#getting a shorter work day is FAR more difficult than ending the time change

[catgirlredux]

Hound Dogs

“… tomorrow we’ll meet your handler. For now, rest up.”

RDAI.vii.1156 stared down at its new body. Joining the military was considered the best route a Class-F citizen could pursue - free food, shelter, maybe even a few augments if you got lucky. But the Rapid Deployment Auxiliary Infantry unit felt less lucky and more confused. It signed up expecting to be given a gun and a pat on the back, not… this.

The arms were probably the strangest change. Skilled military surgeons had removed its forearms with a single blast of a laser that numbed its pain and severed flesh and bone at the same time. In their place, 1156 now wielded on each arm a single long, spider-like metal blade that extended all the way to the floor. The same happened to its legs, forcing the unit onto all fours. A reinforced spine kept it from collapsing onto the ground.

The rest of its body was covered in angular metal plates, designed to redirect and resist gunfire and protect the unit’s remaining flesh. Its face was likewise covered by an solid steel visor, vision and hearing substituted by an array of cameras, sonar, and radio scanners that fed information directly into its augmented brain. Its mouth remained uncovered but its teeth were removed and replaced with a new carbon fiber set. The chip in its brain repressed its discomfort so it didn’t try to claw off its own jaw.

A buzzer sounded and a tray carrying a bowl of nutrimeal slid out of the wall of the room. Unit 1156 stared it at, trying to figure out what to do - an injected concoction of hormones and suppressants had kept it comfortably dull, but somewhat muddled.

>EAT

The word flashed up on the inside of its visor, glaring into its semi-redundant eyes - eyes now dedicated to receiving screen-fed orders. It obediently craned its head down and started chomping at the slop. It was starving - the accelerated healing process was effective but it sapped all the solider’s energy.

Even if its senses hadn’t been muted, the nutritional goop was flavorless. Nevertheless it found itself slurping away with abandon, licking the bowl clean, dignity cast aside. Its faceplate glowed white hot for a moment before cooling down again, singeing off specks of food that had flown astray in the unit’s feeding frenzy. This feature was meant to burn blood and dirt off so that it didn’t impair an RDAI’s sensor array, but it worked for dinner well enough.

>GOOD MUTT

*****

The next day found RDAI.vii.1156 waiting in the main hangar, still slightly trembling on its spindly new legs. The thin, bladed design was perfect for chasing down enemy troops on the battlefield or pinning a straggler to the ground, but it was difficult to balance with even with the aid of the unit’s brain augments. A cord plugged into the back of its head kept it from wandering too far while feeding low-level electrical pulses that helped calm its nerves. It was waiting for its new handler - the soldier it would fight alongside, whose life it would dedicate itself to protecting. The bond between a handler and their hound (as the units were fondly referred to) was something truly unique, and though 1156 hadn’t planned to end up on this side of the relationship, it couldn’t help but feel excited.

It could feel her presence long before she actually entered the hangar. Perhaps it was merely the hormonal braindeck releasing waves of dopamine, but to the cyborg’s mind she was the most perfect being in the world. It could almost taste the draw of her augments to its own, pulling the two of them together like magnets. It knew that she felt it too. The connection between them was already established: the handler and the hunter, the owner and the dog.

It couldn’t quite remember what beauty looked like but it decided that she must be as close as one could get. Bent on all fours as 1156 was, it stood about half a meter shorter than her. Encased in a shiny automorphic techsuit, her body rippled with hidden energy ready to be unleashed at a moment’s notice. Her one eye shone, the other replaced by an implant that flashed rapidly as if to say, it’s finally you.

A technician standing by unplugged the unit’s tether and stuck in a thinner, double-ended wire. 1156 trembled as its handler grabbed the other end and slowly slotted it into a port on her neck.

The instant the plug connected, 1156 nearly collapsed from the tsunami of pleasure that struck it at full force. All Handler’s emotions, all her thoughts, her very essence flowed through its brain, and it could tell that she was experiencing the same influx of data.

They stood there for what seemed like forever, its faceplate lights flashing in sync with her vitals node. The only sound was the slight clinking of metal on concrete as 1156 shifted from talon to talon. Her designation was RDI-H.2054, she was a Class-E civilian who was recruited at age 8, she had been trained as a handler for 11 years, but 1156 was her first hound of her own. She liked the color green, she hated morning training, she had been deployed overseas on a scouting mission just three months ago. The unit’s brain felt overloaded with information and yet more kept flowing in.

It saw vague images, faces of people that it didn’t recognize yet felt so familiar - Handler’s family? It saw the fire of war, the smiles of fellow soldiers, it felt her heartbeat, her brainwaves, her every breath. For a split second, the hound and the handler were not separate but rather a single entity, one soldier in two bodies, sharing their memories. 1156 felt its Handler’s cybernetic eye and her prosthetic leg, and she likewise felt its spindly new form and armor plating.

RDAI.vii.1156 felt 2054 about to scream and roared out in sync. Its twisted metallic vocal chords, designed specifically to instill fear in the enemy, pierced the air in the hangar with an unearthly screech which neither overwhelmed nor surrendered to its keeper’s voice but rather merged with it in a feral harmony.

*****

Blood spewed down the dog’s chin and through crevasses in its armor. It spit out a chunk of flesh with strands of muscle tangled in its reinforced teeth. As it stepped back from its prey, its pointed blades withdrew from within the dead footsoldier’s chest. The unit’s faceplate sizzled, burning away blood and viscera and turning its vision bright red for a moment. It let out a fierce howl, launching itself forwards with a speed unmatched by any two-legged infantry.

Just behind it, its handler finished off a tank pilot attempting to crawl away from its craft. The hound’s many sensors highlighted the remaining stragglers on the battlefield, and 2054 assessed the remaining threats as she ran. She spotted a wounded soldier training their scope onto her companion and raised her weapon, disintegrating the enemy’s face with a single clean blast. The hound bayed its gratitude before finishing its run, speeding between rocks and debris and eliminating the last few soldiers.

One, two, three, blood gushed from their chests as 1156 pounced on them, puncturing their lungs and tearing out their throats in quick succession. RDI-H.2054 watched and basked in the adrenaline - her brain had not been upgraded to manage her auxiliary’s entire suite of sensors, but they shared many core sensations. They both felt the rush of war, the warmth of blood on their faces, and most of all an immense wave of satisfaction and even euphoria. Nothing felt better than killing together - an entire battalion laid to waste at their hands gave them a jolt of dopamine that felt better than orgasm.

They were never awarded for their feats, nor did they feel the need for any such recognition. Deep in their programming they didn’t fight for any cause or nation, or even for their commanding officer. They fought merely to tear and bite alongside each other, to see the fear in their enemies’ eyes and feel their life drain out at the will of the hound of death and its handler.

Standing together in the remains of a decimated army, they surveyed their work. The air smelled of blood and the familiar scent of plasma-scorched air. 1156 playfully rammed its armored face into its handler’s chestplate, grunting and drooling red down her torso. She laughed and rubbed the top of its head, sending microscopic ripples of pleasure down its spine.

>GOOD JOB DARLING

#cheetah writing #cyberpunk #empty spaces #robotposting #scifi #this is t4t #sorry cissies

[red-bat-arse]

Injection Tips for Needle Nervous

From someone who had to deal with a fear of needles while learning how to do testosterone shots. To be clear, I'm 28 years old and have been doing weekly IM injections in my thighs for 18 months.

PREP -Listen to the information given for the possible injection sites; you may prefer or find it easier to deal with IM vs SubQ based on the options your doctor gives you. If you're able, schedule at least 6-8 injection days of clinic visits so a nurse can teach you how to inject properly, and you can take your time absorbing. If you're still nervous, try purchasing a 'shot blocker' since they can help with not feeling the needle. If it's the possible pain that bothers you, I used to pinch hard at the area with my nails to sort of say 'that's what you're expecting, see, it's not that bad!' This technique has also helped me with getting my blood drawn, which to go on T you'll have to deal with as well.

ROUTINE -Once I left the supervision of the clinic nurses and started injecting at home, I made sure to establish a routine. You'll need to find your own, and here's mine for reference; with a little wiggle room (like doing it in the morning if I know I'll be busy in the evening) I stick to the same rhythm every week. Set up my station, use the toilet (you don't want to be antsy handling a needle), press play on a song and wash hands, then my draw system [sanitize stopper, draw, switch needle size, get rid of air bubbles, adjust to relax, sanitize thigh, breathe, inject, pressure with a tissue until the song ends], then I clean up and put the needles immediately in my sharps box. It really helps to know exactly what you're getting into so unexpected changes (like injecting while a little drunk, I don't recommend this but it might happen) are easier to handle.

DISCIPLINE -I put on a 5 minute song and do my whole routine in that time, it works for me. Too short and you'll feel rushed, too long and you might procrastinate, so get into the habit. I give myself a four hour window and as soon as I feel like I could do it, I go for it.

CHILL -As mentioned, I put on a song, for me stoner metal or blues works the best since it soothes and zones me in. I do my shot in the evening so if I freak out a bit I can just go to bed. I put on my comfiest layers and have a treat after, too.

EXPERIMENT -While there are aspects of it all you must do a certain way, you won't always know the best way to do things for yourself of available options even once you've been taught, so let yourself feel it out. I was shown the quick jab method at first to get over my hesitation, but now I find I feel it less if I insert the needle slowly. I switched from 25G to 22G needles when the smaller size proved more difficult to inject due to the consistency of testosterone, and I also found a shorter needle length got rid of some residual anxiety over the actual insertion part. I used to do everything in the morning and now I solely do it in the evening. You can change some parts of the process to make yourself feel better! 

FRIEND -I've got an assistant who sits on my other leg while I go through my routine, his name is Snippers;

And I've found I'm less jittery with him there and my heart races less in the preamble to actually piercing skin. I keep him with me afterwards especially if I had a harder time than usual, which can happen even after doing this a long time.

And lastly;

BELAY THAT -Give yourself an out. Besides a situation like if I run out before my prescription can get refilled, I told myself I could skip one (1) injection per year, if I was having a super bad time and just couldn't. So far I haven't had to use it -at the most I've just waited until the next evening. My doctor has said that's fine and I don't have to inform her if I skip once, but that might not be the same for everyone. Either way I think giving yourself breathing room is essential to take the pressure off -self-injecting might be affirming, but it isn't always fun or easy!

I also think it should go without saying that these tips are things that have helped based on my own personal experience from the past year and a half. It's fine if they don't work for you or you don't think they're helpful at all -the trans* experience is wide and varied. I'm also not giving anyone medical advice -always learn how to properly administer your medication from a professional. Here is an article about general HRT self injection that may be some help.

But, if you do have difficulty with needles, hopefully this gave you some tips and tricks that could make the process feel more manageable.

#hrtips #trans hrt #hrt #injection tips #hrt injection tips #trans #transsexual #transgender #trans* #trans problems #injection tw #needle tw #testosterone #estrogen

[vacantgodling]

since @sarahlizziewrites asked, i figure it’d be good to make a post kind of explaining my method of madness or how i’m trying to force myself to finish a book by catering to and weaponizing my interest focused brain

STEP 1: i have a full outline for myself where i actually do bracket out what happens in every single chapter. obviously when i go to write things stuff may change, get added, will be longer etc but we’re focusing on the “first draft get it out!” scenario. your outline doesn’t have to be perfect—you can leave stuff out etc. but the goal is that you literally have the entire story written out beat for beat. how are we getting from point a to point z. paramour’s full outline is 12 pages but yours could be longer or shorter than that. the reason for this is because as a lot of people do, it’s easy to figure out the beginning and the end but the middle is always a befuddled mess. so i’m basically doing this to take the excuse out of my brain that i can’t write this because idk what happens next—because i do! the outline also serves as a rekindling of interest for me because it’s like reading an abridged version of the book i know i want to write and love. when i lose motivation i can go back and reread my notes for a chapter or the whole thing and get reinvigorated to work on everything because WOW!! i can’t wait to get here!!!

STEP 2: this is optional but if your memory isn’t great like mine this might help. i create “chapter titles” more so as a guide to tell me in even shorter hand what a chapter is about. for instance, the chapter i’m currently working on in paramour is chapter 10. it’s cheat sheet title is “aloe” to remind me, oh yeah, this is the chapter that hya and aloe meet in person for the first time. stuff like that. this will help with the next step.

STEP 3: rank each chapter, between 1-5 stars, based on how excited i am to write it. it doesn’t matter what the reason, my goal was to simply gauge my interest level for each chapter, what things do i have a good idea of, which scenes are more difficult or require more research or technical or they aren’t as interesting or whatever.

STEP 4: FINALLY i group them all together, all the five stars, the four stars, the three, etc. and then among those lists, which of THOSE am i the most excited to write? same 5 star scale. and that’s how i ended up creating my list: most excited to write to least excited to write. for me that process looked like this:

now, what you do with this list is up for you to decide. for me, i’m playing into my interest addled brain: i wrote the chapter i was MOST EXCITED to write first (chapter 20 i finished it in 2 days lolol) but now i went to the very bottom of my list to write the chapter i want to write the least with the promise that i can go back up to the top to write the chapter i want to write most next as a motivator! so yeah that’s the process for how i decided everything it’s been working pretty good so far (even tho it’s only been a few days). i hope that explanation makes sense haha,,

#about renjamin #writing hacks

[luxe-pauvre]

For us today, it is still difficult to imagine a future society in which paid labor is not the be-all and end-all of our existence. But the inability to imagine a world in which things are different is only evidence of a poor imagination, not of the impossibility of change. In the 1950s we couldn’t conceive that the advent of refrigerators, vacuum cleaners, and, above all, washing machines, would help prompt women to enter the workplace in record numbers, and yet they did. Nevertheless, it is not technology itself that determines the course of history. In the end, it is we humans who decide how we want to shape our destiny. The scenario of radical inequality that is taking shape in the U.S. is not our only option. The alternative is that at some point during this century, we reject the dogma that you have to work for a living. The richer we as a society become, the less effectively the labor market will be at distributing prosperity. If we want to hold onto the blessings of technology, ultimately there’s only one choice left, and that’s redistribution. Massive redistribution. Redistribution of money (basic income), time (a shorter working week), taxation (on capital instead of labor), and, of course, of robots. As far back as the 19th century, Oscar Wilde looked forward to the day when everybody would benefit from intelligent machines that were “the property of all.” However, technological progress may make a society more prosperous in aggregate, but there’s no economic law that says everyone will benefit. Not long ago, the French economist Thomas Piketty had people up in arms with his contention that if we continue down our current path we’ll soon find ourselves back in the rentier society of the Gilded Age. People who owned capital (stocks, houses, machines) enjoyed a much higher standard of living than folks who merely worked hard. For hundreds of years the return on capital was 4–5%, while annual economic growth lagged behind at under 2%. Barring a resurgence of strong, inclusive growth (rather unlikely), high taxation on capital (equally improbable), or World War III (let’s hope not), inequality could develop to frightening proportions once again. All the standard options – more schooling, regulation, austerity – will be a drop in the bucket. In the end, the only solution is a worldwide, progressive tax on wealth, says Professor Piketty, though he acknowledges this is merely a “useful utopia.” And yet, the future is not carved in stone. All throughout history, the march toward equality has always been steeped in politics. If a law of common progress fails to manifest itself of its own accord, there is nothing to stop us from enacting it ourselves. Indeed, the absence of such a law may well imperil the free market itself. “We have to save capitalism from the capitalists,” Piketty concludes.

Rutger Bregman, Utopia For Realists: And How We Can Get There

#Rutger Bregman #Utopia For Realists: And How We Can Get There

[melvinthedepressedrobot]

so my self-image is weird bc like. there's the way I see myself and the way (I think) others perceive me

and the last bit makes things especially confusing bc being audhd makes reading other people really fucking difficult and some of it just doesn't make sense to me

like as an example I try my fucking hardest to like... track how well I've passed depending on how I look and sometimes that shit just doesn't make sense to me??

rambling and photos under the cut

like, okay, 2013, the year after I came out when I finally had my first Boy Haircut and got a bunch of Boy Clothes bc I was obsessed with passing

and as far as I can tell, I did pass reasonably well

then skip ahead to 2016 when I finally got a hairstyle I liked FOR THE FIRST TIME IN MY LIFE and had started experimenting w dressing more fem again and started T aaaaaaand I stopped passing

and even w my voice changing I still got "she" A LOT, consistently, no matter how I had my hair or how I dressed, masc or fem and even after top surgery in 2018 right thru to 2019 where in the first part of the year my hair grew out bc I couldn't afford to get it cut AND bleached (and was too afraid to bleach it at home) until I just got tired of being misgendered at work and got it cut w my natural hair colour and then SUDDENLY I PASSED PERFECTLY. NOBODY HAD A FUCKING CLUE WHEN I WENT TO UNI - this was also the skinniest I've been in my adult life, I still wore a mostly dark colour palette and didn't really have any facial hair yet

.....and then I went back to blond (and also started parting my hair rather than brushing it over) in 2020 and started getting misgendered again?? that was when i started really moving towards more pastel in my everyday wardrobe but a lot of the time I was def still more on the masc end of the spectrum, and also finally started showing a bit of facial hair (or, at least, a neckbeard) and also putting weight back on

and that just continued p much consistently since, no matter how I dressed or had my hair and at this point I genuinely have no idea how I'm perceived in the everyday - I've gone through several hair changes, my everyday wear is p much entirely pastel these days, I have fairly visible facial hair which I often emphasize w eyebrow powder/pens and I'm p chubby again and I can never really tell what I'm gonna get?? I've had days w shorter hair, no makeup and a darker, more masc outfit and gotten "she", but then I went out the other week in a full pastel outfit w a skirt and makeup and my pink/blue hair that's gonna hit my shoulders any day now and got an affirmation from somebody who thought I was a girl just for a second and then realised I'm not which. BLEW MY FUCKING MIND, THAT NEVER HAPPENS

and obv I try not to let how others, particularly strangers, perceive me dictate... well, anything, but at the same time it's disheartening to have spent a decade figuring out who the fuck I am, doing affirming things like hormones and surgery and dressing in ways that make me happy and then repeatedly get feedback from most of the world that it doesn't matter who I am, I look some kind of way so I must be something else

and especially when I don't actually know what the thing I'm doing "wrong" is!!! is it my hair?? my clothes?? my weight??? height?? the way i talk?? the way i stand???? I HAVE NO IDEA

i don't really have a point w this, it's just something i think about a lot and it puzzles me

#jamie's chitchat

[mymuseisspeakingtome16]

You Don’t Know What it Means to Me

So...after the Laver Cup I came up with this, it was truly emotional will miss RF, he’s a fave of mine. hope RF/Fedal Fans enjoy.

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction, unfortunately Roger retiring at the Laver cup was not, but no offence is meant to anyone at all. Also the song belongs to Queen, I own only the story itself.

                               You Don’t Know What it Means to Me

The quietness of the cavernous arena was strangely eerie, hard to believe that only an hour or so ago it had played host to perhaps the most emotional finale of a tennis great’s career, possibly the greatest player than the tennis world had ever or would ever see again.

Rafa sighed heavily, some would say he was biased but he knew he wasn’t...Roger Federer had changed the sport forever, a living legend...and changed his life too.

 It was hard to believe so many years had passed but neither had really changed, a few more lines around the eyes, hair shorter and, in his own case, thinner but he still felt like they were just starting out...how could it have all gone so fast? How had the most amazing era of his life come to an end?

Though he had known longer than most about Roger’s retirement, it hadn’t been any easier to get used to but, like everything, he’d manage.

 “I thought I’d find you here.” He turned at the sound of Bjorn’s voice. “You played well tonight, both of you.”

“Gracias, not the result we wanted, though.” Rafa’s mouth twitched ruefully.

Bjorn didn’t reply.

“I cannot stay; Mery is close now, she needs me; doctors say I need more surgery on my abdominal muscle if I am to play properly again. There is very much pain.”

“A risk worth taking?”

“Tonight, I had to be here.” He paused.” I’m sorry.”

Bjorn shook his head. “No need. Cameron will step in.”

“Gracias.” The pair shook hands.

  Watching the younger man leave, the inscrutable Swede knew that there was more to it; Rafael Nadal was a broken man and there was nothing anyone could do.

 Soon Rafa found himself back in the his hotel room;  as he splashed water over his face to soothe his aching bloodshot eyes, he saw the deep lines and dark circles below his eyes that suddenly made him look 30 years older than he was.

 The truth  was he was hurting far too much to hide it...physically, emotionally and mentally; what he’d said in the press conference was true...part of him had gone with Roger tonight.

He had listened, counselled Roger during those difficult phone-calls, been strong and brash as he always is and put every ounce of himself into making his friend secure in this decision and to give him his dream finale and said all the right things, he meant them of course, in the media...all the while trying to ignore the unbearable fear and grief that was threatening to drown him.

 Love of my life, you've hurt me You've broken my heart And now you leave me

 Retirement was something every sportsperson had to face in their career and they had both been plagued by difficult injuries, Roger had suffered and fought valiantly but even tonight had been far from certain. It had been his one wish that if he was fit enough to play the doubles match, he wanted to be teamed with Rafa for his final match.

 For Rafa there hadn’t even been a split-second’s thought, regardless of family or injury, he would be there.

 He’d been running on adrenaline for the last few days and being in practice with the team and seeing everyone again, especially Roger, felt amazing; it had been too long and he’d missed his friend terribly and seeing him back on court was like the sweetest high and Rafa almost believed that he’d dreamt all those calls and all of a sudden it was just like old times again with the years stretched wide.

 They were fired up, the game was fast and strong, their teamwork was outstanding as per; even the masked tactical discussions were in perfect sync, the minor disagreements and ‘directions’ from Roger were all comfortingly familiar. Any fears Roger may have had about his stamina were completely unfounded; they won the set point easily, even with Roger, albeit by chance, pulling off a brand-new trick shot; through the gap where the net met the pole! Causing much hilarity and completely shocked disbelief from John McEnroe!

Well, why break the habit of a career?

 Unfortunately, it wasn’t to be and Team World won the match, an annoying disappointment for Rafa, if only for Roger’s sake, but during their man-hug Roger assured him he didn’t mind, them just being together again was more than he could’ve hoped for, and surviving the match!  

 They were practically deafened by the roar of applause of 17,500 fans.

He watched as the audience and the world over cheered and wept for the legend he was proud to call amigo, hearing the praise that they heaped, virtues extolled so richly deserved and more. Roger deserved it, he deserved everything.

Roger took his lap of honour, soon embracing the team, Rafa could feel the emotion bubbling perilously close...he needed to keep it together; the hug was shaky ground but still calm-ish.

 “Roger, please come out.” Jim called.

 Though Rafa wouldn’t admit it, in many ways he’d always followed Roger’s lead with press, fans etc.; his friend was standing strong and proud as he began the speech that he’d written, re-written and rehearsed for days, so once again, he followed the hardest lead of his career.

 Then it happened...Roger started to crumble; desperation to maintain his famed composure was fast becoming impossible, talking about the people he loved and cared for most in the world, the passion for the sport that was as much a part of his identity as his name but the moment he mentioned not wanting to be lonely and how much being with the team, especially Rafa, had meant to him...the floodgates opened for them both.

 It hit Rafa like a ton of bricks...it was really over; Roger was officially retired.

All those great matches, they would be only history now, the shared teasing and madness that came from tour life...memories that at this moment felt more bitter than sweet. Yes, they would still be in each other’s lives but Roger was on a different path now.

His was the first face he looked for at every tournament and, even in the last couple of years with lockdowns and injuries it was always a case of ‘Back soon.’ This time it was ‘goodbye’.

 Love of my life, can't you see?

Bring it back, bring it back Don't take it away from me Because you don't know What it means to me

Bereft seemed too paltry a word to describe this, it was like he’d lost a vital part of himself; like everyone else he watched the tribute montage, listened to Ellie sing but none of it registered in his torrid mind. Suddenly he felt the tender but gripping squeeze of Roger’s hand, locking them together like a fortress and Rafa was glad to be; a simple gesture that said a thousand things. ‘Thank you.’ ‘I’ll miss you.’ ‘I can’t believe it’s over.’ ‘Don’t let go, I need you to help me get through this.’

 Seeing Roger’s usually cool veneer totally shattered, breaking his heart over the finality of it all, Rafa felt his own grief intensify; everyone swarmed around Roger and suddenly Rafa found himself pushed far back...no, he couldn’t be separated from him. Not yet.

 Both Robert and Mirka hugged him; Robert had sought him out and tried to be reassuring but, in a way, there were no real words that could stop the hurt.

 Before long, the official press stuff was over and the informal began; though it was now just family, friends and colleagues it still felt too public for Rafa, he was too raw to paint on a public face...though he didn’t want to break his earlier promise to Roger, he couldn’t face staying.

  It was a whirlwind and Roger was swept up in the memories and love, the congratulatory words as time ticked by...not quite how he’d imagined the end of his professional career but still beautiful...a different kind of perfect.

That word suddenly brought the room into sharp focus...in the sea of a thousand faces one very important one was missing.

“Bjorn?” He caught the older man’s attention. “Have you seen Rafa?”

Bjorn cocked his head, indicating this conversation needed to be private.

“What’s going on?”

“Rafa’s in his room; he’s withdrawn from the rest of the tournament, he’s leaving in the morning.”

“Ah, Mery, of course.”

“Not just that.” He paused. “I think this has all hit him harder than everyone thought it would, even him.”

 Roger slipped out seamlessly, quite a feat when you’re the star of the show.

“I’ll be back soon.” He mouthed to Mirka, she winked affectionately.

 For a moment he stood in silence; he just needed to breathe, let the feelings settle...everything was so crazy...he needed his friend....probably just as much as he needed him.

 Rafa had almost finished packing but the adrenaline still hadn’t abated and his mind was still a-whirring, he was so desperate to switch off just for a while.

 Love of my life, don't leave me You've taken my love (my love) And now desert me Love of my life, can't you see? (Please bring it back)

 A knock at the door and a deep accent startled him.

 “Rafa?”

Rafa felt his heart leap warmly as he opened the door.

“Roger?” He ushered him in quickly, away from prying eyes and ears. “Why are you up here; you should be with everyone, you are star tonight?”

“I wanted to see you.”

“You see me all hours for last two days, still not enough, huh?” He was trying to lighten the mood but the strain was clear.

“I wanted to thank you too; you made a wonderful night even more amazing.”

“I play tennis, make dreams come true, is what I do.”

“Not too bad for two old men, eh?”

“You are older than me.”

“True, no-one’s more surprised than I am to still be here.”

“Is no surprise, you are this GOAT they speak of.”

“You are too.” Roger raised an eyebrow as he heard the music faintly playing. “Queen?”

“Si, some songs I like, you suggested I try.”

A beat.

”Bjorn has told me you’re withdrawing.”

“Si, I am not fit to play.” He continued packing. “I go home, need to rest and feel better.”

“So...you came back for me?”

“I promise I give my best for you, I keep promise...always for you, Rogi.” Rafa could feel tears in his eyes and the pain in his throat.

“Don’t.” Roger swiped at his eyes again, laughing nervously. “I said we’d get through it, we did.”

“The match, si.”

“Everything.”

 For a moment Roger stared at the man in front of him seeing their whole careers fly past in seconds; how he’d grown from a talented and excitable teenage rival to ‘frenemies’ in their prime to now, friends in the ‘Old Guard’; yes his tennis playing journey was over but Rafa still had a way to go, however long or short and he couldn’t wait to cheer him on with every bit of vim and vigour he had.

Through laughter and tears, wins and losses, they’d seen it all and those precious memories would last a lifetime.

 “Come here.” Roger pulled him into a bear hug, immediately feeling the shuddering of Rafa’s barely concealed sobs. “Shhh.”

“Don’t go, Rogelio.” He whispered pitifully.

“It’s a done deal, you know that my friend.” He murmured.

“I don’t know how to do this without you.” Rafa looked up at him, tears streaming unabashedly.

“Like I told everyone out there tonight, I won’t be a ghost; you’ll see me everywhere, who knows we’ll probably play a game or two down the road.”

“Is not the same, you know that.”

Roger gently brushed the tears away with his thumbs. “There’s so much ahead for us, you’ve got your little one coming soon and many more I’m sure and you know I’ve got lots of plans.” He smiled affectionately. “I am SO proud of you, Rafa...everything you’ve become and that I can call you my friend; to play against and alongside you, it has been an honour.”

The younger man clung to him, clearly overwhelmed...only then did Roger allow a few more of his seemingly never-ending supply of tears to fall; yes, he’d made peace with his decision, he hadn’t had much of a choice really but it was hard won.

 The enormity of leaving this precious circle was hitting him and if he was completely honest an infinitesimally small part of him wished he could go back and do it all again, to be at Rafa’s side if nothing else.

 Bring it back, bring it back (back) Don't take it away from me (take it away from me) Because you don't know (ooh-ooh-ooh know) What it means to me (means to me)

 Over the last week he’d finally truly seen what he meant to everyone; fans, rivals, friends but, perhaps strangely, it was Rafa’s grief-stricken reaction that had both touched and hurt him the most, maybe because his friend was far more vulnerable than he let on to the rest of the world.

Roger had always been protective of him, almost like a big brother, actually they had been the brother that they’d both wanted and never had.

“You’ll be okay.”

Rafa shook his head against the Swiss’s chest. “Don’t leave me.”

Roger held him tighter, the tip of his nose very gently nuzzling his temple.

 They remained that way for a good long while...there was no-one else in the world.

 You will remember When this is blown over And everything's all by the way (ooh) When I grow older (yeah) I will be there at your side (ooh) To remind you how I still love you (to remind you) (I still love you)

“You okay?” Roger murmured against Rafa’s ear.

“Bueno.” Rafa nodded as they slowly released their hold on each other.

“There cannot be any tears left, surely?”  They both chuckled awkwardly, swiping at their eyes with their palms.

“Is getting out of hand.”

At that second Roger’s mobile buzzed.

“Ha.” Rafa ‘laughed’. “How you say, saved by the bells?”

“Something like that.” His brow creased lightly.

“Mirka wanting to know where you are?” Rafa waved his hand. “Go back to them, Rogelio, is your night.” He absently started to scan the room, picking up odds and ends left to pack.

Roger quickly typed a reply but kept hold of his phone, just watching and soon Rafa was aware of him still being there.

“You are still here?”

Wordlessly he showed his friend the text his wife had sent.

‘Darling, kids asleep. Stay with Rafa, think you need each other tonight.

Love you, so proud. Mirka. XXX’

 Rafa flashed a watery smile.

“She knows you well.”

“She knows us.”

A pause.

“¿Te quedarás?” (“You stay?”)

He nodded, part of him relieved at his wife’s sixth sense, though he still belonged to the tennis world and his family, a little piece of him belonged to Rafa and, right now, theirs was the only wavelength that made sense.

 “You look terrible.” Roger laughed softly.

“Si, you look worse.” Rafa quipped.

Roger walked to the minibar, taking out two bottles of water. “Here.” He lightly tossed one to Rafa, which he nimbly caught. “You need to rehydrate.”

The younger player uncapped the bottle, taking a long drink, arching his eyebrows indicating Roger should do the same.

“And these.” He took a small box of aspirin from his pocket, popping out a dose each. “We’ll feel this tomorrow, never mind the headache.”

Rafa smiled, you could take the player off the court....

“What time is your flight tomorrow, you know you can’t be late?”

“10:45am, I am never late just a little less early is all.”

Roger rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say, Rafa; you need to get some sleep.”

  And so, the two friends curled up together on the bed and exhaustion soon carried them off as they held each other, fingers tightly gripped.

 On the nearby sound bar the haunted tones of Freddie Mercury sang out the ballad ‘Love of my Life’; the lyrics were oddly fitting for them and the night’s events...a strange new era was about to dawn.

Back, hurry back (back, back)

Please, bring it back home to me (bring it back home to me) Because you don't know (ooh-ooh-ooh know) What it means to me (means to me)

Love of my life Love of my life

(Ooh, ooh)

#fedal #friendship #emotions #farewell #retirement #comfort #songfic

[viviskull]

Closed Starter with @lambfated​ - Ensnaring memories, entangled lives

When days went long and nights growing shorter every passing blink of your kingdom slowly growing in constant, there was hardly a date where anything changed beyond the occasional, strange visitor intruding on your lands.  Followers came and went.  Old faces that stuck around sometimes became dull with every game of knucklebones becoming more predictable without the wagering bets of coins growing higher.  Shrumy, Flinky, Klunko and even Bop, as much as you cherished the times you’ve spent with them as companions, often had foreseen strategies they sometimes relied on harshly, making things become tedious in some regard.  Maybe the oddball of a weird god coming down to wreak havoc on your lands did sometimes make things interesting for you, but every time they claimed to be a threat… They always fell from their throne without fail by your blade (excluding the few who’ve bested you yet).  They helped make your endless days at least something to work towards at the end of the day, but even then they get too carbon-copied for you after a while.

That was at least… Until you felt a new, raw striking energy prick against the dark hides of your skin; the natural twelfth sense of your crown making it all the more difficult to not pick up on, an oddly familiar intruder exploring your lands.  Why did it feel familiar, yet so distinct you couldn’t quite pinpoint it through why you hadn’t sensed it earlier that day?  Well, since you were in Anura anyway out on another crusade hunting for resources, it was a better chance than any to at least go check it out.  You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but.. it felt nearly like it was drawing you in like a cautious moth to a flame; softly familiar, yet unlike anything you’ve felt in a long time since your ascension.

As such, the more you fought through passing swarms of heretics and cut open paths in your advantage towards this strange presence, the stronger you could feel your crown cling just a bit tighter to the nest of your wool.  Odd, maybe even a bit concerning too.  Normally, it eagerly always responded to your every whim like an extra appendage, it never resisted your trains of thought before.  But the more you continued, the more you were struggling to even summon your weapon or even get an explosive curse of fervor to ward off the occasional enemy that came your way.  You’ve always known your crown was a mere being of its own, but this might’ve been pushing it with it getting vulnerable like this.  Sure, there’d been times the fallen Bishops had restrained your source of identity in some circumstances, however the main four had long since fallen into the cradle of your flock.

What if there had been one that hadn’t actively seeked you out?  Would there be any concrete reason they’d make themselves known now?  The signs of heretics flocking to a NEW power haven’t shown themselves yet.  However, who’s to say it wasn’t happening underground?  A rebellion was always in the works, you’d know from dissenters coming and going from your followers in turn.

Now that you thought about it a bit more, the rotting trees seemed more liver, growing more condensed and thicker together the closer you could feel this energy call out to you.  Anura was never known for its vibrant colors, when everything was naturally overtaken by the crimson reds of fungus and deadly bloom.  Bizarre as it is, at least you’d know this stranger wasn’t too far either.

Trudging, and maybe squeezing through some cracks in between there, through what you may to carry on to this curious energy, after what may’ve felt like ages to mortal… You find yourself in some grassy plains, a natural wide clearing that might’ve as well been Darkwood if you hadn’t kept track of your surroundings prior, and you weren’t alone.  Green as far as the eye could see; colorful flowers flourishing, blooming where they shouldn’t, dry grass looking freshly healthy as if turning from autumn straight to spring, and all these vivid colors leaning towards the very spirit you’ve been drawn to as well.  An unmistakable palette of various ocean tints and hues stands out from the horde of floral plants that seemed to crowd and bunch at the hem of their ruffled skirt.  Uncertainty buzzed about your senses, the familiar energy you’ve sensed before felt all the more overwhelming, but even when you’ve found the source of it you had to find out why they made your crown feel so dead then.  It'd be best to be cautious, however… they didn’t seem to notice you sneaking closer to them just yet.

Preoccupied with something you couldn’t make out from behind, their back remained turned towards you, and you could only assume they were working on something at best.  Perhaps this might’ve been fate yet again.  So close to another God, normally one would turn to the source of your hooves tiptopping against the wet grass.  Were they passive?  Or just oblivious to their surroundings, maybe deep in thought, even?

A vague form of long hair that practically flowed from atop this being’s head to the very ground, the sparkling baby blue attracts your gaze with unnatural allure.  Nothing you’ve ever seen in these rather gruesome lands has come close to what you’re quietly witnessing then, an abnormal sight of beauty… One can’t help but stare with gentle awe.  It shined and glistened, yet no sunlight spilled forth through the treetops to tell it came natural.  It glowed.  Maybe it had been natural for this strange being, to find themselves here unbeknownst of the land's current ruler?  Whatever made it this way.. You couldn’t help yourself but take the beautiful sight in. 

However, the longer you studied it in full detail, you could feel a strange sensation of dull euphoria tickle against your chest.  The more you stared, images started to form in the places your eyes landed upon.  Images of you, of forgotten faces you couldn’t recall the names of, images of people who looked similar to you, things you don’t remember being there before, and suddenly… A gut-wrenching agony pierced your heart then.

The memories and screams quickly flooded in.

#Ah! I love acting! {RP Thread} #Ya know what they say.. Every age calls for a new god! {Divi} #Ooo! You look so cool! {Vivi} #Write it down! {Canon} #lambfated #((COUGHS THIS AT U. Feel free to have this for your neutal or good verse if u want!!)) #((my muse went for a DND style starter just to kick it off straight into angst and I made it where you can just springboard off of it)) #long post cw //

[moveslikeanape]

hey! so, you may or may not have seen me post about this, but sadly one of my cats, lily, died just a couple days ago. i'll spare you the details of what happened, but i've been pretty heartbroken about it. she was an incredibly sweet cat. daisy is doing well and is very healthy, though. anyway, you and your dad's cats have such cute names! would oliver's name happen to come from oliver and company?

iirc you have an older phone and that's why you can't get dreamlight valley on mobile, right? hopefully you'll be able to download twisted wonderland! i should also say that the game is sort of a mix of a visual novel, rhythm game, and turn based RPG. the gameplay isn't usually too difficult but it'd be totally understandable if it turned out it wasn't your thing. i mostly love it because i'm fascinated by the characters, story, and world! it's set in a school with seven dorms, each one being based on a different disney movie: there's heartslabyul (alice in wonderland), savanaclaw, (the lion king), octavinelle (the little mermaid), scarabia (aladdin), pomefiore (snow white), ignihyde (hercules), and diasomnia (sleeping beauty). so each part of the story focuses on one dorm and takes inspiration from that movie's events, but with a lot of unique twists on it. and it's still ongoing so it's always fun to wait for the updates to find out what happens next.

i agree on everything you said about sequels! and personally, i'm worried about moana 2 because it was originally planned to be a disney+ show, which was then canceled and turned into a movie. so i have to wonder why they made this decision, is it just because a movie will make them more money? and how will whatever story was planned for the show work with the much shorter runtime of a movie? i just find it strange. and yes, i love toy story so much but i'm not excited about 5 at all!!

how i feel about the WDAS movies since moana is that with almost all of them, i was excited before they were released and then either disliked them when they came out, or enjoyed them at first but after rewatching and thinking about them more i realized they just weren't very memorable and not nearly as good as i first thought. for me the only exception has been encanto, and i'm pretty sure it's by far the most well received of the newer films as well. i think it's clear that disney is having issues behind the scenes, and it's also sad that some people don't see that. recently someone on here basically said that i and others who don't like wish are "anti disney moron", and are the reason we're getting all these sequels instead of original stories… but most people who know me would say that i'm crazy passionate about disney! i wanted to love wish but found it disappointing, and it is not my fault that it didn't succeed.

i will be honest, trolls band together came out in theaters around the same time as wish and i remember hearing about it making more money and getting better reviews than wish did. i ended up thinking i should've gone to see it instead because as cheesy and childish as they are, i actually like the trolls movies haha. the ghibli movie "the boy and the heron" also came out in US theaters not long after, and it sounds like a lovely movie from everything i've heard about it.

strongly agree about the broadway shows! i also think something that really sets them apart from the live action remakes is, quite simply, the fact that a stage show is such a different medium than a movie. they have to get so much more creative to translate an animated film to the stage. sometimes i see people wanting remakes of movies like the emperor's new groove or princess and the frog, but i always say they should get broadway musicals instead.

ohh that is true, i didn't think of how tarzan and terk's relationship might be viewed differently if it's just the two of them! it's too bad they had to remove tantor, because it sounds like that just might be the reason why terk was changed. also, sorry some of my asks are so lengthy, you can probably tell that i tend to ramble lol.

I'm so sorry for your loss **hugs**

It never gets any easier, but giving them a loving home and the best life we can makes it worth the heartache. I'm glad Daisy is doing well. Many people don't realize that losing an animal is hard on other animals in the house too.

(also, sorry I missed the post, I've been having internet issues on and off this weekend)

Good guess on Oliver's name. I finally got to name a cat, and naturally had to be Disney related… I was struggling to pick the best name, but couldn't concentrate because he kept crying for more food, so he kind of named himself.

I do have a tablet, but it's android and dreamlight valley isn't available on them (hopefully it will be someday). I have tried Twisted Wonderland and it looks really interesting. Love all the character designs, and the villain descriptions too! Not sure if I'll play much of it though, it looks like it takes far more time than I have time for. Will let you know if i make any progress on it though!

I was so excited when I saw the announcement of Moana 2 (especially the artwork with the whale shark, my fav!), but then I discovered they'd cancelled the show. If we were getting both I'd be ecstatic, more Moana! But changing from series to movie so far into production… that just screams Tarzan and Jane (tying a few episodes together with some quickly written story to make them connect) to me. It's gotta be about money. 1 short movie verses however many epsiodes they were going to do. I'm going to hope for the best that Moana turns out alright, but I'm not holding my breath. I find I'm constantly surprised when I get reminded that Toy Story 4 even exists, it was just that memorable to me. The only thing I really remember from it is Duke Caboom, and that's probably only because he's Canadian, lol. Can't imagine what they could possibly add to that series to justify another movie.

I really really wanted to like Raya, and I probably should give it another chance as I've only seen it the once, but it just felt like they were throwing things in there that they think people will like instead of actually trying serve the story. From what I remember, so much of it seemed unnecessary. I do remember at times being blown away by the animation though, maybe I was just too focused on that to actually pay attention to the rest, lol.

The "anti disney moron" made me laugh. As if that's what's going on. There are people who genuinely like Wish (and the other recent movies), but enjoying a movie doesn't make it good. And Disney is in a rut because they are, not because fans are being too picky. Disney went hard in the 90s/2000s, and they just can't seem to achieve the same quality of story we've some to expect. There are other factors too. The whole pandemic situation, rising costs of everything, and people just being worn out will affect how movies do as well. I've been worn out for years, constantly on the go, and at times struggling to pay bills… when I do have time to unwind and watch a movie, I don't want to waste my hard earned money on something I'm not guaranteed to enjoy. That makes it so much easier to just wait for something like Wish to go on Disney+. That way if it ends up being not my cup of tea, at least I didn't waste any extra money on it.

I've never seen any of the Trolls movies, but I have some coworkers who said they enjoyed them. I've heard nothing but good things about the Boy and the Heron, and I really want to see it!

OMG yes!! Stop the remakes right now and bring on the musicals!!! They can still film them and put them on Disney+ so people who can't travel can still see them. Even if they did that as a pay per view, I would still watch them! And I totally agree about the creativity, far more interesting than any changes they've made for the LA remakes.

I dug out my Tarzan Broadway book and had a quick look through, and I couldn't find anything that even mentioned Terk becoming male. Will have to find the time to properly read it someday. That's probably my best guess though. Such a shame not to find the actual reason. But at least we get 2 versions of Terk this way. I am so sad Tantor was removed, he's such a great character. It may have been tricky, but it would have been neat to see how they'd pull off having an elephant in the show.

lol, no worries. You're passionate, "rambling" is part of that.

#stranger like me

[umichenginabroad]

Paris week 3: routine update

Yesterday marked the end of my third week in Paris, meaning that half my time here is already over. In a way, I can’t believe I’m this far in, my concept of time and whether a duration is short or long completely distorted upon arriving. It’s been long since I’ve seen my family and friends, been inside my house or any of the local places I call home. But short, short when you consider I’m maybe only 15 coffees, 5 museum trips, and 2 Eiffel Tower visits in; how much more that list could grow.

The amount of time remaining feels even shorter when I consider the latest update to my daily schedule: the start of my second class. Prior to this week, my schedule left plenty of room for exploration, occupied only by Calc 3 from 12:30-2:30 p.m. The addition of Haute Couture in Paris, my humanities course for the term, completely changed that. Class for two and a half hours plus a 30-minute lunch break in between means that I am now busy until 5:30 p.m. Monday through Thursday, Friday being an exception under which only technical courses (aka non-electives) run.

I’m not going to lie to you when I say this was a difficult adjustment. My biggest fear entering the program was not doing enough, somehow wasting my time in this new and beautiful place. I worried that with the start of my second course this would inevitably be the case, feared the cases where my only ‘activity’ for the day would be class.

Responding to these concerns meant an update in both outlook and routine. Part of study abroad is attempting to ‘live like a local,’ living in a new culture for the purpose of understanding and not just vacation. I’m trying to look at my busier schedule through this lens, a chance to grow to love not just Paris’ most touristy destinations but also some of its most routine. In addition to my getting-to-know-the-local-cafés-by-getting-coffee-every-day, I decided I’d apply this idea to studying as well, searching for a local study space more motivating than my bed. This week I settled on the Centre Pompidou library. Most tourists are familiar with the existence of the museum itself, but not nearly as much so with its library—I know I wasn’t, coming in. The library is bright and spacious, and the museum’s bold colors and notorious piping are present in its design. Studying here made me feel as if I were still experiencing something for the day, still gaining something because I was being present in the local culture, or at least its academic scene. I enjoyed this and the company of students and locals as I completed my work for the day, and am sure I’ll be revisiting in the future as to best continue to feel a part of the place I’m living.

In terms of routine, I have now incorporated lunch into the 30 minutes between my 2 classes, stopping at whatever boulangerie or restaurant I can find nearby for a quick meal à emporter (to-go). I’m trying to add studying into my time after class as well, a little detour from immediately heading back to my studio for the night. My weekends are now jam-packed, filled with all the activities that simply could not feasibly be fit into my weekdays’ schedule. My friends and I have planned out trips for the next two weekends, and are looking forward to our extra time on Fridays (due to having only one class) to do some additional exploring. Now that I have adjusted to my new schedule, I also plan on profiting from my time before class, fitting in smaller solo visits and activities.

A look at my weekend routine in action:

-L'Opéra Garnier Friday after class, the opera house and Paris historical monument that inspired the Broadway musical Phantom of the Opera

-Palace of Versailles, the birthplace of French luxury, on Saturday. There, we were also able to check Paris’ notorious chocolat viennois (hot chocolate with cream) off our bucket lists in visiting Angelina, a café located inside the palace!

-Dinner in Montmartre with a friend currently visiting Paris on break from his Barcelona program

-Disneyland Paris on Sunday, a fun contrast to Disney World back home

Some other highlights:

-Watching the Eiffel Tower sparkle Monday night

-Dinner in Montmartre on Tuesday

-A program-sponsored food tour Friday morning along the historic Rue Montorgueil, including a stop at Stohrer, the oldest pâtisserie in all of Paris (coffee éclair = so good)

While this wasn’t the most activity-filled of my weeks abroad, this week brought about change in routine and valuable time for reflection as to what I want the rest of my time here to look like. I now know how to best maximize the time I have remaining all while feeling more a part of the place I’m living. I look forward to the next 3 weeks and can’t wait to see where these lessons take me in the moments to come!

Hannah Bernardi

First-year Engineering

Engineering in Paris, France

#umichenginabroad #ipeparis #HannahBernardi #IPESummer23 #France

[harborsupusa]

Top Ways to Work Out With a Paddle Board besides Paddling

Remember that before the state-of-the-art high-tech boards and ultra-light carbon fibber paddles, SUP was just a board and a stick. It was entirely up to you, the paddler, to make it go and get fit in the process. If your goal was fitness, you should have invested some time and money in professional training from your local SUP Pro. It really is worth it and you’ll get more Aha moments than you can imagine. Plus you’ll have a lifetime of workouts on the water that will literally take you anywhere.

For most people, paddle technique begins and ends as an upper body workout. Men especially, naturally rely on their upper body to do all the work of creating and controlling momentum with some core and supporting leg muscles for stability. But good paddle stroke technique is all about generating power with your core and legs first. Paddle technique can seem difficult at first, especially when there’s a water-based wobble factor involved. While paddle Pro’s can show you the technique, it’s up to you to practice and apply them every session – stroke by stroke!

All good SUP workouts have an immediate application on the water, in case the conditions change and/or your goals change. They also incorporate adventure paddling, SUP racing, surfing and white-water activities. Wind, waves and the water provide naturally occurring resistance when you use your SUP for a great skill-building opportunity.

An interval workout is one that alternates from a long, slow effort to a faster, shorter one. To do an interval workout without falling off the board, keep your balance by coordinating your movements and focusing on using your legs and core to derive power from each stroke. That’s how you create speed and give yourself the ability to perform better than you do in a traditional gym workout.

Here are some low-impact exercises to get a great whole-body workout any day of the week.

Balance Training

Pivot turns are great for many reasons, including their practical applications for SUP racing, surfing and white-water or you’re in a crowded water way and need to make short, sharp turns.

 To start, stand in the center of the board, over the handle. With shoulders back and knees bent, sink at the knees into a chair position and slap the surface of the water with the logo side of your paddle to brace. Shuffle your feet one by one towards the tail of your board, then back to the center and repeat. See how far back you can go and test what is your tipping point—prepare for getting wet.

Interval training with a mini-workout

 Technique is key to swimming fast. When you swim, think golf swing on a wobbly surface—it will take practice. So, start your interval workout with some technique drills—one good, slow stroke is better than 5 fast sloppy ones so start with a dynamic warm up on the water. Build to medium tempo (stroke cadence—maybe a 6 out of 10 for effort) and get warmed up for 5 minutes. Feeling warm? Good. Not yet? Check your technique.

Interval Drills –

 Rail Dips—shoulders back and eyes up, sink into a chair position over the center of the board, slap the water with the logo side of the paddle to brace and use your lower body to sink the right rail followed by the left, repeat. Try to get your feet wet, and stay low for a 20 count.

 If you want to enjoy a fun day out on the water, then our Paddle Board Newport Beach is a great choice. Our rental fleet includes standard sup boards and more advanced models that feature a bigger platform and higher weight capacity. All of our rental boards come with adjustable foot straps and adjustable seat backs to accommodate different heights and body types. Please call us at ((949)-750-2966 or visit https://harborsup.com/

#paddle board rental

[beneathashadytree]

JEALOUSY, JEALOUSY - LEVI ACKERMAN X READER

Warnings : this is set before the first time-skip, jealousy, insecurity, reader is gender-neutral!

Genre : fluff, comfort

Word count : 2.0K words

Synopsis : Levi never thought there’d come a day when he’d feel that way seeing his lover and his Commander interact.

Tip jar if you’d like to buy me a Ko-Fi!

Masterlist

“So you got yourself the special treatment as a damn invalid now.”

Levi’s voice was as flat as could be at Erwin’s bedside, watching as the older blonde gave him a half-smile that didn’t exactly let him in on what the commander felt.

“Not at all,” the man coolly replied, “Though you were right. ‘Taking a shit’ is admittedly more difficult now.”

Quite against his will and better judgment, Levi’s lips curled into a barely-perceptible bitter smile.

Staring at the door that had been left ajar after them, Erwin’s thick brows furrowed, “They’ve been taking care of me for a while now since it happened. I wish they’d rest,” feeling a rather intense pair of eyes settled on the back of his head, he lightly chuckled, “Relax, Levi. I know better than to push my luck. Wouldn’t want to lose my other arm, courtesy to you.”

The shorter man cleared his throat, struggling to remain seemingly oblivious in spite of the slight flush of his ears, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I know you’re probably being ridiculous again,” with a heave, he got up from the chair, “Which is my cue to leave, if you’re well enough for that.”

As he began to close the door behind him, he could hear his superior faintly remark, “Still ever the contrarian.”

***

Sat all alone with nothing to keep him company in his office aside from his annoyingly persistent thoughts, he couldn’t push away the nagging feeling that Erwin hadn’t been entirely off the mark to point out the unease he’d been feeling for the past couple of days.

Frankly, something felt off about him every time he stepped in to visit the commander’s room and found his lover already there, tending to his every whim (the pulled back curtains, for instance, or the empty jug of water inconveniently placed to his right) and replacing the blood-stained bandages on his shoulder. Something about watching as they fretted over the commander’s winces and occasional groans of pain just rubbed him the wrong way.

He would’ve been perfectly okay with being tasked with taking care of him instead of them. It’s not like they had to go out of their way to do all these things for Erwin; rather, a deep sense of relief after having found out he’d survived had left them unable to do anything else. It was just in their nature to be so openly compassionate and eager to help, Levi fondly thought, more than well aware of how blindingly bright he’d often seen them.

Still, the churning of his stomach every time he spotted them scowling in worry as they helped Erwin change his shirt without undoing his bandages wasn’t something he could ignore for much longer. He didn’t know what to do about that.

With a heavy sigh so uncharacteristic of him, he set down the papers he’d been previously working on, mind far too preoccupied with the current train of thought to get much of the task done. Instead, he set his hands under his chin and stared out at the wall.

Rationally thinking, he knew that were it him in Erwin’s place, his lover would’ve put their own life on the line and worked their fingers to the bone in hopes of nursing him back to health; god, he knew more than anyone else just how devoted and utterly faithful they were to him. And really, there wasn’t anything odd about them caring for the blonde in that manner—after all, he was the Commander of the Survey Corps, and should he ever collapse the entire regiment would end up in shambles. He was an indispensable asset to Paradis Island, and Levi knew it.

He tousled his ebony hair, frustration evident on his face as he tried to calm his bubbling emotions that he couldn’t name. Erwin was… he didn’t exactly know what to label him as, but he could confidently call him the closest he’d ever had to a friend in the Corps. It wasn’t like him to ever distrust the man—especially not when he’d been so perceptive so as to notice the turbulent feelings he’d been having concerning his lover’s aid for him. Erwin’s reassurances weren’t in vain, even if he was too embarrassed to tell him so.

But then once again, a few particularly nasty thoughts would intrude, breaking his attempts to have some peace of mind. Levi had often tried to push those nagging feelings away, but at times like these when his solitude was his only company, they came back in full force.

Perhaps there hadn’t been any malicious intent from either party, but what bothered him the most was how, even in the eyes of a man as simple and as heedless as he was, Erwin Smith was nothing short of dazzling; a bit too bright for too many reasons. He wasn’t blind to his charms, nor was he even immune to them sometimes.

Maybe that was owed to just how naturally handsome he was, paired with his confident and even sometimes prideful smile, or maybe it was because of how devilishly brilliant he was, his intelligence and sheer dedication to humanity always pulling people towards him like a magnet. Though he was intimidating at times, and often acted in ways which caused him to question his sanity, Levi knew no man more captivating than the Commander himself.

And though he’d never had reason to feel insecure or to question his own self, now more than ever he felt like he couldn’t compare to him. In all honesty, he could only see himself as rather plain looking—he wouldn’t go as far as too condescendingly call himself unattractive, but his looks paled in comparison to Erwin’s—bearing in mind that Erwin had the height and massive figure that he didn’t possess. Admittedly though, Levi felt a twinge of pride and self-satisfaction at the thought that despite his (comparative) shortcomings, his lithe short body and surprisingly muscular form meant that he’d always been the strongest in the way humanity needed him to be.

But would a beloved partner think the same? Would they see him as a winner in that aspect? Or was he completely inferior to his Commander in all the former areas? A part of him desperately wanted the immediate validation, while another part squashed the idea, not wanting to give into a moment of vulnerability.

He shook his head as though trying to shove the thoughts away, pushing himself up and towards the door, hoping to grab a drink from the kitchen reserves—only to have it swung open by none other than his lover.

“There you are, I’ve been looking for you,” they breathed out, a small smile forming at their face merely at the sight of him, and Levi could’ve sworned he never deserved them looking at him like that, “Thought you might be here,” shutting the door behind them and leaning against it, they eyed him carefully, “You’ve had this pensive look for a while, so you probably wanted time for yourself. Hope I’m not interrupting that.”

Grey eyes shut for a second as he grunted, “No, you’re fine. I was on my way out anyways.”

Humming in understanding, they leaned in for a chaste kiss against his lips, and for a second he melted into the brief intimacy as they murmured, “I’ve missed you.”

He arched his brows as a hand reached out to settle against their waist, “You just saw me an hour ago.”

“I meant that we haven’t properly spent time together in a while,” they frowned, a mildly guilty look on their face, “I’m sorry. Things have been hectic the past couple of days.”

“Yes, you’ve taken over from four eyes to watch over Erwin.”

Levi almost visibly winced at the words that came out of his mouth, and turned his face to the side in vain hopes of hiding his mortification. He hadn’t meant to say that, and certainly hadn’t meant to sound so bitter as he did. If his darling noticed, they didn’t comment on his embarrassment, only stopping in place for a few moments before they softly spoke, deft hands taking his.

“Has that upset you?”

He paused, “I’m… I’m not too sure,” he admitted, “I don’t think I’m upset, no. It just feels damn weird, and not in a good way.”

���Ah,” they nodded, thumbs delicately swiping against the back of his palms, and he couldn’t avoid their gentle gaze any longer, “Thank you for communicating that with me. Is there something in particular about me nursing him that you don’t like? Or is it just the general idea itself?”

Still feeling quite embarrassed (being a 33 year old man who was acutely aware of his feelings and yet somehow so terribly incapable of putting them into words), he shrugged, “I don’t know. It just bothers me to see you taking care of him like that. So attentively,” his hands left theirs, and with a sigh he backed away, taking a seat on the mishapen mattress and frame that barely served as a bed, “It’s your job, so there’s nothing to do about it. Don’t stress it.”

With a gentle voice, they replied as they sat beside him, “I think I should be the one reassuring you about that.”

He gave them a half-smile, though there was no mirth behind it. With a sympathetic look on their face, they looked far too understanding for him to fear that he put them off, but he still remained wary.

“Levi, I’ve only ever had eyes for you, you know. I haven’t looked at anyone else and I don’t intend to.”

He scowled, rushing to defensively interject, “I never said that you’d do that—“

“But you’re worried I might end up falling for him, don’t you?” their hand reached out to squeeze his affectionately, “You’re far too good at hiding your emotions, but you forget how long we’ve been with each other. And after all this time, I can say without a shred of doubt that no man is capable of sweeping me off my feet—you’ve already done that many, many times.”

“Now you’re just resorting to empty flattery,” Levi scoffed, though his words held no malice as a mild blush made its way to his cheeks, “We both know just how damn magnetic that blonde is.”

“I’m not too sure he’d appreciate his subordinate referring to him as ‘that blonde’,” they joked, in an attempt to lighten the heavy atmosphere that had formed in the room, “That being said, there is no chance in hell that Erwin of all people would ever be able to woo me,” they chortled, “Have you seen the way he wears his shirts? He puts his arms in first. Definitely a psychopath.”

“Don’t think your superior would like you calling him a psychopath either,” Levi snorted, though their light-hearted words seemed to have lessened the burden of his thoughts a little.

“Touché,” they hummed, before flashing him another sweet smile, “I know you’re not convinced, but as much as the Commander’s got his redeeming qualities, he doesn’t hold a candle to you in my eyes. You’re the one I’ll always choose, over and over, and if it’ll take time to show you that, then I’ll gladly devote the rest of my life to you.”

And though he didn’t explicitly say it, his awestruck expression for a couple of seconds showed just how wonderful these words were to him, and how bashful they made him. He couldn’t meet their eyes for a whole minute, before he composed himself and weakly said, “Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t do that.”

“If it’s for you, then I most certainly will,” they gave him a defiant look that spoke in volumes of absolute adoration as they hooked their arms around his neck, pulling him ever-so-close, “There’s never a reason for you to worry, but I’ll always be there to ease your worries as long as I’m beside you.”

“Then don’t leave my side,” Levi firmly said, his eyes steely but anything but cold, brimming with the love he’d never be able to fully express, wondering just what heavenly deed had he done in a previous life to have been rewarded with someone so utterly incredible he couldn’t believe was real, even as he pulled them into a much-needed embrace, “Do good on your word.”

“Wouldn’t dream of going back on it.”

Taglist: @blondeboyfriend @mrsgiovanna @thispersoniscrazy @cloroxisadelectabletreat

#oneshot #imagine #fluff #anime #aot #snk #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman oneshot #levi ackerman fluff #levi ackerman comfort #levi #levi x reader #levi oneshot #levi fluff #levi comfort #jealousy #comfort #snk levi #levi snk #aot levi #levi aot #attack on titan levi #shingeki no kyojin levi #survey corps #captain levi

[cinnamonest]

Lupophobia

Yandere "Escape Attempt" prompt - Razor

-------------------- Words: 8,944 Warnings:-fem reader, attempted noncon beastiality (none actually happens), yandere/captivity, noncon, biting, breeding, brief gendered themes/tones involving animal mating. Heavily inspired by my degrees of lewdity "deviant"/beastiality playthrough. I applied things I learned in college linguistics for this. Truly putting my education to a good purpose. --------------------- The fortunate thing about animals, and their adjacents, was that they were very easy to deceive, and no matter what, they would fall for the same trick, time and time again. "You see it girl? You want it?" You grimaced at the slimy texture on your fingers, wiggling the fatty slab in your grip and swallowing the sickness that came from looking at it. Out of, you supposed, ingrained social habits, you gave an awkward smile as you wiggled the meat. In contrast, the wolf had the opposite reaction, her ears immediately perked up, and she leaped into a playful position, front half low to the ground as her tail stuck up, and a low whine escaped her throat, eyes fixated on the meat. Yes, unlike with people, who had a greater capacity for pattern recognition and learning, who followed the fool me once, fool me twice mantra, you could count on animals to be easily deceived over and over without having to change the way you deceived them. This was far from the first time you had pulled this exact move, nor was it difficult to do -- you merely waited for a spare moment to rip out a chunk of the meat and hid it away for a little while while the rest of the pack was not looking, too absorbed in their own gorging to even cast a glance in your direction. "You want it...?" You repeated, wiggling the slab again in front of the wolf's eyes. Drool spilled out of the side of her mouth between her sharp, glistening teeth, and she let out another whine.

This was not the first time this trick had worked. This was not the first time you'd managed to steal and hide a hunk of meat away while the animals gorged themselves on the remains of whatever poor creature fell victim to them. Hell, this wasn't even the first time that this specific trick had worked on this specific individual wolf. You'd come to recognize each of them with time, even assigned them little names in your head by identifiers. She was a mother, one of the wolves that remained behind at the little den while the others went out for hunting, leaving only the nursing females, the smallest pups, and, well, yourself. Albeit in a weakened state in nursing, they were still easily capable of overpowering you, and, through means you honestly did not understand, they somehow knew they were supposed to prevent you from leaving. Even when you stood up, one or more of them would immediately pick their heads up, ears falling flat and even letting out the softest of warning growls.

She whined in front of you, eyes fixated on the slab. You wiggled it again. It was an easy deceit to pull off. "You want it... then go... get it!"

You hurled the hunk of red flesh as far as your arms could manage, and, exactly per plan, the she-wolf immediately bolted in the direction of the throw. And likewise, you turned on your heel and began the now-routine dash in the opposite direction -- the direction of human civilization. That had been the easy part.

It was the rest of the way that would be difficult. This time of day was the only opportunity you had to pull this whole thing off, but the sun was quickly setting, and unlike the wolves, you were not exactly gifted with night vision. You likened the route to an obstacle course, a puzzle -- repeated actions that became muscle memory. The first few times, you'd merely stumbled around in the woods for a few minutes. With each successive attempt, you retained more knowledge of the path, could clear a longer distance in increasingly shorter times, memorized landmarks, remembered little helpful actions and hindrances, and with each successive attempt, you found yourself making it closer and closer to the end of the woods than the time before. There wasn't much else to go by, so you used trees that stood out to you. The huge tree with the hollowed out hole in the center was the first landmark -- go right. The tree that had an oddly-angled branch came next. So on and so on. You measured success by how many of said landmarks you could pass in time, striving to make each a longer and longer venture every time. Just when despair had been finally getting the better of you, the last attempt had had you finding a footpath used by the Springvale hunters, and that meant you were close. If you could just find that again -- there. To say flat ground was a welcome feeling to your bare feet was an understatement. The slimy dirt texture of the forest floor and prickly leaves and pine needles was not a pleasant sensation. Nonetheless, there was no time to savor it or anything, soon, soon, you'd walk on paved streets, and floors, and, and... You stopped for a mere moment, panting, desperately taking in deep breaths to soothe the exhaustion burning in your chest. You darted your head from side to side. There was no sign of anything coming your way. No footsteps or growls in the distance behind you. You felt your heart pounding in your chest, as much from physical exertion as it was from a blooming, disbelieving excitement. I might actually make it.  Your legs felt weak at the prospect, and you steadied your stumbling against a tree. You were certain you'd never made it this far before. It was difficult to process, almost surreal. After so, so, so many times, over the course of months and months, you were so used to being stopped by this point that your brain half-expected it at any moment. You'd really reached a point at which the escape attempts were almost done with a knowing futility, you no longer really had much hope when setting out, merely running on principle and the faint chance that was now so real. You could be stopped any moment. And yet, after a few more breaths, nothing happened. You shook your head to clear the dizziness, taking a deep breath and squinting forward in the twilight. You nearly felt your heart stop when you processed a shape in the distance -- a building. Springvale. It was distant and downhill, but visible. Right there within your reach, and all you had to do was go to it, so you steadied your breath and took off as fast as-- The world suddenly spun around you as something snatched at your ankle. Your shriek echoed off the trees, reverberating until it grew silent. A clanging of metallic sounds accompanied it, rattling hollowed objects triggered into motion. Everything began to settle, the sudden flooding of stimuli to your eyes and the feeling of sudden movement both slowing to a gentle sway. You were unbreathing, unblinking, heart pounding as your vision spun and, in a panicked haze, you desperately darted your eyes and head each way, struggling to process your senses. Your head felt suddenly tight and tense, your upper half heavy, and a burning pain wrapped around your ankle. Everything was... upside down. You looked down -- no, up -- at your feet. One was bent at the knee, falling in the direction of gravity towards your head, the other was extended perfectly straight, tense and unable to move. A cord was snagged around your ankle, a perfect tightened knot that wrapped around the flesh. You looked up -- no, again, down -- at the ground. Nausea lurched in your stomach as you did, seeing the forest floor a good drop below. You took a moment to process. You followed the trail of the rope from where it tugged painfully at your ankle, followed it to the branch it looped over, and down the trunk to the base of the tree, where it was securely tied around a knotted root. The metallic sound had come from what appeared to be collected garbage, metal scraps, a glass bottle or two, and some metal tools and cans all tied up in a net and secured to the spot where the rope met the branch, an alert that the trap had been set off. Your mouth hung open, you blinked over and over, before finally, bitter anger burst in your chest. "Ghhhhh!" You let out a frustrated, furious cry, thrashing wildly and pulling at your scalp. You kicked and struggled, but only succeeded in making yourself swing, making the nausea and dizziness worse. A trap. Of course. The furthest you've ever gotten, and you were stopped by a fucking hunting trap. Damn those Springvale hunters for coming this far out into the woods. It could be worse, you tried to console yourself. It could have been a bear trap, which would have more or less destroyed your leg, possibly taken it clean off. But nonetheless, misery and frustration bubbled up in your chest as you swung back and forth, slowing down to stillness. You'd never made it this close to town before. You could see the road as well, albeit just barely, a few hundred yards in the distance. You could make out where the dirt path became gravel in the distance, upside-down in the last light of the quickly-setting sun, and, as tears filled your eyes, you reached a hand out to it, miserably grasping your hand shut before letting your arm fall. It was so, so close! Now you were trapped, stuck here in this miserable, humiliating predicament, and you'd have to wait to be saved, and inevitably dragged back the way you'd come. You thrashed again, trying and failing to curl your body up and reach your foot. Your fingers just barely grazed the knot of the rope, but even if you could reach it, it was designed for your body weight to hold the knot in place to begin with. You let out a shaky sigh and a small sob, tears dripping directly out of your eyes and falling downward with gravity. You wiped your eyes, and a thought made a bit of nervous, daring hope light up in your chest. You were close to Springvale, right? Maybe you could be heard. This trap was set by the Springvale hunters themselves, right? You'd seen these types before, a snare that, when tripped, released on one side and whipped around the center of the force that tripped the rope, forming a perfect, tight knot around the ankle of the prey before hauling it upwards by use of weight. You took a deep breath and cupped your hands around your mouth. "Help!" You called out, straining out the vowel as long as you could, before inhaling a ragged breath and repeating the action. As the echoes quieted, you waited, but nothing happened. You wriggled and writhed, but only succeeded in making the net of metal rattle. You supposed it helped the hunters hear animals struggling, and led them to the source. But the hunters wouldn't be back out until tomorrow, you couldn't afford to wait for them to come rescue you on their own. You waited a moment, trying again and again to yell. The Springvale hunters, a traveler on the road, hell, you'd accept help from treasure hoarders if they hung out in this part of the wilderness. Anyone, anyone human. Well, except one, preferably, but still. Any other human being. You couldn't even remember the last human interaction you'd had. At least, a fully human interaction, without any licks or whines or growls or other canid behaviors you'd become far too accustomed to. But nobody came. You waited. Tried again. And again. And again. No response. Your head was beginning to pound and throb. You'd black out if you stayed like this much longer, and you were pretty certain it could even kill you. But nothing was responding to your cries for help. You wracked your brain in panic for a solution. An idea popped into your head. You'd seen Razor do it before, and the wolves responded to him even though he produced the sound with a human voice, so maybe you too could... It was embarrassing, but worth a try. You didn't exactly have many options. You jerked your bodyweight in the other direction, making yourself turn to face the woods in the direction you'd come from instead of Springvale. You reached your quickly-numbing arms up and cupped your hands around your mouth, forming your lips into an "o" shape, and, well, swallowed your pride. You didn't have any better ideas. "Awooooo--" You tried to mimic the howls you'd heard so many times as accurately as you could manage, but it came out a bit strained and comical. You waited a moment, and, receiving no response, whimpered in your desperation and tried a second time. Your voice echoed throughout the trees. You weren't certain exactly how it worked, you were pretty certain they had different tones they used, some for aggression, some as a cry of distress, but you weren't capable of telling them apart. You could only hope for the best. It wasn't really as if they could help you, but at the very least, they would probably go find Razor for you. They'd done so before, after another humiliating failure when you'd fallen into a hole in the earth during a past attempt. You'd learned they were far more intelligent than you once thought, and they understood things like that, at least. But gods, did this make you feel dumb. Your face heated with embarrassment with each attempt. You inhaled to try a third time, but as you did, a shrill howl pierced the air from a distance. A response. Your heartrate picked up as a little spark of relief and hope -- albeit dread that lurked in the back of your head -- made you shudder. You howled again, and received a second response. It carried on for a few minutes that way, sounding back and forth, and it sounded like the other was getting closer. Finally, you heard steps, and anticipation swelled in your chest. You were pretty sure that the response howls had been that of an actual wolf -- even you, in your time in these woods, had learned to tell the difference between Razor's vocalizations and that of the wolves. There were simply some aspects of the canid sounds that human vocal chords could only mimic, but not recreate to a perfect likeness, and thus his vocalizations were a bit distinct. Still, you could be wrong, or, even better, perhaps the footsteps coming close to you weren't an animal at all, but perhaps a different figure, maybe a hunter...? No, that was definitely a four-legged gait. That, too, was something you had learned to tell apart, a two-legged gait versus a four-legged one. It kind of came in handy when you were trying to to hide or run and needed to gauge exactly what was hunting you down. You craned your neck to the best of your ability in the direction of the sound. A creature emerged from the trees. You took a sharp breath. ...It was merely a very large, brownish-greyish wolf. It gazed up at you with big black eyes and ears perked up in alertness. You squinted. You'd never seen this wolf before. You were fairly certain of this much; during your time in the woods, you'd learned to distinguish between them pretty well. You learned the little differences -- this one was bigger, this one had a scratch on its ear, this one had a scar on its hip, this one was more brown and this one was more grey, and so on it went. This one was different from all the wolves you'd become familiar with. The wolf sat down, tilting its head at you, tongue lolling out as it panted. It was huge, muscular looking. "Help," you whimpered. As aware as you were that it obviously did not understand, you couldn't think of anything else to do. You flailed a bit in your desperation, and pointed towards the spot where the rope was tied to the tree. "Help me... Come on, please..." The wolf actually followed the line of your pointing, eyes settling on the base of the trap. And, miraculously, moved towards it. Your heart pounded. Did it actually understand? Would it help? It walked over and bit at the rope, shaking its head rapidly in the same way you'd witnessed the wolves kill small prey, or how dogs played with toys. It was helping! You shuddered again, hope burning in your chest, and a tear of relief dripping from your eyes upside-down to the ground below. And if this wolf wasn't from the pack, it wouldn't take you back, right? How, you weren't certain, but the other wolves seemed to understand the... arrangement going on. Many of your escape attempts had been thwarted not by your captor himself, but by the pack -- surrounding you in a circle, barking and growling and snapping at you until you were forced to turn back, even tackling you as you ran, biting your clothes and arms to drag you back. But this wolf would let you go, right? .... Wait a second. Cold dread suddenly made your stomach lurch. This wolf had no reason to help you, and no reason to drag you back. It had every reason to see you as easy prey. Any relief or hope you'd felt was immediately replaced with a chilling rush of panic. Yes, you would be easy prey, right there for the taking. You thrashed about, trying again to reach up and loosen the knot on your foot, but failing. Fuck. You were trapped between two unpleasant options. There was a chance the wolf was just helping, but in the end, it was an animal, not a person, with instincts of goodwill or benevolence. It would follow its instincts. Once you hit the ground, you'd have to run. That was the only solution. But... it also occurred to you only then that you were hanging a good fifteen feet or so in the air. Upside down. What if the fall knocked you out? Hell, what if it broke your legs? What if it broke your spine? If it were Razor himself, he'd lower you down slowly, but the wolf lacked the sense  or ability to do so. You'd just drop. Fuck, fuck, fuck. There was a thick coating of leaves on the ground, which would hopefully help, and this part of the forest had soft, clay-like ground rather than hard rock, but nonetheless, it was a long drop. Dammit! Your body wracked with a sob of frustration, anger, and panic. Why did all of this have to happen to you? You'd asked yourself that that plenty of times. You didn't do anything to deserve-- There was a snapping sound. You shrieked as gravity immediately sent you crashing down, world spinning around you, and you collided with the earth with crash that took the breath from your lungs; the sound flooded your ears, echoed as your head went numb. You landed directly on your back, eyes looking up at the trees and the sky beyond then as the world spun around you and your vision darkened. Pain ran through your body on impact, a rough, blunt sort of pain that ached through your flesh and meat and bones. You groaned in pain, teeth clenched as it flooded your senses, trembling as it slowly began to ebb away after the initial blow. The wolf's face popping into your vision sent you jolting back to awareness. It was startling, it's cold wet nose pressing against your own, and after a moment, it lapped its tongue against your face. Panic seized your entire body, and you were frozen, unable to move, not even breathing, eyes wide in terror. And then it licked you again, letting out a soft, tender whine. It was being friendly. You let out a shuddering sigh as relief washed over you again, and you thanked whatever god was looking out for you for granting you your life. "Th-thank you," you murmured, reaching a trembling hand up to pat the wolf's head, wincing at the soreness in your arm. It whined again, bumping its head against yours. Wolves were far, far larger than you were certain most people realized. Back home, you'd always thought that the howls you heard at night from within the safety of Mondstadt's walls were from creatures no bigger than the large hunting dogs you'd seen in Springvale. In reality, that was not the case. Even the smallest of the wolves were massive in comparison to those dogs, their heads easily twice the size of your own. You'd been utterly terrified of them in the beginning, bursting into frightened tears whenever one made its way over to sniff you in their curiosity, or dump an offering of a small creature's carcass at your feet in a show of friendliness (an unsettling experience, no matter how many time you were told it's good, 'cause they like (y/n)), or lick your face in an attempt to show affection. You'd grown used to it with time. But this wolf was even larger than the majority you'd seen, easily thrice your size in every capacity. Likely a loner separated from its pack. You were aware there were sometimes conflicts between the larger, stronger pack males that ultimately ended in the loser leaving the pack and heading off on its own, although it seemed nearly incomprehensible that a wolf of this size would lose to anything. Had it chosen the route of violence, you wouldn't have stood a chance. You laid there for a moment, head spinning as you took deep, shaky breaths, trying to calm yourself down and regain your sense of control over your body. You curled your fingers and toes, flexed the muscles in your arms and legs. You were a bit scraped up and your entire body still ached from the impact, but miraculously, nothing seemed broken. You closed your eyes, feeling the cool evening breeze and the wet tongue that was repeatedly lapping at your face. Finally, after a moment, with a groan at the ache in your body, you pushed yourself upward with your elbows, flipping over to your hands and knees, pulling your leg forward to stand-- The breath was knocked out of you yet again as a massive weight crashed down onto your body. You clawed at the ground, gasping to regain oxygen, body going tense. "Wh-what-" The creature let his bodyweight fall down on your frame, and you grunted as your upper half slammed into the ground. It rendered you entirely immobile, this wolf was both massive and heavy, you could barely breathe under the sheer mass of its body. You struggled to push yourself back up onto your elbows. "H-hey, what are you--" With a whine, it rutted its hips forward. Oh, fuck. "N-no!" You tried to rear up, pushing your upper half upward on your elbows as hard as you could, to no avail. Its weight was crushing. "B-bad! Bad dog! Stop!" You clawed at the dirt, gasping as it thrust again. "Get off!" It only let out the same high, throaty whine, thrusting its hips several times in quick succession, humping your ass with desperation. You could feel its blunt-ended cock digging into the flesh, making your blood run cold. When it rutted forward, the motion hiked your ragged little dress up, bunching up the fabric and exposing your cunt. You whimpered with fear, desperately trying to drag yourself forward. "Stop, stop, get off!" You thrashed again, achieving nothing by the action. The worst part, the dread that was quickly overtaking your thoughts, was that you knew it was futile. You'd learned a long time ago that your resistance would mean nothing, not by the brutal laws of the world outside of the fragile sense of safety human society provided. It was expected. It happened among the wolves themselves all the time -- the mates were not something that were chosen in the same way humans did. Too many times you'd witnessed the ritual -- the males would fight, snarling and growling and lunging at each other until one would give up and run scurrying away, tail tucked between its legs. Growing up with all the knowledge you'd learned from books and what humans generally observed of the animals, you'd always assumed that from that point, the she-wolves would then gladly and willingly copulate with the victor, but, you'd quickly learned, that was not the case. It had shocked you the first few times, your eyes widening and your mouth dropping open as you witnessed the poor females get tackled, mounted, their whimpers as teeth sank into their shoulders and kept them in place. It was brutal, and yet, you'd come to understand and accept it was simply the way things were. Perhaps the part that had shocked you the most was how accepted it was -- the other wolves would simply look on, adjusted to what was normal among them, and the brutalized female would, from that point on, act as a normal mate to what more or less was originally her assailant -- licking and grooming each other, sleeping next to one another, spending time with each other, all as if such a thing made sense. Given the acceptant, compliant state you sometimes found yourself slipping into, you supposed you weren't too different in that way. Because they're strong, you'd been told. Beating the other male and forcibly mating the female herself signified strength. They were supposed to try to run and fight, and the male was supposed to forcibly overpower them, a display of strength, of suitableness as a partner. That was why fighting back didn't matter -- it was supposed to be that way, in the minds of the animals, and thus they were content with that setup. The present moment was anything but content. Another rut of the wolf's hips brought you snapping out of your brief thought, back to the moment at hand. The forest was quiet aside from your own struggling, the last rays of light were fading from the sky, the moon hanging high in place of their light. You let out a shrill, squeaking cry, thrashing with renewed effort, but, predictably, not even budging. "Get off! Get off me! Stop it, bad dog!" No matter how you tried, you couldn't move your body in the slightest, perfectly pinned still. "Fuck..." It let out another whine, not even seeming to notice your struggles, grasping at your shoulder with its teeth, and you feared that if it bit down, it might shatter your shoulder. It rutted forward, and this time you froze, entire body going tense as the blunt head of its cock pressed firmly against your exposed slit. You finally managed to claw at the leaf-covered ground enough to pull yourself forward, if but just an inch -- and the wolf, snarling, thrust its own body forward to push you back into the same position. One of its front paws reached forward and clawed onto your shoulder, and you squealed as it pulled you back, forming a tiny cut in the flesh of your jugular. Your began to nearly hyperventilate, trembling, breaths shallow and quick. "S-stop..." Your plea was defeatedly quiet, realizing that further protest would only hurt you. Tears gathered in your eyes. Your back was bent at an angle under the sheer weight of the furry mass that kept you pinned, and it felt like your very lungs were crushed, breathing quickly becoming difficult. You began to feel your body tingling with numbness. It was so heavy and difficult to breathe you weren't certain you'd even survive if it fucked you. Panic seized your brain, overriding any coherent thought. There was a snarling, growling sort of noise that cut through the surrounding stillness. It wasn't coming from the creature mounted on your body. It didn't sound canid. It was human. Much like the howls, you had learned, with time, how to distinguish between the real and the imitation, those sounds that, no matter how long of a lifetime of practice one had, could simply not match the vocals of another species. The wolf stopped its motions, turning its head, and likewise immediately transitioned its entire demeanor, tensing up and returning the sound, a low snarl, baring its teeth as its snout wrinkled up. It dismounted your body and lowered itself to the ground, hips and shoulders raised as its core sank low, a preparatory stance ready to lunge. You fell forward, face crashing into the leaves, before scrambling upwards and falling back on your ass, propped up with your hands behind you and your knees bent as you froze, unable to move a muscle, eyes open wide and gasping for breath as air burned in your lungs. You could see red-orange eyes glaring in the moonlight from a short distance, and for once, the face of the wolf-boy made a wave of relief come crashing down, rather than panic at being found. He made another low sound in his throat, a snarling growl. His shoulders hunched up in a similar motion to the wolf, baring his teeth, glare locked on the transgressor. He didn't have a weapon on him, so his hands clenched into fists at his side. You'd witnessed this plenty of times in the past by now, but never before with him as one of the participants. The other male wolves within the pack hadn't exactly taken an interest in you, rather, simultaneously accepted you as one of their own, while seeming to recognize you as something of an "other," as they did him. Among them, though, these conflicts were regularly occurring, a constantly shifting hierarchal dynamic that was weighted in blood and pure brute strength. Your heartrate picked up anew. Strong as Razor may be, this thing was massive. And he didn't have his claymore, you remembered he'd left it near the den earlier, before going on his daily routine to check the various animal traps. This wolf could kill him. And given that it wasn't a pack member, it wouldn't hesitate to do so. The wolf took a few heavy steps forward, growling all the while, and the wolf-boy reciprocated the action, a deep low growl in his throat as he stomped forward, fingers curling into a claw-like shape, not exhibiting so much as the slightest hesitation to show aggression against the massive creature. You tried to stand on your shaking legs, but fell on your ass again. "W-wait, no, r-run," you stammered, words spewing out of your mouth before you could process them, "he'll hurt you--" Your vision went white, bright light exploded all around, a crashing, booming sort of sound cutting off your words. There was a heat to it that you could feel on your skin, but it blinded your vision, leaving you blinking as, in a mere moment, the electric energy faded to a purplish glow that sparked with a buzz in the palm of his hand. The wolf leaped back in terrified shock, immediately flattening its ears, turning and tucking its tail between its legs, scrambling with fear into the darkness of the trees. And just like that, the threat was gone. You were left slack-jawed, mouth hanging open, trembling and panting as you watched it disappear, footsteps growing quieter and quieter until they could no longer be heard. Instead, the leaves to your side crunched in a two-legged pattern as the figure drew closer, and then dropped down to his knees to get on a face-to-face level. You turned your head and your eyes met. His eyes were wide and pupils blown even wider, mouth slightly open, looking you over. His eyes had always had a softness to them, full of light. After a moment, he reached up, slowly, and wiped the tears from your eyes, a soft, unthinking gesture, and leaned forward. He nuzzled his face against yours, and, after a moment, licked a few quick, short laps up the side of your face. It was nothing you weren't very well used to, and you merely sat numbly as he did so. His eyes trailed downward, widening as they met the gash that had been created on your neck by the massive wolf's claws, and he leaned forward again, lapping at your skin. You inhaled a sharp breath at the sting of his tongue on the wound, but you knew it actually was helpful in terms of clotting, so you didn't resist. You sat like that for a moment, silent, still, letting him clean up the wound, saliva naturally helping the healing process. It was bizarrely intimate in its own way, but it certainly wasn't the first time he'd helped in that way with a wound. It stopped stinging after a moment, blood clotting under the wet warmth. He pulled his head back, looking over you again as if to ascertain your unharmed state, eyes wide and expression flat, looking directly at your face - your weary face, trembling lip, expression still uneasy from the remaining shock. "You... Okay?" There was a softness to his face, a wide-eyed look of innocent concern. You did your best to nod. Any hope you'd had left had been crushed at some point in the adrenaline of the encounter, and thus, all chances of escaping gone, defeat and weariness washed over your body, and you slumped forward in exhaustion. Of course, he was unaware of and most likely did not even consider why you suddenly fell against him, he tended to take any action you made at face value and accepted it as simply what it was, and likewise, every action he made was easily interpreted the same way. It was, you sometimes consoled yourself, a rather welcome simplicity in contrast to the hidden and subtle meanings that humans often portrayed through their actions, and you never had to worry about an innocent action being misinterpreted maliciously, nor did you worry that your emotions were too transparent in your actions. Instead, he merely seemed pleased by the gesture, eagerly wrapping his arms around your frame and pulling your closer, rubbing his head up and down so the sides of your faces nuzzled together, squeezing you tightly. "I heard you," he said, a cheerful sort of pride in his voice. "Came to help." You swallowed. "Th-thank you..." As much as his sudden appearance crushed any chance you had of reaching Springvale, you couldn't help but feel a genuine relief, even gratitude, for saving you from what would have undoubted been a highly painful and traumatizing experience, if you'd survived the lack of oxygen. Not that you weren't already getting your fair share of traumatizing experiences out here, but, well, none quite like what your experience would have been had he not shown up. After a still, silent moment of embrace, he released you, shifted and stood up, but then suddenly tensed, and his eyes widened with what seemed like surprise, or perhaps realization, mouth opening slightly. His eyes were cast downward, settled on the cord that was still tightly tied around your ankle, and reached down to loosen the knot, slipping it off and tossing the remaining cord to the side. You made a small sound as if to start speaking, but cut off and fell silent, shutting your mouth. And then, as he came back up, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion and processing, mouth slightly open as he looked a bit to one side, then the other, to you, and up to the tree from which you'd hung. The wheels were turning. Finally, after a moment, it seemed to click, his eyes went wide with realization for a split second before he turned his head back towards you and narrowed his eyes in a glare. His "angry" face had always been a bit difficult to take seriously, he had maintained a baby face despite his age, big eyes and soft features making it look like more of a pout than anything, but in time you'd learned the rightful amount of fear to have at seeing it. Your heart sank in your chest. "You ran away again." His voice was a bitter, grumpy mumble. You'd feared that when you noticed the surprising lack of anger up until a few moments ago. That it hadn't yet clicked with him, until now, exactly why you were out here, how you got out here, in the first place. He might have thought the larger wolf had dragged you out here, or, perhaps more likely, it had not crossed his mind at all in the intensity of the previous moments, too focused on conflict and comfort. "I..." You trailed off, trembling. There was a moment of silence. You couldn't exactly argue against it. It was true that he was rather gullible, and would often believe rather ridiculous excuses or explanations that anyone else would never buy, but there were limits to that, and at the present moment, you couldn't think of any excuse that even he would believe. Even if the wolf had come in to drag you away, the she-wolf set to guard you would have made a noise to alert the others, and he knew that. There was a moment of silence, and, not receiving any objection to his claim, he exhaled a frustrated huff through his nostrils. "I'm mad." As nice as it was that you didn't have to worry about being misinterpreted, another pro to your situation was that your captor was easily the most transparent person you'd ever met, bluntly honest, so much so it sometimes worked against him. You were pretty sure he couldn't be indirect or subtle with his words if he tried. Passive-aggressiveness or anything of the sort was foreign. "I'm sorry," you murmured, hoping to ease his anger, but you knew by now those words didn't really hold any meaning to him. He opened his mouth, that same pout on his face, and took a breath as if to speak, but no words came out. He closed his mouth, looking at the ground for a moment, opened again, repeated the process, and again, before roughly shaking his head, head hanging and expression falling to something like irritation and disappointment. With other people, you'd feel more intimidated by silence, silence meant someone was angry and trying to get under your skin. And while he made no attempt to hide being angry, you knew the silence wasn't an intentional passive-aggressive act, but rather, just lacking the proper words. It was a process you went through frequently, and to some degree, you felt bad for him. Having feelings, having complex thoughts, but lacking the knowledge or ability to articulate them, being unable to adequately express what you thought and felt, limited to such simple terms as sad and mad, words that could only convey incredibly simple feelings... you could only imagine how frustrating that would be. He knew that those words weren't enough, but didn't have any other ones to use. You understood why, then, he grunted in frustration, kicking at the ground, sending a few leaves scattering. But you also knew that if he could not express himself with words, actions would have to suffice. You knew better than to expect any different. This routine, despite its variances in the specifics of how the events went down, went like clockwork from this point onward, the moment of defeat. They say humans are, after all, creatures of habit. You nonetheless let out a little surprised sound at the suddenness with which you were lifted by the armpits, quickly moved a few steps to the side and unceremoniously pushed forward, facing one of the many boulders that dotted the forest floor. Instinctively, releasing an exhale of defeat and acceptance, braced yourself against it, hands pressed into the rock. You were technically standing, but leaning far forward, bodyweight resting mostly onto the rock you were bending over on. His front pressed against you, hand pushing your back down into an arch, latching arms around your waist. There was no hesitation, no preparation, merely pulling the fabric of your dress up with one swift motion, and the waist of his pants down in another, all in a matter of a single moment, and rutting against you, once, twice, cock slipping against your folds, and on the third thrust, it actually slid in, pushing about halfway in with harsh force with no warning. You gasped at the sting, clawing at the rock as your face twisted with the slight pain, but his hand gripped hard on your shoulder. "Stay... Still." It was honestly impressive, you sometimes thought, to manage to get a cock inside you so easily with hip angling alone. He'd never thought to use his hands to do so, you guessed due to merely mimicking what he observed, as all humans did. Nonetheless, you let out a mewl at the feeling of friction against your walls as it dragged, pulling out a bit before slamming back in. Then again, faster. And again, faster still. And finally, setting into a rhythm, quick and harsh, your body lurching forward at the force. Defeat and despond had fully set in, and you made no movement to fight back, instead attempting to ease the discomfort by pushing back with the thrusts. And then, after a moment, it stopped. It often did -- again, a set pattern, a routine. Increasingly often these days, he changed his mind at this point, initially going with the instinctive, natural option, but it would take a moment to remember that there was an alternative. You shuddered at the sliding feeling and emptiness as he pulled back out, but even though you braced yourself, the air was knocked out of you as you were flipped over, back hitting the rock -- and this time aching as the bruising flesh from the earlier fall was hit again -- now leaning your weight onto the rock on your back, facing forward. The roughness with which you were tossed about and maneuvered was, you knew, not intentional, nor out of malice, but it always left you disoriented as your vision spun a bit. And it was only a single second before you were filled again, gasping a deep breath and reaching your hands out to claw at his back as you felt yourself stretched apart all in one motion, and your legs fell into the routine position of hooking over his arms. He liked it this way. The human way, he called it, with you on your back in some form rather than on your hands and knees, facing him rather than turning away, which had been the only way you'd done it -- you supposed the only way he had been familiar with -- for a good while. You'd introduced the position once when your arms and legs were exhausted from strain, and, perhaps to your relief, it became the most common way that the routine went down. You supposed that, deep down, no matter the way in which a person was raised, there were certain innate needs and instincts that could not be overridden, woven into the very biology of a person. For humans, intimacy, the feeling of affection, and you supposed that that itch was met for him more adequately this way. And he liked to mimic normal behaviors in that regard. You recalled a time ago, back before you were brought out here for good, the wide-eyed fascination with which he'd watch passing couples of people on the road and streets, would make an attempt to imitate the same actions, albeit lacking in the same gentleness, technique, or appropriate timing. Reaching out to grab and hold your hand (with a crushing grip) as you walked, awkwardly pressing your mouths together (so firmly that your teeth clacked and your jaw hurt). That, at least, had gotten better. Now, it was somewhat gentle, he leaned down and pressed his mouth to yours. Gentle, but still very awkward, lacking in the rhythmic motions with which you'd expect, more like holding still but pressing firmly against you, but lapping a quick lick to your lips. You could taste blood on his lips and tongue, a permanent coppery taste that never went away. That didn't last long. It was hard to maintain the mouth contact when he started rutting into you, causing your body to rock in jerking motions up and down on the surface, and his face buried itself into your shoulder, panting shallow breaths that were warm against your flesh. And again, like clockwork, you knew how the issue of your body rocking back and forth, disrupting the rhythm, would be solved, and you inhaled as you braced yourself, first for the tightening grip of arms around your waist, and then-- You gasped a sharp breath despite your mental preparation as teeth sunk into your jugular, opposite the one with the injury, further locking your bodies together. He growled, a low throaty sound. Teeth gnawed at your shoulder before releasing and sinking down in a different spot, digging into the flesh just short of the force it would take to break it. You cursed whichever god thought it would be funny to give him abnormally sharp canines. Even with your weight leaning against the rock, a good portion of it was still being supported by his arms, which, with any normal human being, you would hope would cause enough strain to perhaps slow down the actual thrusting, but you knew better by now. Nor did you expect any kind of buildup or anything, no, you gritted your teeth at the immediate fast pace that dragged against your insides, raw and with little fluid to lessen the friction. The quickness and suddenness always left you sore, your internal parts not having enough time or stimulation to expand or prepare, so each thrust that slammed into the top of your insides sparked a shock of pain and pleasure sensation so strong your entire body jolted with the feeling. The bruising soreness of the recent abuse to the same spot -- how many times earlier today, three, four? -- heightened the sensitivity. And, as with the rest of the routine, you didn't expect words. You couldn't blame him -- talking was hard enough when he was focused, you imagined it was much harder when preoccupied with sensation, and with less blood in the brain. It also made sense that he didn't seem to process anything you said either -- any slow down or wait fell on deaf ears, or rather, non-comprehending ears. Eventually you, too, fell into the same state- "I-- hah, ah, w-wait, mnn-" -- unable to form words, unable to take in anything around you, pure sensation clouding your brain of any and all thoughts. You heard your own little cries ring out and echo through the empty forest, and soft, pleasured whines in your ear, hot breath from panting that grew faster and faster as the thrusts became more erratic and harder, slamming in and out, the wet, slapping sound ringing out with your own voice. It pushed against all the right spots, stretching you incomprehensibly full, overloading your brain with the feeling, and the harder your nails sank into his back, the harder his teeth bit down into your neck. The sparks of pain from the feeling felt small, distant, erased by the overwhelming good feeling created by adrenaline and pleasure, and the thought of how badly it would hurt later was the furthest thing from your mind in the moment. And because you knew words meant nothing in the heat of these moments, you had learned that announcing or warning for orgasm didn't matter. Neither of you needed words -- as with many things, you could communicate it without them just fine. He could still sense it, the way you clenched and your hands grasped at his hair and raked down his spine, and in response, the thrusting somehow grew harder and faster still. A perfect and clearly understood communication as clear as any verbal exchange. The squealing you made, the way your body spasmed and your back arched, was better than anything you could have said, really. You weren't... actually fully certain he understood the action as anything other than communication, like a message indicating "cum now." You assumed that was what it meant to him, since, as always, you felt the movement stop, panting as he pushed into your one more time, holding your hips as close as possible as you felt a twitching inside. It was always perfectly coordinated like that. The peak was always too short, always that same burst of feeling that you wished could last just a moment longer, leaving you panting. Heavy breaths in and out, shuddering, sweaty flesh clinging to each other. You could feel the arms that held your legs up shaking with aftershock, forehead falling to rest against the spot between the mounds of your chest. Then, after a moment, a nuzzle, slowly rubbing a cheek against your collarbones. As soon as that stopped, his head popped up again, looking up at your face with those same wide amber eyes, soft and somehow, despite everything, they always seemed so innocent and bright. A curious, but fairly neutral, content sort of wide-eyed gaze. Anger resolved. Sometimes you were grateful it was that easy. "Ok. You're... good, now." You understood without needing it explained. "Good" indicated something along the lines of fixed or resolved, the phrase "you're good" indicating, in this context, resolution. You assumed it had originated from listening to others in some context or another. You swallowed, and nodded. There was no point in fighting now. A sort of numbing aftershock had set in, and your head was spinning so much that even if you ran, you might fall over on your own without the inevitable tackling. It was a struggle for another day... the same conclusion this always, always resulted in, a conclusion you reached more and more quickly each time, but you tried to put the concern that thought sparked away, merely standing on trembling legs. "...Stupid hunting trap," you muttered, giving the remains of cord a kick into the leaves. He tilted his head and made a soft hm? of confusion. "Th-the trap," your voice was raspy. "They laid out traps for - for catching animals, the hunters, you know." He blinked for a moment as he processed your words, then shook his head, but smiled, beaming with pride. "Mm-nn, I made it. Put lots of them around here." You squinted, head jerking up to scan the treeline - sure enough, now that you looked closer, you could see several treetops dotted with similar nets full of scraps set to make a sound when triggered and struggled against. In fact, the more you gazed around, you realized there were easily dozens and dozens of similar traps, some of different styles and shapes, all perfectly lining the edge of the woods before the road. "...You won't catch things like that," you muttered. "It's too close to the end of the woods." Another slightly confused stare. He shook his head. "Traps are... for you." You could always count on him for two things. Undying loyalty, and obtuse honesty. You blinked at him, expression flat in blunt surprise, then, with a crooked smile, you let out a single huff of bitter, tired laughter. You were numbed to the point that you were, at the very least, able to recognize the humor of it all. Another way of coping, perhaps. It only occurred to you then, as your thoughts cleared, how relief had washed over you when the lone wolf had run out into the night, but your mind had not been focused on your own violation. You remembered your words. Run, he'll hurt you. Your only concern in that moment had been his safety. The thought set off some sort of alarm bell in your head, but the utter exhaustion made it difficult to place much concern in anything.

Your legs were trembling in aftershock, numb and heavy, but it wasn't as if that mattered. Even as you briefly put a hand to the stone beside you to lean your weight onto in an effort to stand, you knew you wouldn't be walking anyway, that wasn't part of the routine. And sure enough, as you got about halfway upward, arms wrapped around your waist instead, and you were roughly maneuvered, tossed like a ragdoll, knocking the breath out of you as you were tossed over his shoulder. "Okay, we're going home, now." He started taking a few heavy steps forward, not even struggling in the slightest to carry your full bodyweight, instead walking as if you were light as air. You didn't protest. You slumped over defeatedly, merely casting your gaze all around, trying desperately to memorize the locations of at least a few of the traps in the dark, but knowing full well in the back of your mind you'd never get past them all. No matter how you may outsmart them, you could never win. It occurred to you that, in a way, you were the one falling for the same trick over and over, continuously placing a ridiculous hope in escape and falling for your own foolishness time and time again. Perhaps that made you a bit more like the animals than you liked to admit.

#yandere genshin impact #yandere x reader

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Yellow | Draco Malfoy

Hey lovelies, here’s another Draco. I don’t know why but right now he’s all I have the motivation to write for. I hope you don’t mind! 

Description: Y/n and Draco falling in love with the color yellow and each other

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff!Reader

Warnings: It’s a little angsty, a little smutty, very fluffy, and way too long

Word count: 6k

Tags: FLUFF, angst at times, the ending hints at smut

Tag list: @fashionably-crying​ , @draconisxcaput​

Yes, I’m using this gif again, sue me

Yellow. Sunshine, flowers, freshly pressed gold. Everything that’s eternally happy and pure and good. 

Yellow. Sickness, potions gone bad, poison. Bile when there’s nothing left to throw up. 

Yellow. Kissing, and fighting, and doing. The color of life itself.

The color of the pumpkins growing in Professor Sprout’s greenhouse and of her nails as she writes notes on information long ingrained in her memory.

“Can anyone tell me the name for what is in front of you all right now?” Professor Sprout’s jolly voice rings through the greenhouse and you can’t help but smile as you raise your hand.

Sprout nods at you, a smile on her face too, knowing quite well that you’ll tell her what she wanted to hear and more.

“It’s a cucurbita pepo, also known as a pumpkin. They’re grown during the summer months and then harvested in autumn, just in time for the muggle celebration of Halloween. They are used in cooking quite often however they are rich in tryptophan, which is converted to serotonin upon consumption, which in turn causes fatigue. Thus cucurbita pepo seeds are used in certain forms of the sleeping draught potion. It’s also why we get sleepy after eating pumpkin pie.”

You giggle at the end of your spiel and the sound trickles through the greenhouse and wraps around a certain blonde at the back of the class who is furiously writing down everything you just said. You don’t notice, though, you’re too busy revelling in Sprout’s approving nod. She begins speaking in depth about the facts you shared and you hurry to write them in your journal, the one that you keep specifically for herbology. It’s filled with plants of all kinds, each with detailed notes and sketches that you drew yourself. 

When you flip to your page on pumpkins you begin adding notes you don’t have, just a few details here and there. You aren’t gifted in every subject, not like Hermione, but you are proud to admit that you excel in herbology and know that you will keep the notes you have been working on for many years to come. You brush your sunshine nails across the page as Sprout rattles on about the antioxidants and other nutrients found in Pumpkins. Vitamin A, magnesium, potassium. You already have it all written down.

“Those are well done,” you’re startled by a voice emanating from over your shoulder, “no wonder you’re so good at this class. Your notes are amazing.”

You’re shocked to find none other than Draco Malfoy standing behind you, towering over you and peering curiously at the sketches that you made of some pumpkins a few days earlier. You know the Hufflepuffs share this class with the Slytherins but usually your groups don’t mix. As in they never do. It’s well known throughout the school that Slytherins hate Hufflepuffs. A lot. So it’s only natural that you, one of the softest Hufflepuffs in the school, cower slightly in the presence of the prince of the Slytherins. 

“Oh, um,” you shuffle closer to the table, putting some space between you and him, “thank you, Draco.”

His eyes widen when you say his name and the entire class goes silent. Even professor Sprout ducks her head, stopping her rambling and busying herself with watering a patch of sunflowers behind her. Regret immediately floods your system and you feel slightly sick. Every eye in the class is on you and him, waiting with bated breath to see what happens next. You almost expect him to slap you by the way everyone is acting. You curl into yourself, pulling your hands into your sleeves. You’re undeniably terrified.

What happens next though astounds everyone, most of all you. Draco doesn’t quite smile but his eyes crinkle at the corners and he reaches his hand out, curling his fingers around your shoulder gently. Your head springs up at the contact, fuzzy and spinning. What is he doing?

“You’re welcome, y/n.”

Your cheeks immediately heat at the sound of your name coming from his lips. Since when does he know who you are?

He lets go of your shoulder and looks around the greenhouse, as if noticing the eyes on the two of you for the first time, “what are you all staring at? Mind your own bloody business.”

And just like that the sound and bustle of the greenhouse returns to normal, if not a little more forced and with a few more whispers than before. He nods at you, your entire face burning this time, and walks back to his spot, falling into conversation with his housemates like nothing had happened. 

You run a hand through your hair before returning to your notes, trying to fend off the peppermint scent still clinging to your jumper.

The color of the potion that earns his house ten extra points.

You have never been good at potions class. You can try to blame it on Professor Snape, claim that he has it out for you and is the reason all your potions bubble a puke green and smell of death, but that would just be avoiding the truth. The horrible, disheartening, and cruel truth that is, quite simply, that you are absolute garbage at brewing potions.

Draco, on the other hand, is the best chemist Hogwarts has seen in years it seems. Even better than local witch prodigy Hermione Granger. Again, you could blame it on your professor. You could argue that since Snape was also a Slytherin that he gives special favor to Draco. But that wouldn’t be fair to him. 

You pout from your seat in potions class, watching the clock tick too slowly and too quickly at the same time. It’s much too slow given that this is your last class of the day and dinner is calling your name. It is, however, much too quick as you only have forty minutes left to complete the dreaded invisibility potion. In front of you lay the ingredients, taunting you relentlessly. The invisibility potion is among one of the more difficult potions you have to master before the end of year exam and, so far, you’ve had no luck.

“Well done, Mr. Malfoy. This is the fifth time you’ve completed your potion first and without error. ten points,” at the sound of Snape’s voice, and the cheering from Draco’s housemates, your head slumps, “perhaps now in your spare time you could help Miss. y/l/n. She seems to be having,” he clicks his tongue sharply, “difficulty.”

Your head snaps up, turning to face the blonde boy across the room, your cheeks fiery. His blue eyes, in turn, are wide, much like your own. You’re a deer caught in the headlights of the freight train that is Draco Malfoy. You’re frozen at the thought of having to speak to him and of having him answer you. As he starts to get up, textbooks in tow, you finally thaw. You think back to the greenhouse, and his hand on your shoulder, and feel the color draining from your face.

“Professor that isn’t necessary, I can-” 

Snape silences you with a flick of his wrist, “you can fail on your own instead of take help when it’s offered?”

You just lower your head, mumbling a “no, sir” and pretending to search your textbook. Your heartbeat skyrockets as the blonde boy joins you. He places his own textbook next to yours, his long fingers skimming the pages. Your eyes are drawn to the rings on his fingers and you want to ask him about them but the two of you aren’t close like that and you don’t want to make it more awkward than it already is. The same peppermint scent floats around you, stronger this time. You swallow tensely, feeling once more the eyes of your peers.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble more into your cauldron than to him, “I know you don’t want to help me. You can just pretend if you want and I’ll figure out this mess myself.”

You stare at the bubbling, black potion and hold back the nausea. It is very much not the sunshine yellow that it’s supposed to be. You sigh and tuck your hair behind your ears. You begin crushing chameleon scales in silence. You can feel his stare on the side of your face, searing into your cheekbone. You do your best to stay focussed but you can barely concentrate under the weight of his gaze. Being this close to the Slytherin boy still makes you nervous. What kind of nervousness, that is though, you aren’t so sure. 

You’re startled when he takes the ingredients from your hands, his fingers brushing yours lightly, “I never said I didn’t want to help you.”

You look up at him, meeting his eyes and giving him a soft smile, one that makes his eyes widen and his fingers clench. That’s all it takes for the two of you to begin fixing your botched potion. You work side by side, silently except for when he asks you to hand him some ingredients. It’s hypnotic, watching him take what you ruined and make it all better. You feel almost special for a moment before you shake your head slightly, clearing the silly thought. You don’t notice him watching you from the corner of his eye, his lips slightly turned as he notes how flustered you are.

By the end of the class your potion is it’s proper sunshine yellow again and you feel entirely relieved. Although you can’t help but worry about tomorrow's class and how you’ll have to do it all over again.

As if reading your mind Draco turns to you, his hand on your book preventing you from darting away, “do you want to be partners?”

Oh boy.

The color of the scarf she wraps around him when she finds him asleep in the courtyard. 

It’s mid October and the days have already begun getting shorter. The air is crisp and stings your ears as you walk through the courtyard, admiring the changing leaves during your spare period. You’re the only person there, the chill in the air having deterred the other students from crowding the benches and tree stumps. You don’t mind. You needed a little bit of quiet today.

You’ve been a little out of it all week. Some Slytherins had been making your life a little hard, goading you in the hallways and talking loudly about you whenever you were in ear shot. You have no doubt that it’s about Draco helping you in potions. You don’t talk to him outside of class. Merlin, you barely speak to him in class. You just copy his notes and let him guide you through the potions. You definitely don’t deserve the torment but you can’t do anything about it so you’ve just been trying your best to ignore it.

You take a corner, rounding a rather large oak tree before you suddenly halt. You come inches away from a boy slumped against the base of the tree. His eyes are shut and soft snores fall from his gaped mouth. Upon further inspection, that is noting his green and silver jumper and white blonde hair, you realize that it’s Draco. Your pulse picks up as soon as you see him, your eyes taking in the school books scattered around him. He must have been studying, or trying to at least. 

Your heart aches for him. You wonder what on earth could have possibly made him exhausted enough to fall asleep in the freezing courtyard. As if on cue, the wind picks up and you ring your hands together to create some heat. You move around him quickly, closing his textbooks and piling them next to his bag. You put the cap on his ink bottle and tuck his quill next to it and the books. 

You step away from him. You don’t want him to wake up and have him find you hovering over him. For just a second, though, you admire how peaceful he looks while he’s sleeping. Usually his forehead is creased and his lips pursed. Right now, however, he’s relaxed. He looks his age for once: seventeen and alive. Alive, just asleep. You sigh as you look at the boy, wishing you could wrap your arms around him.

As you go to walk away, you take one last look at his face. Your heart pangs again at his rosy nose and cheeks. His ears are also a bright red, bitten from the cold and definitely painful. You don’t think before you act, you just take the grey and yellow scarf from around your neck and carefully wrap it around his. You make sure it covers his ears and nose, sofly pulling the ends to wrap around his hands as well. 

You take one last look at him. You don’t know what comes over you but you lean down and press a soft kiss to his hair. He smells like green apples today and your heart aches more than ever. 

The color of the first snitch he caught as captain and the color of her sweater from the front row.

It’s the first quidditch match of the year, Gryffindor versus Slytherin, and you’re more excited than you can say. There have been rumours spreading that Slytherin has a new captain and everyone has been dying to know who. They’ve kept it under wraps, no doubt wanting to stun Gryffindor during the match. The stands around you howl in anticipation, practically vibrating from all the voices speaking at once.

The wind whips around your ears, loud and bone chilling, and you think for a moment to the scarf you left with Draco. You blow in your hands, warming them before wrapping them around your ears. Hogwarts really needs to work on bettering the stands or at least accommodate them for the colder months.

You’re with a few of your friends, each one of you more high on adrenaline than the last. You stand in your bright yellow jumper at the front of the stands, gripping the railing and watching the field for any signs of movement. You’re more excited to see the Slytherin team than anyone else. Perhaps that’s because Draco has been on the team since second year and you now get to stare at him for an entire game, uninterrupted. You shake your head quickly. Where did that come from?

“Y/n, where’s your scarf? It’s freezing out here!” you turn to your best friend, Luna, and give her a small smile, your cheeks red but not from the cold.

Luna has a lion hat on her head and you can’t help but giggle. It’s definitely protecting her from the cold.

“Someone needed it more than I did,” you rub your hands together again.

She smiles at you like she knows you gave it to Draco but that would be impossible. She pulls you into her side, letting you share her body heat again. You speak a little about the upcoming match but ultimately end up doing more teeth chattering than talking. Soon there are trumpets blaring and you can’t stop yourself from leaning against the railing of the bleachers once more, your heart pounding in your chest.

Everyone holds their breath, the only sound throughout the stadium is the howling wind. Your head pounds, not from a headache but from the blood rushing through your body, electrified. You grip the railing right, the cold of the metal stinging your fingertips. The hairs on the back of your neck raise instinctively. They’re so close, you can feel it in your bones.

You blink and the next thing you know the sky is streaked with green, smoke billowing around the players who fly in a tight ‘V’ formation. You squint your eyes, just like every other student and professor around you, trying to make out who is leading the pack. When you catch a glimpse of his white blonde hair your mouth drops. Before you can register what’s happening, you’re cheering like mad. The wind picks up your hair, whipping it around your face as you throw your hands up and scream like you don’t have a care in the world for what anybody else thinks of you. And you don’t, not right now while the boy you think you’re falling for has just been announced as the new Slytherin captain. 

Before you know it Luna has joined in, screaming with you, not for the sake of Draco but because you look like you’re having fun for the first time in weeks. She grabs your hand, waving your arms in the air and shouting into the wind. With the two of you screaming together it’s just enough for Draco to hear over the wind. He turns his head, his eyes easily pulling your yellow jumper from the sea of blue around you. He smirks and your heart stops. Before you can even begin to process the glint in his eyes he’s in front of you, hovering over the railing on a broom that looks like it costs more than your life. He’s biting back a cheeky smile.

You let go of Luna’s hand, stepping towards him, “Draco, you made captain!”

You don’t know where you gained the sudden courage to talk to him like you’re friends but right now you don’t care. All you can see is the boy on the broom, smiling at you like you’ve never seen him smile before. The stands around you roar but you can’t hear them. They don’t exist, not right now at least. 

“You know it, pumpkin,” your heart stops, you mouth gaping at his casual use of a nickname, and he laughs, a real and absolutely mind melting laugh, “I can’t stay but I got something for you. I noticed you look a little chilly.”

He pulls the green and silver scarf from around his neck, wrapping it around yours but keeping hold of the two ends. The stands fall silent but it doesn’t matter, you still can’t see or hear anything but Draco. He tugs on the ends of the scarf, bringing your face inches away from his own. You almost think he’s going to kiss you for a moment. Oh, what you wouldn’t give for him to kiss you right now. Anything, you would give absolutely anything. Instead, though, he leans down and rubs his nose against yours and you giggle easily. 

He lets go of the scarf, flying off to start the game but not before turning around and shouting, “wish me luck, pumpkin!”

You giggle again, your face flushing, “you don’t need luck, Draco!”

He winks and flies to meet his teammates. The game is fast paced and intense. Your eyes stay glued to him the entire time. His nickname wraps around every part of you, his voice echoing in your ears, warming you better than any scarf. You aren’t at all surprised when he catches the golden snitch. No one in the stands cheers louder than you do. 

The color of the bruises on his cheekbone and his knuckles and on Zabini’s fucking stomach.

Your back is pressed against the stoney wall of the castle, his chest almost touching yours. You’re backed into the corner, not daring to even breathe. His breath is hot on your face and you cringe backwards, your head cracking against the hard surface behind you. 

Blaise Zabini pushes you closer to the wall, if that’s even possible, and you feel like an animal, trapped and frantic, “who do you think you are, puff?”

“I-,” you glance around his head, looking anywhere but his murderous eyes, “what are you talking about?”

That is clearly not the answer he is looking for, practically growling in your face, “what did you do to Malfoy?”

“Nothing!” you cower away from him, your blood turning cold at his accusatory tone. 

You squeeze your eyes shut. If he’s going to hit you, you don’t want to see his fists before they land on you. Tears drip down your face relentlessly and you don’t care. They aren’t going to change anything. Blaise Zabini hates you and there is nothing you can do about it. Your mind goes immediately to Draco, something that doesn’t shock you anymore. All you think about these days is him.

Blaise’s breath smells like liquorice and death as he gets up in your face, “stay away from him, y/l/n, or you’ll regret it. I promise you that.”

Just like that, Blaise isn’t touching you anymore. The cold air of the castle wraps around you and you snap your eyes open, watching his retreating form stalk out of the hidden hallway he dragged you into. You sag against the brick behind you, finally letting the full on sobs that you had been holding in rise to the surface. You collapse, sliding down the stone, not caring as it scrapes and rips your shirt as you do so. You curl into a ball, letting all the pain from the last few weeks consume you. 

You get lost in the memories. You see Pansy pushing you down the steps outside of the great hall and Crabbe lacing your soup with a puking potion. You hear all the insults and slurs that have been thrown at you ever since Draco complimented you in the greenhouse and it stings. Your chest and throat and wrists burn and you grip your hair in your fists, hoping that if you just tug hard enough then you can make every bad word said to you and every bruise disappear. Of course you can’t, but if you don’t try then you might lose yourself right here, right now. Well, more than you already are that is.

No matter how hard you tug, you can’t stop the cries from spilling out of your mouth. They mask the footsteps pounding towards you. You slam your fists into the marble floor repeatedly, your palms bruising. Your blood rushes through your ears, muffling the sounds of the castle and everyone in them. You hear your name being called but it sounds like whoever is shouting is underwater. Are they shouting, though, or are you just losing your mind? You hear your name again and you scream. You just want the voices to stop. Please, someone make them stop. 

Gentle hands grab your fists before you can do any more damage to yourself, pulling you into a chest and wrapping two strong arms around your shoulders, “y/n, what’s going on? What happened?”

Draco’s voice is panicked. That’s the only word for it. He sounds absolutely terrified. His voice soothes you for a moment but soon you’re pushing against his chest, Blaise’s words in your ears again. Your palms collide with his chest as you shove him with all strength you have. It isn’t enough. Of course you aren’t strong enough to knock away a quidditch captain. His green apple scent clings to you, wrapped in his arms, and you cry harder. You clutch his shirt in your hands now, clinging to him for dear life. You cry out his name and his heart shatters.

“Y/n please, pumpkin, tell me what happened,” he kisses your hair hard, like he’s hoping it’ll magically calm you down.

And it does, sort of, but only when he trails kisses down the sides of your face and along your cheekbones as well. His lips are like a gift from the heavens, working quickly and easily to draw your attention from your showdown with Blaise and place it on him, and him alone. Soon your sobs have stopped completely. You’re still crying but you can breathe and that’s more than you would have been able to do on your own. When you finally wrap your arms around his neck he stops, pulling his head back to look into your eyes.

You swallow hard when you see his face, more importantly the tears slowly trailing down his creamy skin, “I’m sorry, Draco, you shouldn’t have to see me this way.”

“Stop,” he shushes and runs his hand up and down your back, trying not to grimace when his fingers slide over the rips in your shirt, “I’m just glad I found you. Now tell me what happened so I can’t beat up whoever made you so upset.”

You want to chuckle, because you know he’s trying to make you feel better, but you can’t, because you also know that when you tell him he’ll probably push you away too. You tug your lip between your teeth, looking over his shoulder and then back at him. You squeeze your eyes shut, you can’t look at him while you say it. You can’t see his face when he drops you.

“I don’t think you want to beat up Blaise, Draco.”

He lets go of you. Of course he lets go of you. Your veins sting as the cold air rushes around you again. You clench your fingers into tight fists, your nails digging into your palms. Your throat aches, like you’ve been poisoned and the antidote is walking away. You open your eyes to Draco at the end of the hall, just about to turn the corner. You do your best to choke back the sobs again but you can’t and even if you could what would be the point? He clearly already thinks you’re pathetic so honestly why bother anymore? You need to just let it all out.

When you do though, cry that is, he stops, his shoulders and back going rigid as he listens. He turns quickly and his eyes widen when he sees you. You take a step back, gripping your shirt, or what’s left of it, and smoothing the material beneath your fingers, doing your best to keep it together. This was the final straw, the last kick to a foundation that has already been crumbling, and you’re just waiting for everything to come caving in now so it can take you with it. 

You don’t realise that your eyes are closed until there are hands on your body and you’re forced to open them again, “Draco, what are you doing-”

He smashes his lips against yours, fast and hard and unrelenting. He tastes like peppermint and desperation and, by god, does it breathe a new life into you that you cling to. He pulls your bottom lip between his teeth, biting down exactly where you had. His hands tangle through your hair, tilting your head slightly and tugging. You can feel his rings against your scalp and it’s the epitome of bliss. You have to to grab his cloak to keep from falling over, your entire body clay in his hands. He pulls back, barely so but in any way it’s still too far. 

His lips brush yours as he speaks, his fingers massaging your scalp slightly, “I’ll be back, pumpkin, I promise,” he kisses you hard one more time, “but I really need to go beat Zabini into next month now.”

The color of the fireplace they fall asleep beside on Christmas Eve.

Your dorm is dreadfully empty and you feel a little bit alone, even if it’s only for a week or so. Your parents are renovating the house and decided it was best if you spend the holidays in a place that isn’t covered in dust and smells like paint. You know it’s for the best, and that you more than likely would have been miserable, but the Hufflepuff common room just isn’t the same without it’s usual life. 

You pull a sweater over your head, grabbing your notebook before heading out to breakfast. The corridors are empty and it’s eerie, the only other faces being the ones held in frames. They smile at you as you pass and you wave politely, hurrying to the great hall.

When you step through the grand doors you finally see some real people, but not many. You see Harry Potter and Ron Weasley at the Gryffindor table and a few familiar faces in the Ravenclaw section, but none you know enough to join. You sigh, tucking your hair behind your ears. This is going to be a long week. As you turn to the Hufflepuff table, however, your eyes skim over a familiar blonde head buried in today’s paper. Your heart races as you switch courses, heading straight to the Slytherin table and trying not to lose your nerve.

You round the table, walking up behind Draco and stopping quietly. Whatever he’s reading has his full attention because he has yet to notice you. You take the moment to play with him a little.

You lean down, resting your head on his shoulder and whispering, “broomstick stocks are up three percent. That’s good I hear.”

Draco drops the paper and you giggle as he turns his face to look at you, the shock mixing with something gentler in his blue eyes. He jumps out of his seat immediately, pulling you into his arms and burying his face in your shoulder. You wrap your arms around his neck, lacing your fingers through his hair and melting into his warmth. The worry you felt walking into the great hall disappears at his touch. You press your face to his neck like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“Y/n, what are you doing here? I thought you went home,” he mumbles into your shoulder, his lips brushing your sensitive skin.

You hold back the shiver. It takes all your willpower to not tilt your head and give him better access to your sweetest spot. You tighten your hands instinctively, forgetting they’re wrapped in his hair. You don’t mean to tug on the strands, and you almost feel bad about it, but at the noise that leaves his lips you almost do it again. It’s low and primal and, Merlin, you want to hear it again. His arms tighten around you and all the nerves in your body are painfully aware of every place his body meets yours. 

And every place you wish it is but it isn’t.

You clear your throat lightly before you speak, clearing the lump but doing nothing to make your words any less breathy, “I could ask you the same thing, don’t your parents usually hold large parties during the holidays?”

His hands find your hips as you talk and the end of your sentence comes out as a mere whisper. You squeeze your eyes tighter, his touch driving you crazy in the middle of the damn dining hall. It’s not even ten yet! 

“That’s exactly the reason I stayed,” his voice is strained, his hands squeeze your hips and you barely bite back the moan between your teeth, “however, pumpkin, now I see that it’s a fucking gift from Salazar himself that I did.”

You lift your head from his shoulder and meet his eyes, gasping at the sight. His pupils are blown wide and his lip is between his teeth. His hair is mused from your fingers running through it, pulling it, and it makes you want to do it again and again until he does something other than look at you like that. Like he's a starved lion and you’re his next meal. Or maybe you just want to tug until he does something about it.

He squeezes your hips again, harder than the last time, and this time you can’t hold back your moan. It’s quiet, thank Merlin, but he hears it. It wraps around him, like your scarf, and something in him snaps. Soon he’s dragging you into the hallway and you’re tripping on your feet trying to keep up with him. The few people in the great hall openly stare but, as has become your new norm, you don’t care. All you can think about is Draco and all the possibilities of where he could be taking you.

He drags you to an area of the castle you’ve never been to before: the dungeons. Your blood pumps quickly through your veins and you’re filled with adrenaline, each step feeling more like walking on a cloud than the last. His hand in yours is warm and strong, sure of himself and of you and, most importantly, that you want him. He looks at you over his shoulder, smirking at you in a way that makes you almost push him quicker down the halls. You glance around, noting the empty corridor. What is it people always say?

Fuck it.

You stop abruptly and he looks back at you again, only this time concerned. His expression doesn’t last though, probably because you push him against the wall and pull his lips to yours. You have to stand on your tiptoes to reach his face, your palms splayed against his flushed cheeks as you take your turn in pulling his lip between your teeth. You bite down gently and he moans into your mouth, a deep and masculine sound that makes you want to rip his clothes off right here in the middle of the hall. You press your body against his, needing to feel as much of him as you can get. Of course it isn’t enough. It never is.

He pushes back against you, clearly having enough of his passive position. He flips the two of you, pressing you deliciously into the stone behind you. His hands glide along your hips but, unlike in the great hall, they don’t stop there. No, Draco’s hands find your bare thighs and his fingers wrap around them, the cold metal of the rings biting into your soft flesh. You say a silent prayer to whoever up there was looking out for you enough to sway you to put a skirt on this morning. 

His lips are still on yours and, when he all of a sudden lifts you and presses you harder against the wall with his hips, he swallows the moan that rips from your chest, matching it with an equally fierce groan. For the first time all morning he’s exactly where you need him and it’s absolutely breathtaking. You squeeze your legs around him, pulling him as close to you as you can get him. He doesn’t protest, rolling his hips against you and edging your vision with stars.

“Draco, common room. Now,” even as you say it your hands are on his shirt, already working at undoing it.

He wastes no time, rushing down the stairs with you still in his arms, still working on the buttons. He breathlessly murmurs the password before pushing through the door. You grab his face again, hungrily pulling his mouth to yours again as he sets you on a table. His hands find the hem of your jumper, ripping it over your head before tossing it aside. You finish opening the last button quickly, pulling his shirt from his shoulders and dropping it as well. You don’t think twice about letting it hit the ground.

You look back to him and feel breathless, the wild look in his eyes mixing with something so heart wrenchingly soft. His hands smooth up your exposed back, igniting your skin with a fire you’ve never felt before. He leans his face into your neck again, his lips finding where your shoulder and neck meet and pulling your skin between his teeth. The only thing you can think to push past your lips is his name, crying out into the room lit only by some embers in the grand fireplace.

“What do you want, pumpkin. Tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it.”

You push him back slightly so you can look into his mesmerising eyes, “I want you to make love to me on every surface in this room.”

And he does just that.

Yellow. The color they fell madly in love to.

#draco malfoy #Draco #draco x reader #draco malfoy x reader #draco x hufflepuff!reader #draco malfoy x hufflepuff!reader #draco x y/n #draco malfoy x y/n #draco imagine #draco malfoy imagine #hufflepuff #slytherin #slytherpuff

[mrsgiovanna]

The Escape Route (Yan! Don Giorno x Fem!Reader)

A request from a lovely nonnie mouse asking how the Don would handle his darling attempting to escape from his home. A bit of a drawn out scenario... I really hope you enjoy the read.

TW: Manipulative relationship dynamics, possessive behaviour, yandere behaviour

Word Count: 2.7k

Your brisk walk was slowly turning into a run as you worked your way through the busy streets of Naples. With your breathing ragged and eyes darting around to make sure nobody was on your tail, you tried to think about how best to put your escape plan back on track.

You knew that Giorno’s influence extended further than most, but you hadn’t expected him to have the power to derail every single option you had thought of to escape from his overpowering grip. You had been running around for hours now, from station to station, none would book you a ticket to anywhere, every cab ride was hastily halted after a dubious phone call… resulting in you being unwillingly ejected from the vehicle each time. So there you were, running into the more dangerous parts of Naples, frantically looking for some kind of shelter to house you while you thought of what you would do next.

Thankfully, you found a tiny inn, sparse amenities, small and far removed enough you thought, to not be on Giorno’s radar. The kindly old lady didn’t ask many questions, and you paid with the cash you had been slowly hiding away for such an event.

You couldn’t pinpoint when your relationship with Giorno had descended to this but you knew that if you stayed any longer his charming brand of captivity would best your common sense and you would be trapped forever. With Giorno, you had access to anything, no request was too demanding… in exchange though he required you to be within his confines at all times, listen to and obey his honeyed instructions with minimal fuss, and to not run off in the occasions when he did take you out of the mansion. I’m just keeping you safe he said… little did you know that the most dangerous one of all was the Don himself with his hypnotic gaze.

To give him the benefit of the doubt, it could have been much worse, he never harmed you physically, never pushed the intimacy boundaries further than you allowed… in your moments of weakness, it was you who had sought out his embrace. The absurdity of it all- vacillating between love and hate for this man, and so to protect the fraying thread that held your sanity together, you decided to make a run for it. It was not an impulsive idea, you had spent the better part of the year planning your grand escape, trying to imagine every way in which your plan could go awry and possible solutions to the problems. Ironically, this was a habit that you had picked up from Giorno himself, and should your plan actually work, it would be quiet poetic- escaping using the traits of your captor against him. You had gathered small amounts of cash here and there, not enough to rouse anyone’s suspicion, and made sure that any and all evidence of you memorizing the layout of the surrounding areas was completely erased. Perhaps the most difficult task of them all, was to lure Giorno into false sense of security regarding your disposition towards your situation. In the weeks leading up to your escape, you had flawlessly played the part of the dutiful ‘wife’, listening attentively, spoiling him with gentle touches and loving gazes, making sure to build up your affections gradually, as if they had been blooming naturally so as not to trigger any suspicion.

Finally, you saw your opportunity to make your move that morning. Giorno had to leave early to meet with a few associates from Japan, so you rose with him, and watched as he got ready, helping him with his hair and doing up his tie. Looking up to meet his crystalline eyes, you noticed he considered you with an expression you haven’t seen on him before.

“What is it tesoro? Why are you looking at me like that?” you asked in a gentle tone.

“You’re… just so beautiful… would you like to come with me today? I’m sure they would love to meet you… I call them associates but in actual fact one of them is a relative of mine. You’ll only be bored for a little while; after that we can do whatever you would like to,” he asked with a gentle smile. You thought about how you were going to answer, ultimately you knew you didn’t want to go, favoring your grand escape instead, but denying him that quickly would definitely set off alarm bells in his mind.

“Ah! Perhaps next time my love, I’m not going to be good company today, I woke up with a bit of a headache… I’ll probably go back to bed and sleep it off after you leave,”

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to make you feel any better bella, I hate the fact that you’re hurting,” Giorno cupped your face in his hands and gently stroked your cheeks with his thumbs, “get some rest bella mio, I’ll be back to check on you as soon as I can,” kissing you on the forehead he left without another word. Waiting for him to be completely out of the villa, you watched as his car exited the driveway before quietly packing what you could, mentally going over your checklist more times than you cared to count. Since your change in attitude, the staff at the villa were more accepting of your whims, partly to do with the fact that Giorno had instructed them to do so - within reason, but also, because you had won over their trust and if you had to be honest with yourself, there was nothing you could fault them for. The dynamic Giorno had with them was not ruled by fear, but rather by admiration… all of them being drawn in by his charisma. Managing to maneuver your way through the mansion and out an exit that saw you climbing over a hidden portion of the eastern wall surrounding the villa, you had finally been outside the confines of the villa on your own for the first time in well over a year.

In the car on the way to meet with his guests Giorno was preoccupied. He had noticed the gradual change in your behavior and as much as he would have loved to give you the benefit of the doubt, a nagging inclination that you might be lying always clouded his thoughts. He loved you- entirely- even though there were days in which you rejected his affections, he was patient with you… eventually you’d understand, the dangers that lurked in every corner made your captivity, as you so unceremoniously called it, a necessity. He had grown so accustomed to making decisions with little to no advice, he had adopted that stance in his personal life as well. He rationalized that once you had accepted the fact that his actions were all borne from his desire to protect you, your lives would be peaceful, until then, he would be patient, enduring your tantrums and snide remarks with the grace of an aristocrat… which only upset you further. To Giorno, you were to be looked after, protected- treasured, and so no matter how much you had tested his patience in the beginning, not once were you ever hurt or taken advantage of. Violence and shackles were much too unrefined for a gem like you, so to correct your behavior, the young don resorted to other, less threatening means of discipline.

“Don Giovanna? We have arrived,” shaken out of his musings by his consigliere, his attention was drawn to the fact that they had arrived at their destination ready to discuss the matters at hand.

“Thank you Lorenzo, would you check if the staff has everything ready while I greet our guests?”

“Of course, excuse me,” with that, Lorenzo had left, hastily attending to a call as he walked.

“Ah, welcome to Italy, I take it you and your associates have settled in well?” said Giorno with a polite bow, being mindful of the cultural conventions of his esteemed guests. Drinks were ordered and everyone present had settled down in the private lounge, except for Lorenzo who had been animatedly conversing on the phone for enough time to make his absence felt. Frustrated by what he was tasked to do, he abruptly ended his conversation and sought out Giorno to give him the news, finally, the staff at villa Giovanna had realized you were gone.

“Don…”

“The expression on your face can only mean one thing… when did they notice?”

“A few minutes ago, she couldn’t have gotten too gar given the timeframe… what would you like me to do?”

“You stay here and keep our guests company, I’ll handle this…” not even bothering to alert the driver, Giorno collected the keys from the valet and zoomed off. Making a short drive even shorter, he arrived home in foul mood, although he did assign some of the blame to himself, recognizing his fatal error when he ignored his gut feeling, he was disappointed at how easily you had managed to slip from his grasp and wondered if his staff had been plotting with you all along. He would have to address that later on though, his primary concern now was to locate you and bring you back home.

“Mista, I have a special request to make, please come to the villa, bring Fugo with you,” said Giorno in a quick call, there were few who he trusted more than his underbosses, and this task was something that required only the most competent people. After a short explanation of the situation at hand, both men had already started making calls to the relevant people in an attempt to thwart your plans.

You would think the most frightening thing about Giorno would be his god-like requiem ability. But over and above the raw power he possessed was his reach, the world seemed so small, as if it had rested comfortably in his elegant hands- and you had been getting reminders of this inescapable fate over and over again. By the time you had given up on the idea of escaping through any traditional means of transportation, you must have tried fifty different avenues, each attempt failing more spectacularly than the last. Having had enough, you resigned yourself to the fact that you would not be leaving Naples immediately, and found refuge in the outskirts of the city. You climbed the rickety staircase behind the lady as she prattled on about her day.

“Shall I get you something to eat dolcezza? You look like you could use something warm and comforting in your system. In fact, let me do just that, you get settled in so long,” said the innkeeper before you had a chance to interject. Deciding to take a shower to wash off the day, you took comfort in the fact that this place was so remote, you were almost certain you were safe for the meantime. The tiny bathroom was a far cry from the palatial one you had grown accustomed to while being in Giorno’s villa, but it served the same purpose, only this time, you had your freedom. The place was peaceful though aside from the sound of what must have been a car backfiring and the small creaks from the natural expansion and contraction of the dwelling, it was quiet enough for you to calm down and organize your thoughts. Now that you were comparatively more at ease than before, you felt the strain of the day in your body, aching muscles, sore feet and cuts and scrapes that began to smart affixed a slight grimace to your face as you rummaged through your belongings to find some sort of pain relief.

A sharp knock on the door disrupted your search. You stayed silent for a moment, contemplating if you should ignore it or answer.

“Dolcezza, I’ve brought you a small snack, you’re going to enjoy it,” you just wanted to crawl into bed and forget the day you had, but you also didn’t want to snub her kindness, you reached out to unlock and open the door.

“Buongiorno tesoro… enjoying your little excursion? Marina here was kind enough to show me to your room so I could surprise you… seems like it worked, look at this charming expression,” turning to the smiling woman, Giorno nodded for her to leave. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears, you wanted to cry, to run, to jump right out through the hazy window but your feet were rooted to the ground.

“Well (y/n) … you’ve been running around Naples for the entire day, have you found what you’re looking for?” his usual honeyed tone was laced with derision as he critically eyed your surroundings. “is this what you were so desperate to escape to? Look at this place… look at the condition you’re in… how is any of this better than everything I’ve given you?”

“I have my freedom here…” was all you could muster as your mind raced thinking of how he had still managed to find you despite all the precautions you had taken. “Giorno, how…”

“How did I find you? I always have my ways…” he said, sauntering over to the window, opening it just enough to make eye contact with whoever was outside, dismissing them with a nonchalant wave of his gloved hand. Pulling out his cellphone, he showed you the opened application, explaining that he had been using it to track your location, following the signal from the diamond earrings he gifted you on your birthday, carelessly left on when you had made your hasty escape. In all fairness, you hadn’t considered that the dainty gems were anything more than that. Feeling your legs starting to give out under you at the revelation that you were the cause of your own undoing, you sat on the bed hanging your head in defeat.

“Freedom, you say? Tell me how has that worked for you?”

“That’s not fair! You’ve basically controlled every single encounter I’ve had, and even when I thought I had escaped you by coming here, you still somehow managed to manipulate the situation…” you shouted, tears of frustration running feely down your face.

“Stop being dramatic, the world is full of horrible people, everyone is looking out for themselves, I wish you would realize that… tell me tesoro, how many people turned you away? Threw you out of their cars, made up excuses to deny your requests? Not one of those people looked into those pleading eyes and thought you were worth helping. Why? Because people are selfish…”

“You… you threatened them all, you…”

“You give me too much credit, it’s not like I was going to kill them, I hate violence, despite your disappointingly low opinion of me, even you have to admit that I’ve never done anything to physically harm you… all I want is to protect you, you don’t understand how things work out there,”

“It’s not like you’ve ever given me the opportunity to find out how things are… I”

“Some people are just meant to be loved and protected tesoro, isn’t that enough? Why would you want to risk being hurt to get a taste of something that’s actually not even worth it… you’re not cut out for this life… I’ve been here so I know this isn’t what you deserve. You’re coming back home with me,”

“But, I- “ you attempted to interject but his intense glare halted you.

“(y/n), I’m very patient under most circumstances, but please don’t test me now, I won’t say it twice…” said Giorno with a slight bite to his voice, it was clear he was growing tired of this conversation, and you were losing your will to fight back. With a quivering lip and misty eyes, you moved to gather your belongings but was stopped by the young don, arguing that he can replace whatever is there, wanting no other reminders of this transgression to follow you both back. Resigning yourself to this fate, realizing there was nowhere beyond his reach, you grasped his outstretched arm and followed him to the car to return to your life of opulent captivity. Months and months of planning all resulting in nothing, it became glaringly obvious to you that escaping was futile…

#giorno giovanna #giorno #don giorno #don giovanna #giorno giovanna x reader #giorno x reader #yandere giogio #yandere giorno #jjba yandere #yandere jjba prt 5 #yandere x reader #jjba giorno giovanna #giorno x y/n #giorno x you #giorno giovanna x y/n #giorno jojo #giorno giovanna x you #yandere jjba #soft yandere #giogio #jjba fanfic #my fic #my words

[evacado3]

His princess ❣︎

joongooxreader pt1 pt2 pt3/3

Word count: 1393

When the chairman asked to see you personally, the first thought was definitely, I'm getting promoted.

This is it, after working full-time with that dimwit, I'm getting promoted~ And I might finally get a chance to work with Gun! You squealed at the thought, skipping through the hallways in delight, faintly humming a song.

In front of his door, you smoothed out your suit, a brand new one just for this exact event. Taking a deep breath, you pushed open the door. But what awaited you was a little, no, a lot different to what you expected. A smug-looking man, manspreading on the couch, and the chairman sitting straightly.

"Princess, I missed you!" Goo exclaimed, not too surprised when you shot him a glare. Ngl, after working with him for nearly two weeks, it's shocking how much he grew onto you. Is this his manipulative side everyone talks about?

Maybe the gut feelings were mistaken, maybe the butterflies that erupted in your stomach when the nickname 'princess' was used, were simply all an illusion.

Oh, but he noticed, how that glare was far softer than before. How your eyes would linger on him a bit longer every time he treats you after work. How you wouldn't protest about his sickly sweet nicknames anymore, how you'd enjoy his company.

The chairman snapped you out of your trance, "Take a seat." You plopped down on the place besides Goo where his hands patted. Honestly a little confused as to why you complied without complaint. You might not catch it, but his smirk widened more seeing you so obedient.

"I don't think you've heard, but you've made quite a name for yourself, miss y/n."

You tilted your head in perplex, and why on earth was Goo gawking at you like that. Creep.

"Goo's princess."

"Pardon me?" your neck snapped towards the strict man. you couldn't find an ounce of insincerity on his emotionless face. Dead silence rang through the room till Goo's laughter burst out in amusement.

Oh lord how you were wrong, let's never underestimate your gut feeling. The butterflies are going insane upon his laughter, wait, why are my cheeks burning?

"Princess! This is unexpected, but what we're trying to say is ..."

The sentence echoed throughout the room.

"What did you say?"

"I said, what we're trying to say is, you'll stay working with me, sweet pea!"

Hold on, haha I'm so tired I'm hallucinating. Right?

Your face was blank, well more like restrained.

All you were thinking about was should you risk it by yelling in the chairman's face. Though in the end, you'd rather not lose your job. So you took a big breath, "What's the meaning of this?" you said exasperated.

Goo brushed his hair back, standing up with hands behind his back. "Well, I suggested to the chairman, since more people will be targeting you now, there's no need to change and put other people into danger! Right? Miss y/n." he announced proudly.

The first use of your name to ever fall out of his lips.

"Do you have a fever princess? You're a bit red." Goo mentioned. This man needs to stop examining you like that, with those tempting eyes. You didn't even notice he took off his glasses until you finally looked him in the eye.

"I-I'm fine, just recovering from the shock." you blurted out. "But president, does that mean I have to stick with this moro- I meant Goo, until the rumors are resolved? And without increasing my salary?" you sulked.

The man cut off Goo before he could speak, "If a raise is what you're looking for, that's already done. But about the rumors, they won't go out after a day."

To be honest, your face is more green than red. Hold on, didn't I come here just to work with my beloved jonggun, time out, what's going on.

"Please just tell me what's gonna happen." sighing loudly, you lean forwards, massaging your forehead with one hand.

"I'm going to make you collect debts with joongoo instead of jonggun."

Ok, that's it. You blew up. "Wait! Chairman please, you cannot be serious about this!" Man did your dreams just wash down the drain in front of you, yeah it did.

"Buttercup, you don't have to worry about working with me! I'm reliable you know?" Goo grinned, seeing you speechless gave him another level of refreshment.

A fly might have gotten into your mouth, but that's all nothing compared to the bullshit you've just heard. Your mouth wide open, trying to digest the info you were given.

"Hold on, so you're telling me, to work every day plus night, full-time, no rest while dealing with a fool AND putting my life on the line?"

"You're pay is increased by 50 percent."

"Deal."

----------------------------------------------⌫

"Hey boss, it's them! Goo and his woman!"

You rolled your eyes hearing those words, crossing your arms, "Gosh could people stop saying that?"

Goo turned around to smirk at you, "I could get used to this, in fact, I think this is fantastic!" He turned back only to meet the eyes of the gang's boss. Oh how he terrified him with his menacing smile, a signature one of course.

"Jackass," you muttered under your breath.

"Hey, you give me a new nickname every time don't ya. What about hubby, or even prince char-"

"No way! There's no charming thing about you, I'll stick with my nicknames thank you. But anyway, why is the leader quivering like that?"

Something's not right.

"You've got to be kidding me.” you groaned.

The head only chuckled tensely, “M-mister Goo, you certainly are early, would you like something to drink? Or..." he scratched the back of his head. I wish I could tell him to drop that fake ass smile.

Goo checks his watch with a grimaced face, "No, we're just on time. Now if you would kindly show us what you've prepared?" he leaned towards the boss.

The leader avoided eye contact with the towering man, mumbling a few words. "Huh? I can't hear you man, hold on, you do have the money right? My schedule was delayed and I've given you guys three extra days!" he made a pissed-off face, "I was gonna grab dinner after this, so let's clear up this misunderstanding. Fast."

This doesn't usually happen frequently, the sum isn't even that difficult to make. Unless if you're not good with money, but then why would you make a gang?

Do I just have bad luck, still I'm glad I'm not wearing anything too expensive. The crew didn't look too pleased with Goo's statement, one by one they begin taking out their weapons.

"Princess, behind you~"

You sighed while murmuring some curses, lifting your arm and slamming back your clenched fist, whacking the guy's nose. Why am I always the option for a hostage? Sighing even more, you asked, "You want help?"

"Yes please cutie, but if you keep sighing like that, you'll get shorter!" The audacity of this man to insult you while fighting off people like it's such a daily thing.

Upon his mockery, you decided to just not help, walking away from the scene and ignoring his whining apologies. Instead, approaching the boss on the side, flinching when he felt your firm grip on his shoulders. What a pussy, you thought, is he shorter than me?

"Don't come near me! Guards, hey!" he shrieks, earning a loud snicker from you. "You call yourself the boss? Hey, look at me. Your guards aren't coming ok? You'll have to deal with me."

You grinned, one that sends chills down his spine, making him back off into a corner. Goo should be done soon, even if he isn't, he's gonna rush. Just to see the daunting expression on your face when you finished your job.

Then at the end of the day, he'll award you for your hard work. Even taking a nice short stroll with you, treating you some ice cream. Things like this are what makes work tolerable, it's not far-fetched to even say enjoyable. Though you'd never admit.

And he won't stop spoiling you, not until he loses interest. But maybe, just maybe those little butterflies are also fluttering in his tummy. Somethings telling him this isn't just about interest, it's a lot more.

After all, you are his princess.

#gooxreader #goo #goo kim #lookism x reader #goo lookism #webtoon lookism #lookism #joongoo #kim joongoo #fanfic

[sugadaily]

On tvN’s You Quiz on the Block, SUGA told stories from before his debut. The period of his life when he struggled with how to live off his music. SUGA and BTS have kept going and going for eight years, and now he’s on their grounds, where he can do anything he wants musically. What began with that long journey is the story of SUGA holding his head up higher and staring at the future, reaching for it.

How are you feeling after your shoulder surgery? You’re doing physical therapy in parallel with work. SUGA: I’m all right. I’m keeping up with the physical therapy, too. I had surgery last year because I wanted to be able to go back to work sooner. I have nothing else to do except music.

You said that there’s nothing for you to do other than music in the “BE-hind Story” interview on YouTube, too. SUGA: It’s true. I tried gaming, but I have no talent for it. The people I play with online get so frustrated if I do. I mean, I’m working hard and got some recognition in my life, and yet people bash me so hard in games. (laughs)

I wonder if there’s a game you can do better in than you do in your career. You’re currently at your sixth week at number one on the Billboard Hot 100 [with “Butter, at the time of this interview]. (laughs) How are you feeling these days? SUGA: When we were at number one for two weeks straight, I was like, Wow, this is so amazing! But after the fifth or sixth week, we really started to talk about it between ourselves: I really can’t believe this. Anyway, I feel like I have a responsibility. And I think I’ll end up thinking much, much more when we get ready for the next promotion. Even if I just try to enjoy this situation, it hasn’t sunk in. We can’t leave the country, plus there’s lots of issues in the world right now that are much more important than how well we perform on the charts.

As you say, it’s a tough situation, all over the world. How do you feel about releasing “Permission to Dance,” with its positive message, at this point in time? SUGA: It seems like everyone around the world is really tired of this situation dragging out. I wanted to convey a message that tells people to keep hanging on to hope until the very end. Whereas we released the album BE in this situation, seemingly without any certainty, I believe things will slowly get better now. I don’t know if we can go back to the way things were before, but I’m still working with the hope that we can return to a situation that resembles what we had before.

Aren’t you tired of the pandemic being in this prolonged state? SUGA: I look at it as, when you lose one thing, you gain another. I ended up being able to see my family more since I’m in Korea. In that sense, I feel more stable, so I’m not so much tired as hoping each day that things will become okay soon. I keep moving back and forth between work and home, and I’ve started to reflect on parts of myself I didn’t know about before. Like that I feel somewhat comfortable when I start and finish work at a certain time. While I used to have to go to bed at a certain time for work the next day or else I had a hard time getting up early, now I know I’ve figured out what time I should wake up at to make sure I feel good all day. What I pursue in life is emotional stability, and I don’t think there’s really anything too exciting or sad happening these days.

What effect do those emotions have when you work on music? SUGA: They don’t have a big effect on it. I think it affects the way I write lyrics a bit, but I’m not working on any lyrics at the moment. I’ve been making music for a long time, so I think it’s possible for me to express emotions I’m not feeling in the moment. And it’s good that we released “Permission to Dance” in this kind of situation.

You sing rather than rap in “Permission to Dance.” In addition to rapping, you started singing more both before and after BE. What did you learn about your voice? SUGA: “Permission to Dance” was a little bit difficult. I don’t draw a line between singing and rapping or anything, but it was different from our usual style, and the vocals were a bit high, too. So even though it took a while to prepare for it, I worked hard, and even when I asked some older musicians for their opinions, they all said, “It’s good the way you’re doing it. Don’t try to sing better—just sing more.” I think my only option is to sing more, like they suggested.

As far as style goes, you’ve been doing a smoother kind of pop music. Did any differences arise as a result of these changes? SUGA: All things considered, the English was the hardest part. I paid close attention to my pronunciation in “Butter” and “Permission to Dance.” It wasn’t easy to capture that smooth feeling in the songs, so I practiced my pronunciation quite a bit. And I end up breathing a lot when I’m doing an English song, but the rap parts were a bit hard for that reason. There’s a clear difference from Korean songs, since English has so many syllables. But I don’t have any one method I stick with for my vocals yet, so I tend to try lots of different things out.

What do you make of BTS’s achievements over the past year with “Permission to Dance” and “Butter,” as well as the group’s change in style? In the space of a year, you’ve released songs in a style different from MAP OF THE SOUL: 7 or BE. SUGA: As a producer, I think reactions are important to an artist who works within the field of popular music. With that in mind, speaking as a producer, “Dynamite,” “Butter” and “Permission to Dance” were the best choices. And musical tastes are different from country to country, and the cultures are different, too. Given that situation, I think it’s important that we’re a group who can send such a universal message out into the world.

BTS has really grown and changed a lot, starting with “No More Dream” and all the way to “Permission to Dance.” SUGA: I think it’s a natural course of event for those of us who make pop music. Artists mix and match different genres as they grow, and the music develops as the people of its time listen to it. I’ve been listening to a ton of music lately, and thanks to the times we live in, if I listen to a song a few times, they recommend me more songs in a similar style. And after listening to them, I realized the style of hip hop is also changing and is splitting off into different offshoots. Other than hip hop, I also listen to a lot of instrumental music. I’ve always liked Hans Zimmer’s music. There have been many times where a movie I like turns out to have music by Hans Zimmer.

What is it about Hans Zimmer’s music that draws you in? SUGA: I like orchestral music. There’s a lot of pop songs that are under the three-minute mark now, and whereas it’s sort of predetermined that they’re always written with intros that are four bars long, orchestral music can do a lot within its framework.

But, as can be seen in IU’s song “eight,” which you both produced and featured on, you broke out of pop music’s typical composition style and tried out a highly condensed progression. The composition of the chorus is very straightforward. SUGA: Yes. I insisted that the flow be roughly cut in half from that of a typical song, and I expect more pop music will be like that in the future. And maybe even shorter as time goes on. I mean, these days there’s songs that are under two minutes, even.

Regardless, I felt the chorus in “eight” is extremely dramatic with its structure and the melody of the chorus. I thought it was rather grand in scale as well. Would you say that you’re attempting to mix your tastes and things you want to do into the structure of pop music? SUGA: As you know, I love hip hop, so when I was first making music I thought it had to be hip hop no matter what and that I had to take pride in my own ideas and not accept any compromise. But while getting some experience at the forefront of pop music, I figured out that you can keep being stubborn or inflexible because there are people listening to you. There was a time I made music without any listeners before I became a member of BTS. But if someone were to ask if I stopped being stubborn about the music I’m making these days, the answer’s no. As I grew up and became an adult, I came to realize that I have to negotiate between what I want to do and the kind of music the public wants without compromising anything. When I give up on something I wanted to do, I ask myself, What will I get out of this? And conversely, when I want to do something, I ask myself, What can I get out of this? That’s how I keep my balance to make it to where I am now.

You have no choice but to think about those things when you work on other artists’ songs, especially when you’re a producer. SUGA: I’m BTS’s SUGA, and I’m Agust D, and when I’m producing, I go by “by SUGA.” But when it comes to by SUGA, I make perfectly commercial music. I’m the producer for those songs, sure, but the owner is someone else, you know? In that case, they’re commissioning my work. But they wouldn’t think about just leaving it all with SUGA. The artist’s label has to think carefully about whether to commission me for producing and consider my situation, too, and those people must be hoping for something commercial. That’s the most important part of working with outside people. Actually, that kind of work isn’t much of a benefit to me, to be honest. Oh, he can write this kind of song, too. That’s all. The more valuable thing I can get from it is the recognition and records the artist or the company will get with the song instead.

As you noted in your previous Weverse Magazine interview, when you discussed your “interest in the music industry in the US,” you seem to constantly think about the things artists can do within the framework of the music industry. SUGA: I don’t know. It’s just that I’ve become more certain since the pandemic started that I’m the kind of person who always has to be doing music. That much I know for sure, so I want to keep on making good music. And the pop music market is something that came about because there were people listening, and there’s a long history to the US music market, and it possesses the most influential charts in the whole word. So then I thought, Wouldn’t they have gone through all the same things that we have? And really, whenever I talk to other pop stars, the situation is always similar. The US is also more realistic about commercial results than any other country. I wanted an accurate picture of how those people work. Right now, Korean pop music’s spread is in full swing and we need more good artists to keep popping up. From a producer’s standpoint, if that’s going to happen, I think the key is how well we can mix our music and the characteristics of overseas music industries overall.

How did it feel to be in the lineup for the Grammy Awards, one of the icons of the US music industry? SUGA: The feeling was less immediate because we couldn’t be there in person, and it wasn’t a huge distinction, but the performance made me think, This is different, because it’s the Grammys. What changed my view from the first time I went to an American music awards ceremony was, the first time I went, I was really scared of the world’s biggest music market. But when I look back now, I don’t think I had any reason to feel that intimidated. To be honest, I have only now begun to enjoy the awards ceremonies; I wasn’t able to then.

It’s no exaggeration to say that you’ve achieved most of the things that you can as an artist in the music industry. What steps do you think are necessary for the artists who follow after BTS? SUGA: The way artists work seems so difficult. They make an appearance on a different music show every day once the promotional period begins, meaning the exhaustion artists face is enormous, and that fatigue often results in injuries as it adds up. That kind of music show is for promotional purposes, so it’s not like the artists can earn a proper income from them. On top of that, despite all the promoting, there’s no visible outcome, so they inevitably lose morale. If possible, it’d be nice to have one of the performances be really high-quality, even if it’s just the one, but in this environment I’d say that’s pretty difficult. And since our job doesn’t fit the common conception of work, there’s ambiguous boundaries when it comes to issues of legal protection as well. We need a lot of improvements to be made to the industry and its system.

They demand a lot of things as collateral for success, yet success is extremely difficult to attain. SUGA: The great thing about the label I’m with is they listen to the artists’ opinions. I think both we and the label know to a certain degree what kinds of activities would be best commercially speaking. But the question is whether the body can endure it or not. If the fatigue builds up as you continuously do those promotional activities, it’s hard to do them the way you did when you first debuted. In that case, I think the label ought to actively accommodate the artist’s views about what they can and cannot do. An attitude that’s just like, Oh, we made you kids, and as long as you just do what we tell you to it’ll all work out, so just do it—I think that really doesn’t make any sense. Of course, there could still be situations where the label has to be pushy like that, obviously. But I heard there’s been times where a label will just say, Do it, without any explanation to the artist, or, Why are you talking so much? I think that’s the biggest issue and it’s destroying the industry. If you just see the artist as a product, how can they do anything creative? I really think it’s very contradictory to ask the people on stage to put on an enjoyable performance when they’re experiencing neither fun nor enjoyment.

That reminds me of the music video for “Daechwita” somehow. You appear onscreen as both a rebel character and a king, looking as different as your situation when you first debuted with BTS and your situation now. SUGA: There was a lot I wanted to do in “Daechwita,” not just musically but also visually, and a lot of ideas came to me as I came to reflect on who I am as a person while working on the music video. It naturally occurred to me to separate SUGA, by SUGA and Agust D. The character I played in that video who wasn’t the king was a stranger. It takes place during the Joseon era, but then there’s cars and guns, which of course don’t belong in that era. I think we’ve been living our lives that way. Right from our debut, a portion of the hip hop lovers criticized us by saying, They’re idols. But at the same time, we heard things like, They’re not idols. I didn’t know which drumbeat to march to, so I think that’s why each of our albums took a different direction than people were expecting. But I don’t think I can call myself a stranger in this situation anymore. So these days my main goal is to keep going with BTS for a long time. Having a huge audience show up at our concerts is nice, but I think the goal for all of us is to make sure the group can keep making music even as we get older. I think right now we’re thinking a lot about how we can have fun and be happy on stage.

What do you mean when you say fun and happy music? SUGA: I think people are happier the busier I am, so lately I’ve been thinking that I need to focus a little more. I figure we should do as much as we can for ARMY since they feel happy watching us. We’ll continue to try our best, so I hope they believe in BTS and keep their eyes on us.

So that’s why you do music. SUGA: This is the only thing I know how to really do. Other than music and BTS, there’s nothing special about me when I look at this 28-year-old Min Yoongi. That’s why I want to keep doing this.

#yoongi #suga #bangtan #bts #210730 #interview