#But there's another post out there explaining that better than I can

[whambambatfam]

Webs of a Wing

Chapter 2

I wanted to post once a month and had this chapter ready to go when I posted the first. Then I suddenly decided to add a bunch more a few days along and almost didn't post on time... It's 12:10 but, close enough. Also, I fought for my life trying to figure out how to tag people for some reason..

Anyway! Founding your family time with the slay girls. My knowledge in the MCU is as vast as in DCU so, quite small.

I hope you like it!

Reader ages 10 - 12

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It starts to feel less disappointing to see that they never show up. Of course, Alfred always tries to make the time; he's your number one support.

You didn't ask for everyone's attention, you didn't want it, only theirs. Not looked up to on a pedestal, watched over from afar, like A doll on the shelf. All you asked for is a connection, real and human.

Yet, you could never achieve it, so you stopped trying. You stopped reaching out to hands that were never extended to you. If you're not wanted, then you won't bother. You won't waste your time. You had Alfred when you could, another observer in their lives. In this, you find your own kind of family, away from the manor, forming connections and bonds that follow you through your school years. One girl in particular was a catalyst for accepting others into your life.

“Hey! Can you give your opinion on the after-school club uniforms?” You're halted in the halls by a redhead gripping your shoulders.

You blink at her owlishly, “Uh, wha-?”

Noting your confusion, she introduces herself, “Ah, name’s Mary, Mary Jane Watson. You can call me MJ.” Her arm slips around your shoulder as she guides you along.

“Um, hi, Mj.” You relax ever so slightly when you give her your first name and she doesn't immediately pounce on you for a surname.

Wiping out a notepad, she finally explains, “So, I write the school paper’s fashion articles and I've noticed you join, like, a lot.”

“Oh. Yeah..” Tilting your head at her, you’re still very lost as to why you were the one singled out.

But she just smiles, “Come with me. I need to know about everything they make you wear.” She says as if she plans to drag you away.

She wanted you to show her every blazer, letterman, vest, and so forth. Not ready to bring a stranger to the mansion she compromises. Choosing to meet after your clubs. It's nice to have someone waiting for you, other than Alfred. You don't wish to be her model, to her disappointment. Instead, opting to go behind the camera. Mj squeals in delight as you give her free range on the available gear. Styling and posing a hundred times for each uniform.

You've come to know her as a kind-hearted, fairly popular, carefree girl. One who often weaponized these traits to her advantage, especially when it comes to getting a good story. After her article on club fashion is released, a big hit around school, she doesn't let you go. Insisting she needs someone to help her with photos for her real passion, modeling. That's how you found yourself snapping shots of MJ throughout the school day and between clubs. You would feel like a creeper if it wasn't for the fact that she practically demands it.

On occasion, this has left you at odds with those who thought themselves better company for your friend to keep. She wouldn’t put up with such nonsense, not that you minded it all that much. You didn't have anyone, throwing themselves at your feet, over the wealth and fame over a name. One you didn't even feel the right to associate yourself with. Instead, you were just another middle schooler who was strangely acquainted with someone who others saw as highly desirable

It cemented your friend when she asked you to pick her up for a weekend shoot on a small bridge at the park. The modest one-floor house was surrounded by an unkempt yard and a rusted link chain fence. A rather loud argument pictures the walls as you watch every bit of movement you can see behind the crumpled curtains. Your fingers are anxiously twisting the strap slung over your shoulder, bag packed generously by Alfred with two lunches. Finally, hurling one last shout over her shoulder, Mj emerged. Her arm links with yours and before you can speak she’s all but dragging you down the street.

She didn't say anything until you two were in the middle of setting up your first shot. stumbling over her words, she tries to tell you that what you heard wasn’t really that bad, that her dad just had a few drinks, that really they weren’t even yelling, and actually it wasn’t something to worry about if you are worried. There was an abnormal casualty of which she spouts anything to pacify whatever she thinks your reaction will be. Only the deep sorrow in her eyes told you the truth of the pain and strife she was pushing down.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” You peer from behind the camera,

“Can I just.. complain about it?”

An appreciative smile pulls at her lips as you continue to capture her image. You didn’t expect an explanation, didn’t need one. She stopped trying to reason. Instead, she spoke, and you listened. Then, everything came almost at once, from her sister leaving to her father drinking and even her mother's illness. For a moment, you wonder if your father could do anything for her. You just as quickly push the naive thought away, why would such a man do something like that for a friend of yours?

Her lips curl into a satisfied smile as she clicks through the camera. “You know, you have a knack for catching my good side.” She tucks it away before tossing you a juice box from the bag.

“All your sides are good sides.” You hum, poking your straw through it.

This earns you an unstifled giggle, “Good answer, tiger.” Mj winks at you before tucking the camera back into its carry case, “Seriously, you've mastered the cam. Not that I want to lose my personal photographer, but have you considered joining the paper?”

You suck the last of the juice from the box with a raised brow, “I dunno, ‘might have to drop a few other things..” Swishing the contents as if contemplating. Really thought, it was an easy answer and you already decided to drop most of the clubs you only joined to fill time. Not to mention you were already familiar with helping and it was fun to work with your friend.

“Come on, me and you, together. I’ll do the writing and posing for pictures while you do the editing and taking pictures.” She clutches your hands in hers, fingers intertwined, “We’ll literally be the hottest journalist team.” Her emerald eyes are wide and pleading as she gazes up at you.

“Don't let her trick you into doing her work for her.” The scoff of another girl comes from behind you.

You recognized her as Gwen Stacy, another girl from your grade. She flips her blond hair over her shoulder as she makes her way onto the small bridge. The two of you had been using the foliage-obscured spot for your photo shoot. Coming to stand before them, blue eyes scanning Mj up and down. Mary Jane crosses her arms giving the scrutinizing look back.

She scoffs at the blond, “How do you know they don't want to?”

Gwen raises a brow at her, “Who would?” She offers back with a scoff of her own.

You jump in before proverbial knives can meet throats. “Actually, I like taking pictures for MJ.”

Gwen cocks her head at you, “Then join the photography club.”

Mj huffs, “Not if you want to actually, ya know, do something with your life.”

You step in again as the two wind up to take more jabs at each other. “Hey, um, ‘think I'll stick to what I've got..” Lifting the camera to Gwen she furrows her brows looking closer at your picture, “I've never even owned a camera before, but I'm having fun with Mj and I think doing the paper could be nice.”

She slips the device from your grasp, clicking through each picture. “You're actually really good..” Peeking up at you, she smiles sheepishly, “Can you take pictures of me too?”

While the two have their differences every now and then, you were always together. You left most of your clubs, having only picked them up for that void made by your family. Now you have people to fill the holes that they left behind.

While you'd never met, you’re familiar with the GCPD Captain, through your family's close ties with the commissioner. Who would have guessed that you would find yourself in his living room as Gwen dragged you along? Shaking his head with amusement as he watches he shut the two of you away in her room. Gwen had offered a hangout to help you with your scheduling if you helped her with her own. It was interesting to see all the things she was balancing. A focus in stem with an emphasis in chemistry but, with a blossoming interest in modeling.

Something she admits sheepishly, revealing the offer to do a small shoot she's been recruited for, “I sent in a headshot you did, and well I didn’t think I'd actually get it. Who knows..” She shrugged nonchalantly despite the turbulence on her face, “Maybe it'll help me with college too.” Legs stretching out across her bed, she nudges your shared piles of junk aside, her feet resting at your side.

You mirror her positing from the opposite end of her bed, “Collage? already?? I don't think we have to take it so seriously yet.” Collecting the pile of disheveled papers in your hands, you shuffle them off to the side to be put away later. “Not that getting in would be hard for you. I guess you already know what you want to be but, it's okay to have other interests.”

Smiling at her with reassurance infects her with a pull at her own, “I have a pretty good idea, yeah, and that's what I'm gonna shape myself into. Starting now.” Cerulean eyes scan over your current disastrous schedule of overbooking and under-appreciation, “Stretching yourself so thin isn’t going to make you.. well, whatever you’re trying to become.”

“I just want to be somebody.” It’s your turn to poorly shrug your worries off as if they never really sat all that heavily, to begin with.

“You of all people wanna be famous?” Gwen misinterprets, raising a golden brow at you.

Your face scrunches at the mere suggestion, “God no!” Busying yourself with sifting out your less favorable activities. Handing over everything you planned to keep up with, to the bewildered yet, inturged blond across from you.

Martial arts, Gymnastics, journalism, photography, coding, knitting, and you're still handing her more.. Looking them all over, she shakes her head with a chuckle, “You know what they say. Jack of all trades, they’re master of none.”

A hand slips over your head, rubbing at the back of your neck, “I just wanna be.. Worthwhile, I guess? I’ve just never felt like I was enough.” She set you with a concerned look that paints heat over the tops of your ears, “But I actually like these!”

She shuffles through your handful of flyers, sign-ups, papers, and the like for each, “Well, there’s more to that saying about a jack of all trades, right?” Scooting over to sit beside you, she bumps your shoulder with a soft smile. “They’re often better than a master of one.”

“Thanks.. I think?” Laughing, you bump her shoulder back. You get the sentiment at least, you think..

“Still might be good to cut some of these out. Don’t push yourself so hard.” Lifting flyers for both photography and the school paper, “I thought you were gonna pick one?”

Days spent without Alfred or the girls were the hardest. Roaming long halls, hearing your father and brother, who've been arguing more and more. Robin's role in leading his own team had left the house feeling emptier than usual. Hardly ever crossing paths with one another. Lately, it's even been putting a strain on the dynamic duo's relationship. You wonder if they noticed when you stopped reaching out. Not likely when they are falling apart themselves. Your little band of miscreants always softened the blow of coming home to the lonely Manor, you'd always see them tomorrow...

You spot your blond just outside the lunchroom doors. Nose stuck in her book before you settle in next to her, “Where's MJ?” You ask, pulling your bag from your shoulder.

“Ugh, late as always.” Snapping her book shut, she sighs, leaning into your side. “Are we supposed to hold up everything for her all the time?”

The two of you sit chatting as children flood to and from the cafeteria. You talk long enough for Gwen to get over Mj being late again, just in time for her to show.

“Heyyyy! Sorry, sorry!” The redhead plops between them and hooks an arm over each of her friends' shoulders. She pokes Gwen's puffed cheeks as she huffs, “Oh, don't look so grumpy!”

“We've got to wait for you, like, every day!”

Mary Jane shrugs, “So?”

You roll your eyes, “So, can't you ever get here on time?”

“It's called fashionably late for a reason.” Gwen gives you a look that you return, and the two of you walk away. Mj gasps, hurrying to catch up, “Wait!!”

They may be a bit dysfunctional but they were yours. Before you know it, they're closer to your heart than your so-called family. Alfred even tells you he's delighted to see you making these connections. Happy to host you and your friends when you finally decide to bring them around. Your little room on the far end of the manor is cleaned from top to bottom. An array of treats is accompanied by frequent check-ins, which led to many, many questions each time around.

“You've really had to spend so much time alone here?” Gwen makes herself comfortable in your desk chair.

“Oh, well, I have Alfred.” You scoot back on your bed, back pressed against the headboard. With a sigh your head bumps the wall, “... most of the time anyway.”

“This place is crazy..” MJ pulls open your closet, fuming and ready to tear apart your meager wardrobe. “I can't believe you're actually a Wayne. Your dad is Bruce freaking Wayne, why is he the worst?”

Grimacing as her chair spins slowly the blond grumbles, “Not that surprising from some fancy stuck-up rich boy.”

Green eyes flicker through each quick swish of a hanger, “Why doesn't everyone know? Don't people like that usually have a big announcement or whatever?” Mj turns those critical emeralds to you.

Slouching into yourself to escape the gaze, “I did not want that.”

Unimpressed with the answer, she huffs, “Still there have to be people who know about you, right? Your family is, like, super famous.”

“Wait!” Gwen perks up, feet hitting the ground to halt her cycle, “I think I have heard people talk about you.”

Heat claws its way up the back of your neck, catching onto your ears. “Wh- huh? Really??”

“Yeah, they call you- uh..” Her sudden realization seems to die in her throat, “Well, they call you, um..” Gwen combs a hand through her hair, aquamarines darting away from you, “Wayne unwanted... cause the Wayne's have never acknowledged you publicly.”

Mary Jane scoffs, “Or personally, apparently.”

You've only lived through this your whole life yet hear that you're known for your misfortune, to be watched but never seen...

The two of them were across the room before you even realized you were crying. They cuddled up on either side of you, squeezing you between them as they apologized. “No, no, it's okay..” You giggle through the sting in your chest, wrapping your arms around them.

Gwen gives you an almost offended look. “It is not okay.”

“You deserve so much better!” Mj tights her grip until you're begging for air.

They didn't make you feel othered like your family name or the intimidating manor. You knew they saw you, not a name, statue, money, power. Just you.

“Hey, would you..” Swallowing the nerves catching in your throat, you slide the paper across your lunch table. “Would you guys like to come to my competition?”

Mj snatches the paper up from the table, “Of course!”

The other scans the sheet with intrigue, “We'll be there, promise.” Gwen takes the paper from the redhead's hands, smoothing out her crinkles.

It always felt better to have someone there to root for you. Tonight, Alfred would be busy handling things for Bruce's ‘business trip’. Not that it matters because now, you have friends.

After the winners are called and you can part, Mary Jane is the first at your side. “You were great!”

“Really? Thanks..” Your face burns. You always felt Alfred was just being biased in his praises.

She swoops you up into a hug, “Absolutely, way to go, tiger!” Yet, it feels more real coming from your friends.

“Though, I don't really get it.” Gwen muses from the side, “You're such a wallflower. You hate the spotlight.”

The warmth in your cheeks raises again, “Yeah, well, so?”

Gwen's lips quirked into a frown, “So, why do these?”

“Seriously, like, no one's making you..” Mj raises a brow at you, “right?”

“No, I just.. I wish someone would come.” You sigh, shoulders slumping, “Just one of them. Even once.” No matter how they push you away, there's always that part of you that still wants them to come around.

An arm is thrown over your shoulder, “Well, you're great so, so... Fuck those guys!” The curse slips from Gwen in a half whisper of juvenile rebellion.

Another arm joins the first around your shoulders, “Exactly, Fuck them!” Mj giggles, grading on the use of profanity.

“Heh, yeah.. Fuck ‘em.” You smile despite the way your ears burn in superfluous fear of being scolded by Alfred for your language.

Nights were more exciting with your newfound love of photography. You collected pictures of the best and worst of Gotham. From sparkling main streets to eerily dark alleyways. Especially the growing stock of your star muses, Batman and Robin. You started putting together profiles from them, juxtaposing their day and night personas. Filing in the scraps of knowledge you've gathered from chasing after them. You kept the folders stuffed in your closet; embarrassed by your almost obsessive habit over people who disregard your existence.

Despite how he may treat you, when Dick came home with a bullet in his shoulder from the Joker, you cried. It felt silly when you realized they were falling. What was there to mourn if.. Alfred had been teaching you to take care of bigger wounds. You pleaded to assist his tending of your brother. Promising to feign cluelessness on your knowledge of the.. happenstance.

It wasn't until after his wound was cleared of debris and disinfected, that he noticed you. Trembling little fingers press the gause to his broad shoulder as Alfred prepares the bandage. His hand comes up to rest over yours, steadying it. Head snapping up to meet his gaze, there's something lurking in those sapphires of his.

A smile cracks its way deliberately across his weary face. It's too endearing of a look for him to give you. This was the first time it felt so sincere. The warmth of it burned at your frayed nerves. Sparked at cool embers of hope that he'd come around to you. Only when he's nearly died. It couldn't be real, but it hurt too much to be a dream.

“Thanks, Birdie. You didn't have to.” Dick's praise burns at your ears. It must be blood loss, a near-death experience, or something.

It feels too unnatural. You mumble out quietly, “Of course I did.”

Alfred relieves you of the tension, wrapping the bandage around and across. You’re left to stand off to the side before eventually being shuffled out of the room. The weight of his gaze is unrelenting until you finally step out of the room. You immediately miss it, realizing you've let such a rare moment of connection slip away. The sudden tender moment only made it harder to hear he'd left shortly after. He moved two states away to New York, leaving Robin behind for good.

He hadn't even bothered to say goodbye.

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Tag List?!

@butratherbutrather @dorkatron-2000 @mys0cksrwet @nervousalpacalady @notsamaira @facelessisnthere @danir2006 @ryuushou @sirenetheblogger @l3v1uhthan

[lonesilverw0lf]

I hope whoever decided to read Id is enjoying it. I had a random thought for the class: how big is it? Like did only one classroom get Isekaied, or did a whole graduating class get it? Like the Class of 2018 or something? I’m assuming it was a singular class since even towns can have a sizable year for students. That can be a lot of characters to try to create. Not impossible, just a lot of work.

MC: rouge-ish, stealth, wild magic(?), mild immortality?, disguises, Heroes’ Shadow

Prez: leader, commander, fighter, strategist

Tomboy: fighter, pretend damsel in distress

Bully: barbarian, orc in laws

Prepper: ranger-ish, survivalist,

Mama: logistics, underworld connections, torture encouragement

Goth: Outerplane connections (warlock?), craftsmanship (of an undecided sort)

Clown: support, morale, bard, jack of all trades

Football jock: Paladin

Flower girl: potions, poisons, botany

Queen Bee: insect control(unwanted)

Influencer: cult creation(unintentional)

Skater: slacker,

Chess student: Pokémon summons, tactics

Art student: scouting magic

Teen Mom: lore keeper, record holder, divination, domestic support, fairy friend, mother

Baby: cuteness, defend at all costs, morale booster

Rat: size shifting, mascot, food vacuum

I think I got all that right at least. Lemme know if I missed something and I’ll edit the list. That’s 16 characters not counting Baby and Rat so far. Nor any Fantasy Land characters. Theatre and nerd kids were mentioned, and one otaku, but I haven’t seen anything else come up for them. I know I introduced Skater, but not quite sure what to do with him. I had a thought about him becoming a sort of messenger/runner to put his skater skills to work, but also not entirely sold on that.

Do we have a straight mage character decided? I know all the Party have a degree of magical ability, but did someone decide on who would dump all their points into sorcery? I can see Otkau mayhaps going that direction, going all Elder Scrolls/Elden Ring Sorcery would be right up an otakus power fantasy but then again what kind of otaku is Otaku? Does Goth get anything from her Patron other than cell phone service? I wouldn’t mind seeing her become a bit of a cross between Teen Titans Raven and Frieren. From my understanding she’s not a physical type so spells would work for her fine.

Thanks to this post I was granted a couple thoughts regarding a piece of technology that I have tragically overlooked which is a goldmine for comedy and usefulness: Goths Phone and her bargain. Whatever her deal was to get cell service, assuming that she accesses earth’s internet, this also implies that her phone has unlimited battery as well. So the Party calls home first thing they can so they can let everyone know that they’re alright. Then they take turns with it when they’re feeling homesick. They can also use it to get blueprints of various devices and designs, certain details of things like the best metals to prevent infection, search videos explaining certain subjects, use it to video and photograph their adventures, and so on.

I can’t decide what’s funnier: either a) she is now a walking cell tower that the Party uses. (A kinda short one at that, especially compared to how tall Mama is. Are we really sure they’re actually siblings let alone twins? I know that’s what they say but can you blame me? Are we sure their parents didn’t just snatch another baby out of her cradle?) So the Party has the advantage of using their phones to a limited degree, mostly for sending messages to each other since communication is vital in this world. Each person using her as a reference point whether they have service or not. The closer the better of course. Instead of having three bars they say they have ‘three Goths’. Awake she’s most ‘receptive’, asleep less so but you can still get a signal, unconscious/hypnotized/etc. has zero. Or maybe just the tiniest bit so the Party can track her down if necessary.

Or B) her phone is the only one that works and so the Party kinda ‘take turns’ using/stealing/borrowing it for various reasons. To call their families when feeling homesick, reference some history or scientific tidbit for their current situation, take pictures/videos of certain books/places/things/etc, how the football team is doing, check for updates on their favorite fanfiction, etc. They barter and trade for Phone Time creating a sorta sub culture surrounding the Phone. Goth is all dramatic when she doesn’t have her Phone.

I didn’t come up with situation A until I was halfway through writing this.

~

Goth, in the fetal position and murmuring, a dark haze surrounding her: Life is suffering. To deny suffering is to deny existence. And so we are inextricably linked to it.

But why? Her Phone has been borrowed so Influencer can use it to stream. Hence she has been bereft of her phone and now is bored.

Influencer: And with that we’re going to have to start wrapping up this Stream! Thank you for taking the time to teach us about this local board game, Mr. Farmer.

Farmer: Mah pleasure Missy! Anything to help out ta Heroes Party!

Chess: Less heroes and more normal teenagers right now. And thank you for showing me how to play this game! Now if I can just find someone else to play it with.

Farmer, looking at Goth: Ar ya sure that one is alright?

Influencer: Oh she’s fine, she’s just being dramatic. She does this every time.

Farmer: Ah, like a catto ya? One tha didn’t get tha cream?

Chess: Yep! We’re trying to find a pair of cat ears to make a little headpiece for her when she’s like this. Here’s your silver.

Farmer: Silver?! Milord I can’t-

Chess: No lord stuff, we’re just normal people right now. I know we agreed four copper for the board game, but the rest is for taking time out of your day and being so patient with us. Think of it as a thank you gift.

Influencer: Mr. Farmer, do you want to say anything to the people on the other side of this?

Farmer: I just talk to tha little box ere? And they can see me good ya?

Influencer: Yep! Just like we talked about earlier!

Farmer: Ah thanks ya folks fer listen’ to an old man go on about his favorite game. Er, is that good or?

Influencer: All the stuff on the side? Oh that’s the other people talking. They’re all saying thank you for being on this stream. A lot of them seem to be interested in making this game back home and trying it themselves.

Farmer: Ah! You’re all too kind!

Chess: Here, let me walk you back to the village.

Influencer: Be safe Chess! And so what did you all think? An interesting game for a small farming and logging village so far from the road ya? And all handmade too! Kinda makes me wonder how many games our own world used to have like this that have been lost over the generations….I’m going to pretend I didn’t see that HotdogMan. You know the rules, I really don’t want to ban anyone…. Yes we’ll try to bring the game back with us so Earth can play with it as well.

Influencer: Ohhh~ that is so nice of you! However this isn’t a normal stream….Yes I’d love donations just as much as the next gal but in Fantasy Land there is no way to access a Patron- Patron, Patrón, Petrol, Patren. Pttthhh! PATREON! Ugh, what are words? Yeah, we can’t access any of that money. And Fantasy Land doesn’t accept Visa or PayPal either.

Influencer: Well I’d love to stay and chat more but my Time is running out here so we’re going to have to wrap up! As always a great big thanks to Goth and her Patron…..um……Chat I haven’t even started attempting the name and you’re already making fun of me!!😭…..There are like no vowels in its name so of course it’s hard! Ugh, ok here goes. Thank you Ktchre-, no Cacgken- guh, Crushzu- argh…. I know how to pronounce Cthulhu Chat, its name is not Cthulhu. I wouldn’t be made fun of by y’all if its name was that simple….. No PolyPomPoms, it’s an Extraplanar Entity. Gender isn’t a thing with it. No its gender isn’t fluid, either. How do you get even fifty genders in the first place? That doesn’t- The point is it doesn’t have one!… No I don’t know how that works and quite frankly I’m not going to ask.

Influencer: As always: stay safe, be nice, be awesome, and hopefully we’ll be here again next week! Fantasy Land Adventures signing off! Bye~!

After packing up her setup Influencer walks over to Goth.

Goth: -even when the sky is overripe, it withholds its bounty. Thus here we are, bereft of its-

Influencer: 🙄Alright Goth, here’s your phone back.

Goth: Life has returned! The sweet succor of-

Influencer: 😑 And here I thought I was bad. Or that Bee was annoying when she couldn’t get her Java anymore.

Goth: You know, I was thinking…

Influencer: Dear god, please not this again.

Goth: There is a way to do this without all this torment and suffering.

Influencer: 😓Of course it is.

Goth: A path that would benefit both our desires.

Influencer: Don’t say it Goth, don’t you dare say it.

Goth: You could-

Influencer: I’m warning you!

Goth: -make a pact with my Patron.

Influencer: AAAARRRRGGGG!! We’ve been over this a gazillion times! No!

Goth: It’s excited to talk to you! It wants to help! I’m sure it can give you a wonderful deal! Probably better than what I got…

Influencer: It -wants- to make me its Chief Cult Leader! It -wants- me to convert everyone into its cult! Just like every one and thing else around here! I got enough problems fending off every blasted religion, cult, government, and organization out there, don’t you start harping on me too!

Goth: Cmon, what’s a half dozen cults?

Influencer: I’m still not over that little ‘celebration’ in that one town. I can only imagine how bad it could’ve been if Clown didn’t help me reword myself to make it just a drunken celebration instead of something worse. Remember I almost got that one Holy Order nearly come down on our heads for that? I am not starting up anything else if I can help it.

Goth: Don’t act like you’re special there, we all have nearly run afoul with many such groups. Remember when Prep killed that one holy animal thinking it was just a random Fantasy Land critter? Or when Football flirted with the wrong Lady in Waiting? Also you don’t seem to mind the Base.

Influencer: Because they tried to sacrifice me, so I had no choice! Thank goodness MC ungagged me there. Base is reasonable only because Mama and Prez got things under control! I can’t handle that kinda pressure.

Football: Here you two are. Where’s Chess?

Goth: He’s walking that farmer back to his village.

Football: Hm. Prez wants everyone in the Command Tent. We’re due for another Meeting.

Influencer: So soon? I thought we were going to have that Tuesday?

Football: That was the case, but since it’s Prez I’m sure there’s a good reason for it.

Goth: Alright then, let’s go. Hey Influencer, just think about-

Influencer: We are done talking about this!!

Football: Er, what did I miss?

Goth and Influencer: It’s nothing.

Football: Right. ‘It’S nOtHiNg!’ Geh, women.

The standard 'entire class gets isekai'd to a fantasy world and the outcast MC is basically discarded' anime setting, where the MC, now assumed dead, decides to instead help the class of Heroes in the shadows, making sure they live up to what the people need.

However, the entire class knows that he's alive and are hellbent on dragging that son of a bitch back into the spotlight and to give him the recognition he deserves.

(And maybe because he was basically the entire class's Little Guy™.)

[cookierunoutofideas]

Day 1 of "Writing SMC angst until he stops breaking my heart and comes home" (hopefully first and last)

So, after this post, someone sent me this ask in my main blog and I had an idea.

As usual, not beta read we crumble like cookies. Possibly OOC. Possibly crack. Cookies have human anatomy but made with cookie stuff. Fem! Reader. Making up random Cookie Run lore because I can. I am getting desperate, so pardon my lunacy, I just have terrible luck in gacha and need to let my frustrations out

+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"The DOG?!"

"Don't call him that!"

Shadow Milk Cookie can't believe his eyes. He can't believe his ears. He can't believe any of his senses nor his mind.

How did that happen? How did he not see it happening?

Shadow Milk knows for a fact that ever since the other half of his soul jam had awakened in the hands of another cookie, he has kept Pure Vanilla Cookie and his group under his gaze. Specially after Pure Vanilla Cookie somehow met (Y/N) Cookie, the one the Beast of Deceit has loved deeply since he first woke up in the Witch's baking tray, before he was even bestowed the Light of Knowledge, the two blinking confusedly at each other.

He had known, then and there, that they were meant to be together forever. It was like the Witches had baked them to fit together, almost as if they were originally one cookie dough that got separated in two. Even as he allowed the corruption—salvation to take over and transform him into something greater than the Witches would've allowed, his feelings for (Y/N) Cookie never once wavered. The joy he felt when Pure Vanilla Cookie finally did something good and guided him back to his beloved is simply too difficult to put on words.

She is as beautiful as always.

And so terribly close! He couldn't wait to finally break the seal fully and get back the life the damned Witches stole so he could finally reunite with (Y/N) Cookie.

So, then, why is she glaring at him? Standing there, at the Dark Side of The Moon, shoulders rigid and eyes piercing, (Y/N) Cookie proclaims that she has found someone else.

And it's a god damned CAKE MONSTER!!

"My love, what have the Witches done to your brain? Is this a joke? Must be a joke! Right? Right!"

"It's no joke, Shadow Milk Cookie. I have found love away from you and your lies," she crosses her arms, unamused. "Schwarzwälder is a sweet guy who treats me well. I'm very lucky to have him."

"You're enemies!"

"We were enemies. It was before Dark Enchantress Cookie abandoned her followers to covet the power of the Beasts."

"That– how–!"

"I don't need to explain myself to you!" (Y/N) cookie takes a step back and he can tell she'll soon manage to free herself from his influence. Shadow Milk Cookie remembers the days they spent training their magic together. "We are over, Shadow Milk Cookie! The next time we meet, it'll be on the battlefield, and you better hope White Lily manages to seal you before I crumble you!"

The connection severs then, the once warm and welcoming magic of his beloved now sharp and cold like a blade, and Shadow Milk Cookie is left alone in the dark realm of his own creation.

[fallenhunnyapple]

Hello Hi time to talk about the Cyberpunk Dreams AU that haunts my waking moments.

I've posted drawing and comics and stuff but it doesn't really explain the World and the AU, as they just focus on the Relationship. So it's time to give a run down of the Universe and Lucifer and Adam's roles in it more Completely. Gonna try and avoid any explicit game spoilers, minimize that as much as I can. I play as Lucifer and @fallennumbskull plays as Adam and we have some of the things they experience influence the story we built, though ultimately the AU mostly focuses on them existing in the setting than following the game experience 1:1.

The world of Cyberpunk Dreams is one that takes place after civil wars and natural disasters have ravaged the US and have left it as a complete ruined dystopia. The main setting is in the city of Cincinnati, now just referred to as Cinci.

Lucifer and Adam both work for some mystery organization that have assigned them missions to fulfill in the City. They don't start off knowing each other and Lucifer gets there first and has a longer time to establish himself, hence why he's already a crime lord while Adam is still Hired Help by the time they start working together.

Their missions are as follows.

Lucifer:

Adam:

A couple of things to note: Lucifer and Adam both have Amnesia. This was done purposefully by those they are fulfilling the missions for. They don't remember anything explicit about their lives before, if they had friends, family, relationships, etc. It's all gone. They know Just Enough to get started and those lost memories are supposed to slowly trickle back in as they become relevant. There is no guarantee that they will ever fully remember their past lives. For one reason or another, they have both agreed to this.

The other thing: They are both Mutants. Mutants in this setting are designer, created on purpose. Uncovering the truth there is Adam's main mission. But regardless, they both have altered DNA that give them certain abilities and certain detriments, each of them having multiple mutations, but One that stands above the rest. Predominantly, Lucifer's main mutation is Vampirism. He requires blood or plasma to drink often, the lack of which prevents him from eating solid foods and if ignored too long can cause reckless bloodlust. But he is also faster, stronger, smarter, more charismatic etc etc, all those stereotypes about Vampires. He _is_ weak to the Sun and if he's out during the day he can burn. And he doesn't have any sort hypnosis or glamour he can use on other people. But he's Charming, so that still works in his favor. And on Adam's side of things, he has wolf DNA. This makes him strong, gives him heightened senses and allows him to talk to Dogs (very useful when they get their own puppy later, her name is Zwei). He is extremely loyal but also reckless and he tends to think of himself as an Alpha, better than anyone else. Well, almost anyone. There's only one person he will accept as being Above him. And on top of all that Adam is something called a 'transhumanist' meaning he's someone who believes that those with mutations and altered bodies are superior to regular humans. He considers himself to be the next step of evolution and has a superiority complex about it.

Back to the setting! Cinci is a mess of a city. You need to Command respect here otherwise you could end up with your brain splattered across an alley wall or your body sold for sex or organs. It's a dark and fucked up town and while there are pockets of more civil and safe zones, the majority of the city and where you spend your time is the Slums. Sure, there are people who just do their best to survive, but Luci and Adam aren't there for that. No, the people who Command respect, who make money and make a name for themselves, the people they need to be in order to progress in their missions are those known as Players. The ones with the money, the ones who work with drugs, prostitution, weapon sales, organ trafficking, the ones who can hire others to do their dirty work for them, the ones who can get access to any and all information they may need.

Lucifer has been there longer, is an established Player and has a large enough crew and amassed enough money to be Comfortable as he works on fulfilling his mission. He hires Adam, who hasn't been there as long and is still working his way up, to be his bodyguard. Lucifer doesn't prevent Adam from continuing to accumulate his own power while he works for him, so it's not an issue. But then they get involved and Lucifer opens up his own network and resources to Adam. They're partners in multiple senses and Lucifer not only promotes Adam to his lover, but he gives him jurisdiction of certain aspects of his business.

Some more about the setting: Mutants are despised. There are mutants out there in Cinci but they have to keep that part of themselves secret (not easy when some mutations are Visible). There is a policing organization called Tower whose policy is Shoot on Sight when it comes to mutants. And they are Indiscriminate about it. If you are a mutant, if Tower becomes suspicious of you, all you can do is try and stay in hiding, not go out during the day, until they lose interest. Otherwise there's no guarantee you'll make it to the next day. And the general population doesn't care for mutants and if they find out, they could either report you or simply refer to you as 'it', mutants being seen as Lesser than humans.

As both Lucifer and Adam are mutants, that makes their lives more dangerous. There have been times where someone from their crew would get Killed to send a message and draw them out for being Mutants. Of course, that person meets the ending they deserve, but it's still worrisome when people find out. Luckily, Lucifer is part of a Vampire Coven/Cult called Black Moon who has members, both vampire and non-mutants, who have infiltrated basically every aspect of society, even Tower itself. And as long as Lucifer does as he's asked and keeps himself from endangering the cult from being discovered, they will keep him safe. And as a rising member of their ranks, he has extra privileges and protections. And when eventually Lucifer brings Adam in as his thrall, Adam is also offered certain protections.

Additionally, there is a special secret sex club called Cluster that is Exclusive for Mutants. Their entrance is hidden and only those who are specifically invited gain access. It's a safe haven for mutants because while it is a sex club, it can also just be a place to relax and feel safe, knowing that there is no fear of being exposed and killed for simply existing as you've been made. Lucifer and Adam do go there frequently, sometimes together and sometimes not. Though they are exclusive in their relationship, there are other reasons to be at Cluster than just sex. Adam seems to disappear sometimes while they're there, but he never tells Lucifer where he went or what happened while he was gone. Lucifer is concerned but has accepted that he's not going to get any answers, no matter how much he may ask.

Just some fun extra notes:

Players go by Street Names and telling someone your real name is a Huge show of trust and is in itself a form of intimacy. Lucifer goes by Serpent and Adam goes by Exorcist. They call each other by their Street Names usually, but when they're alone they revert to their more intimate names.

Adam is a hypersexual adrenaline junkie who gets turned on by violence and Lucifer indulges him by letting him run wild, especially when there are people who need to be killed for one reason or another, and then takes care of him in private after. He also has metalphilia and craves the feeling of metal inside him, whether that be via piercings, implants or metal sex toys. Lucifer has also decided to indulge this part of him by getting dick piercings. It's a lot of work to keep his guard dog satisfied, but Lucifer is willing to do it.

Lucifer wasn't allowed to drink from someone outside of the cult so he never got to drink Adam's blood until he agreed to become his thrall and went through the joining ritual. And then he discovered that actually he really likes how Adam's blood tastes when his veins are coursing with adrenaline. He typically drinks directly from him when they're having sex after Adam fought and/or killed some people. Adam likes it too because he gets reminded how vulnerable a position he's in and how Lucifer could so easily kill him if he chose to.

Lucifer has recurring nightmares and has a tough time sleeping, but Adam can help him relax and sleep more peacefully. He's kind of a wreck if Adam has to leave him for a few days for whatever reason.

Adam is in charge of prostitution but essentially they just take over another pimp's turf (usually killing them in the process) and Adam gives the sex workers a choice. They can continue doing sex work but Adam actually takes care of them and doesn't enforce monetary quotas and while sex works still isnt the best, he's the best pimp they could have since he protects them from shitty johns and doesn't force them to do anything they don't want to do. Alternatively, they can choose to leave sex work behind and start working for Adam as part of his crew and doing odd jobs and such and getting paid enough to manage their own lives.

Lucifer works with a back alley clinic providing trafficked organs. Certain times if he has to kill people personally, Lucifer will siphon out their blood for later and get the corpse picked up by the clinic, no questions asked. They're on good terms and he relies on them if anything happens to himself or Adam and they need medical attention

Lucifer doesn't remember that he has a daughter. And he doesn't remember that his daughter is the one he's meant to rescue. That the reason he was willing to give up all of his memories was to be able to see his daughter again. But even though he doesn't remember, he does know that any of the sick shit that happens in Cinci that involves kids makes him ill and anxious, and Sometimes he will choose empathy because he gets the feeling that there is someone who would want him to.

Lucifer and Adam are in a Dom/Sub relationship. Lucifer awakened Adam's inner sub by domming him once and Adam's never been the same since. Adam would never let any other person top or dom him, Just Lucifer.

I think that covers most of it! I am, of course, open to any and all questions!

( @libby-for-life enjoy this long ass break down)

[iichory]

I had an idea for an au of Arcane and I don't have anyone to share it with, so I'll post it here

Basically this au consists of Jayce and Ximena being from Noxus. And I will explain how

(Contains some spoilers for s1 and s2 of Arcane)

Jayce and his mother are emigrants (basically for me, but the show itself shows him and his mother traveling to another place); since they were in a blizzard and such.

They probably left Freljord and/or some village there, probably for better living conditions, since there probably isn't much in a place that is covered in snow.

Where I want to go, Freljord has Demacia and Noxus as nearby places. And I believe that the two (Jayce and Ximena) didn't have much choice of place, because Freljord is VERY far from Piltover and Zaun and they probably wouldn't leave with the objective of going there knowing that they could die from the cold in less time.

They only got out of there alive because the wizard teleported them to Piltover and Zaun or a place nearby. So they went to Piltover.

But if the wizard didn't show up, let's assume that Ximena didn't faint, so she and Jayce left Freljord. And depending on the location, they would cross paths with Demacia or Noxus.

(There's also the option of Ximena fainting, the wizard Viktor not showing up, and baby Jayce would have to go on alone, but I feel like he would die.)

And I want to think that they would cross paths with Noxus and most likely stay there. (That's because I like Noxus more than Demacia.)

Why is that? As much as Demacia is a beautiful nation and all, it's a nation in crisis and those who live beyond its borders are viewed with suspicion. (It's in the official website biography.)

Unlike Noxus, it's seen as brutal by outsiders, but in truth Noxus is a very inclusive nation. They respect and encourage talented individuals, and they value strength above all else. Anyone can grow up there, regardless of social class, if they want to.

Although noble families still have great power, if Jayce and Ximena went there, they could grow up very well.

Although to gain respect, stay strong and have a position, you have to be constantly challenged.

What got me thinking about Jayce being from there was that there are forges there, making weapons and armor.

Basically, I thought, Jayce could very well grow up working in the forge, making weapons and fighting.

Not only that, there are also engineers, warriors and rangers there and Jayce could very well be one of them.

There is also the possibility that the wizard did appear and took them to Noxus and still gave the stone to Jayce.

(You know, try in this universe somewhere else instead of Piltover)

But then he wouldn't meet Viktor, Heimerdinger or even Mel

(he could meet Mel, very unlikely but he could still meet her in Noxus.)

What would be better, besides strength, the Noxians greatly respect those who have magic and recruit them to serve the empire (if he could)

If Jayce still discovered hextech there, it would be good for him, since strength manifests itself in many ways and individuals with magic are respected, it would be a combo.

But if he invented hextech in Noxus, much of Piltover's progress would not exist and would go to Noxus.

Which would make Noxus more powerful, but since Piltover has many geniuses, the academy and such, Jayce could go there in search of improving hextech and creating magic.

Which would be likely, because he would have the same problem of not being able to create (before Viktor's help) and all attempts would fail, which would be the reason for him to go to Piltover and enter the academy.

I think it could be a time before the apartment exploded.

But, it would also work if it wasn't, because if Vi, Powder, Claggor and Miloy still invaded any apartment, they wouldn't cause the explosion and wouldn't even be caught or seen (it would basically be almost the same thing as the perfect alternative universe of arcane.)

This is the idea I had, I really want to write but at the same time I don't know how.

I really want to hear other people's opinions.

[californiannostalgia]

absolutely brain-stimulating take

Possibility 1: maybe even the gods themselves may want to become mortal kings or reclaim that perfect godhood. Although, if any of the gods actually regained godhood, predathos would eat them. So anyone who doesn't want to be eaten will not ascend to godhood, and anyone who is mortal can theoretically be assassinated.

We are about to watch post-French Revolution Exandria. Divine Rights of Kings have been disproven by the gods disappearing from direct contact. No one exists who can prove they are monarchs supported by the actual gods.

(VM joked about being gods all the time, but they're not, and the world knew it. See: Otohan against Keyleth. Godlike mortals can still be struck down. They're different from an immortal being unreachable behind the Gate.)

Possibility 2: holy wars could be spawned by those who claim to be gods reborn. Holy wars are always a valid concern, especially if you look at the Bright Queen and Dwendalian king duking it out with absolutely no involvement or encouragement from the pantheon.

Many different ways this could go. First, if you claim to be a god in a mortal body, but you are not: the followers of the actual god may call your bluff and try to kill you for identity theft reasons. You might survive and become a king after all! But that's just how kingdom-building goes, and now the pre-existing countries are all staring at your new startup wondering if they can shank you. You should start diplomacy.

What I'm trying to explain is that kingship by a mortal has ways it can be checked. A mortal king is different from an eternal power sealed on another plane.

Now, if you claim to be a god-king and are actually the rebirth of a god: how invulnerable are you from mortal threats if you can't ascend to True Godhood without being eaten? Is it practical to declare yourself to the world and jump into the middle of mortal conflict?

It might be better to just be the Pope of your Vatican than to be a king. You wouldn't have to make war if you're a modern Pope uninterested in religious military campaigns. Even if you are killed, you will be reborn. You can still continue helping the mortals you like and watching them grow.

The whole deal about rebirth may be annoying bureaucracy, but at least you get less PTSD triggers about the thing that killed your siblings wiping out your entire family. You and your siblings are an indestructible idea and lineage now.

TLDR: This post discusses mortal politics. I get that the French Revolution, or the Protestant Reformation, or whatever revolutionary thing that happened is scary change. Revolutions are conflict-heavy business.

Would it have been better to continue the absoluteness of kings without the French Revolution ever happening? It's a possibility. But I and a vast majority of people would not have had human rights ratified in that world. Freedom of choice doesn't happen without blood.

I say this as someone from a country that deposed two presidents in ten years, whose parents lived through military tanks shooting down democratic revolutions, whose grandparents survived a war driven by outside forces. No society can ever agree to like a revolution. But once the idea is there, you can't kill it. It will keep coming up.

This may as well be happening

[theotheristhedoctor]

Ok but we all agree that Esk is Rincewind's mother, right? That she and Simon had a kid, the Ultimate Sorcerer, except that because what they were trying to do was Not Do Magic, what they produced was the Absolute Peak of Not Magic - "what 0 is to maths" as Rincewind once described himself - and that as a result of this ultimate nullification Rimcewind was abld to: carry a primal spell in his head / face a sorcerer on his own and win / survive the dungeon dimensions / avoid death / etc.

We're all in agreement here right?

[deoidesign]

please take as much time as you need to rest and recover. burn out is so hard and takes so much to heal from. your art and your supporters will still be here when you get back :) take care <3

Thank you very much

Unfortunately, my situation doesn't really allow me to take the time I need. I've got a ~two month hiatus scheduled for my midseason, but much like my first hiatus I'll most likely be working double time during it...

It's unfortunate because I could really really use a bigger break!

Having the time and flexibility to work on other projects really fires me up and keeps me going, and being able to take a guilt free day off for family and friends is necessary to my mental health, and I've been having to turn people down lately...

This is a very kind message, and I'm sorry to vent in response! But I just feel transparency about the pressure I'm under is necessary and important. I'd love to take the time I really need, but due to deadlines and that pesky "needing money to live" I can't.

But, once the series is over I intend to take a pretty big break before I start whatever I'm doing next! I've got so many short stories and projects planned that I want so badly to get to, I can't wait to really get to truly dive in to them!

[brittlebutch]

this series' batshit production makes it impossible to figure out what the fuck is going on at any time ever....

Does it make sense that Deluge is supposed to be taken at face value and that totheark does know that Alex is watching the channel? Does it make sense that Advocate is a warning that Brian is in immediate danger from Alex? I'm trying so hard to fit the pieces together and they will not fit. I hate to keep coming back to the "totheark is completely full of shit" conclusion but I'm struggling to make it make sense any other way.

for one, WHAT is totheark waiting for in S1 if they already know where Alex is and are watching him closely enough to know that he's started watching the Marble Hornets channel? If the whole point of them antagonizing Jay is that they need Jay to lead them to Alex, then how could they know that Alex is watching the channel? Are we supposed to take this at face value and believe it? Or is it just totheark playing mindgames with Jay in order to get what they want?

for two, again, if totheark already knows where Alex is and are watching him closely enough to know that he's about to make a move against Brian, then what are they waiting for??? The moment Tim/Brian cross paths with Alex in S2, they are starting physical confrontations with him left and right -- if they know where he is and know he's a threat in S1, then why are they fucking around and sending videos to each other instead of kicking Alex's ass? Do we know for sure that this video is intended to be warning of a threat against Brian himself? Is this video supposed to be telling Jay that if he doesn't pony up and follow the tip he got to Brian's house, the evidence he's looking for won't be there anymore? Jay's constant recurring conflict in S1 was that he wanted to go out to these locations to get answers but also he didn't, because that's scary, so he kept hesitating and hemming and hawing until totheark put the pressure on him and he caved, so maybe that's it? Or maybe it's just more of totheark fucking around with Jay -- "framing" Alex to make it seem like he had some hand in something happening at Brian's house?

Like, I keep trying to make the first two seasons of Marble Hornets make sense in line with the third. Alex's whole goal is to kill everyone and then himself, right? And it's common interpretation that that has been his plan from the very beginning. So if he had a gun by Entry #16, why doesn't he use it against Tim in Entry #35? Why doesn't he grab it to use it in Entry #45? If he lured Jay out to the Rosswood area with the 04-04-10 tape in order to kill him, why doesn't he do so immediately in Entry #35? Why does he let Jay stalk him for months before finally trying to kill him if that was supposed to be his plan the whole time? If totheark had been watching Alex from the beginning, then why do they spend so much time fucking around with Jay instead of Alex in S1? Why don't we see any footage of Alex filmed by totheark? If Alex and Brian are already squaring up with each other in S1, then why is anyone bothering with Jay at all? i don't getttttt ittttt!!!!! make it make sense to me!!!

[weaselle]

i had to make a solution for this for myself, mostly because of depression, but it makes a nice How To for folks who are low on spoons or could use some help in the kitchen.

Fortunately i was a professional cook for over a decade. UNfortunately the first post i made explaining it was suuuuper long. Let's see if i can do better

So you select any protein that you can cook in a frying pan -- chicken breasts, ground beef, pork chops, sausages, steak, chicken thighs, whatever. You also select one or two types of veggie (mushrooms or tubers also work, i just did this with potatoes and carrots for dinner tonight).

[i like cooking for vegetarians, but this is how i cook for myself when i'm low on spoons - perhaps i'll do another post for meatless meals]

You'll also need some kind of oil, and a sauce or two of your choice in a bottle. All cooking gear is a large frying pan with lid (i prefer non-stick) a spatula, a cutting board, and a knife.

You cut the veggies into bite size pieces, cut up enough for two meals. One kind of veggie is fine, or you can do mix two or three

Put frying pan on medium heat with a little oil. Tubers or mushrooms or go in the pan a few minutes before the protein. 2 portions of the protein goes in the pan, about 5 minutes with lid (don't worry you can still get a good sear on both sides)

Now flip your protein if it's flip-able and add normal veggies, put the lid back on another five-ish minutes.

Take your protein out and put it with one portion of the veggies in a microwave safe container. That's going to be your lunch tomorrow. Put the other portion of protein on a plate to rest (you have to let a cooked protein sit a couple minutes before you serve it or when you cut into it all the juices run out and it goes dry - the liquids thicken as it cools, preventing this drying out if you let it rest, the goal is to serve it very warm but not hot hot)

While it's resting, pour some sauce from your bottle in the pan with the rest of the veggies and turn up the heat. A single sauce/bottle is fine, i like to get fancy and mix a couple. Two examples of personal favorite mixes are 1: bbq sauce and a hot sauce like sriracha 2: roughly equal parts low sodium soy sauce and worcestershire (makes something similar to a teriyaki sauce) A swallow of wine is almost always a great option if you want to add that to your sauce too, just add it to the pan before the other sauces so the alcohol has time to burn off.

...

Here is the important bit. While your veggies are finishing, wash your cutting board and chef knife. Then when you dump your veggies and sauce over your protein on the plate, while it is still too hot to eat, you wash your frying pan and spatula before you eat. Now the only dishes you have left to do are your plate and fork. Maybe a steak knife.

...

The whole thing takes about 35 minutes even with washing the dishes, and that includes your lunch for the next day- just pour a different sauce on and stick it in the microwave for a couple minutes (or five minutes back in the frying pan) and you have a full healthy lunch with a different flavor

You can use this technique every single meal and it yields hundreds of combinations, from pork and potatoes bbq, to salmon and broccoli teriyaki, to chicken and zucchini in a soy glaze.

It will keep you down to less than an hour of kitchen time per day total for both lunch and dinner including all dish clean up, uses the least dishes, the least effort, requires the least technique, and is, depending on what you pick out, very affordable

here are a couple more examples from this month; i didn’t take pictures of the salmon i did recently, but you get the idea

it's not super fancy, but it is easy, affordable, quick, and any flavors you want. Hope this helps some folks

Happy Cooking!

[indefiniteavatar]

So basically, in a case about him shoving money at someone so they shut up about him. . .he can’t shut the fuck up himself. I would say something clever and funny here, except the sad part is that this is just so normal in current politics that it’s just. . .not hilariously absurd behavior anymore? Not to say that it’s not absurd - it is beyond such, but it is just. . . predictable, I suppose.

I guess this is how I feel about politics lately? Either I get mad at everything or I try to laugh at everything and normally that works because politicians usually aren’t so tragically stupid so very often, but now I just kinda have to chuckle at the particularly eyeroll worthy things like this, and try to ignore everything else or my brain will explode.

[mx-pastelwriting]

Saving My Fanfiction Work

First. Side note: This post was only intended to give resources to fanfiction writers and enjoyers. My talk on recent political events was a context/reasoning on why I made this post. Also I’ve had to add more information to this post over time due to people’s confusion in my comments. Explaining it was to make sure that this post didn’t come off as out of the blue for my followers and this community. Which is fanfiction.

Also, why I made this post was from people asking if they could download my fanfiction because of the recent political events in America hence why I named it “saving my fanfiction work” and added my context. So this was also a post to tell people that liked my fanfiction they could download it as long as it was for their personal collection. I merely just wanted to list resources to people who wanted to download fanfiction and don’t know where to start or don’t have the immediate resources. I’m not here to fear-monger. I am just giving resources and the reasoning on why I’m giving them along with urging people to look into those information/recent events as staying aware is important. I respect everybody who’s given their opinion and yes, some of my grammar in this post is not adequate as this post was merely made for giving/stating resources.

Lastly, I will no longer update this post with comments as I’ve said my peace, nor will I pay attention to the notifications as they are muted. As my page is for fanfiction not politics. Thank you for the people in this community who share this post for the resources see you around the tags! Stay safe friends!!✨ Remember I love you! And you are loved!💛

-

Due to the recent events in the United States. To clarify the recent events being Trump becoming president of the United States, Project 2025 more than likely going to be integrated. If you are not familiar with Project 2025 I urge you to look it up.

Along with the KOSA bill that has many problems and it has passed the senate now needing the finally vote in the house, which both are majority red. Go here to learn more on why it needs to be stopped and how you can. This is another component that will harm our communities. Go to: stopkosa.com

With all of its harmful plans some of the plans are to take down/restrict internet sites that have LGBTQ+ communities that means communities like the fan-fiction communities/sites in the United States.

I am only giving resources to those inside and out of the US in case they banned sites that hold fan-fiction. Better safe than sorry.

Being that I live in the US the possibly of mine and many others Fanfiction has the possibly of being in danger. Therefore I'm giving you recourses. (I'm not leaving or stopping my writing, I'm here for the fight!)

For those wanting to save my fanfiction, I give you permission to download them off of AO3 and to be used for your personal collection. Meaning, your eyes only. To clarify I’m saying this as others have asked if they could download my fanfic so for those who would like to you can.

If you do not know how to download them many others on online have tutorials on how to download them and add them to our phone libraries.

Here are some links to tutorials:

Downloading Fanfic

Adding to Iphone & Android Library

Adding to Kindle Library - Video on How (On TikTok)

Adding Book Covers (At the bottom) - Good EPUB Cover Changer (I use this)

Types of Files and What they mean

Please stay safe out there! Remember to follow the rules below.

DO NOT share the downloaded file anywhere online.

DO NOT repost the downloaded file under your name.

Fanfiction is protected under copyright law when plagiarism is involved. If you plagiarize my work, either a piece or whole in any language, I will take legal action. Inspiration or the same idea does NOT apply to this, only word-for-word plagiarism in any language.

♥ mx-pastelwriting does not consent to their fanfiction being copied, copied & credited, translated, used in videos and/or audios, screenshotted, used in AI, or reposted on any other platform without permission.

♥ mx-pastelwriting does give consent to "reblog," sharing links to direct work, and being in recommend lists.

Please stay safe out there friends! I love you so much! Know that there will always people that love you and in for the fight to make sure you are loved!

And here are some resources in case you don’t feel okay! Resources here

[cookierunoutofideas]

Day 2 of "Writing SMC angst until he stops breaking my heart and comes home" (welp)

*voz da Patrícia Lélis expondo Estilista Juliana* Ô, gente, voltei.

Another day, another failure. Lady Luck hates me, as suspected. Anyway, this fic is inspired by this post by @allimili , whose art I love so much QwQ No Beta and I also don't have my glasses so pardon any errors

One-Sided! Shadow Milk Cookie x ex!fem!Reader; Truthless Recluse (Pure Vanilla Cookie?) x fem!Reader

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Love is a very odd thing, Shadow Milk Cookie muses to himself. Despite being the holder of Knowledge itself, not even he can truly explain love and its intricacies. Even after feeling it himself, he still doesn't truly understand it.

Befero he abandoned the duty forced on him by the Witches, he had loved with abandon. He didn't know any better-and yes, he can notice the irnoy. But it hadn't mattered back then because he was in love and he was loved and, despite the growing pit of despair and stress in his heart due to his duties, he had been happy.

Happy to see her smile and to hear her voice. Happy to hold her hand and hug her close. Happy to kiss her lips and breath in her scent. He had been happy by her side, through thick and thin and rain and sun and sickness and health and joy and sadness. They had even dreamed of the future together, promises sealed in between bedsheets and sleepless nights.

But then he finally woke up and saw the Witches for what they were: terrible demons of cruelty, gleefully controlling cookies to their whims, a little pet project to pass the time. Right after, he understood what the other cookies truly are: useless batches of greedy ungrateful dolls, baked with every single one of the Witches' sins just to torment those who dream of a better world.

And so his rebellion started, joined by his four friends.

But she... she simply couldn't see. Or, rather, she didn't want to see. Not that he truly blames her, of course, after all, the Witches made sure no cookie would ever learn of their perversion. All his darling beloved knew was the silly cookies and their insignificant little lives.

She had rejected his changes. Gone were the smile and loving words and warm hugs and longing kisses.

The last glare she gave him when he was sealed in that damned tree was of pure hurt and anger. He swore to himself he'd get out and find her again, bring back her pretty smile and shower her in the love she deserved as he once did. He'd make sure of it, make sure she'd finally understand him and his goals. Everything would go back to happiness.

The next time he saw her, (Y/N) was smiling at Pure Vanilla Cookie the exact same smile she'd once give Shadow Milk Cookie.

For a brief moment, he believed the lie that she somehow knew that he was there, watching over her through the blonde cookie. Only for a brief moment, though, enough time for said blonde cookie to confess his feelings to her.

That was not in te script.

(Y/N) Cookie did have a knack for rewriting stories, though, so he should've expected something someone to be beyond his control. It was one of the reasons he had been so enamored with her in the past.

Still he screamed and cried when she returned Pure Vanilla's confession with one of her own.

His rage was so great even Burning Spice Cookie shut up from the root of the silver tree he was confined. Not that Shadow Milk cared, he didn't care for anything but his plans to destroy that weak little thief who stole not only hsi power but his beloved! And his plans to punish said beloved for her infidelity. Ultimately, he'd forgive her, of course, but she needed to pay before it could happen.

And what better way to do it than to corrupt her precious Pure Vanilla Cookie? Make him become just like Shadow Milk Cookie? Show her that in the end, she is meant to be his.

Except.

Except that when the time comes and he finally has Pure Vanilla Cookie Truthless Recluse drowning in the pit of deceit, (Y/N) Cookie doesn't leave him.

She is saddened, yes, and she frequently pleads that he "fights it" and "remember who he is" and "stop hurting other cookies, Milk, there must be another way", but she does. Not. Leave. She stays with him, takes care of him, gives him kisses and hugs.

And Truthless Recluse is so annoying about it too. Kissing her and hugging her and holding her hands and carrying her and smiling at her in a way he should've forgotten because he is not Pure Vanilla Cookie, Pure Vanilla Cookie never never n ever ever existed ever! Ever! everevereverever it has always been Shadow Milk Cookie ALWAYS ALWAYS SO WHY?!

WHY?

Why is that copy the one allowed to love her? How can he even love her? How can he love her when he is not Shadow Milk Cookie? How can he still keep enough of his pitiful sense of self to keep on loving (Y/N) Cookie?! IT'S ALL WRONG WRONG WRONG WRONG

Shadow Milk Cookie truly doesn't understand love.

Not that he needs to to hate it.

[medicinemane]

You know, capitalism is another one of those words that sadly is like problematic in that it's functionally useless because people just toss it out and then everyone gets so hung up debating the meaning of the word capitalism that the whole point is lost

That's why I don't ever really use it. It doesn't really matter if it's capitalism or if it's cronyism or... whatever, I think it's bad when companies make record profits while prices go up up up

I think there's probably an issue and it probably needs to be solved (and I'm afraid you can't convince me less regulation is a magic bullet)

I like currency and exchanging currency because it seems like a good way of moving goods and labor around, but I also strongly support welfare and think that any group of more than 50 people is probably starting to get corrupt

Don't trust the government, but sure as hell don't trust corps...

I don't know, my original point is that sadly capitalism gets tossed around too much to mean anything anymore... but I just see too many argumentative people online so I'm tossing out my stances to avoid getting side tracked debating what I mean

What I really really mean is just fucking say what you're saying and don't bother saying capitalism cause you'll just make people argue and miss your point

[heavenbarnes]

I wanna make it (so badly)

Art Donaldson x Fem Reader

Warnings/Contains: reader is AFAB with she/her pronouns, swearing, inappropriate employer/employee relationship, dry-humping, a lot of heavy petting, implied age gap, effective-infidelity (reader tested, tashi approved), oral sex (f!receiving), art is a bit of a pervert and mega-pathetic (endearing), references to religion (worship).

Word Count: 5.8k

i white knuckled the steering wheel on the way home from this film thinking about art donaldson- this is, essentially, an ode to that

Youth tennis lessons, $20/h, call for details

Finding work was hard, keeping work was harder.

Cleaning, baby-sitting, pet-sitting, pet-walking. There was virtually nothing you hadn't tried.

Odd jobs, odd hours, and the occasional odd employer.

You'd played tennis for the last couple years of college. Nothing remotely competitive but you and your friends had looked cute in the skirts and they'd give you whole hours out of class to play.

You were above average with a good arm and better patience.

Another odd job to add to your growing list.

You'd been particular about where you'd posted the ads, the neighbourhoods you'd chosen. Only the ones with manicured lawns and white picket fences.

Tacking the paper to boards in upmarket cafes, fancy supermarkets, ladies-only gyms.

The kind of people that want their kids playing tennis and could find their way to increase your pay- if you did well.

You always did very well.

So your little car looked a little out of place in this neighbourhood, fingers holding the scribbled post-it note with the address. Your scrawling handwriting detailing the "Donaldson's" were enquiring within.

Pulling up outside the house, you had a quiet inkling that you might've been out of your depth. Whoever owned this house deserved more than an above-average-ex-college-student that only learnt the sport to spend time with friends.

But they'd requested you, you'd have to let them come to that conclusion on your own.

Your knuckles only hit the door once before it was being swung open by someone that looked destined to be a security guard, like he'd come out the womb with his future decided.

What the fuck had you gotten yourself into?

He'd left you in the "formal lounge" to sit smack-bang in the centre of a couch that wouldn't even fit in the lobby of your apartment building- let alone the apartment itself.

As you admired a painting on the wall that you'd only ever seen in books, high heels on the stone floors made you jump in your seat.

The most beautiful woman you might ever see in your life appeared before you and said your name in a way that had you standing from your seat.

Your face faltered just enough that you hoped she didn't notice. There was something about her that told you she noticed everything.

Fuck me, that's Tashi Duncan.

If you know a thing about tennis (or even just watched the news) you know exactly who this woman is. You remember her more from your childhood but you remember her all the same.

The woman that once held the world by the balls.

She apologised for her husband's absence, that he was busy. It wasn't lost on you that the "husband" she casually referred to was Art Donaldson, US Open champion.

The Donaldson's.

Ah fuck.

Tashi went on the explain that they were wanting to begin lessons for their daughter Lily. You assumed this was the one you could hear running circles around the informal lounge.

"With all due respect, am I not the least qualified person in this home for that?"

You watched a perfectly formed cheekbone lift in what was nearly a smile. Strangely enough, something in the pit of your chest was dying to make her do that again.

There was something about her that demanded to be impressed.

You were no exception to the rule.

"My husband and I have seen some of your matches, we liked what we saw."

How? Your 'matches'- if you can even call them that, were nothing of note. You don't even think faculty bothered to watch them. You weren't quite sure why they'd even recorded them.

A silly part of you began to wonder how they'd even got a hold of them- until you remembered who they were.

The Hermes and Peitho of tennis.

"You did? I always thought of myself as more of a casual player."

"And that's what we liked, we know better than anyone how brutal tennis can become. We want someone to help Lily enjoy the game."

Oh, okay then.

You'd made a quasi-college-career out of purely enjoying the game. You were sure you could foster the same spirit for the six-year-old performing the entire 'Encanto' soundtrack in the other room.

Tashi laid down a tight schedule, Monday to Friday, 3pm to 6pm. You would teach Lily the wonders of the game on the court behind their home.

Their home you'd come to find out was a luxury rental when you'd complemented Tashi on another of the art pieces that'd apparently come with the place.

You'd also come to find out they typically live in hotel rooms, but they'd settled in this area for the time being as Art had a good thing going with a regular playing schedule and a sporting-goods deal.

You nodded along like you could begin to understand a life like that.

As she showed you back to your car (the one you suddenly felt humiliated for her to see you own), she called your name one last time from the doorway.

"You undersell yourself, we'll give you eighty an hour."

She left you choking on your tongue with one foot in the car and the other on an Italian cobblestone.

You were never going to walk or sit another dog again.

Lily was going to win her first Grand Slam by ten if that's what they'd pay you.

As your peeled your car from their turn-around area, you watched a Jeep Wrangler slow as it passed you. You couldn't see through the tint but you just knew it was him.

And you knew he was watching you.

-

The minute you'd told your roommate the situation you'd come into, she'd called bullshit.

A few texts from Tashi's now saved icon and a weird little photo you'd taken from inside the guest bathroom, it'd been enough to convince her.

"Fucking hell, are you God's favourite or something?"

You'd argue you were quite the opposite, she of all people should know. She'd seen some of the states you'd come home in after your other random jobs.

Felt good to be the winner.

Even just once.

In the air of some girlish fascination, she brought up a Youtube video of "Tashi Duncan Career Highlights" courtesy of "tennisguy779."

You'd protested it, rolling your eyes while feigning disinterest. No use, the minute you caught her out the corner of your eye- you were captivated.

It was entirely possible to imagine she hovered above the court, like there was a greater force placing her exactly where she needed to be, exactly when she needed.

It was even easier to believe she was just that good.

As you watched her play, listened to the sounds the game could draw from her- you wondered if this was how she and Art had felt.

Had they curled up in their informal lounge like you were right now? Had Tashi studied your every move meticulously like you assume? Had Art passed comment on your form? Did he think you were any good?

Tennisguy779's lineup changed quickly to "Art Donaldson Career Highlights" and you felt your chest constrict. An inexplicable feeling washed over you.

Like you'd been caught with God's forbidden fruit.

Your roommate had tried to question why you'd effectively flown off the couch, only to be met with a muttered 'goodnight' as you shut the bedroom door behind you.

Thin walls meant you drifted off to sleep that night with the rhythmic sounds of Art, grunting his way through an ATP Challenger.

It was no surprise you dreamt of him.

-

The Donaldson's tennis court was down a steep set of stairs, set back into an oasis of lush greenery.

Perfect for a 6-year-old's first lessons.

You didn't know if it was the grand balcony that overlooked the court or the fact a well-manicured Tashi stood atop it, but you felt positively observed.

Lily was in the midst of showing you how she could do a cartwheel (she couldn't) when the voice in the back of your head started echoing a promise of $80/h.

"Alright, lets channel some of that into your elbow."

Give a six-year-old a racquet half the size of her and she's going to blow effective chunks, but at least she has the spirit. Maybe it's her energy, maybe it has been a while since you've been on the court-

The kid's running you ragged.

Coupled with her height, you're spending more time bent over than you are up straight and it's all going to your head. All you can hope is Tashi isn't up there watching you stumble after the ball.

But you're sure there are eyes on your back.

Lily is a quick learner and you work out a tradeoff of one tennis skill for one spinning heel kick (mandatory that you watch).

Roll on 6pm and she's dog-tired, however, she's managed to hit the ball at least twice. Surely that's earned your keep. She lays star-fished on the turf and murmurs something about a piggyback.

You know you're about to earn your keep.

By the top of the staircase, you're more than happy to hand over a Lily-shaped-sack-of-potatoes to Tashi's mother. As you emerge from behind an ornate gargoyle, your suspicions proved correct.

Art Donaldson had been watching your every move.

Left alone on the balcony with him, you're acutely aware of the fact he's standing between you and your exit, and he's just had a full show of you bent over and flitting about his tennis court.

That and you still haven't said so much as 'hello' to the man.

You dwell on it for a moment and then there's that feeling back in the pit of your stomach, like any minute you'll be caught with fruit in hand- in throat.

The Original Sin.

Luckily, Art made the decision for you, crossing the space to shake your hand. If he noticed the way your hand trembled, he didn't seem to mind.

"It's nice to finally meet you."

You wished you had more to say to him, or maybe something more intelligent. Something better than a quiet "and you."

He was the better conversationalist, thankfully. Head motioning to the court, he looked down his nose at you when he spoke.

It should've felt condescending. It didn't.

"How did she go out there?"

"Yeah, really good- not a Disney character I can't name now."

He laughed.

Really laughed, like the joke was better than it was.

Like there was a preening little flutter inside you that said "do it again!"

You shrugged your shoulders like making him happy came naturally as you squinted up at him, as if he was the sun.

"You were watching? You must've seen her picking it up?"

Because he was the expert. Because he is the champion.

He hummed as he nodded, eyes skywards like there might've been something more important behind the clouds.

"Must've been distracted."

Within an instant- his eyes flickered to your own and you were sure he watched them change. He must've seen something he liked, the corner of his lip quirked up before he spoke again.

"Come on, I'll sort your payment and then we'll let you get home."

And for whatever reason, his hand fit perfectly in the small of your back as he lead you inside.

-

And how quickly did you become a strange piece of furniture in the Donaldson's home- in their life?

An ottoman for Tashi to rest her tired feet on.

An abstract piece on the wall for Art to admire when he passes it.

A projection of constellations across the ceiling to keep Lily bright behind the eyes.

At least you belonged- there was no doubt that this was where you belonged.

That wasn't to say your tennis skill had improved any, lesson after lesson you still couldn't wrap your head around why they'd even signed you on, let alone kept you.

"Ok, don't watch that one either- maybe just do what I say and not what I do."

You hadn't nailed a single one, at this point you couldn't blame Lily for skipping around pretending her racquet was a horse.

Wasn't like she'd be learning anything if she was paying attention.

"Ok, here we go just- ok right, when your parents ask how today went, please be kind."

"Your elbow is too low."

It was a miracle you didn't scream.

Art entered the court with a swagger that you could only assume struck fear when he was your opponent.

Right now it struck pure embarrassment and Lily wasn't helping.

"Daddy, she didn't hit a single one!"

"Alright, I don't think daddy needs to know that-"

"Daddy knows, daddy's been watching."

Daddy really needs to stop calling himself that.

Lily and her racquet took off for another tour of The Grand National as Art approached you with quiet determination.

It was like waiting for impact, his eyes never wavered off his daughter as he made towards you. At the last moment, he snapped his attention in your direction- with a smile that should've felt condescending.

It wasn't.

"If your elbow is too low you lose topspin and power."

If you deserved the $80/h you were earning, you might've known that.

As Art stepped up to you, the turn of the planets on their axis slowed down and it could've been entirely possible to believe it was only you two.

And Lily upon her trusty steed.

The gallops of her tennis shoes thinned out as Art placed one hand around your elbow, lifting it higher. His other hand held your waist as he pulled your back flush to his chest.

"Lily, go find grandma."

Then it really was just you two.

Your heart hammered against the shell of your ribcage, blood rushing around your ears as you felt Art's chin perch at your shoulder.

"If your elbow is high enough," His hand lifted it up and you let it stay there. "And your hip is turned."

He didn't have to say it with the gravel in his voice, but he did. He didn't have to hold your hips as he moved them, but he did. He didn't have to stay without so much of an inch between the two of you, but he did.

With one hand in the curve of your waist, he tossed the ball into the air with the other- then he whistled.

Like the obedient thing you didn't know you were, you raised the racquet and sent the ball flying through the air without even blinking.

As the streak of green hit the court and rolled away, you found yourself lying in wait, as if you were waiting for something- your next command?

"Good girl."

There it was.

Under the all consuming effect that Art Donaldson just seemed to have on people, you'd entirely forgotten you were in a position you could be 'caught' in. By his all consuming wife, of all people.

So, you should've moved.

Quite honestly you should've straightened up and cleared your throat and thanked him and told him it was time for you to go home.

You should've moved.

But Art wasn't moving. If anything he was staying purposefully still at your backside.

Obedient thing you seem to be.

"Show me that again?"

So,

You teach Lily the bare basics of tennis for three hours and receive $80 on the hour.

Then Art spends three hours of his spare time teaching you to perfect your swing- in a way that couldn't ever vaguely resemble professional.

A simple transactional arrangement.

Your tennis improves on a slow but sure basis and he gets the most off-court action he's seen since college.

Even if it is just heavy petting on astro-turf.

A hand under the hem of a tennis skirt. A pressing hip against your own. A deep breath as your hair brushes past him.

You figure Art will take what he can get.

And it's never enough to raise alarm. Sure, there's that fluttering in your chest that warns you might get 'caught' but you're never quite sure what one might 'catch' if they found you out.

It's undoubted who that 'one' is though.

The one who holds the cards- holds the throat, maybe.

Tashi, who's presence precedes her perhaps more than her reputation. Even when she isn't there, she's there.

So, when Art's hand lingers too long on the outside of your thigh and you think you can feel it verging into the territory that'll change everything- it's Tashi on your mind.

You're beginning to think your conscience sounds a lot like Tashi.

-

Who are you if not obedient to the Donaldson's?

Chasing Lily around a court.

Adhering to Tashi's every request.

Being Art's fantasy.

Being Art's.

Most of the time, anyway. Three hours a week.

Something to keep him bright behind the eyes, maybe. Something to keep him happy. Something to keep him-

Winning?

He tells you he plays better with you around. The way he says it makes you giggle, a girlish little noise that sort of just slips out. He serves the ball with his eyes on you and, sure enough, it lands smack where he wanted it too.

Everything where he wants it. When he wants it.

Shy and inconsequential touches and glances shared just between you.

Until, well- until they weren't.

"Would you like a coffee?"

Tashi's mother had taken Lily off to bed, leaving you and Art separated by an island. Kitchen island.

He braced both palms against it as he watched you watch the door, wondering if you should cut and run, wondering if someone else might come through it.

Talking yourself out of it. Whatever it might be.

"Yes please."

Even he looked surprised, brows raising an inch as he turned to the Nespresso machine. You took the moment to watch his back, the muscles moving under the cool-dry fabric of his shirt.

You spent all your time pretending not to notice him that actually allowing yourself the chance to study him made you lightheaded.

Had he always looked this captivating?

He broke your focus with a coffee cup, sliding it towards you as he rounded the bench. His eyes didn't even waver off you as he took a sip of his own.

It wasn't lost on you that he managed to tongue foam off the tip of his nose.

This was the longest you'd stuck around after a tennis lesson, longest you'd allowed yourself to be in his presence. You weren't quite sure how big this thing could get.

Your mouth was opening before your brain had decided it was a good idea.

"Mr. Donaldson-"

"Art."

"Uh, Art- I really appreciate the help you've been giving me- uh, you know- with tennis."

He placed his coffee mug down, nodding as he did it. "My pleasure."

Naturally.

That brain of yours was still firing off at a mile a minute. There was a very tiny voice right at the back that said it was up to you how this night would end- you had a choice to make.

Placing your coffee mug beside his, you scanned his face to find him already looking at you. Perhaps the choice was already set.

Maybe it was fate.

All he said was your name, it could've been the way he said it- but your whole body was losing the rigidity it'd formed when he first asked you to stay longer. When he'd made the choice.

Crossing the small gap between you two, Art was careful to keep one hand on the kitchen bench as the other hovered beside you. Not touching you,

Yet.

One step closer and the tip of Art's nose was touching yours. You think you might've been able to smell the coffee off his breath.

It thinned out- leaving you with his sweat. Musk. Art.

A sudden surge of morals overcame you, your voice broke out as a gasp.

"What about Mrs. Donaldson?"

"Actually, it's still Duncan."

You screamed.

Right in his face.

Tashi's voice made you jump out of your skin.

However, Art didn't move. As you turned your head to gauge the way his wife stalked across the kitchen, you felt his nose brush against your cheek.

Tashi retrieved a tall bottle of Pellegrino from the fridge, taking a poignant sip as her eyes flitted between the two of you.

What a fucking sight.

Her husband, eyes shut and face pressed pathetically to their daughter's tennis instructor- his hands itching to close around your waist.

You, young and bleary eyed looking utterly caught. Staring up at her like she might decide your fate.

It took all your strength to find your words.

"I’m not here to teach tennis, am I?”

“No, of course not. You’re frankly terrible at tennis.”

There's the Tashi you were expecting.

Her words should've stung, but they didn't. They couldn't, not when her husband was laying his hands against your back and rubbing soothing circles down the length of your spine.

Not when his lips were mouthing wet kisses along your cheek.

Not when she was right. Spade's a spade.

"Why am I here?"

She snorted, a real dissatisfactory sound- like she hoped you were smarter than that. She was halfway to her bedroom before she cut you loose.

"Careful, he makes that sound before he cums."

-

And he had, just like she'd said.

Art had cum in his shorts, pressed up against your thigh with his face still smushed against your own.

And you'd taken it, obedience in spades.

You'd stood there and let him hump your leg like a bad dog and you'd even pat his head and whispered kind words in his ear after the mess he'd made.

Then you slipped out the front door to your car and you'd pretended not to notice that there were two bedroom lights on upstairs.

You hadn't even divulged the freaky details to your roommate when you got home.

But the showerhead knew all about them.

Visions of Art on the clouds of steam- replayed in your head the sounds he'd made right in your ear.

How he'd whimpered your name when he splashed his boxers like a fucking teenager.

It was no surprise you dreamt of him.

You even showed up next day, valiantly. You didn't run for the hills or even straight to a tabloid about how weird the Donaldson's really were.

And maybe that's why you hadn't told your roommate either.

Because telling someone what Tashi allowed? What Art liked?

That'd mean you'd have to admit your dirty little secret.

You loved it.

When you showed up, something was different. No usual chatter in the house, no shoes by the front door. You checked out the front window to see what you'd missed when you arrived.

Tashi's car was gone.

"She's taken her mom and Lily to the ballet."

At least you didn't scream this time.

You were lucky your back was to him, lest he see the self-righteous little smile that broke when the words settled.

"Oh, ok."

"I'll see you on the court."

Oh, ok.

Lest he see the disappointment that took over.

Following him close behind, you didn't know why you were effectively surprised that he still wanted to continue with your lessons. You'd half expected- hoped, he'd bend you over the kitchen island.

Tennis was fun too, you guess.

Thinking about it, something that bold didn't seem the style of the man who'd nearly blacked out rubbing up on you. Beckoning you onto the tennis court with two fingers and a wry smile did, however.

You fell into your usual position, hip turned and elbow curved on your side of the court. You waited for him to appear behind you, chest melding into the curve of your back.

It never came.

Art took long strides towards the net, vaulting it in one smooth motion. He ended up parallel to you, waiting with a ball and racquet in either hand.

The smile had left his face, a rather blank expression taking over as he sized you up. And there was that fear- knowing what it felt like to be on the wrong side of him.

This was going to hurt.

From the moment he pressed the ball to the neck of his racquet, it was all over. Your feet were never in one place for more than a second, your arms burned above you, your head permanently on a swivel.

Art didn't look like he'd broken more than a sweat.

You knew he had, you could see it in the neck of his shirt. But he didn't look it.

He looked calm, he looked in control, he looked-

Like he was enjoying himself.

For every rally that you managed, you thought you saw an inkling of pride set in his features.

For every serve that you missed, you knew you saw unbridled lust.

Not a point scored in your favour, you hit the ball towards him one last time before you collapsed to the turf. Flat on your back, reminiscent of your first lesson here.

You watched the clouds shift over your head, listening to your pulse thick and fast in your ears. Just underneath it, you could hear footfalls approaching.

No hurry, but impending.

Soon, the sun above you was eclipsed by Art Donaldson. His golden hair shone with the halo of light behind it.

Now this was God's favourite.

"You can't be giving up this easily?"

Forcing a laugh, you threw your arm up and over your eyes. "Wanna bet?"

Turns out he did- turns out Art struggled to do anything but win.

Somehow, you found it within yourself to stand back up. This time it was only a practice, you weren't brave enough to face off against him another round.

This was more your speed.

The hand that wasn't holding your elbow was curving around your front, the pleats of your tennis skirt lifting over his fingers. You felt a warm hand slowly moving across the front of your underwear.

Two fingers migrated south, pressing against the seam of you- he must've felt the pure heat radiating beneath his fingertips.

Turning your head even an inch, you found the curve of his nose pressing into your cheek.

"I didn't give up."

He hummed, the vibration rolled across your shoulders.

"Mmm, you didn't."

The hand sans-racquet dropped between your thighs to press his palm into your cunt. It was Art who flexed your fingers and cupped it.

"Where's my prize?"

There was no trophy, no podium, no medal.

But there was Art between your legs, slinging a knee over each shoulder like he might've been the real winner.

You'd never been inside the 'changing shed' behind the court, of course it was nicer than your actual home.

Your head made contact with the hard wood behind you, bench digging into your ass as you felt a hot mouth moving against the seat of your underwear.

Running your fingers through his hair, your gripped the ends of it- tugging him closer until you felt the flat of his tongue through the thin fabric.

Needy fingers tugged the ruined garment down your thighs, tucking him into the pocket of his shorts. You knew all too well that you'd never see them again.

You were sure Art would be seeing a lot of them.

His tongue ran up the split, one long stroke before you felt the curve of his nose press to your clit. The ridge of it moved as his tongue retreated back to your entrance.

With everything he had.

Your eyes had been rolling back in your head as you arched your back, the moment you were able to find a semblance of control- your gaze fell before you.

Naturally, Art was already looking up at you. Two hands splayed across each side of your hips as he pulled back to wrap his lips around your clit.

You couldn't help the hazy little smile on your face as you watched his eyes.

Utterly devotional.

The more you tugged on his hair, the hungrier he seemed. Pulling from the root seemed to spur him on, seemed to tell him 'good job' and he was responsive.

His tongue flicked beneath your clit, pressing it to his upper lip as he brought two fingers to your entrance. He stroked a couple times, making your hips twitch against him, before he sunk in to the last knuckle.

Turns out Art had a style about him. One he brought to the tennis court and, seemingly, to the floor of his changing shed.

The style was calculated.

Every move he made was engineered to get something out of you- a reaction, a whimper, a twitch. He was doing what he did best.

Playing a game.

Art struggled to do anything but win.

"Fuck- Mr. Donaldson."

"Art."

Even muffled against your cunt, you were good at following his orders. Even more so when he was the decider of your imminent orgasm.

You threaded your fingers in the sides of his hair, pulling his face flush against you so you could ride his mouth. Taking every last thing from him you could.

It drew the most pathetic moan you'd ever heard, straight out of his chest and hit you straight at your core. The burning coil tight within your stomach was unraveling quickly.

You heard the murmurings of words, among the blood rushing in your ears. Easing up just enough, you let him pull back to speak.

"Tell me this feels good, please."

Your chest thumped, the sight of Art helpless between your legs was one thing. Hearing him beg?

You might black out.

"Art- you feel so fucking good," Dragging him right back where you needed him, the tip of his tongue drove against your clit. "You're gonna' make me cum."

He whined.

A heady drawn-out sound that quite literally sent you over the edge. Your hips lifted off the bench, the heel of your foot digging into his back and making his whine turn into a whimper.

Your orgasm broke you apart until it felt like white-hot flame licking up your sides. Of course, Art never relented, drinking in everything you could give him- literally.

The moment you felt the peak begin to subside, the urge was ramping right back up. Like he knew what he was doing, his eyes locked back onto yours as he sucked at your clit.

He was going for gold.

A quick second orgasm hit, seemingly out of nowhere. Your thighs clenched around Art's head, his hands coming to each of them.

You relaxed yourself a bit, feeling like it might be too much- until you felt him pressing your thighs even harder to either of his ears.

Oh, ok.

Art Donaldson knew what he liked.

You physically had to push him off you, watching him fall back on his outstretched palms as you let yourself breathe for what felt like the first time.

Wet eyes, wet chin, chest rising and falling like he'd run a marathon- Art sat sprawled out before you like he'd stumbled upon an alter (he had).

Breathless, you gestured towards him. Your hand dropped a little as your eyes fell between his legs, wordlessly offering a deal.

A deuce.

His cheeks flushed, more so than they already were. His eyes fell an infinitesimal amount before he spoke up.

"Uh- I already have."

Of course he had. He makes that sound before he cums.

Instead, you heard him shuffle back onto his knees as he all but crawled towards you. He draped his upper half into your lap, head resting against the soft cotton of your skirt.

Coming off the other side of a high, the reality of your situation began to settle for you. Why they'd really called you here- what purpose you really served.

All you could do was gently stroke a hand across Art's head, feeling him go limp against you. Boneless, but not spineless.

He must've known you were going to speak, he must've heard the intake of breath or just felt you shift. He cut you to the chase- beat you to the punchline.

Art nuzzled his face further into your lap as you felt him mumble against your thigh.

"I can't lose- you."

[inkskinned]

the thing about some men is that they want you to remember, at all times, that you are underneath them. that with one word or look or "joke", you will stay beneath them. that even "exceptions" to the rule are not true exceptions - the commonly cited statistic that one in eight men believe they could win against serena williams.

women's gymnastics is often not seen as real gymnastics. whatever the fuck non-euclidian horrors rhythmic gymnasts are capable of, it's often tamped down as being not a sport. some of the most dominant athletes in the world are women. nobody watches women's soccer. despite years of dancing and being built like a fucking brick, men always assume they're faster and stronger than i am. you wouldn't like what happens when they are incorrect. once while drunk at a guy's house i won a held-plank challenge by a solid minute. the party was over after that - he became exceedingly violent.

what i mean is that you can be perfect, and they still think you're ... lacking, somehow. i hope you understand i'm trying to express a neutral statement when i say: taylor swift was the possibly the most patriarchy-palatable, straight-down-the-line woman we could churn out. she is white, conventionally attractive, usually pretty mild in personality. say what you will about her (and you should, she's a billionaire, she can handle it), but a few things seem to be true about her: 1. she can write a damn catchy song, and 2. the eras tour truly was a massive commercial success and was also genuinely an impressive feat of human athleticism and performance.

i don't know if she deserves the title of "woman of the year," i'm not debating that in this post. what i am saying is that she was named Woman of The Year, and then an untalented man got onstage at the golden globes and made fun of her for attending her boyfriend's football games. what i am saying is that this woman altered local economies - and her dating life is still being made into a "harmless" punchline. the camera panned, greedy, over to her downing a full glass of champagne. congratulations taylor! you are woman of the year! but you are a woman. even her.

fuck, man. write better material.

a guy gets onstage at a college graduation and despite the fact like half the crowd is made up of women, he spends a significant proportion of it warning these people - who spent possibly hundreds of thousands of dollars on their education - that they were lied to. that the "real" meaning of femininity is motherhood. that they shouldn't rest on the laurels of that education-they-paid-for but instead throw it away to kneel at a man's heel. imagine that. sweating in your godawful polyester gown (that you also had to pay for!), fresh out of 4 years of pushing yourself ever-harder: and some guy you've never met - who knows nothing about you - he reminds you this "win" is a pyrrhic one at best. you really shouldn't consider yourself that extraordinary. you're still a woman, even after years of study.

god forbid you are not a pretty woman, but if you are pretty, you must be dumb. god forbid you are not ablebodied or white or cis or straight or good at swallowing. you must be beneath a man, or else they are not a man. the equation for masculinity seems to just be: that which is not a woman or womanly (god forbid). anything "feminine" is thereby anathema. to engage in "feminine" things such as therapy, getting a hug from a friend, or crying - it is giving up ones manhood. therefore women need to be put in their place to ensure that masculinity is protected.

this is something i have struggled to explain to terfs - they are not doing the work of feminism, but rather the patriarchy. by asserting that women and men must be (on some secret level) oppositional and in conflict, they also assume that being a woman is akin to being another species. but bigotry does not stem from observational truths or clarity - that is what makes it bigotry. there was nothing in my childhood that made me fundamentally different from my brother. we are treated differently nonetheless. to assert there is some biological drive that enforces my gender role is to assert that women have a gendered role. men do not see women as equal to them not because of biological reality - but instead because the core tenant of the patriarchy is that women aren't full, realized people.

we are told from a very young age to excuse misbehavior as a single man's choice - not all men. it is not all men, just that one guy. all women are gold-digging bitches who belong in the kitchen - but if a man is mean, bigoted, or violent to you, it's just that particular guy, and that means nothing about men-as-a-whole. it is only one guy who got mad when you gently rejected him. it is only one guy who warns her this trophy is heavy, are you sure you can hold it? it is only one guy who smashes her face into the cake. it is only one guy talking into a mic about hating our bodily autonomy.

i have just found that they often wait until the moment we actually seem to be upstaging them. you sit in a meeting where you're presenting your own findings and he says get me a coffee? or you run to the end of the marathon and are about to finish first and he pushes your kids out in front of you. you win the chess game and they make some comment akin to well, you're ugly away. we can be the billionaire and get the dream life and finally fucking do it and yet! still! they have this strange, visceral urge to say well actually, if you think you're so great -

it's not one just one guy. it's one in eight.