#my friends have me draw their lottery tickets

[tothelighthouse1]

deciding mat and i are the same person in the first fifty pages feels like when my friends and i decided i was frodo in the first fifteen minutes then slowly watched him fall apart over the next three movies but in such a way that we only became more alike

oh rand.

[chelseaknoo]

Can you imagine Marshall at his current age dating a young fan

Eminem x young fan! Reader

Part 1

You were a college student at a nearby university, juggling classes and life like everyone else. Ever since you were a kid, you’d been a huge fan of Eminem—not just for his music, which you absolutely loved, but also because of how great he looked. There was something about him, from his intense eyes to the way he carried himself that always drew you in. His music had been a big part of your life, but it was hard to ignore the fact that he was just as captivating on the outside as he was with his words.

It was a day like any other at college, the usual mix of lectures, textbooks, and coffee breaks. You’d been running on little sleep the past few days, trying to keep up with the demands of school while balancing your personal life. It was a Tuesday afternoon when you met up with your friends for lunch in the student center. You were halfway through taking a bite of your sandwich when your best friend, Sophie, practically lunged across the table at you, holding up her phone with a huge grin on her face.

“Guess what?!” Sophie nearly squealed, her eyes wide with excitement.

You raised an eyebrow, still chewing. “What? You’re acting like you won the lottery or something.”

She waved the phone in front of you, and before you could even process what was going on, she slammed it down on the table, her smile almost impossible to contain. “We got tickets to Eminem’s concert this weekend!”

Your heart skipped a beat. It took a moment for the words to fully sink in, and when they did, your jaw dropped. “Wait—what?! You’re serious?!” You almost couldn’t believe it. You’d been a fan of Eminem for as long as you could remember, and the idea of seeing him live had always been a distant dream.

Sophie leaned back in her chair, smug but thrilled. “Yeah, we were quick on the draw. I got us the VIP tickets, too. We’ll be in the front row, right by the stage.”

The world seemed to slow down for a moment. Your thoughts scattered, overwhelmed with excitement. “No way… Sophie, you’re telling me I’m going to be *right there*? Like, right in front of him?”

“Yup.” Sophie beamed. “We’ll get to see him up close. I can’t wait!”

You looked over at your other friend, Mia, who was sitting across from you with a knowing smirk. “You knew, didn’t you?”

Mia chuckled, taking a sip of her drink. “I had a feeling Sophie was up to something. She’s been talking about this concert for weeks.”

You turned back to Sophie, still in shock. “How did you even manage to get VIP tickets? They sold out so fast!”

She shrugged casually, as if it was no big deal. “I just happened to be in the right place at the right time. I had notifications set up, and when they dropped, I was on it. The moment they were available, I clicked.”

You could barely contain your excitement now. “I don’t know what to say… This is insane! I’ve been listening to Eminem since I was a kid, and now I’m actually going to see him perform live. This is literally a dream come true.”

Sophie grinned. “I knew you’d freak out. And trust me, it’s going to be amazing. We’ll be right there when he’s on stage—just imagine it. You’ll be close enough to *see* every detail. The lights, the energy, the music… It’s going to be unforgettable.”

Mia nodded in agreement. “It’s going to be wild. Eminem’s concerts are legendary. I can’t even imagine how incredible it’s going to be being that close.”

You leaned back in your chair, your mind racing as the reality of the situation finally started to hit. “I can’t believe this is actually happening. I’ve listened to his music for years, and now I’ll be in the same room as him. I might even get to see him up close, maybe catch a glimpse of those piercing blue eyes that have haunted my dreams since I was a teenager…”

Sophie laughed at your obvious excitement. “Oh, I’m sure he’s just as beautiful in person. We’ll see him for real, not just in music videos and on Instagram. The anticipation is going to be insane.”

Mia leaned in, raising an eyebrow. “You’re not going to faint when you see him, are you? I’m worried you might pass out from excitement.”

You playfully rolled your eyes, still grinning. “I’ll try to keep it together, but I can’t make any promises.”

The conversation shifted as the three of you continued to discuss the concert, with Sophie diving into the details of the event—the venue, the setlist, what to wear. But all you could think about was how surreal it felt. You’d seen Eminem perform countless times on TV, heard the roar of the crowd in interviews and live recordings, but this? This was real. You were going to be there, in the front row, experiencing it all.

That night, you couldn’t sleep. You kept replaying the announcement in your head, running through the details of what the night would be like. Would he be just as intense in person? Would he acknowledge the crowd, or would he just get lost in his own world on stage? You imagined the energy, the lights flashing, the bass pounding through your chest as Eminem spit his bars in rapid-fire succession. You could almost hear the crowd chanting along with him.

The excitement only grew as the days passed, and soon enough, the night of the concert arrived. You and your friends met up, dressed to impress in your VIP gear, and headed to the venue. The closer you got, the more your heart raced. The massive crowd, the glowing lights, and the hum of anticipation all made the atmosphere electric.

You were ushered to your front-row seats, and as you looked around, the sight of the stage made your breath catch in your throat. It was real. You were going to see him live. The lights dimmed, and the crowd erupted in cheers as the opening beats of Eminem’s hit song blasted through the speakers.

The energy was unlike anything you’d ever experienced. The bass vibrated in your chest as the crowd screamed and swayed. You could feel the heat of the stage lights as they began to flash. And then, there he was—Eminem, standing at the front of the stage, his signature hoodie and cap in place, the unmistakable swagger in his step.

You were so close, you could almost reach out and touch him. Your heart pounded in your chest as he began to rap, his voice so powerful and crisp. You couldn’t help but smile, eyes glued to him as the music filled the air.

Sophie nudged you with a grin. “See? Told you it was going to be amazing.”

You barely heard her over the sound of the crowd, but you gave her a thumbs-up, still in awe. This was the moment you had dreamed about, and it was finally here. Eminem was right in front of you, and the night was only just beginning.

The concert had been nothing short of incredible—every beat, every word, and every moment felt like a dream. You and your friends had screamed, jumped, and rapped along to every song, and now you were buzzing with the high of it all. The thought of what came next made your stomach flip with excitement: the meet and greet. You were about to come face-to-face with Eminem himself.

As the line slowly moved forward, Sophie nudged you with her elbow. “You ready for this? You’ve been talking about this moment for years.”

You smirked, adjusting your hair and brushing imaginary lint off your outfit. “Ready? I was *born* ready.”

Mia snorted. “Just don’t pass out or make it awkward. This isn’t the time for you to forget how to speak.”

“Oh, please.” You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the grin spreading across your face. “If anything, he’s going to be the one speechless.”

Sophie laughed. “That’s the spirit! But seriously, just play it cool.”

The line grew shorter until it was almost your turn. You could see him up close now, sitting at a small table with a marker in his hand, casually signing posters and albums. His presence was magnetic, and you couldn’t help but notice how sharp he looked—his hoodie pulled low over his eyes, the faint stubble on his jawline catching the light. He was even more stunning in person than you’d imagined, and you were already imagining how you were going to make this moment memorable.

Finally, it was your turn. You stepped forward, confidence radiating off you. The second his eyes met yours, it felt like the air shifted. He paused for a fraction of a second, his gaze lingering as he took you in from head to toe. A slow, almost mischievous smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “How’s it going?”

“Better now,” you replied without missing a beat, your voice steady and flirtatious. You could feel Sophie and Mia watching from the sidelines, but you were too focused on him to care. “The concert was insane. You killed it out there.”

“Appreciate that,” he said, leaning back slightly in his chair, his eyes still locked on yours. “You were in the front, right? I thought I saw you.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you kept your composure, giving him a teasing smirk. “You noticed me? I must’ve made quite the impression.”

“Oh, you did,” he replied, his smile widening. There was something in his tone—something playful, maybe even a little cocky—that sent a thrill down your spine. “Hard not to notice someone like you.”

You tilted your head, deciding to lean into the moment. “Is that so? Guess I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is,” he said simply, his gaze steady. “What’s your name?”

You told him, and he repeated it, rolling it off his tongue in a way that made it sound almost seductive. “Nice name. Suits you.”

“Thanks,” you said, leaning forward slightly, letting your confidence shine through. “So, how many autographs have you signed tonight?”

He chuckled, glancing at the pile of signed posters beside him. “Too many to count. But yours might be my favorite.”

“Oh, really? And why’s that?” you asked, raising an eyebrow, daring him to keep going.

He smirked, his blue eyes glinting with mischief. “Let’s just say you’ve got a vibe that stands out.”

Before you could respond, Sophie cleared her throat loudly from behind you, clearly enjoying the show but also reminding you that the line was still moving. You shot her a quick look before turning back to him.

“Alright, how about that autograph?” you said, pulling out the VIP pass hanging around your neck.

He reached for it, but then paused, his eyes flicking to your chest. “Actually, I’ve got a better idea.”

Your brow arched. “Oh? What’s that?”

Instead of answering right away, he stood up, his marker still in hand. The height difference was noticeable now, and he used it to his advantage, looking down at you with a playful smirk. “Turn around,” he said.

You laughed. “Excuse me?”

“Trust me,” he said, his tone light but challenging. “You’ll thank me later.”

Intrigued, you turned slightly, giving him a curious look over your shoulder. To your surprise, he leaned in closer—not toward your pass, but toward the upper part of your chest. He hesitated for just a second, meeting your eyes again as if to ask for permission. You nodded, your pulse racing with anticipation.

He pressed the marker to your skin, just above your neckline, and began to write. You could feel the slight pressure as he moved the pen, and you couldn’t help but smile. When he finished, he leaned back, capping the marker with a flourish.

“There,” he said, grinning. “Now you’ve got an autograph no one else does.”

You glanced down and saw his signature scrawled boldly across your chest. Your laugh was loud and genuine. “You really just signed me? Bold move, Marshall.”

He chuckled. “You said you wanted something memorable, right?”

“Fair enough,” you replied, meeting his gaze again. “And here I thought you couldn’t surprise me.”

“Stick around, and I might surprise you even more,” he said, his voice dropping just slightly, enough to make the words linger in the air.

Your friends were practically bursting with silent laughter and excitement behind you, but you didn’t look back. You held his gaze, your own smile matching his energy. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“Do that,” he said smoothly, handing you the marker. “Just don’t go washing that off anytime soon.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” you said, tucking the marker into your bag. “I might just frame this moment instead.”

“Smart move,” he replied, giving you a small nod before leaning back in his chair, his attention already shifting to the next fan. But as you turned to leave, you could feel his eyes on you one last time, lingering like a spark that refused to burn out.

When you rejoined Sophie and Mia, they erupted into laughter and squeals, practically shaking you by the shoulders.

“Did that just happen?!” Sophie shouted.

“Oh, it happened,” you said, your grin widening as you looked down at his autograph on your chest. “And trust me, I’m not forgetting it anytime soon.”

As you and your friends were walking toward the exit, still buzzing from the meet-and-greet, a tall, stern-looking security guard stepped in front of you, stopping the group in their tracks.

“Excuse me,” he said, glancing down at a small earpiece before locking eyes with you. “Mr. Mathers would like to see you backstage in his dressing room.”

Your heart skipped a beat as Sophie and Mia both gasped in unison.

“Wait, what?” Sophie blurted out, her eyes darting between you and the guard. “He wants *her* backstage?”

The security guard nodded. “Just her.”

Sophie’s jaw dropped, and Mia let out a low whistle. “Well, damn,” Mia said, crossing her arms with a grin. “Guess someone made quite the impression.”

Sophie pouted dramatically but then smiled, nudging you. “Okay, fine, go live the dream. But you better not leave out *any* details when you tell us later.”

You laughed nervously, feeling their excitement and your own nerves collide. “I’ll try to remember everything,” you promised.

Mia gave you a sly smirk. “Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do.”

“Which is basically nothing,” Sophie added with a wink.

You shook your head at their antics before following the security guard through a series of hallways. The noise from the concert faded behind you as you walked deeper into the backstage area. The air felt heavier, the excitement bubbling in your chest almost unbearable.

When the guard finally stopped in front of a door, he knocked once before stepping aside and motioning for you to enter.

“You can go in,” he said, his expression unreadable.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Eminem was seated on a leather couch, leaning back with one arm draped casually over the armrest. He had changed out of his stage outfit and into a plain black T-shirt and sweatpants, but he still looked effortlessly cool. His cap was turned backward now, revealing more of his face, and his piercing blue eyes locked onto you the moment you walked in.

He smirked, sitting up slightly. “So,” he said, his voice low and smooth, “you really came back here, huh?”

You felt your pulse quicken as you stepped further into the room, closing the door softly behind you. Eminem’s piercing blue eyes stayed fixed on you, the playful smirk tugging at his lips making your stomach flutter. You hesitated for a moment before moving to sit on the couch beside him, close enough to feel the warmth of his presence but still giving him space.

“So,” he said, his voice low and casual as he leaned back again, studying you, “how does it feel being the only one I asked back here?”

You grinned, matching his energy. “Honestly? It feels pretty damn good. I wasn’t expecting it, though. You kind of surprised me.”

He chuckled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Yeah, well, you caught my attention. I don’t do this kind of thing often.”

“Oh?” You tilted your head, leaning slightly toward him. “What kind of thing?”

“This,” he gestured vaguely between the two of you, “calling someone back here after a show. It’s not really my style.”

“Well,” you said with a playful smile, “guess I should feel special, then.”

“Maybe you should,” he replied, his voice dipping lower as his smirk grew. “So, tell me about yourself. How old are you?”

Your heart skipped at the question, but you answered confidently. “I’m 23.”

At that, his smirk faded slightly, and he straightened up, his demeanor shifting. “23?” he repeated, his tone cautious. “Damn. That’s young.”

You frowned slightly, catching the hesitation in his voice. “Young? I’m an adult. What, you were expecting me to be, like, 30 or something?”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, I’m 52. That’s a big gap. I’ve got kids not too far from your age. It’d feel… weird.”

You rolled your eyes but kept your tone light. “Okay, first of all, 23 is not a kid. I’m legal in every way that matters. And second, age is just a number. You’re not exactly acting 52 right now, anyway.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by your boldness. “Oh yeah? And how am I acting?”

“Like a guy who invited me back here because he couldn’t stop staring at me,” you shot back with a grin.

His smirk returned, but he shook his head, trying to stay serious. “I mean it, though. You’re gorgeous, and I like your energy, but I don’t think it’s a good idea. I don’t date younger women—it’s not my thing.”

You leaned forward, your confidence growing as you saw the way his eyes flickered to your lips before darting back to your eyes. “I don’t think you invited me back here just to tell me what your type isn’t. If I wasn’t your type, I wouldn’t be sitting on this couch right now.”

He let out a low laugh, running a hand over his face. “You’re smooth, I’ll give you that.”

“I’m honest,” you countered, tilting your head. “And you don’t strike me as someone who wastes time on things they’re not interested in. So, what’s the real issue? You worried about what people might say?”

He hesitated, his expression softening. “It’s not about other people. I’ve been through enough to know I don’t care about that. It’s just… I don’t want to mess with someone who’s still figuring life out. You’ve got your whole future ahead of you.”

You placed your hand lightly on his arm, your tone softening but still firm. “I’m not some kid who doesn’t know what they want. I know exactly what I’m doing, and I know exactly what I want.”

He glanced at your hand, then back at you, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he was trying to gauge how serious you were. “You’re really not gonna let this go, huh?”

“Not a chance,” you said, your voice dropping just enough to make it clear you weren’t backing down. “You can keep trying to convince yourself this is a bad idea, but we both know there’s something here. You felt it the moment you saw me.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, his eyes locked on yours. The air between you felt thick, charged with tension. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head.

“You’re trouble,” he muttered, though there was no mistaking the hint of a smile on his lips.

You grinned, leaning back slightly but keeping your hand on his arm. “Maybe. But you like trouble, don’t you?”

He laughed, a low, genuine sound that made your heart flutter. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you said, giving him a cheeky smile.

He studied you for another moment, then leaned back against the couch, his expression shifting to something more relaxed. “Alright, you win. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Warn me about what?” you teased, leaning closer. “That you’re going to fall for me?”

He shook his head, laughing again. “You’re too much.”

“Too much for you to handle?”

“We’ll see,” he said, his tone laced with challenge, his smirk making your stomach flip.

The conversation lingered after that, but you knew one thing for sure—he wasn’t hesitating anymore.

The tension between you both had built to an almost unbearable level, and it didn’t take much more for him to close the distance between you. Eminem’s eyes flickered to your lips, and before you could even process the thought, he was leaning in, his hand cupping your jaw, pulling you closer to him. You could feel the heat of his body, the way his lips pressed firmly against yours. The kiss was slow at first, tentative, as if he was testing the waters. But soon, it deepened, becoming more urgent, his hands slipping into your hair, pulling you closer.

Your body responded instinctively, hands moving to the back of his neck, tugging him down harder into the kiss. He groaned softly, the sound sending a thrill through you. His tongue gently brushed against your lips, and you parted them instinctively, letting him in. You both fell into it completely, the kiss growing more passionate by the second, your bodies pressing closer as you tangled together on the couch.

His hands started to roam, first tracing the curve of your back before sliding lower, his fingertips grazing the waistband of your pants. You could feel his hands all over you, his touch firm but careful, like he was savoring every inch of you. You gasped into the kiss as his hand slid up your thigh, then cupped your breast, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Mmm…” you moaned, not breaking the kiss, feeling a heat that only intensified with every touch.

He pulled away from your lips for a second, his eyes dark with desire. “You’re fucking perfect,” he muttered, his voice rough. He kissed your neck, his lips hot against your skin as his hands moved to explore more freely. His fingers brushed the edge of your shirt, lifting it slightly before moving beneath it, his touch electric against your bare skin.

“Marshall,” you breathed, feeling your chest tighten with anticipation.

He paused, looking down at you, his eyes searching yours for a moment. “You sure about this? Because I don’t do things like this casually.” His voice was low, rough, his breath still heavy from the intensity of the kiss.

“I’m sure,” you said, your voice unwavering. You met his gaze with determination. “I’m not some random girl, Marshall. I know what I want, and I want this.”

He didn’t need any more encouragement. His lips were back on yours instantly, this time with even more force. His hand slid up to the back of your neck, keeping you in place as his other hand continued to roam, caressing the side of your breast before slipping down to your waist, his fingers pressing into your skin. You moaned against his mouth, your own hands slipping underneath his shirt, feeling the taut muscles of his chest. The kiss was intoxicating, wild, and you couldn’t pull away even if you wanted to.

But then, as the heat between you both grew more intense, Eminem pulled away again, though this time only to catch his breath. He looked down at you, his chest rising and falling with exertion. “Damn, girl,” he muttered, his voice rough. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You smiled, your lips swollen from the kisses. “If I’m going to go down, I think this is a good way to do it.”

He chuckled, though there was a hint of something more serious in his eyes. He leaned back, running a hand through his hair before pulling you closer again, guiding your head to rest on his lap. His hand gently ran through your hair, fingers massaging your scalp as you settled in, the warmth of his body surrounding you.

You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the peace of the moment wash over you. The quiet intimacy of just being there with him, the soft hum of his presence, was soothing in a way you didn’t expect. You could still feel the heat from earlier, but now, with your head on his lap, the tension was replaced with a peaceful calmness.

“You’re a real firecracker,” he murmured softly, his fingers tracing along the edge of your ear as he looked down at you.

You smiled up at him, your face inches from his. “I think you like it.”

He laughed quietly, the sound making your heart flutter. “You got me there.”

You both stayed like that for a while, the room quiet except for the occasional rustle of his clothes as he shifted, his fingers still tracing the contours of your face, your hair. It was almost like the chaos of everything had disappeared for a brief moment, replaced with the softness of the moment you were sharing.

After a while, he sat up, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “Alright, I can’t just leave you hanging like this,” he said, a smirk on his face as he unlocked his phone.

You tilted your head slightly, watching him with curiosity. “What are you doing?”

“Making sure I’m not just some random guy who you forget about after tonight,” he said, glancing up at you before typing something into his phone. “I’m putting my number in your phone.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning up slightly. “You really think I’d forget you?”

He met your gaze, his eyes soft but serious. “I just want to make sure you don’t. I’m not here for just a one-night thing.”

You felt a warmth in your chest at his words, something you weren’t expecting. “Well, good,” you said, sitting up slightly, “because I’m definitely not here for that either.”

He finished typing, then handed you the phone, his fingers brushing yours as he did. You took it and quickly saved the number, your heart racing as you realized just how real this all felt. When you handed the phone back to him, he gave you a soft smile before leaning down and kissing your cheek gently.

“Take care of yourself, alright?” he whispered against your skin. “I’ll be in touch.”

You smiled up at him, feeling something between you both that you couldn’t quite put into words. “I’ll be waiting.”

Just as you were about to get up, the door opened, and a couple of security guards stepped inside, standing just a few feet away. One of them motioned toward the door.

“Time to go,” he said, his voice firm but polite.

Eminem looked at you one last time, his smile soft but sincere. “Catch you later.”

You nodded, standing up slowly, your legs a little unsteady from everything that had just happened. You gave him one last smile, your chest still racing, before walking toward the door. The security guards escorted you out, and as you stepped into the hallway, you couldn’t help but glance back at the room. You could still feel the warmth of his touch, his kiss lingering on your skin.

Your mind was racing with thoughts, but one thing was for sure: this night was far from over.

As you stepped out into the hallway, your heart still pounding from everything that had just happened, you were met with the eager faces of your friends. They were gathered by the door, their eyes wide as they looked you up and down, practically bouncing with excitement.

“So? What happened?” Sophie asked immediately, her voice full of anticipation. “How was it? Did you get to talk to him? Was he as hot in person?”

Mia joined in, practically jumping on the spot. “Wait, did you actually get to *hang out* with him? Like, for real?”

You grinned, the excitement still bubbling inside you. “Oh my God, you won’t believe it,” you said, practically bouncing on your heels. “We talked, we kissed, and... he totally gave me his number.”

Sophie’s jaw dropped. “No way! He *kissed* you?!”

“Yeah,” you said, your voice almost giddy with the memory. “We made out for a while, then he had me rest my head on his lap while he... just, you know, talked. And then, he asked for my number, and I—"

“No way!” Mia interrupted, eyes wide with disbelief. “This is real, isn’t it? Are you seriously telling me Eminem is like... your boyfriend now?”

You paused for a second, feeling a wave of disbelief hit you. “I don’t know, but I think he might be. I mean, I’m definitely into him, and... I think he’s into me.”

Sophie let out a squeal, clapping her hands together. “This is insane! You’ve got to be kidding me!”

Mia grinned, shaking her head. “Alright, so... Wingstop?”

You laughed, still processing everything that had just happened. “Yeah, Wingstop sounds perfect.”

[eris-snow]

𝐑𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Tags: Revelation (Deku's birthday series 2024), izuku x fem!reader, revelation, stabbing, blood, angst, no fluff, sorry, pain, this is late, ft bakugou and ochaco,

Masterlist

15th July: Doomsday.

--

Class starts off normal. Yeah, that’s it. Cool, normal, totally not like your childhood best friend is burning holes into you like you were going to get slammed by a semi-truck at any minute.

Izuku’s eyes are pools of crystal lakes. Like Narcissus looking into his own reflection, Izuku’s eyes compelled you to look his way. Maybe it was sorcery or witchcraft—his eyes seem to sparkle, and they’re mesmerising beyond any precious jewel.

I get it. It’s your birthday. Doomsday.

And maybe, you were just the slightest bit peeved at his actions. All through yesterday, he’d been avoiding you like a plague. Wouldn’t talk to you, speak to you, hell, he wouldn’t even look at you. Then all of a sudden, he decides that he wants to shower you with his gaze and attention, or peer at you with those fucking eyes like he hadn’t been avoiding you these past few days.

You thought you knew dense, but this? Izuku was a fucking mineshaft.

Just as you’re about to address his intense gaze during homeroom, Aizawa calls you out for the second time in the span of one week. You pretend you don’t feel all eyes on you as you exit the classroom. There’s a certain aloofness you can never mirror from Kacchan. There isn’t the “I’d die for you in a heartbeat” mentality ingrained in your bones just like how it is for Izuku. You wish to emulate both of them, for a trait special to your personal, but when you stop to think about it, you draw a blank.

Ugly, ugly, plain and boring, you remind yourself, as you step out the classroom to meet Aizawa. You’re getting called out so often because you can’t even act fine correctly.

There’s a hand in your face before you know your mouth is open. “My turn first,” Aizawa says, dead serious. “You aren’t in trouble, and this isn’t about Midoriya.”

Your mouth clangs shut, and your throat constricts. What else would he want to talk about?

“An opportunity has been presented to you,” Aizawa says, trailing off a little. “By Star’s former agency in America.”

The world tilts sideways, and you actually stumble to keep yourself on your feet because of the floor’s disequilibrium. “W-What…?”

“One of them wants you there as a sidekick.”

America?

That’s more than, what, 6000 miles to the great wild West. The land where dreams came true (supposedly).

“Ever since you aided Stars and Stripes in her last battle, the agency’s been keeping an eye on you. There’s an interview, and paperwork, and a contract but I suspect those are simply formalities.” Aizawa says nonchalantly, but you can see the pride in his eyes. The pride of a teacher, when his student has soared high. That battle was intense, but it was ashes compared to Izuku’s heart-moving victory that had saved the world.

“B-B-But…” You stutter, “I-I don’t think I’m the best candidate! Won’t they want one from the Big Three? Did they get the wrong person? Ask them to double-check because I don’t think—”

Aizawa gives you an unnerving stare, and his words that come out flat. “Kid, they phoned me 14 times. Pretty sure they got the right person.”

Hesitation lines your face, as Aizawa pats your shoulder. “More details will be given should you accept. They want you from next year onwards, which I am willing to compromise for as long as you have fixed times with you to revise the necessary topics. You, Bakugou and Midoriya have finished most of the syllabus, correct? Should you feel necessary, I possess revision materials and suitable dates should you want to take the final exam earlier.”

It’s a beautiful opportunity. A ‘I-found-a-golden-ticket-in-my-chocolate’ kind of opportunity. It was so tempting to take.

But…

You were just 17. A teenager that won the lottery, who now had to deal with consequences. What about family, housing, language, oh God, your English was so bad you would die before they asked you ‘dine in or take out?’ And besides…

Aizawa sees the look on your face, and sighs loudly. How many times are you going to stupidly throw your life away for Izuku?

You can’t keep doing this, but clinging to Izuku and this ever burning love you have for him is all you ever know. Running of to America? You don’t think you could comprehend the distance across oceans paired with the distance of time. Aizawa stares at you and shakes his head in disappointment. “Give it a thought. It’s okay to be selfish sometimes, L/n. Don’t let anyone hold you back from chasing your dream.”

You swallow thickly. It’s all you’ve ever wanted, someone wants you, and you’re being called to help other people, be a real heroe and drop the ‘in-training’, to fight crime and kick as in a country with crime rates so high they could rival the Empire State Building.

You’re a terrible mess, and when you think about it more, the more miserable you get.

It’s my dream to be a hero, but what if my dream is you too?

—

“We need to talk,” Izuku’s voice is gentle, but it’s plush pillows wrapped up in caution tape. Assessing him doesn’t take too long, because by the way he grips your wrist as your foot is halfway out the door, he wants to tell you something, and it’s urgent.

Shrugging his hand off, you fold your arms and project aloofness, although it’s not very convincing. You feel your lips threaten to break into a false smile, and mentally slap yourself when it almost flits across your face. Izuku had caught up to you on that ever since his fragmented memories started returning, so you’d tried to stop.

Bad habits and sticky fingers.

“What is it?” You try to soften the edge of your voice like sandpaper, but you still see the way he flinches at your voice. Patrol is in half an hour, and if you don’t book it, you’ll be late. “Oh, and if this is about your birthday party and how you don’t want it, too bad, Mina already bought silly string and Sato bought ingredients for the cake, so you can’t—”

“It’s not, about my birthday.” He insists, shoving the topic aside. A hand runs through his curls, as if trying to soothe his nerves, but you can see the way he has to forcefully drop his hands to the side and avert his gaze. His outer shell had slowly crumbled off the longer he was around you, little fragments chipped off until gone is Hero Deku, and underneath is a more human Izuku, with nervous habits and mistakes.

“Look, I’m sorry I haven’t been…around.” He says, trying to phrase it nicely. It does him no favours. “There were a couple of things I had to figure out and rearrange in my head, it’s just—”

He looks desperate, and you’re feeling bad. Emerald green washes over your eyes, mirroring the calm of a forest even though he’s nothing but.

“I’ve gotten hold of how the Quirk Accident happened, and-and a way to lift the Quirk, but…” He swallows thickly, before his eyebrows furrow. “Are you even listening to me?”

Your eyes had strayed to a clock, thoughts wandering, but you jerked back to reality when a scarred hand tugged your own. “A way to lift the Quirk?”

It’s only when you repeat his words do you really understand the weight of them.

Joy bubbles up and exudes from you like an air freshener on crack.

Hey, aren’t you excited? The little child that always hoped for another way whispers, tugging your arm with a beautiful smile. Izuku’s gonna remember you.

But the logical side of you, the side with squandered hope and broken dreams makes you think through your feelings. The longer you think about it, the more it doesn’t make sense.

If Izuku had found a way to lift this curse, then why hadn’t he done it yet?

The clocks tick, and the minute hand moves. How many minutes do you have left until he forgets?

“Yeah, but that can wait.” He says in a rush. “There’s some guy I met—on the streets! He’s related to my Accident. I don’t think he’s the exact person, but close, brother, probably, since he said ‘Nii-san’—”

“What?”

Your heart rate spikes and colour drains from your face. Chisuke and Izuku made contact, oh God, and you didn’t even know. Now that you see it, you can’t unsee it. The redness on his neck, like he’d been held at knifepoint. Worry blossoms in your voice.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone? Why didn’t tell Sensei?”

“I just met him yesterday,” Izuku defends, eyes blazing. “And he’s not targetting me like you thought, he’s targetting you!”

Time slows. The declaration was like a veil lifted from your eyes, a shiny revelation that stares at you in the face. The target…

Is me.

Your eyes flicker back to Izuku’s face, huffing and puffing like he fought a bull to stand down. You stare at him. He’s all muscle, baby fat thinning, freckles sprinkled across his face like stars in the sky.

“It’s me?” You whisper, voice small.

Izuku watches you look at him dumbly, words caught in your throat.

“Please,” He whispers, features lined with worry, the same worry you once felt for him now reflected right back at you. “Don’t go for patrol, stay here, where it’s safe. Starlight—”

The name feels like ants on your skin.

“You’ve done so much already,” he takes out a hand, the same one as in that dumb, snow-white hospital room when he got concussed from pushing himself too hard.

I’ve done nothing.

“I…” He swallows. “I don’t want to lose you when I’m this close to figuring it all out.”

The last time you’d taken his hand it tasted like victory. Everything felt perfect, as if fireworks had painted the sky a vibrant colour shows, an artist’s masterpiece for all to see. But now, as you lock eyes with his hand, you can’t help but wonder if it really mattered anymore.

It doesn’t matter if Izuku remembers or forgets—Chisuke would still be hunting you down, looking for a way to wipe your emotions until the heroes lock him up.

All the memories, flashes of moments he’s gained from agony and tears—they’ll be locked behind reinforced walls by the stroke of midnight.

The karma of this exact day, 7 years ago is finally catching up to you after all this time. What will Chisuke do this time? Cut you up? Drown you in your blood? You taste ash on your tongue, throat clogged up.

If it really comes to it, maybe it wasn’t completely undeserved.

Isn’t that for the best? Someone whispers in your ear, voice a whispy and taunting.

Because this entire fiasco is because of you.

The minute hand ticks again, and your phone buzzes. Your patrol, your shift—

Izuku’s still there, waiting for you to take his hand.

Walls constrict on you, and feel your ribcage squeezing the air out of your lungs.

You’re gonna die, you’re going to flatline, you’re—

You only hurt when you let it hurt, and it all goes away when you don’t think.

Don’t think.

The answer comes to your hazardous grappling, and you’re so desperate to stop spiralling, you do something that you haven’t done since Izuku started talking to you again.

It comes as easy as breathing, as you let that rope snap. Up goes the walls, and gone your thoughts.

Don’t think.

Dissociate, detach, let go, don’t cry, you can’t start now.

Eyes flash upwards, and you force yourself to steel. Stars aren’t supposed to break.

“Move.”

Izuku’s eyes widen at your shifted demeanour, and his legs carry him out of my way as his face collapses with confusion. “Starlight, what’s wrong with you?” He whispers, pleading for you to listen. “Starlight—”

“I’m going for patrol,” You exhale sharply, looking at him with dull eyes. Expressionless, head empty, come on, just a little bit more, don’t break now—

“I’ll be careful out there, and I’ll come back safe.” Maybe.

“Starlight, you’re not listening to me—!”

“You never listen to me either, so I guess we’re both even!” You shout, swinging the door open.

The anger is foreign at your fingertips. You’ve felt disappointed, sad, longing and desire, all shrivelled up in balls of tissue paper as you wake up screaming at night. But anger? It was fresh, a band-aid ripped from raw skin.

“We’re both shitty teenagers who want to do what we think is the best for each other, and there’s nothing more to it,” You whisper, rubbing your eyes at where the tears start to leak out. This is bad, you’re out of practice, and the mask is peeling off so quickly.

You’re just so, so tired.

“Leave me alone, Midoriya.”

Hurry up and get your memories already.

“I’m not worth it.���

Haven’t I waited long enough?

Tears prickle Izuku’s eyes, pools of green watering. He’s always been such a crybaby.

Voice shaky, he echoes. “You’re worth it.”

A terrible, unsightly smile crawls up your face, and the laugh that drops from your lips is bitter and humourless.

“Goodbye, Midoriya.”

The door slams shut, and Izuku’s tears bubble over. What hell of a birthday is this?

A shadow creeps up on him, and, oh look it’s Kacchan. He messed up big time, of course he blew it with you. Furiously, he wipes his tears away and sniffles. He has no right to cry.

“God, dammit nerd, what the fuck was that?”

“I know—” He sobs, as Katsuki punches him in the face. The burn is well deserved, as the blond yanks him by the collar and spits in his face. “Good job, dumbass! You lost someone who’s been chasing after you for fuck knows how long. How’d you manage that?”

Katsuki’s voice is like a slap in the face, one he knew he very much deserved. “What, you gonna sob about this like a baby? Fucking man up, Izuku! You have a game to play, asshole. Ball’s in your court, so what’s your move?”

His mind whirls, gears turning. You’re probably halfway to the station, he knows how fast you run. Especially from him, always, always him.

“Oi, shitface!” Katsuki spits, red eyes blazing with fire from the Underworld. “What’s. Your. Move?”

A sharp bolt stabs his cornea, making him writhe in agony. Kacchan’s yelling recedes into the background, his mind sprouting words like it was trivia night on Saturday.

White lies, eyes, smiles, laughs—

He squeezes his eyes shut, pain blooming.

Starlight, Zuku, Secrets—

He gasps, unable to breathe.

Sketcheswillowtreesforgetmenots—

His mind glitches, and images flash. A lush forest that’s always lathered in colour, beautiful branches like streamers with a lake as pure as waters from springs.

Almost instantaneously, One For All crackles from the ends of his hair to the tips of his toes. Izuku tosses himself out of Kacchan’s grip, eyes wild and frenzied. “I need—” He cuts himself off. “I need to go.”

He zips past Kacchan, and bolts out the door.

Fuck the bus, he’d get there faster on foot. He knows exactly where he’s going, because he’s going back to where it all started.

Back to the memories that resided in your glade.

—

The overcast sky greets your gaze as your hero partner frowns. “Oh, man, it’s gonna rain!” She wails, lamenting the bad weather. You look up, watching the sun disappear behind the curtain of grey clouds.

What’s a little bit of pain without a little bit of rain?

—

Izuku never ran so fast in his life. He’s probably a flying, leaping safety hazard, but he doesn’t care. Stormy clouds roll in, as the sun bids farewell for the day. The news drones on about the rainy forecast prediction. 

Yeah, no shit. He thinks, as one drop lands on his jacket.

Not a minute later, it pours.

Trespassing seems like a small feat too, as he leaps over the fence and stumbles. He doesn’t fall, though The rain makes everything slippery, so it’s a fight for balance as he reroutes his way to his destination like his body is a satellite.

The voice, your voice, gets louder and louder as he nears the clearing. It’s splitting his skull in half, and he’s fighting to keep himself from doubling over.

“Save you—”

“I’m so sorry—”

“Come back to me—”

Gritting his teeth, his hand brushes past the leaves that reveal the toneless clearing that you’d adored so much. It’s so bare, without its colour. A step forward is all it takes for his legs to buckle, forcing him to kneel as his hands trace the willow tree’s rough bark.

“Who are you?” “I’m Y/n! What’s your name?”

“Race you!”

“I’ll call you Zuku! It’s shorter, and nicer!”

Wax on bone, flesh peeling and blood dripping. He screams, loud and broken, the pain more than he could ever imagine.

“I’m not a transfer, I’m not a stranger—”

“Izuku, please—”

“I love your eyes.”

“I love your smile.”

“Don’t leave, Zuku. Stay here with me.”

“I love you.”

The world is burning, and upside down, right? The cool pitter-patter on his skin feels like acid, oh, make it stop, please make it—

Tit for tat, this for that. A brother for a brother, and pain for bits and scraps.

You want to find your memories? I understand. My Quirk is simple, very simple. Pain is not worth the weight of knowledge.

The world goes dead silent, as his heartbeat thumps in his chest. Erratic, frantic, as the world seemingly explodes. Izuku isn’t so sure if he’s dying, though it certainly feels like it.

“I love you.”

The words thrum in Izuku’s head like a martyr, echoed in your voice at all different ages. Fragmented across different timelines, the world stops, and along with it, silence engulfs his being.

He blinks, and he’s standing in front of the wall again. It’s fragmented so badly, his breath hitches at the beautifully ugly sight.

In the silence’s place, is the faint but distinct sound of a heart monitor beeping.

Izuku looks up to see the wall crack once more, and shatter in front of his very own eyes.

Your trade is sufficient.

In return, I’ll return you everything that was once yours.

—

It all happens instantaneously. Suddenly, someone dials the decibel level back up to max, and Izuku’s memories arrive like a mountain avalanche. 

He jerks his head up, the ringing in his head fading as he’s thrown back into the world of senses. The rain pours, and the thunder booms.

His mind feels comfortably full, sharper, and he’s horrified he didn’t realise how empty it was in the first place.

“Oh, Starlight,” He whispers, voice wobbly as he sorts through the different years. So many things make sense now, from your words to actions and your expressions that always screamed help me. A hand comes up to cover his mouth as he lines the memories with gold. He’s been so daft this entire time, and you—

Guilt rises to his mouth and it tastes awfully like bile. It’s getting very difficult to breathe.

How could I ever forget you?

Arms wrapped around himself, he lets out a strangled cry, shame chewing him up more and more because this? This was what you went through? 7 years of obliviousness, white lies, and a whole-ass relationship that he was never meant to have with Ochaco. 7 years of putting up to him, clinging to him, oh gosh, this year was such a dumpster fire—

“I love you.” Your voice rings in his head, and his words pile on top of each other in his throat. The revelation is warm sunlight in the cold shower of rain, and he sobs when he finally understands the gravity of them. 

I love you, even if I can only have different facades of yourself.

I love you, so I’ll chase you as long as I have to.

I love you, even though you will never love me back.

“I love you too,” He whispers brokenly, gathering up the pieces of his ruined memories in scarred hands. “I’ve always loved you.”

It was always meant to be you, that’s why nothing ever felt right.

From the times you brought him your bentos in middle school when the bullies would throw his own away, to the times you sat there with him for hours. Those times you never said anything but just listened to him, made him feel heard and respected and—

loved.

Izuku knew he was whipped the moment the nickname ‘Zuku’ sprouted from your mouth in that sandbox all those years ago.

Can’t even survive a Quirk Accident right, some love, he scoffs at himself, staggering as he pulls himself to his feet.

Your trade is sufficient. The voice at the back of his mind reminds him, causing blood to drain from his face. There’s only so long that you can overlook one factor, and this one was a ticking time bomb that got his brain throbbing and searching hungrily for the answer.

What exactly has he traded?

His phone alarm blares in his pocket, causing him to fumble with it as it automatically starts to play the latest news.

“—Currently facing off against a villain! Two of them, although it’s difficult to see as one of them has a wind manipulation Quirk. It seems he’s at least partially responsible for the storm right now. Hero/n and Everblaze continue to push for the capture of the villain behind the recent cases police cases of officers found waking up unable to feel joy—”

All colour drains from his face. There’s nothing more that needs to be said. He pockets his phone, fires up One For All, and leaps for the city.

Izuku’s lost you once. He refuses to lose you again.

—

Seeing Chisuke tastes like shit. Not that you would know or anything, but this is how you’d imagine shit would taste like.

Izuku was right, of course he was.

Chisuke was here for you.

You dodge the incoming blow swiftly, back to back of your senior. The rain pours, but it doesn’t stop the attack, because you’re a lighthouse in a storm.

“This lot is targeting you, Hero/n, what did you do?” Everblaze grits, flipping her smoke bomb of to buy time.

“Something stupid that involved crashing into a man at age 10.” You mutter, hands lighting up with your Quirk.

She curses, before reporting to comms. “Hero/n and Everblaze on the scene, requesting for backup now!”

“The guy with the knife, get him first.” You say, a strange calm settling under your skin as you navigate through this with professionalism and detachment. “He’s the most dangerous, in terms of long-term setbacks.”

You never know when he’s going to strike. A warped version of Toga, but at least Toga loved her victims. This person…he just liked stabbing people and getting revenge.

With the precision of a neurosurgeon, you toss the man sneaking up on you over your shoulder pinning him to the ground.

Cold blue eyes stare up at you, with a twisted smirk framing his face. He’s older than you last saw him, stubble growing fuzzy under his chin and hair shaggy in the rain.

“Starlight, I found you!” He breathes, cackling you when you twist his arm behind his back. The laughter will forever haunt your nightmares. “I finally found you…”

“Don’t call me that,” you hiss, digging your elbow into him even more. Everblaze’s voice is radio static in your ear.

“Deal with Knifey, I’ll manage the Whirlwind!”

“Copy,” You grit out, struggling to hold him down. “Backup ETA?”

“10 minutes, counting!”

A flash of silver flickers in your peripheral, and you lunge back the minute he takes a swing at you. Water makes you slip, and he contorts his body, pulling yours forward as he lifts up his knife and—

Your thoughts evaporate like steam over a hot pot. He wedges the dagger between your shoulder blade, and its acid corroding your bones. Grunting, you yank his knife out of your shoulder, tossing it to the side. 

You look back just in time to see him pocketing a vial of your blood.

“Two more to go!” He cackles over the thunder as he brandishes a shiny new knife.

Dread pulls in your gut as you clasp your shoulder. Water makes the blood runny, and if it weren’t for the adrenaline, the pain would have exploded like fireworks on the 4th of July.

“Backup 8 minutes!”

The rain drones on. Donning dirty clothes and an ugly smile, he looks feral, crazy, and the determination behind his voice rivals yours.

“Pay your price, Starlight!” He yells, eyes gleaming. “Give my brother back!”

What comes around goes around. The tables have turned, and the roles have swapped. The water blurs your blood into a murky red, and you grind out your response.

“No can do, Chisuke.”

You don’t have the heart of gold Izuku does. The heart to understand, to hear him out or try to empathise. Maybe for other villains, but this was too close to home.

You move expertly, but with his wild knife swings that looked random but were deadly accurate, you’re forced on defence and the back-burner. Kacchan would be so mad because you aren’t moving well. Your defenses are sloppy and the rain makes everything worse. You feel like you’re back in year 1 again, still a fragile bird learning how to fly.

Even still, you’re wearing him down because of the puffs of his breaths that are ragged and rushed. Good, you think, just as the knife lunges too close.

Oh, shit–

There’s another stabbing, and you kick him off just as he grazes you with his knife. Blood drips from your cheek, and you bite your lip when the pain flares.

“That’s two!” He beams, knife dripping red.

“Back up ETA 5 minutes!” screams the voice in your ear.

I don’t have five minutes, shit I don’t even know if I have one! You want to scream, but you know you have to pull this out. Quickly surveying the field for something useful, you hastily grab a discarded metal rod from a broken fence just as he’s about to plunge the dagger into you. It collides with a clang, and now that you see his face up close, you see the myriad of emotions flashing across his face like a light show. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, and refuse to feel a thing.

No feelings, no pain, no feelings, no pain—

“You should be grateful,” He whispers, eyes wide with light. He genuinely believes that he’s helping you. “I see it in your eyes, that agony and sorrow…you want it all gone, and I can help you with that.”

Panic shoots up your legs like it’s water from a fire hydrant, but you hold firm. It’s difficult to see in the pouring rain, but his expression is too hard to miss. “You don’t have to hurt anymore, isn’t that great?” He says, rain falling like confetti on someone’s birthday.

“You don’t have to love anymore.”

You hate how deep his words cut.

Don’t think, don’t think, don’t think—

Pain explodes in your abdomen as your eyes widen. Chisuke deflects your rod with ease.

It isn’t his knife in your chest.

“Three.” He whispers, smile widening further.

There’s a small body behind you, one lithe and quick. The face doesn’t even look at you. “Got her, boss, just as you said.”

It isn’t the Whirlwind guy.

There was a third? You think helplessly, staggering as the knife is drawn from your chest. Maybe if you’d had been more observe, better prepared, you would have caught it.

But you weren’t and now, you’re paying the price

Not vital, of course not, he doesn’t want me to die—

Your hands burn with blisters, and when you look down, they’re coated in red.

“No—” You lunge forward, but your legs buckle beneath you like your body is nothing but lead.

The ringing in your ears blooms, along with the pitter-patter of the rain. “What did I tell you, Starlight?” He coos, fingers locking around the final vial.

“I don’t miss twice.”

—

Izuku arrives on the scene and sees you drenched in blood.

“Sir, please, I need your ID—oh! Deku—” The police officer stumbles over his words in surprise, apologising profusely, but his eyes never leave your frame.

His heart rate racks up, and he’s staggering to your lifeless body with his world falling apart around him. No.

He starts to run, slipping on wet tiles as he stumbles to your side, your blood tainting his hands.

“Starlight,” He whispers, checking your pulse in a desperate attempt to convince himself you are alive. It’s weak, but it’s all he gets and isn’t a cause for celebration. 

You don’t look fine at all.

Red soaks your entire body, battered up and bruised as your shoulder twists at an awkward angle.

“No, no, no…” He yanks his jacket off and covers the nasty gash on your stomach. There’s water running down his face, but it isn’t rain.

“She’s still alive,” calls a voice. Izuku whips his head to the source, and finds himself staring at smug blue. “It wouldn’t be any fun if Starlight dies from this.”

The whole world is painted red.

Chisuke looks at him, pearly whites glistening as the rain dampens his ragged hoodie further.

“Do you like my birthday present, Izuku?”

He may be in Quirk cancellation cuffs, being sentenced to a hell worse than his brother but he looks so happy.

“Why would you do this?” He whispers, pulling you closer. His voice is wobbly, soaked to the bone in rain. The last time he felt this defeated was when he lost Kacchan to the League over two years ago.

Look at this, a voice in his head whispers.

You’ve lost Starlight too.

“If you wanna say anything to her, you should do it now!” He yells from the police car, getting shoved in. “I hope you like my gift.”

Izuku’s breathing is all that he hears, as he stares desperately down at you and your wounds, your face, everything, everything, everything—

This is all my fault.

“Zuku…?” You cough, eyes wandering and searching for his. His heart jumpstarts to life. “Hey, don’t say anything,” He shushes, trying to project a smile. It’s too shaky to pass off as one.

Your eyes find his, and a lazy smile spreads across your face. “Hey, it’s you,” You whisper, eyes so bright they could be stars in the sky. “You’re Zuku.”

Raindrops splatter around you, diluting your blood and hiding your body. Izuku almost breaks on the spot. 

“Yeah, it’s me.” He says, holding you tightly in his arms. “I’m back, Starlight.”

The smile on your face doesn’t widen, but the tears that fall are painfully washed away. You’ve done such a good job all these years, always his ray of sunshine. Now, he’s seeing all your feelings suppressed underneath. 

“Welcome back,” You wheeze, as if it’s difficult to speak. It probably is.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

This isn’t how it was supposed to end.

Your trade is sufficient.

In return, I’ll return everything that was once yours.

Izuku shakes his head, a sob bubbling against his throat.

“I never meant for this to happen.”

You force out a laugh, and then wince in pain. Izuku misses your laughs. “I’m the one that got stabbed, so stop crying, you crybaby.”

“But you were never supposed to go through this.” He whispers, cradling you gently, but hugging you tight. “I’m so sorry, Starlight. For not knowing, for not trying to know, just…oh God, when I think about it, I want to slap myself so hard, get Kacchan to Howitzer Impact me a couple of times too when we get back. I didn’t know, and I hurt you so, so badly.” He inhales, looking around, eyes surveying his surroundings. Frustration builds, and his desperation grows. “Goddammit, where’s the ambulance? Why aren’t they here yet?”

Hurry up, save my Starlight.

“Zuku, it isn’t your fault,” You rasp. His first love is someone strong enough to move hearts on the daily, and has patience that spans as wide as the Pacific Ocean. His first love is someone extraordinary, even though no one will acknowledge it as deeply as Izuku will.

“Starlight—” Izuku chokes, watching your eyes go glassy. “I love you.”

I love you so much, please, please, please, please—

There, where the wind blows strong, and Izuku’s eyes spill tears, you reply with a breathtaking smile.

“I love you too.”

His lip trembles, and he does his best to shield you from the rain.

“Zuku?” You whisper, voice cracking like spoilt leather.

“I’m tired.”

The life is slipping from your eyes, and Izuku shuts his eyes and tries to find the right words to say. “I know, Starlight, just hang on a little longer. You can do it.”

Your voice is thick with a sob. “I don’t wanna stop loving you.”

There’s a fire that lights in Izuku, as he clenches your body tighter.

“Then don’t go,” He says, voice a whisper. “Stay with me.”

The tables have turned, and now it’s his turn to say those words. Please don’t go. Stay.

Your eyes shift upwards to the sky. Even through the rain, stars peek out from behind the clouds, mapping out a land unknown.

“The stars,” You rasp. “They’re so beautiful tonight.”

Izuku’s laugh is endearing, clogged up with snot. “They are. You’re prettier, though.”

You look at him, eyes pearling with tears. “I’m sorry you had to see me like this,” You heave, eyes ever-gentle and love everlasting. “But it’s so nice to see you again.” You murmur, breath shaky.

“ ‘m love you, Zuku,” you whispers, breath floating out from your lips like an angle from above. Your eyes shut, and you don’t reopen them to meet his gaze.

The sobs that are jamming in his throat bubble over, and he weeps, and cries and screams because you were never meant to be coated in red like this.

Your trade is sufficient.

In return, I’ll return everything that was once yours.

“Why?” he wails miserably.

Why did I have to lose you to find me?

—

Your heart beats steadily, as someone screams in the background.

And then all of a sudden, a rope snaps.

A torch snuffs out, and plunges the world into darkness.

—

The trip back to U.A is a beaten path. It’s 2 buses from the Central Hospital and a hundred metres from the school entrance. You open the double doors to dorms, only to be bombarded by your classmates whispering sentiments of worry and concern.

“Oh, Y/n, thank God you’re okay!” Ochaco fusses over you like a second mom, and the others all give you relieved smiles and offers to help you catch up with homework.

There’s a boy edging the group, barely inside your peripheral. He’s a boy with green eyes and a heart made of gold, someone you’re supposed to care for very, very deeply. Your mouth opens as you lock eyes with him, drawing up feelings that you knew were once your entire world.

You draw a blank, and grasp at nothing.

“Welcome back,” Izuku says quietly. You look…better, albeit after being brutally stabbed. Your eye bags are slowly disappearing, and you look lighter than you had ever been before.

Your mouth shifts upwards to a smile, and it feels genuine for the first time in a long time.

“Yeah,” You say, giving him a half smile.

Ochaco drags you over to the couch and distracts you with food. You hold his eye contact for a moment, before breaking it in favour of food.

Huh, you wonder, the weight of love dispersing into the soil down, down below.

What a strange, foolish person I was, falling in love with him.

[lingy910y]

Joy List/Things I'm Excited About Today

aka current life events that make me happy, tagged by @iansw0rld and @heymrspatel

getting my cap and gown 😌😌 had to wait in line for an hour but getting them, a tassel and an envelope of an invitation, index card, and tickets was like getting christmas gifts

speaking of which - winning the lottery for an extra ticket. they only had 3 for guests bc there's so many ppl but i had to get an extra one for my family

tomorrow!!!!! i've hyped it up for 4 and a half years idc abt the heat wave

and getting enough motivation to finish the hw that i need to graduate 💀

my yearbook messages, i didn't know ppl i haven't talked to in a long time still think abt the time we spent together 🥺

playing jeopardy with my true crime class

all the junk food i ate at my spanish class' party

matching with a roomie and choosing our room (we saved 1k in exchange for no AC 💀)

i picked my classes for college already, i didn't know i could have only 5 classes??

playing games with my sister

meeting up with my friend who i haven't seen since elementary school and falling back into comfortableness so easily

songs that make me emotional and think abt life <3 ttpd, kevin atwater, and yorushika...

trash taste for making me laugh while i draw

writing an self-indulgent multi-chap fic (hopefully finished by gallavich week)

i finally did something for gallacrafts even tho idk if i'm satisfied

making art that will specifically make a moot crazy when they come back

all the gifsets that make me crazy and crazy shit ppl say in the tags of my art and drabbles (hi julissa specifically)

one of my best friends who lives all the way in malaysia, her boarding school takes everyone's phones so she can only come online for a week every two to four weeks so i miss her. but she is very sweet

tagging and sending love to @deedala, @energievie, @blue-disco-lights, @burninface, @vintagelacerosette, and anyone else who sees this

[happily-wretched]

Introduction :D

Hello! It feels good to start on another platform, but especially on sites like these, there’s some things about myself that need to be addressed.

Name: My real name will be anonymous, for now at least.

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Homosexual & Asexual

Love-life: I’m single, but I’m strictly off limits in any sort of sexual interaction. You WILL be blocked if done so. In other words, I’m single but not ready to mingle.

Interaction in general:

Roleplay?- No. Sorry, it’s just not my thing :(

Forming relationships- No offense to anyone who is interested in forming a partnership with me, but I’m really just here to post stuff. However, I’m not against the thought of being allies (cool but not exactly friends) and will be friendly to everyone nonetheless.

What am I going to be posting about?;

One. Kink: Hunger

MAJOR STATEMENT: I may or may not use AI to write hunger kink stories, and post them on here. I apologize if that is a massive offense and I understand and will not be against any judgement of that. But please understand, I want to write a lot of them, and I am not the best story teller :(( I will try to make them VERY authentic, but overall, that’s the big justification, and I’m sorry if that’s wrong in your eyes.

What will they exactly be about?;

Really.. anything, as long as hunger is involved. I do wanna mention that they will mostly revolve around men as the main character. I know that’s strange but my gay mind just refuses to see girls in that position. Sorry if that’s what you’re into lol.

Also, some themes involved in the stories may be sexual. It’s really just used to.. spice things up. And going along with what I said about men mainly being the focused character, their romantic interest is (probably always) going to be a guy as well. So, there will be BL involved, but not always.

Requests?; Nah. I never do requests with ANYTHING. It just ruins the fact that I have to go along with specific details instead of just doing whatever I want. However, mild suggestions are allowed, in fact I encourage it. As creative as I am, there’s nothing wrong with getting a little inspo from you guys. Btw, I will not do any other kinks besides hunger, sorry. Stuffing is… okay, but me writing about it is as rare as winning the lottery without a lottery ticket.

Anything else I’m posting about?;

umm… maybe I’ll post about some fandoms I’m in. Don’t get ur hopes up though, you’ll rarely see me talk about “popular” or mediocre popular fandoms.

I do like to draw, it may be rare, but I can post some art, even if it’s straight dogshit.

Extras:

Face/voice/body reveals will not be permitted

What I’m attracted to (besides guys in general) is also going to be a secret.

If any info that you have questions about, or is not listed, you are free to ask away about anything you need to know about.

Since I’m new, I don’t know everything yet. So if you ask me about something that only Tumblr veterans may know, ima just have to take that L and stare at your comment like an idiot.

[thesorcererpoet]

A meditation on the nature of miracles

Hello friends. Lately I have been deeply considering the nature of miracles. As a practicing magician, I have seen and been a part of many things I do consider to be miraculous but I am a rational person with both a creative and analytical mind. I need to know what makes a miracle, what constitutes a miracle, and how a miracle can be performed. I want to understand this in a rational and useful sense.

The first thing that always comes to my attention, as a person living in the 21st century, is the scientific method. How can something be understood? The greatest tool we can leverage for our understanding is Occam's Razor: The simplest explanation is usually the best one.

To give context to what I am about to reveal, I need to first explain what brought this discussion to the forefront of my mind. At the moment I am working on researching The Queen of Cups tarot card to come to an understanding of something I am going through. This card talks about the nature of illusions (although in a very specific way). I am also undergoing some financial hardship, and I have been hoping and praying for something to come through for me to make things better.

Among the many events that have led up to this writing, I also had a dream about being on a tropical island, which turned out to be a real island that I have never even conceived of visiting because I am far from wealthy enough to spend my money like that. I had a dream which followed where a Goddess spoke to me and told me to make offerings to her. I later discovered a large region of this island was named after her. As a result of this dream, I came to believe that it might be possible for me to come into a fortune when I need it most. The rational part of me however, needs to work out the real world method of digging myself out of this hole. Nevertheless, I made the offerings and I bought a lottery ticket just in case.

In lieu of actually being able to perform a miracle, I have gone in search of answers which will help towards solving my problems. The answer pointed to the parable of Jesus turning water into wine.

To understand this we need to look at the source of this idea, however I do not speak Aramaic or Coptic Greek so I cannot review the material at it's source checking for mistranslations, if such a thing is even available but I do have access to the Holy Bible, which is the first English translation of the bible.

So what does the bible say about this miracle? For this we need to look to John, Chapter 2, verses 1-12.

"And the third day there was a marriage in Cana of Galilee; and the mother of Jesus was there: 2 And both Jesus was called, and his disciples, to the marriage. 3 And when they wanted wine, the mother of Jesus saith unto him, They have no wine. 4 Jesus saith unto her, Woman, what have I to do with thee? mine hour is not yet come. 5 His mother saith unto the servants, Whatsoever he saith unto you, do it. 6 And there were set there six waterpots of stone, after the manner of the purifying of the Jews, containing two or three firkins apiece. 7 Jesus saith unto them, Fill the waterpots with water. And they filled them up to the brim. 8 And he saith unto them, Draw out now, and bear unto the governor of the feast. And they bare it. 9 When the ruler of the feast had tasted the water that was made wine, and knew not whence it was: (but the servants which drew the water knew;) the governor of the feast called the bridegroom, 10 And saith unto him, Every man at the beginning doth set forth good wine; and when men have well drunk, then that which is worse: but thou hast kept the good wine until now. 11 This beginning of miracles did Jesus in Cana of Galilee, and manifested forth his glory; and his disciples believed on him. 12 After this he went down to Capernaum, he, and his mother, and his brethren, and his disciples: and they continued there not many days."

To begin with, we have a pressing need. Jesus was told there was no wine. He expressed in verse 4, "Jesus saith unto her, Woman, what have I to do with thee? mine hour is not yet come". This looks a lot like him saying, "what am I going to do with you?", and "mine hour is not yet come" as in, this is not the time.

In a pinch, Jesus had the servants bring him water vessels that were for bathing, specifically for spiritual purification. He sent the servants out with water in these spiritual vessels and sent them first to the governor of the feast. Two things here are apparent to me, firstly, the governor is influential, people usually fall in line when they see what their leader is doing; the second thing is that these are spiritual vessels.

Since the governor of the feast didn't know who sent them, it could perhaps be implied that these vessels were a reminder not to overindulge, of a religious nature. The water then being superior to wine, would suggest that they valued spiritual purity over indulgence, especially since most people there had clearly partaken of plenty of wine already. The water may even have come as a relief, as it would help the guests at the wedding feast to sober up and thus not have to tackle the next day with a headache.

In my opinion, the miracle here was that Jesus took a leap of faith. He did hide that it was he who did it, which suggests he feared a harsh rebuke, but equally implies that whoever sent the wine anonymously could have potentially been a spiritual leader who wanted to be spared embarrassment at outright stating what he wanted of the governor and of the guests. A spiritual leader would have been someone that no one would have dared to rebuke. The miracle then was a leap of faith that Jesus would pull this off.

So how does this apply to me?

One of the things I can actually do about my difficulties is to stop indulging. I smoke and I do occasionally (but not problematically) drink. Simply put, I must stop doing these things, I have to give up smoking altogether and I have to try to make cuts to the comforts in my life and take a leap of faith that doing so will help me manage things better.

With this in mind, if you have enjoyed my work and you wish to help me out, any donations made will help me out dramatically at this stage. If you want to help out, please donate to paypal.me/thesorcererpoet

All proceeds will go towards clearing my debts.

A giant thank you to everybody who has spent the time to read.

[deepautumncolors]

Boundaries

I think I'm finally getting better at saying no, which has taken me a very long time to learn how to do. It has always been a challenge for me.

I've known my dad's friend since I was born, and he's had three cats since 2014. I go over to his house to feed them and clean the litter boxes whenever he goes out of town... until now. When he asked me if I could do that from the 24th-28th, I decided it was time for me to retire from taking care of his cats. I took this whole week off from work and I haven’t had a week off since this same time last year, so I was really looking forward to my vacation. And I just didn't want to spend it worrying about his cats and driving to his house almost every day (two of the days being Christmas Eve and Christmas Day). I don't live right in the city anymore like I used to, and I don't need the extra cash anymore like I used to. I would have been driving into town once a day just for that. Not to mention, his house is very small and cramped as it is, plus he happens to be a pack rat - so there is stuff EVERYWHERE and there's not a lot of room to move around. I also have my own cats to take care of now. Things are just different than they used to be.

And so, I said no. Well actually, I said, "I'm sorry, next week doesn't work for me. I hope you can find someone." I didn't lie, I didn't make up an excuse or give a reason, I just told the truth and wished him well. I felt bad, but I just really didn't want to do it. So I didn't. I don't know who else he ended up asking, but I hope everything worked out (and that he asks that person again next time).

The other thing is that my coworkers in my department like to play the lottery, so we take turns buying tickets for the whole group. There are 14 of us, so someone gets $14 of quick picks when the jackpot gets really big. We don't have an official order that people go in, it's more like whoever hasn't gone in a while does it if they can. I can't remember the last time I bought them, so I figured my turn was coming up soon. Today they asked me if I could get them for tomorrow's drawing, but I don't live right in the city like I mentioned before and I didn't have any plans to go out. So I replied, "Can I do it next time? I'm staying home all day today." If they had asked me yesterday, I would have grabbed them when I went out to do other things. Sorry people, I'm not leaving the house for no other reason besides that when odds are we're just going to lose anyway. I've always done it the other times they asked me to and I've always been agreeable to everything they've asked of me, so I think I'm allowed to skip it just this once.

I don't know if I'm actually getting more assertive or if I just don't feel like doing certain things anymore because I'm getting older or if it's a combination of both, but I'm proud of myself for knowing my boundaries and being able to say no. If you don't, people will walk all over you. You might disappoint or inconvenience the other person/people for a while, but they'll get over it. Sometimes it's okay to be selfish when it comes to your mental health. I'm glad I'm ending 2023 on this note of asking for what I want, and I hope I'll still be able to do that when it's necessary throughout 2024!

[marlenacantswim]

'let's say you lived in-universe in each town / city / location from each cornetto film during the events depicted. understanding you don't have any prerequisite knowledge of what's about to go down, what would you be doing? how would your fate befall you, or if you think you'd survive, how would you manage to avoid certain death?'

BACK ON YOU FRIEND!!!

OH YOU GOT ME BACK MY BELOVED, OOF AUGH!!!

Okay. I'm in London. Here's the thing about me: I would believe there's a zombie apocalypse going down at like, the first bit of evidence. i'm a flexible little fuck, my default state is the fetal position. i'd gather up the shit i'd need to survive, and find some hole somewhere (probably in wherever i live. let's say we're roomies in this theoretical scenario) and just kinda vibe there and in the immediate area. i'm hoping for an attic maybe? as long as there's power, or fucks tons of batteries, i'm set. i can draw, i can write, i can put on my headphones and listen to shit on my cd player. if i was an adult in 2004 i'd have fuck tons of disk audiobooks, and books that i bought and never read, and this seems as good a time as any. in terms of weapons? probably the american baseball bat i brought with me when i moved to europe in this theoretical scenario.

sandford time! i think i'd be able to tell something was going on? with a village so small and my penchant for making friends, i think i'd be attending enough funerals and feeling enough grief to get kinda conspiratorial. i like to think i'd keep that shit to myself, but who knows; i can see myself airing out my worries to the wrong person and getting Dealt With. everyone loves me though, so at the very least the NWA would be very conflicted about it. I imagine they'd poison me and then throw me in the water to fake a drowning.

now newton haven? yeah those blanks are extremely physical, i don't think i stand a chance. imagine if we lived there at the same time and i got blanked first (bc i feel like i would, they'd get me while i was watching the sunset from a bench somewhere) and then i ended up blanking tf out of you when i inevitably trip over my own feet and my arm explodes into blue ink and you walk in and it's like a sitcom for a few brief moments.

actually no, new thought: blank and human roommate sitcom. blank keeps having to come up with convoluted lies about why her arm keeps popping off and why all the laundry keeps getting stained blue. the season four finale changes the status quo when her identity as a blank is revealed. the next five seasons are the blank hashing out increasingly convoluted schemes to try and turn their roommate into an empty. the human roommate never gives these situations the dire attitude they deserve. in fact, both characters keep an unnerving amount of levity to this fucked up game they're playing.

yeah that's us. we get incinerated when the town blows up bc we're too busy laughing about my most recent attempt to blankify you (it involved a fake lottery ticket and a prank call from the queen of england).

perfection. i think this is 100% how it would go down in all cases.

[denimbex1986]

'“Why did this face come back?” Though that question is asked throughout “The Star Beast,” it goes unanswered thus far. But Doctor Who’s very fun, delightful, nostalgia-filled, cinematic, and, at times, funny first 60th anniversary special, featuring brilliant performances by David Tennant and Catherine Tate as The Doctor (yes, Fourteen feels very much like Ten) and Donna Noble again does solve one major problem.

At times, it feels like Tennant and Tate never left and The Doctor and Donna never parted — especially during a moment involving his sonic screwdriver (used in impressive ways). As Donna says near the end, “it’s like the old days.” But there’s the matter of aliens running around and, as The Doctor and Donna recap somewhat awkwardly for viewers to open the episode, the fact that she saved the universe by taking the power of a Time Lord into her mind, which resulted in her having to forget him and their travels together — or she’d die (“Journey’s End”).

Everything’s drawing them together in “The Star Beast,” starting with The Doctor going to help someone he sees carrying a tower of boxes only to realize it’s her (“Oi, do you mind?” she calls after him when he re-stacks the boxes and begins walking away). “What?” he asks (and it feels like this special was designed with making Tennant ask just that as many times as possible) when she then calls for Rose — her daughter (Yasmin Finney, who would be so much fun as a companion), not Billie Piper‘s character. Continuing the thread from their original run in Season 4, Donna completely misses the spaceship crashing because she’s turned away, dealing with the boxes. And in true Donna fashion, she leaves The Doctor with, “Nice to meet you, skinny man. Word of advice: You can wear a suit that tight up to the age of 35 — and no further.”

When Donna’s husband Shaun (Karl Collins) calls out to his family, The Doctor intercepts him and has the cab driver take him (“Allons-y!” — it had to happen) to the crash site. (“Catch up,” he tells the psychic paper identifying him as Grandmistress instead of Grandmaster.) He pretends to be a friend of Nerys (How is she? “She’s fine.” After the accident? “She’s not fine.” It was her fault. “She’s been fine.”) and learns that Donna gave away all the money she won with the lottery ticket The Doctor gave her (through her mother and grandfather) on the wedding day.

While sneaking around the steelworks factory where the spaceship crashed, The Doctor meets UNIT science officer Shirley (Ruth Madeley, who will hopefully recur going forward); she has figured out it actually landed, and he has determined there are two sets of visitors, at war. But, she wonders, why is he hiding? They’re on the same side. “It’s all a bit mad,” he admits. “I don’t know who I am anymore.” He looks like The Doctor. “Exactly, the one in a skinny suit. After that, I wear a bowtie. After that, I’m a Scotsman. After that, I’m a woman,” he explains, and that’s not his future. “I regenerated, and she became me.” What has him worried is Donna, “my best friend in the whole wide universe. I absolutely love her. Oh, do I say things like that now? … I won’t be the one who killed her.” And so of course, soon after, he encounters her again.

When The Doctor tags along with UNIT soldiers, he ends up on her block — just in time to hear her shouting about aliens (“We’ve got a bloody Martian in the shed!”). Rose stumbled across The Meep (voiced by Miriam Margolyes) and tried hiding the alien from her mother in her shed, with the toys she makes and sells online, but failed to do so. Despite the level of concern, it’s comical the way that Donna’s mother Sylvia (Jacqueline King), heeding The Doctor’s warning of what would happen if Donna remembered, tries to continue keeping her in the dark. There’s no such thing as spaceships in the sky. No, Donna doesn’t see The Meep clutching her leg. No, The Doctor — whom Sylvia hits — cannot come in, nor does Donna see him as she tries to hide him behind her.

Donna does wonder why The Doctor is so interested in them, and he doesn’t help matters by asking about her grandfather, Wilf (Bernard Cribbins). When she says he’s not with them anymore, The Doctor thinks he died. “Of course, he wasn’t young. I loved that man. I’m so sorry for your loss,” he offers his condolences, and we can’t help but think of their conversation about death in “The End of Time.” No, Wilf is still alive, in sheltered accommodation, paid for by UNIT’s Kate (Jemma Redgrave, who will appear in these specials). “I know her!” The Doctor exclaims.

He assures the family that he’ll help get The Meep — “My chosen pronoun is the definite article,” the alien says after Rose calls The Doctor out on assuming “he” — home. But soon after The Meep explains the Wrarth Warriors cultivated Meepkind for fur and slaughtered them, the house comes under attack — by the other aliens and UNIT soldiers who were hypnotized after opening the spaceship, fighting each other. The Doctor creates shields using his sonic screwdriver, which he hands to Donna at one point and she takes like the partners in crime they once were, and directs everyone upstairs. But after they crawl through adjacent attics and reach Shaun’s car, The Doctor realizes something’s off.

Away from the action, The Doctor dons a barrister’s wig (we were expecting all the nods we got to previous Doctor Who episodes, but not to Tennant’s role in The Escape Artist), intercepts the Wrarth Warriors’ teleport, and extracts the truth: They’re using stun guns and trying to capture The Meep, mutated into a cruel beast by a living sun gone mad, for despicable crimes. The Meep kills the Warriors and uses the hypnotized UNIT soldiers to take The Doctor (who uses the fact that he, too, has two hearts, as a strategy the alien should want to unpack) and the others as hostages.

On their way to the factory, The Doctor, while dodging questions about his identity, asks Donna why she gave away the lottery money. “Because there are places out there where people are in danger, in pain, in fear, and I could help. It just felt like the sort of thing he would do,” she says. And if that “he” has Sylvia worried, that’s nothing on when Donna, as Shirley helps the group escape (weapons in her wheelchair, of course) and sends The Doctor to stop The Meep and the family to safety, stays behind. “If The Doctor can’t save the city, we’re all going to die. I’ve got to help,” Donna says, and her mother realizes she called him by name.

To be fair, The Doctor does try to keep Donna out of it, even as they’re trapped on The Meep’s ship, the alien is destroying London (and about to kill everyone) to take off, and a glass door divides the room in half, so the Time Lord can only reach half the buttons to stop it. But then, with time running out, he tells her, “You and I can stop this ship, together, but it will kill you.” She agrees because not only is it Rose’s life in danger but also nine million people. “Who cares about me?” she asks. “I do!” he says. “I’m just no one,” Donna argues. “No, you are not!” The Doctor tells her before raging, devastated, “Why does it have to be this?” And with that, resigned, he activates the Time Lord part still in her.

Here is when Donna feels (and sounds) the most like Donna again (other than her reaction to teen boys being awful to her daughter), as she rants about giving away her money because of a subconscious part making her act like him while also saving London and stopping The Meep. But then, with seconds left to live, she collapses. Maybe his face came back “to say goodbye,” she suggests as she dies in his arms … or not? Just as The Meep’s soldiers are about to kill The Doctor (do what you want, he says, “you were beaten by The DoctorDonna!”), someone begins flipping switches, freeing UNIT: Rose!

The Doctor realizes that the metacrisis passed down to Rose, a shared inheritance, and she, too, was activated when Donna was. That’s why Rose chose the name she did. The shed was her memory of the TARDIS, and she remembered the creatures The Doctor and Donna met as toys. While they’re binary, Rose isn’t, because The Doctor is male and female and neither and more.

After that, it’s just a matter of Wrarth Warriors taking The Meep into custody, though the alien warns The Doctor before the transport, “I will escape and have my revenge, so you beware, Doctor. Because there’s one more thing. … A creature with two hearts is such a rare thing, just wait until I tell the boss.” And while the metacrisis in Donna and Rose is still troubling, they solve that problem themselves: by just letting it go. (“It’s a shame you’re not a woman anymore because she would’ve understood,” Donna comments, with Rose adding, it’s “something a male-presenting Time Lord will never understand.”)

Then it’s back to the TARDIS for The Doctor, and Donna refuses to let Rose see inside “because something will go wrong and you’ll end up on Mars with Chaucer and a robot shark.” The Doctor does convince Donna to come for one last trip, to see Wilf, now that she remembers. “It’s like the old days, just me and The Doctor, together,” Donna says, happy.

It’s once they’re inside that we see how the TARDIS has changed: sleek, shiny, with lots of ramps for The Doctor to run up and down, which he does, exclaiming, “This is amazing! You clever thing!” He’s delighted in a way he couldn’t have been until now, with Donna back. She, at first, complains it’s still nippy before conceding, “it’s gorgeous!” And it is! Still, she asks about his face coming back. “Does there have to be a reason?” he asks. “We’re stuck with it now.” (We know that’s not the case.)

“I really do remember… every second with you. I’m so glad you’re back because it killed me, Donna. It killed me, it killed me, it killed me,” The Doctor admits, giving her a cup of coffee. She doesn’t see why he can’t stop by to visit with her family after this trip because “you’ve been given a second chance. You could do things different this time, so why don’t you do something completely new and have some friends?” He’s non-committal in his answer. And then Donna, just as she wonders, “What’s going to go wrong?” spills her coffee on the TARDIS console. She did warn him that was how she lost her job… And so the TARDIS takes off, and they “could end up anywhere in time and space,” according to The Doctor.

Since The Doctor might not feel like saying it here, we will, because we can’t wait to see where they land: Allons-y!'

[thesereveries]

Addiction, phobia, and akrasia

An idea has followed me for a while. Time and time again, it neatly explains things I encounter in everyday life. I’ll sketch this idea here. Hopefully, the dissertation I’m working on will accomplish a more detailed articulation of this idea.

In a nutshell: Our sense of what is real (i.e., manifest reality) is not always determined by probabilities we know. Instead, it can be determined by what has emotional force over us, regardless of whether we know that it is probable, improbable, or downright impossible. 

Case studies

Let’s anchor ourselves in examples. A friend (let’s name him Fyodor) is a lottery addict. He has done research on the improbability of winning and tries to rid himself of this addiction. He knows he has a 1 in 14 million chance. In spite of this, after he loses any lottery round, he can’t help but feel like he might win next time. So he continues to buy ticket after ticket. Every time he has a chance to enter the lottery, he is overwhelmed by excitement. He is practically salivating, from imagining all that he could do with hundreds of millions of dollars: the many luxury estates he’d own, the power he’d have over his enemies, etc. He then catches himself in this delusion and fights his compulsion to buy another ticket by reminding himself how winning is practically impossible. But this fails to quell his impulses. He still feels as excited as ever. While such excitement would normally imply that one is optimistic about one’s chances, that is not the case for Fyodor. He knows his chances are 1 in 14 million, which is pessimistic.

Take another example. A friend (let’s call her Charlotte) is terrified of spiders. She has done all her homework and researched how the spiders that appear in her apartment must be harmless. Yet, whenever at home she sees a spider, she is overwhelmed by terror. Her heart races, and she feels the impulse to run away. She fights this compulsion by reminding herself of the research she’s done, that this spider is harmless. But she still feels as terrified as ever. While this fear would normally imply that one believes that the spider is dangerous, that is not the case for Charlotte. She knows that the spider is safe.

These two examples are mostly parallel. Fyodor and Charlotte both know the sober facts of their situations. Fyodor knows that under no circumstances does it make sense to be excited about winning the lottery. Charlotte knows that under no circumstances does it make sense to react with terror at a harmless spider. The two examples diverge upon one point. Fyodor knows, rightfully so, that he has a chance of winning, even if this chance is very slight. Charlotte seems to know, in contrast, that it’s impossible for this spider to be dangerous. Let’s dog-ear this point of difference for now; it’ll become relevant later.

My proposal

Manifest reality is not always determined by probabilities we know, but rather by what has emotional force over us. What is “manifest reality”? As seen in these examples, what we sense as real can come apart from what we believe is real. 

How different are the “fabrics” of manifest reality and of belief? Quite different. We believe in propositions, whose fabric is conceptual and linguistic. Fodor believes that he has 1 in 14 millionth of a chance of winning. This proposition of his belief draws upon concepts and picks out a determinate state of affairs.

In contrast, it’s unclear what exactly is going down in Fyodor’s manifest reality, which causes his frenzy of excitement and seeming optimism, in spite of his belief. Does he sense as real the apparent state of affairs that he is likely to win? Or that while it’s unlikely, he is a lucky guy, and is certain to win someday? 

There seems to be a range of propositions that could be attributed to Fyodor’s manifest reality, which all explain his excitement and compulsive behavior. It goes beyond my scope to offer a hands-down argument here, but I’m arguing in my dissertation that manifest reality is nonpropositional and pre-conceptual. What’s real to us is partially amorphous and indeterminate, and always unconscious, so that there is a range of beliefs we could arrive at by reflecting upon it and bringing it to conscious awareness. 

Why it’s tricky to talk about manifest reality

Whenever we talk or think analytically, we need to use language. Maybe it’s even the case that in order to become conscious of some state of affairs, we also must use language. If manifest reality is nonpropositional, this means that we must interpret it, where we face a range of creative options, in order to make it conscious. 

How should we think about these propositions we arrive at for making sense of manifest reality? For example, how should we talk about what went down in Fyodor’s manifest reality which explains his excitement and compulsive behavior at purchasing the ticket, against his belief that he ought not to?

A proposition that could explain this would be “I’m likely to win.” If this were manifestly real, obviously Fyodor would get all excited. But this butts heads with his belief that it’s practically impossible to win. To describe his manifest reality this way would imply a contradiction. This would open questions as to how anyone could transparently believe in contradictions, given that rationality obeys the law of non-contradiction. 

It’d be better to describe Fyodor’s manifest reality in terms of that he could win, rather than he is likely to win. This is consistent with his belief. That he could win is a proposition at a level of generality consistent with either that he is likely to win, or that it is practically impossible to win. 

It is crucial, however, not to take this general proposition as literally what manifest reality consists in. It is just a model. Take a metaphor: A man may model for an artist. The artist’s drawing of this man is not the same as the man himself. The drawing is made up of paper and ink, whereas the man is a person of flesh and blood. Likewise, while we can talk about manifest reality in terms of propositions, manifest reality isn’t itself made up of propositions. It’s rather made up of something else, which I haven’t yet adequately addressed. This is a large undertaking on its own, and I hope to continue on with it in future blogposts.

An objection

One might balk at my positing this new concept, manifest reality. This is unparsimonious. Belief is all that’s needed for explaining our experiences and behavior. One might think that Fyodor doesn’t actually believe that it’s practically impossible for him to win the lottery, which explains why he gets so excited and compulsive. 

Distinguish between probabilities we arrive at through reading and research, on the one hand, and probabilities we arrive at through first-hand experience, or brute trial and error, on the other hand. One might think that there’s nothing unusual going on in Fyodor’s and Charlotte’s cases. It’s just that they don’t actually believe in the probabilities they’ve learned, because they’ve only read textbooks to arrive at this knowledge. So I’ve misrepresented their cases by claiming that they believe these probabilities. In contrast, if they had learned about these probabilities through first-hand experience—if the world itself hit them again and again with the relevant information, and so their mental models of the world updated correspondingly—they would really believe in the probabilities. 

While Fyodor can mentally rehearse the words in his head, that "it’s practically impossible to win,” this mental rehearsal is a type of imagining or inner speech, which doesn’t entail belief. We can talk about anything we want; we talk about vampires and elves, without believing in these one bit. So by this explanation, there is no reason to posit some psychological entity like “manifest reality.” Everything that had seemed puzzling can be explained by the distinction between actual belief and apparent belief which is actually imagination under disguise.

My response

This explanation will not do. Fyodor sincerely endorses as true that he has 1 in 14 millionth of a chance of winning. This is belief. The idea that there could be different kinds of belief, on the basis of different ways of arriving there (e.g., through reading vs. first-hand experience) has merit. But calling them both belief is unhelpful. Belief is defined in relation to truth. Whatever it is which Fyodor senses as real is something which he could attempt to represent in propositional thought (e.g., “it’s likely I will win”), and he would reject such propositions as false. It is not belief. But it spurs his excitement and compulsive behavior.

This is why it’s worthwhile to erect a concept like manifest reality, or the collection of what we sense to be real. This doesn’t violate a principle of parsimony, but we’re forced into this position given the facts of our experience. 

Lessons for everyday life

There are many real-life cases in which we believe that something is impossible, and yet that thing operates as real and unleashes havoc upon us—as if it were possible, or even straightforwardly actual, contrary to our belief. Consider this sampling of everyday cases, which share the structure of Fyodor’s and Charlotte’s cases. Fred was raised in a devoutly Christian household which bans premarital sex. As an adult, he has become an atheist. Yet, he feels guilt whenever he has premarital sex. A child Dora is fearful of monsters under her bed. She trusts her parents, who convince her that it’s impossible for any monster to exist. So she believes that it’s impossible for there to be a monster under her bed, and yet she still senses a lurking presence and trembles in fear. Or, consider how we’re raised to believe that it’s impossible for a person to be dumber or poorer simply be virtue of their skin color. Yet we display behaviors of “unconscious racism” or “implicit bias,” which indicates that we sense as real their inferiority, contrary to our belief (and Reality, beyond whatever we sense as real).

The sundering between manifest reality and belief also explains akrasia, or weakness of the will. For example, we’re raised under a consumerist society. We’ve done research so that we believe that it purchasing items made by children in oversea factories is undesirable. Yet when we sees a nice gadget for sale, we feel the compulsion to put it in our cart and consider purchasing it. Or consider we believe that failing to do laundry is undesirable; that binge watching television when a deadline is coming up is undesirable; and so on. Akrasia may be taken as a variety of the case in which belief in the impossibility of something leaves no dent upon that thing’s manifest reality. Charlotte believes that it’s impossible for the spider to be dangerous, and we believe that it’s impossible for binging television to be good for us, and yet our behaviors are not impacted by this belief. Our behaviors are rather driven by an unconscious manifest reality of the danger of the spider, or of the goodness of binging. 

Traditionally, akrasia is seen as paradoxical in philosophy. The ease by which such examples may be proliferated should be taken as a sign that something has gone wrong with our understanding of akrasia. Reason obeys the law of non-contradiction. We should find a way to understand akrasia that avoids positing transparently contradictory beliefs. My concept of manifest reality does just this.

Where does our manifest reality come from?

Given that what we sense as real determines our emotional and behavioral response, as well as how our mental models of the world get updated, now we may ask: Why is it that certain things have such an emotional grip over us? For example, why does seeing the opportunity to buy a lottery ticket trigger such intense excitement in Fyodor? A full explanation must be contextual, idiosyncratic to a particular case under consideration. Nevertheless, there are general forms of explanation, or general variables for making sense of this, to be identified. Here are some preliminary variables

First, humans, as animals, are evolved to get strongly emotionally activated by certain types of stimuli more than others, and to have this emotional activation more likely be of certain individual emotions than others. For example, we are likely to get fearful of snakes and cockroaches; and fear is easily extended to anything that seems to threaten our existence. We are also likely to feel drawn towards things that benefit our existence, like acquiring wealth and goods, or having sex and eating.

Second, humans, unlike other animals, can have a very diverse array of interests and desires; we can come to experience a certain fear, like an impending deadline, as in effect having the same value for our existence as something that’d threaten our biological survival, like a tiger. Likewise, we can come to experience a certain desire, like watching television, as having in effect the same overall value for our existence as something that’d aid our biological survival, like retreating from a dangerous situation.

Third, there are cultural, economic, and political variables which explain why one person ends up having a certain fear with as much forcefulness as fear of a threat to one’s biological survival, while another person does not. There are certain cultures where spider phobias are virtually absent. Likewise, these cultural variables would explain why one person ends up having a certain desire with as much forcefulness as desire for some good to one’s biological survival, while another person does not. Not all people across eras have been driven by the inexhaustible desire to scroll through one’s phone, or to purchase excess items, which are not related to basic vitality. These cultural, political, and economic variables impact how our parents raise us and how individuals in our developmental environment, like peers and teachers, treat us. These family or developmental variables are also crucial for a full explanation of why we come to be especially emotionally reactive to certain stimuli, and thereby come to sense certain things as real or immanent, even if these are obviously unreal or improbable to us by belief.

To sum up:

There is a need to posit some explanatory entity like “manifest reality.” If we rely only on “belief,” we end up with paradoxes.

Manifest reality may be loosely defined as containing whatever we sense as real. It is unconscious and ambiguous It triggers our emotion and behavior. 

Why we sense as real certain things rather than others can be explained by at least three variables: (1) Biological constraints, (2) Past experiences of having this biological energy channeled or “sublimated” under certain forms (e.g., lottery tickets or spiders) which are not directly related to biological survival, and (3) The cultural, political, and economic constraints that explain how we become capable of having such experiences that “sublimate” biological drives.

Questions left open:

What is the best way for modeling the content of manifest reality, given that the content itself is not propositional? I’ve introduced here the constraint that we should model it in terms of propositions which do not contradict one’s beliefs. Often, this means that we should model it in terms of propositions that are more general than our specific and complex beliefs. But there is much more to be said here. In previous posts, I’ve shown that the fabric of manifest reality is highly dynamic and malleable. This means that it needs to be understood as unfolding over time, and achieved through our constantly sensing and responding to what we’ve sensed as real. That in turn means that our agency and freedom is critically a co-author of manifest reality, alongside with the co-author of the world itself, independent of how it is manifested in experience. There are top-down and bottom-up constraints upon manifest reality.

What is the relationship between beliefs that stand contrary to what we sense as real, on the one hand, and that which we make-believe or fantasize about, on the other hand? When I make-believe that the dog in the park is actually a unicorn, this is an active psychological event. It’s a mental action. This implies that I absolutely cannot sense as real that the dog is actually a unicorn. A part of my manifest reality is that I’ve made this up. This is unlike Charlotte’s case, in which she didn’t make up that the spider is dangerous. It just showed up to her that way. She had no choice. There is more to be said here.

How does this discussion relate to cases in which we don’t seem emotional at all, but contemplate something that involves possibility or uncertainty? For example, I might wonder whether my partner will go on a run with me this weekend. I might wonder whether the Big Bang theory is true. Do the things I wonder about here (e.g., a future event, an event potentially happening now, an event in the deep past) show up to me as real, or as unreal/make-believe? Or is there another category regarding the experiential quality of something’s reality that such cases reflect, a category that can’t be neatly reduced to one of the two of this binary between manifest reality and unreality?

Relevant literature & further reading:

Bekoff, Marc. “Social Play in Coyotes, Wolves, and Dogs.” BioScience 24, no. 4 (1974): 225–30. https://doi.org/10.2307/1296803.

Deweese-Boyd, Ian. “Self-Deception.” In The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, edited by Edward N. Zalta, Summer 2021. Metaphysics Research Lab, Stanford University, 2021. https://plato.stanford.edu/archives/sum2021/entries/self-deception/.

Frijda, Nico H. The Laws of Emotion. Mahwah, N.J: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates, 2007.

Harris, Paul L. The Work of the Imagination. Wiley-Blackwell, 2000.

LeDoux, Joseph E. “Emotion, Memory and the Brain.” Scientific American 270, no. 6 (1994): 50–57.

Reddy, Vasudevi, and Gina Mireault. “Teasing and Clowning in Infancy.” Current Biology 25, no. 1 (January 5, 2015): R20–23. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.cub.2014.09.021.

Sorce, James F., Robert N. Emde, Joseph J. Campos, and Mary D. Klinnert. “Maternal Emotional Signaling: Its Effect on the Visual Cliff Behavior of 1-Year-Olds.” Developmental Psychology 21, no. 1 (1985): 195–200. https://doi.org/10.1037/0012-1649.21.1.195.

[redactedthegreat]

The Penis Lottery

In this world everyone is born a girl. In the place where I live sex is determined by a lottery at the end of grade school. I had a winning ticket, but on the same day as the drawing I started my period, invalidating me for the injection that would have made me a boy.

After graduation I went on a camping trip with my best friend Alex, who took my place in the lottery and recently completed male development. It's our first time together since the day of the drawing.

Watching Alex chop the wood for our fire, I was struck by the gulf that had grown between our bodies. As girls we had looked like sisters; we could share clothes, even though I was a couple inches taller. Now he towered over me, his muscles rippling with each swing of the axe.

My body had grown larger too, but not like his. I'd gained a few inches of height, but most of my development had gone to my hips, my breasts, and my reproductive system.

I'd suffered through over a hundred periods since that first awful experience, but I still hated it every single time. All I could think about now was how it should have been me getting the injection, going to boy school, chopping the wood, never worrying about a monthly cycle.

Alex paused and looked in my direction. I wondered if he knew what was going through my mind. "Do you want a turn?" He asked, offering me the axe and wiping his brow.

"Uh, sure." I said, cautiously stepping up to the stump we'd been using as a chopping block. Alex balanced a round of wood on the stump and backed away. I struggled to lift the axe over my head.

"Whoa, careful." Alex chided me, stepping up and guiding my hands. "Here, hold it near the head until you're ready to swing. It's safer this way."

"I'm holding it the same way you were." I said defensively. I'd been watching him carefully.

"I'm a lot stronger than you are now, it's dangerous to swing an axe around beyond your control." He said it like such a simple safety tip, but it felt like a fist to my ego. I had to learn how to chop wood like a girl because I wasn't strong enough to be like Alex; he won the lottery, now he can swing an axe like a man, and pee where he wants, and pick me up like a child.

What did my body get while he was gaining these abilities? A layer of fat to make me fun to touch, swollen breasts to be admired, hormones to make me fertile and horny, an arousal response that makes me easier to penetrate; it felt like every change I'd gone through was just a reward for Alex's body to enjoy.

“Are you alright?” He asked. I realized I’d been making a bit of a sour face.

“I’m fine.” I said, trying to believe it. “Just psyching myself up to smash this log apart.” I brought the axe down and felt it thunk deep into the wood. There was even a splintering sound, but it didn’t quite split. I tried to pull the axe out but it was stuck.

“Lift the whole thing up and slam it down.” Alex suggested. I tried, but I could hardly lift the axe and the wood it was stuck in at all.

“Let me help.” Alex offered, taking the handle and easily lifting it to head-level and slamming it back onto the stump. The log split apart with a satisfying crack.

“Thanks.” I said, but internally I was fuming. It felt so unfair. I tried not to let it bother me too much, but it lingered on my mind. I struggled to find anything to say as we set up the tent and roasted dinner together.

We sat around the fire until the sun fully set, our faces lit by the flickering flames. Alex must have seen me shiver, because he moved over to sit next to me and put an arm over my shoulder. His body felt so warm against mine. Was extra body heat another advantage I’d missed out on?

“We should probably go to bed soon.” Alex said. I felt an annoying little flutter in my heart.

We had been avoiding romantic subjects entirely, but now that we were about to share a tent for the night, I was uncomfortably aware of the ambiguity. Would Alex try something? Would I want him to? I couldn’t make up my mind, but I thought up a lot of ways I didn’t want it to go.

“Maybe we could watch the fire a little longer?” I suggested. Why did I feel so uncertain suggesting things to Alex? It almost felt like I was asking for approval from a teacher. I was a couple months older than him, but being side by side now almost made me feel like a child.

“Sure.” He said, squeezing me closer. “Probably good to make sure the fire goes out.” He poked at it for a while, I watched the embers fly up into the night. I felt so little next to Alex, but it felt good. I was warm, and his body was so firm holding on to mine. I didn’t know what to say, so we just watched the fire together in silence.

“Ready for bed?” He asked as the flames died out. I felt the pit again in my stomach. All this stalling and I was still just as unsure as before.

“Sure.” I said, attempting to sound cheerful. I helped him pack up a bit and get the sleeping bags laid out. We brushed our teeth and spit into the coals to help put it out.

There was still a faint glow, so Alex unzipped his pants and pulled out his thing. I’d see them before in pictures, but this was my first time seeing one in real life. It was almost pitch black outside, only the faint light of the stars and moon aided the nothing-glow of the remaining embers, but I still got a sense of its size. It almost seemed unreal the way it just stuck out of him, long and chubby, like a fat sausage.

He held it in his fingers and aimed at the remains of the fire. I heard more than saw the stream shoot from his dick onto the embers in a sizzling splash. With a few popping hisses the fire was out.

I was thankful for the darkness, because I was sure my face had turned bright red. I couldn’t stand how Alex was showing off. It made me hate the twist of fate that had given him my winning ticket, I hated it more than when I got my period. But at the same time it was very possibly the hottest thing I had ever witnessed. I felt a tingle between my legs that was only getting louder. I just saw Alex’s penis, and he’d just used it to put out the fire in a way I could never dream of.

“Sorry, I had to go.” Alex said a bit sheepishly. I’m sure he could tell I was stunned, but I hoped he didn’t know the depths of it.

“It’s fine.” I said, trying to play it cool. “Saves water, right?” I added with an awkward chuckle. I felt like such a dork. My brain was still fixated on the thing that had just happened with the fire and the penis.

In the tent all I could think about was the sexual tension between us. I could feel my body had already made up its mind. I wanted to say something, just to get it out in the open, but I couldn’t think of anything. I just paced awkwardly around the tent, pretending to get ready for bed, but too nervous to take off my clothes.

“Do you want to sleep together?” Alex asked. I felt my face get even redder. What a blunt question. I opened my mouth to reply but no words came out.

“I understand if you don’t, but I think it could be fun.” He added in response to my hesitation. “I haven’t seen a developed woman yet. I’d like you to be my first.” He added.

I felt a gross feeling come over me. A developed woman, that’s what I was to him now. He wanted me to be his first of how many? Was he really using our friendship as an in for sexual experience with a woman?

Though I could use sexual experience too, and Alex’s body was making me feel things I wanted to keep feeling. I looked at his dark outline in the tent, trying to read his invisible expression for a moment.

“Could we turn on a light?” I asked, still feeling tongue tied about the entire sexual situation.

“Of course.” He replied, hanging a dim lantern from the ceiling of the tent. I felt even more nervous in the light, but I also felt more excited. Alex already had his shirt off, and the vision of his nude torso was doing a lot to silence my doubts. His front was so flat and wide, with rippling muscles along his chest and stomach. His body hair was everywhere, a particularly thick line of it ran from his navel into his pants.

“Yes.” I said at last.

“Hmm?” Alex seemed a bit confused. The way he’d been watching me look at him filled me with an excited nervousness.

“Yes, I want to sleep together.” I clarified, beginning to take off my own shirt.

Now it was Alex’s turn for his face to turn red. I was still in my bra, but I could see his eyes roving hungrily over my chest and middle. A noticeable bulge was forming in the front of his pants.

I took off my own pants and watched the bulge swell as he saw the noticeable flatness of my panties. The way his eyes were glued to my crotch made me a little uncomfortable, I felt an urge to cover myself with my hands.

“Nothing you haven’t seen before, right?” I said with another awkward chuckle.

“It’s different now.” Alex said, eyes still roving my body, but frequently stopping to rest between my legs. “I didn’t realize how little you’d changed since we were girls.”

Hearing him say that felt like a knife, but it also made the horny tingling jump up into a new gear. “I’ve developed.” I said defensively, posturing to highlight my assets.

“Well sure, but…” He gestured at the front of my panties. “Your crotch still looks like when we were kids.”

I felt a new surge of hot embarrassment. “What are you talking about? You haven’t even seen it.”

“I can see how flat it is.” He countered. “I mean, do you even get hard?”

“Sort of.” I said meekly. It didn’t really feel right to call it ‘hard’, but I could feel it now as strongly as ever. The needy buzzing feeling in my clit before I had to touch it.

“Would you be willing to try and get hard for me? I’m just so curious.” His face was turning red with a horny embarrassment, but I was fighting to resist the urge to run straight out of the tent. How could I tell him I was already as aroused as I’d ever been in my life?

“I could do something sexy for you, I’m not sure what turns you on.” He had seemed so confident all night, but now I was seeing glimpses of my childhood friend in his awkward courting. His innocent intrigue only made the truth harder to share.

“Are you ‘hard’ now?” He asked. I reached a breaking point, I couldn’t stand his eyes on my crotch for another second, and it felt like if something didn’t touch my clit soon it was going to explode. My hand darted over my panties, holding my hot mound. I couldn’t help giving it a little pressure.

Glancing down at myself made me feel a bit ridiculous, my fingers pressing flat into my underwear only made it more obvious; I’d grown larger, but in so many ways I was the same girl he’d known before the lotto.

My vulva had developed, but it was still the same general shape, Alex’s genitals had developed in entirely new ways. How could I blame him for assuming I’d had my own metamorphosis?

I was pulled out of my thought spiral by the sound of Alex laughing. I had to look at him for a moment to understand what was going on. He must have seen my confusion because then he explained himself.

“You already are, aren’t you? Oh wow, I’m so sorry.” He couldn’t help chuckling a little more. “It’s just, I thought your clit would swell up or something. I don’t know. I feel so embarrassed. They don’t teach us about things like this in boy school, this is why I need your help. I’m clueless!”

He was so focused on his own sexual goals he didn’t even realize the effect his words were having on me. I moved my hand in tiny circles, hardly noticeable in the dim of the tent, and stared at my friend, tilting my head back to look up into his eyes.

That should be me scraping the top of the tent with my head, towering over little Alexa, teasing her until she was touching herself in front of me. I should have grown a sexy sausage fire-hose, she should be the one who grew puffier labia and a monthly nightmare.

“Sorry for laughing at you.” Alex apologized. I couldn’t help but forgive him, it was an honest reaction. I just hated how real it felt to me. “Is it okay if I take off my pants? They’re getting uncomfortable,” He asked, reaching into the front to adjust himself.

Seeing the way his bulge moved in his jeans made my fingers rub faster. His thing was so big. I could feel the hot nothing of my clit under my hand, I felt like I was melting in the presence of his superior phallus, my panties becoming damp.

I realized I hadn’t answered his question. “Oh, uh, sure.” I said. I saw him notice my hand between my legs, the motion becoming too obvious to hide. I froze like a deer caught in headlights, but I knew he’d seen enough to know what I’d been doing. The urge to run from the tent once again reasserted itself in my mind.

Alex unbuckled his pants and let them fall to the floor. His underwear was tented around the pole of his cock. It was firmly pointing straight out and up from his body. It looked so much bigger now than it had soft.

He stepped out of his pants as he approached. I felt the hairs stand up on my neck as he loomed over me. There was hardly a foot of space between us anymore. The outline of his cock was only a couple inches from my skin. I was so aroused it was making my pussy twitch.

Without warning he grabbed the wrist of the hand between my legs and pulled it away, placing it on his shoulder. I could feel the muscles of his shoulder flex and bend like taught cables as he leaned closer to my ear.

“I’m going to take off your bra now.” Alex said, before reaching around behind me. I just stood there and let him do it. Wishing desperately I had the courage to put my hand back where it was sorely missed.

He had to look over my shoulder at the clasp, but he managed to take it off quickly. He slid it off me gently, admiring my breasts as they were freed. The relief of being braless was eclipsed by the shame and excitement of watching Alex’s face as he saw a real woman’s breasts for the first time.

“Oh.” He said, his eyes had become huge. “Wow.” He seemed at a loss for words. I was feeling more and more uncomfortable. I thought he’d like them, but the way his eyes were roaming my chest was getting unnerving. It was like he was devouring every feature.

“I think I understand what you mean now, you do get hard.” He said, pointing at one of my nipples. The cool air in the tent had made them start to crinkle up the moment he took off my bra.

Hearing him say that made me want to die. I wasn’t even sure if he was being sarcastic, he said it so genuinely. He even had a point, my nipples were one thing that had matured drastically over puberty, and each one poking off my chest in the cool night air easily dwarfed my little clit.

I wasn’t sure what to say, so I just playfully punched Alex in the arm, but it was like hitting the flank of a horse. His body had become so firm and unyielding.

“Remember when we used to play-fight?” Alex asked, getting a mischievous look in his eyes.

“That was a long time ago.” We had tussled together a lot as girls, but never in anger.

“You won every time.” He reminded me, I couldn’t help feeling a little glow of pride in that fact. He might be bigger and taller after the injection, but when we were both girls I was undefeated. “I want a rematch.” He added.

I stared at him quizzically, what would that prove? There was no contest between us now. Alex gave me a playful punch like I had done to him, moving slow and gently, but it still made me stumble off balance. He was just so much larger than me now.

“Come on, give me your best shot.” He said, patting his chest aggressively. I didn’t really see the point in fighting like children, but he was being insistent, and I kinda did feel like hitting him again.

I leaned back and slugged him right in the chest. I felt my hand thump into his muscled sternum with no discernible effect.

Alex retaliated by gently slapping at me. I gave him a funny look, what was he doing? I punched him again, really putting my weight into it this time, slamming my fist right into his bicep, but he hardly budged. It actually hurt my wrist a little. Alex just softly slapped at me again.

"You aren't even trying!" I said. I couldn't believe he was fighting me with such little effort. It was insulting.

"I don't want to hurt you more than you're hurting me." He said with a note of arrogance.

"Yeah right, I'm hitting you harder than that. You wanted a fight, show me what you can do." I said, throwing a little kick at his thigh that actually made him stumble a bit.

Alex shrugged his shoulders and gave me a shove. For a moment my feet left the floor of the tent. I flew onto the bedroll and bounced, stunned at what had just taken place. My soft body jiggled with the violence of the throw. I felt a deep yearning inside to know what it was like for him, to be so large and powerful.

He came to stand over me, looking down at my mostly-nude body. "See why I need to go easy on you?" He asked me with a cocky grin.

I swung my leg to kick Alex in the balls, but he grabbed my ankle with his hand and used the leverage to flip me over. He held me in place by my shoulders. I tried to raise an arm to push off the mattress, but he grabbed me by the wrist and pinned it in place over my head.

I rolled to get my other arm out from under my stomach, but he snared that one as well, twisting it to pin it behind me. I was being pressed into the mattress by the small of my back while my other arm was trapped in the wrist he was using for support.

I felt Alex's knee press down between my thighs, dividing my legs. I could feel the cool air of the tent against my panties. I struggled with all my limbs, but could only flail helplessly.

He leaned over me, shifting his weight onto my body. I could feel his breath on my neck, it was hot and heavy with moisture. "Do you give up?" He asked me in a cooly casual voice.

I couldn't bring myself to surrender so easily. I flailed again, pushing against the bed with my legs, but it only pushed my butt into his thigh. I felt a flash of embarrassment squishing against him fruitlessly.

Alex applied a little pressure with his hips, pressing back against my ass. "Oh yeah, you developed quite nicely here too. I certainly would have remembered a butt like this when we were girls." He said, giving it another playful nudge.

He leaned in by my neck again and spoke softly in my ear with a rumbling tone.  "I can feel the heat of your pussy on my leg, and I'm not even touching you." My face blushed bright red. I could feel he was right, being pinned by his larger stronger body had lit a fire in me.

"Okay, okay, I give up." I said, trying again to push him off me. Alex let go of my wrists and backed away, allowing me to stand.

I turned to look at Alex and again felt my eyes drawn to the erection tenting his underwear. I had to force my gaze back up to his face.

"Would you mind taking off your panties?" Alex asked me. I had to hesitate for a moment to consider it. Did he just want to look at me, or was he planning on asking for more? In a playful act of compliance I just did it; he'd defeated me, this could be his reward: one sexy favor.

I stepped out of my embarrassingly damp underwear and tossed them in the corner. I faced Alex and widened my stance a bit, tilting my hips to give him a good look at exactly how much had changed down there.

"It's so pink!" He said. I shifted my stance, suddenly hyper aware of my arousal. "It's like your whole pussy is blushing." He gushed. I felt my face flush in response. "Can I touch it?"

"Um, if you want." I wasn't really sure how to feel, but the idea excited me.

Alex walked around behind me and wrapped his arms around my middle. He traced his fingers down from my navel all the way over my mound and finally onto my pussy.

"This feels familiar." He said. His chin was over my shoulder. I could feel his breath on the back of my ear, his voice rumbled at a gentle volume. His entire body was pressed against mine. "I used to touch my clit like this." He added, dipping a finger between my lips. I arched my back and leaned against him, reveling in the stimulation.

"I didn't get this wet, and I didn't cum, but it still felt good." He said, continuing to play with my clit in rapid little circles.

"Mmm Hmm." I groaned, attempting to listen, but getting swept up in the touching.

"It's so little, so different; I used to have a clit like yours, but-" He pressed the bulge of his erection into my backside. "My clit grew up."

At that point I whimpered. I'm not proud of it, but that's the sound that came out of my mouth. The feelings of loss, of helplessness, of utter orgasmic bliss, they washed away my ego as I crumpled in Alex's arms.

He was the man, he had the cock, I was the girl he was making cum. His finger swished and swished around my clit until my legs were about to give out from the pleasure.

The next thing I knew my legs did give out. Alex held me up as my strength left me, his fingers working me into a full body experience. I moaned in my girly voice while waves of pleasure washed over me.

As soon as I could stand, I took a few shaky steps and turned back around to face Alex. His dick was hard as ever, there was even a wet spot of precum on his boxers.

“That was quick, the guys from school made it sound like it would take forever.” Alex said. It made me wonder if becoming a boy had made him less intelligent. How did he expect that to make me feel? “I guess I’ve got a gift.” He bragged, taking credit for my orgasm.

“It’s not that big of a deal.” I said, hoping he’d drop it.

“Yeah right, you couldn’t make me cum that fast.” He said, grabbing his cock through his underwear and giving it a squeeze.

I could tell what he was doing, but I was so horny I didn’t care. I wanted to see his penis in the light, I wanted to feel it, I even wanted to taste it.

“Bet I could.” I told him flirtatiously. His face immediately blushed as I called his bluff. I played up my confidence in the situation as I sank to my knees and pulled his underwear down.

His cock sprung free and nearly hit me in the face. It looked so huge up close. I reached out and wrapped my fingers around his shaft. It felt so hot and firm in my hand. A fresh need was blooming between my legs. As interested as I’d been in pictures of dicks, it was nothing compared to the real thing. It was filling me with an electric excitement.

I looked up at Alex, trying to read his expression. My mouth was watering at the idea of sucking on his cock, but I wanted to make sure the mood was right. He was looking down with eager anticipation, a wide smile on his face. I looked him in the eye as I kissed the tip of his dick.

I loved how he felt against my lips, I kissed again more deeply, wrapping my lips around his glans. I could see Alex was enjoying it, which spurred me on to try more. I opened my mouth wide and tried to take him as deep as I could. The way he filled my mouth was incredible, but I had to stop a bit early to keep from gagging.

I couldn’t help thinking how this monster growing out of him had started as a clit just like mine. Now it was large enough to choke me with. While my mouth is full with his member, Alex starts a one-sided conversation with me.

“Did you know it was a leap year?” He asked me out of the blue.

“Hmm?” I hum on his cock, still determined to get him off faster.

“The year of the lottery. It was a leap year.” He clarified. I felt my heart skip a beat, why was he talking about that now, while I had his dick in my mouth? “If it had happened in a regular year, the lottery would have been a day earlier, a day before your period.” He explained.

I was starting to see where he was going with this, but I didn’t know why. It was working to fan my arousal back into a tempest. The combination of his cock on my tongue and the thing he was saying sent my fingers trembling back to my clit.

“You would be the one who got the injection instead of me. That dick you’re choking down wouldn’t exist, instead it would be you who could pee out the fire, you would be the one getting your dick sucked.”

The way he was talking made it hard to focus on the blowjob. More and more of my attention was directed between my legs as I feverishly rubbed at my wounded pride, at the sticky little button slick with my juices that ached to grow big and hard like the cock in my mouth.

“Oh fuck, you would love it.” He groaned. “This feels so incredible, your mouth is better than anything I could imagine.” I could feel his dick getting harder, tensing. Hearing his pleasure set my fingers rubbing even faster, and made my mouth drool. I could taste the salty wetness of his precum leaking onto my tongue.

I could feel he was getting close, I was too. I sucked on his dick with passion, attempting to coax the cum out of him. Just as we were nearing the end I felt his hand press against my forehead.

“Time’s up.” He said, sliding his dick out of my mouth. I tried to get it back in my mouth, but the hand on my head was too strong. I glared up at him in frustration.

“Come on!” I pouted, stealthily removing my fingers from my womanhood. My pussy was aching for more stimulation, but I knew Alex would grab my hand again if he caught me.

There was a touch-hungry tingle building all over. I wanted to make him cum, I wanted to witness a man’s body experiencing the sort of pleasure I’d imagined so many times. I wanted to hold his cock and feel his cum spill out, my body craved it.

Alex must have seen the lust in my expression, because he rapidly switched gears from teasing me. His hand moved from my forehead to my chin, forcing me to look up at him past his cock.

“If you’d have me, I would love to take you to bed now.” He said with an odd formality, blushing slightly from his own excitement and nerves.

I looked up from my kneeling position at his feet, eyes roaming the naked, muscular, hairy body of my friend. The taste of his cock still lingering in my mouth. All I could do was nod my head. I wanted my first time to be with the man I could have been, the winning ticket I was denied. I wanted him to make me feel every inch of the difference that had grown between us.

Alex took my hand and helped me up, then swept me off my feet into a princess carry. I felt my heart thump in my chest. We were naked and I was in his arms. My stomach churned with excitement, fear, and awe; the muscles of his arms were so firm under my body, holding me against his hairy chest.

I saw him looking down at me in his arms with a pure wonder that melted my heart. He leaned his head close to mine and spoke to me softly in his deep voice.

"You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen." He told me simply. I felt the blood rush to my face.

"You're just saying that because I'm naked." I deflected, suddenly very aware of my own nudity.

"I'm serious." He said. "I always had a bit of a crush on you when we were girls, but the way you've grown since... It makes my heart race."

I felt my blood pound with a moment of excited shame. The development of every female feature had felt like a further surrender of my childhood dreams. I had hated my hips widening, the tender growth of my breasts, watching my reflection become less and less androgynous. But those same features attracted Alex to me.

He knelt to lay me gently on the bed then laid down beside me. His hands were still on me, roving my skin with a firm appreciation. "Do you mind if I touch your breasts?" He asked as his hands drew close.

"Please do." I replied, feeling a little of my anxiety melt into anticipation. His hands explored my chest, cupping my boobs and squishing them softly. He paid extra attention to my nipples, giving a gentle caress that became a soft squeeze between his thumb and finger.

"Wow, they're so perfect." He said in wonder, entirely absorbed in my chest. It filled me with a sense of pride, but also a feeling of shame; my body did this for him, those boobs had given me nothing but trouble, but for Alex they were perfect.

He rolled on top of me and continued to play with my breasts. I felt his breath again on my neck as he leaned down to give me a kiss there. A tingle shot through me at the touch of his lips. He gave my other nipple a little squeeze as he kissed me again under my ear.

I turned my head towards his and looked him in the eyes. Alex leaned in and kissed me on the lips, holding the kiss with a passionate depth. I felt myself melt for him, and his body pressed harder into me. I felt that glorious cock pressed flat against my mound. I wrapped my legs around his, holding his body against mine.

Alex pushed himself off the bed a little, lifting off me as we broke our kiss. He tilted his hips to line the tip of his cock up with my vagina. I felt a scared little flutter at the anticipation of what was to come, but I also felt achingly hungry for it.

He dragged the head of his dick along my slit until it was pushing nicely against my wet opening. I lifted my hips a bit, pulling aginst him with my legs for leverage. I wanted it pressed there harder, pushed inside.

With a little pressure from his hips Alex made my desire come true. His cock slipped into me, stretching me almost to the point of pain. I'd never felt something so large penetrate me, it made me gasp in shock, but it also felt incredible.

He worked his way deeper, thrusting in and out to coat his cock in my juices. I rocked my hips in time with his thrusts, pulling him deeper with every push until his pelvis was bumping against mine while he fucked me.

Once his cock was fully inside, Alex began to fucking me harder. His whole body flexed and strained as he pumped his cock again and again into my receptive body, and every time my body cried out with a tingle of joy. This, this is what I'd been craving, please just keep going. It felt so right.

"I used to feel guilty." Alex grunted, his breath coming quick from his efforts. "For taking your ticket. I knew how badly you wanted-" He catches his breath for a few thrusts. "How badly you wanted a penis."

"Uh huh." I moaned, feeling his cock fill me completely. Being reminded of that youthful yearning while every pounding thrust reminded me of my dicklessness sent shivers through my entire body.

"We both did." He continued. "We'd stuff our underwear and call each other boys." He was bringing back memories I had been trying to forget, because they were so painful, because I missed my friend; but now we were together again, now his underwear was stuffed with his own thick cock.

"But I'm done feeling guilty." He kept talking, speeding up the pace of his thrusts. "I'm going to earn that injection. I'm going to pay you back. I'm going to make sure you enjoy this cock every bit as much as I do." I could tell he was getting close, but he was holding himself back from orgasm. He kept thrusting at that steady rapid pace. I felt myself rushing to the precipice of a new kind of climax.

"Oooh." I cried out, gripping onto him with my legs as I reached orgasm. I felt him cum too, but my awareness of it was quickly swept away by a tidal wave of pure bliss. It was unlike anything I'd felt before in my life. I felt it with my entire body, and it rolled on and on.

I gasped and flexed under his relentless pounding. A tingling rapture had taken hold of my body and it was flowing through every inch of me. I wanted to feel this way forever. Gradually I felt him softening, my vagina still twitching around its new best friend.

Alex slipped himself out of me and pulled my body into a warm embrace. Despite the heat of our lovemaking, the cold of the tent and our lack of clothes had left parts of us chilly, so I was more than happy to cuddle against him as he pulled the blankets over us.

"That was incredible." Alex sighed contentedly.

I wiggled against his hard body with glee. "Mm hmm."

"I think you'd make a wonderful mom." He added dreamily.

I just lay there in his arms, but internally my mind was reeling from the potential ramifications of what we'd just done.

[bookofcodes]

Title: Whizbang Pop! The Trickster of Fortune

The first time it happened, people thought it was just a fluke. A cosmic joke. A bug in the fabric of reality. But after the third, fourth, and twelfth time, it became clear: something—or someone—was out there, nudging fate in the most unexpected, delightful ways.

They called it Whizbang Pop!

No one knew if it was a deity, a rogue algorithm, or just a very persistent good idea that had gained sentience. But whenever luck turned in someone’s favor, when the impossible aligned just right to create something beautiful, there it was. The entity of serendipity. The ghost in the machine of fortune itself.

The Gambler’s Delight

Jinko Hargrave was a professional gambler—or at least, he tried to be. The problem was, he had the worst luck imaginable. If there was a bad hand to be drawn, he’d draw it. If a slot machine was due to pay out, it would malfunction just for him. He once flipped a coin 99 times in a row and got nothing but edge.

That’s when it happened.

Jinko sat at the back of a neon-lit casino, staring at his dwindling pile of chips, when he heard the sound. A faint, cartoonish pop—like a champagne bottle uncorking inside his skull.

“Hey, buddy.”

He turned, and there it was—a shimmering figure in a ridiculous, ever-changing suit, its tie swapping colors like a mood ring. Its face was featureless except for a smile that refused to sit still. One second, it was a smirk, the next, a full-blown grin, then a mischievous little crescent.

“I hear you’ve got a luck problem.”

Jinko blinked. “Who the hell are you?”

The entity spread its arms. “I’m Whizbang Pop! The great reroller, the cosmic recalibrator, the arbitrator of fortune! I’m what happens when the universe winks at you.”

“…Right.”

Jinko rubbed his temples. He was definitely hallucinating.

“Listen,” Whizbang Pop! continued, plopping into the seat across from him. “I like you. You’ve got that special kind of misfortune that really speaks to me. But what if I told you…”—it leaned in, grin widening—“…that luck is a dance, and you, my friend, have been stepping on your own feet?”

Jinko narrowed his eyes. “You’re saying you can make me win?”

“No, no, no, my tragically doomed friend. I’m saying I can show you how to ride the rhythm of fortune.”

Rolling the Cosmic Dice

Jinko hesitated. “What’s the catch?”

“Oh, no catch. No tricks. No curses.” Whizbang Pop! held up its hands, palms open. “I’m just here to tip the scales ever so slightly. A whisper in the wind, a little nudge when it matters most. I don’t give luck—I just help you find where it’s been hiding.”

Jinko considered. His whole life had been a losing streak. Maybe it was time to stop pushing against the current and let it carry him instead.

“Alright,” he said, pushing his last chip forward. “Let’s do this.”

The entity cackled. Cards materialized in midair, shuffling themselves in impossible ways. The room seemed to flicker between different probabilities—one second, Jinko was in a casino, the next, a rooftop garden, then a moonlit dock where the air smelled like salt and destiny.

He looked at his hand.

Royal flush.

He looked up. Whizbang Pop! was gone.

And yet, somehow, Jinko felt it—like a lingering spark, like a knowing grin in the wind.

The Aftermath of a Joke Played Just Right

Jinko walked away from the table a winner, but that was just the beginning. From that night forward, things started going right in ways he never expected. The train arrived just as he stepped onto the platform. The rain stopped when he left the building. A lost wallet appeared right at his feet, filled with cash and an unsigned lottery ticket.

It wasn’t just luck—it was alignment.

Somewhere, in the distance, he swore he heard a champagne cork pop and the faint, ever-present chuckle of an entity that had just played the longest, most generous joke in history.

And it was still laughing.

[ningningspapafrita]

---SLOPPY SECONDS---

CHAPTER 1.

WININGS ALL WE DO

"And in just one year

I went from being a high-powered attorney

To the neighborhood hoe

I can't believe I let this bum ass bitch, slut me out,

MY FUCKIN LIFE IS OVER"

I thought as I slowly raised the guns cold barrel to my temple.

----------------1 YEAR EARLIER-------------------

---NO ONE'S POV---

"Damn homie, where your thick ass been all my life" Jungwoo felt a harsh pull on his baggy jeans.

"Exscuse me?" Jungwoo turned around to meet a pair of dark eyes.

"I said you thick as fuck.....what's your name?"

Jungwoo let out an awkward laugh "Oh so you are talking to me," the man lifted and brow and laughed "are you deaf? Or are you just dumb?" He sneered.

Jungwoo eyed the man up and down, with a playful smile on his lips deciding to entertain the man. "Uh, neither,"

Chenle, who sadly witnessed the interaction, turned to jungwoo, grabbing him by the arm.

"Yeah, no jungwoo, let's go"

"Damn and who the fuck is you? The penis police?" The guy asked, clearly annoyed.

Chenle furrowed his brows, head cocked to the side, preparing to spew out as many insults as one could possibly conjure.

"Lele chill." Jungwoo lightly tugged on chenle's dress shirt before taking a step closer to the stranger.

Earning a few whistles and snickers from the group that accompanied him at the bar.

"So what's your name?" The man asked, with no emotion running a hand through his hair. Something about this man enticed Jungwoo, giving him the urge to push foreword with this interaction.

"Jungwoo...Kim Jungwoo," the answer seemed to have satisfied the stranger. He reached down, grabbing onto jungwoos' hand, giving him a light peck on his knuckle.

"Type shit, mister Kim Jungwoo. You got a man?"

Despite the neon lights that paraded around the club, anyone could see the rosey hue painting the boys' cheeks

Chenle scoffed, swatting the man's hand away. "No, he doesn't, and if he was looking for one. It most certainly wouldn't be you."

The guy turned to his friends with a look of annoyance. "Yo, you hear this, dude?" He placed his glass of mystery juice down on the bar, turning to chenle

"So what are you his bodyguard? How long have you been sucking his dick?"

Chenle grew red at the accusations.

"What? You're a disrespectful piece of shit!" He yelled out over the blasting speakers. Drawing attention from nearby club goers.

"Alright chill Jay you're doing too much." Another guy appeared beside the man, giving an apologetic smile to the pair, as he snaked an arm around the man.

"Wouldn't want to start a fight again now, would we? I'm taeyong, and this is my good pal Jaehyun" Taeyong and Jaehyun both smiled on queue.

"Yeah way too fucking much, jungwoo come on" chenle moved to walk away stopping, realizing the other hadn't budged. "Oh my gosh" Chenle huffed

'Jaehyun. cute' the blonde was in his own world as he stared into the other eyes.

'So you gonna let your little friend over there let you leave before giving me your number?" Jaehyun said pointing at him.

Jungwoo looked over to a disappointed chenle. Jungwoo can practically see the words 'you better not' written on the others' forehead.

Jungwoo turned back to jaehyun laughing awkwardly. Pulling his phone out, handing it over.

"Most certainly wouldn't be me!" Chenle barked out as he turned walking away.

Once jaehyun finished setting up his contact, he handed the phone over. "Alright, I'll hit you up later tonight." Jungwoo smiled, gripping onto his phone as if it was the wining lottery ticket as he stalked away.

Taeyong waved him goodbye, smiling from ear to ear. "You are sick, man," He said once the blonde was completely out of view.

Jaehyun laughed, picking his cup back up from the bar stool. "Yall don't see me, man. You could tell that he's green, insecure, and most importantly, comes from money. You could tell just by the watch the bitch got on!"

Taeyong leaned back against the bar, running a hand through his pink and blue locks, "but for real, though, you need help." Jaehyun looked to his glass twirling the liquid around "Sure do, some financial help, and that bitch is gonna be the one I get it from"

Taeyong scoffed. Turning to order another drink.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jungwoo finally sat down at their table in a small, secluded section of the club. Chenle was still a little mad from the interaction earlier.

"You must have lost your damn mind. What was that about?" Chenle huffed out.

"What did I do?" Jungwoo carefully placed his phone down on the table.

"What did you do? It's giving heavy on the desperate. I mean how about letting a nothing-ass like that talk to you like your crazy."

Jungwoo put his hand up in defense. "Listen, not too much, because he wasn't even that bad"

Chenle laughed

"Not that bad? Oh boy." chenle reached over, snatching the blondes phone off the table "What are you doing?" Chenle tapped at the device, glancing up to roll his eye

"Saving your dumbass from making a terrible mistake before it's too late." Jungwoo reached over, snatching his phone back. Chenle grinned

"Oops, too late. You'll be thanking me later. And if he somehow calls you, you better report his ass!"

Jungwoo looked down at the screen to find Jaehyuns number in the blocked contact list.

"Alright" Jungwoo sighed in defeat.

chenle frowned, placing his hand over the others "I only want what's best for you" he lets go after a reassuring squeeze.

After some chit chat chenle got up in search for food leaving jungwoo alone to his own thoughts

'How does he know what's good for me?' The blonde thought as his finger hovered over the glowing "UNBLOCK" icon.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

End of chapter 1.

Alright, first chapter over. This is really helping satiate my boredom. It won't get better, I promise.

[NEXT CHAPTER]

[sirbarnb]

Jackpot Review

In the near future, a 'Grand Lottery' has been newly established in California -- the catch: kill the winner before sundown to legally claim their multi-billion dollar jackpot. When Katie Kim (Awkwafina) moves to Los Angeles, she mistakenly finds herself with the winning ticket. Desperate to survive the hordes of jackpot hunters, she reluctantly joins forces with amateur lottery protection agent Noel Cassidy (John Cena) who will do everything in his power to get her to sundown in exchange for a piece of her prize. However, Noel must face off with his slick rival Louis Lewis (Simu Liu), who also seeks to collect Katie's commission at all costs.

(Context: Last week, me and few of my favourite people were planning to travel the beautiful countryside of Yorkshire. But got lazy and watched some movies at my Best Friends house instead)

My friend reommended this movie after about 8 minutes of searching through movies to watch. It was difficult to find the right movie for the FIVE of us. But one of our friends, that none of us trust to take us the right way around her childhood home town nevermind trust her to pick a good movie. Said "My Dad was watching this and it looked good". Oh how wrong she was

Anyway, now to the actual serious review. It wasn't as bad as I'm making it out to be (I'm being fr, this isn't sarcasm. Or is it?????). Jackpot was a very mid movie. It's the kind of movie you watch with your friends in Primary School during a sleepover. Your Batman and Robin, your Disaster movie. For the more younger audience, they probably watch Madame Web and Morbius nowadays and tell everyone how skibidi the villain is and how Baby Gronk rizzed up Sydney Sweeney (god help us all)

John Cena was one of the highlights of the movie. His acting is consistant throughout his movies, he's not reeling in the energy for the paycheck. He genuinely seems to enjoy these kinds of movies and I'm all for it.

The action is the true highlight of the movie. I wanna know how much they paid the choreographer for this movie because they were genuinely really creative with the fight scenes. And it really helped move the story along from one predicament to the next that you would expect from a movie like this. The pacing was only so good because the action was good. Simu Liu, I wanna see more of in terms of a villain. He kind of somehow brought this calm creepiness to his role I think he could translate to a well scripted, doesn't take itself too serious horror movie and excel at it. This may be the bias talking because I have liked a lot of the projects he's been a part of.

Now, the negatives. There is a lot.

First of all. The concept was fucking stupid; *plot is about to be explained* You buy a ticket to a jackpot that is worth billions because the economy is fucked for the working class. But the twist is that if you kill the winner of the draw you can win the money yourself. Why not have it where at the end of 24 hours, whoever has the winning card, wins? You can have all the rules of the game and everything. It just then makes it much more interesting, cos it's longer, more difficult and it makes more sense in terms of the universe you have actually set up originally. Rather than just to help the plot?

Katie just screams the entire time. She's a modern day Kirsten Dunst. She has no arc, she's goes from being scared and terrified. To bold and brave, straight back to scared and terrified. What was the point of her other than to tell Noel (an actually interesting character)'s story. I feel like she could have had more of a part to play in the entire thing than what she actually had. What if her mother was the previous winner we saw at the beginning? And was hunting her own daughter to win the bigger prize? Or what if her mom is the one running the competition in the first place. So she has to wrestle with accepting her mom as a fucking psycho. Whilst also partially benfitting from all of this in the first place. Her mom just dying at the start of the movie doesn't do anything, doesn't help, at all.

*spoilers for the ending* How long does the competition last? Is it 24 hours, 2 hours? 8 hours? The plot states "the randomly selected winner must survive until sundown" but at no point of the entire movie, is it going dark!! It's noon, the entire movie. Also the final 2 minutes last about 6 minutes. Katie falling of the rocket takes about 2 minutes, even tho the fall is about 30 feet, at the least.

The final act is just messy. The comedy doesn't land most of the time. Katie's 'roommates' are just stupid and fucking insane for the sake of being insane. They could have explained that, but they didn't. Literally one piece of dialogue would have been fucking nice.

Overall, the movie is a messy comedy, that sometimes isn't really comedy. But it is fun and the action pays off for the bad writing. I would recommend this at a sleepover or movie night with friends.

5/10

[thedailyhorizon]

Lottery Enthusiast Can't Decide Which Phone Will Change His Luck

By: Sarah Perkins, The Daily Horizon

In an age where technology is king and our reliance on gadgets has reached unprecedented levels, one local man finds himself in a unique predicament. Meet Gerald Thompson, a 67-year-old lottery enthusiast who has become the unwitting poster child for modern decision paralysis. Standing in the heart of Main Street’s corner store, Gerald faces a dilemma that has left the community both baffled and bemused: which phone will finally change his luck?

Gerald, known affectionately as “Lucky Gerald” among his friends, is a man with a mission. His mission? To strike it rich with the perfect combination of lottery numbers. His weapons of choice? Two distinctly different phones – one, an antiquated model adorned with a bingo-themed case, and the other, a sleek, modern smartphone boasting the latest in lottery app technology.

“It’s a tough decision,” Gerald confessed, clutching both phones in a vice-like grip, as if the very act of letting go might shatter his dreams. “The bingo phone has that nostalgic charm. It’s brought me good vibes in the past, you know? But the smartphone… well, it’s got all those fancy apps and features. Maybe it’s time to embrace the future?”

The conundrum has become something of a spectacle, drawing curious onlookers who can’t help but be drawn into Gerald’s struggle. “I’ve seen him here every week, toggling between those phones,” said shopkeeper Marie Lopez. “At first, I thought he was just indecisive, but now it’s clear – he’s in a full-blown tech standoff with himself.”

Experts have weighed in on Gerald’s predicament, offering a range of theories. Dr. Richard Evers, a local psychologist specializing in decision-making, suggested that Gerald’s dilemma is a classic case of overthinking. “In situations like this, the abundance of choices can actually lead to greater uncertainty,” Dr. Evers explained. “Gerald’s attachment to his old phone is rooted in past experiences, while the new phone represents potential and hope. It’s a classic struggle between the comfort of the known and the allure of the unknown.”

Gerald’s friends and family have also been quick to offer their own advice. “Just pick one, Dad!” exclaimed his exasperated daughter, Linda. “You’re not going to find the winning numbers in the phone itself. It’s just a tool!”

Despite the mounting pressure, Gerald remains steadfast in his quest for the perfect decision. “I’m weighing all my options,” he stated with the seriousness of a man contemplating a life-altering choice. “This isn’t just about a phone. This is about destiny.”

As Gerald’s saga unfolds, it serves as a humorous reminder of our increasingly complicated relationship with technology. In a world where the promise of luck is just a lottery ticket away, even the most mundane decisions can take on epic proportions.

For now, the residents of Main Street watch and wait, wondering if today will be the day Gerald finally chooses his lucky charm. Until then, one thing is certain: Gerald Thompson’s quest for lottery glory has become the most entertaining show in town.

[nerafris]

that’s a bit rare – to speak better english rather than our native language. but if I’m being honest, its waaaaaaay better to be good at english, it’s easier to make friends across the world + nowadays everyone speaks english

jUsT DoN’t be frustrated And yOU WoN’t be ToXiC

i searched for you on steam. are you the anime girl with the short blonde hair girl picture & your level 12? If so, can I add you?

tbh all pokemons are so cute i want them all

unbreon is cooler, but you can't deny that sylveon it's so damn cute especially when she's smiling

i'm a basic person, my fav is eevee - BUT IN MY DEFENSE, HER BROWN/PURPLE EYES ARE SO FULL OF TENDERNESS

let me log on twitter really quick to search for them (not for the titties obviously)

i was saying: fuck cars, give us teleportation already

It can be challenging to see our own value, especially when we haven't received external validation. However, worth is not determined solely by other’s recognition. Also, people may be attracted to you but not express it for various reasons

It's understandable to feel skeptical about the possibility of finding a romantic partner, especially if it hasn't happened yet. While it's true that we can't predict the future, maintaining a sense of openness to new experiences and people can sometimes lead to unexpected opportunities

It's the result of basically living online since i was like 11? I get plenty of weird looks for it, and i got a rep at work as "that person that always speaks half-English", but in my defense it's *way* easier to do that when all of the industry terminology is in English anyway. Yes i am (tho the hair is pink >_<), idk why i was surprised i'm easy to be found - i did pick the tag cause i realized i never run into naming conflicts online and it's never already taken. Yes you may add me, tho i'm a bit surprised, why not dm me here? Or ask for my discord? I adore eevee too, coworker got me one for my work desk actually :3 Uhuh, of course, purely research purposes, no titties allowed ^^ You might be interested in checking out this vid, promise it's sfw, tho probably not safe for the heart: https://youtu.be/e5xueJq4Lwc Heck yeah give us teleportation, tho i'd settle for more functional public transportation too, and safer streets for cycling. And yeah, exactly, i neither have an internal sense of value nor have i ever received external validation, and as such the only conclusion i can draw is that i'm not someone anyone would want. And yeah i'm aware i shouldn't need the latter, but i can't really help it. I'm pretty sure i'm generally a person with an open mind for new experiences and ideas overall. That isn't changed by the fact that i believe i have a higher chance of winning the lottery (i've never bought a ticket in my life) than meeting someone that's into me ^^