pioneerwirelesssoftware

[moonscape]

[doodleplus]

Do not separate!

[howlonomy]

Monster Clover, like this is so awesomecool.

They're such a little beast and it is amazing and please i need more, like written text even i just need the juicy lore and emotional moments that are circling in ur brain.

HAT: RETRIEVED!!

[benevolenterrancy]

Dumbass thought but shizun (sy) x Tony the tiger

The Tiger Demon Lord is here to negotiate with Junshang's empress (人❛▽^) ~ ☆✧˖° It's sure to go 𝔾ℝℝℝℝℝ𝔼𝔸𝕋 °˖✧`☆

[sandushengshou]

Pushing Daisies | 2x04 “Frescorts”

[baalzebufo]

more of my awesome bread dough boy

[bbyboybucket]

So I wrote up all this stuff weeks ago and drafted it and forgot about it until I seen these tags from @kahuna-burger

And they are absolutely right. And I’m so glad someone agrees with me on this analogy, because this is EXACTLY how I see him, and exactly what I get into below. This is the whole thing I was writing up previously:

“The winter soldier was treated like a living weapon.”

Mmm, yes. The whole living weapon thing is not a wrong metaphor. But I’d argue that there’s something else far more accurate (aka what the now added tags say).

He wasn’t their weapon. He was their dog. In such an uncanny way, almost literal sense. I wouldn’t even say a guard dog, I’d actually say he was Hydra’s hunting dog.

I mean think about it. Really. They actually treated him like a dog.

He wears a harness. He wears a fucking muzzle for gods sake.

But that’s just the bare minimum of similarities.

What do they do when he gets out of line? To punish him, to put make him obey and learn to fall back into good behavior? They shock him. Just like how people have always used shock collars and electric fences for dogs. When he’s been “bad”, when he does something he’s not supposed to, he gets shocked to correct that behavior.

They also smack him and get physical. People don’t do that with weapons. There’s no point in that. And you wouldn’t wanna damage or harm a weapon. But people do smack dogs. They hit their dogs when they don’t behave or do something wrong because harm, pain, and damage will teach it. Just like it teaches him. And they’ll heal so it’s not a concern.

He was trained to obey commands. Just like dogs. He does any little thing he’s told because he’s conditioned with a rewards system. He even has specific command words that trigger compliance. Just like you teach a dog to sit or roll over with trigger words, he has em too. I mean literally, he has a Pavlovian response to said words. And what was the original Pavlov experiment done on? A dog. The only difference is he doesn’t get physical treats. His treat is praise, which they manipulated him into being desperate for. They even go as far to incentivize him with this praise (think about the bank scene, where Pierce praises him), just like you would present a dog with a treat when you want it to do a trick. Hell, actually praise is a way you reward dogs too, because they listen and learn when you tell them they’re a “good boy, good dog”.

Hydra asserts their dominance over him just in case he turns on them, just to remind of who’s the “alpha”. Because they know (just like big dog owners) that he can tear them up, he can attack and shred them to pieces, but if he thinks he’s not the “alpha” then he’ll back down.

And yeah, he’s protective and reliant on his “owners” like most dogs would be. But like I said, not just a guard dog. A hunting dog. Because just like people teach their dogs to track down and go after bears, squirrels, dear, etc. he was also taught how to track down stuff to kill. Stuff that his owner wanted dead. That’s his whole purpose, to hunt for them.

Also, think about how Hydra obtained him. It’s like if a person saw an injured dog in a ditch, brought it to a vet to heal up, then took it home to have as their own pet. Because that’s exactly what they did with him. It’s just the owner was an abusive one.

He wasn’t treated like some expensive tank or powerful arsenal of guns. He was treated like well trained hunting dog.

[ohheyitsgray]

jse community you will always be famous

( @yesitssam @dinahdelightful @argrtagrhrgrggrgrgr -thank you for the asks!)

[oracleact]

« nothing on me »

bayverse raph x reader / fluff + angst

notes: 1.8k words, first person pov, established relationship, gender neutral reader (no pronouns used,) details of injuries and tending to said injuries.

a knock on the window at 3am? that only means one thing: the turtles are here. smiling, I rub the remnants of sleep from my eyes and hop out of bed to open up the curtain. only one turtle faces me at the window though - raphael.

I open the window and help his wide frame step down from the ledge, but my previous smile fades fast when raph groans in pain as he steps onto the floor.

“raph, what’s wrong? where are the rest of the boys? what happened?” I speak as fast as possible to try and get to his answer, worry eating away at me with each second that passes.

my raph is the mass strength and rough hand amongst the turtles. he can handle a lot of damage since he always manages to deal out more than what is done onto him. seeing him bent over, actually using my arm for support and not simply holding me because he wants to, groaning in genuine pain rather than letting out his usual gruff noises of acknowledgment - that scares me. it terrifies me when I don’t know what has happened.

“I told them to check on dad,” he begins breathlessly, “I needed you. it’s really bad this time.”

my eyes widen and I hurry him to the side of my bed, the mattress creaking under his weight. I grasp his face in my hands to check him over, turning his head every which way, but see nothing apart from a few new scratches on his skin.

“what do you mean ‘really bad,’ raph? you’re scaring me.”

“my—“ he lifts his arm and tries to reach for the back of his shell, failing miserably and almost howling out in pain, “my shell, sweetheart. I haven’t seen it yet but I heard it crack and this pain is too much for it to just be taped up.”

I scuttle around his large form and am immediately hit with the sight of a deep crack in the middle of his shell. he was right to come straight to me with this one. he should always come to me with injuries but is too stubborn most of the time and rides out the pain: ‘it may look bad to you but it’s nothing on me.’

when the boys started to properly use their skills outside of the lair, with the risk of larger injuries increasing, I began to research and teach myself how to handle ones specific to these mutants. thanks to many in depth articles about turtle care, I have safely cleaned and covered up small cracks before. the only difference between the boys and ‘normal’ turtles in regards to care like this is their size - it takes longer and requires more focus to clean cracks, ensuring that they can heal appropriately over time. although tonight’s damage will take double that, and maybe more.

“oh raph, oh my…how? wait, don’t answer that. I’m doing my first aid stuff then we can talk about it, okay?” he nods with a sad smile and all I can do is reach out and cup his cheek, returning the expression he gave me. he moves my hand to his lips for a quick kiss before I start scurrying off to grab what I need.

let’s see - chlorohexidine solution, q-tips, cotton pads, adhesive patches and a towel. is that all I need? I have no idea right now; I’m so scared to touch him that I feel like stalling for as long as I can.

I walk slowly back to where he sits on the edge of my bed, his head resting in one hand as the other rubs at his tired eyes. I lay down all that I grabbed from the bathroom before taking a deep breath and sitting down behind him. the room is silent for a couple of minutes after that, my heart beating loudly in my ears. I can’t break my anxious stare away from the crack in his beautiful carapace.

“hey…” raph speaks ever so softly to get my attention.

“yeah— sorry. I’m sorry,” I feel tears begin to form in my eyes. I hate seeing him hurt like this. “I’m going to fix you up. I promise I’ll fix this. I’ll touch around your shell, away from the crack, and you tell me how it feels. let me know how much the pain has spread.”

he gestures ‘yes’ to me but with a frowned brow, “don’t cry, love. everything is okay. I’m raphael, remember? this is nothing on me!”

but I can see it - I can see the pain written on his face, the way his eyes look misty. I don’t want to push him to talk nor do I want to directly acknowledge the pain I can see; I don’t want to break his protective wall at a time like this. it wouldn’t be fair to do so. I wipe my tears and get straight to work instead.

my small hand reaches out for him, gently patting around the edges of his shell then smoothing over the surface, “that’s not bad at all. it just feels tingly, like the nice kind of tingly you give me.” I giggle at him. it’s a relief that the shell hasn’t shattered or anything and he can feel my hand like always.

I’ve spent so many nights tracing over the faint patterns of his plastron and committing the texture to memory. it helps calm him after a stressful training day or when he can’t sleep. it secretly calms me too because it’s just us in those moments, the rest of the world fading away and leaving only raph and I. there’s no need to jump away from my hold to save new york when my touch melts away the city completely. nothing can break us out of that warm paradise as long as we are together.

despite the touch test going well, the cleaning of his wounds will definitely be painful since the crack is open and noticeable. I pour some of the solution onto a q-tip and tell raph to start breathing slowly and deeply. I help him set a pace for it before I begin to clean.

he hisses in pain when the piece of cotton comes in contact with the wound and my tears start to flow again, “I know baby, but this part is important,” I sniffle and reach my free hand for his, “use me to balance yourself.”

“I’ll break your little hand,” there is a fracture in his voice as he speaks but he still manages to let out a chuckle with his words.

“breathe and squeeze, raph, don’t worry about me.”

and so he did - each time I dipped the cotton into the crack he inhaled and exhaled quickly whilst grasping my hand in his. I rubbed my thumb over his rough skin in an attempt to ground us both over and over again.

“one last clean and then I’ll patch it up and be done for tonight.” he lets out a loud sigh at that, obviously glad that the stinging will be over soon. I hear him lowly whimper but force a cough after in an attempt to hide the noise. once again I don’t press him on it, I just kiss the back of his hand to let him know it’s alright.

the last step is to cut adhesive patches to fit the crack, making sure to leave small gaps at the ends to allow air to flow through. this process isn’t all that different from putting a bandaid on a human arm, and thank goodness for that. I want to do everything I can to help raph, to ease his pain, so this being a somewhat ‘easy’ task to complete means luck is on my side right now.

with the last piece secure I get up from the bed to face him again, giving him a small smile to let him know it’s done. I slip myself between his legs and reach out to untie his bandana. his eyes close as he presses his head onto my chest to give me access to the tie at the back.

sliding the cloth from his face, I set it on the bed and wipe underneath his eyes; he looks so worn out. my fingers move down to draw along the scars from previous battles and to check over any new cuts, the pad of my thumb eventually landing on the most prominent scar across his upper lip. my raph, my hero, our hero…with the scars to prove it all.

“give it a week and see how the shell starts to heal. if we need to do more then I’m ready for that. I’ve done my research, you’re looking at a certified mutant turtle nurse,” I wink at him as he laughs and nuzzles further into my hold.

he looks up at me with those gorgeous eyes, the light of the moon catching in them. he may be hurt but he’s here with me and healing in my arms, and I’ll hold this man forever to show him how much he means to me. he’s looking at me in the same way - in awe of what’s in front of him - both of us dumbly grinning at each other. although, he does break eye contact when a yawn suddenly comes bursting out.

“do you want to talk about what happened, or do you want to catch some z’s first?”

“hmm…as much as I want to tell you about how much of a badass I am, I really want to crash.”

he moves to lay on his back before I catch his shoulders with high pitched squeak, “shell!” I whisper-yell at him. his lips form an ‘o’ and I shake my head. only raph could forget about his injuries that quickly.

I slip into the bed first and hold out my arms, beckoning him to follow and to lay on his stomach. he does so almost instantly, getting comfy against me and wrapping his arms around my waist.

“thank you for everything. I trust you with my life, you know.”

“and I trust you with mine, big red.”

I’m seemingly stuck staring down at him, just in stupid awe once more. watching how his eyes are effortlessly closed, evident that he is exhausted, with a faint smile playing on his lips as he shifts around to find the best snoozing position. his shell is now what catches the attention of the moon and I feel satisfied with my work on the crack. I’m still worried but the patch looks good and secure from afar so I’ll take it for it now.

I’m so happy that this brave and unstoppable mutant turtle trusts me with his open wounds, with his physical and emotional scars, with his love and being. this life of ours is crazy in so many ways but I wouldn’t ask for anything to change. well, less wounds here and there would be nice but that might be asking for too much.

[jjkeremika]

Goofy (pt3)

levi ackerman x reader (fem!reader), levi x you

description: your friends embarrassed levi. he wants to embarrass you

inspiration (anonymous;requested): “captain levi making goofy reader get off on his new boot as punishment for fucking something up under his watch. especially because he heard their little jokes and he wants her to be embarrassed”)

(Goofy (pt1): you think levi’s too serious. he thinks you’re too goofy; Goofy (pt2): levi fucks some sense in you)

warning/disclaimer: armin/sasha/you/ymir/historia friend group; lewd language; masturbation; object grinding; shaming/derogatory; edging; punishment; light hair tug; power dynamic; NSFW/MDNI

“we’re all ready for the mission, right? you guys know the plan?” armin asked while stacking a wooden box into the wagon, hoisting it from historia’s and ymir’s dual grip.

“well, we’re not done stacking yet, so,” sasha added, dangling and kicking her feet off the edge of the wagon, “doesn’t sound that ready to me,” she sang, eying armin playfully.

“some of us aren’t helping,” ymir muttered, lightly kicking sasha’s side.

armin sighed, paired with a deep breath and an arm stretch, “i meant the strategy.”

sasha slapped ymir’s leg. ymir hopped away from the cart. “not all help is manual labor. entertainment and company are so important these days,” she said knowingly, leaning back onto her palms.

you and ymir made eye contact and chuckled. “oh. maybe you should stop helping then,” ymir added as she picked up another box from the ground. sasha reached to smack armin’s leg as he snorted and laughed.

“i still can’t believe we’re on levi’s squad this time,” historia squealed in hushed excitement, glancing around to make sure the captain wasn’t around. “all of us!”

her squeal cut through yours, sasha’s, and ymir’s laughter, drawing all of your attention. ymir carried the box and handed it off to armin. you pulled out the ropes and clips from a separate stack of crates.

“do you think that’s related to—” armin blurted out, his cheeks immediately pinking up as he glanced at you. he stopped himself as ymir put the box down and leaned onto it as she laughed.

“armin, too soon!” historia gasped, trying to hold her composure but her pink cheeks gave her away. “her throats still sore.”

nobody said anything, everyone looking at the ground with suppressed smiles and shifting bodies.

“related to our amazing skills?” sasha finished his question, pulled an apple out of her pocket. “obviously.”

“who knew you had such a dirty mind, tori,” ymir said, clicking her tongue, shaking her head, “nobody else went there.”

you laughed, winced from the healing tears in the tissue. “way to doubt our skills and make us feel bad,” sasha added, taking a bite.

“i, uh, i thought armin was referring to—” she stammered, glancing around at all of her friends suppressing a smile into a frown.

“wow. now she’s blaming armin,” sasha sighed, exaggerating her tone.

ymir rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “he can’t even say clitoris, tori.”

historia looked to you and you shook your head, flattened your lips into a straight line.

“i can’t believe you just said that. way to bring up literal throat fucking while we’re working,” ymir said it with a straight face and shook her head and licked her lips, returned to picking up the box and moving towards the carriage.

“maybe you should stop helping,” sasha mused, punctuating her suggestion with another bite of her apple and a loud munch.

historia chortled and turned around, helping you untangle the ropes.

“i was only going to say his new boots,” armin said quietly. “i think hes proud of them. eren told me the heel leaves a mark for days.”

sasha and ymir immediately looked to you then burst into laughter. sasha gasped excitedly. you laughed despite your sore throat, dropping the rope, wheezing more than anything else.

“that’s sexy,” ymir and sasha shouted in unison and pointed at each other, laughing loudly. historia covered her mouth to quiet herself.

“oo, lucky eren,” you added.

“well,” historia chirped with a wide grin, bordering a more amused smirk, “three inches can be a lot for some people.”

sasha grabbed her stomach with laughter, ymir hit the crate. even armin was laughing harder than you’ve seen before, light pink cheeks like he might be starting to get it, catching on.

“i meeeaaaannn,” sasha elongated, raising her palms, bending her elbows, and shrugging, completely oblivious to the apple juice sliding down her wrist. “we know he likes to wear the boots.”

his voice cut through the open air, even echoed enough for nearby birds to fly away. his volume traveled faster than he walked, sauntering like none of you were ever worth his time. “hey!” the five of you turned to sight of him approaching, still a good distance away. “shut the fuck up!”

ymir, sasha, and you all looked between each other with suppressed smiles and suggestive eyes before breaking into another fit of laughter, the tension and adrenaline increasing your heart rate.

“hurry up and knock it off!” he demanded, his tone cutting through the laughter, the tension dissipating into dangerous territory.

the four of them silently went back to work, and you dared to look at levi with an amused smile, smirked and bit your lip when you noticed the pink sheen highlighting his cheeks, the flaring of his nostrils, the heaving of his chest as he glared at you with a curled lip and clenched fists.

there were tiny bits of quiet, suppressed laughter and amusing eye contact while the rest of the crates were stacked.

armin spoke first, so softly and unsurely, while the five of you tied and chained the crates to the carriage. “do you think if we speak again…” he pointed to his throat, suppressed his smile into a poorly-hidden straight face, dared to look at you while he said it. “he’s gonna do that to us?”

sasha’s hand clapped over her mouth as she laughed.

“aw,” ymir said between repressed chuckles. she walked over to armin, patted his back. “baby made his first funny joke.” he didn’t totally understand the joke, but everyone laughed when he said it the first time.

“no,” sasha eyed you when she followed, not even hiding the bemused smirk anymore, successfully controlling her volume, “we never said ‘aye aye, captain.’”

ymir snickered, put her arm around you. “yeah,” she continued casually, sighing in fake sorrow, “we’re just not goofy enough.”

*************

the five of you were relaxing at the cafeteria, exhausted from the manual labor, for once on the quieter side (still littered with a few jokes about how it was good for you to be on vocal rest), when the doors to the room slammed against the walls.

you felt the force of the air from across the room. all eyes turned to the smaller figure in the doorway, but captain levi was looking for one group in particular.

he stormed over almost immediately, knowing what table your friends sat at by heart, and the heat radiating off of him was enough to raise the temperature in the room, enough to make the room’s blood boil.

“which one of you fucked up?” his voice was level, but if you chipped away you could hear the frustration and anger and restraint. “which one of you tied the back?”

“um, a ‘hello’ wou—“ ymir started while you agreed simultaneously, “yeah, serio—“

“i don’t have time for your fucking jokes today.” he leaned his palms against the table, glared at each of you like you were nothing but sacks of meat. you both fell silent. “your carriage fell apart. your cargo was loose. your cargo fucking fell out before the team even reached the wall!”

he pointed at each of you while he spoke. “best part?” his eyes were flaring, setting fire to anyone who dared to make eye contact. “into the fucking river.”

armin and historia sat with their heads down, ymir rolled her eyes but bit her tongue. sasha was starting to feel the pressure of what they’d done.

“two months of supplies in the river.” he was seething, it was seeping into his eerily calm tone. “back right. who secured it?”

everyone tried to subtly look to you, keeping their hands clasped in their laps, but levi was impeccable at reading body language.

he glared at you, a scoff mixed with distaste and expectation. “captain goofy, huh?” he crossed his arms and you pretended not to notice the folding of his sleeve, exposing the muscle underneath. “of course it was fucking you.”

worst part?

it was actually you this time.

“you.” he pointed at you. you dug your fingernails into your thigh to avoid visible shaking. “you’re coming with me.”

he spat out the words, snarling like he might bite. you thought about him pulling your hair again.

“considering you’ll probably kill me if i don’t…” you mumbled, standing up rolling your eyes despite the jolt down your spine, your brain sending orders that your body helplessly obeys.

levi was already stomping away, the heels of his pristine boots smacking against the wooden floor, his cool rage quacking the earth.

historia whispered before you walked away. “he’ll kill you if you do.”

“yeah, honestly, nice knowing you,” ymir added, waving her hand like a careless farewell.

as you neared the door, levi having stopped to ensure you were following, you heard sasha not-so-quietly whisper, “he’s gonna kick her with the three inches.”

“eren’s quaking,” ymir immediately responded, cackling. armin hid his face behind his palms, historia stifled a laugh, and you failed to suppress a smug smile.

the captain ignored you, storming off noticeably faster and harder. you rubbed your throat and swallowed the building saliva to cool the itch as you followed the captain into his office.

levi sat in the office chair. “close the door behind you,” he ordered sternly. you carelessly pushed the door, a tiny part of you hoping the door didn’t actually close, that the lock didn’t click. for the bit.

you moved to sit down when he commanded, “stand,” with the soft click of the door. you kept your eyes on levi, who was taking controlled breaths.

he stared at you, more anger than anything else. he said nothing for minutes, scrutinized you with clasped hands and narrowed eyes, drawn brows and a disappointed scowl.

your heart was racing, you could feel the pulse in your wrists, in your neck, running up and down your thighs. the adrenaline of being reprimanded, the same relentless feeling as yesterday, the same rage and sexual frustration in his eyes.

the tension was unbearable, almost suffocating, settling heavily on your bones. you scanned his face amidst constant eye contact, looking for the slightest tell, the tiniest curve of his lip and vein in his neck.

you took in the sight of the captain in his office chair, his clutter-free desk neatly stacked with numerous papers, multiple different pens for different purposes.

levi stayed silent. your mind started to wander, thought of what your friends would say. it was actually hard to read his body language. you could picture her face and sasha’s laughter when she said it. why? because it’s so small?

you breathily laughed, the smile taking over your face, before you returned to looking at levi’s visibly frustrated expression and bit your bottom lip.

he locked his jaw. maybe you’d get to lick it today. “where do you think you stand in the corp?” his calm tone was misleading, laced with insidious undertones desperate to reach out and touch you.

you exhaled breathily, pointing to the floor. “uh, right here?”

his lip curled and he blinked twice before standing up and pointing in front of him. “here.” you hesitated, debated what to say. “im your captain. you do as i say.”

your legs started moving before your jaw could, quietly sauntering over. you were stood in front of him, looking down slightly. his stare was still hard, still debating with himself. you thought of kissing him this time.

“on your knees,” he ordered, his expression not faltering but his pupils widened, different from yesterday. “on the boot.”

his lip curled in response to your questioning face, but you complied anyway, your sore knees reminiscing on the last time.

you looked up at him with wide, dark eyes, taking in the sight of him towering over with all the light in the room. “hop.”

“what?”

“bounce. hop. move,” he repeated coldly. “do not fucking disobey me today.” he held up the top sheet of paper, the report of all the supplies lost, the request for replacements for a team with waning support.

you felt the blood rush through your body, heard it pounding in your ears, felt it appearing on your cheeks and settling in your crotch. the fluster in your gut was amplified by the explicit knowledge that you’ve fucked up. you’ve embarrassed the squad. you’ve embarrassed him.

his hand wrapping in your recovering hair brought you back to reality, where you were frozen, the rumble in your chest fighting for the air space in your lungs. “now.”

you rocked your hips instead, followed the friction against your clothed clit and repeated the cycle. you maintained eye contact with levi. “aye, aye, captain.”

you swore you saw his mouth flicker, his eyes gleam with a brighter light. he watched you carefully, scanning over your eyes and your mischievous smile and your hips rocking against the nice shiny boot.

the grip in your hair tightened as your hips sped up. the heat on your cheeks stayed despite the blood centered in your lower abdomen, despite the fire in your pelvis.

“keep going, baby,” he almost purred, turning his head away from the sight of you grinding down in the boots you were so obsessed with to the fucked up situation you warned them about.

“wh-what are you doing?” you rasped, awkwardly already a little breathless from the simple friction. you were peering over the desk, trying to see what was taking his attention off you.

he scoffed with a tiny smirk, shook his head lightly, “fixing your mistake.” he signed a page with one hand, flipped it with the same, kept the other held firmly on your scalp, in your hair.

you felt the heat rush to your cheeks, felt the unsettling turmoil in your abdomen, as the embarrassment flushed over, swirled with the sparks up your spine.

“don’t slow down,” levi added with a long stare, watching as you immediately obeyed, the liquid near your crotch starting to show on the thinner fabric of your thighs.

your hands wrapped around his calves, your eyelids closed. you leaned into the feeling, let the overwhelming heat add to the burning need to continue.

each time he turned back to the paper you started softly moaning a little more, moved your hips a little faster and more centered, rocked against his ankle.

“you gonna tell your friends about this?” he huffed, his cheeks bright pink. he watched your cheeks redden as your brain slowly processed what he said. “how fucking desperate you are that you’ll rub yourself on my fucking boot? how you love my three inch heel?”

he laughed. “do you think they’re listening now? that they already fucking know? outside the fucking door watching and listening to you grind my new shiny riding boots?”

you continued, his words sending shivers along your nerves. “i’ve heard the way you speak of me. i’ve heard the fucking jokes you make.” he chortled, shook his head, but your eyes were closed. “what do you think your friends are talking about now? what fucking jokes do you think they’re making now?”

you were quiet, too focused on the unbelievable sensation building, on his hand on your head tightening its grip, on the shakiness of your thighs and the intense need to both follow and stop.

he tugged on your hair, the sharp pain numbed out by the lag in brain function. you whimpered as he pulled you off coarse, as he pressed his ankle against you. “well?”

“wh-whole new mhm… meaning to riding boots,” you answered obediently, regaining your rhythm. “i better tie you in a better knot,” you kept going despite being out of breath, staring willingly at him.

he smirked as he lightly kicked you off, and you slid off balance onto the floor, right on your elbows and hip. you didn’t really care about the sharp pain in your elbows as he stared down at you.

levi picked his boot up, put the heel against your other thigh and pushed you onto your ass. he stood before you as you sat onto your palms. “then go tell them what they’ll think of every time you see these boots,” he muttered, returning to his desk.

[astriiformes]

@scribefindegil and I have been practicing our Legolas & Gimli duet again, which means it's time to post a new recording to show off the progress

[shannonsketches]

he's so important to me

[lgbtlunaverse]

It's a little crazy to watch the dungeon meshi fandom explode. As I say this, at the start of april 2024, there are 694 dungeon meshi fics on ao3 which looks like a modest number especially if you consider that the earliest fic in the tag is from 2017. But that's not taking into account that 544 of those 694 were posted 2024 and a whopping 299 were in march 2024 alone. And considering that the average lifetime of a fic from initial idea to writing and editing to publication is months we are actually at a very early point on the exponential curve, the real explosion is yet to come.

To illustrate my point, if you look a little more closely at the fics you'll realize the vast majority of them are oneshots, not multichaptered fics. Like. Much more compared to more established fandoms.

(If you want hard numbers for proof: the number of fics updated, not posted, in march 2024 was 326. That means that of all the fics updated in march ONLY 27 were fics posted earlier than march. And of the 299 posted, only 64 weren't oneshots. For all fics updated in march 72.1% were oneshots, 27.9% not. Compare that to a randomly chosen other fandom I'm in, Deltarune, where only 35.5% of the fics updated in march 2024 were oneshots, and 64.5% were not. The difference is staggering dunmeshi literally has twice as many oneshots comparetively)

And that's because oneshots are quicker to write, while a multichaptered fic takes much more planning. The longest fic in the dunmeshi fandom tag is currently only 67K words which is impressive but nothing compared to the behemoths you usually see occupying that spot. All those longfics? Those are still coming.

[powderblueblood]

🎵+ our girl lacy hehe

send me 🎵+ character name and i’ll write a lil blurb inspired by a song from their playlist (you can also request songs and i will do my level best. god is a dj and i'm god)

▶ MAKING THE BED - OLIVIA RODRIGO

and i'm playin the victim so well in my head, but it's me who's been making the bed or lacy visits her dad in prison and reflects on the life she's created*

*as part of the hellfire & ice universe

warnings for mentions of past parental abuse, incarcerated parent, slight drug mention, cussin up a storm as always

also the amount of time this has spent buried in my drafts! it's not right! but it is okay i hope thank you love you anon <3

You had been putting this off for as long as was excusable to put it off-- as long as you could push it, you'd push it. Busy with school, with work now since your gig at The Bookstore had started (which he'd hate), with your... friends (which he'd hate even more, if he knew exactly who that company included).

But eventually, you do just have to bite the bullet and pick up the phone.

The bullet tastes rancid and the visitation room is always freezing. Doesn't matter if you wear your warmest coat--the mink that he bought you, that still smells of smoke from a garbage can at Roane Quarry--you're still practically vibrating by the time you sit down.

"You always ran so cold, baby girl."

Your father smiles at you through the glass. His eyes are wrinkled at the edges, kind of tired. They've got him behind there like a caged animal. Like you're supposed to tap on the glass of his enclosure and see if he'll respond with glee or fury. He's docile today. It's a change; the last couple of times you'd accompanied your mom here, he'd been seething.

"I think it's an iron thing," you muse vacantly, winching your shoulders in.

"Should eat some red meat."

"There's been a concerning lack of filet mignon in my life lately."

That makes him chuckle and that makes you smile. The orange jumpsuit reflects badly against his skin, extra harsh under the burn of overhead fluorescents. Makes you both look sickly; worse than you are. Misery loves company. There's no way you can tell him that you're actually...

"So how are you doing?" He asks you this question and there's a weight attached to it. He must know, right, he must have figured the shitstorm of trouble that you'd been in for in the aftermath of his arrest. The blowback on you. On your mom, who you were white-knuckling yourself into having pity for.

Your lips purse, tugging to the side. Again, no clue how to answer a question like that. Is he expecting game face? Is he expecting... honesty? You can't read it. So you shrug. "You know."

"I don't, Lacy. That's why I asked."

He has a terrible stare, your dad, the kind you can never get out from under. The kind that makes you feel like you're being constantly watched. In the walls, this guy. As if he knows everything already.

"Well, ah-- school is fine, I'm doing about the same as always," you try to smile as casually as possible, "An even keel of greatness, as you used to say, and extracurriculars are... yeah. I, um," and you attempt a throat-clear, "I dropped cheerleading."

Your father pinches his chin between his pointer and his index as you speak, scratching at the side of his face. Contemplative. The smoothness of this expression doesn't break as you drop that on him.

"Why would you do that."

Your toes curl up in your shoes, ten little ice blocks you're begging to thaw out. Your pulse quickens with such a rapid pace that you feel it in your skull. So, you try and answer like he might.

"Conflict of interest."

"Conflict being?"

"Tina and I came to an impasse."

"Pass it." His laconic brilliance outshines yours.

Your throat tightens. "Why?"

This makes his expression falter, his hand drop from his face. There's a weird rush of satisfaction in that, seeing a crack in the facade--but then you have to deal with what leaks out of the crack in the facade.

"What do you mean, why? Because. This is who you are. This is what you've worked for."

Sshrrk, slicing right through the prime rib of you. He doesn't even need to hear you out, because he knows you, he created you.

He saw you attempting to alter and distort yourself in order to be something perfect and said, good.

Necessity is the mother of invention. Take their standards and make it look like you could maintain them in your sleep, bleeding, blindfolded. Be better, and make it look beautiful. Make them love you, then make them fear you.

And if it doesn't fit, shave parts off of yourself until it does.

You doubt that your uniform would even fit anymore.

Your teeth grit so hard that your jaw starts to ache. "I just don't understand why I should--"

"Why are you letting them win?" he asks.

"I'm not," you insist and it turns your stomach, "I'm not letting them win, it's just-- Daddy, you don't know what it's been like out here for--"

"Of course I do. I bet they're saying horrendous, gut-punching things about me, about what I've done, about you-- but what makes you think that freezing them out is the answer?"

You choose not to mention that you'd actually thrown a Molotov cocktail at them the night of Steve Harrington's party. Reason being?

"Self preservation."

"Your fragile ego can't take it?"

"I'm not fragile."

"No, god, you're solid as a rock. At the first sign of trouble, you turn heel, you quit."

"Dad, that isn't fair."

"This life isn't fair. And frankly, Lacy, I don't have faith in your capability to make it on your own."

Something about the way he uses your nickname makes it feel like it's tied too tight around you.

"You're scholastically intelligent, sure, but you're a shell. You have no inner structure. If you don't pack yourself full of something, whether it's pom-poms or prom invitations or fucking diet pills to keep you pretty, you will fall in on yourself." A pause. "You're not a well-rounded person. But it doesn't matter, not if you can make people believe that you are."

"Is that what you did?" Your voice is nearly slurred. When your father wants to cut you down to size, it's the one time that sound moves faster than light-- and it makes your head spin.

"Yes."

"Worked out pretty spectacularly for you, Daddy." It knocks out words you ordinarily wouldn't say.

"You're the child. You're supposed to learn from my mistakes."

"Can I count them on one hand?" Sometimes he'd knock you back for it. But this time there was a sheen of bulletproof glass between you.

"Lacy."

"Is doing yourself up like Saint Jude Thaddeus and siphoning money out of made up charities one of them?" You wonder if he could crack it. Use that handset as a hammer and gather his might and crack it.

"Lacy."

"Is Al Munson another one?" That one lingers between you a moment. "He's a two-bit do nothing deadbeat lowlife that's never come clean out of a job, straight or otherwise. Or so I've heard. People talk. He's like a folk hero now. Does it embarrass you that trusting him was all it took to topple everything?"

A beat. The sense memory of his hand cracking against your cheek is so visceral.

"Does it embarrass you that your charm offensive wasn't offensive enough to fool someone as surface level as him?"

A beat. The feeling of letting him have it, as they say, is all the more real.

"Does it embarrass you that you should've known better?"

A beat. You feel like you've just done a bump of something very dirty. Something somebody would sell out of a tin lunchbox. Immediate headrush.

"You got sloppy trying to fill that gaping maw inside you. And what do you have now?"

"What do you have, Lacy?"

And the descent of fear.

You open your mouth to answer, but decide y'know what. You hang up the headset, and leave him there.

Bussing it back to Forest Hills, your blood slowly starts to recirculate in your veins. With that, second guessing starts to flood in. Should you have said that. Were you right. Did any of it get through. Were you cruel. Did he read you.

Coat shrugged around you, you discover Eddie sitting at the picnic bench on your lot. Handful of pebbles in one hand, old SpaghettiO can in clear sight. A flash of pink presses out of the corner of his lips in sheer concentration-- you watch him miss three shots before you call to him.

"Knew you were flukey."

Eddie's head cranes over his shoulder and he grins a grin so loud and lively that it puts color back in your cheeks. They apple up; you're smiling too.

"Where the hell have you been?"

You cross to the bench, propping yourself up on the table beside him. He keens into you, bumping his head against your fuzzy elbow like a happy cat. Playfully, you nudge him away, but he's relentless.

"Prison. Where the hell do you think?"

Eddie hits pause, stares up at you with eyes brimming with shit, dude and fuck, dude. "Oh. Did it suck?"

You start to shrug it off, to completely glaze over it like the donut of daddy issues you'll force yourself to swallow later. But then you take a second look at him, his big eyes yelling you can tell me, y'know.

"It was fucking awful. Like, horrible."

His spine bolts up a bit. "You okay?"

This one you roll around your head a bit. "Right now, yeah. Maybe it'll hit me later."

"Okay. So worry about it later." Eddie's nonchalance when it comes to dad talk is reassuring. To you, he's a zen master when it comes to disengaging with the goading nature of toxic fathers.

"Worry about it later!" you echo brightly.

"I'll stick around in case, for later." He's a good friend. And your stomach sort of flips.

"Take me to the movies?" An afternoon in the warm dark sounds good.

"Fuck you, what if I had plans?" Eddie pushes back only because it'd be weirder if he didn't.

"You don't," you say, pushing back too, "Unless aiming rocks into that soup can is a prelude to something much more spectacular."

"Maybe it is. Maybe I'm finally trying out for basketball." He misses another shot.

"At the eleventh hour." It's a little transfixing, watching him aim and score. Moreso than when she ever stood on any basketball sidelines. "Why are you so bad at this. You're usually kind of good at this."

"These rocks are too small!" he exclaims, animatedly frustrated. Another one, making a sharp ting! off the can's jagged rim. "But seriously. I got banned from the trailer for playin' my gee-tar too loud while Wayne was sleepin'."

Because vaudeville was always one of your fascinations, you mimic your shittiest Southern accent in tribute to his uncle, "Goddamn, boy, ain't nobody teach you any manners?!"

"Was you brought up or dragged?!" His is so much better than yours.

You chuckle. He chuckles. There's a moment, the two of you looking at each other with the softness of two people with nothing but dumb bits and dangerous families. What ludicrous kinds of lives you lead.

"So, movies?" Eddie says, like it's his idea. You let him have it. It's nice to share.

"We'll always have the movies."

[s-ccaam-era-crepe]

My dash isn't the same without you <////3 the best part of tumblr is being online at the same time as you

MY DASH (life) WASNT THE SAME WITHOUT YOUUU </33

[trickerys-domain]

I was tagged by @contrivedcoincidences6 to make my OCs this picrew!! Thank you for tagging me, I finally got it done lol!!!

Iseya Tabris: A headstrong and compassionate duelist/assassin rogue. Blunt, and sometimes vengeful, to those who show corruption, incompetence, or cross her; but endlessly kind to those in need. Absolutely did not want to get married, but always wore Nelaros's ring to honor his sacrifice and as a reminder (yes, I did full ass sacrifice a whole item spot for this in game the whole game). Iseya thought she would always sacrifice anything for her family and people, including her found family and her lover Alistair. She was prepared to die to stop the blight, and would have if not for Morrigan's offer.

*Hilariously I named my Warden years prior to the release of The Last Flight novel, but it really added a great element to her character.

Marian Hawke: A two-handy Reaver Purple Hawke who loves her family especially her sister. Even Gamlen grows on her after the death of her monther as she finally is worn down enough to see him better. Marian starts off as a confident sassy jokster who tries her best to make a new life, but as the years go on and she loses and lose and loses, her jokes become a coping mechanism. A mean streak also appears. By the end she's so tired and depressed that she doesn't even notice Anders pulling away from her. She spares and stands by him anyway because she needs this one thing to stay in her life.

*I just really like the default Hawke Names, I think they fit Hawke really well.

Shiren'ne Lavellen: A compassionate, kind, yet firm and decisive person, Shiren'ne prepared her whole life to become a worthy Keeper for her clan. Yet after she ends up with a new calling she takes it with stride, understanding her role in the world is now beyond just her people, but she always rebuffs being sent by Andraste and stands by her gods. Shiren'ne's favourite thing about the Inquisition was getting to know everyone and learn so much about other cultures and customs, and was always happy to share and demonstrate her Dalish culture (within reason). And although she had been so ready to be Keeper and she is Dalish to her core, after everything she knew she could never return and instead found a new quiet life with Cullen. Shiren'ne prefers slower ritual and practical magics and leans towards old nature and healing (I wish spirit healer had been a subclass), but is eager to learn about the fade, spirits, and the journey of ones soul after death, showing this by choosing vallaslin for Falon'Din.

*Took some research, but her name essentially means Voice of the Journey. She chose the name herself for her Valleslin ceremony as part of accepting and stepping into her role as First.

No pressure tag to @wolfwhisperertf, @the-nameless-nerd, and anyone else who wants to ❤️