#top gear magazine back issues

[velvet-paradox]

Redeemed

Fandom: Call of Duty Pairing: König x Female reader Summary: While helping your boyfriend do a little spring cleaning, you come across his old gear. You've seen him wear it in pictures but to have him put it on for you… Length: Medium/Long Warnings: NSFW 18+ ONLY, strong language, explicit content, established relationship, kinda' sorta' roleplay even though is himself, degradation, name calling, fingering, pussy slapping, edging, p in v (unprotected, wrap it up!), creampie, oral (f & m receiving), detailed smut. ENJOY!!!

beg me for it (bitte mich darum) my love (meine liebe) my honey bee (meine honigbiene)

"What about this one?" You call out, shifting a rather large cardboard box away from the dusty window. You sneezed for the tenth time. Helping your boyfriend clean out his attic before the fall came. You'd gone through old clothes, holey jackets, boxes of books, notepads dated from before you two had started seeing one another.

"Nein. That is just some old paperwork, put it over there by the others." König answered, tearing open a box of his own at the opposite side of the attic. It wasn't a big space, it did not accommodate his size at all as he was crouched down in a squat. His ass looked great, you thought as he was none the wiser of your ogling.

You moved another box and saw a big, beige duffel bag high on a shelf. It called out to you.

TAKE ME DOWN! TAKE ME DOWN!

"What's this?" You mumbled, mostly to yourself as you reached up on your tip toes, hands reaching out for the thick black straps.

"What's what, meine honigbiene?"

"Whatever it is it's fuckin' heavy! Ow!" The bag came down, hard against your chest making you topple over into yet another cloud of dust. Like clouds of it making the air up here a little thicker than need be.

"Be careful, my dear." König said, spinning on his feet. He coughed and you heard him walk over to you. He wasn't a gentle stepping giant by any means. "Oh liebe don't look in there-"

You unzipped the bag just as he reached you, his hands on top of yours to stop you but it was too late. You saw a helmet that resembled a spider, there was another mask that looked similar to Simon's, along with an array of secured weapons and flares. "This is your old gear."

"Ja." König hummed behind you, pulling out a foreign piece of material to you, completely nostalgic for the man. You'd seen it in pictures around his home but to see these key pieces of his past self was something different. Vulnerable. König mused over a pack of unopened flares, a few ammunition magazines. "I haven't put on the mask in so long… there was a time, believe it or not that I never took it off. Only to wash it of course but, this was my face. This was König."

"Will you put it on for me?" An intrusive thought popped in your head like champagne bubbles. You bit your lip before your brain could short circuit that you would ask such a thing. You knew he was an operator, high ranking, cultured and experienced. He'd mention some things in passing that were a bit on the grim and dark side. He'd dealt with the trauma and guilt, what he had to do to survive, to make it out and up rank. To be praised for his hard work and dedication.

"The mask? Certainly not. That version of me is over, I couldn't begin to tell you what that man has done, who I'd become if I were to put this thing back on. 's not for your pretty little eyes, honigbiene."

"Bitte? Just once. For me."

"Oh no, don't start with talking my language to get what you want."

König held your face with the other hand, shoving his mask back into the duffel, he kissed your head. "And don't pout, you're face will remain that way."

….

You heard him before you saw him. Sure he wore boots, custom Doc Marten's to be exact, so hearing him clunk around wasn't out of the ordinary but- he sounded heavy. The sounds of his outfit, the light SWISH of his standard issue pants got closer, he was getting closer.

You covered your face with your hands. You had to. It felt like instinct. Once König was in the living room with you, the air felt different. Your skin felt hot even though a chill went down your spine once he stopped walking. You heard his gloves creak. He cleared his throat and tapped his foot.

The only coherent thought once your eyes adjusted to the sight before you, was a gentle "Oh."

Your lover was… fucking massive. The way his shoulders rounded, he stood a little taller, a little prouder. That glitter in his blue eyes let you in on the smirk that laid hidden behind his black and red streaked mask. Especially with his hands behind his back, standing at attention.

Helmet, vest, forearm plates, shin guards, enough cargo pockets to put damn near anything but the kitchen fucking sink.

"Do like what you see, my dear? Your legs are practically falling open for me."

He wasn't lying.

Sat on the couch, your legs moved apart at the sight of him covered head to toe in tactical gear.

"What do you think?" König asked, rocking in place. His waist looked good enough to eat. The urge to bite him all over was overwhelming and you'd be lying if you told yourself this wasn't a major turn on, or that you were in fact getting excited. The damage, the chaos, the bloodshed he'd left behind while wearing his tactical gear made you itchy.

"It's different. I mean, I've seen pictures of you in your gear but. Woah. It makes you look… bigger." You spoke with your hands as he nodded slowly.

König moved one of his hands from behind his back, made a fist then motioned for you to come towards him. You did so on shaky legs and tiny feet. He towered over you on a usual day, he's a behemoth of a man and yet when you looked up and up at him, you couldn't help but feel like a bug. An insect about to be squashed.

"You wanted to see me in my uniform," König softly spoke, putting his gloved middle finger under your chin and gave it a light tap. "Here I am. Up close and personal."

You licked your lips. "What did you do in it?"

"Everything. Fight. Kill. Fuck."

Your eyes darkened. You weren't a jealous person and obviously he'd had a life before you much like you did yourself. But to hear him speak so clearly, so thorough, clinical even about the adventures he'd had in this attire had you weak.

"Will you fuck me in it?"

König snorted, his mask puffing out a little with his breath. "You're quite serious?"

You nodded.

"Then I am afraid mein liebe… it wouldn't be me that fucked you if that's what you're looking for."

You furrowed your eyebrows until his words started to make sense, stringing and looping together to make loose ends meet.

Of course you would be fucking your lover but… with him dressed in his old gear, old habits would die fucking hard. He'd be König, your König. But if you wanted him like this… you would be fucking KorTac's colonel.

….

König grabbed you by the waist and pushed you up against the wall behind him, grabbing both of your hands in just one of his, the rubber pads of his gloves marking up your skin. You gasped. He chuckled and dug around in one of those cargo pockets on the front of his vest, without breaking eye contact he pulled out a pair of zip tie handcuffs.

They dug into your flesh, pinching just enough to air on the uncomfortable side, in front of you before König pushed himself up against your back, mentioning that if you were to refer to him as anything other than sir or colonel you were to be sorely punished. Spanked within reason. Broken with trust. Fingered without mercy in any hole of his choosing. You clenched around nothing.

You felt the foreign pockets of his vest dug into your shoulders, he circled his hips against your rear with a low hum that vibrated through you.

"You've got yourself a safeword, have you?"

"Mhmmm. Pocket knife."

"Good girl." König praised in your ear, grunting when he slipped his hand between your thighs, clicking his teeth when you wiggled back against him. "Spoke too soon, apparently. You're radiating heat, honigbiene. Are you wet? Should I inspect?"

"Bitte."

König snarled and grabbed your leggings and yanked them down to your ankles, he moaned when he realized you weren't wearing anything else underneath. He moved his hand to the front of your face.

"Take it off."

"How?"

"Bite down."

You whined and took his glove between your teeth, he pulled his hand out and cupped your sex. You writhed in his hold. His hand was so hot and so big and it felt so damn good between your legs.

"Wet already? What a little horny thing you are, my dear. You like this don't you? Pinned down, held in place, vulnerable in the best way possible. "Give in to me, biene. Give in to your colonel."

You yelped when his fingers, testing your leaky entrance for awhile, coating the pads and finally breached your hole, splitting your folds apart to get to the softest, spongiest, spot inside you.

"Well well…" König pressed his face to the back of your head. "What have we here? Is this turning you on, biene? The way your sweet little pussy keeps sucking in my finger is giving me the answer your voice cannot."

"Please!"

"Please what, my dear?" He asked, making his palm flat, your clit throbbed and ached to be touched, the friction of it hitting once more as he fingered you deeper, his thick thumb tapping the hood of it gently which each thrust.

Suspended between bliss and absolute torture, your body betraying you by twisting and rocking back and forth, pushing yourself back against his ministrations with your hands splayed on the wall in front of you.

"I need more."

"More what?"

"More of you. Inside me, König."

He tsked and removed his hand completely, making you hang your head in shame.

"Failure so soon, pet? Gonna' have to work on that," his heavy presence and warmth left you too suddenly, he peeled himself off your back and turned you around once more, eyeing your lower half. "You can be obedient, can't you honigbiene? Desperate to be a good girl for me. Show me your dedication."

König thudded his big boots over to the couch, plopping down with too much weight the whole scooted back at least an inch, legs splayed out wide, hands on his thighs. His still gloved one patted an inner thigh.

It proved to be difficult to shimmy over to him with your leggings around your ankles, stuck to your crew socks. You were careful not to slip on the silky material. It felt hamulating to shuffle over like that but also the way you needed to keep your knees together, your thighs together, rubbed your sex deliciously.

Once in front of him, he rubbed the warm skin of your outer thighs, then between them spreading your legs apart until the fabric of your legging tugged and pulled at your feet.

When his gloved hand slapped against your cunt you jumped. "Bad girl. What two names we're you given to address me?"

You whined, locking your fingers together, desperately wanting to close your legs. You were already a pulsating mess but this… oh this was something else.

"Tell me!"

"Sir." You jumped.

"And?"

"Colonel."

"Good job, biene. And what do you just call me?"

"Kön--König."

Another slap to your center made you shut your eyes and bite your lip.

"Did I not promise punishment if you did not behave."

"I forgot!" You whined and twitched when he switched hands, teasing your entrance once more, just pressing, not intruding, just letting you know he could pierce through you. " 'm sorry, sir. I won't forget again."

"Hmph. We'll see about that."

König is a very calculated man, knew how to draw you i like a moth to a light source. He grabbed you, pushing you down to the couch with a bounce and grabbed at your legs, kneeling down in front of you. He pulled off his vest to reveal the tightest looking thermal shirt, it made his muscles look huge, he could choke you out in seconds with how they moved. And that made you wet and weak to the manhandling of your body. His hands pulled at the back of your knees, just your lower back on the cushion now and he hooked your legs over his massive shoulders.

"Show me your pussy, baby. Go on, open her on up for me now." With your bound hands and aching sex, the way his eyes fixated as you spread your legs.

"Good job, pretty. So wet. I think I just saw her clench, are we needy biene?"

"Yes sir! I am I am so fucking needy for you."

"Good." König moaned as he lifted up the hem of his mask, licked his fingers and spread your folds before diving in to worship you.

….

He had you where he wanted you, tettering on the edge of the couch cushions, lost in pleasure as König ate you out, tongue fucked your cunt, spat on your asshole until you screamed for mercy. Grabbing at his hair. The hot and cold juxtaposition from his tongue ring brought your orgasm closer and closer.

"Colonel bitte, I can't… I can't take much more." You sobbed and bucked your hips up into his face, he chuckled darkly, smacking his lips and moaning as you felt the bridge and tip of his nose bump up against your clit.

"You're gonna' take a lot more once you cum," König groaned, rubbing all of his fingers, rather quickly over your pussy, making you feral. "Oh biene, can you hear that? You're fucking pussy is juicing up just right, you're gonna' cum aren't you, princess? Cum all over my fingers or my face, you've redeemed yourself so far."

"I um I--"

"Keep them open now. Come on pretty thing, I am giving you an option and if you don't use your words I'll just-"

"I'm so close, please!" You whine, tilting your head just right to watch in awe and bliss how fast you were losing control, your legs jerked against the sides of his head.

"That's not what I asked, sweetie."

"Fingers! Please colonel, fuck. Fing-ger fuck me, make me cum please." You sounded pathetic but it was just too much, his mouth, his fingers, his words and sprinkles of praise lit you up like the Fourth of Fucking July.

He quickly switched tactics, as he usually did to keep you on your toes. On edge for what he'd planned for you two next. But this complete dominance, his control, left you dizzy.

Instead of curling his two fingers deep into your core, hollowing you out to make room for his thick cock, he turned his wrist, palm down as he rocked them into that way. Magnificent.

You squirmed and squealed and shouted out profanities in English and a few you'd learned from your lover, like you were speaking in tongues.

Almost there, almost there, almosttherealmosttherealmostthere…

Then-- there was nothing.

No fingers, no mouth, no tongue!

You opened your eyes to see König standing above you, taking off his belt, unzipping his pants.

"I was so close."

"I know," he tilted his head and took his cock out. You clenched around nothing, licking your lips when he moved the mask just out of the way for him to spit on his own dick. You loved watching him do that. The first time you two had sex, he spat on it while staring at you, a smirk on his handsome and scarred face. It was hot then and even hotter every time after.

His boots pounded against the floor, jerking himself off as he got closer, slapping his cock against your pussy, your arousal making the stickiest noises to fill his living room.

"Colonel!"

"What a needy little slut. Just a little bit foreplay and you're a fucking mess, look at you. You think you deserve to cum, have you earned it?"

"You said I, you said I was gonna' be redeemed." Tears filled your eyes as he slapped your inner thighs, one after the other. He then dragged his nails down your heated flesh.

"Changed my mind, now sit up and open your fucking mouth." König helped you by placing his hard and cold shin guards against your knees and helped to push up. "Lift up your shirt too."

With the way your hands were bound, thumb to thumb in a praying motion, proved to be a little too difficult and König was getting impatient. So he grunted and grabbed your shirt, yanked it up, your tits spilling out from your bra and on a whim, it seemed, he just hooked it around the back of your head. On perverse display.

"That's much better. You look like a fuck toy, is that what you are, baby? Just a hole to fill, keep my fat cock safe and warm. No teeth. Stick out your tongue." König barked at you. Cursing something in German soon after you obliged, followed orders.

He plopped his cock against your tongue, you could faintly taste yourself on it, mixed with the beads of pre-cum. Delicious. You moaned around his length, his hand on the back of your skull, which he could easily squeeze and crush it in an instant, and had you bobbing, and gagging and drooling over it.

König made the dirtiest sound, low in his throat as he face fucked you, every time you pleaded with your eyes for a little release he'd slap your cunt again. Over and over until it was sore. Your clit aching and throbbing for some attention, your pussy reacting to his purposeful ministrations to make you as messy and sticky as possible.

Your König did not treat you this way, at all. In fact he made love you almost every night, claiming feeling you there, on him, in you felt safe. Comfortable. You were home. So this filthy pace, his thumb pressing down on your clit, that twisted look in his eyes as he watched you slobber all over him, down your neck and over your chest was a sign of delight.

"What a good little throat slut you're being honig, just delightful! You suck me down like you were made for it, were sweetheart, were you made to suck this cock so well?" He chuckled and finally pulled off when you nodded dumbly.

"Good girl, now then," he sighed and took a step back, a heavy string of saliva connected your swollen lips to the crown of his cock. "Do you prefer to look at me while I take you, or do you prefer to be hollowed out on your hands and knees?"

"Both." Came out of your mouth like you'd had one too many, trying to catch your breath.

"Both? You are greedy. Come here now! Hold still." He grabbed your hands and lifted you to your feet like it was nothing, and held them up above your head, your wrists screaming. "Keep them there."

He tore off the other glove and pulled down the cups of your bra, uncaring that your spit would be all over his palms as he kneaded your breasts, thumbed over your nipples.

"Oh colonel, please sir, that feels really good. Keep going."

"Sounds like it, you are so… breathy." You could hear the smile in his voice, his voice low and swirled with lust. "I love these tits so much, I just…"

He was on his knees faster than you could blink, for a man of his stature he's quite swift. He lifted his mask once more and mouthed of your breasts, groaning and growling and holding you close under the ribs, pulling at you to get further into his mouth. "I love you."

"Th-thank you sir. I love you too." You tried to remain calm but this fucking behemoth was working you over and for fucks sake would he fuck you already. You could another flood of desire and wetness slip through your folds as he licked and sucked. That damn tongue ring was worth the investment.

He pulled off your left nipple with a light pop and got back up to his feet and spun you around, you fell over on to the couch the long way, scrambling with your hands to push yourself up and into position, only to have your lover mold you to his liking. Whacking your thigh and hoisting up your hips against his groin.

"Now pretty thing… say that again for me, say it back to König."

"Oh fuck."

You did eventually find your voice after being rocked back and forth, his cock slipping in between your legs, gathering more and more of your arousal, the head of his cock bumping into your clit on purpose. He pushed into you slow for the first inch, feeling your walls spasm made him pause for a moment before you gave the go ahead with a pat to knee underneath you. He split you open, humming at the sounds coming from you, wiggling and trying to fit him all the way in at this angle. He pulled all the way out, spread your cheeks and spat once more before easing his way back in. Only to do it again and again, moaning how perfect you looked all gaped and wanting.

He fucked you hard and fast after that, the cushions feeling scratchy against your sensitive skin, your heated and exposed chest and stomach. The jangle of his belt knocking against your hip, the crotch of his pants getting soaked with your juices. He's never been this harsh before!

"Can't say anything, can you biene? Good. You don't need to fuckin' talk, just give and take. Feels so good."

"You always f-feel good, sir."

"Good answer!" was followed by a hard spank as he pounded into you even more before stopping all together to circle his hips and rub against that spongy bit that made you holler.

"Sir! Can I cum now? Bitte, I've been so good. Please?" You gasped into the cushions, your face wet with drool from all your whining and moaning. Your shoulder pushed deeper into it.

"Ja, ja! Cum on my cock, honigbiene. Cum for König."

You instantly came.

And came some more.

He couldn't wait for you to face him, see him in all his glory. So he gripped your shoulder, fisted your shirt for extra leverage and rolled you onto your back. He flicked one of your nipples harshly, enjoying the reaction and sunk back into your cunt.

Unrelenting as König massaged you from the inside out, letting you push and pull him back in like the tide. You arched and damn near fell off the couch but he caught you, cradling your hips, slipping off your socks and leggings, chucking them to the ground his his vest.

"Keep holding yourself open for me, honig. You're doing such a good job, what a good girl you turned out to be tonight hmmm?" König said while spitting on and stroking his cock again above you.

"Please sir, I'm begging you to fill me. I need to be stretched out." You cried, keeping your legs open was tedious at this point but necessary to get what you wanted.

"Bitte mich darum."

The wheels of your brain started to reel, you knew the words separately so… oh.

"I need it, colonel. I need you so badly, inside me sir, bitte bitte."

"Wanna' cum together, pretty girl. Show me that face."

He grunted when saw you smile and reach for him, wrapping your arms around his neck, drawing him in.

"Do one thing for me honig, grab my cock, that's it," König moaned around your fist, feeling your juices on your palm as he shifted. "Can you guide me in, show me the way?"

You rubbed the head of him between your lips.

"That's it."

You helped him glide back home, in and out, safe within the confines of your pussy. His neck rolled under your hands and you moved up your pelvis. He sunk in deeper.

"Good girl now," he gulped, framing your head with his forearms, his chest lowering down to yours. "Fuck yourself with it."

"What?"

"You heard me. Fuck yourself with my cock, like you do with one of your toys."

In. Out. In. Out.

Just that simple action had you open mouthed and pouting at how good he felt. You already came hard once, another explosion was nearly the horizon the more you fit him in, the more fuller you felt. You used him as a fuck toy, crying out his title's, holding onto his mask.

"Kiss me."

König flipped the mask up enough to comply, he tasted salty and sweating. He fucked his tongue into your mouth to the rhythm of you fucking yourself. He grunted you name against your lips. You sucked on his tongue.

"I'm going to cum if you keep that up, honig."

"I want you to. I need you to. Cum inside me."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. You wanted me to beg for it so I am- oh fuck yeah. That's it."

"You fuck…"

You hurried your wrist, looking up at König, with his eyes trained on yours, thrusting into your hand to finish together.

….

König collapsed on top of you, panting and out of breathe and hot. Both in appearance and body heat. That black thermal of his came off at the lightning speed after he came. He hugged you tightly, resting his face in the crook of your neck as you stroke his back. Full, sated and complete.

"I did not hurt you, right? I was a little--"

"You were perfect," you breathed and kissed the top of his forehead, tracing the scars on his shoulder. "Can I ask you one thing, though?"

"Anything, honig." König said and looked at you with curious eyes.

"Can we do that again?" Tagging: @goblinmodetweeker @poohkie90 @satakingslime @wrenwrites @mochimycat @bowsforsienna

[junk-story]

Interview: Ongaku to Hito and Sakurai Atsushi - Ichikawa Tetsushi x Kanemitsu Hiroshi, Part I

This interview is on pages 52-57 of the magazine. Footnotes are included in numbered parentheses and can be found at the bottom. Part II of this interview can be found here.

~~~~~~~

From the establishment of the magazine in 1993 to the present day, we are proud to say that, in the 356 releases of Ongaku to Hito, Sakurai Atsushi had the highest number of appearances. Including things like live reports and columns, the count of appearances is close to 130 times. We feel that it’s probable that this number will never be beaten by anyone else. Now, you may be asking why a person such as Sakurai Atsushi was so loved by Ongaku to Hito’s editorial department for such a long time. And, why he, too, responded to us as he did. The first editor-in-chief, Ichikawa, who came to see the incomplete Sakurai of the 20th Century, and the third editor-in-chief, Kanemitsu, who saw the process of his expressive style come to completion in the 21st century, discuss together what Sakurai Atsushi was to Ongaku to Hito.

Kanemitsu: When was the first time you met Sakurai-san?

Ichikawa: When I was working as editor-in-chief in Nagoya for Town Magazine. I was working as the Western music critic, but it was a town magazine, so I thought we needed to do Japanese music as well.

Kanemitsu: It was right when the first Band Boom(1) was going on, right?

Ichikawa: Right. And at that time, there was an older promoter from Victor’s Nagoya Sales Office that had come to do this over-the-top promotion of these new bands. I had no interest in them, but the way he made his sales pitch was very skilled. He was like, ‘Even though they have this sort of gaudy visual style, the melody is like a tulip.” (wry laugh)

Kanemitsu: (laughs) It certainly had that scent to it in the early days.

Ichikawa: At the time of their debut, Sakurai Atsushi didn’t really have the basics down of being a vocalist yet, but then, don’t Japanese people love the sound of a natural bass voice with a slightly sweet quality to it? However, behind that, there were a lot of strange wailing guitars, and I ended up taking an interest in them; I decided to do an interview with them, and the ones who came were Sakurai and Hoshino.

Kanemitsu: The person who was playing the weird guitar wasn’t there! (laughs)

Ichikawa: Moreover, even though they came with their hair standing up and in their full stage gear, no matter what I asked the two of them, they would only nod their heads shyly in agreement; it was a situation where they were like a “fleet of silence”. That overwhelming difference was so funny.

Kanemitsu: And the next time was in Tokyo?

Ichikawa: At Rocking on Japan. After interviewing Imai, I was kidnapped by Roppongi’s BOO!WHO?WOO!, and that was where I drank for the first time with Sakurai. For the following month’s issue, we had planned to do it with Sakurai and Anii, but on the day of the interview, we received communication that Sakurai’s mother had suddenly passed away and he wanted to hurry back home to Gunma, so in Sakurai’s place, Imai was to do the interview. When I went to the scene of the interview, feeling sympathetic for the whole situation, for some reason, Sakurai was there.

Kanemitsu: What?

Ichikawa: I asked him, “What’s the matter?(2)” and he said, “I thought I should come to properly greet you and ask you to please excuse me [for missing the interview].”

Kanemitsu: A good person who really respects the social hierarchy.

Ichikawa: It’s a good story, right? (laughs) Even though this man is this sort of flashy frontman, he doesn’t talk much and acts seriously.(3)

Kanemitsu: I really think so too.

Ichikawa: And then, as early as the next issue, Sakurai did a 20,000 character interview.

Kanemitsu: …for the No Blood, No Tears magazine.

Ichikawa: Wahahaha. As you might expect, I suppose I couldn’t touch on anything regarding his mother. When we sat down and had a thorough discussion, he was bad at speaking, but trying with all his might to do it. What came from that was how his adolescence was a rather empty(4) time.

Kanemitsu: After he graduated from high school, he went to work in a factory, correct?

Ichikawa: Yes, that. At a car factory, the job he did was screwing parts together as they came through, but it was like he agonized over it, thinking, “…why am I continuing to do something like this?” That sort of difficult-to-express feeling can really pull the heartstrings of readers, I think.

Kanemitsu. That became the heart of Sakurai’s lyrics.

Ichikawa: Yeah. That’s where it begins, you know, the “What am I?” series. Understanding that there is something there, but not being able to explain it well. So it can only be written as lyrics and sung. In search of an escape, an endless journey of self-discovery began.

Kanemitsu: Interviews became Sakurai-san’s therapy.

Ichikawa: I was his therapist, or, like his infinite hitting partner for wondering about things to himself. At the interview location, through talking with me, he would organize his thoughts and then verbalize them. It was like this repeatedly. And we couldn’t google information like we can now, and in the first place, there wouldn’t be an answer anywhere even if we did google it. So we ended up with lyrics like “Namida ukabete Deca-dance (eng: “deca-dance with tears in my eyes”) in Maboroshi no Miyako, and the kids that listened to it wrote us letters while crying, asking, “What kind of dance is this?!” (wry laugh)

Kanemitsu: The fans, readers, and even he himself didn’t understand.

Ichikawa: I think it was just that, even if you couldn’t comprehend it, the emptiness that Sakurai carried drew everyone to him. Like something a person instinctively sympathizes with deeply.

Kanemitsu: At that time, Ongaku to Hito was laying the groundwork for the beginning of an idea to materialize for him.

Ichikawa: Ultimately. (laughs) However, I think he also perhaps didn’t completely understand it.

Kanemitsu: Agreed. Sakurai-san himself tried reading [Charles] Baudelaire’s “The Flowers of Evil” and said he was frustrated by the second page. (laughs)

Ichikawa: That’s right. But, I think he had this indulgence of, “I’m good in the darkness, the emptiness in me is obvious.” So I called Sakurai Atsushi, “The Appeal of Self-Deprecation.” That’s because the lyrics written by the Sakurai Atsushi of the 20th century had these desperate contents of “I’m no good, no good, I’m NO GOOD” all throughout them.

Kanemitsu: But in Kurutta Taiyou, using the sun as a motif, I think he became able to view himself from a bird’s-eye view. And his mother’s existence is at the root of him.

Ichikawa: That complexity is the foundation of Sakurai’s work, right? But he couldn’t use it consciously as a technique. Making Kurutta Taiyou, I think even he could probably see and noticed that. And so then, when a year passed and he was face to face with the new release’s lyrics, he was back to square one again. Every time, he ended up returning back to the source.

Kanemitsu: It never became like, “I wrote this before, so I should do it like this next time”, did it?

Ichikawa: Right. Other musicians are more carefree when writing their lyrics, aren’t they? Once they’ve fallen into their own style, the only discussion is about if they should update it. Kanemitsu: When writing lyrics, do you always have to face yourself, or –

Ichikawa: You can’t escape it. On the other hand, that sort of work has some troublesome aspects to it, so I can’t dislike someone for not doing it. (wry laugh)

Kanemitsu: Meaning?

Ichikawa: The Sakurai Atsushi of the 20th century, and I think this could also be said for all of BUCK-TICK, had no progress - in a good way. Thanks to Imai’s desire for “wanting to put out strange sounds”, there was change every time, but in the lyrics, it was three steps forward and three steps back repeatedly. Because they’d make an album, go on tour, and all the time after that, the 5 of them spent drinking.

Kanemitsu: 365 days of the same cycle repeatedly. (laughs) There was an extremely low amount of [external] input, so there ended up being an absolute need for them to do the work to re-examine themselves.

Ichikawa: This continued the entire time. But, there can be no mistake that this shaped Sakurai’s unique lyrics’ worldview. One always ends up going back to the basics. It was a moratorium, in a good sense.

Kanemitsu: But they didn’t run away.

Ichikawa: That’s because Sakurai was a kind man. He knew better than anyone what would happen if he ran away. So no matter how driven into a corner he was, the one thing he would never sacrifice was the band.

Kanemitsu: I see.

Ichikawa: His rare charm was that the self-indulgent Sakurai Atsushi and the Sakurai Atsushi who took stoicism to its limit both existed together. So this troubled him, and he wanted to run away, but he didn’t. He faced things stoically, so this troubling feeling of wanting to run away is reflected in his lyrics.

Kanemitsu: In the 21st century, he began to act that part consciously. Taking himself to the limit and despairing that he was no good, no good. He would not face the lyrics while exhausted, but instead deepened his expression of them through the premise of acting them out.

Ichikawa: It may have been a shock, but in short, their material elevated(5). Really, because they were able to turn their work into art, we can grasp now how they were able to bring forth a decadent rock masterpiece like 21st Cherry Boy. Although that kind of dark decadence is seen as a negative, they established it as an excellent form of entertainment, which is fantastic. When I listened to that, I wondered, “Why has Sakurai made a breakthrough to this point?” What did you make of that?

~~~~~~~

Footnotes:

(1) This refers to the period of time in the late '70s-��80s where the sort of distinct, Japanese-but-Western-but-neither-but-both style of bands were increasing in popularity and number. Bands like BUCK-TICK came out of this boom. (2) In the sense of like, “What are you doing here?” (3) This can also mean “genuine”. I think both words suit the context, and I’m not sure which meaning he intends. (4) “Empty” here is in a negative context - an emptiness of meaning, fulfillment. (5) “Elevated” here is a word I don’t think translates well into English. This word, in chemistry, also means “to sublimate” - like when something goes from a solid state to a gaseous state, without passing through the liquid state first. I think it’s helpful to imagine this in the use of “elevating” here, too - a sudden, jolting step up from where things were before.

This made sense as a logical cutoff point because the interview slowly starts turning to Kanemitsu's experience in the 21st century with Sakurai from here. I'll include Ichikawa's question at the start of Part II, just to keep things clear.

[class1akids]

Okamoto interview in the Da Vinci Magazine 8/2024 issue

Rough TL under the cut

His combat skills are top class. However, whenever he opens his mouth, he repeats "Shit!!!" and curses at both friend and foe. In the past, Katsuki Bakugou stood out because of his behavior that was unbecoming of a main character in a hero work. However, now he has become an indispensable presence in the field of battle as a central figure in Class 1A of UA High School.

``The turning point for him was when he was captured by a coalition of enemy villains led by Shigaraki and invited to join them. He was thought to be a likely villain. This must have been quite a shock, but I think the readers and viewers were also expecting it.

However, he completely denies it, saying, ``If you talk in your sleep, just die in your sleep. "I admired the sight of All Might winning," he says, also talking about his feelings towards All Might for the first time. At that moment, I realized from the bottom of my heart that he was a true hero after all.

It was the great humiliation of being scouted by evil. However, it hurt Bakugo more than that.

What I learned was ``One thing, I was captured.''

"It was a complete failure," Okamoto said.

“He has a lot of pride, so I think it was quite frustrating.

Even so, he must have been thinking of taking advantage of the opportunity to wipe out the villains in front of him. However, because he was captured, he forced All Might, who had come to save him, to use his last strength, creating an opportunity for him to retire. That was the second thing that bothered him. This was almost the first blunder for him, who had been working hard to reach the top. That's why I felt so incompetent that I forced All Might, whom I respected, to retire.

It is quite important for him to admit that, I think it must have been difficult.”

Looking back, Bakugou has been a leader and confident since he was a child, which is why he believes that UA High School, where elite students who aspire to become heroes are taught, is the right place for him, and that becoming No. 1 there is a milestone. It should have been.”

However, something unexpected happens to him. His childhood friend, Izuku Midoriya, was in his class.

``Deku is ``quirkless, so it is impossible -he didn't want to be a small fry and thought he was on a different stage than myself [Bakugou]. That's why I couldn't allow him to go to the same high school as me. Even though nothing was done to me, I think I felt like the gears were out of whack.

However, that “crazy”.

On the contrary, I think it made Bakugo grow.

Deku, who he had been looking down on for a long time, had tremendous power, and before Bakugou knew it, he was an opponent he couldn't easily defeat. The self-esteem that made Bakugou stronger, thinking, “There’s no way I can lose.”

About the one-sided hatred towards Midoriya: This feeling that was deeply ingrained in Bakugo's heart eventually comes to an end as Bakugo recognizes Midoriya's power and apologizes, feeling ashamed of his past actions.

But why did he hate Midoriya so much?

I thought Bakugou and Deku were actually similar people. Bakugou is a genius in combat, and Deku is good at analysis. Everyone has different areas of expertise, but they are extremely greedy for what they lack. As a result, their fighting styles have recently become more similar.

“Win and save” or “Save and win.”

They are thinking the same thing, just using a different methodology. I'm sure Bakugo has always felt the same smell as himself in Deku. I think I didn't want him to be around me because I could see parts of him that I didn't like."

The strength that doesn't rely on "quirk" is Katsuki Bakugou's charm.

``He has more fighting talent and strength than me.''

That's what he says about Todoroki Shouto. ``Deku and Bakugou have different strengths, but when I saw Todoroki, I felt like I had found a classmate who was my superior, a genius, and had a similar fighting style.'' Moreover, Todoroki is half cold, half hot quirk seems like having two quirks.

Bakugo's ambition is to be at the top of UA High School. Todoroki quickly hit that. Bakugou was going to break it into pieces.

“Immediately after entering the school he feels the difference in ability between them." This was the first setback for Bakugo, who had always believed that he was the best at anything he did until middle school.

However, that setback also made Bakugou stronger.

``Bakugo's ``quirk'' is explosion, but my personal impression is that this `quirk'' is actually not that strong. It may look flashy, but it can be destroyed, regenerated, and destroyed. Deku's One for All is undoubtedly superior in the field of battle, but Bakugo is thinking about how far he can extend this explosion, and is determined to be strong himself without relying on his "quirk". In other words, by winning the battle, it doesn't matter whether you have one or two "quirks", you can truly become the person that Katsuki Bakugo is. I’m strong.”

I've become more confident in myself. Admit your weaknesses, but don't give up on becoming No. 1. Okamoto says that's what makes Bakugo so appealing.

``In that sense, I just talked about Bakugo with Todoroki.''

I said that we are the same type of genius, but actually I'm also a person who works extremely hard.

Although it has elements of a school youth story set at UA High School, I once again felt that he is also one of the main characters who learns a lot and grows there.

This work teaches us the importance of people supporting each other.

“Heroaka” captivates even the performers. When I asked him again about his appeal, he said, ``What?

Boys and girls who were no ordinary people discover the power that only they have and grow up. I'm sure that image will touch the hearts of many people both in Japan and abroad.

The answer was "Yes."

``What can I do?

This is something that everyone has in their childhood. However, I believe that children who are not dyed in any color have infinite possibilities. ``Heroaka'' depicts such a process while helping you achieve your goals.

He also tells them that they need friends in order to do so. Ochako's line is, ``When a hero is in trouble, who can protect him?'' The citizens are saved by the hero, and the heroes receive support from everyone. I am supported by smiles, words of gratitude, and friends. People cannot live alone.

Midoriya, Bakugou, and Todoroki each have their own troubles, but with the support of their friends, they have achieved great growth. They trust each other and are willing to put their lives in each other's hands. In the movie ``My Hero Academia: The Movie: Your Next'', they unite to defeat the villain.

In the manga, changes can be seen in the relationship between the three characters, and this appears to be reflected in their lines and actions.

``Up until now, even when we were fighting together, I had the impression that each of us was facing different directions. They would rebel against each other, each fighting in their own way, but in the end they would come together as one. In this movie, we're all headed in the same direction from the beginning, and I was excited to see them show their will to fight together from the beginning.''

``There have been a few scenes in the past where the three of us fight together, but this is the first time we're fighting a huge evil like the final boss. ``Heroaka'' has taught us a lot, so I was excited to record it.''

Finally, he expressed his thoughts on the work, saying, ``Even if my vocal cords are damaged, I want to play the role of Bakugo to the end. That's my goal in life.'' ``Being able to play the role of Bakugo is a great asset for me. Also, over the past eight years, Bakugo has become more and more attractive. I am able to express that wonderful side well. Just like that, it makes me think that I too have to grow up.

[shadeops21]

Hello! I love your Cosplay Guides for COD! It’s very detailed and well done! But I can’t seem to find the character I’d like to cosplay beside Soap! I even found and looked on your DeviantArt, but he wasn’t there. Would it be possible to consider adding Gary ‘Roach’ Sanderson? Thank you in advance! :)

Ah, here’s where it gets difficult as there isn’t a “canon” reboot appearance of Roach that is able to be properly broken down. A lot of the “remaster” Roach images out there are actually just using modified or “kitbashed” versions of AI NPC skins or generic MP “milsim” skins, which share a lot of the same core assets as the campaign characters in terms of clothing, plate carriers, and pouches, albiet in different configurations and colourations.

The OG trilogy doesn’t give us much to work on either as we didn’t really see more than his arms from the first person mode, and what glimpses of his body we do get, he’s wearing the same kit as the other TF141 characters as their appearance was a lot more uniform than the reboot is. The other issue with the OG trilogy is that the equipment, even in the remaster, is too low-poly and generic to really make any kind of identification of specific equipment nearly impossible.

(Post-note: This is turning into a longer response than I expected so I’ll throw this under the cut)

Personally, if I were building a cosplay for Roach that was in line with the reboot’s aesthetics, then I would start with what “theme” I want to capture based on existing trends. Looking at what the other boys have there are about three, maybe four distinct themes:

- Night Raider: the “nightwar” gear where they’re all in black and navy blue, night vision goggles, all that “going dark” angle

- Field Work: what the boys wear a lot during MW19 and MWIII, your more conventional SF look with the green, brown, and camouflage printed clothing and gear, maybe helmets or hats, etc.

- Urban Ops: essentially streetwear or civilian attire with their combat loads just thrown over the top, maybe a thinned out load for mobility or “short duration” actions. Think Soap’s tee & jeans load or what is worn during the tunnel fight in the end of MWIII.

Once you have a theme in mind, draw inspiration from the others for what Roach might have, and don’t be afraid to incorporate headcanons if you so choose.

Here’s what I would do if I were building a Roach costume, using what is known from the canon trilogy and commonly adopted fanon.

Theme: Urban Operations

Clothing:

- Ranger Green Crye G3 combat shirt, rolled up sleeves to below the elbow. UK IR flag patch on right shoulder pocket flap.

- Faded blue and torn denim jeans, single kneepad on the right knee.

- Mechanix Original gloves in Coyote Brown, cutoff the trigger finger halfway on the right glove.

Platform (vest):

- Crye CPC in coyote brown

— Condor Tactical Annex Admin pouch on the top velcro section of the vest

— 2x HSGI Twin AR Taco rifle mag pouches on the front MOLLE panel, occupying wearer’s left and centre row pairs

— Flashbang pouch occupying right row pair of the front molle panel

— Left cummerbund, running front to back: HSGI Single AR Taco rifle mag pouch, Spritus Systems GP pouch, Tactical Tailor PRC-152 radio pouch - all coyote brown

— Right cummerbund, front to back: flashbang pouch, Spritus Systems GP pouch

— Rear platebag just remains empty to accommodate a backpack when needed

— Patches: Green IR UK flag patch attached to the admin pouch

- Ronin Tactics TF Belt, coyote brown

— Left hip: ESSTAC twin pistol magazine pouch, with single HSGI AR Taco behind it

— Small of back: Blue Force Gear Micro Trauma NOW IFAK

— Right Hip: holster of some kind on a low-ride platform, suitable for a sidearm of your choosing. Recommend Safariland brand.

Headwear:

Beanie/watch cap with Opscore AMP headset over the top, half-face neckwrap in black or grey, with tinted wrap sunglasses.

Haven’t covered footwear as I have a few boots I wear personally, can’t go wrong with either Underarmour or Oakley tactical boots, or cross reference my guides and see what the others wear.

I hope this serves as a helpful guide or something to help you out with your own Roach cosplay. And believe me, if we do get a Roach character in the reboot verse you can bet that I’ll have their loadout breakdown done!

Thanks for the ask!

[greatwyrmgold]

This post exists to convert an argument I had a couple of weeks ago about Taylor reading cape magazines into something I can cite on the Worm wiki.

Let me start by listing every time the word "magazine" is used in Worm, excluding gun magazines, vague references to e.g. "newspapers and magazines".

[Armsmaster] was the kind of guy who appeared on magazine covers and did interviews on TV, so you could find almost anything about Armsmaster through various media, short of his secret identity.

—Gestation 1.6

Battery and Velocity were both speedsters of a sort, giving them the ability to move at a ridiculous pace. They were very different kinds of speedster, though. As I interpreted it, from all the stuff I'd read online and in the magazines and interviews, Battery could charge up and move at enhanced speeds for very short periods of time, sort of like how Bitch's power pumped up her dogs, but concentrated into a few brief moments.

—Tangle 6.6

Dauntless was at the other end of the alley. Brockton Bay's rising star. It would have been easy to peg him as a tinker, but he apparently wasn't. His power let him, according to details he'd leaked when he'd appeared on TV and in magazines, imbue his gear with a little bit of power every day. Thing was, every bit of power he parceled out had permanent effects. Every day, he was just a little bit stronger than he'd been the day before. A little bit more versatile. It was expected that he would eventually surpass even the likes of Alexandria, Legend and Eidolon, the 'triumvirate' of the Protectorate, the top dogs. That kind of made him a big deal in Brockton Bay, a hometown hero.

—Tangle 6.7

[Parian had] one an interview in a magazine I'd read back before I had powers, and I knew she was a fashion student, though she wasn't revealing just who she was until after she was more established.

—Extermination 8.1

Glory Girl had, if the magazines and papers were any indication, maintained an on-and-off relationship with Gallant.

—Colony 15.4

And, perhaps most importantly:

Brian nodded, a small smile playing on his lips, "Nope. Now, how on the ball are you, as far as knowing what we're up against?" I blinked a few times, then hedged, "For other local capes? I've done research online, read the cape magazines religiously for a few years, more since getting my powers… but I dunno. If the past twenty four hours have taught me anything, it's that there's a lot I don't know, and will only find out the hard way." Brian smiled. I mean, really smiled. It made me think of a boy rather than a nearly-grown man. He replied, "Most don't get that, you know? I'll try to share what I know, so you aren't caught off guard, but don't be afraid to ask if there's anything you're not sure about, alright?"

—Insinuation 2.7

Synthesis

Taylor reads interviews of local heroes and rogues, she learns what they say about their powers and backgrounds, and that's all she knows about anyone. She even admitted that she doesn't know much of anything, in the same paragraph she mentions reading the cape magazines "religiously".

Pre-Skitter Taylor probably knew more about capes than the average civilian, but not by much. She had a subscription to some PRT PR publication and read every issue for a few years, maybe she bought some back issues, and she did some basic research online. That's it.

That's not peculiarly intense fandom. It's not even on the level of a Disney Channel fan who looks up the actors for their favorite D-com characters. All she knows about any cape is the stuff they want the public to know, and she only seems to know that much about local capes.

I want to point out that Taylor doesn't mention reading anything about the local Wards, aside from consistent rumors about Gallant dating Glory Girl. This is despite the fact that she prepares to fight and then fights them in one of the early arcs, meaning she had ample opportunity to either chip in something she'd heard or mention reading something in her inner monologue.

Taylor does not read in-depth parahuman interest magazines. She reads PRT press releases.

[yourgoldennotebook]

In this final installment of our "Kids Who Play" series, we introduce a savvy 14-year-old from Pennsylvania who's making the kind of waves in Nashville that LeAnn Rimes and Tanya Tucker did at a similarly tender age, and a 15-year-old Southern California guitarist who's already discovering the joys of DIY.

The Kids Are Alright by Andy Robinson (June, 2004)

Taylor Swift lovingly refers to her koa Taylor 12-string as her "baby." She also owns a Custom 612ce. Obviously, these two high-end guitars represent a serious investment in gear for a 14-year-old. But then, Swift, and those around her, have every reason to take her musical talent seriously.

Recently, Taylor's family relocated to Nashville to concentrate on her blossoming career; she is signed to a "development" deal with RCA Records, and is managed by Dan Dymtrow, Britney Spears' manager. By the time you read this, you might already have seen Swift posing with her cherished K65ce in the August issue of Vanity Fair magazine; Dymtrow arranged for her to be one of 27 young, up-and-coming celebrity models photographed by Bruce Weber for the new "Rising Stars" Abercrombie and Fitch ad campaign. Her image will also appear in Abercrombie's new catalog.

Swift was born in Wyomissing, Pennsylvania, and grew up listening to Patsy Cline, LeAnn Rimes, and Dolly Parton. At age eight, she joined a children's theater group and subsequently got the lead role of Sandy in Grease. Her country-influenced rendition of "Hopelessly Devoted to You" caused a stir, and she never looked back.

Taylor went on to sing at fairs and festivals, and by age 12 she was the opening act on a bill that included Diamond Rio, Trace Adkins, Tammy Cochran, and Darryl Worley. Since then, she has opened for the Charlie Daniels Band, and has sung the National Anthem at numerous sporting events, including Philadelphia 76ers basketball games and the 2003 U.S. Open.

The latter engagement led to her most important career connection to date.

"While I was singing the National Anthem, the entertainment director for the U.S. Open started asking my dad about me," she says. "Afterward, my dad put together this typical 'dad video' type of thing — with the cat chewing the neck of my Taylor, and stuff like that — and sent it to her, not knowing that she was going to send it to Dan Dymtrow.

"Dan called and asked us to come down and play for him in his office, so I brought my first 12-string down and played some songs for them. Dan said 'I want to work with you guys,' and it's been great ever since! I love Dan — he is an awesome manager."

Swift had tried to learn guitar at age eight, but the timing and the approach didn't work.

"I was being taught by the note, every note on the scale, and I just wasn't interested in that. I wasn't even sure if I wanted to be a singer at that point, you know? I mean, you're eight years old!" she says, laughing. A few years later, she again tried taking lessons, and this time the teenage Swift found the experience much different.

"By the second week, I'd learned three chords and I'd written my first song," she recalls. "Now I'm working on fingerpicking and music theory."

Although Swift's parents don't play any instruments, her maternal grandmother was an opera singer, so there's a hereditary precedent for Taylor's vocal ability.

"My grandparents lived all over the world. In Puerto Rico, my grandmother was the hostess of the top-rated TV variety show, called The Pan-American Show. Nanny's Spanish was so bad that the Puerto Ricans thought she was hysterically funny! She went on to become the 'Madrina' [symbolic grandmother figure] of their Air Force; they really loved her. She starred in a lot of operas and was a member of the Houston Grand Opera. I think that's where I got most of my musical ability."

Swift's nascent songwriting skills also seem to have genetic roots. She sees a natural link between her lyric-writing and the fact that people in her family write poems.

"Songwriting talent is something you're born with," she says. "You have to nurture it, and you have to work with it, and you definitely have a say in which direction you go with it, but I think you're born with any kind of writing ability, which no one can take away from you. And I don't think you can teach someone to write if they don't have a sense of how to do it."

Lately, Taylor has been putting her budding talent to the test by co-writing songs with veteran tunesmiths in Nashville. She's already done some co-writes with last year's BMI Songwriter of the Year, Troy Verges, whose credits include "Blessed" (for Martina McBride), "I Would've Loved You Anyway" (Trisha Yearwood), "Sleep Tonight" (Tim McGraw), "Windows on a Train" (Jessica Andrews), and "Naked" (Celine Dion). She's also written with Brett James, who wrote "Love is a Sweet Thing" for Faith Hill" and "Tryin'" for Pam Tillis.

"I can't wait to write with a lot more people," Swift says. "I definitely think I have my own style, and I'd like to stay true to that, but on the other hand, you never stop learning. I'm never going to say I'm the 'best' at anything, because that's just stupid. You're always going to keep learning, and at no point will I know everything. I figure, if you surround yourself with people who are better than you, it can only bring you up."

If some aspects of Swift's creativity were inherited, the decision to play guitar seems all her own.

"I just thought the guitar looked really cool!" she says. "it also had to do with the types of music I liked — country and rock. I had tried to play piano, and I think you're either a piano person, where you have finger coordination and you can go all over the keyboard, or a guitar person, where you're using the muscles of your fingers to push down strings and play chords. Both are very hard to learn, and some people can do both, but I can't!"

Swift says she's been desperately trying to learn to play some songs on piano, but she keeps coming back to guitar.

"I guess guitar is really what I was meant to play, because it seems to be what I have a knack for. I actually learned on a 12-string, so when I picked up my first 6-string, I was, like, whoa, this is easy! I think when I got over the first little bumps of learning how to play guitar, it really paid off, because from then on it was easy. When I started learning to fingerpick and stuff like that, I started to play my 612ce more. But the 12-string will always be my favorite, 'cause it's the first guitar I played."

Swift admits that she might want to try the electric guitar someday, but only after she's become more adept at playing solos and classical music on acoustic guitar. There's also something organic about an acoustic that she finds hard to resist.

"I can't get over the sound that acoustic guitars put out — I just love it. And nothing comes between me and my Taylor 12-string! It makes a definite impression when I pull that beautiful koa guitar out of the case. And, of course, the [Taylor] name correlation works well, too!"

Things are clicking for Swift. Her song, "The Outside", has been slated for the Chicks with Attitude CD being sponsored by Maybelline New York, which is part of the "Chicks with Attitude" tour featuring Liz Phair, Katy Rose, the Cardigans, and others. The CD is scheduled to come out in August. Swift's immediate goals are at once modest and ambitious.

"I hope to be one of the 'others'!"

[espirittoyotanoidaservice]

Toyota Service Center in Noida: Auto Care Excellence

When it comes to maintaining and servicing your Toyota vehicle, choosing a trusted and authorized service center is crucial. If you are looking for a Toyota Service Center in Noida, look no further than Espirit Toyota. With years of experience in providing top-quality service, Espirit Toyota ensures that your car receives the care it deserves. From regular maintenance to major repairs, they offer a wide range of services to keep your Toyota in peak condition.

Why Choose Espirit Toyota?

1. Authorized Toyota Service Center

Espirit Toyota is an authorized Toyota Service Center in Noida, which means you get genuine Toyota parts and expert service from certified professionals. This ensures that your car remains in perfect condition, maintaining its efficiency and safety.

2. Highly Skilled Technicians

The service center is staffed with experienced and Toyota-certified technicians who have in-depth knowledge of every Toyota model. Their expertise guarantees precise diagnostics and high-quality repairs.

3. State-of-the-Art Equipment

Espirit Toyota uses advanced technology and diagnostic tools to identify and fix issues efficiently. This ensures quick turnaround times and accurate repairs, making it one of the best Toyota Service Centers in Noida.

4. Genuine Toyota Parts

Using original Toyota parts is essential for maintaining the performance and longevity of your vehicle. Espirit Toyota ensures that only genuine Toyota parts are used in all repairs and replacements, providing you with peace of mind.

5. Affordable and Transparent Pricing

One of the biggest concerns for car owners is the cost of servicing. Espirit Toyota provides competitive pricing with full transparency, so you know exactly what you’re paying for.

Services Offered at Espirit Toyota

Espirit Toyota provides a comprehensive range of services, including:

1. Routine Maintenance Services

Oil Change: Ensures smooth engine performance and efficiency.

Brake Inspection and Repairs: Keeps your braking system in optimal condition.

Battery Check and Replacement: Ensures reliable engine startups.

Wheel Alignment and Balancing: Improves handling and tire longevity.

2. Engine and Mechanical Repairs

Engine Diagnostics: Identifies performance issues.

Transmission Repair and Replacement: Ensures smooth gear shifts.

Suspension and Steering Repairs: Improves ride comfort and stability.

3. AC and Electrical System Services

AC Gas Refill and Repairs: Keeps your car cool and comfortable.

Headlight and Taillight Repairs: Ensures better visibility.

Electrical Diagnostics: Fixes issues with sensors and wiring.

4. Body and Paint Services

Scratch and Dent Removal: Restores the car’s appearance.

Full Body Painting: Gives your car a brand-new look.

Glass and Windshield Repairs: Ensures visibility and safety.

5. Roadside Assistance

Breakdown Assistance: Quick support in emergencies.

Towing Services: Helps in case of major breakdowns.

On-Site Repairs: Minor fixes done on the spot.

Customer-Centric Approach

Espirit Toyota believes in delivering a seamless customer experience. Here’s what sets them apart:

1. Easy Online Booking

Scheduling an appointment is hassle-free with their online booking system. You can choose your preferred date and time for servicing.

2. Quick Turnaround Time

With highly skilled technicians and advanced equipment, Espirit Toyota ensures minimal waiting times so you can get back on the road quickly.

3. Comfortable Waiting Area

While your car is being serviced, you can relax in their well-equipped waiting lounge with free Wi-Fi, refreshments, and magazines.

4. Customer Feedback System

Espirit Toyota values customer feedback and continuously works to improve their services. They ensure complete satisfaction with every visit.

Why Regular Servicing is Important for Your Toyota

Regular maintenance at a trusted Toyota Service Center in Noida like Espirit Toyota ensures:

Longer Vehicle Lifespan: Regular oil changes and tune-ups prevent major mechanical failures.

Better Fuel Efficiency: Proper servicing ensures that your engine runs efficiently.

Higher Resale Value: A well-maintained car fetches a better resale price.

Enhanced Safety: Regular checks on brakes, tires, and suspension keep you safe on the road.

How to Book a Service Appointment at Espirit Toyota

Booking a service appointment at Espirit Toyota is easy. Follow these steps:

Visit the official website of Espirit Toyota.

Choose the service you need from the list.

Select a convenient date and time for your visit.

Enter your car details like model and registration number.

Confirm your booking and receive an appointment confirmation.

Conclusion

If you own a Toyota and are looking for a reliable Toyota Service Center in Noida, Espirit Toyota is your go-to destination. With their commitment to quality, genuine parts, experienced technicians, and customer-friendly services, your car will always receive top-notch care. Don’t wait until an issue arises—schedule your next service appointment today and ensure your Toyota stays in perfect condition!

For expert Toyota car servicing, visit Espirit Toyota—where excellence meets reliability.

[wondersofdreaming]

Sex on Fire

Co-written with @radaofrivia​

Characters: AU Captain Syverson - Gynaecologist, dr. Syverson x female reader

Word count: 4.522

Warnings: NSFW! Smut, so smutty. Gamahuche. Licking. Bodily liquids. Fingering. Sucking. Hair pulling. Begging. And I’m out of whatever else there is, but I’m sure there’s more - let me know and I’ll add them XD

Author’s note: This story was co-written with the always gorgeous and incredible @radaofrivia​! She is the Brain to my Pinky! The Barney Rubble to my Fred Flinstone! My goddess Saga and my muse Erato! My drinking buddy and who will stay up till 4am with me to finish this story.

Please go enjoy her stories here:

Rada’s Masterlist

I do not own any characters in this short story, except the reader who is a figment of my imagination.

*Edit: The title was decided before I realised that it is a song by Kings of Leon. These two have nothing in common except for the title.

MY MASTERLIST

Sex on Fire Masterlist

Feedback is appreciated.

(Credit to original gif owner - if this is yours please contact me so I can give you proper credit)

The grey concrete building stood tall in front of you. You leaned your head back to see the top, but it was nearly impossible. All you could see were windows leading into the sky. A doorman in a black uniform stood by the entrance, watching whoever went in and out. He nodded his head with a stoic look in a greeting.

The lobby looked more welcoming than the outside building. There was a fireplace with three sofas surrounding it and a coffee table stacked with magazines. A few women were already sitting there, gossiping about the new dapper doctor that had rented the entire top floor.

You rolled your eyes and went over to the reception. A man stood to greet you with a smile, but he was talking to someone in his headset, which only took a few seconds before he hung up.

“I am sorry about that, how may I help you, miss?” he asked.

“I’m here for an appointment with dr. Syverson,” you said a little nervously.

“Ah, yes. I have a form you need to fill out,” he handed you a piece of paper and a pen, “The elevators are just right over there. Take it all the way to the 52nd floor. Another receptionist will be there to guide you further.”

You accepted the paper and went for the elevators. A chill went down your spine as the cold air from the air condition hit you. You pressed the button for dr. Syverson’s floor. An orchestral song started playing over the speakers. It wasn’t until you listened closely to the lyrics that you noticed it was ‘Nothing Else Matters’ by Metallica.

You closed your eyes, swaying to the beat of the soft drums. Lars Ulrich had been your celebrity crush as a teen, and you still listened to their older songs when you had a bad day.

The elevator doors opened with a loud ‘ding!’, pulling you out of your trance. Another receptionist stood at the opposite side. She looked up from the computer and smiled.

“Welcome to dr. Syverson’s clinic. Do you need help filling out the paper?” she asked nicely. You quickly scanned what you needed to scribble down. It was mostly your personal information and history of health.

“No, I think I can manage, thank you,” you smiled back.

“You can take a seat in the sofas, and when you’re done just fold it and put it in the mailbox, dr. Syverson will call you in, shortly,” she motioned to a black mailbox by the elevators that you had missed when walking past it.

You nodded and went for the sofas. The room was warm and comfortable with green plants everywhere. The sand-coloured leather sofas were softer than you expected as you sank down. You filled out the form and put it in the box.

Instead of sitting back down, you decided to walk over to the floor-to-ceiling windows and take a look at the impressive view of the city. Your eyes widened at how far you could see, all the way to the ocean, and if you squinted your eyes, you might have been able to see your apartment building, even the bar you had often been frequenting lately.

Dr. Syverson walked out of his office. He stretched his arms above his head, feeling a bit sore from having sat down reading his patients’ charts all afternoon. Now he just needed to check on his last appointment, before he could go home and enjoy an ice-cold beer.

His receptionist was packing her stuff, sending him a kind smile. The perks of working with his sister were that she didn’t try to seduce him, or leave her underwear in his white coat pocket like some of his patients tended to do.

He smiled back and looked around the room. His gaze landing on you. His first thoughts were not ‘oh there’s my patient’, no, his mind went straight to ‘YOWZA!’.

“Last patient for today, Luc. I’ll be leaving now, see you tomorrow,” he heard his sister say to him. She smacked his arm to get his attention. He was pulled back to reality, saying goodbye to her before walking towards you, changing his mindset from dirty to professional.

You gasped when a flock of seagulls flew by, making you take a step back and hit a wall. Except the wall had arms that grabbed your shoulders before you hit the floor.

“Whoah, careful there, miss,” a deep rough voice said. You looked up and saw a man with a trimmed beard, a soft smile on his lips, and a mischievous look in his cerulean eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” you choked out. You quickly remove yourself from his arms, first now noticing that he was wearing the white coat signalling he was dr. Syverson. And if that didn’t kick your brain in gear, then the name tag on his chest should do it. Dr. Lucas P. Syverson.

“It’s all good. This way, please,” he made sure you followed him to his office. The wall colour changed to a more soothing beige colour and was adorned with colourful paintings. You didn’t notice what they depicted before you stepped closer to one. It was of naked human bodies in various forms and shapes, very fitting for a gynaecologist’s office.

He had various books about his profession, but a few stood out to you. One had a peach on the cover and was written by dr. Syverson himself. You were impressed but wondered about the peach until you saw the title that made you blush deeply.

“How to eat a peach for dummies.”

He motioned for you to sit in the armchair, while he plopped down on the opposite one. He grabbed a chart from his desk and a pen.

“I’ve had a look at your medical history, and the…” Dr. Syverson looked down on the chart, “three gynaecologists that you have been referred to have written that you are in a state of good health. Well, we’ll see about that, I’m not too keen on some of these doctors you’ve had appointments with. They’re as old as Methuselah.”

You let out a peal of laughter. The joke having put you at ease with the doctor, who was smiling as you calmed down from your fit of giggles.

You were a little bit shocked by this doctor. Dr. Syverson was nothing like how you had imagined him. He couldn’t be over 40, with the extended educational schooling he would have had to go through. You remembered having read somewhere that it took at least 12 years to become a gynaecologist.

“Oh my gosh, they were. Another thing they had in common was that they would take a “quick” peek, not caring that I was screaming in pain, and then tell me that I’m healthy as a horse.”

Dr. Syverson sat back; his brow pushed together. You could practically hear the gears turning behind his forehead. He ran a hand through his beard, which made you notice that he wasn’t wearing a ring. If he wasn’t your doctor, you might have asked him on a date. Had you only met him at a bar instead of his office, and not being his patient. Damn it.

“There is definitely an issue we need to figure out here. I want you to know, miss that I plan on solving this mystery. Please, tell me in your own words what you think is wrong?”

You opened your mouth to explain, but all the sentences you thought of were too embarrassing to say out loud.

“Miss, you can say anything here. Nothing leaves these four walls, I promise you,” dr. Syverson tried to make you feel more comfortable with him with his gorgeous smile. His presence alone was putting you at ease. How did he do it?

“It burns when I’m penetrated,” you confessed.

“Penetrated how? During intercourse or masturbation?”

“I haven’t had sex since this happened. I can barely stuff two fingers in there,” you blurted, turning tomato red, confessing something so private to a total stranger, but it felt great to finally say it out loud, like a heavy stone being lifted from your shoulders.

“How about I take a look? Let me see with my own eyes that you’re ‘healthy as a horse’,” he quoted the old men, making you giggle. “You can leave your trousers and underwear on the bench, and have a seat on the table. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

The dashing doctor left the room while you removed your clothing. Feeling a little self-conscious, as you walked over to the gynaecologist table with the stirrups and sat between them, trying to cover your private parts with your shirt.

Dr. Syverson came back soon with a variety of scented candles in his arms.

“The smell of something nice usually helps my patients to relax a little,” he explained. He held them up for you to choose.

“This one,” you smiled and handed him the one called Ocean Mist.

“Nice choice, that one is my favourite,” the doctor grinned. He set the lit candle on his desk. The scent of a sandy beach and salty ocean soon filled the room. The doctor pulled the ultrasound machine towards you. You leaned back on the table inhaling deeply, willing your abdominal muscles to relax. The sounds of a guitar reached your ears. You watched as he set a portable speaker on the small table next to you.

“I hope you don’t mind a little music,” he said, smiling, while he put on a pair of bright orange gloves.

“I love Metallica, so please keep it flowing.”

“Can you guess the song I’m playing? Put your legs up here for me,” he patted the stirrups.

You lifted your legs, intensely listening to the instrumental version of the song.

“Is it ‘The Unforgiven’?” you asked.

“Correct, you’re good. This is going to be a little bit cold,” he squirted a large amount of gel on the ultrasound wand. He slowly inserted the rod inside you, pushing ever so gently. “How long have you listened to Metallica?”

You winced at the invasion but tried to keep your muscles from tightening around the smooth object. You didn’t see the set jaw on the gorgeous looking doctor. Your sweet scent was tickling his nose and making his mouth salivate by the thought of tasting you.

“Since I was a teenager. I’ve been to at least one concert per tour they’ve done,” you groaned in pain.

“I’m sorry, your right ovary is a little difficult to find. You’re doing great. Your left ovary is the epitome of health. Are you on any kind of birth control?” he asked casually, trying his best to make you feel safe around him.

“N… no… I…” your voice broke, and tears started streaming down your cheeks. Doctor Lucas quickly removed the wand, cleaned it and sat down next to you.

“It’s okay. Let it all out,” he told you softly. Concern for your well being was painted on his chiselled face.

“It’s just that… I haven’t had sex for years, YEARS doc. No man wants a broken woman, especially not a woman that cannot be penetrated without her screaming in pain.”

You babbled so much you forgot that you were in a gynaecologist’s office and not at a psychologist.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to blurt all that out,” you started to blush a crimson red.

Lucas fought hard not to pull you into his arms. His protective instincts were on high alert; he wanted to make you feel safe, make you feel loved. He was cursing the bastards who had hurt you. To him, women were the stronger sex, had to endure more pain than men. Women are precious, made to birth life, made to give love and be loved.

“It’s quite alright. You’ve had a rough time,” he patted your arm, the safest place to touch you and went to get up. “I’m going to feel around to see if there’s something I’ve missed with the ultrasound. What other bands do you listen to?”

You watched as doctor Syverson slapped on another pair of gloves and squirted a smaller amount of gel on his finger, on his long thick finger. You were practically drooling by watching him prepare to examine you.

“Eh… I listen to a little bit of everything,” you said. You laid back down and draped an arm over your eyes. Watching the handsome doctor working was becoming too much for you. He was stirring feelings inside you that you hadn’t felt in a long time, and not in this form or quantity. You had taken a look at his well-proportioned ass when he walked out earlier, and his black trousers did very little to hide his hefty package.

“I’m sorry, but, again, this is going to be a little cold. What was the last song you listened to?” he warned.

It was an erotic scene, watching him standing between your legs, one hand on your belly, while the other was about to enter your most sacred place. You felt him enter. A soft moan escaped your lips.

Lucas’ ears perked. He hadn’t expected to hear that sound coming from your full lips. Had he heard correctly? The little vibration from you sent a jolt straight to the beast he was trying to keep dormant. This wasn’t the first time a woman had moaned while he examined them, but you were different. Another sweet sound reached his ears. You were so responsive to his touch, so open, so reactive. His mind was racing, but one word kept popping up, more.

You had forgotten how to speak, how to form sentences, how to communicate. You could only feel.

“Miss?”

“Hmm?”

“The last song? You listened to,” he didn’t mean to sound so tense, but he had to distract himself, his treacherous mind, he needed to keep the small-talk going, to break the silence. He wanted to kick himself in the balls for thinking about you, while he was fingers deep inside you. His compassionate instinct was winning over his lust.

Stop it, Lucas! You’re a professional. You cannot mess up! You CAN NOT fuck this up! She needs your help. Lord, give me strength.

“Oh...” you murmured, coming back from whatever universe he had sent you to with his finger technique, “Ehm, before the Metallica song in the elevator, I listened to ‘What’s Your Country Song’ by Thomas Rhett.”

“That’s a great song. I like country music.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed you as a country kinda g… GOD!!!” you gasped as he curled his finger, touching the spot.

You released a louder sinful sound, a sound that hadn’t left your lips in a very long time. Lucas watched as your chest was heaving, gasping for air. The room was suddenly suffocating him. He felt like he was burning up from the inside. His breath was hitched, and he couldn’t form a coherent sentence. Why did you have to sound like desire itself?

“Does it hurt when I do this?” he asked, his voice lowering an octave and reduced to a velvety whisper. He hooked his finger once more, listening intensely to the sounds escaping you.

You couldn’t take it anymore. Your eyes rolled back in your head. You lifted your hips, moving your pelvis closer, needing more friction, needing to feel him deeper inside you.

Fuck!

He was watching you, vehemently. A fire was burning deep in his groin, heck even his eyes were flaming. His shoulders moved fastly up and down as he was heaving in the air through his parted lips, he needed oxygen, he needed to control himself. He was scolding himself for feeling like a horny teenager.

“This is… wrong,” he said in a panic. He moved his hand away from you. You wrapped your fingers around his wrist in a fierce grip.

“Please…” you begged, “please don’t stop. I… I haven’t felt like this in a long time. Please, Lucas… I need you… I need you to finish this.”

He could hear the need in your voice. He could smell your arousal. You were clawing your nails into his skin. The look in your eyes was clear that you wanted him just as much as he wanted you. The same eyes were shining with unshed tears, begging him for release, and the sound of his name from your lips was making him so close to breaking his resolve.

“I… can’t… you’re my patient,” he groaned, his forehead showing the concerned lines of wrinkles, which made him look even more desirable.

“Can’t you make an exception? Just this once? Please...”

Lucas ran a gloved hand through his short-cropped hair. He turned away from you, needing support for his shaky legs he leaned against the back of his office chair. He was thinking about it, really thinking about it.

“Please, doll. Don’t test me. I’m standing on the edge, and I’m this close to jumping in with both feet. I can lose my career, and I don’t want you to regret this tomorrow.”

You watched as his shoulders sank. You moved off the examination table, pulling the hem of your shirt down to try to cover your nakedness.

“I’m sorry, dr. Syverson. I… I didn’t mean to put you in such a precarious situation,” your voice was small. Your gaze firmly on the wooden floor beneath your feet, you felt so ashamed to have tried to seduce your gynaecologist, who was only trying to help you. Lucas turned around to the sound of your voice breaking, and a little saddened that you started calling him his title again. Your cheeks flushed, your arms wrapped around yourself. You gathered the courage to move towards your clothes.

“Damn it!” he cursed. He moved towards you with the speed of lightning before you could take a single step. His large muscular frame wrapped around you, your head was laying on his chest, listening to the racing of his heartbeat.

“Say ‘you’re fired’,” he ordered, his voice husky and commanding like some kind of army captain, but it was also desperate. Desperate for you not to leave him. Craving your touch. Desiring, longing, yearning, lusting for you. 

Your eyes widened in shock as you processed his words. He heard you gasp as you realised what he was saying.

“Dr. Syverson… you’re fired,” you whispered seductively, although a little shaky too. You watched as the sweet and calm doctor changed before your very eyes.

He clashed his lips with yours in a hungry kiss. He was starving; his only thought was to taste you that was his only goal. Your scent had been making him insane; famished was more correctly described.

While holding you in his arms, he made you move backwards until your bum found the end of the exam table.

His kisses were desperate, and so were you. Your heart felt as if it was about to beat out of your chest. Your breathing was shallow. It was going to happen; it was really going to happen.

He lifted you up and made you sit on the exam table. He parted your legs and went to stand between them. He cupped your face between his warm palms, leaning down to kiss you again. He kissed your jaw and all the way to the shell of your ear.

“Please, don’t regret this,” he whispered and went to touch his forehead against yours.

“I want it, even more than you do,” you answered breathlessly.

With your consent, there was no turning back now.

He devoured your mouth while his hands roamed all over your body. He unbuttoned your blouse while you shoved his white coat to the floor. You pulled at his button-up, buttons were flying everywhere. He shoved your shirt down your shoulders and off your arms before he threw it somewhere behind him. You ran your hands up and down his hairy chest, wanting to feel all of him, not the doctor, but the fine specimen of a man that he was.

He removed your bra with a flick of his fingers. Slowly revealing your breast to him. Your nipples two hard buds, waiting for his mouth to suck, lick, bite, whatever he wanted to do.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he whispered. His voice was desperate, so filled with lust, but also something oh so sweet.

Lucas moved his lips down your collar bone. Feasting on your breast, nibbling at your skin, before he finally went to town with your nipples. With the first touch of his tongue on your left breast, while he pinched the right, you let out a loud guttural sound. Just him playing with your bosom was about to send you over the edge. The coil in your belly was so close to snapping.

“More… Please, Lucas, more,” you whimpered, pushing his head to the place where you needed his mouth the most, right between your thighs.

You heard him chuckle. He gently pushed you down, making sure you were comfortable before he hooked your legs over his shoulders for better access to your glistening desire.

“Fuck…” you mewled. The sight of the mountain man between your legs, the growing bulge in his dark trousers was so erotic you were about to combust. Your sex was on fire.

“Your body is divine, bug. It was made to be worshipped. I want to make the pain go away,” he said softly.

You didn’t get to say a word as his tongue ran along the seam of your wetness, making you shutter from the first contact. His tongue was wide and long, his mouth blowing hot air as he sucked your lower lips gently.

That tongue of his was everywhere, inside you, lavishing you, adoring every centimetre of your flushed skin. You lifted your head to watch him working you into a frenzy, right as he sucked his index finger into his mouth, coating the digit with his saliva.

The pleasure that he was giving you was overwhelming. The moment he pushed his finger inside your womanhood, was like nothing you had felt before. His finger was warm, and it was a whole different feeling than when he was gloved. His tongue darted out to play with the glistening pearl hiding between your lips, sucking in his finger. Your wetness allowed his movements to be smooth and easy, in and out, and he found that spot that made you howl in ecstasy.

“Luc… I’m… I’m so close… FUCK!”

The coil broke, snatched, ripped apart. You weren’t pushed over the edge, you were shoved, hard, and the pleasuring waves kept coming and coming. It felt as if your orgasm was never-ending. You never wanted to come down from that high. It was addictive.

You released your hold of Sy’s head from your thighs, not having noticed you had trapped him. You were panting hard, trying to catch your breath after the tsunami of an orgasm the doctor had given you.

Lucas’ palm covered your cheek, wiping the tears that had fallen from your eyes.

“Did I hurt you, doll?” his face scrunched in concern.

You shook your head, no.

“No… that was the most amazing thing I’ve ever experienced.”

The smile on Lucas’ face was breathtaking. He was beaming with pride. You watched as he leaned back, noticing he was still wearing his trousers. The apparent bulge in his abdominal area looked painful.

You moved to sit up, motioning for him to stand.

“I want to return the favour,” you told him, unzipping his trousers. You were gentle, as the tent grew more extensive, the more you released his manhood from its confinement. You helped him out of his black boxer briefs and came face to face with the finest cock you had ever laid eyes on. You were drooling, licking your lips, dying to taste him.

“You don’t have to, angel,” he groaned as your tongue darted out to taste the precum leaking from the tip, hearing him growl, a sound coming from deep inside him.

“Please let me, Sy,” you pleaded, taking his length in your hand. You looked up to see Lucas nodding slowly. He groaned in acceptance.

You ran your tongue over your palm to lubricate it. Lucas’ eyes widened to the size of teacups. His cock jolting in excitement, his heart skipping a beat at the erotic scene happening right before him.

One hand touched his hips, moving to the small of his back, to have a grip on his ass, pushing him closer to your face. He filled your hand beautifully with his hardness, yet he was still soft to the touch of your palm. You started moving your hand up, slowly, hearing his gasp was turning you on even more than you already were. You smeared the clear precum around the glans with your thumb. Delicately wrapping your mouth around him. Your lips were stretched to max capacity, a voice in the back of your mind was telling you that you had to be careful not to lock your jaws, but then again you had a doctor right in front of you if the situation should happen.

You languidly moved his member further into your warm mouth, coating him with your saliva. Your tongue gliding over the tip. Lucas released a low moan that sent vibrations through his body. He lifted his face towards the ceiling. Your hand left his ass, moving down his thighs, tickling the backside of his knee, before travelling up the inside of his thigh and gently cupping his balls.

“Fuuuuuuck…” he guttered. You sucked the part that could fit in your mouth in synchronicity with your hand’s movement. He felt the tightening deep within his testicles. The hitching in his breath notified you of his coming release. You led his hands to your scalp, letting his fingers fisting your hair, before giving him a sultry look with his cock in your mouth.

He was grunting hard as he set the pace, while you did your best to keep up with him. Moving his hips, chasing his release inside your mouth. You relaxed your throat, letting him take over. You wanted so much to please him. 

“Fuck, sunshine… I’m so close,” he growled.

“Come in my mouth,” you uttered. It was like something within him snapped the minute you voiced the words. He moved faster, harder, rougher. Until you felt the first spurts of his seed hitting your palate. You swallowed everything he spilt and then licked him clean.

Sy fumbled with his office chair as he sat down with a satisfied hum and pulled you to sit on his lap.

“That was amazing,” he smiled at you, kissing the tip of your nose, your cheek, the corner of your mouth and lastly a lingering kiss on your reddened lips.

“Glad you approve,” you grinned back, “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“About those books,” you pointed towards the books you had peeked at earlier.

“Theses I had to write for med school.”

“Tell me about them while you rest for round two.”

[after-witch]

Suburban Dreams [White Picket Fence Part 2] [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Title:  Suburban Dreams [White Picket Fence Part 2] [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Synopsis: Your captor  lover surprises you with something you’ve been dreaming about. Are dreams ever as good as you wish they’d be?

For request: 

Fic continuation to white picket fence but in the future when darling is "ready"? I wanna see if our yandere is actually gonna stay true to his word

Word Count: 2800ish

notes: yandere, stockholm syndrome, written in bed this past week while i’ve been dealing with blood pressure issues

You keep your eyes closed and grip Kai's gloved hand firmly. He leads you gingerly along, having told you to keep your eyes closed no matter what. And you listen, you do, because a surprise this big must be truly important. A car ride and a keep-your-eyes-closed surprise all in one day? You feel giddy--and it's almost overwhelming to your senses.

It feels like an occasion, like Christmas, a candy coated ribbon-wrapped Christmas, and you're the child flying down the stairs in the morning to see what gifts Santa left under the tree. But you're not a child, you remind yourself, you're a grown adult with responsibilities. Keeping Kai happy. Making lunches and sometimes dinner, unless Kai says otherwise. Bathing. Keeping yourself occupied while Kai is busy with his work and his goals and his dreams. Ensuring that you're presentable.

"Open them."

You do, practically breathless and--it's... a room. No, not just a room. It's a living room. With an open floor plan. Beyond, you can see a dining room with a kitchen, a real one, with appliances and cabinets and counter space. Not the hot plate and mini fridge you've been (not to brag) doing wonders with over the past year and a half that Kai’s granted you cooking privileges.

You can feel your breath hitching in your chest. It's just... so much. It's so much bigger than anything you've seen in years, actually, you realize; but you don't dwell on this, because you've learned to live in the present. Yet you feel a grin tugging at your lips because you know what this actually means: you're ready, for life and more responsibilities and a future that spans out far beyond those little rooms, office, bedroom, bathroom, clinic.

Kai clears his throat and oh, oops. In your reverie, in your giddy once-over of this glorious space, you practically forgot about Kai. You pivot on your foot, almost running into his arms as you squeeze him tightly in true-blue excitement. He usually likes a warning before you do this (not that you do running hugs often) but you know he'll forgive you, because he's already wrapping his arms around you and giving you a quick, tight squeeze.

You pull back and survey the room again and it's just as wonderful the second time. Your mind seems to run a thousand miles a minute as you imagine the place all filled out, all decorated and pretty and filled with signs of use and maybe--maybe something more.

"Do you like it?"

You turn back to Kai and his expression is concerned and ah, you realize that you're crying. When did that start? You can't remember the last time you cried--well, okay, you absolutely lost it during movie night a few weeks ago, but that was Coco for heaven's sake. You chuckle, and the tears keep coming down, and then you laugh.

Kai stares at you, but his expression has become unreadable. You stop your laughter mid-syllable, because the sight makes your stomach twist. You don't like it when you can't tell how he's feeling, because you've taken it upon yourself to understand every glance and gesture and sigh. You want to lighten his load. He has such stressful days and nights, lately, and isn't it the least you can do to keep him relaxed?

"I'm okay," you say, wiping away your tears with your thumb. You make a mental note to wash your hands as soon as you can. "It's--I love it. It's just overwhelming, I think."

He nods, and sighs--and you do, too. He's okay. You're okay. No, no, actually, you're better than okay because just look at this place! You grin, lopsided and giddy, and hold out your hand. Kai--gloved, thank goodness, you wouldn't want your tear germs to bother him--and you tug playfully.  "Let's go see the rest!"

You pull him along the soft carpeting, making a beeline for the open kitchen. It's a nice kitchen, really nice, lots of space to cook. You wonder how Kai will handle seeing flour on the counter tops. You wonder if you still remember how to cook on a real stove without looking up recipes. 

You tug on his hand again, but stop for a moment to marvel at the window over the sink; you imagine throwing open those dark, closed curtains to let the daylight in. Flowers would like nice on the windowsill. And in the spring, when it was warm enough to open it up, it would let in such a pretty, warm, scent-filled breeze. The thought propels you forward happily and you continue your exploration.

Little things are big things now, you realize. Would you have ever cared about a linen closet before? Yet the little closer for towels and sheets and who-knows-what-else makes your heart thud. There's a spare bedroom, but Kai's already worked on turning it into an office; there's a desk and some papers and his familiar office chair. The empty room next door is an open possibility, one that Kai suggests filling with your crafts, your scraps, the odds-and-ends of hobbies you've collected over time. It's a good idea. 

There's even a staircase, but you don't ascend; Kai says it's two empty bedrooms and a bathroom, you can both check it out after you’ve settled in. You don't say anything, but your heart does a little pitterpatter all the same. Kidskidskidskids.

All the rooms are bare-bones furnished, which is fine for now. You can add your own touches later on--well, as long as Kai approves. But you don't imagine he cares all that much about interior decorating and besides, isn't taking the burden of decorating just what a good partner--you brush a wooden door frame with your knuckle and give them a rap--maybe even fiancé?--would do?

You round the corner to what appears to be a bedroom and glance back at Kai. He hasn't said much, but he doesn't need to: he's looking at you so proudly and it makes your heart flutter. You push open the last door and oh, oh, oh. It's a big, beautiful bedroom--a master bedroom--with a large bed and an attached bathroom and the bed is made for two and the fluttering has dropped from your heart to your stomach and down below. You almost feel bold enough to ask Kai to cuddle right now.

His eyes crinkle and you imagine he’s smiling under the mask. Maybe he’s thinking about that, too. And more. 

You turn to leave, ready to explore the last few rooms--dare you hope for a laundry room so you can wash your own clothes?--and make a note to ask Kai for new curtains in the bedroom. Maybe sheer ones to go over the thick, light-blocking ones currently tightly shut together? Those can be shoved aside, opened during the day and some pretty sheer ones will provide a little privacy while letting in the daylight.

But something tugs at you. Something catches up with your eye. The bedroom curtains are shut tight. Just like the curtains in the kitchen. And the office. And the other rooms. Maybe for privacy. After all, you weren’t exactly moved in yet and you can’t imagine Kai wants anyone seeing inside your precious home.

You feel your stomach twist. What if, what if... No, that would be silly. Kai is staring and you give a flat smile. “Sorry, I was just wondering…” thinkthinkthink. “Is there somewhere we can put our books?”

“The living room is big enough for shelves.”

You bite your lip. Should you ask about the curtains…? He can sense you want to say something, you can see it in his eyes, that knowing look that says “(Y/N) is worried.” In a moment he’ll ask about the curtains, of course, and you can express your concerns and he’ll relieve them like he always does.

“Don’t worry,” he says, a chuckling lilt in his voice. Curtains-curtains-curtains. “I’ll have a chair in the office so you can still read with me while I work.”

Ah. Well.

You nod, slightly shaken. If he didn’t ask bout the curtains, okay, clearly there’s nothing wrong. You’re being silly. You’re silly, sometimes, about things like this.

You find yourself daydreaming while you walk, and you have to remind yourself to stay alert for Kai’s sake. You don’t want him to feel like you’re drifting again (even though you are--it’s a habit, one that’s hard to break). You imagine stocking bookshelves in the living room, curling up on a sofa in Kai’s office (old habits, again); organizing your own hobby room so it looks magazine perfect.

You think about making meals on the counter, wiping up oopsie-spills; there is a laundry room and the thought of washing your own clothes for the first time in years makes you forget about little details you don’t like, a meh shade of carpet, more too-dark curtains, a truly outdated wallpaper in the bathroom so ugly that even Kai laughs when you immediately ask if you’re allowed to paint. (You are. Just ask. And you’re wearing protective gear when you do it.) 

Your heart thuds when you walk by the staircase again on your way back to the beautiful open kitchen-dining-living room. One day one day one day.

When you make it back into the kitchen, Kai stops you. 

“What do you think?” He wants to know your opinion. He doesn't ask your opinion unless he actually wants it, since most of the time he knows what’s best for your needs, so you take this for what it is: an actual invitation to express yourself.

You take a breath and sigh and collect your thoughts before smiling. You’re almost beaming. “I really love it. It’s so…” You look around, as if you can’t believe it still, and part of you can’t. “Big. There’s so many rooms! And things to decorate,” you glance at him, and add, “I mean, if that’s okay. I was just thinking little things. Like the curtains. And decorations.”

Kai chuckles, short and low. “I don’t mind. I would rather you decorate. It’s not my thing.”

You pull on your bottom lip with your teeth because you’re so damn happy and what used to be a nervous gesture is now something you do when you get something you want.

“So,” you say, feeling giddy, words coming out quickly and with little thought, “the open space is so nice and pretty, so I want to get lots of light. I was thinking lighter curtains, well not just here but in the bedroom too.” You gesture towards the dark blue kitchen curtains. “Like these, maybe we can get light.. gauzy white ones, instead?”

“We could even put flowers in this window!” Without stopping, you quickly pace over to the kitchen window; out of the corner of your eye you see Kai start to move, see him look at you funny, but you are too lost in your thoughts of curtains and vases and light that you ignore it and throw open the dark curtains to let in the--

Concrete wall.

And that’s what you feel like. Like you’ve hit a concrete wall. Like someone has punched you in the stomach with concrete. Like you’ve swallowed it and suddenly it’s hard to breathe and things spin out and you hear Kai saying your name through cotton in your ears and it’s dark--

When you come out of your faint, you’re in his arms.

He's saying your name, you think. He's mouthing something and you can't quite hear, there's a steady roar that makes you dizzy and you almost close your eyes to go back to sleep when his hand taps your cheek.

"Wake up. Wake up now, there we are."

Tap tap tap.

The sensation is enough to forcibly drag you out of the clouds, out of the thick air your mind has been resting in. You blink and everything is confusing. What happened?

"You fainted when you opened the curtains," Kai says. And it all comes flooding back, too fast and too painful. The curtains. The window. No, the not-window. The concrete wall. You're not in a house, not a regular one. Are you even above ground? The thought of being underneath the Earth makes you feel heavy and stale and terrified.

"Why..." Your throat is tight and you clear it and lick your lips, then cringe. Kai hates it when you do that. But you're not as concerned about that right now, considering... the window. "Why can't I see outside?" Tell me, don't tell me, tell me, don't tell me. What if the answer is worse than the concrete wall, you think.

Kai's eyes narrow, just a little, and you know you said something silly. But he doesn't sound annoyed when he answers you, which is, at least, something.

"To keep you safe. It's not safe for you to live in some... ordinary house, (Y/N)."

You swallow, your throat hard and thick and prickling with emotion that wants to spring out. "But I want to live in an ordinary house." Your words are tight, practically a whisper. Thoughts of previous conversations spring to mind, promises, whispers, kisses. Where was your white picket fence and dog and neighbors and children and--

"(Y/N)." Ah, you were thinking too long again. Kai doesn't continue until your eyes are clear and you're looking at him. "You fainted when you opened the curtains. Do you really think you're ready to live out there, with the rest of the filthy world?"

It's... offensive. It hurts. You don't like to think about it, but you do hate it when he treats you like you're helpless. Weak. Pathetic. You feel your shoulders tighten defensively. "I can handle living in real house, Kai. You said we could, you said--"

"You get overwhelmed so easily, dearest.” He interrupts you, and you don't have the strength to interrupt him back. "What would happen if we did have neighbors?" I'd ask them over for dinner. "What if they didn't like something you did, and they yelled at you?" I'd uninvite them from our Christmas party. "What if they had some... large, nasty dog who tried to attack you or our children?"

"They wouldn't have--" you say, out loud, finally annoyed enough to spit out an interruption. But his last words freeze your tongue. Children? Our children? Does that mean, does he mean--

"We can--we're going to..." You can't finish, thoughts and images and emotions swirling around making it difficult to focus. Children, family. You and Kai. The king-sized bedroom. The empty upstairs, waiting to be filled.

Kai reaches out and begins to stroke your cheek. "Not... yet. Not until I've made more progress on my work."

You feel yourself instantly shrinking, deflating like a balloon stuck in the corner of a bedroom, forgotten after a party. Tears prick at your eyes and you don’t care if they come down or not. You focus on the feeling of his finger strokes and realize that he's taken off his gloves. Oh. He must have really been worried about you, then. The finger finally tucks itself under your chin and lifts up your sad, sad face.

"Do you think I moved you into a home with empty rooms for no reason?"

You bite your lip--nervous?--and shake your head. "No, Kai." He isn't wasteful like that.

"Do you think I am a good judge of what you can--and can't--handle?"

You nod your head. "Yes, Kai." He is--he is, he is. He's proven that enough. You shouldn't doubt him. What is wrong with you? He gives you a beautiful home, one that considers your needs, and you freak out because of a window not-window. You really are ungrateful, sometimes. You’re glad Kai never says it out loud, because it would hurt too much to hear it from his lips. 

He releases your chin and you maintain his gaze, but for once, he is the first one to look away. He takes on an odd expression that you can't place, but it makes you confused rather than nervous. It's new.

"(Y/N)... sometimes, even I doubt my capabilities. Will you be able to handle living here? With this--" he gestures towards the window, but you can't imagine looking at the grey slab in between the cheery white window frame and the dark curtains--"... limitation?" Your heart is hammering in your chest and his voice seems low and slow and imposing. "Should we go back to our old place?"

The feeling of concrete, hard and heavy and unforgiving, returns.

"No!" You reach forward, clasping Kai's ungloved hand with a tight squeeze. Your voice is breathless, shrieky. "I can--I can handle it!" And you look at it now, at the hateful concrete and everything it represents. "It's, it's okay. I can wait for the real house. I can wait. Let's wait."

He says nothing, and your stomach twists, but then he pulls you up to your feet in a quick, strong gesture. He puts his arms around you and squeezes and you sigh in relief. You won't lose your rooms and empty spaces and your staircase with its promises.

"You're my brave little thing, you know that, don't you?" You nod, sheepish now, and smile. Your stomach still has an edge of sourness, an edge of curdle, and you push it down down down where it belongs. You stare at the concrete and think about asking if you can paint it. Anything but grey is fine. Anything. And other things, too, might help it feel less... imposing.

"Kai?"

"Mm?"

“Can we still… get pretty curtains for the window?”

“Of course.”

[kpopfanfictrash]

s is for sexy

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: Jungkook

Word Count: 1,532

Rating: PG-13

Summary: An accompanying drabble to The Art of War More. This drabble takes place after the events of both TAOM and L is for Lunacy. Jungkook is included in People magazine’s Sexiest Men Alive issue, but you can’t find a copy anywhere.

[ PART OF MY JUNGKOOK BIRTHDAY DRABBLE GAME ]

“We’ve made a terrible mistake,” you complained, sinking down on a park bench to rest your chin in one hand.

Coming to a stop, Gina craned her neck to peer over her shoulder. “I agree,” she said. “We should’ve stopped and gotten donuts at that shop I pointed out.”

“Gina.” You looked up. “Read the room, alright?”

“Right, sorry.”

She grinned, plopping down on the park bench beside you. Adjusting her green and white striped shorts, Gina lifted a hand to scan the horizon. A few children played on the slide at the playground, their innocent cackles drifting over the hedges.

Utterly exhausted, you sighed. “We should give up.”

“No!” Gina turned to face you, appalled. “We’re not stopping until we’ve combed every newsstand in the city. Until we’ve harassed every bodega owner! Until our names are plastered under persona non grata in every library!”

Normally, Gina’s speeches were enough for you to crack a smile, but not today. Today was the day Jungkook’s big magazine article was released and you had woefully dropped the ball. To be fair, Seokjin had suggested you order the volume ahead of time, since the People’s Sexiest Men issue tended to sell out, but you completely forgot.

Jungkook had stayed on campus through Senior year, but then had immediately entered the NHL. This was his second full season with the team and already, he was garnering national attention. Much of this was due to a viral clip of your boyfriend removing his jersey at the end of game five of the western conference finals, but said clip wouldn’t have gone viral if Jungkook had been on the bench.

The fact that he got playing time in his first season was remarkable – let alone that he was playing in the semis and was now considered the league’s It boy. Already there were rumors of him being nominated for end of year awards. Jungkook was excited about those, of course, but you and your friends were more excited for this. People’s Sexiest Men Alive.

He wasn’t the cover, of course – that was reserved for A list celebrities – but it seemed Jungkook’s abs had been enough to land him a mention. You’d planned on wallpapering the apartment door with the photo before he got home tomorrow, but that wouldn’t happen if you couldn’t get your hands on a copy.

Unfortunately for you, the issue seemed to be sold out.

Sighing again, you folded your arms over your chest. “Has Seokjin said anything to you?” you asked Gina. “Was he able to find one?”

“How should I know?” she said, somewhat defensive. “It’s not like I know everything Seokjin does or says.”

You stared at her for a moment, unsure how to respond. “Uh – I know?”

“Right.” Gina swallowed, somewhat mollified. “Why don’t we call him?”

Shaking your head at her weirdness, you pulled your phone from your pocket. Honestly, Gina and Seokjin had been acting mad weird lately. They acted all cagey and awkward whenever you asked one about the other. If you didn’t know better, you’d almost think they were fighting.

Dialing Seokjin’s number, you leaned back on the bench and listened to his ringback tone. Kim Seokjin was one of the only people you knew – well, him and your aunt – who still had that feature, and Seokjin hadn’t bothered to update his since 2011. It was still Call Me Maybe by Carly Rae Jepsen.

HEY, I JUST MET YOU! AND THIS IS CRAZ –

“Hello?”

“Seokjin,” you groaned. “When are you going to change that dumb ringback tone?”

“Whenever Carly Rae goes out of style, so never.”

Gina, having overheard, cracked up beside you.

“Anyways,” you said, switching to your other ear. “Any luck on the search?”

“Sorry, but nope. Seems your boyfriend is more in demand than that one donut shop Gina always wants to go to.”

“That, or it’s the fact that Michael B. Jordan’s on the cover.”

“Yeah, probably that.”

“Alright,” you sighed, picking a thread on your jeans. “Thanks for trying, Seokjin.”

“Anytime,” he said and hung up.

As you shoved your phone in your purse, Gina looked at you warily. “No luck?”

“Nope.”

“Hm.” Gina leaned back on the bench. “Maybe we should switch gears here, get creative. We could cut out semi-nude photos of Jungkook and stick them to the pages of last year’s edition!”

“Where would I get last year’s issue, though?”

“Good point.” Gina thought. “You could just stick semi-nude photos of Jungkook to your front door?”

“Gina,” you laughed, shoving her shoulder. “Stop stripping my boyfriend!”

“There it is!” Gina beamed. “I knew I could get you to laugh.”

Shaking your head, your smile faded a little. Gina was right though, this was silly. It would’ve been fun for Jungkook to come home from his away game to this, but it was hardly the end of the world. You would just order a copy online and wait.

Heaving a great sigh, you stood from the bench. “Okay,” you said, turning to Gina. “Let’s head out.”

Gina convinced you to go to the donut shop at least, so you didn’t arrive home empty-handed. That was the reason she gave you at least, although you knew it had more to do with her recently launched donut Instagram.

The box was precariously perched on your hip as you shoved open the door, placing the keys on the hook to kick the door shut. As you turned to walk inside, you started – nearly dropping the entire box of donuts on the floor.

“Jungkook?” you gasped.

Chucking the box on the counter, you dashed across the room.

Jungkook laughed when you reached him, immediately jumping to wrap your legs around his waist. He caught you easily, warm hands on your waist as you buried your face in his chest. Somewhat awkwardly, he walked you towards the kitchen.

“You’re back!” you blurted, pulling back to see him.

Jungkook grinned, rosy-cheeked from your touch. “I’m back,” he agreed, depositing you on the kitchen counter. “Miss me?”

“How?” you demanded, poking his chest. “How’d you get home so fast?”

“I feel so welcome,” Jungkook teased. At the look on your face, he grinned. “Coach cancelled tomorrow’s practice, so I caught a flight back today.”

“Yay,” you said happily, leaning to rest your head on his chest.

The steady thrum of his heartbeat reassured you and for a moment, you allowed yourself to enjoy this. Jungkook smelled as he always did, like light floral and cotton, and the weight of his hands on your thighs made your heart calm.

His thumbs played with the thread on your jeans, which sent your mind to other places – places involving your bed, his ass and zero clothes – but for now, you were content with this.

“What’s in the box?” he murmured into your hair.

“Oh, right,” you said and pulled back. Twisting around, you dragged the donut box towards you and popped the top. “Some might be a bit squished since I threw them. Gina and I went to the new donut place on Lakeview.”

Jungkook’s eyes went super-wide. He immediately bent to grab the closest donut, powdered sugar getting everywhere when he bit into the side.

“Yum.” Jungkook’s eyes rolled exaggeratedly back in his head. “Wow, this is the best welcome home I’ve ever gotten. There’s you, of course, but also – donuts.”

“Obviously,” you said. “There was actually supposed to be another surprise, but I kind of messed it up.”

Jungkook licked powdered sugar off his wrist. “Messed something up? You? Don’t buy it.”

“Suck up,” you teased. “But no, really. I wanted to get your People’s Sexiest Men edition! I was going to plaster it across the front door and embarrass you.”

Jungkook grimaced. “As fun as that sounds, the donuts are better.”

“What? You aren’t proud of how sexy you are?”

“I don’t care about that.” Jungkook swallowed the last of the donut. “As long as you find me sexy.”

Tipping your head back, you groaned. “Okay, now you’re seriously sucking up.”

“Mm.” Placing his hands on either side of your thighs, Jungkook’s nose grazed your jawline. “Anything else you want me to suck?”

“Jungkook!”

Drawing back, his gaze glinted darkly. “Besides, why do you need that photo of me with my shirt off?”

You frowned, perturbed and he reached one hand overhead. Still looking at you, Jungkook did that stupid-hot thing guys do where they remove their shirt with one hand. When his six pack abs were revealed, they left you a bit speechless.

Flexing a little, Jungkook grinned. “You have the real thing.”

“Shut up,” you groaned, shoving his pec. Oh – hard. Sliding down from the counter, you began walking towards the bedroom. “But since you offered…”

Jungkook waggled his brows. “I did.”

“Get in there, sexiest man alive,” you laughed. “Show me what you got.”

“Alright.” Jungkook caught himself on the doorframe with both hands. “But before we go any further, I feel compelled to clarify I’m not People’s sexiest man, just one of them. Michael B. Jordan is the sexiest man alive.”

“Jungkook!” You pointed through the door. “Bed!”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a salute.

You stared after him, grinning stupidly before following.

 kpopfanfictrash, 2020. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[paversandplatters]

||𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙱𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚂𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚙|| (2/20)

Apocalypse! Au (TW! Minor gore and cussing)

Reader x multiple

Chapter 2: The church

Y/n puts the vehicle in gear carefully making a U turn and starts down the road in a westerly direction. Her original plan was find refuge in one of the larger towns along North Florida’s citrus belt such as Lake City or Gainesville- still seems viable despite the fact that the engine continues to ping and complain- something has come loose during the plunge to the woods and she doesn't like the sound of it. They need to find a place to stop soon look under the hood, get their wounds looked at- rest maybe, maybe find some provisions and fuel.

“Hey look!” Nick speaks up from the shadows of the rear seats pointing off to the Southwest at the end of the lot.

Y/n drives another 100 yards or so and then brings the Escalade to a stop at the gravel shoulder. She kills the engine and silence crashes down on the car’s interior, it’s almost deafening. Nobody says anything at first- they just stare at the road sign in the middle of the distance. It's one of those cheap translucent white fiberglass ones, set on wheels with the big removal plastic letters still bearing the words “Calvary Baptist Church all welcome Sunday 9 -&- 11.”

Through the spindly Cypress trees and columns of pine that line the road, she can see the luminous white gravel of a deserted parking lot. The long narrow lot leads to the front of a building, it's broken stained glass windows partially boarded up. Its steeple caved in on one side and scorched as if its seen a bombing raid. She stares at the huge steel cross at the top of the steeple- which is covered with a patina of rust- has come loose from its moorings.

It now lays upside down dangling by the remains of its rotted hardware. She can't help but get very still while gazing up at the ruin upended cross, the symbolism isn't lost on her but it may only be the beginning. She never been one for religion but realizes that this may very well be a sign that they've been left behind and this is the rapture and the world is a purgatory now. They’ll have to deal with what remains like junkyard dogs or vermin stuck in a sinking ship.

“Remind me”she says almost under her breath not taking her eyes off the building in the distance one of the windows in the rear has a dull yellow incandescent glow, behind it the chimney is spewing a thin wisp of smoke into the lightning sky.

“how much ammunition did y'all manage to scavenge before we left Calhoun?” the two young men give each other a quick look

Nick speaks up “I have one of the 33 round mags for the Glock and a box of two dozen .380s for the other pistol and that's it..”

“That's more than I managed.” George grimaces “all I managed to grab ammunition wise is what was in the office which I think it's like 6 rounds, maybe 8?”She picks up her Glock from the seat counting the number of times she's fired since they left Calhoun she's got six rounds left.

“All right gentlemen ... I want you to bring all of it, all the hardware locked and loaded.” she opens the door “and look alive…”

The two men get out of the vehicle and join her in the Golden light of the dawn. Something is wrong, Nick notices His hand are shaking as he injects a fresh magazine into the hilt of his pistol

“Y/n, I don't understand” he says finally.

“what are we loading up for? I doubt there's anything in there but scared church people. What are we doing?”

But she's already started down towards the church- her Glock is gripped tightly in her hands, arms dangling at her side like a calling card.

“It's the end of the world boys there's no such thing as church anymore it's all up for grabs…”

The two young men glanced at each other for a moment before hurrying up to catch up with her. They approached the property from the rear, through the grove of sickly eucalyptus trees that mark the outer edges of the churches lot. She can smell the stench of menthol and ammonia in the air as she creeps across the weed whiskered gravel, careful not to make too much noise when her boots crunch under the stones. The light in the chapel's rear window has dwindled with the morning sun and the roaring of crickets fade now, the silence returns over making her heart throb in her ears.

She pauses behind a tree about 20 feet away from the lighted window ... With a few quick hand signals she rouses the two who are hiding behind a nearby oak. Nick moves out from behind cover carrying the pistol against his solar plexus like a vestigial appendage. George moves behind his friend wide eyed and jumpy flinching at the twinges of pain. These two are not exactly the crème de la crème in the world's new survivor class she realizes but perhaps she should see these young men as they truly are. Loyal partners, and friends- surviving all the same.

She issues another signal stabbing a finger at the rear of the building. One by one the three of them move toward the small woodside annex off the rear of the Chapel- she’s in the lead her pistol now gripped in both hands, now pointed downward. The closer they get the more the sun rises over the horizon the more they realize something isn't right. The windows of the building and rectory of the deacons quarters are lined with aluminum foil. The screen door has been ripped off its hinge and the inner door is nailed shut and crisscrossed with lumber. The stench of the dead permeates the air and gets stronger as they approach. She reaches the building first and she gently stands with her back against the boarded door signaling the others with a the tip of her finger to her lips.

They approach as quietly as possible, stepping lightly over the trash and dead leaves that are skidding across the back of the deck in the morning breeze. George stands just behind her, while Nick keeps to her side, both keeping weapons at the ready. She reaches down to her scuffed boot and pulls out a 12 inch Randall knife from the interlining. She carefully wedges the point under one of the boards near the door latch and Yanks.

The door probes stubborn. She pries at it repeatedly with the knife making more racket than she cares to but she has no choice they would make even more noise if they had tried to break through one of the windows. The nails give slightly the creaking sound amplified and the hushed daylight. She has no idea of what they're about to find inside this building but she fairly certain now that both humans as well as the dead inhabit this place.

Zombies don't build fires and the average survivor with the access to soap and water doesn't usually smell like death. The door finally gives and the two men moving closer to her, guns up now as they enter at the same time. They find themselves in an empty room illuminated by dim yellow light and the smell of stale smoke and Bo smacks them in the face. She crosses the floor, her boots making the floorboards creak. She makes note of the small potbelly stove still radiating the heat of the dying embers, the braided rug stained with blood, a desk littered with teabags, dishes, candy wrappers gossip magazines, a few empty 44 bottles and crumpled cigarette packs…

She goes over to the desk and looks down at the display of playing cards arranged in the classic poker pattern it looks like somebody, likely a hand full of people, were here only a moments ago and left in a hurry. A noise from behind the inner doors suddenly takes her attention. she whips her head around to the source, both men stand across the room gazing sheepishly back at their leader.

Again she puts a four finger to her lips giving them the signal to hush. The two mens eyes are aglow with nervous tension, on the other side of the door shuffling noises build, the telltale sound of dragging feet. There's also the reek of mortified flesh almost as pungent as the methane and it's getting stronger. She recognizes that a number of undead are trapped in an enclosed space. She turns and points to George’s shotgun.

Nick understands that he's supposed to blow the lock off the door and George is supposed to back them both up. Neither young man is very happy about this plan. Nick looks pale and George is drenched in sweat both of them nursing wounds and perhaps even internal bleeding. Neither seem gung ho about fighting off and undetermined number of biters. But she is an irresistible leader and the mere look in her eyes is enough to kill any dissension in the ranks. She holds three fingers up. She begins to countdown. 3, 2-

A loud crack sounds as a rotten hand covered with mold burst through the weak spot in the lumber.

Nothing in reality ever seems to play out the way George imagines it should. He trips on his backward shuffling feet and falls on to the floor. The pain in his ribs explode the injury jostled by the impact and at the same time another pair of hands thrust their way through the busted slats of the door. Looking up he sees she has pulled something from her boot. He watches as a dull gleam of a Buck knife strikes through the air. She drives the blade through the tissue and cartilage sawing through the bone it’s hands flopping to the floor as neatly as tree limbs being pruned.

George watches as he tries to sit up, the back of his throat burns and his body threatens to upchuck the paltry contents of a stomach. Things are moving quickly now, hands are flopping around him like fish on a boat’s deck, slowly growing still as the electrical impulses from the reanimated central nervous system drains out. George’s vision blurs his mind swimming dizziness gripping him as his wounded lungs labor to get air.

She's already scooped the fallen shotgun from the floor pumping shells into its breach with a single jerk of her arms as she turns back to the door George manage to get himself back up into a standing position kicking the ghastly hands out of the way . She slims a boot into the door and it implodes revealing the interior of a dark Chapel. Nick gets a fleeting glimpse of the sanctuary before the 1st blast shatters the tableau.

What was once a quaint little church with stain glass and pine pews now resembles an arbiter from the 9th circle of hell. The dead number in dozens maybe as many as 40 or 50 most of them chained to the pews with heavy chains. They react to the light of the outer room as if she had just turned over her oktan exposed a colony of vermin.

Insensate faces jerk towards the noise, some are decorated with spiked collars and others have large makeshift cage like muzzles. The scene gives a a sense of some sort of demented zoo or kennel for these reanimated cadavers. Stranger still, in that terrible instant before the first flash of the 12 gauge, it seems like somebody apparently tried to administer these beings after they were reanimated.

In front of each are dead birds morsels, pieces of roadkill or unidentified human remains are scattered in the pews next to each being. The candles still burn in the same sanctuary on the advert stands in the front room on the modest little altar. Somewhere the buzz of a live microphone drones. The air smells of modified sewage perfumed with rancid flesh and disinfected.

Nick gets one final glance at her before the air lights up- the look on her face is a mixture of sorrow, rage, loss and regret. It's the look of someone confronting the merciless abyss. Then the shooting starts.

The first blast flashes and takes the closest cadaver down in a puff of carnal tissue, the shell ripping through the skull and taking a chunk out of the wood above the door. Three subsequent shots happen, making their ears ring. Already covered with blowback her anguished face stippled and splattered, she now moves deeper into the Chapel and starts in on the others.

It only takes a few minutes, the air flashing like a fireworks display as she goes from pew to pew, either vaporizing skulls or thrusting her Randall knife through petrified nasal cavities before the things even get a chance to bite at the air. George staggers towards the open door to get a better view and he notices Nick just in the side Chapel entrance.

She has the strangest look on her face now as she finished off the last of the monsters with a hard quick slashes of the knife the gun has been emptied, 8 shells peppering the wall behind the heaps of moldering flesh. Completely slick with blood, her eyes burning with inscrutable emotions, she almost looks beatific as she dispatches with the last re animated corpse .

For one terrible moment watching this all from the doorway Nick thinks of a woman having an orgasm. She lets out a voluptuous sigh of relief as she impales the skull of what seems to be an elderly woman. The Crone sacks against the back of her Pew, she was once somebody's mother, somebody's neighbor. She may have once baked cookies for her grandchildren search for famous bread pudding add ice cream socials and laid to rest her beloved husbands of 47 years in the Cemetery out behind the rectory .

Y/n pauses to catch her breath staring down at the woman, head bowed for a moment, when all at once she abruptly stops and looks up narrowing her eyes. She cocks her head to one side and listens closely to something in another part of the building at last she fixes her gaze on George and so softly whispers

“do you hear that ?”

@the-wandering-pan-ace

[junktrait]

kory isaacs for @poetic-falls bachelor challenge. find his sim city feature below.

In this series of issues from Sim City, we take you from subject to producer, highlighting the creative people who work to make this magazine a reality. One of our digital cover stars is Kory Isaacs, frequent photographer for our magazine.

It is a cold, windy morning barely lit by sunlight in San Myshuno when I meet Kory Isaacs on the street outside his apartment, as he insists on coming down to meet me himself rather than buzzing me up. I’ve done enough interviews with stars to wonder if generous or calculated, trying to craft my perception of him from the first moment we interact. When I tell him this, he laughs. “Thank you for your honesty! Let’s say the first one.”

Isaacs, a photographer put on the map by his Sim City cover shoot of Vanessa Jeong, is equipped with a commanding charm, helped along by his unwavering gaze but softened by his boyish flop of hair and deep belly laugh. It is no wonder he sometimes ends up in front of the camera, appearing as a model in some publications he shoots for. Of these forays, he says with a wry smile, “It seemed to me I should have some insight into what my subjects experience when I photograph them. Only fair, right?” And for what he thinks of being a model? “It’s not for me. Though I did appreciate the ego boost.”

Isaacs, and his portfolio, make it clear to me that jobs were not falling from the sky for a while. After being born and raised in San Myshuno by high-rollers and philanthropists Titus and Catherine Isaacs, he vacated the city, and his parent’s shadow, for sunny Del Sol Valley. There, his lack of brand name clout left him with few prospects. “There were a lot of moments I thought I was going to have to run back to SanMy with my tail between my legs,” he says while looking past me instead of at me. “But my family has too much pride for that. Better to resolve to push through instead.”

And push through he did. A few months of persistence led to a few local paper gigs, which led to friends requesting his services for their shoots, and finally, Isaacs was noticed on his merit rather than the name that had propelled him to such heights in San Myshuno. Despite a burgeoning career on the West Coast, Isaacs soon moved back to his hometown.

“Now I’m known for something different,” he says of bringing his fame back to his old stomping grounds. “So I don’t mind as much when people know my name, because, now chances are good they know it for reasons I’m happy about. Plus, he says, pushing the ashtray on the coffee table aside with his index finger, “my parents and I kind of run in different circles.” His apartment is small and away from the expensive lofts of Soho, and the more he talks about the Isaacs, the more it feels like a deliberate choice.

This, he says, is key to his success. His portfolio is full of arresting but simple portraits of stars against blank backgrounds, mouths cracked in bared-teeth smiles or pulled into frowns, with preppy popstars made up in rocker gear or indie kids straightened into suits. “It’s not pushing boundaries or being contrarian for it’s own sake. The design meetings are always very honest. I want something from them that’s real, and I want something they haven’t done before. I’m not interested in taking a shot someone else will a year down the line. I want to be the guy that helps people learn something about themselves.”

Despite this position, there is an invisible, immutable veil hovering over the coffee table between us. I ask if he’s used to opening up as his subjects are. The laugh that follows is much quieter than before. “Is it that obvious?” I nod. “Well, parents with a...strict style and a lot of baggage will teach you to keep things to yourself.”

He still doesn’t think it’s too much of him to ask the same from the people he invites onto set. “I tend to work with photographers that are a lot more lenient than me, I’ll say that.” I don’t feel any ill will from him when I leave, regardless of my questioning, nor when we meet later in the week for him to shoot his self-portraits for this issue. When engaging with the camera, his machine of choice, he becomes imbued with purpose, shifting from the easy but guarded young man I met with into a seasoned pro. I can see why so many people want to step in front of the lens.

***

and here’s all his actual info!

aspiration - friend of the world

traits - outgoing, self-absorbed, ambitious

zodiac - aries sun

favorite song - what’s love got to do with it, tina turner

27 y/o, 5′10″, bisexual

and a couple of cas pics to top it off~

[airsoftaction]

IT’S THAT TIME – WEBSITE MAINTENANCE!

Yup, it’s that time again where we get into "maintenance mode" to keep the website tippity-top and operating at peak performance! Tomorrow ISSUE 160 of AIRSOFT ACTION will go live and for a short while, this will remain at the top of the AA webpage whilst maintenance and upgrades happen behind the scenes, so that we can continue to let you access the new issue whilst at the same time making sure that everything is running as best it can in the future! And for those that celebrate it, Easter is on the horizon and we’ll take a few days down over that period before kicking fully back into gear. Thanks for your understanding as we carry out our necessary "Spring clean"! With the amount of traffic we generate these days and the sheer amount of content on here, it’s a full-time job in itself keeping on top of things. With the PLAYERS CHOICE AWARDS ceremony happening imminently we’re keen to find out just who has triumphed! Will AIRSOFT ACTION regain the “Best Magazine” title this year? We await the news of category winners just as impatiently as all of you! There’s so much to look forward to in the coming months; new AEGs and GBBRs to test and report on, new kit and gear, games, events, and much, much more… And after our maintenance AIRSOFT ACTION will be on top of our own game again to keep you all updated with the very latest in our big, wide world of airsoft, so as always… WATCH THIS SPACE! Read the full article

[aizawaskittenwhore]

  𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐮𝐭

words:3.7k

pairing: aizawa x fem!reader

warnings: tw mention of blood, tw mentions of death, mentions of drugs in case you forgot this is a cartel au, murder, swearing, keigo being a cocky lil fucker, sexual harassment towards the end cause yakuza men suck

rating: 18+ cause shit gets real this chapter

a/n: i FINALLY FINISHED IT FUCK YES chapter two mothafuckas!!! i’ve been having so much fun brainstorming everything to come, and here you’re gonna really get a feel for how big this cartel is. player two, f/n l/n, you’re up! <3

all rights reserved ©️aizawaskittenwhore. do not copy, repost, or modify.

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐨: 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐝’𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞 𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰 ↳ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞

September 13th, 2181

2:56pm

Musutafu, Japan

“Hold the fuck up. This doesn’t make any sense, I mean—these are Pros. Well known and well respected Pros, at that. The hell would they be tryna’ run a fucking cartel for?!?” Ken Takagi (more commonly known as Rock Lock) rubbed the bridge of his nose in confusion, not understanding the motive or correlation. “I mean think about it. These motherfuckers got more money than they know what to do with. Endeavor is a shareholder in goddamn Nintendo, Hawks owns his own fucking agency and line of sports cars, and I could’ve sworn I saw Eraser getting Shinsou fitted for a fucking Cuban on his birthday a few months ago. It’s not like they’re strapped for cash these days.” Ken huffed, the agent’s arms crossed as he leaned back in the conference chair.

In an attempt to try and broaden the range on your current investigation, your department recruited the help of several Pros to provide reinforcements in Japan, the States, and wherever else sales were being made. Going undercover was already plenty dangerous, and going alone was the equivalent of signing your own death warrant. Enlisting the help of Rock Lock, Ryukyu, Miruko, Fatgum, Edgeshot and plenty of others was relatively easy; these were Heroes that had experience with smugglers and narcotics-based operations, so when you’d approached them with the task at hand, they’d happily agreed.

However, some needed more convincing than others.

“Takagi. Think about it. Sure, they may not be living paycheck to paycheck, but look at the timeline.” You state, looking over your shoulder towards the holographic board displaying an interactive timeline of the investigation, including photos, invoices and even audio recordings pulled from surveillance cameras. “Two years ago, we seized a truck containing approximately 78 kilograms of crack cocaine. When we questioned the driver on where he was taking it and where he got it from, he didn’t budge. Luckily for us, the dumbass wasn’t smart enough to avoid a paper trail, leaving the insurance documents in the glove compartment when we’d taken him into custody. The insurance company was under the name “Target Lance”, but after doing some digging on the name we found out the corporation went bankrupt six months before and was eventually bought out by Chevrolet.” Pausing to return to the screen welded to the wall behind you, your hands swiped as you searched for the file reading December 5th, 2178: A live video feed of a towering skyscraper being built, the building’s name reading “Chevrolet Corvette Inc.” as it hovered above tens of stories above each worker.

“But you all haven’t heard the name Chevy in a while right? That’s because two weeks after that building was built, the hundred-million dollar company was bought out by Takami Corporate-”

“-who owns Takami Motors. Which is the brand associated with the Peregrine Speedsters, Hawks’ damned sports car line.” Ken finished for you, brown spheres twinkling in sudden clarity. “Now you’re speaking my language.” You nod, hands waving as you continue to brief the room of Pros.

“The Todoroki and Nintendo console collaboration didn’t happen until about earlier this year, March to be specific. Which is quite convenient..since around that time the price of cocaine per gram stabilized in both America and Japan, rising from $112 to $138 bucks a pop. I’m nobody to speak on looks either, but for as long as we’ve known of him, Eraser has dressed like a depressed college student with insomnia that doesn’t understand the concept of soap or a pair of clippers. Now he’s got his wife in Cartier bracelets and getting his shirts tailored because the collar “doesn’t allow him enough room for his capture weapon”?!? Bullshit.” You huff, stifling a smile as you watch Miruko and Edgeshot snicker in their seats at your...blunt observation.

“It makes sense. Three years ago all our agencies, including those overseas, started cutting our checks down by half. They can barely afford to pay us a quarter of what we used to make, and these guys are making these lavish purchases while we all starve?? No way. Something’s fishy, and it’s damn sure not this takoyaki.” Fatgum spat, hands quivering with rage as he struggled to grasp the food with his chopsticks.

“Fatgum’s right. Hero unemployment is at a staggering 8.7 percent. Meanwhile, these men are spending money like it’s going out of style. It makes no sense.” Miruko pondered, Ryukyu folding her hands in her lap as she voiced her approval for immediate action. Edgeshot nodded in agreement, brows furrowed in frustration at this blatant disregard for the law. “So we’re all in agreement that our own people have resorted to breaking the law. Cool, got it. Question is, why? And what the hell are we gonna do about it?” Ken demanded, his patience having worn thin from all this speculation.

“Good question. I think they’re trying to take advantage of the tough spot the Hero Commission is in right now, manipulate that vulnerability and use it for their own gain. They’re not invulnerable to the tough times Pros are facing in the workforce. So they’ve gotten together to try and make it work for them, even if it means breaking the law.” You query, hands typing furiously at the virtual screen to pull up the files of each Hero, displaying all the current information on them from their blood type to each known family member. “These three banding together though? Along with other people? There’s no way. They hate each other. Or at the very least couldn’t get anything done even if they did have a common goal in mind.” Edgeshot murmured lowly.

“I thought so too. But then it hit me: it’s not just some flimsy group project. Sure, crime has gone up since the formation of this cartel, but nobody who holds any rank has been murdered or harmed in any way. No no no, these guys are singing in tune for now...which means there’s a damn good choir director among them. So I’ve volunteered to go undercover, work my way through this organization and figure out just how high up this goes.” You assert, shoulders rigid and chin aloft as the harnesses of your costume frame your figure.

“Alone?? Are you outta your goddamn mind? Let me go, you’ll need back up-” Rock Lock sputters, hands fanning out in shock.

“No way. What about your wife, your kid?! This isn’t just some average drug bust, we’re dealing with powerful men in possession of superhuman abilities that have the game on lockdown. You’ve got too much to lose, more than any of us anyway. Edgeshot and I will go, we’ve seen the other side of the law before, and our quirks are better suited for stealth should anything go wrong.” You fire, eyes narrowing into slits. “The rest of you will be working in tandem with the DEA and our resources, and we’ll report back to you with all future developments. We’ll also need you to be ready to fight at a moment’s notice, if we need it.”

A thick silence clogged the air, Ken settling back into his seat across the table. His amber eyes flickered in irritation before huffing in acceptance, the situation being out of his hands. All the conference participants’ gazes fixed in determination, some with anger. The tense aura weighed on everyone present before Miruko cleared her throat, ivory teeth gleaming in a smirk.

“Well we’ve got a solid plan. So all I wanna know is...when do we start?

June 2nd, 2182

In all honesty...you thought the nickname was just a sad attempt to stroke his ego. But seeing the way over seventy commercial-size planes and approximately 30 seaplanes sat aloft balmy concrete in the Guadalajara sun showed you exactly why they called Hawks “Lord of The Skies”. Arrays of laborers with avian-oriented quirks loaded kilo after kilo of coke on to each and every plane, some by hand and others by forklift. Welders were personally hand selected by Keigo himself to eliminate the issue of utilizing every available inch of space; each vessel having been stripped of everything from the seats to the built in mini-bars (much to Keigo’s chagrin). From where you stood in the scalding hot beams, the runway seemed to extend for miles as it brimmed with visible heat-waves.

Dressed in a simple black tank top, black biker type shorts, aluminum plated gauntlets, steel toed combat boots and harnesses that encapsulated the curves of your body before coming to a stop at your thighs, you silently rejoiced in the airflow your gear allowed you in spite of the color. The bandanna atop your hairline helped to absorb some of the sweat, which was a bonus.

“Not bad for a starter fleet huh? The wingspan on these babies almost makes me jealous.” A rich and decadent voice called from your left. Sleek carmine appendages and brassy blond hair entered your peripheral vision, giving way to the man who ran the show: Keigo Takami. Adorned in a pair of low rise denim jeans that were so incomprehensibly tight they accentuated every bit of his dick (which was likely intentional), a plain white tee and ebony cowboy boots that looked like they cost three times what you make in a week; he most definitely looked the part of the People Magazine’s “Sexiest Man Alive” and Playboy’s “Player of the Month” titles he’d earned. Luminous olive skin glistened with sweat, droplets sliding down the deep v neck of his shirt with ease; the way the daisy-hued fabric stuck to his crafted abdomen leaving nothing to the imagination. Tourmaline and Argentium piercings dangled effortlessly from both ears, and if you weren’t so hell-bent on putting the motherfucker in jail you would’ve had no problem admitting how attractive he really was.

“Starter fleet? You’re about to put Delta out of business, look at this shit!” You guffaw, arms folded, an eyebrow raised in astonishment at his “humble” admission. “Flattery will get you everywhere, and then some.” Keigo chuckles, breath hot against your ear the instant he bends at the waist, hands settled in his pockets with that cocky aura about him.

“-And having your damn breath against my ear in 107 degree weather will, respectfully, get you my foot up your ass. I didn’t fly down here to get treated like one of your poor interns. I came here to make money, so let’s talk it.” You lash, the climbing tempature slicing your tolerance for bullshit to shreds.

“Shit. Straight to the point huh? I like it. You wanna talk shop, say no more. Over lunch though, I’m starving out here.” Keigo clicks his teeth with a grin, escorting the two of you towards the very jet he’d arrived in. “A little unknown fact about me, usually I hate flying ”conventionally”. Gives me anxiety, and I’m awful company when I’m nervous.”

Settling into the light taupe hued cabin, you observe the not-so-subtle elements of class. Ivory shochu bottles with intricate crystalline glasses to match, the bar fully stocked with gold accents along the upholstery. Plates of costly Kobe style beef rested atop spotless porcelain, romaine lettuce coupled with grilled applewood bacon, chicken, avocado and buttermilk dressing settled into envy-inducing black marble bowls. The plane was spacious, and certainly cost a pretty penny or two. “You’re upfront, so I’ll be honest with you. As of right now, this plane is the last thing I’m worried about-” Hawks mutters lowly, dijon eyelets tapering into thin slivers.

“-It’s the Shie Hassaikai making their encore appearance, and with the Colombians at that.”

You choke on a sip of Vega Sicilia, pupils dilating at the thought. 

“Now you spoke about wanting to make some money, right?” You nod, heart rate steadily rising. 

“What if I could offer you something more? Something of...extensive value.” Keigo drawled, dark undertone flooding the air like a thick smoke.  “Like what, Takami?” You inquire.

“A seat at the table.” He shrugs, like one would if they were discussing something as trivial as ice cream flavors or Friday night plans, not the reorganization of a crime syndicate. “You’ve been workin’ for me shy of a year now right? Somethin’ like that? Anyway..”

He takes a deep, contemplative swig of the chestnut liquid, eyes boring into yours. 

“You’re efficient, and you don’t take anyone’s shit. Good help’s hard to find in our line of work, and before you know it, this little hierarchy is gonna go under some..reorganization. Only the people who aren’t afraid to get their hands dirty will have a place in the new order, so I want you there.”

“What’s the catch? I’m not dumb enough to just assume this is some promotion for busting my ass.” You tread, brain working double-time to try and decipher just what Keigo’s getting at. “Clever girl. It’s a simple task, in and out.” He assures, middle and ring finger sliding a matte-finish photo across the mahogany. Displayed was Kinan Zango, a member of the Shie Hassaikai’s middle rankings shaking hands with Joaquin Fuentes, a Columbia native known for having a body count in the double digits. 

“Another fact about me: Only one thing heightens my anxiety more than planes...people who fuck with my money. This asshole Kinan’s been selling my routes to the fucking Columbians and pocketing the profits, and getting 20% of the product as a little “thank you” when he knows nobody moves coke through the Gulf other than Takami fucking Keigo. He’s becoming a problem, and I don't like those.” Kei growls, left eye twitching minutely. His nails are sinking into the polish of the wood, his energy vehemently furious.

“Take care of this for me, and you’ll be my plus one to Guadalajara tomorrow.”

The general public often made the mistake of writing Keigo off as just your average “pretty boy”. Whereas a trained eye could see that while he may be pretty, he was nobody to be tested. The sheer intellect he possesses to seek, hand-craft each and every route, assign planes to their designated locations along with alternatives should there ever be an issue? He just didn’t get enough credit. 

So he took major offense when someone had the audacity to treat his hard work as though it was theirs.

Besides.. you got a man with looks, money and bloodlust? Tch. You’ve just created a monster.

You weren’t necessarily opposed to the idea of ridding the world of another drug-dealing degenerate, but the idea of casually committing a murder as a DEA agent in a foreign country just didn't sit right with you. Undercover agents weren’t permitted a “license to kill” should the investigation call for it either, so it was between committing a murder as government agent, or declining Keigo’s request and missing out on a front row seat to the cartel’s entire operation.

The silence that followed his sentence was deafening. Ice cubes chimed loftily as they swirled around inside his glass, clear liquid sloshing around while he awaited an answer.

Your jaw sets, eyes piercing into his. 

“Consider it done.”

Blood spattered onto the pale concrete, moonlight illuminating the scarlet hues. Your knuckles throbbed with pain, the sensation blossoming through your hand as your lips curled back in a snarl, vigorously ridding your hands of the other man’s bodily fluids. 

“ If you really think coming after me for that bird brained motherfucker is gonna change anything, you got another thing fucking coming.” Kinan spat, nose steadily flowing with red. His lip was busted, face splotched with yellowing purple bruises. Tugging at his restraints he thrashed, mouth spewing white-hot venom.

“You’re talking a lot of shit for a middle-ranking yakuza who thinks some new coke routes is gonna keep the Hassaikai from dumping your body on the side of some road in Zacatecas.” You observe, sending a harsh kick between the mans ribs, steel toed boots making an audible crack. “The Japanese are like Dixie Cups to them...”‘use em’ once, then throw em’ away”, right? You’re a fool if you think your days aren't numbered once you wear out your welcome.”

“Fuck you. You’re little boy toy threw a temper tantrum, so he sent you to “take care of things”, isn’t that right?” Kinan coos, eyes softening in a mocking pout. 

“Trust me, you're not the first slut Takami’s been sticking it in that he’s sent to kill me. Only difference between you and the rest of those bitches-” He huffs, head craning back against the metal chair to let our a soft breath of laughter. “-is that you’re gonna put up a fight.”

Suddenly his bones began to shift, popping and snapping as his skin began to pool below him; you recoiled in fear watching his body slowly slip from his imprisonment like gelatin exits a mold.

“I’ve got elastic bones kid! Whatever breaks just snaps right back into place.”

Skin stretching and pulling as he regained his original form, legs sprinting towards you. Before you could fire off your Quirk’s sonic blast his grip seized the back of your neck, a blade taking residence just below your left eye; it’s tip pressing uncomfortably into your water line. 

“Now, if you're good, I’ll make it quick. Though I’m known for being pretty... through with my toys.” Kinan leers, a hand slowly slithering down your sides to reach for the muscle of your ass. 

“Go to hell, and die there while you’re at it!” You shout.

Bile creeping into your throat, you seize the momentary shift in energy, generating a small sound wave that sent Kinan a few feet to your left; giving the two of you some distance. Your Quirk allowed you to absorb sound to power-up your physical movements, or send it out in the form of sonic blasts or sound waves, so the louder the sound, the more power it gave you. Readying your fists in anticipation for combat, you silently willed for a sudden disruption in the deafening silence as he rushed back to your rigid body. 

What you didn’t anticipate was that the sudden bang that filled the air, and the lifeless body of Kinan dropping to your feet with a thud, his head...

excavated, for lack of a better word.

“Don’t you know the entire point of having backup while under cover is to... call for backup?” Edgeshot snarked, striding towards you, gun settled back into it’s holster. His foot carelessly nudged the bleeding man before removing a Polaroid camera from his knapsack and snapping a photo of the carnage.

“W-what the fuck?! Look, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful when I say this, but what the absolute fuck did you just do??? We’re government agents, in a foreign country, we can’t just fucking murder these assholes nor do we have the license to-” You sputter, brows arching in frustration.

“This was your ticket into Guadalajara. I just secured you box seats when you were this close to getting stuck in the damned nosebleeds. I believe the correct words you’re looking for are thank you.” Kamihara snaps, shoving the photo into your hand. 

“We’re in a world completely different from our own. It’s forgiveness first, and permission later down here. I don’t like it either...but it’s just the way things are.” He sighs, hanging his head while his shoulders settled like the solar system rested on them. 

“I’ll take care of this. Now take that to Hawks, and don’t you dare fuck it up. Don’t let me have killed this poor asshole in vain.” 

You nod, stepping over Kinan’s body. 

Good riddance.

“Thank you, by the way.” You putter. Kamihara returns the sentiment with a nod, before turning to the corpse before him, phone raised to his ear as he spoke with whoever was on the opposite line, eyes that were once grey now swam with deep scarlet.

“Excellent work! I won’t lie, I had a feeling you were hardcore, but damn, this is some seamless shit! You deserve my praise.” Keigo beams, pearly teeth sparkling in the light of the cabin. Nodding in acceptance you grasped his hand upon his offering, permitting him to escort you towards your respective aircraft.

“Well, a promise is a promise. And if nothing else, I’m most certainly a man of my word. Meet me at this airstrip same time tomorrow, 8am. Pack light, Mexico’s a bitch in the summer, though you already know that.”

“Got it. Pleasure doing business with you, Hawks.���

“Call me Keigo, if you want. I hate all the formal shit, long as we got respect, that's all I need.” He shrugs.

“Understood. See you tomorrow, Keigo.” You affirm, climbing the ladder to your jet, body visibly relaxing at the thought of rest.

“Wait--before you go, I wanted to ask ya. What’s with the whole ancient hieroglyphics tat you got goin on, on your spine? It just looks familiar, is all.” He queries.

Home.

November 12th, 2174.

“Y/N! I found somethin’! It’s this super cool protection rune I found in grandma’s things. Check it out! It wards off all evil, and whoever’s in possession of it can, like, balance their energy with the divine power.”

“You’re such a hippie, I swear to god.” You grin.

“Don’t hate because my chakras are balanced and yours aren’t, bitch.” She grinned, index and thumb coming together to flick your forehead. 

“At least take it with you for your exam, for good luck! Pleaseeeee! I think it’ll really help.” Her doe eyes melting your steely resolve. You could never deny her, those eyes constantly solidifying her role as the younger sister. 

“...Only if you’ll clean my room for me when I come back for Christmas.” You demand, an eyebrow raised in mirth.

“Deal.”

And even though you never did admit it to her, that tiny piece of paper tucked into your bra did more for you during that exam than any late night cram session ever could’ve.

“It’s a protection rune. To ward off all evil energies, spirits and all that shit.” You mutter.

“Hm. Looks like it works, seeing how well tonight panned out for ya. Could use me one, would probably keep old man Todoroki out my fuckin’ hair.” He chuckles, hands releasing from the railing as he threw you a wave.

“But I wouldn’t worry too much about tomorrow, anyway. I got a feeling you’re gonna fit in just fine with us.” He smirked.

Ah.

If only that were true, Keigo.

taglist! : @liliesoftherainmain @therealwalmartjesus

[greatworldwar2]

• Hotchkiss H35

The Hotchkiss H35 or Char léger modèle 1935 H was a French cavalry tank developed prior to World War II. The Hotchkiss H35 was adopted in 1936 by the French Cavalry arm.

In 1926, it had been decided to provide armour support to the regular infantry divisions by creating autonomous tank battalions equipped with a light and cheap infantry tank, a char d'accompagnement. In 1933, the Hotchkiss company under its own initiative presented a plan to produce a design. This was made possible by the application of a new technology to produce cast steel sections to construct an entire hull. On June 30th, 1933, this proposal was approved by the Conseil Consultatif de l'Armement. On August 2nd, 1933 the specifications were issued: a weight of 6 long tons (6.1 t) and 30 mm (1.2 in) armour protection all around. Three prototypes were ordered from Hotchkiss, but the French industry as a whole was also invited to provide alternative proposals for a nouveau char léger. On January 18th, 1935, the first Hotchkiss prototype, not yet made of armour steel, was presented to the Commission d'Expérience du Matériel Automobile (CEMA) at Vincennes; it was a machine gun-armed tankette without turret. It was tested until 4 March 1935, when it was replaced by the second identical prototype to be tested until May 6th. Both had to be rejected because new specifications had been made on June 21st, 1934 that increased the desired armour thickness to 40 mm (1.6 in).

On August 19th, the third prototype was delivered, equipped with a cast APX turret and featuring a redesigned hull; it was tested until September 20th and accepted. On November 6th, 1935 a first order was made for 200 vehicles. Though it should have been completed between July 1936 and July 1937, the first production vehicle was in fact delivered on September 12th, 1936. A first additional orders had already been made of 92 on September 7th, 1936, to be completed in November 1937. A third one of 108 vehicles followed in January 1937, to be completed in September 1938. By January 1st, 1937 132 hulls had been produced. None of these had at that date yet been fitted with a turret. The first series vehicle was again extensively and intensively tested until 4 December 1936. The testing soon showed that its cross-country handling qualities were unacceptably poor. It was simply impossible to safely steer the vehicle on a somewhat bumpy surface, posing an extreme danger to nearby friendly infantry. The Infantry therefore initially rejected any further procurement. Eventually, in 1937, it decided to accept only the last hundred tanks to equip just two battalions with the type. For political reasons however, stopping production of the tank was unacceptable. As a result the first three hundred vehicles of the production run were offered to the Cavalry, which was forced to accept them because it would not have been granted a budget for other tanks anyway. The H 35 was, at 28 km/h (17 mph), also somewhat faster than the Renault R35, which was capable of 20 km/h (12 mph), although in practice its average speed was lower than that of the R 35 because of its inferior gear box.

The Hotchkiss H35 was a small vehicle, 4.22 m (13.8 ft) long, 1.95 m (6.4 ft) wide and 2.133 m (7.00 ft) tall and weighing 10.6–11.37 t (10.43–11.19 long tons). The hull consisted of six cast armour sections, bolted together: the engine deck, the fighting compartment, the front of the hull, the back of the hull and two longitudinal sections left and right forming the bottom. The hull was made water-tight by cementing these sections together with Aslic, a product based on tar mixed with lime. The casting allowed for sloped armour, avoiding shot traps, to optimise the chance of deflection but the protection levels did not satisfy the Infantry. Maximum armour thickness was not the specified 40 mm (1.6 in) but 34 mm (1.3 in). There were persistent quality problems, worsened by the fact that many subcontractors had to be used: at first the armour was made much too soft; when hardness was increased it became brittle and hence developed weak spots. There was a crew of two. The driver sat at the right front, behind a large cast double hatch and next to the combined gearbox and steering unit. Behind him was a round escape hatch in the bottom of the hull. Driving the vehicle was very hard work. The Hotchkiss lacked the Cleveland differential ("Cletrac") of its Renault competitor, and it responded unpredictably to changes of direction. The brakes could not sufficiently compensate for this, being too weak, especially when driving down-slope.

No less troublesome was the gearbox: it was difficult to engage the highest fifth gear and so the theoretical top speed of 27.8 km/h (17.3 mph) was rarely reached. There was one reverse gear. The inevitable rough handling of the tank by the driver resulted in much wear and tear. Mechanical reliability was poor. The suspension consisted of three bogies per side—each formed of two bell cranks arranged as "scissors" with springs at the top. Each bogie carried two rubber-rimmed wheels. The bogies superficially resembled the R35 type, but used horizontal helical springs instead of rubber cylinders. The sprocket was at the front, the idler which itself was sprung to automatically control tension at the rear. There were two top rollers. The tank was powered by a 78 hp six-cylinder 86 x 100 3485 cc engine which was on the left of the engine compartment. A 160-litre fuel tank on the right, combined with a twenty litres reserve reservoir, gave a range of 129 km (80 mi) or eight hours on a varied terrain. Also a cooling fan drew air through the radiator and was also expected to cool the fuel tank. The trench-crossing capacity was 1.8 m (5.9 ft), the wading capacity 85 cm (33 in). The APX-R turret was the same standard type as used on the R35 and R40 tanks, made of 40 mm (1.6 in) cast steel and armed with the short 37 mm SA 18 gun, which had a maximum armour penetration of only 23 mm (0.91 in). Traverse of the turret was with a handwheel. The commander sat in a saddle suspended from the turret. The tank carried about 100 rounds for the gun, and 2,400 rounds for the coaxial 7.5 mm Reibel machine gun – the 37 mm ammunition racked on the left hand side of the hull, the 7.5 mm ammunition on the right side in fifteen circular magazines with 150 rounds each; a final magazine was to be at the ready on the machine-gun itself.

For access there was a hatch at the back of the turret. When opened, the commander could sit on it for better observation, but this left him very vulnerable and slow to reach the gun. The alternative was to fight closed-up, observing through the vertical slits or the visor of the hatchless cupola. The Cavalry liked neither this arrangement nor the weak gun. The latter problem was lessened somewhat by enlarging the breech so that special rounds with a larger charge could be used. This increased muzzle velocity to about 600 m/s (2,000 ft/s) and maximum penetration to about 30 mm (1.2 in). In the Spring of 1940 the original diascopes of the Chrétien type were gradually replaced with episcopes, offering more protection.

In the Cavalry arm, the main user at first, the Hotchkiss tanks replaced as main combat tanks the light AMR 33 and AMR 35 vehicles, that for want of a better type had been used to form the bulk of the first two Cavalry armoured divisions. As the new medium SOMUA S35 was initially produced in very limited numbers, until early 1939 the Hotchkiss equipped three of the four divisional tank regiments. In April 1940 the 342e CACC (Compagnie Autonome de Chars de Combat or "Independent Tank Company") was sent to Norway after Operation Weserübung, the German invasion of that country, having first been intended to form part of an expeditionary force to assist Finland in the Winter War. This autonomous company, equipped with fifteen Char léger modèle 1935 H modifié 39, all with short guns, fought in the later phase of the Battles of Narvik, after having landed on May 7th. According to the official army acceptance lists, at the start of World War II 640 Hotchkiss tanks had been delivered. The inventories deviate slightly: of the 300 H35s allocated to the Cavalry, 232 were fielded by ten cavalry squadrons, 44 were in depot, eight in factory overhaul and sixteen in North Africa. Of the H39s, sixteen were used by the Cavalry in North Africa and six in depot; 180 were fielded by four Infantry tank battalions and fourteen were in the Infantry matériel reserve. It was decided to concentrate most Allied production capacity for light tanks into the manufacture of a single type, and the Hotchkiss tank was chosen as it had the necessary mobility to be of use in the many armoured divisions the Entente planned to raise for the expected decisive summer offensive of 1941. To this end British and Portuguese heavy industry had to assist in producing the cast armour sections. It was hoped to increase production to 300 a month in October 1940, and even 500 a month from March 1941, the sections of 75 of which to be provided by Britain in exchange for a monthly delivery of nine Char B1s.

These plans were disrupted by the Battle of France. In May 1940 the type equipped in the Cavalry units two tank regiments (of 47) in each of the three Mechanised Light Divisions and served as AMR in the 9th and 25th Mechanised Infantry Division. Furthermore, sixteen vehicles were part of the 1er RCA in Morocco. In the Infantry it equipped the two autonomous battalions mentioned above and two battalions of 45 in each of the three Divisions Cuirassées, the latter with the H39 variant. Most Hotchkiss tanks were thus concentrated in larger motorised units, in the armoured divisions supplementing the core of heavier tanks, though they were mismatched. Following the French defeat in the Battle of France about 550 Hotchkiss tanks were captured and used by the Germans as Panzerkampfwagen 35H 734(f) or Panzerkampfwagen 38H 735(f); most for occupation duty. Like the French, the Germans made no clear distinction between a H38 and a H39; and fitted many with a cupola with a hatch. Panzer-Abteilung 211 was deployed in Finland during Operation Barbarossa, equipped with Hotchkiss tanks. In 1944, three of its vehicles were converted to 7.5 cm self-propelled guns. German H35/39s also saw action in Yugoslavia with 7.SS-Freiwilligen-Gebirgs-Division "Prinz Eugen", 12. Panzer-Kompanie z.b.V. and I./Panzer-Regiment 202. In 1942 a project was launched to make use of French equipment as carrier platforms for heavier guns, directed by Major Alfred Becker, an artillery officer who was a mechanical engineer by trade. He had experience making similar conversions with captured Belgian and British vehicles. Some vehicles were modified into munition carriers or artillery tractors (Artillerieschlepper 38H(f)) or rocket-launchers (Panzerkampfwagen 35H(f) mit 28/32 cm Wurfrahmen). In June 1943, 361 Hotchkiss tanks were still listed in the German Army inventories as 37 mm gun tanks; this number had decreased to sixty in December 1944.

Three Hotchkiss tanks of the "H39" version had been exported by France to Poland in July 1939 for testing by the Polish Bureau of Technical Studies of Armoured Weapons, with a view to a larger purchase. During the German invasion of Poland in 1939 the Hotchkiss tanks, together with three Renault R 35 tanks, were organised into an ad hoc "half company" unit under lieutenant J. Jakubowicz, formed on September 14th, 1939 in Kiwerce, Poland. The unit joined the "Dubno" task force and lost all of its tanks during the marches and fighting against German and Soviet armies, due to fuel shortages. In North Africa, 27 vehicles (thirteen H35 and fourteen H39) were officially serving in the 1e Régiment de Chasseurs d'Afrique and were allowed to remain there by the armistice conditions; another five were hidden in Morocco. They fought the Allies during the opening stages of Operation Torch, the Allied invasion of French North Africa, near Casablanca in November 1942, destroying four M3 Stuart light tanks. The regiment then joined the allied cause and was re-equipped with M4 Sherman medium tanks in the summer of 1943. After the war, some Hotchkiss tanks were used by French security forces in the colonies, such as French Indochina, and occupation forces in Germany. Ten H39s were clandestinely sold to Israel, they were shipped from Marseilles to Haifa in 1948.

One Hotchkiss H35 and nine Hotchkiss H35s modifié 39 have survived to this present day, all of the modifié 39 were further modified by the Germans during World War II.