#my brain has been less than cooperative this month

[icehearts]

What's a trait in others that your character can't stand? Is that because it's something they don't like in general, or do you think it's more a reflection of how they seem themselves/the world?

Yuzu is bold, hot-headed, and always ready to throw herself into the thick of things. She seems like the type who would despise cowards, right? Well, not really. If someone doesn't think they can handle a fight and would prefer to run? Fine. Call that a tactical retreat.

It's indecisiveness that really steams her. Those who can never seem to arrive at a decision, ANY decision. Someone who can't commit to any course of action for any length of time. Perpetual fence-sitters. Whether you decide to fight or decide to run, that's up to you — just make the godsdamned choice.

Ask any merchant of Ul'dah, and they'll tell you how much they love selfless customers. Anyone so eager and willing to part with their gil — especially, supposedly, for a good cause? That must be a gift from the Traders themselves. On the surface, Esca would agree. As she has ambitions that go beyond increasing profits, easily-manipulated individuals are invaluable assets.

At her core, however, Esca cannot stand selflessness. Where's your pride? Your backbone? Your self-preservation? It's disgraceful, if not downright dangerous.

And besides, she's watched too many loved ones set themselves on fire to keep others warm. Seen too many who are willing to throw themselves onto the pyre in service to some greater purpose, caring not one whit about those they leave behind. If she cares for you (or at least has a plan for you), you're going to live whether you like it or not.

When it comes to Armaia's line of work, indifference is equal to malice.

Mammet creation is a delicate endeavor. To her, they're more than just tools or machines: they're unique creations designed to enrich the lives of others. She believes that, just like humans, mammets are capable of both great and terrible things — it all depends on the will of their creators. A careless mammet engineer could lead to a malfunctioning machine, which in turn could lead to any number of unfortunate (or even lethal) accidents.

Prior to dropping out of the Studium, Armaia's worst fear came to pass: one of her mammet prototypes malfunctioned and injured some of her fellow students. She attributed this failure to a number of things: carelessness, her own ineptitude, and an overall failure to live up to the standards expected in her department. Since then, she's developed a zealous passion for her craft, often consumed by her work. Anything less than utter devotion is unacceptable.

Mirou is a pretty simple man: he loves to observe people, to study them and all their quirks and contradictions. He can be tolerant of —or even amused by — some traits that others might consider annoying or insufferable. There is one trait that he cannot stand, though, and that is pushiness. He will dig in his heels and avoid doing anything that's asked of him — even if it's in his best interest.

This is not because he delights in being contrarian. Mirou was raised in a rigid, structured environment with little allowance for deviation. Those that bent would be the ones to break. Ever since he broke away from that place, Mirou's independence will always be his first priority, sometimes to his own detriment.

[mariacallous]

The New York Times once dubbed the Princeton professor Robert George, who has guided Republican elites for decades, “the reigning brain of the Christian right.” Last year, he issued a stark warning to his ideological allies. “Each time we think the horrific virus of anti-Semitism has been extirpated, it reappears,” he wrote in May 2023. “A plea to my fellow Catholics—especially Catholic young people: Stay a million miles from this evil. Do not let it infect your thinking.” When I spoke with George that summer, he likened his sense of foreboding to that of Heinrich Heine, the 19th-century German poet who prophesied the rise of Nazism in 1834.

Some 15 months later, the conservative commentator Tucker Carlson welcomed a man named Darryl Cooper onto his web-based show and introduced him to millions of followers as “the best and most honest popular historian in the United States.” The two proceeded to discuss how Adolf Hitler might have gotten a bad rap and why British Prime Minister Winston Churchill was “the chief villain of the Second World War.”

Hitler tried “to broadcast a call for peace directly to the British people” and wanted to “work with the other powers to reach an acceptable solution to the Jewish problem,” Cooper elaborated in a social-media post. “He was ignored.” Why the Jews should have been considered a “problem” in the first place—and what a satisfactory “solution” to their inconvenient existence might be—was not addressed.

Some Republican politicians spoke out against Carlson’s conversation with Cooper, and many historians, including conservative ones, debunked its Holocaust revisionism. But Carlson is no fringe figure. His show ranks as one of the top podcasts in the United States; videos of its episodes rack up millions of views. He has the ear of Donald Trump and spoke during prime time at the 2024 Republican National Convention. His anti-Jewish provocations are not a personal idiosyncrasy but the latest expression of an insurgent force on the American right—one that began to swell when Trump first declared his candidacy for president and that has come to challenge the identity of the conservative movement itself.

Anti-Semitism has always existed on the political extremes, but it began to migrate into the mainstream of the Republican coalition during the Trump administration. At first, the prejudice took the guise of protest.

In 2019, hecklers pursued the Republican congressman Dan Crenshaw—a popular former Navy SEAL from Texas—across a tour of college campuses, posing leading questions to him about Jews and Israel, and insinuating that the Jewish state was behind the 9/11 attacks. The activists called themselves “Groypers” and were led by a young white supremacist named Nick Fuentes, an internet personality who had defended racial segregation, denied the Holocaust, and participated in the 2017 rally in Charlottesville, Virginia, where marchers chanted, “Jews will not replace us.”

The slogan referred to a far-right fantasy known as the “Great Replacement,” according to which Jews are plotting to flood the country with Black and brown migrants in order to displace the white race. That belief animated Robert Bowers, who perpetrated the largest massacre of Jews on American soil at a Pittsburgh synagogue in 2018 after sharing rants about the Great Replacement on social media. The Hebrew Immigrant Aid Society, the gunman wrote in his final post, “likes to bring invaders in that kill our people … Screw your optics, I’m going in.”

Less than three years later, Carlson sanitized that same conspiracy theory on his top-rated cable-news show. “They’re trying to change the population of the United States,” the Fox host declared, “and they hate it when you say that because it’s true, but that’s exactly what they’re doing.” Like many before him, Carlson maintained plausible deniability by affirming an anti-Semitic accusation without explicitly naming Jews as culprits. He could rely on members of his audience to fill in the blanks.

Carlson and Fuentes weren’t the only ones who recognized the rising appeal of anti-Semitism on the right. On January 6, 2021, an influencer named Elijah Schaffer joined thousands of Trump supporters storming the U.S. Capitol, posting live from House Speaker Nancy Pelosi’s office. Eighteen months later, Schaffer publicly polled his hundreds of thousands of Twitter followers: “Do you believe Jews disproportionately control the world institutions, banks, & are waging war on white, western society?” Social-media polls are not scientific, so the fact that more than 70 percent of respondents said some version of “yes” matters less than the fact that 94,000 people participated in the survey. Schaffer correctly gauged that this subject was something that his audience wanted to discuss, and certainly not something that would hurt his career.

With little fanfare, the tide had turned in favor of those advancing anti-Semitic arguments. In 2019, Fuentes and his faction were disrupting Republican politicians like Crenshaw. By 2022, Fuentes was shaking hands onstage with Representative Marjorie Taylor Greene and dining with Trump at Mar-a-Lago. In 2019, the Groyper activists were picketing events held by Turning Point USA, the conservative youth organization founded by the activist Charlie Kirk. By 2024, Turning Point was employing—and periodically firing and denouncing—anti-Semitic influencers who appeared at conventions run by Fuentes. “The Zionist Jews controlling our planet are all pedophiles who have no regard for the sanctity of human life and purity,” one of the organization’s ambassadors posted before she was dismissed.

In 2020, Carlson’s lead writer, Blake Neff, was compelled to resign after he was exposed as a regular contributor to a racist internet forum. Today, he produces Kirk’s podcast and recently reported alongside him at the Republican National Convention. “Why does Turning Point USA keep pushing anti-Semitism?” asked Erick Erickson, the longtime conservative radio host and activist, last October. The answer: Because that’s what a growing portion of the audience wants.

“When I began my career in 2017,” Fuentes wrote in May 2023, “I was considered radioactive in the American Right for my White Identitarian, race realist, ‘Jewish aware,’ counter-Zionist, authoritarian, traditional Catholic views … In 2023, on almost every count, our previously radioactive views are pounding on the door of the political mainstream.” Fuentes is a congenital liar, but a year after this triumphalist pronouncement, his basic point is hard to dispute. Little by little, the extreme has become mainstream—especially since October 7.

Last December, Tucker Carlson joined the popular anti-establishment podcast Breaking Points to discuss the Gaza conflict and accused a prominent Jewish political personality of disloyalty to the nation. “They don’t care about the country at all,” he told the host, “but I do … because I’m from here, my family’s been here hundreds of years, I plan to stay here. Like, I’m shocked by how little they care about the country, including the person you mentioned. And I can’t imagine how someone like that could get an audience of people who claim to care about America, because he doesn’t, obviously.”

The twist: “He” was not some far-left activist who had called America an irredeemably racist regime. Carlson was referring to Ben Shapiro, arguably the most visible Jewish conservative in America, and insinuating that despite his decades of paeans to American exceptionalism, Shapiro was a foreign implant secretly serving Israeli interests. The podcast host did not object to Carlson’s remarks.

The war in Gaza has placed Jews and their role in American politics under a microscope. Much has been written about how the conflict has divided the left and led to a spike in anti-Semitism in progressive spaces, but less attention has been paid to the similar shake-up on the right, where events in the Middle East have forced previously subterranean tensions to the surface. Today, the Republican Party’s establishment says that it stands with Israel and against anti-Semitism, but that stance is under attack by a new wave of insurgents with a very different agenda.

Since October 7, in addition to slurring Shapiro, Carlson has hosted a parade of anti-Jewish guests on his show. One was Candace Owens, the far-right podcaster known for her defenses of another anti-Jewish agitator, Kanye “Ye” West. Owens had already clashed with her employer—the conservative outlet The Daily Wire, co-founded by Shapiro—over her seeming indifference to anti-Semitism. But after the Hamas assault, she began making explicit what had previously been implicit—including liking a social-media post that accused a rabbi of being “drunk on Christian blood,” a reference to the medieval blood libel. The Daily Wire severed ties with her soon after. But this did not remotely curb her appeal.

Today, Owens can be found fulminating on her YouTube channel (2.4 million subscribers) or X feed (5.6 million followers) about how a devil-worshipping Jewish cult controls the world, and how Israel was complicit in the 9/11 attacks and killed President John F. Kennedy. Owens has also jumped aboard the Reich-Rehabilitation Express. “What is it about Hitler? Why is he the most evil?” she asked in July. “The first thing people would say is: ‘Well, an ethnic cleansing almost took place.’ And now I offer back: ‘You mean like we actually did to the Germans.’”

“Many Americans are learning that WW2 history is not as black and white as we were taught and some details were purposefully omitted from our textbooks,” she wrote after Carlson’s Holocaust conversation came under fire. The post received 15,000 likes.

Donald Trump’s entry into Republican politics intensified several forces that have contributed to the rise of anti-Semitism on the American right. One was populism, which pits the common people against a corrupt elite. Populists play on discontents that reflect genuine failures of the establishment, but their approach also readily maps onto the ancient anti-Semitic canard that clandestine string-pulling Jews are the source of society’s problems. Once people become convinced that the world is oppressed by an invisible hand, they often conclude that the hand belongs to an invisible Jew.

Another such force is isolationism, or the desire to extricate the United States from foreign entanglements, following decades of debacles in the Middle East. But like the original America First Committee, which sought to keep the country out of World War II, today’s isolationists often conceive of Jews as either rootless cosmopolitans undermining national cohesion or dual loyalists subverting the national interest in service of their own. In this regard, the Tucker Carlsons of 2024 resemble the reactionary activists of the 1930s, such as the aviator Charles Lindbergh, who infamously accused Jewish leaders of acting “for reasons which are not American,” and warned of “their large ownership and influence in our motion pictures, our press, our radio and our government.”

Populism and isolationism have legitimate expressions, but preventing them from descending into anti-Semitism requires leaders willing to restrain their movement’s worst instincts. Today’s right has fewer by the day. Trump fundamentally refuses to repudiate anyone who supports him, and by devolving power from traditional Republican elites and institutions to a diffuse array of online influencers, the former president has ensured that no one is in a position to corral the right’s excesses, even if someone wanted to.

As one conservative columnist put it to me in August 2023, “What you’re actually worried about is not Trump being Hitler. What you’re worried about is Trump incentivizing anti-Semites,” to the point where “a generation from now, you’ve got Karl Lueger,” the anti-Jewish mayor of Vienna who inspired Hitler, “and two generations from now, you do have something like that.” The accelerant that is social-media discourse, together with a war that brings Jews to the center of political attention, could shorten that timeline.

For now, the biggest obstacle to anti-Semitism’s ascent on the right is the Republican rank and file’s general commitment to Israel, which causes them to recoil when people like Owens rant about how the Jewish state is run by a cabal of satanic pedophiles. Even conservatives like Trump’s running mate, J. D. Vance, a neo-isolationist who opposes foreign aid to Ukraine, are careful to affirm their continued support for Israel, in deference to the party base.

But this residual Zionism shields only Israeli Jews from abuse, not American ones—and it certainly does not protect the large majority of American Jews who vote for Democrats. This is why Trump suffers no consequences in his own coalition when he rails against “liberal Jews” who “voted to destroy America.” But such vilification won’t end there. As hard-core anti-Israel activists who have engaged in anti-Semitism against American Jews have demonstrated, most people who hate one swath of the world’s Jews eventually turn on the rest. “If I don’t win this election,” Trump said last week, “the Jewish people would have a lot to do with a loss.”

More than populism and isolationism, the force that unites the right’s anti-Semites and explains why they have been slowly winning the war for the future of conservatism is conspiracism. To see its power in practice, one need only examine the social-media posts of Elon Musk, which serve as a window into the mindset of the insurgent right and its receptivity to anti-Semitism.

Over the past year, the world’s richest man has repeatedly shared anti-Jewish propaganda on X, only to walk it back following criticism from more traditional conservative quarters. In November, Musk affirmed the Great Replacement theory, replying to a white nationalist who expressed it with these words: “You have said the actual truth.” After a furious backlash, the magnate recanted, saying, “It might be literally the worst and dumbest post I’ve ever done.” Musk subsequently met with Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and accompanied Ben Shapiro on a trip to Auschwitz, but the lesson didn’t quite take. Earlier this month, he shared Carlson’s discussion of Holocaust revisionism with the approbation: “Very interesting. Worth watching.” Once again under fire, he deleted the tweet and apologized, saying he’d listened to only part of the interview.

But this lesson is also unlikely to stick, because like many on the new right, Musk is in thrall to a worldview that makes him particularly susceptible to anti-Jewish ideas. Last September, not long before Musk declared the “actual truth” of the Great Replacement, he participated in a public exchange with a group of rabbis, activists, and Jewish conservatives. The discussion was intended as an intervention to inoculate Musk against anti-Semitism, but early on, he said something that showed why the cause was likely lost before the conversation even began. “I think,” Musk cracked, “we’re running out of conspiracy theories that didn’t turn out to be true.”

The popularity of such sentiments among contemporary conservatives explains why the likes of Carlson and Owens have been gaining ground and old-guard conservatives such as Shapiro and Erickson have been losing it. Simply put, as Trump and his allies have coopted the conservative movement, it has become defined by a fundamental distrust of authority and institutions, and a concurrent embrace of conspiracy theories about elite cabals. And the more conspiratorial thinking becomes commonplace on the right, the more inevitable that its partisans will land on one of the oldest conspiracies of them all.

Conspiratorial thinking is neither new to American politics nor confined to one end of the ideological spectrum. But Trump has made foundational what was once marginal. Beginning with birtherism and culminating in election denialism, he turned anti-establishment conspiracism into a litmus test for attaining political power, compelling Republicans to either sign on to his claims of 2020 fraud or be exiled to irrelevance.

The fundamental fault line in the conservative coalition became whether someone was willing to buy into ever more elaborate fantasies. The result was to elevate those with flexible approaches to facts, such as Carlson and Owens, who were predisposed to say and do anything—no matter how hypocritical or absurd—to obtain influence. Once opened, this conspiratorial box could not be closed. After all, a movement that legitimizes crackpot schemes about rigged voting machines and microchipped vaccines cannot simply turn around and draw the line at the Jews.

For mercenary opportunists like Carlson, this moment holds incredible promise. But for Republicans with principles—those who know who won the 2020 election, or who was the bad guy in World War II, and can’t bring themselves to say otherwise—it’s a time of profound peril. And for Jews, the targets of one of the world’s deadliest conspiracy theories, such developments are even more forboding.

“It is now incumbent on all decent people, and especially those on the right, to demand that Carlson no longer be treated as a mainstream figure,” Jonathan Tobin, the pro-Trump conservative editor of the Jewish News Syndicate, wrote after Carlson’s World War II episode. “He must be put in his place, and condemned by Trump and Vance.”

Anti-Semitism’s ultimate victory in GOP politics is not assured. Musk did delete his tweets, Owens was fired, and some Republicans did condemn Carlson’s Holocaust segment. But beseeching Trump and his camp to intervene here mistakes the cause for the cure.

Three days after Carlson posted his Hitler apologetics, Vance shrugged off the controversy and recorded an interview with him, and this past Saturday, the two men yukked it up onstage at a political event in Pennsylvania before an audience of thousands. Such coziness should not surprise, given that Carlson was reportedly instrumental in securing the VP slot for the Ohio senator. Asked earlier if he took issue with Carlson’s decision to air the Holocaust revisionism, Vance retorted, “The fundamental idea here is Republicans believe not in censorship; we believe in free speech and debate.” He conveniently declined to use his own speech to debate Carlson’s.

[youcouldmakealife]

Stuff That Helps Me Write: Pacing (no, not that kind), and burnout avoidance

So this was supposed to be about something entirely different., but every time I started making a point, I got distracted by a second, bonus idea (ways to trick your brain when it's not cooperating with you! things I've tried (I will try everything) and what worked and didn't! what to do with writer's block!) and then start writing about that, and I've got half a dozen unrelated paragraphs going in my drafts, so I think I'm just going to make this a mini-series of 'stuff that helps me write and may also help you (or maybe they won't, I don't know, this shit's all subjective)'.

If there's anything in particular you'd like to hear about, or something about my process you're curious about, absolutely feel free to reply or shoot me an ask and I'll do my best to address them as I go.

But yeah, pacing. And more specifically, not burning out. I figured it was important I hit this one first, because I think it's the most important one, or at least, the one that makes the biggest difference.

With the caveat that I am someone who has repeatedly driven myself into burnout, I'm also someone who now knows why that is, and have been teaching myself how to, you know, not do that.

So. Here's how I, you know, don't do that.

Will preface this by again mentioning that most writing advice (and advice in general) never seemed to work for me, and I mostly thought I was just Bad at Doing Things, until I learned my brain's literally wired differently, and that I'd been trying to apply processes that didn't actually work for said wiring.

So instead, I figured out what worked for me. And what works for me isn't necessarily what will work for you, or even what will work for me a month or five years down the line, but it's going okay right now.

I'll straight up say that, contrary to all the Writing Advice, I don't write every day, and I don't think it's necessary, or even necessarily a good idea -- I have at times, but I no longer do, because if I write for more than six days straight I find the proverbial well dries up and I write less than I do had I just taken a break when I needed it.

Cognitive energy and the sort of ephemeral ~inspiration (work that's been done on a subconscious level) are fundamentally no different than physical energy: if you don't replenish it, you will run out. If you overdo it, you will run out. If you consistently overdo it without replenishing it, you will burn out.

Taking a page from hockey players here: if you did an intense workout right before a game they'd ask what the fuck was the matter with you. You need a nap and a meal and to get some stretching and light work in. Running at 100% all the time will burn you out in every single field, including this one.

That's not me saying not to run at 100% at all. I generally try to pace myself now, but if I'm really in it, and the words are coming easily, I don't stop until they stop -- I wrote just shy of 4k of later scenes for SAIT last week (my 2024 record!), all in one sititng, by hand, when I was supposed to be sleeping, because that's when the inspiration came. I didn't fall asleep until past 6am that night, and my hand is still mad at me.

But you know how much writing I got done the follow day? (None, I was busy transcribing 4k of handwriting). The rest of this week? (Not much more than that). Those bursts of energy are awesome, and honestly can make you feel like a writing god, but the well's the well, and I've learned my personal well is about 5000 words a week deep.

Before my most recent scrape with autistic burnout, which I'm still sort of climbing my way out of, that well was closer to 7500 words. But honestly, it probably wasn't; I was likely just siphoning words from future wells and then it all caught up with me when I was looking at a horizon of dry-ass wells ahead of me. (I'll admit this isn't a perfect metaphor.)

But seriously, my advice for basically everything, not just writing (and something I wish I'd learned before I hit my 30s), is 'figure out what pace you can work at sustainably'.

Please note that 'sustainably' is not 'without literally dying'. Because my literal ass thought when people said 'give it 100%' they meant, you know, 'give it 100%' (I know! absurd of me), rather than 'give the best effort you can give in this moment considering your current resources'. So I gave it my all (also interpreted that one wrong I guess?). And then I wondered why I kept hitting a wall all the time. And why, eventually, I stopped being able to climb that wall entirely.

I don't think I'm ever going to reach that 7500 word threshold again. There will be weeks I'm so inspired I write that much, but the next week I probably won't manage more than 2500. Or maybe I'll have two 7500 weeks in a row, but I'll need to take a whole week off after that, or spend several weeks working at a lower tempo while I let the well replenish itself.

I've been tracking some metrics quite closely as I sort of tweak my life into its new shape (said shape being 'do the best you can given your resources') , and during my most productive month of this year I wrote 3x as much as the worst (writing wise, I was finalising publication at the time), my current weekly average is about 4800 words. Sometimes it's a bit higher or lower, sometimes much higher or lower, but that's what I can sustainably do right now.

Frankly, I'm a little cranky about this: I know I can do more, because I did do more. But my priority now is not to send myself straight back into burnout again, so when I sprint, it's just that, rather than my previous 'trying to run a marathon at the pace of a sprinter'. I'm writing less than I used to, but it's honestly not that much less: because the pace is sustainable rather than boom and bust, I don't run myself ragged enough to desperately need a break.

I'm aware this advice only works if you have control over your own time, and a schedule that doesn't force you to focus on writing say, one day a week, or around other obligations, but the only real workaround for burnout is consistency, and that consistency cannot be your maximum.

Or, it can, but I guarantee you that will bite you in the ass at some point, and the pain of not getting enough done is nothing compared to the pain of not being able to get anything done because your nervous system threw up its hands and decided if you weren't going to listen to their clues (feelings, symptoms) or their warnings (Feelings, Symptoms) that you were overdoing it, they were going to shut your ass down until you listened.

0/10 do not recommend.

Next week: how to trick your brain into doing shit that it doesn't feel like doing, even though it's onto all your tricks by now. Or at least, how I trick mine.

[changingplumbob]

Very sleepy 😴 so today I put together most of the posts featuring the new background characters together and queued them up. They'll come next week in normal SBL slots I think. I've fallen behind in my queue, probably because of the fatigue being present far more than I wanted this month so writing time has been less. Think I might hold my rotational gameplay off for a bit longer, no point starting it when I don't have a significant buffer really.

Also got pizza with vegan cheese and it wasn't horrible. So tempted to ask the shop what brand they used because I myself have not had luck with vegan cheeses. But they're a big brand chain so the workers likely don't know beyond it comes in a bag labeled vegan cheese.

Also thank you pumpkin giving friends. I'm a little overwhelmed by them all so haven't responded or passed on yet but hopefully my brain will cooperate before Halloween. Do you hear that brain? Cooperate!

[historia-vitae-magistras]

The Danegeld Axe

Part Four: Assets

First Installment: Here. Last Installment: Here. Current Installment: You are here! Next Installment: Here.

Author's note: Inspired by the 1950s short story "The Man Who Came Early" by Poul Anderson. This installment of the Viking-time-travel au sees government employees being stupid, Matthew Williams being less stupid and Arthur Kirkland finally snapping.

21st Century Washington DC Diplomatic Security Service

"Does the name Kirkland mean anything to you?"

"Costco brand home goods?" He grinned and slid a cup of shitty coffee to his executive branch counterpart. “Yeah, some aquaintance of my primary asset.”

“He’s your asset’s father, as far as anyone can tell.”

“Is that how they’re related? Huh. Good to know. The name has come up here and there.”

“Didn’t they tell you?”

“They don’t tell me shit. Everyone knows this is a cushy post. Keep the genius on board and try to keep his tinkering budget below world-ending for a couple of years. Do that, get one of the prestige posts overseas. Boom, career made. Jones hasn’t done anything but cooperate since I got here. What else did I need to know?”

“Yeah, well, he’s a well-connected genius. The father is old world money. And I mean old. The kind of money that's been bulking up interest since the crusades.”

"Jesus. Why do you ask?"

"He got wind you were looking for his other kid before he went missing."

“Matthew Williams was old European money? You’re not serious. He did grass with homeless guys in Stanley Park and drove a 78 Chevy. Everyone knows Alfred has got the brains and business sense.”

"As best anyone can tell, Alfred was probably conceived in Kirkland's navy days.”

Corcoran snorted. “Half of Boston is a Fleet Week baby.”

“Not an English fleet week, baby. No one knows. Williams was probably from Halifax or Arctic Command, maybe. No one knows their mother, if she's even the same one. They don’t live like old money, but the Kirklands spend way too much time around Downing Street to be nobodies, though.“

"There are more than one?”

“Three brothers at least. Unconfirmed but suspected sister somewhere in the mix.”

"So?"

"So tread carefully is all I'm saying. You’ve just lost his other kid on the ISS. And he’s bound to find out eventually.”

“I did what?”

British Embassy Washington D.C.

“What did you find?” Arthur sprang to his feet as soon as Matthew passed through the door. He hadn’t even gotten the fucking key out of the door before his father sprung on him.

“Nothing. Not a fucking thing. His place is in its usual state when he’s up there.” Complete chaos. Matt pressed his fingers into his temple, and the executive office and the state department were completely normal. Everything is normal. Nothing looks wrong. No one said anything. Nothing on the computers, nothing in the records.”

"Is your access still that high?”

“Of course not,” Matt snorted. “As far as the US government knows, I’ve been dead for about a year. I just use Alfred’s third set of back-ups.”

“How on earth—”

“Last time I took a northwoods sabbatical.”

“You mean the last time you had a mental breakdown and spent three months in the woods eating possum liver?"

“I prefer racoons thank you, and…” Matthew rubbed the back of his neck, preparing for the backlash. “Well, that was the second to last time.”

“What?” His father’s face was instantly furious and even more worrying, his father was concerned. “Matthew!”

He wasn’t having it. Not today. “I’m fine. I’m not the one missing from this mortal fucking plane. Point is, as far as the US government is concerned, I don’t exist.”

His father’s brain was working, his worry between Matthew standing before him and his firstborn clearly in conflict. Not on his face, never on his face, but Matthew knew what the slight flex of one hand meant. Alfred won. He always won. “And there’s no chance of them noticing? All that you’ve been doing?”

“What do you think?” Matthew snapped as he collapsed in a chair, and as fast as his temper had flared, it was gone. He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled, feeling sick where there’d been a fire a moment ago. “Sorry.”

Arthur approached gently. “You didn’t sense anything?”

“Nothing.” He pressed his palms into his eyes. “Not a fucking thing. I woke up two nights ago feeling like this and it hasn’t changed.” The sick, cold feeling was back. It was like missing organs, or his skin, or half of himself. Maybe more than half of himself.

“You should sleep. You haven’t since I arrived.”

“I can’t sleep! I need answers.”

“We can’t get answers if you collapse on me. And we will get answers.” Matt hadn’t cried so far, but Arthur pushed his hair off his face and tapped him under the jaw in that affectionate ‘chin up, lad’ sort of way, and he couldn’t stop himself. His eyes itched, but he would not cry. Instead, he buried his face in his father’s shoulder, pressing his forehead hard enough to hurt. It was pathetic. He was grown. But he couldn't bring himself to care. Alfred was lost, and his entire body felt so wrong, with only his frosted fields and forests and none of the blast of noise and life that was his brother.

“You know what? Fuck this. I brought your good knife. Let's get answers.”

[ro-botany]

y'all HELP i'm indecisive as shit

this is by no means a guarantee that i finish anything, much less in a timely manner, i just. need to pick a Direction to point my brain. choices hard robot tired.

propaganda for all options i guess:

---

The bittersweet one:

it's all planned thank fuck i dont have to worry about getting lost in my own plot

i am currently rotating frederick in my mind a lot why not do that some more

fun excuses to fuck around with some minor end/postgame robin headcanons since idk if people picked up some of the stuff i snuck into my debut fic

BUT... it's gonna be like 95% dialogue by volume. dialogue is so hard. making people talk and making it interesting is HARD... but there's just no action scene potential in this... it's all Missing Conversations... augh.

The happier one:

gets me out of the angst hole for a second. sometimes its nice to write a lighter-hearted thing :)

i get to bullshit about magic. and ignore several rules of magic for the purposes of Fun. >:D

it's looking like there's gonna be more Doing Stuff moments than there will be Talking moments so it could be refreshing

BUT it's not plotted AT ALL and i have no idea what the scope of it is and that scares me. AUGH.

"just start posting bits of it on the fly if plotting isn't working" i think i would actually implode and die if i did that, hypothetical suggestion giver. im mortally afraid of writing myself into a corner fhdsjkfhs

The rkc one???:

surprise its actually feh! but it consists of 99% awakening characters, feh is just a setting that provides a convenient excuse for certain characters to meet because i couldn't find an appropriate moment for it in awakening canon, so idk man

mmmm delicious angst. i get to throw all three (four??) of our main characters into Pain And Suffering. >:::)

this one has been stuck in the plotting dungeon for MONTHS i have NO CLUE WHAT TO DO WITH IT all i have is one (1) character interaction and a fucking prayer

seriously im in such a corner with this one. it won't cooperate with me. AUGH.

[mclwcc]

I personally think it’s not that nowadays Lando cares about Carlos less than Carlos does about him, I think it’s more about him getting fed up with repeated questions about his friendships with other drivers and with Carlos in particular, and actual journalists using these cringe words like ‘bromance’ and stuff, it’s annoying as fuck. He still answers that he gets along well mostly with Carlos and Max, so kudos to him for keeping it professional and not telling them to fuck off haha he’s literally asked about this all the time, like, everyone and their dog know by now who his friends are, journalists need to give it a rest already and ask him better questions

so like yeah, i do think its mostly that. lando hates few things more than people placing their own narratives on him, or thinking they know things abt his personal life that they dont. also, one of those few things (he hates even more) is cringe, or maybe in particular outdated-cringe - i genuinely think if someone mentions milk at him nowadays he might just curdle (ha) and die on the spot. so like. carlando and bromances in general hit BOTH of those spots. its as if theyre designed specifically to piss him off

but beyond that, i think uh. hm. how do i phrase this. i think fundamentally carlos and lando have slightly different attitudes towards competition, and also that.... i want u to bear w me on this one bc i say this w all my love for lando but i think carlos is just a bit more caring and sentimental as a person

what i mean abt the diff attitudes is hugely informed by this video i saw today (pretty sure @/vegasgrandprix linked to it so ill try to find it and insert it here!) where carlos said he'd maybe give a centimetre more leeway to fernando and lando when racing wheel to wheel. he goes on to say that that doesnt rly mean much and that hes touched with lando and fernando before so clearly it doesnt make a difference, but at the same time this is the first driver ive ever heard say this in any capacity. compare this with landos very straightforward 'once you're on track you don't think about those things anymore and all you want is to beat them' like. i genuinely dont think carlos features in landos thoughts at all when hes in the cockpit - which i wouldnt expect either! but apparently lando features in carlos's

i think u can rly see this when u compare what they both said abt singapore. lando, assuming carlos's racer brain works like his, says in all his interviews that carlos wouldve just done that for anyone and it doesnt make any difference that its them two. meanwhile, carlos fully explicitly says that he finds it more special bc he and lando were cooperating & managed to get a 1-2. that kind of clearly shows a difference in mindset beyond lando just not wanting to play the media game

abt what i meant saying carlos is a more caring person, in their relationship particularly - i just think hes always been rly attentive towards lando and has just like kinda kept doing it even after he moved teams. i rmbr watching their presser together a few months ago where carlos was being sooo delicate abt lando clearly being worse at golf bc he hadnt played in a while, & it rly reminded me of their dynamic back when they were teammates - while landos always found carlos funny and respected him as a racer, carlos was the one actively attentive to landos mood swings, self criticism, anxiety, etc. i think seeing lando at his (self-described) worst in terms of mental state has made carlos always harbour a sort of protectiveness towards him that lando cant and also isnt expected to reciprocate.

so like yeah i dont think landos lying when he says hes closest to max and carlos on the grid. he DOES get along w carlos and makes an effort to hang out w him when he can. i just think carlos has a slightly more open or emotional character, which reflects as a vague imbalance in their friendship

[amarantine-amirite]

It’s Just A Burning Memory

Sometimes, when I try to go to sleep, I have this long lost childhood memory playing in my brain on loop. I was in the car with Seger Ellis’s “Heartaches” playing on the radio. My parents went on an explosive rant containing the sentence, “What about the talk we had about privilege and responsibility?” I hadn't the foggiest idea what they were talking about.

One day, I found the following note on my IEP: Margaret doesn't cope with getting stranded

Reading that note made me realize the truth. The memory of that car ride happened a lot more recently than I thought. And I got half of it wrong.

It started when my mom's boss asked me to babysit his 3 month old infant grandson. I had other stuff to do, so I asked Julia, my lab partner from AP Chemistry, to cover for me. 

Everything was going great until I My phone rang. I just ignored it because I thought it was yet another loser pretending to be the Pondicheri traffic authority, so it went to voicemail. I picked it up after I recognized who it was. It was Julia.

“it's all good,” she said, “Yeah, I may have only gone 96 hours without any sleep, but I got the goose in the oven”

I froze. “the goose?” I interrupted.

Julia responded, “I'm running on fumes, but when your mom's boss comes back to the house for supper, it'll be worth waiting for that roast goose. Unrelated, but that baby has been awful quiet”

I hung up after that. We didn't have a goose. What if she put the baby in the oven thinking it’s a roast goose? 

In a frantic blast, I called my mom to pick me up. I called 6 times, but to no avail. When I finally got mom on the other end, she didn't get a chance to talk. It sounded like Mom was in a meeting of some kind and an upper level personnel confiscated her phone. 

In the end, I had to get a ride home with some girl in a Georgetown shirt. I wasn't worried because based on her conversation that she had about her economics final, I think she actually goes there. I understand that my parents have a rule against me getting in the car with a random teenage driver, but I wasn't worried. This person was a very sensible college student.

Or so I thought. The drive started off okay, but GG shifted into a fury unexpectedly. “Did you see that?” she barked

“see what?” I asked.

GG slender hands on the steering wheel and gestured aggressively at the road. She pointed to a powder blue Mini Cooper that had a stick figure family with a tiny mother and seven monster kids. “That guy just gave me the finger!” she hissed.

I hadn't seen anybody flip the bird. “Are you sure?” 

“positive” GG replied before stepping on the accelerator and following them. She pulled out her phone, took a picture of the license plate, and then turned somewhere unexpected.

This started to freak me out. “where are we going?”

“the DMV. I got a picture of their license plate, so we're going to the DMV to run the plate and get his address”

I seemed very unsure about this. “so, we're following him home?”

“exactly.”GG replied. “He gives us the finger, we go to his house and kick his ass!”

I honestly can’t think of a worse idea. The minute we get there, it’s gonna end badly. The guy who gave us a finger could easily come to the door with a gun and shoot us. I don’t see an upside to hunting him down and harassing him because he gave us the finger.

That turn to go to the DMV ended with us getting on the highway where we got stuck in traffic. And we ran out of gas. It doesn’t take long for a car stuck in traffic with all the windows closed to turn into a sweat lodge.

I didn’t realize how screwed I was until I heard “Heartaches” come on the radio. It didn't start from the beginning, but from some random point in the song. It sounded unfocused and nostalgic, like an old guy ambling around oblivious that something is wrong with his memory. 

The song played on loop. The second time it looped, it had less instruments, more slowed down and had a despair-laden tone. 

The radio then channel-hopped to a different part of the song. It either sounds like it's screaming in pain or the melody sounds like it’s melting. The static sounds like a crackling fire.

This is not normal. Something is wrong, and not with the radio. What was on the radio began to distort because I was suffering from heat stroke from being left in a hot car. The traffic, the heat, and everything aren't going to get better, so we can only hope that they don't get worse. 

“You know it’s hot outside when what’s playing on the radio starts burning.” I snickered.

GG didn't think it was funny. Instead, she got angry and she said something completely out of left field. “that's what you get when you burn the Earth so you can go on a summer road trip where you’re locked in a car for 10 consecutive days, non-stop with no bathroom breaks. Enjoy it, bitch.”

“we need to cool the car down”

“You should’ve thought of that before you got a car.” At this point, she's just assembling words together at this point without any thought as to what they actually mean.

“I'm serious,” I responded, “We’re at the point where I could reasonably die. Can you at least go out and get a can of gas so we can at least put the AC on in the car?”

GG shrugged. “No,”

“Can we at least open the windows?” I asked. Would be better off if we could let some of the heat out.

“not if you value your life, you dumbass”

This doesn't change that I can only perceive faint snips of reality drowned out by a blurry haze, and what's visible through the fog is distorted beyond recognition. It doesn’t change that neither one of our bodies can cool off efficiently. Both of us lost our grip on reality because the car got too hot for the human body to function properly. 

I pointed to the door. “OK, then, gas can it is.”

GG finally got out of the car to get a can of gas. She walked onto the road, only to get mowed down by a truck. GG exploded all over the road like a bag of meat soup. 

I laughed. Like, shoot tea out your nose laughed. I laughed because it didn't seem real, and there was a very good possibility that I hallucinated it. She was probably just meandering timorously to the gas station. 

I waited for about an hour. She didn't come back. Maybe she really was dead after all? 

I got an idea. I'd open the door and exit the car on my own terms. If GG isn't coming back, then this car isn't going to get fueled up anytime soon, which means I'm just going to be stuck here. Besides, I have no reason to stay put. Not my car, not my problem.

I didn't walk out of the car. I stumbled. I had to hold on to the overheated metal of the car bodies so I could move without collapsing onto the road. 

Good news, the traffic was so congested that nobody had any room to run me over. Bad news, I had to stop twice; once after I clambered over the guardrail, and again after I got to the top of the hill in the green space on the other side of the road.

I stood up. I felt my blood pressure fall out of the sky like aircraft landing gear that wasn't installed correctly. I surveyed the landscape and saw hordes of ghosts in the sky, demonic reflections in the skyscrapers, and a sidewalk leading to a business park with a Bed Bath and Beyond next door to a GameStop. If I were that property manager, I would be worried about having so many meme stocks in my plaza. 

I can't remember how I got to Bed Bath and Beyond. All I remember is one minute I was walking on the sidewalk on a bridge and the next, I passed out on a piece of patio furniture. I don't know what would have happened if Julia's sister hadn't spotted me and took me home to my lab partner's parents and my mom's boss' wife giving her a long speech about responsibility while she freaked out instead of listening. They really should have given her a speech about getting enough sleep at night. This wouldn't have happened if she hadn't gone for 96 hours without sleeping.

Mom still wasn't home yet. She's never been this late before. 

@apromptadaykeepstheblockaway

[urnumber1star]

Writer Questionare

Thanks @leahnardo-da-veggie for the tag!

How long have you had your writing tumblr/writeblr? a fast and loose estimate is fine!

A bit more than three months I think!

What led you to create it?

I wanted to follow a specific creator. Then I started looking around Tumblr a bit more and realized people shared their writing on here and got excited. 

What’s your favourite thing about the writeblr community?

I feel like everyone is so nice and supportive. At least in my experience so far. And I love that!

What’s one thing you’d like your mutuals to know about you?

I talk a lot. You might already know that. If i'm ever a little too much i'm so sorry. I talk WAY too much sometimes.

Is there anything you’d like to see more of on your dash?

Maybe a bit more different accounts. I love you guys but my dash is kinda all the same people over and over again lmao.

Which wips or writing projects are you noodling about, lately?

Well definitely BRS as it’s my main WIP. But I had a dream about a really old WIP of mine last night so now it’s sort of just stuck in my brain.

How long have you been working on them?

I've been working on BRS for about three months! 

Do you remember what inspired them/what got you started?

Yes I do! I was listening to a song while on my bedroom floor and I got a scene idea and I wrote a story about it. 

How much time, in your best estimation, do you spend thinking about them?

I'm not sure. Maybe three or four hours?

When someone asks the dreaded, “what do you write about,” question, what do you usually say?

I usually just say it depends because that’s honestly it. Everything I write about is never remotely the same. 

Name any characters you created. side characters, protagonists, antagonists, characters who’ve never been written, the first original abomination you ever pulled from your ass; whomever you’d like!

Well the WIP from years ago I think I’ll talk about because I need to. Tari (Protag),  Leon, Fenix, Kay, Angelica, Pocky (My friend named her lol), Taylor, Victor, Lady Athesia, Nightmare Fenix. Fun fact this is the first WIP I ever wrote with an actual plot! :]

Who’s the most unhinged?

Tari. That woman has issues. 

Who comes the most naturally for you to write?

As of BRS it’s Ray. I’m not sure why but he just comes very easily to me.

Do you ever cringe at them?

Definitely. All the time.

How much control do you feel you have over your characters? do they ever “write themselves,” refuse to cooperate, or do things you didn’t expect? to what degree? are some less cooperative than others?

They control the whole story for me. I have absolutely no control over them and it's a pain. But it makes the process more fun!

What makes you want to follow another writeblr account? do you follow ‘em as you see ‘em, or take time scoping out the blog to make sure you align with its content? Do you follow based on wips, or vibes?

I definitely follow based on WIPs and vibes. I take a look at their stuff and if I like it I follow. That’s probably why I follow so many people haha.

What makes you decide against following?

Rude people. If you’re rude to people I wont waste my time following you.

Do you interact with non-mutuals often?

Sometimes. Sometimes we just forget to follow each other lol. Not very often though.

Do your mutuals’ characters occupy space in your noodle?

Yes. Many. Currently @the-ellia-west s Jak is running around my brain at the moment. 

Gently tagging @agirlandherquill, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @illarian-rambling, @mysticstarlightduck + Anyone else!

[rin-and-jade]

This question touches upon the notion of “traumagenic” and “endogenic”; as well as The Theory of Structural Dissociation. The Theory of Structural Dissociation seemingly supports endogenics as it states that there are “natural born” systems. They would be “endogenic” because they're not born from trauma, (as those who are “traumagenic” are).

I recently had a discussion with someone in a yt comment section about those two terms and they pointed me to you, so I just want to see what you think.

I believe in endogenic systems; because why would a book (the DSM) made by those who don't even experience plurality determine whether something exists or not? And as systems, those who are heavily categorized and misunderstood or looked down upon because they don't fit the singlet category, I feel as though we should embrace different forms of neurodiversity.

My questions are: what is the real line between "traumagenic" and "endogenic"? Are systems who were born as a system and weren't exasperated by trauma (like an endo) any less valid or real than those who were exasperated by trauma (traumagenic)? Or because of that theory, if that's how all systems work, aren't all systems "endogenic"?

Before reading: Long post. This purpose is to discuss and look at things in another pov, not intended to debate current beliefs/opinions. TLDR Provided. Last notes at bottom.

To clarify first, im in a neutral stance between the endo and traumagenic community as i focus more on the better of living for any kinds of plural people. Your question did seemed interesting and i had ever discussed this by myself on free time, so i do got some answers for you!

The line between these two are its origin and functionality, to put it in my opinion. The unique thing about plurality is that, i can totally see it being possible that it can exist outside of trauma.

Well, let me explain it to you like this:

An intact personality is where multiple facets are cohesive, and these facets that gives you that said personality is your identity. It's how you see yourself, and act like who you know. Basically, it's how you can act differently in different situations be it at school, at home, at somewhere else etc.

The thing about where personality is located in our brain has been a complex topic for scientists, if i remember correctly, there wasn't a specific spot for it as our brain has multiple areas with different functionality, and these regions cooperating creates a tangible output like how you react, or your typical behaviors.

I kept finding singlets discussing things that looks like really mild system things, and especially from this one youtube video (im so sorry i couldn't provide the link, it has been months ago i had watched but it discussing this too by a doctor or something. lmk if i have to find it again) quotes that the brain fools us into thinking theres only one 'kind' of us, not by it's exact words but close. These people can have different levels in terms of sense of personality unity btw, so not all singlets are the same either.

Now the origin and functionality for a traumagenic is different, because these states are being separated, and compartmentalized due to trauma. The presence of amnesia blocks the other side's of selves sometimes to severe degrees, now acting independently. There is also proof that the grey matter and the communication between regions are different, compared to a healthy brain (i can find the links for this too if needed). Well, you could read more about DID if needed.

So no, neither are less valid, but that doesn't mean both works the same or have the same processes either. Which means, not all systems are endogenic by origins.

Lastly, this is from what i had learnt and connect the dots over many sources i had read to ensure a wide perspective, nuanced understandings in topics. I am fully aware if some of you seem to disagree or see my views as wrong,, we have our own pov's ofcourse. i don't want to fight about validating my pov alright? Im also open to feedback/extra questions, im as well aware of the existence of fake/bad endos and do not support them.

TLDR: There are real life experiences and proof that supports the idea of being plural in mild/different ways, or ways that are different to traumagenics due to the complexity of the brain. Neither are the same in terms of how it functions and where it came from. Neither are also less valid.

- j

[foxytonic]

Life update because I disappeared from here again without totally intending to! 😬

Brain weasels haven’t been cooperating with me, but that’s really nothing new. Just makes it hard for me to write coherently.

Things have gotten hectic again irl.

We were late on rent for this month, but managed to get it paid.

My brother got fired at the beginning of this week, and that has honestly been the last straw for me.

I’m finally moving out. My friends have been offering to rent me a room in their house for less than half of what our rent is in this apartment, and I’m finally taking them up on it. Goal is to move out by October 1st, but I’ll leave sooner if brother finds a job before then.

He and I have already talked things out. He understands why I need to leave, and that I can no longer be responsible for his actions. We’re not on bad terms.

He’s going to be staying in this apartment for as long as he can or until the lease is up. I’ll help him with rent if I can, but he will be responsible for as much of it as possible.

I don’t know how we’re going to make rent for September, but we’ll figure it out.

I don’t know how often I’ll be active on here because I have a lot to do to prepare for the move.

It feels good to finally have a direction to go in my life again. A goal to work toward. It’s stressful as all hell, but I also have a sense of hope and drive that I haven’t felt in a long time!

Obviously, I wish the best for my brother, and I don’t want him to end up on the street, but he needs to be responsible for himself. He’s told me as much, and I’m finally in a place where I have to let go.

Once I move, I will hopefully have a new job that’s closer to the new place and doesn’t cause me as much pain as this job does. Hopefully.

[filet-o-feelings]

Ooh can you tell us anything about simpler times please?

@stereopticons asked about this one, too 💛

This one has been rough. It started with me sitting down with zero ideas and just seeing what came out, turned into something I was really excited about until I realized I didn't know how to continue. I tried finishing it for finish-it-fest last year but it ended up being abandoned and put on hold indefinitely, and came back out a few months ago when one of these asks made me excited about it again. I added a little, but once again it's been forgotten and set aside for other things. Hopefully one day I'll actually finish it (I could say that about all of my wips at this point though, my brain is not cooperative lately)

Basically, Sebastien kidnaps Alexis and convinces David to leave with him using her as leverage. Lots of POV changes, here's a bit of Patrick's POV:

He watches as David walks through the door, away from him. He wants nothing more than to scream at him, to chase after him, grab his gorgeous face and kiss away whatever insecurities are making him do this, but he knows it’s futile. Sebastien has gotten in his head, again, and he can’t compete with that level of manipulation. He’s said all he wanted to say to David, done his best to make him understand just how much he means to him already, and he just has to hope it’s enough. Hope that he’ll come back to him. Hope that Sebastien doesn’t break him any more than he already has. If there’s one thing he can't bear aside from David leaving him, it’s the thought of David being taken advantage of, manipulated and hurt. And Sebastien Raine is an expert in all of these areas.

Besides, he can’t chase him now. He has a store to run. It’s mid-day, mid-week, and he can’t just shut it down. He has customers that need to be helped, bills that need to be paid. He has to be a fucking responsible adult and pull his shit together and think of the store – David’s store – and make sure at least something stays afloat, because he’s sure as hell not.

Not to be dramatic, but someone has to do it and David just followed Sebastien out the front door of Rose Apothecary; Patrick is fucking drowning in the misery. He sends a quick text to Stevie before another customer walks in, and 10 minutes later she’s rushing through the front door.

“What the fuck happened?” She says, ignoring the customer Patrick is currently helping.

“One moment, Stevie. I’m with a customer.” He glares at her, turning back to the customer with a smile and an apology.

Once they’re alone in the store, he explains that Sebastien showed up and he’s not sure what he said to him, but David had willingly followed him out of the store.

“Are you sure he left willingly? He hates Sebastien.” Stevie says as she walks over to the wine cooler and retrieves two bottles of red.

“I mean, he followed him out the door, but I don’t know what Sebastien said to him to make that happen.” He points to the bottles, “Can I ring those up for you?” 

“Patrick, this is an emergency. You can’t seriously be concerned with a couple bottles of wine? David would never go with Sebastien without a very good reason. Either he’s being blackmailed or Sebastien found another way to get to him through his insecurities.”

“And he does have a lot of those. Okay. So what do we do?”

“You know, he has a lot less of them now that you’re around,” she points out, which puts a brief smile on his face until he remembers David is gone.

[kariachi]

Quick fic because the Levinstar still lives in my brain rent-free, that somehow became also a ‘Kevin has many hands’ situation.

~~

Kevin would be the first to admit his expectations hadn’t been high. Yes, they had been seeing each other for several months, but that first time he’d woken to Mike leaning over to press a kiss to his temple, climbing out of bed, leaving… Well. They had a history, Kevin had a history, and Mike was, Mike. So, low expectations. He’d listened to him head down the hall, then- when he hadn’t returned after a few minutes- grabbed the stolen covers and tried to go back to sleep.

In the end it’d been probably closer to fifteen minutes before Mike came back, dressed and done up like he was ready for the day and carrying a fucking tray. Kevin had watched him blearily as he settled back in on his side of the bed, tray across his lap.

“Coffee?” With a slow blink, he’d reached out and used Mike’s shoulder to haul himself up to a sitting position, leaning against his side.

“Sure.” Mike handed over a steaming mug, taking care to use the handle though Kevin didn’t bother. Absorbing the heat radiating from it was as much part of his morning pick-me-up as the coffee itself. Milk, no sugar, just how he liked it.

“I considered trying to do breakfast properly, but I prefer you alive, so… Whatever allowed for microwaving.” Snorting a laugh, Kevin reached for the less loaded of the two plates on the tray. Presumably Mike had wiped out every sweet breakfast option in his apartment, given how high it was stacked.

“Take it I should go shopping before I have anybody else over,” Kevin teased, taking a bite of, yep, potato, egg, and cheese breakfast burrito. It had either been that or the onion and pepper.

“That depends,” came the answer as Mike swallowed a bite, “do Manny or Argit particularly like toaster strudels?”

“I do have other people you know,” Kevin laughed, “it’s not just you three.”

“Yes-” They were too close for him to properly see Mike roll his eyes, but he could hear it just fine in his voice. “-but I like Manny and Argit is the one most likely to bury me up to my neck at the low tide line.” Shaking his head fondly, he nudged his shoulder.

“The chicken biscuit sandwiches in the freezer are Manny’s, keep a can of cinnamon rolls in the fridge for when he wants something sweet. Rook prefers to make a proper breakfast, but with Rayona moving out here for him you’re gonna get more competition for the eggo waffles. Julie’s an oatmeal person and Herve brings his own breakfast. Argit is big on the toaster strudels though.”

“And Elena is a cereal person when she isn’t doing a proper breakfast,” Mike added with a nod. “You may want to hit the store.”

“We may wanna hit the store.”

“Kevin.”

“You’re the one eating out of house and strudels. Besides, what else do you have to do today, really?” Huffing, Mike leaned his head against Kevin’s.

“You’re lucky you’re handsome.”

“I get that a lot.”

“Shocking. If we’re going out, we’re getting lunch too.”

“Sounds like a plan. We can invite some of the others, make a thing of it.” Immediately Mike got out his phone.

“There’s a place on Birch Elena and I wanted to introduce you, Manny, and Cooper to, we can go there. It didn’t seem especially busy either, so there’ll probably be space for a group.”

“I’ll throw something up in the groupchat after breakfast,” Kevin said around his burrito, letting himself relax further. “May have to warn the place ahead of time.”

“Get me a number and I’ll give them a call.”

“Thanks.”

And that was that, the start of a pleasant morning and day. Aside from a brief argument over groceries later, but not one worth concern. A good breakfast, decent shopping, lovely lunch. Overall a nicer time than Kevin had initially planned to have that day.

One supposed that was the good thing about low expectations, it was always easy to surpass them.

[homocatphenomena]

I’m so sad all the time. It’s gone from an all-encompassing, life ending constant trauma to the background noise of everything I do, every thought I have, no matter what’s going on or where I am. But it doesn’t feel less crushing or less sad. I’m just more used to it now. I’m worried it will never go away. When I say this to my therapist, she has no comment. This does not inspire confidence in my prospects.

I wake up, and I shouldn’t be here. I go to work, and it’s absurd, like I’m in some alternate timeline and I can never believe that job is real until I’m already clocked in. I come home to my girlfriend, and she’s excited to see me, and I love to hang out with her, but she’s not him. And I’m so exhausted I sleep most of the day. But I stay awake most of the night, so I can be alone with my thoughts the only time it’s safe to have them. I’m so sad. I lock myself in my office so I can be alone with my cats. They are one of the only constants in my life. They are the only ones I can touch without revulsion. No matter how much time passes, I struggle to fall asleep next to her because she never feels all the way safe. I’m always on guard. So I sleep in the office most of the time even though it’s too hot, because it’s small and safe in here with the door shut and just me and my cats.

None of this feels real. The memory of what I used to have feels just as much of a fantasy as my current life feels like a strange dream. I often wish I had died in the hospital so I could have died while he still loved me. I often think I did die in the hospital and I don’t know what this is now but I don’t think it’s real life. Purgatory, or a coma, or a DMT induced hallucination at the moment of my death. No matter how many times a therapist tells me that isn’t true, it’s just words.

We were polyamorous when we were together, and yet somehow now that he’s gone, the thought of fucking anyone else is utterly repulsive. Morally, physically, and emotionally I am utterly uninterested. I had one husband, and I don’t want another. Staying single the rest of my life is practically and financially illogical, and yet I cannot find it within myself move on from this. Just because he proved himself too irresponsible, untrustworthy, and unempathetic to fulfill the duties of a spouse any longer does not mean that he is no longer the person I love most in the world. I have never wanted anything more than I wanted him, and I say that as a (former) addict. When he finally showed me, unequivocally, that he could not be my partner, I removed him from my life as is logical and just to do.

But now what do I want? What do I do? I just don’t care anymore. My life has been slowly unraveling in front of me. I’ve lost my health and physical abilities, bit by bit. I feel like I am being slowly eaten. Every new symptom or diagnosis brings months of anguish until I finally get used to it and give up on being angry, but my life is shrinking in front of me. The only physical pleasures I enjoy anymore are food (what I can still eat), holding my cats, and floating in hot water (but do I just like to be numb?). The pain is almost constant. My mind is going, slowly but surely, and I have lost the ability to do so much because when I am over-taxed, my brain will paralyze me or give me seizures.

If I could go back and make different choices could I have avoided all of this? I feel like a lot of this has been inevitable, just a ticking time bomb. My body is a lost cause, but I can never let go of the fantasy of going back and trying to fix him. Maybe if I could have met him sooner? Tried things differently? Even knowing what I know now, I don’t believe it would have been possible. But I would do it again if given the chance. I would do it all again. Even the bad parts. Even though it was mostly the bad parts.

I wish I felt differently. I wish my heart could cooperate with what is possible and convenient and practical. I can’t say these things to anybody because they argue at me with logic, as if I don’t also do that to myself.

I don’t know what to do with these feelings. They have not gone away over time. It has not gotten easier for me to live my life. If anything I have just given up more and more. What is the point in trying if it is just always going to feel like this? Everything feels dampened and clamped down like I am watching a movie playing in someone else’s house through a window. The stakes don’t seem as high as they used to. The consequences aren’t real. None of this is real and I just don’t care. I want to wake up but I don’t know what that means. I just don’t want to do this anymore.

[seeingteacupsindragons]

So I was talking to @user-needs-new-hyperfixation today about...well, various things, but also about how my WIP is going and how stressful and busy work has been for the last couple of months (very. It's my department's busy season, but it ends this weekend and I'll have some time to decompress).

And she commented that she had no idea how I was writing anything, much less a lot (a reasonable amount; Scrivener has my average day at 446 words right now).

Thus, I made a joke about how my brain is frantically thinking about my new book to think about anything other than work because work is trying to turn my brain into overheated pudding and my WIP is something of a life raft.

And that's probably true on some level, but the truth is really more boring in that, well.

I have spent a long time building up good writing habits and clinging to them when the writing isn't going well, and smoothing the way for the writing to come well.

Because I've worked for 17 hours in a 25 hour period once (over two days). And I still wrote both days. Not much, because I didn't have any time to breathe. But I made a point to write.

And I am busy as all fuck right now, but I am making sure to write.

I open my computer as soon as I can get to it. I take a couple minutes and write a few sentences. I take a break from work and stare out a window making plot notes. I commute home from work and brainstorm as I drive. I send my draft to myself so I can work a little bit on my lunch break or between two tasks at work in the middle of a deluge to reset my mind.

It can be really hard sometimes. Sure. But I've been doing many of these...what, since I've had jobs? Since I've not had jobs. Hell, in high school I used to do a lot of things.

So at this point, these habits that get my word count up when my brain is cooperating (which is doesn't, always), is default, rote, and routine the way putting my glasses on or contacts in or putting a mask on when I leave my apartment is.

And it's really boring to say, "I just kept doing it until it was the only way I knew how to be."

But it's true.

And so I'm getting a lot done at work and a lot of writing done and I am so very tired and my brain is so very pudding-like, but I have carried through both of those things successfully almost to my rest stop now.

And those habits carried me through.

[mellowyandere]

You’re Ours to Protect

Had a weird dream last night. Thought you might enjoy it. 

Reader: F

Characters: Toshinori Yagi (All Might), Aizawa Shouta (Eraserhead), Yamada Hizashi (Present Mic)

Summary: Your time as an anti-hero might finally be coming to an end. With three pros on your tail it’s a miracle this didn't happen sooner. (Reader has a quirk but it’s not very important to the smut.)

Length: 4.5 K (I have come to the conclusion that I am incapable of writing below 4 K)

Warnings: non-con, yandere themes, slight bondage/restraints, voyeurism, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, anal fingering, anal sex, M/M/F, mostly clothed male, naked reader, slight cum swallowing, Eraserhead and Present Mic are in an established relationship in this fic. 

Hands were on your body, hands that shouldn’t be there. Your mind was stuck in a fog, your limbs so heavy you could barely move them. What was going on? You strained to remember, thinking long and hard about what might have led you here as calloused fingers blazed trails along your exposed thighs. You managed to wiggle your limbs a bit, shaking off the haze that muddled your brain.

You groaned, trying to open your eyes so you can get a better understanding of your surroundings. Your hands were restrained behind your back but it seemed your legs were free. You'd murder who ever had their fucking hands on you. As your eyes adjusted to the light you couldn't help but groan again as the figure in front of you came into view. You tried and failed to subtly use your quirk, this didn’t look good.

“Eraserhead. Didn’t realize you were still wasting your time looking for me. Not my fault I beat you to that criminal. Hero’s leaving trash like him alive is such a stupid concept. He was a murderer you know.” 

You looked around to the best of your ability as you spoke, you were sitting on a plush dark green couch in what appeared to be a relatively empty basement. You had been stripped of your gear, leaving you in your underwear and an oversized t-shirt. Two men were flanking you on the couch. The one to your left you didn't recognize. He was ridiculously tall, as well as skinny. Blond hair a mess as two long bangs hid his eyes from view. To your right was a pro you did recognize. His emerald green eyes sparkled in delight behind his civilian glasses as he grinned down at you. So it was their hands on your body currently. They’d die first then. 

“So, what does that make you?” the dark haired pro murmured, leaning forwards and somewhat regaining your attention. 

You ignored his question, opting to look about some more. There wasn't a one-way mirror or any recording device in sight. Were they interrogating you off the books? This whole situation seemed off, these were heroes right? They’d convict you and leave you to rot in a dingy jail cell somewhere.. but this didn't look like a normal interrogation room. 

“I know this is my first time getting caught and all but this doesn’t really seem up to protocol. Gonna haul me away after having fun or something?” You shifted your gaze to the obsidian eyes in front of you, leaning forwards to mimic his posture. 

Present Mic barked out a laugh, hand squeezing harder on you thigh much to your annoyance. “Sorry babe but prison won’t be your final destination! I mean after all y’aint evil, just a lil misguided is all, nothin’ three pros can’t fix.” He ended his sentence with a pinch to your leg. 

“If you don’t get your fucking hands off me I’ll kill you!” You snarled, turning and getting up in Present Mic’s face. The tall blond to your left pulled his hands back, scooting away as Present Mic continued to leer down at you. 

“HAH little girls got some bite, but we already knew that. Don’t think I didn’t notice you trying to use that quirk. I’m hurt now! You really would try to kill me huh?” he mocked with a fake pout, but you could see the amusement in his eyes. 

“I’m sure you’ve already realized by now you can’t use your quirk. It wasn’t easy making a device to cancel it out, but thanks to our newest colleague here the hardest part was collecting your DNA and picking what color collar we wanted.” Eraserhead leaned forward, fingers tugging on the collar you only now just realized was around your neck.

You tried to bite him, but he pulled back. If only you could wipe that stupid smirk off his face with a heart attack. Your quirk was the ability to clot blood after all. A handy trick if you found yourself injured, but even more so for killing once you learned how to properly control it. No one really batted an eye at an ischemic stroke due to the clotting of an artery to the brain. Well.. almost nobody.. 

“You have a very impressive ability,” the tall blond stated, “in all honesty we probably wouldn’t have caught on if we hadn’t watched you kill. You’ve induced countless of natural looking deaths, but upon closer inspection you target people whose crimes would have landed them in jail. Noble, but very misguided. You’re pretty reckless though, what if you had gotten hurt?” 

“So fucking what if I did.” You kept your eyes glued to Present Mic as you responded, trusting him a lot less than the man behind you. His eyes narrowed dangerously at your snarky rebuttal.

“Language young lady, and that’s no way to talk! What would compel you to risk your life, why don’t you trust your hero’s more?” 

You clenched your teeth in frustration but didn’t respond. You were done cooperating, not like you were doing much to begin with though.

The scrapping of a metal chair on concrete drew your gaze as Eraserhead stood up. 

“Back up Zashi, I’ll take over from here. Toshinori you’re fine where you are.” 

You couldn’t help but struggle a bit at his words. “What do you mean, what the hell are you going to do!? You insane or something? Just turn me in to the police!”

“You really don't pay attention do you. Hizashi already said you’re not going to the police. I don’t know what skeletons you have in your closet, or why you started killing people, but that will come out in due time. For now you don’t have to kill anymore. The three of us will take care of you, without the law sentencing you to life. We’ve been hunting you down for so long. We’ve been very patient, but right now you need us to help show you what you’ve been missing. Running around all by yourself, you must have been so lonely.” Eraserhead finished up his little spiel as he stalked forwards, looming over your sitting frame. 

“Don’t fucking TOUC-gah!” You had been so focused on Eraserhead’s approach you hadn’t noticed Present Mic coming at you with a gag until it was too late. 

“Yagi already asked you to watch that dirty mouth of yours, don’t worry though babe once you simmer down a bit we’ll take it out.”

“Ple-please Hizashi call me Toshinori we’ve been over this.”

You gave Eraserhead your best glare as he stopped in front of you. He smiled softly at your defiance before wedging his knee in between your legs and slamming his hands onto the couch, caging you in. Wait by show you what you were missing.. these hero's were going to..?

You tried to talk reason, but all that came out were muffled pleas. None of it coherent. 

“We’ve been watching over you for 5 months now kitten. Trying to find the best way to approach you but in the end taking you somewhere safe seemed to be the only logical solution. While getting this house ready for your arrival we all started to feel as if you belonged here all along. I know it’s not fair, we’ve had so much longer to get to know you, but you’ll know us just as well soon enough.”

It was official. These pros had lost their damn minds. They actually figured out how to justify what they were about to do to you. Your promise to only kill criminals was really coming back to bite you on the ass. 

You brought your legs up and tried to kick him off, but were quickly thwarted by two pairs of hands grabbing them and pinning you down. 

“Now now sweetheart none of that, Shouta here is just going to show you our conviction. No one will ever hurt you again now that we are here. Now that I am here” The last part was mumbled more to himself than the group. 

Something must have happened to these men to cause their hero complex to grow into something so twisted. But that was no fucking excuse for their actions. They needed therapy, not someone to play damsel in distress with.

Shouta lowered himself between your legs until he was kneeling on the floor in front of you. You tried to plead with your eyes, beg him to stop, but he met your gaze with something bordering love. That wasn’t good. Breaking eye contact he looked down at your underwear, bringing a hand up you held your breath as he gently brushed against your core. 

“You can’t even begin to imagine how much I’ve dreamed of this moment. You truly are something special, and yet you treat your life with such little regard it’s maddening.” He trailed his knuckles against the thin fabric as he spoke, your traitorous body sparking heat in your lower abdomen in anticipation. 

Pulling your underwear to the side he slowly began to slide his fingers up and down your progressively wetting folds. 

“Well now, someone secretly enjoyin’ themselves baby,” Hizashi all but purred, his hand squeezing your flesh while his gaze was transfixed on where his partner was violating you. You couldn’t help but let out a pitiful whine. It was absolutely humiliating being spread out before these three men. 

The noises your wet cunt were making were no help to your embarrassment, and they only got worse once the dark haired pro rid you of your last line of defense and began to insert two of his fingers. 

“H-how does she feel?” Toshinori couldn’t help but ask. His face was flushed red, along with the tips of his ears as his vibrant blue eyes watched Shouta’s fingers slowly sink inside you. 

“Tight, shit she’s tight. She’s perfect, so fucking wet for her hero's. I’ll work you open kitten don’t worry.” You couldn’t help but clamp down on his fingers at his words, earning a deep chuckle in response. 

“See now, such a good girl aren’t you. Prison is no place for you kitten, though if you want we can always role-play your wardens.”

Role-play my ass we’re already living it, was all you could think bitterly. 

As if he read your mind Shouta couldn’t help but continue to antagonize you, thumb beginning to make light circles against your clit as he pumped his fingers, adding a third and quickly burying them knuckle deep. Soft whimpers slipped from your mouth as you tried in vain to wiggle away from Eraserhead’s deft fingers. 

Hizashi was getting impatient, removing one of his hands to grasp your breast through the t-shirt you had on. His slim fingers began to pinch and rub your nipple, though his eyes never left your cunt. 

Toshinori was struggling in his own way. Raspy breaths with slight coughs as he grew more and more aroused. He too removed a hand from your leg, but instead made quick work of the zipper on his pants. Taking his semi hard cock in his hand he began gently stroke himself while watching your display. 

You truly were everything they had ever wanted. But you didn’t want this, despite your bodies responses to their ministrations. You could feel it, Shouta seemed to know exactly where to stroke as he worked you up tighter and tighter, velvety walls clamping down at your approaching climax. 

You found each man murmuring their own words of praise, anywhere from “That’s it baby girl, take all of Sho now,” to “Such a perfect princess, do you want to finish?” The man between your legs even adding to the mantra of soft words spoken to you. “So close kitten, see what good girls get. You’re going to cum for me okay?” 

He posed it like a question but you knew it was far from it. It was a statement, a matter of fact statement that you couldn’t deny even if you had tried. Your back arched, moans and mewls intercepted but not completely blocked out by your gag as you rocked against his hand. He gladly continued to finger you, watching as you came down from your high and only then removed his hand. 

You were panting hard, shame quickly washing away the pleasure from your orgasm. Sensing the shift in your demeanor Hizashi was quick to pounce, peppering your face in kisses despite your shifty protests and groans of despair. “None of that now babe, after all we’re just gettin’ this show started!” 

Shouta stood and moved out from between your legs, licking some of your slick off his hand before he wiped the rest on his black pants leg. “You got lube Zashi?” Hizashi paused his attack and shot the dark haired pro a million dollar smile. “You bet our babes cute ass I got it! Lemme find it, hold her Toshi.”

Toshinori floundered a bit, cock in hand as Hizashi shoved you closer to him, before jumping up from the couch. Eyes trailing down to his hand you couldn’t help but freeze in shock. Not only was this man stupid tall, his dick was frighteningly large. The older hero noticed your stare and couldn’t help but chuckle a bit at your expression. “Don’t worry princess, Shouta and Hizashi are going to help you today. My sides acting up so I’ll only be watching.” 

As if on cue the man was hit by a coughing fit, and much to your surprise he even coughed up some blood. Eraserhead was still looming over you, leaning over he gently rubbed the older blonds back as he tried to ease him through the pain. You didn’t dare move as all this transpired around you. What good would it have done you anyways? You were effectively quirkiness, and your fighting skills would be severely lacking against the two heroes you knew. You had no idea who this Toshinori guy was, but if he was close to Eraserhead and Present Mic you doubted he was weak. 

You heard Hizashi rummaging behind you through a dresser you hadn’t noticed earlier. Craning your neck, you peered over and cried out in frustration. 

“Tada!” He sung triumphantly, a small bottle of lube in his hand. “Act two can now officially begin!” You could only yell and wiggle about in protest, your arms still tied behind your back. Toshinori’s hand on your thigh moved to gently pat you on the head. 

“Behave now for them okay? If you’re good we can show you the rest of our home after this.” 

You jerked your head out from under his hand and yelled more incoherent nonsense out of frustration. You had expected anger to replace the adoring look in his eyes but you were only met with fond amusement. 

He stood up with a hearty laugh, erection still in hand as he grabbed Shouta’s discarded chair, sitting down facing the couch. Shouta was quick to take Toshinori’s place on the couch while Hizashi took up residence behind you. 

“I have a feelin’ this star ain’t a fan of the spotlight, no need to be camera shy babe.” You watched Shouta roll his eyes at his partner in crime before he began to manhandle you. Hands under your armpits he pulled you up and wrangled you onto your knees facing him on the couch. 

Hizashi slid one knee between your legs so you couldn't close them. Your tied hands couldn’t help but brush up against his clothed hard on, causing him to rut against you a bit in anticipation. 

Without warning he took a solid grip of your t-shirt and ripped it off. You squeaked in surprise, your face heating up as you realized you were the only person fully naked in the room. 

“Was it really necessary to rip my shirt?”

“Sorry about that Toshi! Didn’t want to delay the show with takin’ off her bindings yah dig? You rip them a bunch anyways so what’s another to the pile? But ain’t this just so much better, our baby girl on full display it makes my heart swoon!”

“Just get her ready Hizashi, and no rushing it, you don’t want to hurt her.”

“Aight aight sorry I’ll get to work, you keep her happy.”

Both men moved closer, pressing your body between them. They had propped themselves up on their knees and had you effectively stuck. Shouta gently placed one hand around your neck, giving your collar a tug, while the other trailed down and began to gently work your still wet pussy. 

You stared into his chest, trying your best to space out but jerked back to reality when you heard the pop of a lid behind you. 

“Don’t worry babe I’ll get you ready, I’m somewhat of a pro yah know?” 

That was when you felt his lubed finger gently prodding your other hole. You jolted forwards into Shouta who didn’t even budge in response to your full body weight. Hizashi simply shuffled closer, continuing to push until finally he breached you. You whimpered at the uncomfortable intrusion. 

Shouta's fingers lazily worked your cunt as he rocked his erection against your lower abdomen. Despite the fact that you hated the feeling of his growing arousal you couldn’t help but lean into him to try and get away from Hizashi as he slipped another finger inside. Tears slowly rolled down your face in frustration as the two heroes prepared your body. 

“There we go kitten, you’re doing so well. Just be patient alright and it won’t hurt so bad.” Shouta removed his hand from around your neck and placed it on your head, angling your gaze to the third member of the group you had almost forgotten while pulling you flush to his clothed chest so you couldn’t freely change your field of view. 

Toshinori was leaned back in the metal folding chair, which looked comically small with him sitting on it. His eyes were clouded with lust as he stroked his thick cock. His own pre-cum and spit adding obscene noises to his ministrations. He gave you a lopsided smile as you made eye contact, causing you to quirky avert your gaze. 

By this point Hizashi had worked three fingers knuckle deep into your tight hole, but coupled with Shouta’s work the line between uncomfortable and pleasurable began to mix together. A breathless moan escaped you as the two pros finally got their desired reaction. 

“She’s as good as she’s gonna get Sho, let’s say you and me start the finale I can’t take feelin’ her tight lil hole clamping down on my fingers any longer. Not when I got somethin’ much better for her.”

Your tears flowed a bit faster at your impending fate. This was fucking insane! You might have been a murderer, but you weren't expected to be a good person unlike these men. These heroes who were now violating you.

Since Shouta was in black sweatpants he merely leaned back a bit and pulled them down, cock springing free. He had a solid girth to him, red tip dripping pre down his shaft to his unruly black pubic hair. You heard a zipper behind you as the blond freed himself, though due to being squashed between the two you had no idea what to prepare for. 

Hizashi hummed in contemplation at your tied hands, currently in the way of his objective. “Bonds might have to go Sho, you get her hands?” The sleepy hero merely nodded grasping your wrists as Hizashi swiftly untied them. 

“Ready now primadonna?”

“Ha ha you’re soo funny Sho... but yes, shit, I’m fucking ready.”

You kept quiet this time, head pressed against Shouta’s chest as you listened to his rapidly beating heart. You gave one last pleading look to the lean blond watching intently from the sideline, but all he did was shrug his shoulders with a small smile on his face. 

“You’re going to do great princess don’t worry.” 

You felt the tips of each man at their respective entrance, Shouta's teasing your soaking cunt while Hizashi lightly probed your lubed ass. You closed your eyes and accepted defeat. They gently began to rut their hips, cocks sinking deeper with each thrust. You felt uncomfortably full as they breached you. 

“Oh fuck oh fuck I can feel you through her.” The blond quickly grabbed your breasts, tweaking your nipples like he had earlier. 

“Easy does it kitten, we got you,” Shouta groaned out. 

You weren’t a fan of Hizashi behind you, rocking forward into Shouta as they continued to fuck into you. He squeezed down on your wrists in warning, hot breath fanning the top of your head. It didn’t take much longer before they both had finally bottomed out. You groaned in distress while they groaned in bliss. 

“I’ve got her wrists you help her out alright, and take it easy.”

“Sheesh I heard yah the first time, I’ll help our lil girl out.”

Hizashi snaked a hand in between you and Shouta, finding your clit. 

They both continued fucking into you, Hizashi matching Shouta’s pace as they stimulated your body. You were angry, humiliated, and yet somehow you were so turned on it was embarrassing. You should be thrashing about, snarling into your gag, but instead all you could do was rock your body to their salacious tempo. 

Peeking your eyes open at a particularly hard thrust from Hizashi you saw Toshinori on the edge of the chair. You could just barely make out his raspy breaths and small moans over Shouta and Hizashi’s groaning. His brilliant blue eyes bore into your own. One of his hands worked his long shaft while the other was death gripping his clothed thigh. It almost looked as if steam was pouring off of him. Was he always that muscular?

You didn’t have long to contemplate Toshinori though, with a pinch to your clit Hizashi made sure to regain your attention. He had picked up his pace, throwing Shouta a bit off balance. He leaned down sucking and biting at your neck while rolling your perky nipple. Shouta felt your velvety walls clamp down around his cock, picking up his tempo to match Hizashi’s.

By now you were a mess. Traitorous moans fumbling from your mouth as the two heroes played your body. They had picked up an alternating tempo, never leaving you without a cock inside your body. The pleasure had you throwing your head back, leaving your neck exposed and making room for Shouta to join Hizashi in leaving little claiming bites all along your delicate skin. 

“She’s getting close Hizashi, we’re gonna fuck her through it alright?”

The blond pro behind you only moaned out something that sounded vaguely affirmative, eager to feel your tight walls clamp down on him. 

You were beyond fighting them, on the brink of orgasm all it took was one pointed thrust from Shouta to have you crumbling apart. You pushed back into Hizashi’s chest, his t-shirt sticking to your sweat soaked skin as you clamped down on both of them. Hizashi moaned into your neck, his quirk picking up a bit as he lost his composure. Shouta had released your hands, ripping off your gag so he could grab your face and crash his mouth to yours, swallowing your moans as your newly freed hands grabbed fist fulls of his shirt to stabilize yourself. 

As stated they continued fucking into you, dragging out your orgasm as your walls spasmed around them. Shouta’s tongue delved into your mouth, his own deep moans rumbling into you. 

“Go-gonna fuckin’ cum Sho, n- not much longer.”

In response Eraserhead reached behind you, grabbing a fist full of the blonds hair and giving it a firm tug which was enough to push him over the edge. 

“Sh-shit,” he wheezed, hips stilling as his cum filled your sore ass. “You fu- you fucking dirty cheater makin’ me finish first like that.” In kind Hizashi grabbed some of Shouta’s hair, pulling his mouth away from yours and up to his own. 

“Go ahead and cum in her Sho you know you want to,” Hizashi taunted between kisses. The familiar sound of metal against concrete drew your gaze as the all too familiar symbol of peace stood at his full height. Holy fucking shit it was All Might. 

The two pros ignored his approach, Shouta’s hips becoming a bit more deranged as he fucked into you. All Might reached in between the two and gripped your lower jaw, dazzling smile almost blinding you.

“Be a good girl now and open for me, you don’t have to swallow it all but I’d appreciate the effort.” He didn’t leave you with much of a choice finding it impossible to close your mouth with his grip, which at this point was very sore from the gag. The tip of his large member gently brushed against your lips as he shuttered at the feeling of your soft flesh. 

By this point Shouta was thrusting aggressively against your battered cervix, mouth locked with Hizahi’s as he finally reached his own release. His hips stuttered as warmth filled your cunt. 

Now all that was left was All Might. Your jaw strained to accommodate him, but he seemed to be more than aware of your limitations. He simply pushed the tip in, one hand stroking his shaft while the other gently pet your head. 

“So pretty,” he cooed down at you. “Just like that princess, I’m gonna cum now okay?” 

You simply kept your mouth open, tongue flat against the underside of his still cock as his cum filled your mouth. The bitter taste made you sputter, cum running down your chin as more took its place. After a couple more spurts he gently pulled away, some of the bitter substance sliding down your throat while the majority ended up down your chin and onto the couch below. 

All four of you were panting, frozen in time until finally All Might disappeared in a large cloud of smoke. The man you had originally believed to be some unknown hero named Toshinori now stood in his place, shyly looking down at you. 

“I guess that’s one way to show her huh big guy.” Hizashi jested. 

“I-I know probably not the most ideal but I couldn’t help myself,” he murmured a bit embarrassed. 

Hizashi and Shouta pulled out, their cum immediately running down your legs causing you to cringe a bit at the sensation. 

“You guys.. fucking suck.” was all you could think of at the moment. You waited for the rage, for them to berate or attack you, but instead all that met you was a chorus of soft chuckles.

“Figured you wouldn’t be easy to convince kitten, but don’t worry. Between the three of us you’ll come around.” 

These three men must have some thick fucking skulls to dismiss you so casually, that or their obsession was a lot deeper than you could even begin to comprehend. 

“Some fucking heroes you are,” you grumbled lowly.

“Some fuckin’ heroes we are indeed cutie! HAH get it? Cause we just fucked yah?” Hizashi laughed at his own joke while Toshinori and Shouta groaned. 

“Alright don’t make me gag you next, let’s just get everybody upstairs and clean up. We’ll do the house tour later kitten, for now we’ll just show you to your room.”