#withdrawals will be over in a few days god bless

[aroacesigma]

HES HERE HES HERE I MISSED THEM SO MUCH GOD

[hoshigray]

But like…sugar daddy!Nanami bending you over his pool table and just fucking your brains out🙈‼️

𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: missed writing for nanami, let's gooo!

⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: sugar daddy! Nanami x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - sex on a pool table - finger sucking - lingerie - breast fondling + nipple play - standing (bent over) position - praise - Daddy kink - pet names (baby, good girl, honey, love, sweetheart, sweetpea) - protected sex (bc he's a gentleman, lol) - mention of drool/spit.

⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.3k

“—Mmmph! Ohhh…Kent—Oooh!”

“Yes, baby…God, you look so good.”

“Your fingers; you’re going too…Mmmm…”

Being a sugar baby is a blessing in its own way. Not having to worry so much about your financial situations as they’re taken care of in your day-to-day life can be a bit overwhelming to comprehend in the days you forget entirely; however, you can’t lie that it’s not a nice lifestyle to live in. All your money troubles no longer being a constant weight on your shoulders, moved aside for you to enjoy your life as freely as you wish compared to before.

And what’s better is that the man taking care of said troubles was indeed a miracle worker — and quite the looker. Nanami Kento, your sugar daddy, took you in when you put your online advertisement looking for a sugar daddy, and you can only thank the stars above for such a wonderful man to come falling from the heavens above to put your mind at ease.

And trust and believe that he’s done so in ways more than one.

He had you bent by his pool table in the living space of his penthouse, your legs spread for him to have your skirt lifted to your waist. It’s easier for his hand to go to your lacy panties and slide his fingers in to meet your folds. And after a few minutes, he’s already made you a complete mess just by the thickness of his digits. 

You squirm, gripping the billard stick that rests on the velvety skin of the pool table. “Hahhhn, ohooo, stoop, don’t rub there—Hic…!” Your hands grip the shoulder of his work shirt.

“Oh? Don’t like it when I do…this?” The blunt of Nanami’s fingertips scrapes the upper wall of your vaginal walls with a curled motion, and you lament with the jerk of your thighs. “But all I’m doing is rewarding my baby.”

His reward was specifically targeted to what you were wearing. Your opened buttoned-up shirt exposed your recent purchase of a new lingerie set; the complex design of the intimate clothing and the bold hue of the color–your favorite color–complimented your skin enchantingly. The blonde man behind you couldn’t keep his eyes and hands off you the moment you meekly showed off the bra of the set. 

“And judging by how tight you’re squeezing my fingers,” he says to your ear while another graze of your inner walls has you arch towards him. “You seem to love this, right, honey?” His free hand was groping one of your breasts; the material of the laced bra felt pleasant to the touch along the squish of your mound.

“Hoooh, ohhGod, Kento, please,” you were a whimpering mess literally in the palm of his hand; he’d made you come once already, so your insides had yet to subside from the acute height that kept you trembling to his touch. “I caan’t, no moooore…If you keep up, I-I’ll—“

“What?” He kisses your cheek, nearly having you give to your knees. “Don’t wanna cum on my fingers?” You shook your head hurriedly, enticing your neck for him to lay more gentle kisses. “What do you wanna cum on then, sweetpea?”

You use your hips to answer, grinding your wet southern lips on the zipper of his expensive, linen dress trousers. Yet, while he returns the motion with synced ruts to your chasm with the tent of his groin, it’s safe to say he doesn’t mind the mess. 

“This,” you moan with more rubs on his pants. “I wanna cum on you, Kent. Please, lemme cum on you…”

The sound of his chuckle has you twitching on his digits, wailing when he stretches your opening with a scissoring motion. “Good girl, asking so nicely…” With a hum, he withdraws his fingers from your warmth and brings your pricy underwear down to your thighs, brushing its garters. After bringing his trousers down and freeing his erection from his briefs, he grabs for the condom from his pocket to release from its wrapper. Once the rubber is on and fitted, Nanami guides his cock to the hole of your vagina. 

The insertion of the cockhead has you gasping sharply, the cue stick in your grasp being the only thing you can use as security as your sugar daddy pushes every inch of his shaft inside you. You could never get used to the girth, the stretch of his limb so euphorically good, and the graze of the tip on the sensitive itches that make you hiccup. And the hilt of his pelvis meets your folds, sighing now that his entire cock is finally one with you.

He rocks back and forth leisurely, careful not to have you released on him just yet. Both his hands now meet your chest, fondling the flesh of your breasts in such a loving fashion that you whimper with the pull of his dick. God, the way his tip perfectly rubs on your inner texture has your brows furrowed and eyes sewn shut, wanting to truly indulge in the sensation that piques the delicate keenness of your nerves.

“Ahaaa, ohoofuck,” you jolt when he suddenly throws a rough thrust to your ass; the stick in your hand hits two Aramith billiard balls to the long rails of the table. “Yesss, right there, Kentoo…! Feel so good…”

“Yeah, honey?” The weight of him on your back as he bends his frame above yours, speaking softly to your ear as if wanting you to shiver on his chest. “Feeling good?” You nod hurriedly with the tweak of your nipples under the rough pads of his fingers. “All cute and good for me…Want me to make you feel even more good?”

“Yes…Daddy,” Oh my, you used the title—a step you were cautious to use at the moment yet albeit eager for the results. And the sand-haired man snaps his hips abruptly, causing a shriek to sneak past you without noticing.

He’s done with the slow pacing—the rhythm now increased to a rapid cadence that evokes more sounds to escape with every rock of your figure. Gosh, you hope you weren’t leaving scratch marks on this man’s pool table. It would make you feel terrible damaging his property. However, that sounds like a worry to check back later when you’re not squealing your mind out.

“—Oooh!! F–fffshiiiit, Daddy!” Your eyes roll up at the scrape of your G-spot. “N–Not shoo fa—Ahhhh! T’oo muuch…!”

“But you’re too close to slow down, love,” Nanami kisses your cheek before slithering his hand to stuff his fore and middle fingers into your mouth. You sounded too cute mewing for him while sucking on his fingers. And it doesn’t help that the erratic ruts to your cunt have you shrilling even more, drool trickling down to your chin just to fall on the table surface. “Come on, sweetpea, let it all out…Hnnmm, let me feel it.”

The piston of his pelvis smacking the skin of your ass with the thick digits stuffed in your mouth is too much to follow through, the climb of your climax becoming more complicated to avoid as the milliseconds rush away. You submit to your growing dizziness as your peak shakes you down.

The orgasm has you screaming out loud, your legs trembling with the flutter of your walls around Nanami’s dick while he slowly plunges himself in and outward, relishing the snugness of your slit. You suck on his fingers hard, nearly choking on spit when your body is experiencing the pulses at its own pace. Your elbows wobble, giving way for you to slump down and accidentally hit an object ball with the cue stick, knocking onto another and pushing it an inch away from a pocket.

Nanami chortles, straightening himself to massage your waist through your aftershocks. “Nice backspin, sweetheart.”

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – header edit done by me + dividers by @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more.

[leynaeithnea]

Diomedes

Ok so this wikipedia article was a LOT more elaborate than I expected, I just spend over two hours going through it and making notes Nobody asked for it but here are my notes on Diomedes, theyre not consistent, i changed style and detail a few times, but alas here we go:

Diomedes:

strong defender of justice, deserves better

lost a lot of people

warrior very young

athenas favorite warrior

his fathers glory (and shame)

breast plate from haephestus

shield from his father blessed by athena

fathers sword

spear

boars, lion

most expiereneced warrior of achaeans

doesnt like achilles

brought 80 ships

Sthenelus, chariot driver, best friend, epigoni

youngest of the kings

(post homeric: offered immortality, divinified)

helped Odysseus kill Agemenons daughter

helped Odysseus kill Palamedes (bitch deserved)

brave, NOT haunted by hubris

wounds both ares and aphrodite (same day) and attacts apollo, but withdrew in time

granted divine sight to see immortals (on that day)

grew up way too soon

big battle when 14

more level headed than Ody (can take an insult)

doesnt hesitate to call out bs

“let him go or stay, the gods will make sure that he will fight” (hc: he tried, very humbled by the gods)

athena joined his fight once, driving his chariot and guiding his spear

“friends” with glaucus (trojan) (“i wont fight more immortals” “bro, our grandparents were bros”, “ok give me your gold armour, ill give you my bronze one”)

saves Nestor (ody runs away when he asks for help :(

wants to kill hector so he doesnt get taunted (Nestor says no, Zeus says no 3x /+1 lighting) he eventually turns back and gets taunted, he kills another guy

he attacks the trojans at night and wins, after hector boasted, in the end diomedes is the one worshipped as immortal

agamnenon wants to leave, Dio says hes a bad leader (yes), and that he’ll stay to fight the city that is doomed to fall, even with zeus fighting for the trojans, nestor says he has no better idea, proposed to appeall to achilles with gifts (ody and agamenon agree), they fail, Dio tells them “told you so” (but it doesnt matter anyway, theyll win)

he sleeps outside his tent in armour (they wake him n others at night for council about spies, Dio volunteers, he gets to pick a second, he goes for Ody, ody didnt rly want to go, Dio choose him anyway despite deserting him)

Dio and ody face the spy of the trojans Dolon, (hiding between corpses) he almost runs away but Athena “is fighting to be known” doesnt want someone else to strike first, so she makes Diomedes throw the spear and orders him to stop, Dolon tells them good gossip, including white horses, Dio kills him

they do some more bs, like killing people in their sleep (dio) and stealing horses (ody) dio considers unaliving more until athena suggests he may stop so other gods dont get jealous

both kings are good at being stealthy AND open combat

Rhesus horses are badass (first sign for the fall of troy), Dio gets them (bedding gift?), people without the horses and king leave W for the achaeans

Lord of War Cry

dio throws a spear at hector, apollos helmet saves him, but he mingles with the crowd, first time that Dio speaks back and calls him a dog (even the best men loose their temper at times)

Paris shoots his foot, (fucking moron blasts about it, Dio gives him a verbal lashing) he withdraws under cover of Odysseus, ody gets an ouchy

agamennon wants to flee (again), Dio tells them they should just let themselves get wounded again

Dio wins all funeral games of patroclus (though wounded) – Athena makes sure of it – draws first blood in the fight with Ajax, they stop him worried he’d kill him

Athena appears to him undiguised, Athenas favorite

kills some amazons, Achilles kills his cousin (who was a bitch), dio mourns him though and wants to have achilles punished

Dio and Ody bring Achilles son to Troy after Achilles death (bc they could not win the war without him there)

Ody and Dio sent to negoiate for peace after Paris’ death (by poised bow that the two of them stole?)

dio and ody gotta steal a statue of athena, ody disguises himself as beggar at night, dio follows later and brings the statue out

Ody tries to stab him in the back?? (to get the glory himself???) Dio catches it and ties him, and shoves him infront of himself, but refrains from punishing him because they need him (“for the greater good”)

dio is one of the warriors inside the trojan horse

dio leaves immediatly after the fall of troy (after the achaeans angered athena through the rape of cassandra by ajax the lesser) and arrives home safely (favored by the gods) Post Trojan war possibilities:

when he gets there his wife has commited adultery and keeps him out of town (palamedes brother having told he brought a different woman) aphrodite being pissed about the scratch helps her get many lovers, he has to leave again

gets kidnapped by some guy to get sacrificied to ares, gets saved by a girl

comes to the court of some other king who offers him his daughter as wife and lands, if he fights for them, so he does, and has two sons with her

he refuses to fight more trojans later on, he just wants to live in peace

birds haunt him and his men (his men cried so much over his death they got turned into birds)

[ashintheairlikesnow]

ash i love vince so much he is my number 2 babygirl (antoni number 1 babygirl forever)

i would like to formally request some vince having a Bad Time, either past stuff with owen or present with recovery being a bitch

because there is nothing better than lovely characters having bad times that they absolutely do not deserve

CW: Alcoholism, withdrawal/cravings, alcoholic anger, Vince and Jameson both PTSD-ing all over the place, guilt

Oh, poor Vince. Takes place post-the Same Bed Arc, after Vince is living with Nat and Jameson.

-

Vince doesn't even look up when he hears Jameson stop in the doorway. He just pours a few shots worth of the gin into the glass, staring fixedly down at it. The liquid, clear as water but with the herbal scent washing over him like a welcome spring rain, spreads over the ice with those gentle cracks he knows better than his own heartbeat.

God, it looks good.

His hands don't shake, now. His heart doesn't race. He doesn't feel sweaty, or upset, or like he'll be sick.

He just feels like he's staring at the solution to all his problems, and all he has to do is swallow it down.

This should feel awful - he knows it should. It should taste awful, there should be something to remind him of the damage he does to himself every time he drinks again. He should hear his sponsor speaking in the back of his mind, he should hear the voices of the others at the meetings he goes to - one for alcoholism, one for survivors of sexual assault, twice a week there's movie star Vincent goddamn Shield among the normal people and admitting he's barely human, just a wreck that only survived Owen Grant because Nat decided she gave a fuck about him for reasons Vince still doesn't understand.

Here he stands, a hollow shell wearing a nice face who let someone else suffer in his place and was grateful for it for far too long.

Kauri hates him but it's nothing compared to how much he hates himself.

Vince lifts the glass, hesitating at the last second with the cool rim just touching his lower lip. Gin smells like blacking out and right now he could use the blessed darkness, hangover be damned.

He can worry about that when the headache kicks in tomorrow morning.

He realizes he's waiting for the sickening crawl of guilt at letting Nat down, at-... at letting himself down. Maybe that will come later, but right now... He feels goddamn good. Settled. Calm.

He and Jameson meet eyes just as he tosses the drink back, three large swallows of juniper-scented gin down his throat like water, leaving only the ice cubes behind.

The burn is perfect.

He pours himself another drink, feeling the warmth slowly spread through his chest to his shoulders, eyes briefly closing. God, it feels like goddamn heaven.

He looks up.

Jameson is still standing there in the doorway, looking oddly soft in a loose sweater that's far too big for him and a pair of old jeans that probably cost a dollar at a yard sale and even that was too much. Vince has jeans that distressed, somewhere.

His cost more than five hundred dollars.

He chokes on the next drink from trying not to laugh.

Jameson's eyes narrow. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Vince takes another sip, eyes half-closed, letting himself take it slow this time and really enjoy the taste.

He'd honestly been surprised the little liquor store down the block even carried this brand of gin. Not that he wouldn't have bought whatever he could get, when he stood there feeling like he would die if he had to go another day, but still. It's nice to have seen his favorite stuff, top shelf, pricier than it had any right to be. It's not even that good, but it's still his favorite. It still tastes, to him, like the nights he sleeps without nightmares, few and far between.

Gin tastes like those nights he gets to sleep at all.

The cashier had looked surprised as she wiped off the dust and rang it up for him. Then, with a shy smile, she'd asked him if anyone ever told him he looked a lot like Vincent Shield. He'd been kind of sad she didn't card him - it would have been nice to see the look on her face when she saw his name.

Instead, he paid in cash, laughed, and told her the standard I get that a lot, actually.

Jameson doesn't move closer, or leave. "It looks like you're fucking yourself up," He says, lingering in the doorway. "You can't just start drinking again. You know that, right?"

"Oh, I sure as hell can." Vince laughs, but it's a bitter sound. He licks the gin lingering on his lips, then gestures at the bottle. "Have some with me."

He's caught, for just a moment, when he sees Jameson wearing an expression Vince has never seen on him before. He looks... nervous. Afraid, almost, instead of angry.

"I-I don't want to," Jameson says, but there's a way he says it that makes Vince think he'd drink if he offers again. Maybe he wants to, or maybe he just doesn't want to make Vince mad.

If he commanded it, if he gave an order... Jameson would be as he's told, wouldn't he? Damn, that would be some power to have over someone.

This must be why Owen liked it so much.

No.

He won't think about Owen right now.

Vince gulps down liquid until he's breathless, almost panting. The warmth is like the familiar cradle of a softer reality settling in. He makes himself slow down this time, picking up an ice cube and sucking the juniper taste right off it before crunching it with his teeth.

"Vince." Jameson's voice gets harsher, and something seems to break his brief paralysis. He moves closer, grabbing the bottle and pulling it away when Vince puts a hand out to pour the third drink. "Fucking... look at me. What the fuck?"

Vince's hand just... hangs out there, reaching for a bottle that isn't where it was. He stares at the empty space, and feels that dark inside of him threaten to well up yet again. "What?"

Jameson swallows, his eyes moving to the glass, back to Vince's face. He steps backwards, and Vince watches the bottle go with him with a piercing need that could easily knock him off his feet if he weren't holding onto the back of a chair. Jameson clears his throat. "Aren't you... like, sober now?"

"Mmmn. Was. Got the like... three month chip thing and everything." He's gotten thoroughly wasted so many times in his life. Nothing relaxes him better than enough alcohol to force his body to stop living in constant, unending fear of who might hurt him next. "Right now, I am tipsy instead. In about an hour, I'm going to be absolutely fucked up. Give me back my gin."

Jameson's hand moves - then he jerks it back, taking a few steps backwards until he's back in the doorway. His eyes are on Vince's face, watching him with a total focus that Vince recognizes from the others he's worked with over the years - Jameson's just a trained pet, in this moment, watching to see if the master will be angry.

It makes him laugh again, more bitterly this time. Is he the master? Has he ever been his own master, let alone anyone else's?

"I... I can't do that," Jameson says, and Vince hears that he doesn't say no. When Vince moves towards him, he backs up a little more, and Vince comes to a stop just a foot or so away.

"Am... am I scaring you?" He asks, suddenly.

It wasn't what he meant to say, he meant to demand his drink again. Instead, this question that... that just sort of falls out of him like a waterfall.

Jameson's jaw sets and his eyes narrow. "You're not doing shit to me," He snaps, but Vince knows he's really saying yes.

Is this why people buy pets? So they can see something pretend not to be scared, and know they're the monster not just under the bed, but in it?

"Oh," He whispers. "What is it? Why are you scared? I'm just a drunk asshole, why are you scared of me?"

Jameson bristles, but then he offers - as if it's pulled out of him against his will - the softest explanation. "Brute and Robert got drunk all the time. I know what happens when-... when people get this kind of drunk."

There's a look in his eyes Vince has seen before in Kauri's. Not fear of him, not directly, but fear of someone like him, maybe. Fear of having demands made that can't be denied.

Is this how Owen felt, every time Kauri had to playact the loving boyfriend with bruises on his wrists and terror making his heart race? Is this how it feels to have power over somebody else when you can't even control yourself?

It's... it's good, almost.

It feels better than he thought it would.

"Back up, Shield," Jameson hisses, like a cat spitting and arching its back, ready to attack with claws and sharp teeth not because it's confident in victory but because it's so small it has to fight to have even the slightest chance to survive.

Vince looks him over, reading with an actor's expertise how he's projecting a confident swagger he never feels, how the irritation layers itself so carefully over a vulnerability that he sees as weakness. Vince has lived that way, too, since he was twenty-one, since his best friend turned out to be a rapist who wanted Vince to himself, since he started drinking to forget every single night and putting on the perfect face during his days.

They both survived, didn't they?

Jameson just did it by fighting his way out, and Vince by pretending to be someone he wasn't until nobody knew who he actually was, and that's a way of surviving, too. Wear another face, and make sure no one sees the fear in your real one, so they can't refuse to help you... because you've never asked.

"No." At least one of them can say it. Although that makes Vince's heart twist with ugly guilt, the petty cruelty of the thought. "Give me my gin," Vince says, pitching his voice low, and holds out his hand. "Now, Jameson. Give it to me."

"I can't." The strength is gone from Jameson's voice, and he looks at Vince with those dark eyes searching his own, trying to make himself understood. "If you drink, your-... your body's not used to it anymore, if you drink the same amount you'll fucking kill your stupid liver."

"What do you care about my liver?" Vince's voice drops low, almost a whisper. "What do you care about me, about my goddamn joke of a life, huh? What the fuck do you care? Why should anyone care?"

There's a flicker of something in Jameson's eyes - recognition, maybe. Something that lights up, just for a second, before the other man shoves Vince to the side with sudden violent strength and stalks to the sink, turning the bottle over and pouring that expensive artisan gin right down the drain.

"No!" Vince's voice is a ragged shout as he lunges after him, but it's too little too late.

Jameson's foot kicks out and slams into Vince's calf, sending him stumbling, clawing desperately as the gin is gone, glug glug glug, down into the pipes, disappearing towards the ocean.

Rage and terror fight in Vince's mind in a sudden white noise and he gets to his feet, grabbing Jameson by the arms and squeezing as hard as he can, shoving him back across the room. He hears Jameson hit one of the chairs, the clatter of wood and Jameson's grunt of pain as both hit the ground hard. The bottle is in the sink, and even when Vince scrambles to pick it back up, there's less than an inch of gin left.

He sucks it down, and only once he's gotten that final drop does he suddenly go still.

Oh.

There's the guilt and the horror and feeling sick at himself, just... twenty minutes too late. He sets the empty bottle carefully down, and then turns slowly around to look at Jameson.

Jameson sits on the kitchen floor, staring up at him with wide eyes. His face is pale, making the scar that twists the corner of his mouth stand out even more. His hair is nearly grown back in now, the bald patches hidden by the rest.

Vince exhales in a rush. "Oh, hell. Jameson-" He holds out a hand.

Jameson flinches.

Vince pulls his hand back, backing up until his back hits the edge of the sink. "Right. Okay. I'm-... I'm sorry Jameson-"

"Yeah." Jameson's voice is gruff, all the vulnerability and fear wiped away as soon as he realizes it's showing. He gets to his feet, shoulders protectively hunched, arms crossed in front of himself defensively. "Whatever. Sure you are. Drink yourself to death, shitbag, if that's what you want."

"I'm so sorry."

Jameson's jaw works. "... Everybody's always sorry. Then I get fucking hit again." Then he turns and walks - limps, really, his knees threatening to give out with every step - away. Vince stands there, frozen, listening as he makes his slow, painful way up the stairs.

Vince stares at the place he was for a while - he isn't sure how long. The gin is sinking its velvet claws into his mind, and he's drunker than he should be after only two drinks.

But then, it's been months.

Months, he made it without taking even a sip.

He swallows, again and again, and then pulls his cell phone out of his pocket, finds a contact, and presses the button to make the call.

The phone rings until he's certain it'll go to voicemail, before a voice he knows as well as his own is in his ear.

"What the hell do you want?"

"I-I need to talk to you," He stammers, his heart cold. "Please. Please. I-I've been drinking. I need... I need help."

There's a pause.

"From... me?"

"Yeah... yeah. You'll-... I need somebody who won't be nice to me-"

"Oh, well, if there's anything I love it's the chance to be mean to you, let me drop my entire life to come listen to you whine about yours."

"Please."

An exhale. "Whatever. Yeah, okay. I'll be over there in like... half an hour? An hour, maybe. Drink some water and I'll be there as soon as I can. Don't leave the house."

"Thanks... thank you, Kauri."

Kauri hangs up.

Vince pours himself a glass of water over the leftover gin-soaked ice, sipping it, barely flavored with a hint of the liquor he wants so badly. He rights the chair he'd accidentally shoved Jameson into, and listens to the creaking floorboards and muffled cursing above him as Jameson makes his halting painful way from stairway to his room, a couple thumps when he clearly falls and had to force himself back upright, until the pacing abruptly stops when he must have collapsed into his bed.

He hears the gentle patting of Trash Cat's paws as she leaves her place on the living room couch and follows him, too, her soft meowing until Jameson opens his door to let her come in after him. Then silence again.

Vince sits back down at the table, leaning over with his head in his hand, staring as the ice slowly melts, cooling the water around it.

He should have called his sponsor instead.

Whatever Kauri is about to say can only make this worse.

But he deserves it, anyway.

Vince doesn't move a muscle until he hears the sound of Jake's truck pulling into the driveway, crunching briefly over gravel before it's on the pavement again, when he raises his head.

Kauri walks in without knocking, stops in the doorway to the kitchen, and looks at him like his younger self ashamed of what he's grown into. Vince knows Jake must have driven him, but he's nowhere to be seen - maybe just staying outside, for now. He's clearly dressed for bed in a matching navy blue silk button-up and pajama pants, barefoot even.

"Hey," Vince says, weakly. The alcohol feels like poison now, not the soothing warmth it had been before. "I... I fucked up, Kauri."

"Yeah, I can tell just by looking at you, you're a goddamn mess." Kauri looks at Vince head-on, even though it still hurts him to do it, and Vince can see the flinch he suppresses as the headache kicks in. His blue eyes are identical to Vince's in nearly every way, except that Kauri's gaze has always been stronger. "What the hell did you do?"

"I got... I drank."

"Yep. I can see the gin bottle. Did you drink all of it?" Kauri's voice is flat and businesslike. It's like having his own younger self dressing him down, and somehow that feels... really good. Better than he thought it would.

"... No. Just a couple drinks. Jameson poured the rest out."

"Good for him." Kauri flickers a smile. "Where is he?"

"I-... I scared him."

"... you scared him?"

"Yeah. I was-... I wasn't-... I didn't mean to, but-"

"Shut up. All right. Tell me what you did. I'll fix it. This time, taking your place so I suffer for years while you run off and become obscenely wealthy is off the table, got it?"

Vince looks at him in horror only to see a surprising warmth in Kauri's smile. Not... not affection, but something like it. A wry compassion, maybe. Something else he doesn't deserve. "I don't know. I don't know if I can fix this, Kauri. I don't know."

"Well... I happen to the resident expert in trying to avoid dealing with your problems while making them all worse, so talk to me. Tell me what you did, start to finish. We'll figure out what comes next."

Vince lowers his head into his arms.

"Thank you," He says, muffled.

"Not enough thanks in the world, dumbass. Lucky for you I'm an amazing person who just happens to have spent most of my twenties making stupid drunk mistakes. So stop stalling and start talking."

-

@finder-of-rings @endless-whump @arlin-always-writing @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @whumpyourdamnpears @cubeswhump  @whump-tr0pes @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @outofangband @hackles-up @grizzlie70 @mylifeisonthebookshelf @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @autophagay

[sarucane]

Why did Ed think becoming a fisherman made any sense at all?

Seriously, this was always a ridiculous idea. Stede gets zero blame for laughing the first time Ed says it--it's an even crazier and more extreme whim than Ed saying "we'll go to China." And it's reasonable that it blindsides Stede for Ed to be leaving--a few hours ago Ed was making Stede breakfast in bed and taking Stede out to his favorite restaurant, and now he's leaving forever. That's a hell of a mindfuck there. So why does Ed think it makes sense to follow this whim?

Ed starts this episode by throwing away his leathers. He's trying to discard and excise the 'kraken' part of his personality, trying to consciously transform into something else (hence wearing Button's clothes).

At first, he's also trying to embrace being with Stede.

He volunteers information that shows how important Stede is to him by describing the mermaid vision. But, just like when he told Stede about how "sometimes it's nice to just be patient," Ed's not directly owning his feelings here. He's skimming right past the fact that it was he, himself, who was choosing (unconsciously, but still choosing) to die, and his bond to Stede is why he came back. In fact, the closest he comes to actually saying he felt a certain way is by admitting he panicked over the twine.

And Stede, who just feels so secure in this relationship right now, more comfortable in his skin than we've ever seen him, just does not get Ed's insecurity. He doesn't reassure Ed by saying "the breakfast is great with or without the twine" he says "it actually made it!" And when Ed tells about the vision, Stede doesn't seem to register how big a deal it was.

They're not communicating here, they're just not. They've had this very intimate experience, but there's still distance between them. The visuals reinforce this: they're at opposite ends of the bed, they don't come close to touching at any point in the scene. Ed's dressed and Stede's comfortably naked.

Ed snuck out of bed and went to throw his leathers away by himself. He doesn't tell Stede what he's done, and Stede doesn't comment on Ed walking around in Buttons' clothes. Ed's thrown away the kraken--and then he watches Stede embrace being "a sea god."

And this fear and disconnection to Stede goes right back to how Ed's been acting ever since he came back. He's not been opening up to Stede. He's not been willing to get vulnerable with Stede again; he doesn't trust himself not to wreck it and get his heart broken, and he doesn't trust Stede not to break his heart. The filmmaking choices (bless this amazing meta for explaining it all) have been signaling this ever since they found each other again: they love each other, but they're on different wavelengths.

Ed's trust in Stede is brittle, even before he gets the idea that he and Stede want different things out of life (piracy vs anything-but-piracy). So, Ed goes out and sits with himself. Then he takes Izzy's suggestion and he listens to himself, to his desire not to live a certain life anymore.

But rather than deciding to talk to Stede about this, he decides he's going to leave before the conversation even starts.

Ed gets really, really close to real communication with Stede here. He admits that he doesn't feel safe in the relationship, and that the speed and intensity that Stede has reveled in have made Ed feel less safe.

And even now, even though he lost all track of Ed for a big chunk of the day and now he's being surprised by deep withdrawal--Stede is still all in. He could have been heartbroken or angry. He could have panicked and apologized, or frozen and shut down the conversation.

Instead, Stede listens. And he tries to make good on what he told Ed: "I love everything about you."

But Ed doesn't really hear this, because he doesn't trust Stede, the connection between them, or himself. Because "Trust no one" includes not trusting oneself.

Rather than engaging with what Stede actually says, Ed starts ranting, and uses his own insecurities to push Stede away. Stede's right, it is panic.

Stede mirrors Ed's body language all through this part of the scene. He gets what's happening, understands insecurity and what it can trigger (particularly related to an insecurity of "I'm bad for you you're better off without me") deeply--which is why it's so easy for him to forgive this later.

But while Stede understands exactly what's going on now that Ed's finally talking to him directly, for Ed it's all confusing and happening much too fast. So he shuts down, lashes out, and bails out.

Figuring himself out is complicated, navigating his relationship with Stede is complicated, trust and self-realization are complicated. Fishing, on the other hand, is simple. Unlike love or psychological integration, there's no risks in fishing.

[1991-ukraina-instagram-updates]

checked quotev, so mass update:

Update of the past week

•Today Russia launched mass attacks across Ukraine killing at least 41 and injuring over 170 (many still under rubble), children and animals died as well; Russia targeted Ukraine's largest children's hospital and a maternity hospital

•Ukrainian forces withdraw from eastern Chasiv Yar neighborhood 

•Russia’s and China’s relations at ‘best in history’; Xi indicated his support for Russia in it’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine 

•97% of Russian missiles, drones, and bombs hit civilian infrastructure (with only 3% hitting military targets)

•120,000 Russian occupiers killed in Ukraine -Meduza, Mediazona

•34% of Russians believe a nuclear strike against Ukraine would be justified 

•14 Ukrainian brigades lack supplies as aid arrives slowly

•Yesterday 33 were killed as a result of Russia’s attack on Ukraine’s largest children’s hospital, maternity hospital, and other civilian structures. 32,000 people (2,200 children) sought refuge in metro stations in Kyiv

Day 867

•45 killed (including children), over 200 injured (including children) in Russian attacks against Ukraine (figures include yesterday’s attacks as well)

•US obtained intelligence on possible Russian-linked sabotage plots in Europe 

•Ukraine will be represented at the Olympics by the smallest number of athletes ever 140) as sports facilities and training is interrupted by Russian missiles and air raids

•Ukrainian forces attacked Russian airbase, oil depot, and Russia’s energy facility overnight

Day 868

•8 killed, 24 injured in Russian attacks against Ukraine 

•Ukrainians raised nearly $7M in 1 day to restore Kyiv children’s hospital after Russia destroyed it 

•During US elections, Russia aims to undermine support for Ukraine

•Ukraine can use British Storm Shadow missiles to hit targets in Russia for defense purposes 

•Russia lacks the troops and ammunition for a major offensive in Ukraine - NATO official

Day 869

•5 killed, 14 injured in Russian attacks against Ukraine 

•Thousands of Ukrainians living in Poland have voluntarily joined a Ukrainian Legion being trained in Poland

•Ukrainian forces halted Russian advance to Borova village, Kharkiv oblast; 

•Indian state refiners discuss long-term oil import deal with Russia 

•US and Germany stopped Russian plot to assassinate CEO of weapons manufacturer

personal update from her:

Just to let everyone know, I’ll be in Ukraine until the 25th of July, (bringing over humanitarian aid, visiting friends, etc) that will cause the times I post to be significantly earlier and likely shorter (as it’s earlier in the day, not all updates for the day will be in yet). There are only a few hours of electricity a day but I will do my best to keep posting if able.  Please continue supporting Ukraine through staying informed, reposting, donating if able (u24.gov.ua/), and your prayers are very much appreciated. Stay healthy, stay safe, and God bless everyone

-Ukraina

Day 870

•7 killed, 46 injured (children) in Russian attacks against Ukraine 

•Russian pilot (shocked by Russia’s attack on Kyiv children’s hospital) leaked confidential data on Russian aviation division to Ukraine

•Russia plans to block YouTube this fall -Russian media

•Chinese and Belarusian militaries conduct joint drills near NATO and Ukraine borders

•GPS jamming in Finland likely part of Russian hybrid campaign -ISW

•UN demands Russia withdraw from occupied Zaporizhzhia nuclear power plant

Day 871

•12 killed (chief emergency worker), 34 injured in Russian attacks against Ukraine 

•In the past 6 months at least 10,014 Russian soldiers have been killed fighting in Ukraine 

•Russian kamikaze attack drone flies deep into Belarus, whereabouts unknown 

•National Bank sets new historic low for Ukrainian hryvnia exchange rate ($1 = 41.04hrn)

•Ukrainian drones strike Russian oil depot overnight

Day 872

•15 killed, 75 injured in Russian attacks against Ukraine 

•China and Russia begin joint military drills 

•Russia falsely accusing Ukraine of involvement in attempted assassination of Donald Trump

•Russia often fails to evacuate injured soldiers, uses them and POWs in human wave attacks

Russian forces are sending injured soldiers back to the front and using Ukrainian prisoners of war (POWs) as shields in "human wave" attacks. -The Telegraph Human wave assaults are frontal attacks launched by infantry units without armored vehicles or other defensive shields. Russia has deployed such attacks in its full-scale war against Ukraine, notably in the battle to capture Avdiivka in Donetsk Oblast -The Kyiv Independent

[the-apocryphal-one]

Leaving Tumblr

I think this has been a long time coming, but I’ve finally decided it’s best for me if I stop using Tumblr permanently. I won’t be relocating to some other site, either—I’ve going to withdraw from social media as much as possible. So this is likely the last y’all will hear from me.

I’m going to log in for a few more days (let’s say three), to give time for more individual goodbyes, if anyone wants one, then I’m off. I don’t think I’ll deactivate my blog; there’s a whole history there, and a lot of content I never put anywhere else, drabbles and heacanons and the like. If I end up needing to delete it because I can’t stay away, I’ll post an advance warning.

So, this is goodbye to all my Internet friends and followers. I feel like this is the past where I should give some big speech, but I’m just drawing a blank. Writing one would feel inauthentic, and I don’t want that. I guess all I’ll say is, thanks to everyone for all the support over the years, and God bless y’all!

[darsynia]

Trust Fall | Ch 23

ARC by Eury Escodero | gif by @cindysmoon

Story Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: Tony/OC, ‘terrorists made us fall in love;’ IM1 timeline. In this chapter, Emory feels the effects of the serum withdrawal and gets some details about the mission she's been drafted into.

Length: 4,795

Taglist: @starryeyes2000 @raith-way @arrthurpendragon @themaradaniels @starksbf @chickensarentcheap @tiny-anne

Excerpt:

Emote: You still have my shirt

Metal Man: I’m sleeping with it in lieu of you being here

Emote: Aww, that’s kind of sweet

Metal Man: Yeah, well, the next step is to dress Dum-E in it and roleplay little arguments about how much of my arm real estate is on display

She is entirely too shy to admit she’s been sleeping with his clothes, but her heart is full to bursting at the comparison. Unfortunately those thoughts could generate power, which is a bad idea in the car, so she goes for a joke to defuse the romance potential of their conversation.

Emote: That is so ridiculous!

Emote: I’m way shorter than that thing!

Metal Man: I was expecting you to object to the lack of boobs, but actually that was me. I object to the lack of boobs. I miss boobs. Yours in particular.

Chapter Twenty-Three: Heat Haze

“Apparently, I have a lawyer,” Emory tells Clint as she reads an article written about sightings of her over the past few days. ‘Emory Autumn’s lawyer’ asks for privacy as she builds her life back from scratch. Whoever wrote it isn’t wrong-- but she doesn’t remember being consulted about it. If it’s the same gentleman she spoke with by phone to discuss the forged POA papers, though, she trusts the man’s judgment. He’d done a lot to reassure her about that situation, and had promised to contact the police on her behalf.

“Good,” Clint says. “You’ll be able to defend against my civil suit for emotional distress after you ate the last of my seasonal chocolate.”

She lets half of the paper fall forward so she can glare at him. “You said I could have anything in the cupboards!”

“I forgot they were in there!” He flips a coin that lands in exactly the right way to knock a piece of wood into the window latch, releasing it so the hinged pane swings open. He tosses another at the opposite window, with the same result. The immediate crossbreeze is a blessing in the hot July temperatures. “They had Christmas wrappers, Emory. That should have been a sign.”

“I thought I was doing you a favor!” Emory argues, scooting forward on the couch in preparation to get up. “Do you know how demoralizing old chocolate can be? You are so ungrateful.” She goes to stand up, but her knees fail. It’s as if they’ve liquified and cannot hold her legs straight anymore. Emory falls back onto the couch, her insides flash-frozen from the splash of adrenaline and fear.

“Em?” Clint says, rushing over.

The now-familiar weight in the pit of her stomach sinks lower, and for the first time she recognizes its similarity to the aches and pains she’s been feeling in her joints over the past week.

“Oh my God,” she whispers.

“Serum withdrawal?” he asks, concerned. All Emory can do is nod, but when she sees him go for his cell phone, she pushes herself to elaborate.

“I’ve been feeling ‘off’ for at least two weeks, but I figured I was just tired. I thought that bone-deep weight pain was anxiety!” she croaks, her vocal cords feeling thin and brittle. She pulls his lone couch pillow onto her lap and buries her face in it.

“You had one job,” Clint teases, sitting down beside her to rub her back with a wide, warm hand. 

He’s right. She was taught a few maneuvers they wanted her to know, but the crux of the mission is based on the debilitating effects of serum withdrawal. Everyone is waiting for her to get sick, but the pain had crept up on her so subtly that she’d completely missed the signs.

“Hey, Nat. It’s time. She says they might have been happening for a while,” Clint’s saying into the phone. “Yeah, I agree. No more than ten days.”

Ten days sound like a lifetime to endure in terms of deterioration and far too soon when looking at her own preparedness. If the alternative is to progress through pain like this until she dies, though, Emory would rather face her fears, both real and imagined.

“I took your suggestion and offered to back up all the records, so there’ll be more than just SHIELD ops on these,” Rhodey says, setting down what sounds like a very heavy box onto the floor beside Tony’s desk. To check for sure, Tony reaches out a foot and pushes against it with his toes. It’s as solid as Gibraltar. He gets up and offers his seat to his friend. 

“They just let you hobble out with decades of this stuff?” Tony asks, crossing his arms and looking down into the box. It’s a collection of hard drives of varying ages, all jumbled together like tetris pieces.

“They wanted me to find something to do while on desk duty with this leg, so I did,” Rhodey shrugs. “It’s not like there isn't a warehouse somewhere with all the paper copies.”

Colonel Rhodes had been one of the airmen injured when an improperly secured load gave way. Tony still hasn’t found out whether he sprained his ankle running away or being struck by something, which really only matters for the teasing.

“In reality, I’m doing you all a favor, is what you’re saying,” he says, lifting out the first ancient-as-hell hard drive. 

Tony heads over to rummage in a drawer of cables, looking for the right connector to start copying over the data. There’s something symbolic about the fact that his father had kept exactly the right kind of cables for the copy, but had never rigged up this basement lab space with the kind of airflow that made it bearable in the summer. Howard Stark always did prioritize machines over people, except maybe when Steve Rogers was involved.

“Either that or you’ll piss them off by helping me do it too quickly.”

“There’s no reason why you can’t just wait to tell them you’re done, Mr. Eagle Scout!” Tony points out. “I’ll text Happy to go grab some of the terabyte drives we have in storage. We’ll expense them to your boss, and you can take two boxes in when you go back to work.” Rhodes is notoriously reticent with pain medication, so Tony pushes that button, just because. “On second thought, maybe just one at a time. You’re probably on some pretty hefty drugs, and those hand cart dolly things count as heavy machinery.”

“Speaking of heavy machinery, are you ready to let me take a look at the device you keep hinting at? The one that you said let you know what it’s like to fly?” Rhodey asks, completely ignoring his jab.

Tony doesn’t want to show Rhodes the suit. It wasn’t built for war, but he’s not naive, not after all the years he’d spent consulting for the military. There are five, maybe ten places in the carapace that could be modified for weaponry, and that’s just off the top of his head. They’ve been best friends for years, but James Rhodes is a model soldier. He’ll see the practical applications right away, but once his colleagues get ahold of the armor, they’ll want to add weapons to it, guaranteed.

He brushes off those thoughts and tosses a flippant comment at Rhodey.

“I thought you liked airplanes, Orville.”

“The Wright brothers were as fascinated with the design process as they were with flight, you know that, don’t you? From what you’ve implied, the thing you came up with involves both.”

Tony leans over to make sure the copy’s going, but when he straightens up, he lets a big grin cross his face. “Almost better than sex. Almost.”

“Even with that woman you were--”

“Are,” Tony corrects. “And that’s why you’re doing this for me. Shield’s got their claws in her, and I’m going to get my claws in them.” Since Rhodey had been teasing him about settling down or catastrophically falling in love for years, he changes the subject. “You guys good to find another weapons supplier? Anyone but Hammer, okay?”

“Maybe we should. Watching the troops struggle with that guy’s shitty designs might be enough to change your mind,” Rhodes tells him. He reaches down as if to scratch his leg and frowns at the bulky boot that encases the lower half of it. “Damn. It’s really tempting to sleep for a week, if only to stop my damned leg from driving me crazy inside this thing.”

“Yeah, the itching is the worst. I’ve got this, okay? Most of it doesn’t need much more than mild supervision,” Tony tells him. “Skedaddle, Daddio.”

“I’ll go on one condition: you never say that again. Ever.” 

“Fair enough. I’ll call you when I get those drives, this’ll take a few days, tops. I’ve got multiple computers that can work on this. Go rest.”

Rhodes agrees, and Tony walks with him to the car. He’s happy his friend chose to have a driver for this visit, and even happier that circumstances had worked out to give him access to those records. Just like with the SHIELD agent before, Rhodes’ hired car had parked out front, and Tony watches it drive off from the front door, almost thumping his forehead against the frame in a form of violent stress relief. There are probably still cameras watching the front of his house, though, so he ostentatiously scratches his face with a middle finger and goes back inside. 

He heads back in after waving goodbye at the retreating vehicle, anxious to get started on the protective armor he’d started designing for Emory. As cool as it is that she can fly under her own power, the emotion-based nature of that power leaves her dangerously exposed, as does the idea of using air as any kind of protective barrier. The trick had been finding a material that’s light enough not to need significantly more power consumption to stay aloft, but Tony’s pretty sure he’d found the right combination. As a bonus, he’d been able to devise a fastening system that she can easily get in and out of, something that wouldn’t work with his heavier, thicker metal plates. That part isn’t fabricated yet, though. He doesn’t have a Bridgeport at the New York house, but despite JARVIS’s jokes about his rapport with the lab guys, they haven’t minded him stopping by to make a few things. They’d liked the attention.

Emory’s mission can’t be more than three weeks off, not that he expects that they’ll let him know very far in advance. There are a few more tests to run on the efficacy of her armor, tests that would be easier if he could ask Emory to spin air around the prototype while he tested how much mitigation that adds-- but Tony would rather surprise her. The plan is to fly back to LA tomorrow for a day and a half so he can use Stark Industries’ wind tunnel. It’s just a shame the palladium shipment won’t be there yet. Tony’s own improved arc reactor design allows for palladium inserts rather than a depletable ring, so he can at least build the power core for her suit without having to wait for Obie to show up with it next week.

When he gets back to his workroom, Tony heads for the boot he’d been doing wirework on. On the table beside it is a floor-incorporated design for the Disrobe-Bot, but he pushes that aside for now. The wiring for Emory’s suit has taken a little longer than his own, mostly due to him having left the best tools in Malibu. He tells JARVIS to make a note that he should pack some of them up to bring back to New York. 

“Certainly sir. In addition, you should know that the preliminary results from our SHIELD analysis are proving concerning,” JARVIS says.

“I am Jack’s complete lack of surprise,” Tony mutters under his breath. Director Fury has yet to call, not that he’s surprised. He’s observed that, quite often it’s the ‘little guys’ who are more trustworthy than upper management. Barton and Romanoff feel like they’re legit, if mysterious. Coulson and Fury? Conniving at best, duplicitous at worst. “Lay it on me,” he says, louder.

“Drawing solely from public data, there is a twenty-two percent overlap of SHIELD ops at locations where adverse events occur within a week’s time. I believe the deviation from random chance is enough to warrant more investigation. However, this may change when the confidential missions are factored in.”

Tony squints one eye, then another, as he tries to figure out what his AI is suggesting. He tosses out a guess. “Are you saying that SHIELD has managed to schedule actions that coincide with crisis events so often it might be on purpose? That’s far more likely to be bad luck, wouldn’t it?”

“The number of occurrences are statistically significant.”

“Not to question your diligence, J, but have you factored in the idea that at least some of those missions were designed to prevent the catastrophes in question? That the public facing part is a smokescreen?”

“I have.”

Tony stands in silence digesting that idea as the soldering iron he’s just turned on heats up. “That’s… bad, right?”

“Quite possibly. More data is required.”

Tony shuts off power to the soldering iron and shoots a text to Hogan saying he’ll pick up the hard drives himself. He’ll see what computers are laying around unused and bring some of those home to expedite the copying process. It seems like the most important thing he can do to protect Emory right now is find out what her new buddies are really up to. 

He’d love to find out the location of her mission, too, but that will be more tricky. If SHIELD finds out he’s even thinking about that, they’ll probably trump up enough charges to keep him tied up in legal knots for years.

The benefit to being covert in D.C. is the proliferation of governmental offices. Emory knows that she’s being watched mostly tangentially by the press; thankfully Tony’s reappearance on the social scene and her extreme ordinariness has done a lot to neutralize Rory’s accusations. The general consensus is that she’s working with ‘the government’ in relation to the kidnapping, something that Tony can’t do because of how busy and difficult he is. Any residual talk about the whole thing has been more about the nasty letter Tony’s lawyers reportedly sent to Rory.

Emory’s lawyer has strictly instructed her to avoid any contact with her former boss (not that there’s been an attempt, which she supposes would hurt more if she hadn’t been forcibly removed from Rory by the kidnapping in the first place), and to stick to ‘no comment’ if/when she’s asked about it. That’s only happened a few times, though. The car that SHIELD sends for her blends in with all of the other cars like it, and sometimes they even duck into a nondescript parking garage and wait a while, just to muddy the waters.

As she often does to pass the time during the ride, Emory sends Tony a text through his private messaging app. He’d explained the high level of encryption to her in a note he’d sent with the phone, which she’d thought was adorable. The entire thing read like complete gibberish to her. At first she’d felt stupid and insecure about it, but eventually Emory realized that he’d taken the time to explain, rather than assuming she’d never understand.Someday she’ll ask how much is made-up tech speak, which, knowing Tony, has a 20% chance of being true. 

Tony is inordinately proud of the fact that his pre-existing music-related username is even more apropos nowadays.

Emote: You still have my shirt

Metal Man: I’m sleeping with it in lieu of you being here

Emote: Aww, that’s kind of sweet

Metal Man: Yeah, well, the next step is to dress Dum-E in it and roleplay little arguments about how much of my arm real estate is on display

She is entirely too shy to admit she’s been sleeping with his clothes, but her heart is full to bursting at the comparison. Unfortunately those thoughts could generate power, which is a bad idea in the car, so she goes for a joke to defuse the romance potential of their conversation.

Emote: That is so ridiculous!

Emote: I’m way shorter than that thing!

Metal Man: I was expecting you to object to the lack of boobs, but actually that was me. I object to the lack of boobs. I miss boobs. Yours in particular.

Everything she can think of to say is based on his reputation as a womanizer, so Emory just sits there like a rock, biting her lip and staring at the phone waiting for him to say something else.

Two minutes go by.

She can’t take it anymore.

Emote: Tony?

Metal Man: I’m sorry, I got distracted.

Emote: Please tell me you weren’t thinking about physically modifying your robot so it can wear my shirt!

Metal Man: I was not

Metal Man: I was thinking that I’d rather talk about your boobs on a voice call. In detail. You free tonight?

Her hair blows into her face from the jolt of energy that prompts. Emory does what she’d practiced: she sets the gathered ball of power in motion around her head like an invisible crown. The energy packet will ruffle her hair and eventually blow out or knock itself free, but it won’t disrupt anything too badly. It’s a precursor to the actual shielding she’d tried before, but with a bit more density per ‘ball.’

That’s her power dealt with, but her body’s physical reaction is still raging. Because, yes, she does want to hear his voice, low and teasing, telling her to do things, explaining what he’s doing in response.

Metal Man: Please tell me you’re busy thinking about that.

Swearing under her breath, Emory scoots her body away from the back of the seat and adds another packet spinning around her shoulders.

Emote: Guilty as charged.

Emote: I can barely hold my phone now, I can’t even imagine what a mess I’ll be if you’re serious about this!

Metal Man: Oh, sweetheart, our hands will be too busy. That’s what speakerphone is for.

Fuck, she can picture that in full technicolor surround sound. The car comes to a complete stop and she looks up, surprised and certain something’s wrong, but they’re already at the Triskelion.

Emote: Speechless. Car ride over. Yes to the call. 

Emote: !

It’s all she can do to send her stored up energy spinning up into the sky above her before she steps into the huge lobby. Her phone vibrates, but Emory doesn’t let herself check it till she’s more calm. It’s been a while since she’d gotten so flustered, power-wise, but really, SHIELD would deserve it if she flattened a few fancy sculptures after the bullshit they’ve pulled on her so far.

Tony’s message is worth it, when she gets to peek at it in the elevator.

Metal Man: Good, looking forward to it. I’ll even promise not to make ‘Stark naked’ jokes.

She taps out a response, lips curving into an indulgent smile.

Emote: Don’t make promises you can’t keep!

She ducks into a bathroom and splashes water on her red face, trying to settle her imagination down. Both of their sexual encounters had included dim or nonexistent lighting, and she hadn’t even seen his mansion bedroom… but the images in her mind’s eye capture Tony with so much realism that she’s breathless.

The intense feelings of longing she’d felt in the cave had retreated while she was trapped at SHIELD, but they’re back now that she’s back in the modern world. Just as Yinsen had implied about his time confined with his future wife, Emory had expected that the rush of affection and desire she felt for Tony was about seeing him so often, learning his quirks, watching him hammer on metal, arms slick with sweat. But even though they’re separated by more than two hundred miles, she still wakes up expecting to catch a glimpse of Tony changing shirts, or see him angrily brushing back his shaggy hair as he glares at a schematic. She hasn’t gotten to trace her hands along the angles of his bare back like she’d promised herself she’d be brave enough to do someday.

“Shit, I swear I stepped in here for something more than cooling off, but what--” Emory mutters to herself. At least her frequent ‘thirsty’ thoughts lately have helped with keeping her power generation at bay. In addition, the flood of endorphins from her favorite coping mechanism eases the chronic ache from serum withdrawal. It’s a hell of a silver lining, but she’ll take it.

A text from Natasha pops up reminding her to take her pain medicine. Emory smacks her head in remembrance, shoots off a thank you text to Nat, and takes the pills, rushing back out to be on her way. There are two checkpoints to get into the conference room, and once she’s inside, Emory hears the hum of an odd-sounding machine.

“Sound scrambler,” the woman at the head of the table says. It’s Agent Sharon Harris, who seems to be leading the mission briefing. Harris offers a thin smile. “It’s probably overkill, but this will be the culmination of over two years of work, most of it undercover, all of it vital. We’re just waiting for Agent Barton to finish up with one of our suppliers, and we’ll get started.”

Emory hadn’t seen Clint, but Harris nods over to an alcove in the room where he is speaking on a landline in another language.

“I didn’t take his seat, did I?” Emory asks Natasha in dismay. 

Before Nat can answer, Clint does it for her. “Nah, you’re good.” He says to Harris, “Transport’s on, sightseeing tour is a go. The Army reserve ‘World War II in Two Weeks’ group will stop to see the Nazi massacre site of Baron Kovačevi’s private army early in the AM. One scenic drive later, we’ll be in position around noon.”

Nat watches him sit down across the conference table and remarks, “We’re going to another location directly before heading into Sokovia for that, right? I have some candidates.”

“Not that one,” Clint says, pointing with narrowed eyes. “We do not need to be hung over for this.”

“It’s not my fault you can’t hold your liquor,” Natasha purrs.

“If that’s settled, we can start with the overview,” Agent Harris says with the barest hint of a smile.

While folders of information are passed out, Emory whispers to Nat, “Is she your superior or is the leader different for each mission?”

She holds up two fingers, probably meaning option #2.

Despite her enduring dislike for her, Emory gains a new respect for Agent Sharon ‘Nurse Kate’ Harris as the hour-long briefing unfolds. Far from an opportunistic mission unlocked by her own unexpected capture, the lead-up to the assault on the serum scientist has been going for eighteen months or more. Harris has been undercover for much of it, posing as a negotiator for a dying crime boss from a place called Madripoor. After his death, she’d been offered a job working as a liaison between their target, the scientist, and his victims. Emory’s appearance had been fortuitous, shifting the focus of the assault to one where Emory, guided by Sharon, would suggest offering the serum to Tony Stark in an attempt to appeal to their target’s ego.

“Ms. Autumn is meant to be seen as a sad, beaten person who is out of luck, money, and options. All she has left is influence,” Sharon tells the room.

“Valid, but ouch,” Emory says, as all eyes turn to her.

Not long after that, the assault support team is asked to break off into a separate room to discuss logistics and travel. Natasha gets up and speaks with one of the agents, who nods and leads the group of twenty of them out.

“Starting to feel like a rabbit in a trap,” Emory says. She has managed to keep her fear-based energy generation at a minimum today, but it’s not nonexistent. Natasha’s focus on her ability to control herself is making a lot more sense now that she has a better idea of what they’re up against. It seems pretty clear that this villainous scientist will view her as an adversary until Emory proves otherwise, and he’ll be prepared for her to have ‘magical’ abilities as a matter of course. A beaten-down supplicant is going to generate outrage at a different pace than a deceptive adversary.

“Do you need to go toss some tornadoes, for courage?” Clint teases.

“No, but I’d take a time machine, if you’ve got one,” she jokes weakly. “I think Stark would be the better choice for a double agent.”

“Don’t worry,” Sharon says briskly. “Your demeanor only makes you more credible.” Without further pause, she starts in on a few of the things that she’d wanted to keep quiet from the rest of the team. 

Most of it sails over Emory’s head, all but one (encouraging but astonishing) thing: through her liaison work, Sharon has managed to make allies of two of the people currently working as ‘minions’ because of their inability to pay for the life-sustaining serum injections. It’s encouraging in a way, but Emory’s incredibly grateful that this isn’t what they asked her to do. Talk about a rabbit in a trap!

In the car on the way back to Clint’s, Emory can’t help but wish Agent Harris felt more trustworthy. Her demeanor is hard to deal with, but the woman’s actions have been nothing but helpful. Sharon Harris reminds Emory of a kind of ‘reverse’ Rory Fall, at least up to the last couple of years. Rory had always been careless or neglectful, but her attitude had remained friendly, albeit needy. She’d played the part of a lost, desperate best friend who couldn’t do without Emory’s help, paying lip service to their relationship while always choosing what was best for herself. Eventually, the people they worked with got tired of dealing with her shortcomings, and the veneer slipped. 

It should feel better to interact with someone trustworthy, whose actions speak louder than their brusque, dismissive words, but Emory almost feels conditioned to mistrust, at this point. She pulls out her phone and almost sends a message to Natasha about it, but the last thing Emory wants to do is look like less than a capable partner on the upcoming mission.

Clint will be gone for many hours yet, so when she gets inside the apartment, she locks it and heads into her bedroom, locking that door too. As they were leaving the conference room, Nat had asked her how her power generation control has gone lately. Emory was able to tell her truthfully that she sets aside some time every day to practice control during moments of strong emotion. That’s true, but it’s not always on purpose. Throwing herself onto the bed, she tries not to picture herself as a storm-tossed boat, but that’s hard.

She’s frightened by the pain of withdrawal.

She’s scared by the mission.

She’s angry at Rory.

She misses Tony.

These same emotions flash through her every day like lightning. Emory employs various strategies to dissipate any power that accumulates as a result, and she does try to learn how to diffuse the more powerful emotions before they get out of hand. All of that is reasonable, and it makes sense. The problem is that the most effective way to mitigate those strong emotions, the ones she’s wracked with when she curls up in bed, is… unorthodox, at best. She’d never be able to do it on a mission, in public, anywhere else, really. For the most part, Emory had avoided sex while working for Rory, and romance? Forget it. In a way, it makes sense that she’d be consumed by these feelings now. But something about her upbringing (or maybe the way she was almost never afforded privacy in her life as a PA) makes her feel like she’s doing something wrong.

Telling Tony she’s been touching herself for stress relief is impossible to imagine, even though he’s the person she thinks about the whole time. When he’d joked about phone sex, she’d nearly collapsed in on herself.

Emory rolls over on her side, pulling her phone from her pocket so it’s not uncomfortable. Suddenly, the familiar pain in her joints hits her. That’s new. Usually she has a mostly coherent, pain free existence until nighttime when the withdrawal pain catches up to her. But it’s three in the afternoon!

“Noooo. It’s too early, come on!” she groans. 

A sudden buzzing sensation under her has her jolting upright. Everything on the dresser across from the bed flies off into a heap. Emory hobbles over, pain seizing up her joints, but nothing is broken. Her blast of energy dissipated almost as soon as it had appeared.

On the bed, her phone is ringing. She must have been lying on top of it and missed the quieted ringtone. It’s faster to throw herself onto the bed and roll over to reach the darned thing than take the pained steps to walk closer.

“Hello?” In her haste to answer it, she hadn’t checked who was calling, but only two or three people have the number anyway.

“Hey, gorgeous. Why do you sound like you’re dying? You’re not dying, are you? I have a strict ‘no dying’ policy.”

Next chapter... Tony calls Emory up and the two of them greatly enjoy the ensuing... conversation.

[qippabtch]

Achievement Unlocked

I got the notification just before I walked into work. Congrats, the bubble read. New milestone reached! A little arrow prompted me to swipe open the message, but I already knew what it would read: 

You have been nicotine free for 1 month! 

I ignored the popup as I slumped into dispatch, unable to muster It would be a long shift, made longer by the fact that I didn't have the energy to do any of the creative work that usually kept me busy between shifts. Quitting nicotine had seemed like a good idea at first, before the side effects started to get really bad.

I'd expected most of them. Migraines, nausea, anxiety, lethargy, cravings-- I'd been through them before, when I'd experimented with quitting. Never more than about fourteen days, though, which is probably why I wasn't expecting what hit me around week three: a complete loss of joy.

Day bled into listless day, and I started to forget what it felt like to be motivated by the desire to create. Drafts sit in my queue, half-finished and collecting cobwebs. The urge to write-- something as essential to my life as breathing or parmesan truffle fries-- had gone dormant. 

Gabe suggested I try to make some new additions to my most recent sticker series, the "achievement unlocked" collection, which celebrate career-defining call types while paying homage to the nerdy majority that makes up this job field. 

Another friend had suggested that, dispatch junkie that I was, what I needed was a hot call, something totally bizarre and dramatic to give me a different kind of high. Tonight could bring all kinds of excitement.

I said that I doubted it. 

The call came in on the business line a bit after midnight. Picking it up was like a reflex, and a familiar feeling came over me, like all of my pieces were suddenly snapping together.

My greeting was met with a crisp male voice advising of a transfer from the highway. "I've got a caller on the line who is in active labor," he said. "It sounds like delivery is imminent." His cool, calm tone was pierced by a screaming that made me double back almost as much as his words.

Imminent was an understatement. As soon as I had dispatched the ambulance, I heard the wailing turn to cries of, "Catch him! Catch him!" 

And then it happened. A sound, clear and pure as rain, suddenly pierced through the static. His first cries were strong, and I knew even as I went though the steps of clearing his airways that this little guy had some healthy lungs on him. 

It was strange, talking a new mother through her first moments of parenthood. I felt, for the first time, entirely unqualified to be doing what I was doing. I felt a bit of the terror this brand-new mom must've been feeling as she took on the title on the side of a busy highway. But those moments were precious, too, as I listened to the first few moments of a whole life.

That morning, I went to the store after my shift, wanting some way to mark the occasion. I thought about sending a bouquet to the hospital, or buying a cigar like they do in the  movies-- but one way seemed maybe like an invasion of privacy, the other a recipe for nicotine relapse. 

Instead, I bought a single cupcake, lit a candle, and said a little blessing, meditating on life and new beginnings. I let myself appreciate what a strange and wonderful job I have that I got to be, in a small way, part of that magical moment. 

Just as I had started to lose my spark, just as I'd forgotten the magic of emergency response work-- the Dispatch Gods were there to remind me there's magic in it still. It's hard to be apathetic, even in the middle of extreme dopamine withdrawal, when you get to help deliver babies on the side of the road.

There's an old first responder tradition where, if you help deliver a baby in the field, some agencies will award you a commemorative stork pin. I can't speak for EMS directly, but among dispatchers, that pin is coveted like no other accolade. 

My agency doesn't participate in the stork pin tradition, but that's okay. I doubt I'll ever forget that night. As I fight my way through the remnants of this depression (as well as the resulting creative dry-spell), I'll remember that call as the example of what makes this job so worthwhile.

[narsdana]

Thy will be done in 2024

A whole year spent in a place miles away from home by myself and I am tired. I must have said those words a thousand times in 2023.

I am tired.

Driving tires me. Speaking the English language tires me. Working and paying bills tires me. Living alone and doing everything on my own tires me.

Waking up felt like a chore & I can't seem to celebrate life anymore like before.

There's a lot that happened and changed. I have been in situations that pushed me to do things I would have never thought of doing because that's the only way to protect my sanity and be at peace. I have encountered different emotions all at once making me want to withdraw and quit. I keep telling myself I just needed to decide every day to move forward, go with the flow and I'll be okay.

"A couple more hours and I can get off work soon."

"One more day of work and I won't be back for the next two."

"30 more minutes of driving and I'll reach my destination."

"One more week and I'll have to pay my bills again."

This is how I've been coping from all the stress and pressure of this life. Sad, right?

It's not until the past few days of last year that I realized I've given too much of myself to the world. That's probably why I feel so tired despite the physical rest I get because the solution to this really is to be resting in God, not in bed.

In Matthew 11:28-30, Jesus said "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light." How beautiful this promise is and the only condition it requires us to do is to come to HIM.

Often when we are faced with challenges, we tend to fix it and carry them all over our shoulders. That's heavy and that will also make you not see the blessings God has been pouring in to your life this whole time. Now, when I come to think about it, He has been showing me favor and goodness but I've been too focused on my problems that I couldn't enjoy the moments.

For this year, I am committing EVERYTHING to God. I'll let Him do it HIS WAY and not mine. Even if He says "no", even if it hurts, even if I don't understand, even if I get tired, I won't question.

When God sent His Son to be the living sacrifice for the sins of the world, Jesus asked no question. He knew God, He trusted in His Father's plan and was certain that humanity is worth saving.

May Thy will be done in 2024!

[allinthefeels]

Chapter 3: it’s me, I’m the problem, it’s me

RE

Liquor, so much better than just a beer. I am carefree, having fun, and shit faced! Hey this one isn’t illegal I’m over 21 now! Driving the country backroads isn’t just a line in a county song, it’s real. Small towns what else is there to do? Drink and ride around! Not drinking and driving though, DARE warned us about that, not driving in while skitz out of your mind though, that’s safe. From throwing bottles on the road to hear the break, to using park restrooms bc of course I have to pee! I’m sure if people would’ve been around they probably would’ve gotten a good laugh. One time the back of my mini skirt was tucked into my panties and I thought I looked hot as hell dancing out of the restroom! I fell numerous times, a few even made me laugh! I got bruises I didn’t remember getting, I cried bc it made me speak truth, I felt a small weight off my shoulders. Hmm feels good, not caring about anything or anyone and laughing at myself. Perfect! Skip to March of said year. That’s right a beer baby was on the way. How ??? How could I have been so stupid??? I didn’t live this guy, honestly I was using him, still treating people like I was treated, not the best one of my plans. I absolutely do not regret my baby boy who will be 18 this year, I always called the surprise pregnancies as a glorious gift from God, and little did I know this little baby was what I needed! I stopped everything. I had a purpose! I will never be alone again! I love this baby so much how can he not love me too? He actually does love me, and how blessed I’ve been.

The guy decided to leave and it was just me and my baby boy! I was determined, he will have a better life… I will tell him every day thousands of time that I love him. If he plays. Sport I will be his biggest fan at every game no matter what. He will know love, support, and will get attention, maybe too much of it!

This little boy of mine that has grown and grown. Was so sweet, he loves helping people and animals, he definitely has so much love to give! I taught him that! I’m proud.. he played football and I never missed a game, not one. He later became a trainer for the team after an injury, I’ve been to every one of his games, I’ll always be his biggest fan at anything he does and loves! He had that, that of which I didn’t.

When my baby boy was too small to ever remember I met a man, he offered some of that ice stuff, I’m not an addict I can just do it once and I’m good. Yeah ok, icee became my new friend again. Yes I always thought of that baby and felt horrible, he deserved better, I’m broken! This demons said more and I will feel better, I think they repeated that several times before I was actually having fun and not wanting to go home. But keep in mind, I’m not an addict I’ll have some fun and stop. Yeah , well guess what?!?! God saved me again with a beautiful blessing. My daughter, I stopped cold turkey even after being told not to, it never bothered me before, this time was no different, a little withdrawal meanness and I’m good. Before getting pregnant my ex found out I was tweaked out of my mind and called cps. I never did it around him, in the area he was, or touched him after doing any, I was scared it would seep from my skin to his. Not sure if that’s a thing. After getting pregnant stopping for the heath of my baby, her dad left bc he couldn’t stop, great alone and unloved again. See a pattern yet? But I was good and the case closed against me, I got on depression medication that my doctor prescribed and said was safe, I felt better and again was determined to get my shot together, and I did. I didn’t want that illegal happiness anymore or the legal burden me that made me an idiot. Nope I had Prozac and it worked, my anxiety even lessened, whoohoo!

I never got back with her dad, and he eventually sold to an undercover federal agent. He was locked up for a while, he has since gotten out and has done amazing for himself, he’s failed my daughter a couple times, but whatever, she couldn’t care less. She has her mommy, we fight, argue../ but she’s my mini me! Can you guess what!?!? I’ve been to everyone of her sporting events so far and plan on being there for rest. She knows she has my support and love. She looks for me at every event and she finds me everytime, the smile she gives me is so much more than I deserve. What a blessing.

I’ve stayed clean met a guy, got married and had one more baby. He was planned! I thought I had everything now!! I have love, I am loved, he said so , he wouldn’t lie! Who’s this in my dms…. He asked for what!?!?! Oh hello demon! I haven’t heard you in a while, what’s up!?

[basicsofislam]

ISLAM 101: Muslim Culture and Character: Morals And Manners: Part 16

RETURNING EVIL WITH GOOD

Wickedness is weak, even when it seems to be victorious. In fact, wickedness cannot escape the destiny of its ultimate destruction. Goodness, honesty, and righteousness are the conquerors of the heart, and they are powerful in and of themselves. When good and evil truly come head to head with one another, there are very few people who will not respect good and despise evil. This clearly demonstrates that goodness and evil cannot be one.

It is good to forgive the wrong. But to return evil with good on top of forgiveness is to win over the heart of the one who was against you.

And none are ever enabled to attain it (such great virtue) save those who are patient (in adversities and against the temptations of their souls and Satan), and none are ever enabled to attain it save those who have a great part in human perfections and virtues. And if a prompting from Satan should stir in you (when carrying out your mission or during worship or in your daily life), seek refuge in God immediately. He is the One Who is the All-Hearing, the All-Knowing. (Fussilat 41:35–36)

In terms of the struggle between good and evil, Satan is grievously disappointed when believers respond to evil with good. For he wants the believers to do something wrong, even some small reaction so that he can use it to create doubts in the believers. In fact, if the believers show even the tiniest bit of excess in their response to those who attack them, some might say that “they were influenced by Satan’s whispers.” This will cause believers to lose a large part of their power. By reacting they cast a small shadow over their righteousness, even if they were completely in the right, and those who see this shadow will have, to some extent, an excuse. The following hadith provides a very useful commentary on the verse above:

One day a man came up to Abu Bakr and began to heap insults on him. The Prophet, peace, and blessings are upon him, was also there. As the man insulted him, Abu Bakr listened but gave no reply. The Prophet was smiling. Finally, Abu Bakr could no longer stand it and gave a harsh retort. The Prophet’s countenance changed and he left. Abu Bakr followed him out to ask him why he left. He answered, “When you were quiet, there was an angel answering on your behalf. But when you opened your mouth, Satan showed up. I cannot stay in the same place as Satan.”

In relation to this issue of repelling falsehood with truth and responding with what is the best in conduct, the Qur’an says,

(But whatever they may say or do,) repel the evil (done to you and committed against your mission) with the best  (of what you can do). We know best all that they falsely attribute to Us. And say, “My Lord! I seek refuge in You from the promptings and provocations of the satans (of the jinn and humankind especially in my relations with people, while I am performing my mission). I seek refuge in You, my Lord, lest they be present with me.” (Mu’minun 23:96–98)

Just as one must refuse to heed slights and wrongs, it is also important to respond to wrongs with the best possible positive action.

Adopt the way of forbearance and tolerance, and enjoin what is good and right, and withdraw from the ignorant ones (do not care what they say and do). And if a prompting from Satan should cause you to hurt (as you carry out your mission or during worship or in your everyday life), seek refuge in God. He is All-Hearing, All-Knowing. (A’raf 7:199–200)

A believer is commanded to take refuge in God when they hear any whispers from within themselves that urge them to take any action that is against God’s commands and which will not please God. In every situation when a person is subject to such whispers regarding the essentials of faith, worship, prohibitions, or how to treat people— in short, any aspect of life—they must turn to God and seek His protection. On the surface, the verse above seems to be addressed to the Prophet, but it is in fact intended for all people.

Those who keep from disobedience to God in reverence for Him and piety: when a suggestion from Satan touches them— they are alert and remember God, and then they have clear discernment. Whereas their brothers (the brothers of the satans in the form of human beings)—satans draw them deeper into error and do not relax in their efforts. (A’raf 7:201–202)

Those who refrain from setting themselves against God never feel completely secure that they will do no wrong. Satan also tries to influence them. He can cloud their vision and they are potentially susceptible to the images and ideas he puts in their heads. But before long they will perceive the truth, remembering that they must seek refuge in God; their understanding will become clear and thus they will be saved from doing wrong.

Consider the promise of reward announced by our Prophet for the person who avoids an argument, even if they are in the right: “For the person who avoids an argument, even when they are in the right, I guarantee a mansion in the corner of Heaven. And for the one who never lies, even in jest, there is a mansion in the center of Heaven. And for the person of good morals, I guarantee a mansion at the highest level of Heaven.”

[mtnkat3]

9.30am. Um good morning my loves..... ? My precious handsome hunky yummy beasts Mavericks Bears ..... Angels.....

I um pray & hope that each piece of you got some sleep last night.

I don't know what time I finally fell asleep, after 3.30am I think. I only know that with my path so shrouded & full of upheaval right now I felt one piece holding me, loving me as I cried. Because I don't understand what's happening with the pieces that I feel have pulled back from me. I only know my thoughts are scared, insecure, lost, barely holding on, unsure how & where I misstepped & hurt you..... & fighting to mend the hurts. But also knowing...love is by choice.

For me, I only know only God could stop me from loving you..... but I figured that out maybe too late for you..... sobbing. But I only know that when I fell for your souls..... God later revealed to me why I couldn't let go... Not only the loves of my life, but the mates to my soul He Created as priceless treasured Gifts to me. I do not, have not, will not ever take any piece of you for granted. The last few days have been both terrifying because I have felt you.....pulling back.

But I was so scared & alone with the c7/t1 epidural injection, & driving to & fro, then my hormones & allergies & diabetes & med withdrawal is involved too.

Yeah, I'm getting relief from the excruciating pain of my left arm right now. But an injection is temporary. I must find the root cause of the bone spur that seems to be affecting a nerve cluster & pray God's Grace to have it fixed. This isn't age related, it just finally got to this point, after 40 decades of buildup.

Then...add in the fears of stepping out of my known hell & trying to find my own place for you to find me.....I pray fervently you desire to do so..... when I've never been on my own like that. Just not been my life experience.

So I'm literally stepping out in faith during a time in history when the world is on the verge of imploding. I'm scared spitless. Inflation, recession, being able to provide for myself.

God has blessed me beyond measure that even though .. is whom he is, I haven't been kicked out. But. Narcissistic misogynist bully ways, I know exactly what I am dealing with.

I am just on my knees to God Almighty & His Plan for me & to walk out with Grace & Mercy & Guidance & dignity. I don't expect anyone to understand this path I'm on.

I only know that I am not to just walk out. But put my feet where He Guides each footfall. At times it's fast, but mostly I feel like a tortoise at the San Diego Safari Park! Most over 100yo! [The Zoo, Animal Planet.] Florida panhandle is as far west as I've been. Just life.

I don't expect anything from anyone when it comes to walking my path. It's not "normal" nor average & I'm fine with that. Way God built me. I only know that I feel Blessed beyond measure that God brought each piece of you.....into my life when He did. I don't understand His Timing, nor why we were ripped apart only to be touching thru this...shroud. I only know that when I feel your souls touching mine.....I have what I need ... you..... & I know I'll make it. Not that I wanna the burden of me on you..... No.

But feeling you..... your love..... surrounding me, comforting me, Guiding, nurturing, teaching me, inspiring & motivating me. Not because you've been a drill sergeant types to me, no. Because of whom each piece of you are..... my soul's precious perfect loves & mates..... You...... are the greatest Blessing. Treasured, held in highest of esteem, priceless & Gifts from God.

I will give my life to just see each piece of you happy..... Yours souls lighter in your eyes...... There's nothing I won't do for you.....

And what terrifies me as it brings me to my knees... that also means if you have decided I'm too much & don't choose .... me. Then I have to except your choices. Even if it rips my soul into pieces. Smashes me to smithereens. I can never stop loving you..... But that doesn't mean you are required to reciprocate it.

Bowed. Feeling so beaten & broken. Lost. Scared. Insecure. Unsure. Confused. Weeping.

Scared outta my mind over the thoughts of losing any piece of you..... the last few days have been hell.

I don't know what, why, how, anything. I don't know if I opened up too much, if I revealed too much, if I hurt you.....

I only know...

I love, adore, want, crave, desire, need, am devoted to give my fidelity to, all my faithfulness to, will sacrifice myself & pretty much anything for... you..... each piece of you.....

I love you.....beyond measure & I know I always have & always will. There's nothing I won't do.

You.....are everything to me.

Always & Forever.

I am Yours.....

~Tijgeress kat Phoenix. 🌺✝️☸⚓⛓🔗🙏🤲👣🐾🐯🦉🐢🐛🐐🌱🌟🗝🔱⚜💝🐻🦌🐺🧩♠️♾🧭🕯🕯🕯🕯🕯

Sa.3.18.2023 10.26am.est. .30a

[eyestosee-earstohear]

It is the Spirit who gives life, the flesh is no help at all.

Hey brothers and sisters. It's my (Paul) turn to share something the Lord has done in my life while we've been on the road. This journey has been about our spiritual growth just as much as those God has put in our path. This one is a little long but bear with me. God's got lots to do in me. As several of you know, I've been a gun guy for 30+ years. I've tinkered with, bought and traded, modified, repaired, read and thought about, and fell in love with them. Friends and family all new me to have a great passion for firearms. I loved steering conversion in that direction whenever I got the chance and enjoyed it when folks would ask my advice. I loved being the "Gun Guy." It had become part of my identity. It became the big passion in my life. That was a big problem. I'm not saying that guns and God are incompatible. I am saying that idols and God are incompatible. It all came to a head this past July. I was wrestling with God and asked him how I could show him love. The answer came pretty clearly and almost immediately after just a short time in prayer. He brought the scripture to mind where Jesus said "If you love me you will keep my commandments" (John 14:15). One of those commandments is to have no other gods before him (Exodus 19:3). I asked him "Lord do I have idols that are getting in the way?" I then asked if my guns were an idol and immediately I knew the answer. The spirit convicted my heart.  I reflected on all the years I had spent focused on these inanimate objects. How I had wasted so much energy on them instead of getting to know my Heavenly Father better. I had allowed the blessing to become a curse. I had more of a passion for guns than for God. I had wasted opportunities to witness for him. I had wasted years. I was instantly remorseful. But was it guilt over slighting God? Or mourning over the fact that I might have to give up something precious to me? If I'm being honest, I fear that it was mostly the latter. I wrestled with God for the rest of the day and did not sleep well that night. I had a sick feeling in my stomach and broke out into sweats. I tried to negotiate with God and then went through all the stages of grieving. And then it hit me; I was a gun junkie and an addict. I had the same symptoms, albeit much less severe, that a drug addict has when they are withdrawing. Our patient Heavenly Father shook me from my stupor and I told God that I would give up my guns if that's what he wanted me to do. He answered quickly that that's what he wanted me to do. He wanted me to be a God guy instead of the "Gun Guy" that I was known for. So over these last few months I have sold or given away everything I had. And it just dawned on me a couple of days ago the burden that has been lifted. I was always concerned about ensuring my guns where locked up and didn't like leaving town for too long lest thieves "break in and steal." What a silly burden to bear for so long.

We're not to love the world or the things in it (1John 2:15) but we are to keep ourselves from idols (1 John 5:21). I want it to be a testimony to my kids and my family and friends that God is serious about the hearts of his children. He wants us to give up the things that have become more precious than him. It has shocked some folks. God has used this situation a number of times for me to share the Gospel. He has also used it to show me other areas in my life that are not pleasing to him. It hasn't been easy. But that is fodder for another posting another day. That's some of my journey so far. I'm not telling anyone to give up their guns. I am saying ask the Lord to show you any potential idols in your heart and then do everything that you can to get rid of them. You might not like what you hear but it is far better to not like what you hear on this side of heaven than to hear in the end "I never knew you; depart from me." If you don't have a relationship with the Lord I encourage you to seek him. Seek him while he may be found. Time is running short and he will come again. His second coming will not be as gentle and sweet like his first. I hope the Lord can use my little revelation to minister to you. Blessings to you.

Many people have been asking how to support us or get a hold of us. You can always call or text us to check on us or pray for us. We’d love to hear from you. Paul: (405) 301-4335 Brandy (405) 602-4475

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[cryopathiic-a]

A distant concept that, friendship. He has many entities he calls a friend. And by that, the second moon primarily means someone he won't immediately try to screw over. At a later date, however, when the opportunity shows itself, all is fair game, isn't it? Because they are demons. And a demon cannot be loyal.

Hungry dogs aren't loyal.

And now comes Dōma's least favorite part of them all. Clarifying the terms of the deal. Because that's all a friendship is, isn't it? A pact. And he prefers to keep what is expected of him unclear, on his end, so he can always fall back on his word. Because it's easier that way, when you're as non-committal as this creature. To commit equals stagnancy, equals death. If Muzan-sama can understand that aspect of Upper Two's eccentricity, why is it that the first moon is so insistent on naming things that are forbidden?

— And why is the supposed pious one not trying to stop that blasphemy from taking part in this here sacred ground.

Because he was stunted. By those words.

The real you.

For a moment he is underwater. The room is still, the cushions soak in his skin and suck him deeper into their confines. It's just him and Kokushibo; and they are sitting outside of time and space. He can envision — no, he can see the starry sky spreading around the crimson painted tufts adorning his friend's head and the sneaky clouds shifting under the cover of night. And of course, Kokushibo's unyielding glare stands at the center of it all. As the centerpiece. The guiding moon. It's beautiful, he concurs.

But then he thinks about tucking his chin inward to look at himself — and that's when his eyes widen. And his body stills. And he draws a deep breath before facing the other.

The room is normal again.

What did Kokushibo see? The question that will haunt his days forevermore; and if he had the capacity for it, he would truly loathe the first moon for forcing him to look inwards like that. But Dōma only sighs. And his tone is just as tempered while they continue. Not because he was untouched. Exactly, because he was touched.

❝ That 'well crafted story' has salvaged many lives, you know. Don't underestimate the power of faith. ❞ A nail comes to rest upon his own forehead as he sits up, withdrawing his touch in light of the mood drop. Gosh, what a downer Upper One can be! Someone more empathetic would be surely drained at that point. Maybe that's how he sustains himself so well in spite of eating so little; he just drains their energy with his mopping. ❝ For humans, their reality is what they choose to believe it is, after all. And for us, it's what we choose to make them believe. But have you ever thought that us, demons, we still count time and years and everything based on the human calendar? ❞

That was because their Master did not care for any other calendar, wasn't it. Oh, he should probably watch his tongue and carefully tread that topic.

❝ Because their time in the world is limited; so they need to count it. And to make every moment of it count. But our time is unlimited, on the other hand; so, for a demon, nothing can be finite. Nothing can have an end, when you're endless, and without an end there's no beginning so... ❞ His hand motioned a few circles in the air before settling back down on his thigh. He'd turned to his side, resting one hand behind his head now, in a more lax position. ❝ —see my point? Pft. ❞ And they're making puns now, too. Getting all the more brash by the minute, as per usual.

❝ Listen, if you want my take, I just think you're going about this the wrong way. Like, there's a whole infinity ahead of us. And humans, God bless them, are going to keep progressing and, hopefully, make things entertaining for us. Isn't that why we're allowing them to exist? It's by our mercy that they even breathe. You know, it's kind of funny, because I always thought if Gods existed, they'd be at least a little depressed watching the little world they've made go to shit like that. ❞ He pushes himself up on one elbow, reaching for the incense and ticking the cover off with two fingers, to release more fragrant steam.

❝ Hey! Rude. ❞ A mock scandalized gasp compliments the palm that comes to rest over his chest with that comment. But his confidence did not seem to be swayed; mostly because, well, it was sourced inwards. Justified or otherwise, that remained to be seen. ❝ Well, for your information, you didn't exactly inspire the best performance from me. For someone with five times my years you're hardly engaging. Let alone... seriously, the dirty talk needs work. ❞ He wags a finger at him; and it's somewhat playful.

An abrupt motion has the younger sit up and pull all the garments with him as well. It's a bit too intimate, and certainly uncomfortable to be sitting here in this human form as he would have been so long ago with another... friend? lover? The people he brought to his chamber back then... he could hardly remember their faces.

❝ Besides, you know what, even if my previous argument didn't do it for you, I'll tell you this; you haven't done everything, yet. Because you've never showed me what your face was like. ❞

[faetaiity]

Bad day cuddles (Turtle brothers x Reader)

Yeah, I’m having a shit day, so I decided to make this CW: This talks about intrusive thoughts, depression, antidepressant withdrawals (YEAH THOSE HAPPEN, AND THEY FUCKING SUCK) and chewing/picking on your skin (something I do a lot.)

You laid in your bed, you’ve been awake for a couple hours now, but simply feel like you don’t have the energy to do more than twist and turn in your bed

this was normal, though, you had bad days where you didn’t have the willpower to hype yourself up to make it through the day, of course, you COULD blame it on not having your antidepressants, it’s been a week now since you last had taken a pill

but you knew the real problem to blame was yourself, you’ve been hanging out with your friends so much that you just... forget...

you stared up at the ceiling for another... ten minutes? you have a horrible sense of time during these episodes, but luckily after that time has passed, you finally managed to get enough energy to look at your phone

1:23 PM

‘awh fuck’ you thought, seeing well over 40 messages on your lock screen, 35 of them are from the group chat you have with the brothers, but this part of the conversation startled you

Neon Leon: Hey! we still up for pizza night at [Y/N]'s place?

BootyShaker9000: Think so, ask [Y/N] though, we might need to reschedule or move the location to the lair.

Neon Leon: @[Y/N] @[Y/N] @[Y/N]

BootyShaker9000: Oh, my fucking god, STOP, they're probably busy

~~30 minutes later~~

Raph-A-Doodle-Do: You think they're okay? They never take this long to respond, even in School.

Magic Michael: Hope so! What if they're sick?!

a few minutes after Mikey sent that message, you got a DM from Raph

Raph-A-Doodle-Do: Hey honey, you okay? Mikey's throwing a little panic episode right now, please respond when you see this, love you.

you sighed, knowing damn well that they know you read this now, due to the 'Read at 1:30PM' snitch marker, you decided to message the groupchat instead of just Raph

[Y/N]: Hey guys, I'm sorry I didn't say anything sooner, I'm just.... not feeling the greatest right now.

Magic Michael: Oh, No! Are you sick?!

[Y/N]: No, just down with a bad mood, don't worry, can we reschedule for next week?

you got no reply, but you knew they read it

15 minutes later, you got a knock on the window, you groaned, you knew who it was, but you just... can't get out of bed, you feel like if you do, you'll just die of exhaustion.

The knocking became more desperate before stopping for a moment, you sighed in relief, hoping they just went away

that thought was too hopeful, though, because a minute or two later, you heard your window break making you anxious and started biting the inner part of your cheek plus picking at various scabs on your body, before you also heard hurried footsteps come near your bedroom

They stopped right in front of your door, knocked softly for a few seconds, waited, then opened

You saw the four brothers; they all had worried looks, you relaxed before tiredly waving at them

Mikey instantly bounded towards you, hopping on the bed, hugging and peppering you with small forehead and cheek kisses

"Honey!!!! What's wrong?!" bless Mikey's heart, he was always the sweetest, hell, he even somehow melted Draxum's ice cold heart

Leo followed next, going to the opposite side of your bed and sat next to you, Leo wasn't nearly as concerned but he asked you in a soft tone "Did something happen?"

Raph and Donnie approached at the same time, sitting at the foot of your bed "Darling, you wanna talk about it?" Donnie nodded in agreement

You shook your head "Not now..." you mumbled, continuing to pick at the scabs on your arms, Leo gasped softly, he grabbed your hands and gently pulled them away

"Hey,,, Don't do that, love, please talk with us, we don't wanna see you like this" he mumbled, kissing your arms where you were picking softly

You started tearing up, venting about everything that's happened recently, and how you bottled it up until you just couldn't do anything anymore

They listened, nodding softly, letting you finish before you felt Leo and Mikey hug you, Donnie and Raph moved up and joined the three of you

you stayed like this for a while, basking in the touch of your lovers, Donnie got up, took your phone and started ordering pizza for the five of you, once he was done, he looked over towards you

"You wanna take a self-care day and watch your favorite movies?" he asked gently, you nodded softly, tears still pricking your eyes

He let out a ghost of a smile and picked you up, bringing you into the living room, he stopped at the couch and set you down softly, the others followed, each of them setting beside you

"Whatcha wanna watch?" Raph asked

"Can we watch [F/M]?"

"Of course" Leo purred, cuddling you and getting comfortable

The rest joined in

"I love you guys" you yawned out

"we love you too" they said in unison, softly nuzzling into you from four different angles

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Augh, I needed something that would be self indulgent and somewhat of a comfort post.