#not To confuse him with Bricky

[moodymisty]

Hi, I’d like to request a (nsfw) Perturabo x reader where you’re about to have sex with him, but you’re slowly realising from the way he’s anxiously going about it that he’s never had sex before. Perturabo knows, anatomically speaking, where the clit is, but he’s probably got no clue on what to do with it. (Also he’s probably trying so hard not to be an ass about it but he’s anxious and you’re so pretty and eager and what if he disappoints you and what if you call his sexual ability subpar and what if-) (he’s nervous. Basically)

I just feel like we often forget that a good number of the primarchs haven’t had sex before, which in my opinion could have some interesting implications in terms of x readers. Especially considering who they are and the possible stigmas around sex that they could have learned while on their various planets

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

A soft sequel to this request

Author’s note: I always jokingly quote Bricky when I say Perty is an Incel, so it’s nice I get to defeat the meme. Makes sense that most of the Primarchs probably wouldn’t indulge in such a thing at least often though, physical issues aside most humans tended to treat them like they were above them, which would probably be frustrating.

Anyways, I made sure to stay as close to your prompt as I could with Perturabo. I imagine he would NEVER let anyone see he wasn't a master at something, sex included. But don't worry, he worries internally plenty for you to enjoy I hope.

Summary: Perturabo returns to his new beloved, and indulges in an act he once deemed pointless.

Relationships: Perturabo/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Massive size kink, Perturabo is a little awkward but he tries to hide it, The creampie to end all creampies, A teeny bit of choking kink if you squint, Like 80% smut

Word Count: 2739 ...oops?

“Lord Perturabo?”

Hearing his name, he looks up to see a fresh faced Iron Warrior looking at him between two other of his elders. He hums as a response that he heard them, but that only seems to confuse him further.

“Should I repeat myself?”

Perturabo had hoped the three would take his disinterest in the matter as a tell for that they should continue their current plan, but he suppose they need his verbal approval on the matter.

“No. Take whatever tech priests aren’t already working on the issue and have them assist. I expect this to not be a problem for much longer.”

Throne knows we shouldn’t be waylaid for much longer.

The fact that they even had an engine issue to begin with upset the primarch immensely, but he’s been holding his tongue while it’s fixed. His legion has done nothing but aggravate him this entire mission, even more so than usual.

The three Iron Warriors nod and leave to follow his orders, and let Perturabo enjoy the room in silence once again. Apart from the hum of machinery and the buzz of a projection on the holotable, the room is finally quiet enough for him.

With a soft grunt of exertion he leans forward and places his hands against the edge of the massive table, and shifts uncomfortably in his armor as the issue that had distracted him previous makes itself known once again. It arguably aggravates him even more than this entire waylaid issue has been, his gauntlets gripping the table's edge tight enough that he feels it give way and crumbles underneath his hands.

Perturabo has never had such thoughts of sex take over so much of his head before. Especially ones that were unsolvable on his own, and lingered like some sort of infection.

If rarely the desire struck him and kept distracting him he could take a moment to himself, angrily yank himself to completion in the quiet of his own quarters- usually at his desk- before returning to his work, distraction quelled. It was transactional, just a bodily need to be dealt with before moving along.

But that hasn’t worked this time. He’s already tried and you still occupy his mind- still distracting him. It's all your fault, he should've never allowed you to get your nails into him this deep, deep enough that he can't tear them free.

He’s never felt this way before. He’s never felt any real desire to actually bring another person into his bed; If he needed that sort of release, he did it himself. To touch another, desire another, is new to him.

He knows you're soft, but how soft will you feel in his hands? Not just your own hand, but your entire body? He's never touched a woman before, had no reason to add another variable into his life that would largely serve to only distract him.

He wishes he could just rip all this armor off. He won't, but it's aggravating that now he's distracted enough to find it all inconvenient.

Once they repair the Iron Blood they can return to Olympia. Then he can see you and finally relieve himself of the stress you've put him under, scolding you for things you had no control over.

Unlike the days earlier when you were still working on his puzzle boxes, your workload now is significantly reduced. You mostly clean Perturabo's workshop and most personal quarters now, partly to keep yourself busy, and because he doesn't wish there to be anyone in there he doesn't trust.

He would have someone else he didn't despise to do it if you got bored of the work, the only reason he hasn't is because you seem to do it to keep your mind busy; Especially now that he was gone. He understands the feeling. He too hates it if his mind wanders too far off the path, hence why his workshop is so filled with random things he made when he felt himself drifting.

You enter the workshop and with significant effort close the heavy door behind you, before walking closer to him. He sits at his main workbench, a few partly rolled up plans the only thing in front of him of note. His shirt is rolled up at the sleeves, showing the scars on his arms hands as he leaned them on the table.

"How did it go?"

You say to him with a cautious look. You more than likely know that the Iron Blood was waylaid for a decent while, and you know faulty machinery is a core trigger for his mood to go quickly sour.

"I struggle to imagine a way it could have gone worse." He says with a monotone voice and blunt expression, which makes your lips purse- though before you can come up with a response he speaks again.

"Come here."

He gestures with one motion of his hand, and you walk closer up until you're standing right beside his chair.

It's still a bit surprising when he picks you up however; He's done it before, though the feeling of being lifted off the ground so easily is not a feeling done away with easily. He sits you onto his lap and you ignore the odd feeling in your chest about having been moved around so easily by him, looking down to see his thighs wider than your hips by a significant degree. Your legs dangle unable to touch the ground at this height; You look so small.

Leaning forward you pull some of the scattered blueprints closer to you, looking at them curiously.

"What are these for?"

Perturabo decides to placate at least one of your questions and ignore the ache between his legs for a moment longer.

"Drafts for the auto-targeting orbital defense cannons."

You hum and look at them, fingers brushing over the parchment. Perturabo watches as you lean forward, accentuating the curve of your spine and hips; Even with how light you are, he can also feel the way you soft thighs and ass press against him. He doesn't placate your questions any longer.

“Take it off.”

You’re clearly confused for a moment, taking your eyes away from his plans to look around.

“What? What do you mean?” You utter, before your body tenses as you feel his massive hand grip your waist.

“Take off your clothes.” Your hands suddenly begin to fumble with your dress, shaking. Perturabo settles to quicken the process forgo removing your dress, and simply push up the hem and tear off your underwear instead.

His hand wraps around your thigh easily, swallowing it in the massive expanse of his palm. His index finger slides between the crease at the very top of your thigh, and the closeness puts your lip between your teeth as your thighs instinctively move to close.

But the entire time his hand is less so teasing and more so, explorative. He has no destination in mind, and only lingers if he hears or feels you react to his touch.

He doesn't know how to touch you beyond the simplistic, what makes you sing. He'll learn silently, his pride would never allow him not to.

Pulling it away he moves his hand underneath you, yanking at his trousers. You hold his forearm for support until you see him finally free his cock, and it lays between your legs. You can just barely grind against it at this angle; but your bigger concern is its size.

Perturabo notices it too, but refuses to vocalize such a concern to you. He’ll make it work, he has too. He’s not sure if he would be able to survive if he couldn’t fuck you the way he’s been fruitlessly imagining to the point of being aggravatingly pent up.

His hand pushes between your legs, sliding against your folds and using his thick fingers to push them apart. You clench your teeth and lean back against his chest, feeling as he slips one of his fingers inside of you. Your sitting angle forces him to curl his finger in order to slip it into you fully he quickly realizes, grasping onto his arm for support.

He hears you moan, cunt soaking wet as you sit in his lap, leaning against his chest as he teases you. He knows that you won’t be able to take him straight away, not with your difference in size. It doesn’t take much to realize your tiny, tight little cunt wasn’t meant for him.

“Can you take another?” He says, and you think he’s teasing, but you realize he’s asking a genuine question.

Perturabo slowly forces a second finger into you and you cry out as he stretches you further, but the burn quickly fades into a pleasurable ache that has your stomach feeling tight and legs limp and useless.

"I have been waiting since that pathetic excuse of a ship was waylaid," Perturabo hisses between his teeth and feels his nose wrinkle angrily. "You will take me no matter how long we have to sit here." The sounds of your breathless moans are more arousing than he thought possible, making his cock twitch between his own thighs.

“Lord Perturabo?”

Stirred from his trance watching his hand shift between your legs Perturabo turns to glare at the door, the deepness and distorted tone of voice queues him in that it’s one of his Iron Warriors.

“The Iron Blood is repaired, the tech marines wished to show you before officially declaring it fit for duty-“

Perturabo suddenly places his other hand over your mouth, continuing to drive his fingers into your cunt has he yells. The Iron Warrior shouldn't be able to hear the wet sounds of his fingers curling inside of you, but he would be able to hear your incessant mewling.

“I will advise it tomorrow. Now leave me be.”

Your thighs shake, hands pulling at the one he has over your lower face trying to catch a full breath though his palm doesn’t allow you.

“And do not bother me again this evening.”

The Iron Warrior, clearly confused as to Perturabo’s sudden shift in attitude, responds in understanding and quickly takes his leave. Once gone, he finally takes the hand away from your mouth.

“You liked that?” Your watery eyes can’t see his face, only barely through the reflections on the metal in front of you. “I felt your little cunt get tighter.” He pulls his fingers from you and reaches between your legs to grab his cock, shifting himself to press against your entrance. It doesn't take much for him to lift you up slightly and begin to lower yourself onto him, slowly slightly when he hears you gasp.

Even with preparation, it's still a tight fit, he quickly realizes.

As such it's a slow and arduous process to fit himself into you, feeling your nails bite into the skin of his forearms. When your bottom finally hits the fronts of his thighs again, you feel like you're so full that you won't be able to handle it. It settles not long after however, though the feeling of him being almost right into your stomach still prevails.

"Good girl,"

He mutters as your weight rests in his lap; It slipped from his lips unconsciously, but you seem to respond to it. He internally slaps himself for allowing words to tumble out of his mouth without thinking, and steels himself to hold others firmly within his head for the time being.

He raises you up and down on his lap, holding you firmly at the hips. To hold you but not bruise you is a fine line with his strength, though if he is bruising you, you don't seem to mind. Perhaps you don't mind if he's rougher with you. Your smaller hands grip his forearms to steady yourself, or simply to keep yourself feeling grounded.

You look tiny against his massive expanse of a chest, shoulders barely higher than his ribcage.

"Pertura- Bo,"

You stutter out his name, the hot palms of your hands desperately grabbing at him. He's using you almost like a toy, but it's the only way he thinks is safe; He doesn't know the line, how much a body like yours could handle before it breaks. He knows he hasn't reached it yet, your gentle voice cries for him, leaning back against his chest.

He watches your lips part in a pant, and he wishes to kiss them, but resists it. The angle would be impossible, and part of him feels, off about how much larger his mouth is than yours. He feels like he can't do it properly. Perhaps it's lack of practice; You were the first one he's kissed as well.

A lot of firsts, you were. Largely meaningless to him years ago, but now he finds himself caring a bit more.

He's silently thankful when you finally come, sharply inhaling and digging your nails into his skin enough to leave little crescent moon marks. They'll fade in a few moments, he doesn't care. What he does care about is the way you feel like a vice around his cock, his right hand pulls away from your waist, forms a fist and slams the table as his teeth grit together, unable to hold himself back any longer.

You thought your body felt hot before, but it's even more so as you feel him finish inside of you, so much of it that you feel it almost forced out by the size of his cock. It makes a mess on the tops of his thighs, though neither of you care.

He makes no effort to even pull out until your heart isn't audible to him anymore, and when he does, he hears your whine as your well abused cunt flutters at the empty feeling.

Part of him almost wants to get angry with you; He's never bothered with something like sex before but now after this, with you, he can already feeling himself want to get hard and fuck you all over again until you're limp in his lap.

A smarter part of him wishes he'd never done this, never met you, never kissed you, never fucked you. He would've never known what he was missing, and never loose focus.

However that part of his mind looses, when he feels you lie more against the expanse of his chest. He sighs.

"It is late. I will bring you to my quarters and you can sleep there."

He refuses to let you sleep in that tiny room you called home before. For his own selfishness, and your safely. Now that you're becoming so close to him, your safety is a must. Many will find you an easy target.

"My clothes Bo, let me-" You quickly shut your mouth when you realized you hadn't called him by his proper name. He doesn't comment on it.

He picks you up not long after, bringing you to his quarters at a much quicker pace than you could do on your own. A few of his men give him an odd look at having such a disheveled woman in his arms, but it only takes one look in return for them to right their gaze and move along.

"Are you not going to stay?" You say when he plops you onto his massive bed with a gentle toss that makes you smile, and turns to leave.

"Must I?" He says it laced in sarcasm, but he regrets it when he sees the smile he'd just put on your face instantly bleed away.

"I wanted to hear about your plans, for a little bit. It's been so long since the last time."

Perturabo had as of late shown you more of his private plans, many of them war machines. He'd begun talking a bit out loud, and his deep voice talking rumbled in your chest and always made you feel so warm and comfortable.

He enjoys that you just listen. You don't have an ego to protect like he does.

Perturabo steps closer.

"If I do, I expect you to stay awake." You nod and smile. "I'll try." He sits onto the bed, grips your cheeks, and forces you to look up at him gently. Your lips purse from his grip in a way he finds tempting, and he mentally blames you for the distraction once again.

"You will. I'll make sure of it."

[autistic-fool-with-ideas]

The Lego that Cory made that never got a name is named dricky now

[furederiko]

Would you look at that? It's my 1400th post! In Kyuranger episode 33, the team reunites with several old friends, as they welcome a new arsenal to their ranks!

NOTE: In case you somehow missed the notice, this belated recap-view is for the episode that aired on October 8th, 2017. Expect the one for episode 34 that aired a few days ago (on Sunday, October 15th)... soon-ish! ;D

- No intro narration? That feels weird. - With ORION's heroic sacrifice, the Rebellions are now left homeless, and without any necessary transportation. So much for their plan to head out into the Crux System to locate the whereabouts of Don Armage, right? Well... not exactly. - A familiar face teleports her way out of the blue. Yep, Eris returns! Her arrival heralds two major reveals. First, she pretty much confirms that the past has INDEED been altered. Remember how I was kind of concerned how Eris would play a part in the quest for Argo, knowing that Orion has passed away in battle 300 years ago? Turns out, that part of history has been rewritten. She no longer knew the white warrior, and it was none other than Commander Xiao who delivered the Carina Kyu Globe for her safekeeping (as well as entrusting the Vela Kyu Globe to the Vela Tribe, as we'll see later on through his... picture show). Second, in the event of anything bad happening to ORION, Eris has been asked to deliver a special message from Xiao (via the Capricorn Kyu Globe). And it speaks about... Fun fact: Do pay attention to Spada and Raptor's fun reaction when Eris shows up! XD - Legendary Battle Orion Ship!!! Turns out, Orion was building an intergalactic battleship for the past heroes' fight against Jark Matter. As has been teased in the closing scene last week, apparently Xiao took over the development, and completed the process in Orion's sake. It means Xiao was the one who hid the ship as well. - The coordinates that Xiao sends on his message leads Lucky and Tsurugi to... Orion's grave. Aaaawww -_-. At the same time, the others discover a hidden passage underneath the location. Unfortunately, Vice-Shogun Kukuruga is also on the move, tailing our heroes alongside Menaster of the Aries System, Twistler. The Jark Matters don't really have any clue of what the Kyurangers are doing there. Well, at least, until Balance spills the bean. - You see, Twistler unfortunately casts his power on Balance, Hammy, and Spada, that alters and twists their personalities. Balance becomes all classy and sophisticated, Hammy with her hair pulled back (NICE look!) behaves like an old-lady, and Spada is... a rude punk? LOL. This is worse than our regular body-switch trope, because not only they have become a completely different person, they also respond others by doing the opposite of what is being told. So much so, that Naga has to paralyze them using Aries Kyu Globe. - As for the Battle Orion Ship? Well... the 2nd team has already located it. I know what you're thinking... "That was FAST!". Surprise, surprise, the bridge's interior looks exactly like ORION's. Likely due to budget concern and to prevent spoilers ("Episode of Stinger" and web-series "High School Wars" would be released prior to this episode), it still makes sense knowing who is behind its completion. Oh, but there's a bonus item. A cold-sleep capsule is placed in the center, one which Lucky, Kotarou (seriously guys, again?), and Garu jump in to open without any care in the world. - Do we even need to guess who's inside? Of course it's none other than... Xiao himself! He's not even fazed or confused like his 'cold-sleep bro' Tsurugi was (the two even shared the spotlight in the ending sequence), seemingly more than prepared to encounter the Kyuranger's familiar faces. Aaaaawww for sweet reunion! Remember when he and Champ promised to find a way back to the present time? THIS is Xiao's way. Completely ignoring the fact that he's basically putting himself in a dangerous gambling situation. I mean, seriously, if ORION hasn't been destroyed, would the team even search for this ship and find him? Probably NEVER. LOL. And Champ? What about our wrestling robot? I'll get back to this later... - It's not Xiao if he doesn't start blabbing tall-tales right away. Both Raptor's and Naga's reactions to his shenanigans are priceless as usual. But having emotions puts the latter on a different sneer & jeer-ish level that is just... amazing. Even Stinger and Kotarou are tagging along this time as Naga breaks the 4th wall, while Lucky simply doesn't get it. Comedy gold! - Interestingly, Xiao confirms that he's aware of Don Armage's 'revival' as well. Does this imply that the current Armage is in fact the same one that Leo Red Orion had defeated in the past? He also reveals that... Battle Orion Ship can NOT be activated without the Orion Kyu Globe. Which is a problem, because the item could NOT be found in the past. So how will they counter Kukuruga's sudden air strike then? Leave that task to Phoenix Soldier and his Gigant Phoenix. Because while Naga brilliantly manipulates poor-twisted Balance, Hammy, and Spada to fight (what a FUN roll call! How I wish every member is altered), Lucky has a more important task: awakening the Orion Kyu Globe. - That's right, Orion's power has been passed down to Lucky, so he's the only one who can activate it. And it's a moving sequence too, because we get to see Orion again... albeit only in spirit form. Aaaawww, that makes me sad. Hmmm... if his spirit shows up, this confirms that he's DEFINITELY not the new Don Armage. There goes my Darth Vader theory then! LOL. That also means, Lucky's backstory might not be as important nor elaborate as we all presumed... Fun fact: Just like Akyanba, Kukuruga proves that he's also a smart antagonist. Not because he can absorb attacks and returns them. Kukuruga actually stops Leo Red before he can utilize the Supreme Kyu Globe! YIKES. Had Orion's club is not available nearby, he could've been a complete goner... - Orion Voyager debuts! True to its namesake, the golden colored arsenal is shaped like its original owner's weapon. It also activates Battle Orion Ship, with Raptor immediately jumping in to maneuver its first official lift off. The sequence gets better, because when Leo Red Orion boards the Voyager, it transforms the battleship into the team's 4th mecha, the Orion Battler. Sweet homage to ORION, right there! And I'll be damned, it's a sentient robot too. It runs off on its own halfway through battle! - Actual design might be bricky and tacky to look at, with a blue-gold color scheme that seems to be a common/standard of many Super Sentai secondary mecha. But even I have to admit, just like Gigant Phoenix, Orion Battler looks really good and visually impressive in action. I like how the ship's landing platform serves as some kind of coat-tail on the robot's back. Giving off the impression that it's wearing a cape or long coat! One more thing, I've been wondering how any passenger inside the ship would be affected by the transformation, since the battleship basically rotates 90 degrees to stand up. So it's such a pleasant surprise that this episode actually shows what happens to the other Kyurangers on the bridge LOL. A nice minor detail, considering the show could've simply ignored this fact and just ran along with it. - Back to the case of Champ. While the team is busy tidying up their new home, Stinger is quick to address the elephant (or should I say 'bull'? Nice 'flower' arrangement, by the way ;D) in the room: "What happened to Champ?". My oh my, this is one of the downside of having so many members. When one of their own is gone, the others don't immediately take notice! Seriously though, even I somehow had forgotten about him during my first viewing. According to Xiao, Champ put him to cold-sleep, and then went out to locate... Professor Anton. - This raises its own concern, because we all know Anton is a Jark Matter operative. Situation gets more dire, as Kukuruga and Akyanba seem to have discovered Anton's laboratory. One that contains the one and only... Champ!

Overall: This episode was undeniably the Super Sentai love letter to that iconic anime by the title "Uchuu Senkan Yamato". From the shape of the new battleship, the cannon sequence (which is a brilliant follow-up to Xiao's previous remark), down to the tune of its BGM, everything just felt like non-stop homage to the classic series. I have to admit, a 'reveal episode' like this sort of lost its charm upon second viewing. But when I first saw it via stream (without sub), it was genuinely entertaining and more enjoyable to experience. Like I've said above, Orion Battler is an impressive 4th robot. Yet it's far more impressive to know that the writers are addressing trivial and at times minor details that even the most devoted audience would've missed. IMHO, that's the sign of good writing! Next weekTomorrow: Champ Wars - A Luchador Story... PS: If nothing unexpected and incidental happens along the way, recap-view for episode 34 is expected to arrive tomorrow. Same time, same channel!

Episode 33 Score: 8,1 out of 10

Visit THIS LINK to view a continuously updated listing of the Kyutama / Kyu Globes. Last Updated: October 17th, 2017 - Version 3.02. (WARNING: It might contain spoilers for future episodes)

All images are screencaptured from the series, provided by the FanSubber Over-Time. "Uchu Sentai Kyuranger" is produced by TOEI, and airs every Sunday on TV-Asahi. Credits and copyrights belong to their respective owners.

[butteryoptimisticpeanut]

A Name to Remember (part 8)

Summary:  At first, Bucky had thought it was an accident, the guy serving him must not have heard him right. But then it had continued, getting more ridiculous every time he set foot in the place and Bucky didn’t know how to handle it. This morning when he went for his therapeutic coffee, he had turned his cup to read ‘Borky’ written on it. Last week it had been Becky, the week before it had been Burky. He narrowed his eyes at the guy serving him, the dark-skinned man was looking back at him with an innocent warm smile, oh it definitely wasn’t an accident. Bucky was sure the guy didn’t know who he was, nobody in their right mind would try to play this trick on the Winter Soldier. But as he walked out of the Starbucks with his coffee in hand, Bucky was surprised to notice that in his anticipation to see what ridiculous name the man could come up with, a heavy weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

Sambucky Starbuck’s au, slowburn, hate/annoyance to lovers

Pairing: Bucky Barnes / Sam Wilson

Previous part - Next part

Read it on AO3

Masterlist

A/N: Hey! I just wanted to tell you guys that feedback really helps me write! Knowing that people are reading this really motivates me, getting feedback really helps, and suggestions really inspire me! So if you can and want, please leave a comment :)

Sam was sure that Bucky had caught on to the shit he was doing by now. So, when Bucky came in again two days later he decided to deviate from his Borky-Becky-Bricky pattern. Under Bucky’s scrutinizing he carefully wrote down Spunky on his Frappuccino. The girls had immediately abandoned him as soon as Bucky came in and were observing from a distance. Sam was hoping Bucky didn’t notice all the attention he was getting. Somehow, he felt like it could scare Bucky away.

He handed Bucky his order. Bucky immediately turned his Frappuccino, a normal coffee one this time, to see the name written on it. Bucky’s eyes slowly travelled up from the cup to Sam’s face, holding eye contact. Sam felt his eyebrow raise questioningly. Bucky’s stare hardened into a glare. Yep, he totally knew what was going on now. They held that stare for a bit, and instead of starting to fear for his life, Sam could only admire how blue those eyes were.

Then Bucky saw the classic chocolate cake Sam had discreetly added to his order and he frowned his adorable frown of confusion again. This time when those incredible blue eyes travelled back up to Sam’s face they looked at him questioningly.

Sam’s lips curled into a grin as he told him “No one can go through life without getting a taste of a chocolate cake.”

“I didn’t…” Bucky started but didn’t finish, looking from Sam to the cake.

“It’s on the house. We treat our regulars well.”

Bucky searched his face, looking for the lie. But he did take the cake with him as he sat down at a table. The cake hadn’t been on the house, but Sam didn’t mind paying to see the look of wonder on Bucky’s face as he took his first bite of the cake, as if he had forgotten that things could taste that good.

[comedynotavailable]

I once knew of someone with a pet brick. She left it with a group of my friends when she went on vacation as a joke. We ended up in a scavenger hunt at a fair that required us to take pictures as proof that we found the list items. Bricky was in every picture and we sent him home to his mom with a photo album of his adventures, the crowning moment being when we found a storm trooper and asked for a picture. He agreed and was rightfully confused when we handed him a brick with a face on it and asked him to pose with it. He really was a trooper though and that picture will live on in infamy. I only regret not asking for a copy from the girl who had the camera and made the album.

Bricks are domesticated rocks.

[signutai]

This is the only part of this picture that matters to me.

Who brings their katana to the pool? I mean. Who brings their axe either but seriously. Mister Kamikaze why did you bring your katana to the pool.

He really wants that watermelon, I guess. He’s ready to go.

THE FUNDOSHI. I WILL NEVER BE OVER THE FUNDOSHI.

those legs damn

Iaian, looking exhausted as usual. You’d think a trip to the pool would be minimally stressful and yet he looks more tired than ever.

And he seems, likewise, confused about why these people have brought weapons to the pool.

Cheer up, boyo, you’re gonna get watermelon soon! Your favorite!

Okamaitachi has NICE arms, god damn. I love her.

She just looks so good. Always. Forever.

AND SHE’S SPARKLING. BEAUTIFUL.

I’m glad she’s havin’ a good time.

And then there’s Bushidrill.

Who pissed in your cornflakes, Bushido drill?

I honestly can’t tell if he’s wearing anything or not. Schrodinger’s fundoshi.

Props to Murata for actually giving him (and AS) body hair, and for making him hairy without it being treated as a joke or like it’s gross or something. He’s fuzzy. I love him.

He’s a brick.

Put with the other three, actually, he’s almost hilariously bricky. AS, Iaian, and Kama are all varying levels of lean and lithe and then there’s the tank.

The hairy, angry tank.

please relax sir you’re at the pool go for a swim or something

100000000/10 very good i love seeing the whole samurai squad together, it should definitely happen more often

[ahwhite2208-blog]

A Thousand Days In Hell

Non-league football is a peculiar entity. For half of the teams in the National League, and certainly the rest in the steps below, it is a wonderful opportunity to do the unthinkable and gain entry to the world of full time football, a dream that so many children have and yet so few manage to live. The players are part time brickies, postmen, regional bank clerks – you know, the type of clubs and players that the BBC cameras fawn over in the FA Cup first round. In principle, it’s great. If I was a Gateshead or a Solihull fan, I might even enjoy it. But when a club the size of Tranmere Rovers fell out of the Football League trapdoor, the typical non-league experience is turned on its head.

The day before I moved to university, I stood on the terraces at Southport and watched us go 2-0 down within 20 minutes. It still hadn’t registered to me that this was actually happening, a feeling of bemusement that I’m sure most of us shared. It was meant to be a whistlestop tour of shit grounds and shit teams that we’d only ever seen in pre-season friendlies. As it turned out, we were destined to spend 1,115 days with this feeling. Denial, sadness, anger, guilt and frustration all came and went, depending on the level of opposition and how quickly we managed to concede. A wounded animal, confused and in pain, Tranmere Rovers as a collective entity was in unfamiliar surroundings. What were we meant to do? It felt like a fever dream. The hideous turquoise tracksuits, the god awful Vanarama branding, even the footballs themselves looked tacky and amateurish. Granted, we hadn’t exactly covered ourselves in glory for about fifteen years but what did we do to deserve this? Most of the players, on our side and theirs, looked like they had won a competition to play at being a footballer for the day. It was a continuation of the previous season’s atrocities, but at a level of football that was truly embarrassing to watch. We didn’t even make the playoffs in that first year, thanks to a team from Essex with about three pound fifty to their name and two P.E teachers in charge. Two ends of the spectrum and all that.

If I’m being honest, I remember next to nothing about the 16 months that Gary Brabin was in charge. I barely went to the games after September, I didn’t know who half of our players were, and I stopped caring. When you spend your 18thbirthday watching Boreham Wood beat you 2-0, something inside of you just dies. I didn’t even bother going to Wrexham. I binned off browsing the Cowsheds – probably a wise decision for anyone wanting to keep their sanity – so FlashScore and the occasional Twitter update was about as much as I could be arsed. I was used to my Kopite and Bluenose mates taking the piss out of us, but I draw the line at Sebastian from Surrey braying in the Mission smoking area about how he could never watch non-league football because his daddy gets executive seats at Chelsea. To be honest, I kept a good crowd at uni. Most of my teammates supported Championship teams like Ipswich or Preston, but even their sympathetic nods and “you’re too big to be down there, remember when you were playing us in League One?” became depressing.

On my occasional visits home in second year, things seemed to be picking up pace. The glamping tent was established (two Gamma Rays and a Sheppy’s please Mark) and we had an alright team. Nors and Harris were becoming cult heroes, we signed Steeeeve and looked like we could actually win the league. Still had to put up with the refereeing, the 12 North Ferriby fans and the voice in the back of your head that says you’re going to be here forever, but at least things were looking up. Remember though, this is Tranmere, and the good was inevitably followed by the bad. Lincoln away was possibly the worst place I’ve ever been for several reasons, the main one being that it looks like post-apocalypse Brexit Britain and the locals are the strangest mutants you can imagine. Whoever’s van I keyed: you deserved it for a) beating us, b) living in Lincoln and c) having a copy of the S*n on your dashboard. Imagine giving somewhere as desolate as Lincoln city status. Anyway, they had the last laugh because they won the league by four points and we got beat at Wembley by a team whose owner wanted to spend millions of actual Great British Pounds on a football ground made out of matchsticks.

Having a life outside of Tranmere proved to be surprisingly easy when we were dwelling in the depths of non-league. I still spent my Saturdays on the couch with an illegal stream of Phil Thompson’s nose and no money in my Betfair account, but it was a somewhat refreshing change to not be planning your life around Rotherham away on a Tuesday night. There wasn’t a chance that I was spending my free government money going to Dover or Torquay when I could spend it on weed and takeaways instead. The few aways that I did manage (hello, 20 minute train journeys to Guiseley and Halifax) were just soul crushing. The council pitch that Guiseley play on had a building site behind it, and absolutely zero incline on the terrace, which is a problem for a short arse like me. I went three times in three years and managed to see a grand total of about 40 minutes. Still worth it for the time I got sick of a 15 year old singing ‘sign on’ and told him in no uncertain terms that Sutcliffe killed his nan. There’s a couple of layers in that one.

As usual, the footballing gods conspired against us last year and we managed to get ¾ of our midfield injured before the play off final. I think we were one injury away from having a centre midfield partnership of Purple Aki and Pete Price, although on reflection the lizard would have had a better game than Lois Maynard. If he was under 6 foot, he’d still be knocking about playing for Manchester Met or wherever we signed him from, the absolute fucking fraud. I’m sure Aki would have put the fear of God into Forest Green as well. Imagine marking him from a corner, he’d have a field day squeezing muscles. In all honesty, we deserved another year in hell for that performance. I’d like to make an official apology for getting escorted off the premises for what can only be described as monumentally dickish behaviour after a long day in the sun.

Now that we’ve won there, I can finally say that Wembley is a corporate shithole without it sounding like sour grapes. Mr. Palios, tear down that arch! Christ alive, what an awful place it is to watch football. Notwithstanding the fact that it’s only ever 20% full for the National League, everything about it just drains you as a fan. It’s more like an airport hangar than an actual ground. I hear Tottenham are putting shops in their new gaff, something the Jaguars owner will almost definitely copy when he buys the place. I’m not a fan of London in general, but Wembley just takes the piss. If I can make it through the next 60 odd years of my life without ever going back, I’ll be happy.

The fact that I’ve got this far in without mentioning the referees is testament to how long the list of complaints about the National League is. Incompetent would be putting it kindly, because every single one of these clowns got their qualifications from the back of a Cornflakes packet. I’m well into my conspiracy theories, and the one about BT and Vanarama deliberately keeping us down in order to boost viewing figures sounds plausible enough, but that would require several doses of the dark arts that these morons don’t have the brain capacity for. It’s a hard job to referee a football match, made even harder if you have absolutely no common sense. The timewasting in that league is enough to test the patience of a saint. All the VAR nonsense at the World Cup is proof that the governing institutions have gone mental. You’d never finish a game in the National League if the refs had VAR. The first half against Ebbsfleet would still be going on. I could list hundreds of terrible decisions both for and against us and it still wouldn’t scratch the surface, but Ritchie Sutton getting sent off at Welling, Scott Davies being assaulted into the net at Barrow and Chester getting a penalty that was about three yards outside the box all stick out.

The last thing I fancy a rant about is the almost comedic lack of professionalism surrounding the entire setup. They absolutely ham it up to the BT cameras like the entire world has woken up at 12.30 to watch Woking v Eastleigh on a Saturday morning. Literally every tweet the official account has ever posted makes me cringe, the pundits are so painfully beige that they make Steve Claridge and his receding hairline look like Little Richard in comparison and Boreham Wood somehow managed to get away with charging to watch their highlights. The fucking cheek of it! It was a stress relief to unfollow them all, clicking each button and feeling part of my soul flowing back into me. At one point, we had no idea whether we were playing on Saturday or not, because the FA Trophy replay took priority over the league. Usually this is all sorted out as soon as possible, but because the NL fixtures are done by some fella writing them down in his ma’s kitchen, they’d got confused. They eventually told us on Friday afternoon that yes, your league game is on. I despair. Even the whole Solihull floodlights debacle got sorted quicker. Juventus’ match-fixing scandal had nothing on that, by the way. The 200 odd people who watched that replay were witness to us throwing that game. I don’t think I saw anyone in a white shirt break out of a jog, and I was all for it. I got to spend a lovely weekend in Solihull (not a patch on Birkenhead) and watch a game of football played in front of a crowd smaller than the Beechwood-Upton derby, with a fraction of the intensity. The perfect non-league experience.

I’ll finish this off by saying thank you to Mark and Nicola Palios, to everyone at the Trust and the TROSC, the Wirral Radio team, and every single season ticket holder. Without you, the club wouldn’t have climbed out of the pit. In fact, I think we’d have developed Stockholm Syndrome within the next few seasons and become like our Welsh friends. The turnaround and revitalisation of the entire structure of this football club gives us hope for the future. Not just blind hope, but optimism as well. When we were losing to Altrincham, I didn’t think that the suites would be pulling in money, or we’d have an academy setup in China. When Welling were putting us to the sword, I didn’t think we’d ever see a club that the fans are so fiercely proud of again. Thank you for not losing interest when I did. That day at Wembley has already been written about. Let us not emerge from non-league abyss blinking at the sunlight, desperate for comfort. Let us instead kick the door of League Two down, wielding dual scythes and behead Stevenage like an invading Dothraki horde.

Figuratively, obviously.

[butteryoptimisticpeanut]

A Name to Remember (part 7)

Summary:  At first, Bucky had thought it was an accident, the guy serving him must not have heard him right. But then it had continued, getting more ridiculous every time he set foot in the place and Bucky didn’t know how to handle it. This morning when he went for his therapeutic coffee, he had turned his cup to read ‘Borky’ written on it. Last week it had been Becky, the week before it had been Burky. He narrowed his eyes at the guy serving him, the dark-skinned man was looking back at him with an innocent warm smile, oh it definitely wasn’t an accident. Bucky was sure the guy didn’t know who he was, nobody in their right mind would try to play this trick on the Winter Soldier. But as he walked out of the Starbucks with his coffee in hand, Bucky was surprised to notice that in his anticipation to see what ridiculous name the man could come up with, a heavy weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

Sambucky Starbuck’s au, slowburn, hate/annoyance to lovers

Pairing: Bucky Barnes / Sam Wilson

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Read it on AO3

Masterlist

The following days, Sam couldn’t help but let his hopeful eyes drift to the door whenever the bell dinged. Hoping for a certain avenger to walk in. When, three days later, the bell dinged and Sam looked up to see Bucky walk into the shop their eyes locked for a second. He was wearing a sweater again, making him look like a huge teddy bear. Which the Winter Soldier decidedly was not. Sam quickly looked back down, chewing on the inside of his lip to keep a smile from his face. Charlotte and Margaret were in the shop with him today, and when they saw the Winter Soldier enter their shop, they both smirked at him. Sam huffed in frustration, of course they had been talking about him, presuming things. They might’ve been right, but that didn’t make it any less annoying. They quickly, and not very subtly, made sure the counter was free for Sam to take Bucky’s order.

Once again Bucky took his time to decide what to order. And while his eyes were on the menu, Sam let his eyes roam over the man’s face. Margaret and Charlotte knew already anyway, so he was just going to take whatever he could get now, and enjoy it. He had a bit of a beard that suited his face perfectly, and the only thing bouncing around in Sam’s head like a windows logo was ‘soft’.  But then those blue eyes settled back on him and Sam was shaken out of it. “The Java Chip Frappuccino, please.” Bucky said in that wonderful low voice of his, like he didn’t want to startle anyone by speaking up. Sam smiled, that meant he had liked the Frappuccino last time. He was glad Bucky was trying and enjoying new things.

When he asked Bucky for his name once again, Bucky’s gaze hardened as he said it, searching Sam’s face. Sam had to admit, he had been thinking of how he could butcher up his name even more for the past few days, making a mental list. He decided he would take it easy for now, seeing how long he could hold up the innocent act. He smiled to himself as he wrote down Bricky, drawing two smiling bricks next to them. He was looking at his creation, proud of himself when he felt someone leaning over his shoulder to look along. Charlotte choked on the cookie she had sneakily grabbed as she saw his creation.

“That is not how you flirt!” she whisper-yelled not so discreetly, “Sam, do you even know what you’re doing?”

Sam quickly checked if Bucky had heard her but he was waiting at the end of the counter, busy on his phone. A confused frown pulling at his eyebrows once again, Sam couldn’t imagine how confusing modern-day technology must be to him. He gave Charlotte the fakest smile he could muster as he continued to make Bucky’s Frappuccino.

“Here you go” he handed Bucky the drink.

Bucky looked him dead in the eyes as he slowly took the drink, turning it so he could read the writing. When he saw it, his eyes widened a fraction, before he narrowed them to stare Sam down. Sam stared right back at him, dropping the innocent act. His look was challenging Bucky to say something, maybe demand for the manager. But Bucky’s eyes only narrowed even further, Sam was surprised that was even possible, before he turned around and went to find a seat, giving him one last glare as he sat down.

Charlotte and Margaret were looking at him incredulously. “What the fuck was that?”

“I thought you said they had something special going on.” Margaret asked Charlotte still eyeing the man who was now hunched over his Frappuccino.

“Well it’s certainly something special.”