#it was made to be a gift....its only purpose was to be cherished..........

[raptorrobot]

to see the sky for one last time

[schemmentigfs]

Sweetening The Deal. (part 11.)

Summary: your first time with Melissa Schemmenti is the equivalent of paradise on its purest form.

tags: @lifeismomentsyoucannotunderstand @lisaannwaltersbra @italianaidiota @kukikatt @dopenightmaretyphoon @schmentisgf @pitstopsapphic @jeridandridge @aliensuperst4rr

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6. Part 7. Part 8. Part 9. Part 10.

Good girl. Those words easily made your heart stop.

When Melissa Schemmenti calls you her good girl, your heart stirs, like a soft breeze brushing over still water. It’s not just a phrase; it’s a tender thread that weaves through the fabric of your very soul, a gentle, sweet ache that dances between your ribs and settles deep in your chest. It’s an affirmation, one that feels like a secret, only between you and her, a promise in her voice that wraps around you like a warm embrace.

The words slip from the redheaded woman’s lips with such ease, but for you, they carry weight, like a whispered prayer, as if you are hearing it for the first time, yet it's a song you have known all your life. It’s not the words themselves but the way they make you feel—a delicate, almost fragile thing, cherished in its own raw vulnerability. The simplicity of it makes you feel seen, in a way that nothing else can. Like the world outside has quieted, leaving only the space between their hearts, where you are both held and adored, soft but strong.

You have always been wary of your own worth, but in that moment, when she speaks those two words, it feels as though the air around you is charged, thick with the warmth of unconditional acceptance. It’s a balm to the wounds you hide so carefully, a kind of softness that pierces through you, unraveling the pieces of yourself that were once too guarded. It’s not submission but a gentle surrender—one that she offers freely, knowing it is not demanded but given, as a gift, as a love so complete it makes her tremble.

As red lips and flat tongue trail down your folds, every inch of your skin ignites with sensation, a heat that spreads like wildfire. The feeling is intimate, consuming, every touch of this mouth marking you as hers. It’s not just physical; it’s a slow unraveling, a delicate surrender to the pleasure that only Melissa knows how to give.

There’s a rawness in it, an intensity that draws every part of her attention to the present moment, to the way she moves with such purpose, with such reverence. Every breath you take is sharp, caught somewhere between longing and release, as her warmth spreads over your most sensitive and delicate parts.

Your body arches instinctively, seeking more, chasing the heady mixture of tenderness and heat. The contrast between the green eyed woman’s pure softness and the firm press of her tongue causes your mind to scatter, every thought becoming a blur, except for the overwhelming sensation of being loved in this way. It’s not just physical pleasure, but something deeper—a melding of their souls, a raw and beautiful intimacy that goes beyond skin. The rhythm of her mouth is rhythmic, almost hypnotic, drawing her deeper into the abyss of pleasure and trust.

Your hands clutch the sheets, the cool fabric grounding you as every nerve in your body sings with want. The feeling of Melissa’s pink tongue, so deliberate and skilled, makes you pulse with a kind of desperate need, one that only this moment, only this connection can fill. This is where you belong—here, in those strong arms, in the softness of her touch and the strength of her love. The world outside of this room, outside of this bond, no longer exists. There is only this, only the deep trust you feel in the way she takes her time, in the way she listens to your body and answers with devotion.

As Melissa continues, each movement, each kiss on your most sensitive parts, feels like a prayer, a reverent act of worship, and you can’t help but surrender completely, allowing yourself to be consumed, to be adored in this way. Your heart races in tandem with the rhythm of their intimacy, the pressure building inside, a delicious tension that tightens in your chest and lower belly. The pleasure swells inside you, and with every stroke, every subtle shift of her mouth, you are definitely overwhelmed with the sensation of being both cherished and owned. Good girl is still in your ears, and it hums within you like a constant echo, reminding you of the love that laces every action, every touch.

Her tongue finds its destination with deliberate precision, the warm, wet pressure against your harden clit drawing a sharp gasp from your lips. It’s not gentle, not tentative—Schemmenti knows exactly what she’s doing, and the confidence in her movements sends a jolt of electricity through your body. Your thighs tremble, but the redhead’s manicured hands are there, firm and steady, gripping your hips and thighs to hold you in place, as if grounding you to this moment. Her grip is possessive, her nails pressing just enough to leave a hint of sensation that only adds to the overwhelming pleasure.

A sweet sound of Melissa’s needy moan vibrates against your pussy, and the sensation sends your head spinning, back arching off the mattress as a raw curse spills from you. “Fuck, baby. That tounge feels so good.”

The words come out breathless, broken, and you can barely recognize your own voice. The heat pooling in your belly intensifies as your possible girlfriend’s tongue moves in perfect rhythm, flicking and circling your clit, each motion calculated to pull you closer and closer to the edge.

The older woman doesn’t stop, doesn’t falter. Instead, she hums softly, almost smugly, against you, the vibrations shooting sparks of pleasure up your damn spine. Moans mix with the wet, sinful sounds of her mouth working tirelessly, and the combination is enough to drive you wild. Your palms clutch at the sheets again, twisting them as your body writhes, caught between trying to pull away from the intensity and pressing closer to ride Melissa’s sinful mouth.

“Goddamn, Lis, please—” your voice is ragged, laced with desperation, the words slipping out between sharp breaths. Your figure is alight, every nerve ending focused on the way Melissa’s tongue lavishes attention on your clit, alternating between firm, slow strokes and quick, teasing flicks. Hands tighten on your shaky thighs, pulling them even wider apart as if she needs more of you, all of you. The possessiveness in her grip, the raw hunger in her moans, sends shivers down your soul spine, teetering on the brink.

Her relentless tongue doesn’t falter for a second, but soon, you feel the unmistakable press of her fingers, teasing at your dripping entrance. It’s slow at first, deliberate, as though Melissa is savoring every moment of your unraveling. The sensation of her sucking and circling your pebble paired with the gentle, probing touch of her digits pulls a broken moan from your throat, her body convulsing as you gasp for air.

Green eyes look at you while she takes her time, sliding one finger in, curling it perfectly to find that spot that makes more curses spill out uncontrollably. “Fuck, Melissa, oh my—” 

Your tone is trembling, desperate, every word dragged out by the pleasure coursing through you. She grunts against your tight cunt in response, the vibrations sparking another jolt of electricity through your core. The thing is she knows exactly what she’s doing, knows how to pull you apart with maddening precision.

“Such a good girl for me,” Melissa murmurs against you, her tone husky and dripping with affection, even as she adds a second finger, stretching just enough to make you whine sharply. Her praise, her touch—it’s too much and not enough all at once, and your hips buck against her, seeking more, chasing the fire that’s building higher and higher inside you.

The redhead’s grip on your thighs tightens, keeping you steady as her fingers pump in and out in perfect rhythm, her mouth leaving your clit to lick and plug your entrance. The combination is dizzying, every thrust pushing you closer to the edge, every flick sending you spiraling further into bliss. She moans again, the sound satisfying and deep, vibrating through you in a way that makes your whole vision blur.

“Babe,” you grab her auburn curls as tightly as you can. “I need to cum, please.”

You pant and break, words dissolving into a sharp cry as fingers curl just right, hitting that spot with an intensity that leaves you shaking. It feels like everything it’s on fire, every nerve alight with sexual tension, your mind lost in the sensation of Melissa Ann Catarina Schemmenti consuming you completely. The pure wet, obscene sounds of fingers moving inside you combined with the strong scent of sex filling the bedroom, soft hum of her tongue on your pussy it’s overwhelming, intoxicating.

Melissa looks up briefly, her olive eyes blazing with hunger, the sight alone enough to make you tremble. “C’mon, pretty girl,” she commands. “Let me feel you. Cum for me.”

This is the final push, and with one last nurse of her tongue, one perfect thrust of her fingers, you fall apart completely, your figure shuddering violently as the climax of the orgasm rips through you. Curses melt into incoherent cries and screams, your hips trembling as the forty-five year old holds you through it, her mouth and fingers working her through every wave of pleasure until you’re left trembling and begging for rest.

Minutes pass and she pulls away just long enough to hover over you, her breath heavy and ragged as her hands grip your hips, positioning you just right. She spreads your legs wide, guiding you into position so that your bodies can press together, your clits brushing softly at first, then harder, the friction sending a rush of heat through both of you. It’s new, unfamiliar—raw and intimate—and every touch, every shift makes it feel like the world is unraveling around you and her.

Your heart stops at the first contact, the electric spark between you making your stomach tighten. Melissa moans loud, her eyes fluttering closed as the sensation builds, as your pussies slide against each other in a maddening rhythm. The sound is guttural, needy, like a prayer escaping her lips. Her hands grip your thighs, her fingers digging in as if she’s trying to hold on to this moment, but nothing feels like it’s enough. Nothing is slow enough, soft enough.

“God, fuck, you feel so good,” the older woman gasps, shaky and raw, her tone breathless and frantic as she rolls her hips against yours, feeling your buds rub together in an agonizingly slow, steady motion. Olive eyes flutter open, locking with yours, and she watches your face, her mouth parted with each breathless whimper that escapes.

“Melly,” you try to speak but she interrupts quickly.

“You like this? Yeah, I know you do. So fuckin’ perfect,” Melissa groans, her pupils blow with desire. “Jesus, you’re making me lose my mind.”

Your own breath is ragged, your nails scratching her curves as both bodies grind together. The friction is intense, and yet the two of you seem to hold back, not letting the release come too soon. You are caught in the building pressure, each movement pushing further toward the edge without quite letting you fall.

“Ohh shit, yes, yes, yes!” your body shudders as you try to hold on, but Melissa doesn’t let you escape. She keeps pushing, keeps rolling her hips harder against yours— almost bouncing—every moment an invitation to something more.

She breaks, her moan deep and drawn out, almost a growl. “Don’t you dare cum yet, baby,” she whispers desperately. “I need to give you permission first.”

The redheaded woman forces herself to slow down, to keep the pressure building, her green eyes rolling back in her head as she tries to hold onto the feeling without giving in. The heat builds and builds, your bodies slick with sweat, and each brush against each other sends both of you spiraling closer to the orgasm without releasing.

“Please...” you beg while trembling with need, hips rising to meet each press of hers, desperate for more. The tension is unbearable, both of you are teetering on the brink, lost in the feeling of each other’s bodies so close, so intertwined.

Melissa can hardly breathe, her movements becoming frantic as she chases the same release that you do, but neither gives in. “Holy fuck, honey, I can’t—” she gasps, her voice a broken plea, as her hips grind harder, faster, chasing the feeling, losing herself in your warmth. “You are so sweet, so warm. So delicious.”

The sexual tension is obvious, like a coil tightening, but then, a small shift in the way you move catches her off guard—your hand slides down, palm flat, and then wraps around the curve of her pale ass, squeezing it firmly. The sudden touch sends a jolt of heat through the sicilian, a wave of arousal that makes her entire body tighten with want.

She whimpers, louder now, her lashes fluttering as the sensation of your hand on her ass forces her to slow down just for a moment, savoring the feeling of being held, of being claimed in such an intimate way after a long time. The pressure of your palm is possessive, urgent, and it stirs something deep within Melissa. She can feel your fingertips digging into the flesh of her ass, the way it moves in a slow, teasing circle, feeling the curve and muscle beneath her skin. It’s like a spark, igniting the very core of her desire.

Your grip on her ass tightens, squeezing again, pulling her closer, and Melissa’s breath catches in her throat. The touch is everything—dominant, possessive, and incredibly tender all at once—and it sends shivers down her spine. It makes her feel raw, vulnerable, as if this connection is something far more than just sex. It’s an unspoken claim, a promise, a shared understanding.

“For fuck’s sake. Keep touching me like that," the redhead gasps, her breath hitching as she moves against you. ”I need you, amore. I need you... so bad.”

The connection deepens with every touch, every movement. It’s like you’re both desperately holding on to each other, not wanting to break the spell, not yet ready to give in completely. The heat between you grows unbearable, as the beautiful Melissa Schemmenti continues to feel the steady pressure of your hand, the way you hold her, owns her in this moment. Every stroke, every grind, pulls you both closer and closer to the release you can’t hold off much longer.

And just like that a single word escapes from your deep throat, breathy and trembling, a word that sends an electric shock through her entire body. “Mommy.”

The title hits Melissa like a punch to the gut, a shock of raw desire shooting through her veins. She freezes for a second. She stops. She swears she can feel her heart skip a beat, her mind barely able to process how right it sounds coming from your lips.

The way you say it, soft but desperate, the word laced with something possessive and needy, ignites something deep inside of her. A wave of heat floods her body, her core tightening with an almost primal lust. Mommy—green eyes flash with something else, something raw and untamed as the word reverberates in her head, making her head spin. She’s been called Mommy before by other women and men, but never like this—not with such unrestrained need, such will. It’s as if you poured your entire soul into that single word, and it wraps around Melissa like a vice, pulling her deeper into this moment. Her breathing fails, her manicured hands trembling slightly before they grip you tighter, her hips grinding down harder as the sensation threatens to undo her completely.

The green eyed woman groans, before she’s leaning down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, her mouth hot and demanding. The kiss is intense, filled with heat and Melissa can’t stop herself from pulling you closer, deepening the kiss as her fingers dig into your flushed skin.

“Fuck, don’t say that,” she growls against your mouth. “You’re gonna make me insane.” The plea come out between hungry kisses, her lips hot against yours, as she starts to kiss you more fiercely, more urgently. Each time your lips meet, she can feel the tension rising, her body on the edge of giving in completely. She bites down on your lower lip, tugging it gently, as her hands slide to your hips, guiding her into a rhythm that makes both shudder.

“Mommy, please fuck me,” you whine, seeking for more.

“Mommy....goddamn,” Melissa curses, the satisfaction in her voice unmistakable. She can’t control the way her body reacts to the word, the way it pulls her deeper into the moment, closer to the madness of this connection. It feels like a dangerous secret, a boundary crossed, and she can’t help but kiss you harder, more desperately.

Bodies move against each other, the friction making the world blur around you, your kisses messy and frantic as the two of you chase that dizzying height. Your hand grips auburn curls, tugging her closer, urging her to continue, and with every touch, every kiss, the Schemmenti woman feels herself unraveling more, her control slipping.

“You like that, don’t you?” she prompts between kisses. “You like calling me Mommy.”

“I-I do,” you agree as the intensity of the moment overwhelms you. The way Melissa is kissing you, everything about this feels urgent, almost desperate. It’s as though you are both clinging to something, unwilling to let go, pushing forward without hesitation.

The redheaded woman sees the nod, the silent agreement, and her body takes over, moving faster, harder, the rhythm building into something electric. She lets out a breathy moan, feeling your body press into hers, the friction becoming a steady wave of pleasure that floods through her. Each thrust, each roll of her hips, makes feel like her control is slipping, losing its grip as she pushes harder, her figure desperate for cumming.

“Holy fuck, this is the best thing I ever felt in all my life,” Melissa grunts.

She moves faster, her movements becoming more frantic, more intense. She feels your hands clutching at her back, pulling her closer, encouraging her to go deeper, to give you more. The pace quickens, the sound of skin meeting skin filling the air as her sharp nails dig in, guiding your movements as you become almost frantic in their need for each other.

“Say it again,” the older woman breathes, her words a desperate plea, her mouth hovering just over your ear. “Call me mommy again, and I’ll make you feel so good.”

“Mommy,” you smile softly and the word along with the grin has the power to send Melissa into a frenzy.

“That’s it,” she mutters. “Fuck, you’re mine. All mine.”

The speed escalates as the pressure mounts, Melissa’s movements become more urgent. Her breath hitches, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she feels herself on the edge, just a moment away from falling into the intensity of your shared climax.

Her face twists, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through her usually composed exterior. It’s a moment of rawness, of surrender, and it’s impossible for her to hide it. The muscles in her jaw tighten as she moans softly, her lips parting as she gasps for air. Her olive eyes, usually so full of control, now glimmer with something desperate, something wild. Her brows furrow in pleasure, her mouth opening as she chokes out a low, broken curse.

“Fuck,” she gasps barely more than a breath. “I’m going to cum. Please babygirl, make Mommy come.” The look on her face, that unmistakable sign of the climax building inside her, makes her pant harder. She presses her forehead against yours, lips barely brushing as she moves faster, harder, chasing the moment she knows is about to explode.

You see it—see the raw expression on her symmetrical face, the way her muscles strain, the way she’s losing herself in the intensity of their connection. It’s a moment of pure vulnerability, one that strips away any walls, any barriers. And it only drives you to meet her with equal fervor, pushing both to the edge, to the precipice of everything you have been building.

Melissa’s grip tightens, her breathing becoming ragged as she lets out a strangled cry. It’s clear now—she’s right there, on the edge, and everything inside her is unraveling in waves of heat. Her glistening lips part, her green eyes half-closed, and for a moment, she’s lost to the intensity of it, no longer able to hold back, no longer caring if she shows how close she is.

In that moment, it’s impossible to ignore the raw, unfiltered truth in her expression. She’s coming undone, and it’s the most beautiful thing you have ever seen.

As you and her reach the edge, the tension in the air snaps, and everything comes crashing down in waves. Melissa’s curvy body tenses as her breath catches in her throat, the rush of pleasure flooding through her. She gasps, a low, guttural moan escaping her lips as she finally gives in, her body shuddering uncontrollably on top of you. Her grip loosens slightly, her hand falling to the bed as she breathes out a string of curses, the overwhelming sensation of release pulling her further into the moment.

You follow close behind, the feeling of your souls and bodies connecting, sending you spiraling into your own climax. It’s like an explosion, a wave of warmth and satisfaction that fills you completely.

When it’s over, when the tremors slowly fade, Melissa pulls away, her body slumping back onto the bed. She rolls onto her back, her arm coming over her eyes to shield herself from the harsh light. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, each breath coming in quick, shallow gasps as the aftermath of everything lingers in her body. She feels exhausted, her muscles sore, but it’s a good kind of ache.

“Jesus Mary and Joseph…” the redhead giggles on a hushed rasp. She doesn’t even move at first, letting herself bask in the quiet aftermath, feeling the soft sheets beneath her. The world feels like it’s slowed down, like time has stopped for just a moment, and she can finally catch her breath.

Her arm remains across her eyes, a shield from the vulnerability she feels in the aftermath. It’s not shame, not exactly—just the rawness of the moment, of everything she just shared. She’s always been one to keep her composure, to stay in control, but now, in this quiet afterglow, she lets herself be a little exposed.

“Fuck..” she says again, quieter this time, as she tries to steady her breathing, still feeling the thrum of their connection coursing through her. “That was...” She doesn’t finish the sentence. Words feel unnecessary now, and instead, she just exhales deeply, her arm slowly lowering as she lets herself relax into the bed, her chest rising and falling slowly with each breath.

Slowly, you reach out, her fingers gentle as you brush it against Melissa’s arm, sliding it away from her face.

The forty-five year old doesn’t resist. She lets you uncover her, her arm falling limply to the side, revealing flushed cheeks and strands of auburn hair sticking to her damp forehead. Her skin glistens with sweat, and her lips are parted slightly, still swollen from the kisses. Olive eyes flutter open, hazy and dazed, and for a moment, she just stares back at you, her breathing still uneven.

You cup her face delicately, thumbs brushing over the soft, warm skin of her cheeks. The sight of her like this—vulnerable, flushed, and utterly spent—sends a wave of affection through you. Melissa Schemmenti, who’s always so composed and in control, now looks completely undone, her green eyes soft and filled with something unspoken

“You’re so beautiful,” you sigh quitely.

Red lips twitch into the faintest hint of a smile. “You're staring,” though there’s no real protest behind the words. If anything, there’s a softness there, a quiet vulnerability she rarely shows.

“I can’t help it. You’re... breathtaking like this.”

The woman chuckles weakly, the sound more like a breathless exhale. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” Her hand comes up to rest over yours, holding it gently against her cheek. She leans into the touch, letting herself relax completely for the first time, her walls completely down.

Hours later, the night casted shadows that danced on the walls. Melissa and you lay tangled together in the aftermath of everything, your bodies entwined in a warm cocoon of sheets and limbs. She was resting her head on your chest, her body draped over yours, her soft breaths creating a gentle rhythm as she pressed her lips to your skin in the quiet moments between kisses.

“You're my beautiful girl,” your lover whispered, the praise full of meaning, more intimate than anything she had said before. She lifted her head just enough to look into your eyes, her expression tender, her auburn hair tousled from the night. Her fingers brushed against your cheek, tracing the curve of your jaw as if memorizing the feel of you.

“Yeah?” you prompted nervously but still gently.

“Actually…my girlfriend,” the redheaded woman added, her voice a little more tentative, but no less genuine.

A soft giggle bubbled up from your chest as you shifted, bringing her closer as you rolled onto your side, your arms wrapped around her waist. You kissed her again, slow and sweet, not rushed but languid, the kind of kiss that carried everything you couldn’t quite put into words.

The weight of the moment was heavy in the best way possible, and you found yourself smiling as your fingers tangled in her hair. “I love you.”

For a split second, the world seemed to stop. Melissa gulped, her eyes widening, searching yours as if she couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. Her lips parted, and for a moment, she looked lost in thought, her gaze flickering between your eyes, her hands trembling where they rested on your body.

Then, without warning, tears welled up in her olive eyes, the dam breaking as she blinked rapidly. “Oh my god,” she breathed. She buried her face against your chest, her sobs quiet but intense, as though she were overwhelmed by the weight of your confession.

You held her tighter, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as she shook with the force of her emotions. “It’s okay,” you whispered, your voice soothing, comforting, as she clung to you, her breath hitching with each sob.

“I—” Melissa gasped, her words caught in her throat as she lifted her head to look at you again, her face streaked with tears but glowing with something else—something radiant. “I love you, too. I love you so much, my beautiful angel.”

You smiled, the weight of everything—of the love, the joy, the uncertainty that had once been there—feeling lighter than air now. With her in your arms, everything finally made sense.

After a long deserved rest, the morning light of dawn crept into the bedroom, painting it in muted shades of gold and pink and casting a glow over the rumpled sheets and tangled limbs on the bed. Melissa stirred first, letting out a groan as her body reminded her of the intensity of the night before. Every muscle seemed to ache in the most delicious way, and she stretched out slowly, wincing slightly. Her hair was a wild mess, a lion’s mane of auburn curls sticking out in every direction, and her eyes were barely open as she sat up, scratching the back of her head.

She looked over at you, still fast asleep, your face serene and buried in the pillows. A faint smile tugged at her lips as she took in the sight of you—her beautiful girl, her girlfriend. The title still felt new and thrilling in her mind, making her chest tighten with warmth.

The redheaded woman swung her legs over the side of the bed, groaning softly again as she stood up, wrapping her silk robe around her sore body. She padded barefoot into the kitchen, craving the comfort of a cigarette and something sweet. Spotting a bowl of fresh strawberries on the counter, she plucked a few, popping one into her mouth as she slid the glass door open and stepped onto the villa’s terrace.

The cool air hit her freckled skin, waking her up slightly as she lit her cigarette with practiced ease. The first drag calmed her, and she exhaled a long stream of smoke, leaning against the railing. The view of the lake below was breathtaking, but her thoughts were far from the scenery.

She reached for her phone on the patio table, scrolling through her contacts until she found the name she was looking for. With a quick tap, the call began ringing, and soon, the familiar, warm voice of Pearl came through the line.

“Missy? What’re you doin’ calling me this early? Did somethin’ happen?” The housekeeper’s voice carried its usual mix of care and mild irritation, like a mother fussing over a grown child.

“Well,” Melissa began, her voice still raspy from sleep, “you won’t believe what happened last night.” She sounded like a teenager sharing a secret, the awe and excitement in her tone undeniable.

“Oh, this I gotta hear. Lemme guess—your girl finally made you stop actin’ like a fool?”

The youngest laughed, taking another drag of her cigarette before blowing the smoke out slowly. “Yeah. She’s my girl now, officially. God, Pearl, she’s... she’s somethin’ else.” Her free hand gestured vaguely, as if trying to articulate something too big for words. “We stayed up talkin’, kissin’, touchin’—you know. And I swear, I don’t think I’ve ever felt like this before.”

A low hum of approval camethrough the phone. “About time, Mel. You’ve been floatin’ around, scared of commitment, for too long. This one’s different, huh?”

Melissa nodded, even though Pearl couldn’t see her. “Yeah. She’s different. She makes me feel... alive. Like I’ve been waitin’ for her my whole damn life.” She paused, her voice growing softer. “She called me her angel. Can you believe that? Me? An angel.”

“Well, you better treat her right, then. No runnin’, no hidin’. Just love her, Melissa.”

“I will,” the green eyed woman promised, popping another strawberry into her mouth and savoring the sweetness. “I’m all in, P. No more games.”

They chatted a little longer before Melissa ended the call, feeling lighter and more certain than ever. She flicked her cigarette into the ashtray, wiped her hands on her robe, and padded back inside, her bare feet making soft sounds against the tiled floor.

When she entered the bedroom, the sight of you still curled up in bed made her heart skip a beat. She slipped off her robe, letting it pool on the floor, and quietly locked the door behind her. The breeze was warm against her naked self as she slid back under the covers, her body naturally gravitating toward yours.

You stirred slightly, your face instinctively nuzzling against her stomach, hiding there like it was the safest place in the world. Your girlfriend chuckled softly, running her fingers through your hair as she sighed, feeling a wave of tenderness wash over her.

“You’re so precious to me, you know that?” she pressed a kiss to the top of your head. You hummed sleepily, your arms wrapping around her waist as you pulled her closer, and Melissa couldn’t help but smile, her heart swelling with a love that felt almost too big for her chest.

This was home. This was everything.

Next Chapter.

[vampyrevogue]

Hello, everyone.

Sorry for my insane absence (again) I've been quite busy, however lucky for you guys I'm super sick which gives me a great amount if time to write asks so send them in.

the cregan girlies need to he fed more often I think.

On that note, that's my purpose of this post. To get back in track of writing, I'm thinking some cregan stark headcanons.

This is a cregan stark x a reader that is very Helaena coded, because I relate to her on an embarrassing level and I wanna project for a little bit. Yall are gonna see ALOT of I thinks in this post sorry😔

Content: fluff only fluff today sorry yall, but I love that domestic life.

-As much as I think cregan would have a dislike for bugs or insects of any kind he'd definitely put that aside for you.

On that same note, he 100% seems like the type to get you anything and do anything for you;because as we all know northerners are fiercely loyal and the starks are honorable men at that. And cregan is no exception to that.

- He'd so spend so much time with you in any of your favorite spots, the garden even in the dead of night;just to see that contented look on your face when you're at peace.

-i think he'd always have the finest silks and fabrics and jewels he could get his hands on given to you, I just know he loves to spoil you and see your face light up with joy everytime he gives you a gift.

And he LOVES seeing you in any gown that he has made for you.

-i also think he'd be great at detecting your emotions. In a crowded place and you're getting super anxious and fidgety? He knows and he's escorting you to a quiet hallway or room so you can collect yourself.

He definantly cherishes you with all his being and he always makes sure to tell and show you that, he always wants you by his side no matter where he is.

On the other hand of his character, I think he's very possessive of you especially if you're shy and naive of sorts. I feel like if another man would even consider ogling you or touching you he'd immediately have his head on a spike.

He'd definitely defend you and your honor with his entire being, he wont let *anyone* insult you ever.

With that same train of thought, i feel like he'd bring you any mans head if you so wished it. He's that loyal.

Okay you guys that's literally I can conjure up in my little brain at the moment, and I know its insanely rambly and doesnt make much sense infact it's probably not even that great but I hope yall enjoyed it.

~Yours truly, V.carmen

[mitsua]

WORDS AIN'T ENOUGH

synopsis: izuku with an s/o who places little notes saying cheesy things every now and then (0.32k)

he really appreciates and when his mind considers the thought of doing the same for you, he's already with his pen on hand.

if you come up with lines that would even the most serious person cringe, he'd laugh at it but still take every compliment to heart, after all, he really cherishes everything you do and say for and to him.

well, now he has his post-its and a black pen... what can he write?

yes, it's difficult for him to find what to say, there's simply so much!

because of this, what he thought would only be a couple of post-its with simple love lines converts into a five page essay of all the reasons he loves you—there's more, but his hand started to hurt.

he decides to give you the letter himself and explain ramble—that he wanted to reciprocate your little notes but it turned out like this and he feels like he destroyed the whole purpose of the reminders you wrote down for him to look at everyday and make him smile like only you know how to and—at this point you caught what he was trying to say and chose to make stop his wandering with a kiss to his lips. izuku immediately shut up and melt into it, giving you a sheepish smile once you separated, looking to the letter still in his scarred hands.

you tell him there's no problem with the way he decided to reply to your notes, that, moreover, you think he did it even better. opting to clarify that the whole purpose was to remember him some traits of him you loved the most or just make him smile.

after this, everytime he read a note from you, he made sure he'd give you lots of cuddles when he was with you and keep it in a box you gifted him with a present of your first anniversary together, along with the others.

still, expect to receive a whole-heartedly written letter from him on special occasions!

repost from my @mitsuas-priv account 2024. likes and reblogs are highly appreciated!

[sapphicdealer]

Consumed By Two Things

Warnings: x fem!reader(afab), smut, tribbing,  scissoring, praise kink if you squint, oral sex (r! receiving), fingering, slight nipple play, edging (kinda)

✁Summary: Ada's love language is gift-giving.

You’ve always known Ada to be big on gifting. Before she commenced on her missions, she’d take the time to write you letters and leave small notes scattered around, each marked with her lipstick on the bottom right corner and signed with her name. She was always thoughtful, making sure to leave something special behind to remind you that she was still thinking of you.

In her eyes, leaving these letters is her way of expressing her love for you and bidding you farewell in the most romantic way possible, in case anything were to happen on her missions.

Other times she’d purposely send you an influx of gifts; some are sentimental, others are miscellaneous, whether it be a dress to match hers or a necklace engraved with her name.

Though other times these gifts would be more intimate, Ada loves the way certain clothing items look on you; most often it would be lingerie that she found, so it didn’t surprise you when you received a gift from her in the mail that contained a red and black laced lingerie. You took the garments out of their packaging and into your hands. You peeked over in the box and saw a small note.

‘When thinking about something to gift you, my thoughts were consumed by two things: the colour red, which holds a special place in our closet, and the sight of you in the hue I cherish.’

-Ada

As you ran your fingers over the delicate red lace of the lingerie, you gazed upon its intricate floral pattern. Ada was not one to skimp on the quality of her gifts; she’d always made sure that you had the best quality. It was an average lingerie set; it was accompanied with a bra, suspender belt, and of course, the thong. The lace felt soft between your fingertips. You took the garments, placed them on the side, and drew off the clothes you were wearing previously. 

In contrast to the warmth of your flesh, the lace on the garment was smooth and glacial against your skin. You looked in the mirror at yourself, inspecting the delicates against your body in the mirror's reflection. As you gazed in the mirror, you felt a surge of confidence wash over you. 

You were entranced by the way it looked on your body. “It looks wonderful on you, darling.” The voice surprised you, but you recognised who it was. Your head turned towards your door seeing Ada standing.

“Ada, I didn’t notice you come in, you’re back from your mission already?” You missed Ada dearly, she was only gone for a couple of days yet to you it felt like months. She let out a soft hum in response. Ada approached you with a warm smile on her face, finding a place behind you to admire your look in the mirror, she placed her chin on your shoulder and hooked her fingers in the garter of your lingerie.

“I just couldn’t wait to see you in this.” She glided her fingers up toward your waist, kissing you lightly on the cheek. 

A warm glow suffused your cheeks, Ada looked up in the mirror you faced, her mind clouded with multitudinous fantasies she had at this moment, she wanted to touch you, but not like this, you’d look gorgeous, intoxicating. It was important for her to savour this moment before she indulged in her fantasies.

Ada turned you around to face her, drawing you closer by the waist. She raised her hand to your lips and traced her thumb along your bottom lip. You look up at Ada, dazed; there is something about her that makes you completely melt under her touch. She pressed her lips against yours, closing the gap between you. You missed the intimate and soft moments you both shared together. Ada’s fingertips were caressing your soft skin trailing around the details of the lingerie you pulled away slightly for a moment to look at her, “God, you’re so pretty…”. You hummed against her lips. You felt yourself getting lost in the moment—her soft lips against yours, her arms around your waist. She let out a soft moan against your lips, kissing you back feverishly.

She couldn’t resist the taste of your lips, the taste of you. You let out a soft whimper as Ada briefly withdrew and muttered in your ear, "The things you do to me…" She took a step back and drew off her red turtleneck dress.

Your eyes dart to her now-exposed skin, your eyes traced down to the curves on her body. She sat down on the bed and motioned for you to sit on her lap. You sat on her lap and Ada’s hands found their place just at your hips, she looked up in your eyes and muttered, “You’re okay with this, right?”

“Yes, I am.” With that said, Ada guided you onto her thigh, “I want you to ride my thigh, can you do that for me?” You nodded in response and started to remove your thong before Ada stopped you. 

“Don’t take it off, I want it on” You listened to her and started to get comfortable so you wrapped your arms around Ada and found yourself in a suitable position before you proceeded to grind your cunt against her thigh. Her thigh mixed with the fabric barrier combined was a bit frustrating, it didn’t provide you the stimulation you were looking for, it only sufficed you with an agonising feeling which made you want more, your eyebrows furrowed as you adjusted yourself against her thigh. Ada noticed the look on your face and angled her thigh upwards and used her hands to guide your hips. You found the momentum you were looking for, the stimulation you needed. “You’re doing so good for me…” She whispered in your ear.

As your hips rutted against Ada's thigh, you let out a low moan as you brought your head towards her neck. Ada kept guiding your hips and bringing you closer. You felt her breast pressing against your chest and your breath quickening. You wanted so badly to take off your lingerie, wanting to feel your clit against her flesh. 

“Ada… Please, can I take it off?” You felt yourself getting closer, yet you couldn’t reach there yet. You felt Ada's lips attach themselves on your neck. “Not yet, will you be a good girl for me and hold on for a bit longer?” She cooed against your ear, and you muttered a soft ‘yes’ and nodded. Then, using what little strength you had, you pressed against Ada's thigh while leaning in such a way to maximise pleasure for your clit. As you worked your way up to your peak, your body shook as you felt the release you wanted build up.

You felt yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. Ada felt her thigh pool with your wetness. She smirked and whispered in your ear, “That’s it, keep going”. You repeatedly thrust your hips against her thigh. Ada pressed you down against her thigh, motioning you back and forth, guiding you to reach your high you let out a loud cry as you came. Ada held you as you shuddered against her. She looked down at her thigh, seeing your wetness. She brought your hand up to caress your cheek, her fingers traced down to your neck, chest to your thighs, before pushing the lingerie to the side to access your cunt, gathering your cum, bringing her fingers to taste you, moaning at the taste. Ada made you lay on the bed, parting your thighs as she found a place between them and asked, “Do you think you have another one in you?”

You nodded frantically, “I need words”, Ada teased, you mustered out a desperate “Yes.” which made her smile in response.

She brought up her fingers to your mouth and asked, “Could you get them wet for me?” Without hesitation, your lips came into contact with her mouth. She pushed them in slightly, and Ada was able to feel how hot your tongue was. Feeling how it swirled around her digits, she couldn’t help but bite her lip, enjoying the feeling. “Just like that…” Ada slowly slid her fingers out of your mouth, letting out a pop sound. “Good girl.” she brought her fingers down to your clit, lightly circling it. She kept circling agonisingly; she was teasing you. It took a couple of pleas before she withdrew and replaced her fingers with her tongue, licking your slick, before she nipped at your clit “You taste so good.” her fingers sank into your sex, her tongue attaching to your clit. You threw your head back; your breath hitched, and Ada felt you squeezing her fingers, sucking them in. Ada heard your whimpers and couldn’t help but groan in response, “God, you're sucking in me so well…” She cooed, just her voice alone causing you to clench around her.

“Fuck… Ada…” You blurted between gasps as the woman at your slit found your sweet spot and began to repeatedly abuse that spot while sucking on your sensitive clit, causing you to jolt in response, moans becoming more high-pitched and pornographic, and your whining causing Ada wanting to give you more. Her fingers kept at that place, repeatedly hitting that one spot where you’d whine. She lapped your wetness, your mind going hazy as you started to feel overstimulated by the pleasure. Was it too much, no? But did it cause you to bite your lip and muffle your moans, yes. Ada noticed you were about to come, but your moans were practically silenced in her ears, which she didn’t like, so she withdrew her fingers and tongue away from your cunt, which left you whimpering and confused. “Ada- Why’d you stop…?” you questioned.

“Do a favour for me and don’t silence yourself.” She brought herself up to your face, placing her soft lips against your lips, making you taste yourself. Ada pulled away from your lips, and you sat up, wanting to feel her lips against yours. “Do I have to restrain you?” you shook your head, “So be a good girl for me, okay?” She cupped your cheeks in her hands, placing down another kiss. You responded, “I’ll be good!” You wanted to feel that pleasure again; you wanted to feel Ada. Being denied an orgasm only made you frustrated and needy for contact. To relieve some of that frustration, Ada finally decided to fully take off your lingerie—painfully slow.

“Ada, please-” you whined, as Ada kissed your lips as she pulled off your lingerie, pulling off the thin piece of fabric finally relieving your body, and what was barricading you. Her hands trailed down to your breast. Feeling her fingers circle your nipples, you let out a soft gasp and arched your back, wanting more. Ada's fingers teased you as she lightly pinched your nipples. “Ada I want to feel you.” She removes herself from your lips “You want to feel me?” She questions, looking down at you. Her fingers traced down your stomach and she proceeded to softly toy with your clit, was it intentional, yes. Ada wanted to hear what you wanted specifically. She looks up at you, “Like this? Or do you want something else?”

“No, fuck… I want to feel your pussy against mine.” You looked up at her with a pleading look. Ada smirked, hearing you say what you wanted between your lips. She lifted herself up and placed her leg over yours. She adjusted herself above you for a few moments, trying to find which angle had the best friction, it didn’t take her long as she found both you and herself jolt. She rubbed her clit against yours, her cunt felt soft, and warm, and her hips grinded down causing her clit to bump against yours, you felt sensitive, so hot, your hips moving against hers. The obscene sounds of your wet cunts rubbing against each other filled the room. The rhythm was perfect, Ada threw her head back in ecstasy, mewling as she held your leg down starting to feel sensitive from the pleasure being created. “You’re so perfect…” she murmured.  

Your mind was fuzzy, your mind only focusing on Ada and how she was making you feel, she moved her hands away from your legs and gripped onto your hips, pushing you down on the bed. You both moaned in pleasure, the pleasure only increasing as Ada moved her hips in a circular motion, sending you over the edge. You felt yourself get even hotter, feeling a familiar build-up in your stomach as Ada's touch sending you into a frenzy of pleasure through your body. Both of your movements became sloppy as you heard Ada moaning a mixture of your name and ‘fuck’ as she became closer to her peak You maintained the rhythm of your hips, maximising the pleasure between you two, you let out an audible gasp as Ada's lips grazed your neck, her head burying in your neck, your hand found their seat as they situated in her hair. Both of you trembled against each other Ada's breathing became ragged and rapid as both of you were close to climax. You felt her grip tighten around you and you knew she was close. Your hips motioned upwards as you both reached your peak at the same time and cried out in pleasure.

In a dazed state, and out of breath you had Ada lying against your chest. Your mind clouded with bliss. You took a moment to snap out of your haze. Ada looked at you with her soft gaze, noticing you were slightly out of it, she brought you back to reality by placing soft kisses on your neck.

“Are you feeling okay?” Ada said in a loving tone You nodded, muttering out a soft ‘yes’ escaped between your lips feeling your heart flutter in your chest. You pulled Ada closer as she held you close, taking her hand in yours.

[yanderes-galore]

Mm, what about a scenario for Chemach where she kills her darling? :0 Maybe in a sudden fit of insanity, maybe to turn them into relic or maybe she kills her defiant! darling in order to transform them into her follower like the ones we see in her shop? There's a lot of potential~

I can try, sure! I hope this is alright-

Fledgling

Yandere! Chemach Oneshot

Pairing: Dubious

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Murder, Grotesque descriptions, Blood, Delusional behavior, Dubious intentions.

"Ah! Yes, yes, you look so pretty for Chemach. You belong here like all the rest!"

The stained glass in the temple glimmers despite the dark atmosphere of the room. Candles illuminate the old stone temple, showing its many imperfections. The atmosphere is old and reeks of dust and... blood.

Black ichor drips from the ancient bird like the blood from the many gods she's killed. The many eyed crown on her head seems to pulse with barely contained power. The smell of rot permeates the air the most...

Giddy giggles come from the chained bird, ones born from hysteria. The crown's power had rotten her mind long ago. Her own siblings think she is dead, or at least dead to them.

Oh, but she isn't...

Chemach still has many more gifts to give.

Chemach has made many gifts in her lifetime. All sorts of old relics that still hold a god's power. She cherishes them all, hung by the ceiling and on podiums.... They're all her treasures.

But there is one she cherishes above all the others... perhaps not as strong... but its value is priceless.

Chemach remembers when she first met you. It was a long time ago, perhaps decades? She's given up on the passage of time....

However, she never forgot your visits.

You had often visited her temple deep in the woods. You came searching for power, like many of Chemach's other visitors. You were a fledgling god... one not very strong but clearly ambitious.

Chemach adored your presence! You had so much potential, a tiny vessel capable of so much power. You just needed Chemach's gifts!

Chemach would always give you her gifts.

Chemach has never had such persistent company. Even her siblings left her in her chains after she went insane. Chemach's only company has been her followers...

The rotting effigies in her temple supposedly hold that purpose... they're her followers.

Chemach felt almost... infatuated with you. She adored how you look, your confidence, and your power. Such a young god trying to survive in this world...

Unfortunately, gods do not last long now that the Old Faith has come into power.

Chemach could not just stand by and allow yourself to perish! The Bishops are not worthy of tainting you. You mean too much to Chemach!

You are meant for Chemach!

Poor fledgling god... Chemach had more power than you thought. You had come to her temple for aid, wishing to fight against the Old Faith. You were determined to fight against those stronger Bishops who call themselves gods...

But Chemach merely locks her temple with her chains, similar chains locking around your neck to anchor you.

"Poor young god... You should know that you'll die like the rest of Chemach's visitors. Your age is finished... Yet Chemach wants to preserve you for herself!"

It's a one-sided battle, this temple serves as Chemach's territory. Your first mistake was trusting the insane bird in a place such as this. Your second was your own greed and ambition....

Chemach felt you would die one way or another. She originally kept you in her temple alive, chained to the ceiling for her own viewing pleasure. Alas... your body continued to wither... Chemach hated that you weren't meant to last.

Now, in the modern day, Chemach holds you close to her heart.

More giggles echo through the old building as crazed bloodshot eyes stare longingly at a relic from the ceiling. In the very same spot where you once were, a relic made from you occupied the space.

Blood still drips from the chains, a reminder of the suffering you once endured.

"It's better this way! Better for you, better for Chemach!" The old bird coos, gaze never once leaving your remains. She always looked back on those days fondly...

Yet her concentration is broken when she hears footsteps echo through her temple.

"Ah! Little lamb, have you come for Chemach's wares? Many gifts for lamb! Many to choose from!"

A new young god takes your place. A lamb, last of their kind. Said lamb reminds Chemach of you... an ambitious and confident god who comes for more power.

Chemach intends to help this one too, just as she did for you...

Then, maybe once their own power wanes...

She can keep them to herself too, after all, they remind Chemach of you....

[askganon]

Great King, I need encouragement. I have not had an easy life. Any form of abuse besides sexual my parents committed against me. Any time anything is left to chance the worst possible outcome is chosen by the gods, even should I do everything right. I have more mental illnesses, mental and physical disabilities than I can count. I cant do many jobs and can hardly hold most of the ones I CAN do down, on account of the disabilities. My family comes from the worst poverty possible and its grip on me is so strong I know I will never be comfortably free from it. Everyone I've ever known has abandoned me and those that came back keep me at a healthy distance as fair weather friends. Simply put, I'm a survivor, and I intend to survive as long as there is sand in my hourglass. When I am knocked down, nails bloodied and gone, nose broken, I spit my teeth and blood out of my mouth, wipe the dirt out of my eyes and get back up only to get punched back down to the ground just to get back up again. I take pride in this fact, should the whole world and even the gods/goddesses and even lady luck herself be my enemy I will. Not. Succumb. But I am tired... I tired of being strong, I tire of pain, of being offered relief or a mercy only to have it snatched away from me at the cruelest moment against all odds, of having every bit of happiness locked behind one paywall I can never hope to meet, of having everyone like me but never cherish me... I tire not of life but never having lived. I tire of only ever surviving. I dont know what to do, where I can find relief, when or how I get to rest even if just for a moment. I know I must continue on and I know that I will but I have no desire or motivation to do so. Any words of advice or encouragement from you would be a gift, I have admired you since I was young for you have lived a similar life.

There is little I can add as endearment, for all that I would say you have already stated in your resolve.

But you have come to Demon King Ganondorf seeking wisdom. So, it is Demon King Ganondorf's wisdom you shall have.

First, I will make a wound and force it to bleed. Then, I will put salt in that wound, and make you feel the sting of truth. It is only with calm and mature reflection can one see the purpose in the words beyond appeared insult.

First, the wound.

Life is not happiness.

Life is struggle, trial, failure and pain. It can be torment and relief, beautiful and ugly, but it is never happy. Any who speak otherwise are either fools or devils.

It has been said that life is the pursuit of happiness. This is a dream for the mad.

In truth, a "good" life, or one lived well, is one not driven by happiness, but by contentment.

To achieve this, a choice must be made. It is only one choice, but it is the same choice one must make eternally. That is to choose between compromise and suffrage.

In short, will you compromise to be content, or will you suffer for it?

To place this into an example, I could have compromised as King, living content with "It could be worse." Or I could have suffered for contentment with "It could be better."

Which do you think I chose?

Now for the salt.

I have listened to the retelling of your life, and have words regarding it.

I hold no sympathy for abusers of any kind. They cannot match the skills and abilities of their peers, so choose instead to face opponents they know they can conquer. There is no honor nor challenge in an assured victory, and I expect all of them to die knowing they were failures in life and will be forgotten in death.

But as to your abandonments, I hold a different opinion. While the abandonment of one might whisper you the victim, the abandonment of all screams the opposite.

Reflect on these relationships and seek out the common root between them. Do this, but do not rest on the easy answer and use your disabilities as a crutch.

It is said that hurt people hurt people. Perhaps the abuse you sustained in your youth evolved into traits within of which you are unaware.

Seek this out within yourself. If it is discovered, then you have a choice to make.

Will you compromise with this, and remain content in your solitude? Or will you suffer to change this aspect, granting you the chance at a healthy relationship and the possibility of happy moments in a content life?

[theetherealbloom]

UNEVEN ODDS - CH. 9 (Epilogue)

Chapter 9 (Epilogue): There’s Some Kind Of Heaven Just Around The Corner

Summary: The Reader is dragged into the Last of Us universe and has no choice but to watch the events unfold or will she be able to change what was already written?

Paring: Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Age-gap Romance, Violence, ANGST, Swearing, Suicide, FLUFF, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Crying, Suggestive content, the pandemic, character death, INFECTED, MY SCIENCE IS WONKY, probable plot holes, rusty writing, TLOU is dark please read at your own risk!

Word Count: 2k

A/N:  After many months of not writing, I present to you the epilogue of S1 for TLOU. Thank you for sticking by me with my silly little stories, I can never express how grateful I am to have you all. I’m horrified and excited at the thought of S2, maybe the reader could change the important ending… who knows. Stay safe everyone <3

Song: Intermission by Sleeping At Last

Previous Chapter -> Season 2 | Series Masterlist

TLOU WORLD 2023

SILVER LAKE, COLORADO TO SALT LAKE CITY, UTAH – A FEW WEEKS LATER…

The cool breeze of the evening brushes against your face as you sit on the porch of the farmhouse, strumming the strings of the guitar Joel now treasures. The people of Jackson have embraced you warmly, welcoming you back into their community. The topic of the Fireflies remains unspoken, a shared understanding between you and Joel. It lingers in the background, a memory that only surfaces when necessary.

Life in Jackson has brought a sense of normalcy, a semblance of the life you had before the chaos consumed the world. But this time, it's different. This time, you feel like you belong, like you are loved. The little family you've formed with Joel and Ellie has found solace within the walls of this farmhouse. As the seasons pass by, a routine settles in, and the farmhouse pulses with life, as if it has its own heartbeat.

The bugs begin to retreat once again, signaling the transition from summer to autumn. You find yourself on the porch, the guitar resting gently on your lap. It was a gift for Joel, a token of appreciation and love, but it also earned you a playful scolding. Joel made it clear that you should never leave Jackson without informing him first. It was a testament to his protectiveness, a reminder of the bond that has grown between you.

At this moment, the world seems so simple. The rush of blood through your veins transports you back to your youth, when fear and uncertainty were distant notions. Seventeen again, you find yourself unafraid of death, daring to dream once more. The curve of the valley before you holds a profound meaning. Happiness emanates from within as you gaze at the serene surroundings.

As the words echo in your mind, they bring a smile to your face. Joel's voice resounds in your memory, "I'll never let you go." Those five words hold a depth of emotion, a promise that transcends the hardships you've endured. In this tranquil moment, you realize that you have found a home, a place where love and safety intertwine. You are content, knowing that Joel is by your side, ready to face whatever challenges may come.

The future may hold uncertainties, but for now, you bask in the stillness, cherishing the connection that binds you and Joel together. The world may be broken, but within the embrace of this farmhouse, you have found solace, love, and a renewed sense of purpose. And as you continue to strum the guitar, the notes reverberate through the air, carrying the harmony of your newfound happiness into the world.

Lost in the nostalgic melody, you find yourself humming a tune that holds a special place in your heart. The tranquility of the moment is interrupted by the gentle reminder that you're wearing one of Joel's shirts, two sizes too big. It's a simple gesture, a symbol of the closeness you share, but it also serves as a reminder that nothing is certain in this world. Doubts linger, even as you begin to feel at home.

The passing year has been arduous, and its weight lingers in your mind. The slow progress makes you question if you're truly moving forward. Trust is a scarce commodity, earned by only a select few. The scars etched upon your bodies, remnants of battles fought in your youth, serve as a constant reminder of the dangers that persist. And yet, the revelation of a collapsing sun and rising seas, of crumbling buildings, brought about a new understanding of the fragility of existence.

As you continue strumming and humming, Joel stands by the door, captivated by the beauty that radiates from you. The sun begins its descent on the southern horizon, casting a warm glow on the scene. Unable to resist any longer, Joel quietly approaches, his footsteps barely audible. He wraps his arms around your waist, his presence causing you to giggle. His lips press against the side of your neck, the scruff of his chin tickling your skin.

"Joel!" you playfully chide, a mixture of surprise and delight in your voice. He responds with a hum, his voice filled with affection, "My sweet Birdie..."

You quickly place the guitar on the side, and in that tender moment, you realize that despite the uncertainties and doubts that surround you, you have found a sanctuary in each other. Joel's embrace offers a sense of security, a refuge from the storms that rage outside. You feel a rush of gratitude for the love you've found amidst the chaos, and a renewed determination to protect what you hold dear.

Basking in the warmth of Joel's affection, you turn your head to meet his gaze, curiosity tugging at your thoughts. "How was the patrol today?" you inquire, wanting to know about the world beyond the safety of Jackson's walls. 

Joel plants gentle kisses on the side of your head, your cheek, and finally on your lips, his love conveyed through each tender touch. His gaze locks with yours, his southern accent subtly peeking through as he responds, "Today was good, darlin'. Nothin' for your pretty head to worry about."

A sense of relief washes over you, knowing that for at least one day, the dangers that loom outside haven't posed a threat. But your thoughts naturally drift to Ellie, the young woman who has become an integral part of your lives. You can't help but bring her up, knowing that Joel's bond with her is unbreakable.

"What about Ellie? How's she doing?" you ask, genuine concern lacing your words. Ellie's resilience and determination have become a source of inspiration, even amidst the darkest of times.

A soft smile tugs at the corners of Joel's lips as he replies, his voice filled with fondness, "Ellie's holdin' up. Been keepin' busy, learnin' new skills, and takin' care of herself. She's got that fire in her, just like you."

The mention of Ellie's fiery spirit brings a wave of admiration. You can't help but feel proud of her growth, of the strength she embodies. In this broken world, the relationships you've forged hold immense importance, anchoring you to hope and reminding you of the enduring power of love.

Nestling closer to Joel, you rest your head against his chest, the steady beat of his heart a soothing lullaby. "I'm glad she's finding her way," you murmur softly, your voice filled with genuine affection. "We're lucky to have her in our lives."

Joel's arms tighten around you, his voice brimming with tenderness as he responds, "Ain't that the truth, darlin'. We're blessed to have each other, and no matter what comes our way, we'll face it together."

Feeling a surge of love for Joel, you lift your head from his chest to meet his gaze. The twinkle in his eyes tells a story of unwavering devotion, and a mischievous grin plays upon his lips. You can't help but become enveloped in his warmth, finding solace in his presence.

"I don't tell you enough, Joel," you begin, your voice filled with sincerity, "but you mean the world to me. I love you.”

Joel's expression softens, his gaze locked with yours. He brushes a strand of hair away from your face, his touch gentle yet purposeful. "You know, darlin'," he replies, his voice slightly husky, "you mean the world to me too. There ain't a day that goes by where I don't thank my lucky stars for bringin' you into my life."

The vulnerability in Joel's words tugs at your heartstrings, and you lean in, pressing a tender kiss against his lips. It's a gentle affirmation of the love that binds you together, a silent promise of forever.

As you pull back, a playful glimmer dances in Joel's eyes. "You know," he says, a mischievous grin spreading across his face, "I reckon I'm the luckiest man alive. Not only do I have the most beautiful person by my side, but I've also got a hell of a good kisser."

His words elicit a giggle from you, the sound filling the air with pure joy. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you whisper, "Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. Miller."

The two of you settle into a comfortable silence, relishing the closeness and the unspoken language of love that flows between you. With each passing moment, the world outside fades into insignificance, leaving only the warmth and tenderness of this intimate connection.

A gentle breeze rustles the leaves overhead, the delicate dance of foliage creating a symphony of nature. Your fingers entwined with Joel's, each touch a testament to the warmth and tenderness that envelops you in this serene moment.

In the ambient glow of the evening, the air pulses with an almost tangible affection. The space between you and Joel becomes a canvas painted with an unspoken promise that transcends the limitations of words. In the delicate interplay of shared vulnerabilities and profound love, you find a sanctuary where the concept of time fades, replaced by the eternal embrace of this connection.

In this fleeting instance, bathed in the gentle twilight, you take solace in the richness of your conversation. Despite the shadows that loom from past events and the uncertainties that await, the presence of Joel beside you becomes a steadfast beacon, guiding you through the dimly lit corridors of life.

The embrace continues, a dance of shared whispers and laughter, a rhythmic exchange that weaves together the tapestry of your lives. Amidst the harshness of the world, the cocoon of your love becomes a refuge, a source of strength, and a testament to the formidable power of unity.

Yet, beneath the surface of this idyllic scene, a quiet ache persists, a shadow that lingers in the corners of your consciousness. There are nights when Joel lies peacefully asleep beside you, unaware of the storm that rages within your mind. In those quiet hours, memories materialize, hazy and elusive, casting a spectral glow on the canvas of your thoughts.

You can see him on the porch, the soft strains of a guitar accompanying the melancholic melody of your recollections. The air is charged with the bittersweet echoes of a past that refuses to be forgotten. There are nights when tears silently trace the contours of your face, the weight of remembered endings pressing upon your heart.

Joel, the silent guardian at your side, remains oblivious to the tempest within. His presence is a comfort, but the specter of a different ending, an alternate narrative, leaves you restless in the quiet hours of the night. The story, once written in ink, now seems to bleed into the realm of what-ifs and what-could-have-beens.

And so, in the embrace of the night, you grapple with the dichotomy of love and loss, finding solace in the tangible warmth of Joel's presence, even as the ghosts of untold stories linger in the shadows.

TAGLIST:

@memento-mora @elijahssuit @tartiflvtte @lillylilly2 @kyuupidwrites @amethystwonder11 @syd-vixious @kidkrow666 @soulofapatrick @ponyboys-sunsets @superflymaterial @chaotic-imposter @vainbimbo @eva-stark @loki-an-idiot @littleshadow17 @undermoonlightwalk @afternoon-evening @notmysunnydale  @slurmp69 @gyllord @aerangi @mac5323 @friskynotebook @earth-to-lottie @chaotic-imposter @kodzuvk @hawkins-2000 @reallysparklychaos @trust-dreamcatcher @darkened-writer @memeorydotcom @welcomebackfelicia @rainbowpitofdoom @omg-its-typical-aesthetics-fan @marvelsimpcz @dorck26 @evienorville @munsons-queen @little-miss-bi @mxltifxnd0m @ohjoelmiller @coalix @taestrwbrry @avengersheart @gyllord @valentine-babe@missdragon-1 @ponyboys-sunsets @ipadkidsworld @otternanamilolo @issybee0611 @technicallysassyfox @cupcakemachete @manuchyy @darkened-writer @andyrazzledazzle @glossythor @virtueassassin @witchy-jadda @imonmykneessir @norr1e @mando-bix @thicficbich1 @adoringanakin @lalla-04p @reallysparklychaos @hollywoodmariposa @mando-bix @lunatic1012 @davosmymaster

[technicallysublimechild]

If I Cross the Line

Fandom: Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

Length: 2,120 words

Summary: In a desperate bid to save everything he cherishes, Mikey must give himself over to an ancient and powerful magic.

Based on the song The Line from Arcane Season 2.

---

He can't fight it this time.

When he feels its call, he opens himself to it. Lets it draw towards him from where it had been lost in the heat of the batte.

He wasn't supposed to be here. He should have been at home with their father. Safe and protected. Left behind while his brothers desperately tried to fix everything - to fix him.

Standing atop a great mass of rubble, the expanse of smoldering destruction only confirms what he already knows. What the waning, flickering flames of his brothers’ Ninpo had already made clear. It wasn't going to be enough.

I told you. It whispers in his mind.

The now familiar presence grows stronger as a flash of cold white light crests a bank of downed buildings and starts to float towards him.

Mikey’s mouth turns up in a weak smile. “Worth a shot.” He argues.

Was it? The entity questions as the white light reaches the summit and glides to a halt in front of Mikey. The clear, rounded crystal the light emanates from rotating lazily as it floats before him.

Instead of responding, Mikey looks up. The sky is dark, filled with an inky blackness that blocks out the stars and moon. The only lights he can see are the bright purple, red and blue streaks that slash through the darkness, locked in combat with creatures of the shadow.

“It is to them.” He says earnestly. “They'll never stop trying.”

Indeed. They will die trying.

“...and it still won't be enough.” Mikey quotes back in a desolate whisper.

No.

Mikey feels the presence glide across his mind, allowing him to sense its magic and the potential it holds. It feels like a delicate and intricate web, but strong and ancient like the entity above. There's an emptiness there though, a dark space where immense power and warmth should be.

The magic tingles across his scales, drawing out a brief orange glow and eliciting a full body shiver from the turtle. It's drawn to him he knows, ever since the crystal was first uncovered, weaving into his dreams and whispering over his shoulder.

He knows what it wants. Knows it senses the waves of his mystic energy that break just beneath the surface. A deep well of power that feels as vast and endless as the ocean. They'd all assumed the magic to be a malevolent force, seeking to twist and corrupt the youngest’s gift. He knows better now, can feel its unrelenting desire to fulfill its one and only purpose. To purify the darkness that threatens to engulf them all.

He gently reaches his cupped hands out towards the glittering gem. The light pulses, refracting into a million shimmering colours within the crystal before it slowly floats towards him and settles neatly into the palms of his hands.

You must be sure. The voice says. It will take everything you have.

He grins with false bravado, chuckling weakly. “Then it's a good thing I always give 110%.”

He receives no response. His smile fades.

Looking up at the sky, he sees his brothers weaving through the darkness, feels their desperation and determination through their ancestral connection. He feels tears begin to build up behind his eyes, knowing they'll never forgive him for this. Will never forgive themselves. How many times have they promised each other that there would be no more sacrifice plays? God, they're going to be so disappointed in him.

He looks back down at the gem, both heavy and weightless in his hands.

“If you cross that line, there's no going back.”

It's Karai’s voice. A memory of the dire warning she had provided when his family had sought the advice of their ancestors.

“It is a powerful magic, but it demands everything that you are. Your heart, your body, your soul.” Her glowing astral form explained with grave certainty. “Even if you were to survive, you would no longer be yourself and your connection to the Hamato clan would be severed forever. You could never be brought back over.”

Tears begin to fall from Mikey’s eyes. He's terrified. He's been fighting this for so long, but there's nothing left to try. He has to do this.

A ripple carries through the connection from his brothers, their alarm and concern jumping to the forefront as they sense his despair. They're aware of his presence now. He feels them disengage from their enemy, scanning the destruction below for his location.

We're running out of time. The magic whispers to him as it wraps around his arms, reaching beseechingly towards him.

Mikey closes his eyes, drawing in a deep, expansive breath. He holds it for a moment, reaching for an inner strength that feels like broad shoulders and a spiked shell, a resolve that feels like industrious hands and an obstinate brow, a courage that feels like a brazen smile and steady gaze.

“If you cross the line…” Karai's voice echoes in his head.

Mikey exhales as he pulls the glowing crystal in towards his plastron, placing it at the centre of his chest. The light of the crystal pulses.

“...there's no going back.”

He pushes. Pressing the gem into his plastron as his mystic powers activate. They push back against him, fighting the intrusion in a wave of bright orange energy that whips up around him.

In response, the white light of the gem flares and Mikey's breath catches in his throat at the sudden pain that rips into his chest. The magic stabs into him, burrowing deep into his core as it seeks the power buried within.

Don't fight it. The voice ripples through his body.

Mikey tries but his powers feel like they're acting on their own, desperate and frenzied as they push back against the gem. The energy ignites under his scales, waves of orange fire rolling off him and forming a raging, defensive mass around him.

Mikey grits his teeth and pushes harder.

“Mikey!”

The orange banded turtle looks up, seeing his brothers racing towards him. Matching looks of fear on their faces.

“Fight it Mike! You don't want this!”

“Angelo, we can find another way!”

“Don't you dare give up on us Mikey!”

They're begging him to stop but their presence only settles Mikey's resolve further. He redoubles his effort, pushing the gemstone even farther into his plastron as he screams through the exertion. The pain gets impossibly worse, tears streaking down his face as he watches glowing white cracks split across his plastron from beneath his hands.

He only has a moment to watch in morbid fascination before both he and the gem sense an evil intent. Whether it knows the true nature of the weapon below or it just senses a potential threat, the great darkness above is now aware of them. They need to hurry.

Mikey's brothers stop a few feet away from him, unable to get past the fiery, blazing energy that surrounds their youngest brother.

“Dammit!” Raph yells as they notice a dark form barrelling down upon the group. His red construct bursts forward to meet the attack head on, holding it at bay for a moment before it sends him flying off to the side.

“It's going to go after Mikey and the gemstone.” Donnie tells Leo quickly. “We'll keep it off of you two. Find a way to get to him.”

Leo nods and with a brief worried glance back at his brother, Donatello flies off to help Raph buy them some time.

Mikey ignores his brothers, intent upon the stone at his chest. They don't have time. He needs to do this faster. He focuses through the pain and chaos around him and pictures himself pulling the magic into his body. Opening himself up to the gemstone.

The pain begins to abate, the sharp stabbing replaced by a biting numbness that spreads from his core out to his extremities. But the fire and sparks whipping around him only pick up in speed and intensity, stretching out in desperation as an icy white energy reaches out, consuming it.

He begins to feel detached from the world around him as the whispering voice in his head becomes an all encompassing cacophony. He watches his memories flit past at a breakneck speed like the pages of a book caught in the wind. He feels the presence from the gem sink into him, filling in all the spaces and ripping through the fabric of his being.

He's so caught up in the sensations lancing through his mind and body that he doesn't notice the portal that opens up in front of him. The warm hands that pull his own away from the gem at his chest as chaos rages around them.

“Mikey! Miguel! God you're freezing.” Leo says, suddenly right there. Leo stares down at Mikey's hands before his eyes jump to the stone embedded in Mikey's chest, surrounded by an expanding web of white cracks.

Leo stares wide eyed. “No, no, no, stay with me Miguel.” He brings a hand up to Mikey's face, patting Mikey's cheek urgently. “Come on baby brother, come back to us.”

With a lethargy that Mikey has never before known, he slowly brings his full focus up to his brother. The fear and concern in the blue banded turtle's eyes bringing forth memories from the swirling chaos of his mind. The memories race past; he's lying in bed and terribly ill, he hides in an alley, lost and alone on the surface, he wakes up in the medbay after opening a portal across dimensions. Each memory comes with disjointed sensations; a blanket pulled tightly over his shoulders, the grittiness of concrete beneath his feet, shooting pains through his fingers and up his arms. They all end with those same worried eyes looking down at him.

The memories are grainy and hard to hold onto, the storm raging in his mind rips them away before they can fully form. He feels like he's being buffeted around on the inside and out, lost and adrift at sea. Mikey just stares up at his brother, vaguely aware of the tears still trailing down his face. He hears a faraway voice saying “If you cross the line...”.

“There's no going back.” He finishes aloud.

Leo's face drops in despair before hardening into angry denial.

“No! I didn't give up on Raph. You didn't give up on me. Like hell am I giving up on you!” He growls.

Mikey smiles, eyes closing as he soaks in the comfort Leo's fierce words bring. A sense of calm is starting to wash over him. He feels the storm inside him beginning to subside, the ice melting away and the feeling of a warm light shining on his face. Memories and thoughts and feelings are still slipping through the cracks but he somehow feels more complete then he's ever felt before, filled with purpose and the power to drive away the darkness.

“Mikey, please.” Leo begs, shaking Mikey by the shoulders. “Please. You have to fight this.”

From the fading reel of his life, Mikey pictures a similar scene. He's holding a bruised and bandaged brother. It's just them, alone in the dark as they recover from their injuries. He's still so scared, he's never really had to face this fear before. The thought of losing one of his brothers had always been too impossible to be real. Drowning in that same fear, his brother pleads with him, makes him promise to never do something so dangerous again. Not for him, never for him, his brother begs.

Mikey looks up at that same turtle in front of him, aware of the promise he's now broken. “Did I disappoint you?” He asks curiously.

A breath catches in his brother's throat, tears brimming in his eyes as he cradles Mikey's face in his hands. The space around them is quiet, the frantic flames of energy now still and clear as glass.

Mikey's brother searches his face, wiping away a lingering tear before forcing a soft, sad smile. He leans forward and gently rests his forehead against Mikey's.

“No Michaelangelo, you could never disappoint us.” He answers earnestly. “Whatever happens, we love you and we'll find you. We'll bring you back.”

Mikey feels a bright, familiar grin break across his face.

He thinks of broad shoulders and a spiked shell, and he feels strength.

He thinks of industrious hands and an obstinate brow, and he feels determination.

He thinks of a brazen smile and looks into his brother's steady gaze, and he feels courage.

His body glows with a brilliant white light. The gem at his chest refracting it out across the spectrum.

He closes his eyes and crosses the line.

[secondsovereign]

Here's to you, Herrscher of Reason.

Welt Birthday Drabble 2024

December is a month of many things, to the man who rarely called himself Joachim any more it was full of birthdays, anniversaries, life and death intertwined in ways that have become so utterly beautiful. It's funny now, when he can finally stop and look back at it for once, that he celebrates four things on the same day, a day that feels too short to recognise them all. It was his birthday when they'd found Joey in the remnants of Cocolia's labs, little more than a baby, and yet he'd taken him in all the same, cherished him like a biological son that shared all of his DNA with him and Welt Joyce. A candle is lit, one of three to signify the wellspring of memories

His birthday is both a joyful and sombre occasion, to be born twice, even as a man who he'd come to consider a father like figure had resigned himself to his fate. He remembers, just barely, the faces of Henrietta and Elias with a cake they'd spent the days painstakingly making for him. His parents have long since passed, resigned to memory, yet that stood irreplaceable by the memories of Birthday after Birthday with Einstein and Tesla, ageing while the Key of Creation had left them frozen in time. Another candle lit, another memory pulled from his core.

The Herrscher remembers the single birthday spent with Welt Joyce and the irreplaceable gift the man had given. That day had become his second birth, when the identity of Joachim Nokianvirtanen was left behind in favour of the name and purpose his second father had gifted to him. Joachim remembers the whispers, the idea that spread so quickly that Joachim Nokianvirtanen had died in the fires of New York, leaving only Welt Yang behind with Reason humming at his fingertips and the power to shape the shapeless within his mind.

Perhaps they were right, Welt would never tell who emerged from the flames that day, his deepest and darkest secret sanctified within the Core of Reason as year after year was spent toiling to master the powers that had become his. His younger self, his innocent self, had faded from memory by the time Anti Entropy had made its appearance and mandate clear, and yet Welt still lit a candle for him and Joyce, even when the torrential rains threatened to snuff the flames.

A flicker of the light, a flash of lightning before he's disappearing once more into the streets of St. Fountain, intent on getting to the source of their mysterious technological advances. Surely Bronya would be fine without him for a few hours...

[beyond-mortal-limits]

FFXIVWrite 2024 - Day 8: Free Day VIII STRENGTH

(Warning for SAM 60 quest spoilers)

“Unlike before, this is no game. It ends only when one of us lies dead.”

Petra frowned. The old man was shivering, barely able to stop his teeth from chattering due to cold and exhaustion. His face was pale, eyes hard with pain, knuckles white where they clung to his upraised katana. The point wavered. Killing him would be easy - all Petra would have to do was draw her own sword, and push it into him. Any blow he tried to make would be slow, clumsy, and easily deflected. The shock would finish him in moments. He was going to die out here no matter what happened. He would welcome it as a gift.

Petra did not draw her sword. She walked towards him, wading through the snow. Musosai’s eyes widened in fear and uncertainty.

“Take my head! Else - I shall take yours!”

When she made it within arms’ reach, he stabbed her through the chest. In fairness, despite the lack of speed or power, his movements were still smooth and economical. Musosai’s body had failed him, but his skill was still there. She pushed forward, hissing out between her teeth as the razor sword ran further through her until its’ hilt hit her chest. She could feel her thick woolen coat saturate with blood as aether invisibly fountained out through it. Musosai could only stare, eyes wide in disbelief.

“What - are you-”

Though it made the razor in her chest burn, Petra squatted and grabbed the little old man with both arms in a classic gladiatorial bear hug. She sucked in a lungful of air - and then lifted him off the ground. He was so light. He’d lost so much weight.

“Un - unhand-”

Grappled like this, arms pinned to his chest, the hilt of his sword jutting out under his arm, Musosai was totally helpless. Both legs kicked feebly once or twice. He had no more strength left in him. Petra walked his skin and bones away from their duel, and off the little cliff.

They fell no more than a few feet, and straight into the embrace of a thick snowdrift, but for Musosai it might well have been a hundred. The drop knocked the wind and any remaining fight he might have had out of him, and he could only lie there while Petra pulled his katana out of herself. She grunted through gritted teeth as she pulled at the handle, and then the blade, and then threw the bloody sword into the snowdrift while she waited for the geyser in her chest to stop.

“My pupil... fulfill your duty.”

Petra sat up, and looked back at Musosai. She did nothing. They watched each other for a moment, only the cold breeze between them.

“I have served my purpose... now, end it. Give this villain his just punishment.”

She stood up, towering over him. She could feel the blood in her coat starting to freeze. Petra gripped her sword, the katana he had given her all those weeks ago, and Musosai turned his head away and shut his eyes.

Petra drew, and swung.

Musosai opened his eyes again, and looked over at where Petra stood - katana still in hand, stance low, stopped at the end of the stroke where it had cut only air.

“Excised the evil in me... have you? Absolved me... of my crimes?”

Petra sheathed her unbloodied sword, and sat back down onto the snow beside him. Musosai’s breathing was ragged and slow.

“Petra - you have become a greater samurai... than I thought you would. I tried to make you into... a weapon so that I could know death. Now I will... know peace.”

Petra pointed north, back the way they had come, but his eyes were no longer focused on her.

“Better that it end here, Petra - every moment of this journey, I cherished. Our work... is done. One fewer evil... afflicts... the...”

Petra sat there for a short while.

Eventually, she stood up. She retrieved his sword, slid it back into its’ scabbard, and then lifted Musosai’s body up and onto her shoulder. Wading through the snow, making for the flickering orange light, Petra began the journey back to Falcon’s Nest.

[sonicasura]

Realizing this now but Poppy Playtime would fit in the Transformersverse creepily well once you think about it. Shockwave, Meltdown, Mandroid, Tarantulas... They have experimented and create terror for various purposes that left either disgust, horror, or both on viewers than just the opposition.

Poppy Playtime could fit right in even more so when you notice how the toys operate. All of them are taught to pretend to be normal children playthings. Still like statues until no one notices and the perfect time to strike. Ambush predators that need to eat as there is evidence like tailoring Boxy Boo's appetite to human flesh(to get rid of those who knew too much) in a recording found inside Project Playtime or the EXP.1006/The Prototype not needing to eat unlike the other experiments within a recording inside Poppy Playtime.

I can't forget the most darkest information. These living toys were once human and the Chapter 3 ARG has given more evidence children being potential subjects. In Chapter 2, there are documents that label a kid's name but also a toy in the Game Station.

Children were actively being tested by scientists before the conversion. However the final nail in the coffin is this official video from Mob Entertainment's YouTube page. A confirmed toy who was once a person.

It gets even worse. This shit is morbid enough so how bad can it become? The Bigger Bodies Initiative. A plan to make giant toys for the purpose of labor. Legitimate slave labor in order to cut costs as these human experiments will work to sustain the factory until they are killed. Toys meant to never age so they continue to live unless put out of their misery.

Now I know you're thinking they couldn't stand a chance against Cybertronians. A giant toy might be able to offline Minicons and damage regular bots to some degree unless trained to aim for weakspots. Like ambush predators tend to do. TFA Optimus and TFP Arcee wouldn't have fun with Mommy Long Legs due to personal trauma involving spiders.

No, the danger is directed to their human companions. Most Transformers series has at least one person becoming an important member of the team with the majority being teenagers and CHILDREN. Poppy Playtime's monstrous toys can easily kill humans as Boxy Boo is made to devour adults whole without a peep.

There's no way to discern or even expect a simple children's plaything could be a man eating monster. Optimus kills a toy that found its way into base and Ratchet does an autopsy. Imagine their horror upon discovering human organs being intertwined to make an actual alive creature.

The dread only deepens as realization dawns that these are from children. Someone is bound to feel ill especially when you consider Optimus fondness for humans and the iterations with young charges. Death seems natural to a species intertwined by war for over multiple millenia.

They stomach the grief as until the battle is truly won, they can't mourn fallen comrades for long without being in constant danger. What people like Shockwave does to others truly wrought terror. To know their own kind is subjected to experimentation so extreme, so vile, that you don't believe there's a line this person won't cross.

Real horror can come from those they cherish becoming targets to an unforeseen threat. Morbid realization that toys could kill and devour the humans who snared their sparks. The disgust since these monsters once being their charges' species even possibly their age. And it can be your fault as toys like plushies are common innocent gifts.

TFP Bulkhead getting Miko a little Catnap toy as a present for her birthday. Imagine his horror seeing the girl unconscious, pain etched on her face from vivid nightmares. The toy he gave to Miko ready to take a bite out of her neck until he crushes it. Bulkhead would be forever haunted by the incident.

Now there are two threats hiding in plain sight. The machinery used for everyday life can potentially be a war criminal with the only indicator of potential death being an emblem. Now simple children playthings are possibly a former human that feeds on others.

And this threat doesn't have a warning sign until it's too late.

For those who want to delve further then here are the recordings so far. Chapter 1 & 2, Ch 3, Project Playtime Phase 1+2. Chapter 3 ARG summarized can be found here. Finally the documents from Poppy Playtime right here.

[artdecosupernova-writing]

Find the Word Game XXXI

tagged by: @space-writes!! my words: bite, fight, resent, compliment tagging: @drippingmoon, @pertinax–loculos, @druidx, and open tag! your words: alive, find, never, hide, truth, scary

bite (Eternal)—

Mydhassa frowned. "What about the residents of Andromeda? Do they get a say?" DeCosta's hands dropped delicately onto her lap. "We were going to send someone in to attempt to reach a diplomatic agreement with the governing bodies of Andromeda." Her gaze lingered on Thrive. "...But we lost track of him for two hundred years." Roundtree turned to him. "We apologize for the inhumanity of using you for our own purposes." "Senator," Thrive said, unimpressed, "I have been used for others' gain since my birth. Your arrogance, while hardly surprising, makes no unique enough impact on me to insult or otherwise." Warren had to bite his tongue to stop himself from reacting to that.

fight (Eternal)—

A thunderous shake of the ground, and the ocean erupted. Water touched the sky, pellets of droplets shot at the cliffside, and lightning arced through the clouds, illuminating the roiling, abyssal sea below them and the swelling crest in the distance. Warren was plunged into a cold snap, and he shuddered violently. "Get to shelter," Thrive demanded of those not directly fighting. He hadn't had the mental capacity to keep himself from getting soaked by the rain. He swept his hands over the ground and fire belched from between his fingers, and he swiped viciously at the Emmuli figures around him and ———, his face glowing with the light from both the flames and his eyes. "Keep everyone safe!" A sudden tsunami rushed in from the ocean, taller than the cliff, barreling toward them at an almost unrealistic speed. Thrive planted himself at the edge of the cliff and shook one hand out, throwing it skyward to encompass everyone and everything on it, quintupling the strength, and he used his other hand to spread the shield behind him. The colossal boom of the torrent impacting against Thrive's shield made Warren wince, and he reached up to cover his ears to find they'd been burned to the layer of skin beneath. Thrive almost buckled, but he dug his feet into the dirt to stabilize. White water, dark water, the speed twice that of a raging river over everyone's heads. This continued for minutes. The light in Thrive's eyes rose until it all but provided those shielded with plenty of it to see the black fog settling on the ground.

resent offense (Aurora)—

"Yes, but you also have an AI…" "An AI who is not only fully incapable of holding a baby, but probably doesn't even know the difference between one of them and a particularly lively doll." Scotty lit up [Guetry's] wrist device as well as his tattoos. "I take full offense at that," he said in his usual calm, soothing cadence. "The baby to which you're referring did exceptionally well in the plastics stress test." Guetry sputtered, choking around the gulp he'd just taken. Warren clapped him on the back again, making a face as he wasn't sure if Guetry was disturbed more than he was laughing at that.

compliment (Aurora)—

Tilting his head, Thrive's expression took on a curious form, like he'd just realized the most cherished thing he possessed was actually a priceless artifact or piece of art. "You were born on the first of June during an unscheduled meteor shower. An unscheduled meteor shower on a planet that, even at the time, had the ability to detect foreign objects passing its orbit months in advance. Has that never seemed odd to you?" Warren shrugged, hugging himself to hide his anxious shivering. "It never really occurred to me, I guess. I'd heard it so many times when I was growing up that it kinda just sounded normal." "Your intuition is unparalleled, except perhaps by that of the clairvoyant-empaths and elder silhou. You've survived every attempt on your life, accidental or otherwise, with minimal physical damage. Your gift of reasoning is phenomenal, as you've talked even a bloodthirsty venevan leader out of sending your teammates to an irradiated planet." "Right now all I'm hearing is a myriad of compliments and not a hell of a lot of explanation."

[theaenetworks]

To make someone feels so special is not bothered on the expensive nature of what you give to them, but on how you give to them and the way it makes them feel. Holiday’s season brings atmosphere that inspire consciousness of love, people want to feel loved in whichever possible way to align with the lyrics of the season.

This is not to say that most people yearn for love only during yuletide, but what makes it different is that atmosphere, once it is set, it facilitates showing love and happiness, it creates the mood for gifting love, which makes everlasting impact on people’s lives.

Gifting love is the most expensive gift one can receive in this holiday season, it comes with a lot of easiness of mind, it might just be what you needed to kick-start your career, and give it a new positive outlook, a little bit of it can change the whole outlook.

It is gifts giving season, gifts serve it own purpose and most often outlive its relevance, but one thing that cannot outlive its impacts and usefulness is that expression of love, gifting love. It will rewire your thoughts and inspire newness of life in you, it creates a new life in you, a light that you will walk on throughout the rest of your life.

It is about what someone needs to triumph and live its purpose. It is time you make people around you feel so special and let them know that you think about them always, cherish and honour their presence in your life. For them to know that someone earnestly have them close to their hearts bring moments of clarity.

Recognizing and appreciating every impact they have made in your life could be what they need in this yuletide. For couples, wives don’t want to be left alone preparing everything for the holiday, they want sort of company while preparing meal in the kitchen, a team work could be what they need to get the best from this holiday season and vice versa.

You have to breathe and speak love during this holiday season, this is a different yuletide, people have been stressed both physically and mentally in one way or the other, especially the happenings around the globe which had been predominantly war related, that feeling of uncertainty creeps in.

This yuletide could be a clear vision of what you never saw this year, creating atmosphere for love, empathy and compassion most importantly a judgement-free zone where one doesn’t have to be preoccupied mentally, with self-doubt, gifting love will prove to be the only difference maker.

https://anthonyemmanuel.com/holidays-season-time-for-gifting-love/

#Christmas #ChristmasGifts #christmastree #christmasiscoming #FestiveSeason #festivevibes #festive #FestiveFun #yuletide

[2001helloangel]

I made myself Disco Elysium skills :3

MAIDEN is FREEDOM

love deeply, love boundlessly. nobody can deny a pretty young girl her lackadaisical exploits.

- Bleeding Heart - Mourning in high doses, thousand-word smiles. Cathedrals in anthills, the fall of Rome in every shattered glass. Unfathomable love, a vast, vast soul. Deadly when left unchecked.

- White Shadow Waltz - In its absence, you have become the high priestess. The world continues turning, and you remain still. Yet, you will not falter.

- Expensive Mistake (evil Electrochemistry) - Fill your hollow heart with smoke and venom. Being loved will not save you, but drugs with strangers might. Your body can be a magnet as much as a weapon.

- Metamorphosis - You are changing, and you do not get a choice. Everything Empty Cup values is being taken away from you. Are you not horrified? You had what you wanted, and now you are trapped in a twisting prison of flesh.

- Over The Rainbow - It would be so easy to fall, but you wish someone would push you. Who would find you? Who would they tell? Really, who cares?

MOTHER is FULFILLMENT

care. kindness. selflessness. know your place and find your purpose in the burdens.

- La Pieta - Tend to the sick, Martyr Mary, daughter of your son. Roll the stone over the grave. Sing to the dying, pity the poor worm after the rain. Love and lose.

- The Hand That Feeds - Forgive the dog its bite. Allow the vampires to drink their fill. Hospitality is paramount. You are a fountain of youth.

- Caretaker - Caress, soothe, smother. Sometimes, boundaries must be crossed. You provide a hot meal, a lap to lay in, a shoulder to cry on. Ignore how good it makes you feel.

- Porcelain Face - Look sharp, soldier. Don’t cry during the surgery. Keep yourself together, hold the manic Prophets on a tight leash. Show gentleness, not weakness.

- Empty Cup - Where your value lies. A flower to be protected, cherished, saved for the right moment. Womanhood, worthiness.

MUSE is STATIC

inspire and be inspired. become whole. let your messiah complete you. canonize yourself in their own personal religion. this, and only this, is what will save you.

- River of Light - Find your raft and cling to it, lest you drown. Your temple, your sun, your everything. Dependence can be safety, and after all, the night is dark and dangerous.

- Pink Elephant Mask - Love is worship, my dear. Blessed be the one who finds herself on the pyre. Be grateful for this infinite love, and return willingly to the earth.

- Magpie’s Gambit - Bring tribute to your gods. Piece together the scraps of what nobody else wanted, and hopefully, make something beautiful. When you have nothing else to give, create your own offerings.

- Mirror to Mirror - Merge souls. Become indistinguishable. Become comorbid. lose yourself in your love. You are me, I am you, and your pain is my own.

- Canis Feminum - Be the dog. Sit, stay, fetch, obey. You love it. You live for it. People love dogs, and you want to be loved, don’t you? Trust blindly, follow without discrimination. You love your leash.

PROPHET is MANIC

speak from intuition, dance with ghosts. find omens in everything. you can make anyone a saint. you, and only you, can save them all.

- Lilac Communion - Hear your angels clearly. Traverse heaven. You WILL go to heaven. You and you alone, little lamb.

- Beloved Parasite - Die again. Die again. Die again. You’ll get it right this time. You will see yourself opened up and scattered across space until you get it right. You will feel wounds that are not there, until you get it right.

- Penance - Starvation instinct, the need to break skin. Deprive yourself, it is the only way to apologize for your sorry life. Bring a gift to compensate for your presence. Serve and stay silent.

- Dream Logic - Everything means something, and you can find truth in the most far-fetched of lies. Never ignore a sign. Omens are everywhere. What is believed will be.

- Righteous Anger - Learn to SNARL. Harden your hurt into a sharp point of pride. Shake off your programming, and find your rage.

[formerlycookierunauprompts]

Once Golden Butter Cookie ever leaves the box/or wakes up (Really depends which au we're talking about here), will they ever get back into dollmaking?

I just find it interesting that even if the world and others have gone to create things far better than her own creations, I don't think that takes away the fact she can grant sentient life to her creations if she so wishes. She even made an entire realm for herself and her dolls which if you think about it, is really impressive on its own and it probably took months or years to create.

So even if she's burntout, I don't think that entirely means she's lost her creativity. I think the only reason she went through burnout in the first place was that she was stressing herself to create something noteworthy for the public to notice. So that you know, maybe there was justification for her to deserve HER SOUL JAM. So when she realized that she just couldn't keep up, what use was she to the world at this point...

Why is her corrupted attribute cowardice? Personally, I don't know, however when it comes to creativity, there's usually a risk involved. The courage to explore and experiment with new ideas, challenge expectations even if it'll face large or failure criticism. However, exploring new ideas is different from your own artistic identity. I'm assuming Golden Butter Cookie was trying to create things within the status quo required by the general public in order to remain as relevant as her friends, trying to create her own ideas and expound in those that resulted in failure and frustration too many times that she just gave up. I think her motivation also became a large factor in this too, that perhaps the things she was creating wasn't in her best interest. She has a literal army of dolls and toys, she probably has some workshop out there. But imagine her shifting from creating living toy companions that brought happiness and protection to children to sudden machines that should serve a purpose in making work easier. It's stressful and a bit hard to adapt to when you think about it. But what if she adapted her own dolls to make work easier? Sure it feels weird having some plush toy do some of the work, but it gets the job done. And I feel like unbeknownst to her, she managed to explore this idea a bit during her time in the toybox before succumbing to sleep.

But that makes you wonder, in all her years she spent wasting away in her toybox realm, why hadn't she ever discarded her own soul jam, or given it to someone much better than her...? Maybe because it was a gift from her own creators... Maybe it was her way of clinging to the small speck of hope that a part of who she once was is still there... Her purpose...

But honestly, maybe the world doesn't need her as much as they did before, but that doesnt mean her own friends don't need her. She's Golden Butter Cookie, whether she's some great inventor or not, she was an integral part of their life. She was important, not for her powers, but for her.

anon... anon I am shaking you so hard right now/verypos

This actually almost perfectly describes Goldie, i don't know how you did it anon, but you did! so congrats!! As for your first question, I don't think that Goldie would ever give up doll making in the first place. The dolls of the Toy-Box are basically her children and most cherished items/people, and making dolls is in fact, Goldie's passion.

In fact, Goldie's persona, Butterscotch Cookie, is a doll maker! Just a fun little fact.

As for why Golden Butter Cookie's corrupted attribute is cowardice... Well, it's a lot like you said. She was unwilling to break away from the norm, trying so desperately to be seen as useful like her fellow heroes. She didn't have Shadow Milk's knowledge, she wasn't as good at bringing smiles to others as Eternal Sugar was, she couldn't lead revolutions against the corrupt like Burning Spice did(in fact, maybe she feared change.), she couldn't find her own will like Mystic Flour could... And she was too much of a coward to stand by their sides, but she knew that silent salt would never do such a shameful thing as running away from the world to hide.

And then, when they became beasts, she was still too much of a coward to stand up for what was right. To fight against her friends. But how could she? She was just so much... less, compared to them. Hell, she can't even grow to their gargantuan size! How the hell was she supposed to be able to do... anything?

But she could have at least done something... right? But she was too much of a coward to do anything except hide away.

...

Also, about what you said about her adapting the dolls, yes that does indeed happen! There are gardeners, architects, builders, and many more types of dolls to fill the roles of a society within the toy-box! Goldie realized that she couldn't really do everything by herself, so she decided to make some dolls to give her a helping hand!

And as for why she didn't discard her soul jam... Well, it's an integral part of her. Her connection to it is baked into her dough and it isn't something she could easily rid herself of... if she even could. She still wants to cling to the dim hope that the Light of Creation supplies her with, it's voice is quiet... but it's still there.

And when all was said, and all was done, and when Goldie left the Toy-Box... She was ready to face her friends once again, even if it (metaphorically) killed her to do so. Because it wasn't her powers, her achievements, or her creations that they saw. They saw Golden Butter Cookie, nobody else, not a failure, not anything other than who she was.

And she was their friend.