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weaselandfriends · 19 days ago

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The Making Of: When I Win the World Ends

(For my previous Making Of post, see The Making Of: Cleveland Quixotic.)

I. 1999

It was the year of the cubicle movie. It was the year of Fight Club, of Office Space, of Being John Malkovich, of Three Kings, of The Matrix, and of American Beauty. It was the year of suburban malaise, of eternal sunshine, of ceaseless normality. A year of United States hegemony; a year whose chief terror was that THIS WAS IT.

Before the millennium turned and the towers fell, there was an initial challenge to this order, a completely inconsequential one made consequential by a newly minted 24/7 news media machine running out of noise to fill dead air now that people were sick to bursting of the Clinton impeachment. This challenge came not through war, revolution, or violence, but through entertainment. Children's entertainment.

And I was a child. Unaware of any cultural context, I knew only one thing: I loved Pokémon. I really, really loved Pokémon.

I owned Red Version, Blue Version, Yellow Version, Pokémon Pinball, Pokémon Stadium, Pokémon Snap, Hey You Pikachu, a Pokémon Tetris sort of puzzle game, even the Pokémon TCG game for Gameboy. I had ten to fifteen strategy guides for the games, an encyclopedia of the 151 Pokémon, a choose your own adventure book, an I Spy-style book. I had Pokémon figurines, Pokémon plushies, toy Poké Balls, toy Pokédexes. I had Pokémon stamps and Pokémon stickers and a deck of Pokémon cards. Not trading cards, just a standard 52-card deck with Pokémon pictures on it. Of course I also had the trading cards. A complete set of the first three runs, plus a special Mew card you could get from I dunno Toys R Us or something as part of some promotion. I had a guide for the card game that explained which cards were good or bad even though I didn't even play the card game. I had a Pokémon Tamagotchi and Pokémon pencils and Pokémon erasers and Ash Ketchum's hat and I dressed up as Ash Ketchum for Halloween. Of course I watched every episode of the anime, and in notebooks I drew doodles of existing Pokémon and came up with names for new Pokémon. My father had died that year.

My father was a sports fanatic. Traditional sports. He, too, collected. Sports memorabilia, baseball cards, figures of famous stars. When I was an infant, he drove me on a cross country road trip to Lambeau Field in Green Bay, Wisconsin, where I became a part owner of the Green Bay Packers. He had always wanted me to grow up and pursue professional sports. When I was born, the doctor apparently said to start looking for football colleges, a quote he saved in a scrapbook of baby photos. He had played sports himself, in college; he was a baseball catcher, until a hitter accidentally struck him in the head with a full force swing.

Almost everything I personally remember about him involves him dying. He was sick for a long time, and I remember hospitals and hospital beds and strange smells and gauze. And then one day my mother told me he died.

He was a charismatic man, very social and very popular. He had many friends and a lot of family, all of whom had constantly been around our house. Once he was gone, they stopped coming around. Then it was just me and my mother, who was not a fanatic for anything, except maybe her job as an elementary school teacher, which consumed her time as she assiduously prepared lesson plans and graded tests until late at night. When my father died, she got into some argument with his side of the family, the details of which I still don't fully understand, and afterward they no longer spoke. Her own family lived far away, out-of-state, seen only at Christmas. The house became quiet.

And I… played… Pokémon.

II. The Electric Tale of Pikachu

Toshihiro Ono was a mangaka primarily known for shotacon and futanari hentai. His credits such as Innyou Megami and Anal Justice made him a no-brainer pick for the officially licensed Pokémon manga, Electric Tale of Pikachu, as it too would feature a 10-year-old boy as the protagonist.

This manga would be the foundation for my conception of what Pokémon was, narratively. Though I also had the Pokémon Adventures manga that ran concurrently and which has by now long outlasted it, Electric Tale left a significantly deeper imprint on my memory.

In summary, Electric Tale is a retelling of the first two seasons of the anime. Ash Ketchum is the main character, he's accompanied by Misty and later Brock, his rival is Gary, and Team Rocket harangues him.

What sets Electric Tale apart is its tone, which is far more adult than Adventures and the anime. Obviously, part of this comes from the author's primary area of expertise being hentai. Even in the censored English version, there is a sense of sexual playfulness in how every single female character is an older woman who likes to tease Ash about his romantic interests.

But there are other elements that creep in unrelated to sex, due to the perspective of someone only used to speaking to adults who suddenly has to speak to children. Ono doesn't really get the childish fantasy of leaving at 10 being normal in society, so he introduces an element where Ash can only get a one year deferment from school and will have to return unless he hits it big. Team Rocket are former competitive hopefuls who flamed out and then, with no education or work experience to speak of, had no choice but to turn to crime. The Pokémon are depicted more realistically, often eschewing the toyetic mascot elements of their designs.

And the landscapes are often wistful, even apocalyptic in their presentation:

This more sedate, mature, realistic depiction of Pokémon became what I wanted Pokémon to be, what I projected onto an original Red and Blue version that left everything open to interpretation, and what would increasingly frustrate me with the series as it deviated more toward bombastic villain groups with goofy destroy-the-world plots. (Which was what put me off Pokémon Adventures.)

Amid all this, one panel stuck with me in particular. One panel I would think about ever since I first saw it as a child, that would turn around in my head and keep coming back. That panel would eventually—over two decades later—become the basis for When I Win the World Ends, the seed from which an entire story grew:

III. The Unkillable Demon King

But in the interim, the seed remained dormant. 1999 fell away. I grew up. I played later Pokémon games and increasingly lost interest by around Gen 4 and 5. Then I went to college.

That's when I started playing League of Legends.

I was something of a psychopath in college. I operated on a strict schedule and did not deviate. Wake up, read 50 pages of classic literature, write 2,000 words, go to classes, study, and then by about four in the afternoon all my obligations were done and it was League of Legends until midnight.

I wasn't actually interested in the League of Legends esports scene in its infancy. In 2012, I was actually invited to attend its World Championship in Los Angeles and refused. (When I received this invitation, I had just finished reading Homestuck for the first time, and was caught in a month-long haze in which I could do little but bask within what I considered the greatest artistic achievement I'd seen in my life. It was this month that inspired Modern Cannibals.) I only liked playing the game and watching Dunkey videos.

It wasn't until the next year, when a girl I was interested in recommended I watch, that I tuned in to my first professional League of Legends game, at the 2013 World Championship. It was there that I got to watch this new, hyped, upcoming Korean player who had apparently taken the pro scene by storm that season. That player was Faker.

It has seemingly become essential to the narrative of any sport that there is "the man who always wins." American football has Tom Brady, and the moment Brady retired, he was replaced by Patrick Mahomes. Basketball has LeBron James, picking up the mantle from Michael Jordan. It's as if someone being "the best" validates the skill-based promise of the sport, the fundamental top-down fairness of its premise, the idea that the person who wins is the best and deserved it. Faker would become the backbone of League of Legends esports and his ascendance correlated to that of the sport itself, from its humble roots at small-scale tournaments in places like Jönköping, Sweden, to max capacity arenas in the biggest cities in the world.

It's surprising, though, how the legend of Faker had already begun even before he won his first World Championship. League of Legends was designed as a clone of Defense of the Ancients (DotA), a popular mod for Warcraft III that emphasized competitive play. In its infancy, the competitive scene was mostly dominated by players who had migrated from DotA to League. They were older, winning thanks to a fundamental conceptual understanding of the game that was superior to everyone else, and frankly not very good in the aggregate. As League of Legends esports exploded in popularity from 2013 to 2015, these old pros would get filtered out swiftly, with even the biggest and most popular names retiring after only a couple of years in the scene.

Even once the new generation of League-grown talent ascended, though, careers were nasty, brutish, and short. The best players only remained on top for a season, as game patches dramatically changed viable strategies. Internationally the sport was dominated by Koreans, with the Korean regional league sometimes being seen as more difficult to win than the World Championship, where Koreans often breezed through uncompetitive Chinese, European, and North American squads.

This possibly affected the demographics of the professional scene. South Korea has mandatory military service, and leaving the pro scene to join the military was basically the end of a Korean player's career. This meant that it was rare to see a Korean player older than 25. Retiring in your early 20s was and remains common. Korean organizations, which had an infrastructural leg up on other regions due to the popularity of StarCraft 2 esports in the country, became adept at scouting promising players at 15 or 16, building them into top level competitive pros, wringing them dry for a few seasons with brutal training regimens, and spitting them out.

Faker was the exception. Though he had been discovered young by SK Telecom, a major Korean telecommunications company that did esports on the side, and gone through the training regimen, he refused to be spit out. He simply didn't stop. He won in 2013, then with a completely new four-man squad around him won again in 2015 and 2016 before narrowly losing the 2017 finals in a nail biter. Given League of Legends esports had only existed since 2011, he basically accounted for half of the championships up until that point. Nobody else, except for his teammates, had won more than once. And it was like it was known he would be this juggernaut the instant he manifested ex nihilo. Like it was known, even in 2013, that he would always win.

Then, Faker stopped winning.

By 2017, League of Legends esports was a titan. Venture capital firms, seeing the millions of eyeballs, thought that this was the next NBA in its infancy, and decided to get in on the ground floor. Multiple millions of dollars were pumped into the scene as even mediocre players in weak regions like North America pulled seven-digit salaries. In China, where League of Legends had become the national pastime, the nation's richest oligarchs ran teams for fun and vanity, outbidding Korean organizations for top Korean players in pursuit of a trophy that had gone to Korea every year since 2013. Riot, the studio developing the game, pumped tons of money into creating a professional sports product, with skilled announcers, dedicated arenas for regional leagues, live performances by musicians like Imagine Dragons and Lil Nas X, and all the other bells and whistles one might expect from a program watched on ESPN.

In this milieu, it seemed like Faker had finally reached his limit. He was still good, but not the best. Even as an individual, while everyone still considered him the "greatest of all time," he was considered outmatched by newer pros like Chovy and ShowMaker. 2018, 2019, 2020, and 2021 passed with no championships. In 2022, on a team of mostly rookies, he reached the world finals, but was ultimately beaten. Korea's stranglehold over the sport had been shaken by China, which had finally strung together some championships. People wondered if Faker would retire, although he had managed to avoid mandatory military service by representing Korea in the Olympics-esque Asian Games. He'd dealt with wrist injuries and his level of play dropped year over year. He just didn't seem to be that good anymore, potentially holding back his team of talented young players rather than leading them to victory.

Then, in 2023—

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And in 2024—

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In the end, never count out Touchdown Tom. 11 years of professional play, 5 world championships.

From this longwinded explanation, you might have realized that after watching that game in 2013, I became a League of Legends esports fanatic, fulfilling the prophecy set before me by my father though perhaps in not the way he would have expected.

And the things I become a fanatic about, I want to write a story about.

IV. Modern Cannibals

There's a deleted scene in Modern Cannibals, as Maximillion is driving Z. and her friends through the Utah desert. He starts to talk about Pokémon.

"I bring it up because my university thesis was about Pokemon in particular how Pokemon has basically trained an entire generation of children to think in a completely different way than preceding generations my generation for instance our fad was Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles now I don't know how much you know about Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles but from an educational standpoint we're talking absolute bankrupt complete and utter goose egg but Pokemon now Pokemon you see it's more like there's some substance to it you know that refrain Gotta Catch Em All right?" "..." "Well to most parents it looks like a marketing gimmick you make one hundred fifty-one characters and structure a game around collecting them the merchandising potential is astronomical kids buy one hundred fifty-one trading cards stickers coloring books figurines uh collectable lunchable toys I'm sure you've got some yourself."

He continues:

"But really you look at the game itself before the big toy explosion the game itself the focus is placed less on the collection and more on the catalogue you're given a blank encyclopedia to fill and you fill it by capturing one hundred fifty-one Pokemon but the goal is to create a complete database of each and every one and this is what I argue is the educational core of the Pokemon series." His hands left the wheel to conceive of his idea in the cool air of the car, which remained steady on its ever-forward path. "Our modern era is no longer one of singular isolated knowledge it is one of the catalogue the database which is most clearly personified in the advent of the internet because now all knowledge can be at the fingertips of any one human being all that is needed is someone to go and put the catalogue together and presto whiz bang it's there think about it Z. when you catch a bunch of Pokemon where do you store them?" Z. didn't need to think long to remember the game's mechanics. "In the PC." "Exactly now isn't that odd consider it in real life terms you have real life creatures made assumedly of flesh and bone and yet you store them in a computer how does that make sense you'd expect a farm or a holding pen but no it's the computer and that too prepares the budding portion of the millennial generation to become cognizant of the linkage between the computer the encyclopedia and the database structure of knowledge in a new era." "So," said Z. "So you're saying Pokemon taught kids how to think in the digital age?"

There's also a deleted character in Modern Cannibals. Well, mostly deleted—he still shows up, unnamed, in a couple of pages. He is Cole Coulter, Z.'s older brother, a popular League of Legends streamer. Before I deleted him, his role was to accompany Mrs. Roddlevan and Frederick in an attempt to bring Z. back home. He had POV scenes that gave insight into the weirdness of his cotravelers, but ultimately, I decided he didn't add anything to the story and removed him almost entirely.

Even then, though, I was already considering the future of Cole Coulter as the protagonist of a story about League of Legends esports. Playing under the ID MadKing, he would be a North American professional top laner, once known for his aggressive duelist style but recently forced into playing boring tanks as the esports metagame became more sophisticated and tactics-based.

The story would be simple, something I envisioned as a "sports story" only about esports instead of regular sports. It would start with Cole's team being relegated from the league, only for Cole to get a last chance signing to a new team with two promising Korean imports. One import, the mid laner, would be a charismatic and eccentric player in the mold of Doinb/Ganked By Mom/Huhi, while the other, an AD carry, would be introverted and pissy and elitist, in the mold of Piglet. The team would initially struggle, cultures would clash, then a mid-season replacement to sign a psychopathic Tyler1/Tarzaned style streamer as jungler would revitalize the team, put them on a major run, and get them to the World Championship. Though they would eventually fall after a miracle run, Cole would get a moment to truly shine on the biggest stage when he won a pivotal game by aggressive split pushing rather than tank play.

Thematically, the story would be about two things. First, a counterpoint to the idea of American exceptionalism, featuring a league where Americans are particularly bad compared to Korean or Chinese players. Second, an exploration of what it means to be exceptional at all. Cole would be an all-around mediocre person. Middling at school, at (real) sports, at the various popularity contests of being a teenager. League of Legends, this niche sub-sport, is the one thing he truly excelled at, the one place where he was good, better than 99.9 percent of all players, and yet even within that statistical greatness he wound up, ultimately, in a professional scene where he was once again mediocre, relegated to "tank duty," to facilitating other players to carry.

What does it mean to be the best? How can someone be so, so good, only to reach a level where they were still nothing special? Is there any way to win if you're not "the man who always wins"?

I remembered that panel from Electric Tale of Pikachu. The last people filtered before the final champion. It's certainly no walk in the zoo!

This idea was pretty detailed for a story I never wound up writing, something I mostly blame on the years 2018 and 2019, when a lot of bad things happened to me and in retrospect I consider it a minor miracle I managed to finish Chicago at all. As a human being, I would be decimated for the next three years, and so a lot of stories I might have written in that time never came to fruition.

Meanwhile, League of Legends esports reached a peak, then the venture capital bubble burst as investors realized there was no monetization scheme in place for any interested party except Riot Games. Money hemorrhaged out, Riot shifted resources to Valorant, and a sport that had been overinflated based on projected exponential growth in perpetuity fell back down to earth.

Also, Players came out.

Players was a 2022 mockumentary about a fictional League of Legends team competing in the North American league. Conceptually, it was doing a lot of what I had planned for my story: following a single team on a rags-to-riches run, focusing on the interpersonal drama of the team members, asking questions about greatness and its pursuit. It's a pretty good show if you're familiar with League of Legends esports at all, with a lot of on-the-ground fidelity that gives it an authentic feel, which is exactly what I had been hoping to use my esports fanaticism to accomplish. It completely took the wind out of my sails; it was like my idea had already been done.

So by 2022, the idea of a League of Legends esports story was dead. But there was still a drive to create something with that spirit, that would delve into those themes.

What remained after all these years of sifting the sieve, letting sand slip through, was that one panel from the manga. The number of people pursuing greatness slowly filtering until only one remained. And if I wasn't going to pursue that idea through League of Legends, maybe I could pursue it through another vehicle. Maybe the vehicle through which the idea had originally been exposed to me. Pokémon. It all came back to Pokémon.

V. Everything Evolving Into Crabs

I knew immediately that if I were to write a Pokémon fic, it would be a tournament arc. This was the natural evolution of my esports story idea. Also, if I were to write Pokémon, I wanted it to be a story about utopia, immersed within Pokémon's near-future ideal world, where everything is clean and healthy, where society is neat and ordered.

This idea caused me to remember the novel Eyeless in Gaza by Aldous Huxley, which I had read a few years back. A mostly autobiographical bildungsroman written on the precipice of World War II, the novel ends with the young protagonist on a journey to Central America, where he meets an idealistic doctor who believes sport to be a proper substitution for war. He tells the story of two tribes locked in internecine conflict through generations, able to replace that violence with soccer matches.

And wasn't that what the world of Pokémon was, a utopia revolving around neutralizing weapons of war by using them for competitive sport?

This tournament, I envisioned, would not simply be about deciding who was best, but an ideological battle for the future of the Pokémon world. To that end, I imagined a war between an entrenched trainer class, who competed as philosopher-warriors, intense individuals with deep connections to their Pokémon, and an upstart commercialization that sought to replace the ideological underpinnings that made their society so safe and prosperous with economic accumulation. It was from this kernel that the character who would become Aracely Sosa arose: charismatic, appealing, human-empathic, and propped up by a support staff who did all the hard work of teambuilding for her.

I imagined the story having an ensemble cast, focusing on nearly every competitor equally, with the Aracely character not having any especial focus until her improbable rise to the top. I imagined a final round where she faced off against "the man who always wins," and though she would lose to him, she would seem to have won the ideological battle, altering the course of society as major corporations scrambled to employ her formula for success at a much grander scale. The story would end with this realization of the earth-shattering importance behind her run, only for Aracely to sink in disappointment. Because in the end, all she really wanted was to win.

The more I thought about it, though, the less I liked the idea of an ensemble cast. The ensemble cast element of Chicago hadn't gone over very well (though I like it), and I figured it would wind up inflating the length of the story considerably. I was coming to the end of Cleveland Quixotic, after all, and once more wanted to write something smaller, tighter, and denser.

So I oriented my thinking to instead have the story revolve around Aracely and one major rival, to give an interpersonal mirror to the ideological war being waged. Thus, Toril came about as an antithesis to everything I had imagined Aracely to be: gruff, antisocial, independent. Their rivalry would culminate in a semifinals battle, before Aracely went on to fight "the man who always wins" in the finals.

I forget exactly when the gender theme came into the equation, but it evolved as an outgrowth of (once again) my competitive League of Legends expertise, where women are essentially nonexistent despite there seemingly being no biological blocks against them. This dovetailed nicely with Pokémon, a world where women seemingly could be powerful competitors, but where—in the anime at least—none ever are. For instance, look at this chart of every major tournament in the anime:

Every known winner is male. Every known finalist and semifinalist is male. Only a handful of female characters have reached the quarterfinals. What possible in-universe justification could there be for that?

This question was actually far more prominent in early planning and drafting than it wound up being in the final work. Initially, I had Aracely's personal motivation revolve around a drive to be the first female trainer to win; this would increase the ideological conflict between her and Toril, who attempted to ignore that she was female altogether. Over time, this theme would see diminished importance in face of the last piece of the thematic puzzle: cults.

It came from reading Underground by Haruki Murakami, a nonfiction journalistic account of the 1995 Tokyo sarin gas attacks carried out by the cult Aum Shinrikyo under the direction of its leader Shoko Asahara. Japan in the 90s was experiencing its own End of History, one taken literally by those disaffected with modern society's grand narrative. The prophecies of Nostradamus became fashionable among the young, who believed that 1999 would be the final year before the world was destroyed. Murakami interviewed both survivors of the gas attack and members of Aum Shinrikyo, collecting worldviews of people who simply thought they were "different" and who were willing to give everything in their lives to the one place that seemed to accept that difference.

The 1995 attacks were a watershed moment in Japanese culture. In their wake would come pivotal works of Japanese pop media, like the titan of otaku culture, Neon Genesis Evangelion:

(What's scary about Nostradamus' prophecy is that it might not come true. A year whose chief terror was that THIS WAS IT.)

Pokémon, whose first games released in Japan in 1996, also emerged within this post-Aum world where fixation on the minutiae of pop media was becoming a primary pillar of meaning for the youth, and it's hard not to see echoes of cultism in the evil teams that dot the series' landscape. Even Team Rocket, originally more modeled on organized crime than occultism, veers that direction in Gold and Silver, and afterward the organizations and their world-ending plots become increasingly absurd, to the point where it starts to become unclear why anyone would ever follow, say, Lysandre.

As I mentioned earlier, my personal interest in Pokémon was at odds with these clownish, Saturday morning cartoon villain organizations, but Murakami's account of the Aum attacks recontextualized them for me, made them make sense even within the framework of a "realistic" utopian world. The last elements snapped into place, and I knew my main character would be the member of one of these cults. A cult dedicated to, what else? Evolution. A core element of the Pokémon series, a perfect metaphor for the frustrating lack of movement of the End of History 90s. I imagined a cult leader as a surrogate mother figure for Aracely, who would have a strained relationship with both of her own parents, and deciding on that, the idea of making Pokémon's canon evil mother Lusamine the villain was a no-brainer. I imagined a post-SuMo Lusamine, unable to move on from her experience merged with Nihilego, languishing in Kanto after being sent there to consult with Bill, who had his own experience being merged with a Pokémon... It didn't take long to figure out how all these pieces connected.

The full form of the story had taken shape.

VI. Showdown

I knew immediately I would be following Showdown rules for the battles. No alternative even crossed my mind. I had dabbled in Showdown a few times over the years, first in Gen 3 OUs, then later in Gen 7 OUs, and I knew from experience that Pokémon is a monumentally more interesting competitive game when operating at a high level compared to either its depiction in the anime (shounen logic, mid-fight evolutions) or the general playing experience (spam your best move on your overleveled starter). I knew I would use competitive rulesets before I even considered the thematic or worldbuilding aspect I would eventually take in the story itself (i.e., that the specific rulesets prevent battles from becoming bloodsport and enforce order on the world). I simply thought doing battles this way would be far more entertaining.

To prepare, I started playing Gen 9 OUs under the guidance of a few friends who were into the competitive scene. I grinded the ladder for months, eventually getting a good enough grasp on the metagame to reach 1500 Elo on the Showdown ladder, which is not very good but generally higher than someone can reach with dumb luck.

Crafting the tournament format and rulesets used in the story wasn't difficult. I modeled the tournament format on the League of Legends World Championship, with region-based seeds (having been selected due to performance in regional tournaments) competing in four groups before the highest performers advanced to a single elimination bracket. Initially, I envisioned a 32-competitor bracket instead of the 16-competitor bracket that would appear in the final draft, but otherwise the format came quickly and easily.

In terms of the rulesets and available Pokémon, my considerations were made primarily in terms of what would be most entertaining to read. I decided to include Mega Evolutions and not include Z Moves, Dynamax, or Terastallization, because Mega Evolutions are cool and those other gimmicks are not. The bring-9-pick-6 format, while unusual in Showdown rulesets, is similar to the rules in Pokémon Stadium and VGC tournaments, and also adds a level of intrigue to which Pokémon each competitor uses. (It also enabled Red's Zapdos at the climax of the story, which was something I knew I would bring out from very early on.)

With the help of one of my friends who knew competitive Pokémon, I scripted out each battle assiduously before I wrote them. Every battle was tested using Showdown itself, with only a few turns mocked up to account for luck. For instance, in Aracely versus Jinjiao, Slowking is meant to stay asleep for three turns. Rather than rely on luck to ensure Slowking actually slept that long during the test, I could give Slowking a useless move and have him use that instead to simulate being asleep.

The only thing that couldn't be tested in Showdown was the 7 PP Kingambit trick Red uses at the end of the story, because it's impossible to set a Pokémon to have fewer than max PP in Showdown. This led to one of the bigger mistakes of the story, as it turns out that Encore would simply wear off if Kingambit ran out of PP, rather than forcing him to use Struggle like I assumed. Luckily, even if this were the case, it wouldn't change the outcome of the battle, so it's not an error I lose too much sleep over.

Character teams were chosen to thread the needle between a few considerations. The team needed to be competitively viable, reflect the character's personality in some way, and be distinct from other teams for the sake of variety. (Variety is somewhat unrealistic in real top-level competitive Pokémon, where you'll often see many almost identical teams in the top ranks. But that would be boring.) Some lack of optimization was allowed under the conceit that actually training these Pokémon to peak form would take a lot of time in the real world, compared to Showdown were optimization can be determined quickly due to the ability to immediately adjust stats and builds.

I also tried to give some preference for Pokémon that would be more familiar to layman fans, though this was difficult because Gen 8 and 9 have outrageous power creep and many popular early generation Pokémon have been completely phased out. (Using Megas helped with this issue.) It was this consideration that led to Azumarill being Aracely's ace. There was also an innate challenge to imagining what the competitive scene would look like without legendary Pokémon. Zapdos and Landorus-Therian have been inexorable staples of the competitive scene for generations. What happens in a world where they aren't used at all?

In the original 32-person bracket, I imagined Aracely competing against Jinjiao in the first round, then minor characters Adrian da Cunha and Jacq Ray Johnson in the next two rounds, before facing Toril in semifinals. I imagined Adrian da Cunha as a "hometown hero" whose team wasn't great but he was plucky with a lot of grit, and Jacq Ray Johnson as a self-aware heel who liked to use cheesy strategies and gimmicky Pokémon like Smeargle and Ditto. Condensing from 32 to 16 occurred around the same time I had settled on Lusamine as my villain/cult leader, which led to replacing those two with Gladion. I developed full brackets for both the 32-man and 16-man iterations, with character names and regions, just in case I ever needed to mention them.

All that was left to do was write the story.

VII. Unbroken Line of History

I began writing in September 2023 under the tentative title Unbroken Line of History, which I would later change to simply Lines. In the original drafts, I opened the story with a modified version of the panel from Electric Tale of Pikachu detailing how people are filtered over time in their pursuit of being the best, this time starting with all 8 billion people in the world until only one remains. The story then cut to Aracely's perspective in the restroom as she mentally prepared for her final group stage match.

At this point I was more set on Aracely being the clear protagonist of the story, so she had a few facets of her personality designed around that. First, as I mentioned before, there was a feminist angle where she was motivated specifically to be the first female trainer to win the championship. Secondly, I threw in some more generic nervousness/fear of failure. The other major difference is that I did not lead with the cult prophecy of the world ending. I originally envisioned the cult reveal to be a mid-story twist, and only obliquely hinted at it.

The scene still played out with Toril appearing and the two getting off to a bad start. Then, Cely's father tried to talk strategy with her while she ignored him, before the battle transpired in much the same form as it does in the final draft.

I showed this early draft to my friends and most disliked it. My girlfriend at the time told me Cely sounded like an edgy 13-year-old boy, while my neuroscientist friend whose aspirational idol is Bondrewd from Made in Abyss wanted to know more about the oblique hints of a cult, finding everything else boring. Another friend said it was stupid that there were 30 seconds between turns during the battle and that the Pokémon should just go at each other; nobody would actually want to watch a battle that was paced so slowly. (I vehemently disagreed with that take. Basically every popular sport balances between slow-paced moments of strategy and fast-paced moments of action and execution.) Some people I showed it to did enjoy it, though. Gazemaize, the author of Chili and the Chocolate Factory, was especially enamored by the Brittany/Gardevoir reveal and the Bud Light Analyst Desk, and implored me to keep both of those elements at all costs. 7th, one of my friends who helped me with the Showdown stuff, was so into it she drew fan art of all the characters (which I've posted before) and also wrote eight pornographic short stories about them.

I rewrote the same opening scene several times across October and November, though these were minor iterations without significant adjustments. Frustrated with the lack of progress, I decided to take a break from writing to simply think about the story for a few months.

During this time, to fix Aracely's edgy 13-year-old voice, I decided to lean into her being from Pokémon Los Angeles (with her native region, Visia, being a play on "visual" as a reference to Hollywood) and gave her a Valley Girl accent. To prepare for this, I listened to hours and hours of ASMR videos of people speaking like Valley Girls and took notes on their inflection and syntax. It was here where I decided on Aracely's underlining quirk, as a way of capturing the unique style of emphasis Valley Girls used.

This also made me realize I needed to adjust Aracely's personality. Despite the tone of her voice, she was still acting antisocially. She didn't want to talk to her father, she didn't want to talk to Lachlan Nguyen, she didn't even really want to talk to Toril. Toril herself was a lump of coal. My own misanthropy kept leaking into the characters, even when I conceptually didn't want them to have it. I thought back to Cleveland Quixotic, and how what made the Jay and Viviendre romance work was that they actually both liked each other, and figured—even though I didn't have explicitly romantic plans for Aracely and Toril—that I needed to do something similar to make their rivalry truly pop. Rather than avoid people, Aracely would lean into talking to them, even if they were annoying. Although Toril remained frigid, there would be a part of her yearning for emotional contact, a way to coax her out of her shell.

I also thought deeply about the structure of my stories in general, and my inability to come up with good hooks. It was around this time that someone I knew was reading Chicago. They pointed out that the plot of Chicago doesn't really start until Chapter 26; that I was "burying the lede." I considered this. My logic, when writing Chicago, was that the Empire moving to take over Washington would be a twist, something that would shock and excite people and change their perception of the entire story.

But did that make sense, when really the story was "about" that twist? Didn't that just make everything before the twist harder to get into for a reader? Chicago might look radically different if I revealed the Empire's goals immediately, but it would also probably be a more immediately engaging work. I'm a big fan of delayed gratification in storytelling, but had I taken it too far?

This was a major revelation for me, and immediately I understood what I needed to do for my Pokémon story: move up the cult plotline. Place it front and center. Name the whole story after it even. I decided on framing the opening scene from Toril's perspective, depicting Aracely initially more as an alien other, emphasizing the fact that she was in a cult rather than hide it behind foreshadowing. This could also lead to Aracely and Toril having more of a dual protagonist setup, which would make my planned two-half finale (one half where Aracely battled "the man who always wins," one half where Toril got involved in stopping the cult's doomsday plot) work even better.

Confidence resurged. At the end of January 2024, my girlfriend of seven years and I broke up. A few days later, I started writing the sixth—and ultimately final—draft of When I Win the World Ends.

VIII. When I Win the World Ends

Now it's the part of the Making Of where I actually make the thing I'm supposed to be making, but there's a lot less to say about it. Once I have a plan, the actual writing of the story is the easy part, and most of what I wrote—with a few exceptions—looks similar to the story as it exists now.

There were some oddities. I wrote the first seven chapters (everything up to the end of the Jinjiao battle) and then had to take a two week break to write a short piece for a writing contest I had entered in December as part of an effort to stop overthinking WIW. After this interruption, I returned to WIW writing perhaps a bit more perfunctorily than I usually would, leading to an original version of Chapter 8 (the chapter where MOTHER makes her first real appearance) that was short and abbreviated. Later, in editing, I would rewrite most of this chapter.

A few ideas emerged while writing, like the motif of serendipity/Logos, which I felt tied nicely to the ideas of evolution and history. It was also in this draft that I introduced Cely's friends Haydn and Charlie, as a nod to an earlier work of mine also featuring a fashion-obsessed girl from Los Angeles. (Speaking of nods to earlier works, in the original 32-man bracket, Cole Coulter featured as one of the competitors, but he didn't make the 16-man cut.)

The process went smoothly. I finished the draft at the end of May, a little under four months after I started it. I had envisioned the full story as being about 70,000 words, but the draft ended up closer to 115,000. Underestimating story length is just an essential element of the trade, though.

A few days after finishing the draft I went on a four-day Oklahoma Darkness Retreat where I had access to zero electronics. The goal was to think about my story deeply and how it could be improved in the editing process.

In this time chamber, where I did nothing except complete crossword puzzles and read The Recognitions by William Gaddis, I came to a realization. There was one element the story needed that wasn't already there.

That element was Sabrina. In the original draft, Sabrina was not present during the scene where Aracely meets the Old Man. She was mentioned obliquely a couple of times in conjunction with Aracely's "psychic powers," but it never really built to anything. There was still a scene where Aracely was interrogated due to her relationship with MOTHER, but only by nameless goons, and the scene lacked tension as it was clear Aracely could talk circles around them.

When I returned from Oklahoma, I prepared for my conception of Sabrina as a character by writing an 8,000 word short story from her perspective, which hashed out an entire backstory for her. Then, I started editing the draft.

For me, a lot of editing is just polish. Usually, cutting out needless sentences and fixing clunky ones, as well as emphasizing a few of the more understated themes and motifs. For instance, during editing, I made slight additions to emphasize the thematic connection between Aracely's suicide attempt and the global war that almost destroyed the world, as well as the connection between the moon and cyclical insanity (lunacy, etymologically, being related to the moon). I made the Old Man more of a Walt Disney-esque figure (from my notes: "a dying Disney"), rewriting much of his dialogue to either be direct quotes or to evoke his ideals. I also expanded on several of the scenes where Toril and Aracely interact to make their relationship more complex and nuanced. I gave MOTHER some new dialogue, including her speech in Chapter 18 about loving a child for the potential it promises, while also paradoxically wanting it to remain a child forever.

The largest changes were in the three chapters I almost fully rewrote. The first was Chapter 8, which as I mentioned earlier was overly terse. In the original draft, it depicted MOTHER as more pathetic, more dependent on Aracely. I decided to make her a more threatening figure, and incorporated a few references to the Moloch sacrifice scene from Valle Verde to make her seem more like a false idol. Similarly, I rewrote Chapter 12, which was originally a very short chapter that focused solely on a conversation between MOTHER and Nilufer that ended with the order to kidnap Aracely. In rewriting the chapter to include Fiorella, I gave myself more opportunity to flesh out the respective philosophies of her and MOTHER (including some of the story's most salient discussions about why cults exist), as well as give more of an insight into the inner workings of RISE as an organization. And lastly, I fully rewrote Chapter 19 to include Sabrina.

The last changes I made in editing were to the final chapter. When I finished the final draft of the story, I sent it to several readers, many of whom had looked at the original drafts of the first chapter, as well as julirites, the author of a Fargo fan fiction called London. There was an immediate and minor backlash to the final chapter, which was originally much more pessimistic, from most people who read it. In the original version, Aracely and Toril were not still in communication. (Fiorella was also dying of cancer instead of jockeying to replace the Old Man.) The finale had a much more somber, sedate, tragic note. Juli and 7th disliked this sad ending, while Gazemaize wanted me to cut the final chapter altogether. I felt confident that the final chapter was necessary, though, and revised it to its current version, which was much better liked.

And then... the story was finished, near the end of July. I crunched the numbers and realized that if I posted two chapters to start and then did a twice-weekly posting schedule, I could end the story serendipitously on October 12. So I did.

IX. Names and Special Thanks

In my Making Of post for Cleveland Quixotic, I had a fairly extensive list of where I got all the character and place names from. The list is a lot less extensive here; most names I constructed for the purpose of sounding evocative, rather than taking them from someplace specific. For instance, I chose the name Aracely Sosa because it sounds like whistling with its repeated S sounds, compared to Toril Lund which is a lot harsher with its consonants. You can see a similar rationale behind names like Fiorella Fiorina, Yui Matsui, and even some of the background characters, like Jacq Ray Johnson, Jr., where there is a lot of emphasis on alliteration and rhyme.

There are a couple of exceptions. Jinjiao is the in-game ID of a longtime Chinese League of Legends pro of middling notability. He picked the name (which means "Golden Horn") as a reference to the Golden Horned King, a villain from Journey to the West.

Lutz, Fiorella's cameraman, was named after an extremely minor character from Fire Emblem: Path of Radiance, who is not playable and only appears in a singular cutscene before being killed. They are so irrelevant that despite naming a character after them, I actually forgot their name, which is Lotz, not Lutz.

Haydn is named after the famous classical composer.

Special thanks to 7th and Elick320 for helping me with the teams and battles. Thanks to Gazemaize and julirites, among others unnamed, for reading and providing feedback. And thank you all for enjoying the story.

#when i win the world ends #wiw #bavitz #the making of #writing #pokemon #fanfic #fan fiction #league of legends #faker #the electric tale of pikachu #Youtube

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lohotine · 8 months ago

Text

Shadow Milk x Reader

Oneshot

Warnings: Implied Swearing (?) Not proof read

-Rainy Day Shenanigans-

What is one supposed to do on a rainy day?

Sleep in? Play games? Read?

According to Shadow Milk Cookie, it's clinging to your lover.

"I'm not clingy, I'm conserving body heat."

His arms wrapped around your waist, and he'd hold you close to him.

"The only one cold here is you," You'd respond.

"Okay, what's your point?"

You'd sigh.

There's no reasoning with him.

But oh well. It's not that bad.

"Oh! We should bake something!" He would suggest out of the blue.

"What- Why?"

"Come on, it'll be fun!"

Shadow Milk Cookie took hold of your hand and dragged you into the kitchen.

You had just cleaned the counter earlier, so it was pristine with a white glow.

That wasn't going to last very long.

"So, what do we plan on making today?" You asked him.

"A cake!"

"You know neither one of us know how to bake, right?"

"Yeah but how hard can it be? We get the recipe and do the things. Easy."

He found an easy enough recipe and started to collect ingredients around your house.

"This is everything!"

Flour, eggs, milk, vanilla extract, sugar, butter, and baking powder.

"Okay, what do we do first?" You asked.

Both of you went through each of the steps, measuring and adding ingredients.

Sure, it was messy, but things weren't that bad..

...

"MILK WHAT TEMPERATURE DID YOU SET IT TO?"

"3,500?"

"WHAT THE F-"

So yeah. That happened.

The cake came out as a pile of ash.

"Um, ta-da?" He smiled at you awkwardly.

"You were supposed to set it to 350, not 3,500," you said while glaring at the 'cake'.

"Oops! My bad..." He nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck.

"But at least I failed with my most beloved~"

He kissed your neck softly, snaking arms around your waist.

"So cooking isn't realy our thing. Wanna play games instead?"

"I guess-"

《☆》

"Go fish."

You rolled your eyes and drew another card from the pile.

"Do you have a seven of hearts?"

You handed him your card. This is the tenth match he's had this game.

"Are you cheating?" You'd ask with a skeptical look.

"No, you're just bad."

"I'm am not. This game is basically luck based."

"Okay, whatever. Do you have a king of spades?"

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, love," he said with a grin.

"Go fish!"

...

"I want a rematch! I can definitely win this time."

You played ten rounds with him, and only won two.

Each time he'd snicker at you, and give you that cheeky grin.

"Doll, I admire your persistence. Really, I do. I just think we should try something else..."

"Like what?"

"Like watching a movie. That way I can hold you close to me, and admire you."

"So you don't really care about the movie then?"

"I mean, I do care about it. Just not as much as I care about you. There's nothing I care more about that you, dove."

You couldn't help the slight blush on your face.

You couldn't help the way your heart churned.

How had you gotten so lucky?

"Now come on, I wanna hold you!"

Shadow Milk Cookie would pick you up in his arms and place you down onto the couch, where he spent his time wrapping his arms around you, and giving you his affection.

A random movie played in the background, but to him, you were much more entertaining.

"I love you," he cooed.

"I love you too," You'd respond.

《☆》 Fin

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wordywarriorwrites · 8 months ago

Text

Feels Like Home

Feels Like Home | AO3 | Rating: M | Main Masterlist

Pairing: Javier Peña x F! Reader

Summary: They say you can't go home again, but maybe for you and Javi, home isn't a place - it's a person.

Warnings: NSFW. Smut. Language.

Getting Chucho Peña back up on his feet after a bad fall from the hayloft – that was all you’d been tasked to do.

But you hadn’t considered the prodigal son.

You hadn’t thought about all the ways dark, earthen eyes – eyes that had seen too much – could be so compellingly, devastatingly, hauntingly preoccupying. Hadn’t really thought of how the stories of this larger-than-life individual would pale in comparison to the actual person. Hadn’t really believed that this man and this town would get to you, become so much a part of you that you’re thinking about rejecting a career-changing offer that would see you moving on to bigger (though perhaps not exactly better) things.

Four seasons have passed, and yet, you haven’t felt the itch to pack a bag and hit the road. And because you stuck around, Javi, Chucho, and you have become los tres amigos. Reading books and watching Cheers. Exchanging cards and gifts on birthdays and at Christmas. You host dinner at your place once a month. Javi occasionally pops in during your meal break at the hospital to bring you something decent to eat. And sometimes, his dad will call you nenita – a term of endearment that feels far too precious to be directed toward a drifting, wayward soul like you.

It’s hard not to mull over the what-ifs – especially with how Javi looks beneath the sparking lights of the convention center. Exuding confidence, chit-chatting, and mingling with your coworkers like a pro, all understated power and authority. He stays still while everyone else gets pulled into his orbit, revolving slowly around him, like planets circling the sun. He steers you in that way, too, pulling you into his atmosphere, making it painfully impossible to keep your gaze averted from the fine figure he makes in his charcoal gray suit.

This isn’t the first fundraising event he’s escorted you to. In fact, he’s graciously played the role of plus-one several times. Haughty conversations, dry chicken dinners, watered-down drinks, and office politics – he’s been there and done that. And for a man who says he hated it, that he’s left all that bullshit behind, he’s really good at it, reading the room and owning his space within it better than most of your puffed-up peers.

It’s difficult not to admire him. Get attached to him. To feel as if you’ve made a real, true friend. You don’t have many of those and neither does he. It’s as if you’ve somehow been chosen. That out of all the people in the world, he’s picked you.

Bowling on Thursdays. The little snort that sometimes escapes when he laughs. His gentle manner with horses. The scent of his cologne; a blend of leather, wood, and oakmoss. The way he always refuses dessert, but somehow, ends up finding room for two servings, especially if it’s your homemade peach cobbler. His shoulder – the one you lean on when you nod off during a football game. His arm – the one you grip during scary movies. His ear – the one he lets you talk off when the day has been too hard and too bloody, and you can’t fall asleep.

If you leave, you lose it all. You lose him.

“Is it just me,” Javi prompts with a slight nudge, turning away from the inner circle and leaning in close to speak directly into your ear. “Or are all the doctor jokes really fucking terrible this year?”

His voice – low and amused – cuts through the chatter and clinking cutlery, guiding you out of the spiral of dark thoughts and back into the present. You glance up at him and wonder if that inquisitive, clever mind of his has worked out how you really feel and uncovered what you really think. And if he knows, has he just been too polite to say anything? Even if it’s only to let you down gently?

“Maybe you should teach them a thing or two,” you manage to quip, burying your emotions by taking a rather undignified gulp of merlot.

Javi snorts and shakes his head, “With their egos? Not likely. Look, can we get outta here? Go get some real food?”

You nod, placing your now empty wine glass on the tray of a passing waiter, and snagging your purse up from the table. Javi is quick to take your arm and the lead, guiding you both through the throng and a seemingly endless stream of polite farewells. The elevator, the parking garage, the drive-thru – none of it really registers. It’s not until you’ve fallen into the cushions of your couch, a heavy bag of tacos in hand, and two beers on the coffee table in front of you, that your brain gradually starts to come back online.

“M'starving,” Javi announces, snatching up the takeout bag and plopping down next to you. “Remind me next time to eat before I pick you up.”

He peels off his jacket. Kicks off his shoes. Wriggles his sock-covered toes into the plush carpet and sits forward on the cushion just far enough to reach the table. Large, deft hands drop napkins – one onto your knee and one onto his own – and then, he’s unfurling paper and distributing a half dozen oversized carne asada taquerias onto two paper plates. A brief pause. A rather ferocious bite. A long, low groan.

“Fuck me, that’s good,” he mumbles, cheeks puffed out and comically overfilled.

“Emily Post would not be impressed,” you teasingly chide.

Javi grins and juts his chin, “Hey, get my tie? It’s the one you got me for my birthday, and I don’t want to ruin it.”

Once his messy hands are out of the way, you do as he asks, working the knot free and slipping the silk off with a careful tug. You pop a few buttons for him, too, and he gives you a nod of thanks before digging back in with renewed gusto, washing it all down with long pulls on his beer.

You don’t know how he does it, but his steady, calm demeanor always manages to soothe you. You unclench your jaw. Relax your shoulders. Even eat with him. Once the food’s devoured and the mess is cleaned up, you offer him a nightcap that promises to be better than what he’d been served at the fundraiser, and he happily accepts.

With tumblers in hand, the two of you migrate out to the patio. Javi is quick to indulge in his after-dinner smoke, bringing flame to paper-wrapped tobacco with a practiced flick and inhaling deeply. He fills his lungs with nicotine a few more times before turning his attention to his glass, bringing it to his nose before taking a slow sip.

“Dios mio,” he appreciates aloud. “What is this?”

“Macallan,” you tell him.

“That’s damn good whiskey.”

“It ought to be for five grand a bottle.”

Javi chuckles and lets out a low whistle, “You lift it off a truck or something?”

“It was a gift,” you admit, taking a seat on the outdoor bench. “From Brad.”

He blinks slowly, “Your ex?”

You nod and shrug slightly, “Bastard always did have good taste.”

Javi doesn’t pry – he just smokes and paces, seemingly content for you to either share or plead the fifth. You take a sizable gulp for courage and finally tell him about Alaska, about the brand new, state-of-the-art facility, and what an opportunity it is. You explain the position. Tell him it offers better pay and an extremely generous housing stipend. A year there, maybe two, and you’ll have your pick of any hospital you want to work at going forward.

Brad’s presence, his role as department head, his status as your ex-fiancé, the wholly inappropriate “welcome gift” he supposedly sent on behalf of the entire staff – a gift you’re certain was pilfered from his dad’s private collection – none of it matters. You’re going there for work because you go where you’re needed, nothing more.

“Got the papers inside,” you say quietly. “Just gotta sign ‘em.”

Javi curses. Drops the butt of his cigarette into the remaining inch of whiskey. Sets the glass down a little too hard on the window ledge. It’s tense now, the air between you, the atmosphere filling with acridness neither one of you is accustomed to. He rolls his jaw. You tap your nail against the tumbler. Javier runs a hasty palm over his mustache and then, much to your surprise, he sits down next to you.

Your glass is taken and hastily put aside. Slowly, carefully, as if giving you the chance to pull away, Javi slots his fingers between yours. When you don’t protest, he holds on tight and brings your knuckles to his lips. His palm pressed to your palm; he lowers his head until his furrowed brow meets the back of your hand. It’s so achingly, intimately tender, so unexpected and jarring, that makes your eyes well.

You swallow hard and clear your throat, “Look, Javi, I’m –”

“Don’t,” he interjects with a slow, purposeful shake of his head. “Just… Don’t.”

The moment stretches, unbearable with the weight of the unknown, all nerve-wracking and heady at the same time. Javi eventually looks at you – eyes searching and examining and questioning. Head slightly tilted, a wayward chunk of his hair tumbles out of its’ carefully coiffed place, and you don’t consider your actions when you take back your hand to carefully brush it off his forehead.

“I don’t want you to go,” he murmurs.

You frown and stroke his cheek with your thumb, “I don’t want to, either.”

Javi’s fingertips brush your forearm, and when he leans forward, you meet him in the middle. Your mouths join. Lips brushing, breath stolen and returned. The two of you are traversing unmapped and uncharted territory, but it’s so easy. It's as if you’ve been touching like this, kissing like this, for such a long time.

All languid and unhurried until he licks into your mouth, coating your tongue in hints of vanilla, nutmeg, and smoke, and then, you’re both in pursuit of more. Tripping over each other to get back inside. Both of you going for his belt, and then, your underwear – no finesse or thought of the bedroom just steps away because the couch will work just fine.

Knees sunk into the cushions and cheek mashed into an armrest. Heels kicked off and the skirt of your ankle-length dress tugged up over your hips. Javi explores and discovers you from behind, tongue tasting the unmistakable evidence of your desire, and fingers stoking the flame until you’re begging him to put you out of your misery.

“Condoms,” you croak, gesturing blindly. “In my work bag.”

A low growl. Nips and licks and sucks to the back of your thighs, the curve of your hip, the rounds of your shoulders. You’re melting to the floor, rolling into your back, eyes barely able to focus as he snatches up your battered canvas tote and upends it, the contents spilling out messily and noisily across the carpet.

“Preparing for an orgy?” he teases, letting the line of rubbers unfurl above your head.

“Shut up,” you sass, nudging his thigh with your foot. “You know I had to teach that sex ed class today.”

“Did the hospital supply bananas?”

“Actually, it was cucumbers.”

Javi laughs. Tears open the package. Rucks up his shirt. You watch, gaze hooded as he slides the rubber on. You toss out a compliment to his technique, and he flushes, all hasty to push your legs apart and make room for himself between your splayed thighs.

“It’s been – I haven’t done this in a while,” you admit, bravado lessening slightly.

Javi clicks his tongue, thumbs making small circles on your kneecaps, “Me, neither, cariño. Been saving myself for you.”

Your spluttered laugh brings out his hidden dimples, and then, he kisses you. Smiles gradually fade, amusement giving way to urgency, prompting you to reach for him, guiding him until he’s slowly sinking into you, filling you. And it’s a snug fit, but it’s just right, and when Javi rocks his pelvis, you’re remade. Suddenly cast adrift, in search of an anchor, you dig your fingers into his hair. Seek out his shoulders with your hands. Follow the curve of his spine and twine your legs around him just so you can feel the way flexes and stretches into your touch.

“Don’t stop,” you whisper against the shell of his ear. “Javi, please… Please, don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” he promises against your throat. “You feel so good, mi corazón. Feels like you’re mine. Like you’ve always been mine. Fuck.”

His words thrum through you, wreaking havoc, curling your spine, bringing even more heat to your cheeks. There’s no hiding the way your legs are trembling, no stopping your body from bearing down, from clenching hard, from trying to keep him deep inside for as long as possible. His name spills out from your lips like marbles on a wooden floor, the reverent mantra smothered only by his mouth seeking yours.

“Say you’ll stay with me,” Javi demands, teeth nipping your chin.

You nod frantically, “Yes. Yes, I’ll stay with you.”

In possession of you, of your agreement, Javi’s hold becomes unforgiving – fingertips digging into the meat of your hip and the nape of your neck. His thrusts turn pointedly devastating – retreating and surging forward, all precise and measured, purposeful in the way he seems to take control, bringing you to orgasm for the third time with a broad, self-satisfied smile that isn’t as humble as he probably thinks it is.

When he finally comes, he buries himself to the hilt, hips stuttering, stubble rubbing against your cheek as he muffles his groans of pleasure into the crook of your neck. As the two of you lie together in the afterglow, his head pillowed by your breasts, your arms and legs wrapped around him, breaths slowing until they match, the truth of you, of him, becomes undeniably clear.

Home isn’t a place. It’s a person.

And you’ve finally found each other.

#javier pena fanfiction #javier pena fanfic #javier peña narcos #javi pena x reader #javi pena x you #narcos fanfiction #javier peña x reader #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena smut #javier pena narcos

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miralunawritez · 4 months ago

Text

HxH main four + hisoka n illumi w a teenage daughter thats going through her first heartbreak

this came into my brain n i NEEDED to write it

(the main 4 r aged up to adults btw lol)

Gon-

Is absolutely heart broken for his little girl, wishing he could take her pain away

Hugs her tightly while she cries, not letting go until shes ready

Takes her out to dinner for a dad n daughter date to distract her from her break up

Buys her anything she wants on the menu, he doesnt care how much it costs

Does face masks and watches movies with a bunch of snacks when they get home, any movies of her choice

Paints her nails, does her hair, does absolutely anything for her to make her happy

Kurapika-

Is calm about it on the outside but furious on the inside, who in their right mind would hurt his baby?

Sits her down on the couch to talk about it, letting her vent and cry into his shoulder

Lets her help him cook dinner while playing her favorite music, goofing off the whole time (its ooc but he wants to make her happy)

Gives her some good moving on advice (no contact, distractions, etc)

Stays up with her as late as she wants him to, even though he is an extremely busy man he would always put his child first, especially with what shes going through

Pays super close attention to her, checking up on her frequently, asking if she needs anything, etc

Killua-

He's mad and he shows it, saying stuff along the lines of he knew her ex was bad news, he never liked them, etc

He eventually feels bad about the stuff hes saying and asks what happened, watching and listening as she cries and vents

Buys her a bunch of chocolate, new clothes, jewelry, anything she wants

He already didnt want her dating for this reason because it hurts him to see his little girl upset just as much as it hurts her

Plays video games with her if thats what she wants to do, he will do absolutely anything for her

Makes sure she has no way of contacting her ex so they dont come back into the picture

Leorio-

Oh he is PISSED. its an understatement tbh he is absolutely LIVID.

"Give me their phone number" "Dad I-" "Give it to me"

Goes OFF on her ex, saying how they are missing out on such a wonderful, beautiful, caring girl and how they are going to regret it when shes more successful than them

It's embarrassing but she cant help but love every second of it, cherishing how much her dad loves her

Gives her a pep talk, saying shes too good for them and way too pretty for them

Makes her favorite dinner for her after renting/buying her favorite movie and bringing her a million pillows and blankets to make sure shes comfortable

Hisoka-

Is angered by the fact someone broke his daughters heart, but he knows there is other people out there for her

Tells her theres plenty of fish in the sea and that she will find someone else

More protective over her, not like she dates a lot of people anyway, people are terrified of hisoka and dont wanna be around him

Plays cards with her to keep her distracted and focused on something else, occasionally letting her win to make her happy

Does her makeup for her since she ruined it by crying, being slightly gentle with her

He genuinely loves her so so much..deep down, he just doesn't really know how to show it

Illumi-

Kills her ex

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

wrote this bc me n my bf js broke up n i dont have a present father so this is kind of projection of what i wish my dad would do for me (all except hisokas n illumis)

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gothghostiie · 3 months ago

Note

ur graves age regression post from January is so comforting I was just wondering if you had any more ideas of that, thanks and have a great day <3

the post

I always do!!!

cw: age regression (around 2/3-5?? im bad at categorising age bear with me)

Thinking about running around in the garden of your shared house, playing and discovering all kinds of things while he sits on the porch, sipping his drink. all he hears are little gasps and 'oooh!'s as you find anything, reaching from lizards, to insects, to flowers, to acorns and such. running over to him when you find something particularly pretty and giving it to him, he puts everything on the seat next to him with a 'thank you baby, thats very nice'.

he calls you over when its time to go inside, crouching down with open arms to make you feel extra small as you come running. he cuddles you to his chest, rubbing your backs. "you had fun baby?" he asks, smiling as you nod. takes you upstairs for bath time, making sure you get all clean from your adventures in the garden before getting dinner ready. serves it in your favourite bowl/plate and offers to feed you. when youre done he does the dishes, puttinf you on the couch with s movie of your choice, giving you a little snack you can munch on while watching.

as soon as hes done he joins you, getting you into your pyjamas and doing your hair if needed, cuddling you for the rest. when its over he gives you the option to play 10 minutes on your own before bed or play a short round of a board or card game. putting you to bed with a story and a kiss to your forehead <3

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lotties-ashwagandha · 11 months ago

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BEING STUCK IN A SNOWSTORM WITH THE YELLOWJACKETS (headcanons)

bc currently my town is being decimated by a winter storm and it gave me inspiration . also we aren’t talking about how half of yellowjackets is set in the snow it’s when they’re teens smh this is adult timeline

SHAUNA

gets grumpy bc one of you is going to have to shovel the driveway and it’ll probably end up being her

apart from that she loves the snow

she’ll take a bunch of pictures of it to post on facebook in an unhinged uncaptioned photo dump

she’ll make the two of you an unhealthy amount of coffee or hot chocolate or tea whatever you’re feeling , you’ll develop an addiction to it with the amount she’s giving you . but “you have to stay warm” in her opinion , and also it makes her feel all aesthetic pinterest girl

she’s one of those people that has a collection of heavy knitted blankets that are worth like $500 each and she puts them to use ‼️‼️‼️ you’ll be BURIED in comfort she will make sure of that . no one gets cold in this house

also when it starts to really hardcore snow she’ll just go outside and stand there and watch. you know that tiktok of the woman making fun of american southerners who get a tornado warning and go stand out to see the tornado? that’s shauna with the blizzard

LOTTIE

you have to literally beg her not to go fucking “give the wilderness blood” bc girl sees one snowflake and is like omg il veut du sang

that being said lottie matthews is at heart a rich girl with 10,000 pinterest followers and when it snows , sunshine honey wellness center becomes a place of AESTHETICS

im talking the two of you will be laying in bed with heavy blankets and a record will be playing and lottie will have 3 or 4 candles lit

the two of you reading classic novels in bed <3

she sees heavy winters as very spiritual. a time to recharge and reset and be calm. she’ll coerce you into doing a couple of guided meditations with her that are themed on spiritual guidance and recharge

when you lose power tho she has a complete meltdown. not that she uses electronics much but when she realizes the stove doesn’t work and that the blender for her smoothies won’t work things go downhill so fast. you have to hook up the generator just so she can make a smoothie for her anxiety that came because she couldn’t make smoothies. girl is a mess

TAISSA

you’ll be taking care of her all week because she gets sick every winter without fail

doesn’t matter if she got a flu shot, covid shot, you name it . first snowflake comes down and she’s off to the doctor

but it gives you an excuse to sort of hold her hostage at home and cuddle with her and watch movies you’ve been meaning to watch together but haven’t since she’s been busy with the campaign

she actually gets kind of excited in the snow storm if the power goes out because it feels like camping. she will get frustrated with no TV tho , but if sammy’s there with the two of you she’ll go all non deadbeat dad for once and the two of you will make a blanket fort with him and all the other shit kids like to do

will try to order you guys a pizza and then get confused when the pizza place doesn’t answer. you have to remind her there’s no power before she goes on a tangent about stores having weird hours and how everyone’s so lazy

VAN

will NOT go out to shovel snow. you’re going to be doing that thanks she’ll be re sorting her movie collection to find some good blizzard themed movies for the two of you to watch

she’ll also go all autistic about the history of snowstorms and you’ll come back in from shoveling and get a lecture about some random snowstorm in some country you’ve never heard of from fucking 500 BC.

her house has a shitty heating system so you spend most of the time under blankets together but that’s not such a bad thing <3

she makes you watch her favorite winter movies, and if the power goes out and you can’t then the two of you will spend the night playing drinking games or playing cards or something like that

she won’t outright tell you to wear her jackets but she loves when you get cold and grab one of her sweatshirts/jackets to wear. she also does that 2000s movie boyfriend thing where you get cold and she’s like oh here take my jacket and while it’s so cliche it’s cute when she does it

NATALIE

tbh girl probably learned abt the snow storm bc she woke up covered in snow somewhere and was like oh it’s snowing huh

but anyway

she’d probably spend the duration of the snowstorm at your place because can you imagine staying out a blizzard in a motel??? no thanks

she’ll raid your booze and you’ll get drunk together by the fire. she might have some weed on her too if you’re lucky

you’ll listen to music together, she has better taste but she will still listen to your music, you take turns playing each other different songs you think remind you of each other

she WILL throw balls of ice at any kids that walk by. you will be having a lot of angry parents at your door the next day.

MISTY

is lowkey a prepper so she doesn’t care that much if there’s a snow storm. if the power goes out she can think of 50 different ways to get it back on

she loves to watch it snow out the window and show caligula

she’s definitely the one you want to spend a blizzard with

she absolutely will not let you leave the house until you’re wearing 20 layers of clothes

she’ll try to write poetry about the snow storm but it just sounds like a daunting ancient prophecy. when she shows you tho you obviously say it’s amazing and you love it because she worked so hard on it

#yellowjackets #yellowjackets x reader #lottie matthews x reader #shauna sadecki x reader #taissa turner x reader #van palmer x reader #natalie scatorccio x reader #misty quigley x reader

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writing-blog-iguess · 8 months ago

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Online Matchup 9

Summery: Christmas has come and gone, but for y/n it couldn’t have gone fast enough. Y/N is going through some stuff, but so is Jason. That’s okay, they have each other.

Warning: angst, fluff, y/n is going through some stuff. So is Jason.

A/n: being left out from your siblings isn’t fun, 0/10 wouldn’t recommend. I know there are multiple versions of what happened to Jason, but I took this one from Batman: under the red hood. Even then, I there’s a chance I forgot or twisted a little.

And as always, feedback is always welcome!

Taglist: @teapartydreams

ao3

Series master list

——————

Christmas

Opening your hotel room door, you dropped your bags once you stepped in, and stood there as the door closed behind you. Your Christmas was just as you expected it to be, and you aren’t surprised how it ended.

Rubbing your face with your hands a bit too hard, you wanted to sleep but you doubted you could.

Teeth, shower, clothes, bed. Teeth, shower, clothes, bed. Teeth, shower, clothes, bed. You repeated in your mind as you forced yourself to move.

Not that you wanted to do any of that, but needs must and all.

After grabbing your pj’s, you made your way to the bathroom and stared at the tub for a few minutes before making the decision of taking a bath instead.

While the tub was being filled, you brushed your teeth and other duties before stepping into the bath. You sank down, and let your mind wonder

Your morning had been fine, fun even. After breakfast, you all went to the living room to exchange presents. Since it was secret Santa, you had to guess who had who. It was fun, laughing at Ellie for thinking you had her when your brother did.

Afterwards, you played some card games before helping your mom with lunch. Everything was fine, it was fine. Until you walked past your sister's room and nasal something that wasn’t there before.

“When’d you get this?” you asked, stepping into the room to take a closer look at it. It was a model car, you weren’t sure what model though.

“Huh? Oh, Dad gave it to me,” Ellie answered, going back to her video game. “Everyone got one.”

“I didn’t,” you said, rubbing your nose.

“Thought you did.”

“Nope,” you said, turning around to find mom.

You shouldn’t have looked for her. Shouldn’t have asked why everyone got a present from dad.

Should have left well enough alone, but no you needed answers. And you got them, and a broken heart too.

Emerging from the water, you gasped for breath, taking in lungfuls of air. “Why does he have to be such an asshole sometimes?” you whispered to yourself. Not having an answer, you finished up your bath and crawled into bed.

Lying in bed, you curled onto your side and let the tears you’ve been holding all day go.

You were almost asleep when your phone made a sound. Scrubbing your face and reaching blindly for your phone. You let out a strangled noise when you read the name.

Why does he have such impeccable timing when it comes to your moods? Sometimes you wonder if he spies on you. But the thought is ridiculous and you shoo it away.

Jason (8:30pm)

Merry Christmas

Y/N

Merry Christmas

How was your day?

Jason

It wasn’t bad

There was a fight over which movie to watch

Popcorn was thrown

It was brutal

I think pillows were used too

Y/N

Sounds better then my day

The phone fell from your hands when it started ringing. Honestly you shouldn’t have been surprised.

Rubbing your eyes, you reached out and answered before it could go to voicemail. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he answered. There was silence for a minute before he started talking about his day.

“Honestly, you should have seen Dick’s face. He claims to be so graceful, but tripping over the couch, he never looked so offended. Like he thought the couch was just after him and no one else.”

You laughed, feeling the weight of the day ease from your chest as Jason continued to talk. And you knew what he was doing, distracting you from your day, and asking about once you feel better.

And the jerk, it’s working. So it was only a matter of time before you spilled the beans. And, to your surprise, you were okay with it.

“What’d he do? Fight the couch?” you asked once you stopped laughing.

“Wanted too, but Bruce shut that down,” Jason answered. “Not sure how you would even fight a couch though. It probably would look stupid.”

“I’m sure if anyone could figure it out, it’d be your brothers.”

“You’re probably right. Dick has hung from the chandelier a few times.”

“What? Why?”

“Don’t know and I’m not going to ask him for you,” Jason warned, though you could hear his smile.

“Booo.”

Silence fell when the conversation tampered off. “Do you want to talk about it?” Jason asked softly. You sighed and rolled onto your back, staring at the ceiling blankly. “Is it your dad?” he probed when you didn’t answer.

“Yeah. It was fine. Today was fine, everything was fine. But then I don’t know,” you said, covering your eyes with a hand that wasn’t holding the phone. “Why does he have to be such an asshole?”

“What did he do?”

“Nothing, at least I don’t think so. I don’t know… I discovered that he bought presents for my siblings. When I asked my mom about it, she said that he had said that she wanted them to have something to remember him by in case this was the last Christmas we would all have together.”

“But you didn’t get one,” Jason said, filling in what you didn’t say.

“Like was I such a horrible child growing up? Did I do something to him to make him hate me?” you asked, voice cracking as tears pooled in your eyes. “Is there something wrong with me?” you said, voice small.

“No,” Jason replied without thinking about it. “There’s nothing wrong with you. Whatever it is your dad is going through, or whatever it is, you are not to blame. You once told me that you and your dad don’t get along because you’re too similar. Maybe he sees himself in you and that’s why he is the way he is. But it’s not your fault.”

You were crying now and couldn’t stop the tears. You rolled over and hugged the pillow tightly. “It doesn’t hurt any less.”

“I know,” Jason whispered. “Life isn’t fair but we do what we can and be thankful for the people in our lives. And love them for who they are.”

“Speaking from experience?” you asked, sniffing.

“Yeah. Someone I know said that Bruce was trying, that I should let him. And I’m trying it’s slow going, but at least it’s going.”

“Sounds nice,” you mumbled sleepily. You had stopped crying, and wiped your eyes.

“It is,” he said. And he switched the topic, causing a small smile to creep on your face. You listened as he talked, and found that you liked his voice. And how lucky you were to have found him.

You fell asleep as Jason talked about everything and nothing.

Some hours later, you awoke to a knock. Startled slightly, you look around confusedly before remembering you were in a hotel room and not your apartment.

The knocking continued, and you turned towards the door, eyes narrowing as if you could see through the door.

For a second you thought about going back to sleep, but you didn’t want the front desk calling you about the unnecessary noise at three am.

Sighing, you rolled off the bed and dragged your feet towards the door and opened it. You stared dumbly at Jason as he stood there giving you a small smile.

“Why are you here?” you asked before your brain could find its filter.

“You sounded sad,” he said, taking a step forward. “And no one should be alone when they’re sad. And it’s Christmas, I thought you could use the company.”

You’re not sure if he’s standing in front of you or the emotional stress of the day or if it’s everything that started the tears. But you know you're not surprised that you do start crying.

You barely see the alarm look on his face before he has his arms wrapped around you in a hug, and you're clinging onto him like a lifeline.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay,” he whispered, genty moving the two of you into the room. The door falls shut behind him, and he’s gently rocking you, arms tightening around you. “It’s okay, I’m here.”

After a while, when your tears have stopped, you take a deep shuddering breath. “Feeling better?” Jason asked, rubbing your back. You shrugged, and buried your face further into his jacket.

“I need to stop crying on you,” you muttered, feeling him laugh though you smiled.

“I don’t mind,” he said, hugging you tightly. “Nice to know that you feel safe enough to let yourself cry when you're with me.”

“I always feel safe when I’m with you,” you said without hesitation. “Did you drive all the way here?” you asked after a minute.

“Can neither confirm nor deny that,” he answered. You moved back slightly to look at him. He gave you a smile and turned you around to push you into the bathroom. “Go wash up, and let’s go to bed. We can talk once you feel a little better.”

You hummed ready to argue, but you shook your head and did what he suggested. After washing your face, you took a minute to yourself, finding that you did feel better after crying.

Taking a deep breath, you left the bathroom to find Jason sitting on the bed, changed in pjs. “Seriously, did you just ditch your family just to comfort me?”

“Like I said,” he started, reaching over to grab you by the hips and pulled you towards him. Immediately, you wrapped your arms around his head, running a hand through his hair. Jason wrapped your waist and closed his eyes at the feeling of nails lightly scratching his head. “I’ll always ditch my family for you. Doesn’t matter where you are, you can count on me being there.”

“Saying things like that might get you a kiss,” you teased. Jason hummed, and tipped himself backwards onto the bed, bringing you with.

“Yeah, but I’m okay with waiting. Besides I’m tired, I don't think I have the energy to kiss you. Because if I do, I don’t think I’ll stop.”

“Fair enough,” you mumbled, moving around until you were laying on his chest with his arms around you. A comfortable silence feels between you as you let the sound of Jason’s heartbeat lull you to sleep.

“I’m glad you're here,” you mumbled just before falling into a deep sleep.

“Me too,” he whispered, placing a kiss on the top of your head before falling asleep.

You’re jarred awake a few hours later, though it only feels like a few minutes. You blink slowly, trying to figure out what has woken you up.

Eyes roaming around the room, you tried to find out what woke you up. When nothing jumped out, you closed your eyes and snuggled into the blanket. But that’s when you heard it. A pained groan came from behind you.

Sitting up, you turned to see Jason tangled up in the blanket, face twisted in pain. You reached out to wake him, but froze at the idea. You weren’t sure what would happen if you woke him up, if it was a good idea or not.

But Jason was in pain and that was worse than any night terror. Besides, what’s the worst he could do? Elbow you? Not really worried about the outcome, you reached out and shook him awake. “Jason?”

Evidently, being on your back with his hands snaked around your throat was not what you expected. To say you were surprised would be an understatement.

You don't know how it happened. One minute you're kneeling on the bed shaking Jason awake, the next, he tackled you onto the bed, win your airways restricted.

"Jason," you choked out, but he was not responding. And you can see it in his eyes that he was in a different place than here. You wondered where, but right now you can't question it. "Jason, please. It's me," you managed to get out only for his grip to tighten.

You're starting to panic slightly, afraid this might have lasting damage if you don't do something. Trying not to let the panic over take your thoughts you wiggle out one of your legs that's pinged underneath Jason’s legs.

"S...sorry," you choked out before kneeing him in the balls. Not hard enough so hurt, but enough that his grip on you loosened. With that, you plant your foot on his chest and push him off you. Shoving him until he’s off of the bed.

You roll away and onto to floor gasping for breath, only turning around when Jason calls your name

"I.. I don't know what happened,” Jason said, staring at you in disbelief. He took a step towards you and you couldn't help but flinch at the movement. Hurt crossed his features before he sealed that away. And your heart lurched at that. Like you were the one who had hurt him. And maybe you had.

"Right. Um, I need a minute alone," he said and all but ran out of the room.

At a loss of what to do, you just sit there on the floor, rubbing at your sone neck.

Half an hour into his sulking, he hears the door to the roof access open. He doesn’t have to turn around to know that it’s you, so he tracks your movement by listening to your feet crunching on the fresh snow.

He’s a little annoyed that you found him so fast, but pushes the feeling away. You had given him time for him to be alone. But not too much that he knows if he had, he’ll spiral into self deprecation.

His shoulders tense when you stand behind him, and relax when you drape his jacket onto his shoulders. You don’t touch him, and he can’t tell if he’s relieved by that or longing for you to. Maybe both, but he won’t voice it.

He watches from the corner of his eye as you turn to lean against the ledge of the roof he’s sitting on. You're not standing too close and facing the other way, a thoughtful expression on your face. Like you’re trying to solve world peace.

He spots the scarf around your neck, and something twinges inside of him. He knows what’s underneath because he’s the one who put those bruises there.

He shifts his eyes towards the horizon, and shuffles a little closer to you, you don’t mention it. For a few minutes, silence surrounds both of you, while Jason tries to figure out a way to say he’s sorry.

“Wanna talk about it?” you asked, breaking the silence first. Jason shrugged and he could see you studying him from the corner of your eye. He keeps his face neutral, or tries too at least. He’s tired and he’s done hiding.

“Kind of,” he answered, “but I don’t know…”

“How? Like the words are there but they get stuck?” you finished for him when he trailed off.

“Yeah.”

Silence falls, and the only things Jason can hear are the early morning commuters and your breathing as you take a deep breath.

“Then tell the moon,” you say after a while. Jason turned to look at you with raised eyebrows. “What?”

“You want me to tell the moon?” he asked, and you could only shrug. “It’s nearing sunrise, Y/N.”

“Exactly,” you said, turning to look at him with a small smile. “Tell the moon as it’s going down. That way it can carry your secrets away.”

“Why?”

Jason watches as your cheek colour, and you turn to look away. “I had a friend once, and we told each other everything. Sometimes, when it got too much for either of us and we didn’t want to know what the other was thinking. So we would turn off the lights and tell our secrets in the dark. There was no judgment from either of us, no arguments. Just the space between us and our secrets.”

Silence settles again, as he mulls over your words. After a time, he nods. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah, let’s give it a shot,” he said with a smile, which you return. Before he could start, you sat down and shuffled a little so you were sitting behind Jason.

Hugging your knees to your chest, you ignored the cold snow seeping into your clothes, you leaned your head back onto his backside and waited.

You felt his laugh more than heard it, and your heart warmed at the sound. “Whenever you’re ready.”

He didn’t talk right away, and you didn’t push. Knowing that this was probably something heavy and needed to find the right words. So you watched the sky in front of you. Watched it change colours, and marveled at how something you see everyday can be this breathtaking.

You're in the middle of studying the colours of the sky when Jason finally talks.

“When I was fifteen, I was in an accident,” he starts with, but the way he said accident made you think it was anything but. But you don’t press, not now, not when he’s finally opening up. “The building I was in blew up with me in it. No one made it in time to save me, and I was…stuck I guess. So I couldn’t have left either.”

You sucked in a breath as you imagined a fifteen year old Jason, scared and alone. Fire surrounded him, as he lay motionless in the middle of it. It was not a pleasing picture, and you closed your eyes to fight it off.

Jason leaned back putting a little weight onto your head, and it brought a little comfort. Knowing that he was here and alive.

“I’m not sure about the details after but…I’m pretty sure I died.”

“Then how?” you whispered before you could stop the words passing through your lips.

“Have you ever heard of the Lazarus pit?” You shook your head and could feel the shaky breath that went through Jason. “Basically it brings people back from the dead. The leader of League of Assassins uses it to heal his wounds and stays practically immortal. They had gotten a hold of my body and brought me back.”

“But not without consequences,” you mumbled when the silence got too loud.

“Yeah. When I woke up, I had this need to spill blood. Didn’t matter who it was, good or bad, I just wanted to hurt them. Kill them even. So I stayed there and they helped me control it. But there are days where it gets bad that I’m too afraid to leave the apartment.”

“How long were you there?”

“A few years. Five at the most I think,” he answered, “I came back when I realized that Bruce thought I was still dead. I didn’t take it well, neither did he.”

“I take it that’s why you have such a strained relationship with him?” you guessed. Jason hummed but didn’t elaborate and you didn’t push.

Silence blanketed the two of you as he left you alone to process everything. But there was something more to the story, something that would tie all this up. The reason why everything that had happened, happened. But you didn’t push, sensing that he wasn’t ready to say. So you promised to wait until he was.

“I won’t ever hurt you,” Jason voiced, bringing you out of your thoughts. “I promise, I’ll never hurt you again,” he vowed and you unconsciously brought a hand to your neck and tried not to wince.

“What happened last night shouldn’t have happened. I am so sorry for hurting you. But I promise I won’t hurt you ever again.” You could hear the unasked question in his promise.

Do you still trust me?

“I know.”

Yes, you answered, without a doubt.

And as if to prove it, you shifted over and heaved yourself onto the ledge beside him. You wrapped an arm around his, and rested your head on his shoulder. After a moment, he rested his head on yours. A silent comfort for the two of you.

And the two of you sat there in the cold, as one watched the moon sink, and the other watched the sun rise. And a heavy secret that sat between the two of you.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd gn!reader #online match up #jason todd #batman imagine #my writing #jason todd imagine

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huntiesworld · 6 months ago

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I LOVE THEM

Chris x Matt x reader

Summary: Matt and Chris both tease Y/n about how shy she gets. And they want to see her smile more so they play a game.

I haven’t seen anyone do this. And I don’t know if I coped anyone but if I did I’m sorry!

Warning: Nope

Request: Nope

The sun was setting, casting a warm, golden glow over the cozy living room. Y/N sat on the couch, a book in her lap, trying to focus on the words but finding it increasingly difficult with Matt and Chris sitting on either side of her. They’d been watching a movie, but now the screen was paused, and both men were looking at her with identical mischievous grins.

“Hey, Y/N,” Matt said, nudging her with his shoulder. “You’ve been pretty quiet over there. Everything okay?”

Y/N nodded, feeling her cheeks heat up under their intense gazes. “Yeah, just reading,” she murmured, hoping they wouldn’t notice her flushed face.

Chris chuckled, leaning in a bit closer. “You know, you’re really cute when you get all shy like this.”

Y/N’s blush deepened, and she buried her face in her book, trying to hide her embarrassment. “I’m not shy,” she mumbled, her voice barely audible.

Matt laughed softly, reaching over to gently tug the book from her hands. “Come on, Y/N. No need to hide. We just think it’s adorable.”

Y/N glanced up at him, her heart pounding. “You guys are teasing me again,” she said, though there was no real accusation in her tone.

Chris smirked, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Can you blame us? It’s not every day we get to see you all flustered. Besides, we kind of like it.”

Y/N squirmed a little, unsure how to respond. The truth was, she had always had a bit of a crush on both Matt and Chris, but she never expected them to notice her like this, let alone tease her about it.

Matt, sensing her discomfort, softened his teasing a bit. “Hey, it’s all in good fun. We just like seeing you happy and comfortable around us.”

Chris nodded in agreement. “Yeah, we’d never do anything to make you feel bad. You know that, right?”

Y/N nodded slowly, feeling a warmth spread through her chest that had nothing to do with her embarrassment. “I know,” she said softly, a small smile playing on her lips.

Matt grinned, leaning back into the couch cushions. “Good. Now, how about we find something else to do? Maybe a game or something? Something that’ll get you to smile even more?”

Chris immediately perked up. “Yeah, that sounds like a great idea. What do you think, Y/N?”

Y/N looked between the two of them, feeling a surge of affection for her friends. “Okay, a game sounds fun,” she agreed, her shyness fading as their warmth and kindness enveloped her.

Matt and Chris exchanged a quick, triumphant glance before turning back to her, their expressions softening. “Perfect,” Matt said, pulling out a deck of cards from the coffee table drawer. “How about a classic game of Uno?”

Y/N laughed, her nerves finally settling. “You’re on. But don’t think I’ll go easy on you just because you’re being nice.”

Chris chuckled, shuffling the cards with practiced ease. “We wouldn’t expect anything less. Let the games begin.”

And as the evening wore on, filled with laughter and playful banter, Y/N couldn’t help but feel incredibly lucky. She knew that no matter how much they teased her, Matt and Chris cared deeply for her, and that made all the difference.

#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets #nick sturniolo

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paisholotus · 20 days ago

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𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗. 8

Play: moments in love~ Art of Noise

Narrative

The boys all sat in the living room at Denki's house. Izuku, Denki, and Sero was watching a movie. While Katsuki, Kirishima, and Shoto were playing cards. Mina was in the back laying down for a moment.

"Take 4 Icy hot! What the fuck are you doing?!" Katsuki yells, impatiently bouncing his leg. Shoto gave him his usual stoic expression and sighed taking the cards. Kirishima laughed and shook his head, "bakubro, you need to calm down. It's just a game. Remember we said we'll work on your anger?" Katsuki just grunted scowling down at the table.

Izuku playfully scoffed and looked over to the table, "that will never happen. Wasting your time." He said, and started laughing. Katsuki snapped his head at Izuku, glaring at him. "NOBODY ASKED YOU SHIT, DEKU!" Izuku stuck out his hand and smirked, "point made." He said, making Katsuki growl lowly.

"Ok, can y'all both shut up. I'm trying to watch this." Denki said, not taking his eyes off the tv. Kirishima and Shoto shook their head knowing Katsuki was going to say something. "Oh, so you want to get your ass beat again, sparkplug?" He said, making Denki huff and cross his arms on the couch. "Fuck you, Bakugo." He said, making Katsuki laugh.

"So, I invited some people over." Sero said, looking down at his phone. But, he could feel them staring at him.

"Who the fuck told you to invite random people over to my house?" Denki asked, knowing that's what everyone else was thinking too.

Sero smiled and looked at Denki, "it's people we already know. Those girls." He said, making everyone look at him confused. "Which one? Who did you text?" Kirishima asked. Sero smirked putting his arms behind his head, "that short fine chica. Nadia." He said, making Izuku glare lowly at him. Sero noticed and smacked his teeth, "the hell you mad about? You're the one fucking avoiding her because you're scared of being in relationship with her. I mean really Deku, she doesn't seem bad. Not like that other puta" Sero said, making everyone hum and nod.

Izuku waved him off knowing he was right. Izuku didn't like relationships. Not anymore. The last one he was in really fucked him up. It turned him cold in a kind of way, he wanted nothing to do with women. He just wanted to stay to himself. But, with Nadia back it was giving him feelings he didn't want. Last time he saw her he wanted nothing more but to kiss her and get close to her, but last time that happened he ended up getting done in the worse way. So, he genuinely didn't know what to do, but to keep distance.

"But, her sister." Sero whistled, "Mami is fine as fuck." He said, making Katsuki quickly looked at him with a glare on his face. "She's already taken, scotch tape!" He yelled, making Sero raise his hands up in surrender.

"What about the one with the big ole ass? Gimme that one." Denki said, rubbing his hands together. Izuku rolled his eyes and tapped Denki telling him to shut up and nudged his head to the table, Shoto looking at him with an icy glare, letting him know that Deja was spoken for as well.

Denki smacked his teeth and pouted. "Y'all, always taking the good ones." He said, folding his arms looking back at the tv.

Mina comes from the back into the kitchen and walked to the table sitting down on Kirishima's lap, "maybe you'll get a girl when you stop acting like a player wannabe." Mina said, to Denki laughing.

Denki scoffed and looked at everyone. "Yall, gon stop talking shit about me." Katsuki smirked at Denki and leaned back into the chair, "we'll stop talking shit when you stop looking like one of the aliens off Men And Black." He said, making everyone laugh. "Get in the gym fucker." Katsuki said, making Denki flick him off.

There was a knock on the door making Sero smile and get up. "They here." He said.

This could either be a mess or a good time....who knows?

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thenextdawn-temporarilyclosed · 2 years ago

Text

Bad Feeling

Word count: 1.8K

Summary: you have a bad feeling when your girlfriend’s working and you’ll act upon it, however it didn’t go as planned

Warnings: angsttt

Pairing: Jenna Ortega X Fem!Reader

Starting with the Angsttt👀 hope you like this! 🤍✨

———

It had been almost 3 years since you had been together with your girlfriend, Jenna. You were always with her wherever she went because being the cuddly girl she was she never wanted to get separated from you for too much time. That’s why wherever she went to film movies, she always asked an extra place for you. Everyone knew you by now, her family, her managers, her casting crew and you even got to meet the other actors she would act with. You had even gained a little following. You weren’t an actress, well you actually weren’t famous. You were just a normal girl who happened to be Jenna’s girlfriend, but people loved you two as a couple, so since the first time Jenna tagged you on her instagram stories, people started following you on social medias and tagging you two on edits or even on fanarts. You had to admit you didn’t mind that.

However with that came also a lot of responsibilities. You were starting to get recognized in public even when you were out on your own and let’s not talk about paparazzis taking pictures of you, following you home. Luckily you didn’t yet live with Jenna. You wanted to live with her but it meant leaving her no privacy at all, this is why when she wasn’t filming you’d talk through phone calls or video calls, catching up when you went with her on filming locations. This was one of those times, you had gone to Romania with her on set of “Wednesday” because she had to film her new series. There you met Tim Burton (you fangirled a lot over his movies and it was a pleasure for you to meet him) and also managed fo make friends with the other actors.

They were all around your age, so most of the times even if Jenna’d finish filming late at night you’d spend time with them, talking outside someone’s trailer or when it was colder you would just get inside and talk about everything, play cards or table games, you always had things to do, and of course there was also your alone time with your girlfriend. Luckily the time on sets was longer then the times off set so you’d see her a lot actually. When you had alone time you would help her revise her scripts, watch movies together, cuddle and even go further than that. You loved each other so much, and both of you could swear on your parents’s life that you would never find someone better than each other.

That day you woke up with a really bad feeling, well actually you had spent your whole night awake because of it. You knew something would happen, you were sure of it and when you had bad feelings, they would always come true. You were also sure that this bad feeling was about your girlfriend, so you just felt the need to be with her and protect her if anything happened. Soon Jenna’s morning alarm rang and she turned it off before turning around in your arms as she stretched “mhmmm I don’t wanna get up…” she mumbled with her eyes still closed as she snuggled up to you, hands on your chest and you gently caressed her cheeks. “Good morning my beautiful princess” you said and watched her both smile and blush, moving in closer as she hid her face in the crook of your neck giggling.

“Don’t call me that!” She said shyly and you kissed her head with a smile. You two stayed like that for a while, cuddling in silence until you spoke up. “Babe I know I probably can’t, but can I come on set with you today?” You asked, Jenna pulled back and looked at you. Eyes swollen from the sleep, she seemed confused. “You never asked me that… I think you can but why?” She asked as she caressed your cheeks, enjoying the morning cuddles. “I have a bad feeling, I feel like something bad is going to happen to you and I want to be there to stop that from happening.” You looked down. You already had these episodes, and Jenna always made you go with her, even though nothing actually happened.

“If that makes you feel more secure then yes honey of course you can, I could never deny you that” she said and you smiled, somewhat sighing in relief as you nodded and pulled her in for a sweet sleepy kiss. “Thank you honey, now come on get up so we can head to set” you said and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before both of you got up and headed to hair and makeup and then going on set. You two had some time together before filming started. “You know, you look so cute in these braids” you said and played with her hair “don’t touch them! Tim spent a lot of time doing them how he likes… I promise I’ll let you play with my hair when we get back to our trailer” you smiled and nodded at her words, kissing her cheek as you hugged her from behind, waiting for all the equipment to be ready. She looked so small in those oversized clothes.

Then Jenna started filming. It was one of the scenes inside Weems’s office. It was the place with most equipment, for some reason which you came to the conclusion to be because of the different angles the scenes were filmed at. You had to admit you loved the atmosphere that was there on sets, it was so interesting to see how all the equipment worked. Though while you checked all of the stuff around you noticed that one of the structures built in to hold the cameras was failing right on top your girlfriend. You tried to make the crew notice, but they were too busy with filming that they didn’t notice you. You hoped she would move from her position soon, but it didn’t seem like she would anytime soon.

“Shit shit shit-“ you thought to yourself as you stared at the equipment. You couldn’t just let it fall on her head, and just as the last nail keeping it up failed, you jumped in where she was and pushed her away as the equipment broke and fell on you. It took Jenna a while to get up from where she had hit the ground, but when she did she saw a terrible scene happening in front of her. “ (Y/N)! OH MY GOD-“ she ran to where you were supposed to be, there was nowhere she could see your body, except for your hand. They obviously stopped recording and tried getting you out of there, but the equipment was far too heavy to move on their own. Jenna started crying and yelling. “(Y/N)! (Y/N) Can you hear me? Please please answer me!” She then moved to the crew “AND YOU GUYS FUCKING DO SOMETHING! SHE COULD DIE UNDER THERE!” At that they tried again, to no use.

Jenna reached for your hand and as she did she heard you cry weakly “Baby can you hear me? Please please be okay-“ she said the last part mostly to herself as you gently squeezed her hand “J-Jen it hurts- I c-can’t breathe-“ you cried out in pain under the remains of the equipment. In the meantime someone had called an ambulance and you could hear it from a distance “don’t worry baby- you’ll be okay.. someone called an ambulance, just please stay with me” she said, trying to reassure you but eventually she felt you lose your grip. She began to cry more and beg for the cast mates to get the heavy pieces off of you. The ambulance soon arrived and took you to the hospital, and as much as Jenna insisted to go with you the crew didn’t let her. She had to continue filming.

However she couldn’t. She tried filming different scenes but she was too distracted, she was constantly thinking of you, if you were okay, if you were in danger, and she couldn’t help but think about the fact that you told her this morning that you had a bad feeling. It could have been her. At some point she even wanted to be her instead of you but seeing how you didn’t hesitate in jumping in front of death for you, made her realize how much she loved you and how much you loved her. The crew mates and the director though saw how Jenna was distracted so he let her go for the day, and she immediately asked to be brought to the hospital.

The other cast mates, having gotten close to you, decided to go with Jenna, one because they cared about you, two because they wanted to comfort Jenna. As soon as they arrived at the hospital and went looking for you, they were met by your doctor who explained them everything, and also told them that your life was not in danger but also that you had a chest and a head trauma so you were now resting and had a mask to help with the oxygen. Jenna couldn’t help but just be glad you were okay as she got in your room. She sat down in the visitors chair and took your hand as she cried slightly waiting for you to wake up. Emma, Percy, and Hunter there as well as they were the ones you bonded more with.

Eventually after a while you did wake up and immediately squeezed your girlfriend’s hand, who looked at you with tears in her eyes. “(Y/N)? Babe are you awake?” She asked you, having noticed your eyelids flatter as you softly smiled at her and tried to sit up, only to stop when you felt pain in your chest. “No no don’t try to sit up” she said and gently pushed you to lay back down, caressing your cheek. “Are you okay?” She asked, a tear rolling down her cheek as you wiped it away with your hand. You nodded at her question. “Geez you scared me a lot! You are so crazy at times (Y/N)!” She sighed out of relief “wow I save your life and this is the thank you I get?” You replied jokingly and watched her smile and shake her head. “Don’t do that ever again!” She said as she gently nudged your side.

“I promise baby. But next time I have a bad feeling, we’re staying home.”

#jenna ortega #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x fem!reader #wednesday #wednesday x y/n #wednesday x you #wednesday adams #wednesday adams x reader #wednesday addams #wednesday addams x y/n #wednesday addams x you #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday x reader

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