#there’s only profit and what stands in the way of it

[johnbrand]

BACS

With @mrrharper

“Hopkins,” the coach said curtly to the buff guard at the gate. The security officer barely seemed to register him as a person, rather just an item on his list to check off. Once he was allowed to proceed, Coach Hopkins entered into the corridor and proceeded to the farthest room. Quite frankly, the coach embodied everything a man should be at his age: big, strong, rich. Running one of the country’s top collegiate teams meant he was often provided with ample checks. But an investor had been hinting that the meeting he was about to attend would only raise his profits higher. And now standing before the other guests, Coach Hopkins believed this investor was not mistaken.

Feeling mighty pleased with himself, and honestly a bit haughty, the coach scanned the room, taking in all the other broad, strapping men. There was Coach Larson from one of the major east coast schools, Coach McNamara from the private military academy that swept the competition every year. Coach Hopkins recognized another prominent coach from California, but could not place his name. There were a few more men in the room, engaging in casual conversation about work, but the atmosphere in the space was mildly tense. Instead of acquainting himself with others, Coach Hopkins took a seat and remained there until the presentation began. 

“Gentleman,” the host began. The suit that covered his large frame appeared painted on, tight against his skin. A former collegiate athlete who had stayed in shape; Coach Hopkins could not help but take a moment to respect the work. “Invited amongst you today are some of your finest colleagues in the field. Hopefully you all know why you are here, so we will skip past the pleasantries and get right to the presentation.”

Behind the host, the wall suddenly began to glow. A soft light filtered upon it before focusing on colors and images. Eventually, the display became clear, showcasing live camera footage inside an empty male restroom.

“We believed the best way to explain our product was to show how it works,” the host started slyly. Coach Hopkins watched as the door to the restroom opened, revealing a young college-aged male. By his medium build and uniform, the coach assumed he could have been in lacrosse, baseball, or even a non-tackling football player. His third guess was correct.

“Before us is Dawson Welch, a decent transfer from an undisclosed Division III school. Originally holding potential, he has not yet conformed to our nationwide protocol, otherwise known as BACS for short.”

The four words were then flashed in red at the bottom of the screen. A silly acronym, but one that worked nonetheless.

Beefy          Aggressive          Cocky          Straight

“Our case study is about to demonstrate the results of our program,” the host smiled.

There were a few murmurs from the other men. The California coach even shifted a bit, slightly uncomfortable at what he was about to witness. Coach Hopkins remained silent, observing the subject. By his size and careful actions, he could already identify that three of the required four set standards were missing.

“Tyler?” Dawson called out into the room. “Baby, it’s alright, I’m here now.” The coach nodded with confirmation for the fourth characteristic. Grabbing his phone, the host then sent a simple text message. Thanks to the live camera, the men could all watch as the subject’s own device buzzed. Timidly opening it, Dawson checked his phone.

“Ok Tyler, I am going to open the link you sent me,” Dawson called out, unaware the link was not actually sent from his romantic interest. As if already suspecting the lurking danger behind the text, the subject slowly tapped the link and let it proceed forward. The room lit up in a flash, even blinding the live camera temporarily. The audio did not shut off, but the stream went quiet. Moments later, the men were reoriented back into the restroom.

Murmurs flew around the space once more. A few of their faces displayed shock at the screen presented before them. Coach Hopkins held stoic, but his eyes bore straight on. The scene before him was almost entirely the same. Nothing had changed, except for the subject.

“Gone are the days of your players attending frivolous seminars and engaging in anti-anything protests. Thanks to our technology, we can now guarantee your boys will be real, undeniably American men.” 

Where once stood the rather average athletic young male was now a bulky creature. He was taller, brawnier, and brutish. His uniform had been replaced with a tight, all-black outfit to better display his offerings. The sleeveless tank outlined massive pecs, broad shoulders, a thick core, and made his cannon-like arms bulge out of his sides like an oversized action figure. The running shorts appeared more like briefs, searing into the monstrous thighs that led down to steel calves and feet so large they could not be accommodated at most shoe outlets. Speaking of briefs, Coach Hopkins noted the subject was no longer wearing any; a thick python and a low-hanging set were peeking out of one of the leg holes. 

By the gigantic size, the host could easily confirm his product met the first criteria. And by the backwards cap, arrogant grin, and constant man-handling, the men in the room were all able to confirm the second and third on their own. They had been around these types long enough to know the signs.

“What was I doing anyway, bro?” Dawson asked himself in a voice deeper and duller than his previous offerings. After scratching at his thick pubes and giving it a sniff, an idea suddenly sprung into the subject’s head. Coach Hopkins could sense the process of thinking was a more difficult procedure now then it had been before. “Right, I was gonna see if that chick from last night still wanted to get laid tonight. What was her name, Jenna? Brianna? Maybe she’d be a good lil girl and bag me a threesome? God, that’s so hot…”

The stream cut off shortly after, but not before the subject’s continual groping started to awaken his massive dong. The last image was frozen onto the screen, with Dawson preparing the classic flexed picture his predatory nature utilized to ensnare victims.

“So what do you say, gentlemen,” the host sneered. “Would anyone like to try our trial package?”

[emcads]

every time I talk about historical context with potc I need to put a disclaimer, but there’s something very haunting about the way Elizabeth’s, Will’s, and James’ personal journeys all coincide with the piracy act (which granted colonial governors the authority to hang pirates on site instead of sending them back to England). how many pirates must have made the Atlantic crossing in the opposite direction before them. how it’s not ultimately law and Englishness and Moral Righteousness that destroys the pirates, but commerce.

[nebulouswaters]

Why are my bosses so incredibly fond of loosing money

[opencommunion]

"The story of  'John Doe 1' of the Democratic Republic of the Congo is tucked in a lawsuit filed five years ago against several U.S. tech companies, including Tesla, the world’s largest electric vehicle producer. In a country where the earth hides its treasures beneath its surface, those who chip away at its bounty pay an unfair price. As a pre-teen, his family could no longer afford to pay his $6 monthly school fee, leaving him with one option: a life working underground in a tunnel, digging for cobalt rocks.  But soon after he began working for roughly two U.S. dollars per day, the child was buried alive under the rubble of a collapsed mine tunnel. His body was never recovered. 

The nation, fractured by war, disease, and famine, has seen more than 6 million people die since the mid-1990s, making the conflict the deadliest since World War II. But, in recent years, the death and destruction have been aided by the growing number of electric vehicles humming down American streets. In 2022, the U.S., the world’s third-largest importer of cobalt, spent nearly $525 million on the mineral, much of which came from the Congo.

As America’s dependence on the Congo has grown, Black-led labor and environmental organizers here in the U.S. have worked to build a transnational solidarity movement. Activists also say that the inequities faced in the Congo relate to those that Black Americans experience. And thanks in part to social media, the desire to better understand what’s happening in the Congo has grown in the past 10 years. In some ways, the Black Lives Matter movement first took root in the Congo after the uprising in Ferguson in 2014, advocates say. And since the murder of George Floyd and the outrage over the Gaza war, there has been an uptick in Congolese and Black American groups working on solidarity campaigns.

Throughout it all, the inequities faced by Congolese people and Black Americans show how the supply chain highlights similar patterns of exploitation and disenfranchisement. ... While the American South has picked up about two-thirds of the electric vehicle production jobs, Black workers there are more likely to work in non-unionized warehouses, receiving less pay and protections. The White House has also failed to share data that definitively proves whether Black workers are receiving these jobs, rather than them just being placed near Black communities. 'Automakers are moving their EV manufacturing and operations to the South in hopes of exploiting low labor costs and making higher profits,' explained Yterenickia Bell, an at-large council member in Clarkston, Georgia, last year. While Georgia has been targeted for investment by the Biden administration, workers are 'refusing to stand idly by and let them repeat a cycle that harms Black communities and working families.'

... Of the 255,000 Congolese mining for cobalt, 40,000 are children. They are not only exposed to physical threats but environmental ones. Cobalt mining pollutes critical water sources, plus the air and land. It is linked to respiratory illnesses, food insecurity, and violence. Still, in March, a U.S. court ruled on the case, finding that American companies could not be held liable for child labor in the Congo, even as they helped intensify the prevalence. ... Recently, the push for mining in the Congo has reached new heights because of a rift in China-U.S. relations regarding EV production. Earlier this month, the Biden administration issued a 100% tariff on Chinese-produced EVs to deter their purchase in the U.S. Currently, China owns about 80% of the legal mines in the Congo, but tens of thousands of Congolese work in 'artisanal' mines outside these facilities, where there are no rules or regulations, and where the U.S. gets much of its cobalt imports.  'Cobalt mining is the slave farm perfected,' wrote Siddharth Kara last year in the award-winning investigative book Cobalt Red: How The Blood of the Congo Powers Our Lives. 'It is a system of absolute exploitation for absolute profit.' While it is the world’s richest country in terms of wealth from natural resources, Congo is among the poorest in terms of life outcomes. Of the 201 countries recognized by the World Bank Group, it has the 191st lowest life expectancy."

[noisy-weasel]

Yohan for the love of god get the hell out of there!!!!

[genuinelyshallow]

Keep believing you can make a difference

The hope we had at the beginning for humanity is gone.

The joy we had at the beginning because finally the Western world understood what was happening in Gaza for years...gone

Any respect we had for the modern world? A joke.

Any respect I had for Egypt and Arabs? Replaced by so much shame, I no longer will defend them.

The only hope we have left is Allah and ourselves.

Keep praying. Keep posting. Keep boycotting. And if you can, start your own revolution.

If you live in a country that won't take you to jail for it, make a stand. Take a walk with a sign. Raise your voice in a conference.

Boycotting works!

In Egypt, it was the least we can do. And the changes were insane. McDonald's was throwing statements left and right about how the branches in Egypt had nothing to do with supporting Israel. Their sales still plummeted by 70% ! Their branches are virtually empty except from tourists.

Pepsi ? They had to rebrand by multiple different names to foul people into buying! And Coca-Cola is worse.

Small businesses went up by 300% in profits. A local soda producer that replaced Pepsi had to even go in public and ask the people to wait because he can't keep up with the demand.

That's boycotting. A small dent in the system, but still a difference. McDonald's in Jordan promised to send donations to Palestine. Others simply stopped supporting Israel in public.

I believe we need a more aggressive way of protesting. I don't mean violence. Just something to shake the system more... vigorously?

Do what you can. Please. Children's lives depend on it.

Stand on the right side of history. Find something to answer Allah on judgment day

[rafecameronssl4t]

Gold, Coffee, and Mabel || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: based on s3 ep 7 with that scene above except it includes reader and Mabel 🥰🥰

Warnings: swearing, other than that fluff!!!

Word count: 1,036

A/n: yeah I procrastinated and wrote this in like 5 mins

MASTERLIST (dad!rafe au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

"And you're sure this guy’s good?" Barry asks, his voice tinged with doubt as he glances sideways at Rafe, who walks beside him, hands casually stuffed in his pockets. They round the corner, and Rafe hums in response, clearly unconcerned.

"I mean, we’ve got a lot of people to see today," Rafe adds, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. He doesn’t even look at Barry, his gaze sweeping over the street with anticipation. It’s clear to Barry that Rafe is in his element, the prospect of a profitable day of gold-selling putting a spring in his step.

Rafe was confident, and that confidence was infectious. Today was going to be a good day. Hell, it was going to be a great day. He could feel it in his bones. Barry opens his mouth to ask about the next move, but the words die on his lips as Rafe suddenly comes to a halt.

Barry nearly collides with him, caught off guard by the abrupt stop. "What the fuck?" Barry blurts out, confusion etched on his face. Rafe doesn’t answer, his focus now entirely on a woman sitting at an outdoor table at a nearby café.

Without a word, he strides over to her, placing a hand on her shoulder and leaning down to kiss her, leaving Barry standing there like an idiot. It’s only when he sees the way Rafe's lips curve into a familiar smile that Barry realises who the woman is. It’s you.

“What are you doing here?” Rafe asks, his voice softening, a warm smile spreading across his face as he takes in the sight of you and Mabel. The hard edge that usually defines Rafe’s tone melts away, replaced by something warmer, gentler. You glance up at him, a bright smile lighting up your features.

"Having brunch with Mom," you reply adjusting Mabel so that Rafe can scoop her up into his arms. He does so effortlessly, his movements tender as he cradles his daughter against his chest.

Barry, still trying to piece together what's happening, blurts out, “Shit, almost didn't recognise ya-” , but Rafe cuts him off with a sharp look. "Language, Barry," Rafe says, his voice low and warning, a stark contrast to the affectionate tone he just used with you.

Barry throws his hands up in mock surrender. "My bad, my bad," he mutters, glancing at you with an apologetic smile. You chuckle at his usual antics. "Maybe because of my hair," you say, running a hand through your freshly coloured locks, your eyes bright as you wait for Barry's reaction.

"Looks good," Barry says, genuine in his compliment. You thank him with a nod, your eyes crinkling in the corners. As Rafe settles into a chair, Mabel perched contentedly on his lap, Barry shifts his weight, reminding himself of the job they’re supposed to be doing.

“Country club, don’t we need to get goin'?” he prods, noticing how comfortable Rafe seems, his focus entirely on entertaining Mabel, who giggles at his playful antics. You smile at the sight, feeling a warmth in your chest before you turn to Barry. “Busy day ahead?” you ask, a knowing glint in your eye.

Barry shoots a glance at Rafe, who seems completely absorbed in his role as a father, oblivious to the conversation and Barry’s questioning gaze. “Uh, yeah. Apparently so,” Barry replies with a chuckle, still not entirely sure how this unexpected stop fits into their tight schedule.

“I’m just going to order some coffee for my mom, I'll be two seconds,” you say, standing up from the table. "I’ll come with you. Might as well grab a coffee while we’re here," Rafe says, rising to his feet. He looks down at Mabel, then back at Barry with a grin. “Mind holdin' her for a minute?”

Before Barry can protest, Rafe is already handing Mabel over to him. Barry’s eyes widen in panic as Mabel, with her big blue eyes, stares up at him with a curious expression. He stands there stiff as a board, awkwardly patting her back and trying to figure out how to hold a baby without looking like a complete idiot.

As Rafe and you disappear into the café, Barry glances nervously at the door, silently begging one of you to come back quickly. At first, Mabel seems fine, but then her bottom lip starts to tremble. Before Barry can react, she lets out a wail, her cries escalating quickly. “Fuck—shit! No, no, no, please don’t cry,” Barry mutters under his breath, his heart racing as he tries to bounce her gently, but her cries only grow louder.

Just as Mabel’s wails reach a peak, you emerge from the café with Rafe right behind you. Relief floods Barry’s face, but it’s quickly replaced by anxiety as you approach, your eyebrows raised in a mix of concern and amusement.

“Did you make my daughter cry?” you ask, taking Mabel in your arms, though there’s a teasing lilt to your voice that Barry is too flustered to pick up on. Barry looks like a deer caught in headlights, especially under Rafe’s intense gaze. “What? No! I swear, I didn’t do anything—” Barry stammers, his face flushed, but you laugh, placing a comforting hand on his arm.

“I’m just messing with you. She’s probably just hungry,” you say, glancing at your watch before pulling out Mabel’s bottle. Barry lets out a nervous chuckle, scratching the back of his neck as the tension slowly eases from his shoulders.

Rafe watches the interaction with a smirk, clearly amused by Barry’s discomfort. “Well, we should get going,” Rafe finally says, leaning in to give you a kiss before gently pressing his lips to Mabel’s forehead. She’s already drinking her bottle, her little hands reaching up to grab at Rafe’s chin, making you chuckle softly at the adorable sight.

"I’ll see you at home later," Rafe says warmly, his eyes locking with yours as he leans in for one last kiss. He gives Mabel a gentle smile before glancing back at you, a lingering look full of affection. With a final nod, he turns to Barry, the smile still playing on his lips, as they head off to make a shit ton of money.

[communistkenobi]

the things about gentrification that are “good,” ie, increased walkability of neighbourhoods, renewal and renovation of unused buildings, increased mixed-use zoning, the opening of a variety of businesses that (theoretically) increase access to more diverse goods, are (correctly) interpreted as portents of doom by local residents not because poor people are stupid and reactionary and hate good things, but rather because the privatised character of urban “renewal” (gentrification) means these goods are only available to the middle classes who are coming into these neighbourhoods and “flipping” them. walkability and access to goods are not evil, but privatising them is, and that is what gentrification is - it is renewal in privatised form. I think it’s helpful to view it this way, both to call attention to the fact that a public, state-led version of this kind of renewal is possible, a version where these things benefit all residents, and also to respond to YIMBYism, to the middle classes who stand to benefit from gentrification because it provides comparatively lower costs to operate businesses, own property, and pay rent than in other parts of cities or other cities altogether. this is part of the same phenomenon as people “flipping” homes (a part of the process of gentrification itself); it is not to create a pretty and liveable home where there was once an abandoned one, but to turn a profit

[risuola]

III — GAMBARE, GAMBARE // In the world of crime and blood, Sukuna knows what's off limits. You certainly are one of those things and yet, he's unable to stop thinking of you.

contents: smut, little angst-ish in some places, mafia!au, unprotected sex, a hint of body worshipping, violence, mentions of death, subtle threats, reader discretion is advised — 3,2k words

a/n: third part, thank you so much for support guys! it means the world to me to see how INSANELY big is the tag list now. i literally love y'all~ ❤️ also, just as the first part got inspired by the absolutely menacing quote from our king, it only felt natural to include the famous gambare, gambare (do your best) into this one.

ᴅᴇᴀᴅʟʏ ᴀᴛᴛʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ | masterlist

Sukuna prefers to think of himself as one of significant intelligence. Over the years, during which he ruled over the entire criminal milieu, he proved himself to stand atop of anyone who dared to even think of overturning his jurisdiction. All the exceptionally dumb bold ones that once wished to take the position of a boss from his hands had learned the hard way why troubles with Sukuna Ryomen are the least desirable fate of anyone who bears any volume of oil inside their brains.

It’s not only tactical or business intelligence that he’s priding himself with. It’s also the excessive knowledge about general rules of life that allowed him to comfortably push and pull the edges of what’s right and wrong, bending his own reality to his liking. Now it’s intuitive – he just knows where he can put more pressure and where it’s not worth his time. He knows what to bet his money on and what won’t realistically pay back. And most importantly, up until that point, Sukuna thought he can tell with his eyes closed which people he should consider crossing paths with, what men can be useful whilst he aims to reach his targets and which crowds he shouldn’t mess around with – for various reasons, most of which being just business and inconvenience. Same thing concerns women. Ryomen’s position works like a magnet and not a day passes by without girls, often way too young to even think of him, throwing themselves at him, led by fantasies of money and power veiled in the shades of love. If he wished, he could have a different toy every time the night falls and if he’d be just slightly less trained, he might have fallen for the temptation. But he didn’t.

Sukuna learned it from experience, not exactly his own, but of his pawns, that allowing random women in the proximity of their profession usually leads to catastrophes. Girls get persistent, they grow attached, they fall in love sooner than it’s even logical and then they threat, they blackmail; all of which eventually leads to their deaths because dealing with just barely adults that weaponize tears and screams is something he doesn’t allow in his circle. There were no exceptions, any man bearing similar power to Ryomen knows that there’s no place for romance in the world of death and bones, the one that’s stained in red and sorrow. If there happens to be love, it’s always of people from inside the criminal circle, sharing the same set of broken morals. Mafia should never tie itself romantically with civilians. Especially him, the leader, the menace that he is in the world of misdeed, murder and corruption, knew all too well why he should never, ever, even think of someone from outside of his tale as of anything more than one time plaything. That would be irresponsible, straight up naïve. It would be foolish. He knew all of that and not even once he felt any need to engage into any kind of relationship with someone that he deemed non-profitable to his general targets.

Then why the fuck he kept thinking of you? Why he kept seeing you after what was supposed to be a fun one-time fuck? Why did the taste of your lips and the sweet scent of your skin made him so completely addicted that he couldn’t focus on his own business without his mind wandering to the memory of you at least once an hour? He just liked your body, he told himself every time he thought of sending you a message. You were a good lay, it was purely physical. You did, after all, take his dick like you were born solely for this very purpose. He was meeting you only for sex and it was an accident that some of these meetings began with a dinner. All of the gifts he showered you with were just a form of payment for the service. Sukuna knew much better than to let his emotions take control of him.

“What’s on your mind?” Your quiet voice tore Ryomen out of the realm of his self-criticism. The tone that you spoked with was raspy, the testimony of the rough, throat-fucking he had used you for just few hours prior, and yet, it still somehow flowed with cottony softness, so characteristic to you.

“Nothing important,” he replied bluntly, lowering his gaze to where your face was buried into the broad muscle of his chest; your frame completely hidden in his own, much larger and stronger. It was another night you spent in his house, one of those that began with the reservation in one of Tokyo’s best restaurants that served traditional Japanese cuisine. You showed up in a dress made of dark olive silk, long enough to reach your high-heeled sandals and clinging to your shapes as if it was made to be worn over the divinity that was your body. The long, scandalous slit exposed one of your legs and the thin straps accentuated your shoulders and cleavage just perfectly. It was a dress that he himself bought and ordered to be delivered to you in an expensive box before that day. Now that very same gown was laying somewhere, discarded on the floor in the living room of his mansion.

“Sometimes I feel like you’re plotting my death,” you chuckled against his skin, the vibration of the act made him scoff because both him and you knew that the scenario you offered wasn’t exactly falling into the realm of fiction.

“If I were to kill you, I wouldn’t need to plot it. One bullet is all it would take,” he retorted with calm and despite any logic, instead of creating some distance, instead of running away you hummed at his statement and pressed your lips to the center of his chest.

You were way over fearing Sukuna and his world. The few months that you spend seeing him, you came to terms with the heavy weight of tragic fate that was now resting on your shoulders. It couldn’t end well, you shouldn’t tangle yourself with a man such as him, the path of your normal life should never come even close to the blood tainted one he was walking through. You should have never left the club with him and once you did, you should have run out his house the moment he gave you a chance. Instead of that, you stayed. That night, after the time of Ryomen’s pursue and the unfortunate event with Naoya and his gang, soon turned into two. Then just few more and then many more. The one-night stand evolved into continuous romance and though it was strewn with roses and intimacy, it came also with the realization that the more you see him, the less days you have left. There was no way for someone like you, an outsider, the mere civilian with no mafia bonds whatsoever, to be living a long life. Sukuna has enemies, there are people that want the power he holds and will eventually target you. That is, of course, if he doesn’t kill you himself over time – out of boredom or prevention. You knew a lot, he had told you more than he should.

But you loved him. You had seen him do some pretty dark things that would make most people’s eyes water, and in all honesty, it did the same thing to yours, but then, with you, Sukuna was always protective. You loved the way he always seemed to know just what you needed, the way he read you like an open book and knew just what to say or do to put you at ease. You loved the way he made you feel like the only woman in the world, how he made you feel beautiful, even on the days you felt like a total mess. He was a danger, a threat so deadly you shouldn’t play with it, he was a flame that you were bound to burn yourself on, but he was also the only person in the world you felt so safe around. Ever since you met, he had protected you. Even if his words were harsh and his own deeds rough, he never failed to envelop you in a bubble inside of which nothing and no one could hurt you.

“Oh, how much you’d miss me,” a certain sense of amusement hinted in the tone you used as the sheepish smile stretched your lips. Ryomen acted suddenly, grabbing the tiny thing that was your body and pressing your back to the mattress. His fingers wrapped around the frail of your neck; it wouldn’t take much of his strength to snap it and yet, you seemed rather comfortable with his grip secured around your airways. Over the time you managed to grow enough trust to know he won’t hurt you for no reason. Your lover was a man powerful enough, there was no need for seeding fear in you. You were also smart enough to differentiate the real danger from the playful acts. If Sukuna truly wanted you to be scared, you most definitely would be scared shitless.

“You think so?” His tone dropped an octave as he crawled above you; your bare figure now trapped underneath the weight of his presence. He got your legs between his initially, the heavy shaft of his dick rested over your lower belly as he shifted his hand from your throat down to cup your breasts. Your body seemed to never stop attract him, no matter how many times he touched and tasted it. You looked almost angelic in the dim light of that morning; the remnants of sleep still painted over your features and the only things that disturbed the innocence of your picture were the marks he had left on your plush, velvety skin. Red and angry spots that he sucked onto your flesh adorned the beauty of your frame, ultimately making you his own. “Aren’t you a little too confident?”

“I think I’m confident just enough,” you grinned playfully, smoothing over his hands, one staying on top of his palm on your breast and the other reaching up his arm to touch more of him. There was always a hunger lingering inside of you, you were never completely satiated and even if your body was utterly exhausted, you were always happy to take more. Sukuna made you feel ecstatic, like you were really his only one and though it was an illusion that you chose to believe in, it felt good to imagine yourself as his only care.

“And why would I miss you, huh? Aren’t you only a plaything for me?” The question he asked was meant to sound venomous but the sound of his voice betrayed the lighthearted intention. “Do you think I’ll blink twice when discarding you when I get bored of what you can give me?”

“I don’t think you’ll hesitate,” a chuckle once again shook your chest gently as you watched how Sukuna gently pulled your legs up from underneath him and brought one of your ankles to his face. The kisses he smeared along your shin were delicate, completely contrasting with the threatful impression that he was trying to make. He was worshipping you so openly, it made you blush every time. “But even though I know you wouldn’t think twice before killing me, I also think you’d miss me afterwards.”

Once the tender caresses finished, your calves landed on top of his shoulders as he leaned forward, squeezing a breathy moan out of you as he pushed his length into you to the very base of it, sliding on enough spit that it made the entrance easy. Ryomen learned your body through and through, he knew you can take it, he knew you’re always ready and eager to take him. Even if it’s early, even if it hurts. No matter when and where, if he told you to sit on his dick in the middle of a grocery store, you’d probably do just that and ask no questions. And yet, he knew where the boundaries are. Not once he pushed you when you were feeling bad. Not once he used you when you were not ready. The knowledge he now had about you came from observation.

“I think I would miss you,” he purred, his lips so close that they brushed against yours as he spoke. He’s got you in a mating press, filled to the brim with his bricked-up manhood and completely at his mercy. “You are addicting.”

“So keep me safe,” you whispered, cupping his face and chasing the kiss he was yet to give you. The request caught him slightly off guard. The pleading undertone made his heart clench; a feeling that he’s gone without for a decade at least and though he hated the odd sensation in his chest, he also couldn’t deny the warmth that spread throughout his body.

“You are safe with me,” the reassuring lie he followed with a heavy press onto your lips, sealing his words with his own tongue and silently promising you his protection. A vow that he wished to keep and yet, feared he won’t be able to. But now, it wasn’t important. Now you were here, in his bed, on his dick. Now there was just you and him.

Your dainty fingers found their place in his hair as he began thrusting into you. The new slick that combined with the remnants of the night made his movements easy as he dragged his hips back almost all the way out and then pushed back to the point of his pelvis clashing with the back of your thighs and your ass. The pace he set wasn’t fast. It wasn’t anything of what he’d most often pick, there was no violence intertwined into the melody of his hips. That morning it was sensual, it was deep and just rapid enough to stimulate every sweet spot inside of you. Stroke after stroke he was driving you crazy, he just barely started and already you felt yourself dripping. The filthy, wet sounds filled in the early aura and the muffled moans and whimpers accompanied them.

Sukuna allowed your legs to fall lower from where they were pressed against your chest and you hooked them around his hips. The newly earned access to his neck and shoulders you immediately used by allowing your hands to wander in the area, scratching his skin just to force a low purr from his throat. Every sound he made, you swallowed greedily as the kiss continued. Your tongues were dancing to the fiery rhythm of intimacy.

The coil in your stomach tightened all too quickly, you wished it to give you more time to enjoy what he was willing to give you but no matter how much you wanted your body to calm down, he made it absolutely impossible to achieve. Your veins were running with pure ecstasy and lust, the heated flurry that now was your brain was focused only on him, on the rhythm of his hips, on every sweet little lie that he whispered to you. Ryomen knew how to make you weak, he knew just how to angle his body to hit that one spot, the most sensitive one and you could feel him grinning against your lips. He knew you were close. The delicious squeezes that your cunt did on his girth were enough of a hint to notice and it gave him a sense of pride to be able to make you come undone so easily.

“Just few moments more,” he murmured and you nodded eagerly. Tears prickled in your eyes, gathering along your lash lines like crystals that he wished to kiss away, but was now too engulfed in the taste of your lips to part. His movements got quicker, just a little heavier as he began slamming into you with more force than at the beginning. Mornings tend to rid Sukuna from the ability to last – the ones that he spends with you in his arms, with your naked body pressed against his, unknowingly shifting against his dick for hours. That makes him unable to keep his composure for too long. Sometimes he feels like you strip him of all qualities that he once prided himself in, leaving him bare only to your eyes, with only the most primal needs exposed and he felt good with that kind of freedom.

“…don’t stop, oh god, ‘kuna~”, you were whimpering, arching your back underneath him and squeezing your little hands over his shoulders. “I can’t, I—”

“Oh, you can. Do your best,” Sukuna chuckled, teasing you with such impossible tasks. Your head fell back, your thighs were trembling against his sides and he could tell he’s losing you. You were far too deep in the realm of desire to hear his words; all of your world now came down to what you felt, to how you felt him and Sukuna loved your blissed out state. He loved the way he was the one to push you so far over the edge that you wouldn’t notice if the world was ending. But what he loved above that, was how you were gripping onto him; holding him tightly, pulling him closer as if you never wanted him to move away, as if he was everything you needed. And he was.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he muttered against your throat, painting the skin over there with wet trails of kisses and new, red marks – the ones gentle enough to fade in a matter of hours. You moaned something incoherent. “Cum for me,” he allowed, not even sure if you’re registering his words. It had to be unconscious; the way your brain caught his voice between the blurry lines of everything else.

Your climax hit you like a rock; his name was slipping over your tongue continuously, so sweet and breathless that Sukuna was once again reassured that he never wants to hear anyone else calling him. Your walls were squeezing his throbbing length, he twitched and flexed inside you, groaning with satisfaction and before he allowed himself to come, he pushed himself up. As he sat on his heels, he pulled you with him; your body now on top of him and he used his hands to guide your hips up and down his dick. You wrapped yourself around him, finding a safe space for your face right where his neck connects with his muscular shoulder and all he needed to feel the bliss was the sensation of your teeth sinking into his skin.

White seed painted your insides as he shot it as deeply as he could reach with you on top of him. Few more moves, few more groans and you could feel him relax. His strong arms snaked around your waist as he shifted slightly to lean against the headboard, straightening his legs in front of him. You stayed pressed against his chest, catching your breath and feeling the tension leaving your body as the morning went by. And as Sukuna held you so close to his heart, he couldn’t rid himself of the feeling that it felt so right and that made the question bloom inside his brain. Was it still strictly physical? Was it ever only about sex?

taglist: @yihona-san06 @tiredscavengerskeleton @son4aras @vixorell @cecesharktales @isleqt @thickmacandcheese @captainchrisstan @bbylime @sad-darksoul @shartnart1 @kiki17483 @grimreaqueer @phoenix-eclipses @fan-of-encouragement @valleydoll @aleeeeeeees-stuff @marifujioka @going-to-californiaxx @just-pure-trash @edenofeve @impulsivethoughtsat2am @thigh-o-saur @heyohalie @matchat3a @bubblearts @littlemisspropaganda @aconstructofamind @lawislife18 @rzcnlb @sunukissed

[allisonlol]

Bsd characters with a s/o who does only fans?

a/n: omg hello?? i’m BACK. thank y’all for all the love in my absence btw…we hit 3k awhile ago and i didn’t say anything so TYSM❗️🫶🏻 here are some little hc’s to get me back into the swing of things. i chose a bunch of randoms!

warnings: mild sexual content, implied violence

BSD Characters When You Have an Onlyfans

Dazai:

first and foremost lol

he is DEFINITELY down for this shit

you need him to take photos for you? he already has the camera open on his phone. you wanna record something with him? you blink and his clothes will already be on the FLOOR

i feel like dazai already has a thing for recording sex, so he loves it

i’m sensing a bit of voyuerism with the way he wants other people to watch y’all 🤨

also doxxes and hunts down the people who leak ur shit 🫵🏻❌

Chuuya

hmm mixed opinions on this one

like. chuuya doesn’t wanna control u or tell u what to do, but…

he is too possessive a man to be alright with u having an onlyfans

is embarrassed to admit this tho and will just be like “oh…okay” while avoiding looking you in the eye if u ever mention it

completely avoids getting involved with it…sorry but you’ll have to take ur own pictures.

don’t get me wrong, he likes to see them after and always think u look incredible!! chuuya just hates to imagine all the other men doing the same and worse to them

bro will hustle even more to provide enough money for you to get off the net 💀

Akutagawa

u had to tell him what onlyfans was and even then, he was like “erm…”

i feel like he doesn’t take it too seriously. at first almost considers it like instagram 😭

but once u ask him to help take pics for you, and he sees what ur (not) wearing, he’s suddenly like “what’s all this abt…”

let’s you continue to post but only if he can stand in the background of each picture with a knife 🔪

besides that, he doesn’t like being on camera for videos or anything. doesn’t feel comfy with u filming what he considers ur most intimate moments 👎🏻

Nikolai

don’t have to ask him twice!! this man is even more eager than dazai

becomes his goal to get you to the top 1% (and y’all get pretty damn close)

your photos and videos turn much kinkier once nikolai joins you

gets u new lingerie to wear for each photo set, buys u a bunch of toys, proposes new ideas for videos…might as well give this man 50% of profits

almost starts to take over YOUR onlyfans…makes an appearance in every post 💀

Fyodor

i’m unapologetic about this one

it’s an immediate and definite no

demands u delete the account and “respect yourself more” 🤨🤨

(covering up for his extreme possessiveness…he cannot stand any “vile men” looking at u)

u try to show him the photos on there and he shoves your phone away, talking some shit abt how it’s disgusting??

i feel like fyodor has one of those weird madonna-whore complexes…whole other thing to get into but basically he doesn’t even like to see sexual photos of u most of the time 💀

ur messing with his religious vibe!! don’t tempt him!!

taglist: @deadmitochondria @miycutie @chuuyasboots @shy-socially-awkward-intovert @beandaifuku @stygianoir @sonder-paradise @irethepotato @serenareiss @ashthemadwriter @mrsdostoevsky @creamygojo @disa-ster

[tobiasdrake]

Which DBZ antagonist do you like the most?

Boring opinion, I know, but I gotta give it up for the Obvious Choice.

And I'm not just saying that because I haven't had a chance to talk about him yet.

Frieza runs a real estate empire that carries out genocidal acts of gentrification, purging tracts of land of their native inhabitants so he can sell their land for profit. Commenting on this choice for his ultimate villain, Akira Toriyama stated that he made this decision because real estate speculators are the worst people there are.

Fucking based.

From the moment we meet Frieza, he is a monster. Toriyama likes this Big Guy Little Guy dynamic where the Little Guy is the one you really need to watch out for. Frieza is the Littlest Guy ever.

He's so tiny. And yet you know exactly who the most dangerous person in this group is. Zero question.

By the end of this altercation, Frieza reveals one of his signature attacks, giving us our first glimpse of the kind of person and the kind of fighter he is. This is such an important moment for his character and I'm kinda mad that the anime had Dodoria do it instead.

Muri destroys the Scouters and blinds Frieza. I've talked before at length about the devastating impact that this move and the Namekian warriors' attack has on Frieza's campaign.

But once it's done, he has to face the music. He's not getting out of this alive.

In one last desperation play, Muri tells Cargo and Dende to run while blocking them with his body. And that's when it happens.

This is Frieza.

Specifically, this is Frieza's Death Beam. It's never actually given a name, but is generally referred to as Death Beam. We've seen a move like this only once before.

The Dodonpa, signature technique of Tsuru-senryu, first introduced by the assassin Taopaipai, was built for extreme lethality. This is not a technique for fighting; It's a technique for killing.

What makes Frieza's Death Beam stand out from the Dodonpa, however, is its accuracy and its speed. He threads the needle around Muri to hit Cargo before anyone even has a chance to react.

We see its accuracy and speed again six days later, when it finally catches up to the other child fleeing from him here.

The panelwork here calling attention to everyone's reactions as Frieza's ki bullet shoots past them, as his shot threads the needle between all obstacles in his path to strike his target far behind them. Dende is dead before anyone can even process that Frieza fired.

This is the difference between the two techniques. The Dodonpa is a gun. The Death Beam is a sniper rifle. Faced with the physical hurdle of bodies impeding his path, Frieza point-clicked Cargo and Dende to death.

He later executes Vegeta this same way.

Done with you.

All of this context for Frieza's sniping shot serves to set up the stunning subversion when Goku arrives to fight.

Frieza's never seen this before. Goku shouldn't even be able to see the shots coming until they've perforated his lungs. That's how Death Beam works. It's this moment that lays it out: Frieza's about to be tested like he's never been tested before.

Speaking of cool techniques, I've always been partial to this move from his Third Form.

The anime gives Frieza little ki bullets coming out of his fingers but I want to note that we never see a physical projectile when he's doing this. Frieza jams his fingers back and forth in the air while something pulverizes Piccolo.

I've always imagined he's poking the air so fast that it's hitting Piccolo with pressurized air currents. Similar to Goku's Mazoku air current punch from the 23rd Tenkaichi Budokai.

But that's just me.

In any case, Frieza's got some fun moves. He's something of a hobbyist martial artist. Which is to say, Frieza has an interest in martial arts. In addition to his Death Beam, Frieza's concocted a litany of other interesting techniques.

He even invented the Kienzan, independently of Krillin.

Though he can remote operate his Kienzan so it's strictly better than Krillin's. Frieza, in his spare time, has come up with a bunch of cool moves. Too bad he has no idea how to use them.

Frieza's greatest weakness is his inexperience. He practices martial arts the way a business CEO who bought a log splitter so he can cut some wood and feel woodsy practices agriculture. Frieza has never had a proper chance to truly experience martial arts, because he was born too powerful.

The only partner who's ever even dirtied his skin was his dad.

And even that isn't much. Frieza's too strong. He wants to pursue martial arts. He wants to hone his technique. But when you win every fight by blinking too hard in the opponent's direction, what even is there to practice?

Frieza created a transformation to seal away his immeasurable ki because he was born with so much ki flowing from him that he can't even contain it. At his peak, Frieza's ki bleeds out of him. He simply can't contain it.

Goku wonders aloud why Frieza took so long, even after the fight turned against him, to go to 100%. Frieza's been all "Oh I'm only using 10% power this is my 50% you made me go to 75%" and Goku's like, "Okay. My dude. What's this about, for real?

This, incidentally, is not a great translation. What Goku's saying here is supposed to be basically, "Perhaps when you use your full power, your body can't handle it."

He is correct.

Frieza's Full Power has a lot in common with Super Saiyan 3. His theoretical maximum ability is wildly different from the reality of what he's capable of, because he bleeds ki like it's going out of style.

So, while other characters wound up earning transformations that make them more powerful, Frieza created a transformation to seal away some of his incomprehensible ki.

Then he created a couple more because even though he could now control his strength and even manipulate the amount of ki he's releasing at a time, he was still too powerful for anyone to ever compete with and needed even more ki sealed away.

Again, not a fantastic translation from the people who brought us "bottom-tier boy", as Frieza's statement here could be interpreted as saying that he gets taken by a berserker rage or something.

What he's saying is more like, "My power is so great that I can't properly contain it."

Point is, Frieza transformed to lock down his ki and seal parts of it away, so he could control the rest better. Then he kept going, locking away more and more and more of his ki. And even at his most nerfed, he's still five times more powerful than the Second Strongest Guy in the Universe.

Frieza has never in his life had the opportunity to be pushed. That's what makes Goku so enthralling to him.

Frieza plays with Goku because he's genuinely having the time of his life. This guy can fight him in his Final Form. Nobody can fight him in his Final Form. He's so happy, he straight-up forgets that he's trying to complete a genocide against Goku's entire race.

He said that five minutes ago. Gohan's hidden power freaked Frieza the fuck out. Saiyans are too strong now. They've gotten too strong. Frieza cannot permit them to keep existing because they're getting strong. Every last Saiyan, every last one, must die. Every single one. Scorched earth, no survivors.

But then he meets a Saiyan martial artist who's a technical master and pushes him more than he ever thought possible and suddenly:

He goes from "Saiyans are TOO STRONG and they all must die because they might threaten me" to "OH MY GOD I'M HAVING SO MUCH FUN CAN I KEEP YOU!?"

It's this desire for a true rival, this opportunity to satisfy his amateur's curiosity about martial arts, that ultimately unravels him. Frieza has one ruthless and pragmatic option for ending this fight once it starts to be too much for him. He can technically stop the fight any time he wants.

But he can't bring himself to do it. He wants to fight. He wants to compete. Frieza's been on the outside looking in at martial arts for his entire life and even when his greatest fears are fulfilled and the Super Saiyan is in front of him, he wants to try.

So when he does attempt to pull his Lethal Ragequit, he pulls back at the last second. He can't bring himself to do it. Goku initially assesses that Frieza held back out of fear of hurting himself.

But later, as Frieza begins unlocking the final chains on his ki, Goku changes his assessment. Noting that if Frieza really held back simply out of a mistake, he could have shot the planet again at any point to finish the job. He's been letting this play out because he can't bring himself to end the greatest fight of his life that way.

This fight is still happening because Frieza wants to compete. I mean, he wants to win, of course, but he wants to win as a martial artist. He's never truly gotten to be a martial artist before.

He is not the guy winning the gold medal at the Tenkaichi Budokai. He has never been that guy. He's the guy who buys up the land the Tenkaichi Budokai is held on and then bulldozes all the people off of it. But in his heart of hearts, he wants to be that guy. That guy is so cool. Frieza wants to play too.

In a sense, by hosting the Cell Games, Cell got to live Frieza's greatest fantasy.

This is who Frieza is. He's the cruel and wicked heir to Genocide Realtors Inc., who is in love with the idea of being Tenshinhan - A desire that exists at odds with - and undermines - his pragmatic business sense, so to speak.

He is the most vile character in the history of Dragon Ball. The worst kind of person. He is also an overeager child whose wealth and privilege prevents him from ever truly enjoying his hobbies, to an extent that he'd be almost pitiable but for all the genocides.

And he is Dragon Ball's greatest villain.

[igotanidea]

Family rules: Damian Wayne x reader

Christmas bingo day 23 : midnight kiss

The first time she truly understood the meaning of the proverb heart over mind was on a school trip in September.

He was just standing by the wall, doing nothing except staring into space with those piercing green eyes.

Such pretty eyes

Such devilish, snake eyes.

Acting like he was who knows who.

Arrogant, cold, keeping his distant, rough, self-absorbed, not caring about anything or anyone.

Just like his father.

Damian Wayne.

***

Y/N had the misfortune of being born into a technological company family. Obviously she didn’t know it when she was a kid, but the word Wayne was inflected in her home on all occasions.

Wayne this, Wayne that...

 sort of spell or- more likely - a curse.

Damn it!

She was 12 when she gathered enough courage to ask her father what this was about. A mistake she only made once, cause even the mention of the Bruce Wayne and his famous, profitable company made her father see red.

That's how she found about the on-going competition between her father and Damian's one.

Obviously it was not like she was excluded from family rules and allowed to live in a bubble. Y/N was supposed to hate the entire Wayne family, the progenitor, his adopted kids and everyone who even came close to them. The only blood son included.

The only problem?

Said blood son was attending the same school, the same class as Y/N was. Which meant a lot of time spend together.

And you just command a teenager to do something and hope they'll listen. It's pretty much impossible, if not foolish belief.

***

In her defence - she tried.

She really tried to hate Damian.

But for five years, his name has been coming to her from every way on every occasion.

Wayne this, Wayne that.

Damn it!!

She could tear her hair out in utter desperation. How was she supposed to not think about him when all the world seemed to be dead set to remind her of his existence.

Of his stupid, unnecessary existence.

With his stupid, idiotic smile and his ridiculous handsome face and infuriating behaviour and the tendency to just be mean all the fucking time.

The internal fight between what she felt and how she acted made her clench her fist and grit her teeth every time Damian came into her view. The little bastard has been doing it on purpose just to see her flustered and enraged. It was like he was trying this best to show his superiority and just rub it into her face.

„L/N.”

„The hell you want Wayne?”

„Will you be attending this year’s New Year's Eve?”

„Will I what now?” she raised her gaze, unable to hide the confusion.

„want me to spell it out for you or something”?”

„Hm.” she muttered „I had no idea you knew how to do that Wayne.”

„I;m only telling you because I know you have problems with reading.”

„Clearly you have a problem with understanding simple things.”

„What I understand is that your father was left out when the invitations were being send. Are you finally going bankrupt”

„You little piece of-!” before she could stop herself her palm met with his cheek with a loud slap.

Shit.

He got exactly what he wanted. Provoked her and got the awaited reaction. She exposed herself, cause acting so dramatically only proved her contradictory, violent emotions he evoked in her.

„Nice one. Didn’t think you had it in you.” he wiped the little drop of blood she drew with her nails.

„Trust me I had it in me ever since you invaded the class.”

„I’ll let you make it even when you invade Wayne Manor for the party.”

„Though you said my family wasn’t invited?”

„It’s a charitable thing to open the door for the poor. I’ll see to it personally.”

„Such a generosity on your part, Mr. Wayne.” she rolled her eyes. „You can take your fake bounty and shove it up-”

„I can’t wait till you meet Todd. You two have so much in common.”

„Your older brother? Yeah, from what I heard you two have quite a rocky relationship. Maybe we’ll gang up on you.”

„Can’t wait.” Damian laughed dryly and with a mischievious glint in his eyes walked away not bothering to say another word.

***

„I;m not going.”

„You;re going.”

„I am so not going!”

„You don’t have a say in the matter!”

„Last year you said that new year’s party is not a place for kids!”

„You’re not a kid!”

„I’m 17! I;m a kid!”

„You ran away from home few months ago. You’re not a kid. You’re going. End of discussion.”

„If I’m not a kid then how come I can’t make a decision on this?” she smiled at her father with absolutely innocent eyes, pointing out all the holes in his logic.

Well-

He didn’t take her defiance in a good way.

Almost dragging her to the wayne manor, but dragging nevertheless.

***

Vomiting.

That’s how she felt entering the place,

Running away.

That’s how she felt walking up the steps and being thrown to the sharks when all the gazes landed on her and her father.

Hiding.

That’s how she felt when the gravity of being judged only based on her clothes and outlook sunk in.

Instead Y/N was forced to fake a smile, dance and do the rounds pretending to have fun.

All for the glory and good publicity of her father’s company.

Worst part?

He has been watching.

Like a predator in the darkness, waiting to strike when she was least suspecting it.

„Mr L/N.” Damian crept behind the girl and her father and she was sure he only did it on purpose to startle her. „Would you mind if I steal your daughter for a dance.

The tragicomic of the situation was truly poetic.

Her father went pale. Then red. His jaw got tense. Then loose. And then he smiled forcefully nodding his head, unable to say the dreaded yes. Apparently being torn between the devil (his daughter dancing with the son of his archenemy) and the deep blue sea (offending the host) was too much to handle.,

Too bad, Y/N had no chance to object or get away before Damian led her to the dancefloor.

„It’s not XVIth century Wayne, women can make their own decisions.” she hissed not really happy about his hands circling around her waist.

„Then run away if that’s what you want. I dare you.”

„I’m not going to make a scene here!”

„thought so.” he chuckled, capably leading her in the dance.

„what the hell is that supposed to mean!?”

„absolutely nothing.”

„I’ve known you for five years. There’s never nothing with you Damian.”

‘You used my name, Y/N.”

‘And you repeated my mistake.”

„Maybe it’s not a mistake?” he pulled her slightly closer, causing her to let out an involuntarily gasp. „I’m just saying-”

„I’m supposed to hate you.” she whispered making a turn and then a swirl

„So you don’t.” this was not a question but a statement, his hands trembling slightly. It was hard for him to keep the attitude while dealing with a whirlwind inside. He was 17 and liked a girl, having no idea how to behave to not make a fool out of himself, get embarrassed and lose in her eyes.

„don’t let it get into your head.” she whispered pressing herself closer to his body. They were dancing and it was only because of that.

„Me?” Damian smiled but it came unnoticed due to her head leaning on his shoulder „I think you’re the one who’s fantasising.”

„You sure you’re not hoping for a midnight kiss?” she mocked

„Are you?”

„no.”

„me neither.”

Bruce and f/n were carefully watching their kids.

Damian and Y/n couldn’t care less.

Family drama and conflicts seemed light years away at that moment.

 Future could be figured out later.

Part 2: moment of weakness

[lovifie]

Fishy Business (Mermay'24)

Mermaid!Soap x Reader

4k words - masterlist

Cw: injuries, smut, oral sex, unprotected p in v, monsterfucking(?, let me know if I missed any 💙

Johnny has been living in the tank for two weeks now.

Discovering mermaids were real, shock the world, but in all honesty, only for a couple of days before the evil human mind started to think of ways to profit out of them.

Luckily, mermaids were not stupid and knew perfectly fine that they needed to stay away from the human reach; almost able to smell the putrid aroma of ill intentions pouring out of them.

But no matter how good they hide, humans still find the way to, even if not on purpose, to damage the ecosystem. And when you get the call that a mermaid got his tail tangled on the propeller of a boat and needed urgent care, you weren't really surprised.

You sent your instructions, so the poor thing could get the needed treatment while you made your way to Pentland Firth.

It only took you a couple of days to reach John Price's aquarium. Gruff, big guy that offered the empty tank at his fish sanctuary to keep the merman until it got released.

A solid handshake was his welcoming greeting when he opened the door and he let you into his house. “It's nice to finally meet you, Doctor. You’re making quite a name for yourself lately.” He said, a kind smile on his face making his beard move with it and wearing a funny looking hat more fitting of a sailor on his head.

“Well, not so hard to do so when there is so little competition in mermaid care.” You answered, not completely lying. Little was known about the mermaids, and almost every paper that got published was the first of its kind. Your name just happened to appear on most of them.

“Then I can assume you know your way around them? Sneaky little shits, with kind eyes and sharp teeth.” He said, a chuckle leaving his mouth as if he just remembered something.

“To be completely honest, you have probably seen more than me.” You admit, as you walk next to him, trying to keep up with his pace. “I hear they are quite a number up North, they must like the cold.”

“They like the lack of people.” He almost interrupts you with a low unhumorous chuckle. “This one swam a wee bit to the south… and look what happened.”

You see him shake his head, as if he felt guilty himself of the creature getting hurt. “Anyway, ready to meet him?” He asks, the kind smile back on his face as he takes a corner. He opens the only glass door on the hall, and with a hand on the small of your back, he lets you into the platform sitting over the water surface inside of the tank.

The metal platform rustles with the weight of the man walking alongside, only stopping when he walks up to the man standing at the end of the gangway. Standing just a couple of feet away from them you are able to comprehend their size, massive men, broad, strong, muscular, tall men. They definitely don't look like the classical marine biologist who would own a fish sanctuary.

But then the water splashes, making you look to where the surface of the water is rippling, but without any sign of what causes it.

“Simon, let me introduce you to the doctor. Doctor, Simon here has been the person in charge of following your instructions.” He slaps Simon's back hard, it reverberates against the tank walls but the blonde looks like he didn't even feel it. He is wearing a surgical mask and the rest of his body is covered by a wetsuit. A little contradictory thing.

“Nice to meet you, Simon. How has it been?” You ask, smiling as you look up at him.

“Like givin’ a stray cat a bath.” He mumbles, shaking your hand with a strength that has you trying your best not to shake with it.

“And him? How is it?” You ask, trying your best to be professional and not act like a kid in a candy shop. But the truth is, this is the first time you are going to interact directly with a merman.

“Hm… Like a stray cat that got splashed with cold water.” He says, shrugging his shoulders.

“You are good with metaphors…” You mumble, hearing Price snickers behind you. “So… not really happy with the treatment, then?’

Simon shakes his head, looking back into the water. “Nah, the sashimi shit doesn't want anyone to touch him, and his tail is looking more and more grey as days go by.”

You hum, nodding as you turn to also look into the water. “I'll work on some antibiotics to pour into the water… it won't be as effective, but it'll be a start.”

Price turns as well, all eyes on the water looking for the creature that seems to have disappeared into the water. Camouflage abilities are not to be dismissed taking in consideration how little is known about them, but if Simon was just dealing with him, they should be able to see it.

You look into the deep end, the hairs of your nape rising when you feel eyes on you. But the water in front of your eyes is empty, not a droplet moving out of his place and the only thing you can hear is both men breathing next to you.

“How does he look? Maybe if I have a mental image I can-”

You don't get to finish your sentence, at least not before you feel a wet hand wrap around your ankle and pull it. Hard.

It doesn't give you time to use your hands to stop the fall before your chin knocks the metal of the ground, the skin bursting at the hard hit. A single drop of blood mixes with the water underneath before two pairs of hands grab your arms keeping you from going under the water.

At the pull of your body, you feel sharp claws rupture the surface of your skin where they are holding you, only stopping when Simon stomps his foot right beside yours, threatening to step on him next.

“Enough, Johnny!” He snarls at the creature, standing between you and him, while you cling to Price's legs. If you end up underwater, you are not going alone.

It is hard for you to focus your sight on anything, panic and pain mixing in your system. Only being able to see the creature when you hear him hiss at Simon. The stray cat comparison of Simon being really appropriate now.

The merman captivates you, looking perfectly human, still knowing that no human would stand so high over the surface in open water like him, your brain forcing you to remember the fish-like tail under the water.

You can't bring yourself to pull your eyes from him, both your hunger for knowledge from finally being so close to a real breathing merman and both for the fine specimen of a man staring you up and down like you will be his next dinner.

It's Price the one that pulls you away, helping you on your feet and keeping his arm around your waist to help you walk without resting weight on your foot as he walks you out of the tank. Behind you, and without you noticing, Simon and Johnny share a knowing look, only broken when Johnny gives him a short nod before sinking back in the water, the taste of your blood still floating on it..

It's already night time when you hear the noises, like a piece of furniture falling against the floor. And against your better judgement, you walk, well, limp out of the room you were laying down in.

Turns out Simon and Price are not the only ones living in the sanctuary, and there is a third man called Kyle who was the one that bandaged up your foot and chin.

The ground trembles under your feet as you walk closer, each step you take letting you know with more certainty that the sound is coming from Johnny's tank. You see it before he sees you, standing in the shadows behind the glass door as the merman swims in circles.

Gaining inertia before slamming his body against the wall of the tank making it shake. You see his nostrils flare with his troubled breathing, the grills on his neck moving just as fast. It's such a worrying behaviour that your doctor brain makes you act on it before you can realise how stupid of a decision it is.

You turn the knob opening the door, barely managing to get a foot in before a deep voice startles you. “What th’ fuck did ye pour intae th’ water?! I'm fucking drowning!”

It takes you a second to realise it is the merman talking to you, muscular chest rising with each hard breath as his arms, big enough to crush a skull, hold his body over the water surface.

It also takes you a second to realise that what he means is the medicine in the water, the pungent taste of the chemicals probably making him struggle to breath as normal as before.

“It's the antibiotics.” You answer, almost mumbling. The lights from the tank making the water reflect into the walls in a beautiful imaginary that almost works to trick your brain into ignoring the danger. “For your tail.”

“My tail is perfectly fine! I dinnae need yer bullshit! I need tae go back!” He shouts back, slamming his fist on the metal like a petulant child.

“It is infected! If it enters your blood system you could die!” You shout back, setting both feet a step further into the tank.

“Lies! Human inventions! I'm perfectly fine!” The water splashes around his body when he waves his tail to push himself further out of the water.

“If you were fine you wouldn't stink of rotten fish!” Another step closer to him.

“I dinnae stink! That's just how I smell!” He sits on the gangway, pushing his body out of the water to do so, the massive tail that forms his lower body making the metal creak under his weight.

The sheer size of it doesn't stunt you, it being just proportional to the width of his upper body. But the scales that cover it, dazzling with the light of the reflections and looking like its own miniature sea. Speckles of blue, green and silver dancing around making it hard to look away from it, and making it impossible to miss the pink colour of the exposed meat. Not grey anymore.

“It is already looking better…” You explain, pointing to his wound as you keep walking closer. “You cannot tell me that it doesn't hurt less.”

He follows the direction you point at, quickly moving back so it is under the water; away from your gaze and making you frown at how little time you had to stare.

“That's just because time went by…” He says, almost mumbling and averting your gaze. “I need to go back.”

“Why?” You ask, the volume of your voice also lowering as you bend down to sit, crossed legged but with the injured one still sticking out. “Somebody waiting for you?”

“Yes!” He raises his voices once again, exasperated with your ignorance of his issues. “Everyone is fooling around, and next year when they all havd their wee bairns I'll be alone and I dinnae wantae! 'n' I cannae dae nothing about it cause a'm stuck here!”!”

His words slowly clicks into place, his eagerness to leave, the specially shiny scales, wandering outside of his territory. “It's mating season… mermaids have mating season?”

This is not the time to be asking these questions, you are here to help the merman heal not to study him like an aquarium specimen. But you can't help yourself to ask, only second guessing yourself when the merman looks at you like you just grew a second head. “Obviously… humans dinnae?”

You stare at him, thinking it thoroughly before answering. “Not… really, no.”

“And when do humans mate?”

“...anytime”

The disgust appears on his face as if you had just insulted him and everyone he has ever loved.

“Ye spend th’ whole year shagging, and then have the balls to call us beasts… hypocrites.”

“It's not like that!” You exclaim, suddenly afraid of disappointing the beautiful merman. There is a split second in with you remember every singles fable that talk about dangerous mermaids are, how they lure people in with pretty songs and prettier faces only to get eaten alive, how they trick sailor man to crash their boats in the rocks and then they have a feast on the corpses.

The alarm bell is loud and clear in your head, but just as easily it gets silenced when his wet warm hand lands on your injured foot, right under the bandages. He looks confused at it, eyebrows furrowed and slight pout on his lips.

You shouldn't let him grab you, last time he didn't drown you because Simon and Price picked you up. But you are alone now, and instead of pulling your foot back, you lean in, closer to the creature, and peel the bandages up, showing him the wound.

“I did this?” He asks, his fingertip grazing the skin surrounding the wound. You nod at him, your eyes glued to his face not wanting to lose a single expression of him. He furrows his eyebrows again, his hand moving to rest on the underside of your calf. “Humans are weak… I barely touched ye.”

“We are not weak… You just have sharp nails…” The sound of your voice makes him pull his gaze up, catching how you scratch the skin close to the wound of your chin, the sting from the stitches making you itch.

He pulls your leg again, softer this time, and it should worry you more with how much ease he is able to move you, with a grasp of your foot he easily slides you closer, leaving your feet hanging over the water.

He lays his hand flat beside your leg, propping himself up out of the water. With his arm completely stretched he towers over you, making you pull your head back so you can see his face. He looks down at you, cocking his head.

His other hand finds his way to your jaw, pulling your head even further back so he can see the wound on your chin. You can't see him with the new angle of your neck, but you can feel him get closer to your throat.

The feeling of his breath on the skin of your neck makes every hair on your body stand on end. The alarm bells ring in your head again, this man, as handsome as he is, is still an apex predator in the water that would be able to dismember you in seconds if he wanted to.

Still, and with that knowledge in mind, you have to bite your tongue to keep any tell-tale sounds from escaping you when you feel his face so close to yours.

"I dinnae do this one.... Are ye going to stick to yer theory that ye'r not weak? Or are ye just soft?" his deep voice murmurs, causing a shiver to travel down your spine.

His hand that was on your jaw moves down, resting on your thigh for a second before squeezing the soft flesh. Moving up slowly, dragging it over your skin to your hip, his thumb anchoring itself in the crease of skin between your thigh and your belly. Squeezing the flesh once more making you jump.

As his hand continues to move up, squeezing and whispering against your neck. "Soft... Soft from head to toe.... See? Soft, soft, soft..."

With each repetition of the word, he grabs a different part of your body. Your thigh, your hip, your tummy, your waist and it is when he reaches your chest, his hand wrapping around the soft flesh of your breast that he finally gets a sound to fall from your lips in the form of a faint moan of his name.

"What is it, my soft girl? I can feel yer pulse rising..... It's not fear, innit? Or something… else?" The whine that escapes your lips echoes against the walls of the tank, encouraging the merman in his movements.

The merman presses his wide body between your legs, forcing you to spread them apart to accommodate his width. And before you are able to form a full thought, about everything that is wrong with your actions; how morally wrong, how dangerous, what this could mean for your career... you feel the man's wide tongue travel from your collarbone to behind your ear, scorching your skin with the heat of his body.

Your hands grip his shoulders on impulse, feeling the strength leave your body as you feel him roll his hips against yours.

His assault on your neck continues, nibbling and licking until you instinctively wrap your legs around his hips. By the time you realise you are lying on the platform, opening your eyes to see the massive merman on top of your body with lust in his blue eyes.

You look down to where his hips are pressed against yours when you feel an unfamiliar weight over your pubic bone. Once again, a day's worth of interactions with this specimen is proving more productive than previous years of study, for the great unknown of how mermaids reproduce has just been revealed to you as you see the merman's member lying on your body.

And you are only aware of what kind of expression you have to have on your face when he speaks to you. "What's the matter, ye humans donnae have this either?"

"No, no, they have it, like... some do, but not so... like this.”

Once again, a deep chuckle drips from his chest making you look up to him as he looks down on where your pyjama shorts stick to your clothes when they get wet from the water dripping from his body. His fingertips bury themselves under the hem of your pants, trying to pull them down but grunting when he can't because his body is in the way.

He leans back, sinking back into the water and finally pulling your pants and underwear off, leaving you bare and exposed to him from waist down. You try to think of a reason as to why you seem so unbothered by his advances, it must be some kind of mermaid powers. The guy that took you on a date and asked to go to your home later? No. The guy you met online that asked to meet? iugh. But the merman on the tank that could ruin your career? Yeah, he's alright.

But mermaid powers or not, the way you feel his tongue lap at your soaked folds is very real and so is the whiny moan that falls from your lips. You feel him bury his face even deeper into your cunt, slurping the juices and moaning at the taste of them making you curl your toes. His hands move under your thighs, locking you in place so he can peacefully devour you.

Even though the man has no intentions of pulling back, you still grab the hair at the top of his head urging him closer which he happily complies making you moan softly. One of his hands moves closer to your cunt, dragging his claw over your skin making you shudder at the feeling.

You worry for a second that the merman will scratch you just like he did on your ankle, but instead he uses two fingers to spread your folds leaving you as exposed as he can before shoving his tongue into your entrance making you arch your back. The muscle dragging along the ribbed walls of your cunt, flooding his mouth with the taste of you.

A shameless whine escapes your lips when you feel him pull his face back, your grip on his head lacking all force. He coos at you, shushing your cries as he turns you on your stomach, keeping one of your knees bent as he slots himself behind you.

He props himself on an arm, keeping his chest flush against yours as his other arm hugs you pulling you impossibly closer to him as he rolls his hips to slide his already hardening dick between your folds, making you buck your hips to meet his movements. The heat of his wet body making you ache for more, to feel him closer, deeper.

You lower your hand, placing it between your legs and keeping his cock from moving forwards, making it sink into your welcoming walls. A harmony of moans filling the tank when he slowly sinks into you, the weight of his shaft inside of you feeling comforting in the cold of the tank.

The merman buries his face on the crook of your neck, biting softly your skin, just enough to feel you between his teeth as he moves his hips back, moaning at the feeling of your tight warm cunt sucking him back in.

He moans in tandem with you, a song of your voices accompanying the dance of your bodies. Everytime Johnny's hips move forwards, yours move back, the sound of skin slapping growing louder as his movements get faster.

Every snaps of his hips threaten to pull the air out of your lungs, leaving you unable to do anything else but moan at the feeling of his length hitting so deliciously deep while stretching your gummy walls to accommodate his girth.

“A'm gonnae tak' ye wi’ me once I'm out… would ye lik' that, bonnie lassie? Keep ye close, fucked ‘n’ dined, nae a single worry inside of that bonny head of yers but to take my big fucking cock as good as yer right now…” Every filthy word that leaves his lips, falling like melted honey into your ears making you clench around him, is accentuated with a snap of his hips making you bounce on his arms.

His arm that was hugging you moves lower, fingertips travelling down between your legs and rubbing tight circles over your clit making you whine as you close your eyes. You can hear his tail splash in the water with his movements, and you can tell when his thrust starts to become sloppier, almost losing the rhythm, but keeping it long enough for you to combust around his shaft.

He groans on your shoulder when your walls clench around his length like a vice, milking him for what he's worth, making hims moan against your skin as he keep moving his hips, slowly, letting the two of you ride out your orgasm as you try to get air back into your lungs.

Under the tank, on the underground level of the sanctuary and hidden in the shadows, three pairs of eyes see how Johnny kisses your shoulder softly.

“You know… I was feeling bad about dragging the poor girl into this mess, but… I don't think she minds it too much.” Gaz says, eyes glue to the two of you.

The thing is, that just like sailors knew that the earth was round long before anyone else; they also knew mermaids were real long before the rest of the world. But being able to communicate with one of the sea apex predators has its benefits, and negotiating with them usually translates to an improvement on the business.

And if the merman they accidentally run over with their boat says he wants a cute little partner to repopulate the north sea in exchange of pushing the fishes towards their fishing nets… they will get him a girlfriend to keep him happy.

After all, since humans always find a way to benefit from mermaids, it's only fair that mermaids benefit from humans too.

I hope you guys still wanted some mermaids, I don't know how it took me so long 🩷

Taglist: @crashtestbunny @going-to-ikea-for-the-fries @waiting-so-long @mothymunson @cod-z

@lyralein @thevoidwriting @sklt987659 @thatonepupkai @darkangel4121

@spadekip @herefor-tojis-tits @soupinasock @arbesa-mind @cmbghost

@multifandomheathenannie @tooloudarts @panikk-attackkk @reap3erslov3 @mothsdrabbles

@cassiecasluciluce @sleepdeprivedkat @lunamoonbby @hatterripper31 @contractedcriteria

@vxnilla-hxrddrugs @fraserbraw @rosiehale23 @keiva1000 @sw33tsnow

@loveandplanet @sobbingnshtting @dprmoon @simpsallthetime1997 @ladyxtiger

@soapsmohawk-16 @nina6708 @katreintjie @sacvh @thesinsoflust

@sodavrr @yuki2129 @idk-justkane @shanhalen @dukeofjjune

@vane28282 @dracu1ara @vivi2e @lordbugs @murder-hobo

[gothhabiba]

Some hints about evaluating scientific studies

Firstly, understand that something being published in a scientific journal (or an academic journal for the social sciences) does not automatically make it true. Publishers profit from publishing novel, eye-catching, surprising research, which means they are more likely to publish positive results than ones that didn't find a connection between given variables. This means that scientists' careers benefit when they get positive results. Certain institutions also benefit from certain findings above others (a committee for research on "obesity" that is funded by a government organisation tasked with ending it, for example, is likely to try to stretch the evidence to find a link between body weight and poor health outcomes). So how do people evaluate scientific studies, especially without being scientists themselves?

Literature reviews

Literature reviews, which aim to assemble and summarise most of the available or influential papers on a given issue, can be a good place to start when trying to research that issue. Typically, scientific studies shouldn't only be evaluated on a case-by-case basis (since even well-designed studies can be contradicted by other, equally well-designed studies), but a full survey of the different results people have gotten should be taken.

Background information and conflicts of interest

Try to find out who funded a given study. Who published the study? What do these people stand to gain from the results of the study being accepted? (For example: you might pay special attention to the experimental design on a study on whether a certain essential oil helps to reverse hair loss that was carried out by a company that sells that oil.)

In theory, many journals call for study authors to declare any conflicts of interest they may have in a special section of the paper. This section should also list funding sources. You might also look up the authors on linkedin or something to find where they're employed; also look into whether another conglomerate owns that company, &c.

Experimental design

If the study involves a survey, have the authors of the paper provided the questions that people were asked, so that you can evaluate them for potential ambiguity or confusing wording? Not being transparent about the exact wording of questions is a sign that a study isn't trustworthy.

What's the sample size? Is it large enough for the claim the study is making to be reasonable? (More on this in the next section.)

Does the experimental design make sense with what the researchers wanted to study? Are the claims that they make in the conclusion section something that could reasonably be proven or suggested by the experiment that they performed?

Does the experimental design "bake in" an assumption of the truth of its hypothesis? (For example, measuring skeletons to argue that they fall into statistically significant size groupings by sex, using skeletons that you sorted into "male" and "female" groups based on their size, is clearly circular).

How was data collected? People might change their answers to a survey, for example, if they have to speak to a person to give them, rather than writing them down anonymously. Self-reported information (such as a survey aiming to figure out average height or average penis size) is also subject to bias. A good study should be transparent about how the authors collected their data, and be clear about how this could have affected their results.

Also regarding surveys: do the categories that the authors have divided respondents into make sense? Are these categories really mutually exclusive? If respondents were asked to sort themselves into categories (e.g., to select their own race or ethnicity), is there any guarantee that they all interpreted the question / the boundaries of these categories the same way? How would this affect the results?

Interpretation of results

Could anything other than the conclusion that the authors came to explain the results of their experiment? For example, a study finding a correlation between two variables and assuming that this means one variable causes the other ("being in a lot of stress causes short stature" or vise versa) could be missing a secret third thing which is in fact causing both of those things (e.g., poverty). Check to make sure that the authors considered other explanations for their findings and ruled them out (for example, by controlling for other variables such as socioeconomic status).

Are the results of the study generalisable to the population that the authors claim they're generalisable to? For example, the results may not be true for the entire population if only cisgender men between the ages of 30 and 40 were tested. Sampling biases can also affect generalisability—if I surveyed my college to try to find out the percentage of women in the total population, you might ask "but is your college sure to have the same percentage of women as the Earth does?"

Statistics

Are the results statistically significant, or are they within expected margins of error?

Many studies provide a p-value (a number between 0 and 1) for their results. In theory, a p-value represents the chance that the study's results could have been achieved by random chance. If you flip a coin ten times (so, your sample size is 10), it's not very odd to get heads six times and tails four times, and you wouldn't accept that as proof that the coin lands on heads more often than tails. The p-value for that result would be high (that is, there's a high chance that the coin appears unfair only because of random chance). On the other hand, if you flip a coin 100,000 times and it lands on heads 60,000 of those times, that's much better evidence that the coin is not a fair one. The p-value would be much lower. Typically, a p-value lower than 0.05 is considered statistically significant.

In practice, there's more than one way to calculate p-values, and so studies sometimes claim p-values that seem absurdly low. A low p-value is not proof of a claim in and of itself. Check to make sure that the authors of the paper also provide the raw data, and not just the p-values; this indicates a concern with other people being able to independently evaluate their results, rather than just trying to get The Best Numbers.

Citations

If the study cites something that seems foundational to their claims or interpretation, try tracing it back to the paper that was cited. Does the source actually claim what the authors of the first study said it did? Does the source provide proof or support for the claim, or does it seem flimsy, like a "common-sense" assumption?

Replication

Check the studies that cite the one you're currently looking at. Has anyone else tried to replicate the study? What were their results?

What if I really, really don't want to read scientific studies?

That's fine. Not everyone is concerned enough with specific scientific questions for regularly reading scientific papers to be reasonable for them. Just keep in mind that not everything in a scientific journal is necessarily true; that profit motives and personal and institutional bias impact results (e.g. when some studies revealed a lack of poor health outcomes for "obesity," and many scientists responded by calling it a "paradox" that needed to be "solved"); and that pop science and journalistic reporting on science are subject to distortions from the same sources.

Try finding commentators on scientific matters whose output you like, and evaluate their writing the same way you would evaluate any other critical writing.

[yandere-sins]

If traumatizing the yans is your thing, let me present: a darling who lovebombs and ghost + an insecure/paranoid yandere! It'll work on yans like Azul, Idia, Malleus, and Scara since man's probably scared of darling leaving on the inside.

I'll pick the first two because they fit it so well, thank you for requesting! ♥

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

Azul

♡ Azul is used to being, well, used. He profits from it more than anyone else, and honestly, it never bothered him before, even when a deal fell through. If the deal was important, he made it so it would succeed. That's why it was even more taunting for him when the deal he wanted to make with you kept being delayed. Why? It wasn't his fault; that much was very clear. You showed early on that you had every intention to seal the deal—become his personal attendant on call whenever he wanted in exchange for all the riches and things you wanted in life. Azul would have made you a star if that had been your goal, rich and famous and adored by everyone—while he was still pulling the strings in the background, making you share his bed at night without any exceptions.

♡ But there's no way he could stay mad at you for long. Sure, you never sign the contract that would make you all his, even though you coax him into expensive dinners and dates constantly that he pays out of his own pocket for you. However, with you feeding him dessert, giggling at his jokes, and complimenting his prowess and intelligence, Azul can't help but boast and blush at everything you say, looking more love-struck than ever when you hug his arm on the way home, telling him how great he is and how much you appreciate all he does for you. He is a great provider, but he loves hearing it from your mouth. You make him feel so good when you feed into his obsession; tell him he's the only one for you. That you can only rely on him and that you want no one else. Azul even promises to provide anything you want as you two stand in front of your home, brushing his thumb over your lips as he waits for you to give him the pleasure of kissing you, almost sealing the deal. He promises to give you all you desire when you come to sign the contract tomorrow—he could even come and pick you up for the appointment! But as he leans forward, you just grin, quickly kissing his cheek before leaving him high and dry in your doorway, offering him a wink as you close the door.

♡ And after that, you never show up. Even the twins are avoiding Azul's office, trying not to get too close to him as he is absolutely fuming, lashing out, and tearing apart anything in his way. It was all fun and games until you kept repeating stunts like that, and Azul's patience is wearing really thin. He plans to take the contract with him next time, place it in front of you the moment the overly expensive bill comes, and tell you how you'll have to pay this time unless you sign the damn contract. He even fantasizes about guiding your hand to sign the document before finally getting his piece of cake right then and there, out in public if he must. You've been putting off your responsibility in this relationship, and he's over it. But damn... he sure as hell wasn't ready for the waterworks to start once he puts you on the spot. And how can he do that to you? You are the loveliest creature he's ever met, and you tell him you love him so much and don't understand what you did wrong. Maybe he can be patient one more time.

♡ You've been playing with the devil for so long that you might not even notice as the weights shift. When Azul starts standing you up for dates, when, suddenly, he's too busy. He's always on his phone when you two are together, not as interested in all your compliments anymore. It makes you antsy. What if he's slipping from your grasp? Once the usual things don't work anymore, what else can you do? You should have known that, in the end, Azul always gets what he wants. Even if you keep trying to get out of this deal, he'll be the one with the last laugh! And when he keeps feeding you the same treatment you gave him, you are slowly falling into his trap. Azul will remind you that he really is so generous, right? He loves you after all that happened between you two, you know that, right? Wouldn't you like to enjoy all you have when you're with him unconditionally? Azul will give you the world because he loves you. He won't kick you to the curb; he'll always be there. It's so easy! You just need to sign here.

Idia

♡ Poor Idia. People kept telling him you were too good for him and that someone like you would never fall for someone like him. But even so... how could he not gaze upon you lovingly, wishing you'd come to his room with him to play games and cuddle all day long, his arms around you while you two slept and a smile on both your faces when you fed each other snacks. Imagine the surprise when you finally acknowledged him—talked with him even! You were so interested in his games and wanted to try them, sitting in his room like he kept dreaming about. But this time, it was real, and your knees were brushing, and everything was so perfect. You two really like each other, and you encourage him to go out with you just as much as you spend time in his safe space, giving him the opportunity to love you.

♡ His heart was always meant to break, but did you have to be so harsh? He simply didn't feel like going out with you that day. Idia doesn't really like your friends, and they don't like him. You keep saying you wished you could stay in with him, but your friends demanded to go out that night. It would be such a shame if you had to go alone, right? Also, why does he always have to pay? You know it is hard to say "no" when you make him seem like the most significant, most generous person in your life in front of everyone, kissing him and boasting about how amazing your boyfriend is. Because yes, he is your boyfriend. The word never loses its intended effect. You make him believe that every boyfriend has a duty to his partner to fulfill their wishes, and Idia follows it religiously. Until one day, he decides that enough is enough and that it is time for you two to do stuff he wants to do.

♡ It's hard to say what is worse: the arguing or the cold shoulder. You usually text him good morning and good night, so it hit him hard when you didn't let anything be heard for days. He caved after only one full day of this, apologizing and promising to make up for it, and immediately, he got the satisfaction of hearing from you again. You knew how to play him like a fiddle, and it worked!... but you underestimated Idia's obsession with you. And you believed him when he told you he had something special planned. You need to wear a blindfold, but you will not be disappointed. Maybe he's proposing, maybe he's gifting you a new car. Maybe there's a house waiting for you to live and decorate. Gosh, the possibilities!

♡ Don't be shocked when you remove the blindfold and find yourself locked in a cell. Look, Idia put up a gaming system and a huge shelf of the newest games to enjoy! Here, you can argue and scream as much as you want—no one will hear you. It's an underground prison, after all. Did you forget that this was his family business? You're such a jokester! As if he'd let you out just because you ask him nicely. Now you are his, and his alone. No one will find you here, and Idia gets to watch over you all day long! These cameras are the newest model, you know. Pretty fancy, eh? Idia does it because he loves you! You are so pretty, even with the despair on your face. He can't wait to spend the rest of his life with you, playing games and ditching responsibilities towards your friends. You only need each other, so just wait for him to come back. There's some more paperwork to declare you exceptionally dangerous, so there won't be anyone stupid enough to come close to what is his.

[occamstfs]

Ni Hao!NYC

Morally conflicted journalist puts off questions of ethics until it's just too late. Finally assigned to put his name next inflammatory content Sam finds himself more than appreciating Chinese culture.

Various white to Asian Muscle growth and racial change ahead!

Like many, I saw the final pictures on twitter and had to do something with them haha! Ended up with a piece just a tad different than usual! Hope you all enjoy! -Occam

Samuel Johnston knew he worked for a rag but as long as the checks cashed he could afford to mute his conscience. They made money not from sales so much as some rightwing think tank who wants their views affirmed in any way they can get it. So he lays low and pens little puff pieces, avoiding anything too controversial and introduces himself as an accountant to anyone he cares enough to lie to.

He’s quite adept at staying out of sight and mind when it comes to the doling out of any especially charged or problematic issues. Making sure to bury his own work any chance he gets, even using a pen name in case someone accidentally stumbles on his writing. It’s gone well enough so far he thinks! Sam tells himself that really working for NY:Red isn’t that bad, surely it’s even good that he’s got the job rather than anyone who believes the shit they write. Right?

No job is without its problems, he tells himself. So far he’s done a commendable job keeping his nose down with an almost supernatural ability to duck away from bigwigs or management. That is until now as he’s summoned by name to his boss’ side. His proficiency at staying off the radar of management has kept him from a one on one with the man in charge for some time, but now he is sitting on the top floor outside of Mr. Howard’s office, surely waiting to be assigned some horrible project.

“Come in!” Sam hears the surly man shout before promptly stepping into the gaudy office. He’s immediately taken aback as somehow the editor looks almost younger than he does in the many pictures Sam has seen. Sam hides his shock at the man’s jet black hair as well as he hides the general fear and disdain that begins to send adrenaline pumping towards his mind. Mr. Howard doesn't notice at least, getting straight to business, “I can tell from yer writing that ya like the city Sam, can I call ya Sam?”

Samuel opens his mouth to reply but the chief just continues on, “Anyway I love all yer little toilet paper stories but how do ya wanna write with the big leagues?” This time Samuel stays strong and gets a word in before being steamrolled again, “Actually I-” “I’m puttin’ you on the most important case we have Sam. Surely ya’ve noticed all this, what's da word, influx? Invasion? Bah. All the Asian shit that’s startin’ ta creep in on our city’s culture!” Samuel makes an awkward face as despite knowingly working for the racist, it’s different to hear the words out loud.

He holds his tongue out of shock or fear and his boss continues on his diatribe, “The last couple a schmucks I had on the beat just up’n left me high and dry can ya believe it! Old friends I thought!” He grumbles as he scratches his chin, moving away his hand it seems his beard thinned? He shakes his head in irritation and Sam would swear he saw his jowls tighten and wrinkles smooth over. “Anyway kid. Go out and do some prelim research. Have something on my desk by Friday or yer out just like those galoots!” Samuel stands for a second unsure if he’s allowed to leave before his boss looks up to glare with eyes Sam would’ve sworn were blue when he walked in.

Sam rushes out the door and to the elevator, riding it back to his floor, debating between writing a preemptive resignation or keeping mum and keeping on payroll for one last week. Profiteering from a culture war he may be but he’s not about to regurgitate genuinely racist talking points. He taps his foot impatiently as he thinks about just how cushy this gig is though. “Fuck!” He decides to call the only other confirmed decent human being he knows here, his friend Nick who works in the fashion dept.

The two go to grab coffee at a chain next door, Sam tries not to notice how they’ve started selling Vietnamese iced coffee. “Fuck man I can’t do it! Literally just one conversation alone with Howard was a wake up call.” Nick smiles like he has no problems with working for the dirtiest rag in the city, “Chill out Sam. Huward had my manager on the same beat and he, uh, Hidaka said that is said to just look busy for a bit and we won’t need to worry about all this racist shit anymore.” Sam squints his eyes at his friend, he’s not usually so easy breezy about work. He also racks his brain trying to figure out who Hidaka could possibly be. That can’t be his boss. No way Howard would let someone not white lead a department.

Seeing Sam lost in thought Nick reaches out and grabs his hand in a way Sam couldn’t imagine him doing before this second. In fact as the second drags on he stares down in the hand in shock, feeling the warm hand squeeze his forearm. He looks up to his friend’s face searching for any clue to the cause of this odd behavior. Sam smiles awkwardly and half-jokes “Hah hah, uh- Who are you and what’d you do with Nick… Hah.” Nick bursts out laughing, patting him on the arm jovially and leaving a hand larger than Sam remembers resting on his own. “Hidaka-san just showed me how to worry less about this job un?”

Sam inspects him closely for anything amiss, it looks like he’s picked up a bit of a tan? His hair is messier than usual and definitely a little darker, his skin is alluringly smooth and Sam can feel the heat his body is generating despite sitting across from him. Looking at his clothes Sam finds another surprise, his shirt almost looks strained! As if Nick has been hitting the gym for sometime, maybe it’s just been a while since he’s seen his friend in person? 

Assuaged in the slightest, Sam ignores the glowering red flags and follows this lede, “Woah Nick have you been working out?” Nick blushes and Sam at the very least sees his friend is as shy as ever. He goes to scratch the back of his head straining his shirt almost to its ripping point as he responds, “Ah a little haha! どうぞ(please) don’t you worry about me. Since you have no desire to write the article, why don’t you go ahead and check out the little Asian market down the street for fun? It was quite a good time when Hidaka-san brought me earlier this week!”

Sam awkwardly smiles as he wonders why on Earth Sam is suddenly referring to his boss like this, it’s almost like he’s performatively speaking Japanese. Taking a second to pause Sam looks at the haircut as hands unseen style it into something fashionable he puts two and two together. Thinking to himself, ah! Nick must just be a weeb! Tension disappears from his body with a sigh of relief as he wonders how he didn’t notice before now. He gets up to follow his friend’s advice, what better way to stick it to the man than support the people he aims to malign right?

He bucks up and grabs a Vietnamese iced coffee for the road, tossing a “Sayonara,” at Nick with a wink to which he perks up and slightly bows. Man, how did he not notice before Sam thinks yet again. Blissfully unaware, leaving just as kanji symbols appear on Nick’s keyboard and his friend responds to an email in a language he didn’t know this morning. Blue eyes growing coal dark as his tanned, increasingly muscular arms tap away at the keyboard.

Sam spends the bulk of his day at the little Asian street fair and has an absolute blast. Any residual stains on his mind from his unpleasant morning absolutely fade away as he goes from booth to booth sampling cuisine and chatting with diasporic cultures the world over. Time flies as he goes into journalist mode and basically interviews first gen Chinese immigrants about their time in the city. He finds himself beyond immersed in the conversation, continuing to learn from the couple as the tables around them begin to pack up for the day. 

He offers to help the older couple pack up and they happily take the aid, striking him bashful as they talk of what a sweet young man he is. “Wa! 哇强 (strong) Too!” The wife chuckles as she jokingly feels his less than impressive arms. He was having a better time at this little fair than he ever could’ve imagined, enough so that he thinks about going to stick it to Huaward then and there. Huaward? Whatever. His mind slightly off put by whatever that was, in an uncharacteristic act of transparency, Sam lets it slip that he works for NY:Red. The expressions on the kind couple’s faces immediately sour and Sam is quite shocked that they even know what the paper is.

There is a glint in the husband’s eyes as he starts to motion Sam away from any further aid, “谢谢 (Thank you) for your help, Sam. There have been a few, hm, bad men wandering around from that paper and I uh-” He looks around his table and grabs some miijiu they hadn’t put away yet. His wife nods, her face somewhere between rueful and hopeful as she watches her husband offer Sam the glass. “Again, 谢谢, er thank you for your help young man, enjoy this for the road 好的? (Yeah?)” The two turn to each other and begin talking to each other in mandarin alone and Sam takes the hint.

Kicking himself that he fumbled the capstone on such a pleasant afternoon, though finding solace in the rice wine he’s walking away with. He is blissfully unaware as the couple watch him drink and head down the street debating if everyone from that paper really is an asshole. Grimacing as they think about the vitriol spewed at them by NY:Red readers they decide they had no other recourse. Pleasant as he seemed Sam was consciously working on the side of hate and that could not be simply overlooked.

Sam quite enjoyed the rice wine the couple left him with, it immediately smooths over any lasting regret or concern about his interaction with the couple. They don’t know anything about him! He’s nothing like his other coworkers. It feels as if he’s had far more to drink than the small container they left him with should allow, but every time he looks down there always seems to be more mijiu to entice him. It would be impolite not to finish their gift he thinks; his confident stride quickly shifting to a stumble as he wanders home. 

His phone goes off as he gets an email from his boss, Mr. Huang?  Can’t be right. He squints at the email, deciding he must really have overdone it on the mijiu and stuffing his phone back in his pocket. Beyond the obvious difficulties in ambulation being drunk, Sam is unable to notice as his proportions slowly begin to shift. His ever-so lanky body begins to feel dull and heavy as the warmth of the wine fills his chest to capacity and then some as he leans against his apartment door, wiping his feet on an unfamiliar doormat. 

He kicks his shoes off by the door on some new instinct and immediately goes to collapse on the couch. His small sofa creaking as he puts more than his usual dead weight on it. His legs that usually hang off the end lengthen even further as his thighs grow meatier. Pecs press into the cushions as he snores. He is swiftly ushered into an unfamiliar dreamscape, the jubilee of the fair and the bewildering amount of wine he drank produce a vivid carnival of culture in his subconscious.

He sees the old couple at their stand and begins to speak with them in their mother tongue, seeing the delight as a load is taken off their shoulders. His dreamself seamlessly conversing with a fluency unearned. Sam stirs in the waking world as his mind existentially changes to match his morphing body. His blond hair grows thin and longer as its tint stains darker. Twitching in REM the green eyes that he prides himself on speckle with brown before they are entirely overtaken, becoming a rich cacao like the thick eyebrows framing them.

The discomfort of a new language forcing itself into this memory begins to wane as he prides himself on how fluent he is in both Chinese and English. His hand goes to scratch his pecs and he smirks in his sleep as they pulse larger, knowing pride is not the only thing surging within him. At the edges of his mind he feels the memory of learning a language, words written on a blackboard in chalk, English and Chinese both. For the life of him he cannot recall which of the two he’s learning second. An alarm set on his phone blares and he jolts awake to get ready for work.

Throwing on a shirt, Sam freezes as he sees his reflection. Hundreds of little questions seize his mind, those aren’t his eyes are they? Did he dye his hair last night? Are those abs? God his arms look good don’t they!? As they race through his mind and grow rampant they fixate on how attractive he suddenly feels. Rubbing his pecs and feeling them bounce he cries out to himself, “该死！Uhhh, Damn I look good!” He poses in the mirror and takes in every new angle of his powerful body. Taking note as his body hair seems thinner, and decidedly darker wherever it remains. He looks close at his pit seeing his once dense bush of curly hair thin out and straighten, before the memory of even having dense body hair is washed from his mind.

His phone goes off again and his work is immediately brought to the forefront of his mind. “Fuck I didn’t read Huang’s message!” He finds email after email from his boss, only the first few mention the wretched assignment they last talked about. Sam’s eyes widen as he continues to skim through the emails as the topic lines quickly show some drastic re-prioritization from his boss. Only then does he realize that he’s been reading his boss’ name as Huang. His boss is white. Rather his boss’ whole identity is based around being white! Huang isn’t, right? Incredibly he clicks the last email, subject line Vacation, and is immediately greeted with a mouth watering picture of a powerful man. Everything comes to a stop as he can’t help but gawk at this man’s body.

Ni Hao Sanuel- take the day off shi de? Still only half dressed Sam balks at just how bizarre this is, rereading the name Sanuel he is thrown for a loop as his mind reconfigures this. Tearing his eyes from the man’s torso he finally looks at the cocky face and sees a thread he recognizes,  “天啊! (Holy Shit!) That’s Mr. Huang!” He shuts his mouth before he drools like a dog at his boss’ arms. God, this is unlike him though right? He tries to dig through his memories of the editor in chief as the caustic racist he was yesterday, but with each uncovered the image of Huang changes as this dreamboat playboy overrides more of what was.

Sanuel readies to just stay in for this day of assigned vacation before he gets another notification, this time from his friend, Nobu? An image of Nick flashes through his mind, a handprint burns on his arm, and the taste of Vietnamese coffee dances on his lips. “Meet me on the boardwalk うん？” Sanuel rolls his eyes at his friend tacking on Japanese like that, willing his mind not to think about how his friend’s contact ID now says Nobu. Must be one of those, uh, his own thoughts trail off as he successfully abandons concern to head to meet his friend.

Nearing the meeting spot he looks for his usually cleancut friend, the only body present however is a massive Japanese man awkwardly flexing at himself in a reflective surface. Sanuel shyly speaks up, “Ni Ha-, uh Hey? Have you seen a guy named Nick around here?” The apparent bodybuilder beams and goes to engulf Sanuel in a hug shouting, “Oi! Shan! took ya long enough!” His eye twitches hearing the name, as this man effortlessly lifts him off his feet in a hug far too intimate for colleagues, and certainly from whoever this stranger is!

Shan pushes against the massive man, his body heat broiling him on this already warm day. He strains his eyes looking at the man grabbing him and suddenly it hits him, “Nobu?” The man promptly lets him go and pats him on the back with a laugh he would’ve never expected to come from his sheepish friend in the fashion department. “Wanna go have some ice cream or something Shan?” He feels the need to push back against his friend calling him Shan but as he hears it a second time he can’t recognize the names as anything but his own.

Shan pauses as he sees Nobu stop to chat with some Japanese tourists and something about the picture doesn’t sit right. God it’s that talk with Huang getting him all worked up again that,uh, racist? He clutches his head as contradictions between his past and present collide in his head and he slams his eyes shut as he cannot determine what is true about his current reality. Shan falls to the ground with a deep thud, slightly hyperventilating, his body grows larger as he takes deep breaths from the stress.

Hearing him collapse Nobu runs over to help him up, this time with more effort as his friend’s comatose body continues to put on muscle and grow heavier. Still, having the impressive figure he does, Nobu rather easily gets him on a bench and sits next to him, “クソ野郎？(Fuck dude?) You alright?” Shan slowly nods as his friend throws an arm around him. Looking down at his own arms as they pulse with muscle, he feels his eyes strain as the structure of his face begins to change.

Shan's jawline sharpens and his skin smooths. Stubble that has been a cornerstone of hiding his facial blemishes vacates as his hair stains black and flops longer. He feels clarity grace his mind as he stares at large hands on the ends of pale, hairless, muscular arms and he wonders if he is even himself.

He voices these concerns to Nobu who just laughs them off. “Hah! Of course dude, same Shan I’ve always known!” “那- that’s not my name Nobu.” His friend grins shyly in concern for his friend's mind. “It can't be my name. I’m-” grimacing before he continues as it takes everything in his power to speak against the realities in front of him. Memories of a world quite far away, moving to New York long ago, the youngest in a family of Chinese immigrants, “I’m white aren’t I Nobu?” 

Nobu can’t help but laugh again at the beyond bizarre statement. He jokes about Shan hitting his head when he fell. “You’re the most 2nd Gen Chinese わるがき(brat) I know bro! Imma go get us some ice cream while you chill out.” Shan stares at his friend as he abandons him, feeling his eyes tighten as they shift into the monolid eyes that his memories swear he’s always had.

Shan retreats into his mind racing against his changing memories to find a pillar of truth to grasp on. He sees himself at the gym with Nobu, his black mop of hair flicking sweat into the air as he poses with his bro. He sees just yesterday at the Asian fair, helping an elderly couple pack up their table, twitching as he would’ve sworn that went differently. He remembers sitting at the office getting no work done as he plays on his phone, 是的！that’s it! His job. There’s something there, if only he can remember what the problem was there.

He sees Nobu begin walking back with sweet treats, Nobu works at the paper too. Oh 呃/Duh! He smirks as he goes for his wallet to grab a business card. His eyes see the obnoxious red logo he knows before they read text that will send him irrevocably forward, Shun Jiang - Ni Hao!NYC. His body fills with warmth like a machine overworking as his mind races with information about his new reality. Sweat drips from his hair as he can no longer even struggle to recall his claimed existence as a bystander at the vile paper they produced. His brown eyes steep to a dark black as they glaze over.

“Shan-baka! Here’s a popsicle!” Nobu shouts as he returns to his overheated friend who immediately bursts from his stupor. “混蛋!(Asshole!) It’s Shun- thought we were close!” Nobe smirks as he starts to eat his own ice cream. Unable to recall anything too in depth he feels a pause as he wonders what his Japanese friend is doing working for a Chinese newspaper, before he answers it himself. Clearly his subconscious is more at place in whatever new reality he faces. Their paper is for all NYC’s Asian immigrants. Nobu works writing, or more often modeling, for Konnichiwa!NYC! Huang really was a genius for the idea.

Shun smiles, thinking fondly of his boss as he enjoys the short break from the summer heat that Nobu brought him. Back at the headquarters of their paper everything shifts from the rag it was and into a paper connecting the disparate Asian immigrants of the city, printed in any language they can find translators for, Ni Hao, Konnichiwa, Annyeonghaseyo, Namaste!NYC. Each day striving for a better, more inclusive New York City. Shun beams with his new face, no longer burdened with the just concern of his peddling vitriol, instead possessed with a desire to spread his culture far and wide.

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As I was writing I remembered a similar series by the now gone Dumb-and-Jocked!

If interested do check out Horizon Zero: One, Two, and Three for quite a different take on a journalism themed Racial Change!