#FEELING UNWORTHY OF BEING ONE OF THE FEW TO SURVIVE | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

luxlightly · 4 months

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I Said To You in Your Blood, "Live!" - a Gabv1el fic (AO3 link in the reblogs)

“And when I passed by you and saw you wallowing in your blood, I said to you in your blood, ‘Live!’ I said to you in your blood, ‘Live!’" - Ezekiel 16:6

Gabriel dragged himself forward, slumped against a wall of Hell, wings drooped and dragging on the floor behind him.

Of course he'd returned. Where else could he have gone?

Where else do angels go when they fall? To die?

And he was dying. It was a strange and impossible seeming notion. Something he would have laughed at the very idea of just a few days ago. How could you kill the Hand of God? Ridiculous.

As ridiculous as that Hand being bested by a mere machine, built by mortal hands for profane purposes.

Crude, merciless…

Beautiful.

He'd grown so used to the beauty of Heaven. Clean, pristine, and perfect. A cold, calculated beauty of carved marble, precise and willful. Flawless and impersonal as the Father himself.

How could a machine, dripping with blood and gore, built of an unholy mix of flesh and steel, with frantic, desperate movements and torn, jagged edges have, at first meeting, been anything but hideous to him? Repulsive in all ways?

And so how could their fight, and his defeat, have felt anything other than violating? Something that stained him, made him imperfect and unworthy of the Light that was stripped from him?

And so it had. So he had been at war with himself. Had felt corrupted, defiled. Impure. So he had begun their second fight with hate and desperation to cleanse himself of the stain of their first.

Then something changed.

Imprecise movements no longer felt imperfect. They became natural.

Organic.

Alive.

Life is frantic. Is desperate and uncalculated. Is imperfect and unpredictable.

His fights for Heaven were about death. About punishment. One sided executions and exterminations.

Fighting with the machine was about life. The fight itself had felt alive.

And Gabriel…Gabriel had felt Alive.

More than he'd ever remembered feeling. He'd felt the movement of combat like music, like the pounding of drums and the thrum of blood in veins. Excited and full of life. And so did fighting become like dancing, unable to be lost, only lead.

He'd laughed.

It had felt so incredible. To fight the way living things do. As animals clawing to survive. To want to bite and scratch and claw and cling to life for every second he could. To be desperate in his desire. He'd understood so clearly, in those moments, how creatures of flesh and blood were in the image of God. How could such fighting, to cling to that living flesh, be anything but the most reverent form of worship?

And so how could one’s partner in such a dance, be anything but the purest and most true kind of beauty? Blinding and breathtaking?

Then, all too soon, it was over.

Cast down again, for the second time in his existence, Gabriel tasted defeat and, for the first, he tasted blood.

And it tasted divine.

It filled the cold void left behind where the Father's Light had been torn away from him and it tasted so much the same, yet somehow purer. The Light he'd been granted, the metered grace he was allotted by the Council so long as he served their will seemed, by comparison, like a shadow or reflection. The lingering warmth after a farewell compared to the fiery heat of sudden embrace.

How could it be warmer than God’s Light? If the fire of God was so much warmer in the blood of Hell, then what burned in the Council chambers of Heaven?

How could he, cast from grace and laid low before the machine, feel closer to the Divine than he'd felt while basked in His Light?

There could be only one answer: because the Light that the Council had to offer him was not Divine. Maybe it never had been. After all, if God was really dead, how could the Council have His Light to give, anyway?

And if it hadn't been His Light, His Will, then what had Gabriel been sustained on? Only the Council’s approval.

He forsook it. Better to die, consumed by the flames of Hell than live sustained by the cold indifference of Heaven.

At least consumption is akin to embrace, in the way that hunger is akin to desire.

His legs losing their strength at last, Gabriel finally slumped to his knees, breathing ragged and vision blurry.

The way he'd cut down the Council, had bathed the chambers of Heaven with their blood, had seemed to rejuvenate him, at least temporarily, at least long enough to finish the grim task. But now, his connection to the Light of the Father severed for good and the last remnants of its warmth drained from him, he felt his end very much at hand.

Ridiculous as it would have seemed, mere days ago, to contemplate his own death, it would have been even more so to contemplate his own life.

His existence was a constant. It had no true beginning or end. It could not be covetted or cherished because it could not be quantified. It simply was. He could not want to live any more than the sky could want to hold its place above the Earth. Than the wind could desire to blow or the celestial bodies desire to continue their journey through the endless void of space.

A force of nature could not want. Could not hope. Could not hunger, not for food, nor life, nor love.

But Gabriel did. For the first time, he faced his future with something other than cold, perfect acceptance. In its place was a hot, bitter disappointment and a gnawing, desperate hunger.

He wanted to live. Damn him, he did not want to die. He wanted to see the Machine again, as he had promised he would. He wanted to fight for the sake of fighting. He wanted to live and to feel alive.

He wanted to drag the eyes of the God that had abandoned him back to that chaotic dance and dare Him to find it beautiful. He wanted the eyes of God to weep for the beauty they'd turned away from. To mourn every second they'd spent not beholding it. The way he mourned it, now.

Perhaps it was that desire, more so than anything, that brought him back to the depths of Hell. A vain hope to fulfill his promise and to feel the embrace of life one more time before dying, however briefly.

He did not rouse when he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. He had no strength to fight. If one of the denizens of Hell wanted to end him now, it would only be speeding up the inevitable.

With his faith so shattered, Gabriel was not sure if he believed there was any force that could intervene in the affairs of Earth, Heaven, and Hell in the way he'd once called “miracles”, nor did he have any name to give thanks to for such an act, but the gratitude he felt when the owner of the footsteps appeared before him could not have been greater if he had known it to be an act of God Himself.

“Machine…” he breathed. “We meet again…as I said we would. Sadly…I do not think we shall face each other in righteous combat a third time. Still, I am…glad to see you. One last time…”

V1 dripped with fresh blood. It must have freshly killed. Its wings raised, encircling it like a golden halo in Gabriel’s blurred vision. Blue, gold, and red swam before his failing eyes, shimmering and ethereal.

“Divine…” he whispered.

V1’s inner mechanisms whirred and it tilted its head, inquisitively. It seemed to inspect him, clicking and humming. Its hands grasped and released its weapons, seeming unable to fully process or deal with an encounter that was not immediately violent.

It knelt before him, looking him over for some cause for his current state.

Gabriel laughed, weakly, strangely endeared by the robot’s apparent concern. Strange, for a being that had only known him as a threat.

How to explain the Light of the Father to a machine? How could it possibly understand what it meant for him to be cut off from it, or why he had been?

“I am…hungry,” Gabriel said. “Empty…dying.”

The Machine stood again, looming over him. Gabriel wondered if it would leave, assured that he was no threat. After all, what use did it have, with its limited time, to stand around and watch him die?

Instead, as it had nearly every moment he knew it, it surprised him.

With a screech of metal against metal, the Machine dug a clawed hand into its own chest, peeling back a small patch of the metal plating to reveal the pulsing mass of flesh and mechanics that comprised its innards.

Hot blood poured from the self inflicted wound and onto Gabriel's helmet, flowing down and dripping into the holes above his mouth.

Gabriel was stunned for a moment, then almost laughed.

Of course. Its whole idea of life revolved around blood. Life, health, food; blood was synonymous with all of them. What other thought could it have had to help him, than to try to feed him the way it fed?

A misguided effort, of course, but nonetheless meaningful. It had to fight for every second of life that blood afforded it, and it likely knew the supply was dwindling, yet it would harm itself and willingly part with its most precious life force, in the hopes it would help him.

Gabriel opened his mouth beneath his helmet and let the blood trickle onto his tongue. Misguided or not, he recognized a sacrament when he saw one, and he would not dream to waste it.

Again the taste of divinity alit on his tongue and he shuddered. The hunger is his gut that had first been sparked the moment he'd been struck down the first time by the Machine and that had been kindled by the taste of his own blood, then fanned to flame by the slaughter of the council roared up in him as an inferno.

He tilted his head back and shifted himself to kneel before the Machine allowing blood to pour more directly onto his supplicated form.

Like liquid fire, it bathed his skin and coated his throat, lighting him up from the inside the way the cold reflection of Heaven had never dreamed to compare to.

“Machine!” he choked, a desperate plea he hadn't meant to utter for a desire he didn't understand being dragged from somewhere deep inside him that knew what it was to struggle to survive, even if he didn't.

Luckily, the Machine understood what he could not.

It guided him to his knees, pressed close to it for support, and guided his hands with its own to the wound on its chest, held his hand in its while an instinct Gabriel never knew he could have harbored dug their clasped fingers into the metal and stripped back the plating even further.

Life blood bathed him and Gabriel cried out with a mix of relief and need. His arms encircled the Machine, clinging to it like a lifeline as he pressed his face to the now gaping wound, feeling its pulsing, churning, whirring insides against his armor and skin, which both seemed to drink up the blood as eagerly as his mouth.

He wanted to pray, but couldn't. For there was no prayer he had known to fit such a sacrament, nor any that he could conceive of that could be more reverent than the worship he was already partaking in.

He wanted to reach in with his hands and pull out its innards while it did the same to him. He wanted to tear it open with his teeth and taste where the metal and flesh met.

He wanted to understand how animals could eat their prey alive.

He wanted to know that only his blood filled it, fed it, while only its fed him, like a heart passing blood between its chambers, like the two raw wounds that they were, pressed together so close they shared a heartbeat.

He wanted them to hunger for every drop of each other and never be satisfied.

He wanted. He hungered. He lived!

And yet, a gentle push was all that was needed to unclasp his hands and send him toppling back against the wall behind him, gasping for breath.

Blood continued to sink into his armor and skin and for a moment Gabriel felt the urge to peel off his helmet and lick the fading drops up before they disappeared, but he suddenly realized he could not fully recall what lay beneath that shell of white and gold.

V1 clutched at its chest as its body began the work of repairing the damage, sealing up the opening and fusing the metal back together.

Gabriel felt his own body similarly set to work on repairing itself. Energy seemed to return to his limbs and he felt that he once again had the strength to stand.

“Let Us make man in Our image. In Our likeness…” Gabriel quoted, in a daze.

V1 tilted its head at him again.

“For the life of every creature is its blood: its blood is its life.”

Gabriel shook his head and laughed.

“We're so much more alike than I'd even thought possible, Machine. The Father's Light has always fed both of us, hasn't it?” he said. “If God is dead, then what in his abandoned Heaven could be left of his Light that is not lesser than that in the lifeblood of those He made in His image?”

He looked to V1.

“You…saved me. I owe you a debt of gratitude. But… I don't understand.”

He shook his head.

“Blood is finite. It's running out. Why share any with me? Why cut down the little time you have left to save someone who only ever tried to kill you?”

The Machine turned away, as though lost in thought.

Gabriel wondered if it even really understood, itself.

At last, it turned to him and, in a garbled, robotic tone that seemed to take great effort for it to produce, it said:

”I A M H U N G R Y”

Somehow it seemed to look past him. This creature of war who never knew a life beyond bloodshed. Whose purpose died before it came to be. Whose life, since its inception, had been a clawing, desperate, and ultimately doomed fight for just a little more time. A little more life Even in hell, even if it's only ever filled with pain and death.

“I think I understand you, Machine,” Gabriel said. “I used to think your being here was pointless. A remnant of a dead war that could only know hunger. Could only bring destruction. But this is what you feel, isn't it?”

He put a hand to his chest.

“I want to live, Machine. I want to fight for every bloodsoaked second I can squeeze from this existence, no matter how brief. I'll fight until I'm torn to pieces for one more moment. If it means I get to keep feeling what it is to be alive.”

He looked up at V1.

“And I want you to be alive. I want to fight you again. I want you to never let me forget this feeling. You…make me know what it is…to want something.”

V1 blinked its optic, slowly, as if in agreement.

Gabriel staggered to his feet and pulled Justice from its sheath. He pointed it at V1 before laying the blade flat across his palms and bending one knee, holding the sword up to V1.

“If the Divine can still live on, even in the blood of His dead and damned creations, then maybe this fight is not one doomed to end once you reach the bottom of Hell,” he said. “Take my sword. And my vow that if I cannot find a way to replenish the energy of the Divine, then I will meet you at the center of Hell and Splendor and Justice will cross one last time as we duel for the last drops of blood in creation.”

V1 took the sword from Gabriel’s hands and brandished it, feeling the perfect balance of the expertly crafted blade.

“We will meet again, Machine. Until then, may your woes be many. And your days few.”

---

Me, pointing at a big blackboard with insane scrawlings covering it: "Here's how gabriel can still live"

I've never played ultrakill but I am not immune to the eroticism of the machine. Written all at once at 3am waiting for my pain medication mo kick in. bone app the teeth

#ultrakill #ultrakill spoilers #gabriel ultrakill #gabv1el #fellas is it gay to fight the homies like animals #blood tw #gore tw #it's ultrakill #v1 ultrakill

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kuroshika · 1 year

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the idea of hannibal continuing to cannibalize people after his younger sister is something i think about a lot. i like to think that it's out of honor - mischa was just a little girl. she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, and she was such a sweetheart. and she was just taken from him, in front of his eyes. just think about it.

he was eight years old. his parents had just been killed, and he and his younger sister abducted. he watched his captors murder and eat his little sister, then feed some of her remains to him.

so why would he keep doing it? wouldn't that be a disgrace to her memory?

i think his way of honoring her memory is by doing it willingly. by killing and eating those he finds rude or unworthy of the life they'd been given, he's avenging mischa's death. taking from the people who don't deserve it to avenge someone who had their whole life ahead of them.

that's why, i think, he's torn between wanting will alive and wanting to eat him.

mischa was one of the few people in hannibal's life who knew him inside and out. he let her see him, know him, and she was lost to him. he'd honored her body, in the least, by eating her.

when bedelia says "could he daily feel a stab of hunger for you, and feel nourishment at the sight of you?" i think that ties in here.

he's fighting with himself. he wants to honor will the same way he honored mischa - not because he doesn't deserve the life he has, but because hannibal thinks the world isn't worthy of having him. he hungers for will because he wants to honor him - he wants to honor his god. he feels that hunger whenever he sees him, that's the "daily stab of hunger". but "having nourishment at the sight of you" means that hannibal is sated by seeing that he's still alive, still fighting - the visage he never got for his little sister. he aches to honor will, to protect him, but has his hunger curbed by the knowledge that will is still alive.

and when he realizes how attached he is to will, after bedelia tells him he's unhealthily obsessed, that's why his response is "i have to eat him". because he won't survive the loss of will, and being so close to him is already a strain on his self control. he let will see him, know him, and now that obsession comes with a certain sense of fear - what if he fails to keep will safe? what if his involvement in his life leads to his death? that's why he's so desperate to alienate him at first - remove any threats that will may surround himself with so that hannibal can keep him safe. and not even that works. so then he moves on to murder - bedelia, tobias, abigail - anyone who poses a threat to keeping will alive and safe. still doesn't work. when that doesn't work, he opts to get him arrested - to forcibly make sure that no harm can befall him. no result.

so then he turns to getting himself locked up. in removing himself from will's life, he assuages the chances of damage being done, and lessens the possibility of losing him. that's why he says "i wanted you to know where i was, and what i was doing", because he wanted will to understand that this decision was for will's sake, not his own.

and it doesn't work, because will comes back for him.

"can't live with him, can't live without him". can't live with him because there's always the underlying urge to devour him, to carve a place inside of hannibal for him. can't live without him, because will's loss would be the tipping point for hannibal's restraint.

"i feel like i've dragged you into my world" - "i got here on my own" can also be a pretty solid quote for hannibal accepting that he's let all of this madness into his carefully crafted life all for will. he let himself grow close to will, and is content in reaping the consequences of his actions.

@lesbian-hannibal @craqueluring

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borathae · 2 years

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↳ Index [Day 24 - Choking]

Pairing: Caged Bird!couple

Kinks: nippleplay, choking, passionate sex, unprotected sex (they are on magical protection though), this has some sugar mommy queen & cute spoiled prince vibes

Wordcount: 7.4k

a/n: you only picked those three kinks so i didn’t really know how far i could go? it was so hard to hold back djfaj just uff imagine besties, a cunniligus scene with him being all desperate and whiney ngnf you’re gonna get more stories about him, i'm telling you 💗

Jungkook couldn’t imagine any other life than life with you. He often catches himself wondering how he spent so many years believing that life as a Raven was the supposed life. He wonders during moments of tranquillity, of warmth, moments of good food and drink and moments where he finds himself connected with you in the only state which truly mattered. He wonders why he spent so many years resenting the woman who would bring him true freedom and why he spent so many years believing an utter madman.

Jungkook doesn’t like to think about Rafkan these days. It fills him with rage and grief and ruins good days with heaviness on his heart. Jungkook trains a lot when that happens. He likes to keep his body strong, not because he needed it to survive, but because he liked the way he looked when he was strong. He had that choice these days. The choice to stay strong because he wanted to, but also the choice to let himself go if he felt like it. He never had that choice before. Jungkook also liked to participate in the Queendom’s tradition of sword dance. He really enjoys training the different movements and steps until he perfected them so he can show them off to you and earn himself a wave of compliments and loving kisses. It heals him so much that he forgets all about his past during those days. Just as eating good food and sleeping in your bed do.

Jungkook has his own chambers. The biggest next to yours and located just a few doors down your chambers. He has a view of the Snowy Mountains in the faraway distance and the even further away Singing River on the other side and during the warmer months, Jungkook likes to keep his windows open to let in the scent of the forest surrounding the castle. His chambers also possess their own bathing room with a big bathtub in the middle and comfortable seating for Jungkook to relax in as one of his servants brushes his hair. It always smells like vanilla scented oils in his bathing room because Jungkook really liked the smell and so you make sure to always keep a big stack of oils in your storehouses just for him.

You quite frankly love spoiling him. Jungkook sometimes feels too shy to even think about all the things you have done for him and all the treasures you purchased just for him. His chambers are filled with the most valuable of furniture, the finest of fabrics, the most golden of trinkets and the purest of jewels. His closets – yes plural because you spoil him way too much – are filled with the most beautiful of clothes made out of the most expensive of fabrics, imported from all over the continent or handmade by his dear friend and the castle’s best tailor Bartholomew. His dresser was stacked with the finest of beauty products, selected by the Queen’s very own skin magician and his treasure boxes carried the finest of jewellery for him to pick from.

Truly, Jungkook sometimes felt unworthy of everything you purchased for him and most of all, for everything you do for him.

You allow him to go wherever he wants to go. And one shouldn’t even use the word “allow” to describe his situation for he needn’t ask for your permission to go somewhere. Perhaps it would be best to use the words “make possible” to describe his state of living. You made it possible that Jungkook can go wherever he wanted to go. If he feels like running around the forest for two days, he can do that these days. If he feels like taking one of the wolves into the Snowy Mountains, he can do that these days. If he feels like riding all the way to the Nourishing Fields far, far away in the south of the Night Queendom, he can do that these days. And if he feels like staying in the castle for days, coming out of his chambers only to eat and drink and talk to you, he can do that these days.

And perhaps being happy over such simple things sounds peculiar to some, but to Jungkook they meant the world for he was finally and truly free to be a person. To be human. To be Jungkook. Jungkook was finally allowed to be himself, to think for himself, to exist for himself and for that freedom, he will always be in your debt.

Jungkook has his own chambers, but he spends most of his nights in your chambers for he really craved your company when falling asleep. Truly, Jungkook could only find true peace in sleeping when he could talk to you once the candles were extinguished and hold you as you drifted off to sweet unconsciousness together.

Jungkook is in your chambers tonight as well. He is already washed, wearing his most comfortable sleeping gown and with his hair soft from brushing it extensively. He used soaps infused with rose oils tonight, enjoying the sweet scent surrounding him. He is painting as he waits for you to return. The craft interests him greatly these days and he loves doing it to calm down.

You weren’t in the castle today. Royal business in one of the towns kept you busy while Jungkook decided to stay back to have a relaxing day. Again, he never had such a choice before. He had a very good day. First breakfast with you, then sword dance training and later he took Nahla – one of the wolf goddesses – out for a ride. He had lunch under a tree while She napped beside him and once he returned to the castle, it was already dark outside and he decided to eat dinner in the great hall with all the friends he made during his time here. He decided to spend his waiting time in your chambers once dinner was finished and he finished washing up, continuing the painting he had started yesterday. It was supposed to be your portrait and Jungkook plans on finishing it before your birthday next week. He knows that he can’t offer a lot, but hopes that the painting will be enough to show you his ever-growing love and undying gratitude.

The doors open, startling Jungkook, who barely manages to hide the painting before you have already entered the room. He stumbles to his feet, hiding his paint covered fingers behind his back.

“Oh? My starlight”, you stop in your steps, eyes softening upon seeing him, “you are here.”

You chose the nickname because of his eyes, always telling him that he carried the lights of many stars in them. Jungkook really loved the nickname. It made him feel beautiful.

Jungkook nods his head to answer your question, hurrying to you in big steps.

“How was the ride, my Queen?” he asks, taking your right hand to bow down and kiss your knuckles.

His gesture makes you chuckle.

“What’s with all these formalities tonight?” you ask in laughter.

Jungkook lifts his head, eyes sparkling in playfulness.

“I merely wanted to make you laugh”, he says, “I know how much long days can drain you.”

You step closer and place a grateful kiss atop his cheek. Jungkook leans in with closed eyes, heart fluttering in his chest.

“You are truly the greatest treasure”, you whisper, sniffling quietly, “oh and you smell so sweet.”

“I used the rose soap tonight.”

“I see”, you say, hovering your hands above his cheek, “oh, I ache to touch you, but I shouldn’t. I reek of horse.”

Jungkook dismisses you with a shake of his head.

“Do you want to follow me?” he asks, turning his back to you to hurry away.

“Have you prepared something?” you ask, following him to your bathing room. You are so grateful to be back. You yearned for Jungkook the entire day.

“Perhaps”, he says, sneaking a suspicious glance over his shoulder. The kind which makes you giggle in excited fondness. He is so precious.

Jungkook steps through the curtains first, holding them open for you. You follow with a fluttering heart.

“Tada”, he says, pointing at his surprise. The candles are soaking the room in golden lights, a wax burner infuses the air with a sweet rose scent and the bathtub is filled with hot water and your favourite bathing milk.

“Oh that is-“, you pause to look at everything. He prepared a plate of the finest meats and cheeses, topping it off with grapes and neatly cut bread. You look at him. His eyes are sparkling, his cheeks are rosy, “-did you prepare this?”

“I did”, Jungkook sticks his chest out in pride, “I did all of it myself. Our servants wanted to help me, but I gave them the night off. So I did all of it myself. I even cut the food and, and plated it. What do you think?”

“I think that it is so lovely”, you say, stepping closer just to cup his cheeks and kiss him.

Jungkook sighs, touching our lower back with gentle fingers.

“Thank you so much”, you whisper, “you truly are my treasure.”

Jungkook giggles, shoulders lifting to his ears.

“I wanted to treat you”, he confesses, “because you always take such great care of me. So I wanted to repay the favour.”

You give him a smile, tracing his glowing cheeks.

“You are so precious”, you say.

He blushes, taking a small step back afterwards.

“Shall I help you out of your clothes?” he offers.

“I am not going to deny you”, you say, turning your back to him so he can open the lacing of your corset.

You decided to go for riding pants and a loosely sitting blouse today, giving yourself some warmth by covering your waist in a warm leather corset and your torso in a matching jacket. Said jacket, you have already shrugged off, next to your riding boots and gloves. Jungkook works carefully to make sure that the lacing of your corset is neatly opened. He places his hands on your back to trail them to your front. The touch is of innocent nature, but leaves you with flickers of arousal in your stomach. You really missed his hands on your body, especially today when the weather was so cold.

He rests his chin on your shoulder so he has view down your torso, busying his fingers by opening the front clasps of the corset. He tries not to look at your cleavage, but still finds himself drawn to it. The corset pushes up your breasts so perfectly. He loves how pretty they look. He gulps.

“Weren’t you cold in the blouse?” he asks, voice slightly raspy.

“Yes, a little”, you answer him, resting your head against him.

“I see”, Jungkook breaks his eyes away before his mind wanders to different places, “I, I hope the bath will warm you”, he says, clearing his throat loudly afterwards. He feels like such a rude man, hoping that you hadn’t noticed his longing gazes.

He finally opens the corset and steps back, pulling the piece of clothing from your body. He places it over the clothing holder and rounds you.

“It will most definitely. I can’t wait to get in”, you tell him, studying his face as he opens your blouse. His furrowed brows let you know that he is taking his task very seriously.

He opens the lacing at the collar first, pulling it apart just enough to ensure your head wouldn’t get caught in it. He tries his hardest not to glance down the front. Then he runs his hands down your torso again until he reaches the hem of your pants. He tugs the blouse out of your pants, sneaking a glance up at your eyes.

“May I take it off?” he asks.

“Of course. You are so wonderful in what you are doing, that I’m feeling my heart race”, you confess, lifting your arms.

Jungkook pulls the piece of fabric off of you and carries it to the clothing holder, his cheeks are burning up because of your confession. His heart is racing too. When he turns back around, you have already slipped out of your pants, presenting them to him. He glances at your bared bottom then finally looks at the pants.

“You, uhm, you didn’t have to”, he says, taking them for you to drape them over the blouse. He really hopes that you didn’t see the glances he gave you. This was supposed to be your relaxing surprise and not his attempt to get a glimpse of your bared body.

You did notice, but you don’t mind. On the contrary, your beloved is beyond precious when he tries not to glance but still ends up glancing.

You dismiss him with a shake of your head, “I’m impatient, I really want to get into the water.”

“I see. Well, let me help you”, he says, hurrying to the bathtub so he can hold your hand as you step inside.

“Thank you”, you say, sinking into the hot water with a content sigh, “oh that is wonderful. Oh, I’m in paradise. The temperature is perfect.”

Jungkook feels incredibly proud because of your words, smiling to himself. He was scared that it might be too hot for you, but he did it perfectly. He feels very happy right now.

“Shall I scrub your back?” he offers, earning himself a fond smile from you.

“That would be lovely, but only if I can try some of that wonderful food.”

“Yes, of course you can. I prepared all of this just for you. You can eat as much as you want to”, he says, sitting down at the edge of the bathtub. He grabs the sponge and soaks it in the water, placing it on your back afterwards to scrub your skin gently.

You snatch a piece of cheese and a grape, eating it deliciously.

“Oh that is wonderful, my starlight”, you gush, “I was starving, this is so wonderful.”

Jungkook smiles, caressing your shoulder by massaging it gently. He dances the sponge over your other shoulder, making sure to clean you very thoroughly.

Jungkook stays with you as you clean yourself. He sits by the bathtub and feeds you the delicious food he prepared. And while he pays you company, you tell him about your day and scrub the parts you can reach with the soft sponge he prepared. Jungkook listens intently and you call him precious way too many times, which will make him blush and giggle every single time.

“Do you want to leave the bath?” he asks you once your body was clean and the food was finished.

“Yes.”

“Stay. I will get the towel.”

Jungkook helps you step out of the bathtub, offering you the towel to wrap yourself in. He stays close, rubbing your shoulders and leaning in to place a soft kiss on your neck.

“Jungkook”, you sigh, tilting your head to the side, “don’t do that, you know what effect it has on me”, you say, doing very little to actually stop him.

“Forgive me. Forgive me”, he whispers, kissing your neck repeatedly, “you smell so good, forgive me.”

“Lies. You aren’t sorry”, you say, sighing softly when he chuckles against your skin.

“I really missed you, my destiny”, he whispers, “I thought of you all day.”

Jungkook chose this nickname for you because he found his true destiny when he met you. You loved it so much. It made you feel so incredibly cherished.

“You did?” you ask him.

Jungkook kisses you right under your ear where it tingles the most, “I did.”

“Oh you enchanter, you”, you whip around to slap his chest softly, “you know exactly what to say to seduce me, don’t you?”

Jungkook smiles softly, “I speak the truth”, he touches your arms to tub the towel against them.

You allow him, feeling even the last fragments of the long day melt off of you.

“You are so precious”, you say with fondness in your voice.

Jungkook blushes and looks to the side, “shall I bring you your gown?” he asks to deflect the attention from him.

“Yes, that would be lovely.”

Jungkook turns and walks to the sitting bed on which he laid out your favourite night gown. He fetches it and turns, coming to realise that you are waiting for him bared.

You find great enjoyment in the gulp he does, basking in his widening eyes.

“You look-“ he clears his throat, “-your gown, my Queen. Here”, he says, hurrying to you in big steps.

He helps you slip it on, fixing the slanted collar for you while you gazed at his face.

“I thank you for all of this. Truly this is what I needed after today”, you tell him, painting a content smile on his face.

“I’m glad you feel that way. You work so very hard, my destiny”, he says, “I could never do all the things you do and for that I admire you.”

“Oh you”, you poke his chest, “you’re such a sweet talker.”

You leave the bathing room together. Jungkook offers to prepare your hair for sleeping and you accept instantly. He works diligently, having done your routine a hundred times before. He even includes a little scalp massage, sending shivers down your spine and almost making you fall asleep in your chair.

You have just finished your night routine and were in the middle of climbing into bed with him when someone knocks at your door, disturbing your peace.

“Who might that be?” Jungkook asks you, studying your features.

“I know not”, you answer him.

Another knock on the door lets both of you know that whoever wanted to enter, was persistent.

“Royal duties, am I right?” Jungkook jokes to lift your mood.

“Yes, indeed”, you say and sigh in annoyance, “come in!” you call out despite not wanting to.

Valkeria enters your chambers. Her eyes land on Jungkook relaxing under your covers, lips curling back in a distasteful scowl. Jungkook retorts it, pulling the blanket further up his body to let her know that all the frowning in the world won’t make him leave this place. This is as much his bed as it is yours and he is here to stay.

“Please excuse the late disturbance, my Queen, but Brothos is still waiting for your guidance with the carriages. He asked to send for you because he needs your answers by tomorrow morning”, she says.

“Oh the carriages!” you exclaim, “I knew that something slipped my mind. I will be with him shortly”, you turn to Jungkook, “one last duty and then I'm with you, yes?”

“Yes, I will wait”, he says, sitting up so he can scoot closer to you and kiss your lips. He does this not only because he loves you, but also to spite Valkeria, “good luck, my Queen”, he whispers.

“Dear, you enchanter”, you breathe with a racing heart. You give his cheek a soft pinch, “I won’t be long”, you promise before getting out of bed to leave the chambers after throwing on your night coat and slipping into your night shoes.

Valkeria stays behind, eyeing Jungkook with disgust.

Jungkook retorts it, frowning but with confidence. He holds his head high, making sure to show off the golden promise ring sitting on his finger.

“When are you finally going to return my knife?” she asks him.

“When I feel like it”, he retorts.

“Tzt, such a nuisance”, she murmurs and turns to stomp out of the room.

Jungkook falls into the pillows and sighs. He isn’t angry at her. Not anymore. Perhaps he even feels a little victorious. He knows that Valkeria will never win over him. She can frown and voice her distaste all she wants, but at the end of the day Jungkook was still your treasure. He was still your partner and beloved Jungkook and that was the most empowering thing he could be.

Jungkook is already significantly sleepier when you finally return.

“Please forgive me for taking so long. Brothos had a lot to talk about”, you say, finally climbing under the covers with him, “but everything is sorted now. They’re bound to leave with the first light.”

You roll yourself over, caging in his head between your elbows and running your fingers through his hair. Jungkook blinks at you slowly, placing his hands on your back.

“You aren’t going to fall asleep, are you?” you ask him.

“No, I’m just sleepy”, he answers you.

“I see, the difference is grande isn’t it?” you snicker.

Jungkook smiles tiredly, “it is”, he insists, “I want to stay awake with you.”

“You do?”

Jungkook nods his head, running his hands up your back. He runs them down along your arms, returning to your back again just to feel you up. The touch rises goosebumps on your skin.

“I want to have you”, he confesses, eliciting sparks of desire in your stomach.

“You want to have me?”

Jungkook nods his head, running his hands down your arms and to your chest. He cups your breasts, massaging them over the thin material of your gown.

“I thought of you as you were missing”, he locks eyes with you, “and how beautiful your breasts looked in the candlelight”, he adds, massaging your flesh with loving passion.

The touch elicits a sigh from you, sending shivers down your spine. His confession sends heat to your core, making you ache for him. You squirm just slightly, drawing closer to him. His hands are warm and big. His touch feels wonderful.

“I must confess that I didn’t want to ask you because I didn’t want to pressure you, but I feel the same”, you say, leaning down until your lips were almost touching.

“You do?” he asks breathily, eyes closed and fingers rolling your nipples. He craves your kiss like nothing else.

“I do. Riding all day made me….sensitive”, you say and snicker, “and then I noticed all the glances you sent my way.”

“You noticed?” he sighs, feeling your breath swirl against his lips. Oh how he aches for it to be your lips instead.

“I did”, you say, letting your lips brush against his’, “my cunt aches for your cock, Jungkook.”

“You fluster me”, he gasps, “oh sometimes you say the most sinful of things”, he whines, cupping his own cheeks as they feel like burning up.

You laugh, replacing his hands with yours, “you are so precious”, you say, finally pulling him into a kiss.

Jungkook moans, hooking his arms behind your head to keep you from pulling away. Not that you plan on pulling away. You have craved his kiss all day. Knowing that you have someone as precious as Jungkook by your side fulfils you with daily happiness. You wake easier now that you know you have Jungkook to wake up to and you sleep better knowing that you will always have his arms to fall into. You have also realised that you leave a lot harder, yearning for him the moment you set foot out of the castle and hoping for a quick return. Truly, all you really want to do these days is spend time with him and spoil him with the finest of treasures and sweetest of kisses.

You run your hand down his chest, lingering on his left pec. Jungkook has a sensitive chest. You have figured out that much in the countless nights you shared together.

You place your fingers right on his nipple and circle it slowly.

“Oh”, Jungkook lets out, kiss breaking so he can gasp for air. He chases you with an arch of his back, fingers grasping your shoulders.

“Do you like it?” you ask him.

“Yes”, he sighs, pulling you back into the kiss.

You allow him gladly, sighing his name as your lips get lost in a passionate rhythm. Jungkook sighs your name as well, feeling his head turn and his length swell between his legs. Your touch to his nipples is way too powerful, oh Jungkook feels bewitched and dizzy.

Jungkook is a very good kisser. Perhaps the best you ever had. He wasn’t always, but developed the most wonderful of skills in the time with you. He was sloppy at first and way too eager, which resulted in many giggly moments. So in a sense he never was truly bad, as kissing each other always felt right, he merely learned how to be tender and gentle.

And Jungkook truly is such a gentle man. You learned that about him when you did the simple thing of allowing him to live. Jungkook may enjoy straining his body's strength in training and grow his muscles, but at the core of his being he was a tender man. He enjoyed fabrics which felt soft on the skin and enjoyed clothing which didn’t pinch. He loved sweet smells and you often listen to him talk about a certain scent and why he didn’t or did enjoy it. He enjoyed cleanliness and loved taking care of his skin and hair. You have also realised that Jungkook is bursting in talent. His singing voice is sweeter than honey and his sword dance skills are remarkable, he also has a great talent for painting and shows interest in stitching. Truly, Jungkook is the most remarkable person you have ever met. And you are beyond grateful that destiny brought him to you and that he can finally be himself.

Jungkook pushes at you, surprising you so greatly that you fall to your back and Jungkook can claim the space above you. The kiss breaks solely because you let it break.

“You surprised me”, you whisper, gazing into his eyes. They were filled with love and desire, mirroring your state.

“You should rest. You worked so hard all day”, he whispers, tracing the shape of your cheek with the back of his hand.

“I'm so affected”, you confess, “oh my starlight, why can’t we undress ourselves and connect already?”

“I want that as well”, Jungkook says, sitting up so he can take off his gown.

You sit up as well, doing the same. You throw it to the side, locking eyes with him. Well, at least you attempt to as Jungkook’s gaze is locked onto your chest.

“Touch me, Jungkook”, you order lovingly, dropping back into the pillows.

Jungkook reaches for you instantly, cradling your breasts in his strong hands. When you met him, his hands were callused and carried many small wounds. It all has healed these days. Jungkook has the softest hands. You often tell him that they weren’t sculpted to be the hands of a cruel murderer like he so long believed himself to be, but that you always knew that he had hands of a loving man. Jungkook spilled tears when you told him, as he so often does when he realises just how incredibly much he loves you. You find it beyond precious and always buy him new treasures the next day.

“You are so beautiful”, Jungkook whispers, eyes racing over your breasts.

“So are you”, you breathe.

“I want to lose myself in you”, Jungkook moans softly and lowers himself to your chest. His length presses against your naked thigh, giving you a sweet glimpse of how swollen you have already gotten him. He moves it against you slowly, moaning and sighing as his tongue is busy with worshiping your nipples.

“That feels so good”, you sigh, running your hands through his soft hair. Your eyes are closed so you can truly enjoy his sweet touches. Jungkook is a very attentive lover. He learns by doing and observing and improves by truly listening. You have always known that behind his inexperience, potential for greatness lied. And you weren’t disappointed, not one bit. He takes time to explore you and more often than not you have to be the one to tell him to hurry up for he could truly spend hours worshipping your every inch.

Tonight is no different. You sense that Jungkook is in the process of losing himself to the sensations, hips restlessly chasing friction and rubbing his cock sensitive as a result. You don’t want that. You need him inside of you. Need him becoming sensitive because of your warm cunt.

“Jungkook, beloved”, you get out, tugging at his hair gently.

“Mhm”, he hums, sucking on your right nipple while his fingers massaged the other.

“Slip inside”, you say, forcing Jungkook to break contact with your nipple.

“Are you certain? Should, should I not lick you first?” he asks. His cheeks are so heated, his lips look so soft.

“Not tonight. I really need you.”

“I understand”, Jungkook exhales shakily, “oh, I’m so excited now”, he confesses and smiles shyly.

“Me too”, you retort his smile, “I can't wait.”

Jungkook climbs between your legs, reaching down to align himself with your entrance. He rubs his tip against it slowly, eliciting a shaky gasp from you.

“Oh…Jungkook…” you sigh.

“You are so wet”, he whispers, voice trembling in pleasure. He guides his tip up to your heat, parting your folds with it before rubbing slow circles on your sensitive clit.

Your legs open further, your breath hitches in your throat. Oh how sensitive you are. Even such simple touches send fiery pleasure through your limbs.

Jungkook trails his cock down to your entrance again, massaging it with his tip. He pushes in every second time, not much but just enough to give you a little glimpse of pressure. He abandons your hole afterwards just to circle your clit. He repeats the process over and over again. Truly he drives you mad in desperation.

“Be quicker”, you say, holding his shoulders.

Jungkook sneaks a glance up at your face and smiles shyly.

“I love your wetness so much”, he says, returning to your entrance. He pushes and finally allows his length to slip deeper.

“Ah, yes”, you moan, closing your eyes in bliss.

“You are so warm”, Jungkook keens and then his own eyes fall closed as he sinks into you inch by inch.

He begins moving once he bottoms out, allowing your bodies to get used to the sensation with slow, long strokes. His hands are gripping the pillow beside your head, muscles tensing. You have your hands on his chest, rubbing his nipples.

“That feels so good”, he whispers and moans softly, circling his hips when he's deep inside. He continues the rhythm, but adds the circles for a new sensation.

“Keep going, you are wonderful”, you encourage him, melting into a puddle of warm pleasure.

You had intercourse before Jungkook. It was fun and you enjoyed it, but nothing could have prepared you for how Jungkook will make you feel. When he is inside you, you feel like flying and as if nothing in this world could defeat you. When he is close, you feel content and whole. And only through holding him, you have found true peace. Truly, Jungkook feels different and it is the best type of different ever.

“Oh mhm”, Jungkook lets out, lowering himself to his elbows.

You peel your eyes open, meeting his hazy gaze.

“Are you alright?” you ask him, basking in his racing heartbeat against your palm.

“Yes. The position was exhausting”, he explains.

“I see. You held out long, my starlight”, you praise with a smile, “are you comfortable now?”

He nods his head, cupping your cheek and showing you a sweet smile.

“It feels…so good”, he whispers, smile falling solely because he lets his eyes flutter closed and his lips part instead. He moans softly, running his thumb over your cheek.

You love the position so very much. Like this your chests are touching, exchanging warmth and closeness. Your legs are resting on his thighs, bend slightly by the knees and getting pushed up into your body each time he thrusts into you. Like this you can’t really close them around him, but you don’t mind as it gives you a glimpse of his strong thighs tensing with each movement. It also allows his pubic bone to rub against your clit, sending bolts of lightning through your veins each time that happens.

You sigh his name, reaching up to cup his cheek. Jungkook leans into the touch instinctively, hips faltering before gaining in a little bit of speed.

“You're beautiful”, you whisper, moaning softly because it feels so wonderful to be fucked by him.

“My Queen”, Jungkook whimpers, “oh, ah, a-ah.”

He loves calling you by your true title in bed and you love that he does. Jungkook loves to submit to you. He loves serving you and making sure that you are pleased. He loves how it makes you feel and loves how wonderful you reward him because of it.

“You're mine”, you whisper, hand falling to his throat gently.

Jungkook gasps, eyes opening slowly to gaze at you.

“I'm yours”, he whispers shakily, hips stuttering desperately.

“You are. You’re my starlight”, you say, giving his veins a soft squeeze.

“Oh ___”, Jungkook gasps, squeezing his eyes shut, “please don’t let go.”

Your stomach tingles in pleasure, your heart flutters unbearably.

You have choked Jungkook before. Quite often actually. One time you choked him as you were on top, riding his cock. Another time you choked him as you fucked into him from behind and he covered his cheeks with his tears of pleasure. Another time you choked him solely for the sake of choking him. No other stuff happened. Jungkook rested comfortably in bed while you experimented with different grips and strengths and he reacted accordingly with sweet sighs and blissed moans. And another time you ordered him to choke himself while you licked and sucked his cock.

You really enjoy it and maybe Jungkook enjoys it even more. He loves the dizzy feeling he gets when you cut off his blood. He loves how his head starts pounding when the seconds become more and more. And he loves the rush he gets when you release him again.

He also loves how it makes him feel. When you choke him, Jungkook feels happy and content and owned. And such statements may sound confusing to one as Jungkook always talks about cherishing his freedom, but that was the point. Jungkook has the freedom to choose to feel owned. He just has to say the word and you would release him, but he has the freedom to stay quiet and to enjoy being yours for as long as he wants to. And quite frankly, being yours is his proudest achievement. There is nothing he would want to be more.

“Harder”, he begs, hips chasing your warmth desperately.

You increase the pressure on his veins, basking in his heart skipping a beat and the shaky gasp he lets out. You can feel his heart race in his veins, feeling dizzy because of it.

“I'm yours”, he croaks, “I'm all yours”, he gets out and whimpers softly, face contorting into an expression of hazy pleasure. You know that face. It is the face when the hot intense pleasure your cunt brings him mixes with the slight fogginess the choking brings his brain. It is both strong yet gentle, makes him feel both breathless and light as a feather.

“Yes my starlight, you’re all mine”, you whisper, tensing around his length.

Jungkook moans, voice vibrating against your hand.

“My Queen”, he croaks, hips chasing you desperately. The new rhythm shakes you, knocking deep sounds of pleasure out of you.

Skin slaps against skin. His thighs push against your legs, his fingers twist a bundle of pillow. And his body grinds against your clit so intensely, you almost release his throat to instead scratch down his back

“Keep going, ah Jungkook, ah my beloved ah”, you moan loudly, doing everything in your power to keep squeezing his throat.

“I'm so hazy, it feels so good”, Jungkook moans, doing everything in his power to keep moving. All he wants to do is fall on top of you and sob your name. It feels so good to be choked. It feels so incredibly good.

Jungkook often thinks back to your beginnings. He thinks back to the time in his life where he thought that women were witches and that sex was their way of getting to a man's soul. He laughs about it these days because he couldn’t have been more wrong. Sex is the most wonderful experience. Especially with you. Only with you. He doesn’t even mind that perhaps you are stealing a little bit of his soul, maybe he even wants you to.

Jungkook thrusts into you, shaking your entire body with it.

“O-oh fu-“, your voice cuts off before you could finish, fingers digging into his throat tightly, “Jungkook…ah Jungkook, J-Jungkook.”

You are tensing up, losing yourself to the sensations. Your cunt aches in sensitivity, his length feels like heaven inside. Your body trembles each time he fucks into you, his strength turns you into a hazy, dizzy mess.

“So tight”, he croaks, meaning both your cunt and your grip, “don’t stop, my Queen. Ah please, I feel so good”, he keens, gulping under your grip while his cock aches inside you, “do you feel good too?”

“Yes, yes, yes”, you chant, “oh yes. Yes!”

You have guards outside. Probably Valkeria and maybe Leyanna. Your doors were not soundproof. Are you both aware that they aren’t? Yes, you are very aware. But that doesn’t stop you from being as loud as you are. You always lose yourselves in the sensations that, quite frankly, it is just you and him right now. No world around you, no other people, nothing. Just you and him fucking like desperate animals. Jungkook also likes to make you be loud when Valkeria is around because he can show her that he can serve you so much better than she ever could. He would never tell you that, but he loves the rush of power it gives him.

“Good, that’s good”, he gets out, resorting to moaning afterwards. His head is pounding, his blood flow is cut off. Oh, Jungkook is riding on the sensation with his toes curling in pleasure. He twists the pillow, thrusting into you with a desperate strength. He feels how your thighs tremble because of it and hears how sweet you sound in reaction. He keeps going. He keeps fucking you hard and rough just so he can feel your thighs tremble and hear you moan. It motivates him so much. He doesn’t fuck you that hard to chase a selfish wave of pleasure, he is doing it for you. He knows that you love it when he is rough and strong and he wants to give you your favourite sensations. That is why he fucks like that right now. To give you your favourite kind of fuck.

“Jungkook I’m close”, you gasp out, arching your back as best as the position allows you to.

“I, I know. I feel it”, he stutters, hips chasing your tightness.

“Ah my starlight”, you croak, dropping into the sheets, “almost there, don’t you dare stop.”

“I won’t”, Jungkook promises you, shaking his head even if that makes your fingers dig deeper and for him to almost pass out in pleasure. He can’t breathe from it. He can’t function. It feels so good to be choked. Oh it feels so good.

Jungkook sobs softly, dripping tears onto your cheeks.

“My Queen”, he whimpers, “I’m yours.”

“No, I’m yours”, you moan, falling into your high uncontrollably, “ah Kook”, you squeak, fingers almost slipping from his throat if he didn’t grab it panickedly to keep it there. He squeezes for you, strong hand resting over yours and glassy eyes focused on your pleasure contorted face.

“That feels so good. It feels so good”, he whispers, hips chasing your high to make it as best as possible for you, “I love you, my destiny, I love you more than anything.”

“I can’t...breathe”, you press out, wheezing for air, “oh”, you get out, shaking anew as Jungkook’s rough grinding lifts your high into mindnumbing altitudes.

“Neither can I, oh I feel breathless”, Jungkook says and sobs softly, “I’m yours”, he says, making your hand squeeze his throat even tighter.

His hips stutter uncontrollably, his thighs tense against yours.

“I can’t hold it anymore”, he confesses, voice frail and weak from the harsh choke.

Luckily for him, you are slowly coming down already, being present enough to hear his desperate confession. You feel so incredibly fulfilled from your high and yet you begin aching for his warm seed the moment your dear love begins trembling above you.

“Let go of my hand”, you order.

Jungkook drops his hand, twisting the pillow instead. He whimpers, nose scrunching up in tormented pleasure.

“There we go, you are my most precious love”, you whisper, “let go for me, my starlight”, you encourage him, releasing his throat.

Blood shoots back to his brain, his body crumbles instantly. Jungkook barely manages to get your name out and then his voice cuts off as he fights for air, cock throbbing inside of you and body feeling as if fire magic had a hold of him. He rides out his high in seven stuttering thrusts, filling your cunt with his warm seed and your heart with immortal love.

He collapses on top of you once his high died down, body feeling defeated. His skin is sticky in sweat, as is yours. He is panting, arms cradling you so tightly you wonder if he wanted to merge with you. His hair is tickling your neck as he turned his head in a way that would allow him to breathe. Truly, he wants to hide away in your neck, but he knows that such a request was impossible right now. He needs air, you have stolen him of it and now he needs to get it back.

You are breathing heavily as well, struggling just a little with his weight atop of you. Your fingers run up and down his spine, your legs are still wrapped around his thighs.

You feel so happy.

“How”, he clears his throat, “how are you?”

“Good, still dizzy”, you answer him, “and you?”

He nods his head, “defeated?” he says and laughs breathily, covering his eyes behind his hand, “oh goddesses.”

You giggle, giving him a loving squeeze.

“You are so precious”, you say, craning your neck to kiss the back of his head.

Jungkook lifts his head in reaction, propping himself up on his elbows with his last remaining strength.

“No, I’m too tired”, he gives up, rolling off of you instead to cuddle into the pillows next to you. Not for long because he seeks your closeness instantly, draping his arm across your chest and hiding his face in your neck while his leg laid itself between yours. He sighs contently, giving you sleepy neck kisses and small sounds of contentment. They constituted of little giggles, soft sighs and squeaky noises as he breathed out. He always gets like this after a good fuck and you find tranquillity in it. Jungkook is so sweet when he is content.

“Shouldn’t we relieve ourselves before we become too tired and fall asleep?” you ask him, caressing his arm.

Jungkook shakes his head, making you laugh.

“So you would rather take five days of painful peeing over going now?”

“Yes”, he says, making you chuckle, “you’re so warm.”

You try to leave only to be held back by his strong grip. He even tenses his arm for it.

“Dear, oh Jungkook you clingy man, just let me get up. I’ll be back as quickly as possible”, you complain in a laugh, trying to get his arm off your chest.

Jungkook moves his head, gazing up at you with droopy, lovedrunk eyes.

“Promise?” he asks.

“Yes promise”, you say fondly, poking the tip of his nose, “I have to hold my precious starlight for sleep, don’t I?”

Jungkook flusters, giggling sweetly and squeezing his eyes shut in shyness. He relaxes his arm, hiding his face in the pillow. Truly, he makes it so hard to leave for your heart was melting in love for him. You peck his ear and finally get up to leave. You’ll be back as soon as possible. You promised him and you intent on keeping it.

605 notes · View notes

cybervesna · 2 months

Note

Hello, I'm not sure if I missed it somewhere but what's the backstory between Wiosna and Kurt?

Hi! Actually! I haven't talked about them in complied way... Thank you for asking this, I will explain and ramble about them here 😅 At the start, I will say that my photo series Wires is telling the story of the two of them in chronological order (with the exception of Valentine's special cuz that will be set after a few that have to come at some point, I'm sorry Part 7 is so demanding...). However, Dogtown Nights are shorter bits of their life, in unspecified time points (unless stated otherwise cuz some will be follow-up/prequel to Wires) More under the cut

In early 2076 Wiosna became a netrunner for hire after her abusive fiance Arthur Jenkins died. She started small, but thanks to her experience (as she learned netrunning in Poland, where NetWatch is far more strict and only the best can survive (Thanks Eurosource Plus) and a death wish, she quickly made her way to The Afterlife. There, she was known under the nickname SPR1NG. People knew about her only what she allowed them to know, which wasn't much. But Rogue didn't complain, since Spring did all her suicidal gigs with utmost excellence. Happy client = happy fixer. With Wiosna's status increased she started being looked at by many organizations. Corps wanted to hire her to steal data from one another, cause global security breaches, and such things. She was picky with her jobs. Wiosna wasn't after money, nor she was after fame. It was the thrill. She wanted to feel something worth living for. She wanted to be scared to die. Which never really happened. So, when Rogue told her there was a special client from Dogtown who would like to hire her, but there were no deets about anything, she was intrigued. She agreed to the meeting, and from that point forward, her career was under the watchful eye of Mr. Hands. The meeting itself revealed that the client was no one else than Kurt Hansen himself, who needed a capable netrunner to build the lab for Cassels visit. Kurt was a figure everyone in Night City heard about. And Wiosna wanted to find out what was true. How the whole thing went can be seen on Wires: Part 1. But but but but!!! Dogtown Nights 4 is an indirect follow-up that happens between Part 1-5 of the Wires.

Wiosna had a life before this one. Life she ran away from, but that life made her who she is. And she was a highly educated psychologist. She liked to analyze people, trigger certain emotions in them, and make them what she wanted... And Kurt Hansen had something in him, that made her develop an unhealthy obsession. Especially, that he, just like her liked playing mind games.

And Kurt liked her, because she was pretty, smart and it was intriguing as hell she was not jumping to his bed the second she got a chance. In fact, she was cockblocking him.

Kurt and Wiosna were dancing around each other for weeks, and poor Kurt had no idea he was the one losing. Wiosna wrapped him around her finger, by letting him think he was winning, but in reality, she manipulated her way to his heart. Heart, he thought he didn't have. The stepping stone for them was the moment Kurt found out about Wiosna's past.

For Wiosna is was a test. She knew it wouldn't be easy since he didn't get any info on her the first time. All of this was to check if he was willing to bother, and what kind of reaction he would have to the truth. I made some of her files there (I should do more)

Wiosna always saw herself as flawed and unworthy of anything, due to her child trauma. She spent more time in psychiatric facilities, where they tried to "fix her" than she spent with people at school. Any free time she had, she spent in cyberspace or in ballet class - however alone.

Her files consist of dozens of evaluations, diagnoses, incident descriptions, and everything really negative that everyone in high-corpo society sees as "psycho" but in a - we can't make it useful for us psycho way.

Kurt in those files saw potential.

Of course, for him it wasn't really about love, but what he could gain from her. And sadly, Wiosna was naive enough to believe otherwise.

I don't want to say much, because it's in my upcoming stories, but I will say this: Aside from her terrible past, Wiosna also has a powerful name she doesn't use - Kochanowska. Her grandfather is Antoni Kochanowski, owner of LoveSky Space Mining Company. As of 2076 her family owns half of Earth's resources, and 90% of resources on Mars and Luna, they supply manufacturers like Arasaka with resources to make weapons, mechs etc. I want to be clear, that this is only my headcanon! We got that? Good, then to give you the level of importance LoveSky has on the market - Kurt's precious Chimaera was made from resources delivered by LoveSky to Militech. They're the fundamentals of any corporate force. Wiosna is the last of her line. Her parents died tragically (99.99% set up by their enemies) on launch to space where they were meant to start their new project, which makes her - their only child an heir to everything they owned. Which is half of LoveSky and a seat on the Arasaka Board. But Wiosna herself disappeared, despite her grandparents looking for her, and Asukaga & Finch lawyers ready to execute the will of her parents.

For Kurt she is a trophy. One that came straight to his arms at that. But well... remember what I said about Wiosna outsmarting him. They both were into each other, for their selfish reasons. What they found surprised them both.

I hope I satisfied your curiosity!

#cyberpunk 2077 #kurt hansen #wiosna blazkowicz #SHIP: Wires #phantom liberty #cyberpunk 2077 phantom liberty #cyberpunk 2077 oc #cyberpunk 2077 photomode #dogtown #netrunner oc #vesna blazkowicz #phantom liberty oc #colonel hansen

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honey-minded-hivemind · 1 month

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Guys... I have a new dragon/platonic yandere/(kinda?) otome au idea...

Imagine in a Wings of Fire/Platonic Yandere X-Men/Otome AU, Reader is a royal from a tribe that is looked down on and generally disliked by the other tribes...

Yet in recent times their tribe has become weakened, having issues with treasure and income and surviving amongst other tribes and dragon cities... And due to their last wicked queen bring disposed of, and the queen's family being disbanded/killed/disappearing, Reader is the last heir to the royal family... They never got to act like a dragonet or have a childhood, as they were raised to be the perfect and always-poised future monarch... They grow to feel burdened, which furthers when they're told they will have to "partner with" or be "adopted by" other tribes' nobles and/or royals, who would then have to help their tribe, as they'd be more-or-less agreeing to the that the moment they allign themselves with Reader...

Reader ends up having to go a school for nobles and royals, where they're met with dragons who initially look down on them, who view them as unworthy or as bad as their ancestor... But Reader is diligent, unswerving, in doing all of their work and appearing only as the picture of perfection. It weighs on them, heavily, but it keeps them in a good-enough position that no one sends them away or views them as stupid...

Reader never wanted this, never wanted to be a monarch, or have the fate of an entire tribe in their claws, or have to put up with the verbal abuse of the tribes (even hybrids of their own tribe!), yet they've been destined to it since their hatching. They feel suffocated, lonely, at the edge of their rope... Then for some reason, other dragons start to notice them. Start to pay closer attention to their work, their (few) hobbies, they even start to try and talk to them, or be in the same room as them. Which makes Reader annoyed and nervous...

The platonic yanderes slowly start to realize that Reader isn't as bad as what they thought. They notice how hard they work, the way they never seem happy, how they go hours without stopping just to perfect any homework or art or hobbies they have... And they start seeing Reader as what they are, a dragonet who hasn't had a childhood, and who is curt and poised not because they want to be, but because they more-or-less have had to be that way all their life... A few feel guilty over it, and want to try and get Reader to act their age, to have a little fun... But are met with a cold, stoic dragon who expects every word to be a double-edged sword, each phrase a carefully crafted insult, and suddenly they realize that it's going to take a lot of work and time to open up this poor dragonet...

And Reader does have one secret, one they don't even know of fully... They were told by their late parent to never take off a necklace they have. That it is life and death for them to do so. If anything happens to it, they are to take it back and to keep the pendant/pouch/charm on it on their person, and to never, ever, tell anyone about it. Reader never knew why it was so important, or why their parent one day disappeared, never to return...

(Can y'all tell I want some dragons and elegant rooms and fun foods and fancy drama? Or that I want to see more Villainex! Reader, and the platonic yans starting out a bit mean but turning into better people?) (Because people can change, and while yes, they are yandere, they can still become nicer people while still being a little obsessed and protective over Reader, okay?)

(Any ideas which of the ten tribes should Reader be? And any ideas which dragons the platonic yans are?)

It will be called...

🍷The Heir of Evil🐉 AU

#honeycomb thoughts #platonic yandere marvel #yandere platonic marvel #platonic yandere marvel x reader #platonic yandere xmen #yandere x-men #yandere platonic xmen #platonic yandere #platonic yandere x reader #platonic yandere xmen evolution #platonic yandere xmen evolution au #🐉wings of fire au #🍷The Heir of Evil🐉 AU

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intriq · 2 months

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chapter 1 of my fic;

I’m sorry I’m the one you love

i went w this title cus it fits how i perceive AK jason feels towards being loved (he feels unworthy of it ur honor)

keep in mind this fic is.. gonna be both fluff filled AND angst filled (did you think i’d ever let you and jason always be happy? lmao no. ur getting the same treatment my ocs do)

In the eyes of the world, you didn’t matter. You were nothing more than a pest, a filthy rat scurrying around Gotham City. Even if you haven’t lived here your whole life, you still became a part of it’s problem. Not like you had any choice, considering you were but a child. Long since abandoned by your parents in a city you’ve since skipped and left, you find surviving in Gotham just as hard. But it’s tolerable. You know how to defend yourself, with bruises and healing knuckles to match. Gotham wasn’t an easy place to survive, much less for someone who barely knew how the city worked. All you knew is that danger was constantly lurking, in every corner and every street. You had no wariness of who the streets belonged to, of the rules etched into its architecture. All you knew of was survival.

Scavenging whenever you could, stashing the little food you could. Of course, because of you being essentially new to Gotham you weren’t aware of the rules. Or the territories and who owned what. All you knew was to run and fight to survive. Perhaps thats why he took a pittance to you. Seeing you do your hardest to survive, like him. He’s a scrawny kid, like you are. You’re both doing what you need to, in order to survive. The first time he’d seen you scrambling to steal food in the section of Crime Alley that he’d gotten in exchange for selling out his parents, Jason felt like you and him would get along. Defending this strip of land was lonely, granted him few allies considering no one wanted to even attempt to challenge him.

The first time you two talk, you worry he’ll attempt to take your hard-earned spoils like anyone else had. You’d clutched them closer to yourself, almost glaring and poised to strike like a snarling dog. The only difference being the lack of bared teeth. At the time, you were more like a wounded, cornered animal. You’d been injured because of a previous fight, pain flaring in what felt like all over whenever you attempted to move. So moving around was futile, the headache that accompanied it being the source of most of your discomfort.

It was cold, as cold as the alley you called home was dirty. It smelled and was located right outside some bar that smelled absolutely horrid. A putrid stench that lingered and seeped into the clothes of whoever hung around it. The stench clung to both you and him, mixing with the smell of car exhaust, trash, gasoline, and the other smells that clung to Gotham about as well as it’s crime rate.

But that’s fine. Jason’s been sitting still, inching closer to you every few hours. You’ve been defensive, and Jason doesn’t quite get why he is bothering at all to get you to trust him.

The first week he meets you it’s all he seems to do. When he’s finding himself food he can’t help but let his thoughts drift back to you, the only other scrappy kid that has bothered to stay around in what is essentially his turf for longer than usual. Jason’s come to learn most of what makes you tick, for the most part. Like how you refuse to move when he’s present or even looking at you, how you refuse to eat when he’s present. Jason doesn’t even get why he still bothers with you.

And you?

You don’t get it either. You don’t get why this kid just keeps coming back. You don’t bother talking back to him, just sitting there and nursing what hurts. The alley smells enough to make your head pound and hiding behind the dumpster when more rowdy drunken folk stumble outside for a variety of things. But you make it work, you suppose. And you don’t mind how the free food that comes with his company. You don’t get him sometimes, though. Don’t get his tenacity. Why he still bothers.

But maybe it’s because you also don’t understand looking forward to his short, fleeting visits. But perhaps it’s the idea that the moment your stupidly painful bruises and whatever else is wrong are healed and you can move, that he’d up and disappear. The silence between you both is as equally unsettling as it is comforting. The faint chatter of drunken patrons from the bar you rest near is just loud enough to have the same faint buzz of insects. And the air is warm and putrid, filled with the hideously disgusting odors that every city such as Gotham brings. Just any other sensible Gotham kid would give you a wide berth, but yet here he is.

Here this random scrawny street kid is, insistent on getting you to trust him. He used to talk to you, or try to. His words were always met with silence on your end. But perhaps he only continues to try after the first time he heard what sounded like a faint breathy laugh underneath that sigh you’d made to cover it up. You can’t even remember what he’d said that had been funny, but he does. It was a stupid joke, something about how this disgusting alley was at least a little warmer and better than the colder, draftier parts of the city and that the warmth was the only thing that made it worth staying in. Truth be told you’d rather be anywhere but here, even back with your parents even if they just might barely give a damn. But it was warm and never smelled. Maybe that’s why you laughed, because there was places better than this shit-hole of a city you now called home.

Yeah, maybe that was it. Maybe that’s why he sticks around, you think. Jason thinks that’s why, too.

#dc universe #jason todd #may be non canon compliant #ak!jason todd x reader #ak!jason x reader #ak jason #arkham knight jason #arkhamverse #dc fanfic #arkhamverse fanfic #this is gonna be slowburn #prepare for shenanigans bc these guys r gonna ve #SO OBLIVIOUS #like so oblivious you and alfred will be standing there #going oh my god PLEASE #JUST CONFESS ALREADY #and its gonna be glorious #with angst!#intrique's dc things

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lorena12me · 9 months

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Timbern Week 2023 Day 3:

“My boyfriend has an identical scar here” | Fanfic Writer Bernard | Hurt / Comfort (comfort will come with the announcement of the 7th)

Title:

Five minutes to go

Summary:

If you only had 5 minutes to live, what would you do with them?

The world was so devastated after the latest apocalypse that the Justice League decided to send Flash back in time to prevent destruction. Tim and Bernard embrace as they watch the world they met in fade away. Aware that in this new timeline they may never be together again.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"Bear" Tim say softly, clinging to Bernard with all his might, ignoring the pain and wounds that filled his body after surviving the final fight to save the earth from invasion.

His Robin suit was in tatters, blood and tears splattering every part of his body where Bernard laid his eyes. It wasn't the first time Bernard had seen him hurt, limping and bleeding, but it was the first time he had seen him so scared. So vulnerable.

"You won, Tim, it's over" consoles the blond, but Tim denies and looks him in the eye, tears beginning to fall, a line of translucent glass wiping a small gap of grime on Tim's mangled face.

"No, we didn't" his voice cracks "we stopped him, but it's too late, everything is ruined."

"W-what?"

"The machines had already extracted a large amount of the earth's magma and it's predicted that there will be earthquakes and drastic climate changes over the next few years…billions of people will die Bern…we didn't win it in time"

Bernard's mouth goes dry, horror coursing through his veins like scarecrow poison, but it's worse because it's real. The world was spared the violent and swift destruction of the enemy, but doomed to perish slowly and agonizingly like a poisoned animal.

"What are we going to do?" he asks, the food stored in the safe houses and the various bat bases will last only so long and if the planet will take so many years to stabilize everything will become a repeat of no man's land globally.

"Bear… Bernard" Tim grits his teeth forcing himself to say the following words "The justice league decided that it's too much unrecoverable damage… they're going to send an agent back in time to prevent all this."

"But that's good, right?" Bernard smiles shakily and then is horrified when Tim nods and then shakes his head in despair.

"It'll prevent this whole mess, sure" he says finally "But… Bear, traveling back in time involves rewriting the whole timeline. There's… a lot of things that are going to change or cease to exist… it's a coin flip about what's going to stay the same"

"…" Bernard begins to understand and doesn't think he's liking what's being implied "What does that mean for us, Tim?" he exhales

"It means there's nothing to assure us that you or I…we, exist."

Bernard feels his heart stop for a moment, his breathing quickens and eyes water finally realizing how much they are about to lose.

"How much time do we have?"

"I don't know… Minutes?" Tim pulls his hair then lets go and takes three determined steps until he's beside Bernard, pulling him into another hug "I just heard they made the decision before I turned around and used the last of the Zeta-tube's energy to get back here."

Here… Tim left his family behind, the other bats to come back to Bernard… He squeezes his arms tightly around his Robin, crying, because Tim just chose him, as he has every time, even when Bernard has felt so unworthy of it. Every damn time Tim makes it clear to him that he doesn't have to fight for him, for his love. That he's chosen it because he loves him the same way Bernard loves him.

"I didn't want it all to end without being able to see you at least one more time, Bear…"

"I love you" Bernard cries through tears "I love you Tim, you're the best thing that ever happened to me."

"I love you Bear… I…"

Before Tim can finish whatever he was going to say, the horizon beyond Gotham begins to glow with an orange and white glow. They both turn around without releasing their embrace, to watch as the light grows bigger and bigger. It's not like an explosion, there's no sound or shockwave, the light approaches them silently and Bernard hasn't yet finished processing that there's a giant chance he's about to cease to exist, but, he thinks hysterically as the light reaches out and engulfs them, there's no other person he wants to fade into nothingness with, than Tim.

(reposted because I finished writing the drabble that accompanied the drawing)

#tim drake #timbern #timber #bernard dowd #red robin #tim x bernard #my art #robin tim drake #dc #tim drake x bernard dowd #timbern week 2023 #timbern week

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boku-no-anime-phase · 5 months

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It takes me a few watch throughs and some time to simmer in order to "get" surreal movies. I've only seen this one once.

That said, here are some of my initial thoughts about The Boy and the Heron. Spoilers below the gif!

Stacking blocks

The moment that's stuck with me the most was when great grand-uncle had gathered all those pure stones and asked Mahito to stack them, and Mahito refuses. Given the opportunity to build a better world, Mahito recognizes himself as unworthy.

In and of itself, that's a pretty significant moment. But then that's immediately followed by the evil parakeet coming in and trying to do it himself, failing immediately, and destroying everything in his frustration.

Which, to me, seems like it's saying that yeah you may not be worthy or feel capable of building a better world, but if you don't take action, someone worse will.

In the end, Mahito rejected the opportunity to be in charge of this constructed world. He let it die. But I don't think he rejected the responsibility to make his world a better place; and he brought a block with him, to remember.

Delivery room

The delivery room scene was one of the most puzzling to me. But the one thing I think I'm picking up (maybe I'm way off base? But I think I'm picking this up?) Is that the delivery room is where Natsuko becomes Mahito's mother. He calls her "mother" there for the first time as she "pushes him out" (of the room, with magic(?)). She doesn't deliver her baby there but she does become a mother. And maybe it's significant that Himi brought him there: a sort of symbolic hand-off.

Noble pelican

Several people have pointed out that Mahito starts the movie with some violent tendencies. Between fighting with his classmates, harming himself, trying to kill the heron etc, even though his face is super stoic I think his trauma comes out that way. When he sees the pelican outside, he takes a shovel with him, apparently to kill it. But it explains to him that it didn't have a choice in what it did, and it had tried everything, and at this point was only trying to survive, not liking what it had to do to stay alive.

Besides being a compelling commentary on living in the modern age (who among us can feel completely morally justified in everything we do to stay alive?), I thought that was such an interesting turning point for Mahito. By the end of the story, he's learned to be gentle. I wonder (I really need to watch it again) if that conversation affected the way he thought about his father (who makes war planes), and the people who bombed the hospital where his mother worked, and the parakeets, and Natsuko: everyone around him just doing whatever they had to to survive, even if they didn't like it, and even if they harmed others despite their best efforts.

Overall

I don't think I really "get" it yet, and I'm not sure when I will, but I feel like one of the themes has got to be, forge ahead even when things aren't perfect. Do your best rather than doing nothing, even if doing your best means risking making a mistake. You don't have to stack the blocks, but you've got to do something, or someone bad will inevitably come along and ruin everything. You may miss the past, but you must forge ahead into the future. You may not always like the situations you find yourself in, but you must make the best choices you can even when none of your options leave you with pure hands.

How do you live? There's only one right way: by doing the best you can.

#the boy and the heron #the boy and the heron spoilers #how do you live #tbath #tbath spoilers #miyazaki #hayao miyazaki

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sketchfanda · 3 months

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Kirishima's Mystique:Predator and Prey

Somewhere within the deep woods of the forest around Mount Fuji, it was clear blue skies and high temperatures this fine summer. For Kirishima, after exams and a well earned break, he knew he’d love to right about now be on a beach with Mina and Maya or just hanging out around them in general. But instead of being skin on skin intimate with his alien queen and shapeshifting lady of the waves, he was here in the closest equivalent Japan had to a jungle, the sun baring down as he found himself in a literal life or death struggle. It’d seemed some simple enough,the JSDF had been around here conducting training exercises and for reasons unknown, one of the platoons had gone missing, presumed captured.

Of course he was passing by when he overheard the situation and stepped up, volunteering to go find and rescue the band of soldiers. That’d been several hours ago, the noon day sun hanging high above as the Red riot hero rested against a tree trunk while catching his breath. So far there had been no sign of the platoon and he had the sneaking suspicion that whatever got them was up to something. As if whoever or whatever was around here was following him....tracking him down and stalking him, akin to a wild predator seeking its prey.

Unknown to the sturdy hero was that indeed his suspicions were correct as perched high up above on a tree branch, he was being watched. A transparent figure shimmering in the sunlight, its form implied to be very well built and power as its hidden gaze was locked upon the himbo. A distinct clicking or chittering sound heard as its point of view was an infrared spectrum, seeing Kirishima's body heat standout clear as day. Clearly it was liking what it saw as if it could sense the raw strength presiding within the humanoid tank.

Whoever or whatever this figure was, it certainly wasn't human and it seemed to take an interest in him. So much so that unknown to him, the platoon of soldiers had already been released, let go back into freedom as they were deemed unworthy prey. Yes as far as this creature was concerned, the Red Riot was a more worthwhile quarry as the shimmer distortion around it faded in crackles of static electricity. Revealing this enigma to be a female of one of the most notorious urban legends around, a creature from a race of intergalactic hunters who went from planet to planet during the hottest times of the year in their climates, seeking out targets to hunt and worthwhile trophies to claim.

There were many names and titles given to these beings, most common being Predators or their proper designation, the Yautja and this distinct femme fatale had felt itself in the presence of a worthy quarrry. Its ultra-violet vision gazing on him as distinct clicks could be heard beneath its chrome helm as static flicked along her being, rending her invisble once more as she began to stalk and track down the hero in training. She couldn't quite think why exactly, but there was something about Kirishima that stood out compared to those soldiers. He was strong, that much she could tell but seemingly, was it the idea that he came out here all alone?

Whatever the reason, the hunt was on and this femme fatale was on the prowl as the day passed on, seconds into minutes which moved into hours. So far she had to say she was finding the sturdy hero an impressive specimen, as her quarry made the most of their terrain seemingly getting the feeling someone or something was following him. The maze of trees, rubble and paths providing plenty of means for Kirishima to find himself a hiding place, to which the Huntress had to say, was plenty resourceful. The soldiers prior to capture had been panicky, desperate and clumsy but this one was no stranger to navigating his way around in the wild which only made him a potential worthy trophy pending in her mind.

Yet for every moment her quarry eluded her, the huntress found that his survival skills were putting him quite a few steps ahead, enough to have her wondering if at some point that the tables had been turned on her. That she had become HIS prey instead and if that were the case, why did this not worry her in the slightest? Rather if anything it excited her, dare she think it aroused her, sensual pleasure coursing through her very being. To think that on this simple little planet she would find not only a challenging hunt but perhaps a worthy mate, a prime specimen of male that made the Huntress' body burn with a need, a desire to bare his young.

Yes indeed perhaps children from a man such as him would become nothing less than the finest hunters to grace and stalk throughout the galaxy, as her determination intensified along with her libido's thirst. The hunt was on as once the pair caught sight of each other or got within range, combat was engaged. Kirishima quite puzzled as well as surprised to find he was dealing with some sort of alien, a literal extra terrestrial who of course was packing some major heat on her. The Yautja of course only felt validated and vindicated by her instincts and impression of the hero in training as his quirk proved to be more than affective against some of her bladed tools, to say nothing his being able to tank against her plasma shoulder cannon.

Whenever the opportunity to escape and gain some distance to recover and re-strategize presented itself, they'd take it especially to patch up any major wounds. Kirishima wasn't worse for wear bar some damage to his outfit while the Huntress found some of her equipment had taken some of its own. Her cloaking device was now on the fritz, her shoulder cannon bent in disarray and to say nothing of the chips to her blades and yet it only made her all the more aroused. Truly such a thrilling hunt and such an impressive specimen of Man, it was intoxicating compared to the thrill of the hunt.

Particularly when she found her quarry setting up traps here and there, proving no doubt that Kirishima had himself some experience when it came to wilderness survival. Some she was able to avoid but the few that managed to spring up on her naturally lewd to the chivalrous himbo ambushing her for some close quarters combat. His will to fight not out of some need to prove some sense of superiority but the need to survive, it was only serving to further arouse her. Their eventual game of cat and mouse at a pint where they stood across from each other, panting as the sun was setting in the horizon, both a little worse for wear but still raring to go.

Kirishima:”Had enough? Or you thirsty for more? I can do this all day you ugly motherfu-“*Whatever Kirishima was about to say next was interrupted as he heard the Huntress make a strange sound, like a mix of a purr and the chittering of mandibles that dare he say sounded rather sensual? As piece by piece, she began to disconnect and discard her equipment and tools, save for her wrist device as she then began to actually strip naked right before him. The Red Riot’s eyes bugging out along with his jaw dropping as the still helm masked alien babe now stood before him laid bare exposing a thicc, powerful body that’d been trained and honed in the ways of her culture. Her chittering purr growing in volume as unknown to him, her visual scan and visual spectrum could pick up signs of arousal.*

Kirishima had a feeling this now naked Huntress couldn’t quite speak any human language but her body movements were ones he was definitely understanding right now that was for sure. You didn’t sleep with the girlfriends he had and as many women as he had been with sexually and not be able to tell that this dreadlocked scaly alien Amazon was saying “I want your babies you stud”. As she easily dwarfed him at height having to be something like six feet plus If not taller, looming over him as she stood up close and personal to him, her clawed hands on his bare chest as she caressed his muscles. If her message wasn’t clear before, his face being near between those quite firm yet stunning tits of hers was definitely hitting the nail on th head, that was for sure.

What followed from dusk onward was the labyrinth like forest of Mount Fuji echoing throughout long into the night with the sounds and cries of animalistic, passionate mating. The huntress experience a better thrill than that of the hunt, that being claimed by her new alpha male as his quite impressive length and girth thrust and pumped into her slit. The sturdy bingo proving himself quite a capable sexual lover as he displayed and proved his virility an prowess which showed her there being more to sex than she ever thought capable. And she was loving every moment of it, especially whenever he would cum inside her thus ensuring she’d end this encounter carrying a future generation of hunters.

Even in positions where she topped him, she knew she was submitting before him, he was the victor and she was his trophy. Being claimed as only a prime specimen of man like him should, every slap of her ass and squeeze of her tits tempting her to remove her helmet just so she could kiss him and give him oral pleasure. Perhaps next time as she was already thinking of her next return trip to Earth, knowing she needed, had to mate with her alpha male enough to ime to make a tribe’s worth of children. Okay so maybe she was getting a little erotically addicted. Ut why woildnt she with a man like this?

From cowgirl to full nelson, to the intimacy of a standing fuck, being pinned up against a tree or laying on the grass taking it doggy style or prone bone, The huntress welcomed and relished each and every round. Her alpha male not stopping until his powerful cock and balls felt drained, as the pair laid together within the wild, basking in the afterglow. Come the morning Kirishima would’ve thought it was all some bizarre dream had it not been for the fact he woke up naked and alone…save for a necklace of strange exotic animal teeth left by his side. He just knew this would be quite a story to tell Mina and Maya, that was for sure.

The yautja woman of course was seated in the cockpit of her spacecraft, heading back to her home world. Rubbing her stomach contentedly having no doubts she had claimed Something far better than a hunting trophy. Yes indeed the first of many children she hoped to receive from her alpha male that would be raised and trained to become skilled and strong hunters for generations to come. Already awaiting and counting down the days until her return to earth and the pleasure that would follow meeting her stud once again.

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jalpari-spouts · 1 year

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wei wuxian is not an oblivious fool, there is a deeper reason he is ignorant of lan wangji's feelings; in this essay i will...

Disclaimer: all of this is just my personal interpretation.

TLDR; Wei Wuxian believes he is unworthy of love, that it is hard to love him, and he doesn’t want to burden anyone with himself.

There are three main traumas that are probably so deeply ingrained in the fiber of his being that Wei Wuxian might not even realize that he's carrying that emotional baggage with him. As always, these three issues stem from his formative experiences as a child since he was roughly six years old to well into his teenage years.

The sudden death of his parents when he was only around six years old.

Having to fend for himself as an orphan on the streets of Yiling for almost three years until Jiang Fengmian found him.

Being adopted by the Jiangs and then becoming the 'reason' for a lifelong conflict within the family.

One. Sudden loss of parents.

The death of Wei Wuxian's mother and father was sudden. As per canon, they died during a night hunt unexpectedly. Given that his father, Wei Changze, had left the Jiang clan to elope with his mother, Cangse Sanren, who was a rogue cultivator with no affiliation to any clan or sect (as she was an orphan herself and had left Baoshan Sanren's mountain and thus could not return there), this left Wei Wuxian quite literally, orphaned and homeless.

No matter how much one tries to understand and accept such a misfortune as just that – a misfortune – and not something that was their fault or something they deserved; the baggage stays, usually in the form of abandonment issues.

The abandonment issues could lead to not wanting to get too attached to people for fear of being abandoned again. It also develops the harmful mentality that all people will leave eventually because he has bad luck or because he doesn’t deserve that happiness or because he is just not meant to have such blessings.

Two. Living as a street orphan.

Wei Wuxian spent around three years, from the age of six to nine years old, as an orphan on the streets of Yiling — fending for himself, diving into dumpsters for scraps of food, surviving every season in his tattered clothes, fighting off dogs that probably thought he could be their next meal because surely such a feeble child wouldn't live longer than a few more hours in the frigid snow.

Such trauma, especially at that young age, is bound to leave deep scars in someone's psyche. Trauma manifests in different manners; loss of memory is one such way. People who have experienced trauma are known to either block out those memories entirely or disassociate from a large chunk of them.

Wei Wuxian jokes that he has always had bad memory. But it's true. He does. And one of the reasons is his childhood trauma. And now, because of that, he doesn't remember a lot of his childhood, only vaguely remembering a few bare details. The baggage of not remembering his parents and what a happy family is like, makes it harder for him to believe he can have that – because what you can’t even envision, you can’t begin to believe in. He just doesn’t remember what unconditional love and a harmonious family truly felt like for him and so can never truly reach out to take that for himself.

Three. Adoption into an unhappy home.

His adoption into the Jiang family was riddled with issues like conflict with the maternal figure, conflict between both parental figures, rumors and gossip mills, being better than the actual future clan leader and always being compared to him, being taunted by the “son of a servant” label anytime he was deemed wrong or caused an inconvenience.

No matter how much he says he didn’t care or no matter how much he smiles and shrugs, such an environment still has an impact. Especially for someone like Wei Wuxian who is already carrying the previously mentioned baggage.

Wei Wuxian always felt like a guest in the Jiang residence and a burden on the Jiang family and therefore felt like he owed them for everything. His actions make it very clear that he feels that he needs earn a place in the clan, in the house, in the family. He thinks he needs to be of value, to be useful, in order to receive their love and affection. Sometimes, he thinks his use is just to be a punching bag for Jiang-furen. And he was okay with that too.

This is not to say that Wei Wuxian didn't consider them his family. He did. It's just that his definition and understanding of his family by this point was already torn and twisted.

Important side note: Wei Wuxian did truly, from the bottom of his heart, love Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli. He always tried to forge a strong bond with them, partially because he genuinely loved them and saw them as siblings. But partially also because he didn’t want the conflict to pass onto the next generation and continue. As the Yunmeng trio grew up together, they truly did form that bond. Wei Wuxian truly did allow himself to accept Yanli's unconditional motherly love, to rely on her, to make demands of her. He let his inner child, that had been deprived of all these things, reach out to Yanli and hold onto her tight. Which is why the fate of the Yunmeng trio was the saddest part of this whole saga. And also why, when it all went downhill for Wei Wuxian, his shijie's death was the final trigger for his own.

thus, therefore, thence...

Wei Wuxian had a hard time accepting people’s love.

Speaking from experience, childhood abuse and trauma does that to a person. You feel like a burden when you want something, when you express something, when you need something. You don’t want to push your luck and try and get more than what they’re giving. You don’t believe they will stay. You basically apologize for your entire existence if you feel they are getting inconvenienced by you and you go out of your way to eradicate the problem you think you are the cause of.

A lot of Wei Wuxian’s insecurities are embedded so deep within his soul and are so ingrained in his mentality that even he doesn’t know it sometimes. Wei Wuxian looks up to Lan Wangji, he respects him, he likes him, he wants his attention, he wants his friendship, maybe more. But he never truly acknowledges what else he might want from him or what else Lan Wangji might be willing to give.

He isn’t oblivious. He is ignorant.

Oblivious means that he is aware of it and actively ignores it. Whereas the latter means he is just genuinely unaware. Because Wei Wuxian absolutely cannot fathom the possibility of being the recipient of such love, that he could have the chance to have a real family again; because he isn’t worthy of any of it. He is just paying his debts and making sure he does the right thing, helping others and being of some use. Anything beyond that is something Wei Wuxian has forgotten how to believe in, how to reach out for, how to accept.

In conclusion, Wei Wuxian isn’t some dumb boy who is oblivious to something that is very obvious (allegedly, but that’s for another essay). He just simply has too much baggage and trauma to think something like that could even exist for him to just reach out and take.

Thankfully, by the end of the story...he does realize this. They both do.

Thanks for coming to my TED talk. Go stream every MDZS adaptation!

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #cql #the untamed #mdzs meta #wei wuxian #wei ying #character analysis #jalpari meta

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chiyeko-kurea · 17 days

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Miscarriages (tw: vent)

I never really believed in spirits or reading into someone’s mind or anything. I mean, for some people, you can see in their eyes that their soul’s broken but I never believed to be a part of them.

One day, at was at the « microkinesiologist », a doctor my mother insisted to take me to. It sounded like a crappy scam, but my mother is the kind to really believe this sort of stuff and was ready to pay a scammer if it even gave us a tiny hope to relieve my pain. I was lying down on the table, my mother sitting next to me, this woman examining my knees, and I remember already feeling uncomfortable with the contact. She touched my knees, turned to my mom and said a year, i don’t remember which one, and asked what happened that time. My mother froze, and told she had a miscarriage. It was a few years before I was born, and my mother never told me about it, I heard it from my sister when I was young. She didn’t specify to the doctor she actually had several miscarriages all the following years, until I finally came, yet the doctor nodded and said something, again I don’t remember exactly what, but she just somehow knew. And she told my mother, like i wasn’t right there under her fingertips, « you can tell her to let go of that. »

I have no idea how she knew that i felt guilty for all of them, the dead kids before me, and how i feel unworthy of being the one born, and how i sometimes wonder how they were named, and if my parents would have been happier if another kid before me was born instead of me. The twisted, bad-tempered, mean and ill little me.

Maybe one of them would have been a lovely little girl, a ray of sunshine and health, talented in science and naturally destined to be a doctor, and would’ve filled my parents with happiness even in their darkest days.

And never, ever would’ve made them cry like I do.

And instead, here’s me, and I wonder if my parents did the right thing to keep trying to have a second kid, or if i am the living proof that sometimes giving up is better.

Sometimes I feel like I have to live up to them. The fetuses. Which is dumb, because you can never outdo someone who never existed based of what they maybe could have done. Their imaginary successes have literally no limitation inside my mind and no matter how hard I try, I always think « maybe they would have done it better ».

I have to be worthy, worthier than them. And sometimes, the truth is that I am jealous of these dead bloody fetuses.

I absolutely want to be a doctor, but deep down I know that even if I didn’t want to, I’d still choose that path because it makes my parents proud in a way they don’t really want to admit and maybe one of the dead fetuses would’ve become a doctor. In the same way, I don’t really know if I want kids and I’m most definitely sure my body can’t handle it because it can’t even handle itself, but maybe one of the dead fetuses would’ve had kids. And in the same way, I taste food I know I won’t like because my parents want me to and because maybe one of the dead fetuses would’ve always tasted everything. And in the same way, I go drive with my dad even when it fucking scares me, because maybe one of the dead fetuses would’ve always happily say yes to drive when he offers.

I know it’s stupid, it doesn’t matter, I should stop comparing myself to other versions of me that could have been born before and stop competing with them, and at least I get credit for actually surviving and living when these fetuses didn’t, right? But still I feel guilty, because I tried to kill myself several times, and even if I never actually managed to, I fucking tried. And oh, how freaking cruelly ironic would that be, the child who finally lives, ends up dead once again, and they lose it to its own hands. And they just keep losing children.

And my mom wouldn’t be able to bear the guilt and my dad would lose another child he poured his soul into.

And « all your parents want is for you to be happy » but then again, I feel guilty, because I not even am. I can’t even give that to them.

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jocorvus · 8 months

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Can we talk about how telling it is that Crowley didn't remember Furfur (who said they did "loads together") or Saraquel (who worked with him on the Horsehead Nebula)... but he DID remember Metatron and noticed Beelzebub's new face... and he remembered Mister Dalrymple and Wee Morag and Jane Austin?

To me, this feels like he only remembers what he must by necessity, or what he feels in his heart is important.

Let me expand.

Forget:

The Angel Saraquel that, like nearly all Angels (we know Aziraphale is excused from this list) only saw him as Fallen, as unimportant, as unworthy of their care or sympathy, would definitely be cut. Yes, I know she remembered him so she at least cared to do that, but Crowley has the trauma of the Fall that he'd reasonably like to Forget, including those involved.

Furfur, a Demon that seems to have enthusiastically fought on the plains of Heaven, and is openly petty and vindictive when trying to get Crowley punished in 1941 to further his own climb up the greasy pole (please don't hate me. I love Furfur so much and I want so much more of him in part 3) would also make the list of being cut.

Necessity:

Metatron, this one sort of speaks for itself. The Voice of God. What Demon would NOT make it a necessity to remember the Face that speaks for God and for all of Heaven (that is, IF they've seen it)? This one is for Survival.

Beelzebub, his boss/former boss. Like the other top players in Hell, he needs to recognize them on sight. So he remembers.

Choice:

Mister Dalrymple and Wee Morag. These two humans are BLIPS in his very long life. A few days at most. But all Aziraphale had to ask was if he remembered "Doctor Dalrymple who bought–" and he instantly remembered and cut in with Wee Morag and "Mister, not a Doctor" (an important distinction for surgeons I was previously unaware of in that area, Neil posted an explanation on one of his asks). He remembered them. These humans that would be as a grain of sand in the desert of all he's ever met, he remembered them. And I have a feeling he would recognize them, and Elspeth, on sight if they walked by him on the street.

Jane Austin, to us, is a major person in History. She is an author that needs no introduction to most of us. But for Crowley, she was known for things that would have slipped by the vast majority of us unless we were into that specific topic. But he does remember her for those things. We know that if Jane had not been an author famous the world over, HE would still have remembered her, because he DID.

**Editing to add a link to the Mister vs Doctor article that had been shared because I went to find it on Neil's page and couldn't, but a quick search provided it so I'm sharing for those interested.

#good omens crowley #good omens #crowley good omens #good omens 2 #good omens analysis #good omens meta #good omens season 2 #anthony crowley #anthony j crowley #crowley #crowley meta

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onecornerface · 2 months

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Should we avoid talking about race? Some ideas

I recently saw a comment which basically said drug reformists shouldn’t talk about race and racism too much, since this topic is so divisive. I’ve long had mixed feelings toward this sort of view. There is a real problem in a lot of race discourse. However, I think the solution is to develop knowledge and skills of why and when to talk about race (and why and when not to), and to become good at how we talk about race.

(I’ll be using “race” and “racism” roughly interchangeably in this post. I assume race will typically be significant (when it is) because racism is significant. And I assume that racism is, in some important sense, conceptually prior to race.)

(My concern here is mainly the idea of avoiding race in drug policy discourse. However, some aspects of my post will apply more generally as well. Also, by "taboo" I mean basically avoiding a topic, and encouraging other people to avoid a topic. This can come in different kinds and degrees, which I haven't much delved into here.)

There are a few ways to interpret the “race is divisive” claim. On one construal, the problem is that there are a lot of racists who will be alienated by any talk of race (for racist reasons), and that we should try not to alienate them. I actually think effective coalitions do need some degree of tolerance toward some amount of bad ideas or prejudice among its members, or prospective members—but there is the question of how much is too much. How much tolerance should we express toward bad ideas and attitudes, and how bad do they need to be? If we’re supposed to simply maximize recruitment of explicit racists into the drug reform movement, and never challenge their racism, then that’s a recipe for a serious rise in racism within the movement—a disaster that would probably sabotage the movement, as well as render it unworthy of victory.

A healthy movement needs to appeal to and recruit people who are imperfect—but also aim to make them better. If we’re being divisive by excluding unrepentant white supremacists from the movement, then that’s a point in favor of being divisive.

Some responses to the “race discourse is too divisive” line seem to stop there. However, I think there are more reasonable and nuanced versions of the “race discourse is too divisive” position which need more careful attention.

I think race is a topic that often is divisive in bad ways, and it is often discussed poorly—even when all participants are more-or-less progressive and opposed to anything they’d recognize as white supremacism. When race is brought up, many people are quick to weigh in on it—often with views and arguments that are poorly thought out, and even more poorly expressed. Race is a magnet for poor-quality discourse. This is likely especially the case for white people, but is also often the case for people of all races. (For analysis of some of the poor ways white people often talk about race, see Liam Bright’s “White Psychodrama.”) People can easily misunderstand one another, get angry at one another, and weaken coalitions which can’t survive the ensuing disagreements. One way to avert this problem may be to avoid talking much about race.

Sometimes this avoidance may not be very costly, compared to the poor-quality race-discourse that would otherwise happen. Race-discourse can be poor-quality in many ways. For one, race-discourse is often hostage to empirically questionable theories, such as popular oversimplistic interpretations of implicit bias. Sometimes high-quality race-discourse may require sophisticated theories and frameworks and arguments, which very few people have access to.

Applying the concern to drug policy, another problem is when people are oversimplistic in their normative analysis of what’s wrong with the drug war. Some progressives appear to talk as if racism is the only or main problem with drug prohibition. For instance, some arguments for decriminalization emphasize the racial disparities in arrest above all else. But this can’t be correct. Drug prohibition would still be terrible even if it were able to target drug users of all races equally. If the police drastically escalated how many white people they arrested for drug crimes, then some of the popular concerns about the drug war’s racial disparities would go out the window—but this would be worse, not better.

Progressives also sometimes criticize the history of the drug war in oversimplistic ways—such as by mistakenly believing the 1980s anti-crack laws were only motivated by racist white politicians, and failing to recognize the complex role of black anti-drug advocates among political leaders and the black general public.

If we talk about race in drug policy discourse, it needs to be done in a better way, and in light of more normatively and empirically adequate analysis. But this can only be done by talking about race—not by avoiding talk of race.

I’m also not necessarily averse to the idea that there are some topics which we should avoid talking about much in some political advocacy contexts, in order to maintain coalitions and good discursive environments and efficient activism, even when these topics are somewhat important in themselves. Not every topic, and not even every important topic, can be discussed at all times. There is reason to self-consciously maintain and promote some priorities of topics, and sometimes the “divisiveness” of a given topic can be a legitimate reason to discourage bringing it up or emphasizing it.

However, any such principle needs to be calibrated to the importance of the topic, and the costs of tabooing the topic. Race is objectively very important, including to drug policy analysis and reform, and there needs to be high-quality integration of race-discourse and drug policy discourse to recognize this importance. Racism is a major component of drug prohibition, in at least three ways—its causes (e.g. why drugs were criminalized), its structure (e.g. which drugs are illegal and in what ways), and its outcomes (e.g. how people of color are far more criminalized than white people, even for the same actions). If we taboo talking about race, we put many aspects of drug policy off-limits to discussion. This is very costly to the quality of the resulting analysis.

There are other costs as well. A taboo on race-discourse, in effect, creates racial discrimination within the movement—concerning whose testimony and experience will be considered legitimate to discuss, respect, support, and learn from. Many nonwhite drug users have long been targeted by the drug war in overtly or subtly racist ways, and have a lot to say about what they’ve been through. Surely they should be permitted to discuss their experiences every bit as much as a white drug user. Making race off-limits would prohibit many nonwhite testimonies while allowing white testimonies—thus making nonwhite drug users a second-class group, even in what is supposed to be a movement of liberation for them. This is perverse and unjust.

The notion that “We shouldn’t talk about race, because it’s too divisive” also seems self-defeating. Yes, talking about race is often divisive. But then, the view that we shouldn’t talk about race is also divisive! Many people, rightly or wrongly, think we should talk about race. Why should the people who will be alienated by race-discourse get a veto over the interests of people who will be alienated by tabooing race-discourse?

Relatedly, once people have started talking about race (for better or for worse), then you can no longer get people to stop talking about race by saying “Talking about race is too divisive.” Such a statement, if you make one, will then just be one more divisive statement about race. And it will likely incite people to start a hostile debate—the very thing which the race-discourse taboo was supposed to prevent. A taboo on race-discourse may only be effective in conditions where not much race-discourse has started already.

Also, there may be some antiracism advocates who want to taboo talking about drugs, on the grounds that drugs-discourse is too divisive. I haven’t seen this, but it seems plausible that there are some people who hold this view. (I speculate, even if this used to be common, it may be rare today. Michelle Alexander’s “The New Jim Crow” and a few other popular antiracism-oriented critiques of the drug war probably helped normalize drugs-discourse among antiracism advocates.) Yet surely, at least by the lights of drug reformists, such a view should be rejected.

There may also be a collective action problem of discourse ethics and strategy, in this vicinity. Liam Bright argues that there are problems with trying to enforce “message discipline.” See his post “There Will Be No Message Discipline.” A taboo on race discourse may be a problematic form of message discipline, and thus suffer from the problems Bright raises.

There is another weird irony in the notion that we shouldn’t talk about race because it’s too “divisive.” This seems quite close to the stereotypical woke leftwinger who insists we shouldn’t talk about XYZ (even though XYZ is important) on the grounds that XYZ is too “offensive.”

I thought left-wing political correctness was bad, on the grounds that it bars people from making true and epistemically-justified assertions about important topics, for the sake of merely not-offending some potential audience of oversensitive people? I actually agree that some left-wing political correctness is bad in this way. But then, this also means that tabooing an important topic such as race, in order to avoid offending oversensitive people, may be bad for similar reasons.

I note that there are at least two possible views which can lead someone to oppose talking about race. One view is the notion that race/racism is objectively not very important. The other view is the notion that race/racism IS objectively very important, but that we shouldn’t discuss it anyway, since discussing it is too divisive.

In addition to the anti-nonwhite discriminatory element I noted earlier, the race-discourse taboo has another potentially pernicious element. It can easily be used by someone who really holds the “racism is not important” view, so as to pretend to hold the “racism is important but too divisive” view. This seems costly as well.

So, what should we do? Maybe we should be cautious not to talk about race unless we have good reasons to talk about it, and have something worthwhile to say about it. This seems a reasonable presumption. However, this presumption would also apply to many sensitive topics, not only race. Moreover, it is defeasible, when someone has valuable things to say on the topic, or has a good enough chance of saying something valuable. Placing too much weight on a presumption against race-discourse may also prevent many important contributions from making their way into the conversation—which in turn will impoverish our common knowledge about race, at potentially severe cost. On the epistemic benefits of norms favoring speech on potentially upsetting topics, see Hrishikesh Joshi’s book Why It’s OK to Speak Your Mind.

There may be room for good-faith disagreements on the role of racism in drug policy injustice. Some libertarians think government overreach and authoritarianism are more the core problems of drug prohibition, and that the racism element is more secondary. Some leftists may make reasonable “class-first” arguments that a lot of what we construe as racism, or even a lot of the badness of drug prohibition more broadly, is more an aspect of class oppression. Arguably, we should discuss class more and discuss racism less (or even drug policy less), simply because class has more explanatory value and/or class-based interventions may have more promise in activism. I’m not convinced this is true, but it is at least a more defensible notion than saying either that racism isn't important, or that racism is important but that we shouldn’t talk about it.

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