#WAR CRIMINALS CAN GET PUSSY TOO

[yuristarwars]

KI-ADI MUNDI IS A BI KING. YALL LEAVE PEE-PAW ALONE

[rodolfoparras]

Back on my oc shit ✊😞 god if you can hear me

I can definitely see Price getting pissed off because he just came back from hanging out with some friends, but he's drunk as fuck and is trying to type in a code but keeps pressing the wrong shit because hes got big fingers and the buttons are a bit small and is just

🧍‍♂️🎥 "one of you boys needs to get the fuck out here and let me in" at the cameras until someone comes out and escorts him inside (it will not be Ghost, because he thinks it's funny as fuck)

It's probably Gaz and/or Everett that does tbh, helps the old man inside and gets him all washed up and in his jammies (probably fucks him good for good measure) and then tucks his ass into someone's bed, he's out like a light fs

Everett is a huge cuddle bug when you get close enough to him. So lots of the time, if you're looking for him, you should be looking for whoever's in their room because good chance he's with them in bed

Also they do absolutely fight of parking spots, you're right, sometimes they park in each other's spots just to be petty. Finished Ghost's favorite cereal? Fuck you and your parking spot

Soap's got furr enemies because in the 2009 MW, in Captain Soap's journal, he talks about hating dogs and having a fear of them. So Ghost's pup Riley and Everett's pup are his biggest opps sometimes.

Both dogs are very well trained, so he'll slowly grow civil with them, they help him overcome that fear the longer they're all together, but he still doesn't like them much

Prefers Everett's little fluff balls, a mainecoon and a Norwegian forest cat (they're not little at all but they love Soap because he spoils them)

Once they're all retired, I don't think Everett would use a mask much at home, definitely when he goes out but at home he's pretty okay going without it, Roach and Ghost too. But sometimes Everett will probably wear his bunny balaclava for funsies

If he carries anything in the ears, it's probably lighters or chapstick

Weed smoker 100% after retirement, he gets really bad pains in his face sometimes from the piece of shrapnel and smokes to relieve it, probably smokes with Roach and Soap. The others may or may not join, probably depends on if they're still in the military or not

The boys do call him bunny and bun bun and other cute bunny pet names because they think it's cute 😞 man's a war criminal and missing his eye but he's his boys' bunny

Nsft headcanons 🤭...

(poly141 petplay when?!) ((Everett would probably dress up in white lingerie with bunny ears and a rabbits tail plug because Soap joked about it once and wanted to surprise his boys))

Lots of high and/or drunk sex, they've got so much left over energy now they focus it on each other. Get Everett high, and he's rubbing his pussy on whoever's closest to him

Sex between Everett and Soap is very sweet most of the time in my head, they're both scared of losing the ability to communicate with one another (Soap becoming hoh and Everett going partially blind) and so they're very sweet with each other, lots of cuddle sex, they take good care of one another

They all love to ruin their captain and lieutenant 🫡

4v2 fr, Gaz, Soap, Roach, and Everett all jumping Ghost and Price and melting their brains

Idk if you've ever seen those women who fuck men back?? Like the woman is standing and holding the man's legs against him and then riding him like that?? Idk if that's the best way to describe it, BUT Everett does that to whoever's cis in the polycule, especially if it's Ghost or Price, loves to dominate those two

I could probably go on for way too long about these guys...... Someone's gotta put me down, bruh

-🐧

Hello I’m kicking my legs and twirling my hair bc fucking price to sleep is a dream yes he’s an old man yes he’ll happily let you fuck him while he sleeps yes he gets lazily half way into riding and wants you to take over for him yes he’ll claim he doesn’t like being pampered bc he’s a “grown man for Christ sake “ but if you happen to forget to make tea for him at night like you usually do or you won’t offer him to put his cold feet onto you he’ll be huffing and puffing

May I also have a cuddle ses with Everett it’s been a rough day my friends 🧎🏻‍♂️

Wait I absolutely love them having petty fights like arguing over silly things like how someone (soap) ended up turning half of the white t shirts into baby pink and he’s like what pink looks great on ghost and Everett 😭

Oh no I forgot soap was a wee bit scared 😭 but also soap having some moments where he’s like “you’re cool…sometimes” to the dogs 😭

Soap having little tea parties with the kitties and talking shit about dogs and the cats are just blinking at him and he’s like exactly!

Everett wearing his bunny mask jst bc he secretly loves when the rest of the guys coo at him

I see price tryinf weed once and being all grumpy about the headache he got and how he’s too old for all this nonsense hallucinations he’s seeing 😭

Oh hello Everett and price dryhumping idk I just see price as someone who absolutely loves doing it especially with a couple of drinks in him

Soap and Everette finding their own ways to communicate just in case something happens 🧎🏻‍♂️

Oh I’ve definitely seen that maybe even imagined pricr doing it to me but that’s another discussion 😞

[the-firebird69]

Sleezed his way in is a massive traitor knows about it. Sits on macs Mac proper in the way oozed his way in and covers them up. Thinks he has a job plans to invade the MW and middle areas backstabbing the Mac proper. And yeh Tommy f will force them in globally he plans

So Mac proper a deluge of idiots yes we can use it but he's hardly a loyal subject

Zues Hera

He really is not. But no we don't want Mac in he's too high profile. Is a Mac MB not us but yeh lots think he is. So we see trump sick there on the other side he sends ppl after us non stop yet it's needed now. Even the West East move. No not really. We shall invade Thier areas over and over and prep our armies to do so now.

Mac proper

Good and your dead Trump f off or else and your right on me. We know what it is I'm still VP I use it on you criminals. PS they cheated we fight it and begin soon. We shall announce it.

Kamala

We noticed trump and his surrounding polling went after them a lot tons did and we grabbed millions and area. We pulled in probably.5% of Thier total population. Altogether they lost 1.15% at polling stations mostly are gone out talked. Their huge device plan out. Even plans here in Charlotte came out fully. All over Earth he's exposed. Is a jackass mocks the presidential system is a poor sport yeh he is disgusting. Tries ordering troops now to take the USA by force. We landed it on him tons of bases are embroiled the fighting has begun. It's intense and fights over areas too. All over Earth trumps are up getting knocked down. A war now. Here the hotel is up tons fight to get in and relieve trump of the burden of the presidency. Tons.

He's killed several times prior to going into office his own want his body is one reason. Coming soon.

Thor Freya

Pussy Trump your installed by the empire i can't stand you. You need not be arrogant ppl get it ok

Sarah

Lots do we had the idea to light up Mac proper. They tried to light us up. With Joe. Trump is second best well we need phaseii macs don't think so

Thor Freya

Hahaha

Sarah

Haha he sings Sarah the song mentions the Sahara she is not happy they took and yourca flip flopping fish no up happy mean steaming. Mac daddy put you in to toast you just in time lots said now again we diminish they help run our joke of a plan for a non existent computer great

Sarah

Olympus

[btower3689]

You Are Sheol . 7

When Abraham eventually arrives at the police station in Golden, he is accompanied by two men.

At this point it is approaching evening, and the sun has started its descent into its grave. 

The two men are promptly asked to wait outside the station, a tall male officer remarks that their visit may be lengthy. After some deliberation, the two men agree to wait at the Mcdonald’s down the street. They agree to bring Abraham an iced tea. 

“Where’s my son?” Abraham says as his tired eyes scan the office. The male officer that stands before him directs him to a room that is down the hall and to the left. He instructs Abraham to sit and remarks that someone will be with him shortly. 

Abraham rubs his nose and sits back in his chair. He fidgets, picking at the button on the sleeve of his jacket, shifting around in his chair every few seconds, scratching his head, bobbing his knee up and down wildly with anxiety. 

10 minutes go by. 

“Fuck,” Abraham mutters, “I shouldn’t have come here, fuck…” he stands from his seat and paces around the room. He then digs his phone out the pocket of his blue jeans and scrolls through his messages until he clicks on the name “Mark”. 

“You need to get John and Samson up to the houses right now I have a bad fucking feeling,” he types quickly. 

There’s a moment's delay before three white dots appear on the screen, indication that Mark is typing back. 

“Samson just had the baby 

not gonna be leaving the hospital till late. 

I’ll call John and see what he’s up to.” 

Abraham cusses again and furiously types back,

“I told him not to have the fucking baby at the hospital, we have enough problems as it is,”

Moments delay, then Mark responds, 

“There were complications. 

Sampson said that Lilah was dying. Baby was dying too. 

She bled all over the bed. It looks like a fucking war zone in there, man.

We can’t keep doing this shit. It gets fucked up every time. 

You know Samson loves Lilah and that baby. He actually wanted to be a father.”

Abraham groans audibly, now gripping his phone with both of his tensed hands. 

“Tell Samson he’s DONE. 

Don’t let me see that piece of shit on my property again!

This brotherhood is more important than pussy,” he types back. 

More than a moment's delay.

“John says he’ll do it. He’s on the way now. Full clean?”

“Everything needs to be gone.” Abraham replies. “Use bleach and that other acid shit. You should trash that mattress and the sheets too.”

“The altars?” Mark replies quickly.

Abraham’s fingers hover over the keyboard with hesitation. 

“Don’t touch the altars. Nothing weird about them. Looks religious.”

Abraham sits back in his chair and sets his phone on the table with a stressful sigh, before quickly picking it back up. 

“We’re done with kids,” he adds. 

“Agreed, brother,” Mark concludes. 

The door opens, Detective Lewis can be seen along with the tall male officer from before. The officer nods to Lewis before shutting the door and leaving her alone with Abraham. Detective Lewis sits and sets her binder on the desk before doing a short chuckle to herself. 

“Abraham Solomon King,” she says quietly, “Let’s see… driving without insurance and registration… criminal trespassing, stalking, and credit card fraud. No possession… hm. Lucky you. You have... been previously convicted of hate speech, willful promotion of hatred, and you are the founder of a religious organization called the “Brotherhood of the Forbidden Truth”... what a character you are.”

“And you are?” Abraham asks with a disrespectful air to his voice. 

“I am Detective Lewis,” she says with a raised eyebrow, “and that little boy out there is Sheol.”

Abraham frowns, making the wrinkles in his dark brown skin set deeper into his face. 

“Where is my son?” he asks darkly. 

“Oh we’ll get to that, don’t you worry, Abe. But first let’s discuss the issue of the suspicious lack of documentation surrounding your son, hm?” 

Abraham looks down at the desk, avoiding eye contact with the sharp detective. 

“No birth records, no health records, no cards. We don’t even know the name of his mother. All of the information we have on Sheol came directly from you in your… rather coolheaded phone call to the guys in Lumby. We’re not even entirely sure that he is your son,” she says as she reads through her binder. 

“Look at me,” Abraham says with a condescending smile, “he’s mine.” 

Detective Lewis observes Abraham and rolls her eyes. The familial resemblance is apparent. You have the same wide nose, angled brown eyes, and high cheekbones. The same curly black hair and dark brown skin. 

“Well you are… more than “active” in the local community, Mr. King. Why exactly has no one seen or heard from Sheol? Explain to me, Mr. King, why for the past three years Sheol has essentially been kept a secret? You didn’t think ‘hm! Maybe I should inform the government that I’ve had a baby!’ around… year 2?”

Abraham crosses his arms and leans deeper into his seat, eyeing Detective Lewis with a coy apprehension.

“We livin’ all the way out in the boonies. Lots of folks out there don’t document their kids. So what? The family takes care of him. You can ask my boys, they all know who he is. It’s no man's land out there anyways, you've never been up that side, aye?” 

Detective Lewis gives Abraham a smug, condescending glare. Abraham shrugs with an equally nasty smile. 

“It’s not illegal,” he says coolly. 

“Where is his mother?” Lewis asks carefully, pen hovering above the page of her notes.

Abraham glances at her papers. “Couldn’t tell ya,” he answers, “she’s not in the picture.” 

“What is his mother’s name?” Lewis continues.

“Don’t think that matters,” Abraham answers dismissively, “she don’t got custody.”

Detective Lewis squints annoyedly, “nobody has custody of Sheol right now, Mr.King.”

An agonizing silence hangs in the air for a minute and a half as Abraham continues to avoid the question. Picking at his nails, running his hands through his hair, burping and rocking in his chair.

“Where do you live?” Lewis asks, only to be ignored once again. Three more minutes of silence.

“You’re really going to play this game with me, Abraham? You want to make this painful for yourself?” Lewis continues on in a half murmur. 

There's another long stretch of silence, this one longer than the last. Abraham leans his head back on his chair and starts whistling ‘Amazing Grace’. His shrill tone banishes the uncomfortable quiet. 

Finally, Detective Lewis stands from her chair with an exhausted, “alright, Abraham.”

“Can I go now?” Abraham asks, also standing from his seat, “You gonna give me my kid so I can get him home before bedtime?”

“No, no. You stay right there. I’m just going to make a quick phone call and I’ll be right back.” Lewis responds as she gathers her papers and heads towards the door. 

…

[nsfwhiphop]

Incoming Text for @zoesaldana and @rosariodawson :

Subject title: "You should call Shurik'n IG (@shurikn_iam) and ask him to give you my real IP address. Once you have it, protect it."

Hey Zoe and Rosario!

I want to ask you to go to war with cyber criminals.

Call this man, his name is Shurik'n IG (@shurikn_iam), and ask him for my IP address. Once you have it, make sure you protect it.

Give it to @elonmusk. He will take care of my cybersecurity from now on.

These cyber criminals want to steal my intellectual property, but they can't access my robust IP address. That's why we need Elon Musk.

Elon Musk is in charge now. Tell him that intellectual property theft is a crime and he is the police officer now. He has to arrest the cyber thieves.

I work on my computer all the time, and I can't work in these conditions unless you protect my IP address.

You should call all our allies and tell them that this is very important for our future economic victory.

Do you want to lose $100 million? I don't think so. Now you understand why I'm writing you this letter. My IP address is your bank now, and it is your duty to protect this bank.

I hope you will fight them and keep an eye on my IP address 24/7 because this is where they will attack me now.

For the past nine months, I have been giving my intellectual property for free on this blog. It was fun and all, but now I'm moving my work behind the scenes. And guess what? They want to spy on me and steal my work. Do you understand what time it is?

It's time to protect your bag. Your wealth is being created at my IP address.

Here is a fun metaphor:

Tell them that my IP address is like Walter White's meth lab in Breaking Bad. Just as the lab produces high-quality meth, my IP address is where I create my valuable screenplays. It's an easy-to-understand metaphor: protect the lab, and you protect the product.

Do you know what this means? It means you need security guards to watch over my IP address 24/7 and notice any infiltration into my IP address and kick them out. Do you hear me?

You should hire a cybersecurity team to watch over my IP address 24/7 just like a bank vault. This is how you protect your wealth.

Gabrielle will pay the costs of the cybersecurity team.

Rihanna will pay the costs of the cybersecurity team.

Delphine Arnault will pay the costs of the cybersecurity team.

You should tell Delphine Arnault that her future net worth depends on my IP address, and she should protect it at all costs.

This is how you protect your intellectual property from being stolen. Do you remember what I have told you about corporate espionage?

Well, guess what? We are at war as we speak. It has begun, and you should adapt to this new environment or we all sink.

Gabrielle asks me, "How do I find your IP address?"

Angelo says, "Call this man, his name is Shurik'n, IG (@shurikn_iam). He will help you get my IP address, and he will help you protect my IP address. You will hire a robust cybersecurity team."

Gabrielle says, "So all I have to do is call Shurik'n, and he will help me find your real IP address? And then all I have to do is protect it with a cybersecurity team 24/7, protect it like a bank vault, correct?"

Angelo says, "Yes, correct! That's the price you have to pay to protect your intellectual property because these French criminals want to steal and bully us through our IP address."

Gabrielle says, "I understand. I will call Shurik'n now. But I'm curious, I can also ask Marion Cotillard, right? She knows your real IP address too."

Angelo says, "Yes, she knows my real IP address. Marion is my friend. I didn't want to bother her. That's why I asked you to call Shurik'n. He is a good man, and I'm trying to give him some clout on my blog. I'm being nice, you know? They get a lot of pussy when I mention their names. French women give pussy to any man who is mentioned on my blog, so you understand, I'm only being nice to Shurik'n."

I know it's a funny story, but it is true. Clout on my blog equals lots of pussy for them.

Shurik'n is a good man, and I'm trying to be nice to him. He is surrounded by a lot of toxic people, and I want to help him. Get it?

Long story short, this is your future success in the film industry that is at stake, so don't let them get away with their crime. Intellectual property theft is a crime.

I wrote to Gabrielle Union in this letter because I know she is your friend and she is reading this, so I thought to myself, why not write to her too?

That is how you have to defend your wealth. If you don't help me protect my IP address, you will lose your $100 million. That is what is at stake.

Okay, get to work now and protect your bank vault.

Meanwhile, I will get to work too.

The end of this conversation.

Your friend,

Angelo.

P.S.:

Synopsis of the Letter

Angelo urgently calls on his friends Zoe and Rosario to protect his IP address from cyber criminals intent on stealing his intellectual property. He instructs them to contact Shurik'n IG (@shurikn_iam) to obtain his IP address and then pass it to Elon Musk, who will ensure its security. Emphasizing the critical nature of this task, Angelo explains that protecting his IP address is vital for their future economic success, equating its importance to that of a bank vault. He stresses the need for 24/7 cybersecurity, funded by celebrities like Gabrielle Union, Rihanna, and Delphine Arnault, whose fortunes he claims depend on the security of his IP. Angelo shares a humorous aside about giving clout to Shurik'n on his blog to attract attention and help him. Ultimately, he underscores the high stakes involved and urges immediate action to safeguard their wealth and intellectual property from cyber thieves.

[xoteajays]

If it was not bad enough that the boys were outnumbered by a dozen men, they had to use weapons to attack them before Ju got herself in to help them from being beaten to death. Even if they're really able to defense themselves against these people though. They're pussies.

I'm desensitized to violence. But I can say that was completely happy, they deserved it. They tried kidnapping Gun's mother. And maybe the guys might have killed her too, if Choi's friends didn't save her. So it is so obvious that they've deserved everything that happened to them.

But I think it was funny Yang stabbed the guy in the back. Literally.

I'm a vindictive person.

Well.. Slight spoiler. Yang's implied to be from the mafia, I don't know what the Korean term is for mafia (or yakuza). Because the tattoos he has indicate criminal syndicate tattoos to my knowledge anyway. But he turned his life around when he met Choi. And.. I am not sure about Lee though. I know he's skilled with blades in the same way as Yang.

~

That's my problem. There are so many shows and movies I've actually been trying to watch but I'm so distracted in wanting to see the other roles of celebrities I'm attached to at the moment. What the fuck.

~

Yeah. Gambling is illegal throughout Korean, they're only allowed any foreign casinos. Like... I understand the concept? If local people go to a casino, they could all become addictive gamblers. And I guess if the non-locals gamble, they wouldn't become addicted? I don't know. I'm finding that confusing to me. Because I already know many gambling addicts in my life. And they always find ways to gamble money away.

Same with Rocky. He's father was abusive, an alcoholic and gambler.

That whole concept is confusing to me.

I wish they we had more Takeru. Like.. I already knew they were going to kill off his character for the plot though, but I still wish we had a lot more for his character too. Another character who deserved better.

Yeah.. That would help flesh out your character. And, if she does have a relationship and friendship with those characters in any way, that is a way to have them meet. Bartender, waitress, any jobs like that.

Mouth! Which reminds me. Since we were already talking about a lot of sexual headcanons for Rocky.. So I'm adding on to this. But I might have said this before though. Obviously the man has this oral fixation, so besides oral, I can see him being a good kisser and him kissing any chance he can with his partner (including during sex). I see that too.

I don't know if it makes you feel any better, and you may have already noticed by now.. But I'm a bit of a repetitive speaker. Which annoys a lot of people. I don't really know if that makes you feel any better.

So let me know if that annoys you.

I don't know how Rocky can trust Kizzy to do anything. Koo is not the one who owns these businesses, but he knows that's a horrible idea.

And Kizzy, she's only contact Rocky for legitimate emergencies when he's on vacation. Like there are any fights, wars, between any gangs.

~

Yeah.. The new season for Squid Games was announced today, so the new season will start November 22. If you missed the announcement.

And I don't know if you're a fan of the series Sweet Home. But in case you are a fan, the new season starts between December 15 and 20. In around that time frame. So those are some shows coming out soon.

i loved them running in to help each other when they saw the other was in trouble. and you finally get to see that gun woo rage at the end of the episode when he’s fighting beom after he almost kills woo jin and then jin has to pull gun woo back. good scene. that was for me.

gun’s mother deserves better. just leave her alone! she’s just a sweet old lady. her lil interaction with ju was just so nice, i don’t think ju’s had many female figures in her life and su yeon is so motherly to all three of them. meanwhile gun and jin are just gobbling up food.

i don’t think korea has a specific term like yakuza, i think it might just be mafia and then there’s separate names for specific groups of organised crime. i’m not too sure, i just did a quick googling.

i don’t know if i’ll actually write anything, i’m just playing around with the oc in my head. playing with characters like they’re dolls in my imagination.

~

it just seems weird. like why not just … not have casinos? if it’s illegal, why have them, even if just for foreigners? like is there nothing better tourists could be doing? why would you go all the way to korea and then waste time gambling? if you’re that addicted to gambling, are you really going to waste money on a holiday? is it not obvious it’s going to be a cover for crime? idk. it’s weird. it’s like dangling something in front of people and then going ‘nuh-uh, it’s illegal’. like why?

there was not nearly enough takeru. he was so cool. and very hot. i wish he’d been able to come back with his brothers, but i figured they’d probably kill him off. sucks tho. i think he had potential.

shizuka is more responsible than yui, even if she is still a part-timer and doing dumb stuff. so i could see her having a night job, since her days would be spent at ojou. i haven’t decided on if she’d be a waitress or bartender tho.

it’s probably a lil inappropriate to be flirting with patrons while working but shizuka’s doing it anyway. hiroto’s too pretty.

i’m also pretty repetitive when i talk. like i don’t mean to but i end up repeating stuff ive already said, even if in the same conversation just minutes later. i notice i’m doing it but can’t stop myself until i get the full thought out. brain is bad.

kizzy calling rocky while he’s on vacation just undoes all the de-stressing he just did. kaito calling is usually fine, he’s just checking in or telling him how things are going at the club or asking about something he’s not sure about. but kizzy is only calling if there’s some big problem happening and rocky is stressed all over again.

~

i watched sweet home. i wasn’t massively into it, but i did watch it and i’ll likely watch the next season because i liked go min si and song kang.

[ashley-slashley]

Don't Talk To Strangers

Summary: "be aware of hidden dangers, and don't you go talking to strangers" - the beau brummels, don't talk to strangers (1965)

Rating: E/Explicit

Warnings: cussing, graphic imagery, violence

A/N: incomplete. i'll probably never come back to this, no offense

    Captain’s log. Stardate: supplemental.

    Per usual with my bullshit writing, my day shall be absurd and full of nonsense. As the price of most ride escort services are becoming quite ridiculously expensive, I’ve decided to start using the moderately priced Spree. I think that might’ve been a horrible idea. I haven’t been assaulted yet, but, I just really don’t like the vibes of the driver I have. It’d be absolutely absurd to just ask to be dropped off almost immediately from my trek to work just because the vibes of this man are absolutely rancid . At least I can pass the time by listening to my music and staring out the window, completely ignoring all the cameras adorning the interior of the car like it’s Guantanamo Bay or a maximum security federal prison. I haven’t listened to or paid attention to a word my driver, Kurt, has said. He doesn’t smell like a pile of decaying cadavers, though he looks like he’s trying to go for the David Gilmour in Pompeii (circa 1972) look with the greasiest hair to ever grace god’s green earth.

    From what I can tell with his music choice, it’s trash. He mentioned something about being the person behind it, and to promote this “Kurt’s World”. His logo looks like something a horror youtube personality would include on a list of disturbing art made by the mentally ill. My name may not be Ariel, but I don’t want to be part of his world in any capacity. There’s just something off about this guy, and it’s not him almost constantly promoting his brand. I believe I found what Norman Bates would be like if he was a gen z Uber driver, no idea about the incestuous undertones of Norman’s relationship with his mother with this dude though. Wouldn’t doubt it. As far as I know, I prefer Norman, at least he doesn’t look like he stepped out of a Hollister catalog from 2007, or a greasy myspace twink from the year of our lord 2007. Dude drives a Prius, for fuck’s sake. Of course he’s cringe worthy.

    Though my music is at max, I can still vaguely hear the eardrum slaughtering beat of whatever new age hip hop is oozing from the speakers like infected pus from a wound. Call me a music elitist and crucify me for this: whatever This dreadful noise is shouldn’t be classified as music. It should be classified as audio the CIA uses to torment war criminals and terrorists with in Guantanamo Bay. Not so ironic considering I’m in a Prius decorated with security cameras, tacky internet streamer lights, water bottles from an unrecognizable brand (possibly locally sourced), and a hydroflask with some elite gaming cult sticker plastered on it. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised my driver looks like he spends 90% of his time in front of a screen, screaming at other players, and having a diet consisting of nacho Doritos, Mountain Dew, and microwavable chicken tenders. No, he’s not overweight - he’s a twig. I wonder what his metabolism is. This dude should be studied by Harvard or the CDC - “AREA MAN HAS THE MOST ABSURD METABOLISM IN EXISTENCE”. If I sound like I’m being too brutally cruel with my observations of this guy, uh, it could be far worse.

    Curiously, I looked up his social media handle. Of course he’s the type of gamer who screams and throws his controller across the room because someone said some typical xbox live chat insults from 2010. This man claimed he’s going to fuck some other player’s mom, sorry bro, from what I can gather, you get absolutely no pussy. If I’m being quite honest, he looks like he cries when he has an orgasm. Some women into S&M are into that as well, but, uh, I don’t think anyone in that community wants you. I would go further into my Freudian analysis of this dweeb, however, I don’t know what would be throwing the envelope into the Marianas Trench at this point. It’s not like he’s reading my internal monologue. Sure he shares his first name with one of the X-Men, but it’s not Professor Xavier. There’s an alternate universe where this dude’s a cult leader somewhere deep in the jungles of Cambodia, committing war crimes on a daily basis, with a bounty on his ass from the US government. A CIA assassin on a mission to terminate with extreme prejudice miles down the river.

[angelguk]

Going raw with jock jk 🥴

well...aw shit here we go again (literally nawt edited)

pairing: jock!jk and oc

warnings: use of pet names, mentions of orgasms/oral sex (fem receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, jeongguk is SO IN LOVE, yeah its soft and horny :3

There’s an edge to the air that Jeongguk feels in his chest. It’s sharp, loaded with something unfamiliar that leaves his heart in a mess of nerves, thumping loud in the silence of his room. In the distance, his brain registers the unforgettable boisterous laugh of Mingyu downstairs, probably laughing at something silly Yoonho said. The pair were always around, clambering around Jeongguk’s dorm as if they lived there while Yugyeom grumbled from his seat on the couch. Normally, he would be a little bit annoyed. Jeongguk loved his friends but he also adored his solitude (there’s also the fact that one time they cleared the fridge of all his banana milk and ate his galbi leftovers). But right now, he cannot fathom leaving the comfort of these four walls to kick them out. Not when you’re panting into his bed-sheets, skin flushed warm and a blissful glaze covering your eyes when you flutter them his way.

Nothing in the world mattered as much as you did.

“You good?” He whispers it into the hollow of your neck, delicately planting a kiss there a moment after.

The sigh you release seeps into his heart, a soft gentle sound that he longs to hear again.

“Perfect,” you quietly return, gracing him with a smile that could end wars and clear skies.

He wants to do this slowly, savour every part of you all over again. He can still taste you on his tongue, the memory of your muffled cries and beautiful tremors so fresh in his mind that it’s almost violent. But his own desires demand attention, cock hard against the line of his stomach, a need so desperate building rapidly. His hands travel slow by force, but you know him too well, knocking your legs apart so that your heat meets his, slick eagerly coating the length of him.

The groan he lets out his accidental, melting into the air as Jeongguk buries his face in your neck. In his dismay you giggle, a devious sound, as your fingernails trail down his back, digging into muscle with purpose.

“It’s you’re turn now, love.” It’s murmured into his ear, your hands sinking into the mess of his curls. You brush them away with a fondness that cracks his heart open, something wild and beautiful blooming in his chest.

Love. Love. He thinks about that word a lot. Thinks about it when you cheer for him at his games, tiny frame jumping onto the bleachers so you can see the field better. When you wack at his arm and laugh at his lame jokes. When you drop an iced americano in his hands after his tortuous nine am classes with Professor Lee. When you tug him into your arms and kiss him like you want to memorise the feeling on his lips on yours. When you look at him. When you hands slides into his, a fit as perfect as your bodies moving together in his bed. 

Love.

You.

He thinks he might. He knows he does.

He should say it. Soon at least. Before it comes out during an untimely situation. Like the time your car broke down in the middle of a busy street and when you called for help Jeongguk was terrified that you’d gotten hurt. The itch didn’t leave even after you’d explained the situation, angry honking and your voice trembling with concealed tears. He wanted to say it then. Needed to. It almost slipped out when he said goodbye, promising to come as quickly as he could.

I love you.

Would it be that big of a deal? He thinks about as your hands fall from his body. He rises slowly, moving to rummage through his drawers for a condom. There’s four left. He bought a pack of 30 not even two weeks ago. Perhaps he spent more time learning the taste of your cunt than he did on his lectures. But this was still new. Bright, unlearned. He’d just figured out that you like it when he pins you down hard, making it impossible for you to squirm as he licked you apart. So perhaps the rapidly emptying box is warranted.

When he looks back at you, you’re staring at him. The foil feels funny in his hands. He gives it a twirl before attempting to tear it open.

“Actually,” you interrupt. He halts, heart loud in his head. “We... You... What if we didn’t use it?”

Oh. 

“Because, well,” you quickly tack on, shuffling upright. Jeongguk will admit that he did stare at your boobs as you did so. “We both got tested right? And, I am on birth control.”

Fuck. He most definitely came a little at just the thought of fucking you raw. Not that he hasn’t thought about it. But before it was never an outright possibility. Not until now, when you look like an angel in his bed, your body his temple to worship.

“Okay,” Jeongguk tries to keep his voice levelled but he knows it wavers. Whether it’s fear or excitement he can’t discern yet. “We can do that, yeah.”

You smile and he drops the condom like it scales him, climbing back into your arms where he belongs. It takes a little bit of shifts and shuffles, quiet laughs and gentle kisses interrupting the journey, before Jeongguk settles at your entrance, sliding in with an ease that should be criminal. You take him so well that he nearly blows his load right there, a tight wet heat welcoming every inch of his length. He doesn’t miss the way your back arches from the back, his hands cupping the back of your hips. There’s a whine that escapes from your throat, followed by the sound of name. You’re delirious, your moans colouring his room warm. He can’t help but buck forward, lip caught between his teeth as he forces his release down. His thoughts are stuck on how good you feel around him, velvet walls fluttering when he pauses, gives you a moment to adjust, his gaze dropping to your half open eyes.

“Bunny,” he murmurs. You mumble something incoherent, which Jeongguk replies to by bucking his hips deeper. “Bunny.”

“Hmm?” 

“Look at me.” It takes a moment but you force your eyes open, gaze meeting Jeongguk’s. His curls keep tumbling into his face but you can still feel the heat of his gaze from behind them. “Good girl.” There’s the rock of his hips, followed by a sharp tug as he pulls you closer to him . You can feel him in your guts, thick cock splitting you right open. “Be good for me, hmm? I’m not gonna be gentle with you, baby. You can take it though, can’t you?”

“Y-yes.”

“Aren’t you perfect,” Jeongguk says it as he slips out, before slamming back hard enough to draw a cry from your mouth. “Pussy made just for me.”

Your high is right there, creeping closer the harder he fucks you. It doesn’t help that you’ve cum twice since you’ve set foot into his room. Once on his fingers, the second on his tongue. But they can’t compare to the heat that builds when Jeongguk finally slides into you. It’s euphoric, a tingling that skips across your skin, burning when he fingertips wander to your clit like they do now.

“J-Jeongguk! Can’t — I can’t —”

“You can. You said you would, bunny. Be good for me.” He hooks your legs over his shoulders then, fucking hard enough to rock the bed, the wooden frame bumping against his walls. Your moans are no longer quiet, harmonising with the sound of your skin meeting. Jeongguk can’t be bothered to cover your mouth like he usually would, too busy ignoring the pit in his stomach. He needs you to do it first, it’s what drives his hips forward, thrusts fervent. You do a moment later, your fingernails scrapping his back and his name on the tip of your tongue. He lips slot against yours naturally, swallowing every moan and mumble with love. He kisses you until he needs to breath, parting to whispers praises as you unravel around him. It unlocks something wild in his brain, the feeling of your wetness coating his cock with every buck of his hips into you. Whatever springs forth consumes him, so much so that Jeongguk nearly blacks out when his own crescendo hits, almost violent in how it slams into him. He can’t think about anything else but the feeling of the two of you around him. Perfectly wet and warm as he reluctantly slides out.

Your hearts thump in unison, an orchestra of their own, your joined hard breathing accompanying the melody. His brain is blank, bones warm and mushy. He could die happily right now (not really, though, cause that means he’d never see you again). There’s nothing but contentment bleeding through his system when he reaches out for you, comfort blossoming in his chest at the feeling of your skin against his. 

He can’t dispute it then, the second your gaze hits his. He loves you. He loves you so much he could burst with it. You smile as he crumbles, biting his tongue because the words are just there.

“Jeongguk, baby,” you say, crawling into his arms. He never wants you to leave them. “I love you, but could you please get me a towel or something. It’s kind of leaking out of me.”

[sems-diarie]

Sem. Give A tier list of which boys dick u want the greatest to least.

1. deku unfortunately. i don’t know why he’s up here so high, it’s just the default at this point. but anyways pro hero deku is just too fun to tease. wanna pull his hair and watch him get huffy, maybe he grabs my wrists n gives me the look. y’know the one… anyways yes. pro hero and any au version of him make my clit ache so bad.

2. bakugou. every au version of him i simply adore him in any medium and i just want to be his favorite 🥺 be the only girl he’s a lil nice to <3

3. tanjiro. if he pat my head and told me i’m doin a good job i’d cry and cum at the same time. kind man. he takes care of his family. definitely want him to breed me ‘cause he deserves as many kids as siblings he lost and more. he and deku are my worst cases of “he can fix me”

4. sakata gintoki. he is so fucking fine. his entire thing is being that mean older brother who cussed you out and then brings you to the store with him for ice cream. my heart is the gooiest for him. and he’s a war vet… which is an extra layer of sexy.

5. eren jaeger. what can i say? i love the war criminals. s4 made him so likeable. his thirst for justice / freedom / revenge …….. he’s a lil complex and i project onto him too much but boy does it make him enjoyable. i think it’s his mannerisms. the way he conducted himself in marley, the low toned speaking, the fake out with reiner…. panties sticky. and then when he came home and fucking staged a coup de tat!??!??! PANTIES STICKY. somewhere between wanting to be his war chief and his cabaret girl. he is my worst case of “i can fix him”

6. between the jujutsu kaisen characters, i want to fuck toji the most (he’s so fucking huge) but i love yuuji the most. and gojo falls somewhere high in between them. and megumi comes a lil after yuuji. nanami makes a very strong appearance every now and again, it comes & goes.

7. reiner. i can fix him. i can. i can. one pump in this pussy and he’ll want to live again, i promise you.

8. SHIGARAKI. i want him so bad. so bad. wanna be his lil fairy on his shoulder and tell him to take no prisoners. encourage him to do evil, be evil. but i also wanna be his soft chubby wife and coo in his ear that destruction is no thing to live in and then have him knock my cervix around for protesting him.

9. atsumu. i want that little shit so bad it plagues my dreams.

10. iwaizumi. strong armed iwaizumi treating me like his pretty princess? oh, yes, daddy! 🥺

11. it’s embarrassing ‘cause he’s two inches shorter than me but time skip hinata is so fine oh my god. he looks like he’s tamed out too. less childish and more- more in control of himself (at least i’m hoping) want him to poke my guts so bad.

12. g-ghostface. don’t look at me, you know why.

13. nicolas from gangsta. gruff 😍 violent 😍 protective of his family 😍 i wanna fuck him so bad.

[mdccanon]

A Song of Ice and Fire is officially the most boring fantasy deconstruction I know.

He started this by asking, "Sure, Aragorn can defeat an evil army, but what is his tax policy?"

But the actual story is "What if Aragorn wanted to be king, but absolutely refused to produce legitimate heirs?"

Then he'd be an idiot that should be killed. Next question?

There is nothing interesting or compelling about the Baratheon and Velaryon succession crises. Hell, there is nothing interesting about that one dude and him kidnapping Lady Stark.

It is lackluster deconstructing fantasy tropes at best if the characters are only capable of making self-destructive choices and the entire plot is just them begrudgingly living their feudal lived, resenting every aspect of it. "Here, let me do the one thing that will get me killed and then spend the rest of my life complaining that life is so unfair. It's really commentary on society, if you think about it, if me acting purely in self-interest earns me so many consequences."

And then when fans just lose all patience with the characters, blame it all on them being half-mad from a prophecy they heard.

I originally praised Jaime, Ned, and Cersei as being well-written examples of the original premise and trying to live up to a fantasy archetype ideal in a world that punishes them for it. I accepted the Baratheon crisis out of solidarity to how it colored Cersei's dilemma. But then her storyline just becomes "she's jealous of younger women because of a prophecy." LOL, wut? Did she kill her friend back then, too?

None of these characters have ideas. None of these characters have vision. They just have butt-hurt feelings and sword skills. "Well, you see, Cersei is just so hateful that---" if she is so hateful, then how badly am I supposed to feel for her in the original dilemma that you put her in where the more she attempted to be a dutiful wife and aren't you typical grateful princess, the more she was punished for it? If you make Princess Peach a villain not because of what she went through but because you say that she was a bitch all along, what makes her dilemma of her children being illegitimate so compelling?

See what you did there? By being too edgy? By going too grimdark? Robert, Cersei, Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen. You give the three assholes the most story and the the two sweethearts are plot devices at best, to be killed for shock value, but you still want me to care on an intellectual, conceptual level that it's unfair for a woman to be pushed into this position in the first place by being the prize for a man winning a war.

But I don't care. Not even because Cersei is not a protofeminist who helps her in-laws, even though women helping women is rarely a plot point and it would have been interesting to see that happen -- not even simply because she's a bitch -- but because Martin took a caper story, a criminal fights to escape punishment for her crime, and stretched it across 5 books. And when the caper won, her story didn't end, even though according to Martin's own grimdark rules, she wasn't allowed to LEARN from her experiences and therefore couldn't add anything new to the story. Just... Continue to be a right bitch. Because Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen only existed to be plot devices in her story. No reason to let stories end so that this saga can finally reach a conclusion.

And now we have a new show about some chick who is supposed to be both a Rebel Princess but also legitimately want the throne, and I'm supposed to care that she spends 5 years resenting getting married while also believing her pussy produces Chosen Ones? And you want to try to buy my sympathy by implying that she's afraid of childbirth, but this story is about drama and bullshit and it's never going to be about addressing trauma, so when she finally does choose a husband you do a 10 year time skip to when she's already overcome her fear of childbirth. So how long do you think that I'm supposed to care about this person who has the nerve to complain that everyone thinks poorly of her for the minor crime of cheating on her husband when she wanted to be in the spotlight and does not understand that her unwillingness to play The game of thrones has put her in a position where literally no one trusts her motivations?

"B-b-but the inherent sexism in her children being considered illegitimate for the throne despite her parentage being irrefutable!"

Yes, let me cry a single crystal tear for this privileged imperialist who is being punished for violating laws she had no reason to violate, because of the conceptual unfairness of it all. That men would make laws to even the playing field of the biological control women have. In a matriarchal society, this woman passing someone else's grandchildren off as her mother-in-law's would still be a horrible crime.

But lemme feel bad because the technicality and context of the moment makes her actions -- well, still exactly as bad -- but as a woman, I should feel for her because her violations of trust are being presented through male fear of female selfishness...

Let me go find something actually interesting...

[millimononym]

Remember when i made canon content? Yeah, me neither

Warning for stalking mention and cigarettes

Dahlia Mystery Day (his actual name is Dahlia Day but he decided to add on to it cuz hes edgy). He's one of Sugarcanes' older brothers(the middle one). He's freshly out of prison and already committing things that warrant restraining orders.

If you're wondering what "short hair(criminal)" means (it sounds so funny out of context too), on the Predaflorra races' planet, there are socially acceptable hair lengths(this applies both to men and women). Only criminals have short hair, it gets cut when they're sentenced guilty. When someone escapes prison or is fresh out of it, you can tell (another form of punishment from the prison system- societal judgement ! Now not only are you discriminated against in jobs, but also everyone can see you were a criminal!). The shortest acceptable length of hair is about what Primrose has. Anyway Dahlia got sent to prison for stalking his ex. I guess creepiness runs in the family since Sugarcane ended up becoming a borderline stalker as well(i never mentioned this but he takes his job as a "paparazzi" too far very often. He LIKES taking unaware/embarrassing photos and finding info on people he doesn't like. He thinks it's righteous. It's creepy. He's creepy).

After he gets out of prison he decides to stalk Oleander (the team captain) instead. Sugarcane helps him out for some favors cuz he doesn't really like her at all. She finds out and it's the main reason she can't stand their entire family. Dahlia goes missing after a while. Wonder why

Also an important note: unlike most people, he does NOT care about family in the slightest. Like, at all. Imagine that scene from Addams Family Values where Debbie walks in yelling "INLAWS" with a shotgun in hand. That's him. He's Debbie. Brambles and Shyflower are the inlaws. This has most definitely happened before, just not on his criminal record.

COACH COACH COACH !!! THE DILF!! THE HORRIBLE FATHER!! HERE HE IS. also i am so mad his muscles don't show under the hoodie. However i don't have the nerves to rework it so i will live with my shame.

Former soldier in the flux wars pre-current Galactik Football. May or may not have helped in executing the former ruler of his planet. Chronic cigarette addict. Probably dying. Extremely strict. Maybe even worse than Artegor in some aspects. The type of teacher to say "oh, you don't get it? Well then EVERYONE is going to have to wait til you figure it out :) ". Being one of his players is extremely mentally taxing cause of all the BULLSHIT they gotta deal with from him on a daily basis

Is definitely may or may not be the absent father of one of the players on the team. In his defense, it wasn't really his choice. Brambles' and Shyflowers' mom is a crazy ass bitch. Blackberry knows Brambles is his son but doesn't know if the other one knows and it drives him insane. And vice versa. Because of plausible deniability neither of them wants to say anything so it just goes on like this til they eventually get forced to acknowledge it.

(sidenote since i always forget to explain everything. He's only Brambles' dad. Not Shys'. Shyflowers' dad is his moms' current pussy ass husband who she's only with for the money and rep since he's important(he's actually the reason Sugarcanes' side of the family is related to them). She had 3 seperate husbands since it's socially acceptable to switch em out a lot lol. It's suprising that she even decided to be loyal to one at a time)

[littlefreya]

Professor Cavill, Sir

Summary: Professor Cavill keeps giving you failing grades on your assignments even though you are 100% certain you are a brilliant student. You decide to march down to his office and confront him. 

Pairing: AU!Henry Cavill x Reader

Word count: 3K

Warnings: Abuse of power, MaleDom / FemSub, teasing, fingering, dirty talk, orgasm denial, vaginal intercourse, unprotected sex, creampie. (Basically all the good stuff)  

A/N: While composing this post, I noticed I passed my 1500 followers. So first and foremost, THANK YOU, thank you for following, believing in me and sending me DMs. You are just as important to me. I’ll probably write a more emotional thank you post tonight. But just had to say something now 🥺

Thanks the anon who made this prompt request! And thanks @agniavateira​​ for being my beta and muse.

I also recommend reading @ladyreapermc​ astonishing professor Cavil stories!!!

Title: Professor Cavil, Sir

You know you are a good student, you’re brilliant, even smarter than the airheads who harbour the classroom. Yet, Professor Cavill seems to have some sort of beef with you. He marches around the classroom, giving you cold stares and your grades are constantly dropping with each assignment you hand over. 

Fine, he is beyond handsome and all the girls are soaked for him but damn, you hate this man with passion and you’ve had it. You wait one  afternoon when the halls of the academy are nearly empty so you can march into his office and tell him exactly what you think. 

You play the scenario in your mind for hours. You know exactly what you are going to say and how but the moment you barge into his office, your words melt into an incoherent cluster of yelling that don’t make much sense by the look on Professor Cavill’s face.

“I am a smart woman!!! You... you... you have no right!!!”

The professor crooks his right eyebrow, peering at you from an assignment he is browsing through. He seems unimpressed by your dramatic entrance, putting the paper on his desk and then finally gesturing for you to sit at his desk. 

Heaving from the anxiety that’s about to burst your heart, you shut the door and take two strides to sit in front of him, feeling the blush burn from your cheeks down to your chest. It takes less than a minute for you to conclude that you are a meek, little fly that walked straight into the web of a big, hungry spider.

Henry laces his hands together, elbows resting on the wooden desk and his eyes seeking yours with a grin, which in your rage you only interpret as arrogance. 

“Yes, you’re smart. You are the most brilliant student in my class.” he compliments, which does nothing but make the rush of blood escalate and flow ecstatically to your nether regions. 

“But you don’t see much.”

You give a sheepish stare, feeling your ears burn in embarrassment as he gets up from his chair and shifts to half-sit on the corner of the desk, blocking your only way out. Somehow, the only thing that goes through your head is “fuck me”. 

These words nearly roll on your tongue as you open your mouth, staring at professor Cavill’s god-like face.  

“I...”

“Am I wrong?” he asks you, his fingers reaching beneath your chin, the soft pads of his tips bumping it up so your gaze will entwine.

“Tell me, do you wish to leave?”

“No,” you hear your own voice tremble as you answer.

A deep crease appears at his cheek as his lips stretch into a slanted smirk. His fingers leave your chin to remove his glasses and lay them on the desk. His eyes shine at you, glistening with lust. “What do you want then?”

Your lips part, heart beating through your throat. The tendon at your neck twitches, sure that he can see it too.

“I want you to fuck me on your desk.”

Henry’s icy glare travels upon the outlines of your face, studying each freckle carefully. No words come out from the man who speaks so greatly, his cold silence challenging, tiny sparks of panic waking at the back of your head. 

What have I done?! Have I misunderstood his intentions? Was this just all happening in my mind?

You swallow the dry lump in your throat, about to open your mouth to a gush of apologies when Henry’s large palm lifts to ghost above your jaw. His thumb meets the plumpness of your lips and tugs at your bottom lip to dampen the pad of his finger. 

"Such a dirty mouth you’ve got there,” he comments. His velvety British accent sends tremors to the walls of your beating core. The slightest of touch makes your panties embarrassingly moist, viscid against the petals of your womanhood. Shifting in the chair uncomfortably, the black knife-pleated skirt ascends and exposes the silkiness of your legs. Much of a treat to his famished icicles. 

Saturated dreams of Professor Cavill kept you sweaty in the middle of the night, as any of the women attending his course. It wasn’t just his thick dark hair that curled at the edge and the criminally-sculpted cheekbones, nor was it that broad structure hidden underneath a buttoned-down blue shirt. It was his confidence, his stark charisma. Passion shimmered in his eyes when he spoke about wars throughout history and razed enemy cities.

Damn if you didn’t want him to destroy yours. 

“Spread your legs, let me see you.” he demands, his voice deepening along with the shade of his gaze. No thoughts of protest come to mind. You obey, surrendering every will to his demand, thighs pressed open to each side of the wooden office chair.   

Henry’s index finger rims your mouth from east to west, toying the red pillows of your lips and sliding the tip inside to flirt with your whispering tongue.

“Now, roll your panties down your knees.”

Cold shivers run through the sinew of your muscles like an electric current, making you spasm on the chair, unhidden from Henry’s satisfaction. He scoffs at your behavior, a small grin painting his chiseled jaw. You’re behaving like a virgin, all doe eyes and trembling knees. You’re certain he finds you pathetic to the point of humor.

“Be a good girl and I’ll fuck you like a bad one.” 

Taking a deep breath, you hook your fingers onto the elastic band of your panties and slowly pull them down to your knees. The cold air of the room hits the exposed groove of your body and you hiss at the sensation, throbbing with excitement and fright. 

The bulge in Henry’s trousers appears to be threateningly large, the outlines of his cock winking toward your desirable image. You nearly bite his fingertip as your mind sinks into momentary fantasies of how specifically large his cock is beneath those cream-colored trousers.   

It would be a lie to say you haven’t glanced at that region of his groin during his classes once or twice. 

Henry reaches his free hand to lift your skirt and peek at your mound, his tongue flicking over the freckle of his bottom lips as he finds you sleek with arousal. The wooden surface is damp with your sweat and the smooth elixir of your cunt.

It makes him smile in a way that nearly makes you feel ashamed. 

“Suck,” he orders and his fingers enter your mouth before you even choose to question. Shoving deep to challenge your devotion to him. Your tongue laps around skin and bone, cheeks hollowing out instinctively as you coat him with your saliva and hum at the sensation of having him in your mouth. 

A low growl forms in the pit of his chest, loud enough to vibrate at your reddening ears. He is impressed by how submissive you are to his wanton, completely opposite to the way you’ve rudely barged into his office. When you woke up this morning you had every intention of showing him how little you think of him and his grades, and yet here you are, dripping on his chair like some shameless slut.

This is a dangerous ground; you’re treading on thin ice, but there is no will power strong enough to stop you. 

From the moment you walked into this room, you were already his. 

“Such a good girl.” 

His fingers slide out of your mouth, glistening with your spit in the warm lighting of his cozy office. With shallow breathing and quivering lips, your fists grip the edge of the chair with fear while his fingers descend and disappear beneath your skirt.

A lingering gasp leaves your mouth as his fingers spread open your folds. Probing inside almost clinically, as a thing to be toyed with. His fingers push knuckle deep, exploring the warmth of your soaking pit and grinding in slightly to elicit pathetic little moans from your throat. 

“You know how much I’ve longed for this?”

His thick baritone sends shivers down your neck as he leans closer to half-whisper against your ear. Small whimpers escape from your lips in response. 

Henry slips even deeper, thumb ghosting over your yearning clit, mimicking phantom circles in the air in order to torture you. Begging, you attempt to push forward and grind at his fingers for more friction but you are answered with the scolding tick of his tongue.

“You’ll come when I say so.”

“Professor Hen…”

A pained hiss shudders through you, tiny creases forming at the corners of your eyes as you shut them tightly due to the pain that stings your scalp. Henry’s fist closes over your hair, tugging your head back to punish your disobedience.

Deep in the cells which survey logic in your mind you know you shouldn’t like this.However, your body tells a different tale: skin tingling, slit clenching around his fingers just from the rush of fear.

“I can’t wait to feel your sweet little pussy around my cock,” he murmurs in a husky voice, his fingers pumping slightly, curling within your succulent cavern to learn each of your vocal reactions. You are spasming around him as inch by inch he seeks inside you, obsessed with desire to find that one spot that will reduce you to nothing but a boneless being.     

“Aww…” he coos at your teetering yips, his lips perched into a mocking pout as he sees the begging in your big, aching eyes. Holding the natural need of your body hurts, like molten fire, all pent-up inside. You can feel it coursing through each organ of your body, intensified by the hard shoves of his fingers. You’re nearly lifted from your seat by the force of his thrusts.

 “You want to come, my sweet darling?”

“Please, Sir!” for a moment there you thought you were asking, but what comes out of your mouth is nothing but a humiliating whine. Aching inside, your fists numb over, your shaking legs get drenched with sweat as his hairy arm constantly strokes between your knees. Impassioned, he pumps into you back and forth, thrilled by the way you melt around his fingers as his tips tickle your most sacred pleats.

“You can come, sweetheart.”

The room goes black for a few seconds as pleasure takes the reins, railing you toward your orgasm with incredible force. A cluster of cries drains from your mouth. You’ve never had anyone deny your pleasure, not like this. The pain was harrowing yet the payoff makes you reach stars, your state of paradise was prolonged and for a moment, you float on air.

“Good girl.” Henry growls praises at you, his fingers sliding outside your convulsing cunt and slipping into his own mouth as he suckles on your honey. He lets out a hum, his tongue lapping over his fingertips while his eyes pierce into yours.  

Still catching on your breath, you look at the professor, his face glowing as the sunset beams through the window, coloring his criminally beautiful face in gold and amber hues. There is a murmur dancing in your heart, still not believing that this man, who you spent lonely nights pining for, is about to put himself inside you.

Grasping your waist, Henry collects you with surprising ease from the chair, sitting your ass on his desk so harshly the mahogany surface slaps your naked ass. His hands press your legs apart as he moves to stand between them. You see the flames of lust burning in his eyes, as tough and authoritative as he is. Yet his lower lip still twitches with a wisp, desire weakening his roots. 

You dare to touch him, tracing the shape of his jaw, dipping your finger in the strong dimple of his chin. Aggravated, he snaps your hand away, forcing it flat against the desk. He then grabs your nape, pulling you into a rough kiss that takes whatever control that was left to you. His tongue invades your mouth, a tinge of strong macchiato and cinnamon tickling your senses as your mouths play with one another.

You hear the metal clasp and the brush of leather as he unbuckles his belt and your eyes immediately fall to his groin, eager to finally see him.

Fuck. 

Struck, you break away from his punishing lips, gaping at the vastness of his meaty cock. You clench your thighs around his legs, heart flinching just from the sight of it, intimidated and even frightened by the thought of him spreading your insides. A dry chuckle leaves his throat and his hand reaches to grasp himself, tugging his own pink cock and then slapping it against your cunt. He relishes the hisses and wet sounds that are produced from your pussy.

“Afraid you can’t take it?”

“You’re huge.”

You chew on your lips and moan as he slides the base of his cock between your folds smoothly, patronizingly, coating himself with your thick juices back and forth with an incubus smirk. “You know how amazing is your body, darling?” he asks and slides just the tip of his erection inside before pulling out and stroking himself against the length of your swollen lips once again. Feeble and pitiful you mewl with desperation, slouching your shoulders back, frustrated. 

You want to beg but words won’t even meet your tongue. 

“How much your cunt can stretch…” his words fall short as he groans with awe once his thick cock enters the narrow corridors of your slit. Inch by inch he invades, spreading you open in an agonizing pace. 

Inarticulate sounds birth in your throat as his cock sheaths into your cervix. You are raw and taut, flesh throbbing furiously around his girth that fills you just right. He is thick and pulsating, enclosed by quivering velvet walls. 

“Shhh…” he presses a finger to his lips and then to yours as broken moans run through your mouth. 

Nodding, you purse your lips, swallowing a whimper that’s as a result of your sex throbbing together with eagerness. Henry kisses your forehead as a praise and pulls back slowly, leaving nothing but the head of his shaft, creating a sad empty void before plunging back in, achingly slow to the rhythm of your gasps. 

You are fucked, in every sense of the word. The large man has a majestic hold over you; your organs don’t belong to you anymore, even your breath feels borrowed as Henry begins to pound you over his desk with guttural grunts. His hands latch beneath your knees, ramming into you like an ardent machine, yet not with a lack of style. Every pound edges you across the border of heaven, keeping quiet is nearly impossible and every cry that escapes you is punished by a hard thrust.

Your palms sweat on his desk as you flatten them behind you, your panties dangling from your ankles. Henry controls everything to the very last drop of your lust, fucking into you, slapping your wet pussy like an angry train with passionate speed.

 Henry strokes all the right spots inside you, his thickness causing a trillion little spasms to sway from your apex. 

Incoherent musings run through your mind; you want him to take everything, fuck you like a slut and empty his cock into your willing womb. He reaches the deepest part inside you and the most insidious thoughts take over your soul as you come undone. Your body jitters with the explosion of stars, your cunt tremoring tightly around him, demanding his rich offerings. 

“I’m on the pill!” 

You call breathlessly, still teetering on the strands of rapture as he twitches inside you in eager response. Henry stares at you surprised, his mouth agape as if in disbelief. He drops his gaze to where you are connected, staring at his cock sinking into your cage of delights. With his fists cuffed around your needs he slams into you ferociously, his balls thudding against your cunt with zeal, swelling and growling with bliss until he empties all of him inside you.

“Fuck!” Henry grunts, attempting to catch his breath. His sweaty forehead rests onto yours, his lips hovering, trembling at your mouth. You let your shaky hands cradle his square face, fingertips collecting droplets of sweat and smearing it down the lines of his cheeks. The powerful man who just dominated you is nothing but a gentle giant, swaying into your soothing touch.

There is a mess on his desk as he shifts away. His thick semen spills from your pummeled hole and you see the twisted pride in his eyes. You reach to slip your panties on, your chest beating angrily as you struggle to breathe.  

“I hope you are not just doing this for your grades,” he warns as he zips his trousers back and leans against his bookcase, staring at you while you make a futile effort to fix your messy appearance. Your underwear is soaked with him and you dread the thought of walking home stained, smelling like sex. 

“I am not a whore.” you answer, a tinge of anger at your throat. You wonder for a second if you are the only one and your heart sinks with fear, your head feeling slightly dizzy. “And you just admitted to fixing my grades so you could get me in this position, that’s the kettle cal..”

“I never said you are.” he stops you, running a hand over his hair and fixing an errant curl at the top of his head. His fierce stare searches for something in your soul. 

“I’d like to do this again.”

You blink at him wordlessly, trying to figure out what sort of fantasy you just stumbled into. Obviously, there is not a bone in your body that wants you to refuse as you glance at the man of your dreams, offering you a suggestive grin. 

Then it finally strikes you. You just entered a dirty bad romance.

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DM me if you wish to be added/removed

[afictionalwhore]

Devotion

· ·────────── ·𖥸· ──────────· ·

𖥸 AN: After binging the entire manga in a weekend, Eren Jaeger has come back to reclaim his title as the love of my life, and this is just the result.

𖥸 WC: 2.4K

𖥸 TW: Blasphemy; Eren’s has a god complex; blood; Face fucking; Eren is not gentle and not nice at all; manipulation; unhealthy relationships

· ·────────── ·𖥸· ──────────· ·

You didn’t mean for it to get this far, not at first. Your brother didn’t tell you exactly what you were doing, just that you would be helping an old friend of his. When you saw Eren there, long hair tied back with tired eyes, your heart jumped and lodged itself in your throat, not allowing your words the room to escape. Your brother’s “friend” was Eren Jaeger, a wanted war criminal that your brother believed held the power of god.

“Why are you here?” Eren asked coldly when you first came to visit him, not turning to face you.

“I don’t know. Floch sent me.”

At the mention of your brother’s name, Eren finally looked at you. He made his way over to the front of his cell, peering at you intently with tired emerald eyes.

“Floch sent you?”

You had to crane your neck to meet Eren’s eyes.

“Yes, that’s my brother.”

“Oh, so you’re it then,” Eren mused. He reached out, twirling a lock of your hair in his fingers. “At least you’re cute. What’s your name again?”

You blushed at Eren’s compliment, looking down at your hands and fidgeting with your fingers. You mumbled a brief thank you and told Eren your name.

“Pretty,” he said apathetically.

“What use could I be to you?” you asked.

After your brother had told you about Eren’s plan, you wanted desperately to help, despite your lack of military training. You had never seen your brother so animated and passionate about anything. To your brother, Eren was a god—a great leader destined to restore the greatness of the Eldian Empire. To you, Eren was not only this, but your brother’s savior as well.

“What use do you think you could be to me?” Eren asked, his icy in his voice pierced your heart. He raised a hand between the bars to trail up your body, settling on your breast and giving a squeeze.

“I don’t understand,” you said, confused.

Eren pulled your arm into the cell to place your hand over his hardening bulge.

“I—,” you said, panic in your voice at the realization of what he wanted. “Sir, h-here?”

“Do you see me going anywhere soon?” Eren replied, his voice devoid of emotion.

“Okay,” you said, as though trying to work yourself up. You were doing a great favor to your brother—and to the world—in helping Eren. “Okay.”

“Good. Now,” Eren commanded. “Hold up your skirt.”

“Yes, sir,” you said meekly. Stepping back, you lifted your skirt and apron to give Eren a view of your white cotton panties.

“Sir? I think you can do better,” Eren said with a smirk, sizing you up with cold eyes. “On your knees.”

You did as you were told, releasing your skirt before dropping to your knees. The damp, cold floor sent chills up your spine.

You watched from below as Eren pulled his pants down, pumping himself to full hardness. Eren stood with his erect cock between two of the bars, stopping just in front of your face.

To say you were nervous would have been an understatement. You weren’t completely lacking in sexual experience, but you faltered at the sight of Eren’s massive length. Eren was long. He was of average girth, but you still paled at the thought of how small you were compared to him. The head was a pretty purplish color, and multiple veins ran down the length of it.

“What’re you staring at?” Eren smirked. He held the base of his cock and tapped the head against your lips. “Are you just gonna stare or are you going to do something?”

You tentatively lapped at the slit, precum already beading, before dipping down and licking up one of the veins running along his cock. You wrapped your lips around the spongy head, sucking gently, hesitantly, until bobbing your head and finally finding a pace that felt natural to you. 

What he didn’t have of his cock between the cell bars, Eren languidly stroked, matching the pace you had set. He looked down at you. Your face was scrunched in concentration as you focused on making him feel good. 

“Enjoying yourself?” Eren chuckled. 

You looked up at him from under long lashes with doey eyes before humming in acknowledgment.

“At least someone here is.”

You pulled off with a lewd pop and a gasp for breath.

“What do you mean? Does it not feel good? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” You were desperate for Eren’s approval.

“Do I look like I want to hear your apologies?” Eren glared down at you. “You said you wanted to be useful. Worship it.”

Eren fit his arm through the cell and grabbed a fistful of your hair before shoving your head back to cock.

Without needing further prompting, you popped your mouth open for Eren to slam his hips against the bars while pushing your down on as much as his cock as he could fit. Your nose was a fraction of an inch from curly tufts of Eren’s hair. 

Eren’s pulled you off his cock just long enough for you to cough and take a new breath before shoving your back down, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat.

“Through your nose, sweetheart,” he said, devoid of emotion as you choked and sputtered around him, drool seeping out the corner of your mouth. “For such a whore, you really are quite innocent.”

Eren set a much rougher pace, fucking your face through the bars of his underground cell like you were in a gloryhole that was made specially for him. The noises coming from you resembled that of gagging, but were not quite the same. It was wetter, lewder, and spurred Eren on more.

Despite the tears tickling in your eyes at Eren’s hard cock shoving down the wet walls of your throat, you found yourself growing uncomfortably wet. You shifted to relieve the growing ache in your clit, not going unnoticed by Eren. The man towering over you fit his lower leg through the bars of the cell. With the toe of his boot, he nudged your knees apart before lifting to rub his boot against your aching bud.

You moaned at the contact, vibrations humming against Eren’s cock deep in your throat. You started humping Eren’s boot as you continued to let him fuck your face.

“Getting off on my boot?” Eren teased you. “Is that all it takes? You are such a filthy whore.”

Your heart clenched at the sting of Eren’s cruel words. Groans from Eren signaled he was approaching his end, his cock twitching in your mouth and throat.

“Do you want me to paint that pretty face?” Eren asked, tone condescending, knowing you were unable to answer with his cock stuffing your mouth. 

You tried your best to respond, sounds bubbling around Eren’s cock unable to make distinguishable words. Suddenly, Eren pulled out. You looked up at him in confusion, blinking through the tears.

“Was it not good?” you pouted. “I’m sorry.”

“I’d rather fill that sloppy pussy of yours,” he stated flatly. “Stand up.”

You stood on command, knees aching. You wiped the drool off your mouth with the back of your hand and straightened your skirt, brushing off the dirt on your apron from the cold ground.

Eren found that he would rather manhandle you into submission himself than just ask you. It was easier for him and harder on you. Eren grabbed your body, forcing you to turn back around, and once again, you found yourself back on your knees on the cold grounds. Eren gave a shove at your back, and you fell face first into the ground. Your nose hit the floor with a sickening crunch. You raised a hand to the blood trickling out your nose and over your lips.

“I’m okay!” you chirped, as though Eren would have stopped if you were otherwise.

Giving a small hum of acknowledgement, Eren flipped your skirt up and pulled your panties down to your knees, giving him the perfect view of your hot cunt, shining with your juices.

“Look at this perfect pussy,” Eren breathed. He traced your wet folds with the head of cock. Eren gave small thrusts, purposefully angling to tease you and press against your clit. “Remind me to thank your brother for his kind offer.”

Delirious with want, you looked back at your lover and wiggled your hips against him to pull him into your gummy walls. Eren responded with a resounding slap against your ass that had you yelping in surprise and pain.

“Impatient bitch,” he said. “If you want it so bad, then beg for it.”

“Eren please,” you started. “Please I want you.”

“You can do better than that.” Eren gave another slap to your backside. He placed the head of his cock right at your entrance, the heat emanating from you trying to entice him in.

“Eren, please. Please, Eren,” you begged. “Please, I want you. I need you Eren. Please.”

“Do you think you deserve it?” Another slap. 

Eren continued his assault on your ass until it glowed red and you were sobbing. Tears poured over your cheeks, mixing with the blood dripping from your nose.

“Yes! Eren, please. Please, just fuck me already, Eren,” you sobbed, choking on the salty metallic mix of snot, tears, and blood. “Please, Eren. I want you so bad, it hurts. It hurts, Eren.”

“It hurts? We can’t have that,” Eren teased you.

Eren slowly inched his cock in, giving you time to adjust to his size. Eren was large, especially in comparison to your smaller frame. He always stretched you out in the most delicious of ways, but the sensation was almost too much for you after going so long without. You moaned as Eren bottomed out in you. Your walls clenched in involuntary, rhythmic pulses around him.

“It feels so good, so good,” you mewled pathetically, already puddy in Eren’s hands.

“Say thank you, then,” Eren commanded.

“Thank you!” you squeaked as Eren pulled out, only to slam in. “Thank you, Eren! Thank you!”

Eren jerked you up by your dress before threading a hand in your hair. He pressed your back against the cold metal of the cell. One arm snaked around the bars to wrap around your waist and hold you in place. Detangling from your hair, Eren slapped a large hand over your mouth, nearly covering half your face. The sting sent tears prickling in the corners of your eyes and the resounding slap echoed in the underground cells.

“Quiet,” he growled low in your ear, sending even more shivers down your spine. “You don’t want them to hear. They’ll take you away from me.”

You whimpered as Eren’s thrust began to pick up in power and speed. Sweat dripped down the planes of his hard muscles. 

“Is that what you want? To take you away and never see me again?” Each threat punctuated by a particularly rough thrust that would send you to the floor if not for Eren’s arm, hard with years of muscle, wrapped through the bars of his cell around your waist, pressing you back against them. 

“You won’t get a cell by me, no. You’ll get your own far far away. It’s not just you they’ll punish. They’ll keep you as far away from me as possible if that’s what they think will hurt me the most. Is that what you want? To leave me, to hurt me?”

You shook your head violently. Your heart broke at the thought of someone taking you away from him, at the thought of being separated, and even more at the thought of being the source of pain to you and your brother’s beloved Eren. More tears spilled over your cheeks, diluting the blood from your nose that dripped down Eren’s hand around your mouth.

“Then I suggest you keep that mouth shut.” 

The lewd sound of wet skin slapping echoed throughout the underground jail, mixed with Eren’s low groans, his hushed filthy whispers, and your muffled sobs against his hand.

“You feel so good, baby,” Eren groaned right in your ear.

You whimpered against Eren’s hand as he bruised your insides. Eren was simply too big for you, and each thrust felt like you were getting deliciously split in half.

Eren removed his hand from your mouth in favor of snaking it down your torso to rub your clit. Two fingers made slow small circles on your sensitive bud. Eren’s thrusts slowed, but held more power, battering at your cervix.

“Oh my god, Eren,” you whined.

“So I’m your god now?” Eren toyed with you. Behind you, his face broke out in a smirk, a dangerous glow in his usually tired eyes.

“Yes, Eren,” you cried. “My god. My Eren.” Tears fell freely at how good Eren was making you feel.

“You’re so pretty when you cry,” he cooed. “You gonna cum for me when I say so.”

Weakly, you nodded.

“There’s my good girl, my sweet girl.”

Eren’s hand on your clit continued its slow circles, increasing the pressure. His arm wrapped tightly around your waist loosened its grip, and Eren trailed that hand up your torso, stopping at your neck to give a slight squeeze.

“Cum,” Eren’s deep voice rumbled against you as he pressed your clit and squeezed harder around your fragile neck.

You threw your head back, ignoring the sting of hitting the metals bars. The clanging of the metal rang throughout the empty underground, mixing with your cries of ecstasy as your juices poured out of you around Eren’s cock. Desperate chants of Eren’s name fell off your lips like a prayer as your walls clenched around him in earthquake-like spasms. Neither of you cared any longer about the noise you made.

“You’re gonna take all this cum, right?” Eren growled, nearing his end. “Don’t waste a single drop. It’s your god’s cum, right?”

“Yes,” you sobbed, exhausted from your own climax. “Gonna take it all.”

“Good girl,” Eren said in rare praise that sent your heart soaring. “My sweet, pretty girl. Take your god’s cum.” 

Eren’s hips stuttered as he reached his own peak. His hips slammed into yours once more and he squeezed his large hand once again around your neck, cutting off your air. Hot ropes of sticky white painted your pulsing heat as Eren came with a low, guttural groan.

Eren pulled your panties up immediately, rubbing the crotch against your sopping cunt and mixing your fluids.

“Don’t waste a single drop,” he growled. “That’s god’s cum.”

· ·────────── ·𖥸· ──────────· ·

[enkelimagnus]

Delacroix

Bucky Barnes Gen, 2565 words, rated T

Jewish Bucky Barnes, The Falcon and the Winter Soldier: Episode 5 Truth

Bucky spends a few days in Delacroix with Sam and his family. On one evening, as they both have a beer before dinner, watching the sun set, they have a conversation about life, about therapy, about work.

TW: US healthcare system and the military industrial complex, mental health

Read on AO3

Part 33 of Making a Home - the Jewish Bucky series

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Sam’s family house is more of a home than anything Bucky’s lived in since he was deployed.

It’s warm and luminous, with big windows and light paint on the wood and the walls. There’s a poarch where they all end up sitting at the end of the day, when the sun sets over the bayou. The walls outside are blue and the roof is red. There are crayon drawings stuck with magnets to the fridge and mismatched furniture and containers. It’s been lived in, loved in.

A few days after his surprise arrival, Bucky stops feeling like a blood stain on the tapestry of life of the Wilson home.

Sarah’s nice and warm. He immediately takes a liking to her, and her to him, and he can see how much that infuriates Sam. What can he say? She’s a gorgeous woman, funny and bright and caring and her smile is honestly the kind that probably stopped a few hearts in her lifetime. Yes, she’s his sister, but he still has eyes, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t at least show appreciation. Besides, she seems to enjoy it. He’d stop the second he’d sense uncomfort.

He hasn't gotten to flirt and be comfortable with flirting in a really long time. It seems to be the same for her. What if they’re just… enjoying the flirtation? And enjoying infuriating Sam? Bucky considers it his duty as Sam’s friend.

Delacroix is unlike anywhere he’s ever been. It’s half an island and half a town. It’s relaxing. And the food… Bucky doesn’t think he’s eaten as much seafood in his life as he had in the past week.

It’s a slow end of day in Louisiana when Bucky and Sam find themselves sitting on the plastic chairs out back, with beers, watching the surface of the water. There’s music playing in the house, the kids are doing their homework.

It’s simple. Bucky breathes in and out, unobstructed.

He hears Sam’s intake of breath and knows a hard conversation is coming from that alone. No, that’s a lie. Sam’s shifted, ten seconds ago. He’s looked between his beer and the water four times in the past minute.

“We haven’t had time to talk about Madripoor,” Sam starts and Bucky immediately tenses.

He’d almost forgotten he’d told Sam they’d talk about that later. Because still, he’s not ready to talk about it. He’s not ready to talk about that part of his past. It’s still an infected wound in him. It’s still hurting. He can’t do it. He’s about to say that when Sam holds up his hand.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” he says, surprisingly. “I don’t need to know shit if you’re not ready to tell.”

Bucky goes back to breathing. It’s a reprieve. Even if one day, Sam might expect him to be ready… it’s extra time. He’s so thankful for it.

“I’ll tell you though,” Sam keeps going. “You need a new therapist. Because if I know one thing, after everything, and what I saw in that precinct? it’s that Raynor’s not working for you. You need better. You deserve better.”

Bucky looks up at him then. Sam is looking at the water, but there is that look on his face. The look of determination, of drive, the look that Bucky knows… there’s no use in trying to go against what he is saying now.

No one has ever told him he deserved better.

He’s told himself that a few times, in the few moments where the clouds parted and he didn’t feel like the worst person in the world.

But he doesn’t think anyone has ever told him that. Even Steve. There was a couple ‘you deserved better’, but they were all in the past tense, all regarding Hydra, not Bucky’s current situation. Because his current situation is good. It’s great, compared to the past seventy years. Maybe even compared to what was there before. Because he doesn’t break his back in the factory during the day and in the docks at night anymore.

He’s so silent and shocked Sam just keeps going.

“And don’t give me bullshit about not needing help or whatever. I know your generation didn’t do therapy but that ain’t gonna fly with me. You deserve a therapist suited to your needs, and I know that’s gonna be hard to find, with your trunkload of decades of trauma, but we’ll find them.”

He says it with such determination, like it’s his new personal mission. He has much better to do than try to help Bucky more than he already has, and yet… Sam looks at him finally, for a long moment.

“Raynor’s not a bad doctor,” he says. “She’s just not the right fit. And that’s not uncommon. We just need to find you someone that’s better. And someone that’s not me. Because I can’t be your friend and your therapist, man. And out of the two, I’d much rather be your friend.”

Bucky’s still staring. He doesn’t know how to handle this. Nowhere in his databank of social interactions is there something that prepares him for this. He’s had long talks with people before, hell, even with fucking Zemo, but this is entirely different and he has no idea how to handle it.

“I’m sure you’re a great therapist,” Bucky says quietly after a moment, before he takes a big swig of a beer.

Sam chuckles, shaking his head. “You do realize I ain’t a therapist right? I’m a counselor.”

“You’ll have to give me the difference on that because we were still using alienist the last time I heard about psychoanalysis,” Bucky points out.

“There isn’t much of one. I guess I’m more about… finding practical solutions for people to deal with their trauma than really knowing the root cause of it. Probably because, since I worked with the VA, I knew what the root was.”

Bucky hums, nodding. That makes sense to him. More than the ‘how does that make you feel’s. “Either way, I’m still sure you’re a great counselor.”

“It ain’t difficult, with your experience,” Sam shrugs, watching him. “You don’t know better, old man.”

Bucky snorts at that, watching the water again. Sometimes, his eyes catch motion, but he’s never sure if it’s wildlife under the surface or just a trick of the light.

AJ and Cass seem to be debating with their mother whether they can finish their homework later, after dinner. Bucky barely knows them, but he already knows it won’t actually get done if they follow their plan. Kids are kids. Bucky’s sisters could never finish their homework after the radio show either. Too distracted, too tired.

He turns his attention back on Sam after a moment.

“Walker is in a bad shape,” Bucky says quietly. “Now, and before Hoskins died too. The second we saw him in Germany, I felt it. That guy didn’t get help.”

Sam sighs heavily. “Yeah. Not enough of them do, when they come back. You wouldn’t, if you weren’t forced to.”

Bucky can’t deny it. “Yeah, but I’m 107.”

If Sam noticed the year added to his age, he doesn’t mention it. At least for now.

“Some of it hasn’t changed that much,” Sam explains. “The army… You know that culture of toughness, right? Gotta be strong, gotta be a man. Can’t cry, can’t show you’re struggling. I’m sure they had that shit too, in your day, probably even worse.”

He’s not wrong. There were a lot of issues in his day but that was part of things. Emotional outbursts that weren’t from anger were frowned upon. Once they got to the war, it was even worse at first, until it started really getting hard. And then there were two options. Either you fucking cry with your buddies, or you end badly. Bucky had Steve, and the Howlies.

“Men like Walker… Because they’re these tough white guys, they’re encouraged to be like that. Aggressive, emotionally-closed off, fight-hungry. They’re the ones that shove you and call you a pussy for not laughing at their frankly horrible offensive jokes. It’s like they think the trauma we all face just won’t touch them. Or that they can’t show anyone it touched them. So they keep it all in. And the only way they get to be… emotional is in combat.”

Bucky nods quietly. They’re worse off than he thought.

It wasn’t good in his day either, but it just feels worse now. It churned and churned and got bigger with every spin, and now it’s all a giant fucked up stick of trauma cotton candy, all twisted in itself and sticking to itself.

“When I work for the SRT… Sometimes I see these kids,” Bucky mumbles. “They’re what? 22? And I ask them why they’re here, you know, try to pass time. And they tell me they enlisted for college. Or healthcare. And it’s…” He closes his eyes. “It’s been eighty fucking years…”

He takes a swig of the beer again, shaking his head. “When the crash hit, in the 30s, things were bad. No one could afford shit, there was polio, there was syphilis… It was really bad. And they made plans. They tried to get healthcare on the way, and they half succeeded. And more than like… two thirds of the population was for it too. And we had basically none of the resources we have now.”

He looks up at Sam for a moment. “It hurts to see… that it’s still… We’re still here. At least on that issue. On other stuff… Rights and all, that’s getting better.” He finishes. “But healthcare… and college…” He shakes his head. “It’s criminal. That’s what it is. It feels criminal.”

Sam bumps his shoulder with his fist, chuckling. “Don’t say shit like that next to journalists, they’ll say the Soviets put communism in your brain along with the murdering.”

Bucky chuckles at that. “Nah. That was all America. Living in it. Dying for it.”

Behind them, AJ and Cass have lost their battle of wits with their mother.

“You happy with what you’re doing?” Sam asks after a moment.

Bucky takes a deep breath. The answer is easy. “No,” he mutters. “But I don’t have a say in the matter. Until they decide I’ve done enough to undo the damage I perpetrated as the Soldier… I’m gonna be clearing Hydra safehouses. And after the shit I pulled with Zemo, I’m gonna be at it for a while longer, I think. But… I was expecting that.”

He can feel Sam’s eyes on him. “You knew what would happen.”

“Yep. On all accounts. With the Dora Milaje, with you, with Walker, with the U.S. government, and the GRC, and everything… Still did it.”

Sam huffs loudly. “Stubborn ass.” He shakes his head. He’s smiling, beautifully, brightly.

Bucky smiles at that. “You know it. Wouldn’t be alive without it.”

The sun is starting to set over the bayou. Every evening, Bucky finds himself thinking he’s never seen anything quite like it before.

“Whatever happens,” Sam points out after a moment, looking down at his empty beer bottle. “You got a couch here. Somewhere to crash. Somewhere to rest. I don’t know what your situation is, up north.”

Bucky sighs a little. “I got a house,” he answers, looking back at him. “A townhouse, in Brooklyn.”

Sam’s eyebrows rise up to meet the descending sun. “Well excuse us, mister.” He teases.

Bucky shakes his head. “It’s not like that,” he starts. Sam looks even less like he takes him seriously. “It’s a former Hydra safehouse,” he adds, and now his friend’s eyes get a little sadder, a little darker. “The army got tired of me taking space in their housing, so the second we raided a place within proper commute distance, they handed it over to me.”

Said like that, it sounds even worse than it actually was.

“It wasn’t like.. Full of Nazi or Hydra shit, or anything. It was just a house. They got rid of the bodies.”

The emotional journey on Sam’s face as he talks is worth a good dozen of sunrises.

“And you live there?” Sam asks. He’s struggling not to let his bewilderment and horror show, but he’s failing.

It makes sense. It sounds like an absolutely terrible situation to be in. It is an absolutely terrible situation to be in. As much as owning a townhouse in Brooklyn can be terrible.

It’s been about four months now since he signed those papers and moved his bag of things into that pretty house with the marks in the doorways and the basement he still hasn’t stepped foot in. And now that he’s been away long enough…

He guesses he kinda misses it.

He doesn’t miss the house in itself, much. He does miss… everything else though. Charlie, Miriam, the neighbor whose name he still doesn’t know, the familiar commute, the Chinese place he gets a lot of very late night food at, the proximity to his childhood streets, the way life feels there. He misses his night jogs in the relative quiet. He misses the weather, and the oven he baked kugel in for the first time.

Brooklyn has become familiar again, in all of its differences with his memories.

And he didn’t even realize it was happening.

“You should come, one of these days,” Bucky shrugs. “I have a couple guest bedrooms.”

Sam punches him lightly in the shoulder. “Fancy ass ‘couple of guest bedrooms’.” He teases and Bucky smiles. “So I’m guessing I should try and find some good therapists for you in New York then,” he adds.

Bucky shrugs lightly. “I feel like… I have some stuff tethering me there.”

Sam’s expression shifts for an instant. “Like the SRT?”

Bucky shakes his head. “Nah. Like my childhood congregation, that somehow still exists, and has a shul not too far from where I live.” He points out.

“Shul?” Sam asks.

Bucky smiles lightly when he looks up at him. A few days ago, Sam spoke of his teetee and Bucky probably made the same face Sam’s making now.

“Synagogue,” Bucky explains. “Jewish temples. Shul’s yiddish.”

Sam makes a small ‘ah’ sound and nods. For a moment, they’re silent again. The noises of the world around them aren’t threatening to overwhelm them though, they’re… comforting. A warm tapestry in the background.  

“You’re Jewish, I take it?”

“No, I’m Mormon,” Bucky replies with the straightest face he can muster before chuckling.

Sam punches him again, a little harder this time. “Come on, dude.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m Jewish.”

That’s the first time he says that out loud in… He’s never said it like that ever. This is the first time in his life that he says it that way. The first time he’s not afraid of the outcome of such an admission.

It’s a heady, wonderful feeling. He never thought he’d ever be comfortable enough to do that. Somehow, he might have Zemo to thank for that. Zemo and his fucking questioning. Not that he’s going to be asking much more questions from the Raft.

He’s Jewish. That’s a truth that doesn’t deserve to be hidden right now. Not when he can carry it. Not when he is strong enough to bear it proudly. He feels like his heart is going to burst with something he cannot name.

“Did Steve know?”

Bucky bursts out laughing.

[youeggbastard]

How does Thea get along with her crewmembers? So who is she closest too, who does she have issues with, etc? Ik you mentioned her fighting with Miranda. Also feel free to ramble abt her and Kaidan if you wanna answer!!

I have no control so I'm putting it all under the cut

Thea is honestly a really approachable person, so much so that most people are surprised to find out she's The Commander Shepard, the literal war criminal but most of that surprise is probably due to her only being 5'4. She definitely gives off the vibe of someone who you can talk to and trust, hence literally everyone in the galaxy coming to her with their problems. But anyways, she goes out of her way to connect with all of her crew, so she gets along with all of them, and for most of them would consider them more like family than crew.

The only exception would be during the events of me2 when she was straight up not having a good time and everywhere she looked she was surrounded by Cerberus personnel. Although known of them were responsible for what happened on Akuze they were still part of the organization that was and that was enough for Thea in her mental state. She warmed to most of the crew by the end but it was rough at first. Especially in regard to Miranda and Jacob, Miranda more so. The most she did with Jacob was pull a gun on him when he came clean about Cerberus and tell her she didn't trust him, but otherwise she avoided him (she avoided him in gameplay too since pretty much every dialogue ended up being flirty so I legit talked to the guy once to get his loyalty missions ahjfgajkgj). But Miranda was a little harder to avoid and from the very start they were at each others throats. Miranda was loyal to Cerberus, Thea hated everything about the organization and Miranda was a good outlet for her anger so unfortunately she took the brunt of it. However, by the end of Me2 Miranda ended up being one of Thea's best friends. It just took a bit before Thea realized Miranda was just another tool of Cerberus and then she disobeyed TIM and then Thea and her were the best of friends.

She warmed up to Thane pretty quickly, since the two of them have a lot in common, both two people who are trapped in their past and their memories and have been way too lonely for too long so they became good friends and his death hit her hard but I'm not going to go into that.

Thea and Jack can't be more different but Thea grew to like Jack pretty quickly, largely in part because Jack hated Cerberus and in a den of lions Thea felt having someone who hated the lions was a good ally to have. So, she was willing to let the remarks of her being "too nice" and a pussy slide.

But out of all her crew members Thea is closest to the orginal Normandy crew. Garrus remains her best friend and one of the people she trusts more than anything. With all that being said she did not let him win their shooting contest, her reputation as a sniper was on the line after all and she has a bit of a competitive streak. Tali is like a sister to her and she is as protective of her as she was of her own sisters. She and Liara were close friends from the get go, but they did have a bit of strained relationship during me2 when Thea found out it was Liara who gave her body to Cerberus. Thea said a lot of unkind things along them being that she (thea) was better off dead and she wished she was. Thankfully, by the end of the Shadow Broker quest they had reconciled but it would be a long time before Thea didn't secretly wish she had never been brought to life.

Another honorable mention is Mordin, at first he and Thea didn't get along so well. She was very vocal about her disapproval of the Genophage and Mordin is... Mordin. But she grew to like him and when Mordin mentions that she keeps coming by because she is romantically interested in him (an actual scene in me2) it's probably the first time since her death she has actually laughed. His death also hit really hard.

I've rambled enough I think so I'll try to keep my ramblings about her and Kaiden short. In short, I love them. The universe has given Thea a lot of pain, served on a silver platter and Kaidan is probably the only good thing that came from it. It was tough at first for Thea, it was incredibly easy to talk to him, and that was kind of what was tough about it because its easy to ignore how lonely you are when you don't know what you're missing and suddenly she started developing feelings and wanting to be closer which is incredibly scary for her after she's lost so much. Facing down reapers and geth and whatever are easy for her, letting herself be vulnerable with someone? That's a lot harder. Me2 was hard for a variety of different reasons but one of the biggest one was that she didn't have Kaiden, and then after Horizon.... let's just say she had to adopt a lot of fish and a hamster to cope.

[aion-rsa]

The Sopranos’ Best End Credit Songs

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There are so many legendary aspects of The Sopranos that it’s hard to pick just one. Between masterful storytelling, deep character development, and uncanny acting, everything comes together to create a show that has been enjoyed for over two decades now. The most artistic aspect of the package, however, may just be the use of music, specifically the unique songs curated personally by creator David Chase that run during each episode’s end credits. 

Ranging from oldies, foreign ballads, jazz compositions, and pure instrumentals, the variety is stunning and can keep you exploring the track list of the series for days. We’ve decided to narrow all of the end credit songs down to the best 15 in the series, listed in chronological order of airing. Enjoy! 

Season 1 Episode 4: Meadowlands 

“Look on Down from the Bridge” by Mazzy Star

The nice father-son moment between Tony and A.J. at the closing of this episode is accompanied by this beautiful track from Mazzy Star. A.J. sees his dad in a whole new light after Meadow tells him that he’s in the mafia, but a simple smile and wink from Tony reassures the youngest Soprano child that he certainly will still “look on down from the bridge” and see his family as the only priority in his life, no matter what criminal occupation he tries to hide on a daily basis. 

Season 1 Episode 7: Down Neck 

“White Rabbit” by Jefferson Airplane

This one follows the pattern of the show choosing to play a song earlier in an episode and then again during the final scene and credits. The Jefferson Airplane hit refers to drug use and being intoxicated, therefore changing as a person in the process. The song plays when Tony is taking prozac mid-episode and during the final scene in which Tony and A.J share an ice cream sundae and some whip cream together. No matter how much the therapy and the meds try to alter Tony’s life, he’ll remain the same man: a depressed mobster and a father who softens for his children. 

Season 2 Episode 10: Bust Out 

“Wheel in the Sky” by Journey

If you haven’t noticed by the time you’re done watching the show, The Sopranos loves to point out how trapped all of the characters are in the lifestyles they have either chosen or been forced into. Tony has betrayal surrounding him at every corner at the end of the second season: Richie and Janice plotting his removal, Carmela falling for a painter who is working in the family home, and Pussy’s FBI informancy reaching a climax. Still, the “wheel in the sky keeps on turning”. Tony finishes the episode having some fun with A.J. on the Stugotz, and he doesn’t “know where he’ll be tomorrow” but he’ll enjoy the time he has in the present. 

Season 2 Episode 12: The Knight in White Satin Armor 

“I Saved the World Today” by the Eurythmics

Tony returns home after disposing of Richie Aprile’s body because Janice shot him to death over a domestic dispute. After informing Carmela of the night’s bloody events, she quickly moves on to the list of chores and homemaker responsibilities she is going to lay at Tony’s feet for the next week while she goes on vacation with Ro Aprile. This apt song from the Eurythmics exemplifies everything Tony has to be in the lives of friends and family around him: always there to save the world for them.

Season 3 Episode 4: Employee of the Month 

“Fisherman’s Daughter” by Daniel Lanois

This Dr. Melfi-centric episode is one of the most deservedly acclaimed hours in the drama’s history. When the final scene gives her a chance to let Tony loose on the monster who assaulted her, she powerfully takes the moral route and declines his services. The camera pans to black solemnly with this haunting instrumental track by Daniel Lanois, a perfect backdrop to allow the audience to ponder everything that just happened and why Melfi was able to maintain strength that so many others wouldn’t have mustered. Anything with singing would have detracted from the environment the writers were trying to create, so this is a great song choice. 

Season 3 Episode 12: Amour Fou 

“Affection” by Little Steven and the Lost Boys

The penultimate episode of the third season features the climax of the relationship between Tony and Gloria, in which the crazy affection that they have for one another boils over into violence. Yet another of the brilliant musical choices this show made was to use the same song twice: once earlier in an episode, and then again in the final scene and credits. This tune, sung by Silvio Dante (Steven Van Zandt) himself, plays with Tony and Gloria spending time together mid-episode and then again at the end credits. 

Season 4 Episode 4: The Weight 

“Vesuvio” by Spaccanapoli

Another example of double dipping on the same song in one episode. The above scene between Carmela and Furio dancing and falling in love right underneath Tony’s nose uses this romantic Italian track by Spaccanapoli, and then uses it again in the final seconds when Carmela is daydreaming about Furio while having sex with Tony. So sensual and heavy, the audience knows that Carmela is going down a path she can’t see through to the end, but the music signifies the passion that she will inevitably entangle herself in for the time being. 

Season 4 Episode 7: Watching Too Much Television 

“Oh Girl” by The Chi-Lites

When an assemblyman starts an affair with Tony’s ex-lover, Irina, there is quite a bit of jealousy and ownership that exudes from the mob boss. This classic from the Chi-Lites plays in the car on the way over to the assemblyman’s house as Tony drives over to confront him about “taking” his mistress from him. It is a song which causes deep reflection and nostalgia for a lost love, and prompts Tony to get emotional listening to it. Wonderful acting by Gandolfini and superb use of in-world music that plays over to the credits, something the show got down to an art and a science simultaneously. 

Season 5 Episode 10: Cold Cuts 

“I’m Not Like Everybody Else” by The Kinks

No, Tony Soprano is certainly not like anybody else. He insists that Janice see anger management counselors at the beginning of this episode, and when she actually improves her mood because of it, his narcissism makes him antagonize her until a typical Soprano family fight breaks out at dinner. Tony walks out of the house with a despicable smile on his face to the tune of this intense rock anthem.

Season 5 Episode 11: The Test Dream 

“Three Times a Lady” by The Commodores

In an episode in which Tony spends 20 minutes literally dreaming about past and future problems in his life, culminating in the murder of Billy Leotardo by Anthony Blundetto, The Commodores soft romance hit plays us out. Tony calls Carmela to report about said dreams, part of which were repeat ones that have happened previously in Tony’s life. It’s nice for the audience to see these two having a tender exchange rather than the tense arguing that normally characterizes their marriage, especially because this was when the two were still separated previously throughout the fifth season. 

Season 6 Episode 4: The Fleshy Part of the Thigh 

“One of These Days” by Pink Floyd

Paulie Walnuts is a fan favorite for a myriad of reasons. Between his gray-haired wings and his immature one-liners, many forget that the mobster had one of the scarier violent streaks in the show. After discovering that his mother was actually his aunt, Paulie gets jealous of Jason Barone’s mother trying to protect him from the mafia after selling the sanitation business that serves as a front for the DiMeo crime family. This psychedelic, hard-rock snippet from Pink Floyd that blares in the credits after Paulie threatens Jason’s life at the end of episode is a strong reminder to the viewer that this is a character who borders on sociopathic most of the time. 

Season 6 Episode 12: Kaisha 

“Moonlight Mile” by The Rolling Stones

Unlike other iconic dramas, The Sopranos loved ending their season finales (and “Kaisha” is technically a season finale with season 6 split into two parts) with relative closure and absolutely no cliffhangers. The family has an enormous Christmas gathering at the Soprano residence, marked by A.J. bringing over an older girlfriend and Meadow’s rare absence from family time. This classic from The Rolling Stones that describes the feeling of trying to get back home off the road fits lovingly with the rare moment of calm before the storm that is the final season of the show.  

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Season 6 Episode 14: Stage 5 

“Evidently Chickentown” by John Cooper Clarke

This closing piece by John Cooper Clarke is actually considered a poetry performance, and the anger and fury that it inspires as Phil Leotardo laments being taken advantage of a few too many times is palpable. This is when we knew that war in New York was going to be bloody. The song also symbolizes the perpetual frustration both Christopher and Tony have with one another when they hug at the former’s baby’s baptism. The final season was certainly kicked up a couple notches as these final credits rolled. 

Season 6 Episode 17: Walk Like a Man 

“The Valley” by Los Lobos

This somber piece plays alongside Christopher picking up a tiny tree in his front yard after Paulie had attempted to destroy everything on his property as revenge for a violent incident. After Christopher thinks they’ve made up, Paulie and the gang start making fun of his infant daughter and laughing in his face. It is at this point that Chris understands he is forever an outsider, not loved by a single person on the planet. He will just trudge along and try to keep upright, which are themes displayed in this chilling and melancholy song of choice. 

Season 6 Episode 21: Made in America 

“Don’t Stop Believin’” by Journey

The most famous song in the show is also the final one that plays right before the screen goes to black and Tony Soprano’s fate is left up to our own imagination (kind of). It’s technically not an end credits song, but there’s no way it can be excluded from this list. The song represents the nostalgia of sharing one final family meal together, the simplicities of the Soprano family when you strip away the mobster lifestyle and the murder, and it encourages the audience to never stop believing their favorite mob boss is still alive if that’s what they so choose to desire. A special ending to a legendary show!

The post The Sopranos’ Best End Credit Songs appeared first on Den of Geek.

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