#but everyone elses jobs are important too

[cryinthevortex]

Sure, for a few ticks, it felt like a bad idea to have a manager who got possessed by a demon, but the benefits became quickly apparent.

He is no longer a strict manager and has now close to universal support among the staff for his approach. Before he was all for a regimental discipline and would always come and count your pens at the end of each day to ascertain none were stolen, now he leaves home with the whole stationary locker in his pocket. 

Employee satisfaction is now thoroughly important to him. He is a Swiss Army knife of support—he props each employee with a personalized approach.

Our newly diabolically enhanced manager encourages self-flagellating employees to work harder, sleep less, and feel less free. He can direct the high performers into suicide-by-thirties-level efficiency. Similarly, he supports even the laziest employees on our floors with words of wisdom. He encourages them to avoid too much work so that their self-sabotage has a better opportunity to take hold within them.

He has been very capable of reorganizing daily chores into something more pleasant. He removed the worst job from the company: he took down customer support. It has been something that the company has gotten by great without. It has also provided some additional entertainment because he loves listening to people’s reactions when the support phone line gives customers a standard reply that support opens in an hour- every hour of the day, seven days a week. He eavesdrops on the line and plays us the best reactions. 

We find it highly entertaining, and the devil has claimed many of our customers when they use naughty words and curse fellow humans. Some resorted to sending our company glitter bombs. Everyone knows the hell has a special place for that kind of customer. It’s that same place where customer service employees who ask, “Have you turned the machine on?” go. Our new manager was delighted by the increase in profitability and to us it pays dividends in job satisfaction.

One of the reasons for his popularity is, that he never makes us do overtime. This has been one of our collectively most favored changes.

He now pays us without extra work because it increases the bosses’ collection of vices. They now sit in the boardroom for longer wondering where the money invested each month goes. Their golf memberships have been canceled, leading them to have less healthy outdoors, filling their minds with more stress- just what the devil doctor ordered. It is all thanks to our newly improved manager.

The breakroom has never been such a happy place for us: he never lets the coffee go cold in the pot because when the guy fills his cup, the pot heats up with hellfire efficiency. 

Unlike before, when he was of the little less infernal constitution– he now never saves in coffee fund expenses because he knows we pay the price in girth of our waistlines and over-indulgence is a sin. 

Our manager's new countenance is a hit with the company accountants- they are his biggest fans because he is the only one who treats them right. 

He is always incredibly polite to those guys because everyone knows, accountants are doomed to live in the darkest room, with the messiest desk, and have the longest to-do list and they slaver away when everyone else has holidays.

The poor sods of that department are working overtime sorting out numbers that are perpetually not adding up. On top of it all they drown in piles and piles of receipts and a few are always missing when you need them. 

A good old trick to lead them closer to their damnation is to claim a cup of coffee back from the company when they are at their busiest- and our demon manager doesn’t have to do a thing- all employees and bosses drive them down that path without any help. Those guys are already in hell and they don’t even realize it. 

Overall it's been over a month since our manager was possessed by a demon. Yet, instead of fetching the nearest priest or throwing a bucket of holy water at them, myself and my coworkers have just rolled with it, as the demon is WAY more bearable to work under.”

It's been over a month since your manager was possessed by a demon. Yet, instead of fetching the nearest priest or throwing a bucket of holy water at them, you and your coworkers have just rolled with it, as the demon is WAY more bearable to work under.

[girlactionfigure]

In one of the last groups to arrive in Bergen-Belsen towards the tail end of World War II was a Jew of charismatic appearance who became known to all the other inmates as Reb Shmelke. His full name was Shmuel-Shmelke Shnitzler, a chassid and Torah scholar from somewhere in Hungary. He was very tall and distinguished looking, with strikingly warm and penetrating eyes. Most amazingly, he maintained a mood of genuine cheerfulness, a rare disposition to find in the hellish environment of the camp.

He underwent the harsh terrors and the suffering, the hunger and the abuse, that was the daily portion for the Jew’s in the camp, just as all the other prisoners. But, somehow, his demeanour and behavior seemed to indicate that he wasn’t affected the same way as everyone else, almost as if he weren’t really there.

How was he able to live in such a manner under such conditions? Nobody knew. But it was clear, nevertheless, that he was he drawing immeasurable fortitude and inspiration from some unlimited source.

He even was able to be a fountain of encouragement for his fellow prisoners. He would say to his companions at every opportunity, “A Jew and despair are contradictory in essence; they cannot co-exist.” Whenever possible he would organize a minyan for prayer, especially on Shabbat. At nights he would enliven all those around him with stories of the great Chassidic rebbes, momentarily transporting them to other worlds and places, enabling them to temporarily forget their sufferings of body and soul.

To the amazement of all, Reb Shmelke even found favour in the eyes of a few of the cruelest S.S. guards in the camp. Through these connections he was able to aid a number of the inmates.

He was assigned the job of removing from the barracks the dead bodies of the many who died from starvation. He would try to treat them with as much respect as possible, considering this to be the ultimate of holy work that he could do under the circumstances.

In addition to the prevailing conditions of horror in the camp under which the Jews barely managed to survive, Reb Shmelke was nagged by another compelling problem, one that was increasing in urgency with each day that went past: how could he possibly obtain oil with which to kindle the lights of Chanukah. The holiday was only a few short days away.

He consulted everyone with whom he came into contact that he thought might be able to help, but no one had any oil or even anything that could be substituted for it. All said that to obtain anything flammable in the concentration camp was unimaginable as well as impossible

He consulted everyone with whom he came into contact that he thought might be able to help, but no one had any oil or even anything that could be substituted for it. All said that to obtain anything flammable in the concentration camp was unimaginable as well as impossible.

Still, Reb Shmelke did not give in to despair. The mitzvah of kindling the Chanukah lights was much too important to him. He also realized how much encouragement and hope it would offer the Jews in the camp-to shine light into the deepest of darknesses, to celebrate the victory of few over the many, the pure over the impure….

On the day before Chanukah, Reb Shmelke had to hurry to one of the barracks near the end of the camp, where someone had died just that day. Not far from the fence at the edge of the camp, he stumbled when his foot sunk into a patch of red earth that turned out to be covering a small hole. It was clear that someone had dug this hole on purpose.

He gazed at the shallow depression, and after a moment perceived the sun reflecting off something in it. He looked closer and saw there was a solid object buried there, now slightly revealed. He knelt down and scooped out some dirt with his hands. It was a small jar, half-filled with congealed liquid! Could it be? Could it possibly be!

He removed its cover as quickly as he could and dipped his finger in gingerly. It was oil! He thoughts immediately flashed to the original Chanukah miracle of the finding of the single flask of oil. How could this be happening? Was he dreaming?

Then he noticed that the jar had been concealing other objects beneath it. He dug some more with his hands and uncovered a small package wrapped in a swatch of cloth. In it were eight small cups and eight thin strands of cotton!

Now convinced that someone had intentionally buried this Chanukah stash, Reb Shmelke quickly replaced everything back into the hole and filled it in with the dirt he had removed, carefully smoothing the surface. It would be too dangerous to keep the materials in his possession until Chanukah began the next day in the evening. Besides, perhaps it belonged to someone.

After he completed he job he had been sent upon, Reb Shmelke circulated among as many of the inmates he could during the rest of the day and the, casually asking with an air of innocence if anyone had concealed a quantity of oil in a hiding place. Everyone stared at him as if he were out of his senses.

The next night, all the Jews of Reb Shmelke’s barrack crowded around him as he stood poised to light the first candle of Chanukah. He struck the match, and then recited the blessings with great emotion before touching the tiny flame to the thin strands of wick projecting out of the little cups. It was a scene from a storybook in stark contrast to the dour, harsh environment of the concentration camp, a ray of hope that repeated itself for a total of eight nights.

The elderly Reb Shmelke managed to survive the next few months until finally the conquering Allied forces liberated the camp. His faith and hope had proven victorious. After the official conclusion of the war, he returned to his town in Hungary, to try to reassemble the pieces of his broken life.

Several years later, he was able to make the journey to the United States of America. One important stop for him there was to visit the Satmar Rebbe, Rabbi Yoel Teitelbaum, who lived in Brooklyn. The Rebbe, it turned out, already knew of Reb Shmelke and his deeds, and welcomed him with great warmth.

After they conversed for a while the Rebbe suddenly switched subjects and said to him, “I hear that you had the great honour of lighting Chanukah candles in Bergen-Belsen.”

“How does the Rebbe know that?” sputtered Reb Shmelke in wonderment.

“I heard, I heard,” replied the Rebbe, smiling mysteriously.

A few moments later the Rebbe bent over to his astonished visitor and whispered in his ear, “I am the one who hid the oil, the cups and the wicks in that hole next to the fence. I did it when I was imprisoned in the camp the year before you, before my miraculous escape.

“At the moment I did it,” the Rebbe added, “I believed with all my heart that at the right time it would be found by the right person who would know exactly what to do with it.”

—

Source: Rabbi Yerachmiel Tilles, Ascent Tzfat, with fact checking from Yad Vashem: World Holocaust Center, Jerusalem, Oral History of Rabbi Joel Teitelbaum, the Satmar Rebbe. Oral account of Bergen-Belsen Survivor Jack Eisenstein.

(Pictured here: A Chanukah candle lighting ceremony in the Westerbork transit camp, Netherlands, December 1943. Photo: Yad Vashem)

Rabbi Yisroel Bernath

[vikkirosko]

🍺 Demoman x Reader headcanons Meeting mom 💣

Demoman has been working hard for a long time. Because of his job, he even postponed an important step in his life for a long time. He was postponing the opportunity to propose to you despite the fact that you had been together for a long time. But now his work was done. He was going to start a quiet life, just like everyone else, and this life wouldn't be the same if you weren't in it. He was really going to propose to you, but there was something else important to do before that. He should have introduced you to his mom, because she wouldn't have stopped grumbling if he had proposed to you without introducing you first

He invited you to dinner at his house and told his mother that someone very special was coming to dinner. When you arrived, dinner was really ready and you were obviously nervous. You've heard stories about his mom, but you've never met her in person, and it was really important to you. Much to your surprise, his mom has been nice to you since Tavish introduced you to her. She continued to be demanding with him, but now she was telling him to pour you some water and help you cut the meat. You felt awkward about the situation, but Tavish smiled gently at you, as if to tell you that everything was fine and that you didn't have to worry about it

Mrs. DeGroot asked you a lot of questions. She asked about your family, about your job, and when she heard that you and Tavish had been together for so long, she couldn't keep quiet and was outraged why her son hadn't introduced you before. She was glad that her son finally had someone and he wouldn't die alone. Moreover, since you've been together for so long, you definitely loved him, otherwise you wouldn't have waited for him to disappear for so long at work. But now he would definitely be able to provide you with a comfortable life. You were in a hurry to convince her that this was not the main thing for you, while Tavish watched your conversation with his mom with a smile. He was glad that you could find a common language

When you left, Mrs. DeGroot told her son that he needs to propose to you. She was blind, but that didn't stop her from realizing that you really genuinely love his son, and he loves you. She was sure that you would be happy together. She didn't want him to miss his chance to find happiness. The Demoman did not tell his mother that he was going to propose to you anyway, but he was glad that she approved of his choice and was ready to accept you into the family. Next to you, he could really lead that quiet life in which he wouldn't have to constantly risk his life

He bought a ring with which he was going to propose to you, and all he had to do was talk to you about it. It was an important step that would have started a new page in his life, and he hoped that it would be so. You both waited too long to change the status of your relationship, and now that he even introduced you to his mother, there was no turning back. He intended to ask you such an important question, and he was ready to hear any answer you gave

[brodorokihousuke]

On a scale from "felt really bad about drugging Solomon Starbuck that time" to "would’ve beat Kristoph Gavin to death if he ever physically hurt Apollo", what are your opinions / speculations on the morality of canon Clay Terran?

Bringing up the drugging deal is important because people forget about that a lot (I do admittedly... not ignore it, but don't focus on it very hard). However, it makes sense that he was convinced to do so, despite having a (presumably) generally "lawful" morality.

Lets put this into context: You have finally achieved your dream job. This is a very specific job, that requires years and years of training, as well as luck. However, you find out from your boss(?) that there is a threat against your workplace. A repeated threat, that had been made once before, and resulted in a major cover-up as well as the death of one person, and near-death of at least one other. Reporting this threat could have dire consequences, he says. The government could see this as a weak point, perhaps. Was it worth funding something if every attempt at it would get sabotaged? Especially if it was just for science data. Who cares about that. So, for the good of your job, for the good of them all, he asks one thing of you.

Drug your coworker. Drug him, and then carry him out. You'll be safe, he'll be safe. Your job will be safe too, along with those of everyone else working there. You'll be a hero to everyone.

Why wouldn't you want that?

-

To more specifically answer, I think he has a perhaps more malleable morality than Apollo, but not by much. I can see him getting really fucking mad at Kristoph (and anyone who's wronged Apollo), but not to the point of physical violence- I see him having more restraint than Apollo in that regard.

[ashblooddragons]

The Red Queen (Chapter 13/?)

Series Masterlist

Your Pov

I sit off to the side as Ali is dressed by her new maids. I can’t take my eyes off her beautiful dress, it’s white silk with golden dragons on her shoulder and chest. The inner sleeves are red silk that shines with each moment. But what truly makes her look like the mother is the golden crown with diamonds encrusted in each ray that makes it seem like the sun itself is upon her head. 

I can’t help but look down at the sparkly red dress Papa gave me for the wedding. I can’t wait for my wedding day so I can look pretty like Ali. when I look up again Ali is already looking my way with a smile on her lips. 

“Come.” She says waving me over, and I waste no time rushing over. 

“What do you think? Too much?” She asks as she eyes her dress and hair as if it is bad.

“You look beautiful.” I say in awe still. 

She giggles running her hands through my hairs. “Thank you, darling.” She says but I can see she still isn’t happy. But it doesn’t seem like it’s the dress, it’s something else. 

I go to ask if she’s alright when the door opens and the Hand stands there sending a glare my way before looking back at Ali. 

“The King awaits his new Queen.” He says waving Orchid over to take me to the sept.

I wonder why Ali is sad, Papa says girls are always happiest on their weddings? I know Orchid is married and has children, she told me, I wonder if sje was sad or happy on her wedding day. I go to ask when Papa comes over walkingme up the steps where the High Septon stands. 

“Do you remember what you are to do?” He asks as he checks my hair and dress for some reason. 

I nod excitedly. “When you cloak her under your protection I will catch her old one and stand to the side again.” 

Papa says this is a important and specail job, that since I’m the heir it would show the realm we’re untied. Which doesn’t make sense but I’m still happy to be apart of the wedding. 

“Good, good.” Papa says before patting my shoulders and walking back to the High Septon. 

Papa seems excited which confuses me why he’s happy but Ali isn’t. I decide to look at all the lords and ladies that came. I knew it would be a lot, but I didn’t think it would be this much. Even the people from the North came, and that very far away. 

But just as I was starting to worry if Ali was coming, do the doors open to Ali standing next to the Hand. She is hanghing her head as the Hand whispers to her. He doesn’t seem happy, but he still walks forward. Maybe he didn’t want Ali to marry Papa?

“Who brings this bride?” The Septon asks which is odd as everyone knows who the Hand is. 

“Ser Otto Hightower, brings his daughter Lady Alicent Hightower, a woman grown.” The HAnd responds.

“And who takes this bride?” 

“Viserys Targaryen, King of the Andals, Roynar, and First men, and protector of the Realm.” Papa says taking Alis hand as he guides her up the steps.

I frown as the wedding continues. I thought it would be more fun, all the Lords and Laides seemd excited about it. So why is it so boring?

I rock back and forth on my heals as they make their vows, I barley notice in time that Papa is handing me Ali’s old cloak until the last second. 

I watch as Ali kneels before the High Septon as he holds a golden crown with emeralds and diamonds along every edge. “Your new Queen, Queen Alicent Targaryen!” He calls out and everyone cheers, all except Ali and Nyra.

I’m quickly lead out of the sept by Ser Criston as we go and enjoy the marriage in the throne room. But I don’t miss the way Ali flinches each time Papa touches her, nor how Nyra glares her way as if she has done something horrible

How odd. I think before following after Ser Criston.

Alicents Pov

I sit next to the King, no my husband, as he and everyone else feasts. I try to ignore the blush on his cheeks from the amount of wine he has ingested, I fight to not flinch at his every touch. But most of all I banish any thoughts of what I must do tonight with a man I know will not care for my pain. 

I noticed you and your curious looks, I know no amount of pinched smiles or hollow laughs will make you believe I am happy. For even for a child like yourself, it is clear as day I feel nothing but dread.

I look down at my plate of food I know is delicious but the moment it meets my lips it turns to the taste of ash. For how could it taste anything but when the woman who should wear the title Queen is now only ash in the wind? The gods are punishing me for following my Fathers greed, I just know it in my very soul.

I look up when I watch three of the council men walk over to my husband whispering to him as they glance my way. I know of what they speak of, that the bedding must happen soon. That they will be heading to the Kings chambers waiting for us to consummate the marriage. I knew this would happen, but I hoped and prayed my Father would stop it. But why should I put faith in the man who put me in such a position in the first place?

“Head to my chambers wife.” The King slurs in my ear.

I don’t respond, only rise from my seat and make my way towards the throne room doors. 

As I walk I can’t help but notice the courtiers dancing and cheering. Can’t they see my anguish? Can’t they see how I am a lamb to the slauter? Can’t they see that I am only a hollow of myself? But of course they don’t, for why would they care for their new Queen they whisper whore about? Why would they care for me when I am nothing but a new broadmare and they all know it? 

I know I wouldn’t.

And with that thought I leave the throne room and make my way to the chambers that have become my prison and greatest nightmare.

Special thanks to my bestie @sugutoad for making the header for this fic! I swear I'd be lost without you girly!

TAGLIST: @sugutoad @ilikefelines @sachaa-ff @classicsimpforaaronwarner @mmogurl @themoonlitquill @athzhowakar @thelastemzy @fallenxjas

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Heyaa dunno if u write NSFW so read no further if you don't!

May we get uhhh Franco Barbi having his... "Lupara" (wink wink nudge nudge) kissed by a reader who happens to be one of his working girls and him being surprised at how sweet and gentle she is with him pls? Also reader is very shy because she's a newbie

Thank uu 😇

Love can be gentle

Franco Barbi x fem!reader

warning : smut, gun play, getting oral m, fluff, comfort, kissing, no use of y/n, nicknames like ma'am and good boy

Summary : It wasn't easy to run a theater, prepare a show and above all be a good boy who would make his mother proud. But even Franco needs a moment of peace and one of his girls has a special eye on the gangster. Perhaps there will be a romance movie for a change instead of just porn on the big screen.

info : Of course you will get something like this dear anon thanks a lot for the request, i had a lot of fun writing it especially for the shy reader it was really sweet. I wish you a lot of fun reading ;)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In his area, his trial, he could do anything he wanted to sleep, drink milk, carve his ammunition from the most beautiful teeth or even turn to his victims who were all like playthings for the gangster whose lust is only surpassed by his love for violence.

Everyone knew Franco Barbi and his brutality but also his genius even down here in the hell of an asylum or wherever they were, nobody really knew and wouldn't think about it for long.

Because either you died in the first few days or you lost your mind trying to understand it...only the fewest still had something like emotions, morals or a mind.

A mind that still worked and a mind that could be used to give something to the more important experiments, like a wind-up toy that kept working instead of breaking.

,,You are his dolls, his girls so try to take it with a pinch of dignity, think of it as babysitting my dears” it was these words before the pills had taken effect and the new batch of prisoners was sent to Franco.

A couple of new pretty girls who would be Franco's poster children and decoys and weapons for his prey, they were bad kids who needed to be punished, he knew it, the dead knew it, they realized it too late and she knew it.

She knew it as well as the black patent stiletto heels on her feet as she made her rounds in the theater, her route now worn out for several minutes as they all did regardless of whether the game had begun or not, ,,Where are you?” she muttered, switching the revolver in her hand again to get her fingers moving again.

Franco had been gone for hours she had only seen him in the morning or however many o'clock it was when he disappeared with a few teeth, nervous and more excited than usual.

A thing she shouldn't really care about, no one should care about anyone here because their own survival was more important but Franco, her boss, her experiment, her sweet boy was something else to her since she met him which had almost resulted in the loss of her head if he hadn't pulled his lupara away when she had introduced herself to him.

This man the gangster psychopath with mother complex had just done it to her, he was cute and misunderstood and maybe it was the drugs, the pills, the gewlat or her lost hope for recovery but she had lost her heart a little to the man-baby.

Before her thoughts could go any further and she hoped that no one had seen her lost in thought look, she heard an unmistakable scream and wailing from afar.

Franco was back and seemed more stressed than usual, she immediately felt worried as she watched him come into the theater by the broken window and the ,,I hope for you dolls you're all on your fucking posts!” scream could be heard, something that seemed normal to the others put her on edge.

Was it normal? Did he want something? Should she go to him? Didn't someone have to calm him down because babysitting was her job, so to speak?

But the warmth on her cheeks and her heart now beating faster than it should didn't make things any better, despite everything she had seen, her nervousness didn't seem to have gone away, let alone her shyness.

Something that wasn't even bad Franco even seemed satisfied that she didn't talk so much because she was afraid to say the wrong thing and couldn't get anything out without dying of heat exhaustion...but now she finally had a chance.

Holstering her gun, she finally broke away from her route and walked down the stairs from the second floor as best the building would allow into the main hall where only he sat, each step making her more nervous, the questions and scenarios she imagined becoming more and more terrifying.

But her shoes betrayed her and the creaking of the old wood seemed to be a scream in the relatively quiet room, ,,What the fuck do you want?” the question from Franco, who had his gun pointed at her, was a shot and she put her hands up briefly, seeing how he seemed to relax as much as possible.

Her voice trailed off for a moment and she cleared her throat before coming to stand in front of him, looking down at him, ,,I...I saw you were nervous, do you need something?” she asked, her fingers clutching at the short skirt that exposed most of her legs to him.

An outfit not quite to her taste but it seemed to do something for Franco whose blue eyes were reluctant to leave her and smirked, ,,Do I fucking need anything? Doll, I don't think you can give me what I need, can you?” he asked, a challenging look in his eyes.

A look that she had often seen, especially when he had found a pretty, beautiful victim whose body he wanted to use for his personal collection, a look that not only made her nervous but also turned her on more than it should.

I'd give you anything Franco she would have liked to scream and get down on her knees in front of him but instead her gaze dropped nervously to the floor and she stammered around the right words, something that seemed to amuse the gangster greatly and he had forgotten his worries, at least for now.

She was new and he had been playing this game for as long as he had been here, it was a game of cat and mouse, a game of knowing and giving in but here she knew he only spoke the language of brutality...but in the few moments she had seen him for herself he was not only alone but also searching for love and gentleness.

Maybe as he didn't have to admit his side she just had to jump over her shadow and whether it was because of the gas and drugs or her love for him didn't matter as she carefully knelt down in front of him and Franco's gaze became curious.

The baby had become interested in what was happening in front of him, a beautiful woman, perfect shoes with heels that could and would surely hurt him, hands that would hit him if he leaned on them and a gun that would shoot if he pulled down her skirt.

Just as he reached his hand out to her, still feeling impatient and angry, she laid her cheek against his hand, her warm cheek seeming almost alien to him since every female body he played with was actually cold.

But this warmth was almost pleasant, so pleasant that he began to caress her cheek lightly, breaking their eye contact every now and then, both unsure if this was the right thing to do, ,,I can show you gentleness...if you like Franco” she began to find her voice seemed to be in the right place as she knelt between his legs looking at him a gentle look meeting his now uncertain one as he was not used to this new feeling.

Her hands moved from her skirt to his white-streaked suit pants, tracing the fabric, the skin underneath squeezing slightly with a pleasant tug, and she plucked up the courage to reach for his gun.

His most important possession, which he also clutched for fear she would take it away from him, ,,Gentleness can also be loving, caring and nurturing,” she continued to murmur, the words escaping her lips and a Franco unaware that such a thing even seemed possible.

But he hesitantly loosened his lupara and her lips kissed the wood and metal, the cold weapon giving her a goose bump that seemed to pass to Franco as he groaned at the sight.

How pretty she was, how gentle she was with such an ugly thing, how her lips kissed along the gun, how his mind interpreted the image into something ambiguous and he felt how he wanted her...but not rough and dead, he wanted that softness she gave him.

She ran her tongue over the barrel of the gun metal and blood tasted unpleasant but not strange and her fingers ran over his strokes, ,,Gentle-gentle is good, the baby will like it” she heard his rough voice as he kept his noises under control not wanting to interrupt her.

She didn't want to lose the idea that had rarely fascinated and above all aroused him so much, an arousal that pressed painfully against his pants and she had seen this long ago when she finished her little performance, encouraged by his reaction.

Encouraged by how he saw her, what he thought of her but most of all that he liked her gentleness was something that gave her the courage she needed as she placed her hands on his cheeks for a moment, ,,A good boy you are Franco, so good for your ma'am” she murmured with the same warm cheeks as she engaged him in a kiss. Franco felt her hold his hands gently on her hips, yet not letting go, he had taken a liking to the new feeling.

Something he'd never had and would now only get from her and he let her pull as her fingers traveled down his torso, running over his arousal, the deformed one whimpering as his fingers dug into the back of the seat instead of gripping her tightly.

The praise did wonders for him, along with the gentleness it was just something he'd never felt before, ,,Your reward baby...for behaving to take some of the stress off you,” she said, and he barely remembered in his fuzzy memory why he'd been so angry when he'd burst in here.

Undoing the button of his pants, she ran her tongue over the fabric of them first and was almost surprised at the hasty movement of his hips, he really was an impatient man.

But she didn't let herself be put off and licked once more over the fabric gently, teasing a little before she freed his cock from the fabric, the whimpering and pleading of the psychopath rewarding her with a kiss on the already dripping tip.

Spreading it a little with more kisses and licks, she was sure he could come from that alone.

He had held out so well for her, responded so well to her praise, ,,Be gentle and Mommy gives you everything,” she said, her hand gently stroking his and he held onto it as a breathless begging continued to come from his lips and she finally took his own 'lupara' in her mouth to show him how gentle and intimate something like this could be.

He just had to behave and be a good boy who simply had to accept the feeling of love and softness if he wanted to continue to feel it on him...because even love is soft.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@lovesick-on-the-loose , @millie-milkshake , @xgrisleyx , @trash-flowerss

[aceofstars0]

I appreciate how amphibia was also about finding your own strengths and not comparing yourself to others. Specifically s2ep7a, Scavenger Hunt. Marcy saying she may be amazing at solving puzzles but Anne is amazing at making connections; basically neither of them should look down upon themselves just because someone else is good at something they're not, and they should instead appreciate and recognize their own skills.

Also Marcy having to tell Anne what she's good at for her to realize. I feel like a lot of people, especially teens and kids in the target audience, know that everyone has a talent (or multiple) but just can't figure out what theirs is. And also Anne struggling with it since the meeting with her principal, where she's basically told she has to find what she's good at. Growing up it can be really stressful trying to figure out what you're good at and I like how they showed you don't always figure it out on your own. Sometimes someone outright tells you (and sometimes no one does)

The temples, too. They very clearly represented Marcy as brains, Anne as compassion/connection, and Sasha as resilience. At the end of the show, where you'd think Marcy would go into STEM of the sorts, Sasha would go into some kind of fighting thing? And Anne would go into tennis. Instead having therapy, webcomics, and aquarium jobs is also really important to show kids that they can be successful in jobs no one thought they would take.

Sorry if this is unreadable 😃 I just had some thought and the amphibia fandom always needs a little love

[thedisablednaturalist]

People who are worried they aren't helping with climate change or any other big world problem bc they do something like make video games or art or are a cashier at a grocery store:

You are helping. You are making the art that helps me, an environmentalist actively working to restore biodiversity and ecosystems, get through each day. You are helping those of us on the front lines enjoy living or take a well-needed break. The person loading my groceries into my car is making it so I can eat that week and have enough energy to do my work. If you want to do more, you can volunteer, donate, and boost the voices of local community leaders working to protect and restore the local ecosystems, but don't feel bad if you can't. We are all in this together.

[tippenfunkaport]

That viral post that's going around about how people who write "book quality" mlm fic are too "normal" to publish and have real jobs so only "weird" people publish their "shitty" fanfic is so completely out of touch with reality and I am giving a massive side eye to everyone reblogging it.

Not only is it completely, easily verifiably untrue (you cannot enter any professional writing space without tripping over a dozen grizzled scifi writers who got their start by filing off the serial numbers and publishing their Star Trek fanfic even going back decades ago??? it's a whole thing?? plus how can you look at the mlm category on Amazon right now and say with a straight face that people aren't publishing shitty Spirk and Stucky fanfic??? Oh, honey...) it's also the perfect example of this kind of sneering elitism that true artists would never sully themselves by seeking profit, they do it only for the purity of the thing that always somehow leads back to, "no one should be paid to make art, actually."

The only reason you're seeing more published fanfic right now has nothing to do with the idealistic purity of your hypothetical government employee written smut of the past vs the debased scribbles of those awful straights of today and everything to do with the fact that a) self-publishing has created a voracious readership that wants a ton of content so it's become a viable, flexible income stream for many, especially disabled people b) anyone can publish now with self-publishing tools so there are less gatekeepers and c) lockdown got a lot of people into fandom and therefore writing who never tried it before.

And if you really think there's no "shitty" published mlm and no "book-quality" m/f writing out there that started as fanfic, then you are clearly not a reader so why are you even talking about this?

[dykedvonte]

Honestly I see Jimmy's refusal to put Curly out of his misery less about his weird feelings of envy or his delusions but the fact Curly is all but stated to be a shield to Jimmy from his actions and people seeing the worst in him.

The only characters that Jimmy really interacts with one on one before the crash are Curly and Anya, two individuals he has wildly different relationships with. It's likely that Curly really did most of the talking between them as the pilots and the rest of the crew as staff. They didn't know of Jimmy's more reprehensible behaviors cause they never really had the chance to and Jimmy is subconsciously aware. If they had disliked him more than Anya would have told Swansea earlier or even Daisuke when things got really bad.

It's why he takes the immediate opportunity to blame Curly; He's the shield. He's saved Jimmy's ass more times than he can count and more times than Jimmy would ever admit. Even when he can't really do it anymore, he mentally shields himself from his own faults by putting Curly between them. Letting Curly die puts too much on him because he doesn't know how to function without a safety net.

In the end Curly only lives because Jimmy needs the idea that Curly will inevitably make things better to stay alive, meaning Curly has to live, no matter how much it pains him to do so.

[thisisadonaldduckblognow]

i am going to stand on my Raph Is The Sun soapbox forever ftr. not that anyone has said not to.

i don’t mean that in an “everything and everyone revolves around raph all the time, bc he’s the most important one of them all” way. bc i’ll reiterate forever that there is no one member of this family who is the Most Important or most special, there is no member of this family who would be the most or least devastating to lose. like. if the hamatos lose anyone they’re never fully recovering.

i do mean what i say in the general sense of raph being a source of warmth and support, and in the sense that he does a lot of holding everyone together.

but more than anything when i say raph is the sun and his family is his solar system i mean like

raph isn’t the sun bc he’s the most important one that everyone revolves around, he’s the sun bc without a planetary system, a sun isn’t a sun. and i think so much of raph’s sense of personal identity and purpose is wrapped up in the roles he serves for his family so like. it just all checks out

[catshavefeelings]

A thing that hibike euphonium does so well over and over is express how important everything feels. They're at a specific point in their life where nothing else has ever felt so important before. And it's something that makes me appreciate Aoi as a character so much every time I watch the show. Because she's someone with different priorities and it's something that makes everyone almost uncomfortable with her. She has her own goals that she considers life or death and no one around her seems to fully understand. For her it's her university and for everyone else it's band. Their entire life feels like it's dependent on these few months and it's communicated so well.

Hibike euphonium does such a good job of expressing how important these things feel while still making everything feel grounded. Life keeps going on. Nothing stops when kumiko can't play the section right. Life continues around her but she feels like she's dying. She's failing at the what she's currently defining herself with and it's killing her. But nothing stops for her. No part of her life is slowing down and waiting for her to get it.

[avatar-aaang]

oh okay so she can send out an email about staff birthdays but not the fucking schedule. got it. Priorities.

[tardis--dreams]

I actually realized i hate work. Won't be putting any effort into this anymore ♡

[parallaxabomination]

my brain is so full of stress it might explode. but ill do my best to keep putting out my best and stay kind to myself and others. but man, is it hard

[seilon]

god I wish I could rip Instagram apart with my teeth I hate it I hate it I hate it