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balioc · 1 month ago

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Looking at the world from a manager's perspective, you can productively model the pool of workers as being divided into a few basic groups, which are defined and characterized by their driving motivations.

Insert all the usual disclaimers for this sort of thing - this is the roughest type of rough typology. I pulled these categories out of my raw intuition, and possibly a few more would crop up with some additional thought. In reality, the boundaries of these categories are incredibly fuzzy, and almost every individual is actually going to be motivated by a complicated mix of all the relevant motivations; we're talking REALLY SIMPLE HEURISTICS here. Etc.

There have been other well-known worker typologies that share a lot in common with my thoughts here; this is mostly not novel, it's mostly meant to refine a few ideas for particular purposes.

Hustlers are motivated by concrete personal advantage. Most commonly, and most straightforwardly, they want money - as much of it as they can get. They may also be interested in fame, idiosyncratic perks, etc. They do whatever they have to do in order to get what they want.

No surprise: you see huge preponderances of these guys in fields that provide outsize concrete rewards, e.g. finance, the upper echelons of management, etc. But not every natural-born Hustler is in a position to enter a glitzy high-paying field, and in fact you find Hustlers all throughout society and all throughout the economy, finding or making hustles wherever they go.

Having Hustlers working for you is mostly pretty great. They get shit done. They can be induced to work incredibly hard - probably harder than anyone else, under most circumstances - and they'll shank their own mothers if the price is right. If you need anything really important from them, anything at all, it's just a matter of bribing them enough.

...they will also, of course, cheerfully shank you if the price is right. Hustlers aren't the only wellsprings of institutional politics and infighting, but they're the most dangerous ones; they're always potential rivals to everyone around them. Also, you need to keep the tangible rewards flowing in a steady stream in order to get anything out of them, or else they'll put most of their effort into jumping ship (one way or another).

Craftsmen are motivated by the desire to do good work in their chosen fields, for its own sake and for the sake of their treasured self-image as people who do good work.

As you'd expect, for the most part, they're excellent workers and should be prized. But they're not perfect workers. Common weaknesses and downsides include:

They tend to have their own ideas about How Things Should Get Done; they're often resistant to externally-imposed product/service requirements or process changes (and bad at implementing those things) (no matter how important or well-conceived they are), and they're very resistant to "just get it out the door, right now done is better than good."

Being driven chiefly by internal motivation is great, but sometimes it's useful to be able to push things along with external motivators, and Craftsmen are pretty resistant to those. They don't like working more or harder than they're naturally inclined to work, they mostly sneer at carrots, and sticks make them sad and unproductive.

It's important to note that, while noteworthy skill within a field correlates with having a Craftsman temperament and motivation suite - for obvious reasons - those things are not identical at all. Plenty of Craftsmen are bad at their jobs, or just average, and plenty of the best workers are most motivated by things other than the Excellence of the Work Itself.

Fanatics are a relatively rare and specialized group, whom you find mostly within a few specific sorts of culturally-valorized fields. They're motivated by a desire to be part of something Important and Good in a Broader Sense: to Save the World, or some smaller-bore version of that.

They make amazing front-line soldiers, in the sorts of institutions that have "front-line soldiers." They work super hard, and you don't even need to bribe them, you just need to keep them hopped up on inspiration.

The big problem with them is that they're mostly motivated by a feeling - the feeling of Being Righteous - and it's not easy to control where they get that feeling, in any kind of precise way. They're just as resistant to external motivators as Craftsmen are, or even more so, but they're also not being guided by an ideal of effective quality. (No, not even if their chosen cause is theoretically all about an ideal of effective quality, hem hem.) They will happily waste vast amounts of time and money doing useless things, or even counterproductive things, so long as they're engaged in tasks that hit the right psychological buttons for them. There's also a constant risk that a Fanatic will decide that his employer is unrighteous, or that one of his coworkers is unrighteous, and start an internal conflict; the risk scales in a more-than-linear fashion with the number of Fanatics you keep around.

The biggest group, unsurprisingly, is the Normies. In most fields, it is much the biggest group. Normies are motivated by the desire to be members in good standing of their communities, to have positive relationships with the people around them, and to live up to basic norms and expectations.

Managerial skills, in the traditional sense, are incredibly important with Normies. If you want them to do good work for you - and you should want that, as a manager, you've almost certainly got a whole bunch of them - not only do you have to keep them pointed in the right direction, you have to make sure that they're supporting each other. With Hustlers, you just have to throw money at them (and avoid their power plays); with Craftsmen, you just have to let them do their thing, and occasionally badger them into giving you what you need; with Fanatics, you just have to be inspirational; but with Normies, you have to lead, and construct a productive community. You have to set reasonable, achievable norms and expectations that will get you what you need.

This wouldn't be complete if I didn't talk about the Defectors. The Defectors are motivated by not working. They don't want to be there, they resent having to do their jobs, and their primary goal is to shirk as much as possible. They will, by default, put much more effort into shirking than into their assigned tasks.

Obviously, managers don't want to have to deal with them, for good reason. But they're out there, in large numbers - not always in the places and fields where you'd expect to find them - and learning to manage them is sometimes more viable than trying to get rid of them. ("Moving Heaven and Earth to find them jobs that will change their attitude" is often a good plan, although of course it's not always possible and not always worth it.)

Crucially, Defectors are not Normies. If you start with the assumption that the average baseline worker is lazy and sour, you will make some incredibly stupid decisions. There are some fields where, for structural reasons, you can expect that a very large number of your workers will be Defectors; this is a huge and complicated challenge, well beyond the scope of this post, and good luck to you if you have to handle it, but it's not the default.

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Once you have those categories in your head, and can play with them, a number of obvious-seeming ideas present themselves. Just a couple, for now:

Most high-level executives are Hustlers, or have strong Hustler tendencies, for obvious reasons. Most of the people around them are Hustlers, or have strong Hustler tendencies. This means that they tend to overweight the Hustler outlook, by a lot, when they try to model what their workers are like. More specifically, I'd wager that a lot of them intuitively divide the world into "good workers" ( = Hustlers) and "bad workers" ( = Defectors). This will lead to a heavy overreliance on tangible rewards, a systematic shortchanging of community-building, etc. Which is in fact just what we see.

In particular - crucially - Hustlers and Defectors are the only worker types who ever become more productive under heavy stress. Hustlers actually benefit from it, because it raises the stakes of the game that they're already playing. (If you succeed, you'll be king of the world! If you fail, you'll be shark food! Go go go!) Defectors suffer terribly from stress, of course, but they can sometimes be spooked into doing their jobs as opposed to doing nothing, and sometimes that's the best/easiest way to get something out of them. But stress is terrible for everyone else. Craftsmen lose their focus. Fanatics lose their hope. It's worst of all for Normies, because they take all their cues from the vibes around them; they're productive when they learn to associate work with comfort and happiness, and when you fill their working world with frantic desperation, you just put them in a permanent cringe state.

stop trying to pit your Normies against each other in competitions for status and rewards dear God what are you stupid

To some extent, you can control your institution by controlling what types of workers you have. But only to some extent. There are only so many Hustlers and Craftsmen to go around, and if you want them, you will have to (a) be able to identify them reliably on little information [HINT: you are probably very bad at this], and (b) provide them with what they want [tangible rewards / comfortable security and interesting work]. "We are going to employ only the good special people" is feasible if you're an outfit of four workers; at a dozen, it's already become a stretch; at a few hundred, uh, pfffffffft. If you want to operate at scale, you need to be able to make Normies do good work, there is no substitute for it.

#management #social engineering

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bi-writes · 9 months ago

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the lamb experiment

a body is given. and it cannot be taken back.

pairing: ghost (+ tf141) x curvy!fem!reader word count: 6.3k summary: the 141 are not known for their pliancy. in an effort to take back control, they send a lamb to slaughter.

cw: (18+) mature language and content, suggestive language and content, dark!tf141, military criticism, unhealthy power dynamics, graphic descriptions of violence + gore + torture + murder, themes of dubcon (but reader is consenting), piv, cumplay, fear play, size kink, praise kink, curvy!reader with hair long enough to hold

You don't think you've ever been the object of anyone's affections, not really. Although you are blessed with many gifts, even physically, you do not see yourself that way when you look in the mirror. How you feel inside betrays you when you look in one, and instead of staring too long, you always turn away.

This time, you stare. Because her ass looks nice, and her skin looks soft, and her face isn't disagreeable.

This reflection almost terrifies you. In front of you lies a woman you do not know.

She looks good. Your clothes are a size too snug, and it squeezes all the parts of you that normally you attempt to hide. Your thighs, the cinch of your waist, every curve you cover up with your uniform normally is on display, and instead of your hair in a standard bun, it lays free. You are anything but the soldier you always see, and just when you think about running, there is a knock at the bathroom door.

You open it, straightening out your outfit, and you look down shyly when you see the face on the other side of the door.

"It's...a little tight," you say, tugging at the waistband of your pants, but the woman tuts, crossing her arms over her chest as she steps back to look you up and down.

"It's as it should be," she responds, very matter-of-fact. "Now follow me. Need to debrief before your flight."

Her name is Laswell. You have not been graced with any other name, and you suspect it is because she wants you to call her Laswell and nothing else. She is blunt and intelligent, and there is no room for anything but the truth with her. If you answer her with a lie, she waits until she hears what she knows is expected.

When you sit, she spreads a few files out in front of you. Four manila folders, three packed with documents and pictures, one with documents only. You reach for one, eyeing the labeled name.

MacTavish.

You open it, and you're overwhelmed with the information. You see a man with pretty blue eyes and a military history that would put your old squadron to shame. Flicking through the pages, there are numerous confirmed kills, no small list of disarmed explosives, reports written by others and himself that even at a quick glance exude something impressive, utmost intelligence and extensive knowledge. You take note of his unique hairstyle; shaved sides of his head and tuffs of dark waves that run down the middle. You acknowledge how much you like when it gets a little long, falling in curls over his forehead.

The next file is equally as large. You flip it over, and you tilt your head to the side when you see a picture of him. He isn't posing, but his stature is one of confidence, and he's gorgeous. A strong facial structure, dark eyes. He keeps his hair short, and his skin is dark, and as your eyes roam lower, you notice the strong muscles of his forearms as he grips a rifle. His skill sheet is no less impressive than his sergeant counterpart. He has been in so many dangerous situations, and he comes out with nothing but scratches; and he seems to be deadlier with nothing but his hands than any small firearm could be.

Kyle. It's fitting.

You look away from his pretty face to their commanding officer. There is a picture of him with the other two sergeants, and you notice how he stands taller than them, but just as broad, and you think military fatigues suit him well. He wears his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and you can see the expanse of his strong arms and his large hands, and you take note of his carefully sculpted beard and the hat he wears. When you flip through the history, you are overwhelmed with the amount of ops he carries under his belt. This man is a war machine. You suspect there is a number on his head somewhere, in some distant country, and it makes you shift in your seat when you realize this isn't someone easy to kill.

He does the killing. And that's all that matters to the Crown.

John. That is the one that has to matter most.

"He's the one who calls the shots." Laswell's voice cuts through your heavy thoughts. She takes the last folder and opens it for you, and immediately you notice the lack of photos here. "But this is the glue."

Ghost. That is the name that sits on the official documents, but there is a dirty sticky note pasted next to it with Laswell's chicken scratch.

Simon Riley.

"His name is redacted," she says simply. "And so is his face."

"He has no face?" You ask, and when you realize how you worded it, you think it a stupid sentence, but Laswell only stares.

"Not one that matters," she responds. You look back down at the documents. He is tall, and you observe that he's most skilled with a sniper rifle, although he doesn't lack confidence or efficacy in any other form of combat. Hand-to-hand, smaller firearms, rifles, he uses them all with a terrifying accuracy, and you pull the papers closer to you as you read more.

"The glue," you murmur, not quite understanding. "And what am I supposed to be?"

"The solvent. The hammer. Whatever the fuck I need you to be."

The thing that breaks it apart. The thing that tears. The thing that makes them bleed.

And so you lie. It is what you do, what you are taught. Laswell is good at it, and you are a fish to water with it. You lie until it comes as easy as breathing, you learn to pretend until it is all you know, and when you create your second life, it is easy because it is the only one Laswell tells you to know.

You are a soldier, and you do as you're told. When your orders are to forget who you were and become something else, you do it, because that is how it works. And you know what you are in Laswell's eyes--you are a weapon, and you gave your body to the state, and she can do what she pleases with it.

And you know, really, what she expects you to do.

It isn't spoken of. She never says it out loud. But when you study the files she gives you, you notice there are more details that what is necessary. You learn more about them, in ways that feel intimate, that feel secret.

That John's favorite color is red. That MacTavish likes a traditional meal. That Kyle has a sweet tooth and likes jazz. That Ghost downs two fingers of Kentucky bourbon to unwind.

They are things to help make them agreeable, you think, but agreeable in what way is up to you.

But red looks good in lace. You've been told the stomach is the way to the heart. Chocolate is supposed to be an aphrodisiac. And alcohol is the perfect enabler--and armed with this information, you will divide and conquer.

Break and tear apart. Separate. Sever the bond. That is your mission, that is what you've been told to do, and you will do it because that is what a good soldier does, and this is all you are.

Laswell's pet. Her pretty little soldier. The hammer to her nail, the bone for her dogs, the string that will mend the ones snapped by her own puppets.

She wants control, and she isn't stupid, and neither are you. When you look in the mirror again, you understand why she picked you. No matter how far her men stray, they cannot change what they are at their core.

Men.

And men are fickle.

You suspect, you hope, even these ones are. They are not gentle, and Laswell makes sure that you learn well why it is they need supervision. She shows you pictures, videos, eyewitness statements of their spiral into violence.

It's not that they weren't war criminals before, but they were her war criminals. Unsanctioned ops, sure, but they toed a line that was drawn for them. But then the red tape became too much, even if there wasn't very much of it for them.

They began to ignore orders. When they were told to stay put, a sergeant would slip off, and under the guise of protecting them, all four would end up in a firefight. And when this became a frequent excuse, they stopped coming up with them. They simply showed up in manila folders like the ones you held, enemy casualties sometimes in the hundreds, and they did not appear even when required.

Debriefing? Their connection was bad. A hearing in front of their superiors? They're on a mark, and they cannot move. And then it was just silence. The occasional response to real crisis, and then back underground, until all Laswell could get from them were limbs taken off the enemies they weren't allowed to kill just yet.

They knew how to disappear. They knew how to hide. They knew how to stay put, come back up overground, and then scurry back underneath where no one would find them.

But that wouldn't do. Not for the CIA, not for SAS, not for either of their governments who soon realized they had let loose a group of soldiers-turned-mercenaries who hold valuable secrets that could put their politicians at the forefront of Congressional hearings, NATO violations, and then in the right mess of breaking off relations with a numerous amount of countries they already held fragile relationships with.

The 141 is a liability. They need to be the ones pulling the reigns again, no matter the cost--and they tell Laswell to do it, and to spare no expense and to pull back the curtain on what she believes might be crossing even the lines she has drawn before, to go beyond it.

She draws this line around you. A circle, a fence, wrapping around you as she molds you into what she needs you to be. She is honest. Not always kind, but honest, and because she is, you want to succeed.

Finally, you can be of use. Finally, there is something that will give you purpose. Even if it hurts, even if it kills you, you want to give her what she needs, because it isn't fair.

You have already given them everything, and you have nothing to show for it. So you paint your face, and you zip up the tight pants, you lie and you learn and you listen, and when she tells you that they will not be gentle, all you reply is, "I won't be either."

Men are fickle. And they fucking deserve this.

You are wearing red when John sees you for the first time. It is in your hair, a bright red scarf that keeps it out of your face, and you know he looks right at you and not through you when your eyes meet.

When he eyes the open door of your room later that evening, you pretend not to notice his gaze when he drinks in the sight of you in red lingerie.

It is the first morning you are with them that Johnny wakes to the smell of something in the rec room. You stand there, at the stove, stirring a wooden spoon in a warm pot, and when he steps in, you turn to see him, and you smile. You exchange no words, but when you hold a tasting spoon out to him with a soft potato and a spoonful of wonderful broth, he can't help the way he closes his eyes. There's a beautiful woman cooking stovies in the rec room, and when he opens his eyes, you are looking right back at him.

And then it's the music that plays in the evening that catches Kyle's attention. They are trailing back to their rooms after drills, and he catches sight of you in your room, and he can hear Ella Fitzgerald, and when you look over your shoulder, he is there, and he doesn't shy away.

And then--fuck--it is so easy.

Wherever you go, they follow. Unconsciously, you suspect, but they do, and you live the lie, and it feels fucking euphoric. You know you've won when you run your knuckles down John's cheek for the first time, and he keens, nuzzling the side of his face into your hand and chasing after your touch.

They are animals. You watch them when you join them on ops, rifle in front of you as you follow them, and you keep a neutral face as you observe them wreak havoc. They kill and they maim, and they sleep like the dead at night, as if the heinous ways they kill do not bother them at all. John points, and Kyle pulls the trigger. John nods his head, and Johnny detonates, nothing but a dull reflection in those blue eyes. John clicks his teeth, and Ghost sweeps.

He sweeps, and he kills, and if it wasn't so fucking terrifying, you would have admired the way he did it. The elegance that he took on an entire room of moving targets, how he never let himself be pinned down in one spot. Whenever someone gets too close, he goes hand-to-hand, and it's fucking brutal the way he finishes them off. He keeps throwing knives in his boot, and they sink into eye sockets as if running through tender meat. He puts blades through their mouths and doesn't let them go until the light leaves their eyes.

You hate that it makes you warm. That there is something deep in your belly, that twists there, that tells you that you like it. When he turns around and meets your eyes, wringing the blade out of someone's neck and letting them drop on the floor at your feet, you don't flinch. You simply kick them to the side and step over them, and Ghost watches as you lick over your teeth as you pass by him.

Insatiable. Fucking hungry. He eyes the sway of your hips, and when he finds his next target, he uses his hands again just because he needs to feel flesh under his gloved hands, needs to tear it apart. And when he feels you watching him again, he grunts as he stands to his full height. He's a fucking bear, and you leave him with a hint of a smile before you turn the corner.

You are not sure if you are pretending that day.

They ravage, and then they go back to their beds, and they wash the blood from their clothes with ease--and the worst part of it all is that you do it, too. You come out of the same places that they do, and your face is splattered with their targets. Your jeans have flecks of brain matter, your hands are dirty with someone's singed flesh. When you finally stand in the light back at their base, all John does is sit you in front of the bathroom mirror and wipe at your face with a warm towel.

He tells you how good you've done. How special you are. How he has never seen a woman keep up with them so easily, fit into their pack like she was meant to be.

He says that you belong, but he doesn't say to who. You wonder, for a second, if he means that you belong to them all.

When you report back to Laswell, you tell her this. What you don't tell her is what you've had to do to gain this status. You don't tell her about the blood you spill. You don't tell her about the bodies you see or the men that lose their faces or how worked up the boys get after an op and how it takes them hours between your legs to lose the adrenaline.

You don't tell her this because this is for you. It's all for you.

They tell you things you aren't supposed to know. When you're in their beds, they talk, and you listen. Kyle tells you about the man they are keeping in the cellar. That he's been there for 29 days, and he hasn't said a word, but that Ghost will be next to speak to him, and he will talk then.

Kyle tells you that it is a mercy that Ghost hasn't visited him yet, but they are done playing nice. When he says this, you have the image of Ghost standing over a man who pulled a gun on you in your head, and you remember watching him with a sickening relief as he pressed his thumbs into the man's eye sockets and pushed they were nothing but squished matter. You squeeze your legs together; and this time, you don't feel bad about it.

Johnny begs for you, his bonnie lass, to keep close to him on the next op because you strayed too far today. He fucks you to make you say yes, his lips on your ear as he tells you to promise him that you'll do as he says, and that if you promise, he'll let you come. So you promise, and he fucks you boneless, and the next day, you are glued to his hip when you raid a foreign embassy for nothing but answers.

You know they know. They don't say it out loud, but you know that they all know where you go at night. One night, you are kneeling under John's desk, kissing the pearly tip of him before taking him down your throat for what feels like hours. The next, you are letting Kyle bend you over his desk, rattling it against the wall as he tells you how pretty you are. And in the morning, you are pressed against the shower wall, Johnny holding your wide hips in his hands as he fucks into you, begging you, bonnie, please--give it to me, tha's it, right there, ye can do it, good girl--

Good girl. That's what you are. You're a good girl, and you do as you're told. You smile, and you keen, and you give them big, soft eyes, and you let them have the illusion of control. Maybe they think they're pressuring you. Maybe they think they scare you. Maybe they think this is why you get on your knees for them or let them pool your pants at your ankles or allow them to have you whenever they want, but the reality is that you want it, and you need it, and this is working.

They don't even realize you've fucked them into submission because they're too busy showing off.

A domino effect. You expect them all to fall once you have the captain, but there is one chess piece that does not move willingly.

Ghost.

He is an unmovable object. He stands still and rigid, and he is a statue that refuses to be pushed or pulled in any direction but one he deems. Even in the middle of the nights, when you notice he is awake, he never joins you when you drink his favorite bourbon outside. He doesn't ask for a cigarette when you smoke one, even though you never actually take a puff of it. He passes by you, and he doesn't look at you, and you are invisible.

You want to be content with what you've accomplished, but it isn't enough.

This is the glue. He is the glue, and without him, everything falls apart, and you cannot fail. There isn't room for it. And maybe you feel bad for preying on the parts of Ghost that you think he prefers to keep hidden, but you need to catch him before he gets too far away.

A kitchen accident. A knife that plunges too deep, that draws blood and makes you cry. You are in the bathroom, tears coming down your face, blood in the sink, and your hands are shaking as you try and patch yourself up. You are loud enough to draw the attention of the lieutenant whose door is only just across the hall, and when he sees you there, he doesn't leave you.

One moment there is nothing, and the next, he is behind you, a pervasive warmth at your back, and you whimper when a gloved hand wraps around your injured hand. Wordlessly, he turns the faucet on, running your hand under the water, and you hiccup, looking away and breathing deeply.

He wraps your hand in his room. You sit on his bed, and he works to cover the wound, and you know he has done this before. Soothed another's tears, quieted soft cries, covered up cuts and bruises and things that will scar.

He kneels in front of you, and when he stands to his full height, you tip your head back to look up at him. You think you will meet a soft gaze, but he glares, and he seems angry. When you open your mouth to speak, he tsks, and your tip trembles as you close it.

"Y'can fool the others," he says lowly, finally. "But not me."

You frown, confused. When you sniffle, he snarls.

"I know why y'r here," he murmurs. "Isn't the first time Laswell has sent one of her little...toys."

You clench your jaw. For a moment, something envious rattles you. You aren't like anyone else. You are certain no one has accomplished what you have, that no one has gotten this close to rock the fucking boat or pet the beast. He doesn't get to demean the progress you've made like this, even if he's figured you out, because you aren't going anywhere.

Not until you get everything you need.

"Excuse me?"

"Y'r a spy. You're CIA's whore, and I don't like y'here, puttin' y'r bloody nose where it don't belong," he kneels, his voice low and gruff, and he reaches over and grips your chin hard. "Y'may have fooled them. In their fuckin' beds...in their heads--" He draws you closer, and you swallow. "But y'r not in mine."

You meet his eyes. They are dark, and they are meant to scare you, but the feeling that runs through you isn't one that terrifies you. He is a magnet--and you can feel the field of his presence, and it has you. This is supposed to be your show. They are men, and they are stupid, and you hate them, and Ghost should be eating out of the palm of your fucking manicured hand, but there he is, spitting against his mask, and it is you that aches to see what is underneath the cotton.

"So, little lamb..." Ghost rumbles, and it is with his entire chest that he speaks. "Wot is it you're here to do, eh?"

You shake your head, "N-Nothing. She...all she told me was that this was a joint operation...CIA and SAS--"

"Y'r on the piss, I know that," he hisses, clicking his teeth. "Joint operation," he laughs, but it is without humor. "Is that we're calling this now? Being barracks bunny for the 141?"

"Fuck you," you snap, shoving his hand off. "You're a fucking bastard, and if you think--"

"If I think wot, eh?" He stands, and you choke as he grips you by your throat, lifting you off of his bed and forcing you against the wall. You grip his wrist, but it is useless, because he's a brute, and you are nothing to him. He holds you there on your toes, and you grip him tighter, but he doesn't budge. Even digging your nails into him doesn't make him flinch. If anything, he seems amused. "Wot kind of trainin' she make y'do, eh? Did ya have to practice? Who'd y'shag to get y'r stripes?"

"Eat shit," you spit, and he snickers. There is fire in your eyes, venom on your tongue, you are a fighter, and when the world is so quiet, fighting feels good, and he knows this feeling well. He understands what it means to be nothing and then something, what it means to worthless and then useful in the eyes of government and government alone.

Because you are useful, but only to Laswell, and only as this, whatever this is. Whatever you are. Pet, prize, toy--it doesn't matter what the name is today, but it will stick tomorrow, and you wonder, sickeningly, if that is your destiny.

To be unknown. To be used. To be the property of what you do not know. To be given, to be taken, to not know and to be content with not knowing.

To accept it because it is still better than whatever you were before.

He sees this. He looks into your eyes, he breathes in, and he hums, and when his grip loosens just enough, you put your toes on the ground, and you lean in, and there you are.

One and the same. Bitten, chewed, spit out, two people who are products of their suffering and the culmination of their sheer fucking will to live, even if the living is miserable.

Maybe that is what it is. Maybe it's what's broken that will put you together. Ghost is the glue, you are the solvent, and you will make it so.

Because I can't fail, I can't do it, I won't go back, I can't go back--

"I'm here for me," you whisper. "I'm here for me, and no one else--" You gasp, and it isn't a lie, not really. You are here for you, this is for you, even if it is at the downfall of someone else. If you need to step on necks to get ahead, you will.

Ghost is the last piece. The last one you need to move. He is stuck, but now you know what it is you need to do, you know how to set the game into motion.

"Ghost," you breathe, and it's soft, it's quiet. You meet his eyes, and you lean close, and he feels your breath on the front of his mask. "It's not what you think."

"You're a lamb."

"I don't wanna be a lamb."

"It doesn't matter what y'want, y'are a lamb," he growls, and you whine, and he hums, and you can see the crinkle of his eyes, and you know he must be smiling. "Tha's wot y'are, and y'can't run away from tha'."

You blink, and he stares, and there is understanding. You are prey, and you belong, but you don't know where. But then you remember you are a soldier, and it isn't your job to know. Your job is to lie still and let them have you.

And to not tell my handler how much I like it.

"It's what they made me," you whisper, and when there are tears in the corner of your eyes, he is gentle. He smooths his hand down your throat, rubbing a thumb over your trembling lip, and you know that he understands you. "It's not what I wanted."

"It's never what we want," he murmurs. "Never."

You hold your breath when he cups your face with a big gloved hand. Dark eyes on soft ones, and you wonder what it would be like to have him. He doesn't keen the way John does, doesn't kneel the way Johnny kneels, doesn't follow and listen without objection the way that Kyle does. No, he's a brick wall, and you need to be what knocks him over. You need to shake the foundation, split it in two.

You need to sever the fucking bond and do your fucking job.

"So when can I have what I want?" You ask him softly. "When...when is it my turn?"

He tilts his head to the side, curious, and you slide your hands up his forearms, over the muscle of his biceps. He is everything you cannot have.

And he is everything that you suddenly realize you want.

Forbidden. Unrelenting. The oxygen to a raging fire. He isn't the glue, he's the catalyst to whatever the fuck you bring to the experiment, and even though you know this will be disaster, you want it. You want it so badly.

Destruction tastes so good. Control is victory. Sex is power, and you want him, you want this, you want him to have you, to own you, to make you see what he sees, because it will be familiar because you are the same.

"Y'r a soldier," he says lowly. "Not about what we want. 's about what they want."

"Fuck what they want," you groan, looking away, and then a few tears slip down your face. "Fuck what they do with us. If I die for them, they only tick some fucking statistic. It means nothing. So why can't I do what I want with the time I get before...before I'm just...before I'm nothing again?"

And there it is. The mirror you hold up. The common ground. The level playing field. The two paths that cross, this is it, I have it, I have it, I fucking have it, I have him, he's mine--

He kisses you. You don't get to see his face, but his lips are there, a precious amount of skin that you're blessed with seeing until your eyes are closing.

His bed is warm. He fills it well, the breadth of him almost too much for its size, but it doesn't matter because he fucks so well. He eats your cunt because he's hungry, your thighs on his shoulders shaking as he laps at your wet folds.

He does this different. John is soft and slow, Kyle takes his time, and Johnny is always eager and sloppy. But Ghost watches. He slides his tongue in soft motions, watching, and when your thighs twitch and shake, he does the motion again. He flattens his tongue and drags it, and when you whine and arch your back, he revels in the way you move. He drinks what you spill, he fucks you with his tongue, and this is different because this isn't just attraction.

There is something about him. Something underneath the layers he covers himself with, under the mask, something that you can see that others cannot even though he doesn't take those layers off.

You know this is true when he's inside of you. His mask hasn't come off, but his mouth is on your ear, and he groans, and he talks, and you feel like he spoils you this way. Ghost never talks. You wonder often if maybe he has a limited amount of words, and he never says more than he has to lest he runs out of them. His eyes speak, and it's more than enough, but now, he talks, and it is a gift, and now you know.

He cradles your head as he fucks you, and he kisses you until you can't breathe, and then when he talks, it takes everything in you not to beg for more.

"Such a nice cunt...'s so nice..."

"Fuck--y'feel me, luv? Right there--" And he presses his palm down on your stomach, and you cry when he grabs your face and forces you to look at him, because he's cruel and he's mean, but his cock feels so good--

And you think it can't get better, and you think he can't go any deeper, and then your thighs are wrapped around his waist, and he's leaning over you, and you think you're forgetting your name.

You forget yourself. You forget the reason you're here. It's so hard to think when you're not yourself, when your mind is in the stars, when everything feels far away and so close all at the same time. There is a place for him inside of you now, and you know that even though he will ruin you, even though he already has, you will never be rid of him.

You've severed the bond. You've made your own.

When he kisses you again, and when he grinds his hips down so nice that your clit aches, you know suddenly what it feels like to have real control. The feeling that Laswell chases, the feeling she wants so fucking badly that she's made your body a weapon, your cunt a tool, your brain the hivemind that will make her every wish come true, you understand now.

You will make the sky blue, the birds sing, but you did not realize the power you held until you had Simon "Ghost" Riley buried so deep in you, that you aren't sure you're even really here anymore.

You gnaw on his arm, your tongue tracing the tattoos there. You taste sweat, and you swallow it, and you go numb thinking about having more of him inside of you. You want to bite and eat and take as much of him that he will let you--no.

You will bite and eat and take as much of him that you want, because he's yours, and you get whatever you want.

Your fingers grasp the cotton of his mask, and your grip is enough to pull his lips off of you, and when your eyes meet, the gaze is different. He's desperate. For once, there is something disorderly there, and he pants, and he wants something from you, and finally you have something to give him.

You fuck it out of him. You lay him on his back and let him look at you, and you fuck him because it feels good, because you want it, too, because it's all that matters. You cry into his mouth, sob, "please--! please, please, please--"

And he tugs on your hair in response, guiding your hips as he loses his composure, "'ve got you...y'r mine...'s olright, yeah--nggghhh, fuck, luv, th's it..."

You do want it. You do need it. You need them, but you want Ghost the most, because he is the piece that does not move. He is not willing to do anything except for the sake of his pack. Ghost is impenetrable, even your pretty cunt isn't enough to change his mind, but that isn't what this is.

This is mercy. Ghost, he is the product of all of his misery. You, you are the result of every man to ever betray you, the outcome of your unwavering desire for revenge. You are the same, somehow, and he knows this, and that is why can't help himself. That is why Ghost is underneath you, that is why he bares his mouth to you and lets you lick into it and allows you to taste the forbidden fruit.

Because he thinks you are him, and he thinks you think so, too, and all he's ever wanted in his life is just for someone to see him the way he saw himself.

When he comes, he paints your cunt and fills you, and you collapse, your body on fire as you come down from a high that takes your breath away. His big hands cradle you against his chest, and you don't move, too afraid to let go, and he kisses your face when you whimper. You can taste yourself on his tongue, and when he pulls out, you gather it up on your fingers and suck. He groans, and he kisses you, and then he sinks back to his knees because he doesn't hear the ringing in his ears when his mouth is on your pretty pussy.

You're just a lamb, it's all you are. Handpicked by Laswell to head into the lion's den, a scarred animal that has no one to protect her, straight to slaughter.

He knows what it feels like. He knows what it feels like to be used and forgotten, to have nowhere to go, to be backed into a corner with no way out, and he pities you.

Ghost pities you because there is nothing behind your eyes except fear. But it's a lie. You're so good at it now. It's a lie, and you tell it so well, and you're warm inside. Not from taking the last moving piece, but from the satisfaction of knowing you have done what others cannot. What others never could.

It's late when you finally settle beside him. He leaves you when you ask for something to eat. You watch him slip clothes on haphazardly and leave, the door swinging shut behind him as he shuffles to get what you need.

To provide. To protect. To shield. Ghost is good at those things, you knew he would be. A man does not nurse a brother back to health without it, does not protect his mother and defy his father without being good at being a dog.

He's a good guard dog. And when he goes, and the door is closed, you smile because the dog is mine, all fucking mine--

You reach for your phone, and you pull up the only contact in it. You type a simple message, and then you send it, and for good measure, you shut the device off, tossing it into the pile of your discarded clothes.

>> we have joy.

You are good at pretending. You can tell a lie without blinking. You have been taught to be this thing, and you do it well, because you are a soldier, and this is your mission, and you cannot fail, and you didn't fail.

When you see Laswell again, many weeks later, she is not surprised to see you covering up with long sleeves and keeping your hair down. One tug on the collar of your shirt, and she gets glimpses of the love bites that have marked bruises all across your skin. She lets you go, tells you to sit, and she smirks.

You smile back this time.

Men are fickle. And they fucking deserve this.

"Good girl," she takes out another manila folder, but it's different this time. When you open it, you have schedules of upcoming ops, intel the boys are working, evidence of their reckless abandonment of order in favor of the chaotic success of getting the job done. You have seen this first hand, you know what they do and how they do it. But now there is another factor, another subject, right in the middle of it all. It is you.

Laswell takes a seat, spreading out the papers, and you meet her eyes. This time it's different. This is the truth, and you want to feel bad for your betrayal, but you don't. The fact of the matter is that you and Laswell, together in this room, have more power at your feet than you know what to do with.

A lamb to slaughter, and yet you sleep with the wolves.

"Alright," she says. "Now let's get to fucking work."

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost mwii #ghost x reader #cod #call of duty #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut #dark!simon #dark!soap

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subbmissivesuccubus · 1 year ago

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Bully- Part 1

Summary: Your bully's, Gojo and Geto, find out an embarrassing secret of yours and will never let you live it down. But maybe, you don't want them to.

Disclaimer: 18+ fic. Gojo X Fem reader X Geto. Humiliation kink. Free use kink. Gojo and Geto being mean. Bully Geto and Gojo. Dub-con warning. It is subtly implied that reader wants and enjoys what's happening to her, but the boys don't care to ask for consent.

a/n: Sorry it took so long wah but here's part one to the series. I plan to write many more cause damn it is so fun haha. I promise, the next part will have all the gratuitous smut and ruthless fucking this premise deserves. Consider this an appetizer <3

Taglist: @bisexuawolfsalt @candycandy00 @nekonanamii @sirimiripetrichor @collectionofdolls @dreamsxmerci

You sighed as you walked towards your classroom, dragging your feet, knowing full well what was waiting for you. It was the end of the day and it was your turn to clean up the classroom and just your luck- you were paired up with the two people you couldn't stand.

Gojo and Geto. The two 'strongest' sorcerers of your school. Their reputation preceded them. One of them was the prodigal son of a famous family with a deadly technique while the other had an incredibly useful and powerful skill as well. Everyone disliked them to some extent, but nobody could deny that the Jujutsu world would be worse without them.

Which is why it always confused you as to why these two powerful men seemed to love bullying you.

They were never malicious but damn if they weren't annoying. They loved to tease and prank you, joking about how weak you were and how you couldn't do anything by yourself. Forget the fact that you were actually quite strong and capable- but compared to them- everyone was weak.

But they seemed to enjoy bullying you especially even if there were classmates who were of lower grade than you. Stealing your drink right before you were going to take it from the vending machine, taking unflattering pictures of you and distributing it, embarrassing you in front of strangers by treating you like a dumb baby in front of them, making loud sex noises if you were on the phone with someone, tossing away your books and stealing your money-

Gojo spanking your ass casually a few times, Geto licking off some chocolate that was smeared next to your lips like it was a normal thing to do and even that one time when they cornered you in the hallway and convinced you to let them grope your boobs:

"If you let us squeeze your tits, we'll leave you alone for a week~" Gojo had said, wangling his fingers comically as they both stared at your chest like perverts. The offer was too good to give up which led to them squeezing your clothed tits for ten second each before they left, laughing at how easy it was to use you. And of course, they continued to bother you anyway.

You could have made a complaint to the higher ups about their behavior, something your friends have told you to do but you refused. You didn't want to be the wuss who was running to the elders over something so childish when everyone has an important job to do. Dealing with some bullying was easy compared to fighting to the death with some curses.

Besides, if you reported on them...

You steeled yourself before opening to the door to the classroom, met with the sight you expected: Gojo and Geto, lounging around, not doing any work as they waited for you to do it for them because, in their words: 'the weaklings need to put in more effort'.

But what you were not expecting to see was your phone in Gojo's hand using earplugs that he had connected to the device. You knew you left your phone in the locker assigned to you in the hallways which meant these two managed to pick the lock and take it. But the anger over that was dwarfed by your sudden realization:

The way they were looking at you as you closed the door, giving you a shocked look but you could tell there was an underlying hint of pure glee.

Uh oh.

"Give me back my-"

You yelped as Geto suddenly grabbed your wrist and pulled you towards him, barely giving you a second to collect yourself before he wrapped his arms around your neck, catching you in a choke-hold. Before you could even react, he pulled your back against him and manhandled you as he sat on a classroom bench and forced you to sit between his legs, wrapping said legs around you. You were completely caught, your nails doing nothing even as you dug it into his arms.

"Holy fuck!" Gojo explained, eyes wide and a huge grin on his face as he continued to listen to the audio on your phone, looking over at you and Geto opposite of the table he was sitting on, "You're a perverted freak, aren't you?"

"Give it back!" you snapped, grunting in annoyance as you tried to break out of Geto's hold but the man simply laughed as he held you tighter, his legs not budging.

"This is some nasty stuff!" Gojo continued, "Who knew a weakling like you would be such a masochistic slut~" he removed the earbuds from the socket and increased the volume as he confirmed what you had feared:

"Yeah? you like that don't you? Little slut~" a man's voice echoed throughout the room from your phone speakers, "Everybody looking at you as I fuck this sloppy little pussy~ Oh this cunt is dripping for me- did you like being spanked in front of them so much?"

It was an erotic audio you had saved on your phone, one of many that you enjoyed in private. You had even saved it under non-suspicious names which meant that the boys were digging through your files to find something- and they did.

"This isn't even the only one we heard, you know." Gojo explained as he dangled the phone in front of you mockingly, "What was it again? A girl getting humiliated by her teacher in front of her classmates-"

"A girl getting groped by her boyfriend on a crowded train." Geto recollected, his lips so close to your ear you could feel his hot breath dance against your skin.

"Being used as a free-use toy by a group of guys~" Gojo said, a giant shit eating grin on his face, "Seems like this one has a humiliation kink~"

"I'm not surprised." Geto said, leaning into your ear and blowing into it, making you gasp and jump, "No wonder she never reported us to the principle for all the times we preyed on her. She was probably enjoying it."

"Oh!" Gojo said like he just realized it, "Was that why? Was your pussy growing wet every time we bullied you, little slut?"

"Fuck you." you spat out, both of the men laughing in response.

"Yeah, I bet you wanted us to fuck you." Geto growled into your ear, your shiver not going unnoticed by him, "You're fucking loving this~"

"Why don't we check?" Gojo suggested, cutting off anything you might have said, his hands inching towards your belt, a dangerous gleam in his eyes, "Let's see for ourselves if we made your pussy wet~"

"Gojo-"

"That's a great plan!" Geto interrupted, laughing as he tightened his hold your your neck, making you gasp, "Take those pants off. So baggy and loose- what a waste of a nice ass."

"I agree." Gojo said, finger now running over the metal of your belt, "it hides so much. With what I felt everytime I've spanked you- your pants do you no favors."

"Don't you- fucking dare!" You choked out, face turning slightly red from the lack of air and from Gojo slowly starting to fiddle with your belt.

"Oh, what are you gonna do about it, little slut?" Gojo teased, licking his lips as his long, lithe fingers started to tug at the leather of your belt, "Look at your fucking face- that look in your eyes? You're loving this."

"No- I'm not- fuck-" you sputtered out, failing to convey your frustrations. You couldn't stand these two assholes. Constantly picking on you and thinking they were so high and mighty- treating you like a bug on their path. So smug and narcissistic and not caring about anyone but themselves-

But as much as you'd hate to admit it, you couldn't deny that your body was throbbing. Everytime they bullied you, you felt that heat. Your heart-rate quickened and your pussy would grow wet, leaving you a confused mess every-time you got bullied. When it first happened, you didn't understand what was happening. Through some internet searching, you found those audios and realized you weren't the only one out there.

A masochist with a humiliation kink.

And without them knowing, the two guys you hate were fulfilling those fantasies for you.

Well now, they were more than aware.

"Come on, little bitch~" Geto cooed into your ear, his silky voice making you shudder, "Why settle with these audios when you can experience the real thing?"

"I...I..." you panted, heat rushing to your face and your heart pounding in your chest. You could feel your pussy dampen and had no doubt that if Gojo actually took your pants off, they'd see you be wet and needy.

"Too slow~" Gojo suddenly said, unbuckling your belt in a matter of seconds before ripping it off of you just as fast, throwing it aside. You yelped as you instinctively struggled, Geto laughing behind you as he tightened his hold on you even more, rendering you helpless. Gojo laughed as well, his bright blue eyes peeking from behind his glasses as you could see the gleam of excitement in them.

"You excited, little bitch?" Gojo cooed, licking his lips as his hands started trailing up your leg, running over the fabric of your pants as he inched up higher and higher. Everywhere he touched felt like it was on fire, a rush of heat coursing through you.

"He asked you a question." Geto said, clicking his tongue as you refused to say anything, "Weren't you taught any manners?"

"Fucking- i'll kill you-" you gasped out, face growing redder as you heard Geto's growl of annoyance, feeling the vibration of his chest against your back. "Don't worry about it, Suguru." Gojo said, smirking as he started undoing the buttons of your pants, "We can punish her later for her disrespect. For now, I just want to get at this pussy~"

With a big grin, Gojo ripped your pants off of you in one fell swoop, making you squeal as he tossed it away. You shivered as your bare legs were exposed to the evening air as well as their lecherous stares. You could see Gojo's eyes trail up your legs before zoning in on your clothed pussy, the man letting out a snort as he took in your panties.

"Pink with a bow on? Really?" he joked, "how plain and not sexy."

"I think they're cute." Geto chimed in, also shamelessly staring down at your clothed cunt, "But it doesn't matter. It's not going to be on her for long, anyway."

"True." Gojo said with a nod as he hooked his finger into the waistband of your panties and pulled it out before letting go, allowing the elastic to slap back against you, "but next time, wear something sexier."

"I hate you- so much!" you snarled, face bright red, biting your lower lip as the white haired man looped his fingers back into the waistband of your panties, this time, very obviously wanting to get it off of you. You gasped, unable to stop your shivers as Gojo leaned forward and placed a kiss on your tummy, his tongue peeking out to lick at your skin as he slowly starting pulling your panties down. He laughed as you tried to squiggle out but your movements only made the slide of your panties all the more easier for him.

"Look at that~" Gojo gasped as your cunt got exposed, practically drooling as he stared like a pervert, a twinkle behind his blue eyes, "You might be a weakling but atleast you have a pretty pussy."

"Atleast she's good for something~" Geto teased, shuffling behind you and in that moment, you felt it. Something long, hard and thick pressed up against your back and it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what that was. You gulped as you felt the imprint of Geto's cock against you, unable to help yourself as your eyes darted towards the front of Gojo's pants and sure enough: His erection was straining against it.

They were too focused on your cunt to notice where you were looking and you were too focused on their dicks to notice that your panties were now completely off and that Gojo had tossed the fabric aside. Geto immediately hooked his legs over your own before forcefully spreading them apart, leaving you wide and exposed to their perverted gazes. Gojo let out a whistle as he dragged a chair over before sitting on it, his face now right across your bare cunt.

"Fuck- fuck you- fuck you!" you gasped out and cursed, feeling lightheaded from the situation. "How does she look?" Geto asked, both of them ignoring you and you could hear the hunger in his voice and the sensation of his cock twitching against you. "Oh, she's perfect~" Gojo responded and you knew they were referring to your pussy as its own person- somehow giving it more praise and respect than they've ever given you, "And oh so wet~"

"I want to see." Geto demanded, not having the same view as Gojo, "Can't let you have all the fun."

"Sure thing, pal." Gojo said, not taking his eyes off of your pussy as he continued to stare, hand reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone. "Gojo- don't you dare-" You barked out, understanding what he was going to do- but what you hoped sounded aggressive came out soft and subservient. The man simply snorted in response, ignoring your pleas as he opened up his phone camera and started taking pictures of your pussy. You shut your eyes and squealed everytime you heard the shutter of the camera, trembling body still held tightly in Geto's arms.

"Her hole clenches every-time I take a picture~" Gojo cooed, bringing a hand up to thumb at your pussy lips before spreading them apart even more, making your back arch against Geto, "And look at this little clit! So fucking cute!"

"Just show it to me already!" Geto snarled, impatient. "Alright, alright." Gojo responded with a roll of his eyes, standing up before turning the phone towards the two of you, a shot of your spread pussy on screen. You turned your head away and closed your eyes, ears ringing at how humiliated you felt-

and pussy dripping at how good it was.

"Oh, she does look delicious!" Geto praised, gripping your chin as he forced you to turn your head back towards the phone, making you look at the picture, "You have such a pretty cunt and you hid it from us for so long?"

You whined cutely as you looked at the picture- a closeup shot of your spread cunt with a clear view of your clit and hole, your cunt glistening with slick.

"Seriously!" Gojo barked as he started swiping, showing off the various photos of your pussy that were now in his possession, "If we knew all you wanted was some fucking, we'd have pounded this pussy ages ago! I've always wanted a sex toy."

"Don't you have like a dozen already?"

"Yeah, but I'm sure this bitch's cunt will feel way better than some silicone~"

"I hate you-" you gasped out, any and all fight leaving your bones (not that there was much to begin with) as you leaned your head against Geto's shoulder, "I hate you both- so much-"

"Yeah?" Geto asked, the tone in his voice clearly indicating that he wasn't taking you seriously, "Well, this pussy says otherwise."

He let go of your chin and snaked his hand down quickly to cup your pussy, making you yelp. You didn't know if what you felt was shame or relief that there was finally a hand on your cunt- finally some friction against your dripping womanhood. You tossed your head back, eyebrows furrowed and lip trapped under your teeth as Geto's long fingers started gliding through your pussy lips. The slick sound of him rubbing circles over your hole and collecting your wetness echoed through the room, the sound making your ears burn and your chest feel like it was on fire.

This is was so...so...

so fucking fun...

"She's loving this~" Gojo predicted accurately, eyes darting between your blissful expression and Geto's fingers toying with your body, "Fucking whore- slutty bitch- oh, we are going to have fun with you~"

"Her pussy is growing wetter by the second." Geto noted, cock fully erect and throbbing against you, his other arm slowly letting go of the hold around your neck, confident that you were going to stay right there like a good little girl. You gasped as the head spinning pressure was finally off of you, taking in a few deep breaths but choking on it just as quickly as the man started using his slick covered fingers to run circles over your clit.

"You're dripping all over the table, little bitch~" Gojo teased, taking a couple more pictures before pocketing it, "Fuck- let me feel too- or- actually-"

He sat back on the chair, pulling it closer before gripping your thighs, an eager grin on his face:

"I'm gonna eat~"

"Get used to this, little bitch." Geto growled into your ear, pulling his hand away from your cunt and snickering at your whine of disappointment, "You're our toy now and we are going to do whatever we want to you, understand?"

His hands came upto your chest, lithe fingers starting to undo the buttons of your shirt one by one, revealing a patch of skin before the peeks of your bra. Gojo licked his lips and moved forward, his hot breath fanning against your slick cunt.

"Whatever. We. Want."

#subby writes #jujutsu geto smut #jujutsu gojo smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu geto #jujustsu kaisen x reader #gojo x reader x geto #gojo x you #gojo smut #gojo satoru smut #gojo x reader #geto suguru smut #geto x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk smut

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xayasmrxsoftlyx · 4 months ago

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Imagine...

Imagine you recently moved to the outskirts of a forest. The nature is beautiful and you do your part to keep it that way. You plant pollinator friendly flowers, rabbit friendly herbs, deer friendly bushes, you put out bird feeders, hummingbird feeders, squirrel feeders (though honestly, it's just extra bird feeders with less specific seeds since you noticed the birds didn't always eat the variety equally). Hell, you even changed out your lawn from traditional grass to clover and native wild flowers to use less water. You've been putting in a lot of effort to keep things nice for nature-- it's certainly been noticed, too.

In fact, you've no idea of the amount of eyes watching your beauty preserve nature's beauty- and to them you are nature's finest beauty. Looking at your plush body care for, tend to, and love the very things that feed their lives' essence; it's a sight that cannot be beat. At first, it was a competition amongst the forest. Who was yours? Who you belonged to? Now, now they understand that just like you work so hard to aid all of them, they can all share, love, tend to, and care for you, as well.

Imagine the first you meet, unbeknownst to you, is planned- it's all planned. You're sitting outside on a blanket, book in hand, just enjoying some rare free time when you hear a loud buzzing. It sounds as if a humming bird were flying right beside your ear. Yet, when you look up, it's certainly not that far from the truth despite not being completely correct in concept.

He's shorter than you, but not by much, barely hovering a foot off the ground. He hides half his body behind your oak tree- the one with all your feeders on it. He's got brilliant colors and jerks almost completely behind the tree when your eyes meet. (He's supposed to be speaking to you but when his eyes met your own shining gaze, he couldn't help but grow shy.) Your sweet, comforting scent has wafted in the air, stirred up in part by his own rapidly fluttering wings. He's buzzing with anxiety and adrenaline, the need to prove and show you his skills battling with his fear of your rejection. Now that he's gotten so close to those plump cheeks, he needs to kiss. Now that he's seen how soft and warm you are he needs to get closer; he needs to feel how soft and plush you are as he clings to your chubby form from his own anxiety.

Imagine you softly call out to him, voice sounding like both the sweetest lullaby to soothe his racing heart and mind and also just like home- like the sound he'd come come to with a nest full of little hatchlings and your warmth shared. It's that thought that spurs him into action, faster than you could reasonably expect. After all, the speed he can achieve gets to nearly the same as a traditional hummingbird.

He's higher in the air than you'd ever think he'd go, he shoots down, nearly towards you- no, definitely towards you, nearly at you the speed of which creates a loud chirp and you hear the sweet melody of whistles erupt from him as he's closer to you. As he hovers before you, dance still pumping adrenaline through him, he's more than proud of the awed expression you've been unable to shake. When you close your book and set it down to completely give him your full attention, he preens at your acceptance. You may not fully understand your own consent to his courtship, but the primal, feral instinct within him is more than satisfied with your open attraction and silent acceptance of him into your space- your life. He lingers by you for a moment and when he doesn't hide or fly away from you, it indicates he's comfortable enough with you. You smile and begin to speak.

Imagine you still keep your voice soft, welcoming for him. It's so, so sweet of you to care so much for him already- such a precious, soft, sweet mate you are already without hardly trying. You introduce yourself to him- you give him your name! As you do so, he flits around you with little twirls and swoops in his own excitement. Instinctually, you hold your hand out to shake. He grabs it instantaneously within his own soft, warm grasp. He holds your hand, enjoying how his hands are still just a smidge bigger than your own little, pudgy ones; even if it's barely noticeable to you, he can tell. You give the shared grasp a shake but he doesn't release you, instead he uses it to hover closer to you. (He's tempted to swoop into your outreached arm and cuddle into your side, he's strongly resisting that temptation. The mantra in his head is "not now, don't do it, not now...")

You smell like the flowers you plant, the earthiness of fresh watered soil, and there's a warmth beneath it all he can't place. It's enchanting, nearly hypnotizing. (Fuck, the other's are going to drool over your scent later when they get closer- maybe even over him if it's strong enough lingering on him after he meets you.) When he finally releases, he gives you his own name breathlessly with a giant blush upon his cheeks. His feathers puff up around him in his embarrassment before he dashes off towards the forest. As he does so, he pauses to look back at you every few yards. Instead of following you like he's silently urging and beckoning you to do, you smile, little puffy cheeks rounding adorably as you tell him "see you soon!" (fuck- his heart is going as fast as his wings and that cannot be healthy)

Imagine you start seeing Calypte more often. In fact, you start meeting him in your garden at least twice a week. After your first week, you begin to bring him fruit to eat, since you didn't quite think he drank from the hummingbird feeder like his look alike. The first time he ate the orange so ravenously for you that you never stopped. He knows that in nature, if he were true to his counterpart, he wouldn't be building the nest- you would. He knows in nature his counterparts instinct wouldn't be to linger after copulation, but he supposes that side of him is entirely the human part.

The need to preen and nest for you, the need to stay by your side, the need for you attention, for your care, for your love. That is surely, entirely his humanity. After all, hybrids are different from their animal inspiration. They're an interesting amalgamation of all the best parts of both. That's why they were created, why they were designed, right? Before the humanity and ethics caught up to it all, anyway. His parents acted very human after all, it just depended on genetics. However you.... you brought the humanity out of him. You bring the humanity out of him. It thrills him, makes him feel alive, and he can not get enough of it- of you.

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mindfulstudyquest · 9 months ago

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❥﹒♡﹒☕﹒ 𝗯𝗲 𝘀𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗲𝗿 ( 𝗮𝗰𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗺𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗼𝗻𝗹𝘆 !! )

𝟭. improve your writing skills ( ✒️ )

i feel that not everyone has the perception of how important it is to know how to write. you don't have to be a poet, nor the new emily brontë, but fluid, conscious, rich writing makes the difference. really. you could write a page without saying anything at all, but if that damn page is written good and smoothly, then you can be sure that you will get extra points. take the time to improve your writing skills, the best advice i have for doing so is reading. read as much as you can. read novels (non-fiction in this case doesn't help because the content is preferred rather than the form), read contemporary authors – you don't necessarily have to read sophocles' tragedies, but read quality stuff. expand your vocabulary, your knowledge of syntax, learn to use punctuation! and then write, tell stories, write love letters, write reviews of films, books, cultural festivals, open a blog on tumblr and write to practice, reread what you write ad nauseam, until it is perfect, until the form of your essay is pulitzer prize worthy.

bonus some of my favourite authors (tell me in the comments about yours!): ian mcewan, banana yoshimoto, haruki murakami, george orwell, josé saramago, albert camus, khaled hosseini, hanya yanagihara

𝟮. develop critical thinking ( 💭 )

if you have always studied passively by absorbing information and vomiting it onto a test sheet then you have wasted your time. taking on information is not enough, you need to know how to rework it and develop your own idea about it. especially in the arts and literature one may disagree with certain information provided by a textbook. developing critical thinking is not easy, especially due to the school system that teaches us to standardize thinking. always consult all available sources on a given topic, compare them, analyze contradictions. it might be difficult and tiring – our brain spends more energy processing two conflicting pieces of information than processing two pieces of information that agree – but it will be worth it. by practicing critical thinking and improving your argumentation skills, you will not only be able to improve in your studies, becoming able to present complex topics and make interdisciplinary connections, but also in daily life, you will become much less influenced and manipulated by external information.

𝟯. find yourself an interest ( 🌷 )

it could be anything, but find an interest that excites you and you enjoy and do research about it. watch videos, documentaries, read articles. it doesn't have to be school-related, it must be an external topic that you are passionate about and that allows you to rediscover the joy of studying and learning every time school seems to suffocate it. sometimes i'm not in the mood to study for exams, so i dedicate myself to my personal research and finally find my spark, my seek for knowledge. for example, my interest is true crime, it has always fascinated me since i was little, but yours could be wild animals, makeup, comics, ships, planes, ocean flora, literally anything. there is no constraint.

𝟰. analyze your mistakes and recognize your wrongs ( 🫒 )

there is no shame in making mistakes. everyone makes mistakes, we are human, but the real sin is getting bogged down in mistakes, refusing to acknowledge them, and continuing to make them again and again. we should be continually growing, continually discovering ourselves, both intellectually and emotionally. how many of you were the "gifted kid" when you were little and then grew up into burned out high school / uni students desperately seeking academic validation? there comes a time when talent isn't enough, you have to put in the effort, and this doesn't make you less intelligent or gifted, in fact, quite the opposite. dedicating time and attention to your personal and intellectual growth also means having to ruminate on your mistakes. it's scary, but it's the most effective way if you really want to improve. take a notebook and at the end of the day reflect on the highlights and the wrongs, what you could have done better, where you would like to push forward tomorrow, what you achieved today. did you make a mistake? first ask yourself why and then look for a way to solve the problem, make every bad moment a lesson, a brick on which to build the version of you you wanto to become tomorrow.

𝟱. don't be afraid of doing researches ( 🧃 )

the amount of fake news and misinformation online is appalling. opening any app like tiktok or instagram we are inundated with information that is often (not always, but not so rarely) inaccurate. don't be afraid to conduct your own research, if you have time to mindlessly scroll through tiktok you will also have five minutes to read an article regarding that information provided. don't know the meaning of a word? look it up before using it. not sure about a piece of information? check it before using it in your argumentation. in the age of immediate access to data we have no excuse to be superficial.

𝟲. master communication ( ♟️ )

mastering communication is essential in both personal and professional realms. it's the cornerstone of building meaningful relationships, whether it's conveying ideas effectively in academia or fostering connections in the workplace. developing strong communication skills not only enhances your ability to articulate thoughts but also empowers you to listen actively, empathize with others, and resolve conflicts constructively. ultimately, honing these skills cultivates confidence, credibility, and success in all aspects of life.

𝟳. push yourself out of your comfort zone ( 🧸 )

build your confidence. confidence is uncomfortable. don't be afraid of it. you are young, this is the right time to experiment, take risks, discover who you really are. this is the best time for you to do those things that you would otherwise never do, you don't want to regret later in life that you didn't accept that scholarship, that trip abroad, that job opportunity, because you didn't feel comfortable enough. do things that take you out of your comfort zone until everything becomes your comfort zone. go on solo dates, be a social butterfly, tell the girl at the bookstore you love her t-shirt, go to the theater alone, eat at a restaurant alone, take that trip. if it goes badly, you'll only have one funny story to tell.

𝟴. stay informed about the news (but not too much!) ( 🌍 )

this might be controversial, but: stay informed about the news, just don't overdo it. personally, i am an easily influenced person and i realized that being constantly exposed to the bad things happening in the world had drained me and made me terribly depressed. don't get me wrong, you need to be informed about what's happening in the world and in your country, just being constantly surrounded by horrible news repeated ad nauseam on TV programs is of no use. be aware.

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angelfishe · 1 month ago

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>> 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎 𝐀𝐘𝐀𝐓𝐎

>> yandere ayato x reader

Born from one of the minor clans of inazuma, you were sent to the Narukami shrine to be trained by guuji yae to be a shrine maiden at the age of 10. In the meantime your parents sent you to serve the heir of the kamisato clan until when you reach the age of 10, little did you know this will catch the heart of the heir or future commissioner.

Dividers by @cafekitsune

The ishikawa clan is one of the minor clans of inazuma, the clan's purpose is to be a servant of the high ranking clans of inazuma or to serve the electro archon as a shrine maiden.

Your purpose in this world has already been determined, to serve and be a shrine maiden in the Narukami shrine under the guidance of guuji yae or madam yae Miko.

Since the age of requirements to be a shrine maiden is ten, your parents sent you to serve the heir of the kamisato clan in the mean time until you reach ten.

At first ayato was pretty distant He treats all his servants equally and always puts up a soft smile in front of everyone, your purpose is to be his personal maid helping him with his schedule, serving him tea, cleaning his room, dressing him and being his companion.

For ayaka she's the Sweetest, miss kamisato would usually ask for you to watch over her and play with her. she once called you big sister which is something you find fond of.

One time ayato asked you to help him with some small documents his father put him up to train and unfortunately for you since your family is only motive to serve they find things like reading and writing unfit for a servant.

when Ayato learns about this fact he is shocked by it, so he made a promise to teach you how to write and as well reading. Every time he finishes his training you would go to his quarters and you will be taught by him how to read and write.

It was a struggle at first but soon you managed to grasp the basics, you were grateful that he taught you these skills originally you refused his offer but he insisted on teaching you.

It was no surprise that he was always with other nobles as well the elders of the clan would try to set him up with other noble ladies for him to get married but he always rejected and would go find you no matter where you are and hug you. Saying you were the only one for him.

And these nobles were not happy and it will always end up you getting beat up by a stick from them accusing you of seducing the heir for your own personal gains, you would always leave with cuts and bruises.

As well since your servant, you were tasked to be his food taster and since many have tried to assassinate him, you can't remember how many times you almost died and fell due to the poison in his food. One you were unable to move due a poison ayato the entire time by your side.

As expected during your tenth birthday you were expected to be sent to the Narukami mountain and ayato won't allowed you to go, he holds your body so tightly it took all the efforts of some servants and as well his father to pry him off you and when you were walking out of the mansion, he was struggling against he servants reaching his hand for you and as well promising one day marrying you.

When you arrive at Narukami mountain and are greeted by madam yae Miko and other shrine maidens, they help you settle in a room and give you, your shrine maiden uniform. For the past few years you were trained by them as well as madam yae Miko.

You always sent letters about your well being towards ayato, but during your time in the shrine, the kamisato clan hasn't been going so well you heard they have fallen in harsh times.

After a few years, the clan has become more prosperous thanks towards the clan head and commissioner of the yashiro clan. And the first time in a few years you finally met ayato again he was taller as well more broad and handsome as well being a vision holder. He came to visit the shrine to discuss business with madam yae Miko.

You were sweeping the courtyard and a shadow loom over you and when you turned back you met his face and left you stunt. He asked you how you have been.

You were stunned and froze upon his appearance and he makes a teasing comment about how you haven't changed, you're still the same as ever.

He embraces you into a very tight hug causing you to drop the broom you were holding, his hand embraced and traveled everywhere in your body, memorizing your new features.

This science causes a bunch of stares from your fellow shrine maidens as well whispers amongst those who seek the electro archon present. This is inappropriate on another level, a shrine maiden who vowed to remain pure and serve the electro archon and inazuma bachelor as well head of the yashiro commission embracing each other.

Suddenly the hug was stopped by a cough by madam yae Miko and reminding ayato about what they are planning on discussing, ayato quickly retreated his hands from your body and followed madam yae Miko not before giving you a signal to meet him at the beach at night and giving you a wink and his figure disappear into another room.

You were soon crowded by your fellow shrine maidens with questions about your relationship with him. You managed to avoid the question softly but they are still Persistent to know.

At the beach at night he was waiting for you there looking beautiful and immaculate at the same time, how can someone be so perfect as if he was shaped by the gods. He turns towards and says about you being here.

He comes closer and puts his hands on your cheek admiring your face on how much you have changed and how beautiful you were. He was star struck.

He made a deal with madam yae Miko on about letting you go as well you can retire and be his wife plus he promised to marry you. He sealed the deal with a kiss that caught you off guard you tried to push him away but he was too strong and got stronger with the kisses inserting his tongue. He reached down his sleeve and pulled out a comb made of gold and flowers made out of jewels. And he grabbed your arm and dragged you to the estate where ayaka is waiting and celebrating your engagement and you were the only one that is slow to take the process on what happened, frozen.

Ayato grabs your waist tightly and gives you a warning smile and you immediately know this place is gonna be your prison

#genshin fanfic #genshin headcanons #genshin impact #genshin imagines #genshin x reader #ayato x reader #yandere ayato #yandere kamisato ayato #ayato kamisato #yandere headcanons #yandere x reader

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sandsorghum · 8 days ago

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And I sat with my anger long enough...

A Reflection on How Trauma, Rage & Grief shaped Higuruma & Nanami (Differently)

Nah, Don't be fooled - Higuruma is not Nanami 2.0, or just a rebrand of noble, stoic workaholic. I explore some of these psychological nuances below in depth.

Frequent Comparisons

People draw parallels between Nanami and Higuruma mostly commonly through their Frustrations towards the System. For Nanami, that's been both Capitalism and the Jujutsu world, and for Higuruma it's the Justice system. This results in an aura or impression of emotional detachment, but it's certainly not to be mistaken for apathy. Quite the opposite in fact! It's because both men are so propelled by their principles that they don't permit themselves the "luxury" of (excessive) emotional fervour - but there may be some distinctions with how they go about that too!

Both have been worn down throughout the years, but both also have an Inciting Incident of a significant traumatic episode. I'll explore how both the long-term slog and traumas have affected them, but first let's make a distinction about each of their inciting incidents.

Duelling Dualities

Both Nanami and Higuruma's major turning points are based around how they couldn't protect someone they cared about, namely Yuu Haibara and Keita Oe respectively. These two also represent a loss of innocence for them.

On the surface, the loss and demise of a friend during formative years (Nanami was still in his teens!) would seem to have a much more significant impact than "losing" a client or case as a working adult, plus the degrees of emotional intimacy and investment are vastly different.

Nanami has also suffered this kind of emotional gradual decay but his experiences were less high stakes, less intense and less drawn out. As a salaryman he was only enduring it for himself, and didn't have the added burden of inadequate efforts jeopardizing someone else's life or liberation.

However, his loss is more literal than the lawyer's - as far as we know Keita isn't dead, but I can't imagine his fate to be very favourable given the circumstances around his..."mistrial". (I don't know what the legal ramifications of your attorney going berserk and offing the prosecution is, but I doubt those are good odds. I wonder if Keita's fate weighs on Higuruma too, after the canon events in the manga.)

Speaking of which, having someone die in front of you for the first time is monumental, and here's where we have another distinction; the kind of Guilt Nanami and Higuruma suffer. *Survivor's versus Perpertrator's.

[*As a a caveat, I'm no expert in clinical psychology so I want to add it might not be wholly accurate to characterise Nanami's guilt as classic Survivor's Guilt, and it's hard to say to what degree he experienced this specific sort, or for how long, but I'm sure he felt a significant sense of failure at being unable to protect his friend, which later expands into frustration into being put into such a situation in the first place.]

When I said "these two also represent a loss of innocence" earlier, I wasn't referring to Keita's, but Higuruma's corruption when he kills the prosecutor and judge. We are led to believe that Keita is plausibly innocent and didn't commit the crime, and is thus morally whole - whereas there's absolutely none of that ambiguity on Higuruma's part

Higuruma's is a moral failing, compared to young Nanami's one of ability and insufficient experience, exacerbated by the jujutsu system's flaws. We don't have the details about how Nanami's ill-fated mission with Haibara unfolded, only that they expected a second grade curse but were faced with a higher level opponent, which they weren't skilled enough to take on.

Nanami might be able to "offset" some of his guilt at being unable to save Haibara by blaming broader forces beyond him, or his circumstances of being too young and not being better prepared - although I don't think this is his nature to rely on that sort of naiveté reasoning and he carries that grief with him anyway (any iteration of survivor's guilt can be quite immune to logic.)

But for Higuruma, that burden of his ethical lapse rests entirely on his shoulders.

Higuruma fails in a way that feels or can be deemed to be much more personal; even as his actions are also similarly compounded by an unfair system but at the end of the day, he still killed with his own two hands.

There's no rationalising around such a crime of passion. There's no abstracting it out to the tolls and pressures the system takes, even if they are critical factors. The system is broken, and breaks him, and for a while Higuruma would rather blame and contend with its flaws rather than his own.

A man strung up by his own high ethical standards, what is he to do?

Conceits Revealed Through Self-Deceit

In times of severe emotional crisis, it's common for people to avoid the truth of what they really feel and/or want, because it's saddled with a lot of pain. As mentioned above, there's a specific kind of grief that festers with Higuruma's guilt which isn't present with Nanami's.

Higuruma snaps and he has to pick up the shards of his world view, we actually get a pretty coherent albeit funhouse mirror version of his moral reasonings but to be clear, this is less confrontation and more qualifiers to deal with the fact that he's now a murderer.

It manifests as a cynicism-fueled delusion where he attempts to argue, or rather persuade himself the killings were just or justified, not only that but that Culling Game killings could be an equally valid if alternative recourse for justice - his own Domain is a reflection of a courtroom turned theater, satirizing the legal process. A show trial in other words. 1ichtbringer has an excellent analysis that further unpacks how his Deadly Sentencing technique falsely stages a trial so that it appears to be impartial, and points out how Higuruma tampers with the process too. Highly recommend reading it to understand how beautifully deranged Higu's processing is, despite dressing it up in the rhetoric of logic (omg he's a delulu is the solulu girlie just like us!1!!)

Higuruma attempts to assuage his guilt by disregarding the justice system (and to an extent, the moral parameters) he has worked within his entire life, by harping on its limitations and flaws which are all fairly valid, but doesn't negate the fact that he's a criminal now

Furthermore, he is confronted by the contradiction between his and Yuji's killings, and the way each contextualizes their culpability couldn't be more stark. Yuji immediately confesses and doesn't try to rationalise or make any excuses. Higuruma on the other hand contorts his heart and head through several hoops so he doesn't have to feel such guilt - until he does.

From Higuruma's perspective, Yuji wasn't culpable for the Shibuya slaughter. Even as Yuji feels responsible, he is still innocent because he was acting under the influence of someone else's will - unlike Higuruma who carried out his executions with his own volition and more self-awareness. Quite simply, being blinded by rage doesn't hold up in court as a reason. Emotional states and pressures can be considered during sentencing but I doubt they would be much of a mitigating factor. Unfortunately for Higuruma it's difficult or impossible to defend his violent outburst of emotion since his framework of ethics and justice is premised so much on logic, which makes the nature of his moral lapse even more tragic and a particularly effective example of Gege writing dramatic irony.

And now, let's discuss the fiction Nanami Kento sells himself on.

When we get Nanami's flashback in Ch30, we're lead to believe he's the kind of guy who has never worried about "the meaning of life or his purpose on earth". Oddly enough, I think there is an element of truth to this for Nanami - Having faced an existential threat at such a tender age probably puts one off contending with such existential conundrums.

But then shortly after we get these panels:

This echoes one of Marx's central critiques of Capitalism, where workers are separated from both meaning and the means of production. Technically, Nanami's job scope - presumably as some type of wealth/hedgefund manager (or heaven forbid a stockbroker) - doesn't even have a traditionally tangible means of production, which only further reinforces the lack of importance of who he is as an individual and the sense of alienation, a pretty common phenomenon under Capitalism where workers feel psychologically and probably emotionally estranged from their work. Oh, the routine malaise!

[I fall back in love with him again each time i see the tear wiping part]

I don't think people have such profound insights or realisations if they haven't considered at length these broader philosophical questions regarding their priorities in life - but what I've always found pretty sexy was the simplicity of the scenario that gave Nanami this insight; an epiphany under ordinary, understated circumstances that he set his mind to without further equivocation. (And yes, I said it, it's sexy)

Who knows to what extent Nanami believed in his obsession about money for those four years; was his sole goal really just to retire young and migrate somewhere cheap? We know he still harboured dreams of moving to Malaysia; perhaps he could have afforded to by the time he was in his 30s, but there is also something within him that compels him to earn that retirement, not in an economic sense but rather in a way that addresses the question of what makes him feel like he'd deserved it. In short, how he earns a living in a way that aligns with and finances living a good life, does matter to Nanami. And by good we reference not just quality but morality too of course. The way things are done, the minutiae and attitude towards process matters very much to Nanami, not just the end goal.

I think that might be another way he differs a little from Higuruma, who could be a tad more impatient and results-oriented or focused, hence he'd be willing to take more risks (personal), bend rules and take advantage of loopholes - these tendencies all dovetail with his background navigating an already unfair legal system.

So, now that I've laid out the "lies" Nanami and Higuruma temporarily let themselves buy into, let's unpack what it indicates about their personalities. Gege often puts his (ill-fated?) idealists through their paces and what these pretences or obfuscations suggest about each man is fascinating and endearing to me in different ways!

The justification of his murder of two civilians is the central fib Higuruma tries to believe, but it's a delusion underpinned by disillusionment and years of constantly engaging with the incontrovertible ugliness and darkness of human nature encountered in his profession. That's how he spends his early adulthood.

Nanami, almost on the opposite end, doesn't want to acknowledge, let alone face such suffering and darkness for years - we might call it wilful or deliberate ignorance, or it may even have been a more subconscious choice. Either way, the avoidance stems from the tragedy of his personal history.

One man believes in his self-deception because he has faced the truth for too long, the other pursued a false priority because he has been attempting to avoid the agony and brutal realities of his calling.

When I think about the nature of their jobs, there also seems to be differences in the emotional and psychological tolls they're dealt. Being a sorceror has less overlap with social work and to my mind, has more parallels with law enforcement with missions revolving around investigation, surveillance, nullification of threats and broadly, maintaining a status quo and security for civilians. Most curses are abstract entities birthed from an amorphous mass of negative energy, there is an erasure of sentience, or at least a greatly reduced need to account for it, since they're already monsters meant to be eliminated in the most straightforward sense. A more sensitive take would be that these mutated souls must be put out of their misery. As for most curse users, fortunately or unfortunately, there's little opportunity, let alone necessity to understand their humanity (apart from Geto, more on him later.)

Compared to a criminal lawyer who has to deal with and get to know (probably not the nicest) individuals over several months, handling their suspicions and doubts, cultivating the trust and human relationships; that takes a lot! No wonder Higuruma gets worn out.

"I have never been and never will be frustrated by my own uselessness." -Nanami Kento

Our bodies have something called a Sympathetic Nervous System and biology predicates its sensitivities and capacities for emotional duress; this also influences how much of others' sorrows we can take on before we become fatigued. Every individual is born with a different endurance. Higuruma and Nanami likely have very high tolerances, but everyone has their limits.

This part is pretty speculative but I think how these two men empathise is different as well; Higuruma definitely uses intellectual empathy primarily, while Nanami experiences emotional empathy slightly more often. He has genuine care and concern for his colleagues, and relationships with them - they may not appear to be exceptionally close ones but they are important to him. Just remember what happened to ponytail guy after he injured Ijichi.

Higuruma on the other hand may not have had the opportunity to cultivate such personal connections with those he works with, either by circumstance, choice or a hybrid of the two. I think he cares about people in a more abstract sense, as representations of his duties, rather than actual individuals whose emotional interiority he must grasp. Perhaps it's out of necessity or an instinct for self-preservation that he maintains this sort of distance. This isn't to say he's callous, just that the way he relates with those in his occupation is more analytical.

Where they are alike is that both probably know it's unsustainable to operate from a baseline of righteous fury or indignation in their jobs. Going off his occasional outbursts, Nanami does seem to have more of that undercurrent but I don't think he's suppressing his anger daily or at least, he has some way of coping with it long term so it doesn't reach a critical mass, whereas Higuruma, if he had any awareness of his encroaching cynicism, probably couldn't afford the time and headspace to process his emotions properly.

Corroding Cynicism, Corroborating Hope

Initially, I had a difficult time understanding a particular line in Higuruma's monologue in Ch166, the version I read translated it as:

"I thought I should value that very depravity, which other animals don't have!"

I realised this line has a resonance with another ardent idealist, Geto, who observes this hideousness in "monkeys" as a trait he abhors, unlike Higuruma who cherishes it and believes it's the thing that sets us apart from other beasts.

It was only after contrasting this pair of idealists' motivations that I could comprehend Higuruma's breakdown.

Unlike Geto, Higuruma's raison d'être (before he gets a taste for homicide) isn't in achieving grand ambitions, he's not trying to permanently overturn a system but would rather manoeuvre within one. It's not so much revolution as it is mitigation (via litigation, hah). He is determined and convinced he can do this despite the odds he's given.

The issue with this granular type of change of course is that it's just as likely to erode their agents, through "the accumulation of little despairs". Not so little in Higuruma's case of course, since even his hard won interventions are significant as they determine the fate of people's freedoms.

What initially confounded me about Higuruma's breaking point and his tirade about how "the darkness before your eyes is just darkness" is that it didn't seem to challenge or contradict the reality he knew about before he snapped, that people can be awful.

Weakness and ugliness will always exist in humans, but I don't think Higuruma anticipated or believed such weakness was embedded in the legal system to such an extent. He's finally made aware of it with Keita's case, and I think that's when he decides the system isn't simply flawed but fundamentally corrupt and that he can no longer make any further progress within it, that his struggle isn't worth it.

The inherent fallibility of humans remain a fact. However, there's a distinction between universal and personal truths; the former often informs the latter, but what really matters for how we act are those individual, internalised truths. Higuruma's most fundamental truth is:

He's someone who operates from his principles, regardless of results or odds - it's why he fights losing battles, it's why he goes up against Sukuna. But for a moment, he's blinded by disappointment and anger and forgets that this is his ultimate north star.

Nanami goes through a lot less to remember his conscience, and I partially attribute that to surviving something as terrible as he does at an early age. Closure might be a bit ambitious, but I'd like to believe how he handled and addressed the loss of Haibara was to honour him by returning to the jujutsu world and looking out for other young sorcerors in his own way, guiding those like Ino and Yuji.

The sense of accountability and empathy he indirectly instills in Yuji is something Higuruma picks up on later, and it gives him some semblance of hope that there are other people like Yuji trying to do the right thing, those worth protecting and supporting, and keeping his eyes open for.

Conclusions

One last thing I want to compare between Nanami and Higuruma is how they approached the talents they were born with. Nanami has his Ratio technique, and Higuruma is intellectually gifted though later we understand his true inherent genius lies in his jujutsu abilities.

In a way it's inevitable for our destinies to be shaped by our capabilities, but I think it's interesting that Nanami tried to deny this innate rare skill as a sorceror and find something else he could do. If he wanted to lead a fulfilling life helping others, say as an educator or firefighter or paramedic (swoon) I don't doubt he could have, but he chose the path not many people are cut out for, returning to it not because it was pre-determined or cause he'd excel in the area, but because he knew he could guarantee doing it well in the moral sense.

Higuruma strikes me as another individual who'd be impressively competent at almost anything he sets his mind to. But the thing he's best at, given the circumstances he discovered them in, are skills he's now obligated to use in service of jujutsu HQ's higher ups. Higuruma wouldn't go so far as to reject using his natural powers and skills as a sorceror because of the unpleasant association of their origins, but he might struggle with how best to use these new tools, instead of being used. There may be another period of apparent futility he'll have to contend with.

I don't think Higuruma's faith is restored in the justice system by the time the manga concludes, and he'll have a hell of a time navigating the jujutsu one too, however he's more suited to being a sorceror as it would let him act more freely, in accordance with his own assessments, in ways that strike a better balance between his own moral code and jujutsu society's law,; something that he might even be able to shape in the wake of the Culling Games and a paradigm shift for Japan, now it's been forced to reckon with this whole other world.

(Gambatte, Higuruma!)

#higuruma hiromi #jujutsu kaisen #sandsorghum #yeah i think about him A LOT

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astrobydalia · 11 months ago

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Astro knowledge

A short more educational post for y'all!

work by astrobydalia

Pisces/Neptune rules marketing while Gemini/Mercury is more about sales. They’re both deeply related but difference is Gemini is the salesman that appeals to your reason and resorts to mind games (Mercury) in a one-on-one to convince you why you should buy into something. Marketing on the other hand is ruled by Pisces because it appeals to the collective unconscious (Neptune). It’s all about crafting subliminal messages that make you see that product/idea as more appealing even when you know what you're seeing is not realistic. Very related to propaganda as well. This is also a field that requires a lot of creativity, they're constantly using metaphors, hyperboles or even making up little fictional stories to sell a product...

I've already said this but for anyone new, the planet that rules real love is moon not Venus. See the full explanation here

Where Sagittarius is in your chart will bring luck and happiness, but Taurus does give off expansive (or dare I say expensive) energy too. Where Taurus sits in your chart is an area of your life that will be more grandiose in nature cause Taurus rules over indulgence and pleasure. You could experience some sort of privilege when it comes to this house, the themes of this house come to you in abundance with little to no effort. Some examples:

Taurus 1st house: have a striking and bold appearance, gives off luxury and attractive vibes regardless of their looks. These people could come across as a "high value woman/man" without trying

Taurus 7th house: very active and abundant love life, lots of suitors and business partners landing on your lab, they want to provide for you and/or give you lucrative opportunities

Taurus 9th house: having access to high quality education or elevated knowledge. Probably attended a very exclusive or expensive collage, payed vacations vibes, easy and frequent relocations

Taurus 10th house: almost untouchable reputation, very respected and liked by others, is always seen as innocent or harmless, lots of success with their ventures

The 2nd house also talks about your roots and upbringing but in a more objective and material sense. This house and the position of its ruler can be very telling of how your actual social and economic context shaped your basic values. It can also talk about your house as the 2nd house rules over real state, lands, properties, etc. The 4th house is more about your home, how you were raised within that reality and how it impacted you emotionally at your core

Example: Libra risings could come from an environment that shaped their values around survival and money gains due to Scorpio 2nd house (I've seen very commonly they come from marginalized groups or humble beginnings or very financially competitive environments). So they have a family that is very demanding and expected them to work or be a boss from a young age (Capricorn 4th house)

Speaking of, 2nd house does not ONLY rule money!!! It rules RESOURCES and anything that you own that is highly valuable and you can put a price on!!!! And yes of course since these things are valuable they can be easily monetized, traded, used to make you money. This can be your skills, assets, real state, etc. The 2nd house is your piggy bank basically

There's a lot of talk about how 11th house is how you make money in your career while 2nd house is how you spend it. Well this is technically true but I'd like to add more explanation to this. In derivative astrology 11th house is 2nd (money) from the 10th (career) so it does show how you actually make money from your career. 2nd house is where you get money but 11th house is how you make money. Your 11th house is the multiplier (credits to @cosmicpuzzle for that fact) while 2nd house is where your financial stability lies on. In other words 11th house is indicative of how you generate more but 2nd house is all about what you already have, its about what you can make with what you OWN already, it deals with money that is already available through your resources' value (again, you piggy bank). This does 'make' you money in a way like if you lose your job and are lacking money your 2nd house where you turn to for example if you own a house you can rent it, you can buy a rare item that costs a lot, selling your art or any other natural skill, etc. The concept of value is important in this house bc it can increase or decrease (while 11th house increases and multiplies). The more valuable your resources are the more potential money you have available which means more financial stability and wealth. Anyways hope all that makes sense

We often refer to water signs when talking spirituality but truth is fire signs are very spiritual in nature as well. Fire symbolizes the spark of life itself, nothing could exist or be created without it. Aries deals with the basic ontological conception of 'I am, I exist', Leo is about how the self manifests and create itself and Sagittarius is about the purpose of the self. Living beings need heat to thrive/live and just like fire radiates heat your spirit radiates energy, creativity, passion, action, inspiration, purpose... and that's what fire signs represent. I'd say fire represents the fundamentality of spirit while water is more about the complexity of inner world.

Just like Aries is the "natural" ASC for a birth chart, Libra is the natural ASC for a composite chart cause a birth chart represents the chart of an individual (Aries) while composite represents the mutual relationship between two people (Libra)

When you develop the themes of a certain house in a healthy manner, you naturally start attracting the themes of the opposite house. This goes to show you that things in astrology aren't as compartmentalized as they seem, everything works together in certain way SPECIALLY axis'. Examples:

You need to focus on yourself first (1st house) to find the right partner (7th house)

You need to investigate and learn (3rd house) in order to find higher answers (9th house)

When you invest successfully (8th house) you earn more available resources (2nd house).

When you develop your hobbies and individuality (5th house) you find keen people (11th house)

When you heal spiritually (12th house) you find healthier habits (6th house)

There's this misconception that you have to disregard your South Node in order to develop you NN, but the thing is the SN is the starting point that can lead you towards developing your NN. This can happen as a harsh and painful lesson tho if you liger too much on your SN. For example NN in Libra need to learn to compromise in this life, there's a lot of focus on the self and independence, but eventually this placement teaches them that if you really wanna develop yourself in full potential (Aries) eventually you'll need others (Libra). If they linger too much on Aries SN they could experience a harsh lesson that forces them to count on others

work by astrobydalia

#astrology #astro #astro observations #astro notes #zodiac #birth chart #astrobydalia #astrology observations

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