#boulder shooting

[littletreats]

creation of adam

“the cave”, maryland, usa (may 2024)

ilford sprite 35-ii | ilford hp5 plus

[iirulancorrino]

If this works I’m going to be so unspeakably angry.

[swordcoasts]

had a meeting with my potential thesis advisor and it went so well yeehaw

[six-of-ravens]

I BEAT THE FIRE TEMPLE

FINALLY I AM FREE OF YUNOBO!!!!!

[fierykitten2]

If Gouging Fire is ever added to UNITE, I think its scoring animation should be like Zeraora’s just without the twirl

[thealphabro]

man that's a superchill looking dudecave😎 💯♂️🩲🦺🥃🛋🎮🖥🎧🏀🏋‍♂️💪🧖‍♂️🤳🍻🤼‍♂️🥊

louis by jake o'donnell

[bitterrfruit]

Simon forgets how strong he is

18+ MDNI - cw: bruising - ~700 words

just some Simon Riley NSFW brainrot ♥︎ - part 2-ish, and part 3-ish here!!

Simon forgets how to be gentle.

When he's at war, fighting and shooting and killing day and night, all he knows is hardness. Brutality. Ruthlessness. His hands and heart grow calloused and rough in his months away from you. Using his unfathomable strength to survive is what he grows used to, it becomes second nature.

But it's your softness he remembers, to keep himself sane. It's all he thinks about. Dreams of.

The way the flesh of your hips, your ass, your breasts, your belly, pillows so deliciously between his fingers when he squeezes his handful - so warm, so supple. The way your vanilla-balmed lips graze his scarred skin so tenderly, however undeserved your sweetness is.

And when he finally returns home, after months of missing, craving you - when you stand in the door, honey thighs bare by virtue of the black panties you wore just to torture him, soft tummy peeking out from under your crop-top - he just can't restrain himself.

You greet him with your sugary smile, stretching up on your toes to curl your loving arms around his neck - your gentle voice, music; "Si, ah! I'm so glad you're okay…"

The moment your velvet skin touches his, his shackles crumble. Like a beast starved, he clutches you. Mammoth arms curl around you, constricting, gripping you eagerly like you might be a dream; liable to turn to a memory, to smoke.

His avaricious embrace lifts your feet from the ground, though he doesn't mean to - he burrows his nose and mouth into the crook of your neck, lets the curls of your hair smother him and fill his chest with the faint scent of your fruity shampoo. Fights every urge to take a bite, like you're a ripe nectarine.

Growls into your skin, through his jaw; "I fuckin' missed you, love. Christ, you have no idea how much I missed you."

"I missed you too, baby…" you coo into his ear, even your breathing is tender - he can't take it.

So he ferries you immediately to the sitting room, scoops you up like you weigh nothing, lets you coil your buttery thighs around his waist as he sits you on his lap on the sofa.

His wide hands take their greedy handfuls of your body - of your waist, of your hips, of your thighs, of your ass. Finally indulging the impulses he had dreamed about for so long - the very image he had fucked his fist to more times than he could count while parted from you.

With his teeth on your shoulder, tongue laving your warm skin; "So fuckin' soft," he grumbles deeply, and urges, "pretty thing. So soft. Fuck, I missed you."

His cock is hasty to grow boulder-solid under his trousers, and he chastises himself - but you answer with a cloying giggle, grinding your mound against its rigidity as if to torment him.

"Mm, you did miss me," you tease, little brat.

Then in an instant, all he can think about is the softness of your syrupy pussy, the gumminess of the inside of your cunt as its walls caress and milk his cock like it was built just to fit him.

You make him fucking ravenous, so voraciously eager to have you that he doesn't even notice his hands turn to vices around your flesh - fingers burrowing so deeply into the cheek of your ass that he might break through the skin.

"Ah!" You yelp, "Ow - Simon - you're hurting me-"

Your squeak of pain is enough to immediately shatter him - so he rapidly lifts you off of him, protecting you from his impulse. Stands you on your feet so that you're no longer victim to his inability to control himself.

"Shit, I'm sorry-" he grunts under his breath, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, it's-" Your brows curl in worry, turning to look at where he had clawed you - and he sees the purple bruises where his hand had wrenched the flesh of your ass, the red lines where his fingernails had nearly punctured you. "Oh," you breathe at the sight, "…wow."

Drowning in visceral shame, he can barely bring himself to touch you again. But your soft hand caresses his hair, running through the sandy tresses - you, somehow, the one to comfort him.

"It's okay, baby, I know you didn't mean to," you purr fondly, and he leans forward to shamefully press as soft a kiss as he can into the bruise he gave you. Fucking monster.

"I'm sorry," he croaks into your skin, hoping his guilt will reverse his barbarity. "I just missed you."

"I know," you croon, turning to plant a loving kiss into his hair. "It's okay."

You guide him to lean back, mounting his lap again, letting your pelvis grind against the erection you were quick to reawaken.

His hands barely ghosting over your skin, he restrains himself, touches you carefully.

You whisper, into his stubbled cheek; "I'll show you how to be gentle again."

[sasha-psychedelia]

The Provably Worst Gun for Home Defense

What is provably the WORST gun for home defense? A .22 single shot rifle is at least small and quick to point. A Barrett M82 is at least going to instantly stop whatever it hits. Even a good old fashioned musket is going to do good damage and won't hurt your ears. No, I wanted to know what the undisputable worst home defense gun in the world is; and I have found it.

This is the .950 JDJ Fat Mac. It is a 100 pound, 5 foot long rifle that shoots a one pound solid brass bullet at 2200 FPS. It is a non-NFA item only because the ATF gave it a sporting exemption as a joke as if anybody is going to hunt with this. This round would be overkill for hunting blue whales.

I would like to paint a picture for you. It's 2AM and you hear a window break in your living room. This is the worst day this could happen, as every single one of your guns was lost in a tragic boating accident this morning. All were lost except for one. You look across your room in dread at your anti-kaiju rifle. You know what you have to do, but you don't know if you have the strength to do it, both literally and figuratively.

Heaving the rifle into your arms, you load a .950 cartridge and begin to waddle towards the door. Your feet make a loud "thud" as you take each 6" step. You know the intruders hear you. You hope they do, for perhaps they will run and spare the world the suffering that is about to befall it.

You try to set the rifle down, but end up clipping your bedroom door and it is immediately knocked off its hinges by this battering ram in your hands. You attempt to round the corner, bonking the muzzle against the doorframe and adjacent wall across the hall at least 4 times.

To your horror, two invaders stand there at the end of the hall.

With a heavy heart, you raise the rifle to your shoulder while making inhuman grunting noises from the strain of attempting some semblance of a shooting position. The burglars simply stare in disbelief, unable to process the situation they are witnessing, as if in a dream.

You cannot aim the rifle, as the last time you fired the gun, it turned your $3000 Leopuld into a kaleidoscope. You simply hold it at an angle that appears correct and fire.

You are immediately knocked to the floor as if hit by a semi truck going 20 MPH. The shot connected with one of the criminals and it erased him from existence. Even the memories of him have been destroyed and you're wondering why you just shot into an empty hallway. The shot continues to travel through at least 4 houses, a car, and a 10 ton boulder before lodging itself 20 feet into a nearby hill, never to be seen again.

It is at this point, you realize you cannot hear.

The surviving burglar can't hear either but he's also on fire from the muzzle blast and is currently vacating your home. You don't care. Your shoulder is dislocated and there is a hole in your brand new AR500 refrigerator.

You're crying now.

The police arrive and, upon seeing the scene, start laughing. You start crying harder.

[enviedear]

LOVING ALONE IS WHAT YOU MAKE IT

₊ ⊹ JASON TODD

🧸ྀི REQUEST | jason having (what he thinks is) an unrequited crush

CW | lovesick!jason with issues accepting love, just-a-buncha fluff. 1.6k words. 🎧ྀི

your eyes flicker to your window for the hundredth time in ten minutes. there's an attempt at forcing your gaze back to your book, but your concentration on it has long since shattered. it's impossible to concentrate on anything other than him, perched on your fire escape right outside your window—JASON TODD.

he thinks he’s so subtle, as if you'll never notice when he parks himself on your fire escape like some sort of gargoyle. you smile slightly at the thought, heart pounding a little faster than it should. a condition that makes itself apparent far too much when your mind drifts to him.

he's silently taken on a sort of sworn protector role, separate from his nightly redhood rendezvous. you count yourself lucky to have his presence around your domicile so often. you truly never got over the culture shock that was gotham, but jason helps. even if he decides to go to great lengths to try and hide it.

outside, in the frigid and everpresent putrid gotham air, jason todd sits in complete rumination. he has goosebumps marring his arms beneath his leather jacket, but he pays them no mind. no, he's far too busy listing all the reasons he should just leave, why sitting outside under the guise of guard is utterly stupid, but still, he sits.

he runs a gloved hand through his hair, tugging slightly. he feels pathetic. how can he meet death, the criminally insane, survive things that would kill most—and somehow, he's shocked still with nerves at the very idea of knocking on your window.

in his head he has it all pictured, if it went perfectly. you'd come to the window, a confused look on your face until you spot him. he'd pull some stupid line, something he heard dick use once, and it'd make you laugh. he loves hearing that, more than anything. then he'd crawl in—spend the rest of his night with you, doing anything. and in his head, that's perfect.

but the underbelly of that dream keeps him rooted to your fire escape. to him, there's no way you could ever share his sentiments. you refer to him as a friend and no matter how much he wishes for something else, he can't change reality. can't force himself to make something more out of what you give him.

between the blood on his hands and the rage he can never seem to fully rid himself of, he's come to the aimless conclusion that you deserve someone better. someone more delicate, someone who doesn’t live with one foot in the grave. but every time you laugh or shoot him an easy smile, it gets easier to admit that he’s too far gone.

you deign the separation foolish, but still, you give yourself one more attempt at reading before you put your book to the side. really—you just wish he’d just say something. you’ve thought about saying something yourself, more times than you care to admit, but the timing never feels right. besides, there’s a part of you that wonders if jason even realizes you’ve been waiting out for him.

every time you joke or tease, you can see some struggle behind his eyes. as if he wants to let go and laugh with you, but something—himself—holds him back. your very own sisyphus—his very own boulder to carry up a labyrinthine mountain.

maybe it’s his past and the walls he’s built around himself, but you’re over him expecting you to be afraid of him. you wonder how much more evident you need to be. if anything, you wish he could see himself the way you do—intense, yes, but also loyal and good, even if he doesn’t believe it.

he proves it every night when he stands watch outside your shitty apartment.

with a sigh, you stand up from the couch, moving toward the window. he’s always so close, and yet there’s a distance he keeps in place—you’ve had enough of that.

you slide the window open, leaning out just enough to catch him mid-step as he’s about to leave—flee moreso. “going somewhere?”

he turns on his heels, red helmet in his hands, "figured you'd be asleep."

you hum, eyes narrowing, "already? it's six pm on a saturday."

“just didn’t want to bother you.” he admits, voice low, almost timid. he doesn’t meet your eyes, and it’s frustrating how hard he tries to hide, even from you.

“you’re not bothering me, jason.” you say softly, leaning on the window frame. “you never do.”

jason looks at you then, something uncertain flickering in his gaze. his lips dart out to quell his chapped lips—you hold his stare, hoping he can see what you’re trying to tell him, wordlessly.

that you want him here, that you’ve been wanting him all along.

“i can stop by for a few.” he finally says, adding a shrug to the end of his sentence.

you smile, opening the window fully as invitation. jason crawls in, a rather innocuous task but given his stature, always surprises you.

“i have pizza and brownies. saturday special.” you tell him, a persuasion. you want him to eat.

“sounds good.” he’s in the middle of slipping out of his redhood garb, clad in a skintight athletic tee and his cargos—mask sitting on your coffee table. “i’m gonna change in the bathroom, i’ll be right back.”

before his fingers can grab his duffle you start, “why don’t you shower here? i know you don’t have any of your usual stuff but—”

he cuts you off, “i couldn’t. i’m already eating your food…and using your fire escape as a landing spot.”

“jason, seriously. shower here. i’ll heat up the food and put on some tv. it’s a saturday.” you’re not one to beg, but this is treading the line.

his shoulders sag, but there’s a small smile on his face, “thanks, sweetheart. you’re too nice to me.”

his tone is sarcastic, self-deprecating, and that annoys you slightly. you want him to know that he’s welcome here, wanted. needed.

“i like it when you’re here, you know.” you feel like sparking a match, timid flames sparkling. “i miss you when you’re gone and everything.”

he quirks a brow, "what are you tryin' tell me?"

you feel silly at his question, the air around you seemingly buzzing. jason peers down at you with a raised brow, as if he's genuinely confused by the sentiment. as if he's baffled by the notion he could be someone to miss.

your breath hitches as you debate your next move. you're walking a thin line between saying too much and not enough. you could play it safe, keep your cards close to your chest—or you could be honest. near painfully so.

when you find your voice, it comes out soft, "i'm trying to say that i like it better when you come inside instead of sitting on my fire escape. i don't want to be a landing spot for you, i want... more."

he clears his throat, shifting on his feet, "you don't want that." he seems to take a step back, not physically, but mentally. his face goes still, chest breathing even, mind anywhere but the present.

you groan, annoyance evident, "i do though. you have to see that in some way by now." you step towards him, "sometimes i think you feel the same way."

jason’s gaze flickers toward the floor, and for a moment you wonder if you’ve crossed the line, if he’ll pull away entirely. but then he looks up, eyes darker, severely sincere. “you have no idea what you’re asking for.” he cautions, but his voice is lower, almost a whisper.

you smile softly, finally letting your hand touch his arm, feeling the solid warmth beneath. “maybe i do. maybe i’ve been waiting for you to realize it.”

“don’t say that unless you mean it,” he murmurs, his voice rough.

“i mean it.” you reply, sincere in your admission. “i’m not afraid of you, jason. i’m afraid of what happens if you keep shutting me out.”

he grumbles at that, a half-willed attempt to argue against your point. you stay quiet, urging him to continue where you left off. you watch his face contort through a realm of emotions—confusion, fear, and then, thinly masked and wistful poignancy.

“i’m not shutting you out. if anything, i’m protecting you.” he finally decides, arms crossing over his chest, eyes scanning the wall behind you. nervous.

you shake your head, fingers reaching for his twisted expression, finding home on his pink-tinted cheeks. “i don’t need you protecting me from you. i need you to want me as bad as i want you.”

your words are bold, maybe overconfident, but you mean them to the fullest extent. you’re so beyond exhausted of attempting to disregard or conceal your feelings. even if jason’s not, you think he deserves to know.

jason todd looks you over. his eyes raking you up and down like you’re some high valued product—and he’s unsure wether to take the bid or let it pass by. in the time you’ve known him, even in the thralls of his vigilante persona, he’s studied things. eyes pointedly and silently assessing his situation, no matter how far removed he is from his upbringing—his “father” lingers in his antics.

finally, he chuckles, low and more timid than usual, “you don’t know how badly i want you, sweetheart. but…” he stops himself, and you’re grateful because you would have done it yourself if he had continued on with some rebuttal. “fuck. you’re all i want.”

it comes out like a beg, pleading that rarely works it’s way onto his features. you smile, and pull him closer. his arms uncross, opting to gingerly hold your shoulders. still timid, unsure.

“you should know how much you mean to me. you do such a good job of showing me…keeping watch and never letting me eat alone. it’s sweet, you’re sweet. i want you to know it.” you keep his gaze when you speak, hopefully drilling each sentiment permanently into his consciousness.

he leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut, “i believe you. swear. i just… this is new. i never thought…” he falters off, equal parts unsure and dumbstruck. “i like you a lot. i didn’t know you felt the same, sweetheart.”

you grin, inching your face closer to his, “well i do. deal with it.” your tone is teasing, playful. pulling him back into the safety of reassurance—what you want him to anticipate from you.

it seems to put jason back in his element, “oh? you have demands? usually that’s my thing.”

you laugh, “could always be our thing. the demanding couple—sounds inspired, don’t you think?”

“something like that…” his smile is soft, “but for now, i think i’m fine with just being yours.” he says it so earnestly, no thought to it. just the truth, and it feels damn good. it envelops you just the same as his arms, wraps you up in utter victory. love hard fought—and it feels so sweet.

[nastybuckybarnes]

Date Night

Pairing: dbf!Bucky X Reader

Summary: Bucky makes a big mistake.

Warnings: Angst, Language, yea sorry

Word Count: 1.7K

A/n: teehee whoops. im gonna have a ghost one coming out soon for you guys, and then maybe some more teddy bear picnic but we'll see

~*~

"Hey kid, wanna grab a beer and watch the game with your old man? Or are you too cool for that?"

You grin at your dad and slow your steps, glancing at the hockey game on TV.

"Where's Bucky? I thought he was your game night date? He finally realize hockey sucks?"

Your dad gives you an offended look then rolls his eyes playfully.

"Nah, he had to cancel last minute - he's got a hot date tonight."

He wiggles his eyebrows at you, unaware of the fact that those six words have flipped your night upside down and caused knots to form in your stomach.

You don't remember having plans with him tonight.

As casually as you can manage, you head into the kitchen, pulling out your phone and tapping a quick text over to the man in question.

'Not coming over tonight?'

It's read within the same minute, and then the telltale three dots pop up before his message spawns.

'Sorry baby, not feeling too hot.'

The knots in your gut are quickly crushed by the boulder that settles there, and you need to take a few careful breaths to stop yourself from crying in the middle of the kitchen.

~*~

"Everything okay, James?"

He huffs out a sigh and glances up from his phone, smiling weakly at the woman across from him.

"Listen, Dot... I can't tell you how grateful I am that you managed to make such a beautiful cake in such a short amount of time. And, while I'm flattered that you'd want to go out for dinner, I had you make that cake for a woman who means... quite a bit to me. I don't want to make things awkward but I do want you to know that I'm out with you tonight as a friend and nothing more."

The woman across from him blinks blankly a few times, then takes a sip of her martini, stands up, and leaves the table.

Bucky watches helplessly as she leaves the restaurant without another word, dropping his head back for a moment as he feels onlookers stare.

It takes a few minutes for the waitress to come back, but by the time she does, he's got a wad of cash ready for her and his keys in hand.

He all but runs out of the restaurant, a new lightness in his shoulders like a weight has been lifted from his chest.

Immediately, he grabs his phone and shoots a quick text off to your dad.

'Room for one more?'

It takes a few minutes for your dad to respond, which Bucky uses to put on his helmet and straddle his bike.

'Date not going well?'

Bucky chuckles softly.

'Something like that. I'll be there in five.'

He swipes out of the conversation with your dad and then clicks on the only pinned conversation on his phone.

'I'm feeling a bit better now, gonna pop by for a bit.'

With that, he locks his phone and brings his bike to life, eager to be in your presence again.

Your phone vibrates, pulling you from your pity party, and you frown at the text on it.

You turn your phone off and drop it face-down on the carpet, ignoring this text the way you've ignored the last three from him.

You can hear him downstairs chatting with your dad as if he's done nothing wrong. As if he wasn't out with another woman less than an hour ago.

Grinding your teeth together, you decide that enough is enough, and it's time for bed.

At the very moment you open your door to head to the bathroom to get ready for bed, Bucky decides to raise his fist to knock.

Your eyes meet his and, for a moment, you forget that you're mad. You forget everything.

And then he opens his stupid mouth.

"Hey, what's with you tonight?" He asks gently, reaching forward to grab your hand.

You yank away from him and take a step back, levelling him with a steely glare.

"How was your date?"

You watch as he deflates, as his face falls and his shoulders slump forward the tiniest bit.

"Sweetheart, it's not what you think, I swear."

"Oh Jesus Christ," you murmur, pushing past him and heading downstairs to watch the game with your dad. At least down here he can't talk to you.

He can't try to justify him willingly going on a date with another woman.

Well, not until the game's over, at least. And it seems like it's only a few minutes before your dad is yawning, turning the TV off and heading upstairs to go to bed himself.

This leaves you alone in the living room with Bucky, tension building with every silent second that passes between the two of you.

"Honey, I had to," he finally whispers, breaking the silence.

You whip your head around, mouth dropping open in disbelief.

"Excuse me?"

He holds his hands up, a desperate and pathetic attempt at pleading with you, begging you to hear him out.

"It was the only way for me to get your birthday cake. Dot is an old friend from high school and... she wanted a date as payment for the last-minute cake," he explains quietly.

You purse your lips, nodding as if it all makes sense now.

"Oh, I see! So, not only do you admit to forgetting my birthday, but you also agreed to go on a date with a woman who has had a thing for you since high school! Buck, that is so not okay on so many different levels!" You exclaim in a whisper.

The last thing you need is your dad overhearing any part of this conversation.

"I know. That's why I left. I told her I couldn't, that the cake was for someone important to me and that I was only having dinner with her as a friend."

You shake your head at him and rise to your feet, unable to stay still while he spews nothing but nonsense at you and expects you to forgive him.

"You shouldn't have even gotten me that cake if that's what she wanted as payment! You should've told her to stick it and then you literally could've gotten me a Starbucks cake pop. I don't need fancy cakes or expensive things, James, I thought you knew that." Your voice gradually loses its anger, disappointment and exhaustion taking its place.

"I know but... I wanted to do something special for you." He looks like a kicked puppy, and it takes a serious amount of self-control to hold on to your anger.

"My birthday was special. Even without the cake it still would've been special. Especially if I'd've known it would mean that you would be going on a date with another woman in order to get it."

"Sweetheart, I'm sorry," he pleads, reaching for you again only for you to shake your head and step away.

"No, Bucky. Sorry doesn't fix this. Can you imagine if the roles were reversed? What if I had to go on a date with a guy who's been wanting me for over a decade just for the perfect steak? And then, what if I lied to you about it and you found out from my dad that I was out on a 'hot date'? A date with someone that the general public would deem more appropriate for me to be with? Someone who would fit me better. How would that make you feel?"

He stands there silently for a moment, fists clenched tightly as he imagines everything you just said.

He imagines you laughing on a date with another man, a young man, a man far more appropriate for you to be with. He imagines sitting waiting for you, only to find out that you're out getting hit on by some young punk who wouldn't know how to please a woman like you. His imagination runs wild, to the point where he can almost feel steam billowing from his ears, but all he says is

"Shitty."

"Shitty?" You laugh, "Try worthless. Embarrassed. Humiliated. At least that's how I felt. And-and maybe I'm just reading too deep into this. Maybe this 'exclusivity' that I thought we had is one-sided."

"It's not," he interrupts quickly, taking a step forward only to pause when you step back again.

"Maybe I just thought things were more serious than they were," you continue, eyes stuck on the ground as your thoughts spill out before your mind has a moment to realize what you're saying.

"They are serious-"

"Maybe we should just stop... whatever this is that we're doing."

Silence hangs heavily in the air when you finish speaking, and you feel tears sting at your eyes when he says nothing.

You count thirteen heartbeats before he finally says something.

"Is that what you really want?" He asks softly, his voice discouraged.

Slowly, you raise your eyes to his.

"What even are we?" You ask breathlessly, a single tear sliding down your cheek. "What are we doing?"

"You're my girl."

You sniffle and shake your head.

"No, I'm your dirty little secret, that's what I am. And I'm tired of it. I wanna be something you're proud of, not something you have to hide," you whisper, your chest aching with the weight of your confession.

Bucky's heart breaks at your words, and he wants nothing more than to scoop you up in his arms and kiss away any insecurities you have in your relationship. If you can even call it that.

"I am proud of you, sweetheart, beyond proud. I can't even put into words how I feel about you," he whispers, desperate for you to understand just how much you mean to him.

"Why haven't you told my dad about us yet?"

The silence that follows your question is answer enough for you, and you nod.

"I... I think you should leave," you finally whisper, hugging yourself and keeping your gaze locked on the ground.

He stays rooted in place for a long moment, testing your resolve, waiting for you to break. When you don't, he takes slow steps toward the door, waiting, praying for you to change your mind.

But you stand firm.

Never able to deny you, he leaves you standing alone in your kitchen, your dad peacefully asleep upstairs while your entire life gets turned upside down.

[miniimerry]

My litmus test for deciding if I respect or value a person’s One Piece opinions is looking at the way they discuss Usopp tbh. You can tell a lot about someone based on how they talk about Usopp specifically.

If a person insists that Usopp is useless (whether it’s because he’s not as strong as Zoro or Luffy or Sanji or because he “doesn’t have a real job” on the crew) it tells me that they don’t pay attention to what Usopp does contribute, nor do they pay attention to what the story itself deems useful. Usopp may not be a massive, hulking powerhouse with ultra-powerful haki, but he does have utility in the crew. (And even if he didn’t, he would still belong because they wanted him.)

If a person insists that Usopp is just a crybaby or a coward and that he sucks because of this, it tells me that you don’t pay attention to what he’s doing while he’s running or crying. He might cry or shake or run, but he always comes back. He always stands up and fights in the end. He feels scared and then he does it anyway. It’s easy to forget, but Usopp is just a human in a world of monsters. For him to stand up and fight takes a lot of courage.

If a person insists that Usopp is not strong, it tells me they miss what the story itself tells us about what strength is and what it means to be strong. He has a skill that most do not. He is able to shoot with a degree of accuracy that is borderline inhuman. Whether he can kick through a boulder is irrelevant. Sanji can’t snipe from hundreds of feet away.

If you can’t look at Usopp and see where he fits in the story, I am truly uninterested in anything else you have to say about this story.

[littletreats]

bat hang | baltimore, md, usa | august 2024

kodak ultramax 400 | ilford sprite 35-ii

[sunderwight]

SV AU where Shen Yuan transmigrates into a dragon.

It's not so bad, at first. He's an extremely magical sort of dragon so he can easily take on a humanoid shape, and he has dominion over an entire mountain, with a magical gate that leads to his palace. Said palace has a fully stocked treasury, a library, garden, etc, with the only real downsides being that the place is kind of huge and very difficult for a neet with limited housekeeping or landscaping skills to keep up with. The original dragon had enslaved a bunch of fairy spirits to do it for him, but since Shen Yuan has moral objections to that, he'd let them all go and they'd run off before he could even think to offer to hire any of them as paid employees instead. Not that he can blame them for being in a hurry to get gone.

He does his best, and generally enjoys being a dragon lazing on his mountain, or wandering the beauty of his palace and investigating the books and scrolls kept there. He doesn't actually seem to need to eat or drink, so that's not really an issue, and nobody looks keen to bother him. But after a few months the dust starts to really pile up, and trying to figure out how to do his own laundry without modern equipment leads to several disasters, and even though he doesn't need to eat he's starting to think it would be quite nice to have a fancy sit-down dinner and enjoy it for its own sake anyway. He has an enchanted larder but his food prep skills aren't up to much.

So, Shen Yuan ventures away from his mountain. He keeps to his human disguise when he's not traveling, and at first tries to hire on some help from a nearby city. But when he explains that he lives on the mountain, he realizes the difficulty, because everyone in the area knows that only the dragon lives there. So they all think he's either a liar or a fraud, or some servant of a nefarious supernatural creature angling to trick and possibly devour them.

Shen Yuan tries approaching another town in his dragon form, to see if anyone will actually deal with him if he's being upfront and honest about the situation, but the townspeople just panic. He returns to his mountain to rethink his strategies, and in the meanwhile the alarmed locals hire a swordsman to go after him. The guy gives him a few very painful cuts before Shen Yuan mostly-accidentally sends him careening into a boulder. One broken arm later the swordsman is gently persuaded that the pay he was offered isn't worth the effort on this job, and leaves.

Discouraged, Shen Yuan decides he's gonna give this one last try. He picks the second closest city, flies up, and is like yes hello, yes I am indeed a dragon, no I'm not trying to burn down your walls, yes it would be excellent if you stopped shooting arrows at me, look they don't even get past the scales? It's kind of silly? Okay, yes, thank you very much. Good. Now, the thing is, I'm looking for some people. I want to take them back to my mountain with me, to my incredibly nice palace, and -- what was that? A princess? No no I don't want a princess, what would I even do with one? If anything I'm looking for the complete opposite of a princess!

Anyway, the locals take this to mean that the dragon is demanding a sacrifice in the form of a pretty boy of no particular pedigree, and Shen Yuan takes this to mean that he's finally made his case clear and they're going to dig up someone who is willing to overlook his being a dragon in exchange for free room and board and fair wages out of his massive treasury.

SY's a bit disheartened when the entire city could only apparently turn up one such person -- an underfed teenage boy who looks at Shen Yuan like, despite the situation, he is still expecting to be eaten at any moment. Poor thing! But at least having one servant means he can potentially get more, especially if it all goes well. The lad can tell others that working for a dragon isn't so bad! Well, provided that he doesn't give up in alarm at the state of the mountain palace.

For his part, Luo Binghe at first thinks he's definitely going to get eaten, and then that this dragon is weirdly nice about planning to eat him, and then that maybe the dragon has other (even less savory!) plans for him, until finally he sees the state of the dragon's laundry and the foot-thick layer of dust in the corners, and gets completely distracted. Mortal terror forgotten, those floors should not be that filthy, Lord Dragon respectfully that isn't how anyone should prepare rice either, but oh Binghe has never seen a kitchen so nice before in his life...!

Anyway, needless to say, it works out just fine.

[just-aake]

All’s Fair in Love and War

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha has some summer fun with you and the Barton children at the beach.

Warnings: fluff, hints of suggestive themes

Words: 1479

The sun hangs high in the sky, its beaming rays shining directly on you. A bead of sweat trickles down your face as you move toward your target, trying to be quick but also as quiet as possible.

However, your advance is slowed as your feet sink further into the hot sandy ground with each step forward.

Approaching your target, you pause behind a large boulder, using it for cover. Silently, you adjust your grip on the weapon in your hand, preparing for the impending attack.

Releasing a tiny breath, you swiftly maneuver from your hiding spot, vaulting over the boulder and landing with your weapon raised and ready.

Your arm lowers slightly when you find yourself facing an empty beach towel, its owner nowhere in sight.

That’s strange. You could have sworn she hadn’t left this area.

Just as you begin to turn around, a distinct pressure against your lower back makes you freeze. The plastic muzzle of a water gun presses into you, and a moment later, an arm snakes around your midriff, pulling you close.

You feel her bikini-clad body press against you as Natasha whispers in a low, teasing tone into your ear.

“You didn’t think I wouldn’t know you were sneaking up on me, did you, detka?”

A light chuckle escapes your lips as you raise both hands in surrender.

“You’ve caught me. What happens now?”

Natasha presses a light kiss against your shoulder before releasing her hold on you and backing away.

“It’s only fair that I do the same thing you were about to do to me.”

Turning around with your hands still raised in surrender, you raise a brow at her in amusement when you see the water gun in her hand pointed at you.

“How did you even get yourself one? Clint literally just came back with them while you were lying here.”

Natasha smirks and shrugs lightly. “I have my ways. Now…”

She gestures pointedly with her head to the water gun still in your hand and then towards the ground.

You huff lightly before letting it fall from your grip to the sand.

“Are you really going to shoot an unarmed person?”

Natasha’s playful smirk widens, giving you a teasing wink.

“All’s fair in love and war, detka.”

She presses the trigger on her gun, shooting a series of water shots that hit you squarely in the chest, immediately soaking your body. When she doesn’t stop, you laugh and rush at her, your hands raised in an attempt to block all her shots.

“Hey! I was only going to shoot you once!”

Natasha’s laughter rings out, clear and joyous, as you wrap your arms around her waist and pull her to the ground. The two of you tumble together in a flurry of limbs and laughter.

Rolling to a stop, Natasha ends up on top of you with a playful smirk. She leans in close, her breath warm against your lips, and whispers suggestively, “You know how I love to get you wet.”

“Nat!” you exclaim in reprimand, glancing around quickly. “Clint’s kids could be nearby.”

Realization dawns in Natasha’s eyes, followed by a thoughtful hum.

“Oh, now I understand, so you were the distraction.”

She begins to move to look around and locate the Barton children, but you swiftly trap one of her legs in yours and wrap your arms around her body, locking her in place with a smug look.

Natasha squirms slightly, but you know she’s not using all her strength to escape. And even though she lets out a small huff of disbelief, there’s still a gleam of amusement in her eyes.

“This is cheating,” she mutters, a tiny smile playing on her lips.

You grin up at her, tightening your hold just a bit.

“All’s fair in love and war, detka,” you playfully mock before shouting, “I got her!”

Immediately, Cooper and Lila emerge from their hiding spots with excited shouts, rushing towards you two with water guns aimed at Natasha.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Natasha says, twisting her body from your grasp and rolling you above her just as the two children begin their onslaught.

Cold water hits you on all sides, soaking you once again.

“Wait, wait! Friendly fire! Friendly fire!” you shout, holding out your hands to block the streams of water as Natasha rolls away from under you.

The shots stop at your exclamation, and the kids give you a confused look, realizing they are not shooting the red-haired spy.

Wiping your face, you turn to where Natasha escaped, only to find her holding two new water guns, both aimed at the three of you.

“Wha–how do you have more guns hidden around here?” you exclaim in disbelief.

“I told you. I have my ways,” Natasha remarks with a triumphant grin. Her stance is firm as she steps closer, her fingers moving to the triggers.

The three of you exchange quick glances, realizing your predicament, and slowly back away from the highly trained agent.

“What do we do now, Auntie Y/n?” Cooper whispers, his eyes wide with anticipation.

“Umm,” you glance at their water gun tanks. “Do either of you have enough to take any more shots?”

Lila presses on her trigger, and a tiny drizzle of water flows out of the nozzle. She looks back at you and shakes her head.

“I see,” you say, nodding slightly with a grim look. “Then there’s only one thing we can do.”

With hands on your waist, you take a deep and determined breath before looking back at Natasha, who is patiently waiting for you to make a decision. Then suddenly…

You begin sprinting away in one direction, shouting, “Run!”

The two children scramble to follow your command, darting in separate directions. They laugh as Natasha begins to chase and shoot water at them.

Her shots are precise, and within moments, you’re all soaked.

After a lively chase, you all gather together again, breathless and laughing. The three of you are drenched with water while Natasha stands dry with a victorious smirk.

“Well, that should teach you all not to try and ambush me,” Natasha says, lowering her guns.

Cooper and Lila giggle, shaking off the water.

“You got us good,” Cooper admits, smiling.

“Yeah, Auntie Nat, you should join our team,” Lila exclaims excitedly. “We’re going after Dad next.”

“You could teach us where to hide the extra water guns for when we run out,” Cooper adds.

“Sure, that sounds fun,” Natasha nods in agreement.

Before she can move to follow them, you wrap your arm around her waist, stopping her, and call out to the other two.

“How about you two do some scouting first and gather information about the area for the plan? We’ll join you soon after.”

Patting her arm, you give Natasha a playful glare as you declare pointedly.

“Auntie Nat here needs to help reapply sunscreen on me after using me as her shield, isn’t that right?”

Natasha’s smirk falters slightly, a sheepish look crossing her face as she chuckles lightly.

“Oooh, you’re in trouble,” Lila teases her, giggling.

Rolling her eyes playfully, she waves the kids toward where Clint probably is.

“Alright, alright, off you go.”

Once the kids disappear from view, Natasha pulls you close by your waist and leans in, resting her forehead against yours.

“Was the sunscreen just a fake excuse to get us a moment alone?” she asks suggestively, her thumb drawing small circles against your bare skin, teasing the lining of your swimwear.

You give her an amused smile, leaning in slightly and almost capturing her lips in yours before pulling away and pressing a bottle of sunscreen against her chest.

“No, nothing like that,” you answer as you lay down on her previously abandoned beach towel. Leaning on your elbows, you raise a brow at her with a knowing smile.

“Though, let’s see whether you can control yourself as you reapply the sunscreen on me without sneaking in any of your not-so-innocent touches.”

Natasha’s eyes gleam with playful defiance as she kneels down on the beach towel, one of her legs settling between yours. She presses her hand against your stomach, spreading the sunscreen there before sliding her hand up across your skin to your chest while also guiding you to lie down so that she can hover above you.

You feel the heat rise to your cheeks as her touch becomes more insistent, her fingers brushing just a bit more intimately than necessary.

“Nat…” you murmur, trying to sound disapproving but failing as a smile tugs at your lips.

A smirk plays on Natasha’s lips as she leans close to yours, her body shifting so that her leg between yours presses lightly against your swim bottoms.

Her breath is warm against your skin as she whispers in a low tone, “All’s fair in love and war, detka.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

A/n: This was just a little short fun piece that came to mind. Thank you for reading!

[cowboy-heart]

'interview with a butch' - a fake interview reflecting on butch-femme dynamics! inspired by the amazing piece by @llovely, which you can read here :)

(ID below read more)

[an original, interview-style poem called 'interview with a butch':

when did you know you were butch? I knew by the time I was sixteen, but that’s only when I found the word. I’ve been butch since the day I was born, at least since I was just a few months old and threw an earth-shattering tantrum whenever my mum tried to put me in a dress. (both laugh) your poor mum!

I remember being a little butch knight, chivalrous even before I was double digits. my best friend only lived up the road from school, but her parents were running late and she was scared to do it herself. so I walked her up the hill, her arm linked in mine, pride balancing on my chest. and when I got her to her door, I said that we should kiss like adults do when they say goodbye, and we took it in turns to kiss each other on each cheek. when I walked home I felt something the size of a boulder in my stomach, but I didn’t know what it meant yet, just that there was something about myself that set me apart.

how did you feel with your first femme? oh, man, even for a writer that’s hard to find the words for. (laugh) let’s put it this way: before I had my first femme, I always felt like something was missing in my relationships – not just in the relationship itself, but in me. I felt broken and wrong, unsatisfied and selfish. I thought that maybe I just had too high expectations or something. hell, even with sex I felt like something was missing, like I couldn’t find my own desire.

But then, then I had my first femme. How graphic can I be here? (laugh) as graphic as you want! okay, good!

watching my stomach hang over my harness, long nails in my hips, I felt like I had a second sexual awakening. I felt the most present in my body I’d ever been, and like I could be in them forever. I didn’t feel dissatisfied, or wrong. when their hand held mine and played with my fingers I felt lightning shoot through me. it was like realising I was a lesbian all over again. but even outside of romance, femmes are my friends, my family, my community. talking to femmes, being around femmes, I’ve never felt so seen and loved. I can handle every sharp look, every slur thrown my way, just because my armour was polished by femmes.

do you find your roles restrictive? they’re liberating. I think sometimes people see me and think that I had to fit into this constrictive box, that I disallowed myself to enjoy anything feminine. the reality is that for butches, we find the word we’ve been searching for our whole lives. I can’t even remember finding the word, isn’t that crazy? it felt second nature. it somehow perfectly described everything I’d ever felt, exposed me to a community of people who were just like me outside of my Tory town! (pause)

I think there’s a tendency even in leftist, LGBT spaces to think that masculinity is oppressive, and femininity is liberating and oppressed. but it’s really not like that. we’re punished for deviating from our assigned gender, whether you’re a masculine woman, or a feminine man, or something in between the two. I’ve had gay men try to convince me to let them do my makeup, I’ve had gay women tell me that they’re “so glad” I don’t have ‘toxic masculinity’ like “other butches”. femininity was a cage for me, something I had to imitate to survive the perils of high school, but it was never me. masculinity liberated me, and it’s not inherently toxic. I love to carry the bags, hold open the doors, cry in pride, protect those I love. and there’s nothing like coming home at the end of the day to a sweet femme, ready to rub my tired muscles. man, I’m not good at concise answers, am I? (both laugh) no, but I love it!

what do you think of people who see your relationship as heteronormative? they’re twats! (both laugh) now, that’s a concise answer! no, no that’s not fair. here’s what I’d say to them:

I see it as…a complex gender performance. no, that makes it sound like it’s play pretend. they’re complex gender…expressions, dynamics, play, desire, euphoria. a butch and a femme together is no more heterosexual than a bear and a twink, a top and a bottom. it’s a dance that we know in our bones, like we knew each other in a previous lifetime and we’re just falling back into our favoured rhythm. even every fumble and awkward gesture is a part of it. we fall into sync and into each other, we tenderise each other’s gender, affirm it, and love every minute of it. we’re not two sides of the same coin, you talk to any butch-femme couple and chances are our priori (edit: interviewee meant propositions) are the same but our conclusions are not; we’re the same side of the same coin, just one is the top of the tail and the other is the bottom of it. is that a euphemism? (laugh) take it as you will!

I’m no man, my femme is no woman, and I’m no less butch when I’m wearing a kiss-the-cook apron and cleaning their kitchen, and they’re no less femme when they’re putting together a shelf or driving me to work. To look at us and see a heteronormative imitation of cisgender predetermination is proof of their own lack of nuance – do you think all dogs are boys and all cats are girls, too? (both laugh)

I think in a lot of ways, butch-femme dynamics are inherently transsexual. or, in the very least, good friends of transgenderism. If you can’t see us for what we are then chances are you’ve got your own internalised gender biases to unlearn.

I’ve always been butch to my bones, but when I’m with my baby I’m on cloud nine. I feel desired, my gender revered and loved.

so, what you’re saying is, you feel seen? I do. we see each other and nurture each other. I’ve never really liked being called ‘beautiful’, but when it falls from the lips of a femme, I know that they’re not seeing me as feminine. I feel most comfortable to explore the depths of both my femininity and masculinity with them; I don’t feel restricted to a role.

maybe that’s what people are missing about it: our homes are temples of gender exploration and devotion.

end ID].

[aft3rhrs]

cnc with step brother jungkook with breeding kink and maybe a lil free use 😇 plsplsplsplsplsplspls

this is... 😵‍💫 anyway 🩷

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: forbidden romance, step!siblings au

warnings: yandere, pseudo incest, mentions of violence (not towards the reader), cnc, free use, dirty talk, jealousy, possessiveness, praise, degradation, hints of exhibitionism, breeding kink, creampie, aftercare

It was quiet and warm inside the caravan. The chirping of insects and rustle of leafs outside were steadily replaced by rainfall, the hypnotic, repetitive tapping almost lulling you to sleep. Jungkook breathed softly against you, his arm thrown over your waist, making the most of the time he had to lay closer to you.

This was an inconvenience for one night only, your father promised.

There was no rush to reach your destination, and the weather started taking a turn for the worse. Rather than driving in a storm during nightfall, he announced an unplanned rest stop near the mountains; an idea his worn out wife wholeheartedly supported.

Courtesy of his own pocket, the caravan was spacious, up to the most modern standards, and the pull out beds comfortable, with fluffy pillows and thick sheets.

Unfortunately, there was only two of those.

But they were nearly wide enough to be considered doubles, so you and Jungkook wouldn't be squeezed together, he assured. You didn't mind, did you? You always got along so well, after all.

It was a wonderful thing for parents to witness. And whatever they didn't witness couldn't hurt them. In reality, they didn't know — no one knew — that Jungkook loved you a little too much.

Or what was concealed within your own heart.

At home, he had to sneak around to be with you. When out, he had to watch other men flirt with you, blatantly ignoring his presence, and the nights would either end with him breaking someone's bones or your bed.

It was tiring, having to hide his feelings. Not being able to hold your hand, kiss you, show you off; mark his territory. The weight of the secret was getting too heavy to hold, a boulder that seemed to graze all of Jungkook's insecurities. The stinging pain fed his obsession to unhealthy lengths.

So much that it wasn't a thought anymore, but a need that stirred in his body, a phantom that gained flesh and bones.

And it craved more flesh in return.

He didn't even notice when his hand moved to your ass, kneading and squeezing, but the hitch of your breath brought him back to reality.

The rain. The thunder. The caravan. Your parents, sound asleep in their bed, separated by no more than a few inches from yours.

His cock felt hot and stiff in his boxers, straining against the fabric, twitching as his fingertips brushed the hem of your underwear.

He brought his lips to your ear, sliding his hand down onto your thigh.

"Open," he breathed.

Your heart jumped, eyes stuck on your dad's silhouette, his back turned towards you.

"H-here?" you whispered, panic making your throat close up.

Jungkook nodded, his free hand crawling under your shirt.

"Yeah," he sighed, tapping your thigh. "Here."

You felt him grope you, thumb and forefinger twisting your nipple, the touch slow and sensual. Your spine arched like a bow, your heart strung tight and ready to shoot out. There was no way you could do this; not with your parents right there, sleeping in front of you.

Jungkook snuck his hand in between your thighs, prying them open. You gasped, fear spiked with arousal making your tummy clench tightly.

"Having trouble following instructions?" Jungkook asked, pulling your panties down. "Pussy and brain too empty?"

You couldn't hold back the noise in your throat, breathy and so needy it made the swollen tip of his cock start drooling. Wrapping his hand around the thick shaft, he pressed it against you, meeting zero resistance to the pressure.

You were so eager to be filled; so wet, throbbing and soft. Jungkook sank inside, mouth agape and eyes fluttering shut, stretching the little hole out lewdly.

"Oh," he huffed out, weak, "fuck yes."

He didn't know why he was getting so hot; in the shadows of a late, summer night, it wasn't like your parents would be able to see much, and the rainstorm wreaking havoc outside the windows was almost enough to drown out the squelch of his lazy strokes.

But the thought of sliding the sheets down a little — just like that — exposing your cute, puffy cunt swallowing his cock, making what he was doing all the more obvious, made him ache.

And so he did.

The second you startled, Jungkook grabbed your neck.

"Shut up," he whispered, "shut the fuck up and stay still. If you'll make noise, they'll wake up. And I'm gonna come either way, baby."

You hid your face in his neck, a whisper of a whine hitting his burning skin, and a clench halting his movements.

"Oh... Hah."

He tightened his grip on your thigh and held your leg up, thrusting slowly. It was a steady rhythm, more than enough to make him reach stars; fuck condoms and fuck pulling out tonight. He rarely got to come inside you, and right now he needed it more than ever.

"Yeah," he praised, his voice shaky, "just like that."

He released your neck in favor of sliding his hand down, his finger slipping onto your clit to rub it softly. Your nails dug into his arm, and it did nothing but make him groan.

"You like it, don't you? Gonna come inside you. Knock you the fuck up, right here."

Your pussy was tightening and so was the knot in his stomach. You were getting louder, but he didn't care; let them see. He didn't give a damn if your parents woke up and caught you. Perhaps that would finally motivate you to move away from here, start a new life somewhere where no one knew you, and your love didn't have to be a secret.

The same applied if you got pregnant... And there was no holding these thoughts back anymore. Not when he was literally fucking his little sister behind his parents' back, and her slutty cunt was trying to milk him dry.

"I can't," you whimpered into his neck, "N-no, I'm gonna—"

"Fuck yeah," he groaned.

His pace began to pick up, still soft, but impatient, the pad of his finger on your little nub even more so. He rubbed you faster, feeling your hips gyrating unconsciously and your warm pussy spasming.

"Good girl, yeah, take it. Gonna—" he swallowed thickly, breathless, "make me come... And let me breed you full, yeah? Let everyone see who you belong to, little whore."

Fuck, fuck — you were coming, and he had to assault your mouth to muffle the noise, including the hoarse moans spilling past his own lips. God, he could feel it — his eyebrows scrunching, the hot, tingling pleasure reaching a boiling point, his cock digging in as deep as it would go. It twitched, painting your walls white until his cum dribbled down your thighs.

For a moment, black dots danced in his vision. When he could breathe again, he tried to open his eyes, feeling the silk of the sheets touching his sweaty skin. A chuckle escaped him as you snuggled into him, covering up your bodies. You were so cute. So fucking precious.

"You okay? Was it good, baby?" He murmured, nuzzling your neck.

All rhetorical questions, if his smug tone was anything to go by.

You shivered, too fucked out to answer. Jungkook sighed, peppering your shoulder with kisses. His palm absentmindedly caressed your abdomen, and thunder rolled through the sky, the wind whistling faintly outside the caravan.

Good trip.

He had a whole week to fuck you full; in the backseat, in your tents, in the woods. And he'd go at it all night, and teach you to take it quietly... Just in case. Just for now.

Fighting the urge to sleep, he fished out his phone and squinted at the dim screen, opening up a search engine, while his hand still massaged your tummy.

They'd probably have nice apartments somewhere in Seoul... And you could transfer to a better college.

Seemed like a perfect place to start looking.

Just in case. Just for now.