#my poor deprived Bean

[x22817]

A carpeted waiting room??? Kinda a nice change?

[goldemas1244]

Kaloshta (Father) - A Mobile Legends Fanfic

Necessary content warnings:

Contains mentions and themes of:

(Blood, injury, death, gore, passing out, Asian parenting / tough love (which may include themes similar to but may or may not be: physical abuse, mental abuse, emotional abuse, degradation, abandonment, trauma, yelling, not knowing whether the question is literal or rhetorical, hurting for the sake of love and survivability, etc.), depression, graphic depictions of inner monologues, loss of self-worth, freezing to death, bleeding to death, character death in general, resurrection, and anything you'd expect from a 50/50 stereotypical Asian household)

Bonus note: NOT ALL OF OUR FAMILIES TREAT OUR KIDS THIS WAY. MINE DOES THOUGH. My dad has yet to rip out my antennae but that's because I don't have any-. He doesn't like my sitting position and my incompetence though.

Necessary writer's note:

{FINALLY we've gotten the tags out of the way.

So to clarify this was made on a whim. I obviously do not condone any of the content in this and urge you to raise your offspring like you mean it. This is but a reflection of the (50/50 stereotypical) Asian household. Not all of us treat our kids this way. Not all of us believe that tough love is required for better young. But hey, it's culture.

But it's mostly a reflection of my life so far. Hey, you make a few mistakes and suddenly you're very numb in the cheek and probably concussed. And you get very weird kinks. Most of the stuff in this is just stuff I've actually experienced. And of course I turn it into gut-wrenching angst.

Note: I am fine. I am alright. I am not hurt (yet). My father DOES scare me still but I blame it on the telly. He watches too much Netflix. He humours me on my monster/alienfucking expeditions. He shows me Transformers clips because he knows I find robot aliens hot as fuck.

Note 2: Understandably, this is a very sensitive topic to write about. Forgive me if you feel offended or uncomfortable reading this. Just know that I do not write for content, rather I write to satiate my inner desire to write. And sometimes that means refractions.

Having said that, enjoy the read!}

%%%

Blood. Short for haemolymph actually. In a blizzard and the icy snow.

He had just barely made it out alive. He had run away, clinging onto the last few breaths he had. So far he could hope nothing was chasing him. If there was, it would catch him soon.

His claws plunged through deep snow and he felt himself falling. Yet he stood back up, and reached out to thin air, desperately trying to pull himself further away. Further away from where, he couldn't say. All that remained of his thoughts had slipped away. Only instinct remained.

And it told him to keep going.

Footfalls scarred through the blizzard as the burning ache in his body began to throb. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't remember how to. All he could do was escape.

Only but a few minutes ago, he was in his element. A battle was raging, his nightmaric spawns were decimating, and his aim was steady. Before him were two lovers, and they were both primed to strike.

He had taken them down, but not with minor losses.

Soon there was nothing left on the battlefield save the husks of two colliding armies. Brave souls giving up their lives for a cause. One to protect, one to survive.

And the three of them were still left. Zhask, Aurora, and Tobias.

Tobias was on his knees. Zhask had done enough to him. His last breaths were well-spent, but not to Zhask. No, to Aurora.

He'd told her they'd attack together. He burst through whatever remained of the swarm Zhask could summon. He made sure Aurora could reach the source-

And the pain....

The sharp shooting pain coursed through his chest into his brain. It felt as if all his blood had been frozen, yet it drained from him in thick amounts, warmer than ever.

He took a few steps back. Aurora had pierced him in a critical spot with her own arm, frozen into the shape of a sword. It had severed itself from her body, leaving a gaping wound where it once was and a bloodied trail leading back to its socket. Jagged spikes of ice ripped through the soft flesh inside of him, tearing him apart from within.

It was cold, far too cold.

As the blizzard swooped all around them, he took one last glance at them. Tobias was dead. Aurora was in agony, but still alive. And Zhask himself was losing his energy all too fast. His swarm was rapidly dying out and the weather was against him.

So he went against the weather.

Zhask ran away. As he always did. As he never should have done.

And now here he was, miles away from any civilization, acres away from salvation, and half buried in snow and ice.

His legs shook. The pain was unbearable.

He reached for the frozen sword and arm of Aurora. No blood leaked from the severed limb now, rather it had become one with the ice. He grasped it tightly with his free hand, and with a hiss, pulled it sharply and threw it aside to be consumed by the storm.

Rookie mistake.

If it was unbearable then, then it was deathly now. Haemolymph flowed out in bursts from the open gash, half-frozen. The jagged edges of the sword had sliced through tender muscle tissue on its way out, more than it initially had prior. His frozen claws clutched at the wound and he chittered in utter agony, doubling over as they instinctively curled around it as one does to their chest during a heart attack.

He couldn't let go. Despite all his conscious thoughts and efforts he just couldn't let go. All his muscles were telling him to stop the bleeding no matter how.

But no matter how hard his instincts betrayed him, he couldn't cover the thick shell good enough. His magic was useless. He was weak and so was it. Domorey was exhausted herself. There was no way to heal.

He couldn't stop it. He couldn't stop the numbing pain. He couldn't stop the thick blood pouring out in waves. He couldn't stop the racing thoughts in his mind.

He couldn't.

He just couldn't.

His muscles tensed and he fell to his knees. Domorey fell with as he used her to brace himself. His eyes watered dryly as the pain only doubled from the momentum. He wanted to vomit, but all that came out was more blood.

The blizzard stung him where he hadn't been stung before and he lowered his head in defeat. So this is how Zhask dies for the upteenth time. Alone, in a temperature he never could fathom, with a wound he couldn't close. With no magic, buried in the cold embrace of despair.

He wasn't ready to accept that. Not his soul. Not with what's coming for him. But his body begged to differ.

"Sh-... Shaloshta...."

With one last attempt to stand and walk onwards, Zhask fell back onto the cold hard snow. His ears rang. His vision began to blur, his hands were losing their grip. He couldn't breathe anymore. He couldn't even muster enough energy to keep his heart pumping. And within a moment, all was black.

%%%

He awoke to white noise and darkness. He could see himself clearly however, clean yet scarred fresh. Domorey was gone. Balling his hands into fists he began to push himself up.

There was still some pain but it was numbed by some otherworldly force. He brought his hand to where the stab wound was and found out that it had somewhat healed.

Here in the void. Again.

"Disappointing!"

His eyes widened and his head jerked up violently. He'd know that voice from anywhere.

"Ka... Kaloshta?" he silently whimpered, yet much to his dismay he'd forgotten how acute his father's hearing was compared to his.

Heavy steps sounded themselves and Zhask desperately tried to crawl backwards, inching away, retreating as best as he could. But to no avail. His back hit an invisible wall violently and his antennae raised themselves up to protest.

"I told you not to use those with me."

Zhask screamed as he felt all four of them being pushed violently upwards against the wall. It felt as if they were going to break off from him at any moment, much so with the force of gravity pulling his body downwards. He struggled against the chokehold, gasping, desperate to escape the grasp but it raised him up higher, earning him a grinding noise as they were pushed harder against the wall like nails on a chalkboard.

It wasn't long before his eyes could finally focus on his own flesh and blood, yet only stared forwards as the familiar figure came into view.

"Zhask!"

A green husk hunched over him, eyes glowing brightly in the faux blackness of their surroundings. They burned into the air like sulphur. A ferocity bloomed in them like none other.

"You dare disobey your Kaloshta?"

A large clawed hand, larger than Zhask's own face, cupped his chin and forced his head violently upwards. Zhask could see his antennae clearly now, held up by his father's other hand. The horns on his head scraped against the wall. One of them even broke off at the tip.

To a vertebrate, it would've snapped their neck. But for Zhask, this was a familiar feeling.

It felt like home, it felt like family, it felt... painful.

"Your antennae show off too much emotion," his father growled. "It's one of the things I hate about you." He lifted his claws off of his son's chin and grabbed his shoulder. "It shows how afraid you are."

Held in place by some mental force, Zhask couldn't move his head nor his arms and legs which dangled like a stringless puppet. All he could do was freeze himself. Take it all in like how he used to. Not that he was used to it as much as the occasional slap, but he was used to it. Every time he'd failed practice he'd get himself hurt. His fault of course. As always.

He missed his father. He loved him, he genuinely did. But this? He didn't miss this. Not for his entire life.

"Please, Kaloshta I'm sorry!" he begged as his voice cracked with pain and his body curled up into itself despite the... gravity of the situation. "I'm sorry! I won't use them ever again just please Kaloshta let me go!"

"You disgust me. How dare you talk back to me!" With one harsh pull, his father tore shell from membrane, muscle from vessel. Zhask's eyes widened and he could only gasp as he was thrown to the ground now with nothing on his back.

He felt so ashamed of himself, didn't he? Oh yes, the price for disobedience and stupidity. You lose what you love. And what Zhask loved was his antennae. It made him comfortable, it helped him regulate his body temperature, it helped him smell, it helped him sense, it helped him to express his emotions, and it helped out with so many more things. Not to mention his father too. Oh, but now-

Now they're gone. Replaced only by a stuffy feeling and his haemolymph flowing out of his back. At least he couldn't smell the blood now.

"Always wanted to do that," mumbled his father as Zhask desperately tried to stifle his tears and stand up again. "But your mother, she coddled you. I'd always believed she was too soft, but I couldn't do a thing about it." His steps began again, and Zhask could hear a clinking sound as those vital parts of his body were oh so carelessly thrown away.

His father loves him. He really does. Zhask remembers how he used to take him outside and play with him when he was younger. How he'd begrudgingly read him bedtime stories. How he'd rarely but truly said sorry, how he'd always hugged him, how he'd never once forgotten how much he loved his son.

But when DID that all change, really? When did this start happening to Zhask, Prince of the Kastiyans? When did his father become a monster? What happened? Was it because the prince grew up? Was it because he was immature? Because he was older, that he didn't deserve as much love as he used to?

He remembered when his toys were broken all because he wanted to play with them while another foreign prince wanted to intervene and he didn't want to share because he knew they'd ruin it. He remembered getting whipped because he was weak in his test scores. He remembered the sorries his father gave, he remembered the silence. The silence meant he wouldn't forgive him. And then, over tea, they'd get back together because he was the only son.

Hugs became fewer and farther between through the years, and so did the kisses. But despite his father's complaining Zhask knew he secretly enjoyed it. Annoying his father was a favourite pastime of his whenever he was available and was in a pleasurable mood.

He knows his father was trying his best. His best to protect Zhask, his best to ensure he survived throughout the conquests, his best to ensure he managed to live on to rule Kastiya. His slaps were a lesson to learn, his whips a delicate cruelty, all so he would act better in future. Even if they scarred him. Even if they gave him permanent damage.

But sometimes, as implied, his best hurt and he was a monster.

His mother was softer but she could be as harsh as he was. Not that it mattered to Zhask, she was always busy so it made sense if she never came to be well-moody. Yet she feared her husband for the obvious reason as well.

Zhask could never stifle his tears, even from youth. Usually when this happened he'd walk off to his room, pretending to yawn and rub his eyes as if he was tired. Then he'd go into the shower or wrap himself up in his bed. He never locked his door either because his father would break it down so his butler was always there to check on him. Not that he'd ever wanted him to. And if he did Prince Zhask would have to put on a genuine emotional mask in fear that his butler would slip the metaphorical beans.

But of course in these events there was no room to pace to.

The footsteps stopped. Silenced. And so was Zhask. Though one out of anger, and the other out of terror. Zhask desperately tried to hide his tears away but the pain was intense and he just couldn't help it.

Like with the bleeding....

"Your Shaloshta isn't here," his father quipped and Zhask could hear his armoured plates creaking with age as he knelt. "Neither is your Heria. So I'll tell you this right here."

"Look at me."

Zhask turned to face him. Proportionally, so did his father's backhand and he fell back on his elbows.

"You are the reason Kastiya is lost!"

There it was. The guilt-tripping.

"Look at me!" Zhask hesitated, and had his horns pulled up so he could face his father. "Because of your recklessness, The Astrowardens have DESTROYED Kastiya! One of them is hunting you down, and here you are, dead as a star because of your own foolish mistakes! What have I raised you for?!"

Zhask only could stare. Was it a rhetorical question? But it sounded so genuine he should-

"ANSWER ME."

Genuine it is then.

"You... you raised me to lead Kastiya," Zhask began, stutteringly repeating the words his father used to swear. "You raised me so I could protect Kastiya, to keep its glory. You raised me so Kastiya could prosper. So that we could rule supreme. You raised me so... I'd have a home?"

"TALKING BACK TO YOUR ELDERS," he yelled out, despite having asked the question initially. "You are a disappointment. You have disappointed me, you have disappointed Kastiya, you have disappointed your subjects. As if there are any because they're all dead! And I should know because that's your doing too!"

He released his grip on Zhask. Zhask could only stare into space, fixed in the position. He didn't even turn to look at his father, now retreating back into the darkness.

"You are the reason I died, Zhask. Remember that. You are nothing. A pig-child. Wasted filth."

Footsteps receding.

"You are not my son."

Pain slowly enveloped Zhask's body once more. Not the pain of what had happened to him, but the pain of coming back.

Good. He never wanted to stay anyway.

%%%

"Ow...."

Zhask awakens once more, this time back in the snow. He instantly shoots up, but winces at the pain. His chest is still bloodied and he still has scars, but they seems to have healed slightly. The short death-rest has given Domorey enough mana to regenerate himself, thankfully.

He hears a little chirp infront of him. Before him is his passive spawn, the backup guard for his body. It moves towards him, albeit a little shakily from the cold. It nuzzles him and Zhask can feel its warm laser heating up.

He looks around him. Behind Domorey, there is a calm, serene white. The blizzard has stopped. He looks back and sees that his antennae are still there. They're only frozen from the exposure. He sighs in thankfulness.

The little spawn hops onto Zhask's arm, latching onto it. It camouflages itself on his glove. He pets its little head and grabs Domorey.

He is capable of standing on his own two feet. And so he does, leaning onto Domorey for balance. He tests his footing on the icy floor beneath him and realises it's created a nice little step-path. His feet don't sink in, rather the snow has solidified enough to stand on.

Slowly but surely, Zhask begins to walk forwards, limping through the snow. He remembers his past, he acknowledges the present, and he looks out for the future.

But his heart sinks.

He will never forget what his Kaloshta had done to him. He's still shaken by that death-dream he had, the only flaw to his immortality. He's depressed but he brushes it off.

They love each other, don't they? This is what your parents do to help you grow stronger, right? He deserves it for his failure, doesn't he?

Zhask's first death was to save him and his revival was met with a slight scolding and a warm hug. The rest were merely trivial, but he got scolded more and more often as time went on and the hugs became less and less often. In the end, it's all just a forgettable memory when he wakes up. This wasn't even the worst he's had. The worst was that one time he drank himself to death over a lost love. He got a real beating for that.

But he WILL prove he can live up to his father's wishes. That he's not what his father claims him to be. That he can still feel his father embrace him lovingly again, even for just a few short moments. That he's not a failure, nor a pig-child, nor whatever else he says.

And maybe this time, he'll try not to die again.

Or even sleep for that matter. Just in case.

[headspace-hotel]

I will write this thought about Veganism and Classism in the USA in another post so as to not derail the other thread:

There are comments in the notes that say meat is only cheaper than plant based foods because of subsidies artificially lowering the price of meat in the United States. This is...part of the story but not all of it.

For my animal agriculture lab we went to a butcher shop and watched the butcher cut up a pig into various cuts of meat. I have had to study quite a bit about the meat industry in that class. This has been the first time I fully realized how strongly the meat on a single animal is divided up by socioeconomic class.

Like yes, meat cumulatively takes more natural resources to create and thus should be more expensive, but once that animal is cut apart, it is divided up between rich and poor based on how good to eat the parts are. I was really shocked at watching this process and seeing just how clean and crisp an indicator of class this is.

Specifically, the types of meat I'm most familiar with are traditionally "waste" parts left over once the desirable parts are gone. For example, beef brisket is the dangly, floppy bit on the front of a cow's neck. Pork spareribs are the part of the ribcage that's barely got anything on it.

And that stuff is a tier above the "meat" that is most of what poor people eat: sausage, hot dogs, bologna, other heavily processed meat products that are essentially made up of all the scraps from the carcass that can't go into the "cuts" of meat. Where my mom comes from in North Carolina, you can buy "livermush" which is a processed meat product made up of a mixture of liver and a bunch of random body parts ground up and congealed together. There's also "head cheese" (made of parts of the pig's head) and pickled pigs' feet and chitlin's (that's made of intestines iirc) and cracklin's (basically crispy fried pig skin) and probably a bunch of stuff i'm forgetting. A lot of traditional Southern cooking uses basically scraps of animal ingredients to stretch across multiple meals, like putting pork fat in beans or saving bacon grease for gravy or the like.

So another dysfunctional thing about our food system, is that instead of people of each socioeconomic class eating a certain number of animals, every individual animal is basically divided up along class lines, with the poorest people eating the scraps no one else will eat (oftentimes heavily processed in a way that makes it incredibly unhealthy).

Even the 70% lean ground beef is made by injecting extra leftover fat back into the ground-up meat because the extra fat is undesirable on the "better" cuts. (Gross!)

I've made, or eaten, many a recipe where the only thing that makes it non-vegan is the chicken broth. Chicken broth, just leftover chicken bones and cartilage rendered and boiled down in water? How much is that "driving demand" for meat, when it's basically a byproduct?

That class really made me twist my brain around about the idea of abstaining from animal products as a way to deprive the industry of profits. Nobody eats "X number of cows, pigs, chickens in a lifetime" because depending on the socioeconomic class, they're eating different parts of the animal, splitting it with someone richer or poorer than they are. If a bunch of people who only ate processed meats anyway abstained, that wouldn't equal "saving" X number of animals, it would just mean the scraps and byproducts from a bunch of people's steaks or pork chops would have something different happen to them.

The other major relevant conclusion I got from that class, was that animal agriculture is so dominant because of monoculture. People think it's animal agriculture vs. plant agriculture (or plants used for human consumption vs. using them to feed livestock), but from capitalism's point of view, feeding animals corn is just another way to use corn to generate profits.

People think we could feed the world by using the grain fed to animals to feed humans, but...the grain fed to animals, is not actually a viable diet for the human population, because it's literally just corn and soybean. Like animal agriculture is used to give some semblance of variety to the consumer's diet in a system that is almost totally dominated by like 3 monocrops.

Do y'all have any idea how much of the American diet is just corn?!?! Corn starch, corn syrup, corn this, corn that, processed into the appearance of variety. And chickens and pigs are just another way to process corn. That's basically why we have them, because they can eat our corn. It's a total disaster.

And it's even worse because almost all the USA's plant foods that aren't the giant industrial monocrops maintained by pesticides and machines, are harvested and cared for by undocumented migrant workers that get abused and mistreated and can't say anything because their boss will tattle on them to ICE.

[rainbowberriesandcookies]

Orihime's weird food combinations actually make a lot of sense-

It's one of those things that in the moment, it's used for comedic relief when other characters see her or hear about her weird food combinations but honestly there's also a lot of subtlety that makes me wonder if Kubo has more personal experience growing up poor or with food security because my god it makes too much fucking sense.

We know that Sora and Orihime had abusive parents who were described as the types of people that would hit a child until it stopped crying and that Sora intentionally hid her away from them to take care of her.

Chances are, their parents never taught Sora how to cook or take care of himself properly, and growing up, he likely had to feed Orihime little bits of what he could put together before he was able to turn 18 and run away with her.

At the start of the story, Ichigo says that Sora died three years ago and at the start of the story, Ichigo and Orihime are both around 15 years old. Which means Orihime was no older than 12 when Sora died.

Have you seen what 12-year-olds left to their own devices eat? And eventually, we find out that Orihime is taken care of by a distant relative who only sends her money as long as she keeps her grades up. Given that she lives by herself, it's likely only enough money to ensure that Orihime isn't homeless or starving - but not enough to actually buy proper meals.

And if it is - Orihime likely doesn't know what a proper meal looks like. From how Sora described their parents, he likely had to raise himself as many children do in abusive relationships, and then had to raise Orihime. But children often learn things from their parents like how to cook, clean, etc.

Another character with a similar home life that Orihime reminds me of is Taiga from Toradora.

Until she met Ryuji, Taiga pretty much lived on convenience store food as her parent(s) only sent money every so often. Likely - once again - it was just enough to make sure she wasn't homeless or on the streets but not enough to be able to afford cooking proper meals and Orihime - like Taiga - likely doesn't really know what normal food or meals really look like.

And as early as the volume 2 character profiles, we learn that Orihime is supported by relatives.

At one point, she's even seen eating bread likely because it was all she could afford.

In Chapter 14, Orihime just brings an entire loaf of bread and a can of red bean paste to lunch and as early as Volume 2 we learn that she's supported by relatives - yet we also know that she lives alone which even as early as this it can be assumed that they're fairly distant and only do so out of obligation rather than love.

Come Chapter 450, this is elaborated on even more

She outright mentions that a distant aunt pays for her living expenses and sends her less when her grades go down. And here, you can see her recounting what she heard about her parents being "really abusive" from her brother all with a smile on her face despite the fact that it's a pretty somber.

Another hint to the food insecurity is how Orihime looked at the donuts earlier and Riruka upon hearing this, let Orihime eat as much as she wanted.

It's in her own way, but Riruka clearly understood that Orihime didn't really have a good home life. But she's a tsundere so Riruka has to say that she doesn't want them anymore instead of outright saying she feels bad and doesn't want to deprive someone who likely has never really had too much food security of food that's right in front of them. The typical "It's not like I care or anything" from tsunderes like Riruka.

Jumping back to earlier chapters-

Orihime joked with Tatsuki about having to carry around a sleeping bag and sleeping outdoors after being kicked out of her apartment following the hollow incident in Chapter 24.

Given that Tatsuki didn't appreciate the joke and up till this point, she's one of Orihime's closest friends, chances are Tatsuki knows that Orihime has a precarious living situation which is why the joke didn't come off as funny because Tatsuki would also know that Orihime is the type to just smile her way through all of her troubles.

So combined with what we know...

As early as Chapter 4 her apartment was damaged as a result of Ichigo's battle with Acidwire, in Chapter 14 she brings bread and red bean paste to school to eat and in Chapter 24 Tatsuki doesn't appreciate her jokes about having to be in a sleeping bag until she finds a new place before admitting that she's actually staying in a hotel.

Chances are her grades slipped to the point she couldn't afford rent anymore or the damage to the apartment was that bad - either way the result was a pretty big strain on her already tight finances.

Orihime's odd food tendencies aren't just to make her quirky, but one of the only ways she knows how to survive. After all - a lot of people who live in poverty or struggle with food security eat and enjoy strange meals like mustard sandwiches where it is just bread and mustard or sugar sandwiches where it's just butter, bread, and sugar... A lot of struggle meals honestly involve some type of bread because it is cheap and filling.

Bread is one of the cheapest food items you can afford and while everyone else thinks that her food combinations are horrid... there is at least one person who appreciates them.

Rangiku!

And from what we know, Rangiku also had a very similar upbringing where she was found starving and alone by Gin. He offered her persimmons, a fruit that when eaten at the wrong time is very sour but when it's ripe it's mushy/soft. Because of this, persimmons can be something of an acquired taste - and when they're dried the flavor of them is even more concentrated

All in all, her quirky food habits are a subtle nod to her upbringing, and thinking about it now, it makes sense as to why it never really sat right with me when people would callously make fun of her food combinations or rather treated them like a genuine character flaw to mock and demean her over.

It's used for comedy because when you hear certain struggle meals, they really don't be making any sense and sound disgusting! Yet at the same time, it's a result of having to make do with what you have and your tastes revolving around that.

Even with the consistency of Rangiku, someone who was found starving enjoying her food combinations - it makes me wonder if Rangiku is no stranger to eating weird things or combinations on occasion. It also contrasts with Toshiro who was shown not really enjoying the food combinations, but unlike Orihime or Rangiku, he's never really been shown starving or hungry in his backstory because he had his grandmother and Momo with him.

Because of that, it's kinda hard to chalk up Orihime's weird food tendencies and growing up poor to be a "lucky coincidence" because the other person who enjoys them too grew up similarly to her - where food was scarce. Given how seemingly well thought out it is, it makes me wonder if Kubo himself may have either had or knew someone who struggled with food scarcity.

[ohtobeleah]

Flight Deck // Bob Floyd

-> Prologue: Conspiracy Theories

Summary: In an attempt to prevent Bob from running for the hills believing you’re a murderer. You sit him down to discuss your past.

Warnings: Mentions of Death of a loved one. Mentions of house fire. Bob Floyd x F!reader.

Word Count: 3.4k

Author Note: Day Twenty Four of Whumptober. Prompt I chose: Disowned by Family, Oxygen Deprivation, Silent Treatment. Thank you to @ailesswhumptober for the prompt list.

Whumptober Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Flight Deck Masterlist

The cafe was closed. The flashing open sign that signaled to patrons that premium coffee beans were ready to be freshly ground and a plethora of pastries, toasted sandwiches, crumbly but oh so gooey cookies and massive muffins were fresh and ready to be devoured, was switched off against the window. 

The awkward silence that filled the atmosphere was almost too much to handle as Bob sat across from you in the book nook. There was a flat white with one sugar and a macaroon sitting on a small tea plate before him. He didn’t like macaroons, but there had only been a few items left to choose from come closing and his favourite apple and cinnamon muffins had all but vanished from the menu.

It was his fault really, he’d been caught up in his own insecurities for far too many weeks to realise the damage he’d unintentionally caused. You didn’t deserve to be ghosted like he ghosted you. The silent treatment was a poor representation of the man he wanted to be. He never should have believed you were capable of such things. The rumors he had heard about you had a nasty bite. They left a sour taste in Bob's mouth—sometimes he wished he’d never listened, and especially the Jake fucking Seresin of all people. What Hyde saw in him Bob would never truly know. 

“You don't owe me an explanation—“ Bob began as he looked down at his hands that rested between his thighs under the table. He’d been picking at his cuticles for the past ten minutes as you shut the cafe down to other customers and locked the front door. It was one of those rare occasions where your son, five year old Oliver Lipscombe, was at after school vacation care. 

“You’ve already heard the rumours.” You replied, there was a sadness in your voice Bob couldn’t miss. He knew he’d hurt you. It was never his intention, but his fight or flight response had kicked in and his immediate reaction was to avoid you at all costs. It was his brain's defense system telling him that he was in danger, to run as far away as he possibly could so that he wouldn’t be hurt. 

He grew up doing that, running away from any situation that could have caused him any kind of pain. Emotionally or physically. Bob Floyd was a runner, a flight risk of you will. 

And that’s exactly what the Weapons Systems Officer who had started to fall in love with you did, despite his heart screaming at him to stick around and just ask you what the hell was going on and why there was a rumour: 

A rumour that you’d killed your fiancé and burned your house to its very foundation to hide the secrets you kept close to your chest. 

“I've never talked about this with anyone besides my lawyers before.” The zucchini and corn fritter that sat on the tea plate in front of you had gone stone cold. Usually you looked forward to a treat after you closed up. 

But sitting across from Robert Floyd, the first man you’d ever bothered to look at let alone entertain the idea of beginning a new chapter of your life with, since your entire life was turned upside down, you hardly had any appetite. 

“It’s always stayed with me—and it’s taken me three years to push it back from this cortex part of my brain.” You point to your head, hopefully explaining what your therapist had told you to Bob. “To the frontal part of my brain, the memory.” Again, you pointed to your head—only this time your finger touched your forehead gently. “It took me three years to just put him somewhere else in my mind with the help of psychiatrists and the clinicians.” Bob could tell you were already becoming visibly upset, the teary look of numbness and pain lurked behind your gaze as you looked towards him, but not at him. It was like you were looking right past him as he sat before you. “They helped me move him around so that he wasn’t going to be in my mind's eye in the daytime or in the night time—or any time.” 

Three years ago your entire life changed. Just shy off three months ago you thought the missing pieces to your very traumatic puzzle were coming together again. When you first met Bob you were a little weary, afraid to put yourself out there. But he lingered. His presence was welcome and soon enough you found yourself making unapologetic advances towards the reserved but gentle man who adored your apple and cinnamon muffins. 

But six weeks ago, Robert Floyd took you and your son, Oliver, out for dinner at the Hard Deck and he never returned your texts after. He didn’t call or stop by. Your apple and cinnamon muffins began to rot and go stale in the display. Turns out you really were just making that particular recipe for him. 

“The human body, or the human mind, Bob—isn’t perfectly equipped to deal with trauma despite our very need to believe it can handle everything life throws your way.” That’s what your therapist had told you when the nightmares wouldn’t go away. That’s what she had told you when you could smell the smoke in your room when you laid awake at night. That’s what your therapist had told you when you had been named a person of interest. 

Bob sat quietly, watching and listening to you speak like you were on autopilot, like you were reciting an analysis done by some professional who had assessed your physiological state of mind. Still—your eyes remained trained on him, but you were looking right through him. It was eerie, to say the very least. 

“The brain can't be positioned to deal with the tragedy of another human being being murdered, it just reminds you that it could’ve as easily have been you or someone you love, and when it is someone you love, when something like that happens to someone close to you—the brains just doesn’t know how to exist with that kind of trauma.” 

“So—“ Bob spoke up in the lingering silence as you dropped your eyeline down to the cup of tea that was now lukewarm that sat beside your fritter. “What exactly does the mind do?” 

You let the silence echo off the walls of your humble cafe. The Flight Deck as it was appropriately called for the Navy Town that had taken you in with open arms. Accepting the stray you were like you had done with your cat, Oreo, that was older than some of the Admirals that frequented your caffeine corner. You let the silence go for as long as you could—until it was thick and all consuming and you had to remind yourself to breathe again. It was always that burning feeling, your lungs igniting from a lake of oxygen that reminded you to breathe. 

“It starts to play games.” You sighed as you tried to let go of the pressure that had built up in your jaw. Anxiety laced your nervous system as you spoke and Bob could practically smell it. “It starts trying its best to process the grief, the loss, the pain.” 

It made sense in a way, Bob had truly never stopped and looked back at his own past, he’d never tried to process his sorrow or his own feelings about what had happened to him during his early childhood and teenage years. He just repressed the rage, the anger, the feelings of betrayal and despair that he felt and ran. He ran as far away as he could and never looked back. 

Now? He was sitting in a small but beautifully designed coffee shop owned by the most beautiful woman on the planet, listening about how the mind isn’t equipped to deal with trauma. Ironic isn’t it? 

“Sometimes if you’re lucky your brain just decides to block the memory all together, but sometimes it begins to create scenarios.” You reached out to rip a little bit of your fritter off as Bob remained still, he was just trying to soak up everything you were saying. “It starts to question the ‘who done it’s’ and the ‘how comes’ and the small intricate details that could have been avoided to avoid the disaster and the choices made that ultimately led to it.” You paused for a second, taking a small but satisfying bite of the cold fritter to stop your stomach from doing backflips. “And when none of that helps? It looks for a different angel, conspiracy theories are born, it’s the very reason why the whole ideology that the Bush administration was responsible for September Eleventh came about.” 

In your book nook there sat a book that had always caught Bob's eyes. Ground Zero by Alan Gratz. He could see it behind you just off to the left, shoved between an array of true crime, fiction and biographies. The books were communal—like a library built on a trust system. You take a book, you bring it back and if you have any old books at home you’d like to share? They always have a spoke on the oak shelves. 

“People need answers to help them process the utter magnitude of such a tragedy, and when they don’t find it internally, and still can’t process the facts laid out in front of them, the brain searches elsewhere.” Your sudden chuckle caught Bob by surprise as you wiped away tears that streamed down your cheeks. “And you always think conspiracy theories are wild and far-fetched and exactly what they are—theories designed to help people’s minds deal with trauma that their brains can’t comprehend.” That’s when you really took a deep breath in for a moment and looked up at Bob through watery lashes and deep sorrow. 

“You always think that conspiracy theories are fake and aren’t grounded in any kind of truth or reality until you're suddenly in the middle of one and your brain is running a million miles an hour trying to understand what the hell is happening.” 

Bob knew that your name was shrouded in rumors he never should have believed. He felt so guilty for allowing his own personal issues with trust and loyalty to alter his perception of you. As he sat across from you and watched your tears fall freely, he knew he should have just asked sooner, he never should have grown distant, tried to back away, he should have just asked what happened. 

“My fiancé was murdered.” You explained as quickly and as calmly as you could. “We’d been arguing earlier that same day about some upcoming bills that were due to be paid towards our wedding.” It seemed so arbitrary the more you said it, whenever you did think about it you caught yourself wondering had things been less heated that morning, you wouldn’t be sitting here—defending yourself in front of a man that had broken your heart before he even got a chance to officially be anyone beyond the title of ‘Close, sometimes we have sex, my son thinks you’re his best friend, friends.’ 

“He decided that he was going to go for a run around the estate.” You had to pause for a moment as Bob raised an eyebrow your way. It wasn’t the mention of murder that got his attention—it had been the mention of an estate. “The Lipscombes are old money, estates, luxury homes, cars, hotels, restaurants, you name it.” 

“What was his name?” You hadn’t been asked that question ever. It took you a moment to process as you just stared at Bob in shock. “Your fiancé? What was his name?” 

“Harrison—“ A little over two years had passed since you had said his name out loud. “He liked Harry.” Bob saw a genuine smile creep itself across your face, he adored it. It was one of the many things he admired about you—your infectious smile. It didn’t last long however. “It was such a petty argument and I spent a lot of time wondering if we had just paid what the photographer wanted then he’d still be here.” 

“Can I uh—“ Through a nervous croak Bob cleaned his throat and shifted in his position. “Sit next to you?” It was a simple question really, but the weight of it was truly something else. 

Bob really did like you, he’d just made a horrible choice in judgment. 

You nodded in response silently as your bottom lip trembled with a sorrow all consuming. Bob was quick to move from sitting across from you, to beside you with an arm slung up and around your shoulders to draw you into him for comfort. 

“He never came back.” You continued explaining your past through tears that seeped into Bob's flight suit. He’d come straight from work to the cafe with another bunch of apology flowers. He was as unrelenting as he was endearing. “And I can still remember that feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach, that feeling that something was wrong, Ollie was only young, he doesn’t know that his dad was killed, he just knows that he died.” 

“What happened?” Bob asked tentatively as he held you, your face was pressed into the comfort of his shoulder and chest as you slid down the booth a little.

“It’s still unsolved.” It gave Bob the chills. “But after three days of searching the property we found his body in the shrubbery that led into the forest, beaten up, stabbed, he was unrecognisable.” 

“Oh my gosh—“ It was pretty confronting to hear, but as Bob held you close and guided you through what he could only describe as remembering the worst day of your life, he knew that the more he knew, the more he understood, the easier it would be to move forward.

“Yeah, he was the love of my life.” You didn’t want it to be a secret. “Besides the odd argument, which just so happened to have happened before he died, we were good.” You could remember quite easily what it was like to be loved by someone. “We loved each other so much, there was no malice or spite or secrets.” That’s when you paused and sat up out of Bob's hold to take a sip of your tea. The lukewarm liquid soothed your throat, calmed your nerves and grounded you in reality. 

“So when I was being asked to come in for questioning a few days after his body had been found I didn’t know what to think.” 

“The police thought you were the one who killed him?” 

“Them and the entire town.” You nodded as you pressed your lips together. “Trial by judgment doesn’t leave a hell of a lot of room for innocent until proven guilty.” 

“What about his family?” Bob was invested now, not that he wasn’t before. But the more you spoke and the more you told your story the more Bob felt himself understanding. “What did they think?” 

“Oh—“ You had to laugh through the painful memories, Bob just pulled you back into him when he saw you shake your head in defeat. “They were the first ones to point blame, someone killed their baby boy and the only possible person who could have done it was the soon to be wife.” 

The Lipscombes were old money, which meant they had a hell of a lot of assets to protect. It made sense why they turned on you so quickly when their son turned up dead after an argument with his soon to be wife. But what didn’t make sense was how easily they portrayed you as a woman with ill intentions. 

“I loved him so much, with all my heart for five beautiful years Bob, and those people who I considered family, who are my son’s family, decided without any hesitation that it was my doing, that I was capable of murder.” 

But the worst part of all was still yet to be told. You had never spoken to anyone about the events that took place the night before you decided to run and never look back.

“Family isn’t always forever.” Bob understood better than most just how easy it could be for the people who were meant to love you the most could turn their backs on you. “And I gotta say, if they were so quick to ostracize you then they weren’t good enough to be a part of your life.” 

“Little hypocritical coming from the man who thought he was going to be my next victim don’t you think?” Okay, Bob deserved that. He took the hit but instead of pulling away to sit in his own shame, he leaned in and gently tilted your chin up. For a second he hesitated, wondering if he was crossing some invisible line. But when your teary, water filled eyes trailed between his baby blue orbs and soft lips that tasted of spearmint gum, he knew that it was safe to gently press his lips against yours. 

The kiss was fleeting, but was well received. You didn’t hesitate to kiss Bob back in your moment of weakness. Talking about your late fiancé’s death in your cafe with the man you so hoped would love you with all your baggage in toe seemed like something right out of an episode of the twilight zone. But, you pulled away and continued telling your story. You wanted everything laid out on the table for Bob to access and decide if he could handle it. 

If he couldn’t? You wouldn’t blame him. You’d be all alone again but at least that meant no one could hurt you. 

“Eventually the police dismissed me as a person of interest, they had no evidence to support that I was involved and the security footage from the front and back doors all showed I didn’t leave the house in the timeframe the coroner determined the time of death.” 

You could smell it, the burning smell of smoke that deprives you of oxygen. It lingered in the air around you as much as it did in your memories. You hadnt smelt it in years—the smell of your entire life burning down around you. 

“Logan, one of Harry’s best mates since high school had come over to help me clean up the house, he cooked dinner and I put Ollie to bed and said goodnight and I ended up just crashing on the lounge.” Bob knew what was coming next, he remembered Hangman telling him when he was on his high horse. 

But knowing the rough outline never came close to the actual details. 

“It was the smell.” You sobbed as Bob held you tight. “I couldn’t breathe.” Oxygen deprivation was something you’d never experienced to the degree you did that night. “The smoke was so thick and consuming, I woke up coughing and couldn’t see.” 

“The house was on fire.” Bob mumbled against the top of your head, he was just trying to process everything you were telling him. And you were trying not to spiral back into that moment. 

“HELP!!” The house was full of thick black smoke as everything went up in flames. “HELP ME! SOMEBODY?” You couldn’t see your hand in front of your face as you shot up from the couch. “OL—“ Allconsuming smoke filled your lungs as you coughed and splattered and tried to cover your mouth. “OLIVER!” 

“I crawled my way over to where I thought the stairs were and raced up to grab Oliver from his room.” You remembered it all too well, the feeling of not being able to breathe, the smell, the fear of losing your child after losing his father. “I was practically hanging him out the window by the time the fire brigade arrived, the neighbours who owned the estate across the way were up and saw the orange flames.” 

“Do you know what caused it, the fire?” Bob asked as you calmed a little in his warm embrace. The next two words that left your mouth sent chills down Bob's spine. He thought maybe you left a candle burning, that maybe the oven was on? That perhaps there was an electrical fault or lightning stuck somewhere. 

While Bob was searching for an explanation, he could still smell the smoke. All the oxygen from your body had been absorbed and you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, couldn’t see. It was like you were being totally consumed once again by that deprivation. That all consuming smoke that nearly killed you. But when you felt Bob's hands in yours? Suddenly—you could speak. 

“It's still undetermined.” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***

Whumptober Tags 🏷️ @xoxabs88xox @oldermenaremyreligion @slut-f0r-u @emma-is-cool @armydrcamers @topguncortez @topgun-imagines @kmc1989 @els-marvelvsp @blindedbythelightt

[bramble-mouse]

A giant is in a sticky situation and they have to rely on there tiny friend to help them get out, or it’s the other way, Or both!

My immediate thought: glue trap. I may use the prompt again where a giant needs a hand!

Mice were pests- at least that was how the beans viewed them. They were horrid little things that stole food, left droppings in the pantry and bit holes in bags. But really, mice were actually very lovely creatures. At least Plumeria Mossdew thought as much. They shared many of the same characteristics that borrowers had- large ears, fur, cute tails, claws. Rats could be frightening (though some were sweet when hand-reared from pups), brown spiders were nightmarish and owls were a worst case scenario for a borrower, especially since she lived alone- out in the garden, no less. Food and water were easily found, her little twig cabin tucked away on the property boundary. Yes, there as much to be found out in this vast wilderness of a bean's yard, but sometimes Plumeria had to venture inside the house and find what she could not come by outside. Flour, fabric, buttons, needles, thread, spices- all manner of wonders Plumeria felt it was worth the danger to grab. Normally, she had no problem. The elderly bean that lived there napped often or contented herself listening to old jazz tunes on the radio while she crocheted. Sometimes, Plumeria paused to watch her work, appreciating the dedicating in those weathered, patient fingers. But as time passed, the old granny's fingers grew shakier, her face thinner. One day, after Plumeria had been gone for a food few months, the granny was no where to be seen. She feared the worst, felt a pit settle into her stomach when she found a crochet hook put away, not a bit of yarn in sight.

Plumeria cried that night and decided to stay in the house. After all, she'd never once seen a soul visit the old lady as long as they'd both lived here. She would miss the bean, her quiet contentment with a simple life, a friend who Plumeria doubted ever knew she existed. Staying proved a poor choice. Because the following day hen Plumeria decided to take a few more things out of the kitchen and say hello to the little mouse family living in the walls, she fell prey to more than prying eyes. A pest. Was this how so many mice and rats died? Plumeria lay immobile, eyes red and puffy from sobbing all night and her round glasses askew on her face. A glue trap. Yes, she'd heard of them, of the horrific manner in which sweet rodents died on them. Would Plumeria be the first borrower to meet her end here, unable to move as she starved to death? The fear and exhaustion lasted the night until she succumbed to exhaustion.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" A voice boomed. It was masculine in nature.

Plumeria's eyes cracked open, half-sealed by dried tears. The ground shook. A bean. "Of course I'm pissed! Glue traps are inhumane! I don't fucking care if there are mice, you could have asked me first!" The voice continued to shout. Plumeria's head swam. Should she have been afraid? Or perhaps her struggling and crying through the night had deprived her of that ability now. All she could see was the far away cieling, cobwebs clinging to the corner above her, a little overhanging of countertop half obscuring any further sights.

She thought to turn her head but the glue trap impeded much movement. Still, Plumeria mustered some strength and found a bean in a baggy sweatshirt and jeans stooped over collecting another glue trap off the ground, his other hand holding a phone to his ear. At least...Plumeria assumed it was a phone. It wasn't like the old woman's, a blocky thing that sat in a reciever. This bean's was flatter, with a colourful case covered in illustrations of insects. "Gran left me this house. In her will. Look at the fucking will. I don't want you in here again if you're gonna do shit like this." The bean growled in the reciever and stood up, crunching the glue trap in his hand. He realized his error a moment later when he swore under his breath and tried to shake the trap. It was stuck to his hand. He groaned. "I have to go. I'm changing the locks, and you're not getting this fucking house from me to demolish. I don't fucking care how much gran's land will fetch you, you never even called her. Not even once, and you were in town." The bean paused. Whoever was on the other end of the line had plenty to say because the bean had to draw in a deep breath. "Gran's barely been dead a few days, you scummy fuck. We're done." The bean hung up, pocketed his phone and ran his fingers through a thicket of curly black hair. "Fucking christ..." He exhaled, shaking his glue-trapped hand again.

Anger. No, not just anger but anger at the treatment of pests- of creatures like the lovely mice in the wall, like Plumeria. The impulse grew, a new hope and desperation blooming in the borrower's chest. It went against everything her late parents had taught her, to reveal yourself to a bean but at the end of the day, this bean would either find her now or find her desiccated corpse moldering on this trap.

"...H....Help." Plumeria's fluttering voice rasped as loud as she could manage. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes and she summoned her courage, her energy and tried again, loud as she could. "H...Help me...P...Please..." She closed her eyes, tired from even that small effort. She was so hungry, so thirsty, so tired. Had she only been there only night, stuck to the trap or had it been longer? Plumeria wasn't certain. But when the ground tremored again with bean footsteps and a shadow fell over the trapped borrower, she managed to open her eyes again, beady and red. And full of a panicked face, freckled and green eyed, marked with a septum ring.

"....Holy fuck." The bean stammered, the words like vomit as he fell to his knees. It felt like an earthquake. "I'm hallucinating, I'm..." Plumeria's gaze stared up, pleading. Would he walk away, assuming she wasn't real? Was she about to die after all? The bean let out a humourless chuckle and got to his feet. He crossed the kitchen, opened a cabinet and took a bottle of something out. He took a washcloth from beside the sink, then crouched down in front of her again. The bean opened the bottle and when the neck hovered over top of her, Plumeria managed a weak whimper. "Look, I..." The bean hesitated. "It's olive oil, and...I'm just gonna use a little bit to help you get free, alright? And...if I'm crazy and you're not real then I guess I'm just pouring olive oil on an empty glue trap." Plumeria drew in a deep, shaking breath. She said nothing and closed her eyes. Oil cascaded thickly over her lower half. The bean was being slow about this, methodical, as if he'd done this many, many times. Consciousness was difficult, and so Plumeria flitted in and out, only half aware of the gentle strokes of a cloth, of ginger pulling on her lips to get her free. This would be over the next time Plumeria woke, she decided. She would be free or she would be dead, succumb to the stress of it all, of a body strained to its limits.

Author's Notes: I'm gonna be continuing this so no, Plumeria has not succumbed to a glue trap! It might be a bit clunky but I still wrote something! Thank you again for a fun prompt anon :D

[hot-bumblebees]

Picture this… hear me out… Doma with a he/him coochie

Contains: masterbation, oral, fingering, genital piercings, reader and Doma are kinda nasty

…

Doma who had been a demon for a hot minute already but has never tried to change his genitals/gender until he saw another demon do it and was reminded that he could also do that.

He wasn’t interested in having more feminine features, he liked the way he looked, but there was something about having a pussy that excited him.

So he does it and he loves it so much! It’s so much more comfortable to sit down and live. And it’s not like he could get a period so he got all the pros and no cons.

But his favourite part was when he would get touched there.

The first time he touched him self he didn’t last long, the feeling just being too good. He now understood why women were so loud when he pleased them and he couldn’t blame them.

Doma who loves to take his time and feel himself up and edge himself until he’s ready to cum on his fingers.

The way his fingers felt against clit was so incredible as rubbed small circles on it. His slick helping him glide his fingers across the sensitive surface as he moaned and wined. When he’s ready he uses his other had to insert two fingers inside of him, making the pleasure border line too much. it only took a few more movements to make his hole twitch around his fingers.

Doma who gets a vch piercing just so that every time he sits down or does a specific movement the bar rubs against his desperate clit that could never get enough.

…

Finally one day you came along and you had been getting closer to Doma. You noticed that his posture was different from other males, he would sit cross legged and he would never complain about how being uncomfortable, which most males do when they sit cross legged. That was one of the things that you noticed but never minded to ask.

One day as you guys were sitting outside on the porch you asked him if he ever considered changing genders since he could do that. Doma looked at you and smiled.

“Of course I have Y/n! And I have! It’s so much better than a dick!” He responded laughing lightly, amused by the conversation.

A mischievous smile appeared on your face.” Oh really? In what ways Doma?” You knew exactly where you were going with this.

“It’s much more comfortable and feels so amazing when I touch myself!” Doma raved at the thought of pleasing him self.

“Yourself? How about others?” You asked knowing the answer already.

“Unfortunately I haven’t tried that out yet.” He pouted as you moved closer towards him, placing your hand on his upper thigh.

“Oh Doma you poor thing.” Empathy in your tone.” Let me fix that for you. Can’t have you deprived like that.” You stand up and put your hands in front of Doma to help him up and led him back to his room. Lucky all the members were sleeping.” Take your cloths off and sit on your bean bag.” You order and watch him obey, peeling his clothes off and going to sit down on the bag. You walked up to him and sat beside him to kiss him. He immediately took control of the kiss making it aggressive as he wrapped his arms around your waist. Your dominant hand going in-between his legs to toy with his sensitive bud, but to your surprise the was something cold and hard there too. Pulling away from the kiss you looked down. There was a small silver curved bar bell sitting on top of his puffy clit.” What’s this for? Hmm? It’s pretty cute.” You complement as you flick the metal bar making him gasp and shake.

“I like feeling cute and every time I sit down it makes me feel good.” He responds as he watches your hand as it starts to rub circles on him.” Sometimes I rub my legs together just for a little relief but it never works” He frowned as he sighed.

“Your so dirty Doma… such a desperate slut.” You go to kiss his pale neck as your fingers keep playing with him.

He seemed to really like little tight circles with added pressure, so you continued that motion and going down to his hole to collect wetness and to tease him a little.

Doma was getting louder as time went by and you could tell that he was going to cum soon so you pull your fingers away and detached your self from his neck. Doma whined at the absence of your fingers.

“Why’d you stop? You’re being mean.”

“Open your mouth.” You ignored him. He opened his mouth and sucked on your wet fingers, tasting himself. After you felt like your hand was ‘clean’ enough you pulled your hand out of his mouth.” How do you taste?” You ask as you go down to the floor, pushing his thick thighs open and taking in the sight of his pussy.

“I taste so good y/n! Your very lucky to have the chance to taste me!” Doma flaunted as he looked down at you.

“Indeed I am.” You mumbles as you went to lick a strip up his slit. He tasted so good and sweet, so you went back in for more. Starting slowly at working away on licking Domas clit. the blond hair that he trimmed was tickling you face but it was ok, it added to the appeal.

“Oh y/n! More please?!” He desperately asked as his hips tried to hump you face for more friction. You complied latching onto his clit sucking it as his whines turned into moans.” Ya just like that y/n! So good!”

His head tilted back, as the familiar feeling of his climax approached. The only thing that was missing was the fingers inside of him, but you seemed to read his mind. You used one hand to hold his legs down to keep him folded and your other hand was coming to put two fingers in him and rub his g-spot.

Tears started to build up in Doma rainbow eyes. The feeling was so good, better than it ever had been. His orgasm was rapidly approaching but time it felt different, there was a pressure also building up in his bladder, something that never happened before but it felt so incredible making him cry in pleasure as his body was taken over by tremors. You kept going until Doma was done riding out his orgasm and your face was covered in cum and squirt.

You pulled away form Domas sticky cunt and wiped your face on your shirt. Moving back up to Domas face to quickly peck his lips.” How was that?” You asked as you stood up.

“It was amazing y/n! I want to do it again!” He expressed as he sat up with excitement.

“Of course Doma.” You smiled as you went to go get a rag to clean him up.

[partiallyderived]

-ˋˏ pens, pop, and potential love interests ˎˊ (kjh)

Summary: You lend the cute guy in class a pen.

Pairing: Kum Junhyeon x GN!Reader

Word Count: 683 words

Warning(s): None.

A/N: My dudes, this is crack. I haven't published anything since 2021 and my writing skills need honing, but enjoy. Also, like many college students, I am sleep deprived. The Pop in the title refers to soda. I'm going to edit this when I'm less sleep deprived. There will be an extended cut.

It begins with Pepsi.

Or, rather, it begins with a pen — a good, well-used Maxwriter in blue, which everyone knows is the best type of pen for taking notes; cheap but not cheap.

When you first meet him, his hair is dyed brown. In the light, it doesn’t look like coffee or strong tea or oak or chestnut; it looks like the toffees of your childhood, the ones your grandparents pressed into your hands with each visit.

His name is Kum Junhyeon — nineteen years old, three months older than you and leagues apart in confidence and popularity; the apple of the seniors’ eyes — and he sits behind you in your nine a.m. Biomolecules lecture. He laughs like a thundercloud and makes jokes that make even the strictest of professors smile, and maybe, just maybe, you are a little infatuated with him.

Because it can’t be anything else when he taps you on the shoulder and you freeze.

Caught like a deer in headlights when all the poor boy wants is a pen because his ran out of ink.

What you remember of the exchange is that you thrust your pencil pouch at him — all six pens, four pencils and two highlighters worth of it. You fumble a little in the middle — the angle is awkward, and the next table is placed just a bit higher than the one in front of it — and he has to grab onto the pouch so it doesn’t spill onto the floor, which means he has to grab onto your hands, which means your hands jolt like a kick-started engine, which means —

“Oh my god I like him?!”

Esha from Psychology, first year like yourself, has no sympathy. She’s taken to your life as if it were a drama made specially for her, and even now, she lounges on her bed like a queen, popping jelly beans into her mouth while you have a fun little breakdown on your side of the room.

“But like,” she says once the jelly beans have run out, “he’s cute, right?”

“The cutest. I hate it. My heart goes all wonky when I’m around him, and he didn’t even give me my pen back.”

//

He’s there early in your next class, dressed in a hoodie and jeans pulled so low that you have to tell yourself to avert your eyes. He looks sheepish.

You slide into the seat beside him instead of the one in front of him. A test of courage, but also because you want your pen back.

He does not have the pen. He lost the pen. He is not sheepish because of the pants; he’s sheepish because he has to tell you he lost your pen.

But Junhyeon is quick to clarify, “But it’s not that I lost it, (Name). More like, I don’t know, someone stole it from me. I swear!”

The story goes that he went to submit his work to the teacher and left the pen in the Biochemistry lab. When he came back five minutes later, the pen was gone.

“It was a good pen! The best pen! I’ve never held a better pen in my life!” Junhyeon tells you, and you believe him, because Maxwriters are good pens. And it’s fine! You can always buy another one, but you really liked that pen.

Rest in Peace, Maxwriter. Sacrificed for some guy. You were a real one.

///

Honestly, you think it’s a forgotten thing. The Professor came in before you could respond, but you had flashed him a thumbs up and gone about your business, and he hadn’t really said anything else during class, so that was that.

And then, in the canteen, when you and Esha have finally managed to get a simultaneous free period, one of the guys from Physics sets a bottle of Pepsi in front of you. Taped to the condensation, barely holding on for dear life like your sanity, is a sticky note that says I’m sorry for losing your pen. :( We should totally go out to buy another pack together - Junhyeon.

Boys are so stupid. He didn’t even write his number down.

Taglist: @daintydongyoung @zerobaseonefics @urielphix @incorrectzbone @i520u

[i-didnt-do-1t]

Day 12 of @ailesswhumptober

Isolation/sensory deprivation- "can you feel me? I'm right here."

cw. Claustrophobia, dissociation, references to child abuse,

(My longest one yet!)

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

Morris never meant to tell Snyder that Os hated small spaces.

But it was one of those casual conversations in his office that almost made Morris think about Snyder as some kind of friend. His heart had stuttered in his chest with panic when the guard had first called down to the dorm to get him but upon being shoved into the office he'd been greeted with a sandwich, with real fucking meat in it, and a glass of milk.

Snyder was sat on the far side of his desk, his own meal in front of him, steak and potato's and veg, and a glass of something that smelt like the shit da used to drink by the bottle.

"Sit down Morris, I didn't invite you to stand there."

"Sorry, mr Snyder."

He sat down, the plate of food in front of him. Snyder cut a sliver of steak and looked up again. Stared at him for a moment. Expectant.

"I know you grew up poor Delancey, but I trust you've had enough food that you know how to eat it-"

"Yes. Sorry. Weren’t sure it was for me-"

"I have to teach you not to interrupt as well, apparently." His tone was sharp.

Fuck. "Sorry."

Snyder stared at him a moment longer then turned his attention back to his own lunch. he scoffed slightly, but didn't look over at Morris again, too busy catching a green bean on the end of the fork. He only leant back once he took the mouthful, chewing thoughtfully while he stared at Morris, eyes bright and assessing.

Morris had to try and shrug off his gaze as he reached for the sandwich, trying to remember all the ways ma told him to eat polite and chew with his mouth closed. The bread was soft.

It was hard not to feel on edge. Being invited to Snyder's office was never over anything good.

But Christ Morris was hungry.

Morris was sure Snyder waited until he had taken a bite to ask him a question just to be a dick. It was the kind of thing Morris assumed he'd find funny, the kind of thing that reminded him Snyder was in his early twenties at best, only a few years older than Oscar when it came down to it.

"Is it good?"

Morris nodded. Knew better than to speak around the food. The memory of da whacking him round the head at the dinner table at home when he did it was all the reminder he needed. He could still hear his voice ringing, that southern drawl snapping at him to 'have some fuckin' manners'.

He swallowed. "Yeah. S' good."

It wasn't a lie, the bread was fresh and there was butter and ham. The glass of milk was cold.

"Do you know why I asked you here Morris."

He was never sure what the right answer was to Snyder's questions. But it felt the appropriate time to put the sandwich back on his plate, Snyder hadn't touched his own food since the initial fork-full.

"No, sir."

"Your brother had been particularly," he hesitated, searching for a word and seemingly in no particular hurry to find it, "difficult, recently,"

Morris hadn't really noticed any changes, Oscar was as Oscar as he ever was. Then again, he was always good at hiding these things from Morris he realised as he got older. With every year and every birthday he realised he never reached quite as old as Oscar seemed.

"You know why I've been placing you and Oscar on different tasks, don't you?"

Morris didn't. He had been wondering since the start of the week when him and Oscar had been sent to opposite ends of the refuge, with Morris cleaning in the chapel and Oscar down the other end, doing fuck knows what. Morris never really asked. Oscar was his older brother, older and responsible and fine, so it didn’t matter whether Morris asked.

But he didn't know and he knew Snyder knew that. But he shook his head anyway.

Snyder smiled slightly. "In an attempt to break the little codependent habit you and your brother have, I've been trying to seperate you. seems you're doing better without him than he is without you."

And an ugly satisfaction curled in Morris's gut that almost immediately made him feel sick with the guilt of it.

"Os has always looked after me."

"Oh I'm aware. I'm just surprised he can't seem to clear out a cleaning cupboard without nearly passing out-"

Morris spoke without thinking.

"Yeah but he ain't never liked small spaces. Don't think it's got nothin' to do with me."

Something in Snyder's eye glinted, a vague shift to his posture that made Morris want to sink back in his seat and out from under his stare. Snyder's eyes were intense, cold. being directly under them was intimidating.

"Your brother's claustorohobic?"

"He's- what's that mean?"

Snyder's lip twitched, amused. "Scared of small spaces, Morris, like you described."

Morris bit the inside of his cheek till he tasted iron, washing out the taste of ham and butter and bread that wasn't stale to replace it with something copper. Like he'd put a nickel under his tongue.

"Yes, sir."

For a moment Snyder let the silence sit. And then he finally leant back in his chair, satisfied in a way that made Morris nervous.

"Finish your food, Delancey," he said as he picked up his knife and fork again. "Or there won't be a meal for anyone in the morning."

This time the sandwich tasted like sand in his mouth.

…

The next night Oscar never came back to the dorm room.

Morris had spent a couple of hours sitting and waiting, had even asked around in the group of boys if anyone had seen him, and the longer he didn't show up the more on edge Morris found himself getting.

It was a last resort to ask one of the guards, because inevitably they'd tell Snyder and Morris didn't know if he could suffer any more of his direct attention.

But Oscar wasn't here.

He was clinging to the hope that when one of the guards, or Snyder if he was feeling like it tonight, took rolecall before the boys were sent to sleep that they'd notice.

And then Snyder walked in the room, cane in one hand and clipboard in the other, and the boys had all lined up by their bed silently, and Morris had affirmed he was there when his name was called.

and then Snyder skipped directly over Oscar.

Morris has to bite his tongue. For the second time in two days he tasted blood. He pressed his teeth harder and stared at a crack in the wood on the floor beneath him-

"Morris did you hear what I said?

Snyder's cane was on the floor next to his feet. All at once his heart was in his chest. He could feel his ribs creaking.

"No, sir."

"I said your brother won't be joining you tonight."

Morris felt sick. Hadn't yet looked up from the wooden slats on the floor, splinters throughout the room. He could feels the eyes of all the boys in the room on them.

"Aren't you curious as to why, Morris?"

"Why, sir."

"I'm trying to help him. A young man still so scared of the dark? Of small spaces? I'm meant to be releasing upstanding young men. Not children."

Morris tasted bile in the back of his throat. He could already hear the whispers that would come later. They weren’t meant to know this about Oscar.

"Would you like to come and see him?"

It was more than da ever offered when Oscar was locked in his bedroom at home for days at a time. When Morris was tiny and would whisper outside his room and wait for Oscar to answer, if he would answer. The first few hours were always the worst, Oscar's awful yelling that tore up his throat so bad that he only stopped when he couldn't yell no more. Slamming his hands on the door and begging when he heard footsteps walk past the door only to be ignored by ma or da or Morris on those days he was too scared to find out what da would do to him if he knew he'd been talking to Oscar.

The silence was the worst part.

Oscar going quiet for hours at a time.

At least if he was sobbing, loud and breathless and so bad it sounded like he was choking on each inhale, Morris knew he was alive.

"Yeah. Yeah please."

Snyder's expression didn't shift, and Morris couldn't read it.

"Come along then. Boys, the rest of you, bed."

Morris could still feels the stares as he followed Snyder out of the room as the others scrambled for their beds. he knew the second the door was closed behind them the whispers would start.

Snyder was silent as they walked through the halls of the refuge. It was disconcerting how quiet it was aside from the sound of Snyder's polished shoes on the floor. The hallways long and empty and dark, not bustling with young boys and coughs and sniffles and crying and arguing and fights-

The stairs as they got further down were covered in even thicker layers of dust, and Morris knew it wouldn't be long till he could feel it when he breathed. He would've stopped to let his eyes adjust to the dark if it weren't for the fact that Snyder didn't.

They were almost at solitary and the panic that crept up his throat at the sight of it was unrelenting. And then they walked past it.

A storage closet at the end of the hall.

He could hear Oscar's laboured inhales from here. The door rattling as he slammed against it, so far from everything, so removed.

"Mr Snyder-"

"The best way to overcome our fears, Morris, is to face them. I'm only doing what's best for him.

Then Oscar's voice broke as he yelled out again. He sounded so young, like he had back in the farm.

"Da! Da please- fuck I- I swear I'll stay outta the way just lemme- please-"

Snyder was smiling. Didn't shift his gaze from the door.

"I wasn't expecting him to call for your father, and of course from this I can come to my own conclusions. But I always like having confirmation that I'm right."

Morris sort of. half nodded, knew what Snyder was asking even without the question. He could feel his heart beating in the hollow of his chest.

Christ Oscar sounded so young. He wasn’t meant to sound so young. So scared. It made Morris nervous, the unfamiliarity of it all.

"Da would lock him in," he said, real quiet, like he was telling a secret. And it was, in a way. "Back on the farm. Days sometimes. Just so he was outta the way. Couldn't bother no one."

"A cruel man, your father." Snyder was casual, as if they couldn't hear Oscar. "Did he ever do the same to you?"

"No. No he hit me but they-" his eyes burned. "They didn' want Os. So sometimes they'd just. Put him away."

It was something from childhood Morris remembered and had never questioned much, till now. And the thought made him feel sick.

He ran back the memories again, hazy at best like most on the farm, but there were so many things that just. didn't involve Oscar.

There was one particular memory slowly piecing itself together, like it had been triggered by the sound of Oscar’s fist on the door. Morris had been tiny, Christ not much bigger than four or five, and had sleepily dawdled down the cold hallway of the farm house and crawled in with ma and da in the middle of the night because Oscar was in the next room over and wouldn't stop banging on the wall. morris couldn't sleep. So he'd told da. And da had said he'd get him to stop.

Da had rolled out of bed, dragged a hand down his face and came back five minutes later.

Morris was already curled into ma's side, asleep.

He didn’t even remember complaining about Oscar till now.

His vision darkened a little at the edges.

"Let him out?"

Snyder barely spared him a glance at the question.

"Not until morning. How is he going to overcome anything if I give into his endless yelling."

"Please, he's-"

"Nearly 18 now Morris. God, sometimes I wonder how you boys would survive to adulthood if I weren't around."

"Can I see him?" His voice came out a croak.

And for a moment Snyder hesitated, and Morris thought he might actually say yes.

"Wait here." He said instead and Morris wasn't brave enough to disobey Snyder when he said things like that. He wished he was.

"Oscar?” Snyder called out, just a little louder than usual.

The banging stopped.

Then the begging started.

Morris shouldn't be here to hear it. He knew he shouldn't, every fibre of his body, every bone and muscle was telling him to sprint back up the stairs, back to the safety of the dorm room where he didn't have to hear this. This mockery of his older brother. It made him uncomfortable down to the marrow his bones; it was wrong.

"Da, da I'm sorry- please jus'- lemme out. Please. I'll be good i swear. I swear- please-"

Snyder didn't answer. Morris was watching his back but could picture the expression on his face.

Oscars voice wavered. Uncertain at the lack of response.

"Da? Da are you-"

"I'm here."

Morris pressed a hand to his mouth to stop himself from making a sound. The lump in the back of his throat was painful and the burning in the backs of his eyes was turning into a pounding headache-

"Da, pl-" a sob. "Please. I don'- what'd I-"

"I'm turning the doorknob. Can you feel it turning.”

"Yeah. Fuck. yeah. Please-"

"I'm right here, Oscar."

"M' sorry. An’ I- I been prayin' like you said. An' I ain't- ain't talked to Mo-" he went quiet. Just for a moment. Morris noticed Snyder had let go of the door knob. "Da?

Snyder had turned around, face expressionless, hand on his cane.

"Da! Da please come back!” The door rattled. “Fuck. Da - Mo-"

Snyder was close enough to slap a hand around Morris's face. Fingernails digging into his cheek. A hissed "not a word," as he all but dragged Morris back toward the stairs

As if Morris would've been able to bring himself to do anything even if Snyder wasn't there.

In there, that person in that room, crying and yelling and so scared. That wasn't Os. It couldn't be. So Morris would wait until Snyder brought him back.

Just like he would on the farm when Oscar acted like nothing had happened, and Morris had his big brother come back home.

[mirabella96]

This Love Doesn't Have Long Beans ep 3

I have read somewhere that is the instint to put wounded place to lips

so close

CHEF!

He eiher has -100 brain cells or galactic brain there is no in between

awww

Wan hahahhaha

oh what are you hiding

I won't accept any Kluer has a crush on Wan plotline

POOR JJ

Oab Oab you are smiling

Wan is cute Chef is telling him he did a good job what to want more

hihihi they cute

Oh JJ has a good heart

Oab is worried ahahahhahahahha

JJ 🤝 Nubnueng

Oh my they're cute

Oab the gardener

there is no other expanation than Oab is so affection deprived

Is somebody gonna match my freak? And the freak in question being ✨basil✨

[oneatlatime]

The Chase

Saving the commentary for next time. I haven't actually listened to any of the commentary tracks. Are they worth it?

Disney princess Aang.

There is no way the Air Nomads didn't have some sort of textile-based industry with that much shedding going on.

Sorry Katara, but Toph is much more Goblin than girl.

In a completely unsurprising move, the 12 year old formerly caged only child high on her first taste of freedom takes it too far.

The beat up Sokka quota is fulfilled! 3 minutes and ten seconds in might be a new record.

This is the kind of miscommunication I can get behind. Katara thinks they've had this whole fight complete with big issues, a falling out and a need to apologise. Toph has no idea that there are any issues.

Comfy.

What kind of cows are they expecting to meet to necessitate that!?!

How exactly is Toph supposed to help unload anyway? Unloading = throwing things down from a place she can't see. The last time anyone threw something to her from Appa she got beaned in the head. I get that she could help set up tents maybe, but unless Appa's saddle is made of stone she can't see it or anyone on it.

I get that they're all tired, but I'm with Toph on this one.

Sokka! Truly a man of wisdom. Sometimes all you should do is sit back and watch the fireworks.

Did Katara just insult Toph for being blind? Not cool.

Why would a tent made of stone have seams?

I love how when Sokka sticks his head under the covers his voice gets muffled.

Pushing Appa this hard has got to be borderline abusive. And how it keeps finding you? Maybe the trail of breadcrumbs maguffin you spent the first scene of the episode setting up? These poor kids are dumb when they're tired.

Zuko's so angry that his anger wins out as a descriptor over the whole 'half his face is missing' thing. That's impressive.

"Fun and Perky!" Honestly, no comment. Trying to put "FuN and PeRkY" in the same sentence as Sokka broke my brain.

"There's no way they could have possibly followed us" except for the giant carved pathway up to where you are?

These three. Hmm. Did not miss them.

Wow those ride on lizards sound annoying!

Since when can lightning demolish walls?

Pretty.

Siblings!

"We've been up all night with no sleep." LIES. FILTHY LIES.

That's sleep.

You have GOT to be kidding me.

I had not thought about the dangers of ten tonne sleep deprived flying animals.

Katara's really in full bitch mode this episode huh?

Sokka is the only person with sense this episode. Also love the toilet brush trees.

"We're all just trying to get used to each other." Actually, the only person who had a problem with Toph was Katara.

Sokka speaks truth and has his priorities in order. What else can I say? This guy rocks.

This guy can't catch a break.

I hope Appa was napping during that bath.

I take it back. They're not toilet brushes. They're moustaches.

And that's all you're getting for today folks because I just lost power!

edit: part 2 + wrap up is posted.

[threadsun]

THE 🧸 TEDDY BEAR 🧸 IS HERE TO INFODUMP THE DoL PCs!!! I have four main ones for different playstyles/romancing our four favourite beans; in order of most to least likely to make friends with Izzy we have Zoe, Max, Faith and Natalie. I also cheat the stats around because I am a weenie and don't want them to get hurt outside of my control lmao call that CNC

Zoe is my transfem black-and-purple-aesthetic babygirl and local Whitney slut. She's kind of a reactive bully, Whitney's a bad influence on her, but she has a soft spot for the fellow orphans and will generally redirect her 'boyfriend's ire away from them where she can. While they started dating with him at high dom, over time and Drama I figured he'd soften up a little (touch-starved, affection-deprived bully finds love, gets clingy). They have tattoos of each other's names, they have matching collars (Whitney's is spiky), and they absolutely fuck nasty on Leighton's desk while he takes photos. You'd think Whitney's forcefem kink would be wasted on a gf who's already transfem, but she plays along and wears a lil chastity cage and everything. She'd be the most likely to be friends with Izzy, both being cheer-outfit transfems who are too busy flirting to study properly. T4T makeouts ensue, Whitney can watch idc lmao

Max is a big fuckin boy, just a beefy big wolfman badboy with a heart of gold. Real German Shepherd energy. He works really hard at the docks and comes home late, so his grades aren't the best, but he's no delinquent. He shows up to every class, just kinda… daydreams through them. He's very protective of Robin and takes on their debt after saving them at the docks (with the help of his coworkers), becoming their personal guard dog. He also sticks up for Robin when they come out as genderfluid (NB!Robin from the crossdressing scenes gives me so much joy!) Would probably make friends with Izzy since she's nice, but he's very much Robin-sexual so they'd just be broskis.

Faith is my poor innocent baby who did no wrong and has the most, uh, non-mechanics-compliant story shiz. She and Sydney were all sweet and cute lil hetero-romantic celibate temple initiates holding hands and being innocent… until she had her halo broken and her wings blackened in the very temple she thought she'd be safe in. Sydney and Sirris took her home, and none of them ever went back to the temple again gdi LET ME RESCUE SYDNEY FROM THAT PLACE! They both end up disillusioned by the whole scenario and fall to corruption and demonhood pretty easily (demon!Sydney my beloved), but they're happy now and fucking in the change room as we speak. Faith probably wouldn't have been very good friends with Izzy before she fell, but afterwards? As long as Sydney's involved, the more the merrier! She's got three holes.

Finally, Natalie, poor dear Natalie… She's my Kylarmance. She used to be a really popular kid, a bit of a delinquent thanks to having a short temper about being harassed and groped all the time. But it was nice to have a friend who seemed genuinely interested in talking to her, even if people thought he was a creep. Sure, he had a shrine to her in his locker, but that was… kinda sweet? He hadn't hurt her or touched her or called her horrible things like most guys she knew. He was endearing, and such a talented artist, and she cuddled up to that owl plushie he gave her every night. So when Whitney threatened to lie about her if she wouldn't fuck him, she rejected him. She'd be able to tell Kylar it was a lie, right? That she didn't sleep around, she was waiting for Kyl- for the right person, you know? Well… a mild kidnapping later, he proved that she was telling the truth by taking her virginity himself, and slowly molding her into his ideal goth gf. They're totally 'married' now, trust me! And sure, she's become a total social outcast and basically never speaks to anyone else, she'd never really have the opportunity to make friends with Izzy, but she's HAPPY now. She has KYLAR. That's all she's ever needed.

(sorry this wound up so long I fuckin love this game I am kissing you on the mouth aaaAAAA 🧸💋🌞)

SHAKING HANDS WITH YOU SO HARD OVER PLAYING WITH CHEATS!!!!! Look, sometimes you get stuck in an infinite assault loop and you really just gotta teleport yourself home 😔 Also sometimes you wanna lose your handholding virginity to literally anyone other than someone's pet dog who you taught to shake paws.

Whitney would absolutely love to watch Zoe and Izzy go at it and he's valid!! These ladies deserve some hot t4t action >:3c

Max sounds sooooo sweet and Izzy would adore him, she'd just be so happy someone else cares about Robin too!!

You're so valid on non-mechanics-compliant stuff, I ignore the actual game canon all the time for the sake of what I think would be more realistic (and fun) for Izzy!! Including getting Sydney away from the goddamn temple!!! Gotta save that boy!!! And then Faith, Izzy, and Sydney can have a threesome about it :3c

God Natalie is soooooo valid and relatable, Kylar is simply so !!!!! How can you not love him? Especially once he kidnaps you and you develop stockholm syndrome 🥰

I'm so happy to hear about all of them, they all sound super fun!!!! Mwah mwah I am kissing you on the mouth too!!!!

[sleepdeprivedsimp234]

Here’s some Massachusetts headcanons for you lovely sleep deprived beings 🙂✨

-Nicknames: Mass, Masshole, Ma (much to his "displeasure")

-His human age is 23 and his state age (or in my au, how long he’s existed as a state) is 235

-he is brothers with Connecticut (who is 25, cuz I want him to be the oldest for some reason-), New Jersey (who is his twin and is also 23), and New York (the youngest and is 21)

-he has PTSD, ADHD, social anxiety, and depression

-Mass is our skrunkly viscous lil’ coffee bean who needs a hug and some cuddles because he is extremely touch-starved

-Sleep? Don’t know her. Five cups of coffee? ✨y e s✨

-I think we’ve all decided that he is the nurse of the statehouse

-This poor thing gets jumpscared so easily, you don’t even have to be trying to scare him. The other states have tried to not scare him unintentionally, but alas they have failed

-he passes out at random times due to low iron, and the other states always try to catch him so that he doesn’t end up being on the receiving end of a concussion

-he is the shortest of his siblings (he’s only 5’6 meanwhile his siblings are 5’8, 5’9, and 5’10), therefore he is the one that randomly gets picked up like Simba (he is thoroughly unimpressed)

-his best friends are Penn and Loui

-he had a self-harming problem for a long time, and nearly died one time. That was when some of the others found out, and he soon got a bit of the help he needed. He still relapses sometimes, but the others that find out help him (no matter how stubborn he is)

-his father is England, and we all f(speaks Boston) hate him because he was emotionally and physically abusive to Mass and his siblings

-NY had to get his purring from somebody, and that somebody is Mass (but hell will freeze over before he tells you that-)

-I think it’s a universal agreement that Mass is a f(speaks Boston) nerd and knows how to hack

-every state has their own weapon, and his is an axe 🪓

-he plays the guitar, bass, and piano and actually sings pretty well

-Mass’s hair is extremely fluffy, which makes it really hard to take him seriously without his hat. Example:

Mass: If you don’t give that back right now, I’m going to tear you apart piece by piece while you’re still alive-

Tex, who is holding his hat high up where Mass can’t reach it: *whispering to York who is right next to him* It’s like being threatened by a damn cupcake…

[atozbodyfitness]

Tips and Strategies Specifically for Men in Their 30s Aiming to Reduce Belly Fat

Introduction:

Reducing belly fat can be tough, that’s why tips and strategies specifically for men in their 30s aiming to reduce belly fat are crucial for success. For men in their 30s. At this stage, life is busy with career demands, family responsibilities, and finding time for self-care. This can often lead to weight gain, with most of it accumulating around the belly area. If you’re looking for ways to get rid of stubborn belly fat, you’ve come to the right place. In this article, “Tips and Strategies Specifically for Men in Their 30s Aiming to Reduce Belly Fat”, we’ll explore practical tips that are easy to follow, realistic for a busy lifestyle, and effective in targeting belly fat. Let’s dive in!

Focus on a Balanced Diet

A balanced diet is crucial for reducing belly fat. Make sure your meals include a variety of fruits, vegetables, lean proteins, and whole grains. Reducing processed foods, sugary drinks, and refined carbs is a key strategy. Here are some helpful tips:

Increase Protein Intake: Include lean meats like chicken and fish, along with plant-based proteins like beans and lentils. Protein helps you feel fuller and boosts your metabolism.

Incorporate Healthy Fats: Choose healthy fats like avocados, nuts, and olive oil. Avoid trans fats found in many processed foods.

Limit Sugar and Processed Foods: High sugar and processed food intake contribute to fat accumulation. Choose natural sweeteners like honey or opt for fresh fruits.

For free information on how to change your physique and learn up-to-date muscle-building techniques, click here to go to my Instagram page which has up-to-date information. 

Incorporate Strength Training

Strength training is one of the most effective ways to reduce belly fat. It helps build lean muscle, which burns more calories even at rest. Here’s how you can start:

Start with Compound Exercises: These include squats, deadlifts, and bench presses. They engage multiple muscle groups, making your workouts more efficient.

Add Resistance Training: Use free weights, resistance bands, or your body weight to add resistance. This increases muscle mass and metabolic rate.

Progressive Overload: Gradually increase the weight or resistance to keep challenging your muscles.

Strength training not only burns fat but also improves your posture and overall strength.

Include Cardiovascular Exercises

Cardiovascular exercises are a must for burning calories and shedding belly fat. Whether it’s running, cycling, or swimming, cardio workouts elevate your heart rate and help burn excess fat. Here are some cardio ideas:

High-Intensity Interval Training (HIIT): HIIT alternates between short bursts of intense exercise and low-intensity recovery periods. It’s great for burning fat in a shorter amount of time.

Steady-State Cardio: Activities like jogging or brisk walking for 30 minutes can also help burn calories and improve heart health.

Incorporate Cardio Daily: Aim for at least 30 minutes of moderate-intensity cardio exercise most days of the week.

Prioritize Sleep and Stress Management

Getting enough sleep and managing stress is essential for reducing belly fat. When you’re stressed or sleep-deprived, your body releases cortisol, a hormone linked to weight gain, especially around the midsection. Here’s what you can do:

Sleep for 7-9 Hours Each Night: Quality sleep helps regulate your appetite and prevents cravings.

Practice Stress-Relief Activities: Consider meditation, deep breathing exercises, or yoga to manage stress levels.

Avoid Late-Night Snacking: Poor sleep can lead to late-night eating, contributing to belly fat.

Implementing these strategies will help balance your hormones and prevent belly fat accumulation.

Monitor Your Calorie Intake

Tracking what you eat is a great way to become aware of your calorie consumption. If your goal is to reduce belly fat, you need to create a calorie deficit. Here’s how to do it:

Use Apps to Track Calories: Apps like MyFitnessPal or Lose It! can help you monitor your daily intake.

Understand Portion Sizes: Use smaller plates, and avoid eating straight from the package to prevent overeating.

Be Mindful of Beverages: Many drinks, like sodas and alcohol, are high in calories. Stick to water, herbal teas, or black coffee.

By being mindful of your calorie intake, you’ll have better control over your weight loss journey.

Stay Consistent with Physical Activity

Consistency is key when it comes to losing belly fat. Regular physical activity helps burn calories and maintains muscle mass. Make physical activity a part of your daily routine:

Set Realistic Goals: Aim for 150 minutes of moderate-intensity or 75 minutes of high-intensity activity weekly.

Find Activities You Enjoy: Whether it’s dancing, hiking, or playing sports, choose activities that you’ll look forward to.

Incorporate Movement Throughout the Day: Take the stairs instead of the elevator, walk during lunch breaks, or do a quick workout at home.

Staying active will help you create a sustainable fitness routine, making belly fat reduction easier.

Limit Alcohol Consumption

Alcohol contains empty calories and can contribute to weight gain, especially around the belly area. Reducing or eliminating alcohol can have a significant impact on your weight loss. Here’s why:

High in Calories: Alcoholic drinks are often high in calories with no nutritional value.

Increases Appetite: Alcohol can lower inhibitions, making you more likely to overeat.

Slows Down Metabolism: Your body prioritizes metabolizing alcohol over burning fat, leading to fat storage.

By limiting alcohol, you’ll reduce your calorie intake and see better results in your weight loss efforts.

For free information on how to change your physique and learn up-to-date muscle-building techniques, click here to go to my Instagram page which has up-to-date information. 

Stay Hydrated Throughout the Day

Drinking enough water is crucial for reducing belly fat. Staying hydrated helps control hunger, boosts metabolism, and improves digestion. Here’s how to keep hydrated:

Drink a Glass of Water Before Each Meal: This helps control your appetite and prevent overeating.

Carry a Water Bottle: Keep a reusable water bottle with you to remind yourself to drink regularly.

Opt for Water Over Sugary Drinks: Choose water instead of sugary beverages, which are high in empty calories.

Staying hydrated will not only support your weight loss but also improve your overall health and energy levels.

Reduce Refined Carbohydrate Intake

Refined carbs, like white bread, pastries, and sugary cereals, can contribute to belly fat. Reducing these foods and opting for whole grains can help you lose weight effectively. Here’s why:

Causes Blood Sugar Spikes: Refined carbs cause a rapid rise and fall in blood sugar levels, leading to cravings.

Converts to Fat: Excess refined carbs are stored as fat, particularly around the belly.

Opt for Whole Grains: Choose whole grains like oats, brown rice, and quinoa, which provide sustained energy and keep you full longer.

Switching to whole grains will support your goal of reducing belly fat and maintaining a healthy lifestyle.

Stay Positive and Be Patient

Reducing belly fat takes time and patience. It’s essential to stay positive and be consistent with your efforts. Here are some tips to keep a positive mindset:

Set Small, Achievable Goals: Break down your larger goal into smaller, more manageable steps.

Celebrate Your Progress: Reward yourself for small victories, like fitting into an old pair of jeans.

Don’t Get Discouraged: Understand that results take time, and there will be ups and downs.

Staying positive will help you stay committed to your journey of reducing belly fat.

Conclusion:

Reducing belly fat in your 30s can seem like a challenge, but with the right strategies, it’s achievable. By focusing on a balanced diet, regular exercise, and maintaining a healthy lifestyle, you’ll see the changes you desire. Remember, consistency is key. Incorporate these “Tips and Strategies Specifically for Men in Their 30s Aiming to Reduce Belly Fat” into your daily routine, and you’ll be on your way to

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Disclaimer: Adam is not a doctor nor a nutritionist. This is all from the experience Adam has gained through himself and through schooling. Through his videos, Adam shares his personal and educational experience that he has acquired over the past years of training individuals through fitness and nutrition. Adam would strongly recommend you see your physician before starting or completing any exercise program. You should be in good physical condition to participate in the exercises which is why consulting your physician would be recommended.

Action – Consistency – Results

[the-firebird69]

HELLBOY II (2008) Auction Scene [HD] Prince Nuada

This is what we're doing we're littering the streets with these things no. Is the national ferry celebration day. You don't think that you should be celebrating them you're a bunch of strange people we have our work cut out for us and you are very odd to want things like this to happen. And my son is lost and forgotten by most. This is him and he went the wrong way and we thought it was disgusting and it is and he can't figure out what's wrong with it no he gets it he says a few way works and we're wrong and it's very gross but he can't see anything else in the world except pain and misery and suffering and evil and he had to do something to fight it I guess that's what he says people influenced him to do it and it's wrong and after my grandson and they fail and he was trying to entrap people and almost got in trouble. And he was speaking and they made him continue. And they didn't know that he was faking it no but he did not continue or pursue it ever again and he is deprived and he is being abused mentally and physically. Difference in what Tom Cruise chose to do and others they choose to try and find us. And one of the ways is by abuse and they're doing it to him to see the reaction. They found out later that they were set up by him and could not believe it so they looked for people doing it and they found themselves so yeah we're to play him and we know he was deprived and he was having problems with it still is but he's very young but his morals are very strong and you don't think so but you should see the control that he had today and inside he was frustrated and very angry. Outside he looked exhausted and he was a little tired mostly sweaty and he had the water and felt a lot better. He was not exhausted and he was not gonna have a heart attack he's been eating nuts for a long time and oranges and you guys have a poor sense of reality bananas strawberry juice fruit fruit juice. And lots of beans and you don't understand that we're here to say that you're wrong to say all this dumb things and stupid stuff all day long. He's not a Sinner and he won't be ever. And is drinking a little to feel better and he said it's wrong it's a sin and stopped and he told his wife it's wrong and they stopped together and he helped him and they kept on forcing him to its abuse he doesn't like the smell of it or the taste or what it does to his stomach it makes him feel sick here so he has to drink two or three and he doesn't feel sick and then and then it lasts for 15 minutes and there's too much in him and it's really bad. Do you guys like it for some reason not a time there's a few drinks that he wants to introduce to you and one of them is Heffenrefer and we are for it and the god and goddess of wine drink and music want to do it and so do we and he's right hulk Hogan can't shoulder it they always have us help but really we need to do something these people are not really civilized and they're separated in there just terrible it's like a room full of monkeys. And if they hear there's Heffin refer out there they're going to go but he says and I knew he would say it and he knew I would say it after that there's already one in his Mickey's and my son wants to do it and he says I work with anyone else and I said I don't think that you can defeat him and he has to do stuff he got really mad and he said we're doing this now. And he wants to increase their production and he found out who and they're not that great. That bad That bad no they're horrible people and they're not gonna continue production they said and he said he will continue it for them and they said no and he said you're in my way and move. And he meant it and he told him what he'd do if he didn't and he is saying you're standing in my way and he said this is what I'm gonna do to you. You said you can't and he said yeah I can so Trump's thought about it for me and said I'm a useless person so he says you can try but it's not gonna work and he's been trying for weeks and it's not working. So he's trying to brew it somewhere else right now it's brewed in Illinois and it won't last and it needs to be brewed somewhere else the max like the brew and they like the beer but the deal is he has to do something else with it but he says it could start it out there and tell them about it and Hulk Hogan knows about it he's not like an ally 'cause he wants money he wants to capture the whole market so he's going after and it's gonna work and I'm helping. I hope this makes sense that today is our day of celebration and we're celebrating our son and daughter who helped come up with this concept yeah they had a lot to do with it LOL what a day he says he was expecting cake and I guess that's the equivalent. Boy that's funny the cake these days are bad for you here

Nuada Arrianna

we use this ok and do it. i know what he means. need it. but yeh ok.  and we send it there.  i know how brew it there have to. need ingrediants and he can send tons. or noen they say it we are dry too awfeful.  needed it no. they do clean u now.  good. had a template used it.and it encourages them.  we need clean water and the rockies aand good but are far away.  and there is  a well and it is protected.  and ok can buy that but we know about it.  too long a trip up north.  rain water  and tested it is good.  and a famous method.  we know how to ok all we do this it is real. need to the water dirty they wills ee how ad copy it i do need partners...and hmmm.  like hulk hogans competitors nd they are up and help now

biden

Olympous  you morlock did this ok

[ideasareforever]

crying in my empty food pantry

So this summer has been probably my most stressful financial time yet. After being in school for two years, I got used to the comfort of living off savings, grants, and my part time job.

Now, I am faced with the reality of my debt. Difficulty obtaining food while poor helped me realize just how on the fringes I was. All of a sudden, food became this precious, limited resource. For most of my life, food has just been around. While often in average quality, it was still there.

Now, I go outside of my house and there are no grocery stores within walking distance, and I don't have a car. There are rows of houses stocked with their own food that I will never ever enter and there is a big park filled with trees that bear no fruit. My bank account is too empty to pay someone to drop sustenance off on my front porch. I can choose to rely on magic or opt for my food stamps and bus pass.

I'm about halfway through Crying In H Mart right now and Michelle Zauner has even further opened my eyes to just how deprived I have been of food experiences. Of course, I knew that a solo dinner of air fried hot dogs and oven fries every single evening wasn't exactly glamorous. But now I see how the sheer lack of attention to detail in American meals sharply contrasts with Korean fare and naturally, other cuisine from around the world.

I don't have time to chop up more than a few vegetables per meal, and even that feels like a special occasion. Going above and beyond for my nutrition. In fact, I'm often lucky if there are vegetables. I was so intrigued to read about Michelle's mother cooking for hours on end; making pastes and soaking beans and fine tuning every detail so that every flavor and texture was just right. I thought, "This is how it should be." Of course, her mother had the ability to do this because her husband paid all of the bills.

I want to wake up and only worry about how I am going to sustain myself for that day and take care of my body and mind. I have never had many of the Korean meals described in Crying In H Mart. So I could only imagine the many tastes and sensations. And this is what made me realize that it is truly a privilege to experience the rich world of food. Sure, I may not be going hungry. But even the full potential of own taste buds are owned by capitalism.