#or that their attraction to women only makes them superior

[sexlapis]

actor! toji fushiguro thoughts 💭

actor toji would be one of those hot dilf actors that women would always be drooling over, edits of him always popping up on your fyp, the most outta pocket comments underneath all of his insta posts, he would be the number 1 dilf for all the old man fuckers.

toji rarely posts on social media. he’s at that age where he just does not care to post his whole life online, but that only attracts people to him more because he is so mysterious. he would have like 10 million followers and only follow 12 people (including you)

toji would probably be one of those actors that have no variety in their roles, but everybody would still eat it up anyways. toji as an actor would typically play a villain/antagonist or an anti-hero, typically in an action movie/series and he plays them well. toji can embody an intimidating, frightening, intelligent villain very well. he could be cast as one of the most horrendous, horrible villains and be a menace towards the main cast but because he looks like that, he is forgiven.

but there are those rare times toji is casted as a father or father figure and his character would do anything for their daughter and everyone just loses it. he plays the father role well, almost too well. he is so caring, protective and sweet towards the actress playing as his daughter, even behind the scene clips with one another, he is just so gentle and dreamy. the fans cannot handle it!

during interviews, toji can be charming. he cracks jokes and he answers questions honestly, even if they make him look unprofessional. he really does not give a fuck about that, which only makes him even more attractive. he’s a little sleazy sometimes, but that just adds to his lazy effortless appeal.

he just has such a dominant personality and not in a bad way either. like if an interviewer asked a question that made a cast member uncomfortable, he would smoothly change the subject and the mood, making everyone forget about it entirely. also, his stare is really intense…like when the interviewer or a fellow cast member is speaking, he makes sure to look at them and listen really closely, not even realising how intimidating that could be 😭

despite his unprofessional personality and wealthy background, people who work with toji cannot say anything bad about him. he is a great actor with great work ethic and is always respectful to his cast members. and most of all, he is humble. due to his background and accomplishments, other actors on set expect him to be all flashy and all head in the clouds, but toji isn’t like that. toji is very aware and down to earth and he doesn’t see himself as superior because of his wealth. he sees what that power does to some people (his family) and he wants nothing not do with it.

overall, for the most part, toji is a respected actor, with a loyal (albeit crazy) fanbase, he actually enjoys his job and lives a relatively private and quiet life. people barely know anything despite his wealth and fame and prefers to keep it that way.

a/n: this was inspired by jeffrey dean morgan lmao. also i’m thinking of maybe doing a mini one shot with actress reader x actor toji in the form of one of those youtube videos like “(reader) & toji fushiguro being a couple for 10 minutes straight” i think that would be fun 🤭🤭

edit: toji & reader being a couple for 10 minutes straight is here <3

#lana del rey girlies would love him so bad #actor!toji #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji headcanons #toji fushiguro headcanons #toji x you #toji fushiguro x you #toji x y/n #toji fushiguro x y/n #toji fluff #toji fushiguro fluff #toji zenin x reader #t

[molsno]

I find the notion that trans women's oppression is at least partially based on a systemic hatred of men and masculinity troubling for many reasons. the biggest reason, of course, is that misandry is not real no matter how you attempt to label or define it. but moreover, it's just flat out wrong.

it is true that many forms of transmisogyny consist of some form of misgendering. however, it's ludicrous to call it misandry just because the underlying implication is that the trans woman in question is really a man; if that were the case, then cis men and trans men would be subjected to the same oppression on the basis of their manhood. but no, the misgendering is always simply a cover for something else - something far more insidious.

if a trans woman is loud, outspoken, and argumentative, then she's accused of demonstrating her "male socialization". she's told she's guilty of "mansplaining". when a trans woman is jealous or clingy with her partner, she's accused of expressing "male entitlement" over them, and being "manipulative" and "controlling". when a trans woman is attracted to cis women and talks about her desire to have sex with them, she's accused of being "creepy" or "predatory". she's told she's being "misogynistic" by reducing women (cis women, or "real women" as is usually the implication in this scenario) to just their bodies and valuing them only for their worthiness as sex objects.

if you think about it, though, these arguments mirror regular old misogyny pretty closely! if a cis woman is loud, outspoken, and argumentative, then she's a "bitch", she's "bossy". she's told she needs to "know her place". when a cis woman is jealous or clingy with her partner, she's accused of being "crazy" and "obsessive". and indeed, when a cis woman is attracted to other cis women and talks about her desire to have sex with them, she's accused of being "creepy" or "predatory"!

so why, then, if these statements are really a form of misogyny, does the justification for them hinge on trans women's supposed "maleness"? the answer is simple: biological essentialism. this ideology, in no small part popularized in feminist and queer spaces by terfs, states that "biological males" are predestined by their very nature to prey on and dominate "biological females". and since trans women are "biologically male", it follows then that they are wolves in sheeps' clothing. any presumption of innocence or harmlessness is discarded, and trans women's actions are painted in a new light.

if you accuse a trans woman of being an infiltrator in women's spaces due to her supposed "maleness", then what you've effectively accomplished is the subjugation of an underclass of women. trans women are not considered deserving of respect, compassion, or dignity whatsoever. if you paint a trans woman as a threat to other women, then you can drum up as much outrage and violence against her as you want, and she will have no recourse. and the simple fact of the matter is that the easiest way to do this is to draw attention to her alleged proximity to "maleness".

perhaps you might be thinking that proximity to maleness being used as a justification for oppression implies that misandry actually is real. after all, aren't women of color, butch lesbians, and even black men also subjected to violence due to their perceived proximity to "maleness"?

I understand how one could make that mistake, but that notion fails to engage with the actual material reasoning behind the forms of oppression these groups face: they pose a threat to the cishet white man's absolute dominion. the root of these disparate but related forms of oppression, biological essentialism, is inherently a white supremacist, misogynistic, and conservative ideology. its purpose, much like its ilk, eugenics and phrenology, is to establish a hierarchy in society that places cishet white christian men at the top by asserting that they are inherently biologically superior to all others in every respect.

if you observe people's behavior, you can see that this ideology permeates almost every level of society. cishet white men are elevated to positions of authority without question; their motives are never scrutinized and criticized in the same way that trans women's are, or any of the other oppressed groups mentioned above. if one of these men is misogynistic, if he views women as mere sex objects to be controlled to suit his liking, he will not be punished for it; he is exercising the right that has been given to him by the society people like him have created through centuries of colonialism. even in queer spaces, men are regularly coddled, their misdeeds forgiven or excused for no real reason other than that many queer people have not questioned the assumptions they've internalized.

the notion that trans women are oppressed by misandry is laughable, really, because we are constantly made aware that, due to biological essentialism, TME people will always trust a man over us.

#my writing #transmisogyny

[whereireid]

𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐏𝐋𝐔𝐒𝐇 — based on this ask | masterlist

pairing: miles quaritch x fem!reader

Summary: What Colonel Quaritch misses most about planet Earth are the woman. Luckily, you're a human whose more than eager to please to your superior.

— warnings: interspecies relationship ! nsfw content MDNI: tit fucking, imbalance of power, ruts

There is nothing that Colonel Quartich misses about Earth.

Nothing but the women.

Pandora is beautiful. A world with extravagant wildlife, the nature of the planet so beautiful and blue, with specks of lilac purple and lavender hues. It's foolish to not be in awe of such beauty, and Quaritch is no fool. He is in awe of everything that Pandora has to offer.

Except the women.

The women of Pandora. The Na'vi, and the Avatars, made of carbon fibre — body hard, rigid and strong, conditioned to survive the difficult climate. Though beautiful, with specks of Aqua blue and long, delicate limbs, they're not plush. There's nothing soft about the women of Pandora.

Quaritch wishes that he could be attracted to them. Especially since a perk of being an Avatar now means he suffers through a rut — a period where he literally gets so horny that the only way to cure his arousal is to fuck something.

Anything.

Even when in a rut, though, he can't bring himself to do it. His hands will linger on an Avatar, falling on their skin, which is hard and rough, and every feeling of arousal will disappear.

Quaritch needs relief. Desperately. His hand isn't enough anymore — it just leaves him with more frustration than before he even tried.

So, when he spots you, it feels like fate.

You're a scientist, a newbie, with pinned-up hair, two curls crusading down the sides of your face, a soft smile on your lips. A soft smile, which meets your eyes and has the corners crinkling. His eyes fall, tracing your body with his eyes, and he realises that he's found exactly what he's been looking for.

Quaritch waits, and watches. He's not sure when the right time to approach even is. He's been out of the game for a long time, now — the women of Pandora don't need charisma. They're easily pleased.

So, when you approach Quaritch, he's incredibly thankful.

"Colonel," you squeak, staring up at your superior officer, your small frame practically trembling beneath him. "I was asked by some of the other members of the science team, to ask you if on your next mission to the forests of Pandora, if — if you could bring back some fresh fruit."

He blinks down at you. Once, twice. You shuffle on your feet, neck craned in an impossibly awkward position to be able to see him. You're smiling, and it doesn't waver. Not even when he scowls, and grunts, "I can."

"You — you can?"

"Do you make your other superior officers repeat themselves?" Quaritch asks, trying to ignore the discomfort in his pants when your eyebrows furrow in confusion.

"No, Colonel."

"I didn't think so." He kisses his teeth, tongue darting over his fangs. "I can get you the fruit, but only if you can do something for me."

"Anything."

Quaritch smiles.

That's how he manages to sort his issues out.

You're so delicate that it drives him crazy. All sense of dignity was abandoned long ago, when he'd first made his proposal — how could you say no to somebody whose so desperate for relief? Perhaps you are, too, with your crush on the Colonel consuming you, day-in, day-out.

"You're so soft," he says, his voice so low that it sounds like he's growling. His fingers toy with your nipples, rolling the buds between his fingers, watching as your breath hitches as he does so. "Sunshine, you have got no fuckin' idea how hard you make me."

"Show me," you whisper, voice sultry and seductive, tensing as he fingers pinch at your nipples gently.

There's nothing more perfect than you. In that moment, every issue of Quaritch's erodes away. He's got you exactly where he wants you — on your knees, your tits pushed together as much as they possibly can be, his cock sheathed between them.

"That hurt, sunshine? Squeezin' 'em so tight just to please me?"

You nod your head, your lips drawn between your teeth, your eyebrows crinkled in concentration. His cock is all lubed up, making it that much more slippery. It's so soft, so plush, your tits so perfect and round. So big, on human standards, but so small in comparison to his cock.

Holy shit, you're perfect.

You let him use your tits like you're a fuck-doll. Quaritch fucks into you, rolling his hips into your tits, groaning as the squelching sounds of the lube clap around his office. They bounce, they jiggle, they take him so well, and your eyes are so focused and you're pushing your tits together so hard, just so he can get a good grip.

It makes his orgasm that much better. His cock twitches, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. There's a heat which pools in his lower belly as he finishes, painting your chest with his cum, some shooting onto your chin and lips.

You're such a pretty mess. Quaritch collects his cum from your face, pushing it between your lips, and you suck, and he groans. His cock is still nestled between your tits, basking in the softness of you, the pillow-like cushion of your flesh.

He's going to have to do this again.

#miles quaritch x reader #miles quaritch x you #miles quaritch smut #miles quaritch imagine #colonel miles quaritch #quaritch x reader #quaritch miles x reader #colonel quaritch #colonel miles quaritch x reader #recom miles quaritch x reader #avatar the way of water x reader #avatar the way of water #atwow x reader #atwow #avatar the way of water fanfiction #the way of water #avatar way of water #avatar the way of water imagines #avatar x reader #avatar #avatar james cameron #avatar 2 #avatar 2009 #atwow angst #avatar smut #atwow smut #avatar twow #avatar: the way of water #womnsfw

[lafemmemacabre]

@ People who’re not lesbians and want a better understanding of lesbophobia in order to extend better solidarity towards us:

(Repost from my old blog)

The first thing you have to internalize, is that the most recurrent themes behind lesbophobia are patterns of humiliation, punishment and denying us vulnerability.

The “mean” (arrogant and cruel) lesbian, and why lesbians must be “humbled down” (humiliated):

We’re perceived as offensively arrogant because under the patriarchy, women are supposed to be inferior to men, men are supposed to be superior.

One of the key roles of patriarchal manhood is to desire women exclusively. By taking on that role that’s supposedly only reserved for men, we provoke people to think “Who do they think they are? Do they think they’re equal to men? Or BETTER than men?“

Us not “giving men a chance” is seen as a cruel act, too. Even though straight men not giving men a chance, and straight women not giving women a chance, is them just knowing what they do or don’t want.

Because of our perceived cruelty and arrogance, we need to be humiliated back down into our proper place within womanhood.

There’s a reason why men tell us they’re going to make us “real women”, when threatening us from a distance, as well as when correctively raping or beating us. When it reaches a point in which they see us as incorrigible through humiliation, they kill us.

Projecting aggression on us, which must be punished:

Even other people who’re not cishets see everything we do or don’t do as violent, abrasive or aggressive. We’re seen as raging beasts.

Expressing my unattraction to men in public in the most neutral terms possible has been treated as me shaming people who are attracted to men (an attack), or as an attempt to hurt all men. It has been deemed homophobic or biphobic, too, no matter how careful I’ve been to not hurt other people’s sensitivities.

Don’t get me started on me not liking men on itself earning me being called a TERF no matter how clear I make it that I’m inclusive of trans women. This happens even to transfem lesbians ALL the time too.

Our mere existence is seen as an act of violence, as a threat, and our violent crime must be met with punishment, which can fall anywhere between isolating us, up to meeting us with concrete violence.

The emotionless, yet hysterical lesbian:

Since we’re violent beasts, we’re seen as emotionless. Since we’re unemotional, we’re unbreakable, which means that no violence we face is punishment enough. In consequence, when we’re subjected to violence, it’s minimized. Since it’s minimized, if we complain about it, we’re exaggerating. We’re being hysterical.

We aren’t vulnerable human beings with emotions in other people’s eyes. The only emotion people allow us is anger, and only because they can use it against us. Lesbian anger at being constantly humiliated and vilified is used to demonize us further.

We don’t need protection, we don’t hurt, so it’s fine to stomp on us, and if we complain, we’re exaggerating. Actually, we’re the ones being mean to whoever hurt us, by making that person feel guilty for a non-issue.

We ESPECIALLY don’t need help, much less to be rescued!

By being lesbians, in other people’s eyes, we’re making the statement to the world that even IF we were to not be completely unbreakable or unfeeling, we still don’t want to be rescued, we don’t want help. We did this to ourselves, in other people’s eyes.

When you see a lesbian saying or doing anything and start to feel indignation, to feel attacked, to feel threatened, to perceive them as aggressive, cruel or hysterical, ask yourself:

Is this lesbian being genuinely offensive, aggressive, cruel or hysterical, or is it ME who has lesbophobic bias I haven’t unlearned yet?

Is this lesbian actually exaggerating, or is it me who sees lesbians as unfeeling and unbreakable, so they shouldn’t be so upset anyway? If you stab a lesbian they won’t bleed, so why are they making a fuss about it?

#⚢ #lesbophobia tw #gender and patriarchy

[asha-mage]

As I am decidedly not heterosexual I've only ever been able to examine the Lanfear stuff through a detached lens of narrative and analytic interest (though the magic thing about Robert Jordan is that basically his entire world and plot can stand up to that scrutiny), but heterosexual men have assured me repeatedly over the years that Lanfear's 'Selene' act in TGH a) would have worked on them and b) did represent a level of appeal that's Rand's ensuing Stupid(TM) re: Lanfear makes a lot of sense.

With that in mind I find it hilarious how the show has updated Lanfear's manipulation attempt, not to appeal to Rand but the audience, and what that says about the way what is attractive in women has shifted in the twenty odd years since TGH came out.

Basically, mysterious intelligent beautiful maidens who are eternally grateful to their rescuer are OUT and worldly confidant financially superior older women who wield their power over you in only benevolent and/or fun ways are IN.

#Wot #Wheel of Time #WoT Musing #Rand al'Thor #Lanfear #Randfear #WoT On Prime #Wheel of Time on Prime #what's even funnier is that if you close read you realize that type 2 is MUCH more in line with Robert Jordan was into personally #(Or at least seemed to be) #then type 1 #anyways still living for the vindication of rand al'thor

[pandoraslxna]

Sweet like Cherry – Chapter 4

Miles Quaritch x female human reader

Words: 6.2k

Summary: Miles has a secret admirer and apparently, she has a thing for photography.

Warnings: explicit smut, Miles pov, conflicted emotions, dirty talk, praise & degradation, rough oral (m receiving), thigh fucking, begging, virgin reader, obsession, authority kink, power play, corruption kink, brief mentions of blood from biting, (angst?)

Notes: this took me forever and idek if I like it or not🧍🏻‍♀️

Good has always pined for evil.

Ironic, because Quaritch knows what being good meant. Or, what being a good soldier meant. He couldn't tell when exactly this happened, but the knowledge came and stayed. He killed people. Of course, when there's an attack you fight back. He killed people on command, too. Sure, there are superiors who sit higher and see farther and they get the whole picture, so no command is mindless or unjustified.

Being a good soldier meant turning your common sense the fuck off, and following commands not doubting it for a second. Not thinking about why you attack instead of fighting back, or what is the reasoning behind missions involving sudden and bloody invasions. At one point, he also became said superior himself. Gave the commands to kill. Had blood on his hands without staining them, because those weren’t actually his hands that did it.

A good soldier is a thoughtless machine, and there is some fucked up irony in not using actual machines instead of human sources in military, he thinks. They want you to be a robot, but they need you to be a human. Or whatever is close to a human. Funny, now that he thinks about it.

He didn't think that working for Ardmore was much better or more sensible than being in the U.S. Army, or even working for Parker. The only difference was wielding more information. Not that he was sure that she shared everything she knew.

So in the end, he’s a good soldier, but that ultimately makes him a bad person. Not if you would ask him, no, there’s not even a spark of regret inside him. But to people like you, to you he must’ve been the devil himself.

And you know how that saying goes? Opposite attracts. And now Quaritch wonders, what does that make you? His antithesis in every way? Yes and no.

Because, turns out, sweet Cherry is everything Miles parents had tried to condition him to want in a person when he was young. A good person.

You’re driven to succeed, he thinks, every time he so coincidentally walks past the labs and you’re there, always working, day and night it seems, not so different from himself. You’re clean, he muses whenever he sees you in ironed clothes, seams sharp and not a hair out of place. You’re polite, he's reminded every time you drop "sir" and "ma'am" like it's second nature to you. You’re overly respectful, he realizes, always watching the way your spine straightens and gaze drops to your shoes whenever a person of authority steps into your space. And you’re pure, he knows it, innocent enough that his strictly christian mother would’ve approved of you, and yet, behind that façade, you’re not so innocent as it seems. So much so, that his father would’ve given him a proud clasp on the shoulder, murmuring something inappropriate while handing him a beer that would remind him why he’s never bought any women home to meet his parents. You care for others, for your environment. You’re empathic. And you’re good, in any way that matters.

And he hates it.

He hates the fact you’re everything he wants in a person, when he really shouldn’t. Because Miles fucking Quaritch, fifthy years of age, should not fool around with such a young little thing in her twenties, fragile like porcelain and pure like a flower that grew under a glass dome. Too naïve to even realize what you’re getting yourself into. It’s not like Miles has ever cared about the wrongs and rights in life, let alone what’s morally correct. But there’s something about you that makes him… hesitate.

In the grand scale of how much things in his life had changed recently, the Polaroids were just a detail. But he found himself attached to them like he’s never been attached to anything. Found himself holding the comically small photos in his big, blue hands every night like they’re a treasure.

It still shocks him to think that this is the same woman that he had met around a month ago. Pure little cherry. He scoffs because the thought of your shaking frame, big innocent eyes not able to meet his gaze, while nervously fiddling with your lab coat, is the same one he’s looking at right now on said Polaroids. It’s ridiculous.

Shocks him more that he likes this version of you way more than he would ever openly admit. That he wishes you would’ve captured your rosy cheeks on those photos, the way you blush and tremble and shy away. How you stutter when he makes you nervous. How your breath hitches. Wishes you would include videos next time, of you begging, calling him sir, saying please, please, please may I come? So sweet, it makes his teeth rot.

He wants to watch these soft lips moving as they say all those filthy words, with that tone in your voice like it’s the first time you’ve ever said them out loud.

Staring at those plush thighs as their spread wide open on your bed, Miles realizes he never wanted to dig his teeth into something more. There’s this desire to bite you, to mark you. Somewhere, it didn’t matter, just as long as he could see it. He wants to nip at your inner thigh, or maybe your bottom lip, your throat, your cute little ass. Wants to bite and suck and kiss until it bleeds and then gently, lovingly lick away the blood, simply because he knows you would allow him to do this. Because he likes the taste of you. Because he knows it would undoubtedly make you more wet. Because it would cause your snug little pussy to hug him even tighter.

Lately, these thoughts have become a vicious circle he can’t seem to break out of. Because no matter the scenario that plays in his head, all his thoughts ultimately lead to the image of him sinking his cock into your tight little hole. Something he doubts is even physically possible, starting from the difference in size between you and him. And there’s also this tiny issue, the fact that you’ve never actually done it before. That no one has ever popped your little cherry.

But it’s an ache he has, to pin you down and make you scream his name from the top of your lungs, let all of bridgehead hear who’s pounding your cute human pussy.

And that’s really the problem, isn’t it? You’re a human. Small, tiny, fragile human. And he’s not– not anymore. What a fucked up joke from the universe, huh? Not the price he expected to pay when he signed up for the phoenix program, when he decided to direct his whole life to becoming a damn good soldier.

But there were things that did help to numb that ache, besides staring at your Polaroids, receiving new ones every couple of days to which he jerked off until his cock felt raw and hypersensitive.

Quaritch was working: doing his job, going on missions, working overtime, crawling into Ardmores ass to exchange informations, forcing his mind to block out every other thought, occupy it with what others would describe as an obsession with finding Sully. But also going to the gym and exercising with the Squad until black spots blocked his view.

Though no matter how hard he tried, that ache never really disappeared. So he decided that it was time to finally do something about this, even if it was just a temporary relief that didn’t include his own hands. Not when yours could work perfectly fine, too.

It’s been a while since he had last seen you, Quaritch realizes as he walks past the labs to find them empty.

Considering the time, it’s not unusual to find them empty, so he goes straight to your room. He doesn’t even know why, doesn’t know why it bothers him so much that you’re not opening the door, that he can’t find you in the cafeteria either, why he doesn’t just take a cold shower and go to bed, why he couldn’t sleep even if he tried. Miles doesn’t know why. It’s not like he can just bend you over and truly ruin you, stain your purity forever once he’s found you. Fuck you long and hard and good and let that fire inside him cool off for a good while.

He wants to, yeah sure, but he can’t. And he doesn’t know why it drives him so insane.

Apart from the whole logistics of being almost three times the size of you, Miles has never been one to fuck around with women like you. Women, that don’t know what they’re doing. He doesn’t know why it makes him feel the way it does when you act all shy, trembling limbs and teary eyes when he touches you, greedily asking for more because it feels new and good so you just can’t help but beg for it– for him.

He’s not a teacher for fucks sake, he just wants to fuck. Release some stress. He wants to feel good, get a pretty girl on her knees after a long day at work and then make her ride him like she’s good for nothing else. Miles doesn’t want to show you how it’s done, to waste his time teaching you what most freshly eighteen year olds already know. Not his fault you’re such a social butterfly, sticking your nose into books and studying weird plants and what not, rather than to go out, get drunk and get laid. Fucking hell, who even are you to put such a pressure on him?

But god damn, don’t you look like a tasty little treat, running on that treadmill, with that absolute peach of an ass stuffed into a pair of sport tights that hug your curves just right.

Quaritch can’t help but watch once he’s finally found you. And he has a phenomenal view, leaning against the door frame of the common gym, arms crossed over his chest while his eyes scan you up and down.

Instead of cursing you for not spreading your legs for any other guy to spare him of the misery he was now trapped in, he dedicated his mindspace to mapping out all of the dips and curves of your body. The way your breasts bounced with every step, chest heaving, the flex of your thighs and the sweat beading at your temples.

The distant sound of music reached his ear, as he stood there in the doorway. Your headphones ensuring that no thoughts had any chance to form in your head, drowning out the silence of the gym at night.

With a scoff, Quaritch then finally decides to walk over to you. There’s a prickling feeling under his skin as he approaches you, still oblivious that you weren’t alone anymore, up until to the point where he pulls on the cords of your headphones and the music suddenly stops.

"Didn’t count you as a little gym bunny", he says, grinning. His fangs poke out from under his lip as he watches your eyes widen, immediately hitting the stop button to make the treadmill come to an halt.

"Jesus Christ, you scared the shit out of me", you pant, clutching your chest. A little overdramatic, he thinks, raising one of his brows at the curse words falling so easily from your lips. He tilts his head slightly, looking directly at you, and you don’t even bother trying not to squirm under his gaze.

"Sorry, sir", you mumble and Quaritch doesn’t know if his eyes were just playing tricks on him, but it almost looked like you were rolling your eyes at him.

"You shouldn’t work out with your music on full blast when you’re all alone", he tells you, his eyes boring into yours like he had any right to tell you what to do. At least it felt like he did. "If I were less than a man, I could’ve taken advantage of that."

His grin widens for a brief second, but then you exhale a dry laugh, and now he’s almost certain you just rolled your eyes at him.

"Sure, I’ll keep that in mind for next time."

Feisty, he remarks, licking his lips. There’s something up with you, you’ve made that much clear. And maybe you’re not so much different from him than he originally thought. You and him, you might as well just be two sides of the same coin.

"What are you doing here in the middle of the night, kid?", Quaritch asks. If you want to act like one, might as well treat you like one. He straightens up, towering over you with his arms crossing over his chest like you owe him an explanation.

"Oh, I usually don’t work out, not like, like you guys. You look like you live here." You cross and uncross your own arms, failing to mimic his confidence stance, instead tugging at the hem of your shirt. "I couldn’t sleep, so i thought i could somehow tire me out." You shrug.

"Tire yourself out, huh?" Now that piques his interest, a half smirk tugging on his lips. "You know, I came here looking for you for the exact same reason."

The way you bite your lip and advert your gaze tells him more than words ever could. His tail sways in anticipation, feeling like a cat that just trapped a helpless little mouse. Miles leans forward slightly, lips close to your ear now before he whispers lowly, "You look pretty fucking good in these gym thighs, cherry."

Quaritch has definitely been fucked with to some degree, but your response freaks him out more than straight-up mockery would, somehow. 

"Aha." Oh?

His brows rise. It’s not even a response, it’s just a noise you make. But that little noise holds so much attitude, so many emotions. Quaritch can’t help but scoff. He had to give you that, you really had some nerves for someone who normally couldn’t even get a coherent sentence out when he’s around. And that newly found boldness makes him want to dig his fingers into your hips, make your little cherry tattoo turn into a bruised plump, spin you around and bend you over his knee just how you deserve for that.

"Alright", he exhales, trying to calm his nerves, "you got a lot of pent up frustration for such a little thing, so what’s with that attitude today, huh?"

You look at him like a lost puppy and now he’s the one who wants to roll his eyes, wondering why he even keeps up with this childish bullshit. If you were any other person, Quaritch would’ve loved to show you just how far that disrespectful tone gets you with him. But you’re not just any other person.

"You didn’t…" The words hadn’t even fully left you, and your eyes were already adverting to your shoes and your lips pursed into a thin line. Before you could finish however, Quaritch lets out a groan, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance, already knowing what’s about to come. "Listen, kid", he starts and if you were any close to Na‘vi, avatar, recom or whatever, your ears would’ve pinned back against your head. Instead, your shoulders slump, your whole body language suggesting that you were mentally preparing yourself to get lectured, because you knew the answer to this already.

"I don’t know what you were hoping you would get out of this, but if you’re looking for someone to be your first, that ain’t gon' be me."

His voice had grown a tad louder, accent heavier, and he halfway expected you to flinch or even tear up. Instead, you straighten up. Your hands may be trembling, but you hide it by balling your fists. Pushing out your chest, you gather all confidence that was left in you to snap back, "Why not?"

"Why not?", Quaritch laughs. He laughs because it’s funny, really. Because he can’t believe it, can’t help but wonder where all that is suddenly coming from. He laughs because if he wouldn’t, he would make you regret this. "I already told you. It’s not going to fit."

"What if I—"

"Cherry." It comes out as a warning. Your stance falters for a second, those big, puppy eyes returning to your face where just seconds before was such a fierce expression that it undoubtedly made him want to push you further, see how feisty you could actually get. But at the same time, Miles had just discovered just how easily you could get on his last nerves like this.

"I‘ll prove it. I can take it, just let me—"

A hand grabs at your lower face, thumb pressing into your cheek and four fingers digging into the other side, with his palm closing tight over your mouth and nose, keeping it shut. Quaritch yanks you forward, forces you on your very tiptoes to get your full attention.

"Will you stop acting like a desperate little brat, jesus christ." They were harsh, bitter words, drenched with equal parts lust and anger. They were meant to scare you off, yet you looked anything but scared. You looked aroused. Tempted.

To his surprise, words were muffled against his palm, refusing to keep quiet even with a big, blue hand halfway covering your face.

Rolling his eyes, he allows you to swat his hand away.

"You… You said you also came here to tire yourself out", you say, panting slightly once you’re able to speak and breathe freely. "I‘ll help you."

There it is. That side of you that’s so hidden from the rest of the world, it’s hard to believe it’s coming from the same person.

You see, Miles figured he loves the feeling of two opposites coming together. It causes friction.

His kiss is ravenous, the force of it tilting your body to bend backwards once he had dragged you into the communal showers at the gym. He feels your legs go weak, so his arm around your middle flexes, effectively supporting your weight as he pushes you against the tiled wall. His lips coax yours open with little effort as you're hardly putting up any resistance. The flavor of whatever gum you must’ve chewed a while ago is still rich on your tongue, sweet as ever and he groans into the kiss.

Quaritch explores your mouth determinedly, taking what he believes to be his, and he doesn’t even realize that this is the first time he had put his lips against yours. Long strokes of his tongue against yours, teeth catching your lips in bites, groans and moans caught in one another's mouth and swallowed up. His thumb runs up and down your jaw, occasionally applying pressure to adjust the tilt of your head as he changes the angle of the kiss, feels your hair tickle his forehead. Noses bump and brush, he inhales your scent, groans when it’s just as sweet as you taste.

His kiss is powerful. It commands. Look at me. Touch me. Feel me. Only me. It leads you, your movements, the pace. But yours is soft, pleading and submissive. Obedient.

It drives him to near madness, teetering him on the brink of sanity.

He presses himself harder against you, towers over you like a mountain. Your hands are small, and they claw at his arms, his biceps, his neck. They pull and pull, yet he doesn’t budge, doesn’t move unless he wants to. You make a whiny sort of noise in protest and he grins. His forearm rests against the wall, tiles cool against his burning skin as he watches you with half lidded eyes.

The same red that paints his new favorite fruit taints your cheeks crimson, as you hesitantly lower yourself to your knees.

A pleased rumble left him, and his smirk curled further, hints of too-sharp teeth peeking from behind his lips, "You did that before?" He wonders out loud. There’s a suffocating tightness underneath his briefs that only gets worse once you answer him with a quick shake of your head. No, of course not. He scoffs, equally amused as he is excited.

With trembling fingers and unsteady breath, you move your hands around to unbuckle his belt. Letting it hang open, you move to the button and zipper on the fatigues, a little clumsy as you tried once, twice, three times to get the damned thing open. Miles couldn’t help but chuckle.

You looked even smaller on your knees in front of him, pulling on the waistband of his pants to get his cock out. He could just stand there and watch, torture the little thing by letting her struggle, but his impatience has grown rapidly in those past few minutes so he swats your hands away and pulls his pants down just enough.

You hold your breath, waiting. Watching. The nervous tension makes a shudder run up your spine and he smirks, once you finally catch sight of his cock.

The way your eyes widen makes him remember the first time he had stared at himself in the mirror. The first time he was alone with this new body of his, the mirrored image of what he despised most. Alien, that’s what he looked like. What he must’ve looked like to you. Blue skin and faint purple tip, small bumps and ridges around the crown, littered in those glowing freckles that made him look like a damn toy, was what he had first thought when he saw himself. And there was also his size. The root of this whole situation, the reason neither of you could get what you so desperately wanted.

It’s a lot to take in, literally, and he enjoys the fact that not even a polite woman like you could stop herself from staring at him.

A shaky exhale of air then brushes over his tip, your throat bobbing as you swallow thickly and Quaritch tilts his head and chuckles. "What’s wrong? Where did all that attitude go, hm? I thought you wanted to help me out."

Your hands are still firmly planted on your own thighs, but he sees the subconscious little twitch of your fingertips. They want to move, but you don’t dare just yet.

"It’s- no it’s just, I’m, I—"

"You didn’t thought I was lyin‘, did you? I told you it’s—"

"I know", you cut him off, your cheeks blushing, "I- I know. And I still want to…"

The grin that tugs on his lips his dangerous and his tongue darts out to lick over his pointy canine, while he gives himself a slow tug. A small drop of clear, sticky pre-cum beads at his tip.

"Then what are you waiting for? Go on", he purrs lowly, "Touch me."

You’re hesitant at first, taking his length into your delicate hands. They’re warm and soft and he hums at the touch. You can’t even close your fingers entirely around his girth, but you try your best to give him an experimental stroke, feeling his weight and the texture of his skin.

"C‘mon, Cherry", he tells you, his hand brushing through your hair at the back of your head, before giving you a guiding little push. "Use your mouth. Get it wet for me."

Not so bold now, he thinks to himself as he watches you lick your lips and shuffle a little closer on your knees. Like this, it almost looks like you’re worshiping him. It gets him even harder than he already was before, makes his cock throb, feeds his god complex in just the right way. But then you place your lips against the mushroom-like head of his cock, plants a kiss right there on its slit almost tenderly, and Miles can’t stop the groan from escaping him.

Your big doe eyes are staring up at him, piercing right through his soul, before you give a little kitten lick to his length.

"I said use your mouth, not just your tongue", he says, albeit a little breathlessly. He ain’t got time for any of this practice shit today. You offered to suck his cock, might as well do it right then.

His hips buck forward, the head of his cock nudging against your kiss swollen lips and you part them dutifully. The tip is an easy fit, tight but manageable.

You’re timid at first, barely moving further down, but your tongue is practically dancing against him, so it's not all that bad. "There you go", Quaritch groans, the hand on the back of your head holding you still, makes you take him a little deeper. A little more. Your nostrils flare wide as you struggle to breathe and you close your eyes for a brief moment. Your cheeks hollow inward as you suck him. Just a few inches, and he can already feel some resistance on the back of your throat. It’s tight and you tear up, instinctively pulling away.

He clicks his tongue, but you’re quick to put him back into your mouth, warm wetness enveloping not even half of his throbbing cock once again.

Miles fingers have formed into claws, digging them into his own palm as one arm rests against the wall, the other fisted into your hair. It takes every fiber of will within him not to grab you and just force you down onto his cock, to make you choke on it while he thrusts deep into your throat. He’s filled with the sudden, perverse desire to break you, to stain you, make you as filthy as himself. It’s only fortunate that you can’t see the way his features have twisted through the tears in your eyes, from lazy pleasure into something animalistic.

Your mouth moves slowly over his cock, sloppy and uncoordinated. Barely enough of him fits inside your mouth to bring him pleasure, more than just a teasing swirl of your tongue. There’s drool running down your chin, your jaw opened as wide as possible as you sucked and slurped on his length. But he needed more if you planned to get him off properly, needed you to take him deeper.

The hand that had been brushing through your hair grips tighter, and then he slowly moves your head up and down on his cock, using your throat like you’re his personal little fleshlight. Just a couple of thrusts, merely a few inches more, already have him in the back of your throat, and he feels your muscles constrict around him. Helpless little gags fill his ears, followed by tears running down your cheeks.

The hands that had been clawing at his thighs like he was your lifeline had began to tug on his pants, while you whimpered and whined around his length, signaling him that you needed to come up for air.

"C‘mon Cherry, how are you supposed to take all of me when you can’t even suck me off properly?" His voice is taunting, a low growl as he pulls you off of him with a wet pop. You gasp for air, panting, chest heaving and he allows you a moment to catch your breath, before he pushes you back down. He’s careful not to actually hurt you in the process, but he’s also determined to get more of him inside your mouth.

Either you didn’t hear him, or your were pointedly ignoring him. Regardless, the result is the same. You’re struggling, gagging and whining and he knows you’re trying, but it’s been fifteen minutes and you’re not making any process.

Quaritch tsks, "Yeah, no, that’s not going to work. Get up here."

You make a small sound of protest when he pulls you off of him again, and then yelp in surprise when he grabs your arm and yanks you up to your feet. Miles stares at you for a moment, breathing heavily. Takes notice of your lips, swollen, gleaming with saliva and pre-cum. You look so utterly vulnerable. And that's exactly how he wants you.

His hand still holds your upper arm firmly, and he spins you around so sudden that you had to brace yourself against the wall in order not to fall. There’s a split second in which he ponders if ripping your leggings would be a good idea, considering that he didn’t know if you had any spare clothes with you in the gym. He decides against it, barely able to think logically with all the blood rushing from his head to his cock.

Hooking his thumbs underneath the tight waistband, he drags your pants down quickly, and your underwear with them. A pleasant hum leaves his lips when he finds you soaking wet, tiny hole clenching around nothing, all too eager to be filled. Miles gives a firm slap to your ass that makes you try and fail to stifle a gasp.

"P-Please", you mutter quietly, arching your back some more.

"Don’t get too excited", he leans in to whisper against the shell of your ear, chuckling. "Close your legs." Glancing at him from over your shoulder, there’s a look of utter confusion, mixed with disappointment on your face, yet you comply to his orders without a complain. And the feeling of knowing you would do anything he says, follow every one of his orders despite what you wanted, is simply indescribable to him.

Quaritch doesn’t take it slow now that he has you like this. His cock is still lubed with spit so it’s an easy glide as he positions himself behind you and pushes forward between the soft flesh of your thighs. You gasp, feeling the smooth length of his cock drag against your sensitive folds.

"That’s much better", Miles groans lowly into your ear as he begins to thrust back and forth.

It felt heavenly— the warmth of your skin enveloping his length in the same way a tight pussy would. He could feel your slick covered lips pressed against him, your arousal smearing between your thighs and his cock adding further to the impression of being inside you.

With an increasing pace, he begins to actually fuck the space between your legs. His cock bumps against your clit over and over again, which causes you to moan along to the filthy sound of flesh against flesh.

"Fuuckin‘ hell, that’s it." His hands on your hips had began to pull you back against his thrusts, fingers digging into your skin hard enough to bruise, as he used your body for his own pleasure. More arousal oozes out of you and both of you make a pleasant sound of acknowledgment at that. "Hmm, can feel you dripping all over my cock, cherry. You like it that much when I fuck your thighs, huh?"

"Y-Yes, f-fuck, yes!" His ears perked at the sweet little whine that trickled out of you when he snapped against the back of your thighs just a little harder. There grows a force behind his thrusts, one that makes it hard for you to stay still and let him use you, he can tell. Your legs are trembling, wanton little pleas falling from your parted lips. "Please, I- I need more! Miles, c‘mon…" You push back against, rising to your tip toes in an attempt to catch his tip against your entrance. "Please!"

He could come so easily like that, rocking back and forth, his cock trapped between the plush of your soft thighs, your slickness lubing his length enough to make his movements more fluid. Yet you were nowhere near close to your own release. His touch was just barely enough to keep you on edge, but not enough to get you anywhere. Poor little thing, Miles thinks to himself with a grin he doesn’t even bother to hide.

The sound of his cock sliding between your wet thighs was downright obscene and he could practically feel your neglected clit aching for attention, warmth slowly pooling into the pit of his stomach. And with that, he angles his hips to put more force behind his trusts, his length gliding through your folds, the tip of it pressed snugly against your clit, bumping against the little nub with every stroke.

Pleading mewls soon turn into desperate moans the harder he fucks your thighs. "Mmnh– need you, need you in- inside", you begin to brabble, staring up at him from over your shoulder. "Please, Mil– sir!"

"Christ, cherry", he curses against your neck, letting the heady vibrations of his rumbling growl pierce through your neck, letting you feel his words in the most primal way. Your thighs press together. "Do you ever shut up?"

Miles feels you press back against him weakly, nowhere near strong enough to get him anywhere. "I– I can do it, just let me…"

His annoyed groan is quick to cut you off. Whatever complain bubbled up your throat was shushes with a hand clasped over your mouth before it could even come past your lips. You make a muffled sound against his palm, your eyes continue to plead for him, but he’s determined to keep you just like this.

"Don’t be so goddamn stubborn", he grits out, teeth grazing the lobe of your ear and he feels the way your whole body tense as he bites down on it. "You got a lot of learning to do if you want to be good for your Colonel."

The smack of his hips against your backside makes punched out little huffs of air escape through your nose, and it’s almost adorable.

Meanwhile you could barely form a thought over the constant throbbing between your thighs, the slaps of skin hitting skin, the whining of your body being squeezed under an intense force and hands gripping your hips and keeping your mouth shut. You couldn’t even hear the heavy grunts of the gruff man behind you as he bit the shell of your ear, whispering sweet nothings of how good you felt around him.

Fingers dug deeper into your cheeks and hips, his cock almost rubbing you raw with how fast he fucked your thighs. The cock that still rutted between your silky legs was drenched in slick and Miles felt the way you tried to angle your hips and squeezed your legs to put more pressure on your clit.

Fuck, he was so close he could hardly hold himself back.

"You want to come?", he whispers into your ear. A pleasant shiver runs up your spine that even he could feel. Your response comes as nothing more than a muffled "Mhm! Mhm!" against his palm.

"Will you be a good girl for me now? Stop with all that whining bullshit and be a little grateful for what I do to you?"

"Mhm, mhm!" Your frantic nodding makes him thrust against you harder, and he relishes in the needy sounds you make.

"There you go, sweetheart", he chuckles, "That wasn’t so hard now, was it?"

The heat from his chest begins to pool in the pit of his stomach, coiling together in a painful knot that could only mean one thing. Miles groans against your shoulder, biting particularly hard as his hips start to stutter, the grip on your waist tightening once more, leaving definite blue bruises that wouldn’t leave any time soon.

He then shoves his fingers between your thighs, tips pushing and rubbing against the twitching little nub between your folds so hard it felt like he shifted it from its original position. You wailed against his palm like a banshee as you finally came, the sudden spark of pleasure aimed just at the right place sending you over the edge as tears spilt down your cheeks, rolling over the hand that’s still pressed against your mouth.

Your legs clamped shut tighter than before, squeezing his cock that was still thrusting in and out between your soft, wet flesh.

"Jesus, fuck", he grunts, breathing heavily, "good girl, good fuckin‘ girl."

Quaritch soon comes after you, biting again, until he left a giant bruise on your shoulder. He was drinking up every sweet little moan and gasp he elicited out of you like this, groaning and lapping his tongue against your skin while he pumped his seed through the space of your legs as it spurted from his throbbing cock.

Your eyes were still heavy with tears as you blinked to clear your vision, the bruising grip he had on your hips slowly loosening as he comes down from the high of his orgasm, but then tightening again, for just a split second that makes you tense up and flinch.

Miles is almost certain that that piercing pain he suddenly felt in his chest was some sort of cramp, some fucked up symptom of ptsd or his psyche struggling to adjust to this body that still wasn’t entirely his. But then that picture perfect doll face glances up at him from over your shoulder. Your eyebrows are pinched together, hair sticking to your forehead, cheeks flushed red and glistening in a thin layer of sweat, lips all swollen red and bitten raw.

And now he’s not so sure anymore where that piercing pain in his chest really comes from…

#miles quaritch #miles quaritch smut #miles quaritch x reader #miles quaritch x reader smut #miles smut #avatar miles quaritch #colonel miles quaritch #recom miles quaritch #atwow quaritch #avatar quaritch #colonel quaritch #colonel quaritch x reader smut #quaritch smut #quaritch x reader #recom quaritch #Avatar #atwow #avatar the way of water

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

5k is so deserved! I constantly go back and reread your works and am always looking forward to what’s next ❤️❤️❤️

I’ve been having thoughts about a Hesh x femreader reunion request thats similar to your latest Keegan piece. Except reader was childhood friends with the Walker boys, but despite there being feelings between Hesh and reader they’re scared of confessing because of their friendship. they get separated when Odin happens, and both join the military and reunite during a joint Op with the Ghosts and readers team, and even after 10 years their feelings resurface and finally get together.

Can’t wait to see what you’ll write for all the requests!!

—To The Boy of My Childhood

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [Ten years came and went fast, but the memory of the Walker boys stayed. One more than the other. You never got to tell him you loved him.] ❞

You remembered his kindness, above all. His big, pure, heart. Hesh wasn’t just someone you grew to know and then threw out like a pair of old socks, no, he was too good for that—a mix of playful boyishness and the makes of a fine man. You wished you could have told him how much he meant to you before it all just fell apart. 

Growing up near the Walker boys was a treat and a curse, not for yourselves, but for the adults—no one got in the way of you three. Late nights in the backyard, laughter keeping everyone up into the small hours. The fights and the near-instantaneous make-ups. 

The older years of deep-rooted attraction to the green-eyed boy of your youth.

David Hesh Walker had been everything you had ever wanted, and even when the ground shook and the word split, you still couldn’t tell him how you felt. But fate had plans for the two of you—it was only a matter of time. 

Ten years, to be exact.

You jump down from the helo, your knees taking the brunt of the weight from your gear as your team follows. Fort Santa Monica was a bustling stronghold right on the door of Federation occupation—enemies stalking like animals beyond the wall for a glimpse of weakness. The men and women here were anything but.

“On me!” You call out behind you, and the resounding rush of booted feet follows as you all move out along the helicopter pad swiftly. The unit you were assigned was given a simple task—assist the commanding Captain here and his men with wall defense to reduce the amount of casualties. 

Over the ten years of war, you’d honed yourself into something akin to a walking weapon. Found deliriously surviving in the remnants of the USA, your rage and anger gave you the skills you needed to still be alive when the soldiers found you; brought you back to civilization. It hadn’t taken much for you to sign up after that, thinking Hesh and his brother were dead. 

Hesh. God, you had loved him so much that the feeling hadn’t dimmed in the slightest even now. Being so close to home once more made you feel…strange. 

“Lieutenant!” One of the soldiers comes up to greet you all, shouting above the whir of blades—he was an older man with a shaved head and a large beard. “Welcome to Santa Monica!”

“Good to be here!” You call, a rifle hanging heavy on your chest. “Where do you need us, Sir?”

“Fall in, I’m bringin’ you to Scarecrow!” So you follow, leaving the sandy beach of the port and heading into the dense streets. There were civilians in this Fort, you knew, just beyond the checkpoint of fences. You have to wonder how they felt about this—trapped in a rat cage with the water and the war clamping to them tightly. 

“Heard your unit was well-known.” You’d learned the man’s name was Thomas Merrick—a Captain here. You blink at him, head tilting. “Scarecrow was eager to get you here, can’t say why.” 

“I was told you needed support at the wall, Captain,” you explain, brows furrowing. “Were my superiors mistaken?”

Merrick's brown eyes stare at you as you walk beside him, your men all speaking to one another from behind. 

“No,” is all you’re told. 

This ‘Scarecrow’ was known as only that, and your lips thin at the comment leveled at you. Strange. 

Your other men are shown their barracks, and you send them off to get rid of their packs and belongings while you continue on with Merrick to the control room—eager to meet this Captain and get real answers. 

When you get there, the second you push open the door and Merrick takes his leave, you’re greeted by one of the old faces that you could recognize anywhere. 

You freeze just three feet into the room, locking eyes with this mythical ‘Scarecrow’ but it wasn’t some great war strategist, at least, not as you know him.

“Mr. Walker?” You pause, blinking in confusion. Elias Walker—Hesh and Logan’s dad. Your heart constricts in your chest. 

He looks at you, a small smile on his stern face as his arms crossed, nodding his head. 

“Thought I recognized that name in my request for transfers.” 

“Holy shit,” you breathe, a grin breaking out over your face for the first time in ages. Part of you wanted to race and hug him—bathe in the comfort that his rare soft looks would bring you when you were younger…but you weren’t that kid anymore. Being alive was enough, and with the things you’d seen, it meant far more than anything else. Elias seemed to share that sentiment, as he walked over and put a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it. 

“How did…how are…” Your head shakes quickly, memories flooding back along with the pain. But there, in your chest, a flicker of hope—something more blooming back to life. “Logan?” Your voice is tiny, pleading as you pause, gazing into Elias’s eyes. “...Hesh?”

“I already called ‘em back in. They’ll be here soon.” He gives you a proud nod. “I’m glad you’re still here, Sweetheart.” 

You laugh, smile wobbling. 

Alive. Hesh was alive. 

Every wall you’d built falls the second boyish laughter echoes out from the halls. You turn, hearing feet move down the floor, closer and closer as your body stills like a statue. 

Alive. 

When a shoulder pushes open the door, you stop breathing as a far older David enters the room, Logan, as always, not far behind. 

He’s mature now, with a beanie over his short brown hair and the presence of a grown man holding down responsibilities—he was smirking back and his brother, saying in a voice that haunts your dreams, “Think we should tell him what Riley found today, Logan?” 

The younger brother stops short, locks eyes with you, and his body goes as tight as a fishing line. 

Hesh’s brows furrow. “Logan?” He turns to you and those green eyes go confused for a moment, lips going thin. It’s a flash of recognition that re-ignites them—a flicker of something long past before they snap wide with fierce realization.

Blinking quickly, the man watches you, hands at his sides jerking forward by a millimeter as if to grab for you at even a single glance. No one speaks for a long, long time, and maybe you don’t want them to. Hesh and you are locked in a look of pure pain and elation—a dance of life and death. 

There aren’t any words for it beyond the sudden mad scramble for the other’s hold. 

You collide in a sharp breath and a hand to the back of your head—keeping you to him as you both grasp for purchase; for a glimpse of your childhood back.

“Jesus Christ,” Hesh breathes, anchoring you to him as his chest sputters. “Oh my fucking God.”

“Hesh,” you whimper through a sobbing laugh. “You son of a bitch, I should throttle you.”

He scoffs wetly into your ear, hands quivering and voice cracking. 

“Me? If I remember, Doll, you were the one to take that tumble down the hill—I…I tried to find you, y’know that? I swear, I didn’t want to leave but I—”

You pull back and slam your lips to his. 

It was far better than an ‘I love you’ when he melted and grappled you closer.

#cod #cod x reader #cod x you #call of duty #x female reader #call of duty x you #cod ghosts #cod ghosts x reader #call of duty: ghosts #call of duty ghosts #hesh walker x female reader #hesh walker x reader #david hesh walker #hesh walker #david walker #hesh x reader #david hesh walker x reader #cod x female reader #x fem!reader #female reader

[beta-therapy]

Your Beta Status: Fate or Free Will?

As evidenced by the fact that 2/3 of our ancestors are female, it is a fundamental characteristic of the human species that women exert strong selective pressure onto men in the form of sexual selection, causing some men to have radically higher reproductive success than others. Women can only give birth a few times in their lives, so it makes sense for them to be picky.

But picky for what? What are women hardwired to be turned on by and turned off by?

The harsh truth is that primarily, the answer is genetic suitability. The main purpose of sexual selection is to weed out the bad genetics and to promote the best genetics among the species.

Although this idea is obvious, there is a common (and reasonable) objection:

Humans are not animals. Men don’t have some crude fight-to-the-death where the strongest alpha gets the woman. Yes, sexual attraction is unconscious and governed by biology, but a woman is genuinely turned on by the personality of her sexual partners rather than by some barbaric display of genetic superiority.

The problem with the objection is that those attractive masculine personality traits are inseparably tied to genetics. While it appears, on the surface, that a woman slept with Chad because he’s funny and witty, the deeper reality is that he demonstrated his intelligence, verbal facility, social calibration (lack of autism, for instance), and like ten other elements of genetic superiority, all in a way that cannot be faked. And if he was short (an indicator of insufficient androgen output during puberty or other genetic issues), she would not have even been talking to him.

Clearly, women are after genetics (they usually don’t know this consciously), but they select the winners in a highly sophisticated way, which makes it impossible to fake genetic superiority. This evaluation is about both physical and mental characteristics, but do not be fooled: there’s no “pathway” for any man to learn how to demonstrate attractive personality traits (beyond the standard advice of “be a good person”); the reason those traits are so attractive is exactly because they cannot be mimicked and therefore say a lot about your genetic suitability.

The personality traits that women go for are anything but arbitrary and socially conditioned. There’s a reason why the “awkward” and “shy” men are cross-culturally perceived by women as unattractive, whereas the “confident” and “dominant” men are universally fawned over by women. Those differences in attractiveness are not just random! They boil down to a fundamental judgement about which men deserve to spread their seed.

The definition of Nature is what selects. It is made up of many forces working in tandem, with the force of Femininity at the pinnacle. After all, Nature is what creates and what destroys; and the most important type of creation is the birth of children, and the most important type of destruction is the ending of one’s genetic lineage.

You can think of Femininity (and, more generally, Nature) as barbarically cruel, but truly essential for the existence and continuation of humanity. Life does not exist without suffering. A species cannot master its environment without an eternal process of disposing of the bad genetics and promoting the best genetics to allow for rapid adaptation in the proper direction. (And not just with genetics; with ideas in general).

The eternal objective of life is to generate a lot of new ideas, new things, and new genetics; and to note that many of them will be mistakes that must be disposed of, but some of them will be so crucial as to be required for our survival. This process is a necessary condition of life, because without it, we are stagnant, and stagnation inevitably results in Death.

Mistakes must go to die, and good things must prevail, but for that to happen, cruel selection must take place. In the world, we realize the harsh reality that not all ideas are equal, which can be quite uncomfortable for someone who believes in a bad idea, but their ultimate defeat by better ideas is what’s necessary for the collective. But what’s the most uncomfortable type of defeat by Nature? It’s the judgement that the totality of you is not good enough to make it to the next generation. Women are the ones who make the most harsh, judgmental decision of Nature. Femininity is the graceful, nurturing, beautiful mother who is nice to everyone, but through her sexual decisions, inevitably must put men on a hierarchy of “worthiness of reproduction.” And your position on this hierarchy is not something you can take lightly. It’s not based on random socially constructed nonsense. If you are not perceived as an attractive, desirable partner by women, that is Nature’s fundamental judgement that you are inferior (in the deepest possible sense) to other men.

Note about tipping: There is an option to tip me on the main blog page tumblr.com/beta-therapy (and also on each individual post for computer users). My content will always be available for free because I want to reach as many people as possible. If you enjoy my content and want me to continue to produce better and better posts, and you have some extra money, please consider tipping. Thanks!

#beta boi #beta virgin #beta bitch #beta captions #virgin humiliation #pathetic loser #loser humiliation #virgin loser

[kaladinkholins]

I was wondering, what do u think Taigen reaction to finding out about Mizu being a woman will be? Although I don’t think he will have a bad reaction I wanted to know what u thought about it?

OOH I like this question because the thoughts on this have been swirling around in my brain for a while and I don't think I ever properly talked about this, outside of maybe this post (which is barely coherent imo). There, I compared Mizu/Taigen to Mizu/Mikio, as well as to the main romantic couple in the movie Yentl. Then from both those comparisons, I tried to speculate on Taigen's reaction to Mizu's gender reveal, based on what would make the most narrative sense.

However, I didn't really analyse Taigen himself in that post, and neither did I ever come up with a concrete conclusion to what his reaction may be. So this ask gives me a good chance to speculate even further and hopefully come up with a proper and more in-depth answer.

Similar to you, anon, I don't think Taigen will have a bad reaction per se, though I guess it depends on what you'd define by bad.

Because this is Taigen we're talking about, I don't think he'd exactly be chill about it. He's very much a drama queen, especially around Mizu, as he's never afraid of stepping on her toes, and thus will vocalise his feelings to her whenever he's feeling them. That, combined with his short temper and his brashness, means that there's almost certainly going to be conflict when he finds out the truth. He will be shocked, and because he's immature, he'll be angry and upset because of this shock. Simply because he doesn't know, and hasn't yet learned, how to deal with his emotions in any other way besides getting angry.

So I think that will definitely be his first instinct. To get upset.

I don't think he'd immediately know why he's upset. Maybe only after a few minutes of angry questioning (think something along the lines of "Why are you telling me this now?!" and "You've been hiding this all this time?!"), he'd finally come up with some tangible cause for his anger.

What would the cause for his anger be then? Well, it could be several things.

Possible Reason #1

He feels "betrayed" because Mizu didn't trust him enough with the truth even after the two have grown close, and after Taigen has put his life on the line for her numerous times.

Possible Reason #2

He feels "cheated" because Mizu is not the man he'd believed she was, thus making it feel like their entire friendship was a sham. This is because the basis for their relationship, in the way he'd related to her, bullied her, envied her, admired her, allied himself with her, and eventually grown attracted to her, had been entirely based off the premise and belief that Mizu is his fellow man, his peer, comrade, and fellow samurai. Thus, discovering that Mizu is not a man would, initially, feel like all of that has been ripped away from him. And this is actually related to the third possible reason.

Possible Reason #3

This is a big one, and the reason everyone, including myself, is putting their bets on: misogyny.

Essentially, Taigen would find out that this whole time, the person he'd been envious of and struggling to beat in every single fight, is not a man, but a woman. And as far as he knows, even if women in feudal Japan could once be warriors (see: the Onna-musha), perceptions have since changed by the time of the Edo period. Furthermore, even if women could fight, men were still expected to be stronger, because men are supposed to protect women.

However, I believe that Taigen's particular flavour of misogyny is a little different, in that he does not view women as "inferior." Because remember, his fiancee was Akemi. This was a woman who took no shits! She was snarky and playful and intelligent, and moreover she was a princess, superior to him in every way, and he knew and respected all of that, and respected her as an individual who could make her own choices. When she'd told him the news of their engagement, Taigen asked her, "He's [your father] sure? You're sure?" And then, when she tried to seduce him in Ep 2, he asked her, "Akemi, are you sure?"

His respect for her is the only reason why Akemi had been so desperate to marry him in the first place. She did not love him, but knew he would be good to her. Because she could not guarantee that any other man would treat her nicely as he would.

Thus, with that being said, I don't think Taigen is some "alpha male dudebro" who thinks women belong in the kitchen etc. Instead, I think Taigen simply believes women are just... different from men. So it's not that women can't or shouldn't fight, it's that they just don't. It's not that women can't or shouldn't be friends with men on equal footing, it's just that they aren't. You get what I'm saying?

It's like, imagine your whole life, you're told, and fully led to believe, that a lamp can't light up. They're just meant to be in your house as decoration. And then suddenly, you find out that your lamp lights up! And you're like, "OMG a lamp is lighting up! How is it doing that?! I thought light only comes from candles and the sun! This can't be right, I thought lamps never light up! Isn't that a fundamental part of their design?"

Now, put aside that this is a pretty bad analogy because it's 1am as I'm writing this and I can't think of a better one atm, but I hope the point comes across, in that this is clear-cut misogyny (I'm comparing women to a piece of furniture here on purpose), but the lucky thing about this particular flavour of misogyny is that it's rooted in ignorance, and is not inherently malicious. It can be, but it isn't necessarily.

Ignorance can be undone through learning and educating oneself. And luckily for us, my friends, educating oneself out of ignorance is the entire point of Taigen's character! He represents the uneducated masses who blindly follow the flow of the fucked up system. This is in contrast to Mizu who has never had a place within the system to begin with, Akemi who has spent her whole life struggling to go against the grain of the system, and Ringo who has always tried to follow the system, but due to his disability, is denied full access to it.

Thus, we've already seen him take the first steps to unlearn his xenophobic and racial prejudice, and we've also seen him start shedding his massive ego and desire for glory, which are both used to mask his own insecurities. If Netflix gives us all 4 planned seasons, then we have 3 more seasons for Taigen to fully grow out these backwards mindsets and finally reach his full potential to become—not a good man—but a great one.

THEREFORE, whatever the reason for his upset at discovering Mizu's gender, I firmly believe that Taigen will get over himself in the end, regardless of whether his anger stemmed from his misogyny, hurt, confusion, or whatever else.

Because Taigen's short temper and emotional immaturity is born from him spending his whole life on the move. Unlike Mizu, who is always alone with her thoughts and meditates constantly to try to cleanse herself of her restless emotions, Taigen is used to surrounding himself with people (see:him in the Shindo Dojo) and ignoring his emotions completely (see:him trying to forget Kohama). Which is why, when he does feel anything, it's overwhelming, and he doesn't know what else to do with it except let it out, usually in an angry outburst. Only when given the proper chance to reflect in Kohama in Ep7, does Taigen finally go through some substantial growth and start feeling remorse over how he'd treated Mizu.

Hence, I suspect something similar will happen when he discovers Mizu's gender, in which he will get upset and shocked and confused first, but then he'll reflect and regret and try to make up for his past behaviour.

And this is what I meant earlier when I said that I don't think he'll 't have a "bad reaction."

Essentially, it is my belief that his reaction will not follow in the footsteps of Mikio's, but instead, directly oppose and subvert that. This is related to the points I referenced in the post I linked above, but also, more importantly, because Taigen and Mikio are narrative foils.

Thus, where Mikio had betrayed Mizu and left her for dead, I believe Taigen will, at the end of the day, remain loyal and continue to fight by her side until the very end.

Because the thing about Taigen, as a person, outside of all the attitudes and prejudices that have been ingrained into him, is his relentless devotion. He gives himself into everything he does, puts in his all, and does not do things halfway. That's what makes him such a good soldier. He does not lead, but follows. He is inherently self-sacrificing and driven by a desire to protect, and we see this in how protective he is of Mizu to the point of enduring torture for her and telling her to use him as a human shield; how his first instinct upon hearing Akemi had been dragged off to get married against her will, is to get up and try to go to her; and how, when hearing the shogunate is in danger, he immediately goes straight to Edo palace to try to warn the shogun, even if it might get him killed in the process.

I could go on about why I think this is what makes him so good for Mizu (because Mizu's arc, especially in Season 1, is literally about accepting help and opening herself up to others) but this post is already atrociously long, so I'll just leave it at that.

So, anon, I hope I answered your question! I'm sorry I can never give short answers though, but I think at this point, it's to be expected from me lol. Thank you for the ask btw! And on that note, my inbox is always open for more 👀

#blue eye samurai meta #taigen blue eye samurai #taigen x mizu #mizu x taigen #taimizu #letters.doc #meta dissertations.pdf #<- i have a new tagging system for my fandom posts! the rest are listed in my pinned <3 #anon #blue eye samurai #fandom.rtf

[just-late-roman-republic-things]

This post now has an expanded, better researched version! Check it out!

~~~

Things I watch out for when considering if a Roman history blog/community/media might have fascist leanings:

"Ironic" jokes that demean groups of people. These are often a cover for normalizing real prejudice against those groups.

Various dogwhistles and hate symbols. Also, check out the early warning signs of fascism.

Glorification of the military or the empire's size. It's one thing to be interested in a subject, but fascists tend to ignore the many problems of Rome's military and government, like corruption, mistreatment of veterans, abuse toward non-Roman people, and the occasional genocide.

Justifying historical oppression or abuse. This is different from merely explaining or trying to understand something. In case someone simply worded something poorly, I look at their additional posts or ask for clarification. If there's a pattern of downplaying/excusing oppression, that's a bad sign.

Power fantasies. Does a person (or community) seem to identify with the conquerors and overlords, because of their power? A person making jokes about Cicero's shitty poetry, or Augustus wearing platform shoes, is probably here for a different reason than someone talking about "putting the barbarians in their place."

Ignoring women's experiences, queer history, slaves and working-class experiences, and cultural diversity. At best this could just be a newbie who hasn't gotten around to those topics yet, which is fine. Learning takes time. But if a community, historian, or professionally published work makes Rome look like it's composed solely of rich white cishet guys...there is a problem.

Flattening history into Romans vs. outsiders. "Us vs. them" themes, also seen as "civilization vs. barbarians," or "virtue vs. moral decline/degeneracy," is endemic to bigoted worldviews. Not only is it demeaning toward other cultures, it also erases how multicultural and changeable Roman identity was over time.

Also, any modern person who seriously attributes Rome's fall to "moral decline" or "degeneracy" is either deeply ignorant or using a dogwhistle for homophobia, antisemitism and racism. Also, using "barbarian" or "savage" unironically.

Be extra alert for antisemitism. Shit like justifying Hadrian's actions, bringing up Jews when discussing Roman debt problems, or idolizing Vespasian or Titus. The Romans did a lot of bad shit in Judaea, and sometimes those stories attract antisemites today.

Use of the past to justify present-day harm or anger. Fascists and racists tend to get attached to "tradition" or "the good old ways" - or what they think is tradition - believing that this makes their bigotry more "normal" instead of "bizarre, hateful and reactionary." But just because something was common in the ancient world doesn't mean it's a good idea today.

There's a lot of anger and bitterness in fascist communities in general, in fact. Many people fall into the "alt-right pipeline" because their personal lives are deeply troubled, and those places give them someone to blame and feel superior to. If hanging out in a community seems to be making you angrier, more suspicious, or looking down on certain kinds of people, think carefully about whether this is a good community to be in.

And finally...fascists aren't all that interested in history. They care about their myth of good guys vs. evil outsiders, and they warp history to fit into that narrative. They might like the aesthetics, or symbols, or idolize a few famous dudes or battles. But rarely do they know, or care, about how Roman society worked, or how it changed over time, or anything less "glorious." Rarely do they actually want to learn or put in effort. My favorite example of "fascist laziness" is Mussolini's terrible film about Scipio Africanus, in which you can see telephone wires and the extras wearing wristwatches.

Feel free to add to this list. I am not an expert at spotting this stuff, and I probably missed some things. But I figured this might be a good starting point for others, too. Don't use this list to make "callouts" or harass people - it's usually more effective to block, avoid, and report extremists than to give them more visibility.

Conversely, a great way to protect yourself from falling into the alt-right pipeline is to learn more about how diverse the Roman world was! Check out studies of ancient women, disabilities, queer people, and decolonizing the classics! Not only will they broaden your horizons, they're also fascinating in their own right.

#jlrrt speaks #ancient rome #roman history #racism #the alt-right pipeline #fascism #bigotry #things to whack racists with #jlrrt essays

[opinionettey]

✨PLACEMENT OBSERVATIONS : IMO ✨

Capricorn SUN/MOON/VENUS - Capricorns have this habit of putting too much expectations on their partner. Capricorns need their partners to play the role they made up in their heads, they can also be very cold and distant, thinking that just because they provide they don’t need to fulfill their lovers emotional needs. They have a bigger ego than Leo, often thinking they’re more superior than others.

This could be due to the hardships they faced growing up, it’s hard for them to empathize and sympathize with people, because they are Saturn ruled they can also come off as “too serious”.

ARIES SUN/MOON & ARIES MEN BORN IN APRIL - Aries men are very ambitious but, emotionally immature. Aries men can also be prone to being abusive and temperamental, a lot of Aries usually have anger problems at a young age. Aries is the first zodiac sign so a lot of them can be very selfish in their ways, only thinking about themselves. They’re most likely to cheat on you out of boredom or strictly for excitement. As quick as they fall in love they fall out of love and on to the next one.

LEO MOONS & RISINGS ✨ - can be very jealous and don’t like attention to be turned away from them. They are the types to fake being happy for you, especially if things in their lives aren’t going well. I find that they will change their personality to impress their love interest.

Taurus placements (SUN/MOON/RISING) (mostly in women) - LIE just to make themselves seem interesting or mysterious. They also tend to use their friends for their own benefit.

SCORPIO SUN/MARS/VENUS -(Ive notice mostly in women) - claim to be real, but can’t even be honest about their own emotions especially when feeling vulnerable. They are the types to speak about people behind their backs, and then act surprise when someone pops off on them. They can also be very abusive to their partners , verbally and physically. They also have a bad habit of projecting their insecurities onto people.

VIRGO MARS/VENUS/SUN - Prone to substance abuse to deal with deep negative emotions. Usually heartbreak will be the cope rate also being exposed to drugs because of jealousy. (People jealous of them) they also tend to attract wicked souls.

#astro tumblr #astro observations #astro community #zodiac #astro placements

[gougarfem]

i know this is cliché and there are a million posts like this but i'm getting so tired of the pointless infighting on here. and before you accuse me of anything, i'm a lesbian who practices complete female seperatism with the exception of having to interact with male healthcare staff. yes, i'm far from a perfect radfem, and yes, we should all try but I don't think anyone on here meets that ideal. seeing misogynistic slurs and insults thrown at women who are bisexual, het-partnered, or god forbid need a fucking abortion is so saddening when tumblr is one of the only places i feel a sense of community with other feminists. most people on here have at some point been isolated and ostracized for our politics. we're lucky to have a space on a site like this where we can express our beliefs and form a community and have nuanced discussions (look at what's happening to other apps! look how quickly radfem pages are termed on instagram and tiktok!) and instead of using this platform for constructive discussion some of you are spending 4+ hours a day in petty arguments over semantics, attacking vulnerable women for needing medical procedures and cyberbullying anyone who happens to feel attraction to men. we are not going to form a movement like this. no progress will come from this! outsiders see us picking each other apart and are discouraged from radical feminism, men use the holes in our community to tear us apart and make us look like a joke. people go back to liberal circles because their first day on radblr gets them an inbox full of insults and slurs and they quickly see how other women are treated on here.

i can't believe this needs saying but spending your day online calling osa women traitors/c*nts/c*cksuckers/brainwashed, telling detrans women we're deformed and damaged goods and throwing around the r slur is not activism nor is it feminist. some of you need to watch a primary school cyberbullying powerpoint about how there's another person at the end of the screen because i know no one on here would say those things to a woman's face. radical feminism fights for the liberation of EVERY woman, no matter if you personally dislike them or disagree with their choices - and even so, it's common sense that people will be more open to conversation and willing to change if you treat them with kindness, instead of denouncing and dogpiling everyone who doesn't meet your standards. i'm a radfem because so many women aren't. i'm a radfem for the women who wear makeup and insist it's for themselves. i'm a radfem for women who have been "happily married" 10 years and still do 100% of the housework. is that you? are you fighting for these women? or are you on here to boost your superiority complex and put others down? because if that's the case our movement doesn't fucking need you.

i hope some of you think about why you're on tumblr and how exactly you're aiding female liberation or even helping women to begin with. where the majority of other communities are toxic echo chambers, we need to be able to accept differences of opinion and fight for the bigger cause. anything else will alienate the same women we claim to be fighting for.

#lav.txt #long #radblr #radfems do interact #radfems do touch #radblr drama

[ginnymoonbeam]

Be My Favorite is digging into concepts of masculinity to a degree I haven't seen in Thai BL before. Since episode 2 we've been seeing the contrast between the kind of man Kawi is and the kind he thinks he should be, and 3 and 4 have drawn a big highlighted circle around what, for simplicity, I'm going to call bro culture: the whole complex of male social behavior that includes competition, ritual humiliation, stark othering of women (both "chivalrous" and not), and a rugged, deflective response to pain.

I'm saying bro culture rather than toxic masculinity because only some elements of it are toxic, although they're so intermingled that it's hard to sift the toxic from the non. You have to work to create a bro culture without misogyny and homophobia - although a lot of BLs (Bad Buddy, for example) do exactly this. Be My Favorite isn't interested in doing that though: it is presenting bro culture unsanitized, and looking at how our two leads interact with it.

On the one hand we have Kawi, who has very clearly always failed to meet bro culture standards, and who still sees success in that sphere as something to aim for. And it's not that the bros reject him outright. Someone like Kawi is great to have around, because for everyone else it means never being at the bottom of the pack. It's not that Not and his group dislike Kawi or want to hurt him. If you asked them, they'd say in all sincerity that they're just trying to help him out. What they're actually doing is using him to affirm their own superior bro-ness: whether they're helping him or mocking him, he lets them feel that they're succeeding where he fails.

Pisaeng sees this much more clearly than Kawi does, hence his facepalm when Kawi tells the other guys he's a virgin. Pisaeng could succeed in bro culture: he could be top dog in that group if he wanted to. It's because he could succeed that he's able to see so clearly that he doesn't want to. When a prize looks hopelessly out of your reach, it's hard to see that it might be worthless.

Pisaeng is frustrated because he's seeing Kawi try so hard to achieve something Pisaeng has already rejected. Kawi is confused because he sees how easily Pisaeng succeeds by bro standards, and yet he's still lonely and discontent. He's always been attracted to Pisaeng (just look at how Pisaeng's introduction, in Kawi's pov, is framed) but he has chosen to interpret that through the bro lens of admiration and envy.

I think we're going to have to see Kawi make a conscious rejection of bro culture. Whether that comes about through his deepening friendships with Max and Pear, or through realizing his feelings for Pisaeng, at some point he's going to have to decide that that prize is not worth winning. I hope we see this, because it's rare for BLs to deal so directly with conflicting views of masculinity, and what being gay or bi means for a young man's sense of self.

#be my favorite

[yandere-kokeshi]

OMGG- OKAY SO- can I request Yan! tengen, Sanemi, and Obanai with a femme fatale type reader??? AAAA!! thank you for your time! <33

Warnings: yandere behavior and slight nsfw

A/N: this is such a badass idea!!! I love this sm. I appreciate the request, especially with Obanai. Our beloved snake boi needs more love 😭💕

Uzui Tengen:

You’re right up his alley. Uzui naturally gravitates toward people in power, especially those who are flirty and flamboyant. Something about your edginess and ‘innocent’ smile makes him attracted; pulling him right in like a trance that gets him going.

It’s likely you both met on back (or good) terms, but since that incident, this flashy man has been following you like a lost dog. His arms are always around your shoulder, kissing and smothering you in love, wanting to make sure everyone knows you two are together. If he needs to, he’ll leave marks on you. Although, he wouldn’t mind if you did the same thing.

You have him whipped around your finger. Whatever you say, he’ll go and do. No matter how weird or interesting the ‘mission’ is. But, Uzui does expect a certain reward after he comes back with whatever you sent him.

He doesn’t appreciate how much attention you get, while he does agree when they call you ‘hot’ and ‘attractive’, as they’re not lying. He just doesn’t like the attention you receive, which leads to you being trapped in the house 24/7.

Sanemi Shinazugawa:

Likely, the both of you started off on bad terms – Sanemi always thought you were out to get him. But learning that’s your personality, and you treat everyone like this, it causes a possessive and natural jealousy behavior to rock fourth within his obsessive personality.

He’s naturally protective over you, but now learning your flirty behavior? Sanemi is suffocating. He tries to keep you at the house at all times, guilt-tripping and manipulating you to stay aboard with him; making sure you learn that he’s protecting you from evil.

Your charm is really intoxicating for him. Before he knows it, he’s listening to you like a person under hypnosis – but don’t think you can use it all the time.

The confidence you flame off makes him really horny. Not only is the bedroom really fun, but Sanemi enjoys seeing you put people in place – not afraid to state the facts.

Obanai Iguro:

You’re odd. He’ll say that, but Obanai won’t lie that you’re well attractive. Even Kaburamaru noticed something about you, which resembles the relationship.

Whenever you get men's (or women’s!) attention, he gets extremely jealous. He gets really mean (meaner, if that’s even possible), and throws insults at anyone who approaches you. Even worse, he ignores you out of spite.

Obanai most of the time feels like he’s surrounded by a bunch of morons, so having your smartness and intelligence is refreshing and important to him. Not only does he feel his superiority coming forward, but he gets to hit people in the back of the head and make them realize you belong to him.

Part of why he’s drawn to you is your jarring personality. He appreciates you aren’t afraid of saying whatever is on your mind, without a hint of guilt. It’s a bold and a brave trait that he enjoys. Plus, he gets really snickering when you defend him in public.

—

Masterlist || Please consider reblogging and commenting instead of liking, it helps me as a creator!! Stay well!!

© yandere-kokeshi 2023 — Do not copy, modify, edit, repost, or use my works for ASMR readings, tiktoks, or other content.

#kokeshi!! #yandere male #male yandere #yandere #yandere anime #yandere headcanons #kokeshi anons #anonymous asks #anon ask #anonymous #yandere kny x reader #yandere kimetsu no yaiba #yandere obanai x reader #yandere obanai #yandere uzui x reader #yandere uzui tengen #yandere uzui #yandere hashiras #yandere hashira #yandere sanemi x reader #yandere sanemi headcanons #yandere sanemi #yandere sanemi shinazugawa #yandere x fem! reader #yandere x f! reader #sanemi shinazugawa #uzui tengen #obanai iguro #the icons are not mine #they belong to their rightful owners

[balkanradfem]

So I like the Barbie movie enough to do an analysis of their feminist statements and try to get to the root of the problem! They did give us a long list of expectations women worldwide are dealing with, now let's see why they're dealing with it.

1. "We have to always be extraordinary, but somehow, we're always doing it wrong. You have to be thin, but not too thin, and you can never say you want to be thin, you have to say you want to be healthy."

This issue happens because women in practice, culture, and their real-life circumstances are still effectively living as the second class citizens, and they're viewed as servants for males, and male toys. It does not benefit us to be expected to be extraordinary, and it does not benefit us to be thin. So who benefits from it?

It's a feature of a male fantasy. Male wants to posses a woman who is trained to please him in every possible way, but she also needs to be unique and different from all other women, so he feels like he has something special. Every woman already is unique and individual, but he doesn't notice such things as personality, he needs her to be special in a way that he and his male buddies will notice! So she has to be extraordinary in something that males appreciate, but also if she is better than them at it, then they no longer feel the ease of being superior, so she's doing it wrong.

Women's ideal being thin is also a male fantasy, they've managed to pavlov themselves into finding thin women the only kind of woman that is attractive, thus the requirement on women is to be thin, even when it damages our health. Men love causing trauma to women, but to see women actually visibly struggling with it, putting it into words, saying it hurts us, that makes them uncomfortable! So they shame the language, until we phrase it as something that doesn't relate to them, or that makes it seem like it's for our own good. 'Being thin for health' makes it seem like the required starvation is for our own good, and healthy, in fact.

This could not possibly happen if we were not existing in service of the other half of population. If we were respected and valuable human beings, what is bad for us would not be represented to us as an ideal.

2. "You have to have money, but can't ask for money, because that's crass. You have to be boss, but can't be mean. You have to lead, but you can't squash other people's ideas."

These are double standards that men put up for us. Even though women are paid less, own less, are globally more impoverished and have a harder time gaining money, that is no longer enough for us to completely depend on men for money; they hate this. So as a revenge for us managing to earn a bit of our own money, we now can't ask them for any, we are supposed to 'have our own', and still depend for them, but in fear, reluctant to ask or to demand. Notice how it isn't crass for a man to ask for money, it's almost expected, but for a woman, it's shameful.

Women in lead will be criticized, called out, scrutinized and humiliated like no male leader ever would be; this is to make it harder for women to feel in control and comfortable in leading positions. Male leader is supposed to step all over ideas he doesn't find useful, hell he can even squash it and take credit for it later, but if a woman doesn't acknowledge a stupid idea, she is immediately told off for 'not being a good enough leader'. Even when she's doing exactly what she's supposed to do. It's a hypocritical little game to ensure only men can comfortably lead.

3. "You're supposed to love being a mother, but don't talk about your kids all the damn time. You have to be a career woman, but also always be looking out for other people."

This is a feature of "women existing for male convenience" problem. We are supposed to be naturally loving of raising kids, because it's convenient for males to just have their children raised for them without having to do much about it, and if this is not provided to them, then women are evil for not 'loving being a mother' when it's convenient for men that women are super into that and willing to do it for free, forever, without complaining or talking about it, because men don't like to know that it's an actual effort, they feel more comfortable feeling it's a silly little chore that deserves no thought whatsoever.

Women having careers is something men have been making difficult in any way possible, because it means women are not reliant on them for resources within capitalism, but they were not able to completely prevent us having jobs, so now they're just trying to get as much use of it as possible. If women earn money, they will leech off of that money. If women have careers, well then those women should prove that they're just as convenient, nurturing, always available, running at every beck and call, and act as if they still only exist to serve and please men. If women fail to do this, they'll again be accused of being selfish, horrible people, bad mothers, bad community members, and so on and so forth. Men of course, can ignore the entire world and do their job badly, and have a violence problem, and be addicted to p*rn, and it's fine. They're not bad people regardless of how little compassion they have for anyone who isn't them.

4. "You have to answer for men's bad behavior, which is insane. But if you point that out, you're accused of complaining. You're supposed to stay pretty for men, but not so pretty that you tempt them too much or that you threaten other women because you're supposed to be a part of the sisterhood."

This is an example of psychological abuse; victims are most often told they're responsible for their abuser's actions, as if they would in any situation be able to control or influence them, which they can't. But, putting that responsibility on women will make women hyperfocus on their own behaviour, on prevention of abuse, prevention of violence, which means they will go a long way trying to please men, tiptoe around them, give them insane amount of attention and care, in hope or preventing the escalation of their behaviour - and this is exactly what men want, this is what the abuse was for. To gain that devotion and attention, with the threat of violence. If women understood perfectly that men are responsible for their own behaviour, their way forward would be to hold men accountable, to lock them up and never look back. It's only in the world where women are victims of severe psychological abuse that we try to please men into not committing acts of violence. And it never works, because men love violence, and will turn to violence at every corner, even more easily and smugly knowing they can simply blame a woman for not working hard enough to prevent it.

Men expecting women to be pretty but then punishing them for being pretty is also an act of abuse; women's exterior is being judged as if our appearance is both a statement and a crime. Men can look whatever they naturally look like, and it's not a provocation, temptation, lack of solidarity or anything worth criticizing; but any way that a woman looks can be scrutinized and a ground for moral callout. The reality is that women also just look like the way they look like, and there's nothing wrong with it. There is zero moral problems with women looking pretty or not pretty. There isn't even a problem with tempting males because males are responsible for their own actions and not toddlers who have no power to resist impulses. This is a tactics for making women responsible for male behaviour - the way she looks is responsible for what I want to do to her. Complete nonsense, they just found a way to blame her for his own behaviour.

Calling women out for not being 'a part of the sisterhood' based on their appearance is very poorly concealed tactic to turn women against each other, to distract them from seeing that men are the root of the problem. Men don't turn on each other based on appearance, and it doesn't make sense for women to be assumed to do it either; in women-only communities, it doesn't matter what women look like. Whatever women look like is never a threat or an attack on other women, men are trying to play on female insecurity and frame other women as a threat to that insecurity - when the only threat all along was men, creating ideals and standards of beauty that don't correspond to reality or nature.

5. "Always be grateful, but never forget that the system is rigged, so find a way to acknowledge that, but also, always be grateful. You have to never get old."

The waves of feminism have forced the public consciousness to acknowledge that the system is rigged, but the pressure to do something about it falls completely on women, even though men created the system, rigged it, are keeping it rigged, are using violence to enforce it, and are benefiting from it. And it's convenient to them if women do nothing else but acknowledge it's rigged and stay grateful they're still allowed to live within, we're supposed to be threatened by the fact that we can easily be killed if we step out of line.

Men are threatened by older women because mature women have experience, they are no longer easily manipulated or cheated out of their gain, they will not bow down and please men like young, inexperienced women can be tricked into doing. So they convince those young women, that being old is shameful and ugly for women. They want women to stay young and susceptible, like children that they can control and not allow any agency or free will. This ensures we stay focused on being scared of time, aging and our own bodies and nature, but not of the predators who are taking our lives as a service for themselves.

6. "Never be rude, never show off, never be selfish, never fall down, never fail, never show fear. Never get out of line, it's too hard, it's too contradictory and nobody gives you a medal or says "thank you". And it turns out, in fact, that not only are you doing everything wrong, but also everything is your fault."

These are lists of standards that are only applied to women, men are allowed to do all of these things and to be catered to while they're doing it. This behaviour is presented as bad only when women are doing it; if men do it, it's considered neutral, normal, intrinsic to human nature. Women being selfish inconveniences men, who are looking to exploit female selflessness. Women showing off and being proud would cut into their time showing off, they want that attention for themselves. Women getting out of line is inconvenient, since men have drawn those lines for women (those lines don't exist for men). Women showing fear makes it difficult for male predators to corner them down and have them act complacent; men don't want to see proof of victimizing women, except in private, except when they can get off on it. Never in public, never when women could potentially escape or reach for help, then it's sexist of women to be afraid.

Women getting medals, acknowledgment or gratitude again, cuts into male parade of getting all the acknowledgment, gratitude and medals, for them it doesn't make sense that they should share attention or credit with what they consider to be the 'servant class'. Men have deluded themselves into thinking they deserve more credit than women do, they don't consider us smart or capable, because they can easily oppress us, so how smart can we be? But also, they expect and demand us to be as smart and capable as necessary to resolve all of their issues, to make their life easy and pleasant and undemanding. We are forced to deal with issues they won't even look at, we often solve problems or create solution they wouldn't be able to produce, and this is when they simply take credit and convince themselves that they knew better all along. It's a 'male-delusion rules reality' kind of world for women.

After doing the biggest bulk of work on earth, creating and raising the entire human race, doing daily unpaid labour, putting up with violence, threats and constant degradation from men, after not having our interests represented by the law, education, government, economy or any other institution with any power, after spending a piece of our life being groomed and then having to spend another undoing the grooming, we are still told that everything is our fault, and that we're doing everything wrong.

This is abuse, and somebody is doing it. We are not put thru all of this for vague reasons, or for arbitrary reasons, someone is benefiting from all of it. While we're raising children, who lazes around and attaches their last names to our kids? When we're doing daily unpaid labour, who doesn't do their part? Who is staring at us while we're walking down the street, who fails to represent or even acknowledge our interests, and even our human rights? Who does the grooming, and who enables them to do it? Where do they get resources from it, who allows it to go on unchecked? How come young girls and women are regarded as such low value that we allow them to live unprotected around predators who will absolutely attempt to violate them in as many ways they can? Who fails to prevent, or arrest, or punish them?

It's not just a system of patriarchy, it'a a system of men, doing this every single day of their life. We can point the finger at the root of the problem. We have a common enemy, and they're working damn hard to keep us from realizing it.

#barbie movie #radfem analysis #feminist analysis #radical feminism #feminist statements #feminist text #acknowledgment of female oppresion #source of oppression

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Bounty Of The Heart - Bounty Hunter!Male!Reader x Candace

A/N: This is a long one. Hope you enjoy! CW: Mild violence, moral ambiguity. Themes: Enemies to lovers.

They say Sumeru is a nation of wisdom. A peaceful people who, with their gentle Archon above them, pursue to examine the world and contain its secrets within tomes, fathomed by both human and divine mind. 

They are wrong. 

Mora and fame are the true pursuits of the men and women of Sumeru. Science is only a means of achieving wealth and status, different from sell-swording only by the lack of physical violence. Those who can navigate the maze of dusty tomes and old, bearded, complaining professors can achieve a high position and see eight figures on their monthly pay. But to reach this level, one must have determination and a patience of cold steel. And you? Had neither of those things when you were young. 

You craved money, but also adventure. You just couldn't force yourself to sit down and study boring and mostly irrelevant information, only to pass a test unreflective of your actual knowledge. You needed something more - adrenaline. Just like many other young and inexperienced men, you decided to join the Eremites. The promise of gold and fame lured you in quite effectively. Clad in red, you served a few years in that organization. You were immediately picked up by some scruffy-looking old man, assigned to a sizable band, and sent into the desert. Even if you were fully aware of how dangerous and harsh the conditions were, you could hardly adjust to them at first. Especially that the pay was surprisingly meager. But you served nonetheless, gaining valuable experience and learning the craft. The first kill was quite shocking, but the more blood there was on your hands, the less you cared. You put in three hundred percent, but you never rose that much in the ranks. Your efforts were never appreciated, and you didn't enjoy that. So, you faked your death on one mission and moved on to make a name for yourself. 

Surprisingly, contracts weren’t that difficult to find, even right from the start. The jobs were dangerous, there was scarce information, but the pay was mostly better than you received in the Eremites, especially that you didn’t have to hand the lion’s share to your superiors. If not for your skill, determination - and mostly just pure luck - you would have already shared the fate of many like you. 

Time flew by. You completed job after job, killing monsters and humans alike. The majority of your earnings went towards upgrades of your weaponry and armor, and it’s not like you could afford a lavish lifestyle. You had the money, yes, but flaunting your wealth would attract unwanted attention. You may have kept your true identity a secret from both your victims and contractors, but it’s better safe than sorry after all. In spite of what the amount of mercs in Sumeru may suggest, it was hard to find equipment that would meet the demands of both dense, humid jungles and barren, scorching deserts. You picked a mixed armor set of mostly hardened leather, cloth and a chestplate, coupled with an armored but fairly cool helmet. You made sure to use dark green cloth and paint to outfit the set specifically for jungle bounties, also buying a separate second set with various modifications - like fingerless gloves and a Hydro-infused chest piece - for the deserts.

Many prideful Vision Holders reject the crossbow, labeling it as a weapon much more primitive and crude than the bow. You gladly showed some who happened to be your targets that it all depends on who uses it - a perfect shot in between the ribs from a hundred meters is nothing to scoff at, after all. The only minus was that reloading it is fairly difficult and requires plenty of strength. It’s all worth the armor piercing capabilities though, no doubt about that. You purchased two flintlocks and one high-caliber buckshot and kept them sealed tightly in your pouches so as to not let any humidity or sand break them. They were high quality and expensive, even by your standards - Fontainian quality costs.

The selection of a melee weapon was a fairly problematic matter. You weren’t a Vision Bearer - at least not back then - so there was no way to just make the weapon disappear and appear on demand. You needed something universal, hard hitting and able to be wielded with just one hand. You picked a hand ax as your main weapon, and it served you well ever since you first used it. It was wonderful both against humans and monsters, and could help by chopping firewood or hacking hunted animals apart on longer commissions. Even when you finally managed to snatch a dying Vision of one of your targets and claim it for yourself, your preference stuck. Quite soon just the image of your signature steel weapon prompted a quieter tone and wary looks from the people discussing you. 

With such a kit, hardly anything was a challenge. No matter if human or monster, you hunted it down for the right price. After some practice, you managed to form a routine on equipment management and optimize your spendings to secure even more funds for yourself. This in turn allowed you to afford your own house. The location you chose was the desert. People there weren’t very nosy and often dabbled in the gray area of the law, which went by a few rules, one of them being a saying regarding why ignorance is bliss. Aaru Village was welcoming, especially that few were interested in buying property there due to the harsh conditions, borderline unbearable to the jungle dwellers. For a sizable amount of ill gotten Mora you purchased a decrepit storage building and, with some creativity and patience, transformed it into a cozy base of operations. 

You rested and maintained your equipment by day, and went to do your job by night. Quite the comfortable routine, maybe minus the cleaning of blood from your clothes. The jobs were plenty, but under many names since you never officially introduced yourself under a specific alias. It's not like the people could come up with anything suited to your tastes anyway. With time and a lack of reinforcement, these tags faded away, replaced by just your occupation - bounty hunter. If one were to ask for a chance to contact you in the right places, they would ask for not ‘a’ hunter, but ‘the’ hunter, and you responded. When the money was worth your time, of course. 

Your nighttime activities didn't go unnoticed, however. How could they fly under the watchful eyes of Candace, defender of Aaru Village, descendant of Al-Ahmar? 

It took only a bit of observation from a considerable distance - which wasn't hard for Candace, a desert dweller since birth - and a conversation with Dehya to learn who you are. She wouldn't mind (that much) if you were just another smooth-brained run-of-the-mill mercenary, looking for luck in the endless sands. But someone like you? If the tales she heard about your deeds, you were a dangerous, very dangerous man. Candace made many enemies amongst the Eremites, who would have no qualms about raising funds to pay for her head. Candace’s concern only grew the more she stalked you. The sheer brutal efficiency you showed was nothing to scoff at, especially that you seemed to slaughter both monsters and men with the same emotionless professionalism. There were rarely any survivors, especially amongst humans. And if they were, you let them go on purpose. 

For her, you were a danger. For you, she was a hindrance. Ever since you first caught her spying on you during one of your clean-up jobs, Candace became a stable thorn in your side. You knew she aimed to protect her home first and foremost, but there was no certainty what she would do in your case. Those that threatened the village were dealt with swiftly, while those that weren't malicious were left to their business. Since you never attacked civilians or officials - to keep these sweet and stable contracts from both the Corps of Thirty and Aaru Village Chief going - you weren't a threat. Why then was she spying on you? An uncertainty, maybe? Her personal anxiety? Maybe fear or jealousy? It was hard to tell, but you certainly enjoyed the attention and silent respect, even if it was mixed with hostility. Well, you would more if she wasn't such a headache. Not only was she following you with unclear intentions, but she, as a respected figure in the eyes of the chief, could potentially break your contracts and cut your earnings. 

Even if the distant glances at each other over the dunes were tense, there never was a direct encounter. It was a bloodless and quiet conflict - a cold war of mutual mistrust and wariness. 

Your activities were a benefit, certainly, but they were far from enough to convince her to overlook your presence. Despite knowing his intellect, Candace didn't fully trust Uncle Anpu’s judgment. Your loyalty was a commodity that could be purchased by anyone with enough funds, and it wasn't as her Vision gave her a massive advantage either. She wasn't as cold hearted and ruthless as you were. For the moment, although with a heavy heart, she resorted to simply keeping tabs on your actions. Meanwhile, she used her spare time to get more sleep, finally go shopping with Dehya and relax at the village’s meeting house. 

Though most times she was drinking with either her friends or by herself, she has been hanging out with a stranger she met there, usually at dusk. He was about her age. Candace found him kind, well mannered and intelligent - quite interesting in general. 

You looked at her with a knowing smile while she was going on about what deeds she handled that day or what kinds of trespassers ended up on the wrong end of her spear. After all, you saw her in action more than once, always from a safe distance. But up close, you met a kindred soul with a similar sense of diligence as yourself, even if she didn't know about your true identity. Candace was a wonderful person to be around, and, soon enough, you found yourself enamored by her maturity, sense of responsibility and caring attitude. Although you introduced yourself under your factual name, you still had to maintain some sort of cover for your true identity. You fed her a story about how you were a statistician working for the Sumeru Academia. Although your muscular stature wasn't quite like that of an overworked mathematician you painted yourself as, she accepted it - partly because she lacked even the fundamental knowledge of the subject. Variance and standard error were things of Academia, not the desert. You could explain the basics to her and write out a few random formulas you remembered from your cut-short time in the university. Even if you developed a mild crush on her, work came first. After all, she was a potential enemy.

And Candace returned the feeling. It wasn't anything beyond a crush, but she did really enjoy your company. In your long, flirtatious conversations you discussed many things, from culture through history to recent events. The topic of The Bounty Hunter was a prevalent one, and soon enough you brought it up to Candace as if she wasn't sitting right in front of the perpetrator. With care not to blow your cover, you probed her opinion of your actions, and teased her a little by complimenting your own actions’ contributions towards the safety of the village.

This sparked a certain, unusual envy in Candace. Her crush was complimenting the work of some (un)common outlaw? And what's more, in an area she takes pride in? While not one to act reckless, Candace did allow her emotions to set the directions that time. The woman disregarded the additional self care time she had on her hands for monster hunting. Her plan was to snatch your prey from your hands before you went out hunting, cut your earnings and hopefully discourage you from working around the village. 

And she did succeed. Your professional wariness turned into a competition, as with less kills came less money, and less money meant less satisfaction. But what annoyed you more than the smaller paycheck from the Aaru Village Chief was the fact that Candace was attempting to root you out. And, on top of all that, the casual Candace was mostly busy or tired, delaying your official date each time you mentioned it. For the moment, Candace stopped appearing as your sympathy, but rather as a competitor. A competitor that had to be put in her place. You needed something more impressive, a proof of your capabilities and talent. 

You knew exactly what to aim for. 

Consecrated Scorpions, rare as they are, pose a significant threat to everyone that happens to stroll by their territory. Having feasted on the remains of defeated gods and absorbed a part of their power, these often ancient monsters weren't picky eaters, meaning it made no difference whether their food was Hilichurl, animal or human. With their terrifying size, elemental affinity and thick carapace, these creatures were nigh unkillable, even for most Vision holders. But you weren't most, were you? Such a proof of capability would fetch a mouthwatering amount of Mora and respect. 

And you? You'd do anything for fame and fortune, as that was your way of life. 

After giving Candace a cover story about a work trip to Port Ormos, you packed your supplies and moved south into the Land of Upper Setekh. Finding a massive, dangerous demigod beast proved more troublesome than you assumed. You knew scorpions tend to reside in dark caverns, but poking your head into each lightless crevice you found was far from a good idea. The creature could easily kill you, especially if it had the element of surprise on its side. You stalked the gorges and ravines by night, as it is the time when they are hunting. After a few unsuccessful escapades you finally managed to spot one, feasting on a Sumpter Beast. You followed it though the sunless hours, carefully memorizing the path it took when that oversized arachnid felt drowsy just as morning rolled in. The scorpion made its lair inside a sizable crevice underneath the cliffside. 

Upon relocating your base camp and concealing it behind sand-colored cloths, you started your research. Scorpions, especially the giant man eating variety, weren't your forte. There were little details to go off of when it came to common knowledge, and even scientific studies. Thus, you had to experiment. 

Your guinea pigs were the common, yet still quite sizable scorpions of the desert. You tested their sensitivity to light, sound, scent and visual stimuli. 

Just as you thought, their eyesight was exceptionally poor. They could hardly see where they were going, often falling into pits and cracks in the rocks, usually getting out thanks to their spiky legs. A bright, white flare could make them panic if thrown at them during the night, causing them to shriek and escape. When you tried this on your prey, with whom you've gotten quite closely acquainted with due to your constant nightly tracking of the beast, turned aggressive instead of frightened. Assuming the characteristic defensive position, with claws tight to its body and the abdomen raised, it prepared an attack, and struck the flare with its massive stinger. Interestingly, instead of the venom of its smaller kin, this one delivered a powerful Electro discharge through the stinger, scorching the sand and burying your tool underneath it. Soon after it lost interest and went back to its routine. But there was an even more important discovery. When it was in its offensive pose, a fact of its anatomy revealed itself. Due to the massive and unnatural size of the Consecrated Scorpion, the exoskeleton plates weren't tight to its body, creating large openings when it was ready to strike. A well aimed shot could severely debilitate, or even kill the creature. 

Scorpions, as you found out, were mostly interested in three things. Things that move, things that smell and things that are bright. This gave you enough information to formulate a plan. At dusk, you would lure a single Sumpter Beast into the small gorge near the scorpion’s lair, keeping it there with a pile of hay until the scorpion would wake and attack it. To make things more enticing for it, you would leave a burning campfire beside the animal. Then, as the stinger would be lodged deep in the prey, you would take the shot laced with a very potent horse sedative. The scorpion would pass out, and you’d have plenty of time to end its life undisturbed. 

It was such a brilliant plan, the fruit of a week’s worth of meticulous observation. So much so that you felt a bit sorry for it. But ultimately, work was work, and the creature would most likely appreciate your respect by ripping you to shreds and shoving your remains down its mouth. 

You set the ambush, and waited.

-

You breathe steadily. This is not your first time. Your gloves hands grip your empty crossbow securely - an accidental misfire would waste the precious poisoned bolt. You peer out from behind the plain cloth covering your dark campsite, spotting the oblivious creature unfortunate enough to trust you and end up as your bait. The animal is sleeping in the hay. You glance up, seeing the red remnants of sunlight painting the horizon. Any second now. 

As you check your equipment, a sound reaches your ears. Footsteps. Continuous, measured - human footsteps of a single person, off to your left. Even if your helmet is painted to prevent the metal from reflecting light, you still look out with care. Your brow furrows as you spot the figure walking down the rocky cliffside towards the fire. Though she is covered in clothes, you recognise Candace by her deep blue locks of hair poking out from underneath a fabric. 

You mutter to yourself. “Come on. Not you. Not now.” 

You watch on as she approaches the bait and examines the campfire, before walking over to the snoring beast. She stretches out her hand and scratches the back of the furry creature while examining the hay. Candace turns sharply in your direction, causing your heart to sink. She looks around the ravine, standing in place without a word. You let out the breath you held when you realize she is oblivious to your presence. 

Candace summons her shield and spear and moves down the ravine, sticking to the left side of the cliff. 

The side on which the scorpion's hiding place is. 

Though trying to suppress it, you feel anxious. She might just blow your whole operation wide open with her little trip. Why now, of all times? Does she have too much free time on her hands? Maybe taking contracts in her area wasn't such a good-

In a flash, a huge dust cloud raises up where Candace stood mere seconds ago. The bait wakes up and runs, kicking up even more sand. You spring into action, aiming the crossbow at it and ripping the cover tarp down. Screams and screeching resonate through the canyon as you squint your eyes on focus, using your elemental vision to see what's going on. You see the vibrant blue figure of Candace fighting with the hulking, deep purple shape of the scorpion. 

Grabbing the tranquilizer bolt, you take off along the ravine’s edge towards the ongoing fight. When you find yourself directly across them, you assess the situation. Even if the scorpion assumes the stance, you won't be able to take a clear shot at your bounty. Thinking quickly and dropping your main weapon to the ground, you pull out your high caliber with a trained movement. You aim it at the rough center of the purple abdomen, and pull the trigger. 

“Roar, mighty duel!” 

You scream, with a loud pained hiss of the scorpion following suit. Moving to the side and out of the smoke cloud the shot created, you pick up the crossbow, lower it to the ground, hold it down with your foot and pull the string back into place. You place the bolt carefully on the wooden body of the weapon, and take aim. By this time, the smoke cleared enough for you to see what's going on without using your vision. The scorpion was wounded - a sizable chunk of its carapace has been shattered by the bullet, enough for a good chance of hitting your mark from your position. 

Candace meanwhile was fighting for her life. She was jumping back, dashing between the claws of the monster in a tight dance of death. Her spear was a toothpick, and had just as much use against the Consecrated Scorpion. Now, wounded and agitated, the scorpion moved its trunk-thick stinger into action. The woman dodged the first stab, just barely avoiding being impaled on the massive stinger. The second sting, however, finds its mark. Candace manages to bring up her shield just in time to stop the tip from embedding itself in her flesh. The beast instantly tries to pull it back for another attempt, but it's stuck in the wood. Candace bashes her shield downwards, trying to break the stinger. While she struggles, and the scorpion stays still, you fire. 

The bolt lands in the damaged area, embedding itself in the exposed insect flesh. Your game shrieks and struggles harder, to get its weapon free. Candace fights with all her might as you grab a handful of flares from your belt bag and tie them with a piece of rope. She manages to break the stinger, causing the monster to hiss and back away. You jump down, flare bomb in hand. You recover from the fall and set off the flares one by one. Then, you throw it straight at the scorpion. 

It shrieks, using its claws to cover the six sensitive eyes it has. Candace, shield still raised, backs away towards you. You stand beside her, pistols drawn and pointed at the monster. Suddenly it turns and scurries away in the opposite direction, further down the ravine.

Candace is panting heavily, but you hit her on the back.

“Come on! It will be out in a moment. We need to catch up.”

She nods, and both of you run after the fleeing scorpion’s tracks. It doesn't take long for the poison to kick in, making it weak and slow, letting you catch up. By the time you two see it again, the monstrosity is low to the ground, claws lowered and stinger relaxed. You slow your pace, quietly watching as it slumps down, relaxing completely. 

After a solid minute of staring at it, you make your careful approach, making sure to keep your distance just in case. You examine the thing's mouth, making sure the smaller pincers located there aren't moving. When you confirm that is the case, you finally lower your pistols. Candace takes a deep breath. 

“It's dead?” She asks, voice raspy from the pursuit. 

“No. Just out. Will be for a few hours.” You reply, holstering the weapons. You turn to her. “You alright?”

The woman closes her eyes, breathing rapidly, and dismisses both her weapons. “Yes. I’m fine.”

She walks over to a nearby rock and plops down, trying to calm her body. She looks back at you with her blue and golden eyes. 

“Was this your bounty?”

You nod.

“And that animal? Was it the bait?”

“Correct.”

“I see.” She sighs, rubbing her temple. “Thank you for helping. I disrupted your hunt and damaged your prey, didn't I… I would offer to compensate you, but I don't think I have the Mora. If there is anything I could do to make up for this, tell me and I will do it.”

You smile underneath the faceplate of your mask. You move your hands to undo the straps, and pull the metal helmet away from your head. The cold night breeze is refreshing on your hot and exhausted face. You turn around. 

“You could finally let me take you out on that date we planned, Candace.” 

She sits there, wide eyed. Blinking a few times, the struggle to comprehend the new reveal becomes visible. She silently nods a few times. 

“Alright. I can… do that, Y/N.”

You turn back to the scorpion, approaching it with your axe in hand. From the side close in on the left claw, and give it a gentle poke. The scorpion doesn't react. 

“Or you can help me get the poison gland and some other valuable stuff out of this thing. I could use a pair of hands, you know.”

Candace frowns. “Ugh. Being elbow deep in insect guts wasn't my plan for the evening, but…” She gets up, and smiles warmly at you. 

“A promise is a promise.”

Thanks for reading!

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