#pitch deck write up

[loveandlegacy]

i keep seeing people on the subreddit express like pretty intense anxiety that s2 will be really bad and i don't want to make a whole post on the subreddit to say this given that i think it wouldn't be super well received so. i'm saying it here on my blog instead. but i think in general the people who feel this way would benefit from remembering that at its core, before it is anything else, arcane is currently a 10 and soon to be 20 episode long advertisement for league of legends. i don't mean this to detract from the very real artistry that has gone into the show and i sincerely believe that the whole project has helped reset and shape what people imagine is even possible for feature-production level animation in the west. i am very glad it exists and i cannot wait to see what ripple effects it has on the animated film and tv landscape in the coming years.

but. but! at the end of the day this creative project is owned by one of the most powerful studios in games and its existence is guided primarily by how much value it will bring to riot and tencent as entities. you can see this even in the fact that people are already referring to the trailer to predict what ambessa's kit will look like and what new skins jinx and vi are likely to get — to say nothing of all the teasing around viktor's VGU.

i don't want to be a debbie downer and say that all good storytelling is inherently incompatible with capital interests because i think there's plenty of evidence to contradict that, but i do feel like a helpful reality-check sometimes is to just remember that things like production budget, episode count, and even character presentation are at least partially dictated by a room full of people whose primary interest is a return on investment. so yes, there's a decently strong chance the season could be bad story-wise, but like. whatever. it will probably still be very visually influential and instructive as a work of animation. and regardless of s2 there's plenty to enjoy and learn from and appreciate about season 1, or we wouldn't all be here. sometimes it's about the journey or whatever they say y'know?

[figminxr]

OFFICIAL DISCORD EXISTS NOW YEEEEHAWWW 🤠

the Figmin XR discord (previously only for the devs + artist residents) is now an open community server!

⭐ INVITE LINK HEEEREE ⭐

join if you wanna see even more behind-the-scenes stuff about what goes into Extending Reality~*~*~ (and also just to see me act like a dork in yet another semi-professional setting)

[literalgrill]

Do NOT Support Hard Drive On Patreon

You might see friends today suggesting you support Hard Drive on Patreon today. You know, the funny video games version of The Onion? As a journalist, I will firmly tell you DO NOT GIVE THEM A DIME.

The CEO has pushed out all former staff that have built the site up to its current greatness and has been pushing the use of AI. The staff begged to have a Patreon before basically all being pushed out, but the idea was refused until now, when it will only line the pockets of a single person instead of hard working writers.

I know they might have provided laughs before, but Hard Drive is a shell of what it was once. Let it die and support the people who actually made those moments of joy possible. Don't believe me? Check out what former employees are saying below:

Kevin Podas: Okay you know what, I would feel bad saying nothing about this, so here goes:🚨SAVE YOUR MONEY🚨

We passionately advocated for a Patreon at Hard Drive & were aggressively shot down. The talent & people who built the site were pushed out. To see this now is beyond upsetting. For the past few years or so I put a lot of myself into this website. I pitched a ton of jokes, got over 120 articles published, & met a lot of great people. I'm sure if you've been following me for some time you could easily see this.

However, there is a lot of misinformation. I was eventually promoted to Managing Editor of the site & was ecstatic. Grateful for the opportunity. Felt like all of my hard work in the comedy mines was finally paying off. But things took a turn for the worst, & each day there were new surprises that affected our livelihoods. These were all very avoidable surprises, mind you.

A patreon was going to be our hail mary, but alas, for some reason, the power that be did not want it. Causing us to leave a dream job behind. "At least we did all we could," we consoled ourselves afterwards. I put a lot of myself into this project. I pitched all sorts of ideas that could have helped-- we all did. Merch collaborations, Patreon-integrated YouTube content, so much more. And most of them were shot down out of sheer stubbornness and nothing more. To see lie after lie spread, and multiple big publications and YouTubers that I am a fan of promote this Patreon under these pretenses is incredibly upsetting. There are so many receipts.

Please share this and consider pulling out if you've already put money into this. On Hard Drive using AI, also from Kevin Podas: I can't personally confirm that part aside from some of the recent header images for articles on both Hard Drive and Hard Times are being made with AI. As far as writing, it's been mentioned in the past, but I personally do not know. Maybe others do, maybe not. MORE From Kevin Podas suggesting the owner denying a Patreon being set up earlier cost an artist a job that was replaced by AI: We had a social media person who was awesome! He made the images until this AI implementation. He had to leave because ad revenue was low and a Patreon was aggressively refused.

Luca Fisher: at the risk of burning some bridges, i have to back up kevin here. i've only been part-time, in-and-out of hard drive since i got in last year, but i can corroborate that management doubled and tripled down about not hosting a patreon/crowdfunding and that many other suggestions and ideas, including mine (and ones much smarter than mine!), were shot down in really long, apocalyptic threads of everyone left on deck desperately trying to come up with ways to keep the lights on. managerially it has been messy and sad

i've written for multiple publications that have long since died, ones that were in the process of dying, and ones that, in this case, are soon to be put in the ground. it is sad and sucks every time. i don't know what could have been done differently, but i do know that a lot of great writers and content creators were left shorthanded and unhappy by the way things have gone. and it is sort of puzzling to see the sudden championing of patreon after we were all told plenty of times that it couldn't work and we should move on also, just to add my own personal two cents here, i was really disappointed by the shuttering of many different article sections on the site over the past 6-8 months. i understand cutting corners in a deficit, and i know it had to be done. that said…

all in all, i'm really sad to see this all happen. i don't fault anyone, if only because i don't really know enough about how this all can happen to make sense of it. games journalism is in a sad, sorry state, and will likely no longer be a thing in the next decade

VideoSealMan: I'm gonna say this because I think I deserve to. For months, MONTHS on end I was bugging Hard Drive management about a Patreon. Often I got ignored for a week+, but when I actually got a response I was encouraged to - of all things, write up a Google Doc pitching the concept I did it regardless. I wasn't the only one trying to sway management on a Patreon, but so fiercely was I fighting for it that last night, I was accused of making this comment directly by the CEO! With no evidence whatsoever! After I'd been gone for over a month.

I vouched so hard for Patreon because I wanted all the writers and creatives working with Hard Drive including myself to get paid better. When I actually got a response, the idea was often shut down. Eventually due to the state of my company, my pay was cut for a second time I confronted management alongside a couple other important figureheads at the org and told them that if we couldn't do a Patreon - I could no longer financially justify staying there. The answer was still no, so I left. Baffled at the decision, but whatever.

It is unendingly frustrating to know that myself and many other people who put their soul into Hard Drive LEFT because of management's absolute refusal to compromise on a Patreon, to then see them launch one anyway a month later and get over 1000 people pledging money. I'm seeing a lot of things float around about greed and people being fired. No one was fired. Everyone who left, left because they were sick of management's decision-making. And honestly, management is a lot of things but I would not call them greedy. (From my experience.) They did genuinely make an effort to pay people as much as possible. I found the pay very fair for a while. I am not disputing that I was paid what I was owed - yet management frequently feels the need to remind critics of that. Lmao, yes. I was paid what I was owed. No one is disputing payment. You did the bare minimum a business owner should do and paid everyone their due, very well done. I make no allegations of greed, cheating or foul play. I make allegations of poor management and incompetence that has fucked over other people.

Basically the only people left at Hard Drive have been there for about 2 months. They will reap the rewards of this successful Patreon I and so many others passionately fought for for so long. We will not see a dime.

I do not know the new people at Hard Drive, But I feel bad for them. They were haphazardly thrust into Hard Drive's workplace with little to no explanation on how anything works, or given any context on the state of the place. Even now managements feeds them half-truths and misinformation about other people's grievances. I am broke and have been for a while. I had to move out of my flat in Reading and back with my family because of how little money I was making. This has basically doomed my flatmate to moving back in with abusive parents, which is something I feel guilty about every day. If we had gone with the Patreon I worked myself hoarse over back then, this could have been avoided. Some of my other good pals could also not have been fucked over.

It was a bad judgment call, but it's not a crime. It's just management getting it wrong.

So should you give to the Hard Drive Patreon? I don't know! I don't think any of the new people working there to patch up the holes left by the recent mass exodus have any bad intentions. Maybe they deserve it! But it is not the same site you knew a year ago, or even a month ago. Myself and many people who were there far longer than me and did far more for it than I did are all gone now because we could not deal with management's terrible decision-making and dogass communication any longer. That's what you should know, imo

I had an agreement in place with management that I would receive the next 8 months of revenue from the Hard Drive YT channel from my leaving in November. This was a deal I appreciated, and thought was very fair on management's behalf. So far, the deal has been honoured for 2 months. However as of last night I was removed from the Hard Drive Slack without warning, and as an editor for the YouTube channel. This means I no longer have any way of verifying how much I am owed, I just have to take their word for it. I'm sure management will make their own statements full of half-truths and weird language on the many cases being brought against them - I'd take everything they say with a pinch of salt if some of the screenshots I've seen of them talking about me are any indication lol

To management; I do not want to talk to you. I want you to DM me a screenshot of how much I'm owed every month and then send me the money per our agreement until June, then we can go our separate ways. Do that and admit to your mistakes, and maybe you can recover your reputation! That's it from me, lol. If they pull out of the deal and fuck me over I'll have more to say, but most of what I know is other people's stories of incompetence and poor decision-making, lol. I genuinely get no pleasure out of doing this; I do not think management is evil - I just think they're really bad at what they do and it's cost other, more talented people, lol. You should believe the writers imo

One last thing I wanna say btw, management did often stress that no one should try to make Hard Drive a full time thing. They were transparent about that, and that is fair. I was working on it because at a few points, I was lead to believe we actually were doing a Patreon. Many other ppl have similar stories of being strung along by management changing their minds and stop-starting shit every 2 weeks. We all made the fatal mistake of overestimating our manager - who would tell you one thing one day and something totally opposite the next week lol

Hunter R. Thompson:

I'm not your dad, but speaking as a Hard Drive writer, I don't know that funding Hard Drive on Patreon is worth it

The driving talent on the back end—behind the kickass site I joined in 2019—have peaced out over the years as the site's been (in our view) increasingly mismanaged. Mismanagement like, not setting up crowdfunding before the ship sank and all its best crew failed; or publishing a screenshot of Andy Ngo pedojacketing a trans writer, complete with her deadname; or a disgruntled ex-writer getting falsely accused of shit-talk, by actual staff. I'm grateful for the writing I've gotten to produce for HD (and will forever be kicking myself for not writing even more, in the four years I've had to do it!! i'm a dumbass!!!) but it is very much no longer the site I signed up for.

I don't want to resign as a contributor altogether, because I'm open to the idea of the site recovering and bad practices being retired as finances level out-- it would just be dishonest for potential backers to not be Aware Of The Circumstances, I think.

Jeremy Kaplowitz: i truly don't want to start shit, but feel compelled to say: i want to see Hard Drive succeed w/o resorting to throwing former writers & editors, myself included, under the bus. surely there's a way to save the site without building it over the corpses of those who left. my $0.02 i don't blame anyone who wants to sign up for the HD patreon and i support the website, but that includes those who worked on it for years, have complaints, and don't deserve to be treated like bitter assholes like this kind of stuff is just objectively true, meanwhile there's these new writers who joined the site after i left (meaning, in the last ~3 months) claiming people are liars. decide for yourself if you care, but this is what happened! [Quotes this Tweet]

Seth Finkelstein: Writing for Hard Drive has been a privilege the past few years, and it makes me so angry to see people I looked up to get jerked around behind the scenes. The amount of grenades the editors jumped on our behalf is immense, and I don't think the way they're being treated is right.

Other Bits On AI: We do know for sure however that AI art has been used by the site. Its fucking owner confirms it here:https://twitter.com/MattSaincome/status/1743040541603123622. Seems the owner pushed AI written articles as well! TayFabe: My vaguetweet is making the rounds & these made me apoplectic. - owner regularly lobbied using ai. Once he tested it & said ai was writing better satire than 25% of the HT/HD writers. - ai images were used on the site & socials w/o consulting the team or disclosing it publicly I found the ai bit relevant to include bc 1) it illuminates a stark change in HD's current direction & leadership, 2) ai images have previously been used on the site and (since deleted) ig posts, 3) ai content fucking sucks, and repeatedly pushing to use it is a telling quality The "handful of writers who chose to leave" includes 2 editors-in-chief (both cofounders who wrote a combined total of >1,000 articles & defined the voice of HD), & at least 3 other editors. These guys put in WORK since 2017, so cool to be corrected by ppl who joined in Nov 2023 [Link to mentioned vague tweet from post.] More from TayFabe: owner continuously lobbied for using ai in every possible way. No one else wanted to do it, but he kept on, saying ai was writing better satire than 25% of the HT/HD writers. Also, ai images were used on the site & socials without public disclosure or consulting the team.

The owner has responded now multiple times in a private discord... Thank you for people sharing screenshots! First Screenshot:

Kevin's Response: He banned me from the server for speaking out, so no, I didn't see it. And he gave no indication of a timeline, it was just "we'll do one when *I* say so" and gave every inclination he was totally against it. It bred an environment that pushed our hands to have to leave. Screenshot Round Two:

Kevin's Response: "Starting one in 3 months" is an absolute lie. He denied it, I have screenshots and others who can confirm. No timeline was given. Just "this is what it is now" and like, I couldn't live off of that. I wanted to do more but he was allergic to good ideas from others around him.

Matt, owner of Hard Drive, responds publicly on Twitter.

Matt: Kevin, the patreon launch was delayed because I didn't think it would work. Everyone is happy that it did work. Everyone who left the site because we didn't have money to pay for creative content which didn't revenue is welcome to return home. But unclear why the hostility.

Hard Drive paid out literally every dollar it had, then a bunch more, to creative people who worked on the site. When we ran out of money, we couldn't pay anymore. We did our best.

Kevin: Right, and my point of this thread was that it was completely and totally avoidable. This is reasonable to be upset about. How could I have been any more clear?

Matt: If we knew with 100% certainly that the community would have supported us via patreon, we would have done that. We didn't know. We had tried 4 years ago and got no support. We were wrong this time. We did our best to figure it out. We paid all the money we could.

Kevin: So you knew with 100% certainty this time? Or you took a leap of faith?

Matt: It was a last gasp panic effort after ad rates got cut in half on january 1st due to seasonal spending changes. We didn't know it would work. We were embarrassed to ask for support. We wanted to figure it out.

Kevin: Every site has a Patreon. Every YouTuber, comedy group, etc. But you insisted that nobody cared about Hard Drive. Which is wildly untrue. I know you see that now, but again, I think you can see why I and many others are pretty upset. A last ditch panic effort was long overdue. A couple more things from Matt:

It was about the size of the hole we needed plugged budget wise, the time I had left of personal resources, and the past data I had about us trying a patreon (which turned out to be a bad indicator). I didn't think the Patreon would help us fast enough. I made a bad estimation

aka "if we make $1000 more dollars a month via patreon, which would be 10x what we got last time, we will not solve any of our problems. If instead we try to plow down path B, we might make it out in time." That was the thinking. I chose the wrong path, but didn't mean to Kevin also retweeted this comment from the user Matt was responding to: So you're saying that you're bad at running the business, didn't listen to any of your employees until after they were forced to leave their jobs, and now you're going to get more of the money from the Patreon that was their idea in the first place? Matt's Response: Respectfully, I made a mistake delaying the patreon decision. But keeping a comedy site alive for 9 years is not easy, there are lots of potential ideas, and think overall we've done a good and honorable job. Will leave this thread in peace now to allow people their space.

Sorry for linking to Elon's hellsite (derogatory), but sources need links so...

[ddejavvu]

MEI MEI MEI can i request Anakin headlocking reader with his hot hot sexy thick biceps as hes fucking reader from behind OHMYGOD bonus points if its in front of the mirror and he bends her head and back so much he can kiss her upside down from behind IDK IF The human body is that flexible BUT NGHHHHH ive been thinking about this ALL week everyday 24/7 THANKYOUUUU❤️❤️❤️

thank you arm kink indy for giving me your blessing to write this when i was scared it would be too similar to your post

this post is 18+, minors dni.

Sex with Anakin is a wrestling match. A rather one-sided one, too, for all the fight that you put up. You've expressed time and time again that Anakin can do whatever he wants with you; you've begged him to take you however he pleases, but he still moves like you're his opponent and you're about to deck him hard in the jaw.

Air escapes your lungs in a weak grunt, an 'mmf-!' when Anakin's body weight pins you to the mattress. The springs beneath you bounce you back up, but Anakin's broad, muscled chest is there to stop you, and you find yourself effectively smothered. His hips are already rutting against your ass, cock dragging against its undercurve as he teases you with the feather-light nudge of its tip against your clit. You feel him grind against your slit, pseudo-sex that makes your cunt ache for real penetration.

"Ani," You mewl, words futile in persuading him to take pity on you, "Please, please, I need you inside of me, please, e-enough teasing."

"E-enough teasing," He mimics, voice pitched up and laced with bawdy desperation that you're mortified he saw in your own. He spits the words into the dip of your shoulders, lips trailing up your spine and teeth latching into your shoulder. You gasp at the bite, whine at his cruel teasing, but he's not finished, lips poised beside your ear to lecture you on proper decorum.

"You think you're in charge? Think you get to boss me around, baby?"

His words are terribly, wonderfully demeaning, and delicious shame curls beneath your belly as his weight keeps you helplessly pinned to the mattress. You're at his mercy, and it's making your core throb with want.

"No, I- that's not what I meant," You plead your case, but at another sharp bite from Anakin, this time along the base of your neck, you yelp and correct yourself, "I just need you, Anakin! Please!"

You're not sure if the slick mess between your thighs is solely your own doing, or if Anakin is smearing sticky precum over you as he ruts against your slit, but you're thoroughly soaked, and you feel yourself clenching around nothing but air at the thought of Anakin's cock filling your hole. You desperately press your ass further out, silently begging for Anakin to take pity on you and finally fuck his dick into your cunt, but your efforts are fruitless.

Instead of rewarding you with the thick circumference of his achingly hard cock, Anakin shows you an even larger width - that of his bicep. You see it beneath your chin as it wraps around your throat, and if you'd managed to suck any oxygen into your lungs since he'd pinned you down, it's gone now.

It's so thick that it forces your head up, your neck angled awkwardly to accommodate the arm now pressing tightly against your throat. It means that if he surges forwards while simultaneously pulling you towards him, he can reach your face, and he sticks a wet, sloppy kiss to your parted lips. It's less-than-romantic, but it's arousing, and that's all that matters to you right now.

"Look at yourself," Anakin gestures to the mirror hung on the wall across from your bed, most frequently used for checking your outfit and taking suggestive photos. You glance up at it with your eyes watering, not only from the ache of being empty but from the tight pressure of Anakin's arm around your neck, and you find yourself a sight to behold. Your hair is mussed, your lips swollen and slick with spit, your body pinned hopelessly beneath Anakin's. You're a mess, and Anakin has no problem in jostling you in his grip to exacerbate it. He's still humping against the curve of your ass, but he's no longer letting his cock drag through your slit, and you're desperate to get as much as you can from him.

"Does that look like someone who's in charge?" He asks, eyes boring into your own through the mirror, "Does that look like someone who calls the shots?"

"No," You gush pathetically on an exhale, dragging in oxygen much slower due to Anakin's partial closure of your windpipe, "No, I'm- I'm sorry, Ani, I didn't mean that."

"Good," He grunts, flexing the muscles in his biceps to lift your chin even higher. He does the rest with his face, nudging your head backwards with his chin until he can reach the wet ring of your lips. It's different now, agony on your neck as he's tipped you backwards instead of kissing you from the side, but there's something disgustingly hot about the way that his tongue slides over yours that makes you shudder with anticipation.

He licks over your tongue and latches onto your bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth to nip at. When it's red and stinging he releases it, sucking up the drool that's sliding down your tongue. It's probably from his own mouth, but it's mixed with your saliva now, and he's happy to lap at it.

"Relax," He croons, voice kinder now that you're pliant and open for him to lick at. The word echoes in your mouth and you feel another shiver of pleasure run down your spine as he grinds against your ass, "I know what you want, baby, just let me give it to you."

[ceasarslegion]

OK...I'm asking....

Yay!

So this happened in what I consider the worst job I ever had. And that is saying something because I very much worked retail in a mall. I had just graduated uni, I couldn't afford toronto anymore, and I needed a full-time job to make ends meet now that the stability of university was gone. So I went to edmonton because I had one family member I could stay with until I got on my feet. And I was not in a position to turn away a job that paid.

So I took a door to door sales position. For telus. I can hear the canadians in the room wincing so to everyone else: telus is one of the three whole mega megacorporations that control the ENTIRE canadian telecommunications network. And all three of those companies are buddy buddy and have us all by the balls. That's why canadian phone plans are the most expensive in the world. Not in the developed world: in the WORLD.

The meth lab incident happened on my 3rd whole day on my own. I was in St. Albert, which is this suburb of edmonton that is like if a kale smoothie and that guy who won't shut up about bikhram yoga had a baby they abandoned in an HOA meeting. Which is what makes this that much more unhinged: it was in the most cookie cutter suburbia part of the EMR.

So I was doing my knocks in my blue Jay's hat and my telus branded polo shirt with my clipboard and I knock on my next door. I'm greeted by a middle aged woman who proceeds to dump on me that she's divorcing her husband of 30 years and moving to New Brunswick. I'm like okay cool I just wanna sell you cable packages, good luck with that?

I write that off and continue along the cul de sac until I knock on this other lady's door. And when I say talkative I mean a real chatty Kathy. She practically grabs me by the collar and plops me down on her deck chairs, shoves a coffee in my hand, and says "HEY TELUS GUY DID YOU KNOCK ON METH GUYS DOOR???" And points to the house of the lady who just told me she was getting a divorce

At this point I have forgotten about my commission. I have forgotten about my shitty supervisor and how every part of this job sucks and how I wanna go back to Toronto. I have thrown away my clipboard I have started sipping her coffee that could very well be spiked with something and I go "you have to tell me about the meth guy"

That house I knocked on? The weird oversharing lady who was getting a divorce? Her husband was running a meth lab out of the basement THEIR ENTIRE MARRIAGE and she ONLY FOUND OUT THEN?? He called it his man cave and said that she wasn't allowed in?? And then one day she went down out of curiosity and it was a METH LAB??? All the bonuses he said he got at work were meth money.

I'm still enamored by how this happened. Did it not smell? Like for those who don't know edmonton there is a HUGE meth problem here. Like across the political aisle we all agree that something has to happen about all the meth, the details get foggy and that's where people argue, but needless to say I have smelled and been offered meth before just by virtue of living downtown. That shit REEKS. Like you know meth smell because it somehow smells like the word "meth." You will know what you are smelling even when you've never smelled it before. And it lingers. It hangs. It gets into walls. I know when I've taken a train car before because the smell of that guy who hotboxed it with meth smoke last week will still kinda be there. There's no way that house didn't smell like ass down to the foundation.

And the "you arent allowed in my man cave" excuse... im enamored by both the sexism towards his OWN WIFE and the way she just... went along with it for 30 years? Never set foot down there? The sexism and the just believing it?

I kept trying to steer the conversation back to the meth lab and this lady I was on the porch of kept actively trying to buy internet deals from me. Like she was the only person I ever pitched who was TRYING to get my bundles. I ended up just handing her my list of products and told her to check off what she wanted and was like "more meth lab?" And she went right to "yknow i think if I was your age I would've been a boy now. We didn't really have those terms when I was a kid" I DID NOT BRING THAT UP MA'AM I DONT HAVE TIME FOR YOUR GENDER CRISIS TELL ME MORE ABOUT THE METH LAB

That job was so shit that that was the only one I ever quit with no back up plan and did not regret for a second. I then went to the mall and handed out CVs and got my retail job by the end of the week from doing that.

[helpwhatsthis]

okay, pitching my thoughts for a cute eric fic that could easily still follow the correct movie plot...

Maybe he has a favorite coffee shop to stop at before he goes to work and everyday he sees the same girl. He thinks she's pretty and he thinks it's cute that she's always wearing one of those little cat backpacks. He's made small talk with her a couple times and he's learned that she's a piercer/tattoo artist down the street from the coffee shop. The cat that is always with her is an anxiety service animal that she takes to work to help clients that get a little more freaked out during their appointments.

The monetary conversations carry on for a long time. They end up in line next to each other every morning, chat while they wait for their coffee, and then part ways until the next day.

Until one day, eric decides this is it. This is the day that he's finally going to grow a pair and ask her out. It goes better than he thought it would. She writes her number on his arm and says something about how she was starting to worry that he never would. They are both so excited to text later and plan a date.

And then the world decides to go and just fucking end????

They both think about each other as they are surviving, hoping that against the odds that the other is okay. deep down they are both hurting because they know that they'll probably never see one another again.

eric makes it onto the boat and is grateful that he and frodo survived, now mourning the loss of sam as well. it's probably been an hour but when he finally looks up and scans the boat, he sees a very familiar backpack with an even more familiar cat in it.

he makes his way over and sees that it's an old lady who's sitting with the cat and he starts to panic. maybe he's going crazy and it's not her cat. or worse. maybe she didn't make it and this woman found her cat and saved it and he really never would see her again.

he asks her where she got the cat from and she tells him that when the boat first arrived, there had been a stampede and the owner of the cat had fallen and hit her head. she also says that the owner had been taken to the lower level of the deck to be given any medical assistance that was possible at the moment. he waits, whispering introductions between her cat and frodo.

when the door leading to the lower deck opens, he stands. he sees her and he's so relieved that he can't even move, but he watches as she whispers his name to herself and pushes her way toward him.

it feels like a whole lifetime since they saw each other last but the ink is still faint on erics arm and they are both still alive. while eric isn't one for having a lot of hope, he thinks that's a sign.

[blueywrites]

the boy is mine (bluey's version)

I saw @carolmunson's writing challenge and was immediately so inspired! what a lovely distraction from some pesky contractions haha. I can't wait to see everyone's interpretations and their takes on our boy eddie 🩵

cw: eddie x fem!reader, established relationship, sfw aside from some lewd innuendos (including an insinuation that his goods make him a man, so traditional 80s-esque views on gender identity)

length: 1.9k

prompt rules: the scene: a romantic night in at the trailer. props included/mentioned (in passing or can hold bigger meaning): a throw pillow, vanilla frosting, a small notebook. dialogue included (can be manipulated slightly if needed, can be placed in any order): "i ran out of like, nice cups, is this okay?" ; "aw, don't be like that. that's not even true." ; "and you like that?" ; "if you don't stop, we're gonna have a problem."

to view the full challenge description and try it yourself, go here!

When you arrive at Eddie’s trailer home this early summer evening, you are faced with two surprises. The first is delightful, and the second… well. Let’s just say it is, unequivocally, a very Eddie Munson type of surprise. 

The first comes when you rap on the screen door frame and hear Eddie’s greeting float to you not from within the trailer, but from behind it. You purse your lips curiously, and your sandals slap against old wood and then dry, frazzled grass as you descend the porch steps and follow the rasp of his voice.

The Munsons’ trailer backs up against the woods surrounding Forest Hills. As you emerge from the side of the building, you see the familiar piles of junk scattered along the sparse treeline, including the husk of an old Buick which has become a permanent part of the landscape. But where the space between the trailer and that treeline is typically empty, tonight, it isn’t. Plopped right in the middle like some garish plastic zoo exhibit is a blow-up wading pool, and the animal on display is your boyfriend.

Eddie’s lanky legs are spread out in as wide a v as he can get them within the round inflatable tub, and his shorts— which are a pair of faded jeans he’d cut off at the knees— are pitch dark with soaked-up water to his lap. When he sees you, he slides down a little further in the basin, unconcerned about the obnoxious sound of denim-on-plastic as he casually slings his arms over the bulbous sides of the pool. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he drawls, grinning at your flabbergasted face. “Ready to get all soaked for me?”

Once you’ve recovered from that atrocious one-liner, peeled off your blouse, and, wearing just your shorts and bra, wedged yourself in-between his spread legs, Eddie explains that the kiddie pool came from one of his neighbors. She bartered with him for it; he’d provided her with a fresh coat of paint for her deck railing, and she’d provided him, and thus you, with relief from the oppressive summer heat in the form of a shallow, lukewarm pool of metallic-smelling hose water. 

It truly is a delightful surprise.

You wiggle into place, leaning back against Eddie’s warm, damp chest. He holds you pressed into him as if you’d have any inclination to move away, and you hum happily as his hand dips beneath the water to curl possessively around your hip. You feel his torso shift to the side behind you as he says, half-teasing, “I ran out of, like, nice cups. Is this okay?”

You wiggle your toes in the water, making little rippling splashes as Eddie reaches down over the side of the pool and retrieves your favorite cup— thick, plastic, and Snoopy-themed— filled with your favorite drink— three-quarters lemonade made from powder mix, one-quarter whiskey nicked from Wayne’s stash in the back of the stereo cabinet. Eddie’s chuckle rumbles against your shoulder blades as you cradle your precious brew in both hands, taking a healthy sip and chasing the burn with a sweet peck to his stubbly cheek.

Together, you and Eddie lounge contentedly for a while, talking about nothing and sipping your whiskey lemonades until your toetips prune. Eventually, the day’s oppressive heat breaks, and Eddie reluctantly relinquishes his grip on you when you declare you’re no longer hot enough to be sitting soggy in the pool any longer. You don your shirts, squeeze the moisture as best you can from your shorts, and then heft the pool up sideways, dumping its innards out in a river that rushes toward the forest.

As the water laps up against old tires, your boyfriend turns to you in a whip of eager curls, pinning you with a suddenly intense look. His eyes gleam in the deepening auburn light as he asks you, “Wanna see something cool?”

You follow him obediently over to the Buick, standing back a couple of feet as he wedges his fingers under the front hood to pop the clasp. You watch him curiously as he bends at the waist, shifting the hood up just slightly and peering into the dark sliver of space for a moment. He straightens up with a grin. “What is it?” you ask, but he doesn’t reply; he just lifts the lid, letting you see your second surprise.

There, nestled between metal piping and the side of the rusted-out engine, is a large lump of bristly gray fur. Your eyes dart to Eddie, but his grin hasn’t budged at the sight of whatever-the-fuck-that-is. Wordlessly, you watch as Eddie slowly and carefully eases the hood up, prompting the motionless lump to shift slightly in a rustle of surrounding detritus. With each inch that Eddie’s arms extend upward, your concern mounts as the shifting bundle becomes more and more restless. 

And then a textured tail pops out. 

It’s long and ugly, sparsely furred and, unnervingly, the same color as the bottom of Eddie’s feet. As the car’s hood creaks near the apex of its journey upwards, a head suddenly snaps up just as sharply from the bristly mound. It is large and white, with beady eyes and a pale pink snout that parts to reveal little vampire fangs jutting from the top and bottom of its maw.

The creature’s mouth widens as Eddie’s torso grows closer when he hefts the hood up all the way. As he lifts the stick on the side to hold it in place, his frizzy waves dangle dangerously over the animal. You tense when you hear a high, raspy hiss. 

But your boyfriend doesn’t seem to share your concern. With a long-suffering sigh, he lightly chastizes the thing like he’s scolding a small child. “Look, if you don’t stop, we’re gonna have a problem.” He stares it down, and slowly, its mouth begins to close. “That’s better. No need to get your panties in a twist; it’s just me. Well, and her—” he juts a thumb at you over his shoulder without bothering to look. “But she’s harmless, I swear.”

Instantly, you’re affronted by the fact that Eddie would need to assure it of your harmlessness rather than the other way around, and you shoot your boyfriend a glare he doesn’t notice. He’s too busy trying to mollify the creature. From a cautious distance, you examine the— rodent?— and its home, quickly recognizing the deflated floral fabric of one of the throw pillows from the Munsons’ couch. The animal has clearly torn a hole into it and dragged out the feathers inside, using them to line its nest of dried grass and crumbling leaves. 

A sudden shift of Eddie’s elbow has the thing scrunching back in a flinch. “Aw,” he coos. “Don’t be like that. I’m tellin’ you, she’s harmless.” Silence follows his proclamation, and you shake your head slowly as he pretends to rebut the animal’s complaint. “That’s not even true,” he argues. “You can’t believe everything you hear, y’know. I have it on good authority; she’s one of the nice ones.”

Eddie finally glances over his shoulder at you, pouting at your continued distance; at his impatient beckoning, you draw reluctantly closer, eyes locked on the small beast inside the old vehicle. When you’re a few paces away, you finally see it clearly enough to place what it is:

An opossum. 

You sigh heavily out of your nose, consternated but no longer confused. Of course your boyfriend would have a pet opossum living in a rusted-out car behind his trailer, because why the fuck not? He already feeds the stray cats in the park; why would it be a problem to add another cat-shaped creature to the mix?

Figures.

Now that you’ve identified the lump as an opossum, the veil of mystery falls and it becomes less intimidating. You inch a little closer, glancing down when your bare toes hit smooth, hollow plastic. You’ve kicked the empty carcass of a small round container in the grass, and as you peer down at it, its blue and white label resolves itself into clarity.

“Eddie.”

“Hm?” His mop of hair whips as his chin snaps away from the opossum and towards you, though his gaze remains on the animal as if reluctant to drag away. You wait for his eyes to follow before asking, slowly and deliberately, 

“...Did you feed the possum vanilla icing?”

You don’t actually need Eddie to reply to know the answer to that. In fact, you don’t even spare him a glance. Instead, you squint at the animal, which is currently staring into the middle distance between you and Eddie with black, glassy eyes. It feels only appropriate to address it directly, so you ask the opossum a follow-up question. “And you liked that?” 

“Of course she likes it,” Eddie cuts in defensively, crossing his arms over the tattered WASP t-shirt he’d hacked the sleeves and hem off of. “Who doesn’t like vanilla frosting?”

The sight of his tight pale biceps and the veins running from his ruddy hands up to the tan line around his elbows is almost enough to distract you. But you valiantly persevere, turning your skeptical squint on him and ignoring his rhetorical question to ask instead, “How do you know it’s a girl?”

Eddie’s head rears as if he’s genuinely taken aback by your question. He gestures widely toward the opossum, flinging his arms and scoffing, “Isn’t it obvious? I mean, just look at her fuckin’ eyelashes.” 

You blink up at him, bemused by his logic. “Eddie. You have really long eyelashes. Are you a girl?”

Those aforementioned eyelashes bat dramatically, and then Eddie’s brown eyes sparkle with mischief. His lips curl wolfishly as he pitches his voice low, murmuring, “I think you know the answer to that, sweetheart.” He squeezes the crotch of his damp cut-offs showily, that devilish smile widening with delight when you wrinkle your nose and grunt with disgust.

“Perv,” you snap back, but there’s no bite in it as you dig in your blouse pocket and pull out the small bound notebook and stub of a pencil you always carry with you.

He gets nosy then, trying to look over your shoulder as you start to commit the creature to the page. He plants his chin on your shoulder and wraps his arms around your middle, watching as you carefully scratch down the bugged-out eyes and gaping maw it greeted you with. 

The gesture is cute, but in his jostling of you, one of the opossum’s teeth goes horribly jagged. “Eddie! Quit it,” you whine, though your complaint dissolves into giggles when he mouths playfully at your salty neck. 

“You drawin’ my little possum?” He murmurs in your ear.

“How’d you manage to make that sound dirty? Actually,” you slant him a deadpan look, “pretend I didn’t ask that. I don’t wanna think about you and that poor possum in any way.”

“Oh, c’mon. Don’t tell me you’re jealous of her, sweetheart,” he teases. 

His arms tighten in anticipation of your resistance, but you don’t push him away or even groan like he expects. Instead, you hum happily as he holds you tight against him, leaning into his embrace. 

You can almost feel Eddie’s happiness like a physical presence as he sways you gently in place, so freely affectionate in a way that you never would have guessed when you first met him. It melts you every time you remember that the walls which stand in place for everyone else crumbled for you long ago.

With that feeling bubbling in your chest, you shoot the opossum a playfully threatening look. “Back off. He’s mine,” you say. 

She tucks her head into the straw with a huff, digging in deeper when you squeal as Eddie attacks the side of your face with sloppy, smacking kisses. 

Yeah. Eddie Munson is yours, for sure.

[senawashere]

We're on this together... (Chapter II)

Bradley Bradshaw × fem!wife!reader

Summary: Is it harder for you? Or for Bradley?

Warnings: infertility,mentions of miscarrige,mentions of hospital,mentions of getting pregnant,mentiones of ivf. Mostly angst.

'We are on this journey together and we will never separate. I love you."

January 3, 2023.

Everyone,mostly you, could see how much Bradley loved childrens. Babies, toddlers, teenagers, it didn't matter, he loved them.

Ever since you married, you had admired how he treated them, how he made them laugh, how they played, and how his eyes lit up at the high-pitched squeals they made when he threw them in the air. He would catch them again. And again.

He... was born just for this.

That's why you were trying so hard to give him what he wanted more than anything in the world; a baby,a kid of yours.

He searches hundreds of websites for you on ways to increase your chances of getting pregnant, checks your ovulation time, changes your diet... he does the impossible and you both still can't succeed.

You couldn't make your husband happy. He hated this sentence.

And the worst part is, he's not the only one waiting for you to have his child, everyone is doing it, all of your friends are having their second or third kids and you were still... not pregnant.

One day, you were criticized among your friends for not having a flat stomach. They said something as a joke that you might be pregnant, but it wasn't like that.

Just because you dont have a flat belly doesn't mean you're pregnant, right?

Your tears feel familiar on your skin now and when you were sure Bradley is gone you were crying all over the house, you couldn't let him see you like this, it's not fair when he gave you everything and you couldn't give him something so simple.

It's that simple. Right?

You don't want help, you can do it on your own, you know he can or so he thinks, he keeps busy every day trying not to think about it, but it's inevitable, you can't do that when it's something he wants so badly.

You were doing your usual work on laptop, trying to get rid of the thoughts in your head, even if only a little, you were scrolling through your e-mail box while slow jazz was playing in the background, writing down what you needed to write and dealing with the files you needed to handle.

"A young man fell into the base today! We walked around the hard deck and drank soda's. He was with for a while we had a lot of fun, but I think he misses his aunt y/n. I love you baby.💞"

The text came up with a picture of your husband with Jake's son, three of them smiling and Bradley holding some soda cans in his left arm and the right one is holding the boy's shoulder. It was beautiful and made your heart ache, a small smile appeared on your face,the voices and pain in your head seemed to be over, at least for a mimute, and you replied to the message, "I love you two!! Say hello to Jake for me.💓💓"

You stared at the picture for a few seconds, forgetting about the task in front of you.

The smile on Bradley's face was genuine, and he was holding the little boy with incredible familiarity, as if he already knew how to hold a child even though it wasn't his own.

Your phone hit the wooden table with a loud thud and you brought your hands up to your face, feeling tears of frustration falling from your eyes.

No, you were not jealous of them, in fact, you were very happy that they were pregnant with the third one, but why couldn't you?

This was unfair.

While God gave people the chance to have so many children, why couldn't you even have one?

And the saddest problem was,you.

Bradley was perfectly healthy, he could get a different woman pregnant, but he couldn't get you.

The house was quiet, unlike your head, thousands of things were going on every second.

You left your spot and went upstairs to take another pregnancy test with some hope.

It came out negative. Like always.

January 18, 2023.

You throw the four pregnancy tests you took ten minutes ago into the trash can and you hear Bradley sigh as he sits on the bed, hiding his face with his hands. You sit next to him.

“We just have to try harder.” He said, lifting his head to look at you and placing his hand comfortably on your knee.

“What does 'trying harder' mean?” you asked,with a hint of you wobble voice from the emotions. "We do this every day, especially when I'm ovulating, when I..."

"Baby, calm down." Bradley tells you and he just snorts in annoyance.

"Maybe...we could go to another doctor?" He gets down on one knee as if he's proposing, but you stand up and look at him as if he had three heads.

"Why should I go to the doctor? There is nothing wrong with me, we will have this baby, I know. Sooner or later." you exclaimed.

He stood up and took your hands in his, stroking your wrists.

"Of course we will, I have no doubt about that. But—it's better to know more, you know?"

"We're going to have this baby, Bradley. I am going to."

Uh oh-

I AM SO SORRY FOR THIS CHAPTER BEING SO SHORT😭😭😭 and bad news it is progressively gets more sad.. And there is going to be timeline-

I'm tagging people who might be interested and some mutuals:@ohtobeleah @sebsxphia @callsigns-haze @greenorangevioletgrass @teacupsandtopgun @roosterforme @floydsglasses @lyn-js @its-dee-lovely @its-the-pilot @friedchips94 @hardballoonlove @topguncortez @hangmanapologist @bradshawsbaddie @shanimallina87 @djs8891 @themusingofagothicsoul @els-marvelvsp @promisingyounglady @the-romanian-is-bae @mamachasesmayhem @jessicab1991 @iefitzgerald-blog @charcole-grey @waterriseslew @desert-fern @promisingyounglady and if you are not comfortable please tell me!!

[talesofesther]

how we knew love was here to stay

Nami x Reader

Summary: On a cold, lonely night, Nami still has trouble finding peace; luckily you're there to chase the cold away.

A/N: The small amount of Nami fics in here is criminal, I tell ya; of course I had to fix this. I love her sm <3. Important disclaimer; I have not watched the anime, nor do I plan to. This story, and any others I might write within the universe, is solely set in the live-action series.

Word count: 3,1k

Masterlist

She could feel the cold metal of the chain around her ankle, the wetness of the tears that fell down the bridge of her nose as she stood with her head low. She could see the lone wooden table, and a pen and paper for the only thing she was worth for.

Arlong's voice echoed like thunder in the dark room. There was blood on his hands, she noticed, dried up and sticking under his nails; he wore it proudly and with a sick smile.

There would be no way out this time around, her friends, her family, were gone. Her hands were shaking violently, there was blood on them too; she couldn't see it, but it was there. It was all her fault after all.

Nami woke up with a start and a whimper clawing at her throat. She sat up in bed before her eyes even had time to begin focusing, the covers pooling at her waist as she breathed in, erratic and quick gasps of air that weren't nearly enough to fill her aching lungs.

Her nails dug into fabric, nearly ripping the bedsheets. Those same tears she'd felt in the nightmare now lingered, making a steady path down her cheeks and dampening the collar of her shirt.

Nami's lower lip quivered pathetically and she groaned in anger. It was so unfair. They had won, she was free at last. And still, Arlong haunted her, hiding in the dark corners of her mind. What if he's still out there? What if he's plotting revenge? What if he comes after them again with blood in his eyes? What if-

She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head as if physically trying to chase away the torturing thoughts. Her hands came up, tugging at the roots of messy ginger hair as she gulped back a sob and tasted the salt of tears on her lips. Didn't she deserve peace? A shot at a normal life without having to watch her back at all times and close off her heart to everyone? Perhaps not.

Several moments went by in silence, with the only sound being the calm ocean outside and Nami's unsteady breathing. The small room she called hers was pitch black, which meant it was still the middle of the night, but alas, there would be no more sleeping for her tonight.

With shaky legs, she got up.

The air outside on Going Merry's deck was cold, biting at her skin and making the navigator pull her thin coat tighter around herself. And yet Nami closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, if she felt the cold, maybe she wouldn't need to feel anything else.

The night was serene, the vast ocean was quiet and the sky clear, allowing for a blanket of stars to dance above her along with a bright moon.

Nami had always enjoyed watching the stars, counting the constellations. She'd sit on the roof of her old house during nights like these after her mom and sister had gone to sleep, and just admire the cosmos above her. Simpler times. And as she looked up at those same stars now, she could almost feel herself being back there.

A breath of air stumbled past her lips, turning into a white puff in the frigid night air. Her eyes grew wet again, vision hazy until the stars turned into nothing but blurry bright spots. In the vastness of the ocean that reflected the endless night sky, she felt undeniably alone. Maybe there was no healing for the likes of her after all.

—

You woke up already cursing that last glass of wine, maybe if you hadn't drank that, you wouldn't be being forced to leave your warm bed for the sake of going to the bathroom right now.

A shiver ran up and down your body when your bare feet touched the cold wood of the ship's floor. Blinking the sleep away from your eyes, you lazily felt around near the foot of your bed for the fuzzy slippers you'd snatched before leaving the village.

Feeling more than seeing your way through, you made it to the bathroom. And as you were making your way back to bed again, a chilly breeze circled you and got the hairs at the back of your neck standing up.

With your eyes now adjusted to the darkness of the night, you could catch a peek at the main doors that led to the ship's deck. They were ajar, moving gently back and forth with the cold ocean wind.

The first you thought of was Usopp, maybe even Luffy; as the others were unlikely to forget the doors open. In any case, you walked up to them. Some windows here and there could be left open, but it was routine to close the doors as they were the main entrance to the cold night air.

The hinges creaked with complaint as you began to push them closed, yet before you were done, your eyes caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure sitting alone at one edge of the ship.

You'd recognize her in an instant, of course. Even in the dark night, the moonlight still highlighted those strands of tangerine hair like nothing else. It's like the natural satellite waited eagerly for when she'd step outside, what with the way its light favored her. Or maybe the problem was you, and she was all you could see.

Nami sat with her back against one of the tangerine planters, hugging her knees tightly to her chest as her gaze remained focused on the sky above her. She looked to be miles away, eyes hazy and missing their usual sharpness.

You shifted in your stance, fighting with yourself on whether you should go to her or not. The last few days had been tough on her, on all of your crew. You still couldn't shake the sight of Nami's desolate, teary eyes when she finally asked for help; the blood dripping from the tattoo she tried to rip off her arm; or the dark room with only chains and paper for company.

You started walking up to her before you could debate further, with deep worry tugging at your heartstrings. Steps slow and careful as if approaching a wild cat, still minding the gentle swaying of the ship so your sleepy self wouldn't lose balance.

Nami startled when she sensed your presence, you saw it clear as the moonlight; the way her muscles tensed, jaw set tight, and chin angling up to disguise the glinting of her blown pupils. Still, she stayed unmoving, tucked in her corner with her arms tightening around her knees.

It was a little awkward, really, the way you two simply looked at each other for a good minute, her sitting on the floor and you standing there in your pajamas. Eventually, you cleared your throat, but the best you could come up with was; "Hey." You winced as soon as the word left your mouth.

Nami's eyes lowered then. She gulped, and sighed, body sagging back against the wooden planter. It looked a lot like defeat; from what, you weren't sure.

"Hey," she said back, voice uneven and husky.

You bit at the inside of your cheek as you looked at her, feeling your heart hammering against your chest as if berating you for the distance still separating you from her. You had long since given up trying to fight it; the way your insides filled with butterflies at the mere sight of her, the way your cheeks warmed up at the sound of her voice speaking your name, the way goosebumps filled your body at the smallest of touches from her; and the way that, just like now, your heart bled upon seeing those bright eyes of hers so full of sorrow.

"I just…" You started, matching the quietness of her tone so as to not break the bubble of peace that had enveloped you, "I saw the door open and just, wanted to ask if you're okay?"

The cold breeze ruffled Nami's hair, a few strands getting caught between her lips. She took her time pushing it back behind her ear. It could have been anyone, any of the crew members to find her in this sorry state and she would've been able to talk her way out of it. But oh, not to you.

You, who had squeezed your way past every last one of Nami's so carefully built walls and defenses. You'd made her care and grow fond of you even if she was actively trying not to. And it was difficult to deny the fragility of her heart when you were the one who asked for it. It was difficult to bury the rawness of her feelings when your hands were the ones offering solace.

Nami bit onto her lower lip until she tasted hints of blood, the skin of her arms was cold under the thin fabric of her coat. "I don't know," the words fell past her lips of their own accord.

A moment went by, and then a breath of relief nearly escaped Nami when she finally felt the warmth of your body as you sat down beside her, your shoulders just shy of touching each other.

You fidgeted with your hands, now sitting so close to her, you could catch a glimpse of dried tear tracks on Nami's cheeks. Part of you wished you could physically take her pain to yourself. "Did you want to stay back with your sister?" You choose to play safe and ask carefully first, even though you had a feeling this wasn't the reason.

The navigator ducked her head, she had yet to meet your eyes again. She forced a chuckle, a broken thing that didn't feel real at all. "Please, I love that place, but one more night sharing stories and watching kids play, and I'd die of boredom." She tried joking as her own voice broke in the middle.

It was the smallest and most vulnerable you've ever heard her sound, and you realized this might be the first time Nami stood bare before you. No high walls around her heart, no carefully woven lies, or chains dictating her every move. Just Nami.

And she was raw, and new, and fragile. Treading foreign territory when for the first time she was allowed to simply feel and be.

You hesitated, wanting to bring her comfort yet not knowing how. The boundaries were unclear and blurred. When before she'd pushed you away, just yesterday she'd been clinging to you for dear life with Luffy's hat falling from her head and hanging around her neck as the building, that had once been her prison, collapsed behind her and she hid in the cocoon of your embrace.

Back then, when she was finally free of Arlong's claws, you'd nearly cried from relief, nails burying into the fabric of Nami's shirt as you relished having her in your arms again after having to watch her turn her back on you and sail away with the fishmen and that same glint of sorrow in her eyes.

And right now, under the blanket of stars and amidst the cold sea wind, you wished you could do the same. Still, you'd wait for her. You'd always wait for her.

"Is it… because of Arlong?" You asked in a whisper that barely stood out in the night.

A shiver ran up and down Nami's back at the mention of the name, and the dread must have shown on her face because you quickly added; "You don't have to talk, just… tell me what I can do for you."

Nami bit onto her lip to keep it from quivering. You had always been so sickeningly sweet. Always caring and staying even if there were times when she'd been nothing short of cold with you.

There had been moments, 'almosts' stolen away when you were alone together. A brush of hands, a brush of lips. Nami could still remember the ghosts of your touch and her heart ached for it. She remembered your fingers brushing away her hair and how she involuntarily leaned into your touch. She remembered the racing of her heart and how her breath had stumbled when her nose bumped yours. An almost kiss. An almost reverie.

Those moments whisked her away from reality. Away from Arlong, and deals, and maps, and painful memories. You had a thing about you that wrapped her up in a blanket of warmth and for a moment nothing else existed.

Yet, every time, Nami had pulled away before the gap was closed, avoiding your eyes and mumbling some half-assed excuse that no doubt had stung you. And maybe it was selfish, even then, because she couldn't bear the thought of what Arlong might have done to you, had he learned how much she cared for you. Fear twisted her stomach each time she remembered what happened to the people she allowed herself to be close to. So she pushed you away, breaking her heart along with it, and perhaps yours too.

She wondered now, briefly, if the chance had been lost forever.

Waves gently rocked Going Merry, with just the two of you awake amidst the vast ocean; the cold air felt suddenly warm with intimacy.

"I keep thinking," Nami began, she hated how her voice sounded and how a single tear rolled down her cheek, "What if he comes back."

There was the ghost of a touch on her hand that rested above her knee. Nami held her breath as she watched your fingers timidly intertwine with hers. Your touch, warm and steady and real, was all it took for her to crumble. A sob stumbled past her lips and more tears fell freely down her cheeks, dripping from her chin as she clutched your hand tightly. "What if I've just made things worse and- and he'll come after them again? This time with no mercy or deals?" She uttered desperately, and then finally, turned to look you in the eyes, "What if he comes after you?"

You struggled to keep to yourself how soft she made you feel, to hold onto your composure for both your sakes. Gazing into those bright pools of green that were her eyes, twinkling with the sparks of a thousand stars; you could see galaxies there and gladly be lost in them. Strands of fiery hair framed her face and flowed in the wind, kissing her cheeks in a way you could only dream of doing.

As you gazed upon her, you realized this is the beauty poets write so much about.

With your free hand, you cupped her cheek to dry her tears. "Nami, sunshine, listen to me; he's gone, for good. He's dead, we made sure of it."

A quiet whimper fell past Nami's lips at the nickname. The same nickname you'd dreamily called her the very first time you'd met, when she'd been secretly glad for having another girl in the 'crew' and was none the wiser of her growing feelings.

"And I will never let Arlong, or anyone, lay their hands on you or the people you care about again," you spoke with the conviction of a promise you'd kill and die to keep, hesitating only for a second before leaning forward to rest your forehead against hers. Your thumb swiped at the apple of her cheek, and your heart soared when she leaned into your touch. "I promise."

Nami's already unsteady breathing stumbled with your closeness, she brought your joined hands near her chest, in a foolish attempt that maybe the beating of her heart could tell you everything she still couldn't.

It hit her like a tidal wave that, with Arlong gone, she was free to indulge in you without restraints, without fear. She was allowed to bask in the softness and warmth of your touch and lose herself in it.

Nami felt her throat close up tight when the realization hit her, she could feel her eyes pooling again and she hated it. But you were there, and you were close, and you were present, and you were warm and sure and you stayed. Maybe she could blame it on the raw emotions that the deep hours of the night brought forth, but her heart screamed, and for once she listened to it.

In one swift movement, Nami let go of your hand only to have both her arms around your waist, squeezing you tight as she buried her head in your neck.

You asked no questions. Perhaps you knew, perhaps she was more of an open book than she realized. Or perhaps you had just grown to know her, and surprisingly, Nami liked the sound of that.

You brought both your arms around her as well, hugging her to you in the comfort you knew she needed, all gentle and steady.

It felt like lifting a heavy anchor that had kept her at the bottom of the sea for far too long. Nami shivered when she felt your fingers burying in between her hair, a touch so tender she couldn't remember the last time she felt anything of the sort. "Thank you," she spoke against your skin, "for not giving up on me, as difficult as I might have made it."

A breath of a chuckle escaped you and your lips found her temple in a kiss, "Bold of you to think I give up easily."

Eventually, Nami was the one to pull away, a genuine smile finally breaking through her tear-stained cheeks. She refused to go far though, her hands still gently tugging at the fabric of your shirt.

You took the liberty of tucking loose strands of hair behind her ear, fingers lingering, tracing the edge of her jaw.

Her smile faltered only for the briefest moment; "I… don't think I can go back to sleep." Nami's words fell timidly and quiet, not at all used to saying her feelings out loud.

Your gaze wandered from her and up to the night sky, adorned with a myriad of stars and a pale moon bathing you in silver light. Looking back at Nami, back to those ocean eyes that were the brightest and softest you've ever had the privilege of witnessing, you thanked the heavens for that last glass of wine that made you get up tonight. "I don't mind the night," you mimicked her adoring smile.

Nami's cheeks blushed a faint shade of pink, bashful eyes avoiding yours. She shuffled closer to you, until you had an arm around her shoulders and the cold air of the night had no space between you.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

You do not have permission to repost, copy, or translate my works on any platforms (even with credit), please respect.

Nami’s taglist: @milkiane@v1ci0us

[arrowpoint]

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[kaiijo]

Hii!! I loved the idea of the spotify wrapped event and I also loved your one piece one shots! Can I request 41 x Law? If you dont write for him you can write for Zoro or whoever you think would be fitting :)

IVY — TRAFALGAR LAW

trafalgar law + Oh, I can’t stop you putting roots in my dreamland content: gn! reader, canon-typical descriptions of violence, references to law’s past notes: thanks so much for your kind words! hope you enjoy this drabble!

request a character and prompt for my spotify wrapped event here!

law is no stranger to nightmares. he’s accustomed to jolting awake, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling, chest heaving with anxiety and fear. he tries to remember what his parents used to tell him to calm his racing heart: inhale for four seconds, hold for seven, exhale in a count of eight. 

in. hold. out.

in. hold. out.

law doesn’t sleep a lot anymore, always locked in his office late at night, poring over books about anatomy and medicine and illnesses. it’s mostly because he’s working, the insomnia, but he knows there’s a part of him that’s almost scared to sleep — that doesn’t want to see looped images of dead bodies, feel the heat of erupting flames, hear the sounds of gunshots. 

law watches as you and penguin duck under a round of marine gunfire, diving for cover behind a building. civilians draw their shutters closed. the crew’s gotten what they need from the town, now it’s a matter of getting out. 

you sprint out from your hiding place, penguin hot on your heels. there’s another rain of bullets and law’s stomach lurches when he sees red dribbling down your arm, skin grazed by the bullet. he needs to get you two out of there now.

law lifts a hand. “room. shambles.” he switches you and penguin out for an empty crate and just like that, the two of you are standing safe on the polar tang’s deck. you’re both breathing hard, penguin resting his hands on his knees. you grab at your arm and law can tell that whatever adrenaline has been pumping through your veins is starting to wear off; you wince at the cut on your arm, your palm stained with blood. 

law gets the crew mobilized fast, everyone hustling to get the below deck so the polar tang can submerge. law swiftly and efficiently takes down the remaining marines, heading down below as the submarine sinks below the water.

he finds you heading for the washroom. he calls your name and you whirl around quickly. “captain,” you greet him.

“follow me.” law makes sure his tone leaves no room for argument and you shuffle behind him as he walks to the operating room.

you frown when you enter the room. “captain, i really don’t think my injury warrants an opera—”

he sighs heavily. “i’m not operating. just want to get somewhere more sterile. sit on the table.”

you obey easily and law opens up a cabinet, grabbing hydrogen peroxide, a roll of bandages, and antibiotic cream. he also picks up a sterilized pair of tweezers. when he turns around, you’re already shrugging out of your boiler suit, twitching as the fabric rubs against your wound. 

law approaches, doing is best to keep his eyes on the wound and not on the exposed skin you revealed. when you joined the crew, law had never been more thankful to himself for making the boiler suits uniform. he doesn’t know if he could focus otherwise.

he examines the wound, looking closely to see if there are any bits of debris or fabric stuck in it. when he doesn’t see anything, law soaks a sterile pad in hydrogen peroxide and presses it against your graze. you make a high-pitched, wounded sound that cuts right through law’s heart and he tries his best to tenderly but thoroughly clean the wound. you flinch, gritting your teeth and hissing, “you really must hate me, captain.” 

you let out a pained laugh that lets law know you were joking but your statement still makes him frown. if only you knew just how much the opposite was true.

law sighs again, wrapping the bandage roll around your arm and snapping off a piece, securing it. you test the motion of your arm and law asks, “too tight?”

“no, it’s good.” you hop off the table. “thanks, doc.”

“i’ll need to check that every few days,” he tells you, “to watch for infection.”

“sounds good! guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.” you shoot him a cheeky smile and thank him again as you slip out of the room. law is rooted to his spot, feeling heat climb up his neck. you faint scent lingers — cinnamon shampoo and apple soap.

law’s heart skips a beat.

late into the night, law sits at his desk in his office, doing is best trying to focus on the medical text in front of him. he thinks about the smoothness of your skin and the way your eyes curve into half-moons when you smile. he drags a hand down his face. 

he needs to focus. he needs to not think about you. he needs to think about bones and hairline fractures and how fast the human heart can go before it—

law hears footsteps and he knows it’s you, beckoning you in even before you can announce your arrival and knock on the door. you swing it open, smiling brightly at him. gods, he swears you hold moonbeams in your grin.

“right as always,” you say as you close the door behind yourself. 

“do you need something? is it your arm?”

you shake your head. “no, just thought i’d check up on you. knew you’d still be up.”

law offers a wry smile. “no rest of the wicked.”

“i’d agree with you, but you’re not wicked, captain.”

law raises an eyebrow in surprise. he is wicked — it’s a known fact. everything he touches is destroyed eventually. when he doesn’t reply, you continue, “you look out for everyone, you’re a doctor for gods’ sakes.”

“so? bad people can do good things.”

your moonbeam smile falls and your expression turns stern. “you care for us, captain, all of us in a way that no one truly wicked ever would. don’t talk about yourself that way. ”

his heart’s in his throat and he’s desperately trying to swallow it down. “okay.”

you nod firmly and then bring your hand up to hide your yawning mouth. law tells you, “you should get some rest.”

“i came here to get you to go to sleep.”

“don’t worry about me.”

you cross your arms. “i’m not going to sleep until you do.”

law levels you with a stare and you gaze right back, unwavering in your conviction. you two stare for a good few seconds. he can see the way your eyes shimmer. it doesn’t seem that you’re backing down. law breaks the connection and sighs, “fine. let’s go.”

he puts away his books and papers and the two of you head down the hallway. he tries to guide you to your room first but you say, “nope. i want to make sure you actually go to sleep.” so you head for his quarters first. 

you come to his door and you say, “you better get some sleep. a healthy, well-rested captain is vital for an efficient and successful crew.”

“i know.” 

he basks in the comfortable silence that falls over the pair of you. then, you yawn again and he orders you off to bed yourself. you smile sleepily at him, your eyes form crescents again as you do so. “alright, i’m off then.” you turn and begin to walk away. over your shoulder, you call softly, “good night, law.”

he bids you good night and steps inside his room, door shutting behind him. it’s in there, as he’s changing into pajamas, that he realizes. 

it’s the first time you said ‘law,’ not ‘captain.’

your voice repeats like a record in his head. law. law. law. his heart thunders in his chest.

for the first time in a long time, law isn’t afraid to fall asleep. instead of the screaming nightmares he usually faces, he’s met with a different image as he drifts off. 

in a tender, hazy light, law dreams of you.

[itsawritblr]

Jenny Watson: "We can do it, so let's do it." Jenny outlines her plan for a female-only, lesbian space.

For my lesbian, bisexual women, and radfem Followers. Via Graham Linehan's Substack.

For many decades, London was considered the global capital for lesbian nightlife. But you’d never know it if you visited the UK today. It’s not for a lack of British lesbian culture: I’m a lesbian, I’m involved in our country’s lesbian social scene, and I can assure you, it’s alive and well. What we lack at the moment are our own dedicated spaces. I think the UK needs once more to have lesbian-run, female-only community spaces. 

I’ve got an idea about how to make one such space a reality. And I believe I'm in a position to make it happen.

Over the past seven years, I've had the privilege of organising a range of lesbian social events in London. Throughout this time, I've made many connections in our community, gained an increasing understanding of our needs, and created social spaces that I hope go some way to meeting them. 

And in those seven years working to coordinate part of the the UK’s lesbian social scene, I’ve come to see how badly we need a dedicated, strictly female-only event space — now more than ever. 

Men have been encroaching on the lesbian community, and the problem is only getting worse. There’s been a sense of inevitability, that this is just something we have to learn to live with.

But I’ve had it.

In June, I skipped London’s official Pride festivities and instead visited an alternative, independent event at the Hampstead Ponds. It was a female-only picnic. Hundreds of women of all ages were gathered, from their teens to their eighties. And the sublime joy that I felt that day led me to a eureka moment:

We need this. We deserve this. This is our right. As lesbians and bisexual women, we have a right to social spaces that are entirely our own.

So, earlier this year, I decided to implement a women-only policy at my events. Although this sparked controversy, we ultimately received recognition from the UK’s largest pub operator that it is legitimate to hold women-only lesbian events - a real victory!

And then it suddenly dawned on me: we need more and not only do we need this, I can do this. I feel I have a good sense of the UK market for lesbian social events. So I crunched some numbers and developed a business proposal. I gauged interest and studied feasibility. And I’m excited to tell you: I believe this can work.

My plan involves establishing a private members’ club and securing a prime physical space in London. By day, this space will operate as a versatile hybrid workspace, becoming a venue hosting various social events in the evenings and weekends. Alongside these, we'll provide online events, and collaborate with service providers for health and wellness advice, fitness guidance, group trips, and more. Revenue will come from the events, partnerships, as well as from membership dues.

To the lesbian and bisexual women reading this: you’re welcome to get in touch with me if you’d like to learn more. There's an opportunity to invest if you’re interested, too. I’ve got a pitch deck I would be happy to show you and a fully fleshed-out, 50-page business plan. And I’m happy to report that there are already investors who have given the thumbs up. 

Following my announcement and inspired by the community's heartwarming response, I decided to introduce an early-bird membership programme. This includes a personalised QR-coded membership card for exclusive updates and access to a members’ discussion space. Joining early also signifies your part in accelerating our community's launch. 

Which brings me to another issue, and it’s a big part of the reason I’m writing this now: online critics. There’s a small but vocal group of people online who’ve been saying some pretty nasty and completely unfounded things about me. This group of people have taken to personal insults, and accusations that I’m a fraudster and a grifter.

I’m not entirely surprised to encounter pushback, but at the same time, the level of vitriol has been eye-opening.

But I try to put it in a bigger context: Lesbians have faced so much abuse, and for so long we’ve had to settle for having social spaces conditionally, on terms set by men. There’s a climate of distrust and fear looming over the lesbian community as a result. So much so that today the idea of even having one single space fully dedicated to lesbian and bisexual women seems so radical, some people’s initial reaction is that there’s got to be a catch.

I completely understand that a good dose of scrutiny, of tempering optimism with some degree of caution, is reasonable. It’s healthy. And it’s entirely welcome.

But personal insults and unfounded accusations are not. I know that emotions are running high, and we as a community are feeling beleaguered right now. But that’s no excuse to target my Irishness in personal attacks, for example. Or to target my business supporters with lies about me.

I'm not here to push or persuade anyone who doesn't feel the spark for this project. However, for those who do, our project investors' safety and security are crucial — capital funds are securely placed in escrow and I've teamed up with a business consultant who's right here supporting us until opening day. We’ve put together a solid business plan.

If anything, the tenor of some of the criticism I’ve faced only hardens my resolve: it just highlights how badly women need a space to unite us, to heal us in this difficult time.

It’s been upsetting to endure the smear campaign that a small online group has thrown at me… but my mind keeps going back to that Edenic afternoon at the Hampstead Ponds, where hundreds of women were gathered in serenity and harmony.

This will heal us. This will unite us. And it will make us all stronger. Lesbian strength comes through unity.

There are various ways you can help, but the most crucial one is spreading the word - our message is the most important part of this project. 

Other than that, as I mentioned earlier, if you are a lesbian/bi woman, there is the option to join as an early-bird member (however, this is not compulsory; you can wait until our opening). Additionally, there's the opportunity for investment or donation. I've prepared a comprehensive 50-page business plan and pitch deck available for those who are interested.

For a deeper understanding of the project, feel free to visit our website or you can email me at contact@lcommunity.co.uk 

Any form of support you can offer is immensely appreciated as we work towards making this a reality.  

We can do this. So let’s do it!

[midnightcrw]

Mission

Pairing: Simon Ghost Riley x fem!reader

Summary: On a mission with Simon while the TF141 looks after Daisy (Simon and your daughter)

Warning: Smut, Fingering (though it's not very long)

a/n: Did I just finish writing this in class? Yes, I did. This is probably the longest piece I have written in a while. I'm not entirely satisfied with some aspects of it, but hopefully, you'll all like it. There is also a mention of another piece I wrote on Thursday, in this one

"I can't believe we're doing this," you mumbled under your breath, not thrilled about the situation at hand. It's not that partnering with Simon on a mission bothered you; it's the whole pretending-to-be-someone-else deal. Luckily, being married to Simon was the only genuine part.

Simon's expression mirrored your sentiments; he wasn't thrilled about the mission either. Home with you and Daisy, enjoying a movie, sounded way better than being here. Ever since Price pitched the idea (thanks to Soap planting the seed), Simon's face maintained a constant frown, adding to his already intimidating aura.

"Look at your mom and dad, Daisy," Soap chirped through the earpiece, his cheerful tone cutting through the tension. Clearly, Soap's ulterior motive was getting you two on the mission, leaving him more time with Daisy—especially considering the fact that he, Price, and Gaz burned down most of your house.

After all, you'd decided a week ago that they wouldn't be visiting Daisy after the recent incident. Yet, here they were—Price, Soap, and Gaz—squeezed into the cozy van. You and Simon, on the other hand, were decked out in your finest attire, ready to infiltrate a ball where you had to play the roles of affluent snobs.

The biting cold outside did little to improve the situation, but once inside, the warmth gradually enveloped you. The opulent decorations of some wealthy bastard's 'home' caught your attention, if one could even call it that.

Entering the venue proved surprisingly simple, thanks to Laswell's good work on your fake identities. At least, there was someone reliable to count on while the trio fawned over Daisy.

"I can't believe it either," Simon whispered, his arm securely wrapped around your waist, unwilling to let you out of his sight. Your husband, though impeccably dressed and handsome, exuded an unmistakable discomfort about the entire affair.

Playfully teasing him, you touched the hand wrapped around your waist, gazing at him with affection. "You look good, don't worry."

Simon rolled his eyes, confident in his appearance. His concern lay elsewhere, irritated by the lingering gazes directed at you, as if you weren't already claimed.

Choosing not to engage in your banter, he retaliated with a gentle pinch on your waist, evoking a gasp before you playfully pushed him. Looking down at you, a subtle smirk played on his lips. "Behave," he said, causing your heart rate to quicken.

Despite being accustomed to his antics, it still stirred an emotion within you – an emotion only your Simon could evoke.

Your eyes roamed the polished surroundings, every detail meticulously in place. A grand chandelier adorned the center of the room, its crystals glistening in the radiant light.

The crowd, dressed impeccably, momentarily making you insecure about your own attire, despite knowing it was far from the truth. Lingering eyes turned your way, a subtle awareness settling in.

Simon and you strolled, exploring the opulent venue and stumbling upon a grand staircase. However, the stairs could wait; first, you needed to blend into the ball and find the opportune moment for distraction.

Through the earpiece, multiple voices echoed, dominated by Daisy's delightful coos and giggles. The urge to express your adoration almost escaped you, as Simon's hushing finger pressed to your lips.

"But Simon, she's so cute," you protested as Simon pulled you abruptly flush against his chest. Knowing that he had to shut you up somehow, and making sudden decisions always seemed to work well on you.

"I know, she's cute, but we're on a mission," he exclaimed, leaning down to press a kiss on your temple. You sighed, resting your forehead on his chest.

Daisy, only a year old, had never been far from your side, making it tough to focus without worrying, despite trusting Soap, Gaz and Price.

"I'm sorry," you apologized, feeling a twinge of guilt. Simon, all seriousness, maintained focus while you struggled to compose yourself.

"No need to apologize, love. It won't take long, I promise," he reassured in a soothing tone, his embrace bringing a momentary calm.

Tilting your head, you locked eyes with him. The softening of his gaze revealed a side reserved just for you and you leaned in for a kiss, a sudden interruption made both of you pull away in surprise.

"Is everything alright?" The man, around his forties, in a well-put-together white suit and a black tie, asked. His black hair had a few distinguished white strands, adding to his attractive appearance—a face you found oddly familiar.

Before you could place him, Gaz's voice chimed in through the earpiece, "That's Robert Harris."

Robert Harris, the man whose 'home' you were infiltrating, stood as the alleged cause behind multiple soldier disappearances and stolen weapons, cleverly concealed behind the mask of a successful CEO.

"Everything's alright, Mr. Harris," you replied, offering a smile to downplay any suspicion. "Just call me Robert. And you must be?" he inquired, returning the smile, his gaze focused on you, seemingly oblivious to Simon's presence or deliberately avoiding eye contact.

You slipped your hand into Simon's, drawing him closer as you smoothly introduced yourselves with the fabricated names designed for this mission.

As your fingers intertwined with Simon's, Robert's gaze shifted to your husband, and his expression hinted at displeasure. Sensing the tension, your grip on Simon's hand tightened. Having looked through Robert's file, you knew he wasn't exactly the most loyal husband in his marriage—an aggressive man unburdened by consequences.

Sensing your distress, Simon entered the conversation. "A few guests mentioned your recent endeavors. What's your newest project, if I may ask?" Uncharacteristically wordy for Simon, but for you, he'd go the extra mile.

As Robert engaged in the discussion, you seized the opportunity to ask about the restroom. "Up the stairs, first door to your left, darling," Robert said, letting his eyes linger a little longer on you as if he was mentally undressing you while putting an emphasis on the 'darling'.

Nodding, you made your way upstairs, leaving Simon alone with Harris. The uneasy feeling that settled in when Robert approached lingered, taken by the realization that Simon couldn't watch your back for the moment.

The moment the word 'darling' slipped from Robert's mouth, Simon's jaw tightened, and his hands balled into fists. It wasn't the term itself that bothered him, but the deliberate intent behind it, as if Robert aimed to provoke him.

Simon, consumed by a simmering anger, barely registered the details of the project Robert was discussing. "You have a beautiful wife," Harris stated with a smug voice, an infuriating smirk accompanying his words.

Before Simon could retort, Harris continued, "I'm sure having a wife like her never gets boring." That remark struck a nerve, sparking Simon's irritation.

"Damn," Gaz uttered with a shocked tone, earning a smack on the back of his head from Price. "Not in front of Daisy!"

"Simon is probably going to kill him," Soap exclaimed, drawing a giggle from Daisy. "You definitely are Simon's daughter."

Having finished washing your hands, Laswell's voice echoed, "His office is at the end of the corridor, and for now, the way is clear."

With Laswell's guidance, you swiftly headed outside, walking briskly towards the indicated door. Left to your own devices, you might have been lost, grateful for the assistance.

Standing before the door, you braced for it to be locked. To your surprise, the handle turned easily. "He's not only sleazy but also dumb," you mumbled as you entered.

"I agree," Gaz chimed in, offering support for your opinion on Robert, bringing a small smile to your face. The room, akin to the rest of the ball's elegance, was well-organized and pristine.

Moving around the desk, you delved into the drawers, recognizing this task might take a while with numerous files and papers that didn't stand out at first glance.

"Fucking finally," Simon breathed out in relief as Robert disappeared from sight. He was just about to lodge a knife into either Robert's throat or his own, depending on his mood. Fortunately, for Robert, the guests took the man away before Simon could do something he could enjoy regret.

Having monitored your conversations through the earpiece as he ascended the stairs, Simon was visibly pleased to find you unharmed inside the office.

"I would have thrown a knife at you if Laswell hadn't warned me," you quipped, your husband approaching you behind the desk.

"Maybe I would have liked that," Simon whispered, dangerously close to your body, trapping you between himself and the desk.

"Not now," you warned, despite the craving to feel his touch. Ignoring your caution, Simon wrapped his arms around your waist, planting kisses on your neck, prompting a quiet gasp at the sudden contact of his lips.

"Hate the way he looked at you," Simon rasped out, his hand venturing beneath the leg slit of your dress, his intense gaze locking onto yours, awaiting your response—permission or denial hanging in the balance.

Unable to resist any longer, you nodded, granting Simon the freedom to explore your body.

His left hand held your waist possessively, while the right pushed your underwear aside. Gripping the desk tightly, your head tilted forward.

Without warning, Simon cupped you between your legs, eliciting a whimper from you. "Fuck..."

Drenched with desire, the touch left you yearning to be bent over the desk and fucked senselessly, losing yourself in a passion that momentarily eclipsed the lingering mission at hand.

He slowly released his grip, running his middle finger through your slit, prompting a clench of your thighs and earning a spank. "Keep your legs spread for me, darling," Simon urged, a hint of spite lingering in the term Robert had used.

Gulping, you complied, and as you let go, Simon plunged a finger deep inside you, drawing a moan. "Shh, we wouldn't want them to hear you now, would we, darling?" His voice took on an unexpectedly deeper tone, causing you to bite your lip and compliance. "Good girl."

With that, he started fucking his digit in and out of you, not at all being gentle as he usually would be. Your lip was likely bleeding from the force, but Simon reveled in the sight of you unraveling.

"More, please," you quietly pleaded, a desire for another finger inside as he began rubbing your clit, the sensation almost pushing you to cry out.

"Only because you've been good so far," he whispered into your ear, adding another finger, curling both digits, causing you to lean forward, supporting yourself with your arms.

Not long after, you reached your climax, nearly collapsing to your knees if Simon hadn't held you up by your waist. Taking deep breaths, you tried to compose yourself as Simon cleaned his fingers with a handkerchief from his suit pocket.

Allowing you a moment to rest on the chair by the desk, your husband retrieved the files, finding the one you needed. "I'll take care of you once we're out of here, love," Simon promised, giving you a kiss before pulling you up by your hands.

"You're lucky that we were able to turn off the mics and the screen for the office," Price scolded the both of you as you leaned against Simon.

"You shouldn't have forced us on this mission then," Simon replied.

"I hope you feel guilty, Simon."

"I would do it again."

[camels-pen]

post-timeskip Sanji is sent back in time to a point before Sabaody. I don't really have a whole thing for this, just Sanji having to restrain himself from yelling at his younger self to please, dear god, do NOT let Usopp get sent to Boin on his own.

He's also taking a lot of time to drag Usopp to the kitchen and give him lessons on proper nutrition and cooking. Usopp- as with everyone else- is very confused. Sanji's the cook, isn't he? That's his job, not Usopp's.

Sanji has to make up some excuse about being sick once and Usopp planning and cooking meals so badly that it has haunted him for years. Man, having a chronic liar and storyteller for a boyfriend is really rubbing off on him. Not that he's complaining at the moment.

Despite his confusion, Usopp genuinely has a good time with Sanji. Especially since he's not really cooking, more just writing stuff down in a notebook while Sanji lists off different recipes and why they're good to know off the top of his head. He doesn't understand why every recipe seems like they'd be best suited for camping out in a large, killer bug and plant-infested forest- specific, yes, but also Sanji keeps making a note about that after he lists off each recipe. Usopp is going to avoid thinking about it too deeply.

Younger Sanji, meanwhile, is pouting and denying it to anyone who points it out. His kitchen gets commandeered and it feels like his older self is mocking him. Like every time he pulls Usopp to the galley, he's saying, "Look how easily I can touch him, compliment him, make him laugh. Look how weak and cowardly you are." and younger Sanji can't stand it.

He'd grown a bit distant from Usopp since realizing his romantic feelings for him back in Water 7- and isn't that fucked up? it was only after they were in a hotel for the night, Usopp well and truly not a part of the crew anymore, that Sanji had felt an aching in his heart. The same ache that followed him now, though it's far more pleasant than it had been in that hotel.

Eventually, there's some kind of portal that appears high above Sunny and very distant high pitched screaming. Familiar high pitched screaming.

"SANJI!"

Sanji gets a big grin on his face and without thinking he uses Sky Walk to meet the quickly growing speck in the shape of a person. He holds out his arms and catches a flailing post-TS Usopp in his arms.

"Oh thank god," he said, quickly wrapping his arms around Sanji's neck. Sanji lowered them down to the deck and they were immediately surrounded.

"Holy shit, I'm buff!" younger Usopp said.

"Did Sanji-san just jump into the sky?!" Brook exclaimed, with similar sentiments echoed by Luffy and Chopper, sparkles in their eyes. "How- what- how?"

"Older Usopp's outfit is looking pretty super too!"

"You're only saying that because I'm half-naked Franky," Usopp said, unimpressed. "Don't put me on the same level as you, weirdo."

"Haha, sure thing, no need for flattery."

"It wasn't."

"Not that I'm not enjoying all this- and loving that you're here, mon cher," -younger Sanji's eye twitched- "but you have a surefire route back, right?"

"Of course!" He pointed up at the still open portal above Sunny. "Zoro's threatening the devil fruit user to keep that open until we come back. He was actually the one to find the guy in the first place."

Sanji groaned. "Mossball's never gonna let me forget it."

"It's nice that some things stay the same." younger Zoro said, smug. "I still have to bail your ass out all the time."

"Shut the fuck up!" both Sanji's yelled simultaneously.

Usopp laughed. "He gets into his share of trouble, but Zoro, you really shouldn't say anything. I mean, just wait until you lose your-"

Sanji slapped a hand over Usopp's mouth. "They're not there yet, darling."

Younger Sanji and younger Usopp's faces darkened.

Sanji could feel Usopp pout under his hand. "You don't even know what I was going to say."

Sanji rolled his eye. "I can guess."

"I could've meant his favourite haramaki. Or one of his swords. Or-"

"Dear, there's only one thing you constantly bring up that mosshead lost. I get that he's never told anyone how it happened, but you really need to let it go."

"How can a storyteller let go of a mystery like that?? You might as well ask me to cut off my tongue right now."

"Ah, but then how would you taste all the snacks I make for you?"

"You know, I survived for two years on a deadly, man eating island with nothing but-"

Younger Usopp loudly cleared his throat. Sanji and Usopp turned to him. With his flush still very visible, he said, "You can get down now."

"Aww, but Sanji's arms are comfy," Usopp whined, nuzzling Sanji's neck.

Younger Sanji stomped towards them. "Either older me lets you down, or I-"

Sanji raised a brow. "You what? You're just an arrogant brat sailing through Paradise. No matter what you do, you can't force me- either of us, to do anything."

Younger Sanji bristled and Sanji was starting to feel like taking him down another peg, make him know his own faults before they're cruelly laid out in front of him, one crewmate disappearing after another. Usopp tugged on his collar, stopping him.

"We talked about this," Usopp said.

Sanji took a deep breath. "Yeah." He turned to his younger self. "Sorry, it's- I'm angry at myself. Not you."

"But aren't we-?"

Sanji shook his head. "Don't worry about it."

And with a few more accidental slip ups and very obvious flirting, Sanji and Usopp bid their pre-timeskip crew adieu and Sanji flies them up to the portal. Usopp definitely says something along the lines of "I'm so glad you're okay, I was really worried and I don't know what I'd do without you." and then he and Sanji share a kiss mid-air before finally going through the portal.

The portal snaps shut and most of the crew ends up hanging out and talking about what the heck just happened in a "oh huh, what an interesting event" type of way. Meanwhile, younger Sanji and Usopp are staring, mouths agape and incredibly flustered, at the spot where their older selves made out with each other.

[thedvilsinthedetails]

Rosekiller microfic suggestion 😊

Barty and Evan have always been very affectionate and touchy, lots of pet names etc and one day they find out a lot of hogwarts thinks they’re dating and they’re both like “are we dating? Damn I guess we are” and make out lmaooo

HELP IM REPLYING SO LATE TO ALL THESE PROMPTS BUT I FINALLY FOUND THE TJME AND MOTIVATION TO WRITE

sorry the ending is a bit rushed but yeah✨

•••

They were sat outside in the courtyard. Barty could feel the warm sun shining down on his face and Evan’s fingers softly running though his hair as he let a gentle sense of tranquility wash over him. He had his head resting in Evan’s lap, eyes screwed shut as Evan fiddled with his hair while they waited for Regulus and the girls to get back from Hogsmeade. 

He heard some students walk by and blinked his eyes opened confusedly as he heard their whispers and giggles. He frowned, lifting his head as he caught the end of what one of them was saying.

“Such couple goals.”

But then Evan had his hand pressed gently to Barty’s cheek, looking down at him as he murmured.

“Everything ok?”

“Yeah.” Barty nodded, deciding to ignore what he’d heard, those students could have been talking about anyone.

“Yeah everything’s good.”

Evan just grinned in response and Barty went back to resting his head on Evan’s thigh.

•••

Evan soared through the air, decked out in his quidditch gear as he and the Slytherin team flew a celebratory victory lap around the pitch, shooting a wink and a smirk at Barty who was already heading excitedly for the stairs to get down to the ground. Once he got there he sprinted for where Evan was standing, chatting excitedly to his teammates. He launched himself at Evan who caught him and then promptly tripped over, landing them both on the ground in a fit of laughter. Barty rolled over to face him with a grin.

“Well done Rosie!” 

Evan grinned back, face flushed with adrenaline.

“Thanks Bee.” 

He got up, brushing himself off and helping Barty to his feet too, wrapping an arm around his waist.

“You two are so cute.” 

Edgar Bones spoke, smiling as he passed them.

Evan turned to Barty and sent him a wink.

“Hear that? We’re practically the darlings of the year group” 

“Well of course we are, just look at us.”

Barty responded. Evan laughed slightly and Barty huffed questioningly.

“Sorry just- you have grass in your hair.”

Evan reached up a hand and picked out the grass that had gotten into Barty’s hair, then finally he ran a hand through, messing it up for good measure.

•••

“Students, as many of you may know, today marks the  muggle holiday of Valentines Day. Despite the excitement we would like you all to continue on like normal and save the celebrations for this weekends trip to Hogsmeade. Please be civilised and behave norma-“ 

That was when Barty got on the table. He held a bouquet of red roses in the air with a grin and announced loudly.

“Evan Rosier, my rose, light of my life, would you please be my Valentine?” 

He kneeled down, holding the bouquet out to Evan with a grin.

“Why of course.”

Evan took the bouquet and pressed a kiss to Barty’s cheek. As Barty stood up, he took a bow and the students actually began to clap. That was sort of surprising because usually his antics gained groans of annoyance from everyone around him. 

•••

The group was sat in a circle with the new addition of James Potter fiddling nervously with his wand next to Regulus. 

“So…it’s really nice to finally meet you guys. Reggie has told me a lot about you.” James cleared his throat awkwardly before he spoke.

Barty rolled his eyes before turning to Regulus.

“Reggie what happened to friendship solidarity? I’m single so you should be too, it’s not fair.”

“Single?” James asked confusedly.

“But I thought you and Evan were together.”

Barty turned to Evan and raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Me and Evan? Please as if I could ever pull Rosie, why would you think that?” 

“Well you two are awfully cuddly.”

“Are you saying friends can’t cuddle one another James? Does that mean there’s something going on between you and Sirius? Don’t know how Reggie feels being cheated on with his own brother.”

James’ eyes widened as he struggled to find words.

“No- no I would never, I don’t- sorry I just thought because you- you know, you regularly call Evan ‘your rose’ and that a pretty couple-y nickname so.”

“Well yeah but-“

“Plus you made a massive show of asking him out on Valentine’s Day. Everyone’s convinced you guys started dating this year, that’s why they clapped. Everyone thought it was really romantic.” 

Pandora added with a little self satisfied nod at the end of her statement.

“Huh I guess we kind of are together.” 

Barty turned back to Evan and found that he had a blush dusting his face in a dark shade of red. 

“Rosie.” Barty turned to Evan, lifting a hand to cup his face. 

“Well we can’t disappoint the people, would you do the honours of being with me?” 

Evan glanced down at him through half lidded eyes before pressing a small chaste kiss to his lips, letting a small sound escape his throat as Barty deepened it. 

When they broke apart Barty couldn’t hold back a dopey grin as Evan spoke.

“Well I guess I could.” 

“Brilliant.” Barty jumped up quickly, pulling Evan up with him.

“Where are we going?” Evan asked.

“Well I owe you a date don’t I?” 

“What? Right now?” Evan suppressed a smile and quirked up an eyebrow.

“No time like the present. Oh and before I forget-“ Barty turned back quickly to the group.

“James Potter? Thank you very very much.”

“You’re uh- you’re very very welcome.”

James appeared to be sweating profusely now in confusion, face slightly fear stricken. Regulus would probably murder Barty later but that didn’t matter right now. Nothing mattered right now except the warm weight of the hand holding his and the boy attached to it.

“I still don’t like you though.”

And with that, Barty excitedly tugged Evan out of the common room.