#krav talks'

[kraviolis]

if we can get any more canon official owl house animation at all. i want a whole 90 minute movie dedicated to hunter's predecessor

[kravicle]

im tearing my hair out (<- needs to talk about the one piece manga or will explode)

[holdmecloser-gandydancer]

🌹 please?? thank u :D!! -ise

He thinks the classifieds are taunting him. That vague ad keeps floating around his field of vision like migraine aura; a harbinger of something awful to come.

[nobodys-tomorrow-is-guaranteed]

Honest question...

if I carry a tiny watergun with me to spray people who misbehave in public (talking on speakerphone, listening to music out loud etc.)... wouldn't that just solve everything?

[pteridiumaquilinum]

oh. i guess im angry.

[jasmines-library]

Could u pls do a Winchester sister fic like (season 10 ep. 15) but instead of the parasite going into cole it goes into the sister and Dean tries to shock it out like in the episode but then she almost dies and they have to try and find another way

The Things They Carried

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Word Count: 2284 (wow look at me go)

Warnings: Uhhh not sure how to phrase it. Overall gore, kinda throwing up?

⛧ SPN MASTERLIST ⛧

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The woman had vanished without a trace. Well, at least at first. Her body was found strung upside down in the storage room of a remote part of the city Feyetteville, North Carolina. Perhaps one of the most perplexing parts of the victims disappearance, was that not only was she an Army Private, trained in Krav Maga and Jiu-Jitsu, but her organs had been drained, along with the bone marrow sucked out of her body. This is what had caught Dean’s attention. He now sat in front of you and Sam, the article pulled up on his ipad.

Sam raised his eyebrows, his forehead wrinkling as he studied the article once more before handing it off to you. “So…cannibalism. You thinking a Rugaru?”

“Or a God. Maybe.” Dean agreed. A second later he was up on his feet, ready to go. Sam tried to protest. Ever since Dean got the mark of Cain Sam has been solely focused on trying to find a way to remove it. He was constantly on edge and you had to admit you were too. It seemed that no amount of research seemed to give enough answers on the mark. Eventually, with a look from his older brother and a defeated sigh, Sam let up and not even 10 minutes later, the three of you were speeding down the road.

Much to your disappointment, when you arrived in the city the first thing the three of you were told was that the local police had closed the case. However, they had given you a name, and the incriminating evidence. The sheriff; an elderly man, perhaps late 60s with white, thinning hair, had also told you that the offender had also committed suicide before the feds could lock him up. He also told you that this was the third suicide the city had seen in the last 6 months. A pattern. This was definitely something supernatural, if that wasn’t already clear. However, when Sam asked about the body, the sheriff informed the three of you that there were no bite marks, and that the victim had been killed with a bowie knife. That ruled out a Rugaru, leaving your trail dry.

The next step of the hunt was to speak to Beth, the offender's widow. She was rather distraught as she bounced her baby softly in her arms. When she glanced away from it, you could see the pain in her eyes; the dark circles that rim them. 

“Rick was a kind soul.” She insisted sadly, glancing down at the floor. The way she spoke of her late husband was filled with awe, but woven thick was pain that choked up her voice. You could tell that she still hadn’t processed her husband’s recent change in personality. 

“Did you ever notice anything strange?” Sam asked gently, his fingers clasped together as he leaned against the countertop. “Violent mood swings?”

“Weird smells?” You added.

“No….” The woman frowned. “But Rick was- he was-” she stuttered, unable to word what she wanted to say correctly, almost as if she didn’t really believe it or understand it herself. “He was thirsty.”

You tilted your head at her, her words catching your interest. “Thirsty for what?”

Her answer surprised you. “Water. He’d spend half the day drinking from the garden hose. And then, when I told him to stop it was like he couldn’t even hear me. And his skin; it got so dry it bled.”

Your older brothers watched intently. “Did he see a doctor?” Dean questioned gruffly.

The poor woman shook her head. There were now soft tears rolling down her face, mingling with the ghosts of the ones there before. “He just got put on a list to be put on a list. And then he stopped talking. He just wasn't himself–” she sniffled, shifting her baby in her arms. “I thought….maybe it was just PTSD.”

No one said anything for a moment before you broke the silence tenderly. “We’re very sorry.”

“You said that Rick had been recently deployed.” Dean said. “Do you have any idea where?”

“No.” She answered rather bluntly. “That stuff’s classified. They don’t even let the wives in on it.”

And the trail runs cold again. 

But then, just as you were about to leave and Sam left your number, Beth stopped you again. 

“There’s one other thing.” she added. “I ran into my friend Jemma at the supermarket. She’s married to Kit Verson. A guy from Rick’s team. She thinks Kit came back different this time. Kind of felt like we were dealing with the same thing.”

The trail picks up again.

After a little while running around after Kit Verson, discovering that he murdered someone else the same way that his friend did, the three of you ended up in an old shack that his wife believed he might have fled to. It was dark. Eerily so. However not as eerie as the trail of dead mice on the floor. Machetties in hand and guns in holsters, the three of your crept through the darkness of the hut. You found him hunched over in the back room of the house. His breathing was rough and ragged as though he might have run a mile at top speed. When you reached out to touch his shoulder, his head whipped around, bloodshot eyes boring into you. His mouth and face was splattered with blood and dirt, and his movements were erratic as he stood up to face you. He gripped you tight, cold fingers like icicles against your skin as he pushed you back against the wall. And then his eyes were pleading with you. The harsh crease between his eyebrows softened for just a moment as he used his body weight to keep you pinned up against the wood panelling. 

“I’m sorry,” he grunted out, wrestling with you to keep you in his grasp. “I can’t stop.”

And then, you were on the floor, dirty ground rising to meet you fast as he made you lose your footing. And then, as you struggled beneath him he made this awful gagging noise as the creature slithered out of his throat and forced its way into you. You coughed, gagging yourself as your brothers rushed into the room. They were on Kit in seconds, but he was strong, throwing your brothers around before dashing out of the door. Quick on his feet, Dean followed, leaving you staggering for breath on the floor with Sam.

“Are you alright?!” Sam asked, alarmed as he rushed to your side, helping you up off the floor.

You coughed. “Some-something’s inside of me–” a grimace spread across your face as you felt it move. “It’s alive–”

“It what?” Sam blinked. “What did it look like? Do you know what it was?”

“Khan worm.” Dean answered, catching on to the end of the conversation. “At Least i think it is. Why? Did you see it?”

You groaned in pain, so Sam answered for you. “It crawled inside her.”

Dean froze, his eyes going wide. “What?”

Sam nodded grimly. 

“Did you see what it was? Dean asked worriedly. 

You coughed, hands flying to your mouth. “Khan worm.”

“Shit.” Dean cursed aloud, running his hands through his hair. 

“We have two options.” You said, trying to hide the grimace on your face as you felt the worm moving, ,crawling under your skin. Neither of the two options were very pleasant at all. You and your brothers had worked a case with Khan worms a few years ago and there were two ways that you discovered the worms could be killed. And while these worms seemed slightly different to the first ones you discovered, you figured that they were similar enough that the same rules would apply. The first option was probably the most forward one, but it also involved certain death; a headshot to the infected person that would cause the worm to flee the body where it would then be crushed by Sam or Dean. Option one was very clearly off the table. The second was far more painful, but it also harboured greater chances of survival. 

Dean began to protest immediately. “No. No no. there’s got to be another way.” 

“You know we dont-”

“Kid….” Sam started. 

“Just do it. We have no other choice.”

Dean sighed, turning away and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Alright.”

~

Dean had managed to find two batteries hidden in the small cabin. He placed them grimly on the table with a thud before connecting two of the jump wires that Sam had gone and collected from Baby’s trunk. You were sitting in the armchair, fingers gripping the leather as you waited anxiously. Sam tried to give you some comforting words, but you weren’t sure who he was trying to comfort more; you or himself. 

“Alright.” Dean said, his voice laced thick with an anxiousness and guilt he was yet to shake. He brought the cables over to you as you took a deep breath, placing a wooden spoon between your mouth to keep you from biting through your tongue. 

Settling back in the chair, you took a moment to collect yourself. To prepare for the agony you were about to put yourself through. And then, you gave him a brief nod 

The sudden pain when Dean pressed the jump cables to your skin was overwhelming. Unbearable. A million agonies all combined to one as the electricity raced through your veins. You screamed, crying out as your teeth bit down on the wood of the spoon, which helped to muffle the sound. Both of your brothers winced at the sound of your agony as you twisted and writhed. Sam had to look away and Dean had to force himself to keep the cables against your skin though he yearned to take away your pain. But nothing happened. As soon as your brother removed the cables, you were panting for breath, trying to recover quickly from the pain. You couldn’t help but notice the looks on your brother’s faces.

“Anything?”

Sam shook his head dismally. The parasite was still in you. 

“Go again.”

Dean startled. “What? Are you crazy?”

“Go again.” You strained. 

Dean collected himself, and then; the same pain. But still as you writhed. Fists clenching and nails digging into your palms the worm remained inside you. And your brothers were growing increasingly concerned. Your movements began to slow as you grew quieter and your eyes fluttered, drooping with a sudden heaviness. Dean pulled the cables away immediately and you slumped back against the chair. Your head lolled forwards against your chest and your breathing was concerningly slow and laboured. 

“Okay….okay…” Sam said gently, slipping an arm behind your back to help support you.You whimpered slightly at the movement. “ Shh. You’re alright sweetheart.” he glanced up at Dean, fear and worry evident in the creases on his forehead. They would have to find a different way to get the worm out.

~

You were sweating. Gods….you’d never been hotter. Your body still ached as you sat in the armchair of the cabin. The old leather was flaking off and was practically covered in a sheen of your own sweat. Sam and Dean had pushed it towards the fire, leaving you to sweat against the heat. They had figured that as the parasite needed water, if they could make you sweat it all out…then the creature would leave. But now you were practically slumped in a chair, dark veins crawling up your neck as you tried to rid the worm from your body. You coughed a little, your throat dry, with no way to soothe it. Thirst…..that was the only thing that consumed your mind…you were so. damn. thirsty. Your body craved it. Anything you could get you would take….even your own brothers’ blood. The parasite yearned for something. You could feel it, squirming around inside you. Uncomfortable, you whined before coughing a little, doubling over on yourself. 

Sam placed a hand on your shoulder. “Hang in there, Sweetheart. You have to sweat it out.”

“Can’t–” You coughed. 

“Yes you can.” Dean shut you down quickly. “You can’t give up. Winchesters don’t quit.”

Reluctantly, you nodded. Your head spun. You felt sick. But you knew you couldn’t give up. You were in for a long waiting game. 

It wasn’t until a few hours later, when you were on the verge of breaking down that you began to feel it slithering up your throat. You gagged, coughing as you tried to expel the creature from your body. 

Sam and Dean were by your side in seconds, both trying to coax you through it, ready to stomp on the worm as soon as it made an appearance. Sure enough you managed to cough it up uncomfortably. It splattered on the floor, squealing as it writhed and trying to slither off to infect someone else. It didn’t make it far before Dean slammed a heavy boot over it. And once more for good measure. It squelched under his shoe, peeling off from it as it stuck to the floor. He grimaced at the sight before moving to crouch beside you, checking on you.

You wiped the string of saliva from your mouth with a grimace before gratefully taking the water bottle Sam offered you and wasting no time before drinking it to quench your impossible thirst.

“That's it. Easy, Sweetheart.” Dean cooed. “It’s over now.”

“You did it, kiddo.” Sam said, guiding you to lean back in the chair more. “We knew you could do it. We’re proud of you.”

(A bit of a rubbish ending! I'm sorry i wasn't sure what to do)

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SPN TAGS:

@xxrougefangxx @hell-o-kittys @inlovewhithafairytale @harleycao @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @rosecentury

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[sanguineterrain]

Hey I saw you're still taking requests... what about a batman x reader where the justice league meets his wife (the reader) by accident? And maybe they're shocked because he's so secretive and she's really sweet and just the total opposite of him. Feel free to ignore if this doesn't sound interesting to you. I love your writing 💗

Hey! I love this prompt, thanks for sending it in :) I made the reader gender neutral, I hope that's okay!

Bruce Wayne x spouse!gn!reader. No warnings, just Bruce being a little shit (and a sweet hubby).

****

You press your palm to the reader at the entrance of the Cave and jog down the stairs, talking all the way.

"Honey, Alfred and I are going to..."

Six superhero faces stare back at you. Bruce is in the cowl, expression hard to parse. Your brows rise.

"Oh! I'm sorry. I didn't know B had company. I'll leave you to it," you say, beginning to back up the stairs.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," says Green Lantern. You can't tell through the mask lenses, but you think he might be zeroed in on the ring on your left hand. "Uh, Spooky? Something you wanna tell us?"

You freeze on the steps. Bruce looks at you, then crosses the Cave in a few long strides. He stops next to you.

Sorry, you mouth at him. He shakes his head and reaches out to squeeze your hand.

"Hold the fucking phone," Green Arrow begins. "You're his—"

"Partner," Wonder Woman says instantly. She sounds pensive. "I have never seen you look at anyone like that, Bruce."

Bruce doesn't say anything, not that you expect him to. You feel him tense.

He'd been content to keep his family as private as possible, and you hadn't minded being kept separate. You know it's out of extreme protectiveness and the fact that you're the only one of the Wayne family who doesn't put a suit on and fight crime.

There's a moment of silence as the League studies you, then Bruce. You smile slowly and wave.

"Hi, Justice League. Nice to meet you all."

"Hello," says the Martian Manhunter, who's probably known about you since you entered Wayne Manor.

"You got married without telling us?" Superman sounds hurt.

Bruce heaves a sigh.

"We got married during the League's infancy. Please spare me the theatrics. Of course I didn't tell you."

"We revealed our identities two years ago!" Superman argues. "You didn't want to mention you have a spouse?"

Superman nods at you then. "Uh, of course, it's still very nice to meet you."

You smile. "It's nice to meet you too, Superman."

"Clark," he corrects hastily. Then he turns to Bruce again, upset flaring. "Bruce—"

"You're upset over nothing," Bruce says. "We weren't close when I got married, and I never found it a pertinent detail."

You roll your eyes.

"B," you say, nudging his shoulder. "C'mon. Try to be a little gentler about this, hm?"

Bruce looks at you. You smile at him and squeeze his wrist encouragingly. He eventually turns back to the League.

"Very well, you're right. Clark, that was harsh of me. My apologies."

The League startles.

"Whoa. Rewind. Hold up. Did Spooky just apologize?" Green Lantern asks. "Did I just get zeta'd?"

Bruce sighs. You stifle a laugh and kiss his bicep. His hand slips to your back.

"Aw, you guys are cute," Flash says jovially. "Congrats, B! Even if it's been almost six years."

Bruce nods. "Thank you, Allen."

"It is incredible how the better half can transform the other," says Wonder Woman, and you preen a little at the compliment.

Clark looks flabbergasted. It takes him a second to speak again.

"Um. That's... okay, Bruce. I forgive you. I suppose you did it out of protection, right?"

"I'm just a boring ol' civilian," you say, nodding. "No powers or years of Krav Maga training here. B worries."

"You're not boring," Bruce says fiercely, quiet enough for only you to hear... and Clark, who has superhearing, and who softens at the statement.

"This is so weird," Green Lantern says, and Bruce glares at him.

"I mean, it's sweet!" he hastily adds. "Uh, you guys are very sweet together, like Bar said. I just feel like I've been mind controlled or something."

"If it was mind control, you wouldn't still be talking," Bruce says flatly.

"Okay, alright, point taken. Shutting up. It's very nice to meet you, though," Green Lantern says to you.

"You as well," you say warmly. "All of you. I want to thank you for looking out for him all these years and bringing him home safe."

Wonder Woman smiles at you. "It is a great honor to fight alongside him. And we are happy he has someone to come home to."

"Seconded," Clark says. "You deserve someone special, B. And I can tell they're just that."

Your face feels warm under all the praise. Bruce is quiet for a long moment. When he speaks again, there's a slight tremor in his voice.

"Thank you. I—they are the best thing to ever happen to me."

You have to kiss Bruce for that, cowl be damned. He meets you gently, and you keep it short but full of love. Flash aww's.

"Well," you say, laughing bashfully. "I suppose I'll let you all get back to work. Nice to meet you. Goodbye. Bruce, I'm going out with Alfred."

Bruce nods. "Call me when you get home."

"'Course, sweetheart. I always do."

You head up the stairs. Flash starts to speak.

"Y'know, I told you all when I got married," he says. "You guys were the first people I told! We didn't even know Clark's identity then. I think you could've loosened the reins, Bruce."

"Yeah, no. You telling a bunch of superhero co-workers is infinitely stranger than Bruce never telling us, Bar."

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Who Taught You How to Love Like That? (König x F!OC)

Part 3/3 of Valkyrie

(Part 2 here)

(Part 1 here)

Summary: König gets an order to make a female SpecGru sniper talk, but König doesn't want to hurt women.

Category: Smut 🔞, angst, fluff

Tags & warnings: Explicit mature content +18 audiences only, strangers to lovers (slight enemies to lovers), dubious consent, threats of rape, virgin!König, size kink, size difference, p in v, multiple orgasms, cunnilingus, squirting, hugs and cuddles, super fluffy ending. König will be named in later chapters. 

A/N: KorTac and SpecGru are rivaling military contractors, Conor is König's superior (and a huge villain), and I just wanted to write angsty smut featuring our favourite Austrian boi. 

The first thing she noticed was the combat dummy in the corner of the room. There was no light in the ceiling, only a small table lamp on the floor next to his bed... Which was really only a thin mattress placed on the floor with a meticulously tucked bed sheet on it. There was no furniture to speak of except for the tall gun safe and some bland table where he had a kettle and a half-open bag of bread lying next to a toaster. There was a small fridge under the table, and deposited there on top of it, out of direct sight, a simple knuckle duster.

Piles of books lay on the floor next to his so called bed, and she was pleasantly surprised: he didn't strike her as a bookworm type of guy. She briefly caught sight of a few titles, mostly nonfiction: he had volumes on rifles and combat sports like krav maga and escrima, along with some German books about hunting, knives…— and there were knives all over the place: hanging from a lone hook on the wall, lying on the table, next to a pile of books, next to the mattress. Probably hidden ones, too, but where in all this minimalistic scarceness, she couldn't tell.

He didn't have a television. There was no computer, not even a laptop. She wondered how his officers got in touch with him, for it was dubious that he even owned a phone.

"This is where I sleep," he introduced his apartment, waving a hand in a vague gesture that said It's not much, but it's home.

She didn't know whether to feel pity or terror. She was relatively sure she was the first girl to set foot in here. The red flags were all over the place, but she only felt a tug near her heart from the realization that this guy was lonely. Like really, really lonely. Potential school shooter who grew up kind of lonely.

God, why did she have to have a soft spot for lunatics like him...

"Would you like some coffee?"

He turned to look at her, and she felt tightness in her chest from that drained, sad stare. He had been so carefree, so giddy, but all of that was gone. She had seen it in the pub already, the moment she laid eyes on him, that something was terribly wrong. She wondered who was the one responsible for making this man lose his goofiness. Shed that lovely, inculpable nature that made him singularly him. Whoever it was, she wanted to smack them in the head. Hard.

Without his gear and mask or even that black face paint, he looked more human. There were no barriers between them, no profession stamped on him: he was simply…him. But the intensity was there, always there. He was an outrageously tall, athletic man, and teeming with latent violence.

She wasn’t intimidated by that, per se. She had fired her rifle alongside dozens of big, dangerous men. Menacing men. It was something else, something essential in this man's character that made her feel a little on edge.

If her mother could see where she was now, in a dark flat filled with nothing but weapons and white bread and a towering, introverted dynamite stick of a man, she would probably deem the situation more dangerous for her than Russia and Brazil combined.

"No thanks, I'm good."

He ran his fingers through his hair, which was much longer than 8 months ago. He still had that side shave, but the light ash curls on top were unkempt and fell partly on his forehead.

"Or tea? I think I got tea here somewhere… "

And there he was: that adorable, silly man she had fallen for.

If nothing more, she would make it her mission to at least get him to smile.

She shook her head slowly before walking to him and grabbing two fistfuls of his black t-shirt. He straightened like someone had called ten-hut, making it clear that she wasn't the only one who felt like a tightly coiled spring. But someone had to make the first move. Someone had to do something.

He had shaved a day, maybe two ago, and the stubble that dusted his chin and the top of his upper lip was only a faint shadow, but still coarse enough to sting her skin as she got up on her toes to kiss him.

He closed his eyes and bent into it. He didn't touch her, wouldn't reach for her, just opened his mouth against hers and moaned. Like a tortured man about to break.

"Mh- I've thought about you every day," she whispered, still clinging to his shirt, and he finally wrapped his arms around her. "Every damn day…"

"Meine kleine Walküre…"

"I thought I would go mad at some point."

I didn't know who you were, I couldn't come back to you, I knew nothing about you.

"I know."

He knew.

He knew the slow descent into madness, the craving. The mornings that felt like waking up in a limbo. The nights that only sharpened the pain.

And of course he did.

"You kept me alive," he said as his erection pressed against her, and her mind was flooded with memories of the grey room, the bleak light in the ceiling, the ropes biting into her wrists, the way he fucked her like they were both going to die the next day.

And she realized that he was real. He wasn't a schizophrenic dream or an erotic nightmare. He wasn't even a soldier; he was a man, a person.

He was a real, actual person under that hood and face paint and tactical vest and ammo pouches. He had an apartment and dirty socks on the floor, and he drank lager, and he had toast and a toaster, and he owned relatively normal clothes.

And right now, even though her panties were soaked, she didn't want him inside her.

"I'm a bit nervous," she said, stiff and near the point of breaking into a cold sweat. He caressed the small of her back and shoved his crotch against her even more eagerly.

"König, please… Could you just… hold me?"

He stopped and swallowed, and his hands traveled back up.

"I will do whatever you wish."

"Perhaps we could lie down? And just… hug, you know?"

"I'd love that," he said, sounding genuinely enthusiastic.

His sheets smelled of him, and she felt the cold sweat intensify. Her stomach sank, and she was glad that she was lying down because her feet wouldn't probably carry her at this point. He laid himself down next to her and gave her his pillow. It was a lovely gesture, but she felt like she was lying down with a murderer. Which he was. Which she was. They both had killed, her confirmed body count reaching 23 when she had left the SpecGru. His count was probably much higher...

She snuggled closer, tucked her head under his chin, and let him hold her. His whole body was tense, but he eased into the embrace after ten or twenty breaths. Cuddling usually came after the sex; after the release of stress and tension, and right now, they were both like teenagers in an empty house with the parents gone. Sweating with the jitters of coming to know how the other person's body felt like.

She dragged a leg over him at some point, and he sank his own between hers, and they just breathed each other. She wondered how they must look, her small form and light blue jeans and white shirt swallowed by all that black he wore. A fair little lady cuddled by a dark giant. A giant who everyone could tell, just by the clothes he wore, was either an employed soldier or a crazy militarist. And she liked that. She fucking loved that he didn't disguise himself as an ordinary civilian. Unlike she did, and she felt like a liar... along with feeling tired of pretending that she wanted the next bachelor when all she really wanted was a guy like him.

Finally, her nerves calmed down, and she could hear the silence of the room, the sound of his breathing, could feel the warmth of his arms around her.

"This feels good," she told him.

"This feels better than anything," he answered.

He seemed peaceful too. All that shifting around had turned into deep breaths and a steady heartbeat. She caressed his back, closed her eyes, and pressed her cheek more firmly against his chest — how many times had she dreamed of this moment? She inhaled him, and the scent aroused different memories this time, making her feel like a balloon drifting up to the ceiling.

"I like you, König." She squeezed him against her. "Like, a lot."

He squeezed her back and announced: "I love you."

Her mind went blank and then screamed error.

She wriggled out of his grasp, propped herself on her elbow, and looked down at him. He stared at her like a dog waiting for a treat from a well-done trick.

"You can't say that, König."

His long, pale lashes batted a few times, and a vertical wrinkle appeared between his brows.

"No, you... You didn't do anything wrong. I'm sorry. It's just that..." She pursed her lips, bit her lower lip, and placed a hand on his chest. "We barely know each other."

His eyes darted from her lips to her eyes, confused. "But I already know I love you."

How could she argue with a man who looked at her like that? Who looked like a dog being scolded for things he didn’t know he wasn't supposed to do…

I went to therapy because of you.

We met in a fucking bunker where you were asking politely if I would co-operate in you raping me. Fucking co-operate…

And you looked like Death…

"König… Baby, I don't even know your name."

He wrapped an arm around her waist in an attempt to pull her closer.

"Julius."

He said it from the back of his throat, it rolled off his tongue and ended in a soft hiss, and she felt lighter in the head by the minute.

Julius, like… Julius Caesar.

Or July. June and July.

This was so fucked up…

"Can I taste you?"

The wintry eyes looked at her, begging.

"Let me taste you, June. Please…"

Oh God… Yes, please, yes.

"Umm. Sure.."

He moved immediately, and she was almost thrown to lie on her back while he reached for her jeans to take them off, his large hands clumsy and cold against her exposed skin. She raised her hips to help him as he pulled them down, trying to stifle a giggle that was bubbling inside at seeing him so keen on giving her head. The pants got stuck on her ankles, and he tugged them off one leg at a time, causing one sock to come off and the other to come halfway down. And he just left it there, being too preoccupied with getting back between her legs to reach for her panties.

She thanked herself for having put on the smaller, black brazilian knickers instead of some comfortable, worn-out hipsters. And that she had shaved...

He was much more attentive with this piece of clothing, sliding it down like he was opening a gift. And when he took the panties off and still left that lonely sock unattended, crumpled, and forgotten, she couldn't help but snicker.

"Was?"

He looked at her with a perplexed smirk, clueless as to what was so funny — but smiling just for the sake of having made her laugh. The black underwear looked tiny in his hands as he placed it next to the bed.

She remembered how he had left her socks on in the bunker, too, perhaps because he was in a nervous hurry. Or perhaps because he didn't want her to feel cold.

She bent her leg and took it off herself, throwing it somewhere behind him.

"Nothing. Except that you're officially the cutest."

He ran a hand through his hair again. That bashful, boyish attitude made her realize just how much she had missed him. His gaze flicked to her eyes, darted between her legs, flew to examine the floor… and she could see the tent in his pants even though there was little light in the room.

"And now the shirt," she rose to seated and raised her hands up, making it clear what she wanted him to do. He wasted no time pulling it over her head but froze when he was met with the black, laced bra, the only barrier left between him and her complete nakedness.

As much as she wanted to, she didn't tease him by making him figure out the mechanism. She reached for the clasp, and he leaned slightly back when she took it off with little ceremony and threw it on the floor with the rest of her clothing. When she grabbed his hand to bring it to her breast, he looked like he had stopped breathing altogether.

"Everything good?"

"Perfekt," he said, looking terrified.

"Come here," she pulled him by the neck all the way down to lay on top of her. He supported himself on his elbows while his hands came to cradle her head. He was tense again, and she wondered whether the cuddling had been a bad idea — he had relaxed too much and was now overstimulated.

The whole body on her was rigid, but his mouth was soft and warm as he kissed her — so greedily that her legs began to ride up along his sides. When he moved to wolf her neck, her weakest spot, she wrapped her legs around his waist, and he finally melted against her.

"I dreamed of you," he breathed against her skin, making her eyes flutter open and her pussy clench around nothing. "Every night…"

Through the euphoria of his accent and lips, she deciphered that what he actually meant was that he had masturbated on thoughts of her. And she had done the same: stroked herself night after night on thoughts of him telling her how tight and good she felt around him. It was downright sinful how many times she had reminisced the high-pitched sighs, that vulnerable look he had when he shot his cum inside her.

"Did you ever think of me?" He asked with a frail voice.

She had gone on a few dates, had a few fucks. Ended up feeling disappointed, and even more lonely. Dirty and sad — like she was cheating on him…

"If only you knew just how much," she whispered to the ceiling above her.

He brushed a trembling thumb over her cheek and buried himself even deeper in her neck.

"Shit… Ist das dein Ernst?"

She loved it when he spoke German. And hated how most of the time, she couldn’t understand what the hell he was saying.

"June... Du machst mich verrückt."

"What are you saying, silly…"

"You drive me crazy."

He was so… present, devoted. So unlike the men who almost screamed "Score" when they got this far. He was saying stupid, lovely things that didn't sound at all like a yucky romcom, not when they came from him. He ripped her clothes off because he wanted to please her, taste her... And had no trouble pressing against her while having his own clothes still on — those black pants that would get stained if he continued to grind against her drenched pussy like that.

"You'll drive me crazy too if you don't finish what you started..."

He chuckled and resumed giving her those tiny kisses that only left her wanting more.

"Don't worry, little one." He planted a last kiss on her collarbone before diving down.

"I'm not -"

The rest of the sentence turned into a gasp as his lips swept over her sternum, her nipples, sent shivers across her stomach as he trailed down, down…

"Yes you are," he muttered against her mound, going further down still. Like a man with a purpose.

Hot air hit her as his tongue swept through her folds, first pointed and quivering, then flat and hungry. Her hand shot out to grasp his hair, those stupid, adorable curls that drove her to the brink of insanity.

"Mmh," he moaned in her pussy, pressing his lips against her and opening his mouth. She didn't have time to worry about the bite of his stubble, for he pushed his tongue out. Either he had an excellent memory, or then it was beginner's luck, but he hit just the right spot as the hot, wet tongue plunged slightly inside her.

"Oh - fuck.. "

He got the cue to the full, shoving even deeper, sweeping arms around her thighs to pull her against his face. He decoded her within minutes with a combination of flicks, sweeps, and thrusts. She opened her legs wider, felt herself open like a flower, felt the juices leak out while he was at it like a tried and true engine. So tireless that it sent her thighs quivering. They never did that — at least not with anyone else. It was his unique talent to make a mess of her. If he proved smart enough to apply fingers, she would lose her goddamn mind.

"You are dripping," he informed from among the sloppy sounds she was perfectly aware of. "Like a honeycomb…"

What was it with this man that nearly made her cry?

He kissed her with devotion, almost like he was kissing her lips. The languid pecks and slow nips soon turned into french kissing as he applied tongue again. Her fingers curled into his hair on their own accord and pulled. She could feel his mouth open into a grin before a soft huff hit her.

"Heh…" he kissed her again, "Gierig.."

"What does… ah -.. that mean?"

She could’ve cried from frustration when he slowly got back up to his knees. His lips and chin glistened with her - and he was grinning adorably. That earlier naive cuteness made such a comeback that she had a hard time catching her breath.

"Greedy." He licked his lips. "You like it?"

She nodded a few times, many times, and the impish, pussy-drunk grin of his only widened.

"Gut."

He made a move to return down there, looking like he had received the best assignment ever.

"König… Uh, Julius?" She pronounced it like July, and he corrected her immediately.

"Julius."

So husky and sweet from those soaked lips — like music.

"Julius," she rose back to seated, thighs still trembling, and grabbed the front of his shirt. "Could you take this off?"

He reached back with both hands and pulled it off, leaving his hair all tousled once the fabric was drawn over his head. She vaguely knew what to expect, but the amount of muscle still made her gawk like a goldfish.

The man was like a roman sculpture. Not an artificial, overly shredded fitness type of thing, but a man who used his body like it was meant to be used. The light brown hair between the plates of his chest was simply irresistible. She placed a hand on it, and he looked down, fascinated by what she was doing. She ran her fingers through the soft, sparse hair, trailed the breath of it all the way down to his navel. The muscles there rippled at her touch. He was ticklish… and some stupid part of her brain squealed at the discovery.

She wondered whether he had been touched before, whether he had been touched much at all. He had an ungodly shoulders to hips ratio, and a broad, toned physique, which alone should've made women want to crawl all over him. Perhaps he had walked through life half invisible because he wanted to stay that way - in hiding. And suddenly she felt special, outright exceptional... for having been chosen, having been granted access to him. His world.

He trusted her. It should've been a compliment, even a turn-on, but she felt like she didn't deserve it. And it was too late to turn back...

Looking up to his eyes which were fixed on her, expectant and dark, her fingers dropped to his pants, curled under the waistband, and gave it a tug.

"And everything else, too."

He sat back on his legs, opened the belt, undid the zipper, and stood up to take his pants off. From where she was looking, he was like a god, the muscles on his thighs bunching as he switched his weight from one leg to the other to yank his pants down and socks away. When he was finally free of those clothes, he grabbed that monster between his legs with one hand, lifted it, and stroked it absentmindedly while looking down at her, all hungry. Possessive...

Car lights flashed through the window and painted shadows on the wall, on him, painting him with blue and black just before he descended upon her. She greeted him with spread legs and open arms as he got down, carefully, like a man preparing to pray. With his hand still wrapped around himself, he guided the tip to her folds, brows knit together like he was on a serious mission that required all his attention. She reached a hand to grab him too, and it was like a dream, the way they directed him inside together.

Her inner muscles welcomed him home with a greedy pull, not bothered by the stretch that only felt fucking delicious.

She pushed him further in with her legs, wrapped around his hips like a starfish around prey. He was forced to fall on his hands, and he exhaled like someone easing into a hot bath, blowing air from the raw sensation — although he was dipping into somewhere far better than that, she presumed.

She noticed a scar on his neck as he exposed his throat, half-lidded eyes drifting closed with pleasure. Her hand rose on its own will to touch the white protrusion, fingertips caressing the spot where someone had tried to finish him and failed.

And she knew that she didn’t want to spend her life without this man.

Didn’t want to spend a day without him anymore.

He flinched at her touch, looking like he was the one being fucked and not the other way around. Her touch was a reminder that someone had gotten too close - way too close. And had probably paid the full price for their insolence.

“Baby…” she whispered, and his head dropped with a broken sigh, hanging heavy against his chest as he slid in and out of her. It was supposed to be a homecoming, a sweet reunion, but he was shaking and sobbing, grunting between the thrusts.

She knew he was repeating the words in his head, the words he thought she didn’t want to hear.

Fuck it… I love you too.

It was a deafening declaration in her head, one she couldn’t snuff out, one that only got louder as he thrust deeper, pressed against her, and moaned as he buried his face in her hair.

“You feel so good… taste so good,” he said, “smell so good…”

Having the biggest, baddest mercenary of a rivaling military contractor between her legs, sighing how good she was, might be reason enough to seek therapy — but it was also the one thing she knew would send her straight to heaven.

And it was too much.

He was too much. She didn't want to cry, and she didn't want him to hold her, to slide in and out slowly, fondly, lovingly. Just the way he was doing right now… She wanted to drown the blooming intimacy, she wanted him to shut the fuck up and fuck her.

More than anything, she wanted to escape the feeling that she belonged here, with him.

“Please… just..”

“Talk to me, Engel.”

Shit.. It was a purr.

“I need you harder.”

He only slowed down, confused.

“You don’t have to be gentle,” she said, hating herself for tearing apart the one thing she loved most about him.

But he did as he was bid, upping the tempo, going deeper, breaking her in all the ways she wanted him to. Needed him to.

"Like this?" The voice was abrupt, metallic, almost freezing. It didn't belong to a man, it belonged to a soldier executing an order.

“Yes…”

He was looking at her, and this time it was her turn to avoid the gaze. She already knew it was filled with confusion and hunger and sadness. She looked at his muscles at work, the ridiculously large cock disappearing into her, she looked at the scars... That scar, the one that screamed that not only he was lucky that the weapon had missed by an inch. That she should count her blessings, too.

At some point, he grunted in frustration and moved to throw her legs over his shoulders. He could pound inside even deeper like this, and it didn’t hurt at all, even though she felt a strange warmth pool somewhere deep in her abdomen.

He fucked her on that thin mattress and all she could think about was whether he would offer her tea or coffee after, or bring her toast to the bed.

“Harder..”

The sheet started to come off, the slick sounds bordering on pornographic, his chest getting covered in sweat.

God, she made him sweat. She wanted to wash him after, smear him with whatever stupid shower gel he had in his apartment that reeked of loneliness, a fragrance she knew more than well.

She wondered if he would want to cuddle again after they had showered together. Or cuddle before, so she could inhale his scent, the full brunt of him. If she could stay for the night. Fuck…

“Harder.”

He dared to whimper, dared to look at her all helpless. But obeyed.

Shit, he felt good. Too good. Too fucking….

"Wait..."

She was about to come, but something was different.

"Wait-"

Something was wrong and right at the same time, the thickness and length pressing onto something unusually delicious. It left her shaking, caused her to feel full to the brim. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out, and he wouldn't relent with the thrusts, but he had to soon enough, for she burst, literally, with wetness that spread through the sheets under them and caused his cock to fly out of her with a gush of moisture.

Oh jesusfuckinggod… -

He was between her legs, cock bouncing up and down. It was sheened with an insane amount of natural lube, and he was looking down at what she had done.

"What happened?"

The innocent question, the humiliation made her cheeks pang with heat.

Take a deep breath, calm down, calm the fuck down..

"It's…"

It's called squirting, you adorable big puppy. You just made me fucking squirt.

"It's a woman's orgasm but times ten?"

She wanted to add Jesus Christ I'm sorry, and it's a good thing, trust me, but she didn't need to.

"I… made you do that?"

She nodded, and another wide grin slowly spread on his face. He adored the scene, amazed and eyes sparkling like it was Christmas morning and he had walked up to see that there were presents under the tree.

He reached for his cock to insert himself back inside, but she jerked away.

"No, wait… It - it might happen again," she stuttered a warning. She wasn't sure, but she didn't want to take the risk. This kind of thing had never occurred, even if she knew what it was. Even envied those who had had the experience. But for the love of god, why did it have to be him out of all men who got to witness it when it finally happened…

But he only looked even more reckless. Almost wild.

"So let's do it again!" He was so excited that his voice spiked up a few notes.

"But your sheets…"

"Nevermind them," he huffed, ecstatic, and crawled forward. He pushed inside, fast and luscious, and she knew right then and there that it would definitely happen again.

He began to ruin her with a frenzy that was almost eerie. The rhythm of slick sounds told her enough, told her that he pistoned her with a pace that would soon drive her insane.

“You’re a fucking fantasy, June,” he groaned, the darker parts of what made him a ruthless professional soldier leaking through.

"Oh God," she breathed this time, deciding she could feel ashamed later. "It feels so fucking good…"

"I'll be good to you, Engel, I'll be good," he grunted as he continued to fuck her brains out.

She cursed and moaned and wailed, letting all his neighbours know that the big, quiet soldier boy was good at what he did. Fucking best. And she knew she should've said her prayers when her eyes rolled in her head and she started to see white.

It didn't take longer than a second or two before it happened again, this time with a force that nearly made her snap and split in half. More than a few squirts hit him as he pulled out. His jaw hung open like he was looking at fireworks.

“Huh -mh, yeah,” he wheezed, sounding dazed. “Verdammt - scheiße…”

She was writhing, crying, shedding actual tears — grabbing the sheet next to her head with one hand and beside her thigh with the other. Her legs were spread like she was on display, her thighs shaking like the muscles there had been permanently damaged. Kate had been more right than should've been legally fair…

"Gott, du bist schön," he commented on the sight while stroking himself, eased by the fluids all over his cock.

She thought about helping him, but couldn't get up, couldn't even move her hands, could only pant and shudder as he milked himself before her to a quick release.

He threw his head back and almost roared, and the only thing on her mind was the phrase saddest people cum the hardest as his seed shot out in generous spurts, hitting her almost in the face. The first gush already ran down her neck by the time the second fell, a thick rope of cum landing on her breasts, the rest on her stomach.

Something twisted in her stomach when she realized he had called her beautiful one moment and proceeded to cover her with cum the next.

Men…

But it was so fucking good that she only wanted to raise a hand and spread his seed all over her. He was breathing heavily with a softening cock in his fist, the last of the cum dripping to join the mess she had made.

"I hope you got a spare one," she looked at the destroyed sheet between them.

"Yeah," he panted still, half-lidded eyes looking at her up and down like he was piss-drunk and about to pass out.

She patted the space next to her, and he collapsed there, staring at the ceiling, probably trying to remember his name. She took his arm and raised it to wiggle herself under it and against him.

It felt good, being glued to him like this… Naked and spent and sweaty. He shifted, turned to face her, and took her in his arms as they both lay on their side, breathing heavily. She was pressed against the damp hair on his chest while his cum trailed little pathways between them.

"Please tell me you're mine, little Valkyrie," he whispered in her hair. He inhaled deeply and exhaled fully, like he had been in the thin mountain air and only now got enough oxygen again.

"June, I want you and no one else."

Oh, honey… it's just the mind-blowing sex talking.

It was pillow talk and hormones and trauma and all that shit. She was now 110 % sure that he had lost his virginity in that bunker. He wasn't the first nor the last man who thought they had fallen in love with a woman, not realizing what they had really fallen for was sex.

"I love you, June. If you don't want to hear it anymore, I won't say it. But it's true."

"Look…" she sighed.

This was so fucking awkward...

"Have you ever been in love before..?"

"No."

"Listen. I like you, you're a nice guy. And I want to get to know you, really, I do…-"

His breath had shallowed — far too much. The large chest beside her heaved, and she could both hear and feel his heart thumping. He shifted away from her, and she snapped her mouth shut. Slowly, she raised to look at him, and the sight drove a fucking lance through her heart.

She didn’t really know what a panic attack was, but was fairly positive that he was about to have one. He was laying on his back, big palms against his head, and he slid them over his eyes, trying to hide from her. His breathing was getting out of hand by the minute.

Fuck… Why did she have to fucking ruin everything?

"Hey, baby. It's alright. Everything's all right, just.. Breathe. Or talk to me…?"

He balanced on the edge of hyperventilation, still holding his head with his hands, eyes squeezed shut and that beautiful face distorted into agony and pain.

"You don't… want me."

Ice seeped into the pit of her stomach.

"Yeah, it's true I've never been with anyone. I was too shy. Ich habe nie bekommen, was ich wirklich will. Alle lachten und nannten mich Schwul… Und das war nicht das Einzige- mmh."

He was sweating from the German confession she understood but a few words of.

The only thing she caught was something about everyone laughing at him. People were horrible sometimes… or usually. People were vile, they were fucking bullies. But even if he was a bit too kind, a little too eager to please, and socially more than a bit on the awkward side of things, she had thought it a miracle that anyone would pester someone of his size. But exclusion and words could hurt too.

And she felt like an asshole.

She was good at bringing down strong, beautiful things. She liked to drag them through the mud. She was talented at taking aim at the most vulnerable parts and pulling the trigger... But he was already there. He was looking at her from a pool of blood and shit and tears. And she was not the only one who got traumatized in that box made of cement. She was not the only one who had had it rough growing up. From what she could tell, he had had it much worse.

"June, you feel so good that it hurts."

Shit…

Her stomach burst with golden fireflies, a warmth that spread to her heart, her whole chest. Ice and gold and fire mixed together, and she knew it was dangerous… He was dangerous. He was the most frightening thing she had ever faced.

She reached to brush his chest, feeling clumsy, like a child. A total amateur when it came to these things.

"You feel good too," she whispered. "So good. I'm just- I'm scared. It's scary."

She put her arm around him and pulled, then yanked when he wouldn't move. He turned, and she took him in her arms. His head pressed inelegantly between her breasts as she gave him a hug that she hoped would deliver all her affection.

He almost trembled in her arms, and the stabbing, burning feeling in her chest wouldn't stop.

"You really stole my heart, you know? Right from the start."

A breath of warm air crashed against her skin as she slowly stroked the back of his head and whispered in his hair.

"And I've thought about you ever since. It's ok if you want to say it. If that's how you truly feel. But please don't say that I don't want you. Because that sure as hell ain't true."

"...Ok," he muttered in her tits — a quiet, damped breath.

"König, could you just give me some… time? Just take it slow, if that's ok with you."

She refused to say his real name, knowing she wouldn't be able to lie anymore if she did. That she was just as far gone as he was, and having a radical acceptance moment about it. Even her therapist would’ve been proud… Or not. But she really didn't give a fuck.

She released her death grip on him a little, and he slowly raised his head to look at her. It was oddly charming that he was looking up at her and not the other way around.

"Take it slow. Ok. I promise I'll be good to you."

She tried her best not to burst into tears. She tried her very best to keep her hand steady as it caressed his hair, his neck, his back.

"You're so sweet."

She moved to kiss him, a pure cinematic kiss that was unhurried, exquisite, and just the kind of starved that told her he was the one.

"Anybody ever told you how sweet you are?" She whispered in his mouth and could feel how the muscles on his stomach contracted.

"Nein," he rasped back, voice so low that she nearly didn't recognize it belonged to him. He was getting hard again, too.

"Well, now you know," She kissed the top of his nose. She wondered if he had the kind of skin type that was full of freckles in summer.

"You're sweet," he said, the warmth of his words melting her like snow in spring, "like.. cotton candy. Or Apfelstrudel."

"Did you just call me a Strudel?"

"It's a dessert," he explained.

"I know it's a dessert, you… bear," she sputtered with her lack of words.

"Is that the best you can do?" He hummed against her lips, laughter barely a breath away.

"No. But it's your fault that my brain stops working."

He rolled partly on top of her again, his scent hitting her like a drug. The stubble scratched her skin, over and over again, as he kissed her, added tongue, sucked her lip, pressed against her like she was dying and he needed to give her mouth-to-mouth CPR asap.

When he withdrew, only an inch, she was breathless again. And he was smiling.

"Could you say it..? Please, just once. That you're my girl," he pressed his forehead on hers, his eyes betraying all the things she had no courage to show. He was many things, but he was certainly not a coward.

"I'm yours, King. I'm your girl."

"And I'm all yours, June."

She closed her eyes, savored those words, relished the feeling of commitment that was completely novel to her.

"When will you head back?"

"I… cannot tell you that."

She wondered how exactly she was supposed to go home with the knowledge that he would be out there in the field, changing mags amidst grenades and bullets.

"Soon."

"I gotta text Kate that I'm staying over. So she won't worry…"

"You'll stay for the night?"

He sounded so delighted. Excited. Like a dog wagging a tail... She wanted to crush him into another hug and cry until she felt raw.

"Yeah, if you change that sheet.”

She got up, walked to get her jacket, groped through the pockets — and her fingers caught to something small and bendy. Magical thinking or not, it felt like fate, and her lips curled into a small smile.

She found her phone, sent a text to Kate, then put it on mute, shoved it back into the pocket, and twiddled the plastic toy for a moment before closing it inside her palm.

When she returned to him, she had to do a double take. He looked so wiped out - so thoroughly drowsy and content - that it made the gold melt and spread inside her like fire.

"I have something for you."

He rose to his elbows, and she crouched beside him, took his hand, and dropped the small, olive-green toy soldier in his palm.

"It's my lucky charm. Had it on me on every mission."

It had a short key chain attached to it. She wondered whether he would tuck it inside his pocket, or if he would keep it on a table beside his bed. Or attach it somewhere, to bring him luck as it had brought to her. Even on that mission when KorTac had taken her as a prisoner. Especially on that mission…

"Can I ask something in return?"

"Anything."

She looked for it, found it on the floor, and picked it up.

"Can I have this?" She held up his black t-shirt and then brought it to her heart, grasping it tightly with two hands like a plush toy. "It smells of you," she explained, although it must've been obvious why she wanted it. The impact of her request on him was a swelling erection that twitched as he watched her, lips pursed tight, brows drawn together. He was blinking rapidly, trying to dry the tears that had started to form.

"Of course you can, Liebling."

"I can wrap myself in you even when you're away."

A miserable little groan escaped him as his lips tightened even more. She placed his shirt down and crawled back to the bed next to him.

"The downside is that it might stop having your scent in it," she pouted a lip, "but you can always bring me a fresh one when you come back, right?"

His sigh was heartbreaking.

"I can't help it, June."

"June, please don't take this the wrong way. I ask this question because you need to address it someday. Now… Is there any part of you that enjoyed it?"

She had thought of him every fucking day for the past 8 months now. She had thought of his hands, his cock, his puppy eyes, and most of all, that sad, abandoned look he gave her right before she turned and left.

"Did you like him?"

"You'll think I'm crazy."

"This is a place where you can safely say whatever is on your mind."

So what if it didn't make any sense? Who the fuck cared anyway?

Fuck it.

Just fuck it.

As if it was going to get any better by not saying it. Nothing could be worse than those months without him.

"You know what… I can't help it either. And I don't wanna take it slow."

---

"You've been kinda up lately."

Zero munched on whatever was on the menu today — König hadn't really paid mind to what it was.

"Leave went well?"

All eyes turned on him, and he was glad of the hood.

If only they knew just how well…

It had been the best leave ever. She hadn't stayed just for one night; she had stayed for three.

They had gone to see a new Marvel movie, and her kisses had tasted of popcorn and lemonade in the dark theatre. Half of the movie rolled past without him noticing what it was about. She had wanted to go to a sushi restaurant after and make him try all kinds of weird rolls — she had practically fed him with her own chopsticks, wanting to see what kind of reaction he had to each bite. They had gone to that pub for another round, and he had made her taste different types of beers, and when they got to pilsner and unfiltered witbier, she had stuck her tongue out and made a face. "You drink piss in Austria?"

They had gone to the gym, and he had taught her how to do a power clean, and she had insisted on staying in front of him when he did squats — for the purpose of giving him a quick kiss every time he did a rep, she informed him. He was supposed to do a series of 8 but ended up doing at least 12 reps, even with all that weight on his back.

He had shown her his favorite scope, detached it for her inspection from the SAKO he had in the safe. She said it was cool, but she knew a few better ones. And then she looked at him with a mischievous grin and said he should be fingering her instead of gun parts.

They had made love several times a day, just unhinged sex, until he felt soft in the head. Sex in the morning and sex in the evening, and sex at night when the other had woken up, too excited to sleep. They had showered together and done it there, too. He had dried her with his towel and carried her back to bed, all wet and giggling and soft and so sweet he had no words for her, neither in German nor English.

They had ordered takeaway on the last night, and he had watched as she ate it straight from the box, wearing only - and only - one of his shirts that looked huge on her. He had eaten her out not shortly after.

She gave him his first blowjob in the hallway of his apartment, just before he had to leave. He had almost missed the plane. Only when he was running to the gates that were already closing had it occurred to him that perhaps that's what she had aimed for.

And when the plane finally took off, he was blanketed by everything she said. That he was an adorable dumbass and her big boy and a gentleman and how good he was in bed, and that she would count the days to when they would see each other again. And that if he got killed, she would come and raise him from the dead and kill him again for daring to leave her.

"Ja, I got that pint. And the… girl."

"König got laid?" Fender nearly choked on his spaghetti.

Zero gave a hearty laugh, and König felt his cheeks grow hot under the mask.

"That's my man!"

He felt a slap on his back and Conor's eyes on him from across the table but didn't care.

They would eventually get interested in the toy soldier attached to his rifle, dangling from a key chain. The token bestowed upon him... her blessing. Physical evidence that she was real and had left with his shirt and now slept in it.

A reminder that he had a home to go back to.

[ravenna-reid]

Pretty Pretty Eyes

JASONTODD x FEM!VIGILANTE!READER

Summary - Jason had seen you around for months now but never managed to get to talk to you for more than a few seconds. Telling himself he had to investigate what the hell you were doing for Gotham's safety (yep, ok Jason) he makes a plan to stop you from disappearing one night. (Part of the scene inspired by the image in the middle) Enjoy!!

Warnings - Swearing and some violence, maybe like one suggestive line

Jason didn’t know why he felt this way, but he was intrigued by your reactions to everything. Or more accurately, your lack of. He was used to others narrowing their eyes at him, cussing him out, or even trying to throw a punch whenever he said something out of line. But that never happened with you. He was lucky to even get a puzzled frown and “Mm” from you. Then after that, you would disappear before he could even ask you any questions. 

Slick as a whistle and as silent as a ghost. You seemed to always be where trouble followed, and when Jason got to the scene, you weren’t exactly helping the bad guys, but you weren’t exactly stopping them either. Were you a villain? A threat? Were you an ally? He didn’t know, because no matter how hard Jason tried, he could never find a trace on you either. And he’d be damned if he asked Bruce or Dick for help. It ate away at him if he was being honest. 

However, tonight would be the night Jason would finally get his answers. Because he’d found you where he’d least expected to find you. On the top floor of a large building that displayed and sold art. What were you doing? He had no idea. All he knew was that he had to get you this time. 

Once you’d heard his “subtle” footsteps and caught the gleam of his helmet from the corner of the room, you were on the move. Your speciality was slipping away unnoticed, and it worked every time. But Jason came prepared. Gun already raised, he shot something he’d spent weeks making in the Batcave, much to Bruce’s curiosity. A small, vibrant thing shot across the room like lightning and hit you right in the back. You stumbled, then quickly stopped to look behind you. You didn’t feel the agonising pain that came from a bullet wound. And when you looked down, you just couldn’t believe what you were seeing. Bright, neon yellow dust all over the back of your shirt. Now you had no chance of disappearing into the shadows. This man was actually ridiculous. But it was all he had since he’d run out of trackers. Much to your dismay, all you could do was shake your head at the situation and sprint. 

As you threw the door closest to you open, you ran across the roof of the tall building. The cool breeze whipped against your skin. It ran through your hair as you leapt over ladders maintenance men had left behind and roof turbines. Jason followed close behind. And as he grew closer, he grabbed small metal gadgets with his gloved hand from his belt and threw them. Small explosions went off as they hit the ground, releasing thick smoke in front of you. You went to run to the side until you realised you were at the edge. Fuck.

Jason’s arm grabbed at your waist as he tried to pull you back, but you smacked him with your elbow. Using the momentum and grabbing hold of one of his arms, you then swung around behind him and swiftly uncurled the rope that was attached to your belt. Wrapping it around his legs caught Jason off guard given how quickly you moved, and soon Jason dropped down on one knee. You moved the rope up from his leg to around his neck and pulled back. But he managed to escape, grabbing the rope from your grip and tossing it off the building. Once Jason turned to you he paused, breath heavy, and waited for you to give up. Waited for you to realise he just wanted to talk. But you weren’t one to pause during a fight. “Now listen.” He said, hands raised. 

Using a manoeuvre you learnt in Krav Maga many moons ago, you swiftly got the Red Hood on his back, and he had hit the ground like a tonne of bricks. Whilst he was down, you slipped one of your favourite daggers into the palm of your hand and closed the space between you two. Pinning one of his freakishly large arms down with your knee, you now had the dagger at his throat. Jason instantly came to a halt as the cool blade sat comfortably on his skin. A single jarring movement would draw blood, and all he could do was look up at you through his helmet. Both of your chests rose and fell with heavy breaths. The black mask he always saw you in covered your nose down to your chin, but Jason could see that focused glint pass through your eyes.

First the rope, now a blade at his throat?

“You have a thing for necks, huh?” He joked.

You ignored what he’d said. Like always. 

Really, you were just trying to ignore the soft, musky scent that made its way to your nose…

The night went on around you as you tightened your hold on Jason. Being pinned to the ground so easily made him feel overwhelmingly agitated. Pissed off.

Impressed?

Leaning over him - both of your masked faces so close - you were about to say something (scold the living shit out of him) until you heard a click. 

Your head instinctively looked down. Given you had one of his arms pinned, you didn’t think of the other one, hoping the knife to the throat and him being beneath you would be enough to restrain the Red Hood. But now as you looked down to where the sound came from, you saw one of Jason’s loaded glocks, the cool steel gently pressed against the skin on your waist. Your body stilled as a simmering anger washed over you. What a compromising position. 

“And you were so close to getting away, weren’t you?” Jason murmured, a hidden smirk plastered across his face.

You dragged your eyes back to him, and although your mask was covering half of your face he could still see the  foul expression you were giving him. Hell, it was as though he could feel it.

“Why won’t you just give up?” You asked, voice muffled.

Jason was stunned. It was the first time he’d heard your voice. It was warm. Smooth. So…

What the hell was he thinking?

“It’s my job to make sure this city is safe, Princess. Gotta keep track of those that are running around in masks –”

“What? You think I’m some bastard who’s conspiring with drug lords or something?” You asked cooly. 

“If you’re not guilty, why do you keep running away?”

“Why do you care?” 

Jason could feel your muscles tensen. The dagger that still sat at his throat shifted closer. He quickly reminded you of the gun that was still pointed to your waist. 

“Easy now.” The words fell from his lips as though they were a lull. 

Silence settled over you both as you stared at each other. A faint beating thrummed in your heart. Jason’s blood was rushing. You leant down even closer, and Jason swore he could feel your breath on his skin.

“You ruined my shirt.” 

He smiled.

“Well, I guess I’m going to have to make it up to you, aren’t I? Once you tell me who you are.”

You cocked your head to the side. “Mm.”

Then, as you moved your arm back so that your elbow could knock the black cylinder from your opened pouch, the canister dropped to the floor and rolled over beside Jason’s head before exploding. Quickly dragging your body off of him, you slipped your dagger back in its place and leapt down onto a balcony beside the building you were on. As you fled the scene, your head reeled from the events of the night. 

So much for a ruthless vigilante you thought to yourself, a warm smile forcing its way onto your face.

Getting to his feet and wiping the soot like substance from his helmet, he searched for you across the rooftop. But he knew better. You were nowhere to be found. A defeated sigh left Jason as his shoulders dropped, but even with his loss, all Jason could think about were your eyes. Those pretty pretty eyes.

“Until next time.” 

[ashanimus]

On Hunter's Fighting Style and Eclipse Lake

So: Hunter and fighting. Thank you @carpisuns for enabling me.

What he does is he sets up a guard position, and immediately tries to move to an enemy’s blind spot. He would have learned that to compensate around a casting opponent before he had magic--his only hope without a magical staff would be “defend defend defend” and get close enough to break their guard. The goal is a decisive blow to the head or neck to end combat. The priority is staying up because if he’s pinned or disarmed, he’s screwed.

 The ability to teleport means that he starts in a strong defensive position and basically gets a sneak attack, rinse/repeat/adapt. Generally speaking he has to end fights as fast as possible, and given that he trained without magic his whole strategy is built around DEFEND first, decisive strike, DEFLECT magical force (a stick can't hope to counter it without magic). We also see a little bit of this implied training with his parkour abilities. Without the ability to fly, or the ability to summon plants to carry him to his destination, he would've had to learn all of this physically. Let's dig into some of the details of how this separates Hunter from most of his opponents. Let's talk about FIGHTING!

Most witches take their magic purely for granted. Because of this, it is likely uncommon for people to turn their own bodies into extremely efficient machines like how martial artists or athletes are required to. In their own way, these skills are generally probably pretty impressive to the average witch outside of combat — and within it they're surprising at least for the first few seconds. And in combat, seconds are really what matter. Most actual fights are over in less than 10. And one of the things that separates a trained fighter from a casual brawler or the average person defending themselves is the conditioning it takes to actually respond in time. 

Most people don't respond to fight stimuli by fighting. Most people go into freeze or flight. When it comes to serious fight training, one of the first things that happens is called conditioning. For sports that means getting the body into a particular kind of well, condition — but for combat the conditioning is also mental. If you've seen stereotypes of things like Army boot camp where the drill sergeant is yelling at people and slinging abuse constantly, that's actually part of it. I am reliably told they try not to do this as much anymore. But if you're doing something like Krav Maga which is more or less brutal streetfighting but formalized in a dojo environment that is absolutely part of the training (or at least, it was part of mine!).

Specifically, when you're learning the throw punch or doing a series of them, what they will have us do is scream and swear at our opponents (and they will sometimes scream and swear at us during spars or drills) in order to condition our minds as well as our bodies for the ugliness of an actual violent confrontation. Yelling, intimidation, insults, swears those are all part of the human "puff up and look big" thing. The other thing about conditioning in this way is the instructor teaching someone how to be hit and actually hit back. As I said before, most people tend to sink into freeze or flight. The average person who has not been trained needs to be hit an average of six times before they're able to summon up the nerve to strike back. By then, the confrontation is almost always over.

The reason I outline all of this is because it highlights the conditioning gulf between Hunter and the others, as well as trying to explain how he’d be approaching most enemies and WHY. Speed and dexterity is obviously critical, but the approach matters immensely as well.

This is especially true when you have a combatant like Hunter who is starting from a punishing disadvantage against the vast majority of his casting opponents. Without magic, the only weapon he has is his body. When you train on a weapon, that weapon becomes an extension of your body. As such, a critical part of this kind of training is gaining an awareness of the body in order to hone in mind-to-muscle control. Martial artists, dancers, etc have a scary amount of precise control in this way, not that much different than an excellent musician who understands their hands and the intimate ins and outs of their instrument. Developing awareness, control and practice is what creates reliable muscle memory. This more than anything is Hunter’s (and any martial artists tbh) superpower.

Witch's magic is shown to be driven by emotions, thoughts and feelings.

This gives them the benefit of reflexes helping them out in the face of sudden danger, but nobody is invulnerable to the sudden appearance of somebody inside their personal bubble hitting them in the temple with a really big stick. If Hunter is on target and playing for keeps the confrontations is over, witches duel: won. Even without magic. 

Once Hunter has access to magic, his muscle memory is the same, with added oomph and a battle style combat-ready witches would be baffled by. Brawlers would be exceedingly rare on the BI except for niche sports and probably those highly unusual witches and demons who practice a form of magical martial arts. One or more of these unusual individuals would have helped train him (someone had to and Belos seems like he’d move like a broken ikea chair on his best day when he’s not a bone-rotted goop monster). Likely more. Hunter was obviously not allowed to get close to any teachers (I would expect that they were under strict orders to stay distant or otherwise motivated). 

So most of this is context to kind of the depth I saw and how Hunter's fighting movements are animated, but now let me go into how his actual personality and emotional conflicts affect his ability to fight.

Over the course of the show, we can see a pretty direct correlation of his emotional state and priorities to his efficacy and fight. Basically, when his goal is directly aligned with how he feels about it, he’s very good. But when those things have conflict, his effectiveness goes down. When we first meet him as the GG, he is very intimidating and using heavy amounts of magic from the staff Belos gave him. He rolls easily through his first encounter with Luz, etc etc. And even though neither Eda or Luz are capable of putting up too much of a fight, he's goofing around for the entirety of that encounter, you can hear the smile even while he's dodging — and it's one of easy confidence. He can trust his body to do most of that pretty much automatically which frees him up to pontificate.

Against Kikimora he was effective because despite the fact he was self-sabotaging his mission, it was within his moral alignment. He was defending himself, but Luz had moved him, and he protected her. Protecting, generally speaking, his Hunter’s preference and his entire fighting style is based mostly on defensive forms. And being by nature a gentle person, defense feels better — especially when he knew Luz was doing the right thing in protecting the Palismen. It was one of the instances that we see where his intelligence was able to overcome his brainwashing long enough to act on it, and the Avenue was Luz's respect and kindness. That being said, fighting Kikimora was more of a struggle or at the very least a more even contest. Even debilitated by the sleeping nettles, Kikimora was not a pushover and he did end up letting his guard down pretty significantly and that she did get the first hit on him, distracted as he was by his emotional moment with Luz. The giving of the name was an explicit show of vulnerability that was immediately exploited by an opponent who if she had aimed slightly to the left would've caved his skull in.

Now, Eclipse Lake is a little more interesting. There were a ton of factors that led to him fighting to a standstill with Amity. I wouldn't really call it a loss either, but I'll get into that in just a second.

Hunter is at this point fueled by anxiety. He started the entire endeavor by deliberately disobeying a direct order from the mouth of the Emperor to try and make up for a recent failure that Belos has let Hunter believe is affecting his favor. Already that's an unbelievably emotional place with incredibly high stakes. At this point, we're well aware of the fact that Belos treats Hunter brutally. The best case scenario for returning empty-handed after disobeying a direct order is a beating that would probably leave him with more scars than he started, but what Hunter actually fears is being replaced. While at this stage he doesn't regard his life as something that necessarily belongs to him, but the successful outcome of this might as well be life-and-death. 

Deliberately disobeying the Emperor does actually have a material impact on how Hunter arrives at the Knee. Because this is a stealth mission, he wasn’t able to bring his mechanical staff--the thing that would give him away to Kikimora. Flapjack had not fully become his palisman yet. Which means that Hunter hiked up that mountain after Kikimora and her party, navigating waist deep snow knowing that if he was caught she would kill him. He also knows that she is currently surrounded by her partisans, and it is super unlikely that any of them would stick up for him in a way that would put them at odds with her. With no support, no ability to take a break and probably no rations he was probably pretty hungry, tired and dehydrated by the time Eda and Amity had made it up there. And they had the benefit of being able to fly. That's one thing I don't see people talking about enough when it comes to considering the relative strength of Amity and Hunter. The little rag-eared bastard had already had a very very long and physically arduous and miserable day, maybe even more than one!.

He also bit off more than he could reasonably chew with those disadvantages in mind. He only has to make one mistake and he’s toast. He didn’t account for Flapjack dragging him to Eda and Amity’s feet. As far as he knew, they could have really hurt him, or left him--having no guarantee or even expectation of Flapjack’s assistance. But none of this changes the fact that Hunter spends the next couple of hours tied up. Amity wasn't gentle (why would she be?). We see him rubbing his wrists and stretching his shoulders out once he is free.

Cartoons often don't make anything of this gesture, but the truth of it is this: if you been bound for any length of time, especially in the position that Hunter was, what it does is it yanks on your shoulders, your chest, it hurts the hell out of your elbows and you lose feeling in your hands. The minute you’re released, all the blood goes back into those areas and it hurts like hell. IT REALLY HURTS. And you're stiff.

Which finally brings us back to the actual confrontation between Amity and Hunter. Hunter has experienced incredible emotional highs and lows over the course of this journey. There were probably at least three or four times where he was almost killed. He is tired as hell, frozen stiff, probably in pain, almost certainly hasn't eaten or had anything to drink for a very inappropriate amount of time and he has no weapon. He's also on the brink of despair and crackup. And his mission? At this point, he’s staring down the barrel of guaranteed failure. When Amity is talking to him and trying to comfort him, he is so up a creek that for a moment he actually is hearing what she has to say. Given the depth of his devotion to Belos at this point  that is saying a lot about how he feels about his prospects at the moment. 

So when he sees the key, he attacks her out of desperation. Pure emotion. He has to at least try. There is no scenario where an unarmed combatant can wrestle the armed abomination prodigy with auxiliary support. Then Flapjack joins the fight, and that changes everything. You can see it in how his expression changes once he takes what's offered: magical aid. Suddenly he has a fighting chance. A fighting chance. 

However, he is now using a weapon he's never used before — and I think that has a huge impact on how that fight went. Palismen are shown to respond to their wielder's thoughts. Later, in ASIAS, we can even see Flapjack responding to Hunter's mind when he's doing all the staff tricks to impress the students. This leads me to believe that wielding a Palisman staff is less like swinging an inert stick and more like moving a limb. And when your entire fighting style depends on knowing exactly where your own center of mass is at absolutely all times, that would change Hunter's balance, and throw his timing and physicality off.

All things considered, given the unbelievable disadvantage that Hunter started with, I kind of wish the fandom gave him more credit. With his emotions in absolute tatters in addition to being a physical disaster and using a new weapon, he is absolutely at his worst here! Amity is fighting from a position of knowing she has backup coming in addition to the backup she already has in King. Even then, she's fighting to get away from him. And Hunter, in addition to using a new tool and all of the aforementioned problems is going full out on the attack-- which is very contrary to how he prefers to fight. When you go this feral into a combat, the emotional place itself is a disadvantage.

And even after all that? Amity didn't beat him. They fought to a standstill.

She has a blade to his throat, he had Flapjack on her hand. With Flapjack in his possession, if for any reason she tried to open his throat he would still have the option of flash stepping away. She might have cut his neck enough to bleed, but not enough to kill him instantly. In holding the way she did, she missed her chance at a fatal opening (and she's never killed anyone before. Interpretation is out for Hunter, I generally don't headcannon him as ever having killed directly with his own hands although I do think he's done some real damage).

He says to her, "Listen. You're strong, and I'm tired. If this continues, you'll probably escape. But here's the thing: we know where to find you--and your human."

The first part of that statement has way less to do with Amity's training or skill as an equal to Hunter's (she clearly has a little, but if you're as good as Hunter is at his age, you would've started at around three years old and that probably was not the case for Amity), and more a statement of the fact that Hunter is actually physically exhausted and there is the slight possibility that Amity might be able to outlast him in terms of endurance. But what I think is a lot more pertinent is the reality that Hunter has an incredibly small window of time to achieve victory before Eda the HARPY OWL LADY comes flying through that tunnel to beat his already exhausted ass.

He also says: "If this CONTINUES". And he even says probably. He's incredibly fucking tough at least in terms of what he's capable of enduring before he falls down and can't get up.

If Eda did come through to help Amity, the best case scenario for Hunter at that point is they leave him senseless or in too rough of a shape to escape from Kikimora. Kikimora openly despises him, is extremely petty/cruel, and is surrounded by her own partisans (who have demonstrable willingness to murder teenagers!). She screeched about how excited she was about exacting revenge (and unbeknownst to Hunter she absolutely knows how disposable he is in the grand scheme of things!).

She’s a lot more interested in Hunter’s blood than Titan’s blood at the moment. Hunter would die BADLY and slowly at her little claws if she got him. 

So he tries a last-ditch measure by leveling a threat Amity that he couldn’t hope to carry out even if he wanted to. It's ironic that the only reason that they were both able to achieve a partial victory here is because Hunter was able to effectively empathize with her enough to see his own vulnerability in her and squeeze it.

To all that stuff about how his emotions affect his ability to battle, if we look at what happened on the day of unity, at that stage he was still unable to confront his abuser and would-be murderer. He did not strike Belos once, and spent the whole time playing defense on behalf of his friends, taking up a defensive position and otherwise moving them out of harm's way. He's in the process of actively dying and his right (dominant) arm is paralyzed, so his form is pretty crap but this speaks to his iron will to stay breathing for as long as he can. And he's lasted a lot longer than the most affected adults. The lack of a bile sac probably comes into it a bit...but it's not the only factor here.

So yeah! I hope that this provides a little bit more nuance to the conversation! And again, thank you to the animators and storyboarders for taking such time and care for portraying Hunter’s fighting with respect to his personality and arc. 

For anyone interested in my meta and analysis, please check out the "ash's owl house meta" tag on this blog and/or follow @idlescree for my video essays! We have more in the works coming soon :)

Tags for those who requested tags!

@skyelights-xox @rainbowangel110 @bookworm010307

[kraviolis]

my reactions to episode 3 of the last of us hbo summed up

[kravicle]

ADHD ryunosuke naruhodo. send post

[johannestevans]

had a Great experience the other day where i was at a trans event and started talking to this woman who was also Jewish, and so we were talking about like, Jewish movies and gender roles in different Jewish and Ashkenazi spaces and antisemitism and like, broader philosophical concepts and it was genuinely really nice

and at some point this other girl came over and mentioned wanting to be a cop, and when she was resolutely shut down by everyone else in the social circle, she started dropping "fun facts" about hitler's regime

such as that "hitler didn't really hate jews, his second in command, himmler, did, and he led the whole thing. hitler was just the face of it" and then at some point said something like "you know, people say even churchill was kind of racist"

and i was like. "yeah. churchill did multiple genocides and also hated jewish people."

and she replied, "yeah. makes you think that no one's actually good, doesn't it?"

and i went, "no. that's a very cowardly position to take, i would posit, by someone too lazy or too spineless to make an effort to be "good", as you say."

and that shut her up for a bit

and then the conversation moved on a bit more, and got onto the topic of israel, and she said something vaguely to the effect of like. jewish voices where she - to her credit, i do believe unintentionally - implied that a Jewish group were Zionist when they weren't, they were just Jewish

and i corrected her, and she went "well, yeah. Israelis aren't real Jews anyway"

and i said, "can you tell me what you mean by that?"

and she said, "well, like. loads of jews oppose israel actually being and having a state, right? like that's part of the scripture, and has been for ages. and loads of israelis are just americans and they're just racist"

and so then i like. explained that yes, when it came to the formation of israel, many Jews opposed it because jews aren't meant to have their own state until after the coming of the messiah, and also that yes, a lot of criticism of israel should rightly be made as to the way it's colonial in its nature and its desire to form a white jewish ethnostate

eugenics have always been part of the israeli mentality, not merely in wanting to be like, broadly white, but also in the ideology around israelis being "super Jews", and a large part of this came as israel tried to establish itself as a more positive territory worldwide through the '60s when it was pushing itself as a tourist destination

many orientalist tropes were taken on, the positive ones, israeli women being presented as desirable and exotic, israeli men as strong and lethal; the focus on the IDF and krav maga and the depiction of palestinians and other arabs as monsters they're triumphing over, the push to define israelis as having a "middle easten" identity when the choice was made to take over palestine over various other locations around the world, in part to legitimise the israeli identity by establishing it as a literal homecoming, and attempting to redefine Jews coming to israel as a return to their indigenous roots

but to say that by virtue of being israelis no israeli jew is a "real jew" is a pretty thorny area, because "jewish" has always been a religion and an ethnicity, and a complexedly policed and examined one. israeli jews will often claim that non-israeli jews or particularly anti-Zionist jews aren't real jews, and that kind of attitude of attempting to delegitimise the other group's identity rather than grappling with the actual harms of their politics or identities is not like. valuable

and then i was telling her a little bit about the history of like. not only the constructed israeli identity, but also forms of racism within the jewish communities - pushing forward modern hebrew whilst pushing back yiddish, ladino, and other jewish languages, because languages associated with poverty, the shtetl, the shoah, or with being too brown or too foreign, undercut the "super jew" idea, even without getting into israeli treatment of ethiopian jews and other Black and darker skinned jews

and i was just like. i don't care that you're bored, i don't care that this is more complicated than you cared for, bc like. attitudes that end up dismissing all jews as supporting the state of israel and therefore evil, or like. atttiudes where you end up really racialising and getting into ethnic condemnations of jews without understanding the history or implications of what you're saying are a large thing of what makes leftist and queer spaces feel so unsafe for jewish people across the board

and i was then like. "do you understand that the modern state of israel has always wanted people to believe that nowhere but a state run by jews is safe for the jewish people? that when you make even leftist and anti-zionist jews feel unsafe in leftist spaces, that's what some israelis want, in the hopes that that lonely experience of antisemitism will be harmful enough to have them go to zionist spaces instead?"

and she really did seem to have a moment of. oh.

because like. fucking yeah, babe. obviously.

but it's just so exhausting bc i went from some really fun and exciting conversations about jewish cinema and antisemitism on the screen and like. jewish gender and gender roles and how they relate to diff experiences of being racialised or pushed into an underclass

and then i had to pivot into giving some ABCs of not talking like a fucking nazi to some goyische 4channers

and i know that being pushed out of a space like this is likely to radicalise the nazi cop girl more, that it's better for her to be in a trans space and be told some of her opinions are shitty and harmful than to be like, excluded and then made to seek out even more racist spaces to exist in, but it's just like. shit. it's just really shit

like it's great to care about your leftist politics but sometimes your reading needs to be more than like. your specific hyperfixation/special interest anarchist who took part in fucking pogroms

[boizandgurlzinthehouse]

𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐁*𝐓𝐂𝐇 (𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐄𝐑𝐀)

; 𝐆𝐔𝐍-𝐖𝐎𝐎 𝐗 𝐅𝐄𝐌!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈. 𝐍𝐎 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐖𝐒, 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐒.

summary: killing kim myeong-gil would bring many people satisfaction. as hyeon-ju, gun-woo, woo-jin and the others begin to plan on how to do it, choi knows that there's someone in seoul who would take part in it with much pleasure.

wordcount: 3.348k (i got a little bit excited, the other chapters gonna be shorter don't worry)

tw: swearing, almost-fighting, so just plain bloodhounds-things (i update this section with every new part of the story)

author's note: i watched the k-drama in one day, it's wonderful. a little explaining for the "y/h/c", i wrote it with creme-blonde haired character so i'd recommend some extreme or light color. other than that, it's free for every hair color!!

in the burger shop, the pregnant silence after gun-woo's confession about the loan and his mother's café shop was broken by the arrived burgers, brought by woo-jin. hyeon-ju's face became hard again.

"as you heard, my grandpa is no longer a loan-shark. he provides zero-interest loans to people in need. but we occasionally come across punks who try to take advantage of his good heart. yang jae-myeong was one of them. he lied about his mother needing to get an operation. he borrowed ten million won and vanished. it took me half a year to track him down. i saw him begging in front of a train station. at first, I thought he had really become homeless, but i noticed how clean his teeth were as I was passing by. so i tailed him, I found out that he and his goons were pretending to be homeless and stealing IDs from actual homeless people. they use the IDs to create shell corporations and open bank accounts. then they con loan sharks and take out loans anywhere from tens to hundreds of millions of won. this tactic was so professional, we thought there could be someone behind yang jae-myeong. i heard that this person had connections to yang jae-myeong. do you know him?"

after the photo was shown, they talked about how to follow yang jam-myeong's gang, but before the trio stood up from the table, hyeon-ju nodded to the guys to stay sit. digging into her jacket's pocket, she took out a piece of paper that seemed to be like a photo.

"before you begin stalking the gang, i want you to find this girl. i didn't have the time to talk to her, since i was searching for yang jae-myeong, but now i want you two to talk to this girl. gun-woo, tell her about the loans your mom signed and what happened after. she's hard-headed and kind of keeping to herself."

"fine, but who's she?" woo-jin asked, as gun-woo looked at the picture. long y/h/c hair, the mask was on her face, but she had wide, clear speaking eyes. ones like woo-jin's, the ones you look in and can read from them without a loud word.

"she's y/n. i heard my grandpa talk about him on the phone, this was the only picture i could get about her. she doesn't have instagram, facebook or any of these apps, i took this from my grandpa's office. it's possible that she won't open up to you, but it's a must to talk to her."

"yeah, i get it. but why do you want us to find her?" gun-woo was also interested about this question. was she an enemy? young kids can also be stolen by criminals and raised by them, to be as loyal as a dog can to do anything for theirs.

"y/n is good, don't worry. as far as i know from what my grandpa said on the phone, she is someone whose parents were close to my grandpa. she followed her father's track and trained herself in the most brutalist martial arts, like the israelite krav maga, the russian systema or muay thai."

"aisssh, i wouldn't want to confront her in any way", woo-jin said. gun-woo thought about these fights; he only saw muay thai on tv, and that seemed really dangerous in itself. he knew that as soon as they begin to track the girl, he's gonna search up the other two martial arts on his phone.

"yeah, me neither" gun-woo added.

"will you two do? and asking for her phone number?" hyeon-ju asked, the guys nodded.

"yes, of course. but i'll bring a white flag just in case", woo-jin answered as they stood up from the table.

a few hours later, gun-woo and woo-jin were on the streets, wandering around buildings.

"fuck, how can we find someone in a town where nearly ten million people lives?" woo-jin asked. gun-woo looked at the picture. 

“hyeon-ju said that she’s a pro in martial arts. maybe we should look in the gyms?” 

woo-jin patted his chest, “look, a real genius here.” 

going to every gym around the town, gun-woo and woo-jin began to lose hope. 

“maybe she’s working today or just doesn't feel like coming down to train.” gun-woo began to think about what to tell hyeon-ju if they don’t find the girl. she sure will be pissed or angry, but this is a really difficult task. 

“aish, gun-woo, don’t be like that! would you say something like this? people like us, people who train daily, their safe place is the gym. feeling sad? go to the gym! feeling happy? go to the gym! did your date went well? go to the gym! you just broke up with your girlfriend? go to the gym! look, for every problem, there’s a solution, and the solution is called–”

as woo-jin talked and talked, gun-woo thought he’s hallucinating. on the other side of the crosswalk, a girl tapped on her phone. same (y/h/c) hair, same (e/c) eyes, the same way she dipped her shoulder as she looked behind her, even the black sweater was the same. she wasn’t tall, the arms of her sweater weren't puffed from muscles. maybe she isn’t y/n, but they can try. 

“woo-jin, look. do you think that is her? y/n?” he asked, cutting off his friend. woo-jin looked at the picture, than at the girl, than at the picture again, and the girl again. 

“honestly, how could we know if we don’t ask her?” woo-jin smiled, just as he always does when he’s in some doubtful situation. they began to walk behind the girl. she wore earphones. woo-jin went to tap her shoulder, but when he touched her shoulder, the girl turned around, grabbing woo-jin’s wrist to keep him still so she could punch him in the face, gun-woo hurried to stand beside woo-jin. the girl took out the earphones with her free hand. 

“what the fuck do you want from me?” she asked, looking up from under her eyebrows, looking from one second to another at each of them, like she waited for some attack. she really was a pro, gun-woo said to himself. gun-woo had to admit that she was quite pretty. not like pretty girls from clubs or his high school and university, or the nurses at the marine, but some pretty girl that his mother would like to date him. he bent deep down. 

“we are sorry to disturb you, but we have a question. we don’t mean harm, we don’t intend to hurt you” he said fast, and the girl let go woo-jin after looking at the guy, and making sure he nodded. the girl turned, pointing to one of the restaurants. 

“can we talk while i eat? i just came out from training, i’m starving.” woo-jin and gun-woo nodded, following the girl. 

“so, what did you want to ask?” the girl began eating. woo-jin looked at gun-woo, who watched her dainty fingers grabbing the utensils. he sighed and took out the photo, placing it down to the table so the girl could see, she stopped eating instantly. pulling up her eyebrows, she distanced from the table a little bit. before any of the guys could talk, the girl began to speak fast and stark. “are you from the police? the secret service or some fucking spy-bullshit? what the fuck do you want from me? it doesn’t matter, i shouldn't talk to any of you, i’m not gonna do this shit. how did you get this photo of me?” gun-woo wanted to talk, but the anger in her eyes made his mouth shut. “doesn't matter, i hope i'll never see you again.” she began to pick up her things. gun-woo thought about hyeon-ju, sir choi, her mother, and the ugliest guy that beat him up that night in the coffee shop. 

“we just want to ask you about your name,” he spoke clear. “we’re just curious if you’re y/n or not. anyway, my name is gun-woo, and he’s woo-jin.”

“yeah, why? you probably know this because you have every information about me.” she replied, her chest rising and falling a little bit faster than usual. 

“no, we don’t. we… so, well… we know a man who’s name is sir choi. and her granddaughter… her granddaughter told us to meet you.” 

y/n looked around herself, like checking if someone else was there as a spy or some third wheeler, but when everybody was lazily chomping down on their dinner, being on their phone with some boring video or tweet, she slowly sat back down. sir choi’s name moved something in her, because she leaned closer to the guys. 

“if that’s what about i think it is about, then this is some serious shit. really, maybe the most serious shit in seoul’s money and business history, so if you truly mean sir choi’s name, than i really recommend you two to turn around and walk away from all of this. understood?” gun-woo sighed. 

“i think that i’m deeper in this than i wanted to”, he replied, the girl looked at him from under her lashes. 

“what do you mean? is this about loans?” gun-woo nodded, the girl looked up to the ceiling, sighing, letting out a long whisper of swearings. “then we aren't talking about the price of my dinner, aren't we?”  

“we don't talk about money, we talk about catching the men who are behind this.” woo-jin continued, y/n looked up at him, smiling sadly. 

“i hope that you are alright in the head, so you can understand that this is nearly impossible.” 

“it is not, believe us. we gonna find a man who’s in contact with them.” y/n sighed, looked to the side, looking at her phone. 

“how can i trust you two? really, anyone can talk to me about this, anyone who took loans from the old man.” “we found this photo of you in sir choi’s office.” 

“you two? how did you get into sir choi’s office? not even his closest people could get there.” gun-woo looked at woo-jin, sighing. 

“well, not us, but his granddaughter. her name is hyeon-ju, we are her so-called bodyguards.”

“i don’t know anyone who’s name is hyeon-ju. so, summing up, not sir choi, but his granddaughter wants to talk to me? why?” 

woo-jin looked at gun-woo. “can we talk a little bit?” 

“sure.” y/n responded, turning back to her food. woo-jin gulped. 

“should we tell her about the plan? yang jae-myeong? but what if hyeon-ju wants to tell her this?”

“i think she would understand it better if we told her. she doesn't know who we are, and sir choi’s name means something to her, but in this case, sir choi doesn't know about our mission.” woo-jin shrugged his shoulder, turning back to y/n. 

“it’s about catching a man who’s in connection with the loan-sharks, and the one smile capital. since hyeon-ju told us to find you, we think that you’d be interested to catch these guys.” 

“this is real, they have some repayments for me.” gun-woo somehow knew that this wasn't about money, but how could he ask when they knew each other for two hours? 

“so, are you in it, or not?” woo-jin leaned forward, offering his hand for a handshake. y/n pointed up her forefinger. 

“one talk. only one session with hyeon-ju, and then i decide whether i'm in or not.” she stated, woo-jin and gun-woo nodded, while they smiled lightly. looking at each other, they shared the ‘we made it’-look, making the girl scrunch her eyebrows. “okay then, where and when should we meet tomorrow? i guess this can't wait, if that’s so important that you found me.” y/n brushed her hair behind her ear, gun-woo didn’t miss the tattoos on her fingers, and the 

“maybe… tomorrow at noon? here, in front of this restaurant.” gun-woo offered, the girl nodded. 

“deal. see you guys tomorrow!” she said as she stood up, gun-woo stood up too. he didn't know why, he just felt that he needed to accompany the girl, no matter where she went home. 

“wait, y/n!” the girl turned around, woo-jin looked at him like he had some shock or something. “where… where do you go home?” 

‘to yongsan, and you?” she asked, gun-woo’s eyes lighted up. 

“me too. would you mind if i… so, maybe we can go home together?” he asked, hoping that the girl wouldn't mind. 

“yes, we can. goodbye, woo-jin!” she answered easily, bidding goodbye to the guy beside gun-woo. after she went out of the door, woo-jin began to lap gun-woo’s back. 

“aye, gun-woo! did little y/n just trickle some love into your heart?” he asked grinning, gun-woo shook his head. 

“no, it’s just… what if she gets into trouble at night? it’s dangerous.” gun-woo answered innocently, making woo-jin do a little ‘tsk’ in the corner of his mouth. 

“by her grabbing on my wrist before he almost punched me to death, the one who needs protection is me!” woo-jin dramatized the situation, pointing at his wrist. 

“she didn’t do anything, and she won’t again. she seems… peaceful.” 

“yeah, well, stopped beating me because she found his prince.” woo-jin continued the teasing by adding some eyelash flutter that girls do when they find someone really handsome, making gun-woo roll his eyes. “okay, well, just go. and tell me everything when you get home. or… if you haul up at hers. or i hope that your house has thick walls and your mother doesn’t mind the constant whining noise!” he giggled, having fun. he could tease his friend forever, now that this girl was in the picture. 

“woo-jin-ah! don’t do this!” gun-woo replied, making woo-jin laugh. 

“okay, okay! have fun, and bring her too! don’t forget to ask for her phone number!” 

“goodnight, woo-jin.” 

stepping out into the chilly night air, y/n waited for him. they began to walk to the bus station. gun-wo thought about what he should ask from her. family? no, that's too personal, and they just met today. he wasn’t good with girl stuff, only had one girlfriend and she dumped him after two months, when he applied to the marine. 

“so, since when do you box?” she asked, making gun-woo looking at her wondering. 

“how… how did you know that i box?” y/n snapped with her tongue, looking at him. she had pretty eyes, and although her mask was on, she seemed like this was the easiest question in her entire life. 

“when your friend grabbed my shoulder, his grip was firm, his palms are not too big, but they are strong. he lifted his other arm, just in case he needed to protect himself. i think i even saw your friend on the tv. you two are muscular, it can be seen from under jackets, but your legs’ aren't as muscular as your torso. in other martial arts, you need to train your legs too, to kick as strong as you can, but in boxing, you only use your arms. oh, and bodyguards are most of the time professional agents, but you two are young. or am i wrong?” 

gun-woo didn’t know how to respond, he wanted to tell her how cool it was to deduce what they did, just from looking at them. 

“no, you are right. and… hyeon-ju told us that you are a pro in many martial arts, so… since when do you train?” 

“since my childhood. it’s not that difficult, many movements and styles are similar.”

“did you fight competitively? like, in championships?” 

y/n shook her head. 

“no. only in gyms, i don’t like championships. you can get burned out easily. but i guess, since you asked that, you do championships. what is it like?” 

gun-woo smiled under his mask. y/n was really cute as she asked about him. otherwise, maybe he could never tell her these things. he wasn’t a man of words, and only a few times he knew what to say. 

“you would like it, really much. before covid, the arenas were filled with people, and the energies, the mood was really high and good.”

y/n hummed as they got on the bus, sitting beside each other. gun-woo protested that he should sit on the outer seat, and as y/n didn’t sense any dangers from him, she accepted and sat down. 

“i hope that this hyeon-ju girl is cool, because i had some cat fights with others in the last weeks. girl fight in the gyms, you know.”

“cat fights? with girls?” 

“yeah, but it wasn't so serious, i wondered where all the girls were, who'd ripped each other apart. a year ago, those fights were brutallic, like some freaking mma-cage fight, and now… at there, we say about these lazy gym-championships that there were no claws, but only strokes.” 

gun-woo snickered. 

“and these gym fights, do they pay well? or… do you work somewhere?” 

the girl looked at him, scanning him from bottom to top while leaning to the glass window, leaning on her elbow, tilting her head. “you don’t look like a drinker, so i don’t think we would meet at my workplace.”

“you're a bartender? woo-jin would like this! he likes to drink, sometimes, always saying how good he can bear alcohol.”

y/n laughed. 

“yeah, he looks like the typical tough guy who grew up on the bad side of the river, but when the two of you constantly looked at each other, i knew that he’s just as rookie as you.”

“yeah, that’s right. we began to work recently at sir choi, we are his granddaughter’s, hyeonju’s bodyguards. but she said she don’t need bodyguards.”

“but if she doesn’t need you, then how did you stay?” 

gun-woo sighed. 

“i… i begged for her to stay. i have a debt to work off to sir choi.” 

“oh, so you work down the loan sir choi gave you, and this is the way you are affected personally by these loans?” 

gun-woo thought about that night. when in-beom beat him up, when the boss threatened him not to call the police because his mother would end up dead, when he felt like he can’t do anything. looking at y/n, he didn’t want this girl to get involved in this business. gulping, gun-woo nodded. 

“yeah. my mother too.”

“you work for your mother and her protection? you take life danger upon yourself so that she doesn't get hurt?” y/n asked, pulling together her eyebrows. 

“we could say so.”

y/n sighed, looking forward, leaning back on the seat. looking at her hands, picking at the tattoos she had on her fingers. after a few seconds, she bent closer to gun-woo. she had dauntlessness and bravery in her eyes, without a blink of her eyelashes. her lashes were longer than usual, giving her the attitude on the outside as on the inside. pressing the get-off button of the bus, she gathered her bag in her lap. 

“i understand it now. in this case, count me in, too.” 

gun-woo looked at her. 

“why? you doesn’t even know what is this about, this is serious danger, y/n.” 

y/n shrugged her shoulders as gun-woo let her out from her seat, as they stood, y/n gave her a piece of paper. 

“because it’s personal for me, too. see you tomorrow, gun-woo.” 

gun-woo bent deep down as the bus stopped. 

“thanks, y/n, for talking to us, and not beating up woo-jin.”

y/n giggled, and bent slightly down too. 

“thank you for giving me an opportunity.”

as she got off, gun-woo sat back, folding out the paper. it was her number, they didn’t even ask for her number and she gave it to him! on the paper, there was a little message too. 

show this to hyeon-ju. you guys forget everything. make sure she notes my number. and don’t worry, we are going to figure this out, one way… or another. y/n. 

𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐔𝐄𝐃.

author's note: i hope you liked the first chapter. sorry for my english, it's not my first language, and i just got back to writing after a looong break. leave a like or comment if you liked it!! by babes

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[vodrae]

Batfamily members being fitness influencers

Bruce : 4 hours uncut podcast, can't go two sentences without quoting 12 studies.

Dick : Talking about discipline but most importantly being proud of ourself and having fun.

Barbs : Talking about the difficulties to stay active in a wheelchair without taboo, and how positive it can be to join a club to see we are not alone.

Jason : "Big weitz, big moocles !" *Get lifted by Artemis*

Cass : How to fight and practice swan Lake at the same time, part 1

Tim : Get roast by his family everytime he speaks about the importance of rest. Joke on them, nobody sleeps in this family. Also often filmed with his not at all obvious crush 6'3 best friend from Metropolis with muscles made of steel.

Steph : Get viral dancing when she spots a tripod in the gym. Is in the background watching cass like a pile of waffles.

Harper : Krav Maga tutorial. Is probably responsible of 12 crooks going blind this week.

Duke : How to not touch the bar early even if we know the guy won't get this rep.

Damian : Lightsaber tutorials are less suspicious than katana's one.

Harley and Selina : How to integrate gymnastic moves in professional life.

Talia : Teaching to stepchildren how to dance. Every dance. In every situation. In every country.

Alfred : Unexpected strength compilation.

[autisticshadowthehedgehog]

I'm not the only person who's had the misfortune of seeing discourse claiming that Wendy is Zionist Propaganda, right? Like, I get keeping a critical eye on stuff Paramount makes 'cuz of that one pro-Israel statement they released a while back, but... Wade's family is *Jewish,* not *Israeli.* I can't say I'm not a bit worried that people are unable or unwilling to tell the difference...

From what i can tell– and, again, I'm goy, take my opinion with a grain of salt– there is literally only one (1) line that's a little sketch. All the rest of it is literally just the family... being Jewish and existing as Jewish people. The only line that was a lil yikes was when they mention that the mom used to be a "krav maga" instructor, specifically mentioning it's an Israeli martial art– whether it was for the IOF or regular self-defense training isn't stated. That was a little concerning, but me and the server did look it up and the show was written in 2022 and filmed in April 2023, so it wasn't a line added in response to, er, current events or anything. Maybe in poor taste but probably not added maliciously. Keeping the line in the scene with current events in mind was a shitty thing to do, definitely, though, not gonna deny that.

But the lines that I'm specifically seeing people bitch about are... the ones about Jewish people having suffered in the past? Which. Yeah guys. They have. A lot. They're not talking about Palestine they're talking about, like, the one shit billion times the Jewish people have been displaced, oppressed, etc. In a few minutes they're talking about the forty-year-time-out in the desert after Moses's fuckup. A good chunk of Jewish holidays can be boiled down to "they tried to kill us, we survived, let's eat." Saying "Jewish people suffered in the past" is not zionist propaganda, it's. literally true.

Adam Pally is actually Jewish, and probably either requested the character details or it was added with him as an inspo. I think people are just on edge cause Paramount has showed support for Isr-el in the past. We just got news a few hours ago that the CEO of Paramount just got kicked, though, so maybe we have hope for a change?