#spiral world made of pudding.

[shining-scion]

What if there was a young wizard who lived a double life.

Slayed Malistare on summer break by sneaking off to the woods every afternoon.

Spent their weekends traveling worlds as time stretched out for weeks, and then returned before their boss noticed anything different.

Styled two different versions of themselves— a normal earthling with their own modern sense of style, and a brightly colored scion.

What if they lost nothing and gained two whole worlds.

What if the world was made of pudding.

[dumb-butch-syndrome]

Black mirror sucks. "Oooooh what if this was all a simulation" what if I stomped you to death with my hooves.

[gigglesandfreckles-hp]

OH can you please do "What do you need?" "A hug." for jily <333

from this prompt list

She’s been going for 20 minutes.

“It’s fucking ridiculous!”

James nods dutifully from his place on the couch. “Absolutely.”

“And it’s not as if Slughorn has the bollocks to actually say anything. Not beyond his usual rubbish anyway which is the whole reason Mulciber has the audacity to spout his blood supremacy nonsense at the bloody dinner table.” 

“I hate that guy.”

Lily wheels around from where she’s been pacing by the fireplace. “Right? And I swear, James, he was pissed when he got to the dinner and Sluggy’s mead just made it worse. I was just sitting there, having to listen to him, as he…as he stares at me, over pudding. Because he doesn’t care that everyone knows exactly who he’s talking about. He makes my skin crawl, James.”

James takes a steadying breath and forces himself to continue to track Lily as she paces about the room, his face neutral and attentive. She’s made it clear enough times before that she won’t allow herself to go on these rants around him if she has to worry that he’ll just take them as permission to go hex the Slytherins. It’s a test of his self-control every time.

“I just wish that someone else would say something. For once! That it wouldn’t be me against the entire—”

James scoffs, his practised patience wearing thin. “I’ve told you—”

“You hate the Slug Club, James,” she interrupts with a sigh. “Don’t you remember the last time?”

Does he ever. Things had spiralled out of control at dinner, and the tension had spilled over into the corridors right after the party. Fortunately, Lily had the presence of mind to fetch Slughorn before anyone ended up needing a trip to the hospital wing. The Potions professor had quickly sent James and the Slytherins to their respective dorms, deducting only a few points from each house.

Of course, James and his friends had settled the score later that week, far from Slughorn’s watchful eye—but Lily didn’t need to know everything.

“And besides,” she continues, “I already know how you feel and it…it means everything to me, to have you on my side. But Jesus, James, you’d think at least one of the posh twats Sluggy invites week after week could at least have some sympathy.”

“Speaking on behalf of the posh twats of the world,” James begins, clearing his throat.

Lily cracks a smile, the first real win of the evening for James. “Oh, stop that,” she says, shaking her head. “We’re far too good of friends for you to fool me with that anymore.”

Friends. Good friends. Great friends!

James gives her a practised smile as she settles beside him on the couch, turning sideways to face him, knees drawn up to her chin.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I really did mean for us to study. I—”

He shakes his head. “I’m happy to be a listening ear, Evans.”

She smiles softly, resting her chin on her knees as she watches him. The firelight dances across her face and hair, casting a warm glow that makes her look radiant. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Rot of boredom, probably,” he quips.

“You just…” She purses her lips. “You always know exactly what to do. What to say. It’s like…it’s like you’ve read the Lily Evans Manual.”

James forces himself not to drop his gaze, not to give up and openly confess how he’s studied her so closely for the past six and a half years that he could write a Lily Evans Manual.

“You make me sound way cooler than I am,” he says, leaning on one crooked arm against the back of the couch. “Do go on.”

She laughs, the sound muffled as she buries her face behind her knees, eyes squeezed shut.  James's gaze lingers on her, absorbing every detail, as he commits the sight and sound of her to memory.

“I’m sorry you have to deal with them,” he says quietly, resisting the urge to reach across and lift her chin to meet his eyes. “It’s not fair.”

“No,” she sighs, “it’s not.”

“What do you need?” he asks. “I know hexing Mulciber is regrettably off the table for me,” (she laughs again) “but we could go get some ice cream from the kitchens or if you’d rather go ahead and start studying—”

“A hug,” she interrupts him.

His eyes widen. “From…me?”

“I mean,” she hesitates, her voice softening with uncertainty, “not if…not if it’s an inconvenience. I don’t—”

Before she can finish—before she can change her mind—he swiftly crosses the space between them on the couch and wraps his arms around her. Her knees collapse at once, falling off the couch between them, so she can press herself more fully against the solidness of his chest, her arms threading tight around his shoulders.

And they’re just friends. Good friends. Great friends! But he wouldn’t trade it for the world—not really.

[mondaymelon]

𖥔 ݁ ˖⩇⩇:⩇𝟤.𖥔 ݁ ˖

⤷ a halloween event hosted by @mondaymelon !!

prev.

taglist: @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu, @achlysis, @swivy123, @silaswritesthings, @neigesprincess, @mintydump, @kaeffeinee !!

Blood. Its vermillion splatters, pooling across the dewy ground and staining what dared obstruct its path. A tsunami of crimson that overtook all unfortunate enough to stand in its way.

Your breath hitched. Yes, blood… you thought back to the word that had arisen from the panicked fog of your mind.

Vampire. 

“It… no.” You spoke as you took shaky steps forward, a sheet fluttering down from the folder still tucked under your arm. Its white canvas was quickly tainted with brilliant red splotches that spiraled outwards like the blooms of roses. “Th…They don’t exist.” Besides, what of the other victim, the man whose heart had been torn out of its fibers?

Yet the undeniable evidence in front of you was enough to make your vision swirl. The bite marks, the blood, her pale face and glassy eyes. Her death was recent. The killer still had to have been around here. Was it reckless courage that fueled your steps, or perhaps just the duty to finish what had been assigned to you? Yes, this was your responsibility, so it only made sense… but Sango couldn’t exactly blame you if you ran right now, could she? It was a sight anyone’s blood would chill at the sight of.

Blood. Follow it. So you did. It was better to have an obligation to abide by rather than just wander around and wait to be taken. The world moved in black and white, blurry motion pictures and indistinct shapes. The city lights had never seemed so dull. It was only the vivid scarlet that led you forward, added just one more step. You blinked slowly, dazed as the ground beneath you spun. The mist was heavier than ever now, and every inhale seemed taxing on yourself.

A sharp pain flared in your arm. A thorn had snagged on your skin, and tore it open. Your blood trickled past your forearm and rained down on the dark soil in fat drops. The sound of your heartbeat suddenly returned to your ears, along with the crunch of twigs and dead leaves underfoot. Smoke. There was smoke in the wind. Your senses came back to you all at once, and it was too much, too many colors, too loud, too…

Where were you?

You hadn’t seen anything like this along the shores of Inazuma. The cliffside was jagged, but rocky and an entirely different shade than the coasts you were used to. And the forest. Unlike Inazuma’s sparsely placed trees, they were everywhere, choking the earth and sky. Even the heavens itself were as black as ink, and void of stars.

Then, somewhere in that sea of dusk, beamed a glow of warmth. Torchlight? Fire? It didn’t matter. Now that night had fully fallen, it had only grown colder, and you could feel your fingers gradually going numb. Wherever you were, you’d have to adapt, fast, before another unfortunate incident could be discussed at the police station.

Another step. A movement in your peripheral vision. Fast. You spun around, dagger in hand, and heard a cheery laugh.

“Ahaha, what’s the knife for? C’mon now, you might just hurt me if you keep digging the blade towards my neck like that!” A man of short stature, wearing semi-formal European clothing, bounced on his feet, seemingly too excited for the situation - that is, your shaking body pressing a dagger towards his jugular. His twin braids whipped around excitedly, as if they were their own entity. “Let’s put the weapons down and have a nice talk before all this, hm?”

You loathed how his voice was so carefree. A stranger, a suspicious one at that, in an unknown location past midnight. Your gaze trailed to his mouth, hoping for a glimpse at his canines, but his lips were already sealed, curling upwards into a naive beam. It was too early to trust him.

“Give me a reason to. Who are you?” You growled, gliding the knife closer. The man didn’t seem concerned in the slightest, only bared his teeth in a grin.

Sharp canines.

“My my, you’ve worked yourself up quite the attitude, haven’t you?” With a leisurely step, he plucked the dagger out of your fingers, effectively disarming you in a single moment. Your breath hitched as his eyes closed in a smile. The blade fractured, and then shattered under his hold. His mouth formed an O as his turquoise eyes twinkled with amusement. “Oh, was it one of the toy ones?”

“You…!” You took a step back, witnessing the silver dust of metal settle onto the long grass. “Shit, what is something like you doing here?” Now you realize. Carefree? Naive? No, you were mistaken. Those were grins of entertainment and self-pleasure in a world where the days you lived out should’ve already passed. “You’re one of them.”

“Woah, let’s not point fingers everywhere! Ah, but how could a mere human like you know so much…? Don’t tell me someone whistled… nono, that can’t be the case. I suppose you’re a rather smart one, then!” His eyes flicked to the torn folder that’s papers were strewn on the ground, a result of suddenly pulling out your weapon. “I see, a detective! How interesting…  to think…” His last words were a mumble, too unintelligible to make out. 

Another drop of blood ran down your forearm and splattered onto the ground. His lips stretched into a thin smile, one easily deciphered as fake. “Oh, so you were what I smelled!” In an instant, he had closed the distance between you, and was pulling down the collar of your shirt to expose the flesh of your neck. “Then.” His jaw opened around your throat, ready to sink his fangs in. You could feel his hot breath fan your nape, and it made you shiver. “Don’t mind if I try a drop~” His sickly sweet voice rang in your ears as he wrapped his arms around your torso, pressing your arms to your sides and rendering them useless.

Fuck. You struggled against him, but your strength was pathetic against his inhumane nature. Your entire body felt cold, yet burned at the same time, flames racing across every inch of open skin. “Let go of me you little-!”

And in the moonlight, a figure appeared, the lean shadow of his silhouette against the full moon, a radiant sight that caught the breath in your throat. 

Who?

“Ouch!” The vampire was knocked aside, his body rolling across the ground before skidding to a stop next to a gleaming jade blade. “Xiao, what do you think you’re doing?”

The said man let out an annoyed sound. “Taking matters into my own damn hands, Venti. Have you gone insane at the slightest scent of blood?”

Was he… defending you? Your legs grew weak, and you fell to the ground. Xiao. is that his name? It hovered on your tongue, sweet to the taste. His hair framed his face, and his amber gaze stared into yours. His pupils, they were diamonds, and they sparkled.

“...Beautiful…” It was a whisper, a ghost of a word. 

His next movement startled you more than any other. He extended his hands towards you, raising his chin. “It’s not safe here. You should come with me.”

“What?” You blinked once, then twice, and the illustration of his defined features remained in your vision. “I…”

“You can trust me. I’ll make sure he…” His brows furrowed as he glanced backwards towards Venti, who had stuck out his tongue. “Doesn’t try anything else.”

“Th-Then, are you…” You couldn’t tell why your heart thumped faster when you spotted the sharp curve of his canines.

His expression remained patient as his outstretched hand reached towards you, and his mouth moved to form words.

“Yes. Does it bother you?”

ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ᴛʀɪᴀʟ.

next

[creekfiend]

What I like to do when ur modeling emotional regulation and good coping mechanisms to the homies (so later the homies can model them for you) is get sillay about it. When ur bud gives into the self loathing and ur like OBJECTION! you know. That sounds like some DISTORTED THINKING!!!!! BABEY!!!!!

Or just you know be increasingly hyperbolic about it until it becomes evident to them how silly it is

Or be like I am not quite following your logic on how thinking a dog is ugly makes you a bad person can you make a diagram on the board for me with this marker

When they "what if" spiral be like "what if the world was made of pudding!!!"

Obviously you gotta tailor the sillay to the specific people and your relationship bc not everyone responds to the same sillay things

But

It's good

[interstyx]

A Commentary on Kenosis

Like all good ideas, Kenosis came to me in a nightmare. The very night the subtitles for Episode 5 dropped, I went to sleep with the words “let’s reset these memories, one more time” haunting me as I gave spin after spin to the implications. I dreamed up the events of Ch1 a few hours later, a very close match to what ended up written. It was an unforgivingly clear nightmare, yet somehow it was hazy in that way that you can only experience while under a high fever. Must’ve been some real-time hours of swapping between N and V’s perspectives while living through a torturous loop of physical sensations.

Next day (a Sunday), the first thing I do after my morning coffee is hunt for fanart, and I find this piece – one of my absolute favorites (whose source I neglected to save).

The message couldn’t be any clearer. The world was hammering into my head that I had, needed to write this nightmare. 

Writing it was torturous. I’ve never done gore before, and I discovered right here that I have an ill tendency to get too much into the role while picturing a character’s perspective; for the first time in my life, my writing physically affected me, and after each session of writing V’s surgery I’d end up hurting in a vaguely similar way. The nocebo effect was insane, really. I’d heard plenty of stories about the insane ways authors connect with their stories (a favorite one of mine is hearing the voices of their characters narrating the events to them, forcing them to stop when the narrator would break down crying), but I didn’t really buy them before. I guess this is my Special Cursed Power Technique unique to me or something.

What’s worse, each passing day the idea would spiral further and further and develop into an actual plot I couldn’t help but feel enthusiastic about. SIGKILL and The Waves appeared in my head either the same day or one day and the very next, and one too many sessions of listening to ətˈæk 0N tάɪtn (that’s an actual song title, and the phonetic spelling of Attack on Titan) gave me the finisher that The Waves demanded, though the events that’d become I Mak Siccar were always much more fuzzy in my head (which I think is easy to tell on reread), then later a Tumblr post by multiversal-pudding (who’s awesome) made me realize I couldn’t end it in such a shit note and handed me the right way to do it on a silver platter. If it weren’t for them, this story wouldn’t be half as good as it is.

I wasn’t sure if the concept had any life in it, so I posted Ch1 with the idea of it being a one-shot. Much to my dismay, it was pretty widely enjoyed, much more than any of my previous work anywhere. Another of the many special signs from the universe I got while writing this was that a friend DM’d me Ch1 on Discord saying “I think you’ll enjoy this one” and only realizing who wrote it when the AO3 embed with my nickname popped up. Really, I was just bound to writing the full thing now.

The way I wrote V from SIGKILL on is heavily modeled off my mom. This is intentional — V’s mood swings and impulses largely come from how she’d treat me earlier in life. Partly by planning, partly by discovery, Kenosis was supposed to be closure for my relationship with her, an attempt to work through the ways she felt when I lived with her, and when I moved with my dad. Their ways of talking are quite similar, too, so that saved me a good bit of dialogue torture — I wrote a good chunk of V’s dialogue just picturing what my mom would say and MDifying it a bit.

But sometime during writing The Waves, I had to draft out an abstracted hallucination of the real events in Ch1. I don’t recall where that bit ended up, it’s something about a hole opening up in V’s torso, and things pulling stuff out of the hole then shoving new, weirder stuff in. It clicked then, a quarter of the way through writing the chapter, that I was drawing imagery from a real event I’d repressed. I recall that the moment it clicked, my stomach wrenched.

This isn’t to imply that the actual events in the fanfic are an allegory or metaphor — fuck no. That’d have some abhorrent implications that I absolutely repudiate. It does mean, however, that I ended up connecting to V a lot more than I'd ever done with my characters (more than I wanted). 

Slowly, Kenosis started growing and growing, occupying more and more of my head. There were stretches where I’d procrastinate through days of uni work because I couldn’t put my mind off it until I’d written enough to tire my fingers (not that much, I have little stamina most days). It even started haunting me in the twilight zone between laying in bed and falling asleep, wrenching my gut at times. It was not long before I finished The Waves that it registered that pouring this much of myself into a fanfic series and suffering that much for it was a wonderfully silly predicament to be caught in. The robot goobers really didn’t need to live through my abstracted deliriums of trauma. 

I’m still not happy about it. There were much easier, healthier ways to process this trauma, but hey; what’s done is done. I’ll have to live with “projected deep personal trauma onto fanfiction” in my sin record. A year from now I’ll come back to this and laugh at how self-serious and melodramatic I got about these characters, how desperately I wanted to write V a happy ending, but right now I’m also very proud of how much I managed to achieve here. 

It was tough, it was personal, it took a lot out of me, and I’ll never forget that month or so where I categorically refused to work on this stupid project until I’d gotten back on track with uni, right after I Mak Siccar, with V at her absolute worst and the end still an entire chapter’s worth of suffering away.

In our journey past trauma, we find ourselves back there over and over, and the things we find strength in can sometimes hurt us too. There’s definitely wrong ways to overcome it, and it leaves us pained and hobbling for a long time — but with time and friends on our side, healing is always at hand. God, that’s such a cheesy way to put it, but this whole thing’s cheesy as shit. I think that’s just the way I am.

I’d like to think I made it through just like V, and this is a recounting of my journey rather than a fantasy of victory. I don’t know yet. I might never. I just really, really want to hug her.

At first I meant for Kenosis to be just a quick test before moving on to larger projects where I could express myself better. Now I doubt I ever will. I’ll miss writing this dearly. I adore Uzi, N and V deeply and I hope I can keep this connection I’ve built to them for a long time. 

Enough sulking. Thanks for reading.

[darcyolsson]

that one neil cicierega post where he replies to some dumb anon's really unlikely fake scenario with the single sentence "what if the world was made of pudding" truly had such an impact on my life. like sometimes i will end up in a doom spiral in my brain and start coming up with these really far-fetched negative thoughts and i can just hit em with the pudding. "what if i am secretly an unlovable person and everyone realises this and hates me and all my friends stop talking to me and i die alone and miserable" well what if the world was made of pudding

[theygotlost]

3 best ways to shut down spiralling thoughts about meaningless internet discourse:

1. what if the world was made of pudding

2.hey man hows it going

3. wood thrush

[neepin]

Pudding and Waugh post lesgoo (1/2)

Part 2

Waugh:

Hold on tight cause the creation of this cat girl is one hell of a ride!

Waugh is a character created initially on this panel drawn by pond. Which shows Tord’s profile picture on newgrounds being a cat girl

I then created this reference sheet to flesh out this design, made as a joke between us

She is intended to be a parody character, based on Mary-Sue crappy eye bleeding coloured cringe OCs.I have so much love in my heart for these types of characters.

Now I posted this, and here are some screenshots depicting this spiral into her becoming a character I genuinely love. Keep in mind I did not yet have a name for her yet

This is how she got her name

So yes! Her naming credits go to blackcinder666. A typo of the word ‘waifu’. It seems like such a perfect fit for a character like her

And so her story continues, with her being incorporated into bits of the comic

I was overwhelmed by just how much people seemed to like her!!!!! Seeing fanart was such a lovely thing to see, especially considering she was an oc

What lovely drawings, agh <33

And I think that’s that! Waugh is Tord’s shitty anime girl oc who he draws a lot and loves very much. As for the other one..

Pudding:

Pudding was created simply because when you have an online friend, and they are an artist to some degree as well, surely it just makes sense to create ocs together? Maybe thats just me with my experience of Internet friends, but ah well!

Tord tells edd all about Waugh and he figures why not make a cat lady himself. Her name is pudding and I love her so dearly. She follows general design similarities to Waugh, what with being very pretty, cute and somewhat anime inspired I guess ?

This the first drawing of Pudding (she has changed a little bit now)

In my head of course waugh would like girls because you know. It’s Tord we’re talking about dw I can make a joke about this common fetishisation of wlw characters because I’m a lesbian and all that I’m well aware of these implications and due to this being mentioned when explaining his oc to edd, Edd would send Tord an idea for a girlfriend for Waugh the next day.

the characters themselves evolve from a simple idea by a long shot. Tord and edd actually consider the world they live in, where they work for a living etc. I like this idea that as they talk more about the characters, they almost become similar to sonas for them ? Tord and Edd’s OCs aren’t really ‘them’, and nor would they consider them such. But they definitely put a bit of themselves into the characters. Because that’s what I did for the pond characters, and I gotta be able to slip in some meta aspect somehow !!

I’ll continue to explain pudding and Waugh more in depth, and as characters in the second part! But that is the general outline. Thank you so much for taking the time to read this! i genuinely love these two characters more than you could know!!!

[browzerhistory]

it seems ridiculous, but "what if the world was made of pudding" has genuinely helped my mental health, mainly with thought spirals. i'll be eating and my brain will go "what if this food is poisonous?" and instead of panicking and throwing it away, i parry with "what if the world was made of pudding?" it's the right balance of "ridiculous enough to stop a spiral in its tracks" and "reminder that the irrational thought is, in fact, irrational." thanks lemon demon

[flyonthewallmedstudent]

Helicobacter Pylori

Spicing things up a bit with a Gram Negative Helical/spiral Bacteria

Epidemio:

up to 50% of the population worldwide, but even more in endemic countries/the 3rd world

it can cloud differentials, as it can be asymptomatic unless it caues peptic ulcer disease, in which case the infection may have been decades prior to detection - so you have to interpret serology with a grain of salt (it may not be the culprit of acute infection)

often picked up in early childhood and lingers without treatment for dcades

by contrast, 5% of children in the US have had it, so it may change your clinical decision making depending on where your patient grew up

In australian populations, up to 30% have it, but again, high frequency in older migrants, lower socioeconomic status etc.

Transmission:

faecal oral or even sexual (did not know that one)

increased risk:

lower socioeconomic status/growing up in a developed country

family history of infection and gastric cancer

What it does:

cause ulceration (peptic ulcer disease)

and inflammation or gastritis

due to it's helical shape and flagella, it can penetrate the mucosal lining

Trivia/History:

discovered by Australians in Western Australia in the 1980s

To quote the IM physician, Barry Marshall, in the face of skepticism that a bacteria could survive the stomach's acidic environment: "everyone was against me, but I knew I was right"

After failing to publish and some lab snaffus, he decided to do a Jonas Salk and swallow a broth of Hpylori himself. Of course this last experiment was published in an Australian journal.

At any rate, it is now widely accepted that Hpylori is linked to PUD and gastric cancer and by 2005, the two Australians who found the bacteria received the Nobel prize in medicine

we now know so much more about the pathogen with advancements in microbiology

they also came up with the urease breath test for it

Clinical presentation:

asymptoamtic

symptom onset occurs after gastritis and peptic ulcer disease develop: nausea, vomiting, dyspepsia, abdo pain, or at the extreme when the lining has eroded, bleeding/haematemesis

IMage source

Important differentials

coeliac's

Crohn's

nSAID induced gastritis

reflux

lactose intolerance

eosinophilic oesophagitis (sooo rare, usually a/w dysphagia)

Investigations (all with relatively good/high sens and spec)

H pylori antigens in stool

serology (antibodies in serum, urine) --> usually IgG, hence can remain positive for years even post eradication

urease breath test

if a scope was involved due to PUD, then histopathology and culture (reduced sensitivity if treated with PPI in 2/52 prior or Abx 4/52 prior)

actually had no idea they breathed into little bags.

Treatment:

triple therapy - PPI, amoxicillin and clarithromycin for 14 days, in penicillin allergy replace amox with metro (increasing resistance is why metro is not first line in some countries - refer to local guidelines made based on local Abx resistance trends)

In patients younger than 50, it can be cost effective to treat if they have reflux on testing (if there's a high pretest probability - see increased risk groups) given the life time risk of PUD & gastric cancer, can also reduce risk of GIB

balance of risk/benefit: will it significantly improve QOL or will risks of ADRs outweigh the benefits (eg frail, elderly, multiple comorbidities)

when used in those with PUD - improves ulcer healing, recovery and prevents relapse

in simple ulcers, triple therapy is all that is required in more chronic complex ones --> 8/52 of PPI is also recommended to prevent recurring of bleeding etc.

not treating can lead to relapse and complications like bleeding/perforation/cancer risk

Complications

rarely, it can cause gastric adenocarcinoma as a known carcinogen

aka MALT lymphoma - mucosa-associated lymphoid tissue

this resolves with triple therapy (Usually)

consider it in family histories of gastric cancer

life time risk of gastric cancer at 2% and 15-20% risk of peptic ulcer disease

Wish the acronym wasn't MALT. But could be a good way to remember it. MALT, tasty, gastritis and Hpylori.

Follow-up

test for eradication 2 weeks post with stool antigen or urease breath test (serology less effective as the IgGs can remain positive for years) but that's on holding the PPI for 1/52 to prevent a false negative, some countries want both tests

in resistance or relapse there's salvage therapy, usually with bismuth or a quinolone.

Sources:

Wikipaedia - I havent covered pathophysio or it's cellular mechanisms and virulence factors, but there's a good overview in wiki

StatPearls (more paeds focused in this one)

CDC guidelines

Australian Therapeutic guidelines (Paywalll rest above are free)

[cozza-frenzy]

The Magbox Christmas Speech (or something like it)

So it's been a little over a month since anybody new showed up in the system. If there is anyone else to find, now is obviously not the time to find them... so for all intents and purposes, this may as well be it. Putting this under a cut because it's long. But if you want to know what life has been like as a system since we discovered ourselves 6 months ago, go on ahead.

I've seen things happen in our inner world that you wouldn't believe. The ways our mind acts out the struggles between parts, the struggle to redefine ourselves, to try and find meaning in something that's been suppressed for 35 years? We don't just tell ourselves a story, we live through it. We drink deep from the well of our subconscious, we feel the arms of our loved ones around us as much as we feel every blow in a fight. I've tried to fight it and our brain won't let me. It just makes things more and more real; taking away control over things like my in-system ability to change size, and feeding me dizzying sensations of rising and falling in our body until I get pulled "out of front" abruptly. And I know, once I'm no longer looking through the eyes but stuck in that far-too-real dream, that I'm either too big to touch our "control desk" or I'm too small to reach it.

It's not all bad, though. We've learned to co-operate with the whims of the subconscious and reap the rewards, finding sanctuary, finding community, finding wonders we've never lived but often dreamed of. I've eaten fruit that tastes like chocolate pudding, dived into streams and caught fish with my teeth, dug up sweet potatoes with my hands and roasted them on a bonfire. I've danced in a moonlit field, on the deck of an airship, and at a spiraling rave in another dimension. I've jumped into a carbonated lake in a volcano, been on a low-gravity spacewalk, and flown through the clouds of what we call Dreamscape. I've seen the magenta moon rise for the first time over the Village Green like a flag of victory, and the Deepwoods so full of glowing flowers - how our system interprets hope - that it looked like it was on fire. We have a pub, a park, a cafe, an arcade, a ballroom for celebrations, we have an adult-size "funhouse" full of things to climb and ballpits to fall into. We've dined under a sky full of stars and seen it light up with fireworks. Our world is equal parts magic and mundane. But I've also held the parts of us that never got to grow up, as they cried and screamed and revealed horrors we'd long forgotten. I've felt one of our own try to jump on my back and control my actions like a puppet, because they were the one keeping the system suppressed, and they were convinced everything had gone to hell because of me. I've felt the sheer existential terror of a deeply blurry front, where everything you know gets lost in the fog, and you suddenly realize you don't know who you are. I've seen alters try to tear each other apart with teeth and claws, try to ruin our realspace life by hurting other people, try to hurt our shared body because it feels like there's no way out. I've wept over what happened to us and what we never had, knowing that the ones who made us this way would never believe us, never mind apologize for what they did. And I've enacted Operation Kaiju; a contingency plan we hoped we'd never have to use. I've grown to a huge size, and faced down the giant amalgamation of every bit of trauma that didn't get to form an alter over those three and a half decades, that was so big it could only manifest as a place inside our head - The Red Forest. Full of eerie silence, an endless layer of fallen leaves on the ground, trees with white bark like stripped bones, always cold but devoid of wind or snow. And after it trapped one of us inside it, the first thing that alter said on getting out, covered in cuts and scratches, was "don't go in there, it hates us". It hated us because how dare we do this, how dare we pull ourselves away from it so it becomes less and we become more. And I've shouted at it, screamed at it as it rose up out of the world and tried to claw at us, told it no, you can't have them back. They are mine. I don't want to fight you but I will not let you take them from me. And I've put my hand on the wall that kept it separate from us; comforted it, listened to it, until it was finally ready to lay down peacefully and let itself die in order to become the rest of us.

I've known joy and I've known fear, and so has everybody else. I've seen the paths between our domains crumble from stress and cut us off from each other for weeks. And the system raised its voice in song, as one, to tell me they're okay, because we will never be alone again and that is a promise. There is no going back. And now, at the end of the year, we're here. Who knows what our system will look like in a year, or in 10 years. Over the course of the rest of our shared life. We've desperately searched for our missing parts together over the past six months, and now that search could very well be coming to an end. Our total headcount, 39, doesn't seem like it'll go up but might actually go down. This has already happened three times; Roxxy fused with Rosie and gave us Roxanne, Rakugaki and Charlie became Anarchy, Yvonne and Harvey created Nocturne. Maybe more will happen, maybe they won't, but whatever their choice is we know that nobody will ever go dormant again if we can help it. There will never be a time where someone faces such overwhelming despair, they go to sleep and hope they never wake up again. But here's to the start of a new chapter. Here's to moving forward as one and as many at the same time. We're done digging in the depths for whatever hurt might lie in there, and we don't need to just survive any more. We don't need to keep settling for something to kill more and more time, feeling neither highs nor lows, expecting nothing and never being disappointed. We can do better. We have to start figuring out how to thrive. Happy Holidays, from all of us to all of you. - Terry & The Alters Of The Magbox System

[newaisanvillage]

A Sweet Journey: Exploring the Delectable World of Indian Desserts

Indian cuisine is celebrated worldwide for its diverse flavors and aromatic spices, and its desserts are no exception. With a rich history and a vast array of sweets that vary from region to region, Indian desserts offer a sweet journey that is as delightful as it is Best Authentic Indian Restaurant in Sherwood Park, Edmonton diverse. Whether you are a fan of syrup-soaked treats or creamy confections, there's something for every sweet tooth.

A Kaleidoscope of Flavors

Indian sweets, known as "mithai," are integral to Indian culture and celebrations. From weddings to festivals, no occasion is complete without an assortment of these delightful treats. Each sweet has a unique taste and texture, often incorporating ingredients like milk, sugar, nuts, and fragrant spices like cardamom and saffron.

Popular Indian Sweets

Gulab Jamun: These soft, round dumplings made from milk solids are fried to a golden brown and soaked in a sweet, fragrant syrup. They are a staple at celebrations and a must-try for anyone new to Indian desserts.

Jalebi: Known for its bright orange color and intricate spiral shape, Jalebi is a deep-fried treat soaked in sugar syrup. It's crispy on the outside and juicy on the inside, offering a burst of sweetness in every bite.

Rasgulla: Originating from the eastern regions of India, Rasgulla is a spongy, white ball made from chenna (an Indian cheese) and cooked in light syrup. Its soft, melt-in-your-mouth texture is a delight.

Kheer: A creamy rice pudding flavored with cardamom, saffron, and nuts, Kheer is a comforting dessert that is both satisfying and rich.

Barfi: A fudge-like sweet made from condensed milk and sugar, Barfi comes in various flavors, including mango, coconut, and pistachio.

Discovering Authentic Indian Desserts in Edmonton

If you're in Edmonton and craving the authentic taste of Indian sweets, look no further than New Asian Village. Renowned for being the Best Authentic Indian Restaurant in Sherwood Park, Edmonton, this restaurant offers a wide selection of traditional Indian desserts that will transport you straight to the streets of India.

Experience the Best Indian Food in Edmonton

At New Asian Village, you'll not only find the Best and Delicious Indian Food in Edmonton but also a welcoming atmosphere and exceptional service. The chefs take pride in crafting dishes that honor traditional recipes while adding their unique touch, ensuring that every meal is a memorable experience.

Why Visit a New Asian Village?

Authenticity: Enjoy a menu that features a variety of authentic Indian dishes and desserts prepared with the freshest ingredients and traditional techniques.

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Conclusion

Exploring Indian desserts is a journey through a landscape of flavors, textures, and aromas that reflect the rich cultural tapestry of India. Whether you're indulging in a classic Gulab Jamun or savoring a creamy Kheer, each bite offers a taste of tradition and celebration. For those in Edmonton, New Asian Village is the perfect destination to embark on this sweet journey and experience the Best Indian Restaurant in Edmonton. So, why wait? Treat yourself to the delectable world of Indian desserts today.

[aj-is-typing-18]

So I got.....more brainrot for the cursed candy man au thats been made pretty much by @shadeswift99 and @red-rose-gown ,,,,,but- yknow, maybe if impulse was bad? We'll see where this goes! :]

Tw: body horror, bit of kinda, mindcontrol :]

~~~~~~

Grian felt the world dance.

No, he hadn't ever been one for sweets, oddly enough. Since the watchers, he hasn't really eaten any. Nothin' ever really,,,,made him not want candy, it was just....too sweet.

That was when impulse and pearl approached him.

He should've known something was wrong.

Pearls smile was a bit brighter, the sight of her made him feel fizzy. It was really odd, she didn't seem as animated before as she did now, she didn't seem as......lively? No. Pearl was very lively! It just....didn't make much sense she was with impulse? That may be it. Not to mention the fact She didn't seem....normal. Not in the 'this is hermitcraft' not normal, but in the 'something is off but I can't put my finger in on it', not normal.

It was the way her hair seemed goopier, like....he wouldn't call it pudding, but is smelled like it. Her skin wasn't exactly melty, but he could see some purple shards peeking from her skin and melty brown splotches of what he could only assume was skin on her arms and legs.

Impulse wasn't any better.

Grian knew the other had wanted fantasy, but he didn't have to be melting with candy. The brunettes hair looked like chocolate itself, and , a big patch of it melted his eye, and it seemed his very sweat was also.......melting him. Larger crystals were on the redstoners elbows, and his eyes were a striking purple, almost.......entrancing.

They had talked, like normal good neighbors do. Impulse was way more saturated too, his eyes seemed.....purple? His hair also seemed to me milkier, or was grian imagining things? No, he thought to himself. Something isn't right here.

Maybe it was the fact impulse and pearl were in matching suits? Impulse in a full one that was mainly yellow with purple accents, and pearl having a purple one with yellow accents. They were in sync, pherhaps too in sync. They also seemed to smell like all the candy in a candy store at once.

"Anyways," impulse said, fishing a something out of his pocket. "I Wanted to give you something to try! Pearl said they were great. But I want your opinion too! Scar sadly he wasnt feeling up to it....so..."

He handed grian........a chocolate bar? The builder was a bit confused. The thing that was....making all these problems was a small piece of chocolate?

"You'll try it right?"

"Of course!" Grian promised.

And now he was dancing. It had been days? Weeks? Grian didn't care anymore! He twirled and danced in the rtthm of everything, it all had that natural glow. Sure, his feet and body were sticking to things! That was okay......just a small hiccup from those candy bars of.....of uh- grian was puzzled.

He shouldn't be here.

He doesn't belong here.

But that sweet buzz kept pulling grian under, kept keeping him unaware of the changes. He was happy here. With his boxes of chocolate! It didn't matter....

He knew his hair had gotten more liquidy, like a syrup, or that his body had started melting. It didn't matter! Impulse knew what was best! It didn't matter when he saw his wings start to turn to goop, when he couldn't remeber his own- name. He was just content eating his chocolate.( And the wings, felt nice! )

But this felt so so wrong. He shouldn't be here.

A hand gently held a candy bar out to him, and grian couldn't stop himself from taking and starting to eat it as the hand gripped his shoulder. A voice laughed.

"There we go." Impulse said, as the haze returned to his friends gaze. As that smile became full once again, as the spiraling thoughts came to an abrupt halt under the sweet and muddled buzz of the confectionary, as it covered and snuffed out all those pesky worries and doubts from grians little head, covered like waffles were in syrup.

The hand helped him up as it wrapped around him more, and the warm and welcoming hand pulled him to his feet and helped get him into his new outfit uniform.

"Now, let's get to work."

[choicescreen]

INTRO : REDMON HUNTER & HIS CANON.

redmon hunter (1922-2019). famous pulp fiction author who has penned more than twenty books. a beloved figure in the literature world, even more beloved by his wife, slyvia hunter. they live over a sports bar in a not-too-shabby apartment, and life is swell. even when it gets a little cramped whenever redmon is writing a new book, and all the characters treat it as a motel before their stories are sent off to be published. she can see them, as can anyone else close to redmon, though others cannot. in 1978, slyvia passes away tragically, and redmon spirals into a deep depression. he doesn’t publish a book for ten years. with all these unfinished drafts laying about, the characters have been stuck in limbo with him, and have had to make as much as a life as they can as .... fictional characters who can’t go anywhere without redmon. 

dutch van dyke. action, thriller, crime, mystery. 1940s. dutch is a detective in chicago. dedicated, serious, and passionate, dutch has been on the trail of notorious gangster, gino rotelli, since before the second world war. he’s redmon’s first character, and is probably the answer you’ll get from fans if you ask them about their favorite trilogy. outside of the novels, dutch acts as the leader of the characters, and redmon considers him his best friend.

rats don’t fetch. (1967) *first book published.

underbelly. (1968) *gino rotelli’s first appearance + also considered the first in gino’s series.

dry county. (1970) *gino appears

rats don’t fetch and underbelly are adapted to the big screen, with releases in 1990 and 1993, respectively. 

gino rotelli. action, thriller, crime, mystery. 1940s. wicked smart italian mobster who has a penchant for violence, gino has various neighborhoods under his iron-fist. he just can’t seem to shake that fucking van dyke. outside of the novels, though, while hanging with redmon, gino is a loveable, flirty, harmless, silly figure -- the change is laughable.

trick up his sleeve. (1971) *dutch appears

tommy gun parade. (1974)

killjoy. (1991)

sheriff hank barlow and deputy adam james. western, adventure. 1880s. inseparable duo, barlow and james keep the peace in one little town with lots of action goin’ down. while hank (fastest gun in the union) is the level-headed senior, adam (a preacher’s son) is the firecracker youngster. one is hardly seen without the other. outside the novels, hank has to drag adam away whenever gino is pushing the young man’s buttons. 

sagebrush shootout. (1972)

yearling. (1976) *deputy james’ first appearance.

moon shines over the cowshed. (1978) *final book before hiatus brought on by wife’s death, coincidentally, it was the book that introduced the love of hank’s life -- his wife, kate.

all are adapted to made to tv movie specials in the mid-90s.

valerie lesur. action, adventure, thriller, mystery, crime 1960s. calm, introverted, and aloof, valerie is a sought after spy. his cover job is a world class chef, allowing him to travel all across the globe. outside of the novels, valerie can usually be found in the kitchen. he’s the most annoyed about his current predicament, but the cooking helps. 

lunch is served in leningrad. (1973)

breakfast is served in berlin. (1975)

dinner is served in denmark. (1989)

pomeroy smith, esq. courtroom drama, mystery, crime. 1970s. haughty as all fuck. why? his books are the only hunter novels published in hardback. pomeroy’s one hell of a lawyer, though, nobody can deny him that. outside of the novels, he and dutch van dyke get along very well. 

strawberry torts. (1969) *hardcover

banana pudding. (1971) *hardcover

baked alaska. (1989) *hardcover

catch the adventures of pomeroy smith, esquire every tuesday night at 8pm, only on cbs! (1991-1997)

millicent “mille” monroe. action, adventure, mystery. 1990s. when millicent walked through that door, redmon’s characters were sure surprised. she was a sweet lady, an unassuming secretary, and they wondered what the hell redmon was going to do with her. after a stroke of genius, redmon rewrites her story. millie returned the next day a new woman -- tough femme fatale working as a mechanic. outside of the novels, millie inspires the old characters by being the one who’s going to save them all. 

general motors. (1988) *first book published following hiatus.

scare in the air. (1992)

the little things. (1995)

jet west, aerial ace. war, drama, action. 1940s. alright, so maybe redmon got a little uninspired and stopped writing jet, but his one book had readers clamoring for more. jet’s plane -- oh, my darlin’! -- becomes a bit of a literature pop culture icon, like a trivia question. jet’s tough to crack, analytical, gritty, and funny as hell. outside of the books, jet gets on pomeroy’s bad side by being a nuisance. he finds it hilarious. maybe redmon’ll bring him back. 

praise the lord, pass the ammunition. (1977)

bertrand ripley. horror, thriller, paranormal. 1860s. an old sea dog discovering the horrors that lie underneath mysterious fathoms below. fatherly, strong-willed, and brave. capt. ripley was a bit of a new route for redmon, as he’d never written horror before. bertrand is also gay, and has one relationship throughout his trilogy with his first mate -- pierre baynard. outside of the novels, bertrand finds television fascinating, and makes it a point to memorize the names and stories of the side characters hanging around in the apartment during their chapters / appearances. 

oh, captain, our captain. (2000)

what lies below. (2002)

radar. (2005) *redmon’s final book.

[slothspaghettiwrites]

19. The Final Countdown

The Final Countdown - Sleepless in Stark Towers

Story Rating: Explicit, 18+ only

Warnings: period talk, Dom/sub relationship, hints of DD/lg, thumb sucking as a stress coping mechanism, discussions of Dom/subspace, 

Relationships: Tony Stark x Plus Size!Reader/OFC

Word Count: 3409

Summary: You make it through finals, Tony goes to Cali and comes home to a bit of a mess. 

A/N: if you don't like the way I'm taking this series, well, I'm not sorry. this is my dumpster fire. it's all about the next part honestly. I'm already sweating.Also, I would recommend Dumplin if you haven't seen it and want a good cry.

<< 18. Thanksgiving  |  20. Punishment >>

Tony's arms wrapped around me in the crowded airport. Soft flannel fabric that smelled like motor oil and something so deliciously spicy brushed against my nose. It goes straight to my head. A deep sigh escaped my lips and can feel my whole body sag and go a bit softer, like how my mom acts after that first drag of her cigarette after a long day. This warm feeling invaded every part of my senses, made me feel like I was moving through molasses. The people faded away into a blurry of colors as tears came to my eyes.

Warm hands cup my face. Thumbs brushed away the wetness on my cheeks. A smile as soft as I felt graced Tony’s features. His lips fell onto mine like it was the most natural thing in the world. The ball cap he wore today nudged against my glasses and I smiled into the kiss.

I was home.

∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆

“I WANNA DIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.”

First, I get my period for the first time since getting the implant and my uterus was literally trying to Alien-style burst from my body. I couldn’t even begin to handle that shit. Every part of my body just burned and ached, centered right at my crotch. No amount of hot baths and drugs was fixing that problem. I couldn’t move without wincing, let alone think about studying for finals.

That brings me to my second point, what kind of monster tells Calculus 101 students there would be no cheat sheet notecard for the final? I felt like I was barely managing as it was and then he just decided to drop that bomb on us two classes before the test. My brain couldn’t even comprehend the idea of studying for the other finals I have. I was spiraling into a mess of letters, numbers, and equations that made no fucking sense.

“Dying is forbidden,” Tony moved away from the stove to rub my shoulders.

I leaned back into the barstool and tried to make puppy dog eyes at him. Dying would be a great alternative to this nightmare.

“C’mon, I slaved over a stove for like an hour, let’s eat.”

I didn't want to eat. I felt bloated and disgusting, but I couldn't say no. Not just because it would be rude, but because well it was my daddy taking care of me. Tony had been extremely… diligent since I got back. There was always a hot dinner and nutritious breakfast waiting for me when I stayed over now. In the evening, we'd work together in the lab until we were done on a project or too sleep deprived to continue. Then Tony would drag me up to the penthouse, kissing me softly while stripping me down so we could shower together. He would scrub and wash away the paint and pollution of the day.

Then he'd shampoo my hair. His fingers lathered up that magic soap that smelled like heaven, massaging and scratching on my scalp. He was always gentle, never tugging at the knots, and never getting soap near my eyes. He slathered on the conditioner before setting my pudding soft limbs on the tiled bench. If the hair washing hadn't gotten me all floating and warm, watching my daddy scrub and wash away the day's stress certainly finished it off. There was almost never anything sexual about it, usually rushed while I slumped against the wall. His hands worked the soap around his thighs, his torso, the arc reactor. The blue glow reflected off the suds, making the moment even more magical. The intimacy of the action, the comfort he had with me, that made me feel special and loved. That felt like real magic.

The world would get all misty. A soft fog settled over my mind garden, merging colors and ideas for projects with equations, dates, and societally stereotypes. My everything just relaxed.

Tony then helped me put on a set of soft flannel PJ's, each pair some kind wintery design. I noticed a slight increase in different types of clothes for me in the closet, in colors I didn't normally wear. All of them were soft, comforting, and faintly smelled of Daddy™. I couldn't help but stare at them when my clothes were laid out for me.

The clothes were expertly mixed with things I normally wore to class. For example, tonight my daddy picked out something that was 50/50 us. A pair of thick fleece leggings and a structured, expertly designed oversized Wolf of Wall Street vibe button-down dress were matched together, and a new sexy panty set I would never have bought myself was paired with my soft, fuzzy boot socks. All in all, Tony would somehow know exactly what I need to feel good and pretty and worthy.

I knew, that he knew, that I kinda knew what he was doing. We had talked my subspace, that floaty place my mind tries to travel up to while Tony took me apart. We had talked about what I needed or wanted when I was there. He explained his domspace to me, his own headspace that he gets into sometimes where he feels primal, almost godlike as my daddy. We both discussed how good it felt in those places, even without the sex.

And we had talked about the sex part of our relationship a lot when I got back, but consent and trust were really what it was about. It ended with my reassuring Tony that I was very much the one of us deciding we'd be in this kinda relationship, but that he also had a choice. Eventually, it broke further down to me just smooshing his face between my hands and telling him I trusted him with my life. He was my daddy, and Daddy knew best.

"C'mon, let's get you to bed sleepy baby."

"Can I read my art history notes in bed?"

There was so much more to study, so many dates and topics I didn't know yet. I was trying to fight my fuzzy warm headspace. Only two more days of tests. All my papers were finished, projects and modules were wrapped up, and all that remained were my art history and calculus hell tests. I trusted myself enough with Art History assuming that annoying senior kept to himself. And honestly, I'd been so stressed about math nonsense I didn't even consider him a threat to my sanity anymore.

"No work in bed," Tony reminded me, arm around my shoulder. "Do you really need to study? It's like three in the morning already."

"Just one more hour, Daddy, please," I yawned.

"JARVIS, when did I last get a good night message for my girl?"

"Thursday night, Sir."

"And you were with me all weekend, so that means you haven't slept for at least 24 hours," he guided us to the bed. "And a good night's sleep will be good for your test."

He was right, sleep would do me some good. I knew that, but it didn't make me stop feeling guilty for not studying enough. I didn't know every word cover to cover yet, therefore it wasn't enough. And it wasn't just me who needed to sleep. Tony had to fly out to California tomorrow for some kind of end of year presentations. He needed to be rested and present for the long day of meetings and dealing with people. Tonight wasn't a night to fight the rules.

"Daddy," I yawned again, snuggling into the soft sheets, "do-do you mind if…"

An old habit, a coping mechanism from when I was younger, had surfaced again since being back home. Turns out if it was someone else's thumb in my mouth the horrible taste memories of vapo rub didn't creep up. Tony said it didn't bother him, after the first time he woke up with his finger in my mouth. Told me it made him feel good, knowing even in my sleep I sought him out for comfort. I still felt weird about not asking, checking in to make sure he was still okay. I was sure once finals were over, I'd get over it again.

Tony pulled my head onto his chest and gave me his hand. While I held on to it for just a moment, massaging the muscle and tendons, trying to give him any amount of comfort I could, he kissed the top of my head.

"C'mon pretty baby, time for sleep."

I was counting down the minutes until you were done with your calc final. Three whole weeks of no classes. Three whole weeks of you staying here. Three whole weeks of doing… stuff. Honestly, I didn’t know what we’d do. I was too focused on the fact that after the hellish time you’ve been having since your last break, you’ll finally be able to just do whatever you wanted. No pressures, just relaxation.

“Mr. Stark, what do you think?”

“I think…” I glanced over the plans for the new Paris HQ. “They look fine, average.”

“Average, sir?”

“I think what Mr. Stark is trying to say-”

“Pep, what I’m trying to say is they look average. It’s a perfectly acceptable office block, but it isn’t a Tour Stark.”

“Mr. Stark, I can assure you that we’ve pushed all the boundaries we can with the area’s construction limitation,”

“Mhmm, and why do Tour Hekla designs have 15 meters on this proposal? I’m not some EDF wannabe. If I’m going to bring Stark Industries green energy and technology properly to the EU, I’m going to be making a statement.”

There was a pause. Pepper and the architecture team from Paris were unsure of what to do next. I wasn’t in any rush to break ground for the new HQ. In my opinion, we could still move it somewhere else, so a simple redesign should have been nothing. I say simple, but we probably wouldn’t have the new mockups until March or later based on how slow they were responding to my critique.

“Thank you for coming in today. I will email you all the notes from this meeting and we will be in touch within the next week.”

Pepper shook their hands and guided them out of the conference room. One lunch meeting, one R&D walkthrough, and then one final management meeting, that’s all I’ve got to make it through until it was home time. Well, time to get on the jet home, fly five hours, and then it was home time.

Thinking of home time though, you should be calling me soon for a debrief. Final results wouldn't happen until late tonight, but you and Peter were going to go sightseeing when you got out of class to keep you distracted. Our call was mostly to check in on both sides. Me to make sure you weren't at an unreasonable level of stress and you to make sure I wasn't threatening people's lives for their stupidity. A win-win really.

"Tony really you co-"

HERE I AM, ROCK YOU LIKE A HURRICANE

HERE I AM, ROCK YOU LIKE A HURRICANE  

"Sorry, this is an important phone call," I smirked at my CEO.

"Jesus, just meet me and Happy down at the car."

She stomped off as Scorpion continued to play for a moment. Her sassy comments about my relationship with you could really go fuck themselves.

"Hey Baby," I smiled, leaning back in my chair.

"Hi Daddy," you sighed quietly.

You sounded dejected and exhausted. It sounded more like you could use a night in rather than trapezing about the city until late. It's decided, next time I've got to take a business trip, I'd bring you with me.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

"I just- I just-"

You paused, but I could hear how wet your voice sounded. Had you cried during the test? There was a sniffle.

"Why can't I understand basic math?"

"One calculus isn't 'basic', and two not everyone's mind works that way. I couldn't make art the way you do," I tried to be supportive, but neutral to not upset you further.

"I'm sure if you tried, you'd be great. Look at your suit, you clearly have an eye for design."

"It's true, I do, I had to tell a team of French architects their designs were boring just now."

I changed the subject, you hated crying in public. You were my crybaby in private only.

"Why does it matter that they're French?"

"Makes it easier to get the planning done if you use a local team. Pep is insisting we have an EU headquarters, so I lost a bet and she got to pick the place."

"What would you have gotten if you won?"

You already sounded better, calmer.

"I'd have gotten out of a month of meetings," I moved you to speakerphone and pulled up the security systems on campus. "Where you at Babygirl?"

"On the sofas outside class, you gonna find me?"

"Taking all the fun outta bein' a creep," I grumbled but the smile on my face told another story.

God was I so happy you didn't freak out too much when you found out I could do that, did do that on a regular basis. After the whole shit show of Thanksgiving, I felt like I had to tell you about it and you took it in strides. Freaked out a bit, mostly concerned that I would think you were 'super weird'. I mean, have you met Peter Parker?

There you sat, curled up as small as you could get, resting against the arm of a long grubby looking couch. My smile grew.

"Your hair looks nice today."

"You just like it when I braid it," you looked in the direction of the camera and smiled.

"What can I say, they are practically begging me to-"

"Freshie!"

Someone off-screen caught your attention and I saw you shrink. A guy, maybe someone in a class with you, walked over to the couch, and stood right in front of the camera line. What a dick.

"You have to promise me you'll start coming around for art nights in the new year."

UUGGGHHHHH THIS FUCKER.

"I'll think about it."

Does he not see you were clearly on the phone? Does he know how rude he is being?

"You keep saying that, but I don't believe you."

Why does it sound like he is laughing at you? What the fuck was his deal?

"Sorry, I need to finish this important phone call."

"Text me, babes."

Am I having a stroke? Is that what this feeling is?

"Hello?"

"I'm still here."

You looked to your left and right before responding.

"That guy can really go fuck a cactus."

∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆

All I could think about on the elevator ride up the tower was marking up your beautiful skin, showing you exactly who you belonged to. I mean, you knew already, but the thought of spending the very early hours of the morning sucking and biting on your soft skin until little bruises formed was so tempting. Feeling you squirm and beg for more beneath me was exactly what I needed to wind down after that shitty long ass day. I wanted, no needed, you to my good girl. I needed someone to listen to me without me having to be a dick and give me control.

The elevator doors opened on the communal floor and the smell of savory roast meat hit me. You must have made dinner for you and Peter then. The lack of pizza smell was honestly fucking nice for once.

You hadn't sent me a picture of what you'd eaten.

The sounds of Dolly Parton and men crying was not what I expected to come home to. I walked through the kitchen, noting the pile of cleaned pans drying on kitchen towels and the note on the fridge for me. Left the best bits for you. You doodled little hearts around the words and that… god that made me feel good. You could have left the scraps, and I'd still be over the moon about the note. I plucked it off the fridge and tucked it into my trouser pockets.

On the sofa, with dirty dishes stacked on the coffee table, were you, Peter, Steven, and Barnes. All of you bawling your eyes out over some movie you were watching. I stood there for maybe a minute longer, the characters at some kind of drag bar, and the credits started to roll.

"What the fuck kind of sleepover is this?" Everyone's heads whipped to me.

"It's all Queens' fault," Steve was quick to wipe away the tears from his red face and clear his throat.

Barnes less so, "I just have too many emotions right now. Men cry too Stark."

"Why are you crying though?"

"Because everybody deserves love, Mr. Stark."

The three men burst into tears again. I was losing my grip on reality now. What the fuck was going on?

"The movie was a coming of age story about accepting your body and that you're capable of anything," you explained. "It's called Dumplin ."

Oh.

Oh, good god.

Peter and I were going to have words. Lots of them. About things that are and aren't okay to show someone recovering from a shed load of... of... shit.

Time to change the subject.

"Why are you two here?"

"They found us at Rockefeller when we were looking at the tree, which by the way was not as magic as I was told it would be," you sniffled, voice still a bit croaky from crying.

"It's not my fault," Peter wailed.

"Everything is your fault, Petey-Pie," Barnes chuckled and shoved the kid.

"Mr. Stark!"

"Oh my god, just-" I pinched the bridge of my nose trying to not blow a fuse, "everyone go to their rooms."

While the boys filed out down the hall to their suites, you picked up the plates and took them to the dishwasher. I pulled the plate of food from the fridge and tossed it into the microwave. You sat down at the island, looking everywhere but at me.

Did you even realize you’d broken a rule? I watched the meatloaf and potatoes and vegetables spin and spin and spin contemplating how to handle that. There was a fine line about to be drawn. When we’d set up the rules, you were very adamant about rewards and punishment. I wasn’t surprised or resistant to the first. You had a serious praise kink and I was more than happy to facilitate that. You were my good girl after all, and I’d tell you that any chance I got.

But you had this resolute idea that if you were “bad”, you had to be punished. To the point of punishing yourself, which was absolutely unacceptable, which I told you. Punishment was mine to dish out, when it was deserved. Ding!

And this cold reception you seemed set on giving me was only adding to your punishment. I pulled a fork from the drawer, setting my plate down so I could look at you.

"You eat dinner Baby?"

"Yeah, Daddy."

You pulled the sleeves on your sweatshirt over your hands. I took a bite, even reheated the meatloaf practically melted in my mouth, the mashed potatoes were still creamy and vegetables hadn't turned to mush. This was making being stern difficult.

"Why didn't you send me a picture?"

If there was a valid reason, I'd be understanding. Our rules weren't cast in stone, they were there to provide structure, not stress. They were a system set up to provide reward and praise more than anything else.

"I didn't want to," you shrugged.

"Why?"

You weren't looking me in the eye. I kept eating, waiting to see if you'd give me a real answer. There was no part of my mind that believed you would just break a rule because. You weren't a brat.

"I-" you gulped, fidgeting. "I just didn't."

I looked at you, fork dangling from my fingers. You were really sticking with that. You were really going to just lie to my face. I wasn't even upset about the picture at that point. You just lied to me. I ran my tongue over my teeth. If that's the way you wanna be, then I can accommodate that. I'd still get to mark you up at least.

"Go up to the penthouse, get ready for bed, and wait for me." it's all about the next part honestly. I'm already sweating.Also, I would recommend Dumplin if you haven't seen it and want a good cry.