#the theme is again. DISFUNCT.

[visceraspit]

i used to be like " why are the sims houses so mismatched these homes look so bad" but then i started looking at zillow and by god they're charging Above market value for this shit look at this garbage

and just for fun: what is this.

what. the fuck is this.

i dont even know where this is in its respective house i shit you not i have NO idea

[therealslimshakespeare]

Masters of the Air Fanfiction

Requested: yes…Virgin!Gale + Maureen/Gale bonding

Universe: Friends in the Crucible (pacific au)

Summary: “Get laid, Buck.” Doc Egan prescribed with his peculiar brand of deathly serious compassion, “Hell, I’ll write you a prescription for it, if it soothes your conscience, but I’m serious. Serve your jitters better than any syrette or Amphetamine.”

Warnings: all the sex! 18+.|| both tender and feral || Doc Egan being a unorthodox but loving menace, a theme of ptsd and body tremors/insomnia -poor Gale is going through it after a whole war, drug mentions, erectile disfunction, Maureen is aggressive but everything’s consensual, usage of the word “Jap”. Graphic descriptions of Gale’s virginity loss, male overstimulation and an amusing amount of thought given to Bucky’s existence during the act … im sure that won’t lead to anything when Maureen returns to base and reports to Egan about it, right? Hahaha of course not, that would be craaazy

Word count: 10k

“Buck, come on now, it’s not a prison sentence, it’s just a little time off.”

“I don’t need time off.” Gale reiterated, a panicked sort of fierceness creeping into his tone as his appeal now stretched into something longer than the usual flippant favors Egan was customarily so eager to dole out.

“Those hands suggest ya do.” John gave a not unkind glance of sympathy at the twitching fingers rattling on the armrests of Cleven’s chair.

12 rescue missions in 15 days. Flying upwards of ten hours each. He’d done worse before, but then again, that had been when he was fresh, younger, less banged up from the head hitting the cockpit wall.

“Sending me to go watch flamingos and contemplate sand or some shit isn’t gonna make me steadier.” Gale very much feared his gripes were beginning to sound like begs, “Don’t send me off like this. Don’t.”

“Petrified of flamingos?” John hummed, glancing down at his chart as if contemplating making a note of this new malady, “Maybe if your dad had taken you to a zoo once or twice as a kid you’d not be scared stiff of the prospect.”

Cleven stared back at him with the most hurt eyes John had ever seen. He balled his own fist up to remember the rightness of his point, even if he’d delivered it about as clumsily as a marriage proposal at a funeral. “The hell would you say something like that?” Buck whispered, not even angry, just utterly lost.

“Buck, I’m just sayin’ -inability to slow or be alone, it’s classic symptoms of battle fatigue.”

“I don’t wanna sit on a beach when I could be helping, I’m perfectly capable of still helping! You know it!”

“But you can’t sleep.” John circled back to where this all began, with Gale asking if there was anything to knock a fella out when 82 hours of insomnia wasn’t sufficiently exhausting.

“Give me something, you’re a doctor! Goddamnit, John!” Gale finally broke, voice raising and fists clenched.

“Surgeon, technically.” John gave him a wane smile, “And I can’t dope up an active pilot.”

“Just an active surgeon.” Gale sneered, tit for tat on the insults.

John nodded grimly but murmured, “The day Gale Cleven becomes John Egan is a day this whole operation can pack up and go home.”

“So you're being the better man,” Gale scoffed, “-sending me to watch flamingos.”

“I’m not givin’ you shit.“ he confirmed, “Unless it’s an assignment.”

“Will it keep me outta the flak asylum?”

“If you comply to all the regulations, maybe.” Egan shrugged.

“Go on?”

“Get laid, Buck.” his friend prescribed with his peculiar brand of deathly serious compassion, “Hell, I’ll write you a prescription for it, if it soothes your conscience, but I’m serious. Serve you better than any syrette or Amphetamine.”

“That’s your ultimatum?”

“No, no, my ultimatum is that you go on a little sabbatical with one of my nurses, she’ll keep an eye on you and you can make yourself useful, helping her unload heavy shit at the aid station they’re setting up at Peleliu. My recommendation is that when she comes into your room at the end of the day and drops her knickers, you lay back and think of Wyoming.”

Major Cleven had thought of a million and one ways to bribe or ally the prospective nurse to his side of the deal once he knew which unfortunate female Egan was going to pick for this deplorable detail. Calling his friend a pimp and a bastard had done little good, threatening malpractice and a hardness of heart towards Gale’s own principles -even less. So Gale figured when the time came he’d just gently turn the well meaning comfort gal away and maybe pay her off to lie that they’d done it: for his hand’s sake.

After all, if she was willing to do this, was she even a nurse or was she someone Bucky dressed up in Red Cross arm bands like some sleazy fantasy? Gale didn’t think any of the nurses he’d encountered would be willing to go along with such a sordid “assignment.” Sure, some of them were -carefree. Indulgent. Easy, as the men sometimes called them before getting a stinging cheek that proved them wrong. But they were a proud bunch and they had earned it.

Rolling a toothpick in his cheek, Buck pondered these things while sat on the bench of a Goony Bird waiting for his nurse to hop into the cargo hold with him and off they’d go to Pelilu. The situation was made worse by the suspense of who it might be and the insulting foreignness of being on a plane but not piloting. It made Gale feel an odd sort of feeling close to self pity that he hadn’t felt in ages, not since he was a kid and the nostalgia of it wrung him out of all energy. He made himself sit on that metal bench motionless as the heat index rose on the tarmac and made up a fun little game involving trying to see if he could get his hands to stop tremoring for five seconds straight.

So far he’d lost his own wager each time. He told himself if he could make it to five seconds then the nurse Bucky had sent would be a gray haired matron and this really was just a sabbatical to lift boxes and breathe ocean air and get Gale to laugh at himself.

Then Maureen Kendeigh climbed into the hold and squeezed past their cargo of medicine crates and plopped down right next to him, leg bumping his and breathing like a race horse. “I have jogged here the entire way from administration.” she wheezed, tugging at the collar of her shirt where her glistening throat was bobbing in thirst. “Sorry I’m so late, Major. Am I late?”

It could have been Bucky sat next to him: the choice of phrasing was so familiar, the damnable ability to force forgiveness for tardiness with a single smile so predictable. Gale found dread knotting his stomach at the realization it would be her, even as a warmth spread all over him at her sweet presence that had the odd effect of steadying his hands despite the panicked fuzz of his brain at her proximity.

Oh he didn’t want this. No, no, no. He’d like to think of Maureen very much apart, apart from anything but her heroism, not her wide spread stance on the bench beside him or the idea of her dropping her knickers and making him think of Wyoming. He preferred her very much not attainable in the deeper ways and very much not what he saw himself with when all this was over. Whatever she and Doc Egan had was between them and he’d held it up like a shield to keep himself in check, a boy's code of honor about not encroaching on his friend’s girl. Even if said friend didn’t have the decency to make said girl “his” girl.

But to have Maureen dished up to him on a platter by John when John must have suspected some of Gale’s appreciation for her professional merits -it was somehow worse than any dressed up floozy or the easy new intern. He’d not be able to pay Maureen off without insulting her. Or outing Egan’s intent. Maybe she didn’t know. What if Gale spilled the beans and she was as harmless as himself? What if—

“God, Major, did you sleep at all?” Maureen’s steady fingers were gripping his expressionless face and suddenly turned him towards her, one thumb swiping a tender crescent in his under eyes.

Gale’s eyes seemed to forget blinking was a thing, they grew wide and stayed wide at her inspection and the sandy wind blowing in from the tarmac stung at them as they dried out. “No,” he found his voice and it came out more winded than hers, “you’re not late.” he lied.

Once they get to the island, touchdown and unload, there’s then three hours of driving around the pitted old warzone to the aid station. There’s more foliage the more they go, less mortar pitted earth, but the increasing tropical paradise surroundings put Gale on edge. Maureen drives them to their unexplored destination as confident and recklessly as Bucky would, little surprise there. Gale can’t help glancing at her with unabashed amusement for the way she keeps her pistol propped on top of the steering wheel with one grip, facing out like a top turret for their hood, while keeping the map balanced on her thigh.

He cradles his own BAR with loose arms, ready to use it. Sure they secured the island months ago, but still, not infrequently some Jap comes out of his hiding hole, a cave, or whatever fucking tree he resides in and surrenders. Or, conversely, some of them have charged with guns blazing or sword drawn, deciding to go out and a bang of glory and take with them whichever hapless American happens to be nearby. That Emperor worship shit ain’t happening on on Gale’s watch, and so Maureen gets to drive -she didn’t have to beg like that, he was going to let her- and he shoulders the duty of keeping his eyes peeled for the next bush becoming animate and running at them, pulled pin grenade in hand.

“Some relaxation.” he jokes as their jeep lurches into another crater. If it’s not the bomb pits it’s the massive roots crawling over the smashed earth the Marine Corps call a road.

“It’s a reverse strategy!” she informs, grin wide as a shark’s and Gale could almost draw a little pencil mustache above that top lip and pretend it’s Bucky torturing him thus -hey, that might be a good mode of thought to keep everything strictly professional- “Like when nothing else works, you kick the broken thing.” Gale politely ignores the urge to argue about being broken, that’s not her point… he hopes, “You’re all shook up,” she goes on, voice raised to be heard over the rev of her driving, “and calm hasn’t worked, so why not shake you up worse?!”

He squints at her, fully aware he isn’t being chummy like she is trying to be, knowing he’s being a stick in the mud but he’s dying under the uncertainty, chafing under the pretense. Does she know? Or does she not? Five times today he’s resisted the urge to slap her chest like he would Demarco’s and ask her levelly, man to man, if she knows. “If this doesn’t work then what?” he asks anyway, sober as hell despite the comedic jostling and even Maureen’s joviality dims in the face of his dour mood.

“Then we’ll have to get real unorthodox.” she replies, allowing something close to annoyance at his attitude to seep into her own expression and Gale refuses to pull his eyes off her.

Do you know? He wants to ask.

“Stop scowling at me and watch for Japs.” she snaps at him so suddenly and so heated he genuinely spooks and turns his body back towards their horizon.

It’s worse than he thought. Worse than he imagined on the times he lost the bet with his hands and let his mind go somewhere besides a practical joke from Bucky and a gray haired spinster nurse as his companion. The aid station is on the edge of the new camp, far off enough to be genuinely secluded from both sights and smells of the navy station. It’s a tiki hut, thatched roof and swinging mesh door and lovely little veranda and palm trees and waves lapping up the back steps.

It looks like the sorta place people advertise for honeymoons and Gale stares at it with a 100 yard stare once Maureen grinds the gears to park.

“Jesus.” he knows his mouth is curling in disgust and beside him Maureen huffs in disgust with him.

She jumps out of her side of the jeep, not a shred of amusement left on her face. Gale sits and stares and listens to the roar of surf and the clinking of the cooling engine.

“Not bad.” she grunts under the burden of a crate which Gale should be lifting if he could just make his legs work and his mind obey. “But I bet it’s gonna be a bitch to keep the gnats out though, so much foliage around.”

Her hips sway like a tantalizing pendulum when she jogs up the bungalow stairs, her waist somehow accentuated by the way her arms are lifted to keep the crate hoisted on her strong shoulder and Gale has the perfect seat to watch it. How did he never notice the lines on her before she was doing hard labor? Then he recalls, she’s mostly been in flight suits around him, he’s never seen her paired down to collared shirts and belted pants. How’d he never notice the lines on that gi-

“Don’t make me drive this thing in the surf to wake you up.” her slap on his listless forearm rouses him to realize she’s back out at the jeep, standing beside him looking at him as he sits here catatonic like the mental case he’s showing symptoms of being. “And take your jacket off, you’re gonna get overheated being so formal.”

“Are you in on it?” he snaps suddenly as she grins at him over his first crate. He can’t tell if she’s mocking him or not but he’s damn tired of it.

“In on what?” Her face falls.

He can’t do it. He just can’t do it and he hates himself for being such a coward. “This.” he chooses vagueness and it tastes foreign and awful on his tongue.

“It’s a week out of the cockpit in paradise, Cleven,” Maureen’s own expression holds back no disdain for his pissy attitude, “man the hell up.”

What Maureen, Gale and five other technicians had loaded into the jeep and it’s buggy in the course of two hours, takes the mere two of them close to four to unload. And that’s even with Gale keeping a rapid pace to his work like a sweating maniac, feverishly wanting to stop thinking for once. His jacket and shirt are thrown over the chairs that are actually provided as furniture in the place and Maureen’s tie lays discarded on the accompanying desk. The rooms are bare but there’s two beds in the bedroom with crisp sheets that have only a bit of pollen dusting them and there’s a desk, as mentioned, three chairs in the main room and Maureen insists they can use crates for a table.

The back room is for the actual medical aid, and Maureen insists nothing gets moved into it until she can sanitize the whole place. So they stack the boxes in the main room and in the bedroom and when the sun gets lower they’re relieved to find there’s some dubious provisions for electricity in the place.

“I can get it to work.” Gale decides as Maureen tries flicking the light switch ten times as if to see if the bare bulb will grow a will of its own and turn on for her. It reminds him so much of Bucky’s brand of idiocy that Gale almost forgets himself and reaches out to swat her hand away from the futile flicking.

“Ok, then you do that while I keep unloading.” she insists, “Won’t be able to do anything if it’s pitch dark in here.”

So Gale drags a chair over and begins to fiddle with the wires tacked to the ceiling, risking electrocution so Maureen Kendeigh can see her way around as she tromps past him again and again in the same path with yet another crate.

He’s good with his hands. Excellent, in fact, judging by how one bulb flickers then stays steady, then another and another until the inside of the bungalow is aglow with cozy light: enough light for Maureen to appreciate his sweat soaked singlet and the way it rides up his belly when his arms are up and how it’s bright enough for her to scrub the exam room effectively when laying in a room with an insomniatic Gale Cleven gets to her at 3:00 am.

As it surely will. God! -the man is as impossible as he is beautiful, and while she doubted she’d manage it with him before, the sheer amount of fury she feels towards him right now leaves no doubt. She’ll shake him up. Like a Fuckin’ Martini. And he doesn’t have to like it, probably won’t, but they’ll both feel better after. “In on it” -he’s got the gall to ask but not the balls to spell it out, she can’t abide a quasi gentleman and so far Gale Cleven’s been nothing but the genuine article. Until now, now when he can’t accept certain human things about himself like fatigue or attraction, and he takes it out on her with a sullenness belonging to a much older man.

Maureen’s fine with that, she thinks as ogles the glowing golden skin of his sheened shoulders on one of her passes with a crate, she can take her mad out on him, too. And she’s got a lot of it. More than John Egan was ever able to lick away.

By 15:00, and some change to the second hand, Gale Cleven was still awake. Little surprise there, not to him, but even though it didn’t matter he found himself thoroughly annoyed and taking it out with a lethal glare at the vague gray ceiling, lit by a massive moon over the ocean. Wire and chairs but no curtains -an oversight about the furnishings. It wouldn’t have mattered, he knew that, and still the racket Maureen was making put his teeth on edge. It wasn’t Benny’s snoring or John’s drunken mumbling but it was a consistent *swoosh, swish* of industry that had Gale feeling a mixture of guilt and determination to keep lying here while she scrubbed.

It had not occurred to him she might’ve needed this break, too. Such as it was, effective as it was not proving. He knew she’d seen some combat in the beginning at Manila, maybe even worse than Iwo but long hours doing what she was doing now, where she was doing it, was no joke.

The urge to get up and help her was strong but then, so was the crippling fear of being around her in the dead of night and inviting any more of the bossy familiarity she’d tucked him into bed with. A magnesium capsule! She’d made him take three of the maternity horse pills and told him to calm the hell down as if he didn't have ample reason to be on edge with her laying a foot away on another bed, stripped down to her cotton slip. Of course Gale would cite war horrors if anyone asked why he couldn’t sleep but to be frank, he wasn’t sure why he wasn’t managing it these days and it had started awhile ago. Before Maureen Kendeigh glowed sweaty and luminous in the moonlight while gripping his cheeks and puckering his protesting mouth and plopping pills on his lolling tongue.

Thinking of it made his face flame with embarrassment for such a childish resistance. But god, her nursley familiarity sent a cross signal to his brain each time she helped herself to his flesh and no amount of berating himself while sweating in these rough sheets could dislodge the reaction. Closer to fifteen hundred than was remotely chivalrous, Gale threw off his sweat soaked bedding and tromped into the glow of light outside their bedroom, shuffling blearily into the little exam room. He faltered for a brief ten seconds at the doorway watching her undulating movements with sponge in hand and knees on the floor, white slip clinging like a second skin from the sweat.

He felt the sudden medical urge to lick her like the cattle back home lick at the salt block, a strange way of quenching thirst. Was ninety two hours without sleep considered genuine grounds for insanity? He felt like maybe he should be keeping a diary of these fevered thoughts to report back to John and see if he needed to get turned in. This wasn’t horniness, this was salt cravings. Yeah, yeah that’s what it was.

“You hypocrite.” he felt emboldened to tease and his voice came out rough and lower than even he expected, the disuse of laying there for ages taking a toll.

Maureen looked up like she’d been spooked herself, a slip and stall of her scrubbing, hair hanging about her face so unprofessionally he realized he’d never seen it in such…disarray. “Oh, the baby’s awake.” she grinned back and he felt an indulgence settle in his gut for her he didn’t know existed, “I see my magnesium capsules were a cure all.”

“Oh yeah, knock a horse out.” he agreed derisively.

“Your eyes are droopier.” she found a silver lining and as if reminded of the grit in them, his large fists came up and rubbed them meanly.

Like a little boy, she thought, watching him in the harsh light of the bare bulb, warm wood all around him the same color as all that sweaty skin and those skivvies hanging onto the lithest set of hips she may have ever seen. Looked as if one deep breath of that lean belly and the fabric would be goners, slipping down to the floor dramatically like a woman’s pantyhose in those unfortunate comics where that’s always occurring just when she wants to cross a busy street. Maybe if she could make him belly laugh-

She wished she knew how. She wondered if he knew how.

“Got another Sponge?” he asked and she was reminded why she liked him so much.

“Top crate, there, left, there that one.” She directed him with jerks of her chin until he was at the right one, “I’m using antiseptic.” she warned.

“I know,” he answered, dropping to his knees beside her and making use of her bucket to dunk his sponge, “smell’s been givin’ me a headache.”

Maureen’s mouth twitched at his tired grumpiness, more endearing now he was still putting effort into being near the caustic shit and the way his golden hair flopped on his forehead with his scrubbing movements. If his hips were that fluid, that rhythmic in cleaning a floor, how much more could she teach him to be—“Yeah, I’m sure it’s the anti-septic giving you a headache.” she snarked.

They ate sandwiches he’d gotten from the navy camp’s mess on the back porch, letting the sea water lap at their feet. A little stale but it was a much needed breakfast and Gale brought fresh water back, too, and a report that they were nice fellas and entirely too undressed for her to ever go see. That suited her fine, they’d be a pest if they knew a woman was up here and personally speaking she only needed one man for company, crate lifting, and doing the job well. And she rather had her heart set on it being Gale Cleven. Especially now she got to stare at him under the bright morning sun with a tropical breeze and more skin on display than at a swimsuit contest. He’d put on a singlet, as if to mark that a day had begun even if they hadn’t slept the night, but that was promptly sweat soaked and tiny nipples were pebbling under it from the breeze.

“Did they ask if a nurse came with you?” she pressed him between bites.

“Yeah.” he swallowed his bite thickly and licked at the mayo collecting at the corner of his mouth with typical precision, “And I lied.”

“Well, well,” she cooed, making him roll his eyes, “how’d that feel?”

“I have lied before.” he balked.

The look he gave her was both thunderous and remincent and she repented that line of questioning, used to distinguishing in her patients whether a wound was from wartime or stemmed from childhood. “Well who’d you say came with?” she asked.

“A technician.” he mumbled, blushing for some reason.

“Mm, someone nice and hairy and stinky-“

“Stop.” he begged.

“-not anyone they’d wanna meet.”

“I did it for you!”

“-if that makes you sleep at night, Cleven.” she humored him and like lightning, the back of his hand had flicked out and thumped her on the sternum, hard.

“Shit!” Maureen clutched the place, more in surprise than pain although he’d walloped her good and well.

“Shit!” He parroted in mortification, holding his hand like it was an offensive weapon.

“What was that for?” she laughed, “Do I remind you that much of Benny? Are you missing him that bad? Is that who you pretended was with you up here? Huh? Huh? Benny Demarco, now that’s a beauty to hide under a bushel-“

She was crowding him in on the steps and he was teetering towards falling off, too alarmed at his own outburst to trust his instincts now to shove her off without causing harm -and she knew it. She pressed her advantage and crawled over him with her teasing comments about Demarco until his long body had bowed so far away from her’s it was levitating and then toppled predictably into the surf.

“Fuck it’s cold!” he wheezed out as the embrace of the old pacific drenched him and rolled him about at her feet for a few delightful moments before he got his footing and rose, shaking his hair out of his eyes and grabbing for the steps.

“Sea bathing was in doctor Egan’s regimen.” she informed remorselessly before extending a merciful hand to help him up. He was slippery and shiny as an eel coming up and the grip of his hand was as strong as she expected. And still she found it intoxicating, the duality of him as he stood there pouting and bitchy over being cooled off. “Stay right there baby, I’ll get you a towel.” she patted his chest, right where he’d smacked hers, and went inside.

“I’m not your baby.” She heard him holler to her through the door-less porch. “I’m not your baby.” he reiterated vehemently but lower again when she came out with the towel.

“Yes you are.” she argued, “For this week you’re my baby, whether that’s a literal infant or not is your choice -and don’t start arguing, you’ve got to stop it, no one’s making you do a damn thing.” she insisted, hand raised and his mouth closed satisfyingly as a result, “You’ll be my baby. I know you already had a baby, no? Our baby? Shared her with ten other men, that’s generous of you-“

“-Ensign!-“

“-so I’m not gonna be your baby. You’ll be mine and you can find me something to be for the week.” she watched closely as recognition of her logic began to dawn and settle on him, “I could be anyone. I could be Benny Demarco, for instance. If that’s who you wanna lay next to.”

Gale didn’t speak for a long while, eyes off to the side watching the surf lap at the steps and she was still standing there, holding his unused towel. “Who do you want me to be?” he asked finally and his grave perception just about winded her in its raw honesty.

“You.” she replied honestly, “Whichever version of you made it here with me.”

“An infant -a baby.” he scoffed and she was suspicious those eyes were watery. And too delayed for it to be from the salt.

“My baby.” she replied, “Never had one before.”

“With respect ma’am, that’s Bullshit.” he argued in a fierce hiss, “I know you have, with John and -and-“

“I’ve been somebody’s,” she clarified, “but I think I’ve grown out of that. You’ll be my baby, huh? It’s not marriage, Cleven, it’s a week in paradise and hopefully some shut eye, too. So do you want me to be Benny?”

Those watery eyes let one single tear go trickling down his pink cheek alongside the rivulets of ocean water dripping from his hair and Maureen had never felt a single thing heat her up quite like it. “No,” his chuckle was thick and he sniffed, “not Benny. Maybe uh, God, I dunno, I’ve never had anyone.”

“Then we can make it up entirely.” she was pleased by the idea of not being a stand-in, although god knows she and John could sympathize more about the need for that than anyone. “We’ll be castaways.” she suggested, sitting back down on the porch now the confrontation was dwindling and in full confirmation of her suspicions, he sat again beside her without fuss.

“Marooned.” he disagreed, chin resting on his hands and a boyish tug pulling up the corner of his lips. “Something insane you did landed us here.”

“Mm, took liberties with the captain's daughter, perhaps?” she teased, daring to run a finger along those golden shoulders and collect a few salt drops. He shuddered under her but stayed put.

“I’m not playing fair maiden for you.” he retorted but his eyes were fond.

“Mm, I’ll believe it when I see it.” Maureen was still impossible and Gale felt his gut burn in a bizzare sort of drive to prove her wrong. He’d hardly ever felt this even with all the jokes from the boys, not even with all the temptations from the girls, it just hadn’t seemed something that needed proving. Every flea and salmon could do it, he never doubted when he got married he could manage it credibly enough.

“Mr. and Mrs. Jones.” his voice sounded like he’d come to a decision and Maureen squinted at his profile until it clicked.

“I’ve never been married before.” she observed breezily.

“And I never planned on being married for just a week.” he replied.

“Isn’t there a film about this?” she asked, “Cary Grant gets stuck on an island and he marries his castaway but then they get rescued and there’s a first wife?”

“Yeah, I think so, actually.” he thumbed at his bottom lip in contemplation and Maureen found it endlessly distracting, along with the bird song and the ocean crash and the sunshine.

“Mr. and Mrs. Jones.” she agreed then, settling back on her elbows to stare up at the sun and let it add a few freckles, “And when it’s over and you’re rescued, I’ll be the better woman and let Our Baby have you.”

“You’ll always be the best of women, Maureen.” he sounded like the admittance took every fiber of his resolve to say, but she’d heard it before in his voice weeks ago when she was patching him up.

If a tear slipped out the corner of her shut eyes and down a sun warmed cheek, she wasn’t going to make a deal of it, not until she felt his finger catch it tenderly before it dropped from her jaw and rolled it back up.

She felt her lip wobble traitorously and perhaps there were more tears planning to follow and betray her but the shivering shock of his full lips, pressed to her bare shoulder, stemmed the flood. Maureen held her breath and kept her eyelids sealed, an orange glow of sunshine behind them as all her senses attuned to the drag of his caresses up to the juncture of her shoulder, the press of his body next to her on the porch boards, the suspenseful absence of his hands. They were soft as marshmallows, those lips, and a stray tip of his tongue caught her clavicle as he worked his way up a path that almost seemed premeditated, as if he’d thought of doing this a million times but held back. Now he allowed himself and the assured intimacy of his mouth made her body heat soar almost beyond her endurance as he crept up her throat and onto her cheek.

A kitten lick to that tear track down her cheek and Maureen was whimpering from something else entirely, breaking ranks and turning her head to gaze at him, nearly stunned by how close he was, how alive, how beautiful, how blue. There were his hands now, one propped beneath her shoulder, the other cupping her cheek. Her lips were tingling with anticipation by the time he’d lowered his face far enough and brushed her mouth with his.

Maybe he’d done his fair share of kissing the girls back home goodbye, or maybe it was a talent given along with this impossible lips, or perhaps she’d wanted it so long that the final having of it sent Maureen spiraling with something oddly like obsession.

Kissing was enough for the longest time, the shore sounds and the squawking of ocean birds and the feel of Gale Cleven laying more and more atop her as his tongue met hers and danced. She scratched the back of that tanned neck like she dreamed of doing a dozen times, little scritches to his hairline that had him sagging against her kisses to the point of crushing.

She allowed herself the liberty of running her hands along his lean sides, taking in the graceful taper of his waist, the dip of his back, the sopping wet waistband of his briefs. She wondered if this is how men feel with a young girl, when there’s so much loveliness one wants to maul it and mark it and watch it respond. Anything to make him moan again into her mouth, wrenched and helpless and appreciative of her all at once, anything for him to hump his hips against her thigh in a manner so mindless he didn’t seem himself at all.

When he pulled away, dazed and winded from his own exertions, he seemed to have left behind all his inhibitions, stark need written on his face and only some doubt of what he was allowed yet remaining. “Are we gonna?-“ he trailed off, raspy voiced and trembling with suspense.

“Going to what?” she couldn’t abide it any longer, his demureness, “Say your mind, Cleven.”

“Do it.” he let out with a wince.

“Well I don’t know, Mr. Jones, you tell me. Are we gonna?”

Gale huffed and threw his head back, trying to regain some sense of mind, lip savagely pulled between his teeth. “Yeah. We are.” he decided.

“Then finish your sandwich.” she patted his waist and pushed him off.

“I can’t!” he begged with a groan from where he’d spilled out on the porch like a boneless dummy. “Not now.”

“You’re gonna need it, the water too, trust me on this.”

“Are we gonna -make love? Or go for a forced march?” he protested but lifted the canteen to his lips anyways when she gave him a look and proceeded to drink it dry.

“How would you know the difference?” she teased and he had the good humor to roll his eyes. If all went according to Egan’s plan, they oughta hibernate for twelve hours of sleep afterwards and she wanted him hydrated and ready for that. Maureen had a plan of her own, which certainly might lead to such a sleep, but it also involved not getting off that boy for love of God or money until he was as useless as a wet rag and the impertinent gnawing between her own legs was replaced by a good ache.

Cleven was staring at his sandwich remorsefully, “I can’t get this down, Maureen.” he declared with sudden finality and then, without preamble he threw it into the sea. “C’mon, Mrs Jones.” he held out his hand for her as he stood up, something close to an excited grin taking over his face.

He was so confident now, having come to a decision, and Maureen found herself naturally bending to his direction, placing her hand in his large palm and allowing him to haul her to her feet as gently as a dance partner. “We’ve got a bed.” she reminded blissfully into another kiss, anchored to his face by the persistent hands snarled lovingly into her salt tousled curls: this hair Maureen, this hair drove me mad.

“And we’re gonna use it.” he agreed, walking her backwards up the porch until he feet were skidding over the threshold, his tongue still sucking her own.

She stopped him there with a hand to the willowy plane of his belly, a regulated, principled woman to the last, and snapped the still soaked waistband of his drawers. “Off, you’ll make the sheets wet and sandy.”

Their sweat would accomplish dampening them enough in this muggy heat, they didn’t need sand and ocean water to boot. Maureen ducked beneath his arm and went back out to grab the discarded towel.

“I don’t want a trail of drips on our clean floor.”

Gale smiled softly at the usage of “our” -it felt right somehow, to share things with her. They’d been at it for some time, it came naturally like it had with Bucky and the few other boys who he knew would be something special and unlike anything else after this. It was a little bittersweet to know he was living the best days of his life, right here and now, enviable, irretrievable moments of raw connection slipping away with each drip, drip, drip onto the threshold. It was a heartache in the making and it was a spur for the moment. Back home they’d never understand, and any old observer would see nothing unique, but Gale could allow himself the rightness of sharing just one more thing. Why not cement it fully, irrevocably, as the closest brush he’d ever come to with another soul- he’d asked himself the same with Bucky, knew it was already an established fact.

Maureen’s lips were warm where they pressed to his back, the space between his shoulders, towel held to his waist. “You’re not shy of me, are ya, baby?” she whispered in his ear, thumbing at the still worn briefs.

He could feel himself this past hour hardening and softening, so many times in the space of so many minutes he was dizzy with it, the way his brain would have the upper hand and then, suddenly no, it all rushed south. Which now left shyness as the only real excuse for the way he burned and shrank and burned and shrank in turn at each of her touches.

“You gonna give me the towel?” he asked instead.

“Once it’s safe to do so.” she replied primly, in her familiar nursing voice, and he hated the shudder that tore through him. She stepped under his arm again, around him and into the house, and stood in the shade of the it with the towel spread invitingly, tauntingly. A whole yard and a half between then and she’d decreed no drips past the threshold. Gale’s cheeks burned as did his eyes, smarting with brimming tears from an odd frustration he’d only ever felt over a botched mission, an anger at not being able to bomb his target and make it worthwhile, a petty frustration he always felt before the cold rage of lost men fully registered.

Futile tears: Gale yanked the skivvies down and stepped out of them efficiently.

Maureen wasn’t smiling at him from the shade anymore, not even a smirk, she looked hungry. She looked like Bucky, taking in “a view.” Gale didn’t know ladies ticked that way -or maybe they didn’t, maybe only Maureen did. The blush in his cheeks ran down his chest and spilled onto his belly and his fists clenched without thought.

“When the man of the house,” Maureen was reciting some inane pamphlet she no doubt did not heed or else they’d never be here, “respects the whims of the lady in small matters, he will find the lady more submissive to issues of larger stake such a-“

Gale made a dash at her, to shut her up, and she fled from him to the bedroom, feet smacking on the hardwood and cotton slip fluttering up her thighs -his towel with her.

“I want you bare.” he told her when he had her, struggling in his arms before the bed, a lush friction where he pressed tightly behind her.

“Then sit,” she sounded genuinely breathy, trapped to him and he had never heard her like that before, it made him want to hold fast, “and I’ll make your dreams come true.”

It was just a slip, no garters and no braisere or girdle, yet still Gale sat himself on the bed and Maureen bit her cheek to keep from laughing at the modest way he deposited the towel on his lap, covering what she’d been eyeing and thanking her luck for. A cock as pretty as his face -now if she could just make it stand up fully.

“You ready?” she deferred to him as she stood there before the bed, being looked on with all the reverence and trepidation of a goddess by this seated acolyte.

“Please,” he nodded furiously, “please show me.”

It felt a little wrong to expose oneself in front of such an angelic being, curtainless windows throwing in the sun on him all golden and untouched, white scratchy sheets and white draped towel making it a bower of innocence for a brief moment. It also felt right, to throw off everything but what they’d been born with. Off went rank, obligations and expectations, as easily as dragging the slip over her head.

She tossed the article of clothing behind her for good measure -and dramatic effect- then noted with satisfaction the bleary eyed comprehension of her charms from Gale Cleven where he sat with his mouth hung so slack he was liable to drool.

“Incredible.” he muttered, husky and a little slurred, his hand raising without his own volition to beckon her closer, a plea, command.

Maureen swayed on her feet, nearer and nearer until she was standing above him, between his parted legs and she shuddered as he laid that broad palm on her hip and dragged it up her side in an admiring swath, thumbing at her belly and catching her ribs in his hold.

“Those flight suits of yours, they don’t…they don’t let show the half of it.” Gale declared, mesmerized, face hovering closer and closer until his lips were pressing against her flesh, right under her sternum, his forehead pressed to the underside of one pendulous breast, nuzzling as he became aware of that, bunting like a calf at her breast with his face, gone silly with access.

“Whadda ya think?” she giggled, the silliness of Gale Cleven gone stupid over making yams jiggle being the exact sort of thing that made life worth living, and being a woman exquisitely satisfying.

“They’re so goddamn soft.” he moaned around a bit of the underside, still hadn’t worked his way to a nipple. He seemed too preoccupied with their give and bounce to make a more calculated use of them. Maybe if men hadn’t been told what to do with them, they’d do what Gale Cleven was doing and rub their face against them and let them rest on their foreheads. There was a charm to this ignorance as he licked the salty sweat from their undersides with a surprisingly brave tongue.

The clumsy misuse was oddly effective for Maureen, what Gale lacked in skill he made up for in unstudied appreciation and nothing got her quite so ready as being appreciated to the point of foolishness. Her first conquest had been a boy at school who hadn’t minded tripping in his track shoes, day after day, to try to catch up to her on her bicycle, just to give her a flower or trinket. He was laughed at for his devotion until he broke the school track record next year, and Maureen was sure to remind him of her role in his success. They’d soon found a mutually beneficial reward system and Maureen had adopted that attitude as a maxim for the future, her dates and conquests may have been many but each of them in their own way had been appreciative -or else she was jumping out the window, damn the twelve foot drop out the dormitory.

No one, however, had looked quite so gifted by her mere existence as Gale Cleven did while he clutched at her hips and smushed her flesh between his hands like it were some fine dough and he was an artisan.

Discreetly, and it was easy to be so with his face buried in her bosoms, Maureen glanced between them at the tool she had such hopes for and found it, unsurprisingly, twitching and dribbling against his thigh, half hard but flapping about like a fish on dry land, the discarded towel no match for its movement. He’d need a hand, literally and metaphorically, and as she raked her nails through his blond curls and directed his slick mouth to a nipple, she felt him sag even further into her hold. Maureen weighed her next step carefully, trying to tamp down her own wants. She’d need to be sure but slow, careful not to spook him, or antagonize or embarrass.

She wondered if he even realized the same banged-up-head condition that sent him out here was most likely responsible for the jitters that kept him flopping. She wasn’t so conceited as to assume he’d not bedded a woman yet out of mere dysfunction, Cleven was a man of principle and strict notions regarding how the world should be, and he wasn’t one to build those notions on passing medical conditions.

“You like ‘em?” Maureen teased him, shocked at how hoarse her own voice had gone in the interim.

“Gonna make a home in here.” he mumbled in the affirmative, slack grin molded to the valley between them, blue eyes wide as the skies outside peering up at her.

“Got a job for you, baby.” she murmured, thumbing at the scar on his cheek.

“What’s that Mrs. Jones?” his voice alone made her mad with need, as did the saucy turn of his mouth so wonderfully foreign she didn’t know how she’d control herself until he was ready.

“Need you to lick a little landing strip, right here.” she ran her finger along the somewhat tacky skin between her breasts, sweat and his sloppy kisses having partway done the job already.

“What for?” Gale asked, hushed and curious.

“You’ll see soon enough.” she recalled how effective her nursing voice had been on him, and pulled it out now it seemed beneficial.

She had been right, with only a hesitant spark of aggravated defiance, Gale dipped his head and stuck out that pink tongue, lapping a swath up between her breasts as directed, flaming eyes locked on hers as she shivered from the breeze on spit slicked flesh.

“Again.” she told him, and his hands came up to hold her breasts apart as he did it again, and again and once more under his own direction until it was shiny and messy and his nose was gleaming, too.

“What’s it for?” He demanded once more, pink cheeked and swallowing hard as his mouth had dried out from his efforts.

“I told you, silly,” she replied casually, “it’s a landing strip.” and with as little fuss as possible she got to her knees before he’d registered the absence of her standing above him. “Gale, let go of the damned towel.”

She held in a laugh of delight at the tortured color he had grown to, veins running like so much ivy up and down him and a vibrant pink tip that matched his lips. Maureen wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to look him in the face again without thinking of this drizzling little pink mushroom.

“You oughta count your blessings, Gale Cleven, it was a close call, my coming along at all.” she informed him soberly while his mind visibly vacated his body at the repeated sighting of his sputtering cock emerging from between the pillowy press of her breasts, “It was pretty touch and go there for a bit, I was quite sure in fact, that Bucky was gonna help himself to this assignment.”

“Maureen!” Gale thundered, except his usual imposing ire was much diluted by his quivering belly and hoarse voice.

“What?” she brushed off his scandalized displeasure with a grin, feeling cocky herself as he hadn’t flagged on her in minutes and was beginning to gush in earnest, “Bucky loves the beach.”

“Sure, Maureen.”

“In the end he decided I had what it takes.” she went on conversationally, ignoring the inhuman sounds that came out of him when she casually spit on his tip, the better to work her lips around him, “These.” she clarified, pressing her breasts to his thighs as she wrapped her mouth around him and sucked.

“Fuck, hell, Maureen! Sorry, sorry, oh fuck!” -not even Gale Cleven had expected his hips to fly up that hard and fast, knocking on the back of her throat.

She laid her hands on his squirmy hips and did her best impression of a Listerine gargle round his tip, which sent a shudder through him so strong she thought he might’ve climaxed already.

“Maureen, Maureen come on, get up here, please.” now he yanked at her hair, desperate for once and that was a pleasure to hear.

“What baby?” she pulled off him.

“Gotta kiss you.” he told her firmly, and hauled her bodily up by her armpits, rolling her under him in the bed.

Kisses -sure, Gale, kisses.

He was moaning atop her, wiry and flexing his hips against her, wriggling to get between her thighs and she let him, hungry and expectant when he slotted easily in place. He pressed his lips to hers ardently, then reared back in shock at the taste of his own precum in her mouth and on her lips.

“Salty.” he whispered as if to himself before licking his lips and going back for more. “What do I need’to do?” he whispered urgently against her mouth as she rocked against him and he rocked back until they’d frustrated each other thoroughly with mere caresses.

“Put it in, my baby.” she whispered back.

“First though, don’t I need to-to do- something? Something first?” he could barely think straight but he’d heard enough talk about this, about gentlemen and the necessity of some form of chivalrous preparation. The way discipline and intuition set apart an average pilot from an excellent one. Bucky had talked a lot about getting girls ready, making them squirm, revving them up, for all his apparent disinterest during the topic, Gale had been listening.

“You’ve done it already, Mr. Jones.” she giggled, reaching between them to drag him more firmly through the wanton swamp he’d made of her. “I’m ready, I’m so ready.”

“Oh fuck, s’wet.” he mumbled the obvious before willingly letting her guide him in, his body following her tug like his cock were a leash.

“Jesus,— Gale!” Maureen choked as he bottomed out in a sudden plunge, shocked at the stretch despite the gauging of his size. “You’re so deep, oh baby you’re a big one aren't ya.”

“You ok?” he whimpered, shuddering on top of her again and again at the incomparable feeling of being inside another’s body.

“Oh yeah, yeah I’m fine,” she gasped, “Hurts so good, you can move, baby.”

“You’re so warm.” he sounded close to worshipful he was so drunk off her, and Maureen spared a moment to smirk at the fate of man: come tearing their way out of a woman to begin their lives only to spend the rest of it trying to and needing to get back in.

He did try to move, she’d give him that. And while Maureen was more than half expecting it, still, it was mildly comical to see the confusion flash across his blissful face right as the buildup was snatched from him and he was suddenly shaking into the real event before he knew it, betrayed and euphoric all at once. The muscles in his belly and back and neck seized and his hips lunged in a series of uncoordinated pumps and she could read the panic in his eyes right before they rolled back -a begrudging admittance that this was nothing at all like the steady predictability of his hand.

“That’s it baby, that’s my baby, feel nice, huh?”

Gale didn’t answer her, too occupied whimpering with a taut throat and jaw clenched so tight he could snap a hinge like that. He was shaking worse than before when the spasms subsided and the tiniest pressure to his sweat slicked neck had him buckling to lay pressed against her, half senseless from the force of his release.

Maureen had always loved this part of sex, the pliable, bewildered, smushed man atop her like she’d sucked his soul out, when he’d rendered it up to her so willingly, so desperately, forcefully even, chasing his own eventual weakness. Long limbs aligning on top of hers, the hot pants of winded breath against her breasts, the hands listlessly holding on wherever that had last tried to grip and control her. The view from above with Gale Cleven was something additional, beautiful and glistening with bronzed swaths of sun exposed skin and the pale whites of his thighs and ass making a perfect little outline of absent shorts, his golden hair tousled beyond salvaging and that luscious mouth, drooling like a babe’s.

“So this is what Bucky’s been talkin’ about.” he mumbled into her breast, cheek smashed and enunciation shot to hell.

Maureen laughed in disbelief, “Thinking of him even now? Really, he’s going to be impossible if we tell him.”

“Just sayin’, now I know.” he defended, lazily rubbing his partly softened cock inside her with a shimmy of his hips that was quickly followed by an overly sensitive mewl.

“You don’t know anything, Angel boy.” she insisted and Gale raised his head at that, sour that she’d still contradict him after thirty seconds of vigorous pumping. “Let me see your hands.”

He had some trouble recalling where he put them but eventually he found them under her hips and withdrew them from their warm shelter to present them, warily. “Well, damn.” he muttered to himself, somewhat shocked by just how badly the shakes had worsened. “Looks like that treatment backfired.”

“More of a dose dependent case, I’d say.” Maureen corrected and circled each wrist with her hands and brought them up to her lips to kiss.

Gale’s face smoothed at her softness and a shy smile lit up his bleary eyes while she felt a twitch of his spent cock deep inside her, swishing about the mess he’d made like a dog’s tail after getting pats. “You have the most beautiful hands.” she informed him earnestly and balls deep inside her she watched as one single innocuous compliment sent him scarlet with a blush. “And they’ll be yours again soon.” she promised.

His gentle expression and bright red cheeks crumpled rather suddenly and before either of them seemed to expect it, fat teardrops had escaped the blue of his eyes and rolled down the crimson flesh of his face.

“Goddamnit.” he cursed hoarsely, in an absolute rage at himself, regaining his hands from her grip insistently to bring them up to his own face, hiding from her behind harsh fists that rubbed at his wet eyes like he could grind the grief and weariness out between his knuckles.

Unbalanced as he was without hands to support him, and legs gone jellied from his fast fading pleasure, Maureen chose to capitalize on it as a nurse would a brief state of insensibility to move a patient to a cleaner cot. Remorselessly she pressed at his shoulder and lifted their still joined hips until he tipped over, rolling onto his back beneath her. “We’ll have none of that.” she told him with loving adamance from her new perch, prying his hands away and pressing them to the sheets beside his head. “The hiding, I mean.” she clarified and he looked all of hardly past twenty laying there with wobbly lips and wet eyes unobscured, “I’m a very great proponent of crying,” she went on conversationally which confused him more but kept him too preoccupied to stifle his tears, “De-sanguination is still a highly esteemed practice, you know, it means to drain the body. One type of draining often triggers the other.”

“You gonna start bleeding me?” he asked wryly.

“Oh, maybe, you’d look so pretty all streaked up.” she teased and ran a sharp thumbnail over his pinned wrist.

Well, that got him hard again. Fascinating.

“You know what’s got your hands like this-“ she whispered softly, “-probably the same reason you flop, too.”

“Huh.”

“Pretty common.” she assured.

“Quit tellin’ me I’m common.” He growled, tickling her sides and she grabbed his hands, pinning them again playfully.

“Nothing common about you, sweet baby.” she swore, leaning down to kiss him and enjoying the way he met her strongly, surely, “Gale, can I move?” she asked, half strangled by the taut string of need coiled in her belly, tugged to madness by the bulk of him still resting limply inside.

“Move?” he was perplexed.

“I’m going to die if I don’t get some friction.” she whispered, somehow shy to admit that in the face of his innocent bewilderment, “God -please tell me someone has informed you women finish, too?”

“Bucky says they clamp up so tight you can’t help but blow.” Gale recited dutifully, “Which is what just happened, right?”

Maureen grinned wide and wicked before dragging her hips up till he was barely in, then plopping down into the cradle of his hips, making him let out a “oomph.”

“Maureen?” he questioned, half knowing already he had been mistaken but hell, to go again? “Maureen- I’ll die if we go again.”

“What a way to go.” she muttered, her pace atop him increasing as did the tortured gasps tumbling from his lips. His spunk was making terribly wet, lewdly sloppy sounds of suction each time she slammed down on his cock and the visual of her exerting herself on top of him was something so blatant and jiggly he could hardly endure the visual feast of it.

“Shit, shit I can’t-“ he growled while his trembling hands latched onto her hips in a grip that was anything but dissuading. “Maureen.” he begged her for…he knew not what.

“Come on Mr. Jones,” she clasped her hands around his face and aligned their noses, rubbing like a kiss with each movement of her lower body, “you’re not one to leave your missus needy, I know you’re not. Not when you’ve got such pretty hands-“

-a shudder from him.

“and a clever tongue-“

-a whine from him that sounded close to a wounded dog’s it was so lasting.

“-or a tool this capable.”

“Maureen.” he groaned.

“Baby, my baby.” she begged, “You’ve got what I need, come on, take me apart.”

Like he trusted himself for the first time since they began this endeavor, she felt his body bow up beneath her, his arm flexing strongly across her hips, his legs braced beneath her and a heavy hand clutching her neck, then he was driving up into her with a wild abandon she only ever hoped was simmering beneath that cool exterior. When she finished he hadn’t stopped, and Maureen found herself crying out like a feral thing into the hollow of his clavicle as the brutal pummeling went on, satisfaction drug out of her over and over in harsh ruts.

“That more like it?” he panted the harsher he grew, a hand around her jaw pushing her face away from his so he might see the damage he was doing.

“Yes, yes oh baby, yes!” she swore through clenched teeth, it had been too long and each blissful peak only aggravated her further, made her hungrier, that and the fact he was so proportioned as to be a constant delight just shy of pain, “Hell Gale, do ya hear us?” she gloated, propping herself back on his thighs to watch the shiny pink of him flash in and out of her wet sheath.

Mesmerized, Gale didn’t reply, but he dragged a hand up her belly and felt for the way it tensed at each intrusion, the span of his fingers an incredible thing across her skin. “Can’t believe you can take it, easy as that.” he marveled, his thumb straying and pulling apart her petals the better to watch.

“Thumb it right there.” she directed gently, reaching down to move his calloused finger over her bud, right above where he split her apart, “That’s it, ya feel that too, huh?”

“Fuck you’re tight.” his voice cracked and his eyes shot wide again.

“Are you -?”

“Maybe.” there was a wobble of blissed uncertainty in his voice until she stopped her movements and he let out a sob before he could catch it. “Maureen, please.”

“Please what, baby?” she was chuckling at him, pushing his hair off his sweaty forehead, “I let you-“ he pleaded, still thinking things worked that way, “-now I need, please Maureen...”

“Oh you can.” she assured and his face lightened but his eyes stayed wary, “But just know, I won’t be stopping.”

“What?”

“You remember how that feels, don’t ya baby?” she reminded, gently pushing him to lie back and beginning their movements anew, “So good you can’t stand it, so messy and easy for me, so tender and much for you?”

“Jesus.” he wheezed, his lean belly caving in with his heavy pants, but she felt him throbbing inside her and his pupils were large as saucers, “You’re as mean as Bucky.” he whined, voice gone high in panicked pleasure.

“Thank you, but really I’m not.” she laughed, gently thumbing away an errant tear that rolled down his cheek. “Not quite.”

“Maureen, please, please you’re too pretty!” he begged nonsensically even as his hips began to snap into hers, invigorated and forceful.

“Hold it Gale, try to hold it.” Maureen gasped, staring down at the prettiest face she’d ever seen as his brow began to furrow, “Or don’t, all the same to me.”

“I’m gonna flip you.” he swore and a few seconds of inaction passed, marked by the slam of her hips down onto his, and she thought he didn’t mean it until she gave him a daring look and suddenly she was careening backwards, head jolting against the sheets and body laid out firmly beneath him.

“Goddamn.” she swore at the way he hadn’t dislodged an inch during the whole maneuver, suddenly pressed just as deeply as before, his hips working like a piston and his hands tight and strong on her neck. “Goddamn baby. Oh goddamn that’s good.”

“S’good?” he begged her to repeat, some dizzying natural force propelling him harder and faster and needier.

“You’re so good.” she was adamant as she hung about his neck and locked her ankles in the small of his back. “You’re so good I’m - I’m -gonna-“

“What was that about holdin’ it?” he hissed, smile cocky and smug.

“Bull ain’t out of the gate yet Cleven,” she cautioned but her hips had begun to lift of their own accord, a tremble taking hold of her, “But I’m close, I’m, i'm real cl- oh God!”

“Come on sweet Maureen, wanna make ya -wanna do it for ya. Give ya what you need, Mrs Jones.” Gale’s hoarse and sweet nothings poured hot and breathy in her ear and Maureen found herself locked and gripping him before she knew it, moaning into his neck as he moved in and out, in and out as she’d only ever dreamed of.

When she cracked her dazzled eyes open again he was panting above her, the clink of his dog tags gently bumping her chin with each sway deeper, lashes batting in a golden flutter as he too began to lose himself, slower, more drawn out and yet every bit as desperate as the first time.

“Look at me baby, look at me when ya do.” she pleaded, gently gripping his chin as his mouth fell open in a series of little noises of effort that went straight to her belly grown hot and molten with the feeling of him spurting inside.

“Ugh, ugh, ugh,” Gale was working atop her in pained delight, lips so smeared and face so sweaty he looked like he might melt at any minute, “thank you, oh fuck, thank you, sweet Maureen.” he chanted low and dreamy, again and again until he drove in once more and stayed.

Those clear blue eyes fagged in an exhausted ecstasy, his head dropping impossibly further with each ragged pant until his face was barely hovering over her breasts, neck bent and forhead slowly pressing into the swell of them. His forearms gave out and those hands of his stayed trapped beneath her shoulder blades.

“Sleep Angel baby,” Maureen coaxed, hand cradling the back of his dear head to her breasts, feeling a low lazy peace settle over her at the feel of his dead weight plugging her up and the lovely wringing out she’d just endured, “let’s just sleep, dear boy.”

Hope you enjoyed! Feedback is a writer’s lifeblood, please feel free to scream in comments or the inbox, I love it and wanna hear it all. Trust me, nothing is “too dumb”. Your thoughts mean the world to me.

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[wildissylupus]

My (hopefully) last complaint about Junkertown and the Junkers before my inevitable Re-write post

Junkers vs. MAD MAX

Alright I'm already on a roll with this and I've already committed myself to doing a rewrite of Junkertown and the Junkers, but I have one more thing to complain. That being the fact that they butcher the media they are referencing, that being Mad Max. For more context this is also coming form an Australian who has never watched these movies, this doesn't mean I didn't do my research, this is just to give context that I myself have never seen these movies.

If you don't know Mad Max is very much Australian media, written by, acted by, and taking place in Australia. Not only that but it very much relies on the world building of the fact that one, Australia is very isolated, and two, the rest of the world is like this. Something that Overwatch fails egregiously off the bat with considering that the rest of the world is not an apocalyptic wasteland and the fact that the thing that caused Junkertown and the radiation was an Omnium. You know, the thing that multiple countries had? There's also the fact that Junkrat and Roadhog are international criminals, how big Austraila is and the travel time between areas are never considered, it's exceedingly easy to leave the damn country (Junkrat and Roadhog again but also Hammond in his new short story). They want to be a Mad Max reference without actually considering the fact that the isolation inherent to Australia is important to Mad Max's setting.

There's also the fact that Mad Max relies heavily on visual story telling, Mad Max: Fury Road not even having a screenplay, it was fully laid out on storyboards. There's also the fact that Mad Max was not about the Australian experience but rather the human experience, this isn't a problem until you realize that every other characters references are very much biased off that characters origin. That or their place of origin is considered when writing them even if the reference for said character isn't from that country.

Another thing is that Mad Max communicates the brutality and disfunction of humanity, society has collapsed and we are left with the worst of it. The theming and messaging does not work with the rest of Overwatch's theming, it also doesn't make sense in universe considering that Overwatch was one, very environment focused, and two, was already sending forces to Australia to help with the consequences of radiation. Why did they let the Wasteland and Junkertown get so bad? Especially in the early Golden Age, and you can't say that it was because of the Junkers cause Overwatch have handled worse. Even before that point. We also have better examples of "the worst of humanity trope" with Talon, and they actually fit the story and world.

The theme they also completely miss in the soulless copy that is the Junkers is the individual connections and the theming or regaining humanity after great tragedy. In all honesty the best way they could have done this would have been to make Howl's rule itself the Mad Max Reference while Odessa's rule was the healing process from that, but no, they made her an overtaxing dictator instead. The gave the Junkers storyline the theme of desperation but no theme of hope, leaving it empty.

The only thing they unintentionally get right is that your environment doesn't necessarily change you, you do. Yes, a change of environment can assist in giving you space to make that change, but you are you no matter where you go. Junkrat and Roadhog don't change cause their out of Junkertown, they stay the exact same. Which is unfortunate because this is just due to them lacking any real depth in canon, an no, Junkrat actually being incredibly smart isn't character depth.

Back to the whole human connection thing, tell me, outside of fanon interpretation, out side of Junkrat's unreliable narration, outside of the interaction with characters he hasn't met in canon yet. Does anyone like Junkrat? Roadhog is there because Junkrat is paying him and because he seems board, the rest of Junkertown hates him, JQ especially. Roadhog doesn't seem to care about anyone, Junkerqueen's only true connection we see is with Hammond, and Hammond contiues to be my favoutite Junker by literally negating all the complaints about Junkertown I've had so far.

Honestly when I started looking at Junkertown lore I did not expect to be coming out saying that the fucking hamster was the best written character but here we are.

This is all also only referencing Mad Max: Fury Road by the way, which is probably what Junker Town is based off of considering its popularity and the time of release compared to Overwatch's. Honestly I might re-do this analysis/complaint if I ever watch the Mad Max series myself. Though I don't think my feelings will change of this, and that is the Junkers are an insult of a reference to MAD MAX. An empty copy at best. This is also coming from the person who often defends Overwatch's writing, I can't defend the Junkers, it's just bad writing.

[inari-zaheer]

requesting hcs of nebula pining over female reader please and thank you! set after gotg 3 and reader is one of the teachers who teaches the kids they saved from the high evolutionary

Nebula Pining Over Fem! Reader

Pairing:Nebula x Reader

Tw:Angst with a happy ending

—————————————

Ever since the events of the battle against the High Evolutionary, Nebula got way sadder than usual

Sure they saved a bunch of people and lots of civilizations, but right when she was getting used to her lil disfunctional family they decided that they needed some time apart of the group

She helped everywhere she could in Knowhere, from building stuff, to fixing equipment, till a day where Kraglin asked her if she could help with teaching the children the basics of self defense

It was definitely not what she was used to, but coming from a "family" of abuse she understood the importance of it

An that's when she met you!

As she was waiting for her class with the children start, she saw you on one of the windows of the building teaching the children how to comunicate with everyone

From that moment she felt weird, overwhelmed, it was a feeling that she never felt before, and the fact that she didn't knew what it was only made her upset

She was going to pretend that it was nothing, until a day when her session with the kids ended that you went to talk to her

You waited just so you could thank her for what she was doing with the children, because as they were learning your language they were able to tell the horrible things they suffered on the ship

It was a simple thank you, but that didn't help Nebula with her feelings, quite the opposite actually

But after the group kinda dissipated she had no one to talk to

Her sister was not the same she lived with before the battle with Thanos, Quil was back on Terra and the most important person who could maybe help her, Mantis, was somewhere in the space, and it was obvious that Rocket, Groot and Drax where out of question

Every day you would stay to watch the kids you quickly bonded to see their improvement (definitely not for the goddess of a woman who was teaching them that you were slowly caughting feelings for)

Geeting closer to her, telling how cool her abilities were, saying how one day you wanted to be as strong as her

And every day that passed she got more intrigued by her own feelings towards you

Until one day Kraglin was telling her about some movie tapes that Yondu had found for Peter but didn't had the opportunity to give them, so he asked if she could keep them safe on her room till he came back

She wasn't exactly the type to like music or this so called movies, but she was just so bored one day that, when she was sure no one would ever know, she put a movie on the device that Rocket had made for Peter if they ever found one of those

She did not knew or cared about the name of the movie in question, but one of the main themes that kept poping over and over again made her understand everything

It was love!

Oh fuck it was love

Those were her first thoughts when she realized it, immediately turning off the thing and throwing the tape as far as she could

She could not feel love for you, in her head love wasn’t meant for her, she wasn’t worthy of love

But then again, why would you love her? A killer, a destroyer, machine

And after that day, she was not the same again

She asked to change the day of the sessions just so she would not see you, avoided you everywhere in Knowhere, and asked everybody to tell people to just leave her alone

She kept pushing the feeling back, and one day she cried for the second time in her entire life for a person

But she underestimated you

One day you simply showed up at her door, and even when she pretended she was not there you just screamed that you were going to wait

Seeing you really weren’t gonna budge she opened the door for you and saw your state

You looked sad, tired and even a bit sick

She went to ask what did you wanted but was met with a "did i do something wrong?"

Of course she was not understanding, but you just asked why she started avoiding you out of nowhere, almost starting to cry

Then all of the conflicted feelings she was feeling immediately turned into guilt

How could she do something like this to you? To leave you in that state just cause she could not understand what was happening

Then she finally could not wait any longer and told you everything, how she felt about you, how she was scared of those feelings, and how she thought she did not deserve any of what you wanted to give her

You immediately told her that it didn't matter the stuff she had done, the past was in the past and she deserved someone to help her see that things could be great, that she deserved to feel love and be loved

She said she was not used to it, but asked if she could give you a hug

It was kinda akward, but you could see that this was definelly just the beginning of something special between the both of you

[chaotikanvas]

Hi, hi! Been a while since I last posted some writing huh? This is a small second part of the fic I wrote for @lavenoon 's wonderful Accidentally Undercover AU!

Slice of life kinda stuff has proven once again to be a challenge to write fkdjhgjh which is why between that and executive disfunction it took a while to get out, but now it's here and I hope you enjoy! Based on this post over here from a while ago! (Don't look if you want to go in completely blind XD)

Huge thanks to @zelda7999 and @lulu-lullabies who helped in the process, and also to @beps-brainrot for providing a fresh pair of eyes for a last revision!

Word count is around 12k!

(Also fair warning that there are some suggestive themes on this one, though I'm certain it doesn't go beyond any suggestiveness in the main fic! ^_^)

[derangedrhythms]

I now have Linda Sextons biography on my to-read list thankyou. Recs for psychologically intense novels or bios ? preferably with themes of madness.. mental disfunction.. I like reading about human nature and the strength of humanity, when your mind is being destructive over and over again .. a real battle..

The first book that comes to mind is 'An Unquiet Mind: A Memoir of Moods and Madness' by Kay Redfield Jamison.

'Girl, Interrupted' by Susanna Kaysen, 'One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest' by Ken Kesey, 'The Bell Jar' by Sylvia Plath and 'The Bird's Nest' by Shirley Jackson are all either set in psychiatric hospitals or have themes of mental illness/personality disorder.

'The Shrine of Jeffrey Dahmer' and 'Killing for Company: The Case of Dennis Nilsen' by Brian Masters are two biographies of men who had incredibly destructive minds and were overcome by their passions and compulsions. I highly recommend them if you're at all interested in this sort of thing, but the subject matter can be intense and may be too much for some people.

Some favourites:

'Steppenwolf' by Hermann Hesse is one of the novels I've personally found to be the most 'psychologically intense'.

'The Sea, the Sea' by Iris Murdoch for its themes of obsession and self-deception.

'The Blind Owl' by Sadegh/Sadeq Hedayat, a novella with themes of delirium, obsession, death, decay...all my favourite things.

I hope there's something there that you will enjoy.

[adventurous-adventures]

20 October 2024

Ha! I actually know the date for this one. Only because it was yesterday's session. Might be long so again, under the cut

Alex finally notices the pentagram on his DM screen (it has been 3 months)

Georgie points out Alex's NZ shirt which has an arrow pointing down to his crotch. (It's a dick joke)

"Is your penis New Zealand? Is your penis state highway 1?" - Zain

Raven gives Kallisto the dread helm, but keeps the gauntlets of Ogre power. (Can you imagine a short, blue, teenage barbarian full of rage with glowing red eyes?)

Raven's last name is now Kennedy (he keeps shooting at locks) (There was some confusion about if it was a JFK reference. It is not)

"Roughly bum-sized hole." - Alex

"Torture dungeon?" - Mick "No it's a BDSM cave." - Zain

Juniper founds some gnawed Dwarven bones and takes them. Then they find an amulet of the Dwarven god.

Raven finds a potion of superior healing in an unlocked coffer.

Coin clinking has made Alex's eye hurt.

"And you come to this-" Alex "Hehe cum." - Mick

"He was crucified, not hung." - Alex "WAS HE WELL HUNG FROM A ROPE?!" - Zain and Mick

Resurrectal disfunction

Zain makes the discovery that humans are just very sun resistant vampires.

"There'll be rocks in this room." - Alex

"We can't Last 2 minutes." - Georgie

"There's a rocky room." - Alex, moments before Zain starts singing the Rocky theme

Alex is WHEEZING

Zain threw Alex a SENZU BEAN!

"Flick the Senzu bean" - Zain

"He did better than Yajirobe." - Georgie

Raven found a very small cavern (2 foot wide). The party elects Kallisto to squeeze into the hole. (Sacrifice the child, we all say)

"It stinks." - Alex.

"Is it Rotorua?" - Georgie

Kallisto opened a door and may have triggered an encounter with some spiders.

Kallisto becomes blue(y) and avoids spiders. (She was always blue. Rhea was green, Iphigenia was gold, Kallisto)

The party splits into two groups: Juniper and Kallisto go through the hole again while Raven and Tweed go through a door further north. It's the room where they lasso'd the lever down to enter the abandoned keep.

The pair find themselves spiders in between a couple of pillars. These spiders are big.

Zain found a tik tok with the super 17 audio: "HA HAA NOBODY CAN BEAT ME WHEN I'M SUPER 17"

Tweed: Fuck. Raven: Is there any other word you know? Tweed: Fuck off.

Tweed and Juniper throw their daggers at the spiders.

"If Costco..." - Zain

KALLISTO CAN FAESTEP!

The spiders are kinky fucks.

A spider shoots white...web at Juniper.

Another spider suffers from projectile dysfunction.

Raven goes big. The spider is scared shirtless.

Another spider suffers from projectile dysfunction.

"The orgy that we never wanted." - Georgie

"You got them begging for state highway 1." - Zain

Juniper is JACKED and breaks out of the webbing.

Juniper wants to die really badly.

A-monk us

Zain throws Mick a SENZU BEAN

Tweed is being attacked from both sides.

Tweed is on that weave game. Tweave.

"I swear I'm trying not to get a toddler with a knife." - Alex

A spider tries to attack from Juniper. Mick just grins.

Tweed does an elbow drop on a spider.

Another spider is getting in on the spider gang attack on Juniper.

Juniper consents to the spider orgy.

"No fucking this time." - Alex

Raven tries to play hero and fight the spiders who are attacking Juniper.

Kallisto is raging thanks to puberty.

Live Tweed reaction: reflect attack

Tweed got critical twice.

Juniper is on death saves.

With a newfound determination to save Juniper, Raven killed 2 spiders brutally and bloody.

Georgie accidentally rolls a 10 on a d10. Georgie rerolls with a d8 and rolls an 8. (Context: attack with a dagger)

Mick is upset with a success on a death save.

Raven stabilizes Juniper, forcefully saving his comrade from death.

Kallisto ends the battle with brain damage.

We ended the session quite late.

Juniprotagonist.

[solardick]

What i do.

But this is hell.

And of course. The indian speaks english fluently. He had a thought one day. And when i said. “Well, how am i supposed to know? Half the time you’re being a fucken idiot.” He laughs. Other times. He doesnt want to inderstand.

Im already dead man. Wtf do j care. I can do all kinds of mean rwisted shit now. Because im not going to be alive much longer somthey eont be any consequences.

They ve been doing this to me simce i was a fucken child man. Dame fucken tactivs. If fact its has my brothers signiture all

Over it.

My noose is ready and lovked on my door. All i

Need is a push. Theyre fucken wi th y hormaines for fucks sake s

Lets go

Back home and think about my asshole cause its the only thin gg i can feel. 24 hours a day. At leadt its not spwaking like a girl. With all that estrogen laced weed thyeve been giving ober the last several years.

Sorry ive never liked looney toons. I font have a sadistic sense of humour. Brainwarping children with violence and laughter. Degenerating the inner spyche to produce degenerating invclined offspring. And neither do i have beef with nature: “cuz nature sucks!” Lets all get high and touch thr moon and based or future generations eith ambitions to please the body over the spirit.

Ive come to put it all together. Over these years. This is the third reich. The nazies won. And all it took is 60 million lives to make possible. And half of those lives were russians. Didnt hear a single care in all of my education about world history.

Not enough russians lives were taken thoigh. So the north western idealogy is trying to side curb its way into foreign lands to take over and dominate the world. Nazies.

I wanted a job at the pet store or the art store so the pisces moon would have a positive outlet. And the at osphere would be calm and positive. But they didnt want me to. The plans are in motion to continue raping my existance.

Then on the brink of suicide, again, i find a roofing job serrounded by toxic, degen, masculine personalities. With thr exception of one. Theres not mych in the way of media that gives positive light to the masculine. Its all connected to hardship. And lack. And degen, tendencies.

And people have always taken it for themsleves to put themselves over me. That has been thr only reality ive ever known. I dont want to be alove anymore. Especially if i get treated and punished fir being how the world has always treated me.

Im not even a person.

Gay men, women, hetero’s, government bodies of people. family, friends. To a lesser extant. Going on 40 and people are stoll making decisions for my life. I dont get to make them. Because they do.

All the world has ever done is harm me. And im the bad guy. Growing up hearing all this shit about peace and love and the age of aquarius. Just to insult you. While your surrounded by Leos. And disfunctional familial habitudes. Watching sibblings go after each other and me with hammers and axes and shit. Giving young teenagers ciggarets and drugs. Purposefully rolemodeling bs cause its funny. Killing animals and pets. Burning down buildings. Driving drunk. Fag bashing, bigotry, elitism. Destructive habits. Bipolar eruptions of violence. Absenteeism. Zero guidance. No communication. Lack luster tries at it.

Over 30 years of that. Then battering after battering, year after year. Into a beligenrent mess of bs.

And now, years after being complety fucked with to the extreme. Theres an entire community of dicktwats fucking with my system, and sexually manipulating me. Into becoming a queer. And through right back into childhood and fortifying self destructive lunar habits. So they can all feel good about being superior humans beings. And quenching that demonic thirst.

Thats pretty ficked up man. Dont blame me for tending to phatasize about national destruction. Because its the maine theme of pop media.

Since birth the world has been nothing but a giant fuck you to me. Everythign in between in inconsequential on that regard.

This isnt the real world. Its a pre-life. Or an alter life if another being. Which is me. Experimecing this instead of that. To break it all doem. Its the only thign that makes any sense.

And then after at those places. I wanted to work at. Id need an avenue for physical work. So i would have been more inclined and have the motivation to go to the gym instead. But nope. I need to be sexually harrased by another girl and then raped into become a girl. Not allowed to be away from toxic intended people, playing to a script. Somim still sick. Not allowed not to be.

In all that darkness and negativity and entropy. Once the light is seen, a peace and normalcy is glimpsed, in the venusian qualities upon the face of a pretty girl. Drive me insane. With the desire for tranquility and good tidings. Motivation and will to produce good life. Comes over like an obseesion from desperation and lack. But they harm you all the while. Boices and shadowed faces hiding in the background in the crowd. The will to drop it. Isnt strong enough to hold. For what if. An accomplishment from something good. Would strengthen my spirit. And i could live again. Or for the forst time.

My life is little foot vs freddy krugger. But i come from the generation where horror was intwine with child phatasy. Theres not much defermeve bewtween land before time. The original. To a nightmare on elm street. Beyond finding the garden of eden versus just surviving the T-rex and still being lost. Comsidering im living on maple street. Is just another insult to being alive.

I cant afford a noce appartment. I live by myself and always will. An di dont make 30$ an hour.

In fact Ir wasnt far between watching land before time an dmy life going to shit.

Heres some dick, kid. And the entire world thinks its hilarious. Perverting children.

It should be manditory for all families to get psychologically evaluated every 1-5 years. Which i don’t understand all this pride about free health care. What health care? If uou can give an athlete 10 million$ a year. Im pretty sure you can find some funding for better health care practices.

Then the bs about national compassion and what woukd have a stringer expression in the masses knowing that these games to pay exorbitantly for is actually supporting their freinds and family and a better world jnstead of giving entitled assholes an easy life of luxury. If a movie actor cane make 60 million $ a film then wtf. Fuck tom hanks.

Too bad its not my thy hair that is patching. If it were a choice it be the other way around. Then it be more like the arms. With heavier forarm than upper arm hair. Am i right? Maybe i will do the ipl treatment. Then use the electro therapy to get whatever is left over. Leave the pubic region, the love trail and the fuzz on my belly. Insteas of looking like a satyr. You know since i’m a woman now. Nd it be sexy. Since sex is all that matters.

You should have seen the expectant joy on my fathers face while he was calling me a woman. That was like what. 8-9 years ago now.

His favorite song. Used to sing it around me all the time.

Dont have a choice i have to kill

Myslef.

I just want a girl whos loves sucking dick. So she can squirt over my dace as i stair up i to her browneye and ponder the mysteries of life.

No need of shame for the sexual appetite. Of dirty vs. carnal desire. I know most then some.

Fucken creep. Yeah, i am. I was. Will be again apparently.

I want a woman, help me feel like a man. Instead i have an entire community of smut peddlers.

Kings are ni longer bred. There is no ower to veto a way of life. It’ll just fester.

Pray ipon my god and see, i never stop burning.

Man, i feel like a woman. And along eoth it everything worth living for is gone. Intellectual persuit. Gone. Artistic persuit gone. Desire to sedate increased. Desire to socialize gone. Desire to produce. Gone. Desire to accomplish gone. Desire for further education. Gone. Desire for physical satidfaction increases. Women suck. Its a handicap.

Looks like i was born and bred for the sole

Purpose of being a slut. Something to be proud about apparwntly.

Mrystal is the closest thing. Though a lie, ive had to hanging out with a girl for over 25 years. Just toxic masculine and feminine personalities. Thats all there is.

Hard to live in your own head. When theres an entire army manipulation from the external. Been fighting it for years. Hasnt brought me in anything

Well shit. Hello dark side of me. Hows it going? You go n abe alright not being monitered. Not going to do anythignstupid now are you? Creep some people?hive my body full reign to the family demon. Become possessed. Give in to sin. Noones safe.

Why they want that. Fuck their dumb.

Too i secure to walk i to a bisy stire anymore. Back to where i started there goes 8 years of life.

Guess ill be dressing up as a souless demon this holloween.

Maybe i can pull card lettered И, centre it by maybe 8 other cards to be connected to. Maybe. See what influences bare upon it.

Do that while the world is busy olaying with my penis. Pervs.

Ger me out of this nughtmare. 40 years is too mich.

Theyre fucken kilking me and laughing at the same time. My entire fuckne life man this has lal it ever been.

What to say to the dictor in the shrinkwarf. I have an entire army of cocksukrrs raping intk suicide and indotn want to be alive anymore. Tired that already. Didnt do anythign. Half of rhem are probanly in in it anyway. Can youvexorsize this demon. Fucken ne since birth? Look how populous its become.

Die for what you belive is certsinky gonna happen.

Maybe one day i wont be thrown into an envrionemt. That is full of enemies. Or assholes who just oass it off their shoulder like it doesnt matter. Mothwr was good at that.

Oh you know its just him. Hanging out with a bad crowd. Instea dof being talked to its being talk about while your still next to the person talking. Noe like ive ever been treated as a person anyway.

Apparently im not allowed to have a job or any social connections. Not allowed havign want i need to live.

Only endless years of people talking about you than to you. Thats all its ever been. 40 years.

I lneed to leave. Byt noones going to

Help me so im stuck here being taped by fucken cocksucker s

Doni fo to work today or do it quit. And count down till im dead? Tough decision.

Dtarted crying again lastnight over how fucied i am.

Kife will always fo this to me. It always has abd it always will.

I have ti kill myself. Its the only way to keep wveryone feom interference with my lifw and forcing me to kill myaelf.

Quit the job and start passing out more cvs i can di that much atleast. Not that ill find a job anyway. Not one ill be happy with.

I deswrve to be raped into suicide foe being born. It only makes swnse

Indont know what not being serrounded by enemies feels like. Something that will never getnoff the bucket list.

I simt have a single cruel abusive bone in my body. Always strived for whats good. Fight agaisnt people fucken with me. They jsut fuck more with you.

So the reason i was born was to be bullied into suicide. So that my family can work out the demon.

They’re trying everything except giving me a substantial anount of money.

The anount of time, resources and man power to rape me into suicide is staggering.

Well rested for the first time in months. Almost died again yesterday. Spend the day half conscious, puking and depressed. Wonder what they dosed me with me.

I forgot what it feels like not fighying got tour life.

What s the point. Im being gorceably removed from the gene pool and im not going to accomplish anything thst will outlive my life and influnce the fallowing generation. Theres no poing being alive. Instead i was born so that other people can enjoy thrmeslve putting themselves over me.

I wush the same fate to all tour children. Thats all

Ive ever known. I cant even do anythign withmyself because thats my only life experiemce.

So i dont even bother trying and i just do this instead. Norn i to a world where not a single person has ever been upfront with you.

Hey look im dtill 8 years old being treated likedhit by my family. Hahhahab

Im afraid if a get a et soemones is judt going to kill again.

What about. Y brother he should be in my shoes. Guys a sexist, fag-basher, drunk driver, drug popping macho. Whis killed several of his sibblings pets. Gave drugs and ciggarettes to minors. Racist. Had. Apicture of the nazi flag accomanied with a sense of pride. Trashed every behical hes ever had. Put lots of lives in jeoperday. Broke peiples bones in highschool while fucked on chems and steroids prabably. It just seems to me that im being punished for his crimes. He gets to have a wife and a family. I dotn eant to be alive anymor e.

Well im ten years too young for hormone problems. What ghe fuck did tgry inject me eith? Not wven my “best” friend from going into highschhol would wven tell me.

I dont feel safe. I dint feel secure. Ive been co sysntky under attack fir years. Cherry was my last hope for having sonething that wasnt chaoctic in my envireibnent. Donething better, abseebce of bs. A perdon to comune with. Would havw dolved all my problems. Would have gotyen healthy. But, whatever.

Now my only motivation is to kill myself. All i can feel is my ass 24 hours a day and its dtiving ke tucken insane.

All the best partd of me are dying snd all thets honbs be lrfy over is bs. Fuckrn kill me already.

Just survive a while longer. Everything will be ok. You’ll see. You’ll be ok. I don’t waht to anymore. Theres nothign good for me

In life. Its just full of fucken evil. Theres nothign good init. Theyve just waste my life away framing me ip for bs. Whats the point

I just want to quit this dayrape job and go back to having nothing. Cuae whatever they gove me is fucken bs.

I just go around spending everyday likes everything i s ok and so do they, will they rape my existance. Sometime sinsnap becaus eof it. And then they just hurt me.

Im hust ehatever they say i am. Which i don’t know what.

Asked my mother for help one. While she was busy stairing off at nothing and she told me she didn’t care. Next thing i m ow my btothrrs trying to mill me with an axe. And i get kick oy tog thr house again. And now im here.

I dint belong anywhere and i was just born to be fucked

[dysphoroboros]

grrr i rlly wanna redo my blog theme again and actually put effort but i dunno where to get the cool visual stuff for it & im too much of a lazy (extecutive disfunction or something idfk im tired for no* reason again) as to do it myself

[thetantiger]

Character Insight #11: Tree

Full Name: Tree Juniper Gnarlbranch Gender: Non-binary (he/they) Race: Worgen Class: Druid Specialization: Restoration Orientation: Bisexual Relatives: No Known Relatives Age: 33 Height: 6'8 (5'9 Human form) Voice reference: Hector Rivera - Coco Theme: Mary On A Cross - Ghost

[BACKSTORY]

Tree Gnarlbranch was born in Gilneas eighteen years before its fall. Their parents were rather uninvolved in their upbringing, instilling a distrust in Tree that progressively got worse and worse until Tree hardly spoke to the very people they lived with on a daily basis. As a result, Tree felt like they couldn't go to their parents about their issues, and often didn't. The main factor in solidifying their isolation from them, however, was Tree's identity as a non-binary person. Unfortunately, their parents were widely unsupportive, which only piled on to their feelings of ostracization. This was a catalyst for their distrust of their parents, and would ultimately lead them into looking for support through other means.

Those "other means" manifested themselves in the form of a female Kaldorei named Shadryssa Swiftbreeze. Shadryssa was one of the many Kaldorei that journeyed to the lands of Gilneas in order to help those afflicted with the Worgen curse--Tree being one of them. They met, and an immediate spark was apparent, evolving into a friendship and, later, a romantic relationship.

Then, the signs began to show. Shadryssa would increasingly and intentionally add on to Tree's isolation from their parents, and recommended they run away with her to join a group of Shadryssa's friends. Tree eventually agreed, and never saw their parents again. They ended up in Kalimdor together, living along the edges of Darkshore and Ashenvale amongst Shadryssa's "friends," who called themselves the Twilight's Hammer. They were focused on bringing darkness and chaos to the world of Azeroth, and if Tree acted unenthusiastic about serving their lord, Deathwing, they were threatened with punishment--as well as scolded by Shadryssa. Eventually, the disfunction grew to where she would physically assault them, even leaving a scar on their neck from when she dug her nails into it one time.

Despite Shadryssa's best efforts to keep Tree in line, however, the punishment soon came. Tree was often forced to sacrifice innocents in the name of the Twilight's Hammer, but when they again hesitated, they decided the ultimate punishment was to be given. As offering for their Old Gods, the Twilight's Hammer restrained Shadryssa--and sacrificed her in front of Tree. Scared into obedience and mourning the loss of their partner, they followed commands like a dog now. Tasked with protecting a door leading deeper into a Twilight's Hammer fortress, Tree fought against brave adventurers--and lost. They were bludgeoned hard enough in the side of the head--giving them the blind eye they now have--to fall unconscious. The adventurers either mistook them for being dead or took pity on them, for they did not finish the job and simply moved on.

Tree's brain was greatly affected. Their neural network had been damaged enough to revert them back to the state of a feral Worgen and, mindlessly, Tree escaped the facility and roamed across Azeroth. Eventually, strangers found them deep within the woods and, one of them being a druid, cured them back to a functioning cognitive state, and these people took them in as their friend. This group of people was known as none other than the Shadows of the Faithful, composed of adventurers and heroes looking to defend themselves and their loved ones from the threats of Azeroth. Slowly, Tree came out of their shell, gradually becoming more outgoing and comfortable in the positive and supportive environment of the Shadows of the Faithful. For the first time in Tree's life, people enjoyed their company unconditionally.

It is here that they met Randolph Heisenberg, a male Bloodfang Worgen rogue that seemed standoffish and lonesome at first, but to Tree appeared very friendly and talkative when actually approached. They met while Tree was beginning to restudy the Druidic arts, and was practicing healing the earth to repair the damage their role in the Cataclysm may have caused. Randolph was helpful, supportive and engaged--and, deep down, sensitive--and Tree, despite their previous experience with romance, couldn't help but enjoy the unfamiliar feeling of being valued and thought of in such a way.

Shadryssa wasn't going to let them go so easily, though. Out of sheer anger, her spirit returned to the mortal plane, and was able to capture Tree, continuing her abuse of them in her lair and seeking to restore glory to the Twilight's Hammer. The Faithful were after her, though. Hanethrick Grimsford, a Forsaken member of the Faithful's Horde sister organization, the Warblade Clan, had agreed to help Shadryssa in her mission in exchange for his own glory--but was secretly helping the interests of the Faithful instead. He was led right to Tree and helped them to escape, assisting them with their wounds and walking in the meantime. Tree was reunited with the Shadows of the Faithful, and, in the final showdown, panicked and encased themselves in roots out of fear of Shadryssa. While the rest of the Faithful battled her, they were short a healer, and quickly began to take on more and more wounds. As a void tendril lunged for Randolph, Tree finally snapped.

They were done. They were done cowering before Shadryssa and her violence. Now she had hurt people they cared about. Erupting in a void ability of their own, Tree rushed across the battlefield and stopped the tendril in its tracks with their teeth, ripping it away. Shadryssa taunted them and asked them if they were going to fight back, and Tree declined, raising their hands and allowing nature magic to sprout and grow in delicate vines, healing their friends around them.

Shadryssa was defeated. The Faithful's wounds were healing and closing as soon as they were inflicted. She fled, stumbling off a cliff and hanging on by one hand--and Tree offered to help her up. To give her a chance to change, just as they did.

Shadryssa declined, and let go, falling to her demise beneath her.

Tree had proven it to themselves that they were capable of bravery, of defending themselves, of standing up for what they knew was right. A confidence sparked in them, and they realized, in the middle of battle, how terrifying the concept of losing Randolph was. Tree admitted their feelings to him, and he reciprocated.

Since then, Tree has gradually been perfecting their healing magics, even growing antlers out of their head as their connection to Druidism improved. It was discovered along the way that Shadryssa was actually mother to a Kaldorei named Phoebelynn, her father being a Warden Captain named Mythodoran, and Tree helped Phoebe to learn her value outside of her mother's wretched identity. Tree and Randolph have been getting along great, their relationship steady and helpful to both parties, and the support they have been able to provide each other helping them greatly. Tree has remained as a healer for the Faithful and helped in countless combats, and is finally living the peace they'd missed out on for so long.

[THOUGHTS]

WHEW this took a while 'cause I kinda got burnt out on writing but HERE IT IS lol, I hope y'all enjoy this! Tree has been one of my favorites for a while from the way they've grown and blossomed and them and Randolph are just super sweet and wholesome. Also I referred to Tree exclusively as "they" throughout this post in order to maybe help some confusion by contrasting their pronouns with Randolph and Hanethrick's "he." I tend to do that in writing--for example Tree here goes by "he/they" so if they're alone in a writing scene with a female I usually write "he" but if they're in a writing scene with a male I usually write "they." Anyway thx for reading!

[ART]

Body ref Pride month doodles 2023 Restoration Druid spec art Tree x Randolph ship doodle Christmas doodles 2022 Reclaiming The Past Tree thirst art

[clacing]

General opinion on the other main ships of revstar ? (Kuromaya, Junnana and Futakao)

Kuromaya - Initially thought they were kind of overrated but then I watched their scenes again with a clear mind and I get it now. They make me absolutely deranged. Bad bitches who are fucking obsessed with each other and not even to an unhealthy degree but to the point that they will genuinely push and inspire each other to be the very best they can be by challenging each other for all eternity. Lots of thoughts about the Revue of Souls being Faust-themed and starting with Claudine saying that once she shows Maya brilliance she has never seen before, she will have her soul, but because neither of them will ever stop trying to one-up the other they’re just going to have to keep doing this dance until the end of time and they’re happy about it. They signed a contract in blood that says they’ve basically sold their souls to each other and they hold hands over it because that’s their Position Zero. Also I know them saying “We are flames that burn and fall together” is because of the whole fire motif in the movie but consider. They are literally twin flames. Everyone broke up while they ended up stronger than before and possibly tied together forever because they are the blueprint. The other girls better watch and learn this is how you do mutual obsession right I have no notes

Junnana - I think they’re cute I just don’t really get the hype around them yet. I was very surprised to see that they’re the second most popular ship ‘cause they didn’t have enough content to make any sort of impression on me. I know there's more stuff in the mangas and the games so I'll make my way through them eventually. Obsessed with whatever was going on between them in the movie though the angst was delicious

Futakao - I absolutely despise them I’m sorry. I’m all for disfunctional relationships I will ship some messed up shit but these two remind me too much of two ex-friends of mine who dated for years despite being terrible for each other and made the lives of everyone around them (ie ME) a living nightmare. Literally they acted the exact same way and had the exact same arguments so the moment Futaba and Kaoruko showed up on screen I started having war flashbacks I could not go through that again. I think Kaoruko has a lot of growing up to do and Futaba deserves better and maybe they'll find their way back to each other once they've matured a bit 'cause they clearly do love each other, I'm not opposed to that! Also Futaba going “You keep hogging me all to yourself.... you're so unfair” and tying her motorcycle key around Kaoruko’s ring finger while saying goodbye.... hit. But for now I hope they stay broken up for a long long while

[deanhisnippleisout]

@littledangerouswoman @howldean just for you two okay ily

okay so i feel like maybe as a play on the misunderstood initial meaning a lot have over what "beat sheets" actually are, beds are used motif in the story illuminate initially injury/disfunction but also healing okay follow me..

the beginning and ending scenes of the main story bookend having dean in bed right. at the start he’s basically not there, completely disconnected from himself, not just sexually/physically but emotionally and intellectually, that's obviously the humour of the scene (and most of the fic tbh). by the end with cas (but also with the bar project, finishing school, his relationships with jo and charlie etc), he's become so open and present and is healing. he says earlier to cas (again, in bed) that he thinks he's really present for the first time, but from our pov, we've seen that he's been growing and healing the whole time. the recurring scenes at the hospital reinforce this theme of healing for me, especially the epilogue tying it all together in that perfectly packaged sincere rom com way. the recurring physical injuries (and time spent on hospital beds) everyone experiences in the fic are paralleled seamlessly with the internal issues everyone's working through throughout the story. tldr; people are healing on those beds (in those beat sheets? idk i need to be put down)

in my mind i blog about beat sheet like we do dta. I’m connecting the dots i’m making playlists i’m spiralling etc

[alliumnoblade]

ok here i am again with another meta analysis for rick and morty season 6 because of course my obsession phase isn’t over yet

apparently this season is a lot focused on the family smith. it was a big hypothesis when he only had the titles for the season to base our opinions on, but also when it started to air it was pretty clear ALL the smiths are the main focus on this season. the dynamics they have as a family, the nuances, the ups and downs, how they (dis)function - it appears to be explored very heavily this season. lately (a little bit in season 5 too) all five of them seem to be treated as a family, and not just a bunch of people that happen to live together.

which is nice, i really appreciate it, especially because they seem to mix that with sci-fi stuff and humor and honestly i couldn’t ask for anything else (i can’t be the only one laughing the shit off myself this season all the jokes are landing to me please)

my point is, i wonder if the reason why they decide to explore this theme so much is due to quarentine.

right now the smith family are stuck with each other. with the portal gun broken, rick and morty can only go so far in their own dimension, and since they can’t afford to screw things up, they really seems to be doing things tamer and less dangerous than before. in other words, they have nowhere to run and rick needs to deal with his family more often now.

this sounds A LOT like quarentine to me. you going a little bonkers, but also needing to deal with your peer’s crazyness as well. it’s the time you need to confront how disfunctional your family really is but how you love them so deeply you have no other option but to endure them. (i’m talking about non-abusive homes here, please). personally, i think i got a lot closer to my parents and brother after this hell, and it seems fitting the writers went through that as well.

considering season six was written during a more flexible but still real part of the lockdown, i find it a good hypothesis they decide to write the show analog to what was happening in the real world. the smith family can go to school, work, go out to ice cream, but at the end of the day there’s not a lot they can do but to be under the same house for long period of time -  they can’t travel, they can’t pretend their problems don’t exist, they can’t go out often. they need to confront each other.

with this new premiere for episode 4, night family, it got really clear to me how they are willing to just dive deep into the family dynamics, making it more smith-centric. it has been a common theme that rick is acting more like a grandpa rather than a crazy asshole scientist lately, how beth is actually willing to be a good mother now, how jerry is finally being assertive about his place in his home, how morty and summer seems to have a more love-hate bond than just a i-cant-stand-you bond. they are still all fuck ups in their respective areas, they are still horrible people, but they are their OWN horrible people

also the fact that the smith family CHOOSE each other rather than just accept they need to live together adds a new layer to things. no one is from that reality, in the first episode they had the choice to be in their origin dimension if they wanted to and they’ve had tons of opportunities to just walk away before. after a long, long jurney with the same people since half the season 1 (and this jerry from season 2), we can say that the smith family aren’t connected because rick is a control freak, but because they do love each other and this is their burden to carry. in the end, family is a burden you can’t throw away, but it’s your burden and i love that.

and the fact that they actively made the choice to keep each other close is so much nicer than whatever the abusive dynamic they had in later seasons. it’s a found family, they became a found family even if disfunctional as hell. i love that

[sweetestpopcorn]

I’m aware you have issues with the entire show, i’ve read your blog. Just thought it was nice to see another having an issue with the laenor situation in particular after reading one of your answers. Not sure if it was intentional, but i don’t think you had to go off at me about your entire issues with the show.

I didn't go off on you. I am sorry you felt that way.

As you might now if you went through my blog this is a subject that deeply displeases me, and when people still want to bring it up honestly I don't know what reaction they expect.

I might be funny in my rant if I'm "in the mood" but most times the most unpleasant part of me will come out because: Everything about this show is trash and I want to make that clear.

I like to make a point that my view is not that X or Y didn't work, it's that nothing did and that I found everything absolutely atrocious. I don't even consider the Lenny lives thing the within the top maybe 10 things that are absolutely ridiculous with this show. And I absolutely will struggle to understand if that is someone's main issue and that is what ruined the show, or the chocking thing, is like excuse me? Have you not been paying attention to... everything?

Because in a show where Lana committed Dracaryscide, Droopy had f_cking LEPROSY, Matt has erectile disfunction, Renada and Alicia are bffs, Loserys murder was accidental, Anemia was cut open like a f_cking pig, and the usurpation was a joke, the Lenny thing is just keeping with the theme I guess.

But yes lets just ignore this steaming pile of cr@p and keep on watching for the... hype and validation from the rest of people without standards I guess.

Good god, anyone who complained about season 8 but is defending/justifying this lost all credibility. This makes season 8 look less atrocious! And just came to prove what I told months ago that D&D were the scapegoats. Were they to blame? Of course. Were they the only ones to blame? Nope!

There are plenty of spaces to go to to either gush about the show or say "oh wasn't it a shame that X happened? the rest was great!" But in my spaces, no sorry. I ask more of entertainment than this and I certainly ask more of "professional" writers than the crap that was put on display and makes 50 shades read like f_cking War and Peace. Hell, they make ANY fanfiction writer look like a pro! Not even in fanfiction have I ever encountered this amount of ludicrous events!

Again sorry if I was impolite but Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus

PS: This is not to you Anon, this is to everyone who feels the need to STILL comment on redacted on my comment section. I don't care if your favourite trope is murder victim to lover (credit to @alinahamsmsnahams for this one) but I do care if you come to pollute my comment section with that cr@p. Keep your favourite redacted content away from my spaces. Thank you!

[amygdalagustd]

One of my favorite things about evangelion is how it shows that mental health is a systemic thing.

Everyone in the show is fucked up because their parents where fucked up. All the adults are fucked up because they went through disaster in their early twenties and all the kids are fucked up because they were children in the aftermath of disaster. Everyone is stuck in political and economical systems that they can't change and that don't benifit them. The completely lack of resources keeps everyone in line because there is nothing else they can do. Last but not least, the treat of the world ending looms over everyone's head and makes them throw away any kind of long term planning in favor of just surviving one more day.

A big theme in evangelion is how humans ultimately need relationships to fuction, but it's also about society and how it ultimately fails to provide them with this very basic need. Everyone in the show is so freaking lonely. They're all desperately trying to break free from their individual loneliness, but there is no way that they can win against the systems that work against them. No individual can break free from trauma when trauma is at the core of every aspect of society. They are all trying, but ultimately they all fall short, for themselves and for each other. As the systems continue to fail them, their attempts at attaining closeness become more disfunctional and extreme. In the end, Gendo significantly traumatises his only son and literally tries to end humanity in the most "main bad guy" way possible....simply so he can see his dead wife again. Society is a product of humanity, and it's ultimately here to serve us. When it fails to provide us with such a fundamental need we all have, it will eventually crumble, and that's what happens in evangelion.

[minetteskvareninova]

Hetalia Headcannons: Origins

(Because I’ve seen some truly shitty takes on this theme and I just want to try my hand at it.)

- Nations in Hetalia are basically animistic deities, who are largely too stupid to realize they have god-like powers. Kidding, but they really don’t see themselves as gods, and definitely don’t require to be treated as such - no, not even USA.

- The family tree of the Romance family is truly a mess to behold. It is known that Grandpa Rome and lady named Longobardia had a child named Italia, and that she was the mother of Lovino and Romano. He also took as a subject in his house (a la Romano under Austria) lady named Iberia, but her son Asturias probably wasn’t his, although he definitely raised the child. Asturias then had a long and sordid relationship with Al-Andalus, which produced Spain and Portugal. France was a child of Frankia of the Germanic family, but he was basically adopted by aging Rome, and it’s likely he was his father. Romania is a bastard child of Rome and... Well, noone knows for sure. Romania claims his mother was Dacia, but she died long before his birth, so many people suspect some lady from the Slavic family, or another family entirely. Switzerland probably fits into this and Germanic family in some way, shape or form, but noone is sure how. Belgium is a bastard child of France and sister of Netherlands that was raised by Austria, and all in all is MUCH more well-adjusted than that description would imply.

- Germanic family is even more of a mess due to their penchant for chimerism - a capability of related nations to fuse together into one being. They are all descendants of Germania, who had many children and even more grandchildren. The rest of the family tree is super murky; Netherlands, Nordic nations and probably England are distant cousins of Prussia, Germany and Austria. Germany and Prussia are brothers (in fact, Germany is a fusion of all of Prussia’s brothers), while Austria is a cousin of theirs. Again, Switzerland is probably related to them somehow, but it’s super unclear. What we do know is that he and Austria lived together for a while, but after a raging argument, Switzerland moved out and declared independence. Liechtenstein is Austria’s long lost sister.

- Slavic nation have a much clearer family tree. Mother Venedia had three sons, West, East and South Slavia, who are in turn fathers of all the current Slavic nations. West had two children, Great Moravia and Poland. There is some mess with Slovakia and Bohemia being originally one child, that is Great Moravia, but that one split in two after Hungary invaded - Bohemia fled westward, while Hungary found its twin Slovakia in the stuff she stole from Moravia. South had many children, who were basically just a mess of fusing, splitting and begetting children; this part of the tree doesn’t figure into the story that much anyway, but it’s interesting to note that Croatia and Slovenia have a history of living with both Hungary and Austria. East Slavia’s family is a disfunctional mess even by the standards of the nations. Slavia’s daughter Rus had three children, Belarus, Russia and Ukraine. Rus died in a war with Mongolia, leaving his children orphans. Ukraine was adopted by Poland, but as you can imagine, he wasn’t the most responsible of fathers, so she practically raised herself. Belarus grew up with the Baltics, but she always felt like she doesn’t belong, especially after Lithuania married Poland, for whom Belarus had nothing but disdain. You can imagine she was eager to join Russia after the partition of Poland. Russia lived as a servant in Mongolia’s house, untill he rose up and gained his father’s land back. Baltics are cousins of the Slavs, though there is some indication Estonia is just adopted.

- Hungary, as far as we know, isn’t related to anyone, though there are some speculations about her being a daughter of some “original” Hungary and West Slavia. For her part, Hungary denies being related to the Slavs in any way, though she undoubtedly learned some of their mannerisms.

- England is... Complicated. It lives on the estates of the Celtic family, and was undoubtedly adopted by them, but his origins are more obscure, Germanic and/or Nordic. He also had a huge crush on France when he was a kid, spending a lot of time with, which is why he has some Romance manners despite not being actually related to that family.