swings wide. His eyes, sharp as flint, dart back to survey the clearing you just fled from, and whatever he sees there seems to set his nerves on edge because before you can even blink he's striding toward you, his grip resuming its vice around your wrist as he pulls you toward a small supply closet.

You feel like a ragdoll. It's starting to get real fucking old. "Enzo-"

The words dissolve on your tongue when in an instant you find yourself inside the minuscule expanse of the closet, shelves stacked with gardening supplies, Enzo's breath pouring over the back of your neck, his body so fucking close to yours you can't take a breath without touching him. Reaching over you, he shuts the door and locks the two of you inside, engulfing you in a darkness so thick you can almost feel it clinging to your skin.

Then, there's silence, and suddenly you're aware of every inch of your existence, from the breath leaving your lungs to the sweat crawling behind your knees. Enzo shifts, as if uncomfortable, his crotch pressed firm against your ass and you can almost taste the intensity radiating from his eyes as his hands grip your waist, pulling you back against him with a force that makes breathing normally a distant dream.

"Poachers." He mutters against your neck.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you process his words, the gravity of the situation settling over you like a suffocating blanket. Poachers. You try to steady your breathing, but it's like trying to contain a storm within a teacup.

Your throats arid. "What do we do?"

You shift to adjust your stance, the sensation of Enzo's erratic exhales against your neck making your entire body tingle--and at your movements, he huffs, his grip on your waist tightening, his fingers pressing into your skin with an urgency that matches the pounding of your heart.

"We wait." He murmurs, his voice rough, like gravel underfoot. "Stop moving."

You need to shut up, but you can't. "And if they come in here? If they find u-"

Enzo's hand clamps over your mouth, silencing your words with a firm yet gentle grip, embodying the duality of his character. Strong yet soft. Cold yet warm. Your pulse quickens, your body reacting instinctively to his touch. Only Lorenzo Berkshire could evoke such contradictory sensations, stirring arousal in the face of danger.

"Shh," he cooes against your ear, his breath warm against your skin. "Trust me."

Lungs hitching, you nod, though the gesture is barely perceptible beneath his palm. He doesn't free your mouth, however, instead choosing to tease your earlobe with his teeth, his free hand on your abdomen, holding you tight against him.

"You can do that, right, angel?" his tone as soft as feathers, a gentle coaxing that wraps around you like a warm blanket. "You trust me."

There's that inflection again. As right as rain. You know he's fully fucking aware that the way he's speaking to you is calming you down, just as he knows you trust him implicitly. You wouldn't have been out here in the first place if you didn't.

And just as you go to nod, to give him the best answer you can provide to his non-question, his lips descend, claiming your pulse, his grip over your mouth intensifying as he attacks it--slow and silent and determined, your back arching and your lids fluttering in response.

"Mhm, you know I've got you," his free hand trails up your stomach, slowing just as his thumb reaches the underwire of your bra. "Always have."

In defiance of your good judgment, you clench, a shiver of longing fluttering over you. You groan against his hand, his growing desire pushing against your ass as evident and desperate as his movements. Darkness cloaks the closet, stealing your sense of sight yet all the others are overwhelmed by him. He's all-consuming, everywhere, everything—

"But this," five poised fingers start to glide down your stomach, his lips shifting back to your ear. "Is what you get for testing me."

Your skin jumps at the caress of his fingers tracing deceptively timid over your hips, thighs, like he hasn't done this before, like it's care and not punishment. His favourite oxymoron: the gentlest torture, the cruelest succour. You shudder, arching into him, searching for friction, and he tsks you, shaking his head.

"You wanted gentle, didn't you, angel?" The tease in his tone makes you want to choke him. Sort of makes you want him to choke you, too. "Consider this my version of it. Be good."

His fingers slither under the band of your leggings, a slow, torturous crawl toward the epicenter of your longing. Your hands grasp for purchase in the darkness, but there's nothing substantial to hold onto, just like the ephemeral sensation of his touch. He's both intimidating and unnervingly gentle, leading you to the brink of ruin with calculated precision.

You whimper under his palm, hips jerking toward his touch, desperate for more, but it only causes him to go slower. He coos another command to be quiet, a teasing taunt dripping with wicked delight, and you can practically feel the satisfaction pouring from his lips. He's laser-focused on unraveling you, on making you utterly undone before giving you what you crave most.

When his index finger grazes over your clit, you audibly groan, head falling back against his shoulder.

"You can't rush penance, angel," his mouth opens in a smile against your ear, though it feels more like barred teeth. That smile is as much deadly as it is pretty. "Let it simmer."

Every nerve in your body is on high alert, trembling with the intensity of his touch. You're swallowing air with a moan stuck in your throat; too dry, you realize, and feel like you're choking when he starts to move lower, two fingers shifting your panties to the side and slicking through your folds.

"So wet." He's barely audible now, even as he's breathing the words into your eardrums. "Mm, so fucking wet."

Before you can prepare for it, those same two fingers inch inside you, and curl. Your eyes roll, his palm pulling your head back tight against his shoulder as he slowly finger fucks deep into you--in and out in perfect rhythm, the sloppy sounds emanating from your cunt filling the dark, steaming space and making your skin prickle with hot shame—you're fucking dripping for him.

He growls, low in his chest, and instinctively your legs spread wider, inviting him deeper, inviting him to inebriate you further. You're caught in the perfect balance of his contradiction, teetering on the edge between disciple and devil. He worships you in one breath and ruins you in the next. A wolf in sheep's clothing.

"Mine." Is all he mutters, before there's a sound outside the door, and you both freeze.

Footsteps.

Almost immediately, you're ripped from the derogatory haze you'd just found yourself in—your body stiffens, tension coiling through your limbs like icy tendrils, turning your blood to frost. Enzo's fingers slow, though they remain inside you, adjusting ever-so-slightly to avoid the slick sounds your cunt makes every time he moves. You feel his teeth tease your ear, his silent way of telling you to calm down. That he's got you.

The footsteps draw closer, and there's no mistaking it—someone, most definitely multiple someone's, are lurking just outside the door—in search, of you.

But before you can even entertain the thought, before it has a chance to sink in and settle in the recesses of your mind, Enzo crooks his fingers against a spot that sends sparks flying behind your eyelids, his thumb applying just enough pressure to your clit to send you hurtling into a realm of sensation he introduces you to regularly, but not one you were prepared to face in this moment, under these circumstances.

You grit your teeth, the urge to scream clawing at the back of your throat like a caged animal desperate for freedom. Enzo is ruthless, merciless, driving you to the very edge and daring you to jump--driving you to the edge of sanity and forcing you to suppress the tidal wave of pleasure threatening to consume you whole.

The footsteps grow louder, veer closer, before they slow. Before they stop.

It's cataclysmic, catastrophic—a blaze raging in an open battlefield, a hellfire during open warfare. You hardly have a second to comprehend the sheer insanity of what you're engaged in before Enzo's pace intensifies and he yanks your head back against his shoulder with even more force, to the point you're certain the back of your skull will leave an indent on his skin.

His lips brush against your ear, practically daring you to cum— daring you to keep resisting.

"It's clear," a voice rings out, neither yours nor Enzo's. Footsteps pick back up and draw further away. "Let's move out."

And then, it's over. A weight lifts off your shoulders, a tidal wave crashing over you. Your body erupts, convulses, squeezing around Enzo's fingers and trembling against him as your climax charges through you like a raging bull, unstoppable and overwhelming.

You scream behind his palm, knees threatening to give out from under you, the gates of heaven themselves coming into clear fucking view.

"Good girl." He husks in your ear, working you through your high, his chest rising and falling against your back, the hunger evident in his words. "My little angel was so fucking good...I think she deserves a reward, doesn't she?"

You nod, the fervent desire for more evident in the desperate plea that crawls past your lips, only to be muffled by his palm. Enzo's groan reverberates against your ear, his erection painfully hard against your ass. With a swift motion, he withdraws his hand from your lips, unlocking the door and shoving it open, propelling you forward with a commanding grip on your hips.

He wastes no time in pushing you up against an old wooden table, the rough surface biting into your skin as he yanks your leggings down your thighs. His hand finds its way into your hair, gripping a fistful and pulling your head back toward his mouth, his lips hungry and insistent against your own. Meanwhile, his free hand works quickly to undo his belt, his urgency evident as he prepares to take what he desires.

"Did you like that, angel?" He breathes against your panting mouth, his eyes barely open, his belt hitting the ground at his feet. "You like what I fucking did to you?"

"Yes—" you're choked by a gasp as he slicks his length between your thighs. "Gods-fuck, yes!"

"Yeah, you did. Fuck, I should have edged you, I shouldn't have let you cum," his voice is wanton, despite himself. You're not even sure if he knows what he's saying. "But I can't fucking help myself. I fucking love ruining you."

He positions himself at your entrance, the tension in the air thick as molasses. With a single swift motion, he plunges into you, a symphony of pleasure and pain ripping through you as he fills you completely in one long, deep thrust. You gasp, your nails digging into the wooden surface beneath you as his grip in your hair tightens, the other latched onto your hip to hold you steady.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he groans, breath hot on your jawline. His hand shifts to grasp your jaw, pulling your lips back to his. "Always so fucking tight for me."

You can only whimper in response, his pace ruthless, and unhinged and unpredictable as always. His fervour is all the reminder of how you got here in the first place; the teeth, the force, the grip on your waist. There's a rough sound he makes in your mouth that you taste more than you hear.

He is what he is, until he isn't. Until he's someone else completely.

You're clutching at the desk and screaming into his mouth as his fingers find your clit again and amidst the onslaught you're hit by the realization that this man is everything—simultaneously overwhelming and subtle, too much yet not enough. He's a feeling that engulfs you, swallowing you whole until it fills your lungs, leaving you choking on the intensity of it all. Your lips move against his in perfect synchrony, your eyelashes fluttering with each powerful smack of his hips as he drives himself deep inside you, over and over and over again.

"Enz—" you sob through the kiss but he doesn't give you enough air to do it.

He pushes harder, a rasp at the back of his throat, some carnal thing. When he withdraws his lips from yours, his brows are furrowed in concentration. There's a fine lustre of sweat on his forehead, stray strands pulled across gleaming honeyed eyes.

"Cum," you swear it's a plea. You hear the desperation as much as you feel it. "Cum for me."

Your head lulls back as shocks of pleasure course through your body, the coil snapped, addled through the ecstasy, barely conscious of the way his panted breaths hitch at the sight of you in his hands, soft-eyed and puddled for him, broken by his touch, stripped of all structure just to be held up by his own. The sight and feel of you erupting sends him over the edge, his groan rumbling against your temple.

"Fucking hell—" his hips stutter, his breath does too, his lashes fanning as he pours his cum deep inside you. "Fuck."

You sink against him as he finally comes to a slow, thighs numb and wet, one hand slipping dumbly from the desk and running up through your hair, pushing sticky strands back from your forehead. The second orgasm is an aftershock of the first, it takes forever to recover from it, and before you can even register the movements Enzo has already pulled out, done up his pants and is helping you pull yours back up your still-trembling thighs.

As you turn to face him, he pulls you in. You kiss lazily and softly. The room feels sheeted in static. The electricity lingers on both of you.

When he pulls back, you let the first thing in your mind slip past your teeth. "You're unbelievable, Enzo."

He smirks, wetting his lips before leaning down and planting a small peck on the top of your head. "I'm yours, angel."

Lorenzo Berkshire is what he is, and what he is, is yours.

[fjordfolk]

i never really liked the formulation that puppies and young dogs 'push boundaries' because i feel like it suggests a kind of intent i haven't seen in our dogs, and it kinda feeds into that adversarial relationship that some trainers have been shilling for decades where you're always expecting your dog to challenge your authority or whatever.

my nephew has a puppy rn, and they described it as 'throwing out behaviours and seeing what happens' which i liked a lot better?

because at least it doesn't suggest that this semi-sentient bag of bones and slop has a crystal clear picture of the laws of conduct and is hell-bent on testing them, and it doesn't suggest they already know exactly how their behaviour affects the world. they're just behaving. and learning.

[dolcettamagica]

𐙚˙⋆.˚ 𝐒𝐚𝐥𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐞

gangleader!sukuna x reader, modern au

tags: possessive & obsessive sukuna, choking, lowkey stalking translations: piccola - little one/baby notes: listen to "salvatore" by lana del rey wc: 1.7k

In the dimly lit underbelly of the city, where shadows whispered secrets and alleys told tales of violence, there existed a figure feared and revered in equal measure: Sukuna Ryomen, the enigmatic leader of the most dangerous gang. His name struck terror into the hearts of those who dared oppose him, while his charisma drew countless souls into his fold.

Sukuna was a man who commanded respect without uttering a word. His mere presence exuded power, his icy gaze capable of silencing even the boldest of adversaries. With a network spanning the city's underworld, he held dominion over illicit trades, clandestine operations, and the very pulse of criminal activity.

Yet, amidst the chaos and the conquests, there was one enigma that eluded Sukuna’s grasp: a woman whose allure ignited a fire within him. You, a mysterious beauty with a spirit as untamed as the flames dancing in the night. You moved with a grace that defied the chaos around you, a silent tempest in the midst of the storm.

From the moment Sukuna laid eyes on you, he knew you were unlike any other. You were not bound by the rules of his world, nor swayed by the promises of power and wealth. Instead, you remained an enigmatic force, unyielding and unattainable.

Driven by an insatiable desire, Sukuna sought to possess you, to unravel the mysteries that shrouded your existence. He offered you riches beyond measure, a throne by his side where you could rule the underworld together. Yet, each offer was met with a gentle refusal, as you remained steadfast in your independence.

Frustration festered within Sukuna's heart, a tempest of emotions that threatened to consume him whole. He was a man accustomed to getting what he desired, yet you remained beyond his reach, a tantalizing mirage in the desert of his ambitions.

Despite his best efforts to suppress the yearning that gnawed at his soul, Sukuna found himself inexorably drawn to you, like a moth to the flame. He watched from the shadows as you moved through the city, a silent guardian cloaked in mystery.

In the depths of the night, when the city slumbered and dreams took flight, Sukuna found himself haunted by visions of your captivating gaze. You were the one anomaly in his meticulously crafted world, the one puzzle he could not solve.

And so, amidst the chaos and the conquests, Sukuna Ryomen, a formidable leader, found himself ensnared by the one thing he could not possess: the heart of a woman who danced beyond his reach, a forbidden desire that burned brighter than any flame in the darkness.

In the depths of his lavish office, Sukuna sat with unwavering determination, his gaze fixed on the phone before him. His frustration simmered beneath the surface, a molten rage that threatened to erupt at any moment. With a swift motion, he seized the device, his fingers dancing across the screen with a commanding presence.

"Where are you, piccola?" he typed, each word a declaration of his unwavering dominance. "You cannot hide from me forever. I will find you, and when I do, you will answer to me."

There was no room for hesitation in Sukuna's messages, no trace of the desperation that had once plagued him. Instead, his words dripped with authority, each message a demand for her submission.

"Do not test my patience" he continued, his tone brooking no defiance. "You belong to me, and you will come to me willingly. There is no escape from my grasp."

With each message sent, Sukuna's resolve hardened, his determination driving him forward with unrelenting force. He would not be denied what was rightfully his, not by anyone, especially not by a woman who dared to defy him.

"Tell me where you are," he commanded, "I will not ask again."

But still, there was no response, no sign of surrender. Anger flared within Sukuna's chest, a wildfire of fury that threatened to consume him whole.

"If you think you can hide from me, you are sorely mistaken," his words a warning laced with venom. "I will tear this world apart to find you, and when I do, you will regret ever crossing me, piccola."

With a final message sent, Sukuna leaned back in his chair, his eyes burning with a fierce determination. He would not rest until you were in his grasp, until you bowed before him in submission. For in Sukuna Ryomen's world, there was no room for defiance, only dominance and control. And he would have it all, no matter the cost.

As Sukuna's fingers hovered over the screen, poised to send yet another commanding message, the door to his office swung open with a forceful creak. In strode one of his most trusted lieutenants, a figure cloaked in shadows and whispers, bearing news that ignited a spark of hope within Sukuna’s hardened heart.

"Boss," the subordinate – Toji – began, his voice low and deferential, "we've received word. She... she's in Miami."

The words hung heavy in the air, a tantalizing promise of victory amidst the tumultuous storm of Sukuna's emotions. Without a moment's hesitation, he rose from his seat, his movements swift and decisive.

"Prepare the jet," he commanded, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife. "We leave immediately."

There was a sense of urgency in Sukuna’s tone, a hunger that burned brighter with each passing second. Miami beckoned like a siren's call, its neon-lit – ruby, blue and green, neon too – streets promising the chance to reclaim what was rightfully his.

As his subordinates scrambled to fulfill his orders, Sukuna's mind raced with thoughts of the woman who had eluded him for far too long. He could almost taste the sweet victory that lay within his grasp, the moment when you would finally bend to his will.

With a steely resolve and a heart set ablaze with determination, Sukuna embarked on his journey to Miami, a man possessed by a singular purpose: to capture the one who dared to defy him and to assert his dominance once and for all.

The sun hung low on the horizon, casting its golden rays upon the pristine sands of the Miami beach. Among the throngs of sun-seekers, Sukuna strode with purpose, his eyes scanning the shoreline with a predatory intensity. And there, amidst the azure waves and the gentle sway of palm trees, he spotted you.

You laid upon the sand, a vision of beauty that stole the breath from Sukuna's lungs. Clad in a bikini that left little to the imagination, you exuded an aura of confidence that only served to fuel his desire. Your bronzed skin glowed beneath the sun's warm embrace, your tousled hair cascading like silk upon the sand.

With measured steps, Sukuna approached, his gaze never wavering from the woman who had haunted his every thought. He stood before you now, a towering figure clad in shadows and sinew, his presence commanding the attention of all who dared to gaze upon him.

"Piccola," he said, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "You cannot hide from me forever."

There was a flicker of defiance in your eyes, a spark that ignited the flames of desire within Sukuna's chest. But he would not be deterred, not by your beauty nor by your resolve. He had come too far, fought too hard, to let you slip through his fingers once again.

"You belong to me," he declared, his words laced with a possessiveness that bordered on obsession. "And now, you will come with me."

But you remained unmoved, your gaze steady as you met his with a defiance that stirred something primal within him. You were a challenge, a tantalizing puzzle that begged to be solved, and Sukuna was more than willing to rise to the occasion.

“I was working on my tan, boss.”

"Working on your tan," he repeated, his voice betraying none of the turmoil raging within him. "In Miami, of all places."

There was a subtle tension in the air, a silent battle of wills as you and Sukuna locked gazes. Your defiance sparked a flicker of admiration within him, even as it fueled the flames of his frustration.

"Indeed," you replied, your tone cool and composed. "Is there a problem with that?"

Sukuna's jaw clenched, a silent testament to the storm of emotions swirling beneath his stoic facade. He had come too far, searched too long, to be met with such casual indifference.

"No problem," he finally replied, his voice a low growl. "But I must insist that you accompany me. We have unfinished business, you and I."

Your lips curved into a sardonic smile, a glimmer of amusement dancing in your eyes. "I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific, boss. I have many businesses, all of them quite finished."

Sukuna's patience wore thin, his frustration bubbling to the surface like molten lava. He had pursued you across oceans and continents, faced down countless adversaries in his quest to claim you as his own. And yet, she remained as elusive as ever, a tantalizing enigma that refused to be solved.

"Enough games, piccola," he snapped, his tone cutting through the air like a knife. "You cannot hide from me forever. Sooner or later, you will bend to my will."

The tension crackled between you like electricity as Sukuna's hand shot out, seizing you by the throat with a force that bordered on violence. His grip was firm, unyielding, a silent declaration of dominance that sent a shiver down your spine.

For a heartbeat, time seemed to stand still as you stood locked in a primal embrace, your gazes locked in a fierce battle of wills. But beneath the surface, a different kind of energy simmered—a raw, unbridled desire that pulsed between you like a current of electricity.

Your breath came in ragged gasps as Sukuna's grip tightened, his fingers leaving imprints on your skin like branding marks. And yet, there was no fear in your eyes, only a smoldering heat that mirrored his own.

With a low growl, Sukuna leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear with a tantalizing promise. "You cannot resist me, piccola," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. "You were made for me, and you know it."

A shudder ran through your body as you felt the heat of Sukunas breath against your skin, your pulse racing with a heady mixture of fear and excitement. You knew that you were as drawn to him as he was to you—a dangerous truth that sent a thrill coursing through your veins.

“You will always belong to me.”

[joshuaalbert]

buzzfeed article: top five star trek episodes that are the most like john carpenter’s the thing (1982)

[trashytoastboi]

Can I request headcanons of Luffy, Zoro, Sanji and Ace with a sleepy head S/O? They just love sleeping and taking naps.

Hiya! Sure thing! My apologies for the long wait on your request and hope you enjoy ~

Headcanons: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace with Sleepy head S/O – They just love sleeping and taking naps

> (Gender Neutral) <

Monkey D. Luffy

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🍖 Luffy could always find {Name} in their favorite nap spot. They had developed little napping corners, all throughout various places on the ship. Some were cozy, others unusual. Luffy initially found it to be entertaining like a game every time he had to seek out another new place that {Name} dubbed as their sleeping spot. He had even adopted some to be his own sleeping corners that he would share a refreshing nap or two with {Name} especially after a big meal. He didn't understand how one could sleep so often but nevertheless, {Name} had their moments of energy. Although everyone could agree it was an unusual match up considering how low energy {Name} is compared to the ever energetic Luffy. 

🍖 Luffy loves that {Name} is so trusting of him that he could move them around in their sleep and instinctively they’ll know it's him and won't wake nor stir. Simply entrust themselves to him. That trust is a precious thing to Luffy, and he would never seek to betray it. Out of curiosity they had tested if it worked with anyone else on the crew and with the exception of Chopper, no one else was able to even touch {Name} without waking them up. Knowing that they don’t stir or get disturbed Luffy is still always careful when handling them while sleeping. 

🍖 It goes without saying that naps are a daily occurrence, {Name} enjoys napping with Luffy. It’s a two in one, they get to sleep and spend time with their beloved. How could they possibly pass that up? Especially after a delicious meal served by Sanji, a satisfied stomach makes the eyes heavy. {Name} already heads to their spot of the day and Luffy follows. I mean nothing beats a post meal nap, and it’s only got all the upsides. He does find it surprising that {Name} can easily sleep more than Zoro but when you’re tired, you're tired. He’s understanding of that given the amount of times he would see Ace just fall asleep in the middle of things. He wouldn't even wait until after the meal until he was passing out.

🍖 Luffy has tested how deeply they sleep. He’s poked, prodded, tickled, raised a ruckus and yet they slept through it all. Honestly you’d need that kind of deep sleep to survive the craziness of the Straw-Hat crew. He also finds it adorable how they koala to him. If they sense that Luffy is near they’ll stretch, shuffle and pull him into a surprise snuggle. Which 99% of the time also results in Luffy deciding to take a nap too. 

🍖 Luffy can tolerate a lot, but there are some sleep habits that just don’t fly with him. He can tolerate the blanket stealing, snoring and cold feet. But the sleep talking- specifically sleep talking about food is just one of the worst habits {Name} has. It makes Luffy so unbearably hungry that he has to go and find food as soon as possible, even if it means getting through Sanji and the padlocked fridge. 

🍖 {Name’s} sleeping habits, believe it or not have actually gotten a lot better. One of the trickiest things to deal with, was {Name} falling asleep in the middle of fights. One second they’re dominating, next someone is yelling to rescue them before they’re injured because they decided to stop, drop and nap right on the spot. The only saving grace was that their adversary was so stunned that they just stopped fighting momentarily, which gave Luffy an opportunity to save his partner and take them to safety. Which usually entailed tossing them as gently as he could to some random corner. 

Roronoa Zoro

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⚔️ Zoro never thought he’d meet someone who shares his need to nap. If not more so, he appreciates that they understand. Who can refuse the true beauty of a good solid nap, you wake refreshed and energized, sometimes a little hungry but right as rain. Sleep was the magic cure all, and {Name} embodied that. When awake they were sleepy, yawning and dazed as if they were constantly on the verge of going to bed. Zoro finds it charming in his way, and {Name’s} constant bedhead is something he also finds quite adorable. He’s even gotten to the point of being able to rate the quality of their naps based on their bed hair. A neat little party trick. Not that he could say he’s met someone that sleeps that match, so he likens his partner to a cat because that’s the only creature that comes to his mind that naps as much as {Name}

⚔️ All of Zoro’s napping spots became {Name’s} napping spot and underwent a metamorphosis, to become extra comfortable. A whole upgrade, things were far more comfortable than Zoro thought possible. {Name} had the magic touch, Zoro swears that he had never in his life ever slept that comfortably. His partner was genuinely happy that they could make his naps, along with theirs a little more peaceful and accommodating. Hell, even Franky swore left and right that they must use sorcery because he couldn’t see HOW it made any sense. {Name} has often said that to understand the art of sleep, one must sleep a lot. 

⚔️ Zoro wasn’t much of a cuddler, not at first at least. He would fall asleep his usual way, on his back with his hands behind his head. Sometimes he’d be holding his swords and other times he’d just lay on his side on the deck. {Name} would scoot, shuffle and shift until they were snug against him, comfortably and using Zoro’s chest as their pillow. They said it was the best pillow and it was hard to nap without. Eventually Zoro got so used to them, that he just always fell asleep expecting {Name} to eventually join him. Oddly enough Zoro discovered he was quite the big fan of snuggling. Having them in his arms, and feeling the warmth of another person was so comforting. Unless there was a heatwave, being the only exception when {Name} didn’t cuddle up with him. 

⚔️ Zoro never knew whether to be impressed, entertained or creeped out by the fact that {Name} could hold full conversations in their sleep. They’d said it’s all basic and autopilot answers. There were plenty of times when they weren’t supposed to be sleeping and at least being able to answer questions and speak saved them a lot. If someone tried to wake them they would simply reply “I’m not sleeping, just resting my eyes.” The most common excuse in the book is that someone would ask a second question and [Name} would respond, even going as far as being able to make small talk. All for the preservation of a good nap.. 

⚔️ Constricting. Zoro absolutely detested this strange sleep habit of his partners. For literally no reason, their cuddles would turn into crushing death grip, strangle holds and gentle arms turned into constricting snakes that would have Zoro being crushed. He thought it was related to dreams, nope. Come hell or high water, good dreams or bad. {Name} would get these random moments when they would just tighten their grip and send Zoro into mild panic until he wakes them up or slips out of their hold. Now it’s just a thing that happens and he handles it easily, the first few times however were nothing short of terrifying.

⚔️ Well Zoro has had his fair share of badly timed naps, during a crisis when he’s napping so soundly. But one thing he wishes {Name} would work on, is having no sense of crisis. Mid fight and they’re eepy? Sleep. The amount of fights he’s had to undertake with {Name} slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. If not that, then falling asleep in the bath and literally fearing for his partner drowning because they decided to take a quick nap in the bathtub. 

Sanji

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🍽 Cute, so cute, adorable- precious. Sanji has many adjectives to explain his partner, not that they ever do any justice because {Name} exceeds them. He thinks their sleepiness is adorable. Sounds odd, but seeing how they yawn, eyes barely open and they waddle towards Sanji to hug him and wish him a good morning, nuzzling into his chest as the warmth lulls them back to sleep. Sanji is literally trembling from how cute that is. “{Name-chan} You should go back to bed.” He helps them back to bed, and even prepares the usual. {Name} gets an exemption from the dining table to enjoy a leisurely breakfast in bed, benefits when one’s boyfriend is the chef. 

🍽Absolutely adores what a snuggle bug they are. Sanji loves it. If he’s cooking they’ll usually hug him, leaning into him while he’s busy. They’re half asleep mumbling half asleep answers, occasionally being fed bites to taste test while Sanji deciphers and translates based on their hums and mumbles. If he’s sitting down, they want to use his lap as a pillow, if in bed, they’re snuggling him. Sometimes they intentionally seek Sanji out, pouting until he agrees to join them in a nap just so they can cuddle him. He loves the affection. 

🍽 {Name} has gotten Sanji into the habit of taking naps too, in the small time gap after lunch and before dinner. Sanji originally didn’t see the appeal, only if he had a poor night's sleep, then he’d do it for a boost of energy. Ever since {Name}, naps were his daily ritual. His little bit of me time, and thankfully he convinced {Name} to sleep in relatively normal places. Some of their previous places were questionable if not downright dangerous. One long lecture later, they shuffled around until napping spots got Sanji approved. 

🍽 Sanji discovered the greatest joy he has. {Name} who is always extra ravenous after waking up from a nap. They say food always tastes better after a nap and eat whatever Sanji serves up with such enthusiasm that it genuinely touches his heart. He loves being able to cook and prepare light meals, snacks, anything they crave really after a particularly good nap. Even with their sleepy and low energy selves they express such clear excitement for whatever Sanji cooks up. 

🍽 Sanji has very little to complain about when sharing a bed with them at night, the only thing he’ll probably say was tricky to get used to was how much {Name] moves around in their sleep. They change sleeping positions every so often, occasionally banishing the pillow from the bed unintentionally or throwing the blanket off, Sanji always wakes up to return their pillow and cover them again. This happens a few times a night, even if they’re cuddling sometimes {Name} will very abruptly change their sleeping position and smack Sanji in the face, giving him a nosebleed. (Oh the irony) 

🍽 Sanji was wholly curious about what would happen should {Name} not sleep as much for a day. Satisfying his curiosity they didn’t nap and it was hard. They were so groggy and tired it made them sluggish. They grew irritable beyond belief, and grumpy. They would hug Sanji everytime they walked past but instead of enjoying it, they would leave almost immediately saying it would make them sleepy. Sanji knew that naps were like snickers to his partner. Because {Name} wasn’t themselves without having a nap. 

Portgas D. Ace

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🔥 Ace is very high energy, he is always in go mode. Ironically until he has those sudden naps that recharge him for his next bout. {Name} found that relatable and cute on Ace’s behalf. Meeting while he napped in his soup probably wouldn’t make the best first impression to most. {Name} reassured him it's quite alright. It happens to them often too. Ace took it as a joke, not exactly knowing that it was almost the truth. {Name} is so sleepy all the time, that a couple of instances of falling asleep in their food was actually pretty commonplace. Ace thinks it’s cute though.

🔥 {Name} loves sleeping with Ace, he’s always warm and loves cuddling as much as they do. Ace enjoys seeing them so peaceful and undisturbed, he strokes their head to calm them and it works. It soothes {Name}, anytime they’re with Ace and he starts doing that, it’s guaranteed that they will fall asleep. He knows it too, he doesn’t mind if they fall asleep though. Ace takes it as a sign of their trust in him, enough to fall asleep near him and entrust them with their safety. That trust is something precious to Ace even if it stems from something like sleeping near him, he still values it. 

🔥 {Name} will occasionally ‘kidnap’ Ace to join in their afternoon naps. One minute he’s socializing with the crew, the next {Name} is sprouting up out of nowhere trying to drag him to their favorite napping spot, which of course is decided at the time. In consideration of a few key factors, such as the weather, the sun, the wind, comfort factor, and {Name’s} mood of the day. Do they want an indoor nap? Outdoor? Is it cold or hot? 

🔥 One of the most entertaining things for the crew to witness is Ace trying to escape from {Name} after they’ve fallen asleep. Him trying to stealthily slip out of their grasp and every time they stir, threatening to wake up he freezes. Holds his breath in this game of red light, green light until he’s finally free. Eventually he shuffles a pillow closer to act as his body double as {Name} snuggles into it and goes on sleeping without a care in the world. 

🔥 An annoying sleep habit that {Name} has is ‘mood swings’ in a sense, one minute they want cuddles, snuggles and fine, the next, they want their own space and roll away from Ace or violently boot him out of bed (All unintentionally), Ace never knows when the mood will shift. One moment he snuggles, the next he dodges an elbow, a knee, a foot and resorts to sleeping on the cold side of the bed, banished to the forsaken realms until [Name} is rolling back towards him.

🔥 Ace learned to deal with his adorable partner who just curls up and sleeps on any comfy surface, even if it’s an inappropriate place that could potentially be dangerous. The amount of times he believed his heart would give out when he saw half of the strange and perilous places his partner fell asleep in. Ace had the tendency to worry about them and made {Name} promise that even if they’re tired they have to hold on endure until they get to a comfortable and safe location above all. 

[kdmiller55]

When Times Get Tough…

6 Now there was a day when the sons of God came to present themselves before the Lord, and Satan also came among them. 7 The Lord said to Satan, “From where have you come?” Satan answered the Lord and said, “From going to and fro on the earth, and from walking up and down on it.” 8 And the Lord said to Satan, “Have you considered my servant Job, that there is none like him on the earth, a…

[utterlyazriel]

—whom the shadows sing for (and the thief’s echoing hymn)

FIC MASTERLIST

A story about one shadowsinger who did his time in the Illyrian Mountains and one warrior waiting out her own— who will do anything to keep her wings… even if it means posing as a Male.

fem!reader, mulan-esque au

1. STRANGERS

Someone in the Illryian Mountains has been making a name for themselves— a bastard like Azriel and his brothers, ruffling the feathers of a war camp's Lord. But they seem to have no loyalty to the fighting legion, or much to anyone for that matter.

2. ALLIES

Azriel trains you and is particularly unforgivable about it. Together, you tackle tonics. Azriel ponders the unmistakable pull he feels and you try your best to keep your secret under wraps.

3. COMPANIONS

Azriel leaves for Velaris. You reflect on old choices and everything that you lead you to where you are now— and realise it's been awhile since you had anyone to miss.

4. FRIENDS

You return to regular training for the first time in a month. Azriel asks a favor from Rhys and finds you in a less than stellar condition when he returns to camp.

5. CONFIDANTS

You test out if your efforts with the tonics are worth anything and Azriel bestows you with a gift. He asks about the Blood Rite and you ponder the strange, golden thread you've been feeling in your chest. Disaster strikes when night falls.

6. BETRAYERS

A secret you vowed to never reveal gets uncovered and Azriel struggles as all he's known is turned on its head. An unfriendly adversary from the past comes knocking.

7. MATES

Azriel mourns a mistake that will haunt him for eternity as he races back to you. You play the leading role in one of your nightmares, but you can't seem to wake up.

8. STRANGERS (AGAIN)

You wake up somewhere entirely new, a long, long way from your home.

to be continued…

chapters 8/?