#either no one helped them or the responses are

[alchemistc]

You never let me in, Buck sends, two of three sheets fully winded, and when he kicks his leg over the coffee table he nearly knocks over three empties.

They do this thing, right? Buck gets upset and before the tears can fall, because he's cried too many fucking times already, he makes himself angry. Picks at something that has come up every time he's done a post-mortem on the last six months.

And then he sends that shit to Tommy. Because - because who the fuck else is he supposed to talk to about it? The guy who'd sucked him off in the hallway of a nightclub two weeks ago? The woman who'd spent an hour quietly helping Buck understand that yeah, he was very much bi, and yeah, some people did not like that shit? Maddie, or Chim, or Hen or Eddie, who still might interact with him on the job? Bobby? Fuck, not Bobby.

Bobby who'd blinked at Buck and offered platitudes and apologized to Buck like it was somehow his fault Tommy was good people but he was the kind of good people who just walked out on something that could have been something.

I should have pushed more. I know I should have. I just thought since I was trying to share everything, you were too.

My mistake.

Three months and Buck isn't over it. He's far enough into the mourning process that he thinks this one is always gonna sting, and not for the reasons Tommy thinks.

That's not fair. I'm sorry.

The texts get delivered. Tommy reads them. Buck's had read receipts on since the first time Tommy went quiet on a call and Buck freaked out a little - but back then they were still working towards something. Back then, sometimes Tommy would pull out his phone and open the thread just to give Buck sign of life.

He was always doing that. Heading shit off at the pass.

Buck had just never realized he'd be able to do it to hurt him, just as well as take care of him.

Every four weeks like clockwork Buck gets a response. He has no fucking idea why it's four weeks, what the third Thursday of the month has to do with Tommy feeling gracious enough to give Buck some clarity. He'd never known enough about Tommy, is the thing he's coming around to. He'd done everything he could to bring Tommy in, make him a part, and Tommy had let him. Tommy had distracted him with quippy words and a clever tongue and with being so fucking willing to be integrated into Buck's life that Buck just - hadn't noticed.

No one will say it, but he Bucked It Up in the worst kind of way.

He's waited until Third Thursday to send these texts. He actually hasn't sent anything at all, until this moment, and he wonders if Tommy noticed. If he cared. Tommy picks and chooses from Buck's random thoughts, parses out details like he's reading from a manual and Buck is off topic two thirds of the time. Buck doesn't actually know why he's been answering, all this time. He wonders if, in the last four weeks of silence, he thought he was finally done with Buck.

He wonders if it had hurt.

Buck sets his phone down to stand, skating across to the kitchen in his socks for the pizza rolls in the oven.

His diet is shit. His body feels like crap. He's one more drunken nights sleep on the couch away from emptying the rack in his fridge down the drain and giving sobriety a try. The last person he'd slept with had hinted that they'd prefer not to use condoms and Buck had almost let them.

Buck has worth. He knows he does. It's just sometimes when he remembers that every person he's ever loved has either walked out on him or let him walk away when he needed them, he struggles to find that worth.

His life has meaning, and all that jazz.

Buck sort of wonders if Tommy hasn't finally blocked his number, as he tosses a too-hot pizza roll in his mouth and huffs on the lava cheese burning his tongue. After the last message Buck had sent, three weeks ago, he wouldn't exactly be surprised.

(This is basically just an unhinged grief journal with an unreliable second narrator. Do you know what it's like to realize you're still in love with someone who never let you know them?)

There's been no response to that. Fair. Buck hadn't even actually said the words. No, he'd jumped right into the sharing a life part, cart before the horse as always when emotions were high.

The pizza rolls get tipped onto a plate and are immediately swimming in the heavy pour of ranch he'd prepared after he set the oven to preheat.

It cools them off a lot quicker than popping a hole in each seam and waiting.

It's been eight years since Buck has really even thought about that little trick.

When he opens his phone there's no response. No receipt. Just stark words waiting to be acknowledged.

I gave you my family, Tommy. You didn't even introduce me to your team at Harbor.

It's startling to realize after the fact. He doubts Tommy had meant it that way, but he'd basically spent six months being love bombed only to have the rug ripped right out from under his feet.

And yet. Months later and he still wants to know. Know why. Know how he could have done it, with tears in his eyes, with full awareness that it was already gonna hurt. Know Tommy - anything he'd part with, really, that wasn't something every random acquaintance also knew.

Cool, he'd been jealous of what Buck and the 118 had. (Buck had tried to give him that. Or at least he thought he had.)

Great, he didn't talk to his dad and Gerrard was a shitty captain. (Buck had spent an hour once explaining the first time he and his dad had spoken about Daniel without screaming at each other. Tommy had listened to the rants about Gerrard and offered physical comfort and a 'sounds like him' and Buck had just been so relieved to have an ally amongst the 'life is just like this sometimes' crowd that he'd never examined that.)

He was a Kinsey six who'd been engaged to the first woman Buck had ever really loved and they'd never dug deeper than that.

And Buck had apparently interpreted some of the shit he'd said that night wrong, but he still doesn't think it's fucking fair that Tommy can't trust him to know his own fucking mind well enough to know he hates sleeping around and he'd found the sort of connection he was looking for. He'd found it. Even with the lack of reciprocation. Even with the quiet behind Tommy's eyes that he'd never let Buck in on. Even with the -

His phone buzzes on the coffee table.

Can we talk?

Buck kinda hates those words in that order now. They'd been the start of something twice, but they'd always been leading to an end, if Tommy had his way.

Once every four weeks, apparently, Buck sends back and takes a vicious bite.

His phone chimes with an incoming call.

Buck stares at the name he hasn't had the stomach to remove the little heart from. Lets it ring through to voicemail and then shoves three more pizza rolls into his mouth and doesn't care if they burn off his taste buds.

His phone rings again.

"What?"

"I'm outside your building. Didn't want to make any assumptions that I'd be welcome without asking first."

Buck can feel his ribs cracking under the lurch of angry laughter. "What the hell?"

"Well the parking around here is miserable again, so I figure that's a sign."

"Are you driving right now?"

"Hands off. I'm on Bluetooth. So. Should I circle the building a fifth time or call it now and go home?"

Buck gets stuck on fifth time.

There's no way he hadn't been driving since at least before Buck sent that first text.

Buck sighs. There's absolutely no reason to be hopeful about that. For all he knows, Tommy has just decided dousing any residual flames is just another thing he has to do in person.

"My Jeep's in the shop. I'll buzz you into the garage."

Tommy's silent for a long, long moment. The quip comes anyway. "I keep telling you that thing is a money pit."

"I'm not really feeling the flirty banter, right now, Tommy, so maybe just let me know when you're at the gate."

He does. He hangs up the phone twenty seconds later with a plain "See you soon."

Buck doesn't have time to change. Fix his hair. Hide the sheet pan with half a dozen pizza rolls still laying on it, because he'd cooked way too many again.

(He could absolutely do one of these things but if Tommy's gonna throw this at him, he's getting every little slovenly habit Bucks's picked up since he walked out that door.)

The knock comes while Buck's shoving the last two rolls on his plate into his mouth.

He's still chewing with his mouth open to blow out the steam when he swings the door open, and Buck feels the first inklings of pleasure ripple through him at the sight of Tommy.

He looks like shit.

"You look like shit."

Tommy's brow ticks up. He stares pointedly at the glob of not-cheese that's going to absolutely ruin this sweatshirt.

"That tends to happen when you spend an hour in an armchair two sizes too small picking at trauma you've been hiding from your therapist for six years."

Buck opens the door wider. Holy crap. Tommy might legitimately be more fucked up than Buck.

Tommy's smile is strained. "Can I come in?"

Buck holds his gaze. His eyes are a little red. He's got a red spot along the side of his neck, like he's been rubbing at it. Buck only recognizes it as a comforting motion because he's replayed him doing it half a million times right before he ended things.

"Depends. Is this the last time you respond to my mean, rude, asshole texts for an hour after therapy rubs you raw?" Third Thursday Therapy, is apparently what does it. Buck is - god. He just wants -

"God, I hope not," Tommy says, and Buck takes a step to the side to let Tommy in.

[supernovafics]

boyfriend!steve who loves recording everything

wc: 899

a/n: been thinking about this a lot a lot and finally got around to writing it

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“and here we have my beautiful girlfriend who put this whole party together.”

you looked into the video camera for a brief second, drunkenly smiling into it before looking up at steve. “you’re having way too much fun with this thing already, birthday boy.”

“what? it’s actually a very cool gift.” you could tell steve was a little drunk too, but you didn’t think that would’ve changed how into the gift he was; the camera the kids pooled their money together to get for him. “say hi.”

“hi,” you said, smiling and looking right into the lens again, and then you playfully stuck your tongue out at it. 

“i love you,” steve said with a soft happy laugh. “so much.”

“i love you too. so, so much,” you told him and he leaned down to kiss you. 

“thank you again for doing this whole thing,” he mumbled against your lips. “best surprise ever.”

you couldn’t help but smile. “no need to thank me. you deserve it, best boyfriend ever.”

the camera was filming the wooden floor at this point, but it probably still picked up what you two were saying. 

you pulled away from steve after a second, knowing that the longer you two were wrapped up in one another, the more your friends would playfully make fun of the two of you.

“you should go film robin and nancy doing karaoke. i think that them drunkenly singing bohemian rhapsody needs to be documented.” 

steve nodded. “great idea.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

after that first night, it should’ve been obvious, but that camera became steve’s favorite thing. it almost made the new pair of nikes you’d gotten him look like the most boring gift ever, but you didn’t really mind it.  

it was always the most random moments that he wanted to record of you two. “for memories” was always his response when you asked why he wanted to record you two brushing your teeth in the morning or you two lying on the couch and watching a bad movie that he brought home from family video. 

or even in this moment when you two were cooking in the kitchen of your shared apartment.

you immediately gave him a look when you noticed him turn on the camera. “steve, you’re making it seem like we’re cooking something super elaborate. it’s just a grilled cheese.” 

“it’s still like a fun cooking show,” he said, smiling as he set the camera up on the counter, placing it on top of a stack of random containers. “what do you need, chef?”

there was no way of telling if either of you were actually in the frame— you had a feeling that at least your heads were cut off— but still, you decided to play along. he was acting too cute and adorable not to. 

“bread and cheese, chef,” you told him as you went to grab a pan from the cabinet below you. “oh, and butter too.”

“got it,” steve nodded and went over to the pantry and then the fridge, and then made a show of showing the camera all of the ingredients he grabbed. 

you couldn’t help but laugh a little as you watched him. you decided to play along further and follow suit as you did most of the actual cooking; making a point of showing the camera exactly what you were doing and even exaggeratingly explaining it too. 

and when you two were eating at your small kitchen table ten minutes later, you admitted to steve with a smile that he was right, and filming everything did make it feel like a “fun cooking show.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

and then there were the moments when you were the one to grab the camera and initiate the recording. it was seldom, but when you did do it, steve always got the happiest grin on his face. 

like, in this moment, when you were coming out of the bathroom and grabbing steve’s t-shirt that had been haphazardly tossed to the floor thirty minutes earlier and slipping it over your body. for no particular reason, other than you found yourself wanting to, you grabbed the camera off of steve’s nightstand and then slid into his lap, straddling him.

he was already smiling as you turned on the camera and the familiar red light came on when you pressed record. 

“say hi,” you told him, your own smile on your face as you pointed the camera at him. his messy hair from what you two had previously been doing was probably the cutest thing you’d ever seen and you made sure the camera saw it. 

he smiled wider. “hi.”

one of his hands found your bare thigh and you let out a contented hum in response. 

“y'know, i’m surprised you haven’t asked to film us yet,” you said softly. "us doing what we just did…”

his eyes widened a bit at your shy suggestion and you smiled wider, zooming in on his expression. “is that an option?”

you stopped recording him then and reached over to set the camera back down on the nightstand. 

“maybe,” you answered, shrugging innocently. “i think it could be kinda hot.”

steve shook his head. “not just kinda. very hot.”

you leaned down to kiss him then. it was slow and languid and steve’s hands immediately went to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer to him.  

“very hot,” you hummed in agreement. 

[friendof-blahaj]

Okay, just gonna give my two cents on this real quick. Sharing a comment of "This looks good," or, "I like these regulations," while most likely appreciated, is probably not gonna be super helpful for a public comment period on proposed regulations.

If you want to express support the new regulations that's great, but during this period the agency is typically looking for changes or omissions that need to be made before the regulation goes into effect. For this reason comments like "I don't like the like the rule grrr I like my truck the way it is," also probably aren't gonna concern the agency. Their response would basically be, okay boohoo go cry me a river it goes into effect on X date.

What they're really looking for are arguments for or against specific lines in the new regulations. If I'm not mistaken, by law the agency needs to collect and collate these comments into specific concerns which will then need to be addressed and either accepted or refuted, and if accepted reflect changes on the final version of these regulations.

So ideally, the best thing to do would be to find specific arguments people are making against the regulations, cite those arguments in your own comment, and refute them, and if you have data to back it up then you've already done most of the work refuting the point.

If not that then the next best thing would be to cite a specific line of the regulation that you appreciate the inclusion of. If you have a friend or a loved one who would have avoided death of serious injury if one of these rules was already in effect that's the sort of thing the agency wants to hear about, or if you have data to back it up even better.

And as stated previously a big thing they are looking for is omissions. If you believe there is a bit of wording or a line of text that fits under these new regulations and should be added that's exactly the sort of thing they're looking for, and if you have a personal story or data connected to it that'll be exactly what they're looking for.

I apologize if I came off scolding and for not having specific arguments you can use when commenting on this specific regulation, but seeing this post make the rounds I just wanted to give some advice from my perspective on how to best influence your government agencies and regulators.

Also, as an additional note, big influences like automakers or lobbying groups may have submitted there comments by mail or even published them in an article somewhere to show they're "fighting the good fight," to their customers/supporters. Those would be the most important comments to refute.

Think of this comment section less like a normal one, and more as part of one of those reply chains you see when a bunch of pretentious people start arguing about something unrelated. It's basically a debate floor.

IF YOU LIVE IN THE US AND WOULD RATHER NOT DIE FROM BEING HIT BY A CAR

please submit a comment on the NHTSA proposal to implement pedestrian safety test requirements for cars and trucks!!

It would finally make manufacturers design vehicles that are safer for pedestrians and cyclists, instead of the massive wall-of-steel front ends that are excessively deadly for no reason. Europe already has rules like this, but unless we comment in approval, they're not going to do anything to halt the increasing pedestrian deaths in our country.

And please share, even if you don't live in the US!

[6toru]

𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐄.

synopsis. gaining the title ‘duke’ not only came with the prestige, but came along the lonely days you spent yearning for your husband as he toggled the new duties and responsibilities he had to face. it was only a matter of time before you decided that you could only have so much patience, deciding that it wouldn’t hurt if you played around a little – watching as your husband who held himself in great temperance and sangfroid fall into pieces the more you attempt to break his composure.

pairing. nanami kento x fem!reader genre. dukedom & arranged marriage au + smut cw. mature content (mdni), breeding kink, rough sex , explicit language + dirty talk

word count. 4.2k

author's note. hehe a repost from an old writing blog of mine ! def one of my favourite pieces + something about someone who's usually so poised losing control of themselves... feral is what i am 😩

NANAMI KENTO, no doubt, was a powerful young man who earned himself the title Duke from the royal king after his contribution and victory in the most recent war. Of course, now that he was given the new title, he was given a whole lot of responsibilities and duties that he’s got to fulfill now that he had plenty more people to protect. Nowadays, the young duke would either be found training his lot of knights, hunting, or cooped up in his grand office busying himself with myriads of documents. Despite being incredibly proud of his achievements, you still couldn’t help but yearn for the affection of your beloved husband.

 Many nights were spent alone, staring up at the tall dark ceiling while you silently counted sheep – hoping that once you had reached a hundred, he would arrive and join you in bed (he’d often fall asleep on the sofa in his office). And, many nights were spent with you fending for yourself when you longed for his touch, arching your back when you’d climax on your fingers – however, you never felt fully satisfied. Your fingers could never compare to his larger and thicker fingers, nor his… 

You shake your head rapidly, feeling your cheeks growing redder by the lewd thoughts of your husband swimming through your mind. The last time you had intercourse with the male was when you both consummated the marriage, which was almost half a year ago, and then a month after that, the war happened – and two months later, he’d come back with a new title, Duke. Everything else after that was a blur. He was just within your reach — residing in the same manor and all, could almost reach for him but always got farther and farther away. You miss your husband, desperately. 

You stroll through the hallways of the manor, taking small strides towards the familiar giant door with a board of your freshly baked bread balanced in your hands. You continue to hum a gentle tune as you got closer and closer to the door. Although, it may appear to other people that his wife was innocently barging into his office thus surprising him with baked goods made with love – However, unknowingly for them, you had other plans hidden up your sleeves.

“Kento,” your voice gentle as you call out his name, “I brought you something that I think you’d love!”

You open the door further, revealing your husband — as per usual — busying himself with his documents. Fatigue was plastered all across his face, though he tried his best to mask it, but the dark circles underneath his hazel eyes were of no help. You could tell that even his muscles had gotten sore from training and staying seated for long periods of time. You placed the bread tray in front of him, and you walked around the desk to stand next to your husband. 

“Thank you, honey,” He quickly thanks you, sending you a quick nod of acknowledgement. Your husband was in pure autopilot mode, his hand continuously signing the documents despite him slowly losing focus — desperately trying to keep them open rather than succumbing to slumber.

“You should take a moment to relax, Kento.” You say. Just as he is about to come up with some type of excuse as to why he shouldn’t take a break, you lean in closer to his ear. “Let me help you.”

Your hands travel up to his back, and you applied some pressure on his shoulders while you massaged him. Your husband releases a low groan when you apply even more pressure on a stubborn muscle knot on his shoulders. You smile when he relaxes into your touch, closing his eyes while he leaned closer into you as you massaged into his sore muscles until those pesky knots disappeared. “How do you feel now?”

“I feel much better,” Kento sighs, humming pleasantly, “ Thank you for the bread, too. I’ll make sure to finish it while I continue working.”

“Can’t your break be a little longer?” You probe at him, pouting softly. “I missed you.”

A sudden wave of boldness and confidence overtook your consciousness, and you brought yourself down on his lap, your arms snaking around your husband’s muscular shoulders. Kento looks completely taken aback, and you eat that expression up as if it is candy. 

 “Kento,” you begin, “can’t you see that your cute and loving wife misses you?”

You press your lips against his ear, before whispering: “I’ve been thinking about you so much, putting a baby inside of me.”

Slowly, you thrust your hips against his thigh, watching your husband in pure amusement as he attempts to keep his composure; his hand tightening on his pen, knuckles white. Almost immediately, you can feel him hardening underneath you, and you grinned almost immediately. Something about his reaction swelled your heart with pride, knowing that despite being busy you still, somewhat, had an effect on him. Even more, Kento was taken aback, completely speechless (and undeniably turned on) from his wife’s bold ministrations.

 “B-baby inside..?” His voice came out as a dry rasp, his eyes wide .

Before your husband could process anything else, he felt the weight on his lap disappearing, and he quickly stared up to watch you getting ready to leave. You fixed the wrinkles on the hem of your dress, trying to fight back the grin on your face after having just teased your usually stoic husband. He had always appeared so cool and composed, so watching him try so hard to keep his composure undeniably gave you some type of thrill. 

“Y/N?” He called out your name, looking visibly confused. Your eyes traveled down to your husband’s trousers, smiling innocently as you caught sight of the large tent growing between his legs.

“I almost forgot to mention, but the marchioness invited me to her manor for a tea party.” You said, attempting to stifle the giggle bubbling in your throat while your husband appeared flustered. “I won’t be back until tonight.”

You lean in to give him a quick kiss on his lips, not before licking his bottom lip as you pull away. You were being far too mean with your husband, but you couldn’t help it — watching him slowly crack beneath your manipulation sent a shock of arousal straight between your legs. “Until then, promise me that you’ll finish the bread and take breaks when you need it, okay?”

Before the man could even muster a single response, you walked out of his office. Only two could play at this game, you thought to yourself as you closed the office door behind you.

Hours had already passed and you finished catching up with the noble ladies, exchanging goodbyes and letters before parting ways. It had truly been a while since you had last caught up with your friends. Nevertheless, the time spent at your friend’s manor was enjoyable, listening to all the spicy gossip while enjoying desserts and tea. 

The ride back home in the carriage is silent — the only sound present were the continuous patters from the horses’ steps. You stare outside the window, quietly watching the manor eventually disappearing as the carriage goes further away in distance. It is already a quarter past nine, perhaps the latest you have ever stayed out, and it is safe to assume that your beloved husband is probably resting on the sofa in his office again. 

You lean your back against the seat, pressing the side of your head against the window as your eyes begin to grow heavy, the distant sounds of the horses’ steps gradually lulling you into a short slumber.

“My lady, we’ve arrived.”

“Oh my, we’re already here?” You ponder to yourself out loud, groggily opening your eyes. You place your hands atop the coachman’s guiding you down the carriage, and you stare at the tall manor before you. Once you enter inside, you are automatically greeted with your maids ushering you to the bathroom with a change of clothes. Undeniably, you felt a little disappointed, as you believe that your husband had unknowingly proved your point from earlier — you, at least, hoped that he’d stay awake a little longer. You sink lower into the tub, blowing bubbles as you scrunch your brows together, the water hiding pouting lips. The maid had left you alone earlier, telling you that she’d return with a towel soon, but it’s been moments.

You glance around the bathroom, trying to decipher the exact location of your nightgown. Ah, it was on the stool, next to the door. If anyone had walked in on you grabbing your nightgown from the stool, the only thing they’d see is your wet and bare body. It shouldn’t be too bad, though —after all, it’s always been your maids coming in. Slowly, you stand up from the large tub, and you immediately shiver from the wave of cold air rushing to you,, cool beads of water dripping down your body. With careful steps, you make  your way across the room, your hand reaching out towards your nightgown. 

You suddenly hear a knock on the door, and you instinctively grab the gown to cover the front of your body. It must be the maid, you think to yourself and you try to mimic that of a stern face — however, you can’t bring yourself to be too harsh on a new maid, after all. You watch the door open slowly, and you tap your fingers against your elbows. “Hana, where were you all this… Oh.”

Almost immediately, your face is sent aflame and you scurry away from the door, your failed attempt of a stern persona pathetically crumbling away as the space revealed no one other than your husband standing in front of the doorway with a towel in his hand. Hazel eyes travel up and down your frame, his jaw tensing at the sight of your bunched up nightgown barely covering your body — hell, it didn’t cover anything, he stares longingly at your left breast deciding to slip out of the covers. He steps into the room and closes the door shut immediately, his eyes still locked into your frame and he stays silent. 

You press the nightgown against your body even more and you look away from his gaze, as if it could help hide your insecurities that are growing the more he stared and stayed silent. However, all that stops when you glance back at your husband and he gives you a come hither motion with his index finger. “Kento,” you say his name softly, “I thought you were asleep—”

“Come here,” is all he says to you, his voice low and baritone. You easily comply with his words, taking small strides to get closer to the male. “Hand me your nightgown.”

“I thought it was Hana that knocked,” you say quietly as you hand your husband your nightgown, further revealing your naked body. You can hear Kento’s breath hitch for a mere moment before he quickly regains his composure — however, it is already so fragile. He swiftly wraps the towel around your body before pulling you closer to him, his hands resting on your hips while he leans closer to your face with stern eyes. “You’re lucky that it was me, then. What were you thinking about going out of the bath like that? What if it wasn’t Hana or I that walked in?” 

“I didn't want to stay in the bath anymore, and I genuinely believed that my maids would be the only ones to walk in. Because of that, I didn’t feel too worried.” You answer your husband softly, squeezing his shoulder ever so slightly. “Despite you giving me a bit of a surprise, I can’t say that I’d rather have Hana come here instead of you.”

“Is that so? That’s a relief, then. I did tell her that I’d take care of the rest and she could rest for the night.” He hummed, before lifting you up in his arms without any warning, immediately eliciting a surprised gasp from your lips. 

“W-what are you doing?” You question your husband, stammering as you instinctively place your hand onto his chest. 

“You know, after you played your little game earlier, I wasn’t able to do my work properly.” says Kento, opening the bathroom door. “I believe you should bear some sort of responsibility, no?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mutter under your breath, masking a soft grin as you nuzzle your face into your husband’s neck.

 “Putting a baby inside you,” he says, a slight strain present in his baritone voice as he continues walking down the hall with your towel-covered body in his arms. The walk down to your shared bedroom feels like an eternity has passed, the sounds of his footsteps resonating across the quiet hall. You want to question him where the rest of maids and butlers had gone but you relented, your body tense under the man’s carnal gaze.

“If fucking a baby inside of you is what you want, then it’s what you’ll get. It’s what my sweet wife asked for, after all.”

“H-Honey, what are you—?” 

With one hand, Kento swiftly opens the bedroom door. You let out a small shriek when he throws you on the soft mattress of your king-sized bed, his large hands pinning your hands above your head. He has this carnal glint in his amber eyes as he stares deeply into yours, it was as if all his self-control was beginning to crumble right before your eyes — you’ve never seen him like this; a cool, composed and reserved man looking so disheveled above you—his dress shirt buttoned loosely, revealing his collarbones and the evident incarnadine flush radiating onto his cheeks. Truly, it is a delicious sight to behold, and the wetness dwelling between your legs only seems to grow the longer you stare at the man.

 “What a lewd woman, you are.” He mutters, his grip on your wrists tightening while his other hand trails down your chest, slowly pulling the towel down. “Was my sweet wife having fun playing teatime after leaving me to take care of this?”  

Before you can even utter a word, a sudden gasp leaves your lips when Kento grinds his hips against yours; the delightful friction of the erection growing in his trousers rubbing against your clit, your back arching in hopes to get more. “I missed you,” you say between heavy breaths, “I missed you so much—Ah! Y-You’ve been so cooped up in your o-office lately and ngh..”

Your words were cut abruptly by his lips, teeths clashed and tongues intertwined while his rough and calloused fingers trail up your torso, towards your bare chest in a teasingly slow pace. A muffled moan leaves your lips, only to be covered by your husband’s lips, as he teases your already erect nipples.

 “Tell me more,” said your husband, his lips leaving yours. 

With heavy eyes, you watch Kento’s lips trail to where his hands once rested. His tongue swirls around the mound before sucking on your skin harshly, and you rest your fingers tangled in his blond locks as he continues to elicit those cute sounds coming from your swollen lips.

“You’ve been so busy with your duties as the duke, and—Mhhm..!—I-I’ve been feeling so alone these many nights while I longed for you, so so desperately. I love you so much Kento—Ah!” You mewl out those words in unadulterated wanton, your voice all shakey, it almost sounds embarrassingly pathetic when your husband is doing nothing more than teasing your breasts rather than fucking you relentlessly in the mattress. You can barely care less about how you sound though, because his lips and touch alone are enough to send you into ecstasy. You want him to touch you more. The needy ache between your legs continuously grows more intense the longer he teases you. 

“H-Honey, ‘want more. Please.” You beg your husband, your fingers desperately trying to unbutton his wrinkled dress shirt. “I need more of you.”

Kento doesn’t reply back, continuing his little ministrations on your neglected mound. It is adorable seeing him so focused on pleasuring you, but the heat you feel in your pussy feels too overwhelming. You push your husband’s head away from your mound, his lips leaving your skin with a soft ‘pop!’ He glances at you questioningly.

It was a bold and sudden decision that you had made on a whim out of sheer desperation, but his reaction made it all the more worth it. As soon as your fingers leave his half-buttoned dress shirt, you hook your arms underneath your knees and spread your legs open, revealing your cunt drenched in your desperate juices. “Kento, I mean it when I told you that I wanted you to put a baby in me.”

His mouth is left agape at your sudden boldness, his eyes fixated on the juices slowly dripping out of your hole — his breath gets stuck in his throat as he watches your small fingers spread your pussy lips apart. “Kento, touch me. Please.”

“Shit.”

It is almost as if the string has finally snapped inside of him, because before his mind can even start to think properly, his hands are on your thighs, keeping your legs spread apart as he begins the merciless assault on your dripping folds; his tongue lapping at all your wetness as if he was animal thirsty for water. Kento almost groans at the way his finger stretches your pussy, his finger sliding in almost immediately due to your juices. “Fuck,” he curses under his breath, “you’re so wet for me.”

He slides his index finger in and out before adding a second finger to the mix. He starts off slow, but his pace gradually quickens to that of which is considered merciless. The sounds of your wet cunt getting demolished by his fingers echoes in the grand room, along with your cries of pleasure. Your hips thrash against his fingers, and you can feel the sensation of pressure that was building up in your abdomen intensifying the more that he pleases you with his large fingers. Within less than a second, you cum intensely around his fingers, a loud moan erupting from your throat as your body slumps against Kento. 

‘His fingers feel so much better compared to my fingers,’ you think to yourself as you try to recover from your first orgasm. 

While you attempt to catch your breath, you glance back to Kento only to watch him undress with your mouth salivating. It’s already a given that your husband would be incredibly fit as he often trains with the knights and hunts (while not forgetting the night you had consummated with him in the dark the past few months ago — you felt every crevice of his muscles) — but now, seeing it up close and so clearly — he is truly a sight to behold. You reach your arm towards his chiseled abdomen, your fingers drawing hearts across his skin, and your eyes travel lower past his abdomen; staring intently at the huge tent growing beneath his underwear. You want to get fucked by this man already, so so bad.

“Kento,” you say his name softly, tracing your fingers along the outline of your husband’s clothed erection before trailing back up to the waistband, tugging it down slightly to expose more of his v-line. He tugs his boxers down completely, and your mouth immediately waters at the exquisite sight. He is a lot bigger than you had remembered.

When he slowly rubs the tip of his dick against your folds, shivers trickle down your spine as you raise your hips to meet his, attempting to get him inside. 

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful.” He mumbles, his voice hoarse. “Look at you all spread open for me, desperate to get a taste of my cock.”

He slips his tip in, eliciting a sharp breath past your trembling lips, and then he pulls out. You whine out his name in a bated breath, your cheeks flushed in an incarnadine hue. Kento spares you a soft smile, almost as if it was mocking you, before he fills your hole up to the very brim — splitting your pussy open. 

“Oh fuck—Kento!” A scream slips past your lips, your eyes scrunched shut as a huge wave of pleasure rushes through your veins, sending goosebumps on your skin. Your husband is relentless with his movements, your legs spread apart by his strong grip.  The sounds of his skin slapping against yours along with cries of his name resonates across the bedroom, coupled with the intense squeaking from the mattress. “F-Feels so good—Ahn! Please—Please don’t stop—Oh!”

“You dirty woman,” Kento sneers, “we’ve just started and your pussy’s already so greedy for my cum by how tight you’re squeezing me. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to get my sweet wife pregnant—filled with all my cum.”

With that, he spreads your legs even wider and leans his torso closer to yours; his face merely centimeters away from yours. “I can feel you getting tighter,” He says, his hot breath fanning against your skin, “you’re getting real close, hm?”

He doesn’t give you a chance to properly reply though, as he trails his one hand down to your clit and rubs rough circles on the sensitive bundle of nerves, eliciting a silent scream—your mouth agape and eyes rolled back as you ride out your orgasm, arching your back against his chest. 

You are barely given enough time to recover when Kento returns to work, his lips instantly connecting to yours while he thrusts his cock inside your sopping hole with a stuttering pace. His hands travel up to your breasts and gives them a harsh squeeze, the pace of his thrusts quickening. Your husband looks utterly delectable, his face scrunched up as he focuses on your pleasure, small beads of sweat rolling down his forehead. Pleasure fills your veins, and your cries only increase in volume the closer you are to reaching your second orgasm. 

Thoughts of you being all plumped up and pregnant play repeatedly in his mind, and it merely ignites his desire to pump all his cum into you. Breaths ragged, he stuffs his head into the crook of your neck, nails gripping into your hips as he continues to plummet into you. “K-Kento—!” You wantonly whine out his name, wrapping your legs tightly around your husband’s hips. “Cum inside me—please. Want your kids so bad.”

How can he not cum? Especially when the sight of his sweet wife being drunk on his dick is right before his eyes. With a groan (combined with a growl) of your name along with a string of curses leaving his lips, he stiffens up inside you; warm ropes of his cum coating your walls white. 

Upon pulling out, he watches large beads of white leaking out of your hole and he sticks his finger inside, pushing his cum back inside. You released a soft sigh in pleasure, your legs slightly twitching at your husband’s touch. 

“How are you feeling now?” Questions your husband, Kento. You reach your arm out to his face, your thumb tracing light circles on his cheekbones. 

“I’m a happy, happy wife,” you reply to him, laughing softly before leaning into his lips, giving him a soft peck. Kento chuckles lightly into the kiss. “Was I too rough with you?” He asks you once more, and you shake your head immediately.

“I think I’ve realized just now how much I enjoy being manhandled by you,” you reply back to him, giggling. “Rather, I enjoy seeing this new side of you.”

Your giggles quickly gets replaced by a slight gasp when your husband suddenly adjusts your position, your face and chest now pressed against the mattress with your husband behind you, his hand lightly rubbing his erect cock. Swiftly, you turn your head to Kento, your mouth agape as you are just about to question him but the sting of his hand on your ass immediately erases all rational thoughts in your mind. Heat immediately rushes to your face once more at the foreign, yet pleasurable sensation. 

“K-Kento,” you are able to utter your husband’s name, your arms already feeling weak from holding yourself up from the mattress. A shaky breath leaves your lips when he slowly rubs his cock against you from behind, your ears picking up a hoarse chuckle.

“I never said I was done with you,” Kento tells you, “not until I’m sure that you’ll get pregnant with all my cum."

© 6TORU do not copy, repost, or translate my works on any platform.

comments + reblogs are greatly appreciated !

[twisted-broth]

A Human's Touch

Mr Gap x Reader

(Anything in bold is other world language)

It had been a while now since you had returned to the other world. It was hard to tell time here, but at least you knew that this was where you belonged. It was almost laughable to think that you once tried to leave this place.

You would never admit it, but you really owed a lot to the shit eating grin that always manages to pop up whenever you need him. Even now, with you life no longer in constant peril, he pops up somewhere nearby quite often. It could be from the crack of your closet, inside your bag, or a random hole in the wall that you swear wasn't there before. As annoying as Mr Gap was, he was probably the closest thing you had to a friend. He would even bring you things from the human world if you asked. For a price, of course.

You sigh as your "friend" holds one of your favorite books from the human world just out of reach. He was playing his favorite game again.

"Give leg." He demanded.

"Give foot." Was your counter offer. Most of your body parts would grow back, but it takes longer for bigger parts and more complex organs. Luckily there didn't seem to be a word in their language for liver or spinal column.

His expression twists for a moment, but the smile quickly returns. "Yes." He agrees.

The pain that radiates from your ankle would have made you pass out a few months ago, but now it only elicits a stifled grunt. You snatch the book from Mr. Gap's hand as he smiles at the newfound treasure that appears in his grasp. You sigh once more and put the book to the side before pressing an already bloodied towel to your ankle.

With the bleeding successfully stopped, there was nothing else for you to do but lie in bed while you waited for it to grow back. You spared a glance towards your new book, but couldn't muster the energy to read it. The isolation of this world had been wearing on you. You had been spending time with Mr Silvair and Mr Chopped lately, but there was another recent earthquake that blocked off your path to them. You had yet to find the time to search for a new one.

With an arm draped over your eyes, you fell back against your threadbare pillow. The covers rustled around you, giving away the presence of another with you.

"Why sad?" You opened one eye to look down at your covers. The face of Mr Gap blended in with the darkness above your legs. If he had a body, he would be nearly lying on top of you. The part of your brain that was still human couldn't help but think that some actual physical touch would be nice.

"I one. Sad. Friend not here." Elaborating on the concept of loneliness using a lexicon of 100 words wasn't really a task you wanted to undertake at the moment.

You had thought Mr Gap would either leave or laugh at you, but to your surprise he looked confused. "I here." He responded.

Now it was your turn to be confused. If you weren't mistaken, he seemed almost offended that you hadn't called him a friend.

"You friend?"

"Yes." If this language had some equivalent of 'duh', you imagined that would be what he would say instead.

All you can do in response is blink at him. You really never imagined that Mr Gap would hang around you because he considered you a friend. If anything, you thought he just saw you as a an endless stream of various body parts. "Thank you. I like friend."

Hesitantly, you lifted a hand to reach up and stroke his head. He looked mildly disgusted (which was often his expression anyway), but didn't react otherwise. His hair wasn't exactly pleasant to touch- it was greasy and weirdly damp in places- but at least it was something of what you had been missing. He continued to humor you, but you decided not to push your luck on how long he would allow you to continue touching him.

"Why touch?" He asked when you were done.

"Human like touch. Make sad go away." It wasn't exactly what you wanted to say, but you figured it would get the point across.

Hesitantly, one of his arms reaches out from beneath your covers. Your current working theory was that his arms just appeared whenever he needed them, but you haven't gotten around to asking him yet. Your positioning is a bit awkward, so he can't reach your head to return your pats. Instead, he pats you on the shoulder for a few seconds. His hands are cold and clammy, but those few seconds of touch are something you've been missing for a while.

You smile. Mr Gap could be annoying at best and cruel at worst, but it would seem that he does have a sweet side to him after all. You distantly wonder if some semblance of a normal relationship would be possible here. Unlikely, but it may not be as out of reach as you once thought.

"Thank you. You good friend." You said after a beat of silence. For a moment it appears like he isn't quite sure how to feel about your declaration. You don't imagine it's something people tell him often. After a second of thought, he returns your smile.

"Me good friend. You give heart?"

Well, you can work on that.

[sunsherbet]

Got Milk?

In which you ask your neighbor to borrow a glass of milk for a recipe.

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

CW: None

You wish you could say there was a first for you.

That deep down you were some uber-responsible twenty-something who made their grocery list and checked it twice, but you weren’t. This was the third time this week you’d forgotten something from the grocery store and only realized when it was that exact ingredient your recipe depended on.

It wasn’t even like you cooked often. You were a habitual air-fryer indulger whose culinary portfolio consisted of elevated cup ramen and just-add-water pancakes. 

But your sister was coming over, and you wanted to surprise her with her favorite chili oil pappardelle pasta. Hence, you needed a few more ingredients than your usual frozen dinners required, one of which was milk—an ingredient you realized, as you looked in your fridge, you were completely out of.

The minute hand ticked loudly, and your head snapped up to glance at the cupcake-shaped clock, which was slowly approaching 8:30—giving you less than an hour to finish your meal.

With time counting down, you had two choices for getting the milk: First, you could run down to the corner store and hope the creepy cashier wasn’t working tonight. That normally wouldn’t have been a massive concern, but it was winter, which meant it was dark outside already. And honestly, your sister's pasta just wasn’t worth the risk of dealing with someone who gave you the shivers. That left you with the second choice: flashing your best smile and begging your neighbors for a cup.

To the right of your apartment were Mrs. Hyde and her wife—two sweet old ladies who smelled like vintage perfume and flabby wine. Unfortunately, they went to bed at 7 p.m., so that was out. On the left were Mikael and his daughter Erin, but you two never quite got along, so that wasn’t an option either. Which left the one who lived across the hallway. He was supposedly a 'charming young chap' (according to the Hydes) and had lived there longer than you, but you’d never seen him.

Six months ago, when you first moved in, you’d baked some muffins and left them at his doorstep, but you’d forgotten to write a note and had been too embarrassed to try another introduction. So, this would be your first encounter with him. But it was an emergency, you swear! Otherwise, you wouldn't be bothering him with your trivial milk problems (even though they weren’t so trivial—after all, you'd already started the noodles and needed the cream base. Fast).

You grab a pair of neon Crocs, their bright contrast to your wine-red dress a jarring reminder of your frantic state, and rush out of your apartment, making sure to turn off the boiling water and secure the lid.

When you reach the door, you’re not sure why your heart is pounding in your chest or why your arms are covered in goosebumps. It’s probably just the nerves of meeting someone new, you decide, shaking yourself a little to readjust.

You curl your fingers to tap against the door, but just before your knuckles rap against the sturdy wood, it swings open. Standing in the frame is a tall guy with wire-frame glasses. He’s got a slimmer frame than his baggy plaid shirt can fill out, and a brown cardigan button-up rests just above his slacks. His bronze-like hair and matching doe eyes give you a not-so-subtle once-over, full of curiosity.

You jump in surprise, balancing yourself on the tacky wallpaper of the hallway. He quirks an eyebrow in a way that’s frankly adorable but you’re just a bit too stunned to fully appreciate just how attractive your neighbor happens to be.

“Can I help you?” 

“Uh, yeah, do you happen to have any milk?” 

He quirks his eyebrow again and this time you take note of the way his hair flops in front of it, “Yeah just not like grain or anything.”

You wave a hand in front of your face and shake your head, "Oh don't worry I'm not a hipster or lactose intolerant." The joke is rewarded with a small chuckle and you quickly decide it’s endearing. Dropping your hand from in front of him you stick it out, “Uh I’m your neighbor by the way. Not some random looking for milk handouts.” 

“I’m Spencer.” He provides, though he lets your hand hang between the two of you awkwardly, "Did you know the number of pathogens passed during a handshake is staggering? It's actually safer to kiss."

Dropping your hand to your side you pucker your lips dramatically, and tease, “Are you asking for a kiss?” 

“W-What? No!” He leans back and you erupt into a giggle, shaking your head at his grimace.

“Well if you don’t want a kiss do you mind if I get that milk?”

“Yeah, of course, I can help you with your..?" He trails off, seemingly not knowing what to call your predicament.

But you certainly know what it should be called, and answer without hesitation, "My life or death dilemma? The reason for my current milk escapades."

Spencer seems to relax a bit more at your rambling, his posture less stiff and more calm, "Hm, seems like it's pretty important." He quirks an eyebrow, leaning against the door frame.

"Well, I did say life or death didn't I.” You look over at his watch and tap a foot impatiently, "Hey um I'm kinda in a rush, my sister is coming over and I'm not even half done with the stupid sauce. Though in my defense, I didn't know she was coming until like a week ago and I'm an avid cereal eater so the likelihood of me even having milk when she came over is slim to none - but I took the risk and now I'm milkless and totally screwed because cooking is hard and god I think I burnt the noodles for this stupid chili oil pappardelle pasta-which by the way I don’t even know how to make." 

Spencer is biting his cheek because he can’t laugh. He can’t laugh because it’s rude to laugh at someone he’s only just met, even if you’re blabbering and blushing and wearing adorable chartreuse platform Crocs. 

When you moved in across the hallway, Spencer Reid had admittedly looked into you. It wasn’t that he meant to be intrusive—it was just in his nature. He’d always been wary of new people, especially given his line of work. So when the long-vacant apartment finally filled and the scent of Yankee Candles began to waft through the hall, he might have asked Penelope to do a little digging.

Though her extensive report didn’t do justice to the person standing in front of him now. 

"Oh my god, you're laughing!" You exclaim, positively mortified at his audacity to laugh at you in this time of need.

"Sorry! Sorry!" He catches his breath after a moment and licks his lips with a flick of his tongue, "Maybe I can make it up to you?"

You smile but your foot is still tapping, "Do tell."

“While I’ve admittedly never made chili oil pappardelle pasta I’m quite quick to pick things up. If you need any help I could-?”

"Oh please thank you!" Letting out a sigh of relief you go to grab his hand, only pulling back when you remember his tangent about germs,  "She'll be here in thirty minutes so we have to hurry."

"Okay, let me go get the milk, and uh we can start."

"Thank you, Spencer.”

"Oh ... you're welcome."

You don’t notice the blush.

[help-help-i-need-an-adult]

She has her good moments. Then she has her terrible ones.

Like, I haven’t had this confirmed (because she doesn’t talk about politics and won’t discuss who she voted for ever) but I’m 99% sure she’s a trumper. I once asked if she had voted for Reagan and her response was something like “a person’s vote is a private thing and I will not discuss who I voted for.” And I was like “grandma, his presidency was over before I was even born. Pretty sure you could tell me at this point.” And just, nope.

I’m gonna have to tell her I can’t help with her book at all anymore because if spicy books become illegal (which is in their plan) then it won’t be legal to write or promote them either. And, like, I’m all for being able to write or read whatever you want, but I’ve got different hills to die on.

So yeah. Grandma has her pro’s and con’s.

Please remember your favorite writers are attention whores with a praise kink, they need validation to survive. Feed them comments and reblogs to save a life.

[letters-to-lgbt-kids]

My dear lgbt+ kids, 

If you sometimes come across the term “banned books” but don’t really know what it means, here’s a simple little introduction to the topic: 

“Banned books” refers to books that have been censored or removed from libraries, schools, or bookstores due to objections from certain groups or individuals.

When we read that definition, I think a really common and understandable response is: „whoa, okay, these must be really bad books full of dangerous ideas!“… and in some way, that’s true. 

Because, you see, to someone with a homophobic worldview, any book with a gay character is really bad and dangerous. And to a child abuser, any book that educates children on consent is really bad and dangerous. 

Among the top reasons for book bans are lgbt+ content, sexual content (including sexual education or education on sexual abuse), themes of racism and themes like drug use or addiction. Over the years, many books with significant cultural and educational value have faced bans - and this continues to be an issue all around the world, including in the US. 

When books are banned, it restricts the access to information people (including kids and teenagers) need to understand themselves and others. This negatively affects queer people and other marginalized groups (for example people of color or disabled people) but it also impacts everyone else. Diversity in literature enriches our understanding of the diversity of real life. It helps to build empathy, compassion, kindness and understanding. Access to different stories and viewpoints is vital for an inclusive society. 

Censoring queer books in particular also normalizes the message that queer experiences are inappropriate or “dirty” - which, again, is really beneficial to homophobes and transphobes. If it feels safe for them to say that queer books harm children, it paves the way for all other kinds of discrimination and harassment of queer people. 

Now you may think “this all makes sense when it comes to books with gay characters! But didn’t you also mention stuff like sexual abuse and addiction and racism up there? These are indeed bad and dangerous things!” 

I think this is another really common thought. These things happen in real life and it can be uncomfortable to even think about them. But that’s precisely why we need books about those “uncomfortable” topics! 

We may not like the idea that a child hears about racism or abuse - but in a world where kids can experience racism and abuse, they also need to be able to read about racism and abuse. They need to be able to say “this is what’s happening to me and this is not okay”. We need to be able to name bad things when they happen to us or when we witness them happening to others. We need an understanding of and a language for bad things. That’s the only way to fight the bad things. 

Another thought you may have is “Okay, and now what? I don’t have the power to do anything about all this anyway”, and honestly I wouldn’t blame you for that one either. Hearing about book bans (on top of all the other negative stuff we hear about) can feel really depressing. But there are things you can do to push back and help keep diverse stories accessible - even if you are young or have limited resources! 

Some ideas: 

use your public library (many public libraries actively resist censorship and make banned books available!) 

use a digital library (services like Libby and Project Gutenberg offer free access to many books) 

look out for online petitions or letter-writing campaigns by organizations that oppose book bans (for example PEN in America) 

look up if there are any “little free libraries” in your area (free book-sharing box operating on the honor system: anyone can take or leave a book for no cost) 

look up if there are any book swapping events in your area 

take part in reading groups, book clubs etc. (either in person or online) 

And of course the big one: if you can afford to buy books - make a point to buy banned books (or more generally, queer books and books from marginalized authors and books on topics that frequently get banned)! As a starting point, you can find lists of banned books online. Wikipedia has one, for example. 

If you have a bigger budget, you could even buy multiple copies and put some in your local “little free library” or bring them to book-swapping events or gift them to friends etc! (You could also ask your local public library (or school library or prison library or youth center or women’s shelter etc) if they take book donations, but you may want to hold off on buying before they say yes - not all of them can accept donations!).

Happy reading and resisting!

With all my love, 

Your Tumblr Dad 

[hextechmadelesbians]

Caitlyns path to destruction is really intresting in how it shows how people get pushed in to extremist thinking via grief and fear.

Historically speaking, the way fascist movements gain followers is by preying on those who have suffered recent tragedy or trauma (often as a result to social injustices or soical unrest) and basically use it to create a common false enemy. They take complex problems and emotions and say "all your problems can go away if we just get rid of those guys." This is particularly effective against dominate social groups who have almost always already been socially conditioned to think lesser of marginalised groups, whether or not they consciously realize it or not.

Caitlyn was learning the inherit injustices done by piltover and was trying to fix things by using her connections to the council. And even then when everything went to shit cause of jinx she still defended the people of Zaun. She even admitted to jayce that she understands why people are so quick to hate them all cause she was starting to feel that way, and at that point she was able to acknowledge and address it.

But then the attack at the memorial seems to confirm those negeative beliefs. For as much as caitlyn was sympathetic to the zaunites she seems to have had this idea that if you get rid of silco and jinx then suddenly all their problems will dissappear. But with an attack that had nothing to do with either of them, and with her preexsisting implicit bias, shes left with no one to blame but the collective.

Theres also the whole thing regarding the whole "i had the shot" issue. Caitlyn feels personally responsible for her mothers death because she didn't take out Jinx when she had the chance, all because Vi asked her not to. This mixed with her implicit bias becoming exceedingly more explicit, makes for a dangerous concoction for someone very open for extremist messaging.

(Sidenote: This isnt the first we've seen this in the show, back in act 3 Jayce did something very similar with the whole "you didnt tell me they were from the undercity" "im from the undercity" conversation with viktor)

This is also the thing that causes her to ultimately betray Vi, because once again she stopped her from taking the shot that she believes would of solved everything. Not only that but while Vi isnt necessarily wrong by comparing Caitlyn's actions to Jinx, saying it that way outloud was not the correct move qnd i think its what ultimately led Caitlyn to hitting her. Comparing Caitlyn to the person who murdered her mother, regardless of how true it is, was never gonna get a level headed response. Mixed with her growing fear of Zaunites now effecting how she sees Vi, it was inevitable she was going to do something impulsive shes gonna regret.

Cutting ties with Vi is also in itself going to bite her later because Vi was both her only remaining emotional rock and the one whos willing to openly criticise her. Vi will tell Caitlyn when she thinks shes wrong or doing something stupid which helps keep Caitlyn grounded. With her gone theres not really anyone who she trusts to stop her from doing something apprehensive.

This has all primed her to be the perfect target for Ambessa Maddarda, because shes emotionally impulsive enough to take rash action and vulnerable enough to manipulate, She now has access to the most powerful vassel she could hope to get (especially since Mel told her to fuck off). Ambessa has the power to manipulate the situation to make Caitlyn feel more and more justified in her paranoia of Zaunites and Ambessa can act like a yes man to all her worst impulses. Shes already fed into Caitlyns sense of personal responsibility for the council blowing up, immediately telling her that her mother will be avenged.

If im honest im not sure how Caitlyn is gonna come back from this one, i absolutely think shes gonna back out sooner than later much like jayce did. (Honestly she parallels S1 Jayce a lot which is why its kind of surprising to see people react to her going down this route with so much more vitriol than with Jayce.) Its definitely going happen but the question is if Ambessa will ever coerce her into staying in the hot seat or if she'll straight up try to kill her.

Either way this is going to be an extremely entertaining train wreck to watch.

[dekaydk]

Unlike a lot of the comments here, I don't accept (or believe Mystal does) that the lesson is "do what the Trumpists are doing."

One important point he was making is that people across the political spectrum either don't care about harm or actively embrace it.

The MAGA right celebrate harm and we must accept that they cannot be persuaded to do otherwise. (All the media and campaign consultant handwringing about understanding them is doubling down on failed tactics.) The center saw Harris and mostly didn't accept her, because along with the reasons Mystal lists above, it wasn't clear what she would do as President.

Among supposedly left/progressive voters there is a very large cohort (estimated in the 10+ million range) who abstained from voting or threw their vote away in a meaningless and unnoticed gesture to a third party candidate…and did so knowingly, in the face of explicit promises by the other side of extensive, serious and wide-ranging harm, domestically and overseas, to named individuals, to specific already marginalized/exploited groups, to the climate, the rule of law, public health, etc., etc., etc.. These so-called progressive voters are bad people because they don't care about harm reduction; just their privileged, personal purity politics.

The lesson is that the left and the Democratic Party in particular had no strategic perspective and message, just an almost nonexistent platform/agenda and endless repetition of "Trump bad". They had no real response to the Gaza abstainers/defectors. The Biden coup abruptly boosted an unprepared and unknown-to-voters candidate at the last minute, with lots of ex-Obama campaign staff who tried running the same vague HopeAndChange playbook. There was almost no message about what a Harris Administration would do aside from some apple-pie platitudes about housing and small businesses. She wouldn't even commit to sticking with or changing Biden policies. For the voters who might have been persuaded to abandon their principled Gaza position, or the (few) fence-sitters, what was there to vote for?

The Democratic Party is, and has been, an incoherent mess for a very long time. Only a return to first principles and communication tactics, both FDR-style, creating, reinforcing and playing to strengths will help it. Unfortunately, too many in the party suffer from learned helplessness, an attachment to failed tactics, and a stupidly pathetic belief that reaching out to the other side will lead to persuading them. To that last belief: "Never try to teach a pig to sing; it wastes your time and annoys the pig."

I don’t know if I’m yet fully here, but something to think about.

[littlestarbigsky]

been thinking long and hard abt soda and what it did to him to drop out of high school (i also feel bad bc somehow the only fics i have abt soda are all ships and i know i can do better for my boy)

so here’s a quick lil thing abt darry and soda after soda dropped out :p

darry couldn’t remember the last time soda had been this upset. even after their parents died, there were moments when the gang was all together and soda could laugh and feel the littlest bit normal again, but this felt like it was never going to end, and there was no reprieve. there was no end in sight, and darry couldn’t do anything to help him.

his grades had been going downhill for a while. it wasn’t his fault, or at least not entirely. it had been years since soda had done alright in school on his own instead of barely scraping by, and at some point the class had left him behind and it was like they started speaking another language.

and then their parents died.

soda already had enough trouble missing one day of school, let alone missing a week while they tried to throw together a funeral.

a month after their parents had died, after far too many nights at the kitchen table crying over math homework, after screaming matches that shook the roof over his grades, after darry had yelled so many times about how failing out of school was a surefire way to get them sent to a boy’s home, soda finally said that he was dropping out of school.

he could barely leave his room after telling darry, he couldn’t even tell ponyboy himself. he didn’t know what to do with himself, battling with his own mind every hour of the day. thoughts bouncing around his head of feeling like a failure for not even being able to graduate high school, bullying himself over not being able to joke around about it or making other people happy, which felt like maybe the only thing he was good at anymore. he knew that he was going to fail out eventually, so what was the point?

“soda?” darry cracked the door open, his eyes landing on his little brother where he had been for the last three days: curled up in bed, his back to the door. “do you want some dinner?”

soda silently shook his head.

darry sighed, “you can’t stay in here, forever, pepsi. we miss you out there.”

soda didn’t give much of a response, just gave a half hearted shrug.

“listen,” darry let himself into the room, sitting down on the bed and bringing a hand up to rub soda’s back. “i know you feel lousy, and i know you’ve got a lot on your mind, but you’ve gotta get back to living, soda. you’ve just gotta. we couldn’t get along without you.”

soda rolled over and sat up, and darry had to swallow a gasp at the state of his brother. soda’s eyes were rubbed raw and angry red from crying with deep shadows stamped under them, his hair was sticking up at all angles from the grease he hadn’t washed out in days, and his clothes were wrinkled and hanging loosely off of him.

“soda…”

darry could hardly get the word out before soda had thrown himself at his big brother, tears starting up again. god, he was so tired of crying.

“i’m so sorry,” he cried miserably, clutching to darry with everything he had in him.

darry felt the tears hit his shoulder and his heart ached for his little brother, “i know, i ain’t mad at you, honey.”

“mom and dad just wanted me to graduate and i couldn’t even do that! how am i supposed to do anything if i can’t do that?” soda sobbed.

“they’re not mad at you either, baby, don’t say that,” darry could feel tears prickling in his own eyes.

“listen, i don’t care if you’re lyin’ to me,” soda leaned back, his eyes not meeting darry’s. “but can you please tell me it’s gonna be okay.”

darry felt like he had missed a step going down stairs with the way the words made his stomach drop. he grabbed soda’s face in his hands and forced his brother to look at him.

“it’s gonna be okay, baby. i don’t know when and i don’t know how but i promise you, we’re gonna be okay. i’m gonna make sure we are.”

he wasn’t sure soda believed him, and maybe he didn’t even fully believe himself, but he had made a promise, and he had every intention of making good on it. some of the tension soda had been holding in his shoulders seemed to melt away, and darry knew he would be okay with saying everything over and over again if it meant soda didn’t have to be so scared.

“thank you… i know you hate lying to us.”

“i wasn’t lying.”

[hannahbarberra162]

The Crocodile's Gambit, Part 4 (Croc X Reader)

18+ MDNI on Ao3

The other chapters

Warning: description of prior abuse /medical violence in this chapter

~~~

You watched with your mouth a perfect circle as Crocodile’s hook fell to the floor. “B-but, your hook -”

“We both have our histories, our secrets, our scars. They make us who we are, not who we were.” Crocodile was unsure how he remained eloquent when surely all his blood was in his aching cock. Your eyes searched his face, trying to determine if he was going to switch his opinion and mock your scars.

“May I touch it? Your arm?” you asked hesitatingly, your hand hovering over his arm. No one had asked since the doctor had removed the stitches binding his skin together. 

“You may,” Crocodile said, allowing you to run your fingers over the scarring. 

“I’ve never seen you without your hook,” you stated, Crocodile transfixed by your slim fingers gently cradling his stump.

“No one else has either,” Crocodile said, puffing on his cigar with his hand. Normally brash, impudent, and cheeky, you ran your fingers delicately over his pitted and marked skin. Crocodile allowed you to move his arm and inspect it as you saw fit. It felt refreshing to be so open with a sexual partner, especially one who had scars of their own.

“Does it hurt?” you whispered, still tracing the faded pocks where the sutures had been.

“It aches at times, but nothing too bothersome” Crocodile said, blowing cigar smoke above your head. To Crocodile’s surprise, you began to massage his stump with your deft little fingers. It felt incredible, nothing like the rough kneadings he gave himself. Crocodile bit back a groan as he leaned back further into his padded chair. He finally had you, naked, sitting in his lap, and his first groan was elicited from a hand massage. 

“You should let me help you with it,” you offered as you continued to work. Crocodile hummed his response. It really did feel quite good to have your nimble fingers working out his tension. He’d agree to it later, right now you were looking delectable with your little furrowed brow concentrating on him, tits gently swaying with your movement.

“Maybe another time. Right now, I’m going to help you,” Crocodile said, rising to stand while holding your bottom in his arms. You squeaked from surprise, clutching his shoulders as if in fear Crocodile was going to drop you. Crocodile strode with purpose towards the bedroom, his cock tenting his pants in anticipation of being buried in your heat.

He set you down none too gently on his bed, you ass bouncing on the mattress. Crocodile undressed rapidly, wishing he was still wearing his hook to slice through his expensive clothes. Putting his cigar in his bedside ashtray, he dove right after you, pinning your wrists down above your head with his hand. “Finally, captured by the King,” Crocodile droned into your ear. His legs in between yours spread them wide open, your wet core sloshing on his thigh. Crocodile wanted nothing more than to sink into your sweet cunt immediately but he knew he had to wait. You weren’t some plaything he’d forget the moment after orgasm. Crocodile needed to show you that he was worth the ride, so to speak. “Will you be a good girl for me? Keep your hands above your head?” 

“Mmhmm. I can be good. I can be very good. I have manners now,” you purred to him.

“Talk is cheap,” Crocodile said with a smile, kissing between your tits. Crocodile growled, biting a nipple gently, earning him a yip. He kissed down your delicious stomach, licked some of your parallel line scars down your legs to your already sopping cunt. “You’ll have to show me,” Crocodile said, licking his lips and hiking your legs over his broad shoulders. 

Two orgasms later and you were no longer very good as you had claimed. At first you had been, mewling and keening for his tongue like a good little slut as you came at his command, your hands where he’d left them. But after the second delicious orgasm you were whining for him to fill you, tangling your hands in his hair in desperation, trying to squirm away from his tongue. Crocodile tsked at you. “So? What’s your answer, hm? Are you still a good girl for me?” Crocodile asked before running his tongue up the length of your cunt, flicking your over-sensitive clit with the tip of his tongue. The action had you writhing under him, trying to move him closer or farther away, he couldn't tell.

“Not such a good girl then, hm? Can’t stay still for me?” Crocodile teased as he brought himself up to loom over your face. “That’s alright, I like you wicked,” he said with a smile, kissing you deeply. You tasted your own delight on his lips and tongue, winding your arms around his neck with a contented sigh. Crocodile adjusted you to his desired position, bringing your knees up to your chest, legs hanging over the crooks of his arms in a modified mating press. Crocodile maneuvered the tip of his heavy cock to your entrance. 

“Are you ready? I know I am rather… large,” Crocodile said softly, searching your face. You grinned and patted his cheek, causing Crocodile to kiss your palm.

“Fuck me, baby,” you said with a smile. You gasped as you felt Crocodile enter your tight heaven, your channel squeezing him like a vice. You were wet and slick but so tight Crocodile had to hold himself back from pounding into you. Your back arched up as he continued feeding your sweet pussy more of his cock. Pushing himself into you inch by inch, Crocodile groaned as he finally bottomed out, your tinny whine music to his ears.

He started moving his hips with a slow roll, making you groan your satisfaction. He kept an even tempo even when you mewled at him for more.

“You don’t tell me how to fuck you , brat,” Crocodile smiled against your temple. But he did rise to his knees, using his now free hand to rub your pretty little clit. 

“C-crocodile, I’m close,” you uttered, eyes screwed shut with pleasure.

“Look at me,” Crocodile demanded, pinching your clit. You opened your eyes as you yipped with the sensation. “Look at me as you come, look at who can make you feel this way,” he growled at you, rubbing your sensitive nub faster now. He began thrusting more forcefully, rocking the bed frame with the strength of his movements. 

“ Ah..ah..f-fuck! Crocodile! I’m c-coming!” you stuttered out, your tight channel gripping and spasming around Crocodile like a vice. Your toes curled as your legs tensed, clenching around him even tighter. It was music to Crocodile’s ears and he rode you hard through your high as you came undone around him. He was near his own pleasure and relentlessly pursued it while dragging out your own. Never overly expressive during sex, Crocodile grunted as he gripped the bedpost, cracking the wooden frame under his hand. His orgasm hit him harder than he anticipated, bringing sharper relief to his aching cock than he’d felt in months. Fighting the urge to collapse on top of you, Crocodile laid to your side and rolled you onto his chest. You were still dazed from your third orgasm and breathing heavily.

“So, what do you think, brat? Am I a selfish lover?” Crocodile teased, kissing the top of your head.

“Dunno, need to test my theory again. Best two outta three?” you said with a throaty laugh. Crocodile grinned, his scar spreading further across his face. 

Later that night, Crocodile dozed off easily with your face pressed against him, drool pooling on his chest from your slack mouth. You were exhausted after enjoying each other's bodies for hours, now resting on top of Crocodile’s warm chest. He’d retrieve the hook in the morning, he thought to himself. For now, he enjoyed the warmth of your smaller body on top of his own as he pulled the blankets over the two of you.

~

Crocodile was an early riser by nature but the spot you slept in grew cold by the time he awoke to the breaking rays of the sun. He would reach for you in the morning only to find your lingering scent on the pillow. Today was no different as Crocodile woke to an empty bed. You’d started spending your nights in his bed, usually romantically, but sometimes just talking quietly together until you fell asleep. Crocodile didn’t have a sense of humor that he was aware of, but you were able to get him to chuckle quite frequently. You told him jokes, relayed funny information you’d heard and did an impressive Mihawk impersonation. Your keen intellect was always on display even when you were nestled into his side drifting to sleep. He frequently sought your opinion about Cross Guild matters and gave it as much weight as Mihawk’s.

“What should we do with the Marines that are brought here?” Crocodile asked. Mihawk very strongly wanted to kill them but Crocodile was undecided if that was the best option.

“Keep ‘em. Er, at least the high level ones. Shows you can contain powerful Marines. And the others, just kill ‘em,” you said with a yawn.

“Kill them? I’m surprised that’s your opinion dear,” Crocodile said, kissing the top of your head.

“Did you call me dear ?” you asked incredulously.

“Mmm. You are dear to me, I should hope that is clear by now. But why kill them? I would think you’d be opposed to the murder of innocents,” Crocodile mused as a blush spread across your cheekbones. You were unused to romantic affection, but Crocodile sought to remedy that with his own brand of tenderness.

“Why would I care? They’re not innocent. They’re part of the World Government, just as bad as the people on the top. Maybe worse because they sign up for it. I’ve changed my mind, I think you should kill 'em all,” you said with a pout crossing your adorable features. You were generally easy going in nature towards others, with a notable exception for Marines. Crocodile assumed your negative perception of Marines had something to do with your previous enslavement, but you’d tell him when you were ready, it wasn’t his way to pry. 

He got dressed and headed for his kitchen with a scowl. He was going to address the issue of leaving his bed without him later today - either you had to wake him up with you or you had to remain until he was ready to let you leave in the morning. He’d grown accustomed to your presence and wished to spend the early morning with you.

Pouring from the coffee carafe you’d thoughtfully prepared for him, Crocodile looked out the veranda at the island. Although it wasn’t chosen for its beauty, the island was rather pleasant in the early morning and in the evenings, when most of the crew was sleeping off their hangovers or preparing themselves for another. Crocodile’s coffee soured in his gut as he saw you from afar exchanging a hug with the Clown by the entrance to the Clown’s tent. You stayed in conversation with him afterward, smiling and laughing at the foolish man’s animated words and limbs flying about in the air. Crocodile had no idea what someone as intelligent as yourself could possibly say to such an imbecile but he’d long stopped trying to interfere in your relationship with your Captain. 

Throwing his beloved jacket over his shoulders, Crocodile stalked towards you, no longer willing to hide his jealousy. The Clown and Mihawk were aware of his feelings towards you, though neither had said anything. As Crocodile rounded the corner to the tent, Crocodile realized the Clown was speaking to you about himself. Pausing to listen in, Crocodile heard the remainder of the conversation.

“ - could get you away if you needed it,” the Clown said quietly, holding your hand.

“Nah, I like that old bastard,” you replied, nuzzling his hand on your face. It would have been a touching display of affection if it was himself, not the Clown. 

“But if there’s problems, let me know. Shanks's pretty good at chess too, watching you kick his ass would be fun,” the Clown added, putting his hand on your shoulder in concern. Crocodile gave the Clown’s words some thought. Though the fool irritated him to no end, Crocodile appreciated that the Clown was watching for your best interest even if it was against his own, he thought, chewing on his morning cigar. To offer to send a crew member to a rival Emperor was a sign that he cared for your safety, even if he had no reason to be. For this transgression of offering to take you away from Crocodile, he would only verbally wound the Clown, he wouldn’t raise his hook against him.

Coming fully around the corner, you smiled as you saw Crocodile’s own frowning face. Despite having his back to Crocodile, the Clown tensed, quickly removing his hand from your shoulder, correctly guessing the identity of the interloper.

“Good morning, Dear. Buggy,” Crocodile intoned, tilting his head in an outward show of respect towards the Clown, making you beam. You always appreciated when he showed a modicum of respect towards the Clown though it was not sincere. “Come, let us eat breakfast. Buggy, I will see you later at our meeting,” Crocodile said mildly, resting his hook on the Clown’s shoulder in a mirror of the Captain’s own movements. It always felt odd calling the Clown by his name - like referring to a an animal by a human name, but he had agreed to the terms of your service. Crocodile wasn’t going to hurt the Clown, but he didn’t need to know that now. A little negative anticipation would benefit the Clown’s mood for later. You kissed the Clown’s cheek and bade your goodbyes, walking with Crocodile back to his increasingly finished mansion.

“What was that conversation about?” Crocodile asked, though he felt foolish confirming information he already knew. 

“Captain Buggy was making sure you’re treating me right,” you replied easily. Crocodile hummed and took your hand and placed it on his arm as the two of you strolled back to his residence. He had to walk slowly to match your shorter stride but he didn’t mind enjoying the cool morning air with you.

“I know you were eavesdropping, you’re not as slick as you think you are,” you said with an impish grin. Crocodile grunted. He was slick for everyone else, just not to you.

“I’m not old,” Crocodile replied.

“You are. You’re like 50,” you said matter-of-factly.

“47, brat. Maybe I need to spank the impudence out of you later tonight,” Crocodile mused. 

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” you said with a wink and a laugh. Crocodile’s lips quirked into a small smile. Crocodile led you past the marina towards his residence when you spotted new prisoners being unloaded from a pirate ship.

“Oh, new Marines? Anyone good?” you asked curiously, watching the prisoners being brought to the prison. Your idea had been an incredible success, Marines began arriving to the island semi-regularly. Of course, all high ranking captures were published in the news by Cross Guild, further weakening the bonds the Marines had with the less stable islands. 

“Mm. This time we have mostly low ranking Marines with a notable exception. The Mad Medic has been brought in, apparently captured and detained by his own subordinates. A rare occurrence, but nothing -” Crocodile ceased talking as he took in your countenance. You had paled, your cheeky attitude from moments prior evaporated completely. Your gaze was fixed on the ground, no longer watching the scene play out in front of you. Crocodile frowned, he hadn’t seen you this on edge since the first time he’d properly met you. And even then, you were more nervous than anything else. Your hunched shoulders and lip between your teeth told Crocodile you were scared. And that was not an emotion Crocodile liked seeing in his brave, resilient maid.

“Dear, what’s the matter?” Crocodile asked quietly, walking even slower now. His hand on top of yours kept you from removing it from his arm completely, you were practically tugging him to get further away from the marina. You were frantic to get away, your normal sassy attitude completely absent from the conversation, unlike the easy, leisurely walk before.

“Nothin’, just wanna go,” you whispered back, resuming pulling on his sleeve once more. Crocodile had never seen you so withdrawn - it must be the introduction of the Marines. Crocodile scanned the incoming prisoners, the only one of note was the Mad Medic who was decidedly unamused by the circumstances. He was examining the island and his eyes landed on Crocodile and his companion. A sickening sneer spread over his face as he leered at you from afar. Things quickly clicked into place in Crocodile’s mind as he made a quick decision. 

“And go we shall. Come along,” Crocodile said, hand on the small of your back, guiding you away from the marina. Your eyes darted back towards the boats, as if to make sure you weren’t being followed. Unfortunately, the time for discretion had ended. You were going to have to tell Crocodile what had happened to you so that he could determine the level of torture the Mad Medic would face. 

Wheeling you into his house, Crocodile brought you into the study, sitting you down in your usual chair. You started to set the chess board automatically, your mind obviously elsewhere. Crocodile wasn’t in the mood for playing chess but allowed you to continue as a way to settle your nerves. Crocodile poured two cups of coffee from the carafe you’d left, handing you one after adding one teaspoon of sugar and a large amount of cream, your preferred presentation.

“The Mad Medic,” Crocodile stated.

“Yeah,” you said absently, staring at the chessboard. Crocodile made the first move, trying to ease the burden on your mind.

“Describe how you know this person,” Crocodile rumbled, crossing his legs and steepling his fingers against his hook. You studied the board and made your move, countering his pawn with one of your own. You waited for Crocodile to make his next move before you resumed speaking.

“Before Captain Buggy bought me, I was a medical slave for students training to be doctors to Celestial Dragons. They don’t train on animals or oranges or poor people, they train on slaves for accuracy. Um, like me. I had to go through lots of invasive physical exams, sutures, venipuncture, intubation, surgery…and lots of other stuff was done to me by students. It was um, bad. Really bad. That’s where some of the, um, scars come from. Suture practice. He would, um, make cuts and sometimes rub stuff in them to make them worse for the students to clean and fix. That’s why they’re so even and there’s so many of ‘em, they were for practice. And um, a buncha my veins are ruined from, um, being stuck bad too many times,” you stated, showing him the crook of your arm again. The irregular puncture wounds and parallel scars made sense now. Given the hundreds you had, Crocodile couldn't imagine how many times you had to endure being sliced just to be poorly sewn again or stabbed over and over. You were jiggling your feet and rubbing your hands together, clearly in distress.

“Come here,” Crocodile said, holding his arm out to you. You got up from your chair and came over to sit in his lap sideways, tucking yourself against his chest. “Thank you for sharing this, little one, I know it is difficult for you,” Crocodile said, rubbing your back with his hand. He kept his sand from swirling, he didn’t want you to worry about cleaning the chair. 

“And he was, um, in charge of the program. He used me more than any other slave. Said I had good skin and blood for it, I dunno. And healed faster, but I don’t think that’s true. So. That’s how I know him,” you spoke in a rush, as if you needed to get it out quickly before you stopped yourself.  “That’s, um, part of why I got so good at chess. I used it as a distraction during procedures or when in recovery, which was a lot of the time. You know, thinking about moves, playing games in my head, since um, I was strapped down and um, y’know, gagged most of the time, ” you continued, staring out the office window. You hadn’t made eye contact with Crocodile since the sighting at the marina, something that bothered Crocodile immensely. 

“I see,” Crocodile said easily, like you were telling him you wanted two teaspoons of sugar in your coffee instead of one. In reality, he was imagining the myriad ways he was going to enjoy torturing the Medic to death. He didn’t want to think of you, scared and in pain, strapped to a medical table as students practiced on your precious skin.

“And the final test for doctors who want to work for the Celestial Dragons is, um, how I got the neck scar,” you stated, though your voice had dropped to nary above a whisper. “They, um, well, he, um, slashed my throat with a razor and a fourth year student had to sew up the wound before I died. If I died, they wouldn’t pass. It was….” you trailed off, not finishing the sentence as you relived what was likely the worst moment of your life.

“But um, it took me too long to recover since the student who did mine wasn’t all that good, and um, they sold to the auction house since I couldn’t work, and um, well, you know the rest,” you ended abruptly. Crocodile didn’t want to press for the details, he would find out all he needed to from the medic in due time.

“So that’s why I hate Marines. The medical school was affiliated with them and if they were really going to protect people, they would. They would have stopped the program. But they don’t care about us. No one does,” you finished, wiping your nose with your sleeve. Crocodile reached into the pocket of his vest, retrieving his handkerchief and handing it to you. You took it and wiped your nose and eyes, sitting miserably with tears staining your pretty cheeks. 

“Would you prefer to watch his torture or participate yourself?” Crocodile asked, his head at a slight tilt as he removed your tears with his thumb.

“Wha-what? I thought you were keeping the high level Marines alive, that it-” you sputtered, finally looking at Crocodile’s face. Crocodile cut you off with a wave of his hook.

“No. This one dies by my hand. Or yours, should you wish for it,” Crocodile stated in a flat tone. 

“You’d…do that for me? I know this is fucked up, but that’s…really nice. Maybe the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me. I mean, aside from buying me and freeing me,” you said, wiping your nose again. 

“You are precious and irreplaceable, I will kill anyone who dares raise their hand against you. That is not a threat, it is a promise. Now, answer the question. Would you like to participate, watch, or neither?” Crocodile asked, rubbing his hand tenderly on your cheek.

“Hmm. I don’t - I don’t know. I don’t want to see him at all. I wasn’t, um, who I am now back then. It was - I wasn’t -  um, I just can’t, I’m, um, scared,” you said, avoiding Crocodile’s eyes once more. He gently put the flat or his hook under your face, tilting it up towards his own.

“It is understandable that you are afraid but you have nothing to fear. Why don’t you let me attend to this matter for now, hm? It is, after all, my area of expertise,”  Crocodile said, a wicked grin spreading across his face. You gave him a watery smile, but kissed his cheek.

“Thank you, Crocodile,” you said softly. 

“The pleasure is all mine,” Crocodile said, sand already swirling as he adjusted his hook.

Taglist: @mfreedomstuff

[iced-coffee-jesus]

Buddie prompt: Buck helps chaperone one of Christopher’s dates (like instead of Marisol in 7x01). Realizations are had - maybe they get blindsided because the kid assumes Buck is the cool stepdad or something?

I'm so sorry that this took a week @linus-lucy ! And what a week it's been too! This fic got a little away from at the end and definitely leans a little on the crack side, but I hope you enjoy it!

“And here is your popcorn, good sir.” Buck bowed, placing the popcorn on the coffee table in front of Christopher and Penny. “We have an excellent selection of grape or orange soda, what would the lady prefer?”

Penny laughed, while Chris looked at him with eyes that were just begging him to leave them alone already. “Grape, please Mr. Diaz.”

“He’s Mr. Diaz, you may call me Buck. Grape soda, coming right up.” He said with an air of formality, turning back to the kitchen to grab the soda before joining Eddie on the other couch. Chris hit play on the movie, an Assassin’s Creed film whose plot Buck was unable to follow. Eddie elbowed him fifteen minutes into the movie, nodding his head towards where Penny’s hand laid on Chris’s arm. Buck rolled his eyes, wrapping an arm around Eddie in an attempt to bring his attention back to whatever was happening on screen.

“Calm down.” Buck murmured, leaning in a little closer so he wouldn’t get hushed by the teens on the other couch.

“We should have let them watch it by themselves, this is too awkward.” Eddie hissed back, catching side-eye from Christopher at the sound.

“This is too awkward? How did you handle giving him The Talk?”

“Dad.” Chris sighed, his full attention on them now. “Don’t you and Buck still have that paperwork to fill out?”

“Paperwork?” Penny asked, pausing the movie. Buck suppressed an eye roll, already knowing it was a losing cause to fight either Diaz on this.

“Yes! We do actually, firefighter paperwork, gotta get it finished by tomorrow. Come on, Buck.” He choked on a laugh as Eddie practically dragged him off the couch and into the kitchen. “Don’t wait for us, go ahead and finish the movie!”

“Smooth, Eddie, smooth. Almost as smooth as Chris’s ‘paperwork’ excuse.”

“I don’t care, there’s no way we were sitting through another hour and forty-five minutes of that.” Eddie derided, going to a cupboard and sifting through it before pulling out vanilla, baking powder, and salt.

“What happened to chaperoning?” he laughed, seeing where this was going and pulling out the chocolate chips and eggs from the fridge.

“We’re twenty feet away, you’re gonna poke your head in there every fifteen minutes and ensure nothing inappropriate is going on.”

“Me? Why not you?”

Eddie shrugged, digging out a mixing bowl from a different cupboard. “I don’t know, I chose at random and you were randomly assigned.”

Buck grinned, hip-checking him out of the way to start measuring ingredients for chocolate chip cookies. “Coward.”

Eddie merely hummed in response.

True to his word, Eddie kept aggressively nodding at the entryway to the living room every fifteen minutes or so, silently begging Buck to check on the situation, which he did dutifully.

The cookies had been out of the oven for a few minutes now, and Buck was torn on whether or not to interrupt the teens for some warm cookies or not.

He shouldn’t have worried, the credits were rolling and Chris and Penny were still sitting on the couch, a respectable distance from one another.

“Hey, Penny, your mom said she is gonna be here in about ten minutes. Do you guys want to eat some cookies we made while they’re still warm?”

“Dad let you use the stand mixer after everything that happened last saturday?” Chris quipped, following behind him into the kitchen.

“I did not.” Eddie smirked, glancing up at the ceiling before handing over the plate of cookies to Penny’s waiting hands. “Our ceiling will never recover from the muffin batter as it is.”

“See if I ever make muffins ever again. Do you see what I put up with, Penny?” Buck shook his head in mock pity as he stole a cookie from the plate. “The disrespect.”

“Buck, why would you pull up the mixer while it was still on?” Chris giggled.

“I wish my step-dad baked, my mom isn’t the best in the kitchen.”

“Neither is dad. I mean, he’s better than he used to be, but I’m still thankful that Buck cooks dinner most nights... No offense dad.”

“None taken.” Eddie mused quietly, eyeing Buck over the tops of their heads. Buck just shrugged, unsure what the look was for. 

“Well, you’re lucky you have two parents that can cook. We eat a lot of takeout at my house.” Just then, there was a knock on the door.

“Must be my mom. Thank you for having me Mr. and Mr. Diaz.”

Oh. That was when it clicked for Buck. Penny thought- 

“It was our pleasure. Chris, would you like to walk her out?”

Chris nodded, charging for the door before Eddie could take it back. Penny smiled and waved as she followed behind him.

“Now, see? That wasn’t so bad.”

Buck’s head snapped to Eddie, casually wiping down the counters. “Really? Mr. Let's-make-cookies-and-avoid-the-teens-at-all-cost?”

Eddie grinned impishly at him from across the counter. “I don’t know, doesn’t that also make you Mr. Let’s-make-cookies-and-”

“Stop, I heard it the first time. Did… did Chris tell her we were married? What was the deal with that?”

“No, c’mon, Chris wouldn’t do that. I think that was just the natural conclusion to come to.”

Buck’s face warmed at the comment. “Really? Mr. and Mr Diaz is just a foregone conclusion here?” He teased.

Eddie walked around the counter and stopped a few feet short of Buck. “Yeah. I think so, don’t you?”

Buck felt like all the air just got sucked from the room. “Eddie…”

A faint blush was rising on Eddie’s cheeks, but he barreled on. “I mean, let’s be honest here Buck, it’ll be a lot easier for you to change your name than for both me and Chris to switch to Buckley. We could always do Buckley-Diaz, but I kind of figured you wouldn’t mind dropping your parents-”

Buck didn’t let him finish, surging forward to claim Eddie’s mouth in a kiss, curling a hand around his waist to pull him flush against him. “You’re insane, you know that?” He breathed, pulling away just enough to rest their heads together.

“Hmmhmm.” Eddie quipped, a bright grin breaking out on his face.

“Hadn’t even kissed yet, and you’re already picking out china and monogrammed towels.”

“I don’t think we’re monogrammed towel people, Buck.” Eddie sighed, leaning in happily to steal another kiss or two.

“What type of people are we, Eddie?”

“Hopefully the type to get engaged before they’ve had a real first date?” 

Buck laughed as Eddie kissed him again, too filled with love to care about the insanity of it all.

Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it!

[homopopsie]

[Sif has been looking at you weird for a while...] "Isa." [CRAB!!!] "Uhh, Yeah Sif?" [He's looking straight at you, his eyes piercing you to your bones. He looks kinda creepy like this... Reminds you of all the times you found him reading late at night with his flashlight eye.] "You mind if we talk for a second? Alone." "UMM. YEAH SURE SIF." [CRAB CRAB CRAB CRAB CRABBBBBB] "Are you alright, Isa? I've noticed you doing some... things. You're acting more- There's really no other way to say it, Isa you've been acting dumb. Acting like you're just 'really lucky' whenever you find a key that we need. I know you, Isa. I know you aren't stupid. You're really smart actually, and I know something is up. So what is it? Can I help?" [CRAB CRAB CRAB WHY IS HE ASKING THIS NOW????] "What do you mean? I really have just been getting lucky?! I don't know how I would know where the keys are, I've never been here?!?" [You feel awful lying to them.] "Right. So you finding the switch to the Death Corridor trap instantly isn't something strange? You always trust me to handle traps, and yet you immediately put your hand out in front of me and stopped me before I could look around, and then hit the hidden switch. I know I only have one eye, but that was really well hidden." "But how would I know where it was beforehand? I just had a feeling."

"I don't know Isa, but I know that people with 'a feeling' still jump at massive falling rocks! And I know that people with 'a feeling' don't just nonchalantly strut into The King's chambers and talk before Odile gets a chance to talk to the man who froze her entire home. I know people with 'a feeling' don't grit their teeth hard enough to shatter. Don't act like nobody noticed that either, maybe the others didn't but I did." [!!!] "But, that'd be impossible, right? It's impossible to have been here before-" "Is it? Because you sure seemed to have a few theories! You knew to ask me about Wish Craft, to ask me to read those books! You knew that I could wish properly, you didn't have an inch of doubt on your face when you said how I taught you. You knew that a wish could have given The King the ability to harness Time Craft. Don't think I believed you when you said you didn't wish for anything. I know you're indecisive, but you aren't going to just ignore something I told you either. I know you wouldn't just listen to me tell you how to wish and not bother with it. You aren't callous. [If only he knew... If only he knew how callous you were!]

"I..." "Isa, I know you're not stupid. And you know I'm not stupid either. If I see something, the only thing I can do is observe for more. And all signs right now point to you. Did something happen? Is that... Is that why you're looping in time? Did-"

"Oh Siffrin... Why? Why did you have to figure it out now? Why couldn't you have figured it out before? Why couldn't you have never figured it out?" "Isa, I-" "Can't you see? It's too late now. Nobody can help, now. It's already too late. Because I was too much of a coward to try and ask for help. Because I was too much of a coward to tell anyone about the loops! Because I was too much of a coward to say anything! Because I was too much of a coward to tell you how I feel! Especially you, Sif. I'm too much of a coward to tell you how I feel about you. And I'll never get that chance. Because it's already too late. "..." [He's just staring at you with a scared expression. Or at least its probably scared. Whatever. It's too late anyway. You coward.]

"...So what is it? Can I help?" "Nope! Was that all?"

[Sif seems... sad, at your response.]

"Alright. I'll miss you Isa. Come visit me sometime on your travels, okay? It'd be a shame if I couldn't look at the stars another time with you."

Roleswap Sus event combos Everybody gets a turn being the suspect and the suspectee! Nobody enjoys the experience, though.

[earako]

Saw de-aged Stan stuff and wanna join the Ford realizing Stan was a baby when he was kicked out bandwagon

-/-

Their niblings had just celebrated their seventeenth birthday a week ago and Ford couldn't help but think about just how young his niblings are.

Babies...the both of them. It didn't matter if they would be old enough to start college soon, Mabel and Dipper were still children and the thought of either of them on the streets, cold, hungry, and alone filled Ford with a rage so intense he genuinely scared himself.

How anyone could look at a 17 year old child and think that they could survive just fine on their own without a home, friends, family, or a high school diploma truly baffled Ford.

Seventeen...it was right there in the name. Teen. A child. Not an adult.

Seventeen year olds still needed guidance and correction. They still needed to be taught what 'better' meant because how could they know better if they had no reference for what exactly 'better' looked like.

A seventeen year old kicked out on the street nowadays would result in steep consquences for the offending party. There would be an investigation, law enforcement, organizations that didn't really exist back when Ford and Stan were kids would get involved.

Stan...

Stan was seventeen when he was kicked out. Ford used to convince himself that Stan had left willingly. He was too old now to delude himself with that lie.

Stan, little seventeen year old Stanley, was forced out of his home.

Ford tried to imagine Dipper and Mabel out on the streets. He tried to imagine them with Stan's scars, he tried to imagine their niblings scared, paranoid, ravenous hunger making their little teenage frames shake-

"It was wrong."

"Ford?"

"What Filbrick did," Ford growled, turning to face his brother. "What our father did was beyond inappropriate-" Ford gestured to where Mabel and Dipper were passed out on the lawn, napping in the noon day sun.

They wanted to spend one more summer in Gravity falls before heading off to their final year of high school.

They were so young.

Stan was so young.

"You were Mabel and Dipper's age," Ford continued, "It was wrong." To Ford's dismay his brother just shrugged.

"Yeah, well. Different time and all that." Ford pratically bristled at Stan's nonchalant response.

"If what happened to you happened to the twins you'd be furious-hell, I would be furious!"

"Keep it down, pointdexter, you'll wake the kids!" Stan hissed, his eyes darting over to their still asleep niblings. Ford clamped his mouth shut, slowly exhaling, and closed his eyes.

He felt a hand squeeze his shoulder.

Stan.

"Look, I appreciate you going all big brother mode but honestly, what could you have done?"

"I could have stood up to Pa."

"After you thought I had betrayed you?" Ford was silent.

Stan...Stan had a point. Ford was angry and hurting and not thinking about the reprecussions of his fathers actions or of closing the curtains on Stan.

He could have done something though!

...Right?

"Ford, we were the same age. You were a kid too when that happened. We were kids raised with being angry and terrified of our dad as something normal. We couldn't do better then because no one ever showed us what better looked like."

'Like the twins,' went unsaid but Ford already knew thats where Stan's train of thought was headed.

Ironically, their great niece and nephew had to be the ones to show them what an actual loving family looked like.

(No offense to Ma, Ford adored his mother, but she was also a woman of her time...and a compulsive liar...hm...maybe he should take up Shermie on that offer for a therapist recommendation...)

"...I just...seeing now just how young you were..."

"Again, we were the same age, Ford." Ford huffed.

"I still say it was wrong. What Filbrick did."

"I know," Stan said, reaching up to squeeze Ford's shoulder. "Give yourself some slack too, bro. Both of us were young and hurting. But now we're old and making things better." Ford sighed and lightly tapped his fist against Stan's chest.

"And people called you the dumb one?" Stan rolled his eyes and groaned.

"You killed the moment. Good job."

"I try."

[rea-grimm]

Phoenix Ace - Looking through his eyes

You were sitting in a dark, gray, cold Marine base. You had the misfortune of being caught in a moment of weakness and carelessness. The seastone bars blocked your devil fruit abilities, and when you approached or touched them, they drained all the energy from you. 

Your abilities wouldn't help you escape, either. Your fruit gave you the ability to see through the eyes of your soulmate, when to your surprise it was your childhood friend that you met again aboard the Mobidick. 

It took you a while to figure out who the eyes belonged to, but eventually you figured it out. You knew from his eyes that they were Whitebeard pirates, but you had no idea exactly who. It wasn't until you joined them that you found out. 

But now you were sitting in a cell, unable to see what Ace was doing, where he was, or what he had just seen. Sometimes when you looked through his eyes you could see the sky and you thought you could feel the wind in your face.

Apparently, today was supposed to be the day of your execution. The Marines were trying to eliminate you as soon as possible, and in doing so, capture Whitebeard's other pirates, your friends. 

You sat on the concrete bed with your head on your knees, thinking about Ace. Of the warmth of his fire that you now missed as the cold of the cell made you shiver. 

Instead of the cell and listening to the execution platform being built outside, you closed your eyes and remembered your experiences with Ace. 

For example, you smiled at the memory of the first time he had asked you to a romantic candlelit dinner that nearly set the table on fire from how much he had gotten worked up. Thatch prepared you his best menu and Marco helped Ace with ideas.  

Ace tried to act like a gentleman and especially eat slowly and not stuff himself like normal. You could see in him how hard he tried and restrained himself. You wanted him to be himself and you saw how Ace was relieved and began to contentedly stuff himself to the point where his own mouth was small and his wings fluttered contentedly. 

"Thatch really did his best. You should taste it too. It's delicious..." he said as you noticed his eyelids droop and before you could do anything Ace fell asleep. With his fork still in his hand, his head fell into his plate and he snorted contentedly. Some might think he died, but he was just sleeping. 

You knew about his narcolepsy, but it almost always caught you off guard since you weren't expecting it. You picked yourself up and lifted his head off the plate, settling him down so he wouldn't fall again. After that, you wiped the remnants of food off his face.

You tried to shake him and wake him up, even slap him a little, but none of it worked. Just like it never did before. Instead, you let him sleep. You put your food away because you wanted to wait for him to wake up. 

When Ace finally woke up, he had no idea what had happened, and it took a moment for his brain to recover from its brief slumber. When he saw you with a cold plate, he immediately started apologizing. He thought he'd ruined your whole date. 

 You told him it wasn't his fault and that nothing happened. You just laughed it off, saying he could warn you sooner next time. You saw his face go all red and he mumbled something in response. 

Another memory you liked to recall was the moment you officially called him your boyfriend. 

You were just waiting for Ace at the docks where you were supposed to meet him when you got supplies. Everything was already loaded on the ship and you were just waiting for the phoenix. 

As you waited, a young man walked over to you and began to pay you one compliment after another. You politely refused him and tried to explain that you were waiting for someone, but he was insistent. He continued to shower you with compliments and even invited you to dinner. 

You were slowly running out of patience when Ace finally returned. He looked like he was in a hurry and when he finally saw you, he seemed relieved. 

"You're finally here," you smiled at him and kissed the edge of his mouth. As you did so, you saw the young man chuckle before walking away in defeat. 

"What was that for?" Ace asked, not understanding what was going on. Besides, after that kiss, his face was red as a crab and his wings were all aglow with excitement. 

"Just like that. Besides, what would I do without my boyfriend?" You smiled at him. 

"B-Boyfriend?" The phoenix stammered, completely taken aback, as if the word itself had given him pause. 

His reaction to that completely confused you, since you thought you'd been dating all this time. That is, ever since he asked you to dinner and where he first kissed you. 

"I thought we were dating..." you said weakly and uncomprehendingly. 

As soon as Ace heard your words, a proud smile spread across his face. He puffed out his wings, grabbed you around the waist and pulled you closer to him. 

"Of course we do. I'm glad you see it the same way," he smiled and nuzzled his nose against yours. 

The gesture touched you and you couldn't hold back and with the force of the moment you cupped his face and kissed him softly on the lips. 

When you pulled away, the phoenix had a dreamy look on his face, grinning from ear to ear, perhaps even redder than before and looking like it would make him completely melt like ice cream. 

You were cut out of your memories by the Marines who came to tell you that it was time for your execution. They put you in ordinary handcuffs and led you out. They claimed it was useless to put you in special restraints, since your ability could not endanger them or harm them or help you escape. 

You had to shade your eyes from the sun when they took you out into the courtyard. The fresh air was like a balm to your lungs and you would have preferred to sunbathe on the beach or sail on a boat. 

But that was just wishful thinking. The Marines pushed you to go forward to the execution. You stepped onto the platform and now you had to listen to the report and other necessary talk that you didn't think was important at all. Instead, you decided to take one last look through Ace's eyes. 

You closed your eyes and concentrated. When you opened them again, you could see the view of the sea from the air and a small island. You thought you could feel the wind in your cheeks because of it. 

Apparently it was heading towards the island in question, which was slowly approaching. As you focused more on the island, it seemed somehow familiar, but you couldn't remember why. 

Just as you realized why the island was familiar, you broke the connection and looked up to the sky, where you could see a glowing bird of some sort in the clouds that was rapidly approaching.

When you could clearly see that it was your Ace, you ducked as he was close enough to launch his fiery attack. Like a missile, he flew past you, creating a high wall of fire that now separated you from all enemies. 

"Ace!" You called out excitedly. You had no idea how he found you but you were grateful he was here. He landed next to you and simply burned away the handcuffs that held you. 

You had no idea how relieved you were to see him and to see you free. Or how hard you've been trying to be strong all this time. Before you could say anything, your knees buckled and Ace grabbed you to keep you from falling. It was only now that he noticed the bruises and wounds on your body from the torture, which was futile. You didn't tell them anything. 

Ace's face flickered with relief that he finally had you in his arms. Worrying about how your legs had buckled and how much you had to endure. Finally, anger appeared on his face. Anger at the Marines for hurting you. 

He almost set the whole island on fire out of anger. Or at least the entire Marine base. Nobody treats you like that. 

After that, he took you in his arms and flew you to his fleet, where you had your own ship. 

All the crew were thrilled to have you back among them. To have their captain back. But their excitement didn't last long as they noticed the state you were in. Instead, they tried to keep things running like clockwork and give you plenty of time to recover. 

Ace took you to your quarters to be treated. Being a Phoenix, it wasn't that hard. 

Once he made sure you didn't have a single scratch or bruise on you, anger appeared on his face. He was angry that he couldn't protect you better and prevent you from facing such torture in captivity. But you reassured him that it wasn't his fault and that he was the one who saved you.

Eventually, Ace allowed himself to be eased but you had to let him be at your every step now. He wasn't going to lose you again. 

After your imprisonment at the Marine base, you were tired and exhausted. And even though it was pleasantly warm outside, you had chills. Ace took you in his arms and covered you with his wings. He knew he'd keep you warm like this, and he wanted to hold you close as much as possible.  

He pulled you close and his wings acted as a nice warm blanket. You snuggled close to him and rested your head on his shoulder. You came in complete safety and within moments you fell asleep.

Ace Masterlist