#South Stockholm

[bloogers-boogers]

Kyle Brofloski/Eric Cartman (SP one-shot)

/Insanely obsessed/

Summary: Post covid special but Stan couldn't fix the timeline and Kyle is deranged.

Slight Warning ⚠️ has sensitive topics I do not reccomend reading if you're aren't able to handle that sorta thing!(blood, injuries,violence, games, cheating, probably stockholm syndrome,etc.)(no, theres no r*pe! Just 'typical' comedic kidnapping like with Scott Tenorman or the hand slaughter murderer, ginger cult or the the big foot hunters) Please spare yourself the uncomfortable read.

Author's note: First time writing this type of stuff involving fucked up scenarios but I tried. Pls tell me if it's deranged enough hehe if you're wondering where this came from is from a previous post I written here

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Humming was all the redhead man did while sharpening his trustful knife, looking his way to the dark corner of the room he's in.

A smile crept his face, looking fondly at the weapon, "you know? I used to be kinda fascinated by knives when I was a kid.. sharp things to be in fact," he blurted out loud casually, turning his way facing a tied up man who muffled lightly in protest to be let go, growing tirelessly aswell by his previous fail attempts.

His brunette now greasy and tangled hair covering most of his face. His body all tied up in chains around a wooded plank unable to move just his head and feet.

"Do you remember the metrosexual trend? Haha! I remember having team up with Mr Garrison, having ofcourse my beloved knife with me," he beamed holding on to the knife with excitement and a hint of nostalgia, looking at the man who looked straight at the ground not bothering to pay him mind, "are you hungry? Is that it, fatso?" He mustered a little bitter by the lack of attention he's receiving.

"I'll be right back," he commented not expecting a reply back, heading upstairs.

He had dragged that fatass to a cabin inside the woods it was a one ground floor but it had a basement that worked as a food compartment, it was pretty average size, but it was perfect nonetheless. There was only a small window in it but he covered it with a blind just at night, he wasn't that cruel.

Coming back with some chips in hand, jumping each stairs with delight, "I swear~ by the moon and the stars in the sky~" he sang placing the chips in a chair as he crotch infront of the man getting to his level.

The brunette man being none other then Eric Cartman: former archrival. Now married man, respectful rabbi and father of three children.

Cartman glared at him with reddened puffy eyes and some dark huge circles under them.

"Got some chessy poofs for you, fatass. They're your favorite aren't they? I believe I remember they were," he said, acting as he was trying to recall the fact. But was deeply aware of everything Cartman liked and disliked.

He tried feeding him some, like a tourist trying to feed peanuts to an elephant. But removed his hand quickly as Cartman had tried to bite him the moment he untied the rag off his mouth.

"Uh-uh uh, bad Cartman bad!" He smacked his head receiving a hiss in pain from his part.

Cartman still remained silent as he glaringly watch every move he did, he was enjoying the attention he was now giving him.

To summarize it all leading to this moment, it was after being revealed to him their future could've turn out different, having reuniting with old friends, having to attend one of his best friends funeral and then realizing his arch rival, the most piece of shit person he's ever met was living a happy married life while he lived miserable and lonely.

It was fucking unfair.

He slapped Cartman's cheeks with each single thought his way, making them swollen and bruised, standing up as he grabbed a bowl and shove all the cheesy poofs inside.

"You'll get hungry eventually," stating that, he place the bowl below Cartman's reach, still mouth unfolded. Still not spitting a single word his way.

"¡Why Kahal! You dumb jinger jersey jew! How could you! You forgot to add me some kfc chicken on the side," he mimicked Cartman's childish whiney voice, "but I shouldn't be surprised, a person with the three 'j''s' have ever done anything right in there lives."

"Shut up, Cartman! I can't drive back town whenever your fatass feels like it!"

"But kahaaaal! I want some kfc!"

He glance at Cartman but he showed no real intention on snapping back, he 'tsk' pacing back and forth throwing his knife straight to the board he had previously place in the wall hitting a photo of Cartman and his family in a fit of rage. Losing all his patience.

It hit directly at the fatass face already covered by previous holes.

He smirked having cause the real man in question flinch by the noise. Grabbing his knife once more and approaching him, crouching back to his level and holding the knife against his neck.

"Say something, asshole." He warned coldly, "I didn't go all the way to New York for you, just so your ass to ignore me like I'm some crazy lunatic."

"I– I want to go home..I won't tell a soul I promise.." he pleaded almost in a whisper, but that made him dig his knife even further against his skin making him gulp by the sharp knife against his adams apple, "o-oh, Kyle.. uh– I.. think, I am just a little hungry. That's all," Finally admitting out loud as sweat fell like rivers down his face, chuckling nervously.

He smiled, grabbing the bowl next to him, hand feeding the cheesy poofs like feeding some stray animal.

Caressing with his now cheesy thumb against Cartman's bruised cheek smearing the cheese all over him as he trembled under his touch, "atta boy, that's more like it."

Sometimes he forgot how much Cartman's voice had changed since children, it wasn't unpleasant but he rarely got to hear it nowadays only remembering briefly the times we're it was mostly noticeable for the hint of sarcasm and false innocence.

Now..

It was more mature and it was calmer, he liked it.

He already had in mind how to put in good use of that voice of his.

Once Cartman finished the entire bowl, he stood up walking to a near desk, placing all the chip bags to the side and grabbing his chair.

Seating down, he opened a drawer and grabbed a polaroid camera, sliding his rolling chair with fun next to Cartman and grinning widely as he snapped a picture of the two.

Now shaking the picture frantically for the color to appear and the two silhouettes fill the blank polaroid.

"Look at us, we look good. Well, atleast I do," he stated, eying the brunette as he rested his left elbow on his shoulder and gripping his cheeks with his free hand forcibly making him look at the picture.

He nodded fanatically as he was reviewing it internally, agreeing to everything he said.

The night had finally arise, and he stood up from his desk having worked piles of school paperwork, ofcourse he had to keep up with work now having to maintain two.

He stretched his arms going upstairs and grabbing a bucket, sponge and soap.

"Bath time, fatass!" He exclaimed, almost running back downstairs, jumping the last stair. Placing the bucket infront of the chubby man as he grabbed the hose that was slid from the outside of the window through inside.

Filling up the bucket with water, now setting a small bucket at the side and filling it up with water, adding soap while soaking the sponge in.

He carefully slid Cartman's plain white button shirt off, brushing his skin lightly with his fingertips.

Grabbing the sponge squeezing some of the soaked water off rubbing it against his chest, tapping and smudging it all over, trying to rub all the dirt and sweat off. Then his back, armpits, his sides, waist and lastly legs, crotch and ass. He wasn't too comfortable washing Cartman's ass at first but after the first couple of weeks together, he just saw his body in the ways a nurse would see their patient while bathing them.

Though, he must admit. With time, he's visualize Cartman's body as something very beautiful. It was kinda in like a artistic viewing way.

Admiring it; every curve and softness while he scrubbed every inch of his body, it'd be a pity if he were to lose weight and lose that scrumptious figure of his.

He sighed tirelessly resting his head against Cartman's bare back hearing his beating heart and light panting.

He fixed Cartman up, clothes right back on as he grabbed his bag.

It was time to go back home.

"I'll come back tomorrow," he waved goodbye as he left the cabin heading back to South Park.

Tapping his fingers against the wheel as a song resonated in the radio.

His phone rang, placing it in the cup holder as he answered.

"What up?" He spoke.

"Kyle, did you hear what happened?" Stan asked almost dreadful. He kinda guessed what could it possibly be about.

"What happened?" He fake a shock tone, lowering the volume of his radio.

"It's, Cartman, dude. He's gone missing. His wife contact me today asking if I knew anything about his whereabouts, his family is very worried right now."

"No way dude, since when?"

"She says it's almost been a month already, like.. what could've happened to Cartman?"

"Maybe he just bailed off? You know how much of an asshole he is, Stan. Wouldn't be surprised if he ran off to make a new careless free life."

"Kyle, I think this is serious. I don't think Cartman is that much an asshole, he's seemed change when we last saw him."

"Not my problem, Stan," he admitted, humming lightly as he turned a street.

"Kyle, I know you don't believe in Cartman changing. But he was still our friend–"

"No, Stan. We weren't friends, he made my life miserable when we were kids. Mocking and taunting me all the damn time."

"C'mon, man. Don't take offense to this, but you use to share your fair share yourself, you mocked Cartman because he was fat as fuck, and you still do even if Cartman has shown to you he's grown."

"Cartman was fucking with me, he did that on purpose to get rise outta me."

"You can't act like there weren't times you and Cartman shared actual good moments together."

"No, not even one good memory I can pin point, Stan."

"Oh god, Jesus christ Kyle. What about the time– uh.. well there was this once– Kyle you can be so damn difficult sometimes!"

It didn't surprise him how Stan found complicated to recall any good moments between him and Cartman gone through. Stan can be quite oblivious to most things, lacking attention, even though, it makes sense he wouldn't grasp anything about them when they kept their personal and intimate moments very hidden in the back of their mind far from others to reach.

"Stan it's not my fault that you're now finding some sense of purpose by trying to look for our missing 'friend' just cause your life is miserable and hallow."

"Your life will be forever empty and hallow without Cartman around!"

"What's that supposed to mean!? He literally lives in New York," he slammed the wheel, finally parking in his driveway, "and I'm perfectly fine without him, living here in South park."

There was a long pause before Stan spoke again.

"Kenny would've tried looking for him.." he mustered as ruffling noise were heard through the line.

He sighed, defeated. Low blow to use Kenny against him.

"Fine, but I'll search through the web I can't just be leaving work when I please y'know."

"Fine. I'll be heading to New York in a couple of days and gather up more clues, I'll text you when I find something."

And with that he hanged up, he rolled his eyes as he entered his dark almost unoccupied place.

Doing his nocturnal routine before going to bed. Stan's words had hit him hard, empty and hallow..

He looked at his ceiling thinking about Cartman, and what could he possibly bring him for lunch tomorrow. He wonder if he was trying to attempt on getting out this very instance while he was away, which is most likely but he was sure of the security he's put and being very certainly it'll be 'Cartman proof'.

<<<< —————>>>>

"Hey, fatass. Missed me?" He greeted placing a bag in his desk, now approaching the man who had seemingly pissed himself.

"Guess, I'll be very busy than usual these days. Apparently Stan found it being a great idea to go look for you," he explained circling around his chair, finally stopping and resting his hands on it, eyes narrowing Cartman's.

As his eyes lit up somewhat hopeful.

"Before you get your panties in a twist he won't be looking for you here. He's going to New York," he smugly stated as he savored Cartman's saddened expression; losing hope once more.

"Anyways, why not we play a game today?" He asked, bringing out a small roulette with already written games on.

Cartman denied frantically as he squinted his eyes almost screaming but the noise reduced into a loud muffle because of the rag in his mouth.

"And a one and a two–" he began, now turning viciously the roulette letting go as he waited for the lucky choice.

"Ding ding ding!" He exclaimed clapping his hands not too enthusiastic, as the roulette had stopped in number 7.

"Guess marbles eating it is!" He grabbed under his desk a box, looking through his shit until he found the marbles.

He kneel down, as he puckered Cartman's mouth gripping it hard with a free hand, now taking off the rag.

"N-ngh!" He winced out trying to avoid being force to eat a small tiny marble.

"Eat it, or I'll shove you the big one!" He warned with a narrow, making Cartman reluctantly obey; swallowing a red marble out from his hand, his lips brushing against it.

He shoved a couple of more in his mouth finally feeling pleased once Cartman swallow them all at whole.

"Good boy," he said, now bringing the bag he had brought with him.

Sitting infront of him as he crossed his legs, taking out some kfc chicken, potatoes, gravey and biscuits.

He munched on a chicken leg not taking off his gaze from Cartman's glaring stare. He winked at him teasingly as he continued to eat infront of him not sparing a piece at the fatass.

His eyes glued at the chicken and his mouth was basically dripping drool, the sound of his growling stomach echoed the walls.

He smirked while looking at the pathetic display, gesturing his half eaten chicken at him, Cartman hesitated for a bit his facials soften in worry before reluctantly leaning forward and eating the most smallest piece from it.

He move it away and continued eating a few bites before placing it again infront of Cartman, gesturing once more for he to take a bite.

Cartman then ate another piece this time it was quite bigger than the first bite, but their was still some chicken left as he was attempting to not leave it in a fully naked bone probably worried if he'd do wrong if he did exactly that.

That fact that Cartman was being more mindful of what he'd think/want instead of himself spread him with pride.

A immense satisfaction his way by Cartman's submission and obedience.

He gently caressed Cartman's fiery hair, making him flinch by the sudden gesture. He placed what was left from the chicken leg for he to finish it.

He almost gobbled it down with rush, he hold in a snicker as he distracted himself playing with Cartman's hair, and grabbed another chicken leg feeding it to him while still curling his hair with his fingers and tugging it slightly before twirling it around, looping some strands.

It was so soft.

The day cease once more to its end, the difference now is that tomorrow would be his day off, so he figured why not stay the night?

He brought in a sleeping bag and some books, Cartman arched a brow confused as he layyed down next to him, sliding the book underneath him and opening the first chapter, signaling with his index finger what he wanted him to do.

He heard Cartman gulped hard as he cleared his throat poorly.

He hasn't heard Cartman speak at all since yesterday which was just him pleading to be let go. And it was actually driving him crazy.

So this would make a nice change in their new dynamic.

He tucked himself as he waited for Cartman to read him the book.

"Chapter one.." he spoke very so softly, he could've sworn he was whispering if it weren't for the small cracks and brief pauses in his voice feeling exhausted himself, "The city of beef wellington a cold place where people lived in a starving crisis as broadcasting news reported Gordon Ramsey had stolen and used most of the supposedly endless food supplies for a cooking standoff‐"

He closed his eyes as Cartman's voice soothe him like a lullaby.

<<<< —————>>>>

After a calming night, he tirelessly opened his eyes stretching his arms out from the sleeping bag, turning to his left looking at a sleeping Cartman. Drool fell from his mouth as his eyes were shut tight showing off those big eyelashes of his. The book still underneath while being open and left off on the page Cartman had last narrate for.

He tilted his head looking at Cartman's messy hair, it seemed curled..

He figure it could be because of how tangled it's been left for, so he went upstairs and grabbed a hairbrush, once back startling the man awake as he began brushing his hair unnoticed.

It wasn't as tangled as he expected it to be, and the more he untangle it the more wavy looking it looked.

"What's with your hair, fatass?" Sliding his fingers in his hair, feeling it's softness and curling texture.

Cartman moved his head lightly, tired eyes looked down as he was still drowsy.

"My hair..? What you mean..?" he mustered quietly almost with effort.

He brushed harshly trying to straighten it back but it still remained wavy, making Cartman flinched in pain by the careless brushing.

"It doesn't go to it's normal texture, what gives?"

"Ah.. I suppose it was inevitable.."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I actually have natural curly hair.. like you Kyle."

His eyebrows raised in surprise, now leaving the brush on the floor, "what?" He asked incredulous.

"I just straightened and gel it down all the time when we were kids.. for me.. it was embarrassing, and my mom use to not like it that way either so since preschool she'd straightened it down all the time.. my hair kinda just got use to it by now so it's kinda waved down quite a notch.. and now with out caring for it, it's probably just getting back to it's nature curls I suppose.."

He looked at him attentively, contemplating the new revelation he's been told.

No fucking way.

"You use to always taunt me for my curly hair!"

"And I'm sorry.."

"Don't fucking apologize!" He punched him in the stomach out of pure rage, causing a 'hmph!' from Cartman, feeling the cold metallic chains against his skin. Leaving a red stingy mark in his knuckles as he stood up.

He stormed off outside, taking out a pack of cigarettes from his car, slamming the door shut now leaning his back against it. Lightening up a cigarette before inhaling the nicotine substance, glaringly looking at the trees surrounding the cabin.

Contemplating murder, feeling betrayed and lied to all his damn life. Over some damn stupid hair.

Stepping on his cigarette, he opened his truck taking out a bat and slamming it right back shut. Heading inside and going downstairs looking at a now trembling brunette, who looked at him scared.

As he should, cause what he's about to do won't be the slightest pretty.

He slammed the wooden bat in his stomach, each hit with more forceful rage. Causing Cartman to whined in pain and whimper screaming apologetic pleads, blood coming out from his mouth, tear falling down his glossy eyes wanting for it to stop.

But he didn't bare listen or care, grabbing his so curly hair with a hank making Cartman yelp. He grabbed his knife from his pocket slicing some of his hair off before letting go and heading to his drawer. Still not finish as he hold on to some scissors.

"Snip snip," he mustered loud enough for the man to hear, menacingly opening and closing his scissors now walking and standing infront of Cartman.

With his index finger he raised Cartman's chin making him look at him with those teary puffy eyes.

He placed their forehead together feeling their heated panting mix together and breathing regulate.

He back away now snipping some of his hair off as it all fell to the floor he grabbed a small batch and place it in his drawer for forward sticking it in his journal. But for now his focus was still maintain on his rival.

His beautiful half long hair chopped off and spread carelessly on the floor, and the man in question whimpered quietly sniffing lightly as snot slid down to his mouth.

Humming as he took a small razor out from his bag, he'd normally use it for shaving some of the edges of his beard but he figured this wouldn't be entirely different.

After minutes of shaving every corner of Cartman's head, he finished gracefully. Leaving a shiny scalp on him.

He yawned as the day was starting to end.

Settling his stuff aside as he swept those loose strands of hair away, cleaning it all up while Cartman had doze off through that period. He kicked him, causing him to snap back up with a small 'owe..'

He didn't bother on feeding him as some sorta punishment for lying. Liars can't be forgiven so lightly, so he thought.

He left back home, pretty early than usual, he was even waved a hello from a neighbor he rarely even interacted with.

He layyed back on his empty bed, and reassured his guilty conscience his reasons were all justified and he'll make it up by tomorrow bringing something Cartman would love; maybe a chocolate cake or some two patty burgers.

Once back, he was in a more cheerful mood, after dropping off at some new opening burger joint he knew Cartman would like, he had bought some burgers and fries, with and additional soda beverages. He also didn't forget dessert buying one of those cheese cakes with chocolate on top decorated with two strawberries.

He walked down stairs, noticing he had forgotten to close the curtain the previous night as the sunlight hit the window straight to Cartman's face as he winced a eye shut by the beaming light, it all left an ethereal look.

Cartman's now fully grown hair as if an episode had previously set into credits creating a new set of events to occur, was already the first thing that stood out to him, his curls bounce to the side as he moved his head in a tired manner. It shined beautifully with the light hitting against it. The chocolaty brown made his hair look so heavenly he felt quite envious but also quite merciful for being able to witness it at it's full glory.

"Wow," he mustered out, carefully placing his bags on the floor.

He stood next to Cartman, crouching down to his level ruffling playfully those curly brown locks of his.

"I doubt we would've made fun of you for this, fatass," he gestured lightly with a tugging on his hair.

Cartman said nothing dismissively avoiding his eyes. It was obvious he was pissed at him for the previous night.

He sighed defeated, "I know, I know. But your hair is back so get over it will yah?" He stated before reaching his arm out to one of his bags and dragged it towards him, "I got you something that'll cheer you up."

Taking out a burger and unwrapping it, gesturing him to take a bite but he refused in a stubbornly manner.

[galdrien]

I'm not angry, april, just disappointed.

No, wait, delete that. I'm angry. And offended. I feel mocked. Screw you, april

[stuffedeggplants]

I am tentatively planning a summer trip to Sweden if everything works out. There are some national parks I want to visit and camp at for a few days, but I will be travelling completely alone and do not have extensive camping experience, so I’m unsure of whether I should actually visit certain parks just for general wilderness safety reasons. And initially I thought I would bring a camera, sketchbook, and some other things on the trip, but now I’m thinking that the logistics of dragging anything but a compact backpack across the mountains of Scandinavia would not be an optimal experience. 

Lots to plan. There’s also so much to do that I will have nowhere near enough time to see everything I want to see.

[russell-crowe]

Hey friend, assign me a cloud, please :3

hello dear mavy! <3 my first instinct was to go for polar stratospheric clouds, so i am sticking with that! the reasoning for it is that i really strongly associate you with bright colours and a conscious choice about colours in your life. a lot of the edits and art you make feature prominent and bright colours. they also look sort of queer-adjacent with their beautiful colourings, which reminds me of the multitude of headcanon gifs you have made for your faves. they also stand out in the usual greys and whites surrounding them in the cold wintery skies and i guess i could translate that to you being one of my favourite online presences as well! i think you are wonderfully unique just like these ones. and i would love to see both these clouds irl and you!

[stolligaseptember]

HOME SWEET HOME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[xtruss]

Meet The World’s New Arms Dealers! Where To Buy Drones, Fighters And Tanks On The Cheap

— September 19th, 2023

An aerial view of Kizilelma, Bayraktar TB2, HURKUS, and Akinci surrounded by crowds of visitors at Teknofest in Ataturk Airport, Türkiye 🇹🇷. Image: Getty Images

The sight of North Korea’s chubby leader, Kim Jong Un, shaking hands with Vladimir Putin on September 13th—having travelled by train to a spaceport in Russia’s far east to discuss selling its dictator a stash of Korean weapons—was remarkable both on its own terms and for what it said about the business of selling arms. The world’s five biggest arms-sellers (America, Russia, France, China and Germany) account for more than three-quarters of exports. But up-and-coming weapons producers are giving the old guard a run for their money. They are making the most of opportunities created by shifting geopolitics. And they are benefiting from the Russian invasion of Ukraine.

Mr Kim’s trip to Russia followed a visit to Pyongyang in July by Sergei Shoigu, Russia’s defence minister, who wanted to see if North Korea could provide gear that would help his country’s faltering war effort. North Korea would love to find buyers for its military kit. And few regimes are willing to sell Russia arms. China has so far been deterred from providing much more than dual-purpose chips (although it could yet channel more lethal stuff through North Korea). Only Iran has obliged, selling some 2,400 of its Shahed “Kamikaze” drones.

North Korea could provide a wider range of stuff. As well as drones and missiles such as the kn-23, which is almost a replica of the Russian Iskander Ballistic Missile, it could offer self-propelled howitzers and multi-launch rocket systems. According to sources in American intelligence, North Korea has been delivering 152mm shells and Katyusha-type rockets to Russia for the best part of a year. Russia is shopping in Pyongyang and Tehran because both regimes are already so heavily targeted by international sanctions that they have nothing to lose and much to gain by doing business with Mr Putin’s government. They are not so much an “axis of evil” as a marketplace of pariahs.

Image: The Economist

If the North Korean arms industry is being boosted by the war in Ukraine, its southern foe is doing even better. South Korea’s arms exporters were cleaning up even before the conflict. In the five years to 2022 the country rose to ninth place in a ranking of weapons-sellers compiled by the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute (SIPRI), a think-tank (See Chart); the government aspires to make South Korea the world’s fourth-largest arms exporter by 2027. Last year it sold arms worth $17bn, more than twice as much as in 2021. Some $14.5bn came from sales to Poland.

The size and scope of the agreements South Korea has reached with Poland, which sees itself as a front-line country in Europe’s defence against a revanchist Russia, is jaw-dropping. The deal includes 1,000 K2 Black Panther tanks, 180 of them delivered rapidly from the army’s own inventory and 820 to be made under licence in Poland. That is more tanks than are operating in the armies of Germany, France, Britain and Italy combined. The package also includes 672 k9 Thunder self-propelled howitzers; 288 K239 Chunmoo Multiple-Rocket Launchers; and 48 Golden Eagle FA-50s, a cut-price fourth-generation fighter jet.

South Korea’s success in the arms business is down to competitive costs, high-quality weaponry and swift delivery, says Tom Waldwyn at the International Institute for Strategic Studies, a think-tank based in London. Its prices reflect Korean manufacturing efficiency. The quality derives from Korea’s experience working with the best American Weaponry, and from its own High-tech Civil Sector. Speedy delivery is possible because the Koreans, facing a major threat across their northern border, run hot production lines that can also ramp up quickly.

Siemon Wezeman, a researcher with sipri’s arms-transfer programme, says wholehearted support from government and attractive credit arrangements are also critical to South Korea’s success. Asian customers like that the fact that it has close ties to America without being America, which is often seen as an unreliable ally. This could also help South Korea clinch a $45bn deal to renew Canada’s ageing submarine fleet. Questions for the future include how far South Korea will go in transferring technology to its customers—a crucial issue for Poland, which sees itself as an exporting partner of South Korea’s, competing with Germany and France in the European market.

If South Korea is the undisputed leader among emerging arms exporters, second place goes to Turkey. Since the ruling ak party came to power in 2002 it has poured money into its defence industry. A goal of achieving near-autarky in weapons production has become more pressing in the face of American and European sanctions—the former imposed in 2019 after Turkey, a nato member, bought Russian s-400 surface-to-air missiles.

Rocket-Fuelled

SIPRI thinks that between 2018 and 2022 Turkey’s weapons exports increased by 69% compared to the previous five-year period, and that its share of the global arms market doubled. According to a report in July by a local industry body, the value of its defence and aerospace exports rose by 38% in 2022, compared with the previous year, reaching $4.4bn. The target for this year is $6bn. Pakistan is receiving modernised submarines from Turkey. And the last of four Corvettes which Turkey has sold to the Pakistan navy was launched last month. More sales to other countries are likely, both because Turkey’s ships are competitively priced and because Turkey has few qualms about who it will sell to.

Yet Turkey’s export charge is led by armed drones. On July 18th Turkey signed a $3bn agreement with Saudi Arabia to supply the Akinci unmanned combat aerial vehicle (UCAV). It was made by Baykar, which also produces the Bayraktar tb2—a drone that has been used in combat by Libya, Azerbaijan, Ethiopia and Ukraine. The tb2 was developed to hunt Kurdish militants after America refused to sell Turkey its Predator drone. More than 20 countries lined up to buy it because it was cheaper and more readily available than the American alternative, and more reliable than the Chinese Unmanned Combat Aerial Vehicles UCAVs that had previously dominated the non-Western market.

The Akinci (pictured right) is more powerful. It can carry lots of big weapons, including air-to-air missiles and the som-a, a stealthy cruise missile with a range of 250km. It will find buyers among several other Gulf countries, such as Qatar, Oman and the UAE, who are keen to hedge against souring relations with America by reducing their reliance on its weaponry. These countries have ambitions to build their own defence industries; they see Turkey as a willing partner and an example to follow.

Turkey’s ambitions are shown by what else is in the pipeline. Its new Navy Flagship, the Anadolu, is a 25,000-ton amphibious assault ship and light aircraft-carrier that will carry Bayraktar ucavs. At least one Gulf country is said to be in talks to buy a similar ship. Turkey’s Fifth-Generation Fighter Jet, the Kaan, in which Pakistan and Azerbaijan are partners, should fly before the end of the year. Developed with help from Britain’s BAE Systems and Rolls-Royce, the Kaan could be seen as a response to Turkey’s ejection from the F-35 partner programme (as punishment for buying the S-400). Turkey will market the plane to anyone America will not sell F-35s to—or who balks at the conditions. Once again, Gulf countries may be first in line.

South Korea and Turkey have benefited from the woes of their main competitors. Russia’s arms exports between 2018 and 2022 were 31% lower than in the preceding four-year period, according to sipri. It is facing further large declines because of the strain its war of aggression is putting on its defence industries, its geopolitical isolation and the efforts of two major customers, India and China, to reduce their reliance on Russian weaponry.

India, previously Russia’s biggest customer, cut its purchases of Russian arms by 37% in the 2018-22 period. It is probably wishing it had gone further: Russia’s largely state-controlled arms industry is having to put its own army’s needs ahead of commitments to customers. Many of India’s 272 Su-30mkis, the backbone of its air force, are kaput because Russia cannot supply parts. Some of Russia’s weapons have performed poorly in Ukraine, compared with nato kit. And sanctions on Russia are limiting trade in things such as microchips, ball-bearings, machine tools and optical systems, which will hinder Russia’s ability to sell combat aircraft, attack helicopters and other lethal contraptions. The longer the war in Ukraine lasts, the more Russia will struggle to claw back its position in the global arms market.

Damp Squibs

As for China, over half its arms exports in the 2018-22 period went to just one country, Pakistan, which it sees as an ally against India. Nearly 80% of Pakistan’s major weapons needs are met by China, according to sipri. These include combat aircraft, missiles, frigates and submarines. Beijing has no interest in its customers’ human-rights records, how they plan to use what China sends or whether they are under Western sanctions.

But China’s arms industry also has its problems. One challenge, says Mr Waldwyn, is that although China set out to dominate the military drone market a decade ago, its customers got fed up with poor quality and even worse support, opening a door for Turkey. A second is that, with the exception of a putative submarine deal with Thailand and a package of weapons for Myanmar, other countries in South-East Asia are tired of Chinese bullying and “won’t touch them”, says Mr Wezeman.

At least China does not have to worry about competition from India. Despite much effort, India’s growth as an arms-exporter has been glacial. The government of Narendra Modi has listed a huge range of weapons parts that must be made in India; it hopes homemade light tanks and artillery will enter service by the end of the decade. But India has relied for too long on the transfer of technology from Russia under production-licensing agreements for aircraft, tanks and warships that have failed to deliver. Investment is wastefully channelled through the state-owned bodies. Red tape suffocates initiative.

Projects such as the Tejas light combat aircraft have taken decades to reach production, and remain fraught with problems. The Dhruv light helicopter, launched in 2002, has crashed dozens of times. After decades in development, the Arjun Mk-2 tank turned out to be too heavy for deployment across the border with Pakistan. Locally made kit is often rejected by India’s own armed forces; “If they don’t want it, exporting it becomes impossible,” says Mr Wezeman. South Korea and Turkey show how countries can build lucrative arms businesses that underpin domestic security. India, for all its bombast, is a lesson in how not to do it. ■

[awesomefringey]

Hi Sabine if you could please spread this, this account lists all the memorials planned for Liam across the world and regularly updates them, for those who wish and are able to attend https://x.com/HS_News_/status/1847077799942934740

Sending lots of love ❤️❤️❤️

LIAM PAYNE MEMORIAL

Europe:

🇬🇧 London | October 20 - 2pm | Hyde Park

🇬🇧Liverpool | October 19 - 2pm | Docks on keel wharf bridge

🇬🇧 Glasgow | October 20 - 2pm | Sir Walter Scott Statue in George Square

🇬🇧 Manchester | October 20 - 6pm | Cathedral Gardens

🇬🇧 Birmingham | October 20 - 4pm | Chamberlain Square

🇧🇪 Brussels | October 19/20 - 2pm | Parc de Bruxelles

🇫🇷 Paris | October 20 - 2pm | Jardins des Tuileries

🇩🇪 Munich | October 20 - 3pm | Olympiahalle

🇪🇸 Madrid | October 20 - 3pm | Plaza de Santa Ana

🇸🇪 Stockholm | October 19 - 6pm | Svartensgatan 8

🇵🇹 Lisbon | October 27 - 6pm | Meo Arena, Oriente

🇮🇹 Milan | October 20 - 3pm | Piazza Duomo

🇺🇸 US:

Newark - Delaware | October 19 - 4pm | Glasgow Park

NYC | October 19 - picnic* at 11am and another event at 6pm | Washington Square Park

*Picnic RSVP : https://partiful.com/e/2WoJi0Onf8jWijlyFU8E

Boston | October 19 - 2pm | Boston Common

Chicago | October 19 - 2pm | Gather at Grandmother’s Garden outside of Lincoln Park Zoo

Los Angeles | October 19 - 4:30pm | La Cienaga** Park in Beverly Hills

**RSVP : https://partiful.com/e/P5qPcaZkgLizNYhzP0mm

South-America:

🇧🇷 São Paulo | October 27 - 2pm | Parque Ibirapuera

Oceania:

🇳🇿 Auckland | October 20 - 2pm | Freyberg Square

🇦🇺 Sydney | October 20 - 11am | Hyde Park (Memorial fountain)

Asia:

🇮🇳 Mumbai | October 20 - 5pm | Marine Lines, Opposite Pizza by the Bay

———————

EDIT: added Boston

[femmesandhoney]

STOCKHOLM (AP) — South Korean poet and novelist Han Kang was awarded the Nobel Prize in literature Thursday for a poetic and unsettling body of work that the Nobel committee said “confronts historical traumas and exposes the fragility of human life".

A slow-burning international literary star who has won multiple awards in South Korea and Europe, Han is the first Asian woman and the first South Korean writer to win the Nobel literature prize. She was awarded for books, including “The Vegetarian” and “Human Acts,” that explore the pain of being human and the scars of Korea’s turbulent history.

Nobel literature committee member Anna-Karin Palm said Han writes about “trauma, pain and loss,” whether individual or collective, “with the same compassion and care"

Nobel committee chairman Anders Olsson praised Han’s “empathy for the vulnerable, often female lives” of her characters.

[lookingforhappy]

Yeah honestly, the languages they know is smth I’ve been theorising abt for a while.

Cos Allison says she reads 7 languages, which to me says 1 language per sibling(s birth place). Which is backed up by Ben knowing Korean, Viktor knowing Russian and Diego knowing Spanish. But Five also speaks Ancient Greek which breaks the pattern somewhat. My only argument for this is that Klaus is canonically from Pennsylvania (aka English speaking) so maybe Reg threw in some Ancient languages for the hell of it (specifically so he could quote Greek philosophers).

(If we’re subscribing to the posters place of birth theory (which is fucking stupid - Luther is from Stockholm!! Stockholm?! Luther?! STOCKHOLM + LUTHER for FUCKING REAL?) then they should know these languages:

Luther: Swedish 😡😡😡

Diego: Spanish ✅

Allison: Primarily English but could be any number of languages like Zulu

Klaus: English

Five: English, maybe some Irish (Welsh five my beloved u live on in my heart)

Ben: Korean ✅

Viktor: Russian ✅

Which leaves roughly 2 empty spots to be filled, one of which is Ancient Greek.)

The Umbrella Academy 3.10

[skamenglishsubs]

Subtext and Culture, Young Royals, Season 3, Episode 6

Out here in the real world it's been a week since the cliffhanger ending of episode 5 where Simon broke up with Wilhelm, but in-universe it's just the next day, and Wilhelm is being comforted by Felice.

Subtext: This entire episode is incredibly meta, there are so many times characters say things that reference earlier seasons or episodes, or the entire series as a whole. This is the first time, and Felice is saying what we're all thinking. IS IT REALLY OVER?!? 😱

Blink and you miss it: Felice gives Wilhelm her sunglasses and dries his tears so he can hide the fact that he's been crying. Also, look at that gorgeous Swedish summer. It is so pretty.

Culture: The third-years are painting the banners that go on the trucks on graduation day.

Culture: They're also signing each others' student hats, which is a common tradition. You can just sign your name or write something funny or do whatever.

Culture: This car is what we in Sweden call a sossecontainer. It's an old 90's Volvo, it's square, it's ugly, and it was pretty cheap and reliable, so it was very common and popular among working class and the lower middle classes. It was never a high-status car, so it perfectly illustrates the Eriksson family.

Subtext: Oh look, another throwback to season 1 when Sara argued with Simon about their dad, and said that he should stop giving people second chances.

Culture: Oh look, another poem by Karin Boye. This time it's Eternity, a poem about cherishing your time with your loved one, and the text is about how good times feel like an endless summer, which is what it certainly looks like for the kids and their teacher in the lush landscape. But just like in the poem, their endless summer is about to end.

Culture: This is pretty much exactly the reason used when real-world Lundsberg was temporarily closed.

Culture: And Wilhelm isn't wrong, the shitty traditions are in the walls of the place, it's always been like that, and it's always been upheld by everyone involved with the school, parents, teachers, staff, and students.

Subtext: Since this is the last episode, let's prepare the viewers to say good bye to the show, and let's do it with a little montage of students crying and taking their stuff down and emptying their rooms.

Culture: This is a 100% factually true statement, Göteborg is the worst city in the world. Source: I'm a native Stockholmer, and you just have to trust me on this, ok? Look, it's just common sense, alright? Don't listen to people from Göteborg, they're just jealous they're not living in the glorious capital. Also, they talk funny. And they have no sense of humour! And everyone is named Glenn or something.

Culture: I don't think they're referencing an actual school here, and the current Norwegian royal children went to school in Norway, not Switzerland. But the current Danish crown prince went to some boarding school in Switzerland for a while, but then he went to the Danish elite boarding school Herlufsholm. However, it was rocked by a bullying scandal in 2022, so they had to pull him out of that one and deny all knowledge of the events. Feels familiar?

Culture: Solliden is the private summer palace of the real-world Swedish royal family located on Öland, an island off the south-east coast of Sweden. The show has consistently stayed away from every likeness with the real world, but I guess they couldn't be arsed making up a fictional summer palace for the YR royal family so they went with something familiar.

Subtext: Farima is talking about the problems of finding a new school for Wilhelm from an academic perspective, but he's just thinking about how this means he won't be close to Simon any longer.

Culture: Vincent and the boys are pouring one out for Hillerska. It's a way to toast a dead friend, or in this case, a place.

Blink and you miss it: August places a king chess piece on the table before telling his friends that he's Wilhelm's reserve and might be king someday.

Subtext: And he's still so blinded by the glamour of it, despite everything. Thankfully, his friends can bring him down a couple of pegs.

Blink and you miss it: While Wilhelm is returning Kris, the book from last season, the second book in the pile is a book by Kjell Westö, Den Svavelgula Himlen - Yellow Sulphur Sky. It's about a working class kid in Finland becoming friends with his upper-class neighbour family, and his struggle maintaining a relationship with the girl of the family because of their class differences. Slightly on the nose there, show.

Meta: Henry interrupting our boys at the worst possible time is just a running joke at this point. How many times has it happened now? Four times? Five? Read the fucking room, Henry!

Subtext: Last chance to have a party together, but also last chance to see Simon, "maybe ever". Oh no, we have to start preparing for a sad ending!

Culture: Red solo cups are not a thing anywhere outside the US really, but you can buy them as a gag gift in Sweden, because to us they're just a weird movie prop we've seen American movies. Every other party scene in the show has featured regular plastic cups.

Culture: Drinking with the teachers?!? Yeah, sure, why not, everyone is an adult.

Subtext: Emo outfit? ✅ Sitting on the floor? ✅ Full of self-pity? ✅ Exaggerating the catastrophic state of his world in the way only a 17yo disaster boy can do? ✅

Meta: Another throwback to how Wilhelm was referred to as the party prince back in season 1.

Blink and you miss it: Felice hides the wine bottle behind her back before Malin comes in. She knows, Felice. Malin knows everything.

Meta: Another throwback to when Wilhelm was eating the dirt at the very same football field that disaster emo boy Simon is now sitting at together with his friends, who are trying to convince him to go to the final party.

Subtext: This time, August isn't just sorry that he got caught, he is genuinely sorry for everything he did to Wilhelm. He in turn forgives August, and we're all getting closure for this plot point.

Meta: Hey, hey, hey guys, do you remember that scene in season 1 episode 1 when Sara helped hold Felice's hair while she was throwing up? We're doing a throwback here!

Meta: Hey, hey, hey guys, do you remember that scene in season 1 episode 3 when Felice told Sara that maybe you don't have to speak the truth all the time? Well, Sara still doesn't understand why you would lie, but this time she's right, Felice was right to tell the truth.

Blink and you miss it: Stella and Fredrika are making out at the party, Felice saw it, and is making a very funny face. This is also why Stella rudely rejects Rosh, because of course she's gonna choose Fredrika, Rosh was just a distraction to make her jealous.

Subtext: Vincent is talking about Nils, who just came out, but August just saw Sara, and that's the whoever he wants.

Subtext: But despite saying that he doesn't care about anyone else seeing them, he still ducked behind a stack of pallets for this conversation.

Meta: This is a brutal Fleabag reference.

Cinematography: This scene is overwhelmingly lit in that sickly greenish fluorescent hue, but there's golden light coming from somewhere, so Sara and August share one final kiss in that golden light. But there's not enough of it to go around, not enough for their love to last, so August is left standing there alone, and all the golden light is gone.

Cinematography: Wilhelm and Simon left the party sometime after midnight, this is supposed to be a very early morning summer sunrise, and our boys are just gonna be bathed in the golden light throughout the entire scene. Gods, it is pretty.

Meta: Hey, hey, remember that scene in season 1 when Simon was singing that song, and Wilhelm instantly fell for him?

Meta: Hey guys, remember that scene in season 1 when they were discussing welfare politics in class and Simon threw shade on Wilhelm? This is a throwback to that.

Cinematography: Just fucking look at this shit. What a nice view. The nature and the sunrise is pretty, too! Going naked into the water? Yeah, that's a rebirth metaphor as well. Lisa said so!

Subtext: This entire scene is basically Wilhelm trying one last time to get Simon back. They said they weren't gonna, but he's trying anyway. They're talking about that politics class where Wilhelm couldn't speak up because he was "not allowed". So he's still bound by his royal duties, which is why Simon broke up with him last episode.

Subtext: And since Wilhelm is still stuck, he's left on dry land, while Simon swims away from him, free. Guys, I'm thinking we're actually gonna get a sad ending! This does not look good! 😭

Blink and you miss it: Stella and Fredrika are sleeping in the same bed and making out the morning after, and millions of #Stedrika shippers are rejoicing! Yay, fanservice!

Blink and you miss it: Walter is helping Henry up after he passed out in the grass outside after the party, and millions of #Walty shippers are rejoicing! Yay, fanservice!

Subtext: The last photo Wilhelm takes down from his wall is the one with him and Simon, because that's the most important memory of this place.

Blink and you miss it: Wilhelm shuts off his red lightstrip in his room. Those lights have typically been a symbol of his love for Simon, but he's turning it off. Sad ending confirmed.

Meta: Listen, it's a lovely little song that Simon wrote for Wilhelm, but it's 100% fanservice, it's referencing events in the show that Simon actually didn't witness, and it's even referencing the soundtrack to the show itself! I mean, come on! And we're getting yet another sad boy Wilhelm montage of him moping around Hillerska with his earbuds.

Subtext: Remember how the frog snowglobe was a gift from Erik, who in turn got it from their grandpa, the king? It's so obviously a symbol of the monarchy, but Wilhelm is dumping it in the trash. Are we... Are we not getting a sad ending?

Cinematography: The shot of the flag being raised is cut off at half mast, which is a pretty universal symbol for mourning. Oh ok, we're back on track for a sad ending.

Subtext: This is the first time this season that Simon speaks Spanish with his mom, and the first time in the entire series that Sara does, which shows that they're fully themselves again, they've pulled themselves out of the Hillerska world.

Culture: The graduating students are having a champagne breakfast before the graduation ceremony, that's also very common in Sweden.

Subtext: Felice and the rest of the choir decided to have a little rebellion and not sing the boring old Hillerska song, and instead the new improved one that Simon made last season. No-one told him about the switch though, which is why he's so surprised.

Culture: After the ceremony, the graduating students will run out of the school to find their parents and family and friends, who are waiting for them, usually with a big sign with the most embarrassing baby picture they could find of them.

Blink and you miss it: August's mom and stepdad have also made a huge sign with an embarrassing picture of August Malte as a kid. Adorable.

Lost in translation: The queen is saying "lilla gubben", which literally means "little old man", a very common term of endearment in Swedish families. The show has been pretty consistent in that Wilhelm's family are all using normal words, just like any other family would. So it's pretty funny that despite everyone else using titles and styles all the time, to Wilhelm, his parents are simply "mamma" and "pappa", as if he was a regular kid.

Subtext: As a graduating student you get little gifts from your family, flowers, champagne, stuffed animals, all with a blue-and-yellow ribbon so you can hang them around your neck. August is family, so the Queen gives him one as well. Of a frog with a crown. Which is a symbol of the monarchy in the show. Wilhelm threw his frog in the trash, August is getting a frog from the Queen. I think there might be symbolism here! I think we're setting up August to become the next king! Do we dare hope for a happy ending?

Cinematography: Just fucking look at this shit. The composition, the contrast, the height difference, the distance between them. It's so pretty. And they're talking about how good it was while it lasted, just like how a TV show with a sad ending can still be an amazing experience. Hint hint.

Subtext: We're saying our goodbyes, Wilhelm and Simon are saying goodbye to each other, Wilhelm wishes Simon a nice summer, just like how Simon wished Wilhelm a good Christmas back in season 1, and just like back then, they both understand that they love each other, but can't be together.

Cinematography: And then Simon exits the scene, again, leaving Wilhelm standing there alone, again, having seemingly chosen his family and royal duty.

Culture: It's common to either rent a truck as a large group of students, or to be driven in a flashy car alone or with a friend. The two girls in the centre are sitting in a very nice Aston Martin, while a bunch of their classmates are on a truck. I can't make out the full text on the banner, but I think it says something like "Lock up your sons because tonight we become like animals".

Culture: Svensson is a very common Swedish last name, so to "be a Svensson" basically means that you're super average and mediocre, you're like everyone else. Whereas these elite kids are used to having everyone else bow and scrape for them, so that message is on brand.

Cinematography: We're in the car, it looks like the ending of season 1, and we're doing a close-up of Wilhelm's face. We're ready for the fourth-wall-break of him staring sadly into the camera, having been once again broken down by the system and not getting the boy. We've said goodbye to everyone, roll the credits, start your crying...

Cinematography: ...except the show isn't ending here. We're having an honest conversation between Wilhelm and his parents for the first time. Because every other time he's said that he doesn't want to be crown prince of the next king, he's been angry or upset, he's been threatening, and definitely impulsive. But he's never wanted any of it.

Cinematography: His parents let him go, they open the door to their van, Wilhelm exits, and the show turns up the volume of the soundtrack. "Energetic music" my ass, it's the Harmony theme! It's the main theme of the entire show playing as Wilhelm runs away.

Subtext: Oh, yeah, August sees him run away, and understands that he's next in line now. Sorry buddy, sucks to be you, but never mind that now. RUN, WILHELM, RUN!!! GET YOUR MAN!

Cinematography: The shows turns into the most perfect rom-com, with Wilhelm chasing down Simon's car through the incredibly lush and green Swedish summer. He catches up to them, tells Simon that he ditched the crown for his own sake, and asks if it's really over between them.

VAD FAN TROR DU?

As if the soundtrack wasn't triumphant enough, it now starts playing As Long As you Are Here as they throw themselves in each other's arms. Happy ending! They're crying, I'm crying, we're all crying! 😭

Cinematography: A montage? With all the best scenes between our boys from the entire show? With the text of the soundtrack perfectly matching the montage? I should be outraged at how cheesy this is, but it is perfect. Perfect. I love it. I swear, this fucking show.

Subtext: Finally we are at the true ending of the show. Wilhelm has managed to escape Hillerska, him and Simon and Sara and Felice have all escaped the hierarchies, the expectations, the duties, and the toxic environment of the school. He arrived in a Ferrari, and is now running away with his boyfriend and friends in a crappy Volvo station-wagon. The stiff suit jackets are gone, they're all in white, his hair is ruffled in the wind, and for the last time ever Wilhelm looks into the camera. And he smiles.

He is finally free.

[holywizardheart]

~Astrology observations~

Don't copyright my

The pictures aren't mine

Enjoy the reading

★How Aquarius/Uranus dominant aesthetic in my opinion looks like ^_^

★Moon/Mercury negative aspects they're bubbly only with close people. But they're usually quiet at first in my view.

★Sun/Saturn negative aspects can represent a detached or disinterested father. It can also mean that your father was absent throughout your life.

★Mars/Saturn negative aspects I noticed that they're quick to cut people off without explanation.

★Scorpio moons expect you to spill your guts and expose your vulnerable side but they won't do it themselves.

★Saturn in the 3rd house it's such a pain in your ass when it comes to school. Even if you try so hard to be the best student and always receive good marks people won't be satisfied especially teachers they will say like "You need to try harder" and lower your scores because they think that's not enough.

★Lilith in the 3rd house can mean in your school life you said something inappropriate and for that people shamed you. After that incident, you can be scared to express your opinion.

★Venus in the 10th house can also mean that you can't hide your relationship from people. Someone is going to find out and everyone will know about it anyway. I think having a secret relationship with someone may be impossible.

★Having Pluto in the 6th house is exhausting. Always overworking yourself and being a perfectionist at the same time. Also in childhood, you can be criticized for your mistakes and actions so as a result you may be scared of making mistakes.

*By the way, I have this aspect and my mom was so critical of me that she judged everything from my clothes to my behavior.*

★The north node in the 10th house and the south node in the 4th house can represent a distant relationship with the mother but a close relationship with the father.

★Capricorn placements are nostalgic as cancer placements. They can listen to their favorite old songs and just remember these memorable situations. Honestly, my dad with Capricorn stellium does that at least one time a year. Also, his playlist is filled with 80-90x music :)

★I think the sign who mostly has a victim complex is not Pisces but Leo

★Mars in the 10th house loves competition and challenges

★Pisces placements & Stockholm syndrome

[6lostgirl6]

Can you do an headcanon about Yandere Hannibal Lecter and Yandere Will Graham x Reader,please? (Poly relationship)

Yandere!Hannigram HCs

TW: yandere-trope, kidnapping, forced-cannibalism, Stockholm Syndrome 

Mentioned previously in Will’s yandere headcanons, he would feel extremely guilty about the obsessive feelings and dark thoughts he had of you. 

Hannibal is quit the opposite, he doesn’t see anything wrong with what he feels and doesn’t mind doing anything he can to make sure they had you. 

Therefore, Hannibal would heavily influence Will and encourage his obsession. Will’s guilty conscious would practically melt away quicker than if he wasn’t in a relationship with Hannibal already.

Telling him that it was natural and keeping the one you love locked away is simply because you want to make sure they were safe.

And there's nothing wrong with wanting your loved ones saved, correct?

With Will taking pictures of you while stalking you and Hannibal keeping notes about you, they basically make their own little (y/n) scrapbook.

They would team up when it's finally time to kidnap you and bring you to their home.

Hannibal is not afraid man-handling you if things went south. If you struggled or fought against them, he would quickly take you down.

Will still feels guilty of the bruise you had on your head. He hates having you hurt, especially when it's caused by him and his husband.

Hannibal's love languages are gift giving and quality time but that doesn't mean that he cannot be affectionate.

Even though Will is the most affectionate between the two, however, Hannibal is more subtle about it.

Lingering touches and quick forehead kisses are Hannibal's way of displaying affection.

Will would feel horrible about giving you punishments when you try slipping away.

Therefore, Hannibal would be the one in charge of disciplining you properly.

Most of them would be spankings and no, he is not gentle about it.

Will would definitely comfort you afterward while Hannibal would leave the two of you alone to make dinner.

Will would pull you close and whisper softly in your ear, stroking your hair while you sobbed into his shoulder.

Speaking of which, you will be following Hannibal's diet.

Will has gotten used to it already by this time, but he didn't want you traumatized by you seeing Hannibal cook.

Therefore, you are not allowed in the kitchen until everything is done.

Hannibal wouldn't tell you that you were consuming human flesh.

He's smart and knows that you would be more than freaked out if you found out the hard way.

However, he wouldnt deny it if you began to grow suspicious.

After being in captivity for almost a year, you have finally developed Stockholm Syndrome.

Hannibal and Will would be thrilled when you finally began returning their love.

However, Hannibal would know that it's simply because you have nobody else to be around and you were simply adapting to your situation.

He wouldn’t like it that you weren't naturally and truly in love with them but he would make do.

Will wouldn’t care.

They finally have your love and that's something he wouldn't waste.

Taglist: comment if you'd like to be added!!

@patient1666074 @rottent33th @slaasherslut

[transit-fag]

Hi 👋 I live in the south and I wanna GET OUTTA HERE. Public transport is literally #1 on my list of "looking where to move". But we're also considering potentially outside of the US. I know Amsterdam has the best public transit in the world and whatnot, but can you make a "top cities for public transport/urban design in the world" list?

I am going to focus on countries with legal gay marriage but it's New York, Taipei, Berlin, Barcelona, Copenhagen, Stockholm, Oslo, Helsinki. If you are willing to live in places without Gay Marriage, Tokyo and Seoul are pretty great as well. Of course when moving to another country you have to be willing to accept that things are done differently there, and learn the language at a minimum

[timeoveritasconsumofigmentum]

Yandere!Fisherman x F!Mermaid Reader Smut Alphabet:

Part 1 How he looks

Warnings: A Whole Lot Of Sexual Content. MDI.

[A/n: Decided to post some smutty head cannons of yandere!fisherman while I work on a new story, make sure to keep an eye out for that. :) Not proofread. ♡]

[NOTE: In this, once mermaid reader is plucked out of the ocean, she gains legs once her tail is dry like in the movie aquamarine. Low key got Stockholm syndrome lol. Enjoy.]

⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖° ⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖° ⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖° ⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖° ⋆｡𖦹 °.

A-(Arousal/what gets them in the mood): my god, your unfiltered curiosity about all the knickknacks and antiques that decorated the walls of his home. The sparkle in your eye, the excitement in your voice, the gentle grip you have on whatever you snatched from the shelve. It gets him so fucking hard. Will calmly explain to you what every single thing in your hand does while not so subtly pushing his growing bulge in the small of your back. Or seeing you in his clothing, obviously he didn’t prepare much when he decided to bring you to the surface. (Or keep you)So in order to keep your decency(not that he would ever mind if you waltz around the home nude) he lets you wear his softest sweaters. The knitted oversized material grazes the back of your calves, swallowing your body into the sea of fabric. Loves it cause it looks like the both of you actually a domestic couple. The idea of you as his wife, being able to take care of you in every way, living happily with 2 or 3 children that looked like a mixture of the both of you running around the home, filling it with laughter. The mere thought has blood rushing south, has to hide the growing tent in his pants as he gathers his daily catch.

⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖° ⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖° ⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖° ⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖° ⋆｡𖦹 °.

B (Blue balls/how do they react to stimulation denial):Knows he can’t push your limits. Isn’t going to force you into anything you don’t want to do. You’ve just been pulled(kidnapped) from your home into the land of the unknown! It’s completely understandable but. It’s so hard for him to see you snore softly in his bed. The small puddle of drool staining the fluffy pillow under your head, body curling into itself for warmth. If only you knew he imagined that pillow was you, folding in half and fucking into it like a teenager. Moaning your name softly as he came. Gave it to you with a big smile cheeks still warm from his session “this one is the softest.” Will sometimes be cheeky and let out a loud moan or two to pique your interest.

⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖° ⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖° ⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖° ⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖° ⋆｡𖦹 °.

C-(cum) listen. Listen. Listen. He’s a workaholic, so he’s usually overworks himself. Doesn’t really make time to masturbarte cause of the long hours on the sea, ergo passing out from exhaustion, meaning huge ass loads. I’m taking about puddles of cum coating his lower stomach and v line. He’s a bit pent up, what do you expect? Once you actually has sex well, enjoys decorating your body in ropes of his cum but enjoys it even more when he gets to plug you up with his cock fucking his cum further into you. Gets bashful at the amount that he releases but with you? Ha. He lives for the moment you squirt in his mouth, your hole spasming around his tongue as he slurps up all of your cum, downing it down like a man starved. You’ll have to yank his head up to get him to even breath, entangling your fingers in his damp curly hair to lift him out of his meal. A dazed smile on his glistening face, pupils blown up with lust.

⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖° ⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖° ⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖° ⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖° ⋆｡𖦹 °.

D-(dirty talk/ are they vocal in bed?) The man that’s usually so stoic and rude to others becomes pure putty in your hands. On softer days once you give him the green light, he worship your body. Showering you with compliments. “You’re so pretty sweetheart, doing so well for me.” Other days where he can’t help but to be mean, teasing you and your reactions. “Aw baby did you cum from me just rubbing your pretty pussy? I thought i told you I wanted to feel you cum on my dick, guess you had to be greedy hm?”

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E-(erogenous zones) He’s pretty sensitive on his back. Run nail on his spine and will shiver, goosebumps covering his skin. His thighs, will moan more when you’re giving him head and resting your hands on his thigh massaging the tight muscles. Loves when you leave scratches on his shoulder blades when he’s fucking you, like his own temporary tattoo.(Pouts when they start healing.)

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F-(fetish) Is into fear play. Sorry not sorry, but man literally stalked you for months. And unfortunately because of the way you two met, you did attempt to run back to the ocean more than once. (He would always catch you before you made it on the dock.) When you finally trust him and willing give his fantasies a try, likes to play into a scenario where you try to run away. Your stuttering heart beating echoing in his ears, the whines of pleasure as he manhandled your body. It gets him dizzy with lust.

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G-(giving/what they would do) He loves to make you feel good, it’s always your pleasure before his. You’re the love of his life of course he’s going to pamper you! Duh. From making out with your pussy, to sucking your stiff nipples, to softly biting into the meat of your thighs leaving blooming hickeys in their wake. He’ll always checks in to make sure you’re doing okay. Even if you aren’t in the mood, he’ll still make sure that you’re relaxed and blissful every night. Tenderly massages all the tension knots from your back, wrapping you in his large form holding you close. Even when you want time alone, will sleep in the living room like when you were adjusting.

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H-(hot and bothered/ how do you know when they’re turned on) Face and neck will start to turn pink, the stubble of his face doing very little to conceal the sudden flush. Attempts hide the obvious bulge in his trousers, trying to readjust by tucking his now hard dick into the waistband of his boxers. Voice will get deeper. Eyes will go half lidded. Yeah he’s thinking ‘bout fucking you.

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I-(initiate/how do they get things started) Cups your face gently, pressing his lips against yours. Simple kisses turn into making out, shifting into tossing each other clothes to the other side of the room. You hands grip his shoulders as he marks the column of your neck in hickeys. Dry humping for a bit until you guys shuck off your clothing and really get in to it.

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J-(jitters/how nervous do they get)He hasn’t had that many sexual partners, so sex was something relatively new to him. Was anxious to disappoint you but he quickly got the hang of it. Not gonna lie, he got more cocky overtime. Knowing your body like the back of his hand did things to his ego. Sometimes still get bashful but only when you paw at him for more.

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K-(kinks/ main kinks they enjoy) Has always wanted a big family since it was just him and his grandmother, so has a huge ass breeding kink. The thought of him being able to cum in your fertile womb has him feral. Just knowing he could knock you up. Is a bit adventurous so will be more than okay to have sex in public, folding your body on the warm sand. Unless you don’t that’s cool homie. Likes to tie you up, he didn’t learn all those different knots to not put them to use. Your whines about wanting to be able to touch him makes him feel even wanted.

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L-(location) He’s an old fashion lad, he ultimately adores to make love to you in bed. Wanting to make sure that he gets to touch every inch of skin. But he’s also a pent up horn dog. You could be in the kitchen attempting to make a meal, man will be on you in a second. Setting you down on the counter as he kisses you softly while his course hand rubs your pussy. Will fuck you on his boat in broad daylight, he cares but he doesn’t care.Your moans and the loud sound of your conjoined body releasing wet smacks through the area.

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M-(masturbation/do they do it? What do they think about?) like I said, baby boy doesn’t make enough time to release the tension coiling in his body. Watches you sleep, yeah he’s a creep like that. Rubs his bulge to your soft snore, staining his underwear with pre. Never goes too far, like to cum on your unsuspecting legs or pretty face, even though he wanted to on numerous occasions. Once you’re got there, the sexual appetite he usually ignored came rushing back to him the moment you set foot in his house. Fucks his fist, squeezing the tip of leaking dick pretending it was your softer smaller hands. Naturally he masturbates at least every night when he can’t be with you.

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N-(natural/ describe how they look without clothes) He’s not too hairy, burly arms and thick muscled legs held the usual amount of body hair. He may be a workaholic but he enjoys taking care of himself. His grandmother always told him that first appearances are everything, so makes a conscious effort to groom himself. Has a very prominent happy trail, the short hair beginning just at the bottom of his belly button. And yeah he trims his pubes, he’s a hygienic lad.

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O-(oral/ giving or receiving) He lives for pleasuring you. It was the only thing you would let him do for a couple of months so high-key got addicted to it. The breathy moans you released, the twitch of your thighs underneath his fingers, your sweet pussy oozing out cum. Could eat you out for hours, like I’m talking about jaw locking hours. As for receiving, well, the moment your hands wrap around his aching cock and your pretty lips wrap around the mushroom tip, he’s a goner. Phew! Just the mere thought of you shrouded in between his thighs, desperately trying to fit his girthy length in your mouth but failing, it makes him cum tons.

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P-(pent up/how long can they go without sex) Though he’s a sexy ass man, and the woman in town do notice him(flirt with him). He didn’t really think much about sex or relationships until you came into his life. Used to go months with release not really caring if he did, but now? Now, he can only go for a couple of days without cumming, will make time to pull multiple orgasms from the both of you even if it takes all night.

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Q-(quickly/how long does sex last with them) I’m not gonna lie, the first couple of time he came pretty quick. Your warm wet walls sucking him in further, constricting around his already twitching length. Of course he couldn’t help it. He doesn’t get much pussy, so don’t bully him :(. Now though? Well let’s just say his hunger for you is insatiable. Will go at it for literal hours, hours, round after round, not pausing (unless you need a break.) Will overstimulate the both of you to the point where you both pass out from sheer exhaustion. Mind numbing orgasm after orgasm. The bed stickly wet, your mixed juices staining the dark grey sheets.

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R-(receiving/how they act when partner takes reigns) Gurl the moment you sit ease him into you, he can’t even control the stuttering rhythm of his hips. The way your hands press against the swiney pecs, the flush covering your face as you lifted your self up and down riding him like your life depended of getting his load. Cums in a matter of minutes, but doesn’t mind if you wanna go another couple rounds. This side of you makes him feel giddy.

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S-(safe word/is it easy for them to stop?) Unless he’s dishing out punishment, you don’t have to try at all to get this behemoth to stop. The moment you signal you’re uncomfortable or the sensations are too much, he immediately goes into service mode. Handling your twitching body with upmost care, carefully wiping your puffy pussy clean, brushing his lips on the bruises his fingers left, massaging your aching muscles. He could still be hard but will abandon all pleasure just to take care of you.

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T-(trouble/ are they giving or receiving punishments?) Now you guys had to be build a sense of trust before you got to where you were, and that meant denying you of your release on multiple occasions. Suckling your clit until you cried out, but quickly pulling away the moment the tell signs of your orgasm crept up. Leaving you openly sobbing in frustration, keeps you a crying aching mess and will do it until you beg him to stop or just agree with whatever the hell he wants.

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U-(underwear/what they wear) Simple briefs. Usually opts for black or grey. Nothing too fancy. Sometimes likes to sleep in the nude but isn’t something he does often.

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V-(vocal/how loud are they) Baby gurl that coochie makes him sing like a canary. Isn’t too too loud but lets out his fair share of grunts and moans. He wants to let you know you make him feel incredible. His already deep voice lowering an octave as he groaned in your ear “you’re so fuckin’ perfect, pussy was made for me.”

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W-(Watch) He’s not too big on porn, but has a couple old erotica novels in his house.

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X-(wild card/random head cannon/ description of his meat stick) He has a very pretty dick. Ain’t gonna say it twice. Thick as a water bottle. 6 inches soft, 8.5 hard. Has a pretty pink mushroom head with two prominent veins tracing the underside of his cock and tan in colour.

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Y-(yes/would they open to new things?) My man would literally do anything for you. If you wanna fuck in the middle of the market, who is he to ignore your wish? Want him to eat you out the moment you wake up? He’s already on it. Wanna try mutual masturbation, (had a field day when you found out you read his ‘private’ books) hell yeah he’s down. Again though isn’t gonna force you to explore new things unless you 100 percent want to.

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Z-(zipper/do they get undressed or leave clothes on) There are fair occasions where he’s so feral for you that all he manages to be able to do it yank down his zipper and pull out his dick before fucking you into oblivion. But most the of the time, he loves to feel your skin on his. It just reminds him that you’re truly there with him, that he gets to be as close to you as humanely possible. Likes the both of you to be bare but also doesn’t mean he ain’t gonna fuck you when you wear those pretty dresses he got for you.

[depravitycentral]

Yandere! Feitan Portor NSFW Profile

Yandere! Feitan Portor x fem! reader

Tw: mentions of non/dub-con, stalking, masturbation, kidnapping, spit, drool, lots and lots of cum, Feitan is gross and icky and comes in your conditioner I'm so sorry, seriously this one is pretty gross I apologize now, bondage, ropes, blood, period sex, consumption of period blood, Stockholm Syndrome, a few mentions of reader having pubic hair, mentions of premature ejaculation, Feitan has intimacy issues, a touch of sadomasochism, dry humping, blindfolds, begging, edging, overstimulation, there's a lot going on, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy! 

WC: 12K (oh my god)

HABITS:

Even amongst the Troupe, Feitan is particularly emotionally stunted. 

Of course, he knows about relationships, about the intimacy that ensues - he’s never personally fucked anyone, but he knows how it goes, what it’s like (at least, in theory), how it’s supposed to feel. He’s just never wanted to - his libido is actually quite low, and although he’s spent nights tossing and turning in bed, cock throbbing and aching for attention, he’s never felt the urge to find some random woman for a fun, stress relieving night. 

Sure, he’s jerked off more times than he can count, and he’s been to more strip clubs with Phinks and Uvogin than he’d care to admit. He’s been around it his whole life, even from a young age as a child in Meteor City - so yes, he knows about sex. 

He’s just never been able to tolerate someone long enough to consider sleeping with them, much less actively wanting to sleep with them. And yet, once you step into his life, Feitan finds himself uncomfortably aroused by the idea of letting his hands wander your body, of seeing the way your pretty face would scrunch up in pleasure, of hearing your little moans and yelps when he kisses you and sinks his teeth in just a bit too hard. 

Once his obsession with you forms and he begins moving past some of those initial mental barriers, Feitan finds himself beginning to crave you intimately, physically, sexually. And, just as the rest of his feelings for you, he hates it at first. 

He hates how just a simple thought of you has his body growing hot, the collar of his jacket uncomfortably tight as he shifts his weight, trying to ignore the way blood is steadily rushing south. 

He hates how just a simple look from you, with your eyes all innocent yet sultry, makes him gulp a bit, his fingers twitching at his side. He doesn’t like how he can’t control his body’s reaction to you, but it’s not like he can help it - it’s instinctual, primal, carnal, as if his body is recognizing that you’re the chosen one for him to fornicate with, as if you’re the only one worthy of his sexual attention.

Feitan doesn’t like this change in developments much, but quickly he finds himself at a crossroads; he can spend nearly every night staring at the black of his ceiling, laying in bed and glancing down at the massive tent in the sheets centered around his crotch, or he can give in and get working, letting his hand run along the length of his cock all with you on his mind.

 He doesn’t feel guilty about masturbating to you, per se, but there is this weird sense of embarrassment that sits heavy in his chest as he exhales shakily and spreads the bead of precum along his shaft. There is this weird feeling like he’s doing something bad, something naughty, as if you’d be disgusted if you were to ever find out.

It makes him feel strange, but he almost likes it - it’s a thrill he gets, particularly to the knowledge that you’d probably be disgusted to know he wrings himself dry (often more than once at a time) nearly every night, all with the mental image of you naked, writhing and stuffing your fingers into that warm, wet, oh so fucking tight cunt of yours. 

He’d never admit, but he’d give anything to be your fingers, to feel the sensation of being inside you, even if it was only for a few moments. (That’d probably be enough to make come the first time he fucks you, anyways.)

Once he gives in to getting off with you in mind, Feitan finds himself fucking his fist frequently, frantically, his hips thrusting into his hand faster and rougher the longer he goes on, the longer the image of you crying his name and clenching down around his cock plays behind his eyelids.

He wraps his hand around his girth and immediately starts violently pumping his fist up and down, until he’s eventually stuttering your name and coming, sending spurts of cum flying up onto his chest, the white staining his pale chest. It feels good, or at least good enough to satisfy him for the moment, up until he ends up palming himself through his pants the next night. 

It’s a never ending cycle, and frankly it leaves Feitan frustrated – it’s just not enough. The thought of you is more than enough, really, to functionally get him shooting ropes of cum out of his swollen, needy tip, but there’s this part of him buried deep inside that needs more, something to make him feel like it’s really you he’s touching and fucking. 

It’s not enough to be the one touching himself, when he knows it would feel different if it was your soft hand, your warm lips, your tight walls. He needs something more, something more intimate and personal and you in order to really get himself off, to really feel connected to you in the way he craves. 

And so, Feitan makes a discovery one evening that changes everything; he has a penchant for sneaking into your room after you’ve fallen asleep, the dismal security of your apartment something he’s simultaneously grateful and irritated with you for. He likes to just watch you sleeping, those dark eyes taking in every detail about your unconscious form, all exposed for his viewing pleasure without you even knowing it. 

He always shuffles closer the longer he watches, his feet taking just a tiny step every once in a while, just because he can smell you better when he’s closer, see more detail in your skin and features, and it’s only after he’s crept his way right up to your side that he notices it. He should be disgusted, he thinks, when he sees the bit of drool slipping past your lips, your slumber deep enough that you haven’t noticed the wet pool of it against your pillow. 

He should be grimacing and scooting away, revolted by something so gross, but instead Feitan finds his eyes getting caught on the way your lips are just slightly parted, the wetness against your chin shining ever so slightly in the pale moonlight. 

He doesn’t really know why he does it, but soon his fingers are reaching out, lightly brushing against your lip, a sharp inhale audible as he feels the warm wetness of your saliva against his fingertips. He’ll retract his hand, staring with narrowed eyes, before slowly, carefully bringing his fingers to his own mouth, slipping them past his lips, letting his eyes flutter closed because he’s tasting you. 

It’s euphoric, your spit sweet and leaving the perfect tang on his tongue, and suddenly Feitan’s reaching into his jacket pockets, frantically searching for the vial he keeps on hand, just in case he needs a bit of blood from a victim or enemy. He gulps when he finally pulls it out, wiping at it to rid it of any remaining blood, before carefully bringing the glass up to your face, positioning it right below your chin so that the next bit of drool to drip out of your mouth lands in the vial rather than on your pillow. 

It’s a slow process, filling it up, but Feitan’s committed, spending every night sitting beside your bed, watching you sleep and seeing the glass slowly fill with your drool, collected all for him. And when he finally has enough? Well, it’s easy to transition from slowly dipping his fingers in the vial and letting his tongue glide over them to letting the spit cover other areas of his body, even if the mere idea makes him scoff while a blush settles over the bridge of his nose. 

It’s not until one night, though, that he finally takes the plunge, crossing a line he can never recover from. He’d been particularly pent up, his cock absolutely swollen, aching and desperate for release, and his fist was just not enough. Even as he pounded away, biting his lip and furrowing his thin brows, the pleasure just wouldn’t come. 

His eyes wander from his ceiling down to his dresser, zeroing in on the glass vial sitting so innocently, so provocatively, practically taunting him to come closer. He’s snatching up the glass before he can really think, sitting back down and tearing the top off, his fingers moving faster than he can process. 

Soon, he’s dipping them in, swirling them a bit to make sure they’re really covered, but instead of bringing them to his lips, his hands travel south - gripping onto his cock, the wet coolness making him hiss through his teeth. He brings his wrist up, your saliva slowly smearing along his shaft, leaving it wet and twitching in the cold air of his bedroom, visibly throbbing as he runs his thumb over his slit, making sure to absolutely drench himself with your spit. 

His eyes slide shut, head rolled back slightly as he moves his hand at a steady, painfully slow pace, trying to calm his heart rate because this is so very different from before. It’s different, if only because it’s you - your saliva is letting his hand move smoother, your saliva coating his skin, you helping him to get off. It makes him feel dizzy, the familiar coil in his stomach appearing embarrassingly quickly as he speeds up his fist, images of you playing behind his eyes. 

He can’t help but imagine you on your knees before him, staring up at him with those pretty eyes, all wide and glassy and yearning, with your hands tied behind your back and your lips parted, pink tongue lolled out and waiting for him to fill that tight throat of yours. He grunts, squeezing at his tip, digging his fingers back through the vial to refresh the supply of your drool, and in his mind he’s slowly tracing your lips with the head, smearing his precum along your skin as you clench your thighs together and hum, practically begging him to facefuck you. 

Feitan hunches forward slightly as his wrist moves even faster, hand flying up and down his shaft, wet noises accompanying every jerk all caused by the excessive wetness he’s coated himself with, the feeling of your spit exactly what he’d be feeling if he was actually stuffing your little mouth, dark hairs tickling your cheeks and nose as he pushes your head all the way down, so that his tip is nestled down your throat. 

He lets out a guttural groan at that, a strained noise that makes him grimace, but he can’t help it - his orgasm is approaching, and he can’t help but listen to the wet squelching noises and imagine your gags and sharp breaths accompanying them, his toes curling. It feels so good, a building warmth in his naval that only grows bigger, stronger, more insistent, and all too soon he’s imagining the way you’d present your face to him when he pulls out and strokes himself over your face, cum spurting from his tip and landing in rivulets all along your cheeks, lips, nose, even getting into your hair.

You’d look so good, all messy and out of breath and covered in him him him, just as he is you. 

He bares his teeth as he feels himself right on the edge, his fingers clutching onto the vial so tightly he nearly shatters it, his cock bobbing and throbbing, balls clenching as he curls in on himself, small chants of your name mumbled under breath and then he’s coming, cum spraying everywhere as he gasps, hips bucking involuntarily into the air, chasing after his fist with every pump, aching to be releasing inside you, where it belongs. 

He takes a moment to come down from his high, chest heaving and eyes wide, staring down at the vial in his shaking hand, the weight of his orgasm shocking him. He’d never come so hard, like every muscle in his body was spasming, the pleasure nearly overwhelming. His eyes flick over to the clock, and he splutters, seeing the time. 

3:08, meaning only three minutes had passed since he’d snatched up the vial, feeling your spit against his skin, feeling you against the sensitive skin of his cock. 

His eyes close, his breath finally evening out, before he’s carefully setting the vial aside, recapping it and laying onto his back, trying to process why the hell he’d come so fast with something as grotesque as your spit to help him. He’s not sure, but then the images return of you on your knees for him, face still covered in his release and telling him that you want more, please Feitan, will you give me more? 

He groans as he feels his softening cock suddenly begin growing once more, his hips twitching as he reaches down to lightly grope at his balls, swallowing and deciding whether to dip his fingers into the vial yet again - he only has a limited supply, after all, and he’d be needing it again tomorrow night when he inevitably lets his mind wander to thoughts of you tied up and begging for him. 

He grumbles, a strained sort of sound, before getting to work once more, spitting into his hand and letting a small, barely there smile grace his lips, the slight flush still high on his cheeks. He’d have to get some more, he decided, because this? 

Well, fucking you was surely better, but Feitan would be a food to not capitalize on this new discovery - and when he’s painting his chest with ribbons of cum again a few minutes later, he decides that he’ll never go back to not having something of yours to aid him while he gets off. 

It’s just more intimate this way, better, like you’re really there - like you’re really naked and ready to fulfill every need, desire and fantasy of his. 

Like you want him. 

FAVORITE BODY PARTS:

Your face

In general, Feitan thinks you’re attractive. He’s hesitant to say beautiful or pretty or really anything of the sort, if only because the way he feels for you is a bit more complicated than that. 

You’re not just pretty; you’re alluring, someone that always seems to catch his eye no matter how hard he tries to stop it. 

You’re not beautiful; objectively, there’s nothing about you that he hasn’t seen in hundreds of other women, whether it be your hair, your lips, your figure, or anything else. (Except maybe your eyes, or maybe your smile - things that are just so unapologetically you, things that Feitan thinks he could recognize with his eyes closed.) 

You’re nothing particularly special, physically speaking, and yet there’s something about you that he just can’t shake, some involuntarily thing that motivates him to always have his eyes on you, his body unconsciously facing you, his senses just so very aware of you. And because Feitan spends so much time simply watching you, he’s become extremely well antiquated with your features, with your pretty face that always seems to pull him in, like a moth to a flame. 

He’s memorized the way your lips curve, the soft skin puckering and moving with every word you say, and he often finds his gaze flicking down to watch while you talk, eyes sitting there idly as he lets his mind wander to what else you can do with those lips, what other shapes they can make. 

He’s studied every slope of your nose, the shape seeming to fit your face perfectly, and he even finds himself turning his lip when he sees models or celebrities with the same nasal structure - it doesn’t look nearly as good on them as it does you. 

And of course, your eyes - he’s spent more hours than he can count looking into them, unwilling to break the eye contact as he stares, fascinated with the color, how they shine in the light, how sunlight seems to make them glow, making you glow. 

So while there’s not any particular thing Feitan can say makes you attractive, you just are - enough so that he’s found himself seeing flashing images of your face late at night, when he’s unable to sleep and polishing his weapons, letting his mind wander and inevitably stumble into thoughts of you. He’ll relive the way you look when you smile - your grin is wide, teeth exposed, the pretty skin of your lips all stretched to accommodate your joy. 

You look good like that, and all too soon his innocent thought process of you is slipping into something sinister, something dirty and risqué, because now he’s imagining the way you’d smile up at him when he’s got you underneath him, your pretty little pleas and desperate begs for him to touch you making his skin tingle and his throat feel stuffy. 

He’s imagining the way you’d lick your lips when he tells you to get on your knees, his cock mere inches from your face as he strokes  himself, the eagerness and hunger in your eyes making him rush forward and bury himself down your throat in one go.

He’s imagining the way you’d look when he’s got you creaming on his cock, face pressed against the mattress and a mixture of tears and drool slipping down your chin, the pleasure just too much, even while your hips grind back on him, wanting more more more. 

He just likes your face, finding it oddly pleasing, and when the two of you are intimate, he finds himself eagerly searching out your facial expressions as often as possible - it’s the way he knows what you like, if you’re enjoying what he’s doing to you, if he’s doing a good job. 

So really, exaggerate the expressions, make it clear exactly what you’re feeling, and Feitan will be over the fucking moon - pounding into you with a new vigor, a sudden resolve to get you coming at least twice before he’s done with you. You’re just too attractive for him to resist, and he’s only a man, after all. 

His hands 

In general, Feitan is a fan of showing his feelings rather than articulating them, and even then only to an extent. 

There’s only so far he’s willing to expose his vulnerability, and it just becomes easier and less scary to just show you, to let his actions speak louder. And despite it taking a very, very long time for him to grow comfortable enough to actually act on this philosophy, one of the first ways that he’ll settle into touching you is with his hands. 

They’re rough, the skin calloused and scarred, pale fingers just the slightest bit off in certain spots, evidence of the multitudes of times he’s broken them. His fingers are lithe, nimble, quick and dexterous, evidence of his abilities with swords and the various tools he uses for work. And so, once he turns his hands onto you, you’ll notice all these things. 

It starts small - a fleeting feeling of his fingers pressing against the small of your back, merely a ghost of a touch that leaves you wondering if you really felt anything at all. 

He’ll reach out to flick at your forehead if you do something dumb (something endearing, but dumb), glaring at you and telling you to stop it, though his fingers are tingling where they made contact with your skin. 

He’ll lightly lay his hand on your hip, or on your thigh, keeping it there for a few moments before snatching it back to his own side, his hand flexing and the muscles tightening up because god, did you like that? Did you like it when he touched you? 

He gets in his head way too much about how you react to his touch, but the truth is that Feitan is incredibly touch starved, particularly when it comes to any sort of positive or romantic touch. 

He’s a criminal and has grown up in horrible conditions, and he’s simply never cared. But now that you’re here, someone for him to live out all those cliche, stupid romantic tropes? Well, he can’t directly ask for your affection, but you’ll notice the way his hands lay on your body for just a beat too long, just enough to make you wonder whether that touch was really as innocent as he seems to think it was (it’s not, at least not as much as he wishes - every time his skin brushes yours, this spark of electricity dances up his spine, making him gulp and tense up, because while the feeling blooming in his chest is warm and good, it’s still foreign, still something he hasn’t quite gotten used to yet).

And even once he reaches the stage where he’s grown comfortable enough with the concept of being intimate with you to actually touch you, he still relies heavily on his hands. Particularly, Feitan grows an affinity for fingering you - he loves the way your cunt just seems to suck his fingers in, as if your body is begging for more and more of him, craving his touch and the pleasure only he can give you. 

He’ll experiment a lot with you at first, curling his fingers or scissoring them, dark eyes appraising your face and checking for any changes in expression that could hint at what rhythm or area you like. 

(You’ll wonder where he learned some of the motions he tries out on you - he’ll never admit to watching porn to learn some ideas, nor that he practiced them before trying them out on you, his hand sandwiched between two pillows as he diligently curled them, perfecting the ‘come hither’ motion or letting his thumb practice rubbing tight, firm circles against the cotton. No, he’d rather die than have you learn that - you can’t know how badly he wants to please you, after all.) 

He likes to watch his fingers dipping inside you, the way they emerge all wet and glistening, a ring of white sitting right above his knuckles and filling him with pride. 

(Often, he finds himself idly staring at his fingers after you’ve fallen asleep, your body sore and exhausted after the fucking he’d put you through. He’ll spread them, staring from all angles, remembering the feeling of your wet heat around them, how your walls clamped down on him, even how your lips and tongue flicked across them when he’d shoved them into your mouth earlier. He’ll bring them to his lips, idly sucking on them, trying in vain to get every last drop of you off of them, so that he can taste you for just a moment longer, just to satisfy himself for as long as he can.) 

He’s a late bloomer and it will take him a long while to reach the point of being willing to touch you sexually (though he wants to from pretty much the get-go, much to his embarrassment), but once he does, you’d better get used to the feeling of his hands against your skin - after all, he’s insistent, and you do not want to reject his touch. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll just moan and sigh and tell him it feels good, because Feitan is just so much more agreeable when he’s happy - you’ll get to come that way, too.

DRIVE:

Generally speaking, Feitan’s libido has never been especially high. Sex has never been a priority for him, and even once his days as a Troupe member begin, this doesn’t change. He doesn’t see the attraction to sleeping around, to fucking random women just for a few minutes of fleeting pleasure. 

It’s just so much work to be around others, to have to communicate and hear their complaining when he doesn’t put effort into making them feel good – it’s just not fun, not something he wants to spend his time with. And so, while Feitan is certainly no saint, he doesn’t actively seek out sexual partners. And he especially doesn’t seek out touching another person, letting himself be touched, becoming vulnerable in any possible way.

So, once you step into his life, this self-inflicted celibacy doesn’t really change all that much. Of course, the idea of touching you is significantly more attractive than it would be to touch a random stranger, but Feitan is still not especially eager to fuck you once his obsession develops. 

He’s a bit of a late bloomer, taking a while to let his emotions warm up to you. In doing so, it takes a long, long time for his sexual urges towards you to appear, because Feitan prides himself on having good self control. But once he fully gives in to the fact that he wants you, in a way that’s entirely new and scary and foreign to him, the urges begin appearing. 

The idly thoughts wondering what you’re wearing, what you’re thinking about, if you’re in the mood… He’s still not as horny as some of his fellow Troupe members, but Feitan begins regularly imagining fucking you, the thoughts seemingly popping out of nowhere and completely unannounced. 

Frankly, it’s irritating; why is he imagining you without a shirt on when Phinks is telling him about the latest job Chrollo had paired them up for? (It’s a pain in the ass to hide the slowly growing tent in his trousers from the blond - he always just seems to know, and Feitan would rather die than be subjected to the never ended teasing.) 

Why is he imagining the way your lips would feel wrapped around his cock when he’s slicing off that man’s head, the cut clean and clear yet the only thing he can think of being how your cheeks would hollow as you suck? 

It’s annoying, and although he tries to fight it at first, he eventually gives up. There’s only so much he can stop himself from imagining, and as his obsession grows deeper, the perverse fantasies he holds towards you only grow more numerous, more pronounced, more longed for. He finds himself actively wanting to be intimate with you, and while he won’t act on that desire for a very long time, it’s left to quality sit, festering and brewing inside him until one day it’s all just too much, a dam bursting that forces him to finally take that last step, to let himself rest a hand on you or brush his lips against your cheek or graze his finger along your nipple. 

He doesn’t move very fast, but Feitan’s in no rush - after all, you’re stuck with him for the rest of your life, and he’ll be the only other human you’ll ever interact with. By the time he’s ready to progress your relationship forward, you’ll likely have come around, desperate enough for human contact that you’ll want him to touch you, that you’ll want to touch him back. 

Just the thought makes him gulp and flex his fingers, excitement and anxiety settling into his stomach, his cock growing half hard even as his mind winces. 

However, because he has so many issues surrounding intimacy and vulnerability, Feitan will likely never actually force you into anything. 

Because you’re likely to come around and develop Stockholm Syndrome by the time he’s ready to touch you, you’ll be more than eager to let his hand rest on your waist, or to let him stand behind you so that your ass is pressed against his crotch, the tent in his pants more than apparent. You’ll be ready, but until he’s ready, he has to find alternatives. 

Because he’s still frequently experiencing sexual urges towards you way before he’s willing to act on them, Feitan finds himself quite sexually frustrated. He has all these dirty thoughts, all these possessive, insistent feelings urging him to just take you, to stake his claim on you by stuffing you full of his cock and cum, and he has to release them somehow. 

And so, he falls back on a method that he isn’t necessarily proud of, but does find some sick, twisted sense of pride and amusement from. That is, because he’s the one supplying literally everything to you once you’re trapped under his roof, it’s not so hard to tamper with some of the ingredients of your essentials. 

Your conditioner, for instance; he buys you the brand you love (something he tells you is coincidence but most certainly isn’t), and as he opens the cap and smells it one day while you’re asleep in the next room over, he can’t help but notice how creamy it is, how thick and how white it is.

It make shim gulp, and after quickly making sure to lock the bedroom door you’re trapped behind, Feitan shakily returns to the bathroom, exhaling deeply. It’s just a coincidence that the conditioner resembles something that he produces, right? 

It’s an amusing twist of fate that your favorite conditioner (with the scent he can only describe as you) looks almost exactly like his cum, right? 

Feitan thinks so, and as his mind wanders back to the little stunt you’d pulled earlier in the day, he finds himself settling onto the closed toilet lid, reaching into his pants and pulling out his cock, already drooling precum and sensitive to the touch. 

You’d been laying on your bed, blanket barely covering your body as you slept, the skimpy pajamas you’d fallen asleep in in disarray on your figure. Your shirt had bunched up, letting one pert, supple breast slip out, your nipple on display, not even the blanket managing to cover it up. 

(He’d froze when he noticed, slowly creeping closer, licking his lips and unable to stop staring.) 

And those damn sleeping shorts, always getting moved around and never quite sitting right on your hips when you wake up, were twisted a bit, the holes for your legs angled just right so that if he looked the right way, he could see the very edge of your cunt, one lip covered with pretty pubic hairs, looking soft and warm and so fuckable. 

You were asleep, and somewhere in Feitan’s mind he knows you weren’t doing it on purpose, but it’s hard not to blame you for being so indecent, for hoping to tempt Feitan into giving in. You’re such a fucking minx, all teasing and daring to show off your assets, and how was Feitan supposed to react to this? How was he not supposed to immediately grow aroused and flustered, unable to tare his gaze from your vulnerable body?  

Eventually he’d managed to, shutting the door behind him and taking a few uneven breaths, trying desperately to not replay the image of your breast over and over in his mind. It’s no use, however, and as he splashes his face with cold water in the bathroom, that’s when his eyes land on the conditioner bottle. 

His hand moves fast as he fucks his fist, hissing under his breath over and over as he steadily gets closer, driven forward by the idea of lewd it will be to have his cum in something as personal as you conditioner. 

He can’t stop thinking about how you’d have no idea, waltzing around with his cum soaked into your pretty hair, maybe even making you smell like him - He’s groaning, the thoughts pushing him closer and closer to the edge, his orgasm hurtling forward as he imagines the way you’d lather it in your hands, humming and making sure every square inch of your hair is covered in it, covered in him. 

He imagines the way you’d bring it up to your nose and deeply inhale, sighing because it’s your favorite scent, wondering why it smells a bit more musky than you remember, but not minding. Maybe you’d even like the new scent, and just the thought of that is enough to push him over the edge, a sharp growl slipping past his lips as he aims his cock right into the bottle, cum spraying all over the conditioner, the white colors matching perfectly. 

He’s breathing hard, a seemingly never ending series of spurts coming from his swollen tip, and once he thinks he’s done, he grasping his length and lightly shaking it, lodging any loose bits of cum out, coaxing them to join the pile. Once done, he’ll gulp, letting a small smirk slip onto his lips as he closes the bottle, shutting the lid tight and shake the bottle, making sure to thoroughly mix it. 

He won’t tell you about his little ‘gift’, of course not - but you’ll know something is up when he’s standing stiff as you exit the bathroom, towel wrapped around your body and wet hair having been marinating in the special mixture he made for you, and when he’s eagerly sniffing your head every chance he gets after that, you’ll have to realize something is amiss. 

When he’s asking you if your hair feels particularly soft, you’ll have to know he’s trying to get at something, some layer underneath the surface that he’s really speaking about. 

It’s enough to satisfy him for the time being, his possessiveness over you quelling ever so slightly because even though it’s not in your cunt, where it belongs, at least he’s got his cum somewhere on you - and until he’s ready to fuck you properly, that’ll have to do. It’ll become habit, and one day you may even stumble upon him midway through the process, your conditioner bottle an inch or so from his tip as he frantically tugs and pulls. 

(He’ll freeze, unable to process that he got caught, and frankly, he’ll just try to ignore that you ever saw it, not willing to broach the topic - and you won’t be either, because what the fuck?)He just really, really desires you, and Feitan is a resourceful man - so I hope you like the smell of musk and a bit of iron, because you’ll be smelling like it for weeks.

MAIN THREE KINKS:

Orgasm Control

In general, Feitan has to be in control in the bedroom. It’s not that he’s particularly onto any dominant or submissive roles between the sheets, but more because he doesn’t like the feeling of vulnerability that accompanies letting other people pleasure him. Something about being at the mercy of someone else’s touch or whims makes him nervous, an unpleasant feeling blooming in his stomach that leaves him fidgety and jumpy. 

And so, every sexual interaction with you will see him starring as the dominant role, always calling the shots, and nothing exemplifies this sentiment quite like the way he treats your orgasms. Despite not having a huge amount of sexual experience prior to his infatuation with you, he’s very obviously aware that both partners are capable of orgasming in any given sexual interaction, that it should be expected and achieved regardless of methodology. 

With other women, Feitan wouldn’t care in the least – he’s selfish by nature, and if he were to ever have sex with anyone other than you, in no way, shape or form would he pay any mind to their pleasure, only chasing after his own release. 

But with you, this sentiment is a bit different; he wants to get you off, if only because seeing the way your body responds to him, shaking and shivering and moaning and clenching, gets him harder, his breath more ragged, his palms sweatier. There’s something incredibly pleasing about seeing the way your body is sensitive to his every touch that makes him giddy, an odd mixture of power, arousal and eagerness filling him. 

He wants to make you a mess, to get you gushing and creaming and whimpering as he fingers you, as he shoves his cock inside you, even as he tongues at your clit (eating you out isn’t something that happens often, but when it does, Feitan expects you to come from it). He likes the sight of you falling apart for him, and consequently, that desperation for power and control comes hurtling back – so that he is the one in control of your orgasms. 

He wants to be the one choosing when, how, and why you’re coming, every one of your movements a result of him. 

He tends to rely heavily on edging you, enjoying the way you squirm and beg for him to keep going. He’ll have two slender, nimble fingers buried inside of you, curling and scissoring, the stretch a bit painful but in a pleasure-tinged way, making your toes curl and your bottom lip catch between your teeth. 

His thumb will rub consistent, steady circles at your clit, the little nub sore and swollen, and he’ll keep his ministrations up until you’re breathing heavier, your stomach and thighs clenching, the telltale signs that you’re nearing your high. 

(He’s very, very good at reading your body when it comes to your sexual pleasure – he’s spent so long stalking you that he’s seen you touching yourself more times than he can count, and while watching the way your cunt takes the toy is very, very difficult to tear his eyes away from, he’d made sure to study every other part of your body, too. He’s watched the way your face morphs as you get closer, your brows shooting up and your lips parting a bit, your eyes fluttering and threatening to close as the pleasurable knot in your gut grows tighter and tighter and tighter. He’s watched the way your legs shake, the muscles in your thighs visibly twitching and clenching, trying desperately to close and clench together, prompting him to imagine how they’d feel around his head, around his waist, around his cock. He’s even noticed your breathing, how you sound, the way your voice gets higher and more breathy, your moans increasing in intensity until you let out this sudden, strained gasp that gets him swallowing harshly, a thick pearl of precum dripping from his tip from the mere sound.)

He’s constantly observing you even while he's intimate with you, those dark eyes never wavering from your form, and he’ll bring you right to the edge, noticing with a tightness in his throat that your legs are starting to tremble, that your voice is climbing up, that you’re starting to get all gaspy and your abdominal muscles are clenching, and god, you’re squeezing around his fingers so damn tight – 

The confused, desperate whine you let out when he suddenly pulls his fingers out of you makes him smirk a bit, the way your watery eyes blearily blink up at him, half clouded in lust and disappointment making him reach out to pinch at your pebbled nipple. Not yet, one more time. He’ll tell you, laughing a bit as you whine and gulp, chest heaving and your fingers twitching. He’ll make you wait, maybe even reaching down and jerking himself off a bit, making a show of hissing under his breath and making sure that you can see him, hearing the wet noises as he flicks his wrist and imagines it’s your sweet little pussy wrapped around him rather than his own fingers.

He’s embarrassingly sensitive when he does this, his own touch making him buck his hips as he stares down at you, spread before him, underneath him, where you belong. He’ll make sure to give enough time that you come down from your sensitivity, before resuming his ministrations, making you gasp and bite your lip. 

He’ll keep doing this over and over and over, denying you of your orgasm some five or so times before he finally, finally decides that you’ve behaved well enough, that you deserve to feel good. (Often, what finally gets him to cave in is the fact that he too is very close, and while it’s cliché and stupid and a bit pathetic, he really likes it when you both come at the same time, your orgasms matching up so he can feel like you’re doing it together.) 

He’ll work you through it, not stopping his motions, which brings up another aspect of how Feitan likes to tease you and assert his control over you – he doesn’t like overstimulation quite as much as denial, but he’s not shy about going faster, harder, his motions seeming almost frantic as you start whining and shaking, going on about how it’s too much, Feitan it’s too much I can’t! 

He’ll just growl and shut you down, slapping (not too hard) your clit and seeing you way you jerk, telling you to shut up and take it, you’ve done it before. He likes seeing your eyes get all teary, your body spasming and shaking even harder, the overstimulation making you cry out his name with a renewed fervor. 

(He’d never admit it, but that’s one of his favorite parts – he never pegged himself to be a fan of loud moans, but there’s something about the way that you do it, when it’s his name you’re moaning, that makes him throb, his cock twitching without any stimulation. You sound so destroyed, so wrecked and utterly desperate for him that it makes his head spin, his chest filling with pride and lust and satisfaction because you do need him, and your body is just proving that.) 

He’s cruel, often pulling three or four orgasms from you every time he touches you, those dark eyes staring unblinking down at you, almost studying you as you fall apart on his cock, on his fingers, on anything he chooses. It makes him feel good to know that he’s in full control, that he can choose when you come – it shows his place above you, helping him to justify the fact that he’s pleasuring you, that he’s taking the time and effort to make you feel good when he really doesn’t need to. 

He’s just being generous – you should be grateful he even cares about your pleasure at all. 

(Say thank you to him as you orgasm and he’s gone – cum is dripping down your skin or out of your pretty hole before you can process what’s even happening, the man above you gasping and heaving, trying desperately to make sure you don’t see the slight red staining his cheeks.) 

He wants you to follow his commands, so just let him do as he pleases – you’ll come eventually, most of the time.

Bondage

Tying into his preferences for holding control in the bedroom, Feitan has a certain affinity for seeing you restrained. 

There’s something about the way your body is presented to him when you’re all tied up that gets him feeling hot, his hands twitching and yearning to reach out and touch you. He’s not picky about what he uses to bind you – the tried and true rope is never displeasing, and the variety of pretty knots and positions he can force you into this way leave him nearly drooling at all the different sexual fantasies he can carry out with you. 

He’s particularly fond of tying you up in ways that are just the slightest bit humiliating, positions that make your neck and cheeks feel hot, embarrassment eating away at you because god, everything is exposed. 

He likes when your legs are spread, a bit of rope keeping your calves firmly pressed to your thighs while your pussy is exposed to open air, the perfect amount of space between your legs for him to slip into. He likes when your breasts are free, jiggling and bouncing with every thrust, the rope digging into your sternum or ribcage as you moan and writhe. 

(He also likes when the rope crisscrosses over your chest, digging into your nipple and making you whine in pain and pleasure, and when he undoes the ropes, he loves the way your nipples are so sore and swollen, a much darker color than they normally are and practically begging to be pinched at, to be twisted and pulled on until you’re a sniffly, moaning mess.) 

He’ll often tie your wrists together behind your back, rope connecting from your waist to the back of your knees, keeping your legs bent while he forces your ass into the air, mounting you from behind and absolutely destroying you. 

Rope is his favorite, if only because there’s something so familiar, so comforting in using it – of course, he never desires to fuck any of his victims, but he knows how to manipulate the material in order to get you bent the way he wants you to be. 

And while he has no desire to do anything to you that he would to those he tortures, there’s something oddly sexy and taboo about the fact that he’s using the same kind of rope on you as he did to the man the other day. It’s dirty, sinful, if only because this is as close as he can come to mixing two of the things he loves most – you, and his job. 

You’re safe this way, not liable to be cut or maimed or anything of the sort, but you’re still utterly at his hands, vulnerable to every whim or desire he wishes to enact on you. He likes how helpless you are when you’re tied up, unable to reach out or take control of your own pleasure, entirely reliant on him to do everything for you – something as big as stretching you out on his cock, or as small as pushing away a stray piece of hair in your face as he fucks your throat. 

The power trip is insane, and while he won’t hurt you, just the knowledge that he could makes him harder than he’s ever been. He’s a fan of other alternatives to rope, too – handcuffs are fine, a bit too mainstream for him to use regularly, but in a bind it’ll do. 

(Especially if he’s grown more comfortable with you, willing to show a more vulnerable side, because handcuffs give him less control and allow you to actively participate in your pleasure, letting you grind back against him or wrap your legs around his waist or any number of other things that can signal that you want him too.) 

Silk ties are fine, and on days where he’s feeling a bit more sentimental or emotional, he’ll prefer to use these because there’s less chance of you bruising or getting any burns or rashes. (Plus, there’s something so fitting about you being shrouded in silk – you, who’s so weak and soft and dainty, matching perfectly with the fabric. It makes him snort a bit, because you always look like such an angel when you’re all tied up for him in this way – like a beautiful, naïve little angel just begging to be destroyed and tainted by his hands, a feat he’s more eager and impatient to accomplish than he’d care to admit.) 

He’s even willing to use clothing to get you restricted – maybe the shirt you’d been wearing (his shirt, one he let you borrow, the one he finds adorable on you even if he’d never tell you) will get tied around your wrists, keeping them firmly above your chest as he sinks into you and squeezes his eyes shut, biting back the moan that threatens to tumble at his lips because you’re just so damn tight. 

He’ll use your panties as a gag, though he doesn’t do this often because he really does like hearing your sounds – especially when they’re any sort of praise or his name. 

(Often, after he’s stuffed the panties you’d been wearing past your lips, he’ll steal them back afterwards, sneakily storing them somewhere for later, for late at night when he’s standing over your sleeping form and breathing shakily, staring at you and rubbing the material – wet with both your spit and your slick – all over his cock.) 

His preference is always to have you restrained in some manner, and it’ll only be once he feels as comfortable as possible with you that he won’t tie you up. To have you free means letting himself be vulnerable to your touches, and even your rejection of his touch, and just the thought is enough to get him nervous, having to wipe his slightly sweaty hands onto his jacket. 

He’s had fantasies about fucking you without any restraints separating you before, but the moment it happens, you’ll notice that he’s oddly sensitive, his breath coming out harsher and more labored at touches that would normally leave him largely unaffected. It’s just so emotional for him, so scary and frightening, and he’ll stay inside you much longer than normal after he’s come, relishing in the warmth and wetness of you while your fingers maybe brush over his shoulders, maybe even running through his hair. It’s the sort of fantasy he’ll never, ever tell you about, though – and for now, he’ll stick with tying you up so that you’re easily accessible, provoking and arousing to stare at, and in no position to argue when he manhandles you into doing exactly what he wants.

Dry humping

While he has sexual, lewd thoughts about you from pretty much the moment he truly accepts his feelings for you, Feitan takes a very long time to begin acting on those feelings. 

Even more, it takes him a long time to get comfortable enough to be naked in front of you, much less actually fuck you. And so, while this hesitancy persists, he finds himself using other routes to sate his growing desire to be intimate with you – routes that are less invasive, less opportune for embarrassing accidents (like coming too fast, or facing your rejection). 

And while it still feels awfully pathetic, Feitan finds that the simple act of grinding on you is enough to satisfy his desires, at least for the time being – there’s just something oddly enticing about it, something arousing and the pleasure just dull enough to thwart him from coming within three or four minutes of touching you. 

He doesn’t like initiating it, though, finding it a bit too pathetic, even for him, even for the way he feels for you. Instead, he holds his breath, hoping that every time you brush against him (normally by accident, your whole body freezing up the moment you realize what you’ve done) that you’ll do it again, because even just a single bit of friction between your (fully clothed) bodies is enough to get his neck feeling warm, the ghost of an erection springing to life in his pants. 

He’s just so, so touch starved, and so as time goes on, he’ll start subtly trying to get into positions where you might accidentally grind on him, sometimes without you even realizing. He’ll make you pick something up off the ground, then choose the exact moment that you’re bent over and your ass is in the air to walk behind you, letting his hips just barely graze against you.

He’ll manage to hold back the little strained noise he makes, but at some point you’ll notice that it’s happening much too often to be a coincidence, and you’ll eventually realize that the strange hardness you feel when he does this is actually him. 

He won’t ever just grab you and rut into you, but god does he want to, especially when he sees your hips swaying, or when you’re sitting down, the fat of your thighs splayed out and your hips looking wide and full and perfect to grab onto. 

He’s embarrassed by his own thoughts, but eventually you’ll probably realize what it is that he wants – you’ve felt the way he tries to subtly make it happen, and while you were at first confused and shocked (you’d had no idea Feitan wanted anything sexual with you, as he’d never made a mention of it or acted in a way that would suggest it), you eventually start getting a bit brave, too. 

You don’t love Feitan, far from it, but you’ve been trapped with him for enough months to start craving any form of human contact, and so you’ll pounce – Feitan can’t help but sharply inhale when you grind back against him one day while you’re bent over, the feeling of your ass moving against his cock making him struggle to breath. 

He’s not sure what you’re trying to do, too pessimistic to let himself believe that you’re the one grinding on him, but one day you’ll find yourself sitting next to him on the raggedy old couch, the TV playing some mindless horror movie that Feitan had thrown on, and your hand will just sort of move on its own, slowly, carefully placing itself very lightly over his thigh. He’ll tense up at the sensation, dark eyes flicking between your hand and your face, your own gaze nervously set on the TV in front of you. 

It’s silent for a moment, but when he doesn’t move your hand, you’ll get braver, turning to look at him and asking in a soft, unsure voice if you can sit in his lap. Feitan doesn’t know how to respond, simply staring at you with narrowed eyes, wondering if this is some sort of trick – but eventually he’ll nod, telling you to be careful, don’t try anything. 

You’ll position yourself so that your ass is pressed against his crotch, his thighs on either side of your hips, but you don’t lean back, even when you hear Feitan inhale slightly, having leaned forward to smell your hair. It’s a good twenty or so minutes later when you begin moving your hips slowly, nervously, listening to hear for any displeased noises or harsh commands for you to stop your movements. 

Feitan is frozen behind you, staring at your hips and trying to understand what you’re doing – he likes it, but he doesn’t like the way his body is reacting, blood slowly starting to head south at the slight friction, at the way you’re so damn close to him, at the way he can smell you and can feel the heat radiating off your body. 

It’s all too much, and suddenly he’s telling you to get off me, before quickly storming out of the room and locking himself in his bedroom. 

His cock is in his hand within minutes, memories of how you’d felt against him, even with layers of clothes separating you still fresh in his mind. You’ll be left to believe he didn’t like it, that you’d totally misinterpreted his actions, ashamed and a bit afraid for how he’d respond moving forward. 

Except, there’s no grand punishment, no mocking you for your actions – instead, the next night he turns on a new movie (still horror, gory and full of screaming and killing) and looks over at you expectantly. 

His legs are spread this time, leaving a space between them, and for a moment you’re confused, unsure of what he wants. He just raises a brow at you, unwilling to articulate what he’s wanting, hoping you’ll understand it without him needing to say it. 

You’ll shuffle closer, still staring at him, but soon he’ll just grumble, a hand reaching out and pulling you down to sit between his legs before you can even realize what’s happening. You’re stiff and unsure, unwilling to relax, and Feitan doesn’t like this. He wants you to move like you did last night, and after a few minutes of you sitting stone still, he’ll hiss into your ear do it again. 

You’ll start slow, testing the waters, and you nearly jump when you feel Feitan’s hand ghost over your waist, setting his fingers against your shirt as if wanting to fully touch you, but not quite letting himself. He’ll occasionally tell you to go faster, the movie still playing in the background, the feeling of his cock digging into your tailbone making you a confusing mix of scared and aroused. 

Eventually, he’ll let out this strange, unusual little sound, something like a grunt but much higher and strained, and you’ll feel something warm and wet pressing against you. Don’t mention anything, because Feitan doesn’t want you to say a damn word, not wanting to admit that the feeling of you grinding on him for roughly seven minutes has him coming in his pants, cum covering his cock and getting him all sticky. 

He’s embarrassed, but it will become something of a ritual between the two of you – every time he turns on a movie, it’s your place to sit in his lap (eventually you actually will sit in his lap, fully on his lap, not just pressed against him, though this takes some time) and to gyrate your hips at that certain rhythm he likes, all up until you feel him tense up beneath you, seeing his fingers clutching at the couch cushions at your sides. 

It’s a slow buildup into any sort of sexual activity between the two of you, but Feitan likes this, something about the intimacy making him extra sensitive, the feeling of you actually touching him (even peripherally, with clothes separating the two of you) making him feel lightheaded and airy. He likes it, and this will be the jumping off point for him to begin getting bolder, to begin letting himself actually fuck you, to finally do what he’s been craving for months. 

And once you become aware that he likes it, please start imitating it – give him look and ask if you can um, sit in your lap? 

He’ll almost always say yes, even if he’s in the middle of doing something, even if there’s not even a chair or couch nearby – he'll rush (not running, but very, very nearly) to the nearest surface, swallowing hard and staring at you, growing impatient when you don’t move fast enough for him. 

Often, he’ll already be half hard, and while he prefers when your back is facing him, if you were to climb into his lap so that you were straddling him? Well, Feitan finds it much harder to look you in the eye, because now it’s your cunt grinding down on him rather than just your ass, and that’s much different, isn’t it? 

Even once he’s progressed to stage of actually being willing to touch you, of being willing to let you touch him, Feitan still enjoys when you hump at him. And he particularly enjoys humping you, though he’s only willing to do this in the dead of night, when you’re fast asleep, your body ripe and vulnerable for him to touch, to explore, to use. 

He doesn’t want you to be awake and see the way he crumbles when he drags his cock along the curve of your ass, if only because he doesn’t want you to see how pink his cheeks get, how he starts mumbling under his breath, how his every muscle is flexing and straining because he wants to go faster, needs to go faster, but he can’t risk waking you up. 

It’s his dirty little secret, so you’d better start working on your stamina for grinding onto him – sure, he doesn’t last long, but he expects it often, and you can’t exactly refuse him. 

Or else.

OTHER NOTABLE KINKS INCLUDE:

Begging

Feitan likes knowing that you want him. He feels so inferior and weak for having developed such strong, scarily dependent feelings for you, and it makes him feel good, satisfied, justified when you beg for him, all whiny and desperate for his touch, for his body, for his cock. 

While he’s not particularly vocal between the sheets, he likes when you are - your voice is sultry when it gets all airy and gaspy, your little praises and pleas for him to go faster or please don’t stop making him double down and go harder, his desperation to please you driving him forward. 

He won’t ever explicitly ask you to beg for anything, but you’ll be able to tell that he likes it. 

You’ll see the way his eyes widen just a hair, the way his dark bangs settle over his forehead as he dips his head down, the exertion of moving his hips or wrist faster making him squeeze his eyes shut. 

You’ll feel the way his thrusts get more insistent, hips slapping against yours while his balls clap against your ass, the sound lewd and only getting faster the more you beg. 

You’ll be able to hear it in the way his breathing starts getting ragged, no amount of stamina adequate for hearing you beg for him, for him to touch you and pleasure you. 

He wants to feel needed in the context of your sexual pleasure, as if you can’t get off without his help, as if you’re incapable of bringing yourself to orgasm when he so easily manages it. It’s unrealistic and he knows it, but he’s able to immerse himself in the fantasy of you wanting him when you’re begging him, able to delude himself into believing, if only for a bit, that you’re just as frantic for his love and affection as he is yours. 

If you really want to get him going, a surefire way to have his cock springing to life and his heart lurching into his throat is to praise him a bit, then following it up with a plea for him to keep going. Tell him that it’s s’good, you feel so good Feitan, please don’t stop, just like that, fuck! 

Tell him that you belong to him, that you’re his, that your cunt is his cunt, that you want him to come inside, that you need more more more. He might tell you that you’re greedy, grunting out something about you being a greedy slut, but the twitching of his cock inside you and the way his fingers tighten their hold on you will show you that he isn’t as unaffected by your words as he’d like to pretend. 

He really just likes knowing that sex affects you just as much as it affects him, so please, please beg him - he’ll almost always do exactly what you want, almost like it’s a reward.

(After all, just getting to touch you is reward enough for him.)

Sensory deprivation

Because it takes Feitan so long to grow comfortable with letting himself be truly vulnerable with you (especially in the context of sex), he finds ways to get around this mental roadblock, so that he can experience everything he wants to without giving up any of his control. 

And one of his favorite ways to do that is to limit your senses - specifically, Feitan loves to blindfold you. He doesn’t really want you to be looking at him during sex, too nervous and awkward and embarrassed, because once he gets inside you, his control over his facial expressions, his bodily responses, his everything is severely limited. 

It takes all his will power to stop himself from coming prematurely, especially towards the beginning of his sexual relationship with you, and he’ll be damned if he lets you see the way his face crumples when he slips inside your wet heat, his dark brows drawing together and lips parting, eyes squeezing shut while he wills himself to calm down, to take deep breaths and not let himself get carried away. 

He doesn’t want you to be able to look at him, but he wants to be able to see you - he wants full viewing pleasure of your body, and while this method does block seeing your eyes get all glassy and pleasured, it’s better this way. 

This way, he gets to stare at the way your tits bounce as he fucks you, the soft fat jiggling and practically begging to be groped and squeezed at. 

This way, he can stare at your ass he pounds into it, grabbing a handful of cheek in each hand and kneading the fat, spreading them apart and taking a peek at your pert, cute little asshole, seeing the curve and arch of your back. 

He can let himself relax more this way, allowing his face to present every emotions and sensation he’s feeling, and he can let himself indulge in some of his more embarrassing urges - like reaching out to cup your hips when your bodies are facing each other, his fingers never quite brushing your skin but awfully close. 

He’ll lean in close as if to kiss you, letting his breath fan over your lips but never actually closing the distance, just indulging in the smell of you and the idea of kissing you. He’s still very reserved, but this way he can do all the things he fantasizes about when he’s alone at night, his mind wandering to you and his body growing cold and lonely. 

Plus, Feitan gains a certain amount of control this way - he gets to choose what happens to you, and because you can’t see anything, you’ll have no idea what’s coming next. 

Will it be his hands, a vibrator, his cock? 

You won’t know, and Feitan likes it that way - he wants to keep you guessing, to leave you unsure and awaiting his next move with baited breath. 

He just likes how dependent you are when he’s got the black blindfold tied around your eyes, so you’d better get used to it - he’s not good at compromising, after all. 

BIGGEST FANTASY:

While Feitan doesn’t harbor any desire to hurt you, there’s a certain allure that blood holds for him. 

Of course, he doesn’t want to actually draw blood from you (the thought of you being in pain because of him makes any boner of his die immediately), but he discovers - by accident - that there’s a solution to mixing the two. 

There’s a way to combine the two things that turn him on most - you, of course, and the slightest bit of blood - in a way that is safe for you yet still arousing, still enough to get him panting and his trousers feeling uncomfortably tight. 

That is, Feitan discovers that he absolutely loves getting intimate with you while you’re on your period. It doesn’t matter if you get horrible cramps, mood swings, or are even totally unaffected - you’re sensitive, body needy and practically begging to be mounted and fucked, and who is Feitan to deny you?

Once he grows comfortable with intimacy, you’ll never be able to pull him away from you once the blood shows up in your panties. He’s obsessive, tracking your period for you, making sure that he knows the exact days that you’ll be starting and stopping. 

He likes the way you respond to his touch so easily, your pretty pussy all messy and red and puffy, even the slightest touch making you buck your hips and gasp his name. 

It’s euphoric, and when he slips inside you it becomes incredibly difficult to not immediately orgasm - you’re just so wet, so warm and wonderfully lubricated, and the sight of blood staining his cock when he pulls back to thrust back in makes his head spin. 

You’re perfect when you’re menstruating, and you’ll notice he’ll be in a much better mood once you shyly report that it started, could you pick up some more pads for me? (He toys with the idea of actually collecting your blood, investing in one of those menstrual cups that you can remove once it’s full, just because the concept of drinking it is enough to make him fidget, the thought taboo and dirty and so very enticing.) 

You can’t really say no to him normally, but you especially can’t deny him when it’s your time of the month - you will be getting fingered, fucked, even facefucked, if only because Feitan needs you, your pretty blood and pretty body making him go crazy in a way he didn’t think possible. 

You make him go crazy in ways he didn’t think possible.

“Feitan, I - we can’t, not tonight.” You tell him, averting your gaze away from his as his hands grab at the old t-shirt and short you’re wearing. Unconsciously, your hand travels to your stomach, laying idly and making Feitan’s eyes narrow. 

“Why not?” He asks, his voice clipped and suspicious. You didn’t often tell him no, and although there’s a bit of doubt swimming in his chest, he wants to know why you’re suddenly not welcoming his touch. You’ve reached the point of leaning into his cold, harsh hands, so why’re you suddenly being so standoffish? He doesn’t like it, and his hands stay idly resting on your shirt hem. 

You’re embarrassed, he can tell, but he doesn’t drop the issue. Instead, he lets the silence sit heavily over the two of you, waiting for you to fill in the space. 

“Well, um, you see…” You start, before squeezing your eyes shut and squeaking out, “My period started yesterday and it’s too messy.”

Feitan blinks at you, unsure what to say. Your period? You were bleeding?

“Okay, and?” 

Your eyes peel open, daring to sneak a glance at your captor, who only stares at you, unimpressed. “Well, I mean, it’s going to be messy and gross and it probably smells bad and -”

“Shut up, we’re doing it.” He cuts you off, hand yanking at your shirt to bring it over your head. You grimace, already nervous for him to take off your shorts, because although you’re sure he knows what a period is, you’re sure he’s never actually been around a woman menstruating. Or at least, not sexually. 

Actually, you’re pretty sure he’s never been with a woman sexually in any capacity. 

He’s yanking at your shorts next, pulling down the material even as you voice your protests, but one scowl from him has you shutting up, embarrassment pricking up your spine as he grabs your thighs and manually spreads them, the scratchy blanket covering the bed biting into your ass. 

He’s staring, dark eyes a bit wider than normal, and you feel yourself shrinking in on yourself, the embarrassment eating you alive. Why was he staring? Why wasn’t he doing anything? Why wasn’t he saying anything?

“Feitan..?” You mumble, biting your lip and letting your arms cover your bloated stomach. He doesn’t respond, but you feel his grip on your thighs tighten, to the point where you think you might see bruises tomorrow. 

His eyes slowly, painstakingly, drag up from your exposed cunt to meet your face, and to your surprise you see the slightest dusting of a blush on his cheeks, as if he too was embarrassed. But before you can say anything, he’s rushing forward, lips pressing against yours in a messy, clumsy kiss, full of teeth knocking against teeth and too much spit. You’re not sure what’s gotten into him, but just as soon as he rushed in he’s pulling back, instead moving to bring his face level with your leaking hole. 

Feitan can’t stop staring - there’s blood everywhere, and while he’d normally be thrown into a state of panic at seeing so much of your own blood staining your skin, somehow this is different. Somehow the sight of it staining your pussy, the red color all along your inner thighs and part of your asscheek making his mouth water, his cock already painfully hard. It’s so pretty - red against your skin, your lips visibly swollen, your little clit engorged and peaking out. You look good, like something he wants to taste, and before he knows what’s happening he’s diving forward, tongue licking a long stripe up your slit. 

You taste like iron and musk and something oddly sweet, and immediately he’s diving in to taste more, tongue lapping at you like some dog in heat as he keeps his fingers firmly digging into your thighs. He can barely hear your sound of shock at his actions, too overwhelmed by your taste and your scent. 

“F-feitan, stop!” You manage to force out, eyes squeezed shut as your hips shake and stutter. “It’s too much, I’m too sensitive, I can’t!”

Feitan stops at that, pulling away from your body with blood smeared all over his lips, chin and nose, staring at you with a look in those wide, dark eyes that makes you shiver. He looks like an animal like this, something primal and carnal - and when your eyes peek down to see his cock - throbbing, bright red and stiff against his stomach - you can’t help but feel as if you’re some sort of prey caught in his jaws. 

“Not too much, you will survive.” Is all he says, before he’s resuming his actions, bringing a finger up to prod inside your walls while his tongue gets to work on your clit. His fingers curl and rub, but you’re so damn tight, your walls impossibly clenched, and it makes Feitan grunt against you. You’re even wetter inside than normal, the blood practically running down his hands in copious amounts, making it remarkably easy to slide his fingers in and out. Almost too easy, it would seem. 

You’re blabbering his name, the stimulation hurtling you towards your orgasm much quicker than normal, your heightened sensitivity and emotions turning you into a moaning, whimpering mess. And Feitan loves it - those dark eyes are peering up at you from over the crest of your pelvic bone, blood tinging his cheeks and visible to you. 

When he angles his fingers to press against the spongey, sensitive spot he knows you love, you suddenly gasp, a hand flying to tangle into his hair, the other gently pinching and rolling at your nipple. 

“Feitan, oh fuck Feitan ‘m gonna, I’m gonna come-!” You’re squealing, something that makes Feitan cock a brow, the pure desperation in your body as you squirm under his touch making him feral, his hips beginning to rut against the bed before he can even think about it. You just look so sexy like this, with your nipples swollen and sensitive, your cunt all warm and wet and sweet, and he’ll watch with wide eyes as you orgasm around him, your walls clenching down so hard that they force his fingers out, his tongue and the circles he’s drawing on your clit the only thing grounding you. Your back arches fully up off the bed, tits thrust out into the air, and Feitan bites back a groan as his own pleasure hits a peak, the blanket ruined as cum oozes from his tip and seeps into the fabric. 

You’re shaking, literally fucking shaking, and Feitan finds himself trembling too, his hands not as steady against your skin. If he’d known you would taste like this, how sensitive you’d be, how easy it is to get you orgasming while on your period, he would’ve done this long ago. 

You’re out of it, blinking up at the ceiling and heaving uneven breaths, but even as sensitive as he is from his last orgasm, Feitan is quickly shuffling to his knees, grabbing the base of his cock and sinking into you, face contorting into something between a grimace and a gasp. You’re so damn warm, and he groans lowly as he sees the way his cock has pink slick all over it when he pulls back, a mix of your blood, your slick and his cum decorating his length. 

Fucking you is heaven, the way you clutch at him and writhe, nearly screaming his name as you come on his cock, and Feitan can only grit his teeth and go harder, spurred on by the way your walls are caressing his length, massaging and gripping like a fucking vice. 

It feels good, and by the time he’s emptied himself inside you, he’s already made a mental note to mark down when your next period will be - just so he can get ready, so that he can get prepared. So that he can prepare you, too, because you won’t simply be allowed rest after the first night. 

God no, not if you’re like this the whole time.

[thenordroom]

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