#and more assimilated into human society

[starrysharks]

winter assassin outfit

[thisgingerhasnosoul]

You know, it’s funny, because I was a non-Zionist for most of my life, and an anti-Zionist during my late teens and early 20s. But you know what? 10/7—and more importantly, the increasingly horrific reaction to it from the western left—has turned me into a Zionist, because at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter how “good” we are; how ethically consistent or introspective or selfless. You’ll justifying torturing, raping, slaughtering, and erasing us no matter what.

But I still want to thank you, anti-Zionists, because you finally made me realize something important: why should we have to live under your thumb of persecution and cultural genocide just to get your approval, anyway?

[p2ii]

I feel like there's something to be said about the way fandom will treat characters who's trauma they can personally relate to Vs characters who they cant

[satsuha]

just saw a version of that dunmeshi shapeshifter race chart for another series now i'm thinking about one for drgl... human/sylvan/rokkan/dragon and... faerie or qilin?? i'll make a chart for it later if i remember...

[ladychandraofthemoone]

It’s Tough to be a God

here’s Kyle pondering on many things like he and Stanley wondering on where to go out, trying to convince Fred not to steal his golden whistle to go to alternative dimensions watching over the forest near the railway, he got into an a scruffle again the list drags on

also not so fun fact Kyle doesn’t wear his hair long after a majority of time with the scientists along with passengers, workers and just other folks constantly touching, grabbing, yanking even cutting his hair off when he was asleep under the belief it would grant them magical properties or protection or for examination (some stranger chopped his hair off when he was sleeping in humaniod au)

so for his own safety (though Kyle laughs and saids it was a hassle to take care of) he keeps it as short as possible though he once wore it long when he was inside the lamp cause I refuse to believe it gotta let Kyle go off so easily, he’s bonded to it so I imagine this pic takes place in the future when he isn’t so much if a danger magnet but also cause my mind is like “LONG HAIR KYLE LONG HAIR KYLE-“

[llycaons]

trying to listen to ancillary sword but it's going excruciatingly slow bc it's a sequel, and in fact I think the first sequel I'm listening to on audiobook. even very good sequels (which I expect this will be) will pepper in exposition and background info in the first chapter to catch up readers, which tend to take place in between lines of dialogue. I wouldn't mind except I always forget what was just said and have to go back and check, and it's comparatively much more difficult to rewind an audiobook to the right place than to glance back over a page. so I've been listening very very slowly aha. but I've finally gotten to ch2 and I'm glad I'm reading the sequel right away bc the story picks right up from the finale of the first book and I'm already intrigued by the new characters and entertained by the new plot direction

[styllwaters]

Hailing from the harsh planet of Ettera, Knights are the only sophont in the Zhagaviit system made of two consciousnesses. ---

At last, here they are! Nearly finished with redesigning every Vivere 44 species. These guys are retconned werewolves which I posted about some time ago. You might have noticed I brought back some space unicorn aspects as well! They've been through so many design changes but I've finally settled on something solid.

More information below!

I'll try to keep this concise. Most of this info is introductory biology.

Knights are the only sophonts living on Ettera, a mostly barren planet where survival is tough. Their civilisation is the least advanced compared to others in Zhagaviit, such as Arrows and Sea Crawlers. They were the third species to be contacted by the ZGC (Zhagaviit Galactic Community) followed by Post Humanity. Knights are known for being hardy, efficient, and motivated.

If it isn't already clear enough, Knights are two species in a symbiotic relationship acting as one individual. Helmets and Hosts have an evolutionary history so intertwined that one cannot survive without the other.

The Helmet is attached to the head of the Host, and will remain there for the rest of their life (unless separation happens - but we'll get into that later). In the relationship, their role is vision and dexterity. Since the Host is effectively blind, it is the Helmet's job to guide them. Their hands are also important, being the Knight's primary manipulators. They played a large part in early tool use. The Helmet lacks a mouth, and receives all its nutrients from the Host through a specialised organ not unlike an umbilical cord.

The Host is essentially the main body of the Knight. Wolflike and mammalian in nature, the Host is the Helmet's mode of transportation. Because they need to eat for two, Hosts are omnivorous and will eat just about anything. Although majority of their diet is comprised of meat, they are capable of digesting plant matter and bones. They are highly skilled and effective hunters.

It is in both party's best interests to assimilate as soon as possible. The Host cannot see without a Helmet, and within a few weeks bonding will become impossible. The stakes are higher for a newborn Helmet, because they cannot feed by themselves and will starve in under a week without a Host or an artificial feeder tube. Prior to first contact with the ZGC, Knights did not have the technology for artificial feeders, and infant death rates were high.

So how do two beings coordinate one body? The fact is that once assimilation occurs, they become one being. The Helmet's brain and the Host's brain are connected by millions of nerves exchanging signals. It's complicated, but the best way to describe the experience would be a 'mutual trance' in which full body coordination is achieved. They have shared interests and intentions. However, a Knight can mentally separate the Helmet and the Host, gaining back individuality; they do this for many reasons, perhaps to discuss something among themselves or simply for company. Yet on the whole, a Knight will spend 80% of their life in this 'trance'.

Both Helmets and Hosts have noticeable sexual dimorphism. Male Helmets are called Pikes, and females are called Guards. Pikes are distinguished by their horn, bold stripes, and more prominent crest spines. Guards lack a horn and have less contrast in their thinner markings.

Female Hosts are called Forts. They are larger than males and have a mane of fur on the back of their necks. Male Hosts, Spires, lack this mane.

In Knight society, individuals are usually referred to based on their combination of Host and Helmet. Since there are four sexes involved, there are four possible combinations.

Guard-spire [female Helmet, male Host]

Pike-fort [male Helmet, female Host]

Guard-fort [female Helmet, female Host]

Pike-spire [male Helmet, male Host]

(Knight languages have their own version of pronouns for each, but in English all are referred to as they/them by default. Of course, each individual has their own preferences. Usually a Knight will refer to themselves as we/us).

____

I'll get into Knight social structure, cultures and more in another post! For now, if you have any questions, feel free to send an ask. Always happy to answer!

[beggars-opera]

Ok, so I live in one of the more liberal areas of the country. Our governor is a lesbian and I literally did not even know until after she got elected, because it was that much of a nonissue.

Lately, I'm seeing more and more local institutions doing things for Pride. Institutions that don't necessarily have to, or do so awkwardly, but they're trying to be good allies. And, even here, I see people foaming at the mouth. This thing is ruined. Unprofessional. Political. Sexual. Boycotting, disgusted, bye.

And a part of me is like, "Why would a random store, a museum, a restaurant, do this?" Part of my mind has been so corrupted by the idea of rainbow capitalism that the thought of someone just...trying to be an imperfect ally is a cash grab.

It's not. Every bit counts, and especially as we see pushback, and see some of those corporations beginning to rethink their rainbow capitalism, the places that continue to speak up are so, so important.

I'm reminded of a rant by Illustrious Old White Man Historian Gordon Wood a few years back where he lamented how fragmented modern history is. Why do we need ANOTHER book about women, about enslaved people, about the poor? Why are we focusing on these people instead of George Mount Rushmore Washington?

And it was an interesting framing, because he insinuated that these micro histories were bad not because they existed, but because they didn't give the whole story, which in Gordon's mind was a story in which they were the side characters instead of the mains. To that end a biography of G Wash that features the bare shadow of Billy Lee in the far distance is a complete history, all that needs to be said, because one of those figures is a God Amongst Men and the other does not deserve to be fully fleshed out as a full, autonomous human being with a family and a profession and a beating heart. And a biography of William Lee, war aid, professional valet, and person closest to the first president of the United States, with the shadow of George in the background, would consequently be Bad History, because no one is saying that this man didn't exist, but his story isn't the whole story. It's backwards; he should be a footnote, and if he's not, that's bias.

But for me, as a historian, I know that the reason these microhistories exist, and are so important, is that they didn't exist before. Before someone can be truly, purposefully, tactfully inserted into the historical narrative, you need to know who they are. Not just as a name, not just as an archetype. You have to get to the point where there are so many books flooding the market about women and children and immigrants that it's no longer controversial to be talking about them, where learning about them instead of someone else is normal.

THEN you can feel good about rewriting the more general narrative. THEN you can actually have the information you need in order to put things into their proper context, to rethink the most important figure in each story, to assess what the full milieu of the time is.

And that's where we're at with Pride. We are still very much living in a time where queer people are shadow characters in the background. They are people that many will admit exist, but for god's sake, don't make them important, don't make them real, don't make them normal. And until we can shove rainbows down everyone's throats to the point where being queer is no longer seen as a thing that is Other, until we convince people that we're not going away, we will never be able to fully assimilate queerness into society.

We can't just be normal about Pride, because normal isn't loud enough to not get drowned out.

[whereserpentswalk]

There's an orc attending your college. Your city is pretty diverse, there's a lot of human cultures represented there, and even harpies and dwarves are common. But an orc is still a really rare sight. And she's not assimilated at all, she wears the symbol of the dark lord around her neak, and the strange black cloths from the wastelands she came from, and she always seems to have a gun somewhere on her. It's strange just to see an orc in person, she's not like the green skinned monsters you see in movies, her eyes are pitch black, and her skin is so pale you can see veins, she's muscular and tell but also strangely skinny, and her teeth are sharp and spiked like a sharks, this one doesn't have tusks, just these rows of serrated teeth.

Everyone avoids her at first. There's something creepy about her. She doesn't move like a human. She emotes weirdly, being stoic during conversations, but sometimes smiling or laughing at odd times. In class it becomes clear that she lacks knowledge anyone growing up in your society has, but has extensive knowledge on things most humans will never know. She also very clearly supports the dark lord and the demons who serve him, and gets mad when his narrative of conquest and strict genetic hierarchy is challenged in class.

You end up paired with her for a class project. It's weirdly awkward. But you end up spending more time with her then most. It still takes awhile to get used to her mannerisms, and you have to convince her of evolution in a long debate (but eventually you do convince her). She seems strangely naive to a lot of things. Every time she does something that she considers a failure she goes into self loathing, and she gets really afraid she's going to be punished. You have to explain to her things are going to be ok sometimes.

You try to spend time with her. She supports the dark lord but out of a strange sense of fear more than the type of ideological support humans in nations not under his control have. When she does something that she thinks is heresy agaisnt him she becomes afraid. And while she's angry at people who follow gods other than him (which is basically everyone here) she's more afraid of them than everything. When a holy symbol you own touches her she's surprised it doesn't burn her, you have to tell her it's ok.

She has a lot more freedom here than she did back in the wastelands. You slowly help her realize she doesn't have to worry about being punished for sinning agasint the dark lord. She's able to go on the internet for the first time, you help her get everything set up. You also introduce her to your freinds, only some of whom feel safe around her, but those who do seem to like her.

It's weird just hanging out in her dorm. She can be weirdly laid back and introspective at times, at least when she's not nervous or paranoid. But when she's just relaxing she'll tell you about things, about the beauty of the desert sands, about what it was like to observe the rattlesnakes and condors and wyverns of her homeland. How she likes to observe the city, the way the diffrent people flow through it, she was scared of it at first but now she likes to explore it, and the way it lacks stars at night but the lights from the buildings replace it. She says she wishes she could stay here forever, that she wishes she could be an artist but that she was sent here to learn skills useful to the dark lord's empire.

There's something nice about showing her new things. You get to take her to a musical for the first time. Get to show her neighborhoods you like. Get to explain to her what public transport is (though she got scared feeling trapped in a subway car). You get to show her stuff she never got to experience because orcs are never really children, she loves getting to hold a plush for the first time, or watching cartoons for the first time, it's like she's finally getting to live an experience she never had. Even though she's a well armed adult she really likes plushies once she finds out about them, they weren't something she was allowed to have back home.

Over time she starts meeting people and learning things that go against her worldview. As she makes more friends, understands new things, slowly learns that she shouldn't be punished for mistakes, she slowly comes around to seeing how fucked up the world the was raised in is. She tells you she doesn't want to worship the dark lord anymore, she cries just from saying it. You hug her, and realize she's never been hugged before, she seems to really like that feeling. She bathes in the waters of a healing goddess, and she worships something out of love instead of fear for the first time.

Eventually the spawning warlock who spawned her and her siblings comes to visit her. You told her to be careful but she ended up spilling that she doesn't worship the dark lord, she ends up spilling all the things a warlock like that considers a sin. When he leaves she tells you she can't go home. Not ever. Never again will she see the shifting sands, or flying condor, or flowing serpents of her homelands. She's trapped where she is now.

You know it hurts her a lot. She says she feels like she's in a small pocket of safety. Back home she'd be hurt for being an apostate. In human lands outside of the city she'd be hurt for being an orc. But she's safe here. She stays in her apartment for awhile, while you try to make things work. She's finally changing her major to art, and despite everything she's finally free, free to watch the starless sky, free to not be punished when she makes a mistake...

[batgirlteeth]

thinking about samus' radical design changes from the onset of fusion and how they relate to her self-image. the x parasite didnt just steal her armour, it stole her identity too, her chozo power armour was the one connection she had left to the people that made her who she is, and it was infected and cut out like a cyst and then it quite literally haunted her. her default appearence is then one that is stripped away, laid bare, and shes far more vulnerable.

the only thing that could save her was the most destructive legacy of the chozo, the metroids. then over the course of fusion, she learns that the federation has been cloning metroids for weaponisation themselves, the humanity shes so desperate to hold onto is acting no different to the space pirates, looking to control and conquer. everything she thought she was has either been torn from her or corrupted beyond recognition.

and then dread follows up on this so well by introducing raven beak and the mawkin tribe. we always saw the chozo from this idealised lens, a generous and benevolent civilisation that shared their bounties with the universe. but the truth is that was only their best and brightest, the real reason theres chozo ruins on nearly every planet in the galaxy is because they were conquerors. they were colonisers. and samus herself was yet another soldier being indoctrinated into war for the sake of raven beak's ego. just another weapon. just another metroid.

any vestiges of samus' heritage and the legacies she holds onto have had their facades stripped away for what they are, and its up to samus to define herself. she chooses to become a metroid, the ultimate warrior, because she can defy that legacy and scrounge some good from the dirty hands she was dealt. quiet robe inspires her to do this, by holding onto a fraction of his kindness even after assimilation by the x, because that altruism can shine through no matter how dark it gets.

metroid is about growing up in a fascist society and peeling away the layers of obfuscation and deciding what you want to fight for. also youre transgender

[ickadori]

++ 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐎 — 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆

↳ Choso is still unfamiliar with the more human way of doing things, but he is trying, so you can’t fault him too much when his actions resemble that of a curse rather than a human. VALENTINES EVENT MASTERLIST

[cws] yandere. stalking. chikan. mild violence. fem reader. i’ve taken creative liberties and made it so that choso can choose when he’s visible to humans thanks to being half-curse, half-human :3 reader is american.

Right and wrong is not something that Choso concerns himself with - he simply does what he pleases.

It’s not in the sense of him thinking that he’s above human laws (he is) and can therefore ignore them, but rather that he’s not familiar with them.

Yuji has told him time and time again about what is and is not acceptable, but it just hasn’t clicked in his head yet. In the rare times that he shows himself to humans, he always finds himself breaking some type of rule, law, or societal norm, as Yuji tells him.

“You can’t walk so close to people, Choso - they’ll think you’re a pervert or something!”

“I don’t care if she smelt good - you can’t sniff her like a dog!”

“Put your dick away! That’s not a bathroom! You can’t piss there!”

“No, Choso! You can’t kill somebody just because the line is too long!”

Humans were bound by so many rules, it was annoying. Choso found himself staying hidden more often than not, choosing to observe the people around him rather than taking more ‘lessons on humanity’ from his younger brother—Yuji was a big help, don’t get him wrong, but Choso didn’t feel right taking lessons from his younger sibling. Choso was the oldest, the one meant to protect and teach his younger brothers (something he had failed to do on two occasions, as he so painfully remembers every day), and if he didn’t know it, then it was his duty to learn it on his own.

The regular people of Japan, the ones who were terribly unfit to defend themselves (it’d be a hassle trying to protect them - he’s glad they’re not his siblings), were incredibly boring. Majority of them only worked and slept, some occasionally getting drunk at some hole-in-the-wall bar before stumbling home and passing out in the living room.

Choso preferred watching the not-so-regular people of Japan, the ones who led a life that Yuji always turned his nose up at, but Choso didn’t think they were so bad. They do what they want, what’s so wrong with that, he always asked. They didn’t let rules shape their actions or let laws turn them into a completely different person - they were simply them, and Choso found it admirable, in a way.

He watched men cloaked in black skulk around alleyways looking for a target to rob, women dressed in skimpy clothing slipping into cars only to slip out a few moments later with blood on their cleavage, teenagers walking into stores with no money yet walking out with pockets stuffed full of snacks and drinks, men in suits exchanging briefcases full of drugs and money, truck drivers transporting living, breathing humans adorned in chains - the dregs of society as so many called them.

He watched them sparingly, only when he grew bored of the mundane lives of everyone else, everyone else except for you, of course.

Choso had been watching you ever since he first began this poor attempt to assimilate into Yuji’s world. You lived a boring, plain, safe life, but he found himself interested nonetheless. You were an office worker, one with a funny accent that he learned was American. You liked to read and occasionally write, and you went on walks in the park on the weekend and took pictures of the scenery. You didn’t drink and you didn’t smoke but all your friends did. You had a library card that you lost on a monthly basis. You had an unhealthy addiction to carbonated drinks. You hated going to the dentist. You avoided stepping on the cracks in sidewalks. You desperately wanted a pet but your lease forbade you from getting one.

These were the boring, mundane details of your life. Nothing exciting, nothing noteworthy, and yet Choso had memorized it all.

You were on your way home from work now, unaware of Choso’s presence behind you. He was close - close enough to breathe in the scent of your signature perfume and take a peek down the top of your button down. Even your bra was boring, a dull gray that covered you fully, and an annoyed pout formed on his face before he turned his attention to the phone in your hand.

You were checking your banking account, likely making sure that you had enough for your daily sweet treat and tea from your favorite shop. It turns out that you don’t have enough, but he already knew that. You didn’t get paid until tomorrow, and you had used the last bit of your money on a recurring subscription that you had forgotten to cancel.

You sigh under your breath before dropping your phone into your purse, and Choso falls into step beside you, the rest of the journey to the train station going by uneventfully, as usual.

~

It’s a new day, and the same routine.

There’s a couple that steps onto the train before the both of you, their hands intertwined and the woman’s head nuzzled against the man's arm. Physical affection was another thing that Choso wasn’t familiar with.

Even if majority of his life hadn’t been spent locked away in a sealed vial, it wasn’t in his nature to be gentle with his hands - they were tools to protect what was dearest to him, and the only way he knew how to do that was to kill whatever threatened what was closest to him.

Although he wasn’t sure if you would appreciate that in this moment - you were squeamish when it came to blood, funnily enough, and he doubted he could kill the man standing behind you without making a mess.

“Tch.” Choso hovers near you, his eyes taking in the scene. You’re on your morning commute to work, dressed in the white button down he watched you press this morning, and a black pencil skirt that stuck to you like glue - it had been amusing watching you shimmy into it, stumbling around your room and cursing as you threw worried glances at the digital clock on your nightstand.

You were dressed identical to every other woman on this train -your hair was even in a similar updo- and yet the man—the pervert as Yuji would have called him—had singled you out in the overcrowded place. He stood behind you, closely, and Choso leaned to peer around your shoulder, lip lifting in annoyance when he sees the man’s crotch pushed against the swell of your ass.

The act itself doesn’t bother him, but rather that you’re the one the man chose to enact it on. He likely wouldn’t have batted an eye had the man chosen one of the other women to feel on, but the sight of someone touching you had never failed to invoke a feeling of intense hatred in Choso.

He didn’t like it, and he made it known when he moved to stand behind the man. He settled a heavy on his shoulder, his energy dark, thick and heavy as it nearly filled all the corners of the train car - an embodiment of the anger swirling in his gut. The man jolts and looks back over his shoulder, seeing nothing but perhaps a murky, dark substance. His hand grips hard, and the crunch that sounds followed by the pained wail doesn’t do much to quell that anger.

He had touched you, someone that Choso was closely coming to regard as important, and there was only one way that could right this wrong, but that would have to wait until the number of people around were low. Too many eyes were never good, and Choso had studied humans enough to know that their first instinct was to run to the police when they saw a body drop before their eyes.

With a shove to the side, the man is thrown halfway across the car, and a cacophony of shouts sound off as he goes tumbling. You spin around, eyebrows pulled together and mouth set in an angry line, and Choso feels that strange human urge to comfort surge forth.

You cast a glare to the man, your hands moving to hitch your bag higher up your shoulder, and you keep your back to the door, likely in an attempt to keep that from happening again…what’s it called again? He’s seen this scenario play out before in one of Yuji’s books that he tries and fails to keep a secret.

Ch…chi…chikan, train molestation.

His brother is a pervert, without a doubt, but he supposes that works in his favor. The magazine had piqued his interest, firstly because Yuji had gone to great lengths to stuff it into the back of his closet underneath a set of his college textbooks, and secondly because it housed a taboo of society, and the taboo is what interested Choso these days.

He had read it in its entirety, and then had tried to witness it himself. He had spent hours hanging around the station, going in and out of cars and maneuvering between bodies to try and catch a glimpse of the depraved act, yet he came up with nothing, until today that is.

And what a letdown that had been.

His mouth pulls down at the sides, and he gives you a slow once over. He starts at neatly done hair, moves down to sculpted brows that frame glossy eyes, then to a nose that he wouldn’t mind feeling against his own, and down to a set of lips that he finds himself thinking about more and more these days.

He goes further down, down to the way your shirt stretches across your breasts, the buttons straining just a bit, and he tilts his head to the side, a new type of feeling now festering in the pit of his stomach.

Your hands clasp together in front of you, the movement forcing your chest to jut out a bit more, and when the train curves around a bend, Choso lets gravity move him closer to you, head angled down. You tense just a bit, and your senses must be a bit better than everyone else’s, or maybe he’s just doing a poor job at concentrating on concealing himself.

You push yourself a bit further into the corner, and he further crowds you into it, a spark of excitement running up his spine — prey. That’s what you remind him of in this moment as you cower in the corner from a threat you can’t see. He wants to sink his teeth into you—no, his hands. He wants to touch you and squeeze you all over, sink his fingers into soft flesh and leave his mark behind.

So he does.

Tentatively, at first.

The tips of his fingers hover near your cheek, casting a shadow that you’re unable to see, and his breathing grows labored when he finally touches you - it’s shocking, literally. You jump as you feel it, and Choso frowns. He hasn’t learned about the grand thing called static, so in his mind, his mind that was locked away and kept rudimentary for so long, this shock upon first contact signified something monumental…something visceral.

You press further against the wall, brows furrowing as your hand moves up to rub at your cheek, and Choso moves down to the slope of your neck, fingers running along the throbbing vein, racing pulse, and then he’s rubbing at your collarbones. You’re warm just like him, but where he’s hard you’re soft - soft, doughy, fragile.

His hands settle on your breasts, one in each palm, and he squeezes. Oh. You frown deeper, your eyes dropping to where his hands are groping, but you don’t see. He’s right up on you now, head angled down and jaw slack as he tests the weight in his hands - they’re a nice size, a good size. Your nipples get hard under his hand, and he rubs against it with his thumb - your bra is so thin.

He thinks back to that book and what he had read in it, images of the debauchery floating to the front of his mind, and his mouth runs dry at the thought of doing those things to you. He had never thought about sexual gratification, much less craved it, but he felt as if he had been subconsciously seeking it out all his life and he had finally found it.

His breath is practically coming out in pants, matching the rapid thumps of his heart. He traps your nipples between his fingers and squeezes. You suck in a sharp breath of air, eyes darting around at the other passengers who don’t pay you much attention - they’re all warily looking at the man still moaning in pain as he sags in a corner and clutches at his shoulder.

Choso squeezes again, and he knows it’ll feel better if he was touching you skin on skin, but he’s certain you wouldn’t take kindly to him scattering your shirt buttons all over the floor of the train and leaving your bra in tatters so he pushes that thought away for later - maybe for when you’re curled under your blankets at night and in a deep, deep sleep.

The maddening ache in his pants would have taken him by surprise a few months ago, but Choso has gotten pretty acquainted with his body with the help of a few snagged medical books and Yuji’s laptop (which was still an enigma to Choso at times).

Both of his hands leave your breasts to instead push at his pants, the baggy material easily slipping down toned, lean thighs until they pool around his booted ankles.

His cock is pale but noticeably darker at the tip, and there’s a long, prominent vein that starts at the center of his shaft and disappears into black, coily pubes. His cock has never been able to stand up properly, weighted down by the sheer size, so it hangs between his thighs, thick and heavy, identical to his desire for you.

He wraps a hand around his turgid length, hissing through his teeth as he does, and pushes closer. You don’t move a muscle, standing stock-still as you try and fail to make sense of all these ‘phantom’ sensations.

If they were able, he’s sure your knuckles would have long since turned white with how hard you’re clutching onto the purse that’s now cradled against your chest. Your thighs shift together, inadvertently making your skirt rise a bit, heels noisily clinking against the platform of the car as you shuffle, and Choso spreads his legs and bends at the knees, a heaving breath leaving him as he slots his cock right through the opening between your thighs that you so graciously left.

The tights clinging to your thighs are smooth and silky, and coupled with the heat of your skin that perforates through, Choso feels himself jerk and twitch at the feeling. It’s leagues better than his hand, and his mind is already spinning at the thought of how you’ll feel on the inside.

His hand comes down heavy against the door beside your head, and you flinch as your head whips to the side to look, eyebrows furrowing when you notice the large handprint on the glass. His other hand curls around the pole to the left of you, hand gripping it so tight that he can feel the steel denting underneath his grip, and he rocks his hips, slowly.

Warm, soft, squishy, the adjectives flit through his mind one after the other, a new one coming with each push of his cock between your thighs. He’s hot all over, skin burning and strands of black plastering themselves to his damp face. His balls are tight, and his left eye twitches when a soft sound escapes your mouth, a look of bewilderment on your face.

He comes, hard. His orgasm locks all his muscles up and makes his teeth snap together so hard they nearly shatter. His eyes roll back, the pole caves in under the pressure of his grip, the window beside your head shatters as his hand goes through it, and he makes a split second decision to show himself in an effort to shield you from the hail of glass.

Choso can nearly see the scream of fright that gets caught in your throat at his sudden appearance, and a grin that lacks remorse twists onto his lips. Your bugged eyes slowly trail down, and the scream finally un-lodges itself when you catch sight of his softening length and the mess it’s left on your clothing.

Choso hides himself once again and steps off at the next station as he fixes his clothing. You stumble off as well, frantically heading towards the security booth as your eyes dart around to catch sight of him.

Soon, he thinks.

He’d let you see him again soon enough.

[prettyboykatsuki]

VIOLET | RAZOR. (GENSHIN)

✾ tags ; afab + gn!reader, aged-up characters, virginity loss/first times, established relationship, mutual virginity loss, nipple play, fingering, oral (f!recieving), creampies (reader is using a contraceptive), reader is mentioned to be an orphan / run away , 18+

✾ wc ; 6.1k (went to edit and went 700 words over the wc. pain)

✾ a/n ; i'm losing my mind btw. razor my only triple crowned character my most greatly beloved my angel my sweet. also i added the aged up tag mostly bc its the genshin fandom but. if u dont like that dont read. ez peazy.

also trust and believe the voice im picturing in this is his jpn dub. this is important

✾ synopsis ; you resolve yourself after many long years of abstinence, you're going to ask razor about sex the minute he comes home.

Razor is human. 

On a technical level, this information isn’t news to you. He looks human. His physical makeup is human. He needs to eat and sleep like humans do. Focusing on the technicals alone, Razor is very, very human.

It doesn’t change that he was raised by wolves, though. And you don’t want it too. You think it’d be a shame if he started to assimilate too much into human society just because he felt like he had too. You know how he feels about it. And that Boreas is the closest he’s ever had to a father figure, thus making his claim about Razor's humanity a rather devastating blow. He feels inhuman all while knowing he is. You think once upon a time, he really did wish to be a wolf. 

You’ve known Razor since you were a teenager. You’d ended up in Wolvendom after your exploration of Teyvat led you to its outskirts. You’d bonded over your similarities. Two orphans with no real place where they fit in completely and complete odd-ball personalities - Razor was an easy friend for you to make. Even when you eventually decided to settle into Mondstat - you’d made a point to visit Razor regularly and spend time with him in the forest. 

You made an odd pair of course, but you didn’t mind. If no one else understood you in the world - you know Razor always would. He’d listen patiently about all of your adventures and sit quietly as you decided to pester him by braiding his hair or teaching him new words. Loyal, obedient, sweet.

You never formally had the boyfriend conversation in the time you’d spent together. One day, however, Razor took you to meet Boreas out of the blue as well as the leader of his pack. You figured maybe it was something he did with his close friends. It only occurred to you that maybe this was a more serious meeting when Razor promptly gestured towards you and introduced you as his mate. 

Razor, predictably, was very confused about your minor freak out. You tried not to let it show during your little chit-chat, but afterwards you’d shaken him by the shoulders and interrogated him about his word choice. This of course didn’t register in his mind at all. According to Razor, you’d been his mate since long ago. He’d been courting you since the moment you met in the way wolves are known too. You’re an adventurer, well-versed in certain animal behaviors for the sake of survival, including wolves. 

And looking back on your interactions he was right,  Razor had been courting you from the start. The news made you flush, and you went back into Razors camp and thoroughly educated him on human courting rituals.

(“Why matter?” Razor asks, head laid in your lap while he looks up at you from inside the tent “Not important.” 

“Why would it not be important?” 

He turns towards you, head facing your stomach as one arm lazily wraps around your waist. He yawns sleepily, seemingly not worried about a thing. 

“You are mate. Mate last until death.” He explains, casually - like he’d always believed he’d spend every minute of his life with you. Like that was the only natural outcome for you both and that he’d never consider anything else. You want to explain, it’s different for humans. Humans don’t usually mate that way, you should say. But the words die out in your mouth as he clings closer to you “Sorry for..not asking.. properly. What are we…as humans?” 

You look down at where he lays, thumb brushing over his cheek. 

“Lovers or life partners. They’re closest to the word mate, in definition.” 

“Lovers easier,” He grumbles, eyebrows tightening at the complex words in your sentence “You want to be lovers with Razor?” 

You laugh. Light and bubbly and warm as you lean forward and try to mask the tears welling up in the corners of your eyes. 

“Yes. We’re lovers from now on. And mates. And lupical, right?” 

Razor sighs contentedly into your midriff.

“And lupical.”)

According to Razor, you had been mates from the minute you met. According to your human timeline, you have been dating since you were both around 17. It’s been a long time since then and nothing in your relationship has changed.

You’re an adult now and you work with the city of Mondstat studying wildlife populations. You live in the city in a cottage, and Razor lives with you - though he spends most of his day outside. He does the domestic labor while you whittle away at papers and projects. Because of your job, you still spend a fair bit of time together in the wild. He has plenty of insight about the wildlife in Wolvendom and is keen enough on changes to give significant contribution to your study. His work as your partner is unofficial, but everyone acknowledges that you come together in a set. Where you go, Razor follows.

You’re happy with your life. With your relationship to your wolf-boy boyfriend, with the career you’ve carved out of scratch and the life you’ve built. You left your orphanage young and spent a long time on the run. You’re incredibly thankful for all of what you have and you could never think of what more to ask for. 

This is especially true for you and Razor. You’ve never had any real major obstacles in your relationship. Part of this comes from the wolven habit of mating for life. Concepts like pride are foreign to Razor. He says sorry even when he doesn’t completely understand and he has no concept of betraying your loyalty. Most things you can teach, he learns very quickly. But there are also some things no one ever teaches you to navigate. Some boundaries you can’t be sure you’re allowed to cross. 

You’re a blossoming, healthy person in their twenties and so is Razor. He’s scarred and athletic in the outdoorsy way and he’s a little more rugged now that you’ve both grown. He’s hit a growth spurt and he’s taller than you and every time you see his arm flex carrying in an entire boar to butcher in your yard - you start getting so hot under the collar you feel like you’re going to explode. 

The problem is: you want to have sex and you want to have it badly. You want it so bad it’s starting to make you feel like you’re a deviant. Like you’re some kind of harlot masquerading as an archon-fearing civilian.

But it’s so hard to bring up and you don’t know how you’re ever going too. 

You’re very good at asking for what you want usually. It comes with the territory. And thanks to your boyfriend's cluelessness about human social convention, asking for things isn’t embarrassing. Concepts like shame are learned through a lifetime of socialization that he lacks and while you could sit and try to teach him - you don’t think he would care either way. He listens if you tell him he shouldn’t do something, but that’s because you’re his mate and his lupical. 

What other people think is none of his concern. He cares about his Lupical. So if Lisa or Bennet or Klee tell him something, he might take it into consideration. But they, like you, love the parts of Razor that make him how he is and his complete innocence in some ways is part of that. 

You know you could very well ask Razor for sex. You’ve spent a lot of time together and you’ve learned many things about him. It’s not like there’s nothing there at all. Like his every other trait, Razor normally relies on instinct to guide him. You’ve learned through kisses and dry-humping that he can get hard at least. You’ll probably never know the details of his arousal, and the only you’ll ever find out is by having sex with him. 

You don’t know what else he knows. What Lisa has told him of the birds and the bees. 

You have tried to ask Lisa inadvertently, but she enjoys making fun of you too much to give you any straightforward answers. And in her own maternal way, she thinks it’d be better for your relationship if you go ahead and ask yourself. 

She’s right about that, but it’s also not very easy. You know Razor would never judge you. He doesn’t even have the capacity to do so. But while Razor knows nothing of shame, you certainly do. 

It’s your problem to get over. You know that. You rationalize that your fantasies are healthy and normal for someone your age. But there is something terribly humiliating about trying to express the extent of your desire apart from just having it. Is it fair to teach Razor about desire? Does he know of it already and the both of you just suffer in silence? 

Razor is a man. A grown man, and tougher than most men you know. He’s seen more than almost anyone else as part of living in the woods. You know he’s not some innocent fairy. But you can’t get over the feeling like you’re corrupting his sweet preciousness somehow. 

(This has its own charm, but that’s not relevant. Or maybe it is. Maybe there’s guilt for that too but it’s not something you can unpack) 

You’re reaching your upper limit on patience. Your hand can only do the job so long (though the import of sex toys from Fontaine do help) nothing can truly replace what you want. And what you want is Razor.

So, you’ve made your choice. When Razor comes home from…what he’s doing today - you’re going to ask him to have sex.

__

You’ve finished all of your work, did as many chores as you can, and now you’re waiting in your bedroom trying to read a book.

You haven’t even read past the first page, actually. But you’re trying. It’s hard to do anything meaningful when your brain keeps pivoting back to what's going to happen when your boyfriend returns home. 

You’re nervous and fidgeting, rubbing your socked feet together and running over the laundry list of talking points you’ve concocted trying to make this happen. You shaved but not bare because you know he definitely wouldn’t like it, but you’re clean. You aren’t sure if he’s going to like that either and he’s expressed that he likes when you smell natural. But it soothed your anxiety to shower so he’ll have to leave with it. 

You have no idea how this could go. You don’t even know how to prepare for the worst, because you don’t know what the worst is. But you reassure yourself with the fact Razor loves you and leave it at that.

You hear the door open and take a deep breath. 

There’s heavy footsteps that get louder and louder. Razor cracks the door open politely, peeking his head into your shared room. He makes a face, the softest little smile you’ve ever seen - before letting himself in and shutting the door behind him. He’s quick to undress himself - jacket and scarf abandoned along with his boots. Leaving him in green pants and a bandage around his chest and arsm. 

“Hi,” He says simply, coming down over to where you’re laid. He chooses to sit on the floor, folding his arms on the bed as he looks at you patiently “Missed you,” 

“Hey there,” Your heart is pounding just looking at him. He’s unreasonably handsome. Had he grown up in normal conditions, you think he would’ve been a very popular loner type. “How was your family?” 

“Good,” He says shortly, eyes warm and light “New pup. First time seeing since I was little. Very small and cute.” 

“I’m glad. Bet it’s nice not to be the youngest anymore.” 

“Come next time,” He says genuinely “They miss you.” 

Your heart is so full you think it might burst. It temporarily soothes your anxiety.

“Of course I will.” 

Razors eyes examine you for a minute. Your heart is still racing. Of course he notices it. He knows much more about you than you’ll ever know about yourself. His brow creases in concern. 

“What’s wrong?” 

You look at him apologetically, immediately warmed by how worried he is. You give him a small smile. 

“I’m okay. Just a little nervous. Wanted to ask you about something.” 

“Okay. I listen. No need to..be nervous.” 

Right. He’s right about that. You sit up and Razor remains where he is. He’s seated comfortably on the floor, on his knees - between your thighs. He’s a sight for sore eyes, terribly rugged and scarred with nothing but honesty settled in his gaze. Carmine and beautiful. You fold your hands in your lap and before you can worry too much, Razor grabs one in his hand. 

He kisses your knuckles so gently, leaning his face into your palm. 

“It’s okay.” 

You figure it’s best to be straight to the point. 

“Uhm. Razor. Do you…know what sex is?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, it’s—wait what? Did you just say yes?” 

He nods again. “Miss Lisa taught me.” 

That witch. You take a deep breath. It’s now or never.

“And uhm, what did she tell you about it?” You ask tentatively. 

“Like mating but for humans. Best to do with mate. Good to be careful or else pups will come too soon.” 

You stare at him, jaw slack. 

“Right. And what else?” 

He racks his brain right in front of you. 

“Uhm. Can be for…feel good. Should go slow. Lots of things different from wolf.” 

“...Do you know how it happens? The specifics?” 

Razor goes a soft pink. Razor blushes. 

“Yes.” 

You have no idea what to feel. Not the faintest clue in the world. This is the first time in your entire relationship either of you have been in an awkward situation. You’re partially relieved it’s not completely foreign, partially feeling hot between the legs because you’re not corrupting anything. You make a face of uncertainty. 

“Oh. Uhm. Do you—have you ever.. I mean—have you ever wanted to have sex with me then? I-is that something you’d…want to do?” 

Razor almost looks perplexed by this question. He nods, then follows up. 

“Yes. A lot.” 

You nearly choke on your spit. 

“A lot?” 

“Yes. But.. Miss Lisa said to wait. Until mate asks.” 

You’re going to have a serious discussion with that damned woman later. You take a shaky breath, looking at him carefully. This is going to break you in a way you don’t know if you’ll recover from. But you’re fine, you’ve made it this far. And you don’t want to back down when you haven’t gotten to the finish line. The final blow. 

You’re not completely sure where you go from here honestly. Your brain was fully expecting to go on a long rant about sexual intercourse. Now that that’s out of the window, you’re at a loss. You decide, internally, that going straight forward is the best thing you could do for now. 

“Then… would you want to have sex with me?” 

His eyes widen then he pauses, looking worried. 

“Well…yes. But, worried. Not sure…how.” 

“Well, uhm. Normally it starts with kissing and t-touching and things like that. You can just do what feels right. Uhm.. and I’ll tell you… what I like. A-and what feels good.” You offer, trying not to show just how nervous you are even suggesting “But uhm… I also… think about it. A lot. With you.” 

His eyes light up, and you can practically see the change in him. You’ve never let yourself get close enough to look but when you see him now that you know, it’s obvious. He’s looked at you like this before. 

Like he wants you. 

“Razor,” You say, bracing yourself for impact “Come up here.” 

He’s quick to his feet. You lay back down and Razor lays himself ontop of you, hovering gently. He smells like forest, the rich warm scent of dirt and sunlight mixed with sweat that you’ve grown fond of. Looking down at you, he presses his forehead against yours with his eyes fluttered closed. 

“Mate,” His breath is warm like he’s been chewing mint leaves and sweet flowers. He does it sometimes before coming home “Love you,” 

“I love you too, Razor. You don’t,” You swallow thickly, suddenly aware of your proximity “Don’t hold back okay? You won’t break me.” 

“Want to..” He thinks slowly, brain clearly struggling to come up with the right word “Cherish. Want to cherish mate. Cherish you.” 

You give him a breathy laugh as he leans in close to you. 

“Did Miss Lisa teach you that?”

“Yes,” He replies, pressing his cheek to yours and rubbing himself against you innocently “Cherish you a lot.” 

“I cherish you a lot too,” You offer and he smiles. You feel your heart thump as you look up at him less innocently “Let’s kiss first, okay” 

He doesn’t reply. This much is familiar. Though this was something you had to teach him at first, you would go as far as saying Razor kisses better than you. He’s better than you in these ways most of the time. He knows how to read your body language down to the most irrelevant details, attuned to your physicality in a way that could only be inhuman. The first time he noticed a change in your cycle after starting some herbal contraceptives, you were turned on as much as you were afraid. 

His mouth is hot and overwhelming, plush as he kisses you passionately. He’s quick to open your mouth up with his tongue. Razor likes to taste. It’s natural for him to slip his tongue past your lips and lick at yours. You think if anyone else did it you’d be turned off. But with him hovering you over you, desperate as he pulls and nips at your lower lip - it’s stimulating.  It makes you wet before you can think about it too hard. Your hands curl themselves around his neck, tangling at the thick roots of his gray hair. 

He moans when you tug, and your eyes nearly pop out of your sockets. You do it again, a little harder and the same broken sound leaves his lips in the middle of kiss. You swallow the noise before pulling away, looking at his face. His face is perfectly rosy, lips swollen from where you’ve been kissing them.

“Did you,” You look at him erratically, eyes going over every part of his face “Did that feel good?” 

He nods, dumbfounded. 

“Felt good but,” He shakes his head in disbelief “Don’t know why.” 

You giggle, delighted with the outcome. 

“No it’s good, that’s normal.” You say trying not to babble “It’s like your body’s weak point.”

“Not weak.”

“It’s not a bad thing. I have some too. Like my neck.”

You can see the gears turning in his head.  He tucks his chin against your shoulder and before you can speak to ask him about it, he’s pressing his lips against the skin of your neck. He doesn’t stop at a kiss, though. He proceeds to lick the small patch of tender flesh, before sinking his teeth into it.

You moan. You moan sharp, almost like a gasp of pain. He opens his mouth to ask if you’re okay but when he sees you he stops. He blinks, then gives you a look you’ve never seen. 

His voice is almost chipped - richer and more hoarse as his fingers go over what can only be bite marks.

“Feels good?” He says, then adds more urgently “Where else?”

You’ve made him discover something. You’re sure of that. He looks awfully determined about it, too. 

You sigh shakily, grabbing his hands. Even though you’re trembling mercilessly, you want this. You want him. You let his hand squeeze around the swell of your tits - your nipples peeking through the thin fabric of your shirt. With your eyes locked on his, you brush your nipples.

“H-here,” You admit watching his eyes go dark. Animalistic. “Uhm. W-with your mouth, you c-can suck on them.” 

He’s quiet. 

“Like pup?” 

You laugh. 

“A little bit like that, I guess. But it’s different.” 

He makes a small, approving noise with his mouth, once again thinking hard about something before he continues down his path. He leaves open kisses all over your skin, hands reaching to undress you. You help him, peeling your shirt over your head and tossing it somewhere. His eyes are shut closed, in bliss as he licks and bites down your neck with no real grace. His tongue is wet and rough all over you. 

You can tell you’re being primed for something animal. Like being tenderized, worked apart in a way that makes you melt into something soft. Something that can be broken without teeth, that can be swallowed in one go. It’s not a romantic kiss as much as it’s a hungry graze, a gnawing lust. He’s not being so reserved anymore, and that means sinking his teeth as far into you as he can go, not enough to break the skin. Razor would never break you. But he might ruin you, might melt you down from your very center until he can tear you apart. 

You thought it’d hurt, and it does - but in a good way. There’s some sick sense of relief in how achy your whole body is. You’re burning up because Razor wants you like he’s starving. An emptiness claws at you, makes the back of your gums ache. Makes all the hairs on the back of your neck stand nearly straight as you sink deeper in. You want to be full of him and you want him to get so full off of you. 

Razor doesn’t stop his tirade even when he gets down to your chest. Instead his mouth closes around your tit, hard incisors sinking into the supple skin but only slightly gentler than before. His canines feel sharper than yours. They must be. 

“O-oh,” You can feel your voice shake as you hold onto the back of his head. He touches the other one with his free hand, squeezing and massaging the skin. He rubs your nipples experimentally in the same way you did a moment ago. “Razor, hngh,” 

A noise is pulled from the back of his throat, a growl - so hard and heavy that it reverberates into your skin. You can feel it spread through your whole body, your core tightening up. Your skin is prickly. A solar flare shooting through your spine. 

You don’t think you’ve ever been so aroused. You can hardly breathe around the weight of it sitting in your chest.

“Your scent..change.” Razor says through a breath, a thick layer of saliva where his mouth once was “Hot. So hot.” 

You nearly whimper. 

“ It’s because I’m wet…Aroused.” 

“Wet?”

“It means I want to be touched. I want you to touch me down there.” 

A beat of silence. 

“Want me..to mate with you.” He sits up onto his knees, staring at you. Your legs are around his waist loosely. He presses a hand to your clothed sex. You jolt at the contact. “Want me to fill you, here?” 

He puts his hand on your hip, on your stomach - before tucking his fingers into the waistband of your shorts.

“Want to see. What’s wet, I want to see.” 

You lift your legs slightly, pulling your shorts off as you're bent at the knee. It’s embarrassing being bare naked in front of Razor, though you’ve seen him in the same state plenty. He’s quick to grab your knee and force your legs apart wide. He’s got that same focused stare, tongue poked out as he brushes the coarse hairs on your mound with his knuckle. You squirm under the feeling. 

“Pretty,” He says first, then follows with “It’s…very warm. Hot but doesn’t hurt” 

Razor explores with his hands. He runs his finger along your slit, before using his thumbs to spread you apart. He nudges your clit. At first you wonder if it's an accident, but when he does it again - rubs a pointed circle on the aching bundle of nerves you realize he’s being intentional. 

“Here, right?” Razor says slowly and gauges your reaction “Feels good for you…here. Helps.” 

You want to ask who taught him such a thing but you already know the answer. You nod helpless, feeling the way his thumb goes back and forth. He tries it in different ways, watches whatever way makes your breath hitch the most. 

“Here makes you… jump. Like bunny rabbit. Like prey”

The word prey almost takes you out. You can’t make your words out very eloquently anymore. “It’s uhm sensitive.” 

He knows the word. You’ve taught him it. He looks at your bare cunt all awestruck, gloved hand resting on your sex as he continues to toy with your clit. You squirm and shake, even trying to pull away. Razor manages to grab you, keeps you pinned with your legs spread, using his own body to keep you like that. 

“Razor,” You moan, grabbing at his wrist “Razor.” 

“Mm. It’s soft. So soft.” 

“I want to see yours.” 

It takes him a second to register your words, but he’s not ashamed in the slightest when he does. He takes off his gloves right before. You’ve felt it, briefly, the weight and heft of his cock through clothes but you’ve never actually seen it. You gasp as he pulls it out, tucking his pants down under his balls. He’s hairy - thick dark gray hairs nested at the base. His cock has a pretty curve up, tip ruddy and bright. It’s drooling, dribbling pre-cum and heavy. He wraps his free hand around the base and strokes it instinctively. It’s a good length, but it’s thick. Thicker than you could’ve ever conjured up in your own mind.

You reach for it between your bodies, your hands trembling as you touch it. Razor lets out another throaty growl. Your hand doesn’t fit around it completely. The back of your throat tightens up.

“You’re—it’s big. I can’t—not at once. I h-have to open myself up a little bit.” 

Razor tilts his head to one side and you shake yours in reply. 

“I need to uhm,” You gesture vaguely “Make it more..wet and stretch myself out. So you fit i-inside.” 

“Want to help. Teach me.” 

“...Teach you?” 

“Easier if I..learn now. When we do it again later. Teach me..how to touch you.” 

The words sound sweet coming out of his mouth, honeyed and loving. An obedient and eager pupil, Razor has always been that hasn’t he? And he always listens the best he can, tries his hardest. You suppose that this instance is no different. You suck in a breath and spread your legs a little more. 

“Watch,” 

Razor watches. He watches as you dip your fingers into your mouth and coat them with saliva. Watches as you snake a hand in between your legs and dip your middle finger down low into your cunt - with a trembling sigh at the sudden intrusion. He watches intimately as you pump them in and out, rhythmic and noisy. The sound of your own wet heat rings in your ears as you spread yourself in earnest. 

Half-way through, Razor puts a hand on your thigh. He pushes your own hand away, and waits for you to open your eyes. He stares at you, long and hard. 

“I want to eat you. Want to lick,” His hand cups your bare pussy “Here. Make you wet. Open you by myself. Want to eat.” 

You’re speechless. Profoundly turned on by the sentiment, so much so you can’t make out your own voice. 

“Uhm,” You close your hands into a fist, tucking your chin. “You can do whatever you like, Razor.” 

He assesses the statement and you watch him take it in. He ends up on his stomach, lying between your thighs. You’re fascinated by his assurance in himself. He takes the right position between your legs. You spread out to give him easier access and he gives you a silent look of thanks. His breath is warm as it fans your cunt. 

Before you get a chance to breathe, Razor sticks his tongue and licks. It’s animalistic with no real finesse at all. He makes up for it with enthusiasm and some conclusions he’s drawn with your assistance. He sucks on your clit nearly feverish, takes it into his mouth like he did your tits minutes prior. It’s drooly and sticky and nasty in a way that makes you ashamed. You’re more ashamed because you like it, you love it really. Spit is running down, dripping down to your ass. It’s a loud slurp - a shameless, nasty hunger in how he licks up your arousal with his mouth and drenches your pussy with spit. 

His groans reverberate into you. He likes what he’s doing. The sound and touch and taste - Razor overwhelms you with all of it. There’s a tangible intensity wrapping up around you, keeping you trapped in the wolf's den. 

You don’t teach him to use his fingers. He seems to have figured it out. The pad of his middle finger draws the spit pooling along your seam before pushing itself into your tight hole. You gasp at how invasive it is at first. Razors fingers are thick and scarred and you can feel the ridges of your raised skin from healed injured when he fucks you open with them. 

It feels good. Being wanted. Being consumed voraciously and openly without any care for shame. Razor is the embodiment of raw desire and all of it- every ounce of it is being used to devour you. The descendant of wolves, the son of the forest - laid between your thighs and eating like something delicious left at an abandoned altar. 

Even clumsy, you’re turned on beyond reason. Arousal leaves you shakily pawing at him to slow down. Your voice is reduced to nothing but small whines and mewls - pleas to slow down that fall on deaf ears. 

“Razor,” Your voice is clipped “Razor, please - it’s enough. Just.” 

When he snaps out of his haze, his chin is soaked with arousal and spit. He wipes it with the back of his hand, looking at you. 

“Tastes good. You taste nice.” He praises, heaving and out of breath. 

Your stomach flares up with new found lust, hands covering your face. 

“Archons, just. Come here.” 

Razor climbs up on top of you again. You cup his face and kiss him hard, tasting yourself on him. 

“You’re so unfair. But I can’t get angry because you’re not even doing it on purpose.”

“Sorry,” 

You shake your head, kissing the corner of his mouth. Trembling with need. 

“It’s fine, it’s fine. I want you inside. Want you to fill me in here, so bad, Razor.” 

His eyes widen. Your desperation must reach him this time, because he nods. innocently. You’re thankful beyond words you’re on contraceptives. At this point, you think trying to use a condom would break you down.

“You just have to put it inside. But please go slowly, okay?” 

“Go slowly…won’t hurt you.” 

Razor sits up on his knees again, drawing your waist down towards him. Before he pushes into you, he lays his cock against your sex - pushing it between messy folds. His expression morphs, his jaw tensing as the head of his cock swells and throbs against your aching clit. It slides and slips so messily, pussy clinging to his hard length. You guide his cock towards your entrance while he leans forward over you. His palms are rough as they grab your hips, hands settling up under your knees. 

You can feel his cock as he rolls his hips slowly. Your nails dig into his back, indenting the skin as you cry out. It’s thick, intrusive as he pushes into your tight little hole. Even after opening you up, there’s an ache inside as the head stretches your pussy open. The raw drag of skin on skin as Razor pushes inside of you. You can feel him with every movement, your legs wrapped around his waist tight.

Razor has always had a limited vocabulary. He likes to speak in short sentences since it’s what he does best. His speech now is a lot more developed, but he still finds it troublesome. 

It stuns you when Razor's grip tightens and he swears under his breath - a single word, long and drawn out as his cock pushes into you deeply. 

“Fuck,” 

“R-razor?” 

“Feels good…feels so good. Want…move. Please.” 

“You can move, just let me hold onto you okay?” 

Razor tucks his head against your neck before he fucks you. In one smooth motion, he pulls himself out completely before shoving himself back in. It’s as gentle as he can go, but you can practically feel him shaking above you. How his whole being urged him to fuck you llike an animal. The desperation rolls off of him in waves, his own hands gripping tighter as he slowly finds a rhythm to fuck you in. Clumsy thrust that turns into careful calculated ones as you urge him to go deeper. 

“Deep,” Razor pants against your neck, his breath tickling your skin. His voice is a low growl as his hips snap up to meet the back of your thighs with each thrust. Your bed creaks each time he moves, the frame knocking against the wood “I’m deep inside you,” 

“Razor,” You sneak a hand between your bodies, clumsily toying with your clit - pleasure ruining your every thought “Harder. Give it to me harder.” 

As soon as the words leave your mouth, Razor gives up on trying to hold himself back. He fucks you with nearly reckless abandon, an impressive amount of strength and weight behind each thrust. His dick pushes in and out of you hard and fast in the most unromantic way. You can feel it all the way up to your throat. It makes the back of legs and and your lower half feel tingly. Your head is blank, nothing but spotted white in your vision. You blink them open to look at Razors face. 

He’s biting at his lower lip hard, focusing all of himself on his thrusts. He’s enduring it well. Your insides clench, a fluttery sensation starting to build up between your legs. You can feel it in your belly, the knot starting to untie. 

Razor is starting to feel it too him. 

“Inside so, ngh - hot.  S-something coming, going to—” 

“A little more. Gonna cum soon, Razor. Feels so good, you make me feel so good.” 

Your mindless praise makes him whimper. A soft noise that echoes through you. You repeat it over and over, in a high voice like you’d praise a puppy. Razor takes it in beautifully, trying so hard not to succumb to his own desires. He restrains despite how hard and how fast and how deep he’s fucking you. You know it’s not easy. 

“I’m gonna c-cum, Razor,” You say, at the very edge “Cum with me. It’s okay, you can let it out.” 

You cum hard. Harder than you think you ever have in your life, then you’ve ever been able to manage by yourself. The sensation hits all at once, like falling through the sky, you can feel the clouds pushed away by the weight of you coming down through. Your insides tighten and tense one last time before everything releases at once, and waves of the aftershock leave your pussy fluttering. You’re washed with pure euphoria, crying out Razor’s name as you cum. 

Razor is quick to follow you. Your own orgasm seems to drive him over the edge, and he cums deep inside. He muffles his cry by biting into your shoulder, groaning as hot seed spills into your cunt with a harsh stutter of hips. He fucks into your pussy, soft and messy before bottoming out and nearly collapsing on top of you. 

It takes you a long minute to catch your breath well enough to speak. 

You rub Razors back soothingly before you do. He lifts his head, eyes heavy as he looks at you. 

“Wow,” He says, eyes wide and blown out. You can’t help but break out into a fight of laughter “Love you…”

“I love you too, Razor.”

“Wanna do it again,” Razor says, looking at you seriously “Can I?” 

You feel a pulse of warmth through your whole body before nodding. 

“Uhm. Yes. Just give me a break first, okay?” 

[steveyockey]

As I watched people online debate the models of anti-colonial struggle, raising comparisons to Algeria and North America and South Africa, I found myself returning to the foundational Jewish liberation myth: the Exodus. It was hard not to think about the moment in the Passover seder when we lessen the wine in our full cups with our pinkies as we recite the plagues. This ritual has materialized as an indispensable touchstone, insisting that to hold onto our humanity we must grieve all violence, even against the oppressor.

But I also thought of the plagues themselves, particularly the final one, the slaying of the first born—children, adults, the elderly. It seems that hiding in our liberation myth is a recognition that violence will visit the oppressor society indiscriminately. I know that I have many friends, and that Currents has many readers, who are asking themselves how they can be part of a left that seems to treat Israeli deaths as a necessary, if not desirable, part of Palestinian liberation. But what Exodus reminds us is that the dehumanization that is required to oppress and occupy another people always dehumanizes the oppressor in turn. For people who feel like their pain is being devalued, it’s because it is; and that devaluation is itself a hallmark of the cycle of the diminishing value of human life. As the abolitionist geographer Ruth Wilson Gilmore has said, “Where life is precious, life is precious.” We are seeing the ways that Jews as the agents of apartheid will not be spared—even those of us who have devoted our lives to the work of ending it. (I am thinking of Hayim Katsman, zichrono l’vracha, killed by Hamas, an activist against the expulsion of the West Bank community of Masafer Yatta, and Vivian Silver, a hostage in Gaza, who is known to many of its residents as the person they meet at the Erez Crossing who advocates for and facilitates their transfers to Israeli hospitals for treatment.)

That question of how we recuperate this humanity is ultimately an organizing question. People have repeated over and over again over the last few days that you “cannot tell Palestinians how to resist.” To me, it seems there is a very literal dimension to this axiom: They are not asking. Part of what has made the experience of this event feel so different from the status quo—and so different to Palestinians and Jews—comes from the fact that Palestinians were undeniably the actors, for once, not the acted upon. The protagonists of the story. I consider it an enormous failure of our movements that we have not been able to build a vehicle for that kind of reversal in any other way thus far. Our Jewish movements for Palestine were not powerful enough to stop other Jews from gunning down Palestinians in peaceful marches at the Gazan border fence, or to keep Palestinians from being fired, harassed, and sued for speaking the truth about their experience or—God forbid—advocating the nonviolent tactic of boycott. And now, we do not have a shared struggle able to credibly respond to these massacres of Israelis and Palestinians. With all of the work that many Jews and Palestinians have done to reach toward each other over the years, I believe at heart it is this failure that is now driving us apart. There is no formidable political formation that I know of that can hold the political subjectivity of both Jews and Palestinians in this moment without simply attempting to assimilate one into the other. No place where Jews and Palestinians who agree on the basics of Palestinian liberation—right of return, equality, and reparations—are poised to turn the synthesis of these two subjectivities into a coherent strategy.

One of the most terrible things about this event is the sense of its inevitability. The violence of apartheid and colonialism begets more violence. Many people have struggled with the straightjacket of this inevitability, straining to articulate that its recognition does not mean its embrace. I am reminding myself that it was from Palestinians, many of them writing and speaking in these pages, that I learned to think of Palestine as a site of possibility—a place where the very idea of the nation-state, which has so harmed both peoples, could be remade or destroyed entirely. And it was Palestinians who opened my thinking to multiple visions of sharing the land. On the left, I hope we do not mistake the inevitability of the violence for an inescapable limit on our work or the quality of our thought. Even if our dreams for better have failed, they must accompany us through this moment to the other side. We need to imagine a movement for liberation better even than the Exodus—an exodus where neither people has to leave. Where people stay to pick up the pieces, rearranging themselves not just as Jews or Palestinians but as antifascists and workers and artists. I want what Puerto Rican Jewish poet and activist Aurora Levins Morales describes in her poem “Red Sea”:

We cannot cross until we carry each other,

all of us refugees, all of us prophets.

No more taking turns on history’s wheel,

trying to collect old debts no-one can pay.

The sea will not open that way.

This time that country

is what we promise each other,

our rage pressed cheek to cheek

until tears flood the space between,

until there are no enemies left,

because this time no one will be left to drown

and all of us must be chosen.

This time it’s all of us or none.

Arielle Angel, “‘We Cannot Cross Until We Carry Each Other’,” Jewish Currents, October 12, 2023.

[happykraut]

"The Second Coming of the Master"

In the aftermath of the Vault Dweller's triumph over the Master in Fallout 1, the wasteland believed the threat of the mutant army had been vanquished. However, unbeknownst to the world, the Master had survived his apparent demise, lurking in the shadows and biding his time.

Nearly a century later, the wasteland is a vastly different place. Society has struggled to rebuild amidst the remnants of the old world, but progress has been slow and fraught with challenges. In the depths of the wasteland, hidden from prying eyes, the Master has undergone a grotesque metamorphosis. His form is now a macabre amalgamation of dead, rotten flesh and pulsating computer screens, a twisted fusion of man and machine.

Over the decades, the Master has been consuming artificial intelligence from every corner of the globe, assimilating knowledge and power with each acquisition. He hacked into the remnants of the US government's archives, devouring their secrets and strategies. With each new source of intelligence, the Master grew stronger, his thirst for revenge burning brighter with each passing day.

Driven by anger and fueled by his insatiable desire for vengeance, the Master sets his sights on a new conquest: the complete annihilation and transformation of the world. His FEV virus, now more potent than ever, holds the key to his twisted vision of a mutated paradise.

With his newfound power and control over technology, the Master launches a campaign of terror and chaos. He kidnaps the son and wife of the descendant of the Vault Dweller, striking at the heart of his old nemesis's lineage. This time, the Master is determined to ensure that no one can stand in his way.

As the wasteland trembles under the Master's reign of terror, the fate of humanity hangs in the balance. Can anyone stop the resurgence of the Master, or is the world doomed to be consumed by his wrath?

[phobos-exe]

Reading Wolverine comics after watching the movies has me absolutely falling in love with the "man or animal" motif that follows Logan literally everywhere.

// Marvel Comics Presents (1991): Issue #75

My favourite read so far is the short 4 issue series, Wolverine (1982), which the 2013 Wolverine movie is based on. Bascially it being about Logan trying not to lose Mariko to an arranged marriage and the cultural powers at play to which he isn't privy to. Furthermore, it absolutely dense with character-centered narrative with Logan's inner conflict surrounding the balancing act he must preform between embracing his animalistic side and his desire to be more than the killer he's always been, whilst he struggles with fitting into japanese society and the japanese underground. I could not reccomend it enough. Issue #3 is such a standout for me, all the excerpts provided are from it also.

One of the scenes i think highlight what im getting at with the motif is how Logan actively interprets an event that took place previously in the story. Earlier, he had fought Shingen (Mariko's father) to defend his own honor and for him to overrule Mariko's marriage so they may be together again, ultimately he not only loses but he humiliates and dishonors himself in the process. In this scene, he has a dream about the battle in a sequence that showcases what that humiliation actually meant for him in relation to his internal fight to let go of the animal he thinks himself of.

Despite how undisputable his physical strength is, the defeat he endures against Shingen crushes him and defines his motivations for the entire series. The words Mariko says in his dream, bascially defining him as a fraud and unworthy of her love, and the panel that follows this one saying he is also unworthy of life, is pretty indicative of his fear that his primal instincts- what he defines himself as -negates his noble aspirations to be a better man, overshadowing his morality.

It's also interestingly delved into with how his relationship with Mariko and his following romance with Yukio is contrasted in how they have an effect on Wolverine's internal conflict: Mariko's influence makes him want to strive for self-improvement, to appease her, while Yukio is able to accept who he is

Mariko's influence makes him want to strive for self-improvement, to appease her, while Yukio is able to accept who he is and his nature. The growth and control vs embracing your supposed truth serves as a new perspective to view Logan from. Basically, it's a reflection of how Logan himself is struggling to not only balance both aspects of himself, but also his struggle to accept them in the first place.

Going back to the films, I think they do a good job of adapting this method of symbolizing his self-reflection. For instance, in the origins movie, one of the conflicts I love from it is how this exact concept is adapted to Kayla and Victor. Kayla, being the stand-in for Mariko, motivates Logan to move past his animalistic side, literally telling him "you're not an animal, logan", whilst Victor is the force that wants him to ditch assimilation and embrace his mutations completely, though in this case it's much more violent and psychotic than Yukio's approach in the comic. The film version is a whole new exploration of his characterin its own right since it's more like these two opposing ideas are telling him what he should be, and the consequent struggle between what he should choose.

Though, and this is just my interpretation, what I appreciate most of this theme is that it managed to be so confusing for Logan that it circles back to being ironic. Because yes, he failed Mariko and he failed Yukio, he failed to assimilate to societal standards and he failed to be true to himself- whatever that really is -but I think one of his biggest failings is concluding for so long that he is an animal and therefore not a man, when in reality he has shown nothing but human desires, ambitions to change, to choose. He is an animal, it's just that that animal is a man.

[dunmeshistash]

I think kobolds are not-disabled/still-need-accommodations given their trouble speaking human languages. That said, I don't see any evidence of sign language in setting to help them communicate w/ other races. I hope this isn't a case of people thinking sign language is too modern and thus immersion breaking. (If this was DnD they'd probably spontaneously develop psychic powers instead cuz that's much more reasonable *sarcasm*)

They definitely do need accomodations when living with humans! I forgot to mention them

Sign language is definitely a nice solution considering they can't physically speak common properly but it would probably only work for people already willing to communicate with them unfortunately.

I think Kabru would know sign language too considering he loves communication and humans. It's still in character that Kabru is teaching him common instead of sign language tho, since he probably wants Kuro to assimilate into human society. Plus he would need to teach both him and mickbell sign language for them to be able to speak to each other and Kuro doesn't want Mick to know

All excuses tho, I think this would be a fun thing to explore even tho dungeon meshi didn't. I bet if Mickbell knew this was a way for him and Kuro to speak to each other better he would put in the effort even if he had trouble with it, great idea for a cute fic