#said limit is much lower than people think it is

[here-there-were-dragons]

eh, it's not really *changing* so much as people are just getting more skillfully passive-aggressive and oddly specific about it, and a lot of the people who were big on that sort of thing back then have since either threw a tantrum and left when the eye vials came back, left the game in general just because it was nearly 10 years ago, hoarded all the big-ticked items and got bored because they felt like there wasn't anything else to do anymore, felt like they won and so haven't thought about it in quite so explicit terms in awhile, have gotten bored with the idea and/or the game after it slowly became more and more the case that no one could afford to buy their Rare Collectibles tm anymore and the fever-pitch of "the final mandatory achievement to be a real fr player is to have all the sprites" culture and basically sprite collecting culture in general died off as a result, or have moved from exclusively that to being more interested in a more varied, subtle, and esoteric blend of ways to signal that they're a real, proper, acceptable player. it's a beast that's very much not dead, only lying in wait, and these people would absolutely groggily wake and come shrieking out of the woodwork anew at the mere suggestion of anything happening to one single fraction of a cent of the hypothetical resale value of their precious sprites that even they can't sell or buy anymore and no one but them even cares about ever since we all realized it was pointlessly impossible to even long-term goal for one.

The most frustrating part of the conversation about retired items is that the people who really want to push for more things to retire so that they'll "appreciate in value" don't seem to understand that if there isn't enough supply for the demand, it just means that no one gets anything.

It means that the player selling the Light Sprite for more than what my mortgage is worth...doesn't sell the Light Sprite, because most people can't fucking pay for it. And it means that players who want the Light Sprite can't have it because its only listing is beyond the definition of expensive, or that saving up for years is a race against other people trying to save up fast enough to buy it first. Either way, most players go without.

It means that, with enough retired items, you end up like GaiaOnline. Yeah, there's tons of limited items that may "appreciate in value" but the truth of that...is actually this:

Some of these items have been on my wishlist for a decade.

These items have no value because not enough of them even exist.

GaiaOnline used to be a place where "Questing" for an item was something that tons of people loved doing. Even I did it. I quested for a Fallen Wish back in the day, I quested for Inari's Beads, I quested for monthly collectibles every time one I liked dropped.

Now I'm not questing. Because the items I want simply don't circulate. This is what too many retired items does to an economy. I watched GaiaOnline die this way. Which is why I strongly oppose any retired items in any other site. Flight Rising doesn't need this.

[hoshigray]

hey love can i request brothers bff cho and how he's just down bad for you 🤍🤍🤍

𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: omg wait, i fucks with this baddd

⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Choso x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - masturbation (m!) - oral (m! receiving) - tit/breast fucking (m! receiving) - cowgirl position - pet names (baby, darling, honey, sweetie) - unprotected sex (psa: wrap it up or get tf up) - implied that reader is big chested - Choso crushing on you hard, lmao - mention of drool/spit.

⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.4k

Choso knew better than to be attracted to you, the sibling of his best friend ever. 

Your brother and Choso have been buddies for a while, meeting during his part-time job at a burger joint as servers and finding out they have so much in common. Being older siblings, lovers of rock music, and relating to so much together, the two often hung out after work and became pretty good friends. Just two people vibing out in each others’ company, and there was nothing to make this relationship complicated!

“Hey, Choso, I’ve told you about my sister before, right?”

You greeted him with a smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Choso!”

Well, that is until you came and absolutely rocked Choso’s world. 

You were the younger sibling of two; a college senior comes home biweekly to take care of laundry and then drives back up for your education. By your gorgeous face and alluring figure, Choso was struck by your image from the first time his eyes ever laid on you. You were such a kind spirit, always so sweet to him and others surrounding you — you’d want to hang with the boys whenever you had the chance while you were visiting, which was hellish for the brown-haired man. 

You’d laugh along with the jokes, making Choso’s heart skip uncontrollably, and the way you’d lean to him when you’re sleepy watching a movie with them pushed the guy on the verge of shutting down. He could never get tired of how you’d say his name; it came out so dear from your lips as if he could be under your spell at any second. And it didn’t help that you’d walk around the house with shorts on, the lower fringes constantly threatening Choso on whether they’d creep up to see the mere crevice of your ass.

As said before, he knew better than siblings of best friends were off limits. However, you were becoming too much for him. It’s been half a year of seeing you, and there has never been a day or night where you haven’t popped up in his head one way or another, particularly when his mind would think of you in the most…lustful ways.

He throws his head back, reminiscing about you and your outfit from the pub. The way your breasts were tucked in nicely by the window of your bodycon dress, yet the cleavage was too tempting for his eyes not to notice. The dress sculpted your curves dangerously, Choso fighting the urge to put his hand on your hip to feel your clothed skin. And your lipgloss made your lips shine; every time you spoke to him was a test for him not to kiss you right there in front of your brother. It was so cruel how you looked so good for him!

He was spending the night at yours after a night out drinking with you and your brother, using the basement bedroom to sleep. Sleep evades him; however, he uses this space to deal with the erection he’s been dying to indulge in this entire night instead. His teeth pull the bottom of his shirt, dark jeans discarded to the floor, and his hand pumps his shaft that’s freed from his boxer briefs.

He grunts at the memory, teeth grinding while he strokes his long cock. Precum exuding from the urethra slides down to the base and wets his fingers. “Fuuck, Y/n,” your name is said in choked moans, the horny man fisting himself in a faster motion. Brown eyebrows are trenched, and his abdomen begins to flex. Shit, I’m so close, so cl—

“Choso?”

He never in his life froze still in an instant, and his heart goes to a complete stop, too. No way.

“Ca–…May I come in?”

No words are said from either side, so Choso’s heat immediately shifts to icy cold when he hears the door open, and your frame is all he sees. You’re still wearing the beautiful dress, yet your face is molded into an expression of utter anxiousness. Sweat goes down Choso’s forehead, oh fucking shit!

“I came down to see if you were okay and needed anything,” your eyes were downcast to the floor, chewing on your lips during this awkward situation. “But…I heard you say my name and…”

Oh, it was so over for him. All Choso could do was stare at you in dread, entirely shocked that you saw him masturbate at the thought of you! You were fidgeting with your dress, perplexed about how to handle this predicament, too. He was so done for; not only was he thinking of you, the sibling of his best friend, and using said thoughts of you, but now you are aware of how he pictures you in his fucked up head! Yup, he can never walk into this house again. “S–Sorry, Y/n! I’ll just go and—“

“Can I help?”

Again, his body goes rigid mid-stride of getting off the bed after pulling his underwear up. ….What?

“I mean, can I…help you with that?” You meekly walk into the room and close the door behind you. “I am the one who made you like this, so…I’m okay with it if you are…..”

Choso blinks, too alarmed to make any movements. “But, your brother…” You’re quiet for a few seconds before you spook him by taking steps in his direction. He gulps thickly when your figure crawls on the bed, too close for his brain to comprehend. You take his hand with your soft ones and bring his fingers to your lips to kiss, and his breath hitches when you suck and lick his digits. The boner stuffed in his briefs twitches at the sensation of your tongue running against the underside of his middle finger and sucking on it. 

You peer at him, “What about him?” That is what you say before lifting your dress to remove your panties. And just when Choso thought his life was about to be thrown in the gutter, you flipped the script on him again.

In his head, Choso knew he shouldn’t be doing this.

“Mmm…Mmahh! Oh, Choso, you taste so good…”

But in his heart, he couldn’t help but give in to this situation.

You were situated between his legs, ripped him off his briefs for you to suck on his glans freely. Your tinge dances around his cockhead to prompt more come to ooze out of his urethra, and your hand slides up and down to stroke his member. Choso whimpers under your touch, and shivers crawl up his spine as you lick from the base to the tip before sucking hard.

“Fuuck, Y/n,” he grips the sheets, barely containing his hips to buck to your lips. “Your mouth, it’s—Hssshh…!”

“Mmm?” You blink before releasing the tip with a sound. “What about my mouth, Choso baby?” Fuck, the nickname made the pink of his ears creep down to his nape. “You feel good?” He nods at your question, and you giggle before sucking one of his balls, resulting in a sharp gasp from the brown-haired man. “I’m so happy you are…”

Hallow cheeks take in his cock, busying your throat with his length that has you humming blissfully. You massage his waist as you bob your face up and down, and shaky breaths leave his lips while his legs jolt with every swish of your tongue.

“—Shhiiit, oh shit, hnnn,” he can’t do it, you were driving him crazy. “Y/n, you’re gonna make me…Mmmm”

You pick up on his cue, withdrawing your lips from him to maneuver and pull down the top of your dress. Caramel eyes widen at the sight of your breast spilling out, forgetting how to breathe when you bring them to wrap around his long dick. You move them around to please him, taking the tip back into your mouth to slurp his leaking essence that trickles down to your chest. 

“Mmaahh, go ahead, darling,” you place kisses on the tip, Choso looking at nothing but your mounds swallow him with every stroke. It takes mere seconds for his orgasm to sneak up on him, his jizz coming out to fall and trickle down in between the rifts of your tits. “There you go, let it out for me…” the way you looked at him with half-lidded eyes took his breath away, especially with the spit that connects your gloss-shining lips to his spit-and-come coated shaft. 

And when he’s finally inside you? He’s too far gone to even think of being away from you.

“Ohhh, hoooh!! Chosooo, y’u feel soo good!”

Your dress was cast-off entirely, your nude body bouching up and down on Choso, his cock bullying the inside of your cunt. It’s been a solid fifteen minutes shared between the two of you exploring each other’s bodies, and sweaty skin exchanges heat from the constant motions. And come from rounds prior spill from your chasm as you ride on Choso’s dick with a rhythm.

He has his hands on your hips now, using you to keep him steady before he gets too lost in the feeling. Not that it hasn’t happened already; the man moans with every clamp of your walls around him, tightening around him with every graze of your g-spot. You wail for him up top, and your aroused sounds have to be the cutest things he’s ever heard. And the way your tits jump every time you plummet down to the base of him, it’s an image that will haunt him for the rest of his days.

“Tahhh, ughh, Jesus Christ…” He’s too sensitive right now; he just came not too long ago and is now being chased down for another one. “Y/n, sweetie, too fast, slow d—Ahh…!”

You hear him and titter, “Yeah? Want me to slow down, huh…” You bring your hips up excruciatingly slow, listening intently to the shaky sobs from the brunette as you get to the very top. And then you smack yourself down with haste, sharing a yelp at the rushed sensation. You do it again, “Think you’re about to cum again, huh, honey?”

His hands now come to your ass to grope with the flesh, and you twitch around his girth at the hunger. “Yeahhh…”

“You gonna be good and cum for me again, right?” Another snap of your ass crashing down on him. 

“Yess, baby,” he throws his head back to the pillows, his head pounding so hard it could kill him. You can feel him pulsating within your slit. “Almost there…Ohh–ooo..!”

You bite your lip, relishing at the sight of him being desperate for release. You lean forward to him, your breasts meshing with his chest as you snake a hand around the back of his head. You place your lips on his, and he doesn’t hesitate to reciprocate.

The kiss gets hotter when you dial up the speed, tongues swirling and exchanging spit as the friction becomes a lot more pleasurable than before. Choso’s ears ring the deeper you bring him in to kiss, humming on his tongue as you suck on it with harsh rocks on his length from scraping places you couldn’t reach. He’s so fucking addicted to you; his composure long deteriorated the moment he first put his cock inside you.

Choso bucks himself to you in sync, his climax coming in just a few ruts. He howls into you, and you wail along as your hips don’t rest until you’re hit with a crescendo of your own. Contracting your vaginal walls milks him, exerting his load into you again to spill and flow down your sticky frames. 

You two heave and pant in each other’s mouth before the kiss is broken, and the string of saliva is evidence of you being one with the other. Although the both of you are dazed, you smile at him before kissing his nose. “Glad I helped you out, huh?” He chuckles weakly as you lay kisses on his chin.

KNOCK!! KNOCK!!

And just like that, the two of you are frozen yet again. Wait…

Too late, the bedroom door busts open with a bang, and in comes your brother!

“Yooo, Choso, my guy—hic,” your brother stumbles inside the room, still a bit loopy and drunk. “Wanna go up and hit a quick blunt with— ah…”

The heat shared between you and the man below you switched to silent torture, awkwardness suffocating the three figures staring at each other. And this is the exact reason why Choso should’ve known better than to mingle around with you…

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs and comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ☆ header edit done by me + dividers by @/benkeibear.

[azsazz]

In Safe Arms

Bodyguard!Azriel x Celebrity!Reader

Summary: Anon Req: Hey ! Ik u are hella busy and I am so proud of ur for ur publication , but if u ever get time could u do a Celebrity reader x bodyguard az?

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 2390

_________________________________________

“I said back the fuck off!” Azriel growls, and you know for a fact that the paparazzi who’s been steadily inching closer and closer throughout the night has landed himself on your bodyguards shit list.

Azriel’s hand doesn’t leave the small of your back, no matter how much he wants to lunge across the sidewalk and knock the fucking camera out of this goon’s hands. The man’s been harassing you all week, from the moment you stepped off the plane in New York, getting testier and testier with his shots, following you from your hotel to your shoots, to parties and bars and back to your hotel late into the evening hours. He doesn’t know how the man finds the time to sleep, honestly.

And he knows it’s the same one following you around, not only because it’s his job to remember people that might prove to be a threat to you, but because he’d never forget this fucking scumbag’s face.

You duck your head lower, pressing Azriel’s handkerchief tightly to your eyebrow. There’s blood dripping into your eye from whatever it was a fan tossed your way as soon as you’d stepped foot out of your SUV. Azriel had been turned toward you, lending you a helping hand from the vehicle when it struck. He whirled around, but it was too late, the coward had slunk off into the crowd before he could sniff them out like a bloodhound.

And Azriel was livid.

If your father had just hired two bodyguards to protect you instead of one, this wouldn’t have happened.

Not that Azriel isn’t qualified to keep you safe by himself. With six years of training with the Royal Marines under his belt, he’s more than capable. He’s carried injured men across his back for miles when there was no hope of getting out for fuck’s sake. But this is a new playing field entirely. You’re the most well-known celebrity he’s had the pleasure of working with, and when your father didn’t heed his advice that one bodyguard was not enough, he knew he was going to be in for a challenge.

A challenge that he’s failed tonight.

You let him lead you blindly, trying your best to block out your surroundings: the screaming fans begging for a picture or autograph, the stream of liquid you’re desperately trying to blink from your eye and soak up with the rag. Your heart is pounding loudly in your chest, breathing shallow pants, and the only thing keeping you from collapsing right onto the concrete outside of your hotel is Azriel’s strong hand at your back, guiding you to safety.  

“Almost there,” he murmurs at your back, and your shoulders slacken slightly at the familiarity of his voice cutting through all the other noises that pierce your ears. “Only a few more steps and we’ll be in the lobby.”

He’s right, the concierge is holding the door open just enough for the both of you to slip through, and when it shuts tightly behind you, muffling off the loud wails and camera flashes, you release a shaky breath.

“Miss, are you okay?” The man asks, concern lacing his tone, like his job is on the line because someone decided to toss something at your face. “Do you need me to call the polic—”

“No, no,” you blurt frantically, waving him off. “That’s not necessary.”

“(Y/N)—” Azriel tries to cut in, and you know that this is something he’s going to have to report to his boss. Concern laces his tone, not for his job, but for you, because you’re injured and shaking in the middle of the lobby, looking like an abandoned puppy left to wilt in the rain. “I think you should—”

“No, Az,” you choke out, finally lifting your gaze from the floor to meet his. The look he wears makes your breath catch in your throat, but looking at him always does. He’s beautiful. And completely off limits.

His thick, straight brows are the only thing that gives his concern away. There’s a wrinkle between them that you want to reach out and smooth with the pad of your finger. His mouth is set in a firm line, not unusual for the stoic man. And his eyes, well his eyes are roiling with anger, hot coals ready to combust.

You don’t even care that you’ve called him the name you shouldn’t. You’re not supposed to address him by his name at all, let alone the nickname you’ve secretly become fond of. Right now, though, you’re much to shaken to realize your slip up, and he’s too worried about your wound to correct you.

“Please,” you beg, tears brimming your eyes. His tall, built frame conceals you from the people still lingering outside, and he spots that fucking paparazzi from the corner of his eye, smirking in the window as he cranes as far as he can to be the first to get a shot at your injury. “I want to go to my room.”

You’re already pulling the cloth from your face, and he’s quick to reach out and press it back, all too aware of the people around. Any one of them could spill the beans, could secretly be listening or recording, ready to make a quick buck off your horrendous night. Fucking assholes, all of them.

“Okay,” he consoles, glaring harshly at the concierge when he opens his mouth to protest. The man’s jaw snaps shut with an audible click, and he scurries away. Returning his attention to you, one hand pinning yours and the cloth you’re clutching to your face, he urges you toward the elevator. “Let’s get you upstairs.”

The doors chime open, and after getting you on safely and pushing the button to the suite on the top floor of the building, Azriel shoots one last menacing look to the paparazzi that’s still standing out front. He’s going to have a few phone calls tonight, with the hotel security and the local police, because he doesn’t want that fuck anywhere near you ever again.

The sleazy pap has the gall to wink at Azriel before the doors shut between you and the man he knows will be standing in that exact spot come the morning when it’s time for you to leave again.

The ride is long, and with the adrenaline draining from your system, you’re exhausted. Azriel lets you sag against him, and you trust him so fully that you let your eyes drift shut, allowing him to guide you through your room and straight into the bathroom so that he can take care of your wound.

You crack your eyes open when he lifts you to rest on the counter before dropping to his knees and helping you out of your heels. Your feet scream happily, and your body ignites at the sight of him on his knees before you.

Standing, he shoves the sleeves of his thick, black shirt up over his elbows, exposing those strong forearms you’d had the pleasure of peeking at for the last few months. That’s not the only thing you’ve noticed about Azriel. There are scars on his hands, bad ones. You don’t know what they’re from, but you’re aching to know. To learn anything about the man who’s been your bodyguard for the better part of this year.

“I think you should go home,” Azriel says softly. Or, as softly as someone like him can. It sounds harsh, gruff, but you know he doesn’t mean it like a demand. He’s concerned in his own way.

“I can’t pull out of my appearances, that’ll only make me look worse,” you argue, sliding back onto the counter he guides you to. People already hate you enough for the rift that Azriel has caused in your relationship with superstar Tamlin Oleander. Having an attractive man protecting you has not only made the man your team is paying to be with you insecure, but he’s been twisting this story for too long already. Pulling out of your appearances now will only give the fans another reason to pick and tear at you.

He scrubs his hands hard with the bar of soap in the sink before toweling them off and looking at your injury.

There’s a split above your eyebrow. Face wounds bleed a lot, he tells himself, smothering the memory that rises at the sight. Except that that injury was about an inch lower, and his comrade didn’t make it out alive.

“Who cares about looking worse,” Azriel scoffs. This time, he speaks harsher, but his movements against your face are still soft. The sting is barely there because you’re focusing on the buzz his fingertips brushing your skin provide. You’re focusing on the soft spot in his hazel eyes as he examines your wound, his breath against your skin. It’s dizzying. And not from the blood loss. “You should care about being safe.”

Neither of you brings up that it’s his job to do just that, but it sits heavily in the room anyway, sucking all the air from the expansive bathroom.

He swallows harshly, refusing to look at you. He busies himself with plucking a few butterfly bandages from the first aid kit beside him. The split skin above your eyebrow aches when he pinches the slice together to apply the bandage. “I’ll call down to the lobby to see if there’s someplace more private we can meet the car to take you to the hospital. You’re going to need a stitch or two.”

“Azriel, wait,” you call, grabbing for his hand when he turns to leave the room. You know exactly what’s going to happen when he crosses over that threshold. “Please don’t call him.”

He allows you to stop him, but he doesn’t turn to face you. He can’t. Can’t bear to look at you when his failure is staring right back at him. He let you get hurt, and he’ll never forgive himself for it.

Azriel’s body is too still, and his tone is too even when he answers. “I have to.”

“You don’t,” you plead, clutching him tighter. If he calls your father and tells him about what happened tonight you know you’ll never see him again, and if you never see him again, you’ll be fucking miserable. You’ve found comfort in Azriel’s presence throughout the time you’ve been working together, and he’s the only one who’s been able to see through the façade you put on, the personality you’ve spent so long pretending to be. He sees you.

“I do.”

“Why?” You don’t care that you’re getting worked up, that you voice is becoming louder with your desperation. That your nails are biting into the skin of his arm because you refuse to let him walk away from you.

Azriel whirls, and you startle back a step. But you don’t let him go, you never want to let him go. You take him with you, and he goes tripping forward with how you’ve caught him off guard.

He stumbles into you and his hands find your waist, steadying you against the counter. His grip on you is tight. His eyes defeated.

“I couldn’t protect you tonight,” he admits, and you can hear the heartbreak in his voice, you can almost see the memories that resurface, threatening to drag him under. “You need someone who can.”

“You can, Azriel! It’s an isolated incident!” You’re desperately trying to get him to see reason, scrabbling your fingers at his shirt, dragging him even further into you. Tears slide down your face, and for the first time of the night, you’re afraid. You weren’t scared when Azriel was the one there, jumping into action, but now, thinking that he might leave you, you’re terrified.

“It won’t be,” he sighs, brushing his fingers softly over yours, trying to calm you down lest you reopen your wound. “Now that it’s happened, other will try, and I can’t have you getting hurt, sweetheart. I can’t protect you like I thought I could.”

Neither of you catch his slip of the tongue, too caught up in the emotions for it to register.

You can’t swallow back the sob. You try to bury your face in his shirt, but Azriel catches you gently around the shoulders, keeping you from hurting yourself.

His hands are calloused and strong, you can feel the ridges of the scarring that paints them. So tender, so cruel, so soft.

“I don’t want you to leave me,” you admit, blinking your tears away to meet his gaze. You don’t care that your makeup is probably a mess with your tears and whatever’s left of the blood, and Azriel doesn’t care because he still thinks you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

Azriel presses his forehead against yours, swiping your tears with his thumbs. “I won’t,” he promises, “I can’t.”

Your breath hitches in your throat, and just like that, you’re staring up and him and he’s staring back at you like you’re the most prized possession in this hotel, in this world.

He doesn’t know when he fell for you, if it was the way you tried to find the cracks in his stoic exterior between photoshoots and interviews, or if it’s the way you opened yourself up for him only, showed him the real you.

You’re nothing like the way you’re portrayed in the media. None of those fucking people know how big your heart is, how much you’ve been hurt, how much you care.

And he’d lie down his life to keep you safe and whole.

“Promise me.” You breathe. Your lips brush his as you speak, and the gentle touch sends shockwaves up your spine. You follow their current, lengthening your spine, pushing closer to Azriel. His hands tighten on your hips, and you spread your legs wider for him so slot himself between.

He does with a jagged breath, like he’s trying to hold himself back but is unable. His hazel eyes bore into yours and you see the war there, how he wants to go against everything he vowed not to do with you. He shouldn’t be anywhere near you like this…but he can’t help himself.

“I promise,” he says, along with ‘fuck it’ in his head, and leans down to capture your lips against his.

[coffee-mage-sans-caffeine]

Antivaxxers are not responsible* for the current pertussis outbreak. In fact, rich countries are! Here's how:

Whooping Cough, also called pertussis is back in a big way in the US right now. Other nations are also seeing outbreaks, particularly 'rich' or 'first world' or 'developed' nations. Wait what? Rich countries are having a bigger increase in whooping cough than countries with limited healthcare infrastructure? You're probably thinking 'ah, it's the antivaxxers, isn't it?' While they're contributing to the problem, but no, they're not in fact THE PROBLEM. In fact, even fully vaccinated people in rich countries are at risk for pertussis. The first thing to understand is that there are two 'generations' of pertussis vaccine available at present. Both are given in combination with tetanus and diphtheria vaccines. As far as I know, tetanus, diphtheria and pertussis are given together in every mainstream formulation of pertussis vaccine globally. The OG (first gen) pertussis vaccine was the DTP vaccine which contains a whole cell inactivated pertussis bacteria so when it is given, the body develops a robust immune response to every antigen (the thing your body can learn to make antibodies to recognise) on the surface of the pertussis bacteria. It is still used in countries where money is tight because it's cheaper to make and the immune response is robust and long-lasting--5-10 years depending on your source. Unfortunately, side effects were higher with the OG. Some children spike high fevers causing febrile seizures (which are terrifying even though they're benign), arm pain is more intense, and people feel worse after getting it. A miniscule number of children given the OG suffer encephalitis and more serious neurological effects, though most cases self-resolve. In rich countries, as the incidence of pertussis (and diphtheria and tetanus) fell with robust vaccination programs, people became more and more afraid of the side effects of the DTP vaccine. Those side effects sound scarier when there's lower risk of pertussis. There were also ever-growing antivaccine movements because since there has been inoculation (a precursor medical practice to vaccination that goes back all the way to ancient China) there have been opponents inoculation and vaccination. Antivaxxers are not new and modern. They have always been there and they were PISSED about the encephalitis. So both antivaxxers and provaxxers who were starting to forget how scary it is to watch a baby with pertussis said 'we need a better option'. This brings us to 2nd gen vaccines, the acellular pertussis vaccines DTaP and Tdap. The little a stands for 'acellular', meaning that there is no longer a whole dead bacteria cell as our antigen. We use specific cut-up antigens instead. Most formulations use 3-5 different antigens. This results in much lower side effects! Immunity without side effects is the goal! The problem is that this vaccine doesn't last as long. In fact, for 0-10 year old children, 98% are immune at 1 year after vaccination while 81% are immune at 5 years after vaccination. For 11-20 year olds, those numbers drop to 72% at one year and 42% at 5 years after vaccination. For people who are older, those numbers drop even faster. And the acellular vaccines aren't as good at preventing infection--they're more like the covid vaccines in that rather than stopping infection, they make the symptoms less bad. And those 3-5 antigens in the acellular vaccine are becoming less common on the surface of the bordatella pertussis bacteria. Yup. It's out-evolving the vaccine. So where does this leave us? 1) Make sure your pertussis vaccine is up to date. This protects you against the effects of a very serious illness. 2) If you have been exposed to pertussis TALK TO YOUR DOCTOR ABOUT PROPHYLACTIC ANTIBIOTICS. After an hour in a room with someone who has pertussis, if your body doesn't have sufficient immunity there's up to a 90% chance of you getting it and you will be sick for months. This is one of the ONLY CASES EVER where you should be getting prophylactic antibiotics. Usually, I would say do not get prophylactic antibiotics. This is a special case.

3) If a third gen vaccine comes out (many are in development), update your pertussis shot! 4) IF YOU FEEL SICK AND HAVE A COUGH, STAY HOME. If you cannot stay home, then you should wear a well-fitted disposable n95, kn95, or surgical mask (in order of preference) at all times around other people. 5) Mask in crowded public spaces and on airplanes even if you feel well.

[sayruq]

Last week, Politico reported that President Joe Biden would “consider” conditioning military aid to Israel if the country launches a large-scale invasion of Rafah, where more than a million Palestinians are sheltering. “It’s something he’s definitely thought about,” said one of the four anonymous US officials cited as a source. This was about as weak of a position as could be imagined: The President had definitely thought about maybe doing something. Still, even this proved too much. One day later, National Security Adviser Jake Sullivan said the article was based on “uninformed speculation” by anonymous officials and that he wouldn’t be entertaining hypotheticals about how the US would respond to a major invasion of Rafah, which US officials have signaled they would accept in a more limited form. The dismissal was the latest indication of the administration’s almost complete unwillingness to even discuss imposing serious consequences on Israel for waging a war that has killed more than 30,000 people, most of whom were women and children. Instead, the administration has adopted a newfound feeling of impotence. As State Department spokesperson Matthew Miller put it last month, “The United States does not dictate to Israel what it must do, just as we don’t dictate to any country what it must do.” The absurdity of this position was made clear when a reporter interjected, “Unless you invade them.” Miller couldn’t help but laugh. It has been obvious for months that there are many things the Biden administration can do to restrain Israel and distance itself from a war that has been condemned throughout the world. The problem has not been a lack of options but a lack of political will. Daniel Levy, a former Israeli peace negotiator who is now the president of the US/Middle East Project, told me, “I think many of us who had very low expectations of the US and of Biden have had a rude awakening as to how much lower the actual performance has been [compared] to even the lowest of low expectations.”

As evidence of how important US backing has been for Israel, Levy cited veteran Israeli journalist Yoav Limor, who wrote in Hebrew earlier this month that without “Biden’s support, Israel would long ago have been forced to stop the fighting in Gaza due to a shortage of weapons, while at the same time it would have been forced to deal with United Nations Security Council resolutions (and possibly sanctions) against it.” Still, Levy thought it might take weeks or months of sustained US pressure to compel Israel to change course. In any case, Biden is under no obligation to provide thousands of bombs to a country whose leader has consistently ignored him as Israel wages a brutal war that has leveled much of Gaza and caused children to die of starvation. “We need to stick to our own values,” Ford said. “If our values say, ‘Starving children is way beyond the pale,’ then we need to react to that and take stern action, whether or not it changes Israeli policy.”

[hysteria-things]

DRUNK IN LOVE

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dom!nate x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: your boyfriend has never been so in love. he has to prove it to you somehow.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: FILTHY, swearing, jealousy, oral (female receiving), spanking if you squint, overstimulation, dumbification, passing out

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 756

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: day FIVE (🤫) of nate week!

WE ARE SO BACK…

genuinely, you don’t know how much more you can take, but god it feels so good. your legs are propped over nate’s shoulders, still shaking from your two previous orgasms.

juices coat his mouth and the sheets below, your fingertips massaging his hair. he hasn’t come up for air once, and it’s quite shocking to you.

your twitching lower half grinds into his face, chest heaving as you pant uncontrollably. your parents aren’t home, so you two need to take advantage of that.

the funny thing is, he’s not doing this because you guys got bored. he’s doing this because he saw you and this one kid talking at his lacrosse match… he didn’t like that.

the two of you are a well-known couple around school, so it didn’t take long for everyone to know you’re off limits. guess that one junior didn’t get the memo whatsoever.

before the other team gets to the school and while the stands slowly fill, they warm up as much as they can on the field. a glimpse of you catches nate’s eye, but you’re not alone.

nate stops in his tracks, staring intently at the way whoever that fucking kid is is talking to you. from where he is he can’t hear, but he can tell by the boy’s body language.

you’re too much of a people pleaser to notice, but your boyfriend can notice from a mile away that he’s flirting with you. his hand touches your shoulder while you’re laughing at something he said.

eyes like daggers, nate breathes heavily from anger the more he watches this go down. “nate, man, you good?” one of his teammates asks, jogging in front of him to block his view.

“yeah. i’m fine.”

it’s just the fact that he loves you so much he can’t help himself as he worships your pussy. his pussy, and he’s letting you know that it belongs to him and nobody else.

his tongue licks fast strands up your slit, high-pitched mewls leaving your mouth. “nate.” you sob, hot tears trickling down your face. “nathan.” you repeat, gripping tighter onto his brown locks and arching your back.

usually, he would praise you, but he’s so pussy drunk that he can’t pull away. your mind isn’t the only thing that’s not thinking straight. his isn’t either.

other than your cries and moans, the squelching noises your pussy makes are his favorite sound. he hums hungrily into your cunt, and you exhale when your third release of the night paints his lips that have to be swollen by now.

the view at nate’s eye level is fucking filthy. your poor comforter is drenched, practically ruined at this point. the inside of your thighs glistening with your folds fluttering the rest of your orgasm out onto his chin. this isn’t enough. he needs more.

his muscle enters your sopping hole, all red and used from continuous stimulation. gasping, you close your legs tight around his head and keep them there. this hits a new angle, making him dig deeper… and deeper.

you’re wrecked at this point, absolutely helpless and out of control. “stop it.” you whimper, breathing through your sobs.

with that, his hands grip your calves and spread your legs wider than they were before. “s-stop.” you cry out again.

you desperately try to push his head away, but of course, he doesn’t listen. in fact, he pulls you closer to the point where his nose grazes you clit with each stroke and slaps the outside of your thigh.

screaming, you accept your fate and lay there. he’s eating as if he’s never eaten a meal in his life. your whole body loosens, brain dead, and laying there to take it like you were supposed to do. your lower half is so numb that you don’t feel the other orgasm rip through you.

this time, he takes his lips and sucks at your pussy along with your clit. poor you, so useless and crying with your eyes crossed and tongue sticking out. then, your vision goes black; the rest of you becoming limp.

he kisses your puffy cunt before slowly stopping to catch his breath. a string of saliva mixed with your cum connects from his lips before he breaks it by pulling away.

getting up, he wipes his mouth and makes his way to where your face is. he rubs the tears from your cheeks and kisses the corner of your lips softly, whining before he thrusts into the mattress while cumming in his sweats. again.

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @mayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @txssvx @sttzee @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @matthewsspecial @sturnolio-luvs @sturniolho @suga-daddy-69 @tworosesblackthorn @luckistar-posts @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloslurps @tylerthecreatorsrealwife @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree @hertvgirl @whoreforchrissturniolo @sturniolotriplettoplover @stars4matt @freshsturns @loverrsposts @sturnlcvr @elliesturniolo1 @tpvmz @user283926392 @lalalands86 @sukiipjs @sturniologirl813 @leahrab @chrissturniolosslut @h3arts4harry @sturnioloblogs @creamoncreamoncream2 @luv4kozume @ivyyyyyysposts @mirxcle1 @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @catalina-island @mbsbaby @mattsdollie @pinkfarts @slut4mattsturn @thesturniolos @vickeyzloserz @nononopenono1 @bitchydragonparadise @gdsvhtwa @hrt-attack @bellasfavbisexual @dwntwn-strnlo @venusbabysblog @meerkatzthings @crazychrisl0v3r @maggieflms @strtuniolo @mutualsafe @riasturns @sturniolowhore @antpile00 @ashley9282828 @stingerayyy2 @sturnsjtop @luverboychris @yapperchris @imaslutforoldermen @madisonlovesyouu @poetatorturadaa @chr1sgirl4life @hiimolivia @jo-777 @sturnskiss @st4rgrlll @mattyblover07 @sm-ec @mattluvsmarni @knowingnothingnoel

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

SOULMATE SOAP HAS MY HEART. I DONT THINK THERES ANYTHING I WOULDNT DO FOR HIM

67 / 2.8k / soap soulmate au, epilogue

...

"Anything, you say?" Soap's eyes sparkle. "A dangerous proposal, hen."

You roll your eyes. "You know what I mean."

"I know what you said." He grins at you as he towels himself off. "I’m wonderin' what exactly I could get away with, bein' offered anything. No limits, no boundaries..."

You can't help but let your gaze trail down his form. He's totally naked and still dripping wet. "Anything within reason."

"Where's the fun in bein’ reasonable?"

You lean back, pulling your feet up and crossing your legs atop the low hotel coffee table where you're seated.

You and Soap have been getting to know each other here—intimately, as soulmates and people—for the past two days. You don't live near Glasgow and wouldn't tell Soap where exactly you call home, so he offered to get the two of you a hotel suite near the mountains while the higher-ups figure out what to do with you.

You figured he'd offer to take you out on a date or something, but so far you haven't made it out of the hotel room yet. It's more like a honeymoon than a vacation. You can't say you're disappointed with all the things he's shown you, though.

"Oh, so it hasn't been fun for you yet?"

Soap laughs at that and throws the towel to the carpet. No point in modesty. You’ve seen and touched every scar and bruise on his powerful body, but it does nothing to deter your gaze.

"Been plenty fun. But now I know I could be gettin’ away with even more if I play my cards right."

"Such as?"

"Marriage."

You scoff. "Pervert."

"Am I?" He leans toward you and braces his hands on the edge of the coffee table. He loves the way you try to resist looking at him but can’t help yourself. Your gaze keeps trailing down to his abs. "I think you like the idea of me down on my knees. I’ve seen you enjoyin’ the view."

Your back straightens. He's so cocky. Still, your eyes don't meet his. If anything, they dip lower. "Laswell called while you were in the shower."

"Did she?" He strolls across the space between the bathroom and the bed to his duffel bag. You lean back and watch him languidly as he digs around for his phone, his handsome mouth settling into a frown. He won’t find it. He sees why once he glances over at you to see your catlike smile.

Soap crosses his arms and looks down at you. "Resigned to petty thievery now, are we?"

You shrug and hold his phone out, letting it dangle from your fingertips like a mouse by the tail. "It's not like I have any other jobs to preoccupy my time."

He pauses to admire the view down your tank top—his tank top—and then snatches the phone away. "How many times do you want me tae beg and grovel for forgiveness? Not that you deserve it, ye wee hellion,” he mutters, scrolling through his recent calls.

"At least three more times." You lean back on your hands as he walks away. "Aren't you going to ask me what she said?"

"Are you going to tell the truth?"

"I was considering it."

"Were you?”

You sigh and watch him raise his phone to his ear. You miss when he hung on your every word.

"Go for Soap."

Soap makes a show of talking on the phone with Laswell. He tries not to glance at you too much. You and your sharp pout and the black tank top you’re wearing and how it rides up on your hips and leaves nothing to the imagination. He’ll have to do something about that later.

"Aye. Understood." A slow grin stretches across his face. "Now that is good news. Pleased to be workin' with ya, Laswell."

He hangs up. You cross your arms. "Well?"

Soap tosses his phone on the bed and turns back to you. "Ought to chew you out for answering a call on a secure line."

"Kate already did."

"Did she, now? And you’re on a first-name basis?" Now he is amused. "Don't think I'm not keeping track of every little rule you’ve broken so far. You’re in enough trouble as it is."

You bounce your leg against the tabletop. "What did she say?"

Soap closes the space between you. In the time it takes him to reach you, you stand up, bare feet on the low table. It puts you barely above eye level with him.

"She didn't tell you the news, then, did she?" His lips twist into a smug smirk. "Serves you right."

You stare him down. You don't often get the chance to, so you capitalize on it for all you're worth. "She did," you lie.

"You’re lying, darlin’."

"How would you know?"

"You'd be right pissed off already, for one." He wraps his hands around the backs of your bare thighs idly. His thumbs brush the underside of your ass. "For two, I know better than to take you at your word. Might as well start assuming the opposite of what you decide to tell me."

"That's not a nice thing to say to your soulmate."

"You’ve never been nice to me in your life." He pulls you closer, making your legs part so he can hike his thigh up between them, his foot flat on the table between yours. He grins at you. "I seem to recall you threatenin' me that first night we met."

You push against his chest to steady yourself. "I was trying to protect your dumb ass. You were going to get yourself killed."

Soap’s hand slides up to the small of your back to help you balance. "Didn't get killed, though, did I?"

"Only because I told you to hide."

"My guardian angel."

"You're lucky you got away when you did. If you compromised us, I would've gutted you."

"Vicious, vicious woman."

"Stubborn mule of a man."

"Gorgeous, disobedient pain in my ass." Soap takes your chin in his fingers and lifts it, drifting closer to your lips as if drawn in. "Not tae mention ornery."

"You're ornery."

"Now, that's hurtful. You ought to give me some sympathy."

"Give me one good reason why."

His hands slide up to cup your ass. "Because I’m your soulmate, and I’m entitled to a little sympathy for the fact that your brazen attitude makes me crazy."

You rub at his collarbone. "If you're my soulmate, it follows that you deserve it."

Christ, he loves when you say shit like that. He leans in to mouth the underside of your jaw and murmur directly against your ear. "You know what I deserve? And you’re gonna give it to me?"

You tilt your head up. His lips slide further down your neck. You preen. "Someone has to."

He lets out a dark huff of laughter at the response. You’re all too eager to push back at him, and nothing gets him hard faster than a challenge.

Just as he latches onto your neck and begins marking you with a new hickey, you push him backward onto the hotel bed. Soap laughs as he lets himself fall. Then he sits up on his elbows and leers at you. His hair is already mussed and his breathing already heavier than normal.

You climb over him, plant your palms on his shoulders, and press him down into the comforter. Right as you stoop down to catch his bottom lip in your teeth, though, you look down at him from above and frown. "Wait, but what did Laswell say?"

Soap pauses. “Now?”

"Yes." You can’t stand not knowing. "Tell me."

Soap grabs two handfuls of your ass and squeezes in annoyance. Ruin the mood, then. "She said she heard back from the program." The program meant to protect the soulmates of military operators and other agents who could be compromised by the existance—or any knowledge whatsoever—of a soulbond. Like witness protection.

You suck in an annoyed breath. "Are you really gonna lock me up in some safehouse?"

“I’d love to—chain you up, put you in a cage, keep you somewhere all safe and sound so nobody else can touch you.” Soap watches you with an off-kilter gleam in his eyes. His words draw an image in your mind that isn’t remotely unpleasant. “But it won't be with the program, no. They denied the request."

You perk up. "Really?"

Soap grins at how excited you get. “Aye. Said your old job makes you a security risk. Too hot to handle.” He lets out a huff as his hand slides up your bare thigh. “But don't get too excited. Laswell found another opening. Or… made one. Something in her sector."

You sit back in surprise. "CIA?"

"Aye. Turns out your impressive track record of selling violence for money makes you a font of useful intel. " Soap watches you, gauging your reaction. "Couldn’t let that go to waste, now, could they?"

You glare down at him. "What's the catch?"

Soap can see the wheels turning in your mind. He grins. "Oh, hardly a thing."

Your hands tighten on his shoulders in warning. "Johnny."

He grins up at you, all teeth and confidence. He loves the way you say his name. “You should go into intelligence. You’d be a hell of an interrogator. You’d get me to tell you anything and never even bat those pretty eyelashes at me."

"John, I swear to God."

He laughs as he sits up on his elbows, his free hand running up your leg to wrap around your hip. "Alright, alright. Pushy." This is almost how he wanted you: straddling him on the bed, hips pressed together. "You're the perfect hire because you come attached to your own soldier, aye? Package deal. Someone to keep an eye on you."

"What, like a handler?"

"Somethin' like that," he muses, tracing his finger along your spine.

You give him a doubtful look. There's no way Laswell would stoop so low. But seeing the shit-eating grin on his face gives you a sinking feeling. "I'm an asset?"

"Course not. An asset would've defected of their own free will. And since you runnin’ away with me is still off the record as of yet…"

Still perched across his hips, you cross your arms. "And what if I say no?"

Soap narrows his eyes.

The world flips. You're on your back, pinned underneath him against the bed. He presses your wrists against the comforter. "Then you'd be a hostage."

You pull at his grip, but it does no good. "You can’t do that."

"I can."

"Says who?"

He leans close. "Says your new handler." He lets the word sink in, lets it make your mind race with indignant heat. That's how he likes you best. His lips trail along the side of your neck, mouthing at the sensitive skin there in a way that makes you arch up. "Talk or don't. Either way, I'll have a convenient excuse to keep you locked up tight."

Naturally. He lets the truth slip out so easily. Likely because he never intended to give you much of a choice. He's learned his lesson and knows very well not to trust you to stay in one place anymore. If he wants to keep you around, he needs to play dirty. Like you.

He trusts you with his life, yes, but not with your own. And certainly not with his heart.

You scoff. But instead of resisting, you relax your body and let him have his way. "Fine. If it makes no difference, do your job. You know what that is, right? Extract my intel."

He pauses with his mouth against your neck. You’re giving in already. He isn’t used to that.

He shifts his hands to thread your fingers together and pin them higher over your head. He lets his mouth brush your neck as he speaks. "I intend to."

"Go on, then. Let’s see a real interrogation. Nothing like that silly warehouse you had me in before."

Soap’s face falls into a scowl. Cheeky. "That wasn't an interrogation, hen. That was a rescue." He settles one muscular leg back between your thighs. "Bloody eager to test my patience. And for what?"

"Mm."

He lets his knee nudge up against your core and grind against it, skin to skin. "You want a fight?" His voice softens, barely. "You want control?"

You think about it. But ultimately, you let your eyes close and relax your body that much more under him. "No, I trust you."

“Oh?” You’ve never said that before. Those words sound good coming from your lips. “Do ye?”

You open your eyes a fraction to narrow them at him. "Don't look too far into it."

“I’ll look as far as I please. Trust me not to hurt you, trust me not to let you leave...” He kisses you. It steals your breath again. "Trust me to give you what you need. Am I close?"

"You're trying to rile me up."

A dangerous grin slowly spreads across his face. “That's what I do best, sweetheart. So you trust me, eh?" When he gets like this—dark and heated, predatory—Soap looks more dangerous than all the weapons he’s ever used combined. A man as trained and deadly as Soap can get downright lethal when he’s playing with you. “Are you sure you should be trusting a man like me?”

"No, definitely not. Horrible idea."

He lets a laugh rumble out of his chest and his knee grinds against you again, earning himself a soft gasp. "But you’re still doing it, aren’t you? And you know what I'd do if your sweet little ass pulled another runner."

"I'm shaking in my socks."

His eyes flash with heat as he smirks down at you. He can feel your thighs clenching around his leg as he continues to grind against you. "You ought to be," he murmurs. "You know I got you. And you owe me."

"Do I?"

"Aye. For runnin' away from me, for lyin', for makin' me hunt you down. For makin' me drag your ass out of a frozen river. For makin' me think you were gonnae freeze t'death the moment I finally got you in my arms." He gives you such a heated look, you find yourself looking off at the ceiling behind him rather than holding his gaze. "And that's not even gettin' into all the stitches I got 'cause of you. You owe me for every single one."

You swallow. "Are you planning to hold that stuff over my head forever?"

If you had any idea how it felt to see you disappearing into that river, you probably wouldn’t be asking that.

"That depends on whether you plan on bein' the sort who needs to be kept in line forever," he growls. "Or whether you're gonnae let me keep you safe, darlin', always where I want ye."

Your face warms and your chest flutters. Damn it. "Fat chance," you retort as quickly as you can to cover up the butterflies.

"Forever it is, then." He lets go of your hands and reaches up to grab your chin. Soap has big hands, strong, with too many scars along his knuckles given his young age. "You’d do well to remember that every time you think about runnin’ from me.” His knee grinds up against you again, a tease and a promise all rolled into one. “Now tell me again that you trust me.”

"Nnh." You squirm. "Johnny, c'mon..."

"No, go on. Say it for me. Say you trust me. Say it out loud." He leans in closer. He's hungry again. Starving. "Let me hear it again. Sounds as pretty as you look."

You roll your hips against his knee again, seeing stars against your eyelids when his thigh muscle clenches.

His grip tightens in warning as he fights to keep control of himself. "You’re pushin’ it, hen."

"Do something about it," you murmur. You wanted bite in your voice, but it's not quite there. "Handler."

Coming from your mouth, it does funny things to his mind. His muscles coil tight with need. But then he relaxes. He has all the time in the world to do everything he wants to you. He bites down gently on your ear, earning a breathless shudder from you. His hands snake under your hips, pulling them up higher as his body slides between your legs.

"That's right. All mine."

...

the end :) thanks everyone! soap loves you <3

...

← previous part / [epilogue]

part 1 / more Soap / masterlist

...

send me a prompt for more of him? :)

[starvales]

hand in hand, chest to chest, face to face

narumi gen / gn!spouse!reader

content : crack, fluff, gender neutral reader, spouse!reader, dancing in the rain, narumi should have his own warning, relatively short, can be read as a standalone.

a/n : before anyone asks, yes, the title is based on 'don't stop the music' by rihanna, and no, that song and this fic have completely different vibes. releasing this chapter really really early to celebrate the happenings of chapter 115 of the manga huehuehue

an extra to 'a cheers to our youth'

"Dance with me?" You offer your hand.

"I don't know how to dance." He takes it.

"Don't worry, I'll lead." You pull him up from his spot on the dampening grass.

The clouds above are getting darker and the droplets of rain start to get heavier, but you don't make a move to rush.

You guide his left hand to rest atop your shoulder and his right hand into your left one. You let Narumi adjust until he felt comfortable before placing your right hand above his waist and started swaying.

"When did you learn to slow dance?" His shoulders relax and his arms are less rigid.

You lean in closer. He smells like sweat and freshly cut grass. Figures, he's been training on the field for hours now. "Remember that bar I used to work at for catering events?"

He hums in confirmation. You sway a bit more.

"Sometimes, when the birthday or wedding or whatever event it was dies down, and the families with kids start to leave, and the DJ starts playing slower songs, the older couples would take each other's hands and dance like this until we closed."

You notice that Narumi's vision must be very limited since his bangs hang even lower on his face because of the rain. You pause for a bit and take your hand that wasn't in his own and rake your fingers through his hair to slick it back.

"And sometimes, I'd imagine it was me and you, sometime in the future, dancing like we were the only ones in the room." You shut your eyes and reminisce. You sway a bit more.

Despite the embarrassment and teasing that may befall you after this confession, you think that it's okay here. It's just you and your husband and the rain. It's safe to be this vulnerable. You're safe here. You're safe.

Rather than a cocky laugh or a confident grin like you expect from him, Narumi whispers your name and you look back at him. You're slightly caught off guard at the softness of his features and the affection in his stare.

You sway a bit more.

"But what about now?"

A few shorter strands of hair fall back to his forehead and the way he looks at you so earnestly is forcing your heart to do somersaults.

"Huh?" You furrow your brows. It's maddening how pretty he looks right now.

"We're the only ones dancing in this field. Heck, we're probably the only ones outside. Who's to say that we aren't the only ones in the world right now?" He tilts his head to the side and sends you a gentle smile.

You are soaked to the bone, drenched in rain water, and the chill that comes with a storm runs up your arms and spine, but despite all of that, you are overwhelmed by this inexplicable warmth that you only ever feel when you're with him.

You take a few moments to properly grasp what your husband has said before you let out a hearty chuckle, because of course he'd say something like that. Of course Narumi Gen would say that only you and him were the only people to exist in your vast but miniature world.

You look forward to it. The future. Your future.

"Wanna learn how to ballroom dance?"

"Earlier, weren't you the one that said there was a meeting soon?" Your husband finally flashes you a cheeky smile and a raised eyebrow.

"I'm sure they won't miss us too much."

"Should I fetch them, Sir?" Hasegawa asks, looking through the wide expanse of window panes of the Chief's office.

Before going out to get Narumi from the training field, before it even started raining, you had initially asked the Vice Captain to bring your finished reports to the Chief before the official meeting began, but it looks like both of you aren't coming back inside any time soon. Hasegawa sighs inwardly and makes a mental note to grab two towels later.

Shinomiya Isao takes a few seconds to respond.

The couple he has personally watched grow into the people they are today, are dancing merrily in the presence of each other, out in the open training field during a torrential downpour.

"No, leave them. If they get sick, they get sick. A consequence they are surely aware of. However..." The Chief sighs aloud and leans back into his office chair, a memory of a now very distant past flashes behind his eyes.

"They do remind me of some people I used to know." He looks to his left.

Hasegawa does not dare bring up the small smile on the Chief's lips, nor the longing gaze set on the picture frame atop the desk.

a wee side note : it's been so long but would anyone still be interested in a tag list or would it be a little too late-

[orangeheliophile]

Kats as your heavy metal bf!!💣💥

Cw: minor cursing, kats being a metal fan, mentions of marriage and babies, fluff.

A/n: I'm not very educated in this type of stuff, so pls bear with me! These are just some random thoughts I had a while ago, lmao.

☠︎︎Loud. Loud and annoying is what your boyfriend likes to be with you.

☠︎︎ Eijirou is more of a hard rock fan, Tokoyami is a goth guy (obviously), Jirou likes punk, and Aizawa definitely loves grunge/alternative. Katsuki is that heavy metal guy that everybody is sorta intimidated by.

☠︎︎ His favorite bands are definitely Metallica, AC/DC, Guns' and Roses, Slipknot, and an honarary mention of Nirvana. Aizawa rubbed off of him.

☠︎︎ This boy is full on metal. Although he also has that punk style and grunge in what he wears. He occasionally wears black eyeliner and lets you, his princess, paint his nails in whatever color you'd like. This boy is wearing leather boots, a leather jacket, band shirts and jeans with some rips on them.

☠︎︎He definitely lets you wear his clothes. Katsuki thinks that they look so pretty on you, too. One time, he found you wearing one of his favorite Metallica shirts, and he swore that was the moment he knew he was gonna marry you.

☠︎︎ Momma Mitsuki was the one who introduced baby Kats to metal/heavy rock music. She sometimes regrets it due to the fact that he won't shut up about "metal" anymore.

☠︎︎Sometimes, Jirou lets Katsuki choose which song they play during band practice. Usually, it ends up being amazing because he would choose the best songs to rage to.

☠︎︎ He would definitely take you to metal concerts. But if you're sensitive to clouds and loud noise, he would be supportive of you and buy you noise cancellling headphones and make sure that you don't get overwhelmed. You're his baby, so of course he's gonna take care of you! <33

☠︎︎ He will love you even more than forever if you give him anything related to his favorite music. He will absolutely cherish it if you made it and will make sure to take you on multiple dates if you buy him something that was limited edition.

☠︎︎ He loves it when you play with his jewelry. Finds it adorable when you're ramblin' about something, and your fingers are just twirling the bracelets or rings on his hands. He's a softie for you, but don't you dare tell anyone. <3

☠︎︎ Not only can he play the drums, but he is also good at the electric guitar and bass, too. This bastard is talented, and he knows it.

☠︎︎ When you both get married, there will definitely be heavy rock/metal themes. But he also wants your style to be involved as well. He doesn't care if you both have totally different tastes. He wants to marry you, and he wants you to have the dream wedding you've always wanted.

☠︎︎ He wants metal babies with you. As much as possible and ONLY if you want it. He absolutely worships your body, and he doesn't want you to go through all of that pain and stress.

☠︎︎ On the other hand, his heart absolutely melts at the thought of mini yous and mini Kats running around the house and blasting music. He's definitely going to teach them how to play the drums/guitar and will take them to concerts if they wanna. And if they're not die-hard metal fans? That's absolutely okay, too. Katsuki will love his babies either way.

☠︎︎ Sometimes, people think he's too intense, but Katsuki doesn't really care. But he won't deny how heartwarming it is whenever you defend him or tell him how much you love him either way.

☠︎︎ Of course, he's going to be loud and aggressive, but he makes sure to lower his voice down and is significantly more softer whenever he's with you. You're the only thing he worships other than All Might and becoming number 1.

☠︎︎ Finds it adorable when you make him wear pink or more vivid colors. He always wears a bracelet you made him for your anniversary. He said it looked badass and awesome.

[ilovejoostklein]

can I requestt some soft morning sex with Joost and it being just rlly sweet and cosy and like reade and joost have been together for a while now and some praise maybe if you're comfortable w that ofc 🥹

this was really fun to write, i hope you get the cozy vibe <3

-

Morning Embrace

You and Joost have been together for years and have an intimate morning routine

nsfw: smut, some fluff

-

You always hated when Joost had to leave, looking up at him through a half-lidded gaze your mind tended to wander to things that made you feel bad in this moment, as if it was a way to mend your sadness. 

He held your hands as you felt his cock resting on your lower stomach, teasing you, looking up at his face you saw how tired, yet desperate he was. It was like a dream, the weight of sleep making you lazy, your motions slow and fluid, but everything felt so much more intense. 

The sunlight made the room and Joost looks heavenly. You’d been in love with him for what felt like a lifetime. Joost was an angelic man, his features as if they were carved by Renaissance artists, the most beautiful and dedicated expression of the human form. You could look up at him forever, and when he was like this especially. His flushed cheeks, and parted red lips showered you with so much praise it felt poetic.

He’d repeat over and over again how perfect you were. You always laughed it off when his friends said you had him on a leash, but moments like these proved to you that he loved and cherished you to a level you could hardly fathom. As he pushed himself inside of you, his face contorted into pleasure, crying out how much he loved you, how good you felt, how good you made him feel. 

“I love you so much,” His voice was pathetic, kissing your neck desperately as he tried to find a good pace that wouldn’t be affected by his lack of energy. “You’re so fucking perfect, I’d die for you—fuck.”

“I love you, Joost.” You responded with a yawn, the sensation so perfect it relaxed you. 

You wrapped your legs around him, feeling the warm, heavy comforter weighing you down. He slept naked so he was always cold, and fucked you with the blanket over his waist. He couldn’t ever take you from behind or any other position besides missionary unless he was drunk or just had an inclination to be rougher, which was rare. His obsession with you was bordering unhealthy. He couldn’t get off unless he could see your face, he’d never loved anyone the way he loved you. 

“You’re so beautiful, mijn liefde.” He moved the hair out of your face lovingly, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “I could fuck you forever.” He whispered into your ear. 

You smiled in response, “Me too.” You kissed his cheek back in return. “Love you.” 

Joost never overwhelmed you, he never pushed you beyond your limits. Even if he knew your body like the back of his hand, knowing exactly how to make a mess of you, he was incredibly gentle. Making love to him in the morning was better than anything you’d ever experienced, the feeling of waking up next to the person you loved and being able to feel so good all the time was indescribable. You pitied people who weren’t so lucky. 

Joost knew you too well, the sounds you made were controlled and soft he wasn’t fucking you as well as he could. You felt him readjust slightly, the realization making your cheeks burn and waking you up a bit. You felt him plunge into you with one quick, deep motion slamming into the most sensitive spot inside of you. You had gotten your karma for thinking he sounded pathetic, crying out in pleasure and begging for him to keep going. 

“Please, Joost.” You pleaded, unable to open your eyes from how overwhelmed you’d become “Feels so good.”

You heard him laugh, satisfied with how your body had sure denied himself to him. The look on your face was driving him mad, his pace deepened and became harsher. The feeling made you lose all train of thought, your body becoming a vessel to feel pleasure alone, shutting your eyes to take it all in. It sends a numbing feeling through you, you could do nothing but moan his name to encourage him. 

“Can I stop?” He asked suddenly, the sight of your blissful expression and the way your chest moved had driven him to the point of insanity. 

“What?” He’d never seen you look so confused and offended, it was cute. “No, please,” You thought he would leave you early, the realization crushing you. 

“I need to eat your pussy.” His directness made you hesitate for a moment, but god it was flattering. 

Joost felt his pleasure and excitement burn out once he realized he’d be getting off before you. It was difficult to make you finish by just fucking you alone, especially if he knew your body was as tired and sensitive as it was now. Besides, there was nothing he loved more than going down on you. 

He pulled out slowly, going under the covers he pushed your legs open and didn’t waste any time with foreplay. He was greedy and impatient, he hardly bothered with kissing your thighs and your stomach. As much as he liked to tease you, it was always more torturous for him. He couldn’t stand to deny himself, and he knew you could go without it. 

His tongue was so warm against you. You shivered at the initial feeling, the beginning is always just as good as the end. You let him spread your legs so that your knees nearly touched your chest. His tongue was flat against your pussy, completely devouring you as he focused on your clit determined to help bring you to your climax, instead of making you beg for it. All this time spent apart, you’d forgotten how passionate your boyfriend was. 

You felt selfish. Joost was perfect, you didn’t remember a time when he couldn’t make you finish, but even more selflessly you didn’t remember a time when he wanted to finish before you. Somehow it would spoil his mood if he didn’t take care of you first, even if you begged for him to fuck you or to let you give him head, he refused.

You felt yourself grinding down desperately on Joost’s face. You were chasing your orgasm in vain, trying to rush the natural process it only made you increasingly frustrated and needy. Joost noticed quickly, as always he knew you too well, and he hated to feel like he wasn’t giving you enough. 

“You wanna cum baby?” Joost’s voice was raspy, and still a bit groggy, the sound of it turned you on more than it should’ve. “Tell me, my beautiful girl.”

You hummed, “Mhm.” Just as desperately as he expected.

You heard him chuckle from under the sheets, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh. “I’ll help you, don’t worry mijn lieveling.”

You felt his fingers begin to rub against you, it was like he could read your mind and knew how much you were thinking about him fucking you again. His touch was teasing at first, experimenting with what made you feel good, realizing quickly from the way you tried to move against him, that you just needed to be filled up again. You didn’t realize how wet you were until he pushed two fingers inside of you, from the way you took them so well. 

His soft lips pressed down on your clit as his fingers pumped inside of you at a steady pace, he was giving you exactly what you needed. He loved the sounds you made, how every time his fingers nudged into the most sensitive spot inside you, he heard you moan or curse under your breath. It didn’t help him that you still sounded so tired, the rasp in your voice and how you lazily and gently tugged his hair. 

When he felt your grip on his hair suddenly tighten, and you suddenly gasped and then fell silent for a moment he knew you were close. Being together so long, he knew how to make you finish rather quickly if he wanted to. His jaw didn’t have time to start aching like it did in the very beginning when you two were still learning about each other. Whenever he felt like he missed it, the look on your face and the way you’d praise him completely drowned out those memories. 

“You’re so fucking good.” Your voice was so weak it was almost silent, still in a bit of a daze from feeling so sensitive and vulnerable. 

Joost finally sat up, smoothing down his hair and looking down at you. He was overwhelmed with your beauty. As much as he was excited to spend the night with you after his concert and seeing you all dressed up, he couldn’t help but think seeing you naked and glowing in his bed was the most beautiful you could ever look. 

As he positioned himself on top of you again, the way you looked up at him with so much adoration and desire made his heart squeeze. He smoothed down his thumb against your cheek before leaning down to kiss you sweetly as he lined himself up with his other hand. 

You’d never quite gotten used to his size, the stretch was always a bit uncomfortable but Joost was overly cautious. Whenever you needed him this desperately, the way he’d push into you so slowly almost felt cruel. You huffed in frustration, wrapping your legs around him to encourage him to be quicker. 

“Relax.” He urged, leaning down to kiss your cheek. “I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“It’s not.” You felt him thrust suddenly, instinctively wincing and proving his point.

Joost tsked, “I told you.” You heard a hint of satisfaction in his tone, “I know you can take it, just stay still my love.”

You sighed in defeat, listening to him you soon felt him bottom you out again, giving you a moment to adjust. He started thrusting slowly, his pace as excruciating as before you couldn’t stand it. 

Joost paused for a moment, leaning down again he lowered his elbows so that he was directly on top of you, chests pressing together. 

“I love you,” He whispered into your ear, pressing a kiss into your chin. “I love fucking you like this.”

“I love you too.” You mumbled so he’d get the affirmation, no matter how long you’d been together he had to hear it. 

“You’re so perfect.” He whispered again, “I can’t believe I have you.”

It was slow, deep, everything perfect about being so desperate to fuck each other the moment you two woke up. He held you in his arms, the sunlight now drowned out the room and warmed your exposed skin. The blanket was still so warm and cozy, keeping you two even closer together. 

You brought him into an embrace as his face was nuzzled in your neck, whispering praises and kissing you. You couldn’t imagine anything better than this. You tried to tell him you loved him for what felt like the hundredth time, but you were too overcome with how good he made you feel. It was as if your bodies were made exactly for one another. 

“I’m close.” Joost mumbled, “Where do you want it, mijn lieveling” You could hear he was just as ruined as you were, the words forcibly coming out.

“Don’t move.” The vague response that he easily understood was the only thing you could get out. 

You appreciated when Joost would tell you if he was close, but you knew him so well that his body language always gave him away. His breaths hitch and deepen, he’d thrust into you at a pace that was erratic, deep, and so loving even if it overwhelmed you it made how much he adored and worshiped you undeniable. Once his movements suddenly stopped and he whined against your neck, teeth sinking gently into the flesh of your shoulder. 

Even if it was messy and later more trouble than it seemed worth when your mind cleared up from lust, you never wanted to deny yourself of this. It brought you closer, knowing you were his, knowing that no one else in the world could make you feel so loved. 

Joost panted against you, pressing lazy kisses against your face as he softened inside of you.  As he dozed off, he couldn’t stop telling you how good you were, how lucky he was and how much he adored you. Still, he needed to take a moment to calm down as he held you close and this was his favorite way to do it. The intimacy you shared was like you were always one, nothing could bring you apart. 

You wished the moment could last forever. Tenderly holding each other, your hand rubbing on his back to soothe him, his thumb caressing your cheek. Your breathing was perfectly in sync, calming each other down from the intensity. All you could hear now were the sweet morning birds and Joost’s heartbeat. 

You couldn’t feel sad, looking back it’s been like this for so long and only was getting better. You saw his eyes had fluttered shut, his breathing settled. You held him closer, you couldn’t be happier knowing that all your mornings could be like this. 

-

doesn’t he look so boyfriend in that picture

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Sigal Samuel at Vox:

There’s a dominant narrative in the media about why tech billionaires are sucking up to Donald Trump: Elon Musk, Mark Zuckerberg, and Jeff Bezos, all of whom have descended on the nation’s capital for the presidential inauguration, either happily support or have largely acquiesced to Trump because they think he’ll offer lower taxes and friendlier regulations. In other words, it’s just about protecting their own selfish business interests. That narrative is not exactly wrong — Trump has in fact promised massive tax cuts for billionaires — but it leaves out the deeper, darker forces at work here. For the tech bros — or as some say, the broligarchs — this is about much more than just maintaining and growing their riches. It’s about ideology. An ideology inspired by science fiction and fantasy. An ideology that says they are supermen, and supermen should not be subject to rules, because they’re doing something incredibly important: remaking the world in their image. It’s this ideology that makes MAGA a godsend for the broligarchs, who include Musk, Zuck, and Bezos as well as the venture capitalists Peter Thiel and Marc Andreessen. That’s because MAGA is all about granting unchecked power to the powerful. “It’s a sense of complete impunity — including impunity to the laws of nature,” Brooke Harrington, a professor of economic sociology at Dartmouth College who studies the behavior of the ultra-rich, told me. “They reject constraint in all of its forms.” As Harrington has noted, Trump is the perfect avatar for that worldview. He’s a man who incited an attempted coup, who got convicted on 34 felony counts and still won reelection, who notoriously said in reference to sexual assault, “When you’re a star, they let you do it. You can do anything.” So, what is the “anything” that the broligarchs want to do? To understand their vision, we need to realize that their philosophy goes well beyond simple libertarianism. It’s not just that they want a government that won’t tread on them. They want absolutely zero limits on their power. Not those dictated by democratic governments, by financial systems, or by facts. Not even those dictated by death.

The broligarchs’ vision: Science fiction, transhumanism, and immortality

The broligarchs are not a monolith — their politics differ somewhat, and they’ve sometimes been at odds with each other. Remember when Zuck and Musk said they were going to fight each other in a cage match? But here’s something the broligarchs have in common: a passionate love for science fiction and fantasy that has shaped their vision for the future of humanity — and their own roles as its would-be saviors. Zuckerberg’s quest to build the Metaverse, a virtual reality so immersive and compelling that people would want to strap on bulky goggles to interact with each other, is seemingly inspired by the sci-fi author Neal Stephenson. It was actually Stephenson who coined the term “metaverse” in his novel Snow Crash, where characters spend a lot of time interacting in a virtual world of that name. Zuckerberg seems not to have noticed that the book is depicting a dystopia; instead of viewing it as a warning, he’s viewing it as an instruction manual.

Jeff Bezos is inspired by Star Trek, which led him to found a commercial spaceflight venture called Blue Origin, and The High Frontier by physics professor Gerard K. O’Neill, which informs his plan for space colonization (it involves millions of people living in cylindrical tubes). Bezos attended O’Neill’s seminars as an undergraduate at Princeton. Musk, who wants to colonize Mars to “save” humanity from a dying planet, is inspired by one of the masters of American sci-fi, Isaac Asimov. In his Foundation series, Asimov wrote about a hero who must prevent humanity from being thrown into a long dark age after a massive galactic empire collapses. “The lesson I drew from that is you should try to take the set of actions that are likely to prolong civilization, minimize the probability of a dark age and reduce the length of a dark age if there is one,” Musk said. And Andreessen, an early web browser developer who now pushes for aggressive progress in AI with very little regulation, is inspired by superhero stories, writing in his 2023 “Techno-Optimist Manifesto” that we should become “technological supermen” whose “Hero’s Journey” involves “conquering dragons, and bringing home the spoils for our community.” All of these men see themselves as the heroes or protagonists in their own sci-fi saga. And a key part of being a “technological superman” — or übermensch, as the German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche would say — is that you’re above the law. Common-sense morality doesn’t apply to you because you’re a superior being on a superior mission. Thiel, it should be noted, is a big Nietzsche fan, though his is an extremely selective reading of the philosopher’s work.

[...]

The broligarchs — because they are in 21st-century Silicon Valley and not 19th-century Germany — have updated and melded this idea with transhumanism, the idea that we can and should use technology to alter human biology and proactively evolve our species.

Transhumanism spread in the mid-1900s thanks to its main popularizer, Julian Huxley, an evolutionary biologist and president of the British Eugenics Society. Huxley influenced the contemporary futurist Ray Kurzweil, who predicted that we’re approaching a time when human intelligence can merge with machine intelligence, becoming unbelievably powerful. “The human species, along with the computational technology it created, will be able to solve age-old problems … and will be in a position to change the nature of mortality in a postbiological future,” Kurzweil wrote in 1999. Kurzweil, in turn, has influenced Silicon Valley heavyweights like Musk, whose company Neuralink explicitly aims at merging human and machine intelligence. For many transhumanists, part of what it means to transcend our human condition is transcending death. And so you find that the broligarchs are very interested in longevity research. Zuckerberg, Bezos, and Thiel have all reportedly invested in startups that are trying to make it possible to live forever. That makes perfect sense when you consider that death currently imposes a limit on us all, and the goal of the broligarchs is to have zero limits.

Vox has an insightful article on the disastrous vision that broligarchs like Elon Musk, Marc Andreessen, Peter Thiel, and Mark Zuckerberg subscribe to.

[strawberryblondebutch]

hi! Random question maybe, but you seem very knowledgeable about hockey: there's a post on the PWHL subreddit right now asking about the differences between PWHL and NHL hockey. A lot of people in the comments are saying the skill level in the PWHL is much lower, which to me a weird statement for multiple reasons, but I don't know enough to disagree or agree with certainty. Do you have any thoughts? In general, what do you think are the differences between the style of play in the two leagues right now (other than ofc level of physicality l)?

That is a weird statement, which I'll get into in a second. To me, the biggest differences are such.

Fundamentals. This is not a PWHL-specific statement. It also applies to the WNBA vs. the NBA, and baseball players drafted out of college vs. high school. With truly all the respect and love to my prep school coaches, college is where you learn how to play your sport. You get by on raw talent until you hit the college level (or, for Canadian men's hockey players, the junior level) and then you learn how to actually play. Men are spending 1-2 years in college before leaving for the show. Women do a full 4-5. It's hard to imagine someone like Jason Robertson (who I love) succeeding in the women's game, because he's not a very good pure skater. He got by on his raw offensive ability. If he were coming up through the NCAA, someone like Mark Johnson or Matt Desrosiers would have grabbed him and said, "You're doing extra shifts in the barn until you stop looking like you're drowning out there."

"Then the skill in nhl level is just insane. Passes are perfect, players can handle bouncing pucks easily, and most importantly positioning is excellent - players are almost always where they are supposed to be (because they are big and fast) so zone entry/exit is super smooth.

60 minutes of Flyers hockey would kill this Redditor. I can assure you passes are not perfect and positioning is abysmal in the NHL, because again... these are the fundamentals that players would learn if they weren't plucked out of college/juniors on the basis of their raw, unhoned talent.

Roster construction. This is largely a function of limited roster space. The PWHL has less than 1/4 the positions than the NHL does. In the men's game, each line has a defined role. The first two forward lines are your top scorers, the third line does most of the checking and defensive play, and your fourth O-line is meant to tucker out the opponents' best scorers. The PWHL doesn't really have checking lines, because there aren't really checking specialists. Instead, lines are determined by the whims of the coaches by a combination of seniority and "riding the hot hand" - players who score more get more ice time.

Goaltending. PWHL goalies are smaller than NHL goalies and working with the same size net. Someone like Ivan Fedotov (6'8") can take up more space just by standing there than someone like Emerance Maschmeyer (5'6"). As a result, PWHL goalies tend to be far more mobile, and they start their post-to-post movement early, trying to anticipate where the shot will come from so that they can physically get there and block it.

Speed vs. acceleration. I think the comments about size that people in that thread were mentioning are largely overblown because they forget that everything is relative. It only really counts in two dimensions. The first is in goaltending. The second is in movement. Taller players can cover more ground with each push, which helps with their speed. Smaller players, because they aren't dragging as much weight around the ice with them, can push off from a stop faster, which helps their acceleration. It's why KCS is such a pain in the ass to play against: if she and I are both standing at the starting line, she (5'2", 125 lbs) can take off much faster than I (5'10", 170 lbs) can. I can hope to close the distance by using my strength and stride, but she's got the edge on that first 200 ft. Hey, you know what else is 200 feet? A hockey rink. She beat me to the other end.

[papyrusgayfont]

SPOILERS FOR THE GREAT ACE ATTORNEY 2 AND ACE ATTORNEY INVESTIGATIONS later on in this post

gonna cornplate here but this was something that I realized awhile ago but I haven’t actually talked about before

ok so the 20th anniversary art. It has characters from the main games on one side (+ Kay and Eustace) and characters from TGAA on the other. for the MAIN main characters, most of them have a parallel on either side (like how Gant parallels Stronghart, Kristoph parallels Seishiro, etc)

but for Gumshoe, his parallel is Gina

you’d THINK that his parallel would be Gregson, but really, they don’t have THAT much in common aside from being officers who wear the same shade of green, like Gumshoe is lower than dirt poor, he can barely afford cup noodles, a lot of times he can be a bit empty-headed, he isn’t the MOST professional, and he’s isn’t really respected among the other officers

meanwhile, Gregson is seemingly well off, he doesn’t seem to be struggling, he CAN afford to eat since he has an infinite supply of fish and chips that he’s eating 24/7, he’s a lot more professional than Gumshoe is, and he pays a lot more attention to things that (pre-AAI games) Gumshoe wouldn’t, and he was one of the most respected officers at Scotland Yard, probably THE most respected (and y’know also he’s dead and Gumshoe isn’t. so,)

but the character Gumshoe DOES have more in similarity with is Gina

they’re both poor, their clothes are old and don’t really suit them (like Gina’s clothes are too big for her, and Gumshoe’s coat is really dirty, at least I’m pretty that’s what they said), they’re both the main person who takes care of the police dog, they aren’t really respected as officers, they’re usually the most lenient and nicest towards the defense, and they’ve both had mentors that were on the force that they looked up to, only for it to be revealed that they were a part of a group of people who committed crimes because they thought the law was too limiting (Badd with the Yatagarasu, and Gregson with the Reaper of the Bailey)

I don’t know if it was Kazuya Nuri’s intention intention for them to parallel each other in the art, like I’m almost definitely looking too far into this, but hey, I thought that it was interesting lol, so

[tealvenetianmask]

More about Blitz and anger . . .

Anger is a super stigmatized emotion. That's for a reason- it's powerful. When we see it from other people it's usually externalized- it's ugly, aggressive, shows up in abusive situations- it sometimes leads to violence. But when we talk about righteous anger, or the anger of marginalized people, we sometimes praise it. That's because anger can be empowering too.

I want to talk about how Blitz's anger, while it's also destructive at times, has empowered him.

Personal note: when I was a kid, I was yelled at frequently by my mother. The house I grew up in was a 60's rancher with a long hallway in the center, and she would chase me down the hallway yelling. As I grew older, I learned to yell back. Feeling anger and externalizing it didn't make the hurt go away, and it didn't solve our problems- it turned us into two people yelling at each other- but it did make me feel less helpless.

So let's look at Blitz as a kid. In addition to guilt tripping him, his father tells him that "there are scarier things," than stealing from a wealthy and (literally) powerful family, and he doesn't disagree. I think this screenshot captures their relationship pretty well.

We see moments of defiance from Blitz though, even as he's very much under Cash's control. Georgia Dow pointed this out in her video about how Blitz learned resilience in his childhood. Here, have some defiant expressions:

Notice Blitz's eyebrows here, mirroring his father. I suspect that as he grew older, Blitz learned to push back harder, to argue, maybe even to yell. He learned to channel his anger- at being used, diminished, devalued (very likely yelled at and probably physically hurt too) into expression, into fight (I don't picture him physically fighting Cash, but the guy has fight in him- of all kinds).

He learned to feel angry at the world and express that too- for treating imps as lower than other demons, for limiting his options in life, for filling the road to success with exploitation (as we see in the Mammon flashbacks with Fizz).

Speaking of that flashback, he's very ready, as a teenager, to express anger exactly when he needs to for the purpose of protecting a loved one.

Fast forward to the present.

Blitz's anger helps him stand up for the people he cares about- see Fizz in the present at Mammon's show but also Moxxie in Spring Broken.

It helps make him good at his job too. When we see him fight, he doesn't tend to seem all out enraged, but he's super determined and all in. He's at home in a conflict. When he's doing his best fighting, we see a mix of the "angry" facial expressions and pure confidence.

Anger also helps him manage a lot of difficult emotions. Disclaimer (and idea I'll get back to soon)- I said manage, not deal with.

When he interacts with Verosika and with Robo Fizz early in season 1, there's genuine underlying pain from how the relationships with Verosika and the real Fizz ended, but he channels that into anger. The anger makes him take action (Good action? Eh. But still action- he's not crying on his couch.) rather than get consumed by more painful emotions. He's able to keep going.

It also gets in his way, even as he uses it as a coping mechanism. Is his anger at Muffy and the Karen in the doctor's office understandable as he's dealing with his frustration about the inaccessibility of healthcare for Loona and his worries about losing Stolas? Yes. Is it helpful? No, probably not.

It isn't useful with Stolas either. Stolas is this person who's kind and beautiful and quirky and able to match his wit, and who Blitz has grown genuine feelings for, but who is also deeply entwined in the unfairness in Hell's society that Blitz has grown to resent throughout his life- AND Stolas unknowingly participates in some very familiar microaggressions himself.

Blitz channels a whole range of complicated emotions- love, fear, despair at the thought that he isn't loved back- all into anger because he HAS been wronged and his world IS unfair, and anger is COMFORTABLE because anger is ACTIVE, and with it he doesn't have to just let things happen to him!

So we end up back here.

[ariqxwz]

STREAM

— Warnings: oral (fem receiving), fingering, risky situation.

You looked at the screen in front of you, hundreds of messages appeared on the screen quickly. You bit your lip trying to read one —or maybe you were trying to hide a soft gasp.

"Where is Chris?" You read aloud. You shrugged. "I don't know, in his house, I guess"

A smile threatened to appear on your faces. You looked away, pretending you were looking for something. What people didn't know is that Chris was on his knees under the table. His face buried between your thighs.

You looked at the chat again.

"I'm fine, I'm just nervous, I'm waiting for a package." You said. It wasn't entirely a lie, if you were waiting for a package, but that wasn’t the reason for your mood.

Meanwhile, Chris moved his tongue over your clitoris, sucking it from time to time. His hands squeezed your thighs tightly while he devoured you.

"I-you know, I've ordered a set to get my nails done at home" you stammered. You put your hand on his head, intertwining your fingers in his hair. "I... I don't know how to do it, maybe y’all could recommend me things or teach me."

You settled in the chair. "I have also... I have gone to buy new nail polishes, I think..." a slight sigh came out of between your lips. "I think I've gone too far, I'll have bought about twenty."

"But why don't you go get your nails done instead of getting them done?" You read. "It's very expensive, although they also come out prettier, at least than me, surely."

You let out a slight gasp, Chris had put one of his long, slender fingers in you. You could feel his smile against your clit.

"My foot fell asleep, it's very annoying." You excused yourself. The people in the chat didn't seem to have noticed anything, no one was finding out that Chris was eating you out outside the shot that was seen on the camera. You seem to have been a good actress.

You felt how your belly began to tense, you were close to your climax. Chris' finger was touching that point repeatedly and if mouth worked on your clitoris, it was too much.

"E-excuse me, I'm going to the bathroom." You made the gesture of getting up and turned off the camera, but you didn't move. You could finally look at Chris, his eyes were fixed on your face. You put a finger on your lips, indicating that you couldn't make noise. He smiled again and added another finger

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and threw your head back. You opened your mouth but no sound came out of it. You moved your hips unconsciously up, needing to reach your climax as soon as possible.

His fingers picked up speed, as did his tongue. You bit your lower lip, wanting to suppress the moan that threatened to come out when you reached your limit.

Chris continued working, surfing the waves of pleasure that you still had left. You looked at him when he moved away, put his fingers in his mouth and cleaned your pleasure from them.

You moved aside to let Chris out from under the desk. He gave you a quick kiss on the lips before leaving the room.

"I'm back." You lit on the camera. You tried to hide what had happened, but a stupid smile was on your face.

© ariqxwz

[anthonsgi]

★’･ﾟ:｡･:*:First kiss with HSR characters PT.1:｡･:*:･ﾟ’★

【Note: Hello! I haven't written anything in a while, but I recently got a surge of motivation, so why not take advantage of that? :) There will be a few parts because I want to write for many characters and the process of writing each one is really long for me so I prefer to spread them out a bit, so if the character you would like to read about isn't here, keep an eye out for future parts, perhaps I will include them there! As per usual, English isn't my first language and I'm learning as I go, please be patient with me. Requests are open! (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧】

【Pairings: Kafka, Argenti, Blade x GN!Reader】

【CW: I may have added some angst here and there, but I couldn't resist (I tried to end it with a good, slightly bittersweet conclusion each time though)! I wanted to make the characters' traits as similar to the game's as possible, but a few things may still be out of character, sorry in advance!】

a lil note: this is literally just all of these characters being absolutely SMITTEN for you and them fawning over you, but every day is a good day to get praised left and right, no?

☆〜KAFKA〜☆

It shouldn't be much of a surprise that you fell in love with this young and exceptionally charming woman. As a Stellaron Hunter, she ensures that Elio's predicted plans are carried out. That being said, you were a completely unpredicted element in a series of missions; there was never a mention of you ever being included in situations that you always found yourself stuck in. Kafka always saw it as "the usual result of the unforeseen nature of destiny," as she liked to explain to you.

After a while of simple acquaintance, she has grown more fond of you than she has of anyone. Not only were you beautiful in her eyes, which was a big thing for a connoisseur of beauty such as herself, but she felt at ease with you. She may be a sly, unbothered criminal whose prize for capturing her is enough to provide many good-lived lives for a bunch of Vidyadharas, but she actually really appreciates the times when she doesn't feel like she's being chased by people or by time itself.

Being with you was as enjoyable as studying the waves—a peaceful activity, a thought-provoking process. She desired to look at the horizon and discover more than meets the eye, however, it was quite impossible. The job of a Stellaron Hunter is challenging not only because of the relentless pursuit of destiny and the never-ending dangers but also because it entails never staying in one place for too long, never forming more meaningful connections, and never attaching yourself to finite, frail matters. Even though she knew she was more unlikely to run into the same individual twice as a Devil Hunter than she was now, her options were usually limited.

Kafka isn't one to fully hide her true feelings; she spoke very highly of you, your way of being and thinking, your appearance, and your tendency to be the miracle of one's destiny (*cough* talking about herself there). She has developed a habit of complimenting you just to see you squirm away from her gaze and bite your lower lip to try and stop a smile from forming. These occurrences weren't rare; they always followed the same pattern: she said something = you discreetly reacted = she noticed and couldn't stop noticing.

A kiss from her would be more of an indication of her love than a reveal, showing rather than declaring it. It may have happened during one of your late-night chats where you slowly opened up to one another, or it could have happened in the early morning after she invited herself into your home after you had just woken up and weren't sure if you were still asleep. In any case, without having said much, she leaned in, rested her hand on your cheek, and left a tender and delicate kiss on your lips. It didn't last long, but it meant more than a decade of stolen glances and conversations with hidden meanings.

It didn't feel like a goodbye kiss, it never did, but it was clear it was some form of leaving you wanting more, leaving you yearning for her to come back and see you again, and leaving you wondering how long it would be before she does it once more.

☆〜ARGETNTI〜☆

Knight of Beauty, a follower of the fallen Aeon Idrila. He's constantly on the journey to honor the principles of beauty itself, spreading the grace of his Goddess all over the universe. Discovering numerous forms of beauty in the ordinary and in the extraordinary. When he first laid his eyes on you, it was as if time began to bend around you, a black hole in which the concept of time didn't seem to exist, trapping anyone and everyone residing in its proximity.

Recognizing refinement in people was second nature to him, admiring their souls that mirrored their personalities and beliefs. He wished nothing more than to convey compassion to those who possessed honorable qualities, pure hearts, and desirable traits. Your beauty shone with such radiance that it put the stars to shame; your existence was an excellent reminder of Idrila's presence in the universe.

To Argenti, love is a miraculous feeling that is a joy to experience; it reflects a person's deepest desires and is an act of care so poetic that it almost brings a tear to the eye. In a way, having never experienced it before and having no opportunity to try due to his commitment to traversing in solitude, he decided it wasn't he who was supposed to feel it and that he was merely destined to admire the beauty of it from afar.

Meeting you meant the world to him; you made him feel love for another person for the first time—the all-consuming love from every classical novel he had read. The purest form of it is tragic love, one that breaks down the foundations that hold one's life in perfect balance. He spent several days and nights with you, staying in one location longer than he ever did since becoming a knight—the place where he started to ponder his destiny and his vocation.

He made every effort to push these thoughts away, thinking such things felt like a violation of the universal code of chivalry he upholds, yet when he gazed at your gentle smile as he held your hand, it was a tougher battle than that of a wax candle facing the sun. He was melting into a pitiful puddle as your very being formed him again, never to be the same as before.

One beautiful night, when the birds had gone to sleep, no expectations were laid forth, and no secrets were to be unveiled, Argenti took you by both hands, kissing each knuckle as if they would break if he put pressure on them. He spoke of you as if you were the one he had devoted his life to worshiping, his lips singing silent praises; perhaps it was a prayer, perhaps an apology. His eyes met yours, a nonverbal plea, and you leaned in, connecting your mouths in a passionate kiss, electricity coursing between each soft teeth clashing.

What an outstanding farewell kiss that was. The thought alone made you gulp down the lump growing in your throat. Argenti has to leave, or rather, ought to leave; otherwise, he's afraid he may decide to stay. He's certain your paths will cross one day; it's just the way of the world. Either way, he always finds himself drifting towards beauty. Behind him, he will leave a timeless tale of a wounded and repaired heart, as well as a dose of fate that makes no mistakes.

☆〜BLADE〜☆

The undying man who became a blade, a shell of a person, a mara-stricken monster with no hope for craved demise. His story is one of endless agony and misery. In this everlasting life, Blade's abilities are used in matters including bloodshed, spreading the pain he felt himself, and only then would he feel himself disappear, even for a moment. As bitter as that was, it was reality, his burden to bear. Blade didn't have "companionships" and never needed attachments. The closest he had to an acquaintance was Kafka, whose voice managed to calm the monsters who grew inside him relentlessly, and possibly Silver Wolf. However, he didn't understand her, nor did he wish to.

How you were able to capture his wounded heart remains a forever-unsolved mystery. He, of course, didn't decide one day that the way you laughed made him feel emotions so intense that he wondered if what he was feeling was some form of suffering he'd never experienced previously or that his intensified urge to protect you wasn't just due to the fact he was always nearby when danger struck, but because he genuinely cared. It was a lengthy process imbued with a myriad of understatements and denial. An "I love you" leaving his lips was as bizarre as the prospect of hell freezing over... yet when it did happen, you only wished to hear it again.

He frequently wonders why he finds himself faintly grinning primarily in your presence alone (and obviously during combat). When you resided in his vicinity, everyone could feel a shift in the atmosphere surrounding him, as well as a change in his usual behavior. It was almost comical to observe, especially to his fellow Stellaron Hunters, who never missed an opportunity to tease him. Nonetheless, love expressed by a presumably loveless man is as fascinating as it is arduous. Your existence was curative, helping him to rediscover parts of humanity he thought he had lost, yet healing is a part of him he has come to loathe with every fiber of his being. At one point, he distanced himself, as if limiting your healing influence on him was the sole thing that he could control about his 'condition'.

That didn't last long, and he scurried back to you like a moth to a flame. Blade didn't grasp the concept of physical touch as a kind of comfort; it never failed to remind him of how many times he had been hurt. You, once again, were the exception. Gentle arm touches, random lacing of fingers, your scent, and that insufferable (not really) look in your eyes whenever you stared at him drew him in. As much as he despised life, he did not detest the idea of living simply to be with you; that paradise that always seemed to be out of his reach, a mere push away, appeared to be standing right in front of him.

A minor brush of your body against his made you excited, but a kiss? It's overwhelming to even imagine. You'd have to initiate it, subtly steering the conversation to a topic where it wouldn't be too odd to inquire about moving to the next step in your relationship, acting as lovers. If Blade didn't wear a stoic expression on his face more than half the time, you could tell by his nervous swallowing that he would be at least blushing a little. He wasn't an adolescent, and he didn't think of a kiss as the grandest gesture of intimacy; nevertheless, that didn't free him of hesitations. Being vulnerable and helpless in the hands of another, all of his shortcomings could be easily revealed.

Kissing Blade had to come naturally when you were alone and indulging in small talk; there was no need for a perfectly timed gust of wind or a captivating blanket of stars above, just two imperfect people pouring all of their desires, yearning, and passion into a single imperfect kiss. Your lips met, linking your souls and creating a sensible spark deep within. There was no distance between you, and you were both entirely defenseless against the other's will. After you moved away, it was as if a thousand sentences were pulled from your mouths, yet no one spoke a word. With swollen lips, you were unable to resist a grin while Blade leaned in for another kiss.

lil ending note: hope you enjoyed! also, I have to mention that I know that both Kafka and Blade are Stellaron Hunters so the main problem portrayed in Kafka's part (the never being in one place too long) could potentially be brought up In Blade's part as well, but I decided that would be pretty repetitive so I wrote about Blade's history instead :D