#like genuinely that old job was. hell

[capfalcon]

this is a bit personal but looking back on it im so fucking glad i quit my old job

[olgunny]

BUH

[clamorybus]

its not fun to talk about, and i feel like such a dick talking about them like this, but it's fucking sickening how easily swayed my parents are

[birdantlers]

A heartfelt and grievously expanded-upon update to this—please, please read the whole thing if you can. reblogs much appreciated.

(DISCLAIMER, for all who are saying reasons like abusive parents/legal stuff/toxic ex/triggering memories/page got deleted/job/stalkers/bullying/[[insert any other shitty life thing]], This is not concerning that—personal safety & health ALWAYS comes first, and is worth more than any media ever could be. This is my biggest reason for defending that autonomy. I would be a hypocrite to say I hadn’t deleted triggering posts of mine or ones that got me in trouble with my family.)

it genuinely makes me sad and kinda upset when someone purges all their old art off the internet like. barring harmful content what if someone liked that. What if someone would have. And now nobody will ever know and it's just gone. even people's old invader zim askblogs or whatever getting deleted feels like a micro alexandria to me and that's just something I made up. I wasn't even thinking of a specific one it just stresses me out. Is this the autism I don't get why nobody else seems to freak internally abt it like I do. I see artists whose blogs I've never even looked at go like "man so glad I deleted all my old stuff it's so clean" or saying they throw out art from when they were kids I'm like. how are you not hurling. How is that not distressing that is literally your tree rings why would you do that. I want to see what's out there. people want to see it I promise someone out there likes it

...don't they??? Does everyone get quietly irrationally upset by this as me, or is this just hyperfixation/autism/some amalgam of the two. I'm not a hoarder or obsessive compulsive or anything like that so i wonder..

Anyways. reblog if you had a favorite amateur youtube animator in your childhood whose channel got nuked without a trace one day that you still think about.

I wanted to attach this video because it condenses my point very well. A TLDR of sorts. Please watch the whole thing, it genuinely changed the entire way I think about art as a concept.

(2nd vid is "Subjectivity in Art")

“The moment your art touches an audience, the ownership shifts in an irreversible way. [They're] not having an art experience with you and your intentions. They're having an art experience with the art object.

“You can't just burn your past; it's not even your past to burn anymore. It's other people's history as well. Whether or not you like it, that art is already bonded to somebody's soul, and if you rip the art away, you're ripping a bit of the soul that has adhesive contact to it.”

The digital age makes it very easy to distance or detach yourself from the impact your work has—be it art, fanfic, videos, even memes. Online content is as important to people now as any other media, if not more. But it's also by far the easiest, fastest, and most effective form of it to erase from public access. Media so unbelievably important to people and in general. Yes, you—with the 2010s purple sparkle dog speedpaint. I still think about that speedpaint all the time, because it was the first time i learned that you could draw on a computer, and I thought it was cool as hell. I still do.

I do wish there was a stronger culture of preservation and consideration for this, because every time I see people talk about snuffing their stuff because it doesn't personally resonate with them anymore, I just think ...what about all the people it did?

I've seen lots of people saying "get over it, it doesn't even matter," but it fucking does. It does matter. Even if I didn’t make it, even if I don’t have to deal with being the one who made it, even if I'm naturally inclined to be distressed by it—It still matters. And there’s nothing you could ever say to suddenly make it not matter, because there’s nothing you could ever say to make it not matter to me.

Don't devalue the act of creation. Don't dismiss something you made. It's out there, in people's thoughts and hearts and souls, and that is real. Even if you don't know it. Especially if you don't know it. Especially in a world where physical media is being snuffed out, the internet is constantly dying without any physical remains to recover, social isolation is rampant, and simply because independently produced content online is still media.

Fanfiction can hold equal or greater significance to someone as a book, but you can’t unpublish a book. Authors don’t have a button that can vaporize every copy of their work across all time, but fanfiction authors do. I’m not counting people who download fics either—when you buy a book, that transaction is over. But online, you have the power of unending transaction that can be terminated instantly at your will. The process of publishing fanfic vs. publishing a book may be different, but people’s connection to the art is the same intensity.

So yeah. I do get depressed about the Internet being a constant Alexandria, but the times I get the most depressed is when I click someone's page and see that all their work is gone because they're ‘curating a new aesthetic’ for their page or some shit. Or weeding out all the "ugly" art. Or just went on whatever the hell 'thrill deleting' is, because they just get a kick out of it.

Fuck it—yeah! It upsets me! I’m not wrong to say that. I’m saying it!

Under the cut, because it got long as shit! Also don’t worry the ending is way sappier and more ‘beauty of human nature’ vibe so it’s not all doom and gloom lol

What if that was someone's favorite art of that character. What if someone read that 'cringe oneshot' on the worst day of their life. What if that Warriors meme vid is still burned into a college student’s mind despite being gone for 10 years. What if it's actually not just you and the ones and zeros you rent out to the world—secure in knowing the original will always be on your computer for you to do whatever you want with it.

I really, deeply wish there was more of a general awareness of this, because even though social media can be used like a diary, that’s functionally the opposite of what it is. It’s social media. When you post, it’s no longer in a vacuum, even though you can’t see the real humans that content touches—often deeply.

Media is history. You shouldn’t burn that history just because you personally believe it isn’t worth saving.

Because it’s no longer just your personal opinion. It’s no longer just your personal work. it’s. history. Memory of media is not a suitable replacement for the media itself. If it was, we wouldn’t save anything at all. Nostalgia is an agent of that. The definition of nostalgia is grief for moments of the past that are inaccessible, and the biggest balm for that pain is accessing a physical reminder of those moments. That opinion of yours is no longer personal. It’s weighed against uncountable people across all time that your thing is ALSO personal to. People who would, and will mourn its absence.

How many times have you joined an older fandom only to discover that some of its most popular works are gone? How many times have you routed through random blogs looking for scraps people hopefully reblogged? how many times have you used Wayback machine desperately praying that a fan fiction or a YouTube video will be there? How many times do you look up crunchy old vines or YouTube videos or anime AMV‘s? How many times do you remember old fanfic.net sex that impacted you in middle school, only to shake your head and go ‘probably no point even looking.’

i mourn the absence. No, people can’t and shouldn’t have their agency over what they post revoked, but they should be conscious of that weight. If you’re reading this and getting extremely annoyed, and you’re not in the pink text above,,,, good.

I honestly do hope it gets under your skin. I hope it sits with you. I hope you feel it every time you hit that button, and whether or not you do hit that button—if you hesitate, if you remember this, even spitefully, I’ve done my job. I am howling into the void. And I may not want an answer, but I do want my anguish to be heard and remembered. Because it isn’t me just being melodramatic.

I know I sound that way writing so much, but if my favorite writing YouTuber can drop trow this week and go, "yeah, sorry, all my video essays from less than a year ago that you listen to in the car all the time? I'm "rebranding" my content so i deleted them. besides, my personal views don't really agree align with the analyses i did, or the techniques i taught in them anyway. Sorry if some of the literal tens of thousands of you used them, but I don't want to feel shackled to having youtuber "classics" tied to me”

….then i guess I'm just going to have to sound dramatic! That fucking sucks! Hours of work and knowledge gone! This was a new channel too. It’s very likely there’s no archive of any kind, because who would think someone who worked hard enough to write, record, and edit hour-long videos, would just turn around and nuke it all? I definitely didn’t see it coming, but I did just start a new screenwriting class a few weeks ago, so I’ll tell you at least one person is REALLY missing those fucking videos right now. Because a lot of them were about specifically screenwriting, which I know jack shit about. and that specific person’s pace, editing, and style of breaking down information was the best suited style I found that I could focus on and absorb. There’s no replacement for that. No alternative for his individual perspective. his jokes. his opinions.

No, they may not resonate with him now, but in this decision, he’s put up a big middle finger to everyone who might have. And he has like 100k subscribers! Those are confirmed supporters! Imagine how many silent and untethered observers are feeling this loss right now. Imagine how many will not have it in the future.

If he never posted them at all, we wouldn’t know we had it. It wouldn’t be a loss. But we did. We did have it. Until he decided that no, we didn’t, because he just happens to be the one out of millions of individuals holding the button to burn it in a hundredth of a second.

His personal work, the attachment I had to it, and the ways that it helped me are now just ripped away. I am one person out of millions, literal MILLIONS of people who saw and liked this content before it vanished. The soul has been ripped, the access severed, and by CJ’s (and my) definition, the art is functionally dead. Not for the YouTuber or anyone else lucky enough to save a link or download, but everyone else. From this point until the end of time, even if people even two weeks from now don’t know it. Even if someone who stumbles upon his channel today, doesn’t know it.

We only mourn the concept of Alexandria because we had some kind of scope for what was inside. Yes, maybe you got self-conscious and deleted your 12 year old deviant art account. Do you know who else is doing that?? THOUSANDS AND THOUSANDS of other twenty somethings who ALSO feel self-conscious about their old socials. Art. Fanfic. One direction fan videos. anything.

Suddenly, an unquantifiable amount of information from your age group—an entire age group in 2012, is. gone. And we will NEVER know what’s been erased from that history. We will NEVER know what could have been significant to us ten years from now. Twenty years from now. A hundred years. A thousand.

You could have deleted a fanfic that would have been someone else’s new go-to panic attack distraction tomorrow. You could have deleted a video someone used to laugh at with their friend who died yesterday. When you delete something, you risk tearing a hole in unknowable personal histories.

The Internet isn’t just a big library of Alexandria. It’s a library containing libraries. And those libraries have their own libraries in those libraries have their own as well. libraries inside libraries, inside libraries, ad infinitum. To conceive the amount of destroyed history on the Internet is crushing.

And I just can’t help but I ask myself how in gods name people can choose to contribute to that, instead of reposting everything to trash heap alts titled “hall of shame” or some shit.

You can offload to alts. Put up disclaimers. Make password locked blogs, or dropboxes, or anonymous imgur dumps. Anonymous reuploads. Orphan fics. Make a playlist or linktree of unlisted videos. Cut off the watermarks. Delete all references to it on your main. Make a dedicated unlisted playlist. make a google drive. Make new portfolio sites. Delete any questions you get about it. Change pen names. Pretend it never existed.

Give a heads up.

Something.

But don’t. kill. the media.

The knowledge that our stuff is going to forever be tied to us is a cross we have to bear, but the responsibility that comes with putting it out there in the first place, can’t be ignored.

Anyway. I'm not trying to start conflict. This is not a bash on anyone, nor a call for witch hunts. Or anon hate, or blocks and unfollows or anything of that nature. I'm not wishing ramifications or hate of any kind on anyone who does wants to do any of this.

I'm also not guilt tripping— I am not saying that you should feel bad. I AM saying why it makes me feel bad. That’s not guilting, it’s a dialogue. One I personally feel is long overdue.

It's me yelling into the void: please consider the real people on the other side of the screen before you hit that button. Realize and know that whatever you're about to erase from history could be the most important thing in the world to someone.

Art is an experience. It's why we revisit it. If art and history simply lived in the matter and code of media, we would only need to look at it once. We wouldn’t put things in museums. We wouldn’t build libraries. We wouldn’t look up vine compilations.

If you're able, consider (and I do mean consider, this is not a call to action) not destroying that. And don’t shrug it off as some pretentious asshole venting on Tumblr. You only need to look in the notes and tags to see that it isn’t just me. it’s never just me, or you, or the pixels.

And even if you do shrug it off, then at least recognize that what you make matters. Whatever you think about it, if it’s out there, that's not your discretion anymore. If a tree falls in the woods and even one person is around to see it, it fucking mattered. Because it happened. Don’t mulch your tree rings if you don’t have to. Because if enough people do it, a whole forest is gone. Media is history, no matter whether you think it’s worth putting in a museum, or only has 30 notes.

Thousands of years ago, a child named onfim doodled on his homework. They’re crude, and everyone has the wrong amount of fingers, and they’re also priceless archaeological artifacts recognizable throughout the world.

the only thing separating Onfim’s doodles and your MS paint Pokémon doodles is time. The only thing separating your old MS paint Pokémon doodles from being a priceless artifacts, thousands of years in the future is time. Your creations are already priceless artifacts. No matter what you do, don't ever, ever deny that. It isn’t blowing up your own ass, it’s artistic and anthropological fact.

The mundane and the supposedly unworthy are often the first things lost to time, and that’s why they’re so precious. That’s why artists who were before their time are scorned first only to be celebrated later. Do you think they knew that was going to happen?? What if they nuked it? Many probably did! But now that’s happening exponentially and instantaneously everywhere, WITHOUT the artist having to destroy their only copy—which makes it way easier and more dismissable.

Sometimes, If you’re revolutionary enough, people will make an effort to preserve your work, but recognized and thoroughly recorded work is rare compared to unrecognized and thoroughly recorded work.

Sometimes something is beloved enough that it would be impossible for it not to go down in history, but even then it isnt a guarantee, and it’s rare. But if van Gogh burned all of his paintings in a fit of despair before his death, we would have no van Gogh. Because he wasn’t respected as an artist in his time, but that wasn’t what defined the worth of his art. The people after him did, because his art was still there for them.

If you rip the art away, you're ripping a bit of the soul that has adhesive contact to it. If you belittle your art, you belittle the very real relationships and emotions and revisitations people have with the media. You defy the inherent worth and weight of a creation. you created. That's effort. It's passion. No matter how flippant or unskilled or worthless you think it is, it matters. Because at the end of the day, you could have chosen to make nothing at all, and you didn't.

•

Muting notifs

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Google’s enshittification memos

[Note, 9 October 2023: Google disputes the veracity of this claim, but has declined to provide the exhibits and testimony to support its claims. Read more about this here.]

When I think about how the old, good internet turned into the enshitternet, I imagine a series of small compromises, each seemingly reasonable at the time, each contributing to a cultural norm of making good things worse, and worse, and worse.

Think about Unity President Marc Whitten's nonpology for his company's disastrous rug-pull, in which they declared that everyone who had paid good money to use their tool to make a game would have to keep paying, every time someone downloaded that game:

The most fundamental thing that we’re trying to do is we’re building a sustainable business for Unity. And for us, that means that we do need to have a model that includes some sort of balancing change, including shared success.

https://www.wired.com/story/unity-walks-back-policies-lost-trust/

"Shared success" is code for, "If you use our tool to make money, we should make money too." This is bullshit. It's like saying, "We just want to find a way to share the success of the painters who use our brushes, so every time you sell a painting, we want to tax that sale." Or "Every time you sell a house, the company that made the hammer gets to wet its beak."

And note that they're not talking about shared risk here – no one at Unity is saying, "If you try to make a game with our tools and you lose a million bucks, we're on the hook for ten percent of your losses." This isn't partnership, it's extortion.

How did a company like Unity – which became a market leader by making a tool that understood the needs of game developers and filled them – turn into a protection racket? One bad decision at a time. One rationalization and then another. Slowly, and then all at once.

When I think about this enshittification curve, I often think of Google, a company that had its users' backs for years, which created a genuinely innovative search engine that worked so well it seemed like *magic, a company whose employees often had their pick of jobs, but chose the "don't be evil" gig because that mattered to them.

People make fun of that "don't be evil" motto, but if your key employees took the gig because they didn't want to be evil, and then you ask them to be evil, they might just quit. Hell, they might make a stink on the way out the door, too:

https://theintercept.com/2018/09/13/google-china-search-engine-employee-resigns/

Google is a company whose founders started out by publishing a scientific paper describing their search methodology, in which they said, "Oh, and by the way, ads will inevitably turn your search engine into a pile of shit, so we're gonna stay the fuck away from them":

http://infolab.stanford.edu/pub/papers/google.pdf

Those same founders retained a controlling interest in the company after it went IPO, explaining to investors that they were going to run the business without having their elbows jostled by shortsighted Wall Street assholes, so they could keep it from turning into a pile of shit:

https://abc.xyz/investor/founders-letters/ipo-letter/

And yet, it's turned into a pile of shit. Google search is so bad you might as well ask Jeeves. The company's big plan to fix it? Replace links to webpages with florid paragraphs of chatbot nonsense filled with a supremely confident lies:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/14/googles-ai-hype-circle/

How did the company get this bad? In part, this is the "curse of bigness." The company can't grow by attracting new users. When you have 90%+ of the market, there are no new customers to sign up. Hypothetically, they could grow by going into new lines of business, but Google is incapable of making a successful product in-house and also kills most of the products it buys from other, more innovative companies:

https://killedbygoogle.com/

Theoretically, the company could pursue new lines of business in-house, and indeed, the current leaders of companies like Amazon, Microsoft and Apple are all execs who figured out how to get the whole company to do something new, and were elevated to the CEO's office, making each one a billionaire and sealing their place in history.

It is for this very reason that any exec at a large firm who tries to make a business-wide improvement gets immediately and repeatedly knifed by all their colleagues, who correctly reason that if someone else becomes CEO, then they won't become CEO. Machiavelli was an optimist:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/28/microincentives-and-enshittification/

With no growth from new customers, and no growth from new businesses, "growth" has to come from squeezing workers (say, laying off 12,000 engineers after a stock buyback that would have paid their salaries for the next 27 years), or business customers (say, by colluding with Facebook to rig the ad market with the Jedi Blue conspiracy), or end-users.

Now, in theory, we might never know exactly what led to the enshittification of Google. In theory, all of compromises, debates and plots could be lost to history. But tech is not an oral culture, it's a written one, and techies write everything down and nothing is ever truly deleted.

Time and again, Big Tech tells on itself. Think of FTX's main conspirators all hanging out in a group chat called "Wirefraud." Amazon naming its program targeting weak, small publishers the "Gazelle Project" ("approach these small publishers the way a cheetah would pursue a sickly gazelle”). Amazon documenting the fact that users were unknowingly signing up for Prime and getting pissed; then figuring out how to reduce accidental signups, then deciding not to do it because it liked the money too much. Think of Zuck emailing his CFO in the middle of the night to defend his outsized offer to buy Instagram on the basis that users like Insta better and Facebook couldn't compete with them on quality.

It's like every Big Tech schemer has a folder on their desktop called "Mens Rea" filled with files like "Copy_of_Premeditated_Murder.docx":

https://doctorow.medium.com/big-tech-cant-stop-telling-on-itself-f7f0eb6d215a?sk=351f8a54ab8e02d7340620e5eec5024d

Right now, Google's on trial for its sins against antitrust law. It's a hard case to make. To secure a win, the prosecutors at the DoJ Antitrust Division are going to have to prove what was going on in Google execs' minds when the took the actions that led to the company's dominance. They're going to have to show that the company deliberately undertook to harm its users and customers.

Of course, it helps that Google put it all in writing.

Last week, there was a huge kerfuffile over the DoJ's practice of posting its exhibits from the trial to a website each night. This is a totally normal thing to do – a practice that dates back to the Microsoft antitrust trial. But Google pitched a tantrum over this and said that the docs the DoJ were posting would be turned into "clickbait." Which is another way of saying, "the public would find these documents very interesting, and they would be damning to us and our case":

https://www.bigtechontrial.com/p/secrecy-is-systemic

After initially deferring to Google, Judge Amit Mehta finally gave the Justice Department the greenlight to post the document. It's up. It's wild:

https://www.justice.gov/d9/2023-09/416692.pdf

The document is described as "notes for a course on communication" that Google VP for Finance Michael Roszak prepared. Roszak says he can't remember whether he ever gave the presentation, but insists that the remit for the course required him to tell students "things I didn't believe," and that's why the document is "full of hyperbole and exaggeration."

OK.

But here's what the document says: "search advertising is one of the world's greatest business models ever created…illicit businesses (cigarettes or drugs) could rival these economics…[W]e can mostly ignore the demand side…(users and queries) and only focus on the supply side of advertisers, ad formats and sales."

It goes on to say that this might be changing, and proposes a way to balance the interests of the search and ads teams, which are at odds, with search worrying that ads are pushing them to produce "unnatural search experiences to chase revenue."

"Unnatural search experiences to chase revenue" is a thinly veiled euphemism for the prophetic warnings in that 1998 Pagerank paper: "The goals of the advertising business model do not always correspond to providing quality search to users." Or, more plainly, "ads will turn our search engine into a pile of shit."

And, as Roszak writes, Google is "able to ignore one of the fundamental laws of economics…supply and demand." That is, the company has become so dominant and cemented its position so thoroughly as the default search engine across every platforms and system that even if it makes its search terrible to goose revenues, users won't leave. As Lily Tomlin put it on SNL: "We don't have to care, we're the phone company."

In the enshittification cycle, companies first lure in users with surpluses – like providing the best search results rather than the most profitable ones – with an eye to locking them in. In Google's case, that lock-in has multiple facets, but the big one is spending billions of dollars – enough to buy a whole Twitter, every single year – to be the default search everywhere.

Google doesn't buy its way to dominance because it has the very best search results and it wants to shield you from inferior competitors. The economically rational case for buying default position is that preventing competition is more profitable than succeeding by outperforming competitors. The best reason to buy the default everywhere is that it lets you lower quality without losing business. You can "ignore the demand side, and only focus on advertisers."

For a lot of people, the analysis stops here. "If you're not paying for the product, you're the product." Google locks in users and sells them to advertisers, who are their co-conspirators in a scheme to screw the rest of us.

But that's not right. For one thing, paying for a product doesn't mean you won't be the product. Apple charges a thousand bucks for an iPhone and then nonconsensually spies on every iOS user in order to target ads to them (and lies about it):

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/14/luxury-surveillance/#liar-liar

John Deere charges six figures for its tractors, then runs a grift that blocks farmers from fixing their own machines, and then uses their control over repair to silence farmers who complain about it:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/31/dealers-choice/#be-a-shame-if-something-were-to-happen-to-it

Fair treatment from a corporation isn't a loyalty program that you earn by through sufficient spending. Companies that can sell you out, will sell you out, and then cry victim, insisting that they were only doing their fiduciary duty for their sacred shareholders. Companies are disciplined by fear of competition, regulation or – in the case of tech platforms – customers seizing the means of computation and installing ad-blockers, alternative clients, multiprotocol readers, etc:

https://doctorow.medium.com/an-audacious-plan-to-halt-the-internets-enshittification-and-throw-it-into-reverse-3cc01e7e4604?sk=85b3f5f7d051804521c3411711f0b554

Which is where the next stage of enshittification comes in: when the platform withdraws the surplus it had allocated to lure in – and then lock in – business customers (like advertisers) and reallocate it to the platform's shareholders.

For Google, there are several rackets that let it screw over advertisers as well as searchers (the advertisers are paying for the product, and they're also the product). Some of those rackets are well-known, like Jedi Blue, the market-rigging conspiracy that Google and Facebook colluded on:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jedi_Blue

But thanks to the antitrust trial, we're learning about more of these. Megan Gray – ex-FTC, ex-DuckDuckGo – was in the courtroom last week when evidence was presented on Google execs' panic over a decline in "ad generating searches" and the sleazy gimmick they came up with to address it: manipulating the "semantic matching" on user queries:

https://www.wired.com/story/google-antitrust-lawsuit-search-results/

When you send a query to Google, it expands that query with terms that are similar – for example, if you search on "Weds" it might also search for "Wednesday." In the slides shown in the Google trial, we learned about another kind of semantic matching that Google performed, this one intended to turn your search results into "a twisted shopping mall you can’t escape."

Here's how that worked: when you ran a query like "children's clothing," Google secretly appended the brand name of a kids' clothing manufacturer to the query. This, in turn, triggered a ton of ads – because rival brands will have bought ads against their competitors' name (like Pepsi buying ads that are shown over queries for Coke).

Here we see surpluses being taken away from both end-users and business customers – that is, searchers and advertisers. For searchers, it doesn't matter how much you refine your query, you're still going to get crummy search results because there's an unkillable, hidden search term stuck to your query, like a piece of shit that Google keeps sticking to the sole of your shoe.

But for advertisers, this is also a scam. They're paying to be matched to users who search on a brand name, and you didn't search on that brand name. It's especially bad for the company whose name has been appended to your search, because Google has a protection racket where the company that matches your search has to pay extra in order to show up overtop of rivals who are worse matches. Both the matching company and those rivals have given Google a credit-card that Google gets to bill every time a user searches on the company's name, and Google is just running fraudulent charges through those cards.

And, of course, Google put this in writing. I mean, of course they did. As we learned from the documentary The Incredibles, supervillains can't stop themselves from monologuing, and in big, sprawling monopolists, these monologues have to transmitted electronically – and often indelibly – to far-flung co-cabalists.

As Gray points out, this is an incredibly blunt enshittification technique: "it hadn’t even occurred to me that Google just flat out deletes queries and replaces them with ones that monetize better." We don't know how long Google did this for or how frequently this bait-and-switch was deployed.

But if this is a blunt way of Google smashing its fist down on the scales that balance search quality against ad revenues, there's plenty of subtler ways the company could sneak a thumb on there. A Google exec at the trial rhapsodized about his company's "contract with the user" to deliver an "honest results policy," but given how bad Google search is these days, we're left to either believe he's lying or that Google sucks at search.

The paper trail offers a tantalizing look at how a company went from doing something that was so good it felt like a magic trick to being "able to ignore one of the fundamental laws of economics…supply and demand," able to "ignore the demand side…(users and queries) and only focus on the supply side of advertisers."

What's more, this is a system where everyone loses (except for Google): this isn't a grift run by Google and advertisers on users – it's a grift Google runs on everyone.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/03/not-feeling-lucky/#fundamental-laws-of-economics

My next novel is The Lost Cause, a hopeful novel of the climate emergency. Amazon won't sell the audiobook, so I made my own and I'm pre-selling it on Kickstarter!

[eddiesxangel]

Show You | Virgin Eddie x Fem!Reader

Summary: Eddie meets you 4 years after he escapes the upside-down when he moves to your small Californian town.

Wc: 7k AN: sorry to the anons that requested Virgin!Eddie like a month ago, but here shit is!

Cw: shy/angsty/insecure!Eddie, fluff, SMUT, Virgin Eddie x experienced fem reader, size kink, blowjob, p in v, protected sex, sub!Eddie. Switch?eddie, dirty talk.

1990

Eddie’s life for his first twenty years wasn’t necessarily the best… drugs, alcohol, child neglect, and that wasn’t even the worst of it. Eddie’s dreams were haunted by the horror story of his life, which was 1986.

Four years ago, the gates of hell opened, and Eddie was dragged into them, kicking and screaming. Eventually, he got out with his weird band of misfits, but the scars left on his body by those disgusting creatures only remind him daily of the horrors he survived.

He survived. He got out and was paid a fat sum by the American government for keeping quiet. So he took the money and his Uncle and they ran. They ran far, far away from Hawkins, so far they ended up in the quaint town of Ferndale, California.

The Munson men had grown accustomed to the small-town life and did not want to give that up. They were pleasantly surprised when they moved to Ferndale. The vibrant Victorian-style homes painted in different shades of pastel colours added a pop of colour to the town's landscape. Wayne was particularly taken by the town's charm and ultimately decided he didn't want to leave.

The smell of saltwater from the nearby ocean was a refreshing change, and the Munson men enjoyed taking long walks on the beach during their free time to clear their heads of their tortured past. The picturesque scenery of Ferndale was a welcome change from the mundane routine of their old town of Hawkins.

With that money from the government, Eddie was able to buy himself and his uncle a nice four-bedroom house; they had so much room for just the two of them they didn’t know what to do with it. Eddie owed everything to his uncle, so of course, he needed to splurge.

Eddie had to undergo hours of physical therapy daily to fix every joint and muscle on the right side of his body, which made it difficult for him to perform even the simplest of tasks. It took him a couple of years to recover and walk properly again, but he remained determined to make a fresh start and leave his old life behind.

Once he was finally able to function normally, Eddie set out to find a new job that would provide him with a real opportunity to rebuild his life. He was determined to leave his past behind and start anew without any remnants of his old life hanging over him, including drug dealing. Eddie knew that it wouldn't be easy, but he remained committed to his goal. He was willing to put in the hard work necessary to succeed in his new job and build a better life for himself. For him, this was a second chance, a fresh start that he was determined to make the most of.

The door chimed and jingled as the fall air flowed into the small music store. While the locals were bundled up in layers of corduroy and jean jackets, scarves, and gloves, Eddie enjoyed the breeze that entered the shop. His faded black Metallica t-shirt was the only one in sight.

The doorbell's persistent chime was starting to wear on Eddie's nerves as the evening came to a close. It had been a long and busy day, with customer after customer coming in. With only twenty minutes left to go, he was getting ready to close up shop alone tonight. He considered flipping the sign a little early because, finally, after hours of non-stop work, the floor was empty of people.

Eddie was behind the counter, wiping down the work area and facing away from the door, when he heard those dreaded chimes. His shoulders dropped with defeat; he was a fool to think this day could be ended early.

He put on a façade of good customer service, but his expression quickly changed to genuine happiness mixed with nerves upon seeing who had walked into the small record store.

He had seen you around town, at the grocery store and sometimes at the beach. He admired you from afar, never once approaching you. No. You intimidated him but in the best way. You were like no other woman he had seen before.

Growing up in Hawkins, being secluded as the town freak, he didn’t have much exposure to female attention. Or any romantic attraction for that fact. So when you entered the store, Eddie’s palms felt sweaty, and his heart started to race; he could hear the blood pounding in his ears as his eyes locked with yours.

He swore he saw a sparkle in your eyes when you looked at him, but maybe that was just wishful thinking. He didn’t even know your name yet.

“E-evening,” he awkwardly waved as you browsed the slim aisle.

“Hi,” your face broke out into a smile and went back to your search. Your best friend Charlie’s birthday was tomorrow, and you needed to get her a gift before her party.

As you searched and searched, you were still looking for an album you thought she would like. You two were total opposites when it came to your music preferences, so you had no idea what to get her. After minutes with no success, you found yourself calling out to the only other person in the store.

“Hey, I don't mean to bother you, but I need your opinion.” You snap Eddie out of his little daydream, obviously that you were the start of that daydream.

“Sure!” He said he was a bit too excited. “How can I help you” he smiled but swung his long arms back and forth uncomfortably as he approached you.

“I’m looking for a birthday gift, and I’m a total newbie when it comes to metal. Do you think you can help me?” You bite your lip, observing the man in front of you.

He possessed an alluring, bad-boy persona that made him quite charming. His hair was long, reaching his shoulders, and looked unstyled, yet it was evident that he had taken time to make it look just right. The chocolate waves cascaded down his face, framing his striking features, which were difficult to ignore. His big, round eyes were captivating, and they softened his tough exterior, making him appear less intimidating, especially with that nasty scar running through his left cheek and up to his temple. He had a fair complexion, and his arms were visible, revealing numerous tattoos that covered some scars running up from his forearm to his bicep, which aided his rugged appearance.

He saw you staring and immediately wrapped his arms around himself, trying to conceal the scars from your gaze. You felt bad. You know it’s rude to stare, but he was so enticing to look at; you’d never seen anyone like him before, especially not in this North California town of yours.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” You gestured to the arms he was concealing.

"S'all good." He brushed it off, but you could tell he was, in fact, uncomfortable.

"If it makes you feel any better... it makes you look like a total badass." You smirked.

"Oh really?" hearing your compliment did make Eddie feel a little better.

"Yeah, total babe magnet." You flirt.

"Well... I don't know about that?" Eddie's closed-off demeanour quickly changed to bashful.

"You're not from here, are you?" you looked at his name tag "Eddie," you cock your head, taking him in once again.

He's taller than you by at least a full head. His shoulders are broad, and his torso is lean. You'd guess he is around your age, mid-twenties, give or take a year or two.

Eddie liked the way you said his name.

"Nah, moved here a few years ago," he smirked.

"Well, I'm glad you did because you look just like the style of a guy who can help me." You bite your lip.

"I do?"

"Like I said, my friend is a total metalhead, and I don't have a clue on what to get?"

"Sure, yeah, I'm definitely your guy for that."

He walked you over to the correct section of the store, and you noticed a slight limp to his gate.

"If they're just an okay friend, I suggest this," He held up a small cassette. "but if they're a really good friend, Then this is definitely the thing to get them."

"Oh, this looks like something they would like! Charlie never shuts up about this band." You smile, taking the record from Eddie's hands. You decide this is the one and let Eddie know you want him to ring you up.

"So is Charlie like your boyfriend or something" God Munson, real smooth.'

This made you giggle.

"Why do you wanna ask me out or something? You cocked your head.

"Yeah, or something," Eddie's demeanour suddenly became coy.

"Well, Charlotte is my best friend, no boyfriend. " you take the record off Eddie's hands.

"Oh ok cool-cool”

Seconds of awkward silence filled the air, you could sense he wanted to talk to you more.

“Yea, well um”-

“You think I could have your number?" He asked while fiddling with his fingers. His long, thick fingers were decorated with silver rings, scars and chipped black polish. You liked his fingers; he looked like the kind of guy who knew how to use them.

Eddie's personality was more like that of a teddy bear than his outward appearance suggested.

"Sure," You smiled and pulled out an old receipt and a pen from your purse. You flipped it to the blank side and wrote your name and number on the back. "Call me." You winked as you passed it to Eddie before exiting the store.

Eddie couldn't believe what just happened. He locked up as soon as you left, watching to make sure you made it into your car safely. The crime rate in this town was non-existent, but now Eddie knew what was lurking in the shadows. He could never be too careful.

Eddie made it home about half an hour later and was examining the small paper you'd given him. He looked over the pink loopy writing of your name, and he traced over the love heart you'd written in the top right corner.

"What that you got there, boy" Wayne walked into the room and noticed what Eddie had been memorizing. He bent down and picked up the white paper marked in pink ink off of the coffee table. "Well, well, well, I'll be damned," He huffed with excitement. It was about time Eddie put himself out there.

"I bet she's real cute." He winked at his blushing nephew.

"Yeah," Eddie sighed, thinking about your face.

"If you need any tips, let me know." Wayne smiled.

"Huh?"

"I'll have you know I know how to treat a lady right, so when you come begging for help, I'll be right here." He patted his shoulder.

"Yeah, okay, Mr. Cassanova." Eddie scoffed. Wayne had never been with anyone since Eddie entered his life.

"Whatever," Wayne mumbled under his breath as he exited the living room to give Eddie some semblance of privacy. He would be able to hear the whole conversation, but he still wanted to give the illusion of privacy to his boy.

When the phone rang, you had been wrapping Charlie's present in your bedroom.

"I got it!" You yelled out to your roommates, rushing over to the other end, praying that it was Eddie on the other end.

You let it ring two more times as you took a deep breath before picking it up.

"Hello," You smiled.

"Hey, uh, this is Eddie."

"Hi, Eddie," you smiled. He could tell it was you by your voice. "I'm glad you called." You played with the phone cord, wrapping it and then unwrapping it from your fingers as you spoke.

"I was wondering if you were free on Saturday?"

You jumped up and down, giddy he was asking you out, when Charlie and Evan, your two roommates, rounded the corner to see what had gotten you all googly-eyed.

"I work Saturday until three, but I'm free after" You look at your roommates and Charlie's mouth "Who's that"

"Great, I -uh- was thinking we could maybe see a movie or dinner or both; yeah, both are good." Eddie cleared his throat.

"Yeah, both are good," You giggle back.

"Great, I can pick you up around six, that okay?"

You agree and give him your address. You wish him a good night and hang up with phone with the biggest smile on your face.

"Okay, spill, who was that." Evan and Charlie corner you before you can escape.

"You know the music store on Main St.?" You grin.

"Yea," they say in unison.

"I was in there tonight, and the guy who works there, Eddie, asked me for my number, and we are going out on Saturday."

"You mean the scary guy with the hair and the nasty scar on his face?" Evan's eyes widen.

"Trust me, he is not scary," you giggle.

"Okay," Evan draws out. He was always protective of you.

"Trust me, you should have seen how timid he was; he's really sweet." You reassure them.

"We need to get you an outfit!" Charlie jumps into action, heading for your room.

"Wait!" You rush by her, shoving the gift under your pillow so she can't see anything.

"Something I should know? any particular reason you were at the music store tonight?"

"Nope! No reason at all; I saw a cute guy and thought I would shoot my shot." You brush off

"Yeah, okay," She totally knew.

Eddie was frantic. This was honestly and truly his first date. He doesn’t count the disaster of a night that was Jackie Manning in the fourth grade that had been wiped from his memory.

Eddie was bouncing around the house from room to room, trying to gather things he needed for the evening. He wanted this to work. He wanted to get to know you. He wanted to build something, he was already a twenty four year old who’s never been in a relationship or had sex. And he wanted those two things so badly. He was lonely, and he missed his friends from Hawkins, but he could never go back, not after everything that had happened. And because of everything that happened was the exact reason he was still a virgin.

The pressure to please was building in his head as the time started getting closer to 6:00pm.

“Don’t psych yourself out, kid.” Wayne watched as his nephew flew around the house. “You’re making me dizzy.”

“What if she thinks I’m a freak like everyone else?” His sentence tapers off as his voice turns into a mumbled whisper.

“Son, listen to me. This town is no Hawkins. You do not need to hide anymore, and you never know. Maybe she’s more of a freak than you ever can be,” his uncle laughed.

“Not helping.” He rolls his eyes, walking back to his room. He was looking for the new cologne he bought for tonight. He sprits it on himself maybe one too many times, but it didn’t matter, he was sweating so much he needed to change his shirt, again.

Looking into the mirror, he couldn't help but notice the scars that crisscrossed along his torso. It was obvious that his scars had a story, one that was filled with pain and struggle. Despite feeling self-conscious, Eddie took a deep breath, reminding himself that he was more than his physical appearance. With care, he fixed his hair and pulled on a black long-sleeved collared shirt, hoping it would provide some comfort and confidence.

With one last deep breath, he worked up the courage to grab his keys and walk out the front door.

“Good luck, be yourself, don’t forget the flowers and open the door for her damnit! I didn’t raise you to be no brute!”

“Got it!” Eddie yelled out before shutting the door with a click.

As you were lost in thought, a distant rumble of an old engine caught your attention, and you instinctively turned towards the window. You noticed a striking red two-door sedan pulling up to the front of your house, and your eyes were immediately drawn to Eddie as he stepped out of the car. He exuded an air of confidence, wearing a sleek black leather jacket that complimented his impressive physique. You couldn't help but watch as he flicked the butt of his cigarette onto the ground and crushed it under his black boots.

Your gaze moved up his long, toned legs, admiring the way they looked in his fitted black jeans, to his slim waist and broad shoulders that seemed to dominate the space around him. As he walked towards the trunk of the car, his movements were so graceful that they seemed almost rehearsed. He retrieved what looked like a bouquet of flowers. You couldn’t help but fucked him as you watched how he walked up to the front porch. He looked like pure sex, and you couldn’t wait to climb him like a tree.

Yeah, it has been a while since you last got laid, and this date with Eddie was getting your hopes up that that streak will soon come to an end.

The closer he got to the porch, the more the butterflies built in your stomach. The knock on the door shot you up from where you were perched, and you quickly made your way down the stairs.

“Hi” you smile brightly as you open the door.

“Hey,” Eddie smirked shyly as he took you in. It was like he forgot to breathe for a second. How could someone be cute and sexy at the same time?

“Hi” you repeated.

“I got you these.” he passed you a cute bouquet of pink and purple flowers.

“Thank you, Eddie.” You smile and smell them, finding your bashfulness.

“For us, you shouldn’t have!” Evan comes up and takes the flowers out of your hands

“Okay, bad boy, have our girl back by midnight” Charlie comes up from behind you, giving Eddie a once over.

“Charlie?” Eddie points.

“Oh, you talked about me? I’m flattered,” your best friend pecks you on the cheek.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know who you are?” Eddie motions to Evan.

“Evan” he smiles and puts his hand out to shake. “The unspoken about roommate.”

“Don’t worry about him. He’s just salty. I’m going out, and he’s stuck at home with Charlie and her new Dio album,” you smirk.

“Well, I hope you enjoy, I’m personally a fan of track 8,” Eddie rocks back on his heels.

“I like him; he’s the boy version of me.” Charlie nods in approval.

“Okay, let’s go.” You grab Eddie's arm and close the door behind you before your roommates can say anymore.

Eddie walked you to the passenger side of the red sedan and opened the door for you.

“Thank you,” you smiled, and Eddie jogged to the other side.

The car ride was a little quiet but not long. Eddie jogged out to the other side and opened the door for you with a smile.

You talked a bit more before the movie. He bought the popcorn and drinks. He didn’t open up much about why he moved, but you spoke about your interests and your future goals up until the movie started.

During the movie, you tried to pass signals to him to make a move. You rested your hand out so he could take it, but it seemed that he was engrossed in the film. You tried leaning in closer so he could put his arm around you, but nothing. So you pulled a Hail Mary and rested your hand on his thigh. You felt his body stiffen under your touch, but the. He relaxed a little and took your hand in his.

You glanced over at Eddie, and he was grinning at you. The light off the movie screen reflected off the deep scar marking Eddie’s cheek. God, he was beautiful.

“What?” Eddie whispered.

Shit, did you say that out loud?

“You’re beautiful.” You whispered back confidently. Something about Eddie told you he wasn’t complimented often, but you wanted to change that.

“Oh,” Eddie blushes, the red crawled up his chest, and he felt his ears burning bright red. Thankful for his long hair and the dark theatre.

After the movie, Eddie didn’t let go of your hand until you got to the car; then, when you both were back in the car, he bravely reached over and took your hand in his once more.

Dinner was lovely; he pulled out your chair for you, and he opened up more to you about himself. He was extremely charming and funny, vibrant and animated, and he made you feel alive. Eddie was such a breath of fresh air compared to the men from your past.

By the end of the night, you didn’t want it to end. You drove around for a while before you both decided it was for the best to take you home.

Like the perfect gentleman he had been all night, Eddie walked you up to your door.

“I had a really nice night with you.” You smiled up at him. He made you feel like a teenager again.

“Me too, Sweetheart.”

Your heart soared at the nickname.

Eddie leaned in, hoping and praying he was reading the room correctly. He felt like his insides were going to explode, and he took the risk and kissed you.

Eddie’s hands grabbed your waist and pulled you in closer as you leaned into him. He felt your hands wrap around his neck and bring your bodies closer. His hard frame was pressed against your soft one; he let a soft moan slip as he felt your soft breasts graze his chest and your plush thighs press against his centre.

Eddie quickly pulled away once he felt his cock hardening against your body; the last thing he needs is your thinking he is some perv.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.” Eddie cupped your face, giving you one quick peck before stepping back and trying to cover his crotch with his jacket.

“Goodnight, Eddie,” you smile, and you look at him like no one has looked at Eddie. It made his knees feel like jello.

“I’ll call you,” he smirked; his confidence had grown since he walked out his front door.

“You better”

Eddie and you have been dating for two months now. Everything had been going well, everything but your sex life, or lack thereof.

Eddie hadn’t made a move. Nothing went past makeouts and heavy petting, and you were starting to get insecure. Everything else was amazing, but nothing ever led to anything more.

You had tried to initiate sex, but every time you were turned away, even a blow job, Eddie made an excuse for you not to go past kissing.

You were pulling away, and Eddie could sense it. He was absolutely fucking this up, but his inner thoughts were his worst enemy. How could you be with someone as inexperienced and deformed as him? Could he please you? What if he finished in ten seconds? He would be mortified. But all of that felt like nothing if it meant losing you.

Tonight, he would change that. Tonight, he had the whole evening planned. He had the house to himself as Wayne was also out with a lady friend he had met at the town bar. Things were looking up for the Munson men in California.

After your date with Eddie, he invited you over to his place for the first time. His house was beautiful; you wondered how Eddie could afford a place like this? He had already disclosed to you he had purchased it all on his own.

“Are you a part of the mob” you joke as you take in the house.

Eddie chuckled and led you further into his home.

“You want a drink?”

“Yeah, whatever you’re having,” As you make your way over to the large sofa you take a seat and let out a deep sigh as you sink into the comfortable cushions.

The room is quiet, save for the sound of Eddie shuffling around in the kitchen, and you begin to feel a little uneasy in the silence, not knowing what to do to fill the time. Thankfully, Eddie walks in with two beers in his hands, and you can't help but smile at the sight of him.

He hands you a beer and takes a sip of his own before heading over to the stereo to put on some music. As the music starts to fill the room, you begin to feel more at ease.

“So, where is your Uncle?” You ask casually.

“Out for the night, we have the place to ourselves.” He smiles as he sits down beside you.

“Oh, so he is gone the whole night?” You ask, trying not to get your hopes up.

“Yep,” he ended his word with a crisp pop.

“That’s good.” You nod your head. “Sure is a big place to be alone in.”

“Wanna keep me company?” Eddie nuzzled his face into your neck.

“Yes,” you sigh as the beer in your hands has been completely forgotten. Finally, you were going to spend some much-needed alone time with Eddie.

You push back so you can turn your head to kiss Eddie. You turn your body so you can get a better angle. Eddie cups your face pulling you closer, he wanted to feel you, all of you.

You needed to feel him more, too; your pussy was in control; you swung your leg over his lap so you could straddle your man. Your hips started moving on their own. Grinding down onto Eddie’s lap. Eddie hands travels from your face down your back to cup your ass pulling you closer. His cock was already hard; you felt how big he was through his taught jeans. You pull away to slip your hands under his shirt, but Eddie grabs your wrists hastily.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” You ask worried. The grip on your wrists was firm. “I thought you were into this?” You feel like you are folding into yourself.

“I am!” He was quick to correct you.

“Do you not want me in that way?” Your voice was so small.

“No! I mean, yes, I do, I really, really do.” He shakes his head.

“Then why don’t you want to do anything with me?”

“I do, fuck, sweetheart. I really do. It’s all I think about.” He stroked your hair reassuringly.

“Then let me.” You tried unbuttoning Eddie’s jeans, but he stopped you once again. You were fighting back tears of embarrassment. You were throwing yourself at him, and he was rejecting you time and time again.

“Sweetheart, wait, I have to tell you something… well, two things.”

“What it’s it, baby?” Now you were nervous.

“I-shit- I want this to be… be so good for you, but I’m…not really…experienced.” he avoided eye contact, and it finally clicked.

“Eddie, are you a virgin?” Your question with no judgment or malice in your tone.

He slowly nods his head, looking down in his lap.

“Baby, that doesn’t matter to me.” You hook a finger under his jaw to make him look at you.

His wide eyes were sorrowful like he didn’t want to disappoint you.

“Yeah?” He whispers.

“Yeah,” you confirm with a kiss as you lean down into him. Slowly, you started rocking your hips into his lap once again.

“Sweetheart, there is uh-one more thing.” He pulls away; you can already feel his thick cock beneath you.

“If you’re not ready, we don’t have to do anything.”

“No, no, I-I want to. It’s umm. Shit”

“You don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready,” you cooed.

“I kinda have to if I want to sleep with you…”

“Okay, Eddie. Take your time.”

“My uh- scars. They’re everywhere." he gestured to his middle, " And I don’t want you to be grossed out or whatever.” He was bitterly honest with you. All of his walls came tumbling down, and you felt like an ass for not even considering his feelings about the situation.

“Eddie,” you sighed.

“No, I know what I look like, and it’s not normal. I don’t want you to get scared off or worse because I really like you. And god, I wanna have sex with you so bad it’s all I can think about that makes me sound so perverted- but it’s true. I want to be with you so bad.”

You cut him off with a kiss. A deep, sensual kiss that makes Eddie forget his own name.

“Let me take care of you,” you whisper into his lips.

“You don’t have to. I want this to be about you.”

“No baby, you do so much for me. Let me do this for you” You kiss down his jaw to his neck, sucking a dark purple mark until you’re satisfied and Eddie is withering underneath you, trying to get any sense of friction.

Your hands explored his waist above his shirt, feeling his body. It was bumpy, and there were ridges where you were not used to, but it didn’t deter you from wanting to be with him.

You could feel his body stiffen when your fingers traced over his scars.

“Is there any place you don’t want me touching?” You whispered.

“No, no, touch me- please.” his chest moved up and down with his heavy breaths.

Eddie’s body felt like it was on fire. No one has ever felt him in this way. He needed more but didn’t want to press you. So he let you take your time.

Your hands once again tried to break past the barrier of his shirt. This time, he let you as your warm fingertips worked their way up his tummy, feeling his skin beneath you.

“Can I take this off?” You ask.

Eddie nodded his head frantically; he trusted you and wanted nothing more than to keep going.

He sat up a bit, letting you shuffle the soft cotton over his head.

Your gaze didn’t break from his body. It was so beautifully mangled you could see he had skin grafting scars all across his chest and sides.

“I get it if you’re not attracted to me.”

“Hey,” you grab his head in both hands, forcing him to look at you. “I’ve never wanted to be with anyone more than I want to be with you right now.” You take a hand off his face to grab his hand and guide it to your soaked panties.

Eddie’s eyes widen with surprise as he feels your pooled slick in your panties.

“Holy shit,” Eddie gasped.

“I want you, Eddie. I want you so bad. I want to make you feel good.” You grind yourself on his hand before you slink off his lap and onto your knees in front of him.

You were about to give him the best blowjob imaginable. You didn’t know what Eddie went through, but you knew he was one of the most genuine guys you’ve ever met, and he deserved this moment.

You were quick to unbuckle his belt and pants before guiding your hand up his still-covered cock. Your fingers are hooked under the elastic waistband of his boxers, and his pulsing cock sprang free.

Your eyes widen at the sight in front of you… you knew he would be big, but you weren’t expecting him to be that big. How has he been hiding this from you all this time?

“What? What's wrong?”

“Eddie, you’re huge,” your mouth hung agape. In front of you is a cock at least eight inches long and thick, with a slight curve to the left.

“What? No.”

“You’re joking?” You laugh.

Eddie looks at you with a blank stare. Maybe laughing while his cock was out wasn’t the best idea.

“Eddie, I’m serious,” you take his length in your hand. “This is the biggest dick I’ve ever seen.” It felt heavy in your hand.

"Really?"

"Really, I don't think it's going to fit?" You chuckle, a little worried.

"Can- can we at least try?" Eddie stutters.

"Don't worry, baby, I always like a challenge."

You didn't let Eddie respond before your mouth was enveloping the tip of his cock. You swirled your tongue around the head before taking as much as possible without triggering your gag reflex.

"Holy shit" Eddie instinctively grabbed your hair as you lowered your head down the shaft. His face scrunched up in pleasure.

"You like that baby?" You ask, popping up for air, your hand replacing your mouth.

"Yes," he sucked in a sharp breath as your hand applied the perfect amount of pressure to his cock.

"I can't believe you've been holding this secret from me for so long, naughty boy." You smirked before taking him back in your mouth.

" I-I-didn't-fuck! Didn't know?" Fuck why had Eddie been holding off on this feeling? This wonderful feeling of your beautiful mouth surrounding his length.

You worked your head up and down his head before Eddie pulled you off unexpectedly.

" I'm gonna come if you keep doing that."

"That's the point, baby." You smiled.

"But I wanna have sex," He rushes out.

"Okay." You smile, and you both stand up, taking his hand in yours. "Wanna show me your bedroom?"

Eddie frantically nods his head yes before he pulls you up the stairs to the bedroom. You giggle behind him as he runs up the stairs, trying not to trip as his pants and boxers are wrapped around his ankles.

He rushes the both of you over to his bed, and he lays you down before him before you can take off your clothes.

"Tell me what you want," you coo, tucking a piece of hair behind Eddie's ear as he hovers over you.

"You, I want you so bad," he whines between kisses.

"Good boy," you smile, and Eddie swears his heart stops beating.

"How do you want me?" you ask as Eddie's hands explore every inch of your still-clothed body.

"Naked." He kissed the exposed skin of your neck.

"Mmmm, good boy, tell me what you want," you say as Eddie's mouth finds your sweet spot.

You hear Eddie whimper at your praise, so you decide to keep pushing. In a moment of intense emotion, something inside him breaks. A deep longing takes hold of him, compelling him to be nothing but a perfect and devoted man for you. The thought of being your good boy fills him with an unfamiliar sense of need, one that he has never encountered before.

"You like it when I call you that, baby?"

Eddie mumbles an answer into your neck.

"What was that? I couldn’t hear you."

"Yes, please, I want to be your good boy." He rutted his bare cock against your wet panty-covered core, and it sent a wave of pleasure through you.

"Oh, Eddie," You moan. "help me take off my clothes," You ask sweetly.

Eddie waisted not another second before your shirt was over your head and your skirt ripped off of your hips. You managed your bra while Eddie did the honours of revealing your swollen wet pussy.

"How do you want me?" you ask as your fingers trace your pussy lips before opening your legs wide for Eddie to see you play with your pussy.

"I've died and gone to heaven." Eddie's eyes were wide as he took in your body.

"I want you to feel me, baby." you reach out for Eddie's hand and guide it back to your pussy like you had downstairs. You slowly guided his thick fingers through your folds, collecting your slick before you showed him where your tight hole was.

“Holy shit” Eddie couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch you like this.

"It's okay, you can go in" You rocked your hips into Eddies and hoping his fingers would breach your cunt.

"Oh my god," You say in unison as his long, thick finger stretches you out ever so slightly.

"You're so tight." Eddie slowly tests the waters as he pumps his fingers in and out of your pussy.

"mmmm, think about how good it's going to feel when my tight little pussy is wrapped around your big, thick cock"

Eddie's brain short-circuited, his hand stopped moving, and you let out a giggle when you realized you had broken his brain.

"Can I?"

"Just a little bit more warming up, baby. You're just so big I need to get ready for you." You bat your lashes at him.

"fuck you can't say things like that to me."

"Why you don't like it?" You tease.

"Quite the opposite, sweetheart."

"You wanna know a secret to a woman's pleasure?"

"Yes"

"You gotta pay a lot of attention to right here" You guide his hand to your swollen clit. You let out a moan when his fingers make contact with your bundle of nerves.

You show him how to circle it, and Eddie couldn't believe the sight below him. He was giving you pleasure. He could tell by your blissed-out face he was doing a good job; he was being your good boy.

"Fuck I need you now," you moan, feeling your orgasm build.

"I have condoms," Eddie blurts out.

"Good, go get one," you breathe heavy with lust. Eddie hops off the bed, almost tripping over his pants that were still wrapped around his ankles, making you giggle.

You watched as he reached his nightstand opening the drawer. Your pussy was throbbing, and you couldn’t take your eyes off how his shoulder blade jutted out, and his back muscles rippled and dipped through the large scar that covered most of his left side. Your eyes travelled down, and the perfect view of his perky ass was right there for the taking. So you can’t help yourself as you reach out and swat at it playfully, making Eddie jump.

“You’re a little minx.” he turns quickly, wrapped condom in hand.

Eddie quickly crawls back into the bed before unwrapping and rolling the condom down his throbbing length. Then he froze, not knowing what to do next?

“How do you want me, Eddie baby?” You playfully twirl a piece of his unruly hair around your finger.

“Can-can you be on top to start?”

“Layback for me.” You un-twirl your finger from his hair and gently push his shoulders back so he can get comfortable.

His cock lay flat against his stomach, passing where his belly button should have been.

Slowly, you wrap your legs around his body, aligning your centre with his. You take his girth in your delicate hand and guide his cock to your wanton hole. You glide his tip through your pussy lips a few times, teasing and collecting your slick before slowly sinking your way down. You let out a shaking breath as he splits you in half.

It took everything within Eddie to not rut his hips up into you; his knuckles turned white as he gripped the sheets beneath him, trying to do everything not to plant his feel so he could to hold back.

He’d never felt anything so heavenly. You were so fucking tight around him. He couldn’t believe how amazing this felt. Your pussy was his own personal paradise, and he was never leaving.

“Fuck-fuck-fuck-“ you stuttered as your pussy adjusted to his size. The burn was long but so good, you wanted more of him.

Eddie watched as your pinched-up face relaxed, changing quickly from uncomfortable to pure pleasure when you reached the hilt.

“Holy shit,” Eddie swore he could have come right then and there if he wanted it. But he didn’t want it, not yet. God, he be damned if he didn’t make this moment last forever.

“You like the way my pussy is wrapped around your fat cock, big boy?” You start to rock your hips slowly, teasing the man who is falling apart beneath you.

Usually, you were always the one in his position, but you felt a power you’d never experienced. You wanted to be in control tonight; you wanted to make this so good for Eddie, your sweet Eddie with a monster cock.

Eddie jerked his hips up, and your pussy clenched. “Oh fuck!” Eddie cried as your muscles contracted around him. This was it; nothing could ever be better than this right now.

“You feel that honey? How tight my wet warm pussy is for you?” You start to bounce, and Eddie, stood, corrected.

He tried to hold on as your tits started bouncing in his face as you worked yourself up and down on his cock.

“Touch me,” you panted.

Eddie didn’t need to be told twice. His hands snapped up to your hips gripping you tightly before he ran them up to your swollen breasts.

You throw your head back as Eddie pinches your nipples, exposing your neck. Eddie acts on instinct, wanting to ravage you, he sits up and latches his mouth onto your exposed neck, then down your chest to your perked nipples.

“Oh baby,” you cry at the sudden movement beneath you. The new angel only sank his cock deeper into your cunt. He was filling you so good, you’ve never felt this full.

“Can I - can we switch?” Eddie can’t take it he needs to fuck you, like really fuck you.

“Yes,” you were completely fucked out.

You let out a squeak as Eddie man handles you to be underneath him. He wastes no time pounding back into you the second your back hits the mattress. His sting hands are gripping your hips so hard you’re sure there will be finger shaped bruises. He nearly took your breath away as his hips snapped into your dripping pussy, your walls pulsed around him as his cock grazed that sweet spot that is deep, deep inside.

“OH EDDIE” you scream, eyes rolling back into your head.

It was music to Eddie’s ears. He wasn’t going to last much longer. He needed you to finish. He suddenly remembered the advice you gave him minutes before. His hand grazed down your body to your clit.

His touch sent a zap of pleasure through your core, only making your pussy tighten even more. His fingers worked your pussy slowly, a contrast from how fast he was thrusting into you.

Moans of ecstasy escaped your throat as your brain shut off. You were no longer in control; it was all Eddie.

“Baby, you still with me?” He coos in your ear.

“Fuck Eddie, don’t stop! I’m going to cum!” You wrap your legs around Eddie to pull him closer to you, not that it was possible. You wanted him buried inside of you forever.

“Come on, baby, come for me.”

You broke at his words. Your orgasm ripped through you as he worked his cock through your tight grip. Eddie broke as soon as you did no way he could hold on any longer.

A loud roar rips out of his chest as his seed spurts out of him into the condom that is buried deep inside of you.

“Fuck me, you sure that was your first time?” You giggle, still totally fucked out.

“Yep, guess you can say I’m a natural sex god.” his ego was definitely boosted.

“Mmmhmmmmm,” you nod in agreement. Rolling over to wrap a bare leg around his body.

Eddie couldn’t believe his life could be this sweet. He wrapped his arms around you and fell asleep with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

Tags!: @nailbatanddungeon @s6raphic @3rd-conchord @sadbitchfangirl @gri959 @reidsbtch @taintedcigs @skyline4446 @babygorewhore @mmunson86 @paybacksawitch @lesservillain @imyourdaninow @bimbobaggins69 @liminalpebble @keeksandgigz @lightcommastix @wtfmariaclara @st4rgirll3 @ali-r3n @xxhellfirebunnyxx

[colourmeastonished]

Delighted to announce that I can single-handedly disprove the efficacy of the resilience narrative because after 10 years of hospitality, 7 years of bar work and 25 years of being a woman on this forsaken earth, I got sexually harassed at work last week and now my fight or flight response is Broken 👍

[briefalpacashark]

~Cowboys and Men~ Part One ~

Synopsis : The 141 have to play cowboys.

================================================

You sat along with the other boys of the 141 as you stared at Laswell. She had just delivered the news of your next mission.

“Well shit,” you grin widely. Why? The mission was right up your alley. You had personal experience practically having grown up in the thick of it. The boys, however. You were almost certain that none of them had even come close to anything like it.

The mission. Going undercover in an American rodeo. 

“So you want us to play cowboy?” Price asked.

“That’s right. Long enough till you find this guy and bring him in,” she stated tapping her knuckle on a photo of the target. An older man with a grim surrounded by gray hair and a killer mustache.

“Y/N you'll be the one participating in the rodeo. The boys will be your team,” Laswell explained simply. 

“Her team?” Jonny asked, jabbing his thumb at you. “Why can't I be the horse rider huh?” he asked.

“Can you ride a horse?” Laswell asked.

“Well no, canne be hard, can it?” his question had you chuckling.

“Its an invite only event, we've got a contact. You'll head out tomorrow to show him what you got. He'll slot you in where he can,” Laswell focused on you as she spoke.

“Sure thing boss,” you nodded.

“Honestly Laswell, I think I could do a pretty good job,” Jonny stated.

“The fact that you think a rodeo only involves horses proves how unqualified you are for it,” You stated.

“And you are?” Jonny asked.

“I grew up in the saddle of a horse, mate. You're looking at a genuine drover,” you gestured to your body with a smirk.

“The fuck is a drover?” Jonny asked the rest of the team. Gaz simply shrugged.

“Alright dismissed,” Laswell said. 

You were quickly dispatched to the good old US of A. You were dropped off in a random field via helicopter. Your team walked up to two men on horseback. The one on the left was tall and buff with golden hair to die for. The other was slightly shorter and stubbier. But they both had one thing in common. They looked like genuine cowboys. Hats and everything.

“Howdy!” Jonny called with a terrible American accent.

“Fucken hell,” you chuckled, shaking your head.

“Forgive him. He's hit his head a few too many times,” Price stated.

“That stunt his growth too?” The blond asked. Your laugh broke through your lips as Jonny’s smile fell.

“The one you just shut up is Soap, that's Gaz, Ghost. I’m Bravo and that’s Doc.” he pointed you all out the cowboys, tipping their hat’s to you.

“Ma’am, I heard you're the only one with experience in the saddle,” the smile the blond gave you was slightly flirtatious.

“Since I was two. Grew up on a cattle station over in Australia,” You stated walking up to him to give them both a firm handshake.

“How could you choose the military life over one in the saddle?” he asked.

“Plan to get back to it one day,” you said your attention being grabbed by his horse that tried to nibble your jacket.

“He's gorgeous. Mustang?” You asked, reaching up to brush his nose.

“Yes Ma’am,” he nodded. “Care for a ride?” he asked with a wink. You chuckled at his obvious flirting attempt.

“Sorry mate. Not planning in hoping in any saddle that aint my own,” you said, giving the horse a pat.  

“Alright, well, this is Sam, my name's Aurthur,” he stated.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Price stated spoke up drawing the attention off you. 

“Pleasures all ours, Come on by the looks of you, it seems like we've got some work to do,” he stated.

“Work of what?” Gaz asked.

“To make you a lot cowboys,” he said with a grin.

First order of business, if you were to pass for cowboys, you had to look the part. Aurthur generously offered to take you all shopping. Your choice was quick, picked out for practicality. A simple light blue button up. A pair of denim jeans, a comfortable pair of boots and your old hat. You pulled the beat up looking thing out of your bag. It was your simple cattleman hat shape, in a dusty brown colour. It was scuffed and dirty, but it was yours. Setting it atop your head, you smiled at the familiar feeling. Slipping on the dark leather jacket, you fixed the collar before stepping out of the changing room.

“Look out,” Jonny stated from their allocated seats, all gathered in front of the changing rooms.

“So how do I look?” You asked, giving them a little pose.

“Like one hell of a rider,” Aurthur spoke up.

“So so,” Gaz tilted his hand back and forth.

“Oh yeah, let's see you do better,” you said tauntingly.

“Watch a master at work,” Gaz stated. You all waited for his outfit choice. When he stepped out you almost died of laughter. Tassels, tassels and fringe everywhere. On his head sat a bright red Tom Mix hat.

“What you don't think it's good?” he asked jokingly. 

“You look like you'll fly away in a light breeze,” Jonny joked.

“Eat shit soap,” Gaz flipped him off.

“Nah, I'll show you how it's done,” Jonny spoke up. Yells of shock sounded from you all as he walked out in a pair of assless chaps. Only they weren't assless. In fact you saw a lot of ass due to the fact that Jonny only wore the chaps. Nothing else. He held a small bowler's hat in front of his privates as he pretended to act confused. He turned around, giving you a clear view of his rosy red cheeks.

“Fucken hell,” you chuckled, tipping your hat down to cover your gaze.

“You know, I don't think I put these on in the right order,” he stated. Even the Price cracked a chuckle or two.

“Might get a rash ridding a saddle like that,” Ghost stated.

“I like it,” you said. Jonny gave you a wink.

“Come on Captain,” Jonny encouraged Price when his ass was contained again. 

Price walked out in a good pairing. A deep red button up, a pair of jeans, some lovely light brown boots, a light brown fleece jacket and a white brick shaped hat. 

“Captain my captain,” You whistled.

“Where did you find that fashion sense cap?” Ghost asked.

“Quiet you,” Price warned playfully.

“You know those videos where a baby sees their dad with their beard shaved for the first time and they just break out crying,” You asked. Jonny hummed in acknowledgment.

“I feel like that with that hat he's wearing,” you whispered. Jonny chuckled.

“Alright Ghost your turn,” Jonny said slapping Ghost shoulder. Ghost slowly moved his eyes from the captain to Jonny daring him to hit him again.

“Alright, be that way grumpy,” Jonny muttered. “Guess it's my turn again,” he stated. With your help, Jonny walked out in a tight black long sleeve shirt, a denim jacket and jeans. Black boots and a brown rolled brim with a puncher crown. He looked alright apart from the obviously large belt buckle he wore. A picture of a bulls head engraved on it.

“Compensating?” you asked, nodding to the buckle, getting a bird flipped to you.

“At least his ass is covered this time,” Ghost grumbled. Gaz tried again, deciding on a cowboy version of a lumberjack. Plated shirt with a vest jacket, a dark blue pair of jenes and a black version of his original hat. 

“Careful Gaz, that shirt looks a little tight,” Jonny called.

“That's the point,” Gaz stated with a smirk flexing his biceps.

“They can try all they want. The look of a cowboy is something that comes naturally. A look, ma’am that if you'll let me say looks extremely good on you,” Arthur leaned down to whisper to you. You smirked, shrugging.

“I don't know, I think they're pulling it off,” you stated. You chuckled as Gaz tried to perform his best cowboy walk. Hand on his belt and slaughtering forward before making a gun motion with his hand. And Jonny, who pretended to slow motion, to doge said bullets.

“Yeah sure,” Arthur muttered, making you chuckle harder. As you continued to watch Gaz and Jonny make a fool of themselves, you failed to notice a certain pair of eyes set on you. 

“Careful Lieutenant, you glare any harder and he might just get the message,” Price smirked as he saw the slightly pissed expression hidden behind the skull mask.

“Don't know what you mean, sir,” Ghost grumbled before walking away. 

Noticing Ghost's missing presence, you went to look for him, finding him in front of the many hats on display.

“Having trouble choosing?” You asked, walking up to him.

“Any pointers?” he asked.

“Can't help you there. This was my uncle's hat. He lost it when I won a bet,” you said.

“But,” you trailed off, your eyes searching through the hats. You smiled, reaching out to grab one.

“Yeah, this one,” you said, placing it on his head. It was low and pinched a grayish black.

“Yeah, that suits you,” you stated simply with a satisfied nod before walking away. 

When you all returned to the ranch, Simon changed into his outfit. Black jeans, dark brown boots, a black leather jacket and dark grey button up. On his head sat the hat you chose, and he still wore his skull balaclava.

“Well hello handsome,” Jonny called as he walked out to you.

“Zip it Mc’tavish,” he grumbled. Jonny chuckled as he walked up to you. In the pen Arthur walked out a horse already saddled up. Spotting other ranchers gathering round to watch with eager grins, you quickly assessed what was happening. It was a bucking horse, or at least one they were trying to break.

“Alright, lesson one of being a cowboy. Staying on a horse that doesn't want you to stay on,” Arthur stated with a wide grin.

“Any volunteers?” he asked. You chuckled, shaking your head as Jonny raised his hand eagerly.

“Love the spirit scots, man. This here is Bessy,” Arthur said, gesturing him forward. You whipped your mouth as Jonny confidently made his way into the pen.

“Ello Bessy,” he smirked. 

“I'd say goodbye to your balls now Soap, while you have the chance,” you called out to him.

“Ah, away with ye. I'll be fine,” Jonny waved you off.

“He's gonna eat shit isn't he?” Ghost asked folding his arms over his chest.

“All five courses of it,” you chuckled, pulling yourself up to sit on the railings. 

“He has medical cover right?” you asked Price that only shock his head at his soldier stupidity.

“Alright Soap. hold on tight,” After Arthur gave him a basic run down and when Jonny was sat comfortable in the saddle did he stepped back.

“You're gonna set a timer, wanna make sure there is proof when I stay on longer than those bastards,” Jonny nodded back to you all, giving you a wide confident grin as the horse started to pad at the ground.

“Sure thing, champ,” Arthur grinned. “Go on, give her a kick,” he suggested casually, taking a few cautious steps back. 

“What like this?” Jonny asked, kicking his heels gently into her sides. 

You knew pigs couldn't fly, but Jonny sure could. One buck had the poor man was out of the saddle onto the horses ass, then the second buck had the man cartwheeling through the air before landing flat on his ass his legs split in front of him. You and Gaz was practically dying of laughter as Jonny rolled around in pain holding his manly jewels. After Jonny’s poor first display, the ranchers started to pass around bets. 

“Who's next?” Arthur asked, turning to you lot.

Gaz sat on the back of Bessy looking like he was about to shit himself.

“Ok what do I do?” he asked shakily.

“Hold on,” Arthur stated simply.

“I know that, but I don't know the first thing about horses. Do do I pat it?” he asked.

“Sure, it probably won't do you any good though,” Arthur shrugged walking back.

“Come on Gaz,” you called encouragingly.

“I changed my mind, I want to get down,” Gaz stated. As he shifted his weight in the saddle, Bessy fell into a fit. Bucking and kicking like crazy. Gaz lasted about four seconds before he was bucked off. 

“This is bullshit,” Gaz grumbled, limping back to you trying to remove the dirt from his mouth. 

“Are the betting on us?” Jonny asked nodding to the growing group.

“There ranchers, this is probably the best entertainment they've had all week,” you stated.

“Yeah well they should stop,” Gaz grumbled.

“Why? They're actually betting in your favor,” you lied.

“Really?” he asked with a small grin of hope.

“No,” you chuckled, shaking your head, Gaz's smile instantly falling.

“Your acting way too high and mighty or this,” Gaz stated.

“I think I'm acting the right amount of high and mighty for my skills,” You shrugged.

“Skills we haven't seen yet,” Gaz grumbled.

“I don't need to prove anything,” you shrugged.

“Well, if ye so confident in yourself lass. How bout a wee little bet?” Jonny asked.

“Depends on what it is,” you smirked. With the smirk Jonny already knew you accepted the bet. 

“If anyone of us can last longer than you, you owe us all a week of sick leave,” Jonny put the offer forward. In the military you need a doctor's note or your medic's permission to have a sick day. Which was practically impossible to get. You don't abuse your power but you didn't put up with their bullshit either. So they only ever got sick leave when they were actually sick. And not a man cold either, they had to actually be sick.

“And what do I get?” you asked.

“Bragging rights?” Jonny suggested.

“I'll settle for a picture of you in the outfit you rocked back at the shop,” you stated, pointing to him. Jonny grinned widely.

“Deal,” he said as you too shook on it. 

“You ready, boss?” Jonny asked, turning to Price.

“A week of sick leave, you said?” he asked, debating if he wanted to be a part of your shenanigans.

“Yes sir,” you nodded. 

“Right,” he muttered, pushing his hat further down on his head before slipping in the coral and shaking his jacket off his shoulders.

You had to give it to Price, he was pretty good. And he looked like he stepped right out of a cow boy movie. The mustache and the fit was just perfect. You sucked in a breath as he was thrown from the horse. Impressed cheers came from the others. He lasted almost ten seconds.

“Ghost?” Jonny suggested.

“I prefer to keep my balls unpopped,” Ghost grumbled.

“Guess that's me then,” You spoke up. Walking up to Bessy you smiled brushing her nose before walking round her to where Arthur stood.

“Need a hand?” he offered.

“Nah mate,” you said effortlessly, swinging yourself up onto the saddle and taking the reins in hand. The familiar creak of the leather saddle and the ruff feel of the reins was welcoming. You settled into the back of the saddle, leaning back slightly. You pressed your hat down far enough down your forehead that the only thing you saw was your hands and the horse's shoulder blades.

“Alright, lets fucking do this,” you whispered before gently kicking her. You leaned back as far as you could and pulled the reins tight as she bucked wildly. Your body was jerked about left and right back and forth, yet you held on. The boys had to admit they were impressed. The ranchers cheered as the seconds drew on. As you hit the thirty second mark you swore as the horse slammed up against the side of the railings. To avoid you leg getting crushed you lumped off, the force sending you flying over the fence, right into Arthur who just happened to be sitting stop it. The two of you hit the ground in a cloud of dust. A relatively soft fall for you due to you landing on the cowboy.

“Fuck you alright?” You asked as you quickly hopped off the poor man.

“Look at that, falling for you already,” he groaned, painfully accepting your hand to help him up.

“That line usually work?” you asked with a small smile. You had to admit he was kinda cute.

“Well I don't usually have pretty women tackling me off the fence but here we are,” he said. You chuckled, shaking your head picking up your hat.

“How long was that Jonny!?” You yelled across the coral.

“Too fucking long!” he yelled back. You grinned smugly making your way back over to the boys.

Gaz and Jonny were adamant on getting those sick days. Price opted in for a few more tries, coming only four seconds from your record before he called it quits.

“Not gonna have a go Ghost?” you asked nudging his side.

“Risk getting hurt before the mission, not likely,” he stated as you watched Jonny narrowly avoid a broken bone. 

“Fair enough,” you muttered. The boys could not beat your best. With bruised bodies and prides you all retired to your a few spar rooms in the bunkhouse.

The next morning, you all gathered before dawn. Arthur said you were gonna learn how to ride. The boys walking a bit slower than they usually would. You were all assigned horses. Ghost and Price and Gaz were going well after some instruction. And Jonny. Well let's just say he wasn't built to ride horses. He just couldn't wrap his head around it. Loud laughs sounded as the horse started to trot slightly, sending your little scotsman's bouncing rapidly in his saddle.

“Fu-Uck En H-EL-LL,” he said through bounces as his head bobbled around. You rode up to him gently pulling on the rains to get the horse to slow down.

“Come on Mate. your ancestors road these guys into battle,” You said.

“Nah, these are American horses. If it was a scottish horse I would be grand,” he stated definitely. Amused by his logic, you just shook your head. To your surprise, Simon pulled up on the other side of Jonny. “Having a bit of trouble there?” Ghost asked smuggle. “Fuck Ye LT,” Jonny grunted, trying to glare only for him to slid sideways in the saddle. You reached out holding his jacket to keep him steady as he readjusted. Ghost smirked before trotting forward. You rode up to his side looking over his posture, one hand resting on his thigh, the other holding both the reins. 

“You’ve done this before,” you stated.

“When I was a kid,” he muttered.

“It shows, You're a natural,” you said.

“Not as good as you,” he said.

“Oh stop it, you'll make me blush,” you grinned. He glanced over at your smile, grunting in response.

“So this is your dream, huh?” he asked. Your grin turned into a fond smile.

“Yeah. I want a nice plot of land in the tablelands,” you stated.

“Table lands?” Ghost asked.

“I'll admit you guys have some nice green pastures in England. But the tablelands. Man, it's something different altogether. Rolling green hills right out of a picture book. It's high up, lots of rain, and rainforests. Fog will roll over the hills in the cold mornings and arvos. I'll have five horses, shit ton of chickens and cows. Maybe a goat or two,” your shrugged. “Two dogs. One working kelpie and and little staffy,” you continued.

“A big old cottage that I built myself. Oh, it's gotta have a basement. Definitely a secret passage. Maybe a fake skeleton chucked in there.” your words had Simon smiling as his eyes settled on you. Settled on the sparkle of your eyes as you described it all.

“Oh and there will be this big ol tree. If I have a family I'll string it up with fairy lights and lanterns. I'll invite you boys round for week long adventures. Big ol fire place next to it,” you reminisce of a life that you possibly might never get to live. After all, your job wasn't necessarily safe.

“Oh so I’m a part of this future huh?” he asked. The instant your gaze turned to him he realized what he said. His face flushed as your smile became impossibly brighter.

“Of course,” you stated simply. Only when you did think of all those things you left out one key part. Whenever you thought about your future, the annoying prick in front of you would pop into the frame. Helping you build the cottage. Putting one of his masks on the fake skeletons. Him in the tree hanging up the lights. Him sitting next to you around the roaring fire. Clearing his throat his face flushed deeply as he looked back to the path in front of you. You didn't see the flush though. You simply saw him avoiding your gaze. For a moment, he wondered if he was having a heart attack. He thought it was the only explanation for his rapid heartbeat.

“Were going for a run care to join?” Arthur called back to you.

“Sure,” you called back. 

“So you ready to show me just how good you are?” You leaned over to Ghost with a taunting

“Perhaps,” he grunted.

“First one to the tree up on that ridge,” you suggested.

“Are we betting anything?” he asked.

“Bragging rights?” you shrugged. “On three?” you suggested.

“Alright, three,” he stated kicking his horse into a gallop. An excited grin stretched across your face as you did the same. The cantering group let out exclamations of surprise as you two zoomed past them in a full gallop. Even with his headstart you quickly caught up to him. Riding would forever feel different to everything in your life. It felt like flying, but so much more magical. As you were neck and neck you looked over to Ghost who looked to you. With a wink, you dropped the reins, opening your arms out as the horse pulled forward. You won by just an inch. 

The next day it was game time. You were strapped up and dressed up for your rodeo. You left a little earlier than the boys. You were hanging around beer in hand playing the part as Arthur introduced you to a few people. Chucking your watch you glanced at the time.

“They should be here by now,” you muttered.

“Speak of the devils,” Arthur muttered nodding behind you. A low whistle left your lips as you took them in.

As everyone took them in. Women, buckle bunnies and men had their eyes set on the group. They looked like a master piece of hot manliness. And you had to admit they looked good enough to have anyone's panties dropped with just a word. There boots kicking up dust as they strutted through the crowd. You swore the music was perfect of their entrance, looking like a scene out of a movie.

“Boys,” you nodded to them as they approached.

“Anna,” Price nodded to you. Your cover name for the mission.

“Come on, I've got to introduce you to someone,” Arthur stated beckoning you all over. You sucked in a small breath as he took you all to the target. 

“Tommy,” Arthur greeted the man like old friends.

“Arthur, how are you, my boy?” he asked. He was an older man, a true cowboy.

“Good Good,” Arthur nodded as they embraced.

“So you're the one Arthurs has been speaking about. You should know outsiders aren't usually welcome here,” the target stated as he turned to you.

“What scared of the challenge?” you asked with a teasing smile. The man paused a beat before breaking out into laughter.

“She's a spunk fire all right. Name’s Tom, everyone calls me Tommy,” he greeted holding his hand out to you.

“Anna,” you introduced yourself.

“Anna, you dont look like an Anna,” he said.

“Oh yeah, what do I look like?” you asked.

“Some real classy name. Like Evangeline or somethin,” he stated.

“Well, you certainly look like a Tommy,” you said.

“Why thank you ma’am,” he tipped his hat to you.

“And who are these fellas?” he asked turning to the boys.

“I'm her manager, Cole,” Price introduced himself. “These boys are on the team,” he stated, pointing to the rest who gave nods.

“I see, well fellas I'll see you out there,” he stated giving you another nod before walking off.

“So we grabbing him?” Jonny asked.

“To many people here,” Price mumbled.

“After the main event you'll have your chance, that's when he goes home,” Arthur said. You nodded, glancing around you. Fancy profession buckers were walking all round you. 

“Nervous Darling?” Arthur asked. The boys gaze snapped to him, some pissed of some surprised. The way American men say darling is just something different.

“I'm about to strap myself to a state of the art bucking horse. Of corse im fucking nervous,” you muttered.

“Don't worry. Come on, there are some other events before. Let's get you warmed up,” he stated. You needed to keep your mind occupied, so you agreed. Steer wrestling and roping was your go to. You didn't place first in anything but you didn't do too bad. The boys looked at you in a different light as you rode beside a young bull, jumping off your horse to wrestle it to the ground, flipping it over and tying its legs up. 

“God damn,” Jonny whispered as you stood to your feet holding your hands in the air.

“She's good, really good,” Arthur stated as he stood by the boys.

“That's our girl,” Price stated simply.

“So, what are you lot to her?” he asked.

“What?” Gaz asked squinting at the man.

“You lot seem real close. I know you're a team but I don't want to step on anyone's toes, I'm a gentle man like that,” he shrugged.

“What do you mean step on anyone's toes?” Price asked, his arms folding over his chest taking on the protective dad stance.

“Look if she's spoken for I'll back off. But I don't see no ring, and she calls you all by name. No pet names,” Arthur trailed off before turning to Ghost.

“So I guess im asking what are you to her,” the question was pointed at Ghost the boys quickly catching on. Ghost turned fully to him tucking his hand under his arm pits where his guns sat, hidden by his jacket. Although he made a point to let the smooth metal peek out.

“I'm the guy that fucks you up seven ways to Sunday if you hurt her,” his voice was deathly low, shaking Arthur up a bit. Yet it was Simon's glare that had the man really scared. 

But he also got the answer he wanted.

“So she's available?” Arthur pointed out with a grin.

================================================

=Cowboys and Men = Part Two here=

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~COD Master List Here~

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[luv4fushi]

omfg i litr read everything uve written off ur masterlist I NEED MOREEEE. i love the way u write megumi especially, i couldn’t get enough of it. i hope you write more of him, my heart aches for more tbh 🥹 tysm for being such a good writer and feeding us starved readers well

tysm! i'm sooo glad i can be a good source of megumi content for you >_< i looove writing megumi so you'll be seeing sooo much more of him, dw! happy holidays!

this december

jjk fushiguro megumi x fem!reader

it’s always colder on your own, especially around this time of year. you should be at home, bundled up with a warm cup of hot chocolate, but here you are in shinjuku, exorcizing curses with your ex boyfriend two weeks after your breakup with him. great.

content: post break up, aged up megumi (19/20), megumi is terrible at feelings, getting back together, fluff if you squint, a bit of angst, miscommunication, one bed (but it isn’t the main plot point sorry), megumi calls you baby like once, gojo is the best wingman, SHIBUYA ARC NEVER HAPPENED AND LIFE IS GOOD, not proofread im very sorry guys pls forgive me, kinda a word dump sry

word count: 5.8k (sigh this was supposed to be 2k words max)

click on my masterlist for more & merry christmas to those who celebrate!

it’s december 19th when satoru gojo tells you that he has a mission just for you. you’re less than ecstatic about it to say the least. the last thing you want to do is be sent to your death just shy of christmas day. you just want to rest your sore muscles and bask in the presence of your best friends. you’re not in the mood to kill any curses, mainly because you’ve just recovered from a previous mission.

“why me?” you groan.

gone are the days where you used to be a goody two shoes for satoru. you’re old enough to talk back now, not like when you had been a shy fifteen-year-old girl. besides, you’ve been around the silver-haired sorcerer long enough to know that he doesn’t mind the bite.

“sorry, kid,” satoru says with a shrug. at least he sounds genuine about it. “the higher ups requested for you specifically. they say you’ll get the job done in the cleanest way. we can’t have things getting messy before the holidays, right?”

“and you wouldn’t be the best choice?” you quip.

satoru only laughs. he ruffles your hair. even with your growth spurt and merciless training, he still towers over you. in a way, he’ll always be your mentor. “hey, i’m going out of town that weekend. give me a break.”

you huff petulantly. something about this mission seems fishy to you. you’re not nearly the strongest sorcerer out of the bunch of kids under satoru’s wings (not that you guys are kids anymore, but sometimes it’s hard to feel otherwise). hell, there’s the kyoto students. it feels like they never have to do anything. you wish that you were rebellious enough to chew utahime out for it.

“why couldn’t they just make yuta or megumi go?” you mutter under your breath. you stammer out megumi’s name and hope satoru doesn’t catch on to the way you can barely say it.

satoru knows about the breakup. why wouldn’t he? he’s basically megumi’s dad, even if the raven haired boy refuses to admit it. satoru’s six eyes mean you can’t hide anything from him (he’d been the first to know that megumi was head over heels for you).

satoru raises a brow. “oh, right. megumi’s coming along too.”

your face twists and you immediately whip around to glare at him. “you’re lying.”

“i wish,” he jokes. “i was really hoping i’d get a wedding invitation one day, you little rascal. i can’t believe you two broke up. maybe this’ll be a good thing!”

“i appreciate your honesty, but—”

“but megumi’s an emotionally constipated kid, yeah, that i know,” satoru laughs. he makes his way to the exit of his office which has you furrowing your brows. is your former teacher actually gonna just leave after making you come all the way here? how rude and so very in character of him.

“please, gojo,” you call out after him, “i don’t wanna go with him.”

“sucks for you,” satoru responds halfheartedly. “merry christmas. try not to take more than a week on this. you’ll have to pay the rest of the fee for accommodations if you do.”

“gojo!” you whine.

“it’s not a hard mission!” satoru insists like it’ll make your life any easier. “y’know, this time of year is when things get ugly. think of it as saving as many people as you can while putting in the least amount of effort!”

and then he teleports. your former teacher teleports away rather than being normal and walking out of the door. you roll your eyes and hope that he can sense it (you know he can’t).

so that’s why you’re here now. with your ex. on the elevator to your assigned room on the tenth floor. you’re so glad that it’s a normal hotel and not a love hotel. lord knows what you’d do if you had checked into a love hotel.

megumi hasn’t spoken a word to you since he broke up with you two weeks ago. it had been in the doorway to your apartment a few days after a particularly rough mission assigned to the both of you—the one you’re still recovering from. he’d pulled you in for a hug, whispering sweet words into your ear. he gave you a look, one of those looks that made him soften his usually sharp eyes.

“i think we should break up.”

and then came the pathetic whimper of yours. he had wiped your tears, even kissed them tenderly, before telling you that it wasn’t your fault—it was his. how cliche.

now as you stand next to him, you want to beat yourself up for not asking for closure. neither of you had explicitly stated that you two were going to be no-contact, but it hurts a lot less to push the idea of forever with megumi away to the back of your mind. besides, you two aren’t confrontational like that. not with each other, anyway.

“need help?” his tone is soft, tender—the tone he reserves specifically for you, the one that tells you he still cares.

you stare down at the luggage at your feet. you’ve always been a chronic overpacker, a habit that megumi knows of by now. he watches you curiously, hands itching at his sides. you can tell that he wants to reach out and grab your suitcase like he always does. he thinks he isn’t obvious, but you can always read through the lines, especially when it’s megumi.

“i’m okay,” you croak out, clearing your throat awkwardly.

the elevator dings and you make your way to your room. as much as you hate to admit it, you’re sort of glad that you and your ex boyfriend are sharing a room. perhaps his’ll be a good way to get closure, though you’re not really sure what closure entails.

what you don’t expect is to unlock the door and be met with a singular bed.

if satoru gojo didn’t have a layer of infinity coating his body (and if he wasn’t the strongest sorcerer alive), you would’ve wrung out his neck.

megumi simply walks into the room, setting his duffel bag down on one of the dressers opposite from the foot of the bed. he doesn’t comment on the lack of double beds, seemingly already aware of the set up.all he does is puff out a weary sigh. you suck in a breath and follow him inside, slipping your shoes off at the entrance.

you lug your suitcase in after you along with your duffel bag and backpack. you stumble forward and megumi’s arm snakes around your waist, steadying you.

“careful,” he mutters, nonchalantly taking your bag off our your shoulders.

it’s a quick series of movements; he swings your bag over his shoulders and places it on the dresser next to the one he’s claimed while guiding you softly to the side of the bed so that you’re not standing in the middle of the doorway.

you scrunch your face, feeling your heart thump against your ribcage. it’s stupid how he still has such a hold on you, even after two weeks of not seeing or talking to him. he’s just so caring, so gentle. it stings, like little the little cuts you get when fighting curses, when you realize that this is something you’ll have to learn how to lose.

“thanks,” you manage to mutter. you don’t trust yourself to say anything else. you know from the way your throat tightens that you’ll be crying soon if you force yourself to talk any more.

“i can take the couch,” megumi says.

it’s that easy with him; he’s a gentleman, so of course he’d take the couch. that’s the way megumi fushiguro is—he offers a solution before you even have the chance to complain. in your year and a half long relationship, that skill of his had been a saving grace.

“no, don’t bother,” you croak. “i’ll book another room.”

“really?” he asks. he stands up a little straighter, awkwardly reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “i mean, i don’t mind sharing a room with you… we’ve..”

we’ve shared a room countless of times before.

megumi doesn’t have to continue his sentence for you to understand what he’s implying. you part your lips to speak, but nothing comes out except for a long, heavy sigh. your shoulders drop as you let the exhaustion seep into your bones. there’s no use arguing about it, not when you don't’ mind sharing a room with megumi, either.

“we’ve broken up,” you remind him in a quiet voice, like you’re afraid saying it out loud will make it truer than it already is.

megumi pauses. you see his adam’s apple bob as he swallows thickly. “i know that, but … it’ll be fine. we’ve shared a room as friends before.”

he’s right, like he usually is. you two have shared a room before as just friends, but that had been as teenagers—back when you both harbored such hardcore crushes on each other that you two somehow didn’t notice.

“right,” you find yourself agreeing with a small nod.

“you should go get ready for bed.” megumi begins grabbing a few or the decorative pillow off of the bed. he places them gingerly on the brown couch tucked in the corner of the hotel room. “we’ll be getting up pretty early to deal with the brunt of the mission.”

to finish this mission as quickly as possible, you think.

and so you oblige and head to the bathroom. it’s december 19th, just a few days shy of christmas day, and you’re in bed with your ex boyfriend on the couch just a few feet away.

december 20th greets you with megumi hovering over you. he peers down at you with his messy bangs covering his eyes. they’re piercingly blue as he blinks. his lashes flutter perfectly, even in the early morning. your eyes meet his and you jolt awake.

“good morning,” he says. “your alarm has been ringing for a bit now, so i turned it off.”

you blink rapidly, getting the tiredness out of your eyes. “oh.”

he chuckles softly, just enough for you to catch it with your ears. he rises from his crouched position and heads to the front door. he spares you a glance over his shoulder before he heads out, presumably giving you the privacy you need. you let out a strangled breath before you swing your legs over the bed and head to the bathroom.

by the time you’re finished putting on your uniform, you swing the door to your hotel room open and see megumi leaned up against the wall, tapping away on his phone. his dark blue eyes flicker up to you and he turns away to head down the hall.

you furrow your brows. you can’t help but think that he’s being a little cold to you. it isn’t like you initiated the breakup. despite your frustration with his behavior, you can sort of understand why he wouldn’t want to be sweet around you; you two aren’t dating anymore and so it makes sense that he’d go back to being aloof in your presence, the usual way he acts around everyone else. losing that position in his life makes your stomach churn for reasons you’re less than willing to uncover.

your mission is a vague one; all you know is that it’s a clean-up mission. rather than a level 1 curse (or even a special grade), the mission consists of an acclimation of weak curses surrounding shinjuku. these missions are normally given to younger, more inexperienced sorcerers with the help of a senior sorcerer, but for an odd reason, it’s been given to you and megumi this year. megumi could’ve probably handled it himself. actually, you could’ve handled it yourself.

you bite your tongue to hold back on your complaints as you walk just a step behind megumi. he pauses regularly, waiting for you to catch up to his side. you roll your eyes in secret. does he not realize that you don’t want to walk next to him?

“it’s all just bars,” you mutter.

with that, you earn a tiny laugh from megumi. “well, yeah. this is the red-light district of shinjuku.”

you pale. “this sucks.”

“why do you think i wanted to come out here in the morning rather than at night?” he says, his tone strangely light.

“to deal with the brunt of the mission,” you repeat his words from last night sarcastically. you’re unsure as to what he’s talking about, so you think that it’s okay to give him a little bit of attitude.

he raises his brow but doesn’t comment on your sarcasm. instead, he says softly, “no, stupid. it’s because this is the red-light district. it’s unsafe for anyone, especially a pretty, young girl alone at night.”

your first thought is to coo and tease him. you think i’m pretty? it takes you half a second to remember that you two are broken up. you scoff, “i’m perfectly capable of handling myself.”

“i never said you weren’t,” megumi shoots back. “it would just be annoying explaining to the higher ups why you were fighting people and not curses.”

“i’m sure they’d understand,” you retort, frowning. you cross your arms.

“don’t be so pouty,” he says in that stupid, gentle tone he uses with you when you’re acting bratty.

you both decide to split up. well, it’s more like you demand the two of you to split up. you say it under the pretense that it’ll get the job done faster. besides, you both want to be home before christmas day, right?

there’s about two curses you cross paths with every hour. you’re starting to lose your mind. shouldn’t the streets be infested with them? you don’t even need a veil! all you have to do is give the weak curses just one punch and they vaporize on the spot. your head is running with hundreds of thoughts.

that’s when it hits you: the first years at the tokyo jujutsu school did come out here a week prior! maybe they did a bad job? but you remember nobara had been the one to lead the group. she may half-ass almost everything in her life, but she wouldn’t jeopardize her underclassmen for the sake of her freetime.

so why on earth are you here? it’s not like there are enough harmful curses for a mission to be assigned to you right before christmas, and to you and megumi of all sorcerers. you’re both strong enough to the point of having some kind of importance in the jujutsu world. the higher ups wouldn’t send the two of you on some stupid mission for the sake of it unless they’re planning some sort of secret execution. but even then, satoru gojo should’ve known through their lies to not send you or megumi. unless…he wants you two dead…?

you shake your head and bite your nails. the sun begins to set and you realize that you’ve been out here for longer than you expected. you’re starting to feel a chill in your bones—you had argued petulantly with megumi earlier about not wanting to wear your jacket despite it being the dead of winter; “it’s gonna get in the way!”

you always seem to forget the the sun sets earlier in the winter. it’s stupid how bright all the lights are in shinjuku. there isn’t a square foot of anything that isn’t lit up with neon signs reading out the names of clubs and bars. you see couples and large groups of people walking along the streets.

it’s lonely, you realize. it would’ve been less lonely with megumi.

you make your way to the meeting spot with megumi. you both share a few small words before retiring for the night. megumi says he wants to go sightseeing, even though there’s really nothing much to see. he doesn’t return to the hotel room until late at night.

when he slips into the only bed that the room offers, you chalk it up to the slight alcohol you smell on his lips. it feels so natural that you don’t push him away even though you should. his body is warm and you fit so perfectly against his broad chest that you think it’ll be okay for you to be a little selfish tonight.

“g’night,” megumi mumbles in his sleep.

you smile and nuzzle closer.

it’s december 21st as you realize how late it is in the day. megumi is back on the couch. you feel a tinge of disappointment in the bottom of your stomach.

to no one’s surprise, the sun is barely peeking over the buildings when you’re finally back in the red-light district. you’re doing the last bit of cleanup, but there’s really nothing much for you to clean.

tomorrow, you’ll be heading to a shopping mall, so you suppose you should do your best to sniff out the rest of the curses littering the place unless you want to stay here an extra day. the day is, yet again, slow.

it’s nearing 8 PM and you're finally sure that you’ve gotten rid of all the curses in the general area. you’ve been done for quite a while now, but you just haven’t found the courage to let megumi know that you’re ready to go back to the hotel room. a little sightseeing on your end wouldn’t hurt, right?

“hi, pretty.” a gravelly voice, battered by cigarettes, whispers in your ear.

you jump in surprise. you need to remember not to get too far into your head. you should’ve felt his presence coming from a mile away. it’s a terrible habit and satoru has scolded you for years about it.

“hi,” you mutter, pushing past his larger frame.

the man isn’t as nicely built as the men you know (but then again, your friends are jujutsu sorcerers, so it’s kind of hard to beat that), but he still towers over you. he’s got a squad of rough-looking guys behind him, smirking down at you.

“why’s someone like you alone?” he says, shoving his arm to loop around your waist.

you roll your eyes, getting ready to punch the man square in the nose. will you get in trouble? probably yes. will it be a funny story to tell? also probably yes.

“don’t touch my wife.”

the group of men turn their heads along with you to see megumi. his expression is shrouded with a mixture of anger and frustration. you blink in confusion—megumi usually looks pretty pissed off, but this is the most angry you’ve seen him in a while. and ‘wife’? what’s up with that?

“oh, my bad,” the man chuckles. “didn’t know this pretty thing was married.”

“this ‘pretty thing’ wants you to let her go,” you say with an overly sweet smile. your teeth clench and you hiss, “right now.”

the guy scurries down the sidewalk with his buddies trailing along, making fun of him for hitting on a married woman. nobody mentions the lack of a ring on your finger. nobody mentions the lack of a relationship, either.

“wife?” you scowl. “we’re broken up.”

“guys tend to back up when they know a woman is married. it’s the only way you can really, uh, get them to go away around here.”

you glare at him. “and how would you know? you come here often with girls?”

“...no?” he blinks, unable to comprehend your sudden burst of jealousy. “i sometimes get missions around here, though. pretending to be married was the easiest way—”

“we aren’t, though. we’re not even in a relationship.” you seem to be throwing that into his face a lot more than you should. you can’t help it, though. you still feel a little bitter about not getting a real reason as to why megumi wanted to break up.

“i was trying to help you.” he’s calm and collected, as heard through his voice. he walks up to you and takes your freezing hand into his much warmer ones. “let’s go home.”

“i don’t want to,” you argue.

“stop being a brat,” he says, but there’s no bite to his words. “you’re cold and you’ve been out here all day. if i hadn’t stopped those guys, you probably would’ve beat them up pretty badly.”

“i’m not a fucking brat!” you try to retract your hand, but megumi’s grip only tightens.

“baby, stop,” the pet name rolls off his tongue with ease. megumi sighs softly and pulls you to his chest. “why are you so worked up, hm?”

from the way he speaks, you can tell that he already has an inkling. the breakup. cuddling last night. hugging you now. everything.

you don’t realize you’re crying until he gently wipes his thumb under your eye. he has the audacity to have an amused grin plastered on his stupidly pretty lips. your vision is blurry but if it hadn’t been, you would’ve thrown a punch.

“i’m sorry,” he whispers into your hair. “it’s all my fault.”

“it is,” you whimper pathetically. all the tears and the emotions you’ve been holding back bubble up to the surface.

“don’t be upset,” he almost pleads. “let’s go back, okay?”

the night ends with megumi on the couch. neither of you bring up the argument or the fact that he had slept in your bed with you last night. you two don’t talk about the usage of pet names, either.

when you open your eyes on december 22nd, you’re surprised to see that megumi has already headed out for the day. you click your tongue in annoyance—he’s always been good at avoiding his problems when it comes to dealing with them, especially problems involving his emotions. you already know where you’re supposed to be headed, so you suppose that it’s for the best that he’d left before you.

the shopping mall is a long line of vendors and stores among other things. the snow on the ground is fresh—it must’ve snowed late last night after you’d fallen asleep. it crunches underneath your beat-up sneakers with each step you take. you’re not shocked when you end up wandering aimlessly, dipping in and out of stores with no real urgency to finish your mission.

there’s nothing to do anyway.

you’ve killed about 3 curses total and it’s really starting to look like you’ve been sent out here for busy work. you really should’ve figured that out the first day of the mission when you had to practically beg the curses to come out and fight you.

you find yourself in the front of a jewelry store, eyeing a pretty bracelet that you know would look stunning around megumi’s wrist. it’s one of those bracelets that clasp tightly. there’s a thicker band in the center with pretty carvings that seem to resemble some sort of swirly heart. it’s pretty, you have to admit.

without much thought, you buy the gift.

the seller has to clear her throat to get your attention when you don’t answer her question. “um, would you like this to be wrapped?”

you nod absentmindedly. “oh, yes. sorry. please wrap it.”

she nods in return and proceeds to wrap the bracelet in a tiny box, adorning it with a festive bow. you ask her to change it out for a different color, explaining that it isn’t a christmas gift and instead, it’s for someone’s birthday. she offers you a warm smile before switching it with a muted blue ribbon.

you return to the hotel, having to take an expensive taxi. you don’t mind—the bracelet has already made a decent-sized dent in your wallet. why not spend an extra amount on getting home? it’s not like jujutsu sorcerers are paid poorly.

reality hits you when you finally get back to the hotel room. you want to punch yourself for being so stupid. did you really just buy a birthday present for your ex-boyfriend?

you’re thankful that megumi hasn’t arrived yet. he seems to be determined to avoid you for as long as he can. you can’t blame him, either. you did give him quite a hard time yesterday.

you toss the box on to the dresser and head to the bathroom to splash some much needed cold water on to your face. maybe that’ll wake you up enough to clear your mind. you’ve acted out once during this trip already and you’re not really looking forward to any other possible outbursts.

you rinse your face and pat yourself dry with one of the face towels provided to you by the hotel staff. you hang it over the rack again and tiredly make your way to your bed. you halt your movements when you see megumi standing by the dresser, admiring your gift.

he looks up at you in surprise with the smallest grin on his face. it’s so subtle that you would’ve missed it had you not been dating him for nearly two years.

“is this for me?”

“no,” you quickly deny. his face falls and you cough out, “um, i mean.. yeah. i-i didn’t… i… happy birthday.”

he brightens, lips pulling up into a real, genuine smile. “you remembered?”

“why wouldn’t i?” you blurt gently. you bite your inner cheek to stop yourself from saying anything more.

“i dunno.” his voice is distant and low, like he’s trying to hold back his tears. “i just…i didn’t think i was deserving of a gift from you. thank you. i like it.”

you stand awkwardly, shifting your weight onto your other foot. “yeah, well…”

“can you help me put it on?” he asks, sitting at the edge of your unmade bed.

you feel your body heat up. part of you screams for you to stop. you shouldn’t do that. it’s far too intimate and you two are broken up. you’ve never been good at making decisions, though, so you sit next to him and feel the mattress dip.

he gives you a grateful look, one that you willfully ignore, and gives you his wrist. you clasp the bracelet on, fingertips just barely grazing his skin. your heart skips a beat and you have to inhale sharply before pulling away.

“thank you,” he whispers.

december 23rd is a sore reminder that life goes on. you had half-expected something to spark between you and megumi. perhaps he’d beg for you back, or maybe with less wishful thinking, he’d give you his real reason as to why he doesn’t want you anymore.

“i don’t think we need to go anymore,” megumi says when you come out of the bathroom after freshening up.

“huh? why not?”

“there’s nothing out there.” megumi’s voice is flat.

“i know, but we’ll get in trouble if we…”

“gojo probably sent us out here for fun.”

your lips part. megumi turns to you with a slight frown.

“don’t you think so too?” he asks, but you know it isn’t a question he’s looking to find an answer to. “why would the higher-ups assign a mission like this to a special grade sorcerer and a grade 1 sorcerer? if they needed that much manpower, this mission would’ve been deadlier. instead, we’re playing cleanup crew.”

“yeah, but..” you trail off, unable to think of a statement to refute his words. “if we go back now, we’ll get chewed out.”

“it’s just a scolding. you’ll be fine.” megumi stands up and stretches his arms.

you watch him cautiously as he begins to fold his clothes and throw them into his duffel bag. he doesn’t say anything else, letting the silence overtake the room.

“...are we leaving, then?” you ask meekly, not bothering to hide the slight quiver in your voice.

he pauses slightly. “do you want to stay here until christmas? this mission is stupid and you know it. there’s no point.”

why is his tone so cold all of the sudden? it’s as if you two hadn’t shared a moment last night before bed. does your gift not mean anything to him now that he’s cleared his mind with a good rest?

your eyes flicker to his wrist. the gold glimmers underneath the light and you realize that megumi doesn’t seem to hate wearing it. so why is he acting so … unpleasant?

you feel a lump in your throat. it’s embarrassing how quickly he’s able to upset you from just the tone of his voice. even his body language, usually fluid and smooth, is rigid with your presence. you want to tell him that you’ve enjoyed your time with him. you want to shake his shoulders and tell him that if you two cut your mission short, you might not get another chance to be near him again.

“do you still care about me?” you whisper instead.

he stills completely. “what?”

“this entire time,” you begin shakily, “you’ve been nice to me. you treat me like you always do. you’re always hovering over me even though you pretend you aren’t! you obviously still care, megumi.”

his adam's apple bobs as swallows. a beat of silence. then two. then three.

“i do care,” he admits sorely.

“then why did you break up with me?” you blurt. there it is, the question you’ve been meaning to ask. you both had seen it coming.

“because…” megumi winces as if he’s the one getting hurt from the ordeal. “because you deserve someone that’s normal. someone that isn’t a sorcerer. i can’t give you that life.”

you feel your chest swarm with anger. why does he always think he needs to sabotage himself to make others happy? this is something you’ve tried working with him on, but it seems like old habits are hard to kill off, just like your habit of loving him.

“why the hell would you decide that for me? when did i ever say i wanted a normal life?” you snap. your hands clench at your sides.

“it’s too early for this,” he says, his voice straining as he finally musters up the strength to look at you in your eyes.

“tell me, megumi. if that’s the real reason, then that is the most pathetic excuse for a breakup i've ever heard.” your voice cracks and you gulp down the oncoming sob that’s threatening to explode from your throat.

he inhales slowly and makes his way to you, holding you close against his chest. you should push him away, but you would rather let him hug you. you know that you can’t fight him, anyway.

“you…once said you wanted a regular relationship. when you got hurt a few weeks ago, i realized i couldn’t be that for you,” he confesses lowly. “i knew that you’d never find it in yourself to leave, so i figured i should just let you go for your sa–”

“are you kidding me?” you shout incredulously. “i said that when i was fifteen, megumi! before i even knew what being in love was like!”

he flinches against you. “but i…”

“you and your damn savior complex! i don’t need to be in a regular, normal relationship! i don’t need any of that, megumi! i’m a sorcerer, I won't ever get to be normal! in fact, it’s even better that i’m with you because you at least know what this life is like, you idiot! you’re always ruining the good things in your life because you—”

he takes his fingers to grab your chin and he pulls you in for a kiss. if the kiss is a ploy to shut you up, you hate to admit that it’s working. his tongue slips into your mouth and you melt against him. your arms loop around his neck as you desperately drag him down closer to your body. his hand grip your waist while the other clings to the small of your back.

you whimper out of instinct and he pulls away, lips bruised and breathless. it’s been so long since you’ve tasted him and you frown, tiptoeing to capture his lips again. you need to savor him, to feel him lips against yours again.

“baby, wait.” his chest heaves as he looks down at you. “don’t…don’t do this to me.”

“do what?” you ask, an edge to your voice. did he just reject you? even after all that?

“w-we gotta report back to—”

“we’re supposed to leave tomorrow,” you interrupt.

the gears shift in his head. “fine, but—”

“i’m still really fucking mad, but i just need you to kiss me right now,” you whine impatiently.

all megumi does is laugh when he swoops down to press his lips against yours.

it’s december 24th when you two find yourselves in satoru’s office. steam is practically rising from your ears as you try to compose yourself in front of your former teacher.

“... i wanted a wedding invitation.” satoru shrugs.

“you set us up!” you whine angrily. “gojo, are you serious?! isn’t this a little immature?”

megumi stays silent, averting his gaze. he suddenly finds the succulents on satoru’s desk very interesting. he’s never noticed that they’re all nearly dead! how cool.

your eyes shoot daggers at megumi's silence.

"we aren't gonna get married any time soon..." megumi mutters when he feels your pointy glare on him.

satoru raises his hands in mock surrender. “you two can’t blame me! it worked out! you two are back together now, right?”

“but did you have to make us look like fools out there?” you groan.

“you should’ve figured it out on the first day that the mission was a sham!” satoru exclaims, offense taking over his features.

“but still!” you’re borderline hysterical at this point, unable to believe that your former teacher of all people had to set up an entire fake mission so that you and your ex could talk your feelings out. “we would’ve figured ourselves out sooner or later!”

megumi nods. he feels like he should at least give you a little support even if he’s embarrassed out of his mind.

“oh really?” satoru’s voice drips with sarcasm. “you guys should be thanking me—”

“you’re so not getting an invitation to our wedding!” you grumble.

“wha—hey! i’m the one that got you two back together! besides, i’m megumi’s guardian! you can’t just not invite me.”

“watch me!”

“megumi, tell her that she can’t do that—hey! where are you guys going? invite me, you rascals—why are you guys leaving? we aren’t done discussing this! megumi, don’t you dare take her side! she isn’t even your wife yet—don’t slam my door!”

[cherubfae]

Can you write Alastor x a Reader who works in radio? I don't think Alastor would let them on air since he doesn't seem the type to have a co host to me but maybe he'd have a intern who gets him coffee or a script writer.

Good To Be Back On the Air || Alastor x reader

tags: gn!sinner!reader (described to have horns but is an otherwise ambiguous demon!!), fluff, pre-established relationship, mentions of death, true crime, vox being vox lmao, jealous alastor, blood/bloody play (sorta??), Valentino is his own warning (threats of SA but nothing happens), mentions of injuries and being kidnapped (use of chloroform), implied VoxVal

a/n: I hope you enjoy!! This got a bit long!

Much like Alastor's life before he died, you were also quite the popular radio host for your time. Engaging, funny, and respectable. Your audience loved tuning in the early hours of the morning to you recanting the strange occurrences of the multiple killings of men from the late 1920s until that stream suddenly stopped during the year 1933 within New Orleans, Louisiana.

True crime has always been your passion, in life and in death. You certainly didn't think you'd end up in Hell for taking the life of someone trying to mug you on the street. A tall, masked man who saw to it that you'd never see the light of day again. A couple gunshot wounds to your abdomen proved effective as you rest against the wall, bleeding out onto the concrete with your soon-to-be killer lying facedown and dead mere feet from you. Killed by the very thing you sought to bring awareness towards. Quite poetic in a way.

As your gaze clouds and vision becomes unfocused, you look up at the stars. The ares around you was beautiful. It was one of your favorite parts of town, even your death wouldn't taint the beauty of the stretching oak and maple trees reaching tall towards the skies. The faint sound of smooth jazz playing from the record shop only a few paces away mixing with the swirling scent of coffee. At least you were dying in a place that you loved.

Now, here you are. In Hell. Doomed to total damnation for all fucking eternity. You'd been down here for a couple months, taking up residence near Cannibal Town, yet still unsure of what to make of all the carnage, debauchery, and depravity. You didn't think you belonged in Hell, even if you took the life that simultaneously extinguished your own.

"What's wrong, dearie? I've known you to be quiet but today you are exceptionally so." Mused Rosie, her gentle tone pulling you out of your reverie. You glanced down at your tea, sighing.

Leaning your cheek against your palm, you meet her charcoal-black eyes. Genuine concern etched onto her politely beautiful face. "I'm just feeling lost is all, I guess. I told you how I ended up in Hell, right?" Solemnly, Rosie nods.

Placing down her tea cup, Rosie wiggles towards you a bit. "Maybe you just need to find that old spark again! Something that roused you when you were alive! I have a friend who was a radio host, same as you. He may be able to have a job for you! Alastor is as charming as they come!" She grins, her mouth full of pointed teeth on full display.

Your brow quirks. "Alastor? The Radio Demon?" Rosie nods, excitedly. Alastor had been the prolific serial killer that haunted New Orleans back in the 1920s. It felt weird that the main man-- subject, you studied in life would soon be your acquaintance and potential boss in death. You'd heard many hushed tales about the aforementioned Radio Demon dealing in bartered souls and how he wreaked havoc against his fellow Overlords overnight. He definitely seemed like the kind of demon you didn't want to make light of, or worse, be on his bad side.

"He's a quirky one, for sure, but don't listen to all those rumors and gossip!" Rosie waves her hand with a laugh. "Alastor is still a gentleman and I'm sure he'd be delighted to offer you a job! Maybe you can intern for him? Besides! If he's ever rude to you, ol' Rosie will kick him in the shins! I'll wear my extra-pointy boots!" She giggles, holding your hands in hers. "You'll be in good hands, my dear! I'll let Alastor know you're coming right away!"

Staring down at the neatly folded paper in your hand, you double and triple check the address scrawled in neat calligraphy.

Hazbin Hotel.

Was it normal for a former serial killer slash radio host to become a hotelier that's trying to rehabilitate sinners?

With a shrug, you made your way up the incline taking note of the rather ominous looking radio tower jutting out from the far-right side of the hotel. A sign displaying the words on-air was currently unlit and it looked quite dark inside from what you could see from the ground. Perhaps the great Alastor wasn't at home.

Knocking on the front door, you're greeted by a tall, deer-like demon with two-toned hair and sharp yellow teeth dressed in a dapper red-pinstripe suit complete with a microphone-like cane. Scarlet eyes stare down at you like a lion watching a gazelle. You feel utterly and completely exposed, like he's peeling back your every layer, surveying you, before he even said a single word.

"Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel, my dear! Quite a pleasure! You must be the little darling that dear Rosie sent, yes?" Alastor places his hand on your lower back, guiding you past the hotel's front doors and into the welcoming comfort of the establishment's front lobby and reception area. "This is a place where wayward sinners such as yourself can find peace and be led on the path of redemption to ascend to Heaven by Hell's very own princess, Charlie Morningstar!"

On queue, a blonde-haired girl sprints up to you squealing and flailing her arms a bit. She takes her hands in yours and offers you a big, delighted smile. You like her immediately. "Oh, my gosh! Welcome, welcome to Hazbin Hotel! I see you've met our gracious host Alastor! He's mentioned that you're going to be interning for him-- how exciting! We are so thankful to have you!"

To think, all those months ago had been the start of your journey with your friends. You had felt so out of place in Hell, in your new skin, uncomfortable with the weight of sharp horns protruding your skin and the strength of your clawed hands. You were quite pleasantly surprised at what you could withstand now as a demon.

With the attention directed back at him, Alastor grins with a whine of radio static. It was the equivalent of a lazy smirk with his half-lidded scarlet eyes taking you in one more, searching for any potential risks you may pose though you didn't intend any of that sort. You felt your skin begin to heat the longer his gaze remained on you, and hesitantly break the eye contact with the demon in favor of Charlie, who has been excitedly talking about all of the hotel's features.

"I brought your coffee, sir." Alastor hums out a soft 'thank you' yet continues to fiddle with the buttons and tracks on his console, not raising his head to look at you. "Rosie gave me some venison for you. She said aid it's your favorite when it's fresh and raw." Placing Alastor's simple black coffee on a small side table, you revere your boss with a fond expression. Rosie had been truthful she said he was the charming sort. There certainly was an air of respectability about him that men lacked from your time.

"Our dear Rosie is certainly a clever one, and she is quite correct. There is no better way to enjoy meat than having it served fresh. Preferably off the bone but this will do." Alastor tilts his head, turning to the side to regale you from the corner of his eyes. Those damn beautiful scarlet gems. "Something the matter, my dear?" Alastor's voice is a soft crackle.

Stumbling in surprise, you wrack your brain for a plausible answer. When you find none, you shake your head from side to side cursing the heat that sets your cheeks ablaze.

Alastor smirks, standing from his stool and approaches you. He grasps your chin between his thumb and forefinger; his claw lightly dragging across your lower lip. Blood beads up following the path his claw created. He swipes it up, licking it in front of you.

"Tasty," Alastor grins, leaning down and bumping his nose into yours. "As I said, meat is best when fresh." He squeezes your cheek lightly, chuckling at the exudes into his palm. "If I wasn't certain, I'd say you have a little crush on me, hmm?" He turns his back to you, those damned scarlet eyes that see straight through your soul strike you where you stand. "That'll be all now, dearest. Thank you for your time and your blood."

You couldn't get out of there fast enough. You weren't afraid of him, no, you were more scared of kissing him now more than ever. A fantasy of both of you pressed tight to one another with mouths soaked in blood would be all you can think of for hours.

Whatever was going on between you and Alastor continued on much like a game of cat and mouse only he seemed to be going out of his way more and more to fluster you, saying things that would catch you off guard.

"I don't think of myself as much of a man who desires a relationship beyond friends and family, but cohabitating with you as lifelong partners does sound desirable."

"Hmm, tell me. Are your horns sensitive?" His breath ghosts then one day, causing you to shriek and cover them. You pout, turning your head to glare at him. Alastor's grin only seemed to stretch further. "Only teasing, darling, no need to get so uppity."

It was a slow evening, Alastor had sent you off on another errand. There was a sense of apprehension worrying his brow, glancing at the analog clock. The hour hand strikes the 3am mark. He'd sent you off almost an hour and a half ago, so where were you?

Interference crackles onto his radio, Alastor hissing as the feedback screeches. With ears pinned back, his eyes narrowed further when a familiar voice crosses.

"Ugh, I will never understand why thr fuck you use this shit, Alastor." Groaned Vox. "Anyway, I got your cute assistant here. You should see them, shaking like a leaf." The radio glitches in tune with Vox's laughter. "Valentino here has been itching for a new plaything, doesn't that sound good, sweetheart? Maybe we can broadcast that for all of Hell to see, right Al--"

Smash. Alastor's fist smashes through the radio cutting off Vox's boastful rant.

On the other side of the city, Vox blinks in confusion. "I lost the radio signal? Oh, fuck, God this shit is so old." He sighs, leaning back in his chair. Spinning around, he gives you a wry smirk. "Guess we'll see if the Great Alastor comes to rescue his lost pup, hmm?"

Glowering at him, left bound and gagged, sitting on the cold, hard floor. Valentino gives a harsh tug on your hair, your teeth sinking into the cotton gag shoved in your mouth, a muffled grunt leaving you.

An electric feeling in the air has your hair rising. Vox and Valentino share a confused look. A large fist blasts inside of the V Tower, claws sharp as they did through the metal like it was butter.

"Oh, fuck, it's Alastor!" Vox shrieks, scrambling to get away from the broken window. A second fist smashes through sending Vox into the opposing wall with a deep thud. Valentino runs to his friend's aid, helping him up.

"Well, this is what you wanted, honey."

Vox groans in protest. "I know."

Green electricity crackles, a dark shadow pooling into the room and with a shriek, manifests into Alastor.

Paying the two no mind, Alastor crosses the threshold and kneels down before you. His clawed fingers are gentle as he removes the gag around your bruised mouth. "Sorry it took me so long, mon cour." A tentacle bursts through his back, spiraling directly into Vox and Valentino, sending the two into the neighboring room with a loud crash.

Scooping you into his arms, Alastor calmly walks through to the next room, his hand cupping the back of your head. "Rest." He regards the other two males with a snarling crackle.

"If I didn't have more important matters to attend to, I would eviscerate you two gents. Touch what is mine again and I'll broadcast your fucking screams all over Hell." Alastor hums, exiting V Tower.

"Holy shit! Did you see?? He finally sees me as his rival!" Vox cheers, tossing both arms into the air in celebration.

"This may sting, but I trust that you can handle it." Alastor says, rubbing off the blood from your brow with a cotton ball doused in isopropyl alcohol. Wincing softly, you take the moment to look at him closely. You'd never seen Alastor so disheveled. Even with dealing with enemies, he was always composed. But, tonight, he had been anything but the picture of composure. He looked positively feral.

Valentino sighs, "Honey, you need psychiatric help."

"Is there something about my face you find interesting, dearest?"

Squeaking, your face flushes, shaking your arms frantically. Gasping you quickly place a hand to your ribs. Guess they really did fracture something when they knocked you out.

Alastor stills your hands with his own. "Easy now, pet. You're in no state to be moving around like an interpretive mime. I was only teasing you, my dearest. You had me worried tonight."

Hanging your head low, you turn your gaze away. "I'm sorry, Alastor. I don't know how they got the drop on me. I was walking home and smelled something odd--," you gasped in realization. "Chloroform. It had to be."

Alastor growled tensely at that. He tied the bandage around your arm and with a snap of his fingers the medical kit disappeared and a serving tray appeared carrying a kettle full of hot chocolate and a staple 1920s dessert: pound cake. This one was drizzled with a bitter chocolate and filled with strawberries.

Alastor takes your hand and gently kisses your knuckles. "Care to join me for a treat?" His tone was a touch more gentle than it had been a heartbeat ago. You smile, nodding eagerly. He grins and begins to cut the cake, serving you first. "One more thing."

|| I DON'T GIVE PERMISSION FOR MY WORKS TO BE REPOSTED, RESHARED, OR EDITED. TUMBLR IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT AND THE ONLY PLACE WHERE I POST MY WRITING. ALL CHARACTERS BELONG TO THEIR RIGHTFUL OWNERS, THE STORY BELONGS TO ME. || CHERUBFAE © 2024

Softly, Alastor kisses your cheek. It was the lightest of touches and over as soon as it happened. He busies himself by pouring two mugs of steaming hot chocolate, the apples of his cheeks were a rosy hue.

[normansnt]

For old times sake

Huskerdust x platonic!male!Overlord reader

Warnings: none I think

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Hey Husk?" Called Angel as Husk was laying oh his chest fluff on the couch cuddling.

"Hmmm" answered Husk way too comfy to get actual words out.

"How come I know so little of the time you were an overlord" Asked Angel genuinely interested. Husk knew most of Angels past, however Angel barely knew anything, especially of the time he was an overlord at a casino. Hell he didn't even know which casino it was.

Husk froze when he registered the question.

"Well...*sigh* I dont like talking about it but I trust you, so you ready to go?" Said Husk while he stood up and offered his hand to his lover.

"Where we goin'?" Asked angel smiling slightly.

"To where I was most powerful" answered Husk seriously while he and Angel walked out hand in hand.

When Angel looked at the, nicely speaking, fucking massive casino. It was the most known casino in all of hell.

"Husk, THIS is the casino you owned??" Asked Angel.

"Yup" answered that cat shortly.

"I mean are you fucking kidding me? Honey thats the biggest casino in all of hell even the Vees look at it as something to be respected and feared."

"Well it wasn't that know when it was mine, the new owner did a good job." Husk's face was emotionless as they walked in and up some stairs.

"Is...the owner the new overlord who is the demon of gambling?" Asked Angel softly, not sure how his boyfriend will react.

"He is" still emotionless Angel could not figure out how his boyfriend felt right now.

At the end of the staircase was a hall where on the other side was a door that reached the ceiling. Two guards stood outside.

"Husk should we be here?" Asked Angel worried.

Husk grasped his hand and started walking towards the door calmly.

The guards opened the door without any questions.

That surprised Angel.

As they walked they saw a gorgeous office. It looked like an office from the Victorian period just a tad bit more modern. By the desk sat a young man who was reading over some papers in his hands. You.

Angel had a hard time believing the owner of the casino was this young but the way you were dressed gave it away. You wore a black turtleneck with matching suit pants and a grey trench coat over it.

When you looked up you had a bored expression on your face.

"Husk" You said without any emotions behind your voice.

"(Y/N)"

You stood up from your chair and walked over to the cat. Angel got more nervous by the second.

All of a sudden you and Husk started smiling and you two shook hands. For Angels surprise however it was not a formal handshake. It was one that shows deep trust.

"Husk, old buddy, I haven't seen you in ages hows death?" All of a sudden you had a lively voice and smiled big at Husk.

"Ohhh Is that your boyfriend, damn how did you pull him? Is he holding you hostage?"

You asked while looking at Angel still smiling.

Husk kicked you in the shin since you were taller than him and you cried out while holding your shin.

"Fuck Husk I was joking he is just really pretty, you know, unlike you." You said still holding your shin while Husk smirked, took Angels hand and led him over to the couch that was in your office. The spider looking at you concerned.

"Well, fuck you (Y/N)" said Husk smirking and pouring himself and Angel a drink from your drink cabinet.

"Yeah, yeah whatever old timer, how can I help you guys?"

"How are you guys on such a good terms, didn't you take his power?" Angel blurted out as the confusion got the best of him.

You sat down in your chair and put your elbows on the desk pouring yourself a drink.

"Oh, I have nothing to do with him loosing power that was all good 'ol Alastor I juts got to power after he left, hell he thought me half the shit I know."

"Ahh thats bullshit you were always smarter than me"

"Well I am now thats for sure" you smirked at the cat.

"Don't get too cocky now kid." He looked at you smirking back.

"Oh, how rude of me I'm sorry and you are?" You said looking at Angel.

"I'm Angel-"

"No, I don't care for your whore name I asked for your name, everyone Important to Husk is important to me and I'm happy that he finally found someone, however impossible that sounds."

"And who are you dating (Y/N)?"

Asked back Husk with a cocky smirk.

"Shut the fuck up let your boyfriend introduce himself." You said a bit red in the face.

"Just call me Anthony" he answered with a soft smile. He could barely believe it. You owned a casino a place which depends on sucking money out of people and you are an overlord. Just how in the flying fuck were you this nice?

"Alright Anthony, Husk what do I owe the pleasure of your visit."

"Well...my boyfriend wanted to know about my past as an overlord and since you were my apprentice who better to tell him than you."

"I mean apprentice is a strong word, but yeah we beat a lot of ass by those tables that's for sure. It was due to my brains and your experience." You smiled at those memories.

"Your boyfriend here was just as insufferable as he is now so" you smiled

"Watch it kid give your elders some respect" chuckled Husk. You laughed at that.

"Yeah, talking about elders how's the red radio?" You asked.

"Ehh the same jerk he always was."

"Yeah, you know he was here recently? Wanted my soul too. Too bad I won"

"I'm not surprised kid, I knew you were going to be big with that brain of yours, you know this guy has every kind of card deck memorized that exists." Pointed at you Husk.

"Wow, I wouldn't want to play a game against you thats for sure." Said Angel astonished.

"All right now, all right now, you guys are here to talk about Husk's past not me." You chuckled with a small blush.

"I'm glad to see you again Husk" you said sincerely.

"Yeah Its nice to be back but I ain't gonna play with you no more that's for sure"

"I know I know I wont ask that of you, im happy that I see you again is all, so I rase a toast, for old times sake" you said while raising your glass.

"For old times sake" answered Husk and put his glass up.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hellooo~

This is just something I wrote a long time ago but forgot to post but honestly I love it.

I think you guys can guess I'm a huge Huskerdust shipper😭

Anyways I hope yall liked it💗

[notbecauseofvictories]

any advice for someone who's very bad at keeping friendships? people just up and vanish despite my best efforts, and I don't really know how to meet anyone else (dating apps are the worst/the pandemic ate my education/I work remote). late 20s are basically for feeling unlovable and ruined, I suppose.

Maintaining friendships---maintaining all relationships, particularly with people inconveniently not in the same apartment or office building---is hard. It just is. I've also found there's a steady attrition of freely-available friendship in your late twenties, as people move out of their crowded apartments, shack up, start having children and/or climbing the ladder into jobs that demand more of their attention and energy.

It is tough to be in your late 20s. You realize that you've taken for granted how full the world felt, with people and potential. You're not quite prepared for when you find yourself alone, and someone starts locking doors that you thought would be open forever.

Unfortunately, there is no easy fix to this. The only fix is: you are going to have to pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and do it all again. And again. And again.

"It" can take a lot of different forms. I know "join a group" is the most trite, annoying advice I can give but---do it. Find a group that you think you might be interested in joining, and join. Book club, running club, esoteric interest of your choice club; go on MeetUp and see what's in your area, volunteer for stuff. Ignore (for weeks, if not months) the fact that you feel awkward and out of place, and make it a commitment.

And then, when you've been part of a group---well, it's not so weird to ask if Lisa wants to go to a street festival with you. Not if you've packed lunches for the homeless with Lisa or laughed about a particular book with Lisa or been running alongside Lisa as you train for the upcoming 5k.

(Maybe Lisa will politely decline. Maybe Lisa will come to the street festival, but then has excuses for the next thing, and the next; she's too busy to make a good friend right now. And so---you will pick yourself up. You will do it all again.)

Or you can reach out to those people you've fallen out of touch with. "Hey, James, if you're in town let's grab lunch!" sounds very fake but it's not if you genuinely want to grab lunch with James. Ask Aiden if they're doing anything on Thursday, and would they like to come to bar trivia with you? If they're not in the same city, find some time for calls, or zoom---or hell, go old-fashioned and write letters.

If those ideas sound labor- and time-intensive, hard in the way that making yourself vulnerable always is......yes.

As I said, there's no easy route to this. Relationships take effort and someone has to go first; someone has to toss the ball and hope another human catches it. You cannot guarantee the catch, that's out of your power, so the only way to find people is to keep lobbing balls at everybody's heads and hope they have good reflexes.

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

pt XVI good omens season 2 (still not traumatic) episode 3 EDINBURGH

HELLO IT'S ME IT'S THE OFFICIAL GOOD OMENS MASCOT WHY DO I STILL KEEP INTRODUCING MYSELF IDK. If you don't know who I am, thank God and Satan for their mercy and flee. Also, the day after I post this, I'll be watching the last three episodes on livestream for the first time so. You know. I'm hyped on the energy of this being my last day not enveloped in tears. Take the summary:

Before the episode starts, someone asks why Crowley said in the last episode that Aziraphale couldn't fall because look at him, all angelic when Crowley looked the same as starmaker. I reply that "Crowley thinks he deserved it, he sees Azi as something beautiful and untouched while he probably sees himself as idk marked in some way so god kicked him down."

I am told that I am learning too fast to weaponise the narrative to induce angst. So then I say oh, I go too fast for you. Tears ensue.

The episode begins! Everyone shrieks about Edinburgh, David Tennant, how it is their favourite episode, and SCOTTISH CROWLEY.

We open with lesbians being gay, and then Muriel enters as Inspector Constable! They are very sweet and very determined to do their job right, and they are adopted by Crowley and Aziraphale just like Jim.

Crowley sits on Aziraphale's chair's arm. The maggots all swoon.

Fine, I also swooned.

Aziraphale gaslight-gatekeep-girlboss-mansplain-manipulate-manwhores his way into getting Crowley to give him the Bentley keys (BOUNDARIES. BOUNDARIES.).

WHAT PLENTY OF USE DO BOTH OF YOU GET OUT OF THE BOOKSHOP?

The really ineffable plan is whatever the fuck was happening in Aziraphale's brain when he somehow went from London to Edinburgh via Loch Ness (check the map) and then proceeded to disguise himself as a detective who pretends to be a journalist.

Crowley slays in sleeve garters and a cardigan keeping house in the bookshop meanwhile, does not sell books, instead cleans with Jimbriel and periodically yeets book stacks into corners when distracted.

Aziraphale reads his old diary entries about Crowley, a (6000+) 13 year old with a crush.

MINISODE MINISODE. They are in Edinburgh during the mid 1800s. Victorian outfits, check. Scottish Crowley, check. Capitalist Karen Aziraphale, che-wait what.

Huh. Well. There's a wee bit of body snatchin' going on, to sell to doctors for medical research because there aren't enough murderers, and to make enough money to survive.

Aziraphale channels his inner capitalist judgemental Karen and ruins that plan, come on Aziraphale you have religious trauma but you're better than this, and long story short, Wee Morag dies after Aziraphale realises his error, her friend Elspeth has to sell her corpse for pennies, and is about to commit suicide with laudanum. Azi, oh god. I'm glad you underwent character development at least.

NOW CROWLEY HERE SLAYS. I KNOW THIS IS AZIRAPHALE'S PERSPECTIVE AND IS BIASED. BUT WITH THIS POV, CROWLEY SLAYS.

He calmly educates Aziraphale about how his whole "the poor have more opportunities and you shouldn't give them money or they'll lose the virtue of poverty" is absolute bullshit, and he does this understanding Aziraphale's situation and not losing his temper.

The framing. The framing of the shot when they see Wee Morag and Elspeth sitting down on a step and explaining their situation. Aziraphale stands above, bustling with righteousness, and judges them. Crowley sits down. He sits down next to them, rather than taking the high ground. He meets them where they are and empathises. It is the fact that he is fallen and damned that makes him behave really divine and sorry I wrote a whole hymn on him have it I'll stop rambling just know I love him.

I think his amusement is a facade so hell won't think he's genuinely being good. I think he's morally grey and incredibly brave and kind.

When Elspeth is bouta kill herself with the laudanum, Crowley grabs it and drinks it himself, and grows tiny and then huge, absolutely high off his head. David Tennant takes the opportunity to travel Scotland from east to west in terms of accent variety.

He gives us the good message of NO DYIN'. NO MORE DYIN'. IT'S NOT ON. And then forces Aziraphale (who doesn't want to ruin her virtuous poverty) to give the girl all the guineas he has in his pocket, and tells her to go off and start a farm or something. BUT NOT JUST PRETENDY GOOD, BE PROPERLY GOOD.

He then gets pulled into hell. To be punished for this. Aziraphale is frightened and heartbroken for him, looking around desperately, and we find out that Crowley didn't meet him for a while after. And later he wanted holy water. To protect himself? He got punished by hell. For how long? The whole month in between the incident and the diary entry? There can't be anyone better at punishment and cruelty than hell.

Sorry I'm just screaming here.

Never mind fuck I started this summary really happy and bouncy and listening to a dance playlist. Dionysus by BTS and Italian pop is still playing and now I'm crying.

Is this the natural progression. Fuck I'm crying. Sorry guys something else happens with Aziraphale politely talking to a phone and Crowley smiling really beautifully while unsuccessfully trying to manipulate two lesbians into a relationship and something about a visit I don't care everyone's being morally dubious as usual and then lovely Scottish music outro I CAN'T FUCKING ELABORATE I'M SITTING HERE CRYING OVER CROWLEY.

right summary done, time to go sob, lmao i thought i wouldn't cry today over good omens HAHAHAHA still not traumatic eh HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

[felinefractious]

Ok so before I followed your blog I used to be judgemental of people who bought from breeders. But now I understand why it's fine and good. Here's something I'm wondering now: should I also stop being judgemental of people who buy breeds like Lyoki that have unavoidable health issues that cannot be bred out? I respect your opinion and think you do a good job explaining things, so I would genuinely like to hear your thoughts on this so I can learn more from you. Hope this is ok to ask

You might be asking the wrong person because I’m a hater 😂

But it really depends on the person and the circumstances, in my opinion.

For example we have a client with a Scottish Fold who later found out about the issues tied to the breed, she feels bad and doesn’t intend to get another one after he passes and stays on top of his care even though he isn’t showing any clinical symptoms yet. I don’t judge her, she made a mistake and her cat is lucky to be in the care of someone who knows what to look for and provide necessary care.

But we also have another client with a Scottish Fold who’s less than a year old and already displaying orthopedic issues… and she still got another one. I don’t know if she hasn’t researched the breed or if she has and just doesn’t care… but yeah, I judge her. Irritates the Hell outta me.

Another example is a client with an Exotic which required surgery to open up his nares and displays chronic problems associated with his facial structure… and she still got another one, from the same breeder at that. So yeah, I judge her. She also went out of state to have these cats declawed so an awful person all around.

But you have to be mindful because people often won’t respond well if you accuse them of having an animal or supporting a breed that unavoidably suffers. They love animals and they love their pet so it’s a truth they’ll resist because it contradicts the truth they thought they knew, kind of similar to how outdoor cat owners may dig their heels in because it’s a hard pill to swallow that they were neglecting a pet they loved.

So I don’t recommend going around trying to “educate” owners of these breeds because it’s more lilely to be taken as a personal attack and not be constructive, not to mention that you often don’t know someone’s circumstances.

Maybe they weren’t aware but are now and don’t plan to get another one, or maybe their cats was adopted, or maybe they inherited the cat from a deceased relative, etc.

I do judge the Hell out of breeders of these breeds, though. You’re deliberately producing animals with known issues, that’s not okay and you can take your denial of their poor health and shove it up your ass.

[fastcardotmp3]

Eddie Munson does do the whole rock star thing, but it doesn't quite go the way it did in the daydreams of a sixteen-year-old kid trying to stay awake in school.

He leaves Hawkins after the world doesn't end, gets himself out there, takes all the hurt and fear and fucked up shit and puts it into a handful of good enough songs to get himself signed.

It's not quite the genre he grew up with, not quite something any of his idols might have played, but only because it is so entirely Eddie, so influenced by where he's been and what he's seen that it kind of doesn't fit one specific influence.

It's new and it's good, is the point. Really good. And he skyrockets fast enough to give himself the spins.

He's recognizable and then he's famous and then he's too famous and too young to know what to do with it and too far from home and everyone he loves to really cope with it and it's just.

Eddie isn't built for it. Eddie hasn't even processed the fact that he was maybe supposed to die in that place, or the fact that he did watch people better than him actually die, but he's out here shooting to the top of the charts and being called the next big thing and it's too much.

It's just enough, at the end of it all, for him to self-sabotage his way out of being more than a one-hit wonder.

One big hit, a contract broken by the guys at the top with the fancy lawyers because Eddie has become the too much thing, just like always, and it's over as quick as it started.

He disappears, becomes one of those whatever happened to him? he was supposed to be the next big thing? stories that travel by word of mouth and then fade with the shift in conversation.

So what does happen to Eddie Munson?

He falls hard, he hits rock bottom, he crawls his way home to an uncle who deserved for Eddie to really make it, make him proud, have him financially set for life and get him into a real house with two stories and a garage to park the truck in, maybe even a yard for a dog.

He spirals and isolates and falls apart and stops letting himself make music at all and makes some personal choices that will probably have lasting effects on him for the rest of his life and then somewhere along the line a girl with hair like tangerines and terrible aim manages to smack him with her cane and says if I learned to walk again, so can you, asshole.

There are people in his life again after that, a reason to get out of bed and realize that he can make Wayne proud in more ways than the one he'd already fucked straight to hell.

Eddie watches a bunch of kids graduate high school and then he packs up and chases down some people who pulled him out of hell once before up in Chicago, crashes on Steve and Robin's couch until he gets himself a job painting houses and they can afford three bedrooms instead of just the two.

He cuts his hair, not short but shorter, and he gets more tattoos and itches for the guitar that sits in a case under his bed, ignores it. Itches for the pen in his hand, ignores that too.

He's still barely past his mid-20s and he still has some fucking around left to get out of his system, some finding out to accomplish doubly so, but he learns as he goes no matter whether it's forwards or backwards.

He falls in love and falls out of it, gets fired from jobs and tracks down new ones, gets into fights with his friends because they're all a little fucked up and codependent and weird but makes up with them for the same reasons.

The thing with Steve happens slowly, going from tolerating each other for the sake of knowing they'll always be on the same team to genuinely liking each other to discovering a care between the two of them that's a bit too strong to be normal about even if it still takes them a half-dozen so-called turning points to really name it and take it and keep it.

Eddie's 33 when they buy a condo together on the outskirts of Chicago two weeks after they fall into bed with each other for the first time, and he's over a decade on from being a kid who rose to the top too fast but it doesn't feel dissimilar, that sensation of a too-good thing that's bound to go wrong.

Only this time he doesn't try to sabotage it, tries the opposite, tries to hold it tightly in ways that would probably be too tight for anyone other than Steve Harrington with all his deeply intense feelings and inability to love at anything other than an eleven.

It's in the move that Steve finds a box of notebooks, snoops because it's who he is, and finds years worth of words that never made it past the tip of a pen but did, eventually, make it that far.

And it's not an easy thing, convincing Eddie that they're words worth sharing, because Eddie doesn't want it to be an easy thing. He can't let kind words shoved into his orbit by a beautiful man be enough to make it feel worth it, can't see a world where sharing his art doesn't end in another great big self-induced mess that he can't let happen when he's finally found something good.

He doesn't want to go on tour and get screamed at on stage and, besides, he's pretty sure the rest of the world doesn't want to scream for him anymore either, but then Steve has to go and remind him--

"You don't have to be the face of it. You can just be the words; you are so fucking good at being the words, Ed."

Which still isn't quite enough to be convincing, but it's a start in a solid six months of the words coming easier now that he has someone to share them with, someone to listen as Eddie plucks away at a guitar that sits out in the open now, free of dust.

It stops feeling like something shameful to hide, his music, and the thing is? It doesn't feel how it did back then either.

It's not an escape or a purge of violent energy or a distraction from everything he didn't know how to think about. Sure, it takes all of that into consideration because it takes the whole of Eddie into consideration, but more than anything it's just fun.

Like he's thirteen and still learning how to play the guitar, like it's just a hobby that never has to go anywhere, like it's just art that maybe deserves to be heard.

Everyone pitches in on ideas when they find out he's trying to come up with a pseudonym, and it's goofy and supportive and kind of the final straw in reaching out to old, burned bridges to see about any new artists looking for equally new tunes.

The first time Eddie and Steve catch familiar lyrics being sung by a new hotshot band on the radio, Eddie cries not because he's jealous or disappointed, but because it feels right.

He doesn't like being up in front of the crowds, had only ever walked across tables and made himself big and scary and loud out of self preservation, would always rather his biggest performances be for the people he knows really care.. Besides, after everything he's survived he's learned, albeit slowly, that he really likes the freedom of the quiet.

This way he still gets to say what he has to say, gets to throw his hat into the ring of an artform that he loves without selling his soul to a machine that tried to eat him alive (trust him. he knows what that feels like.)

Of course, someone is going to put 2 and 2 together eventually, the industry isn't as big as it looks and pseudonyms only pull so much weight when you went out in such a spectacularly messy and memorable fashion, but Eddie's got his condo in Chicago.

He's got the guy he shares it with in his bed.

He's got two cats and a windowsill full of plants he's going to keep alive this time, Steve, just you watch.

He's got his uncle settled in Indy these days, a small place with a small yard.

He's got music, too. Turns out even his own tendency to self-destruct couldn't take that away, huh?

It's what got him out of hell alive, after all.

[sanji-piss-hell]

ZOSAN FIC REC

Here is some of my fave zosan fics. Some of these I read years ago and so I don't fully remember what theyre about but they we're good enough that I still have strong emotional attachments when I see the name. Most of them are things I've read recently. Literally all I do all day is homework and have an app tts fanfics to me like an audio book so there's quite a few of recs here. I am not the best at summeries but just trust me bro these are GOOD SHIT. I only provide the best. What I consider a good fic: - Takes place in the one piece world (I don't like modern aus) - Characters stay in character or if they do have changes from their canon portrayal there is a justifiable reason from within the story. - Solid story telling and arcs (even the shorter fics) - The Zosan dynamic is kept mostly how it is in canon they fight and bicker. (I know some like when they're soft with eachother like a loving married couple. You won't find much of that here) - Some of these have pervy sanji, que nose bleeds and ogling. With that out of the way here's the list!! Now to my fave zosan fic of all time and ironically enough the only fic taking place in a modern setting: Life is fine series. TW: Drug abuse, heavy angst, depression I have reread this twice and forced a friend to read it too. It is so amazing not just for the zosan but for the genuinely good story telling. You follow zoro reeling from his sudden loss of relationship with Sanji and falling down a...Well uh, path. It's fucked it's dark it's depressing and its fucking riviting. Alot of the time reading this you're just like WHY DID SANJI LEAVE HIM WHAT IS GOING ON??? Honestly I need to reread this again. Onto softer fics to heal your heart after that one: Honor in limits, his strengths in weakness By Hawksbrood

“Fucking hell cook, what happened to you?” Zoro demanded, voice low so as not to disturb the others sleeping nearby.

Sanji rolled his eyes. “What do you think? I told you we got in a fight earlier.”

“Not that, your fucking feet!”

The cook snarled at that, crushing his cigarette in his teeth. “What the fuck do you mean, my feet? They’re just feet!”

Zoro’s eyes widened, looking at the bruised flesh before him. This wasn’t that.

This was just so good and cute. I appreciate watching zoro appreciate sanji. They take care of eachother but in a way where theyre both still them yeah know? I appreciate how sanji is written letting himself be vulnerable but understanding that he's always gonna be crass cause it's just a part of who he is.

come on, come on (turn a little faster) by donutsandcoffee

The one where everyone thinks they’re dating, Sanji is oblivious, and Zoro takes everything in stride.

Sometimes a love story can go in reverse.

I reread this one recently and it's just soft and sweet. I like watching sanji flounder around. The gay panic is great.

a complete guide to falling in love by ThousandSunny Sanji was trained in the Bridal Arts; this does not go unnoticed by the rest of his crew. I read this like 3 years ago and I dont remember much but I do remember loving it!

Part Timer By 8ball Sanji really, really doesn't want to give Zoro a job at his restaurant. Zoro doesn't really even want to work there in the first place, but, well, there’s this thing with Sanji, and this thing with feelings and the whole thing is pretty damn stupid all together. Zeff just wants grandkids. He’s too old for this bullshit anyways. I am sure everyone knows 8ball very well they're like zosan famous but still just in case this one is really fucking good. Also read this 3 years ago so I don't remember much but I consider this a zosan classic. Onto the rated R Grand Buffet by asyndese Drunk fic!! If there was one thing Zoro knew, it was that you could always trust Sanji's inclinations to do a beautiful 180 as soon as he was drunk. Luckily, Zoro was more than equipped to handle it. I spent. 30 minutes. Trying to find this fic again because that's how much I loved it. It altered my brain chemistry. Sanji getting a nose job during sex is just. aaaaaaaaa. Read it. Cannot suggest enough. Horrors not yet known by Trixree

Sanji doesn’t know how he didn’t notice it before, is the thing. Of all the times he has seen Zoro shirtless (in battle, mostly) he just… never noticed. The problem is, once he has noticed, Sanji can’t seem to stop noticing. And neither can anyone else.

In which Zoro has a nipple piercing and Sanji has a Problem.

I recently reread this and the first time I read it I didn't really get the whole gender sanji shit. Now though???? Yeah another fic that rewired my brain chemistry. This fic opened doors for me it exposed me to a new world. Also sanji gay panic is in here and I live for that. It can be pretty raunchy (love that too) Three rounds with a tiger by KobochaKitsune Another drunk Fic!! also in modern times damn maybe I lied sdklfj

Liquid courage, drunken decisions, terrible euphemisms, and texts from last night, or: how to think entirely with the booze (and your dick) for once.

Or: By the time Sanji got to the party, everyone was already drunk.

I read this 3 years ago (theres a trend going on can you tell??) It also rewired my brain chemistry (from this point on just assume all of these nsfw fics rewired my brain chemistry each of these opened doors for me. This one opened the doors to bottom zoro.) Fucking 20k words of just pwp. I dont even know how the author did that bro like damn. Nature of things by stark_black Tw: Sex work and prostitutes When the Sunny docks, Sanji and Zoro sometimes seek out relief in some not so savory places. After crossing paths in town on more than one occasion, the two find they have a lot more in common than they would like to admit. I hunted this down for like fucking hours a couple of weeks ago because it was that good. Stark_Black has a fucking library worth of zosan fics this one is a classic to me. But if you want more content check out his other fics I think they have like over 100 zosan its kinda insane. Coregasm by Yakarmi

Sanji discovers that sometimes, Zoro has orgasms while he lifts.

-----

“You…” Sanji trailed off, gaze turning down as he licked his lips. Pink tongue darting out nervously. “You orgasm when you exercise?”

Zoro clenched his jaw. Shrugged. Trying to act nonchalant.

“Sometimes.”

Sanji’s eye went wide, and like his mouth had suddenly been liberated from his brain, blurted out, “that’s so fucking hot,” before clamping his hands over his mouth. His cigarette fell from his mouth, bouncing soundlessly on the ground.

Bro bestie, the way this put me on nose bleed Sanji. Perv sanji. I need that gif thats like mmm cause man this is good. Ending this fic rec with a BANG we have

Contingencies and Congruencies by PeaceSignDisasterBi

Somewhere between finishing the bottles of alcohol and mugs of beer, the crew comes together to create a contingency plan for something that may-or-may-not-happen during their time on the Grand Line and beyond. Usopp thinks it's more likely than bumping into zombies, Zoro wants to stay out of this, Sanji is just going with the flow, and Nami may or may not keep things legally binding and above board with consistent consensual acquiescence. Robin finds it all amusing.

The damn chart stays in the locked drawer in her desk, split into three neat categories: Devil Fruit Powers, Science, and Magic. Each represents whatever they're hit with but also categorizes the amount of self-control the person has during.

AKA: 5 times Zoro and Sanji had to help each other as Consensual Helpers of Dubious Consent + 1 Time There Was Nothing Dubious At All

Ok this is 152k long its pretty insane. It regoes over the arcs so throughly so carefully that I literally had to question my memory because I havent experienced alot of these arcs in a while (it's one of the reasons im rewatching one piece). I will say despite how amazing and well written this is I had a hard time comprehending sometimes. now I was sick at the time of reading this so that might be why but sometimes the way things were phrased felt like yoda talking. I think it's just me though. I'm not used to big words :( And thats a wrap!! These arent even all the ones I wanted to include I have at least 20 more off the top of my head but I'll save that for another day. I hope you find joy in these fics Like i did I'll def do another one of these as cause I didnt even touch my sanji centric fics or germa 66 or just in general the best sanji fanfic writers. (Mentioned some of them like 8ball, thousand sunny and donuts and coffee.) Best of luck to yall and let me know what you think!