#exercise instructor-facts

[sheepispink]

guess who’s back ;)

puppy hybrid! rookie reader x lt ghost, where you're considered a failure by your instructors and of course when one of them falls sick, the responsibility of training you lands on him

aka this is my apology for making so many of you cry.

cw: hurt/comfort, fluff, tf141 at the end :)

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To be a hybrid handler was possibly one of the best qualifications a soldier could have, especially with the new rise in hybrid cross-breeds across the world’s military. Ghost had one, took the course when no one wanted to go near it, and now he was only one of the few fits on base to have one. So naturally, when one of the hybrids’ usual instructors had to take a sick leave, he was pressured to step in. The other hybrids had set schedules for their sessions but since you were from the facilities, you needed extra support; well, actually all your extra academic classes meant you didn't have the regular timetable. That’s where he stepped in, taking over the ill instructor’s sessions and training you privately.

That wasn't the issue though, no, it was your file; it was awful. Angry comments about being stubborn, large red crosses next to exercises and well, your behaviour report wasn’t exactly bright either—you just never seemed to get anything right. There weren't any specific notes as to why you failed, usually just a quick scribble mentioning the many mistakes you made. So, it was safe to say he was dreading having to train you himself. He was used to pre-trained hybrids, or at least ones with their head on their shoulders. In fact, he was surprised you’re even still here, but maybe they just thought they’d dump you on him to deal with for the few weeks.

“Um…. Stay back?” You question, your head tilted to the side and ears perking as you try your best to remember what field signal he just did. He stifles a sigh—another one wrong—but it’d only be worse to give up now, so instead he opts for a different approach. “What signals do you know?” 

You were terrified of him, that much was clear, but he felt a little reluctant to give you the same stern treatment as every other rookie. After all, you were bought from the facilities, and before that you would’ve been taken from your family at a relatively young age. That doesn't mean he’ll be lenient though, just a little more patient than most officers around here.

“Well.. Move forward, enemies ahead, don't move, and follow me. I know there’s more but not the signals..” Your ears flatten on your head, expecting some kind of blow, but his eyes just narrow behind the mask, looking back at the training mats in the corner of the room.

The next forty minutes he displays each sign back to you, making you repeat them back to him before ending that exercise. Only then does he gesture you to the training mats, seeing what you know in terms of defence and attack, but even that is weak, your form sloppy and reckless. There’s only ten minutes left of the session, so he seats you again, standing before you as he tests a signal.

“Uh…. Stay close?” He nods, affirming you’re correct and you perk up instantly, watching his signs intently as you continue to give a few more correct answers, only your ears drooping when you get a few more wrong. He corrects you each time, making sure you’re aware before testing you with another. At the end, he passes you a sheet from his bag, the signals printed on it. “Learn these by tomorrow.” And then he’s gone, disappeared out of the room while you’re left alone staring at the paper before you.

The next day you’re in the room early, like you had been yesterday as well; weirdly enough, you were surprisingly punctual, but he didn't have the time to question that. “Alright, ready for your test?”

He’s slightly sceptical when you actually get them all correct, save for a few, since it’s surprising progress with your track record. Plus, your form is improving too, especially when he corrects it as you go along; you manage to remember when he makes you do it again. He can’t even deny he likes the way your tail wags every single time he nods in approval.

So why was your file so bad? If you really were a failure, you would barely be improving but here you are at a steady pace. He supposes that compared to the others you’re probably at least two weeks behind in the exercises. Ideally he’d just catch you up to speed and call it a day. However, his current concern lies on why you haven't improved if you were brought here a month ago. Sure, maybe the future exercises were a lot more difficult than the basic hand signals, but something seems a little… off.

His next session with you is three days from now, so he can't just straight up ask you, especially with your current skittish behaviour regarding him. For now, he’d have to investigate himself. The best source of information is your other class and the easiest way to get that is via some cameras. It’s technically not a violation of privacy, considering there are plenty of cameras around base and the training rooms should have them anyway. The instructor can just consider it a surprise upgrade; if he even notices the change that is. 

Ghost watches as you walk in first, settling in the front corner—- perhaps the instructor does give you the extra help you need then? The other hybrids come a few moments later and then the instructor arrives right on time. “Alright, warm-ups.” He orders, and you all get to work, with you trying to copy what the other hybrids do to the best of your ability. They’re a lot stronger than you, that much is obvious, and most are some form of a dog or wolf hybrid as well—considering they’ve been proven to work well in military situations. They stretch their limbs out as you turn around and imitate the same, all of you strangely quiet, but Ghost supposes that’s just maintaining focus. The officer cuts the warm up after a few minutes, beginning his first session in ‘taking advantage’ of blind spots whilst also keeping an eye on your own. He gets one of the soldiers to come upfront and help demonstrate all while you watch, then he gestures towards the targets at the back of the room, offering you all to try it out before you go against each other.

Ghost is almost considering just turning off the cameras at this point, wondering if he should go grab lunch and then rewatch it in his spare time— or maybe he should just ditch this after all, you were just a hybrid anyway. 

You’ve gone up now, and he watches, but something’s not right as you get into position. Since you’re not that skilled in fighting just yet, your offensive posture isn’t the greatest and that’s visible to any eye, especially the instructor. He motions to the opposing hybrid to fix his, before walking around and motioning to begin. Of course, you fail, getting toppled over almost instantly if not for Ghost’s work on defensive moves. You’re pushed down against the mat, head turned forcefully against the floor, the hybrid’s hand’s on your throat almost a little too aggressively until a signal is given to stop.

The instructor only scoffs, pulling the other hybrid up and leaving you gasping for air. “I knew you’d fall over like that, your posture was awful.”

This becomes a pattern throughout the rest of the exercises, your wrong choices and how the instructor barely says a word until after the incident. But why? Ghost doesn't understand—if he knew it would happen, why wouldn’t he just at least correct you beforehand?

———

Your eyes flicker toward the others pouncing on a target, watching with intrigue how they position their feet and their arms. “Stop staring, creep!” One of the large hybrid taunts behind you, grabbing you by the neck of your shirt and shoving you back down to the floor. 

It’s becoming harder and harder to stay motivated at this point, especially with how much your back is hurting from being overpowered all week. At least the other hybrids didn't laugh this time, though you wonder if that’s really a good thing since it was only due to the fact everyone expects your incompetence now. Like a reused joke, you’re becoming a boring topic. That can only mean you’re closer to being returned to the facility again which is never a good thing. No one wants a used item.

The thought scares you into motivation; you stand, smoothening the ruffled fur of your tail with one hand before stepping up to one of the targets. You have to try; it’s the best thing you can do even if your feet are starting to ache terribly. Swallowing down your anxiety, you try to remember how their stance was. It was going well until you ended up banging your shoulder against the wood rather than pushing it down. You tumble down with a groan, landing right in front of your instructor. 

“Do you have two left feet or something? Your balance was completely off the entire time— anyone could see that.” He rolls his eyes up at you, watching as you rub your shoulder in clear pain. Your lips twist into a deep frown, confused to say the least, and you finally look up at him. “Why didn't you correct me beforehand?”

“Because I knew you wouldn’t listen anyway; you never do.” He scoffs in response, annoyed that you even tried to talk back, before stepping away to fix another hybrid's posture. You don't know why you even bothered to ask; it would always be the same response. They all saw you fail, and yet they never made an effort to even try to help, like you weren’t even worth spending energy on. From the first day you were marked as the runt, even if you really weren’t in the slightest.

_________

“You’re failing all the exercises.” Ghost drops the file before you, letting you see all the red crosses against each lesson. He reminds himself that this is for a good cause when your face instantly drops, used to his praise for good progress. It was the only thing you looked forward to anymore, having long given up on the dream that you’d prove your instructor wrong by doing an exercise perfectly. It’d never happen. The thing is, he can help you, but you won't catch up anywhere near to the others on your current schedule; he just needs to push you to want more, to need more, and he’ll fulfil that for you. 

“I- I'm trying, I promise. I just- it’s not my fault—” You fumble with your words, convinced he’s giving up on you. He can see the bandages littering your hands, the wince when you try to move suddenly.

“It’s not enough.” His voice is stern, yet still he knows it’s the calmest you’d get in this new life you’ve been forced into. You have no choice now but to move forward, and he’d be damned if his own student ended up a failure. “You need to train harder and—”

“I’ll do that! We can start now, actually whenever you want. Please, Ghost— I’ll work as hard as I possibly can!” 

Oh. 

He thought it’d be harder than that.

You’ve stepped so close he’s almost positive you were going to grab his shirt and beg him for a second. Your tail swishes from side to side too, ears perked high on your head and your hands clasped together. Is he going crazy or did you just give him puppy dog eyes?  

“I’m supposed to be convincing you, idiot.”

 “Huh?”

“.. Nevermind.” He rolls his eyes up at you and shakes his head; well at least he didn’t have to start pointing out the incentives of working harder to you. Though he doubts you’ll be able to handle his intensive training program; at least you’re trying to start.

“So will you train me then?” 

“Yeah, yeah Pup. But I don't think you realise how tough it’s gonna be.” His arms cross firmly over his chest, looking down at you with narrowed eyes. “I want you up early at five am and do warm ups straight after breakfast. None of these bandages either, that’ll ruin your performance. You think you can do that?” He leans in, almost threatening but despite your initial stance towards him, you don't even flinch. “Yes sir!” 

You’re just excited that someone’s finally taking a chance on you.

—-

So, for the next week, you get up early every day, wait for him in the gym before beginning your two-hour training session. He has his own priorities during that time so you’re left with “homework”, as he likes to describe it, which is usually a bunch of tactical knowledge you have to learn. Sometimes it’s what to do in certain situations, other times it’s medical knowledge, hell he even made you disassemble and reassemble a gun once. That last one didn't work out too well since you accidentally swept a few screws away with your tail. Oops

It wasn’t for nothing though. You steadily began to improve; just his corrections had you catching up quickly and putting up a fair fight against the rookie he set up to spar with you. In fact, your sessions with the other instructor have been going well, even managing to beat a few hybrids there when you only had hoped to put up enough of a fight. If he was being really honest, you had actually shocked him at how strong you held up the entire week of intense training. You may be seen as a failure to your officer, but to him, you were nothing short of a real soldier.

Finally, it’s Friday, marking the end of all this training that he’s had you doing. It’s almost dinner, though you ate plenty for lunch anyway, and you both stand in the empty room, a few props littering the room. He wanted to have a look at your pouncing technique, since those attacks worked best for a hybrid like you, and your strong teeth do have a good advantage. The methods are a little feral, but hey, you technically are part animal.

“And.. Go!” He signals, and you lunge forward, grabbing at the fake man and digging your teeth through the side of his neck. You rip through the first layer with ease, legs locked around the dummy’s middle and claws sharp into the arms. “That’s it!” He calls it off after he watches, the time slowly ticking towards seven pm. You climb off, and he nods in approval, walking forward to offer you a hand which you take with another tail wag. “Good work. That’s all for this week.” He helps you shrug off the gear, tucking it under his arm as you take a seat at the nearby bench.

 There are only a few minutes till dinner, and you’re usually starving by this time so he decides to clear up the equipment today, placing it down into the small storage cupboard and packing it in its respective spots. 7pm. Only took him about seven minutes to clear the room up which has to be a new record by now.

Closing the closet door behind him, he pulls out his phone, ready to lay back for the day. He’s about to open the door when he hears a quiet noise, then another, followed by a soft thud. Confused, he looks back, surprised to find you slumped on the bench as you snore quietly, your arms hanging off the side as your tail hangs limply off the edge. You’re completely knocked out.

“Pup?” His boots echo against the hardwood floor, but you still remain asleep, cheek smushed into the bench as he crouches before you. A small smile creases the edge of his mask, a fond sigh leaving his lips. “Alright, let’s get you to bed.” He scoops you up easily, carrying you through the quieter corridors to your room, and gently settling you to sleep comfortably for the remainder of the night. You deserved it.

——

Your other instructor returned that Monday, and Ghost was removed from his responsibility for you. Whilst he was glad you had improved, he was just relieved to have his old life back, ready to focus on the 141 as it should have always been. “Ghost! I did it! I did it!!” You squeal, running up to him whilst he’s mid-workout, showing him the sheet that confirms your status as a proper soldier now. You’re brimming with joy, and he’s happy for you, one hand ruffling your hair. “Knew you could do it.”

And that was that. You got your job, he completed his temporary work. 

That’s what he assumed anyway..

“Ghost? Can you check my form?” He allowed it the first time, leaving his weights to correct you before continuing his workout again.

“Ghost— can you teach me how to play this?” It was a simple game of cards and your first pub outing after a long mission. Besides, the others were busy puking their guts out.

“Hi Ghost! Can I sit here?” Well, Soap and Gaz were on a mission anyway; it’s not like he would be having breakfast with anyone else. Maybe your friends were out of base too?

“Ghost..” Sleepy eyes stare up at him as you lazily stretch beside him, Soap on his right and Gaz on your left. The movie has only just started, and you’re already giving him that expectant look. “Fine, fine.” He clicks the recliner on the side of the couch, lifting his legs to lay flat and allow you to stretch yours too. 

“Ghost..” You mumble out again, and he chuckles, the movie not even halfway through, and he’s got you melting into the cushions just from his hands scratching the back of your fluffy ears. They twitch every now and then, reminding him that you’re still awake somehow.

“Pup down.” Soap whispers, and he nods in turn, looking at the bundle of fur laying over him, your thick tail trapping his legs like some sort of weighted blanket. His hand runs through the soft strands, content as the credits roll and your chest rises and falls slowly. Somehow, you had managed to manoeuvre yourself with your face squashed against his legs and your fingers clutching the fabric of his sweatpants, the 141’s symbol engraved in the cold metal hanging around your neck. Of course, they’d all tease you about it tomorrow during your outing down to the beach. That’s how it works, of course;  wherever your handler goes, you follow.

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COD MASTERLIST

a/n: thank you all so much for 1000 followers! just a little psa that i probably wont be too active in the next two weeks. tumblr used to be my safe space and i used to be so excited to come on and scroll thru my dash for some good fics but i just feel so empty with it :(. i havent lost my passion for writing dont get me wrong, and i'm still very happy to chat with moots, just the whole aspect of tumblr is so exhausting for me along with other things in my life atm

anyway rant over thanks for reading bye bye

@mortem-writes @pythonmoth

buy me a ko-fi :)

[corpsypher]

|| Gymrat!Soap x Fat!Reader ||

Fat!reader that hates gyms (not exercising), hates the judging face staring back at her from the floor to ceiling mirror.  Fat!reader that pushes out of her comfort zone to fulfill the needs of her body, and her New Year's resolutions (even if the first trimester of the year is already over).  Fat!reader who finds the perfect female instructor, a personal trainer that knows what it feels like to be inside a big body and understands her goals.  Fat!reader that after a few weeks forces herself to get used to the 10am crowd, and to not feel as self-conscious about wearing tight sportswear out in public.  Fat!reader who's so skilled in avoiding people's eyes on her, accustomed to expecting the worst, that doesn't notice the lustful gaze of a gymrat.  Fat!reader who's had the help of a handsome Scottish man spotting her when her coach was called to the front desk. Felt his groin subtly brush against her ass, but dismissed it as an accident because she takes up more space than most people are used to.  Fat!reader that's completely oblivious to the fact the buff highlander with the ridiculous Mohawk, and icy blue eyes has synced his routine to match hers strategically.  Like when she does her cardio (jogging on the treadmill or climbing the stairmaster), he is always by the weights, dead-lifting her exact body weight while looking at her jiggling and bouncing, making him salivate.  Or when she's stretching at the end of a session, doing all kinds of poses that make her groan and moan because of the ache in her muscles. He's close by the benches, hip thrusting several heavy disks, sweating and cursing under his breath. Fat!reader who is unaware of the warnings the staff have issued to him, for public indecency. Making him switch from using his usual gray sweatpants to black loose workout shorts.  Fat!reader that didn't think a guy as jacked as Johnny could be so friendly, and sweet to a girl like her. After speaking a few times, they became spotting buddies, and they do cardio together. Just not the one that he wants… yet.   She has no clue that he's now obsessed with the sound of her labored breathing, along with the rhythmic thud of her feet hitting the mat of the treadmill, and the choked groans she sometimes lets out while lifting. He can't stay away. Fat!reader who hits the 8-week mark of consistent attendance, and is frustrated to see the scale stay practically the same, her measurements are not different either. Even with the help of the dieting shakes Johnny recommended.  The silver lining is her new-found stamina, she feels stronger and with more confidence all while looking the same, she's content with the routine. But that doesn't last.  Her trainer is no longer available to work with her, and the gym assigns her someone else while they find a substitute. And he is not friendly at all. 

I just love pervert-with-a-plan johnny, who wants to fuck an unsuspecting bae. And then you have someone showing up and pissing all over his plans...

[kinbedo]

(wc: 1k)

Thinking of actor au! Kinich who prefers action-filled roles.

actor au! Kinich who doesn't express it, but is always glad when he gets to play a role in a thriller.

actor au! Kinich who turns down all offers for a romantic show, before even reading through the letters he receives from the directors. Why would he need to pretend to be in love with someone when he already has you?

actor au! Kinich who hates that the directors and script-writers think that he's the only one suitable to play the romantic interest, even when he's supposed to be playing the nonchalant grey character.

actor au! Kinich who absolutely hates it when he's informed that the kiss scene will be recorded the next day.

actor au! Kinich knows that he needs to do the scene properly, lest they make him repeat it over and over. And he doesn't want to even try kissing someone else once, forget about the re-takes.

actor au! Kinich who uses the kiss scene he has next day as an excuse to "practice" with you, trying his best to make his kisses seem convincing without getting too close to you.

actor au! Kinich who doesn't even realise how he's teasing you with the way his lips just barely hover over yours, his face inclined one side to cover up the fact that he's not actually kissing you— just pretending that it's happening.

actor au! Kinich who is fully aware of the way you're looking at him through half-lidded eyes, silently begging him to kiss you for real at least once. He can see your silent pleas clearly through the mirror, and yet he refuses to acknowledge it, only focusing on perfecting his act.

"Was this really convincing enough?"

"I feel like I might have gotten too close for my comfort there, let's try again."

And then he's already leaning in again, his hot breath fanning over your swollen lips. You squeeze your eyes shut, waiting for Kinich to leave you craving for more for the nth time that evening.

actor au! Kinich who drags out his "practice" a bit longer than necessary, just because he loves seeing your reactions in the mirror.

actor au! Kinich who makes his boundaries be known the minute he sees his co-actors, letting everyone in the room know that he wasn't going to tolerate any advances in the name of shooting a scene.

actor au! Kinich who does put last night's practice into good use, perfectly getting through the scene in one go. You're standing in a corner watching it play out, and you can't help but feel sorry for the co-actor for being left like that by Kinich— after all, you know how painful it was, how your boyfriend was so painfully teasing with his hovering kisses.

actor au! Kinich who often has to learn and practice some rather risky exercises for some of his more action-filled scenes. Even just seeing the instructor tighten the ropes to prevent accidents makes your stomach drop. What if the ropes break? What if he gets hurt? What if these ropes fail to prevent any accidents?

actor au! Kinich who spends a little longer with you that night, reassuring you that he's alright, that he got through the day without any accidents. He holds you closer, rubbing soothing circles on your back. He was never one to be bothered by extreme sports, but he knows that you're scared for him, and he truly appreciates your concern because it makes him feel cared for.

actor au! Kinich who sometimes takes you to the nearby park at night, when no one else is there in the playground. His legs are strong enough to support him as he hangs upside down from the monkey bars. "Come closer" he calls out to you, and you comply only to be caught in a kiss. His hands find their way around your neck, threading through your hair while one of your hands reach up to tangle in his hair.

He pulls you closer by your neck, deepening the kiss. Your view is blocked by his black hair. His eyes are closed and his eyebrows are scrunched up in focus, trying to maintain his balance (it would be embarrassing if he fell after trying to pull this stunt).

actor au! Kinich who breaks the kiss to whisper "I hope this makes up for making you practice with me that night" just to dive in again, softer this time, but just as meaningful.

actor au! Kinich who lowkey tries to convince the director to give you a minor, two scene role of his love interest instead of pairing him with someone else. If you're okay with it, he'd much rather have his character have a subtle love interest mentioned only once or twice. That could keep the audience engaged and craving for more, no?

actor au! Kinich who would ensure that you're never uncomfortable with any part of his work, opting to drop his role entirely for you instead. "This role requires the confession to become a bit hea-" and he's out, neither is he comfortable with it, nor does he want to make you feel uncomfortable about it. If it's his safety that you're worried about, then he is extra careful during shooting to assure you that he will be fine.

actor au! Kinich who knows that what he has with you isn't an act, and who cherishes his reality with you more than anything else in the world.

[bookshelf-dust]

soul made of honeybees

billy hargrove x fem!reader

gif by @biillys

word count: 6,418

warnings: brief swearing, mentions of smoking, reader deals with body insecurities/dysmorphia, uses exercise as a punishment, all of the struggles that come with trying to accept oneself

synopsis: on a journey of becoming more active and trying to be happier in yourself, you find billy, who helps you develop a healthier relationship with exercising and shows you that your body should be celebrated for all it does for you.

a/n: well, what do we have here? my creative juices have begun to flow again, and this is the first fic to be born of that particular affair. in my head i’ve set this in the late 80s, maybe early 90s, where i imagine billy still works at the pool during the summers when he’s home from college. this is a situation i’ve found myself in over the past year, and i wanted a chance to explore it in this way and sort through some of my own experiences. i hope you will enjoy it. as always, happy reading! <3

————

Jane Fonda is a fucking fantastic woman. But right now, you hate her. 

She manages to look stunning and effortless with each kick of her legs; while you are sweating profusely, your shorts are up your ass, and your fingers are swollen from overheating. 

You hate exercising in the moment, but once her thirty minute video is over and her group of people in tights and tiny shorts are gone, admittedly you do feel better. Rinsing the sweat from your face, feeling your muscles ache the next day—it brings you some sort of satisfaction. 

Your body likes that you’ve gotten more active. 

But your own hatred for your body was the reason you allowed Jane Fonda into your home to begin with. Sick, right? You know it’s bad, and yet each time you squat, crunch, and press, you can’t stop yourself from wishing you were shaped differently. From looking at the toned and athletic bodies in Miss Fonda’s videos and imagining what it would be like to feel that comfortable in your own skin, to be so graceful and…perfect.

So, you continue to push yourself, in hopes that you’ll become more appealing, that if you keep doing this, there will come a point where you aren’t totally and completely disgusted with the body you’ve been given. 

Because at this point, you’ve truly convinced yourself that you cannot be happy in your body. Even if you have noticed your strength levels increasing and really want to push yourself more. But you won’t let that positivity ring free like the woman on your television always wishes you would. 

“You did a great job!” Jane’s voice rings throughout your living room as the workout video ends, and you scramble for the remote, having had enough of these cheery attitudes for one morning.

You sit back on your hands, stretch out your legs, and try to steady your breath. Your knees have carpet burn, and you can feel sweat dripping down your temples. 

You may be a heaving mess, but you need more. The workouts have gotten easy, and you need something new. 

A woman runs by outside your window in a bright pink leotard and blue jogging shorts, matching pink leg warmers meeting her tennis shoes.

I could try that, you think. Maybe I’d like running. 

You certainly didn’t like it in school, but most of that was the result of shitty phys-ed teachers and the fact that you were never the athlete those instructors wanted you to be. 

You push off the floor and stalk to your room, digging for the sneakers you know are buried in the back of your closet. You have to try this. You need to keep pushing yourself. And if you don’t do it now, with this sudden spark of energy, you probably never will. 

Five minutes. You can run for five minutes. And if you feel like you can after that time is up, you’ll do ten. 

You squeeze your eyes shut as you’re tying your shoes, shoving away the thoughts telling you that you’ll definitely not look as cute as that woman on the street or any other woman that goes for a run, their ponytail swaying and their cheeks perfectly pinked. 

But what does it matter? You have to try. You have to be productive and make something out of yourself. You can’t deal with the pulsing, clawing thoughts of self-hatred anymore. Your body has to change.

The only problem is that you haven’t yet realized your mindset must too.

The heat that swallows you up when you step out of your front door is almost enough to send you right back inside. But how disappointed will you be in yourself if you retreat that quickly? 

You let your body begin to walk before your brain can start to argue. Your street doesn’t really have a sidewalk, so you keep to one side as the cyclists and other joggers do, ensuring you won’t be in anyone’s way. Subconsciously, you’re already making yourself smaller even though there’s no one outside to judge you. 

You look down at your watch, noting the time, and start to run. Not as though you’re being chased by a serial killer—or a man—but enough that it counts as a run. Those first few seconds are blissful. You feel like a little kid as the adrenaline spreads through your veins. Like your mom has just called you in because dinner is ready, like you're racing against the sunset so that your feet land inside the door just before the streetlights flick on. 

You forgot what it was like to move your body in this way. To feel this momentary freedom. You make it about three minutes before your side starts to hurt, a telltale sign that you haven’t done this in far too long. The heat is starting to get to you too, but you said you’d go for five, and that’s what you’re doing. 

It’s pitiful, the way you press yourself to the inside of your front door, trying to catch your breath from that little bit of work. Why did it hurt so much more than everything Jane Fonda tells you to do? 

Maybe you’re not meant to be the athletic type. Or maybe I need to eat something, you think. I need to make a plan for myself. That could make it easier. 

You can’t eat with your shirt sticking to your back though, so you strip and turn the shower on, practically jumping under the cool stream of water. But not before you glance at your body in the full-length mirror hanging on the wall. Your hands find your stomach, eye each stretch mark and bit of cellulite. Each extra-soft spot of skin, every part of you that doesn’t conform to the vision you have in your head. 

You wish that five minute run had fixed everything. That you could magically look like an aerobics instructor and be happy in your own skin. Your eyes fill with tears, and you think for a minute that it could be better to just stop before you get ahead of yourself. What’s the point? You don’t know if you have it in you to wait and see results. And you know you won’t turn into someone else, won’t form a new shape…and then you’re spiraling. You can’t think of a single reason why exercising is worth it.

Because it can be fun. Because it pushes you and makes you stronger. You shove this tiny voice away and let your gaze flick back to the shower, where you’ve completely abandoned your cold sanctuary. You hop in and start scrubbing your hair, trying to think of anything that isn’t your body in that mirror, anything other than how much you looked like a fraud trying to fit in with everyone else. 

————

You continue on this way for a while longer: running in the mornings, doing as many of the Jane Fonda videos as you have access to at work, drinking more water, blah blah blah. One of the perks of working at the library is that you can check out as many tapes as you want. But you’ve done all of Jane’s workouts, and you need more. 

You could swim, but when is the community pool ever not full to the brim during the summer? You could try jazzercise. No. That’s just not for you. You could…go to the gym. 

The pool also has small gyms for both women and men, and you know the men’s one is usually very busy, but most of the women in Hawkins take part in other forms of exercise. And if you went in the mornings…you might have the place to yourself. You might could try and tone up. 

God, this sounds so stupid. 

And your heart rate picks up just thinking about doing this very new and very big and very embarrassing thing, but you want to do it. You’re going to try. 

Hopefully you’ll just go unnoticed. This is a totally normal thing for people to do, right? 

The community pool opens at ten during the week, but the doors to the gyms open at seven. And that’s what time you get there, out of pure fear that you’ll have to interact with another human and make a fool of yourself. But the universe must be looking out for you on this particular morning, because the door is unlocked, and you slip in without any hassle. 

Billy isn’t a morning person. He never has been, but an excuse to get out of his hellhole of a house before anyone else is up to fuck with him? Yeah, he jumped at that opportunity. 

Usually the manager opens the gyms and stays to open the pool during the summer, but he volunteered. Especially because he can usually get in a workout before his shift technically even starts. 

He’ll bench as much as he can without a spot, work on the pull ups he never tells anyone he struggles with. It just feels good to be able to use his muscles and push himself. Billy is proud of what his body can do, what it does for him, how it protects him—and he’s not ashamed to admit that.

His body is one of the only things he has control over, and he’s heard his share of people talking about how vain he is, how he shouldn’t spend so much time doing this or that. But he doesn’t give a fuck. He’s built a body he’s proud of and feels comfortable in, and truthfully he feels like everyone should be comfortable in their body without anyone else pushing them to look another way. 

Billy is leaning against his car, hands tangled in his hair in an effort to tie it up, a cigarette dangling loosely from his full lips when he sees you for the first time. 

He watches you get in your car, bag slung over your shoulder, interested only because he never sees another soul here this early. 

You’re pretty, he thinks. Your hairline shines in the morning sunlight, damp with sweat, your neck the same. Your sports bra peeks through your pale shirt, and one of your slouchy socks is hiked up higher than the other. You’ve clearly just finished working out, but he thinks you look breathtaking. 

There’s something about you. Something light and sweet that he can feel even from this distance, like something is telling him you have a good soul. 

The next time Billy sees you, you come out of the door looking frustrated—he assumes at yourself. He doesn’t want to bother you, but he would like to talk to you at some point. 

You turn around when you go to unlock your car door and lock eyes with him. Your heart stutters at the fact that someone has caught you, probably knows you were exercising. But he is gorgeous. You give him a small smile, and climb into the driver's seat. All you can think on the drive home is that it must be nice to be so effortlessly gorgeous. 

————

You continue on this way for weeks. Close to a month. You workout, you wave and acknowledge one another. This other person who you share this tiny thing with and who you are not judged by. 

On this particular day, you decide to be brave though. You packed a swimsuit, and you’re going to speak to that gorgeous boy and hope he doesn’t get freaked out by you. 

You place your weights back on the rack, the muscles in your thighs pulsing, your arms feeling like jelly. You’ve only worked your way up to the set of fifteens, but that’s something, right? 

You’re sweating, and dread walking outside into the swath of steadily climbing heat and humidity. Your heart pounds at the prospect of speaking to him. 

With your bag over your shoulder, you push open the door and step outside, jumping almost immediately. “Shit!” 

Billy laughs at your reaction, both because he hadn’t expected to frighten you, and because your jolt was pretty entertaining to witness. 

“I’m sorry,” he chuckles, “I didn’t mean to make you lose your shit, it’s just too hot to stand anywhere without shade.”

You lean against the cool metal door behind you. “Fuck,” you sigh. “My survival skills are clearly not what they should be.”

Billy laughs into his drink, taking a swig from the Coke he bought at the vending machine. 

“You headed out?” he asks, subconsciously fussing with a belt loop. 

“Well, yeah, I was. But um, I was going to ask a favor from you, if that’s okay?” You must sound like a dumbass, speaking to this man for the very first time, only to ask him for something.

“Shoot,” Billy responds.

“Do you think it’d be okay for me to swim a few laps in the pool? I know it’s not open yet, and I haven’t even told you my name, but I promise not to be a bother or anything. I just kind of wanted a chance to swim when there was no one else around, you know?”

Billy finishes his drink and tosses the can in the recycling bin inches from your hip. It lands with a resounding ping. 

You start to think this was a very stupid idea, and that maybe you should’ve just kept yourself at home like always.

“You can totally say no—”

“Yeah, sure I don’t see why not—”

Your words clash together and the both of you start to laugh. You raise your hand, gesturing for him to continue his thought. 

“It’s fine by me if you swim a little. I doubt you’re gonna trash the place.” He grins at you, dimples forming in his cheeks. “I’m Billy, by the way.”

A heat rises up your neck and washes over the tips of your ears. You tell him your name and thank him for letting you bend the rules. 

“Ah, fuck the rules. It’s just a community pool,” he winks, opening up the gate for you and telling you to have at it. 

You’d put your one-piece on underneath your workout clothes this morning, and you try to ignore the prick of shame, even disgust, that you feel having put your body in it as you wade into the pool. 

The water is cool, and as it drenches you, you feel lighter, somehow. You swim out to the deep end and push off the wall with your toes, propelling yourself underwater and kicking for as long as you can go while holding your breath. 

The little girl that still lives within your soul leaps to the surface, giddy with each push off the wall, each stroke of your arms underneath the water. She is excited. Free. 

She isn’t thinking about what your stomach looks like in this swimsuit or how stupid you probably look with your sloppy swimming skills. 

You swim for maybe twenty minutes, or at least until your shoulders are aching. You kick over to the wall, hoisting yourself up just that little bit so you can prop your elbows up on the warming concrete. 

You feel so light here that it almost makes you forget why you came. 

You hear footsteps and Billy appears from around the corner, a fluffy white towel in hand. 

“You getting out? I figured I’d come and make sure you hadn’t drowned.” 

You giggle. The sound makes him smile, pearly white teeth on display. Your eyes are drawn to his, where the summer sun has multiplied his freckles so much that they blanket his nose and the tops of his cheeks, washing over his temples. 

“I appreciate you looking out for my safety,” you say, climbing up the short ladder. Billy holds out a hand to help you steady yourself as you stand. You’re hesitant to take it because you’re all wet, but your hand moves before your mind takes control. “Thank you.” You give him a shy smile.

He grins at you and hands you the towel. You wrap it around your shoulders and follow him back under the awning when he starts walking away. Billy leans up against the cold brick wall and you stand, a little nervously, in front of him, trying to think of what to say. 

“I’ll admit, uh, it’s been nice to see someone else here so early in the mornings.” Billy lets out a huff of a laugh. “I was gonna ask though, why’d you pick this shithole to workout in?”

You pull the damp towel tighter against your torso. “It’s a quiet shithole,” you say. “And this whole exercising thing is pretty new to me, you know? I didn’t want to be somewhere people could see me like that.”

You realize how self-deprecating that comment was, realize you’re being too upfront, and try to quickly cover your ass. “What about you?” you ask, daring to make eye contact just to make sure he’s not disturbed. 

“Well, it came with the job,” he laughs, “and I love working out. Always have. Plus, it might be a shitty place, but the older equipment is a lot better than what newer gyms are using. So it works for me.”

Huh. 

“Oh. Nice.” You chew on your thumbnail. What a fuckup you are. 

Billy tilts his head, trying to encourage your gaze to raise to his. “What just happened?” he asks, a teasing lilt to his voice. 

You look at him, his sunglasses pushed up into his hair and arms crossed in front of his chest. “It’s nothing…I just don’t really know what to say to someone who enjoys the gym? Who has a positive relationship with it and everything.”

A crease forms between Billy’s brows. “You’ve been crazy consistent with it, but you don’t like it?” He asks you, but based on your body language and how you’ve acted the past month every time you head out, everything adds up and Billy knows the answer before it even leaves your mouth. 

You shake your head, ashamed that you even brought this up. “No,” you laugh nervously. “I hate it. I only started because I’m unhappy with myself? So it’s more of a punishment than something that brings me joy.”

Billy’s chest squeezes at your words. That is exactly why he started working out all those years ago. To make himself stronger because he was ashamed his father had power over him. Because he wasn’t good enough for anyone, so out of anger he made himself more powerful.

But he doesn’t want you to feel that way. You shouldn’t be working out purely to punish yourself for some absurd reason your mind has come up with. 

And even though Billy has had very minimal interactions with you, he likes you. He wouldn’t wish the horrible thoughts he’s had for himself on anyone else, but he gets the feeling you already know. 

“Well, I’m not gonna berate you or nothin.’ But uh, if you ever want help, or want to workout together so it’s not so miserable, let me know alright?”

You smirk at him, hoping to make the situation a bit less awkward. “Are you implying you’re the reason working out would become less miserable?”

Billy laughs, glad to see you’re not totally opposed to the idea of him offering help. “Yeah. But really, you shouldn’t have to hate it y’know? If I can help you figure out not to hate it…I’d like to try. And we could get to know each other better.”

Billy fidgets with the lighter in his pocket. He’s weaned off cigarettes, but he keeps loads of lighters around so he has something to occupy his hands with. If not, it’s usually not a good situation for him to be in. 

Your heart squeezes at the genuine quality in his words. You feel like you’re a lost cause at this point, but there’s a big part of you, the soft and squishy and easily flustered one, that wants to take him up on this offer. 

You nod, wrapping up your towel so you can drop it in the bin and go get changed. “Okay. I’ll think about it, Billy. Promise.”

————

“One more.”

“I can’t, Billy. I told you, I’m not strong enough for this shit.”

You swear when you’re frustrated. Billy has learned that over the past few weeks. 

He crouches, leveling with you. Your knee bounces, the dumbbells in your hands sitting on the tops of your thighs. “Yes, you can. You’re already up to twenty-fives for your presses. Try one more for me and then you can rest a minute.”

Your eyes well with tears that you quickly blink away as you settle back against the bench. This is the point in a workout where you just start to hate yourself. You think it’s pointless, you know you’re body hasn’t changed enough, you feel like total shit—everything just feels fucked.

You use your knees to help lift the dumbbells and slowly lift them to the appropriate height, making sure to protect your shoulders like Billy taught you. You inhale and raise them up. Your arms are shaking, especially your non-dominant one which is really fighting this shoulder press, and you’re not sure you’ll be able to lift them fully until you do. 

“Fuck, yeah!” Billy’s voice reaches your ears just as you’re lowering your arms, completely out of breath. You set the dumbbells on the floor. 

Billy is thrilled for you. He can see the progress you’re making, how much stronger you are and less hesitant to try new exercises.

When you look up at him the expression on your face tells him you are not thrilled. 

“Hey, hey, hey, what’s the matter?”

You stand and walk over to the mirror that covers one whole wall. You put your hands on your hips and bite the inside of your cheek. “Billy, will you look at me, honestly?” You gesture to your body. “This is the matter. I don’t look any different than the first day I showed up here, do I? Even if I’ve been busting my ass, I’ll just never—”

You stop, rubbing your hands down your face and over your bloodshot eyes. 

“You’ll never what?” Billy locks eyes with you in the mirror. 

You set a hand on your chest, nails digging into your skin. “My body will never be good enough for me. I’ll always look at every other person that walks by, jealous that they have the figure I want and I’ll never have. Why did I have to get stuck with this shit? Why couldn’t I be given a body that I’d be happy with. Life if fucking hard enough, why couldn’t I have this one thing?”

“And you’re just so effortlessly gorgeous, you know that? I wish it was that easy for me, too. It’s just like, why am I even doing this anymore when I know I’ll never look the way other women do? I’m bullshitting myself, aren’t I, Billy? Working out like it’s gonna do anything.”

You exhale and drag your arm across your nose, avoiding Billy’s gaze. 

“Hey. Look at me.” Billy’s tone is firm. “Listen for a second, will you?”

“You are getting stronger. You’re using heavier weights all around. Shit, you’re up to fifty for your deadlifts. Hold your arm up for me—yeah, and squeeze, yep. Look at that.” 

He taps his index and middle finger on your bicep, on the bit of muscle you’ve grown and shape you’ve built. “You are absolutely not bullshitting yourself, you hear me? If anything, you’re bullshitting yourself by thinking you can’t be happy in this body. You don’t have to look like other women. Who the fuck put that idea in your head? I don’t know if you see how I look at you, but I think you’re gorgeous, and I love to see you becoming more comfortable in the movements you do, in your own strength. Your body does so fuckin’ much for you.”

Billy is still keeping eye contact with you in the mirror. You can feel the warmth of him behind you, and you swear you sweat more because you know he’s right and you know you are getting stronger but fuck you just can’t believe that. You look at him and you just wish you were that lithe, that comfortable in your own skin. 

“I’m doing this with you—hey, take a deep breath, alright?” He clocks the way you’re shaking out your hands, trying to keep yourself from breaking. Crying. Screaming out of frustration. “I’m doing this with you because I used to be just like this, you hear me?” 

He hates being vulnerable, fucking despises it, but he knows that giving you this information, giving you this little pathway into his life just might save you right now. 

“I worked out all through junior high and high school because I fuckin’ hated myself, and I thought if I could get bigger, if I could make myself look intimidating, then maybe other people wouldn’t treat me like shit. That part worked in some places, but I didn’t like myself any more because I hadn’t sorted through any of my mental shit.”

He says your name. Slowly. You like the way it sounds when he says it, hating the way it sounds when it leaves your own lips. 

“I know we aren’t all that close yet, but I see so much fuckin’ potential in you. I’m not gonna let you suffer with all this shit alone. I know you hate your body, but this is the one you were given, and there’s no point spending so much time destroying yourself over that simple fact.”

You turn around to face him, your hands on the sides of your neck, rubbing as if that will stop the emotion from rising in your throat. It doesn’t work. Billy’s eyes move back and forth between yours, across your face, tracking every change in your expression. He recognizes what you’re doing, trying to suppress all of this. 

“C’mere.”

You go before your mind can fight back. Billy takes you in his arms, tucking your face into his chest, resting his chin on your shoulder. 

You breathe unsteadily into his skin. You don’t care that he smells like sweat and you smell like sweat and that you’re shaking and tears are slipping from your eyes. His arms are strong, and the feeling of his biceps squeezing you closer, his hands running up and down your back, it makes it all feel like it’s okay. 

“It’s just so fucking hard, Billy,” you mumble, lifting your head up slightly. “It’s not fair. I just want to be pretty and normal and have a body I can accept like everyone else.”

Billy gently touches his index finger just below your chin, coaxing your gaze up to meet his. “I know it is. And I mean it when I say that you are pretty. Honestly, you gotta think about how many ‘pretty’ people there are out there, people who have the bodies the tabloids tell them to have—and are absolute dicks. Hell, that’s how I was in high school.”

Your eyes crinkle at the corners, signaling that he did get a little joy in you having admitted that, even if it’s not a full on smile. His thumb swipes down your cheek, mopping up the little track left by a tear. 

“Point is, this, what I’m holding right now, is your body. No one else would know it like you do, know how to take care of it, know where each mark has come from or each thing you’ve put it through. Each thing it’s gotten you through. You can accept it, because I’m going to help you get to a point where you can look in the mirror and not shit-talk yourself.”

You pull back a little, pressing the palms of your hands to your face, your elbows slightly poking the top of Billy’s rib cage. “I’m just so scared.”

“I got you, you hear me?” He pulls your shirt away from your collarbones just so it’s not sticking to your skin so much. “You don’t need to be scared. Not with me.”

You nod. And you keep doing that until it feels a little more believable. 

————

Billy can’t stop looking at you. 

And he really needs to focus before he runs off the sidewalk and into the road. 

But for the first time in the few months he’s known you, you look free. You look happy. You look all of these things and you’re running. There’s a baseball cap perched backwards on your head, one of his from forever ago that he lent (gave) you when you mentioned you didn’t have any. 

He can smell the sunscreen you’ve slathered all over yourself, see the sweat dripping down your spine. This is the first time you’ve felt brave enough to go out in just a sports bra and a cropped sweatshirt, bright colored biker shorts covering the tops of your thighs. Your frilly socks make it too, just because it shows how much more comfortable you’ve gotten with doing this. 

It turns out you never hated running. You just needed to do it in a different atmosphere, with different thoughts running through your head. And having a good running partner helps, too. 

“There’s a bench up here if you want to rest a second before we finish,” Billy says through a rather aggressive exhale. You’re glad the sun is setting, because that makes it so much cooler than when you try to run in the morning with the sun beating down on you and seeping into your veins.

You sit down, taking a long drink from your water. Billy crouches on the sidewalk, shaking out his hair and retying the mess of a bun he was wearing. 

“You’re doing so good today,” he tells you, winking at you from his place just a few inches to your left. 

You grin into your water bottle. “How long was that?” you ask. 

He rises and sits down next to you, his arm slung behind your back on the bench. His thumb brushes the shell of your ear, rubs over the little hoop you’re wearing. You watch as he does a little math in his head, checking out where exactly you are. “Little over two miles, bee.” 

Bee. Your heart skips every time he says that. It’s a very new thing, but it sort of slipped out one day, and you’ve loved it ever since. 

“What movie you wanna see this weekend, honeybee? My treat.”

When you’d asked why he chose that name for you, he’d teased at first, telling you it was just because you’re so damn sweet. But really it was a little more sappy than that. 

“Well, you are sweet. And bubbly when you want to be. But think about how much shit those little fuckers get done. How persistent and focused. They’re all cute and fuzzy n’ whatever, but they’re like, badass lil’ things, y’know?” 

Your knee bounces excitedly on the pavement. “Really?” That’s the farthest you’ve run so far. And you didn’t even hate it. You had…fun.

Billy laughs, throwing his head back a little and bearing his neck to you. It shines with sweat and it almost looks like he’s glowing. “Fuck yeah. You’ve been kicking my ass this week. I hate running.”

“But you do it with me,” you say.

“But I do it with you.”

You reach over your shoulder and squeeze his hand. “I like running better when it’s with you. Just for the record.” He squeezes back, lifting your hand up gently to press his lips to it. 

“I’m proud of you, you know that?”

A crease forms between your brows as you meet his gaze. “What for?”

“For not giving up.” You start to argue with him, but he continues before you can belittle yourself even the slightest bit. “You’ve kept at this, at trying to get yourself stronger and to try and feel more comfortable in what your body can do. I know you probably still wish you looked like some fuckin’ model or some shit, but I can see how much you’ve eased up, you know?” 

You nod, giving him a small smile. “I do still wish that sometimes. It would be easier. But I’m getting better, I think. I hate to tell you you’re right—,” he shoots you that cocky, prideful grin, “but my body does do a lot for me. I’m starting to accept that it can do a lot for me…” 

You trail off, tapping the toes of your sneakers on the concrete below you. “And I did squat with the bar and those little plates yesterday without a spot.” 

The spot in question was watching you carefully from a few feet away, ready to sprint if you needed help. 

“Yes, you did, bee. You’re kicking ass.” That dimple forms in his cheek, and you know he’s about to say something smart. “Speaking of ass—”

You stand abruptly, turning around quickly so that the area he’s speaking of isn’t directly in his face. You’ve learned he has a staring problem, specifically with that part of you. Not that you mind. Maybe that’s where your pride comes in.

————

The sun has slipped beneath the horizon by the time Billy slips his key into the gate, pulling it securely shut behind him. The first spattering of stars are trying to show in the purple-blue sky. 

The pool is calm, empty, and lit only by the pale bulbs built into it and the two light poles on either side of the patio. 

It was Billy’s idea to sneak in for a late night swim. He thought it would be fun, and he knows you hate swimming in an overcrowded pool. But truthfully, he just wanted to give you another space where you could feel completely without judgment and just exist. 

“What’s the plan here, Billy? I didn’t even think about taking a detour to get a swimsuit.” 

It’s true, you’ve felt so carefree around him that you weren’t overthinking, overanalyzing a scenario like this. You weren’t worried about running inside and finding the most full coverage bathing suit you have because you’re afraid of Billy seeing your body. But right now…you just feel calm. Your body isn’t perfect, but it’s okay if he at least sees your legs. 

Billy is already slipping off his shoes and taking off his shirt. “That’s because the point of this is being spontaneous, bee.” He walks to the far end of the pool and dives in, just in his little running shorts, before you can even blink. 

You’re nervous, just that little bit because this is so different from something you’d usually do, and now you’re just stripping? You’re just living and having a good time? Who the fuck are you?

You step out of your own shorts and pull off your socks. You’re left in your underwear and your little cropped sweatshirt. You register, as you walk down the stairs, that your underwear are blue, and you look just like Lisa from Weird Science. It makes you smile. 

You track Billy’s movements once you're up to your waist and realize he’s heading for you. He squeezes your ankle beneath the water before coming to the surface, a wide grin on his face. His necklace is stuck around his back and on instinct you reach out to straighten it. 

His eyes drag up and down your figure. “Hi, gorgeous.” The low drawl of his voice makes the tips of your ears burn. 

You wade a little deeper into the water, circling behind him. When you’re drenched up to your chest, you splash him. Billy cackles. It is possibly the most joyous sound you’ve ever heard. 

He dives for your waist, hooking an arm around you and swimming off, making you howl with laughter before you have to hold your own breath when he pulls you out deeper than you are tall.

He hoists you up out of the water and gently tosses you to the side, letting you fall into the water on your back. The adrenaline coursing through your veins is magical. 

You keep playing with him, playing, like you’re both kids who’ve never been in a pool before, until you’ve run through most of your energy. You try and teach him a game you played as a child, where one person spreads their legs and your goal is to swim between them without touching their skin, even as they move their legs closer together each time. 

It’s silly, because you inevitably know you’ll touch your opponents legs, but it’s fun. You don’t think about anything else when you do it. He teases you though, trapping you with his calves most times so you automatically lose. 

Now though, you and Billy stand nose to nose, at a depth where you’re not up to your chin so that you can actually speak to him. “This was a really good idea,” you tell him. You push some of his wet hair out of his face and then, rather than pulling away, you set your hands on his shoulders. 

He wraps his arms around your waist. “This okay?” he asks, lowering one arm so he can show you he wants to lift you up. You give him a sweet yes. 

Billy’s hand grips your thigh, coaxing you upward so you can get your legs around his back. You adjust your arms behind his head, him respectfully keeping his hands on the backs of your thighs. He steps back just that little bit more so he can submerge himself further in the water now that you’re held up. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile for this long before,” Billy says. His blue eyes flick back and forth between your own. 

“You’ve given me a lot more reasons to.” Your hand cups his cheek and he swears he could fucking collapse. You’re so gentle with him and Billy never knew he even wanted that. But now he craves it. Craves you. 

That cocky smirk you’ve started to recognize before it even begins makes an appearance. “Yeah? Can I give you one more reason to?”

You hum in agreement, and then Billy is pressing his lips to yours. They’re damp and he tastes a little like chlorine, but…he was right. You smile brilliantly into the kiss, and you’re not sure you stop the rest of the night either. 

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!

[theamberfist]

Sink or Swim | Stolas x Reader

Romantic! Stolas x Swim Instructor! Reader

Description: When Stolas signed his baby daughter, Octavia up for swim lessons, he never expected to like her new instructor so much

(Notes:) (gender neutral reader) (reader is a sinner) (reader is baby Octavia's swim teacher)

Words: 1,640

❀ Fun fact: I've taught parent-infant swim lessons IRL so all the exercises shown in this are real ones we use with infants ❀

Stolas frowned as he pushed open the door to the building in front of him; unable to help the slight nervous feeling that bloomed in his chest. He supposed there should have been no cause for concern, considering he was a prince of hell and easily one of the strongest beings in this ring, but it wasn't as if he'd ever done something like this before. 

He readjusted his arms, where Octavia rested on his hip sleepily. On a normal day, she would have been napping at home now, but not for much longer. He'd specifically chosen this time because he knew that, once she woke up, she would be as active as ever. Stolas reminded himself that this was for her sake, not his; he could hold his head up high for her, just as he always did.

When he entered, the imp at the front desk looked up from his work and his eyes widened slightly. "Prince Stolas..." He managed before finally clearing his throat and regaining his composure, "Right, we were expecting you." Though, something told the owl prince they hadn't actually thought he'd make good on his plans and come in. 

"The toddler pool has already been reserved, and your instructor is waiting for you there," the imp went on to explain as he checked their names off on a clipboard, "I'll let them know you've arrived." 

"Thank you." Stolas nodded awkwardly before turning and heading through the locker rooms to the pools. Though he could have simply signed Via up for regular lessons, he'd decided a private one would be better for the sake of them both. He wasn't aware that meant they'd reserve an entire pool for them, however small, but at least this way, he would have fewer paparazzi to deal with. 

Finally, he reached the pool deck, seeing that the whole facility only had a few people in it right now. There was a large lap swimming pool in front of him, as well as a splash pad to his right and the toddler pool to his left. When he looked over, there was already someone sitting on the side with their feet in the water as they waited. They wore a red swimsuit with the word 'lifeguard' printed in white, leading him to believe this was the instructor the imp at the front desk had mentioned. 

He made his way over to the toddler pool as Octavia began stirring in his arms now. It was a good thing he'd already gotten her into her swimsuit, or he would have had a hard time getting her to sit still long enough for it now. 

Upon hearing them come over, you looked up and smiled, setting the clipboard you'd been holding on the side of the pool. 

"Hello!" You called, "Here for the parent-child swim lesson?" Stolas nodded and you stepped out of the barely knee-deep pool to come over to him. To his surprise, you seemed to be a sinner, rather than an imp or hellhound like he'd expected. Your appearance differed from them greatly, and there was an energy about you that told him you had to be a human soul. 

You smiled and introduced yourself. "I'll be teaching our class every week," you explained, "If anything is too difficult or uncomfortable for you two as we get started, please let me know. Private lessons means I have a little more flexibility in what we do." You winked at the last part, and though it made the prince's heart beat quicker, he was fairly certain you just meant it playfully. 

"Anyway, who is this little one?" You asked, turning to the little owlet in his arms, whose big round eyes were staring up at you. 

"This is my daughter, Octavia," Stolas replied, immediately relaxing now that the topic of conversation had changed, "She's about a year old; I hope that's alright!" You waved him off.

"That's perfect," you said, gently reaching out towards the baby, "I've worked with kids much older and much younger than this." Octavia's tiny hand grabbed one of your fingers and you smiled kindly before looking up at her father. "And you're Prince Stolas, right?" He blinked.

"Just Stolas is fine!"

You nodded before removing your hand from the owlet's grip and standing up straighter. "Well, if you're ready, then we can get started." You said, that professional air returning to you, "I was thinking we'd have her in the shallow area to start with and ease her into slightly deeper waters." Stolas nodded, setting his bag down on a pool chair and then following you to the water. 

Now that you'd been properly introduced, Octavia was eager to follow after you, and he held her little hands as she stepped into the shallowest area of the pool. You giggled, encouraging her along the way. 

Once she stood so that the water was up to her knees, you brought out a dive toy and placed it on the pool floor, asking her to reach down and grab it to get her a little closer to the water. Stolas sat by her as she did so with ease, and then you moved the toy slightly deeper. 

He admired how much energy you seemed to have with his owlet, as well as how kind you were to her. Your soft voice and easy patience was a stark contrast to Octavia's mother; that was for sure. The two of you watched her repeatedly pick the dive toy up from increasingly deeper as if she had no care in the world. 

Finally, he broke the quietness between you two as you congratulated Octavia at another job well done. "Do you often teach lessons here?" He asked a little awkwardly, "I haven't seen many human souls in this ring of hell before." You smiled and nodded.

"Yeah, I teach almost all the lessons we offer here," you replied, moving Via's dive toy again, "It's the same job I had while I was alive, and I guess it's the only thing I've really found that I'm good at."

Stolas couldn't argue with that. Usually, Octavia was much more timid around water than this. She wouldn't even go in it at all if he wasn't holding her hand the whole time. With you, though, she was so enthusiastic that she hadn't even noticed the lack of touch. It was like he'd brought a different baby to the pool altogether today. 

"I see," he replied with a nod, smiling down at his daughter, who was happily splashing some of the water. "Do you have any children of your own?" You shook your head.

"Nope, I mostly kept to myself while I was alive- and, I guess, while I've been dead, too." You shrugged, "But when I found out how few kids in my neighborhood knew how to swim, I started doing lessons to keep them a little safer." 

Stolas nodded, wondering if it would have been too much to hope that 'keeping to yourself' meant you didn't have a spouse or partner, either. 

"If you're ready, we can move to the deeper water exercises." You changed the subject now and the prince nodded, placing a reluctant Octavia back on his hip and bringing her towards the deeper pool nearby. There, you helped him perform the next exercise, which consisted of him resting the owlet's head on his shoulder and trying to get her to kick her legs as he moved her through the water on her back. She was less enthusiastic about that, but you were quick to think; holding a toy up so her focus would shift. 

That calmed her down a lot, and soon enough she was kicking her legs happily as she giggled at you. "Do you get many attendees to your lessons?" Stolas asked in an attempt to strike up a conversation with you again, "I know those who died and ended up here aren't at as much risk of drowning." You nodded.

"That's why I work here," you smiled, "People in the pride ring aren't really concerned about dying unless it's at the hands of angels. I still think water safety is important, though."

The prince couldn't argue there. After all, that was why he'd signed Octavia up for these lessons. That, and he'd thought it would be nice for the two of them to get out of the house together for an activity. 

"Then I applaud you for your work!" He replied, "I'm sure many hellborn children can be quite difficult to teach." You laughed.

"You have no idea how much hellhounds hate swimming." 

The rest of the lesson went on just like that. With each new exercise, you found yourself getting that much more comfortable talking with Stolas, and vice versa. Octavia was also doing extremely well with everything you threw at her, and at this rate, you knew she'd be confidently swimming around on her own soon enough. 

Finally, the lesson ended and you praised the little owl before dismissing the class and hopping out of the water. Feeling warmer than you had when you began, you grabbed your clipboard to prepare for your next class.

Stolas glanced your way as he carefully dried Octavia off. "Same time next week, then?" He asked with a grin and you nodded.

"I'll be looking forward to it!" He didn't say anything, but inside, he knew he would be too. Just as he was grabbing his bag to leave, you came over and handed him a small piece of paper. The owl prince raised an eyebrow. 

"My number," you explained with a smile, "just in case." He nodded at that, feeling his heart flutter as he placed the paper in his pocket, and then you waved them both off as they left.

It seemed he'd gotten more enjoyment out of these little swim lessons than expected, and he couldn't wait to come back. 

[sttoru]

hmmm what if gym sex with gym owner/instructor toji fushiguro. you know, they be fucking by machines and stuff 🫨🫨🫨

𝐒𝐇𝐄’𝐒 𝐀 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 . . . !

⟣ sypnosis. you thought it’d be just another day of you at the gym with your gym instructor, toji—though things were quick to escalate into a different kind of ‘workout’.

⟣ tags. gym instructor!toji fushiguro x female reader. exhibitionism, public, p in v unprotected, standing doggy ig, spanking, hair pulling, teasing, sprinkle of objectification / degradation, creampie, no to little aftercare, kinda pervert!toji as well. reader gets called ‘doll’.

⟣ note. yummyyumyummm.. this made me think of this ask t sent me & this fanart i need him so bad t_t not proofread btw. !

you were a newbie to the gym—your usual workouts consisting of the most simple sets; jumping jacks, burpees, crunches, squats, planks and push ups. an acquaintance of yours attends the same sports club and recommended you a certain gym instructor who works there most of the time.

his name was toji and apparently was good enough at his job for many other gym attendees to hire him in. you did the same and had started a few sessions with him earlier that week. toji was patient and quick to give you the needed feedback and advice on your workouts — a nice guy.

though, he did seem a bit intimidating, especially due to the fact that he was extremely bulky. your stomach did a flip once you first saw that dark-haired man.

the black tank top he wore almost every other day, his muscles that flex with each movement, the scent of his cologne you could smell whenever he got close and nonchalantly adjusted or corrected your form; that guy was more than simply attractive.

as your mind wandered and daydreamt about your gym instructor, your body was doing its needed squats. up and then down, inhale and exhale, tense and relax—you were on autopilot.

what you didn’t notice, due to the music blasting in your ears, was that toji had been wandering around the area. it was almost time for your own session with him where he’d do some cardio with you.

toji sipped on his water bottle, lazily approaching you from behind, your backside towards him. he looked around for a bit—this specific section of the gym was nearly empty at this hour of the day. except for you, him and. . . a random guy who was lifting weights in a far away corner.

toji’s eyes couldn’t help but flicker from your exposed shoulder blades to the curve of your ass whenever you squatted. it was very much intentional; not for the sake of checking on your squatting form, but more for the sake of his own needs.

it was like that almost every time he’s training with you—the gym instructor cannot resist the urges of subtly checking out that body of yours. more specifically, the curves of it. he could get a bit handsy when teaching you how to get the gist of a certain exercise.

you were a bit oblivious to this, because you thought that it was simply just toji doing his job. gym instructors were meant to help you along the way—instructing somebody and helping them get into the desired position by appropriately touching their body was part of that process. . . right?

you don’t know, but you also didn’t care. his touch on your thighs when he was correcting your form that other day, the way his big and veiny hands were gently holding your flesh; it was just way too appealing. even if he was doing his job, there was an undeniable attraction hanging between the two of you.

you couldn’t even count the many times where you ‘accidentally’ bumped into him at the gym just to hold a short conversation. toji’s eyes were everywhere—the sight of you out of breath, sweating whilst trying your best to look pretty when talking to him stirred his loins.

the dark-haired man knew you purposefully come and talk to him after each session. he knew that you always try to look confused in the gym when experimenting with a new machine just to catch his attention. toji knew all about your ‘innocent’ acts and yet he was falling for them. hard.

you were too good at that game of seduction and if it wasn’t for him risking the loss of his job, he’d have fucked you long ago. he’d have satisfied both your desires right at the gym with everyone seeing—he craved for a taste of you. he needed it. sooner or later.

so, toji took his chance. ‘it was now or never,’ he told himself as he approached you from behind. his presence was only sensed by you when his hands came in touch with your body.

one hand pressed onto your lower back slightly, the other on your upper thigh, fingertips digging onto the fat to help it slightly backwards, pushing your hips towards him—

“how many times do i have to tell ya, hm?” toji’s raspy voice whispers in your ear, his figure looming over yours making you feel caged between him and the treadmill you were facing whilst squatting, “arch your lower back just a tad bit more, push y’r hips back properly—mhm, jus’ like that. good, very good.”

you surprisingly do as told even whilst you were caught off guard by toji’s sudden appearance. your heart was beating out of your chest by the proximity of your bodies like this; your palms were getting sweaty. and not from your workout.

“y’re definitely gettin’ the hang of it.” your gym instructor comments, a faint hint of pride in his tone. he retracts his hands from your body, however not before teasingly letting his fingertips brush against the bottom of your ass, feeling up its shape in that single second of contact— “how’s your workout been today?”

you knew that touch was intentional. there’s no other explanation to the lingering stare on your ass as well. his eyes shamelessly took in your thighs and hips as if he wanted to be all over them, to touch them like he’d longed for so long.

“good. was about to take a break.” you reply. truth was, you weren’t. you only said so since toji was chatting with you at the moment.

there was an evident tension between you two—the way you took a sip from your water bottle whilst your pretty eyes were focused on toji’s ripped physique, your gaze that darted from his eyes to his lips, chest, lower body and back up. . . that game of seduction had gone on for way too long. toji had to have you. right here, right now.

that’s how you ended up clinging for dear life onto the treadmill in the corner of the building, your leggings and panties pushed down to your knees and toji behind you with his hands using your hips as leverage—his cock finally having a taste of your warm insides after all this time of fantasising about it during your lessons with him.

“fuck. . knew this pussy’d be fuckin’ tight—almost can’t move due to how much y’re squeezing me, doll.” the man’s rough voice spoke out whilst your wet folds were spread apart to fit his cock all the way in, his size massive to the point it almost hurt, “there you go, takin’ it so well.”

your walls clamped around his dick like you didn’t want him to ever move out of you—like this moment was all you had wanted from your encounters up until now. toji curses under his breath at the sight he’s finally seeing;

you trembling whilst he was balls deep inside of your greedy cunt that swallowed every single inch, even if it stung. what made it even better of an achievement was the fact that your ass was properly in his view now, fat jiggling with each press of his hips against it.

“hnngh—fuck me.. ah, please!” your stifled moans almost make toji’s eyes roll back. he loved those sounds of pure pleasure that escaped your lips—the ones which you couldn’t contain behind that hand clamped around your mouth.

it was risky after all; fucking in an open gym. you didn’t know if that one guy on the other side of the area had already left or not. you couldn’t see through all those machines and pillars obstructing your view. you just went with the logic that if you couldn’t see him, he couldn’t see you.

toji—being the absolute tease that he is—had seen your eyes wander across the section of the gym you were in. oh, he didn’t like it one bit that your attention was on anything other than him and his dick slamming into your sloppy pussy;

he stopped his movements and torturously slid his cock out of you until the head was all what was left inside, prodding into you every now and then like he was going to slam it back fully, only for nothing to occur. toji bit the inside of his cheek; rough hand landing hard on the left side of your ass, the other side getting its turn a second after you whimper.

the process repeats which makes your back arch deeply, hips instinctively moving back and then forwards—basically fucking yourself on his cock. toji liked that desperation in you. that’s what he wanted to gain out of his actions.

“hah—ya can push those hips back properly now, ay?” your gym instructor exhales through his nose, hand traveling from your ass to your hair, yanking that low ponytail of yours back. his sharp eyes scanned your backside as if you were a piece of meat, his hips grinding against your ass, kneading the flesh with his pelvis, “remember this when y’re squatting again—the position of your back like this, the slight arch—fuck.”

even in a predicament like this, toji used it to teach you about your form during your squats. not that you knew what that man was saying. you were too focused on the way he was slowly stroking his dick in your pussy, wanting the tip to reach the deepest parts.

“shiitt,” toji sighs before a noise—almost a low whistle—forms in the back of his throat. the pleasure kept building up inside of him and he knew that he could cum just by a bit of grinding against that plump flesh of your ass, his balls rubbing against the curves of it, “this body of yours ‘s gonna make me lose my mind, doll.”

but, toji didn’t want to end it with that. he was here to give you the pounding of your life—teach you another lesson which was unrelated to your workouts; the lesson of what happens if you try to seduce a man like him.

toji wastes no time and grabs your hips again, angling his own to hit your g-spot with each rough thrust once he resumes the movements. each press to that sweet area makes your legs shake, lips moving frantically, though only incoherent and slurred words leave your lips in quiet moans;

“nghh! toji, ‘s too good!” you whine, your own hand still clamped around your mouth to keep yourself quiet. you were always vocal during sex, but it was a bit risky to let yourself go in a public space like this, “mmph!”

though, with the fact that you were getting the pounding of your life right now, there was no denying the fact that it was impossible to stay fully quiet. a few lewd moans escape—toji tugging at your hair each time as a warning,

“sshh, don’t w’nna get me fired, do ya?” the man behind you grins. he isn’t even worrying in the slightest that this moment was probably getting caught on the cctv camera footage in the gym.

toji could easily get rid of those himself since he works at the gym and has some internal connections, but it’d make it all so difficult if somebody were to catch you in the act, “if ya keep quiet, we’ll do this more often, yeah?”

you shiver at that promise. you could already imagine all the times you can have toji to yourself in the future; how he’ll press you to a bench and fuck you—or maybe he’ll even take you in bathrooms. it was such a turn on. that’s all what was needed to shut you up in an instant;

“good girl.” that gruff voice murmurs once more, the pressure in your stomach builds, the coils forming threatening to snap any minute now for both of you. toji’s self control was hanging by a thread.

that same thread snapped in half the moment you let out a whiny and vulnerable whimper in the form of his name. with one hard thrust, toji presses his hips firmly against your ass, grunting as he makes sure to dump his load the furthest he could—the warmth of the sticky liquid filling your senses eventually stimulated you enough to reach your own climax.

“easy there, doll.” your gym instructor thrusts once, twice before pulling himself out of you, leaving the mixture of fluids leaking down by your legs. he huffs at the sight, taking it in for a couple seconds whilst kneading your ass between his fingers.

toji grabs a tissue he had somewhere in the pocket of his sweatpants and wipes his tip before tucking himself back in his boxers—pulling his pants up and readjusting his appearance like nothing ever happened.

toji puts the used napkin in your shivering hand and nods at you. you were a pretty thing whilst fucked out of your mind, that he could indeed confirm in a singular moment of eye contact.

he sighs and leaves you to fend for yourself as he starts to walk towards the stairs that lead to the third floor, probably to take care of something. you never know what he’s up to when he’s not in the gym—a mysterious man.

before the gym instructor vanishes, he does leave you a hushed message on his way to the staircase, head cocked to the side to look at you from his peripherals whilst he walks;

“clean y’rself up and continue with your work out. will be back in a few to check in on ya.”

[yuurei20]

Updated Silver Facts Part 30: Silver and Malleus (pt1)

Upon meeting the infant Silver for the fist time Malleus’ initial reaction is, “...What is this strange creature? It looks like a hairless monkey.”

Lilia says that Silver is adorable, but Malleus seems unconvinced.

Lilia immediately leaves the infant alone with an unwilling Malleus (“You would ask ME? To watch THIS?”) as he must go solve the mystery of how something can be both “powdered” and yet “milk” at the same time.

Malleus asks, “This creature is so tiny-what if I touch it and it breaks?,” and Lilia responds that he need only “pat him gentle and sing him a lullaby.”

Malleus calling after Lilia awakens Silver, and he hums a lullaby until Silver falls asleep again (“Please come back soon, Lilia”).

Malleus is unimpressed by Lilia’s adoption of the abandoned infant: “That doesn't mean you had to raise the thing. You could have brought it to a human land and let them take care of it.” When Lilia says he wants to know if he is truly capable of loving a human Malleus responds, “What if you aren’t?”

When Lilia threatens to give the stewed grains and vegetables he feeds to Silver “a few creative twists” with armadillo meat and powdered blacknewt, Malleus advises against it, saying that he will arrange for regular deliveries of baby food from the castle, as he is unsettled by the thought of Lilia shouldering the responsibility on his own.

Lilia teases Malleus about this sudden interest in helping, saying, “I thought you disliked humans. What brought about this change of heart?,” but Malleus responds, “If the baby grows weaker, it would make you sad, would it not?” (Lilia: “…you’re a sweet boy, Malleus.”)

It seems it was Malleus who was able to guide Silver in using magic for the first time where Lilia could not, telling him and Sebek to control their breathing, extend out a hand and picture themselves winding thread around the length of a spoon that they are trying to move with magic.

The exercise works for Silver and only Silver, with Sebek saying he was unable to consciously use magic for another year and a half following that day.

It seems that it was also Malleus who taught Silver how to dance: he talks about an unnamed person who visited his and Lilia’s home in the woods, and whom Lilia asked to instruct Silver, who had been practicing on his own with a log. While Silver does not name him his speech patterns align with Malleus, and we have never heard of anyone else but Sebek and Baul visiting the cottage.

Silver says that the unnamed dance instructor spent all day teaching both him and Lilia how to dance.

[dranosh-haran-of-paleoworld]

Sakura stans really need to get over themselves. Kakashi wasn't a "teacher" in the traditional sense. Despite the fact that Naruto and Sakura called him sensei out of respect, the fool was a military instructor, his job was to make sure that his team knew the basics essentials for their survival as shinobi, like the tree climbing exercise. Outside of the basics, Kakashi and the other instructors such as Asuma, Kurenai, and Gai are under NO obligation to teach their charges anything new, hell of them Kakashi and Gai, focused on certain team members for different reasons.

Gai focused on Lee because he WANTED to, he saw himself in Lee and because the boy was a talentless fool. Gai was under no obligation to teach Lee anything other than the basics, but he taught him Gates because he WANTED to. Neji and Tenten were taught nothing but the bare essentials by him, other than that, they both did their own thing.

Sasuke, meanwhile, was ONLY taught chidori and nothing else, and that was because the boy was to face Gaara an absolutely insane murder hobo during the Chunin Exams, and chidori was the perfect counter as doton and sand are vulnerable to raiton, Kakashi also projected himself onto Sasuke which was another reason why he focused on him. Another reason why Kakashi taught him this was because Sasuke and Naruto were the two most valuable assets in Konoha. Sasuke, as an Uchiha, had the capacity to awaken the sharingan. Meanwhile, Naruto was Kurama's jinchuruki, aka the villages nuke, but he was also a dead-last, so teaching him was a MONUMENTAL priority for the village, if he were sent onto the battlefield with his shitty excuse for skills some random shinobi could just easily kill him, and cost Konoha their biju, and should that happen, the other villages and factions mainly Kumo and the Akatsuki would scramble to find, locate, and capture Kurama and make him theirs shifting the balance of power in their favor. I say Kumo because they have a reputation for running around collecting jutsus and kidnapping kids with rare bloodlines and kekkei genkai, focusing on increasing their own power, by the time of the main story Kumo was already in possession of the 8-tails and the 2-tails, and it's stated multiple times that long before Madara got hold of it, Kumo had made numerous attempts to control Kurama. Got off topic there, but anyways, it was paramount that Naruto was trained. Kakashi was also explicitly placed in charge of Team 7 by Hiruzen because of Sasuke and Naruto, this was explicitly stated in the manga, although the anime added some unnecessary bullshit about Sakura but the manga made it perfectly clear that Sasuke and Naruto were his priorities.

Additionally, here's another thing that Sakura stans blatantly ignore on this topic. Almost all of the other kids in the academy were from military families. They all had their own skillsets that were taught to them by their families or were self-taught. Ino, Shikamaru, Choji, Kiba, Shino, and Hinata all come from clans that possessed Hiden or kekkei genkai, having been taught these things by their families.

Sasuke and Neji, due to their circumstances, were self-taught. Like I said in my first blog post, if the Uchiha survived and Fugaku maintains his decision on him being heir, Sasuke would've been trained by his father and other clanmates. But, unfortunately, the poor boy didn't get that in canon, so he was forced to train himself. He taught himself all of his clans jutsus, including their katon jutsus, how to channel chakra and elemental chakra through instruments, and body flicker, Neji was precisely the same, both young men, brought a lot to the table.

Sakura, meanwhile, did jackshit in regards to any real training, and that's a fact. Sasuke straight up told her to her face that she spends her time flirting and not training, and her skills are worse than Naruto's. That's not all, she couldn't figure out the henge's used by the Ame shinobi and Orochimaru during the Exams, her trap making skills are ass and her focus on taking care of her looks rather than her training caused Dosu and his pack to rip her to shreds over how idiotic she was. She legit only took her training seriously when Sasuke defected to Orochimaru, and Naruto failed to bring him back. Other than that, Sakura was only focused on getting into Sasuke's pants, and that's a fact.

Additionally, I've said this just a few days ago, in a separate post, and I'll say it again, Sakura has NO WASTED POTENTIAL of any kind. Her chakra control is explicitly stated to be delicate.

Shizune's the only one who's complimented her on that front. Don't even bother bringing up Hashirama's compliment, as Tsunade was 6 years old when he died, and as such, he knows exactly nothing about Tsunade's arsenal, so his complement is null and void. Sakura's chakra reserves as I and a few others pointed out are abysmal, they're ridiculously tiny, and they're why she's got delicate chakra control. She can't handle large volumes of chakra, hell, she couldn't even handle a trickle of biju chakra that leaked into a small scratch on her. Her chakra isn't potent either, as chakra potency can matter as well, as revealed through Kushina, her chakra was explicitly stated to be unusually potent for an Uzumaki and that's why she was made to be Kurama's jinchuruki after Mito. Because of this, Kakashi was deterred from teaching anything chakra intensive.

Her having water release doesn't mean shit either, considering that Sasuke and Naruto have it too, yet they don't use it either. The axe she's got in artwork and figures is just promotional shit, not anything Kishimoto intended for canon, this is especially backed up by the fact that Sakura's speed and agility feats in canon are nonexistent, her situational awareness is ass too. During the War Arc, she let's an enemy watch her back, and she was too damn slow to dodge a jubi clones attack, why would she get an axe when she can't even compete with the really heavy hitters.

Sakura's learning curve is also ass too, her took three long months to make a single fish wriggle. Sasuke, meanwhile, mastered his clans signature fireball katon in under a week despite not knowing anything about the spiral nature of chakra. He also learned chidori and Lee's gated speed in a similar time frame as well. Sakura, unlike her peers, didn't self-learn anything. She's not an asset to Konoha in any way.

Taking all of this and what I said prior into account, there's absolutely no reason for Kakashi to teach Sakura anything. It would just be a MASSIVE waste of time, energy, and resources to invest any training into talentless and hopeless fool like her.

[howtofightwrite]

Is it possible for a character who is 18cm shorter and not as muscled as their opponent to pin said opponent to the ground in a few calculated moves? Both characters are fit and exercise regularly, but the shorter character has trained in various martial arts (with and without weapons) and the taller one is more proficient in sword duelling. My intent is to write a sparring scene where the shorter character humbles the (overconfident) taller one. Any specific martial arts I should look at?

So... being shorter doesn't matter. In fact, in this situation, it is an advantage.

I'm going to point out here that if you're not careful, your character that you want to have a badass moment is going to look like an complete asshole because they are humiliating another character who they actually are better than. If they haven't been trading off humiliations to build tension (safely so no one gets hurt) then you're going to have a lopsided “sparring” session. Or, you will, if you haven't been building up your narrative to support the humbling. (And there is a lot that goes into these scenes to make them work, which, if you're not familiar with how martial arts training works then you'll approach it from the wrong mindset and hit Starke's pet peeve.)

Let's hit the ground running with the high points:

Sparring is not dueling.

Sparring is not play fighting.

Sparring is not so you can humiliate your opponent.

Sparring is not about fighting anyone or anything.

Sparring is a training exercise so that both of you can work on improving specific techniques.

Do people in real life get carried away sparring? Yes, they do. Are they complete competitive idiots about it? Yes, they are. Do they get punished for it? Absolutely, they do. This is especially true where they'll be expected to put their lives on the line. Treating violence like a game is detrimental, and leaves the trainee ill-prepared for dealing with real danger when in the field. Make no mistake, that is exactly the mindset you are describing in this question. Your characters (at least your minor ones, the trainers in this situation if your leads are too young or too dumb to comprehend their reality) should care about stomping this attitude out. And you as the author should to. Why? Because if you don't take the violence in your narrative seriously neither will your audience.

There are rules, as a writer it's imperative you establish the rules (and there no rules means you haven't established them for violence in your setting and therefore won't be able to establish the baseline that can be built upon later) and one of the rules is that you're not going to spar someone with a weapon (wood or otherwise) unless you both have weapons. There's not a lot of value in having one character spar with a weapon and one spar without one unless it's a knife, and the point is learning the dangers of knife fighting. And knives make sense because they are in the same distance range as fists. Swords are in a completely separate distance category. They are mid-range weapons.

You don't practice disarms by sparring, you practice disarms by practicing disarms in a controlled setting where you're repeating the motion over and over. Can you humiliate a person by being good at practice disarms? Yes. You do it by being a complete dick. It also requires the character in question to be better at the moves in question than the other character performing them because they need to be able to confidently, or at least believe they can, counter the other person's growing anger while taking the move a step further or two than they're supposed to. It also means they can get away with it without arousing the suspicions of their instructor (or act with their instructors approval) and no one gets hurt. (We hope.) For a character to do this is a sign of overconfidence, FYI. As is trying to humiliate someone in a sparring session. The characters that are good enough? They don't do it.

In fiction, good sparring scenes serve one real purpose. They establish a baseline of skill in safe setting so the audience becomes comfortable only for that to be disrupted and thrown into chaos when the characters encounter real violence. There's two paths for this. Either the character is a big winner only to be brutally beaten later, or they get dumped on their ass to find that they're actually much better prepared than they thought later when it matters. That's why so many stories with these scenes dump their MC on their ass, especially in any Wuxia or Shounen manga. This is because the authors of these stories understand that sparring has no reflection on how well a person will do when they're allowed out of the training safe space. If your baseline is: my character is awesome. Then it's all downhill from that point on.

Say it with me, Losses Create Tension. If your character is winning all the time, you have no tension and your fight scenes will be boring. The goal when it comes to creating a character who is good at fighting is to make other characters look better. Or, from an antagonistic/mentor point they exist to establish the height our MCs must eventually reach/how much further they have to go in their journey. Kakashi's fight with Zabuza or the first fight between Itachi and Sasuke in Naruto are both great examples of how to do this well.

I'm not saying you can't write a sparring scene like the one you intend. I can't tell you to do anything, what I want to you to start doing is considering the implications of the scene, what it may say about your world and characters that you didn't intend, and it's overall impact on the whole of your narrative. Narrative gratification here is work you'll need to do to build back your tension later. Is it a win your MC can afford?

Now, you can look at any martial art that has a ground fighting component for what you want to do unless you're planning on having the duelist spar with their sword. If you want that, you're going to have to do a lot more work with a smaller pool. This will be doubly true if your characters are of European descent and you want to avoid the East Asian martial art styles.

Type: “how do you knock your opponent off balance?” into Google and you'll find a lot of variations.

The basic concept behind putting someone on the ground isn't strength, it's balance. The key is disrupting your opponent's balance. If you're skilled enough or your opponent's footwork is bad enough, it can be done in a single move. In fact, it can be done a variety of different ways from a variety of different moves from countless different martial arts. The question isn't can it be done, the question is how does your character want to do it? The fact they are short only helps them because their center of gravity will be lower than their opponent's, they don't have to work as hard to maintain their balance, their stance doesn't have to be as deep, and they will have an easier time knocking a taller person over. Most people who've never practiced martial arts have no idea how foundational the footwork is or how important the feet are to staying upright.

I personally like reviewing Silat for studying balance, not necessarily for techniques, but because I find their instruction on the concept easy to grasp/digest. They do the string on the top of the head and the balance triangle, which if you can wrap your mind around that you'll be able to conceptualize fight scenes where the character focuses on knocking an opponent off balance better. 

The above is a more advanced video, but if you have no martial arts background or even a sports background whatsoever then you want to aim for instructional videos that focus on concepts over techniques. The advice is always write what you know and if you don't know learn. Copying techniques onto the page won't create a great fight scene. Understanding the concept, philosophy, and basic body mechanics behind the techniques will get you much further. None of them are stand ins for real experience or doing it yourself. If you really want to be good at it, find a martial art you like, find a school nearby, and invest the time.

All of your characters' martial arts moves (whether they are dueling with a sword or fighting hand to hand) function around the body's center of gravity. Your center of gravity is slightly above your hips and in your core muscles i.e your abdominal muscles. They will be trained so maintaining their balance is second nature. When martial artists talk about overextending, they're talking about putting your weight past your balance point which puts you in danger of losing your balance/falling over or being grabbed, kicked, etc and getting thrown, tripped, or forced into a fall. This can happen when you're throwing a punch, doing a kick, lunging with your sword, or doing any other sort of movement. You end up in a position where your balance between your front and back leg is destabilized, which creates the opening for your opponent to throw you. Or when you fall over on the ice, because that happens too.

Some other martial arts to turn to:

Judo

Jiu Jutsu

Aikido

Baguazhang (Seen in Avatar the Last Airbender as the basis for Air Bending)

Tai Chi Chuan

Northern Shaolin

Taekwondo (if you want to do it via kicks, all kicking martial arts innately focus on balance)

Krav Maga

Ninjutsu

The list goes on.

I also recommend dipping your toes into live action martial arts flicks to start getting yourself accustomed to more complex choreography. This is getting yourself out of the animated space (like in anime) and into the space where you have to watch a live person perform the techniques. Asian cinema has a different choreography style than the US does, because there are different cultural expectations. Overall, the choreography is more intricate and they break the action down a lot more (as opposed to American media where they zoom out to cover for the stunt double.) It's easier to see how the bodies are working and they put a lot more focus on destabilizing balance as part of the fight sequences. Hollywood doesn't get into the weird martial arts shit unless it's an actual martial arts action film. You can also do an Avatar the Last Airbender/Legend of Korra deep dive because the action there is also usually on point, but I'm a proponent of going to the source when you want to learn something. So, you know watch Alchemy of Souls instead.

-Michi

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[wannaeatramyeon]

Seong Taehoon x Reader: Mild Flirtations

G/N. You pick up a new hobby. Masterlists

You should really do some exercise, you had thought out loud.

There's a great Taekwondo studio, your friends suggested.

The instructor is really nice! Another one agreed.

...And his son is really hot. They all chirped their agreement at this.

That's not to say that that was the decider on why you opted to pick up taekwondo. You had actually reasoned that learning self defense and being able to kick ass was the best byproduct of working out. The hot son has nothing to do with this.

Sort of. Maybe.

At least it is 100% not the reason why you're still here, 5 classes later, surrounded by toddlers and Hansu giving you  kind reassuring smiles now and then.

Turns out, he's not even your type anyway. Your type is sweet and kind. Not a leggy brat with a brown mop, a foul attitude and an even fouler mouth.

"If that ankle keeps clicking, I'm going to break it."

"Taehoon!" Hansu scolds, frowning at the unruly teen who is glaring at you from the corner.

As if on cue, your ankle clicks as you throw out a kick and you relish watching Taehoon's eye twitch.

You give him a smirk and he arches a brow at you.

*

*

"What's up with it, anyway?" A shadow looms over you after everyone has left and you have kindly helped Master Hansu clean up. You're sitting on the floor, sock half pulled on.

"What?"

"Your fucked up ankle." Taehoon says as if it's obvious and you roll your eyes.

"It's fine. It just clicks." What is with this guy?

There's nothing wrong with it. So what if you hurt your leg during a gym class years ago, leading to a rolled ankle and it now clicks most of the time.

"Bullshit." He squats down, and with a combination of ridiculous strength and reflex, plucks your leg from right under you.

You land on your back with a thud.

"What are you doing?!"

"Shut up." Taehoon's eyes are focused, lips pulled into a thin line as he scrutinises your leg, hands squeezing your ankle almost painfully and moving slowly up like he's searching for something.

Fuck you is on the tip of your tongue, but then he stops, having found what he's looking for.

With a curled finger, he digs his knuckle into a sensitive spot on your calf and discomfort shoots down your leg and straight into your foot.

You let out a squeal at the, frankly, torture and this time Taehoon is the one smirking.

"Get off-" You aim a kick with your free leg and he deflects it without effort.

"Stop squirming," he commands, using the same authoritative tone as when he's leading a class and you're an annoying brat that can't follow instructions.

Fuck you is again on the tip of your tongue. You are this close to screaming for Hansu, who is nowhere to be seen except-

The pain lessens. Dulls.

There's a mild throb as Taehoon carries on... massaging (if you're being generous) your leg and a tightness you didn't know you had eases.

"Oh." You breathe, eyebrows lifting in surprise that this is actually helping, an age-old knot in your calf dissipating.

"Dipshit," he mutters, holding your ankle. Rotates it five times clockwise, five times counterclockwise and there's no clicking. At all.

"Idiot." he throws you a final insult.

And shit. Finally you notice it.

No, not the fact that he's still holding your foot in his hand with a surprising gentleness. You will only recall this later tonight, as you lie in bed, that his grip is soft, his hands are calloused and just one is almost big enough to encircle your entire ankle.

Instead, it hits you like a truck in this exact moment that there's this weird kindness about him, despite the manhandling and the shitty attitude. Which, you can admit, might be the teensiest bit endearing.

And. You finally realise, cheeks burning red as you gulp and Taehoon's smirk grows, that fuck. Your friends were right-

He really is hot.

[upon-a-starry-night]

While We Dream Pt.6

Kylo Ren x Fem! Reader

Star Wars Masterlist Series Masterlist

Word Count: 1.5k

Summary: As Kylo sleeps he finds himself mysteriously transported to your modern world, while you sleep you find yourself following alongside Kylo as he goes about his duties as “supreme leader?” who even was this guy? And why does he keep talking about ‘The Force?'

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

You don’t know which feeling consumes you first, relief at being home, or frustration at being ripped away right when you were about to get some answers. One thing you do take notice of, however, is the fact that your body still feels well-rested even after the rollercoaster of emotions you went through in that…dream?

Still, you don't want to find yourself back there anytime soon despite your curiosity about the man who lives there. You lie awake on the couch for several minutes trying to find an explanation and only let yourself get up when you conclude that your brain must have subconsciously created a sci-fi scenario due to the movies you fell asleep watching and replaced the main love interest with the man who saved you.

It’s a questionable solution at best but you don't think you’d be able to get through the rest of your day if you don’t force yourself to believe it. 

You must have slept through the entire night on that couch because the soft light of the sunrise is peeking through your windows as you stretch your limbs. Your body is still used to the early morning work schedule and even if you were tired enough to go back to sleep (which you aren't), you wouldn’t want to go back into whatever that place was so you roll with the punches and march to the kitchen to start on breakfast. 

Toast is ecstatic that you’ve finally woken up and can now feed him his breakfast and maybe if he’s lucky he’ll get a tiny piece of bacon from yours as well. 

At the kitchen island, you eat your food as you look over a flyer you got from the grocery store yesterday, it reads:

“Thinking of Becoming a Gym Instructor? Come Try Our 7-Day Trial and See if You Have What It Takes!!”

There’s an address and a phone number at the bottom as well. It’s not your first pick for a job, but it’s also something you’ve never considered before either. There’s a chance it could be fun, and if it turns out it's not your thing, at least you’ll get some exercise. 

After you finish eating, you shower and get ready for the day, putting on some gym clothes and doing some light stretching as you try to prepare yourself. The gym should be open by now so you grab your car keys, pet your cat goodbye, and head out the door with a pep in your step.

~~~~~~~

You were absolutely not returning for the remaining 6 days of the trial. By the time you were done with training, you were pretty sure you sweat out the entire 60% of water that was inside of your body. Your lungs burn like a wildfire you can’t put out and to make matters worse the person instructing you barely looks fazed. 

The pep you had when you first started was gone in the first ten minutes of the session and now here you are slugging your once light bag over your shoulder and making an internal promise to yourself to never come back to this gym. If that was day one you dread to think about what the rest of the week would’ve looked like. 

In your car you spend a good few minutes slumped against your steering wheel before you remember you ran out of cat food and should probably go buy more so your cat doesn’t eat you in your sleep. Not that he can reach your bed yet but animals are capable of crazy things when hungry.

You stop for lunch after the pet store when you realize it’s already noon and you need to replenish your energy if you were to get anything done the rest of the day. You’re scribbling “gym instructor” off of your list of potential jobs when you walk through the door. 

The first thing you notice is not the man on your couch, it’s the fact that your cat is stuck on top of your tall bookshelf and you wonder how he even got himself up there before your head double takes to the couch and the sack of cat food drops to the floor.

The corner of it splits and cat food spills out onto the floor, that seems to be enough to motivate Toast to jump down the entire height of your bookshelf and dig in before you start cleaning up but cleaning is the last thing on your mind.

Sitting there on the couch in the middle of your living room is the man from your dreams. 

You shake your head- or the man who saved you who keeps appearing in your dreams. Either way, there’s a man on your couch who’s definitely not supposed to be there. 

What’s even worse is he’s sitting on your couch like he owns it which makes you angry for some unknown reason.

You take note of the fact that he’s not wearing his helmet which- of course he’s not wearing it. That was just something that existed in your dream world, this was the real guy…or was he?

Immediately you turn tail and run back out of the house, for a split second you think you see him reach out his hand in that weird gesture he keeps doing but you’re out of the house before you can see more. You book it to your neighbor's house across the street and immediately ring the doorbell. Fear spikes when you see the man in your doorway. He stops, however, when your neighbors open the door, surprise on their face.

“Y/n! It’s so good to see you! How…are you?” Their surprise morphs into concern as they take in your sweaty shaken figure. You waste no time as you point to your open doorway where the man still stands, watching your every move.

“Do you see that?” You ask them hurriedly, desperate to see if he is real or if you are going crazy. They squint as they stare over to your house before their eyebrows shoot up and you think you’re about to be invited inside to call 9-11 when they say;

“What’s Toast doing outside?” 

“What?” You turn in confusion and to your surprise, spot Toast on your front porch hissing at the doorway. The man is still standing there looking like he’s having a stand-off with your cat and the sight would be funny if you weren’t actively hallucinating it. “So you don’t see…” 

You let your sentence trail off as your neighbor looks at you with questioning eyes like they're debating calling a nurse hotline to check on you. Honestly, you’re a little tempted to let them but your precious kitten is currently protecting your house from a 6-foot ghost and you aren’t going to let him fight that battle alone.

In order to not retain a reputation as the neighborhood crazy lady you turn to your neighbor with a sheepish kind of smile and wave it off, thinking of a quick excuse. “Sorry, there was a stray dog near my house but it looks like it ran away. Sorry to bother you!” 

Your explanation is enough to ease whatever worries your neighbor had about you as they wave you off and tell you not to worry about it. You say your goodbyes and then turn to go grab your cat before he runs away. The man’s gaze only shifts from your cat for a split second as he notices you approach but ultimately he seems fixated on the small creature you pick up into your arms.

You’re 90% sure your neighbors are watching you through their window so you square your shoulders and prepare to shove your way past the wall of black blocking your doorway. Much to your surprise, however, he tilts ever so slightly to let you pass by- although you have a suspicion it was more for the benefit of you not touching him. If you even could. 

When you habitually shut the door you almost flinch as you wait for the sound of it hitting his body. You don’t know whether to be happy or terrified when it passes straight through him and slams shut. On one hand, it didn’t hit him but on the other hand…it didn't hit him.

Now at least your neighbors can’t watch you have a manic episode. Which is what you were on the verge of because what the fuck? This was definitely not a dream but you had no way to explain what was happening.

The man seems just as confused as you as he looks down at his hands in a similar way to you in your dream world. He attempts to grab the doorknob but his hand passes right through it.

As quietly as you can, you shakily put down your cat and pull out your phone. You open the camera app and aim it at the man but nothing shows up on the screen.

“Oh my God.” You whisper as you lift a hand to cover your mouth in shock.

You don’t know whether to call a paranormal investigator or a doctor. Probably both. Just in case.

What were the chances you were just suffering from heat stroke?

Pt.7

A/n: Sorry for the unannounced hiatus! life got crazy but i'm back!~Starry

-----Taglist------

@cheeseburgercasserole @isy1994namjoon @phobobobophobia @froggygal @marii-ren @haileyofmischief @mmontgomeryb @ssnapsaurus

[tisayemate]

Vaporised

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x Reader (callsign Vapour)

Fluff

Summary: Vapour teaches Hangman to put his mouth where his money is.

AN: tomorrow’s my birthday!! (Yup, sharing the same birthday as Scarlett Johansson and Mark Ruffalo 🥹)

Story under the cut:

Hangman was in rare form that morning—if by "rare" you meant absolutely, maddeningly, always insufferable.

The squadron had barely settled into the briefing room when Jake "Hangman" Seresin made it his mission to antagonize everyone in his orbit.

"Rooster, you planning to keep that mustache after I wipe the floor with you today?" he quipped, leaning back in his chair. "Or is it aerodynamic enough to help you fly better?"

Rooster shot him a flat look. "Shouldn’t you be studying the rulebook, Seresin? I hear you keep forgetting what 'teamwork' means."

Jake laughed, loud and carefree. "What can I say? I don’t need teamwork when I’ve got skill. I’m just built different."

"Built irritating," Phoenix muttered under her breath, earning a smirk from Bob.

In the corner of the room, you—call sign Vapour—remained silent, arms crossed, and gaze steady on the whiteboard. You had no intention of getting involved in Jake’s antics. He’d teased you enough in the past, despite the fact you barely spoke to him.

“Awfully quiet over there, Vapour,” Jake called out, turning his attention to you. “What’s the matter? Saving all your words for your post-match excuses?”

You didn’t even glance at him. “I, unlike some, don’t waste words,” came your reply.

That earned a round of "oohs" from the others, and even Hangman seemed momentarily caught off guard before recovering with a grin. “We’ll see if your flying’s as sharp as your tongue.”

The reason you were called Vapour wasn’t a mystery to anyone. During a training exercise, you’d pulled off a miracle landing with barely a drop of fuel left, earning you the respect of the instructors and the envy of a certain cocky aviator. Jake had never stopped trying to one-up you since.

Today’s dogfight simulation would be the perfect battleground.

Up in the air, Hangman’s taunts were relentless.

“Vapour, you sure you’re up there? Haven’t seen you all game,” he teased over the comms. “Or maybe that’s just your style—light and forgettable.”

Phoenix groaned. “Do you ever shut up, Seresin?”

“I’m just providing commentary,” he replied. “Gotta make things interesting while I mop the floor with you.”

You stayed quiet, focusing on your maneuvers. You weren’t interested in banter—you had one goal: take Hangman down.

Jake was good. Annoyingly good. But he was also predictable. He liked flashy moves and big risks, and you had no problem using that against him. You let him chase you for a while, luring him into a false sense of control.

“Gotcha now, Vapour,” he said smugly, locking onto your tail.

“Do you?” you replied, your voice finally cutting through the comms.

With a sharp roll and a sudden cutback, you slipped out of his sights and got behind him instead. Jake’s curses filled the channel as you locked on and fired the simulated kill shot.

“Hangman, you’re tagged,” Maverick announced.

Silence.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Jake Seresin had nothing to say.

“Vapour!,” Rooster cheered. “Finally someone shut him up!”

You smirked, leveling your jet and heading back to base. 

Back on the ground, Jake’s usual swagger was noticeably absent as the team debriefed. Rooster, Phoenix, and the others took turns mocking him, clearly reveling in his defeat.

Jake made a beeline for you afterward, his expression unreadable.

“Vapour,” he said, folding his arms. “You got lucky.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Luck? Or maybe you’re just all talk.”

For once, he didn’t have a comeback. He just stood there, staring at you like he was trying to figure you out.

Before he could say anything else, you gave him a pat on the shoulder. “You know Hangman’s actually the perfect name for someone who just got left swinging in the wind.”

And with that, you walked off, leaving him standing there—thoroughly humbled.

[whencyclopedia]

Dialogue of Pessimism

The Dialogue of Pessimism (c. 1000 BCE) is a Babylonian poem featuring a master and his slave in ten exchanges during which the master proposes an action, and the slave gives reasons for and against its pursuit. The piece has been interpreted as an existential statement, satire, a theodicy, and social commentary.

The work is best known from the existential interpretation advocating suicide as the only response to a meaningless world in which there is no good reason to pursue one course over another. It is catalogued as belonging to the genre of Mesopotamian wisdom literature and was copied as part of the curriculum of the scribal schools. It is clear the piece served as an educational text, but whether students took its content and theme seriously is unknown. It is possible the piece was simply a comedic dialogue making fun of popular proverbs and their conventional use in the classroom in the same way the poems Schooldays and A Supervisor's Advice to a Young Scribe satirize the Mesopotamian educational system.

The poem's title is a modern-day designation (given by W. G. Lambert), and the original, if it ever had one, is lost. The piece develops through ten exchanges on the futility of action since anything one considers worth doing can be countered by equally good reasons not to:

On Visiting the Palace

On Dining

On Hunting

On Marriage

On Leading a Revolution

On Sex

On Religious Sacrifice

On Investing

On Philanthropy

On Public Service

The piece ends with a final stanza in which the master concludes that the only reasonable response to life is to seek death, but before taking that step, he will send his slave on ahead of him. The slave, who appears the wiser of the two, has the last line on how his master would not be able to survive three days without him. Based on this, and the slave's responses throughout, the poem can also be understood as a satire on social class, featuring the "wise servant" and "foolish master", a popular motif in ancient and modern works of literature.

Origin & Purpose

The poem may have originally been a Sumerian composition performed as part of a student's final exam period in the edubba ("House of Tablets"), the Sumerian scribal school. The edubba was established in Sumer by the Early Dynastic Period (2900-2334 BCE) to train scribes in ancient Mesopotamia, and its curriculum focused on copying, memorizing, and reciting various texts. Students progressed from copying simple lists and hymns to more difficult written works but also committed oral works to writing.

Prior to the invention of cuneiform script c. 3500 BCE, stories and poems existed only as an oral tradition. One of the earliest jobs of scribes in ancient Mesopotamia would have been preserving these works in written form, as scholar Jeremy Black notes:

Although a literary composition about oral transmission may seem to be paradoxical or perverse, it is simply a reflection of the scribes' everyday reality: patterns of preservation of tablets suggests strongly that our manuscript sources are not the traces of a copied literary tradition but one of telling, listening, and memorization. Ironically, many of the tablets preserving the world's oldest literary tradition are ephemera: they were produced as part of the memorization process and were never intended to last. (275)

Clay writing tablets used for student exercises, in fact, were frequently recycled by instructors who would drop them into tubs of water to soften, be erased, and reformed as new ones. Texts of established written works were preserved, however, for future students to memorize and recite and, among these, was the Dialogue of Pessimism. The extant copies are from Assyria and Babylonia, written in Akkadian script, but as with many other such works, it is most likely much older and, as noted, of Sumerian origin.

Its purpose would have been to entertain while also providing students with an interesting piece to practice from, and although it is labeled as 'wisdom literature' in the present day, it may not have been regarded as such in ancient Mesopotamia. The designation 'wisdom literature' itself is a modern construct applied by biblical scholars to the books of Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, and Job long before works of Mesopotamian literature were discovered in the mid-19th century. Once cuneiform was deciphered, works such as The Instructions of Shuruppag (c. 2600-2000 BCE), Ludlul-Bel-Nemeqi (c. 1700 BCE), and others similar to or thought to have influenced the later biblical books were given that same label.

Continue reading...

[anonymousmink]

Ship: Tasertricks. Premise: a pottery date where they both mess up.

Not quite a date but they definitely both mess up - just in vastly different ways! I hope you enjoy anon 💜

Ship: Tasertricks || Rating: T || Words 700ish

“I know you’re cheating,” Darcy muttered from the corner of her mouth as the instructor passed their row, his kaftan floating with every step and an approving smile on his face as he looked at Loki’s work, “I can see the sparkles.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Loki replied drily, imperious as ever as he worked the clay between his hands like he’d been doing it his whole life, his ever-so-slightly glowing hands, “and besides - I do not sparkle.”

“Sparkle, glow, whatever - I can see the magic light, Merlin. You’re totally cheating - this is supposed to be a bonding exercise you know.”

Swiping a bit of clay off her cheek only to smear more over her face, Darcy bit back a groan. She was, it turned out, very very bad at pottery… potting… whatever this was called. The clay was willfully uncooperative in her hands, flailing about like a beached whale as she tried to make something out of it.

Needless to say, any passing fancy she might have had that she was an undiscovered genius with a pottery wheel was well and truly crushed.

Loki however was a different story, he was the MVP of pots, all effortlessly sexy as he worked the clay with hands that would make Michelangelo weep. He moved over his creation in a hypnotic fashion, slicking and spreading the clay with his long fingers, dipping and touching and…

Darcy sharply turned her head away, fighting to keep the flush from her face as her mind went places she knew better than to follow in public.

“Bonding excercise?” He raised a dark brow at her, absolutely pristine and unruffled as his creation spun in front of him, a faint green cast to it definitely shouldn’t be there, “and here I thought you were attempting to seduce me with craftsman’s work, as a - what do you call it? Double date?”

“N-no,” she stuttered, the flush only worsening as it spread to her ears, “it’s totally a work thing. We’re working together now with - with Thor and Jane too so, y’know we’re here like bonding and stuff.”

She glanced around the room and only to realize exactly how much it did in fact look like a double date - right down to soft romantic music coming from the boom box up front and the couples mooning at each other on every side. Jane and Thor were straight up reenacting Ghost, all googoo eyes and giggling as they cuddled up close behind their pottery wheel.

They had definitely abandoned the ‘group’ part of the ‘group bonding’ experience. Bastards.

And sure - if Darcy was being honestly honest she might have a tiny little, eeny weeny crush on Loki. He was gorgeous and arrogant and weirdly vulnerable - and well… the hand thing, obviously. But that didn’t mean - she didn’t think-

“Has anyone ever told you how becoming you look when you blush, Lady Darcy?” He purred, the heat rising higher in her cheeks until she thought she might bake the clay still smeared over them right there and then. No kiln needed.

“Did you… did you want this to be like a date?” She tried to sound cool as she asked it, like the answer didn’t matter to her one way or the other as she fiddled with her own almost-pot.

“Of course not.”

The wet splat of the clay hitting the floor adequately summed up the feeling in Darcy’s chest. She felt squashed, absolutely flattened by the disdain in his voice as she bent to retrieve the useless lump she’d knocked off the wheel in her clumsiness.

Of course he didn’t want this to be a date. Sure they’d had some banter, some teasing, maybe even some light flirting - at least she thought they had - but it was crystal clear now he didn’t mean anything by it. He was a literal God after all and she was… she was…

“I would not subject you to artisinal labour as a form of romantic indulgence,” he continued unaffected, “no more than I’d take you on the morning shift at a bakery, or an afternoon at a tile workshop. No, our first date will be something far more spectacular.”

Wait… did he just say… did he mean…?

“W-will?” She repeated when she managed to get her tongue working again, the mess on her wheel forgotten as she finally dared to look at him again from the corner of her eyes.

“Of course. That is…” he paused, looking almost uncertain for the first time since she’d met him, “if you’ll grant me the honour of escorting you out some time, Lady Darcy?”

[winged-self-indulgence]

“…this time when you roll upwards, make sure to land in the malasana pose with your palms pressed together and centered over your heart.”

You obeyed the low, sultry tones of the yoga instructor coming from your phone, inhaling in and exhaling out deep breaths while mimicking their fluid movements to the best of your ability. You kept your eyes resolutely forward, both to ensure that you remained focused on the workout, but also to keep your attention off the demon seated behind you.

Z had been quiet for the past several minutes. Uncharacteristically so. A part of you wanted to turn around and check on them, but you were also wary of doing anything that might cause them to act up. Z was capricious at the best of times, and predicting the whims of a demon was an exercise in futility.

Still, you couldn’t quite tamp down the combination of nerves and curiosity bubbling in your chest. What was he doing?

Playing it as naturally as you could, you followed the workout video’s instructions to breathe in as you pushed your lower body up into a forward fold. Blood rushed to your head for a second as you let your head hang down, giving you a brief window of opportunity to peek through the gap between your spread legs.

The demon was just. Sitting there. Legs crossed on the floor, knees tucked under the coffee-table. Scarlet eyes fixed on you with unsettling intensity through the gaps in his hair. His chin was propped up on ash-black knuckles, the other hand splayed flat over the wood surface (Later on you would walk past and notice the four lines of grooves scratched deep into the tabletop). His tail swayed from side to side like a metronome, but it was the only part of him that moved.

In fact, now that you thought about it, Z was in the exact same position he’d been in when you’d started your workout 20 minutes ago.

A bit unnerved, you paused the video and stood up. “Are you bored or something?” You called out, swinging upright and sweeping the hair out of your face. Now it was your turn to stare as the demon seemed to return from wherever their mind had taken them. They cocked their head, and you folded your arms over your chest. “You haven’t moved in almost half an hour. Are you still mad that I didn’t want to go on a date with you today?”

“How petty do you think I am, Dove?” Z placed a hand on their chest, lips twisting into a melodramatic pout. “Do you honestly believe that I am the type of person who would hold onto such grudges? That I would despair over the fact that my darling little human doesn't want to spend a whole day with me, and would rather do…what did you call this activity?”

“Yoga. And I said I’m not committing arson with you, Z. At least not without a solid alibi in place,” you rolled your eyes at his antics. “And since you keep forgetting that human laws exist and that jail is a very real place, then yoga it is.”

“Awww, Dove. You're so cute. You really think I would let you spend a second out of my sight?” Z chuckled and sprang to his feet, slinking up to you with mischievous intent. Your eyes narrowed, half surprised and half suspicious when Z craned his neck over your shoulder to study the tanned blonde woman on screen. The subtitles below informed the viewer that she was rotating from a downward-facing dog into a flip. “Hmph. Looks weird.”

“Some moves can be. Difficult too,” you agreed, grimacing as you remembered how much your stomach had hurt after holding a boat pose for too long. “Sometimes I can’t hold the stances for long enough, and then I just get frustrated with myself.”

Z hummed in acknowledgement, and then a sharp grin crossed their face. “Why don’t I help out?”

“You what?” You blurted, unable to stifle your surprise. “You want to...help me with my work-out?”

“Well since someone doesn’t want to help me burn down a really ugly mega-mansion, I suppose this will suffice for a date activity,” Z sighed dejectedly. “Besides, how hard can it be? All I have to do is make sure your poses are correct and last for as long as you’re supposed to, right?”

“I mean. I suppose so…” You agreed slowly, searching his face - or what little of it you could see - for a sign that this was one of his jokes. “Are you sure?"

"You're gonna hurt my feelings, you know," Z pinched your chin between two fingers, the pad of his thumb pressing down on the plush swell of your upper lip. He shook your head gently, firmly, commandingly. "I said I'd help, and so I will. All you need to do is say 'thank you Z'."

"Thank you Z," you parroted obediently, unthinkingly. Despite your wariness, you couldn’t help the little thrum of excitement. "Okay, give me a second.” You quickly pulled up one of your usual routines and got into position.

As it turned out, your suspicion had been extremely warranted. Oh, the demon certainly pretended to play along at first; indulging your adorable determination to push from cow to cat to dolphin pose while his hands remained chastely on your waist or between your shoulder blades. However, it didn’t take long for the façade to fall away in exponentially quick increments.

Domineering fingers resting far too low on the small of your back while you were in downward-dog. A greedy hand cupping between your legs when you settled in a leg-lift. The bulge of his cock squeezing between your ass cheeks when you stretched into an extended puppy pose, the girthy weight of it obvious through both his jeans and your very thin yoga pants.

“Fuck, do you have any idea how much of a tease you’ve been, Dove?” Z groaned; one hand was shoved up your shirt to play with your nipples while the other sliced a convenient hole in your pants. Before you could complain, the flat end of his tail slid into your mouth, pressing your tongue down until all you could do was drool and whine while the demon admired the sopping wet mess between your thighs. “I’ve been holding back all day while you flaunted yourself in front me. How cruel, sweetheart.”

Hypocrite. You tried to shout his name, tell him to hurry up and do something, but the tail in your mouth gagged you effectively. Nevertheless, he must have picked up on what you wanted because it didn’t take long for two fingers to slide inside you, stretching you open with a ruthless and perverse desire to watch you cry.

“Ah-ah-ah,” Z clicked his tongue admonishingly when you tried to sit up. “You’re not done with your workout yet, Dove. Face down, hips up, now.”

“But–!” The threat of fangs against the nape of your neck froze your complaints, and the obscene stretch of his cock sliding into you halted them completely. Saliva poured from the corner of your mouth, eyes rolling up into your head as his hips slapped against your ass. Obscene squelches echoed throughout the room as every harsh thrust forced thick globs of cream to drip down your thighs, the noise mixing with your own loud whimpers and Z’s feral growls.

“How are you always so tight?” The demon hissed. His teeth drew rivulets of blood which he licked away, tongue raking over your throat to mark the spot for another bite. Your hips bucked unconsciously, the movement causing your body to squeeze around his cock. Z retaliated with a harsh thrust, one that nearly knocked you to the ground. The demon’s moan was interspersed with a low, rasping laugh. “So fucking needy, huh baby? Need me to fuck you over and over so this poor little hole never forgets what it feels like to have me inside you? Make you my pretty little mess, is that it? Yeah, that’s it, Dove. You can come if you want to. Doesn’t mean I’ll be done with you after though.”

[erdbeermayo]

Service ace my ass!

...or the reason Kageyama Tobio won't ever practice yoga with Oikawa Tooru in the same room again!

(domestic post-time skip oikage fluff, rated G)

Tobio sighs. It's been two days since all of the gyms in their area have closed down for holidays—for an entire week, no less!

Right about now, the two of them would be doing their weight training, competing in how many reps either one of them can do with this or that weight and exchanging little tips on which techniques are the most effective for developing muscle groups that are relevant for playing volleyball. It's usually quite fun. Especially since there are only so many weeks in a year where they get to live together.

He taps his foot, feeling a little antsy, and then notices Tooru staring at him with a knowing smirk, which turns into a smile once their eyes meet.

"Can't wait to pump that iron, Tobio-chan?"

Tobio sighs again. "Yeah..."

"Such a gym rat!" Tooru chuckles and pokes him softly in his side, making him jolt and bat his finger away.

"Can't believe you keep forgetting to finally buy some weights for this apartment."

"Well, it's because the gyms around here usually never close for this long. It happens only once a year. And I'm barely ever home anyways." Tobio pouts as he enumerates his excuses.

"Blah blah! Should I stick a post-it note to your favorite pair of Asics so you remember next time?" Tooru suggests with an annoying grin.

Tobio snorts and retorts, "Let's stick it to your forehead instead", causing his brown-haired boyfriend to gasp in mock offense.

"How cruel, Tobio-chan!"

He appears to be thinking for a moment. "Wait! Does that mean that you like me more than your favorite pair of Asics?"

"Shut up!" The affectionate little smile tugging at the corners of Tobio's mouth prevents him from sounding hostile as he softly bumps their shoulders together.

Tooru giggles and wraps an arm around Tobio, pulling him into a hug. "Aw! Love you, too, babe."

"You know that I love you," Tobio mumbles grumpily into soft brown locks tickling his face.

"What was that?" Tooru demands, and Tobio is certain that he did, in fact, understand every word. Which is why he decides that it's only fair to respond by biting down on his boyfriend's neck.

"Ouch! You little vamp!" Tooru frees himself of Tobio's deadly fangs by taking his face in his hands and smashing his lips against Tobio's in a firm kiss.

"Hey, maybe we could still try to work out at home," he suggests once they pull apart. "Could be fun to try some yoga. I kinda feel like stretching."

Tobio tilts his head slightly, considering the idea. It's certainly better than nothing. "Sure, we could try that."

"Cool! Let me find some video we could follow." After a quick peck on the tip of Tobio's nose, Tooru saunters toward the living room, with Tobio following close behind.

They quickly find a nice, popular channel with a large variety of yoga videos and—feeling quite confident about their general fitness—pick an advanced session to follow along with. Tooru laments the lack of yoga mats at Tobio's Italian apartment and vows to add them to his shopping post-it note right after 'dumbbells'. For now, the living room carpet will have to do.

The session begins with really easy poses, and Tobio wonders how this is even considered real exercise. But soon enough, his muscles start to stretch and burn in a way that feels very right, which reassures him that this is, indeed, quite beneficial. He even finds himself enjoying the calm and quiet atmosphere as the two of them hold still and breathe as instructed in the video.

The trouble starts when they move into their first balance-focused pose.

Tobio feels quite good about himself as he manages to stay very steady, balancing on one foot for well over a minute while holding the pose the instructor called 'The Extended Sideward Pose'. That is until Tooru's foot suddenly rams into his hip, sending him stumbling across the carpet.

"Hey! What the—" He turns to frown at his giggling villain of a boyfriend. "Asshole."

"You suck!" Tooru sticks his tongue out at him.

"No, you," Tobio responds simply, because this is how much thought he is willing to put into figuring out a come back for something so immature. He resumes the pose and as they continue the session, keeps a cautious eye on Tooru once in a while.

Unfortunately, Tooru is a master of perfect timing when it comes to his devilry. And it's only when Tobio lets his guard down while being focused on staying perfectly still in 'Warrior Three' that the second attack comes. This time, it's Tooru's fingers lightly brushing Tobio's foot in a way that is really ticklish.

Given the limited space in Tobio's living room, he initially choses to believe that it's an accident. But not when it happens the second and then the third time, which makes him sway forward dangerously and forces him to place his second foot on the floor in order to prevent himself from falling.

"Stop it!"

Tooru giggles. "I'm just making sure your training is extra advanced, Tobio-chan!"

"Yeah, right," Tobio grumbles. "Maybe you should make sure you're training at all by not wasting your time trying to annoy me!"

"Alright, alright. Sorry! I stop," the brown-haired menace promises.

Honestly, Tobio should have known better. Because, of course, Tooru wouldn't actually stop there.

And as many sacred things, Tobio's patience runs out on count three. So as soon as Tooru's hand lands on his arm as they take 'The Tree' pose, he lets his instincts take over and grabs it, pulling Tooru towards himself and tripping him up, making sure that the brown-haired jerk doesn't even get to yelp before ending up sprawled out on the carpet with Tobio's hands pinning down his wrists on either side of his silly head.

The surprized expression on Tooru's face quickly transitions into a cheeky smile.

"You look so angry," he so perceptively observes and whips his head up to press a noisy smooch against Tobio's lips.

With a frustrated growl, Tobio's mouth latches onto Tooru's throat while his fingers launch a ruthless assault on every ticklish spot on Tooru's body he knows of.

"No, Tobio-chan! Please!" he hears his insufferable boyfriend's desperate pleas blending into loud giggles as he thrashes around in agony. "Please, stop! Mercy! I give up! You win! You win!"

But Tobio won't be swayed that easily after the torment he himself had to endure. He digs his fingers deeper between Tooru's ribs, intent on getting his sweet revenge. His victim's laughter begins sounding so incontrollable that it makes Tobio laugh with him.

"Please! I can't anymore! Enough! Enough!" Tooru cries out breathlessly and, in one swift motion, overpowers Tobio, forcing him onto his back and taking his turn to pin down his wrists to the carpet.

His flushed face hovers above Tobio as the last chimes of laughter die down on their tongues, replaced by quiet panting. Tooru's hazel eyes study his face, and he releases one of Tobio's wrists to brush a thumb gently against his cheek.

"You have no idea how beautiful you look when you smile like this."

Tobio's breath catches at the unexpected compliment and at the way Tooru looks at him in this moment.

He reaches up to cup his face in his hands as Tooru leans down and proceeds to give him a sequence of short kisses, speaking in between them. "I— love— you— so— so— so— so— much!"

He seems to be unable to stop as the kisses don't end with his sentence. Tobio can't complain, though, responding to each of them with all of the tenderness flooding his ribcage.

After they both have definitely lost count, Tooru ends the series with one last lingering kiss and gets up on his hands and knees, looking down at Tobio. "Alright. Wanna finish the workout?"

Tobio nods, and they both get up from the carpet to rewind the video and resume their session.

The last exercise they're instructed to do is 'The Downward Dog'. Tobio breathes out slowly as he moves into the demonstrated pose, feeling the nice stretch all across the back of his legs.

Suddenly, searing pain ripples violently through his body as Tooru's hand lands sharply on his butt in a spank so hard that it almost sends him tumbling.

Tobio scrambles to his knees, blinking in momentary confusion. Meanwhile, Tooru uses it as an opportunity to jump away, making sure to gain a safe distance between them, his hand over his mouth as if he himself is shocked by his own actions. A quiet snort bursting out of him betrays his true feelings, however. Tobio glares at him, his face burning.

Tooru moves his hand away from his mouth, revealing his smug grin, and points a finger gun at Tobio, announcing in his best salesman tone, "And this is how you do a service ace!"

After a beat of charged silence, Tobio gets up to his feet and dashes after him with a loud growl. "Get over here! I'll show you service ace!"

Tooru lets out a high-pitched shriek and zooms in the direction of the bathroom, falsely hoping that he can save himself there. Little does he know that Tobio has a spare key.

As he stomps toward the locked door of the bathroom, he vows to himself to make sure his lovely boyfriend has a proper shower after such a vigorous workout.

Oh, and maybe that post-it about the dumbbells isn't such a bad idea after all.