#been building the collection for a while so

[officeobject]

More Gaza stuff:

supportgaza

2h ago

supportgaza asked:

Hello. This is Mahmoud Khalaf from Gaza, currently studying in Ireland. I hope you’re doing well. I am campaigning to evacuate my family from Gaza and reunite with them in Ireland where we can build a new life in a safe place. My campaign has been vetted by El Shab Hussein and Nabulsi #151 on the Vetted Gaza Fundraisers List, as explained in the post. We are at 68% of our final fundraising goal. Could we ask you to please to reblog our new post titled “Last Push for My Family's Fundraiser before the Temporary Ceasefire in Gaza: Help My Family Seize the Opportunity to Evacuate" Link https://www.tumblr.com/supportgaza/772585234869911552/last-push-for-my-familys-fundraiser-before-the?source=share

Answer

yasminfamilysblog

7h ago

yasminfamilysblog asked:

Hello

I want help to rebuild my home and regain my education to have stability and a bright future 🙏🏻💔

You can help by donating or reblogging. Please don't hesitate to help me💔

Answer

abujaradfamilyfromgaz

1d ago

abujaradfamilyfromgaz asked:

🚨 PLEASE DON’T SCROLL 🚨

Sick Mother and Children Trapped in Gaza – Rebuilding Our Home and Memories

With heavy hearts and hope, we reach out to you for help to support my sick mother and family in Gaza. We are living through the worst days of our lives in displacement camps in Deir al-Balah, having been displaced four times in a row. My mother suffers from asthma and urgently needs treatment, while our living conditions continue to worsen.

Our home in Beit Lahia, North Gaza, has been completely destroyed, taking with it my father’s hard work, our dreams, and the memories we built over the years. The devastation has left us with nothing, forcing us to start from scratch in the most challenging conditions.

The donated funds will go toward securing medical treatment for my sick mother, rebuilding our home, and restoring hope for a brighter future for my family. Additionally, your contributions will help provide basic necessities such as food, water, and medication for my mother.

Every contribution makes a difference in saving us and ensuring a dignified life.

Donation link💔🥹🙏

We have lost hope. Please help us rebuild our lives.🙏💔🍉🥹😭

Thank you for standing with us and supporting our cause 🙏🇵🇸

Answer

coldgardenerbouquet

1d ago

coldgardenerbouquet asked:

Hello my dears🚨. I hope you help and donate on this link to save our lives from death after we were injured due to the bombing of our house and some of the family members were martyred. I do not urge you, but I hope you help us so that we can leave Gaza for treatment. Thank you for all this support and generosity 🍉💔😭🙏

Answer

familgazaamal1 1d agofamilgazaamal1 asked:This is Amal and her family. My children are living under bombardment in the war 😭 Please consider them your children and help them 🙏🙏 Stand by my side to save and protect my children. They haven't gone to school for a year 🙏😢😢 Donate to save my children's lives 🍉 🙏🇵🇸 We live in very difficult and desperate circumstances, and what is worst of all is that the fear that haunts me increases day by day. Help me provide them with basic life needs. @gazavetters is verified, my verified number in the list is (#55)Answer

familgazaamal1 1d agofamilgazaamal1 asked:This is Amal and her family. My children are living under bombardment in the war 😭 Please consider them your children and help them 🙏🙏 Stand by my side to save and protect my children. They haven't gone to school for a year 🙏😢😢 Donate to save my children's lives 🍉 🙏🇵🇸 We live in very difficult and desperate circumstances, and what is worst of all is that the fear that haunts me increases day by day. Help me provide them with basic life needs. @gazavetters is verified, my verified number in the list is (#55)Answer

shimashaheen89 1d agoshimashaheen89 asked:Hi palestine supporters 🇵🇸I am Shima from Gaza,Hope my message finds you well..I’m simply don’t want to die, I want to live I want to give my children a better life. Help me to escape from Gaza❗️❗️My home, along with all my cherished memories and dreams, was destroyed. Now, homeless, I struggle to find a safe place for my children.Our situation is indescribable. the hopelessness of being unable to protect my family, and the desperation of not being able to provide for my children weigh heavily on me.Please share, repost or donate to my family Please do not ignore my message 🙏🏻🍉🍉Your donations are important for our survivalAnswer

shimashaheen89 1d agoshimashaheen89 asked:Hi palestine supporters 🇵🇸I am Shima from Gaza,Hope my message finds you well..I’m simply don’t want to die, I want to live I want to give my children a better life. Help me to escape from Gaza❗️❗️My home, along with all my cherished memories and dreams, was destroyed. Now, homeless, I struggle to find a safe place for my children.Our situation is indescribable. the hopelessness of being unable to protect my family, and the desperation of not being able to provide for my children weigh heavily on me.Please share, repost or donate to my family Please do not ignore my message 🙏🏻🍉🍉Your donations are important for our survivalAnswer

let us take a moment and grieve for all the lives lost. so many thousand people have been murdered by the zionist entity in the last fifteen months. palestinians in gaza have lost too much, from friends and family to their homes and livelihood.

this ceasefire is not an end to our solidarity with gaza. we will all be here waiting and praying for palestine to be wholly liberated from the occupation and watch her people be happy and free.

in the meantime, please keep donating to palestinian fundraisers. it is essential to support families planning on rebuilding.

alaa is a mother of two young children. her fundraiser has been verified. i request you to help her by sharing and donating to her gofundme.

please donate here

[oneforthemunny]

also which eddie lowkey loooooves the feeling of a vibe

this answer might shock you!!

no it won't lmao, it's rockstar!eddie.

so story time!

it started off as pure curiosity. i would say engagement era, when the sex dungeon was being built. when you both are building and perfecting your toy collection.

eddie is wiping down and putting away some vibes from the night before when you two played. he's looking at this wand, and just remembering how loud you screamed, how quickly you came, how hard you came with it, and he's like, damn, is it really that good?

he decides to try it out on himself. plugs it up, lets it buzz, and then he's looking at it almost scientifically trying to figure out where to put it, where feels best, it's just not working out.

"what are you doing?"

eddie nearly falls over, dropping the vibe, dick out, pants around his ankles, looking at you with wide eyes, shocked.

"i just, uh, i was- i was just tryna see what this was all about." there's really no use lying bc he's been caught lmao. i mean it's pretty obvious what he was doing.

"yeah?" you grin, stepping towards him. "what'd you think?"

"i don't really see the hype around it." eddie shrugs, watching you pick up the still vibrating toy. "not that great."

"hm, maybe you're not doing it right." you purr, eyes batting up at him. "maybe you should let me try."

and that's how he ends up, hands loosely tied to the x cross while you worked him with the vibrator until he came.

[cha-melodius]

12 for henry & oscar for the hug prompts

(I love that you sent a Henry & Oscar prompt, and this one was so good for them. Perhaps unsurprisingly, this one is post-canon. read all the hug ficlets)

12: The “you know I’ve always got your back” hug.

One of Henry’s favourite outcomes of stepping down from his royal position was that he had more time to devote to the network of shelters that he’s been building with Pez. He loves planning the spaces, and visiting them, and meeting with the staff to figure out better ways to serve the community. Even the fundraising galas are less tedious when he can freely tell people to sod off with the ‘His Royal Highness’ nonsense and call him Henry.

These kinds of meetings he could certainly do without. Unfortunately, winning local city governments over so they’ll approve the necessary re-zoning and building permits is a vitally important part of the process, and so Henry is steeling himself for what is likely to be an unpleasant hour of his life. Usually, Pez would be here too—Pez is aces, as he puts it, with charming people, and all Henry has to do is sit there and chip in with a few key points when Pez prompts him. But Pez is travelling for some other business meeting, and Alex is stuck at home because of an important case, so Henry was resigned to facing this one alone.

That, as it turns out, isn’t quite the case.

“Cheryl Robinson will be your biggest opponent,” Oscar is telling him. “She represents—how should I put it—some of the less progressive interests in the city, and she’s unfortunately got a lot of sway. She loves dogs, though, so if you tell a cute story about David, you’ll soften her up.”

When Henry had made plans to stay with his father-in-law for this trip, he hadn’t really expected all of this, which, in retrospect, was probably silly of him. Oscar always seemed to delight in the opportunity to help them out, and unlike Alex, Henry has no hang-ups about accepting it. He’d insisted on driving Henry to his meeting and has been giving him a run-down on every city official that will be there, including every bit of inside information he has. Henry’s so grateful for the support he could cry.

He doesn’t, though. He sits in the passenger seat and takes notes—Foster, bad toupee, mention construction budget and local contracts—as they slowly make their way through LA traffic.

“Sure you don’t want me to come in?” Oscar asks when they finally arrive. He’s not wearing business-meeting clothes, but Henry thinks he probably doesn’t care.

“I think it’s probably best I don’t surprise them with a senator they’re not expecting,” Henry replies.

“Ah, you’re probably right,” Oscar says with a grin.

Henry smooths a hand over the folio containing his notes. “Thank you for all of this, though. It’s been immensely helpful.”

“Any time.”

To Henry’s surprise, Oscar follows him out of the car and stands next to him while Henry collects his briefcase from the back. When Henry turns toward him, he reaches up to straighten Henry’s tie and brush imaginary lint off the shoulder of his jacket. Henry’s used to such fussing over his appearance, though not from Oscar, and he’s certainly not used to it being the prelude to being tugged into a hug.

“They give you any trouble, you call me, ok?” Oscar says as he holds Henry tightly. “You got this, mijo.”

Right, Henry might actually cry now, which would definitely be counterproductive. He doesn’t currently trust himself to speak, so he just nods as he straightens up again, collects himself, and heads into the meeting a lot more confident than he’d been this morning.

[thevillainswhore]

“Good girl,” he mumbles, running his fingers through your hair while looking at you.

So We Meet Again

Pairing: Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: A reunion between two old friends quickly turns heated.

Warnings: friends to lovers, fluff, smut, blowjob, mouth fucking, ball sucking, praise, pet names, cum eating.

Author’s Note: This is part of The Love In The Woods Collection ❄️ beta’d by the lovely @buck-star thank you my love 🥰 dividers by @saradika-graphics.

You didn’t know what to expect once your old friend opened the door to his cabin. It had been years — too many of them since you had last seen him and to say you were nervous was an understatement. 

The logs that had been carefully wound together to uphold the structure were beautifully cut, a deep mahogany that was rich in pigment. But you couldn’t help but quirk your lips at the beigeness of it all. 

A little splash of colour would do the trick. 

You had no time to internally decide what kind of palette you could imagine for the rustic cabin before the wooden door creaked open and a vaguely familiar face came into your view. 

“Bucky?” You gasped, the air knocked out of your lungs. “Is that—Is that really you?”

Far from the scrawny boy you had attended school with, your old friend stood before you transformed into a man. 

The stubble that graced his cheeks was new. The once long hair that he had chopped down into a short fluffy cut was also new. The muscle he had packed on that made the woolly coat he was wearing strain against his arms was definitely new.

All new territory that you had no idea what to do with. 

“Hey, Dolly. It’s been a while since I’ve seen that pretty, little face.” 

Oh, the deep voice was a welcome surprise too. 

“I—” You didn’t know what to say, shell shocked by the sight in front of you. “You’ve gotten taller.” 

Bucky laughed abruptly. “Well, damn. Thanks, sweetheart.” 

You let out a small huff of laughter for your own awkwardness. “What I meant to say was you look good.” 

Though a lot had changed since you last saw Bucky, one thing that had stayed the same was how bashful he got over the slightest compliments. 

Rubbing the back of his neck as a hue of red blossomed on his cheeks, he smiled. “You know how to make a man blush, don’t ya?” 

Just as you were about to reply, a gush of frosted wind made you stumble. Bucky shot his arms out and grabbed you before you could fall. “Shit, let’s get you inside before it gets nasty out there. Come on, you.” 

With his arms still keeping you balanced, Bucky brought you over the threshold and into the warmth of his home. He shut the door with his foot and continued to smooth his hands down your coat covered arms. 

“This place is beautiful, Buck. I can’t believe you made this by yourself,” you said in awe. 

“I’m glad you like it. You helped me design it after all.” 

You spun around with your mouth open. “You did not keep those sketches after all these years!” 

Bucky shrugged with one shoulder and slid his palms into his pockets. “I did. I neatened them up a little here and there when I got the planning permission. But I kept them.” He pointed towards the fireplace with his head, a fond smile curving his lips. “Look.” 

After tapping the excess snow off your boots on the doormat, you made your way towards the mantelpiece that hung above a roaring fire. Low and behold, there were the drawings the two of you had made together years ago in college. Ripped out of your notebook and framed. 

“You believed in me when not many people did.” Bucky’s voice was closer as he came up behind you. “You didn’t laugh when I told you I wanted to build my own company. It's because of you that people took interest in this house and now I get regular contracts to keep me steady.” 

Unexpected tears began to bubble to the surface. You couldn’t believe your old friend had kept something so sentimental and created something so beautiful out of it. Sniffling, you faced Bucky and hugged him tightly. “I’ve missed you, Buck.” 

Instantly, his arms curled around you, holding you with just as much vigour. “I missed you more, Dolly.” 

The two of you kept huddled in your embrace for a while, savouring the feeling of each other after lost time. 

Suddenly, a thought popped up. You pulled back, though Bucky’s arms held firm around you. “Wait. Does this mean what I think it does?” 

Your excitment began to grow at the grin on your friend’s face. “Why don’t you go and find out?” 

With a squeal, you quickly toed off your boots — not wanting to dirty the cabin — and ran down the hallway. If Bucky hadn’t changed anything about the floor plan, you were sure to find what you were looking for. 

And to your delight, once you had ripped open the door, you found your most prized possession — the library. 

You spun around, unable to contain the emotion in your voice. “You really built it.” 

“I don’t know why you’re so surprised, sweetheart. I told you I would.” Bucky leaned against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, watching you with an unknown look in eye. 

“But—“ you tried to reason. 

Though Bucky quickly shook you down, already knowing what you were trying to say. “But nothing. You’re still my best friend no matter where in the world you are. No matter if we haven’t spoken in a while. This is for you, Dolly.” 

You swallowed the growing lump in your throat. “It's beautiful, Bucky. I love it.” 

“You’re welcome here anytime. You know that.” By the earnest look in his eyes you knew he meant it too. 

After you had explored the house some more, Bucky had ushered you to the table to get some food down you. His concern for your wellbeing hadn’t changed at all since school. He was always mothering you, making sure you were taking care of yourself. 

It was like the two of you had never been apart. Conversation came easily over his homemade meal. Laughter bounced off the walls of his kitchen. It was easy to fall back into your friendship. 

But there was something else brewing that you couldn’t explain. An added supplement to your relationship. 

There were lingering looks over the candles scattered across the dining table. There were flirtations that made you squirm in your seat. 

If Bucky wasn’t your friend, you’d have thought that you were on a date. 

But Bucky was your friend. And every time your eyes caught each other and his hand brushed over yours, you found yourself thinking of him differently. 

Snow pelted harshly against the windows and you looked outside to find the storm predicted by the weather forecast was raging in full force. You wiped your mouth with a napkin and sighed. “That’s just going to be great to drive in.” 

Bucky’s eyes snapped up to you in aghast. “You’re not actually thinking about going out in that, are you?” 

“What other choice do I have? I’ve got to get to my hotel.” 

“Absolutely not.” Bucky shook his head in finality. “You’ll stay here.” 

Your eyes widened in shock. “I can’t just stay here, Bucky. This is your home!” 

You knew you sounded stupid, especially when he raised his eyebrow at you. “My home is your home. You’re not riskin’ your safety just to stay at some deadbeat motel where the doors don’t even lock. Not a chance.” 

Bucky’s reasoning was sound. The room you had booked was kind of cheap and you shivered when you thought of the possibilities why. But after a night filled with inexplicable tension, you found yourself still weighing the options.

Bucky must have seen the indecision in your features. The groan of his chair pushing out caught your attention and you had to bite your tongue when he crouched before you to hold your hand.

“Come on, darlin’. You can’t go back out there tonight. Stay with me.” 

You would always argue it was his eyes that persuaded you. Bucky always had a way to make you give in to him with his steel blues. It was the same as college kids and you realised it was the same now. Only more dangerous. 

“Okay,” you whispered around a gulp. Squeezing his hand, you confirmed, “I’ll stay with you.” 

Bucky’s eyes lit up. Pulling you out your seat, his large arms wrapped around your shoulders and squeezed you tight. He nuzzled his nose into your hair and let go of a deep breath. “That’s my girl.” 

Your body shouldn’t have reacted the way it did. You were just glad that Bucky was too enthralled in your hug to notice anything amiss. 

Clearing your throat, you stepped back and smoothed your clothes. “Let me help you put all this away.” 

Immediately, Bucky took the plate you were about to grab. “Not a chance, Dolly. Go sit down and wait until I’m finished and then I’ll show you to your room.” With his free hand, he patted your lower back, enough for his fingers to skim the top of your ass and shooed you away. 

Once the kitchen was cleaned, Bucky lifted you off the sofa with his hand and guided you towards the hallway where the bedrooms resided. You weren’t quite sure why you faltered upon the first step, but you tried to control your breathing enough to push yourself to keep walking. 

The night wasn’t what you expected when you decided to visit Bucky. Maybe it was silly to have any sort of expectations after so many years apart from your friend. 

However, this new element came at you with no time to prepare. 

Especially not when he let you lead so he could place his hand on the small of your back. Not when you felt the movement of it gliding further down to rest on the curve of your ass. And not when he grabbed your hand to pull you back once you surpassed the open door to his bedroom. 

“So—um—the guest room is just next to mine.” Bucky looked down at you with what you could only call desire in his irises. 

“I know,” you breathed airily. “I helped you design the layout, remember?”

Bucky swallowed. “I guess I’ll say goodnight then.” 

“That would be best.” Though you made no way to retract yourself from his proximity. 

“Goodnight, Dolly.” 

“Night, Bucky.” 

The air became stifling hot, even as the cold crept in from the open windows around the house. 

Wetting his lips with his tongue, Bucky slowly moved forward with what you supposed would be a friendly kiss on the cheek. You kept deathly still as his stubble scratched against your skin, even though a shudder clawed its way down your back. But your attempts were useless when his lips hovered a little too close to the corner of your mouth. 

Bucky let himself linger before he pulled back. Though he could only manage to draw himself away from you slightly, allowing the two of you to breathe each other’s air. His eyes were blown, like he’d taken a hit and his hand squeezed your waist like it was painful for him to move. 

Who made the next move would continue to be debated for years to come. What you could both agree on with certainty was the instant connection the two of you felt when your lips finally connected. How perfect the two of you intertwined your bodies in a dance of fiery passion.

The nagging voice that had tormented you throughout the night vanished and you finally let yourself go, losing yourself into Bucky. 

“Fuck,” he murmured around your kiss. “I’ve been wantin’ to taste those damn lips all night, Dolly.”

You tangled your fingers into his fluffy hair, pulling harshly as his hands sneaked up your shirt to feel your bare skin. “Then shut up and stop wasting your breath.” 

His responding growl sent a shot of electricity between your legs and you couldn’t help but flick your tongue against his to hear it again. 

The two of you made out like a couple of horny teenagers in the hallway, unable to keep your hands off each other. It was as though Bucky was the oxygen you craved after being starved of air. You’d die if he let go of you. 

Bucky began to step back into his bedroom and the door crashed against the wall. You broke away when your feet recognised the soft carpet furnishing, a string of saliva still connecting your mouths together. 

“What are you doing?” Bucky whined while his chest heaved and his eyes were hooded in pure lust. 

Ignoring him, you dropped down onto your knees with a thud. His eyes shot open and you graced him with a sultry smile, licking your lips while you slid your palms up the denim covering his thick thighs.

“Oh, shit. You’re really gonna—”

You didn’t give him the time to finish his sentence. Adrenaline was sparking your momentum in that moment and any doubts about how fast you were moving were pushed out of your mind as soon as you tore his jeans and underwear down in one go.

Bucky’s heavy cock bounced out of its confines. He was all girth and length, a true testament to the rest of his bear-like physique. Although his dick was intimidating and you had to take at least a whole minute to stare at it in wonder, you got to work quickly.

There were no teasing licks, no hesitant strokes of your hand. You went all in, hollowing your cheeks while you began to feed yourself his cock. You held the base with one hand and slid your other further down towards his balls, beginning to massage them just as you felt the head of his length hit the back of your throat.

“Holy—D-Dolly, you gotta—fuck that’s so good—Slow down, baby. You’re g-gonna choke.”

Lifting your eyes to settle them on Bucky’s, you winked and hummed around him, watching in delight as his eyes rolled back in ecstasy.

“So that’s how it’s gonna be,” he chuckled before biting his bottom lip, beginning to gently meet the rhythm of your mouth with his own thrusts. “Ain’t gotta tell me twice, baby.”

Spit drooled from your mouth, pooling onto the hardwood floor, while your eyes began to water. Any decorum had gone out the window and all that was left in its place was raw, shameful mouth fucking. Bucky couldn’t keep his jaw shut as he towered above you, watching how his proportions bullied the tightness of your throat.

“Good girl,” he mumbled, running his fingers through your hair while looking down at you. “Good fuckin’ girl. Gettin’ all messy for me.”

His hands tightened their grip, tugging enough for a sharp pain to sting your scalp. But it only served to rile you up more. Letting his cock fall from your mouth with a wet pop, you reached further down to suck his balls. 

Bucky choked on his own spit at the sensation of your tongue flicking against the thin, delicate skin and the warm wetness your saliva provided him. “Sh-Shit, Dolly! Uh-huh, baby—Just like that.” 

Cradling the back of your head with one hand, Bucky used the other to hold his cock. He wanted to see the tears glistening over your waterline. You hummed as you made eye contact with him and the vibrations ran through his whole body and lit his nerves on fire. 

“That’s right, suck my fuckin’ balls. Look so pretty on your knees for me and your own damn spit covering your face.” With a grunt, Bucky pulled back, almost regretting leaving your hot mouth, and grabbed your chin, spitting on your awaiting tongue and shoving his dick back down your throat before you could blink. “Show me how much you missed me, baby.” 

Your body was like a live wire, sparks shocking your nerves and leaving you pent up and on edge. The pure animal had come out of your best friend — a side to him you had never had the pleasure of seeing before — and it only made you crave your own stimulation. 

Your jaw ached and your throat cinched in pain every time the fat tip of Bucky’s cock hit the back of it. But none of that mattered when you watched the harmony of pleasure across his face. How he looked at you like you were an angel on your knees, serving your god. 

You grabbed the base of his cock with your hand and pulled him out of your mouth. “Paint my tongue, Bucky.” There was a hoarse rasp to your voice but you swallowed and began pumping his length. “I wanna know what you taste like.” 

Bucky’s eyes gained a new gleam, one that frightened and excited you. 

“Fuck my life. What the fuck have we been doin’ all this time?” Grabbing the length of your hair and twisting it around his hand, he pulled, forcing you eye to eye with his crotch. “Come here, Dolly. Lemme feed you my load if you wan’ it so damn bad.”

Bucky fed you his cock and widened the stance of his legs, his free hand framed your chin — smothered in a combination of saliva and pre cum — and began to thrust. 

Spit flew out of your mouth, each squelch and gag leaving no room for anything but Bucky’s thick length to take ownership of you. Your cries fell on deaf ears as Bucky became a man possessed. 

“Gonna take it, sweetheart? Gonna swallow my cum and fill up your tummy?” 

You nodded as best as you could, moaning around his girth and trying to convey with your eyes how badly you wanted him to use you. 

Bucky licked his lips, panting viciously. “You’re mine now, Dolly. Do you understand?” 

When you didn’t answer, too drunk off his cock, he harshly tapped your protruding cheek. “Answer me, sweetheart. Do you fuckin’ understand?” 

You gargled around his length, tears streaming down your cheeks as you screamed your muffled agreement. 

Bucky swiped his tongue across his teeth and grinned. “Good. Cos’ I ain’t letting you go.” 

Your nails dug into the meat of his thighs, trying to steady yourself from the cruel thrusts. Bucky began to grind his cock down your throat, leaving you depleted of oxygen and struggling to form a single coherent thought. 

“‘M gonna cum, baby. C-Can’t hold it any longer.” Bucky’s legs started to shake with his impending orgasm, his words slurring the closer to his end he got. 

So with a sudden bout of eagerness, you slid your hands around to his ass, gripped each cheek and pulled him impossibly further down your throat until you couldn’t breathe. 

Bucky didn’t even have a chance to warn you before his cock began to pulse, not a second later shooting pearls of thick, white cum from his tip to coat your tongue. 

“D-Dolly—baby—I can’t. F-Fuck, I’m cummin’ so much. All this fuckin’ cum for you, sweetheart—” he rambled. Stumbling over his own words until his dick finally began to settle and his load had all been released. 

You struggled to hold the vast amount of cum in your mouth, some of it sneaking out from the corner of your lip and joining your tears as they rolled down your chin. Your bloodshot eyes, rimmed with red speckled veins looked up to Bucky, watching the pure elation on his face while his fingers started to carefully unfurl from your hair. 

Slowly, once Bucky’s length began to soften, he retracted his hips, letting his cock fall from your mouth. His thumb rested on the dimple of your chin, rubbing back and forth as he caught his breath, a new hunger in his eyes. “You still got my load in that pretty little mouth, baby?” 

Tightening your lips, you nodded, chest heaving and nostrils flaring with an adrenaline that hadn’t been sated. 

Bucky smirked wolf-like and kneeled down on one knee to match your height. “Wanna show me?” 

Caught up in the boundaries the two of you had surpassed, that threatened to untangle the very purpose of your being, you held your friend’s eye and leisurely stuck your tongue out. White cream, thick and musty, balanced on your tongue, exposed and vulnerable. 

Bucky’s eyes darkened and you barely had time to anticipate his intentions before he threw himself forward and kissed you. 

You squealed, panic surging through your limbs and stiffening your body. But Bucky grabbed your waist and hoisted you up onto his lap, manipulating your legs to wrap around him. 

The shock of him tasting his own cum left you paralysed, unable to reciprocate his kiss properly. However, the deep groan that rumbled from his chest at the motion of your tongues colliding and his load falling onto his own kick started your body. You kissed him back with reverence, a fire rekindling in your lower stomach. 

Your faces were a mess of spit and cum, though the two of you were more concentrated on each other, content in getting lost in the new development of your relationship. 

The kiss eventually died down, Bucky leaving a couple of intricate, slow pecks to your lips before seperating. He kept close, noses teasing each other while you caught your breath. 

Tenderly, he swiped the gooey liquid lingering around your mouth with his thumb and tapped your cupid's bow twice, a plea to open up. You complied, allowing him to enter and you were quick to enclose your lips around him and suck. 

“Good girl,” Bucky whispered, watching you with wide eyes. “You’re such a good girl for me.” 

Before you could reply, he lifted the two of you up with ease, keeping a firm grip around your midriff, and laid you down on his bed. 

“Let me see what else you’ll do for me, Dolly.” Bucky’s eyes bore into your own gaped ones, still trying to wrap your head around the events of the night. “Please.” 

There was no other answer. Not when he caged you with his thick arms and not when he delicately trailed his nose along the sensitive skin of your neck. “Okay, Bucky.” 

You couldn’t have imagined where that night could have taken you. Nor could you have conjured up how the hell the two of you ended up fucking until the early hours, singing songs of praise to each other and experiencing a pleasure that you thought would forever be a myth. 

And when you awoke in the morning, scared and worried of the consequences of your actions, you were sure you would regret it. 

But as Bucky tore your clothes off, pouring his adoration and devotion into every crevice of your body with more skin that was revealed as your heart beat as one, you couldn’t even try to muster up any feelings of remorse or anguish. 

You just wanted your best friend to fuck you until the sun came up. 

[ari-zonia]

How's the limbus LCE Checkup?

I cleared the story nodes yesterday and it's very, VERY interesting.

I've been playing PM games since LobCorp so I'm well versed in the lore, and I appreciate the expansion of the already established goings on.

Honestly, the checkup answered a lot of the questions I'd been asking lately some of which will help with current writing projects

Honestly the part that interested me the most is that they said that Distortions eventually become Abnormalities and they lose all sense of what their previous identity even was. That's kind of been something I had been wondering is when the distinction ends.

Honestly it does raise further questions to what the hell Don Quixote and Bloodfiends even are. Back in LobCorp and Ruina, Nosferatu was classified as an Abnormality through and through, just particularly old and naturally occurring like the Black Forest birds. But, in Distortion Detective, it's explained that Old Blood Bloodfiends (what I call Nosferatu and his kindred) are naturally occurring Distortions, while Elena was just straight up a Distortion caused by the White Nights.

We know that LobCorp's entire Singularity was creating Abnormalities, so a lot of the ones we've met through all the games were previously people that got injected with Cogito. But, there's still a LOT of them that just exist and we don't know how. Like Little Helper and We Can Change Anything from another Wing, the Magical Girls, and 1.76mHz.

Honestly, the most interesting thing that came up this chapter is Faust boldly proclaiming P Corp's Singularity is to "make the safest place in the world" because that reconfirms that the Shelther From The 27th of March is not only something made by P Corp, but us so outright bizarre that it got classified as an Abnormality. That's never really been anything that's been clarified is how entire buildings (and radio frequencies given mHz) can even BECOME Abnormalities. (I think Distortion Detective has a building that's a Distortion too but don't quote me on that, but I think that was a collective conscious thing like Time Ripper)

Like, that has to be because of something of the Smoke War I feel, since that's the last major event in the City BEFORE LobCorp's founding that could have created those.

These games have always had the unique relationship and crossover between E.G.O., Distortion, and Abnormalities even before adding in the Peccatulae. So I'm curious how much deeper this rabbit hole goes.

Also, just as an aside, I really like Hohenheim

[kiesbrainjuice]

— WILDFLOWER ! timeskip!atsumu

➥ pr : timeskip!atsumu x famous!fem!reader

➥ syn : after a tough argument with your boyfriend, you got in a car accident…

➥ wc : 3.1k

➥ tw : tough argument, car accident, injured reader, angst to comfort, crying reader, y/n employed a lil.

➥ a/n : trauma era ! (it’s weird I’ll stop)

The lights of Shibuya sparkled like they always did—a mesmerizing kaleidoscope of neon advertisements flashing bright against the obsidian night sky, painting the urban landscape in vibrant, electric hues of pink, cerulean, and electric blue. Massive screens flickered with advertisements, music videos, and breaking news, casting their ever-changing glow across the bustling streets below. But high above the cacophony of the city, inside the sleek, minimalist luxury penthouse that had once been their sanctuary, the air was thick with a different kind of electricity—raw, crackling tension that threatened to consume everything in its path.

The once warm and welcoming space now felt cold, almost suffocating. Gone were the soft throw pillows carefully arranged by interior designers, the artful photography capturing moments of their shared past, the subtle scent of sandalwood that typically permeated the air. Now, there was only silence punctuated by ragged breathing and the distant hum of Tokyo's nightlife.

Atsumu stood by the kitchen counter, a study in controlled fury. His muscular frame was tense, arms crossed over his chest, revealing the definition of years of professional volleyball training. His brow was furrowed, a familiar competitive edge that usually served him on the court now turned inward, sharp and dangerous. His blonde hair, usually meticulously styled, was slightly disheveled—a physical manifestation of the emotional turmoil brewing inside him.

You were on the opposite side of the room, pacing back and forth. Your designer heels—Louboutins, a gift from a recent magazine shoot—clacked against the pristine marble floor in a staccato rhythm that matched the racing of your heart. Each step was a statement, a declaration of your growing frustration.

The penthouse, situated in one of Shibuya's most exclusive high-rises, had always been a symbol of your collective success. But tonight, it felt more like a pressure cooker, ready to explode under the weight of unspoken resentments and mounting professional tensions.

"I'm so sick of this, Atsumu!" you screamed, your voice a complex mixture of rage and profound hurt. Tears streamed down your face, tracing perfect lines through your meticulously applied makeup. Your hands, adorned with delicate rings from your latest endorsement deals, gestured wildly, punctuating each word with raw emotion. "You're never here! Never! And when you are, all we do is fight. I've spent the last five years supporting you, loving you, waiting for you—while I'm out there building my own damn career!"

The vulnerability beneath your anger was palpable. These weren't just the words of a frustrated partner, but of someone who had consistently placed another's dreams ahead of their own, only to feel increasingly marginalized and forgotten.

Atsumu's response was immediate, defensive—a reflex honed from years of facing down opponents on the volleyball court. "And what? You expect me to just drop everything?!" His voice was louder than you'd ever heard it before, a mixture of Osaka dialect and raw emotion. "You think bein' a professional volleyball player is just fun and games? That it doesn't take everythin' I have to stay at the top?"

His words were defensive, but underneath lay a deep-seated insecurity. The volleyball world was unforgiving, with careers that could end in an instant. Every moment not training, not preparing, felt like a potential threat to everything he had worked for.

"That's not what I'm saying!" you yelled back, your voice cracking with a complexity of emotions. As you wiped furiously at your cheeks, the carefully constructed persona of the confident model and actress momentarily dissolved, revealing the deeply wounded individual beneath. "But it's like I don't exist to you anymore, Atsumu! It's like I'm just a damn afterthought!"

You paused, inhaling sharply, gathering the last reserves of your emotional ammunition. When you spoke again, your words were calculated, designed to wound. "You know what? Maybe you love volleyball more than you ever loved me."

The silence that followed was deafening.

The sting in your words was palpable—a razor-sharp blade that cut through the carefully constructed facade of their relationship. In Atsumu's eyes, you could see a storm brewing. His pupils dilated, the golden-brown irises darkening with a mixture of hurt, anger, and something deeper—a vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to show.

His jaw clenched, a muscle twitching near his temple—a tell-tale sign of his rising frustration. The fists at his sides tightened, knuckles turning white, betraying the athletic control he typically maintained with such precision. Years of professional volleyball had taught him to channel emotions, to convert raw feeling into explosive physical energy. But here, in the intimate battlefield of their home, those skills failed him completely.

"Don't even start with that crap," he spat, his voice dripping with venom that was more pain than malice. The Osaka dialect grew thicker, a subconscious retreat into his most authentic self—the version of Atsumu that existed before the fame, before the pressure, before the constant performance of being a professional athlete. "You're the one out there posin' half-naked for the world to see! You don't even care about what that does to me, do ya? Every single time I see your face plastered all over those magazines, I'm reminded of how everyone else gets to see what's supposed to be mine!"

The words hung in the air, loaded with possessiveness, insecurity, and a deep-seated fear of loss.

You froze, his words slicing through you like a knife. The transformation was immediate—from emotional vulnerability to razor-sharp defensive mode. "Excuse me?" you said, voice dangerously low, each syllable carefully enunciated. The model's training kicked in—controlled, precise, devastating. "What's supposed to be yours? Atsumu, I'm not some possession you can just claim. I've worked my ass off to get where I am. And if you can't handle my success, that's on you—not me."

Your career hadn't been a gift. It had been a battlefield of its own—endless castings, brutal rejections, critical eyes dissecting every inch of your appearance, your talent, your worth. Each magazine cover, each commercial, each film role had been hard-won, purchased with countless sleepless nights and moments of self-doubt.

"Oh, so now I'm the bad guy?" he shot back, his voice heavy with sarcasm that barely concealed his hurt. "Yeah, sure. Poor you. The perfect little model and actress who gets everything handed to her on a silver platter. Do ya even realize how lucky you are?"

The accusation hung between them—a gross oversimplification of a complex journey.

Your mouth fell open, shock mixing with the anger that burned in your chest like an uncontrollable wildfire. "Lucky?" you repeated, the word dripping with disbelief and mounting fury. You took a step closer to him, closing the physical distance between you, your presence electric and challenging. "You think my career is easy? That I haven't sacrificed just as much as you have?"

The vulnerability returned, raw and unfiltered. "You have no idea what it's like to have your entire life picked apart by strangers, to have people constantly criticize you, to feel like you're never enough no matter how hard you try!"

In that moment, the fight transformed. It was no longer just about time, or absence, or professional demands. It was about two individuals drowning in the expectations of their careers, of society, of each other—desperately trying to maintain their individual identities while simultaneously trying to maintain a relationship.

The room fell silent, heavy with unsaid things. The city continued its relentless pulse outside, indifferent to the emotional storm raging within the penthouse. Neon lights continued to dance across the windows, a stark contrast to the stillness inside.

"I can't do this anymore," you whispered, the fight suddenly draining out of you. Your voice was soft, but filled with a finality that seemed to reverberate through the entire space. Shaking your head, you grabbed your designer handbag—a Chanel piece that had been a hard-earned gift by Atsumu after a particularly challenging campaign.

"Where the hell do ya think you're goin'?" Atsumu barked, his voice rising again, a last-ditch attempt to maintain control of a situation rapidly slipping away.

"Anywhere but here," you snapped, your hand already reaching for the Porsche keys in the decorative bowl by the door. The keys clinked against each other, a metallic punctuation to your decision. "I can't even stand to look at you right now."

Before he could respond—before he could plead, argue, or attempt to reconcile—you slammed the door. The sound reverberated through the penthouse, a final, definitive statement that seemed to echo the fracturing of something once believed to be unbreakable.

—

Travis Scott's "SICKO MODE" blasted at maximum volume, the bass so loud it seemed to vibrate through your very bones. The irony wasn't lost on you—a song about chaos and intensity perfectly matching the emotional storm raging inside your mind. The lyrics seemed to mock your pain, each beat a punctuation to your spiraling thoughts.

The words rang out, and you laughed—a broken, hysterical sound that was more sob than anything else.

"I'm so fucking useless," you whispered to yourself, the words barely audible over the thundering music. Tears streamed down your face, cutting perfect lines through your carefully applied makeup. "Nobody could ever really love me. Not Atsumu. Not anyone."

The streets of Tokyo blurred past, your Porsche cutting through the night like a silver blade of desperation. Every word from the fight replayed in your mind with merciless precision. Atsumu's accusations echoed like razor-sharp whispers, each one cutting deeper than the last.

"You don't even care about me anymore," his voice rang in your ears. "You'd rather show off for strangers than even try to make this work."

The music swelled, Travis Scott's voice a backdrop to your internal breakdown.

"I'm nothing," you muttered, your grip on the steering wheel so tight your knuckles turned white. "Just a pretty face. Just something to look at. Never enough to be truly loved." The words were a mantra of self-destruction, each one landing like a physical blow.

Your mind was a tempest of emotions—guilt, rage, self-hatred swirling together in a hurricane of pain. The city lights streaked past like watercolor brushstrokes, Tokyo's infamous neon landscape becoming an impressionistic canvas of blues, pinks, and electric whites.

You pushed the Porsche faster, as if speed could outrun the pain, could silence the voices in your head. The powerful engine roared beneath you, a mechanical beast responding to your emotional turmoil. At 180 kilometers per hour, the world outside became an indistinct smear, much like your sense of self—undefined, chaotic, on the verge of complete disintegration.

The irony of the lyrics wasn't lost on you. Ideas of worthlessness, of being unlovable, of being nothing more than a commodity—they filled your mind completely.

The intersection approached—a critical point of convergence that would change everything in a heartbeat.

The sharp, piercing sound of a car horn sliced through the music. A moment of stark clarity emerged, milliseconds stretching into an eternity. Your head turned, eyes widening as massive headlights barreled toward you, bright and unforgiving.

Travis Scott's voice was the last thing you heard.

The impact was sudden. Violent. Apocalyptic.

Metal screamed against metal, a cacophonous symphony of destruction that mixed with the final echoes of the song. Your Porsche—a machine engineered for precision and speed—was reduced to a crumpled sculpture of twisted metal and shattered dreams. The collision flung the car across the intersection with a force that defied physics, spinning and tumbling like a discarded thought.

And then, silence.

Smoke billowed from the crumpled hood, rising like a spectral mourner above the wreckage. The music cut off abruptly, leaving behind a ringing silence that seemed to echo your final, unspoken thoughts.

"Atsu…," you whispered, as darkness began to creep in.

The city continued its relentless pulse, indifferent to the personal tragedy that had just unfolded on its streets. Neon lights flickered, a final, distant reminder of a life that now seemed impossibly far away.

—

The phone's shrill ring cut through the silence of the penthouse. Atsumu, still frozen in the aftermath of your departure, instinctively reached for his mobile. The caller ID displayed the hospital's number—a sight that immediately sent a jolt of adrenaline through his system.

"Hello?," he answered, his voice raw from their earlier argument.

The words that followed would forever divide his life into two distinct periods: before and after this moment.

"Sakusa Kei Memorial Hospital," the voice said. "We're calling about a patient involved in a severe traffic collision. Are you the emergency contact for y/n?"

Time seemed to stop.

The next hours passed in a blur of sterile white corridors, the acrid smell of disinfectant, and the constant beeping of medical equipment. Atsumu's athletic composure—usually so precise, so controlled—completely dissolved. His hands shook as he filled out medical forms, his usually confident Osaka dialect reduced to fragmented, desperate whispers.

The hospital room was quieter than Atsumu had expected, save for the soft hum of machines monitoring your vitals. The sterile scent of disinfectant lingered in the air, mingling with the metallic tang of his fear as he stepped inside. His eyes scanned the room until they landed on you, lying amidst a sea of white linens and medical equipment. The sight nearly brought him to his knees.

Your body looked so small, so fragile against the stark hospital bed. Bruises bloomed across your exposed skin like shadows of the argument that had led you here. A cast encased your left leg, another your arm, and your face was marred with small cuts and swelling that no makeup could disguise. But your eyes—their familiar light dimmed but not extinguished—opened slowly at the sound of his approach.

“Atsumu,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, a fragile thread that tugged at his heart.

He froze mid-step, his athletic frame tense, as though moving too quickly might shatter what little remained of you. Tears, warm and unwelcome, blurred his vision as he stumbled forward, his legs carrying him to your side.

“I’m so sorry,” he choked out, his voice cracking under the weight of his guilt. His hand hovered over yours, afraid to touch, afraid of breaking you further. “God, I’m so sorry, darlin’. This is all my fault.”

You blinked slowly, the exhaustion from the accident and the aftermath evident in every line of your body. For a moment, you said nothing, letting his words settle into the quiet. Then, with more strength than he thought you could muster, you managed, “Don’t… do that.”

Atsumu’s brows furrowed in confusion, guilt momentarily eclipsed by the sharpness of your tone, fragile though it was. “Do what?” he asked softly, his voice a broken echo of its usual bravado.

“Don’t you dare make this about you,” you replied, your voice gaining a sliver of its familiar fire. “This isn’t your fault, Atsumu. I was the one driving. I was the one who left.”

The tears he had tried so hard to control now fell freely, streaking down his face as he shook his head vehemently. “But ya wouldn’t have been drivin’ like that if it weren’t for me,” he countered, his Osaka dialect thick with emotion. “If I hadn’t been such an idiot—if I hadn’t said those awful things—ya wouldn’t have been out there at all.”

You exhaled slowly, the weight of his guilt palpable in the room. “And if I’d listened to you instead of trying to win the argument… maybe I wouldn’t have stormed out,” you admitted, your tone soft but unwavering. “We were both wrong, Atsumu. Both of us.”

The admission seemed to strike him harder than any spike he’d ever taken on the court. For a moment, he simply stood there, staring at you as though you were some ethereal being he’d never quite been worthy of. Then, with a quiet exhale, he sank into the chair beside your bed, his head dropping into his hands.

“You scared the hell outta me,” he muttered, his voice muffled but no less raw. “I thought I lost ya. When they called me and said you’d been in a crash…” His voice cracked, and he lifted his head, his golden-brown eyes now rimmed red with unshed tears. “I’ve never been that scared in my life.”

You reached for him, wincing as your arm protested the movement. Despite the pain, you managed to place your uninjured hand over his. The contact was light, hesitant, but it was enough to anchor both of you. “I’m here, Atsumu,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the ache in your body. “I’m not going anywhere.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, as though he was fighting against every emotion threatening to spill out. Slowly, his hand turned under yours, his fingers lacing through yours in a gesture that was both tender and desperate. “I’ve been such a damn fool,” he murmured, his gaze fixed on your intertwined hands. “I’ve been so caught up in everythin’—the games, the pressure, provin’ myself—that I forgot… I forgot what really matters.”

Your chest tightened at the vulnerability in his voice, at the sight of the man you loved stripped down to his very core. “You matter to me, Atsumu,” you said, your tone firm despite the weakness in your body. “But I need to matter to you, too. Not as an afterthought. Not as something you’ll get to when volleyball isn’t in the way.”

He nodded slowly, his grip on your hand tightening as though he was afraid to let go. “You do,” he said, his voice low but resolute. “You matter more than anythin’. More than volleyball, more than any championship, more than everythin’ I’ve ever worked for. I just… I didn’t know how to show ya that without feelin’ like I was givin’ somethin’ up. But I see it now. I see you now.”

A single tear escaped down your cheek, and you squeezed his hand gently. “Then show me, Atsumu,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper but carrying the weight of everything left unsaid. “Be here with me. Don’t just tell me—show me.”

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The silence was heavy but not oppressive, a quiet understanding passing between you as the city lights outside cast shifting patterns on the walls. Finally, Atsumu leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your knuckles—a gesture so soft, so reverent, that it nearly undid you.

“I will,” he promised, his lips brushing against your skin with each word. “I’ll show ya. Every day, every damn moment. I’m gonna make this right, darlin’. I swear it.”

The weight of his words settled into your chest, warm and grounding.

The hospital room was still, the hum of machines and the distant sounds of the city your only company. But in that stillness, amidst the aftermath of chaos and pain, the first fragile threads of healing began to weave themselves through the fractures of your relationship.

For the first time in a long time, you believed him.

Ⓒkiesbrainjuice all rights reserved. please to not plagiarize, repost, or translate !

tag : @haechansbbg

[us-cj]

President Trump is correct. I watched her "sermon." She is a liberal LGBTQ activist who flies the rainbow flag and marched for George Floyd and said Trump should leave office. Then, in 2020 when Antifa-BLM tried to burn down her church - she blamed President Trump - when he was the one that actually called to save it.

Who picked her to say this Communist garbage to President Trump from the pulpit:

"In the name of our God, I ask you to have mercy on people in this country who are scared now. There are gay and lesbian transgender children among Democratic, Republican and Independent families. Some fear for their lives.

And the people who pick our crops, clean office buildings, labor in poultry farms & meatpacking plants, wash dishes after we eat, work night shifts at hospitals - they may not be citizens or have proper documentation - but most immigrants are not criminals. They pay taxes. They are faithful members of our churches and mosques, synagogues and temples.

I ask you to have mercy Mr. President on those in our communities whose children fear that their parents will be taken away. That you help those who were fleeing war zones and persecution in their own lands. To find compassion and welcome here. Our God teaches us that we are to be merciful to the stranger. For we all want strangers in this land.

May God grant us strength & courage to honor the dignity of every human being. To speak truth to one another in love and walk humbly with each other and our God. For the good of all people in this nation and the world. Amen."

BEN CARSON: "These are words you would expect to hear from a barista, not a Bishop. She isn’t brave, or strong, or a unifier. She’s another pawn of the left whose Trump Derangement Syndrome has blinded her from truth or reason. She’s an activist. It’s disgraceful on many accounts."

FRANKLIN GRAHAM: "The National Cathedral has fallen into the hands of LGBTQ activists. So, it's not surprising this "lady bishop" spewed hate at Donald Trump today. National Cathedral has become a sanctuary of Satan."

GIORDANA: "Episcopalian Bishop Mariann Edgar Budde is a lesbian radical woke & DEI activist who believes she is chosen by God to scold President Trump regarding his TRANS policies."

MATT WALSH: "Just take one look at this witch and you know everything you need to know about her, even before she starts talking."

MEGYN KELLY: "Trump & Vance handled it perfectly - total class. This “bishop” who apparently prefers we mutilate children in the name of gender ideology & allow young girls to get gang raped by illegals at our open S border, however, is a rude, ignorant, TDS afflicted hack."

SCOTT ADAMS: "Lesbian Bishop Mariann Edgar Budde chose to pander to the LGBT whose movement has been wrecked by trans mental illness. She’s the same B who trashed Trump for saving her historical Episcopal church from burning to the ground after Trump hating liberals set it on fire."

CHARLIE KIRK: "Bishop Mariann Edgar Budde is the Bishop of the Episcopal Diocese of Washington. She's the first woman to hold the position. She was given a great honor today, a chance to unify America around a Christian message at the dawn of a new administration. Instead, she disgraced herself with a lecture you'd hear on CNN or an episode of The View. What an embarrassment."

PAUL SPERRY: "FEC filings reveal Mariann Budde & family have given exclusively to Democrats and collectively contributed several thousand dollars to Kamala, Obama, Biden. While she claims to champion the poor - property records show she lives in a $2 million+ colonial mansion with 6 bedrooms and 4.5 bathrooms in a leafy DC neighborhood. Her church claims that it receives no operating support from the federal government, but it does get grants from the federally funded nonprofit National Trust for Historic Preservation. Her family funded George Soros, worked for OBAMA FOR AMERICA and with Jack Smith at the Hague."

ERIC METAXAS: "Exactly WHO is responsible for setting the trap of Pres Trump attending that ridiculous service to hear the preposterous "bishop" insult him and the American people? Can we get to the bottom of that one ASAP? Seriously. We need answers. Who???"

Did the hack Bishop know that Trump danced with the VILLAGE PEOPLE the night before his inauguration? Did they look scared?

Scott Bessent, Trump's nominee for Treasury Secretary, an openly gay man, defended Trump and wrote this today:

https://x.com/mirandadevine/status/1882134235462742052

PS: THIS IS WHAT I WAS WRITING YESTERDAY FOR MY NEWSLETTER WHEN SUBSTACK WENT DOWN SYSTEMWIDE. LOOK AT JD'S FACE.

I WOULD ENCOURAGE YOU TO SHARE THIS WITH YOUR PASTOR.

[genericpuff]

oh goodie, there was an overnight cold snap (-30 C) that happened so harshly and quickly we woke up to find our pipes frozen :)))) (and just so you know how quickly this would have happened - we were able to use our hot water last night to do dishes just fine, and my roommate has been staying up late to play video games and she clearly didn't have any issues if she needed to use the water at any point)

so i found this out literally as soon as i woke up and saw the basement door open, our landlord had already been trying to get in contact with us but with all of us still being asleep, he made the executive decision to just let himself in and check it out (good on him honestly)

buuut then while waiting around for his buddy (our upstairs neighbor who also sort of owns this place) to show up to supervise the heat gun while he went out to home hardware to pick up some new pipe fittings, we heard a loud crash / pop sound from the bathroom and sure enough, the pipe burst 😭 thankfully it was just water and he was able to shut it off fast enough, but uhh yeah now our bathroom is

it's actually kinda wild it happened when it did because it was the pipe next to the toilet (usually only transports cold water by default) and the bathroom is one of the most well-heated rooms in the house (nothing worse than trying to shower or take a shit in the cold LMAO)

but on the bright side, if i hadn't asked the landlord to stick around for his buddy to supervise the heat gun (he was originally just gonna leave it running while he ran to home hardware) then he wouldn't have been around when the pipe burst so. that's a blessing in disguise ig haha.

he also already accidentally blasted the heat gun too close to the spray foam insulation down there so... now the house is a lil' on the smokey side, in addition to the steam that's building up within and alongside the pipes due to the heating/defrosting process, there was deadass steam billowing out of the sink cupboard a lil' bit there LMAO nothing's on fire tho as far as we can tell, thank god, but it was def a little sketchy to see the smoke just kind of appearing along the floor and collecting in lower parts of the house 👀

uh, yeah, i guess this is act three of our recent cavalcade of IRL mishaps. considering these things usually come in three's, i'm hoping this is the last one for a while /knock on wood

oh canada, how i loathe thee ヽ(´ー` )┌

EDIT: The pipes have been fixed!

[keeping-writing-frosty]

Cara and the Will-o'-the-Wisp

Chapter One – A New, Weird Home

In a home from a bygone era that sat perched atop what the locals called a Little Mountain which bordered an ancient forest that had been there longer than any memory of the collective consciousness of the locals and the natives before them, and despite its well-maintained appearance and landscaping, it looked old and craggy to most. Within this home sat a creaky staircase, nestled in the shadows of the early morning as the golden honey-light streamed through the old, dirty windows which did not affect its brilliance. Beneath the stairs sat an ancient, knotty-wood door, whose weathered surface felt rough to the touch. Its natural dark brown color seemed deeper and darker than any other she had seen before, however, to the young Cara, the door seemed to call and beckon to her, much like an enchanting siren-song, she could hardly resist the temptation.

All the while as the movers brought in the family’s boxes and furniture, Cara approached the small door with wide, mismatch-colored eyes: the one eye on the right was colored a light blue-green turquoise that her mother used to tell her that it looked like the ocean, while the other looked a deep brown-orange amber, which seemed to lighten or darken depending on the light.

As her parents ignored Cara with their attention focused on where things should go, she used all of her strength in her slender frame to pull the door open. Yet it only opened just past halfway before the rusty hinges stopped their creaking and refused to budge any further. When she peeked through into the darkness where wispy spider webs and dust clouded her vision, disappointment washed over her as all she found was an empty wooden box adorned with a faded Black Cat Cigarettes Logo. After she pushed the box aside, which stirred up another cloud of dust, caused her nose to scrunch up in response.

Cara was such a precocious, garrulous girl that all loved upon first impressions; whose mother, through some headaches, had grown to love her inquisitive nature. Almost like a deranged kitten in a way. Cara had discovered this perfectly hidden gem just after she pushed open the front door of her family’s new home for the first time. Though this unfamiliar place failed to provide even a single ounce of comfort that Oregon had in every tree, cloud, and blade of grass. Main simply didn’t have this comfort, this home-like feeling to her, not even a speck, a gram of it. Yet, still, it had a unique charm of its own, and Cara thought to herself, at least everything is new to explore.

“Give it time. It’ll feel like home soon,” mother told Cara on the plane ride.

“Maine will never replace Oregon but try to take in the best things about Mount Desert Island: the lush forest that would be fun to explore, so much snow during winter, and the newness of it all,” father tried to comfort her.

Cara didn’t think it would ever feel truly like home. As she temporarily lost interest in the compartment under the stairs, she exited out into the cool morning air. Where a chilly breeze blew off the ocean ruffled the leaves and brought with it a briny aroma so much like the breeze from home. When she finally took in the house, seemingly for the first time, Cara took it all in.

The building was capped with a tall, steepled roof which towered high above anything she saw in the small, nearby town called Haven Bay. It provided a spacious attic that Cara wished she could explore, as for decades it was used as storage. Having been refurbished into an apartment where a curious old man lived that introduced himself over that long move-in weekend. He called himself Jakub Kaczmarek, he explained he was Polish and explained that he used to be a marine biologist that worked at Miskatonic University and now trained his various cats to do tricks on command. Cara thought him an odd man. Finding out that if you spent more than five minutes around him, he was never short of a tall tale to tell. Much like a magical aura, he carried with him unconventional wisdom when he spoke. Jakub always reeked of cheap tobacco, and cheaper, bitter alcohol.

Over this long weekend, Cara found beneath the creaky floorboards was a wine cellar as ancient and dusty as the house above, which intrigued the twelve-year-old girl. With its flickering light bulb above her head, that cast shadows that danced and twirled about the crumbling crates and disused wooden barrels. Mid-room sat aged wine shelves which laid mostly barren, minus a few glass bottles with French-sounding names and a layer of dust thicker than Cara was wide. When asked, Mrs. Robyn Clarke, the landlady, reassured the family that anything which remained was no longer fit for consumption. That they could keep the bottles but would recommend tossing its contents.

Cara couldn’t understand why anyone would want to drink something so awful to begin with, wine was just awful in general. Her mother would indulge in wine she kept in that little wooden cabinet father made for just for. That would, more-than-likely, be moved down here as it was the perfect condition for aging wine, supposedly. To her, she always felt like something was watching her down here, that there was a constant pair of unseeing eyes that couldn’t keep to itself. Despite her curiosity, Cara never spent much time down here.

Nestled midway down the hill behind the manor, where the land slightly protruded before it sloped at a gentle angle down to the ground. Laid an ageless, well-maintained garden that seemed to hold a certain magic about it. With only one entrance through the shrubs and flowering bushes that surrounded the perimeter. A wooden sign proclaimed with pride that the garden was first designed and planted in the mid-1800s by a Louis Bennefield, which was almost as old as the house itself by a couple of decades. As she discovered later, Mr. Kaczmarek ended up being the tender to the garden now.

Yet the garden was beyond anything Cara had ever seen before. It had a certain natural majesty, weather-beaten trees which provided a protective canopy around the perimeter, not just for the delicate flowers and shrubbery, but for anyone who wished for just a moment, a break from all things, to sit down on a marble bench adorned with little baby-faced cherubs on each side.

It seemed to cast a spell on Cara, as when she sat down on the bench and watched the dappled shadows that the late morning sun created over all the delicate, vibrantly-colored flowers. While the trees overhead weren’t nearly as fragile as those whose leaves protected. These were robust, ancient giants: a dawn redwood that towered above everything, even the house itself, a gnarled Norway Pine, and several balsam firs. She only knew the names because of the small signs set in front of each. Eventually, she had to get up as her mother would be cross with her if she didn’t unpack her room.

Her bedroom was quite a bit larger than the one she had back in Arcadia, Oregon, and as she unpacked her boxes, Cara realized that it was the same size as her parents’ bedroom in their old house. This brought a bit of happiness, and her window overlooked both the garden, the forest that bordered the property, as well as a squat, single-level home, its faded white paint peeled over the years. With her window open, the sweet aroma of the flowers mixed with the fresh cut grass smell. That when she took a deep breath, her lungs were filled with such beauty.

As her stuff was put away, for the most part it would satisfy mother, Cara rushed down the stairs where her father called out for her to slow down. It didn’t matter, she was already on the bottom landing and through the front door in the warm, sweet-smelling day. Down the pathway that led past the garden, she ran her fingers through the top of the black-purple leaves of a barberry shrub, which stood toward the back of the garden just before the trail winded its way towards the edge of the property.

On her way to the forest, Cara wrapped her arms around her petite torso as a suddenly cool breeze came through as the wind shifted. At least they carried the sweetness of the honeysuckle bushes near that small house along the edge of the woods.

Off in the distance, perched on a long, gnarled branch, sat a small blue and black bird. Who whistled a song that enraptured Cara for just a moment. Before she pulled out her phone and took a picture of such a beautiful bird. She hummed to herself and continued along the path. Perhaps she could find a bit of happiness here.

As Cara came close to the porch of the small home, she shrugged to herself and stepped up onto it, which creaked and groaned under her weight. This was the home of the round-shaped landlord and her broadly shouldered husband Adam. Both were as unassuming as their home. In fact, she questioned herself as to why she came here, but Cara had seen a girl over here earlier. So, with a deep breath, she knocked on the heavy wooden door. No one liked knocking on someone else’s door.

“Oh no, don’t get up at all. I got it!” The voice of a girl came from behind the door. Followed by a solid click, then the door opened with a squeak. “Oh, hi,” she spoke rather bluntly, her broad green eyes cast a curious gaze, her hair were tight orange curls which bounced every time she moved. “Ah, ya the new girl that just moved into the main house, right?”

Cara’s reddish-blonde hair covered her face after she nodded and brushed it out of her eyes before she quipped, “yep!” After a moment she continued, “my name is Cara Quin. Nice to meet’cha.”

“I’m Rowan, it is good to meet ya as well, Cara,” the new neighbor expressed with seemingly utter sincerity.

A grinning smile lit up Rowan’s well-defined, angular face, she invited Cara to come inside with a wave of her hand and stepped to the side. As soon as Cara stepped in, the cold, almost icebox like air, caused goosebumps to raise upon her arms as the AC overworked itself with a hum that seemed to come from within the walls.

Within the modest living sat an old worn-out couch, its brown fabric threadbare and whose springs squeaked and boinged with each movement. Across from it sat an older HDTV which played some cartoons that no one paid attention to. Splayed across the couch, and parts of the coffee table, sat lanky obviously twin brothers: Steven, the one with shoulder-length orange hair much like his sister except without the curls, while Sam had a short, almost military-style haircut cut down nearly to his scalp, and seemed quite new. Both were seventeen and far-too-cool for Cara and her inquisitive, twelve-year-old nature. They roosted like lazy birds, faces buried in their Nintendo Switches without a single word uttered between them even as a new person entered their home.

Cara followed her new-found friend past the boys and their loud games, which blended with the distant hum of the television. Where they entered a narrow hallway off to the right, bathed in the soft, artificial glow of a dimly-lit overhead light. Off to the right, a bathroom where the unappealing aroma of too much cheap room spray wafted from within. To the right, a door with a neon-yellow caution sign on it that proclaimed for no one to enter, especially any boys.

Once inside, Cara was greeted by a kaleidoscope of visual delights. Dozens of posters adorned the walls, showcasing female soccer players in mid-action, fierce and elegant at the same time, their faces caught in moments of determination all frozen in times. Interspersed and mixed in were the familiar faces and art of beloved musicians and bands, smiles captured in all their glossy details. Which the one Cara knew the best, and was her favorite band, was Tegan and Sara. In all of their glorious eighties-like style, or from what she assumed. In the corner covered in what Rowan would later call, “organized chaos,” sat a desk with a laptop sitting open that cast a gentle blue hue on everything around it. While a cellphone, plugged into its charger, played a soft song that Cara didn’t recognize. Stacked on a small table under a lamp beside the bed was a collection of well-loved, frequently-read, creased young adult fantasy novels, their colorful spines whispered tales of adventures and escape.

“Let’s chill. You can get comfortable and all.” Rowan smiled and plopped down on her bed

Cara thanked her and moved to sit beside the quite tall girl. “So, how old are you?” She inquired.

“Twelve.”

“Oh, that’s frickin’ awesome. I turned twelve this past April. So, wow, you are just really tall! I dig it.”

“Oh yeah. I am almost as tall as my brothers. I’m going to be huge! I can’t wait, but yeah. My birthday is February twenty-night. I’m a leap year, baby!” She touted arms raised high, which caused mirth to rise up in both of them into a short bout of laughter.

Eyebrow cocked, Cara asked, “Wait, so you only celebrate your birthday every four years?”

There came another laugh, a good-natured warming sound. “No, usually the twenty-eighth. Though it was nice to celebrate it on the correct day, for once.”

“So,” Cara dragged on the word for a moment. “I am going to assume ya like soccer.”

“Love it. I’ve played my whole life. Do you play?”

“A little here and there, but nothing truly competitive. I’m not the most athletic.” Cara stretched her noodle-like legs out in front of her. “A friend of mine back in Oregon played a lot. Would be rad to learn how to play better, though.”

“Hell yeah. I’d love to play and teach you more,” Rowan enthused.

Cara added. “But, until then, is there anything interesting ‘round these parts?”

A pensive look took Rowan for a moment as a silence hung between them. Until she bit her bottom lip as if she wanted to speak but was afraid of how Cara would react. “Okay, I don’t want you to think I am weird, but this place is very old and, well, weird place, you know? I’ve lived here in this house my entire life. Wanna see some cool shit, though?”

Shooting up with a start, Cara exclaimed, “hell yeah! Oregon had some cool places to explore, but we didn’t have a forest like this. At least, not close enough to explore all the time.”

Rowan stood up, and it was the first time Cara noticed how tall her new friend truly was. Easily she was a head-and-a-half taller, if not more. Mostly legs, one could almost think she was a basketball player. She was shaped normally, just lanky and tall. “A few dope places, you know? They have a vibe I just”—she shrugged her broad shoulders—“can just center myself in. If that makes any sense.”

Yet before the pair left Rowan’s bedroom, she stopped and turned to look at Cara. “I don’t want to be rude or anything. Just wanted to say that your eyes are unique and very pretty.”

A rosy crimson lit up Cara’s pale complexion who found her words flustered and hard to vocalize. “T-thank you very much.”

“They are awesome, cool, and I know we just met, so I hope this didn’t come off as weird or cringe or anything.”

Cara was used to people staring at her because of her differently-colored eyes. Usually by creepy-looking adults, or kids who were just going to make fun of her. “Thank you,” Cara mused, the smile on her face grew ever wider.

After Rowan locked her bedroom door and checked its security. She led Cara outside just as a strong wind kicked up leaves, flower petals, and grass clippings into a swirling current that flew off out of the yard towards the forest. Cara was led by her new friend to past the tree line.

A few steps into the woods, where it darkened, Rowan held a sly smile across her angular face, leading Cara into a grove surrounded by a copse of red cedars and sugar maples. Long ago, as Rowan explained, some force arranged the large stones and boulders in an almost geometric pattern that dotted the roundish grassy knoll that sat middle of the grove.

“They say a coven of witches used to practice their rituals here,” Rowan explained as she hopped onto an old tree stump covered in moss as she sat and watched Cara.

Beyond intrigued, Cara examined every rock and stone, ran her fingertips across the rough surfaces—some were moist from the dew, still others sat bone dry. There, just outside the semi-circle, stood one in particular. After a long several minutes of examining the rock, that’s when Cara saw a face on the rock. Painted upon it many years ago, now almost completely faded.

“Oh-ho-ho,” Cara hummed and rubbed her hands together. “You were right.”

When Cara looked over at her new friend, who seemed so much like a goddess of the forest on her stump throne. She said, “This is wonderful. Truly a magical place. I can almost feel it.”

“Some years ago,” Rowan began, knee pulled up to her chest. “Sam was acting like a complete ass. Though, I don’t remember ‘bout what. So, I ran into the forest, and I remember crying. I just so happened upon the grove. It was autumn and everything was so colorful. I remember that more than anything else.”

“Then I crumbled to my knees and buried my face in my arms on this stump, just weeping and crying and snotting about something. Then when my tears eventually dried up, and I was without words, ya know? The stones, man, just caught my attention. I know I studied each one for seemingly hours. Before the twins came to find me and hung out with me. Sam apologized, as he always does.” Rowan let out a long-held breath as she propped her chin on her knee.

She stood up and pointed back towards the trail. “Wanna go check something else out, yes? It isn’t too far away and it’s a even better spot than this place,” Rowan suggested as she got up from the stump.

The trail was well-maintained and had to look of being well-trodden. Hanging over the trails was large, gnarled limbs that held bright green, healthy leaves not yet affected by the forthcoming autumn. Around the biggest tree Cara had ever seen, and behind a rough, natural boulder sat a large fairy ring where the canopy had thinned out just enough to let the sun filter through. The ring was so large, Cara and Rowan could lay on the soft grass in the middle of the ring and still have plenty of space to not touch any of the squishy little, brown-speckled mushrooms, which stunk when accidentally crushed underfoot.

Despite the rather unique and pretty godawful smell, Cara had to resist every fiber within her that wanted to take one home and put it in an old aquarium to see if it would grow. Images of her mother exploding in quite the physical and literal and verbal sense if she even tried to do so, or even if Cara just wanted to dry them out on the windowsill and keep them between the pages of an old book. She still might do so anyways. Just the image in her mind’s eye caused a giggling laughter to emit from Cara.

Parsing her lips, Rowan cocked a thin eyebrow. “What’s up?” She inquired.

Cara found it hard to talk as she snort-laughed, she choked out, “s-sorry, sorry. Hehe. Just thought of something funny and stupid. Something my mom would say.”

But their adventure wasn’t done yet. When Rowan finally got up from the wet grass, Cara followed in step beside her. Further down the trail into the woods, they came across an ancient stone well built by many hands lost to time long ago with craggy and misshapen stones. Green-blue moss, and algae that matched rainbows just after a fresh, summer rainfall, decorated the structure. While an old wooden roof-like structure bleached from years of exposure, looked as if it held a coil of rope and a bucket at one-point years past. There off to the side, slightly hidden among the weeds, sat a broken lever, forgotten and discarded.

On top sat firm and unmoving a heavy stone lid which kept everything out, and despite Cara’s growing strength, the lid would not budge. Much like the green-brown toad that sat upon it, toward the back end. Which croaked its displeasure with a simple ribbit.

“Yeah, if I can’t push it off. You can’t.” Rowan hopped up onto the rough stone lid and dangled her legs off. Her boots almost touched the ground, and when Cara sat beside her, their knees touched for only the briefest of moments.

“It’s kind of gross to think people drank out of that,” Cara did her best to not think about how Rowan’s touch felt. The toad gave one last croak and jumped off, burdened with an expression of such disgust. “Can you imagine what lives in the water?”

“Toad water.” Rowan scrunched up her button nose. “This is such a cool place. There’s one last thing I want to show you today. Before my mom starts yelling for me.”

“My mom would just send a text demanding I come home.”

Rowan scoffed, “I hate that they think they can control us because we’re—“she held up her hands and air-quoted—“kids. We’re almost teenagers.”

“I fear my mother would be even more of a pain once I turn thirteen.

A short, “hah,” came from Rowan. “Phones don’t work that well out here anyways. So, what is she going to do? Must be all the trees, I reckon.”

“What else would it be?”

Rowan shrugged. “No idea.”

The rough stone of the lid scratched at her denim jeans when Cara pushed herself off. “What other cool shit do ya got to show me?”

The smile that adorned Rowan’s heart-shaped face grew ever brighter. “The coolest thing of ‘em all.”

Further down the trail sat an old wooden sign planted into the soft ground with its words etched into the roughly-hewn surface that gave directions to Haven Bay just a couple of miles through the woods. Thick, ancient tree limbs seemed to form an arch that crossed over the trail. Roots jutted out of the ground, with spider-like almost-legs covered in moss, and if you could crawl through them, seemed much like a portal to somewhere else.

Despite the sun that hung high above head, the thick canopy kept out almost all of its warming rays. Which fostered an atmosphere thick with moisture and allowed a lingering chill to float on the almost stagnant air, which made sense to Cara with all the bogs that could be found just to the east, or so Rowan explained. While the earthy, almost lovely, aroma of toadstools and those musky fiddlehead ferns, underlaid with the constant sweet scent of decaying undergrowth, seemed almost magic. There was no absence of life here, birds sung their summer melodies and small animals rustled just out of view but not out of range of the girls’ ears. If someone told Cara this was heaven, she’d have no complaints or arguments.

When Rowan took Cara’s hand, the softness of her touch surprised Cara as it contrasted so much with the obvious strength within said hand, and Rowan led the way toward a rather massive tree stump that seemed far, far older than the forest itself. As if the tree was the first of its kind. Seemed so much different from the one in the grove—this stump seemed so much grander and beyond greater. At one point many eras ago, a gigantic tree towered above all others, and it knew. It almost reminded Cara of an actual throne, where the real Queen of the Forests sat, she sat here and surveyed her domain.

With an impressive leap, Rowan jumped on top of the stump with steady dexterity. Her pants pulled up a bit to show off her mismatched socks, both deliberate and somehow accidental. As she spoke, her voice lifted in a lilting tone as she almost whispered, “this place is magical, isn’t it? Something’s here, isn’t there? I can feel. Don’t you feel it? I’ve always felt a connection to this place on a level that’s hard to explain.”

Rowan looked down at Cara, a look of surprise and almost disbelief held the smaller girl’s features.

“I know what it sounds like. Like I am crazy.”

Cara shook her head. “Not crazy.”

“The twins both talk about going to college, moving away, seeing the country and the world, but me? At one point my dream was to play for the US women’s soccer team. Maybe to play for some prestigious club, but nowadays? I don’t know.”

The tall girl reached up to take a long, three-pronged leaf off of a tree, tossing it into the air where and unseen and unfelt breeze took it away on a short trek to the ground below. There existed not a single doubt in Cara’s mind that this place was special. Yet something about it spoke to Cara, but it was in a language she didn’t speak. Not yet.

“Thank you.” Cara intoned in almost agreement.

Rowan turned to look down at the girl that seemed so far below her. “For what?” she questioned as curious as she was .

“Thanks for trusting me and sharing your favorite spots.” Cara smiled and buried her hands in her pockets.

Cara climbed onto the stump to sit on the edge, with Rowan sitting beside her. They sat there in silence as the surrounding forest went about its day. The day seem so alive, even if it just looked as if they were nothing but trees. A comfortable air came between the girls so fast and quickly. Comfortable was the best way to describe the two. And Cara felt just a bit more accepting of her new, weird home.

*****

Tagging: @fablesandfragments @seastarblue @vesanal @theink-stainedfolk

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[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Not one step back: Part II

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

“What’d they say?”

Major Mark looked at his radio operator and shrugged.

“Don’t know; they hung up on me.”

“Rude.” The radio operator chuckled before returning to his control console.

The command bunker shook as another barrage of Glek’n shredder missiles struck outside. The radio operators crouched for cover while the Major pulled out a smoke and lit it.

“Relax lads,” he calmly said as he grinned, “those things are meant to shred infantry, not punch through buildings.”

The operators looked slightly more assured and returned to their seats. Mark tapped the shoulder and spoke softly to the operator he had used prior.

“Keep trying to reach command, and let me know the moment you’ve got them back on the line.”

With renewed vigor the operator nodded and began broadcasting again trying to reach coalition command as the major adjusted his helmet and made for the bunker’s entrance.

Outside the radio room waiting were several captains, their eyes all asking the same thing.

“It seems we had been instructed to retreat,” the major began as he took a deep breath, letting the smoke fill his lungs for a brief moment of bliss before the inevitable exhale, “but in their great wisdom coalition command failed to tell us until after the fact.”

A collective murmur of curses under breath and groans of disappointment swept over the captains as the near hopelessness of their situation further set in.

The Glek’n had launched a massive counter offensive across the entire planet ad by all reports coalition forces were being pushed back across the board. Except that is, for where they were standing.

Positioned atop a series of hills overlooking the only bridge across the Nexian river, the 199th had dug in and were holding back repeated offensives across the bridge to try and establish a beachhead. The end of the bridge on their side was littered with the broken bodies of Glek’n warriors and the hollow remains of destroyed armored vehicles.

Morale was holding strong but Mark knew it was only a matter of time before the Glek’n crossed one of the smaller bridges further up or down stream and completed their encirclement. He considered pulling the entire 199th up and making a quick march back towards coalition lines, but even now the noose was already tightening and they’d never make it time. They could either run and fight in the open or stay and fight in their trenches.

While pondering this dilemma a sudden realization dawned on him and the other captains.

The missile barrage had ceased.

“Out now.” Mark ordered as he pushed past his captains and exited the bunker. The green glow of the sky made him squint for a moment before his eyes adjusted but he was already moving to the nearest trench. Behind him the captains began likewise diving into trenches and scattering to rejoin their units and prepare for the next attack.

Mark snaked his way through a series of trenches towards the forward trench overlooking the bridge. All around him the soldiers of the 199th were emerging from dugouts and taking up firing positions. The injured were carried away on stretchers while the more unfortunate were pushed to the side of the trench to be buried later.

As he approached the front trench one of the soldiers saw him and handed him a pair of binoculars.

“Sir.” He nodded in greeting but never took his eyes off the bridge. Mark returned the nod and took the offered binoculars.

“What’ve we got?” Mark asked as he trained in on the bridge and the opposite bank.

“Something rather strange, sir.”

Mark was about to ask what in the nine hells that meant when he found his answer.

Slowly walking across the bridge carrying a large white cloth tied to a stick was a lone Glek’n warrior. Their armor was richly decorated but not overly ostentatious so he wagered they were a sub commander at best.

The Major watched the Glek’n sub commander navigate their way through the mounds of corpses he turned to the soldier next to him. “Do we have the translator unit still?” he asked. To his relief the soldier nodded. “Despite everything it’s one of the few things that hasn’t blown up.”

Mark held out his hand and the soldier quickly handed him the translator box. Turning up the volume to max, the Major addressed the approaching Glek’n.

“That’s far enough, stay there!”

The Glek’n flinched and cast their eyes around as if expecting a bullet at any moment. When none came they held up the white flag and waved it for all to see.

“You have fought bravely and with honor.” The Glek’n began, their English strained and barely understandable.

“Thank you,” the Major replied with a grin, “I wish I could say the same to you but judging from where you are standing it’d be a lie.”

The Glek’n winced from the insult but continued.

“My commander wishes to offer you terms of surrender. There is no need for you to die here today.”

Mark was about to reply to the offer when he stopped himself and thought. There was no guarantee Coalition forces would be able to reach them and they were now deep behind enemy lines. They had supplies but the more they fought the quicker they’d burn through them until they were down to fists and harsh language.

Turning to the soldier next to him the Major asked “What should I tell them?”

Without missing a beat the soldier grinned and replied “Tell’m to fuck off, sir.”

The Major smiled and patted the soldier on the back as he was reminded of the fighting spirit his soldiers still held on to even in these dark times. He brought the translator unit back up to give his reply and take on whatever may come next.

[yoosung-ah]

Choose your player: aggressive vs. passive-aggressive round 1/?

[originalgenshinscenarios]

Okay I'm done with Natlan and Citlali's quest

My opinion on Citlali improved slightly, but the rest... Ehhh... No. I'm not gonna say that Natlan was bad, cause ngl for me the most boring archon quest was Sumeru. (And I'm saying it because of the fact that the dream loop was ridiculous and I hated it just as much as I hate Nahida which is a ToN)

Spolier rant in tags

[fallout-fucker]

Hancock Headcanons (Including Goodneighbour Headcanons) Part One

Surprisingly a really good cook/baker. Will make 5 Star quality full-course meals when high as fuck. Or at least, as good as you can get in the Wasteland if you don't think mutated Brahmin tastes too different from cow. Man's is making steaks.

He also mass bakes when very stressed. There's been times Fahrenheit has walked into the office and seen the kitchenette, the coffee table, any and all of the free surfaces, really, full of trays of baked goodies. Cupcakes, cookies, brownies, special brownies, you name it. When this happens, Daisy has to organise a massive order to traders to make up for all the ingredients he buys. He always gives her extra caps for the inconvenience of Goodneighbour having less eggs and flour, etc, for sale than usual. He makes sure to never take all the stock, though, food's hard enough to come by, especially produce. His town needs it more than he and his baking sessions do.

He always gives away the goods when he's finally calmed down and the stress has eased.

He takes care in making sure the normal goodies are separate from the 'more fun' ones.

The normal goods go to the townsfolk and drifters. He goes to the kids first, though. If it's during the colder months, he'll also take the time to make hot chocolates or warm milk (Depending on what's available) for them.

Actually does his job as the fucking Mayor.

Makes sure the kids have all got blankets, coats, hats, scalves, gloves, socks and shoes, and beds somewhere warm.

He regularly checks this. Has a little checklist for all the items kiddies need. He isn't letting any kids die in his streets. As far as he's concerned, those are his kids. He knows Goodneighbour isn't exactly the most PG place, but the majority of children in Goodneighbour (Like most people in Goodneighbour) don't have parents or anybody.

He'll leave a few trays on the bar of The Third Rail for pickings. Lowkey likes to decorate it with cake stands and stuff. Makes him feel weirdly calm. He gets to just take his time with it. It's a breather from the rest of his 'Mayoral Duties'.

If he's feeling generous, he'll give away the fun goodies too to anyone that wants 'em (Within reason). But Chems and produce can be pricey so he'll sometimes give those to Daisy to sell so he's not wasting a good amount of his personal stash, especially if he made a lot of goods.

He considered giving them to Charlie at first because The Third Rail is nothing if not the place for a great time, but many people who wander into Goodneighbour are vulnerable. From experience (Both personal and second-hand), Hancock knows alcohol + easily accessible edibles/hard chems + vulnerable and desperate doesn't equal anything good. So, he decided against it.

He refuses to give them to AJ because the guy is sketchy, and he's heard about the whole 'Chems For Kids' thing. Hancock's been working discreetly on solving that issue. If he wasn't keen on drunk adults having access to edibles, you can believe he'd have a real problem with anyone tryna sneak it to kids, let alone that kinda dirty money making its way back to him, and that's if AJ didn't sneak some into his own pockets. Which he likely would.

So, that brought him to Daisy. Besides, it also makes up for the ingredients and he lets her pocket a good percentage of the profit as chems isn't usually her deal.

Once more, actually does his job as the fucking Mayor.

Like with the children, he makes sure drifters and such also have warm clothes for the Winter.

Also ensures everyone has clothes suited for Summer heat, too.

Essentially, twice a year (Autumn and Spring) he'll go around Goodneighbour with a survey to see who needs what, at least a few weeks in advance of when the seasonal weather for Autumn/Winter and Spring/Summer usually rolls in. Then, he organises a mass order to all of the trading caravans for suitable clothes, shoes, etc. Then he'll organise a day with timeslots and stuff where groups of people can go up to his office and get what they need.

Imagine a watchman at the entrance of the Statehouse, with a name list and time slots, and a queue outside of the door. In Hancock's office, it's full of cardboard boxes and tables. Him, Far, Daisy, and a few watchmen all giving out the items and checking them off.

Hancock has plans and blueprints to expand Goodneighbour so some of the apartment buildings just outside of the walls can be included in the town. Has a few trading deals on hold and watchmen guards he could use as contractors in mind for the job of converting the Pre-War buildings into livable homes when he is able to.

Unfortunately, with the Warehouse rats and Supermutants settling down just outside the gates, he had to postpone the plans to focus on other issues. All his contractors had to stay as Neighbourhood Watch guards and security just in case the mutants attack. The mutants are on his to-do list, but first is the Warehouse job and making sure people can stay warm in the attic instead of the homes he was hoping to have done before Autumn and Winter.

He predicted temporarily losing more workers in the Winter due to sickness, but didn't necessarily expect some to be rats, unfortunately. So, his options are limited when Sole meets him. Hence sending a stranger to Pickman Gallery and other things.

It's also why he doesn't mind traveling with Sole. Until Spring, his hands are mostly tied when it comes to progress.

Staying in town when he knows he can't do all of the things he needs to makes him antsy. He doesn't like sitting around and doing nothing when he knows his people are relying on him, so it helps to get away from it for a while.

[savage-rhi]

🫂

[habitual-creatures]

HABIT! I was trying to find smth but found THIS INSTEAD!

It’s a fur, pelt, thing (idk what it’s called) of a rabbit!

(LEGALLY BOUGHT)

(IT'S CALLED A PELT)

DAMN THAT'S SO SICK! I FUCKING LOVE THAT.

OF COURSE IT'S AWESOME TO SUPPORT LEGAL PELT COLLECTION LIKE THAT.

(FUCK POACHERS AND ILLEGAL PELT PEDDLERS 🖕 BY THE WAY)

I AM A HUGE FAN OF TAXIDERMY AND VULTURE CULTURE MYSELF. SO SEEING OTHERS TALK ABOUT THEIR OWN COLLECTION OR THINGS THEY'VE FOUND AND BOUGHT IS AWESOME!

[ REGARDS, HABIT ]

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

I don’t know if you already said this elsewhere, but did the Zenin ever hurt Megumi in a way it simply wasn’t possible for them to explain? Like being poisoned or bitten by one of the dozens curses? Did Gojo catch them red handed (the red is literally megumi’s blood💀)?

The first time that they hurt him in a way that they couldn’t explain away was the last time they hurt him, because Gojo immediately cut them off and refused to ever let them ever get near Megumi again. The Zenin didn't fully realize this at the time they had custody, but legitimately the only reason why it got as far as it did was because Gojo didn't know.

They weren’t exactly advertising “yeah we beat him when we have him” to him, but it wasn’t exactly because they thought gojo would put a stop to it, per se. They didn’t tell Gojo anything they did to Megumi because they felt absolutely entitled to him. They didn’t want Gojo’s input or interference, and they didn’t like feeling like they had to ask for permission around this with Megumi. But they didn’t think he actually would cut them off from him.

In the Zenin’s mind, Gojo doesn’t love Megumi. He’s never loved Megumi. Megumi’s just a political pawn to him, a way to insult the Zenin and steal their most valuable technique for his own. And he got way more value from letting them see him. He got to have his influence on someone who was very likely to be clan head one day—if Megumi’s cut off from them entirely, he’s not moving towards being clan head. He got a bargaining chip with the Zenin—he could further his own goals by offering them more time with him. Megumi’s a powerful piece of leverage but only if Gojo actually uses him. Him intervening to protect Megumi by severing all contact doesn’t further his own goals, so when it all came to a head, they pretty blindly assumed that he wouldn’t give a shit about what they had just done to Megumi, because at the end of the day, they thought he was going to keep using Megumi for his own ends, which meant giving them access.

Instead, Gojo immediately pulled the plug on the entire situation. They never touched or saw him again. The first time that Megumi saw them after the incident that made them go no contact was when Naoya came to pick him up at his school.