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anantaru · 11 months

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— how to make them blush

including dan heng, sampo, jing yuan, blade, gepard, welt, luocha x gn! reader

꒰ genre ꒱ — fluff, blushy boys, very cute

contrary to popular belief, it doesn't require a lot of effort to make your boyfriend dan heng blush radiantly because of something you'd do— for instance, delicately ruffle his soft hair, or easily grabbing his hand while you‘re going on a leisure walk or placing a precious and thoughtful compliment on him so he doesn‘t forget how much you love him. it begins slowly, and dan heng doesn‘t take his eyes from you, yet the very reason you can see it focused, more unimpeded. the casting of soothing red evincing on his person, gently cascading over the outlines of his sharp features like rural waves and there he was, you smile triumphantly at him when you catch it— expressing and doughy, the luminous scarlet color.

in the early stages of your relationship, you never thought that the usual confident and self assured sampo actually had a pretty deep soft spot of being praised and complimented by you. he likes, no, adores, when you compliment the most arbitrary things he'd carry out— whether it was easily cooking you dinner, situating a pure smile on your lips or planning ahead an upcoming date for the both of you. by the stowing means of this, you decide to do it again and tell him how impossible cute he was and how much you valued all the effort he put forth, especially how so very special and ambrosial while your boyfriend will quickly stave his head away from you before you can see it, an exultant blush flickering a powerfully charming redness on his entire face.

a man, specifically a well renowned general, such as jing yuan himself was quite difficult to fluster in a way where he‘d end up blushing and reddening honest warmth. but, evidently, you weren‘t one to give up on such a big challenge, the thought of having the man blushing in front of you was far too delicious to refuse on. so, you massage his scalp, kiss him and show him your brightest smile, yet nothing seem to work for some reason. but then, it‘s different, out of the natural sphere, when after an entire day of trying your hardest to make him show any early signs of redness, you show gradual defeat, eyes heavy and low lidded, drenched in tiredness— to add onto that, jing yuan‘s chest was far too comfortable to get up from. well, little do you realize after a couple of minutes pass, you find yourself deeply slumbering on top of him, and the thought that you feel so safe and shielded by his side, made the sleepy general blush at last.

prior to you, your charming boyfriend blade wasn‘t used to being loved or cared for in his life by anyone at all. to say that this heart warming relationship with you now was a new one, was a clear understatement. be that as it may, you can catch him hide a blush from you quite frequently, especially in the early stages of your togetherness, he for no other reason cannot help himself and get easily emotional at the thought that he has you, you're his, greater reason that you love him just the way he was and accepted each flaw, each scar, without a single care throughout the entire universe. but, one particular motion that will make the man blush instantly, faster and the most distinguished— in its highest duration, was when you cuddled him in midst the night, without saying a word, both quietly tangled under the soft sheets, and you whisper a little "i love you" right against his ear shell.

gepard finds it immensely captivating when you listen to the little, fun stories he tends to tell you all after coming home from his hard work. suddenly, he becomes shy when he notices that he talked far too much and wordlessly fears that he might‘ve bored you to death by some of his seemingly uninteresting stories, or that's how he referred to them. at the same time, when he looks at you up closer and realizes that you were in fact, eagerly listening to each of the words he expelled from his lips, gepard can‘t help himself but shine a glittering red towards your direction— cheeks puckered and flustered scarlet and spreading onto his entire face. "so?" you say, effortlessly snapping him back to the present, "how does the story end?" and your boyfriend suddenly leans into you without warning, to place a subtle peck on your lips, words couldn't possibly describe that feeling.

welt doesn't blush, nope, that's the end, he unelaborately doesn't. the man keeps himself in tact pretty forthcoming and without an issue— besides, he doesn't think it's possible for him to blush in the first place. then there's you, moving your lips slightly to indicate a smile as you slant forward, "your hair." you point out, "let me fix it." and progress your hand into his strands to couple the lousy hair hanging carelessly on his forehead. it's a mess, both the bloody situation and welt who, for some unclear reason, couldn't stomach what just had happened and he quickly pulls his head away— taking off his glasses and act as if he had to clean them, even though he just did that five minutes ago. a keen smirk plays around the edges of your mouth when you realize what was going on, yet you do not speak, don't say anything, but make a mental note to never forget on how to make your usually sophisticated boyfriend the exact opposite.

luocha knows whenever you try to fluster him, beyond everything, he has observant eyes and effortlessly sees through all the teeny tiny schemes you tend to carry out with him. when you become more clingy and coo sweet nothings towards his direction, or when you decide that your boyfriend deserves a couple more kisses than the day before, he can see that you were attempting to play tricks on him and coax out the desired reaction. but what luocha did not see coming was that, as a matter of fact, it was beginning to work, quite powerful as well. conveniently there he was, having you wrapped around his strong arms as you do it again, sneakily kissing from his collarbones to the outline of his sharp jaw, until placing your lips on him at all. he instantly blushes, pulling his hand to the back of your head to keep you into the kiss, so you wouldn't catch him, wouldn't flash him a cheeky smile afterwards too when you'd realize that you managed to make him flustered at the very end.

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awearywritersworld · 5 months

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i was benevolent and good; misery made me a fiend

sukuna x reader summary: you persuade sukuna to play go fish. the two of you have a small disagreement (he really can't stay mad at you). he confides in you about his past as a sorcerer. w/c: 3.4k tags/warnings: the teeniest bit of angst. mostly fluff. banter. cursing. aged up!yuuji. slight yuuji x reader. not canon compliant. fem!reader. no use of y/n. no manga spoilers. a/n: the first section could be read as a brief(ish) stand alone. and for context, the world's shortest frankenstein synopsis: victor frankenstein brings a creature to life using dead body parts and thrusts him into a world he doesn't understand, then promptly abandons him and wishes him dead. alone and regarded as repulsive by every human he comes across, the creature begs frankenstein to create a wife for him too. when frankenstein refuses, the creature is further driven to hatred and violence. series masterlist // masterlist

"we should play a card game!" you exclaim as if you've just had the world's greatest idea.

"i'll pass."

sukuna sounds listless, like it's quite possibly the worst proposition he's ever heard.

"why's that? scared i'll beat you?"

"i'm opposed to mind numbing boredom, more like."

"you really need to expand your horizons," you suggest, making your way over to where you keep your playing cards. "all you do is read and brood."

"it's gotten me this far."

you don't respond, too busy rifling through your bookshelf. just as you spot your cards, a book catches your eye and you pull it from its place.

making your way back over to him, you drop it in his lap. "since you found jane eyre so insufferable, here's one you might actually like."

he surveys the cover, which reads: frankenstein or the modern prometheus

you take a seat across from him at the kotatsu table and shuffle the deck, while sukuna flips through the pages with new found intrigue.

"what's it about?"

"the dangers of playing god. should be right up your alley."

"your subtly never ceases to amaze."

"i'm just kidding." you laugh. "there's a lot more to it than that— revenge, loneliness, personal responsibility..."

he turns the book over. "it's written by a woman?"

you raise your eyebrows at him. "what, you don't think women have enough depth to write about those kinds of topics?"

"no, it was just an observation," he says off handedly. "you are evidence enough to the contrary."

he doesn't say it as a compliment, more so as a statement of fact. you hope your astonishment isn't written all over your face.

clearing your throat, you begin dealing while explaining the rules to him.

he takes up his cards and seems to understand the game after only a turn or two, but you're narrowing your eyes at him soon thereafter.

"go fish," he says for the fourth time in a row.

your gaze shifts down to his hands. there's just no way. "show me your cards."

"wouldn't that defeat the purpose of this stupid game?"

"not if you're cheating, now let me see."

"no."

you reach across the table, hoping to snatch them from his grasp, but he just holds them out of your reach.

swiftly rising to your feet, you launch yourself at him in a sad attempt to catch him off guard.

with only one arm extended, he easily fends off your attack. "do you actually think you have a chance here?"

you sink to your knees in defeat and sit with your legs folded beneath you. "not really, but i have to know if you'd stoop this low."

"that so? had you believed me to be above cheating?"

you gasp. "so you admit it?"

"i told you i didn't want to play," he deadpans.

"that doesn't mean you had to cheat! now we have to start over!"

he carelessly tosses the cards onto the table. "i don't think so."

"please?" you lean forward, jutting out your bottom lip.

he just stares at you with an air of disinterest.

sukuna can be so haughty sometimes, and frankly, it drives you a little crazy. you'd give anything to wipe that look from his face— to prove that he doesn't find this as miserable as he lets on.

leaning forward even further, your hands meet with the carpet to support your shifting weight. now he's watching intently as your face approaches his, your eyes flicking down to his lips.

unbeknownst to you, sukuna's breath catches in his throat once he sees your gaze shift, though his mind struggles to catch up. it happens so fast that he hardly registers the quick peck you place on his lips (though maybe it's not the speed of the occurrence, so much as his shock).

"please?" you repeat.

he looks off to the side and stays silent, though his demeanor is indicative of some heated internal debate.

sukuna can't let you win, not that easily. you'd be under the impression that you actually have power over him! and for what? some measly kiss?

no, he simply will not allow that. "i already told you—"

grabbing him by the chin, you cut off his words with another kiss, but this time it lasts a few beats longer. your lips don't move against his, they just linger there in a way that that makes him question whether all of the oxygen has vanished from the room.

when you pull away, you're looking at him expectantly with the same pout still playing on your lips.

"fine!" he barks, grumbling something afterwards that sounds a lot like "evil little minx."

"human earthworm two is definitely still the best."

you're walking home with yuuji after a late night showing of the newest movie in the series.

"no way," you contend. "this one was even better."

he gawks at you. "in no world is the seventh film in an anthology the best! you're crazy—"

sukuna's mouth appears, always eager for a chance to undermine his vessel. "she's right, brat."

yuuji can't believe his ears. "what?! you haven't even seen it!"

"i don't know," you interject slyly. "i'm willing to look past that. it really seems like he knows what he's talking about."

"you mean the guy who's existence predates cinema?" yuuji asks, his eyebrows furrowing as a thought occurs to him. "what'd you do all day anyway? watch plays?"

"..among other things, yes." sukuna answers.

"if you look at it logically," you reason, "we probably wouldn't have movies without theater, so we should definitely consider him an expert in this case."

"oh please, baby. when the topic is ancient civilization or being a homicidal maniac, i'll be sure to solicit his opinion then."

"i resent that," sukuna declares, his conviction forcing a giggle from your lips.

"why?" you question. "was it the part where he called you old as shit, or the part where he called you a murderous lunatic?"

yuuji brings a hand to his mouth to stifle a snort, but you're freely laughing now.

sukuna scoffs indignantly and bites back a comment about how partial you seem to be toward said lunatic. "and to think i defended your opinion."

his response has you clutching at your sides and struggling to see through teary eyes.

but perhaps karma is real, because not a moment later, you step off the curb in a way that sends a sharp sensation through your leg.

you gasp in pain and brace yourself for the impact of falling to the concrete, but it never comes. instead, you're left with fingers clamped tightly around your wrist and a strange sense of deja vu.

you turn your head just before the dark lines fade from yuuji's arm completely.

"tch, watch where you're going idiot," sukuna scolds, his mouth disappearing as soon as he finishes speaking.

"are you okay?" yuuji asks worriedly.

"absolutely," you claim, but when you try to put weight on your left foot, you let out a hiss.

yuuji's hands find your waist, hoping to keep you steady. before you know it, he's crouching in front of you with his back turned and beckoning you to wrap your arms around his neck.

once you do, he hooks his arms under your thighs and easily stands up. "this okay? you comfy?"

"yeah. i can't believe i just did that." you hide your face in the space where his neck meets his shoulder. "thanks, yu."

when you get home, yuuji sets you up on the couch with icepacks, heating pads, three different drinks, two different books, and the tv remote.

he still asks if you have everything you need several times, then kisses you sweetly before heading to bed.

around thirty minutes later, sukuna's leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed.

"hey," you greet. your eyes never leave the tv, as you're privy to the slight tension between the both of you.

he skips the evening's pleasantries. "i could heal it, you know."

you finally turn to face him. "really?"

"of course." he rolls his eyes. "some of us can actually use reverse cursed technique."

"and you've just let me hobble around the past hour anyway?"

he shrugs. "you pissed me off."

you blink at him a few times, rubbing at your temples. "well what about now?"

"i don't know," he begins, making his way over to you. he towers over where you're seated on the couch, so you have to crane your neck to look up at him. "just doesn't really seem like something a homicidal maniac would do, but maybe if he were to receive an apology..."

you cover your face with your hands and groan. "i didn't say that. this is really something you should take up with yuuji—"

"i don't make a habit of conversing with the brat, so if that's the way you're going to be..." he turns on his heel and starts for the bedroom, but you grab onto his sleeve just before he's out of reach.

"wait. please don't go."

just like that, your words have his resolve crumbling and any of his lingering irritation ebbs away. he urges himself to stay strong though, especially after the go fish debacle.

when he doesn't speak, you let out a breath.

"i'm sorry, sukuna." he can tell right away that you're being entirely sincere. "i would never purposefully hurt your feelings. i only meant to tease you, but i can see how i was being mean."

are those... are those tears swimming in your eyes? are you in that much pain, or did he just make you feel that badly? in any case, he endeavors to remedy it immediately.

moving around the couch until he's in front of you, sukuna kneels between your legs. he grabs your left foot gingerly, situating it on his thigh before hovering his hand over top of it.

he sighs. "i don't care if you tease me and you weren't being.. mean." the words sounds so juvenile to him.

you weren't necessarily wrong either, goes unsaid.

well, he'd like to consider himself a little more sophisticated than 'maniac' would imply, but that's beside the point.

"then why are you upset with me?"

his jaw flexes as he tries to find the right words. "i would prefer you do that when it's just.. us."

"oh." realization dawns on you, as does another heap of guilt. you know he despises being trapped in yuuji's body, and you completely failed to consider how ganging up on him might make him feel. "i'm... fuck. i'm really sorry, sukuna—"

"stop apologizing," he urges you in a low voice. it's partly because what he just said makes him feel pathetic, but more than that, it's because the look of self reproach you're wearing is akin to a thousand needles in his chest. "it's fine."

he can't believe you're sitting there with so much remorse over a man like him because you... what? wounded his pride?

he probably deserves it anyway.

why should you give a shit when he's done things a thousand times worse, a million different times?

oh, right. because you care about him.

you can't see the cursed energy at play, but you can tell it's working as your pain begins to dissipate.

once he's finished, he carefully moves your foot to the floor and looks up at you. it's not unlike the way a person might gaze at one of the wonders of the world, like they're lucky to be there in the first place.

with the intensity of his gaze, it feels like he can see right into your head— read your every thought and pick apart every emotion. has anyone ever looked at you like that before? you're having a hard time remembering. you're having a hard time thinking of anything at all, really.

so it goes without saying that you don't think about it when you lean forward and kiss him.

it's not at all like when you were trying to convince him to play cards. no, this isn't light hearted or frivolous.

and it's not like the other two kisses you've shared either. it isn't heated or desperate, nor does it leave you gasping for air.

it's tender. it's so fucking tender, in fact, that sukuna wonders whether he's going to crumble beneath your touch.

he grips the area just above your knees, as if needing something to tether himself to before he withers away completely.

his lips move with yours in a way that's slow and careful.

your hands are on either side of his face, ghosting over his skin as a testament to your hesitance— like you're not certain if this is something he would want.

he wonders how in the world you could ever second guess yourself.

when you pull back, you examine his face for a moment before a small, shy smile tugs at your lips and you murmur, "thanks 'kuna."

he just peers at you wordlessly and it makes you nervous, so you attempt to fill the silence. "it feels so much better. a-and i'm sorry again abo—"

his hand finds the back of your neck, pulling your lips against his for a moment longer. "don't mention it, angel."

ever since you gave sukuna your copy of frankenstein, he's spent a decent portion of your nights together reading, his brows drawn together in concentration.

upon finishing, he stares at the page after taking in the final line: "he was soon borne away by the waves and lost in darkness and distance."

he's deathly quiet and wearing some unreadable expression. his eyes seem far off.

you leave him be for a little while, as it's clear he's lost in thought, but eventually you grow a bit concerned. it's been nearly half an hour since he last moved.

"sukuna?"

he turns to you. "why did you think i would enjoy this particular book?"

you consider his question carefully, his mood evoking your own seriousness. "it's... elegant and tragic. i suppose i appreciate the moral grayness of it. why do you ask?"

"no reason."

"did you enjoy it?"

"yes."

"why?"

he ignores your question. "frankenstein— do you like his character?"

you can't help but feel like you're answering some sort of riddle. "i think he's foolish and arrogant, but i guess i pity him to some degree."

"and the creature?"

"i'm much more sympathetic toward him. he's very... complex and certainly less culpable for the events of the novel than his creator."

you're surprised when he laughs. "of course you would think that way."

and with that, he's flipping through the pages of the novel. you move to sit beside him and once he finds what he's looking for near the middle, he begins reading:

"remember, thou hast made me more powerful than thyself; my height is superior to thine, my joints more supple. but i will not be tempted to set myself in opposition to thee. i am thy creature, and i will be even mild and docile to my natural lord and king if thou wilt also perform thy part, the which thou owest me. oh, frankenstein, be not equitable to every other and trample upon me alone, to whom thy justice, and even thy clemency and affection, is most due. remember that i am thy creature; i ought to be thy adam, but i am rather the fallen angel, whom thou drivest from joy for no misdeed. everywhere i see bliss, from which i alone am irrevocably excluded. i was benevolent and good; misery made me a fiend. make me happy, and i shall again be virtuous.”

his voice is strangely even, almost bordering on robotic. you're struck with the notion that he's attempting (with rare difficulty) to mask his emotions.

you regard him quizzically and wait for him to speak. the last thing you expect to hear tumbles from his lips.

"you know they called me the disgraced one?" you nod. "do you know why?"

"i know the story that sorcerers have passed down."

he hums. leaning back into the couch, he looks fixedly at the ceiling before continuing. "i was just a boy when i was orphaned and no one knew anything about my heritage, including me. jujutsu society took me in and raised me as a sorcerer."

"and you didn't care for it?"

"oh, quite the opposite. i reveled in it. my strength was unprecedented, that much was clear from the start. i surpassed my teachers with ease, and eventually, i took to training alone— reading primitive texts and honing skills that they couldn't teach me."

your hand finds his thigh, hoping to offer him some consolation before beckoning him to continue. "then what happened?"

"the men who had been my teachers, who had been the only.. family i'd ever known.. they scorned me. deemed me reckless and dangerous to jujutsu society. plotted my demise."

your voice is small when you ask, "were they right?"

he wants to hate the question— wants to hate you for asking it— but he knows that it's warranted.

"no. i admit i was forward thinking and a bit.. unorthodox, but i wasn't..."

"what they thought you were?" you offer gently.

he nods. "not until they made me that way— not until they abandoned me and backed me into a corner like some animal."

you struggle to find the right thing to say, if any such thing even exists. you're amazed that he's confiding in you, and while it makes your heart swell, you really don't want to fuck it up.

he looks back down at the book, his eyes scanning the paragraph before repeating, "i was benevolent and good; misery made me a fiend."

he says it as if he's coming to terms with the circumstances of his life for the very first time.

"the creature was remorseful at the end of the novel," you recall somewhat bravely. "are you?"

sukuna thinks for a great deal of time before replying. you wait patiently for him.

"no," he answers decidedly.

looking over at you for the first time since he began his story, he's relieved to find your face is free of rebuke. instead, there's a warm willingness to understand him. a sadness because of the way he was alienated.

he's curious whether anyone would be able to read the sentiment on your face, or if he just knows you better than most.

is that a privilege he's worthy of? he doubts it.

"you didn't deserve what they did to you," you whisper, reaching up to rake your fingers through his hair, nails grazing his scalp before your palm rests against his temple.

his head leans almost imperceptibly into your hand, and any regret or unease he may have felt at relaying his past to you disappears. watching a single tear slip down your cheek, he wipes it away with the pad of his thumb.

he means to say "don't cry. not for me," but the words die in his throat.

for once, your tears are for him rather than because of him and it's utterly riveting. the fact that someone like you would cry on his behalf seems to contradict every horrible thing he's ever been told about himself.

he could sit here and bask in the feeling forever— he's always known himself to be selfish after all. and you know it too, don't you?

his eyes flicker between each of yours, studying your face. "do you want to know why i don't regret the things i've done?"

you tilt your head to the side. "why?"

"because even if it's made me into a monster..."

for a moment, he contemplates not saying anything more. he considers forcing himself to pull away from your touch, even if it's the only comfort he's been given his entire life. he might still be able to salvage whatever tiny, laughable pieces remain of his pride—

"all of my actions have led me to you."

your eyes soften before you're wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your body to his. he returns the gesture after a few seconds pass.

you know he's awful. you know he's cruel. you know that what he's been through doesn't excuse his actions. but still— you want so desperately to take away his pain. to make up for all the things in his past. to wipe the blood from his hands.

as you embrace such an incredibly complicated man (one who is infamous for unrivaled wickedness, yet has his face buried in your hair), you ponder the creature's plea: "make me happy, and i shall again be virtuous."

a/n 2: if you're still w me, thanks for reading!! i'm not sure how i feel abt this part, so feedback is both welcome and appreciated!! also, how do we like sukuna using angel?? in my head he picked it up from the "my good angel" line in jane eyre, so i hope it doesn't seem too unnatural. alsoooo, highly recommend frankenstein. it's one of my favorite books!! mary shelley popped off and literally created the entire genre of science fiction at 21! anyway, thanks for all the love yall, it means the world<3

taglist: @96jnie @ay0nha @sad-darksoul @bbysatoruuu @luciiferian @risuola @lirasmoon @disaster-rose @archivist-ghoul606 @creative1writings @sloppyzengarden @omismicrowave @cecesharktales @tanyeonn @hiqhkey @ruixrei @yellowsubiesdance @thefallofruins @anything-and-everything-here69 @emzalot @thepup356 @browneyedgirl22 @lantsovheiress // users in bold could not be tagged. if i forgot to tag anyone, my apologies!! just give me a heads up.

#m!writes #sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna imagines #sukuna fluff #ryomen sukuna #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna imagines #ryomen sukuna fluff #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #jjk fluff

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merchelsea · 7 months

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took care of my girl - max verstappen

pairing: max verstappen + fem! driver!(charles gf) reader

summary: after a lifechanging turn in your plans, you need to sort things out with charles to be able to get together with your true love, max. things can't always get so hard, can they?

author's note: the so required part two is FINALLY out. a massive thank you to every one that asked for this, i hope you enjoy it! (a HUGE thank you to @stupidandunnecessary for helping me outt)

word count: +1,6k

previous part

last night, charles and you exchanged less than ten words. you wanted to talk to him, but you didn't know how to start, nor how to do it without hurting him.

it was clear that his feelings were not love, maybe some attraction and friendship, but not love. still, you didn't want to hurt him.

you loved max, but you were in a relationship with charles. you weren't quite sure if he would understand, and even if he did, things were a lot more complicated since you were three public figures.

charles woke up to find you, very dizzy and confused, staring at the ceiling of the room in silence. he regained his sences before you thought of moving, and he soon started talking.

"you love him." he stated, looking over at you. startled, you turned to look at him, taken aback by his smiling face. "I- what?" you asked him.

"max. you love him." with that smile planted on his lips, you struggled to articulate something to tell the him. your well-prepared speech for this very moment seemed to vanish, and your words failed you.

"I'm sorry." it was the only thing you could say after having your mouth half-opened for seconds.

"what are you sorry for? loving someone? that is not your fault." he reassured you. "I'm not angry, if that's why your apologizing. I'm happy for you." you couldn't quite comprehend what he was trying to tell you, and he noticed it by the puzzled glances you shot at him.

"I'm happy for you both. I know I've never been a top contestant to the 'best boyfriend' award, quite the contrary. but I also know we both started this relationship out of loneliness." he claimed. it was evident that you weren't the only one preparing for this moment.

"I'm still sorry." you persisted. he chuckled, but you never even gave him a trace of a smile. you couldn't.

"you don't have to be. you deserved to be happy. to be loved in the same intensity that you love someone. that is something only verstappen can do." leclerc understood this situation a whole lot more than you expected him to, and you were starting to wonder if he might have a female max in his life.

"its a fact, even tho it pains me to admit. I could never make you happy the way he does." he added.

"you deserve that too. I know this probably means nothing to you right now, but it's true." you smiled sadly to him, and he shook his head in disagreemeant.

"it will never mean nothing to me. apart from everything, you were my friend first, and I would hate for that to end." you smiled softly at him, the sadness now less evident. you two stood silent for a while, just breathing and thinking. "look, I'm sorry for not being the boyfriend you deserved." he appologized, breaking the akward smile.

he was ready to continue, and he would have done so if you hadn't interrupted. "it's not entirely your fault. we didn't work out because we didn't love each other. period." charles too was sad about how your realtionship was ending, but he was also grateful that none of you had to get hurt before it happened.

"now, I think we are both mature enough to recognize that and begin another chapter." you continued. he nodded softly and you both stood quite looking at the ceiling.

"y/n, you should really go get him. I still have a headache to deal with but I'll try to pack everything and leave before you return home." he advised with a warm smile. he rose from the bed, moving around it to bend over and kiss your forehead.

"you deserve this, mon chéri." he whispered as he exited the room to confront his weary reflection in the bathroom mirror.

after changing, you left the bedroom with the intention of grabbing a bite to eat. however, you decided that sharing a meal with Max might be better, so you sent him a text. within seconds, he responded, as if he had been awaiting your message his whole life.

the truth is, max could deny all he wanted, but he panicked when he got home and realized charles would be sleeping in the same bed as you, and probably trying to get you back. although he now knew that you loved him, it didn't change the fact that you had been with charles while still harboring those feelings, and that thought terrified him.

that's why he left his hotel without even hesitating and met you at a coffee shop near your house.

"how did he react?" he was clearly trying to avoid the subject, and noticing it, you respected his decision and never brought it up. but he has his limits, and he clearly crossed those. he needed to know, and if you were being real, you needed to tell him as well.

"better than I expected." you replied with a smile, which wasn't what he had anticipated. he couldn't decipher whether your smile meant "we broke up" or "we got back together."

"better how?" he asked, not so sure now that he wanted to know.

verstappen didn't think of himself as an anxious person, but when it came to you, he struggled to conceal his apprehension. He yearned to know every detail, and he might have even fainted if you hadn't filled him in.

"well, he told me to come and get you." you were finding that whole situation a lot more funny than you should, max acting all calm when it was so clear that he was freaking out could be ranked on top of the most entertaining things in the world.

he let out a heavy breath that he was holding for god knows why and you finally could see the beautiful smile he was hiding behind the seriousness.

"really?" he asked, smile still playing on his lips. you nodded, smiling too. anyone who passed by would think you two were a couple on the best stage of your relationship, smiles so wide that everyone could see were genuine.

"well you already have me, so…" max points with a joking tone, every word coming out of his mouth being the most truthful. "why do i always want to kiss you in situations or places where i can't?" he throws his head back, frustrated.

"oh why can't you kiss me now?" you asked. cofusion and also frustration kicking in when you realize its not going to be today as well. you begun to think max might be actually afraid to kiss you.

"there's people here. and i know it's a discreet place, but still…" you almost grasped what the dutch meant, were it not for your intense desire for his lips to meet yours. "what? I don't care about the people, you know I don't."

it's true, he knows you never cared about people's opinions. that's why, from the both of you, he was always the one that helped you with everything you thought of putting out to the world. most of it not coming out thanks to him.

"you may not, but I do. you know how this things work and I don't want my gi- your name associated with sleeping around for a seat."

your smile didn't fail on showing up. he could have just said the most horrific thing ever, you hadn't listened. max verstappen calling you 'my girl' was something out of this world for you. you covered your face with your hands as the gleam in your eyes intensified.

"but, you know, you could always take me home." he added, grinning with both his lips and eyes. "let me finish this and we'll go right away." max nodded and took his phone out, pretending to be composed on the outside while feeling like an exuberant child within. he eventually even snapped a few pictures of you to keep for himself and immediately changed his locked screen. he's not familiar with the concept of going slow.

exiting the coffee shop, you and max laughed like a pair of joyful fools, unable to recall precisely what was so amusing. at some point, you found yourselves laughing at each other for no apparent reason. what you both knew for certain was that spending time together was effortless—it brought a profound sense of peace.

as you closed the door behind you, max took your hand and pulled you close to him. his free hand found its place on your cheek, his thumb tenderly caressing it. "after all these years, I can finally kiss you."

the smile on the red bull driver's face emphasized his happiness. although your smile wasn't as broad, your eyes spoke volumes.

in the end, his focus remained on your eyes. for three years, max had gazed into those same brown eyes, yet each time felt like he could continue indefinitely. and, indeed, he could.

from his prespective, it was the greatest view one could have. and he was genuinely sorry for everyone that would never get the chance to do so.

when he finally let go of your eyes, he foccused on your lips, not as mesmerizing, but equally breathtaking.

before he kissed you, you got a good look at his deep ocean blue eyes. had you not been studying them since the day you met their owner, you might have easily lost yourself in their beauty.

you almost cursed max for closing them, but if that meant you got to study his lips too, you could never complain.

once he guided you into the kiss, one of your hands instinctively traveled to the back of his neck, while the other one squeezed his, trying to be sure that this was really happening.

it became evident that your lips were made solely for each other—the way they fit perfectly, moved in harmony, and how max's lips embraced yours as if he had been doing it for a lifetime. every element aligned to create perfection—this is what love felt like.

with max, it felt right. with max, it was love.

taglist: @mehrmonga @yourusername1 @lexiecamposv @electrobutterfly @miakatharinaa @jeconnaismeslimitesus

#max verstappen fic #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #formula 1 #formula one #f1 2023 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #took care of your girl #max #verstappen #f1 x reader #f1 masterlist #f1 imagine #reader driver #mercedes driver

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joshym · 1 month

Text

Muse

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

Summary: Your struggling artist is desperate for some inspiration.

Word Count: 3.4k+

Warnings: smut (18+ ONLY), unprotected p in v, oral (f! receiving), a smidge of sir kink, some spanking, a lot of fluff because i can't help myself, Jake draws a naked portrait of you (let me know if i've missed anything)

a/n: special thanks to this lovely anon for this brilliant idea. this was way too much fun to write.

this was inspired heavily by that scene from the Titanic. (you know the one.)

as always, thank you to my favorite editor/motivator, @jakeyt.

i hope you enjoy. ♡

“I want you to draw me wearing this.” You reach into the lapel of the robe, retrieving his coin that now hangs from your neck. “Only this.”

.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.

His frustration is palpable, evident in the nearly incessant huffing emanating from behind the closed door of his studio.

It's moments like these that leave you feeling utterly helpless. There’s nothing you can do, no inspiration you can provide that will pull him from his artist’s block.

He's been holed up in there for hours, since the early dawn, lost in the depths of his imagination, sketching away. You know better than to intrude; he's never been keen on sharing his work until it's finished.

In fact, he's never once allowed you a glimpse into his creative process. "It's the strange doodlings of a mind overrun with ideas. It's not to be seen until it's in its final form," he's reminded you countless times when your curiosity gets the better of you.

Still yet, you're consumed by the desire to witness his beautiful mind in action, crafting masterpieces in real-time, each stroke flowing from his soul through his tireless hand on his Somerset velvet sheets.

But, like any artist, he’s his own worst critic. He’s never truly satisfied with anything he creates, though you are left utterly speechless after each piece he finishes. His mind is a beautifully profound chasm of endless wonder, manifested through his artistry.

You hate when he has these moments of doubt, these instances when he questions whether he’s truly capable of such greatness.

And you especially despise days like today, when he spends the better part of it feeling as though he has a mental brick wall in the way of his ingenuity, hindering his hand from bringing to life what his mind so desperately longs to conceive.

Commissioned pieces, like his project today, always hold the most weight for him— from the need to earn a living, to his persistent worry that his art might not meet the expectations of the client.

It’s not that he doesn’t love doing them, or that he’ll ever stop taking them; quite the contrary, they’re his favorite pieces to work on. They provide him with an added pressure that elicits some of his best work.

But, reaching that point can be rather strenuous for him. It can at times take days, weeks before he discovers the creative impulsion he needs.

And right now, he’s in that very rut, awaiting the surge of inspiration that will reignite his dulled spirit.

There truly is nothing you can do when he’s lost like this, and any effort you’ve attempted in the past has always proved useless.

The one thing you can do, however, is prepare him some dinner.

He’s hardly left his studio today, and you know he’s not eaten much, if anything at all. Perhaps a morsel of sustenance will ignite the dormant embers of his mind.

.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.

After a quiet tap to the door, he invites you in with a serene voice.

He looks tired, but lovely as ever. The golden hour has officially set in the sky, and the opened curtains on the windows have allowed for a warm hue to encompass his studio, enveloping him in its delicate lume.

“That smells absolutely divine,” he remarks as you enter his studio, his plate and yours delicately balanced in your hands.

“I figured a little homemade pasta would do you some good,” you tell him while you pad across the floor to his work station.

With a sly disposition and a playful glint in your eye, you aim to steal a glance of his day-long project, but alas, you’ve been caught. Your sweet Jake misses nothing.

"Not yet, my love," he murmurs, flipping the page over as he takes your hand, planting a tender kiss over your knuckles. "You know the rules."

“I know, I know.” Your response holds a bit of remorse. You know better, but can’t begin to help the relentless desire to see his mind at work.

Setting his dinner on the desk he’s working from, you move yourself across the small office to the green chaise lounge that sits across from him, silently seeking his permission with your gentle glances. The smile in his eyes tells you that he’s more than happy to be graced with your company for the time being.

After taking a bite of the spinach tortellini you prepared, he unbuttons his white striped shirt, removing it from his shoulders and stretching his arms high above his head as though he’s ridding himself of the weight of his frustrations.

You can’t help your glare, watching him do something so normal yet so intriguing all at once.

His skin is velvety smooth, his chest rising and falling with every breath he takes, his chestnut wavy locks sitting atop his broad shoulders. You’re in awe each time you look at him; the sheer magnitude of his beauty never fails to steal your breath away.

And his necklace, his most cherished piece of jewelry that he wears each and every day. The precious coin, a relic salvaged from a centuries-old shipwreck that hangs against his chest.

The way it sits on his bare skin is nothing short of elating, sexy. It’s a wonderful addition to his already captivating aura.

He’s flawless. Everything about him.

Once he catches your gaze, he responds with a sly wink, eliciting a blush that paints your cheeks a bright shade of pink.

Then, a thought begins to swirl around your mind for a brief moment. One that you’re shocked you’ve not conjured until now.

The vision of the pendant against his bare skin sets your own imagination alight.

“I’ve got an idea,” you propose, your voice soft and sultry, trying to pique his interest even just a little, something that may help the rusted wheels of his mind turn at full capacity once again.

While his focus remains on his work, his right eyebrow arches ever so slightly, and you catch the hint of a grin daring to curl in the corners of his mouth.

“And what might that be, my dear?” he asks with an unknowing, devilish smirk.

As you get up, he hastily flips the page back over to hide his work from you once again.

“Don’t worry,” you say as you move behind him, placing your hands on his bare shoulders. “I won’t peek.”

You glide your fingers along his skin, feeling the subtle rise of each goosebump in the wake of your gentle touch.

He hums inquisitively as you delicately take hold of the clasp of his necklace in between your index and thumb, undoing it in one fluid motion before slowly slipping it from around his neck.

“Be right back,” you say as you head towards the door. “Don’t move.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he responds, a myriad of questions splayed across his features.

With light steps, you make your way down the wooden floors of the hall towards your shared bedroom. Hanging on the back of the door is your sapphire hued satin robe, adorned with a delicate lace detailing along the hem—the one Jake has always fawned over.

The satin drapes coolly against your skin as you slip it on, wearing nothing underneath, save for the weight of Jake’s necklace resting against your chest that you hide beneath the fabric.

You run your fingers through your hair, adding a subtle tousled look, before applying a light blush to your lips and cheeks to impart a bit of natural color to your complexion.

And with that, you're poised and ready.

.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.

As you turn the corner to face his studio, you see a very weary version of your Jake. His head sits in the palms of his hands, his leg bounces up and down at a rapid rate—a clear sign of the mental battle he’s waging.

This is as good a time as any for your little idea, and you’re hoping that it’ll be the very thing he needs to find some much needed initiative to keep going.

“Hi, baby,” you venture, leaning your body alluringly against the frame of the door.

As he looks up, a familiar twinkle dances in his eyes—a sight you've longed for all day long. It's a glimmer that tells you he's rather fond of the vision before him.

“And what exactly is your idea?” he inquires softly, slowly standing from his chair. But you stop him, motioning for him to stay just where he is as you saunter towards the chaise you were seated on just moments ago.

“My idea,” you begin, making a very slow, deliberate attempt to untie the sash holding your robe together at the waist. “...is for you to draw me.”

As if your thought has affected him physically, his posture immediately straightens, and his once tired eyes hold a renewed sense of life as they watch you intently.

“I want you to draw me wearing this.” You reach into the lapel of the robe, retrieving his coin that now hangs from your neck. “Only this.”

Your robe suddenly falls to the floor, revealing your fully nude figure that was hidden beneath.

“Oh…” he utters, his tongue wetting his lower lip before tucking it between his teeth. “You can’t do this to me, baby. I can’t look at you like this an–”

“Consider it a commission,” you interrupt, tracing your fingers lightly up and down the skin of your torso. “And when you’re finished, if it’s to my liking, you’ll receive a full payment.”

With a raised eyebrow, his gaze sweeps up and down your form, while his index finger lightly grazes his chin.

“You’re quickly becoming my favorite client,” he quips, wiping a stray bead of sweat away from his forehead, tousling the front of his hair in the process. “Consider it done, ma’am,” he continues with a confirming nod of his head.

You lay yourself down on the forest green velvet cushions, positioning yourself sensually across the chaise. Your body is turned slightly to the side, your leg gracefully crossed over the other, an elegant display of your curved silhouette.

The warm glow that is so beautifully cast upon Jake, is now cast upon you, the aura laying over your nude body like a golden blanket of light.

“Is this okay?” you ask him, draping your arm over the back of the chaise, making sure the coin sits meticulously atop your chest before your other arm falls to rest against your body.

He simply grins while nodding his head, his eyes drinking you in, a mix of surprise and desire evident within his expression.

“Yeah, that um…that’ll do just fine,” he tells you, the slight crack in his voice eliciting a smile from you, a break in his professional facade.

With a deep breath, he takes his prized Faber Castell 9000, carefully sharpening the tip just a bit before putting it against a blank sheet.

And then, as the true artist you know him to be, he begins without a hint of hesitancy. The gentle sound of the lead scratching away at the paper fills the quiet room— a sound you’ve come to cherish, a sound that signifies his craft is steadily blossoming to life.

He seems charmingly nervous, his hand gently brushing against his nose every so often between a series of strokes from his pencil, clearing his throat more than usual. His eyes flint to you, then back to the paper, then back to you, a succession of his adoration and determination, ensuring that the likeness captured in his art closely mirrors your essence.

You try to keep your face composed, a seductive allure about your features. But as you watch him, immersed in his passion, the way he’s studying you so intently, it becomes nearly impossible to suppress the beginnings of a smile upon your lips.

But despite your efforts, he takes note of the curve adorning your flushed lips, mirroring it with his own. “Relax your face for me, beautiful.” The soft rasp in his tone is enough to send a blush throughout your whole body.

Breathing in your nose and exhaling through parted lips, you’re able to reclaim your composure enough to steady your expression.

Every moment you share with him is a brushstroke of beauty, but something about this one stands out. The intimacy of it all, how he must diligently study every inch of your form to convey your image through his art, the intensity behind his focused gaze…your heart is racing in your chest, despite your relaxed demeanor.

.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.

With the sun almost hidden behind the early moon, he completes the final stroke.

He lays his pencil down, gently blowing on the paper to remove any stray lead before he picks it up, examining it closely while he walks it over to you.

As he holds it out before you, allowing you to at last see his craft come to life, you’re left entirely awestruck.

“Oh, Jake.” The sight before you leaves you nearly breathless. It exceeds every expectation, beyond the boundaries of your imagination. It’s a portrayal of you, but not just that— it’s how he sees you.

It’s the first time you’re witnessing yourself through his eyes, and in that, you feel a profound sense of beauty within yourself that you’ve never known.

“Do you like it?” He asks, a slight tremor present in his voice.

“It’s…incredible, Jake.”

Propping yourself up a bit, you carefully take the drawing from his hands, poring over his vast attention to the detail in your face, your body.

Specifically your breasts, how perfectly he depicted their round curve above your rib cage, encapsulating the fullness and allure of them.

You’re entranced by the way he drew the contour of your hips, how he captured the dip in them that you’ve always looked at with disdain, yet in his portrayal, you’re able to see the beauty in what you’ve considered a flaw.

He encapsulated everything, even the faint freckle beneath the curve of your left breast, and the mole under your belly button. He managed to immortalize all the intricate nuances that you typically overlook.

“Is this what I really look like?”

“Yes, but,” he takes the drawing from you, placing it on the mahogany table beside the chaise lounge. He helps you lay back down, gently caressing your face that he’s just conveyed through his artistry as he props himself above you. “The essence of your beauty defies any depiction.”

Then, his lips envelope yours in a kiss so fervent, so ardent, as though he’s waited hours to finally have you within his grasp.

His hand moves with a swift grace to your breast, fingers toying with your perked bud. This erotic moment with him has you already so flustered, so sensitive to every touch of his hands.

He breaks his lips from yours, only to land them down the column of your heaving chest.

“You’ve no idea how hard it was for me to look at you like this, to look at these,” he mumbles against the tingling skin, hands kneading the flesh of your breasts. “And fight the urge to come place my lips on every inch of this beautiful fucking body.”

And just as he said, he bestows tender yet hungry kisses down the length of your torso, maneuvering his body down the chaise lounge until he kneels before you. He nestles his face perfectly between your thighs, his warm breath tantalizing your wet center from his dangerously close proximity.

“I certainly hope you don’t let all of your clients pay you like this,” you mutter, breathless and yearning for his mouth.

“Only the ones that tickle my fancy,” he says, his words adorned with a playful wink before he delves into you.

He laps away at your pulsing cunt, like he’s been starved for your taste this entire evening. The lewd, lascivious sounds he’s emitting from between your legs only serve to heighten your need for him, causing your back to instinctively arch away from the plush cushions.

And when his lips envelop your throbbing clit, his tongue swirling around it inside his warm mouth, your body trembles and shudders. A rush of warmth encompasses you, starting from the depths of your core, the pit of your stomach, spreading to every inch of your being.

You surrender to the intoxicating bliss, your breath catching in your throat while your heart pounds in a crescendoing rhythm.

He guides you through it, gently holding your hips in place while the movement of his tongue slows in perfect time as with the ebb of your climax.

“Oh, that was so beautiful, my love.” He lovingly kisses the inside of your thigh before he stands, removing the belt from his patchwork jeans. “Turn over for me, baby.”

“Yes, sir,” you quietly utter as you obey his demand, knowing good and damn well what that specific name does to him.

Just as he commanded, you turn your body over to your stomach, placing your elbows against the arm of the chaise, your back arched as much as you can so that your ass is sticking up just right for him.

“Love when my sweet girl calls me that,” he purrs before his belt hits the floor, his jeans and underwear quickly in tow and freeing his impossibly hard cock.

“So, what’s the verdict, my love?” You feel the cushion sink in behind you as he settles himself between your legs, his right hand caressing your hip while the other teases your soaked cunt with the tip of his cock, leaking with precum. “Was my work to your liking?”

You giggle breathlessly, poking your ass out even further as an offering to him for his hard work. “Yes, I believe you’ve earned your reward.”

He steadily begins nudging his cock into you, going slow at first, allowing you to fully adjust to him.

Inch by thick inch, he fills you completely to the hilt, your breath catching in heavy gasps that are robbed from your lungs as he buries himself deeply within you.

Your nails claw at the velvet armrest as his thrusts quicken in their pace, your upper body nearly going limp as you’re no longer able to easily hold yourself up.

His hands hold a firm grip at your lower waist, pulling you into his cock rhythmically, yet becoming more and more disordered as he’s beginning to lose himself to the pleasure.

You cry out a slew of obscenities mixed with his name, begging him to fuck you harder, faster.

Without question he complies, landing an open palm against your ass cheek. “So good for me baby,” he hums, his thighs slapping against the backs of yours as he drives into you just the way you need. “So fucking good for me.”

With one more vigorous thrust of his hips, you feel that familiar rush throughout your whole body as your cunt throbs and pulses incessantly around his cock.

“Fuck, I feel you, baby. Pretty little cunt squeezing me so tight.” You feel the twitching of his cock inside of you, an indication that he's on the very brink of his own release.

“Cum inside me, sir. Please…need you to fill me.” Your voice is faltered, your body still reeling from your second climax.

“Jesus,” he groans, moaning exasperatedly as your words have him spilling within you, filling you with his warmth just as you requested.

He stays buried inside of you as he catches his breath, feeling his release slowly trickling down your thighs as you struggle to fill your own lungs.

You have to fight the urge to protest when he begins pulling himself away from you, not yet ready for the empty feeling he leaves you with.

You practically collapse against the cushion, your body exhausted in the most enthralling way, the kind of exhaustion that only immense amounts of pleasure can bring forth.

“My sweet, beautiful girl,” he whispers, kneeling himself before you as he softly caresses your flushed cheek.

You kiss the pad of his thumb as it crosses over your mouth, summoning the strength to lift yourself up enough to steal one from his lips. “I hope it worked,” you say, gently cupping his face in your hand.

“You hope what worked, my love?” He asks, leaning into your soft touch.

“I was hoping this would help inspire you.” You reach for the drawing, savoring its beauty once more. “I was hoping I could help inspire you, pull you out of your moment of doubt.”

“My love,” he murmurs, setting the portrait back down before he gently brushes his lips against yours. “You inspire me endlessly, every single day.”

His tender smile warms your very soul as he leans in for a deeper kiss, imbued with all the love you could ever want for.

“You’re my perfect muse,” he utters against your lips, “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.”

.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.

a/n: suffice to say, this inspired the hell out of me when i've lacked inspiration/motivation lately. thank you, anon.

if you have any juicy ideas, feel free to send them my way. ♡

love you guys.

taglist: (let me know if you'd like to be added/removed!)

@jakeyt @objectsinspvce @stayinginthesun @sinarainbows @stardustcordzz @klarxtr @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @highway-tuna @way-to-go-lad @reesetrippingthelight @jakesgrapejuice @sacredjake @notthedroidz @kiszkashousee @psychedelicstardust-gvf @jjwasneverhere @gvf-ficreads @stardust-jake @gretavanbear @gvfmelborne @sirjaketkiszkasharmonica @jaaakeeey @neptune2324 @jaketlove @myleftsock @joshskittytickler @audgeppp @jordie-gvf @gretavansara @gretasfallingsky @jazzyfigz @louiseecraigg @hippievanfleet @blacksoul-27 @sarafrusciante2 @heckingfrick @citylight-delight @electricgoldtendercare @musicspeaks @hollyco @gvfpal @dannys-dream @josh-iamyour-mama @edgingthedarkness @earthgrlsreasy @hernameis-heaven @mackalah @gvfmarge

Masterlist

#jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka smut #jake kiszka fanfiction #jake kiszka fic #jake kiszka fanfic #jake kiszka fluff #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet smut #gvf fanfic #gvf fics #gvf smut #greta van smut #jake kiszka #greta van fleet

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probablyasocialecologist · 5 months

Text

In the actual world outside of high-level American political rhetoric, Israel could have had peace at many times in the past 75 years. However, such a peace would have required Israel giving up most of the Palestinian land — specifically, Gaza and the West Bank, including East Jerusalem — it conquered in the Six-Day War in 1967. Israel has always preferred conflict with stateless Palestinians to that. Amos Malka, one-time head of Israeli military intelligence, explained it straightforwardly in 2004. “It is possible to reach an agreement,” he said, “under the following conditions: a Palestinian state with Jerusalem as its capital and sovereignty on the Temple Mount; 97 percent of the West Bank plus exchanges of territory in the ratio of 1:1 with respect to the remaining territory; some kind of formula that includes the acknowledgement of Israel’s responsibility for the refugee problem and a willingness to accept 20,000-30,000 refugees.” In polite circles of U.S. power, these facts are considered preposterous. Anyone describing them exiles themselves from serious discussion of the issue. It’s similar to the situation before the invasion of Iraq, when there was uniform agreement across the political spectrum that Iraq possessed so-called weapons of mass destruction. Any claims to the contrary were seen as self-evidently ludicrous, as ludicrous as now saying that Israel is a huge obstacle to peace.

All the Times Israel Has Rejected Peace With Palestinians

#israel #palestine #gaza #zionism #west bank

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gabseyoo · 9 months

Text

RESERVATION — GOJŌ SATORU

content: female reader, established relationship, mirror kink, handjob, spit as lube, petnames, slight dirty talk. word count: 1,5k.

summary: after seeing your boyfriend get out of the shower, you’re not sure if you’re going to make it to the reservation on time.

note: hi, i posted this a while ago but it flopped, so im trying again :p

“Babe.” You called your boyfriend while knocking on the bathroom door twice before opening it without even waiting for his answer, come on, you’ve been living together for so long that unless the door was locked, you could just walk in whenever you wanted. “Did I happen to leave my hoop earrings in here? I can’t find them.”

As soon as you had one foot inside the bathroom, you found Satoru wrapping a towel dangerously low around his hips as he stepped out of the shower. It wasn’t something you hadn’t seen before, but it would be a big lie to say that the sight didn’t still make you drool.

Today was date night and that was why you both were getting ready to go out to dinner at a fancy place. You were already wearing a nice dress, your hair was done and your makeup was on point with your favorite red lipstick. Satoru... well, besides the fact that he had just gotten home from work half an hour ago, he wasn’t the fastest person in the world to get ready.

“The golden ones?” He asked as he dried his hair with a smaller towel, “I saw them by the sink.”

You licked your lips before closing the door behind you and walking to the sink, evidently there were your earrings, so you didn’t take long to put them on while watching in the mirror how Satoru behind you finished drying his head and with one hand he brushed back the white locks. Fuck. You almost let out a sigh.

“Excited about tonight, baby?” He spoke a few seconds later, walking to your side and abruptly bringing you out of your thoughts. You weren’t surprised when you felt his hand squeeze your butt, on the contrary, the simple touch made you smile.

“Sure, the restaurant is new isn’t it?” You answered as you adjusted your dress. Thanks to the proximity, you could smell the masculine scent of his body wash that never failed to delight your nostrils.

“It was a real pain in the ass to get a reservation, it better be worth it. If it isn’t, I’ll kill Suguru for recommending it to us.” Satoru said, putting moisturizer on his face. If he didn’t look so attractive right now and your body wasn’t reacting to it, you’d already be rushing him to get dressed up fast to make it to the said reservation on time.

“Don’t worry, I looked up reviews on the internet, it seems to be fine.” You said, moving one of your hands to his lower back to caress his skin while you looked at him with greedy eyes. “You look good.” You added before giving him a kiss on the shoulder, leaving a red mark thanks to your lipstick.

“I’m just in a towel, baby.” He giggled, stretching out his arm to grab his toothbrush and put toothpaste on it.

“I know, that’s why.” Honestly, you couldn’t contain your desire to touch him anymore, so you brought your hand to caress his abs, dangerously close to the edge of the towel, smiling victoriously when you heard him let out a gasp while brushing his teeth.

“Yeah?” Satoru mumbled still with the toothbrush in his mouth before spitting and cleaning his mouth. “Someone’s a little clingy today.”

You knew your boyfriend like the back of your hand, you knew he already understood what your intentions were and was just playing dumb.

“You don’t like it?” You asked with a faux-innocent tone as you moved your feet until you were behind him, his muscular back in all its glory in front of you. Without waiting any longer, you inhaled the masculine scent of his body before slowly running your tongue over his skin and then lightly sucking on it.

Gojo was quick to react to that, his breathing became heavier and shivers ran through his body; you knew how sensitive he was on his back and you were using that fact to your advantage.

“I do but—” He couldn’t finish his sentence because a moan escaped his lips when your fingers went up from his abs to his pecs to caress his nipples. “The reservation.”

“You want me to stop?” Just to tease him, you were about to withdraw your hands, but Satoru held them in place by placing his hands over them.

“We have time.” He whispered and a mischievous smile appeared on your face.

Happily, you lowered your hand to the bulge that had formed under the towel that still covered him.

Attacking his back again with your lips, you moved your hand down to his crotch to gently caress his bulge, which began to get harder under your palm as you heard Satoru let out little grunts and felt him push his hips forward in an attempt to feel more contact.

You had to see that, you had to see his facial expressions, but it was obvious that his large figure in front of you wasn’t going to let you do that, so you gave up spreading wet kisses on his back (now covered with lipstick stains) to poke your head out and make eye contact with him in the mirror.

A moan almost left your own lips at that sight.

Satoru, with his hands against the sink making some veins stand out, wet white hair falling in his handsome face, his lips slightly parted and his electric blue eyes looking at you with nothing but desire.

“Fuck, you little minx.” He tried to turn around, but you quickly put your other hand against his hip to stop him. Gojo was obviously much stronger than you, you knew your grip wasn’t strong enough to stop him, but he still gave in to your actions, letting you do with him as you pleased.

“Let me make you feel good.”

The only thing that covered his lower half was now on the ground being kicked aside by Gojo while you admired his naked figure in front of you. It didn’t take you long to wrap your hand around his cock and make slow circles on his leaking tip, eliciting a sweet groan from him.

“Spit on it.” You asked since the pre-cum was unfortunately not enough to move your hand easily.

“I just showered.” He joked, but he still gathered saliva in his mouth and took your wrist to spit it into your hand, which after a few seconds returned to caress his shaft, being now easier to slide your palm up and down. “Fuck, just like that.”

Satoru closed his eyes, enjoying you giving him one of those stellar handjobs he loved so much. Which you didn’t like, so you quickly spoke up, “Eyes in the mirror, or I’ll stop.”

It was rare when you got bossy during intimacy, but when you did, you certainly drove Satoru crazy because he immediately let out a grunt and you felt his dick twitch.

“Look at you, babe.” You cooed when Gojo opened his eyes and immediately made eye contact with you. “Look how pretty you look right now.” You added in a whisper.

“Fuck. You’re really something else.” His grip on the sink intensified, looking at you with a smirk. “Faster, baby.”

Obligingly, you increased the speed of your movements to bring him closer to the edge. “Like that?”

“Yeah, god, I love you so much.” His voice came out raspy as he swept back his hair with one hand. “I’m gonna cum.”

The fact that he kept staring at the scene in the mirror, his gaze traveling from your eyes to your hand jerking him off, wanting to get a glimpse of it all, how he’d slightly open his mouth to let out a sigh and then close it again in a moan, all that made you clench your thighs in arousal.

The scene looked so hot, he looked so hot, all you wanted was to make him cum.

“Cumming that fast?” You asked teasingly, bringing your hand up to circle his tip with your thumb, spreading more of the precum that was leaking out, before sliding back down his length.

“Yes.” He wasn’t even ashamed of it, which motivated you to put a little more pressure on his cock, just the way he likes it.

“Cum for me, baby.”

That was all it took to make him explode, a high moan with your name was the last thing his lips left before he came, spilling his cum all over the sink. He’d surely make you clean up all this mess, later.

Satoru quickly turned around and reached for your lips, kissing you passionately while you kept stimulating his shaft to make sure he cum completely, his action caused drops of his semen to fall on your dress, but to say you cared about that would be a lie.

“Shit.” Gojo murmured against your lips, his hands going to fondle your tits aggressively.

You playfully pulled him away from you by placing your hands on his chest, “Satoru, didn’t you want to get to the reservation on time?” You teased, even though you knew that by now that was almost impossible.

A gasp left your lips when your world was turned upside down, literally, since Satoru lifted you up to carry you over his shoulder. His response came after he slapped your ass hard as he made his way to the bedroom.

“Fuck the reservation.”

#𐀔 — mar wrote this.#— thirsts #— jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #gojou satoru x reader #gojou satoru x you #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x y/n #gojo x y/n #gojo smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen imagines

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gradientsys · 1 year

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thinking about how important rose asking roxy if she liked wizards was, and how important her answer was. by roxy saying she actually does love wizards it kinda forces rose to recontextualise every action mom took with the new lens that she actually DID like wizards and it wasn't nearly the passive aggressive gesture rose thought. it's 100% clear that interests were transferred between each kid's alpha and beta counterpart, that much is obvious, so with rose now knowing that roxy actually did like wizards, its possible for her and us to assume that for the most part, everything mom lalonde did was out of genuine care for rose, but saddled with the pressure of the end of the world and a susceptibility to alcoholism, she just had no idea how to show it, and still wanted to give rose what she saw as a normal, feminine childhood (one that she never had if u want to get transgender.) and shit like this makes me LOVE homestuck to DEATH because you can glean and interpret literally so much about rose, roxy, and mom lalonde from these lines

and sure rose does explicitly say that it puts a lot of things into perspective about roxy and mom but the same thing applies here. rose says that its her fault pretty lightly, but there's so much more to it. rose has gone from holding so much bitter contempt for her mother to idolising roxy (and obviously mom posthumously) as her perfect mother who little rose just couldn't understand. this journey of blaming herself started with her drinking on the meteor and meeting roxy is the next milestone in it. it's just the perfect encapsulation of roses own loathing, either she projects her hatred onto her surroundings, or inward. she projects her hatred for being caged and her need to be seen by blowing up sburb gates and aggressively rejecting sburbs quests. she then projects it outward against kanaya and jade in small amounts, and then onto jack resulting in her death. (obviously there was other motivations for how rose acted with kanaya and jack - a crush and jack murdering her mother - but rose chronically needs to be seen and needs attention, which she got from kanaya meddling into her problems like a concerned mother would #mommyissues and jack killing mom was a highly extreme tipping point in her turn towards the horrorterrors.) the same pattern happens with mom. rose sees mom as a passive aggressive hag who simply didn't understand rose and sought to make her life difficult, but now she's a loving mother who rose just couldn't appreciate as a child. both of her viewpoints are based around something that a singular party couldn't do, rather than a more holistic approach. again she projects outwards and then inwards, and it's so important how she does this. and there is some truth to her view of mom post-meeting roxy! we can interpret that mom lalonde was a kind hearted, well intentioned mother who really loved rose and played roses games to feel closer to her daughter, but she was 100% an unfit mother, and rose is unable to accept the nuanced outlook - mom lalonde was by all means a caring person who really did love rose and care about her interests, but rose was still absolutely neglected/abused by mom lalonde. and personally, i think it is SO important that rose thinks this. the fact that the characters in homestuck are kids is obviously imperative, and I think roses evolution in thinking about her mother is such a raw microcosm in a child not being able to accept that they genuinely were abused, even with evidence to the contrary. it's also a testament to just how thematically rich and rife with content to analyse homestuck is, and just how amazingly subtle it can be. hussie absolutely glosses over serious subjects like this in a kind of slapdash way sometimes, roses alcoholism is a pretty big example, but forgetting the author entirely, it's an incredibly compelling way to show a scared, traumatised child trying desperately to understand her upbringing and her parent. i think rose would still be pretty stubborn about it into earth c days, but I feel like she would definitely accept it in time. she'd probably have a similar arc to jade honestly, because she too has so much to accept in regards to her childhood being Bad, Actually. dave would also provide insight on this and living with kanaya, the person she projected her desperate, gnawing need for motherly care on when she was 13, would definitely give her an environment and perspective to reconcile with her having a bad childhood. with a decent support network and Actually facing her internal hatred and biases, probably kicking and screaming because that's just how rose is, rose would be able to accept that mom lalonde neglected her

#god i fucking love homestuck! i love analysing stuff #homestuck #meta #rose lalonde #roxy lalonde #mom lalonde

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mspaesthetic · 5 months

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Tidbit: The "Threshold" Effect of Desaturated Objects Due to Increased Contrast

If you've ever asked how to replicate an effect like this...

...it's likely someone told you to apply the threshold filter, which converts any light colors to pure white, and any dark colors to pure black. And it's perfectly fine to do so. It's simple, straightforward, efficient. But I take issue with the assertion that it's definitively the only conceivable way Hussie did it when the evidence points to the contrary. Scrutinize the following examples under a microscope:

Did you see it? The singular detail that distinguishes these images from ones that have been thresholded? Congratulations if you noticed that these contain not only black and white pixels, but GRAY pixels as well! A threshold filter's conversion is binary; a pixel is either black, or it is white. No in-between. The presence of these gray values rules out its use, then.

One thing is clear, at least: these images are black and white in the traditional sense of the term, i.e. "grayscale", even if it's in drastic form. They've been stripped of any color, hue, chroma. Completely desaturated, in other words.

So from this observation, we can reason that they were converted to be grayscale at some point in the process of editing.

Of course, this is still lacking in the pure black and pure white departments. If only there was a way to adjust the intensity levels and push them both to their extremes... oh wait, THERE IS! Using the Levels adjustment tool!

Pushing the black input levels slider to the right makes all dark colors turn darker, and conversely, pushing the white input levels slider to the left makes any light colors turn lighter. This is a great way of increasing the contrast and adjusting the brightness. Speaking of which, the Brightness/Contrast adjustment tool in Photoshop with "Use Legacy" enabled also accomplishes a nearly identical effect.

This timelapse demonstrates how the Brightness/Contrast adjustment is basically equivalent to using the Levels one when used this way

I say nearly identical because raising the contrast all the way to 100% with Brightness/Contrast makes it actually identical with the Threshold adjustment tool. The black and white input levels sliders can't fully join in the middle because of the gray input level slider occupying the space, hence why there are some stray gray pixels even when pushing them to their limits.

Well, there could be several reasons explaining why there could be gray pixels other than the contrast not being high enough to clip them, but I'll spare you another needlessly complicated and overly technical rambling on how I can tell it's most definitely the Levels adjustment tool always.

This post is getting a little long, so I'll stop here and elaborate a little more on pertinent things under the read more link, like semi-opaque pixels, scaling down, sharpening, and the gamma slider. Also here's the potted plant PSD if you wanna check it out I guess.

ADDENDUM

Semi-opaque pixels

When separating objects from a background, it's usually easiest to do so with a magic wand selection tool, which selects regions of similar colors. There's an option to make the selection anti-aliased, smoothing the edges of whatever you've cropped. Unchecking it will make the pixels hard and jagged. The wine bottle and picnic basket are a good example of each, respectively.

If you've already cropped out something with anti-aliasing enabled, there's still a way to sharpen the edges after the fact. Duplicating the layer multiple times will increase the semi-transparent pixels' opacity. Do it enough times and they'll eventually become completely opaque. An analogy would be stacking multiple panes of tinted glass on top of each other. Stack enough of them and you wouldn't be able to see through anymore.

These semi-opaque black pixels would appear gray on a white background, and so would semi-opaque white pixels on a black one. That's the reason for the gray pixels around the edges on some of these examples.

Scaling down/Sharpening

Suppose you've already gone ahead and went through the whole rigamarole of editing the object to be black and white before deciding firmly on the size of it in your composition, and now you think it could be a little smaller. You could always resize it and scale it down, but with the interpolation method set to none/nearest-neighbor, it's going to look kind of shit, and with it set to something else like bilinear or bicubic, the anti-aliasing is going to make it a bit blurry (introducing these gray values). You could increase the contrast again, or you could use the Sharpen filter to do it.

Not to suggest that this particular example was scaled down after editing, it's just the one that looks closest to it since I'm too lazy to make one.

Sharpening repeatedly will bump up the contrast, plus Photoshop's Sharpen filter has the added benefit of hardening any semi-opaque pixels as well, making the edges sharper.

GIMP's Sharpen filter doesn't do that latter part, unfortunately, but if the layer has an opaque white background, it'll do the same.

Gamma slider

This effect might not be so obvious, but really take a good look at these board games:

Actually, maybe this Problem Sleuth bonus panel shows what I mean better:

The dark values are cranked up very high, and so are the light values a bit, but there's an inordinate amount of midrange values that are on the lighter side than what would be normal. That's because of the midtones input levels slider, the gray slider, the gamma slider, whatever.

I'm toot tired to explain any more than that, so make of that what you will. The end.

#tidbit #edited images #homestuck #problem sleuth #room

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moodyseal · 3 months

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I got too deep into the Schema Theory while writing the paper for one of my exams and it got me thinking about Apollo's coping mechanisms yk

Basically the gist of this theory is that, in the eventuality that their primary needs are not satisfied during their formative years, a child might develop a bunch of different behavioural schemes in their adult life (which are too many to be listed here oh my god) that are a direct reflection of how the parent failed them during childhood

For example, one of these schemes is emotional deprivation, which is a person's tendency to emotionally distance themselves from other people due to the fact that they believe they won't be able to comfort them, and it's a scheme that's formed due to the guardian not satisfying the child's emotional needs. Basically it's formed through a "If my parent couldn't do it, then how could others?" sort of mentality

Another one, which I believe is very relevant here, is the sense of failure, which originates due to the guardian's immensely overbearing nature and the continuous dissatisfaction with the child's efforts. As an adult, the child in question believes that they're inept at everything, even if evidence points to the contrary, because of the fundamental belief that they hold that they're a failure

(Does it remind you of anyone?)

Now, these schemes tend to go hand in hand with modes, which are essentially coping mechanisms that the person uses to deal with whatever life throws at them and whatever negative emotion these schemes bring on. One of these modes is the *squints* scheme overcompensation? Anyway what it says on the article I got the info from is that basically people who use this coping mechanism tend to do the opposite of what their behavioural scheme tells them to do. If they're ashamed, they put down others. If they feel like a failure, they boast. (Again. Who does this sound like.)

AT FIRST it seems like a good coping mechanism but it's actually not, because the overcompensation leads to this vicious cycle where the more a person overcompensates, the more the scheme worsens. In Apollo's case, the scheme we're examining here is his sense of failure; in his overcompensation mode, to avoid feeling incompetent he tries to constantly put himself in the spotlight, drawing attention to his talents. However, he does it in such a ridiculous way (perhaps actually in some form of self-sabotage?) that the people around him insult those talents, call him a failure, and thus worsen his feeling of worthlessness.

(This might be tied to the punitive scheme as well, maybe? Considering how keen Zeus was on punishment, Apollo might've developed this scheme as a result, though over the centuries it could've shifted its focus from everyone to just him idk. The change between "I'm punishing everything and everyone for being so stupid, even my own son + this Ptolemaic god who breathed wrong in my direction" to "Actually I'm chill" seems pretty suspicious to me tbh)

ANYWAY all of this is to say that everything he does is so intrinsically tied to the damage Zeus did to him that it hurts. All his behaviours all his coping mechanisms. Everything

The arrogance is not just a façade he built over the years to hide his feeling of unhappiness and guilt!! It's quite literally an abuse response!!!!

And yeah maybe Leto was the one who spent the most time with him and Artemis and who took the most care of them so technically she should be considered his figure of attachment instead of Zeus but then again. How much time did Apollo spend beside her compared to the time he spent at Zeus' side, after the twins became Olympians? What do a few moments with her in a year do against entire centuries with him?

Leto's influence never really mattered. He was doomed since the beginning

#or rather not doomed just. really sad. thank god he's got friends now #shamelessly wrote this so i can memorize it better #it's a very fascinating theory though #i really recommend a read #btw some of this might be wrong bc a) i study medicine and not psychology and b) it's 4 am #actually almost 6? god i'm sleep deprived #anyway please don't mind it #it was just for funziessss!!!#trials of apollo #lonely thoughts #might delete later idk i'll see if this still makes sense in a few hours

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mariacallous · 16 days

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The Israeli attack on a humanitarian convoy in Gaza in early April that killed seven aid workers with the U.S.-based aid group World Central Kitchen has ignited a fierce global backlash against Israel’s policies of engagement in the territory. The attack involved the successive firing of three missiles at three vehicles, driven by suspicions of a Hamas combatant’s presence within the convoy, according to reports.

In Israel, the event is being portrayed as an accident, “a grave mistake stemming from a serious failure due to a mistaken identification, errors in decision-making, and an attack contrary to the Standard Operating Procedures,” as the Israeli military’s investigation team concluded. In humanitarian circles, it is seen as evidence of a culture that “treats Gaza as a free-fire zone with total impunity for gross attacks on civilians,” as Jeremy Konyndyk, the president of Refugees International who served in both the Obama and Biden administrations, has suggested.

But for the discussion to be useful, it should progress beyond these immediate interpretations to examine the deeper cultural patterns underlying such incidents. Most crucially, it must scrutinize the shift in military policy and ethos that can be traced back to the Elor Azaria affair of 2016-17. Azaria was an Israeli conscript who was captured on video executing a wounded and immobilized Palestinian assailant in Hebron. The Israeli military prosecuted Azaria for manslaughter and sentenced him to 18 months in prison.

While the case demonstrated the military’s commitment to its own ethical codes, it also sparked widespread protests from right-wing factions and a general backlash against military procedures. The army was accused of failing to support Azaria and creating a culture in which soldiers would hesitate to use force against Palestinian militants. To counter this claim, and from that point forward, the military began to announce the number of Palestinian fighters killed in its operations, demonstrating that its forces did not hesitate to engage.

Under the leadership of the military’s chief of staff, Aviv Kochavi, from 2019 to 2023, the killing-based criteria were reinforced. Kochavi’s goal was to remake the army into a “lethal, efficient, and innovative” fighting force—in other words, a death-generating army. He promoted this vision by enhancing the precision of weapon systems, improving the coordination between forces and intelligence, and increasing the rate of fire.

Kochavi’s directive for field commanders to assess, at the end of each combat phase, the number of enemy forces killed and objectives destroyed—rather than solely focusing on territorial conquest—signified a shift toward necrotactics, where the primary goal of military engagement is killing the enemy. Killing becomes not just an outcome of warfare but its principal aim.

The approach of using body counts as a metric of success has notably intensified during the current war. Soon after the Oct. 7 attack, the Israeli military began consistently reporting the number of Hamas fighters killed, echoing the way U.S. generals announced enemy fatalities during the Vietnam War—a scenario where traditional metrics for evaluating combat success are elusive, thus making the body count, rather than the strategic objectives achieved, the primary indicator of success. This was particularly evident as the Israeli death toll ticked up and the stated objective of dismantling Hamas appeared increasingly unattainable.

In fact, the military appears to have established a quantitative goal from the outset. According to the journalist Yuval Abraham in +972 Magazine, the Israeli army developed an artificial intelligence-based program named Lavender, designed to identify targets for assassination. This system tagged approximately 37,000 Palestinians in Gaza as suspected militants, marking their residences (and therefore their families as well) for potential airstrikes. The deployment of Lavender contributed to the deaths of around 15,000 Palestinians in the war’s first six weeks, according to the report.

By setting a numerical target, the Israeli military shifted from viewing outcomes as a measure of progress—like neutralizing the threat posed to Israel from Gaza—to making body counts the main standard. The trend has been reinforced by a pervasive adoption of the language of killing among military commanders. “Now we will go forward and kill them all,” Brig. Gen. Roman Goffman was quoted as saying just before the ground operation in Gaza began, in just one prominent example.

As Israel faces an impasse in Gaza, lacking a politically articulated exit strategy, the reliance on killing and its quantification as a metric for success becomes increasingly pronounced, leading to the erosion of operational constraints. This shift was evident in the recent raid at Shifa Hospital in Gaza City, which inflicted extensive damage to Gaza’s most crucial health care infrastructure. The hunt for Hamas members has, to a significant degree, become an end in itself, complicating the dynamics of the conflict and placing military objectives above political resolutions.

This shift provides some context for the tragic killing of the aid convoy team—though it makes it no less disturbing. Once one or two armed individuals were spotted in the convoy, their neutralization became a top priority, apparently eclipsing overarching strategic considerations—factors that should have been incorporated at the tactical level. Fundamentally, such a situation warranted an approach aimed at preventing civilian casualties, especially along a deconflicted route designated for humanitarian aid delivery and when no direct threat was posed to Israeli troops. Moreover, the overarching political rationale should have prioritized safeguarding humanitarian missions, given the potential repercussions for Israel’s global standing amid the crisis in Gaza.

Yet the events unfolded with a seeming obsession for lethal action, as vividly illustrated by reporting in the Israeli newspaper Haaretz: Upon spotting a gunman or two, Israeli forces targeted three successive vehicles from the air. After the first one was hit, passengers moved to a second vehicle, which was then struck by a missile. And when the wounded were transferred to a third vehicle, it too was fired on. This appears to be a case of obsessive kill confirmation, overshadowing the principles of necessity, proportionality, and the sanctity of civilian life.

Hence, the fundamental issue extends beyond merely revising the rules of engagement or monitoring their application more closely, as such measures alone would prove inadequate to prevent future incidents. The problem also transcends the flawed assumption that every part of Gaza can be considered a free-fire zone where engaging Palestinian militants indiscriminately is justified. What is crucial is dismantling the prevailing culture that equates killing with military success.

Yagil Levy is a professor of political sociology and public policy at the Open University of Israel. His most recent book in English is: Whose Life Is Worth More? Hierarchies of Risk and Death in Contemporary Wars.

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the-pen-pot · 4 months

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He saw Arthur burst from the forest, wide-eyed and pale-faced. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead, and fear locked his expression in its clutches. One hand stretched out as if to grab him. So near and yet so far. The moment fled. Gravity won, and there wasn't even time for Merlin to cry out as the bandit's weight dragged him over the cliff and into the stormy waters below. **** When Merlin is hurt during a bandit attack, Arthur finds himself torn between the longings of his heart and his duties to the crown.

Chapter One

They were going to die.

Merlin's breath stalled in his chest as the dappled sunlight glinted off the blades that surrounded them. They had made camp no more than a candle-mark ago, and many of the knights had taken their ease. Their swords were a few paces away, buried point-first in the earth. Only Elyan had been standing sentry, and now the tip of a dagger pressed into the hollow of his throat: his life nothing but a bargaining chip.

'Don't, Your Highness,' one of the men growled, no doubt noticing how Arthur had glanced towards his weapon. He looked like the leader, scarred and grim: a survivor through-and-through. 'Make a move, and he dies.' He gestured to Elyan. 'Now, how about you hand over that trinket you're carrying? I've a buyer who'll offer a great deal of coin for such a relic.'

Merlin ran his tongue over his teeth, cursing their bad luck. The bandit wasn't wrong; they had been on a quest to retrieve a cursed amulet that was poisoning the land. In theory, only forge-fire could destroy it. That, or a fireball of pure magic. The gold had boiled and seethed as he plucked apart the foul fortune woven into it, and by the time he was done, not a trace of its presence remained. Unfortunately, it seemed perhaps just a touch of its malice had latched onto them – a final vengeance – because with its destruction they had nothing to offer up in surrender.

'I don't know what you're talking about.' A hint of an empty smile hooked Arthur's lips, but Merlin could see that strategic mind at work, racing through the possibilities. He was more than just a pretty face; more than one enemy had forgotten that fact. They may be outnumbered, by they were far from defeated. Arthur would not go down without a fight, and Merlin wasn't about to let him fall to the blade of some two-bit bandit with delusions of grandeur.

'None of that, now.' The knife dug deeper into Elyan's throat, and Merlin winced in sympathy. 'Your men don't have time for these games.'

Around them, the peace thickened, interrupted only by the sigh of the breeze in the branches and the song of the birds. No one dared move. A single flinch could be enough to tip the scene into violence.

Leon's gaze was fixed on Arthur, his determination to keep the Crown Prince safe writ in every line of his expression. His own life would be forfeit if it meant Arthur was spared. Percy ducked his head, watching the closest attacker from beneath his furrowed brow. People never underestimated his strength, but they often overlooked his cunning.

Lancelot seemed to be searching for the right words to diffuse the anger that simmered in the air. Good to his core, Merlin knew he would hope these men could be reasoned with, even when faced with all the evidence to the contrary. Gwaine watched the scene with dark eyes, his expression fixed in that empty, jovial mask that meant everything was about to go to shit. He kept glancing at Elyan, who appeared furious for having been caught off-guard.

All the knights were at the wrong end of at least one sword, but the bandits had dismissed Merlin's presence. After all, he was just a servant. They did not consider him any kind of a threat.

Their mistake.

He reached out with his magic, hoping to plunge them into sleep, but though his power rose willingly to his call, no one so much as swayed on their feet. The spell coiled like smoke around them, invisible, yet no matter how hard Merlin tried, it could not sink its claws into them.

It took longer than he would have liked to notice the charms they wore on their wrists: cheap bits of metal stamped with runes – protections against the efforts of a mage. It seemed unlikely that they knew Arthur counted a sorcerer among his confidants. The Prince and his knights had known about Merlin's magic themselves for less than a year. It remained one of Camelot's best kept secrets, and Merlin cursed his bad luck for coming across a gang of thugs who had some common sense.

If he conjured up a fake and handed it over, it would disintegrate as soon as they touched it. They'd know they were being tricked within moments. Still, just because he could not use his magic on them, that didn't mean he couldn't use it at all.

First things first, he decided, he had to get them and their pointy blades away from Arthur and the others.

'This amulet?'

The illusion in his grasp gleamed butter-gold, as vivid as the real thing. Even if placed side-by-side with the original, he knew no one would be able to tell the difference. His magic leant it a touch of extra sparkle, and he watched an ugly smile crack over the leader's face. His body language shifted as cool eyes raked up and down his frame, no doubt finding him wanting. He saw what Merlin wanted him to see: baggy clothes over a lanky physique; no sword, armour or rank. He looked at Merlin and saw someone harmless, the same as almost everyone else in Camelot.

Everyone who didn't know his secret, anyway.

'Give it here, boy, and no one has to get hurt.' It was said in a cajoling tone, as if the bastard wouldn't stab him in the gut the moment he got close enough to reach. He could see that in his eyes: the cruelty of a bully. Still, that was something he could use. No way would this man like being outwitted by a peasant.

Merlin glanced at Arthur, seeing the emotion in that blue gaze. He knew the amulet was fake: he could guess what Merlin was going to do. It was written in the tension that hardened his jaw and the lines upon his brow. He gave a fractional shake of his head, as if urging him not to go down this road, but they were running out of time. The others needed just one moment: a split-second where the balance shifted, and he could give it to them.

'Why don't you come and get it?'

He darted away like a deer taking flight, ducking through the trees and sprinting into the welcoming gloom of the woods around them. Behind him, shouts of outrage rose in chorus with the clash of swords. The knights had taken advantage of the bandits' distraction, as he had known they would, but they were still outnumbered. He would have to trust in their superior skills to get them all out of this alive.

Arthur's cry of warning – Merlin's name made hoarse by fear – was enough to tell him he was being followed. Even if not for that, he could hear boots crashing through the forest: a steady percussion that underscored the shouting, bellowing rage of the men who chased him.

Merlin ducked under a tree branch, lengthening his stride as roots threw themselves out of his way only to rise up in his wake, forming loops to trip the unwary. He might not be as strong as a knight and he had little luck with wielding a sword, but he could outpace any of them, especially if they were weighed down by chain and plate armour. Dressed in nothing but linen, he was light on his feet, though lacking in protection. He tried to ignore how the space between his shoulder-blades itched, vulnerable. At least the bandits didn't have crossbows. If it came to a fight, they'd have to catch him first.

Voices hounded him, cursing and yelling as his pursuers careened through the undergrowth. Their threats were little more than garbled sounds, too distant to make out, but Merlin knew he'd be in trouble if they got their hands on him.

Overhead, the wind picked up speed, rattling leaves and waving the branches against the sky. His magic rose with it, a rushing swell of power that delved down beneath the roots and surged in the sap of the trees all around him. Wood creaked and groaned, stirred to new life, but Merlin didn't dare look over his shoulder and check what was happening. One stumble could cost him everything.

Was it his imagination, or were the voices baying for his blood getting fewer in number?

It took a moment for him to realise that another noise embellished the air. It started as little more than a low, rolling roar, but by the time the forest turned damp and lush around him, the din of the cascade had grown all-encompassing. It thrummed between the trees, battering at his ears, and he stumbled as the fringe of the woods released him onto a large, flat outcrop of water-slick granite.

Bending over, Merlin braced his hands on his knees, licking the spray from his lips. A stitch bit into his side, and his throat was parched from panting for every breath. Beneath his feet, an underground river found its freedom, tumbling from the top of the cliff into a deep pool below: all frothing rapids and a raging torrent. It was a long drop, at least as high as Camelot's curtain wall, and Merlin grimaced at the dizzying height before turning back to face the way he had come.

The tip of a sword halted him in his stride, and he sucked in a breath as he stared down the length of the blade at the man who gripped its hilt. The leader was alone, his hair matted with sweat and his leathers torn. Blood trailed from a scratch on his cheek, and his eyes were half-mad with rage. His lips pulled back, baring a broken front tooth along with the rest of his snarl. He trembled with anger, but the weapon remained steady and firm, braced to run Merlin through if he so much as flinched.

'The amulet.'

Merlin swallowed, his mind racing. If he tried to duck past him and flee, he'd probably end up with a sword stuck in his back. He couldn't retreat. There was nowhere to go but over the waterfall, and he didn't rate his chances in the tumultuous waters far below. In the end, he had no choice but to open his hand and let his eyes flash gold. The illusion dissipated into sparkling motes as he spread his palms in surrender. 'I don't have it.' He wet his lips before offering a shrug. 'I never did. We destroyed the amulet two days ago. It's long gone.'

The bandit's scream of fury echoed around them, a cresting note of inarticulate anger that rode the clouds of mist boiling up from the foot of the waterfall. Merlin's magic bunched, braced and ready to retaliate, turning the iron arc of the striking sword blow to nothing but ash before it could touch him.

Yet, for all it spared him from the bite of metal between his ribs, his spells did nothing to stop the bandit's body crashing into his own. His legs, already burning from his mad dash through the forest, wobbled at the sudden weight. He staggered, fighting off the clumsy flurry of punches as he grabbed at the man's wrists. It was a useless, frantic scrabble, neither of them able to get the upper hand, and Merlin's breath caught in his throat as he stumbled backwards.

His foot found nothing but empty air.

There was a split-second of perfect stillness so strikingly clear that he wondered if his magic had stopped the world. Except no. He could feel it, distant and unreachable, pushed from his grasp by the single point of contact where the man's protection charm touched Merlin's palm.

The moment fled. Gravity won, and there wasn't even time for Merlin to cry out as the bandit's weight dragged him over the cliff and into the stormy waters below.

#Merlin #Merthur #My fanfic

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a-dinosaur-a-day · 10 months

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What's BANDits? I've heard the term before but idk what it is

BANDit stands for "Birds Are Not Dinosaurs" - its. IE, its the term for the group of "scientists" that have continued to insist birds did not evolve from dinosauria despite literally boatloads of evidence to the contrary.

You see, we haven't always known birds are dinosaurs. When we were first thinking about evolution (in the Western World, remember: lots of colonized people had ideas about evolution *and* paleontology that White People essentially wiped out when we colonized them), a lot of people pointed out the similarities between many of the dinosaurs being found and living birds. MANY. It was common knowledge in the 1800s among scientists.

But then along came this guy Dollo. Dollo didn't like the idea birds evolved from dinosaurs. See, he found wishbones in birds. He found wishbones in some of the triassic weirdos of the past, things that dinosaurs would evolve from. But he didn't find wishbones in dinosaurs. And Dollo was convinced that a structure couldn't re-evolve if it had been lost during evolution. So, to him, there was no way birds could be dinosaurs.

There were problems with this:

he didn't know about how traits are gained and lost genetically. In fact, he didn't really know about *genetics*. There are lots of ways to re-gain a trait you lost (if you only lost it by turning off its regulatory genes, or you re-evolve it convergently, that kind of thing).

at the time, we had dinosaur wishbones. we just didn't know thats what they were.

since then, we have found waaaaay more dinosaur wishbones. And also, tons of other evidence. so much evidence. at this point, there is literally nothing else birds could be.

it took time to build up that evidence. For the entire first half of the 1900s, and a good chunk of the second, no one believed birds evolved from dinosaurs.

But then we started to find the evidence.

And we found more.

And more.

By the 80s, it was becoming pretty clear that birds probably evolved from dinosaurs. At this point, documentaries and fictional material are even referencing it. But, there was still a group of skeptics, the first true BANDits (because at this point it was not the majority opinion). And that's okay - skepticism is important in science.

Its the fact that they KEPT being skeptical even as more and more evidence poured in. By the mid-90s, it was incontrovertible, because we had found fossils of feathered but very clearly nonavian dinosaurs. By the 00s, we were finding them CONSTANTLY.

And yet, the BANDits kept BANDiting.

Most of them have died, because they were old and stubborn. Very few new scientists are BANDits. It's really just

A) in russia, because russia has had a... weird history with paleontology. I don't want to get into it

B) those remaining few old people who refuse to change their minds in light of new evidence (this would be Feduccia)

in the 10s, they were really annoying, because enough of them were still around that people thought they were good scientists (they're not), and so if you said "birds are dinosaurs" at least one person would bring up banditry to prove you wrong, and then you had to go on a whole spiel, and it was exhausting

In the late 10s and now 20s, that's pretty much dead. It's just impossible to argue with anymore. I don't know how Feduccia keeps publishing his crappy books, but I really wish that someone would say "I can't publish this" bc people read them and think they're right.

Like, birds are *such* dinosaurs that we don't even know at what point dinosaurs are firmly birds. It's kind of murkey, because nature doesn't do categories.

So, yeah. That's what a BANDit is. They're almost extinct. May they become as such by the 30s.

#science #history of science #paleontology #birds #dinosaurs #bandits

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ratatouillewastakendammit · 1 year

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Pls write for shoto 😩😩😩

I gotchuuu (I wasn’t sure if this is asking for Shoto smut in particular but all I’ve written for Tumblr so far is smut so that’s what you’re getting. This was so rushed but I hope you enjoy!)

Pairing: Pro!Shoto Todoroki x reader

Summary: It's hard not to be jealous when your fiancé is loved by so many. Thankfully, he seems more than willing to prove that he's yours.

Warnings: smut, praise, language, the tiniest smidge of angst, also not proof read

Word Count: 1.8k

Jealously wasn't a word you would particularly use when describing yourself.

On the contrary, you were quite a laid-back individual, especially in light of the difficulties present whilst dating such a well-known hero.

While many saw it as a life of glamour and luxury, there were many hardships that came along with it, such as the multitude of fans that showered the pros with adoration and praise.

It was even worse when that pro was someone as strikingly handsome as Shoto Todoroki.

Beauty was effortless for him. With eyes that could melt hearts and jawline capable of grating cheese, it was no surprise to anyone that he was given the title of "Most Attractive Pro-Hero" two years in a row.

So while jealous wasn't exactly a very fitting adjective to characterized you as an individual, hot was definitely one that described Shoto, meaning that there was no shortage of fans sending their affectionate devotion in the direction of your partner.

You tried your best to stay off social media and ignore the masses of comments his pictures or videos warranted. At first, you were actually good at it, but as your relationship progressed, you realized how difficult it really was to turn a blind eye.

Self-consciousness was a nasty emotion. When mixed with a simmering coil of envy, it made for quite the unfavorable combination.

There were times when the duo honestly got the better of you, playing a cruel game of contrasting superiority with your own career and physical attractiveness as its pawns. You would often find yourself wondering why Shoto was still with you; he outranked you in so many arenas, making it increasingly difficult to ignore the praise he got when it came from people that might've been so much better than you.

And every so often, it would get to the point where curiosity overcame your usually unbothered persona, leading you down a rabbit hole of digital exploration that was most definitely not beneficial to your mental health.

So when your fiancé came through the door, he was met with your form sprawled on the couch, scrolling tirelessly on your phone.

"I'm back." He walked over, bending down to place a kiss on the top of your head. However, the displeasure evident in your face caused him to blink back in surprise. "Are you alright?"

"Hm?" You looked up, conjuring a hollow smile. "Oh, yeah, I'm fine."

Heterochromic eyes bore into yours as he leaned forward, forcing you back into the chair with the intensity of his stare.

"Uh... What are you doing?"

After standing up again, he gave your expression one more scan before folding his arms. "You're lying."

Although he had displayed a blatant lack of emotional awareness during high school, Shoto was peculiarly talented in reading you, a fact you found endearing and a bit problematic at the same time.

"I'm not lying." You sputtered, averting your line of sight from his.

"You're doing that face you make when you're upset."

"I don't make a face when I'm upset!"

Shoto's gaze trailed downward to the device clenched in your hand. With astounding speed, he effectively snatched it from you, allowing him to examine what was making his significant other so perturbed.

You made a lunge for the phone, but he was quicker, not to mention taller as well. He held it above his head for a few moments, far out of your reach as you grumbled in vexation. "Give it back!"

"One second, I'm not finished reading." He effortlessly pushed your feeble attempts back with an arm.

Taking a few more moments, he finally relinquished custody of the item. He offered you an inquisitive head tilt as he handed it back, almost like an animal who had yet to comprehend what command their owner had issued.

"You're mad about my PR Instagram page?" You watched as the gears in his head started to turn, train of thought trailing back to the actual part of the account you had been scrutinizing. "Are you jealous?"

Yes.

"What? No!" You waved his suspicions off, tossing the phone back on the couch before resuming your own position as well. "Like I said, I'm fine. Probably just tired from work today."

And while he might've once been insufficient in the realm of interpersonal talents, he was in no way, shape, or form dumb, especially not when it came to you.

Shoto knew perfectly well that his assumptions were correct and, in all honesty, found them to be quite endearing, despite your obvious vexation.

So when you caught wind of the tiny chuckle coming from his direction, your eyes shot up to meet his, narrowing. "Would you care to enlighten me as to what's so funny?"

For someone who wasn't the most skillful in expressing his emotions, the amusement was evident in his demeanor.

"Nothing." He offered you a gentle smile. "You're just cute."

You cocked an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"I said you're cute." He repeated, a little louder this time.

"No, I heard what you said. I just don't know why you think me being jealous is cute." Letting out an embarrassed huff, you fell back into the sofa.

"Because it is." He placed an arm and leg on the inside of the couch, situating his own body so then it hovered directly over yours. "I think it's cute how blind you can be, that you might actually believe I would want someone else when I have you."

One of his hands traveled under the cloth of your shirt, ghosting over the skin of your stomach.

You shivered under the chill of his touch as it trailed upward, finding your chest and beginning to gently knead the flesh. "Sho..."

He placed a kiss on your lips, catching the soft gasp he drew from rolling your hardened nipple beneath his fingers.

Envy and indignation soon began to fizzle away under the pleasure his contact provided. It flooded across your mind, sweeping the negative emotions in its wake to leave pure desire behind.

Continuing to pepper his mouth against your neck, he took notice of the way you unknowingly began to shift your hips upward in search of his.

The hand that had been palming your breast moved to tug your shorts downward. It snuck beneath your underwear, pulling it away as well so he could effectively apply pressure to your clit.

A quiet moan broke from your throat at the feeling and he hummed in satisfaction. "I think it's cute that you can make such pretty sounds and still think I might want to hear them coming from someone else."

Shoto's thumb kept a constant stroke on the sensitive nub as pushed a finger into you. Your body melted into the increasing euphoria, thighs clenching around his hand as he used the other to undo the string of his own sweatpants.

Soon, he added another finger, pumping in and out of your slit that quickly had you dangerously close to the brink of ecstasy.

You were cruelly yanked back from the blissful seconds later when he pulled away completely. The loss had you whining in dissatisfaction until you looked up.

As previously stated, you were a firm believer that Shoto Todoroki was one of the most attractive individuals that had graced your line of sight.

However, without clothes, he was breathtaking.

Scars were scattered up his arms and torso. There had been a time when he had tried covering them up in front of you, uneasy about the imperfections painted upon his skin.

You, however, had thought they were pretty and had told him as such. Each mark was a physical reminder of the lives he had guarded, a symbol of some child who got to see their parents one more time, or maybe a killer who was behind bars now because of his heroic duties.

Shoto had stopped trying to hide them after that.

And maybe, if you weren't so concerned about your own personal shortcomings, you might've been able to see that you were the reason why.

As he looked down at you from above, bi-color hair perfectly framed every angle of his face, accentuating every detail that you had grown to adore.

Irises, while differently shaded, burned bright with desire and adoration.

And it was all for you.

Positioning himself in front of you, he teased his tip at your clit before slowly entering. "And I think it's just so cute that you actually think I would ever want to fuck anyone else when I have you, waiting for me to come home and sink my cock into."

And he did, thrusting his hips into yours in a way that had every nerve in your body on fire. Your previous turmoil had washed away, overpowered by the sweet bliss that Shoto provided with every movement.

"So, yeah, you're pretty fucking adorable if I'm being honest."

The sound of his voice and the praise lacing his callous words had you melting, a moaning puddle overflowing with need. Hot tears were brimming at the corner of your eyes, a mixture of pleasure and the bitter feeling of an unmet release.

Already close, every thrust tightened the coiled simmering in your stomach. With his thumb still trained on your clit, you could feel the subtle warmth that he had sparked blaze to life in your abdomen.

One final kiss to your cervix pulled you over with a snap, your walls offering one final convulsion that had him reaching his high as well.

The both of you took a moment, allowing the air to reenter your lungs. Your heart was still jumping in your chest, overworked but completely full.

Then he gently pulled out, pushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "I'm yours, just as much as you're mine. Do you understand?"

Mind still foggy, you were at least able to understand what he was asking of you. You offered a weary nod in breathless acceptance.

"Good girl." Shoto wiped a tear from your cheek, offering you a loving smile. "So, what do you want to do for dinner?"

Shoto's Instagram comments had been left untouched by you since then.

With every bit you held for him, he easily met the admiration tenfold, even if you failed to see it sometimes.

It didn't matter; he would always be there to remind you, in whichever way he deemed fitting.

#bnha #bnha smut #mha smut #shoto todoroki #todoroki x reader #bnha todoroki #bnha fanfiction #bnha imagines #bnha shoto todoroki #todoroki shoto x reader #mha #todoroki #todoroki shoto x you

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literary-illuminati · 3 months

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2024 Book Review #4 – War in Human Civilization by Azar Gat

This is my first big history book of the year, and one I’ve been rather looking forward to getting to for some time now. Its claimed subject matter – the whole scope of war and violent conflict across the history of humanity – is ambitious enough to be intriguing, and it was cited and recommended by Bret Devereaux, whose writing I’m generally a huge fan of. Of course, he recommended The Bright Ages too, and that was one of my worst reads of last year – apparently something I should have learned my lesson from. This is, bluntly, not a good book – the first half is bad but at least interesting, while the remainder is only really worth reading as a time capsule of early 2000s academic writing and hegemonic politics.

The book purports to be a survey of warfare from the evolution of homo sapiens sapiens through to the (then) present, drawing together studies from several different fields to draw new conclusions and a novel synthesis that none of the authors being drawn from had ever had the context to see – which in retrospect really should have been a big enough collection of dramatically waving red flags to make me put it down then and there. It starts with a lengthy consideration of conflict in humanity’s ‘evolutionary state of nature’ – the long myriads between the evolution of the modern species and the neolithic revolution – which he holds is the environment where the habits, drives and instincts of ‘human nature’ were set and have yet to significantly diverge from. He does this by comparing conflict in other social megafauna (mostly but not entirely primates), archaeology, and analogizing from the anthropological accounts we have of fairly isolated/’untainted’ hunter gatherers in the historical record.

From there, he goes on through the different stages of human development – he takes a bit of pain at one point to disavow believing in ‘stagism’ or modernization theory, but then he discusses things entirely in terms of ‘relative time’ and makes the idea that Haida in 17th century PNW North America are pretty much comparable to pre-agriculture inhabitants of Mesopotamia, so I’m not entirely sure what he’s actually trying to disavow – and how warfare evolved in each. His central thesis is that the fundamental causes of war are essentially the same as they were for hunter-gatherer bands on the savanna, only appearing to have changed because of how they have been warped and filtered by cultural and technological evolution. This is followed with a lengthy discussion of the 19th and 20th centuries that mostly boils down to trying to defend that contention and to argue that, contrary to what the world wars would have you believe, modernity is in fact significantly more peaceful than any epoch to precede it. The book then concludes with a discussion of terrorism and WMDs that mostly serves to remind you it was written right after 9/11.

So, lets start with the good. The book’s discussion of rates of violence in the random grab-bag of premodern societies used as case studies and the archaeological evidence gathered makes a very convincing case that murder and war are hardly specific ills of civilization, and that per capita feuds and raids in non-state societies were as- or more- deadly than interstate warfare averaged out over similar periods of time (though Gat gets clumsy and takes the point rather too far at times). The description of different systems of warfare that ten to reoccur across history in similar social and technological conditions is likewise very interesting and analytically useful, even if you’re skeptical of his causal explanations for why.

If you’re interested in academic inside baseball, a fairly large chunk of the book is also just shadowboxing against unnamed interlocutors and advancing bold positions like ‘engaging in warfare can absolutely be a rational choice that does you and yours significant good, for example Genghis Khan-’, an argument which there are apparently people on the other side of.

Of course all that value requires taking Gat at his word, which leads to the book’s largest and most overwhelming problem – he’s sloppy. Reading through the book, you notice all manner of little incidental facts he’s gotten wrong or oversimplified to the point where it’s basically the same thing – my favourites are listing early modern Poland as a coherent national state, and characterizing US interventions in early 20th century Central America as attempts to impose democracy. To a degree, this is probably inevitable in a book with such a massive subject matter, but the number I (a total amateur with an undergraduate education) noticed on a casual read - and more damningly the fact that every one of them made things easier or simpler for him to fit within his thesis - means that I really can’t be sure how much to trust anything he writes.

I mentioned above that I got this off a recommendation from Bret Devereaux’s blog. Specifically, I got it from his series on the ‘Fremen Mirage’ – his term for the enduring cultural trope about the military supremacy of hard, deprived and abusive societies. Which honestly makes it really funny that this entire book indulges in that very same trope continuously. There are whole chapters devoted to thesis that ‘primitive’ and ‘barbarian’ societies possess superior military ferocity and fighting spirit to more civilized and ‘domesticated’ ones, and how this is one of the great engines of history up to the turn of the modern age. It’s not even argued for, really, just taken as a given and then used to expand on his general theories.

Speaking of – it is absolutely core to the book’s thesis that war (and interpersonal violence generally) are driven by (fundamentally) either material or reproductive concerns. ‘Reproductive’ here meaning ‘allowing men to secure access to women’, with an accompanying chapter-length aside about how war is a (possibly the most) fundamentally male activity, and any female contributions to it across the span of history are so marginal as to not require explanation or analysis in his comprehensive survey. Women thus appear purely as objects – things to be fought over and fucked – with the closest to any individual or collective agency on their part shown is a consideration that maybe the sexual revolution made western society less violent because it gave young men a way to get laid besides marriage or rape.

Speaking of – as the book moves forward in time, it goes from being deeply flawed but interesting to just, total dreck (though this also might just me being a bit more familiar with what Gat’s talking about in these sections). Given the Orientalism that just about suffuses the book it’s not, exactly, surprising that Gat takes so much more care to characterize the Soviet Union as especially brutal and inhumane that he does Nazi Germany but it is, at least, interesting. And even the section of World War 2 is more worthwhile than the chapters on decolonization and democratic peace theory that follow it.

Fundamentally this is just a book better consumed secondhand, I think – there are some interesting points, but they do not come anywhere near justifying slogging through the whole thing.

#book review #history #war in human civilization #azar gat

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