#Safety Belt Indicator

[demonslayerunhinged]

Unhinged analysis - Sanemi

Why's Sanemi so aggro? (Part 1)

Sanemi is one of the most controversial characters in Demon Slayer and the most misunderstood, along with Obanai. People in the fandom just take him at face value, and it is a disservice to his character. You don't have to love him, but at least try to understand him, his background and how it all contributes to his behavior. So this is a character analysis on, in my opinion, the coolest motherfucker in Demon Slayer. Lesssgoooo!

His introduction

Sanemi's Hashira intro remains one of my favorite in the series. This is because we're fed so much information about him in such a short time.

The first thing we see are the W7s, the uniform belts around his shins, instead of the standard kyahan that other characters wear.

Then we see his back, his white haori which tells us nothing about his breathing style. At least with the others we can make an estimated guess at theirs. The only decoration is the kanji 殺(kill). Which is interesting because it's in the same position as the 滅(destroy) that we see on the backs of other slayer's uniforms.

Then we hear his voice for the first time. His speech is similar to that of a Yakuza member. I'll explain more later.

We then get the first glimpse of our man.

We notice a bunch of things. One is the fact that he's holding Nezuko's box with one hand, which tells us yea, this dude is strong as fuck. Then we see that his uniform is open at the chest, indicating a lack of care for his safety. We see the scars which lets us know that this guy has been through some shit, and he still keeps his chest open??? Nah.

Then we finally see his face and woah! The scary jagged scars, wild hair and bloodshot eyes combined with his rude way of speaking. We come to the conclusion: Oh my God! This guy's a crackhead!

Only kidding! But we can tell that this guy is not to be messed with and from the Jaws music that plays in the background and his signature Hashira theme, we also know that he's going to be trouble for our protagonist.

So let's break it down further with the first aspect of his introduction.

His haori, the kanjis, and their significance

Destruction has a certain impersonal feeling to it, like you destroy bad things not because you want to, but because you have to. Within the context of Demon Slayer, it's no different, the slayers have to destroy the demons because they are a blight on the world and there are no personal feelings about it. We can see it from the way Giyuu almost killed Nezuko, the way he killed Rui, the way Shinobu and Kanao almost killed Nezuko, and the way Zenitsu and Inosuke also killed demons.

Even in this episode where the Hashiras are introduced, their plans to execute Tanjiro and Nezuko show no personal feelings towards the situation, no maliciousness, and no hate. Nezuko is a demon she has to be killed. Tanjiro was harboring a demon so he has to be killed too and something tells me this isn't the first time they had to deal with a situation like this.

Kill, on the other hand, is very much personal and malicious in its intent. It doesn't matter if the target is bad for the world or not. What matters is that the killer thinks they're bad, and that alone is a justification to eliminate them. It's not about duty, it's a want spurred on by hatred, and Sanemi is full of hatred. We can see it from the sadistic way he stabs Nezuko, and the way he laughs at Tanjiro’s pain. Even when he wanted to test Nezuko with his blood, he gives her more unnecessary stabs instead of just simply opening the box.

Honestly, just by the kanji alone, I would’ve been surprised if he didn’t stab Nezuko. A demon can save baby orphans and kittens and sweet little old ladies from a burning building, and Sanemi will still gut the motherfucker.

Then there’s the color of his haori. The haoris, or absence of haoris, of the other characters (excluding Muichiro and Mitsuri) reveal information about their heritage, past, beliefs, and other aspects of their identity that extend beyond their role as Demon Slayers.

Sanemi has no heritage like Rengoku. We’re not given anything that tells us about his past like Giyuu. The kanji for Kill on his haori is in the same position as the Destroy on the standard uniform because, for Sanemi, being a Demon Slayer or more specifically a killer of demons IS his identity. It’s all he cares about, his entire life and the core of his existence. He has a one-track mind, and Kill Demons is the only song playing on a loop.

He doesn’t have time for anything he deems ‘frivolous’, has no special variation to his uniform aside from the fact that he keeps the chest open, and the uniform belts he wears around his legs are probably faster to put on than the standard kyahan.

So from his haori and kyahan alone we can tell that this guy is very strong, very wild and very dangerous.

Extra note: While doing research for this post, I also noticed that Sanemi’s haori is similar to the shirt he wore as a child, which could indicate how much his childhood affected him and how it led to his hatred of demons. Instead of the sleeve stripes, there is now the Kill kanji on the back.

Now let's move onto the other aspect of his introduction

His way of speaking

This part is based on my little understanding of the Japanese language and the research I did. So please don't attack me!

Sanemi kinda speaks like a thug or a Yakuza member. It isn't really noticeable in the English subtitles, but he uses particles and sentence endings that are typically used by men and can come across as rude, unrefined, and uneducated.

He doesn't use honorifics (unless speaking to the Master) when talking to people, even his fellow Hashiras.

He uses sentence endings such as ぜ (ze), ぞ (-zo), な (-na), か (-ka), かよ (-kayo) and だな (-da na) that make his questions and statements sound commanding, rough and forceful.

Not only that, but he often uses words such as:

"Urusee!" - a rough and rude way of saying "Urusai"

"Temee" - a rude way of saying you.

"Ore" - a very informal pronoun for "I"

Sanemi's way of speaking bears a teeny tiny resemblance to the Kansai dialect, which is like the Southern accent in the US. Kansai people are stereotyped as being uneducated, stupid, loud and aggressive.

That's why Tanjiro(bestest boy ❤) was shocked when Sanemi switched up real quick as he was speaking to the Master.

His default manner of speaking, even when it's to those who he likes or is okay with, is rough, forceful, aggressive and sometimes confrontational. It tells us about his personality and most importantly his upbringing or lack thereof.

I'll be going into his background in the Part 2 of this post, I'll also talk about how all these aspects makes our boy act the way he does.

In Conclusion, to be continued?

[minniesmutt]

Drummer hyunjin x singer fem #32 PLEASE

☾ ━━━ PAIRING: HYUNJIN X READER ☾ ━━━ PROMPT: 32 “If you turn your back on me again, you better be bending over.” ☾ ━━━ CONTENT: DRUMMER!HYUNJIN, SINGER!READER, BAND!AU, JEALOUSY, ARGUMENT, MAKE-UP SEX, QUICKIE, LIGHT PREP, UNPROTECTED SEX, POSSESSIVE SEX, CLIT PLAY, CREAMPIE/PULL OUT, ☾ ━━━ WC: 0.7K ☾ ━━━ 18+ work!! minors and ageless/blank blogs DNI! you will be blocked, put an indicator on your blog somewhere that you are 18+ before interacting with this work/blog

     “Y/n!” Hyunjin called as she practically stormed away from him. He was hot on her heels though.

     “Fuck off!” she called just before he grabbed her arm and turned her around

     “Stop for a minute and talk to me,” Hyunjin said

     “Why? You seemed cozy talking with that fan,” Y/n bit back 

     “She came up to me! I was trying to get back to you!”

     “Whatever,” Y/n scoffed and pulled her arm from him

     “If you turn your back on me again, you better be bending over.”

     Y/n looked at him for any hint that he was joking— she knew he wasn’t. Instead, she grabbed his arm and dragged him into her dressing room. Closing the door behind them mist as he pushed her against said door. 

     “Just want me to fuck the brat out of you,” Hyunjin growled 

     Y/n pulled him to her lips without saying another word. Hyunjin responded immediately and pulled her from the door. He moved her back to the makeup table. Lips moving hungrily against each other as he pressed her against the table.

     “You know you’re hot when you’re jealous,” Hyunjin mumbled against her lips as he pushed her skirt up over her hips.

     “I’m gonna start to think you make me jealous on purpose,” Y/n told him

     “Never. You’re the only one for me.”

     Hyunjin turned her around and bent her over the table. Pulling down her safety shorts and panties before unbuckling his belt and pants. Y/n watched him in the mirror before she felt his fingers pushing into her. Y/n moaned as her head dipped down. Hyunjin grabbed the back of her head and lifted it back up. “Watch yourself,” he demanded

     Y/n nodded as he kept a hold on her, making sure her head stayed up. His fingers spreading her open for him. Making sure she could take him comfortably even if they had already fucked before their preformance tonight.

     “Hyun,” Y/n whined

     “Begging already baby?”     “Please. Need you.”

     “Yeah? Need me to remind you I only belong to you?”     “Yes,” Y/n moaned 

     Hyunjin pulled his fingers out and adjusted himself behind her. Y/n felt him push in behind her as he pulled her up against his chest. Plump lips sucking on her skin as he sank into her. One hand wrapped around her middle while the other was on the front of her throat. Slowly his hips stared moving. Y/n grabbed onto his arms as he fucked up into her.

     “You’re the only person I’ll ever fuck like this. No one else.” Hyunjin mumbled against her neck. 

     “Fuck i hope not,” Y/n moaned 

     Hyunjin bent her back over the table. The hand on her throat moved to the nape of her neck while the other grabbed her hip. His thrusts picked up as he looked at his singer in the mirror. Watching her try and keep her eyes open from the pleasure. 

     Hyunjin leaned over her and placed his hand on the table. His other hand moved to rub her clit. Y/n gasped and let out a loud moan as she pulsated around him. The drummer quickly put two of his fingers in her mouth to keep her quiet. Not wanting to draw attention to the dressing ready this time and get berated by the rest of their band and management team. 

     Y/n whined around his fingers as it got harder for her to concentrate on anything but him. His hips snapped against her ass, each thrust bringing her closer and closer. His thrusts got harder as she got tighter around him before the knot in her stomach snapped. Clamping down around him tight as she shook under him. 

     Hyunjin held her up as he kept fucking into her. Fucking get through her high till he came. Pulling out at the last second and coming on her ass. Some getting inside her. Cursing to himself a bit as they both came down. Hyunjin grabbed a tissue from the station and cleaned his girlfriend up as well as himself and fixed both of them.

     “Hotel?” Y/n asked as she turned around to him

     “As much as I would love to, we do have to stay,” Hyunjin sighed

☾ ━━━━━━ M.LIST    TIP JAR

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[just-aake]

Love in Red

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: The color red means something different when it is about Natasha.

a/n: Not exactly a sequel but this short fic is related to Marry Me. 

Warnings: light angst/fluff

Words: 482

The color red is not associated with good things. In society, it can be used to mean caution, alarm, or danger.

The red sirens on police vehicles and ambulances indicate trouble.

The red brake lights on cars warn you to slow down and stop.

The red words on the emergency exit signs tell you to leave.

Red is a warning. 

But with Natasha, it becomes something more.

Red can be beautiful.

Especially on her.

The light crimson tint on her cheeks that is always followed by a roll of her eyes every time you shower her with flirty compliments.

The scarlet lipstick on her lips whenever they curl into her usual confident smirk right before she pulls you close and kiss you breathless.

The bright ruby symbol of the signature hourglass on her belt which your hands quickly remove from her body.

The dark auburn hair flowing through your fingers as she brings you to the highest points of pleasure and bliss.

The deep burgundy marks that she leaves all over your body after spending yet another night together.

Then she slips away without a sound. 

Leaving you alone.

You should know better.

It’s as you said at the beginning.

Red is not associated with good things.

Like the way your faces grow red with frustration when you both argue about the other person’s safety.

Like the red dot that appears on your body during the mission before a burst of pain suddenly shoots through your stomach. 

Like the red of your blood on her hands as she applies pressure while crying out your name.

No, the color red has always been a warning.

A warning that you always ignore.

A warning of the dangers that come with being near a woman like her.

A warning of the way she only allows people to get close up to a certain point. 

A warning of the work and effort it takes to build a relationship with her. 

Any sensible person would give up and leave.

That was the whole purpose of the color.

To warn you away from her.

The next time the color red appears, it is behind your eyelids from the bright medical bay lights shining above you. 

Opening your eyes slowly, you see the lovely color again.

The auburn strands of her hair fall over her sleeping face laying beside you on the medical bed, a light rosy flush on her cheeks from the cold air in the room, and the crimson on her knuckles as her hand holds tightly onto yours.

Red is not supposed to be good.

Yet whenever you look at Natasha, the only thing you can see is how beautiful all of the different shades of red appear on her.

To you, red is not a warning.

It is a reminder to have patience.

After all, someone like Natasha is someone worth loving.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: Thank you for reading!

[brewed-pangolin]

Deafening Stillness

cw: depictions of migraines and symptoms

Johnny reads the signs the moment he walks through the front door.

Blackout blinds strung over every window. The television sitting calm and lifeless, and the usual boisterous sounds of your music defeaned by the heavy veil of silence that creeps through the halls of your shared home.

He keeps his footsteps quiet. Measured and methodical as he makes his way down the main corridor. Gently resting his dufflebag down on the floor outside the master bedroom as he meticulously turns the knob on the door.

And as he takes in the sight before him, his heart breaks. Knowing all too well the unbearable pain his love is engaged in.

--

It all started at the store. You were simply reading the baking instructions on the back of a cake box when the initial indications began to take hold.

A soft aura creeping like tendrils into the corners of your periphery. Glowing like a beacon that pulled you into a growing state of anxiety as you mentally prepared for the next symptom to make its debilitating presence known.

Quickly, you placed the cake box back into its alloted slot and moved towards the checkout aisle. The aura abated for the time being as you focused on paying for the few items you had managed to throw in your cart.

You moved with earnest determination as you crossed the chaotic parking lot. The ever growing throb sinking into the back of your head, vibrating down your spine and wrapping around the flesh of your neck as every step reverberated like thundering mallots into the surface of your skull.

Making it to the safety of your vehicle, you fumbled with the keys in your pocket with a growing tremor that echoed into your hands.

Desperate for isolation and quiet, you hastily hit the unlock button. Haphazardly tossing the bags into the passenger side and throwing yourself into the driver's seat.

You moved with increasingly wretched intent to make it home before the devastating effects would ultimately take hold. The aura subsiding, only to be replaced by a wave of nausea that bellowed up from the depths of your abdomen. Culminating in a fowl taste in the back of your throat as your mouth began to water in preparation for an eventual wave of dry heaves.

The notion of Johnny coming home had completely disappeared from your clouded and overwhelmed mind. The sole thought, single need pushing you forward, was to make it home in one piece and shut out the world. To dissolve yourself in copious amounts of medication and bathe in the defeaning stillness of silent darkness.

--

A single ray of light crept through a break in the blinds as Johnny gave his eyes a moment to adjust to the heavy blackness. Illuminating your pitiful figure wrapped underneath a mountain of blankets as he stepped ever so quietly into the bedroom.

The darkness of the room enveloping his form as he closed the door and shut out the world behind him.

Peeling off his war-torn wardrobe down and kicking off his boots until he was dawning nothing but his boxer briefs.

Your eyes twitched beneath your heavy lids as the muffled sounds of his belt buckle fell into your ears. The cold washcloth draped across your forehead soothing the sounds of his approach as the bed dipped to the addition of his bulking weight.

Still in the grips of immense pain and oppressive sensory overload, the thought of having any sensation of touch in this state at first made you pull away from him.

Yet it was the subtle scent of pine and an undertone of a musk that was so uniquely him wafting into your sinuses that had you nudging yourself back into his encompassing form.

His arm draping over the curve of your torso, meandering underneath the layers of weighted blankets and resting his hand in the center of your abdomen.

"I got'ya, bonnie. I'm 'ere." He said softly on a measured and attentive whisper. His breath fanning over the flesh of your neck as the heat of his body radiated against your pained and inert form.

You didn't respond. You didn't have to. He read the signs of your reply in the gentle touch of your fingers as your hand moved down to drape over his.

Drowning in the effects of medicated analgesia. And aiding to welcome the compassion and tenderness he emitted so naturally as he held you close and kept the world at bay until the pain would slowly begin to drift away.

-

Apologies if this isn't very good. It's all I could manage. But I didn't want to leave SSS empty. Love you all.

Drabbles Masterlist

[bunnyreaper]

a highland warrior of the mactavish clan is there when you need him most.

(18+/MDNI, attempted noncon)

one minute, everything was fine, just a part of your normal routine foraging in the woods--the next, your world was turned upside down. 

you should've known better than to wander further than usual, beyond the glade which the alderman had warned you several times not to go past. 

you're leaning over, inspecting the pretty little flowers on the ground, when your face is pushed into the dirt, your arse forced into the air as your skirts are forced up and over your mound. 

"and what do we have here but the finest flower of spring?" 

you scream as you kick and squirm, desperately scrambling to find purchase on the ground in a way that will allow you to wiggle free--but the man above you, his accent familiar, is so much stronger. your shift is up as you scream yourself hoarse, fat tears ripping from your eyes in anticipation of what's to come. 

"it'll be much easier if you don't fight me, sweetness." 

time freezes as you hear a metallic clink--what your fear-addled mind assumes to be a belt buckle, until a strong, scottish accent cuts through the forest. 

"this'd be much easier if i cut ye wee english prick right awf." "off 'er, did nae one teach ye manners? and ye say we're the savages." 

"don't kill me." 

you dare to glance over your shoulder, slowly turning until you see your assailant, head tilted back with a sword right to the column of his throat--and behind him, a crazed scotsman, baring his teeth just as he bares his sword. 

the man atop of you slowly pulls off of you, moving so slowly as to not catch his throat on the sharp blade. the highlander pulls him to his full height, almost dangling by his feet as he balances in the brawny arms of the much bigger, stronger warrior. 

the sword slides along the rogue's throat, enough to draw a trickle of blood but not much more, before it falls to the side of both men's bodies.

"now, i suggest ye run before i cut ye down proper." he growls, kicking the man away as his scrambling figure almost collapses into the dirt, much like you had. the highlander lurches forward, swiping the tip of his sword expertly to lash down the other man's back--a precision strike just to wound, not enough to stop his mad dash away and out of the clearing.

you try everything within you to steady your breathing as you lay, exposed, watching your saviour watch the other man's retreating figure.  

"i willnae turn round until ye decent, lassie." he announces, his gaze unwavering from the faraway treeline. 

your limbs move shakily as you reach behind you, desperate to pull your skirts back over your rear and regain some sense of your dignity. when you're covered, you cough softly, trying to indicate that you're decent enough for the man to turn back around. 

his first order of business is helping you to your feet, brushing off as much dirt as he can from your dress, and trying to offer you his most reassuring smile.  

you gaze upon him--admiring his fine, strong arms, inked with celtic knots, and surely thick thighs hidden beneath the drape of his tartan. what most strikes you is the kindness in his deep blue eyes, despite being obscured by a jet black warpaint. 

the sense of safety that washes over you is... strange.

"name's mavtavish, john mactavish. yer safe now, bonnie girl."

[aviiarie]

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ FLESH AND BLOOD — platonic douma & reader !

synopsis. douma’s child knows there is only one way to truly escape: killing their father. warnings. kny-typical blood, death & yknow... eating people. knives, threats of violence. unhealthy family dynamics. douma is his own warning tbh. notes. PLATONIC. (terrible) father figure!douma. gn!reader. they/them used. angst. 3.6k words. read warnings pls! @romaritimeharbor you were right, i couldn't write a happy ending. this man was made for horror, not fluff.

Every step [Name] takes is heavy.

There’s a knife strapped to their belt, hidden under several layers of clothing. They swiped in from the kitchens one night on a whim, sneaking behind two chefs who were too engrossed in an argument about spices to notice them. Once they left—with neither chef noticing them at all—they took to work fashioning a strap to attach it to their belt, and tucked it under their clothes. When they were finished, it swung on their hip, occasionally bumping against their thigh if they ran too quickly. Secure, but still accessible; exactly how they wanted it.

It isn’t the most ideal weapon. They haven’t had enough experience wielding it to even know what to do with it if their situation called for a fight, but it hangs by their side like an anchor. The slight pressure, with the glint of metal separated from their skin by a single layer of fabric, grounds them.

Every night, they make sure the edge is sharpened, before tucking it under their pillow with one hand slotted underneath. Idly, their fingers trace the edge of the handle, prepared to close around it should they wake up to an attack.

And yet, even with the care they have to make sure the knife is always close to their side, they have never once used it. It’s a safeguard more than anything else; a reminder that no matter what happens in the lion’s den they call a home, they are ready and prepared to fight their way out to safety. It didn’t need to be withdrawn; a simple pat to their side to make sure the weapon was still safely attached to their belt was enough to steady their nerves.

As they walk through the halls with feather-light footsteps, their heartbeat pounds with the wings of a hummingbird. They force their breath to even out into a steady pattern, squeezing their hands into fists to stop them from shaking. They were not the apex predator in this place, but they’d be damned if they were reduced to mere prey.

Through the halls of their home, they pass countless faces that greet them with big smiles and waves. They don’t stop for a single one, only nodding slightly and murmuring a greeting for each. One woman in particular gasps as she sees them, peeling away from her group to catch their arm as they walk by.

“Ah, [Name]! I was speaking with Lord Douma earlier, and he requested that you join him for dinner tonight!” The woman smiles brightly at them. They bite back a sharp retort, instead forcing a smile.

“If you see him again, tell my father that I might be late,” they say smoothly. The words feel like poison on their tongue, but they spit them out anyway.

Father was once a word they used with pride. It was babbled through lips that barely knew the sounds they were making, but the title was met with a blinding smile. Douma seemed to take pride in the word as well, if the way he scooped them into his arms every time they called him it was any indication. He’d press his cheek to their hair, squeezing them against his chest like they were a stuffed toy. A laugh, brimming with almost childlike glee, and an excited, “Yes, yes, that’s it! I’m your father, and you’re my darling little child.”

They were happy as his child, for a long time. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t their family by blood; he was the one to take them in when they were only a baby, giving them all they could ever want or need and spoiling them beyond comprehension. He adored them, more than anything. That was what he promised, at least.

Their childhood was happy, as happy one can be when raised in a cult. The followers loved them as much as they loved Douma himself, showering them with attention and gifts when he wasn’t there to give them it instead. [Name] learned to look past the smiles, to not get attached to the voices that spoke their name with reverence, because it was almost never the same face that greeted them twice. It didn’t matter too much, because Douma was always there to fill the gaps with his warm embraces.

But they grew older, as children do, and the haze of paradise slowly cleared. The mysteries of their youth that once felt like exciting secrets to unearth began to weigh on them, and they found themself pestering Douma with endless questions. Questions like ‘Why do people keep disappearing?’ and ‘What’s beyond the Eternal Paradise?’

To their frustration, his responses were vague and dismissive, never leaving them satisfied. The only answers they received were ‘They’ve achieved Paradise.’ and ‘Nothing. There is nothing worth seeing beyond here.’

Douma always said they were naturally inquisitive, but that burning desire for answers only brewed a frustration in their chest that never seemed to be quelled by his distant answers. He was hiding things, they could see it on his face. There were too many things that he kept secret to be coincidence, too many details that didn’t add up.

Their fervent pursuit of answers led to one place: the door at the end of main hall. It was locked at all times, the only place they were forbidden from entering. Douma was especially serious when he informed them the room was off limits, his eyes turning sharp when he questioned him about it.

“This is my home and yours, and you are free to roam everywhere else, but that place isn’t for you, little one.”

The words might have deterred them as a child, but they couldn’t let their curiosity fester any longer.

There was one key that opened every lock in the cult, hidden in a secret compartment in the main room that Douma didn’t think they knew about. One night as slipped through the door and locked it behind him, they stole the key, slipping it in the lock and turning the handle.

The first thing they noticed was red. It covered the room, spilling across his table, dripping steadily on his tiled floors and splattering across the walls in an angry scarlet. The second thing they noticed was that their father was covered in it. The colour was smeared across his face, trickling from his lips and down his chin. It stained his robes and coated his hands, but he barely noticed; he was too busy swiping his tongue across his lips to soak up the excess droplets.

Among the carnage was the lifeless figure of a woman, her body mangled and thrown carelessly at his feet. Douma himself was lounging on a chair, his legs crossed, unbothered by the nightmarish scene surrounding him. One of his hands clasped a severed arm, bringing it to his teeth and tearing off a chunk of flesh. He hummed as he ate, licking his lips like he was savouring the taste.

In all their years of growing up by his side, they’d watched as Douma had ignored the gifts of food his followers brought him, yet now, now he seemed to find his appetite. Their skin crawled, memories of rejected meals and his claims of already eating echoing in their ears. When he locked himself in the room, was this what he was doing? Was this where their missing followers ended up?

They clutched their arm, pressing their nails hard enough to leave marks against their skin. The sight was something out of their worst nightmares, yet the sting of pain was a sharp reminder that it was reality. Nausea bubbled up in their stomach, but they forced it down long enough to close the door with a quiet click and lock it again.

They never confronted him after that day. They could barely look him in the eye long enough to do so. But one thing was clear: as long as he lived, they and all of the followers of the Eternal Paradise faith were in danger.

Their hand brushed against their hip. The cold press of metal through their clothes eased their nerves.

A proper fighter would have a sword, and use it to slice his head clean off, but they would have to make do with a simple kitchen knife. Eventually the moment would present itself, eventually he would be off his guard, and they would have the chance to ambush him. The edge of the blade was sharp, all it would take is one slice across his throat and his life would be snuffed out.

They ignored the nagging part of them that told them it wouldn’t be enough, that Douma had to be something inhuman, something powerful, something that took more than a slit throat to kill. It whispered that a creature so heartless that it would slaughter and consume innocent humans couldn’t possibly be an ordinary mortal being.

They especially ignored the part of them that blanched at even the thought of harming him, the man that brought them in and doted on them every day of their life. That was the part that wished they could go back and never look through the door, maintaining a fragile bliss that wasn’t wrought with fear and uncertainty; the part that urged them to forget, to close their eyes and let him be their adoring father again.

Their footsteps haltered as they approached the open doorway that led to the main room of the building. Even the entrance was ornately decorated, with delicately painted screens separating it from the rest of the rooms.

“Is someone there?” A voice called out sharply. Their breath caught in their throat, and they patted their side instinctively. With a careful glance around the door, they saw him, sitting in the centre of the elaborate room on his usual cushioned seat.

“Are you hiding?” Douma asks, his eyes glinting with something dark and unreadable. He leans his head on his hand, smiling at where they are half-concealed behind the doorway. “My child, is that you? Come on out, don’t be shy.”

There was no point trying to pretend they weren’t there. With a deep breath, they step into the light.

“It is my child!” He laughs, in a voice that could be mistaken for delight. If they were a little younger they would have beamed at the sound, but their maturity had earned them the skill of seeing right through his cheery demeanour. “[Name], have you come to visit me?”

“Yes.” They say stiffly, forcing a neutral expression. They ignored the way his smile softened; it was a lie, it had to be.

“Aren’t I a lucky father?” Douma pauses to wipe away a fake tear, the sight making something curl uncomfortably in their gut. He pats the area beside his chair. “Come, sit down.”

When they were a baby—back when the brightness of his smile felt genuine—he would sit them on his lap, letting them play with his fans while he spoke to his followers. They were too old for that now, so instead they tiptoe inside and settle beside the chair, sitting with their knees tucked to their chest.

“How are you today, [Name]? It feels like forever since we’ve caught up.” Douma asks them as they sit, smiling over at them. They pick at the edge of their clothing, not meeting his eye.

“What does the writing in your eyes mean?” They suddenly ask, instead of answering.

“Curious today, are we?” Douma chuckles. He taps his nail just below his right eye. “I’m sure you know what this one is.”

They nod, recognizing the numeral. “It’s… two, right?”

“Yes, it is! Such a smart child I have.” Douma’s grin widens, and he points the other one. “What about this one?”

They squint at his eye, observing the thin brushstrokes over the rainbow-coloured iris. It wasn’t a character they recognized, even after their studies. “I don’t know.”

“This one—” Douma tapped his nail against his skin. “Is a combination of two characters. Together it means Upper Rank.”

“Upper Rank…?” They echo. “Upper Rank Two? What does that mean?”

“It’s my ranking.” Douma hums, not bothering to explain further. “Is it my turn to ask a question now?”

Their posture stiffens. “If you want.”

Douma clapped his hands together. “Oh, how fun! What to ask… what to ask…”

He pauses to think, tapping his finger on his chin. “Oh, I have one! What have you been doing with your days?” Douma leans his head on his hand with a smile. “I’ve barely seen you recently. You used to spend so much time with me.”

They swallow down the anxiety that bubbled up at his question. The truthful answer was that they had been carefully avoiding his room, not bothering to stop by unless they were called specifically. The rest of their days were spent sneaking around, scoping out potential escape routes, or making sure their knife was sharp and ready to kill.

“Just… things.” They say vaguely.

Douma stares at them with a pleasantly puzzled expression. “Things…?”

“Yes.”

“How fascinatingly mundane!”

“I guess I’m just a boring person.” They shrug.

“And what about that knife you’ve been carrying around, hm?” Douma asks, his smile not faltering, even as their heart stopped. “I would love to know what you’re planning with that one!”

His eyes are crinkling with the force of his smile, but there is no warmth behind it. They narrow their own eyes, quickly rising to their feet and taking a step backwards. His gaze tracks their every movement, following their hand as they fumble at their belt to pull out the knife from their makeshift sheath.

“Guess.” Their hands shake, but the ready the weapon anyway. “Take a guess as to what I’m planning with it.”

One slice at his throat. One slit, and he’s dead. One cut, and this whole nightmare will end, and he will never be able to hurt anyone again. This was what they'd been preparing for.

“Are you going to kill me?” Douma coos, standing from his chair and grinning. “How adorable!”

“Sh-Shut up!” They hiss, gripping the handle tighter. “I know what you did! I know about that poor woman, the one you murdered and devoured! How many followers have you killed, huh? Was I next? Have you just been raising me like a pig for slaughter?”

“Oh.” A tilt of his head, and a saddened expression that looked… almost real. Almost. They tighten their grip on the blade, reprimanding themself for nearly falling for his act. It wasn’t real, none of it was. They couldn’t forget that, no matter how hurt his expression looked. “I don’t want to kill you, my child.”

“I don’t believe you!” They yell back.

Douma tilts his head to look at them, his face still twisted in that same mask of pity. He took one step towards them, then another, until they were face to face. Before they could blink, his hand was gripping their wrist tight enough to bruise.

“I’m not going to kill you, [Name].” He says sadly, twisting their wrist to seize the knife and holding it up out of their reach. “I am not going to hurt you, nor am I going to let anything else hurt you. It makes me sad that you can’t see that.”

“You’re a monster.” They hiss, their eyes filled with tears. They stumble a few steps back, putting some semblance of distance between them.

Douma chuckles slightly. “And you’re my child. What does that make you?”

They flinch as if he had struck them, stumbling back even further at his words. “I am nothing like you!”

“Aren’t you?” Douma says, his voice thick and sweet like honey. “Oh, we aren’t related by blood but I raised you from birth. Why do you think I would spare such a frail creature like yourself, if I didn’t see a part of myself in you? We’re cut from the same cloth, you and I. You’re my child, through and through.”

“I’m nothing like you!” They cry out. “You’re a murderer!”

“Yet you’re the one who was plotting my death.” He waves the kitchen knife in front of their face with amusement dancing on his lips. “That sounds an awful lot like the work of a murderer to me.”

“That’s different.”

“Is it though? It’s still homicide.”

“It was self-defence!”

Douma chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief. “Killing me isn’t self-defence if I haven’t laid a hand on you. I’m afraid that’s just called murder.”

“You’re—” Their words died in their throat. No matter how cruel he sounded saying them, he was right. They were planning to kill him. Maybe they were no better than him after all. “You’re… you’re a monster… I had to kill you. Before… you killed me. That was why I had the knife.”

“Oh, I’m afraid this little thing wouldn’t do much,” Douma laughs as he waves the weapon. With a smile, he drew back the sleeve of his robe and pressed the edge of the knife to the back of his arm. He drags the blade across it, smiling serenely as a line of bright red blood drips down his skin. In seconds the cut is knitting itself back together, leaving only a stain of scarlet over his fully healed skin. “It’s adorable that you thought you could hurt me, but simple weapons like these don’t leave a scratch on me.”

Their heart stopped, watching the mark smooth out and fade into nothing.

It… didn’t matter. All the nights of cutting their fingers of the edge in their haste to make sure it was still under their pillow didn’t matter. The comforting weight at their side wasn't worth anything; it never would have achieved a thing in the first place.

They were a sheep wandering around the den of a wolf, confidently thinking their blunt hooves would be enough to pierce its hide. A painful feeling washed over them—powerlessness.

Their eyes began to burn, along with their chest. As quickly as the rush of adrenaline filled their body, it left, knocking all the air out of their lungs. Tears slowly started dripping down their cheeks, quietly at first, before they were followed by heaving sobs.

“I do love you, my child.” Douma sighs. Lie, it was a lie. “I wish you wouldn’t have done something like this. I was so happy to watch you grow up, content keeping you alive and human. Now what am I to do?”

Their shoulders hitch, hands scrubbing desperately at their eyes. There was a calculating glint in his eyes, before Douma stepped forward again and pulled them into a cold embrace.

“What am I to do with you…” Douma muses, holding them against his chest as they sobbed. The front of his robes were covered in tears and snot but he paid it no mind, just sighing softly and running his fingers through their hair. “My poor child…”

The feeling of his fingers through their hair made them shiver. Were his nails always so sharp, or was his touch just soft enough to hide it?

“What was your plan?” Douma pulls them away to look at their face properly, a sparkle of amusement in his eye. “Where were you going to go, after you killed me, hm? You know there’s nothing out there for you. No one would want to take in a murderer, especially one who killed their own father in cold blood.”

“I would have found somewhere.” They mumble, slowing their sobs to quiet sniffles.

Douma shook his head fondly, like they were discussing something trivial. “Oh, my sweet child, who put such an idea in your head? There is nowhere you can go. Here, it is safe. Here is happy. Why would you ever leave?”

They wanted to scream their anguish, kicking and clawing at him until his face was red and bloody. This man—no, this monster masqueraded as a loving father for years, all while blood spilled behind his gilded doors. But the saccharine sweetness that his voice carried wormed its way into their ears, poisoning their thoughts and—

Such a disappointing, ungrateful child they must be. He welcomed them into his arms, and they were planning to—

Their mind was split. All of their instincts screamed at them to run, run until their lungs burned and their feet bled, but there was a gnawing part of them that clung to his honeyed words. At least when they were in his favour they were safe; they could turn away from the truth and cling to their fractured picture of family. Maybe if they fell to their knees and begged him for forgiveness, he would forget all about their betrayal and welcome them as his child again.

They weren’t anywhere near strong enough to kill him. The least they could do was survive.

“What do you have to say for yourself, [Name]?” Douma asks gently, and something in them snaps.

They fall forward, burying their face in his chest and clutching onto the back of his robes with a wail. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

“That’s what I thought…” Douma sighs in almost amusement. He places his hand on the top of their head, ruffling their hair gently.

“I’m sorry… I’ll never do it again, I promise. Please… please don’t leave me! I don’t know what I would be without you,” they cry, the words spilling out so easily they can’t tell if they’re a lie or not.

It wasn’t the end. One day his guard would drop and they would seize the chance, taking everything they own and running away into the night. They will run, not knowing where they will end up but knowing they need to be anywhere but there. Even if it means spending the rest of their life shying away from dark corners and patting their side to check on their weapon, they will escape.

For now, they weep in the arms of their father.

© aviiarie 2024. do not copy, repost, translate or use my work to train ai.

[boredsupergirl]

Jason Dean using his gun as a nsfw toy: I said what I said

This could easily be canon

He loaded his gun with a slight frown indicating that he was concentrating. You looked at him, lying on his bed, thinking about how a face as pretty as his could hide such perverse desires. He returned your gaze, leaving the gun on the bed, sat down next to you, smiling at you in the way that only he knows how to do. However, you were still looking at his gun. He noticed your persistence, so curiously he asked: “Is something wrong?” He frowned, already with a defensive tone, thousands of thoughts of all kinds were going through his mind. “Indeed, yes” You answered, lengthening the mystery a little more. “Talk now” He demanded, authoritatively. “Fuck me with that” You said simply, smiling, looking at the object with a perceptible lust. The way he looks at you is indecipherable to you, you knew he was thinking about something, but you couldn’t understand what. After a few seconds, you see the hint of a smile forming on his lips. Maybe you were like him, after all. He took the gun in one hand and pointed it straight at your head. You think you’ve hit some kind of switch in him. You shivered slightly, not quite sure if he had accepted your proposal or was definitely upset. Really unpredictable. He made you scared. Maybe that was what he wanted. “Take off your clothes” He ordered, finally after a few minutes of thinking about it. Calmness consumed your body upon hearing those words, you got up from your bed and began to take off your shirt. He looked expectantly, directing his eyes to your torso, keeping them there. You slowly lowered your pants, and you could feel how he was growing impatient. Once he saw you naked, he made a demand using his gun, giving you the signal to kneel in front of him. You did it instantly. Anyway, the gun was loaded and you had enough respect for him to obey him. He sat in your desk chair, in a relaxed and dominant posture. His eyes went to his crotch and you quickly unbuckled his belt, pulling out his erect cock. Your breathing hitched as he pointed his gun at your temple, you could feel the barrel on your skin. His smug look. You skipped the typical teasing and took his cock into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it, hoping to hear a moan… although you never heard it, he liked to be in control and right now he had to keep his composure. “Get on here” He patted his leg, keeping his gun pointed at you. You straddled his lap. He held your waist with his free hand. You expected him to fuck you already; however, he had a better idea. He slowly pushed the barrel of his gun into your entrance and without saying a word, just looking into your eyes, he made you do what he was thinking. Leaning back on the desk chair, you cocked his gun, letting out shameless moans. He just smiled, knowing you were completely in his control. If he took the safety off and fired, it was the end of you. You knew it. And that was even more exciting to you. It was the best way to show him he was in control.

[whimsicalwritingsandmore]

Want You Back | ateez x reader

Pairing: werewolf!ot8!ateez x werewolf!reader

Genre: fluff mostly, romance, poly, a little angst?

Warnings for this chapter: none

Word Count: 2150 words

a/n: hello!! hope you enjoy this chapter! I am curious, how is the pacing so far? while editing, I changed up a lot of scenes and spaced them out in other chapters. I'm curious to know your thoughts on how the story is flowing so far - is it too slow or is it okay? all your feedback is greatly appreciated! :)

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Chapter 5

It had been about a week and a half since Mingi's arrival, and for the most part, things took a turn for the better. Mingi was very thoughtful and patient, he was careful not to push or pressure you into doing anything you were uncomfortable with. It was difficult for him at first however, as he wasn’t sure how to begin to fix things with you.

Thankfully, when you introduced Mingi to Chan, the older wizard was kind enough to offer him advice and assist him.

“Give her space,” he explained, “Allow her the time to make her own decisions and think things through without feeling pressured. Show her that you respect her and her choices even if it might not be in your favour.”

Changbin also offered his own advice since he and Mingi shared the same birthday month and he took pride in that. 

“Do little things now and again for her. Don’t do anything over the top! Just small things like buy her a pastry or cook a meal. Send her a kind text during the day now and again. Maybe even ask to take a stroll in the evening at the park sometime.”

Most of your friends welcomed Mingi kindly even though they were quite apprehensive, given your history with him. The only one bold enough to stand his ground was Jisung. He made it particularly and significantly clear that he will not go easy on Mingi and will not hesitate to make him disappear. At first, Mingi found it humorous, seeing it as a baseless threat but Changbin indicated that Jisung could be a menace when he wanted to. So while Jisung smiled sweetly but intimidatingly in the corner of the apartment twiddling his wand in hand, Mingi blinked three times in concern and looked at you. You assured him everything was fine, but truthfully, you weren’t so sure about Mingi’s safety because you did hear about Jisung’s fearsome alter ego. But you weren’t gonna tell Mingi that. 

As for Mingi, he took a while to comprehend your new found life. Slowly, you both realised Mingi thrived better doing more physically energetic pursuits rather than standing behind the cash register with Jisung nearby watching him like a hawk. Chan offered to recruit Mingi at the apothecary to help with running errands with Hyunjin and organising and moving boxes and shelves with Felix and Jeongin. Mingi enjoyed it and felt that it was a good approach in giving you a chance to have space for yourself.

It surprised you how easy going he became with all of it, because though Mingi is kindhearted, he still was an alpha werewolf who does not necessarily do well with being told what to do. Maybe he was actually scared of Jisung? You were curious about what was going on inside his head and jokingly asked Chan if he could pick his brain.

Chan laughed and said no while Minho and Seungmin unapologetically agreed. Chan deadpanned at the two. 

"But I'm curious too!" they argued.

During the week, Chan suggested everyone should have a night out at the karaoke place. While you and Felix belted your hearts out trying to pass Seungmin and Jeongin’s high score, Mingi sat behind you, mesmerised by your voice. It was one of those moments as of recently, where he savoured your presence. He observed your newly dyed hair with streaks of blonde, your pretty hoop earrings, your beaded and charm bracelets adorning your wrists and your outfit.

He remembered vividly the first time the two of you met. You were with Hongjoong as the latter dragged you into the store for snacks while he complained that you ate all of his. Mingi was working at the store during that time and the moment all three of you came into contact, you felt the magnetic pull. It was enchanting and captivating. And meeting you introduced Mingi to another way of life. He began to feel more comfortable in his skin and who he was, you helped him to become confident and maybe even a little reckless when you appeared at his window in the early morning, recruiting him to go with you and Hongjoong to watch the sunrise. In the times when Hongjoong was unable to go, you and Mingi ventured out and spent the time talking and planning for the future.

And whereas Hongjoong was a stickler for not showing affection outside of your private space, Mingi would back hug you as you strolled down the street. The one time he did it to Hongjoong, they both rolled down the hill with Mingi landing on top of him while you watched in panic.

But at least, that's how you met Seonghwa and Yunho. 

In reminiscing, Mingi realised that you met all of them, excluding him, in smaller groups. He discovered that none of you really took the time to get to know each other personally or one on one. 

Mingi was snapped out of his daydreaming by Jisung who poked him with one of the mics. 

"Yes?"

"You weren't moving, so I was wondering if you became a statue.”

"I’m fine."

"Mhmm," he said, "Come on, let’s step outside for a minute."

Mingi was kind of concerned but still he followed him out the door cautiously.

"So are you okay?" Jisung asked.

"Why do you care?” Mingi questioned.

“I don’t really, but you are Y/N’s soulmate and I care about her. So I gotta make sure you’re not going to do something stupid and hurt her.”

“Wow.” Mingi drawled.

“So I shall ask again, are you okay?”

Mingi sighed.

Yeah I just...I realised all of us never really got to know each other personally. All of a sudden we just got together, a big group of nine, and we never took the time to spend with one another. Maybe only Hongjoong and Y/N have.”

Jisung eyed Mingi carefully before responding, "Yeah I know what you mean.”

“You do?”

Jisung rolled his eyes, “That was me when I met Minho, we clicked almost immediately and everything came so naturally, we never really took the time to just be friends and get to one another personally. You know, like really getting to each other for who we are, not just our likes and dislikes but how we operate and think."

"I feel like something happened."

"Something did…” Jisung contemplated for a moment before continuing, “We started to just expect that we would understand each other and meeting the others amplified that. So as we started to split our time, we expected certain things from each other and when it wasn't being met we would argue a lot. We expected that the other person would do things for the other and it became a whole mess."

"What did you guys do to fix it?"

"Chan intervened and we basically did what you and Y/N are doing now, and we also sought therapy from one of Chan's friends and it helped us better understand each other."

"Do you think Y/N and I should try therapy?"

"Do whatever works best for you. Therapy might be a good idea and I think you are doing well with taking your time for now. Maybe bring it up after a few weeks if you still feel like it would help. I've seen the way you’re trying.”

“Oh my gosh, did you just say something nice to me!?” Mingi gasped.

Jisung smirked, “I don’t dislike you Mingi. I’m just wary of you. I saw how broken Y/N was when she got here and she has told me little bits here and there. As her friend who also sees her as a sister, I don’t want to see her hurt again.”

Mingi felt a sense of appreciation at the way Jisung cared about you. 

"I feel bad about hurting Y/N like that,” Mingi confessed, “I’m a terrible person.”

"You’re not. You’re not a bad person, it was a terrible, terrible lapse in judgement if you ask me or whatever, but you’re learning and that’s the most important thing you can do right now, learn and not be ignorant.”

"Thanks Jisung, I feel a little better now."

"You’re welcome and I still will not hesitate to deal with you or any of the others if you hurt her. "

When it was time to leave, you walked side to side with Mingi hands in your jacket pockets as the two of you commented on the day’s events. The night was chilly but it provided the perfect opportunity in Mingi’s mind to stay in a little close proximity to you to give you more warmth. He was mindful not to overstep any boundaries but you didn’t mind this time, and allowed him to cosy up a little next to you. He had to leave to go back home tomorrow, Chan offering to open a portal and giving him a way back to you. 

Mingi didn't want to leave but the others were waiting for him. With Chan’s help, he got into contact with Yunho who he told that he needed to be away for a while after the previous dinner events. Now, he was going back to explain the matter, ask to be temporarily put on leave from his duties and express his decision to stay with you for however long he wanted. 

This time it was necessary for it to be one-on-one as Jisung educated him. He had to make it right.

He wasn't sure how the others would react but he hoped that they might come back with him at the very least maybe.

While the two of you waited for the others to catch up, you told Mingi that you were going to dispose of some wrappers in your pocket. As you rounded a corner that was a little far off where a trash can was located, your thoughts were interrupted by a strange voice.

"Well well well, if it isn't one of us." a sickly voice sang.

You turned around at the voice. You had no clue who they were exactly but judging by the tattoo on their arm, they were rogues. How were they here?

"What the heck do you want?” You questioned.

“Now, that’s no way to talk to an alpha."

“You’re not my alpha and I do not care to talk to you.”

“Aww but you’re hurting my feelings.”

"Bleh." You gagged.

They were not amused by your response and it didn't take long for them to swing at you. You dodged and tried to find a way out but after some scuffling you did end up with a bruised lip and your arm being pinned behind your back. You weren't scared at first but you needed backup and fast.

With every fibre of your being, you drowned out the taunts of the rogues and focused on your connection to Mingi. You called Mingi's name hoping he would hear.

"That's a nice necklace you have there." the sickly voice commented.

Your half moon necklace was given to you by your mates, representing your clan. You never took it off and it was your most prized possession. As the sticky finger rogue attempted to reach for it, a hand grabbed him with force and pressure. Every single one of his bones cracked gruesomely and his skin began to turn a grisly black and blue.

"Do not ever touch my mate." Mingi snarled ferociously. 

His eyes turned into his gold werewolf colour and he threw the rogue back effortlessly. You could feel the change in Mingi’s aura as he glowered dangerously at the other one that was pinning your arm and swung at him, hitting him right in the nose, a sickening crack ringing through. He scowled at the other two who stepped back seeing the infuriated alpha. They ran off leaving behind their members. 

“Pathetic.” he seethed.

As he composed himself on seeing you, Mingi rushed to help you and escort you back. He began to fuss all over you, his sentences rushing through like a waterfall.

"I got your pull, it freaked me out because I should've known better to let you go alone! I'm so glad you're okay! I'm not leaving again, I'll tell Chan to send a letter or something, are you okay!? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Mingi…” you began, “You're going to have to go back."

"What!? No! Why!?"

You noticed something. Besides Mingi’s connection, you began to feel the pull and call of your other seven mates. Though you called for Mingi specifically when you focused your mind on him, being in danger and initiating your soul bond after so long, activated the connection for your other mates which meant that your connection to all of them that was once dormant, was now ignited.

They felt it too. You could hear their calls.

"They know."

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Tag list:

@eastleighsblog @sehun096rainbow @greensnakeglobep @satsuri3su @idfkeddieishot @zonked-times @sugarrush-blush

a/n: hi again! unfortunately, I was unable to tag you @greensnakeglobep :( I'm really sorry about this, I'm not sure why I'm not able to. if anyone could clarify how to fix this, please let me know, thank you!!

[starphasedd]

Instinct

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

One-shot. Rated 18+ for sexual themes.

I'm SO proud of this one. The intention was a short and sweet one-shot but then it turned into the beast below. Very proud of my work here.

Shout-out to my babes @meand-allmy-alteregos for the inspo! She also helped me really map out some great dialog for Ghost here. ❤️

Rain patters softly against old metal roofing; a few drops slipping through the cracks here and there. A puddle begins forming in the corner of the room. The walls creak and moan as wind pushes around around the victorian outhouse. It whispers gently every now and then, the songs of Mother Nature's cries filling one part of your head--letting some of the adrenaline from today's misson seep out the other side.

"No luck?" Your nimble fingers are playing with the harness wrapped around your waist, trying to get somewhat comfortable for the long night ahead.

On what floor there was that wasn't dirt, Ghost sat with his back against the wall. His large and broad figure takes up most of the space in the corner he chose. Presently, he's fumbling with his communicator, trying to get ahold of Price. But at some point during the shootout you both just endured, it got side swiped by a bullet and hasn't been working. He's frustrated. You can tell by the way he's gone completely silent.

You've known him for many years. In fact, you knew him before he was 'Ghost'. You knew him as Simon. Over the years of getting to know him, he'd been a man of very few words. But even so, when he went completely silent like this, that meant he was frustrated. He did it more for your safety; never wanting to bark at you in a frustrated moment like this. You told him he didn't need to worry about stuff like that. You'd rather him reach out to you for help than suffer alone--and that applied to every situation. Not just a broken communicator.

You stop fumbling with your harness when he doesn't respond and turn to look down at him.

"Hey." you say.

He doesn't look up.

You click your tongue, stepping closer to him. He still doesn't look at you.

"Hey." You say again.

Again, he doesn't give you the time of day. But he does acknowledge you by huffing gruffly through the cloth of his mask.

Your mouth pulls up into a straight line, irritation taking over your facial features. You watch him fumble with the device a bit longer before you inevitability decide to step closer and reach down to quickly snatch the communicator from him.

His large hands drop to his thighs, and finally, he decides to acknowledge your existence. His eyes are narrowed, as if he's scowling underneath the skull mask. But that doesn't phase you, it never has.

"Stop." You say firmly, tossing the communicator to the floor behind you. You don't break eye contact with him. "It's broken. Leave it."

"Rather bold of you." he says, adressing you by your middle name at the end.

You hated to admit it, but you loved when he called you by your middle name. It felt personal, and he only did it when the two of your were alone. So sometimes, it also felt rather intimate.

"Brat." You say, a smile now gracing your lips as you look away from him to finish talking your harness off.

He watches you closely, his eyes dropping from your face down to your waist where your little hands are working the harness open from your chest pack. He admires how gentle you are with it--taking your time to slowly pull the fabric strap through the belt and let it drop to your side.

After a moment of watching your hands, his eyes venture back up to your face, where he watches your eyes blink slowly in concentration. Your lips are pouty, indicating your growing irritation with the harness you're trying to work. You groan when it finally comes open. And when it falls from your body to hit the ground with a thud, you sigh loudly. One of your hands reaches up to rub over your shoulder where one of the straps had been digging into the muscle there all day.

"Fucking awful thing." You say. Your posture is visibly more relaxed now.

"What are you complainin' about? My packs' about twenty kilos heavier." Simon speaks as he watches you slowly approach him.

"You're also about a foot taller than me and a hundred pounds heavier." You retort.

"Sounds like a personal problem." He says. When you stop and turn to look at him, you see his eyes squinting. You know he's grinning.

"You're so rude to me, Simon." You mock, grinning back at him.

"That right?" He asks, his voice deep and velvety.

"Yep." You respond

You take one step closer to him. A grunt sneaks up your throat involuntarily when your knees bend to sit down on the cold wood floor next to him. You plop down close enough to him to feel the heat radiating off his massive form.

It's dark in the one-room shack. The only bit of light was coming off the moon, shining a direct beam over Ghost and you. The stream illuminated the hard part of his mask and lit his dark brown hues up like a fresh cup of hot coffee. His lashes were long and blonde; giving his gorgeous eyes the perfect amount of shade from the intrusive moonlight.

He still has his arms crossed over his chest, but when he notices you shift to turn towards him, he drops them to his sides.

As stated above, you've known Ghost for a long time. You've been on many missions together. Whether it be in full groups or alone like you are now. He's seen all the good and all the bad of you. There's nothing you could say or do to suprise him at this point. So when you turned to him and asked your next question, the thought of refusal never crossed his mind.

"May I?" You ask, bringing your hand up to point towards his side--where the junction of his chest and arm is.

It was genuine and harmless.

Ghost nods his head towards you and lifts his arm as an invitation. You slide over to him easily, slipping under the heavy appendage he just lifted for you and settling your head on the side of his right pectoral muscle.

You lay next to him, otherwise. Your head is the only part touching him. Your back is arched to match his, and it's incredibly more comfortable on your neck as well. Your hands come down to busy themselves in the pocket of your hoodie so as not to accidentally lay them on his stomach like your body desperately wants to. It's instinctual, you think.

It happens like this sometimes. And you're so happy he's comfortable enough with you to be like this. You like to think he wouldn't do this for anyone else; that you're different to him.

Certainly, he's different to you--in the sense that you wouldn't trust any other man under a rather intimate situation like this. He gives you a true sense of security and ease. You would most rather be on a misson with him than anyone else; including Soap. Whom you've come to love like a big brother.

Naturally, it doesn't take long for you to fall asleep. He excudes heat on this cold winter night, and that puts you right out.

When you wake a couple hours later, the rain has stopped. It's muggy; steam rolling in through the cracks and holes on the walls. The puddle in the opposite corner of the room had filled significantly through the night and started to flood the floors. Luckily, you and Ghost picked the right spot. The floor boards were slightly elevated so neither of you seemed to be wet.

Your eyes stuggle to adjust to the moonlight. You blink and roll them back a few times in an attempt to settle on the surrounding area. Your ears are sharp--you can't hear anything outside. No footsteps, whispers, shuffljng. Nothing. Everything appears to be clear for the moment as your eyes finally adjust.

When they do, however, you look down to see your body completely intertwined with Ghosts.

You're on your side, chest pressed firmly to his chest. Your leg is arched up and over his; your core sitting firmly against his thigh. Your arm is wrapped around his waist, hand sitting lightly on what feels like rock-hard abs.

The thing that throws you off, though, is when you shift a little and feel something heavy sitting on your hip. You glance down at that moment of realization and see that his arm his wrapped around you, his large hand laying comfortably on the biggest curve of your hip.

His touch wasn't foreign to you. There had always been fleeting touches from him. Your shoulder, lower back, your arm. He knew you were comfortable with it and never overstepped. But your waist was a completely new feeling. A feeling you hadn't felt in many, many years. It was a feeling that, if not tamed quickly, could ignite a dangerous fire below and stir waters that hadn't been disturbed in a very long time.

You close your eyes for a moment and swallow, throwing any thoughts of that to the back of your head to revisit later when you were alone.

You haven't looked at him, but his steady breathing and the slow rise and fall of his chest indicate he's sleeping. And you wouldn't dare wake him. The man never got any sleep as far as you were concerned. He never let you take watch. He always volunteered and forced you to get your sleep.

So you turn back, ever so carefully, in your best attempt to keep from waking him.

Only when you lay your head back down, your eyes open for a brief moment, and glance down towards your leg now hanging over his side.

And you see it.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you can't keep the heat from creeping up your neck to your cheeks.

A tent appears in his jeans directly next to your leg. The detailed outline of his thick cock sitting taut on the inside of his thigh sends shivers down your spine that you can't help.

Holy fuck. Holy fuck.

It's big--thick and long. And it's so hard. It honestly looks to be painful. How the fuck can he sleep like that? His cock is hard as rock, constricted and throbbing under the jeans that are relatively tight on his muscular thighs.

You can't help the desperate throbbing between your legs when you see him so bricked up under his trousers. And you exhale deeply, trying to control your rapidly increasing breathing.

In your attempts to keep from waking him, you don't notice his breathing change. And his chest stopped rising as high as it was.

When his deep, velvety voice rings through your ears unexpectedly, you jump slightly.

"Don't flatter yourself. I was only sleeping." He says. When you glance up, he hasn't even opened his eyes.

You struggle to find words for a moment, the shock of his very obvious arousal clouding your mind and throwing any rational thoughts out of the window.

"Is that? Normal?" You ask, voice quavering slightly as you try and keep your voice down.

He clears his throat and nods.

"Happens sometimes." he says. This time, he slowly turns his head towards you and opens his eyes to glance down. "It's involuntarily."

"Oh." You say, blushing when you register that it sounded relatively disappointed.

He stares down at you, his hand still laying in the curve of your waist.

"Hoping for a different excuse?" He asks, his voice only above a whisper. It was deep and vibrating deep within his chest.

"No. Just surprised. That's all." You say softly.

He watches you for a moment before he speaks again.

"Sorry. Is it...making you uncomfortable at all?" He asks.

"No! No. It's fine. I know you can't help it--" you say softly. "--just looks a bit uncomfortable for you."

You can see him swallow this time and that suprises you. Not often you can see such visible signs of emotion in Ghost.

"Sorry. Can't just make it go away, or I would." He says, turning to look away. He lays his head back on the wall. "Just ignore it."

You slowly lay your head back down on his chest and think for a moment.

"Why can't you get rid of it?" You ask.

He shifts a bit and turns his head back towards you. His chin brushes your forehead.

"Be awful inappropriate, wouldn't it?" He says, his deep vibrato vibrating your head.

You don't look up at him, but you can feel his eyes on you. You keep your eyes straight, concentrating on the wall so you don't glance down at his pants again.

"Does it hurt?" You ask softly.

He breathes out slowly, his breath brushing your hair from your eyes.

"Nothin' I haven't dealt with before." He says.

You don't respond. Your thoughts too clouded with the thought of his throbbing hard cock just below you. Eyes still focused on the wall, and your hand lay flat on his stomach. His hand is still on the curve of your waist. His fingers twitch slightly when you slide your hand back towards your chest.

You don't know what possesses you to say what you say next, but comes out clear as day.

"Do you want help?" You say--it's a tiny whisper.

His breathing pauses for a moment, and you can feel his eyes burning into your head. His fingers bunch a little, crumpling the fabric of your shirt. You tear your sight from the wall and turn to look up at him.

The moment your eyes meet his, you can see the newfound lust swishing around in those dark brown hues. He has his massive neck craned down to meet your gaze. Your hand slowly slides up his abdomen to rest on his chest in the valley between his swollen pecs.

His hand leaves your waist to slide up your body. Over the curve of your waist and up your arm to the back of your head where his palm lays over your neck. He brushes the hair from your neck, and his fingers start to trace the line of your jaw.

"Are you sure?" He asks, his voice an entire octave lower.

His thumb comes up to brush over your bottom lip, and you open your mouth for him. Your hand slowly starts to descend his body. You trace all the way back down to his stomach before trailing over and locking your fingers on the metal belt buckle that holds his pants locked in place.

Gingerly, your nimble fingers begin working the buckle open.

He doesn't make a sound, and he doesn't loosen his grip. Your eyes remain locked on his as you pull the buckle open. His thumb takes your invitation and slowly slips between your lips, grazing the top of the bottom set of teeth.

When your hand frees his jeans of the belt buckle, you move to pull open the botton next, which doesn't take long. His thumb brushes over your tongue as you slip the warm flesh of your hand under his jeans and underwear.

His groin is dusted in a light field of pubic hair, trimmed and neat. Not bare, but not overwhelming. A conscious effort to prevent himself from smelling.

He keeps hygiene in mind? Such a beautiful attribute for a man to have.

His skin pulls a little tight when your hand makes contact with his shaft, and his breath catches in his throat. You slip all the way down, grabbing around the most girthy part of him and slowly pulling back. He springs from his jeans, long and thick. He's covered in veins, like his arms. It's a pasty white, transitioning to pink at the head. And the head is swollen, almost red from the pre-cum dripping out.

You give him a soft stroke from the base, all the way up to the head where your hand begins to coat in his arousal.

He mmms low in his throat, and you can't help the sweet smile that graces your lips.

"You're worked up." You tease in a soft tone.

You give him another strong stroke and his hips buck into your touch.

"Can you blame me? You practically threw yourself over me in your sleep. Like it was instinctual." He huffs out.

You lean your upper body up to press a soft kiss to the hard part of his mask. Your hand begins slowly stoking him at a steady pace.

"Maybe it is instinctual." You breathe against his mask. "B'cause you make me feel safe."

He groans at that, his head falling back to rest against the wall as you steadily stroke his aching cock.

"Fuckin' hell, woman." He huffs.

You continue stroking him for a few moments before your hand leaves him all together. This catches his attention, but he doesn’t move--just assuming you were giving your wrist a break.

Only when the wet cavern of your mouth wraps around his tip does he open his eyes to look down. You moved so quietly; your laying on your side across his stomach. Your back is to him. Your hot tongue wraps around his girth as you slowly let your mouth drop as much as you can.

His hand comes down to lay on the back of your neck. His calloused fingers begin to intertwine with strands of your hair. He takes this opportunity to swipe all hair from one side of your head so he can see your jaw moving around his big cock. A groan slips from underneath his mask as you begin to suck him in earnest.

You look comfortable, oddly. Your body seems relaxed, your thighs curling up together towards his knees. He notices how your hips start to circle slightly. Like you're trying to add pressure to something--like your trying to add pressure to your clit.

The vulgar sounds of your wet mouth mixing with the obscene amount of arousal he's producing fills the silence in the room. It only makes him want you more.

His muscles are tight, and his hips jut up in unison with your mouth. Gently, of course. As to not hurt that pretty little mouth of yours.

His hand leaves your neck and slowly starts to slide down your arm. Then to the side of your chest. Then to the curve of your waist. His fingers lock on your hip bone and hold you steady as his hips rut into your mouth. He groans your middle name. His preferred way to address you.

You weren't actually expecting him to, but his hand slowly starts to creep over your hip and down your belly. Once his fingers grace the hem of your jeans, he pauses. As if asking permission, but silently.

You give him just that by turning your lower half so your ass is fully on the ground. You spread your legs and he groans.

Slowly, his hand slips under your jeans and into your underwear, where he finds you completely and utterly soaked for him.

He slips a big finger through your wet folds, soaking the skin and dragging it back up to your clit. He circles you slowly, but roughly. He applies just enough pressure to make you pause and whimper against his cock.

"Y'like that, baby?" He asks softly, his voice almost sounding choked.

He follows the question up by immediately moving his hand down to slip one large finger inside you. Instantly, you clench around him. The feeling of being broken open for the first time in so long makes you whimper again. It vibrates his cock and he throbs, groaning behind his mask.

His finger begins pumping into you at a steady pace while his palm softly rubs against that swollen bundle of needy nerves. You can feel every ridge and scar on his finger as it fucks you quick. Your legs start to buckle around his hand and fall closed together, but he shoves them back open with his forearm.

Then he adds a second finger and you swear it's the size of a real cock. It certainly feels like it. His fingers are long and thick, muscular, from all the years of wear and tear. He pumps into you harshly, bottoming out at his wrist. Your toes are starting to curl in your boots, and your abdominal muscles are pulled tight in concentration.

At this point, it's hard to concentrate on anything. You didn't notice you'd completely stopped sucking his cock the moment he sunk another finger in, but he hasn't said anything. Your hand is still wrapped around the base and your lips are still pressed to the tip. But your tongue has retreated back to your mouth to lick your lips as your orgasm approaches.

"M'sorry. M'sorry Simon." You mumble a weak apology to him. "I-I.....I can't.....can't....."

It's not intelligible. It's coming out as quiet little whimpers; words mashed together in aroused nonsense. You're trying to apologize for how you stopped pleasuring him. How the pleasure he's giving you is too much.

He hushes you, though. His opposite hand comes around the other side of your head and flattens on your chest. He pulls you down to lay on his stomach as you gasp for air. His heavy cock drops to lay on the exposed part of your chest. A tiny bit of cleavage perfectly open for his viewing pleasure. He's still throbbing red; leaking pre-cum all over your skin.

His fingers continue digging into your cunt, hitting that sensitive spot deep inside you.

"Don't you worry about me, love. Cum; give me a good one." He groans out, eyes locked on your fucked out face.

Pretty eyes screwed shut, tears of pleasure rolling down your cheeks. Lips parted and swollen from getting bitten. Cheeks are still bright red. Fuck, he could look at you all day.

Your breathing is heavy, and you're trying your hardest to stay quiet, but sweet moans keep rolling off your lips as he pumps you hard with his fingers. Your little hands reach down and grab onto that big tattooed forearm of his and dig your fingers in. Your hips are starting to tense and jut upwards.

"Good girl, c'mon. You can do it." He encourages.

His cock is still sitting heavy on your your chest, leaning arousal on your skin. You can feel him throbbing.

"Simon." You whimper.

And that seems to do something to him, because immediately after, he cums on your chest. He moans his time, his opposit hand digging into your hair as his white juices start to cover your chest. Some leaks between your breasts and he curses at the sight.

"Fuckin' hell, woman. Look at ya." He moans out, his chest heaving as he continues to fuck you with his fingers.

It's not long after that you follow; the string pulled tight in your lower stomach snaps and your orgasm rockets off. Your back snaps into an arch, and you squeeze his forearm even harder. Your legs shoot up again and involuntarily try to shut over his hands. Everything trembles as he fucks you through your orgasm.

"Simon. Simon. Simon." You whimper for him.

"There ya go, love. Good girl." He praises.

His fingers start to slow and eventually pull out. You lay on him, trying to catch your breath. You feel him shift, pulling his hand up to his face and your eyes open to watch him.

You catch him lifting the bottom of his mask to slip the cum covered fingers into his mouth. If you thought your face was red before, there was no chance compared to now. Your mouth hangs open as you watch him lick your arousal off his fingers. And he groans.

"Christ." You mumble as he pulls his hand back from his face.

"Knew you'd taste good." He says, looking down at you. "Next time, I'll get it directly from the source."

[duhnova]

tinted windows - yoon jeonghan

ceo!jeonghan x fem!reader

word count: ~1.1k

kinktober masterlist

warning(s): smut under the cut!! (mdni), pwop, car sex, unprotected sex, needy jeonghan, quickie, mentions of blood, reader wears a skirt, mentions of a blow job, slight manhandling, slight sir kink, let me know if i forgot anything! - dont mind grammatical errors / typos (i tried)

jeonghan was never the type for quickies, he liked taking his time with you, mapping out your body for hours and drawing orgasm after orgasm from you until you were a shaking, crying mess. yet here he was pointing you down a desolated back street so that he could pull you into the backseat of the car, his dick painfully hard. 

“what has gotten into you?” you grumble quietly as you turn the car off, unbuckling so you can crawl over the center dash to sit in jeonghan's lap. 

“you just look so fucking hot while driving and my mind couldn’t help but wander.”he mumbles as his hands are instantly on your waist, his mouth on your neck as he makes quick work in trailing wet kisses up to your mouth. 

the kiss was heated, his fingers trailing up your thighs until your skirt was bunched up at your waist, leaving your lace panties on display. he groans quietly into your mouth as you start to grind down against his bulge, your arousal seeping through, creating a wet patch on his dress pants.

“sir you have a meeting in twenty minutes.” you mumble against his lips, his dick twitching below you at the title. 

“fuck that stupid meeting, i have more important things to be doing right now.” he groans as he pulls you back in for another kiss, his fingers digging into your hips so he can grind you down against his own. 

“sir-” you gasp out when he bites your tongue, you're about to whine when the slight hint of copper hits your tastebuds but you're cut off by him sucking on your tongue, soothing the sting. 

“all i need is five minutes.” he breathes out once he pulls away from your mouth, a small string of saliva connecting you two. “please.” he sounded so pathetic and needy with you grinding down against his erection.

“fine, but i’m not taking the blame if you get scolded for being late.” you huff, lifting your hips so that jeonghan can half haphazardly unbuckle his belt and pull his dick out, his pants already ruined from your arousal and his precum seeping through. 

“i’d never make you take the blame baby, now come here.” he groans quietly as he grabs your waist, using his other hand to rub the tip of his dick at your clothed pussy. he whined a little when he realized your panties were still on, grumbling to himself and not waiting for you to help him he grabs ahold of the flimsy lace and rips it.

“jeonghan!” you gasp, smacking his shoulder a little. you began to pout, telling him how those were your favorite pair before he’s shutting you up with a moan. he didn't waste time in pushing the head of his dick into your entrance, groaning at the warmth that was surrounding him. 

“i’ll buy you new ones like i always do.” he groans, wrapping his arms around your waist when he finally bottoms out. his dick was already twitching inside of you, a good indicator that he wasn't going to last long. “fuck.” he whines, his head falling back to rest on the rear deck of the car. 

jeonghan liked to take control most of the time, whether it was in the work space or in the bedroom and he's normally good at it but right now he was a mess. his fingers dug into your ass cheeks, his mouth wide open as he moans, and his hips jerking up to meet every one of your bounces, he couldn’t even form complete sentences as the only thing he could think about was making you both cum as quickly as possible. 

“fuck hannie,” you moan, bouncing on his dick faster, the lewd sound of of his dick sliding in and out of your pussy filled the car, your hot breath causing the windows to fog up (not that it mattered, the windows were tinted beyond belief to ensure the safety of its occupants). “feels so good.” you gasp, letting your body fall forward to rest against his chest. wrapping your arms around his neck to help ground yourself as your legs start to burn. 

“so warm,” he groans, his legs tensing as his thrusts become sloppy, his orgasm fast approaching. “so tight,” he squeezes his eyes closed tightly, his nose scrunching up at the amount of pleasure coursing through his body. “gonna cum.” his sentences are all broken as the rubber band finally snapped, his cum filling you up.

you continue to bounce, helping him ride out his orgasm as you chase your own. his moans increasingly got whinier as yours got quieter, the stuffiness of the car mixed with the pleasure made it hard to breathe as you finally reached your climax. gasping loudly, your body stilling, you grip onto the hairs at the base of his neck to stabilize yourself. 

“fuck,” you mumble after sitting there for a couple minutes, catching your breath and just relashing being in eachothers arms. “fuck!” panic settled in your voice as you sat up straight, looking at your watch. 1:03pm, you were late for the meeting. “you’re late!” you move to pull away from jeonghan but he grabs hold of you and pulls you back against his chest with a smirk on his face.

“so what i'm hearing is we could go another round?” he laughs when you smack at his shoulders, ripping yourself out of his arms and off of his dick. 

“you are insatiable!” you fix your skirt before crawling into the driver's seat where you straighten out your hair and start the car. “i seriously hope you have an extra pair of pants in the trunk or you have a lot of explaining to do.” you eye him in the rearview mirror, he still had a smirk on his face and he was very much still hard as he spread his legs wider to give you a view of his dick sitting tall against his abdomen. 

“i won't have to explain anything at all if you fix this.” his eyes signaled down to his dick while he threw his arms over the back of the seat. rolling your eyes you put the car in gear, driving away from the curb. 

“the only thing that i’m going to be fixing is that shit eating grin on your face,” you huff quietly, the corners of your lips twitching as you try to suppress a smile. “but if you can put your dick away and hold your tongue until we get to the office i’ll suck you off in the bathroom.”

“make it the conference room after everyone leaves and you have a deal.” he fights real hard to keep the victorious smile off his face as he tucks himself back into his soiled pants, mentally high fiving himself for getting you to agree (and for remembering to pack extra clothes incase he got lucky today).

feedback + reblogs greatly appreciated!

[flowersandbigteeth]

Meeting your Changeling BF: Pt 6

General Plot: You and Clark get settled into Leotolas and you learn more about the mysteries you're faced with

Word Count: 5k

Changeling (Clark) x f flower nymph reader

TW: Yandere behavior, Mention of Murder, light mind control, mentions of domestic violence, nsfw smut, bossy dommy Clark, slight degradation kink, oral sex

Find other parts here

“I want you to walk with me to the Mage's Chamber today,” Clark said as he distributed slices of fruit and a sweet goop, something like oatmeal to you. “So you can find it if you ever need me. I wish I could be with you every moment of the day, but the price for safety here is that I complete my duties.” 

“What are your duties?” you asked and he grinned that you were interested in his work. 

“We research magic and the unknown forces of this world,” he said. “I’m a sargeant mage, which is a difficult position to achieve, but not anywhere close to master. Most of my duties include investigating reports.” 

“Reports?” you asked. 

“Yes, there are many things in this world that we do not understand,” he explained. “The citizens send us reports of mysterious happenings or confusing magic and we investigate them. We aren’t an army or anything, we rarely intercede if something isn’t explicitly threatening to the way of things…but we file our findings and add it to our knowledgebase.” 

“Do you…ever research the whisperer?” you asked and he looked confused. 

“The whisperer?” he asked. “What is that? Is someone bothering you?” 

You shook your head, feeling foolish. 

“Nothing, something I heard in passing that I didn’t understand,” you said. “I’m sure it had nothing to do with us anyway.” 

He raised an eyebrow at you before letting it drop. 

“Anyway,” he said. “We will be here for a while, but sometimes I’m asked to leave the city to investigate, personally. You can come if you like. I hope you’d come…but if you feel safer here…” 

You shook your head. 

“No, I want to come,” you said. “I want to learn more about this world.” 

He plopped a sack of coins on the table and scooted it to you. 

“This is some coin for you to spend,” he said. “Leotolas is an incredibly safe city. There’s no danger to you if you’d like to explore.” 

When you finished eating Clark put on his blue mage’s uniform. It was very strapping with a blue shirt that only covered half of his chest and belted at the waist over tight gold pants. A gold badge that indicated his rank adorned his chest and he slid his feet into high boots. 

The two of you walked through town until you reached the grand gold building that was the Mage's Chamber. Massive columns stretched up to the pitched roof and blue and gold bunting hung between them. There were no stairs, only a deep incline, you assumed to accommodate creatures without legs. 

“Come inside,” he said. “I want to introduce you around.”

“Is it okay?” you asked and he laughed. 

“Many mages are married and their partners bring them lunch,” he chuckled. “The only areas that are off limits are at the top floor, where the senior mages have their studies and laboratories. I want to show you where I work.” 

“Oh, okay,” you said, clinging to him as he led you into the building. 

The hallways were lined with marble and other mages dressed in outfits similar to Clark’s hurried about. He introduced you proudly to so many creatures, you had a hard time remembering their names until one tall woman with long red hair raised a narrow eyebrow at you. Her feet were not stuffed in boots, but were the shape of an eagle’s claws, fluffy red feathers covering her legs and wings were folded behind her back. 

“This is Ayla, my senior,” he explained. “Ayla, this is my wife (Y/N).” 

She gave you a tight smile. 

“Ah, the nymph master Hassan spoke of,” she said. “Welcome to Leotolas. I’m sure you’ll find it comfortable, most do.” 

She gave Clark a stern look. 

“Get to your office,” she said. “You’ve been neglecting your duties long enough.” 

He looked at you nervously and she laughed, which threw you off based on her strict demeanor.

“I’ll give your wife the rest of the tour,” she assured him. 

He looked between the two of you, frowning, but seemed unwilling to defy his senior. 

“Of course, ma’am,” he said, giving you a quick kiss before he hurried down the hallway. 

Ayla watched him leave with a little bit of amusement hovering on her lips. 

“Needy and insecure that one,” she commented, then looked down at you. “A personality like that would annoy me, personally, but you can’t account for taste I suppose…” 

She sighed. 

“Come along,” she said, hooking her arm around yours and tugging you down the hallway. 

Unlike Clark, she didn’t bring you around the lower floors, instead she went straight for the winding incline that led to the top floor. 

“I thought this was off limits,” you gasped and she looked down at you with a smirk. 

“To Clark, yes. To you? No,” she said. “In fact, it would be better if you came here often.” 

“Why is that?” you asked, confused and she sighed. 

“Clark is very young and jealous,” she explained. “He’s an excellent mage but has a lot of growing to do before he is capable of investigating magic at the senior level. He’s already made some…questionable decisions.” 

You frowned at her. 

“Like what?” you asked, but she just winked at you. 

“I won’t embarrass him by sharing his failures,” she said. “And there’s nothing to fear. Clark adores you. He threw a fit when we asked him to stay in the city and not return to his village. He ran off saying he’d return when his business was complete.” 

“Did that get him into trouble?” you asked, nervous Clark was on thin ice.

“No, you cannot force people to do anything,” she said. “You must let them follow their path and live the consequences of the choices they make. He returned and that is enough.” 

The top floor of the Mage's Chamber smelled like old paper and wood. Unlike the shiny, clean lower floors, the top floor was filled with artifacts, arranged haphazardly on large bookshelves. There were weapons, armor, and tapestries cluttering the walls. Knick knacks that you couldn’t begin to imagine their purpose crowded the space. 

“So what do you want from me?” you asked as she led you into a laboratory. 

“I want you to learn,” she said. “I want you to learn our world and armed with that knowledge you can make choices.” 

“Choices?” you asked. 

She ignored your question, pointing to a table filled with scrolls. 

“For now, we’ll start with the language,” she said. “As a traveler knowledge of the written language does not pass through a soul swap like it does orally. Your soul’s match’s body has internalized the muscle memory necessary to produce the correct words. It’s automatic. You’ll need to learn the written form from the beginning. Culture is passed through turns of phrase, biases in recordings. You need to learn to read and write.” 

She looked at you, her face dour. 

“You are going to learn some things that will, of course, be troubling to you, but as I’m sure Master Hassan mentioned, please keep an open mind,” she said. “Things are not black and white. Right or wrong. Those of us who carry the greatest burdens must let go of the impulse to be heroes– to right what we think is wrong in the world.” 

“Then what’s the point?” you asked. “Why learn if you can’t make things better?” 

“Better for who?” she asked. “For what? Whose goals should be actualized? Whose should be abandoned? If you insist on a winner there must be a loser. If you make it right for some you make it wrong for others.” 

She sighed, shaking her head. 

“This is too much for you to understand now,” she said. “As I said, we’ll focus on language.”

You frowned, feeling unsure. 

“I don’t think Clark will like me studying,” you admitted. “He has it in his head I should be flitting around blooming flowers.” 

She laughed. 

“He won’t,” she said. “But he will adjust. This should not be a secret, though some things you learn…you may not want to share. I believe you care for Clark, but you must accept his limitations.”  

“Ah,” you said, nodding. 

Then your brow narrowed. 

“How do I know this isn’t some ploy to use me?” you asked frankly. 

She gave you an equally intense look. 

“Mages aren’t in the business of using people,” she said. “If we don’t have to interfere we won’t. You can choose to take what you learn and walk away, return to the old wood. No one here will stop you.” 

“Then why go to all the trouble?” you asked. “I’m not special.” 

When you looked in her eyes, they were clear and not annoyed as you expected them to be. 

“You have potential,” she said “It is our business to cultivate potential.” 

Her piece done, her face relaxed. 

“I think that’s enough for the day,” she said. “Think about what I said and return when you are ready.” 

You nodded, turning and finding your way out of the building, puzzling over her words. Taking the afternoon to visit the shops, you suddenly realized how limited you were without knowing how to read. You couldn’t decipher the street names or any of the signs. It took quite some time for you to find your way back home and Clark was already there waiting for you. 

“Where have you been?” he asked, appearing frantic. 

He ran across the room, throwing his arms around you, making you drop the shopping bags you carried. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, looking you over for injuries. 

You laughed. 

“I’m fine, Clark, I got lost because I can’t read any of the signs,” you explained. 

He let out a deep breath, holding you to his chest. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t go out alone,” he huffed. 

“No, that’s silly,” you said. “And anyway, Ayla offered to teach me to read.” 

He looked down at you, glaring. 

“Why?” he demanded. “Why would she offer that?” 

“Calm down,” you sighed, pushing him into a chair, sitting on his lap and brushing his hair with your hand. “For just the reason I explained. I can’t get around anywhere without reading the signs. She only intended to be kind AND she offered to teach me at the Mage's Chamber. I’ll be able to see you without her reprimanding you. Wouldn’t you rather I be in the Chamber with you than wandering around the streets lost?” 

He bit his lip and thought about it for a moment before nodding. 

“I guess that makes sense,” he murmured. “But I don’t understand why Ayla would care.” 

“Hmm,” you said, giving him a stern look. “I think she is far more thoughtful than you give her credit for. She shared that you ran off to the village when you were supposed to be here doing your duties. Maybe she just wants to make me comfortable so you don’t take off again, have you considered that?” 

His face blanched at that bit of information. 

“Oh,” he said, swallowing hard. “Did she tell you…anything else?” 

You smiled and lifted an eyebrow. 

“Is there something else to tell?” you asked and he looked away. 

“No,” he said, then quickly changed the subject. “Would you like to go out for dinner? There are lots of nice restaurants here.” 

You nodded in agreement, you hadn’t eaten since breakfast and the food you’d smelled coming from the street vendors had made you starved. The two of you ended up in what was equivalent to a ramen restaurant, eating massive bowls of noodles and stew. In celebration of your arrival in Leotolas, Clark drank lots of ale and announced to the whole restaurant his love for you in a series of indulgent speeches. By the time the two of you wandered home, he was a little tipsy and very handsy. 

“You scared me today, (Y/N). When I arrived home and you weren’t here, I was sure someone had stolen you,” he pouted as you pushed him into your house. “I’m mad at you.” 

You giggled at his pouty bottom lip. 

“Are you?” you asked, helping him onto the couch. 

“I want you to make it up to me,” he growled, his eyes turning from the public gray, to the mischievous red he only shared with you. 

“How should I do that?” you asked, putting your hands on your hips and standing over him. 

He stretched an arm over the backrest of the couch, looking you over with a lecherous gaze. 

“Take off your dress,” he demanded. 

You blushed, but your heart skipped at his growly tone. Slowly, you loosened the laces of the garment until it pooled on the floor at your feet. You bent to take off your boots, but he stopped you. 

“Leave those on,” he said, his eyes eating up your bare skin. “Take off the underthings and get on your knees.” 

You bit your bottom lip, wondering if you should refuse him…but you didn’t exactly want to refuse him. As he asked, you carefully removed your bra and panties, then lowered yourself to the floor. With a bit of attitude, you tossed the panties at him and he gave you a wide smile, showing his very sharp teeth as he pulled them to his nose and breathed in your scent. 

“Come here,” he said, crooking his finger at you and you shuffled over to him on your knees, until you were notched between his legs. 

He gave you a look that said you should probably have guessed what he wanted, raising an eyebrow. 

“What are you waiting for?” he asked, putting a heavy hand on your head. “Show me how sorry you are.”  

You didn’t break eye contact, opening his fly and pulling his heavy cock into your hand. It was already hard and weeping, a bit of precum slipping down the tip. You licked it up, the salty flavor coating your tongue. Then you dipped your head taking what you could past your lips. He smelled like spicy incense, the scent making you feel light headed. 

He let out a deep, satisfied groan, his fingers winding around your hair. Your hand circled what you couldn’t take into your mouth, stroking the velvety skin. 

His hips snapped forward, the head of his shaft hitting the back of your throat. 

"Gnnnhh," he grunted. "You feel so good." 

You bobbed your head on his cock, alternating swirling your tongue over the head and taking him deep. His fingers got tighter and tighter in your hair until he was jerking your head to get you to suck him the way he liked. His eyes were burning in the dim room, splashing a blood red glow over his face. 

"Open your mouth and stick out your tongue," he demanded, his hand covering yours, making you jerk him off harder and faster. 

You pulled your head back, doing as he asked. His eyes were wide as he let out a roar, his hot cum splashing your tongue and cheeks. 

He grinned at you, tipping his head to the side with amusement and keeping your mouth open with a thumb on your bottom lip. 

"Pretty little cum doll," he hummed, sliding a bit of his spend that was stuck to your cheek onto your tongue with his finger. 

"Swallow," he ordered and you closed your mouth, following his directions. 

You’re body was on fire with neediness, nipples perked and your pussy wet. 

“I should let you suffer,” he murmured. “Leave you wanting for how you abandoned me.” 

He scooped you up, kissing you deeply and desperately as he straddled you across his lap. 

“But I can’t resist your little cunt,” he whispered into your mouth, jerking his hips up into you. 

You let out a breathy moan as he filled you, picking you up and slamming you down on his cock, over and over again. His eyes were burning coals, watching your tits bounce in front of him. 

“I saw how the men looked at you tonight. I wanted to rip their eyes out of their heads,” he hissed. “You’re mine…all mine…forever mine.” 

He took your breast into his widening mouth as he lost his ability to hold his public form. His long, hot tongue wound around your nipple making you mewl. Stinging teeth pricked your skin, not intending to hurt you but making you squeak, the decadent sensation of pleasure and a little pain making your eyes squeeze shut. He growled like a beast, tasting your blood. 

Leaning back he took in his masterpiece. If he didn’t worry so much about hurting you, he would have marked you all over with bites and scars. He wanted everyone to know you were completely his, that they could never compete. Instead his tongue grew inhumanly long, lapping at your clit. Your fingers clung to his shoulders, screaming and sobbing into the crook of his neck as you came undone. 

"Yes, yes, that's it," he muttered into your ear, his true voice gravelly and deep. "Only I can make you feel like this…only me." 

He jerked you down on his cock with a few more violent strokes until you felt his cock stiffen even more and he filled you with his cum. 

A few moments later, as he came to his senses, his big hand stroked the back of your head while he cooed at you. He nuzzled the skin behind your ear, enjoying your closeness and the way your slack body draped over his. Not bothering to carry you to bed, he curled up around you on the couch as you fell asleep with his cock still wedged in your warm wet channel, where he was sure he belonged. 

—

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Clark asked as you walked with him to the Mage’s Chamber the next day. 

You giggled at him, tipping your head to the side to look at his pouty face. 

“Of course I want to learn to read,” you laughed. “Wouldn’t you?” 

He shrugged. 

“I can read for you!” he insisted. “What if it’s hard?” 

You snorted. 

“I learned to read my native language and I even took Russian classes in college!” you argued. 

He looked confused. 

“What is Russian?” he asked and you rolled your eyes playfully. 

“It’s another language than the one I grew up speaking,” you explained. “Learning a language is challenging, but it will be easier because the old (Y/N)’s muscle memory is already set for your language. I just need to learn the characters.”

He frowned, his head dipping because he wasn’t getting his way and couldn’t think of an excuse to convince you not to do something you absolutely should be doing. 

“You’ve returned,” Ayla said when she saw you in the hallway, headed towards Clark’s office. “Ready to start your lessons?” 

You nodded brightly. 

“Don’t teach her anything troubling,” Clark said, still pouting. “And don’t be too hard on her. (Y/N) is delicate.” 

Ayla frowned at him. 

“Are you lecturing your senior, sergeant mage?” she snapped and he looked contrite. “Get to work before I have you scouring the wastelands for dragon bones.” 

He turned to you and took your hand. 

“It’s okay if it ends up being too hard and you decide to give up,” he said. 

You snorted at his silliness and kissed him on the nose. 

“Don’t be so worried,” you said. “And don’t argue with Ayla, I don’t want to have to follow you to wherever the wasteland is. I quite like Leotolas.” 

That produced a half smile and he dipped his head to kiss your lips. He gave Ayla a glaring nod, before making his way to his own office. 

“Clark is fortunate to have someone who indulges him,” she sighed as she led you back to the top floor. “We all want him to be happy, but he can be quite naughty when he wishes to be. It’s so unfair the things they say about changelings. It’s given him a complex. I hope he grows out of it someday.” 

She smiled down at you. 

“Perhaps a faithful companion will help,” she said with surprising warmth. 

She led you to the laboratory you’d been before, helping you into a seat at one of the tables. Large leather books and scrolls were organized much more neatly than the rest of the space. 

“These are some children’s workbooks,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “They are magic. When you run your finger along the word or letter the book will make the sound for you. When you’ve mastered the letters, we’ll move on to sight words. I have some experiments to complete, but you can interrupt me if you need help. Sound good to start?” 

You nodded, opening the first book. It was very pretty for a simple children’s learning book. There were beautiful illustrations showing different letters associated with different pictures, like any kindergartener’s book. B for boy and S for sun…things like that. The language of the realm was pretty in writing. It appeared to be an elegant script, the characters looking almost like arabic. You were suddenly aware of the sounds that your mouth had been putting together automatically. Spending the morning studying was refreshing. There was a certain optimism that came with educating yourself. It was dangerous to be illiterate, you could easily be tricked. 

Around lunch time your mind was wandering and you glanced up at Ayla working with some potions. Curious, you slid beside her to see what she was doing. 

"Can I help you with something?" she asked, her eyes sliding to you though she didn't turn her head. 

You shrugged. 

"I just wanted to see what you were working on," you said. "It looks pretty." 

You nodded towards the bright pink swirling liquid in one of her flasks. 

"Is that magic?" you asked and she made a noise in the back of her throat. 

"Not exactly," she said. "What I'm doing is alchemy. The study of transformation. This is a venom, I'm trying to make it into a healing serum." 

"Oooh," you said, your eyes wide with interest. 

"Watch," she said, her pointer finger starting to glow. 

She traced the shape of some glyph over the potion and the pink bled to black and started putting off a terrible smelling smoke. 

"Ugh," you gagged and she laughed, lowering her finger and tossing the liquid into a potted plant. To your surprise the plant grew several inches and flowers bloomed. 

"I can only change it into a fertilizer," she said, wrinkling her brow. “I’m still trying to sort out why.” 

You touched a freshly unrolled leaf and suddenly the world blurred. 

Grow. Grow. Grow. Twist the vines. Open the blooms. Crush the glass. Splinter the tools. Send the outsiders to the Earth. Grow. Grow. Grow. 

"(Y/N)!" Ayla shouted and your vision cleared, but in front of you the plant had taken over most of the table, long vines hanging off the edge and abnormally large flowers opening. 

She looked at you and narrowed her eyes. 

"You have no control over your magic, do you?" she asked, her words seeming like an accusation. 

You shook your head, though your cheeks burned with embarrassment. 

"Clark…you fool," she murmured under her breath, rubbing her eyes as if she were tired.

"I suppose as a traveler you wouldn't," she said to you sharply, looking up,"We must work on that. It's dangerous if you lose control. We will correct this oversight." 

"I'm sorry about your desk," you offered. 

She waved a finger and the broken flasks and snapped tools disappeared in a flash of black flame. 

"You'll fix that plant by the end of the day," she said, her tone curt.  

All you could do was nod. 

"Come along," she growled, waving for you to follow her. "We'll do this lesson in the garden…where you can't break anything." 

She led you back to the ground floor and out of the back door where there was a large garden filled with herbs and specimens of trees. You didn't recognize them right away, but you felt oddly like you knew them. You didn't know their names, but looking at a small blooming plant with purple flowers you knew its sap was good for cleansing. Another plant whose fronds were like still whips made a sweet tea. As you walked through the garden it was as if some closed door in your mind opened. 

The plants seemed to be singing to you quietly. Some had low humming notes while others sang in a sweet soprano. How could you have not felt this before? 

"It seems the whisperer has touched you," Ayla said sitting on a bench under a tree that looked very much like a willow. She patted the open spot next to her and you sat down. 

"Had you been the old (Y/N) you would have been hearing her voice your whole life and had some semblance of control. Your mind from your universe is slowly opening to the magic of this world," she explained. 

“Why doesn’t Clark know of the whisperer?” you asked. “When I mentioned it he acted like he’d never heard of her before.” 

Her eyes flashed. 

“That’s above Clark’s pay grade,” she said. “The whisperer is a secret among nymphs. She’s a mysterious force we know little about. As I’m sure you’ve figured out, nymphs keep their secrets close to their chests. Is she a force for good? Bad? We like to think of her in the most realistic terms. Wolves eat does. Eagles hunt fish. Insects consume carcasses. There is no right or wrong in nature. No good or bad. It’s an interconnected system and she is the voice of that system. It’s likely (Y/N) never shared this knowledge with Clark because the whisperer did not want to be known to him.” 

“But you know of her,” you pointed out. 

“That information was obtained at a high price,” she said. “But none of that is important. You need to learn not to allow her to control you. You must resist her or she’ll use you to fulfill her purpose. Wild growth.” 

“The other nymphs seemed to think we are her army,” you said, your eyes roving over the many plants enjoying the sunlight. 

“What do you think?” Ayla asked. 

You thought for a moment. 

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” you admitted. 

“In this world, you may have to,” she said, following your eyes. “How do you feel about that?” 

“I’d like to have control over who I hurt, then,” you said. 

“That’s a wise impulse,” she laughed. 

“So…how do I control her words,” you asked. “Whenever I hear her voice the world goes blurry and her voice echoes in my head. It feels like she takes over.” 

“Think of yourself like a bottle neck,” she explained. “You need her energy to use nymph magic…but if you allow her free reign she’ll get out of control. You must release her will in a small, controlled stream. Have you tried talking back to her?” 

You blinked. 

“No,” you said. 

She glanced around to a small potted plant tucked with some others and handed it to you. 

“This plant does not bloom in this season,” she said. “Try to make it bloom.”

You took the pot and set it on your lap, eyeing it nervously. 

“Go on,” she said. “You won’t break anything but the pot.” 

Touching a leaf the world became smudged again. 

Grow. Grow. Grow. the whisperer said. How dare the outsiders trap us in a pot! Break the clay! Grow. Grow. Grow. 

No, you said in your head. I don’t want to break the pot. 

A sharp bite of pain burst between your eyes, making your head snap back. 

GROW! GROW! GROW! 

NO! You barked back. 

The pain in your head grew like a flash bang, making your vision go white. When you opened your eyes again you were looking at Clark.

“(Y/N)! (Y/N)! Are you okay?” Clark gasped, holding your head in his hand. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” 

Ayla appeared in your vision. 

“What happened?” she asked. 

You sat up rubbing the spot between your eyes where the pain had centered. 

“She fought back,” you groaned, shaking your head. 

You glanced on the ground to find the pot wasn’t broken at all. The plant was blooming blue blossoms and you smiled. 

“I did it!” you said, grinning. 

Ayla matched your smile, patting your head. 

“Progress,” she said. 

Clark glared at her. 

“Progress?” he growled. “What in goddess’s name are you talking about? You hurt her! What are you two doing out here? I’ve been looking for you everywhere (Y/N)!” 

You shook your head. 

“No, no, Clark,” you tried to explain. “Ayla didn’t do anything to me…it was–” 

You paused unsure what to tell him, remembering the other (Y/N)’s warning. You decided to keep the whisperer a secret a little while longer. If Clark tried to do something to “help” you, he could get hurt. This was nymphs' business and would remain so for a while. 

“I was practicing my magic,” you explained. “I’m just not used to it yet. I was overwhelmed. No harm done, I promise.” 

Clark snapped his head up at Ayla anyway. 

“I thought you were just going to teach her to read!” he barked. “Why does she need to learn magic? She’s just fine without it!” 

Ayla rolled her eyes at him and flicked a finger. Like a bad puppy he lifted from the ground by the back of his shirt and a bluish box surrounded him. 

“He needs a time out,” she said and then smiled at you. “Do you think you can try that again tomorrow?” 

You nodded, trying to ignore Clark attempting to fight the magic holding him off of the ground. 

“It hurt like a bitch, but I’m pretty sure I can do it again,” you said. 

She nodded. 

“I believe in time the whisperer will come to accept your control…at least other nymphs who have rejoined civilization have said it’s possible,” she explained. “Maybe try to avoid touching any plants tonight.” 

She winked and the box holding Clark dissolved is a cloud of blue sparkles. He flopped on the ground, landing on his ass. He grabbed you by your hips, pulling you to him. 

“We are going home!” he snapped at Ayla, then looked at you. “You poor thing. I can’t believe she would do this to you! I’m going to put you in bed and stuff you with treats until you feel better.” 

He picked you up in his arms and marched out of the garden with you, complaining the whole way home. You hardly had an opportunity to get a word in as he ranted and raved about how cruel Ayla was being and this was all so terribly unjust. 

When you reached your house he carefully undressed you and stuck you in bed. He left the room for a moment and came back with a warm water bottle and put it on your head. 

“I’m going to make you something sweet,” he said, then narrowed his eyes at you. “Don’t move.”

You closed your eyes for a little, thinking. The hot water bottle did feel nice. Your head had somewhat of an echoing ache that was slowly fading.  The whisperer had lashed out at you. She wanted to be in charge and did not like to be challenged. But you could challenge her. You hadn’t died, she’d only thrown a bit of a tantrum. That made you feel a little better…more in control. You’d been ignoring the guilt you felt for murdering Harri. Him throwing you around a bit made it easier to justify your actions, but in reality did he really deserve death? He had been trying to kidnap you. Such attempts required deadly force, perhaps. You tried not to focus too hard on the scales of justice. Both Ayla and Hassan had told you to keep your mind open, not focus too hard on polarities. Maybe this was one of those moments. 

“What are you thinking about so deeply?” Clark asked when he returned with a big pile of fruit crumble sitting in a pool of condensed milk. 

“Oh…nothing really,” you said. “That looks delicious!” 

You put your hands out to accept the plate but Clark held it away. 

“Let me do it,” he insisted, scooping a spoonful and holding it up to your mouth.

You swallowed the sweet treat, the flavors of sugary cream melting with some tart berry.  

“Do you like it?” he asked you, seeming to yearn for your approval. “Is it good? I can make you something else if you don’t like it.” 

“It’s wonderful,” you admitted, smiling at him when he looked relieved. 

While he fed you, you watched him, amused. No one in your old life had cared for you so much. That world was a grind that broke people. It still shocked you that the other (Y/N) claimed she liked it. In that world you all were crabs in a bucket, yanking each other down for a chance at being one inch closer to escape, but never getting further than halfway there. There wasn’t time to cultivate deep relationships. Sure, like anyone you’d had friends in school when you had the free time to socialize, but as soon as you joined the working world, your existence narrowed to interacting with people you would never choose to spend time with at your job. 

Now there was a whole world for you to discover. 

“Tell me what’s on your mind,” he said, looking you over. “Do you still hurt?”

“No,” you giggled. “I just wonder what this world holds for me. I feel like a baby barely scratching the surface of what is out there.” 

He leaned towards you, kissing your forehead. 

“I will keep you safe,” he assured you, though that’s not really what you were worried about. 

He pulled off his shirt and boots, slipping under the comforter and snuggling up with you. 

“You must be sleepy,” he said and your eyelids grew heavy, sliding shut. “You need a nice long rest.” 

[nardaviel]

Been doing some thinking about the characterization implications of Makoto's aikido black belt, and the interesting contrast between aikido and her Metaverse weapon.

Like, to start with, the fact that Makoto knows aikido specifically says a lot. Aikido is extremely not an aggressive martial art. It's a little difficult to translate something like a martial art name from Japanese into English, but the one I always heard was "way of the harmonious spirit". I'm not going to do a deep dive on it, just summarize a couple of the most relevant points, but it was created by a war veteran who was inspired by a spiritual experience. His guiding concept was like... self-defense without hurting the aggressor.

(Disclaimer: I obviously only studied in one school! Although all of aikido shares the same overall principles, there may be some schools out there that are extra-aggressive. However, given that we lack any indication of what style of aikido Makoto studies, I would guess that it's not anything wild or unusual.)

Aikido focuses on using an attacker's energy and momentum against them. You learn throwing and pinning techniques to defend against various attacks, but specifically techniques where you can pull back before you cause serious damage. You don't learn barehanded strikes at all, except as much as you need to know to initiate fake attacks to help your partners practice. And you don't need to know how to throw a really good, dangerous punch for that. I had years of aikido training and I still sure as fuck can't. At more advanced levels, you start to learn other things such as weapons forms, but even those aren't really attacks. You just perform a ritualized series of movements against imaginary enemies.

It's not the world's most practical martial art, to be honest, although someone who's really skilled can get good use out of it. If Makoto claims she can use it to ensure her safety, she must be that good, because I expect she's too practical to delude herself with false confidence. More importantly! It takes years to get a black belt, like it does in any martial art. So little middle-schooler Makoto looked at all the martial arts on offer in Tokyo, which I imagine is pretty much every martial art on earth, and decided aikido was the one for her.

It suits her, and continues to suit her up through the end of canon. She's not Ryuji; outside the Metaverse, she's not going to start a physical fight. But she's perfectly willing to finish one. Given her family history and personal values, it makes sense that she'd be drawn to the idea of defending herself, but not in a way that causes unnecessary pain. It's also considered a good martial art for women, due to the lack of emphasis on size and strength.

But pre-canon Makoto is also very repressed, very focused on being composed and perfect. Aikido promises self-defense and an outlet, but nothing too aggressive. Nothing that looks too loud or rebellious. Martial arts are male-dominated practices; by studying one at all, she's already being a little bit out of the ordinary. Best not to stand out too much.

And then she gets into the Metaverse.

It's easy to think that the brass knuckles and the punching make use of her martial arts background, but they don't. At all. Makoto has absolutely not learned how to strike with her fists to cause damage during her training, at least not like people envision. If Atlus wanted to go that route, they'd have given her a karate backstory or something similar.

And if they wanted her to know aikido and wanted to carry her training into the Metaverse, they could've given her a staff, which she will have learned forms for during aikido training. The other classic aikido weapons are already taken, or at least the non-wooden versions are lol. But no one else among the Thieves uses a staff. Makoto the warrior monk with her jo staff and her Pope persona would be a coherent design.

But Atlus didn't do that either. Instead, they gave her brass knuckles (among other fist weapons, I know, I know) and let her punch the shit out of her enemies. That's not merely unlike her training; it's in total opposition to the core tenets of aikido. No "way of the harmonious spirit", no self-reflection, no pacifism. She's going to beat up Shadows for justice.

In short, the brass knuckles are an emblem of her rebellion within the Metaverse. They come from the same place as her spiky leather outfit and motorcycle Persona. In the real world, student council president Makoto isn't afraid of anyone hitting her or grabbing her because she can put them on the ground before they can blink. Like I said, I think aikido suits her really well, even without her pre-canon baggage. But in the Metaverse, Queen doesn't bother to wait for an attack. She hits first. <3

[shituationist]

the drexler-smalley debate on nanotechnology is interesting to me. it's also interesting that it's largely forgotten. young people today are mostly unaware of what kind of hype nanotechnology had going for it in the early 2000s, which has now all but died down. there was a point where singularitarians were worried about the possibility of "grey goo" taking over the earth before "AGI" did. nowadays it's rare to hear them talk about nanotechnology at all.

drexler was the nanotechnology hype man. to a lesser degree, so was smalley. both believed in the potential for nanotechnology to address human problems, but drexler was the "grey goo" guy who believed in nano-scale mechanical synthesis of arbitrary molecular compounds. smalley on the other hand viewed nanotechnology as essentially a specialized branch of chemistry, and believed that nanotechnology would have to - to put it bluntly - obey the laws of nature that govern normal chemical synthesis.

smalley's contribution was criticized for relying on metaphor, but this isn't really the case. smalley tries to get drexler to step away from science fiction and towards how chemical interactions really work. drexler's case is more defensive and much weaker than his own advocates let on. smalley argues that if you want to do chemical synthesis, you can't break physical laws to do it. he tries to demonstrate why hypothetical nano-scale mechanical "fingers" would fail to synthesize chemicals in the desired fashion, limiting what kinds of materials can be fabricated.

drexler rejects that hypothetical machinery and then shifts the terms of the debate back to relatively ordinary bio-chemistry. both mention ribosomes, which produce enzymes, as prototypical "molecular assemblers". smalley is pleased by their convergence on this point. he tries to drive home his point further about the limitations of what hypothetical engineered ribosomes could produce, and how the vision of self-assembling nanobots is unrealistic given the way natural "molecular assemblers" really work. but drexler shifts the focus again back to the mechano-synthesis of his dreams/nightmares, envisioning molecular assemblers as a nano-scale factory floor complete with conveyor belts and a kind of mechanical smushing together of molecules, analogous to macro-level manufacturing processes.

smalley wasn't having it. his concluding letter begins with: "I see you have now walked out of the room where I had led you to talk about real chemistry, and you are now back in your mechanical world. I am sorry we have ended up like this. For a moment I thought we were making progress." you can hear the disappointment in his tone.

and it got worse: "You are still in a pretend world where atoms go where you want because your computer program directs them to go there. You assume there is a way a robotic manipulator arm can do that in a vacuum, and somehow we will work out a way to have this whole thing actually be able to make another copy of itself. I have given you reasons why such an assembler cannot be built, and will not operate, using the principles you suggest. I consider that your failure to provide a working strategy indicates that you implicitly concur--even as you explicitly deny--that the idea cannot work."

smalley then goes on to talk about how drexler's idea of "grey goo" has scared children who are interested in science and how he should be ashamed of himself. at that point he's just rubbing it in. but the debate ends there, too. smalley dies a few years later. drexler, for his part, seems to have given up on the "grey goo" idea when the funding for nanotechnology research started to dry up. he's an "AI" risk guy nowadays, collecting consulting fees for "AI safety" types of things. in retrospect, it seems like smalley was right. the direction of nanotechnology research went towards practical chemistry inspired by ribosomes and enzymes and limited by the physical qualities of those systems, the kinds of limitations smalley describes. drexler's "self-assembling nanobots" are nowadays regarded as a kind of science fiction by eminent researchers in the field. smalley's key points, that there are limitations to what biological "molecular assemblers" can produce and the constraints on how they can be produced, have withstood a couple decades of scientific research.

[nerdnproud]

Emilia Brey. Inquisitor of the Ordo Xenos.

This is a kitbashed model I've been planning and slowly accumulating parts to build for almost a year. Pretty happy with how she turned out.

As a student at the Schola Progenium, she was selected to become a Novitiate for the Sisters of Battle. The angelic Seraphim in particular caught her eye, and she wished to prove herself to be worthy of such an honor. She would not get the chance however.

While on route back from a training mission, their shuttle was attacked by Drukhari raiders. The elves slaughtered many, including their Superior, and took the rest captive. Emilia stepped into a leadership role and kept the faith of the survivors strong. She began to hatch a plan to seized control of the alien ship and get back to safety. The Dark Elves had entered back into real space to target another ship, and that was when Emilia and the few other Novitiates struck. While only managing to subdue one of the xenos together, they caused enough of a distraction from the fight that they couldn't focus on the fighting happening both within and outside their vessel. The Drukhari did not last long once boarding parties of Imperial guardsmen were sent over. There, they found the Novitiates and brought them back to meet with their commander, Lord Inquisitor Antonius Treth. Antonius was surprised by the Novitiates for surviving a Drukhari raid, and especially with Emilia and her tenacity and unwillingness to lose faith in the Emperor. He took her under his wing, training her to become an Inquistor.

After becoming an Inquisitor in her own right, Emilia Brey took command of a Deathwatch Watch Fortress. While she reveres the God-Emperor, she finds his creations, the Space Marines to be nothing more than a blunt tool. Something to use with little care for it's maintenance. She also gained the allegiance of a Mission of Battle Sisters from the Order of the Sacred Rose. A force that she is much more cautious with sending into danger when compared to the Deathwatch, while also trusting them far more with high priority missions.

Emilia Brey had a few decades of purging Xenos scum under her belt when Antonius reached out to her and instructed her to escort the Archmagos Invictorix to a planet infested with orks where reports of an STC had arrived from. With the help of the Adeptus Mechanicus, they kept the green tide at bay while searching.

Once they brought the STC on board, it all seemed normal until they attempted Warp travel. The STC began almost screaming, the ship systems were going back and forth and their readings. Eventually, the STC disappeared with a loud pop and their ships blinked back into real space. But their chronometers indicated they were now hundreds of years from when they were. Cadia had fallen. The Great Rift had torn the galaxy apart. They had arrived to see the galaxy even more war-torn and struggling to survive.

Once Emilia had a chance to get caught up on the events thst had played out while they were in the Warp, she decided to try and find a way through the Rift and to the Imperial Worlds that have been cut off from the Emperor's guiding light. That is where she is now, skirting the edges of the Great Rift. Searching for a secure path through and purging any xebos or heretics she encounters along the way.

[asocialangel]

sitting on itzy's lap out of habit.

RyuJin - fluff - 503 words

Other versions: Yeji - Lia - Ryujin - Chaer - Yuna

Ryujin: would pretend she'd *expect* it of you, but secretly be blushing. She would still caress your thighs, and place her head on your shoulders, enjoying it as much as you.

I'm so glad i finally finished this project ! only Yuna is left to post.

When your group was exiting the mall, everyone was looking. It might have been because all of you were laughing so loud. It had been such a fun afternoon, solely filled with good vibes. Now the end of the day was approaching, but it didn't mean that your ways would part. Everyone was going back to the agency. Now mind you, this wasn’t a professional outing, it’s just that itzy hang out as five outside of working hours, and you happen to be a friend of theirs. Today you all chose to aimlessly hang at the mall, drink bubble tea, buy some skincare. And everything went so well ! You didn't get mobbed, people didn't really notice y’all, everyone had fun. 

As you all walk past the automated doors, you spotted the black car that’s here for you. It’s okay for you to ask about your agency’s rides when going out as a group. It was easier for them to keep an eye on you, for safety measures. And it looked like a random taxi anyways. Laughter still audible in her voice, Ryujin pointed it out. “Let’s go, it’s here!” You were still next to her, but as you turned your head to see what was behind the ruckus, you were pushed by Yuna. She was running away from a certain Jisu that tried to tickle her. You laughed too as you found yourself at the very back of the group. 

Without hesitation, everyone entered the car and didn't lose any time. Chaer, who was third to enter, quickly realized: “this is a five seat ride !” Everyone still entered the car. Since you were behind, you just stood in front of the open door, clueless. The last seat had been removed to transport some material instead. 

“It’s fine. It’s a super short ride anyway. Just hop in, try to fit, it’s not like the police will arrest us”. Ryujin was not even looking at you, too busy tying up her seat belt. Yeah, she was so right ! You immediately found your spirits again and hopped into the car, seating… Right on her lap. You low-key felt her body twitching, startled. “Well, let’s go !” You looked at Yeji to indicate to her that she could close the door so the driver would get going, and that's exactly what she did. “Not too flustered, unnie ?” you heard Yuna teasing Ryujin who answered confidently : “Well that’s what you’d expect from Y\N”. She placed her hand on your thighs and stroked it while placing her head on your shoulder. 

Well you might as well be the flustered one. You felt your heartbeat slowly accelerate, and your cheeks flush a bit. After a while, she held your waist. These types of hugs felt so calming. When the car turned too abruptly, she held you in place, scared as if you didn't have a belt. And when you finally arrived, you thought you saw a pout on Ryujin’s face. Was she disappointed to let you go already ?

Most likely ;) 

[leporellian]

i will get into the problems with the new met carmen (and why it is a really bad example of a modern setting production) later but here’s a brief overview of it

the staging is just like… really incoherent. theres no clear sense of visual language, physics indicators, etc. a moment that sticks out is how a truck is initially presented as missing a wall so we the audience can see inside but then the characters see something from inside the truck? and watch from inside the truck? and climb out through the truck wall? this is not acknowledged again?

also the “trafficking commentary” was the most vague shit i’ve ever seen

other times it was so hamfisted it hurt… “ooh the one security guard sees jose hurting carmen and doesn’t do anything!” give me a break

as said- incredibly unsafe acting environment. litter on the ground, tight and winding set areas, steep sets, tape on a mouth, The Baseball Bat (IYKYK)… opera involves a lot of stunts and a little bit of unsafe behavior but this was excessive enough to break kayfabe and i was genuinely worried about safety on multiple occasions just watching it

don jose being presented as evil from the getgo and not having much character arc is crazy when you consider that like. from a technicality standpoint he is the protagonist of the story even if carmen is the titular character

the director saying that maybe carmen’s true motivation is she just wants love after all… can a woman have another motivation please. please

me when i ignore the race issues in carmen. i guess

The modern setting update is clunky, anctively soils some elements of the work, and also unnecessary for Carmen as a work especially considering we don’t even need a time period at all really….

The Met opera is turning the rust belt and the American poor into a zone of exoticized allure and do not care about the setting in any meaningful way beyond grime, shock value, presenting it as a world of backwards people, and the veneer of awareness it brings with it. The Met gawks at these locations but does not seek to authentically represent them, bringing in a white British director to depict the US-Mexico border with predictable results. The name is changed but the game is the same, and ultimately the sheer insidiousness is off-putting. It broadcasts multiple messages but the largest one is that The Met does not care about the communities that have trouble reaching it, until they can serve as a great backdrop for something or someone else. I want the Met to be a better place but I don’t think it can be until the Met realizes that everybody deserves a night at the opera and that exoticization is exoticization.

No but seriously the ending ???? What an insane thing to have your singers do. Remember when 13 reasons why was like “we’re starting a conversation!!” Opera equivalent of that