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becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys · 8 months

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please tell us more about your mad theory about the tories getting rid of Sunak?

So the Tories currently have two (2) major problems.

Problem the first: they are about to lose power as soon as the GE rolls around, which it must do by January 2025 at the absolute latest. And the country is baying for one sooner.

This is very much preoccupying their minds at the minute. The rich and powerful will never willingly let you vote away their wealth and power, and to put this into perspective, the Tory party has ruled this country either jointly or alone for over a decade at this point. One of David Cameron's strategies as leader was to focus on recruitment of young and exciting diverse Tories into the party, which is how we got such stellar entries as Liz Truss and Priti Patel and Suella Braverman. These are MPs, therefore, who have never known political life outside of being on the winning side. They are seeing the end of the gravy train in sight, and they are taking it as well as you'd expect.

This is why the infighting is so rife (partly; bear with). The main thing they care about right now is making the party electable again, and fast.

But...

Problem the second: like all good fascist dictators, when Boris Johnson came to power, he fired everyone who said anything bad about him for disloyalty, and promoted all his personal friends. This is how we got such stellar entries as Nadine Dorries and Jacob Rees Mogg and Michael Fabricant. But THAT'S an issue because saying bad things about BJ is basically what intelligent people did, because the man was a useless blundering oaf who killed horrifying numbers of his own electorate via the world's second worst mismanagement of a global pandemic. So removing anyone who criticised him meant, in very real terms, removing the only Tories with half a brain who were even a fraction capable of doing joined up thinking required to run a country. Like, fuck every Tory with a cactus, obviously, but they did at least used to have competent, high calibre politicians, however evil and grotesque they were. David Cameron should die in a cesspit, but he was capable of remembering to put the bins out (before wage cutting the refuse collectors).

And therein lies the real problem: okay, BJ is gone, the party is in ruin, they're staring down the barrel of the most humiliating election defeat in history. They need someone competent that they all like who can take the reins and make people like them again.

But who's left?

There's no one. There's no one left. Not just because the remaining Tories are too low calibre to lead; they're too low calibre to even be able to pick someone without shrieking like cliquey little harridans on the playground about how the wrong in-group got in. Half of them are still BJ loyalists who hate anyone who criticise The Great Brexit Leader. The other half hate BJ for managing to make everyone hate the Tories so much that they're in this mess. Both halves are willing to sabotage the chosen leader of the other, locked in a battle of mutually assured destruction.

So how does Sunak fit into this?

He's unpopular in the party to a truly staggering degree, and not much better in the eyes of the public. He's tried to take a centrist stance on BJ, but that's actually just pissed off both sides. He did manage to stabilise the economy somewhat after the appalling mess Liz Truss threw it into, but he hasn't actually fixed it - we're still mid-cost of living crisis, we're still inexplicably not rich after Brexit like Boris prommied, inflation is still at an all time high as public services crash. The public hates him.

And he hasn't made the public stop hating the Tories. That petition calling for a GE is great, because it won't happen - BUT, it does force the issue to be debated in Parliament with opposition parties getting to stick the boot in, which means the humiliation continues. The Tories are starting to get desperate again.

And because this lot of Tories are, as mentioned, utterly terrible low-calibre political idiots, their response to this pressure has for the last four years been to oust the leader and get another.

And the first letters of no confidence have been sent into the 1922 Committee already. The devil moves fast, but knuckle dragging Tories with a fifth of a braincell each move faster.

And thanks to the absolute fucking state of them all... I cannot believe I'm saying these words, but genuinely the best person they have left who could possibly do the job is, of all fucking people, Michael Fucking Gove, and it won't even be him because he was mean to Boris once.

So yeah. I reckon Sunak may be out in six months. Fuck knows who we get instead. Probably Penny Mordaunt.

#asks #politik

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ilblogdellamati · 2 years

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“some of you motherfuckers sure have the audacity to charge almost 2k + 30% utilities for a one bedroom basement that hasn't been renovated since the 50s huh” and other dystopian real life inspired short stories now for sale!

#just because you managed to get a house in this economy #doesn't mean you have the right to fuck everyone else over #you're not a girl boss if you have to take advantage of people's desperation for housing #in order to break even with an expense you clearly did not have the means to maintain in the first place #you're not a broke millennial you're just a stank bitch #mati rants

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mostlysignssomeportents · 3 months

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The Coprophagic AI crisis

I'm on tour with my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me in TORONTO on Mar 22, then with LAURA POITRAS in NYC on Mar 24, then Anaheim, and more!

A key requirement for being a science fiction writer without losing your mind is the ability to distinguish between science fiction (futuristic thought experiments) and predictions. SF writers who lack this trait come to fancy themselves fortune-tellers who SEE! THE! FUTURE!

The thing is, sf writers cheat. We palm cards in order to set up pulp adventure stories that let us indulge our thought experiments. These palmed cards – say, faster-than-light drives or time-machines – are narrative devices, not scientifically grounded proposals.

Historically, the fact that some people – both writers and readers – couldn't tell the difference wasn't all that important, because people who fell prey to the sf-as-prophecy delusion didn't have the power to re-orient our society around their mistaken beliefs. But with the rise and rise of sf-obsessed tech billionaires who keep trying to invent the torment nexus, sf writers are starting to be more vocal about distinguishing between our made-up funny stories and predictions (AKA "cyberpunk is a warning, not a suggestion"):

https://www.antipope.org/charlie/blog-static/2023/11/dont-create-the-torment-nexus.html

In that spirit, I'd like to point to how one of sf's most frequently palmed cards has become a commonplace of the AI crowd. That sleight of hand is: "add enough compute and the computer will wake up." This is a shopworn cliche of sf, the idea that once a computer matches the human brain for "complexity" or "power" (or some other simple-seeming but profoundly nebulous metric), the computer will become conscious. Think of "Mike" in Heinlein's *The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress":

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Moon_Is_a_Harsh_Mistress#Plot

For people inflating the current AI hype bubble, this idea that making the AI "more powerful" will correct its defects is key. Whenever an AI "hallucinates" in a way that seems to disqualify it from the high-value applications that justify the torrent of investment in the field, boosters say, "Sure, the AI isn't good enough…yet. But once we shovel an order of magnitude more training data into the hopper, we'll solve that, because (as everyone knows) making the computer 'more powerful' solves the AI problem":

https://locusmag.com/2023/12/commentary-cory-doctorow-what-kind-of-bubble-is-ai/

As the lawyers say, this "cites facts not in evidence." But let's stipulate that it's true for a moment. If all we need to make the AI better is more training data, is that something we can count on? Consider the problem of "botshit," Andre Spicer and co's very useful coinage describing "inaccurate or fabricated content" shat out at scale by AIs:

https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=4678265

"Botshit" was coined last December, but the internet is already drowning in it. Desperate people, confronted with an economy modeled on a high-speed game of musical chairs in which the opportunities for a decent livelihood grow ever scarcer, are being scammed into generating mountains of botshit in the hopes of securing the elusive "passive income":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/15/passive-income-brainworms/#four-hour-work-week

Botshit can be produced at a scale and velocity that beggars the imagination. Consider that Amazon has had to cap the number of self-published "books" an author can submit to a mere three books per day:

https://www.theguardian.com/books/2023/sep/20/amazon-restricts-authors-from-self-publishing-more-than-three-books-a-day-after-ai-concerns

As the web becomes an anaerobic lagoon for botshit, the quantum of human-generated "content" in any internet core sample is dwindling to homeopathic levels. Even sources considered to be nominally high-quality, from Cnet articles to legal briefs, are contaminated with botshit:

https://theconversation.com/ai-is-creating-fake-legal-cases-and-making-its-way-into-real-courtrooms-with-disastrous-results-225080

Ironically, AI companies are setting themselves up for this problem. Google and Microsoft's full-court press for "AI powered search" imagines a future for the web in which search-engines stop returning links to web-pages, and instead summarize their content. The question is, why the fuck would anyone write the web if the only "person" who can find what they write is an AI's crawler, which ingests the writing for its own training, but has no interest in steering readers to see what you've written? If AI search ever becomes a thing, the open web will become an AI CAFO and search crawlers will increasingly end up imbibing the contents of its manure lagoon.

This problem has been a long time coming. Just over a year ago, Jathan Sadowski coined the term "Habsburg AI" to describe a model trained on the output of another model:

https://twitter.com/jathansadowski/status/1625245803211272194

There's a certain intuitive case for this being a bad idea, akin to feeding cows a slurry made of the diseased brains of other cows:

https://www.cdc.gov/prions/bse/index.html

But "The Curse of Recursion: Training on Generated Data Makes Models Forget," a recent paper, goes beyond the ick factor of AI that is fed on botshit and delves into the mathematical consequences of AI coprophagia:

https://arxiv.org/abs/2305.17493

Co-author Ross Anderson summarizes the finding neatly: "using model-generated content in training causes irreversible defects":

https://www.lightbluetouchpaper.org/2023/06/06/will-gpt-models-choke-on-their-own-exhaust/

Which is all to say: even if you accept the mystical proposition that more training data "solves" the AI problems that constitute total unsuitability for high-value applications that justify the trillions in valuation analysts are touting, that training data is going to be ever-more elusive.

What's more, while the proposition that "more training data will linearly improve the quality of AI predictions" is a mere article of faith, "training an AI on the output of another AI makes it exponentially worse" is a matter of fact.

Name your price for 18 of my DRM-free ebooks and support the Electronic Frontier Foundation with the Humble Cory Doctorow Bundle.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/14/14/inhuman-centipede#enshittibottification

Image: Plamenart (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Double_Mobius_Strip.JPG

CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/deed.en

#pluralistic #ai #generative ai #André Spicer #botshit #habsburg ai #jathan sadowski #ross anderson #inhuman centipede #science fiction #mysticism

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notroosterbradshaw · 6 months

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about: just some smut to fend off jetlag. i love sleepy Bradley, I make no excuses that I feel he does his best work in the early hours of the day. This was supposed to be a drabble… it’s not anymore. Sorry.

word count: 3.2k

warnings: nsfw 18+, language, pure fluff, smut.

masterlist.

The morning after the night before when Bradley met your family for the first time, you'd flown across the world to surprise your dad for his birthday and really, it luckily coincided with Bradley's time off. When you mentioned heading home for your old man's special day that usually kicked off your family's holiday season, you almost fell out of your seat when he said maybe it was time he met the fam face-to-face, not just making small talk over FaceTime. It almost didn’t seem fair that he was subjected to meeting everyone this way, but alas… here you were the next morning, jet lag kicking in while wrapped protectively in Bradley’s strong, golden arms and washed in the relief your family fucking loved him. You weren't overly surprised.

Bradley's quiet, unassuming charm was just who your mum wanted you to end up with, he was into golf and surfing, so your dad and brothers thought he was the bee's knees. Your sister on the other hand...

You had to fend her off more than you would have liked. You were confident in your relationship with Bradley, knowing he'd never allow anything to happen. "You're coming across a little desperate," you hissed after one or two drinks, which mortified her, and she apologised, admitting she was just happy to finally get to meet the guy who'd swept you off your feet. "Yes, my feet," you reminded her. When she pointed out how possessive you sounded, you didn't deny it. But she got it and gave you space for the rest of the evening.

Ahh, sisters.

Bradley felt your body writhe in the gentlest of movements against his and he sighed. Sleep hadn’t come easy for either of you and compounded with the food and booze you’d indulged in the day before, neither of you slept much. “You okay, sweetheart?” he whispered at God-knows-what-o’clock.

“What time is it?” You asked softly.

“I dunno, baby. Sun is barely rising,” he admitted. “Can’t hear a peep in the house.”

Which was nice because yesterday was intense. Everyone was so excited to meet your new American boyfriend (fairly, it’d been about eight months, give or take with a few deployments), the incredibly handsome navy pilot whom you’d met one evening at a naval bar while travelling. You’d caught his eyes behind his sunglasses while he played the piano, the crowd around him as swept away with him as you were. The first half-smile in your direction, as he sang, had done you over in a way not one single person on the planet had before.

He'd charmed you instantly. He still charmed you constantly.

“Did you get any sleep?” you asked, biting back a yawn.

“Not really,” he peppered tender kisses into your shoulder blade and smiled into your skin as you pressed back into him, the oh-so-quiet moan made for his ears only waking him from his dreaded fog as well. “I’ll try and get a kip somewhere today. That fuckin’ flight murdered me.”

“You were happy to fly economy,” you muttered. “I know you’re used to tight quarters, but fuck Bradley. It was 15 hours."

“I know, I know I fucked up. I was looking at upgrades overnight. I’ll use my discount and stuff; we can do it flying home.”

“You sure?”

“Sue me for wanting to save a buck,” he sighed, with a tired, deep chuckle. “Flight was so full; people may as well have been sitting on the wings.”

“It’s Christmas. People travel.”

“You don't say,” he affectionately gripped your waist, rolling you to him and kissed you. “Good morning, I think," he nuzzled your nose against his and asked if you wanted some water or anything.

You shook your head, rolling back and snuggling into him as he adjusted his arms around you again, his nose buried in your hair. "I think Dad is gonna expect you for at least nine holes today."

"I think so, yeah. Grill me and make sure I'm good enough for his little girl.” He murmured and if he was honest, he was the teeniest bit nervous. He’d never really been in relationships long enough to meet families… and who would he introduce anyone to, except for Mav?

"I think you'll be fine."

"He probably wouldn't be if he knew what a deviant I've turned his smart, beautiful baby girl into.”

You giggled quietly as you could feel the soft ends of his moustache curve into a smirk against the nape of your neck. "He'd send you back on the first flight to LA."

"I would believe that," he said softly.

"I think yesterday went really well, Bradley," you confided quietly to him.

"You think? I was on my very best behaviour," he teased you.

"Yes, you were," you admitted. Not that he ever wasn't. Bradley was instilled with a remarkable set of manners. He was chivalrous and courteous to a fault, incredibly sweet and at times, pensive, even shy. Almost make believe that you were lucky enough to share his time. You wriggled back against him, and you could feel the hard-on straining through his boxer briefs. "Down, boy."

"Can't help it," he sighed. "You know what you do to me with that ass. I know what you want. You're not that transparent."

You bit back your pleased smile as his wandering hands travelled down your side, fingertips toying with the hem of his old Navy tee that was now your bed shirt. At home, you were nude sleepers. At your parents' home during the holidays? You showed decorum and respect and you both hated it, preferring skin-on-skin of the other but alas, anyone could walk in at any time.

“Have a thought about how we might be able to fuck this jetlag off…”

“Oh, yeah?” at this point, you’d do anything and with Bradley’s travel for work, you hoped maybe he might have some insight. You had planned to just power through and try not to be the world’s most exhausted asshole.

"You just move your thigh a little this way..." he murmured, his palm cupping your hamstring and you pressed back into him, grinning softly. “And I just slide up in here – ”

“Confident of you, don’t you think?”

“You’re always wet for me,” he whispered against your skin. “Unless you deny it.”

“Never…” you told him, reaching back to wrap an arm around his strong neck. “I just can't keep it down with you. Why didn’t you convince me to get the AirBnb?”

He loved how vocal you were during sex. Your moans, the hisses, the way you'd bite your lip when you were so close. That groan as you came, or the little squeal when you were too sensitive was burned into his brain as his favourite sounds in the world.

"Just lemme hold you then, it's okay, sweetheart," he grumbled. “I’ll live if you can.”

“Asshole,” you muttered as he chuckled.

“Do you want a blowjob?” You nervously offered, turning back to him and he looped your thigh over his hip and perched you above him with such little effort on his behalf - you loved how strong he was but you knew what was waiting for you, Bradley made no secret he was turned on and you loved that you were able to have him on a knife-edge at all times.

The one per cent, he’s told you once before.

You’re so sweet to him as you slowly dragged your hand into the waistband of his boxer briefs, revealing more and more skin, cock springing free, slapping against his toned, tanned Adonis belt. Long, thick and dripping with precum already and he almost blushed at how eager he was.

“I’ll never say no,” he replied, “And I know you might be uncomfortable here. Your dad is right across the hall, baby."

“But my daddy is right here…” you immediately corrected him, and he smiled darkly to himself. You didn't use that term lightly, you couldn’t nfi fed to him he had the ability to bring out your innermost feral when you least expected it and he would do his utmost to encourage it (if you were comfortable).

“Jesus,” his head was swirling, trying to keep calm and not blow his load the second you bared your tongue to him but there was absolutely nothing sweet about it. He was a preening mess when you went down on him. The night you'd told him you weren't overly experienced in blow jobs was the greatest night of his life, coaching you through what he liked and watching you perfect your generous technique time and time again.

These days, you loved giving Bradley head. He gave you confidence, he made you feel sexy and not like it was only about him on the receiving end. He’s whispered and encouraged, and when it all got too much, he told you he was close. He was neither here nor there on the whole spit or swallow thing… until you and your preference but he was never left empty-handed.

"Shh," you hissed. "Not a sound."

That one thing you did for him that absolutely made him come undone. And he'd bury his face in your pussy all day if you allowed him to show you how fucking grateful, he was for all the pleasure you presented him. Your sweet, tight wetness that he would eagerly drown himself in if you’d let him.

Your honeyed tongue delicately tasted the flawless head of his cock, lapping up the precum as Bradley's eyes rolled back into his head and his big hands reached to knot into your hair as you went to work, swirling your tongue and looking up with your big, scheming eyes, knowing you had him at his most precarious.

He was a weapon in his training, his mind and body were always primed to do what was asked of him, but you were the exception and it scared and excited him.

He could feel himself getting so close to painting the back of that beautiful mouth, and while it pained him to say it, the way your eyes softened told him he’d made the right choice. “Come on, baby, I want you.”

You gently pulled away and asked, “You don’t want me to finish?”

“No, I wanna fuck, baby. Watch you lose control.”

“Okay,” you said, your soft hand trading with your warm mouth to tenderly pump and tease him.

“Gimme a sec. I don't have condoms close,” he whispered. “They're in my luggage.”

"Just pull out, sweetheart," you enticed him, wanting to feel all of him. It was so infrequent you fucked without protection, and of course, you both preferred it that way but after a pregnancy scare (or not, neither of you was really sure) a few months back, you'd both decided to stop tempting fate and ensuring there was a stash of condoms at his place, your place... the goddamn Bronco – Bradley understood that it was your body and you didn’t want to be on the pill. A condom was the least he could do, and he knew it.

Bradley helped you move up his body and rest you above him. "Are you sure?" he kissed you, your gleaming teeth lightly stinging into his bottom lip with an affectionate nip.

“I trust you,” you told him. "Cum where you need...”

Truth be told, he wanted to cum deep, but he licked back a wet smile and he moved to his knees to pull his navy tee over your head, bearing your beautiful breasts to him, full, round, nipples begging for attention. “On your back, baby,” he urged, guiding you under him, anticipating how wet you were for him, legs splaying open unashamed. He rested the head of his cock on your weeping cunt, his fingers spreading your bare lips and sweeping your slick across your clit, fascinated by that little peep of desperation from you. Your head fell back against the pillows, bliss sweeping through you as he sweetly pressed one finger into you. “Drippin’,” he reported, pressing in another finger and his thumb rubbing tenderly against your throbbing clit. “Gonna gush for me?”

You probably would, Bradley’s ability to drag absolutely everything out of you blew your mind each time. “Need your cock. Fill me up, Bradley.”

Pushing in, one delicious inch by delicious inch, licking his full lips as your back curved to take him as deeply as possible. He buried his face in your breasts, holding one in his calloused palm, eyes fluttering closed as he traced, left wet, open-mouthed kissed and tenderly bit the other, and the groan you let you made him clamp his palm over your mouth. “You’re so wet, baby,” he stared deeply into your eyes as he evened his breath with the first few rolls of his slender hips. "But you're gonna wake your parents if you don’t control yourself."

"Let them fuckin' hear," you muttered behind your hand (you’d die if they heard you though) as he chuckled and began his ruthless assault on your senses, one thrust at a time.

"You're too good to me," Bradley reminded you in disbelief.

"All for you," you confided, as you watched the beads of sweat break across his brow as you dug your nails into his well-worked traps, willingly knowing it would leave a mark courtesy of your fresh manicure. You raised your hips to meet his deep, plunging thrusts, fucking into you strong and deep. He felt incredible, you don't think anyone had loved on you as Bradley Bradshaw could. So thorough, and never one to leave you hanging.

Too long, too sore? He'd pause and tenderly withdraw to hold you, reassuring you that it was fine, and your comfort was paramount. Too sensitive after coming too hard, he'd give you time to recover, finding other ways to bring you pleasure.

It was nice to be considered in your relationship, in your sex life especially. In the past, you'd been made to feel like a machine, if you didn't cum, partners still could, and you'd just deal with it. For a long time, that stuck with you and having someone consider you like Bradley would almost seem too good to be true at the start.

But that consideration never lapsed. He was make-believe and you fucking hoped if this man and everything he brought to you was a dream that you’d never, ever wake up.

Desperate to keep himself controlled, Bradley reached for the headboard of your old bed, gripping it for dear life as he tried so damn hard to avoid coming. He loved fucking you raw, and since birth control was completely your choice, you two had to stop playing this dangerous game. Because one day? It would beat you both.

"I need to cum, Bradley," you whined to him as he nodded, chewing his lower lip, and putting your delicate fingers in your mouth, not losing his rhythm. He knew. He knew how close you were.

"Lemme see you touch yourself, baby. Get those fingers - " he gasped as you clenched around him. "Get 'em nice and wet and play with that sweet, tight pussy. Lemme see you fall apart.”

Before, language like that would embarrass you, but with Bradley, it only spurred you on. It was incredible the ways he’d helped you grow and mature as a friend, partner and lover. As instructed, and in the low early morning light, Bradley’s breath hitched, watching you touch yourself and you couldn’t help it, the beat of his cock against your g-spot, your fingers pressing rough circles into your clit and you started to come.

“Yes, baby. Yes,” he urged, moving his mouth to your ear, whispering his sweet encouragement. “You feel so good, just a little mo – ” he forced his mouth against yours, kissing your pleasure to him, to keep the noise down. He wrapped his hand under your hip, lifting your waist to push harder into you as you trembled below him, your pussy clutching his cock, spasming as he shuddered against your lips. “Yes, baby.”

“Jesus, Bradley, fuck me,” you begged as his hips speed up like a piston, thrusting hard into your swollen, sensitive pussy, his hand clutching yours away from your strained clit and pressing intensely in your place, hoping to drag your orgasm out and as you fell, lifeless, back against the squishy pillows, pussy pulsating, Bradley grunted low he was coming and after his final few thrusts, he quickly withdrew and unloaded, stroking himself until he was spent, pearly ribbons of cum decorating your belly and breasts.

He collapsed beside you, taking your cheeks in his face and kissing you wildly. “I love you. I love you, baby,” he kissed you again, and though you were spent, you returned his affections, because truly… you loved Bradley Bradshaw with your entire being. It was going to take a lot to change that. “Are you okay?” he asked, chest still heaving as he breathed, his pointer finger tracing through the mess he made on you.

“I’m good, sweetheart,” you assured him as he gave you one last, final kiss.

“Think that helped with your jetlag?” he teased.

“Makes me want another round,” you admitted as he chuckled and raised an eyebrow.

“Of course you do,” he pressed a kiss into your pulse and lifted his lips back to yours, holding you close and just like horny teenagers, enjoying making out for a few moments in the afterglow. “Where’s that shirt gone?” he asked, peering over the side of the bed, and cleaning you up. “Jackson Pollack painting here.”

“Be less proud,” you told him as he snorted.

“Yes, ma’am,” he pressed another kiss to your lips. “Sure you’re okay?”

“Perfect, but let me go pee,” you whispered as Bradley kissed you long and deep, he nodded into the kiss but was not quite ready to leave you leave him.

“Go, clean up, baby,” he helped you up from the bed, your legs precarious and meandering like Bambi. “Careful,” he sighed, wistfully. But he knew it already, you were thoroughly fucked, just how he liked it.

A few hours later and thankfully, a few more hours of sleep, your alarm woke you, the sun much higher in the sky and the heat of the day starting to rise. You’d showered and told him to come down when he was ready, you’d help your Mum with some brekky.

“You want eggs?”

“Anything,” Bradley admitted. “Famished.”

“Okay, sweetheart,” you cupped his face in your palms and kissed him lightly. “Don’t rush.”

“Okay,” he gave a small grin but didn’t much feel like lingering. After a quick shower, he dressed, annoyed he didn't pack any golf gear, at minimum the shoes that you gave him grief for every time he wore them, but maybe he'd treat himself and buy some at the course today. He rifled through his bag, clutching the velvet box in his palm tightly, convinced more than ever that this was real, this was happening and soon, he'd hope to have you wearing his mother's engagement ring too.

Slapping on his CVN-71 cap, he knew you went a bit feral when he perched it backward. May as well leave you with good thoughts while he was out and about, asking your old man for your hand on the golf course. And if it went badly, it was also something to identify him when the authorities found him if your dad said no.

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lizzieisright · 5 months

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Trust exercises

Abby, your friend, helps you with some of your therapy homework (just fluff, no smut)

-/-/-/-/-/-

It doesn't happen often, but sometimes before your scheduled meetings (since two adults need to schedule hangouts) you go to therapy, which means you come to Abby's place after therapy.

Sometimes you're happy, sometimes you're sad, sometimes you don't come at all, and Abby understands.

When she first met you, she thought you were the most kind, sunny human being - you were so nice to her, and Abby couldn't help but try to spend more time with you. You gladly let her and soon you two were practically inseparable - Abby trusted you, shared her worries and fears, even the stupid ones, and you supported her through it all. You were soft and kind to her, and you told her the stories of your past which made her cry. This is why Abby didn't notice that you didn't share anything from your present, not anything deeper than a complaint about work.

Abby knew you were in therapy - who wasn't in this economy? - and she thought you were so nice because you were healing. But during one of your shared evenings in Abby's apartment you both got drunk, very drunk, and you spilled something.

"Do you know why I'm in therapy?"

"Because your childhood sucked and your parents can eat shit for that?"

"Well, yeah." You laugh. "I have like, major trust issues."

"You?" Abby stared at you, even though she saw two of you by now. "Really?"

"Yeah." You nodded and even if Abby was super drunk, she noticed how your voice was strained.

"Fuck." Abby sighed, not really having a better response in this state of mind. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"So I can regret it later? No."

It stuck with Abby later, and she couldn't let it slide, so she talked to you about it. You were very reluctant about sharing what are your triggers, but the fact that you told her some things was already groundbreaking. (I won't ever ask for any help and I hate when people baby me, you told her, and it meant that when she bought you coffee you got literally offended - which led to another "you need to tell me if I hurt you because it's unfair" conversation, which led back to "If I could trust you, I would")

So Abby started getting more gentle with you - it rarely worked, but you always reassured her she wasn't the problem, which broke her heart even more.

But slowly, even through you shot her some weird looks when she took care of you in any way, you started to accept it. You started talking to her little by little, and Abby was happy - even if it was "holy fuck I cried me eyes out last night, kill me please" message. You shared some of your feelings, and Abby couldn't help the protectiveness she felt about you. You were so nice and kind to everyone and you were so lonely and broken inside it made Abby angry at anyone who made you feel like this. So she tried to give you everything she was able to.

One day you came from therapy, eyes red and puffy, your face empty and you just asked if Abby could cuddle you. Abby felt like she won life this day - won a glimpse of your trust.

So today you came after therapy as well, grumpy as fuck, which looked cute on you - Abby couldn't help her adoring gaze when she looked at you, even if you gave her a weird look now and then. It wasn't agressive, but Abby knew you struggled to accept she loved you for who you are, even though that was something you desperately needed.

"I have fucking homework." You told her and Abby laughed: you hated when your therapist gave you homework, since it was embarassing and you wanted to throw up.

"What is it?" Abby asked as she heated some food for you: which was also a struggle for you, accepting her care, but you were trying your best. These small things were just a trial before bigger things, and you promised to at least handle this for now.

"Fuckin' trust exercises." You sighed and rolled your eyes, but Abby saw through you: you wanted to do it, wanted to see there was someone you could trust. "You know this shit when you fall back and someone catches you? Disgusting."

Abby laughed and placed the plate in front of you, nodding when you said thank you.

"It's scary."

"It fuckin' is. And I don't want to do it." You grumped and Abby waited. "I mean I do, but I'll hate every second of it. Anyway, the point of this is, will you do it with me?"

Abby saw how it physically disgusted you to say it, and she knew it was your reaction to being vulnerable, so she just smiled: you hated being vulnerable, but she couldn't express how much it meant to her that you chose her to be vulnerable with.

"Of course."

"You don't have to, obviously-" Here you go again, Abby thought.

"I want to. I don't go to gym for nothing, I won't let you fall." Abby flexed her biceps and you got flustered.

You both knew you liked each other, and you flirted all the time, but Abby didn't rush you: you couldn't handle her heating the food for you, you were not ready to be in a relationship by any means. So Abby was waiting for you, calm and sure one day she will get to kiss you and you will accept her love.

"Thank you."

"And don't you fucking dare to do something nice for me in return, I'll kill you."

"...Fine."

You look so uncomfortable with the whole idea, but Abby knows you'll push through anyway - you are a masochist like that. So you stand in the middle of her living room, Abby is relaxed and just waits for you to go through your conflicting emotions.

"I'll catch you, I promise."

"I know that. It's not what worries me." You tell her as you fidget with your fingers. "It's so fucking scary."

"Well, you're not here alone. I'll hold you after."

You struggle again with accepting this, but you don't reject her - every time when this happens Abby feels proud and happy: you are trying to trust her.

"Okay, can we like. Start with smaller distance? I don't think I'll be able to do the whole metre."

"Of course."

You stand awkwardly with your back to Abby, barely twenty centimeters away from her - if Abby leans down, she will be able to put her head on your shoulder. So this is not even the fall exercise, you're going to lean on her.

"Holy fuck." You curse. "Okay."

You're so tense and anxious even like this, and Abby stretches her arms by your sides, letting you see she is supporting you. So you slowly lean back until you feel your back touch Abby's front. She is solid and warm, and she hugs you, holds you, and it's almost too much, and you want to cry. Abby is safe and Abby loves you and really, it's too much.

"I've got you." Abby tells somewhere in your hair and you break. You sob quietly and move away: it's unbearable. "Too much?"

You nod, not ready to talk and embarrass yourself.

"Do you want me to be quiet?"

You shake your hand yes and no, and Abby understands.

"Okay. Want to try again?"

You nod again and go a little further: if Abby doesn't catch you, you will fall, but not painfully. Again, her arms are stretched out and you take a deep breath before letting yourself fall back - the air gets stuck in your lungs from a millisecondary fear, but then you feel solid warm Abby who chuckles into your ear, but keeps quiet, even though she wants to tell you how proud of you she is - and you feel saved. It's strange, but the relief you feel is visceral and you want to cling to Abby's arms around you.

"Okay." You sigh, the anxiety leaves your body as adrenalin gets replaced with dopamin. "Okay, I get it."

"m?"

"Like. I'm so scared when I fall, but because you catch me, I instantly feel safe. What kind of pavlovian shit is this?"

"Are you suggesting we train you into trusting me by doing this every day?"

"It might work. I wanna do it again."

And then you get giddy and giggle when Abby catches you for the seventh time, the dopamin doing its job. Abby is happy to help, especially since she gets to hold you and be there for you and lets you see you are safe with her. It's a long way down the road, but eventually you'll get there, and you will trust her.

Abby can't wait.

#abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x you #abby anderson #abby tlou #written on a knee #can you tell i have issues #and that I didn't do this therapy homework and most likely won't ever do it

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snippychicke · 5 months

Text

It's Just Business -- Four

Fandom: One Piece (LA mainly)

Rating: Teen so far

Pairing: Sanji/Reader

Warnings: No real warnings, but god, I hope you like pining

Summary: You felt like you had known Sanji forever, considering your family had been the main merchants Zeff used to supply the Baratie. You had a small crush on him, but knew it was hopeless considering you were the one woman he didn't seem to pine over.

It was fine. Or so you thought until you ended up on the Going Merry as a bookkeeper and supply manager. Being around him 24/7 was a lot more difficult than just a few days a week.

(Please note 》°《 denotes a scene in the past while -*- will be a regular scene break. Because yeah, I like my non-linear story telling.)

Masterpost | Ao3

Coco village was freed of Arlong after several long years. You had already talked with several of the townsfolk about restarting trade routes to help restore their village-- they did have some of the best tangerines in the region, after all. Plus, being the closest to the Baratie meant even fresher items for the restaurant, as well as a large boost to their own economy.

Business was your trade, and one of the very few ways you could help out. You also helped Sanji prep food for the entire community as a celebration, which challenged the small set of culinary skills you did have. Still, you would take it any day over the fight had left you wondering how you were even standing.

(You also desperately tried not to think that this might be the last time you watched him cook. To see the light in his eyes as he mentally went over his recipe, assuring everything was going to be perfect.

Eventually the evening wore into the middle of the night and you found yourself sitting at one of the few bonfires still burning. You were nestled between Nami and Sanji (Well, closer to Sanji than Nami) with the rest of the Strawhat crew circling the fire as well. You enjoyed just listening to the others, the events of the day leaving you tired. It was probably more than okay for you to slip away to bedrolls Nami’s sister had prepared for the crew, or even trekking back to the Going Merry to crash, but you felt reluctant to leave. Even if you were struggling to keep your eyes open.

"It'll be nice not to be the only girl onboard," Nami sighed during a lull in the conversation, making you frown as you glanced over at her. "Being surrounded by those three was hard enough, let alone Chef Flirt."

Sanji leaned forward, giving the redhead a wink. “Just want to make sure you’re aware how beautiful you are, Nami dear”

Your chest tightened. You had assumed she had known, but then again, Luffy was still insisting you were part of the crew. "Actually…I'm not staying." Your words caught the attention of everyone else, and suddenly you had five pairs of eyes staring at you, making things even worse. "I came to make sure you idiots got here safe and sound,” You insisted against the looks of disbelief that everyone was giving you. “I can't just abandon my job and become a pirate."

Even if Sanji was doing the same thing. Even if Zeff himself had encouraged you to embrace the chance if you had found it appetizing. And… you kind of did. Even with the fighting, you enjoyed being around the Strawhat Crew and could see yourself becoming quick friends with all of them.

"But you're part of our crew," Luffy was the first to actually protest. "Even with our Navigator back, we need you at the helm! Plus you’re the bookkeeper!"

“Your ship isn't that big that you need both a navigator and a helmsman,” You argued. “And surely between the five of you, you can manage your own supplies and ledgers."

"We have a thief, a liar, and Luffy," Zoro of all people pointed out, opening his eye that had been closed before. "And I'm not keeping track of anything."

Before you could argue, Sanji nudged your shoulder. "You really want to keep ferrying supplies back and forth to the Baratie the rest of your life? The same thing you've been doing since we were kids?"

Your stomach twisted at the thought. At seeing the firelight reflected in his eyes as he gave you a pleading look. "Well, no," You admitted slowly. Especially considering he wouldn't be there anymore. You loved Zeff, Patty, and everyone else. But… No Sanji to talk and tease? It would be like the restaurant lost its heart….

But it was the responsible thing to do. It was good, steady, profitable work.

"What's your dream?" Luffy asked, staring at you intently from across the fire, the flames flickering in his dark eyes. (There was just something about this boy you couldn't put your finger on that both scared yet compelled you at the same time.)

Dream? You huffed at the thought as you shook your head. You never really had a dream; just short term goals. You had been happy enough with life that you never really questioned what the future could hold. You had listened to Sanji talk about the All Blue through the years with fondness as well as envy. Nothing brought you passion like that. Nothing called you so much to daydream about it day after day, year after year.

"I don't have one," You admitted quietly with a half-hearted shrug.

But Luffy refused to take that as an answer. "Surely there's something you want?” he pressed. “More than anything?"

Something you wanted more than anything? More than anything, you… just wanted to be happy. But compared to Luffy’s dream of being the King of Pirates, Zoro’s goal to be the world’s best swordsman, and Sanji’s own dream of finding the All Blue, your ‘dream’ (if it could really be called that) would likely fall flat. No matter what Nami and Usopp’s own dreams were.

You shrugged your shoulders. “Not really? I mean, seeing new places would be fun," You offered, hoping no one could tell your cheeks were darkening in the firelight. “But I don’t know if it's enough to compel me to leave everything I know behind.”

~*~

Sanji swore he could feel his heart drop into his stomach as you dug your heels into your refusal. The bright future he had just been daydreaming of suddenly grew dark as you faded from it.

Were you really so against the idea of joining the crew? Of becoming a pirate? Despite pirates being the cause of your parents death, you hadn’t seemed to hold any ill-will to the so-called profession itself. Plus you had just admitted that you didn’t want to stay in the same routine for the rest of your life.

Without thinking, Sanji placed his hand over yours, bringing your attention to him. Those wide, bright eyes that he loved so much, now filled with doubt, worry.

“What about finding the All Blue together?” he asked softly, squeezing your hand softly. In all of his daydreams of finding the uncharted area, seeing the mixture of all the four seas together, you had been right there beside him. To the point he couldn’t imagine the All Blue without you there, grinning ear-to-ear and just as excited as him.

You bit your lip as you looked away, though you squeezed his hand softly. He could tell you were lost in thought, allowed you a moment to go over the pros and cons in your head as you always did, debating if it was worth the risk.

(Please, he prayed, let him be worth the risk.)

You sighed in defeat, leaning against him suddenly with your head on his shoulder. “Okay, fine. I’ll join your crew.”

He heard the other cheer, but it mostly fell on deaf ears as he untangled his hand from yours so he could wrap his arm around your shoulders, squeezing you tightly as he pressed a kiss to your hair. “Thank you,” he whispered to the crown of your hair.

"I've sailed the same stretch of water all my life,” you stated just as softly. “It'll be neat to see other places for once."

Sanji was determined to show you the world as you searched for the All Blue. Whatever it took so you didn’t regret your choice. He’d hunt down every natural and man-made wonder to make it up to you if need be.

》°《

"Oh god, you're gonna be one of those," You swore when you found Sanji on the back deck of the Baratie that was restricted to staff only and mostly filled with crates and barrels of overstock.

But your focus was on the thin white cigarette in his mouth, the lit tip bright in the shadow cast by the restaurant. A lot of the cooks smoked, so it wasn't surprising to see Sanji had picked up the habit. Yet you couldn't help wrinkle your nose--mainly just to give him grief.

"Oh shut it. I've heard enough from Zeff," He grumbled as you perched yourself on the crate he was leaning on.

"He means well." Sanji merely grunted at your defense of the older man. Silence fell and blanketed the air as you both looked out at the ocean, listening to the waves gently lap at the sides of the restaurant.

"I guess I should break the news," You sighed, and watched his shoulder tense as he took a deep inhale of the cigarette. It had been a few weeks since the death of your parents-- since you found your way back to the Baratie where you had been accepted with open arms by the crew, proving they were every bit the family you had felt. Yet you knew you weren’t one to stay in one place, used to having the wind in your hair as you headed to the next destination. Bussing tables, waitressing, all the jobs you were qualified for on the Baratie drove you up the wall after doing it for a few days in a row.

He knew you couldn’t stay still, and you knew he didn’t like the idea of you leaving.

But the suppliers Zeff had reached out to proved that they did not hold to the same kind of quality that you believed the restaurant deserved. "I'm going to take over my parent's route. My vessel will be smaller, so I'll have to make more frequent trips, but like Zeff said, that just means fresher ingredients for the restaurant."

The relief in Sanji's frame was easy to see, warming your heart. You even caught a small smile on his face as flicked away the ash into the ocean. "Aw, were you worried, lil' eggplant?"

He rolled his eyes, though his smile didn't fade even as he looked up at you. "Didn't want to have to deal with some random idiots that don't know what they're doing. That's all."

"Mmhmm," You hummed doubtfully as you slid down from your perch to stand beside him, nudging his shoulder with your own. (You were a little irritated that he had reached his growth spurt and was now taller than you.) "Either way you're not getting rid of me that easily. You're gonna be stuck with me forever."

You couldn't imagine leaving the crew after everything. Just being alone the few days between the restaurant and port made you nervous enough. But you had to pull your weight, prove that while you may not serve the restaurant directly, you were vital enough to keep around.

What you weren't expecting was Sanji suddenly wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling you close to him to the point your back was pressed against his chest as he muttered in your ear. "Is that a promise, lil' miss."

Your heart was pounding in your chest from the near-sultry tone. You knew he was just playing, just seeing if he could get you flustered. A game of chicken. That's all this was. You pushed away the butterflies and twisted in his grip and wrapped your arms around his shoulders with a devious grin, hoping your blush didn't betray you. "It's a threat, my good sir."

Sanji smirked, his gaze lingering on you for a long moment before he leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead. A friendly gesture… or so you had convinced yourself as he let you go.

Because there was no way he saw you like the fancy ladies that visited the Baratie. Not when you had known each other for so long. You were friends. Friends that playfully flirted just like you bantered and cussed each other out.

Right?

#op sanji #one piece sanji #sanji #sanji x reader #opla sanji #opla sanji x reader

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freelancearsonist · 2 months

Text

oblivion

➔ Dave York x gn!Reader - 2.2k

➔ Dave left years ago to keep you safe from him. Now, he comes back to finally claim what’s his.

➔ Rated MA for kinda dark fic?????, gn!reader (no pronouns or anatomy described), reader is able-bodied but otherwise is physically a blank slate, infidelity (Dave cheats on his wife w/ reader), smut, choking, biting, blood, this is the midnight mass au that no one asked for [pls let me know if i missed any warnings you think should be included :)]

➔ Thank you to my love @ozarkthedog for this prompt, if you're reading this ily <3

Everyone is leaving this island–your home–in droves. The seas are drenched in oil, and there’s nothing left to fish or net. People are moving on to bigger, better things. But not you; you’ve never enjoyed the mainland, never craved the just-another-face-in-the-crowd feeling of those big cities. You love your little small town, even if most of it is gone now.

You go for your nightly walk, and the loneliness gets to you for the first time since the spill. There’s no lights on in house windows, no kids playing out in front yards. It’s just you as the sun goes down, casting everything in fiery red and orange brilliance.

Some nights seem darker than others, regardless of the star visibility or the moon’s phase. It’s almost like the air swells and surrounds you until it feels like a thick, dark blanket. It can be almost stifling; and those nights never quite leave your mind.

That’s what it feels like tonight, and for no discernable reason. There’s a wicked sense of foreboding–even more so than you’ve come to be accustomed to. It ramps up even more so when you see the only other house in the neighborhood with lights on: Dave’s house.

Dave left with his wife and daughters two years ago, long before the spill destroyed the island’s economy. No one’s stepped foot in it since–you figured it just never sold. But certainly it hasn’t sold now; who would want to move to the island at a time like this?

Curiosity gets the better of you, maybe because a traitorous little part of your brain wonders if it’s Dave. If he’s finally come back for some reason, if he’s here to fix things. That nagging little hope keeps you up at night more often than you care to admit; that he might return and you’d get a second chance. Either way, you don’t think twice about walking up the short driveway to knock on his door.

It’s completely silent for a long few minutes; long enough that you almost knock again. But maybe this is just some fluke thing, an electrical malfunction or something that turned his lights on. He swore he’d never be back, after all. It’s just wishful thinking.

It started on your night walks. He jogged the same route every single night after the girls went to bed, and eventually his jog slowed to a walk when he would come alongside you. You’d walk side by side and talk about anything and everything, vent about work or life and tell each other little stories. Before too long, you knew him better than anyone, and it was all completely by accident. Just the neighborly kindness of him slowing his pace to chit chat with you.

And then this man who you shared nothing with besides a nightly exercise route, after weeks of small talk every single evening, kissed you. In the middle of a street, in the middle of a very small island community where every single person knew every single thing about every other person; a community where every single person knew that Dave was married, and that he wasn’t married to you.

You dragged him home to scold him somewhere that no prying ears would catch it, and somehow you ended up in bed underneath him. All desperately breathless kisses and deeply earth-shattering thrusts and muffled moans of pleasure.

He whispered that no one had ever made him feel so alive before, that he’d never wanted someone more. And you wanted to believe him, so you did.

Miraculously, no one ever found out; not about that first time, and not about the million times after. No one ever found out about all the times that you swore up and down it could never happen again, only to fall right back onto your knees for him. No one ever found out about the time that he finally agreed with you, and the way you cried yourself to sleep when he stuck to it and didn’t catch up to you on your walk the next night. No one ever found out about how the next night after that, he caught up to you and begged for you–for your forgiveness, for the feelings that only you had ever been able to make him feel.

And for a while, it was enough. Being his at night under secrecy of darkness was plenty; until all of a sudden it wasn’t. Until you would bump into his wife at the market and nearly have a panicked breakdown by the time you got home, wondering just how much she knew. Until he would say things that were heavier and heavier–things that translated to something akin to ‘I love you’ without actually being the words. Until he had to leave for a work assignment.

He’d be gone for a week. That was all. A simple job, he’d explained. Somewhere overseas, but that was really all he said. He never liked to talk to you about his work much. He said he’d be back before you could even miss him.

But it was a month before he returned, and he came back different.

Withdrawn, dark eyes darker than usual, sunkissed golden skin looking a little insipid. You tried to convince yourself that he was just coming down with a cold, that the way he’d put his hand around your neck just to feel your pulse thrum under his fingertips and squeeze a little tighter than comfortable wasn’t related; that the way he nearly broke skin from biting into your shoulder so hard wasn’t anything to be concerned about; that the way he seemed to have doubled strength while he was away wasn’t cause for alarm.

You lied to yourself because it was easier than the truth; whatever had happened on his assignment, he wasn’t the same man anymore. The man you had started to fall in love with, circumstances be damned, was long gone.

But it came to a point where the truth couldn’t be avoided any longer, because the inevitable can’t be postponed indefinitely. Ignorance is only bliss until the truth comes unapologetically crashing in.

He fucked you so relentlessly it scared you. The hands that had once held you so gently were pushing you into positions far past your comfortable range, his hips were thrusting hard and deep enough to bruise. He saw the tears that leaked from the corners of your eyes and called you pathetic; and just like that, you knew your Dave York was gone. Where to, you weren’t sure. But something in his roughness, in the way he wanted to hurt you, made you sure he was never coming back.

You pushed him off of you and told him to get the fuck out. For a moment–one flickering, horribly tension-fraught moment–you didn’t think he would. The most terrified you’d ever been in your life was when you looked into his dark eyes and saw nothing but violence.

For a moment, you didn’t know what he was going to do. And then he hastily pulled on his clothes and slammed the door shut behind him without a word.

You didn’t see him on your walk the next night, and the following night after that there was a U-Haul parked in front of his house. Part of you was relieved at the sight of boxes and furniture being lugged out of the front door into the box truck; another, more complicated part of you wanted to fall to your knees right there in the street and start screaming.

You felt his presence before you saw him–just behind you to the left, out of your field of view. You didn’t turn to look at him; you couldn’t stand to see his face when you asked, “Why?”

“There are worse ways to hurt you than leaving,” he murmured, low and deep. “If leaving is what I have to do to keep you safe, then I’m never fucking coming back.”

You turned at that, because what the fuck was that supposed to mean? What would he have to keep you safe from?

You saw so much sadness in his brown eyes that you nearly broke down sobbing. You knew right then that it was over. There was no begging him to stay, no changing his mind. You didn’t even really know if you actually wanted him to stay, at that point.

He walked away to help the movers lug a couch before you got a chance to say anything; no ‘I love you’, no ‘I’ll miss you’, not even a simple ‘goodbye’.

By morning his family was gone, him included. His house stood empty for two years with not a sign from him. Until tonight.

The living room lights cast a warm yellow glow over the front yard in the dark even through the obscurity of dusty window blinds. You’re tempted to peek through and see if you can tell what’s going on inside after standing on the stoop unacknowledged for a few minutes; just as you make the decision to snoop, the front door opens.

It’s him. It’s really fucking him. He hasn’t changed even the slightest bit. His brown hair is still cut short and neatly styled, his handsome face is impeccably shaved. His dark brown eyes are just like you remember them, from before; the hatred and violence they held those last few days isn’t there anymore.

He whispers your name, and then his eyes flash. “You’re still here.”

“Of course I am,” you reply, on guard. “This is my home.”

His fingers twitch on the doorknob, like he’s contemplating shutting you out. “I didn’t know anyone was still here. I wouldn’t have come back.”

“Why did you come back?” You ask, curiosity getting the better of you.

His eyes shift for a moment, jaw set firmly. “It’s the only place I have left.”

He doesn’t have to put it any clearer than that for you to know that his wife isn’t in the picture anymore. You wonder what happened between them, but a selfish little part of you is triumphant at the fact that he came to you.

Except he didn’t, not really. He said himself that he didn’t think anyone was left. That he wouldn’t have come otherwise. Why wouldn’t he have come?

“You need to go,” he says firmly, moving to shut the door in your face. But your hand shoots out before you can really even contemplate it.

Now, you say what you wish you would’ve had the courage to say all those years ago. “I missed you, Dave.”

You can see his patience is waning–his hand flexes anxiously against the door but he doesn’t say anything quite yet, and you know his is your only chance for closure.

“You said, before you left, that you were protecting me by leaving. What do you have to protect me from?”

“Myself,” he growls. His eyes flash dangerously, the same way they did two years ago.

“What…”

“Each man kills the thing he loves, honey,” he murmurs, stepping closer. It feels like he’s towering over you now, looming ominously. You don’t remember him being this imposing before he left. “And I… I loved you.”

“I loved you, too,” you whisper. Hindsight is funny like that–your brain reveals in hindsight what your heart can’t reveal in the moment. “We can… we can make this work, Dave.”

You should be more hesitant. You should remember how scared of him you were at the end, how strange it is for him to show up here in the middle of the night all alone. You should wonder why he’s back here now, when everyone else is gone.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he growls, all the while moving closer to you as if you have a magnetism he can’t avoid. “I’ve changed.”

“I’m asking for a second chance,” you plead as you set your hands on his strong, solid chest. He’s so achingly close now, and yet he still won’t touch you. “I’ve changed too, I’m… I’m willing to make this work if you are.”

He licks his lips, dark eyes focused… on your neck? Why is he looking there of all places?

He notices that he’s been caught when his eyes flicker up to meet your gaze. He just stares at you for a moment, then two, so close that each breath you exhale mingles with his.

And then suddenly he’s leaning in. You let your eyes flutter shut, awaiting the sweet sensation of his lips on yours after so long; but it never comes. You wait, and you wait, and then you feel something puncture the side of your neck.

It’s sharp, and it hurts. Your eyes snap open and all you can see is Dave; his body curls around yours as he gulps eagerly from your punctured artery. A weak hand comes up to nudge his head halfheartedly–somewhere in the back of your mind, you delight in the softness of his hair between your fingers again after so long–but his arms wrap tightly around your waist to keep you in place and your weak resistance is futile.

He was right, you think as your vision blurs around the edges. You really didn’t have a clue what you were asking for.

➔ moodboard by @ozarkthedog

➔ beta: @futuraa-free and @mothandpidgeon (thank u so much my loves <3)

➔ Want to see more from me in the future? Follow @freelancearsonist-updates and turn on post notifications to be notified when I post new fics!

➔ Want to support me? Please reblog this fic! It helps boost it in the algorithm and gives it more circulation no matter what your follower count is :) any feedback or comment is always greatly appreciated!!

#dave york #dave york x reader #dave york fanfiction #dave york smut #dave york one shot #the equalizer 2 #the equalizer 2 fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #cece writes

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yantalia545 · 5 months

Text

Yandere Axis sharing the same darling

I am just in love with all of the support I am receiving after coming back to posting. You guys are just so sweet! Thank you so much for all of your support and love. Keep being awesome!

If you thought dealing with just one of them was overbearing, try being pursued by all three.

Since this group gets along fairly well, they most likely would share their darling as opposed to fighting over you. Much like what would happen if you had the allies obsessing over you rather than the Axis powers. Not to say they can't be possessive or jealous if you seem to be giving more attention to one of them or ignoring them. Which in it's self, is a deadly concoction.

You most likely were a part of the Axis when they grew an attachment to you or were begging you to join them during the time of war if you weren't already a part of it. However the circumstance may be, the end result will always be the same; You will join them. Whether it be through negotiations or by force is completely up to you.

By the off chance that you took part in the Allies during war times, things would be a bit stickier but still produce the same results.

As everyone knows, they don't win wars so you can't say that they took over your country. They may have occupied your country at one point during the war. Sadly, however, you would be rescued by one of your fellow Allies at some point.

If the Axis were lucky enough, they may have war-torn your country enough so that it would be difficult to get back up on your feet again once the wars were over. With that, you'd be vulnerable and in need of assistance. Not that they're much better.

As they slowly rise back to power, they'll watch over you from a distance; Mostly. Italy is in need of comfort after the war and is in desperate need of some comfort from you. Japan and Germany however, will stand to painfully admire your beauty from a distance. They almost had you. They just needed a little more power then things would have gone differently.

The three of them will silently beat themselves over the thought that they were so close to finally obtaining you. They just needed a little more power to have made all of their dreams come true, but they got careless and cocky somewhere along the way and got swept up by the Allies. Curse them.

Because of these swirling thoughts, the three will work hard through their bubbling anger every day rising back to power and a chance to be with you again. Then when the does finally come, they can put their second plan into place.

A simpler plan.

Sneakier.

The Axis may try to appease your cause in hopes through seemingly fair treaties. Don't you ever take anything at face value when it involves them. There will always be shadowing loopholes and conditions that are set to seriously disable you from your own economy. How did you not see this coming?

With you finally within their grasps, the real conditioning can begin.

Life with the three of them can be quite rough. For starters, you'll hardly get any alone time. If you're not spending time with all three of them then you're at least spending time with one of them. They just want as much time with their darling as much as possible. After all, they did go through hell just to get you this far.

And the rules. I’m talking mostly about Germany on this part, but there will be a strict set of rules that you must follow or you will face punishment. However, Germany can’t help but have a soft spot for you like he does with Italy. The worst punish there would be is isolation and starvation. You may even find him to be quite lenient if you’ve been behaving or rather sweet lately.

Italy would most likely be the one to soak up most of your time by clinging to you like you were apart of him. He just wants to do everything with his beloved. The other two will mostly just tag along with whatever. I do feel that Japan would be the one to be annoyed if anything and will try to sneak time with you when Italy is asleep.

Japan is the most tame out of the three. During his alone time with you, he would be content with just sitting with you and enjoying the night sky while sharing cups of tea. There won’t be need for many words. Just basking in you presence alone is enough to satisfy him.

At times, there may be bitckering between the three but they’re pretty tame. You may be just be pulled back and forth as they argue what their going to do or if someone is spending too much time with their darling *cough, Italy*.

You will for sure break under them. There are just too many of them to get away from them. Stockholm syndrome will sink its talons into one way or another with this trio.

#hetalia #yandere hetalia #hetalia x reader #yandere germany #yandere italy #yandere japan #yandere axis

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whynotjohnlock · 3 months

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Hello! If it’s no trouble to ask could you write a platonic fic or headcanons for good omens?

Like where it’s Aziraphale x Crowley x teen!reader

Maybe something like how would it be to have them as parental figures/parents?

Anyways I hope you have a good rest of your evening!!

(and if you don’t mind could you add something in there about how they’d react if the reader ever came out to them? If not I totally understand!!)

A/N: I love the idea of Aziraphale and Crowley as parents! You didn't really specify what the reader was coming out as, so I made them non-binary, as that's what is most relatable to me!

In the beginning of the story the child is a girl, and they eventually figure out that they aren't a girl at all and tells our favorite angel and demon couple.

P.S (O/N) means old name and (Y/N) means Your current name

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Crowely had never been more angry in his entire life as when he first met (Y/N). Rage burned in his demonic blood and his mellow yellow eyes flickerd into a poisonous red. The only thing stopping him from calling thunder from the sky and creating mass destruction was those little innocent eyes he had met on that sorrowful day.

-Flashback-

Aziraphale had just started to reorganize the book shop, as he did every decade when the papers and memoirs and novels got mixed up beyond the ability to find them. Crowley knew Aziraphale. Without words, without any indication, he knew that the angel would get tired and would want some pastries to snack on before noon. They had been friends for eons together and words were not necessary to convey thought between the pair. Crowley went out to get some pastries because he liked to see the angel's face become soft and happy. The demon loved the way his angel's eyes seemed to cut through any darkness or pain he held.

Just the thought of Aziraphale seemed to brighten his day and a small unnoticeable smile formed on Crowley's face. Mentally he had scolded himself for being a lovesick aardvark and finally got the strength to leave the couch and swagger walk™ out of his flat's door.

A happy juant to his other beloved parked right next to the bookshop and a nice drive latter he arrived to a newly opened bakery.

The bakery itself was rather dull, and he hadn't even cared enough to remember it's name. The whole experience was rather annoying as the shopkeeper kept talking to him when he wanted to order. He stood there for what felt like ages- which considering his age was 6000+ was quite the achievement- bored and annoyed. Couldn't the shopkeeper see he was completely uninterested in conversation? While the shopkeeper was busy ranting on about the economy, the window clicked open on noticed by everyone but him.

From his periphery and under his designer black shades, a small girl that caught his attention as he watched them sneak in through the window soundlessly.

The child silently went up to one of the display racks with croissants and started stuffing them into a little brown worn out backpack to eat later. Whoever this child was, it was clear to Crowley that they would have to be very brave or very desperate or possibly both the rob a bakery in broad daylight.

Still, the shopkeepers were not the wiser as the little gremlin continued to steal their day supply bread and it appeared they would be able to escape unnoticed.

Then the floor creaked, and all eyes turn to the little girl furious and angry. "Thief! Thief! Somebody get her!" The man running the register shouted. In surprise the girl dropped her bag of food and make a run for it.

Crowley always had a soft spot for kids and it was no surprise really to anyone who had actually known him like Aziraphale, that he miracled a chair in the way of the shopkeeper so he 'accidentally' tripped and little girl could getaway.

Falling down in pain the angry man shouts "Ugh, I hate that girl! it's the third time this week! If she does that again I'll call the police to take her away!"

All respect gone for the man working the desk, Crowley decides to order three sandwiches instead of the usual two. Once the food is in his hands, he sets off to find the crafty little thief.

It only really takes 5 minutes for Crowley to find thief girl walking streets alone. "Hey kiddo, you lost?"

The girl looks up at him and surprise and then fear like a broken animal, and from her lips tumble a simple "No mister."

His heart aches, and to appear less threatening he gets down on one knee. "Hey it's all right kiddo I'm not going to hurt you. I even brought you some food."

Crowley gives the tiny human one of the sandwiches to prove he's not a threat. The girl blinks at him and then blinks again and then devours the sandwich like it's the first food she's had in weeks.

Actually, looking at her now it might be. This is the first time Crowley's been able to really observe her and from what he can see it's almost certain she's in a rough situation- which reminds him he hasn't even asked her name yet. "What's your name kiddo?"

The girl blinks once more. "(O/N)"

He hesitates. He doesn't want hell to find out he helped a small defenseless child and certainly doesn't want hastor to use the girl to get him. He looks down at the poor innocent girl who has already finished the sandwich and is eating crumbs off the floor. "I'll walk you home, just show me where you live."

(O/N) nods simply, before taking his hand and walking Eastward for a couple of blocks. She stops at the intersection between two houses. 'Maybe she needs to go in the back door?' Crowley thinks to himself. Alas, despite working for hell, his gut wasn't quite prepared for the twisting sensation when he sees (O/N) gesture to a pile of cardboard boxes.

"This is my super cool box fort!" She says truly proud of her creation and happy, as if this was an okay way of living. "Let me give you the tour!" All Crowley can do is nod dumbly as she excitedly explains her home.

"This is where I sleep! Oh, and this is where I look at the stars through my telescope." Her 'telescope' is a clear glass bottle attached to a thrown out tripod stand. "And this is where-"

Crowley is heartbroken and can't take anymore. He cuts the girl off in a gentle sad tone, "where are your parents kiddo?"

"My parents? Umm, mummy and daddy dropped me off and said they'd be back in an soon."

"When was that kiddo?" Crowley's voice breaks into fragments.

"Um, when they were painting that house red I think. Don't worry though! I'm sure they'll be back soon Mister, just like they promised!"

Crowley knew this side of town well because it was on the way to Aziraphale's house, and recalled they had painted that particular house red a year ago.

A year ago.

What in God's name had this child been through? From the size of a little girl she couldn't have been more than five or six years old.

The little girls face made him hurt so so much because she truly believed that her parents would come back to her even after a year of not being there for her. 365 days of fighting for herself alone just for the basic necessities to grow up; and some how she still had hope they were good people. It hurt that much more in that she reminded him of himself as an angel, naive and hopeful of God and the great plan she had for the universe. Her face held the same smile that Aziraphale had when he believed that Angels were good people. And by Satan and God did it hurt.

His pain fueled his rage and bitterness. Anger at the people who it forsaken the child. Bitterness for the world. Hatred for God and her holier than thou standard. His jaw clenched and fingers turned white from clenching so hard into his fist. Why had she forsaken him? Was he not good enough? Was it because he asked too many questions? God's prophet, Jesus had said time and time again that questioning was part of faith, so that really didn't make sense. The more he thought, the more none of the answers made any sense at all.

The only thing that seemed to make sense was the fact and desire and need to take (O/N) home and keep her safe. He decided he would do what no one else had done for him; he would be there, and he would protect her. He would take her home and answer all the questions she had without ever getting annoyed or angry.

No one deserves to be in trouble just for asking questions. 'It won't happen, not on my watch' he vowed.

He did not swear to God. He did not swear to Satan. Crowley sweard to the only thing that mattered to him, Aziraphale, that he would find a way to convince this little girl to go to his angel's bookshop with him and protect them from all harm.

And he did.

----------------------------------------------------------

*Flash forward*

His little girl grew up so fast. She wasn't little anymore. Heck, (Y/N) even a girl anymore.

It god was amazing when they came out. He was so fucking proud that his little thief was brave enough to question there own identity and gender through an incredible mental journey to find the words to represent who they where and had always been. He definitely was not crying when (Y/N) came out, even though Aziraphale had hallucinated and kept insisting that that's what happened.

They had grown into a fiercely independent young adult who had just finished education was pursuing the career of their dreams.

"Are you alright, dear?" An angel snapped him out of his thoughts, and he could have sworn his demonic heart stopped for a second.

"I'm alright, angel. I was just thinking about our little thief."

Aziraphale becomes a mother hen™ "Crowley! How meany times have I told you that they are so much more than a scoundrel who steals money in the night!"

"Angel, (Y/N) likes the nickname, and told me they like it several times!"

"Our starlight deserves a better name!"

Aziraphale had grown to love his starlight as much as he loved his wiley old serpent, with all of himself, truly, madly, and deeply. He read to (Y/N) every night, creating worlds and universes of words for his starlight to laugh and enjoy.

He took them to all his favorite restaurants, for sushi for brioche for crepes and even oysters to taste and try. Only the best for his starlight!

Both angel and demon become extremely serious and angry with one another for a few heartbeats.

Then, they burst out laughing together, unable to continue this silly argument any longer. Crowley falls over on the couch tackling his angel down with him.

They just lie there together completely unable to do anything but keep laughing together in pure unchecked joy.

Aziraphale and Crowley eventually get there giggles out, and hold one another in silence.

Aziraphale whispers softly into Crowley's ear: "I love you, my dear."

Crowley gives a half smirk half smile, "i fORgIvE yOu!"

"You're never going to let that go, are you?"

"Nope!"

"Well, I suppose it's well deserved, but I want you to know that I really do love you more than books and oysters and crepes. I love you more than I can say with words."

"I know, angel. And I really do forgive you for whatever that word mess was. Can we go back to cuddleing?"

"Of course dear."

Crowley and Aziraphale had never felt more at peace with the world than they did with you since you entered their life. They where truly free from hell and heaven to be with one another happy.

They were truely free to be as they always wanted to be;

An Ineffable family.

#ineffable partners #ineffable husbands x reader #ineffable husbands #ineffable idiots #ineffable spouses #crowly x aziraphale #azirowley #aziracrow #aziraphale #crowley good omens #crowly good omens #azicrow #good omens aziraphale #aziraphel #good omens x reader #good omens #good omens season 2 #crowley

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sir-yeehaw-paws · 8 months

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When the kids come back, I'll talk it out with them. If that's still possible.

*Whether or not this conversation took place we don't know but what I DO know is I LOVE how Kaz is written as a character. As deeply flawed, warped and messed up as he is.

Oh look another Kaz meta from Nate be shocked and awed *cough*.

Which honestly, is why I like his character so much. Kaz had to be built up in reverse, and the story and writing around him is SO good. Because he is such a deeply, horribly flawed person with insane ideology and a tattered moral code. As grey as the rest of them.

This tape is one of those bits where Kaz says a whole lot, and gets so close to a point, but doesn't quite hit it. It comes around to a theme of justification: "Yeah. That's it alright. I wanted to use those kids, to test that theory." But to the kids or to himself. I'd argue it might be both. Because Kaz is aware of his own flaws, and the kind of person he is. He is utterly ruthless and unashamed of that fact. Kaz will bring down nations, people-anything it takes, to get what he wants.

And in a way, he absolutely does. We know that from the canon events of other games. But he's not ignorant of himself, even if he searches for excuses. "I hate kids. That's exactly what I heard from the people who raised me."

Kaz never fully comes around to admitting that he's been angry and full of spite his entire life, but it's evident with how he talks. He's roundabout with it-as he is almost everything he says. But it's obvious what he's getting at. The things he says. He tries, desperately, to find a reason for his actions. But those reasons never 100% come to the point where he admits he might be part of the issue here.

This a completely valid point. But then of course, as nature is wont to do; he grew up. Everyone comes to the point in life where their opinions, thoughts, feelings etc are disregarded. Then suddenly BAM you're an adult, and people listen to you. And you don't know why.

But in conjunction with that, eventually we all reach a point in life where it doesn't matter how rough or terrible childhood was, we have to move on. We have to accept that it happened, we can't make it better, and there's only so long we can lean on 'rough past' as a reason. Eventually you have to move on-otherwise you get nowhere.

But Kaz never fully moves on. He comes close. He has moments within MGSV itself, but what happens after MGSV? He joins Foxhound in the mid 90's, trains up Snake-and has him kill Big Boss. That is the exact opposite of moving on. Even if he ends up understanding Venom at certain points. Even if he manages to admit at times, 'revenge solves nothing' him admitting it doesn't change how his life pans out.

He stays angry.

He stays hurt.

We don't know what kind of mindset he has upon his death in 2005, but his flaws are never rectified. His entire life is a tragic, uphill stream of doing it, failing, doing it again, failing. And dying alone in an Alaskan cabin. Because MGS is a cyclical form of storytelling, and the cycles always continue.

Ironically, Kaz does in his own way create a legacy. His own legacy of bloodshed and terror. The war economy, for-profit PMC's. A dictatorship where the leadership is cross-border, hell beyond borders.

Which, given how he talks and behaves in life, is what he wanted. And it doesn't matter one bit in the end. It gives him, personally, nothing. Unless some unmarked Alaskan grave counts as 'something'. You tell me.

Until they're broken-by force, by Snake, Otacon and Sunny.

*As a quick aside, I ADORE how RAD acts Kaz out.

#mgs #mgsv #character posts: kazuhira miller #thoughts posts #headcanons #I LOVE THIS TERRIBLE DUDE SO MUCH OKAY #i ended up cutting the video off too early btw sorry about that

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tac-bat · 1 year

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Uncensored version below, gore cw

Forest elder and au explanation Valley Elder (Spike hair)

K they’re VERY messed up in this au but basically the war in this au is dragged out MUCH longer to the point it’s still active when skykids fall, aka everyone is alive. This is pre diamond explosion yet it’s not in good shape.

Everything is the same up until in desperation, wasteland elder is stabbed by the twins to try and end it all. But Wasteland didn’t fall, no, they fought harder than ever. They still stood even nearly being cut in half. They use their orange light (fire magic which the canonically got) to keep themselves moving. So much so that smoke seeps through the cracks of their armour, the sheer amount of light used to power their body changes their hair to be a flame itself, as I hc elders hair is comprised of light.

They’re burning.

Their will to keep moving is to protect their people and soldiers till their last breath, to the point of being near possessive of keeping them safe. The entire kingdom eventually is built around the war, trying to work into the lives of everyone because they’re not much else they can do than either fight or supply. The economy is changed, everyone is overworked, tired, and on the brink of collapse. And then us skykids come along with the impression they’re a threat.

They’re so silly :3

yes this is a redraw from an old armour concept I did awhile ago but shhhhh

#Sky: Elders of Stasis #sky cotl #sky children of the light #sky: cotl #skyblr #sky: children of the light #tac art #sky cotl fanart #sky elders #cw gore #cw: gore #wasteland elder #sky cotl elders #that sky game

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imtrashraccoon · 2 months

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Consider this... The Nightmare of Apathy but Dreamswap

I'm kinda experiencing brainrot over Helios and Eos at the moment...

Dream is the one who rules over a world that is permanently day where everyone is happy and adores him. I imagine there would be sun worship but it's morphed into worshipping the deity that literally glows and makes everyone's life better.

Plant life flourishes and the climate is always comfortably warm. I don't think animal life would be much different with permanent sunlight but I'm not going to be putting thought into this right now lol.

Somehow, MC (probably named something vaguely related to the sun to have a nice parallel) meets Dream. Not sure how or why but it would either be transactional or a coincidence. Or maybe they have a "dark opposite" soul and Dream wants to "fix" them.

Dream and Nightmare still quarrel over the multiverse, although Dream has more influence thanks to time and positivity being easier to spread. Nightmare is gaining ground though which is rather concerning to Dream.

Nightmare forms his own team, not sure if it'd be the usual rabble or others. Without spoiling possible future plot points for TNA, there is a conflict between the brothers that leads Dream to forming his team. Again, possibly the usual rabble but it could be interesting if he "converts" bad guys to his cause.

I could go on but I will end up spoiling the finale to my fic... ಠ⁠_⁠ಠ

Or maybe it's like how Swapfell and Fellswap are similar but different? (Swapdream?)

Same premise as above, but Aylin is on Nightmare's side the whole time. ("Dark opposite" soul again?) I think this would be more like a desperate rebellion against a vast empire, except the rebels are technically the bad guys. So lots of angst and action scenes where they barely get out alive?

Aylin would meet Nightmare on more normal terms. He isn't a domineering lord but a pathetic outcast, hated by everyone because he only brings negativity when he's around. Or maybe his world is the one place his brother can't "taint" and while he's not loved by the populace, they understand all would be lost if he wasn't trying to maintain the balance. Maybe the economy is hyper focused on production for war efforts?

They'd get into a relationship much more quickly, especially after saving each other's lives a couple of times. Nightmare teaches her to fight, use magic, and possibly other skills he learned too. In turn, she teaches him what she knows as a herbalist and creates many valuable tonics and potions for conflict.

They pick up friends along the desperate, uphill, in the rain battle that is trying to re-establish emotional balance in the multiverse. Could be the usual rabble, although they'd probably have to rescue them from Dream's clutches first. Not sure if the boys would be more or less insane, especially if Dream was forcing them to be positive through magic.

The duo aren't loved by the majority of the multiverse and would likely run into many powerful players. Or maybe Dream hires bounty hunters to go after them. (Fresh might make sense here as he isn't a good guy and probably wouldn't appreciate Dream.)

The potential for a "happy" ending is very low and something drastic would have to occur for that to even happen. I would explain what but again, I'd literally spoil everything for TNA...

I think I like this idea much more than the previous one... (⁠-⁠_⁠-⁠;⁠)

#raccoons rambles #no i'm not writing this anytime soon if ever #i got too many wips #tempted to write a oneshot for the second idea though #gonna have to ask if i can use helios and eos though #they're so cool!#or maybe i'll just use my own bois #no promises!#i just took a small break to stretch my writing muscles #on a roll at the moment with chapter 4 #it's got like two sections left?#the nightmare of apathy #dreamswap

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