#at least there are good things under the cut!

[moonstruckme]

First time request! I'd love a poly Jily fic based on the prompt "blood swirling down a shower drain." Maybe the reader just got back from a mission that went wrong and is kinda out of it, trying to wash everything off. James and Lily find them and refuse to let them deal with it alone, just soft, quiet comfort, lots of gentle touches, and reassuring words.🥹 Thanks!!

Thank you for requesting! This turned out so much angstier than I intended. I really don't know what happened but...I'm sorry? Or for the people who are always asking for angst I don't deliver, you're welcome I think? I don't know it just happened I wasn't on the decision-making panel

cw: blood (lots of blood), reader is a bit in shock, nonsexual nudity, death (of a minor canon character, not someone we really know and love), set in canon so there's death eaters/the order/etc., quite angsty (for me at least) but there is comfort I promise

poly!Jily x fem!reader ♡ 1.4k words

James and Lily are cuddling when you come home. Well, they’re sort of just holding each other and trying to pass it off as cuddling. Any one of you going out on an assignment for the Order always makes nervous wrecks of the two left behind, but Lily and James doing their best to distract themselves, a film on the television and each trying not to look like they’re glancing out the window every minute. 

The crack of apparition outside puts an abrupt end to the facade. 

They’re both up in an instant, but Lily puts a hand to James’ chest when he goes for the door. “Wait,” she says. She leaves a spot of blood on his shirt from where she’s picked the skin by her nail down to nothing. 

James’ heart revolts, but he listens. They both listen, until they hear the two-three-two knock that means it’s you. 

Lily manages to move faster than him. She has both the muggle and magical locking mechanisms undone in an instant, opening the door to you. 

To you, absolutely drenched in red. 

It’s in your hair; it stains your clothes; it cakes your face and your neck and your hands. There’s hardly an inch of you left clean. James can’t comprehend it. Was there…was there an explosion of some sort? Did you get splattered by something? He feels sick. 

“Is that blood?” Lily’s voice is admirably steady. 

You nod. “Yeah.” 

James really feels sick. 

“Are you hurt?” She reaches for you, bringing you inside. You move like your body weighs a thousand pounds. 

“No, I’m—it’s old. I’m fine. Remus fixed it.” 

“Good old Moony,” James croaks. It’s meant to be a joke, but truly, he’d love to fly to Remus and Sirius’ flat right now to give his friend the hug of his life. If only there weren’t things for James to take care of here first. 

“What happened, sweetheart?” Lily asks, running a gentle hand up your arm. Blood flakes under her touch. 

“They were waiting for us.” Your voice is low, like it’s the sort of truth that becomes worse once said aloud. Your eyes look bigger and brighter in the midst of all the mess. James wants desperately to hug you, and yet—shamefully���he’s afraid of touching you; like despite what you say, he might find you less whole than you were when you left a few hours ago. “It was just supposed to be Dolohov there, but there were a lot of them. They knew we were coming.” 

“They did this to you?” 

“It…I…” Your gaze moves from Lily, to James, back to Lily again. You look exhausted, haunted, but worried beneath that. A moment later, James understands why. “It was Severus.” 

Lily reacts as though you’ve hit her. Her expression looks like a heart cracked open, but she doesn’t let go of your arm. 

“He used this spell,” you tell her, seeming sorry to do it, “that opens cuts all over the other person’s body. Remus was able to figure a counter-curse before I bled out. I don’t think Severus was aiming for me…” 

Even looking at your face, James is unsure of whether you mean that. The odds that Snape would try to hurt you seem equally as likely to him as those that he wouldn’t. You may only be trying to protect Lily. She looks so devastated, James wants to wrap you both up and never let you go again. 

Something Lily and James have always had in common is how they love. They may not always show it in the same ways, but once they’ve chosen someone, that’s it; they’ll live and die for them. They give away their whole hearts. James has just been luckier in who he’s chosen to give his to. His first love—outside of his family, of course—was Sirius. Lily’s was Snape. 

But, as much as James loves Lily, if Snape showed up on your doorstep right now James thinks he would kill him. 

“I’m sorry,” Lily says to you, her eyes shining. 

“It’s okay.” You extricate yourself gently from her grasp. “I’m going to shower.” 

“Sweetheart…” James reaches for you, but you ghost past his hands, only mumbling again, “It’s okay.” 

Nothing’s okay. Lily’s looking after you like her heart’s been cracked open. From the sound of it, you actually were cracked open for a while. There’s a fracture between the three of you that James doesn’t know how to fix. But certainly he’s going to try. 

“Come on.” He takes Lily’s hand, encouraging her down the hall with him. When she comes, he wraps an arm around her shoulders to kiss her hair. “It’s alright. Come on, lovely.” 

The shower is already running when they open the bathroom door. James shuts it behind them before starting to strip, and Lily’s questioning look only lasts a moment before she’s doing the same. He sets his glasses on the counter. 

“Hi,” he says, pulling the shower curtain open enough to pop his head in. You look surprised, which is a surprise in itself; you must really be lost in your own head not to have heard them enter. “Room for two more in here?” 

There is, of course, room—as if James would ever let you get a place without a shower big enough for three—but still he’s relieved when you nod. He steps the rest of the way in, making room for Lily to squeeze in behind him. You seem to have scrubbed your face clean and now are letting the water do the work on the rest of you. Blood swirls down the shower drain. 

James steps closer, giving you long seconds to back away, to let your face reveal hesitation or denial, before he kisses you. Slowly. Warmly. You soften like butter in the sun, arms coming around him as his do you. 

“Didn’t get to do that properly when you got home,” James murmurs after your lips part. 

“Yeah,” you breathe. 

He fights to keep his lips from twitching at the now-familiar dazed quality to your tone. It is taking every ounce of his concentration to not think too hard about the two stunning women he’s sharing a shower with right now. 

Since Lily is no longer up to being the asker of questions, James gives it a whirl. “Do you want to tell us any more about what happened tonight?” 

Your eyes go weary and somber. He sees your throat bob as if around something painful. “We, um. We lost Edgar.” 

Lily makes a wounded sound. “Bones?” 

James has already drawn you into a hug. You nod against his chest, choking out a weak, “Yeah.” 

“Was it…”

“It was Lestrange,” you answer before Lily has to finish asking. Not Snape. She breathes out. 

“I’m so sorry,” she says, joining your hug. Water runs in rivulets down the three of you, transferring from one body to the other, off James’ nose and Lily’s hair and your chin, pooling in all the places you’re pressed together. James fights an ache in his own throat. You’d all known Edgar, but only you watched him die. This is a grief he and Lily can only share in parts of. 

There’s lots more kisses and murmuring before you get to the business of washing. James runs you over with a soapy cloth while Lily shampoos your hair, the both of them making sure no inch of you goes unseen to. Remus has done a good job; there are no scars where Snape’s curse tore you open. As the blood clears away, James can’t tell where it originated from at all. 

He tells you how happy they are to have you home. You smile at his exaggerated jokes about separation anxiety and squeeze his hand when he presses a thumb into the corner of it, chuffed with himself. Lily apologizes again for Snape, and you both promise her she’s not responsible for him until it seems almost like she believes it. James is kicked out of the shower in disgrace after mistaking your body wash for conditioner. He warms towels in the dryer while Lily works the tangles out of your hair with her fingers. 

When you go to bed, you’re still as exhausted as you were when you came home. You move like your body weighs a thousand pounds, and there’s a haunted look about your eyes, and you don’t seem up to saying much. But you curl up with James’ chest to your back and Lily’s leg draped across your own, and you’re loved, and that counts for something.

[slvbum]

Phone inspection ♡ Rafe Cameron!

content WARNING; voracious!rafe, toxic relationship, deep throat, throat fucking, degradation, powe dynamics, dick slapping, +18 MDNI.

Rafe didn’t trust anyone, least of all Y/N. Checking her phone was routine, a habit he’d drilled into their relationship like a fucking law. She’d hand it over without a fight, fingers trembling as she unlocked it for him, knowing he’d scroll through every text, every app, every dirty little corner of her digital life. Usually, it was boring shit— selfies with her friends, some sappy playlist, a few flirty texts she’d sent him late at night when he was out handling business. But today, he found something that made his blood run hot.

Tumblr.

She’d never mentioned it, never even hinted at it. The app sat there, buried in a folder labeled “Random,” like she thought he wouldn’t notice. He tapped it open, and the first thing that hit him was a photo; a girl on her knees, tongue lolling out like a goddamn slut, face dripping with thick, white cum. Her eyes were glazed, fucking submissive. His grip tightened on the phone, knuckles whitening. His girlfriend had been hiding this shit from him, his sweet, innocent girl, scrolling through filth like some secret slut.

He didn’t say a word when he tossed the phone back to her. She was sprawled on the couch, legs tucked under her, hair spilling over her shoulders, wearing one of his oversized shirts that barely covered her ass. Those big eyes flicked up at him, catching the storm in his face, but she didn’t have time to ask before he was on her.

“Get on your fucking knees,” he growled, grabbing a fistful of her hair and yanking her off the couch. She yelped, stumbling to the floor, her hands scrambling for balance as he dragged her down.

“Rafe, what—” she started, but he cut her off, unzipping his jeans with one hand, the other still tangled in her hair, pulling so hard her scalp burned. His cock sprang free, already half-hard from the image seared into his brain and the fact that Y/N had kept it from him.

Secrets. He hated secrets.

“You think you can hide shit from me?” he spat, shoving her face toward his dick. Her lips parted on instinct, a soft whimper escaping, but he didn’t care. He thrust forward, slamming into her mouth, the head of his cock hitting the back of her throat so fast she gagged, eyes watering instantly. “Tumblr, huh? Looking at girls taking cum like good little sluts? That what you want, baby?”

She tried to pull back, choking, spit dripping down her chin, but he held her there, fingers digging into her skull. Her tongue flattened against him and he groaned, fucking her throat harder, the wet gluck-gluck of her gagging filling the room. Her hands grabbed at his thighs, nails digging in, but she didn’t fight—didn’t want to either.

“Obedient,” he mocked, mimicking the caption as he rammed himself deeper, feeling her throat spasm around him. “That’s what you wanna be, right? Some dumb slut with her tongue out, begging for it?”

Her mascara streaked down her cheeks, mixing with the drool and pre-cum leaking from her stretched lips. She so looked wrecked, those pretty eyes wide and pleading, but he didn’t slow down.

“You don’t get to keep secrets, baby. You’re mine—every fucking thought, every dirty little fantasy.”

He pulled out just long enough for her to gasp, a string of spit connecting her mouth to his cock, before he shoved back in, deeper this time, holding her head flush against him until her nose pressed into his pelvis. She thrashed, throat convulsing, but he didn’t let up, his balls tightening as he watched her struggle.

“Take it,” he snarled. “Take it like that bitch on your phone.”

When he finally came, it was messy, flooding her throat, spilling out the corners of her mouth as she coughed and sputtered. He yanked her off, letting her fall back onto her heels, chest heaving, face a fucking mess; cum dripping down her chin, lips swollen, eyes red. She stared up at him, dazed, just like the girl in the photo. He smirked, wiping his dick on her cheek and slapping her with it before stepping back.

“Next time, you tell me what you’re into,” he said. “Or I’ll fuck it out of you again.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ©slvbun — written with love.

[concretejunglefm]

Summary: After hearing about your new boyfriend, Jolly offers to help the two of you when it comes to pleasuring you.

Pairing: Jolly Karlsson x f!reader x Noah Sebastian

CW: includes mention of unprotected sex (p in v & a), edging (emphasis on the journey not the destination), fingering with rings on (m and f receiving), oral (m receiving), creampie, cumplay, dbf!jolly, teenage crush mention and slight age gap vibes (reader is over 21), bf!noah, dom!jolly vibes, partner sharing, alcohol, threesome, aftercare included.

WC: 4.2k

AN: thanks to brainrot provided by @somebodyels3 💕

Smut below the cut 🔞 Minors DNI.

“Enjoy the view, darling?” Jolly’s voice drifts in from behind you as you gaze out the window overlooking the city. Turning to face him, you let out a soft hum.

“It’s beautiful up here,” you muse, taking in the sight of the two glasses of wine he’s holding up. He offers one to you, and as he steps forward, you accept it. Your fingers brush his, sending a slight jolt of electricity through you.

“Very beautiful.”

There’s a slight smile forming across his lips, and something tells you he isn’t referring to the view—at least not the one outside. His eyes rake over you with such intensity it makes your skin flush and butterflies swirl in your stomach.

It would be a lie to say you hadn’t had a crush on Jolly, even long before now, but especially now. The man was like wine: only getting better with age.

You hold your glass without taking a sip, and he gestures toward the couch. When he invited you over tonight, it had been under the guise of dinner and a catch-up. He was a friend of your dad’s, and yet, you’d always felt like you were the one person he truly wanted to see. That alone made you feel special, sending that schoolgirl type flutter back into your chest.

You take a seat on the spot he gently pats, smoothing his hand over it as if to ensure comfort. The moment you do, he shifts closer, but only until your knees are touching, and your skirt rides up just slightly, revealing the faint lace trim of your stockings.

In truth, you’d planned to visit your boyfriend, Noah, after this. At least, that’s what you told yourself while pulling on your best ensemble—something you’d hoped would catch attention, and it had. Jolly’s eyes were focused, darkened with something like heat as he didn’t even try to hide the way he admired your exposed skin.

There’s appreciation in his gaze, something soft nestled within the hunger.

Clearing his throat, he takes a sip of his wine and leans back against the couch, draping one arm casually across the back of it. “So, how are things?”

You quickly settle into the ease of conversation, updating him about life and work—until he hones in on the question that’s clearly been on his mind.

“So, I hear you have a boyfriend?”

Suddenly, you feel yourself growing flustered and shy, tucking your hair behind your ear as you shift in place.

“Yeah…” you mumble, unsure why the question makes you feel so suddenly nervous. Normally, you’d be happily boasting about Noah, his talents, his sweetness, but with Jolly, the words seem to stick.

“Come on now, darling. There’s no need to be shy with me.” He gently coaxes, the backs of his fingers brushing faintly along the nape of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

“I do,” you finally nod, leaning forward to set the untouched glass of wine on the coffee table before leaning back—subconsciously shifting closer toward him.

“I hope he’s treating you well then. Taking good care of you,” he murmurs, his fingers still tracing slow paths across your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “Is he your first?”

Your gaze drops, and you shake your head slightly.

“We, uh… we haven’t…” You stammer, shy and uncertain. “We haven’t done much.”

You tug at the edge of your skirt as it rides higher, a nervous fidget.

“Well, he’s at least made you orgasm, right?”

The question comes so boldly that your eyes widen. Your gaze snaps to his face, but Jolly just holds that familiar, unreadable smile—his tone serious, as if it’s a matter of urgency.

“Well?”

You clear your throat, but then he says your name, and the way it rolls off his tongue, soft and accented, makes your stomach flip. Your eyes flicker to his wine stained lips, and you lick your own before you can stop yourself.

He leans in slightly, fingers gently brushing your hair back behind your ear.

“Maybe he needs to be taught a thing or two about pleasing his woman.”

You let out a soft scoff—part nerves, part disbelief at his boldness.

“Yeah, right. That’s funny.”

But his tone tells you he isn’t joking.

“Darling,” he says, voice low, certain. “I’m serious.”

Somehow, you manage to find the courage to text Noah and ask him to come over, sending him the address along with a message: someone important to me wants to meet you. You’ve only ever mentioned Jolly briefly, not because he isn’t important to you, but because he is. Somehow, that makes you want to keep him separate, untouched by the rest of your life. He’s always been your escape, your refuge, and now, you’re bringing the two people who mean the most to you together.

“You need to relax,” Jolly suggests, shifting closer. Your thighs are now practically touching as he raises his glass of wine, offering you a sip from his instead of the one you’d discarded earlier.

“Just a sip, darling. It’ll help,” he assures you, and you believe him. You always do. There’s something about the warmth in those brown eyes that melts you. With a soft nod, you lean forward, feeling the cool press of glass at your lips as he guides it gently, letting you drink before pulling it away again.

Then, he surprises you.

Cupping your chin between his thumb and forefinger, he holds you steady as he leans in and kisses you. His tongue swipes at the seam of your lips, seeking entry, licking into your mouth for the lingering taste of wine, for a taste of you, while sharing what still lingers on his tongue with you.

You can’t help the moan that slips out. The way he kisses is so different from Noah. It’s sensual and hungry, devouring, and your thighs press together involuntarily. There should be guilt clawing its way up your throat right now, but instead, all that rises is another moan. Your fingers reach out, gripping the front of his shirt, curling into the fabric as you tug him closer.

This is what it’s like to kiss a man, you think. It feels like a dream come true, like the teenage crush you always carried inside you has finally erupted, scattering into a million little hearts. You’re sure they’d be visible around your head, or glowing in your eyes, when you pull back to look at him, completely captivated by the sight of the gentle yet domineering man sitting beside you.

“I don’t understand what you’re proposing,” Noah says, brow furrowed as he looks down at Jolly, who’s relaxed in his seat, arm draped casually along the back of the couch, his hand resting on your shoulder in a way that feels casually possessive. As though you’re his, not Noah’s.

“To help you,” Jolly replies with a shrug, completely unfazed by his own vagueness.

“I think I know how to fuck my girlfriend,” Noah scoffs, clearly offended.

You turn your head away, already flushed with embarrassment, especially as Jolly asks his next question.

“Oh, really? And what about making her cum?”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Have you given her an orgasm?”

Noah’s mouth opens—first in shock—before he manages to croak out, “Of course I have! What kind of question is that?!”

“Are you sure about that?” Jolly’s tone drips with smugness, like he already knows the truth, knows the thing you’ve kept from Noah all this time, and you can’t help the wave of guilt that washes over you, because Jolly does know. He knows that, despite how sweet and perfect Noah is in every other way, he’s never truly satisfied you sexually, and you’ve lied—kept that truth hidden for so long, too afraid of bruising his ego to ever say a word.

His apartment could easily be written off as a typical bachelor pad, but the fully stocked fridge, the clearly well used kitchen, and the culinary skills he showed off tonight say otherwise. The bathroom is neatly organized, stocked with grooming essentials for both himself and his guests, and the satin sheets that greet you upon entering the bedroom are the final touch. It’s clear he takes great care of those he invites into his space, and tonight, that includes you and Noah.

While Noah lays back on the bed to watch, Jolly takes his time undressing you. He starts with your top, a strappy little thing that accentuated your chest, chosen with intent. You come close to feeling self-conscious the moment you’re bare, but Jolly doesn’t give the insecurity time to settle. His hands are on you immediately, cradling your breasts, thumbs teasing your nipples while his mouth trails soft, faint kisses along your shoulder and neck. All the while, he’s murmuring the sweetest things against your skin—directed not only to you, but to Noah, narrating what he’s doing, guiding him in how to make you melt with barely a touch.

By the time you’re fully undressed—even your stockings slowly rolled down along your thighs by Jolly’s appreciative hands and mouth, you’re stretched out across his satin sheets, completely naked, bathed in the heat of his hungry gaze. Noah watches nearby, a little more bashful, but no less captivated.

“Darling, you’re going to tell me what you like, okay? I mean it—you tell me when you do or don’t like something.”

You nod, and you can see it in his eyes, there’s no hidden agenda. All Jolly cares about in this moment is your pleasure, and somehow, that only adds to the heat already curling low in your belly.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, the soft praise making your chest flutter. It’s enough to make you want more, to chase whatever else he has to give you.

“Now, show me what you do,” he instructs—directed at Noah, who suddenly looks a little more embarrassed, like he’s ready to say no, but he shifts on the bed to one side of you, spreading your legs apart as his fingers glide up along the inside of your thigh.

You already know what he plans to do. It’s always the same: a little light petting, followed by the awkward way he tries to finger you—rubbing everywhere except your clit, until you’re left flopping around like a dead fish, desperate for him to just keep his fingers where you actually need them.

The sound you make is soft, not exaggerated, but it’s fake, and Jolly catches it.

You hear the faint click of his tongue. “I thought I told you to speak up when you weren’t enjoying something,” he reminds you.

But it’s Noah who interjects. “What do you mean? She loves when I do that!”

“Do you?” Jolly asks, and your stomach twists. You want to hide, bury your face away. Instead, you turn from Noah and give a slight shake of your head.

“Let me show you what you’re doing wrong.” Jolly shifts to the other side of you, gently moving Noah’s hand away from between your legs to replace it with his own. His touch is slow, deliberate, his fingers stroking over your folds with a confidence that makes your hips arch and a gasp slip from your lips. It’s a new kind of sensation—rougher, more sure than Noah’s ever felt.

Then he presses in and finds your clit, and it’s like a burst of electricity. Your eyes roll back as he begins to circle it slowly, gathering just enough of your arousal to slick his fingers before returning to focus on that sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Nice and slow, just like this. Understand?”

From beneath your hooded eyelids, you catch a glimpse of Noah watching, completely hypnotized by the sight. The bulge in his jeans is prominent, straining against the fabric. Reaching out, you rub your hand over it, teasing him through the denim while leaning further into Jolly’s touch, letting his fingers do all the work of pulling you apart.

It’s a slow build, nothing too intense, and that’s always how an orgasm has felt for you. The buildup has always been the best part, at least when it comes to masturbation. While your friends often spoke about how easily they could climax, some even multiple times in a row, you were different. You could edge for hours, content to hover at the brink until finally tipping over. It was about the journey for you—and you tell Jolly as much, as he gently coaxes it from you.

“So you prefer edging, darling?” he murmurs.

You nod, a soft moan slipping from your lips.

“Then allow us to edge you all night long.”

From Jolly, it sounds like the sweetest promise.

He leans in, capturing your mouth in a kiss that’s deep and sensual, stealing another moan from you, especially as his fingers sink into your cunt, filling you until you feel the cool press of his rings inside you. While Noah’s fingers might be longer, Jolly’s are thicker, filling you in a way that makes you feel stretched and needy, and his skill is unmatched—the way he curls his fingers, stroking right behind your clit, rubbing that sweet, sensitive spot until your hips are bucking with desperate need.

“Let me fuck you,” he groans against your lips.

All you can manage is a breathless, broken, “Please.”

You half expected Noah to refuse, to say he wanted all of this to stop, but now, after watching them undress, you’re the one on your knees, chest pressed into the pillows, ass in the air, with Noah lying beneath you, his head between your thighs, both you and Jolly essentially straddling him.

“Now, I want you to pay attention,” Jolly tells Noah, who can only moan in response as Jolly sinks his cock into his mouth, using your boyfriend as his own personal means to wet his cock in preparation.

“You’re gonna watch the way I fuck her, and learn a thing or two. Understand?” Jolly grunts, thrusting down into Noah’s mouth, pushing to the back of his throat before pulling out, a string of saliva still clinging to the tip.

That same tip then drags against your folds, coating you with the slick mix before he lines himself up, and with a slow, steady push, he inches into you.

You moan, hands fisting the sheets beneath you as your hips instinctively press back to meet him.

“Fuck, even this wet, you’re still so tight,” Jolly groans, one hand gripping the back of your neck gently while the other steadies your hip. He sinks in slowly, filling you to the hilt, staying there for a moment just to feel the way your walls clench around him—as if trying to pull him in deeper.

“You feel nice and full, darling?” he purrs, leaning over to nip at your shoulder before drawing back and slamming into you with force.

The sudden impact knocks the air from your lungs, a loud moan escaping as your eyes roll back. You match the rhythm of his thrusts, the drag of his cock along your walls only intensifying the pressure building in your belly.

“You have no idea how much I’ve thought about this perfect pussy of yours. How long I’ve been dying to fuck you,” he pants, groaning between each thrust. His pace grows faster, rougher, holding your body in place as he drives into you.

Beneath you, Noah’s eyes stay fixed on the way Jolly’s cock moves in and out of your soaked cunt, the wet sound, the way his balls smack against you—it’s all too much. His hand fists his own cock, stroking quickly, until desperation takes over. He leans up, tongue out, first pressing to your clit and then dragging lower, licking along Jolly’s cock with every thrust, tasting the mix of both of you.

“Fuck, you dirty boy,” Jolly says in a surprisingly pleasant tone, catching the movement of Noah’s tongue. His hand shifts from your hip to beneath Noah’s head, holding him firmly in place as his tongue laps quickly and desperately.

Jolly’s thrusts slow—lazy, teasing—as he begins to alternate between dipping his cock into Noah’s mouth for an extra taste of you, then driving it back into your cunt with deep, deliberate strokes. The rhythm is intoxicating. If you could see beneath you, it would look like something straight out of a porno—the way Jolly uses Noah’s mouth like that, feeding him your taste before sliding back into you again, over and over.

Each thrust stretches you, fills you, while Noah obediently laps at Jolly’s cock each time it leaves you, craving more. It’s filthy, intimate, and overwhelming.

Jolly groans as the pleasure builds, his thrusts beginning to stutter, hips chasing the white hot coil tightening in his belly—ready to snap, and when it does, he buries himself deep, cock twitching inside you as he spills into you with a raw grunt.

“Fuck… gonna fill you up. Finally make you mine,” he murmurs, voice thick with pleasure.

He stays there for a moment, buried deep, before slowly pulling out. With one hand, he gently guides Noah’s head between your thighs and gives a single command: “Clean it all up.”

And Noah does—obediently, eagerly. His tongue meets your hole just as Jolly’s cum begins to leak out of you, licking it up without hesitation. He buries his tongue deep, intent on pushing out more, moaning softly against you. His nose brushes your already sensitive clit, sending another ripple of pleasure coursing through you.

You never thought you’d witness a sight like this—your boyfriend on all fours, his ass cheeks spread as Jolly fingers him. Two fingers, two knuckles deep, working him open with slow, deliberate care.

“Kiss him,” Jolly instructs.

You shift closer, cupping Noah’s face and lifting his head. “Look at me, baby,” you murmur, watching the way his eyes roll back as a moan escapes his lips from the way Jolly’s fingers curl inside him.

“Fuck…” he pants.

Just before you press your mouth to his, you hear Jolly’s quiet, almost smug quip: “That’s what I plan to do.”

It’s dirty, sensual, and somehow it only adds to the heat of the moment. He adds another generous amount of lube as he continues to work Noah open, slowly, thoroughly, preparing him for what’s to come, while you kiss him, slow and deep, just the way Jolly had been guiding you through all night. Your tongue glides with Noah’s, licking into his mouth, drawing a moan from deep in your throat at the intimacy of it alone.

Once Jolly is satisfied with how hard Noah is, and how well his hole has been worked open, he begins guiding you both into position. You lie back against the pillows, thighs spread wide, with Noah kneeling between them.

“You’re going to sink into her first,” Jolly says, voice low and steady, “and then I’m going to sink into you. Understand?”

You both murmur your agreement, breathless with anticipation.

As Noah leans over you, you reach for him instinctively, while Jolly’s hand slips between your bodies. He strokes more lube over Noah’s cock before lining him up, rubbing the tip between your folds, teasing your clit until your hips jolt in response.

“Nice and slow,” Jolly whispers into Noah’s ear, giving his lobe a light nip.

Noah obeys, slowly sinking into you. Your walls clench around him on instinct, your eyes fluttering shut and rolling back as pleasure rushes through you. Behind him, Jolly’s hands settle on his hips, guiding him forward until he bottoms out completely inside you.

“Now hold,” Jolly says firmly, pausing with his hands still gripping Noah.

“Good boy,” he murmurs, and you feel the way that praise makes Noah’s cock twitch inside you.

Jolly’s hand caresses over Noah’s ass before moving behind him. With one hand, he spreads him open and lines up his cock, still slick with your arousal from when he’d just been fucking you, now freshly coated in lube. He presses the flushed tip against Noah’s tight hole. “Deep breath,” he murmurs.

Noah follows his instruction, fingers digging into your hips as Jolly slowly inches forward, feeling the tight stretch of Noah around him.

“Fuck!” Noah groans.

You cup his face in your hands again, cradling him close as his forehead presses to yours.

“It feels…”

“Yeah, baby? How does it feel?” you coax, your voice soft with encouragement, feeling his cock twitch inside you.

“So good,” he whispers, eyes rolling back the moment Jolly bottoms out, fully seated inside him.

One of Jolly’s hands strokes along Noah’s tattooed back, gentle and soothing. “Now, when I draw back, you’re gonna follow with your hips, and when I thrust, you’ll do the same. Okay?” Jolly explains, his voice low and deliberate.

Your fingers curl into Noah’s hair, tugging gently as you pull his head back. “Do you understand, baby?” you murmur.

He nods with a soft hum of acknowledgment.

Leaning up, you catch his lower lip between your teeth and tug, coaxing a low moan from him. He trembles above you as Jolly slowly drags his cock back, and Noah does his best to follow, thrusting deeply forward once again—right into you.

It makes you moan, the way his hips crash against yours, how deeply he reaches. Your legs instinctively lift higher, wrapping around him. Jolly’s hand grips Noah’s hip for control, the other caressing along your calf and up your thigh.

“That’s it. Just follow me—we’re gonna fuck her real good together,” Jolly purrs.

The words alone make you clench around Noah’s cock, trembling beneath the both of them, feeling every thrust of Jolly’s cock into Noah and how deeply it affects him—how deeply it affects you.

You feel it coming—the way it always does. The relentless thrusts from Jolly drive Noah’s hips forward, burying him deeper into you, over and over. The tight coil in your stomach starts to wind tighter, your orgasm inching closer with every deep stroke between your walls. Your hips arch to meet Noah’s, chasing the wave that’s building.

“That’s it, baby—fuck, I feel it. I’m so close,” you moan, fingers tangling in his hair and tugging roughly as his cock twitches and throbs inside you.

Just as you’re about to beg for your clit to be touched, it’s Jolly who reaches between your legs—his fingers finding your clit and rubbing in perfect, deliberate circles, following the rhythm of your moans. He thrusts hard and fast into Noah, who falters, bucking forward into you as his own climax begins to creep closer.

“Not yet,” Jolly growls. “Gotta let her cum first. Learn to be a gentleman.”

It’s a taunt, but every thrust of his cock against Noah’s prostate has him teetering on the edge, and then, you fall apart first.

Your climax crashes over you, thighs trembling, fingers scratching at Noah’s back as your head tips back into the pillows. You cry out, moaning loudly as pleasure erupts through every inch of your body.

It sets off a chain reaction.

Your pussy clenches around Noah’s cock, milking him as he cums deep inside you, adding to the mess Jolly already left behind. The way Noah tightens around Jolly pushes him over too, groaning as he spills inside Noah, filling him completely.

Three bodies moving, moaning, trembling—lost in each other.

It’s Jolly who moves first, slipping from Noah before reaching between your thighs to gently guide Noah out of you. He leans over, sharing the most intimate of kisses with you, then softly encourages Noah to do the same. A small gesture, but one that helps ease the weight of the comedown, making you feel cared for and seen.

Jolly feels like a different man now. After the slightly domineering control he held over Noah earlier, he shifts effortlessly into gentleness—tender and attentive with you both. He ushers you from the bedroom into the bathroom, helping you into the shower, even going so far as to support your jelly legs with practiced ease.

He doesn’t miss a beat, tending to you both with quiet care—washing you, guiding you closer to each other, encouraging shared touches, and doting on you with affection and soft spoken praise.

“You did so well. I’m so proud of you,” he whispers to Noah while lathering shampoo through his hair, fingers gently massaging his scalp. You lean in close, an arm wrapped around Noah’s waist, watching Jolly with eyes full of warmth—like a lovesick teenager.

Noah practically preens at the praise, melting under Jolly’s touch. He’s gone from reluctant participant to someone who now wants more—seeking Jolly out with quiet longing.

When it’s your turn, you’re met with extra kisses—one from Jolly, then from Noah. Their fingers work gently through your hair, soothing and sensual. Sweet words are whispered from both sides, but it’s Noah’s soft coo that leaves you feeling warm and gooey inside, your chest full of something tender and deeply content.

Once finished, Jolly leaves you both to change into the clothes he’s provided—a T-shirt for you and a pair of boxers for Noah, while he takes a moment to change the bedding to something fresh after your evening together. When everything is ready, he ushers you both into bed.

You sink between them with a contented sigh, your head resting against Noah’s chest as his arm wraps around you—possessive and comforting. His fingers trace gentle patterns across your skin, grounding you. On your other side, Jolly presses close, draping an arm over you and letting his fingers rest against Noah’s side, offering you both the same steady warmth and care.

Your eyes grow heavier, sleep pulling you deeper as you melt into the safety of their touch. Just before you drift off completely, you hear Noah’s soft voice break the quiet.

“Maybe… you can show us more next time.”

[changelingsandothernonsense]

Decisions...

Or some Josh circa chapter 17 of Sleepers Awake wondering how big a hole he has to dig to get himself out of this shit. Featuring Josh about a month prior to catching the ol' Corprus, thus enjoy his hair.

Or Josh makes a plan behind his guide's back to duel the Urshilaku Gulakhan with the hope he'd picked up just enough skills scrapping about to hold his own in this sort of fight. His guide is not so convinced. Anyway Sleepers Awake wip under the cut. You don't have to read it to reblog the art :P

He turned and stomped towards the door and stepped out into the midmorning sun. Teldryn lit his cigarette as the door slammed shut behind him, closing his eyes as he took a long drag. Things were fucked, more than they ever needed to be, all because of what? His guide not having confidence in his ability to dodge some old bastard’s fucking— he’d been dodging blows of bastards twice his size since he was a kid, freshly tossed to the wolves on that damn plantation for fucks sake!

Not only would he show Erra what he could do, he’d send that old bastard crying to whomever the fuck he goes crying to! Teldryn wasn’t sure if it was spite or what, but he had a strong desire to prove his guide wrong. So that’s what he planned to do— prove that he wasn’t some Empire-supporting shithead suckling at the Emperor’s poisoned teat. No, he wanted to make an impression, make what he could do stick in that mer’s pretty head for the rest of his fucking—

He shook his head as he continued to puff on his cigarette. He was angry, he knew that but there was something else there, swimming about in his gut. He grit his teeth as smoke burned at the back of his throat and billowed out his nose. Bitter, burning and biting.

Maybe Erra was right and the Gulakhan would follow decorum as expected, maybe he’d accept the gift and grant him an audience with little fuss. What if he was getting himself all worked up over nothing? He wasn’t here to taste blood, after all. Cosades had made it very fucking clear that no one was to be harmed whilst he was out here! Not that that was his intention in the first place but given the circumstances…

He would play it by ear. Follow Erra’s plan, play nice with the Urshilaku leadership. Smile, flatter and all that guarshit. He knew he could do it if he concentrated. If he carefully watched his every movement and thought. It was a colossal task, and he knew he’d be drained to a husk afterwards, but he knew how to please these kinds of self-inflated assholes…or at least he thought he did…

Teldryn took another long drag on his cigarette, the smoke scratching at his lungs as he held his breath. He got real good at this sort of thing when he was running errands for Dren and his associates. Guys who were all physically bigger than him at the time and required the most delicate of care lest you upset them and wind up with one of them trying to cut your fucking arm off!

Teldryn felt his heart almost stutter in his chest as he coughed up smoke from his lungs, his head feeling a little faint. He leaned over, spitting into the dust as he caught his breath. He rubbed at his arm, along the thin, pale scar that ran around it. He’d been training for shit like this since he was a kid. First dancing around the worst that the Camonna Tong could offer, then everything Cyrodiil’s prison system could throw at him. He was still here, still breathing after it all.

What difference is there really between him dodging Dren’s or some giant fucking orc’s blows and him dancing around about some self-important nomad? Well, aside from the fact that he’d actually be armed this time around.

 Teldryn flicked the end of his cigarette into the ash and crushed the smouldering end with his boot. This was something he knew he could do. If everything did turn to shit as his guide feared, Teldryn knew that he’d be able to take on such a challenge. He didn’t exactly have a choice when it came right down to it after all. Cosades wanted that fucking information and Teldryn knew the consequences if he failed to get it.

He didn’t have a choice in this, he never did. So he would try to make this work for him, like he always had because what else was he ment to do? Erra might be able to call shit off and go home but it wouldn’t be that simple for him. He leaves and that’s it. It’s lights out. Teldryn took a deep breath and reached again for his cigarette tin. He’d have another cigarette, clear his head properly and then head back inside so that he could show his guide just what exactly he was capable of.

[zelestia13]

Episode 5 of the amazing digital circus is my favorite so far. Ragatha is one of my comfort characters and Untilted destroyed and reassured me at the same time

[SPOILER TADC EPISODE 5 UNDER THE CUT]

Since the pilot we know that Ragatha has a problem with expression her feelings openly. She's always trying to be optimistic and positive ,leading her to neglect her own emotions and not accepting negativity of other people

Before episode 5 ,other characters were mentioning her flaws.

For exemple Pomni in episode 2 telling her to stop treating her like a child. Ragatha is baby-sitting people because she feels in charge for everyone ,to keep a certain control in her life

Moreover ,in episode 4 Gangle vent about not being sure how genuine Ragatha is.

Sometimes Ragatha pretend and say things she doesn't mean to ease tensions and please others

That doesn't mean she's a full liar ,she is truly kind and doesn't want to hurt people. Since she's a people pleased ,for her lying and telling the things the person "want to hear" is better than being honnest because being honnest for her is not perfect enough.

That's why in the spusy's she was awful ,the horse reddish sauce is making her loosing her mask and her bottled up feelings are exposed.

That people pleasing personality can be from the bad treatment of her mother , Ragatha craves to be loved and appreciated. The appreciation and delegation from others are a proof she's good enough

JUST THAT LOOK WHEN GANGLE TOLD HER HER ADVICE HELPED HER WITH SOFTBALL DAMN

At this moment she felt rewarded ,even though she did a mistake with pomni : at least others are showing appreciation

And this end...i was heart broken,i felt Ragatha's loneliness so much

Showing ragatha all alone like that is telling so much about her relationships in the circus. Ragatha is no-one favorite ,she's kind and cool enough to be talked to and dragged around but her lack of honesty is a thing stopping her into making true bonds with others.

That's why she despites Jax so much ,in her point of view how someone that mean can make a bond with the Pomni ? Pomni ,the person she's been trying ,since the pilot, to cheer up ,to be friend with ,to gain her trust and appreciation

I can't wait for the next episode ! And the fact that gooseworx said ep 5 was the calm before the storm.. I'M PREPARING MY TISSUES

[caffeineaddictedturtle]

Deus ex Machina II.

idol!Minho× afab!Reader genre: angst, slice of life, fluff, established relationship warning(s): honestly mino is a W in this one; still sad, but minho makes it better; no beta we die like man an: i explain it here (btw I wrote this when i was struggling to write:) )

You woke up with an empty space behind you, which made you sad: last night made you forget that he is staying home for a couple of days. You stayed in bed, stretching, not feeling like getting up; your eyelids feel heavy and puffy from last night. Still feeling that heaviness in your chest, and the gray weather didn’t help with that. While you were deep in thoughts, you didn’t hear the door opening. “Y/N, are you awake?” you looked in the direction of the voice, it was your boyfriend carrying a tray in his hands. “Good morning love, I am sorry about last night” You felt like you wanted to disappear from everything, and everyone. Lino put the tray down to your bedside table, and crawled under the blanket to cuddle you, patting your back to make you calm down and forget your dark thoughts.

The two of you just stay like that, intertwined and silent, until he moves to take the tray out he brought in: breakfast he made for you with grilled cheese, and cut up some veggies next to it, for dessert he made you a fruit salad with your favourite fruits. “We need to share it though, I can’t eat all of this” you looked with your knowing all look: that he was hoping to fatten you up, although it is all futile, because both of you know that you hate eating all alone. He sighed, and started eating with you; he didn’t say a word, but he doesn’t have to: the two of your relationship constructs of mostly silence, and glances. None of you complained about it, quite on the contrary, both of you enjoyed it… oh, to have a place to call home and just be, not needing unnecessary little talks, or trying to talk awkwardly to fill the silence. With Minho, you learned to love the quiet, the wordless nights, to not be afraid of your own thoughts so much that you couldn’t shut the hell up. So many of your relationships consisted of just useless talks, desperately trying to grasp to sound. This didn’t mean that if one of you started rambling, the other didn’t devote their full attention to it. He loved to listen to your stories about your day or your thoughts, theories about your current shows or books. Just how you loved when he talked about the guys, new music, fan interaction, or some random stray cat he has seen and tried to stop himself from bringing it home.

God, you love this man is what you were thinking about while nibbling on your grilled cheese, not noticing how you haven’t been thinking about lowly of yourself. Instead, the positive things about your relationship or your boyfriend, which is what Lee Know exactly wanted: not single negative thoughts, at least for a while. He knows you don’t necessarily ponder in your own personal hell, only when you overwork yourself and start to burn out. He also knows what is the best way of solving it: feeding you, cuddling in silence then watching a show or movie you both like, and after he texted the boys that he will be busy today, he plans to do exactly that.

masterlist ║request something ║part 1

[envymoony]

God Loves You, But Not Enough to Save You

Bucky x Reader Oneshot

by envymoony (AO3 & tumblr)

warnings: angst, referenced abuse, graphic depictions of violence

In your defense, you really hadn’t meant to air out Bucky’s business during the mission orientation. You had only meant to express you worry for his safety—given that his nightmares had worsened and his sleeping hours significantly decreased.

You knew this was going to be an exhaustive mission; that it wasn’t going to be as simple as the previous reconnaissance missions he had been assigned to, or the get-in quick-and-get-out-quicker ones that the team had been doing a lot of recently.

No.

Though it was projected to be, at most, a six-hour long mission, it required all hands-on deck. The instructions Fury gave were clear: save hostages, capture possible intelligence agents, and destroy any remnants of HYDRA. Which, of course, on paper sounded pretty easy.

But these were the Avengers, for God’s sake. When was anything ever “pretty easy”?

Not that you doubted his abilities in being a large part of the mission’s success—you knew all too well, perhaps even the most out of all his teammates, that he could be sent in alone and still do a damn good job. And when it was announced that it would be him, Sam, Steve, Natasha, Tony, and Clint on the mission, you didn’t need to question the mission’s success rate. It was in good hands, truly.

But you just couldn’t help it. You had a feeling something would go wrong.

Something always did.

Bucky was the love of your life—your saving grace from your earlier years of suffering under the hands of your father and the very same organization that abused him too. And it didn’t go unnoticed by you that the facility the mission was set in was the very same facility that made you. The same facility where the Winder Soldier taught you calculated moves of defense and offense, never stopping until a superior came in and decided that the battered and bloodied parts of your body were too much to look at.

The very same facility where your father had kept you for the first 12 years of your life training you to be the best damn agent and fighter they had ever seen. Only to decide that being good at combat wasn’t enough. He needed you to be better, you just had to be greater, always making it clear that bringing you to HYDRA and training you as one of their soldiers wouldn’t suffice. It wasn’t exactly a surprise to you when you became the subject of numerous experimentations, hundreds of vials with different colored serums being injected into every part of your body.

You bore the brunt of their curiosity and desire for the greatest. And you dealt with it for 8 years.

It took so much out of you. They had used your body tirelessly for their experiments, never allowing you a moment of rest nor a moment to yourself. You had realized then that your body would never be yours anymore. And it most certainly wasn’t you, it was just a thing for them to insert whatever kind of formula they had cooked up and to test, test, test.

Your father wanted to create a healer—thought it was something HYDRA needed to ensure that their numbers stayed and continued growing, so that their precious soldat could heal quicker despite the serum already giving him that ability.

But this was HYDRA, nothing would ever be enough for them. And as a test to see if the serum worked, they would unfailingly always make sure that there was something wrong with him.

Because, as your father put it, he was their favorite test subject.

And it disgusted you. It hurt you.

A scratch, a broken bone, a bruise, a cut—you tried to remember a time during those years where his body was free of any such wound. You were thankful, at least, that the super-soldier serum allowed him to heal faster than the average person and give him a higher pain tolerance. Though, you wondered if he was programmed to not show any kind of reaction to their abuse. Only after going through thousands of revisions and test runs, and the unimaginable baggage of pain his body had to endure, were you able to heal something just as quickly as they gave it.

You were a little foolish to think it was the end, that that was all that they wanted out of you and soldat. No, they wanted to see if you could heal yourself.

It wasn’t part of the plan, all HYDRA wanted was someone who could heal them, not someone who could heal themselves. But they figured that if you were able to heal yourself, then they wouldn’t have to worry about you anymore.

That same day, they planted a bullet in your hip.

You remember crying and shouting for anyone to help you. You never got the same serum Bucky got. Your body couldn’t protect itself, and, as they discovered, it couldn’t heal itself.

Shame, your father said, you can save anyone in this universe except yourself.

The scar on your hip ached as you read through the file. It was never confirmed if your father died, nor did the men who abused your body to the point of complete exhaustion. But something inside you was sure that this was your father’s doing—the missing people, the hostages, the facility still being used.

So, God forbid, you show a little anxiety over the fact that your boyfriend would enter the same place he was constantly beat up in. You knew that the place haunted him, that when he has one of his night terrors, that it would be one of the places he feels suffocated in.

But, really, you never meant to make it seem as if he wasn’t fit for the mission.

All you wanted was to ask if it he was okay.

“Buck, you haven’t been getting enough rest, are you sure you can handle this?”

You realize as soon as the question leaves your mouth that you made a mistake—Bucky’s betrayed expression only cementing the fact. He never liked his sleeping habits being aired out, let alone the people he works with, and you can already feel the guilt eating up at you for betraying his trust.

Thankfully, it didn’t compromise his involvement in the mission in any particular way. You think Bucky would’ve broken up with you then and there if that had actually happened. But it didn’t ease the anxious pit in your stomach when he stomped his way to his bedroom after the meeting was adjourned, not bothering to wait for you nor even spare a look at you.

You let out a breath.

“It’s okay, kid,” you hear Tony say. “Go talk to him.”

You don’t say anything else but manage to give him a smile before leaving and following to where Bucky was.

The view of him on the bed didn’t exactly unsettle you. It was the fact that he was eerily quiet, even as you padded your way to him. You figured he needs some space, so you don’t sit down next to him, but stand near enough where you can read his face.

You had learned to read every line and crease throughout your time together back in HYDRA. It always told you more than anything he could say, and it proved to still be useful now. While he’s quiet, his face speaks more words than you’ll ever know.

“Why did you have to say that,” Bucky says in a low whisper. You know it wasn’t an actual question for you to answer. It was more of him still trying to wrap his head around what you did.

Still, you wanted to explain.

“I’m sorry, Bucky,” you say first, “I’m just worried about you. I know you haven’t been sleeping, and I’m scared that this mission will only make it worse.”

“And you know that because?” His tone is accusatory now, in partial disbelief that you would even say that because you know him. Better than anyone. Better than Steve, who only knew the version of him before the Winter Soldier. But you, you know him. And that’s arguably what hurt him most.

Because he trusted you enough to trust him.

He continues speaking when you don’t offer any response. “You—it wasn’t necessary to bring that up. You could’ve just asked me after the meeting or, hell, not ask me at all! I don’t need you to look out for me, okay? I can do that myself.”

“I just don’t want your wellbeing to be compromised, Buck, I know how hard it was for you in that place—”

His voice is dangerously low when he says, “Just because we spent a long time together in that facility doesn’t mean you know every single thing I feel about that place.”

You’re taken aback by this. You never tried to make it seem as if you knew more about how he felt during those times more than he did, but you knew enough. From your first time meeting outside of HYDRA and throughout his recovery, he always made it a point to tell you how your presence helped ease the weight he carried just by being soldat. That all he knew in that place was pain, pain, pain, and torture.

Until you.

“I—I never wanted to make it seem as if I know more about what you feel. All I wanted was to make sure you were okay.”

Bucky scoffs this time, as if the idea of you caring about his safety was an incredulous idea. You almost feel insulted, but you know how he much he hates feeling like a burden. And maybe he feels as if you see him as just that—a burden to the mission. So he’s putting up his walls that you worked so hard to dismantle.

You don’t blame, but you just wish he could see that you don’t mean anything else other than wanting him safe.

“I don’t need you to make sure of that.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt, Bu—”

“No!” He’s never raised his voice at you before, so your heart falls to your feet when you hear him shout and look at you with such disdain, hurt, and betrayal all at once. “Don’t tell me you just want to keep me safe because I don’t need you to do that! I’m perfectly capable of deciding what I can or can’t handle. This is one of them.”

He’s seething with. . .anger? You can’t quite place where he’s at right now, but you stay quiet, knowing that speaking will only fuel him more.

But it’s the words that spill out of his mouth that hurt you more than him shouting.

“I get that your father experimented on you and gave you the ability to heal people, but I don’t need you to try and fix me every single fucking time I’m struggling. I’m not some fucking project for you to use your abilities on.”

Your face falls at his statement.

Because he knows that, for the longest time, you had tried to convince yourself that your powers were good. That something good could come out of the years of torture and abuse your body went through. And that good was being able to help. Help heal a nasty stab wound on Natasha’s thigh, a large bruise on Sam’s cheekbone from his helmet digging into his skin, Clint’s bullet graze, or a laceration from a poisoned dagger on Peter’s bicep.

You hid your abilities for years because it did nothing but remind you that you could save just about anyone, except yourself. But seeing the shock and amazed expressions on people’s faces as your hands start to glow and do its magic never failed to make you smile.

And so you found solace working with Doctor Cho in the MedBay, choosing to forget your training because that never gave anything back to you. But this did. And you damn well did a good job at it.

And Bucky’s words hurt. Not just because it made you realize he thinks you’re only trying to heal him because you see him as a project, but that he never saw the genuine care you held for him, the love you felt.

But he continues talking, never giving you a chance to speak.

“It’s honestly so exhausting having you around me because all I can think about is you’re doing it just to fix me. You may have healed my wounds, but I don’t need you to act like I need you to watch every fucking move I make! You may be a healer but I sure as hell don’t feel fixed when you’re around because all you are is a reminder that there’s always something wrong with me.”

You’re completely frozen at this point. Bucky’s pacing around the room as he continues. You know how bad his words can get when he’s upset. You just. . . never expected it to turn out like this. He’s never even offered the grace to let you speak and clear your intentions. Hell, to even apologize properly.

You were willing to apologize and let him stir in his emotions before coming back to you and talking it out—because that how you two always were. You talked it out. But Bucky seemed to never run out of things to say about how much of a baggage it was to have you around. Which, you never even thought about. Because he particularly never said anything about it, nor hinted that that’s how he actually felt about you.

But it only makes one thing clear to you: that Bucky thinks being with you is a burden because he’s afraid you’re only with him to fix him.

Which hurts you.

Because you love him.

It’s only when Bucky realizes that you’re still and so, so quiet that he stops speaking. When he turns to look at you, it takes a moment for him to drink in the blankness on your face. You were always so expressive, it’s what he loved about you. It was never difficult for him to decipher your mood, your thoughts.

But the lack of anything on your face made his blood go cold. He knows he’d gone back to his self-sabotaging defense mechanism, but he was upset. Upset at thinking that you would just openly bring up how he hasn’t been sleeping well. Upset thinking about you always protecting him. Upset about the fact that you were so good to him, and yet he hadn’t ever given you anything back.

Now, seeing how you’re struggling to even get anything out of your mouth, he wishes he hadn’t doubled down and hurt you.

He whispers your name and you flinch.

“I. . .I should go. If—if that’s how you feel, I think it’s better to just. . .for me to leave.”

It’s Bucky now who doesn’t get the chance to speak, when you all but run for the door without saying anything else.

He wants to run after you, to apologize and tell you that wasn’t how he actually felt. But he doesn’t.

You don’t know which is worse.

———

The day of the mission arrives, and you’ve spent the last few hours locked up in the MedBay. You tried to find things to do to kill time—organizing the new supply of bandages and suture kits, filling up the new organizers with different vials and bottles, fixing the misplaced equipment the previous users have used. Basically, finding anything you could do that would distract you and keep you away from Bucky.

While you’re organizing the unopened syringes, medical scissors, and more bandages in the drawers, you hear a knock on the glass door, the familiar rhythm indicating that it was Tony. You don’t bother turning around to greet him.

Besides, you’re not in the mood to talk to any one in particular.

“What do you want, Stark?”

“Is that sadness I hear in your tone because I’m leaving or because you Sargeant boyfriend will be gone for a few hours?”

You appreciate his attempt at lightening the mood, but the mention of Bucky just makes your heart ache. Before you know it, the bandage slips from your hands, and you whisper a curse.

“Hit a nerve there, didn’t I, kid?”

“You could say that.”

Tony chuckles. “Figured. Barnes has been moping for the past 30 minutes we’ve been in the jet.”

The mention of time makes you look at the wall. It makes you question why Tony was still here. Or even the jet.

They were supposed to leave 30 minutes ago.

“Why—”

“—are we still here? That’s exactly why I came to you. Let me make this quick because we need to leave immediately.”

Tony’s voice is serious as he walks to stand next to you. He crouches to grab the fallen bandage and hands it to you. You mutter a thanks to him.

“We need you on the mission.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “But Fury didn’t say anything about needing to heal anyone?”

“Not as a healer. As an agent. We need you on the field.”

The beat of your heart quickens—in anxiety, in surprise, you’re not quite sure what to make of it. But you sure as hell wasn’t expecting Tony’s words.

“Tony, I’ve never been on the field.”

“You were a spectacular fighter back then from what Barnes told us.”

“Whatever it is that he said, I haven’t been fighting for a while.”

“Now, that’s bullshit because I know for a fact that you’ve sparred with Nat, Rogers, Thor,—hell, even Peter! And in all of them, you’ve always won them. The footages don’t lie. The files, too.”

“Tony. . .”

“Between you and I, you’re the only person who knows this place and how the people there work better than anyone. Even Barnes.”

“Look, I. . .I’m not opposed to it. But this mission, it’s asking me to go back to the place where I was tortured. As much as I want revenge, it’s going to be a lot.”

“I know. But. . .” Tony sounds much more empathetic and even desperate when he says, “Kid, we need you. Fury sent me here to bring you on the mission. And I wouldn’t be here asking you to join if I think we would be fine without you. But I know we won’t.”

You know Tony’s not the type to give up easily, and more than that, he’s definitely not the type to beg someone to join a mission unless he deems it absolutely necessary. Though it was true, you were an excellent fighter and an even better agent, you weren’t sure if you were even ready to go back there. But the look on your friend’s face is enough for you to say. . .

“Okay.”

Tony’s excitement puts a smile on your face. “Come on, Florence Nightingale! Suit up and be at the jet by ten.”

It doesn’t take you long to suit up and grab whatever weapon you needed before meeting Tony by the jet. Everyone looks at the reason why it took a while for Tony to return. Bucky’s eyebrows furrow seeing you in a suit. The last time he recalled, healers didn’t need to wear a suit and carry any kind of gear on missions.

The first to question your presence in the mission was Natasha, who asks Tony if Fury told him to bring me just in case of any casualties.

“She’s gonna be with us on the field.” Tony says so casually and firmly that Bucky almost misses it.

He doesn’t, though. And he’s sure he’s losing his mind when he sees how non-chalant Tony was being about you and this mission. “What the hell are you talking about, Stark?”

“Alright, tone down, Snowman. I’m under orders by Fury to bring her with us, ‘kay?”

Steve is the next to speak, speaking to you directly. “You sure about this? We’re going to the base where your father kept you.”

“This is bigger than me, Steve. They’ve got people imprisoned there, only Lord knows what they’re doing or what they plan on doing to them. And I’m not going to wait until something bad happens for something to be done about it.”

That seemed to be enough for Steve, who smiled at you appreciatively. Natasha hummed in agreement, Sam and Clint nodding their heads.

It was only Bucky who had something to say.

“You’ve never been on a mission before, yet you’re willing to go on this one? What makes you think you’re ready for this?”

Bucky meant to say it in a way that expressed his worry for your safety being compromised. Because, God, this was basically asking you to relive your most traumatic memories out of the blue. And you’ve never been on the field in the mission before, the farthest you’ve gotten was by the door of the quinjet, waiting for everyone to come back so you could heal the damages done on their bodies.

Your eyes squint at him. He’s basically insulted your skills in combat, whereas you never implied anything about you doubting his abilities. He had twisted your words into something you never even meant, yet here he was acting as if you weren’t an agent too.

“I’ve been consistent in hand-to-hand combat and sparring sessions. And if you’ve already forgotten, before I was given these abilities, I was an agent. You would know that because you trained me, Barnes.”

Not calling him Bucky was a low blow, but the shock on his face gave you some sense of satisfaction.

“I don’t—”

“Enough of this,” Natasha speaks up. “We need to go and you heard Tony, it was under Fury’s orders that she joins us. Sit down and buckle up, we’re leaving.”

Bucky only huffs in defeat. His eyes move to you, and he wishes that the tension between you would dissolve at least for a little bit. He wants you to sit next to him, he needs to be beside you because he can’t shake the feeling that Fury was wrong about bringing you here. You weren’t safe from whatever could be thrown at you.

But you were sat on the farthest seat away from him, doing everything you could to keep your look on the floor. He wants to go to you and tell you he’ll protect you, like how you’ve always done for him before and now.

After this, Bucky thinks, after this I’ll apologize and make it up to you.

———

You don’t know how you got here, but the second the quinjet landed and the doors opened, it was almost as if HYDRA had been expecting your visit. There were agents from left and right sprinting and shooting at your direction, but you were quicker and skilled, so you avoided the bullets and knives being thrown your way. In the first two minutes of being on the field you have already knocked down five HYDRA agents, which Tony said would definitely be talk of the compound for the next week, at minimum.

You were paired with Sam, tasked to take out as much agents as you could on your way to save the hostages. You hadn’t worked with Sam before, but soon enough the both of you realized that you had amazing chemistry when it came to missions. Not needing many words to communicate your next moves, effortlessly taking out any obstacle in your way without much effort.

But, for the most part, you blacked out. It felt as if you weren’t in control of your body, it was moving on its own accord. Knowing which spot hurt the most, which ones weakened your opponent, where to immobilize them, and how to hurt them just enough to keep them down. You were thankful for that, at least.

Your father training you to desensitize yourself from combat turned out to be useful. Because instead of overthinking and focusing too much on where and how to hit, you worked on muscle memory and pure anger.

These people weren’t innocent, they were compliant in the abuse of the poor hostages, who you later on found to be cooped up in a small cell.

10 battered bodies—tattered clothes, malnourished, and scared.

A complete reflection of how you were before.

You couldn’t stop the anger from growing into pure, utter rage at that point. Tony’s instructions, Sam’s attempts at assuaging you, and Bucky’s begging for you to please listen, don’t do anything, sweetheart all falling into deaf ears.

It irked you that they never stopped.

That they never seemed to get the concept of stopping, that one person to torture wasn’t enough.

All you remember was hearing Sam’s voice, telling you that you still had a job to do, and getting distracted wasn’t safe for the civilians. So, you snapped out of it, promising that once every hostage was safe, you would go back and finally do the one thing you’ve never realized you wanted to do. The one thing you were never meant to do.

Kill.

And, so, you wasted no time approaching every single one of the hostages, hands glowing a warm yellow as you healed any cut, any lesion, any dark bruises you could find. It at least comforted you knowing that, judging by the look of pure amazement and shock plastered on their faced as you healed them, they weren’t subjected to the same fate you once were.

You helped Sam keep the hostages as safe as you two could, leading them through the hallways until Clint and Nat were able to meet you all in the middle and help them all in the quinjet. You were able to keep them unharmed from the fight outside. Steve, Bucky, and Tony working together to keep them at bay. The second the hostages were safe in the jet, with Clint tasked to watch over them, Natasha and Sam soon joined in the effort of staving off the HYDRA agents that attacked.

Distracted by the number of agents that seem to have doubled, you took this opportunity to slip back inside the facility without anyone noticing.

You knew there was something—someone else inside that facility. Your father was somewhere in there, waiting. And you knew that he knew you’d be here. And you’d be damned if you missed any opportunity to finally end this.

You take the familiar turns, taking out a few agents with no difficulty on your way there, until you were right outside the room where it all started.

Your right hand was shaky as you opened the door, gun gripped tightly on your left. The sight that welcomes you was the chair where they used to strap you down, syringes and bottles scattered on the table beside it. When the door opens more, you see a man sitting with his back to your front.

You didn’t need to see his face to know it was your father.

The chill in his voice enough to bring back the fear you felt so strongly before.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he says, calmly. “I was beginning to lose faith that you’d come visit me again.”

When he turns to face you, you cock your gun and raise it to his head. You hate the way he easily picks up on the way your hands waver and how you lip trembles. He laughs, mocking you.

“After all this time, you’ve still proven to be weak. I thought we taught you to be the best.”

You move closer to him as you mutter out, “You ruined me.”

“I saved you,” he snarls.

You don’t expect the laugh that escapes you. “You call what you did saving?”

From your earpiece, you hear Bucky’s voice say your name. “Where are you?!”

You ignore it, eyes still trained on the man in front of you. Nothing gets past your father and judging by how his eyes twinkle in amusement at seeing your resolve falter after hearing Bucky’s voice, you know he’ll mock you for it.

“Soldat. You’ve kept contact with him, I see. Tell me, do those words still work on him?”

“Shut up.”

“Sweetheart, I need you to tell me where you are, please. Please, talk to me.”

“Is he grateful you saved him so many times? Or does he think of it as a nuisance? That the only girl he cared about, could only see him as something to be fixed and not loved.”

“You don’t know anything—”

“Please, tell me where you are.” The huffs coming out of Bucky’s breath tell you he’s running, the echoes making it known that he’s inside too. You figure that if you kill your father now, before he found you, he wouldn’t have to think of you as a killer too.

It’s way too distracting, you’re face-to-face with the one man who’s hurt you beyond repair, and the man you love is begging you to give him any sort of sign that you’re alive. The former, you deem, is the more important task at hand. You rip off your earpiece and throw it far away. Your father smirks at your actions.

“You were supposed to be greater than him,” he says.

“You always reminded me of it.”

“But it seems that you never could. No matter how many times we tried, you were always nothing more than a failed project.”

The grip on your gun tightens, but so does your chest. He’s hit a sore spot—managed to hit you right where he knew it would hurt, reminding you that you were never a daughter to him. You would never be the greatest thing they always hoped to make out of you.

You were a failure.

But you could live with that. You could live knowing you were a failure if it meant that the blood of the bastard in front of you would come from your own hands.

“Going to kill me now?”

“No,” you say as you lower your gun. You catch how your father’s shoulder relaxes, thinking that you weren’t actually going to kill your own father. You weren’t lying, though. You weren’t going to kill him now; you were going to do it slowly.

And you were going to enjoy it.

You grab the knife you placed inside your holster and throw it right into the space between his shoulder and collarbone. The screams he let out were delicious to your ears. And you want more.

Your legs run to where he is, and you take the knife out of where it was sheathed, only to place it deep on the other side. The sound of the knife slicing his skin, the blood squelching, and your father’s agony were like a haunting symphony that could only be created by a beautiful harmony from the bitterness and revolting nature of revenge.

You’re about to stab him right in the chest when Bucky barges in the room and sees you. Your heart drops just as fast as the horrified expression appeared on his face. His eyes asses you—blood splattered all over your face, your suit, your hands. The very same hands that saved his life, taking one right in front of him.

You’re afraid that this will only further distort his view of you. He had never seen you go on a rampage, nor had he ever seen you with blood on your hands that you were responsible for. Going against the very reason you had gone through years long of discomfort and maltreatment. Maybe he was going to think that he never knew you at all. Maybe he was going to leave you for good now.

“Bucky?”

He's about to tell you it’s okay when from below you, he sees the blur of your father’s arms moving as he points a gun at you and fires. Bucky doesn’t hear himself shout, nor does he give himself any time to process if he ever did. Because next thing he knew, he was holding the gun that fired right at your father’s head, his arms falling and body going limp.

He looks to you, the fear doubling, tripling when he sees your upper body falling back. His legs run to you, arms outstretched in hopes to catch you before you fall. And when you do, he falls with you.

You can’t hear what he’s saying, only that his mouth is moving and his hands are everywhere. On your face, your neck, your arms, on your stomach.

You heard the shot before you felt it.

You heard Bucky’s shout before you felt the stinging pain of a bullet entering below your ribs.

You know you’re losing blood fast, you can feel it dampening your suit and seeing how Bucky’s hands were covered in crimson. You muster enough energy to raise your hand and place it over the one he’s using to stop the blood flow from the bullet hole. Your breathing is ragged and your vision blurs.

But all you can see is Bucky.

All you can feel is him.

When your lids grow heavier, he tells Steve to run faster. He’s desperate to try and keep you alive but seeing how your eyes gloss over him and how your head keeps falling back, he’s afraid that any moment now he’ll lose you. But he can’t move, he can’t risk letting any more blood escape you.

It’s when you put your hand over his that he realizes the reason why you seem to be growing so tired.

He feels the cut on his cheek close, the air not stinging the open wound anymore. God, does he hate you for that. You’re in his arms, dying, yet you’re still trying to heal him. He tells you to stop, to keep your energy in staying alive, but all you do is hum and continue.

Bucky can taste the tears that falls out of his eyes.

“You need to stay with me—stay with me, honey, please. You’re okay, you’re okay, you’ll be okay. You just need to hold on until the others get here, we’ll keep you safe, okay? Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m here. I’m here, I’m here, I’m here, I’m sorry.”

“I’m. . .I—” You try to get the words out of you before you know it’s too late. But he’s quick to tell you to be quiet to save it, to tell him when you’re both back at the tower.

Safe and alive.

God, he wishes you would stay alive.

He’s always hated how you couldn’t heal yourself. Out of everyone he knew to be deserving of being at the receiving end of your power, it was you. He never left you alone when you get a cut from slicing vegetables as you prepared dinner or when you hit the corner of a table too hard it would leave a bruise. Always the first to panic and move to his feet when he sees any sign of distress on your body.

Because he can’t stand the thought of losing you.

“You’re okay, honey. Steve’s on his way, he’ll help me carry you to the jet, okay?”

“Buck. . .”

“Shh, save your energy, sweetheart. Please.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t—fuck, there’s nothing to apologize for. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I hurt you. But please stay with me. We’ll talk about it when you’re better, just stay with me.”

You try your hardest to listen to him, to follow what he’s saying. But you’ve lost too much blood, and your body starts to grow heavier by the minute. And you’re tired, you’re so, so tired that you think if you rested your eyes for just a second, you’ll regain some sort of strength back.

When your eyes start to close, Bucky tries to shake you. His heart drops when he feels gravity weighing your body down, when he hears your heart stutter and your breaths get shakier. He’s begging you to try and stay.

The last thing you remember is the feel of his lips on your temple as he whispers I love you.

———

The first thing that you register when you come-to is how bright everything is. Though your eyes are closed, it doesn’t do much to shield you from the biting brightness of the room. The next thing you realize is how loud the monitor beside you beeped. At least it gave you confirmation that you were alive. Your heart was still beating. That was good.

The third thing you feel is your body. The spot where your father shot at ached but only just so—somewhat between a phantom pain and a lingering sting. It feels awkward, synthetic almost. It makes you think that Doctor Cho had worked her magic from the cradle to repair you. As you slowly gain your consciousness, you feel a warmth enveloping your right hand.

You slowly work your way to open your eyes, moving any part of your body that you could move to wake yourself up.

It takes a moment for you to adjust, but when you do, the first sight that welcomes you is the hand that’s gripping yours. Holding you so tightly as if they were afraid if it loosened any slight bit, you would disappear.

The figure was hunched over the hospital bed, sleeping.

The head of brown, tussled hair makes your heart flutter.

“Bu—”

You almost manage to say his name when you realize how dry your throat is. You’re all but thrown into a fit of coughs, which wakes the man beside you up. You see the initial sheer panic on his face, but he heaves a sigh of relief when he realizes that you’re finally up.

You’re here. You’re awake. You’re alive.

“Hold on,” he says. He stands from where he’s seated to grab a cup of water and gives it to you.

His hands don’t leave your body as he watches you take small sips, letting your throat get used to the liquid. The pad of his thumbs rubs over your skin. The feeling making you feel warmer. When you’re finished, you hand him the cup, and he puts it on the table by your bed.

Neither of you say anything at first, letting the silence take over. But it doesn’t get past you how he’s staring at the spot where your bullet wound would scare. You know he’s thinking about something, his brows furrowed to intensely it makes you want to reach out and smooth it out.

It’s you who speaks first. “Are you mad at me?”

“What?!” Bucky is surprised. He was half-expecting you to tell him to leave or even tell him off for not protecting you sooner.

“I. . .I didn’t listen to you when you asked me if I was ready for this mission. Clearly I wasn’t. You were right.”

Bucky is shaking his head while his one of his hands rest on the side of your face. “I could never be mad at you. Sweetheart, I—Jesus, I was so scared I would lose you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, please. It’s me who has to do that. I wasn’t being fair to you, I know you were just looking out for me like you always do. But I couldn’t even give it back to you. You got hurt and I wasn’t there.”

His voice wavers when he says the last part. It’s still a sore subject for him. Seeing you so close to dying, knowing that he could’ve done something, anything to prevent what happened to you.

“I love you, Bucky,” you say, “I never saw you as something that needed to be fixed.”

Bucky is kissing you before you know it. You melt into it just as quickly as he pressed his lips onto yours—like you always did. Because it was Bucky. It’s not hard for you to melt into him and find your place and fit perfectly into the spots where you two became one.

“I love you,” he whispers in between the kiss. “I love you.”

You know you two need to talk about what happened more. Clear out any anxieties and fears that brewed for the last 34 hours since your fight.

But that could wait.

For now, you two savor the feel of each other. The feel of being alive together. Him telling you he loves you, you telling him you love him.

Because that’s how it was supposed to be.

[barrackbitch]

just married. —phillip graves x reader

tw: loss of virginity, blood, phillip graves is a horny dog.

phillip graves never laid a finger on his pretty girl. not until their wedding night at least. he'd followed her rules, been patient and sweet. but when it came to it, he'd laid her out on the bed before the door of their bedroom even shut. white lace dress and veil strewn on the floor in seconds, but not her heels. no, he'd made sure those stayed on.

"this is what i've been waiting for." his complaints fall short as he drops to his knees before his bride, hands gripping her hips to pull her toward his hungry mouth.

his licks are aggressive, demanding. spit glazed over her shiny cunt, sliming the inside of her supple thighs. walls desperately clenching around nothing. "phillip, please," she gasps, legs squeezing around his neck. with his mouth on her clit, he reaches down to unbuckle his belt.

"i told you-" phillip pants softly for air, climbing over his bride. "i told you i'd make an honest woman of you."

all too desperately, phillip plunges the head of his meaty cock inside. his lustful haze nearly snaps at the cry his darling makes, her gummy walls trying to accommodate the sudden stretch. traces of blood bead along the ridges of veins, stemming along his cock in thick tendrils.. "shhh, i'm sorry, baby," he drawls out with southern twang, tongue lapping away fat tears as they rolled down her cheeks; hips already bucking in slow, rolling thrusts. "look at me, baby. it gets better."

blood buds from the scratches on his back, crimson little beads that stipple under her fingernails. her head is thrown back against a pillow, back arched as his tip prods her g-spot with gentle nudges. "fuck me, fuck me, fuck me. phillip, fuck me. please, baby." her words muddle together, nearly unintelligible. though what kind of gentleman would deny such a pretty thing pleasure?

his arms rope around her waist as his cock greedily slams into her sopping cunt—their bed rocking by the sudden force. the flesh of her neck rests loosely in his maw, moans muffled against her skin. in the heat of long awaited lust, phillip cums all too quickly. "you made me wait two whole fucking years for this pussy," he growls, teeth snapping around her neck. his thrusts get sloppy, pearly cum and blood glazing his girth as his hips snap in and out unforgivingly.

her moans come out in soft gasps. bursts of squirt jump out with every reel of his hips. “i’m sorry,” she mewls, embarrassment taking over her flushed face. her apologies are cut short by his gentle shushes—calloused hands trailing up her body with greedy squeezes of soft fat.

“that’s it. such a good pussy” he chuckles at the sound of her dreamy coos. it was the night he’d been dreaming of since the moment he’d met her. a sweet woman to settle down with and call his own. a woman he could build his life with. and in their last moments of ecstasy, through whines and heated kisses, the newlyweds hit their high.

[saltedfishmaiden]

When I was writing my post about why Sanji loves love, why he sometimes seems too much invested in the concept and idea of it which goes deeper than being only a hopeless romantic, I got to the part with Judge and Luffy, and then wanted to make a whole post about that.

There's this sentiment that Sanji didn't need to have another story with Germa or this added background seems pointless. And while I get it somewhat, I also enjoy getting two cakes and have my fun by poking at parallels and contrasts. So here are all my thoughts and ramblings on the subject. 

I feel WCI is to Sanji in One Piece that Enchantix was to Bloom in Winx Club. For getting that enchantix transformation, all the fairies had to sacrifice something for their people. And while Bloom still gets her transformation, it wasn't at its complete because she hadn't fulfilled the condition of her transformation. Because, you know, she didn't have her people left. (I am talking about season 3, not the newer seasons). 

So how is it even remotely similar to Sanji's Germa origins? Or even ties in with Judge vs Luffy? This got quite lengthy, so under the cut, here we go:

Luffy stands as a figure of freedom and liberation. He has freed islands, thrown off corrupt governments and has saved many, many people. You should start doing good things from your home. And Luffy does it by saving every member of his crew too. But if you closely look at the flashbacks before and during the 3D2Y thing, one of them doesn't hold the same weight as the other. (It didn't for me, at least.) 

Most of the others have flashbacks to being rescued from high stakes situations. Sanji's flashback has a bigger focus on the scene where he asks Luffy if he has ever heard of the All Blue.

Luffy saved Zoro from being killed by Marines, from a death that comes from betrayal and not with a warrior's honor. He saves Kaya, Usopp, and Syrup Village from a fate that was going to befall them. Nami asks for Luffy’s help and he defeats Arlong. He declares war on the world government for Robin. Taking Franky with him so the WG doesn't constantly hunt him down is his decision in the end. Brook spent five decades in literal darkness. Luffy saves him, defeats Moria to restore their shadows, and takes him out of the waters he was stuck for so long at. He is the reason Brook can see sunlight again. He brings the light to the darkness Brook had been in. By launching the prison break, he sets Jinbei free from his cell in the Impel Down. 

Yes he saves Sanji too by fighting Don Krieg. But it differs here that after being set free from their captors or situations, the strawhats have an impact that becomes a trait or a part of their personality. 

Nami doesn't have to free her village any longer. So she's more assertive in taking charge of everyone's finances. Zoro takes quickly to piracy and while his own condition was never jeopardizing his dream, he was ready to give up for Luffy’s life. Robin decides she wants to live. Brook becomes more cheery. Chopper learns some people will love him Because he is a monster. While initially he doesn't want to be one, he is ready to become one for Luffy post time skip.

Coming back to Luffy at Baratie.. he does defeat Don Krieg. (Luffy wasn't the only one influencing his decision. Zoro's refusal to back down from his dream was doing something to his brain too.) But look at it from Sanji's angle:

A pirate crew returns from the Grand Line and attacks a ship on the East Blue that he currently calls his current home. That sounds very familiar though. 

A pirate saves him from a seemingly worse fate after that attack. That too has already happened. 

For Sanji, it's probably another Tuesday. Even if it probably repeats every nine years or so.

Interestingly, Sanji doesn't actually change after Baratie is saved by Luffy. He's still all traits and characteristics that he was. He was ready to die on the Baratie. Then, from Drum Island and onwards, his sacrificial tendencies and (passively) suicidal behavior becomes a recurring theme. At the restaurant, he declares he is ready to die because dying is how he can repay Zeff for saving him. Luffy tells him it's stupid and Zeff didn't save Sanji for him to pull this. But Sanji still keeps this stance, which he again repeats at Thriller Bark that he has always been ready to die. This thing continues post time skip too, as seen in Dressrosa where he was ready for his fate by willingly giving himself up to save the crewmates on the ship. 

So Sanji had yet to change that streak. And it makes you wonder WHY he is so ready to die, to put other's lives and dreams above his own, why his self worth is lower than Punk Hazard’s temperature? Because, again, Zeff didn't save Sanji so he can throw himself away every chance he gets. So where does his behavior even come from? A random nobody kid on a cruise ship shouldn't come with this much baggage. Then why does he? 

Those questions are answered with the WCI arc. Father vs father figure gets the focus. But Zeff isn't physically present there. You know who is? Luffy! The center stage is taken by authority figure vs authority figure. Or, well, leader versus authority figure. And the two couldn't be more different. Which the arc shows throughout.

Judge is a colonizer and symbolizes oppression. In contrast to him, Luffy is the liberator, symbolizing freedom. One of them is power hungry, the other craves freedom. Judge is someone who thrives on hierarchy, on being the biggest, the oldest, the one who looms over others. Luffy is the captain but he is also the second youngest, and usually lets his crewmates do their own thing. 

When Sanji goes back to his bio family, he ends up beaten. When Luffy catches up to him, and Sanji reacts to send him away, Luffy refuses to fight him back. While Judge ignores Sanji's pain and hurt, Luffy acknowledges it. Judge refuses to give Sanji any choice in being used as a pawn. Luffy asks Sanji what he wants. 

Judge goes back against his own word that he had bound Sanji to. Luffy makes a promise of staying there come whatever. Luffy binds himself to his promise. Judge is ready to blow up Sanji's hand. Luffy was ready to give up his own.

What Judge says he doesn't do. Luffy always does what he says.

Luffy picked Sanji as his cook at the Baratie before ever tasting his food. On Whole Cake, the food is ruined but Luffy had nothing but praise. The two stories, both, have Luffy choosing Sanji and it's not because of how good the food is. 

Judge puts everything above Sanji and Luffy puts Sanji above everything else. 

Whatever Judge does, Luffy does the opposite. We have Sanji realizing that he's worth it too. That no, he shouldn't be thrown in a dungeon or used as a chip. 

(Back to my kinda silly comparison to Bloom’s enchantix, isn't it interesting Sanji awakens his own sense of self worth while saving his family too?) 

He changes from that point forward. He asks Robin for help. He questions if Luffy would want him more useful or how he is. And doesn't wait for an answer. Because he already has one. Luffy isn't Judge. For the latter, everything is about usefulness and that's why Sanji is a failure because of what he can't do. But now Sanji knows he is Sora’s success and he already knew Luffy has never cared for what others are of use to him. 

Sanji has never doubted Luffy. He just hasn't believed himself of any worth.

Luffy at Baratie was throwing hands with a pirate who failed on the Grand Line, in exchange of not being the chore boy any longer. Luffy on Whole Cake Island was throwing hands with an Emperor of the Sea for someone he deemed worth more than his dream. That's the difference. 

[reggie-hedgie]

(SOME) TF2 Headcanons!

TW/CW: implied trauma, mention of burn scars, general tf2 stuff ig? (If I need to add anything, please lmk!)

Characters: Pyro, Sniper

___________________ENJOY!________________

Pyro- 🔥

-Burn victim. They were a fairly functional adult before an accident left them badly burned, scarred both mentally and physically. The way they see things only applies to violence or gore, otherwise stuff is fairly normal. It’s basically a mental block to avoid further mental scarring.

-They’re really bad about cutting their nails, and wore gloves to keep from itching when they were healing after the accident, and it became a comfort thing to wear some kind of gloves or other hand covering.

-They smell like smoke and cherry syrup.

-Engie makes them Shirley temples on hot days because they refuse to drink plain water.

-almost completely indifferent to pronouns. They is preferred, since Spy and Heavy called them “it” and “thing” when they were newer to the team, but they won’t make a fuss either way.

-(heavy and spy have since warmed up to pyro, heavy more quickly. I have a soft spot for Texas toast and French toast also, SO-)

-They like Medic the least, they don’t remember much of recovery, but they remember the pain of bandage changes, and the nurses being involved, but they don’t honestly hate anyone in the team.

-Very physically affectionate. They love platonic handholding and snuggling. If someone is just chilling somewhere, they always snuggle up, wanting company or just some affection.

-They actually get cold pretty easily. Nerve damage, maybe? Another reason they snuggle, they’re cold. They like heated blankets.

-They aren’t fond of weighted blankets though. They don’t like feeling trapped under things, even if they technically aren’t trapped.

-Often dehydrated. They hate drinking plain water, and they get hot and sweaty in the suit.

-Could probably beat Scout in a stamina race without their mask, gas masks are hard to breathe in and they wear one all the time. It’s like training at high elevation for a low elevation competition.

-Loves listening to anything anyone has to say.

-Sniper is one of their favorite people to be around, outside of ships. Sniper doesn’t mind them at all, and they enjoy quiet company like he does.

-Actually very helpful. Engie often has them hand him tools when working on a project.

-Engie got them one of those noise machine things for sleeping, but swapped out the sound for rain and thunder instead of just the awful white noise static (sorry white noise enjoyers, I can’t-)

-They can sleep without the rain sounds as long as they have something else to fill the void while they try to sleep. Sleeping in the same room as someone else is always good, the other person’s breathing/snoring is perfect.

-honorary eldritch horror pyro mention, I love that a lot.

-If eldritch pyro could make themselves appear human, they’d pick traits from other mercs. Snipers crooked smile, medics body type, heavy’s loud voice, Scout’s energy, Engie’s empathy, etc

-Loves napping in the sun or under a tree, it’s comfy.

-Happy hand stims. Also uses ASL. Their little happy dance is also a stim.

Sniper- 🦘

—Autistic creature for SURE

-also trans creature. The T wasn’t kind to his face lol

-his mum and dad don’t mind at all, they just don’t approve of sniping lol

-he’s got Disney Princess magic, animals love him, regardless of the animal. Or is that Aussie/New Zealand magic… hmmmm

-big fan of rodents and reptiles especially. Doesn’t mind most insects but some still give him the willies… earwigs… eugh

-So used to being all by himself in a sniper nest, that he doesn’t talk all that much unless he feels like it. He will talk to himself as a way to think and process stuff.

-He loves tart fruit. If pyro doesn’t want a fruit with their breakfast cuz it’s too sour, he’ll eat it. Doesn’t care if pyro already bit it. He’s gross/j

-He loves weighted blankets, but gets too warm so he’s always got his feet out the end of the blanket.

-His joins sound AWFUL. His neck is the worst of it, from hunching over his sniper all day.

-nearly passes away when Engie gives him a shoulder rub cuz he was complaining about a bad shoulder. He’s very prone to getting used to constant pain/general discomfort, so it felt amazing lolol

-Decent about hydrating. Total opposite of pyro, isn’t fond of sugary flavored drinks, plain water or ice tea are always good, even if iced tea would give most UK associated folks a stroke.

-snores and talks in his sleep, although it’s usually just nonsense. Tends to have weird dreams too

-Likes movies but just as background noise, he rarely actively watches them. Will occasionally lurk behind the couch like a creature if he’s interested.

__________________________________________

Too eepy to think of the others, let me know if I should do some of the others- can you tell who’s my favorite lol

[dfroggofarson]

I want it All

chapter one.

It all started with a little crush.

He was a regular at the small bookshop you started working at a year ago. You were sure he was at least ten years older than you, and still (or was it because of your daddy issues) you couldn't help but instantly notice how good-loking he was. Sharp features, hazel eyes, precise movements, polite words – and with time, you caught onto the subtle things that made him unique. How he preferred darker shirts and lighter suits, how his tie always had a funny pattern. His shoes were spotless, just like his whole attire, his speech, his gestures. He always went to find books in business, sometimes at the cooking or science section, but never touched romance, fantasy or esoterics. When he came to pay, he always asked for a paper bag. To your surprise, he didn’t have a loyalty card, even though he came to the shop once every week.

He always greeted you respectfully, his voice low and reserved – the kind of voice that would make you trail off when he spoke, even though he never interrupted your speech – paid silently and wished you a great day. You never initiated small talk, but he didn’t seem like the type who would appreciate it.

He looked like a real gentleman. Calm and collected.

You had no idea then that you’d have to add chilling to the list later, as well.

After weeks and weeks of silently eyeing him from behind the counter, the day came when you decided to stop drooling over the way his muscles stretched on his forearms, or how he furrowed his brows when he was reading a blurb, so subtly nobody else would’ve noticed.

Stop, you tell yourself. There was no hope to begin with anyway.

But it was nice to look forward to a customer every now and then.

Setting the alarm and locking the door behind you, you put away your keys and step out to the street. You look at your phone – half past nine. Not too late to go to the supermarket.

"Good evening."

You snap your head to look at the direction the sound came from. And lo and behold – the very cause of your renewing hopeless romantic problem stands there, under a street light, his white suit draped across his arm while he looks at you. You almost gasp – how can he look so good even now? – but manage to stop yourself, as worry starts to flood your mind.

Why is he here? He sure looks like he was waiting for the shop to close, with how he was standing just a few feet away from the back door. But why is he at the back door?

"Oh, hi! I’m sorry, I just closed the store, you’ll have to come back tomorrow," you inform him while walking closer.

"Ah, please excuse me for disturbing you so late, but I'm not here because of that." He pauses for a second, and pushes his glasses up his defined nose. You can't help but follow his long fingers with your eyes. "I came to ask for your contact information."

Your face becomes pale. You look up at him, mortified, a million things running through your mind as to what you could have done wrong. Did you mess up one of his book orders? Or rang him up a book he didn’t buy? Gave him a plastic bag instead of a paper one?

"Alright, yes of course, but… I could call my manager tomorrow morning if you have any complaints, sir, it’s much faster to tell her, as reviewing written reports can take up to days…" You blabber on, sending yourself spiraling, when he – for the first time – cuts you off.

"I meant your number."

You shut up and look at him in disbelief. "My number?"

"Yes, your phone number. Except in case you wouldn’t like me to take you out sometime the next week."

You just stare at him. Is this real life? Is this happening to you? Is this the same man you have been lusting after for months? Aren’t you hallucinating?

The urge to shake your head or look around to see if he was talking to someone else is strong, but you brace yourself. You wouldn’t want to make an idiot out of yourself in front of him.

"No, it’s uhh, are you… really? Are you serious?" You ask instead, and already want to punch yourself in the face upon actually verbalizing the words. But he doesn’t laugh, just answers your question casually.

"Yes, I am."

You stare at him for a couple more seconds, then snap out of it. "Okay, yeah, I mean, sure. No, I mean, thank you, I'd love that," you just want the ground to swallow you whole before that, being all flustered and rambling nonsense. You almost don’t notice the small smile lingering on his lips when he pulls out his phone, opens the contacts and hands it to you.

"Thank you. And sorry for holding you up," Nanami apologizes, but you rather he’d disturb you all night long instead of just dropping by.

"Let me properly introduce myself, then. I’m Kento Nanami," he says then, and you too introduce yourself (awkwardly) while typing your number and name into his phone.

"It's really nice to meet you, Nanami," you smile at him as pretty as you can, then give his phone back to him. He looks at it, then snickers.

My God. I need to stop reading so many explicit novels.

"No, not at all, I was about to head home anyways," you shake your head. "Then… I guess we’ll see each other around?"

"We will," he confirms with a curt nod. "Well then, good night."

"Good night."

It’s only when you hop onto the bus you realize that you forgot to ask for his number. You want to scream in agony and embarassment, but there’s no helping it now.

You’d have to wait for him to contact you.

The next morning, you wake up before your alarm goes off, get ready and make yourself as pretty as you possibly can. The dress code is strict, but you can put on some lipstick and jewellery that is more shiny than what you usually wear. And throughout your workday, you check your phone at least three times a minute in case he calls, texts, or sends any kind of sign.

And well, the signal ends up being he himself.

Your eyes widen when you see him walk through the door casually, his gaze quickly finding yours. And then he actually smiles at you, and heads to the business section.

"Oh. My God. I did not just witness this."

You turn to see your coworker, Shoko standing behind you, a few books in hand, her jaw also on the floor. She looks even more bevildered than you do. She quickly closes the gap between the two of you and grabs you by the shoulders. "Are you kidding me?! Did you put airborne drugs in his books or something? How’d you sweet-talk Mr. Cool?"

A stupid grin spreads across your face. "I don’t know! Last night when I closed the shop he was waiting for me outside. Said he wanted my contact information," you giggle quietly, and Shoko’s eyes widen. "I though he was going to complain, but no, he asked for my number."

"Shut up," she says while putting the books to their designated shelves.

"I did, unfortunately. I forgot to ask for his number."

"You idiot!" She hits your arm playfully, and leaves to the counter to ring up a customer, then comes back. "But he did waltz in here with a pretty smile. Looks like you didn’t mess up."

"I hope so."

Your eyes return to the tall, blonde man still browsing in his favourite section. You want to believe you were the reason he came here, since he was in just two days ago, and he rarely shops twice in a week.

As though he felt your gaze, he looks up and meets your eyes. You blush, but hold his stare for a couple of seconds before you look away to help other customers.

A few minutes later he comes to your register with a book in his hand.

"Hello."

"Hi," you breathe back.

There is a silent moment when you forget that you’re actually a cashier and he’s here to buy a book. You recollect yourself quickly, and ring up his read. You raise your brows in surprise when you see what he bought – a romantasy you’ve been meaning to read for a few weeks but never got the chance. You try to hide your puzzled expression as you bag it.

"I thought you liked business books and autobiographies," you remark. Nanami puts his hand on the counter.

"It’s not for me."

"Oh, I see," and boom, you're already feeling stupid. Of course it's not for him.

But hen you hand him the bag, he doesn’t take it. Instead, he reaches to gently push it back towards you. "Enjoy your read. And call me when you’ve finished your shift. I hope you'll have a nice day."

Nanami then smiles at you again, and leaves the shop with a polite nod.

You are left standing there again, with no words, until you realize something is sticking out from one of the pages. You open it up curiously, and find a little note that reads:

’You look beautiful today.’

Followed by his phone number.

You try not to squeal and melt at the same time. How can this man be so smooth?

When Nanami gets home, the first thing he does is open your social media accounts.

The first time he did it a couple of weeks earlier, he was surprised to see how few posts you had online, one every few months, with two to six pictures and a short caption. You mostly posted pictures which had your face and your friends’ faces in it, given that most of your accounts were private.

But, well, who was he if he couldn’t break his way into a few private profiles?

He observed the pictures and read through your posts, memorizing your characteristics, likes and dislikes, the people you interacted with and the way you did it. He had learned that you broke up with your boyfriend around six months ago. Nanami could not believe you were with an idiot like that guy in the first place – but low standards meant it would be cakewalk to sweep you off your feet.

He analyzes every little detail he could find about your public and private life, up to the point that he could make a full profile from the top of his head just by reading through you socials and meeting you in the book store from time to time.

When he looks at a picture of you, grinning and hugging your coworker he saw you exchanging excited words with, the edges of his mouth slowly curl up into a smile.

Poor girl… She has no idea what she’s gotten herself into.

thank you all for your continued support!! i look forward to writing evil Nanami dribbles, hehe. it just fits his character so perfectly, i love it so much. cw! in the next few episodes, you can expect:

manipulation

graphic descriptions of violence

nsfw contents

nothing being as it seems

and idk - more horrible things i wouldn't write if i was sane. if you're sensitive to contents like these, please refrain from reading further. he's gonna be a bad guy, people. and i mean it. anyway see you in a few days, and please let me know if you liked this! @realalpacorn here you go bestie, hope you enjoyed this as well :3 have a nice day everyone <3

read the prologue here, and check out the little playlist i made on my Spotify acc here! dividers by @strangergraphics and @cursed-carmine

[moonglide]

Carol and Susie elemental analysis (chapter 3/4 spoilers)

To preface this, I only thought about this because of Persistant Variables over on AO3. It is an INCREDIBLE fic (it’s also finished!! So go read it!!) that cooked in a lot of aspects, but what I’m focusing on right now is that BewareTheDragon (the author), made the Ice/Order and Fire/Rude elemental pairs. (They also completed the trio with Dust/Chaos, but that’s not really relevant to this post). And I think that they were already good pairs, but in light of the new chapters, they work especially well. (Actual analysis under the cut).

Carol, of course, really, REALLY, embodies Ice/Order. There’s the obvious factors that she’s a reindeer, her whole family is Christmas/Winter themed, and that her color scheme is what it is. But there’s also how she always keeps her AC on full blast. Her hand on Kris’s shoulder is described as “icy.” She’s a very cold person in general, and so far hasn’t shown much emotion at all outside of “calm fury,” if that makes sense. And order is a big facet of her character. Everything under her control HAS to be frozen and in its proper place. In her house, Dess’s room is still. Unchanging. Exactly as she left it when she disappeared. Noelle’s show of care (the paper mache snowflakes) were bronzed and hung up to never be touched by the outside world. The grand piano just sits in the room adjacent to the kitchen, and hasn’t been touched in years.

But her house isn’t the only thing under control-she’s the mayor. She’s pretty much ALWAYS been the mayor. She always will be the mayor because she runs unopposed. Any and all crime is swiftly eliminated to protect her perfect town. Hometown is pretty static and unchanging. (Also, she’s supporting Asgore’s “you-know-what”-likely his attempts at courting Toriel-to get things back the way they were. And this isn’t technically confirmed yet, but she’s TOTALLY trying to bring Dess back. Like, 100%.)

And then there’s Susie. Fire/Rude embodies her perfectly. I mean, for starters, Rude Buster is the only Rude-elemental attack in the game, iirc. In Persistent Variables, Ralsei describes the Rude element as a “defiance against existence”-and while I wouldn’t go that far, I think it’s definitely a defiance against stasis, and the status quo. It’s not Chaos, which tears apart Order at the seams, but it’s still rebellion. It’s constant change, even against the order within herself. Susie pretty much facilitates ALL of the major character growth in Deltarune. It’s because of her that Kris is no longer an outcast loner. It’s because of her that Ralsei hopes that the prophecy can be changed, and that he thinks of himself as a less worthless than he initially thought. It’s because of her that Noelle, at least in the dark world, gains the courage to stand up to an analogue of her controlling mother. It’s because of her that Berdly (dark world only, again, but he thought it was a dream) is more receptive to accepting help from others (and not being so goddamn high and mighty (which is part of HIS own Holy/Electric elemental pair but that’s another can of worms)).

When Ralsei tries to teach her Heal Prayer (probably a holy/electric spell) she instead learns Ultimate Heal, which unlike Heal Prayer, gets better and better with each successive use. And sure, Gerson is the one to encourage her to use her healing, but she was the one to reach out to Ralsei and try to learn in the first place.

When it comes to fire, the connection’s a little less strong, but it’s still there. She’s a dragon, and Gerson says that she’s THE dragon in Dragon Blazers, which is based off the prophecy. He also says, “I see a future lit up in your eyes. Burnin’ bright. Burnin’ black. Burnin’ up everything”. And while the whole “garden is charred in an inferno of jealousy” thing probably refers to Asgore’s fire powers, chapter five will take place during the festival. Which. You know. Is a very easy place for jealousy to arise. Also, iirc, there was an interview where Toby said he originally wanted to give a character a fire spell, but ultimately decided against it. Which totally could be Susie.

And these things quickly put Susie and Carol at odds. Susie is a new girl in Carol’s perfect town that’s changing things. You can SEE when Susie sits down at the foot of Dess’s bed, Noelle is shocked. Carol has raised her to think of the past as unchanging and untouchable. But you can also see when that effect melts away and Noelle decides to sit down too. Same with the guitar. Nobody’s used the red (orange. It’s orange. But whatever.) guitar in ages, and it stayed that way until Susie grabbed hold of it. Noelle, again, is shocked-but then she thinks for a moment, and relents, and decides that Susie should play it. To breathe new life into the past. And when Carol gets home, and sees that Susie is holding the guitar, she’s affronted, because Susie is, from her perspective, defiling Carol’s attempt at preserving the past.

All this to say, especially with the other protagonist traits that Susie has, I’m convinced that if Deltarune weren’t a video game where we were forced to play as Kris, and instead literally any other form of media, Susie would totally be the main character. Especially in a non-dark world AU where it’s just small-town drama.

Idk. I probably missed something. But tell me what you guys think.

Edit: I completely forgot to talk about the prophecy!! Susie rebels against the prophecy and that’s another connection to the rude element. Ok bye.

TL;DR: Carol’s associated with Ice/Order because her whole deal is perfectly preserving the past, and Susie’s associated with Fire/Rude because her whole deal is rebellion, facilitating change, and melting the ice that Carol is making. Also, go read Persistent Variables over on AO3.

[moki-dokie]

and, as another layer of this shit sundae, i am already underpaid considerably. like, 10k/yr below what i ought to be making with my experience and position. i've been fine with that because we are an extremely small company/start-up and that kinda comes with the territory. also, oklahoma is hella cheap so i can get by on a lower income pretty fine.

and, again, this comes with start-up territory, i do about 5 different jobs at once on any given day. all of us do. it's gotten worse over the last 2 years though as we've had to lay off about half of the company yet still trying to run it that just isn't possible with a less than skeleton crew.

even after securing one hell of a lucrative deal with R*, we are still fucking floundering and can't bail out or get a good enough investor or make enough of a profit. ceo has been in panic mode for at least a year with no fucking direction and just throwing shit out in hopes something might stick but also quadrupling the work load of everyone. ceo is also the most underqualified asshat in existance and has no fucking right to be calling himself a ceo because he isn't an executive in any fucking capacity. 10 years my junior, no college education whatsoever, no work experience outside of running this company, and his only real guidance has been a few leadership classes here and there. he has lucked his way through the last decade and that luck has run dry. i have been screaming for the last FOUR years at HR (which is useless bc it's contracted and its run by a friend of the ceo so. yeah.) that the ceo is the problem. all of our turnover comes back to him. all of our operational problems comes back to him. he is singlehandedly driving the company straight into the ground and like every techbro on the fucking planet, cannot take five minutes to step back and consider that he is wrong and unfit and needs to hand off his position to someone qualified.

we are still a start-up after 12 years. we aren't *starting* shit anymore. the core leadership are the three co-founders who collectively have no idea how to run a business but are nonetheless good at pretending they do. they have never secured stable funding. they have never been profitable enough to do the things they're trying to do. it's only been this past year that they've gotten so desperate that they finally put their egos aside a BIT to take advice from the rest of the team. too little too late, though.

ceo has completely and utterly eroded my trust and goodwill over the years after throwing my department under the bus far too many times. i have 0 faith the company will last another two years, shaky faith that it lasts even 1 more year. i have 0 faith we'll ever get the back pay we were promised upon taking pay cuts.

on top of explicitly telling them i do not want this position on multiple occasions (trust me, it's not that i'm a good fit and they want me for it, its because they have literally no other choice), i know it's something i'm not capable of handling besides. i'm not remotely interested in upper management and i know i can't operate the way they need me to in order to succeed at it and i don't want to stress myself tf out trying just for the sake of it when we're in a sinking fucking ship. as i told my manager, if that weren't the case and there was even a glimmer of hope on the horizon, i might be more willing to tough it out and give it a shot. as it is, not only is it not worth my stress, but i just don't give a shit enough. there is quite literally nothing in it for me at this point other than some experience that ultimately doesn't mean shit.

i'm told that, well, its alright if you don't like it! You can always step down! to which i say - step down into WHAT position? you're getting rid of mine, so it'd be into the demotion -> layoff path, which ends up being the exact same ultimatum. I'm told that, well, we won't throw you to the wolves! it's okay if you fuck up a little, we'll help. to which i say - that isn't fucking possible when you *just* gave me an unjustified final warning write-up a month ago that'll be on record for 6 mo minimum. one single fuck-up more and I'm out. not that they need a reason at all, because like most of the nation oklahoma is at-will employment so as long as it isn't discrimination related your ass can be fired for any ol reason.

i have been given the shaft more times than i can count in my tenure here. ceo and i have butted heads enough times that i simply refuse to talk to him unless it's fucking necessary because i'm two seconds from ripping his head off at any given moment. since at least 2020, leadership has been trying to get rid of me in a way that simply cannot be contested (not that i would, i've tried that before and it's fucking pointless in at-will states) but i'm a fucking cockroach and i survive the shit they pull. you might be thinking WHY the fuck haven't i moved on? well, 1) i am my own boss 99% of the time 2) I am completely remote 3) we have the most generous PTO of any company i've *ever* worked for 4) we are super lax about people utilizing that generous PTO whenever and however they want 5) the health insurance is actually pretty damn good 6) i decide my own work hours and schedule and 7) because i legitimately liked doing the job we were doing for quite a long time and i still do at its core and now that AI has sucked human interaction out of customer support i take extra pride in my team and 8) despite being paid well under the industry standard, it's well above literally anything else i could make elsewhere in the state, because oklahoma is a broke ass ho with a job market in the dumpster and i live minimum 30 minutes away from where jobs would be besides and 9) without a fucking degree, which i do not have, all of my experience is utterly worthless to 90% of the job market and especially fucking resume-fielding algorithms and 10) bro i'm mid-30s in middle management customer service which is being rapidly wiped from the job market as a whole with some not-insignificant medical issues that are easily used against me without triggering any sort of technical discrimination. basically, this is as good as it gets for me where i am now. that, however, is changing.

but since i'm about to be in california, in a very walkable city, with a very good job market and overall better employer mentality, my options are expanding. i could also jump ship to a competitor, which i'm heavily considering. the problem there is that this industry is so fucking small that all the ceos and leadership teams know each other, and i know from experience that they shit talk the employees they don't like amongst each other and circumvent laws asking about employment by just talking to each other as friends. so, eh, it's a risk but its a risk i'm considering too. all things considered, this came at a pretty good time. i think they honestly counted on backing me into a corner, not realizing i had an escape route that *just* opened up.

anyway. there's 6 years of my life wasted. i'm tired and i'm stressed and i'm angry.

work: so your choices are take the promotion, or take a demotion and then lay-off

me: hm. k. so how much is the pay raise for the promotion?

work: well. about that. there isn't one

me:

work:

me: so. you just. expect me to take on more work and more responsibility when i've already been working under a pay cut for the last 7 months?

work: well, what else would you do?

me: hm, gee, i don't know, maybe NOT take any extra work on at all actually and just be demoted since I'm already at that pay grade?

work:

me:

work: okay but see you're holding yourself back here. are you really willing to face being laid off over challenging yourself?

me: yeah actually i'm very willing to do exactly that

work:....alright lets talk some more tomorrow

[bridgeportbritt]

Willington Palace | Sage, SimDonia

Diana: Good job, Mia! Can you stack this one?

Mia: Syack syack stack!

Diana: Very good. Looks like we're putting your little brother to sleep!

Mia: He sweep?

Diana whispers: Looks like it. We'll have to play very quietly, so we don't wake him.

Mia: Otay, I play quiet, mama.

Maranda: Good evening, Your Majesty. Sorry to interrupt-

Mia: Randa, be quiet! Ger Ger sweeping!

Diana whispers and laughs: It's okay, Mia. Sorry. Is everything okay, Maranda?

Maranda: Yes, Ma'am. I just spoke with Lydia and she just had a message for you.

Diana: Oh, alright. What is it?

Maranda: She wanted you to know that everything with The Grand Duchess of Umbrage is handled and things are back on track with the treatments.

Diana: Really? Well, that's wonderful news. Thanks for letting me know!

Maranda: Of course, Ma'am. Let me know if you need anything else.

Diana: Will do.

I'm just now realizing that the last time we saw Diana, girl was still very much pregnant but, in my game, her little man has been out and doing his little infant thang lol. No royal announcement or nothing! I blame pregnancy brain. So without further ado, here's a little introduction!

Welcome, third in line for the throne and first in line to his parent's and siblings' hearts - HRH Prince Gerhard Spencer Winston De Geloes, Duke of Sage! Otherwise known as Gerhard Junior or Ger Ger by his little sister!

He had a relatively smooth birth with his whole family present. His nursery is right next to his big brother Parker's room. The family couldn't be happier about this addition!

[black-and-yellow]

As you wish. Here is the 16th chapter under the cut(draft so it's subject to change) for your viewing pleasure.

Bone apple teeth.

Ch.16

Cass drew her coat tighter around her shoulders and kicked at the thick central leg of the pedestal table in front of her.

She gritted her teeth and impatiently checked the time again. Mal was supposed to be here twenty minutes ago.

She glanced around the establishment. A ramshackle takeaway joint a few streets away from the hotel. It had an overwhelming stench of grease, but whoever was back in the kitchen could whip up a mean chow mein.

Cass shrank back into her seat in the corner. There was nobody else here and she’d finished eating a while ago. She was getting a little worried that she’d be asked to leave before her company even arrived.

She was about to start picking at the remnants of her meal in the cardboard takeout box on the table when the bell at the door chimed and the tall, lanky figure of a man ducked inside.

His hair was scruffy, black streaked with a few stray greys, and a respirator mask covered the lower half of his face. The various belts and drapes of his long coat trailed behind him as he made a beeline over to the only occupied table in the place.

Cass’ heartbeat quickened. The situation felt a little more real when he was stood right before her. He looked down at her, one eye bright green, the other clouded over with a cataract.

“Cassiopeia?”

“Um. Yeah.”

The man’s face brightened. At least, by what Cass could see of it, and he held out a bony hand.

“Mallory Doyle. Sorry I’m late... had to grab some juice... Brought you some, too,” he said as they shook hands, and then deposited two cans of orange juice on the table with a heavy thud. He swept down onto the chair opposite Cass and pulled his mask down from his face. “Good to meet you in person. Sorry it’s not under better circumstances.”

“It’s okay. Thanks for agreeing to all this, by the way.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Mallory waved a hand as he dug an old laptop out of his bag, “To tell you the truth, I don’t think I could pass up the offer to work on some android systems. That’s a once-in-a-lifetime type deal, y’know?”

Cass scoffed quietly and couldn’t help but smile.

“Not back in my town, it’s not,” she told him, and held up four fingers, “I know four androids back home.”

Mallory’s eyebrows raised in astonishment as he flipped open his laptop, which looked as if it had seen much better days.

“Four, you said?”

“Leo, Felix, Henry, and Mason of course.”

“Well, I… I’m at a loss for words, Cassiopeia.”

“You can call me Cass. Everyone else does,” Cass told him. Then the reason she was here re-entered her mind and she quickly dug around in her pocket for the drive Felix had given her and placed it gently on the table.

Mallory’s eyes flicked to the drive, up to Cass, and then back again.

“Is that it? The data?”

“Yeah.” Cass cleared her throat. It pained her a little to hand it over, to watch him pick it up, and cling onto the hope that it was the right thing to do.

“Hey, don’t worry,” Mallory seemed to have picked up on the tension she was feeling, “She’s in good hands.” He held his hands up as if to prove it and gave her little grin as he plugged the drive into his laptop.

That was what doctors always said, Cass remembered. What doctors said when things were looking grim, and they knew they couldn’t make any promises. She fidgeted in her seat, the suspense killing her slowly, keenly watching Mallory’s expression from the corner of her eye.

“Here we go…” he said as everything loaded up, then she watched his eyes grow wider, flickering around the screen like a cat watching a laser pointer. He coughed once in surprise, which then cascaded into a series of wheezing chokes until he pulled his mask back up over his mouth and steadied his breathing, valves clicking open and shut.

“Sorry, this is…” he shook his head and rasped out a short laugh, “I’ve seen some unconventional code in my time, but this…”

Cass’ face fell.

“Is it bad? Is it really bad?”

“No, no, it’s… I mean it is, but no, I can work with this.” Mallory hunched over to take a closer look at the screen, brow furrowed in concentration as he attempted to decipher how the language itself even functioned.

Cass watched and chewed her lip. Judging by the look on his face, this wasn’t a good start.

“Man…” she thought to herself, turning away, “What made me think this would work..?”

Seeming to pick up on her agitation, Mallory’s gaze flicked up from the screen to her face, and back down again.

“Tell me about your android friends.”

Cass looked up again, a little surprised at Mallory’s sincere curiosity. It hadn’t really occurred to her before that living with androids wasn’t so common amongst the general population.

“Well… There’s Felix, he’s very shy. He tends to get pushed around by people a lot since he’s so reserved, but my friend Orion has been helping him come out of his shell a bit. He’s really sweet once you get to know him. Then there’s Leo…” a smile crept back onto Cass’ face, “Complete hopeless romantic. Always dressed like he’s attending some fancy-schmancy event. He’s a singer at the pub in town, you should hear him. Great cook, too, he hosted dinner for all of us the other night as a welcome to Henry. I’ve only just met Henry, but he’s great, even though he works for my brother, and he’s been a real help with all this… stuff. And Mason…” It occurred to her that in that tiny box in front of her was everything that made Mason who she was, her entire self all stripped down to bare bones. DNA, Mallory had likened it to. She lightly nudged the hard drive on the table, “That’s Mason.”

Mallory sat back in his chair and regarded her for a minute, hands still hovering over his keyboard, and raised an eyebrow.

“Well, you’ve pretty much met her already, right?” Cass clarified, “Looking through all that.”

“Don’t do her such a disservice, Cass,” Mallory told her, returning to his work, “I might know the basic components that make up Mason’s character, but I haven’t met her, I don’t know what she’s really like. Androids are more than the sum of their parts, just like us.”

Cass cracked a smile. Mallory’s evident respect for androids put her mind at rest a little, knowing Mason – or, her code – was in safe hands.

“She likes espressos,” Cass said at last. “And learning things, and fixing stuff. And she saved my life when I was a kid. She’s sort of been my guardian ever since. Like a kind of rock.”

Cass hardly remembered the fire at this point. She had only the vaguest recollection of being pulled to safety, standing out on the drive at the front of the house while Mason slipped back into the furnace devouring it to find her father. She returned alone, of course, with the left half of her face dripping off like cake batter. The years surrounding the event all seemed like a fuzzy, far-off bad dream. But she knew Mason was there through all of it.

“She must care about you a lot.”

“That’s not what my brother would say.”

“Your brother…” Mallory mused, “You mentioned him before. What’s he like?”

Cass gave a groan and grabbed her drink from the table, fiddling with the tab on the can in her hands, shaking her head.

“I can’t stand him,” she admitted, “This whole thing is his fault.”

Mallory gave her a look like he wanted her to continue, so she did.

“I only met him a few days ago. He went to boarding school when I was a baby, so I don’t remember anything about him from when we were kids. I was so excited when I found out he was coming to visit. I did everything I could to welcome him, I tried so hard to be a good sister, but…” She shrugged, “He’s always hated Mason, I don’t know why. Well, I do know why, sort of, but I don’t really get it. Anyway, he… he’s the one who made this virus.”

She decided against mentioning Atlas’ plans for ‘Project Cirrus’. Best to focus on one world-shattering event at a time.

For a minute the only sound was the muffled sizzling noise of the kitchen behind them and the hum of neon lights around the ceiling. Outside, a quiet back street, travelled only by those local to the area, who knew where they were going, lined with shuttered shops and the occasional apartment building. A pocket of relative silence in the clamouring city. Homely, even.

“I’m sorry.” Mallory shook his head in a mournful sort of manner, “A lot of androids are quite unlike like your friends back home. They’re utilitarian, specifically programmed with a distinct lack of personality. A professional detachment, you might say. But your father made something special.”

“I know.”

“Cass…” He addressed her soberly, with a sudden seriousness to his demeanour, and he reached over to place a bony hand on her shoulder. “We’re gonna get her back.”

(bonus Cass doodles for fun)

Would anyone enjoy an excerpt from my (original) book I've been working on. Just for funsies. Just for sillies perhaps. If you will.

[voicesunified]

ㅤ"I know you don't want to hear this, but you need to slow down." Sheik stated, his face pinching together in worry as he gazed at the Hero beside him. This? The reason that he needed to now stitch himself back together? Was because Sky was rushing around. And while he won't say that outright and make the Hero feel guilty, it was the genuine truth of the moment.

ㅤSheik has been cut open, ripped apart and beaten by the man who left this wound on him and still managed to move around Hyrule without reopening them. Most of the time. Don't get him wrong, he was careless with his own body, he threw himself at everything without a single hesitation. But Sheik went from fighting Hyrule's greatest enemy, to moving at the speed of a freshly released Hero on the surface without a single pause. They haven't eaten or drank anything since the last time they were up here, and that was a while ago.

ㅤAnd with this man, they went from one situation to another without a single moment of hesitation. They just ran around an entire desert for far to long without a single moment to pause or even drink some water. This man was going to work himself into a grave without ever reaching his Princess at this rate.

ㅤAt the very least, he needed to eat and drink something.

ㅤSheik pressed his hand to his waist and flinched, attempting to put some pressure on his wound. Biting back the pain he kept his gaze locked with the Hero's. "What good is all of this if you kill yourself by pushing yourself so hard?" If he reaches his friend and then collapses, all he is doing is making things worse than they already are, which shouldn't be what he was attempting to do.

ㅤPulling his hand away from his waist he glanced down toward his palm, frowning at the red that stained his bandaged fingers. Sheik was not weak, he wasn't someone who was easily defeated by wounds. When he was guiding Link he drowned potion after potion to keep going, pushing himself as hard as he could to fill every single role he was meant to. To be in as many places as he could in such a short amount of time. He has done this, he has been in this man's shoes. Not exactly, but close enough.

ㅤ"I know you feel like there is a ticking clock over your head. I know you feel like you need to be everywhere at once. That you have to push through things as quickly as possible because the entire world depends on you doing that." Red gaze darted back up, connecting with the soothingly blue eyes across from him. "And that clock feels like the heaviest weight in the world, threatening to drown you under the pressure of it. Terrified of when it finally strikes and it feels like you've run out of time."

ㅤHe's been there.

ㅤHe knows that feeling.

ㅤHe despises the word time.

ㅤ"But the harder you push yourself, the more you risk breaking yourself. And then you can't help anyone." A lesson he had to learn. When he failed to keep Bongo Bongo from escaping and Princess Zelda from being taken by Ganondorf. Dropping his gaze from the Hero's, Sheik took a deep breath feeling the sting of his wound on his hip. "But if I am a burden, you can leave me up here. I cannot stop you from working yourself into the ground and I refuse to make you feel like I'm a dead weight slowing you down."

          "It may be common where you're from, but I have never seen a Fairy Fountain before," Sky reminds him with a slight huff as blue eyes narrow a bit. He understands the thing about traditions but at the same time, it's a wound that's bad enough to need stitches. "The most I could get you is a piece of one of the mushrooms, they're very large, and some Chuchu jelly."

The cave by the waterfall always had some in there and for the mushroom, he remembers which island has mushrooms that are... springy but he's not sure if that's what Sheik means. The mushrooms' spores are ones that they use for medicine to tend to injuries their Loftwings might sustain. He's trying to be accommodating but he also wants to just go to the Sealed Temple to speak with the old woman. He wants to find a way to reach Zelda as soon as possible but he can't force Sheik to allow Miss Peri to treat Sheik.

The teen can't help the way he tenses up when the door opens behind him and quickly turns to face the blonde haired and hazel eyed woman. She wore the clothes that were typical for the sky islands, the only difference was that her top leaned closer to white than the soft cream or light yellow everyone else would wear. Her sharp gaze immediately looked over Sky who gave her a strained smile.

          "Congratulations, Link, I had heard that you had made Knighthood but had not had the chance to tell you in person," She said, her voice soothing and there was a smile on her lips. "I hope you're not here because you've been pushing yourself too hard. You know–"

          "I know, Miss Peri. I'm not here for me," The young Hero cut her off with a slight wince, he usually tried to be polite but he's a little pressed for time. "I have someone who needs some supplies to fix their stitching." He saw the way her gaze flickered towards Sheik and the look turned sharper as she tried to find what was wrong with him. "He's not from here. I found him while I was searching for Zelda. He's hurt but his... customs are different from ours and he won't let you see to his injury, but he says that he can take care of it himself so long as he has the supplies."

Peri clicked her tongue as she looked away from Sheik finally. "Stitching, you say? Hmm... Wait here." The physician steps back and closes the door and Sky took that moment to look at Sheik.

          "We don't call them 'Springy' mushrooms but there are mushrooms on one of the islands that has a springy way of being," Sky informs the other as he fidgets a little with the strap of his arm guard. "Would two of the items you need be enough?"

It was important to know whether or not he had to rush to get the Chuchu jelly and then immediately throw himself off the nearest landing platform. Perhaps he should go down to the Sealed Ground while leaving Sheik in his room at the academy to rest.