#filing and capping machine

[beloveds-embrace]

(p2 of mail order soldier könig)

Despite everything, you really weren’t ready for how big he was.

Sure, his profile had mentioned it- “tall” in bold, all-caps, like a warning label or a selling point, depending on your preferences alongside his equally intimidating name. And his vibe? Absolutely screamed haunted clock tower. You had expected “tall” in the way NBA players were tall, or the way celebrities looked tall on red carpets but were actually like 5’10” in real life. But this? This was different. This was architectural: König didn’t just walk into a space; he filled it like a cathedral with opinions. You stood next to him and felt like a misplaced LEGO figure who’d been granted custody of an ancient war relic. Every time he moved, you felt the displacement of air like God was adjusting a chess piece.

You had thought all of that because the trip back to your temporary apartment had been… an ordeal. König didn’t drive. You hadn’t even gotten far enough to ask why. It could’ve been a moral objection, a PTSD trigger, or just the fact that his knees probably touched his chin in a Toyota Corolla. You didn’t drive either (personal trauma plus urban nihilism), so rideshare it was. When the driver pulled up and caught a glimpse of König, who stood beside you like an executioner summoned from a darker, angrier timeline, the man audibly gasped and his foot started to inch toward the gas pedal.

You leaned in through the passenger window with your brightest, most deranged smile. “Five stars and I’ll make sure he doesn’t flay you.”

The driver nodded- poossibly blacked out. And drove like the devil was behind him, which, to be fair, he kind of was.

Arriving at your building was when the spatial tragedy truly began. König had to duck to get into the lobby. Not in a cute, awkward way, but like a kaiju visiting a dollhouse. The fluorescent lights buzzed uneasily overhead, dimming just slightly as if reacting to his gravitational pull, and you became hyper-aware of everything you owned and how none of it was rated for the stress test of Austrian death cryptid.

The elevator? Out of the question. Your third-floor apartment? Suddenly way too far from the ground. König climbed the stairs like a war machine from a documentary about siege tactics, each footstep a dull thud that you were certain would cost you your damage deposit, but at least he seemed to have no complaints… though you were sure he was unhappy with how you had to stop to catch your breath lseveral times while he remained military-commercial ready.

When you opened your apartment door and gestured grandly, the words that came out were: “This is… home. Temporary. Probably. Until you accidentally break the building and we need to live in a cave.”

König said nothing. Just paused in the doorway, ducking under the frame with practiced effort, and lingered there for a moment. His eyes- somewhere behind that hood, surely?- swept the place with a slow, methodical awareness that made you wonder how many exits he could already map and how many sniping points your living room offered.

You gestured to the couch with the fatal optimism of someone about to learn a lesson. “You can sit. If it holds.”

It did not. Or rather, it gave one last dramatic gasp of life. There was a creak, a pop, and then a long, soft crunch that felt less like furniture collapsing and more like it was filing for a legal separation. König, to his credit, looked apologetic. Or maybe he didn’t; it was hard to tell with the hood, but his shoulders hunched slightly, and that seemed like the body language equivalent of a Canadian “sorry.”

“…Okay. Floor’s fine too. Floor is classic.”

He lowered himself with all the elegance of a collapsing war monument, folding into a sprawl of limbs that somehow took up more space despite being on the ground. He sat cross-legged like a monk, if monks were built like tanks and radiated a kill count.

And then- the doorbell rang an unwelcome, familiar tune that made you freeze.

Not the good kind of freeze, and not the surprise-party kind. The fight-or-flight-oh-god-it’s-him kind. That sound- that arrogant, familiar, triple-tap of someone who thought your doorbell was a buzzer for attention? That was him.

Your ex-fiancé.

You turned slowly to König, who had stilled completely. His body didn’t move, but his attention locked onto the door like a predator scenting blood. He was suddenly alert, dangerous, like a loaded gun that had remembered it had a purpose.

“Okay,” you whispered, as if trying not to disturb a spirit. “This is a test. A dry run. Like a fire drill, except instead of fire, it’s a narcissistic man with commitment issues.”

König tilted his head slightly, and though you couldn’t see his face, you were 90% sure that meant, Shall I gut him or just remove the legs?

You held up one finger. “Let’s just… see what he wants first.”

You cracked the door open, just enough to peek through and block most of König’s terrifying silhouette. And there he was. Your ex-fiancé, smug as ever with his hair gelled within an inch of its life, shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal a gold chain that you were pretty sure had been repossessed twice.

“Hey, babe,” he said with that smirk that had once seemed charming and now just looked like he was trying to seduce his own reflection. He completely brushed over the fact that he had followed you all the way here, to this supposedly hidden apartment you got until you had König with you. “You haven’t been answering my texts.”

“I changed phones,” you replied instantly. “And numbers. And species.”

He gave a little laugh like you were just being coy. Leaned on the doorframe with the forced casualness of someone trying to win you back with zero self-awareness and all his tricks learned from BookTok. “Look, I know we’ve had our differences, but I’ve been thinking-”

And that was when König rose. Not stood, but rose.

The doorframe went from well-lit to eclipsed in seconds. A gloved hand slid into view and gripped the edge of the door, the fingers longer than your ex’s attention span. Your ex’s expression did a full software reboot.

“…Who the hell is that?”

You offered a cheerful shrug. “Oh, that’s König. My security system. He came with knives and trauma.”

König took one slow, deliberate step forward. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. The pressure of him, the sheer atmospheric density of his presence, did all the work. It was like standing in front of an oncoming avalanche and realizing the snow hates you.

Your ex-fiancé made a sound- a half-choked, half-whined hiccup that suggested his ego had just herniated. Still, he tried to rally. Puffing his chest. “I’m not scared of him, okay? You think you can threaten me with some… some cosplaying lunatic?”

König stepped forward again. Just one inch. Just enough.

The air grew heavy.

Your ex backpedaled so fast you almost heard cartoon sound effects. “Y-you know what? This is toxic. You’re toxic. I was trying to be the bigger person!”

König tilted his head again. Just enough to reveal a single glint of eye behind the hood, and it made your ex scream.

Actually screamed. Like a man encountering the consequences of his actions for the very first time. And then he was gone. Fled down the hallway like the answer to a prayer you hadn’t had time to finish.

“We’ll talk later!”

No, we won’t.

You shut the door with the satisfying click of sealing a tomb, you grin slowly stretching.

König turned back to you, then, silent and still waiting. .

You reached up and patted his arm- gently, because you were fairly certain that bicep could be registered as a medieval weapon. “A+, no notes. Extremely threatening. Ten out of ten cryptid vibes. You are great!”

He made a low soun that was not quite a grunt and not quite a sigh, and you took it as a thank-you.

Later, after the adrenaline had faded, you handed him a mug of tea- which looked comically small in his massive hands, like a Barbie accessory. He held it delicately, reverently, as if you’d handed him a precious museum piece instead of an herbal infusion from a grocery store.

You curled up on the wrecked edge of your couch, eyeing him across the room.

“Y’know,” you murmured, half to yourself, “this might actually work out.”

He didn’t reply, but he did lean a little closer.

“What d’you want for lunch?” You finally remembered to ask, standing up with your hands on your hips like you were Superman awaiting orders from Batman and not actually one of the miserable civilians that need to be saved regularly.

“We gotta keep you big and thick, König! So just say what you’d like.”

…he was staring a little too intently at you, actually. You kind of felt like you were kinning your ex-fiancé in this moment.

[nanamiskentos]

SCORCHED EARTH ✤ (五条 悟, gojo satoru)

── NO GOD, THE ONLY MAN IN THE SKY IS ME. Gojo Satoru is the nation's treasure, and its most dangerous asset. In a world where Supes are lauded as celebrities and heroes, there's only a select few that sees superheroes for what they really are ─ cogs in the propaganda machine, corrupt and lecherous. You're determined to hunt down the golden boy that leads them, to find Gojo Satoru and bring him down. But he's just as obsessed with you, and he gets to you first.

➤ 𝐉𝐉𝐊, gojo satoru & afab!reader, wc ─ 5k

cw ─ MDNI. enemies to lovers, THE BOYS AU, love/hate sex, HOMELANDER GOJO 😁, superhero au, cat & mouse dynamics, vigilante!reader, evil!gojo to some extent, mentions of a plane crash to be safe, kitchen sèx, breaking n' entering but they're into that, súb!gojo if u squint, fíngèring, òral (f), usage of powers, 3x01 homelander/butcher inspired, BIG DÍCK GOJO!!

呪術廻戦 : 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ( author says ) s/o to the evil man who inspired the gojo in this fic. and these scenes: 1/2 ofc (i'd rec watching to understand who reader/gojo is also inspired by). art, gojouify.

A ballpoint cap balances between your teeth as you scribble furiously, blue ink streaking across a spare napkin. The address is way too far out, a shipping container, two hours away and tucked into the skeletal maze of the port.

"This is a long drive for a maybe." You press the phone tighter against your ear, frowning at the scrawled numbers and letters, "You're sure I'll find something?"

On the other end, Nanami exhales sharply, the sound of a clock ticking faintly over the static. He's still in the office, no doubt hunched over a desk lit by the sickly glow of a desk lamp.

"Well," he hedges, ever the careful one, "I wouldn't go alone."

You tip your chair back, gaze drifting to the chaotic sprawl of files pinned to the red-string board by the wall. Photographs, names, offshore accounts that all lead back to the same festering rot. Lawmakers, politicians and billionaires.

The smiling, all-powerful titans who owned the system that was supposed to hold them accountable.

At the centre of it all? Gojo Satoru. The strongest superhero that the world had ever seen, barely held in check by Vought and international courts.

You chew at the soft inside of your cheek, "And you're sure this is the best lead we have?"

"After that shitshow at Congress?" Nanami sounds tired, stretched far too thin, "This is the only lead we have, or the only thing that I can find right now."

Ah, yes. The hearing.

The day you almost had them — Gojo, Vought and every polished, pre-packaged lie they peddled. A smoking gun to set the set the system ablaze.

And then, you could only watch the live television stream as every key witness's head popped like a balloon. Blood spraying against mahagony desks, gray matter splattered across the Capitol.

And not many had managed to escape that room unscathed. Save for a select few politicians and reporters, dealing out breathless, shaken interviews alongside an unshaken Gojo Satoru and Congressmen Geto.

You exhale through your nose, fingers tightening around the napkin, "Yeah, I'll check it out. See if I can find somethin' to nail that cunt."

"Let me know what you find," Nanami intones, a pause. And then, in a far more cautious tone, like he already knows you won't take heed, "Stay safe. And if you do come across Gojo, do not engage with him. In any way."

The line clicks dead.

You toss the streaky pen aside, reaching instead for the amber bottle on the cluttered table, the burn of whisky that's begging to be made familiar once more.

Regardless, it's far too late now to head out and check the address, for night has fallen and you doubt you'll manage to get far.

Beyond the murky glass of your balcony doors, the city pulses with sleepless energy. Neon signs flickering like dying embers, billboards — no doubt plastered with the airbrushed faces of the Supes who run this nation.

Sirens wail in the distance, and somewhere, far beyond the skyline you swear you see it.

A streak of white and blue, fast as lightning, splitting the sky for a fraction of a second. You blink, gummy and dry, nothing. Just the tired hallucinations of an exhausted, paranoid mind.

Pretending that there isn't a ghost in the sky watching you right back.

Your apartment is dying.

The walls peel like old skin, flaking onto the floors that were never properly finished. The overhead light's flickering, buzzing with a weak and dying hum. And the power outlets sputter like they resent being used. It's not a home, it never really was. Just another hideout, another temporary grave you haven't had to lie down in yet.

You press your knuckles into your eyes, willing the exhaustion away, but it sits heavy in your bones. Haven't you been running long enough? But even now, even here, you know it's not enough.

Because he knows. Gojo Satoru must have caught onto your trail months ago, and you can feel it in the way that the law often seems to let you go, and nation-wide manhunts culminate in no harm done. Like Gojo's toying with you.

Your fingers skim over the mess of papers on the table, stopping beneath a stack of unpaid bills and flyers. A small USB drive, wrapped in blue and silver.

Ah. Flight 37, a transatlantic flight carrying 123 passangers that never managed to land safely. But a goldmine had been fished out the torn wreckage, a shaky video clip that held proof of what Gojo Satoru truly was.

Not a saviour, not a hero. Not the golden boy that was worshipped on screens, talk shows and the international stage of diplomacy.

There's a prickling sensation under your skin, a slow burn that crawls up your arms. Then, it sinks deeper, heat. Your stomach clenches, cramping up as nausea slams into you like a freight train, your head spinning, your vision pulsing black at the edges.

You stumble, dropping the USB on the table as desparate fingers gripping the kitchen counter to stay upright. But you recognise the blisters blooming on the pads of your fingers, slow and ugly welts that bloom like flowers of rot.

This is no wayward sickness, for you would recognise the familiar decay of radioactive exposure. Something that's not quite human, or mortal.

Your blood turns to ice. Hold tightening around the edge of the counter, nails digging into the cheap laminate. Slowly, carefully, you approach the balcony.

The terracotta curtains are coarse under your fingers as you pull them aside. The city beyond is still alive, cars streaking through wet pavements and lights beaming in the smog. But it all feels muted.

Standing on the ledge, hands folded neatly behind his back, Gojo Satoru.

Your breath stutters as you force yourself to inhale, exhale. Slow and steady, through your nose. Whatever sick ploy he's radiating, you know it's simply meant to shake you. A twisted power play on his end.

So you hold your ground, and after a moment, the nausea ebbs. The blisters on your fingertips sealing over, cells stitching the edges of your frayed flesh back together.

You've never seen Gojo out of that deep blue suit, never without the brass eagles that pin the ridiculous cape over his broad back. Most heroes at least pretend to be human, some charade that they cling to for the chance of a secret life, away from the eyes of the press and the authorities. Supes often put on disguises, and casual clothes, something to blend in with the mortals that they claim to protect.

But Gojo?

There's no separation, no mask nor pretense. He doesn't walk among mortal men, he hovers above them. There's no separating him from the brutal power he wields — capable of striking a laser through a man's skull, or razing a city to rubble. Just a god with a PR-approved script, and the power to carve regimes into ribbons.

And yet, aren't you still standing?

If the strongest wanted you dead, he would have made a spectacle of it. Blood and fireworks for the evening news, another death used as collateral propaganda so the masses can thank him. That's the only mercy that Gojo knows.

You school your features, masking the instinct to flee. Or toss a plastic chair at his face. Gojo is akin to a hungry shark, and fear is blood in the water. You know that the safest way to deal with him is sheer indifference. If you give him nothing, he has nothing to bite or feast on.

You tilt your head, resting your weight against the large window as you pry it open. Letting the night air seep in, cold pricking at your skin, but it's nothing compared to the chill that Gojo's already dragged in with him.

He's staring. The blindfold is gone, and those impossible blue eyes fix on you, as though they're trying carve a jagged cut straight your ribcage — his handsome features stilled to stone.

You arch a brow, "If you're here to watch me get off, it'll cost you a tenner."

A beat of silence. And then, the smallest flicker of something that isn't amusement, but not quite irritation. Gojo doesn't rise to the bait, but his brow ticks up. The barest movement, as though he's debating whether or not to indulge you.

Jaw twitching as though Gojo seems to chew his words, slow and measured, "May I come in?"

You stare at him, gaze sweeping up and down, almost against your will. The way his suit hugs his body, emphasising the unfair curve of his chest, the sharp lines of Gojo's muscles, the tensions in the fabric as it stretches taut over skin. Eyes falling to the strand of white hair that flutters across his face, swaying in the night's breeze. Absurdly perfect, as if he's crafted from some celestial ideal.

But you refuse to indulge him, pressing your lips together tightly, not even a flicker of acknowledgement to the fact that he's standing on your balcony like he owns the damn place. Slowly, you step aside from the window, taking the invitation. Gojo doesn't need permission, but you give it anyway.

As Gojo sweeps past, your eyes linger on the sharp strands of his undercut, the delicate sweep of his hair, so pale it almost looks unreal. But you can see his nose wrinkle, disgust painted across his fine features as electric eyes skim the clutter of your apartment. The peeling walls, the cracked appliances, the mess of papers strewn across your table.

Gojo stops at the red string board, his gaze lingering on the photos and notes that have been painstakingly pinned up, and you see his mouth twitch. As though he's amused by your conspiracy, your obsession, your silent war.

"It's really always about me, isn't it?" Gojo's tone carries the faintest edge of mockery, that damn entertained smile curling the corners of his petal-pink lips.

Your jaw tightens, a flash of anger rearing up inside you. You tear your gaze away from him, "Why are you here? Got no-one to fuckin' torture over at Vought?"

Gojo sighs, almost theatrically, and he's puffing his cheeks out. As though he's bored, like this is a mild inconvenience for him, "So, you're going on a trip tomorrow, huh?"

You track his gaze to the napkin still resting on the table, the address scribbled carelessly across its surface, "What's it to you?" Hoping that your voice is level, and as neutral as it can get.

Gojo Satoru doesn't quite answer immediately. Instead, he pulls off those thick blue gloves, one finger at a time. His hands are oddly elegant, but you know just how capable they are of ending a life in a second, how capable they are of tearing a throat out without breaking a sweat. The very same hands now tuck the gloves into the bronze-metal band of his belt with an almost unsettling level of care.

"Well, I'm just hurt you're going somewhere without me," Gojo quips slyly, "We could have had ourselves a little road trip, sweetheart. Thelma and Louise on the open road, eh?"

You don't say anything, although you're dying to mention how Thelma & Louise ends. Gojo just rolls his searing-blue eyes skywards dramatically, as though he's used to your stubborn attitude.

"Y'know, I could jus' pull you apart, limb by limb," Gojo tacks on casually, "Make you tell me where you're going."

You can feel the tension in your gut tighten, but you refuse to let the Supe catch onto it, although you have no doubt that his superhuman senses can hear the beat of your heart pumping, every hitch in your breath.

"Nah," you bite back, "That'd be worthless. Victim always goes into shock. You gotta' start small. Fingers, nails, ears..." Your voice trails off, calling Gojo's bluff, forcing your words out as if the prospect doesn't shake you.

Gojo's vibrant, jewel-tone stare doesn't break, but the amusement in his eyes sharpens like iron against a whetstone. "It could be a matter of national security, you know," he murmurs, "I have a duty to protect his nation, to weed out any enemies of the state."

You huff in weary, mock exasperation, dragging a hand over your chin in faux-contemplation, "Look, uh, I don't mean to be rude, but can we just skip to the part where you laser my fuckin' brains out?"

Gojo just swears under his breath, "Oh, for fuck's sake," he's muttering, side-stepping around your rickety table, stepping closer as an almost fond smile tugs at his lips, "Where's the fun in that? Come on, look at ya'. It'd be like putting down a wounded dog?"

You don't flinch, you refuse the possibility. But there's that pulse of heat, low in your spine, when Gojo leans into your space. An electric storm about to crack wide as he studies you, eyes falling to the table where your cards are laid out blatantly, and you jolt. Remembering the innocuous little thing, that USB. The one that could very well be his undoing.

"What do you have on me, doll?" Gojo drawls, his voice smooth and untempered, towering over you like an impossibly magnetic force. You hold your ground as his eyes widen, "You do have something, I presume?"

With slow precision (and trembling fingers), you lift the USB, dangling it between your nails as Gojo's eyes flicker for a split second. Amused smile slipping just enough to show something that's less calculated. As though he knows what you grasp, what you're capable of.

Gojo's expression hardens for a split moment, blush-pink lips parted as he watches you, drinks in the sight of you gredily. All before cold steels locks into place once more, his demeanour laced with something far more callous, like a man cornered who knows exactly how to strike back.

"Go ahead. Release it," Gojo steps closer, until you can feel his breath against your skin, and you catch the tang of iron and clean, expensive leather. "Let's light this candle, huh? I mean, sure, I'll lose everything, doll. But then, I'll have nothin' to lose." His voice is quiet, but there's unmistakable malice beneath it.

"First, I'll take out the nerve centres. The seat of the government, the High Courts. Then, any domestic defense capabilities. Critical infrastructure, cellular, Internet, all of it. And then?" Gojo pauses, teeth catching onto the plush flesh of his lower lip.

"Then, I'll just wipe this city right off the fuckin' map, for fun," Gojo adds, a dark smile curling at the edges of his lips, "Hell, I'll throw in that little town your friend's from. Kento, right? Nanami, from the office? Because, why not?"

Gojo's lips brush the shell of your ear, and you resist the urge to shiver, locking your eyes with his own defiantly, venomously as he continues, "See, sweetheart, I'd prefer to be loved. Y'know, as the strongest, I really would. But if you take that away from me? Well, being feared is A-one, okey-doke by me."

Gojo wants you to challenge him, to hear you break the silence with something other than terror, "So, doll," he murmurs, practically cooing, "Go ahead. Do it." His lips curl, sharp fangs poking out from his glossy, red mouth, "No? You don't wanna? Well, then, I'd say you have absolutely no fuckin' leverage. Because I am the strongest, and I can really do whatever the fuck I want."

You blink angrily, breath catching as Gojo watches you with an almost affection gleam in his eyes. As though he's enjoying this, this sparring match where he's got you pinned. So you swallow thickly, and deep down, you know he's right.

Gojo Satoru is unstoppable. He could easily turn on the world that worships him, props him up, and there's nothing anyone could do about it. No nuclear treaty, no tank nor fighter jet could stand a chance against Unlimited Void or Hollow Purple.

There's no undoing the seams and stitches that hold Gojo together. None, apart from...

Your eyes flicker downwards, instinctively, to the thick curve that bulges through the tight suit he dons. That mouth-watering, delicious bulge that's packed, and if Gojo steps any closer, it would jostle against your thigh.

You inch closer, smoothly, grasping at the stray strand of ice-white hair to tuck it behind Gojo's ears. His expression widening, raw and open for a split second as he shivers, purrs.

"Say I call your bluff, Gojo," you say coolly, "What are you gonna' do, right here, right now?" Your hand trails away from his ear, brushing the high, stiff collar of his suit. Fingers gently pressing into the warm flesh of his neck. You feel his pulse jump under your touch, staccato beats that hiccup along.

And you could have sworn that Gojo breathes out a gentle sigh, lips parting around the words, "Finally."

But his cerulean eyes are narrowed, jaw still clenched, as though he's trying to figure out your angle. Now, he truly does push closer to you so that packed curve brushes against your thigh. And it's big, larger-than-life, like everything about Gojo Satoru is.

Fuck this, you shake your head, as though you're tossing away your rationality. Reaching up to thread your fingers through soft, white hair. Pulling Gojo closer as he groans, closing the distance. Lips crashing against your own, forceful and desperate.

You can feel Gojo freeze, stutter as he seems to work through his shock. But then, something irrevocably shifts in him. Ocean-blue eyes fluttering close, so white lashes kiss his creamy skin. A large hand gripping at your waist, pulling you impossibly close.

It's rough, and messy — and your tongue lingers on the taste of something like espresso, and sweet, sugar syrup to boot. The creamy taste of Gojo Satoru that lingers on your tongue and makes your mouth water.

"Tch', you –" Gojo murmurs, as though all the air in the world has been stolen from his lungs, "You jus' don't k-know how long I've wanted this. Ever since you, heh, fired that bullet at me when we first met."

His tone is erratic, large hands splayed against the small of your back, pushing you further against the kitchen counter.

"That shit went right through ya' head," you breathe, struggling to stay steady against the hard plane of Gojo's form, the muscles curling into you, "Didn't do a fuckin' thing."

Gojo's giggling, giggling as though he's already drunk on your touch, so utterly dangerous. Tugging at your top, fingers spread wide over the curve of your chest. Flicking at the sharp peaks of your nipples, "Waste of a perfectly good round, eh, doll?"

The tips of Gojo's ears are a searing shade of crimson, as he's pulling and toying with your clothes. You have never, ever in your wildest and most illicit fantasies imagined Gojo Satoru like this.

You've never pictured him so obedient, so desperate to meld into your hold. Bright blue eyes glazed over, filmy and hazy as his cheeks are mottled pink.

The most dangerous man in the entire world (or so you'd wager) has you firm against the cracking plastic of your counter, with his lips finding home on whatever skin he can find. Kissing, bruising, sucking at the tender flesh in a way that you know will leave blooming marks.

"C-can I?" Gojo pleads, as though he hasn't spent a lifetime whispering quiet threats into your ear, but now his large hand is softly pressed against the back of your neck.

Slick-strands falling from his lips as he sips at your taste, sucking gently on your tongue.

He kisses you firmly with such force that it leaves you dizzy, and the way he strokes at your cheek with a bruised knuckle is far too tender for a man who's practically a walking, ticking bomb.

He's roughly cupping your tits, kneading at the soft fat and flesh, "Hah, pretty, aren'tcha?" Strands of snow-white hair tickling at your neck as Gojo leans his head down, wrapping his lips around your nipple, lickin' and sucking wherever he can reach.

You arch your spine, pulling Gojo even closer. Grinding your clothed core right up against the hard length taut in that damned suit. Feeling every inch brush up against you.

"F-fuck," Gojo murmurs, slurring out babble and praise out through his kiss-swollen lips. You're slowly rocking your hips back and forth, unintentionally honestly, but you're desperate for some friction to relieve the ache that's blooming within your searing groin.

The pads of his fingers are tilting your jaw at the perfect angle, swollen lips sticky against yours, "Just like that," Gojo grunts, running his pink tongue over the kiss-bitten flesh of your own mouth, "N-not so mouthy now, are we?"

But then, because you think Gojo Satoru is unable to go even a second without antagonising you, the white-haired man is lifting his head. Glossy eyes tearing over your apartment as he pulls an unimpressed face, "Damn, this place is kinda' a dump. You really live like this?"

Your fingers latch onto the stray strands on his head, bucking your hips into his bulge harsher, "Says the cunt who made me a fugitive."

Gojo shakes his head, making a faint pshh, dismissive sound as he scoops you up, biceps not even curling to strain as he roughly stomps towards your meagre, thin bed. Laying you flat on the flat mattress as he rumples the waistband of your pants, hooking his thumb underneath the fabric.

You don't even realise it at first, but you're admiring those razor-sharp, strikingly handsome features. Watching as Gojo tugs at his cape, rough and coarse until the fabric tears away from his shoulder plates — until the azure stars and stripes end up on the wooden floor discarded.

"So, doll, how exactly do ya' want me? " Gojo titters, gently pulling a finger into the flimsy cotton of your panties. You can see his nose twitch, eyes flutter shut for a split second as he visibly reels from the messy, filthy slick pooling under his nails. You can only groan, arching at the sudden stimulation as he begins to crook his fingers faster against your folds.

You suddenly pull your thighs taut together, clenching the flesh to trap his hand, "Taste me, Gojo." Breath shuddering as Gojo's fingers suddenly still, ice-blue eyes blown wide at your gall to give him a command.

But he's always been an excellent soldier, hasn't he? Because he seems to be moving on autopilot, pulling his dripping fingers away and gently lolling his tongue on your translucent sheen, "Hah, I can't believe you're g-giving me orders." Gojo almost whimpers at your sweet tang, desperate to have your pussy drool into his waiting mouth.

"M-more, can you – oh, fuck," You inhale sharply, feeling Gojo's fingers imprint on your thighs, firmly spreading your legs apart so he can shuffle further back, his breath moist against your wet cunt, "Heh, never thought you'd ever be like this."

Gojo gives you a flat look, the underside of his eyes crinkling as he stares at you, "Don't get used to t-this." He's grumbling, but his eyes are blown wide, tongue darting out of his mouth to catch a stray drop of your precious arousal dribbling down your inner thigh, "It's just 'cause –"

You don't give his smart-alec mouth time to formulate any words, groaning as you pull at the thick, soft and tousled strands of white hair. Letting the tip of his sharp nose nudge against your clit as Gojo suddenly muffles a desparate, thirst-laden whine, "Mhm, mhm, fuck!"

"Yeah, y-yeah," You breathe, sighing in relief as he presses his tongue flat against your pussy, laving thickly at the glossy folds that he's desperate to munch at, "That's what I thought."

Stifled sounds prick at your ears, a mantra of words falling from Gojo's mouth, something that sounds suspiciously like "Thank you, t-thank you, thank —." The strongest man in the entire world losing his mind, so grateful to wrap his lips against your swollen bud, your throbbing clit as he sucks. Hard.

Your walls clench suddenly, and you can feel the tip of Gojo's tongue prod at your entrance. That length somehow managing to render you gummy, dazed and speechless as he pushes the wet muscle into your cunt, "Ah, ahh, 'Toru, please."

Nothing prepares you for how Gojo's long, slender fingers come to slap at your pussy. Lengthy digits pistoning right into your tender, sensitive walls as he's eager to curve and search for that sweet spot that will make you scream, "What'dya call me, sweets? 'Toru?"

Gojo's looking up at you, and if you didn't know better, you'd say his expression was almost shy. Those eyes, blue like the core of a searing star, like something inhuman was barely contained and desperate to break free. There's something eerie about how bright they are, how they seem to glow even in the dim, murky light of your apartment.

There's glossy, snapping strands of Gojo's new favourite thirst-quencher falling from his lips as he laps at you. Long lashes fluttering against high cheekbones as there's a slight sheen of exertion beading at his temple, "If, if I had known that all I had to do to shut ya' up was eat you out, then —" Gojo whistles low, the vibrations echoing through your cunt, "Woulda' drank this pussy a longgg time ago."

You buck your hips against his nose, canting against his shapely nose bridge, "Don't get c-cocky." Seems that Gojo's just that desperate for you to boss him around, because he's already turning his attention and bratty mouth back to your cunt, licking you right up until he's certain you're seeing stars.

He's still got his suit on, broad-shoulders snugly wrapped in the textured fabric. Sculpting over his bicep even as he draws you even closer, until he's face to face with his new, second favourite girl. With you being his number #1, of course, Gojo isn't afraid to admit that you plotting to kill him has turned him on immensely over the years.

The idea of you planting your thighs around his head 'til he's devoid of air has had him pulling and jerking at his cock, whimpering until he was shooting blanks.

"Come on," and Gojo's snickering at his own play on words, "Or s-should I say c-cum on." Smacking his lips filthily against your folds, fingers pushing at your clit and rubbing furious circles over and over again until you feel the world go blank, and you're star-struck.

Gojo's whispering sweet nothings, adoring praise into your cunt as you ride out your high against his face, "Pretty girl, s-so good for me, heh. Think 'm fuckin' addicted."

You're already lazily pulling yourself up, propping yourself back on your elbows as you take in the sight of a teary-eyed Gojo Satoru. You watch as he pulls himself up, frame towering over you in the flimsy bed as he tugs and paws at the thick, firm bulge in his suit. Now darkened with a translucent patch of his release.

Gojo's fisting his hand over his cock in some ineffective form of relief, "Wanna' show you, g-gorgeous, wanna' show you how the strongest fucks."

But then, his eyes are looking up, wide and superhuman. Searing blue that lights up the dim room like a torch, and it's only then you notice that the lightbulb that once precariously teetered from your ceiling has shattered, and there's a crack in the large window that you swore you've never seen before.

And clutched within Gojo Satoru's fingers, shards of silver metal and blue chips. Fuck, that hag, that doped-up cunt must have had that USB clenched between his fingers the entire time, swiping it off the table when you pulled him in.

"Don't look at me like that, sweetheart," Gojo scoffs, pulling out a cock that beams with an angry, red mushroom tip. Thick spurts of cum already clinging to the slit as he hisses, and your thighs clench in anticipation of the delicious split, "I got something b-better for you right here."

[g1rld1ary]

lifeguard!james x reader 3

wc: 1384

cw: horny.

the next time you saw james was early in the morning. you were on a run, trying to get it in before the sun reached full strength and it became awful to even move, so most of your town wasn't awake yet. you ran through the streets, legs burning and lungs heaving as you focused on the good parts of the experience. the emptiness of the streets let you admire the old buildings -- maybe worse for wear but still architecturally beautiful. the smell of bread filled the air from one of the nearby bakeries, so far untouched by the stench of petrol usually pervading the main street. you waved at one of the bakers arranging the display cabinet in the window, the father of someone you went to school with.

the joy of the morning had distracted you from the pain of running, but when you reached the site of a public drink tap you realised how much your legs ached, tired pain shooting out from the knees. you'd run a bit further than you normally would have caught up in your daydreams, so you took a break for a drink and to stretch out the soreness in your legs, pulling your cap off to wipe the sweat from your brow. you glanced to your left casually, whipping your head back for a double take when you saw james in the window of the 24-hour gym, doing god knows what on a machine you didn't know the name of. you did, however, know that it was turning you on.

both your interactions with james thus far had featured him shirtless; as a lifeguard, it was bound to happen even with the mandatory red and yellow sun shirt, and james in particular seemed determined to wear it as little as possible. so, you knew he was gorgeous, with the body of a Greek god and the confidence to show it off. this somehow seemed more sensual -- how was it that sometimes wearing some clothes was more sexual than wearing nothing? james was in a muscle shirt with the arm holes cut longer to give a peek into the broad expanse of chest underneath. he was on the ergo, you remembered marlene explaining once, and the way his muscles shifted under his skin was downright sinful. you'd never understood why they were described as 'rippling' until you saw james'.

you realised with a start you were openly ogling him on the side of the main street and tore your eyes away with a start, pretending to admire a nearby tree as you felt your embarrassment catch up to you. you fanned yourself with your cap quickly, putting on a big show of taking a rest break for no one but yourself. stealing one last glance at him, glistening with sweat and looking positively unearthly, you began to run again, filing the image away for when you were alone.

you were pretty sure he hadn't seen you, thank god, but your hammering heart still matched the pounding of your feet against the pavement as you headed home. you figured if nothing else, giving you full-body goosebumps just by working out probably earned him your name, and you resolved to give it to him the next time you met.

you thought you were safe for the rest of the day since you were working a shift at the local supermarket, alas, fate had other plans. you'd been behind the counter for a few hours, well into the groove of scanning the items through and getting them into bags as fast as possible.

"hi, welcome to -- oh!" you said, meeting his hazel eyes. "james."

"nice uniform," he glanced down at your shirt, eyes catching on your silver name tag. he tried it out, seemingly content with the way it sounded from his mouth.

"you caught me." you smiled, not upset your game had come to an end.

"how do you know this girl, jamie?" the woman next to him said and you noticed her for the first time. she had to be his mother, both contextually and because they shared the same spark of trouble in their eye and lopsided smile. you raised an eyebrow in his direction: jamie. james seemed unfazed, to his credit, smiling down at his mum warmly.

"this is one of the girls i told you i met down at the pool. my first friend here." his earnestness caught you off guard again and you hated the way it warmed your heart.

"it's nice to meet you mrs, uh..."

"potter," she finished for you, "but call me effie, all of james' friends do." you smiled at her, introducing yourself politely despite the name tag rendering it superfluous.

you continued to make small talk with them as you bagged their groceries, surprised by how easy it was to talk to james and his mum. you were never really one for new people in general, growing up in a smaller town made it an unnecessary skill to develop, but you were especially bad with parents. you could hardly talk to lily's parents, and she was your closest friend. yet, with effie it felt natural, as if you'd known the both of them all your life.

you answered her questions about the town patiently, giving her recommendations about what you thought were the best restaurants and telling her about the book club your mum was part of that might be a good way for her to make friends. as the transaction came to an end effie was all gratitude, showering you with kind compliments and an invitation to visit their house whenever you pleased (much to james' chagrin, judging by his red cheeks).

"you bring these to the car, mum. i just have another question and then I'll be right out." you looked at him curiously, unsure of what couldn't wait or be said in front of effie. james watched her leave for a second before turning to you with an unnaturally innocent expression.

"you follow arsenal, right? pretty chuffed with their results this season, though I wish they could've brought it home." you opened your mouth to reply before pausing, your eyes narrowing to scrutinise him.

"how do you know i support them?" you asked, sure you hadn't brought up football in your limited interactions with him.

"you were wearing their hat, right? this morning?" he asked, and you tried to think back, oh. if you hadn't picked up on the reference, james' shit-eating grin told you all you needed to know. he'd seen you this morning. oh god, james had seen you checking him out from the street and you wanted to sink into a hole.

somewhat predictably, james didn't appear mad. in fact, he looked rather pleased with himself as you covered your face with your hands, hoping he'd just leave you to wallow in self-pity.

"you know, you could've just asked," he said casually, as if you weren't utterly embarrassed, "i would've let you watch. hell, i'll let you touch if you ask nicely." now he was teasing, and for the sake of your pride you had to come up with something in response or he'd take the upper hand and never give it back.

"i was just making sure you didn't hurt yourself, big boy." not your best, but at least it wasn't tears of shame, and james seemed amused anyhow.

"good to know you would have saved me, supergirl." he shot you a wink and you scoffed good-naturedly. you shooed him off with the excuse of his mum waiting in a hot car, but honestly, you knew you couldn't keep up the banter or staring up into his eyes for much longer without jumping his bones in the middle of the checkout line. you had a feeling your boss wouldn't take too kindly to you riding james potter on the conveyor belt, even if he was the hottest man you'd ever seen in your life.

"see you later, hot stuff!" he called, probably too loudly for the grocery store, a cheeky salute to you as he braved the heat outside.

"bye, baywatch," you muttered, praying you didn't look as flustered as you felt. you called the next customer over, greeting them politely as you tried to pretend there wasn't an aching in your core.

not sure if im convinced by james as an arsenal supporter but lmk if you have a more fitting team for him!!

[rafecswhore]

introducing... fanta!reader

fanta!reader... who chews on sour belts like they’re thinking gum and keeps extra ones in their hoodie pocket “for emergencies.”

fanta!reader... who smells like coconut sunscreen, cheap body glitter, and something citrusy you can’t place. like if chaos had a signature scent.

fanta!reader... who still uses an old iPhone 4 with 653 blurry photos and a cracked screen. no SIM. no shame. takes selfies with flower crowns and tells people “this one’s for the gods.”

fanta!reader... who doesn’t carry a bag, just tucks her whole personality into the waistband of her bikini—lighter, cash, strawberry vape, pink gloss, and a cinnamon stick she swears is “for protection.”

fanta!reader... who thinks the moon is flirting with her and told three people she’s in a situationship with it.

fanta!reader... who makes everyone friendship bracelets but they’re cursed and color-coded based on what crime she thinks they’d commit.

fanta!reader... who keeps a list of her dreams in a diary labeled “classified FBI files” and will physically tackle anyone who tries to read it.

fanta!reader... who says “you guys ever think reality’s just, like, a giant slushie machine?” and then sips fanta like she made a point.

fanta!reader... who writes love notes to herself on her mirror, drinks soda like it’s holy water, and treats every day like a photoshoot even if no one’s watching.

fanta!reader... who can roll a joint with one hand and apply lip gloss with the other, while playing her random house music playlist from spotify which have the best underground house music no ones ever heard of. she only breaks concentration to wink at strangers.

fanta!reader is paired best with boxer!rafe

boxer!rafe…who fights like his fists are the only language he was ever taught. who sees red before the bell even rings—and sees orange when she shows up in a towel skirt and bikini top, sipping Fanta like it’s sacred.

boxer!rafe…who keeps his headphones in before every match, head down, breath steady—until she plugs her phone into the aux and blasts house music through the gym like it’s a rave and not fight prep.

boxer!rafe…who doesn’t like people touching him after a fight—but lets fanta!reader smear glittery under-eye gel on his bruises while “Midnight City” plays from her cracked phone.

boxer!rafe…who finds her pink sunglasses in his glove box, half-melted gum in his hoodie pocket, and a playlist called “rafe’s rage rave” on his Spotify now. he listens to it. alone. in full.

boxer!rafe…who doesn’t smile often, but almost cracks one when she tapes a ring pop to his locker with a note that says: “eat this or I’m telling everyone you cried at the club.”

boxer!rafe…who says he hates parties but shows up if she’s there. leans against the wall watching her dance like the music is stitched into her skin. doesn’t move. doesn’t leave.

boxer!rafe…who lets her draw tiny symbols on his boxing tape with pink marker and says “they’re protection runes.” he shrugs. fights harder.

boxer!rafe…who kisses like he fights—rough, fast, no warning—but lets her take his face in both hands and say, “stop. let me feel you,” like that isn’t the scariest thing anyone’s ever said to him.

boxer!rafe…who almost threw a punch when someone called her “a lot.” didn’t even look angry, just said “watch your mouth.” voice flat. dangerous.

boxer!rafe…who tucks her Fanta bottle cap into his fight bag and doesn’t talk about it. just taps it once before every match, like it means something. maybe it does.

[sexhaver]

definitely one of the most difficult moments of my professional career was when i was doing tech support for [REDACTED]'s automated biomed research lab and like. hang on lemme greentext this

>tell them i can fix this issue in half an hour with a remote support session (aka Teamviewer)

>"you want to... control our computers???? over the internet????? like some kind of HACKER???????"

>their IT submits my request to upper management and after two weeks they reluctantly allow me to get remote access to their systems

>by logging into a virtual machine using a 20-digit password and then using a specific program inside of that virtual machine

>while sharing my screen with someone from their IT team the entire time

>finally get remote access to the PC with the issue

>go to open log files to start troubleshooting

>ERROR: User does not have read permissions.

>what the fuck

>ask their IT guy why it's saying that

>"...because we don't want you looking at our stuff, duh?"

>take deep breath before calmly explaining that i need to open files in order to fix their problem

>IT guy submits my request to upper management

>after another week i go through the whole process again but can actually open the log file this time

>cool, it's exactly the issue i thought it was and i know exactly how to solve it

>open the relevant settings file, change a single number, hit Save

>ERROR: User does not have write permissions.

>what the FUCK

>ask IT guy how i'm supposed to fix their system if i can't change literally anything on it

>takes 20 minutes of arguing to get him to admit that maybe i need write access

>he submits the request to upper management

>a week goes by

>upper management denies it

>says i can just verbally tell the IT guy on the call what to type and he'll do it for me

>deep breaths. deep breaths.

>start third remote session

>go to open the relevant .log file in notepad, which isn't the default program it opens with for some reason

>they fucking disabled right clicking

>[REDACTED] has a $118 billion market cap btw

>manage to walk the IT guy through using the command line (which he had never seen before and was scared of) to edit the relevant file

>three weeks go by

>new support ticket in my inbox

>"why didn't your fix fix this completely unrelated issue?"

>they still won't give me write access

>VP of [REDACTED] yells at me in our weekly meeting for taking so long to fix a third unrelated issue they never submitted a ticket for and is also not actually an "issue" but an intended feature of our software that they don't like

>i went to college for this

[buckysouvenir]

a war of secrets, chapter 1: orders and secrets 1940s bucky barnes x y/n In the chaos of World War II, Y/N thought she had left her past behind—until a cocky, charming sergeant named Bucky Barnes shattered the walls she built. As their missions grow more dangerous, so do the feelings neither of them can admit. But secrets have a way of surfacing, and when Y/N’s past threatens to destroy the fragile peace she’s found, Bucky refuses to let her fight alone. a war of secrets masterlist | next episode

The chill of an early morning breeze cut through the army encampment, carrying the distant hum of aircraft overhead. Y/N adjusted the standard-issue cap on her head, her fingers stiff from the cold as she clutched a leather-bound file close to her chest. To anyone passing by, she looked like any other intelligence officer—a cog in the great war machine. But beneath the crisp uniform and carefully composed expression was a Black Widow, trained to kill and conditioned to survive.

She weaved her way through the maze of tents, her eyes flicking across the men milling about. Soldiers preparing for the next push, their laughter strained, voices edged with fatigue. War gnawed at them in ways no rousing speech could erase. Y/N had seen it before, across too many battlefields, in too many faces. Yet, she was not here for them. Not really.

Reaching the command tent, she paused for a breath before pushing inside. Colonel Chester Phillips stood behind a wide oak desk, the air thick with cigar smoke curling toward the canvas ceiling. The man barely glanced up from a map spread across the desk, red pins marking strategic targets.

“You’re late, Agent Y/L/N,” he barked, voice as sharp as the creases in his uniform.

“Apologies, sir,” Y/N replied evenly, stepping forward to place the file on his desk. “Intercepted intel from the eastern front. HYDRA has shifted their supply lines. They’re targeting our ammunition depots along the Rhine.”

Phillips lifted a brow as he flipped open the file, scanning the coded reports. He didn’t ask how she acquired it. No one ever did. That suited her just fine.

“You’re sure about this?” he asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.

“As sure as I can be,” she answered. “If we don’t move, we lose half our supplies in two weeks.”

Phillips grunted, lighting his cigar. “I’ll inform the brass. Dismissed.”

Y/N gave a sharp nod and turned on her heel. The second she slipped past the tent flaps, she let her composure falter for the briefest moment. She hated working with Phillips. The man trusted her skills but not her motives. Not that he knew the half of it.

Because while Colonel Phillips might be her superior on paper, it was Peggy Carter who truly held her loyalty.

The rendezvous point was a storage shack at the camp's edge, barely large enough for two people. Y/N leaned against the wall, loosening her collar slightly as the door creaked open.

Peggy Carter slipped inside, her dark hair pinned neatly under her cap, eyes sharp as she took in the room. “Did Phillips buy the intel?” she asked, wasting no time.

“He always does,” Y/N replied, offering a dry smile. “He’s moving on it.”

Peggy exhaled, allowing a flicker of relief to cross her face. “Good. HYDRA’s accelerating. If your lead was even a day late, we could’ve lost that depot.”

Y/N shifted uncomfortably. “How bad is it?”

Peggy hesitated, which told Y/N everything. “They’re closing in on us. And on you. Be careful.”

Y/N straightened. “I always am.”

A moment passed in tense silence before Peggy softened. “There are two men I want you to meet,” she said. “They’re important. And I want you to keep an eye on them.”

Y/N arched a brow. “Babysitting? I thought you liked me.”

Peggy smirked. “Consider it a favor. One of them might be the key to winning this war.”

The Howling Commandos were a ragtag bunch, their camaraderie loud and easy despite the chaos surrounding them. Y/N spotted the two men immediately. One of them, blonde and broad-shouldered, had an earnestness about him that stood out. The other, taller and dressed in a leather jacket, leaned against a supply crate with an easy confidence that felt too smooth for a warzone.

Steve Rogers. James Buchanan Barnes.

Y/N approached, slipping on the casual charm she wore as armor. “I heard there were some legends around here,” she said, drawing their attention.

Steve turned first, flashing a polite smile. “I wouldn’t call us legends,” he offered, modest to a fault.

“Speak for yourself, pal,” the brunet quipped, pushing off the crate. His blue eyes flicked over her with practiced ease. “And who might you be?”

“Agent Y/L/N,” she replied, extending a hand. “Intelligence division.”

“Sergeant Barnes,” he said, shaking her hand firmly. “But most people call me Bucky.”

“Most people?”

“The ones who like me.”

Y/N huffed a quiet laugh, glancing at Steve, who was watching their exchange with curiosity. “And you must be Captain Rogers. Peggy speaks highly of you.”

Steve’s smile warmed. “I’m still getting used to that title, but yeah.”

She let the conversation flow easily, slipping in questions that seemed innocuous but revealed more than either man realized. Bucky was sharper than he let on, every quip masking an instinct honed by the battlefield. Steve, though, was the one to watch. Beneath his quiet kindness was a steel resolve.

These two could change everything.

And if HYDRA got to them first, it would be her job to stop it—no matter the cost.

Days blurred into weeks. Intel from Y/N kept the Howling Commandos one step ahead of HYDRA, but the enemy was closing in. Every mission pushed them deeper behind enemy lines, and the weight of secrets grew heavier on her shoulders.

In stolen moments, she found herself drawn to Bucky Barnes. His charm was easy to dismiss—the way he lingered after briefings, the glint in his eye when he teased her. But it was his kindness beneath the swagger that chipped away at her defenses.

For the first time in years, she wondered what it would be like to trust someone with the truth.

But trust was a luxury she couldn’t afford—not when the enemy was always watching.

#taglist: @pickuptruck01 @addie192 @ronjantz @fan4astic

[twistersobsessed]

boone request !! i would love to see kate bringing along her friend from new york who’s like a girl version of scott !! maybe she’s a bit in love with scott but it’s one sided so she finds comfort in boones sweet nature and falls for him

His Warmth Melts Ice | Boone x Reader

Warnings: Weed, reader smokes

A/N: No one can convince me Boone isn’t a stoner.

You were in a bad mood. You were almost always in a bad mood but today’s mood was particularly foul. Because of a man. You cursed yourself for letting a man have this much of an effect on your mood.

It’s not like you were in love with Scott but he was exactly your type and the two of you basically had the same personality. So his cold indifference to you hurt. He was meaner to Kate though.

Scott was currently ignoring you both, in an argument with Javi. “I’m gonna go get a drink,” you mumbled to Kate. “Okay,” she patted your arm. You made your way to the convenience store, trailing behind Tyler Owens and his crew.

They all filed into the store but the last guy, Tyler’s camera man, you recognized him, caught a glimpse of you behind him. His eyes widened and he stepped back to hold the door open for you. His friend gave him a weird look.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, walking past him.

You were getting a slushie from the machine when the same guy sidled up next to you. “Hey,” he greeted you eagerly. “I’m Boone. You’re Kate’s friend, right?” You briefly wondered how Boone knew Kate’s name, but then remembered Tyler talking to Kate yesterday.

“Yeah,” you answered coldly. You didn’t offer your name. This didn’t deter Boone though. “What’s your name, honey?”

You side-eyed him. He wasn’t really your type, but you had to admit he was cute.

“(Name),” you replied after a minute.

“(Name),” he repeated, your name rolling off his tongue smoothly. “What a pretty name for a pretty girl.”

You kept your face carefully blank and didn’t respond.

“Boone!” Tyler barked from the door. “Come on!” Boone gave him the finger before turning back to you. “Gotta go. See you around, East Coast!”

You watched him follow Tyler out the door. You rolled your neck before capping your slushie and paying for it up at the counter. Then you made your way back to Javi and Kate.

The second time you talked to Boone was at a local bar. Both Storm Par and the Wranglers had coincidentally chosen the location to unwind for the night after a day of chasing. You were sat at the bar, pounding back drinks. Maybe you had some alcoholic tendencies.

“East Coast!” A cheerful voice rang out.

You turned on the bar stool to face Boone. “Boone,” you greeted flatly. His eyes wandered over to the plethora of empty glasses on the counter in front of you. “Good lord, girl,” he whistled. “How are you not knocked on your ass right now?”

You shrugged.

“Wanna dance?”

“I don’t dance.”

“I can teach you.”

“I don’t dance.”

Boone shrugged, helping himself to the stool next to you. “That’s alright, baby, we can just sit here.”

You felt your cheeks warm. You blamed it on the alcohol.

“So tell me, East Coast, what brings you ‘round these parts?”

You sipped from your waterbottle. “Javi brought Kate on board to help track storms because she’s a natural at predicting all things tornado. I came for moral support.”

“Aw, what a sweet friend you are,” Boone beams at you. “How long have you and Kate been friends?”

Normally you’d be sarcastic until he stopped asking questions, but the liquor loosened your tongue and lowered your defenses. “Five years. We met her first week in New York.”

Boone seemed genuinely interested. “Tell me about you, East Coast.”

It had been a long time since anyone wanted to hear anything about you. You didn’t know what to say. Boone seemed to pick up on how the question stumped you. “What’s something you love?”

“The ocean,” you answered in a heartbeat.

Boone blinked. “The ocean?”

You nodded, getting a far off look in your eye. “I’m at home when I’m near the sea.”

“Well you’re a far way from home, East Coast.”

You shrugged.

“Any siblings?”

“Two younger brothers.”

Boone hummed. “That’s nice, I always wanted a sibling growing up.”

“You’re an only child?”

“Yup!” Boone exclaimed. “But Tyler’s like my brother.”

You both looked over to Tyler, who was currently in a staredown with Javi while Kate stood between them looking uncomfortable.

“Oh lord,” you muttered. You stood to go intervene, but Boone stopped you with a hand on your shoulder. “Let it play out,” he encouraged. “That lil love triangle is their problem.”

It was true, you really didn’t feel like getting involved. “Yeah, okay,” you grumbled, turning back in your seat. You flagged down the bartender for another shot. He set it down in front of you and you knocked it back while Boone watched you.

“Well it was nice talking to you,” you told Boone flatly. Although while you’d never admit it out loud, you’d enjoyed it. You stood on shockingly steady feet, and Boone mirrored your action. “Aw, you leavin’?”

“Yup.” You stood awkwardly, unsure of the right way to end this interaction. Something felt wrong about just walking away.

Almost like Boone sensed your inner turmoil again, he held out his hand. You took it reluctantly, and Boone raised your hand to his lips and kissed the back of it.

“Goodnight, gorgeous,” Boone winked, before turning and making his way back to his group. You watched him go, caught off guard by the move. You shook your head like the physical action would clear your thoughts before tipping the bartender and going back to your motel room.

The third time you talked to Boone was in a much more intimate setting. It was late, real late, late enough that the tailgate outside the motel was packing up as everyone headed to bed. You’d been stargazing in a field, so you were late coming back to your room.

You spotted him before he spotted you this time. Tyler’s truck was parked right next to the stairs you’d need to take to your room. Boone was sitting in the bed of the truck with one of his crew members, the girl with short hair who you always saw in the RV. The rest of his crew wasn’t around, you assumed they’d gone to bed.

You didn’t say anything nor look at him as you went to ascend the stairs, but despite that…

“Hey, ocean girl!” Boone’s friend called to you. You don’t think she’s talking to you at first, but there’s no one else around.

“Sorry?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Come talk to Boone, he’s been missing you!”

“Dani!” Boone scowled and hit her lightly in the arm.

You felt a smile creep onto your face and turned it into a smirk. You walked over to them, standing in front of the truck bed and crossing your arms.

“Booney baby,” you cooed mockingly. “Did you miss me?”

Boone’s face turned bright red and you accidentally giggled. A grin spread across Boone’s flushed face at the sound. Emboldened by a show of your real emotions, he responded, “Maybe I did.”

Dani glanced between you two, smirking before standing and jumping out the bed of the truck. She motioned for you to take her place. “I’m going to bed. You two have fun,” she winked.

Reluctantly, you did end up taking her place in the bed of the truck.

“You smoke?” Boone asked, pulling out a bong. “I do.” Who were you to turn down free weed?

Boone grinned, setting the bong between his feet and pulling out a grinder. As he began packing the bowl, you asked, “So why’d your friend call me ‘ocean girl’?”

Boone didn’t look at you as he continued to pack the bowl. His cheeks turned pink but you could hardly tell in the lighting. “I might have mentioned you.”

“What’d you say?” you asked curiously.

“Ask me later.” Boone handed you the bong and pulled out a lighter. He lit the bowl for you and you took a hit. You passed it back to Boone. Boone took a hit. “So what are you doing coming back to your room so late?” He passed you the bong.

“I was stargazing in a field,” you answered before putting your lips to the bong. Boone watched you intensely as you took a hit and blew the smoke. “That sounds nice,” he finally said. He took the bong when you offered.

“It was.” You’d only taken two hits, but as large as they were and as good as Boone’s weed was, you were feeling pleasantly relaxed.

“Why are you up so late?”

Boone blew smoke. “Oh I’m always the last one to go to bed, I smoke before I sleep every night.”

Boone continued lighting the bowl for you every time it was your turn.

You finished the bowl and you were both perfectly high. The conversation flowed as you both relaxed in the truck bed. Time flew by and before you knew it, you’d been there for an hour.

“Hey,” you said with a smirk. “Guess what it is.”

Boone looked confused. “Huh?”

“It’s later,” you drawled. “So what did you tell your friends about me?”

Boone was high enough that he actually answered you truthfully.

“They been askin’ bout you since I held the door open for you at the gas station. Cause they noticed how interested in you I was. Then I learned a little about you and of course they demanded to know what…”

“Why were you so interested in me?”

“I thought you were real pretty,” Boone said simply. “And I’m loving every second of getting to know you.”

You blushed, thankful it was dark out and he probably couldn’t see it. You didn’t know what to say now though. “...Thank you,” you eventually managed. “It’s been… nice to get to know you too.” Weed made you too honest.

Uncomfortable with how intimate it had become, not because of Boone but just because of your anxiety, you clambered out of the truck bed. “Goodnight, Boone. Thanks for the sesh.” You didn’t know what to do to let him know he hadn’t done anything wrong, so you just reached into the bed and patted his thigh. Then you turned and went to your room.

Boone was weird after that. Your message hadn’t gotten across, because Boone one hundred percent believed he had scared you off.

You felt awful, for some reason, and even Scott had noticed the absolute drop in your mood. Kate was worried.

You found yourself seeking him out after a week because he hadn’t sought you out. You couldn’t get a chance to get him alone, but you knew you had to talk to him. So you boldly approached his entire group at a tailgate a week later.

Boone looked excited to see you, to your relief.

“East Coast! You comin’ to see me?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help but smile. “I did. Could we take a walk? I wanted to talk to you.”

Boone jumped down from the top of the truck, eagerly following you. You both fell into step side by side next to the empty road.

“I’m sorry about the other night,” you said quietly.

“Aw, it’s okay, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t.”

Boone looked at you but you looked away.

“I just got nervous.”

Boone was silent for a moment. “Yeah?” His voice was quiet.

“If you were saying that you like me, I like you too.”

Boone stopped walking, grabbing your shoulders in his hands. “Can I kiss you?” He almost whispered the question. You nodded eagerly. Boone cupped your face in his hands and kissed you sweetly.

You felt your heart start beating faster.

You clung to Boone’s shirt as he kissed you. His mustache tickled under your nose, but it was soft.

When Boone pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours as you both caught your breath. “So do you maybe wanna go on a date?”

You smiled genuinely, purely happy.

“Definately.”

[askarsjustsoswedish]

GENERATION KILL - MILITARY TERMINOLOGY AND SLANG USED IN THE MINISERIES (Part 1, A-M)

// I've been reorganising my files I thought this may be useful for some GenKill fans. //

All rights HBO

For Immediate Release                                                          June 25, 2008

.50 Caliber:  the standard heavy, vehicle-mounted machine gun used by U.S. forces since World War Two; aka “Fifty cal,” “the Fifty,” “M-2” and “Ma Deuce.”

5.56 Machine Gun Rounds:  the diameter of bullets in millimeters used by US forces in all rifles and light machine guns; aka “NATO rounds.”  Distinguished from Iraq’s Soviet standard military, which uses 7.62mm rounds in their weapons.

507 Maintenance:  U.S. Army unit that took a wrong turn into Nasariyah and was ambushed.  Note: This is best known as the unit to which Jessica Lynch belonged, though the platoon will not learn of Lynch by name, or her status as the most famous U.S. prisoner of war, until Part 3.

Alpha Company:  Bravo’s sister company in First Recon Battalion, commanded by the highly popular and respected Captain Patterson, the polar opposite of Bravo’s commander “Encino Man.”

America’s Shock Troops:  a catchphrase invoking Donald Rumsfeld’s plans of a lean, stripped-down invasion force modeled after German forces of WWII.  This is a deliberate reference to the German Shock Troops, the SS, used to spearhead blitzkriegs across France and Poland.  Ferrando takes pride in knowing his battalion will be the premiere shock-troop unit of the entire Marine Corps.

Amtrac:  a loud, ungainly amphibious vehicle used to transport Marines on the ground in Iraq; also used as a mobile fighting platform.

A-O (Area of Operations):  an A-O can be as large as all of Iraq or as small as the area around a Marines encampment.

Ass:  Marine slang for any weapon system or unit that packs a lot of fire power.  “We’re rolling with a lot of ass today” means “We will be accompanied by tanks or attack helicopters today.”

Assassin:  radio call sign for First Recon’s Alpha Company.  “Assassin Actual” is Alpha’s Company Commander, Captain Patterson.

Assault Through:  primary Marine tactic when encountering a close ambush, linked to the mantra drilled into every Marine since day one of boot camp when every Marine must repeat, “I am a Marine, and every Marine is a rifleman and a rifleman’s duty is to locate, close with, and destroy the enemy by fire...”  This is, in a nutshell, the doctrine of the entire U.S. Marine Corps.

AT4 Rocket:  the ubiquitous anti-tank rocket carried by Marine ground forces.  Fired from a self-contained plastic tube about a meter long and weighing just a few kilos, it can destroy a heavy tank.  During the Iraq invasion most AT4s are fired into Iraqi homes to clear out potential enemy forces.

Atropine injector:  atropine is a chemical that counteracts certain nerve agents.  Atropine injectors are issued to troops who expect to be preparing or receiving chemical attacks, and in this instance, Iraqis.

Attriting:  to wear down; verb version of “attrition,” peculiar to the military.

B.R.C. (Basic Reconnaissance Course):  the school a Marine must attend and graduate from to become a Recon Marine; the most sought-after training course in the Corps.  Only about one percent of all Marines qualify to enter B.R.C. and half of those who enter fail to complete it.

Battalion Commander:  Lt. Colonel Stephen Ferrando, commander of the 370-man strong First Recon Battalion, call sign “Godfather.”

Beanies:  black-knitted watch caps typically worn by sailors.  A powerful status symbol; only Recon Marines are allowed to wear them within the First Division.

Belt-fed:  excited; refers to linked rounds fed through a machine gun.  Can also be used an intensifier, as in, “That guy is a belt-fed son of a bitch,” i.e., a real son of a bitch.

Blouse his boots:  to tuck pants-legs into the tops of one’s boots and keep them in place by wrapping a metal spring around the fabric just below the boot-top; part of Ferrando’s hated Grooming Standard.  Not only are the springs used in the boot blousing uncomfortable, blousing one’s boot ensures that all the ambient sand will pour directly into the wearer’s boot.

Blue Force Tracking Antenna:  an antenna for the Blue Force Tracker, a new computerized mapping system that – when it occasionally works properly – identifies the locations of all “blue,” or friendly, forces and the locations of all known “red,” or enemy. forces.  Locations of such forces across the entire Middle East are updated every 30 seconds.  Sgt. Colbert possesses one of only a handful Blue Force Trackers in the entire battalion.

Boonie Cap:  a standard issue floppy field hat, like a camouflaged version of the hat worn by Gilligan on “Gilligan’s Island”;  aka soft cover.

Bound past:  “bounding” is a specific form of maneuver favored by the Marine Corps, employed by two-man fire teams or the entire division.

Buck Fever:  too quick to identify threats; a hunting term that comes from the expression to “put buck’s horns on a doe,” i.e., seeing a valid target when there is none.

Butterfly Trigger:  a safety trigger that requires two thumbs to actuate.

C.G. (Commanding General):  always means General Mattis, Commanding General of the First Marine Division, when these Marines use the phrase.

C.O. (Commanding Officer):  usually applied to the Battalion Commander (Maj. or Lt. Col.), or less frequently the Company Commander (Capt.), but never to a Platoon Commander (Lieut.).

C.O.I., freqs covered, freqs plain:  Encryption lingo necessary to operate radios.

“Captain America”:  derisive nickname for Capt. Dave McGraw, commander of Bravo’s Third Platoon, sister platoon to the heroes in Second Platoon.  Note:  Although Captain America is a rank above Lt. Fick, as commanders of respective sister platoons they are peers with one another.

Cas-evac:  casualty evacuation; similar to the older phrase med-evac.  Cas-evac technically means an evacuation in a combat zone of a patient who has not yet been stabilized, but it’s become the cool way to say any form of medical evacuation.

“Casey Kasem”:  a mocking nickname applied to Gunnery Sgt. Ray Griego, Encino Man’s aide de camp, based on the smarmy host of the Top 40 radio show and the voice of Shaggy in the original “Scooby Doo!” cartoon series.

Charms:  brand name of a hard candy provided to U.S. troops in the meal rations, but seldom consumed due to the belief that they produce bad luck.

Cleared hot:  given permission to fire your weapon by a superior.

Cobra Gunship:  armored helicopter used only by U.S. Marines,  unique because Cobras work in extremely close proximity to Marine ground forces.

Col. Joe Dowdy:  Commander of Regimental Combat Team One, popular among his troops for his reputation of caring about their welfare.  Later relieved of his command by General Mattis for not being aggressive enough and risking his troops to achieve battlefield goals.

Command Vehicle:  Lt. Fick’s Humvee, configured like a pick-up truck with a canvas covering.

Completely outside of what First Recon does:  this battalion is trained to swim or parachute behind enemy lines, not to drive into attacks in Humvees.  Their motto is “Swift Silent Deadly.”

Condition One:  a verb that means to put one’s weapon on red con one; rack a round into your chamber.

Contact:  a visual or physical encounter with enemy forces, said when you either see them or they start shooting at you.

Cyclone:  fierce swirls of dust common to Iraq, which dance across landscape and in some cases will collide with a person, tent or vehicle.  They range in height from a few meters to several hundred meters; aka dust devils.

D.C.U. (Desert Camouflage Uniform):  any field garment with desert camouflage.

DASC and DASC-A:  Direct Air Support Communications headquarters, with one based on the ground and one based in an AWACs plane.

Deck:  keeping with their nautical tradition, anything Marines stand on is the deck, be it on a ship, the desert or the floor of a tent.

Delta Company:  a company of reservist Recon Marines expected to be attached to First Recon Battalion.  Delta will prove to be a bunch of under-trained, overzealous, poorly equipped cops-on-leave and office guys who know nothing about war.

Deuce Gear:  a web of straps and hooks worn as an outer garment, to which one affixes extra gear such as ammo packs and canteens; aka Load Bearing Vest or L.B.V.

Devil Dog:  a Marine.

Dip:  smokeless tobacco used by American fighting forces; a dip is a quantity of tobacco placed between one’s lips and gums.  To dip is the habit of consuming smokeless tobacco.

Donkey Dicks:  venerable Marine Corps term for a variety of phallic-shaped implements from engine hoses, to gas can funnels, to cleaning brushes for large mortar tubes.

“Echo Four Lima”:  refers to Corporal Lilley, whose pay-grade is “E-4” and whose last name begins with “L.”  In radio code phonetics, he becomes “Echo Four Lima.”  Sergeant Colbert, whose pay grade is “E-5,” would become “Echo Five Charlie” over the radio.

“Encino Man”:  Captain Craig Schwetje, Commander of Bravo Company, Lt. Fick’s immediate superior officer; the nickname is a reference to the dim-witted Neanderthal hero of the film “Encino Man.”  This Encino Man is a former football star, none too bright, with an ape-like face:  he is also referred to in phonetic alphabet code, in which “Encino Man” is changed to “Echo Mike.”

Enlisted Tent: Area where privates through to sergeants sleep.  The senior non-commissioned officers such as Staff Sergeants, Gunnery Sergeants, Master Sergeants and the Sergeant Major are technically of the enlisted ranks, and occupy an elite position somewhere between sergeants and officers.

Ephedra:  over-the-counter diet pills, now banned by Marines as a speed-like stimulant.

E-tool:  a collapsible shovel carried by all Marines; short for “Excavation-tool.”

F.O.:  Forward Observer; anyone spotting targets for Iraqi or insurgent forces.

Fedayeen:  a Baathist paramilitary unit trained in guerrilla tactics and established by Saddam Hussein’s son in the 1990s to infiltrate and terrorize the Shia populace, but in the current conflict, arrayed against the American invasion, they are also referred to generically as “insurgents.”

Fiddies:  fifties, i.e., .50 cal. machine guns; former ghetto car repo man Espera uses the gangsta counting system in which “fiddie” equals 50, a “buck” or a “hundo” equals a hundred, a “deuce” equals either two or two-hundred, a “grand” equals a thousand, etc.

Flak jacket:  a heavy yet flexible shrapnel-resistant vest.

Foot-mobile:  a person on foot.

Forty Mike-Mike:  40 millimeter; refers to either an individual 40mm self-propelled grenade round or the weapon that launches them, such as the M-19.

Foshizzle…Hajizzle:  a goof on Snoop Dogg’s hip-hop lingo to mean “for sure” and “Haji.”

Free-balling:  not wearing underpants.

Fucking Sixta:  Sgt. Maj. John Sixta, Sergeant Major for this battalion;  aka “The Fucking Retard,” “Mister Potato Head,” “The Coward of Khafji.”  His role and actions both dictate that he is despised by enlisted men.

Get some:  to “get some” means to do any thing really cool like run a fast mile or kill someone.  [Mo here: I’ve removed one extremely graphic sentence here, which basically says that the term can also apply to sexual conquest.] [O]ften used as an exclamation or cheer.  Latino Marines use the Spanish “Chingaso” and whites have adopted it, so “Get some!” and “Chingaso!” are interchangeable.

Godfather:  call sign of Lt. Col. Ferrando, as well as his battalion.  Ferrando earned the call sign because his vocal chords were removed after a bout with cancer, causing him to speak like Marlon Brando in the noted film.  Note:  Godfather often speaks of himself in the third person:  instead of saying, “I think…,” he will say, “Godfather thinks…”

Grape Beverage Base:  grape juice powder; the name printed on the packaging in the military rations.  Used by Marines rather than the more familiar civilian term.

The Grooming Standard:  not to be confused with Marine Corps standard grooming regulations, the Grooming Standard is Battalion Commander Ferrando’s much more exacting dress and grooming code for those who serve under him.

 G-Shock Wristwatch:  the popular xtreme sports watch, as essential to Marine fashion as Oakley sunglasses.

H & S Company:  the Headquarters and Supply company.  More than half the 370 men in the battalion belong to H & S, responsible for supporting the “line companies” or combat units, made up of Alpha, Bravo and Charlie Companies.

Habudabi:  a nickname for Arabs.

Haji:   an Iraqi or Arab or Muslim of any ethnicity, from the Arabic “Haji,” which is the honorific term for anyone who has made the trip to Mecca, the Haj.  Most Americans who use the term Haji are probably not referring to that pilgrimage, but to the once-popular children’s cartoon show “Johnny Quest,” in which the white boy hero’s turban-wearing sidekick was named Haji.  Not necessarily a pejorative term, Haji may be used as an adjective to describe anything Middle Eastern, e.g., Iraq’s customary flat bread is referred to as “Haji bread” or “Haji tortillas.”

Hardball:  paved road, as opposed to unpaved.

Herringbone:  to halt a convoy of vehicles at a 45-degree angle to the axis of a highway, much like the pattern of fishbones.  Herringbone can be used as a noun or verb.

Hitman Two:  “Hitman” is the radio call sign for Bravo Company and “Two” refers to second platoon, one of three platoons in the company.  “Hitman” can refer to the actual company commander of Bravo or the company itself.  All units have call-signs, rather like official nicknames, which are used in radio communications.  For example, General Mattis, commander of all Marine ground forces in Iraq, is “Chaos.”

Hitman Two One Actual:  Bravo Company’s Second Platoon Team One Leader, Sergeant Colbert.  While “Hitman Two One” refers to the entire team, “Actual” means the actual commander.  “Hitman Two” refers to all of Bravo Second Platoon, but “Hitman Two Actual” is the platoon commander, Lt. Fick.  In addition, “The Actual,” or commander, is also referred to as “The Zero.”

“I glassed it:”  “I viewed the object through binoculars or a rifle scope.”

“I got your six”:  “I’ve got your back”; from the clock point in which the hour of six is at the bottom of the dial, if you were oriented toward the 12 hour.  “On your three” would indicate something or someone on your immediate right.  “On your four” would indicate something or something on your right and slightly behind you.

I.A. (Immediate Action):  whatever you train to do when the shit hits the fan.

Javelin Team:  two Marines who carry and operate a powerful anti-tank missile called a “Javelin.”

K-bar:  a knife carried by Marines.

Kevlar:  a helmet; while civilians know Kevlar as the brand-name of a bullet resistant material, Marines refer to their Kevlar helmets simply as Kevlars.  Note:  Even though flak jackets are also made of Kevlar, they are never referred to as such.

Kill Zone, Kill Box:  the area where the enemy hopes to direct, channel and trap you in order to kill you, or where you hope to do the same to him.

L.A.V.’s (Light Armored Vehicle):  used only by the Marine Corps;  amphibious, eight-wheeled machines that look like upside-down bathtubs painted black.

L.O.D. (Line of Departure):  the border between Kuwait and Iraq.

Leatherman:  the all-in-one pliers, screwdriver and knife tool carried by Marines.

The L.T.:  nickname for a Lieutenant.  Note:  A specific lieutenant or other commanding officer is often also referred to as “The Sir.”

M.R.E.:  Meal Ready to Eat; standard military fare, food manufactured a decade ago and served as a complete, self-heating meal in a plastic bag.

M.S.R. Eight:  Main Supply Route Eight; any paved road is typically referred to as an “M.S.R.”

M.S.R. Tampa:  Main Supply Route Tampa.  Not only are roads designated M.S.R.s,  but American military planners have also given them names that will be easier for U.S. troops to pronounce than Arabic ones.

M-19:  a heavy, vehicle-mounted machine gun that fires armor-penetrating grenades instead of bullets; AKA MK-19, Mark-19, and Forty Mike-Mike.

M-249 SAW:  hand-held or bipod-mountable machine gun common to U.S. forces.  “SAW” stands for Squad Automatic Weapon and fires at a rate of 750 rounds per minute.  Notoriously easy to discharge by accident, hence Marine folklore:  “The SAW’s got a mind of its own, it wants to kill a motherfucker.”

M-4:  rifle carried by most recon Marines; similar to the standard U.S.-military M-16, but with a shortened barrel and collapsible stock.  Note:  Officers and POGs carry M-16s.  (2-3)

M-40:  standard, bolt action Marine sniper rifle.

Mathilda:  Northern Kuwait camp where these Marines stayed, with about 5,000 others, in the weeks before the invasion.

MOPP:  a nuclear, biological chemical protection suit; stands for Mission Oriented Protective Posture.  Can be an adjective, as in “we were MOPPED-up,” or “wearing our MOPP suits.”

Moto:  from motivational, anything that expresses the highly-motivated spirit of Marines.  Shouting “Get Some!” is a moto thing to do.  Moto films are the small movies and slide shows Marines make documenting the crazy things they see in this war.

Mud:  the white supremacist term for a non-white individual.

[eeriepromis]

LADS | SURVEY SUGGESTIONS

Feel free to pick and choose from these suggestions and copy & paste them into your in-game surveys. These are ideas a few girlies and I gathered, and I've restructured and condensed them into categories.

✦ GENERAL GAMEPLAY & EVENTS

Please increase permanent mini-game options to diversify gameplay beyond Kitty Cards and Claw Machine. A “My Room” or “Co-op Mode” (for mini-games or Orbit battles) would be amazing.

Add more long-term goals to Abyssal Chaos. Reset the reward track monthly so rewards can be re-earned. This would make it a consistent and reliable resource instead of a dead-end system.

Banner durations are too short. 7–10 days is not enough time to plan pulls or save. Please extend banners to 2–3 weeks like other gacha games.

Stop oversaturating multi-banners. Too many banners per month is overwhelming and discouraging for both F2P and spenders.

✦ RESOURCES & BALANCING

Add more consistent ways to earn diamonds, especially for endgame players. Increase rewards for Orbits, Abyssal Chaos, Bounty Hunts, and 5★ Memory upgrades. Plus better rewards for higher Orbit levels.

Improve drop rates for plushies (especially shiny & wanderer) and Bottle of Wishes/Crystals from Stage 9 Bounty Hunts. SSR bottles should also be obtainable on the last stage.

Allow trading in duplicate plushies (e.g. with friends) or refreshing plushie placement in Claw Machine.

Add pity system to Galaxy Explorer. The randomness makes ranking up 4★ cards frustrating.

Add more affinity-based rewards (Heartfelt Gift frequency, better poses for Rafayel and Sylus).

A way to initiate calls and video calls with the male leads.

Make Illusio permanent/bring it back with the ability to change MC's outfit too.

✦ CHARACTER & STORY CONTENT

Please give Sylus and Caleb more content to match the card counts, anecdotes, and bonds of Zayne/Xavier/Rafayel.

Release main story updates more regularly and provide a roadmap of upcoming content.

Let us decorate and use our own home as a meeting place with LIs, instead of being limited to the café.

Let us choose backgrounds like LI’s homes in the Café based on affinity.

Please include more voiced lines for the female lead. We would love to hear her voice more frequently, especially in 5-star memories and events. Also, please give us the option to mute her voice if desired.

Add bond scene choices (accept/decline date offers from LIs) and more romantic poses for underrepresented LIs.

✦ CUSTOMIZATION & UI QUALITY OF LIFE

Allow MC’s custom avatar to appear in battle, story, and mini-games. Currently the black-haired default breaks immersion.

Include a feature to turn back time inside a memory scene.

Add more customization options: curly hair, more skin tones, eye/hair color wheel, voice toggle in cutscenes.

Add wardrobe lock for outfits and accessories.

Include more outfits and poses in the chocolate shop (especially past banner content).

Increase the MC’s memory/photo showcase limit on profile beyond 6.

✦ TECHNICAL IMPROVEMENTS & ACCESSIBILITY

Game storage size is getting too large. Please optimize file size and fix long loading times and lag since 3.0.

Please address bugs more consistently. Many issues are reported after major updates and go unacknowledged.

Increase daily stamina cap (standard + Aurum Pass), or allow catch-up collection for missed Aurum rewards.

Make missed event shop items (e.g., BGM, stickers) available during reruns for newer players. Bring back the special store events that accompanied previous reruns.

Add landscape mode during kindles.

Make the pause button and photo button available in the Spring Banner memories especially. MC’s phone overlay is blocking them.

Allow claiming past daily stamina / Aurum rewards retroactively.

Adjust the lighting in animated scenes to properly represent Black characters and people of color.

Utilize crit rate for probability of DMG than RNG. (e.g. 100% crit rate should crit all the time)

We want to be able to see our MC's face clearly

PC Version of the game, because it will just keep growing and take more storage space. (Include better graphics and landscape mode for PC)

Controller Support

Settings for reducing motion sickness

Communicate how much GB free space a new update is going to require.

✦ COMMUNITY & ENGAGEMENT

Add a Golden Saucer-style area (Final Fantasy) where we can enjoy fun, live events and minigame challenges with other players.

Introduce a pseudo-open world area with major key locations where players can run around as their MC, meet LIs or friends, and play mini-games together.

Start regular Q&A or dev notes to engage with player feedback more transparently.

Let us gift premium items (Aurum Pass, Heartfelt Promise) to friends.

Add options for player-to-player interaction: co-op mini-games, voice chat links, or room visits.

The pity seems to get harder, increase the probability of soft pity.

[httpvomitello]

hello lovely person🥹

could I pretty please request Peter Parker x reader where it’s kinda slow burn strangers to lovers

reader is a new recruit for the avengers and Cap suggests a sparring match to see where reader’s skills lie and she goes against Peter

bonus points if you could include the classic scene where one of them pins the other and it’s a lot of tension and maybe a little kiss after🤭

thank you babes, have a good Easter Sunday xx

Hellooo amazing person, i'm really happy to write this one and i hope you like it! Also Happy Easter everyone, i hope you guys are having an wonderful day ~ ♡♡

Six Rounds to Fall .｡*･ﾟﾟ

Summary: You're the new recruit. Peter's the awkward genius superhero who gets volunteered to spar with you—again and again.

peter parker x f!reader

The Avengers Compound was a lot more intimidating in person.

Your first few days had been a blur—orientation, training evaluations, strange nods of approval from Natasha, a handshake from Steve that nearly broke your fingers, and Tony Stark making three jokes at your expense before breakfast. Not bad, really.

Then came the part where Steve cornered you by the gym and dropped a casual bomb.

“Let’s see what you’ve got in the ring,” he said, like it wasn’t a loaded sentence coming from Captain America. “We’ll start with Parker.”

You blinked. “Spider-Man?”

“He’s a good test for reflexes,” Steve replied, crossing his arms. “And I think you two will work well together.”

You weren’t sure what that meant. You’d only met Peter Parker in passing—he was polite, kinda funny in a quiet way, and blushed when you asked him where the coffee machine was.

Sparring with him sounded... interesting.

Session One

Peter was all nerves.

He stood on the mat, arms awkwardly loose at his sides, and gave you a sheepish grin. “Hey... um. Just so you know, I bruise easily.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You have super strength.”

“Yeah, but like... emotionally.”

You smirked. Okay, maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

The session was short—mostly warm-ups, light sparring. He was faster than you expected, but clearly holding back. You didn’t mind. It gave you a chance to read him. He was easy to fluster. Every time your hand grazed his side or you moved a little too close, his eyes darted away.

Cute. Weird. And definitely not what you were used to in training.

The second time, you were sharper this time. Peter was still polite but a little more focused. The jokes faded after the first ten minutes, replaced by an edge you hadn’t seen before.

He pinned you once. Just for a moment. His hands gripped your wrists, holding you to the mat. Your breath caught, not from the hold—but from how close he was.

He noticed. His cheeks turned bright red, and he scrambled back like you were on fire.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, helping you up.

You just gave him a look. “You going to do that every time?”

His mouth opened. Closed. “Probably?”

The third time, Nat watched from the side this time, arms folded as she made notes for your file. Peter tried to keep things professional, but his banter slipped out anyway.

“You’ve been practicing,” he said after you managed to flip him for the first time.

“You haven’t,” you teased.

The match ended in a draw. You were both sweaty, flushed, and laughing as you caught your breath.

Something lingered in his expression when he looked at you. Something he didn’t say.

You didn’t ask.

Steve wasn’t even pretending to be subtle now.

“Parker, you're up. Again.”

Peter gave him a look. “Are you... sure?”

Steve smirked. “Positive.”

This match was rougher. Neither of you held back as much. You felt the tension simmering beneath every block, every spin, every time your fingers brushed his arm or your knee hit his thigh. You weren’t sure when the sparring became something else—some kind of dance, charged with whatever was building between you two.

Peter got the upper hand by surprise and pinned you again, his weight pressing lightly on your hips. His eyes searched yours, lips slightly parted, breathing hard.

You could’ve sworn he was going to say something.

But he didn’t.

He just rolled off you and mumbled, “Nice work.”

You didn’t sleep much that night.

You both pretended it was normal.

It wasn’t.

There was a moment where you grabbed his arm to spin him, and he caught your waist instead. The tension was unbearable—your faces inches apart, eyes locked.

His fingers twitched against your side. Like he wanted to hold you there.

“Should we... reset?” he asked, voice hoarse.

You nodded too quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s reset.”

Neither of you reset. You just stood there, hearts racing, until Natasha clapped loudly from the corner. “Someone gonna throw a punch or just keep eye-fondling?”

Peter looked like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him.

You walked into the gym before him this time.

Your stomach was a mess of nerves you refused to acknowledge. Something had to give. This thing between you—it wasn’t just training anymore. You knew it. So did he.

Peter walked in, suit slightly unzipped at the collar, and gave you a crooked grin.

“You look ready to kill me today.”

“Maybe just a little.”

The match started normal. Hits. Dodges. Grunts. But there was too much tension now—too much unspoken.

You went for a sweep; he dodged. He came back with a jab; you blocked. Then he spun, arm looping around your waist, and took you down—but not hard. He followed the fall, bracing himself with one arm beside your head.

And there you were again. Pinned. Staring up at him.

Only this time, he didn’t move.

“Are we gonna keep pretending this isn’t a thing?” he asked, so softly you barely heard it.

Your chest rose and fell beneath him. “What if I don’t want to pretend?”

His eyes flicked to your mouth.

And this time... this time, he kissed you.

It was slow at first. Like he was still unsure you’d pull away. But you didn’t. You pulled him closer instead, fingers curling in his shirt.

Somewhere, you heard Steve’s voice echoing through the comm system. “Training room feed is still on, by the way.”

Peter groaned against your mouth. “We’re never living that down.”

You laughed breathlessly. “Nope.”

[igotatasteforoldermendelrey]

In the eye of the storm.

A/n : hi guys! I wrote this one these pasts days. I want to really emphasise the fact that this oneshot tackle topics that might be hard for some of you to read about. Please be careful. Thunderbolts made a great reminder that mental health and illness shouldn’t be taboo. It touches everyone and should be treated with care. Please, if you feel the need to get help do it, reach out to someone in capacity to help you. It’s the hardest thing to do but once it’s done it’s going to get better.

English is not my first language you might find mistakes in there.

Ship : Bucky x reader

Summary: It all happened so fast. One second you were standing in the corner of the room, staring at your teammates fighting agents, the next you were sitting on top of an agent, beating him with your fist, blood marring his face. Seeing you perish in the hands of your demons, Bucky intervened to help you. Follows discussion of the past, traumas and feelings…

Warnings : reader is not well, burn out, depression, swearing and insults, therapy, PTSD (no descriptions of them), mental illness, angst, past, injury, panic attacks, happy ending.

If I forgot anything, please tell me.

I do not consent to any of my work to be translated or posted anywhere else without my permission.

Banners made from Pinterest.

It all happened so fast. One second you were standing in the corner of the room, staring at your teammates fighting agents, the next you were sitting on top of an agent, beating him with your fist, blood marring his face.

Steve had to physically pull you off the man who was almost dead, and carried you to the Quinjet. You fought him all you could, hitting his shoulder and his back to get him to let you go. In vain. Natasha had to inject you a sedative to put you to sleep.

The whole team watched you sleep in the medical bed and monitored to machines.

Doc? What can you tell us about what’s going on with her? Cap asked the doctor who came out of your room.

Her constants are stable, she doesn’t have any life threatening injuries.

But? Natasha asked him, feeling there was something he wasn’t saying.

It’s not her physical health I’m worried about…

What do you mean? Bruce pondered.

Well… as you all described she never acted like that before on a mission, never lost her temper. All the signs are pointing towards a burn out. That sort of things can happen without warning. One day you’re going to work happily, the next you cannot even get out of bed. He closed your file. What I would recommend is no more field work, therapy sessions and forced rest. If she continues like that, she risks to permanently and seriously damage her health. Both physically and mentally.

~~~

Four weeks later.

Steve still didn't put you back on mission and only asked you to write reports. You were feeling like a lion in a cage, stuck and frustrated. You tried begging him, telling him you were even more useful on the field than behind a desk. Yet the super soldier refused, insisting on the fact that you needed to take some time off.

You hated him for that. Of course you weren't really hating him but you kinda disliked him for that. So you worked out, went on a walk, came back and worked out some more. All of your teammates saw how you were starting to loose your patience, how you started to stop interrupting your session even though your fingers hurt from how hard you were hitting the punching bag.

None of them dared to tell you something, knowing you will just implode as soon as you will hear about that. But Bucky didn't agree with them.

He couldn't bare to see you like that because he knew all too well where that kind of comportment could lead to.

He decided to intervene when one night, he saw you up in the living room, eyes open wide, watching TV. You were barely blinking. That when he decided it needed to stop. He came in the room, stopped in front of you and blocking your view to the TV.

Move your ass Barnes. You muttered, teeth grinding.

Turn it off. He replied coldly.

Move. You menaced, thunders in your eyes.

No, turn it off. You didn't sleep for 24 hours straight.

So what?

That need to stop. This whole thing needs to stop. You're acting like a ungrateful brat with everyone, always on the verge of imploding. You're self destroying!

What do you even care Bucky?! You spat out at him, fist tightening.

Because I know exactly how that will end! And I don't want that for you.

And how will it end?

You're going to push everyone away, even if they fight you they will eventually pull away. He came closer to you, stepping in your personal space. And after that you will be alone so why not try something to ease the pain? No one will stop you right? So you will, and how lucky you are it will actually have an effect on you. Then you will either be incapable of getting out of your bed or ruin every single one of your missions. Then you will have fucked up your career too. And what's left? Nothing. All that just because you didn't ask for help. So I won't let that happen to you. You can hate me all you want but I won’t let you go down.

Stop getting in my way. You said as you stood up, coming even closer to his face. You do not want to see me lose my temper.

He groaned before leaving the room, fuming. He came back a few minutes later, holding a file in his hands. He threw it on the coffee table in front of you, the file opening on a picture of a man with a bloody face.

You recognise him? He stared at you. It’s the man you beat up.

He was in my way.

You didn’t follow orders and you acted stupidly, putting everyone else and the plan in danger.

And yet the mission ended successfully. I don’t see why everyone is making such a big deal of that. You replied, laying back on the couch, eyes glued on the TV.

Bucky had enough. He grabbed the remote from your hands, turned the TV off before throwing the remote against the wall. The piece of technology came crashing down on the floor, broken.

What the fuck?! You screamed at him. Why would you do that?!

Your attitude stops now. You want to act like a brat with the others? Fine. But with me? You better act like you can fucking aligne two lines without bursting out.

I think you didn’t understand, Barnes. I’m off duty. I don’t have to follow orders. You replied, leaving the room.

~~~

6:00 AM.

You were woken up by cold water being poured on your head. Jumping from the sensation you opened your eyes to find Bucky holding a bucket.

Great you’re up. Get ready we’re going out.

Are you fucking mad?! I won’t follow you.

That was not a question. Get dressed.

You stood there, arms crossed over your chest, defying him.

I don’t give a fuck if you’re in a pyjama nor a fucking suit. You better be ready in five, when I come back here. He spat out, turning around and leaving the room.

Bucky came back five minutes later, a leather jacket on and his car keys in his metal hand. You were dressed with a jogging and sweatshirt, not really caring about your look.

It was like that since a while now, not wanting to pay too much attention on the way you looked, not wanting to make efforts anymore. You didn’t know how or when it has become that bad. I mean sure you’ve dealt with your share of insecurity and difficulties. Mentally. But never has it become that much, that hard.

Ready? He asked and you nodded, following after him in direction of the garage.

After about twenty minutes of drive, Bucky parked in front of a building. He killed the engine and sighed deeply.

Where are we? You asked, looking around.

You’ll see. He replied, opening his door and getting out.

He accompanied you inside, walking past the receptionist who gave him a small smile, and continued until coming to a stop in front of a door.

Dr. Christina Raynor. PTSD and trauma answers.

You got to be fucking kidding me. A therapist? Seriously?

Get in. He replied, narrowing his eyes at you.

When you didn’t move, he sighed and open the door for you, lightly pushing on your back to get you inside the room.

James Buchanan Barnes. What a pleasure to see you again. A feminine voice said sarcastically.

I feel the same way, doc.

The therapist stood up, coming around her desk to approach you. And you must be Y/n. She extended her hand to you.

You took it, staring at her, analysing her.

Would you look at that. She added with a small smile after realising how hard you were staring at her. You’re doing exactly like mister sunshine there. She nodded towards Bucky. Mister Barnes, you can leave now. She is in good hands.

The super soldier nodded getting one last look at you. I will wait outside.

~~~

One hour later.

I will see you next time. Dr. Raynor told you, coming with you to the door. Keep in mind what we’ve talked about.

You nodded and left the building. Bucky was standing in front of it, arms crossed and sunglasses on. When he saw you exit the building he came closer, looking attentively at your face.

You okay?

She kinda is a bitch.

He snorted before opening the door of the car for you. After you climbed in, he came on the other side of the car and climbed in too.

How do you know her? You asked as he exited the parking lot.

He sighed, not of frustration but as if he was getting ready to talk about something hard for him. When I got my pardon… I was required to do therapy session to ensure that I was not… going full winter soldier again. He shook his head at the memory. She was my therapist. A real pain in the ass. But I have to confess that she did help me.

Why did you bring me there?

Because I think she can help you too. If you go past the whole notebook passive-aggressive thing.

That shit really gets on my nerves. You agreed, slightly opening the window. Where are we going? It’s not the road to the compound.

You’ll see.

Please not another specialist.

Don’t worry.

~~~

He brought you to a park near the ocean. You walked together until Bucky crossed the grass to get to a bench near the water. He sat down and you came next to him, silence falling on you.

This is where I come when things in my head start to… he gestured with his hands.

Get too much?

He nodded. I found it once, after a mission as the winter soldier… he hesitated for a moment. I was always alone, not aware of what was happening. Everything in my head always moving, never the same. But that place stayed identical throughout the years and the missions.

You related to that.

When I was a teenager… and when things were too much for me I would climb on the roof from my window and sit to watch the stars in the sky. It was a moment of peace… A sort of pause in my mind.

He nodded comprehensively, watching ducks on the border.

~~~

The super soldier and you came back to the compound around noon, parting way for the day. You did the same things you do everyday, working out, getting outside, filling reports and then going to eat.

When night came, the same anxious feeling started bubbling inside of you. Night, darkness, nightmares. You could feel your throat tightening, panic invading your veins. Getting out of your bed, you started walking from one side of your room to the other. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

You left your room with the full intention to workout until your body couldn’t fight sleep. But as you walked past the kitchen to go the elevator, you saw someone sitting on a stool. You entered the room to find Bucky at the counter, swiping on his phone. You knew he heard you coming in, enhanced hearing and all that, and yet he didn’t acknowledge your presence. You approached him slowly not knowing if you should say something or just go to the gym without addressing him.

Can’t sleep? You asked him against your better judgement.

Nah. He answered, raising his head to look at you after turning off his phone. You either?

You shook your head as you crossed the kitchen to get a glass and fill it at the sink.

How long has it been since you’ve last slept?

Last night. I slept for like six hours, which is really good considering the past days.

He nodded, still staring at you and at the way you were doing everything to not look at him. Do you want to watch something? Get you to relax a bit? He proposed kindly.

Uh… I was going to go to the gym for a while to-

Tire yourself so much you won’t be able to climb into your bed? He interrupted you with a knowing sigh. Nah, come here we’re going to watch a masterpiece. He added, leaving the kitchen to go to the living room.

You followed him, not really understanding why you were doing everything he was telling you to do. When you entered the room, the super solider was already seated on one side of the couch, remote in hand.

I thought you broke that. You murmured, nodding to the remote.

I stole Sam’s. Natasha told me it would work so…

Sam will lose his mind when he will notice.

Yeah I know but I kinda like to get him mad. Makes my day funnier. He replied while looking for the movie he was going to put.

When the soldier found what he was looking for, he clicked on play and a music you knew too well started.

The Hobbit? Seriously?

Be really careful about the next words you’re going to use. He side eyed you.

The book is way better than the movies.

I agree. They’re still great though. I mean back in time we wouldn’t even hope for something this good.

How old are you again?

103.

You whistle. You’re fucking old. You laughed at him and he threw a pillow at your face.

The night passed, Bucky still watching the TV, a small smirk on his lips when he shot you a look to realise you were fast asleep on your side of the sofa.

~~~

Things have been… better. In a way. Sure you were still dealing with your demons, some day harder than others but you were on the right track. Your sessions with dr Raynor help you find a way to calm down when you feel that you’re going to explode.

Bucky was at your side since the beginning, bringing you at your sessions, accompanying you during your walks or workouts. He really made sure you weren’t pushing yourself too hard even though you still had to maintain your strength for the day you will be back on the field.

The days you feared the most were the ones he was sent on missions, knowing he wasn’t there in case things got sour again. That’s when Natasha and Steve stepped up. You didn’t open up that much with them but they knew what they needed to know in order to help you if you needed.

We have a new mission. Steve said one day during your daily meeting. Fury requested us all on this one since Hydra is concerned.

Captain America proceeded to detail the mission and its objectives before calling the meeting off.

Y/n can you stay here for a bit? I would like to talk to you. Steve called out to you when you stood up to exit the room. How do you feel?

Better. It’s not perfect but I’m getting there. Therapy is really helping.

That’s good. Do you think you’re ready to go back on the field? No pressure of course.

Yeah! Finally!

Are you sure? He raised his eyebrows.

Yes, Steve, I’m gonna be fine. Plus you’re all gonna be there. There is no risk.

~~~

Maybe you should have kept your mouth shut. You were currently sat in the Quinjet, legs trembling and fist thightening. The mission was supposed to be simple. An in and out kind of thing where you just needed to get a hard drive from a Hydra base. There was no reason to stress, the whole team was here, nothing could happen.

And yet your heart didn’t want to slow down, a buzzing sound in your ears making it hard to understand what Steve was saying. When you climbed out of the jet and walked inside the base you could feel sweat leaking on the side of your face.

They were waiting for you. Of course they were, it would have been to easy either way. Gunshots were fired, punches were thrown but you couldn’t move, your feet stuck on the ground. Your teammates couldn’t get to you, too many agents, not enough of you.

You saw the gun pointed towards you before seeing the man holding it, incapable of moving or closing your eyes you just watched, hoping it won’t take too long. But before the man could pull the trigger he was sent against a wall by two strong arms. Those two arms then came around you, taking you with them out the room. You were pressed against a chest, then against a wall, air still not coming in nor out.

Breathe, honey, you have to breathe. Two hands came to each side of your face, your blurry vision preventing you to clearly identify the person in front of you. It’s me, it’s Bucky. You’re safe.

You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t speak.

You’re name is Y/n, you’re in Sacramento for a mission. You’re currently standing in the headquarters of Hydra base. You’re safe. He repeated slowly, still holding your face.

He was trying to ground you, to help you get aware of your surroundings. You were so pale, fingers trembling around the arms they were closed on.

Baby, come on you gotta breathe. The super soldier said urgently, aware of the dangerous positions you were both currently on.

A gunshot made you reconnect with reality, too close to stay frozen in place. You turned your head towards the noise, seeing Natasha standing with her gun pointed in the direction of a body, who was seemly aimed at you.

Come on guys, we gotta get out of here. She said, approaching you. Can you walk?

You nodded, still not speaking and eyes glued on the body laying on the floor. The super soldier standing besides you saw you stare and slowly put his hand on the small of your back to direct you towards the others.

In the Quinjet you were sat in a corner, your knees against your chest. You spoke to no one and none of your teammates dared to come speak to you, not wanting to send you back in a spiral of panic.

The truth is that you didn’t know what happened, why you just stayed there paralysed. Your problem was the fact you didn’t control your punches not the fact you couldn’t fight nor move in the middle of a fight. You felt ashamed, useless. Your first mission since months and you managed to fuck it up. Maybe Steve was right to not charge you of responsibilities after your burn out.

When you landed, you were the first one out, having as only goal the gym. You punished yourself, hitting the punching bag as if it was you. Your knuckles were open, the leather scratched them, blood getting out. Your ears were buzzing so hard that you didn’t hear someone coming in the gym. You didn’t see Bucky standing besides you either, your anger blinding you. The super soldier grabbed your wrist in his hands coming to stand between the bag and you.

Bucky let me go please.

No. You don’t deserve that. You have done nothing wrong.

I did! I messed it up! Standing there like a fucking coward! You screamed at him and tried to get your hands out of his grasp.

That’s your head. Shit like that always happen. It’s not only you.

Stop lying! You felt your eyes tingling and your legs giving up under you, Bucky getting down with you.

I am not! It happened to me too. Back in Wakanda, when they got me out of the freezer. I couldn’t hold a gun anymore, couldn’t hear fighting. It happens.

He let you cry in his arms, brushing your hair from your face, making sure to ground you. When your tears stopped flowing, he helped you up, brought you to your room and wait that you were done in the shower. He stayed with you, keeping you close. That night you slept without a dream or a nightmare and he stayed up, looking at you.

~~~

A few weeks later.

Things were better now. You intensified your sessions with Dr. Raynor after the last accident. She helped you in your healing process. Steve helped you put together a plan to get you back on the field, slowly at first until you were sure you were ok.

All of your teammates and friends made sure to share with you some of their stories with hard moments. By telling you that they too had struggled helped you understand you weren’t alone and shouldn’t be ashamed.

You and Bucky were closer now. Having linked not only because of the help he was giving you but also because your shared the same interests. Notably for the Hobbit. You exchanged books, made music recommendations and talked about your different point of view on the film you’ve watched.

Of course your life didn’t miraculously get better. You still have days getting out of bed is hard and night you couldn’t sleep. But overall it was better.

You couldn’t sleep so you got up fully intending to go watch something in the living room. Yes you had a TV in your room but you were secretly hoping to find the super soldier on the couch of the common space.

You were wrong. The room was empty and dark. You sighed but still turn on a little light and then let yourself fall on the couch. After a while you heard someone clear their throat at the doorframe. You looked over and saw the super soldier leaning on the frame.

Can’t sleep? He asked with a smirk to which you shook your head. Well then… come with me. He stretched out his hand for you to take, which you did, and led you out of the room to the elevator.

Bucky pressed the button of the top floor, still holding your hand. When you reached the highest floor, he pulled you towards a staircase that led on the roof.

Are you planning to push me over? You asked with eyes narrowed.

Yes, that’s why I killed the cameras. He deadpanned, turning his back to you and sitting on a small plaid on the floor. Are you going to keep standing there like an idiot?

Yeah maybe. Is it making you uncomfortable? You replied before coming to sit on the plaid next to him.

A few months ago you told me that when things got too much as a teenage, you would climb on the roof to watch the stars.

You remembered. You noted, gratefulness warming your heart.

I mean sure, the lights kinda make it hard to see the stars but still, you can notice them. He said, looking up at sky.

You couldn’t, your eyes glued on the man sitting next to you. He made everything for you the past months, helping you in your recovery never pulling away even when you were pushing him with all your strength. And he still made one of the most beautiful gesture.

You know you’re supposed to look at the stars right? He asked after noticing you were still staring at him.

I am. You smiled at him, before laying your head on his shoulder.

He kissed slightly the crown of your head and you both stayed like that for the rest of the night.

~~~

10th march.

Everything needed to be perfect. It was his birthday and after everything he has done for you, you wanted to give him something special. Steve helped you put everything together, helping you chose the right flavour and everything.

You were sat on the bench facing the ocean, a slight breeze caressing your face. You knew he was going to come here, he always was on Monday.

You’re on my bench. A voice you knew all too well said besides you.

You stood up with a big smile, coming to a stop in front of him. Happy birthday, James. You gave him a little box.

The super soldier took it in his hands, opened it and took out the snowball out of it. Inside of it was glued a small piece of the remote he broke against a wall during your first confrontation. The day that changed everything.

Is it…?

The remote you broke when you told me you weren’t going to let me down.

How did you…

You don’t want to know what I had to do to get it back that night. Nor why I kept it. I just wanted to do something that would mean something to the both of us. As a thank you for everything you did for me. You took a deep breath. I… I like you Bucky. I tried to make it go away because I didn’t want to make things between us but I like you.

Y/n… it’s…it’s not why I did it.

I know. You furrowed your brows when you noticed the face he was making.

I don’t want you to think I did all that because I was waiting for something in return. It’s really not. I don’t want you to feel like you have to give anything to me in exchange.

Bucky I know. Believe me I know. If you don’t feel that way, it okay. I’m not going to jump in the ocean afterwards. You can say it. Um… I think I made everything weird so… uh… I’m gonna go now.

Wait! He pulled you towards him after putting your gift on the bench and took your face in his hands. Are you sure that’s how you feel?

You nodded and closed the gap between you.

In the eye of the storm you had find a safe haven. Someone grounding you to the floor, keeping your mind straight. Life could be really shitty but you knew with Bucky next to you, you could face it without fear. And if one of you fell, the other will be here to catch.

[athena-gundampla]

HG Custom 1/144 Principality of Zeon Prototype Technology Testing Platform Mobile Suit MS-06GX "Gunzack"

I've been wanting to do a proper full-scale gunpla kitbash for some time, and I finally had the chance this weekend! It was a great opportunity to use up a lot of the random extra parts from my bits-box and practice some painting and weathering.

The idea behind this kit is heavily inspired by the alternate UC shown in GQuuuuuuX. The basic concept is an early Zeonic prototype implementing newly available technology from Anaheim and the E.F.F. after Zeon won the war, although the kit resembles the classic UC artstyle as those are the only parts I really had to hand.

Most of this kit is based on my old HGUC Zaku II (Char custom), which I wanted to scrap as it's the old 2002 tooling, which doesn't look great l and has pretty limited articulation. I also scavenged bits from my old broken EG RX-78-2, including the shield and camera/v-fin assembly, as well as a variety of other parts.

I put down the base layer using my airbrush. The color scheme of white, grey, red, and yellow is meant to give the appearance of a testing model, and is partly inspired by the colour scheme of the RX-78-1. On top of the base layer I added some black and yellow caution detailing to add to the prototype feel.

On the shield, I freehanded a red Rose of Zeon over the Federation Star. The shield in particular draws inspiration from both the repainted Red Gundam shield from GQuuuuuuX and the backpack mounted shield from Thunderbolt, and it replaces the classic Zaku II pauldron shield design, swinging around from the back unit on an arm from the Demi Trainer expansion kit.

The replacement back unit I used had an extra hole, so I relocated the heat hawk here.

I added a few extra pieces over the knees and front skirt for visual interest, as I'm not quite sure how to go about scribing panel lines in yet. I sanded back the connection points from the camera and v-fin part so it would match the curvature of the Zaku head, and I also added a small antenna on the right of the head.

For the beam rifle, I stuck parts from the Zaku II machine gun onto the EG Gundam beam rifle to give a silhouette reminiscent of both. I think Zeon would initially adapt the pan-shaped magazine for E-Cap (or at least this makes for a nice weapon design).

With the Zaku II pauldron shield I removed, alongside some spare spikes from my RG Zaku II, I could build the Zaku I knuckle-shield, which was a great platform for stickers, freehand painting, and battle damage. It was fun drilling in the little impact holes and carving gouges into the plastic with my angled files.

The stickers for this kit are mostly spares from my RG Zaku II, although I did most of the detail through weathering. Most of it is a silver drybrushing, as well as some black sponge-chipping to make the paint look worm and aged. I got some further fine wear by using my Tamiya pigment powders, which helped give raised corners a nicely worn look.

I also made sure to paint all the big gouges with silver and then a black wash to highlight them and make the plastic look more like damaged metal.

Overall I had tons of fun making this kit. It is held back a little by the frame being an old kit with limited articulation, but in the end I think it turned out great!

[marvelskies1969]

Infinity

Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader / Loki x Fem!Reader

Premise: Y/N Rogers was sent away as a child, her powers deemed dangerous. After years of brief summers with Steve and Bucky, she returns for good when their mother dies—just as war begins.

As her abilities awaken, she draws the attention of Loki, the trickster god, and faces growing fear from those around her. Caught between destiny, war, and forbidden ties, Y/N must decide who she truly is—and who she’s willing to fight for.

Warnings/content: slight angst, brief mention of death/dying, jealousy, fluff, swearing, unstable parental relationships, follows the plot of the MCU timeline, with small changes.

[Masterlist]

[Part 3]

(Chapter 75)

Greatest Creation

The hospital air was thick with the sterile scent of disinfectant and the low hum of murmured voices. Y/N kept her head down as she and Steve moved briskly through the corridor, blending into the background. Dressed in civilian clothes—baseball caps tugged low and sunglasses hiding their faces—they looked like any other visitors. But Y/N’s senses stretched outward, sweeping through the minds of those nearby, searching for any trace of suspicion.

So far, nothing.

Still, her stomach coiled with unease.

They approached the vending machine near the nurses’ station. The very one where Fury had hidden the flash drive before his supposed death.

Steve crouched, reached inside—

And came up empty.

Y/N’s spine stiffened.

"Someone took it," she muttered, already sensing the lingering presence of someone familiar.

A slow clap echoed behind them.

"Looking for this?"

Natasha stood a few feet away, arms crossed, the flash drive dangling between her fingers.

Steve exhaled sharply and straightened. "You could’ve mentioned you were coming to get it."

"Where’s the fun in that?" she replied with a smirk before her expression sobered. "We need to talk."

Y/N’s eyes flickered around the hallway, paranoia prickling at her skin. Not here.

———

They relocated to an empty stairwell, where Natasha leaned against the railing, fingers drumming lightly against the metal. Y/N kept her back to the wall, senses on high alert, listening for any potential threats.

"I know who shot Fury," Natasha finally said.

A cold weight settled in Y/N’s stomach. She exchanged a look with Steve.

"Who?" Steve asked, voice taut.

Natasha hesitated, her jaw tightening. "The Winter Soldier."

Y/N frowned.

The name meant nothing to her.

She narrowed her eyes. "Who is he?"

Natasha exhaled. "No one knows his real name. He’s an assassin. A ghost story in the intelligence world. He’s been killing for over fifty years."

Fifty years.

Y/N felt the weight of those words sink in.

"That’s impossible," she whispered.

"Is it?" Natasha gave her a pointed look. "You, of all people, should know not everything is impossible."

Y/N clenched her jaw.

She knew all too well how time could twist and stretch. How someone could vanish into history, only to reappear decades later, unchanged.

Fifty years. An untraceable assassin. A weapon built to kill.

Natasha’s voice softened slightly, but her expression remained grim. "I’ve encountered him before. Trust me—he doesn’t miss."

A chill ran down Y/N’s spine.

Then she turned to Steve. "We need to figure out what’s on that drive."

———

The mall was crowded, too many people packed into tight spaces. Too many variables.

Y/N stayed close to Steve and Natasha as they made their way through the Apple store. The glow of the computer screens cast eerie light over their faces as Natasha plugged the flash drive into a laptop.

"Got it," Natasha muttered, fingers flying over the keyboard. "The files are leading us to an old military base in—"

Y/N felt it before she saw them.

A shift in the atmosphere. The sudden presence of something dark moving toward them.

Her entire body went rigid.

Her mind flared outward—

And she saw them.

HYDRA agents. Here.

They were closing in.

"Coordinates," she snapped, eyes already beginning to glow as energy pulsed beneath her skin.

Natasha blinked, taken aback. "What?"

"They found us," Y/N hissed, her fingers twitching as power surged through her.

Steve’s eyes sharpened. "How—"

Y/N didn’t wait.

"Coordinates," she demanded again.

Natasha rattled them off—barely finishing the last number before Y/N grabbed both of them by the wrists, pulling them against her.

Reality snapped.

The mall blurred away into a swirling vortex of light and cosmic energy—

And then—

They landed hard on cracked pavement, surrounded by overgrown weeds and crumbling concrete.

The air here was different.

Heavy with history.

———

"This place has been abandoned for decades," Natasha muttered, shaking off the effects of teleportation.

Steve frowned, scanning the area. "Why would S.H.I.E.L.D. send us here?"

Y/N stepped forward, a deep sense of foreboding settling over her. "They didn’t," she murmured.

Natasha ran a hand through her hair. "This was an S.S.R. facility."

Y/N stilled.

Then, at the far end of the corridor, a dim light flickered to life.

A terminal blinked.

And then—

A voice crackled through the speakers.

"Hello, Captain Rogers. Miss Y/N. I have been expecting you."

Y/N’s blood ran cold.

The static on the monitor flickered—until a digital face emerged from the darkness, grainy and distorted.

But unmistakable.

"Ah," Zola’s voice was laced with amusement. "You have been busy, my dear. I must say, I was quite... surprised to hear you had survived."

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat.

She had never seen this man before. Only heard him.

But something about his voice again, sent ice through her veins.

"Who the hell are you?" she demanded.

Zola chuckled. "Ah, I forget—you never knew me. I was... waiting in the wings should I say. But I knew you."

Y/N took a step forward. "Explain."

"You were one of our greatest projects. Our experiment with the Tesseract was a success—but imagine our disappointment when you vanished beneath the ice."

Y/N’s heart pounded.

She had always wondered where her abilities had come from.

How she had survived.

How she had been changed.

Zola continued, "And now—now you are something even greater. The Aether. The Tesseract. The Mind Stone. You are no longer just a soldier—you are a god."

Steve’s jaw tightened. "She’s not yours."

Zola chuckled. "Oh, Captain, you cannot protect her. Not forever. HYDRA does not let go of its greatest creations."

Y/N’s pulse thundered in her ears.

Then—

The screen flickered—revealing a list of names.

Powerful people.

People who had always been HYDRA.

Natasha’s breath hitched. "Oh my God..."

Steve exhaled sharply. "HYDRA’s inside S.H.I.E.L.D."

"And you, dear Y/N... you will return to us."

Y/N’s chest rose and fell quickly.

Then—

The entire base shook.

Explosions.

"Move!" Steve barked, grabbing Y/N’s wrist.

Zola’s voice rang out one last time—

"Hail HYDRA."

And then the world exploded.

[stupidbloodygiant]

I wanted to go through some of the Japanese text regarding AZ. See if anything is different. See how he talks.

(I am not a native Japanese speaker, I am a student - I will miss things. I tried my best, who else is gonna do it - but take it all with a grain of salt.) (This isn't every line of dialogue relating to him - text dumps are hard to navigate - but it is all of HIS dialogue, which was most important.) (I've left in game code, like dictating new lines. I couldn't be fucked removing it) (JPN Kana version seems to be pretty much the same so I'm leaving it out for brevity)

Format: JPN Kanji --- Eng --- --- My intentionally rough translation of the Japanese

KATAKANA in caps for emphasis, as that's how it comes across. I put [scroll] when I think the scrolling is for emphasis. Imagine a pause. (notes like alternate meanings and clarifications are in brackets)

Text File : 76 ポケモン……\n花の　ポケモン……\c\n永遠の　命を……\n与えられた　花の　ポケモン --- The Pokémon…\nThe flower Pokémon…\c\nThe Pokémon that was\ngiven eternal life… --- --- "POKEMON… Flower POKEMON… Eternal Life… given to the flower POKEMON…"

...It's the same, basically. Muttering and trailing off.

... ...

Text File : 380 きけ\c\nフラダリに　刃向う　者 カギを　取り返せ\c\nあれは　起動させては　ならぬ\nまた　すべてが　消える\c\nわたしの　ように\nいつ　終わるとも　わからぬ\r\n苦しみを　味わいたいのか……！ ((next is not said by AZ)) 彼は　ＡＺ\c\n3000年前の　王さまと\n同じ　名前だそうだ\c\nなぜだか　最終兵器の\nカギを　首から　ぶらさげていてね さあ　いよいよだ\nわたしの　部屋に　来なさい --- Listen, one who will face Lysandre. Get the key back.\c\nIt should not be used.\nEverything will vanish again.\c\nDo you want to know unending\npain…like I have? ((next is not said by AZ)) That is AZ.\c\nHe has the same name as a king that lived\n3,000 years ago.\c\nAnd for some unknown reason, he had the key\nto the ultimate weapon hung around his neck. It’s finally time.\nFollow me to my chambers. --- --- Listen! (imperative, informal, commanding) FURADARI(Lysandre) opposing one! Take back (imperative, informal, commanding) the KEY. That should not be activated ('start' as in computers; machines) again everything will disappear. Like me [scroll] without knowing an end [scroll] do you want to taste pain?…! ((next is not said by AZ)) He is AZ. Same name as the king from 3000 years ago it seems. For some reason the Ultimate Weapon's ('Final' Weapon) KEY hangs around his neck. ('ne' at end. Thoughtful; pondering; seeking agreement. 'isn't that peculiar…') Now it is time. Come to my room.

Interesting that the first and last sentence of the flashback are kept in an entirely different place to the rest… Is that just because of how cutscenes work…? I like how Lysandre (I assume its Lysandre) asks you to come to his room. Like he's inviting you over to play. Lysandre also uses watashi.

Revelation from the Kana version: かれは　ＡＺ（エーゼット） ?!?A-ZED?!? I'VE BEEN SAYING A-ZEE FOR YEARS

IMPORTANT: Instead of 'nai' for his negative verbs (eg. don't understand; don't use) - AZ uses 'nu'. Twice. ぬ Which is like… OLD. That's not grandpa - that's OLD ASS speak. 500 < 1000 AD-ish

His manner of speech here is so… commanding. Barking. "LISTEN, Lysander's Opponent! TAKE back the key. That shouldn't be activated or everything shall disappear again. Doth thou wish to taste pain without knowing when it will end, like me?…!" The verbs feel aggressive. In English he was softer spoken. OI! LISTEN: rattles off a gently spoken tale... NOW GET THE FUCKING KEY BACK

... ...

Text File : 151 昔々\n本当に　遠い　昔 オトコと　ポケモンが　いた\nとても　愛していた 戦争が　起きた オトコの　愛した　ポケモンも\n戦争に　使われた 数年が　たった 小さな　箱を　渡された オトコは　生き返らせたかった\nどうしても　どうしても オトコは　命を　与える\nキカイを　造った 愛した　ポケモンを\n取り戻した オトコは　あまりにも　悲しんだため\n怒りが　治まらなかった 愛している　ポケモンを\nキズつけた　世界が　許せなかった キカイを　最強の\n最終兵器に　した オトコは　破壊の神と　なった\n神により　戦争は　閉じられた 永遠の　命を　与えられた\nポケモンは　知っていたのだろう 命の　エネルギーは　多くの\nポケモンを　犠牲と　していたことを 生き返った　ポケモンは\nオトコの　もとを　去った --- A terribly long time ago… There was a man and a Pokémon.\nHe loved that Pokémon very much. A war began. The man’s beloved Pokémon took part\nin the war. Several years passed. He was given a tiny box. The man wanted to bring the Pokémon back.\nNo matter what it took. The man built a machine to give\nit life. He brought his beloved Pokémon back. The man had suffered too much.\nHis rage still had not subsided. He could not forgive the world\nthat had hurt the Pokémon he loved. He turned the machine into\nthe ultimate weapon. The man became a bringer of destruction\nthat ended the war. The Pokémon that was given life\nmust have known… That the lives of many Pokémon\nwere taken to restore its life. The resurrected Pokémon left the man. --- --- Long long ago [scroll] a very distant long ago (昔, Mukashi, is 'the old days' - 昔々, Mukashi Mukashi, is like 'long long ago' or 'Once upon a time' - used in fairytales) There was MAN and POKEMON [scroll] There was so much love (love as in aishite. Formal and strong, deeply romantic.) War arose MAN's beloved POKEMON was also used in war A few years passed A small box was given. (passed to; handed over; delivered) MAN wanted to return it to life [scroll] by any means; by any means (どうしても is repeated - anguished, emphasized. 'surely… surely…'; 'please… please…') MAN created (large-scale make; large object; industrial) a life giving MACHINE. (machine in katakana rather than kanji. Hm.) The beloved POKEMON was recovered (reconstructed; regained; back to original form) The MAN had so much sadness his anger didn't subside For the beloved POKEMON's damage the world couldn't be forgiven MACHINE was used as the strongest Ultimate Weapon ('Final' Weapon; this sentence was tricky) MAN became God of destruction [scroll] the God ended the war Eternal life given POKEMON must have known the life ENERGY had many POKEMON sacrificed the became-alive POKEMON [scroll] left the MAN

Grammar is weird - I wanted to keep it similar to how the Japanese is. It's really weird that he says MAN like that...? OTOKO I can only imagine its to emphasize it and pair it with POKEMON and MACHINE. Energy is always written like that so idk if thats part of the club. MAN, POKEMON, MACHINE, ENERGY....

In general it's very similar to the English version in tone: Simple, informal, spoken in the same slow story-book way, even starting with ~Once upon a time~ There are still emotional phrases (どうしても　どうしても… 愛していた… '小さな　箱を　渡された' hits harder, there's just a bit more meat to 渡す as a verb)

The biggest difference is he calls himself a God of Destruction. 破壊の神

ALSO: He doesn't use old-timey 'nu' instead of 'nai' here. BUT: he is talking in past tense, so 'nai' becomes 'nakatta'… and I have no idea what 'nu' becomes in past tense lol maybe its also 'nakatta'…?

... ...

Text File : 35 昔々\n本当に　遠い　昔 オトコに　造られた\n最終兵器 最終兵器を　動かすのは\n多くの　ポケモンの　命 永遠の　命を　与えられた\nポケモンは　そのことを　知った 生き返った　永遠の　ポケモンは\nオトコの　もとを　去った オトコは　驚き　悲しんだ\n会うために　生き返らせたのに…… 会えない　日々が続き……　いつしか\nオトコには　��が　なくなった 兵器の　光を　浴びてしまい\n永遠に　さまよう　オトコ…… 同じく　永遠の　時間を\nさまよう　ポケモン…… いま　どこに　いるのか\nどうすれば　会えるのか ((next is not said by AZ)) [VAR TRNICK(0000)]さんも\n最終兵器　気になりますか……\c\n命の　ルールを　破っても\n愛しい　ポケモンを　生き返らせる\c\nぼくも　パートナーと　別れたら\nそんな　気持ちに　なるのでしょうか --- A long, long time ago.\nA very long time ago. The man made an ultimate weapon. Using it required the life force of many Pokémon… The Pokémon granted eternal life learned this. The resurrected eternal Pokémon left\nthe man’s side. The man was surprised and sad.\nHe had revived it so they could be together… Day after day passed, but they were never to meet.\nEventually, he became a mere shell of a man. A man condemned to wander forever\nby the light of the weapon… And a Pokémon that also\nwanders eternally… Where is it now?\nWhat do I have to do to meet it? ((next is not said by AZ)) Are you wondering about the ultimate weapon,\ntoo, [VAR TRNICK(0000)]?\c\nThat man wanted to bring his Pokémon back\neven if it meant breaking the laws of nature.\c\nI wonder if I would feel that way\nif I lost my partner… --- --- Long long ago [scroll] a very distant long ago MAN made the Ultimate Weapon Ultimate Weapon is powered by many POKEMON'S lives Eternal life given POKEMON found that out The became-alive eternal POKEMON [scroll] left the MAN (same wording as final line of story - but with 'eternal' in it) MAN was surprised and saddened [scroll] brought (them) back alive so they could meet… Without meeting days passed… before he knew it MANs heart died (lost; used up; disappeared) Weapons light bathed in completely* [scroll] eternal wandering (drifting) man… Similarly eternal time wandering (drifting) POKEMON… Now where are they? How can we meet? ((next is not said by AZ)) [player] are you curious about the Ultimate Weapon also? Even if life's rules break [scroll] bringing beloved POKEMON back to life [scroll] would I too feel that way if my PARTNER parted?

* = 'bathed' here is loaded. 浴びてしまい; Abeteshimai; is a verb with a suffix - abiru and shimau. 'Abiru' is typically bathe, soak, flooded, covered, dash over with water… apparently it can also mean to suffer, to draw critisism, to have something heaped upon you. 'Shimau' means to do the verb complete… but apparently also to do it accidentally?

So it may not just be 'bathed in completely' - but sufferingly flooded, accidentally soaked. Maybe I'm just reading too much into it…

Biggest change: His heart died. :'(

Also interesting that they shoved the word 'time' in there for Floette. AZ is wandering 永遠 - eternity Floette is wandering 永遠の　時間 - eternal time. Whats up with that.

会えない　日々が続き…… HE USED 'nai' INSTEAD OF 'nu' WHEN TELLING HIS STORY. Poser ancient man ...Doesn't use fancy words when telling his stories.

... ...

Text File : 150 わたしと　戦ってくれ トレーナーとは　なにか　知りたい 戦ってくれて　ありがとう\nようやく　自分を　捨てられた…… 最終兵器を　造り\n悲しみに　囚われた　自分を…… フラエッテ…… 3000年ぶり　だな…… ((next is not said by AZ)) 彼の　ポケモンは\nずっとずっと　待っていたんだね 心から　ポケモンを　愛していた\nあのころの　彼に　戻るのを --- Battle with me. I want to know what a “Trainer” is. Thank you very much for battling with me.\nNow I finally feel free… Free from the part of me mired in sorrow--the\npart of me that built the ultimate weapon… Floette… It’s been 3,000 years… ((next is not said by AZ)) His Pokémon was waiting all this time… Waiting for him to return to the man he was.\nThe man who loved Pokémon with all his heart. --- --- Please fight me I want to know what a TRAINER is Thankyou for fighting [scroll] at last myself has been abandoned… The Ultimate Weapon making [scroll] sadness trapped self… FURAETTE(Floette)… It's been 3000 years… ((next is not said by AZ)) His POKEMON [scroll] has had a very very long wait (ends in a 'da ne', like a 'haven't they?' sorta feel. Like a narrator.) Heart that so loved POKEMON [scroll] that man to return.

I like the narrator addition of "His Pokemon has been waiting a very very long time, haven't they? For him to return to the man whose heart loved Pokemon." It's just cute. I dunno.

Overall everyone else calls him 'man' as in 'kare', like… 'Guy' or 'Person'… pretty normal. He tends to call himself a normal, but gentle, 'watashi' - or a very strange 'OTOKO'. or G O D O F D E S T R U C T I O N

... ...

Text File : 407 オレ　みたんだよ……！\n3メートルもある　でっかい　人を\c\nオレ　きかされたんだよ……！\n自業自得で　ポケモンを　探し\r\n3000年　さまよっているって --- Get this! I saw some giant walking around!\nHe must have been over nine feet tall!\c\nI heard a tale about him, too! They say he’s\nbeen wandering around for 3,000 years in\r\nsearch of a certain Pokémon! --- --- I (ORE in katakana - masculine, arrogant, brash) saw it…! 3 METER huge person told ME (ORE again)…! Reaping what he sowed* wandering 3000 years searching for POKEMON

* = this is a Japanese idiom, a yojijukugo - a phrase of 4 kanji. 自業自得 - 'Own work, Own result' - 'Reaping what you sow' Suffering the consequences of your actions.

でっかい　人. Dekai hito. HUGE person. CERTIFIED BIG BOY

It seems like this kid didn't hear a story about AZ. He heard AZ - or had AZ straight up tell him - a little about himself. きかされたんだ can be 'told' - like a parent tells you something; it can be 'heard' - like hearing someone talking nearby… hm.

Given he was muttering in route 13 (and I think this is route 16) perhaps the kid just heard him mumbling to himself as he passed through? Or is AZ in the habit of telling children stuff? Library story-time?

... ...

Text File : 368 ガイドボックスから\n説明メッセージが　流れてきた\c\nカロスの　歴史画を\n展示予定　です ガイドボックスから\n説明メッセージが　流れてきた\c\n3000年前の　王を\n後世の　人が　描いたもの\c\n最終兵器の　カギを　持つ\n王の　そばに　いないはずの\r\n愛しの　ポケモンが　いるなど\c\n多くの　エピソードが　入りまじり\n史実と　異なる　部分が　多いが\r\n技法的に　優れた　壁画 --- The audio guide started playing\nan explanation of the piece:\c\nA historical painting of Kalos\nis scheduled to adorn the wall. The audio guide started playing\nan explanation of the piece:\c\nA painter in later years portrayed\na king from 3,000 years in the past.\c\nMany of the episodes depicted in this\npainting differ from historical facts.\c\nFor instance, we know that the king’s\ndearest Pokémon was not at his side when\r\nhe had the key to the ultimate weapon.\c\nNevertheless, the painter’s technique\nis outstanding. --- --- Explanation MESSAGE from GUIDE BOX: KALOS Historical Paintings exhibition is planned. Explanation MESSAGE from GUIDE BOX: 3000 years ago king [scroll] a later person painted it [scroll] Ultimate Weapon's KEY having [scroll] king shouldn't be beside beloved POKEMON [scroll] many EPISODES are mixed [scroll] History is different in many parts [scroll] Technique is great for the Mural

I'm tired okay excuse the horrid everything It's very close to English. English sounds better. Brain mush.

--- --- ---

I hope this isn't too much of an eyesore to read. If I've gotten something wrong I'd like to know. I can make a whole study day around it, it'll be great B^)

Uhhh... so the takeaway:

English text is a little more pussy. Softer spoken and has missed out a couple of cool things... Otherwise it's pretty good.

AZ's name is A-Zed. I should have assumed that, I'm not even American... but it's still a shock

AZ can speak in a more commanding tone - barking orders like a Ruler. When he does some old-timey flair slips out which isn't in his regular speech

Refers to himself as OTOKO and I'm not sure what the Katakana implies, other than maybe being equal to 'POKEMON'.

Still uses strong emotional language; still descriptive/poetic language - even a yojijukugo

Calls himself a God of Destruction. drama queen.

Starts his story with 'Once upon a time, long long ago~' TWICE

His heart died without his Floette. Trapped within sadness. Chronic depression made my man its bitch

CERTIFIED BIG BOY

Either talks to children or is such a chronic mumbler a kid heard him despite the fact AZ inhabits the stratosphere

I'm getting fucked up that his name is said A-Zed. I just cannot

Sister post where I rewrite the dialogue to be more an in-between

[morlock-holmes]

Did you know that if your insurance provides you a CPAP machine the medical supplier charges monthly payments until the machine is paid off, such that if coverage lapses before the machine is wholly paid off, the customer must make the payments?

"Hey, Coordinated Care Organization, I had a lapse in Medicaid coverage during which I had trouble paying for my CPAP machine. Since Medicaid covers the CPAP machine, can the supplier send you a bill for the back-payments for this service that you cover?"

"Nope! You can either pay out of pocket or maybe the medical supply company will take the machine back and waive payments, in which case you could get a new appointment with a new sleep specialist, who would prescribe a new machine, which we will cover."

"Hey, that sounds like a giant waste of my time and it will cost your organization like, what, ten times what my plan would?"

"Hey, you can't expect us to make sense, that's just the way it works.

"Okay, well, how would I appeal this decision"

"Well, you haven't filed a claim, so there's nothing to appeal."

^^^^100% true statement which I am not paraphrasing

Call up the Medical supply company,

"Hey, so, I had a lapse in my insurance, and I owe you some back-payments, can you submit that as a claim to my new insurance, which will definitely cover it?

"SIR," Everytime one of these people says "SIR" it is in all caps, "We can't do that, if you want to get something retroactively covered you have to call your insurance, Medicaid will sometimes backdate coverage if you would have qualified during the time you weren't covered."

"They just said literally the opposite but OK."

"Hey, CCO, I was told that sometimes you can backdate coverage in instances where a person did not have coverage but would have qualified for coverage?"

"Oh, no, We don't do that, Oregon Health Plan does."

"I thought you were Oregon Health Plan."

"No, we're the Coordinated Care Organization which Oregon Health Plan assigned you to, we don't make those decisions, but I can give you the number for OHP"

Call OHP,

"Hey, I want to do all the stuff I talked about earlier in this department,"

"Oh, sorry, we're the claims department, you want elligibility, I'll transfer you,"

"Sorry sir, Oregon Health Plan can backdate coverage, but you're on Oregon Health Plan Bridge, and you can't backdate coverage on Bridge plans."

"Okay, I am losing my patience, I need to see where it says that in writing,"

"You can just Google Oregon Health Plan and the website has lots of info,"

"I'm sure it does, but I need you to tell me the place where it has the info I asked for, your policy on backdated coverage."

"Please hold"

And some people say he is on hold to this very-

Oh shit, I typed this entire story up while I was waiting on hold and he just answered.

"I've emailed you an internal document that we've been given, but I wasn't able to find, like, the full rules that are available to the public, that would probably take another hour while I find someone who knows where to look for that."

Anyway that process took about two hours.

Weird nobody has much sympathy for that CEO that got shot.

It is frustrating that my question is, "Hey, Insurance Company, can we do this in a way that doesn't waste my time and will cost you quite a lot less money?"

and the answer is, "No, sorry I'm afraid we're highly dedicated to wasting time and money."

[yawning-puppy]

Archade Planet Store

Hi ^^! i'm really happy to share my first building, I decided to create a Videogame Store to give a Use to all the CC that I was creating and many other creations that i found.

I really recommend to use the bb.moveobjects cheat BEFORE install it, do tue many objects may move of give problems 'cause I built it with the cheat on.

You may download the building -> here

Also I have a whole list of cc that you mush download if you want all the items that are displayed on the pictures. Thanks to all these talented creators for giving us that objects to the simmer community.

VideogameCases Set -> here

Amiibo Set -> here

IdolSims' Luigi & Mario Funko Pops -> here

@wishelsims Pikachu, Eevee & Scorbunny Plushies -> here

@wishelsims Isabelle Plushie -> here

@wishelsims Tom Nook Plushie -> here

@wishelsims Vocaloid Figures -> here

PurpleMoonSims' Eeveelutions Plushies -> here

Sims4fun's Game Posters, Magazine Racks, Retro Console Boxes, etc. -> here

Sims4fun's Xbox 360 and Box -> here

Poker's Game Racks, Posters, Console Boxes, etc. -> here

Gray Shelf -> here

@somedaysims Mario's Cap -> here

@somedaysims Link's Shield and Sword -> here

flirtyghoul's Shelf -> here

sims4fun's Xbox One Box and Console -> here

@srslysims display case -> here

@bill-l-s4cc Nintendo Switch Lite Functional -> here

nickname_sims4's Play Station 5 -> here

Mxims' Xbox One S Console -> here

@ghostwoohoo ACNH Switch Console -> here

@hydrangeachainsaw NekoGamingStation, GameCube, Switch Display Case -> here

@sul--sul Nintendo 3DS XL -> here

@mio-sims Nintendo DS -> here

@konansock Decorative Consoles, Rugs, Framed Pictures -> here

@channel4sims-cc One Piece PS3 Consolte ->

@simmerberlin Game Boy -> here

Brazenlotus' Voidcritter Set -> here

LightningBolt's Sega Megadrive/Genesis Console -> here

Arcade Neon Signs -> here

MoonFeather's Card Framed Collection -> here

@sims41ife ACNH Poppy Plushie -> here

@bknysimz Sanrio Plush Collection -> here

Lazysimmies Arcade Games Deco -> here

@onlysuprstr CD Rugs -> here

Also I used other cc which creators deleted their account, or I could not find them, so I'll take the liberty of uploading only the necessary files. If anyone has or knows of a link or official account to access the content, let me now and I'll update this list.

From Bangkoksims I recolor some racks to make them match the games that are displaying.

bangkoksims switch rack, games rack, controllers, joy cons, boxes, etc. -> here

josie Overwatch Claw Machine -> here

domi Wii U Gamepad -> here

Hot Hook Arcade -> here

I know that's a lot of CC but i really love everything i found.

I hope you like it as much as I do!

Happy Simming ^^!