#Promotion learning curve

[warrenhearted]

I've A Lot recently going just Slightly Sideways if not Fully Off the Rails during the busiest season of my year in a way that seems precision-crafted to remind me:

that if I don't schedule my system maintenance (rest + recovery time), my equipment (body) will schedule it for me.

I should accept help when it is offered, and ask for it when I need it.

I really think that I have learned my little sitcom lesson, so if we could stop trying to shove as many Silly Mishaps into the episode as possible, that would be great because I am sobbingly tired.

Silver lining, because I can't not:

My friends and family are fucking amazing and have shown up for me on so many ways over there course of *waves hands at various Situations* and I know it's only hitting me so hard emotionally because I'm very "thanks, but I've got it handled!" (Eldest daughter disease), but I've at least cried about how much friends love me as much as I have about any of the stupid shit that's been happening.

[mxtxfanatic]

I read tgcf first and then mdzs, and now I'm gonna read svsss. I don't mind spoilers, and I'm wondering, is the main protagonist a morally righteous character like Wei Wuxian and Xie Lian? Because the title of the book is a little bit suspicious, but then again, it could be a misnomer like in mdzs.

Absolutely, Shen Qingqiu is a sweetheart, though you may need to be more careful in your reading than the other two novels, because there’s a lot of funky (intentional but in a fun way) slippage between what’s the narration (what sqq “should” be feeling about a thing) and what’s just Shen Qingqiu (his actual thoughts and feelings about a thing). I’d suggest starting with the 7seas release if you have access to it. Anyways, this isn’t a spoiler since it should be the synopsis and is also like the intro, but the “scum villain” in the title refers to the fact that that is the character Shen Yuan transmigrates into.

[neonsix67]

They want to hug you

[solrites]

@afterdeaths, for xander- from solveig, with love.

" OKAY, s-so. " solveig blinks rather rapidly, hands fidgeting with the ends of her curls. she's trying NOT to pop her gum in his face - because maelina said that it's rude, even if she doesn't mean to. there's an almost apologetic smile on her features. "um. j-just be-because this shop is called ghosts in the attic, it - it doesn't mean it's l-like, haunted."

a beat. "a-and i think that's just broken - broken because it's, like, old. i - i don't think there's a gh-ghost in there, or something. i can give you haunted locations. it's new orleans, it- it won't be, like, hard."

[vikingsong]

WIP Wednesday (7/26/23)

Hushed voices drew Arthur out of his slumber. Eyes still tightly shut, he tried to remember why his face was smooshed against a book instead of his fluffy pillows. The fog of sleep thinned, revealing the memories of the language curse and the fruitless search for a cure. His neck ached as though he’d been on patrol, sleeping on nothing but unforgiving rocks and inconveniently-placed tree roots. Of course, he had no intention of admitting that to anyone, least of all Merlin. He squeezed his eyes shut against the slivered rays of dawn that filtered in through the east-facing window. Before he had mustered the courage to lift his head and continue his research, his attention was drawn to the murmuring voices that had woken him. Feigning sleep, he listened with morbid curiosity as the two traitors discussed Arthur’s fate.

“How early did you go out this morning?” Merlin asked with an audible yawn. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

Gaius hummed disapprovingly. “You had fallen asleep on Galen’s De ossibus ad tirones. If you thought reading that was relevant to the situation, then I know you were too tired to be thinking clearly.”

“It could be relevant!”

There was a pause. Arthur could almost hear Gaius’ skeptical eyebrow over the soft crackle of the fire in the hearth.

Merlin sighed. “I mean, I’d read every other book we have in here. I figured it couldn’t hurt.”

A ladle clinked against a pot, followed by the double clunk of bowls being set on the table by the hearth. A bench creaked, and the smell of porridge drifted through the chamber.

“Did you find anything useful?” Gaius asked.

“In that book? No.”

“And the rest?”

“Also no.” Merlin sighed again. “Did you find anything in the library?”

“I did not find anything useful, either. Not even in the collection of books Geoffrey had…preserved.”

There was a thunk, and Merlin’s reply was muffled. “Of course not. That would be too easy.”

Arthur’s head was already on the table, or he would have added a thunk of his own.

A bench squeaked. “Wait,” Merlin said, voice unmuffled, “did you go through the books in the secret room, too?”

Gaius hummed. “No, not yet. I had forgotten about that collection.”

The scrape of spoons against bowls resumed. Merlin replied around a mouthful of porridge, “I’ll look after breakfast.”

“No, you won’t. You’re going to do the morning deliveries first.”

“But—”

“People still need their medicines, Merlin. You know that.” Gaius’ tone softened. “Those books have been gathering dust for more than twenty years; they can wait for one more hour.”

“But Arthur can’t.”

“Arthur is still sleeping. Finish your porridge.” Ignoring Merlin’s grumbling, Gaius continued, “I was surprised to see Arthur here.”

“Me too.” Merlin sighed. “I…I don’t understand it. It’s clear he doesn’t want to be here, but he’s actually helping. Or trying to, at least. But I still don’t know what he’s going to do with me when—if—I break the enchantment.”

“That would be a difficult conversation even without the language barrier.”

“I don’t think it’s the language barrier; I understand most of what he’s saying. It’s more what he’s not saying.”

“How do you mean?”

“For a moment, it seemed like he was my friend again. He ordered me to get some sleep while he read.” The spoon clunked in the bowl. “But when I woke up, he yelled at me.”

“That could mean anything. He yells at you daily, cursed or not.”

Merlin huffed a sardonic laugh. “I’m well aware, thanks.” His tone sobered. “This was different. I told him it was my fault that Morgana turned out so twisted.”

“Why would you tell him that?” Gaius demanded, aghast.

“Because he asked,” Merlin said simply. “I’m tired. I’m tired of lying. Tired of hiding. He knows about my magic now, so there’s no point in lying anymore.”

“You didn’t have to start with that,” Gaius countered.

“I don’t care.” The bench scraped across the floor as Merlin shoved it back and rose. “I don’t want to lie anymore. I never wanted to lie. Not to him. Not to Morgana, either.”

“It wasn’t your fault. You mustn’t blame yourself; you had no choice.”

“That’s not true,” Merlin replied, crossing to the sideboard. There was a splosh followed by the sound of Merlin scrubbing his bowl with more force than necessary. “I did have a choice, but all the options were bad. It was the lesser of two evils, but it was still evil.”

Gaius sighed, and the weight of many years hung heavy on his words. “She chose Morgause over Camelot. You did what you had to do to save Camelot, to save Arthur.”

“I know. I just…” The rough scrubbing paused. “I’m tired of only having bad options, I guess.”

[enchi-elm]

Inception is funny because the final heist is a wildly different experience for everyone involved.

Yusuf drives across town under gunfire and voluntarily drives off the edge of a bridge. He probably has a resting heart rate of 180 for the duration and it’s over in, say, 15 minutes.

Arthur finally gets to snap at his boss, something we get the sense he’s been wanting to do for a solid year now. He vents the rest of his frustrations on unsuspecting goons, then spends the rest of the heist quietly problem solving around his unconscious and therefore uncomplaining teammates. This is probably his preferred way of dealing with people.

Saito gets shot and dies an agonizing death for anywhere from a few minutes to about an hour. Instead of being allowed to peacefully suffer, he volunteers to lead his business rival on a mountain expedition that involves driving pitons into rock, then survives a free fall down the same mountain before holding off enemy fire with his dying breath. His reward for finally kicking the bucket is aging fifty fucking years.

Cobb literally goes through every stage of grief and dies twice. I mean he’s not my favourite but he’s certainly suffering for his art.

Ariadne is on the steepest learning curve of her life: by the end of this learning abroad experience, she’s a certified psychiatrist and also she’s shot someone.

Eames is going through every single one of his employable skills like an intern hoping to be promoted at the end of term. This includes hitting on two billionaires and firing a grenade launcher to impress a coworker. By far having the most fun.

Robert Fischer has been the CEO of a Fortune 500 company for a week. He’s been sedated, kidnapped, conned, betrayed, led mountain-climbing, shot, resuscitated, and resolves an adult life time worth of daddy issues in the time it takes to order coffee. Possibly fires his uncle when he lands for reasons he can’t explain even to himself.

[dimension20stuff]

I think tomorrow...I'm leaving work at 1 for a vet appointment, so I'll have some time after that. I think I'll do some weeding to the area of the yard I intend to plant, and then get some seeds started in toilet paper tubes in my garage for now (too windy, I'm sure the seeds would blow away + I want to be able to distinguish them from the weeds before they are amongst them). And there are some that may need a longer period of cold to germinate, but some I think I'm early enough to rush? Maybe? So maybe I didn't completely miss this planting season.

I fear I may have let the native seed sowing period slip through my fingers.....

[bobluvbot]

late night cravings

pairing: sirius black x afab!reader summary: you sneak off the night for a cheeky midnight snack, hoping sirius won’t notice (spoiler alert: he does, and he’s sulky about it)  wc: 4k cw: pregnancy & baby talk, descriptions of food and eating, brief allusions to sex (not directly stated), no physical traits of reader specified but sirius can hold things out of reader’s reach  a/n: so i had a lengthy angst fic for sirius’s debut on my blog and im halfway done on it but i cant seem to finish it bc it sends me to a depressing spiral each time <33333 so pls enjoy a very self-indulgent domestic excessively fluffy blurb with my beloved <33333 p.s this is not proofread so plz ignore mistakes ty <3

opening the tomato salsa jar turned out to be the hardest part. 

back in bed, you thought the trickiest part of your late night escapade from sirius black was his long limbs wound up tight with yours, even in low light of the small nightlight in the corner, you could still make out the intricate script and designs following the curves and dips of his strong arms, holding you close to his chest. 

you had it committed to memory by now, having explored sirius’s body well enough to memorize the way his skin feels against yours, with heartbeats and breaths falling in sync without much effort. 

judging by the way his breathing gets heavy after every exhale and the little snores that escape in between, you knew he was beyond knackered. it was day five of sirius’s new job as an deputy director at the auror office. the day he learned about the promotion was pure unadulterated happiness. after letting you know through an express owl, you mustered up enough vigor available to your seven months pregnant self to get out of the house and go to the local shops to get party supplies and food to celebrate sirius’s achievement. 

Coming in third out of the list of things he genuinely loved in this life, after you and his luscious locks of course, was his job as an auror. young sirius had never thought in his wildest dreams that he’d work at the ministry, much less actually enjoy it. can’t really blame sixteen year old sirius, starting an underground rock band with the marauders seemed like the perfect thing to do after gruelling hours of studying at hogwarts. 

defense against the dark arts came to him naturally, with some counterspells like second nature to him as being exposed with use of dark magic young gave him no choice but to grow up quickly and defend himself from the excruciating pain or the mind control that was from his own family’s doing. Winning the first wizarding war alongside his friends and found family has solidified sirius’s calling in eradicating the use of dark magic and making sure the next generation can have a safe and normal life without the looming threat of a megalomaniac sorting people with their blood status and taking over the wizarding world. 

that night, sirius walked into a dark and eerily quiet home that had his senses on overdrive. but when the lights turned on and he saw familiar faces of his loved ones all beaming with pride, and there you were in the center, looking ethereal and round and all his, with his favorite red velvet cake on hand and a ridiculously big balloon that says “congratulations” tied to the candle, he could have melted in a syrupy mess of gooey happiness right then and there if he hadn’t caught himself together last minute.

Sirius had thought– that after you agreeing to go on one date with him to hogsmeade, winning the quidditch cup and seeing the proud look on minerva’s face, going home for christmas break and euphemia welcoming him with a kiss on the cheek and a warm hug, remus teaching at the very same classroom you all were in years back, james and lily’s first kiss at the altar, holding little baby harry in his arms, you walking down the aisle with a bouquet of peonies in the most beautiful dress, and when you held his hand that one night and told him that you were expecting—- that he knew of love. but you do something extraordinary that has him scrambling to add to the endless list of why you’re the love of his life. he was so focused on you that he wasn’t prepared to catch pure muscle of james’s body as he flung himself to tackle his best friend in a hug. luckily, remus with a party hat was aptly standing between a toppling sirius and the living room wall, and he singlehandedly saved the two from creating a huge hole in the drywall. 

this was the life, sirius had thought after many hours of partying celebrating and eating, when he laid beside you in bed, limbs tangled, sated and dizzy and warm as you both came down from your highs. and he gets to spend it with you.

but as fun and exciting sirius’s new job is, it entailed an increased amount of responsibility as he was assisting the head auror. his least favorite part of the job was the boatloads of paperwork he has to deal with. An express owl almost dropped a howler letter into the soup you were making for dinner earlier that day and you opened it up panicking thinking it was an emergency. But no, it was just sirius whining that his hand hurt and is about to fall off and that he needs you to kiss it better. 

You did eventually, and one thing led to another and here you were, tucked in your husband’s warm embrace. you could stay here forever, only separating to drink water and bathroom trips, but the gnawing urge to eat something savory, sweet, tangy, and crunchy has possessed your entire being, the only way to quell it was to get up and go to the kitchen. the baby doesn’t seem to have a semblance of time yet, a fact you both envied and despised, because the clock on your nightstand said it was 3:48am in bold red numbers. A few months ago, you’d never be caught dead awake at this time, taking your precious sleep time seriously. The man himself would poke fun at you and say you’d gladly sleep through an earthquake or a housefire just as long as you get your seven to eight hours of sleep per day, and despite of your assumed role of contradicting and arguing with spontaneous and stubborn sirius, you had to agree.

But this was not about you anymore, or at least not quite yet for a good seventeen years, so you untangle yourself from sirius and your perfectly warm and cool side of the bed and waddle down the carpeted stairs, careful not to set foot on the creaky step that might risk waking sirius up. You need your secrets too, and you’re not in the mood to share food.

Grateful for the heavens that you and sirius stocked up on groceries two days ago, you had a wide selection of random items to munch on. A few days ago, you were introduced to the idea of a fluffernutter sandwich while scrolling through the short videos on your feed. Peanut butter and marshmallow fluff as spreads on their own was something you didn’t mind eating, but both together in a sandwich? You were enthralled, and the only way to quell the curiosity was to make it. So you did. 

You shovel and slather more than enough spread on each slice of bread, though you might have used the same spoon on both jars.. but who’s to tell you off otherwise, your snoozing husband upstairs? pfft. 

Smiling happily as if committing a particularly naughty crime, you place the spoon in your mouth, licking off the gooey mixture as you place the sandwich on a piece of paper towel (yes, you take the no dishwashing tonight seriously) on the table. humming, you mull over what to prepare next.

The baby needs something savory and tangy, but you’re not particularly keen on going through all the effort of heating up the soup from dinner, not to mention the amount of cutlery and dishes you’ll use for that, so you zero in on the tostada shells you chose rather than tortilla chips because its much more crispier. 

Opening the fridge, you see the laughing cow on a round packaging and decide its the one, so you grab two cheese wedges from it. 

Sirius had argued that the next aisle had actual, real blocks of cheese with a variety on display and that there was no point in getting artificially flavored ones. But you’ve gotten really good at giving him the stank face, which inadvertently ends 75 percent of nonsense bickering before it even starts; and since you’ve started showing more and more, sirius has admittedly gone softer on you, not that he was ever more but a pushover your entire relationship. Merely widening of eyes and a jut of your lower lip, even adding a slight tremble or two during times where you did actually fuck up, sirius can’t hold his stance longer than a minute before sighing and taking you in his arms. he might call you out for being a brat at times, but there’s no denying he loves it. And so the artificial wheel of cheese wedges got purchased and bagged home, and you’re meticulously spreading it over the golden shells, leaving little to no gaps of it bare. 

Laying it on another paper towel, your heart gets giddy on your chest knowing you’re in for a treat tonight. But not quite time to start munching, the baby reminds you that you still need something tangy to complete the meal. So comes your big predicament, should you get dill pickles or tomato salsa? 

It took you ten seconds too long of weighing down the pros-and-cons of choosing one and feeling like you made the wrong choice if you end up not liking it. It doesn’t help that the pregnancy hormones make you more anxious and tend to put you always on the verge of tears. So when the not-so-groundbreaking idea of just eating them both hits you, you feel the weight slide off your shoulders as you sigh. Because again, who’s gonna tell you that eating pickles this late at night can give you bad acid reflux, your snoozing husband? Pfft.

Snacking on some, you do manage to pick out the juiciest looking pickle chips and lay them atop of your tostadas. You and the little one are beyond excited to dive in. It’s looking like a mini upside-down pizza with the cheese spread first then the pickle as toppings. Only thing left now was the the tomato salsa slathered on top to seal the deal. 

Opening tight lids wasn’t an issue for you before, in fact, you took pride when friends hand you a jar or bottle to open because you could do it in a breeze. Chances were, the lid wasn’t even screwed on that tight, you were just built different, you’d say with a shrug once you give the items back. So when the tomato jar doesn’t budge after two attempts, you get puzzled.

Maybe your hands were slippery? You wipe them down with a tea towel and try again. No.

You weren’t holding it tight enough? Fingers held taut against the lid, you try three times. Still no.

Determined, you try different positions before letting the jar go, shooting it glares as if it’d get intimidated and just open up for you. You were also getting lightheaded, and passing out on the kitchen floor due to excessive stimulation of your vagal reflex because you were too stubborn to use magic or wake your husband up to open it for you doesn’t seem like the best way to spend the early Tuesday morning hours.

Magic was even out of the option (well, in your brain it was), because your wand’s tucked beside sirius’s on your nightstand, and frankly, you don’t have the patience to drag yourself upstairs just to flick a utility spell to open the wretched thing. So you do the next best option: lose hope. 

The disappointment was mutual between you and your baby. And the acid reflux did start to kick in, making your stomach grumble in both hunger and pain. This was all going so well until it isn’t, tears began to make its way up to your eyes.

“See, this is what you get for being greedy and eating all snacks by yourself,” sirius huffs behind you, deep voice still raspy with sleep. You didn’t even hear him getting out of bed and coming down the stairs, that’s how preoccupied you were with opening the jar.

He grabs the container away from you to open it, but not without throwing a scowl at your direction, handsome face contorted with furrowed eyebrows and downturned mouth, enough to express that he felt betrayed by this whole ordeal. If you were in a better mood, you’d poke his sides and tackle him playfully, teasing him for being sulky. But for now, you need the jar opened so you could eat in peace. You’ll deal with the sharing food issue later.

“t wasn’t supposed to take long,” you mumble, caught off guard and refusing to make eye contact, pretending the fridge magnets beside sirius’s head is ten times more interesting than his face. You don’t miss his raised eyebrow and snort at your response. 

The second attempt comes and he opens it with a satisfying pop. your mouth falls agape, eyeing the *now accessible* tomato salsa dip in disbelief. What the hell? 

And you couldn’t even take the smug grin spreading across sirius’s face by the millisecond. Refuse to. You try to snatch the open container away from him but he holds it higher and out of reach, making a show of puffing his chest, flexing his biceps, even giving it a kiss. This is all James’s doing, you need to have a talk with Lily soon about keeping these two separated.

“Sirius!” you try to plead your way out. the trademark innocent, pouty expression settles on your face like a second mask, hoping he’d go down this easy. 

It doesn’t work. He just chuckles, mocking your pleas and face while his free hand sneaks up and pinches your unsuspecting cheek to tease you further.

You yelp in mock outrage and swat his hand away, trying your best to keep your displeasure firm on your face, but you feel the giggles coming up. “This is why I sneak out alone to eat, you’re such a bully,” you huff, but take a seat in front of your makeshift spread. 

Sirius places the jar near you, but not without poking your exposed sides, armed with the knowledge that the easiest way to get you laughing (and eventually conceding in an argument) is knowing where your tickle zones are. “Oh yeah,” he drawls, plopping himself beside you. “That’s also why you’re the only one waking up with an upset stomach, stinking up our bathroom so early in the morning.”

Now this one got you appalled, embarrassed, disturbed, basically hit with all the feelings. You’ve been living together long before you got married, and he never brought up this issue until today. “That’s it. I’m leaving.” He makes a move to snatch the sandwich away but the embarrassment on your cheeks made you more agile, swatting his hand away and shielding the sandwich with your hands. “After I finish my meal,” you continue, shooting him a glare.

But see, one of the things that drove you nuts even way back at Hogwarts, was how Sirius Black mostly managed to outsmart you or be one step ahead of you in everything. After you turned him down without much thought whatsoever despite his grand declaration of interest, Sirius took it upon himself to show you (1) that you made a mistake for rejecting him, (2) that his ego won’t let you embarrass him like that again, (3) and that you won’t get rid of him that easily. Once he set his eyes on you, you were face to face with him in everything: grades, OWLs/NEWTs scores, Quidditch plays and bets, wins at the duelling club, even with the fucking gobstones tournament. He never let you catch a break.

Things were surely different now, since you vowed to be with him in sickness and health and untill death parts you both– hell, you’re carrying his child. So you figured maybe, maybe, he’ll let you catch a break this time. Let you eat in peace as you mull over his bathroom comment and how you’re going to get him back. 

But again, no. Unlike you, Sirius remembered to grab his wand from the nightstand. Not even batting an eye, he says nonchalantly, “Accio sandwich.” And the fluffernutter you protected with all your physical might managed to escape your watch, and land gracefully on his waiting palm. 

What irritated you more from this whole ordeal? The prodigal auror that climbed his way up the ranks and became the youngest deputy director, fully capable of complex spells and wielding different kinds of magic, felt the need to do a verbal Accio spell just to make a point to you.

Out of words, you just stare at him blankly. Too stunned to even cry in frustration because you knew you made a conscious, willing choice to be with this man. 

Maybe your best guilt-tripping expression comes best when you’re not trying. Color drains from his face when you remained silent and he scrambles to take a bite off the sandwich before handing it back to you, or rather placing it on your limp hand as you refuse to acknowledge it, still too hurt to budge. “‘m sorry, baby. Just wanted to eat with you since we didn’t get to earlier.”

He did arrive later than usual, deciding to finish the stack of case files and paperwork so he won’t have to sift through them again the next day. There were plans to wait for him before eating, but when the jitteriness and slightly nausea started to kick in, you had no choice in the matter. Sirius had been sulky and clingy the moment he got home, and as compromise, you stayed to watch him eat; listening and reacting animatedly as he ranted about his stressful day.

So you cut him off some slack, also exhausted from all the emotional stimulation sirius brought since he woke up. As a silent peace offering (also because you’re not ready to say sorry to his face), you slide the tostadas within his reach and finally take your bite of the goddamn sandwich. It was good, tasted as expected, sweet peanut butter. You’d probably have it again as a drunk at 3am meal.

Sirius also went and got snacks of his own: microwaved popcorn, pickles, toasted bread slathered with butter, and grapes. Together, you munched on the little spread of random food you could find in your kitchen at 4am in comfortable silence, which is surprising after the earlier bickering. No matter how cheesy it sounded in your head, sirius was the only person that can drive you to the brink of insanity and right back. You were in for a hell of a ride for the foreseeable future; and while there’s a lot of uncertainty right now and changes to be made when the little one gets here, you’re beyond happy that you get to do all this with him. 

Sleep was beginning to creep up on you. Of course he notices this right when you do, so a warm arm wrapped across your back urges you to settle on his lap, bodies melding into the familiar crevices like puzzle pieces, though you both had to adjust certain angles to accommodate your growing belly. You sit like this for a while; your head tucked securely in the crook of his neck, steady breaths lulling you to sleep, while sirius’s hands instinctively finds its way under your sleep shirt and on the natural curve of your belly, lithe fingers stroking and drawing soothing circles anywhere he could reach. 

you wish you could stay like this forever– cozy and soft and safe– but alas, you were carrying sirius black’s offspring. the baby decides to reward you with a round of kicks, probably giddy after feeling their father’s touch. Sirius chuckles and coos at your bump, while a muffled groan leaves your lips from the sudden onslaught of movement, but still refusing to move from this comfortable position.

Smooth cold lips touch the side of your forehead and you relish in the feeling. “Does it ever hurt, love? All that kicking and wiggling?” 

“Not really,” a content sigh leaves your lips. “Feels strange at times, seeing your belly move on its own.” 

To prove your point, two tiny bulges make a split second appearance just above where Sirius’s hand lay. His thumb soothes the area lovingly.

“Definitely getting stronger though; Lily told me during the later months, harry for some reason loved to kick downwards, making bathroom trips more frequent than it already is. Not excited for that.”

He presses kisses on your forehead, temple, hairline, anywhere he could reach without moving too much. “Things that you do and endure for this ‘lil troublemaker,” sirius murmurs. He doesn’t need to say it out loud, you could feel his body reverberating with awe and fondness. You try to bask in it for as long as you could, but a passing thought makes its presence known to you again.

“Do i really make the bathroom stink?” it comes out whinier than you intended it to be but you just had to know for peace of mind. 

Sirius’s whole frame vibrates as he tries to stifle his laughter, taking you with him. He’s laughing at your expense but you feel your own giggles brewing in your belly. You try to hold it in for longer, preserving some self respect. “A little bit,” he says solemnly. You groan, earlier mortified feeling returning in full swing. It triggers another round of chuckles.

“But dove, it’s nothing that my deep love and adoration for my lovely strong hot and sexy wife can’t handle.” He says assuredly, and you curse yourself for being so down bad for this man as blood rushes to your cheeks from his words. Good thing it’s dim and your face is still tucked in the crook of his neck. 

You do pinch his arm in response, and both your laughters compliment the comfortable silence. 

“Although,” he says after a while. “The betrayal of you eating without me still hurts.” 

“Siri.. i’m sorry,” you mumble. “‘y looked so tired, Didn’t wanna wake you up.”

He tuts and doesn’t say much after that. In sirius dictionary, this means he just wants some affection from you— for you to dote on him and coax out his forgiveness, even if you both know he’s not really mad; judging by his arms still wrapped securely around your frame and steady breaths that tickle and fan on your bare skin. 

So you mimic his actions from earlier, planting tiny kisses on his neck, collarbones, jawline, anywhere your lips could reach. Kissing his cheek seem to do the trick, his fake scowl quickly coming undone as a bashful smile breaks through the frown, and his tiny dimple you love so much making an appearance. The muggle maternity books did say dimples are genetic, so an image of a little Sirius running around and smiling up at you with those dimpled cheeks is a warming thought. 

“I am charming all the lids to be stuck at night as soon as i wake up tomorrow for work.” You poke a sensitive spot on his side, making him jolt, but you couldn’t resist laughter as it bubbles out of the surface. “You’re insufferable, I can’t believe I married a psychopath.”

“And you let him knock you up too. I’d say it takes one to know one, hm?” 

[quixotical-lymbo]

Helloooo! I've never requested before... so this is my first time. (Is this how I request? I'm still clueless with Tumblr)

If you can! Could you do TFO Sentinel Prime x Advisor Cybertronian Reader? 😽

Pairing: Sentinel Prime x gn!advisor!Reader Rating: SFW-ish Summary: Working to keep the city of Iacon running as efficiently as possible proves to be difficult when the bot in charge has a tendency to throw a wrench in your plans. Warnings/Tags: cybertronian reader, implied toxic dynamics, brief mention of vomiting, one-sided attraction, or is it?, and corruption. Word Count: 1400+ words 

Digits danced along the bright screen detailing the reports of data collected from the guards overseeing the mines. Your optics brightened as you processed the numbers and spotted a few increases. 

Shifting your weight from pede to pede, your lower derma was bitten as you narrowed in on the section of the report where the increase was evident. 

This meant another promotion was on the horizon, perhaps you should schedule a meeting with-

The datapad in your servos disappeared and when you snapped your gaze to glare at the thief, the heat of your glare was extinguished into an optic ridge lifting as your helm craned to look up at the face of your superior who came into view. 

"___." Hearing your destination roll off his glossa felt like a group of scraplets biting at your circuits. Eating away at you until you're nothing left but an empty husk of everything wrong with you. 

"...Sentinel," You greeted with a nod. Your optics locked onto the datapad before switching between the device and his face. Your arm lifted briefly as your digits curled slightly toward the pad. "May I…?" 

"Oh…this thing?" Sentinel rose the datapad above his helm, knowing your stature couldn't reach such heights. "You want this…why?" 

"It is mine." 

"And?" 

"I need it, sir." 

"Is that so?" Sentinel observed the way your dermas pursed and digits flexed stiffly. The mech felt a warm fuzzy feeling erupt in his chassis in seeing you squirm within his presence. The tip of his glossa swiped over his bottom derma, "Y'know, I've been meaning to ask you a few things and I think this is the perfect time to do so!" 

"But I-" 

"-what do you do in your spare time? Me, I like to…"

You squeezed your optics shut and blocked out the sound from your audials. Your fears grew as Sentinel turned on his heel and walked away with your datapad in servo. 

You really needed it back to be able to continue your work. Without the sensitive information on your personal datapad, you wouldn't be able to sit still for the rest of the chord unless you did something productive for the day.

"...___? You there?" 

You snapped out of your stupor and stared dumbly as Sentinel rose his own optic ridge. The corner of his intake curved upward as he shook the datapad in his servo, "Come on, I gotta show you something." 

Despite the alarm bells going off in your processor, you obeyed his silent order and followed him to his office. The large room made you visibly shrink into yourself as memories from long ago flashed in your helm.

This was the place that was a stark reminder of where you learned...that for the first time. 

 

"Where are we going, ma'am?" 

Airachnid didn't turn to look at you, not that she needed to, and simply said, "You'll see." 

You looked around the unfamiliar area. Weird, thin blade-like things sprouted from the ground and were abundant in the mountainous terrain the two of you were trekking on. 

You were halted by a servo placed in front of your chassis and when you glanced up to see Airachnid's digit pointing in a direction you followed it to see-

Your intake twisted in knots.

Sentinel, Quintessons, ships, so many ships. 

Your internal fans kicked in as your frame began heating up. You felt dizzy, nauseous even, and you somehow found the strength to lock your blurry optics to the larger femme.

The corners of her dermas stretched upward. 

You turned your helm and vomited. 

You flinched when a heavy servo landed on your shoulder pad.

"Ah!" You stumbled forward as Sentinel pushed you along toward the large windows overlooking the city. You stood straight when the servo on your shoulder lowered to the area just above your aft. 

A shudder dragged its cold digit up your back strut. The false Prime's laugh brought forth a second. 

"It's been sometime since you became my assistant, huh?" Sentinel began. "I remember the first time I met you! Heh, can't believe you couldn't look at me in the optic because of how nervous you were…but after you warmed up to me, you were quite the yapper." 

You acknowledged his words with a nod. The digits rubbing against your back paused as the expression on Sentinel's face plate darkened. 

"I missed that." 

You broke your neutral expression to look at him. 

"You, being chatty and all, now you're….boring," Sentinel patted your aft and snickered when you jumped. He turned away from you and walked over to his desk, plopping on the chair he threw the datapad on his desk and slightly shifted his legs to leave them comfortably spread. 

"What changed?" As if feigning ignorance, the mech had the nerve to appear sad. 

You stalled for a moment, optics shifting and digits digging into the palm of your servos, "I…um, got busy. It's no easy feat helping someone like you–"

Sentinel's optics narrowed and you quickly sputtered out, "-someone as famous, uh, fabulous, and..um…and well-loved run a city!" 

"Ok, ok, I get it, really." Sentinel Prime waved a servo. "You're…'busy.'" 

"Yes, sir." 

"Hm." Sentinel's optics racked over your frame. "You work a lot so you must be tired, c'mere and get off your pedes for a while." 

"Oh, I shouldn't." 

"I don't remember asking, ___." Sentinel moved one servo to rest on his lap. "Sit." 

You inched over to the desk and made your way around it, but your wrist was caught and before you knew it, you stumbled back and fell onto the mech's lap. You immediately moved to get off but an arm snaked around your midsection plating and caged you against a broad chassis. The heat radiating off of the mech behind you caused you to stiffen. 

"There you go, sweetspark." Sentinel cooed. "Let's continue where we left off, 'kay?"

"Now, what's so important it's managed to steal your attention away from me?" 

"...there's been an increase in miner productivity," You mumbled. 

"...that's what's got you in a tizzy?" Sentinel mulled over what you said before peeking over at the datapad disregarded at the corner of his desk. A noise left him as he nodded, "Oh, right…the method you mentioned in the last meeting we had…it worked?" 

"Yes," You slowly crept out of your shell. "Allowing the miners to work without tight restrictions, more breaks, and even adding more recreational areas for their enjoyment has yielded good results." 

You paused to check Sentinel's face plate. He was leaning back against the chair, the side of his helm resting against two digits as a soft smile etched onto his dermas. When you hesitated, Sentinel gestured for you to continue as his other servo rested on your hip. 

"...and I-" You continued after gaining the green-light and divulged into your plan. Sometimes, you would catch the blue and gold mech glancing between your animated servos and the lower half of your face plate. Despite this, you felt…safe. Safe enough to ramble on and on about your plans and future aspirations for the city. 

"...and I've been thinking, why not try to use some of my free time to look through our database to find information on where the matrix is-" 

The servo on your hip dug into your plating causing you to hiss. Sentinel heard and removed his servo from you, "Ah, sorry." 

He didn't sound like he meant it. 

"Matrix?" Sentinel inquired with a loop-sided grin. "You what to try and…find it?" 

"Well, maybe, I don't know the logistics, but if I can find a lead maybe you won't have to continue the deal with-" 

"-shh, shh, shh," Sentinel cupped the side of your face and leaned down. The distance between you two caused your optics to grow in size, you don't even know if you're breathing anymore. 

"Let's talk about something other than work…hey, what kind of drink do you like? Wait, wait,  better yet, let me get us some. I'll buy the whole bar out." 

You couldn't find the words to deny his request and watched as Sentinel pressed a digit to the side of his helm to comm some bot to bark his request. 

 

…this'll be a long evening. 

😼 - I do not give permission for anyone to translate, copy, republish, or plagiarize any of my written works. I provide no permission for any of my literary works to be used in artificial intelligence. banners by @kodaswrld !!

[star-anise]

are we talking about broke therapists yet?

I've been out of things for a couple of years now, which is why I'm willing to talk about it, and maybe the pandemic has helped things a little, but holy shit the counselling and psychotherapy field is not equipped to help its practitioners in the gig economy.

Of all my interests and talents, I pursued a degree in psychology because being a therapist is supposed to be a safe, stable, well-paid job. Every therapist I met who was registered before 2008 worked and lived under that assumption. And oh boy are all the fee structures--registration, supervision, continuing education, conferences--set up for that scenario.

After getting my Master's, I struggled like hell to get a job. It was especially bad because to get my license, I needed a supervisor to take me on. To take me on, most supervisors wanted me to already have a caseload and client base. To get a caseload and client base, I needed a job.

Friends: Every single job I heard back on wanted me to have my license before I could even land an interview.

Professors and career advisors and professional development specialists all advised me very earnestly to just keep cold-calling people on the supervision list, and it began to feel a lot like my parents' friends telling me to hit the bricks and hand out resumes. That's what worked for them, right?

I finally got a supervisor who agreed to take me on, and I'd be able to use her clinic for advertising and workspace, and we were doing the paperwork to send in with my registration, when she called me up and said, "Is this job going to be your only source of income? If you're trying to depend on getting clients and building your practice for your basic needs, this is not going to work out. This has to be something you're doing on top of a basic salary. Okay, so you're not working anywhere else right now? I'm sorry, I can't move forward with this."

Even once I landed a supervisor and a job building my own private practice, I struggled. I have ADHD and am not great at self-promotion, so trying to do all my own advertising, scheduling, bookkeeping, billing, and records management (on top of counselling) was an enormous strain. One my bosses, supervisors, and other senior professionals watched with a slightly critical eye, but consoled me about because in their early days, their clinics had had business managers, receptionists, filing clerks, and accountants, and getting used to doing everything online yourself was a bit of a learning curve, wasn't it?

I counted my pennies very carefully, because I had to pay my supervisor roughly $180 for their services every 6 hours of in-person counselling I did. This meant that to break even I had to charge my clients an average of about $30 (plus room rental and service fees) an hour--and my clients, being people with complex trauma, were frequently poor, disabled, unemployed, and had no health benefits, so even $10 or $20 a session was a lot for them.

Maybe it would have been easier if I could have taken some of those nice comfortable organization positions where they find clients and funding for you and you work 40 hours a week and get benefits and a pension, but I had to be disabled into the bargain, so working 40 hours a week just isn't possible for me. I start passing out from stress and exhaustion. Older colleagues gave me serious-faced advice about approaching my employer and asking them for some flexibility and accommodation in my schedule, and I tried to explain across the gap between us that employers simply did not hire me if I made the slightest noise about the workload. They weren't going to invest in me as a person; they were hiring 40 units of work a week, and if I wouldn't do it there were a dozen applicants after me who would.

At one point I broke down enough to email my licensing body because the Annual General Meeting/Professional Development Conference was coming up, and I wanted to attend, but I could not produce $500 to do it with. Was there some kind of way I could attend anyway? I felt ashamed to have to ask, and then absolutely mortified when the response came from the organization president, who needed to personally sign off on me being too poor to attend the single most important event in my profession's calendar year.

I honestly felt so ashamed all the time at how I was apparently failing to be a successful therapist, failing to be rich and successful, and every time I mentioned it around mentors and bosses, I could feel myself shrinking from a person to a problem to be solved. My closest therapist-friends and I have reflected on how much more difficult, poorly-paid and underworked, our various career starts have been than we were ever warned about. About the classmates and coworkers who couldn't get disability exceptions when they fell behind in their registration requirements, or burned out and left the field, or dropped their registrations and took up as life coaches, or moved their whole family somewhere exceptionally remote or rural because it was the only good job available, or worked for some godforsaken app skirting the bounds of malpractice like BetterHelp.

I like those conversations, because I feel less like an absolute fuck-up in them. There's less "Hey Lis, you were so talented in grad school, I really admired you, what are you doing now?" "Oh, I, uh... am professionally disabled, so I get government benefits, and I... sell embroidery patterns on Etsy now."

My own therapist kept asking if and when I felt like going back to being a counsellor, and I finally told him: I don't, actually. I don't want to go back and do it like I was doing it before. It was a profession I loved to the depths of my soul, and it profoundly did not love me back. I can't even imagine what would have to change, in me or it, to make it have a space in it that could fit me.

All of which I was way too scared to admit to at the time, because the more I let people know I was struggling, the more they hinted that maybe I just wasn't in a place in my life where this was a job I could do, and I needed to take a little break and wait to come back until money and disability just weren't issues for me anymore.

Eventually my cups of doubt and exhaustion did overflow, and I quit. I'm here now, living a much different life. And at the very least, all my years of helping people in bad life situations set me up perfectly for my own. I already knew what form to fill out for financial assistance, which student clinics to access for mental health support, and which government agency would, if pressed, cough out pharmacy coverage for the genuinely destitute. It gave me that much.

I hope this is just me being in extraordinary circumstances, sitting at the intersections of a few different shitty life situations that most people skip right past. Because it's on one level comforting, but another deeply infuriating, if I'm not, and I've just missed it or we've just all been too afraid to admit it to each other.

[weepingtalecowboy]

Hyrule Warriors strategy lol

Fanfic prompt: A thing I absolutely love about Hyrule warriors is how the game needs strategy and how said strategy evolves

You go from

“Please go there I will carry you there but please don’t run off”

Too

“GET OVER HERE RIGHT THIS SECOND OR ELSE…!,!”

like you end up barking orders like a literal drill sergeant

You have absolutely no faith that anyone would go where they need to

I spent more time in the menu barking orders than I did actually holding and taking over zones

Even funnier is how replaying the game absolutely makes a difference

Where in games like windwaker or twilight princess you are forced to progress slowly through the game

No matter how good you get at them you still need to wait for bosses to enter second and third phase

Or more specifically need to either tear down the barrier (or skip it but that’s hard) or turn into a hylian in both games

The only thing that changes is that you can play the game better and more reliably than before

In Hyrule warriors the learning curve makes replaying the game hilarious

Because the second you genuinely understand the strategy for the game you play it completely differently

Fighting Volga the first time is literally more about precisely mashing buttons and aiming at him every single time than anything else

I beat him in like ten seconds flat

Like from a time travel fix it perspective Hyrule warriors let’s you do everything immediately

Like imagine warriors getting sent back in time to the first ever fight in Hyrule warriors and literally the second he gets promoted he goes full drill sergeant mode on people

Where first time you learn the usefulness of dragging people to do stuff rather late

You also eventually don’t trust anyone to do stuff if you aren’t outright controlling them immediately

This time around warriors got the confidence to scream at people right after he got the promotion lol

It probably looks so funny when a near new recruit gets the audacity to threaten everyone the second he gets promoted

And then out drill sergeants a higher up and finishes missions in like half an hour the most (respect speed run )

But only because he scared everyone into obedience (like npcs run like they would die if they don’t get to the ordered position right this second)

And kept tabs on all the zones that need to be held

While also ignoring literally every enemy except the generals , redeads and other special forces (honestly redeads make NPCs a new level of ineffective… way to slow)

Only doing side missions for two seconds and then doing the main ones exclusively

And boosting moral like crazy (because of how fast you get side missions done)

You legitimately become a tank at some point in Hyrule warriors and not even replaying the entire game would balance it out

Tune and mask probably feared the captain when he went drill sergeant (and you go drill sergeant way too often in this game)

We need more drill sergeant warriors in the fandom

Because in the game nobody disobeys your orders and runs like their lives depend on it

The chain needs to experience drill sergeant warriors when fighting a boss (maybe dink)

No honor for the evil … you trap them in a corner and keep beating them into submission and don’t stop until they disintegrate

Cia didn’t even have a chance lol

We need more time travel where the character simply immediately becomes their best possible form because they simply had a growing as a person arc they could skip this time around

Arguing with that guy about stuff involving missions is probably not recommended

Time and wind just sit back and watch as warriors get into drill sergeant mode and wait till one of the links gets to do pushups

You have better luck with literally any other type of discussion but not military or mission related lol

[growth-opportunities]

My boss is an absolute bimbo. She's never actually done the job or managed anyone. She just giggles and shakes her tits or bends over a lot. She started as a temp and bounced her fattening tits to the top. And I do mean fattening. Every promotion they've gotten bigger. Not just her tits, but them especially. She is always looking for the next boss to shake her tits at in her tight "office" attire. Now the whole department is tanking in productivity after her recent promotion and holding together as well as the buttons on her blouse. And now she just walked in with the CEO who can't take his eyes off her newest "qualifications".

You kept bracing yourself for the day that you came into the office and everything would be painted neon pink. You kept wondering when they'd announce that the company would be rebranding to become the "Big Serious Business-Place, LLC" with a kiss mark as the new logo. You kept thinking about how all of your Christmas bonuses for the last six years had been paid to you in stock and every day you thought about calling your broker and telling them to dump the stock the minute it began to drop.

But as days turned to weeks turned to months, none of those things ever came to pass.

The moment the CEO handed over the keys to the castle, "Cassie", the ditzy bimbo who pouted and bounced and sucked and slept her way to the top, became Cassandra, stone cold business bitch. She still bounced, but with the air and confidence of a woman who knew exactly what she was doing, her heels clicking as she marched through the hallways. The sneers and derision that used to follow her around quickly dried up, her perfectly manicured iron fist rooting out anyone who disrespected her.

You wouldn't have known it with the way she giggled and let her coworkers fawn over her, but Cassandra had gone to business school and graduated top of her class. She had her sights set on the highest corner office she could find, but when she entered the business world and saw first-hand just how cruel and unfair it could be to women, she hatched her plan. She dyed her hair blonde. She spent hours watching makeup tutorials on the internet, replacing her wardrobe one piece at a time to make sure she could hold the attention of her more weak-willed colleagues. With every promotion, she funneled a bit of her new paycheck towards her curves, making them bigger and rounder and more obvious. Key milestones were rewarded by getting bigger lips and a butt lift to make sure that no man could resist her. Sure, she had to suck a few dicks along the way, but that was a lot better than grinding out 70-hour work weeks for years on end. Cassandra did feel the tiniest hint of remorse over firing everyone in the organization that had given her a promotion, but the hard reality is that anyone who makes business decisions based on their dick has no place in Cassandra's new company.

And things worked out alright for you, too. As she sucked and grew her way to the top, she got a taste for every level of the company. She actually had more thorough knowledge of the day-to-day than anyone who has ever sat in the board room. By the end of her first year as CEO, shares were up more than 30% and several of the complaints you muttered quietly about had been addressed. You got promoted, too, when Cassandra's position was vacated, and the results were hard to argue with.

She kept the curves. People learned quickly that they had to take her seriously after all, and if they used her overinflated, borderline spherical tits as an excuse to not do so, well, her pink lipstick matched the color of the slips they found in their inbox a week later. Besides, Cassandra had come to enjoy them. Watching the grow made her impatient for the next fill up, honed by her hunger for success. And the company was doing so well... She began to wonder just how many CCs her end-of-year bonus could get her.

[aitheria]

Summary: Gin was just a snake who found his perfect meal (you).

Pairing: Gin Ichimaru x f!reader

Contains: NSFW, MDNI, explicit sexual content, minor dom/sub undertone, Possesive! Gin, Dominant! Gin, masturbation, penetration, oral sex f!receiving, one minor mention of blood, food and snake 🐍 talk

Word Count: 1.7k-ish

NOTES: I'm throwing in my hat for Bleach smut... I miss Gin :(

It was when he asked, “Can I play with that one?” and Aizen’s lips slightly curved up around the rim of the teacup that your fate was sealed.

For Gin Ichimaru was a snake who had found his next meal.

You were in the Fifth Division for a few months, you had spoken of being proud and happy to be under Captain Aizen. Gin had nodded “Oh he’s great” that foxlike grin never faltering. But it was when you said, “I kind of like you more Lieutenant Ichimaru…don’t tell Captain Aizen!” Gin licked his lips.

“I’d never divulge a secret, (y/n)” he’d purred.

--

It was some time after that when Gin neared his promotion to a Captain himself that he'd found you. Tucked away in a storage closet one evening, humming in delight at the treat between your lips.

“Whatcha doin’?” He peeked in, you jumped. You stumbled back with nervous energy, sweat dotted your brow. “L-l-lieutenant I just- they were so good. I just had to have a few more! I’m sorry Lieutenant Ichimaru!” Your hands shook as you set down the box.

“My my… whatta bad girl” he emphasized each word as he stalked up to you, pulling your stunned form towards him. His eyes drank in your fear, he shivered with delight at his luck.

“Stealin’ my persimmons” his eyes darted to your mouth, your breath smelt sweet. He lowered them to the rise and fall of your chest, a drop of juice sliding down your chin.

“I can think of better things to occupy yer mouth” he leaned in, his lips a ghost on yours. His tongue darted out to that lone drop.

“Just our lil’ secret ‘kay?” he’d grinned at your quick nod.

--

After that you were moved to the Third Division. Moved right to his den, for Gin was a greedy man. It began as subtle remarks to knock you off balance, his words twisting your perception. Making you second guess yourself in your daily tasks. Then began the soft caresses that came with those remarks, a brush against your cheek, a hand on the small of your back. His touch twisted your feelings for him. He slithered up and around you, tightly never letting you out of sight. For you were the only delicious thing in this place and he had to have you. He was getting hungry and his patience finally snapped when you said, “I like you Captain Ichimaru”. He soon learned you were best behind closed doors, bent over desks getting spanked or on all fours getting pounded.

Each meal was a tantalizing adventure of new tastes for Gin. Sometimes it was out in the garden, your lips bloodied from biting them to stifle the moans. He’d lick them in earnest. Other times it was soft escapes between your futon sheets after a bath. He’d gulp down the scent of your soap as you laid beneath him; each scar and birthmark on your body traced with his tongue.

A whisper in the ear, a kiss on the lips is how he’d greet you in the corners of the corridors. Your shoulders would relax and your cheeks flush, pliant to his whims. He’d lead you to his quarters in the dead of night, charming you into his trap. He’d coax off your clothes between soft touches and harsh gropes. Sliding his long thin fingers through your hair pulling your head back to get a taste of your neck. Tasting the perfume you wore and the sweat from a hard mission. As soon as you were unwrapped for him, he’d lay you down wherever he pleased. Running his fangs over your breast’s, taunting your nipples between sucks and flicks of his tongue. He could only smile at how you’d pathetically push at him.

“’s too much” You’d protest. Your body littered with bruises and bite marks of possession, full of taste tests.

“Is that so?” He’d question but never stop as he pushed your thighs apart. Relishing the soft flesh under his hands. He’d admire how your muscles moved under your skin from years of training or how your ass still jiggled after years of fucking. Each moment with you was as much a feast for the eyes of this predator as it was for his mouth.

But it was when his mouth made its way between your legs, he’d groan every damn time. The taste of you was euphoric. He’d greedily lap at your wet folds without hesitation. His cock would twitch aching to be used but this was for his mouth now. He adored how soft your folds felt as his tongue lapped, the hair tickling his nose. He’d breathe in the scent of you, his saliva mixing right in with your own wetness. He was a man starved.

“Y-you shouldn’t be down there! I didn’t bathe yet -Gin!”  You’d cry but he was not a picky eater no, this was the best thing he’d ever had.

He'd keep your legs apart, your feeble attempts at inching away would have you pulled back. He’d make a mess of you with his tongue, swirling it around your clit, sucking. Inching it into you only to replace it with his fingers. When his index and middle finger found that sweet spot in you, he’d ride out the orgasm with you. His mouth still latched to your pussy, hungry for more.

He’d remove himself then, wiping the slick from his mouth licking his lips. He'd slip off his robes; the scent of iron and sweet fruit always clung to his pale skin. He'd snake his body over yours, spreading your legs the leaky head of his cock teasing your entrance. It was then he’d pushed his cock into your pussy, covering your mouth with his own drinking down that salacious moan and saliva.

“Wait I just cam-!” Your breath would stop short as he picked up an agonizing over stimulating pace. Because it was only when he’d slid his cock between your legs, he’d find solace.

But when you began with your whimpers of “love” he’d shush you. Whether with his own mouth upon yours or a hand wrapped around your throat he’d always whisper “Now now none of that dear~”.

It was teasing yet commanding and your words turned to moans as he’d press himself inside, folding you in half so he could watch the show beneath him. How beautifully you unfolded, the flush to your face and the lust lidded gaze in your eyes. You were completely lost in the ecstasy. Lost in his venom, his twisted affections.

 “Such a good girl” he’d murmur into your hair as you begged for more. Begged him to let you cum, begged him to cum.

“I want you to finish inside me, please Gin” you’d plea. That’s where something would always snap in him. He’d let go of his perfect control of his emotions for but a moment. Please you and deceive you. His hips would be flush against yours, his tip pressed to your cervix.

“Want me to fill you up hmm~? What happened to that good girl? Did she become a lil’ slut now?” He chuckled when you clenched around him at his words. Whether it be “whore”, “slut”, or “fuck toy” you’d always groan nodding eagerly “I’m yours all yours”.

Gin took twisted pleasure in that most of all. Something to call his. His lover, his prey.

His his his.

It was right before you both fell over that precipice of hedonistic pleasure he’d pull out. He’d always admire for a moment after, as if sizing up his prey. The way he'd lick his lips with that characteristic smile was simply wicked. He’d crawl over you his cock inches from your mouth. He’d watch you concede, your tongue darting to lick your lips hoping for a taste. But this was for him, his meal.

To cum inside of you was a touch too intimate for the snake but to cum on your face was not.

You’d lay there trapped under him, a knee on either side, your nails dug into his thighs. You dared not move a muscle or this moment would end as he’d taught you so many times before. He’d stroke himself, long languid strokes. A groan would pass his lips as he’d lean back just enough to give you a full view of him. Of how he used your pretty little face to masturbate to.

He'd find glee in how you squirmed under him, wanting to touch yourself but you remained obedient. Tears would fill your eyes as you lifted your hips begging for friction, for something anything.

 “Go on now (y/n), lemme see yah play with yerself” he’d say.

Your hands shaky yet eager worked their way to play with your clit. Rubbing that tender nub between two fingers. The pace growing in tandem with his own strokes that your eyes never left, coaxing you to finish. That heat burning between your legs with how badly you desired to cum once more.

“Don’t look away now (y/n), cum fer me~” he’d croon, those beautiful blue eyes drinking in your finish and causing his own. The hot cum coating your face your lips. He’d swipe it with his thumb pushing it between your lips and into your mouth, at last giving you a taste. A taste of the pleasure he so enjoyed with you.

“Can’t be makin’ messes now can we?” He’d chide as you sucked each finger tasting him, tasting yourself. You’d moan softly around each digit till he was satisfied.

He'd get up then, fixing his clothes, wiping the sweat from his brow with an exaggerated sigh. He’d leave the room without a word. Even after such a delicious meal, one could not leave it to sit out. He’d return moments later a small dish and a cloth, humming to himself. He was always careful to wipe you down, grasping your exhausted face between his hand. He’d smile at your look. That lost, adoring and eager look. He’d kiss you then, slowly and controlled. Possessive of what was his.

For he was greedy snake who always had room for dessert.

[blackkatmagic]

Arla : that newbie little Jedi got killed and I lost the flash drive, terrible day

Fay, an immortal thousand-year old eldritch Jedi, twirling the flash drive she pickpocketed : you got almost every single word of that sentence wrong

Arla : oh hello

Somewhere in the Force, Tarre is laughing very hard, I bet.

Cody sits back, brows rising as he looks over at Knol with new awe. “Heck,” he says. “Didn’t realize it was that special. And she’s going to teach the commander now.”

“Luck, vod,” Rex tells him, and when Cody winces, Rex chuckles. “Sure you don’t want to learn, sir?” he asks Fay, almost gentle. “It’s not a bad idea for a medic to be able to defend themselves. Or the boys and I can show you some hand to hand. Just for self-defense, nothing deadly.”

Cody opens his mouth, looking deeply disconcerted, and then stops short before he can say anything. His brows slide even higher, and he gives Rex an entirely incredulous look that Rex manages to miss completely.

Amused, Fay hums, leaning back against the bench. It’s clear Cody knows just how old she is, but—equally clear that that information wasn’t in whatever briefing Rex got. The difference between a commander and a captain, maybe, and all the more reason to double check that the GAR’s command structure approves the promotions she filed last night.

Though, admittedly, it’s rather charming that Rex is so set on protecting her. It’s been a long time since anyone bothered to even try, and it makes Fay think of Tarre even more than Rex's fighting style does. She’s missed that, maybe. And it’s rather entertaining to watch Torrent treat her like a green Knight when she’s older than anyone else active in the Order right now.

“While I appreciate the offer, Captain,” she says lightly, “I believe my skills are best kept to Healing and Force tricks. My purpose in living is to fix what damage is done to those around me, and inflicting damage of my own would tip the scales too far, and reduce the impact of what I do.” She smiles, bright, and it’s an expression Tarre would have recognized as mischievous, but—no one else, these days. “Besides, I've never used a lightsaber of my own, and I'm far too old to be learning such things now.”

Rex pales faintly, even as Cody is overcome with a sudden coughing fit, so aggressive that he has to turn away and duck his head, entirely hiding his face as he hacks into the curve of his arm. It sounds, Fay thinks, watching him, rather tellingly like laughter, even if Rex is too distracted to notice.

[clawsdevour]

hii can i have a kuroo x fem reader who is sick pls??

in kuroo's care

wc: 0.7k content warning: fluff, kuroo x reader who's sick, not proofread, my shitty writing

note: YOU FREAKING GET ME. SICK READER X KUROO WHO TAKES CARE OF YOU UGGHHHHH HE'S SO HUSBAND. HOPEFULLY U ENJOYYYY THIS SHORT SCENARIO !!!!

୭ ˚○,.

Waking up later than usual, your mind was so hazed and scrambled. Your forehead felt like a hot firework about to be released in the sky in the smelting humid air on the Fourth of July. Mustering all your strength to shuffle your head to turn to your left. Kuroo wasn’t at your side in bed with you, he’d already left for work as he usually leaves earlier than you. You groan, feeling horribly cold as you quiver under your warm covers. 

Occupied with promoting volleyball across the nation, Kuroo gets a phonecall from your workplace. He’s been informed as your emergency contact, and learns that you didn’t show up to work today. Kuroo furrows his brows in suspicion from hearing your work tell him about your unexplained absence. Ending the call, getting up from where he sat. Kuroo hurriedly grabs his blazer that was hanging on the back of his desk chair and calls off the rest of his day for work to see you.

You’re laying in bed eyes shut, soundly snoozing until you heard your bedroom door open with a slight clunk. Holding his blazer over his right shoulder, his heart sinks at the sight of you laying in bed with the covers wrapped around you. You’re overheating and struggling to breathe through your stuffed nosed. Rushing towards your side, Kuroo’s hand is feeling the warm temperature all over your face. 

“Kuroo… is that you?” Shifting your heavy head your hoarse low voice muttered out. Through your eyelashes you see Kuroo with an expression of worry spread across his face. You’re trying your best to keep your gaze on him as he’s feeling the heat emit from your face.

“Yes, I’m here. Why didn’t you tell me you’re sick?” Looking into your eyes, whispering to prevent your head from throbbing. “Hold on, let me get you a wet washcloth really quick.”

Nodding your head before he heads to the bathroom. Your eyes droop, letting your drowsiness consume you. Hearing his steps grow louder in your direction, you feel a cool dampness press against your forehead and a large hand caress your furiously warm cheek. Seeing him in the corner of your vision you avert your gaze to see what he has to say.

“I’m gonna head out to get you some medical rememdies to make you feel better, m’kay? Don’t move, I’ll be back.” He’s stepping back, grabbing his wallet out from his pants pocket. Kuroo slips on his blazer, making adjustments as he swiftly strides out of the bedroom.

At the corner of your house, Kuroo’s looking at the medicine and health aisle. He picks up what he believes would be the best remedies to fight back against your cold. Reading all the colored labels that say things that best fits the description of the state you’re currently bedridden in. Scanning and paying for the items, Kuroo dashes back home knowing your sickness wouldn’t get any better if he walked.

Back in your bedroom, he switched out your current washcloth for a cooler one, freshly dipped and wrang out for your warm forehead. Pulling a chair to sit next to you, he’s put all of the remedies on your side table.

Spoon in hand, pouring the thick liquid that takes shape of the utensil. In your deep slumber, you feel a cold metal prob against the opening of your mouth. You fight back against your eyes, peeking at him through your heavy eyelids, Kuroo’s spoonfeeding you some bright blue cough syrup that tasted like mint.

“Say, ‘Ahh’ and take this medicine will you? You won’t get any better if you don’t open up.” Kuroo’s soft silky voice cooes at you. Parting open your lips, the minty syrup enters your mouth which you swallow down feeling the cool mint drip down your throat. Putting the spoon down, he’s observing you with his mouth curved into a gentle smile. “Rest up, before dinner. I’m gonna cook you a nice warm soup to eat.” Kuroo fluffs your pillow at the sides and tucks you into bed, one last glance at you before turning off the lights to let you recover.

masterlist here

[0hcicero]

To be clear up top, I really love Worlds Beyond Number, and I love the stories and the authenticity and groundedness of it. But listening to this last episode and then the fireside was doubly difficult because:

- I come from a military family that is not officer class (aka my fam would have been imperial infantry and not wizards)

- I grew up rural around lots of farmers and hunters

And some of the statements around both rural people and rank and file military (while likely very true in the story and in this world) in the fireside rubbed me the wrong way. I love Brennan and his mind and worldbuilding, and I understand the purpose of this episode was to lean into the tensions in Ame’s worldview and the truth of Eursolon’s backstory, but damn. The whole ‘these people are stupid and ignorant’ thing sucks, because yeah, there are stupid and ignorant people for sure that are rank and file and rural, but also the perspective feels quite privileged. We got to see good wizards AND bad wizards, but we only get to see shitty and dumb lower ranks. And that’s not the truth I knew growing up military, at all. We got to see very kind but stupid farmers, and while the kindness was a bonus the stupidity across the bar sucked, because some of the smartest people I ever met didn’t make it through grade school.

There was talk in the fireside about xenophobia, and it just felt kinda bad that this person I see as a very clever smart and educated person couldn’t see some of the hypocrisy in that.

So to counter some of what I heard, I want to put out some of my experiences.

Military

- there are xenophobic idiots in the lower ranks, that’s for sure, but there are also a lot of people who are much more involved in the ‘boots on the ground’ field work, especially in peace-keeping, in the lower ranks. This includes cultural exchange and engaging and helping the populace. They often see more and know more, speak the language, and learn proper customs.

- Promotion is supposed to be a meritocracy, but often it is not. If you buck against the system and call out its errors, you won’t be promoted, much like my mother, who was a woman, a corporal, and got the wing commander’s commendation more times than most officers in her squadron, started a mediation program, and was an outspoken feminist who was constantly pushing for justice and fairness.

- typical, lower ranks consider anyone above a seargent fairly ‘out of touch’ with reality, and may have to do their best to work around bad orders, because often, officers are seen as ‘not getting their hands dirty/knowing the truth of a situation’.

- typically higher ranking officers are arrogant and rude and have an elitist mentality, thinking they are better than the lower ranks. In my experience, this is often not the case, as higher-ranking officers typically pay their way for their rank (can afford officer training) which is typically not something available to they generally poor and lower class rank and file.

- sometimes people in lower ranks think very simplistically, and are not good people, but that’s a general outlier in the same way that it is for other groups of people. The bell curve applies to pretty much everything.

- many people in lower ranks join up because they are poor and need money, and the military pays for schooling and is an opportunity to travel. They typically don’t join up because they’re stupid, crude, crass fuckos who like to hurt people. The military is predatory and it feeds on the poor and lower-class citizens who don’t have much social mobility. They’re often not stupid, but they are typically pragmatic, and yeah, the language can be crass, but speaking crassly speaks to culture not goodness.

Rural

- intelligence is, in my opinion, situational. I might be able to quote Shakespeare and get into a deep philosophical debate but that’s not doing me any good when I need to help a cow that’s scared and in pain give birth to a breeched calf. But this very cool farmer I knew could talk down this cow and know just where to position his hands to turn a calf inside the womb. Show me a typical master’s student who can do that.

- I knew people who could read weather sign, bird sign, tree sign, and bear sign, who could read the woods and the trails like a picture book. They might not be able to speak much about the science of climate change, but they damn sure know it from a micro level by being able to spot the size of tree buds in the winter to know spring’s coming earlier, and that’s bad for a lot of plants and animals and the ecosystem that sustains itself, which they are intimately aware of.

- I also knew farmers and rural folks who were highly educated and moved out to the country to enjoy the wide open spaces and privacy, who had big libraries and talked about history with me, who fed my curiosity and helped me stay humble and ask questions.

- I knew rural folks so poor they lived in a shack and ate squirrel, and I also knew how everyone in the community took care to give their kids’ piano lessons because it was the only money coming into that household, and took care to just have accidentally bought a little more than what they needed of this or that and ran it down to that family.

- I also know we were so poor sometimes that I went without a winter coat in northern Alberta for 3 years, but that I was always given lots of hats and scarves and mittens and sweaters by the neighbours.

- I also knew lots of shitty, stupid, sexist and racist people who were essentially brainwashed by a cult and who were never taught to think critically or encouraged to do so. I know that they are afraid of the world because that’s what they’ve been taught. And yes, it’s on them for never getting out and being way more comfy in their bubble than outside of it, but that’s what being in a cult does, it stacks the deck against your own intelligence and curiosity.

- I knew too, many of rural folks who would have been extraordinarily embarrassed to be impolite and refer to a trans woman as a man, or vice-versa, because manners and politeness matter a whole lot in a small community. At the same time, there was definitely the opposite as well, and I knew kids who gotten beaten up regularly for being 2SLGBTQIA+.

It’s complicated, complex, and nuanced everywhere. No group is a monolith, even if it feels justified and easy in the world we live in to lump all ‘like’ people together. I just really hope in the next few episodes we see some nuance in the infantry and the officers, as well as with any rural folk they engage with too. They’re all usually so good with a nuanced take, and I really really hope this was just one episode and an off-the-cuff, didn’t-really-think-about-what-he-was-saying discussion.

And I get it. To my knowledge, Brennan grew up in New York (or at least a city?) and may have not had a ton of experiences living rural outside of the summer camp he was a counsellor at, so he may not have had a lot of time or opportunity to engage with rural people at a true community level. I don’t know his engagement with the military community either, and my experience is with Canadian and not American military, so there’s likely some difference and nuance too.

I dunno. I have a lot of hope and faith in this very cool group of storytellers, and they have not disappointed me in the story thus far, so I believe we’ll see some great nuance to come. Just had to put it out there.