#cleaning out my drafts and found this in there

[kira-dofc]

Rich Fanboy! Nanami x Cosplayer! Male Reader

Notes: I'VE BEEN GONE FOR TOO LONG SO I HOPE THE WAIT IS NOT LONG ENOUGH!!! This was in my drafts but never really made anything new... I don't know what to write, any suggestions will be appreciated!!!!

Word Count: 3000

Warnings: Smut! Size kink, unprotected sex, crossdressing, feminization, mirror sex, slight out of character (?) Nanami, Manipulation sex, breeding kink,

-

Kento Nanami. A name known far and wide, especially among the wealthy. To most people, he seemed like the perfect man. He was mature, kind, and deeply respected. He had the kind of money others could only dream about. Everything about him seemed flawless, from the way he dressed to the calm way he spoke. People believed he had everything. Money, manners, and a quiet charm that made him very likable. Among the rich, he was the richest. His life was full of luxury, comfort, and things most people would never have.

He lived in a mansion that was the biggest and most beautiful in the whole area. It looked like something from a movie or a fairy tale. The garden around the house was full of flowers, trees, and perfectly trimmed bushes. Every flowerbed looked like it had been painted by a master artist. A team of gardeners worked every day to make sure everything looked perfect. Inside, his house was just as beautiful. Servants kept everything clean and running smoothly. They were always present but never in the way. Everything worked like clockwork.

But even with all of this, Nanami felt something was missing. He had no family. He had never fallen in love. Romance had never made its way into his life, even though people often tried to get close to him. He also had a hard time talking to children. Their loud voices and quick energy didn’t match his slow and thoughtful way of living. Because of this, he often felt alone. He lived in a house made for many people, yet he walked its halls by himself. He was surrounded by beauty, but his life lacked real connection.

Most people believed Nanami was perfect. They thought someone with his lifestyle couldn’t possibly have any problems. But that wasn’t true. Behind his calm face and perfect life was a secret. A secret so dark that if anyone found out, it would destroy the image the world had of him. It was something only he knew. It followed him wherever he went, like a shadow that never left his side. This secret made him feel trapped. He often stared out of his mansion windows, wondering how long he could keep living this lie.

Each day started exactly the same. At 8:00 a.m. sharp, Nanami would wake up. The sunlight came in softly through the tall windows of his bedroom, making the walls glow gold. He opened his eyes slowly, groaning quietly as he stretched his arms. His bedroom was clean and modern. Everything was black, grey, and white, creating a quiet, serious feel. His bed was large, with soft pillows and perfect sheets that looked untouched. Even in sleep, he stayed neat.

The room was silent. Not even the sound of birds could be heard through the thick windows. He got out of bed and walked across the cool marble floor. Each step made a soft sound that echoed through the quiet room. The floor was shiny and smooth, reflecting the morning light. He walked down the grand staircase with slow, even steps. Every part of his routine was carefully planned and followed.

He entered the kitchen, which was full of stainless steel counters and high-end appliances. It was spotless, like something out of a design magazine. Nanami cooked his own breakfast, as he liked the calm it brought. The smell of bacon and eggs filled the air as he moved around the kitchen with ease. He toasted a slice of bread until it turned a perfect golden color. His breakfast was simple but delicious. Sitting alone at a long mahogany table, he ate slowly. The quietness around him made the meal feel peaceful but also a little sad.

After breakfast, he went back upstairs to shower. His bathroom looked like something from a luxury spa. The walls were marble, and the glass shower let warm water fall like rain. The hot water helped him feel more awake, washing away the last bits of sleep. He dried off and put on one of his many suits. Each one was tailored perfectly to fit him. He tied his silk tie and looked in the mirror. The man staring back looked strong and sure of himself. But even in the mirror, Nanami could see something missing in his eyes.

He left the mansion and went about his usual duties. Meetings, events, and quiet drives in the city filled the day. He moved through everything with a calm and steady presence. People nodded at him with respect. Some smiled in admiration. Others watched him with envy. But none of them really knew him.

As the sun began to set, painting the sky with soft shades of orange and pink, Nanami returned home. His car, sleek and black, pulled up to the grand gates of his estate. The iron gates opened slowly, and the car rolled along the cobblestone driveway. The mansion stood tall at the end, glowing in the warm light of the evening.

He parked in front of the large entrance and stepped out. His suit still looked perfect, even after a long day. He walked into the house, and the quiet met him like an old friend. Servants greeted him with soft bows. He nodded back, barely noticing them. He was tired. All he wanted was to lie down and rest.

He walked up the stairs, each step echoing softly in the empty hall. When he reached his bedroom, he opened the door and was greeted by soft, golden lighting. The room looked just as he had left it. Calm and neat. He took off his shoes and slipped out of his blazer. Then he unbuttoned his shirt halfway, showing his chest. He dropped onto the bed, the soft mattress hugging him gently. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to relax.

Then, his phone pinged.

The screen lit up with a notification.

It was an Instagram Live.

He blinked, surprised. His heart skipped a beat when he saw who it was.

You.

One of the most famous cosplayers in the world. A person he admired for a long time. Nanami didn’t usually watch livestreams. But this time, he tapped the notification without a second thought. The screen loaded, and there you were.

You were wearing a costume. A pair of cat ears on your head. A cat tail. And, strangely enough, a maid outfit. You smiled brightly at the camera and waved. “Hi everyone!” you said in a cheerful voice.

Nanami stared.

Your smile lit up the screen. It felt warm and real. The kind of smile that could make anyone feel seen. It made his chest feel tight.

Your face was beautiful. Not in the usual, polished way celebrities looked. But in a softer, more honest way. Your eyes were bright and full of life. Your lips curled into a smile that made his heart race. Your cheeks had a soft pink glow. Your hair was dark and shiny, falling gently around your face.

Nanami felt himself blush. He knew he shouldn’t stare. But he couldn’t look away.

To him, you were perfect.

There was something about you that felt different from the people he usually met. Maybe it was how real you were. Or how your energy felt so alive, even through a screen. You weren’t rich like him. But you had something he didn’t. Joy. Passion. A connection to people.

He wanted to talk to you. To get to know you. To be near you. The thought was strange. Nanami had never felt this kind of interest in someone before. Not like this. Not so fast. But he couldn’t deny it.

He wanted you to be his.

He watched quietly as you laughed and answered comments. You seemed so happy. So full of light. As if the world had never hurt you. As if everything was still fresh and exciting. He envied that. But more than anything, he wanted to be part of it.

Even if just for a moment.

As the livestream continued, Nanami laid there, eyes locked on the screen. For the first time in a long time, his heart didn’t feel so heavy. Something inside him stirred. A tiny spark in the dark.  He didn’t know where it would lead. He didn’t know if he would ever meet you.But one thing was clear. His life of quiet routine and cold perfection had just been shaken by something simple. A smile. And it had changed everything. 

He then felt his shaft grew in length.It was tenting on his pants. It's his first time to feel this, especially because he felt this for you.  He was ecstatic to see this charming, boy wearing ridiculous costumes in front of a camera for views, maybe even money. This unnerving feeling made him want to do something, something he never knew he wanted; needed to do. "Shit, what is this..." some words slipped out of his mouth, breathing heavily as the dent grew larger, it became very uncomfortable at this point. He finally gave in, he released the zipper for a thick, long shaft to come out, twitching every time his heart skip a beat. He looked at it, tense whether he should do something about it or not. "Fuck it," He whispered to himself, soon warming his cock with his hands, and start to move up, then down repeatedly as you speak across the screen. To his eyes, it felt like he was facing you physically, something that he wanted, needed just for him to feed on. His continued motion caused him to finally finish, cum spurting to his face. 

He tensed up again, and sighed, not cause of relief, but because of something else. He thought of something, and that something included you. He wanted you. So after that very thought, he immediately picked up his phone again, and called some of his "friends". 

"Yes, sir?" the other guy on the line spoke, Nanami straightened his back, "This person named Y/n, search him up and find his details, call me immediately afterwards," he kindly spoke the the other, hinting something. "Noted, sir. I'll immediately report as soon as we find out." The line ended, Nanami sighed and leaned back to his chair, "I need you, Y/n" 

The very next day your information was given to him. Your phone number, full legal name, age, location, everything. He wanted to call you for a "business proposal" of some sorts. He held the paper your number was written on. He was very hesitant at first, thinking you would feel weird talking to him. But at the end of the day, he dialed in your number, and pressed the call button. The ringing tensed him up, the continuous ringing gave him an unsettling feeling. The ringing soon came to a stop, for a warm voice to come up after, "Hello?" You said, seemingly confused of a sudden call of an unknown number. "Greetings, my name is Nanami Kento," Nanami spoke up, "This talk should be conducted physically, though I do not have the power to do that. Anyway, I'm here to propose a business proposal." He waited for a response, you were shocked that you were talking to the most richest business man in all of Japan, but you were unsure as to why he would ask you, a cosplayer, for a business proposal? "I-i'm sorry sir, but i'm afraid i'll have to-" "300 million yen, nothing more, nothing less." You of course is shocked, what is this job that could pay you almost 2 million dollars? And why does it have to be you? You were pretty tight on the budget, considering you used all of your money for costumes, "O....k?" you muttered slowly, unsure of your answer, before you could talk back, "Good, then that is settled, I will provide you my location, make sure to be there at exactly 7 p.m." The call soon ended. You're still in shock, what the hell is this guy thinking? Well, at this point, you don't have any choice but to go... I guess.

6:30, you arrived early before the expected time. You waited outside a grand, luxurious looking hotel. Was it a hotel, or one of his buildings? You shrugged off the question and waited. your peac was soon interrupted by two men in black, shades planted to their face. "Are you, Y/n L/n? Please come with us." The one spoke, you silently followed them across the wide lobby to an elevator. The ride was taking too long, "wait is this a penthouse?" you thought to yourself. And yes it was, what did you expect from the richest man to have? a rented motel? The elevators shifted open to reveal a modern looking room. A piano to the side, a fountain, and the biggest windows you have ever seen. Your eyes glowed with the sight you were seeing. Your sight seeing was soon cut off short by a tall man walking towards you, "Ah, your here. You two, leave." His voice was commanding, he sounded chilling. He patted you back, seemingly acted out to follow him. 

He led you to a room, the smell of sandarwood filled your lungs. But what caught your eye was a costume, a bikini along with a semi-transparent babydoll dress. You didn't question it, but just decided to still follow him inside. He soon walked up to a piece of paper, along with a pen, "Just sign this contract, don't mind reading it all," You obliged and followed, signing it; what's there to lose? He then spoke up again, "I never told you this "business proposal", but it'll pay you a lot, doubt that you'll decline at this point," he muttered, slowly taking off his watch, walked near you and leaned in, "I want to fuck you." The words slipped out his voice made you flinch. Why would he want that? Would you just sell your body for money? "I-I..." you stuttered, "You have no choice anyway, you signed the contract." You sighed, but you also wanted it at this time. You blushed, and gave him a silent nod. That nod meant a lot to him, he chuckled caressing your jawline slowly. "I gave you a gift," He looked over to the lingerie, "Wear it for me," He whispered closely to your ears, this sent a shiver down your spine, but it made you crave him even more. You went up to it and walked towards the bathroom. Nanami sat down on a chair, "No, strip in front of me." You noticed the large mirror covering the entire wall behind Nanami. You followed, and took of your clothes piece by piece, and showed your hard dick. It was small, but Nanami liked that even more. Your blush made him feel a lot more tense. 

A lot more hungry.

As soon you wore it, he rushed into you and kissed you. It wasn't soft, it was rough, leaving you no space and time to breath. He held your face, and you held his hand. This intense kissing session made you fall to the bed, with his arms grazing your figure. He kissed your neck to your collarbone. He took off the dress along with the bra, playing with your nipples as he kissed your body. Your moans made him become hard even more. You touched his hair, it was hard with the gel still intact and the sharp loose ends at every side of his head. You never knew you would end up this way, slutting over a rich man that's happening to be fucking you this very moment. His groan vibrated to your body. 

His kissing soon came to a stop, and reached up to you, "Suck me" He commanded, his hand over your head. His musky scent made you fall into a trance-like state, something you must follow, something you cannot control. So you fully gave in, pusehd him down the bed, and zipped down his pants. You saw his enlarged dick spring out, precum spilling, matching the beat to his heavy breathing. You leaned in, and sucked. Your tongue was a professional at this, you never knew you could do such acts. You sucked in and out, circling around dick as the musk scent of his pubes covering his penis. You rammed your face to his dick, you don't care if you looked like a whore at this state, all you wanted was to taste him fully. 

He held your head tightly, "Stop, I want to save my babies for your pussy," He smirked, lifting your head to face him. He carried you up, off the bed as you two stood in front of the massive mirror. He took off the rest of his clothes, touching your body like pottery, following your shape, your size, your curves, you. "You look so beautiful, darling," He continued touching you. Without any hesitation, he came inside of you. It was slow, but it felt painful to you. You didn't flinch, you wanted to feel him fully. You held in your pain, holding his chin down for him to look at you. Every thrust made you feel different, with his face looking at you every thrust. You looked at yourself in the mirror, you looked in deeply to your eyes, you looked different, you don't look the same. You wanted him, but do you really want this?

Thrusts soon turn into pushes, you leaned in to the mirror as Nanami held your body close to him. Hi thrusts grew stronger, more than you could handle. Your moans turned into screams, yells, but you liked it either way. Each thrust made you feel different emotions, sadness, happiness, anything. One last thrust, you felt something warm and wet come inside you. Your eyes felt like popping out. His chin rested against your bare shoulders, "You'l be living with me from now on. Don't worry about your life, I'll make it better, if you give in to me." You faced him, and rested your arms to his shoulders, "One question though,"

"Why me?"

[ranticore]

YEAR 612: RESEARCH NOTEBOOK OF [REDACTED]

If found, promptly return to [REDACTED]

Entry 1

I've been told that my actual abstract and introduction should go somewhere else and that this is a space merely to record my thoughts and observations as I work. When I eventually publish my autobiography I'll find these notes invaluable. But for now I dispense with the introduction as nobody else will be reading this rough draft anyway aside from you Ami (you're not nearly as sneaky as you think). In addition, I'd rather not sacrifice this reedsilk for the sake of basic definitions.

The question of the Precursors has plagued me as long as I've known them etcetera etcetera this is not news and today I have received my most promising artifact yet. It is a small cylindrical device not unlike the memories within a longwing visor (Postmaster Mia-kef STILL refuses to allow me to examine his. For the attention of my future self: discover some way to bribe him). I have seen only illustrations of a dismantled visor, anyway, and inside the case there are these cylindrical devices.

Now one lands on my desk. It was not I that discovered it but one of the dredgers working at the docks. They would have thrown it out into the midden heap if not for one of my students (Heda-var was it?? Or Hebi-var. The pink one.) who had been buying fruit blocks at the floating market that very moment. He thought the device looked to be of interest to myself and he was right - I can confirm now that I've cleaned off the mud and exofauna that this is of Precursor origin. It is with some regret that I deny that particular student their [graduation] ceremony this year, unfortunately his scholarly work is borderline illiterate. I think I'll tell him to join the trades instead.

Anyway. To any uneducated dock-selkie or unapprenticed fledgling, it may be hard to tell. I see before me a hand-long cylinder roughened by the sea, with a hole at either end, in which sits a small metal prong. Any craftsperson could make a replica of this, presuming they were only intending to copy the look. But it is the material that betrays its ancient origin. This is not reed resin or stone, it isn't laminated silk, it's not the carved and shaped shell of a sipho. This material is lightweight, and if scraped, reveals itself to have been white originally, under the discolouration. An obsidian knife will do the trick. In the white tracks you will find that it is shiny, as well. This substance is a form of resin used by Precursors, which we cannot reproduce (I've tried) (note to self, this would be a brilliant paragraph for my biography). 

I have a few pieces myself in my personal bower, some very rare, which I brought with me from the Breaks. I still can't believe that my most uncommon resin mounting bracket was being used as ballast in that dirty fishing boat. My goodness I'm glad I saved THAT.

Until this landed on my desk, my wire tab was my favourite. Having sent samples to the scholars of material science I can confirm that this cylinder's origin is Siren: when heated in a furnace the structure behaves predictably, and the scholar described and illustrated his findings of oil droplets similar to our own resins produced from reed stalks. Oh - I suppose that's for the results and methodologies, not this journal. 

My bower is rather cramped and Ami-var is a passionate singer, so it's difficult to arrange my thoughts. I believe that if I were to fix this artifact into a reciprocating slot within, say, a longwing visor, I might be capable of accessing some of its contents. It would be a breakthrough the likes of which we have not seen since my master Pelti-vas first published his theses on Precursor diet. This one is larger than a longwing visor cylinder certainly but I am fascinated by that implication; perhaps there is a larger visor somewhere, for larger PrecurSURELY one gets bored of 'Over the Bowl-Run River' after its EIGHTH chorus

-

Argued with Ami-var again. He still doesn't believe that Precursors are anything more than a so-called 'common ancestor' that we harpies developed from. We do agree that Precursors were likely most similar to us shortwings but where does that leave longwings in this 'evolutionary' model? There is no fossil evidence of a so-called 'missing link' between longwings and Precursors. 

There are myths among the Western Spiral peoples of a common ancestor to all Sirenians, though they do focus more upon the sea-dwellers. Tektei-vas would not cease his yapping about all his travels among pelagic villages in every ocean and all their particular myths. I'd like to know whose dick he sucked to get such a venture funded. When I last proposed a research trip to Odr's Sleep to view the Precursor structure there, Iuinti-vay-or laughed me out of his bower. 

"How ridiculous! You want materials and funding for yourself, three students, two barge-workers, a visored navigator, and a dig team?" he said to me then as if my requests were unreasonable. What's unreasonable about a dig team? We're archaeologists! How else am I supposed to do my research? 

But he would rather throw funding into the school of medical science because it's such a crowd-pleaser. Don't think I don't see exactly why he favours them so much, and how the council enjoys such popularity when the medics are happy. Archaeology is just as important as-

Ami-var saw me writing and interrupted me. He accused me of muttering about our President again. 

Who wouldn't! The management of this place is abysmal and absolutely nothing I expected when I first came to this establishment. 

"Master Gania-vas got screwed over by him too," Ami-var said to me. "We were getting co-author credit on our new study about the morphological commonalities between Precursor, phocid, and shortwing phalanges. But they just sent us the study back asking us to fix the wording!"

This was news to me. I pressed him on it and he admitted that the council felt it was poor science to include phocids in the study. 

"Just because they're a different people," Ami-var said. "So there's no justification for roping them into shortwing science, but have you ever seen a phocid's hand up close?" 

"When would I ever have seen that?" I asked, perhaps a touch sardonically. 

"Good grief, Qedi-var, would you ever get off your ass and leave the bower once in a while?" Ami-var said, without anger. "It's really lazy of you."

Maybe I like the peace and quiet of the bower when he leaves. And also, he's taking his Spire birth for granted, he grew up around all sorts of people and all I had were shortwings. I'd never seen a phocid until I got here.

He told me that I was missing out on some great fried scaleworm stalls by the docks and that he only mentioned them because food was probably my only motivator. The usual accusations about my weight. We fought over that insult and I won, so he apologised. But that's not important.  

Back to the common ancestor myths. It's just a curious aside, really, and I don't find it terribly relevant to my work with Precursor artifacts, but when musing on the origin of intelligent life I suppose we could include the legends of the Spiral people and their belief in a common ancestor for all water-dwelling species. Their mythological figure naturally resembles a water person, not a harpy. 

Precursors were obviously harpies, Ami-var insists when I remind him of these tales and their relevance to the mandated exclusion of phocids from his study. I asked the fool how he could justify the selkie-like teeth in his beloved fossils and he told me I was an airbrained idiot wasting my time on resins when I could be looking at some dusty bones. I'm getting tired of fucking him. It's all just deflection with him and no real rigorous counter-argument, and I think his heart isn't in the fights either. It's as if he isn't invested in us as much as I am (cut that part out later). 

I've prepared my new memory cylinder for careful restoration but it won't be easy. It's so intact and whole that breaking it would be terrible and I'd have no other recourse than to immediately and promptly kill myself. But I have to get the dirt off somehow. If I can 

-- 

Journal, much has happened since I spilled ink over the end of the above paragraph in my shock. I was holding the core and something in it started to emit light. Not very much, it was still dirty, but it was clearly no ordinary light. When it shone on the canopy, there were obvious lines. 

The landstriders deep within the Bowl practice a form of shadow theatre by gluing their wing feathers into a board, painting it, and cutting designs into the surface so that firelight can shine through. I was reminded of the shadow theatre troupes I'd seen come through the Breaks, the slots cut between the feathers which would glow and cast orange lines onto our faces as the rest of the wing blocked the light.

But before I could scrape off more dirt to reveal the extent of the pattern, the damned thing perished. Here it lies now, innocently dull, on my desk. Perhaps the lack of sleep doesn't agree with me. I sleep with Iuinti-vay-or's stupid face at the forefront of my mind, as he stamps my proposals with denial, and this is hardly conducive to a restful environment. Ami-var will think I'm being unfaithful. 

I didn't show Ami-var when he got back. I'll show him when I know what it is. He brought me some of that fried scalefish to atone for calling my thesis an appalling rag and myself a fat tourist, so I suppose we are level again. I suspect, also, that he feels some measure of guilt over forgetting my condition and the difficulties it imposes upon my ability to visit the docks.

My next port of call was to recreate the circumstances that caused that light. I held it every which way you could imagine to no avail until I let the end tip, tired of holding it, and the metal in its southern port contacted the wire tab on my desk. It did not light again, but it did let out a rather anaemic glow which could only be discerned because I'd had the foresight to draw the blackout canopy over my desk. That lasted as long as it took me to draw breath, and then no amount of contact with the wire could bring it back to life. 

What I needed was a longwing visor. They are not easily parted with their owners but Ebb-a-vef is more easily bribed than his partner Mia-kef. Ami-var's peace offering did nicely but I wish I'd been able to eat it, it did look really good and I know that locals like Ami-var get higher quality stuff than what I could wrangle from the stalls with my Breaks accent. Ebb was well-pleased with the gift and agreed to part with his visor, the black Signaswun, for the afternoon. 

Signaswun is one of the larger visors and certainly too large for me to comfortably operate. I promised I would not harm it. In hindsight I wish I'd lied, I should have opened the back panel to access the cylinders directly. Instead I was very precious with it and it took almost four hours to run my own wire coil into the back panel through the earpiece. Anyone less dextrous than myself would have destroyed both artifacts. And I confess that by the fourth hour I was increasingly in support of their destruction. 

But with no help from Ebb or Signaswun I successfully fed the wire through the labyrinth and into the cylinder chamber. 

[graylinesspam]

The clone language

I will stand by the fact that the vast majority of clones speak Mando'a, but and this is a big but. They do not do it well.

The Commandos are the only ones that speak Mando'a well, including pronouncing it correctly and using the right grammatical structure. The rest of them are simply absorbing words and phrases and using them wrong.

Mando'a is not exactly a closed language but is very rare to be spoken by a non mandalorian anywhere other than the planet Mandalore. But I do think that in their language training the Kaminoans would have offered like an entry level class which consisted mostly of flashcards with translations. The big two languages of the galaxy, Basic and Huttesse, are the only ones that they are taught extensively. There are several other languages they have access to beginners courses for like the Twi'lek and Togruta language, ect. But that's all voluntary learning/extra credit.

The reason Mando'a sticks more is because their trainers speak it. Whether just absorbing the language through osmosis or learning it voluntarily to listen in on the trainers conversations, some pick up a lot of words and phrases. Then those phrases are explained and poorly translated to the rest of the clones. And not just translated in one language. This is a bunch of bored bilingual kids trying to explain a new language to each other. They play fast and loose with the line between basic and huttesse. A lot of phrases are straight up translated into an entirely different grammatical structure, which mixes up the words and swaps some for words from other languages.

Now this is where the generational divide comes in, because the older clones had a lot more time and motivation to learn half way proper Mando'a than the younger ones. They also had time to spend with their generals at the beginning of the war and absorbed a lot form their respective languages. Especially the jedi sayings.

Think about the way that Jedi speak. Super cryptic responses to straight forward questions. Poetic observations, Flowery language. But then sterilized by military formality.

That leads to a lot of the older, especially high ranking clones to develope a formal yet vague way of speaking, kinda like office languages that says nothing with too many words.

The younger men do not understand this at all. They're blunter. Less well socialized by the Kaminoans and more internally minded socially. The elder clones assume they're being perceived at all times and behave according. The younger figure if they're incomprehensible enough, they can't get in trouble for what they say.

The result of which is slang.

The elder clones slang evolved from multiple languages and sayings getting mistranslated. It includes a lot of shortened words from the reg manuals, quotes from the training videos, and jedi sayings they've heard repeated too many times. Sometimes interjected with a pessimistic sense of humor. Eg, "They're on the planet" becomes "they're planetside" becomes "they're dirtside."

Meanwhile the younger clones slang develops in more of a throwing spaghetti at a wall and seeing what sticks fashion. Way less of a logical evolution path and more of a whatever gets a laugh mindset. Eg, taking a piss could be "off gassing" or "Going past the perimeter" or "getting fresh" or "flipping his belt" or "finding a tree" ect. There are too many options, it truly becomes a language at this point. A specific dialect that you have to be taught to keep up with.

There is a bit of a language barrier between the generations. It isn't too bad. Run of the mill "youths and their slang today" kinda stuff. The youngins absolutely use it for evil. Gossiping and joking around in front of the COs without getting in trouble.

Their incorporation of Mando'a follows this pattern as well.

An older clone might say something like "Better one big enemy." referencing the Mandalorian saying "Better one big enemy you can see, than many small ones you can't"

where as a the younger generation might here a phrase like "Hukaat'kama" literally cover my kama, more broadly watch my back/6 and translate it to something like. "your my six", "On me", "Watch my ass", "get on my ass", "you're my ass", "cover me", ...Which is a lot less clear than previous... They might also say something like "my kama" but translate it to mean something more like "Watch this"(boastful) or "watch me"(defiant) or "Watch me"(accepting a challenge). Which is just a blatant mistranslation of the phrase. Or the phrase could evolve past a call to action and turn into an insult. like calling someone a "Hukaat" or a "watcher" for staying in the back all the time. or calling them a "kama" insinuating they're only good for covering. Or saying "loose my kama," to tell them to fuck off. which could also turn into "loose the kama," when theyr'e acting too big for their britches as a kama is usually a sign of rank.

Basically language evolves as it is used. If it's used by more formal people in a more formal context then that is the pattern it takes on. If it's used primarily for mischief and shit talking, that's the form it'll take.

But either way, as fascinating as the clone language can seem to us, it's still a bastardization at heart.

[urloversdreamgrl]

S4 should to start with Syd getting sloppy toppy and having the orgasm of a lifetime. But we, the audience, don’t know who. Boom— cut to the past, and we have to figure out over the course of the season who was the muncher

[darklight-owl]

Sissel referring to Yomiel in the first person for a little longer than he should have btw. Sissel continuing to use Yomiel's likeness even after he realized that the corpse he saw that night wasn't his btw. Sissel desperately clinging to that form because it was his only lead and has become part of his identity btw. If you even care.

[bandy-andy]

Grounding yourself with c!wilbur

[imjusthella-gay]

what if i tied you down with your legs spread n edged you for hours until your crying n begging for release….jk… unless ?

[aaronstveit]

OH, SHIT! I WON THE BREAKUP!

[palamedespoetry]

the odyssey's traitors as tiktok hate comments:

antinous: post this on ig reels / ts pmo / this funny af 😭🙏 im following you home

eurymachus: on MY cellular device?? / hope this helps! / this is my first impression of you btw

amphinomus: i'm going to hold your hand when i say this / oh thats not... / hey so this is actually insane!

amphimedon: must've been the wind

leodes: my ranked teammates / flying cars they said...

leocritus: keys / NEVER COOK AGAIN 🔥🔥

agelaus: im employed what does this mean / posting this was optional btw

melantho: just put the fries in the bag bro

melanthius: dont even touch my fries

[charredchesspiece]

// @ominasapphirus | closing { x } //

To say the passage of time is strange would be a gross understatement. Sebastian likes to take his time and often does so with little consideration of others. After all, it is his seconds, his minutes, his hours—to possess a moment of him ought to be venerated as a damnable miracle. Having said all this, one can be assured that he will return, a quiet simper on pale lips, with a gift only he can give.

And indeed, Sebastian does return to poor Ciel Phantomhive. He announces himself with a gentle rapping—two white knuckles against spotless brown wood—then enters his master’s bedroom with a metal cart. The scent of dinner, warm and inviting, swells against the four corners and drifts back in, coiling about the child’s head like a kind dream.

Typically, the butler does not entertain meals in bed. Given the night and its many extenuating circumstances, Sebastian is inclined to bend the rules this once. He believes in hard lessons—even painful lessons—but he also believes in hefty rewards. Without such, anguish is merely anguish; nothing is gained.

Sebastian will not verbalize an apology for his part in traumatizing Ciel; he lacks the emotional intelligence to truly understand his heinous behavior. Still, as he comes to the bedside, his eyes, red as tea, reveal a sincere fondness for the boy.

It’s not love. It cannot be love... but it is more than possession. That is all he knows. It is all he can give.

Well… that and this meal. And perhaps warm milk with a generous kiss of honey, if it still pleases the young master.

[frownyalfred]

do it (the thing) for background/research on the next fanfic you’re going to write.

[thequeertheatrekid]

I need Frank to call Matt some variation of pretty, pretty boy, pretty thing ect.

I need for Matt to then shrivel up, blushing a bright red. I need him to then bury his face into the nearest object, be it a pillow or Frank’s chest trying to hide the quickly forming blush, because there is no way on earth that this man does not have a praise kink.

[dilutedconfusion]

The idea of Kid being called a punk, damned punk, etc. as a child because he was indeed a little orphan punk who probably got into fights for survival purposes (or because he just likes to fight), stole things because he was homeless/poor, and had a loud overly confident personality due to the fact that he survived in a hostile environment is probably why he decided to make punk his whole brand. What once was an insult became a right of passage into the person he is today. Which is why accepts himself in his entirety no matter what. It’s why he wants so desperately for those he cares about to feel the same way about themselves. Kid was never the boy and now man who got what he wanted. He was never the person who thought life was about nothing but pleasures and joy. He knows it rough but he accepts it. He accepted the pain that people threw at him and decided to swallow it down as the truth. But just because he can be defined as a punk doesn’t mean he is less. Kid himself can give the word punk a new definition, a new meaning. Which to him probably means being fearlessly unique and unwavering to those that defile you in this difficult life. So I wish to anyone who likes Kid as character to feel the same way about themselves. If others judge you for who you are, lean into yourself without shame. Change the meanings of the words that haunt you. Fight battles not because you are too weak to dodge them but because you deserve the privilege of letting yourself believe you can win. Be a damned punk and be a good one.

[taldigi]

Yu Narukami, stone faced, legendarily calm, fashionista- and dedicated to the art of staying silly.

[leviiackrman]

SIMS 4 OC BUILDS: Buddy Daddies Apartment Part 2

Another round of house snaps and this time it’s the v large Olalia apartment building! In canon I envision their apartments to be in separate buildings considering she works 3 jobs and can’t afford the boys boogy place, so this had to do! Lower apartment is Kazuki and Rei’s home with little Miri, while upstairs in Gigi and her boys swanky flat: all of course designed/built by the interior designer herself! Part 1 featured the boys canon flat, so I hope you enjoy Ms Gigi's next!

Lookbooks: Ackermans || Rikihisas || Enatsu || Kyutoku || Olalias || Hatakes || ATLA || Ginnivan || Ishimoto || Drakes

Builds: Saitama Loft || Sunset Cosy Cabin || League of Villains Hideout || Tiny Treehouse || Maritime Villa || Hokage Retreat || Buddy Daddies Apartment Pt1

Tag list (ask to be added or removed): @carrionsflower @statichvm @risingsh0t @simonxriley @tommyarashikage @jacobseed @confidentandgood @unholymilf @florbelles @thedeadthree @shellibisshe @roofgeese @aezyrraesh @faerune @tekehu @jackiesarch @minaharkers @sergeiravenov @carlosoliveiraa @rosenfey @hexmaturgy @queennymeria @heroofpenamstan @tethrras @viktorgf @d-esmond @solasan @bigbywlf @delzinrowe @fenharel @imogenkol @auricfog

[imjusthella-gay]

do you need me to get you sobbing n begging for anything n then call you a good girl for it?