#How in the world did I post this much shit in high school?

[miffy-junot]

I really wanted to be kind, I really try to stay away from discourse, but my friend sent me a post containing opinions so rancid that I had to say something. I'm turning off reblogs and I will not name the user who made the post because I do not want any discourse, please be respectful of this.

Time to respond to the words of "Tumblr user X":

Firstly - I know not everybody here is Christian but to make a post being rude to dead people on All Soul's Day is immensely disrespectful, to say the least. Don't you have any graves to put flowers on, any people to remember?

1:

The majority of people interested in the Napoleonic Wars think Junot is a blundering buffoon. You really have to dig deep to find nuanced sources on him beyond the usual "mad general" stuff. There is a niche community of Gen Z Tumblr bloggers who like Junot, by no means the majority of the Napoleonic community - and since Tumblr is very easy to curate, it's on you if you are stuck in this niche bubble.

Let me tell you, Junot does not have a good reputation at all. You can let the topic go, you are fighting against an enemy that you believe numbers in the hundreds when in fact it is a small group of mentally ill teenagers (many of whom are lgbtq+, which is something interesting in itself).

2.

You are an adult, but how did you graduate high school with no skills of reading comprehension? Nobody has ever said that Junot's actions with Laure were "normal and okay". Once again, you are fighting an imaginary enemy.

Napoblr is essentially a war criminal fandom. That does not make it any more or less valid than other history communities, but it means that we have to take a slightly different approach to moralising historical figures. Almost every single person involved in the Napoleonic Wars would be a bad person if you took their actions out of the historical context. Most people relevant to the Napoleonic Wars were sexist, racist, imperialist pieces of shit who turned a blind eye to war crimes.

Because that makes up such a large percentage of these people, being overly judicious about their morality will leave you with the following group of "unproblematic people": a large gathering of peasants and children, none of whom we know the names of.

"Evil" is a very strong word to use, one which denies nuance, but let me speak in your language: all Napoleonic figures were somewhat "evil", if you are unwilling to deal with "evil" people then study art history, or any other subject that doesn't deal so much with moral complexity.

3.

In my opinion war crimes committed as part of your job are still war crimes????????? "Indirectly" or not, there is little difference between ordering an execution and murdering someone with your own bare hands, in both situation you take away a life from the world and there is blood on your hands. Some might even argue that having a callous approach to life and death is even worse!

And like I have said above: endless moralising is counter-productive. There are better ways to use your time, such as researching things that actually fulfil you.

4.

(just a tiny nitpick but please do not use that certain misogynistic term)

"Could have" and "should have" are words that cannot be used in the study of history. Speculation over endless possibilities of alternative realities is meaningless.

I thought we as a society had moved beyond calling addicts "evil", but apparently not! (and again, "evil" is a very charged term that leaves no room for nuance)

For the record, I support abstinence of all the things you mention. Irl I have a bit of a reputation for being a puritan. But even I will not blame somebody's entire morality on that, and call a man "evil" for being an addict?! Where is your sympathy?!

Self-destructive behaviour is a major symptom of both head injuries and personality disorders, but I doubt "Tumblr user X" has the thinking skills required to understand that properly.

And either way, even if it was all "his responsibility", so what? That's his personal life, why do you care? If you don't like it, go away.

5.

Again, I genuinely thought people knew how to be sympathetic towards addicts but apparently not.

The emphasis on "self-restraint" is insane, if you had any restraint you wouldn't be bitching on Tumblr. You are sounding more like a 17th century Puritan than me, the person who gets accused irl of acting like one.

People on Tumblr find Junot relatable. That is why he is cute, because he is relatable. Additionally, it is big part of Gen Z humour to call bad men "babygirl" and to combine cutesy aesthetics with dark stuff, hence the whole coquette/girlblogger aesthetic.

Like I said at the beginning of this post - most people do not like Junot. The people who do are mostly mentally ill young people who naturally gravitate towards this "crazy but make it cute" aesthetic tendency, and the "I can make him worse" sort of mentality.

"Violent tendencies" is a lot to extrapolate from a single incident, but that seems to be something you're fond of doing.

6.

You deliberately phrase this to imply sexual harassment. Here is what happened: he flirted with her and invited her to dinner, she had heard the rumours of his mad behaviour and ghosted him, he got very upset. Nothing physical ever happened.

Additionally, none of his mistresses ever mentioned any violent behaviour by him. In fact, in one anecdote related by Laure herself, Junot's Abyssinian mistress Xraxarane encouraged him to shoot an orange off the top of her head because she was so confident in his abilities with a pistol, and even though he knew he could do it, Junot didn't even try because he was too afraid of hurting her.

7.

Do your research before making snarky comments, I am begging you.

While it is true that men wrote more passionately to each other in those days, "I who love you with the affection of a savage for the sun, I who am entirely yours" is not something you would say in passing. I'm not going to argue that Junot and Napoleon did anything romantic together, but it's undeniable that Junot's feelings towards Napoleon surpass those of a completely platonic friendship.

There are many sources that attest to Junot's fanatical devotion being unusual, not just Laure. And it was not a single remark in Laure's memoirs, but many anecdotes. Junot had many close male friendships, but they all took on a very different character to his friendship with Napoleon - his letters to other friends have a casual, jovial tone; the intense and poetic language used in his letters to Napoleon instead mirror his letters to women.

Is it really so unfeasible to you that, out of the thousands of men in the Napoleonic army, one of them might have developed feelings for Napoleon beyond those of conventional masculine friendships? Statistically, it is impossible that every Napoleonic man was straight.

8.

Okay, I am going to be directly bitchy here.

Tumblr user X, YOU DIDN"T EVEN BOTHER TO READ THE JOURNAL INTIME BEFORE PUBLISHING A POST ABOUT THE INCIDENT.

When, in a discord server, I shared a small piece of the journal intime I had translated that was referring to Junot's affair with Caroline, YOU DOUBTED IT"S CREDIBILITY.

You claim to trust what women have to say, BUT YOU DON"T BELEIVE HORTENSE DE BEAUHARNAIS' CLAIMS THAT HER HUSBAND ABUSED HER. BE CONSISTENT.

And finally: THERE IS ABSOLUTELY NO MENTION OF JUNOT TRYING TO RAPE LAURE AS YOU CLAIMED. NOWHERE IN HER ACCOUNT OF EVENTS DOES SHE ALLEGE RAPE. STOP MAKING THINGS UP, IT IS DISRESPECTFUL TO REAL RAPE VICTIMS.

You pretend to be diligent with your sources, but you are not, you only read things that support your pre-conceived opinion, you make posts based on false evidence. Shut the fuck up about topics you know nothing about.

9.

Gurl we are not bureaucrats, we do not care about military efficiency.

"glorified cavalry skirmish" - is a group of 500 men defeating a force of 3000 men not glorious to you? Those are odds of five to one.

If you don't care about military history, don't talk about military history and get out of the military history fandom.

10.

(fyi it's spelt crucify)

You are fighting imaginary enemies. Bessieres is adored, he is babygirled. Junot is loathed.

Nobody ever said Junot trying to kill Laure was cute. (I would also provide evidence that Junot never intended to kill her, but then I'll get accused of defending domestic violence)

Junot being babygirlified is not a recent thing. What about:

Rapp, who didn't think Junot was a great soldier but still defended him

Foy, who hated Junot but still wrote positive comments about him in his memoirs

Arthur Wellesley, who respected Junot as an enemy

James Forbes (and many others), who hated Napoleon but praised Junot for being kind to Englishmen in Paris

Antoine-Romain Hamelin, who didn't like most people he met but adored Junot for defending and rescuing him

André Delagrave, who wrote very sympathetically about Junot after serving him in the peninsular wars

Laure's letters

Junot's letters to Laure

Junot's letters to his daughters

+many, many more sources but those were the only ones I remembered off the top of my head.

And please don't disrespect Laure's own wishes and opinions. What about the highly affectionate language used to refer to Junot in her letters about her grief over his death? What about her letter to Berthier complaining about Junot being defamed?

Please be respectful here, I don't want any discourse. I shouldn't have to say this but please do not share this with "Tumblr user X", I don't want to have anything to do with that person ever again.

a little side tangent on the infamous incident between Junot and Laure:

When Junot went to break off his affair with Caroline Murat, he took two duelling pistols and khanjar (a Middle Eastern style of dagger) with him in case he was confronted by Murat and things got messy. This is very important - Junot had lethal weapons easily accessible to him and was willing to use them to kill his rival. So if he genuinely had every intention of murdering Laure, why didn't he shoot her? Why didn't he stab her with the fatal khanjar rather than a pair of scissors? Speculation on this point is useless, but it's vital to know that he could have easily killed her, but he didn't. I'm not defending his actions in any way, Junot certainly did something awful, but he did not intentionally plot to murder her.

[addicted-to-dc]

Jekyll/Hyde Part 2 - Taskforce 141 x Reader

Tags for those who encouraged me to write this. Thank you!!! @greeniegreengreen @aeilani @poetslastdeath 

Link to Part 1

Content Warnings: Typical CoD violence, ptsd, reader is going to be unhinged (even more so in the next chapters).

The computer does all the work for you nowadays. Honestly, you expected this to be your time to think things over. ‘Meditate’ as Laswell calls it. Rumination sits better on your tongue. How in the world can you ruminate in conditions like these? The overhead lights are buzzing, a high-pitched constant ringing that’s giving you a migraine. It feels like an ice pick was shoved through your eye socket, the cold metal turning warm as it disturbs thousands of nerves.

The seclusion you needed has fucking left the building, leaving you alone with a team of walking dead men. Laswell didn’t tell them why you had so many deaths. One would assume that the common denominator (i.e. YOU) are the reason why families mourn their loved ones. With every step you take you can hear the jingle of all those tags, so many souls gone because you couldn’t stop digging for the truth.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to drag yourself out of your exhaustion. Your efforts only reward you with a sharp pain in your skull. Checking the time, you internally groan. Less than an hour until your dogs are here. Fuck, you miss them.

There’s a flick of a lighter, the scent of leather and wood assaulting your nose. Then tobacco invades your senses. “What’s on your mind?”

Captain Price, the man who started it all. He’s a survivor. He might stand a chance at what’s coming next. It’s been a while since you’ve interacted with a man this intense. He’s a smart one. The cigar erases the mustiness of the room. Smells like home. You can feel your body relax, albeit slightly. Maybe you just need a smoke.

“The only family I have left,” you reply, yanking out your cigarettes. Your only photo lies folded in the nearly empty pack. You flick it to Price, your aim true as it rolls to the edge of the table. “Three dogs. Sir, Bear, and Ruse.”

Ghost shifts slightly in his chair, dark eyes on the photo as soon as Price uncrumples it. “Cerberus?”

You can see recognition flash in Price’s eyes. In all of theirs. At least they don’t try to hide it. Sunshine leans forward, his eyes reevaluating you. “You’re The Huntress.”

It’s not a question. He knows. They all do. Price hands the photo to Mr. Mohawk. You shake your head, “I haven’t been called that in a long time.”

“Fuckin’ unstoppable is what you should be called,” Mr. Mohawk chuckles, looking up from the photo. “I’ve seen yer work. Thorough, precise, efficient, and batshit crazy.”

“They say you’re a sniper hunter,” Ghost states, eyes blazing with intrigue. “That true?”

You nod, your index finger running over the scar on your chin. Mr. Mohawk’s bright ass blue eyes bore into your own. “Why the name change?”

Your muscles tense, feeling the weight of hundreds of hands pulling you down, down, down… Broken nails tear at your flesh, opening old wounds that never fully healed right. The screams ring in your ears, curses that taint your very soul to this day. “A story for another day.”

“Is this your original taskforce?” Price asks, pulling your attention away from his sergeant.

“Yes, it is,” you reply, lighting up your last cigarette. “Picked every single one of them myself. Two Polish battering rams, Maryna and Urszula Kowalski. They were always at each other’s throats, but they were the devil and angel on my shoulder.”

You take a long drag. They were the first ones to die.

The frequent migraines and metal plate in your skull are because of them, cracking your skull open before you could even walk off the transport. Their deaths were too quick, but watching the Semtex burst in the sisters’ faces was cathartic. Liars always fail to earn mercy from you. Traitorous ones at least. You exhale, releasing the tension. They don’t deserve to weigh down your conscience.

“August Lindemann, a German tech genius. Spoiled us with all the newest gadgets on the field.” You chuckle, dark eyes meeting Price’s. “I always said they’d make us lose our edge.”

For all the brains he had, they didn’t look so special splattered across the wall. You fought through the entire base to get to him. Cowering like the leach he was until he was the only one left. It didn’t even take cutting off his precious fingers to find out who organized all of this: General Sheperd. You know this leads deeper into the abyss, merely scratching the surface of this conspiracy.

“The last one is American; best shot I’ve ever seen and an even better medic. Dane Reid was a serious man, but he always kept everyone together.”

His ring lies against your chest, right next to yours. You scratch your right ear, digging your nails into what’s left of your upper cartilage. He was the best shot, but your dogs were loyal to no one except you. Even your husband. Using yourself as a decoy was risky, but Sir, Bear, and Ruse tearing him apart made the sacrifice worth it. And the bullet you put into his heart? Even more so.

You can’t wait to see them again.

“You and the dogs are the only ones left?” Sunshine asks, gently taking the photo from Price. “How did Laswell find you?”

“Wandering the Russian forest with stolen data,” you reply, picking at your broken nail. “She found me and the dogs months later.”

“An’ yer team?” Mr. Mohawk questions. “Wha’ about them?”

“I killed them all,” you answer, putting out the cig. You’ll save it for later, death usually ruins the taste. “They tried to sabotage the op. I only got one name when all of it was said and done, and you want to know who it was?”

You scan over every single one of them. The truth always hurts to tell, but you need them to live. You can’t lose anymore, not when Laswell holds these men to the highest regard. What did she say to them? Oh, yes, you need a team to survive with you. There’s too much death permeating the air. The smell of burnt flesh burns your nose.

“General Herschel Sheperd,” you snarl, the rage of Hyde breaking past Jekyll’s walls. “Laswell says you’re looking for him, and I want my pound of flesh.”

You’re sure they can see the insanity in your eyes, the ferality that consumed you in the forests of Russia and nestled its way into your very soul. Split into two beings, one desperate for peace and the other salivating for revenge. You’re not a Captain anymore. You’re nothing. Just a revenant walking amongst the living until your duty is fulfilled. Peace was never an option for you in life, only in death. You accepted that the day you lost your team, your only family. One gaze bears the most weight.

Your eyes catch Ghost’s. Dark eyes penetrate your soul, reading the scripture of your heart. Loyalty broken, trusted allies and friends betraying old bonds. Killing them. Broken, a living being inhabited by the scraps of its own psyche. Two peas in a fucked-up pod. Your phone vibrates on the table, one singular message popping up on your screen: They’re here.

“Thank fuck,” you mumble, pocketing your phone. “They’re here.” You’re itching to leave, to run to the last semblance of family you have.

Clearly, you’re too easy to read. Price stands, the others following suit. “Let’s go meet them then.”

Sunshine barely has the door open when you slip through, quickly maneuvering through the shitty corporate layout of the building until you reach the side lot. You can see them. Tears threaten to cloud your vision as you see Sir chase Ruse around the grass. Bear lays in the shade. Laswell notices your approach, giving you a small nod. You whistle loudly, their playtime immediately put on halt. It takes a second for the noise to bounce around their brains, immediately whining once it finally clicked. Sir, the eldest German Sheperd, is the first one to make it to you, whining and jumping in your arms. His love is always overwhelming, but it’s welcome.

Sir manages to hold onto your shoulders, forcing you to catch him to regain your balance. Only for Ruse, the younger Shepherd, to knock you to the ground. It startles a laugh out of you, a smile following soon after. God, it’s been too long since you’ve seen them. Bear in all her glory runs up and sits at your feet. Your smart girl. A Rottweiler mix, probably shepherd, but her fur pattern always draws you in. You coo, using whatever body part you can to pet all three of them. “Yeah, I missed you, too.”

You sneak them treats, whispering sweet nothings to each of them as you try to make up for lost time. Six months away from them has been torture. Then again, you thought you’d never see them again. Every op feels like the last.

“Forgive them, it’s been half a year since we’ve seen each other,” you turn to the group, sputtering when Ruse licks into your mouth. “CERBERUS!”

They fall in line perfectly, ears perked and waiting for orders. A hand pops into view, and you take it. Sunshine pulls you up, chuckling at the slobber left behind. He tilts his head, eyes catching something on your chest.

Frowning, you look down. Your rings are exposed. Tearing off the necklace, you shove it into your pocket. You’re allowed to have your secrets.

“Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

[yo9urt]

started playing ball dur's gait 3

[babygorewhore]

Home Care

Dr. Charlie Mayhew x fem reader.

Charlie Mayhew has to stay over to make sure his patient stays safe. But he’s unable to contain his desire after learning how men have treated you.

This is written for my love @cxrrodedcoffin I hope you enjoy my darling!!! Thank you so much to @xxbimbobunnyxx for helping me out with this love letter!!!!

Warnings! Obsessive behavior! Slight stalking! Oral! Fem receiving! Finger sucking! Bondage! Spitting! Fingering! Spanking! Degrading! Praise! Unprotected sex! Bulge! Rough (?) sex! Incorrect medical terms because I’m not in that field lol.

“I’m not thrilled about being stuck here with you either.” Charlie told you as you examined your nails.

The Doctor leaned against the wall as he watched you. He was giving your sick grandfather overnight care. He admitted to himself that he used to be an asshole in high school. Making fun of you for going into the family inherited business. A mortician.

Charlie just wanted your attention. He always wanted your eyes on him. That’s why he posted pictures of himself at the gym despite his filled schedule. Being a Doctor gave him the opportunity to save lives. Yet, he couldn’t save himself from his obsession with you.

Your apartment had elements of the Macabre and pieces of the world you honored with work. But you still had a brightness to your smile. It wasn’t innocence, you’d had some experience in the dating world.

You always took care of others. A little angel sent above. You didn’t fully forgive him for the past and he didn’t blame you. He worried he’d scare you off if you saw the darkness in him.

Charlie sometimes followed you home. Just because he had to make sure you were safe. Coming into your bedroom while you slept was taking it a bit far a few weeks ago but he just had to see you. Charlie tried to act as if he didn’t know where anything was when he came in.

Your thighs were exposed, the pajama shorts hugging the curves of your hips and the soft shirt exposed the lower part of your stomach. Charlie swallowed, moistening his dry mouth and neared you. He removed his uniform coat. So he’d look like a normal man.

Your fingers tapped away at your screen, indicating that you were texting someone. Angrily.

“What’s wrong?” He questioned. He half expected you to ignore him but instead you sighed.

“I’m sick of this guy. He treats me like shit. I’m telling him off.”

Charlie’s hackles raised at your answer. “How’s he treating you like shit?”

“Guys only care about getting off and leaving. I put up with it too long. But I was lonely.” You rolled your eyes and he blinked rapidly.

“You mean, he just…fucked you and left?” Charlie bit out the sentence, unable to hide the jealousy and you shrugged. “Did he even make you cum?”

His bold words made you sit up straight but he didn’t take them back. You snorted and set your phone down. You crossed your ankles together.

“Nope. Men just want to stick it in and get theirs.”

Charlie’s jaw clenched and he trembled. He adjusted the stethoscope hanging on his neck. “No. Men don’t. Little boys do.”

You rolled your eyes and applied chapstick. You moved your lips and set it back down. “What would you know about that? If you weren’t in college, you were working. Or being a dick.”

“You think I don’t care about making a girl feel good?” He breathed heavily as you positioned yourself further in the chair. Your hands providing balance in the middle and your fingers spread.

“I mean you’re good at your job. But women? Not so much.” Your blatant disregard and ignorance to his activities made him feel crazy.

“You realize I have a in depth knowledge of the human body. I know where to touch. How much pressure to use and how long.” Charlie tugged his lower lip between his teeth as he reached down. Cupping your chin. His thumb swiped your mouth and you parted them.

You sucked his digit, tongue rolling around and he snapped. Charlie hauled you off the chair, tossing you on the plush mattress.

“All those fucking weeks watching you. Trying to keep myself under control,” He groaned as you parted your legs, letting him settle between them. He felt the dampness in your center on his stomach.

“You were stalking me?” You shrieked but a small smirk curved. Charlie snarled and tapped your cheek.

“Open your mouth.” You did, instinctively letting your tongue slightly stick out and he let drool fall past his lips. “God, you’re already obeying me? Like a good little patient?”

Charlie sat up, taking off his shirt and his muscular form highlighted by the LED lights. You looked up at him with half lidded eyes as he took your hand, bringing your fingers to his mouth. Charlie sucked them softly, letting his other palm knead your chest. You arched your back as your pussy fluttered.

His thighs caged you in and he let go of your hand. Your fingers fell out of his mouth and Charlie unfastened his belt. You inhaled sharply as he tied it around your wrists, pinning them to the headboard of the bed.

“You’re gonna lay there and take it. That sweet little cunt is gonna leak from how good this will feel.”

A sinister darkness flickered in his eyes as you mewled at his words. Charlie tugged off your shorts, thick digits snapping the waistband of your panties and he peeled them off. He admired the lace of the fabric and was mesmerized by the sticky middle.

You were so turned on that it hurt. Charlie shoved his pants down, chuckling at the eager sounds you made. His cock slapped his inner thigh. He lowered himself down, his stomach hitting the bed and cupped your ass.

He smelled your scent, his nose nudging your center and groaned. “Selfish little angel. Keeping this pussy from me. Knowing I won’t be able to get enough.”

Charlie laid his tongue flat against your slit, grunting at the taste and he focused kitten licking your clit. His motions were firm and you whimpered. His hold kept you from moving too much, even laying his forearm across your pelvis. He spread your folds apart, exposing more sensitive areas and plunged his tongue inside your needy hole.

You were on fire, jerking from pleasure and Charlie’s dick throbbed. His other hand drifted to find the discarded panties and wrapped them around his shaft. Lazily pumping because he was solely focused on the pretty girl underneath him.

He sucked your clit, gently nipping it and returned to leisurely slurping like an ice cream cone. The heels of your feet dug into his shoulders and he nodded. “Mmm, needed this didn’t you, baby doll? That why you’re so tense all the time?”

You shuddered as he pressed two fingers in you, hitting an even deeper spot and you were almost hysterical. Charlie wanted to make you cum right then and there but he forced himself to hold off for now. He continued finger fucking you and lifted up. Meeting your lips in a messy kiss, making you share the wetness coating his mouth and chin.

Charlie kissed you hard, making your vision go white and ripped himself away. He growled and took hold of his dick. His red tip running against your clit, smearing the arousal and a sadistic pleasure burned him. He loved seeing you whine and cry.

“You want it? Beg.”

“Please fuck me! Please, please, please!” You cried out and he clicked his tongue in ridicule.

“Oh come on, sweetheart. You can do better. That slutty mouth can beg harder than that.” Charlie laughed as you let out chants similar to a prayer.

He slammed into balls deep and you silently went slack for a few seconds. His size was huge and overwhelming despite the prep. You panted and shook your head.

“It’s not gonna fit all the way-“ You said tightly but Charlie jerked his jaw.

“We’re not playing that game. You wanna play dumb and pretend you don’t like how much it hurts? But I’ll fucking make it fit,” He flipped you over on your knees, twisting your arms so your still tied wrists weren’t straining.

Charlie shoved your chest down, slapping your ass so hard it echoed. He pressed into your pussy again, letting his big hands hold your hips as he thrusted into you.

You sounded fucking filthy. Moaning, sobbing and sweating against the pillow as he railed into you. You curled inwards as your orgasm approached you but he shook his head.

“Where you going?” Charlie spanked you harder and separated your ass. He thrusted deeper and felt your slick dripping on his cock.

“Oh god, fuck! F-fuck!” You exclaimed and wailed. He grabbed the back of your hair, yanking you back and caught your lips.

Charlie sucked your pulse point as you bounced on it, laying your head back as you creamed on his dick.

“Bouncing on my cock like the dirty whore you are. You gonna let me fill you up? You want me to cum in your greedy pussy?” He asked in your ear and you moved faster.

Charlie squeezed your tits and let his hand fall to your stomach. He felt the bulge and spilled inside you. Cum burst in your cunt and your second release hit you. You both grunted and you felt tears streaming down your face.

He saw you weren’t going to slow down and twitched from overstimulation. Charlie pulled out, feeling your fluids fall onto the sheets and brought his face back to your pussy.

“You’re gonna let me eat it out of you, huh? God you’re so disgusting.” He followed his statement with shoving his face against you. You had to bite down on your arm to keep from screaming but he wasn’t happy with that.

“No, no, you wanna scream? Then do it.” Charlie ordered. “Or am I gonna have to fuck it out of you again?”

Tagging: @xxbimbobunnyxx @cxrrodedcoffin @userchai @stillwjk-channie-lixie @fear-is-truth @starkeysprincess @starkeysbabygirl @cameronsprincess @oceanblvd111 @titsout4nicholas @webbluvrsugar @glossyseraphim

[olivianyx]

OMGG I JUST GOT RESULTS WITHOUT BEATING MYSELF UP WITH ROUTINES 😭 + RANT ✨

HEYY LUVS! I JUST WANNA SHARE MY RESULTS I MANIFESTED WITHIN 2-3 DAYS! THIS YEAR'S GONNA BE MY BEST YEAR Y'ALL ✋AND GUESS WHAT I DID? NOTHING. LITERALLY NOTHING. NUH-UH. PERIODT.

⚠ LONG POST AHEAD, SWEARING ⚠

WHAT I MANIFESTED:

🪄 PASSING MY FRESHMAN YEAR WITH HIGH SCORES

🪄 MY FAMILY BOUGHT A NEW APARTMENT WHICH WERE PREPARING TO MOVE IN 3 WEEKS

🪄 ME GETTING INTO THE VOID STATE 😭 AND MANIFESTED CLEAR SKIN! (DAYUM GETTING INTO THE VOID IS DEFO VERY EASY OMGG)

🪄 GETTING LESS ANXIOUS LATELY!

🪄 MY GASTRITIS AND ULCERITIS GETTING CURED

🪄 GETTING MORE COMPLIMENTS IN MY UNI!

🪄 GETTING TALLER! I WENT FROM 5'3" TO 5'7" IN 2 DAYS 😭😭

🪄 GETTING DREAMS OF ME SHIFTING TO MY WR 🥺 (ACTUALLY RESPAWNING LOL, AS THIS THING IS REALLY CONTROVERSIAL IN HERE, PLEASE DON'T GET ME CANCELLED- I'M DOING DEATHLESS RESPAWNING ✋)

🪄 MY MIND IS SURPRISINGLY CALM 😌 THERE'S STILL INTRUSIVE THOUGHTS THO (THOSE ARE ANNOYING ASS BITCHES) BUT I JUST IGNORE EM LIKE I IGNORE PEOPLE AT SCHOOL 🗿

🪄 GOT MANY CONFESSIONS TOO 😭 AND I REJECTED EM ALL, CUS I JUST WANT TO BE SINGLE FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE ✋🗿 JK

🪄 GETTING COOL CLOTHES THAT MY MOM DENIED A LOTTA TIMES! (ACTUALLY I'VE ORDERED EM BUT STILL HAVEN'T SHIPPED TO MY ADDRESS YET LOL)

🪄 MY CRUSH BECOMING CLOSE TO ME HEHE 🤭 LIKE SHE DOESN'T CARE ABOUT ME MUCH, BUT LATELY SHE'S BEEN TOO CLOSE TO ME AND ALWAYS WANNA BE WITH ME LOL, 3 DAYS BACK SHE AND I WALKED HOME TOGETHER, WHILE WE GRABBED SOME SNACKS, SPOKE ABT EACH OTHER AND ALL (I FELT LIKE BEING IN A SHOUJO MANGA 😩)

🪄 A NEW PHONE! THAT SAMSUNG GALAXY S22 😩

I MANIFESTED EVERYTHING WITHIN 3 DAYS 😭 I REALLY CAN'T BELIEVE MY EYES, JUST. 3. FUCKING. DAYS. GODDAMMIT.

HOW I DID IT:

JUST FULFILLED IT IN MY IMAGINATION

YEP, YOU HEARD THAT RIGHT. I LIVED IN THE 4D REALITY, I NEVER GAVE A SHIT ABOUT THE 3D AT ALL. OK LEMME BREAK IT DOWN FOR Y'ALL SO JUST PAY ATTENTION FROM HERE ONWARDS.

🪄 SUPPOSE SOMETHING UNDESIRABLE OR UNFAVORABLE CIRCUMSTANCES ARE HAPPENING IN YOUR 3D. WHO'S THE CAUSE FOR THAT? YOU. 'BUT I DIDN'T IMAGINE OR THINK OF THESE 😭' BABY, YOU'RE THE SOLE CAUSE, EFFECT, AND THE SOLUTION. THERE'S NO OTHER EXPLANATION TO THIS.

🪄 AS WE ALL KNOW, 3D IS A MIRROR. RIGHT? WHATEVER YOU THINK ABOUT, YOUR ASSUMPTIONS, YOUR THOUGHTS, YOUR FEELINGS, YOUR PERSPECTIVE EVERYTHING WILL BE REFLECTED. SO WHY NOT THINK THE WAY YOU WANT SO YOU CAN EXPERIENCE THE SAME? GET IT.

🪄 IF YOU WANT TO CHANGE THE 3D, CHANGE YOUR 4D FIRST. CHANGE YOUR PERSPECTIVE TO HOW YOUR DESIRED SELF WOULD SEE THE WORLD. KEEP DWELLING IN IT. IF THE 3D SHOWS UNFAVORABLE CIRCUMSTANCES, DON'T FUCKING GET TRIGGERED. GO BACK TO YOUR IMAGINATION AND DENY YOUR SENSES.

🪄 EVERYTIME YOU SEE SOMETHING ELSE IN THE 3D, GO 'BRUHH THIS IS MY OLD STORY, I ALREADY HAVE WHAT I WANT, THIS IS JUST FAKE' AND MOVE ON. DISTRACT YOURSELF. CUS THE 3D WORLD WHICH YOU SEE IS AN ILLUSION, IT'S NOT REAL. IT'S YOUR CREATION, WHY WOULD YOU TRY TO CONTROL WHAT YOU CREATED? IT'S ALREADY IN CONTROL. YOU ONLY GOTTA REALISE YOUR GODSELF. YOU ARE THE CREATOR, NOT THE CREATION. STOP FUCKING VICTIMIZING YOURSELF.

🪄 I GET IT THAT MOST OF THE PEOPLE ARE CONFUSED BETWEEN LAW OF ASSUMPTION AND NON DUALISM. EVEN I WAS, BUT SLOWLY I REALISED THAT WE'RE ALL NOTHING. WE'RE JUST LIVING IN OUR OWN CREATIONS. VICTIMIZING OURSELVES IN OUR OWN CREATIONS. IRONIC RIGHT?

🪄 THOSE THOUGHTS, ANXIETY, FEELINGS, EMOTIONS ARE ALL IN YOUR PHYSICAL REALM. YOUR MIND, YOUR BODY, YOUR EGO EVERYTHING IS NO REAL, WE ASSUME IT TO BE. WE'RE ARE SHAPELESS, FORMLESS, WE'RE NOTHING! AND EVERYTHING AT THE SAME TIME. CUS EVERYTHING COMES DOWN TO ONE THING, I AM.

🪄 K Y'ALL MIGHT BE SUPER CONFUSED, WHAT I'M TRYNA INFUSE IN YOUR BRAINS. SO WHAT YOU DO IS, LIVE IN YOUR 4D.HOW? IMAGINATION. NO MATTER WHAT YOU SEE IN YOUR 3D, GO BACK TO YOUR IMAGINATION, AFFIRM OR VISUALISE. ANYTHING IS FINE BTW. JUST STAY IN THE STATE OF WISH FULFILLED.

🪄 STOP RELYING ON METHODS, FUCK THEM. JUST BE. DON'T TRY TO CHANGE SOMETHING WHEN YOU ALREADY HAVE THEM. JUST STOP, SURRENDER, STOP FIGHTING, STOP TRYING SO HARD WHEN YOUR ALREADY IT. SO GO LIVE IN YOUR IMAGINATION, FULLY SURRENDER. DO THINGS WHICH YOU LIKE. GO LIVE YOUR LIFE. TAKE YOUR POWER BACK.

LIKE AREN'T YOU TIRED? TRAPPED IN YOUR OWN CREATIONS? YOU CREATED THEM, YOU HAVE THE POWER TO CHANGE WHATEVER. TELL ME HOW LONG ARE YOU GONNA LIVE THIS BULLSHIT LIFE? YOU'RE REALLY GETTING COMFORTABLE BEING UNCOMFORTABLE. SO LISTEN UP, DO WHAT YOU LOVE, AFFIRM, VISUALISE, OR DAYDREAM, ZONE OUT, WHATEVER. ALL I DID WAS DO THIS MEDITATION IN THE MORNING, WENT ABOUT MY DAY WATCHING JUJUTSU KAISEN LMAO. THEN RANDOMLY AFFIRM, LIVED IN MY 4D, NEVER PAYED ANY FUCKING ATTENTION TO MY 3D, CUS I'M GOD. I REALLY LOVE VISUALISING, SO I PUT ON A SONG AND START DAYDREAMING IN MY ROOM SMILING LIKE AN IDIOT. ALSO, I DID SATS BEFORE GOING TO BED. THAT'S IT. THAT'S ALL I DID FOR 3 FUCKING DAYS, AND GOT WHAT EVER I WANT. ALSO I MADE A CUSTOM TAPE TOO (IT'S A GENERAL SELF CONCEPT ONE) I LISTENED TO IT FOR 30 MINS AND JUST WENT ABOUT MY DAY THINKING I HAD WHATEVER I FUCKING DESIRE, CUS IT'S ALL MY CREATIONS AND I HAVE IT ALREADY. THERE'S NOTHING TO GET, IT'S ALREADY IN ME.

LUV YOU, BYE 💋

[boltwrites]

I need a Logan/Wade/Reader fic where reader is dating Wade (before movie) and meets Logan, sees how he acts with Wade, and makes a ton of “just fuck already” jokes that Wade (ofc) encourages and it pisses Logan off until he does one day (reader included lol) 😏

A/N: i'm going to have to make a part 2 for this, since this is pretty much solely humor and reader making fun of wade and logan. i will be making a part 2 for the smut, though. mark my fucking words.

some things to note: reader is stated as polyamorous and LGBT (no specific label is mentioned). also, lots of sex jokes and fourth wall breaks lmao.

You were used to Wade bringing around some strange characters. Usually, they thought he had drugs or something (which he did, most of the time. Until they all mysteriously went missing right before his birthday party. Almost like his unsavory lifestyle was suddenly sanitized for wider consumption. Hm. Weird.) Sometimes they wanted money - other times it seemed more likely that Wade was holding them for ransom and relapsing into his merc days. But that wasn't really your business.

The point to your opening statement was: you didn't really want to fuck Wade's friends. Astonishing, really - you went to high school with a group of weird kids that all turned out to be some flavor of L,G,B or T and as such, you either wanted to or did fuck most of them. But Wade's friends? They just lacked a little something-something. Al was too old and too high most of the time. Yukio and her gruff girlfriend were far too young for you. Colossus was too Russian. Vanessa was Wade's ex - which would have been hot, honestly - but you weren't the biggest fan of how the two of them handled the post-breakup, and therefore she was off limits. But Peter... maybe...?

No. No, if you fucked Peter, Wade would never let you hear the end of it.

So, you were typically relegated to Wade, and Wade alone, which was more than fine by you. That insane healing factor meant the man could go all night, and he was naturally (or, unnaturally. Mutantly?) ribbed for your pleasure. Nice.

So when he came back from his most recent world-saving (multiverse saving?) adventure, you expected him to bring back maybe some kind of bright-eyed teenage sidekick, or a wacky off-the-wall team up, like Dopinder.

Ah, right, Dopinder. God, you would have fucked him. Sadly, the man was staunchly monogamous like some kind of fucking freak.

Anyway, that's not the point. The point is, when you walked into Wade's unbirthday party? He had company. And the company? Hot. Old. Man.

Oh no. Your fucking weakness.

You'd really never forgive Wade for evaporating Cable before you had a chance with him.

Maybe this was his make-up present.

And said present - or, man, shouldn't objectify - could not take his damn eyes off Wade. Glaring at him, huffing a little half-chuckle when Wade insulted someone with a joke, rolling his eyes as Wade recounted some story of their conquests with exaggerated arm movements and wild, unnecessary additions.

Oh my god. Oh my god? Did Wade fuck him before you could? That bitch!

You scoffed to yourself as you threw your jacket on the coat rack - or was that Peter? Who gives a shit. You were on a mission. You sauntered straight up to Wade, no greeting or preamble, and tossed your arm around his shoulders, setting your ass down right in his lap.

"Oh, hell yeah! There's my sugar ass-" Wade grinned at you, and you just rolled your eyes and planted a big kiss on his bald forehead. Thank god, he'd stopped wearing that dumbass hair. It made him look like a social studies teacher. And not a good one - like one of the ones that just took the job so that he could coach the JV boy's soccer team, and he's not even very good at that. Anyway.

Wade wrapped an arm around you, and you adjusted yourself on his lap, hazarding a glance over at the man sitting next to him. His eyes flit from Wade to you, then to Wade again, brow scrunched a little closer together than when you'd first seen him.

"Wolvie, meet my little discord kitten. And you-" he broke the fourth wall, just to look you straight in the eyes. "This, is the big bad wolf. Er-ine. Yeah. Yeah, that works."

"Wade," you replied, trying not to think about the fact that he just looked into your eyes like you were a camera on the Office. "You never told me you were bringing home a third. I would have brought the nice strap."

The man - Wolvie? Wolverine? Whatever - choked on his beer, and shot Wade a confused, accusatory glare.

"What about the-"

Wolvie gestured in the direction of Vanessa, and Wade's eyes widened, his mouth actually fell open. And this time, it wasn't fake or sarcastic shock, but actual, genuine emotion.

"Oh, no no no - that metal skull of yours really is dense, isn't it, peanut?" He knocked on Wolvie's forehead with way more force than he would use on any normal human, and the man batted Wade's hand away like a pissy tom cat, lip curled over his teeth in a growl.

That was. Hot. Ok.

Wade continued talking anyway - as he always did.

"No, Vanessa? Lovely lady, don't get me wrong - but that ship sailed loooong ago, my temporally-challenged friend," Wade sighed, squeezing the arm that was around your shoulder. "No - that relationship was, as the kids say - 'lacking in communication and emotional openness' - oh, and she made me feel like chicken shit for not being a superhero!"

"Babe, you did that to yourself," you shook your head at him. Really - Vanessa and Wade had just grown apart. She'd looked into more gainful employment, and Wade had followed, struggling to integrate into whatever the fuck "proper" society was. What really happened was that Wade blamed himself for her death and tied way too much of his self-worth to their relationship. And Vanessa - well, she just didn't feel safe with him anymore. It wasn't her fault; it was the PTSD. But it still hurt him. It was better for the both of them to part ways. You always knew Wade still held a torch for her, but you didn't mind much in a relationship sense. You were polyamorous - your man loving multiple people didn't bother you. What did matter was the fact that for Wade's mental health - or what little of it remained - he shouldn't be trying to get with that woman again.

"Yeah! I know! I was getting to that - shh," he pressed a finger to your lips and you kissed it, which made him go "aww" before returning to his rambling. "Anyway, while I was on this beautiful journey of self-discovery, I realized so many things, buttercup."

He sighed, cupping your cheek. "The Avengers are absolute booty ass - without their mainstay former drug addict, I'm afraid they lost out on the crowd of little white girls that want to fuck older men, and we all know that demographic is vital to the longevity of a franchise. Furthermore, the Honda Odyssey fucks hard, which means I have to re-examine my vehicle-related inherent biases. Oh, and also - I'm not a hero. Can't pretend to be some kind of 'normie.' So I'd rather be a freak with the rest of the rejects."

Wade gestured to the rest of the party, and your grin widened, arms wrapping tight around his neck and pulling him in for a stupid, sloppy kiss. God, that's what you'd been trying to tell him for goddamn ages. Thank fuck, the whole multiverse just had to be threatened for him to realize it. You should have expected it - that's just kind of how men are.

Wolverine cleared his throat, and you pulled away, patting Wade on the chest. The older man looked at the both of you with trepidation, like he might be interrupting something. Your heart skipped a little - he really did like Wade, didn't he? Well -

"That's great, baby," you patted Wade's cheek. "Glad you had to experience whatever is closest to death for you to realize what's really important. That's so incredibly healthy and absolutely viable in the long-term."

Wolvie chuckled, grinning at both you and your boyfriend. Oh no - not only was he hot, he was pretty. That stupid little cat ear hair wasn't helping, especially not when he was laughing at your joke.

You took the opportunity to raise your leg just enough to brush your calf along the inside of his knee, and his eyes immediately flicked to yours, smile faltering as he calculated whether to lean into it or shy away.

"Thank you, I so appreciate you, baby-boo-" Wade nuzzles his nose against your cheek and you giggled, biting your lip to quell your laugh as you tried to watch both boys. "But if I remember correctly, before we went on this plot-hole addressing rant, you said something about the good strap?"

He waggled his hairless brows, and your gaze flicked between the two of them again - Wade, eager and grinning; Wolvie, tense and most certainly blushing.

"Yeah," you sighed dramatically, waving your hand in the direction of the refreshments table. "Unfortunately, the food at this party isn't bottom friendly. Shame."

"Fuck!" Wade cursed, head snapping forward in frustration. "I knew Peter forgot something! That insensitive metrosexual!"

You snorted, shook your head as your gaze pulled to Wolverine, you dragged your leg just a little higher.

"Oh, don't worry about it. If your friend here wants, we could recreate your favorite Lonely Island music video."

Said friend's brow knit, his jaw clenched as he tilted his head ever so slightly to the side, as if you'd translate your Wade-speak for him.

Thankfully, your boyfriend did it for you, with an exaggerated gasp for comedic effect.

"3-Way (The Golden Rule) (Featuring Lady Gaga & Justin Timberlake)?" He cried, leaning over so that he could smush his face closer to yours. You waggled your eyebrows suggestively.

He all but squealed, kicking his feet to the point where he almost launched you straight out of his lap.

"You hear that, Logan-boy? It won't even be gay - with a honey in the middle there's some leeway," he gestured to you dramatically, jazz-hands and all.

"It might be a little gay," you whispered in Wolvie - Logan's? - direction.

Either way, it seemed like something one of you said made the poor man short-circuit. He was just looking at the two of you like Wade was regrowing a baby head.

"It is, like, a genuine offer," you clarified for him. "We're not fucking with you - well. Wade's always fucking around."

"Oh, but I am so serious about this, babygirl. Wanna find out if that 207th bone is also adamantine, let me tell you-"

"Shut your whore mouth," Logan hissed at Wade, and you heard the man's teeth click as Wade's jaw snapped shut. What?

"Hey, did he just listen to you when you told him to shut up?"

Logan raised an eyebrow, but gave you a curt nod as answer. Your head whipped from one man to the other.

"You two definitely fucked already!"

"Oh-"

"What did he tell you?" You cut in, finger raised as Wade tried to speak. His eyes widened, and his lips closed like he had no control over them. Your jaw fell open. You turned to Logan like he was some kind of evil sex magician. Which - maybe he was. Or maybe that was a different man from the same movie that no one knows how to write because someone actually gave him an accurate accent. How would you know?

"We didn't fuck," Logan clarified. "We fought. Hard."

"It was the only way around the Hays Code censor!" Wade cut in, words spilling out like he only had a few seconds before Logan shot him another look that had his mouth shutting and his pants tightening.

You rolled your eyes. "Sweetie, the Hays Code was abolished in 1968," you patted his cheek like you were talking to a child.

"Tell that to the mouse!"

"Well," you did your best to get this trainwreck back on track. "Anyway. What do you think, hmm?"

You directed your question at Logan-Wolvie-Wolverine. It was so hard to learn somebody's actual name when Wade just threw nicknames out like candy.

But still, the man frowned, lips pursed as he considered the proposition. His lips twitches as he swirled the bottle of beer in his hand, like he could find the answers in the foam that swelled there. He shook his head, then took a sip, smacking an "ah" before the bottle hit the table with a thump.

"Eh. What the hell."

Oh. Fuck. Yes.

[unclewaynemunson]

Something nameless is growing between Steve and Eddie. Steve wonders how long it'll take until this thing has a name, but for now, it's enough that it's just something. Something good. Something just for them. A secret of the most delicious kind.

He doesn't necessarily want to lie to Dustin, of course, but he doesn't really know what else to do. Not as long as this thing between him and Eddie is still nameless and Dustin is basically cornering him in the Hawkins High parking lot, way too enthusiastic about the fact that he's there to pick up Nancy.

'No, it's not a date, you little shrimp,' he repeats for what feels like the millionth time. And that statement couldn't be more true: he and Nancy are long past their weird post-breakup-end-of-the-world confusion. It's been good to reconnect with her and he's glad that they can truly be good friends, now.

Dustin shoots him an unimpressed glare and Steve groans in frustration when the boy opens his mouth to retort.

'I'm actually seeing someone else,' he says before Dustin can speak again. If he has to hear him say one more time that he should date either Nancy or Robin, he might actually punch him in the face. And he doesn't want to do that. Not really.

Dustin gasps.

'Why didn't you tell me?!'

'Because you're being annoying as shit about my love life,' Steve shoots back.

Dustin already opens his mouth for some smartass reply, but they get interrupted by a high-pitched scream. Steve whips his head only to find Eddie dramatically running towards them, limbs flailing and a huge grin on his face.

'Stevie!' he shouts out while crashing into Steve like a cannonball. Steve huffs, but is all too happy to catch him in his arms. He knows he shouldn't let his touch linger too long, not with Dustin right there, but it's really fucking difficult to pull back within an appropriate timeframe.

'What are you doing here?' Eddie looks hopeful, like he's suspecting that Steve came to the school for him.

'I'm meeting Nancy,' he admits, feeling almost guilty about it.

'He was just telling me about this girl he's seeing!' Dustin exclaims. 'Can you believe he didn't tell me? Did you know about this, Eddie?'

Eddie's smile falls off his face within a split second, and he takes a stumbling step backwards.

'You're seeing a girl?' His voice has gone cold. Betrayal shines from his big brown eyes.

'Eddie,' Steve starts, but he doesn't know what else to say – not with Dustin standing right there and hearing every word of their conversation.

'Go fuck yourself, Harrington.' He spits the words out and turns around, leaving Steve frozen and Dustin open-mouthed.

'Eddie, wait!' Steve calls out behind him, but Eddie only throws his arm up to flip him off, without looking back.

'Shit, fuck, damnit,' Steve mumbles under his breath as he runs after Eddie.

'Eddie, listen.' He grabs his leather-clad arm, but Eddie breaks himself free from Steve's grip with force. He finally looks at Steve again, tears in his eyes.

'I don't wanna hear it,' he says with a trembling voice as he reaches his van and climbs inside.

'But Dustin was–'

'Dustin was pretty damn clear.'

'No, it's all a –'

But Eddie slams the door shut while the word misunderstanding dies on Steve's tongue unheard. Steve watches helplessly how Eddie roughly wipes a hand over his face, puts his keys in the ignition as if he's stabbing someone, and drives off.

'Steve, what the fuck,' Dustin's voice says; when Steve looks to his right, he sees that Dustin has appeared next to him. 'He thought you were his friend! Why didn't you tell him about your girl?' It sounds accusatory, and Steve can't fucking deal with this right now.

'Why didn't you shut your goddamned big mouth for once in your life?' he snaps at him.

Dustin's eyes go wide with the surprise of Steve talking to him with that much venom in his voice; it's clear that he finally realizes he did something wrong.

'Steve, I – I didn't mean to – I didn't know he'd get mad!'

Steve sighs, long and heavy.

'Go home, Henderson,' he says stiffly.

He wishes that the genuinely apologetic look on Dustin's face would be enough to make it all good, but it isn't. Not as long as he still has the look in Eddie's eyes when he drove away burnt on his retina.

'I'm sorry, Steve.' And with slumped shoulders, Dustin turns around and trudges towards the bike racks.

Update: you can read pt2 here

[gallaghersgal]

𝐢 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 || 𝐥𝐢𝐩 𝐠𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐫

pairing: lip gallagher x fem!reader

summary: just lip being a cute bf + debbie and ian being little shits

warnings: lowercase on purpose. poorly written tbh. swearing but y’all know how it is. heavily unedited. gen said yolo so i’m posting

A/N: i’ve been on hiatus for god knows how long but my roommate and i started watching shameless and i can’t get this mfer out of my head. things w school and life are hard rn so i just wrote this comfy cozy little thing in my notes app. yolo asf.

wordcount: probably like 500 or less idk i wrote it in my notes app at 1am

— — — — — — — — — — —

you’re nestled in lip’s arms, high up on his rickety top bunk. somewhere between finishing your nails and kissing until you could barely breathe, you had fallen asleep right against his chest.

you stirred now, your cozy world interrupted a squeaky little voice. “are you in love with her?” debbie questions.

lip shushes his sister, “be quiet, she’s sleeping.”

you were wide awake now, but much too comfortable to move and make that little fact known. plus, you wanted to hear his answer.

“i asked you a question dummy. are you in love with her?”

lip stutters, “i-i dunno. i really like her, okay?”

you’re satisfied with that answer. “in love” was a little too much too quick. but “really like” was something that made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

“what d’ya like about her?” ian presses.

you can practically hear the gears turning in lip’s head as his siblings impatiently await a response.

“she’s- i dunno, she’s pretty?” lip replies. you hold back a scowl, annoyed at him for not having a better answer.

“yeah, great rack,” debbie comments.

“jesus, deb!” lip’s head falls back in frustration, one hand coming to cradle your head as not to wake you with the sudden motion.

“cut the shit lip,” ian interrupts. “tell us what you really think.”

you hold your breath as you wait for his response. his lips brush your hairline before he sighs. “she’s sweet, yeah? real kind.”

“a real woman of the people,” ian snorts, “princess diana type.” then “ow!” as you hear debbie shove him.

“and- and she’s real smart, too,” lip continues. “really, really fuckin’ smart. an’ she works hard. she just tires herself out sometimes.”

he strokes your hair gently, pressing a few more fleeting kisses to your forehead.

“you’re so whipped.”

you hear debbie shove her brother again, and this time ian fights back, the two making a ruckus as they push each other back and forth.

“come on guys, out. now.” lip orders his siblings around with that same stern voice you’ve heard plenty of times before.

debbie pouts. “but-“

“no buts. go on, she’s fuckin’ sleepin’ in here an’ you’re gonna wake her up. fuck off.”

“we were just-“

“fuck. off.”

“jesus,” you can practically hear ian roll his eyes. “alright, alright. we’re going.”

debbie yells for fiona as the two shuffle out of the room, not bothering to close the door behind them.

you smirk to yourself as lip groans above you, showing your cards. “you’re awake?”

you peer up at him through your lashes, a smirk planted on your lips that he’s just dying to kiss off. “can’t believe your little sister said i have a great rack,” you whisper.

lip laughs, loud and genuine. “yeah, she’s been stuffing fi’s old training bras. growin’ up an’ shit. i don’t like it.”

you’re quiet for a moment, admiring him. you know how important those kids are to him. he’d do just about anything for them, including the minor crimes you find him tangled up in on a weekly basis. he loves them like they’re his own kids, which honestly they kind of are. they may shove each other around, curse each other out, yell and scream at the top of their lungs, but at the end of the day lip has been more of a father to his siblings than frank ever was.

“you really meant all that?” you ask.

lip looks down at you, his blue eyes soft in the dim light. “yeah. yeah, i did. meant every word.”

you smile, leaning up to place a solid kiss on his lips. “for what it’s worth,” you murmur, “i really like you too.”

[lucysarah-c]

Fifteen, what an age to be alive. Dad!Levi

Summary: Steal your father's car! What could go wrong? Author note: Since the Marley world seemed to be around the 30s-40s, I’ll set this idea in a world that looks like the mid-50s. This is POST WAR. Warnings: Cursing 'cause Levi, obv. And slightly mention of a group taking advantage of a girl, nothing really happens and there's no graphic description at all. Word count: 3.9k Pairing: Dad! Levi x Mom! Reader

His hands gripped the big round wheel of the car as his eyes scanned the dark night with a nervous smile, quickly turning into clenched teeth. His attention shifted to the passenger seat, soft as if it was a scene from one of the horror pictures he saw at the drive-in.

A light blond girl lay unconscious, her head resting against the door, appearing lifeless. She wore a typical sleeveless red button-up shirt and very short white shorts, with white socks crumpled down to double-coloured loafers. Her hair was still in a ponytail, exposing her face completely. It was August, plain summer break, and he knew that most of his classmates wore shorts or even swimsuits at the pool or beach. But somehow, her exposure made him blush and feel ashamed, as if even staring felt wrong.

Turning to the back seat of the car, he picked up his letterman jacket and placed it on top of her, covering her as much as possible. It looked big on her, and somehow, Adrien blessed every deity mentioned; he probably was inheriting his father’s uncle’s height and not his father's, a fact becoming rather obvious every day, as he was only 15 and already almost 1.80m.

“Calm down, Adie… you got this,” he whispered to himself, “I’ve no idea what I'm going to do but I got it.”

How did he get into this situation? It was supposed to be a silly night out; one of his friends invited him to a party of the seniors who were graduating from high school that year. What was the issue if he was just a freshman? Fifteen, eighteen, it’s the same! Plus, it was some party at some old forgotten building, half destroyed during the rumbling around ten years ago, in the middle of nowhere. Nothing wrong with that.

Yes, perhaps he stole his father’s keys and car. Yes, perhaps he lied about sleeping in his room. Yes, maybe he stole a bit (a lot) of money from his parents. “I mean… deep down, it’s my father’s fault for not allowing me to come legally,” Adrien argued with his own reflection in the car's mirror.

But everything went downhill when he saw a group of guys dragging a girl who was clearly not feeling well and decided to step in. Now, here he was, the party had turned into a mess as the fight happened, he got kicked out with an unconscious girl, and who knew what they had given her. He hit his forehead against the wheel as time slipped through his fingers; he was supposed to be back home already.

“Fucking shit! Who told me to step in!” he cursed under his breath. Deep down, he knew stepping up for what he had been told was horrendously wrong, knowing he had the strength to fight those assholes back. ‘The curse of being a fucking Ackerman, man,’ he thought.

He had done the right thing, at least one right thing during the entire night, but now he had to face the consequences. Muffled cries mixed with distressed groans filled the car, “My father is going to kill me!”

His forehead kept hitting the wheel repeatedly as if that would knock some common sense into him or perhaps give him a concussion and fake that he had been kidnapped or something. Surrounded by trees in a dead-end road, it wasn’t even paved. Only the footprints of multiple cars to follow back to civilization. The distressed teen didn’t even know where he was; his older friend had guided him there and left with his girlfriend at some point of the party.

Slowly raising his head up again to admire the endless kilometres of dim nothing, contemplating his options, seizing his courage. “Come on, Adie. Be a man, be a man!”

The trees’ branches creaked in the middle of the night, the car slightly swayed under the strong summer wind. “I want my mommy,” he muttered.

Hand on the wheel and turning on the car, one step at a time, he took a deep breath and then decided to go out on the road again. Forgotten somewhere, his father’s car’s papers and driver's license. In them it read “Levi Ackerman.”

Each branch from the forest that scraped the car was a personal pain, praying to any god's existence that it didn’t scratch it. Of course, his father had filled up the tank, obviously he had. Levi was like that, always cautious. Adrien did a personal wish his father had a map stored in the glove compartment, but obviously, he didn’t. After all, Levi knew the streets of the city like the back of his hand. He drove a lot, especially since his legs weren’t what they used to be anymore. Perhaps he didn’t need any support for walking any longer, but walking long distances wasn’t in Levi’s plans anymore.

“Perhaps I can… drive to the hospital, leave her, and like run away,” he contemplated, before groaning loudly, “No, I can’t do that. God, I’m dead.”

‘I could have walked away, but no, Mr. Adrien Ackerman has to be a hero. Mr. Ackerman has to do the right thing.’

Adrien had driven twice in his life; this one was the second. The first was a few years ago when his father sat him down on his lap and let him do it for a little bit. He was happy he hadn’t encountered much traffic and only had to drive ahead because he wasn’t completely sure yet what the third pedal was for.

“I got it, do not worry,” he said, trying to sound reassuring to the unmoving girl on his right. Adrien’s grey eyes checked on her from time to time, but she seemed deeply asleep, or so he hoped. “I’ll get to the hospital in no time, and you’ll be alright,” he promised.

His smile created a couple of dimples on each side of his face, but it quickly faded as fear kicked in. “And if you’re not alright, do not worry. I’ll throw myself off a bridge, and we can be not alright together,” he kept joking as if, by some miracle, the girl would reply.

He didn’t even know her name, and somehow, that made him feel even guiltier. As civilization began to appear and the sky began to lighten up, he lost hope of not dying at the hands of his own progenitor, but he was also hopeful that at least he was getting somewhere without crashing. The sun hadn’t shown up yet, but the deep blue of the sky had a particular glow to it that made it imminent.

The streets were deserted, and rightfully so; it was the middle of the night on a Monday. Adrien tried to park the car as best as he could, finally reaching the only hospital he somehow remembered the route to. Rushing to the other door, he carefully picked her up.

When he crossed the doors of the main hospital, which was almost empty at those hours, the doctors on duty quickly took her in, some searching for identifications inside her clothes. The police officer at the front gates forbade him from leaving the place.

“Alright, please hand me your ID,” the front gate secretary asked after informing him that the girl was out of danger, but she would have to stay for monitoring. Adrien’s suspicious silence made the woman raise her eyes from the form she was filling out to look at him. “You know that carrying IDs is obligatory, right?”

“Yes, madam…” He felt his palm sweating as he feared being taken to the police station.

“How old are you?”

Her voice sounded calm but tired as she quickly understood the issue, “… eighteen.”

With a loud sigh, she took off her cat-eye red glasses and then slowly blinked back at him. “Look kid, I’ve been on night watch for three days straight. I’ve no energy to deal with this.”

Adrien’s eyes remained glued to the floor, feeling small despite his stature. “… fifteen,” he admitted reluctantly.

Her unpleasant groans echoed in the empty walls that reeked of disinfectant. He slowly turned to the gates, and the security guys began to chuckle as they drank coffee. Feeling the need to clarify, he said, “I swear it wasn’t me who hurt her.”

“Kid, people who drug girls don’t carry them to hospitals,” she replied disinterestedly, pouring the information into the typewriter, the typing echoing in the place. Finally, she picked up a post-it with a pencil and raised it to the top of the reception table. “Your parents' contact number, please.”

Her eyes quickly moved to him and then back to her writing as he hesitated to fill out the paper. “You know I’ve done nothing; can’t I just go?” Adrien insisted, trying to escape the situation.

“Kid, you’re breaking national curfew and walking around without identification. A responsible adult must come and sign for you to leave; otherwise, you’ll live here until you turn 18.”

“Could you at least wait until 9 am to call my mother’s work number?” He smiled awkwardly, trying to find a way to avoid his father’s rage. The secretary looked up at the clock; it wasn’t even 5 am and then back to him, deadly. Unpleasant complaining groans echoed as he reluctantly wrote his house’s telephone number. “Sorry.”

Sat down at one of those uncomfortable waiting room’s seats with a latte and chocolate donut he brought at the cafeteria, he waited as someone waits to be hanged. The doctors and nurses moved here and there attending to the few people that came in with emergencies. Until the secretary walked by and said, “Your father picked up the phone; he said that getting the car and coming this way.”

Adrien’s grey eyes quickly turned in fear to check out of the window, grimacing uneasily as he admired the family's car parked outside. “Great…”

The longer it took, the more Adrien knew he was in trouble. Pressing his eyes closed and clenching his jaw, as if he could already feel the kick in his ass. Despite the nerves, his head bobbed forward as he fell asleep, and the tug of falling forward snapped him back awake. At some point, he rested his head on the joined seat and fell asleep, mouth open.

The front gates snapping open woke him up, and he wished to make himself smaller so he could hide behind the back of the seats. But as he turned backwards, Levi was at the front desk talking to the secretary and security guards. His dark hair was a mess, and it seemed like he had just put on some shoes and a shirt because he still had the pyjama pants on. Outside, the cap that his father had probably been forced to take there.

As the secretary picked up the forms for him to fill, his father quickly raised his grey eyes to shoot him across the room the deadliest glance he had yet to witness. ‘Goodbye everybody, it was nice knowing you.’

Avoiding facing death, Adrien remained seated, giving his back, but he quickly heard the footsteps of his father, characterized by the slight hobble he had after the war. With his presence looming, he looked down at Adrien, who slowly raised his attention up.

Smiling innocently, “Hi, dad.”

Levi didn’t smile back; quite the opposite, he frowned even more and extended his right hand that was missing two fingers. “My fucking keys.”

The teen searched for them inside his jeans and quietly handed them over with puppy eyes. Levi snapped them, but his hand didn’t withdraw. “And my damn money.” Repeating the same action but with the bills, Levi grabbed them and began to count. “And the rest?”

Adrien mumbled some incoherent groans as he refused to make eye contact. “Tch,” Levi clicked his tongue and gripped his shirt neck, raising him from his seat, pushing him to the exit. “Get in the fucking car.”

The walk of shame only accentuated as his father's angry tone didn’t match the polite one he used to greet the secretary and guards on his way out. He cowered in the passenger seat, trying to make himself a tiny ball as Levi slammed the door shut. Loud sighs that didn’t withdraw the deep frown before he turned on the car again.

“You’re so fucking wrong if you think I’ll stand this type of behaviour; I'm telling you,” Levi spat the words as he drove back home. “What the hell were you thinking?!”

“Adrien!” Levi insisted as the kid didn’t even reply, looking to his right as he waited at a red light. “You don’t want to talk? Fine, fucking ungrateful brat. You know how fucking worried your mother was when we received a call from the shitty hospital? Eh?”

“The drive-in the other day, the supposed hang out at your friend’s house that you were never fucking there, and now this. Are you fucking proud?” the ex-captain of the scouts kept going as his eyes were glued to the road despite only one of them working anymore. “You’re grounded, you’re so fucking grounded that I’ll fucking die, and you’ll have to get a damn Ouija board to contact me to see if you can go out to buy groceries.”

The teen just silently rolled his eyes as the long list of unhappiness of his father about his behaviour couldn’t care less. “Don’t you dare to roll your eyes on me, brat. You heard me? Drop that fucking attitude.” Somehow his father always seemed to have eyes everywhere. “Happy now? You ruined your entire summer break; beg all you want later on. You’re not leaving the house.”

“As if you’d let me go out anyway,” Adrien murmured mockingly under his breath.

“What?” Levi demanded. “If you’re going to have the guts to steal MY car, MY money, and break MY orders, then grow the guts to speak the fuck up.”

“That you never let me go anywhere!” Adrien shouted back angrily.

“For what? To go to this damn party in the middle of nowhere to hang out with fucking rapists and get

shit-faced?” Levi argued back. “You think I was born yesterday? I know exactly which places I don’t want you to get involved with. You think you’ve everything figured out, but that’s not it, Adrien! You’re 14! Fourteen!”

“I’m fifteen!”

“You turned fifteen two weeks ago, for fuck’s sake!” Levi shouted, slightly turning to his right before focusing back on the road. “I’m telling you, better fix your attitude or this is not going to end well. You may be getting big and feel cocky, but you won’t play smart-ass with me. You can grow up to be as tall as the fucking Colossal Titan, and yet you would do whatever the fuck I tell you!”

“I did the right thing! I stood up for her; I’m not stupid enough to do whatever my classmates do. Why can’t you see that?!” Adrien complained as they reached the front of the house, and Levi stopped the car.

“’Cause you were stupid enough to steal my car even when you don’t know how to fucking drive!” Levi complained as he got out of the car, walking to the front door. He kept going with the lecture but lower as he didn’t want to wake up the neighbours. “You don’t like it? Choose another father in your next life; in this one, it’s me, and I’m not going to let my teenage kid not give a fuck about the decisions I take. I’ve gone through too much shit for a fucking brat to tell me what I believe is the best for them.”

They both walked in, and Levi locked the door behind them. The room was still dim for the early hours, and their dog greeted them enthusiastically. The keys dropping at the front plate echoed loudly, and the tuxedo cat of the family finally appeared to rub himself against the legs of the teen, who quietly picked him up. Y/N quickly rushed to check on her kid.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did they hurt you somewhere?” She seemed clearly agitated, and Adrien remained with his eyes glued to the floor.

“No, mom,” he murmured, downcast. “I’m fine.”

“Oi, to your damn room,” Levi quickly ordered. “and clean it up; I won’t say it again.”

The kid left, cursing under his breath as he went upstairs and slammed the front door shut.

“What happened?” she asked Levi, who was preparing himself a tea to calm down, enveloping herself in a negligee.

“What happened? That kid is driving me nuts, that’s what's happening,”

Y/N sighed loudly, positioning herself behind her husband and running her hands through his arms, seeking to provide some comfort. She then switched to hugging him from behind. “He’s going through a phase… his new classmates are mostly kids who survived the rumbling, and some of them aren’t the best influence. He just wants to fit in, you know how important that is at his age.”

“Tch,” Levi kept facing the countertop, murmuring as the anger didn’t quickly wash away. But eventually, he closed his eyes and sighed loudly as the adrenaline slowed down. “The audacity of that kid, where the hell does he get it?”

Y/N couldn't help but chuckle against his back, “MH, I wonder,” she said sarcastically. “If they were still around, perhaps we could have asked some senior MPs… perhaps they could enlighten us on how you were as a teen,”

“I wasn’t like that,” Levi softly replied, almost ashamed of the point out.

“No haha you were worse,” Y/N was entertained as she kissed his shoulder blades tenderly. “Or do I have to remind you how you made me sneak out to meet you after curfew?”

“That’s different…”

Forcing him to turn around to place a kiss on his scar as she caressed his face softly, “He’s your kid,” she murmured against his lips. “He hates to be told what to do and has the strength to know he can get out of almost any situation. Asking him to be submissive is like asking him not to be an Ackerman; he got it in his genes,”

Levi just groaned, accepting the caress, her loving his face as if he was brand new and the residues of the war had never happened.

Days passed by, and while the mood in the house was slowly returning to calmness, the punishment still stood, and Adrien was reading in his bedroom, suffering the heat of summer without being able to go out with his friends. He couldn’t even play his record player because if in normal cases his father tolerated him to play his favourite bands loudly, now he was almost cursed to quietness. Levi didn’t seem to be very fond of Rock; perhaps Paradise music was too behind, and the period of adaptation was lacking. It sounded like loud noise to him.

A quiet knock at the front door was heard, mostly because the dog that was resting beside him in his bed raised hastily and rushed downstairs. The noise was almost imperceptible as his father was vacuuming the living room’s carpet while his mother prepared dinner. Adrien was about to raise himself from his bed and open the door himself, but the overwhelmingly loud noise of the vacuum stopped, so he guessed his father was on it.

Levi opened the front door without checking; he had faced so many adversities in life that he hardly doubted that anyone who rang his bell at 6 pm on a Thursday in their quiet family neighbourhood was a threat. “Yes?” he crossed his arms as he admired the young girl at the front gates. She was wearing the usual outfit of the time, white and brown loafers, crumpled low white socks, an inflated pastel yellow skirt that was tightly around her waist with a white blouse. The matching light cardigan was hanging from her shoulders, but she didn’t seem to put it on, another thing that Levi thought was some stupid new fashion trend from teens. That and his son’s imperious necessity to fold the sleeves of his t-shirts. High ponytail and blushed cheeks.

“Good evening, Mr. Ackerman,” The girl greeted him with kindness and politeness.

“Hello,” Levi replied, almost uninterested, his usual unfriendly nature not withdrawn even after years of not being on service.

“I was wondering if Adrien is at home,” she asked, and Levi wished he could roll his eyes at how almost immediately the girl blushed at the mention of his son’s name. “I’m the girl from the other night; I wanted to thank him…” seeing Levi’s slight frown at the memory of that early morning, she nervously added, “And you, of course, for what he did for me,” The young girl handed a package that was easily deduced to be a cake.

“He’s grounded,” Levi quickly replied. “And you don’t need to thank him; he did the only right thing to do. I don’t raise abusers,”

“Oh…” the disappointment in her voice was palpable, “Well, but please at least take the cake? For all the inconvenience,”

“No, kid, it’s alright-”

“Hi, sweetie! Adrien will be down in a minute!” Y/N popped behind Levi, slightly pushing him to the side and smiling softly at the girl. “Do you want to wait inside?”

Levi looked at his wife, confused and slightly offended by how quickly she overstepped him in the conversation.

“Ah, no, it’s alright; I don’t want to be a bother-”

Adrien appeared behind his parents, wondering what the whole issue was, and his mother quickly pushed him forward. “There he is!” She added while tugging Levi back inside. “Let’s give him some space,” she whispered to her husband, who was refusing to move.

“Oi,” Levi complained as he was forced back inside.

Both parents faking to be doing something in the living room to not be seen; Levi wasn’t spying, but his wife was. “She’s so cute,” she whispered, “and she’s crushing so much on him.”

Levi clicked his tongue, “He’s tall. All girls of that age crush on tall boys,” he argued back.

Y/N chuckled and turned to look at him, “talking from experience?”

“Ha ha,” Levi faked a sarcastic laugh. “He’s supposed to be grounded,”

“Shh, I can’t hear!” She hushed him back and then moved slightly as Levi joined her next to the window.

“Great,” Levi said annoyed, “she’s fucking bonnie,”

Confusion was written all over his wife's face as she grimaced dazed and raised an eyebrow, silently asking how those words could be said with such disappointment.

“Now I won’t only have to buy him all those stupid vinyl records, textbooks, and uniforms for the school team, but I’ll also have to start buying condoms; there goes my fucking salary,”

Tags!: @nube55 @justkon @notgoodforlife @nmlkys @humanitys-strongest-bamf @quillinhand @thoreeo @darkstarlight82 @i-literally-cant-with-this @angelofthorr @aomi04 @levisbrat25 @fxnnyackerman @secretmoneybearvoid @s0meb0dy-0nce-t0ld-me @trashblackrainbow @l3visthighs @hum4n-wr3ckag3 @hannieslovebot @feelingsandemotionsnotexplored @flxrartsstuff @starrylevi @rithty @mariaace @ackrmntea @emilyyyy-08 Wanna join my tag list? Here!

[luxaofhesperides]

Ghostlight prompt: Danny and Duke being childhood friends, but Danny tells Duke the moment the accident happens and such cause he trusts him, only for Danny to go radio silent when giw decide to block the town communications in senior year.

So Duke-does he tell Danny he's Signal or not? Up to you-gets worried the longer no contact goes by.

Maybe the away game thing seen in other posts where the sports team still does away games and Danny gets enough good will with star or dash maybe and they send a message to Duke that's some coded phrase and Duke knows shits going down?

(yourlocalcorviddad, it's a side blog so didn't want to send from main sorry)

Danny is not someone who is on his mind a lot, these days. It’s to be expected, considering how distance and their double lives eat up all the time they have to talk. Really, it’s a miracle that they were able to speak enough to learn about their own individual vigilante work, especially with Duke bouncing around foster homes for a good portion of that time. 

They haven’t spoke in months but that’s normal for them.

Duke thinks he can be forgiven for not knowing something was wrong. He still won’t forgive himself for it.

“Danny’s gone?” he repeats, feeling numb. There’s static ringing in his ears, his entire world hollowing out.

The guy in front of him looks grim, unable to meet Duke’s eyes. Did he introduce himself? Duke can’t remember, can’t keep his spiraling thoughts straight in his head. “He’s gone. His entire family is gone and we haven’t been able to call for help because… well…”

“It’s those guys, right? The ones in white?”

“You know about them?”

“Danny told me. Danny told me a lot about what he did in Amity Park.”

The guy lets out a slow, relieved breath. “Good, then I don’t have to explain. Sorry, it’s just that it’s not something we talk about, especially out in the open. After the last few months, things got really bad. We know the GIW took the Fentons, but we can’t find out how or why and they’ve got us on a tight lockdown.”

“Then how did you get out?” Duke asks. Another arguably more important question pops into his mind a second later. “Actually, how do you know about Danny and… you know. The other things.”

The grimness on the guy’s expression fades away some beneath the sudden shame and embarrassment. “Oh, that. Well, I dunno how much he told you about his, like, daily life, but, um. I’m Dash. Baxter. I bullied him?”

Dash. 

Dash. That’s a name he recognizes. 

Danny’s complained about Dash a lot in the past. Since they were in middle school, really. Duke would always get mad on Danny’s behalf about how terribly he’s being treated, how no one would stop such obvious bullying. And every time, Danny would laugh it off and say in that soft voice of his, It’s alright, Duke, really. Having you care is more than enough for me.

It never stopped the bullying, though, but the way Danny talked about Dash changed when they both entered high school. He was still annoyed about everything Dash did, but there were less insults about him, less venting about every little thing that pissed Danny off about him, as if he just didn’t care anymore.

And there is, of course, the most memorable time Danny called Duke about Dash over the summer.

Hey, Danny, Duke had began, only to be cut off by Danny yelling, I kissed Dash?! Or he kissed me?! What am I supposed to do now!

And Duke, despite the jealousy he felt at hearing that Danny and Dash kissed, laughed so hard he cried while Danny yelled at him to be helpful. 

There wasn’t any discussion on Dash since, beyond a comment here and there about a funny fanboying thing Dash had said about Phantom. The focus of their conversations shifted towards how hard it was to be heroes or vigilantes, quiet reassurances that they’re both doing the best they can, tips traded about best ways to patch themselves up and get through the night. Sometimes, it felt like Danny was the only person in the world to really know Duke; all his pain and promises, his dreams, everything he was Before and who he became in the After.

He’s missed Danny, but the last message Danny sent him told him that things were getting rough in Amity Park, and to not call or contact him until he reached out first.

So Duke trusted in Danny and focused his attention in Gotham, putting his all into becoming a better hero, someone people can rely on. 

He thinks that maybe he should have fallen into the Bats’ bad habits of invading privacy to make sure Danny’s okay. 

Too late for that now, though.

“I know you,” Duke says after a long moment. “He talked about you sometimes. Come with me, we have a lot to discuss.”

Dash looks appropriately nervous, but he doesn’t argue. 

It’s a tense, quiet walk to the library where Barbara works. She’s stationed at the front desk when he arrives and greets him with a smile, eyes flicking towards Dash in question.

“Hey, Babs, got a private study room open?”

Her gaze sharpens and Duke can’t help the feeling of relief that flows through him, knowing that Oracle is ready to look out for him. “Let me check,” she says, turning towards the computer to click around a few pages. “Study room 8 is open.”

That’s the study room with a working lock and soundproofing. It also has cameras and a mic inside, but all the other study rooms have one too, just for safety purposes. Things could always go terribly wrong when people are locked together in a small room, and having video and audio evidence of what happened has assisted in more than a few cases. 

He leads them up to the second floor, past the students studying and the group of young children in the back corner of the library listening intently to a read aloud. 

The only occupied study rooms are those up front, closer to the stairs. The back rooms are empty and quiet, the perfect place for a little impromptu interrogation.

“So,” Duke says as he closes the door to study room 8 behind them. Dash sits down as if this is just a casual conversation, but the way his foot taps against the floor betrays his nerves. “Danny’s gone. And somehow, that lead you to me.”

Dash glance around, then leans closer to drop his voice into a harsh whisper. “The Guys In White got some insane upgrades a few months ago and forced every citizen of Amity Park into a surveillance state. The entire Fenton family is gone, but we all know it’s really because they want Danny.”

“Explain the situation in Amity Park some more.”

“Well. It’s like this: we didn’t take them seriously, so they upped their moves and got us trapped. No one goes in or out of Amity Park without good, verifiable reason. We have a curfew and we can be randomly stopped and searched for ectoplasm or exposure to ghosts. Most of the ghosts have left, but a few of the stronger ones hang around to cause trouble to get the GIW off our backs for a bit.”

“So how did you end up in Gotham?”

“I was invited to tour the college. And since outsiders were expecting me, the GIW let me go. But there’s definitely some that tailed me to Gotham, but I can’t find them at all. Even talking to you now is a huge risk for me.”

Which means they don’t have much time to talk before someone comes looking for Dash. His words, paired with everything Duke’s heard from Danny, paint a deeply unpleasant picture in his mind. “Are you going to be in trouble?”

“Nah, I’ll be fine. It’s Danny we’re all worried about. He told me before he got caught that if anything happened to him, I should find you. Tucker helped us narrow down where exactly you are and sent you that text to get you to where we met.”

“What do you think I can do?”

“I don’t know,” Dash admits. “But Danny trusts you, and he needs your help.”

Duke was never going to say no to this request to begin with, but damn if those words don’t make him want to run to Amity Park without waiting for anyone else.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay. I’ll help rescue him and bring down the GIW. You should go now, before they get too suspicious.”

“What are you planning?”

“I got a couple of friends who are good at destroying government property. Trust me, you’ll see what we’re up, we’re pretty noticeable if we’re pissed off enough.”

“Don’t take too long then,” Dash says, standing up, “I expect a good show from you. See you around, man.”

And with that, Dash pats Duke’s shoulder and leaves the study room. Duke doesn’t follow after him.  He’s got a rescue to start planning, and the less time he wastes, the better.

In the end, it’s pretty simple. It’s not a hard mission at all when the time comes for them to act, but the amount of data they gather and have to shift through is daunting. But that’s more Tim and Barbara’s forte, so he trusts them to handle it. 

Together with Red Robin, Spoiler, and Black Bat, they hit Amity Park hard and fast. 

One night was spent learning the lay of the land and every station and lab set up by the GIW. The second night was spent burning it all down and tossing open cages full of green blob ghosts and a few transparent, weakly glowing human ghosts. Stronger ghosts, glowing brightly, joined them in a few places with battle cries and maniacal laughter.

They split up and took down all the bases and patrol stations on their own, sweeping through the city like vengeful shadows. 

By dawn, the GIW were in shambles, without any bases or equipment, and rounded up for arrest. 

Cass was the one to find Danny and his family; his parents were forced to create weapons for the GIW under threat of Danny and Jazz’s torture. Danny was locked up like an animal and studied. Jazz had restraints on, including a muzzle, and a bloodthirsty rage in her eyes. Apparently, she had put up the most fight and, while being studied for repeated exposure to ectoplasm and radiation, started biting people.

The Fentons are big names in this conflict. Tim makes the executive decision to burn one of his out-of-state safehouses so they can hide and recover in peace, then promptly moves them into it as soon as the EMTs give them the all clear. They’re gone by the time the sun is rising over the horizon, and the curious Amity Parkers that have gathered behind the blockade of police cars have to be reassured that the Fentons have been taken away for their protection, not for further abuses. Even then, tensions are high and the locals are clearly prepared to start rioting now that they have a chance to fight back.

As vigilantes, they’re not meant to interact with cops much. Perhaps it’s simply their experiences in Gotham that keep them at a distance, disappearing into the neighborhood the moment attention shifts off of them. Either way, Duke is hurrying out of Amity Park with the rest of the team on his heels, eager to return to Gotham and follow up on their own leads to make sure the GIW is properly gutted and dismantled. 

Duke heads off for the Hatch as soon as they reach Gotham, hoping to shed the suit and finally be able to call Danny. The guilt of not noticing how bad things had gotten rolls through his stomach, and more than that, he’s missed hearing Danny’s voice. 

The first few calls go straight to voicemail. Duke leaves a quick message asking Danny to let him know how he’s doing as soon as he can talk. 

Then he goes for a shower and to change into civilian clothes, prepared to make his way to Wayne Manor to let Bruce know how everything went. And hopefully distract him from his Disappointed Father/Leader Lecture about taking on missions behind his back, as if Duke can’t handle himself. And also because Bruce has no leg to stand on when it comes to this. He’s fully prepared to throw that entire lecture back into his face at a moment’s notice.

The post-mission exhaustion is hitting him hard and fast. Duke has to brace himself against the wall once he’s out of the shower, resisting the urge to just lie on the floor and sleep there until he starts feeling more human. 

Somehow, he gets himself into some sweatpants and a plain shirt, pulls on a pair of mismatched socks, and begins gathering his things so he can get to the Batcave. 

He’s in no state to be driving. Maybe someone would be willing to take him there?

Just as he reaches for his phone to thumb through his contacts and see who he can bother, it buzzes in his hand. Duke blames the way he jumps on his exhaustion, then blinks his tired eyes to squint at the name that pops up onto the screen.

Danny.

All at once, his exhaustion fades away. A rush of adrenaline runs through him as he scrambles to accept the call, already pacing around the room so he doesn’t fall asleep. 

“Hello?”

There’s a moment of silence, then the exhale of a breath that turns to static over the call. “Duke,” Danny’s tired voice says. “Duke…”

“You doing okay? I couldn’t get to you before you and your family had to leave and go into hiding, but I’ve been worried about you, man.”

“I’m good. We’re all fine, now. Fentons are strong, you know? We’ll bounce back in no time.”

From what he’s heard about Danny’s family, that’s most definitely true. He’s seen the pictures of walls Jack Fenton has burst through with his body. It’ still hard to believe that no one in the family is a meta, outside of Danny.

“You need anything? I can get it to you, just say the word. Anything at all.”

Danny hums, then asks with a playful note in his voice, “Anything?”

“Anything.”

“I need you. How fast can you come meet me? I’ll even pay for express delivery.”

Duke laughs, so relieved at hearing the lightness return to Danny’s voice that he feels weak in the knees. “It’ll be at least two days. I gotta sleep and debrief with Batman before I can see you. It’s gonna take some time to get out of Gotham again.”

“Maybe I can go to you, instead,” Danny suggests. “Fly over and be there is less than an hour.”

“Are you in any shape to be flying right now?”

“I’m fine! Already healing and everything,” Danny insists.

“It might be dangerous if any rogue GIW agents go after you.”

“Well,” Danny says, “That’s why I need to get to my knight in shining armor sooner rather than later, right?”

Duke bites his lip to fight back a smile, blinking his eyes forcefully to keep them from closing under the heavy weight of exhaustion. “Does that make you a damsel in distress?”

“I mean, I did need rescuing, so I guess? I’m not much of a damsel, but I could put on a pretty dress for you. It’ll be like playing pretend when we were kids.”

“Oh, man, I kinda miss those poofy dresses. I think I could still rock on, put it on top of the armor when I go out for patrol.”

Danny snickers. “Signal: the most well dressed vigilante in Gotham.”

“That’s me, baby!”

The last of the agonizing fear that’s choked him since he first talked to Dash finally melts away. Danny’s fine now. Everything’s okay; the GIW are done for and there’s plenty of people willing to look out for the Fentons. This will never happen again.

“Hey,” Danny says, voice suddenly turing more serious. “Send me your location. I wasn’t joking when I said I could fly over to you. And before you say anything! I do need it; Jazz and my parents are smothering me and I just need to get away from everything and pretend all of this never happened.”

The admission softens Duke, makes him shove away everything that tells him this is a bad idea, that Danny needs more rest first, that having Danny fly over alone and without warning any of the Bats fills Duke with anxiety. 

He does miss Danny. More than he can put into words.

“Yeah, okay,” he says at last. “Come meet me, Danny.”

He texts Danny the location of the Hatch before common sense tells him to be more careful with his base of operations. Not that it matters, anyways; if there’s anyone in the world he trusts with everything, it’s Danny. 

Then he sends the Bats a quick text saying he’s crashing in the Hatch and to not bother him until the sun is fully up two days from now. Oracle gives him a thumbs up emoji, which is a good guarantee that she will personally see to it that no non-emergency messages interrupt his rest and recovery time.

Duke has no idea how long it will take Danny to get to the Hatch, so he putters around, cleaning up the space and straightening it out in an attempt to keep busy enough that he doesn’t crash. Travel really takes it out of him. It’s one of the cons of being born and raised in Gotham: he doesn’t have the stamina to travel outside of it, especially when they were there and back in less than three days.

Thank god for Tim’s many motorcycles and his tendency to see the speed limit as a weak suggestion that can be ignored while on a mission.

Ultimately, the call of sleep is too strong to resist. 

One moment, Duke is sorting through files on the Hatch’s computer, and the next moment, he’s face down on a bed with his face shoved into a pillow. 

Blearly, he manages to pull his phone out of his pocket and send Danny a typo-ridden text that hopefully gets across the message of might be asleep so just come in, don’t wait for me to answer the door.

He’s out like a light as soon as it sends. The last thing Duke registers is his phone dropping out of his hand and falling against the mattress with a little bounce.

When he begins to wake up, something’s changed. As much as he wants to go back to sleep, awareness comes back to him slowly and Duke forces himself to claw his way out of unconsciousness to figure out what, exactly, is bothering him so much. Until he figures out what’s changed in the room, he won’t be able to sleep because he’ll be worried about someone breaking in.

His mind comes back online long before his body does. It’s only when he tries to move that Duke realizes he’s no longer alone on the bed; there’s someone wrapped up in his arms, body temperature a little too cool to be a normal human.

Blinking open his eyes, Duke looks down at the head of messy black hair and feels Danny’s soft breath ghost across his chest. 

“Danny?” he manages to say, voice rough with sleep. 

Danny hums and doesn’t move.

“Hey, look up. Let me see if you’re really alright.”

“Mmm, no,” Danny mumbles, burrowing his face into Duke’s chest some more. “‘m sleepy.”

A good argument. Duke is also sleepy. 

“Fine,” he says, “Check in the morning, then. G’night, Danny.”

“Night, Duke. Thanks for saving me.”

He tightens his grip on Danny, contentment burning warm in his chest. “Always, Danny. I’ll always save you.”

That’s why he’s a hero, after all. To save others, to reach a hand out to everyone the way he needed when he was younger. To keep the people he loves safe. To make sure Danny always finds a way back to him. 

This is what makes all the pain of this lifestyle worth it.

Danny makes everything worth it.

(@yourlocalcorviddad tagging to make sure you see this!)

[littlestardude]

⏤͟͟͞͞☆Dating Kenny HCS|| Reader x Kenny McCormick

✰ - SFW & NSFW - ✰

Plot: Just sum HCS!

Note: I love Kenny McCormick so fucking much he's so pookie smookie, also first post yippee!

TW: Drugs, death bcs of drugs (its Kenny he comes back-), incest ment (concerning rats), smut HCS at the end

Gender: AFAB Gen neutral

✰ - SFW - ✰

FLIRTS NONSTOP. all day every day, he just doesn't fucking stop. But the moment you flirt back.

Bro is dead, 6 feet under, giggling and kicking his feet

Has trouble falling asleep and sometimes you'll wake up and he'll be just staring at you

"Kenny what the fuck are you doing... "

"You're so pretty... Can I not stare at my partner in the middle of the night!? :(("

Demands you cuddle him to sleep

Did I mention touchy?

Yea

Super fucking touchy

Literally has to be touching you all the time as if you we're his phone in his pocket or he'll freak out

Actually learned the value of life once you stepped in. He's died only once.

Why you ask? In his words

"I can NOT just say no to free drugs"

Drugs in question were something called... Crazy 8...basically 8 fucking drugs mixed together.

Yea he wasn't gonna survive.

Now you have to keep an eye on him, and tell him to just stick with weed

Oh yeah weed

Bro is toasted most of the time.

AND reeks of weed 24/7

Anytime you smell weed the first thought that pops into your head is, "where's Kenny? "

Basically weed is a comforting smell to you now 💀

Asked you to get high with him

You were reluctant at first but then you tried it... Let's just say it's a common occurrence now

You think he's flirty when he's sober? When he's high omfg.

Compliments like crazy, and can actually take compliments back when he's high

You adore high Kenny because he literally turns into the silliest mf alive

Super duper touchy when you're both high, like on top of each other the whole time

Piercings out the wazoo

Tattoos to come...

You let him shower at your place so he actually became CLEAN once you started dating.

Like his hair is actually touchable now, and not greasy

He's still a rat boy tho, and does dirty rat boy things

Actually HAS rats

You came over one time and he introduced you to his ratty children

"This is Frankie, and Frankie Jr, and Frankie Jr Jr, and that's Maggy, and Rosie and- FRANKLIN JR GET OFF YOUR SISTER RIGHT NOW! >:("

"Um, Ken... I don't know how to tell you this but rats dont care about incest..."

Almost cried, "it's like medieval Spain all over again... "

You pat his back, "it never gets easier... " you sighed dramatically

Loves animals, you guys wanna get a dog and cat together!

He loves you and adores you so much

He thinks you're the best person to ever come out of this cruel world, and he tells you that all the time

You also love him. So much. You think he's the prettiest, sweetest boy

You tell him that most of the time when you think he's asleep, he usually isn't because he loves hearing it

Back to the weed thing, LOVES when u guys order McDonald's when ur both high and have the munchies

Bro can throw down 2 big macs, 1 double quarter pounder, 20 piece chicken nuggets, and 2 orders of large fries and still be like

"I need something sweet... " 💀

Anytime you're out with your friends, Kenny's usually wearing his parka and you're the only one who can understand Kennish

Also holding hands the whole time

It took you awhile to get used to the fact you had a super clingy partner but you got used to it

You guys were able to get a place together eventually after high school

It's super shitty but it's home <3

You'll eventually upgrade after grueling work and endless shifts

But you definitely make time for each other

✰ - NSFW - ✰

(The fun begins *rubs hands evily together*)

SWITCH KENNY SUPREMACY!!! Literally does not mind either, as long as he's with you and he's naked? And you're naked? Bros chilling

Fucking loves oral, receiving and giving

First time he ate you out, you were on cloud mf 9, seeing stars n shit

He LOVES your thighs, like before he eats you out he just likes kissing and squeezing your thighs

HOWEVER. The first time you sucked him off. Omg, HIS thighs were MESMERIZING.

Something about boys thighs... Just seeing them pushed together, your fucking weakness.

His thighs are pale and ever so slightly plushy... Help me

KNOWS WHAT TO DO WITH HIS MF HANDS‼️

He grabs you and stimulates you in the best fucking spots

LOVES COCKWARMING. NEED I SAY LESS.

You guys will just be chilling watching a movie, and he'll just go like

"Babeeeee... " that's literally all he needs to say bcs you know what he wants.

After some time of just being on his dick it kinda hits you, "I'm on his cock, I could literally do what ever I want... " you think, evily

You'll shift your body around to where you're looking at him and he already knows what's coming, his hands are IMMEDIATELY on your hips

And you start slowly bouncing up and down

Doesn't take him long to start making noises

He's very vocal during sex, he sees no point in staying silent

Plus the first time he moaned super loud during sex you literally came on the spot.

Now he can't help but moan and whimper when you're on top of him because he knows you love it

AFTERCARE KINGG

Usually urges you two to take a shower after sex

Sometimes ends up into shower sex if the both of you still have the energy

You bought a shower stool so you both could fuck in the shower because one time he almost slipped and will NEVER live it down

"IT WAS SUPER SLIPPERY OKAY"

"You stepped on the soap babe... You almost went flying"

Yea a shower stool and those mats for the shower floor

[charmedreincarnation]

Ya bitch got into the void state

Champagne anon here and your mf girlll got in the mf void state and manifested her dream life. This happened a week ago, and I’ve been chilling but I do wanna share my story to help others. Gotta give Thanks to Maya, and so many other bloggers and even anon. Y’all hoes will forever be in my heart, and I’m forever grateful 🥹 also Maya girl you told me when I succeed to get into detail and I got nothing to do for the next two hours so imaaa just share it all here in detail.

I also wanna especially thank all the black creators on tumblr!! I didn’t know there were so many of us using the law. It always seems the world is so against us, and there’s nothing we can do abt it but nahhhh!! we can all live our best melanated lives regardless. Periodt, as we should it’s about goddamned time after everything we’ve been though 😂

Anyways!!!! after reading this: https://www.tumblr.com/charmedreincarnation/717864613626134528/im-your-bubble-anon-but-i-made-this-burner-to success story yesterday I got hella motivated. I read that shit and I thought I posted it on accident because it was everything I had been through, and had been thinking anyways. That anon ate your tumblr habits btw. If y’all haven’t seen my good sis’s sucess post go check that shut out rn, On god it will help.

At the end that anon (my mf dawg 🙏) included that they manifested for everyone. Now ion know if that shit actually work tbh. I’ve seen people say you can and can’t, but tbh the vibes were too high for me to doubt. I was like ight, okay fuck it, ima leave my dream life. Whether it me, that anon, or the devil himself ion give a fuck.

So that’s whatssss a bitch did!!! I just affirmed all day it was very fulfilling. People who hate on affirming are mad corny. I can’t lie that shit works hella fast even if you don’t believe it. Idk if that anon’s void manifesting helped or what but I didn’t do much and after 3 months of trying I entered the damn void state. I’m mad I thought I had to be on some ghandi shit to do this (no hate to him hes da man) but you rlly don’t y’all. BUT LEMME TALK MY SHIT ALL YOU NEED IS AFFIRMING AND PERSISTENCE.

Anyways I went go bed excited asl!! I wrote my script that was like 10 pages long I can’t lie I did the most… but it’s whateva. I woke up in the void state after waking up at 4 am or sum, and i was like oh shityyyt lemme manifest rq and skrttt out this hoe. So that’s what a mf did 😂😂

Anyways the part y’all’s is waiting for. This is what ya girl manifested

Desired face and body. I was in shock how all the details came to life. Y’all im a solid 100/10 it’s giving natural bbl and Aliyah. I swear to gahhh everywhere I go people be trying to peep. I’m not used to being treated like a fucking celeb everywhere I go, whole time it’s just my fat gyattttt

Being the hottest 16 yr old IT GIRL at my school, and having lucky girl syndrome. People call me a mini jayda wayda, but tbh I’m better than her now. No hoe is ever gonna cheat on meee like they did her…bye. She’s still gorgeous as fuck tho

Perfect school life. Your girl is set to be the Valedictorian when I graduate (my school has 4!) I’m also sophomore year President, captain of the basketball team, apart of some volunteer programs through my school, and so much more. My resume and college application is abt to be so fuckin fire in 2 years. As I should Columbia is a competitive ass school 😤😤 that aside everyone always tryna link, I got 3 guys fighting over me (whole damn love square), so many people tryna be my friends, teachers love me, and I excel in everything I do.

My Family being rich assss fuck. My dad got a Wikipedia now and his net worth is 22 million dollars. He owns a hedge fund company now, we love a man in finance 😍😍 AS HE FUCKING SHOULD. He got a material gurlll daughter. Two in fact now.

Fire ass crib. Bro it’s a 9 million dollar penthouse, perfect for ragers. I woke up here and my room is decorated to my personality, pintrest clothes all in my closet, I got an exotic pitbull and frenchie, and the house is just mad clean and fire, I’m obsessed with it. Rarely ever wanna leave now.

My mom not being strict. That bald headed ass hoe use to be mad annoying. Y’all know how Haitians are. Mad annoying as fuck and strict for no reason. Now I go out everyday and come home at midnight and no one gives a fuck. Everyone minds their own business as they should.

Having an older brother and younger sister. I was an only child, because I was a miracle baby bc my mom was infertile. Now she got 3 of us, so she can stop being only in my buisness. I’m just playin I love my mom regardless she’s just hella clingy. Anyways my brother is mad protective but also be wrestling mad aggressive for no damn reason. He gave me a bruise but it’s whateva Ima get my lick back. I also always wanted to be an older sister, bc I’d love to be a role model! My sister is 10 and adores me soo much it’s so adorable 🥹 lmfaooo, she’s mad spoiled by me and my mom but it is what it is.

Successful lip gloss business and being a successful drop shipper. Now you didn’t think a sista wasn’t gonna give herself a career just because I’m young right 🤨🤨 we’ll ya wrong. Ya girl is making 200k-400k a year. I barely even use my money cause I got an allowance from my parents… but still, financial literacy and wealth is so important to me especially as a black woman.

A pookie bae. Y’all know I wasn’t gonna deal with finding a loyal cute and funny guy in nyc. It’s like finding a needle in a haystack. Anyways I got me a fine ass boo. I just wrote down all the features I wanted in him like for exampleS finically secure so he can spoil me, handsome as fuck, tall, funny asl, kind, little clingy, deep raspy voice, nice hand, good hygiene and style,yanno yanooo !!! Plus some other shit and whewww the void did me so good. Nowww my boo bear is a lil cracker and I’ve never dated a white boy befuh but my am I surprised. I wake up everyday with some long ass appreciation texts and plans already made ! Y’all know I love me a dominant man who knows what he wants. He’s got some nice ass clothes, nice car and crib, made me a passenger princess and spoils me way too much. He doesn’t complain abt my mood swings and simps in the best way possible. Not to mention he’s fine afkkk he’s giving vinnie hacker. He’s also 6’1 and I’m 5’1 so that height difference is soooo hot I can’t lie I feel so so safe with him 🫣 I could go on all day but in short he’s more than perfect

+ so much more but this is what shocked me the most. Anyways I’ve been living like this for the past week and it just feel so natural. I keep forgetting I got into the void but whateva I’m the only who knows anyways. Anyways live yo best life and neva give upppp. I gotta go but I’ll probably eventually make a blog. My names angela so look out for it. I’m just mad lazy soo idk tho !!!

Angela out 🫡✌️

Girl this was so fun to read, I’m just as excited for you lmfao. I love seeing black women win, and thank you for sharing your methods! Enjoy your best life and come back if it resonates with your life bae !!!

[katsona-the-katsequel]

Persona Fun Facts Pt. 2

Everyone seemed to like the last entry so here's the sequel. Reminder that all these facts were taken from Atlus' fanbooks and novels (and some even from the Persona Stalker Club).

Another reason Mitsuru worried about Minato was because he had a tight schedule, was pale, and never complained about anything nor mentioned if something was bothering him 🥺

Iwai likes to watch reruns of old Western films (I wonder what's his favorite movie).

Ryuji's mother has the personality of a loud, older sister.

Lisa knows how to snowboard.

The necktie Adachi is wearing is probably Dojima's.

Shiho is "drawn to what she doesn't have".

If he won 700 million yen, Akechi would travel the world.

Tatsuya's handwriting is shit.

In his briefcase, Akechi carries a set of student supplies, food, water, and free samples of sweets and cosmetics people give him.

Yu was the type of person who wanted to be seen as wise beyond his years and more of an adult than he really was. He grew out of it by the end of the game by becoming an actually mature person.

Chihaya redesigns clothes.

The first thing Ulala did after realizing her ex was scamming her was call Maya to a restaurant where they got drinks.

Yusuke would be okay with crossdressing if he felt it would help him discover the secret of beauty.

Junes wages are 690 yen per hour for high school students and 900 yen per hour for the rest.

Jin was the member of Strega in charge of raising funds and taking care of meals.

Maruki is aware of the relationship between food and mental health, so he always tries to eat a balanced diet (with cheap ingredients that won't affect his mental health by being a financial burden).

Yukari's mother, Risako, was financially blessed and came from a good family associated with the Kirijo Group.

The Shiroganes have a butler named Yakushiji who has served them for three generations. He, along with Grandpa Shirogane, was Naoto's main caretaker growing up.

The place where Ken's house used to be is now a parking lot.

Junpei's father failed in business.

Akechi's ideal type of lover is "someone who can give [him] space".

Dojima bought Nanako's clothes at Junes.

Maya always keeps a can of crab in her purse... that's her lunch at work. 😔

Futaba is more specific when it comes to her ideal lover. I'm just going to copy and paste here: "Their specs must be just as follows: must be more of an indoors person more than an outdoors one, won’t barge selfishly into people’s room to clean without the owner’s consent, old fashioned romantic and can sing all the theme songs of Neo Featherman."

Yosuke and Kanji aren't the only ones who dye their hair. Chie also dyes hers.

Kandori sealed his deal with Nyarly by strangling his lover/coworker, Mayo Miyashita, to death. He seemed kind of in a trance while he did so (a lot was from Mayo's POV), so it's up to you to decide how much agency he had in that murder.

Members of Strega don't even know their real names (this won't deter me from the "Chidori is Natsumi's daughter theory"). They also steal household goods and clothes during the night.

Elly has twin sisters.

I can't remember if I included this one in the last post, but here it goes again. After Makoto pointed out how difficult taking care of lobsters would be, Yusuke ate them with tears in his eyes.

[grimsonandclover]

Next

Sympathy is a knife.1

or; Broken bones hurt less than broken girls

Stanford!Tashi x tennis player!reader

Song of the post 'Limp - Fiona Apple'

You didn't respect tennis, so why should she respect you? She hated you. The spoiled nepo-baby who's never had to work a day in her life, and yet somehow you've managed to pay your way into NYU and play on the team. Somehow, you managed to beat her last year when Stanford played NYU, and now she's scheduled to play you again at the French Open. You're a goddamnned mess, everyone knows that.

So how are you still so good?

You're a trainwreck self sabotaging in front of the world.

So why does she feel so terrible when you're on the ground, crying like that, clutching your knee? She should be celebrating. But she's not.

SFW

6k words

angst, rivals to ...something? more in part 2 whenever that is, reader's got issues, death of a parent, mommy AND daddy issues, substance abuse by the reader and possible addiction/dependancy, injury, early 2000s NYC socialite treatment, reader is very irresponsible with a DUI (ewww don't do that please), some vomit, panic attacks, some trauma post-parent death, pre-established relationship, cheating, art follows tashi like a lost puppy, suicidal thoughts/depressions, thats a weird order to put those warnings in but oh well, just overall sad times, big sister tashi, reader should get a therapist but instead she parties and plays tennis, best friend patrick

"You're fucking joking." Are the first words Tashi Duncan says when she's told that she's going to compete against you next week. They come out venom-laced and shoot from her lips like daggers. Then, she says them again. "You're fucking joking."

You, the prodigy of NYU that should've been kicked out long ago if not for your pure, unbridled talent (if unbridled talent meant daddy's money, too). You, the daughter of a late, hot-shot Hollywood producer father and triple-divorcee restauranteur mother. You, the younger sister to B-list nepo-baby actress Seline, the older sister to teenage heartthrob boyband member Jonah. You, the tennis star with her name known by people who've never even seen a single match of tennis in their life during the day, and hot-mess socialite with her DUI mugshot from last year plastered on TMZ by night, your name sprinkled over several blind items on Crazy Days And Nights despite your big-name boyfriend. You, the only person comparable in skill to Tashi Duncan. You, who had already beat her once the same week you got that DUI.

Tashi Duncan hated you.

No, hate was too simple of a word. Hate couldn't begin to describe what she felt. It was more akin to revulsion. You were revolting to her. She felt physically sick when she was in the same room as you, which wasn't often. Until now. Now she had to once again share a court with you at the French Open.

For a split second, she considered pulling out. Then, she got her shit together and remembered that she's Tashi Nicole Duncan, and she wouldn't let a mess of a person like you with no respect for the sport make her think like that.

"Art, could you call my coach?"

Her pet-- I mean, her friend did as she asked, handing the phone to her. "What's the earliest you're available tomorrow?"

"You're fucking joking..." Are the first words you say when you're told that you're going to compete against Tashi next week. They come out quiet and tired, slow and disappointed. "She hates me. She hates me and she's going to kill me.

Tashi, the prodigy of Stanford with better grades than you could ever dream of achieving. Tashi, the daughter of a very much alive working-class father and happily married once mother, oldest sister to twins Nathalie and Renee, who are very normal teenage girls still living their normal lives in high school. Tashi, the tennis star every coach wants to get their hands on, with sponsors creaming their pants for her name on their products. Tashi, who's never once been arrested because that's just not a thing well-rounded people do. TMZ has barely ever even heard of her, and nobody's ever anonymously speculated who she's sleeping with. Tashi, the only person comparable in skill to you. Tashi, who looked like she'd rather she was pronounced dead the day before than hear your name announced by the umpire last year.

Tashi Duncan hated you.

It wasn't just your insecure mind making that up, either. She made it blatantly obvious that she did when you went to shake her hand after winning against her. You could still see the laser-hot glare she gave you if you closed your eyes. Feel the iron grip of her soft hands on yours, like she was restraining herself from snapping your wrist. You didn't look forward to seeing those eyes stare holes into your skull until you got a headache, again, next week.

"Maybe I shouldn't go this year. I don't know... I mean, I just recovered from my ankle, and-"

"Don't be ridiculous." Your best friend, Patrick, cut you off, rolling his eyes. "You're not a pussy bitch, you're a tennis player. Act like one."

Despite his choice of words, you knew it came from a good place. The reassuring smile on him reaffirmed that. Patrick seemingly knew what you were capable of better than you did. "You're going to do fine."

Charlie, your boyfriend, patted your shoulder as he passed you to grab a bottle of water, offering no words of comfort past that. He never tried much in that department. Or most departments, it seemed. It's like he thought relationships were like modeling: show up and look pretty, that's all. You were there showering him with praise and words of affirmation when he had a stomach bug during fashion week and was scared he couldn't walk. Charlie reciprocated by patting you on the shoulder while you paced your living room.

Turning to your mom, who was sitting in a chair nearby, didn't do much to help ease your anxiety like Patrick's words did, though. She was on her phone, texting and calling the dozens of people she kept in contact with a day. It took her a minute to realize you were trying to get her attention.

"Oh, Christ, Y/N, you'll be fine." She waved her hand nonchalantly. "You'll win and it'll all be fine. And if you don't, well... maybe she'll feel like you're even. How's that?"

God, your feet were killing you in these chunky platforms. Is that wet patch on your skinny jeans from a spilled drink or are you so drunk you wet yourself on the dancefloor? Where are you, what's the name of this place? Patrick doesn't seem to know, either. You're pretty sure Paris is about two shots away from making out with him, based on the way she's staring at him. Why the fuck did you choose to wear skinny jeans, these are miserable. The sequin dress was right there. Is the music louder than usual? The brights are too light right now-- wait, shit, no, the lights are too bright. Where's Patrick?

You feel bile rise in your throat and shove a girl out of the way so you throw up into the club toilet. It tastes like strawberry and tequila and shit. Someone's banging their fist on the stall door begging to piss, and you can hear moaning and skin slapping in the other stall. Fifty-fifty chance it's Patrick. Twenty-eighty chance it's Patrick and Paris.

You flush, wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, and stumble out the stall to the sinks. God, you're a mess. You know you started the night with two hoop earrings, where did the other one go? The couple in the stall are so loud, and you can definitely recognize the sound of Patrick now. Mascara is smudgeding and it's making your eyes irritated and water, but you didn't think to use anything waterproof.

You almost trip over yourself and have a repeat of last time (the time you sprained your ankle at 1OAK and couldn't play properly for three weeks) as you approach the stall, knocking on the door. "Patrick," you gag a little as bile threatens to resurface, "Pat we gotta... gotta go. It's..." you pull your phone from your bra, "Fuck, it's three. Amber's gon' fuckin' killllllllll me." Amber being your coach. You wonder how not-hungover you'll be able to act when you see her in three hours.

It takes a couple more bangs on the door for him to stop. You can hear clothes shuffling, some giggling and whispers, and the zip of his fly before the stall door opens. Paris stumbles out with a giggle, adjusting her skirt before announcing that she's gonna go find Kim, and 'good luck with Amber.'

You're barely standing and conscious, but you're not so out of it to not notice how he looks. White residue on his nostril tells all. "You've got coke?"

Patrick steps out of the stall, eyeing a girl at the sink throwing him dirty looks in the mirror before he looks back to you. "You know what I'm going to say to that, Y/N."

"Come on, just enough to keep me up. I'm gonna crash by four."

"No."

"Patrick."

"No."

You huff, leaning back on the counter and crossing your arms. "Fuck you. Since when did you join the morals police?"

"Since last week."

That's not a pleasant reminder. You want to slap him in that moment, even if it was a perfectly reasonable excuse for his sudden reluctance to feed your craving. You were a nightmare to everyone you knew last week. And the week before. You wonder how far back this could go. "Fuck you."

"Yeah, well." He shrugs, wiping his nose again and checking himself out in the mirror, adjusting his jacket.

TMZ, oh how you loathe them, has pictures of you leaving the club by the time you're meeting Amber on the rooftop court of your residence. She's livid, as she always seems to be. Like someone shoved a lemon in her mouth and no one told her she could just spit it out. "You're late. You've got the Open in four days and you're fucking late. And hungover."

"It's only two hours."

Your voice is tired and croaking, and you haven't slept longer than two since yesterday. Hungover is a generous diagnosis. You're still drunk. Charlie, who was absent from your all-nighter club hopping, makes sure you don't trip over yourself going up the stairs to the roof before leaving your side to lounge on the pool chairs. Someone texted you "Hey girl, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but..." around the time you made it out of bed, but you deleted the text before you saw any more of it. Your mind wanders to that text when you look at him.

"Two hours, my ass. Christ, I should quit."

Amber threatens leaving you as much as you promise it won't happen again. Like 'yes', 'no', and 'You do this one more time and so help me God I will make sure you can never find a coach again,' are all the basis of her vocabulary. You play and pay too well for her to ever commit to those threats.

Practice goes on until your bones ache and cry for a break. Charlie's fallen asleep with a magazine tucked under his chin. Amber leaves for the poolside cabana and calls her girlfriend while you just lay on the ground, staring at the clouds. The adrenaline starts to wear off, meaning you feel like shit. Your mouth is incredibly dry, the sun is blinding. It's like your body remembered that you're meant to be hungover and is only now catching up. At least it's after practice. Not that you did all that well. You can hear Amber argue with her girlfriend over the phone and it only makes you feel worse about being such a horrible player by showing up late and half-shitfaced. You knew they were going through a rough patch. Least you could do is make her job easier.

Closing your eyes is only temporary relief. You can still hear the cars from the streets below and Amber whisper-yell into the receiver. "I told you already... Wednesday's no good, no... well then tell them to reschedule... Rebecca, it's not like you didn't know what kind of schedule I've got when we started dating..."

It feels like your legs are going to snap when you roll over, hands planted on the hard court ground and you silently beg your muscles to push you up. You're dizzy, the doubled, now tripled vision bringing back the bile from last night/this morning to the base of your throat, but you swallow it down. Over your shoulder, you look at the pool, the sunlight bouncing from the cold water. Amber's on the other side of it, brows furrowed. She sees you watching her and turns around, back facing you.

She turns back around when she hears a splash. You fell face-first into the pool. On purpose. The cool water feels amazing, the sting from hitting the water nothing compared to the ache in your bones that has been there since childhood. You open your eyes, watching your hair billow around you like smoke, the way the sun glimmers on the surface like sparkles, the shadow peering over the ledge. "Oh, god. I'll call you later, Becca. I love you."

When was the last time Charlie said he loved you?

It's so quiet under the water. You wish the bubbles that escape your lips and float above you would carry out everything you hold in your chest. Then you could float like they do.

Like all moments of perfect peace, it doesn't last long. Babies must leave the safety of their mother's womb. People wake up every morning despite wishing to stay in bed and fall back into nothing. Amber reaches into the water and grabs your arm to tug you out and you feel like you could cry. The first wail, the sign of life. Opening your eyes to the sun leaking through blinds, signaling to you it's morning.

Is death truly the only time we have? When you ask Amber, she just frowns and tells you to stop drinking as she dries your hair with a towel.

"Come on, Y/N. Put your back into it!"

The ball barely makes it over the net, bounce, bounce, bouncing down the other side of the court. The racket is heavy in your small hands, but he won't let you put it down yet. "Dad, I can't." You whine.

"What did I say about can'ts?"

You should bite your tongue. Can't's for quitters. "Maybe I am a quitter!"

He stomps across the court, grabbing the collar of your little tennis whites. Despite the action, there's no violence behind it. "No daughter of mine is a quitter."

His voice is low, like he's whispering a secret to you. "You can."

Your collar is let go and your father stands straight. "And you will. Now, do it again like Ronald taught you."

It's Renaud. Grabbing another ball from the basket behind you, you try again. And again. And again. By the time you're done, your arms are sore for days to come and you've got blisters on your feet. He makes you drop out of your preschool Mother's Day dance to practice with Renaud instead. You had the dance down pat, practicing it for weeks.

You only ever started playing because he wanted you to. Maybe five-year-old you should've held your ground more.

Tashi bit the inner skin of her lips, her mother talking casually into her ear through the phone. "And Nathalie, well, you know how she felt about it all. Cried the whole way home."

"Is she alright? Well, clearly not, but..." She zips up the final suitcase on her bed, taking a breath. They were flying out tomorrow, the Open being the day after.

Her mother sighs, nodding her head even though her daughter can't see. "She will be, in time. First heartbreak's going to be pretty tough, poor girl."

A knock on her dorm door pulls Tashi's attention from the call. Looking up, she sees Art peeking in. She holds her finger up, asking him to wait. "Well, let Beetle know that she can call or text me about it anytime. She forgets to check my texts."

"You forget to call."

Tashi huffs. Her mother's right, of course. It's not on purpose, it's just she's constantly go, go, going, her phone often goes forgotten. "Still. I'll pick up whenever she wants me."

Her eyes trail a bird outside her window. It hops across the little ledge, pecking at something on the brick. She wished she had wings. Tashi would just up and fly to her family right now. It's been two months since she last hugged her sisters. Did they forget how she felt? Sometimes, when she can't sleep, Tashi thinks about when they were just little soft fleshy things in bassinets, waking her up at night as they cried in her parent's bedroom. Now, Nathalie was going through her first breakup and Renee was going through some rebellious phase back home.

"You've got your hotel booked for tomorrow?" Tashi asks after a moment, biting her lip again. She can't help it, her worries jump from one subject to another.

"Yes, Tash. I love you, we all love you. We're booked, we're packed, we're ready. I've gotta go finish dinner, have you eaten?"

Tashi hums a response, smiling to herself. "I miss your cooking, mom."

"I miss you. Now, get some rest and I'll see you tomorrow."

When the call ends, Art steps in fully. "Everything with Nat alright?"

She frowns in response, shaking her head and sitting at the edge of the small single in her dorm. The old mattress creaks under her, the weight of dozens like her over the years taking its toll on the springs. "Brodie and her broke up last night at some party. Nat's taking it kinda hard."

He frowns with her and sighs. "I do not miss high school..."

"What'd you come in here for?" Tashi asks after a moment, turning to face him better. She tucks a leg under the other thigh, and Art's eyes catch on the flexing muscle under the warm toffee skin for a moment. Blinking hard, he sits beside her, grabbing one of her pillows to play with. It's a nervous habit of Art's. "It's about her."

When Seline sees the news, she doesn't call. Just sends a text asking if you're alright. Jonah does call, but you don't pick up. You know if you do it'll be like pouring your feelings to a brick wall. And then, when you're done, the brick wall will recite some line from his therapist and ask you for your new dealer's number, and that will be that. Your mother has stopped trying all-together.

Tashi feels a strange sense of pity when Art shows her the headlines, an emotion she doesn't associate with you.

Charlie, mid-grind at the club, decided he no longer liked playing your boyfriend. He forgot to relay that information to you, though. Honest mistake, he assumed you'd gather that when he turned around and stuck his tongue down another girl's throat. Oh, you should've seen the look on your face.

All those unrequited 'I love you's coming back to hit you in the face in a single moment. You had even tossed one on the way here. One that he let hit his turned shoulder and slide off the curve of it like bird shit. Now, here you were, frozen on the dance floor as you watched your boyfriend of a year make it painfully clear how much it all meant to him. Charlie Maddox was known for his looks, never his brain or heart. You tried so desperately to make up for it. You'd rip the beating muscle in your chest out for him and for what?

You've never been good at holding in your emotions. You were the 'wear your heart on your sleeve' kind of gal, much to your dismay. Meaning, you slapped him in the middle of the crowd, screaming something about love and his small dick (it was average), and stormed out of the club only to be met with dozens of paparazzi who were always there waiting for someone to leave. Patrick was just getting another drink at the bar when you left, missing the whole thing. You barely made it five steps out the door, tears streaming down your face, ankles twisting with every step, before taking a detour and puking in the alley behind a dumpster. Pictures were taken of every moment. One guy even ran up and took a picture of the puddle.

Sure he wasn't the best boyfriend, and it was a long time coming, but you weren't exactly in the mental state for such a sudden change in relationship status. You flew to France tomorrow. Amber said no distractions. Here Charlie was, throwing a wrench in everything with his stupid model face and his stupid model lips and his stupid model ego. You think you would've married him if he asked. Have his stupid model babies. Not like he ever would want that with you. How pathetic are you?

You're a hiccuping, sobbing mess. Why'd you take the train here? That club was hardly worth the trip.

It's embarrassing to be sitting on the subway seats, slumped down as you stare at the floor. Not because of your status or who you are, but because... well, just look at the state of you. Your hair is a mess from partying for hours on end, you ripped your heels off your feet the moment you sat down (and they've already been stolen), mascara is running down your cheeks and frankly, you haven't stopped crying. You try to cover your face when you see camera phones curiously life up, some obvious and some not so obvious. The guy next to you gives you the side eye, squinting like he's trying to tell if he recognizes you.

You just want to curl up and die. That girl, the one Charlie practically impregnated through a kiss with his tongue so far down her throat he could probably taste her lunch, looked like Mila Kunis. It wasn't, of course, but she looked like her. Why didn't you look like her? Maybe then he'd stay. He'd try and taste your lunch. Or maybe it wasn't looks. Something that you felt like you had even less control over. You cry a little harder.

If your dad was here he'd have something to say. He'd have some schpiel about life and relationships that you probably wouldn't want to hear anyway, but at least you'd be hearing him. You'd take just about anything. Your phone rings with Patrick's number and you don't pick up. The guy next to you snaps a picture. You wonder if your dealer has anything available. Amber's going to murder you in cold blood. You'd welcome it just about now. The P.A. announces the next stop, and it's not yours, and it would be an hour of walking barefoot across New York to get to your place, but you leave the subway anyway when it comes to a stop. Because that guy kind of stank, and a kid was crying too loudly, and you could hear someone calling someone else to talk about who they just saw on the train, and you just wanted to go home.

The walk was miserable. Your feet hurt and you had to put too much attention for your liking on where you were stepping so you wouldn't get some uncurable disease from the sidewalk. Less people noticed you on the streets, but someone had clearly let the press know what train you were on and they knew if you'd left by foot, they could probably catch up. They did. Now, they had pictures of you crying leaving the club, crying on the New York City subway, and crying walking home. Fantastic. By now you were known more for your tears than your tennis. You'd hail a cab but it was rush hour, and there's no point in even trying then.

You knew it was a fruitless effort asking for them to stop taking picture of you, but you tried anyway. All requests were drowned out by the snapping clicks of the cameras. You were still drunk, and the flashes made your eyes burn and head spin. Your name was being called all around you.

"Need a ride home?" "What happened with Charlie?" "Any news you can share about your sister's latest project?" "Chin up, darling, I can't get your face." "Excited for your match with Tashi Duncan, Y/N?" "Hey, you need some shoes?"

You look over to the guy who just offered you shoes, stopping in your miserable and painful tracks. He's at least wearing socks when he pulls his sneakers off. They're a size or so too big, like clown shoes, but they get the job done. You thank him, and then go back to keeping your head down as you walk. You can already see the headlines.

Your head was spinning so much you didn't know if you could play. You're on the stationary bike to warm up, an hour or so until your match. An hour or so until you face her. You already spent last night with Amber on the practice courts, getting re-used to how the clay changes the speed of the ball, perfecting your strikes as best you can. She offered to take you again, but you were too nauseous to go. That seems to be a constant for you.

Patrick's back in New York. He's got his own tennis career to take care of, but he's sending you texts here and there. Words of encouragement.

"picture her naked or smething"

"actually no dont do that. that wouldnt even work for me"

"make chuck realize what hes missing by winning"

"i just took the fattest shit!!!! oooooh I wanna send you the pic soooo bad. thatll take ur mind off of it"

You had to block his number for a good fifteen minutes just in case. It wouldn't have been the first time he'd done that. That did almost get a laugh out of you if you weren't still so nervous.

Someone was watching on the small TV in the corner of the room, you think it was Rebecca. They're saying it's going to rain tomorrow, but that's all you can understand. So much for those French classes you took for five years straight. You tried to focus on the blurring syllables you once knew as you cycled.

Seline sends you a bouquet of good-luck flowers, but she forgets you're allergic. Jonah forgot altogether that the Open was today, and you don't have it in you to remind your little brother. He's on tour anyway, what could he really do?

Tashi's pacing the practice courts with her coach, Art in the corner talking with her mom as they half-watch her. She's stressed out of her mind. She played and won the Australian Open earlier last year. To win this would already take her halfway to a career Grand Slam. Tashi needed this. To have anyone like you get in the way of that would be unacceptable.

Her coach is doing his best to assure her she'll win. Forget last time, this was it.

"I mean, have you seen her lately?" He said with a scoffed laugh. "Nobody wins an Open like that."

You have. You won the Australian Open, too, a few years ago at 16, and you were equally off the rocks back then. It didn't do much to quell her nerves. "You've put in the work, Tash. You've been training for years, harder than she could ever imagine doing. It's in the bag. All you need to be worrying about is where you're gonna put your Suzanne Lenglin cup."

"It's only the first round. Once you get through the initial nerves, the rest will go by like nothing."

"Right." You said with no real believability. Amber was leaning over the front of the stationary bike and you slowed down your cycling, nearing the end of the warm-up. "Except it's not just the first round."

It's Tashi. It's Charlie. It's Seline, and Jonah, and your mom. It's the first major tournament you've played since...

Since him.

Thump, thump, thump, thump.

Amber could hear all of it just by looking at you, and she had nothing left to offer but a pitying sigh and a pat on your shoulder. Even Patrick, now unblocked again, had nothing left to offer through the phone.

Nathalie is crying on the couch and Renee is doing her best to console her twin when Tashi returns to the player room, their mother and Art following behind. She starts doing stretches in the middle of the room as she addresses her weeping sister. "Beetle, he isn't worth your tears. You know that."

Tashi's mother wraps warm arms around her twins. "Baby, heartbreak heals. You're left only with the unconditional love you hold for yourself. Let it out."

It was her mantra. Words she'd repeat after all three of the sister's occasional breakups. Time heals all wounds.

Tired legs climb off the bike. You overdid it, and Amber silently panics that the overexertion will affect your playing. The couch facing the door connected to the player's tunnel is plush enough. Thoughts trail off to your family, all of which aren't here to watch you play.

Your mother was in France, too. You asked her to come but she was busy meeting with vendors for her new restaurant. Seline was on set for some blockbuster horror film back home. Jonah, well... maybe you should text him a quick 'hey, just letting you know im about to play one of the biggest tournaments a tennis player can, against the scariest woman I know. wish me luck!' But you don't. And your father. Oh, your father. He might've been the only one out of all of them willing to show up.

That doesn't matter now, though. He won't.

Thump, thump, thump, thump.

He won't.

Breathing gets a little harder to do, even though you're sitting.

He won't, he won't, he won't, he can't.

The words are falling out of your mouth now like sand seeping through the cracks in fingers. "He's not here. My dad's not here."

Your wild eyes look up to Amber, whose head whips to you. Her heart drops. Rebecca stops watching the TV. You've been here before.

"Amber, he's not here. He's not here. I can't play, he's not--"

A knock on the door, your name being called by two voices. One tells you to breathe, the other tells you that "they're ready for you."

You can only assume what comes from who as tears blur in your waterline. Thump, thump, thump, thump.

He's not here. The one person in your life that always would be. The one person who promised not to leave.

Tashi threw up after she played you and lost. Tashi Duncan lost.

Stanford Vs. NYU. She should've had it in the bag. It should've been nothing.

Top players lost all the time. It's a fact. Human error, lucky streak for the opponent, off-days. Not for Tashi. Losing to you was a slap in the face. It shook her confidence in herself so bad she didn't know how she'd recover. It was only when she played and won the Australian Open later that year, with you nowhere to be seen, that she got it back.

She spent a weekend learning everything she could about you. A weak moment in her own eyes, but she had to know more about the person who made her crumble. It wasn't hard to do-- researching you. You were in the press constantly, along with the rest of your family.

Your DUI and countless failed relationships, your sister getting thrown out of galas for fighting with other actresses, your brother sleeping with groupies and their tall tales about the ordeal, your mother's countless failed business ventures post-modeling career, and your father. Life and death.

Tashi had found an old interview of yours, done right after your own Australian Open win at 16. You mentioned how he's responsible for it all, pushing you to play since as long as you could remember. How despite his crazy career as one of the big producers in Hollywood, he'd still make time in his schedule to be there for all your games. He was your biggest critic and biggest fan, you said. That you didn't know where you'd be without him in any sense of the word.

When she checked the date of the interview, her heart stopped for a moment. A week before his accident. She even remembers seeing it on the news. How Tashi looked over to her dad as he folded laundry on the couch, watching it with her. "Hollywood producer found dead in major collision in L.A. A break malfunction is the suspected cause."

Maybe that moment, reading that interview on her bed with her father knocking on the door to offer tea, was the first time she saw you more than a mess. More as a hurt, teenage girl. Maybe she forgot it all, though, looking at you now.

You couldn't sit in a car for three months without having a panic attack after it happened. The mere mention of them could even make you spiral. It was after the funeral that you started your infamous 'spiral down the drain'. There was so much paparazzi outside the cemetery gates.

It's the only reason you didn't try to compete in any of the Grand Slam tournaments after winning the Australian at 16. Every time you picked up a racket for the next four years, you heard his nagging voice in your head.

"Come on. Not good enough. Put your goddamn all into it!"

"You're not getting a Grand Slam with this attitude. Do it again."

It was too much to do anything bigger than challengers or school tournaments. Every single one left you teary-eyed in the locker rooms before and after. Amber suggested a therapist several times, but nothing came of it.

You can still see the look of pride on his face after you won the Open. Every time you close your fucking eyes, he's there. Such a rare treat to see him smile, and you did it.

You thought you'd be ready now. You told Amber you're ready. It's been four years, damn it. You're supposed to be over it. What happened to time heals all wounds?

All this time, you thought you were scared of seeing Tashi again after beating her in '06. It's only now, the crowd in your ears as your name is announced, that you realize how wrong you were. He's still there, in the back of your heart. Oh, how that bit of flesh has been carved out over the years of your brief life. How it still beats, after all the shit you've put it through, only to make him proud. Could you ever make him proud again?

The only thing you could hear was your heartbeat. Thump, thump, thump, thump.

A tennis ball soars over the polyethylene net in a perfect arch. Long-loved Chanel tennis sneakers skid across the clay ground, arm slicing through the tension and humidity in the air. Thwack! The ball is launched back to Tashi Duncan. "Come on. Not good enough."

Then, the hitch of your breath; a sharp intake like more air in your lungs would be the thing to save you.

Sweat drips from your brow to your cheekbone, sliding down like a tear. From the back of your neck down your spine like a chill. Even from this distance, you can see the drops slide down her temples and the slope of her chin. Another crack emanates from her racket. You brace for impact. You see your father behind the net.

The court ground under your feet scraping. The sound of skin ripping open in thousands of tiny cuts, the cccccrrrrrrrrack! of bone. Bone. The gasps of the crowd. The crack of bone. Thump, thump, thump, thump.

Then, the only thing anyone can hear is the shriek of your cry.

Next

[thewebcomicsreview]

As per the ask you got in may .What did tatsuya ishida say about the Holocaust ?Or draw ?im high right now

I can't really do a day-to-day on Sinfest even if I wanted to because it's increasingly just racist caricatures that'd get be banned for posting them, even to mock, but to quickly summarize where it's at since you asked politely and are in the right headspace to receive this information.

Tatsuya Ishida now worships Odin. Like, unironically he has a whole arc about how the Jews overthrew the Norse gods, who are the true gods, in order to impose monotheism on the world. I don't have as much knowledge on the inner workings of neo-nazis as I probably should be (there's a sentence for 2024, isn't it?), but they're super into all this Norse shit, which is why a lot of white supremacists like to use Norse symbols, like the Valknot, a set of three interlocking triangles.

That one, yeah.

(Not to be confused with the Triquetra that's' all over Jill's design in LoTH, which is also an old rune but mostly is just used as design shorthand for "Celtic" and hasn't been appropriated by Nazis because it doesn't have enough sharp angles for their sensibilities, but that is a Celtic cross in panel 3 up there to remind me there's a non-trivial chance I have to take LotH down one day over this. Sigh.)

Anyway, the year 2024 is burned as a witch, which stops time, which revives her as a Valkyrie because Odin is the true god and thus timeless. You may have noticed that doesn't make any fucking sense, but we are long since past the point where that matters. So, 2024 is fighting YHWH now.

No no, not the puppet guy that's been god this whole time! That's old Sinfest, which has no connection to modern Sinfest any more. God has been redesigned to be a racist stereotype stuck to a wall

I probably don't need to blur this but I'm not taking chances. Anyway this strip is important because it's Tatsuya Ishida explicitly calling for violence against Jewish people and saying it's justified because Jews are behind everything bad that has ever happened (earlier strips literally have the Happy Merchant appear and say that Jews are behind black people, communism, the gays, school shootings, and "assassinations". Basically everything Tats doesn't like is because of those wacky Jews, keeping themselves busy).

And one of YHWH's attacks is summoning "holocusts" and...yeah. Tats thinks the holocaust didn't happen, but that it should happen, and is at the point of saying so explicitly. We haven't seen a swastika yet, but we're at the point where it wouldn't even matter if we did. Tatsuya Ishida is a White Supremacist Neopagan worshiper of Odin who wants to kill all Jewish people. That's not an accusation I'm making, Tats says it himself.

[gurggggleburgle]

As funny as it is to talk about Airplane meme speeching in front of Cucumber bro and being cringe and fail with modern slang a part of me stops and goes:

This man has basically lived an entire second life free from a context where that sort of linguistical expression exists in any real meaningful capacity. Which makes me wonder how much context does Shang Qinghua remember towards any of the slang he says on a regular basis. Like 30ish years is a long time to go without other people to reaffirm you're remembering something correctly. I don't know about you, but I barely remember memes from and slang from high school until someone brings them up, let alone when I was 10. So I am left wondering how much modern vernacular Airplane actually has floating around in his head. How much is from the system specifically saying things? How much is just stuff that made it's way into his novel just by accepted textual dialogue? How much is things he remembers and has held onto.

Does he even remember pokemon? Would he even remember how to use his phone? The system gave him the option to go home but just... would he even know how to function in that space if he did wake up post coma or whatever in it. Is talking to Cucumber bro sometimes overwhelming because man will just start saying stuff at him and just doesn't remember what it means? Or does he have just so much stuff he's forgotten hit him all at once in this terrifying and overwhelming way that leaves him floored? Does he even remember what poggers mean? How much of Airplane is just Shang Qinghua ship of theseused to himself. Where does the break between who he was before and who he is now begin? Does he even rasterize?!! Is Twitter just a vague floating concept that he only has feelings towards?? Could he even tell you what modern music sounds like anymore??

And for Cucumber Bro does he actually have a problem where the slang and expressions that have come to exist in the PIDW world organically simply because of language leave him talking in a weirdly out of touch and formal way that only adds to his old man points? Like does Shang Qinghua say some very specific equivalent of 'rizzing it up' or whatever like ' thats like flower picking on the first date, hell of a move. We'll see how that plays out for you' and Shen Qingqiu starts math guessing what it means. Does he just miss out on small folk actions and fairy tales everyone knows or understands and end up sounding like an idiot or just extremely rich and out of touch. Like sure you know white snake, but what do you mean you don't know The Begger Boy and The red and white Hermit Crab? Everyone knows that! It's asking for what you assume is a classical dish that's been around forever so obviously would make it into the setting but actually this dish was invented in the late 1900s/2000s and therefore doesn't exist and everyone is looking at you like you're insane?

Do the two ever just sit there being absolutely confused at what the other is saying because they're just so unsure how to handle shit? Not in a sad way but in a I refuse to admit that I am confused way.