#They're heavy enough to use as a weapon

[hypercubecats]

Page 5: The physics lesson continues…

Krita brush pack by @abluskittle

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[callsign-datura]

a/n: thought this shit up mid genshin session, grind mode pls ignore any mistakes

there are only two things ghost is willing to be patient or gentle with. one, you, and two, his weapons.

the same hands with which ghost cleans a rifle are the same hands he uses to hold your hips down as you squirm in his lap from the feeling of his cock pulsing inside you. he chastises you gently, peppering kisses along your jaw through the fabric of his mask. you smell so nice. he knows he smells like gunpowder and blood. but you, you kinky thing, can't seem to get enough of the feeling.

the care with which he cleans the carbon buildup on his rifle is the same care with which he fucks you. usually there isn't much to clean, usually he maintains a cleaning routine. but sometimes time gets away from him and he finds himself cleaning the weapons he uses the most. his squadmates get their subordinates to clean their weapons when they're working with another team-- something about superiority. most men find cleaning their weapons... annoying, tedious, a waste of time. him? he enjoys it. it helps him relax. maybe it's a coincidence that you help him relax as well.

calloused fingers work in and out of you slowly as he leans over your body. his other hand is planted on the bed beside your hip, russet eyes piercing into yours while he watches your expression. his body feels heavy with exhaustion but his hand is still slow and gentle, unhurried, fleeting tingles of electricity shooting through your body as his fingers curl upwards, searching along your inner walls for a moment before they stop suddenly. you're panting, chest heaving while you shift and turn beneath him, your hips arching against his touch and your head falling back against the pillow under your head. his gaze flickers over your face before down to your chest, then down to where his fingers are inside you. his thumb swings up and over before planting the pad against your clit, applying pressure slowly in swirling strokes as he rolls his pointer and middle into you. he teases you, grazing your g-spot just barely. you know he's smirking under that damn mask, and part of you wants to push it up to see whether or not his lips are quirked into a smirk. you imagine it through the haze of pleasure-- red-pink, thin lips flat other than a barely noticeable twitch of the left corner. the thought makes your heart thump, and you offer a strangled moan before you tilt your head forward and tuck your face into his shoulder.

a low chuckle leaves him, and he tilts his head, placing a chaste kiss to your forehead as he adjusts his intimidating figure above yours. his knees are planted in line with and between yours, though he makes no move to keep them from shaking. he finds it amusing, the way you squirm, so he allows you to continue.

he's going slow on purpose, and it's driving you fucking mad.

"ghost," you mumble, your voice meek and shaky as you lean closer to him. "need more."

he pauses. "really?" he responds, his voice low as he nuzzles his face into the side of your head. "thas' a shame," he murmurs, the smirk audible. "m'fingers are a bit sore. gonna have to take what you can get. ya know, beggars can't be choosers, n' all that..." you can feel him suppress a laugh. he pushes his fingers upwards swiftly to put direct pressure on your g-spot at the same time he adopts an up-down-up-down pattern over your clit with his thumb. your body jolts in response to the sudden change, and your head falls back as you moan out. you jolt once, then again when the pace doesn't slow. your shoulders draw together and you whine.

"mmh-- fuck. jus like that, ghost, please," you squeak, your voice coming out lewd in a way that would make satan blush. "nh-- feels so good..." you trail off, your hips bucking against his fingers as warmth blossoms over your insides. you can't focus on much more than his fingers, and the way he chuckles in your ear almost makes you cream on his digits. thankfully, you don't, but he must've sensed that you almost did, because his pace increases. his eyes are still boring into you, trailing over every feature of your body. your perky tits that rise and fall with your chest, your nipples hard against the fabric of the t-shirt you're wearing. his t-shirt, he realizes, and he clicks his tongue. chastising you once more, but not slowing down, he says, "stealin' my clothes again?" and you can't find it in you to say more than a lazy "m'sorry," your voice slurred by the pleasure of his fingers working into you. he's not rough, you find. his fingers move quickly enough into you that your thoughts fall apart and your body follows suit as you melt into his touch.

"tch. you're not sorry." he purrs, trying to sound like he's scolding you, but the affectionate undertone in his voice assures you that he isn't actually upset. not that you'd care.

or, rather, not that you could care. the coil in your stomach tightens to an unbearable level and he croons at you. "'f i make you cum, are you gon' start askin' for my clothes instead of stealin' em from me?" his words go through one ear and out the other as his fingers, long and thick, curl upwards into your g-spot. he twitches them against it, your cunt clenching around him and making a squelch that turns your face red. "uh-huh." you agree, but your voice lacks conviction.

"you sure?" he asks, leaning down and tilting your head with the hand that was holding himself up. your eyes flutter open and make contact with his, blinking away the blurriness as your mouth falls open in pleasure, a squeaking noise leaving your throat. he laughs quietly, shaking his head. "you don't sound very sure..." "i am!" you reassure, your hips lifting to chase more friction. he obliges, moving his fingers a bit faster at an angle that makes your legs turn to jelly. "i am, i am, i am," you repeat, your head falling to the side as he finally frees you. that hand finds purchase on your chest, squeezing your tit. his cock stirs in his pants at the sight of you, but he ignores it. he continues, and when your eyebrows knit so sweetly, he rubs your clit a bit faster, lulling you into your orgasm. your clit twitches and your walls clench on his fingers but that does not deter him. your moans become tense cries, and your hands grip his biceps and dig your nails into his flesh as your back arches. "cumming--" you cry, and he croons once more. "mmhm, that's it, pretty girl. lemme hear you. who's makin' you cum?" he asks, the low and husky timbre of it making you cum harder. warmth falls over your body and your eyes roll back. you feel like electricity is zapping you every time his thumb rolls over your clit.

"you are," you heave. "ghost-- fuck..." "no, babe... not quite. who's making you cum?" he reiterates, as if that would clear it up. the pleasure is gradually ebbing into oversensitivity. "not gonna stop till you say the right name," he purrs.

oh. you get it now.

"simon! ah, simon." you might as well be shrieking. your throat feels as if you have been for the past few hours, and maybe you have-- you can't remember. suddenly he pulls his fingers from your cunt, letting go of your tit as he sits back on his legs and eases you up into an embrace, your lazy body easily following his movements. he wraps an arm around your waist and looks at the cum coating his fingers. he chuckles again, wiping his fingers off on his leg. your eyes flutter shut and you let out a sigh, body slumping against his before he gently hoists you up and gets off the bed, going towards the bathroom. "was that good, sweet thing?" he asks, setting you on the bathroom counter as he pushes your legs apart before going to get a rag. your sleepy hum of agreement makes his heart warm. any other day he'd have fucked you after, but he gets pleasure from giving you pleasure... and besides, staying pent up until the next time he actually fucks you is better anyhow. maybe it's three things he's patient and gentle with-- his guns, you, and the aftercare he knows you need after you've been fucked dumb.

[thebibliosphere]

Wait, is Jason in Gotham Knights body horror? Because it doesn't feel like his body even tho he's controlling it? (He died, he came back, it's not the same and never will be)

Or is it more analogous to puberty and feeling like you don't know anything about your body anymore?

Just having thoughts about that boy again

I think Jason in Gotham Knights is very much connected with his physical body. It's his biggest weapon, possibly more so than his guns, given his lasting connection to the Lazarus Pit and the power it gives him.

His backstory talks about building himself up to peak physical condition into the absolute unit he is now, and you can either see that as someone trying to reconnect with their physical self or someone vowing never to be small or weak again.

I tend to think of it as both. It's a reclamation of his physical form but also a transformation into something bigger and stronger that ensures he's the scariest, meanest-looking mother fucker in the room. Basically someone you can't underestimate as a threat.

(Try not to think too hard about the fact that he now largely resembles Bruce in stature, that he is now the group's heavy hitter, the most menacing and the most likely to strike fear into the heart of his opponents, and that Jason molded himself into the person he needed to be rescued by as a child. Don't do it. Do not. I am normal about this.)

But he obviously struggles with feeling present mentally sometimes.

You'll see him zoning out occasionally, touching the J-shaped scar on his face before violently shaking himself back into the present.

He has panic attacks while playing a dance video game with a coffin in it—a coffin his character becomes trapped in because he's not moving fast enough. (hello, trauma)

He's angry all the time and so relieved when Barbra expresses her own rage at something because, yes, finally, someone else is letting their emotions out instead of bottling it up (Dick).

His emails are littered with orders for self-help books, emails from his therapist moving his sessions around, and concerned messages from his friends (Roy comes to mind) saying if he needs to get out of Gotham, they'll make it happen.

Alfred holding him while he sobs over losing Bruce still breaks me every time. I have to pause the game and walk around my house until I feel normal again.

And then there's the cut scene where Dick asks, "Hey, remember that time we all [insert funny thing here]," and Jason admits, somewhat angrily, that no, he doesn't because Lazarus took entire swaths of memories from him and he hates how he can't connect with people the way he used to and he hates the way they all look at him (the way Dick is looking at him now) when he admits he doesn't remember something they clearly loved about the old him: the version of him who didn't have volatile mood swings or made people flinch when he did something as mundane as handle a kitchen knife -- the undead monster he came back as*.

The fact that Dick then contrives to recreate this memory so Jason can be included in a newer version of it -- while also giving him what is arguably a weapon -- fucks me up every time. Dick just yeets a kitchen knife at him, trusting that Jason will catch it, and then just steamrolls over Jason's rightful 'what the fuck' expression with "Hey, we're making food. Get dicing."

And Jason knows what they're all doing. He's aware of it, and he gets the teeniest, tiniest smile before smothering it out. Except he can't quite. He's still smiling as he chops the vegetables. And yes, they're all hopeless at cooking compared to him, and he knows he's going to end up taking over, but that's okay. Because this is for him. He gets to control it.

And that's how Jason gets to make a new memory, one where he is handed a weapon and gets to turn it into a genuine expression of nurturing and care.

Because he does care about them. He wouldn't conspire with Dick to bake Barbara's favorite childhood cookies if he didn't. He wouldn't try so hard to be gentle with Tim triggering the shit out of him while he's struggling with his grief. He just doesn't always know how to express it because he doesn't always know what he's feeling.

Is his anger valid? Or is this Lazarus Pit Rage? Is he being overly sensitive because of his trauma, or is everyone else underreacting because of their trauma? (Should he sign them all up for therapy, quite probably, yes.)

So, you could perhaps argue that Jason experiences body horror in the sense that he doesn't remember all the pieces of who he used to be. (Speaking as someone with severe memory loss from medical trauma, it's certainly a type of horror.) But I don't think it's because he's detached from it physically or doesn't feel in control of his body. I think it's his mind that worries him.

His body he can control. It's his mind that still sparks green sometimes.

---

*Re the scene with Tim when Tim calls the Talons monsters. "What about me? Do you think I'm a monster?"

No, they don't.

But Jason does. And it scares him shitless.

[jpitha]

Logistics

Yes, when the humans arrived in the Coalition they brought themselves, and their ships, and their weapons. Those were all very impressive. They showed up with positively gigantic starships - easily two to four times larger than anyone else. When asked, the humans just looked at them, then back to us and said "why not make them big? Don't they look great?"

We could think of a few reasons, but they didn't seem to care about those.

But that's not what I want to talk about. Do you know what was the most amazing, galaxy changing paradigm they brought with them?

Containerization.

I'm serious! The first time I saw them field a colony ship my feathers ruffled and I turned my head in confusion. I was aboard the human ambassador's yacht with a few other Coalition administrators. We had come at the human's behest so they could demonstrate that they were taking our rules about colonizing seriously. Honestly, we probably wouldn't have cared. All they were interested in were planets Class F and lower. The ones with multiple biomes, the ones with heavy gravity, the ones with weather. We let them license the worlds for colonization cheap - ancestors, I think we even let them have the one with storms for free.

Anyway, they asked us to come and observe, and so we sent a few people out, me among them. I was a mid level clerk for the Innari embassy at the main Coalition station, so I was 'volunteered' to attend. It was boring, but it wasn't bad. Good food, a break from paperwork, and a chance to take it easy for a week.

On the second day, the colony ship arrived. It had Flashed in quote close to the planet, entered orbit, and had spent an hour setting itself up. One of the Sefigans looked at the human who was guiding us and asked what we were looking at, if we were just going to see a shuttle go back and forth for a week from the ship.

"A shuttle? Heavens, no. Just watch." and he did that cryptic smile without showing his teeth that they do when they realize they're about to show off.

Just then, while we were watching, the colony ship... flew apart. It wasn't destroyed, or rather it was, but it wasn't destructive. It had turned out that the entire colony ship was thousands upon thousands of boxes. The assembled crowd made surprised noises as the ship quickly disappeared into rectangles all the same shape and size. They disconnected from each other and fell through the atmosphere to the planet's surface. Within a tenth of a cycle, they were all down, and had begun unfolding.

Some were buildings, some contained supplies, and some even had vehicles. As we watched through remote cameras and entire city had sprung into being, where once there was only a joining of two rivers. The colony ship was completely gone - the box that was the command module had set itself up in the center of the city and we watched as the overlay changed from "Ship Command" to "City Command" as it touched down.

Before our surprise could be properly registered it happened again. Another colony ship flashed in and flew apart and landed. And again. And again. In the space of one solar day, three full cities were set up and automated construction vehicles - also the size of the containers - had begun trundling between the cities, setting up utilities and roads. By the time the humans arrived in thirty solar days, there would be places to live, work, and entertain for fifty thousand beings.

Honestly, if that's all they used it for, it would be impressive. But they made everything able to fit into those boxes. When they ordered supplies from human manufactories they ordered them by the container. During the next resupply one of the containers would detach and be delivered, and sure enough, packed floor to ceiling would be the widgets they ordered.

They built reactors that fit the container, so that no matter where they went or what they were doing, it was simple to have more power than one needed.

They even built weapons that fit into the containers. I'm not talking about hand and small arms, but full anti starship missile batteries. They would take one of their boxes, stick it to the side of a ship or a station - it didn't even have to be human made - and out would fold a missile battery, loaded and ready. Next to it they'd plop a reactor container and a matter printer container and in the time it took you to decide what to eat for their midday meal - lunch - they would be able to defend against an attack of nearly any kind.

When called on to aid during disasters, they brought them too. They would bring a modified version of their colony package, tuned for what kind of disaster had happened. Extra hospitals, extra living space, extra power, it didn't matter, because it all fit into those damned boxes.

The other Coalition peoples had to adopt the humans containers, it was too foolish not to. Human ships would only haul containers. They didn't list the ships capacity by hauling weight, they listed them by the number of containers they could haul. If you wanted to sell to humans, you had to fit your wares into a container.

Some other peoples - the Sefigans specifically, but a few others as well - attempted to introduce their own container specifications, but they were almost never adopted. The humans had the infrastructure to haul their own containers, and unless the others fit into the system they just rejected them outright. "Too complex to add" they said. "Just use ours; here have a few for free." They gave away containers like they were atmosphere. When items were shipped from human manufactories they told the recipient to just keep the container "in case you need to ship anything else."

Before too long, all the Coalition was using human containers. The Sefigans complained that they were too large, the Gren complained they were too small, and we Innari looked at the containers with an eye towards economy. We felt they were far overbuilt. We tried to make our own, out of much lighter materials but whenever they were added to a human system, they would be immediately ejected - usually with large dents or bends in them. "Stick to the specs" they'd say. "Our system requires them all to be the same."

Without firing a shot, the humans took over one of the most important and overlooked parts of our entire system. Everyone uses their containers now, it's just impossible to find a shipper to move material without them.

[osakanone]

Crew attire cosplay?

Lately I've been thinking a lot about "what would separate mecha crew equipment from that of a tank crew, or a fighter crew": A lot of military surplus stuff is already really close to what we're going for, and I realized "Motorcycle boots look a lot more like mech pilot stuff than military boots do", which got me thinking what other odd equivalences exist.

The one which really surprised me was how famous mecha live action SF Gunhed used a wetsuit as a stand-in for "generic scifi bodysuit", and that it worked weirdly well, actually?

"Why not latex?"

Latex rips too easily in contact with straps and hard elements, overheats far, far too easily despite having the looks. Thin neoprene works. really well.

So I kept exploring.

One thing I did seriously debate is other than rappelling equipment, would a pilot need something like a rigid knee-brace for hard landings to protect the ACL when they disembark from the robot which is common with high impact parachute equipment.

Some varieties also include counter-weighted springs which make it harder for you to close your knee, but make lifting heavy things on your back and climb much much easier during the ascent phase.

That led me towards Deck Crew helmets, which meet the hood requirement, and of all things, chin wraps which are really unobstructive and you can eat and drink while wearing one pretty comfortably (I say this as someone currently stuck wearing one)

So what we're looking at here is the HGU-24 and HGU-25, often worn by deck crews because it gets along just fine with the famous MCU-2/P AKA "Millenium" mask famous with drone communities as they're designed to be worn together.

Its literally the exact same mask with a minor paint adjustment.

"What's the difference between a drone and a pilot?" "One wears AXENT and latex, the other wears HGU-25 and neoprene." "Anything else?" "Drones have less sex and do as they're told"

Its got the bash-plates you want for an ejector-seat, but it also has the padded foam you want for an impact element, and if it latches properly and the jaw mechanism is well made enough, you could probably include a hans mechanism attached to the jacket which locks into a socket in the pilot's seat to stop a pilot from breaking their neck in a collision.

What do you guys think?

Any suggestions? What I'm really curious about is what you think pilots would remove, customize or alter for practical or decorative purposes.

This is basically the result of roughly a year of casual research into pilot attire, outfits and looks.

The helm and the hood seem to be where the most manual cosplay stitching and 3D printing work is likely going to be required, with the wrap and helmhood.

Addendum:

I've not gone into waste management systems (UCL/FCL human-factors engineering stuff with internal and external recovery systems), since I'm looking at this mainly as an attainable costume or ensemble.

Edit:

I am learning some of you use aquatic mecha and find this unsatisfactory.

And you won't shut up about how the coolant mass flow rate lets you do really wild shit with your weapons my "land-loving" platform even can't dream of

While I am jealous by your sheer tonnage and the output of your reactors, I've got you covered.

Behold: Immersion suits.

They also make surprisingly good sleeping bags, even if you're on water.

They're literally designed to keep you alive if you're forced to abandon an oil platform, and are known to include a radio and even rations and a water filter.

[loveisanimaginarydagger3000]

The Soldier Of Death (6)- Natasha

Natasha Romanoff X Super Soldier Reader 18+

Summary: Soldat Smerti. The Soldier of Death. You were the perfect weapon: loyal, obedient, and merciless, or so Hydra thought. What happens when these traits are put to the test? Your captivity in the Avenger's tower and the presence of a redhead makes you realise you didn't have to be a monster. The question was though; Did Hydra make you the monster or were you always one?

This fic will contains dark themes. Please read these warnings before starting any of these chapters: graphic descriptions of murder, violence, gore and torture, heavy angst, mental issues.

Please consider these warnings before reading

Word Count: 2k

General Masterlist | The Soldier Of Death Masterlist

Chapter Warning: Dark thoughts (that's going be in standard in every chapter)

—

Your fingers drummed a little impatiently against your knees, legs crossed as you sat on the floor waiting for her arrival. Your mind scolded you for the strange amount of emotion you were experiencing, the excitement you felt as your eyes were trained on the door, waiting eagerly for the head of red hair, the enticing green eyes to meet your own and that intoxicating smile to tug at her lips. You didn't understand the sudden infatuation with her, the thoughts confusing for you to try and figure out, leading you simply try and ignore them as there was a strange sense of peace when she entered the room, when she'd look at you as if you were a person, not a monster or some beast to tame. Maybe it was the respect she showed you, maybe it was the kindness she showed, you weren't sure, all you knew was that you enjoyed it, the feeling foreign to you.

She's trying to manipulate us. You're weak when it comes to her.

Berated the voice and you clenched your jaw at its incessant need to torment you, to drive you absolutely insane. Not only was it irritating, annoying, frustrating and so much more, it was tiring. It was tiring to keep it under control and away, exhausting to constantly fight your mind and ensuring it wouldn't lash out. You didn't want to hurt anyone, not any more.

Stop trying to be moral.

It groans in frustration with you, a scoff leaving you at the sheer audacity of them to be annoyed with you. You weren't the psychotic, bloodthirsty monster that wanted to kill everyone.

We're always going to be a monster, there's no point changing. They're going to try and change us, don't you see? We can't trust them.

You turn your head away once the reflection starts to move a little in the glass, refusing to acknowledge them and start a new infuriating conversation with them, having had enough of them entirely.

The vexation on your face quickly dissipates into embarrassment and shame when your eyes meet the striking, emerald green. Her body leans against the door frame, watching you with a quizzical but soft look, her arms that were crossed against her chest unwrapping from her body as she casually strolled up closer to the cell, empty handed. You furrowed your brows as she didn't carry the usual tray of food like she always did, tilting your head in curiosity as she sat cross legged opposite you, the only barrier being the glass of the cell.

Natasha. That was her name. She had told you her name a couple days ago after delivering your food, that strange and odd warm sensation bubbling inside you every time you thought of her.

Green continued to watch you as your eyes slowly travelled across her face, never having been this close for this long before. Your eyes flickered across her features, taking your time to note all the small little details down. The notable features such as her soft, plump lips, slightly defined cheekbones and sharp jawline were skimmed over, having looked at them many times, your eyes scanning over the small ridge in her nose, presumably having been broken badly before, the small scar hidden near her eyebrow and the one peeking from under her hair on her forehead, your eyes then settling on hers. Kindness and an indecipherable emotion swam in the pools of green, her watching you intently as you stared back at her, your eyes containing more life than they did when you first arrived in the cell around a week ago.

"I was wondering if we could have a little chat?" Her words unnerved you but her gentle tone that held hints of her Russian accent oddly soothed you, your gaze finally breaking away from the lingering look, flicking over to your reflection in the glass as they made a mocking sound.

I told you. They just want to trick us.

Your jaw clenched at the darkness, Natasha noticing the way your eyes moved away from her before getting annoyed, curious as to whether there was an alter ego version of yourself as she and Fury had discussed further another day.

"What do you want to talk about?" You asked and the action of you answering back made her smile a little. You had spoken to her a few times, most of it being to thank her for the food or answer a brief question she asked such as 'how are you holding up in there?'

"I just have a few questions, if that's ok?" she asks and it's cautious. She watches how your fingers seem to press harder against your leg, how your jaw clenches and posture becomes rigid, tense, the way your eyes lose the sense of life she was trying so hard to bring back.

Conflicted emotions resurface in your mind at her words. You had your loyalty to Hydra, part of you screamed, you were theirs. Their soldier, their weapon, their property. You didn't have the right to betray them like this, no matter what they did to you. They made you into the person you were, whether you hated it or not. If it wasn't for them, you would have died a long time ago.

Another part screamed that this was your chance to be free. This was it. Trust them and tell her all the twisted and dark things they had planned, they had you do. Join their team if they let you, try and do something good for once, like you had always wanted.

The other part screamed for you to remain silent. You didn't have a reason to trust them, to tell them everything. You could tell them everything and they'd do the exact same thing Hydra did. You would be the Avenger's puppet, just a different kind of weapon.

"You don't have to answer but...," she paused as if trying to phrase her words right, saying something she wouldn't normally say. "We want to stop Hydra and we want to help you. I know it may seem difficult to trust us, believe me, I understand what it's like, but if you want to help change, to help stop them, then it would be really useful if there was anything you could give us."

Your eyes meet hers, trying to read her and see if she was being honest, a hint of confusion seeping into your mind at her words of how she'd been in your position before. You hesitated, truly thinking about the options and the weight of her words before nodding subtly, not meeting her eyes and staring down at your fingers that were clean for once, not stained red.

"Are you the Soldat Smerti?" she asks and you can feel her gaze burning into your skin, how she watches you with an intensity.

The words send an unpleasant wave of nausea to wash through you, the words enough to evoke fear inside of you. You were. You were the Soldat but you never wanted to be. You didn't want to be the monster the agents told to scare prisoners, the merciless assassin who didn't care who they killed. You didn't want to cause the bloodshed but you did. It was always going to stain and taint your past, there was no escaping it.

You nod your head to answer her question, Natasha noting the despondency that seemed to take over your body, the way you seemed to drown in your thoughts.

"Did you want to be?" Your head slowly raises to meet her gaze at the question. No one had ever asked you that. No one had ever dared consider your perspective on the whole thing.

"No," your voice is barely above a whisper, cracking a little with the amount of emotion you said it with, the raw tone of your voice making Natasha's heart constrict a little.

"I assume they hurt you then?" she says, the sympathy in her voice making you feel nervous. It was all too good to be true. Why was she being so kind?

Stop telling her.

The voice grits out, the reflection banging on the glass of the cell to further emphasise their anger with you, your eyes closing to block them out. You need something to focus on, and the sound of a steady heart beat being picked up by your ears, your mind focusing on her to calm yourself.

When you open your eyes, she's waiting patiently to see if you would answer, your head nodding again as you don't want to voice your answer, her understanding why.

"Do you want to be free from them?" She asks, unfolding her legs and crossing them the other way as she adjusts her position to get more uncomfortable, unsure of how you manage to sit in the same position for so long without your legs becoming a little numb.

Yes. But we don't need you to help us.

The darkness answers, her unable to hear them though as you impassively stare at her for a moment, her brows furrowing at the sudden switch in demeanour. It seemed as if you just disappeared, completely dissociated from reality before a flicker of danger flashed in your eyes, fading just as quickly as it had appeared.

I told you, I will set us free. Stop answering her and listen to me.

"I can't," your tone hurt and sorrowful, Natasha's eyes watching you as you stare at her, trying to convey your conflicted state of mind.

"You can," she tries to reassure, "We can help you-"

"You can't," your tone is a little harsher this time, taking her aback. "They control me."

"How so?" she asks after a moment, letting the silence brew before speaking up.

You simply raise your finger to your head, pointing to your temple where faint scars could be seen, Natasha only now being able to notice them with how close you were.

"They put a monster inside of me," you say, voice wavering a little but you don't care at this point. You're too tired to be conflicted, to be confused. You just want to let go. "One that will never leave me," she can hear the pain in your voice and wants to move closer to you, to tell you that there's a way they can help you but she doesn't, she remains silent letting you speak.

"I just want it to stop," you confess, the darkness mocking you for your weakness, shouting at you to give up control if you want it to truly stop.

Give. It. To. Me.

The room simmers in a silence, neither of you sure of what to say before Natasha eventually speaks up, her voice laced with sincerity.

"I'm sorry," she says and you can feel a lump forming in your throat. You want to cry, you want to scream, you just want to feel safe for once and right now, you weren't sure what you felt. It was too much, too overwhelming.

She was being too kind. This was what you wanted though. Why did it feel wrong? What was this strange feeling inside you? Why was she sorry? Why can't we keep it together?

"You never deserved that," she whispers, pushing her body off of the floor and looking down at your still sitting form.

What if you did deserve it?

"One last question before I go," she says, her sympathetic expression turning softer, "What's your real name?"

The question shocks you, brows furrowing as what was your name? You had only been called Soldat for as long as you could remember, your mind searching through the blurs of memories, the flashes of your past to find out the answer. At the look of concentration on your face, Natasha herself was surprised at your effort to answer the question, waiting patiently for you to see if you would remember.

You met her eyes with an uncertain look while you still thought hard, her opening her mouth to say something else when it came to you.

"Y/n," you said with a small, minute smile, the action making pride fill the redhead as that was the first time she had seen the corner of your lips tug upwards.

"Think about my offer Y/n," she says, a smile playing on her lips at the life that resurfaced in your eyes. "I'll see you later," after her final words, her body slips out of the doors, leaving you alone once again, the small smile still on your face.

[jevilowo]

Headcanon:

How much the other Mercs can understand Pyro

Scout: Not at all. Won't even try. Literally will just pretend they're on about how cool he is. It drives Pyro insane.

Soldier: Almost every single interaction goes like "mph mph" "LITTLE TIMMY FELL DOWN THE WELL?!?". Soldier can understand them perfectly like once in a blue moon bc funny.

The Other Pyro: They understand each other perfectly and discuss my little pony lore together.

Demo: Understands them well enough but only when hes like the maximum level of drunk. The rest of the time he has to guess based on their tone and body language but how good he is at that depends on how sloshed or un-sloshed he is.

Heavy: The man struggles enough with with english when spoken normally, he's pretty useless at deciphering pyrospeak. He's definitely better at the body language and tone thing than Demo tho, due to having sisters and not being drunk.

Engie: A Sans Undertale situation where most people think he understands them perfectly but he's actually just godlike at reading tone and body language, and decent enough at deciphering the mumbling. I'm pretty sure this is somewhat canon, as the only time Engie has "understood" Pyro was when they made a "nuh-uh" sort of noise which is. Obvious.

Medic: Can't understand much beyond like Yes and No and MEDIC, and is pretty mediocre at tone and body language. Usually just gets Engie to translate. Considering getting Pyro to let him attach a mouth to the outside of the suit.

Sniper: Pretty shit at tone and body language, alright at deciphering the mumbles. One of my headcanons for him was he didn't talk for years as a small child (autism), so I can picture him teaching Pyro some basic Australian sign language.

Spy: He's a spy, and therefore pretty good at deciphering Pyrospeak and tone and body language. He's not as good as Engie, which drives him up the wall.

Miss Pauling: She hasn't really had the time to get used to Pyrospeak (busy), but I can see her getting pretty good at deciphering it over time. She'd probably learn sign language off Sniper too.

Administrator: She was somehow able to understand they wanted more weapons in Meat vs Match so she understands that much at least.

Saxton Hale: That weirdo barely understands Scout. He's probably convinced Pyro is actually just a really obscure species of wilddog that evolved to use flamethrowers.

Zhanna: Same as Heavy, but gains Soldier's ability to understand them occasionally over time.

[shwaesar]

More Caesar x Reader HCs

Still SFW but gets suggestive near the end (I'm working up to it ok I'm nervous)

You give him so many conflicting emotions and he never quite manages to come to peace with them. But he comes to peace with not coming to peace with them, if that makes sense.

He knows what he is and takes unapologetic pride in it. He's an ape. A creature forged by nature and nurture, a wild animal at his core, regardless of intelligence. Nothing can change that about him, and that's fine. He doesn't particularly want to change it.

But to love a human being feels almost like a rejection of all that. An ape can't love a human the way another human can. A human can't love an ape the way another ape can. So in a sense, you're both having to redefine your very selves just to try and make it work. To give each other what you want and need, while also adhering to your own wants and needs.

It takes a lot of time and patience to figure it all out, but you get there eventually. Or at least as close to there as you can get.

That thought still lingers in the back of his mind that he's not human enough for you, but on the rare occasion he lets those thoughts known, you're always quick to reassure him that you don't love a human. You love an ape.

'Love' is admittedly used in a nuanced way between the two of you. Love for humans means one thing, love for apes means another. But for you and Caesar, love means to choose one another, despite your many differences.

Maurice is honestly a life saver to have helping you both, educating you about ape romance and reassuring Caesar that his efforts in human romance are-..... well, it's the thought that counts.

He has no idea what he's doing but every now and then he'll pull something off that really cements his devotion to you. After all, he doesn't love an ape. He loves a human.

Flowers end up being his go-to gift, at least when he can get his hands on some. The forest is full of them if you know where to look, and he'll painstakingly pick the 'best' and bind the stems with twine before delivering them to you.

And you keep them in an old soda can filled with water, and about once every few weeks you'll have new ones to decorate your living space with, and Caesar can tell how happy it makes you so he keeps doing it and its honestly precious.

Gift-giving turns out to be a courtship ritual humans and apes have in common! But here's the thing-for humans, gifts are about sentimentality. For apes, they're about practicality.

Every now and then Caesar will bring you an 'ape' gift between more 'human' ones.

Once you've started eating more with the community and he doesn't have to bring you designated meals anymore, he starts surprising you with full on carcasses when he returns from a hunt. A testament to his ability to provide for you, at least in his mind.

They get progressively bigger too. Starts with a few hares. Then a boar. Then a stag.

He delivers you a fucking bear he found hibernating in the winter months, and you get a brilliant fur pelt out of it. Being able to keep you warm makes him swell with pride like nothing else, even if you can't help but feel a little bad for the bear.

You also receive a stone dagger after it's clear their usual weapons are too big and heavy for you. It's carved a bit clumsily, but the edge is sharp and there's a patch of rabbit skin wrapped around the handle to make gripping more comfortable. He feels a lot more confident in your ability to protect yourself once you have it, and seeing you use it is another thing that's makes his chest puff out proudly, because he has made sure you're safe, even when he's not around.

Of coarse, most of the time he is around.

And oh boy, when danger comes he is ready. Doesn't matter if it's a wild animal, another ape, another human- he will fuck a bitch up if they pose a threat to you.

The first time it happens is honestly a little scary. You run into a boar while foraging and it does not look happy, and neither does Caesar.

Blocks off your body with his own, fur standing on end, snarling and hooting aggressively at the creature to try and scare it off. His mind is racing with primal instinct the entire time- he has to protect his mate, has to be ready to go for the kill if it charges at you, he can't let his human get hurt-

It's also the first time you get a good look at his chompers, his lips pulled back to show them off in warning, and it suddenly strikes you how easily those teeth could be used against your own delicate flesh if he so desired, how effortlessly he could maul you, bite your fingers off one by one, rip out your throat-

Let's face it though, it definitely awakens something in you.

When the encounters over he has a nasty cut on his thigh from its tusks, and you get him home to treat the wound as quickly as possible. He's apologising the whole time for loosing his usual self control, for potentially frightening you. But then you tell him it suits him, and lord have mercy, once he processes it, you've awakened something in him too.

But that's a conversation for another post uwu

FOREHEAD KISSES

EXPECT THEM OFTEN

Even before anything's official, it's a gesture of trust and familiarity between the two of you. But when you're his mate, the romantic side of it is delved into more deeply.

Cupping each other's faces to hold the position of your temples touching, intense eye contact, deep breaths. It's a kind of intimacy that really burrows deep into you. Without words, he's able to tell you; I'm here. I've got you.

Human kisses are a bit trickier. He's familiar with the concept, he's seen humans kiss, but ape mouths are a lot bigger than ours and have a lot of different things to work around in order to really kiss something.

He's content to just receive them initially. Your lips are so soft and warm and feel so wonderful pressing against the corner of his own, or to his cheek, or to his open palm. Getting such a human form of affection from you carries almost a level of sanctity for him. Only you have ever kissed him. Only you will ever kiss him.

He'll take it to his grave, but he practices on the back of his hand sometimes so he can eventually return the favour.

Until then, the closest you get is him pressing his closed muzzle to your skin and just... inhaling your scent,

He tells you humans have a distinct smell, but individual humans have their own, more specific smell. When you ask what yours is like, he admittedly has to take a moment to think about it.

"You smell.... like home."

Sweet, right? WRONG. He just doesn't want to admit that he's been subtly making you smell more like him. Gotta make sure his territory is clearly his, after all.

AND SPEAKING OF MARKING TERRITORY

Biting.

He doesnt dare try it at first, too aware of the risks. Human skin is much too thin and sensitive for him to indulge in such a a way, no, he just can't bring himself to potentially do you serious harm, regardless of how badly he wants to.

You'd have to be the one to initiate a conversation about it. You can tell he's restraining himself here and there, from the low growls that slip out when he's embracing you, and with how his tongue drags across his canines, it's not hard to tell what he's holding back in regards to.

So you ask him to bite you. If it's a request, he won't worry that you're just trying to appease him.

He'd still cautious, mind you.

"Are you... sure?"

He says it while all but salivating, eyes dilated as he subconsciously scans your body for a good place.

"Don't want.... to hurt you. It will hurt. You... know that."

With just a little more insistence, he all but pounces at the opportunity.

Apes bite each other affectionately quite a bit, little nips here and there, harder ones usually reserved between mates. It holds meaning for them, displaying trust in the other person. You trusting him like that? He's never been more in love with you than he is in that moment.

He goes for the space between your neck and shoulder, carefully avoiding any major arteries. You feel his breath there first, as he does his usual snuffing and growling.

Then his teeth sink into you. Slowly, his broad tongue pressing into the flesh between them.

And the sound you make-

He pulls back abruptly, releasing you with a hoot of distress and grasping your upper arms to look over the mark left behind. Panic jolts through every fibre of his being, he thinks he seriously fucked up. Apes don't vocalise like that-it must be in pain, yes-you're in too much pain-he should never have-....

....

Oh.

....

Oh.

[insipid-drivel]

Warhorses: Which horses are actually good candidates, anyway?

This post is in honor of @warrioreowynofrohan, who asked the question in the comments under my guide, "Horses: Since There Seems To Be A Knowledge Gap". Their question, "Given what you said about too much weight breaking a horse’s spine, how did that work with knights in plate armour?" is one I'm going to try to answer here, since the answer can be very nuanced depending on where and when you're talking about.

Also, while I was a stable hand for years as well as a rider, I never had the opportunity to directly learn more ancient styles of tacking, horse training, and combat, so I don't have any direct experience to draw from with regard to horses used for military purposes. I'm still gonna do my best here with what I know, and research what I don't.

As I've covered in the past, large horses (draft horses) make less-than-ideal warhorses, and so do carriage horses like the elegant and dramatic Friesians.

Let's begin by addressing this from the perspective of creative writing. For you writers and content creators out there, an essential part to the continuity of any historically-themed work you do involving horses will be depicting breeds of horses that didn't exist before a certain time in history. I'm going to approach this question from the stance of, "Medieval-type era warhorses". Horses were used in warfare as late was World War II, but actual horses you ride into battle with knights and archers and bannermen? We actually have to drop the subject of specific modern breeds altogether aside from using them for comparisons.

When discussing warhorses, various cultures have approached them differently. Some cultures will value a specific type of horse above all others, such as the Mongolian Steppe Horse or the American Mustang. Other cultures, which may be from biomes and territories where multiple types of horses are needed for different forms of warfare and tactics, value whichever horses can get their jobs done without their riders getting killed.

Carrying vs. Pulling:

Horses have been used in warfare since as far back as 4000 BC, but their first applications were more as chariot horses. Humans have been riding and working with horses since before we even had stirrups to more easily ride them with! As archaeologists and anthropologists make more discoveries, the more we learn that we humans have been working closely with horses since before we had specialized tools to ride them with. The very first warhorses pulled chariots or carts, which is much easier for a horse's anatomy to handle compared to carrying a heavy weight like an armored rider on their backs, which puts stress directly on their spines where they have very little supporting muscle for supporting a lot of heavy downward weight.

Warhorse Size Categories:

Really, any breed of horse can apply to a niche in warfare if it's needed enough. Even very small, delicate horses have had their place in the history of human combat! Before I continue, it's important to know that there's a unique unit of measuring a horse's height. Rather than measuring a horse's height in centimeters or inches, they're measured in units called "hands". A single "hand" = ~4 inches/10.16cm, and a horse's height is measured based upon the distance between the bottom of their hoof to the tallest part of their shoulders, just at the base of the back of their necks. We don't actually include neck length/head height in a horse's measurements with traditional measuring.

Another rule of thumb: The average horse cannot safely carry anything heavier than about 30% of their total body weight. This is a serious factor to take into mind when deciding on a type of or breed of horse for a mounted warrior of any kind: You need to factor in the OC's starting body weight, and then add on the weight of armor, weapons, and any armor the horse itself may wear along with the weight of its tack.

Light-Weight Horses:

A few examples of lightweight horse breeds whose ancestors have historically been used in combat are Arabians, Barber Horses, and the magnificent Akhal-Teke. Lightweight and delicately-boned horses like those are best applied for military maneuvers that require precision, speed, and endurance, and the rider themselves should specialize in some form of combat or reconnaissance that doesn't require them to wear heavy metal or laminated armors. Archers are good candidates for riding smaller horses, or lightly-armored swordsmen like an Ottoman Janissary.

Central-Asian and North African horses also benefit from having a higher tolerance for hot climates. They can absolutely suffer from heatstroke and cardiac arrest from being forced to run and work in extreme temperatures and should always be provided with the same protective measures in a heatwave as any other horse, but they have a little bit of an edge over horses descended from freezing and temperate climates.

Medium-Weight Horses:

Medium-weight horses started showing up in the archaeological record around about the Iron Age, where chariot warfare was becoming an increasingly utilized form of mobile combat, and people needed bigger, stronger horses capable of pulling heavier loads - such as a chariot with two passengers rather than just one. As cultures began to develop heavier-duty armors made of metals and laminated materials, it also became important to breed horses that were tall and stocky (muscular and with relatively short spines compared to their height), and therefore more capable of carrying riders in increasingly heavy armor. Medium-weight horses were also essential at the dawn of the gunpowder age when the cannon came into use in siege warfare for pulling the heavy, iron cannons into position.

Medium-weight horses are really where we see the beginnings of knights and other warrior classes on horseback come into the forefront of warfare. When you have a horse that's big and strong enough to carry heavier armor and heavier weapons along with a rider wielding them, you have a much deadlier force at your disposal. Strikes from a sword or spear from the back of a galloping horse basically results in a sword capable of cutting through enemy soldiers like a hot knife through butter.

Important Note: Traditionally, cavalrymen wield blunt swords when attacking from a charging horse's back. When a horse is charging at full speed, the sharpness of a blade becomes less important than the blade's ability to stay in one piece when it impacts hard armor and bone. A blunted edge basically turns a cavalryman's sword into a thin club that's better at holding up against smashing through multiple layers of armor and bone compared to a thinner, more delicate sharpened edge that can shatter from a high-speed impact.

Heavy-Weight Horses:

The direct ancestors of modern draft horses, such as the Shire Horse, only began to appear around about the beginning of the European Medieval Era, and were far and away not even close to the enormous sizes of the draft horses we have today. Any horse counts as a "Heavy-weight" classed horse if its weight exceeds 1500lbs/680kgs.

Heavy-weight horses were really more bred for pulling enormous weights rather than carrying knights. While yeah, there is some evidence that suggests that heavy-weight horses were used by heavily-armored knights, historians argue a lot about whether it was a rule or an exception (such as with Henry VIII, who continued to ride well after he had begun to weigh more than 350lbs/158kgs, and even went to war in France in his final years on horseback). Generally speaking, medium-weight horses tend to be the right balance of agile and strong for carrying someone that's going to actively be fighting. Heavy-weight horses were bred to be a lot more tolerant to the chaos and frightening stimulation of the sounds of battle, but medium-weighted horses generally tended to be more suited to moving efficiently through dense packs of soldiers and weaving around other horses.

Ponies:

While actually being the smallest class of warhorse, ponies were essential when it came to carrying cargo and working as pack-horses. In certain forms of terrain, such as mountains, large horses pulling big carts full of supplies or soldiers could often be extremely impractical. In situations where an army needed to move on foot and form a narrow line in order to travel, ponies were able to traverse much narrower and rougher terrain while carrying smaller loads to their destination, when heavier horses would struggle more under their own weight and dexterity.

Europe-Specific Terminologies:

If you're a writer reading this and writing a piece set in the European Medieval age, there are specific terms used for the different classes I listed of warhorses above that I'm gonna list:

Destriers: The Destrier was a universal term for the iconic knight-carrying, jousting horse. They were also sometimes referred to as "Great Horses" due to their reputations in combat settings. Destriers could have just about any appearance, but were rarely taller than 15.2 hands, or 62inches/157cm. They were capable of carrying heavily-armored knights (although knights in full plate mail rarely rode into battle and stayed on the horse the entire time - they tended to specialize at grouping up and killing a lot of footsoldiers swarming them at once and preventing breaks in defenses from being overwhelmed by an oncoming army; in the case of Edward the Black Prince, we have substantial evidence in the form of his surviving brigandine that a mounted soldier or knight was more likely to wear chainmail and brigandine with a tabard on their body with their arms, feet, and heads the most heavily armored in plate when they intended to fight on horseback, making them a little lighter and more maneuverable, but I may be waaay off base there because I'm thinking of more of Italian soldiers who used full plate and how they applied it in battle more than any other example) and wearing armor themselves.

Interestingly, the sex of a destrier was often chosen strategically. Stallions (horses that haven't been neutered) are more aggressive, and could both act as combatants on their own if their knight was dismounted or killed, but could give away an army's location if they were attempting to move stealthily. Stallions whinny and shriek a lot when they're horny or arguing with each other, which is most of the time.

Mares were often chosen by Muslim armies for being much less vocal, and therefore much more capable of stealth. Geldings (neutered males) were the preferred mounts of the Teutonic Knights, a Catholic military group, since they couldn't be stolen and used to breed more horses for the enemy army.

Coursers:

Coursers were the most common Medieval European warhorse. It's important to remember that in Medieval Europe, most armies were almost entirely comprised of common men - serfs subject to the will of their landlords, not far removed from slaves in many ways - who couldn't afford the highly-prized and expensive Destriers. Coursers were usually a bit lighter than Destriers, but were still strong enough to carry someone wearing armor. Coursers were also a little more utilitarian, because they were also sometimes used in hunting as well as warfare, so they had a valuable use outside of warfare that the owner could benefit from.

Rouncey:

A rouncey was an all-purpose horse that could be used for leisure and travel-riding as well as be trained for war. They were a lot more likely to be found on the farm of a serf or independent farmer of some kind, as they could fill a lot of different roles depending on what they were needed for. Their sizes weren't really important as much as their ability to get the job done.

It's also critical to remember that, when talking about warhorses, we're usually talking about eras long past. In general, thanks to resource availability and incredible advances in medicine, modern humans are significantly taller, and therefore heavier, than people from the European Medieval era and prior. While fatness was valued in many cultures for its suggestion of wealth, most working-class and serf-class people worked intensely physically-demanding daily lives just to maintain their own homes. They were a few inches shorter on average than we are today, had greater fluctuations in body fat distribution depending on how harsh or bountiful the harvest season had been and the season in which a war was taking place (the average person's weight would swing by 30lbs or more on average every year prior to the industrial era), and cavalry were usually chosen based upon skill in the saddle as well as physical size when considering the application of medium or heavy armor being placed on the horse's back and body.

[shanastoryteller]

Happy Birthday Shana!! Something from the Godnonsensical verse? Or anything Naruto! ty 💜

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

They're gathered for the announcement of the final round of the chunin exams and her palms are sweaty in a way they never are in the middle of a fight. Sasuke is best, of course, but as long as it's any of their twelve - well, eleven, sorry Lee - then it'll be fine. If it's someone outside of them that's when things get tricky, especially when the only one of them available to move freely is the one that can't do jutsu. Maybe he can switch with Tenten? She's taijutsu heavy and although Lee doesn't favor weapons, he's plenty able to use them.

Genma has a scroll in front of him, the kages and their companions looking down at the gathered teams. Naruto still isn't sure what to make of Orochimaru.

Most of the team ups don't mean much to her, except taking people out of the running. Temari against Shikamaru, which is good. He's at a disadvantage against her but he's smart enough to make up for it. Sakura against Kankuro, which is less good, but they have a couple weeks. Kabuto against Tenten, which effectively wrecks his tentative plan, since he's way too observant to fool, even with Lee. Sasuke against Neji, which is fine, but sets her blood boiling. Kakashi couldn't even do this for her. Why does she even bother? Next time she'll know better than to waste her time asking her stupid ex-fiance for anything-

"Namikaze Naruto versus Sabaku no Gaara."

She looks up, mouth open. Her father's hands are clenched into fists and her mother is white with horror, probably frozen in place by it which is really for the best.

Kakashi is nowhere to be found, which she'd thought had seemed strange considering he's a proctor, but now makes a lot of sense.

[howtofightwrite]

How good would a whip be as a weapon? I'm not interested in it being a lethal weapon but more of it being a weapon that can defend someone long enough to get away or at least disarm or disable someone. I don't see a lot of people or character or referrals on how to use it and that's probably because it's not good enough?

Not great. The whip, like the goad and cattle-prod, aren't really designed for use as weapons. They're designed to control animals. (...and, yes, that does sometimes include humans, but again, in a non-combat, control role.) Part of the problem with the whip is, it's not much use against someone wearing armor. Or, even, heavy clothing.

Now, whips do have a legitimate military history as discipline tools, but that's very different from trying to take them onto the battlefield.

The reason reason you'll still see characters using whips, when you've probably never even heard of a goad, is because the whip is visually dynamic. It looks cool. You don't see Indiana Jones using a whip because it's the best choice of weapon, you see him using one because it stands out, and as a result, it has become iconic. It's delivering a specific vibe.

At the same time, the goad is just a pointy stick.

Whip disarms are a neat trick. And, very doable in a controlled environment. However, successfully disarming someone who's actively trying to kill you is going to be a bit more challenging, and also raises the question, “If you're putting this much effort and attention into taking away someone's weapon, shouldn't you be spending that effort and attention taking their life instead?”

This is probably little thought experiment about combat disarms. There's no point in disarming a corpse. So, why not just skip the middle step and go straight to the corpse-making? A question that Indiana Jones famously answered when, instead of dueling a sword master, simply pulled out his .455 Smith & Wesson and dropped the guy. (The real reason was that Harrison Ford was ill from food poisoning, and in no condition to shoot a prolonged fight sequence. So instead we accidentally got a character defining moment of pragmatism.)

To be clear, if it seems that I'm a bit negative on the subject, I do think the whip is a neat weapon. It's visually dynamic. It's loaded with symbolism. I think it's fantastic in a fictional context. It's just not practical.

There are fantastical versions of the whip that are better options. William Gibson's use of monowire comes to mind as an immediate example. Where the whip itself is created from a monomolecular carbon fiber, and can, as a result, cut through basically anything it strikes. Similarly, I still have serious reservations about the Lightwhip from Star Wars' old Expanded Universe, but it would carve through anything pretty effectively (including the wielder.)

Even in those cases, the whip is a weapon you choose for the aesthetic, more than the practicality.

-Starke

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[heartfullofleeches]

do you ever just feel like an old man browsing tumblr because youre so behind? liek everyone was fixtated on puppyboy reader and fast food reader and ALL the readers and i wasnt and now im fixtated on fast food reader while everyones now fixtated on lacey and lucy T_T

If u want to could u do a scenario where fast food reader gets kidnapped? Make it as short as u want i just wanna read smth fromyou lol

Bound and unable to move - you lay motionless on the dirty floor of some unmarked van; counting the blood splatters on the ceiling to pass the time. 32, 33, 34 - wow, these guys are really serious. Being kidnapped by hardened criminals would've gotten you a win on the bingo card of all the fucked things happen to you on the job - if you hadn't already been kidnapped twice this week. It just had to be a Friday too. Your boss will use this little encounter to drag you back in for the weekend due to "concerns for your safety" or whatever other bullshit they make up to keep you on duty. Speaking of staff - why haven't they saved you yet?

"They're too loud. Shut them up."

You're about seventy percent sure these guys aren't telepathic... It's when one of the crooks tells you they aren't that you come to the conclusion that you've been talking out loud this whole time. A faint riiip sounds from the passenger seat as the one sitting in it stands, duct tape in hand. You plant your feet against the wall, pushing yourself upright as they approach.

"Before you do this - just know the only reason you all are still alive is probably because my coworkers are placing rock paper scissors to see who gets to keep your spines. You'll honestly be lucky if you die here."

The kidnappers eyes narrow behind their mask. As their foot draws back, static coming from the radio stops them from bring it down on your chest. They turn as the driver findles with the radio as the static crackles and pops from its speakers, bashing his fist against the dashboard.

"Why won't this fucking thing turn off!"

A familiar voice overlaps with the static.

"Over come with guilt for their wrongdoings, the driver takes the gun from the glove compartment and places it against his temple - pulling the trigger. The employee closes their eyes, and keeps them closed until they are free"

Your eyes clamp shut right as the driver reaches for the glove compartment. They catch a glimpse of the man placing the gun against the side of his head - a loud bang causing you to squeeze them tighter. Chaos erupts soon after - as if there wasn't enough already. Before the surviving crooks had time to process what just happened, the entire van quakes with the reverberating boom of something large hitting it from outside. The back door is torn from its hinges, cold air seeping through like blood from a fresh wound. You hear the kidnappers raise their guns and voices in defense, weapons tumbling to the floor as as sharp metal scrapes along the walls of the van. A wet snout presses against your cheek - heavy tongue licking the sweat from your damp skin.

"I'm okay, Lambchop. The ropes are a little tight, but I'm unharmed otherwise. Please go easy on them."

The mascot snorts in response. At least you tired. Two pairs of hands pick you up off the floor of the van and drags you out as the first scream tears through the bitter night. You feel weightless as they carry you back inside and sit you down in a booth. One set of hands checks your face, hands and every exposed inch of skin for bruises or scratches. The others gentle cup your cheeks.

"Y/n, open your eyes."

"I physically can't until you untie me."

Your chest becomes lighter as the ropes fall off you. The first sight you see as you reopen your eyes is the janitor pocketing their pocket knife and the concern in the succubus' gaze as she removes her hands from your face. The Janitor is the first to speak.

"Are you okay?"

You rub at the rings around your wrist. "Probably would've had my chest caved in if the Storyteller didn't bail me out, but I'm okay now."

The janitor's hands tighten into fists. The succubus' eyes dark so deeply they turn near black, but she hides her anger behind a sweet smile.

"Well since you're okay we'd better it going. I'm sure the ball pit hands can help you relax better than you could."

"Where are you two heading?"

The janitor speaks up for her. "We're going back outside. I need to get my spines before Lambchop completely turns their bodies into paste."

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Hello! I read your "Third Enoshima" works, and I've gotta say that I absolutely loved them! If it isn't much trouble, would you mind writing something with a Third Enoshima!Reader who is constantly comparing themselves with their sisters?

They're still going agaisnt their plain of causing despair of course, but they can't help but feel a bit insecure of not having such a fit and strong figure like Mukuro or how they don't even get close to having such a nice and clear skin like Junko as they wash their face with a bar of handsoap. They refuse to join dinners and constantly push themselves to the extreme to try and please the other student, it goes from simple, yet harmful, things like wearing clothes they are clearly uncomfortable wearing to doing some heavy physical training without having eating anything since they woke up. Is it detrimental to their health? Yes! Will they stop? ...probably not...definitely not.

I wonder how their classmates or even their sisters would react or what comments they'd make towards Reader's behavior! (If they don't already have their ears ringing by the end of Ishimaru's lecture, lol.

(Sorry if this is written badly, English is not my first language!)

Comparison  | Yandere Danganronpa with Third Enoshima Reader

It’s a phase that usually comes when you’re a preteen

But it’s not hard if it stretches further

They both are so amazing – despair aside

They’re able to excel in their alternative ultimates just fine

Using their skills to further their agenda

All while still having the time to dote on you

It’s easy to compare 

Is it because they are insane that they’re so talented

Or is it just the genes you happened to miss out on

Whatever it is it haunts you and it’ll eventually slip out

Whether with a snide comment or a nervous questioning

They notice awfully quick

“Dawww Baby-bird wants to be just like us! Then quit yer whining and follow me!”

Junko sees it as a compliment and an invitation to put you in despairing situations

Of course, you may not know your life isn’t in danger with her but she’ll let you believe it

Constantly goading you to be like her

She’ll dress you like her, get a wig if she has to 

Before Mukuro pulls you away seeing that this isn’t working 

“(Y/n) you are perfect in your special way! If you’d like to do what I do I’d be happy to teach you!”

Taking you to shooting ranges and destroying you in paintball or airsoft

Just shows the distance between you two even better

She’ll try and get you to try wielding more simple weapons

Dazzling you with her speedy knife skills

Unfortunately though, instead of cheering you on she ends up just gushing over you

“Aaa~you look so cute with your little bulletproof vest. M-maybe I should have you wear my helmet~!”

“Mukuro I don’t think this is–”

“J-j-just a few more pictures! Aaa~ I can’t wait to wear this after you.”

They aren’t much help in the end 

Both just letting you slink off 

Your sisters aren’t exactly emotionally available enough to coach you through it 

But there are…some intentions

If it lasts all the way until you get your ‘tailored’ classes at Hope’s Peak 

there are very few who actually notice what you mean when you vaguely comment about what you’re missing

 “(Y/n) you seem to be especially hurt about your features, why is that?”

Celestia won’t beat around the bush

She wants to know who put this silly notion in your head

She needs to know if she needs to kill them

Knowing it’s your sisters makes her hesitate

You’d be upset about it right

But she’s going to bluntly tell you what your strengths because clearly your too dumb to see it 

“I’m going to list all your admirable traits clearly. So listen closely.” 

Nekomaru oddly enough pays enough attention to you and works his hardest to understand what those comments you make are all about

“IF YOU WANT TO GET THOSE THINGS IN YOUR LIFE WE’RE GOING TO GET THOSE THINGS YOU HEAR ME!”

“What are you talking about!”

His goal is to coach you on the areas you feel like you are lacking

Even if he doesn’t know about that particular area

So he takes the extra time he’s forced+ into spend with you to praise you for the little things.

“YEAH!!!!THAT SEEMED LIKE A SUCCESSFUL NUMBER 2 ONLY YOU COULD PULL OFF!”

“Nekomaru! I went number 1 and it’s not that big a deal!”

“YEAH IT IS! IT’S BECAUSE YOU DID IT! BECAUSE YOUR THE BEST HUMAN IN THE WOOOORLD!”

He honestly has no other idea how to get across his affection

Not without ruining his image as the ultimate team manager

He also invites you to train with him and Akane if only to see you use your cute muscles in person

And to find your weaknesses so he can be your savior

Despite his boisterous persona his encouragement and praise is honestly kind of helpful

Someone else who’s really helpful is someone who relates

“(Y/n)...for a long time I’ve pretended to be someone I’m not. Settling to just compare myself to the people I wish I could be. But now I’ve changed and I’ve decided to work on making myself more like them in my own way! I-if you want w-w-we can do it together? The….training I mean….yeah.”

Chihiro knows the feeling and if you take him up on his offer he’s thrilled

More time to plant new tracking devices

Even better with the preplaced cameras

Taking your insecurities and turning them into things you’re working on helps a lot with self-esteem

Giving you a lot more pride when you do compare and notice changes

It’s not perfect but it’s helping you

And it’s surely going to bring you and Chihiro closer

Maybe even close enough that you’ll come into his room

Your sisters will be happy…in their own way that you’re happy

But if you notice they start putting more urgency into their plan for despair

It may have something to do with the amount of time and smiling you’ve done with others in Hope’s Peak

“I can’t wait to show those neets the truest extent of despair! It’s going to be euphoric!”

“KillthemallKillthemallKillthemallKillthemallKillthemallKillthe-.”

“Patience, despair is coming Piggie! You know what just to give them a taste maybe we’ll make sure (Y/n)’s got to take a couple of sick days! I can’t wait to watch it eat at them when they don’t respond to their messages!”

[threepandas]

Bad End: Happy Hunting! (1)

I should have known better. They told us. TRAINED US. Over and over, drilled into our heads! Don't assume! Don't PROJECT Human body language onto alien species! Think that just because they look similar, are ACTING similar, their brains are in any way WORKING similar!

Not every species pack bonds! Some of them are PREDATORS. Be CAREFUL!

I was an idiot. A fucking IDIOT!

I gasped for air. Ran. Ran and ran and RAN. Desperately trying to put distance between me and the hunters behind me. I could hear screams. Crashing. The sound of weapon fire. The air here wasn't RIGHT. Too high in oxygen? Too low? Some other trace element, slowly poisoning my lungs?

I didn't know. Scared! Oh god, I'm so scared!

I thought he was my friend!

Thought THEY were my friends! Stupid. So God damned stupid! You really will pack bond with ANYTHING, won't you?! They bare their teeth and you fucking thought it was a SMILE! No wonder I barely graduated. They never should have-!

A root catches my foot.

Crashing to the mulch of the forest floor. Scramble to get up. My ankle on fire. Hurts. Oh god it hurts! Ignore it. Go! Keep going! Gotta get OUT! Find a ship. Any ship! Radio for help!

All the trees look the same. Am I even going in a straight line? Deeper or across? Away from civilization? I don't know how to survive here! Can I even drink the water? No. Run! Just RUN! Nothing else!

I can't hear them.

Him.

I thought he was my friend.

My grades were shit. Worst of the Best, but ultimately good enough. Got to see the stars. The galaxy. Meet real life aliens. Was a glorified gofer for the Earthling Diplomat's Entourage. Galactic Council offered staff. Wasn't really an offer. We took um. Some of them were the "better" guards then the super military badasses we had brought.

Military badasses were pretty offended.

But I was a gofer. Not my circus, not my monkeys. Just here for the aliens, right? Yay getting to meet some, right? I couldn't even PRONOUNCE their species name. I was mortified. Tried my damnedest. They thought it was hilarious. My pronunciation was god awful. Was calling them the cutesy babified version of "office chair".

Met Wolfe. He seemed FRIENDLY. Kind. Considerate. He told jokes. Asked about my day. I started sharing. Hobbies and interests. Stories about home. Explained weird human behaviors. We were close. I... I thought we were close! Was it a lie? Was everything A LIE!?

When my rotation in space was coming to an end, I was SAD! Fucking HEARTBROKEN! That I might never see my friends again. Since communication between our two planets wasn't even stabilized yet. Might never be. I wanted to savor our time together. Treasure it!

But then things started to go wrong.

Random malfunctions, that delayed and delayed us. Lost communications that nearly caused interplanetary incidents. Took days and weeks to fix at a time. People went MISSING. We looked. Every time we LOOKED!

They're dead, aren't they? Oh god. Dozens of crew members DEAD.

Then the engine "broke". Conveniently just close enough for us to make an emergency landing on this planet! And oh, would you look at THAT! A sacred cultural festival!? They won't help us unless we join in.

It's a MARRIAGE HUNT.

Heavy emphasis on the HUNT part!

They weren't surprised. Not a single one. Every last one just turned too different people and... and...! Wolfe planned this. THEY planned this! We're gonna die. I trusted him and now I'm gonna DIE! Can't breathe! Branches whipping at my arms and hair and face, as I RUN. Down slopes. Across shallow rivers. Even as my limbs BURN. I... I HAVE TOO-!

A powerful wall of muscle slams into me.

I scream. Thrash, even as I fall. My arms are easily tucked and pinned against my side, as the body covering mine rolls with me down a slight incline. The smell of wet plant matter and upturned soil thick in the strange air. Dizzy. I feel sick. Oh god please no!

Heat and pressure pin me down. Arms like thick steel bands. Still, I struggle, like a cornered animal. I have too. They always tell you to FIGHT. Only chance and survival. The deep rumble of crooned reassurances in an alien dialect fill my ear. I can feel how DEEPLY he breathes me in, before each sentence. Like hes been holding back and finally no longer has too, is giddy with it. How his hands already spread possessively, eager to explore.

And he's strong. Oh god, he's so strong! Please please please! Let go. LET GO!

"Shhhhhh shh shh, is 'okay' now. I have you. You ran so hard! Did so well! My precious little human~ so brave. So strong. You did it! Now, no one can EVER seperate us! You don't have to worry anymore. No more tears~" Hunter, Warrior, oh god it was never a GRIN-! His teeth are so sharp. Pressed so close to my skin!

"I'll take care of EVERYTHING~"

I'm scared.

[whateversawesome]

About Twiyor, Damianya and Chapter 96

Let me start by saying that, I like both stories and that both ships are great precisely because they're so different:

Twiyor is a relationships between two adults. Is it developing slowly? Yes, of course. The slow-pacing of the relationship is what makes it so real. Here's why:

Entering a relationship as an adult, and I mean any kind of relationship (romantic, friendship, or even work relationship) can be tricky. Why? Well, adults have more experience, they've seen and gone through more things, the carry psychological issues, and, in some cases (like Twilight's) trauma. All this makes it difficult to open up and trust people. Twight's character arch is precisely about trust and vulnerability and that's one of the issues that pushes the story forward.

So, even though I would love to see Twiyor kiss like in many fics, this will take time. Maybe it's not as obvious because there's not a lot of physical contact between them (yet 😏), but there's definitely progress in their relationship (more on that here and here).

The development of their relationship is so beautiful! Can you see it too? On one side, we have a man who lost everything and thinks of himself only as a tool for peace slowly regaining his humanity through love. On the other hand, we have an innocent woman turned into a weapon, who is slowly realizing she's much more than that, and getting to know herself while falling in love. Come on!!! You don't want to miss that!

Even though it may take a while to get there, I think it's one of those things worth the wait.

Now Damianya in my opinion is about innocence and the development of a deep friendship.

Talking specifically about chapter 96, to me, it makes sense that Anya's secret slipped out. I don't think she consciously decided to tell Damian. I believe it just kind of slipped out because:

1.It's easier for kids to trust other kids and open up.

2. This is the second time Damian guessed her secret.

3. They are kindred spirits; they both were "abandoned" children (Anya while she was in the orphanage, Damian by his family) and they both seek the approval and love of their father.

4. She often uses her abilities in front of Damian and he pays enough attention to her to realize something is off.

Let me ask you something: have you ever been forced to keep a secret?

Keeping a secret is a heavy burden, isn't it? Can you imagine a 5 year old carrying that kind of burden for so long? It doesn't help that Anya was returned to the orphanage by several different families. It's implied in the story that Anya used her telepathic abilities and the other families considered her too strange too keep her. This is the reason why Anya has kept quiet: she doesn't want to be abandoned again.

Still, it must be hard for her to carry that and to feel that people wouldn't accept her exactly for who she is if they knew about her secret. So, I'm happy she was able to tell someone. In some ways, her arch is similar to Twilight's: Anya is also learning it's okay for people to see her real self and trust they will still love her. I hope that in the future, Anya learns that she can trust her parents too and I think trusting someone else is a big step into that direction.

I know it will also take some time, but I can't wait for both stories (and all the stories) in sxf to merge into one. It'll be a very exciting time or everyone when that happens.

[espionn]

SkyWing tribe sheet!

my computer always fucks up colors in export for some reason and its really obvious with these guys :( i promise they're more saturated my computer just sucks

anyway i really liked doing these guys, skywings are fun and i think they have a lot of potential. enjoy!

Physical Appearance + Traits:

-SkyWings, as their name suggests, are dragons made for the wind and sky. They are better fliers than any other tribe, with enormous wings and several birdlike features. Some can fly for more than a day without landing, and even when they aren’t flying they make their homes at the peaks of mountains, with the entire world beneath them.

-They are quite large, taller than any other tribe, with long necks, long tails, and regal figures. They don’t have any obviously deadly weapons, but they have no clear weaknesses either; they are generally successful dragons.

-Their coloration consists of almost entirely warm colors, specifically red and orange. Yellows and golds are sometimes seen too, and more uncommonly, purples and browns. Their colors are bold and striking; they are one of the few Pyrrhian tribes that has no need for camouflage. 

-Young dragonets are hatched with a coating of feathers, particularly on their wings, necks and tails. Most dragons simply shed their feathers as they grow; some, though, carry a few into adulthood, usually lining their wings or making a thin ruff around their necks. These feathers are often even brighter than their scales.

-SkyWing horns are a mark of pride, and they continue to grow for as long as they live, meaning some of the oldest SkyWings have horns that resemble enormous and heavy antlers. Sometimes their horns are decorated with wires strung with jewels.

-SkyWing fire is the hottest and most powerful fire any tribe can produce. At its hottest it scorches through bone, and it can be used with accuracy from a long distance. It is their main weapon in combat, and quite a devastating one if their opponents don’t know how to properly fight it. They also use it for a number of other things, though. (More on this in the “society and culture” section.)

-Their wings are stronger than those of most tribes, allowing them to temporarily use them for balance rather than their front legs. This lets them hold and work on things more easily. (This headcanon belongs to @sidyashchiy-na-plakhe!! i saw your post and really liked it, hope you dont mind me adopting it)

-Not dissimilar to SandWings, they have darker streaks near their eyes to help with the glare of the sun when they’re flying, often facing the horizon directly.

Life Cycle:

-SkyWings are hatched in clutches between one and five, although four and five are a bit less common than one through three. SkyWing parents are not involved much with their dragonets. By tradition, they lay eggs in nests high in the mountain peaks, and return occasionally with food once they hatch. The rare unlucky SkyWing newborn may be snatched up by a large bird, but they’re big enough that it isn’t usually an issue. They are also hatched with disproportionately massive wings, big enough to make the fall less likely to be lethal if they fall before they learn to fly.

-Once the dragonets are large enough, though, or once they get hungry enough to search for their own food, they will leave the nest, often simply jumping out and letting the wind carry them, learning to properly fly quite quickly. Once parents notice that the nest is empty, they simply stop bringing food. They will never know who their dragonets are, but SkyWing superstition says all dragonets will eventually make their way to the kingdom, where they will be made a part of the tribe. And, truthfully, they almost always do.

-This practice, which some tribes find strange or even barbaric, is seen by Skywings as an important part of their life and tradition. Each of them took the same journey, and so did the generation before them, so they have faith that it will continue to work out well. It’s in their nature to leave their nest and find the kingdom, and it doesn’t result in enough casualties for them to try to halt the tradition. The only dragons this practice does not apply to is the royal family, for the sake of tracking bloodlines.

-By the time they are entered into the wider kingdom, dragonets usually know how to hunt and avoid danger, so all tribe life offers them is the ability to meet other dragons and find work. There isn’t much of an education system in place, with the exception of mentorships for some careers, such as metalworking, and military training. If they take part in work for the kingdom, they’ll have societal benefits and a secure place in the tribe, and most end up in that position eventually. But there are always a few SkyWings who simply live on the outskirts, uninterested in the larger tribe.

-They don’t form many close relationships, being fairly solitary dragons as soon as they leave their siblings. They do not very often form genuine romantic relationships, but marriage is fairly common simply as a formality or political maneuver. Royals in particular almost always get married, though they don’t usually form natural bonds with their spouses. The only responsibilities parents have is bringing food to their nest until the dragonets abandon it.

Culture and Society:

-SkyWings are proud and solitary; these things combined have given them a reputation of being rude, aloof and uncharismatic. They are powerful fighters and fliers, but their strength is not in diplomacy. Their kingdom norms, though, which allow every dragon to simply utilize for the tribe whatever talents they may have, at their own leisure and for whatever profit might be available to them, suits them well and has made for an uncomplicated but successful society. (This is excluding a few periods such as the reign of Queen Scarlet, who reshaped the tribe into something more dictatorial.)

-They are generally quite matriarchal; every tribe has a queen, but SkyWings tend to have a more overall unbalanced system. Females are a bit larger than males and are usually in higher positions of command.

-Fire is extremely important to SkyWing culture - it produces light, warmth, and without it they would be much less deadly in combat. It has its place in almost every tradition and is used in almost every career path. 

-They are the most superstitious tribe in some ways, their lives dictated heavily by tradition and spirituality. The way dragonets are raised is one example; there are countless others, including funeral rites that involve burning, gladiator fights performed for glory, a general belief of night marking bad luck, and others. 

-Continuing on this note, SkyWings - though most would never admit it aloud - are almost universally afraid of the dark. The caves and caverns in which they live are always warm and well-lit, via torches lit by their own fire, and they are almost exclusively out by day. They worship the sun and daytime, believing it to chase away the shadows in its glory. NightWings, for similar reasons, tend to be unnerving to them.

-And to elaborate on gladiator fights: The arena near the palace was originally constructed for SkyWings to prove their prowess by fighting other SkyWings and completing various challenges. During these fights they would wear a special set of ceremonial armor, which they could then keep if they succeeded. (Scarlet, of course, transformed this arena into a convenient way to execute prisoners, and later Queen Ruby reinvented it completely by erecting a hospital where it had once stood.)

-In general, SkyWings are one of the only tribes to wear armor, and the only tribe that has used it for entire armies during war. A particular emphasis is placed on wing armor that allows for comfortable flight while still protecting the wing membranes, as a flightless SkyWing is considered as good as dead by its tribe.

-Jewelry almost always involves precious stones, particularly rubies, diamonds and citrine. It’s very common to have these jewels embedded in scales; some royals have done this with such excess that they appear to have crystals growing out of them.

Diet: Carnivorous. They eat birds, mountain goats, deer, and occasionally fish, rodents or whatever else they can catch. Sometimes raw, sometimes scorched. They don’t typically make full and elaborate meals like other tribes; the only common seasoning they use is salt. Other than the rare use of herbs for flavoring, they eat no plants at all.