#In-mould labels

[ninkaku]

i could talk all day about mori's treatment of dazai and the way he abused his power over him but i'd rather talk about the ways in which he is still doing it, despite dazai having left the mafia. as we know, dazai left the mafia under oda's instruction, a promise he made to his dying friend in which he said he would become a good person, and be on the side that saves people. oda said, the sides make no difference to you, so he knows for a fact that dazai has no reason to do these things, when good and evil are mere concepts for him and not something he feels drawn to either way. a take i've seen often and one that i quite like is not only did mori have oda killed for the mafia's own personal gain (the deal struck so that they could operate under legal means), but it falls back on mori grooming dazai to one day take his seat. up until this point, dazai has never had anything worth protecting, has never lost anything, has never grieved anything and never experienced the emotional call to despair.

odasaku's death and thus dazai's push into the light, which ends up being with the ada, is the final piece that mori needed to solidify that dazai would one day be able to take his place. they talk about it, dazai says you were afraid of me, weren't you? and in more ways than one, the statement is true. mori had always known that he would and always wanted for dazai to surpass him, but the husk that dazai had become by never wanting anything, never protecting anything scared him if dazai was to dispose of him and assume his seat, because although dazai is a genius, he was callous and didn't value anything. he wouldn't value the mafia like mori does, he wouldn't protect yokohama like mori does. during the guild arc, mori says if dazai was still my right-hand man, the guild would stand no chance. dazai inside of the mafia and outside of it exists as a powerful adversary to whomever he stands against, and i think this is one of many reasons why the ada and the port mafia exist somewhat in tandem. the port mafia and the ada overstep their boundaries from time to time with each other, but the truth lies in mori knowing that dazai could ruin them if he intended to.

in something of a tldr mori aims to push dazai out of the mafia just as much as he intends to keep him within it. he needs dazai to experience loss, needs him to experience what it feels like to protect something, what it feels like to want to protect something. the fact that after dazai left, mori has not replaced his seat as an executive. has not replaced dazai as his right-hand with someone else, continuously offers him his position back means he fully intends to have him back under his wing again, someday. means he fully expects, once dazai has experienced what he needs him to, that he will take over his position, and he will drive dazai back to him. yosano and dazai serve as two prizes that mori currently does not have on his mantle, and in the deal struck with the president of the agency, those are the two he is most likely to pluck out of their ranks to put right back into his own.

[totalmouldingsolutions]

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[srilatha]

In Mould Labelling Market - Forecast(2023 - 2028)

In mould labelling market size is forecast to reach US$2.9 billion by 2026, after growing at a CAGR of 5% during 2021-2026 owing to rising demand from various end-use industries such as consumer goods, home, and personal care, food and beverage, and electronics and electrical industr

[bueris]

good thing I've got a healthy immune system I've had way too much contact with mould in my life

[fungardpapercups]

In addition to the custom design of injection molded milk tea cups, there is also exciting data: according to the latest survey results, using unique and personalized designed custom injection molded milk tea cups for brand promotion effectively increases customer repeat rates and word-of-mouth communication. Customers like to create an emotional connection with a brand, and highly personalized injection molded milk tea cups meet this need. While enjoying the delicious food, customers resonate with the brand and are more willing to share it with relatives and friends, thus promoting the spread of the brand's reputation. #bobatea #plasticcup #coffee #coffeecu...

[winterarmyy]

Against All Odds | Part I

An arranged marriage with the duke's illegitimate son!bucky.

Summary: In a medieval kingdom where magic and political intrigue are woven into the fabric of society, Y/N, the youngest daughter of a noble Earl family, finds herself in an arranged marriage to James Buchanan Barnes, the illegitimate son of the Duke. Known as the Winter Soldier, Bucky's reputation as a monster in war had instilled anxiety into Y/N's heart. But that fear quickly begins to crumble when she discovers that her husband is not the brutal figure society depicts him to be.

Navigation: Part I | Part II | Part III (end)

Words: 8.1k++

Pairing: duke's illegitimate son!bucky x noble!female!reader

Warnings: fantasy/medieval au, i did not write this with much knowledge of fantasy nor medieval lore. I write it solely for plot and the couple dynamic lmao. if you're expecting full blown fantasy novel; this ain't it, man. anyways, 18+ contents, no minors allowed, nsfw, cunnilingus, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, loss of virginity, praise kink, breeding kink (if you squint), marking kink (i think), soft fluffy smut, a wee bit of dirty talk. soft!reader and even softer!bucky. (idk what else, so tell me if there's something i miss.)

P/S: This is the fic for an idea I had earlier this year. The first chapter will only cover the original post but what happens next is something you will need to look forward on the upcoming chapters. Enjoy your read!

Read my other works here: Masterlist

Y/N stood in front of the grand mirror in her chamber, her reflection staring back at her with wide, fearful eyes. The delicate lace of her wedding dress was the opposite of the twisting anxiety in her stomach. Today, she was to marry James Buchanan Barnes, the illegitimate son of the Duke of the kingdom, a man labelled to be more beast than human.

He was known as the Winter Soldier, a title whispered with both fear and awe. Tales of his gruesome feats in battle, his merciless brutality, and his cold, metal arm was deemed as a horror story for the children in the kingdom. People spoke of him as a monstrous weapon, a beast moulded by the Emperor to do his bidding without question or hesitation. 

Y/N had heard the stories many times before; and it has always been a hushed conversation that floats around whether a ballroom of a gala, or at the tables of the garden parties, sometimes even in between the racks of books in the library.

They always painted a picture of a man who lived only for war, devoid of humanity.

She couldn't help but let these tales feed her imagination. What kind of man was he truly? Did he revel in the violence, or was he a prisoner to his fate? Y/N shuddered at the thought, her heart heavy with fear and uncertainty.

Her father, the Earl, had made it clear why she needed to marry him. It was a political manoeuvre, a strategic alliance to strengthen their family's position. The duke, Bucky's father, wielded considerable power, and their union would bring the Earl closer to the heart of the kingdom's influence. 

And when he heard that the duke was looking for a wife for his bastard son, he knew that she would be perfect. That was when Y/N, the youngest daughter, became the pawn in this game. Her father's ambitions certainly outweighed any consideration for her feelings or desires.

Y/N had always longed for a marriage of love, a dream she clung to despite her circumstances. She was a hopeless romantic through and through; much like her late mother. She remembered the nights when her mother would read to her and her siblings, spinning tales of prince charming and valiant heroes.

The fire crackled warmly in the hearth as her mother’s soothing voice filled the room. Y/N and her siblings, her older brother Eric and sister Clara, lay tucked under blankets, their eyes wide with wonder.

"And then the prince, with a heart full of love, swept the princess into his arms, vowing to protect her forever," her mother read, her voice a melodic whisper.

Y/N, her eyes sparkling with innocence, declared, "When I grow up, I want to marry a prince charming too!"

Clara, ever the practical one, nodded in agreement. "Me too! He has to be brave and kind."

Eric, being a little boy, scrunched his nose in distaste. "I don’t want to get married. I want to be a knight!"

Their mother chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair from Y/N’s forehead. "It does not matter if he is a prince charming or a humble knight. As long as you marry the one you love, that is what truly matters."

Y/N's heart ached at the memory. How she wished her mother were still here to guide her through this terrifying day. The gentle knock on the door brought her back to the present.

"Lady Y/N, it’s time," one of the maids said softly.

Y/N took a long and deep breath, smoothing down the fabric of her dress. She followed the maid down the corridor, her mind a swirl of emotions. Reaching the grand doors of the church, her father waited for her.

"Remember, Y/N," he said, his voice stern. "Do not mess this up. Just endure it. And you'll be fine. This is the most useful you can be to our family."

Her heart sank further; yet she nodded obediently.

Compared to Y/N, her elder brother, a celebrated swordsman, and her sister, a master in the art of business, had always outshone her in their father's eyes. Y/N's talent with languages; ancient and modern – was seen as a useless skill, something that brought no tangible benefit to the family. 

Her father had never been cruel when she was younger but everything changed when her mother died. In fact, everyone in the family had lost a piece of their soul when she left. Now, his lack of affection only increases the number of scars on her heart.

The doors opened, revealing the crowds of high-ranking nobles; who were mostly strangers – staring at her. Some were judging her; some pitied her. She reminded herself that she was doing this for her family, for the greater good. But the little girl inside her who dreamed of prince charming certainly felt a pang of sorrow.

As she walked down the aisle, her legs trembled, and her hands shook so violently that she had to clasp them together to steady herself. From afar, she saw the silhouette of the man she was destined to marry. His tall and huge figure stood out compared to anyone in the hall. As she got closer, she kept her gaze fixed on the floor, too afraid to look up at her husband-to-be.

When she finally reached the altar, the priest began the ceremony. His speech was long and dragging, giving Y/N too much time to entertain her growing curiosity that she dared to glance up at the man next to her. Even from behind the veil, she could see his towering and broad-shouldered build, his presence commanding the room. His long hair was slightly untamed, and a scruffy beard framed his face. His metal hand, glinting in the sun that leaked through the church’s windows, was a jarring reminder of the rumors that surrounded him.

There were no heartfelt vows to recite to each other; only their promise of "I do" was exchanged. And that was the first time Y/N heard his voice. It was deep and resonant, sending a shiver down her spine; but there was a certain warmth in it that contrasted sharply with his fearsome reputation.

When the priest announced their union and Bucky lifted her veil, Y/N was struck by the unexpected gentleness in his eyes. They were a brilliant, mesmerizing blue, and for a moment, she forgot to breathe. Bucky's eyes softened as he looked at her, his gaze tender and almost reverent. Slowly, he placed one hand gently around her waist, pulling her slightly closer. His other hand came up to cup her cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle against her skin.

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest as he leaned in, her breath catching in her throat. When his lips met hers, they were soft, warm, and so unexpected. She could smell his cologne; an earthy, woodsy scent mixed with a hint of something fruity; like peaches or tangerines. It made her head spin and her heart jumped all at the same time. 

The kiss was gentle and unhurried, very much differs to the forceful gesture she had feared. As he pulled away, Y/N found herself blinking slowly, her cheeks flushed and her fear momentarily replaced by confusion and a surprising awe. She was caught off guard by the tenderness of his touch, the way his lips had brushed against hers so gently.

Could the rumors about him be wrong?

"I’m sorry if I startled you," he said, his voice low and gentle. "I hope I didn’t scare you, my dear."

Y/N blinked slowly, trying to process the sudden shift in her emotions. The fear that had gripped her so tightly seemed to dissipate, replaced by a confusing mix of relief and intrigue. Her hands, which had been trembling, now rested at her sides, feeling strangely steady. Her eyes met his, and she could see softness in his gaze that contradicted the harsh rumors she had heard.

“I—no, you didn’t scare me,” she managed to say; her voice barely more than a whisper. She took a deep breath, her cheeks getting warmer as she processed the endearment he just called her. On the other hand, her mind was racing as she tried to reconcile the man in front of her with the fearsome figure of the Winter Soldier.

Bucky’s eyes mellowed even further, his gaze glazed with a tenderness that seemed to pierce through the weight of the room. A warm smile spread across his face, and he held her gaze with a comforting assurance.

“Good,” he said, his voice carrying a gentle affection. “I’m glad to hear that.”

The reception that followed was a blur of faces and polite conversation. Y/N moved through the crowd, accepting congratulations and well-wishes, but her mind was elsewhere. She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to Bucky than the rumors suggested. Every time she caught his eye, he gave her a small, reassuring smile that made the butterflies inside of her go wild.

As the evening drew to a close, they were escorted to one of the Emperor’s palaces, a grand and opulent residence that was to serve as their temporary home before they traveled north to Bucky’s territory. The palace, with its lavish furnishings and golden accents, seemed to mock the uncertainty Y/N felt. She had been assigned a chamber to prepare for the night, and the palace maids were bustling around her, helping her into a set of elaborate, far-from-modest lingerie.

The palace’s maids’ whispers and side glances did nothing to ease her growing anxiety. Their condescending tones and occasional snickers were laced with cruel speculation about how roughly Bucky would treat her. The more Y/N overheard, the more her apprehension grew. Despite the gentleness Bucky had shown her earlier, she found herself doubting its sincerity.

Could he really be the caring husband he appeared to be, or was it all just an elaborate show?

The maids finally left, their laughter fading down the hallway, leaving Y/N alone in the grand chamber. Her heart raced, and cold sweat formed at her brow as she sat quietly on the edge of the ornate bed. She kept her gaze firmly on the floor, her hands fidgeting in her lap. The room felt enormous, its sheer size heightening her sense of isolation and dread.

The door creaked open, and Bucky entered the room. Y/N’s heart nearly stopped as she heard the heavy, measured footsteps approaching. She couldn’t bring herself to look up, her body tense and her mind a swirl of panic and unease. She almost held her breath entire when she felt the slight indentation of the mattress beside her.

“Y/N,” Bucky’s voice was soft and coaxing, a distinct difference to the coldness she was expecting. “Look at me.” He continued. She hesitated momentarily; torn between obeying and disobeying but ultimately decided to raise her eyes to meet his.

The sight of him; his upper body bare, revealing a tapestry of scars and the stark metal of his prosthetic arm; made her breath hitch. Her eyes traced the lines of his faded wound, particularly the jagged marks where his shoulder met his metal arm. She couldn’t help but feel a pang of sorrow and concern. Her fingers, almost of their own accord, reached out to trace the contours of his chest and shoulder.

Bucky let the innocence of her touch to trace the most tainted parts of him; however noting her trembling eyes, he misunderstood her apprehension. “I want you to know, Y/N,” he said, his voice firm yet gentle, “that I will never hurt you. You are safe with me.”

Y/N shook her head, her heart aching. She felt an unexplainable pain growing in her chest as she gazed at him. Her fingers still lightly touching his scars; her eyes, full of unshed tears, silently asked a question she was too afraid to voice. “Does it still hurt?” she wanted to ask, her expression betraying her concern.

Bucky’s eyes sparkled with affection, and he took her hand in his, holding it tenderly against his chest. “Don't worry. It does not hurt anymore,” he said with a reassuring smile. 

The connection between them was electric, charged with a deep, unspoken understanding. Bucky’s gaze was steady and filled with a depth of unspoken emotion that took Y/N’s breath away. “I know this is difficult for you, Y/N,” he said, his voice laden with sincerity. “But I promise, I will do everything in my power to make you happy.”

His words and the way he looked at her left Y/N feeling both comforted and overwhelmed. For the first time since their wedding, she felt a genuine, flickering hope that maybe, just maybe, their marriage could become something more than a mere political arrangement. Bucky’s assurances, his gentleness, and the tenderness in his eyes began to dissolve the fears she had harboured since the beginning of their union.

As they sat there, the weight of the night’s expectations seemed to lift, replaced by a fragile but growing trust. Y/N had entered this marriage with a sense of duty, convinced that she would have to endure the consummation of their union as a matter of obligation. But Bucky’s tenderness, his understanding, and the sincere reassurance he had given her began to change her perspective.

The idea of fulfilling her marital duty had initially felt like a burden she had to bear. She had steeled herself to face it with resignation, convinced that it was merely another part of her role in this arranged marriage. But now, she found herself reconsidering. The idea of being with him no longer felt like an obligation but a possibility of something more profound and intimate.

Y/N hands softly toyed with the delicate strings of her sheer lingerie, pulling it softly as her doe eyes signalled her husband of her intention. Bucky, sensing the shift in her demeanor, looked into her eyes with a mixture of concern and affection. “Are you sure, my dear?” he asked softly. “I want you to feel safe with me and not afraid of me.”

Y/N’s heart fluttered as she met his gaze, her own eyes reflecting the depth of her emotions. “I am,” she said with quiet conviction. “I feel safe with you, James”

Bucky's hand naturally went to brush her hair behind her ear, “It’s Bucky, my dear,” he corrected softly.

“Hmm?” she asked, slightly puzzled.

He chuckled warmly. “You can call me Bucky from now on. It’s a nickname only a selected few who I trust and love knows.” Her eyes sparkled at his choice words; trust and love.

“Bucky…” she tested the name on her tongue, the syllables feeling strangely intimate. Upon hearing his name from her lips, Bucky’s heart swelled, almost bursting from his ribcage. He hummed in approval, “That's right, my dear. I’m your Bucky.” 

His reassuring smile grew wider, his calloused thumb gently stroke her cheek causing a shiver to strum all over her nerves; sending an emerging desire. One she had not fully acknowledged until now. The way he looked at her, the pure and raw endearment in his eyes, and the softness of his touch stirred something deep within her.

As the moments passed, Y/N realised she wanted this. She wanted to feel his lips on hers, to explore the warmth of his hands, to connect with him on a level she had longed for. The yearning for his touch, which had been dormant under layers of fear and uncertainty, now surged forward with undeniable intensity.

Without fully understanding why, Y/N found herself leaning closer to him, her breath coming in soft, eager gasps. She whispered, her voice barely audible but full of longing, “Bucky, please.”

Bucky’s expression softened, and a tender light filled his blue eyes, “May I?” he asked, his voice low and gentle as he held out his hand. There a shy hesitation before she finally placed her hand in his.

With a gentle but firm pull, Bucky lifted her onto his lap, his careful hands beginning the process of undressing her. Each movement was full of care, yet almost deliberate, as he slowly removed her dress, leaving her in nothing but the flimsy lace piece covering the sacred area between her thighs.

Bucky's eyes roamed over her bare skin, admiration clear in his gaze. Y/N could feel the heat of his gaze, the way his eyes traced every curve and contour of her body. The intensity of it made her feel both vulnerable and cherished, a potent combination that sent pleasurable shivers all over her body.

Seeing the hunger in his blue eyes, she felt the warmth of his body and caught the scent of him; the same once she noticed at the church; warm and comforting. Her breath quickened, and she found herself unsure of what to do or where to place her hands, feeling like a deer caught in headlights.

Noticing the subtle panic, Bucky reached for her hands and guided them through the thick strands of his long hair. “You can touch me as you please, my dear,” he whispered, his voice soothing as he reassured her. He leaned in to kiss her bare shoulder, then moved up to her neck, along her jaw, leaving a trail of warmth on her skin.

Y/N’s fingers tangled in his hair, the softness surprising her. The intimacy of the moment, combined with his gentle kisses, began to dissolve the last remnants of her anxiety. The feel of his lips on her skin was electrifying, each kiss sending waves of sensation she never felt before.

Bucky’s hands, still careful and tender, caressed her back, drawing her closer to him. Her breath hitched as he kissed the valley of her breasts; soft gasps escaping her lips as Bucky begins to lick and sucked on her delicate skin; likely trying to mark his claim on her. 

Every touch and little kisses he left sent shivers straight to her already dripping core. And by the time his lips grazed her nipple, her body jerked forward; in response, unintentionally dragging her aching pussy against his thick thigh.

His lips latched around her right nipples as he licks and sucks the hardening skin; lapping at it as if he was feeding from her. The sensation was overwhelming, yet she found herself leaning into his touch, her body responding to his gentle ministrations. The grip on his hair grew tighter as the strings of moans poured out her lips.

Bucky’s large hands find their place on her hips, guiding her to gently rut on his thigh. Trusting him, she followed his lead as he continue to grind her clit through the thin fabric she was wearing; introducing the sweet friction in on her core. Bucky pulled back slightly to look into her eyes, his expression filled with a mixture of subtle affection and desire. “You’re doing wonderfully, my dear. Can feel your pussy leaking on me. Do you feel good?” he murmured as he dipped back to kiss her neck.

Oh, he was filthy with his choice of words but surprisingly she was not mad about it. In fact she didn’t even notice the whimpers purring in her throat upon hearing those sinful words.

It was as if Bucky recognized that needy sound she made; it caused a smile to spread on his lips. She can feel it grow against the skin in between her breasts, “My my, is my sweet wife feeling needy right now?” he teased playfully as he effortlessly lifted her up and laid her down on their bed. 

Placing himself in between her soft thighs, his lustful gaze trained on her naked body; he admired the marks he has left on her breasts, the wet patch on the flimsy fabric covering her cunt, and the way her breath shuddered when he teasingly grind his harden cock against her.

Y/N can feel the contrast of his hands on her thigh, one warm, one cold. Her eyes drew her attention from his hands to his gorgeous face. Oh, the pure unfiltered lust in his eyes was pulling her in so effortlessly; seducing her to submit her body and soul to him completely. Shying away from his stare, she dragged her view down to his chiselled jaw, his broad chest then slowly to his beautiful abs. 

She admired his body as much as he did of hers.

But what was more prominent out of all, was the way she could feel his erection throbbing against her heat. Blood went rushing towards her face when Bucky guided her hips against the confinement of his cock, which in response; causing her hands naturally found their way to cover her face in embarrassment.

A deep chuckle bubbled from Bucky’s throat; he found her reaction to be absolutely endearing. He leaned down towards her, one hand holding himself up and another tenderly pulling her hands away, then drawing it close to his chest, right against his beating heart. 

Having nowhere to run, Y/N’s teary eyes drowned in his ocean blues, “Don’t hide from me, dearest.” He peppered a delicate kiss on her forehead, then on her nose, then on her cheek. She could feel the prickly sensation of his beard grazing on her skin. It was ticklish and a little bit painful and yet weirdly enough, it felt good that it naturally made her want to nuzzle it more.

But before she could, Bucky’s lips were already making their way down to her stomach. Her body responds to how soft his lips trailing down; and further down until she could feel them on her clothed core. A surprised yelp fell from her lips as he tore the last piece of clothing from her.

“Now, hands away from your face, my dear. I want to see that beautiful eyes of yours when I eat your sweet pussy.” his voice was honeyed when he made himself comfortable in between her thighs. His hands reached upwards to intertwine both of her hands with his own; acting as a restraint to restrict her from covering her face.

Y/N almost sat up upon hearing his words, “Eat what now?”, the question she had in mind was unable to be vocalised; due to her confusion. Prior to marriage, she had learned about sex and its purpose in her marital studies. Unbeknownst to her, the knowledge she had was few and limited for academic purposes only. Which means there were only the few illustrations of penetration depicted in books and the process of how children are bred as a result of it.

So what does he mean when he said those words? While she was still lost and confused, Bucky on the other hand was in his own world; completely and utterly transfixed on the glistening need of her cunt. She was dripping wet; the juices covering her slits perfectly; her scent was intoxicating and if it weren’t for the fact that this is her first time, Bucky would’ve ate her like a man starved of touch. But, he can’t do that. Not tonight. He wanted to be gentle; to cherish her, to love on her.

Seeing the darkened clouds in his eyes as he stared at her private, Y/N braved herself to ask, “What are you– ohh hmmm” her sentence ended up transforming into a toe curling moan as she felt Bucky’s wet tongue flattened across her weeping core. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as he dragged her clit into his mouth and sucked. He strummed her clit with his tongue, causing her to arch her back and he took the opportunity to push his face further into her cunt; licking and sucking quite the literal soul out her.

It felt amazing but her self-consciousness won the battle in her head, she let out a whimpering plea, “Buc--bucky st-stop. That’s dirty.” as she gripped on his hands, trying to escape from his grip. Bucky growled against her in response to her futile protest. The sweet vibration only caused her pleasure all over her fluttering core. 

When Bucky pulled away for a moment; it caused her to feel a sense of loss. “It’s not dirty, my dear. In fact, it’s so sweet.” His lips moved to kiss on her inner thigh, murmuring against her skin as he left yet more of his marks on her, “So fucking sweet.” He releases his right hand from hers, just to rub his thumb on her clit, slowly dragging it in between her slit; smearing her wetness all around her throbbing bundle of nerves. Her thighs trembled to the sensation of his rough movement of his thumb and a string of shaky mewls fell out of her.

“But..” she tried to protest but immediately stopped when Bucky brought his soaked thumb to her mouth. Her lips were wet from how he gently smeared the juices on her, “Taste yourself.” He lured her softly. Hesitation glints in her eyes as her cheeks redden. Bucky’s eyes grew tender at her watery ones, he whispered lowly, “Sweetheart, do you trust me?” 

She does; but she does not trust her own voice to not come out sounding like a needy moan, so she simply nodded. Bucky’s pink lips spread into a smile, “Good girl. Now, open up.” he coaxed lovingly.

Y/N opened her mouth as she was told and let Bucky slip his thumb inside; he was not shy to smother her juices across her tongue, coaxing her to suck on it. To get a taste of what he was having. “It’s sweet”, she thought to herself. A muffled moan purred in her throat at the thought of her husband enjoying the taste of her.

Bucky smirk grew at her reaction, “Tastes good huh, sweetheart?” he pulled his thumb away, leaving her nodding to his question. “Now are you going to let me enjoy your pussy?” his brow quirked when he tilted his head to the side. How can she deny him now? Her eyes glazed with need as she replied,  “Yes, please”.

Her mouth falls open in anticipation as a low moan creeps up her throat. Bucky’s tongue slips past her folds, she watched him between her legs, savouring her pussy with his unfiltered groans vibrating against her sensitive spot. Breathless moans and incoherent pleads fall from her mouth as the soft and firm tip of his tongue circled her swollen pearl and flicked it. Bucky’s hands went to her hips, guiding it in time with her own movements, giving her partial control to set the pace.

“Buckyyyy.” She gasped as she alternated between wanting to push his head away or keep him in place. Meanwhile, the man in between her thighs had lost himself; consumed by pure desire the more he drank from her cunt. His tongue moved faster against her clit when he noticed the beat of her throbbing cunt increased. She was going to come. He was sure of it.

The way that she was practically creaming on his tongue drove him near feral. He kept lapping at her juices as if it was the sweetest honey he ever tasted; fuck he even sucked her clit in hopes to force out more of her nectar to leak; then he’d lap on it again. 

The sweet cycle had pushed Y/N over the edge, her eyes rolling back as pleasure and her hips slightly lifted as pleasure surges through her veins.“Oh oh Bucky please please.” She didn’t what she was begging for as she chanted his name. “I’m gonna, ‘m gonna–“ her words died as she squealed; her body trembling in pleasure. 

His tongue moved faster against her clit; her cum was dripping out of her; coating his beard but his frantic licks didn’t stop even when she continue to gush on his tongue. 

“Bucky please, sensitive..” It was too much; her orgasm, her swollen clit, his tongue. Everything. 

Unfortunately for her, Bucky was far gone to stop now. He had the taste of her cum, now he wants nothing more than to have it again. Despite her protest, Bucky held her hip down, interlocking his hands across her stomach to keep her in place and continue to lick and suck on her overstimulated cunt.

Her whiny pleas didn’t come across as a sign for him to stop; instead it kept him going causing him to bury his face further in between her legs. His cock continued to throb in his pants, probably leaking with so much pre-cum and in need of some sort of relief but he ignored it. He wants nothing more than for Y/N to cum on his tongue again.

And that is exactly what happened next.

The moment she fell over the edge, Bucky pushed her even harder against him as her whole body spasmed. He maintained his pace on lapping up at her all throughout her high as her hands went from his hair to the headboard, trying to hold her limp body upright. Y/N took a moment to gather herself together, panting heavily as she regained their senses; while Bucky was swift to pull his pants off and throw it to the side.

He grabbed on her hips, holding her firmly in place as his heavy leaking cock nestled between her aching pussy. “Are you sure about this, my dear?” his hot breath fanning against her neck as he gently ruts into her heat. Even though Bucky can see the darken lust in her eyes, he still wanted to make sure that she was sure of her decision.

Y/N’s heart swelled at his concern, and she found herself smiling, a genuine smile that reflected the warmth she felt inside. She pulled him closer and kissed him, pouring all her newfound trust and affection into the kiss. “Yes, Bucky. I am very sure. ”

Bucky quickly responded with equal passion, his tongue slipped in between her lips; exploring the warmness of her mouth, the softness of her tongue. Their muffled moans filled the silenced room, his hands moved to caress her sides, drawing her even closer before breaking away from the heated kiss.

Resting his forehead on hers, his eyes trained on her beautiful face; not wanting to miss his chance to witness the pleasure contorting on her expression. He nudges her clit first, rubbing it slow and sensual before trailing down to her entrance. Gradually, he inches closer, he pushes in and through the tightness of her sacred channel.

Delving impossibly deep, her tightness wrapped around his thick cock until the tip of him reached the deepest parts of her. The sudden feeling of fullness on her untainted pussy caused her to experience both pain and the delightful sensation inside her. The ecstasy of being so knitly connected to each other caused both of them to simultaneously let out moans and groans of raw pleasure.

Bucky waited for her to adjust to his size; leaning down to pamper her with the softest kisses and praises that tears started to swell in her eyes. It was as if Bucky knew exactly what she wanted to hear, how she wanted to be treated and what makes her feel good.

“You’re doing so good, my dear.”

“Look at how perfect your pussy’s taking my cock. So perfect.”

“Made for me aren’t you, sweetheart?. Made to be loved by me, made to be stuffed full of my cock.”

“I promise you’ll be safe with me, Y/N. Always.”

When Y/N finally gave him the permission to move, Bucky kissed her pouty lips and murmured sweetly, “Thank you, my dear.” His hands travelled to find her ankle; which he then gently prop her calf over his broad shoulder. He started pumping in and out slowly, letting her get used to the friction. 

Bucky couldn’t help but to groan out to the feeling of her wet hole gripping his cock ever-so-tightly. It was slippery and dripping, that he almost completely slid out of her. Gripping her closer he continue ramming himself back in, deeper, harder; sliding in and out of her at an even pace. Each force of his cock causing her body to jerk in ecstasy; hitting that good spot in her so perfectly.

“S-shit, sweetheart,” he moans deep and heavy as he felt her pussy tightening around him. His metal hand slid in between them and his thumb hones in on her clit. The coldness of his finger made her jolt at first but when he proceeded to rub and pinch on it, everything suddenly started to feel too intense; so incredibly good.

With his fingers assaulting her clit, each thrust of his cock and every deep guttural moan and groan coming from Bucky, she felt her release was growing closer. Bucky also started thrusting faster and harder; he knew he was about to come. Especially when he can feel how much pre-cum has been leaking inside her.

He leaned and rested his forehead on hers, his needy ruts became more and more irregular when her pretty doe eyes looked up at him, “Cum for me, my dear.” his lips brushed against Y/N’s as he coaxed her to her sweet release. His thrusts got harsher and deeper and the friction of his metal finger working on her clit got her cunt to frantically tremble around him, “I wanna feel you milk my cock, sweetheart. Then, I’m gonna my pump cum inside you until you’re leaking.”

Although his words were debauched to no end, however Y/N could sense his genuine affection for her. She felt his sincerity in the way he looked at her, in the way he held her, in the silenced gaze they shared. Overwhelmed with pleasure, her nails dragged across Bucky’s back as she moaned and screamed out his name; letting the high took over her body.

“Fuck,, sweetheart. I’m gonna cum!” groaned as he took in the sound of her pleasured mewls. He ruthlessly grinds into her, savouring the feeling of her cunt tightened around him. With one last rut, he thrust his cock, balls deep inside and let his warm white strings filling her up to the brim. His cock twitches in her fluttering cunt, his legs tensing with every small grind he makes, groaning lowly at her as he bites down on her shoulder, almost drooling on her as he emptied himself completely into her.

Y/N continued to let out strings of soft moans as he pulled out from her leaking cunt; all swollen and sensitive. While she thought she could finally catch some breaths, she didn’t notice the way Bucky was biting on his lip at the sight of his cum dripping out of her, or how his hands lazily tugging on his now hardened cock.

“Dearest?” Bucky hovered above her as he cradled her by her flushed cheeks. She smiled sweetly as she leaned to his touch, “Yes, Bucky?”, she was anticipating him to utter more of those soft words and praises to her; but instead his lips curled into a devilish grin when he slid his cock back into her, immediately pulling a long sinful mewl of his name from her. Bucky hummed approvingly in response; he gently brushed his lips against hers, “May I fill you up again?”

As the morning sun streamed through the windows, Y/N slowly stirred awake. She reached out, instinctively searching for the warmth of her husband beside her, but found the space empty. A pang of loneliness touched her heart, but it was quickly replaced by curiosity when she saw a bouquet of bluebells, her favourite flower, placed delicately on the bedside table.

Next to the bouquet was a note. With a small smile, she picked it up and began to read.

"My Dearest Y/N,

I hate to leave you alone this morning, but I must ensure our journey home is smooth and safe. I trust you slept well, and I promise to return to your side as soon as I can.

Yours always,

Bucky"

The words written on the note were filled with sincerity and reassurance that made her heart flutter. She smiled, a blush creeping across her cheeks as she wondered how he knew bluebells were her favourite.

Just as she was lost in thought, the door opened, and the palace’s maids entered the room. Their faces were a mixture of curiosity and impatience, clearly expecting to see a frightened and bruised young bride.

However, when they saw Y/N's skin, they temporarily froze in their spots. Her skin was indeed bruised, but each one of them recognized the marks for what they were: love marks, not signs of harsh abuse that they were expecting. The traces of Bucky's possessive love were prominent all over her neck, chest, and inner thighs, leaving Y/N blushing as the maids, too, found themselves flushed with embarrassment.

“Well, isn’t this a surprise,” one of the older maids muttered under her breath, her tone laced with irritation. Another maid, with a more condescending sneer, huffed. “Looks like we lost the bet, ladies. Who would have thought the beast could be so... tender?”

Y/N’s cheeks burned with a mix of embarrassment and pride. She could feel their resentful glances and knew they were not pleased with the outcome. The marks on her body were a testament to the affection and desire Bucky had shown her, and despite the initial fear, she now wore them as symbols of the unexpected bond they had begun to forge.

The head maid, who had been the most vocal the night before, now seemed to handle her with an edge of bitterness. The other maids, who had been so quick to judge, were now silent, their eyes wide with resentment.One of the younger maids, braver than the rest, couldn’t hide her frustration. “Well, my lady, I suppose you’re alright, then?” she asked, her voice barely masking her disappointment.

Y/N looked at her, considering the appropriate response. If it was up to her, she ought to punish every single one of them for not knowing their place. Unfortunately, they were not her maids to begin with, but the palace's staff. Otherwise, she would likely fire each one of them. 

The memory of Bucky’s affection and care filled her heart, leaving no room for anger or resentment. The warmth of his embrace and the gentle way he had treated her made the maids' behaviour seem petty and insignificant.

She could still feel the lingering touch of his lips on her skin, the way his hands had caressed her so delicately, and the sound of his reassuring voice. Her body was still tingling with the remnants of the previous night's intimacy. Her skin bore the marks of his love, not of brutality, and each bruise was a testament to the passion they had shared. It was completely different to the vile expectations of the maids.

A small smile playing on her lips despite the blush that still coloured her cheeks. "Yes," she said softly, "I am quite alright."

The maids exchanged annoyed glances, their expressions a mix of frustration and disbelief. Their muttered disappointments were tuned out as Y/N focused on the lingering warmth from the night before.

She couldn't hear a single thing except her heart beating to the thought of her husband. She missed him already. Who would’ve thought she’d be swooning for him so soon?

She found herself yearning for his presence, the comfort of his touch, and the sound of his reassuring voice. The memory of his gentle kiss and tender words lingered in her mind yet again, making her heart flutter.

As the maids continued their work, Y/N hoped they would at least perform their duties well enough to cover up for their childish behaviour. She wanted to be ready to see Bucky, to greet him with the same warmth and affection he had shown her. Despite their rudeness, she resolved to focus on the positive, cherishing the newfound bond with her husband.

Bucky stood at the head of the table, his stern expression and commanding presence filling the room. He was reviewing the logistics of their journey home, his voice cold and decisive as he issued instructions to his knights. His trusted knight, Sam, was detailing the possible hotspots for bandits they might encounter along the way.

"We'll likely face trouble here," Sam said, pointing to a spot on the map. "We should send some of our best men ahead to clear the path."

"Agreed," Bucky responded, his tone unyielding. "Deploy the knights in advance. Ensure the path is secure before we proceed."

Sam nodded and continued outlining the plan. He paused, expecting Bucky to reconfirm, but noticed a change in his leader's face. The harsh lines softened, his eyes filled with a tender warmth, as he stared intently at something across the room. Before Sam could look or utter a word, Bucky turned and walked away with determination.

Sam followed Bucky's gaze and understood immediately. "Ah, that's why," he muttered to himself as he watched Bucky approach Y/N. The change in Bucky’s demeanour was striking. He moved with a grace and warmth that was at odds with his usual stern and imposing presence.

Bucky’s eyes softened as he took in the sight of Y/N. He admired her beauty with a gaze filled with awe and adoration. The way he looked at her was as if he was seeing a vision he had longed for, a rare and precious gem that had finally come into his life.

As he extended his hand toward her, a gesture usually seen as etiquette but now entirely with different meaning, especially with the hearts bursting our of his blue eyes. Y/N’s face lighting up with a shy smile, took his hand; almost too eagerly. Bucky's fingers closed gently around hers, his touch tender and reassuring. The contrast between his usual, fearsome reputation and the gentle way he interacted with her was profound, making it clear that his feelings for Y/N were deeply genuine.

Bucky kissed the back of her hand, his lips softly caressing her knuckles. "My dear," he greeted her, using the endearment he had chosen when they first met at the altar. 

The scene seemed like it was pulled raw from a romance novel that the surrounding staff and knights simply watched in shock and awe. "Did he just..." one knight whispered, eyes wide. "Called her 'my dear'?" another finished, equally stunned.

Sam, who had witnessed firsthand the monstrous side of Bucky in war, found himself in a state of utter disbelief, jaw dropped loose. He had seen Bucky’s sword painted blood-red, his face splattered with the gore of countless enemies. The Winter Soldier was a force of nature on the battlefield, his brutal efficiency leaving a trail of carnage in his wake. Sam recalled the sight of Bucky’s cold, unyielding eyes as he cut through foes without hesitation, his armor and weaponry gleaming with the blood of those who dared oppose him.

And yet, here he was, the same man who had struck terror into the hearts of many, now standing before Y/N with a tenderness that seemed unimaginable. Sam could hardly believe his eyes. The disparity was pronounced and bewildering. Bucky’s expression was soft, his movements gentle as he held Y/N’s hand in his.

“I’ve missed you,” Y/N said softly, her eyes shining with affection. She truly did, it would be a lie that she didn’t felt the ache in her heart when she woke up alone that morning. The emptiness beside her had felt profound. The bed still carried his scent, a lingering warmth that whispered of his recent presence. Even though the separation had been brief, as evidenced by the thoughtful note and the bouquet of her favourite flowers he had left behind, the loneliness she felt was palpable. His absence, however fleeting, had created a void that left her feeling incomplete.

Bucky’s heart seemed to burst with emotion. He couldn't care less about the gawking staff surrounding them as he pulled her close and kissed her deeply. She initially froze, caught off guard and embarrassed, but soon melted into his kiss with a blossoming confidence.

As their lips met, memories of their tender and passionate night together surged through Bucky's mind. The way she moan his name, the taste of her cum, the tightness of her pussy gripping on his cock, the way his cum leaked out of her, every single sinful scene replayed in head; infinitely. The intensity of the moment was overwhelming, and he found himself nearly losing control. Reluctantly, he pulled back from the kiss, his breath uneven and his gaze filled with an unspoken hunger.

"God, what should I do with you, hmm, sweetheart?" Bucky whispered, his voice laced with seduction as he continued to place gentle kisses along her cheeks and jaw. His lips brushed softly against her skin, whispering how much he had missed her and expressing a wistful desire to stay wrapped in the warmth of their shared bed just a little longer.

Y/N’s soft giggle rang out as she felt the roughness of his stubble against her delicate skin. The sound was like music to Bucky's ears, brightening his mood and filling him with a profound sense of joy. Despite the joyful exchange, he reluctantly ended the sweet torment, his kisses lingering just a moment longer before he pulled away.

“We should be ready to begin our journey shortly,” Bucky said, his tone shifting to a more practical note when e turned to Sam, who had approached during their moment of intimacy.

“Y/N, this is Sam Wilson, he is one of my trusted knights.” Bucky introduced, his gaze shifting to his wife. Sam gave a respectful nod to Y/N, a hint of surprise still evident in his expression from witnessing Bucky's affectionate display. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Y/N.”

Y/N smiled warmly at Sam, appreciating the introduction. “The pleasure is mine, Sir Wilson.”

Sam, sensing that the formality was unnecessary given their imminent interactions, decided to ease the situation. “Just Sam, my lady,” he said with a friendly tone. Y/N repeated his name with a touch of amusement. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Sam.”

Bucky, observing the growing camaraderie between his wife and his trusted knight, couldn’t help but feel a twinge of protectiveness. The easy familiarity between them seemed a bit too casual for his liking. His eyes narrowed slightly as he gave Sam a warning look. “Watch it, Wilson.”

Sam, not missing a beat, chuckled at Bucky’s protective demeanour. “What’s the matter, my lord? Can’t handle a bit of friendly conversation?”

Y/N, noticing the playful tension and Bucky’s slight irritation, couldn’t help but laugh. The contrast between Bucky’s usually soft demeanour that Y/N had witnessed and his current protective stance were both endearing and amusing. Her laughter lightened the mood, making Sam’s teasing even more enjoyable.

Bucky's stern gaze softened as he watched Y/N’s laughter, though his protective instinct remained palpable. Steering the conversion back to the preparations, he allowed a faint smile to tug at the corners of his mouth despite his earlier warning.

“I trust you can escort my wife to the carriage,” Bucky said, his voice serious but tinged with a hint of a smile. “However, I expect you to maintain proper distance and adhere to these additional guidelines.” He paused, ensuring his words were clear. “No unnecessary physical contact or overly familiar behaviour. And if you could, avoid any casual conversations that might be misinterpreted.”

Sam looked at Bucky in disbelief, shaking his head with a bemused expression. “Seriously, Barnes? You’re laying down rules for me to keep my distance from your wife now?”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed playfully. “Consider it a precaution. I’d rather not have any misunderstandings.” Sam chuckled, rolling his eyes as he complied. “Understood. I’ll make sure to follow your... guidelines.”

Y/N watched the exchange with amusement, her earlier shyness melting away into a warm appreciation for Bucky’s protectiveness. The scene, tinged with a touch of comedy, only deepened the connection between them.

Bucky, intent on making a point to Sam while expressing his affection, pulled Y/N close and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. The gesture was both intimate and deliberate, a subtle yet clear indication to Sam that she belongs to Bucky. “I’ll join you shortly, my dear,” Bucky said softly, his voice filled with warmth as he gazed into her eyes.

Sam, unimpressed by Bucky’s display, rolled his eyes at the seemingly childish antics. “This way, my lady,” he said with a hint of impatience. Y/N nodded in agreement but paused before turning her back on Bucky. With a loving smile, she whispered, “I’ll see you later,” before following Sam.

Bucky watched as Sam guided Y/N away, his gaze lingered with a mix of affection and something much deeper; an unspoken sadness. As their silhouettes walked further and further away from his sight, a sombre glaze settled over his eyes.

Beneath the surface of his composed exterior, his heart ached; the was a silent reflection of a pain he had hidden deep within his heart. It was a lingering sorrow that had shadowed him ever since he stood at the altar, the weight of unvoiced grief clinging to him as he gazed at his future bride.

Part II >>

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: Wondering why he was in the feels at the end? We’ll know it soon enough. I’ll see you in the next parts! Thank you for reading!

[orianaadecorpack]

In Mould Label Films: Benefits and Applications

In-Mould Labels (IML) are pre-printed polypropylene labels that are directly injected into a mould to take the shape of the container. As a result of this procedure, the label and the mould are combined. There are three methods for moulding in-mould labels, and the most popular method is covered in the section below.

Inject Moulding (IML): As the name implies, this technique involves injecting hot, molten plastic into a mould, which, once it has cooled, takes the form of the mould or container. In layman's words, one may say that the product is decorated in the mould itself. Automatically joining the mould, the plastic polymers become a component of the product container.

Unlike conventional post-moulding labelling, in-mould labelling offers greater design flexibility and efficiency benefits. It is a very flexible labelling choice because it uses several colours, effects, and textures in a single process. Let's look at a few advantages that In Mould Labels offers.

Time and money saver

The IML technology eliminates a step because the printed label and container are moulded together directly. As a manufacturer, this saves a tonne of time. The fact that this procedure wastes less raw material and doesn't use as much material as necessary is an additional benefit. Because there is a functional reduction of one step, which occurs when the container is moulded, labour and transportation costs are also reduced.

Environment-Friendly–

Because the packaging and label are made of the same material and share similar qualities, features, and characteristics, they are simple to recycle. The production process also promotes a healthy environment by utilising less resources and raw materials.

Dependable and hygienic

In Mould Labels are resistant to weather and time. Due to its capacity to survive severe weather, its durability is admirable. The label, its print, and its colours are unaffected by moisture or high heat. This implies that you can use them for refrigeration without a doubt. Additionally, they are wrinkle-free, non-crackable, and scratch-resistant.

Outstanding Machinability

IML films feature exceptional antistatic qualities that assist decrease the static charge between the film and the machine, extending the life of the machine and making the films more adaptable to various types of machines.

[porcelainseashore]

Darkroom

Pairing: RE4R! Leon Kennedy x GN! Reader

Summary: You're a Sunday regular at the darkroom of your local nightclub, finding liberation through sex with random strangers and spontaneous encounters. One night, you meet someone whose touch feels different, and you connect in ways you never expected.

Content & Warnings: 18+ Smut, porn with plot, implied consent, anonymous sex, group sex, public sex (nightclub), voyeurism, anal, fingering, oral (m receiving), creampie, strangers to lovers, romance, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, drug references, swearing.

Author's Note: This is my first time writing gn! reader as I would like to be more inclusive in my work. I’ve also tried to educate myself on the discourse surrounding darkrooms and hope I’ve portrayed them respectfully, as safe spaces created by the gay community.

Special thanks to @alibellerosetta and @sofmoth for beta’ing this piece—you’re simply the best!

AO3 Link | Playlist

Fingertips trailing across the concrete walls of an old wartime bunker, its labyrinthine structure causing you to navigate by adventure and curiosity when you were new, but now, you had the entire layout committed to memory. You drifted through the haze of smoke and rooms—oh so many rooms—littered with nooks and crannies to engage in the kinds of deeds one would get up to in a nightclub like this. 

Brutal, fast-paced techno assaulted your ears, but you welcomed it as you did with the throngs of party-goers passing you by, like swimming through jellyfish and seaweed, in this maddeningly beautiful underwater world. All you could hear was a wall of sound and your own breathing, teeth chattering and chest throbbing as heavy bass reverberated through your body. If you stayed any longer, you would vaporize into thin air. And so, you plunged into the lower depths, down further passageways and corridors to your final destination.

People wouldn’t understand why you do what you do. Why you treated this club like a church—the only one you’d go to religiously every Sunday to get fucked within an inch of your life by complete strangers. Strangers you never saw, and would never meet again. 

You didn’t owe them an explanation, but truth be told, you felt far safer here than in most other places you’d been to. Too many close calls and red flags left you running away from that mess. Here, you were spoiled for choice. You could be whoever you wanted to be, without labels or judgment. Fucking was freedom and creativity. Fucking was an expression of yourself. Fucking was a big fuck you to society that tried to break you, moulding you into preconceived roles, telling you what you should or shouldn’t do.

Despite that, you knew what you were getting yourself into. Your PrEP shot was up to date and you tested frequently. Nothing was a hundred percent foolproof, but it was a risk you were willing to take. You were nearly there, following the invisible wisp of a white rabbit to its lair as the sweet, musky scent of lust and arousal grew stronger.

At the entrance of the darkroom, you paused, lifting your hand as a breeze sifted through your fingers. Funny how cold it could get down in the basement. You wondered if the ghosts of soldiers past could see you now—heart racing in your chest, adrenaline flooding your veins, and butterflies in your stomach—every single time without fail as you stood in front of the innocuous opening in the wall, like a gateway or barrier to another plane. What they would think as you stepped inside, agreeing to the unspoken code of conduct, where it was hunting season, and just like everyone else, you were game.

Inside, it was pitch black, so dark that you could not see, but you could make out the distinct sounds of sheets rustling, the shifting of bodies, light moans, and squelching wet kisses as you felt around the room, slowly putting one foot forward, and then the other, like the blind leading the blind. As your eyes adjusted to the surroundings, movements blurred at the corners, amorphous shapes materializing before you like a séance you had conducted. 

Sometimes you would catch a look, a nod, a gesture—silent, yet reminding you that what you were seeing was real. Hands passed along your body, and you imagined this must be what it feels like to traverse through clouds—touching, groping, feeling every part of you that you had bared to offer. Shedding clothes like this was so easy, like peeling away the layers of skin you had adorned to protect yourself. 

Someone else’s skin. 

Someone else’s face. 

A thousand masks you reaped and sowed.

Gone, all gone—until you were stripped to the core. 

The immense desire to be naked forever and never dressed again bubbled to the surface, burning a hole in your chest and getting caught in your throat.

A sudden smack against the cheek of your ass sent you reeling forward. The beds were damp as you sank upon them on your knees, gasping in sheer delight. The sting of it was buzzing, your ears filled with white noise as your hair was yanked backwards, mouths latching onto flesh, sensitive and bruising like ripened plum under teeth.

The room was warm and humid, sweltering even, but you couldn’t complain. Heat like that never looked bad on anyone. Sweat dripped from the pores of your skin, creating a thin layer of moonlit sheen. Tongues lapped at the moisture, prickly and salty, running over areas you never knew existed until the heady rushes you felt stated otherwise.

You grasped at the silhouette lying under you. It squirmed—wet, whining, and wanting. Breasts quivering, breathing in deep. Almost instantly, the grip on your hair loosened as you lunged forward, suctioning your lips over a peak, your fingers sliding through her folds, curling against her walls. 

Eventually, you were pushed on top of her, a heavy palm on the arch of your back, ribs crushing, tongues intertwining, and teeth clashing as other hands gripped her wrists firmly over her head. Your pelvises ground together as someone pounded into you from behind; her breasts bouncing violently against your chest with each thrust. The mattress sagged under your weight as it consumed you—suffocating, drowning—and you surrendered to it all in the darkness until you were nothing. A blank canvas, equal to the rest, finally seen as simply human.

You did the devil’s dance, flitting between partners, just as your parents did before you, and their parents—your grandparents—and their ancestors before them. Though instead of fucking raw, they had their own versions of the dance that they were too embarrassed to admit, leaving them forgotten behind closed doors and repressed memories.

Then, another pair of hands descended on your back, their knuckles caressing your shoulders with a bittersweet tenderness, taking you by surprise. Brushing your hair aside, you felt stubble scrape the nape of your neck, his kiss lingering a little longer than a second or two, as if afraid that by confronting you, you might dissolve between his fingers. 

Hot, shaky breath fanned across your ear, “May I?”

A baritone—rich, deep, and weary—with an edge to it like he had been through a never ending war. You wondered why.

In silence, you tilted your head, granting him easier access to your neck. You were his prey; he could bite in hard if he wanted to, but he only nipped—teasingly, playfully, savoring your taste, his large, coarse hands raking your body, gentle and unsure.

This wasn’t his first time; he was too composed for that. You searched for an answer as the tips of his fingers pressed dimples into your skin—temporary marks that spoke of his desire to make you his for the night. His touch ached so badly with longing, you could feel it seep into your bones. It hurt, everything hurt, as he buried his face into your neck, smothering the rest of his emotions along with it.

Someone once said, “The biggest lie we tell ourselves is that we should be ashamed of our feelings.”

But imagine if we weren’t? Your hand cupped over his. His breath hitched.

You knew shame like the back of your hand. A sickness and disease, taking root from within, its poisonous tendrils spreading out through every orifice until you couldn’t even scream.

Imagine if we weren’t. Your fingers laced through his. You squeezed. He squeezed back.

A secret morse code between the two of you as others started to gather around. Lying on your sides, he tugged you in closer, so that your back was flush against his chest. You stroked his arm, repeating the motion in cycles like a form of meditation.

He had you. You were his. He didn’t have to worry about that, even when you were being shared.

In return, he planted soft kisses along your spine as a ‘thank you’, causing you to shiver while he palmed your crotch. You felt his dick harden against the crevasse of your ass and you bucked your hips back into his. He let out a hiss, rubbing his erection in sync with your rocking, and you heard the sound of a lid cracking open.

At the same time, another person tweaked your nipples, licking, and sucking on them as you bit your lip and moaned. Lukewarm oil spilled onto your ass in a slow, deliberate stream, spreading like liquid silk. Even though you were ready—so ready—for this, with your hole wide and gaping from the butt plug you had worn in the day, and still leaking from previous use, he felt the need to prepare you. Circling your rim, he slipped one, then two fingers in, allowing the tight ring of muscle to clench around them as he stretched you out. When he pressed the tip of his cock against your entrance, you nearly sighed in relief, relaxing as he filled you up fully, slowly, and sensually, as if you were making love for the first time.

You melted like sweet, flowing honey in his arms, linked around your waist, hugging you tightly as his ragged breath grazed your cheek. Once you had settled in, it didn’t take long for him to pick up the pace. Your hands gripped his the entire time as he pumped his cock harder into you, friction firing up the bundle of nerves, causing you to cry out in wanton pleasure. 

It was only a matter of time before you caught a glimpse of another shadow joining from behind him, and felt the head of someone else’s member smear precum along your lips. You opened, submitting completely to the moment, its shaft dipping in and out of your mouth, your tongue swirling over its slit and ridge. Saliva dribbled down your chin as fingers tangled in your hair, grabbing it roughly to shove his cock in further, letting it hit the back of your throat as you choked and gagged. Tears ran down your face, ruining the black liner and glitter you’d decorated it with.

The hands that had been wrapped around yours gave them a long, hard squeeze, as if to ask, “Are you okay?” His worry and concern was your very own personal S.O.S., if you needed it. You brushed your thumb against his knuckles reassuringly, and he did the same, giving you two light squeezes in response, trusting in your decision.

At this, his hips snapped against your ass harshly, balls slapping skin as his thrusts grew more desperate, matching the intensity with which you were being fucked in the mouth, like a wordless competition—one vying for your affection. He slammed into your sensitive spot repeatedly, the sensations overwhelming like never before as your eyes rolled back—demonic and possessed—and euphoric waves rippled through your body.

He continued railing you until he couldn’t hold it in anymore. You felt his eyes shut, his mouth twist into a frown as he muffled his groans into your neck. He tensed and staggered, emptying a thick, hot load into your spent hole, just as the person in front of you pulled out, finishing himself off onto your face.

You coughed, sputtering as you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. His dick was still in you, twitching as he rode out his climax, stroking your thighs, your hips, your ribs, before settling back on the curve of your ass. He kneaded it gently as you felt him pull out; his hands coming to rest around your waist. Raising your arms behind you, you circled them around the back of his head, pushing his face into your hair as both of you lay there—still and quiet—panting heavily and covered in fluids, his cum trickling out of your heat. You felt the uneven, taut patches that littered his skin, along with the rise and fall of each other’s chests—an empty space in the cavity growing more deafening with each passing second in the sparse room.

The clock continued ticking until you finally decided to turn around, facing the man who had fucked you so hard you thought you might break. All at once, he drew closer, lips on lips, kissing you like he meant it. You kissed back sloppily, running your fingers through his sweat-drenched hair as he cupped your cheek—grasping, craving, needing more. 

You didn’t know what to make of this connection he and you felt. The way his heart beat with loneliness, and yours responding in kind, whispering in a similar rhythm, “I’m here. I see you.” It was far more intimate than any experience you’d ever had in a darkroom. And you panicked.

Breaking away, you spotted a tuft of his matted blonde tresses, his sharp, brilliant blues, and your eyes darted towards the way out. Before he could speak, you got up, his hand catching your wrist, tugging, pulling—please, I want you, don’t go, please—until you snatched it back, and he let you.

You touched his face, thumb brushing across his bottom lip—swollen and weeping, a final ‘thank you’ for something special the two of you had shared. One where you lied to yourself, treating it as a mere passing moment in your life, fearing that anything more would ruin the illusion held together by anonymity. Picking your clothes up from the floor, you slipped off into the light and safety of crowds, ignoring the pang in your chest as the distance between you and him grew.

━━━━━━━━━━━

What if things had gone differently? 

What if you had let him talk? 

Say the words he wanted to say. Rip his chest open. Pour his heart out into your awaiting cup.

What if it was meant to be more?

What if, what if, all the what ifs.

You sat on your chair, legs crossed and pulled into your chest, thinking back to that encounter over and over again. A cheap desk fan blew hot, desert wind in your direction, its plastic blades rotating sluggishly, hardly helping in the current heatwave. Clumps of hair stuck to your forehead and the sides of your face as you closed your eyes, reminiscing his ghostly touch along your body, sore and aching, fighting fire with fire.

Five nights had passed, and you couldn’t get him out of your mind. It was three in the morning, you had work in a few hours, but he was all you could think about. During the day, you walked around in a vacant daze, and now, you were stoned, staring up at the ceiling, wondering what the hell happened.

You fucked yourself with your fingers, imagining it was him fucking you. 

And then, Sunday came.

━━━━━━━━━━━

You saw him everywhere that night—through the tide of music, in the mirrored reflections, blonde locks catching the light, only to be let down. You didn’t know what he looked like, the only memory being a static cloud of darkness before your eyes, but somehow, you knew that you would be able to tell if it was him.

Like a moth to a flame, you made your way towards the darkroom, all the while hopelessly wondering if he would be there where you had found him last, waiting patiently, like a dog to its owner for their return. When you entered, a swarm of hands skimmed along your private parts—foreign and alien as you swallowed your disappointment, losing yourself in others’ company, though you had never felt more alone.

One more.

Another.

The next—

You’d recognize that touch anywhere. His calloused hands across your jaw—tentative, tracing your skin like scorched earth, his yearning fulfilled when you took his fingers into your mouth, coating them with your taste.

“It’s you…” he murmured, his velvety voice, laden with emotion, slipping into your ear, causing you to shudder.

His fingers slid out over the dip of your tongue as he replaced them with his lips, devouring yours fervently as if he couldn’t get enough of you. Knowing him was like a crime, but you gave yourself the permission to want him this way.

A jarring flash of light blinded you, followed by a burst of giggles, rudely interrupting your chance meeting. You whipped your head in its direction, shielding your eyes as you squinted at white powder vibrating on illuminated phone screens.

“Take your fucking drugs somewhere else!” someone yelled.

By the time you turned back, the light went out again, plunging you into utter darkness. 

Did you lose your power of anonymity?

Had he seen you for who you were now?

Would he judge you like the rest?

You felt his hand in yours, light brushes against your inner palm in the secret language you shared. No, this wasn’t the right place for what you wanted, and you had to respect that—both of that.

Fuck feeling ashamed of your feelings. 

You threw out your inhibitions, dragging him through the opening as he followed you into the light. You saw him clearly now, just as he saw you. Scars of all shapes and sizes across his body, matching the bumps you had felt in the dark—now laid bare and vulnerable in full public view.

You didn’t care, and he didn’t seem to either, clasping your face between his hands as he pushed you back, mouth squarely on yours, teasing it open. He hoisted your legs, hooking them around his waist as he buried his cock into you. Fucking you relentlessly against the wall, rugged concrete chafing skin as you jerked upwards, meeting his thrusts. 

It was rushed, frantic, and hungry, like you would vanish before his very eyes at any minute. A new DJ set had started, drowning out your screams as you dug your nails into his shoulders, clawing angry, red marks into his skin. Trembling, feverish lips wet on your chest, sucking and leaving bites in flesh as others watched, or masturbated while they watched—voyeurs to your private scene.

You clung to each other, his grip bruising on the back of your thighs, not wanting to let go—not this time, not now, not ever. Funny how you found it comforting—the way he held your gaze, unflinching and calm, as you reached your high, like he was seeing right through you—melting flesh from bone, prying the cavern open to find a scared little rabbit, and the rage frothing at your teeth.

And you knew that he understood that feeling too.

He came in you soon after, muscles clenching as he pinned you to the wall, ropes of his release filling you deep. His breath escaped in loud rasps, stray strands of his bangs fluttering in the breeze.

“God… fuck…” he gasped, before his eyes found yours again, the corners of his mouth curling into a smile as he laughed.

You laughed back.

He set you down on the floor—your legs wobbly, gaze shy—exchanging soft caresses, oblivious to the rest of the world around you. You leaned in, kissing him spontaneously as you felt his smile against your lips.

“So, you got a name?”

“Mm-hmm.” He kissed you once more, exhaling it like a sigh—“Leon.”

And you didn’t feel like the magic was lost in any way.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Endnotes

Fyi, I created a playlist for Darkroom in case you want to check it out. All songs are from The xx and their music contributed a lot to the mood of this piece!

I also saw Timimie Märak, a poet, feminist, and Sámi queer activist, at a literary festival recently, and I really liked what they said: “The biggest lie we tell ourselves is that we should be ashamed of our feelings,” which has appeared in my fic above.

[dreamerdrop]

Garashir just ticks like. Every box in every way, in thousands of different ways, all at once.

The moral ambiguity. The trauma. The angst. The shared sense of humour. The age gap. The constantly switching power dynamics between two people who refuse to be open with anyone, including themselves. The inherent "I know I don't always know you but I trust you and I'll do this for you" that comes with all of that.

The refusal to walk away, the mutual fascination and obsession, the willingness to bend their own sense of self to try and see the other more clearly.

They are both so traumatised and so lonely and have so much difficulty connecting to others, but they form such an immediate easy connection that goes beyond being friends or not friends. They are both so terrified of someone seeing them for exactly who they are because they think that person is grotesque and unlovable, but they're not.

Neither of them is the monster they think they are, and they see that in each other but not in themselves. Even when they aren't together, even when they aren't around, their character arcs are so wrapped up in what they've brought to one another.

Julian becoming darker, letting go of so much idealism out of fear of losing those he loves, and Garak stepping up, slowly becoming a person he thought he could never be, someone who is kind and heroic, even if he'll still do horrible things, he will do them because he's doing it to help someone who needs that help, for the greater good. Garak demonstrating through the person he becomes that Julian was never, never wrong for trusting him, for believing in him, for forgiving him.

Garak becoming someone through the war who validates all the idealism that the war made Julian try to kill off inside himself, that he thankfully never really could.

They're both self-sacrificing to a fault, Julian revels in it, wraps himself in it as a defence from all his self-loathing and pain, and Garak tries so hard to deny it to himself, to pretend he would never put anyone ahead of himself, ahead of Cardassia, but he does, again and again. He is far more selfless than he gives himself credit for, and likewise, Julian deserves far more selfishness than he allows himself to indulge in.

The shared pride and hubris giving way to the broken foundations they were both raised upon, moulded into someone they hated by parents who let them down, by a universe that couldn't see them beyond labels and histories and crimes. So closely guarded with names chosen for themselves, peppering hints of themselves without ever giving enough away to anyone who won't work for it.

But they do work for it, for each other. They see those little hints, they piece them together for each other because it matters, it matters if it's for them.

They're mirror images and opposites and so different and so similar, and they wouldn't be who they are without each other, pulling them along into becoming someone new.

I don't care if they were in love or not, it's such a tiny speck in the giant abstract mess that is their entire relationship. Lovers, friends, family, a spy and his mark, a doctor and his patient, a friendly acquaintance, a distant former comrade, it doesn't matter.

They're just... everything.

[winnerslable]

[billiuspendragon]

The thing about Teruhashi is that she isn't "the peak of femininity", she's the epitome of what the patriarchy wants women to be.

Men are nice to her, love her and give her things -- but it isn't really for her. Men go out of their way to give her attention because they hope they will get attention from a pretty girl in return. They might not want her to do anything specific -- they just want her to exist for them, and to always be smiling at them, because they think that's what a pretty woman should be. According to the patriarchy, pretty women exist to be lovely and to brighten everyone's days. If they're not then there's no point to them.

Honestly I think Teruhashi has made it her mission to be "perfect" in this way because it's that way she feels she has control over the situation. Weaponising her beauty and manipulating people is all she can do because she can't use her voice. People listen to her, yes, but only because she's pretty and nice for them. They love her, but they don't respect her as a person. I believe that if Teruhashi was truly upset about something she would probably be labeled as "crazy" -- and she knows this, which is why she tries so hard to make even her tears palatable and pretty.

That's why it sort of rubs me up the wrong way when she's praised for her efforts by Saiki. Why should forcing ourselves into a mould for men to admire us be praised? It's sad that Teruhashi has to do this. It's sad that she has to act and perform to feel like she has even a little control over the waves of people constantly fawning over her. She did not choose this life. Why should Teruhashi be praised for being a good girl and fitting into the patriarchy? I don't know if that was the intended message but that's what it feels like at times and it's frustrating! It's so frustrating!

My one hope is that she does refuse to answer a guy's question after she faints that one time, which paints a hopeful picture of her future character development. I do wish they'd taken this a bit further, but, hey ho.

In short, "the peak of femininity" is not something that really exists, because we are all our own people. Being a woman shouldn't be about living for others, it should be about being a fucking human like anyone else.

[spidernuggets]

No. 18 "Plea- Please. I can't be hated by you, I just can't" with reader saying this to Jason because he just found out that the Joker is her father

Jason Todd x Joker's Daughter!Reader

"Plea- Please. I can't be hated by you, I just can't."

You tried long and hard to fall out of your father's tight grasp of holding you hostage, telling you many times that you are his flesh and blood. His family. His face and name.

He's repeated that no one in the world will ever love you except him. And even if someone did, if they find out who you're related to, they'd instantly stop loving you. No one in the world is aware of your existence except for him and a few of his goons. Not even Batman knows that the Joker has a kid.

You've watched the Joker torture, maim, kill so many innocent people. You've watched him force other men who can't fend for themselves to work for him.

And for what? Your father does this for a good laugh. Because he's bored. Because he wants to play Tag with Batman.

But with endless lectures and monologues from the Joker, somehow, you remain to stay sane. But every time you tried to escape his hold, he somehow still managed to find you. How does he do it?

You found out from overhearing a discussion to kill Batman that the Joker would use Scarecrow's fear toxin on you to do his bidding, knowing that maltreatment wouldn't get you to do what he wants. And upon this discussion, you hear that you can't escape. That you could never escape from him. He planted a tracking chip, under your tongue.

You instantly ran to what is labelled as your bedroom. But in reality, it's just a small, cramped space with mould growing in all corners, cracks in the walls, and dried blood stains on the floor. But toss an old mattress there, and suddenly it classifies as a bedroom from dear old dad.

There's a shattered mirror hanging on one of the walls. You grab a shard off the floor, staring into the mirror, looking desoerate to take the tracker out. As soon as you lifted your tongue to rip out your tracker, you hear the Joker call for you.

"Ohhh, Y/n, my sweets!" He bellows. You drop the shard, turning to look at your dad with an unamused expression on your face, replying with a harsh 'what'.

"Clear up the attitude, hm? There's someone I'd like you to meet!" He declares, almost in a tune. Your face scrunches in confusion. Joker says no more as he walks away, expecting you to follow, as you do.

You follow him down to the ground floor of the warehouse. And you're shocked to see Robin tied up with barbed wires to a wheelchair. His face is busted, there's dark circles under his eyes, but no one would notice them seeing how bloodied his face was, and his head was hung low.

He looked scared, confused. He looked like he'd given up on trying to escape.

"Meet boy blunder 2.0!" Joker cheered, picking up his crowbar, giving Jason a swing to the leg. Jason grimaces but doesn't scream in pain. He already looks so dead. Joker scoffs in boredom. "Not playing, I see," he mutters. "No matter! I'm quite finished with you anyway. But first!"

The Joker brings out a camera, putting it right in front of Jason. You're confused as to why you were brought down to witness this. You have an understanding that the Joker would kill Robin, but you have no control over what he does. You try to help Robin, and your head would have a bullet in there.

"How long has he been here?" You quietly ask.

"Oh, you know.." The Joker chuckles. "A month... a year? Same difference," he cackles as your eyes widen.

He starts recording, and you don't realise you can be seen in the corner of the background of the footage. The Joker goes on and on with his usual, riddled speeches. Within that, it is revealed to you that this new Robin is identified as Jason Todd, who claims to hate Batman.

"Hey..." The Joker suddenly says to Jason. "I never asked. What's the big secret? Who is the big, bad bat? What's his name? Tell me!" he calmly says.

"Of course, sir. It's-"

No matter how many times you witness your father murder an innocent person, you'd never get used to the sound of his gunshot. Or the sound of his crowbar against bruising flesh. Or his maniacal cackles of dekight when he kills someone. Especially someone who is... was close to Batman.

"Never could stand a tattletale. See, my darling, Y/n?" He says to you. "This is why I work alone. No one to spoil the punchline!" He grands the camera, bringing it to get a closer look at the dead boy in front of you. "You should try it sometime." At this point, you don't know if he's talking to you or the camera. You assume this video footage would be sent to the Bat.

The Joker finishes up the footage, tossing the camera to you as you clumsily catch it. "Export the footage, my sweets. Then, send it to the coordinates that I'll send to you in a bit," he instructs to you.

"Why can't you do it?" You carefully say, trying not to get on his bad side.

"Because..." He hisses, harshly grabbing your face with a firm grip as you winced. "I told you to do it. Now go."

You glare at him, going to go export the footage and send the taoes to the coordinates, in which you assume is where Batman would be currently located.

A month later, everything is quiet. The Joker and most of his goons are out to raid Scarecrow's cookery. You take this opportunity. You head to your room, looking dead in your eyes through the mirror. You slowly open your mouth, sticking your finger in, trying to feel the lumo of where the tracker is situated.

When you find it, you grab a shard, placing it directly over the tracker. You attempted to muffle your whimpers as much as you can to make sure the rest of Joker's goons don't hear you. You were finally able to pop the tracker out, and you hold it up between your eyes, your focus on the blinking light that somehow blinds you. It makes your eyes water, but you drop the tracker to the ground, leaving it there. You're aware that if you step on it, it might send a signal to Joker, indicating that the device he planted in you had been damaged.

So you left it there in your room, you pack whatever shit you can, and you attempt once more to escape that damn warehouse. For the uears you soent in there, you took note of usually unguarded exits and the routines of your dad's goons.

And with that, you successfully stepped foot out of the warehouse. And you took no extra second to bolt away as fast and as far away as you can.

With your bolt for freedom, you go to the closest drug store. Thanks to dear old dad, you managed to steal some essentials. Vitamins, bandages- oh. And some hair dye. You go to whatever public restroom you could find. You got your pocket knife and started to messily cut your hair, along with applying every last drop of that hair dye.

You decided to stay along the outskirts of Gotham. You were never able to get out of the warehouse, so staying in Gotham, a somewhat familiar setting would be safest for you.

And since the outskirts are the poorer sides of town, where the Joker wouldn't be interested in torturing the already tortured, you knew that he wouldn't be a problem for a good while.

So you went around, figuring the in and outs of the outskirts. It's been another few years, and you've forgotten all about the Robin fiasco that occurred in the warehouse. You even forgot that he willingly revealed his identity.

The past few years had been hectic. There was a new Robin roaming around, a new crime lord emerged by the name of Arkham Knight, whose name had died down a bit and is now working alongside Batman... you think?

You were able to get a stable job at Bat Burgers. Luckily, seeing as it's a cheao, greasy fast food place, they didn't need any formal documents. You were able to rent a run-down apartment (which was a huge upgrade to your decomposing room back at the warehouse) and with a little extra cash, you were able to buy snacks for some of the kids along the outskirts.

You were fishing through your bag for your wallet when you bumped into someone, and you hit your face prettg hard against them.

"Ow! Watch it, nitwit!" You snap at them, but they scoff.

"You're the one not watching where you're going," he bites back. And you were about to make a snarky comment, but when you looked up at the stranger, you swear you saw an angel. He was tall... very tall. He also had gorgeous green eyes and a few scars on his face that made him somewhat more attractive.

Your silence indicates to him that you have nothing else to say, and he scoffs once more and leaves. You shake your head away from the thought of how good-looking he was and continued your way towards the grocery store.

You picked up a few meats and vegetables you were going to offer to the soup kitchen down the road, not forgetting to put some candy and snacks in the basket for the kids that would be there.

When you checkout, you headed straight for the soup kitchen, immediately greeting Diane, the owner of the place,with a sweet smile and a wave. You say hi to the other volunteers when you make it to the back of the kitchen, dropping off the plastic bag full of produce, telling the others you won't be long.

When you step out, you're instantly tackled by a bunch of 6 and 7 years olds hugging you tightly, all of them talking at once saying how much they missed you.

"Okay, okay," you laugh with the kids. "Hey, guess what I got," you bend down to their level, lowering your voice, as they all copied you, looking more secretive and quietening. You then whip open your bag, reveal various treats for them as the kids squeal with excitement.

"Alright, alright, one at a time!" You exclaim, happy ti see the kids enjoying their time.

When you wrap things up, you hug the kids once more, saying goodbye and that you'd see them soon. But when you swiftly turn, your face is once more met with a solid surface.

You take a step back, grabbing your nose. "Ow! Shit- again?!" You hiss, your eyes tight shut as your hands apply soothing pressure to your not really broken face.

"You know you shouldn't curse. There's kids around."

You look up, getting a sense of deja vu, seeing the same pair of emerald green eyes looking down at you smugly.

"Ugh.. you," you groaned, secretly glad you got to see him again... just wanting to admire the view, you guess.

"Ugh, me," the handsome stranger mocked with a grin. He stuck his hand out, interested to officially meet the person who continuously walks into his chest. But also, the person who manages to make these kids smile in just a split second.

"Jason."

You raise a brow at his extended arm, shaking it cautiously. "Y/n..." You say, shaking his hand. Didn't he know a Y/n from somewhere?

You notice him wearing an apron. "You volunteer here?" You question as Jason nods his head.

"Whenever I get free time. I only started volunteering recently. Otherwise, I'm just doing whatever. How bout you?"

"Just visits here and there. I don't have time to volunteer fully. Just drop off some food and snacks most of the time, though," you explain, and Jason smiles.

"Well, your time here definitely seems to cheer up those kids. They're always frowning," he says sadly, but you just shrugged.

"It's not much. It's all I can offer. This side of Gotham really isn't Wayne manor," you joke, unaware that you were having a conversation with a son of Bruce Wayne. Well... not until Diane comes up.

"Ah, Y/n! You've met Jason Todd!" She cheers.

Jason Todd. Where have you heard that name before? It's starting to itch the back of your mind.

"Yeah, glad you got another volunteer since you're getting fewer people to help out," you say with a sad smile.

"I know, but it's not every day you get a son of Bruce Wayne to volunteer in a little kitchen," she happily says. One of the workers at the back calls out to Diane for some help. "Well, better get back to work! See you soon, Y/n!" She happily says as she walks off to the back.

Your brows are high, and your eyes are wide as you stare at Jason. "You're... You're a Wayne?!" You say shockingly while looks down at you.

"You didn't know? I'm kind of famous," he starts to say as you look at him cluelessly. "Was announced dead but was actually alove, just gone missing?"

"Nah, doesn't ring a bell."

"Wow, you don't get out much, do you?" He laughs.

"As much as that is an interesting tale to tell, I'm not interested in rich people business," you say as you glance at your watch. "Look, it was nice talking to you. Sorry for walking into you or whatever, but I gotta go. Late for work," you explain as you were about to bolt out the door. But Jason stops you by grabbing your hand.

"Wait! I... I kind of wanted to get to know you more. Can.. I get your number?" He awkwardly asks.

"Oh..." You quietly say. "I... Sorry, I just... Don't have a phone.." You say in embarrassment. But it doesn't seem to bother Jason.

"Oh, well... where do you work? What time would you finish? I can.. uhm. Drop you home if you want?" He offers, and you smile.

"Batburgers. 9pm, " you say as Jason nods and you finally run out the door, sprinting to work.

As promised, Jason comes to visit you half an hour before your shift ends, talking to you about the soup kitchen as you wiped down a table.

When you walk out with him, you notice that he's walking you towards a motorcycle.

"You ride a bike?" You ask.

"Yeah, is that okay?"

"Is it okay?? It's sick!" You exclaim as you hop on behind him once he gets on. Under his helmet, he smiles, thinking how cute your reaction was, as he hands you a spare helmet.

He would be lying if he said his heartbeat sped up when you wrapped your arms around his waist. He just met you. He shouldn't be so nervous around you like this.

"So... would you be free any time this week?" He asks as he walks you up to your apartment complex. You insisted many times you can go on your own, embarrassed for Jason to see where you lived in comparison to Wayne Manor, but Jason assured you that he wouldn't care.

"I have work for the rest of the week," you reply in disappointment. "But... I guess I do finish pretty late each night... wouldn't mind a ride back," you say in hopes that Jason would accept your request of taking both a lift off of him, and his time to talk to him more.

He smiles in response, agreeing to pick you up after work as you gave him your schedule.

Your routine of Jason picking you up during the late nights after work continued. Soon, the two of you went out on actual hangouts through Gotham for a few weeks. Then those weeks turned to months. And soon, Jason frew tired of just being friends with you.

How the hell was he supposed to just be friends with you when his heart raced when you smiled. Or when his cheeks burn when you compliment him. Or when his stomach flutters when you hug him.

How the hell was he supposed to just be friends with you when he's trying so damn hard not to kiss you just because you looked so cute.

Ao he grew himself a pair and asked you out.

Obviously, you said yes.

And another of a couple of dates later, you made it official. Jason was so down bad that he asked you to move into his apartment. You told him so many times you didn't want to intrude his space, but he just called you dumb and ridiculous (which you took great offence to). But eventually, you caved in and agreed.

During this time, you have never felt so loved before. Jason made you forget that the Joker existed. That he was even your father. Jason proved the Joker wrong. There is someone who can truly love you.

But... then your relationship started to get messy. He stopped picking you up from work. He was out late at night, and he wouldn't tell you why. You found him early next morning laying on the couch. He wouldn't even come to bed anymore?

You continuously asked where he's getting these bruises and wounds from. But he wouldn't answer that either. He just told you that it wasn't your business and to leave him alone.

Today, he woke up around noon. He rubbed his eyes and cracked his neck, clearly another uncomfortable sleep.

He was looking around his surroundings when he sees a duffle bag by the door. He then hears from the oppostie side, a door being closed. He turns to see you dressed and with no clear expression on your face.

You've acknowledged that he was awake, but you refuse to make any eye contact with him. You head straight to the door, picking up your duffle bag, fishing through your stuff as you find what you were looking for while Jason remains on the couch confused.

"Where are you going?" He calls out.

"Home." You spit, pulling the spare keys that Jason gave you for his apartment and slammed it on the desk beside the door.

Jason instantly gets up. "W-what? But- But you are home! This is your home! Our home.." he says, panicking.

"Is it? Is our home, Jason?" You yell. "Because you're never here! And when you are here, you're sleeping. Then, you wake up and you go out. And you get hurt. And you're not telling me how or- or why! I don't know if you're cheating or if you're in a fight club, but clearly, you don't want me to know, and clearly, you don't care if I'm worried about you. So, yeah. I'm going home. Oh! And it's over," you hiss, glaring at his, reaching for the door knob.

"Wait- wait! Please. Please, I'll explain," Jason begs, as you turn, a stern look on your face.

Jason sits you down, telling you not to freak out.

Ans you've never hated yourself more than you do now. Jason tells you that he was Arkham Knight, now going by the name Red Hood. And that he used to be the second Robin.

You wanted to scream and cry. That's where you heard the name Jason Todd from. Jason Todd was murdered right in front of your eyes. Jason Todd was tortured by your father. Jason Todd was killed by your father. Jason Todd os dating his murderer's daughter.

You play it off. Saying that it all makes sense. Why he doesn't pick you up anymore. Why he's always out so late. Why he gets so many wounds and bruises.

You'll tell him. You'll tell him who you really are. Soon. It's not fair if he doesn't know. Especially since he's coming clean now.

You'll tell him soon.

You didn't know when soon would be. Every time you think soon is coming, the moment disappears.

Jason's either in too much of a good mood or he's having a breakdown and a nightmare. He has nightmares about the Joker torturing him. And it's you who's there to snap him out of it. It's you who's there to comfort him. You comfort him, telling him that the Joker isn't here. But you are. You tell him that you're there for him.

You feel so guilty. You tell him the Joker isn't out there to get him. But there you are. His own flesh and blood, cradling him, shushing him, whispering sweet nothings to him til he falls asleep once more.

You'll tell him soon.

You grew even more guilty when Jason brings you over to Wayne Manor, and Bruce, Dick and Tim welcome you with open arms. Bruce had this... look in his eyes. But you ignored it nonetheless. Jason gives you a tour of the Manor, even shows you the big cave downstairs, and takes you to his old room. You try to stay optimistic, joking about how he was such a berd, looking at all the classic books laying around. But then you came across an old photo of him. He's younger and in his Robin suit. He looks happy. It was obvious Robin meant so much to him. And your dad took that away from him.

You'll tell him soon.

One day, you went into the cave after receiving a call from Jason.

"Why did you call me here?" You asked.

"Joker's dead." Was all he says. And you froze. You don't know how to feel. Relieved? Does this mean you don't have to tell him who you are?

"I know this is random, but... Superman killed Joker. I don't know if I can finally breathe, but... I don't know. There's a tingle inside of me. Telling me that the Joker is still alive and out to get me."

Shit.

You'll tell him soon. You'll tell him soon, right? Maybe now? Like, the Joker's dead. You've shown nothing but love to Jason. He'd believe you. He'd believe you are not your dad. You'll tell him. Yeah, you'll tell him soon.

Jason sighs and plays the tapes. The tapes that the Joker sent to Batman when he was Robin. And your eyes widen.

"Why the hell are you watching that??" You say in complete fear. The camera that the Joker used was old and glitchy with horrible quality. But as Jason played the tapes, you could still make out that there's a half of a figure, just peeking through the camera in the background behing the tied up, young Jason Todd.

"I don't know... Trying to find a conclusion. If anyone had to kill Joker, it should've been me," Jason says with a low voice.

"Hey... I never asked. What's the big secret? Who is the big, bad bat? What's his name? Tell me!" The tape plays, displaying on the huge screen in front of the two, and you swear you'd throw up any second now.

"Of course, sir. It's-" Before the gun gets shot, Jason sighs, pausing and rewinding.

"I'm sorry. This is all so dark and heavy." Jason grumbles. You don't say anything. You're focused on the small blur in the corner of the footage.

As Jason stares as the paused footage, he mentions, "That doesn't look like one of his henchmen."

Tell him.

"Fuck me, is that another kid?" he mutters angrily to himself, leaning in, taking a closer look at the footage.

Fucking tell him.

Jason takes a breath and presses play, and the video starts with a bang.

Tell him, god dammit.

"Never could stand a tattletale. See, my darling, Y/n?" The Joker says through the video. And time stops. Was the cave always this quiet? The video is still playing. How is it so quiet??

The camera wobbles as the Joker picks it up. He walks closer to Jason's dead body, but for a split second, you're in full, clear view. And Jason pauses the video. You weren't moving. You didn't look scared. You looked fed up.

Jason is silent. That's not you. That can't be you. Jason's head turns from the footage of you to you, currently standing behind him. No, no. That's not you. Your hair colour is different. But your face has the same bone structure.

"Y/n," he calls out. Your name is now so bitter on his tongue. "Tell me that, isn't you. He meant something else, right? 'My darling'? What the fuck does that mean? He was just scaring you, right???" Jason questions, his voice raising each sentence and his bottom lip quivering.

Your eyes are blurry as tears threaten to fall. You walk to Jason, bending down, looking up and you place you hands ever so gently on his knees.

"Jason," your voice cracks. "I wanted to tell you so bad," you whimper.

And Jason lets out a harsh, sarcastic laugh. "Fuck me. Don't fucking tell me you were working with him. You're a real fucking psychopath working with him at what? 13?" He spits, tears cascading down his scarred cheeks.

You shook your head. "Jay," you tried to sweetly call out to him. "I'm his daughter," you pathetically admit.

Jason's eyes widen to the point where it looks like his eyes would detatch from his sockets. He shakes his head slowly. But then, he shakes it faster, harsher.

"That isn't funny, Y/n," he almost chokes saying your name.

"No, it's not funny," you say. "But it's true," you start crying.

Jason pushes you away. You fall back as Jason stands up, towering over you. You've never been so intimidated by him before.

"You're his daughter? The Joker has a daughter?" Jason whispers in disbelief. And you nod in response. "So what the fuck were you doing just standing there? Ha.. What? Did you enjoy watching him put me through hell?"

"Jason- No! I wasn't even there when he-"

"LIAR!" He yells, his voice echoing across the cave. His breathing becomes heavy and uneven.

"Jason, you're going to have a pani-"

"Get out." He says.

"W-what?"

"Get. Out. If I ever see you again, I'll end you. I may not have been able to kill Joker myself, but you? Making me think you loved me? Fuck, is this why you only tell me now? Because daddy's dead? Just get the fuck out and never see me ever again. This is your only chance," he says, looking away from you as you finally start sobbing.

"Jay- Jason. Please," you beg, shifting to your knees, looking up at him. "Plea- Please. I can't be hated by you, I just can't." You pleaded and begged and prayed that Jason would look at you.

But Jason knows that if he looks at your state, then he might forgive you. Might forget the situation. But he can't because your father killed him. And all in his mind is that you used him because you were working with his dad. And that you're only crying because his dad got killed and that you got caught. So, no. He won't look at you, and he won't forgive you.

"Jason, please, you- you're the only person who has ever made me feel loved," you sniffled. "And I- I wanted to help you then. Help you escape. But I couldn't, please! Please believe me, Jason, please," you cried harder.

"You weren't supposed to see that."

You and Jason's heads turn to the voice. Bruce comes out of the elevator to the Batcave, walking closer to the pair.

And all Jason could see is red.

"You knew?" He snarled. And then scoffed. "Well, yeah, of course you knew. You didn't even kill Joker when you found out he murdered me- You didn't even care!" Jason yells. "I don't care that Penguin or- or Riddler are out there. They didn't kill me! They didn't kill thousands- millions! The Joker did! And you kept him alive! Now that he's dead, guess what! His daughter is right here under our noses! And you knew! Do you hate me that much that you let the Joker's daughter into our home?"

"Jason, plea-"

"I TOLD YOU TO GET THE FUCK OUT!" Now that Jasin finally looked at you, all you saw on him face was pure spite and anger. There was no more love for you left in his eyes. Just pure hatred.

And you finally got it. Jason doesn't love you any longer. And your dad was right. Even if someone loves you, when they find out who you're related to, they will instantly stop loving you.

The Joker was right.

So you got up and shamefully left the cave, and once you reached the manor, you can still hear Jason screaming and roaring.

You were numb. You finally got a tatste of what true love felt like, and it slipped through your fingers ever so quickly.

And now the only person you thought ever loved you would kill you if he saw you again.

So you left. You took your stuff from your- Jason's apartment and left Gotham. Now, future generations would probably read about the Joker in their history books. But not on a single page, paragraph or sentence would your name be mentioned. Because only two people in the entire world knew who you were.

One of them was your father's sworn enemies. And the other was your father's victim. One of these people, you hardly knew, but he knew who you were and still trusted you and welcomed you into his home. The other didn't know who you were. And you loved him. And you were positive he loved you too. But once he found out your identity, he loathed you. And he wanted you dead.

god damn that was long

pt 2

[rallamajoop]

An absurdly detailed analysis of That One Soldat Photo

Hang around wintersberg fandom long enough, and you'll likely run into a popular crack-theory that, since Heisenberg obviously thinks that building a set of huge, yellow-painted signposts is a good way to point Ethan to the Stronghold, maybe it's Heisenberg who's been leaving all those handy, yellow-painted supply crates all over the place for Ethan to find! It's exactly the kind of fun nonsense I'd enjoy if it didn't feel folks are starting to take it a little too literally (by which I mean I have now read multiple fics in which it's played completely straight ‒ and, like, people do get that it's just a crack theory, right? Like, why would Heisenberg have left so many yellow crates around his own damn factory? Look, you don't have to explain every last game mechanic, not everything is lore!)

But as anyone reading my own fic would know, I'm guilty of echoing the idea that Heisenberg-was-leaving-stuff-for-Ethan myself ‒ just not because of any yellow-striped crates. No, I'm way more interested in this one weird soldat-photo you can find in the village ‒ long hours before you'll ever see your first Soldat in the flesh...

Very creepy. And if you turn it over, you'll find a clue to a puzzle you'll have to solve in order to progress.

(And of course, when you do look out the window, odds are you'll get jump-scared by a lycan just when you're focused on the numbers, because RE8 loves that sort of misdirection ‒ but I digress.)

Anyway, the code you can see out the window will open a safe containing a jack handle you'll need to move a vehicle in the village, as well as the M1911 pistol (which will very likely be your go-to handgun for the rest of the game). The game is full of conveniently-helpful clues like that (heck, most games are), often with no obvious Watsonian justification. And there are other photos around the village ‒ Luiza has a whole photo album ‒ but photos of experiments created by Miranda and her lords don't generally turn up outside their own territory.

For a player exploring the village for the first time, that photo is a lovely little bit of foreshadowing, hinting at monsters and factory stages to come. But on replaying with full knowledge of Heisenberg's later attempts to get Ethan on his side, that Soldat photo is just enough to make you go, huh... did Heisenberg leave that for Ethan? Like, on purpose?

You can find another copy of that photo later, in Heisenberg's factory, along with his notes on his early series Soldat experiments. Which doesn't really prove anything beyond the fact that assets exist to be reused... but it does at least make it pretty canon that Heisenberg has photos of his Soldats sitting around.

Possibly also significant: both the clue photo and the factory documents are tagged 'geekmemo' in the game files. Most everything related to Heisenberg in the files is labeled 'geek'-something ‒ it seems to be an early nickname for his character that lasted well into production. Everything in the factory is geek-something, even the model for the passageway from the altar to the bridge is labeled 'pathtogeek'. Considering that so many soldat-related assets are already labeled 'geek', maybe that 'geekmemo' tag doesn't really tell us anything we don't already know ‒ but it certainly doesn't work against the idea that Heisenberg wrote that 'memo' himself.

Besides, it's not like there isn't precedent for this kind of thing. RE7 had a whole mechanic where you'd have to find 'treasure photos' pointing out the location of a few rare and useful items, all with "I hid something here" written on the back. We're never explicitly told who left those photos lying around, but it's obviously Lucas: he loves playing games, he loves taunting prisoners with the possibility of escape, and who else would it be? The complete population of the Baker mansion is like 6 people and a bunch of semi-sentient mould.

Over in RE8, there are a lot more village resident who might have left that clue lying around. Like it or not though, Heisenberg is very much RE8's equivalent of Lucas: the family's wildcard show-boater who loves making Ethan jump through hoops for his amusement. So how does the game let us know it was Heisenberg who left this particular clue? Well, who else would leave a message on the back of a Soldat photo?

There's may be additional supporting evidence Heisenberg could be involved ‒ most notably the location, being a locked-off cul-de-sac labeled 'Workshop' on signs and maps. The area is full of metal junk very much like you'll later see lying around the factory.

The workshop location does have other relevance ‒ it makes sense that you'd find the jack handle in the village workshop, whether Heisenberg was involved or not. But it also stands to reason that if there's anywhere in the village proper where Heisenberg might hang around and leave clues for Ethan, the workshop is it. And you have to admit that leaving Ethan useful stuff in a safe along with an easy clue that will likely get him jumped by a lycan is 100% more in-character for the guy than just leaving useful stuff out in the open, even if it doesn't really prove anything either.

There's one more weird-little does-this-mean-anything detail: there are three dead crows near the safe too.

It's not the first time in the game you've seen dead crows (there were a bunch outside the village, and I've talked about what that might mean in the context of Miranda's cult before). But I don't remember finding any others around the village itself, other than in this one spot. And instead of being hung from trees like a ritual sacrifice, these ones are just dead ‒ messily, and with blood everywhere.

Now, maybe it doesn't mean anything, but is there anyone in the village more likely to vent his frustrations by violently killing a few of Mother Miranda's avian avatars than Heisenberg? I'd think not.

In conclusion: I still don't think all those yellow crates have anything to do with Heisenberg. And I still don't know for sure whether the RE8 development team wanted me to assume that Heisenberg left Ethan that photo, jack handle and gun. I don't know if we're supposed to read that Heisenberg keeps a workshop in the village and sometimes kills crows out of spite. But the evidence sure does point that way ‒ and it's as valid an interpretation as anything else you might take from this game.

[mitchelindustri]

Streamlining Your Business with Labelling Machines

Optimising productivity and efficiency is crucial for success in today’s fast-paced and competitive business landscape. One area where businesses can significantly improve their operations is in the labelling and decorating process. Traditional manual labelling methods are time-consuming and prone to human errors, which can lead to costly mistakes. Thankfully, labelling or decorating machines have emerged as a game-changer, revolutionising how businesses handle their labelling needs. This comprehensive guide will explore the benefits of labelling machines and how they can streamline your business operations while saving time and resources.

Understanding the Power of Labelling or Decorating Machines

Enhanced Productivity and Efficiency

Labelling machines are designed to automate the labelling process, eliminating the need for manual application. These machines can label products at a much higher speed and with greater precision than human workers. For example, a high-speed labelling machine can label hundreds of products per minute, while manual labelling may take considerable time and labour. With increased throughput, businesses can meet higher demands and efficiently handle larger order volumes, ultimately improving productivity.

Reduced Errors and Improved Accuracy

Human errors during labelling can significantly affect businesses, including wasted resources, product recalls, and dissatisfied customers. Labelling machines reduce the likelihood of errors by automating the application process and ensuring precise label placement on each product.

Some labelling machines have built-in sensors that detect product positioning and automatically adjust the label application to match the product’s size and shape. It minimises the risk of misaligned labels and ensures accurate placement every time. Furthermore, labelling machines can integrate with barcode and RFID systems, enhancing product traceability and inventory management, which further reduces the chances of errors and improves overall accuracy.

Cost Savings

While labelling machines require an initial investment, they are cost-effective in the long run. One of the primary cost-saving benefits is the reduction in material wastage. Manual labelling often leads to misprints, label misplacement, and label damage, which results in wasted labels and additional expenses. Labelling machines ensure minimal wastage by applying labels accurately and consistently, optimising the use of label rolls or sheets.

Flexibility and Versatility

Labelling machines are highly versatile and can accommodate various label sizes, shapes, and materials. Whether businesses require adhesive labels, shrink sleeves, wraparound labels, or heat-transfer labels, these machines can handle them all. Some labelling machines offer quick changeover capabilities, allowing businesses to swiftly switch between different products or label designs.

Streamlined Regulatory Compliance

In industries with strict regulatory requirements, compliance with labelling standards is essential. Labelling machines can be programmed to ensure compliance with specific regulations, such as ingredient listings, nutritional information, and hazard warnings. Businesses can avoid legal penalties, maintain consumer trust, and uphold their brand reputation by automating the compliance process.

Improved Branding and Aesthetics

In today’s competitive market, product branding is vital in attracting consumers and building brand recognition. Labelling machines can add decorative elements, brand logos, and appealing designs to product labels, making them more visually appealing to customers.

Adaptability to Industry Demands

Labelling machines cater to various industries, including food and beverage, pharmaceuticals, cosmetics, etc. Different industries have unique labelling requirements, and labelling machines can adapt to meet these specific needs.

Choosing the Right Labelling Machine for Your Business

Label Types and Sizes

Before selecting a labelling machine, businesses should identify the types of labels they need to apply and their sizes. Some labelling machines specialise in specific label types, such as self-adhesive labels. In contrast, others offer greater versatility, accommodating a variety of label materials, including shrink sleeves and in-mould labels.

Production Volume

The production volume is crucial in determining the appropriate labelling machine for a business. High-speed labelling machines are ideal for large-scale production facilities, where a high volume of products needs to be labelled quickly. Conversely, smaller businesses or those with lower production volumes may find more cost-effective solutions in mid-range or semi-automatic labelling machines.

Automation and Integration

Automation features are essential for optimising the labelling process and reducing manual intervention. Advanced labelling machines can feature auto-adjusting settings, label position correction, and label presence sensors. These functionalities ensure that labels are applied accurately and consistently, even when dealing with products of different shapes and sizes.

Maintenance and Support

When selecting a labelling machine, consider the ease of maintenance and the availability of technical support from the manufacturer or supplier. Regular maintenance is essential to keep the machine in optimal working condition and prevent unexpected breakdowns.

Conclusion

Plastics Processing Machinery in Australia have transformed how businesses handle their labelling needs, offering increased productivity, reduced errors, and improved efficiency. By investing in a suitable labelling machine that aligns with their business requirements, companies can streamline their operations, save valuable time and resources, and position themselves for success in today’s competitive market.

Automation and technology continue to shape the future of Plastics Processing Machinery in Australia with advancements in precision, speed, and integration capabilities. As businesses seek to optimise their labelling processes, staying informed about the latest trends and industry innovations is essential to remain competitive and meet consumer demands effectively. Embrace the power of labelling or decorating machines, and take your business to new heights of efficiency and success.