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cheapshrimpysheep · 3 months ago

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Yuutsum 2

SUMMARY: What if you also have a Tsum? Then your Tsum and the Tsum of the person you like keep giving signs that they like each other? Ortho's part is platonic as always.

CHARACTERS: Twisted Tsumderland 2 Tsumsitters (Deuce; Azul; Jade; Kalim; Rook; Ortho; Lilia)

TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader

WARNING: Spoilers for the Twisted Tsumderland 2 Event and the Tsumsitter cards Vignettes.

WORD COUNT: An average of 600 words per character.

COMMENTS: This was originally a request from @taruruchi for my 1k celebration. Which you can read here. And since so many readers liked it, I decided to do what I normally do when this happens: Do this for ALL the characters! Grouped by event in this case.

Azul's part is different from the one I wrote for the request. At the time the event had not yet reached the English server, if I'm not mistaken.

I hope you enjoy 😉

Yuutsum 1 (Riddle; Cater; Leona; Jack; Floyd; Epel; Sebek)

Yuutsum 3 (after going to the English server)

CONTEXT: Like the original Twisted Tsumderland 2 event, this takes place after the events of the first Twisted Tsumderland. And, surprise, your Tsum is back! But it's the only one, all the other Tsums that came with it are completely new visitors.

You were with your Tsum in the lounge of Ramshackle Dorm, and it wouldn't leave the window as if it was waiting for something. You ask if it wants to go somewhere, but it shakes its head and continues looking out the window.

A short time later you heard a loud bang at the front door as if something had been thrown at it, and your Tsum finally leaves the window and hops towards the door. Even before you open the door, you can hear Ace laughing and Deuce complaining.

When you open it, you find Deuce struggling to contain his Tsum who is trying to break free from his arms.

“Sorry (Y/N).” Deuce apologizes “I can't contain this guy. It started running... or hopping, like crazy when it realized we were going to pass by here.”

Your Tsum makes that cute tsum noise to get the attention of Deuce and his tsum. The two look down and their eyes light up as they see your Tsum. Deuce’s tsum breaks free from Deuce's arms and lands right next to your Tsum. And the two tsums begin to rub their little faces and noses against each other. Deuce blushes automatically.

Ace, who watched the whole scene, stopped laughing and was now looking at the tsums with a sulky face. “Oi? What's up now with this guy?” he questions.

“I-I-I don't know.” It's the only thing Deuce can say in response.

“Hey, wait a minute.” Ace continues. “Your Tsum came back? Why? Our housewarden's didn't. Neither did Cater's.”

You say you don't know.

“Maybe your tsum is dragged into everyone's messes too.” Deuce says, smiling. “Not even it has a break with us, hum?”

Your Tsum headbutts Deuce's Tsum to get its attention, taps one of its little hands on the ground 5 times and Deuce's Tsum realizes the urgency of something. The two tsums start hopping towards the gate.

“OI! WHERE ARE YOU GOING NOW?” Deuce shouted.

The three of you run after the Tsums, but they reach the Hall of Mirrors first and go through the mirror to Heartslabyul.

“Well, on the one hand they saved us work.” Ace says.

“Yes, but they are on the loose!” Deuce replies.

You go through the mirror, run a little further and stop abruptly when you come across Riddle and Trey. Your tsums were close to their feet and were still very close to each other.

“See? They arrived on time.” Trey says. “They must have just had a little mishap with the tsums. Right?”

Ace and Deuce confirm. Riddle welcomes you and invites you to the Unbirthday Party that will be happening soon. He also tells Ace and Deuce to go do their party preparation duties. After he and Trey leave, Deuce realizes what happened.

“I get it now. Your tsum was telling mine the time, and warning it that we were going to be late.”

“Damn, even your Tsum needs two Tsumsitters.” Ace laughs. And Deuce-tsum hits him.

When it was preparing to hit him a second time, your Tsum got in the way and started rubbing its face against Deuce-tsum’s, calming it down.

“See my point?” Ace adds, and this time it's your Tsum that hits him.

You were walking through the school hallways, with your Tsum in your arms, when you crossed paths with Floyd. He automatically smiled when he saw your Tsum.

You ask each other what the other is doing there and Floyd tells you that he was playing a board game with Azul and his Tsum. He says that he left them playing with each other in the classroom. You feel your Tsum move excitedly in your arms.

After saying goodbye to each other you go to the classroom where Floyd said they were. You knock on the door and pop your head inside. You see both Azul and his Tsum immersed in the game, but not enough to not notice your presence.

“Oh, good afternoon (Y/N).” Azul greets you with a smile. His Tsum quickly looks towards the door when it hears him say your name. “Please come in.” You do so. “Is there anything you need or-” He sees your Tsum and widens his eyes with a sparkle in them.

Azul-tsum makes that happy tsum sound, jumps to the floor, stops for a second, jumps back onto the table to make its move on the board game, and then gets off the table again to hop happily towards you. Your tsum jumps out of your arms and lands on the ground. And when Azul-tsum finally reaches yours the two begin to cuddle with each other.

Azul was focused on the game and only after making his play “Okay tsum, your tu-” did he look at the two tsums, and blushes slightly. He clears his throat loudly causing his tsum to look at him.

Azul’s tsum turns to yours and makes another cute sound, then the two of them hop back to the table. Azul's tsum returns to its place on the other side of the board, but yours jumps into Azul's arms to his surprise. He managed to catch it, then it looked at him and smiled with its eyes, making Azul stare at it in wonder.

“I'll concede that you are indeed charmingly cute.” He then whispers to himself: “As much as the person you resemble.”

You approach to sit with them and Azul suggests that you sit next to his tsum. The two Azuls exchange a suspicious look with each other.

They keep playing. When it's not Azul's turn, your tsum makes little sounds or something that makes him look at it. And when it's not Azul-tsum's turn, it seems to be undecided between paying attention to the board or looking at you so you can pet it. In the end, the two were practically tied, but Azul-tsum makes a play that makes it win the game. Both his tsum and your tsum celebrate, coming back to cuddle with each other.

“Ah, so that was your real move.” Azul said with a smirk. “You used (Y/N)'s tsum to distract me. Actually no, worse than that, you two are partners in crime.”

The two tsums looked smugly at Azul. But he didn't seem upset despite having lost. In fact, he seemed to be looking thoughtfully at the tsums. You ask what's wrong or if he's okay.

“Oh, don't worry, it's nothing. I was just thinking...” He looks back at the tsums who look back at him with an encouraging look. Both of them. “From what I've been able to observe, tsums have a lot in common with the person they resemble, especially their personality. After seeing how these two work together I was just wondering...” He looks at you and smiles confidently. “Wouldn't you happen to have the same interest as your tsum in being my partner too? Hum... partner in crime, I mean.”

You were walking through the Main street with your Tsum in your arms, when you see a little thing hopping towards you. It stops right in front of you, at your feet, and smiles at you with its eyes, making that cute tsum sound, as if it were greeting you politely. From the side where the dark grey strand is facing and from the calm demeanor, you can tell it's Jade's tsum.

Your tsum makes the cute tsum sound back to Jade-tsum and you let your tsum jump to the ground for the two to rub their faces against each other.

After that, you hear footsteps approaching you. Looking ahead you see Jade. His tsum looks at him and then jumps into your arms smiling at you with its cute little eyes. When Jade gets close to you he laughs.

“He he. You are quite cunning indeed, tsum. Or should I just say coward at this point?” He was still smiling, but with that look that was worryingly difficult to decode. Then he looks at you. “Forgive me for not greeting you first, (Y/N). I got... worried about the tsum when I lost sight of it. I'm genuinely relieved that you were the one to find it safe and sound.” He looks down at your tsum. “Aw, what a lovely sight, your sweet tsum is back.”

You feel Jade-tsum tense up in your arms, but it barely moves. Jade bends down and holds out his cupped hands for your tsum to jump into them. You feel Jade-tsum once again tense slightly, but without moving. Jade raises your tsum in front of his face. It smiles at him innocently.

“Undoubtedly adorable.” Jade says. “But you shouldn't just jump into anyone's hands like that.” He lowers his hands to chest height, holds the tsum with one hand while, with the other, he makes a claw-like movement as if he were going to imprison it. “It could be dangerous.” He looks at his own tsum in your arms, who still doesn't move.

“But it didn't just jump into anyone's hands.” You say. He looks at you meeting your eyes. “However you're right, it can be very dangerous. But you should have told that to YOUR tsum.”

Both Jade and his Tsum are surprised by what you said. And suddenly you tighten your hug around Jade-tsum as if you were Floyd squeezing someone. But in this case, you are squeezing the tsum with love and affection. It waves its little arms and legs as if it were asking for help, but not trying very hard to escape.

Jade laughs delightedly, and frees your tsum from his clutches, taking it to his chest just to pet it affectionately. He looks at that little angel face face that knew he wouldn't hurt you or your tsum and smiles.

“In fact, you are a danger on the loose.” He jokes. “Tell me, would the both of you like to accompany me and my little lookalike to Mostro Lounge? We came here for a stroll around campus because I thought it would be a nice bonding exercise. But I’m sure that something like sharing a smoothie, for example, could also be great for bonding.”

You look happy with the idea of going with them to Mostro Lounge. But in the meantime you realize that tsums don't have mouths. How could they share a drink?

“Oh, well, perhaps I wasn't referring to the tsums.” He smiles at you with that bold confidence.

Kalim, his tsum and Jamil took a magic carpet tour of campus. Kalim-tsum’s eyes were sparkling the whole time during it, but something must have piqued its interest because after that it disappeared.

Meanwhile, you were with your tsum in the Ramshackle Dorm lounge when you heard someone knocking on the door. You open it to find... no one. Until you hear that happy tsum sound near your feet. You look down and see a Kalim-tsum smiling at you with its eyes.

As soon as you say hello, it wastes no time in jumping on your shoulder and brushing its face against your cheek. You hear another tsum sound behind you. You turn around and Kalim-tsum sees your tsum. Kalim-tsum makes another happy sound and jumps off your shoulder to hug your tsum. Or at least that's what it looked like despite its short arms.

If that tsum was there without Kalim, most likely he was looking for it. And consequently Jamil too. Therefore, you decide to take the two tsums in your arms and go find Kalim.

Just as you predicted, you found Kalim and Jamil together on Main Street. When Kalim sees you from afar, he happily waves his arms in the air to call you to join them.

“Hi (Y/N)!” Kalim greets you. “I'm so glad I found you! I really wanted you to meet-” He looks at the two little creatures you carry in your arms when you get close to him. “AH! You found it! You're amazing!”

Jamil sighs with relief. And then they both realize what, or rather, who, the other little creature is. Kalim's eyes shine and a huge smile spreads across his face.

“It can't be! There's one like you too! It's so cute! Aw, I want to hug it so much! Can I? Can I? Pretty pleeease~?”

If you’re more outgoing, your tsum will smile with its eyes at him. If you are more shy, your tsum will be too flattered and hide its face in your arms. Which will make Kalim find it even cuter.

“I know they may look like plushies,” Jamil says “but I don’t think you should treat them like one.”

“Don't worry, I won't hurt it.” Kalim says both to Jamil and to you.

“I'm also worried about the other way around. If that is even possible.”

“What? No way!” Kalim stretches out his arms welcomingly for your tsum to jump into them. And it does. He turns to Jamil. “You don't really think this adorable little thing would hurt anyone, do you?”

Jamil looks at your tsum, who smiles at him with its eyes and he blushes slightly to the point of having to look away. “Appearances can be deceiving.”

“And I am a great judge of character.” Kalim completed confidently. He brings your tsum close to his face to see it better. “Oh, if you were bigger I could hug you for real.”

This gives your tsum an idea and suddenly it starts to grow, which takes everyone by surprise, until it stops at the size of a pillow. Kalim has no other way to hold it other than hugging it and that's what he does. He hugs it tight like it's the most adorable thing on earth and he never wants to let it go.

And apparently, Kalim's tsum wants the same treatment, but from you, so it also grows to the size of a pillow for you to hug it.

Jamil looks at you all slightly uncomfortably and can only say: “If you ever do that to each other, at least get a room first.”

It was already late in the afternoon. You were walking across campus with your tsum in your arms when you heard a "CUT!". You have heard that a few other times before, it was Vil's voice and he must have been filming something for the film club.

Your tsum moves in your arms as if it was also curious to see what he was doing. You follow the sound and walk until you reach the Main Street.

“Rehearsal is over.” You hear Vil say and you stop. “Now we must capture this scene before the sun sets. Focus!”

That sounded like your cue not to interrupt him. You weren't at a place where you could appear in the frame, so you just wait there, watching, just like your tsum. However, someone else was watching the scene as well, hidden in the bushes.

“Now the real fun begins.” Rook says, both to his tsum and to Epel, that he dragged it with him. “Let us watch Vil and the rest of the club shine!”

Rook's tsum hops eagerly and the two observe Vil, until something else catches the tsum's attention and it looks to the side. Rook notices this.

“You changed the target of your attention, monsieur tsum. What could have possible divert your gaze from Vil?” He follows the tsum's gaze and finds you, standing there watching Vil. “Bien sûr, there could only be one reason.” He sees your Tsum in your arms. “Oh, marvelous! Tricster's tsum is back! Even more beauty to behold.”

Everything goes smoothly until the end of the recordings. And it is only when Vil sees you and greets you that you approach him. His attention (and everyone's actually) goes to your tsum.

“I see you've also been assigned as a tsumsitter.” Vil says. “I heard it had shown up the first time this happened, but I ended up not having the pleasure of meeting it. I'm glad I got this chance.” He smiles at your tsum who looks at him in wonder. “One also appeared in Pomefiore. A Rook lookalike.”

You feel your tsum spasm in your arms, and then you hear something jumping towards you. You turn around and a wild Rook-tsum appears and greets you with that happy tsum sound.

Your tsum jumps to the ground and lets Rook-tsum approach it first. It jumps to get closer to your tsum but, to everyone's surprise, your tsum dodges and runs away.

You panic a little, your tsum had never done that until now, and Rook-tsum goes jumping after your tsum, even though it has already lost sight of it. You are about to start running to look for them when you feel a hand on your shoulder. You are startled by Rook's sudden appearance.

“Worry not, trickster. I have been following monsieur tsum and it has been an enriching experience. You could accompany me and we can observe them together. There is no place they can go that I won't find them.” he winks.

You go with Rook following your tsums. You notice that every now and then your tsum stops as if provoking Rook-tsum and when it is about to catch your tsum, it dodges again and continues running away.

“How fascinating.” Rook laughs “Tell me, doesn't it look like they're playing with each other?”

You continue following the tsums to the botanical garden, already in the early evening. Where they finally stop. Or rather, where your tsum finally lets itself be caught, in the subtropical zone. You see Rook-tsum clinging to your tsum and making a movement with its head as if were kissing your tsum passionately.

“I wonder...” Rook says “If this is all some kind of mating ritual for the tsums.” he laughs seeing your reaction. “What's wrong, trickster? That look is not from someone who dislikes the idea~ Is there anything your heart would like to share? Because any question you have about mine can be answered by looking at monsieur tsum.”

You were walking through campus with your Tsum in your arms when you heard something above you.

“PREFECT!” You hear Ortho's voice shout from somewhere. “LOOK OUT!”

You see an unidentified flying object coming towards you at high speed. Your instinct is to cower and duck. But the object stopped before it hit you and landed on the ground in front of you. You look and see an Ortho-tsum. Ortho approaches you.

“He he he. Did we scare you? Sorry. Are you OK?” He asks. You answer that you are. “I’m glad. We just wanted to surprise you. Have you already heard of these little creatures called tsums, (Y/N)?”

You stand up, revealing your tsum that had been hidden in your arms when you ducked. Both Ortho and his tsum are happy to see your tsum.

“OH! One like you also appeared! So cool!”

Ortho-tsum uses its new device to fly towards your tsum, who got surprised by it. Your tsum jumps from your arms to the ground and gestures for Ortho-tsum to come closer to it.

Ortho-tsum lands near your tsum again and it starts walking around ortho-tsum as if it is examining the new device suspiciously. The tsum make sounds as if they were chatting.

“I don't know what they're saying...” Ortho laughs. “But from the tone and what they're doing, it seems like your tsum is worried about my tsum's new antigravity device. The audio of the noises I'm capturing sounds similar to a scene from a movie I have stored in my memory, where an older sister is saying things like 'Where did you get that?', ‘Are you sure it's safe?’, ‘You could get hurt.’ Ha ha ha.”

After this conversation between the tsums, Ortho's tsum flies for a second, lands again and makes an inviting sound for your tsum. It jumps on Ortho-tsum's back and the two slowly and carefully take flight.

“I think it wants to play with your tsum. Will you play with us too (Y/N)? Pretty Please?”

If you feel safe with Ortho, he will take you flying on his back. If you're scared he'll say: “It's okay, I understand. We can play close to the ground. We don't need to go up to the clouds to have fun together."

After walking around campus you decided to stop to rest on one of the benches in the Courtyard. You sit down and your tsum stays on your lap. A few seconds later, when you thought you could rest a little, something falls into your lap and on top of your tsum, startling you both.

After enjoying your reactions, the new tsum jumps next to you on the bench and turns to face you. It's a Lilia's tsum.

“Yay! Your tsum is back!” A voice behind you startles you and your tsum again, making it jump from your lap to Lilia-tsum's side.

Your tsum starts making sounds like it's complaining, but Lilia-tsum starts rubbing its face against your tsum to calm it down.

“Khee hee hee. Sorry.” Lilia says upside down, floating next to you. “You were trying to rest, weren't you?” He gestured for the tsums to move away so he could sit next to you.

They jump into your lap, where they get so close that it looks more like they're snuggling in a nest.

“I know it may not seem like it, but my tsum was getting tired too. But neither it nor I could resist surprising you and your tsum. Isn't it as charming and cute as me?”

You look at the tsums in your lap who seemed to be cuddled up sleeping. You joke that Tsum can be cuter.

“Ow, you're just saying that because of the plush shape it has. But looking at you and your tsum, I understand what you mean. Your tsum is also cuter than you.” He sees you pout slightly, and smiles mischievously. “Khee hee hee. Looks like someone didn't like being hit with their own spell.”

Lilia-tsum wakes up from its short nap and jumps to the ground, waking up your tsum as well. Lilia-tsum makes an inviting happy sound to your tsum, who also jumps off your lap to join it.

“I think it wants to play with your tsum now.”

You and Lilia follow your tsums to see what they will do. They prank a student. He was distracted reading a magazine when Lilia-tsum makes a sound that catches his attention. He looks, sees Lilia's tsum, rubs his eyes, looks again, and sees Lilia's and yours tsums. He rubs his eyes again, looks again and only sees your tsum. He gets up startled, looks the other way, looks back to where the tsum were and there is nothing there anymore. You hear him walking away wondering if he's going crazy or hallucinating.

You and Lilia laugh. And then Lilia has another idea for a prank.

The four of you go to the library and find two students chatting at a table. One of them is telling the other that he had seen Lilia transform into a small, round creature in front of him. The other wondered if it was some shapeshifting spell or some prank of Lilia's. Lilia-tsum hopped over to them.

“SEE?! HERE! This was the creature I saw Lilia transform into!”

You appear and greet the students. Lilia-tsum jumps into your arms in front of them and Lilia casts a light spell that temporarily blinds them, long enough for your tsum to take your place. When the students look again, they find two tsums.

“AHH! It's not a spell, it's some curse!” the other student says. “If any of them touch us, we become one of them too!”

Your two tsums walk slowly but menacingly towards them, and the students run away. Lilia bursts out laughing.

“This must have been the best one yet. Don't you also think it's funny when two big boys run away in fear from a cute little thing?”

The two tsums return to you. Lilia-tsum looks tired.

“We don't have that much stamina at this age, do we?” Lilia says smiling. He holds out his arms for his tsum to jump into them, but it doesn't. “Um? You don't want me to carry you?”

Lilia-tsum walks up to your tsum and cuddles with it.

“Oho, I see. In that case...” Lilia takes his blazer off his shoulders and ties the ends together as if making a hammock. “Okay you little lovebirds, here's a nest for you.” The two tsums jump in and snuggle together. “In fact, there is one thing cuter than our separate tsums: them together.” He looks at you, but the cute smile turns into a mischievous one when he sees your face. “What's wrong? Don't tell me you don't think they would make a pretty couple. That would break my heart.”

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

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spidermanifested · 3 days ago

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another black sails fantheory ive seen around a lot is that silver is jewish, usually specifically sephardic, but despite its prevalence i havent been able to find anybodys actual thesis statements about it. so if there are Essays out there (especially by somebody with more historical-slash-judaism knowledge than i with my meager wiki-crawls) i would love Links

however once again ive pondered a bunch of the stuff ive noticed personally, about mr john "if thats even your real name" silver. and honestly at this point id be kind of surprised if it Wasnt the actual context the writers shaped his character around. everything just seems to come together really neatly

hes impressively literate for his circumstances/time period, and really good at quickly memorizing large amounts of text. a solid religious education could very well explain this

specifically– and this is one of the things that feels like a huge bit of intentional subtext to me– the scene where hes hiding with the lepers and memorizing the urca schedule REALLY seems to evoke someone reading scripture under a prayer shawl

not only does he not know how to cook pork, but does not even seem to know what pork looks like when finished cooking

the pretext flint used to get his crew to hunt down the hamiltons' ship was that it was carrying sephardic riches. this is a completely throwaway detail we learn secondhand, in a story where there are very, very few completely throwaway details

silver speaks at least some spanish. this comes up Once and goes totally unquestioned by everyone around him, likely because they think he just picked it up as a sailor. he almost certainly has not been at sea long enough for this to be the case. speaking ladino as a first language on the other hand would give him a huge leg up (so to speak.) in that department

further point. around the time period of the show, the biggest sephardic community in the world lived in thessaloniki in modern-day greece. it was:

a) one of the most major seaports in the ottoman empire

b) a famous center for learning, which boasted 100% literacy of its jewish population

and c) despite its long and prosperous history under ottoman rule, beginning to decline along with the rest of the empire, for many interconnected reasons, including but not limited to: Problems With the Governments Handling of the Textile Industry (where have we heard that before)

lotta unrest. religious schisms and doomsday prophecies. reactionary groups of overempowered soldiers attacking civilians for stress relief (again. where have we heard that before). people, unsurprisingly, started leaving

so if you did want, against john silvers express wishes. to theorize a backstory for a surprisingly educated stowaway of Mystery Origin, who has Mystery Trauma and doesnt want anybody to know who he is or where he comes from, and which would give a new level of relevance to all the greek stuff that permeates the show (down to the actual name of the thing!), along with containing parallels to several other backstories and events in the show proper,

Well this one make sense i think 👍

#black sails #manifesting spiders #john silver

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wileycap · 11 months ago

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So, uh, Netflix Avatar, huh? Yeah. I guess I'll make a really long post about it because ATLA brainrot has is a cornerstone of my personality at this point.

So.

It's okay. B, maybe a C+.

That's it.

Now for the spoilers:

The biggest issue with the Netflix version is the pacing. Scenes come out of nowhere and many of the episodes are disjointed. Example: Aang escaping from Zuko's ship. We see him getting the key and going "aha!", and in the next scene he's in Zuko's room. And then he just runs out, no fun acrobatics or fights, and immediately they go to the Southern Air Temple where he sees Gyatso's corpse, goes into the Avatar state, and then sees Gyatso being really cheesy, comes out of it, and resolves that conflict. Nothing seems to lead into anything. The characters don't get to breathe.

The show's worst mistake (aside from Iroh fucking murdering Zhao) is its' first one: they start in the past. Instead of immediately introducing us to our main characters and dropping us into a world where we have a perfect dynamic where Aang doesn't know the current state of the world and Katara and Sokka don't know about the past, thus allowing for seamless and organic worldbuilding and exposition, they just... tell us. "Hey, this is what happened, ok, time for Aang!" There's no mystery, no intrigue, just a stream of information being shoved down the audience's throats and then onto the next set piece.

The visuals are for the most part great, but like with most Netflix productions, they just don't have great art direction. It feels like a video game cinematic, where everything is meant to be Maximum Cool - and none of the environments get to breathe. It's like they have tight indoor sets (with some great set design) and then they have a bunch of trailer shots. It's oozing with a kind of very superficial love.

Netflix still doesn't know how to do lighting, and with how disjointed the scenes are, the locations end up feeling like a parade of sets rather than actual cities or forests or temples. As for the costumes, Netflix still doesn't know how to do costumes that look like they're meant to be actually worn, so many of the characters seem weirdly uncomfortable, like they're afraid of creasing their pristine costumes.

The acting is decent to good, for the most part. I can't tell if the weaker moments come down to the actors or the direction and editing, but if I had to guess, I'd say the latter. Iroh and Katara are the weakest, Sokka is the most consistent, Zuko hits the mark most of the time, and Aang is okay. I liked Suki (though... she was weirdly horny? Like?) but Yue just fell kind of flat.

The tight fight choreography of the original is replaced with a bunch of spinny moves and Marvel fighting, though there are some moments of good choreography, like the Agni Kai between Ozai and Zuko (there's a million things I could say about how bad it was thematically, but this post is overly long already.) There's an actually hilarious moment in the first episode when Zuko is shooting down Aang, and he does jazz hands to charge up his attack.

Then there's the characters. Everybody feels very static - Zuko especially gets to have very little agency. A great example of that is the scene in which Iroh tells Lieutenant Jee the story of Zuko's scar.

In the original, it's a very intimate affair, and he doesn't lead the crew into any conclusions. Here, Iroh straight up tells the crew "you are the 41st, he saved your lives" and then the crew shows Zuko some love. A nice moment, but it feels unearned, when contrasted with the perfection of The Storm. In The Storm, Zuko's words and actions directly contradict each other, and Iroh's story gives the crew (and the audience) context as to why, which makes Zuko a compelling character. We get to piece it out along with them. Here - Iroh just flat out says it. He just says it, multiple times, to hammer in the point that hey, Zuko is Good Actually.

And then there's Iroh. You remember the kindly but powerful man who you can see gently nudging Zuko to his own conclusions? No, he's a pretty insecure dude who just tells Zuko that his daddy doesn't love him a lot and then he kills Zhao. Yeah. Iroh just plain kills Zhao dead. Why?

Iroh's characterization also makes Zuko come off as dumb - not just clueless and deluded, no, actually stupid. He constantly gets told that Iroh loves him and his dad doesn't, and he doesn't have any good answers for that, so he just... keeps on keeping on, I guess? This version of Zuko isn't conflicted and willfully ignorant like the OG, he's just... kind of stupid. He's not very compelling.

In the original, Zuko is well aware of Azula's status as the golden child. It motivates him - he twists it around to mean that he, through constant struggle, can become even stronger than her, than anyone. Here, Zhao tells him that "no, ur dad likes her better tee hee" and it's presented as some kind of a revelation. And then Iroh kills Zhao. I'm sorry I keep bringing that up, but it's just such an unforgiveable thematic fuckup that I have to. In the original, Zhao falls victim to his hubris, and Zuko gets to demonstrate his underlying compassion and nobility when he offers his hand to Zhao. Then we get some ambiguity in Zhao: does he refuse Zuko's hand because of his pride, or is it his final honorable action to not drag Zuko down with him? A mix of both? It's a great ending to his character. Here, he tries to backstab Zuko and then Iroh, who just sort of stood off to the side for five minutes, goes "oh well, it's murderin' time :)"

They mess with the worldbuilding in ways that didn't really need to be messed with. The Ice Moon "brings the spirit world and the mortal world closer together"? Give me a break. That's something you made up, as opposed to the millenia of cultural relevance that the Solstice has. That's bad, guys. You replaced something real with something you just hastily made up. There's a lot of that. We DID NOT need any backstory for Koh, for one. And Katara and Sokka certainly didn't need to be captured by Koh. I could go on and on, but again, this post is already way too long.

It's, um, very disappointing. A lot of telling and not very much showing, and I feel like all of the characters just... sort of end up in the same place they started out in. I feel like we don't see any of the characters grow: they're just told over and over again how they need to grow and what they need to do.

To sum it up: Netflix Avatar is a mile wide, but an inch deep.

#avatar the last airbender #atla #atla spoilers #avatar netflix #netflix avatar #atla live action #netflix atla #zuko #iroh #katara #aang #sokka #zhao #ozai #review

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haru-dipthong · 2 months ago

Text

Fansub Release + Analysis of Utena Ep 14

This is a big one!!

My fansub release posts aren't usually like this, but this episode is so jam packed with stuff I want to talk about that I had to write my translation notes as a series of essays. It's longer than usual so strap in!

First, a word on “The Mikage Seminar”

I’ve always found the translation “the Mikage Seminar” very strange. In English, a seminar is an event — a lecture. Yet “the Mikage Seminar” is discussed as though it’s not a recurring lecture, but a society or a school of therapy, or a cult (like scientology). In fact I did a bit of reading about scientology to try and find an alternative translation, and discovered that the origins of scientology, namely a set of ideas and practices called Dianetics, bears a lot of similarities to “the Mikage Seminar”. Both involve a type of therapy where one person looks into their mind and talks to an “auditor”.

The auditor coaxes the preclear to recall as much as possible. — Wikipedia

This in particular stood out to me! Mikage often says 「深く。もっと深く」 during his interviews (”Deeper. Dig deeper.”).

The Japanese word ゼミナール doesn’t actually come from the English “seminar” but the German “Seminar” (capitalised). According to Wikipedia, in Germany, and often in Japan, Seminar/ゼミナール is used to refer to a university course that includes a thesis project. So ゼミナール refers to a course of learning, rather than a talk or lecture. And it would make a lot of sense to call a system like Dianetics a “course”. Almost like a “course” of medicine — a “course” of psychological practices that you can join but never complete.

So it would make sense to translate it as “the Mikage Course”. But “course” has more meanings in English than just this, and in the context of a university this makes it sound more like a mundane teaching course. So I tried some other words: the Mikage Sessions, the Mikage Method, Mikage Psychotherapy, Mikage Therapy, the Mikage Movement. None seemed quite right. Until I remembered this post. ゼミナール is a foreign word in Japanese, why not find a foreign word for the translation? And so I settled on this:

The Mikage Seminarium, AKA The Society of the Black Rose…

Seminarium is Latin, and is where both the German and English derive seminar from. Its original meaning is “seed plot”, but it’s also just the Polish word for seminar. I really like how the Latin makes its meaning ambiguous — it kind of sounds like a location, kind of sounds like a society, and kind of sounds like a learning course. Because it is all of these things.

Anthy: では、香苗さん。失礼します。 Kanae: ね、あたしの事、お姉さんって呼んでいいのよ。もうすぐわたしはあなたの本当のお姉さんになるんだから。

A more literal translation:

Anthy: Thank you for having us, Kanae-san. Kanae: Please… you can just call me “sister”. I’m going to be your real sister soon enough anyway.

The translation I ended up going with:

Anthy: Thank you for having us, Miss Ohtori. Kanae: Please... you can just call me Kanae. We're going to be family soon. There's no need for the formalities.

Japanese honorifics strike again!

In English, sisters-in-law don’t ask to be called “sister”. That would be super weird in most scenarios, and this scene is trying to evoke a particular familiar feeling of closing a distance gap in a relationship. The audience is meant to relate. Changing how Anthy addresses Kanae was pivotal to this scene working properly.

わかりました。あなたは世界を革命するしかないでしょ。

I understand. Your only choice is to force the world to change around you.

This line is translated as “Your only choice is to revolutionise the world” by basically every other translation. The reason is clear — the Japanese is the same as when Utena pulls the sword out of Anthy, or when any of the other characters talk about “revolutionising the world”. However, in this context, I don’t like it. The nuance of the English phrase is quite different to the Japanese phrase. In English, it’s often used to describe new commercial products: “This new device will revolutionise the world!” It comes with an implied “for the better”, but has used to describe technological developments so unexciting that it can also feel hollow. When the student council talk of revolutionising the world, they sound like revolutionaries — the context makes it work. But in this context, it comes out of nowhere and doesn’t have any of that fervour, which makes it sound hollow and flaccid when it should sound sinister and manipulative.

I think a pervading throughline for all the Black Rose duelists is that they see their problems as caused by other people, with themselves being blameless. Rather than change how they approach their situation, Mikage tells them they’re in the right.

Your behaviour will set you down a path. If that path leads to your goals, well done! However, if your path does not lead to your goals, there’s only two ways you can achieve them.

The first is to change your behaviour so that it does align with your goals. The second, impossible way, is for the rest of the world to change such that your current path DOES end up leading to your goals. This second way is not possible in the real world. But it is possible in Utena.

Also I’ll just leave this here: “around you” → “revolve” → “revolution” 👀

Kanae tried to build a relationship with Anthy in a passive, non-confrontational, extremely Japanese way — the way she has been taught to behave, the “proper” way, a mechanical following of the social scripts. We don’t see a lot of their relationship, but the way she behaved and spoke of behaving towards Anthy is very very similar to the way my Japanese grandmother has behaved towards my and my brother’s partners.

It was unthinkable to her to change this pattern of behaviour. Her only choice was to change Anthy, change the rest of the world, so that her behaviour would lead to the outcomes she wants. You could describe this forceful bending of reality to be “revolutionising the world”.

この黒薔薇のある限り、私はこれから嘘の私を演じなくて住む。

As long as I have this Black Rose, I'm free from the lie I was living before.

Besides gender, growing up, and resisting change (which exist as separate themes but also all intertwine as one), another major theme present in Utena is the self and subjective reality. The self is explored within those first major three themes, but also in terms of how the self dictates reality with the Black Rose duellists.

Black Rose Kanae says that her past self was a lie.

It reminds me of all the times when I’ve been going through a personal trial and I’ve looked back on my past self and thought “How naive I was. I understand things better now.” And then after a while I realise I was wrong, and my first self was more right. And then later still, maybe I re-realise that the second self was more right! And so on! The reality of truth (or to use Kanae’s language, “lies”) is so subjective.

Who dictates knowledge production? Who decides what is true; what is valid knowledge? This is a question of sociology - and at the moment that answer is "science does, kinda". But science and academic systems are supported by capitalist structures and tainted by capitalistic incentives — needing to be published in a journal, issues of replicability, the barrier to entry into academia in the first place, etc, etc. In the future we may find our current way of organising knowledge to be archaic and primitive in the same way we look back at medieval scholars.

But what about organising self-knowledge? Knowledge where the only one who can really decide what is true is yourself. And the only one that can decide what yourself even IS is yourself. I feel like I have looked back on my old ways of conceptualising myself many times (not even counting the gender-based revelations) and thought it primitive and archaic, and NOW I truly understand who I am and how to think of myself and how my thoughts interact with my other thoughts. But I have no doubt that I’ll look back on this current self of mine and reject their way of thinking too.

After their heart is replaced by the Black Rose, the duellists themselves frame this change as a moment of self realisation, of clarity. Once the rose is inside them, they wake up from themselves, like I have countless times. Kanae says herself, “This is the true me.” Honestly, I don’t doubt it. I think that version of Kanae was her true self at that moment, given the things influencing her. Being brainwashed doesn’t make you less of a person, or less yourself. It just makes you organise your reality differently.

心を凍結させて作っただけの間に合わせのデュエリストでは、彼女は破れないな。

We won't be able to defeat her by simply freezing someone's heart and forcing them to duel.

Anya and I discussed this in depth. I originally translated 心 as “mind”, because that was the first thing that popped into my head and I thought that was the simple part of the translation. However, Anya pointed out that it didn’t make sense with the themes of self and subjective reality, and I strongly agreed, so I changed it to “heart” instead.

Anya suggested “conscious mind” instead of “heart” but I think heart is more accurate. 心 (kokoro) can mean heart or mind in Japanese (I find it interesting that those two things are portrayed as opposites in English), and that kanji is found in the word for biological heart, 心臓 (shinzou). When they say of the Black Rose "This is your new heart" they use 心臓. They also say "Your new 命 (life/lifeforce)" which I translated as soul since it sounded more hardcore and because "your new life" is a set phrase in English meaning a new chapter in your life rather than your life force. I think the idea is that they're freezing the duellists' ability to love and feel empathy, which in my opinion is necessary for them to commit to the unbelievably selfish act of revolutionising/reconstructing/bending the entire structure of the world for their own convenience.

A very special thanks to @dontbe-lasanya for being there to talk through all these themes and ideas. I'm incredibly proud of this episode's translation and I wouldn't have been able to do it without them.

If you want to see more analysis like this, let me know! And also follow this blog to see episodes of the fansub as they're released. You can find all episodes released so far here:

Rose divider taken from this post

#revolutionary girl utena #rgu #shoujo kakumei utena #sku #utena #media analysis #utena analysis #translation #japanese #japanese language #langblr #official blog post #utena fansub

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saltnsugarbear · 2 months ago

Note

hey....its freakbob...

carmy's head lying over the edge of the bed, moaning around lip's cock as you ride him. lip likes pressing in deep, feeling carmen choke on him as he leans in to kiss you EVERYBODY CLAPPED!!!

or perhaps you and carmy in a 69 position, but instead lip is plowing into you from the back while carmen cranes his neck, alternating sucking your clit and lip's balls...or you and carmy making out with lip's cock between your lips WH000.00 SAID THAT???? ARREST THEM!!!!!

sigh

i fucking love you, by the way

word count: 1.2k whoopsies

content warnings: MDNI!! afab reader genitalia, vaginal penetration, oral (m receiving), cowpoke position, grinding,

To your surprise, Lip is the one that needs more convincing. Not that you are entirely surprised, but Carmy was more agreeable to the idea than you thought he would be.

You and Lip met Carmy through Richie.

Richie had made a scene when he first met Lip about him being Carmy. It was one of those bizarre moments you only saw online with celebrities that you could swear were the same person. Like Natalie Portman and Kiera Knightley, where they look so similar, you convince yourself they could be related.

Thankfully, the Gallagher and Berzatto family lines don't overlap at all. The three of you had been incredibly thorough in your search to ensure there were no relations. It took two outside opinions to convince Lip and four to convince Carmy. The original three look overs were enough for you, but the boys weren't as trusting as you were.

You knew Richie through Tiff, who you knew from high school. Tiffany had never mentioned Carmy when she met Lip the few times she had, and maybe she didn't think it was noteworthy. Maybe she didn't see it or didn't want to talk about her ex's family.

Nevertheless, Carmy was possibly the best introduction to your and Lip's lives.

The sharing took some getting used to for the both of them, surprising given neither one of them was an only child. But everyone has a learning curve.

At first, it was just petty bickering and possessive movements. Eventually, it all culminated into a snap of tension that was incredibly aggressive. What had originally started as a first fight somehow ended with you between both of them, hot mouths biting and kissing at your skin.

That was one of the few times you got to share a bed with them in that context. Which... Was fine. But you wanted more.

Not to say you didn't like when one of them would watch, either waiting for his turn or getting off by himself. But you wanted them to enjoy each other too. It didn't seem fair that only you got to enjoy both of them in a one-way transaction of all the affection.

You had noticed the more obvious lingering looks Carmy gave Lip after giving you a kiss goodbye or when Lip kissed your forehead when he said hello. Lip was a bit better at hiding his yearning, keeping lingering looks and touches to sporadic moments, always hiding it when no one's watching.

Maybe you shouldn't have been surprised Carmy agreed so easily....

Carmy was not only eager to please you, but to please Lip as well. You saw how he flourished under Lip's praise, preening for it whenever he could. Almost asking for it whenever he did something he thought Lip would like.

So, being used as a personal fleshlight seemed like the obvious thing for him to agree to. That and the fact you would be riding him, so he had some form of gratification.

Lip was a little more hesitant to the idea. He blew you off before coming back later and asking questions. Once you clearly explained and helped him figure out what he would be comfortable with, Lip agreed happily.

Which is how you ended up sitting on Carmy's lap, grinding like two teenagers in the middle of the bed. Lip waited by the doorway, watching you rub your bare cunt over the bulge of Carmy's boxer briefs. The stain of both your arousal is dark in the middle of the fabric. The moans and whines being made by both of you are being traded in your mouths like smoke.

When you reach down to the waistband of Carmy's underwear, Lip removes his own boxers. Carmy helps you shuffle his boxers down his thighs so his cock can fall back against his stomach. Settling yourself against his hips, letting him rest against you as you coax him to lie back.

Carmy is quick to listen, laying down until his head falls back against the edge of the bed. You can't help but watch as Lip walks to Carmy's side, bringing his hand to cradle his face. Carmy needs no prompting when Lip brushes his thumb over his lips and takes Lip's thumb into his mouth.

With Carmy distracted, you slip your hand around his length and lift your hips up before slowly sinking down. Carmy groans around Lip's thumb once you're fully seated on his cock, bucking up a little into you.

"Alright, bear.." Lip whispers, slipping his thumb out of his mouth. Carmy is eager to listen, opening his mouth wide as Lip positions himself in front of his mouth.

The sight of Lip slowly thrusting into Carmy's mouth makes you clench around Carmy. This results in a chain of Carmy groaning around Lip's length, his throat contracting around him and making Lip swear under his breath. One of Carmy's legs comes up, jostling you on his lap, so you have to rest your hands flat against his chest for support. The new angle is deep and has your clit drag delightfully against his happy trail.

The star of your show is watching Lip pull back out before thrusting in, watching the imprint in his throat each time. You almost forget your role in this agreement until Carmy is grabbing for your waist. At first, you think it's his way of telling you it's too much, but the three taps never come. Instead, he weakly lifts you up before sitting you back down.

When you don't get the hint the first time, you hear Carmy huff before lifting his other leg, planting his feet on the mattress so he can thrust up into you. Whatever noises you could have made are swallowed by Lip as he kisses you roughly, snapping his hips into Carmy's mouth.

The room is filled with the sound of whining and skin against skin. Carmy sneaks his hand between both of you, rubbing gently at your clit. You can tell Carmy is near his own end, the way his thrusting has become more sporadic, his length twitching inside of you.

You're panting heavily against Lip's mouth when you feel Carmy come inside you. With a few more tight circles of his thumb, you feel the tension in your stomach snap, walls clenching tightly around Carmy. With both of you satisfied, Lip wastes no time chasing his own release, bringing his hands to hold Carmy's head still as he thrusts into his mouth. Carmy's whining and groaning are audible even around Lip, making him grunt softly until he stills. You watch, catching your breath, as Lip grinds softly into Carmy's mouth before pulling out.

Carmy inhales sharply, chest rising and falling as he tries to catch his breath. Lip is just as disheveled, breathing heavily as he sits down on the edge of the bed, turning to kiss you quickly before settling back down.

What Carmy does next shocks you.

With Lip sitting on the edge of the bed, he's easier for Carmy to reach. His movements are jarring as he sits up and reaches for Lip's cheek. Carmy is quick to bring his mouth to Lip's, licking into his mouth. Lip grunts out of surprise before he groans at the taste on Carmy's tongue, quickly taking over the kiss. You watch, mouth agape, as Lip licks at Carmy's mouth as if he can't get enough.

It feels like they go on for hours before Carmy pulls away to catch his breath. Carmy looks dazed as he pants softly, turning back to look at you instead of Lip.

Lip pants heavily before he turns to face you with a cocky grin.

"You were right.. Was great.."

#saltnsugarbear #too much salt (18+)#cloak and dagger of it all [ anon ]#gallzatto #lip gallagher x reader #lip gallagher fanfic #lip gallagher imagine #lip gallagher fanfiction #carmy berzatto fanfiction #carmy berzatto smut #carmy berzatto imagine #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy x reader #lip gallagher smut #gallzatto x reader #lip gallagher x you #carmy berzatto x reader smut #carmy berzatto x you #lip gallagehr x reader smut

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violetsiren90 · 11 months ago

Text

Make Me

Pairing: dom!Hoseok/sub/brat!f!Reader

Genre: Oneshot; hard smut; platonic(?) fluff; BDSM lifestyle; friends to fwb to?; canon-compliant (idolAU)

Summary: You've been friends with Hobi for years, and he's your comfort zone - but when he gets wind of a dark secret you drunkenly let slip, things between you take a sudden extreme change.

Warnings: 18+ (minors, dni); hardcore BDSM themes/relationships; full consent and safe-words ❤; Hobi is a hard dom (and such a good one); MC is a brat (mostly); dominance and submission; elements of primal play if you squint; mentions of wet dreams and sexual fantasies; sexual degradation (deg-play use of the word "b*tch"); mentions of MC's hair and hair pulling in a domination context; rough physical contact in a sexual context (manhandling); mentions of drinking; kink-outing; Jimin is a menace but also the absolute best; Hobi in the studio 👀; wrestling (sexual context); spanking (sexual context); p*ssy-stepping; p*ssy slapping; sexual frustration; some initial shame and embarrassment (reader needs to work some things out); reader tries to run away from herself a bit; temporary ghosting; working through new desires and feelings; dirty dancing; ALL the communication; establishment of sexual roles/partnership; talk about birth control and protection; Hobi curses a LOT during domination scenes; leash/collar play; oral sex (male receiving); throat fucking; Hobi slaps Reader's tongue with his c*ck; cum swallowing; aftercare; restraint play (sex swing, heehee 😈); manual clitoral stimulation; teasing; unprotected vaginal sex (reader is on birth control & previously consents); female orgasm from vaginal penetration; very brief implication of a possible brush with subspace.

Word Count: ~16,000 (Double its originally intended length, oops 🙈)

Author's note: HOLY HECK IT'S FINALLY HERE. When I say I had the time of my life writing this...like, wow. I was already under Hobi's spell, but now I am OFFICIALLY down in the worst way. This fic and its premise were completely out of my comfort zone, but I couldn't be happier that I ventured into this world, because the research alone has given me so much respect for the BDSM community, and specifically the dom/sub relationship. I hope I did as much justice to that very special dynamic as possible between these two characters (with whom I have deeply fallen in love). If you read this, I hope so very much that you enjoy it!

If no one has told you yet today, you are loved and worthy of love! 🧜‍♀️💜

Acknowledgements: The biggest of thanks to @orchidyoonkook who not only beta-read this fic multiple times, and is practically the voice of this Jimin, but also gave me so much wonderful insight into the BDSM community from that big sexy brain of hers (which contains an incredible amount of knowledge about so many things, let me tell you!). But most of all, she gave me the encouragement I needed to get this out of my imagination and onto the page, even when I was doubting myself the most. Yoons, I love you! Couldn't have done it without you. 💕

"What?" Hoseok's wide grin stretches further as he regards your flustered face with giddy anticipation.

You groan into your hands, willing the cushions of your friend's leather couch to swallow you like quicksand.

"Fucking Jimin - I'll kill him!" you whine, pressing your fingers to your temples, and keeping your eyes glued to the hardwood of the studio floor.

The rapper laughs as he swivels his baseball cap to sit backwards on his fluffy brown mop of hair.

"Come on! Tell me!" he insists, sprawling back in his rolling chair, the tips of his fingers touching deviously together as he regards you with twinkling eyes.

You sneak a glance at him before sighing defeatedly, which only earns another chortle of laughter from across the room.

Park fucking Jimin. You really were going to kill him. Too many bottles of soju the week prior saw you blacking out at the BTS member's pad, the one he shared with your mutual friend, Jung Hoseok. You woke up the next day, memories of the night before obscure concepts of debauchery merely alluded to by the taste of bile and the dull cranial throb of dehydration. When Jimin rather gleefully handed you, along with an iced americano, one of the booze-fueled revelations you had let slip, you begged and pleaded with him to erase the memory from his brain...or at the very least to take it to his grave. He made no such promises. And now, you are facing the man of the hour - the subject of your divulgement - who had apparently been informed that you harbored certain strong opinions in his regard. Humiliating.

You flick mildly irritated eyes back up to your friend who waggles his brows in a way that makes you want to crack a smile and sock him at the same time.

"Before I say anything, I want to know exactly what he told you," you demand, crossing your arms defensively, no cracked smile to be found.

He rolls his eyes up to the corner of the ceiling in recollection.

"He just said that you had gotten wasted and admitted something kinky...about me."

At the last two words he drops his voice dramatically low and pins you with a grin that is sickeningly predatory. Your pulse begins to hammer and you have to remind yourself that you are, in fact, capable of speech.

Fuck, you think to yourself, it's happening.

You can feel sweat starting to bead at your hairline. Maybe if you get it out there, just say it aloud, it will lose its power. Maybe the spell will be broken. Maybe he will laugh and you will laugh and you'll order lunch and keep irritating him while he's supposed to be working on a track. You're both adults, right? You whoosh out a breath.

Hobi is still looking at you, his bottom lip pushing up and the corners of his mouth tugging down in one of his little inverted smirks while his right leg bounces a little up and down.

It is just Hobi, after all, you tell yourself. Just Hobi. You are roundly aware that it may be a lie, but it seems to allow you just enough courage to jump.

"Okay, okay!" you practically shout, and he giggles and stomps his feet, which admittedly makes revealing this particular chestnut a bit easier.

"I told him…

“What?”

“I said..."

"What?"

"Oh, Christ! Fine!" And the rest comes out like water from a fire hose. "One time I came to drop off Jimin's charger and you were in dance practice and you were watching the guys and you had this look on your face - like you were pissed or something - and it was so unlike you and I got turned on and ended up having a fucking wet dream that you were stepping on my mother-fucking pussy, okay?! Are you satisfied now?!"

You heave a sigh and throw yourself back against the cushions, hands over your face. How you just mustered the courage to form those actual words you haven't even the faintest notion - but it was going to be you or Jimin, and it might as well be you. After your heart has begun to return to its resting rate and you've heaved a few deep breaths you steel yourself against the certain impending onslaught of Hobi's laughter and general mockery...which doesn't come.

You peek through your fingers to see that your friend has shifted in his chair, facing a bit away from you toward the inside of the room, leaning forward, his hands gripping the ends of the chair's armrests. His face looks a little troubled, or pensive, you can't tell which. You sit up and really look at him, suddenly worried.

Did you just fuck things irrevocably up?

That was an incredibly bizarre and intimate thing to admit.

Shit.

"Hobi?" you squeak, barely over a whisper, as you regard him.

He tilts his head suddenly to look at you, quick like a bird, and when those dark eagle-eyes regard you in return, you feel like a small, helpless creature scurrying across the tundra. Nowhere to hide. A bead of sweat escapes its perch and slips down from your temple. As he utters his question of response, the air suddenly becomes as thick as the tropics.

"Is that something that you'd want, Y/n? To be treated like that? To be...put in your place? Put down?"

You don't answer him. You can't.

Your words, your breath, your coherent thoughts are stuck, inert, useless as your chest begins to rapidly rise and fall in heavy swells. Your eyes are locked on his face as if by magnetic force. He stands, his baggy Louis Vuitton tee falling over his gray sweats. He shoves his hands in the pockets and takes a step toward where you sit. His posture is relaxed. His gaze is anything but.

"Is it?"

You want to say you don't know. That you'd never considered it again. Never once recalled the image of it - of him - standing over you as the sole of his shoe punished your throbbing sex.

"Fuck..." you breathe, and when he doesn't take his eyes from your squirming form, you relent. "...y-yeah."

He takes another step toward you, slowly. He's crowding you now, as he looks down, and the proximity is almost more than you can bear.

"You see," he remarks musingly, "I thought you were gonna say something funny - something ridiculous," he tilts his head to one side, the faintest hint of a smirk on his lips, "But that's not funny, Y/n. No, that's not funny at all. Because, as it turns out..."

He leans down, his breath fanning over your face as he speaks. Mint and espresso. You shiver and close your eyes.

"...that's something I can do."

...what? He can...h-he can....

"Hoseok..." you whisper shakily, because it's all you can manage.

You hear him laugh darkly and you don't look at him.

"Hoseok?" he mimics, "Not, Hobi, huh? Hoseok when you're like this, is it?"

"When I'm like...what?" You practically whimper in complaint, eyes still pressed shut as your last line of defense.

But any manner of defense is in vain as he answers your query, the words dripping from his lips slowly like honey, sickly like venom -

"When you're a filthy, pathetic little slut."

A whine escapes you at the complete and utter shock of his words. Suddenly you clamp your thighs together – whether to provide friction or obscurity to your quickly dampening cunt you are unsure. When he takes your jaw between his fingers and roughly jerks your chin upwards, your eyes flutter frantically open.

"Is this what you want?" he hisses, "For me to have my way with you like a needy whore?"

Fuck, is this happening? This is really happening. Your mind reels, but that's alright - it stopped doing the thinking when he got up out of that chair. Something primal in you had taken over, something that's been starving for so long – something that yearns to feed.

You do your best to nod with your chin in his grip. He swallows thickly, his eyes darting to your lips, and then back up to yours. His pupils are blown, his eyes almost wholly black as they trace over your face. Suddenly his hand slips from your chin to the nape of your neck where his hand tangles in your hair and his head drops to the side, his gaze softening.

"I need you to say it, Y/n, are you sure you want to do this?" he asks, his voice so, so low but without the edge that sends ice through your veins.

His voice. He's asking you as someone who cares about you, cares what you want – your friend.

Do you want this? No...you don't want it. You need it.

"Y-yes! Yes, Hobi - I want this," you find yourself stumbling over the words to get them out.

So quickly and so assured. Have you ever been this certain of anything in your life? His fingers dance against the nape of your neck and you sigh as his eyes travel all over your body.

You want to hide. You want to strip down. You want to run and you want him to chase you. You want him to punish you when he catches you. You are sick with want.

"A safe word, baby, we need a safe word," he nudges your racing mind back into the current moment with his saccharine words.

You blink, your mind running up against the sudden pet name – one that he has never uttered in a tone like this before – as it scrambles for something obvious and yet not ridiculous. Something simple maybe...a flower...?

"Foxglove," you say, and he raises his brows with a grin.

"Foxglove it is," he acquiesces. "So if you ever want me to stop, ever – okay? You say that. Foxglove."

You nod.

"Say it for me," he whispers, and you shiver again. Fuck.

"Foxglove." It's slow and thick leaving your mouth.

"Good girl," he purrs. Butterflies erupt in your rib-cage and your eyelids flutter. "How hard do you want it?" He asks, "How rough?"

You scramble to find your voice.

"Pretty rough, I think," you posit, a bit unsure of what that means.

He hums in response, his brows knitting in thought. You were going to have to give him something to go on, you could see that.

"I..." you stammer, "I want you to...to punish me. I want you to...to hurt me a little."

He raises a brow - looks at you, just stares as if considering. Then suddenly you know what to say.

"See...I'm not a good girl," you insist tilting your head back a bit haughtily, a bit defiantly. Being a good girl had gotten you butterflies, but that's not what you wanted right now. That's not what every cell of your body was screaming for.

He's grinning wickedly again - his other hand is slipping out of his pocket and the one in your hair is gripping at the roots.

"Hm. You're not are you?" he asks, his voice as dark and cold as the Pacific once again.

"No, Hobi," you whisper.

And suddenly your world is tilted on its axis as he tightens his fingers against your scalp and yanks your head back, sending a searing pain shooting through your skin as he stoops to hiss in your ear.

"That's Hoseok, you pretty little bitch."

You let out a whimper so needy it's nearly a sob. Your heartbeat is pounding between your legs. He lets go of your hair as roughly as he grabbed it and goes to lock the door and your stomach flips - you are totally and completely at his mercy. It's a little bit terrifying and absolutely exhilarating.

When he comes to loom over you again, you decide just exactly where you stand in all this. You know exactly what you want.

You glare up at him. He narrows his eyes.

"You gonna listen, hm?"

It's not a question, you know it's not - it's a command. But you have one, just one, of your own...

"Make me."

His eyes go wide and wild.

"So that's how it's gonna be?"

The words are heavy and dark, but you think his mouth twitches up at the corner when you arch a recalcitrant brow in response.

He hums and licks his lips, and you're on the verge of saying something about getting on with it when his hand darts out and fists a chunk of your hair, yanking it back with a force that makes your head spin. He's glaring down at you with eyes so hard and menacing that your rebuttal dies on your tongue. The hand at your nape squeezes and the pressure that seers your scalp is exquisite, spilling a moan from your lips as your arousal becomes more than you are capable of repressing.

"Don't you challenge me, brat," he rumbles from low in his chest as his hand twists against your head and lowers your back to press against the black leather.

You whine in protest, and your palms fly up to shove at him, but his reflexes are like lightning as he snatches your wrists away to pin them above you. Your head spins, eyes losing focus as your whole body flushes with warmth in the wake of his domineering aggression.

You wriggle in his hold, relishing in how his grip tightens and the cold steel in his eyes glints as you resist him.

A knee slides between your legs as he leans over you menacingly, close enough for the padlock charm around his neck to lightly tap your raised chin. Good girl, it seems to whisper in Hoseok's voice, stay put.

Yeah, fuck that.

You snatch the necklace up between your teeth and yank it to the side where it bites sharply into the corner of your mouth.

The sudden motion catches him off guard and he falters, crashing down on top of you with a noise of surprise and losing control of your hands.

You scramble against him, rolling both of you to the floor with a thud.

Your heart is hammering in your chest.

You hear him grunt, his strong hands grappling with your thrashing form, and you catch just a glimpse of his shining eyes and white clenched teeth as he flips you over onto your stomach, hands in a vice grip at the small of your back and your cheek pressing into the cold, hard laminate.

You start to move again but he pushes his weight into the slender fingers splayed over your spine with a low rumble in the back of his throat and you still with a groan.

You're pressed so deliciously firmly to the floor. You can feel arousal soaking your panties as your nerves alight everywhere he has wrested control of you. You can hear him pant, proof of his efforts, and the image of his provoked expression from seconds previous flashes through your mind.

He seemed so cool and collected before. So unbothered. To think that his blood is up and because of you? You let out a trembling breath.

"Fuck," he hisses lowly, then bends to bring his lips to the shell of your ear.

They're soft as they drag over your skin there, feather light. Your whole body shakes, and you feel his mouth pause.

"I don't know who the hell you think you are," he whispers cruelly, "But you were right about one thing...you're not a good girl. You're a disobedient little harlot who needs to be taught the rules of this house."

You whimper pathetically as he presses into you even more intensely, restricting the expansion of your lungs.

"Now," he says nosing at your exposed neck as he begins to pull away, "how about we teach you a lesson or two, hm?"

You feel his weight leave your back, and see his figure rock back on his heels out of the corner of your eye. You are just on the verge of retaliating again when you let out a yelp at the sudden shock of your hips being yanked upward by the back belt loop of your denim shorts. Hoseok lets go of your hands and they fly forward to brace yourself as your ass raises into the air and your knees move toward your chest.

And all at once you know what's coming and you feel your pussy clench in the mere anticipation of -

Smack!

You let out a wanton wail as the sharp crack of his hand against your right glute jolts through your body like a lightning strike and ends with a slam at your swollen clit.

Again - harder! Your mind screams. So you press out a whinging moan of complaint.

SMACK!

It has the desired effect.

CRACK!

Your jaw is slack, but no sound escapes as he punishes you. It hurts. Fuck, it hurts. As if he's attempting to brand your ass with the shape of his hand. But holy hell is it making you drip. Every slap jolts your body and brings the tiniest friction to where you're neediest. Where you've never been needier in your life.

Please punish my pussy....

You try to mumble the words but all you can do is drool onto the floor as he deals out pleasure and pain from above.

And then he stops. You feel hands deftly and swiftly rolling you to lie on your back.

You blink up through bleary eyes, drawing a hand across your mouth to wipe the spit away. Your shoulders are sore.

He's leaning over you, a hand still on your hip, eyes scanning your face.

"What? Did you say something? You need to speak up."

His tone is still biting but his eyes seem to hold a genuine question. Concern.

Warmth floods your chest as it registers that he wants to be able to hear you if you need him to. If you want to stop. But the light has never been so goddamned green.

"Want..." you murmur, "...more, Hoseok."

He curses, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he leans forward to take your jaw in his hand again. He rakes his gaze over your soft, swollen features, unfocused eyes, and heaving chest.

"Look at you so fucked out and all I did was smack that gorgeous ass."

He licks his lips, shaking his head in seeming disbelief as he releases your chin with a little shove. He leans back, dragging his hands over your bare thighs.

"More, hm?" he hums.

You nod eagerly.

He purses his lips and considers you through narrowed eyes, and you sense that if you want him to give you what you so desperately desire, you're going to have to show him you can take it - and take orders. You lay still, hands twitching at your sides as you look up at him through wide eyes.

He continues to run his fingertips up and down your legs as he breathes out a long relenting sigh.

"Alright," he relents, "You took your punishment well, so you should be rewarded, I suppose."

You clamp your bottom lip between your teeth, your heart rate rising again at the prospect.

He tilts forward, looming over you again as he asks the question you've been dying to answer since you woke up breathless all those weeks ago.

"What does my little brat want me to do to her? Let's see if she can use her words."

You blink up at him, unsure if you have permission to speak...or how to put your request into words that won't make you want to immediately melt through the floorboards.

"Cat got your tongue?" Hoseok sneers, pretty, heart-shaped lips curling up at one side.

His hat discarded in your tussle, wavy brown tresses hang down over his brow and his eyes sparkle darkly through them. His features are so beautiful - their loveliness thrown into sharp relief by the flinty pitilessness of their expression.

You're tempted to continue simply soaking him in, if not for the pounding ache in your core demanding that you find your voice.

"I...I want..." your lips tremble as you will yourself to tell him what you need.

Perhaps he senses that you require a little encouragement, because his eyes harden and he digs the edges of his nails into the flesh of your knees, causing you to yelp and moan and then...

"I want you to step on my pussy! Please..." You press out your request with the last of the breath in your lungs.

Hoseok's eyes flutter shut at the last word of your plea.

"Say that again," he commands in a husky whisper, and even without further specification, somehow, you know.

"Please..." You groan, letting your legs drop open demurely.

His eyes are still closed, but he can feel the action with his hands, which have now slipped just inside your knees to your inner thighs. He inhales deeply through his nose, before exhaling with a shuddering breath. When his lids languidly raise again the piercing onyx of what they have unveiled is pinning you to the floor with more deadly force than even his hands ever could. Your pulse pounds in your cunt, your head still swimming from your previous position as he pushes himself up to stand.

As you blink up at Hoseok towering over you, standing between your splayed thighs with his midnight gaze boring into the damp denim covering your heat, something inside you long ajar quietly but firmly clicks into place.

"Tell me, brat" he seethes, eyes roving your trembling form stretched out beneath him, "Who makes the rules in this house?"

"Hoseok-ssi," you whimper, so needy the ache is beginning to hurt.

Every cell of your body is awake with a desperate anticipation that only he can satisfy...or deny.

You have never felt more alive.

And then something happens and your brain shuts off entirely.

Everything vanishes: the studio, the traffic outside the western window, the city of Seoul and South Korea and the whole goddamned planet rolling around in the Milky Way. Nothing exists except the tip of Hoseok's Air Jordan ghosting over the swell of your crotch.

Your mouth waters as his foot slowly slides forward, then goes completely dry as you feel it settle with the sole aligned directly with your slit. His eyes flick up to your face, but you can't hold his gaze for more than a millisecond as he begins to apply pressure to your mound.

Your eyes roll back in your skull, head lolling as your neck goes slack, lips parted in a silent scream as the man above you presses down with a low hum over your sex. The seam of your shorts is biting deliciously into the tender flesh of your clit, sending shockwaves through your core like a live wire, and when he rolls his foot in a circular motion you think you see god.

You do scream then, but it's nothing more than a strangled sound in your throat as your fantasies materialize and he leans his weight into his stance, punishing the soft fat of your cunt with the sole of his shoe.

You're going to cum. He's barely touched you and you're going to cum. He seems to see it in the twisted ecstasy of your features as his lids hood his eyes and filth begins to spill from his lips.

"Do you like that, brat?" he taunts, "That's what you get when you're a good little girl for Hoseok - you get your pretty wet cun-"

Click jangle clack - boom boom boom!

Hobi springs away from you, hopping back on one foot with wide eyes as a succession of rapid knocks follow the stilted motions of the locked door handle. You scramble up from the floor, heart pounding and breath coming fast as you toss yourself into the corner of the couch.

Boom, boom, boom!

"Hyung, are you naked or something?" comes a familiar if muffled voice from the other side of the wall.

You fumble for your phone and Hoseok runs a hand through his hair and takes a deep breath before pulling open the door.

The man belonging to the impatient knocks and muffled accusations stumbles headlong into the studio, the locked entrance against which he had pressed his ear and most of his weight having been pulled out from under him.

"Jimi...nie...?" Hobi greets his bandmate and his eyes track the other's toppling form with surprise and a hint of agitation.

Yoongi ambles in casually behind him, sipping a dewy americano through a straw, a beanie sitting atop his ashy locks gnomishly.

Jimin nimbly pushes himself to a stand from where he had crashed against Hobi's desk, not a strand of his coiffed platinum blond hair askew as he spins around face to the dance captain. But before he can get out a greeting or an excuse for his manner of entrance he freezes as he spots you in the corner.

His eyes flick to Hobi's hat on the floor, then to the pink flush on the apples of his friend's cheeks. When Jimin's eyes slide back over to where you are curled into your nook, eyeing him warily over the tiny shield of your phone, his plush lips slowly spread into a sickeningly devious smile.

Hobi scoops his hat up off the floor and tugs in back on before taking a seat, carefully, you notice - thighs pressed together and leaning forward - in his rolling chair. The implication of his posture has you sweating into your shirt.

You need to get it the fuck together.

"If I would have known you were here I'd have brought you a kimbap," Jimin says, wicked grin still plastered on his face as he holds up a plastic convenience store bag.

You blink.

"Oh, uh, that's okay..." you bluster, waving your hand. "I'm not hungry anyway."

It's true. You just lost your appetite for the foreseeable future, stomach a raging sea of nerves as Jimin places the bag on the desk.

Yoongi shuffles over to sit at the other end of the couch, raising his free hand and drawing his mouth into a straight line in greeting. You manage your own tight-lipped grin and flash him a peace sign, hoping you did it quickly enough that the tremor in your hand went unnoticed.

"To what do I owe this visit from my bros?" Hobi asks from where he's turned toward his computer screen to save the neglected file.

His voice is cheerful, but you can hear the strain - how it's pitched just half a tone too high - and Jimin's eyes are still on you.

"I dragged Yoongi hyung out for some fresh air. I took him to lunch and grabbed you a snack on the way back."

"Yah, you took me to lunch? Then why did I pay?" Yoongi grumbles from beside you, his bare features pinched into a grumpy pout that makes him look particularly feline.

"Because you love me," Jimin coos at him and the older musician's mouth quirks up into a smile he can't seem to repress.

"What are you working on, Hoba? Which track?" Yoongi murmurs around the straw between his lips, blinking patiently as Hobi seems to shake himself, pulling his hat off to run a hand through his hair before readjusting it on his head and swiveling back toward his computer screen.

He hits play on the track and Yoongi leaves the couch to join the other two.

This is all so normal, so typical of the guys - the affectionate repartee and chat about ongoing projects. And on an average day, you'd have joined right in.

But today is not an average day.

No.

Five minutes ago, you were spread-eagle on the floor six inches from where Jimin stands, with Hoseok's shoe on your bits.

You have to get out of here.

"I'm, uh, I'm gonna head out, boys," you muster, making a beeline for the door as soon as the inertia of your decision gives you the courage to peel yourself from the corner of the couch.

"You're leaving?" Jimin's voice quips in a saccharine whine, with the slightest edge that makes you avoid his eyes as you slip out with a parting wave.

You do catch Hoseok's expression, whose head snaps up at your parting movements. His brows furrow and his lips part, looking as if he wants to say something, but he doesn't.

And then you're gone.

Your smart watch trills as your heart rate enters cardio territory. Your chest is heaving, breath coming heavy as the pliant cushion of your couch gives way to the crown of your head pressing back into it, eyes pinched shut and hand shoved down your pants.

The bullet vibrator you have pressed to your clit is doing everything it should, and you feel it coming - your orgasm. 6:12pm on a Tuesday and it's already your third self-love session of the day.

You tense your thighs, urging the building pressure in your core to boil over, and quickly. You groan and grit your teeth as your administering hand starts to shake. You writhe and whimper for a moment. And then it's over.

You stare up at the ceiling of your apartment, breathlessly huffing out a despondent sigh as the empty ache in your chest returns. It has become your loathsomely devoted companion in every waking moment over the last ten days, filling you with an unshakable restlessness and sickly discontent.

Nothing can slake it. Not reality TV. Not Cabernet Sauvignon. Not overtime hours. Not ASMR wood-soup videos. Not yoga. Not Ben and Jerry's. Not midnight runs on your NordicTrack. Not fucking yourself to climax on every single goddamned toy you own.

The little monster you roused the weekend before last in Hope World hasn't returned to sleep. No. She is wide awake. And she seems to grow more ravenous with each passing day.

At first you tried to ignore her, but she kept you up into the long, bleak hours of the night. And so, in a fuzzy, staticky haze some time after midnight a number of days ago you typed some words into a search engine that would probably have your assigned FBI agent doing a spit-take.

The thing is, you'd never seen "50 Shades of Grey", you'd never been interested. It wasn't as if you were a prude - hardly! You have always enjoyed sex, both intimate and recreational. In fact, it has always been one of your favored methods of blowing off steam, and you knew quite well how to please yourself and how to guide partners in doing the same.

You have never had problems in taking what you wanted in life, in taking charge and ensuring that things play out your way – it's what makes you so good at your job, and valued by your peers who know that they can rely on you to take the reins and rise to the occasion.

So when you suddenly stumbled unprepared into the world of BDSM, your visceral reaction to the concept of submission left you wondering...why?

Why, why, why?

Why does this do it for you? Why did your very linear, stable existence have to be completely disrupted by this discovery? And most urgently of all, why, for the love of everything sacred, did all the porn in the whole wide world fail to accomplish even a fraction of the effect of Jung Hoseok's size 9 sneaker? It's all too overwhelming to process.

You let out a frustrated whine as you pull your sticky, cramped hand, still clutching the little purple bullet, from the confines of your pants. Your phone buzzes on the coffee table and you can see the notification is from Jimin. You've been ignoring his calls and pleading texts to meet up, or just pick up. You can't face him. Not after ghosting Hobi.

You feel a pang twist in your stomach as you haul yourself toward the shower, hoping the hot water will wash away the guilt you feel for ignoring Hoseok outright. He texted you almost immediately after you left the studio, asking if you were alright. You let him know that you were, with just one word: yeah.

You had typed and retyped that response. "Yeah, thanks" seemed too weird. Like, thanks for what? Almost making you cum with the tip of his shoe? No. "Yeah, sorry" felt pathetic. What were you apologizing for? It seemed to imply...regret? Or fault. Neither of which would have come from a genuine place. And beyond a simple affirmation, you certainly didn't have words. So, "yeah" it was. He tried to call you later that evening, but you didn't pick up. You were already way up in your head by then. It had been radio silence since.

You toss a coconut steamer onto the wet shower tiles and sigh, catching a glimpse of your face in the bathroom mirror as you slide the glass door shut.

"Coward," you mutter as you close your eyes and slip under the cleansing stream.

You're wrapped up in a blanket cocoon and sipping a cup of sleepy-time tea, trying to distract yourself from the messy tangle of emotions waging war across your various chakras with season two of Single's Inferno, when a knock on the door startles you out of your simmering reverie. You heave yourself off the carpeted floor of your living room and scoot toward the door like a fleecy Jabba the Hutt to peek through the peephole.

Your vision is obscured as another eye looks back at you from the other side of the concave glass. You jump back, dropping your blanket shroud in a pile around your feet and let out a yelp of alarm. You slam a hand over the peep hole as giggles erupt on the other side.

"Yah! I know you're in there - so let me in!"

Your entire body sags against the door in relief as you recognize the voice of the would-be intruder. You swing the door open to grant him exasperated entrance.

"Park Jimin, you just took ten years off my life! Creep," you bluster, gathering the blanket up around your body as you retreat back into your apartment.

You plop down again in front of the TV, knowing that Jimin came to either talk you into going out or to just talk, and either way, you are truly not in the mood. Your friend snickers behind you, sauntering into your kitchen. He returns with a beer, bringing the frosty green bottle to his lips before sinking into an armchair and regarding you with an expression that waivers between amusement, pity, and disgust.

"You look awful," he remarks, taking another swig as his gaze roves your unkempt appearance.

Your features twist into a frown, eyes never leaving the television.

"You don't get to barge into my apartment, steal my booze, then insult me, Park," you snip, burrowing further down into the fluffy mass encasing your body.

Jimin raises a brow, a small smile still playing on his lips as he follows your eyes to the television where YouTuber Dex and professional model Lim Minsu flirtatiously splash about in a ridiculously opulent indoor swimming pool.

"Fuck, Dex is hot," Jimin mutters.

"For some reason he reminds me of Jungkook," you smirk, glancing over at him for the first time since he arrived.

He grimaces theatrically.

"I don't see it."

The contestant on the screen flashes his Paradise companion a blinding smile and raises a tattooed arm to cut through the water, content to show off his stroke precision as his date watches on. The resolve on Jimin's face falters .

"Yeah, well...Dex is hotter."

You scoff.

"Yeah, no. Kook-ah is definitely hotter."

"For the love of god, just don't tell him that, okay?" Jimin pleads, "That kid is insufferable enough these days."

"You love him."

He hides a smile behind another sip of Hite.

"Why did you ghost Hobi hyung?"

Jimin blinks innocent eyes at you, as if he hasn't just dumped the last week and a half of silent agony over your head like a bucket of ice water. But the chill is momentary, because the next second your body feels like an oven. You stammer.

"I-I...ghost him? I didn't ghost anyone...I'm busy...I..." you trail off weakly as your friend's unimpressed and knowing gaze bores into your soul.

You sigh and scrub your hands over your face.

"Because I'm a big chicken, okay?" You murmur into your palms.

You don't know why, but you feel like crying. When you pull your hands away from your face, Jimin must see it because suddenly he's on the couch wrapping you in the kind of hug that reminds you why he's your ride-or-die, and in the safety of his embrace the tears begin to fall. Days of being alone with yourself and your conflicted feelings pour from your ducts and onto the front of Jimin's bright yellow flannel. He coos words of reassurance, admonishing your tears, as he strokes your hair.

"Talk to me, you silly goose," he hums with an endeared chuckle.

You sniff and hiccup as you pull away, wiping your puffy eyes.

"I don't even know what to say, Minnie...I don't know what's wrong with me..."

Jimin smiles and grabs a few tissues from the box on the coffee table, dabbing them against your nose.

"Well, first of all, nothing is wrong with you. But second of all, tell me what is bothering you."

You heave a dramatic sigh.

"If I tell you, you have to swear - and I mean swear - that you will not make fun of me or tell anyone else. And I mean not Taehyung, not Yoongi, not anyone, you hear me?"

He smirks, but nods in assent. You narrow your eyes at him.

"Say it. Out loud." You demand warily.

Jimin rolls his eyes and throws up his hands.

"Yah! Okay! I won't tell anyone," he quips mockingly.

You sigh again and draw your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them. If this gets too hard to talk about with eye-contact at least you'll have a place to hide your bashful face.

"I..." you start softly, not sure where to begin except the beginning, "Re-remember that thing I told you when we got plastered a little while back...about...Hobi?"

Jimin's lips quirk at the corners as he nods.

"Well...the thing is...wait!" You cut yourself off, suddenly gripped by a notion that has you prematurely flustered and indignant. "What did he tell you?"

Jimin shakes his head, a small smile still playing on his full lips.

"Nothing," he responds, looking you dead in the eye in a way that has you almost believing he's telling the truth.

"No, really," you press.

Jimin leans back against the arm of the couch from where he faces you, running a hand through his hair and drawing his legs up to criss-cross in front of him.

"Jagi, this is Hobi hyung we're talking about. You think he would do that? He has too much respect for you. He would never. Not to anyone. Not even me."

Your chest floods with relief, affection, and regret. Fuck. Of course he wouldn't. He was too mature of a person for that. Too considerate. Too lovely. And you hadn't even had the gumption to speak to him for the last ten days beyond a mono-syllabic SMS. Jimin watches your expression do emotional acrobatics.

"So..." he offers encouragingly, "something...happened....between you guys, right? That day Yoongi hyung and I showed up? We...uh...interrupted something, didn't we?" He can't help a devilish smile, eyes twinkling as he carefully phrases his query.

You bury your face into your knees and squeak out an affirmation. Jimin lets out a bright laugh and you immediately raise your burning face in a scowl.

"Hey! You said you wouldn't-"

He waves his hands in apology as he attempts to gain his composure.

"Mianhae, mianhae! I'm not laughing at you!" He insists, leaning forward to grab your swatting hands by the wrists.

"Sounds kind of like you are!" You huff, yanking your arms from his grasp.

"So..." Jimin hums, tilting his head to track your gaze as you try again to hide your face, "If he's down, and you're down...what's the problem? Why did you run and hide? Did your feelings change?"

You slowly raise your eyes to his, searching them as you decide just how much you're willing to tell him right now. You chew on your bottom lip as you realize you need to get it out. All of it. You drop your legs to mirror Jimin's posture, lowering your defenses with your millionth-and-first sigh of the evening.

"Okay...well..." you muse, fiddling with the blanket still draped over your lap. "You know how I told you that stuff that I...dreamt...about Hobi?"

Jimin nods.

"Well...something did kind of happen...and well..." you trail off as Jimin raises his brows expectantly.

"Oh, fuck it!" you bluster, exhausted by your own attempts at delicacy. "He dominated me and I liked it. I really really liked it, okay? And it freaked. me. the fuck. out. Like...I've neeeeever felt that way before about fooling around. It wasn't just fun, or, like, pleasurable...it was...almost..." you search for the words as Jimin stares at you raptly. "...Freeing? Like, a relief. Like, a 'where has this shit been all my life' moment."

Jimin hums and nods, interlacing his fingers and leaning his chin against his knuckles.

"Like...I don't know...I'm a very independent person. And capable. And, yeah, things have been crazy stressful at work, and I have a lot on my plate...but I handle it, you know? In fact, I don't just handle it, I kind of...enjoy the pressure of leadership and responsibility? It drives me. I've always been like that, in every area of my life..."

Jimin smiles and lets out a sound of recognition.

"So the one who wears the crown is wondering why it feels so good to be...subjected?" He waggles his brows. You roll your eyes.

"Grow up, dude."

"Am I right, though? I'm right."

You find yourself chewing your bottom lip again.

"Essentially. I like power. I like control. What is this sudden obsession with losing it? It's...scary. And confusing."

Jimin smiles.

"You know, it's actually not that uncommon, from what I understand," he states, reaching for his abandoned beer on the coffee table.

You quirk an eyebrow.

"I mean, everyone is different, and this is a journey you're going to have to take for yourself to get the answers, but from what I know about the BDSM community, it's not unusual for people who are in positions of power to crave a bit of a...reprieve."

"Really?"

"Yeah," he nods, reclining back again against the arm of the couch, "The bedroom is a good place to let your walls down. Maybe the only place, for some people. And with a trusted partner it can even be healing to play a different role than you do in other parts of your life."

It's your turn to smirk.

"You talk as if you know," you prod playfully, shoving your toes into his shin. He smiles that wicked smile of his and you laugh.

"What I'm trying to say is, maybe it's not just about the...dynamics. Maybe it's also that it's Hobi hyung. He knows you. You know him, too. You trust each other. Maybe you could get to know each other in a new way. Be something for each other that you both need." He takes the last sip of his beer and twirls the bottle in his hands, gazing at you with a gentle thoughtfulness.

You nod slowly, digesting his newly offered perspective.

"So," you muse, raising your eyes to him again, "You think he needs it too?"

Jimin shrugs.

"Only he could tell you that for sure. But I do know this, he's awfully good at being bossy, and doesn't get a lot of opportunity to run the show - outside of dance practice, that is."

Chuckling nervously at the thought, you try your best to conceal the spark that has crackled to life from the burning coals inside you at the mention of his natural command of authority.

"Hey," Jimin posits with a grin, "Maybe if he's spanking you he'll go a little easier on us when we screw up the choreo..."

"EXCUSE ME THE FU-WHAT?!" You shriek, snatching up a throw pillow to beat him mercilessly as he falls in raucous laughter to the floor.

Turning to glance over your shoulder at your reflection in the mirror, you smooth your hands over the back of the svelte black bodycon number you've donned for the evening. You're a vision in monochrome, having paired your LBD with sleek stilettos and dark smokey eyes with heavy lashes.

Your phone buzzes, indicating that your ride share is close by. Butterflies flutter in your belly as you reach for the finishing touch to your outfit: a velvety black choker with a sliver o-ring studded in colorless topaz. It's just fashionable enough to still look like a necklace, but it gives you a bit of a thrill to know that it's not. To know what's tucked inside your purse to accompany it. To wonder if, going unnoticed by most, it will catch a certain pair of dark eyes.

The drive across town to reach the Jihope residence never felt so long. You try your best to calm your nerves over the last few blocks of distance - it’s just a party, after all, and kind of a silly one at that.

During Jimin's last visit, he mentioned that he and Hobi would be throwing a Black Day party for all of their single friends the following weekend, and after dodging his attempts at socialization so religiously of late, you felt you owed it to him to attend.

Black Day had never been something your group of friends had ever observed before, but it was incredibly chic to do so this year, for whatever reason. And of course, all the organizing duo of the soiree needed was the slightest excuse for Jimin to party and Hobi to host.

Upon arriving at the building, you can already hear the music pumping from the top floor, and the chatter of guests spilling out onto the terrace. You present your ID to the security guard at the front gate, and are escorted to a private elevator that whisks you up to the penthouse. Being quite successful and comfortable yourself, you still find yourself surprised when reminded of the sheer net worth of your humble, down-to-earth Bangtan pals. Hobi is worth the most, and while he is an excellent investor and a generous philanthropist, he also likes to show out, and in style.

You take a deep breath as you buzz the bell.

The door swings open to reveal a handsome young man in a black t-shirt tucked into baggy dark-wash jeans, his fluffy brown hair parted in the middle and his ears glinting with rows of silver hoops. His round eyes scrunch into little moons and he flashes an adorable toothy grin, endearingly lopsided where it stretches deeper against the little orbital piercing at the right side of his bottom lip.

“Noona!" he growls, pulling you into a bear hug. "Where have you been? The last two times we went to noraebang there was no one to sing Through the Night with me!"

"Ah...hah...", you nervously chuckle, pulling away from his embrace as you search your brain for an excuse other than business.

"I'll sing with you, Googie!"

You turn to see your salvation from further explanation in the form of a giggling young woman bouncing up to clutch Jungkook's arm and steady herself as she sways on her platform heels. She smells like soju and fruity perfume.

You smirk and thank her, patting her hand where it clutches your friend's tattooed forearm before she's dragging him away down the hall.

"Make sure she stays hydrated!" You call after him with a shake of your head, making your way through the throng of guests to the bar area.

The furnishings of the residence are a study in classy postmodern minimalism, punctuated with abstract urban art – though you notice that some of the Kaws pieces are missing, likely stored away for safekeeping from rowdy party-goers.

The sleek chrome and granite full-service bar is stocked with liquor and beer, and a commissioned mixologist is crafting darkly colored cocktails. A buffet-style spread offers the traditional jjajangmyeon and an assortment of other delicious eats.

The spacious dining area is littered with small tables draped in black linens, each bearing centerpieces of hellebore, leather leaf, black carnations, and eucalyptus. The living room has been converted to a dance floor, complete with a glittering disco ball. House music booms through the built-in speaker system as guests in groups and pairs move to the beat.

You glance over a drink menu of themed cocktails as a voice sounds from over your shoulder.

"I recommend the Down With Love."

Turning, you flash the speaker a grin.

"Alright, but is it giving Judy or Barbara?"

Taehyung raises a disparaging brow.

"It's a gimlet. Judy, obviously."

You chuckle, putting in your order for the suggested beverage.

"You look good," he remarks, gesturing at you with the unlit cigarette tucked between his first two fingers, his other hand slipped into his pocket as he leans against the wall.

He doesn't look bad himself, you think, in his black satin top and flared Merlot trousers.

"Thanks," you smile as the bartender hands over an inky concoction garnished with a grapefruit slice twisted into the shape of a heart and run through with a toothpick.

You eye it skeptically.

"How do they make it black?"

"Activated charcoal. C'mon."

Tae links your arm through his and weaves through the bustle to a table of familiar faces. Yoongi raises a whiskey tumbler in greeting and you clink your glass with his, sliding into a chair next to Taehyung and reaching over to give Namjoon's arm an affectionate squeeze. It seems that all the members have turned up, save Seokjin, who's been a taken man three years strong.

You fall into easy conversation with the boys, and just when your difference of opinion with Namjoon over Lee Bul's latest installation piece is developing into a full-blown debate, Jimin slides up to the table and spills onto Taehyung's lap.

"None of you are dancing!" He whines breathlessly, poking Tae's cheek as the other man smiles shyly.

"Jungkook is," Yoongi rebuts, taking another bite of jjajangmyeon.

He's not wrong, though to your amusement, the maknae appears to be getting danced on more than anything else.

"Where's Hobi hyung?" Tae queries, prodding gently at Jimin's full cheek in return.

Jimin's eyes dart to you, a smirk spreading slowly across his lips as his gaze rakes up from your heels to the choker around your neck.

"Good question," he hums, rising to take your hand and pull you up from your seat. "Let's go find him."

Jimin heads for the French doors at the far end of space that lead onto the terrace. They're propped open, and cool evening air floods the apartment, keeping the atmosphere from suffocating under the warmth of body heat and the scent of rich food.

"Jimin!" You hiss, as you approach the rooftop patio, "What are you doing? This is the opposite of subtle!"

He laughs merrily.

"You're so cute when you're flustered!"

You don't have any more time to grumble as you emerge under the darkening sky, just beginning to speckle with stars barely visible against the glow of string lights wrapped around the cozy outdoor enclosure. There's a small electric fire pit surrounded by plush patio furniture, and live greenery all around.

The energy is much more relaxed than within, but even so, you feel your pulse quicken as Jimin guides you toward a small group at the corner of the terrace. You recognize a few of the men and women gathered as industry producers, but none of that really matters because all your brain can register is him.

And holy shit does he look good.

He's arresting sophistication and effortless elegance. A silk charcoal dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbow, ripples along the lines of his torso - save where the top three buttons have been neglected to expose the smooth planes of his toned chest. His lean, athletic legs seem even longer than usual in fitted black slacks, his pretty wrists and fingers sparkling with jewelry where his thumbs are slipped into his pockets. His hair has been slicked back from his face, and his eyes are just barely obscured by a pair of lightly tinted wire-rimmed aviators. That brilliant, warm heart-shaped smile cuts through all the sharp darkness of his garb, and your breath catches in your chest when Jimin calls out to him.

"Hyung!"

As Hoseok's eyes meet yours the grin stretched across his face falters, but he quickly regains composure.

"Eyyy," he greets you, striding forward and wrapping his arm around your shoulders to pull you into a side hug. Of course he smells as incredible as he looks.

"Hi, Hobi," you murmur a bit shyly, returning his embrace.

"Hyung," Jimin pouts cutely, "Save us! She was putting our guests to sleep talking to Namjoon-ah about art theory."

"Hey," Hobi chides in a warning tone, cocking his head to the side to glance down at you. "Don't enable the poor guy – he needs to get laid."

"Well nobody is going to approach him if she's hanging around looking like that." Jimin gestures casually, a mischievous twinkle glinting for a moment his eye.

Hobi's arm slips off your shoulders to grasp your hand as he steps back. He's never been good at keeping his feelings from his face, and the look trained on his features as he appraises you has you thinking you made the right decision when you put on that dress.

"How about we keep you out of trouble and on the dance floor, hm?" Hobi says with a sly smile, raising your hand and tilting forward in a posture of invitation.

You roll your eyes playfully, unable to bite back a smile of your own as you motion for Hobi to lead the way, careful to avoid Jimin's eyes as you let the rapper guide you back into the thrumming pulse of the festivities.

He gently pulls you onto the dance floor and tugs you into him, keeping a hold on your right hand as he slips the other just below the curve of your waist. You settle into an easy step to the lively beat. Hobi's eyes search your face as you tilt it up to him, running a hand up his chest to adjust the collar of his shirt with a sigh. You fiddle with the soft fabric between your fingers.

"I'm sorry, Hobi," you murmur, just loudly enough for him to hear.

When he just smiles a bit sadly you feel your heart squeeze and you drop your head to his chest. You will yourself not to cry as he slows his movements, slipping a knuckle beneath your chin to raise your gaze to his own.

"Hajima," he protests, "Let's talk later. Right now, how about we just have some fun? I missed you."

His expression is sweet and earnest and you feel like your chest might not have room for anything more than your complete and utter affection for this man.

"I missed you too," you admit with a little grin, pressing yourself against him just a bit more firmly and gazing up at him through widened eyes. He blinks for a moment, and then suddenly, there it is again, blooming across his lips - that blinding gorgeous smile, and that heady, infectious laugh.

In one quick motion, he spins you around to face away from him as the music drops to a deep, throbbing EDM number, his fingertips grazing your hips and his lips ghosting the shell of your ear.

"You did, huh?" he purrs. "Alright, then...show me how much."

You suck in a breath because you don't ever think you'll be ready for how quickly he can turn that dark, deep voice in his chest into something that makes you feel like you're astral-projecting. Your first instinct is to push him away, make him take it from you...but this moment isn't for that. After your exit last time around, you’re determined to make him so incredibly certain that you want him. That you need him.

You lean back into him and, whispering a silent prayer of gratitude to the goddess of stilettos, press your ass firmly into his groin. You feel the air leave his lips in a hiss against your neck, and his hands slide to squeeze your hips and tug your body even deeper into his. You grind back against him as your body undulates with the hypnotic rhythm of the beat, but it's not long before he's taken over guiding the motion of your hips to match the rolls of his own.

Your eyelids flutter. You've never been this close to him. Sure, in the studio, things had gotten hot and heavy - but you had only been in his hands. He had only touched you to move you, still you, punish you. Now you are flush against his body, and everywhere you touch as he rocks you in tortuous waves against him tastes like the first sumptuous bite of a forbidden fruit.

You can feel him beginning to swell against the plush of your ass, but even that isn't what has a familiar ache throbbing at the apex of your thighs – it's the effortlessness with which he wrests control of your body, your mind...your very being down to its most primal core.

Hoseok's hand skids up your side and slips over your collarbones.

"I like this necklace," he mumbles into your hair.

You turn in his arms, slipping your fingers around the back of his neck as you raise your lips to his ear.

"I'm disappointed in you, Hoseok," you tut, "It's not a necklace, you know."

He doesn't respond, but focuses on bringing his leg to slot between yours, hiking your dress up enough to tease your mound with brushes over the front of his thigh. You swallow a moan.

He's toying with you, but you won't give in. Not so easily. Not yet.

"I guess you could call it a choker..." you rasp, trying to keep the tremor from your voice as your face presses into the side of his jaw, "That is more descriptive of its actual purpose, I suppose."

For one millisecond in the fabric of time and space you feel his pace falter as the words spill from your lips - then he runs his hand up your back, slipping two fingers under the tight strip of velvet surrounding your throat.

For the first time since you started dancing, you look at him. Crystalline beads of sweat have broken out on his brow, and his mouth is set in a stern line, his eyes hooded and dark as tugs his fingers back to command a view of your gaze.

"Are you telling me," he grits out lowly, digging his fingers into the flesh of your hip so bruisingly you gasp, "...that you showed up to my party wearing a fucking collar?"

You don't answer him - instead you let a wicked smile slip over your lips, refusing defiantly to drop his piercing stare. He has stopped moving you against him, stopped moving entirely. His hands are firm but still where they hold you as his eyes bore down.

"Are you out here trying to finish what we started?"

You tilt your head back, narrowing your eyes seductively.

"What do you think?"

You watch a thousand and one thoughts race through Hoseok's mind as his eyes drop to your neck again and he swallows thickly.

"Oh, fuck it," he hisses, turning and catching your hand to pull you impatiently through the crowd.

You barely have time to wonder what he's thinking or where you're headed when, at the opening to the hall, he spins to grasp your waist and tuck you into a small alcove. He does it so quickly and with such force that you nearly topple the potted plant on the stand beside you.

He pushes himself against you, the tip of his nose brushing yours, and his firm body pressing you to the wall. He holds your wrists in his hands, pinning them to either side of your body. You let out a tiny whimper.

His peppermint breath fans over your cheeks.

"I was going to wait," he whispers loud enough for you to hear him clearly over the music from the room behind you. "I was going to ask you...to stay. After..." he traces his nose along the ridge of your cheekbone as he squeezes your wrists tightly, his nails nipping into your skin. "But you come here with the audacity to tease me like that? Out there, in front of everyone like a desperate little slut?"

His mouth is hovering over your ear as he speaks, sending shivers cascading down your spine.

"I'm not a patient man," he mutters darkly, and you feel your pussy throb.

You struggle slightly against his grasp, and he growls lowly. Turning into him, you press your mouth against his throat, letting your teeth graze his skin as you respond.

"Then don't be."

It's all the permission he needs. He snatches you away from the wall, dragging you down the hall toward the master bedroom at the far end. Your heartbeat hammers in your chest as you gaze at the dark mahogany door growing closer and closer with every stumbled step you take to match his hurried pace.

He turns to glance over his shoulder, and you follow the action as he grips the handle, turns it, and...

"What the..." Hoseok mutters, rattling the handle forcefully before raising his fist to pound against the door. "YAH! UNLOCK THIS DOOR!" He booms.

You hear muted voices and sounds of scurried movement from within. He bangs again and again until the door swishes open to reveal a flushed and flustered Jungkook, still fumbling with the button of his jeans.

"Hyung! S-sorry, hyung, I was just...we were..."

"OUT." Hoseok demands icily, pushing the door inward on its hinges to reveal the peppy, strawberry-scented young woman from before hurrying forward to tuck herself behind Jungkook as she draws a hand across her smeared lipstick.

You bite back a grin as you watch them scuttle down the hall before Hoseok shuts and locks the door behind you.

"That kid...seriously," he grumbles. "He knows my room is off limits."

You chuckle, despite his lack of amusement, and he takes your hand again, drawing you toward a small couch at the far side of the large room. You take in your surroundings as you cross the space - similarly furnished to the rest of the apartment. The furniture is sleek and modern, Kaws sculptures and collectible figurines occupy tables and shelves. There are a few live plants, including one hanging from a large hook in the ceiling near a massive, raised canopy bed.

He draws you to sit beside him, a crease still pinched between his brows, likely from having to evict the irksome intruders. You laugh softly and run a thumb over his forehead.

"They're gone!" you chuckle, "Don't let it bother you so much. You'll get wrinkles." You tease, and his face softens.

He catches your hand in both of his as it lowers. He sighs.

"I needed a bit of water thrown in my face anyway," he smirks, and you glance down bashfully. "Before anything really happens, I think we should have…a conversation."

You nod in agreement.

"Can I start?" you interject and he nods in return.

You huff out a long breath.

"I want to apologize for how I reacted...last time."

He smiles wryly.

"It was all very new and sudden to me, and...I don't know...I freaked out."

Hobi squeezes your hand.

"You have no reason to be sorry about that. I should have never initiated like that somewhere that wasn't really private. I just got caught up..." he shakes his head.

"No! Me too! I'm glad it happened. I..." you trail off, feeling your face heat. "Oh, fuck, I don't know how to say this..."

He claims he's not a patient man, but he waits, watching with tender eyes as you choose your words.

"I haven't been able to stop thinking about it...like..." you take a deep breath as you gather the courage for vulnerable transparency.

You remember what Jimin said. It's Hobi. You are safe with Hobi.

"It was like nothing I've ever felt before. Like a release...more than sexual, you know? Like, freedom. Like, I felt so alive."

He smiles, nodding his head in understanding.

"I..." you continue, still nervous but with mounting confidence as he makes you feel heard, "I would like to...explore this part of myself, this new world," you gesture, "And...well, I would love for you to be the one to guide me."

You raise your gaze to his. His eyes are shimmering. He slowly raises a hand and brushes his fingers over your cheek.

"It would be my honor," he murmurs earnestly.

A smile blooms across your face and your chest fills with warmth. You raise your hand, curling your fingers into his where they rest against your jaw. He drops your hands, still holding on, to his knee.

"Can I ask how much you know about the community?" he queries, tracing his thumb softly over your knuckles.

"A lot more now than I did a couple of weeks ago!" you respond with a laugh. "I know that I'm a sub, but one that likes to...fight back a little bit?"

Hobi smirks, pocketing his tongue in his cheek. His eyes glint.

"A brat," he answers.

"...Yeah."

"Want me to work for it."

Your mouth quirks up in a grin.

"The harder the challenge the bigger the payoff," he hums, glancing thoughtfully down at your joined hands.

"I think," he says after a pause, "Since you're new to all this, we should start slow. I already know some things you enjoy, and vice versa. But part of this kind of thing is about testing your limits. You're going to come across things you don't like, too. I need you to be able to tell me. Without a second thought. Seriously."

He looks at you intently.

You smile.

"I trust you enough to know that you’d stop if that’s what I wanted. I may enjoy being dominated but I do still know what I want. And with you...I..." You tug at his hand, "I know I could say what I...need.”

He huffs out a little breath, his brows drawing together as he regards you in reverence.

"You know you can be that way with me too, right? Needy?" You ask softly. "I want...to take care of you, that way. Maybe we can...take care of each other."

You're not looking at him. You can't. It's all incredibly intimate and strange. When he doesn't respond, you begin to wonder if you said something you shouldn't have. And then your doubts vanish as quickly as they had appeared when you feel his arm slip around your shoulders as he pulls you into his chest, tucking your head beneath his chin.

Your heart sings.

After a long, quiet moment, Hobi pulls back to look at you.

"Should we set some rules for ourselves?" he asks.

You purse your lips and nod. Admittedly, you had come with a few in mind.

"I think...we shouldn't kiss. Well, not on the mouth. It's...I don't know. I think it might make things confusing."

Hobi looks thoughtful, nodding slowly.

"Which brings me to my other thought," you chew your lip. "I think this should just be about sex. We're friends, and I want to keep that aspect of our relationship strong and uncompromised."

He smiles.

"Makes sense to me. But..." he says with a raise of his brows, "If we do start seeing other people, I think we should tell each other. Especially if they're going to be people we're fooling around with."

You give an enthusiastic hum of assent.

“I don’t have a partner at the moment,” you shake your head, glancing up at him.

“Me neither.”

He clears his throat and shifts his stance.

“When we’re…together,” he gestures in the space between you. “What about protection?”

You blink thoughtfully.

“I’m on birth control.”

He nods.

“Okay…would you want me to wear a condom?”

You feel heat creep up your neck as you meet his gaze with a shake of your head.

“Not unless you wanted you.”

He stares at you for a long moment before chuckling and shaking his own head.

“Ay, you’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?”

You smile and pull your bottom lip between your teeth.

"Oh! And we already have a safeword!” you remind him with a grin.

"We do," he acknowledges, his eyes dropping to the glinting metallic ring adorning your throat.

Your smile falters and your heartbeat quickens…and when he looks back up at you it's like whiplash as he sets you reeling again with a dark, hungry gaze.

"If that thing isn't a necklace," he rasps, reaching his fingers up to touch the cold silver, "How about we put it to its proper use, hm?"

You shiver, pressing your thighs together as your heartbeat drops to your clit.

"Yeah..." you whisper, your breath already starting to come quicker as you reach for your bag and fumble with trembling fingers with the clasp.

Hoseok's brow knits as he watches you open the purse, reaching in to produce a length of light chain about three feet long with a velvet strap on one and a claw clasp on the other. You double it up and dangle it from your hand, your heart thrumming in your chest as you raise your eyes to his.

"You can put it on me," you purr, "...But you'll have to take it from me first."

Click.

That ineffable thing, that invisible force he wields that arrests you has slipped back into place. You can feel it, pouring off him in devastating waves...and you're already starting to drown.

It didn't take him long to wrestle the leash from your grasp. Now you're on your knees before him, hands at your sides as he leans forward to affix the chain to the o-ring at your neck. You're breathing hard from your struggle. He stands to his full height, wrapping the links around his hand until the line is taught. He clicks his tongue condescendingly.

"What am I going to do with you now, hm?" he murmurs, tugging at the chain briefly so that you lurch slightly forward. You whine complaintively.

"Quiet," he hisses in warning.

You bite your lip. You need to obey now. Your panties are soaked and you can feel the turgid swell of your clit with every slight motion of your body. If you are good for him, then maybe you will be rewarded. Being a good girl should earn something. Right now, you will take anything.

Hoseok glowers down at you, tilting his head to the side as his eyes trail over your features, coming to rest on your pouted lips. He wets his own.

"You like to run that mouth of yours...how about we see what else it can do?"

Holy fucking shit. You feel saliva begin to pool under your tongue, your eyes flicking down to the bulge at the front of his slacks. You start to raise your hands toward his belt but he yanks sharply upward on the chain, the metal ring biting into the underside of your jaw, ripping a mewl of discomfort and impatience from your lips.

He lets out a long sigh, shaking his head as his lips curve into a cruel smile.

"So eager that she can't even wait for permission?"

You whimper again, biting your lip as he laughs darkly above you.

"My little whore wants something, doesn't she?"

You give a silent nod, letting your tongue slip out to wet your lips and watch his eyes darken as his pupils swallow his deep brown irises.

"Mmm..." He hums in consideration, bringing his free hand to cradle your chin. "I've told you before, sweet thing, if you want something, you have to ask for it."

Your eyes blink languidly as you look up at him. Your head is swimming as you sway on your knees, the dizzy helplessness of being spun between degradation and endearment hanging over you like a heavy trance. His fingers tighten around your jaw.

"Come on..." he coaxes in a chilly whisper, "Use that pretty mouth to ask Hoseok."

You swallow thickly.

"Wan..." you start softly, but his grip on your jaw sharpens.

"Speak up, I can't hear you," he commands reproachfully.

Heat swells up from your neck and sweat begins to tickle your hairline. You know what you want, you've been thinking about little else since he was pressed against you on the dance floor...but the thought of giving your filthy, aching desires shape has every inch of your body trembling.

"Wan...want..." you struggle over his fingers pressing harshly into your cheeks.

He tuts, and the look on his stony features suddenly warns you that if you don't overcome your nerves...

"Wan' your cock!" you choke out desperately.

Hoseok's lids dip slowly and his lips part, as if your words have been injected into his veins, and you think you could fucking cum at the sight. His eyes flutter open again and he gazes down. You fight for patience and composure with each maddening second of silence that passes. You can feel your pussy clench and your hands follow suit. Hoseok catches the motion. A sickening grin spreads over his lips.

"Want this cock, hm?" he hums, releasing your chin from his grasp to palm over the clothed swell inches from your lips.

You whimper pathetically, letting your eyes slip shut. Fuck you want him. You want your mouth around him. You want to choke on him. You want the thick, sticky milk of his release on your tongue.

"So tell me, brat," he hisses, wrapping another loop of chain around his palm so that he holds you on a mere few inches of leash. "How do you want my cock?"

Any shame has been dispelled from your being in the presence of your burning desire, and you raise heavy, lustful eyes to his dark ones.

"Wanna suck it off."

You can see his chest beginning to rise and fall with more effort as he pulls you by the leash, in tortuously slow deliberation, until your lips are ghosting over the zipper of his slacks. He glares down at you, the corner of his mouth curling up in a sneer as he holds you in place.

"BEG."

A violent tremor of arousal jolts through your abdomen and you gasp.

"P-please..." you stammer dumbly against the soft, dark cotton.

"Again."

"Please..."

"Please, what?"

"Please..." you breath shakily, "Will you fuck my mouth?"

You feel him twitch under the vibration of your supplicating words.

"Alright," he relents in a rasp, "But keep those hands at your sides, understand?”

You nod.

“Unless,” he tugs at the chain again,”You need to stop. Then you grab my leg and squeeze.”

“Okay.”

“What are you going to do, baby? If you need me to stop?”

“Squeeze your leg.”

“That’s right,” he hums and the repeated instruction.

You chew on your lip as he pulls off his belt and slips open the button, giving a tug at your collar. As you look up at his hooded eyes, you know exactly what to do.

You nose at the seam, trying for one moment to ignore the throbbing bulge against your cheek as you find the zipper with your teeth and drag it slowly downward, your eyes never breaking his burning gaze.

"Good girl," he hisses, pushing his pants down his hips to reveal a pair of tight, black boxer briefs, a sizable strain pulling at the flexible fabric where he's hard beneath them.

He hooks two thumbs into the elastic and tugs down, his fully erect cock springing free to bob against the side of your face. A sticky streak of precum smears across your cheek as you seek his head with your lips, barely having time to register the smooth tip, or the pretty, pulsating veins as you rush to swallow him whole.

Hoseok lets out a long, deep groan as you suckle greedily around him. Allowing your spit to slick his shaft you pull back, keeping just the crown between your lips as you worry your tongue along his dripping slit.

He's rock hard and heavy on your tongue as you lean in to take him farther down your throat, bunching your hands into your dress at the aching urge to cup and stroke the velvet skin of his scrotum.

"Fuck," he grits out from between clenched teeth, "That's right..."

You bob lower and lower on his shaft, seeking to take as much of him as you are able. When you feel his tip brush the back of your throat, you moan around him. His free hand flies into your hair, and suddenly he's yanking you off of him. You cough and splutter at the sudden motion and he tugs the chain so that you raise watery eyes to him. He releases your hair to absently stroke himself as he lightly pants over you.

"Asked me to fuck that throat. Think you can take it?"

You nod as you attempt to wipe drool pooling on your chin into your shoulder.

"Words," he pushes, snapping the chain around his wrist.

"Yeah," you mock, matching his tone, a spark of defiance reigniting inside you.

Hoseok lets out a hollow laugh.

"So confident. We'll see about that."

He slips two fingers of his free hand into the strap of your collar and tugs you back toward his cock. You open wide, extending your tongue to catch the head and pull him between your lips.

You move to swallow him again, but he halts you.

"Keep still," he mutters coldly, and the fingers at your collar hold you tightly in place as he slowly slides his hips forward in a thrust that has him inching toward your soft palate.

Your eyes water, but you have never been more determined to fight your gag reflex as he pulls back and pushes in again, deeper, his cock tapping again at the back of your throat.

"Goddamn, you really can take it," he groans in a shaky voice. "Such a good little slut for Hoseok. Such a pretty, filthy little mouth."

Your nostrils flare as you draw air through your nose, and you swallow, the muscle of your throat contracting tightly around him. At this he seems to break, suddenly pulling back his hips to snap them forward as he sets a rough, self-indulgent pace.

Your eyes water, spilling over from the brutal stretch and sting, but you dig your fingers into your thighs, determined to take him as long as you possibly can.

You start to feel light-headed, and just when you think you're going to have to tap out for air, Hoseok's pulling you off of him and wrenching your face upwards to run his wild eyes over it.

You gasp for breath a moment, and then you're opening your mouth to him again, blinking up through bleary eyes in a silent, hungry plea. He shakes his head slowly as he gazes down at you, chest heaving.

"Shit, look at you..."

You're a site. Tears and mascara streak your cheeks, saliva and precum slick your chin and neck, your parted lips swollen. Hoseok's fingers twist where they're still hooked into the collar.

"You still want it, don't you? My god..." he smears the tip of his cock along your bottom lip.

Your eager tongue wriggles forward to brush over him again. He swallows, and with a growl he slaps his cock down harshly over it. You let out a little sob as your soaking, aching cunt clenches around nothing.

"Alright," he mutters in a husky whisper, "Gonna fucking ruin that tight little throat. Gonna fill it the fuck up. Blow my load all over that nasty little tongue. And you want that, don't you? Wanna be Hoseok's pretty little cumslut, hm?"

You nod, and then remember the rules.

"Yes," you croak, and open wide for him again.

He grits his teeth and tugs at the collar to pull you slowly over him again with a shudder. You've proven more than capable and it's not long before he's chasing release at a punishing pace. It's sloppy and desperate - the hollow, wet sounds as he fucks your face a pornographic symphony.

Suddenly you think you can feel his cock twitch and jerk as it hammers into your mouth, and when he grows so incredibly hard, you know he's about to reach his peak.

You lock eyes with him through your tears, watching his features strain to maintain their composure. Without warning he grabs the back of your head and slams into you, arching over as he cries out.

And he cums.

Thick ropes spurt down your throat as he quivers and throbs.

The moment he's spent his last drop of release he fists into your hair and roughly pulls you back, letting his softening cock fall free. You gasp for breath, coughing as you choke down the last remnants of his seed. Lips trembling, your eyes search his face for what you so desperately need...and you find it.

His lids are heavy over his eyes, mere glistening slips of midnight visible as they gleam down at you; his beautiful lips are parted as he pants, the honey planes of chest glistening with sweat where his shirt fails to obscure it.

He's breathless and sated and glorious, and you bask under the intensity of his gaze. He releases his hold on your collar and lets the leash clatter to the ground, bringing his hands to your face. He cups your cheeks, brushing his thumbs over the streaks of tears.

"So, fucking good for me," he mutters shakily, his brow drawn, "Such a pretty, perfect little brat."

Your eyes slip shut under his words of praise. You could move mountains if he asked you to, you were certain. In this moment, in this space, anything for this man. Everything.

You feel his hands leave your face as he moves to help you stand, before tugging his briefs back into place.

The heat of the moment past, you become acutely aware of the stinging soreness in your knees as you struggle to your feet – and the sticky ache of persistent hunger throbbing between your thighs. You teeter on your heels as blood rushes to your lower legs.

Smiling, he reaches out and pulls you to him gently by the waist, swiping a thumb over your chin.

"You were a good girl, baby. So, so good," He coos in a husky whisper. "You remember what good girls get, hm?" He's still calling the shots and demanding answers, but his eyes are soft as they regard you.

"A reward?" you answer hopefully.

He hums in assent.

"That's right, baby. That's right," He brushes at the smeared makeup under your eye. "But let's get that messy little face cleaned up first."

After unfastening your collar he sits you down on the bed, bringing makeup wipes to gently dab away the proof of your efforts, and offers you a bottle of cool water. He comes to sit beside you, eyes tracking you attentively as you drink.

"Want Hoseok to take care of that needy little pussy?" he asks, with a smirk.

"Fuck yes," you breath as you lower the bottle from your mouth.

He arches a brow, and you purse your lips in an attempt not to grin.

"Please," you add in correction.

"Mmm," he acknowledges thoughtfully, turning to gaze over his shoulder at the spider plant hanging from the ceiling a few feet past the other side of the bed.

"Does my little girl want to try something new?" he asks, his eyes still on the suspended planter.

You feel your pulse quicken and stomach twist in anticipation.

"Yes, Hoseok, I trust you," you respond without reserve.

He flicks his eyes to your face, brows drawing together. He wets his lips and huffs out a breathy laugh.

"You have no goddamned idea what you do to me when you say shit like that."

You look away, smiling brightly as you preen under the heat and affection of his gaze.

He reaches for your hand and guides you to rise to your feet.

"Alright, ditch the dress," he orders, gesturing with a flick of his chin as he leans back on his hands and spreads his thighs in a posture of recline.

You step back to give yourself space, already weak in the knees at the prospect of stripping for him. You steel your composure, a spark of boldness lighting in your belly. Taking a few steps away and turning from him, you look back over your shoulder to watch his face as you reach behind to slowly drag the zipper down your back. You make a slow, sensual show of peeling the garment from your body to reveal a lacy black balconette bra and matching thong. Stepping out of the dress and tossing it away, in nothing but your lingerie and stilettos, you stride back to stand patiently before him.

He leans forward and runs his hands up the sides of your thighs until they reach your hips where they slide back to squeeze the meat of your ass.

You bring your hands gingerly to his shoulders.

Tugging your body toward him, he draws himself to the edge of the mattress, pulling you between his thighs as he uses his sharp, white teeth to nip along the soft flesh of your belly. He sucks harshly at some places, leaving flushed little souvenirs of claim in his wake. You don't hold back the proof of your pleasure - repaying his ministrations with gasps and low moans as his hands and mouth explore you.

Hoseok raises his face from your skin, his pupils wide as his gaze settles at your breasts.

"Bra off," he commands, squeezing your ass again as you reach back to unfasten the clasp and pull the straps from your arms.

He hisses and grits his teeth, raising greedy hands to knead at your supple flesh, before pulling them away to twist and slap at your nipples.

You groan and throw your head back, relishing in the shocks of sensation – gushing, as if you could ruin your soaked panties any further. As you press your trembling thighs together he glances down at the last remaining vestige of your modesty, lips spreading into a wicked grin.

"You know I can fucking smell it - how wet you are? My god, want you to wear it like a perfume, fuck..." He runs his right hand to rub against the dampness that has the lace clinging to your slit.

The moan you let out is so needy it's practically a sob. Hoseok laughs low in his chest.

Suddenly he’s standing and spinning you around, leading you to the end of the bed. He places your hands on the footboard and instructs you to bend over, sliding your hips back until your ass is on full display. He runs his hands over the bare flesh of your cheeks.

"Now," he growls, "Can't fuck this ass until it's properly marked, can we?"

You swallow and let out a whine. The blood is already rushing to your head in a familiar surge and in the split second of silence before impact, you know what's coming - the anticipation somehow even more intoxicating when you remember how it feels when he...

Smack!

You whimper, your fingers gripping the bed frame as he delivers blow after searing blow. When he has satisfied himself with the flushed tone streaking the globes of your ass, he gives it a final squeeze, commanding you to wait where you are.

You hear him as he moves to the side of the bed to pull an object from beneath it. He seems to be grappling with something - the clink of metal and soft rustle of leather interrupting the sudden heavy hush. He returns to your side, taking your hands from the bed and bringing you to stand. As he leads you to the far side of the bed, you see it: hanging from the large hook in the ceiling that once bore the spider plant there is a large leather contraption. You've never seen one in real life, but you know what it is.

"You have a sex swing?" you murmur in awe, momentarily forgetting yourself as you reach out to brush your fingers over the soft leather. There are buckle straps at different places and a metal bar running across the top. He lightly grips your waist, turning you to face him again. He dips his head forward and you inhale the cool mint of his breath.

"Gonna put you in it," he murmurs, "You remember our word, right?"

"Yes," you breathe.

“Say it.”

“Foxglove.”

He smirks.

"Good girl. Panties off," he instructs.

You couldn't be more eager to pull the sopping fabric down your legs and toss it aside, but when you reach to remove your shoes, he catches your wrist.

"I didn't say you could take those off, did I?" he reprimands, and your pulse begins to hammer in your throat.

He’s gonna fucking strap you to this thing in your goddamned heels.

You comply with him as he helps you into the seat, fastening your wrists together to a strap that has them raised above your head. After securing your hands, he raises your legs, carefully stretching them so that your feet are on the outside of the wide set cables, hooking your heels to catch on the bar across the top to hold your legs, spread wide, in place. With each restriction he checks in, making sure you’re completely comfortable with his choices.

When he finishes he comes to stand before you, heaving out a sigh through his nose as he trails a hand down the back of your thigh.

"Look at you," he groans as his eyes rake over your body.

You can feel your pussy leaking. Your heart pounds. The muscles in your legs strain a bit from the stretch and the bindings nip into your wrists and feet. You are completely exposed to him...and it is utter perfection. Like you were made to be at his mercy. You blink up at him through the fuzzy haze that keeps intensifying as you relinquish yourself deeper and deeper into his control.

His eyes slip shut for a moment and he gives an almost imperceptible shake of his head before bringing his lips to graze against the back of your calf.

"Hoseok..." you whisper, trembling.

His eyes open and lock with yours. You hold each other's gaze in silence.

Nothing needs to be said - you both know. You both understand.

He unbuttons his shirt and slips it off, and after discarding his briefs he is as naked as you are. With one hand he grips your leg, slipping two fingers of the other to slide through the swollen, sticky folds of your cunt. You cry out, your pelvis shuddering - so ripe to be touched that the contact sends a shock like an electric pulse through your being.

"What a pretty fucking pussy...so desperate for me," he mutters.

You watch his beautiful fingers as they slip through your glistening lips and over your throbbing clit before he pulls his hand up. He lets it hover in the air for a moment before bringing it down with a harsh smack against your mound.

A scream strangles in your throat as he repeats the motion again. Your whole body shakes with arousal.

He clenches his jaw as he trails his fingers down to your aching hole, dipping in shallowly to gather your bountiful slick. He raises his fingers to his lips, tasting you as he watches you tremble beneath him. He withdraws them with a pop.

"You know how much you like that? Getting this little cunt slapped?" His eyes trail down. "You're dripping down your fucking ass."

Shuddering violently, you whimper, tugging impatiently at your restraints.

"Yah," he warns, and you still. "Guess you're ready for me, huh? Just like that day..." He smirks condescendingly. "You're always ready, aren't you?" He hisses. "Need me so fucking badly...all of the time."

You sob as your walls contract again and again. He takes his cock into his hand and slides it through your folds, teasing the tip over your clit.

It's euphoric, but it's not enough. You sink your teeth into your bottom lip as you fight your own desperate need until the copper taste of blood seeps across your tongue. Somehow, it doesn't even hurt – you can't feel anything past the need for him to fill you. You feel his tip prod your entrance and you gasp.

“Look at me," he rasps.

Your eyes snap open. Your legs are shaking, vibrating the entire apparatus as he finally, slowly, sinks into your wet heat. The stretch of him is exquisite, and your eyes roll back in your head as he groans, steadily pulling back to push into you again.

“Shiiiiiitttt…” he hisses through his teeth, “Fucking made for me. Does my little brat like that? Hoseok’s cock stuffing that tight little cunt?”

“M-more…p-please…” you mewl, nearly unable to even form the words as his ridges drag deliciously along your taught walls.

You're so incredibly worked up that already you can feel a climax building in your belly, and he's only just started to fuck you. Unable to touch him any other way, you squeeze around him tightly.

He lets out a grunt, picking up his pace as he uses the mobility of the swing to pound you onto his cock.

You cry out, your head rattling against the leather as stroke after stroke sends you hurtling toward your high. Your mouth hangs open, and your vision begins to blur at the edges, the position of your arms making it harder to breathe. It’s going put you over the edge. He catches your glazed stare.

"Don't you fucking cum until I say," he grits out breathlessly, and you let out a wail, head falling back.

You can feel yourself barely holding on as he slams into you, teetering on the edge as you hear his voice.

"Whose little whore are you?"

You try to speak but the words won't rattle out of your chest.

"Whose?" he booms.

"Yours!" you press out in a sob.

"Who do you kneel for?"

"You!"

"Who owns this pussy?"

"Y-you!"

"And who the fuck am I?"

"HOSEOK!"

"Cum, slut." he growls.

...And you free-fall through time and space.

The summer evening air is warm against your skin as you step out under the rose gold twilight. Behind you the chic dining venue is still abustle, and you wave coworkers a fond farewell as they head off to continue the evening with karaoke. It's been a big day for you, and there's someone you've been waiting to talk to.

You press the green call button and wait as the line rings.

"Yeoboseyo?"

The warm voice on the other end has a smile blooming on your lips.

"Hey, Hobi-ssi!" you hum.

"Hey hey!" he chrips, "What's up?"

"Oh, nothing," you respond casually, "Just got done with a company dinner. Someone got a promotion, so we all went out."

There's a pause on the other end.

"Oh," answers slowly, "That one you put in for?"

"Mhm."

You hear him scoff in amusement

"Well, at least you seem to be taking it well."

"I'd say I'm taking it extremely well, which is only natural, considering I got the job."

"Yes, well...wait, YOU WHAT?!"

You pull the phone momentarily away from your ear as his joyful, raucous laughter blasts through the speaker.

"You're gonna make me go deaf!" You chide. Your smile is brighter than the setting sun.

"I'm so proud of you."

"Thanks, Hobi."

"You should celebrate!"

"I did go out with my work friends...but..."

"You should come over," he interjects.

The register of his voice has changed. You recognize the new one.

"Yeah?" you swallow, as your heart rate quickens. "Well...what if I do want to go to karaoke?"

You wait for his response, watching your ride share pull up to the curb.

"Yah - you gonna be a good girl…”

You hold your breath.

“...Or do I have to make you?"

-FIN-

#hoseok fic #oneshot #bts oneshot #hoseok smut #hoseok imagine #hobi x reader #hobi smut #hobi x y/n #jhope smut #jhope fanfic #jhope x reader #jhope x you #jhope x y/n #jhope imagine #bts imagines #bts smut #bts x reader #fic: make me

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nilsavatar · 1 month ago

Text

All's fair in war and love

Parings: Neteyam x Fem!Sarentu

Genre/Warnings: NSFW/MDNI +18, no use of Y/N, ANGST, SMUT in the end, love bites, sexual tension, P in V, manhandling, fingering, praising, cursing, pet names (tìyawn, yantu, yawne, love, sweetheart), dirty talk (Neteyam has a breeding kink as request by Anon), edging (orgasm denial), soft-dom Neteyam. All characters are AGED-UP. Neteyam is a bit cheesy, but from the way he shows how much he cares for his family, it's in character to be a romantic in a love context.

!DISCLAIMER! Presence of dark and sensitive explicit themes: destruction by explosive devices, massacre, and murder (the protagonist and Neteyam kill soldiers). Please do not read if these topics are not for you.

Summary: The story takes place in one of the final stages of the video game Avatar: Frontiers of Pandora, in one of the most poignant and heartbreaking moments of the plot. Following a heavy earthquake at the Well of Souls that hit the Zeswa hunting party, Sarentu, who will take the name Ateyana here, travels to the site in search of survivors. Finding that many have perished, she decides to find the source of the devastating tremors. Quakes that are not of seismic origin, rather human. With vengeance in her heart, she goes to the military outpost seeking justice. There she will be joined by her lover, Neteyam, and together they will fight for Pandora. But also for themselves.

Little note: This story should have come out months ago - many months ago, way too many. Writing it was a source of great frustration for me. I found myself having a precise idea that I couldn't put into words. The biggest challenge was the action scene that you will find as you read, and, honestly, I don't even think it came out that well. It was the first time for me to deal with this type of narrative. Even if I'm not at all satisfied with the result, it feels right to publish it, for those who have been waiting for it. Anon who requested it, those who answered the poll to choose Sarentu's name, @akari-rosefield who DMed me for updates. This fic is for you.

Word Count: 9k

Masterlist - Request a fic

“Yana!”

Shouts. Shouts and gunshots. The alarm siren.

“Ateyana, we must move!”

A male voice. Nor? The noises mingled with the high-pitched whistle that filled her ears, her eyes blinded by too much light blocking her view. A wall of intermittent red cleared up only by the white of bullets and the few monitors still working.

“Telisi, Yefti-.” “Come!”

Somebody pulled her by the arm. Her legs ran as if pulled by a force she thought lost. The images blurred until they took on the contours of a face she knew. Eyes that were large and bright, but distant as if hiding a secret, now wide with terror.

“It’ll be fine. Don’t be afraid. It’s gonna be like falling into a deep sleep. When you wake up, it will all be over.” “It burns.” “I know, dear, it’ll pass now. Just close your eyes and start counting down from ten. Ten... nine... eight... seven...”

The woman’s voice became distant like a ghost's, her eyelids heavy. The fire coursing through her veins gave way to a sudden cold; a searing chill that numbed her feet, then her legs, and slowly worked its way up her entire body.

“... six... five...”

Surrounded by darkness, all she could hear was the capsule hissing shut, protecting her from everything but silence.

Neteyam remembered his first meeting with Ateyana well. The excitement and commotion that her entrance to Awa’atlu had triggered, on a par with a resurrected spirit — the dawn of a new day. It felt like déjà vu, but in reverse: this time, the Sullys were not on the side of the outsiders falling from the sky, and instead of suspicion, there was a mood of celebration. On the back of her ikran, she wore with ease the hallmarks of the clans that had touched her, each symbolizing a stage in her rebirth; the teachings of their ways. The sea breeze sighed through the soft kinglor silk of her robes, the feathers of the stiff Keme’tire cloak vibrated with every breath, while the colors of the Zewsa shone brightly in the sunlight. Her eyes even deeper and more orange by the sharp contrast with the white, purple, and fuchsia that tinged her skin. So unusual was her appearance, yet harmonious, paired with the banshee that sported the same fanciful pattern. “Look! Look at her face!” “The mark.” The young warrior's gaze followed the whispers around him and settled on the girl's left cheekbone, cut by a crescent moon and four drops just below the eye.

Sarentu. The lost clan.

Neteyam had only heard of them in his grandmother’s stories. The old woman had a sad smile as she talked about the lost storytellers, who were distant cousins of the Omatikaya and descendants from Entu, the first Toruk Makto; diplomatic wanderers who preserved the oral memory of clans’ history, carriers of Eywa wisdom. A beloved People whose terrible fate was known to all Na’vi. Exterminated by the RDA. The same organization that kidnapped their children to raise them as deviant soldiers, alienated from the Great Mother, from all that made them pandorians. Kids who disappeared twenty years ago as a result of the attack on the Tree of Souls and the dismantling of the TAP program. Or so they thought, for one of them had just dismounted her dragon, its wings still rustling with the sound of powerful beats.

Making her way through the crowd, the plaintive wails of the baby cradled in her arms acted as a herald of the tsahìk's arrival. Loran, younger brother of Ao'nung and Tsireya, born shortly after the RDA attack that nearly killed the Sullys' eldest son, seemed to have absorbed the heartbreak of his People, the turmoil of those dark times, for relentless was the torment that plagued him until he fell asleep.

The girl stepped forward, kneeling as she made a small bow before her forehead. “Oel ngati kameie, Ronal eo lu Metkayina Tsahìk.” The woman smiled, and her calmness seemed to ease the breathlessness of her son, who stared at the visitor with large, tear-filled eyes. “Ateyana te Hìtaì Kataru’ite.”

For a split second, her gaze flickered. It had been so long since she had heard her full name spoken aloud. The mention of her family, specifically her mother, sent a shiver down her spine. With a long history of being used as an experiment, trapped within the confines of sterile concrete walls, she had come to see herself as nothing but a test subject. A lab rat. A cluster of inconsequential cells employed to experiment with a substance and observe its reaction. Or worse, treated like a monkey that was given logic games to assess its intellectual growth. With each class, each shower in disinfectant, because the stench of Na’vi was unbearable, every trace of her natural self slipped away; depersonalized from everything her name stood for to the point of hating it. Ateyana, Spirit of the Dawn. It sounded like a joke, the sense of hope that her name carried. In the RDA compound, scientists educated Sarentu children in math, English, weapon use, and also introduced them to human literature and history. A series of conflicts, wars, colonization, and destruction caused by the idea of taking things simply because one had the power to do so. Throughout those years, she couldn’t ignore the eerie parallels between them and the indigenous communities who had been eradicated in certain areas of Earth. The name of one population in particular had stayed with her, as it bore a striking resemblance to her own. The Yana, a population decimated by the California genocide unleashed by the Gold Rush, ceased to exist in 1916 when the last descendant perished in a Rancheria.

Right from the beginning, she saw that historical reference as an omen of what was to come for her and her people, now down to just five survivors. Whether through brutal erasure or assimilation into other clans, the Sarentu would disappear. She made a decision that day: to only go by Yana. She abandoned her full name and any other nickname despite her sister’s disapproval, and adopted what everyone now regarded as a diminutive, oblivious to its true status as a legitimate name.

A name that signified the final chapter of their lives. Hers and those who shaped her into the resentment and anger-filled young woman she is today. And with almost absolute certainty of all those who would accompany her in her revenge.

“For a long time, we believed in the defeat of your people, but our hope for your return never wavered. The Great Mother could not fail those she had delivered her word to. We have missed you.” Ronal caressed her cheek, her thumb feathering the raised outline of the mark. A moment of weakness that surprised those present, accustomed to the woman’s stoic and fearless nature. “Come, you need rest. You’ve been through a lot, and your eyes tell me there is much to discuss.”

The girl nodded, her heart full of gratitude at the warm welcome, a gesture she hadn’t anticipated (the tsahìk's reputation preceded her). A fleeting warmth that would soon fade.

2174, PANDORA, RESISTANCE HQ, KINGLOR FOREST

“We have located the epicenter of the quakes near the Celebration Arches”. Priya’s finger pointed on the map to the demarcation point between Aranahe and Zeswa territories; just beyond the network of caves that connected the Kinglor Forest to the Upper Plains.

“Ayvitrayä Ramunong (Well of Souls),” Jake’s voice belonged to a hiss, recalling vividly the last time he had admired the magnificence of rock arches growing up from the underground, driven by the incredible magnetic force. A shell that enclosed within it a dense, lush vegetation protecting the Tree of Souls. Two decades earlier, the RDA had destroyed the Omatikaya’s most sacred site. Although the basin was at the foot of the Hallelujah Mountains, right in the Flux Vortex’s heart, their attack wiped out the clan’s memories and, almost, their spirit. Something similar was happening here. He was certain of it. The tremors recorded were too cadenced and regular to result from seismic activity. Humans orchestrated it.

“Drills.” “That's what we suspect.” “Unobtanium?” “We do not detect a relevant presence of unobtanium in the subsoil that would justify extraction. On the other hand, it is rich in carbon-fossils.” “Oil?” “Let's call it that.” “What's the point of extracting it? We have abandoned fossil energy sources for more than a hundred years.”

We have. At his side, Neytiri clutched the handle of the bow she had not laid since their arrival, her eyes darkened by the battle paint that adorned her face. Sometimes her husband still spoke as if he were one of them. After all, a part of him always would have been. Just look at the military waistcoat he wore like a second skin, the rifle always at hand, despite Eywa's abhorrence of metal weapons. The man spoke before his mate did, “We must act, but we need to be smart.” “Anqa is already on site examining the situation. Yana is with her,” she added, noting the friend's apprehensive look at the mention of one person alone in that dangerous place. “What?” The tone in Neteyam's voice was caustic; a venomous hiss barely vented between clenched teeth, but he did not have time to question the girl's presence in the field any further, as a loud din echoed from the two-way radio on the table.

“Anqa! Anqa, can you hear me? What's going on?” The purple-haired ecologist was terrified. -The RDA… Arches…! Blew up! Zeswa… the signal was disturbed. The hunting party… Everything collapsed. The arches collapsed…- Neteyam snatched the transceiver from her hand to bring it to his mouth with cold timbre and a blank stare. “Where is she?”

No further explanation was necessary for Anqa to understand to whom that male voice, she had come to know all too well, referred. Despite the number of forced interactions with the young Na'vi, despite the operations they had collaborated on side by side, it seemed impossible for her to get used to the chill that ran down her spine whenever she heard him speak with that tone. Especially at times like these. Netayam was frightening when altered, a worthy son of his mother. His lips pulled downward in a thin line, his teeth clenched to the point that his jaw snapped, the tips of his canines showing in tacit menace. His eyes fixed and alert, serpentine, his nostrils flared, and his lungs swelled to a peak and then deflated into severe rumblings in the deepest part of his throat.

-She went looking for survivors.-

Adding nothing more, the young warrior pushed the device against Priya's frail chest, who could barely stand on her own strength, and took wide strides toward his ikran; his parents at his heels. Jake grabbed him by the arm as the boy adjusted the throat-comm around his neck and set it to the frequency matched with his girlfriend's.

“Where you think you’re going?” “To get her.” “You stay here. We’ll go.” The son ignored those words by loading the bow onto the animal’s back. His mother called him back, in tune with his father’s admonition. “I won’t say that again.” “Fine. ‘Cause I won’t sit on my hands while the girl I love is in danger. I’ve never done that with my siblings, and I’m certainly not going to start now.” Jake stepped back as his son pointed his fingers to his own chest, right at the level of the scar that marked him; the everlasting reminder of when he was dying in his arms. “I’m the one who has to keep her safe. I'd never forgive myself if something happened to her.”

“Just as I couldn't live with myself if we lost you.”

Neteyam’s gaze straightened, “I wouldn’t change a thing, even if saving Spider meant giving my life. I am ready to die for those I care about.” “I know, son, that’s what scares me.” He took his face with a palm and brought it close until they were face to face, “Bring her home.” “Yes, sir.” “I expect a mateship ceremony when this whole thing is over.” The boy chuckled, “Yes, sir.”

Yana looked at what was left of the watercourse leading to the heart of the prairie, almost totally dried up except for a few puddles here and there — the water within them of an unnatural greenish hue with purplish reflections and dense consistency. Her vision was blurred by the cloud that had risen after the collapse, and made it difficult for her to breathe; the air tainted by smoke, dust, and pollutants intoxicated her lungs. Around her, the high rock walls were lined with rubble, uprooted trees, and … bodies.

Of winzaw (arrow deer), pa'li and Zeswa.

Most of the hunters had perished crushed by their own mounts, others by boulders or sudden impact with the ground. All were covered in the grayness of ash and death. The only color was the red dye they dyed their hair with, which, mixing with the blood, stained the rocks.

-Tìyawn (love)? Tìyawn, do you read me? “Teyam?” -Thanks, Great Mother, you’re doing okay. Anqa gave us a heads-up about the blast. Where are you at?- “I'm going up the river. There's so much death here. So many killed, so much life…,” her voice died in her throat, ”… destroyed. I'm going up to the drill now. Stop this from happening again.” -No way. Call off the ikran and get back here. Now. We need to regroup. We can't afford recklessness. Do you hear me, Yana? Do not attack!- “I will carry the pain to the ones who caused it.” -Ateyana…!-

Neteyam's inhaled voice died out in the metallic noise of the interference caused by the flow. She was alone. Not that it made any difference. Even though she knew she was hurting him, she would have ignored his intimate but selfish request. She would never have turned back, at the cost of annihilating him in the soul. The Zeswa had welcomed her as a clan member returning from a long, grueling journey. They had raised the festival kites to honor the rebirth of the Lost People; they had taught her their way. She would not abandon them to their grief. The Sarentu were once a peaceful tribe of storytellers and diplomats, they weren't warriors, the Sky People had made them so. Who forced them to take up arms, paint themselves in the colors of war, and swell their chests with battle echoes. If there was one valuable lesson she had learned from human cruelty, it was that there are circumstances in which one must be stained with sin to achieve the goal. Yana was willing to do that, too. She was willing to be abandoned by Eywa and the Na'vi to save Pandora. To give up her integrity and love. To force Neteyam to remain without her. Therefore, even with a grasp gripping her heart, before advancing on the path that had formed in the ruins, besides checking the state of her bow, she counted how many munitions she had in the rifle she carried. As the invaders used to say: all's fair in war and love.

“Fuck!” imprecated Neteyam, pressing the side button to change frequency and connect to Anqa’s throat-comm, his voice sharp. “Anqa, do you copy? I’ve lost signal with Yana. The flux is making the instrumentation crazy.” Static crackled in his ear before Anqa’s voice came through, laced with tension. -Copy. What do you mean, lost signal? Where was she heading?- “She moved into the rubble,” Neteyam said, his frustration barely contained. “Trying to avoid being spotted by soldiers on her way to the drill.”

The woman’s silence spoke more than a thousand words, as heavy as the burden that gripped their hearts. If flux interference was disrupting communication with the Sarentu, it could only mean one thing: she was at the center of it, right in the collapsed area. Then Anqa replied, her tone edged with worry. -Damn, girl. She always does this.-

“I’m not leaving her out there,” he said firmly, his eyes scanning the horizon as he tightened his grip on the banshee's reins. Anqa’s response was swift, resolute. -I’m not suggesting you should. But don’t go in blind, Neteyam. We need you in one piece, too.- “She’s taking out that drill whether we’re ready or not,” the warrior shot back. “You know her—she’ll make the shot even if it kills her.”

A heavy sigh crackled through the comm. -Alright. Listen, head toward the north ridge. The flux is thinner there. I’ll try to guide you remotely with what’s left of the scanners. And, Neteyam?- “Yeah?” -Don’t let her do anything stupid. We need her alive for this fight.- He smirked faintly, though his heart was pounding. “She’s not the only stubborn one here, you know.” -Clearly. Watch your six out there. Out.- The communication fell silent, and Neteyam nudged his mount forward, his gaze narrowing on the jagged horizon.

Flying over the area, he spotted the yellow-and-white-banded Scorpion below him, close to a tall tree growing crooked, almost horizontal, on the top of a hill. A lone stone arch remained intact to shield it. As he imagined, he found the tawtute at the foot of the gigantic tree admiring its leaves turning to fall; the disconsolate expression of someone who had already experienced that same desolation on their skin.

His blood froze when he saw Telisi catch up to her with her typical awkward walk, and rub her muzzle against the woman's cheek as if seeking comfort. Determination burned in his chest as he murmured to himself. “Hold on, love. I’m coming.” With a sharp whistle, his ikran spread its wings, and they dove into the flux-laden skies.

With each step, the dust thickened, and her heart bounced in her chest in rhythm with the increasingly deafening thumps of the drill. Slow and steady, the thuds that sounded by the second seemed to numb her. But even as her feet stumbled over the craggy ground shaken by the vibrations, she did not hint at stopping her progress. Gradually the path became more impassable, where the gorge had filled with giant boulders and uprooted trees, blocking access. She could have scaled what remained of the arches to get an aerial view of the surroundings, but climbing to the top would have meant exposing herself to the aim of snipers and automatic machine guns. Surveillance at that extraction site had to be on high alert, she was certain.

As she advanced, a faint glow hit on her right, warm and clear. Sunlight. A passageway free of disaster. She approached it cautiously. The entrance was just big enough for her to crouch through and gave access to a cave; the ceiling smashed by the earthquake into a natural skylight. Yana hesitated before entering; the air was cleaner but venturing inside a rocky way could be dangerous, even fatal with those continuous tremors running through the underground. A collapsing wall could easily have turned that cave into her grave. But the alternatives were few, and between standing in the mist that prevented her from seeing potential enemies and making her way through the shadows, she chose the one that would give her an advantage. When it comes to Na’vi, the sun is always expected to cast banshee shadows over the heads of their enemies, or the patter of galloping hooves to announce their arrival. It would not occur to anyone to look down, to guard ravines and underground passages to quell any surprise attacks. The People were skilled hunters who never mixed such skills with the art of war. But Yana was not just Na'vi now. Certainly, her DNA was, but a substantial enough part to create ethical contrasts in her person was human.

Penetrating inside the cave, she could ascertain that the main exit had, in fact, collapsed. The only other point of access was the skylight itself, but to reach it she would have to rely on the strength of her arms to climb. With no small effort, she reached the top, and the mammoth, frightening figure of the drill appeared before her, the building structure circling it like a barrier. A stroke of pure luck: as she ascended the passage, she had come right to the heart of the Alpha platform; the auger staring her straight in the face as if to give a defiant welcome.

“Priya? I'm at the drill. Tell me how to tear it down.” -I hear you. Destroying the drill-core will leave that monster useless. It's protected, but cut the control wires, and you should get an opening. Hurry, it's the RDA. Nothing's ever enough.- “Consider it done.” With those words, the tsamsiyu (warrior) took her leave, before turning off the transceiver and penetrated inside the platform, filled with enemies armed to the teeth. But she wasn't afraid. She possessed the skills to accomplish the mission without having to engage in open confrontation. With patience and calculated movements, she would have tampered with that contraption. What could go wrong?

The military base sprawled across the battered terrain like a metallic parasite, its angular structures jutting out from the ground, illuminated by harsh, artificial floodlights. Sarentu advanced through the shadows to make herself invisible, her breathing controlled, every step deliberate. She crouched low behind a jagged fragment of collapsed rock, her body blending with her surroundings. She inhaled deeply, her ears twitching as she listened to the heavy footfalls of a nearby patrol. Her bow was slung across her back, and a quiver of arrows hugged her side, a blade ready in one hand. She slipped between the patrols, weaving through their blind spots, and approached her prey. The monstrous drill, the beating heart of devastation.

The machine seemed alive, a colossus of metal and energy, digging relentlessly. The hum of its turbines vibrated in the air, an almost hypnotic rhythm, but the girl could afford no distractions. The base was heavily guarded; squads of soldiers moved in coordinated patterns, their exosuits clanking softly as they patrolled the perimeter, a mechanical dance of strength and control.

Moving with feline grace, she watched them for several minutes, mapping their movements. Three guards on the raised catwalk, two near the energy core, one stationed at the control room door. The others roamed unpredictably. She’d have to move fast and strike silently. Stealth was the key, and a strategy formed in her mind as she did so, accurate and deadly.

Her chance came when two soldiers paused to speak, turning their backs to her. She darted forward, her feet barely making a sound on the uneven ground. With a lightning gesture, she drew an arrow and stuck it. The string of her bow was stretched in deafening silence. The first shot struck the guard in the throat; the second fell before he could scream. When the third turned too late, her blade flashed, slipping through the crevices of his armor, her palm plugging his mouth before he could react. He collapsed with a muted thud. Yana dragged the bodies into the shadows, methodical despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins. No mistakes, no hesitation.

The main control panel was located in a cabin protected by armored walls and a digital keypad lock, where the last soldier was typing distractedly. Taking cover behind a stack of crates, an arrow flew, quiet as the whisper of the wind. The lone guard fell onto the controls, his hand smearing blood on the screen, as the rustle of the drill grew louder. She pushed him aside to access the panel that displayed data incomprehensible to anyone but a skilled technician, but she had no need to decipher it, SID would have taken care of it—a portable interface capable of decoding the security frequencies of enemy forces.

After a few seconds of work, her eyes lit up as the device emitted a soft beep of success, unlocking the door. The cabin was cramped, lit by cool neon lights, and the control panel dominated the room, its screens and switches monitoring every aspect of the drill.

The hanged plans showed how the core was protected by an electronic security grid, making it inaccessible without a specific command. Quickly, she navigated the panel menus, bypassing the access codes with her device. Her experience enabled her to locate the sequence that activated the turbines' maintenance mode, which was necessary to temporarily expose the core for technical interventions.

The next step required rigor. Yana pulled out a small vibration-cutting tool and began to disassemble the panel's side plate. The metal shell was resisting, but with a sharp blow, she managed to remove it, revealing a tangle of wires and circuits. She quickly identified the wiring for the core cooling system, a critical component in keeping the turbines stable. By cutting a single blue wire and replacing it with a connector she modified, she created a controlled short circuit that sent a false overheat signal to the main panel. The lights flashed, and a low alarm went off, prompting the system to automatically open the bulkheads protecting the drill core to allow for a supposed inspection.

Before leaving the cabin, the girl deactivated the hacking device, automatically erasing all traces of her digital intrusion. She remounted the panel plate and verified that everything appeared intact from the outside. Finally, she slipped between the shadows once again.

With the core now exposed, she could see it shone with an unnatural blue-green glow, pulsing like an alien heart.

“Time to finish this,” she murmured, moving briskly to it. She retrieved a bundle of small adhesive charges from her belt, aware that every second lost could be lethal. She carefully placed them in the most vulnerable spots, her hands steady despite the time pressure. The bomb timers were set on a delay long enough to allow her to move away safely. She was just finishing cocking the last one when a cry rang out behind her. “Intruder! By the drill!”

The searchlights all pointed at her, and the camp exploded in chaos. Cursing under her breath, the girl dived behind a support beam as bullets tore through the air, arrows at the ready. She shot one, then another in rapid succession, each finding its mark. She shot down the nearest enemies, but there were too many reinforcements for her to face them alone.

The situation seemed desperate. Her eyes rested one last time on the drill, then her fingers went to the detonator as she murmured a quiet prayer, ready to make a drastic decision. Just as she was about to press the button, a shadow loomed overhead. A high-pitched whistle cut through the air, followed by the shrill screech of an ikran, its wings slicing through the chaos in a bright trail. Neteyam plunged into the fray, the claws of his beast bearing down on a squad of soldiers. He leaped from his back mid-flight, landing next to Yana with a force that made the platform vibrate.

“What are you doing here?” she asked as she fired another arrow at an approaching guard. “Saving you,” replied her boyfriend, unsheathing his blade, piercing a soldier who came too close in the chest. Sarentu gave him a look full of sarcasm and defiance. Together, they fought their way back toward the drill side by side, their movements perfectly synchronized even in the crossfire. Time was against them; the charges were set, and the girl had the detonator.

“Now or never!” Neteyam shouted, shoving her behind cover as another wave of bullets ripped through the air. She took a breath, staring at the target. Everything came down to this moment. The explosion was deafening, a column of blinding flash of light rising skyward, devouring the drill. The shockwave knocked them both off their feet, flames and debris raining down around them. Yana felt the heat lap against her skin as Neteyam covered her with his own body.

“It’s not over yet!” he shouted, pulling her to her feet as the ground beneath them broke, reacting violently to the destruction. They sprinted toward the edge of the base. The warrior whistled sharply, and his dragon swooped low, its wings slicing through the smoke. He hauled her onto its back and the animal soared as the base sank into the rubble.

As they ascended, the flux pulsed ominously, a deep, rhythmic thrum that resonated through the air. From the sky, as the ikran carried them away, they watched the flames consume the drill. She turned to him, her breathing still labored. “Thank you,” she said, the word full of emotion and relief, while hugging him. He nodded in return, his gaze fixed on the horizon. That was only the beginning. The battle was not over, but for the moment, the drill was gone.

The ikran landed on a rocky ledge hidden in the tops of the tallest trees, a safe place away from the chaos. The wind, charged with the wild energy of the flow, subsided. Neteyam descended first, his movements stiff and charged with tension. When the young woman set foot on the ground, she found him already distant, his back to her.

“Yawntu?” she called, her voice low, almost hesitant. He turned abruptly, and in his golden eyes shone a storm of emotion. His voice, usually calm and reassuring, was broken by a tremor of restrained anger. “What the heck were you thinking?!” She stopped in place, surprised by the ferocity of the tone. “I-”

“You left on your own, you walked into that damn field,” he interrupted her, taking a step toward her. “You were going to-” He couldn’t even say the phrase—You were going to let yourself blow up—, too painful to even think about. The trembling that still shook him was not just a momentary fear: it was a deep-rooted feeling, born of the overwhelming love he felt for her and the horror of seeing the possibility of a future without her. The scene played out in his head repeatedly, like a vortex of conflicting emotions consuming him. Even knowing she was safe now could not quell.

He felt a surge of panic when he realized she would remain in the base, risking her life to destroy the drill even though the bombs were active. His mind, usually clear-headed in battle, filled with chaotic images: her face illuminated by flames, her hands reaching toward him as life left her, the emptiness of a world without the sound of her laughter or the warmth of her gaze. Each beat of the ikran’s wings felt like an eternity, and every second that passed was a weight piling on his chest.

“What was that all about, huh?” His chest rose and fell furiously, his breathing quickened as he drew closer to her again, towering over her with his stature. “Why didn’t you wait for backup? You always want to do everything yourself, you trust no one.” A sequence of questions and statements that sounded as if they meant something else entirely.

You didn’t wait for me. You don’t trust me?

Neteyam fought with himself not to give in to the sense of helplessness, but with each passing moment, the girl’s silence only infuriated his sense that she had consciously chosen to sacrifice herself to destroy the drill. This tormented him, for it meant that she had decided to leave him behind.

“You were ready to die in there! Do you have any idea what that would have meant for me?!” he shouted, and, for a moment, seemed about to burst, but he held back, running a trembling hand through his hair. “I... I can’t lose you, Yana. Not like this.” Those words crashed like waves against a wall, leaving a pain-filled silence. Sarentu stepped forward, her gaze catalyzed on him. “Teyam, listen to me. I had to do it. It was the only way.” “Your life is not an acceptable price!” he replied, his voice louder than he intended. He took a step toward her, his eyes staring at her as if he feared she might disappear. “Not for this war. Not for any war.”She looked at him, surprised by the vehemence of his words. “And anyone else’s life is?” she asked, calm but firm. “If it wasn’t me, it would be someone else. You know that.”

There was nobility in her intent, but Neteyam shook his head nonetheless at her disinterested altruism, his breathing still uneven. Her martyrdom might mean nothing to someone else, but to him, it would amount to the nullification of himself.

“I don’t care about someone else. I-I care about you. More than duty allows, more than I wish sometimes. When I saw you, surrounded by the RDA with the detonator in your hand, crouching in front of the ordnance ...” He shook his head again as if to banish the image, his eyes glazed over. “It was as if a part of me was already dead.” Silence descended. He ran a hand over his face, trying to regroup his thoughts. When he spoke again, his voice was lower, almost a whisper. “When I saw you wouldn’t stop ... I felt my whole world falling apart. You can’t ask me to bear it, Yana. You can’t.”

She looked at him, motionless. His words sank into her heart like knives, but she did not defend herself. Instead, she moved slowly closer until their foreheads almost touched. “You think I wasn’t scared?” she murmured, laying a hand on his chest, where his heart was still beating so fast. “You think I didn’t wonder, every second, if I could come back to you? But I did, Neteyam. I made it. We made it.” Her hands went up to graze his face, her eyes searching his with an intensity that left him breathless. “I wouldn’t be here without you.”

The Omatikaya prince felt the knot of anger and terror loosen inside, leaving a void filled only by his love for her. Saying nothing, he closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers, breathing her own breath. His hands moved to encircle her waist, pulling her against him. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I won’t be so reckless next time.”

The young warrior closed his eyes, lowering his head to leave a kiss on her forehead. “There won’t be a next time,” he whispered. “I’m not letting you do that on your own again.” The echo of his words bounced between them, an even stronger bond forged in the fear and love that united them. “I cannot lose you,” he repeated, his voice an almost imperceptible rustle. “I can’t. You’re my everything.”

Yana replied without speaking, laying her hands on top of his, squeezing them with a gentleness that contrasted with the ferocity of their battle. When she finally lifted her face to his, her lips found his in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was urgent, desperate, a reminder that they were alive, that they still belonged together.

As they lost themselves in each other, the world around seemed to vanish. There were no more wars, fears, or dangers; there was only them, two souls who had defied fate to find each other once more.

Neteyam broke away from the kiss, his breath short, his face still very close to hers. He looked at her with an intensity that seemed to want to carve that moment in time. “It’s not just fear,” he murmured, his voice rough, as if the words cost him immense effort. “It’s that without you ... I’m nothing.”

She shook her head, her hands rising to clutch the fabric of his warrior belt, pulling him toward her. “Don’t say that,” she replied, her eyes shining. “You are strong, more than anyone I know. But if you think it’s any different for me, you’re wrong.” Her voice cracked as she continued. “Every time I fly with you, watch you fight, hear your voice through the wind... it’s like the world makes sense. And the thought of losing you... it would kill me.” Her words slid between them, breaking down all barriers. Neteyam closed his eyes for a moment, giving her time to see the vulnerability he rarely showed. When he opened them again, there was a warmth in them, a promise that did not need to be spoken.

“We will not be lost,” he said, with a conviction that seemed carved in stone. “No matter what, we’ll always find our way back to each other.” Yana smiled, an expression at once sweet and wistful. “Then never let me go.” Neteyam responded by grasping her face in his hands, his thumbs tracing the contours of her skin as if he wanted to memorize every detail. “Never,” he promised, before kissing her again, this time with a gentleness that contrasted with the desperation of minutes before. The kiss intensified, fueled by something more than desire. A silent communication, a dialogue of souls seeking each other, recognizing each other. Neteyam’s hands came down along her sides, clutching her as if afraid she might fade away. The girl reacted by wrapping her arms around his neck, letting go completely.

Words became superfluous, replaced by the hushed language of their bodies and their gazes. The adrenaline that had sustained them up to that moment transformed into another energy, warmer, deeper. Recognizing their vulnerability, the go-or-nothing gamble they’d taken, they seized the present as if it were their last. They lay down on the carpet of moss that covered the ledge, the sky above them tinged with the vibrant colors of sunset. The sun’s rays streamed through the leaves, casting dancing shadows on their faces. For a moment, the world seemed to slow down, allowing them to lose themselves completely in each other, without fear, without hesitation.

His hands ran all over her body as if to imbue it with his essence. With each caress, a piece of her clothing slipped away. With each kiss, the ornamental paintings faded. “What should I do with you, huh?” He asked. “Do I need to breed you to generate some reason in you?” She chuckled, but then said in a serious tone, “I won’t stop fighting even if you impregnate me.” “I know already, geez. That’s why I’m so into you. I still wanna see your tummy swell with my child, though. Still wanna fuck you senseless until my cum fills you whole.” A shiver ran down her spine until her toes curled, and she could already feel a small knot tightening in her lower abdomen. But her stubbornness, combined with a taste for having the upper hand, kept her anchored enough so that she would not get lost in the glee of carnal sensations. So that she would not say something she did not mean, or make promises she would not keep, in the heat of the moment. “It’s not gonna happen until we get the RDA out of here for good.” Neteyam agreed: raising a child in such a volatile, perilous environment was out of the question, “But we can always train for it. ‘Til we’re one forever.” “You mean in front of Eywa? Are you sure? You want to do this with me?” He beamed, in love. “You’re the only one I want this with. Are you up for it? When all this shit is over-” “Yes!” The Omatikaya prince gasped at the sudden answer to a question not quite expressed. “Yes?” “Yes, I will marry you as soon as all this shit is over. For what it’s worth, you are already my mate, with or without tsaheylu.” Their unconventional, colorful declaration of eternal love, though far from romantic, felt perfect for them.

Neteyam resumed kissing her everywhere. Her eyes, the tip of her nose, cheeks, neck, breastbone. Reaching her flat belly, he lingered there for a long time as if something was already sprouting inside. Strong fingers gripped her hips possessively, sinking into them until they left their imprint, while his nose tickled her navel, followed, then, by his tongue. He traced the outline there, then went up to one of her breasts and sucked greedily, his hand massaging it as if he could stimulate something else besides the nipple’s turgidity. As if he expected nourishment. When he was satisfied so, he gave the other tit the same treatment, and Yana had to bite her lip hard to keep from moaning.

When, at last, the warrior pulled away with a resounding pop, she could sketch out a sly giggle, partly from the ticklish sensation, partly because she knew the source of so much attention. “I love your kinky side.” His face, already flushed from the exertion and impetus that was shaking his insides, turned purple at that joke. This side of him still ashamed him. A side he could not repress. And, to be fair, he didn’t want to erase it either, being linked to the unbreakable connection he had felt with Sarentu from the very first day. The way she held Loran, the way she cradled him, captivated him. The gentleness in her manner, the kindness in her eyes, despite the belligerent times in which they lived, had forged her into resentment and death. Yana exuded a warmth and fragrance that smelled like home. He fell inexorably in love with it and longed to turn the world into a safer place for her. She was his person, he knew it immediately.

She laughed again, her face slightly bent in a canny expression. “It’s cute when you get all bashful.” Stung to the core but refreshed by the challenge, he lifted her legs, spreading them apart just enough to observe how she glistened in the sunset light. A little revenge rattling in his head. “Soaking wet already? Did the raid get you pumped? And you called me kinky.”

With both forearms on either side of her face, one knee crept between her legs to make room for himself, now bent to graze his pelvis, he towered over her in all his majesty. “You keep getting more and more beautiful,” he declared before moistening a finger and bringing it past the edge of her intimacy. His mouth stifled a sigh that faded into his oral cavity as tapering fingers flew over her inner thigh, caressing the soft skin and slowly growing a pleasant warmth. Attentive to her every slightest change of expression. A soft moan fell from her lips as he rubbed her clit, tracing tight circles, eager to make her tremble under his touch. Her hips moved unwittingly against his. She sensed him sneering when his finger probed the dewy soil of her womanhood, the ring of muscle already yearning to capture him inside. “I barely touched you.” Provocation to which Yana couldn’t hold back and, embarrassed, she intimated him to shut up. His phalanges slowly slipped between her folds and plunged inside her, caressing the soft walls. She felt him melt into her passion, wet noises filling their ears with each languid lunge of his digits. Sarentu moved in his grip, stammering his name, her heart bursting in her chest as she closed her eyelids.

“I’m here, sweetheart.” He cuddled her, and she moved closer to his caress, crossing her shins behind his back, her heels wedged into Venus’ dimples, inviting him deeper, harder. “Please don’t stop,” she purred in a moan. The walls sucked him in so deliciously, begging for more, and Neteyam was hardly the type to deprive a woman of her desires. His fingers curled, teasing her most sensitive spot, while his palm rubbed against her agonizing clit, causing an uncontrolled stream of meows. Each more desperate than the last, as they turned into acute wails as she neared orgasm. She gazed at him, her eyes filled with longing, “More,” but his hand retracted, slowing the pace almost to quell the spiral in her stomach, ready to snap. A whimper hovered in the air as he stopped, just a breath away from that wonderful spot that made her toes curl. He stared at her in amusement at the frustration that crippled her delicate facial features, her mouth open at the revelation.

Neteyam was making her pay for it. Whether it was for teasing him just before or for the headshot at the Alpha platform, she couldn’t tell.

“Neteyam,” she admonished him afflictedly. “Beg.” “Wha—” “Apologize for scaring the hell outta me out there.” “Oh, come on!” she begged him, rolling her hips against his fingers, trying to chase the sublime sensation that was slowly withdrawing from her. “Apologize.” “Sorry, okay? Sorry, sorry, I won’t put myself in danger like that ever again,” she said all in one breath, reduced to a mess of sobs and soft grumbles similar to a cat’s purr. “I need you” The man shook his head, still in her hands, and a shadow fell over his eyes. “Promise me.” Yana snorted in disbelief. But if Neteyam needed to hear her say it, to be reassured, she would. “I promise,” she sighed, drawing his face to hers and placing light kisses over his eyes, shining with desire but veiled with anguish. He slid to his side, his forehead juxtaposed against the girl’s. Yana drew the contours of his face. The arch of the nonexistent eyebrows, the feline nose, the line of the lips, the cheekbones so sharp they could slice glass. She rubbed the tip of her nose against his, at the affectionate gesture the warrior massaged her shoulders.

“Roll over your side,” he whispered, and she complied. Once her back matched his torso, his strong arms encircled her, gluing her to him. “I love you,” he claimed, kissing her shoulder blade. His palm traveled all the way down her body to her shanks, his digits again infiltrating her thighs, still finding traces of arousal. His fingertips collected the liquid and moved on to the stimulating lubrication of her intimacy. She trembled under his skilled hand, babbling his name as his fingers crept further, dancing in rhythm with her thrusting hips. She gasped when she felt a bulge rub against her butt. Then, without warning, his searing erection pushed its way inside her. Her mouth opened wide in a silent cry of pleasure, and her eyes rolled back as she bucked against his firm frame. Her mind clouded with the pulsing need to let the lust wash over her like boiling lava, as her vision turned white and her head grew light.

She no longer sensed anything around her. Only Neteyam’s thrusts grew deeper and deeper, kissing her cervix at an ever-increasing pace. This would not last much longer. The man behind her knew well. In fact, his tapering fingers took to torturing her clit in concentric motions, as precise and relentless as his cock paced her back and forth, threatening to come out, but never quite.

“T-teyam,” she uttered, earning a quick bite at the base of her neck.“Let go. Almost there” It was like being bewitched by a spell. The knot that plagued her belly melted away, releasing waves of pleasure so intense they blinded her and pinned her to the bed of moss. There, impaled on her one true love dick. It didn’t take long before the charge with which he poured into her lost its force. Neteyam was close, very close. So close that she didn’t even have time to prepare herself when, with one last, vigorous thrust, he burst free. A grunt rose in the air and an immense heat filled her.

He rested his forehead against her nape as, breathless and with a hint of malice littering his voice, he said, “I got so far down that if we were already mated, I definitely would’ve gotten you pregnant by now.” Yana started laughing in his arms. “You’re obsessed with this stuff, you know that!”He squeezed her tighter, sliding out of her. “How can I not be with a hottie like you?” She turned as far as she could to search into his eyes. Into his beautiful eyes, yellow as the winter sun, soft from exertion and surrounded by the redness of the moment. And he smiled, a full and genuine smile. A smile in love.

They remained hugged under the darkening sky, saying nothing. There was no need. Their hearts spoke more clearly than any words. Neteyam brushed her hair, studying her with a gentleness that contrasted with his usual resolve. “If this is all we have,” he whispered, ”that’s enough for me.” She closed her eyes, a smile that talked of peace and gratitude painted on her lips. “For me, too.” They remained like that, two souls entwined in a world that tried to separate them, but that night failed to do so.

“If this leads to awesome sex, I’m totally down for more trouble!” “Yana!” The sound of their laughter, carefree and light, mingled with the rustling leaves and the gentle breeze, dancing on the wind like a playful melody.

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vidavalor · 3 months ago

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Fraternizing

There is some historical context to the 1862 scene that I think might be of interest to quite a few of you, if it's not something you already know. It deals with the evolution in meaning of the word fraternizing.

In 1862, the word fraternizing did not have any sexual connotation whatsoever. Like the words fraternal and fraternity, fraternizing comes from the Latin fraternus, which means brotherly. It was, originally, a very specifically non-sexual word that meant to bond as brothers, either by blood or by choice.

It is from this that it developed its definition as a military term meaning to be on friendly terms with enemy soldiers. The first known use of fraternizing in that way, though, was as a then-apparently-relatively new term that was first recorded in 1897, some 35 years after the 1862 scene. Fraternizing apparently didn't really fully come into common use as a military term until during and after WW1, though, when it was used to describe actions by soldiers during the Christmas Armistice of 1914.

It isn't until after World War II that the word fraternizing developed a sexual connotation. Then, it had evolved across several Allied armies to mean to have sex with women in enemy countries. No one is entirely sure how this word that was so absolutely about brotherhood and nothing else came to refer to sex across enemy lines but the most common theory is that it began amongst the soldiers as sarcasm over the military definition of fraternizing being condemning soldiers for viewing those of the opposing armies as human. The idea is that they were probably using the same word because of the military frowning on relationships with people in enemy countries in a general way, whether that was a sexual relationship or a non-sexual one. It's off of this connotation that we get the other, modern one, where the word fraternizing is sometimes used with relationship to company policies regarding social interaction, both in a general way and with regards to sexual relationships, in workplace environments.

Anyway, the point is that, in 1862, when Crowley is asking Aziraphale for holy water in the park where they could be overheard, it causes Aziraphale to need to reply in such a way that he needs to find a word to describe his relationship with Crowley that could be overheard by people working for Heaven/Hell. Aziraphale is worried then that Heaven/Hell will find out about them. He knows that, if they get caught, they'd have a far better chance of surviving it if they could play their relationship off as sibling-like because Aziraphale thinks (and likely isn't wrong) that they are as good as dead if Heaven/Hell finds out that they're lovers.

In 1862, the fact that fraternizing only meant brotherly was why Aziraphale landed on that choice of word, even if his tone of voice doesn't quite successfully sell it.

Crowley being upset with that choice of words is because he knows that they both know that 'brotherly' is a wildly inaccurate description of their relationship. Crowley is in a low place in 1862 and other dialogue in the scene suggests that they're struggling a bit with that relationship, which is probably why Crowley is vulnerable enough to challenge that word choice in the open park. The inaccurate description is the reason for the sarcastic way Crowley uses fraternizing in his reply. He's angry because they are not brothers, they are lovers.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #aziracrow #good omens meta #crowley x aziraphale #etymology

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kastellaran · 24 days ago

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Medicine Seller Pronouns

@dharmafox (sarahwatchesthings) in the Mononoke Commmunity asked about the Medicine Sellers' personal pronouns, and I was going to leave a comment, but as always I tend to go on, so I decided to make it a separate post.

I'll start with Kon, since he's obviously the most interesting. Ri's pronoun usage is really obvious and none of them are unusual. In the movie, Kon does not use any pronouns. This isn't unusual for Japanese as I'm sure many of you know. It's generally preferred to avoid using pronouns if possible, and Japanese makes it very possible. Additionally, Kon doesn't speak very much anyway so there aren't a lot of opportunities for him to use one. Nonetheless, in a lot of Japanese fanart you'll see him using あっし (asshi), although it's not 100%, it's such an unusual one that the prevalence of it in Kon fanart/comics is notable. So where does this come from? In the novelization of Karakasa, there are random changes to the dialogue of characters made here and there. I personally don't understand the reason for a lot of them, like they're kind of inconsequential and don't seem like the kind of changes necessary for adapting between media, but that's not the point. In Kon's first scene, when he introduces himself to Asa and Kame, in the movie he says:

只のしがない薬売りでございます。(tada no shiganai kusuriuri de gozaimasu) "Just a humble medicine seller." In the book, however, the same line is: あっしは、只のしがない薬売りでございます。(asshi wa tada no shiganai kusuriuri de gozaimasu) "I'm just a humble medicine seller." So they go out of their way to show him using this pronoun. What is it, exactly. Well, when I looked it up, the English description of it I found was: "Mainly used by dashing males and craftsmen," which was very funny, but also seemed a strange grouping to me. So I searched a Japanese dictionary and found this: 一人称の人代名詞。「わたし」のくだけた言い方。男性、特に職人などが多く用いる、いなせな感じの言い方。 "First person singular pronoun. Elided form of "watashi." Commonly used by men, especially skilled workers. An inase style of speech." What is inase? Unfortunately there isn't a lot of information about it in English, so I had to look at Japanese wikipedia and some other Japanese sources to piece it together. I'd like to warn you that this term is very deeply rooted in its historical context, and I am not an Edo period historian or even someone who knows a lot about Edo period culture. I would say I know a moderate amount, but definitely not enough to accurately convey subcultures and feelings of the time, which is what I'm about to attempt. So please take what I'm saying with a grain of salt, and if you find sources that disagree with me, of course take those into account. The word inase originates from a variation of the hairstyle called the ichoumage (ginkgo hairstyle), which is the most common hairstyle you see on men of the Edo period:

This is the image on the Japanese Wikipedia article for the ichoumage. It's also commonly called chonmage which is how I knew it, but according to Japanese Wikipedia that term originally referred to the thin, wispy one that older men would have.

Anyway, so an inase ichoumage (mullet's back ginkgo hairstyle) is a lopsided version of this hairstyle that was popular among young men of the Edo period. According to Japanese Wikipedia: "It was a word enjoyed and used, along with those long-strapped inase ashida they wore, by those quick-tempered and quarrelsome young men of the fish market, such as the skilled workers and chivalrous rogues (侠客/kyoukaku)."

Inase described this kind of roguish masculinity embodied by these working-class young men. Different from the refined sensibility of the upperclasses, it seems that inase could be likened to the kind of masculinity we today attribute to the popular image of, say, deli workers or perhaps construction workers. Young, working-class men with hot-tempers who represent a kind of spirit of the city. So this is the type of image asshi evokes. This is presumably what the author of the Karakasa novelization was calling upon when they had Kon use that pronoun. Interestingly, being a medicine seller, Kon is not actually part of this social class as far as I can tell; he's a merchant, a class which occupied a rather interesting place in society as the absolute lowest class in the hierarchy which possessed a great deal of wealth and social influence, but that's a separate discussion. Basically, it seems like the author of the novel wanted to associate Kon with these inase men, these young, roguish, kind of rough men of the time.

The last thing I want to say about Kon's pronoun usage is that it's possible he might use a different pronoun when speaking to say, Utayama-sama (if he uses one with her at all), but I haven't read that far into the novel. It wouldn't be surprising to me if he did though. As for Ri, as I recall he uses two different pronouns. In Ayakashi Bakeneko, he uses both ore and watashi, and in Mononoke, he uses watashi only (as far as I can remember, though if anyone remembers some instance of him using ore in the 2007 series, please let me know). Neither of these pronouns are unusual; both are in common use today. Before I get into describing them, I want to emphasize that pronouns are a really fluid class of words in Japanese. What pronouns are in use, who uses them, and when they're used has changed a lot and changed very quickly. Even today, one person does not only use one pronoun. First person pronouns aren't really like third person pronouns in English, where a person generally has one set that is used for them in all contexts and describes something fundamental to their person; in Japanese, a person will use different a different pronoun depending on their situation and who they're talking to. They represent your relationship to the people around you (I recognize this is just one way of looking at it). Statements like "X pronoun is used by X type of person" are almost always oversimplified and don't represent the variety of use cases in real life, however it is true that anime characters are constructed using common tropes and character types, so their pronoun usage can be analyzed a little more along those lines than you would do in real life.

Watashi is probably the most commonly used first person pronoun in Japanese, and for good reason. It's pretty neutral and polite, but because there is an overlap between polite speech and feminine speech, if it's used in a casual setting it's seen as more feminine (or just over-polite/stiff). Ri's speech differs somewhat depending on who he's talking to/what episode it is (it is normal to change your speech based on who you're talking to IRL though), but in general he speaks formal-masculine. It makes sense for him to use watashi especially considering he is socially below most of the people he talks to. Ore nowadays is associated with men and is considered to be a casual masculine pronoun, though it is worth noting that in the Edo period it was used by women as well, and in some dialects of Japanese it still is.

It's worth noting that these pronouns don't strictly convey one idea or not convey it; it's contextual. The same goes for any kind of language honestly, but what I mean is that if you're speaking to say, your boss or your teacher or a stranger, you should be polite to them because you either don't know them well, or you want to show them respect. In that setting, using formal/polite speech (pronouns included) is accepted and encouraged. However, when speaking with people in your circle, such as your friends or family, if you started speaking politely, you'd be suddenly putting distance between yourself and them, and it could even be rude. So it's not that one pronoun is always polite, always feminine, always rude, always masculine, it's that they have certain vibes, and that vibe combines with the context to produce an implication. Ri introduces himself to Kayo with watashi because he's a stranger to her and a merchant. Throughout the series, he generally uses -masu forms and some keigo, but also uses the sentence ender -ze sometimes, addresses Ochou as anata/

Oops, this post got away from me. Pronouns in Japanese are not easy to sum up quickly, and I feel like they're often oversimplified. Um...hope this helps!

#my posts #...................................................... TToTT #mononoke #karakasa

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neversetyoufree · 1 month ago

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I've remarked on this blog a few times before that I'm fond of the theory that The Shapeless One is Paracelsus, but I've always hesitated to elaborate, as I felt like there wasn't enough hard evidence that supported this theory being true. However, something recently clicked for me regarding one big parallel between them, and now I can't stop thinking about what that connection would mean for the story thematically.

In mémoire 61, after Machina pushes him to explain what his "plot" is, Teacher declares that he wants to achieve world peace. I've had no idea what to make of this line for a while now, just assuming that we'd need more context to understand what the actual hell he's talking about. But with the Paracelsus comparison, I feel like I'm starting to grasp what's going on there.

[This post needs a VnC-standard warning for mentions of suicide, sexual assault, and child abuse].

There are a few pieces of evidence that support the idea of Teacher being Paracelsus. VnC's Paracelsus is introduced as a great alchemist, just as he was in the real world, and the Count of Saint Germain was an alchemist as well. Nobody knows Teacher's origins, but he's one of the oldest vampires and close with the queen. There's also a little drawing of six-pointed stars that appears behind Paracelsus in the first storybook illustration of him, and those same stars are seen hanging from Teacher's walking stick in the scene where he first meets Noé.

That panel of Teacher and Noé appears at the very end of chapter 6, and the Paracelsus panel appears at the start of chapter 7, meaning these images are quite conspicuously close together.

So what does this mean for Teacher's idea of "world peace"?

In the storybook version of Paracelsus's life, he's described as wanting to alter the world formula not for scientific curiosity, but because he wants to save the world.

Paracelsus, per the childish version that Teacher presents to Noé, caused the Babel Incident because he was trying to "rid the world of its ills" and "guide people to happiness." The line about the human world's "rampant ills" is read over a drawing of dancing skeletons—a Danse Macabre. This is a Medieval way of drawing the personification of death, usually for the purpose of expressing the way that death comes comes for every person inevitably (the same theme later expressed by Vanitas art).

When Paracelsus speaks of the world's ills, this is the reality he seeks to cure. The world is afflicted with suffering and death, and he wants to rewrite the world's formula so that humanity can live happily without that pain.

A world rewritten to be without suffering—isn't that world peace? "World peace" is often used to evoke an end to armed conflict specifically, rather than suffering at large, but the concepts must overlap if they're pursued seriously. How can world peace last if there are people starving in famines or dying of disease? Suffering breeds violence. And how can someone seeking to alleviate "the world's ills" not want to achieve world peace?

If this is true, if Teacher's hope for "world peace" is him carrying on Paracelsus's legacy (or carrying on his own work, if they're the same man), then what does that mean for Paracelsus's supposed altruistic intentions?

We know little about Paracelsus now, only Teacher's recounting of the Babel Incident by way of a book he's reading to a child, but I think there are two ways to interpret what we do know.

Trying to rid the world of suffering is, on its face, the most noble possible intention. To lead the world to happiness is to attempt to help every other person in the world. And I can think of a lot of ways that Paracelsus's goals make absolute sense to me. If you discover that the fabric of reality can be rewritten, and you know that there are people in the world dying of famines, wouldn't you want to reshape the world so that they no longer have to go hungry?

It's possible, depending on what we find out about him in the future, that Paracelsus really will be a noble figure whose one great sin was hubris, and all he wanted from his research was to help the world in ways that make both moral and logical sense.

However, given some of VnC's other themes, I think there's another lens through which we should consider Paracelsus's actions. We don't know exactly what he was trying to rewrite with that disastrous experiment, but that Danse Macabre does give us one possible clue.

One of the themes that VnC has been slowly developing throughout its run is the idea that, though trying to save a person's life is noble, it is not noble to deny all death as a whole. This is a story about the concept of Vanitas, the idea that death is inevitable and that all else is rendered meaningless in its face. Noé feels like he failed Louis because he was unable to kill him when he asked, and it seems like the manga's being set up to end with Noé killing Vanitas to escape a fate Vanitas considers worse than death. One big part of what makes Mikhail so unsettling is his denial, his laughing about his mother's draining and the fact that he cannot accept the reality Luna has died, and Vanitas is horrified to hear that Misha is planning to resurrect their parent. That same issue goes on to be the one thing that finally drives a wedge between Noé and his teacher, as Noé can apparently forgive the man for purchasing him on the black market and killing Louis, but he's horrified to hear that Teacher told Mikhail that resurrecting Luna was possible.

All of these scenes have other elements to them, other things that drive the characters and inform why these specific ideas of undeath are so deeply horrifying to them, but the buildup of this running theme is an undercurrent through all of it. Vanitas means that someday all people must die, so what does it mean when somebody tries to deny that?

Even further, there's the broader horror of both Noé and Mikhail failing to process the bad things that happen to them. Misha commits blithe horrors in part because he does not understand that his sexual abuse was wrong, so he seems to see no problem with sexually assaulting others now in turn—as he does when he pressures Noé to drink his blood. Noé happily recounts being kidnapped and sold on the black market, remarks on Chloé and Jean-Jacques's goodness minutes after Chloé assaults him in his sleep, and brushes off the incident of Jean-Jacques drugging him to the extent that even Jean-Jacques himself is unnerved by it. All of that is deeply concerning behavior.

Misha is written to be obviously uncanny in his denial, and that uncanniness holds up a mirror to the subtler horror of Noé's own disconnects from reality. The more recent chapters have also begun drawing direct attention to the ways that Noé's denial of the bad in the world becomes problematic. The aforementioned scene of Vani, Dante, and JJ being disturbed by Noé's "it doesn't bother me" line does this, as does the long discussion Noé and Vanitas have about why Noé's ignorance of anti-Dham racism upsets Dante so much.

There is an ongoing tension in VnC between the inherent goodness of peace and life and the horror of what comes when those concepts are taken too far. Noé and Vanitas are this in a nutshell: an endlessly clashing duo made up of a too-extreme pessimist and a too-extreme optimist. The story arcs thus far have taken turns challenging each of their worldviews, slowly pushing Vanitas to open up and let himself hope for peaceful solutions, let himself accept love and emotional closeness, while also slowly pushing Noé to confront the fact that sometimes not everything has a happy-making peaceful solution after all. Sometimes "saving" a child means she has to die, and sometimes an enemy will have an entirely sympathetic reason to hate vampires, but Noé still has to fight them anyway to save the people he wants to save, regardless of whether that enemy is "right" or not.

Noé lives in denial of his own past traumas and his own present-day potential for harm. He denies the potential that "good" people he meets might harm him, and he struggles to accept instances where he has harmed others in turn. Dominique and Vanitas go on for pages after the amusement park about how reckless and overly trusting he can be, and he turns around, unable to cope, when confronted with the truth of what he did to Misha with his claws. However, Noé also has the benefit of his proximity to Vanitas knocking just a bit of sense into him, and it might not be a sure thing that he's going to stay in denial-land forever.

One of VnC's specific points of tension is the question of if/how Noé will grow to accept the hard things that currently bounce off his oblivious denial like water off of a raincoat. The end of mémoire 1, the statement that someday he's going to kill Vanitas, suggests that perhaps he might learn to understand how death, despite its pain, is important in its own right. It suggests that maybe he'll come around to no longer denying death and insisting that salvation is always its avoidance.

However, if he can't quite make that leap, the story provides us with dark mirrors to show us what a monster Noé could become by doubling down on his idealistic, optimistic denial. Misha's current state is Noé to an extreme, an innocent child committing horrors as he utterly fails to process the truth of his own horrific early childhood. Misha's driving motivation is a hatred of pain and suffering, and he's willing to do anything to resurrect the family that saved him from that pain in the past.

Then there's also Lord Ruthven, a man who was once an optimist in Noé's own mold, but has since broken bad in a spectacular way. Noé and Ruthven recite the exact same line about liking both humans and vampires, an obvious parallel, but now Ruthven is working with Naenia. Now he's living in the aftermath of his idealistic peace plan imploding and almost costing him his life. Ruthven despairs the last time he visits Gévaudan, lamenting the wrongness of his naive past hopes for understanding, and now he's working toward some unknown end involving Naenia, Charlatan, and the Queen. Now he's committing horrors of his own, biting at least three people by force, overriding their wills, and associating with the being that steals innocent people's true names.

There's also the question of what the hell Ruthven is doing with the queen. It seems he was somehow involved with Faustina devolving to her current state, and Loki references "smashing up her corpse," so it's possible Naenia's existence may be a sign that Ruthven wants or wanted her dead and/or cursed. However, the shots of him with the Faustina-like body in the tank at the end of mémoire 18 suggest there's a chance that he could instead be involved with some form of resurrection scheme (or a scheme to preserve/save her if she's not yet fully dead).

Ruthven exists in part to demonstrate the ways that an idealist like Noé can go bad, and it's possible that he, like Misha, is attempting some sort of awful resurrection, once again denying the reality of death.

Then, finally, there's one more character with whom Noé has these sorts of obvious parallels. The man who, perhaps, is also meant to represent what Noé could become if the dangerous sides of his optimism aren't reigned in: his teacher.

Noé is fascinated by Vanitas, drawn to him out of care and connection, but also because he wants to observe and understand him to sate his curiosity. In a darker mirror of the same trend, we see Noé's teacher allow Louis, Noé, Domi, and Misha to come to harm at least in part for the simple enjoyment of seeing how they react when placed in dark new situations. Noé and his teacher are also the only crimson vampires we know of who find the Blue Moon beautiful and alluring, rather than a source of fear (assuming that Teacher is a normal crimson vampire).

Noé was raised by this man; his worldview has been shaped by him in countless ways big and small. Noé was already living in cheerful rejection of trauma before The Shapeless One found him, but he could not have remained so radically detached from the painful parts of the world around him if his teacher had not wanted and allowed him to do so. He censored Lord Ruthven out of Noé's education, and he apparently did the same with anything that discussed (or expressed) severe bigotry toward Dhampirs. How else did Teacher shape him, and to what goal?

We know that the Shapeless One taught Noé how to fight. Given that "world peace" line, I wonder if perhaps he may also have taught him his morals on wanting to avoid conflict.

Teacher is a contradiction. He talks about "world peace," but he blithely leads Louis to his doom and supposedly doesn't hesitate to half-kill anyone who calls him by the wrong name. Marquis Machina calls him an incomprehensible natural disaster for this reason. Yet, despite all his rampant cruelty, I'm beginning to think that he might be just as much of a dangerous optimist as his student.

Teacher is defined by the fact that, in every scene, he always seems to look like he's having fun. There's hardly been a single panel where he's not drawn smiling. Sometimes that fun is vicious, a cruel smile made as a threat to Vanitas when he fails to address him by his name, but just as often, his aura seems horrifically innocent. He's just a man with a sweet smile and rather dull eyes having a very good time with life.

In the past I've largely looked at this smile as an extension of Teacher's sadism. He toys with Louis and Noé for the fun of it, and I took his smile as an expression of his cruel enjoyment of the pain he creates in his wake. However, now that we've seen him interact with Machina, now that we've observed him speaking casually with a peer for an extended period, there seems to be a disturbingly sincere quality to him as well.

Based on how he's portrayed in mémoire 61, when Teacher says he does everything he does for the sake of "world peace," I honestly think I believe him. I don't believe that he's not a villain—I can't guarantee that his vision of "world peace" would even align with a normal person's definition of "peace" or "happiness," but I believe that he's speaking some version of honestly here.

There's an honest to goodness optimism in that ever-present smile. There's a hope and a genuine quality to what he announces to Machina, in contrast to his smiles of sweetly cruel schadenfreude.

So perhaps, if all that is true, if Teacher is another dark mirror to Noé and he really does want to bring about world peace, then the point of him is that "world peace" has the potential to be a horror. What is the pursuit of world peace if not the ultimate pipe dream of every idealist in the mold of Noé and Ruthven? And what is VnC if not a long catalog of the horrors that idealists can bring about if they aren't careful?

And that, finally, brings me back to Paracelsus and the Danse Macabre.

Depending on what Paracelsus wanted to achieve through his experiments, it's possible he may have been yet another character trying to escape the harsh reality of death. The line about the world's "rampant ills" is placed over the Danse Macabre, after all—a symbol of death's universal inevitability. Is that the painful ill that Paracelsus wanted to address by rewriting the world formula? Inescapable death itself?

If so, Paracelsus becomes the ultimate embodiment of what happens when one denies death's certainty and the necessity of that certainty. He's the ultimate denial of "Vanitas" and what it represents on a scale far larger than Noé, Misha, or even Ruthven could grasp. And the manga casts his failed experiment as a Tower of Babel, throwing the world into chaos and causing countless deaths in his failure's wake.

Meanwhile, Teacher seems to have some ideas about how to cheat death in the present day, as he's promised Misha that there's a way to bring "The Vampire of the Blue Moon" back to life. This could be a lie, of course, or he could be planning to bring back "the vampire of the blue moon" in a way that does not actually bring back Luna as an individual. However, even trying to bring back the Blue Moon in some other way, perhaps through the human Vanitas, still represents him trying to restore something he found beautiful that was lost because of death. It still ties him thematically to the perversion of death as an ending, the same as Mikhail and Ruthven.

So far every character we've seen that wants to undo death is cast as an antagonist. Ruthven, Mikhail, and The Shapeless One are all united by a cruelty and a perverseness in various forms, and their goal is part of this. Death is a tragedy, but although trying to save the lives of people who want to live is noble, attempting to undo or eternally escape death is a far worse horror.

If Teacher is Paracelsus, or if they're closely connected in some other way, then that serves to further this point and show how the horror of escaping death extends to Paracelsus as it does the others. Teacher is strange and cruel. Paracelsus might be a nobly hubristic historical fool in a storybook, but if these two characters are connected, that instantly reveals the unsettling truth of how wrong Paracelsus's potential attempt to thwart death would have been. Nothing Teacher is working for can be wholly good.

And, just as Noé and Misha's denial is both present and harmful beyond the most severe subject of death, even if Paracelsus wasn't trying to craft a world without death by altering the world formula, we know he was trying to create a world without suffering. Again, this is a noble goal in theory, but so long as death remains, some suffering will remain as well. Crafting a world without pain and suffering can also go much too far, can slip into denial and cruelty. Mikhail's whole motivation as an antagonist is his search for a life without pain, and look where that's led him.

A rejection of all suffering can be an extremely dangerous thing, whether it's running from one's own mental pain or wanting to rewrite the world to negate all suffering as a whole. This dream will never not be a detachment from reality.

The Case Study of Vanitas is a series that seems to be searching for a balance of optimism and pessimism, a way to approach the harsh realities of life that lies between the toxic extremes embodied by Vanitas and Noé. To lapse too far into hopeless pessimism creates a Vanitas, a Chloé, an Astolfo. It creates people who are suicidal, genocidal, or both, and dangerous to themselves and others for it. However, to go through life in a state of eternal joy without processing one's pain, or to attempt to create a world wholly free of suffering—that is just as dangerous and foolish. What are Noé, Misha, and Ruthven if not dangers to themselves and others? What is Teacher if not the most dangerous man in this manga?

Noé and Misha are unsettling because they smile through the bad things that happen to them and act as though they aren't bad. They each have some exceptions to this rule—Louis's death for Noé and the pain suffered at the hands of Moreau for Misha—but they still come across as at times disconnected from the reality of pain.

Yet, neither of them is as disconnected from the reality of pain as a man that can behead the grandson he raised with a smile on his face. Noé as a child sees the fun in being kidnapped and put up for auction. Teacher, if his smile is to be believed, sees the fun in every single thing we've seen him do, and that's what's so unsettling about him. He genuinely seems to be having a good time, including and especially when he's blithely committing horrors for the fun of it.

Noé and Misha's strange behavior stems from trauma, and we don't know that's the case for Teacher. Perhaps not, as he seems much colder and crueler in his tendencies than either of them. But either way, the happy sincerity displayed by both of them is echoed in the face of the Count of Saint Germain as he tells Machina that he's searching for world peace. That is the face of someone idealistic, someone who believes he's working toward a real goal that both justifies and delights him.

Teacher wants world peace, and his warped nature means that we have no real idea what "world peace" means to him. Is a world at peace a world where he still gets to violently beat people who get his name wrong? A world where he still gets to have fun observing the free will and choices of the traumatized children he raises? Maybe he once believed in a world that was truly without suffering, and his overly-long life and mad optimism have eroded his tether to reality, turning him into the awful person we see now. Maybe the catastrophe of the Babel incident broke him and turned him from a hubristic idealist to warped echo of his former self. Maybe he somehow thinks all the suffering he causes is justified if it's in pursuit of his noble end goal. Maybe his version of "world peace" is a world where all people can live free from the fear of death, and the smaller pains caused along the way are irrelevant in the face of that impossible dream.

Or maybe he's just a cruel hypocrite.

In the end, we still know too little about both Paracelsus and Teacher to make any grand proclamations about the truth of their characters. However, I can't unsee this connection between them now that I've seen it. Teacher is one of Noé's dark mirrors, a character that represents the horrors possible when one goes too far down his current emotional path. Noé is optimistic to a fault, convincing himself to see only the best in many truly awful scenarios, and Teacher is the man with an eternal smile printed on his face. Noé loves and wants to save Vanitas, and Teacher speaks of the Blue Moon's ultimate beauty and says he has a way to bring them back to life now that they're dead. Noé is the eternal savior, always desperate to prevent people from dying, and Teacher claims that everything he does is done in the name of achieving world peace.

Similarly, Paracelsus is defined by throwing the world into chaos and horror due to his over-optimism. He tried to go too far, tried to rid humanity of its countless ills and create his own form of world peace, perhaps even tried to rewrite the reality of death. Did he hate pain and cold like Misha? Did he want to stop unjust wars like Ruthven? Did he want to become a savior in the image of Noah?

If Teacher's goal of "world peace" is to be believed, then whether or not Teacher and Paracelsus are actually the same person, they represent the same thematic extreme. Death is inevitable, says the concept of Vanitas. It's inevitable and Noé must learn to accept that fact before he does something awful in the name of pain and death's prevention. Teacher and Paracelsus have both done something(s) awful in the name of pain and death's prevention. Teacher and Paracelsus have followed Noé's path of optimism to such an extent that they, in one way or another, both claim(ed) to want to save the world, and this requires a mad extreme of Noé-like cognitive dissonance and hubris.

Paracelsus pursued some goal, some way of granting humanity happiness that was supposedly noble but still murky in its specifics, and he warped the fabric of reality and caused the countless disasters of the Babel Incident in the process. And that's assuming the storybook is true, and Babel really was accidental on his part. Meanwhile Teacher has warped the seemingly noble dream of world peace into something that he can claim is served by the way he's tormented Louis, Misha, and Noé. There's a chance that both men tried or are trying to undo the reality of death. They're bound by the same underlying current of scientific curiosity intermingled with their dreams of world peace.

Noé is not an alchemist, and he's not particularly skilled at rewriting the world formula. He's unlikely to have any chance to rewrite the fabric of reality itself for the better. He's unlikely to have any chance to achieve "world peace" by any definition.

Noé is, however, a dangerous optimist who has not yet learned that death is unavoidable. He hasn't yet learned that death can be preferred to its alternatives. And he was raised by a man who seems like he has not learned or does not care that disrupting Death in the grand sense will inevitably lead to horror. Or perhaps a man who enjoys horrors and wants to toy with absolute death as a part of that. And all this in a world warped and defined by the folly of a man who may also not have understood the horror of evading death.

So Teacher might be Paracelsus. I think this connection between them only strengthens the odds of that theory being true. But even if he isn't, they represent a similar thing for Noé and for the manga's themes at large. You cannot rid the world of the Danse Macabre, and attempting to end that dance will only bring greater ills and greater pain than death on its own could ever hope to bring.

A strange and dangerous man proclaiming with an honest smile that he wants to bring about world peace does not make him any less strange or dangerous. Depending on his definition of world peace and his idea of death's place in it, that idealistic goal may actually make him far more dangerous than if he were nothing more than a simple sadist.