#there are more but these are the essential ones i think

[cjs-writing-blog]

Two Scholars

I’m not sure what to say here.

His response answers many of the questions I had, but raises several new ones.

“How does that work here?”

My first thought is a book series I read as a child, written by someone I thought was completely unaware of true magic.

“Is there some kind of…magic sport I’m not aware of?”

He gives me an odd look, like he’s never considered this as a concept.

“What? No, it’s rugby.

“You know, it’s like football, but Australian?”

This makes less sense to me than the most advanced chronodynamics lecture I’ve listened to.

“Who do you even compete against? Aren’t normal institutions forbidden from knowing our school exists?”

“Dude, you do know there are other Magic Schools, right?”

Somehow, for the first time in a full year of education into the unkowable, my mind goes completely blank.

All I can manage is the word:

“Huh?”

“You know, there’s Saint Ivan’s, Merlin’s, Balthazar’s, that one really creepy one that doesn’t technically have a name…”

My mind feels as though it’s under more strain than that time I fucked up trying to use a borrowed knowledge spell to cheat on a test.

“And they all play… rugby?”

I’ve never heard the term in my life, or that there were all these wizardry schools other than this one.

“Some version of or another, but essentially yeah.

“I can't believe you didn’t know, we had a playoff against those creepy necromancer guys just yesterday.

“Why did you think I was in the healers office with a severed arm stuck around my neck?”

I haven’t fully been giving the incident he refers to much thought, given the infirmary at the time had a student next to him whose head had been transfigured into a live chicken.

Or the fact that I’d been in there a week before with a sprained shadow.

Not to mention the sentient ecosystem in there right now receiving an earthworm transfusion.

“Well, can you say you know the finer details of what happened to the girl in the bed across from you?”

“The statue? Are you saying that was, like, a real person?”

“Well yeah, she was getting de-petrified…”

It takes a second to fully process what he said.

Once I did, it took me aback in a new way.

“…wait, did you think they had a normal, non-magical statue taking up a bed in the healer's office for some reason?”

“Well, you never know, do you? Maybe it was a prank, or got teleported somehow, or something.”

I have to bite my tongue on that not being how teleportation works.

“That’s what I mean! You never know what’s happened to someone, do you? Maybe the hand was yours somehow, or a spatial mishap, or a creature that only looks like a human arm, or…”

“Touche.

“For the record, one of the rival players ripped off his arm and brought it to life so he could strangle me with it.

“It got me sent to the healers office, but I heard the guy who did it got disqualified, so I can’t complain.”

I’m glad that that’s a disqualifying offence, if anything.

“They have a rule for this? Has it happened before, or…”

I trail off, not sure how to finish the sentence.

“Well, technically, they just ruled it as unsanctioned contact of a non-player by throwing an animated object not technically enrolled on either team across the field, but it’s still a disqualification.”

“How is the animated arm not a player?

It sounds like what it did was meant to be to their team's advantage.”

“Then their side would have had one too many players, so their captain declared the severed arm to be unaffiliated with the team.”

“...right.”

"How did YOU get accepted by the wizard's college!?" "Athletic scholarship."

[writing-for-marvel]

Right Here, Waiting (2)

Roommate!Bucky Barnes x Curvy!Fem!Reader

< < PART 1

Summary: While out with Bucky’s friends for Sam’s birthday, someone makes a rude comment about your body, leading Bucky to prove just how beautiful he thinks you are.

Prompt: “Hey. Pick on someone your own size.” for @avengers-assemble-bingo’s 108th Birthday Celebration

Warnings: strictly 18+ due to the AU, TRIGGER WARNING internal monologue references reader having issues with weight & eating, a man commenting on readers appearance/body in a negative and unprovoked way, VERY insecure reader, slight angst with belief of unrequited love, idiots in love who finally stop being so oblivious!

Word count: 4.3k

A/N: so I was triple dared by @intrepidacious to write more for these two and who am I to break the sacred rules of triple dares? They do deserve their happy ending 🩵 banners by @vase-of-lilies

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You don’t want to be here. Not really.

Even though you’ve got Nat by your side and you’re essentially invisible as a group of Bucky’s mates celebrate his best friend’s birthday, there’s something about being in a new part of town, and with a group of people you don’t know that well, which makes you feel on edge.

But the reason you came tonight is staring at you with warm, sparkling blue eyes, and a smile that calms the raging nerves in your stomach.

“You having a good time?”

“I am now that you’re here.��� You say playfully, and you hear Nat scoff lightly from beside you.

He looks heavenly, as if a statue of a Greek god was animated to life, donning a shirt which perfectly matches the colour of his irises, which shows off his bulging biceps, and just enough length to his perfectly styled hair which makes you want to run your fingers through it.

It really should be a crime to walk around looking so good that he draws the stare of every woman within a ten meter radius, head held high like he knows it too.

But while everyone else has their eyes on him, whispering about how gorgeous he is, Bucky’s looking at you, making your stomach somersault. And then the stunning smile he flashes just for you has you melting into a puddle.

Surely there’s no way he can’t see the effect he has on you, how you become a giggling fool in his presence. But that just serves as a reminder that after three months living together and him not making a move, he is very clearly not interested in you like that.

“I shouldn’t have taken so long to come find you then.” You know he’s only joking, but in reality you and Nat have barely had the time to wish Sam a happy birthday and set yourself up at one of the high top tables. Bucky hasn’t exactly wasted any time in coming to talk to you.

“Well it would have been rude of you not to say hello to the birthday boy first.”

“Ahh I see enough of that punk anyway.” He jests, as if he also doesn’t see you every single day at your shared apartment, but you don’t mention that to him.

You notice Nat walking over by to corner of the room in a group with the man of the hour, not even bothering to announce her departure unlike last weekend at your local bar with her attempt to push you and Bucky together.

Somehow being alone with him now, even though it’s a regular occurrence back in your apartment, fills your stomach with churning anxiety. Perhaps it’s the expectation that Nat believes something will happen between the two of you, even though you’re well aware that’s a physical impossibility.

“Thanks for coming tonight, I know you don’t know Sam all that well yet and would probably prefer to be snuggled under a blanket at home reading, but I want you to meet my friends. And I want them to meet the people who are important to me too.”

The implication that you are a prominent person in Bucky’s life gives life to butterflies in your tummy. Even though you’re sure the intention of his words are that you’ve become good friends while living together, it’s ammunition your mind can use to assemble a pipe dream that you serve a much more significant role in your roommate’s life.

“If they’re important to you, then they’re important to me too.” Silly boy doesn’t know you’d do absolutely anything for him, including facing your social anxiety of meeting new people if it means you get to see him happy.

“Well you’re the most important.”

It’s when he says things like this, accompanied with that earnestly affectionate smile, that hope builds brick by brick in your chest - you don’t say that to someone who’s just a friend, right?

But if he somehow did feel that way about you, ignoring all the reasons why someone as attractive and charming as him could do so much better than you, then why had he not made a move?

You come to the same conclusion you always do when Bucky comes out with these overly sweet statements - he’s referring to you as being very good friends. Roommates who would consider each other family.

Regardless, with this small sentence he’s rendered you utterly speechless, your mouth so dry and brings a ferocious heat to your cheeks that you couldn’t contribute to conversation even if you had to.

There’s a silence which passes between you, not awkward like either of you are waiting for the other to come up with some ridiculous small talk, but content, that even in a room packed with people to speak to you’re happy just being in each other's presence, words aren’t needed.

“Oh, how rude of me, you don’t have a drink - you want your usual?” You had never expected him to buy you a drink, but it warms your heart how considerate he is, that he takes the initiative to make it his priority even when it arguably doesn’t affect him.

“Yes please.” You manage to mutter out.

The cheeky wink he shoots you before heading up to the bar only further contributing to you melting into a puddle on the floor. He could do anything and have you in a trance, but when it’s small, doting actions reserved solely for you like this, that have your heart leaping out of your chest.

“So… when’s the wedding?” Nat comments, sidling up to you, however it doesn’t distract you from watching Bucky walk away, admiring his strapping, muscular back and his ass that looks divine.

It’s when you turn to look at your best friend, a brazen sparkle in her eye, do you miss the way Bucky longingly looks back at you from the bar.

That relentless hope you’re continually trying to shake returns, inflating in your chest when she talks in a way that your romance with Bucky is inevitable, when you spend every waking second actively pulling yourself back to reality on earth from dreaming on cloud nine.

“Nat you know he doesn’t like me like that.” You repeat for what feels like the millionth time.

“I beg to differ, you’d been here less than two minutes before he approached you.” The gleam in her eye has become a familiar one, that screams ‘told you so’, as if this was conclusive evidence.

“He knows we don’t know a lot of people here and just wanted to make sure we felt comfortable. That’s what friends do.” At least that’s what you are telling yourself to help suppress any irrational wish your brain could conjure at the reasoning why Bucky sought you out so quickly after your arrival.

“Well he only asked you didn’t he? It was like I was invisible to him.”

“He just knows me better, that's all, we do live together you know.” Is how you justify his behaviour, but you can tell Nat isn’t having a bar of it with the cynical look she shoots at you.

“You keep telling yourself that sweetie. That boy has it bad for you, but you silly kids will work it out eventually.” She says with a certainty that puzzles you, as if there is no question that you and Bucky are destined to end up together. She flashes a quick smile before affectionately patting your hand and making her way up to the bar.

There’s a moment where you’re left alone, pondering Nat’s words and if there is any truth to them - your best friend is honest to a fault, and isn’t the type to blatantly lie to you to spare your feelings. Perhaps there’s something she can see that you can’t, or won’t let yourself notice.

The buoyant hope you always try pushing down floats in your stomach and for once you revel in the small possibility that perhaps you’ve been wrong all along about Bucky. As unlikely as it is, maybe your feelings aren’t completely unrequited.

You feel someone next to you before you hear them speak, a voice that is unfamiliar and which sends a tense vexation shivering down your spine.

“That little redhead friend of yours is gorgeous, think you could introduce me?” It’s not the first time a stranger has approached you interested in Nat. She’s beautiful, slim and wears dresses that flaunt her toned figure, but it nevertheless causes an ache deep in your chest that you're never the person the man approaching you is attracted to.

Just once it would be nice to be the woman they notice, the one lusted after.

“She’s not interested.” You don’t even have to look at the man to know Nat wouldn’t be interested in someone who didn’t have the guts to approach her directly.

You hope that response is enough to send the man on his way, but your experience tells you men with an ego the size of a Mount Everest don’t give up so easily when they have a gorgeous woman in their sights.

“C’mon, don’t be butt hurt that no one’s interested in you. Attractive people deserve other attractive people.”

His words, laced with so much spite, feel like a kick to the teeth. Even though he’s a nobody, someone who will disappear into the masses that make up this enormous city, it’s just another reminder that not a single person in this populous metropolis wants you, in particular the one person who owns your heart and sleeps in the next room.

“You really think that’s gonna make me more likely to help you out?” You turn to finally look at the man, and as attractive as he is, there is a pretentious air to him, a conceited smirk you’d love to smack off his face. It’s a face of a man that has never been told ‘no’ before in his life. “Fuck off.”

“Don’t be a bitter bitch about it.”

Without you realising, Bucky had noticed you looking uncomfortable in conversation with this repulsive man, and stalked across the entire length of the room, forgetting about your drinks at the bar, to come to your aid.

“Hey mate, how about you pick on someone your own size huh?” Bucky looks dauntingly large as he steps up to face the man, at least a head taller than him with broad shoulders that make the other guy look like a lanky schoolboy in comparison.

In contrast to how intimidating Bucky looks, his touch is gentle as he herds you behind him protectively.

“Why? Because the whore is so much bigger than everyone else here.”

His mocking tone cuts through you like a sword, hollowing out your insides. You sense all eyes in the room turn to you, and you shrivel into yourself in juxtaposition to how Bucky shines when the centre of attention.

It feels like the air in the room has been suctioned out, your lungs and throat burning from the absence of oxygen, or maybe it’s just your lack of will to take a breath, wanting the world to engulf you and your existence to end right here.

It’s hard enough to live with the understanding of how much bigger you are than every other person in the room when it is etched into your frontal lobe so that you are reminded of it every passing second, but for someone else to actually express that notion aloud, for all the terrible thoughts you believe about yourself to be confirmed by a stranger who only needs to have seen you once in your life to recognise this about you, is enough for you to start decaying from the inside out.

It’s not just you who thinks that, now every single person in the bar is fully aware of how much physical space you’re taking up, how much weight you carry on your distinctly pudgy stomach, around your jawline which is soft unlike Bucky’s sharp mandible, how your thighs rub together when you walk, not having a gap between them as Nat does.

“What the fuck did you just say?” You barely recognise the voice as Bucky’s, he practically growls at the man, picking him up by the shirt front and slamming him into the wall behind you.

Bucky’s positive he’s never had rage flow through his veins like this before, never genuinely wanted to snap someone’s neck and step over their lifeless body until this very second. Anyone who hurts you deserves an even worse fate than that.

The bastard then has the gall to mumble out ‘it was just a joke’ as he raises his hands in defence, as if he wasn’t the piece of shit to provoke this entire confrontation.

“I dare you to say that again and see where it gets you.” Bucky longs to punch his fist through this man’s nose, the only reason currently stopping him is a potential assault charge, but then he hears you sniffling behind him and he wants to throw caution to the wind.

“Barnes, you need to go after her.” Natasha implores, interrupting the intense staring match between the two men and saving Bucky from spending the night in a jail cell. The mention of you is the only distraction which spares this man’s face from being rearranged.

Bucky practically throws the guy on the ground, searching for you in the sea of patrons staring at the commotion, before chasing after you as if his life depends on it - because it does, you are the reason his heart beats just that little bit quicker every morning at the prospect of seeing you curled up in your armchair, having fallen asleep reading one of your books and him needing to gently wake you from your slumber; you are the reason he stops off at the store on his way home from work and spends half an hour at the grocery store most days, to ensure the pantry is fully stocked with your favourite snacks; you are the reason he has not brought a single woman back to his apartment since moving in, no one on the face of this earth could could make him feel the way you do, turn him on naked in his bed how you do dancing around the kitchen in your pyjamas.

He loves you. And his whole world is crashing down around him knowing you’re in any type of pain.

“Sunrise, please.” You're not sure what he’s pleading for exactly, but he doesn’t ask again once you stop scurrying out of the bar. He reaches for you when the fresh air outside hits your face with a crispness that makes your tears sting more than they had inside, tugging on your shoulder for you to turn around and face him.

The completely shattered way you look back at him, with teary eyes that are usually so full of wonder and vivacity, shreds Bucky’s heart into so many pieces he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to put it back together again.

He’s going to kill that man for making you feel like a fragment of the beautiful person he has come to adore.

Unintelligible words fall from your lips but you don’t have the brain capacity to articulate yourself better when your mind is rerouting all your thoughts to one central nucleus - how disgustingly large you are.

Typically you’d be mortified about Bucky seeing you in such a distressed state, because not only are you huge, you must also look revoltingly unattractive with tears flowing down your cheeks, ruining your makeup, and snot dripping from your nose.

But you know Bucky’s arms, the embrace of the man you love, is also the only cure for the malignant disease which has now infected your mind, so you put up no defence to him pulling you in for a secure, reassuring hug.

Bucky’s chest, smelling strongly of cinnamon, is the safest place you’ve ever known. Even though you’re still consumed by what was said back inside the bar, Bucky holds you so tightly that you have no doubt that he will comfort you through the worst of it without him needing to say so.

It’s a blur of tears, head throbbing, chest aching and Bucky’s soft yet vigilant hands as you make your way home. He leads you into a cab, buckling your seatbelt for you, him taking the middle seat so you can rest your head on his shoulder, his calloused hand resting on your thigh, soothingly rubbing gentle circles with his thumb over your soft skin.

Not a single word is spoken on your journey, comfortable with the solace his presence brings you, and finally feeling secure being miles away from the environment that led you to feeling as giant as an elephant trapped in a zoo enclosure with mice.

Bucky’s fingers interlace with yours as he leads you up to your apartment, the feel of his large hand engulfing yours eases the feeling of taking up too much space in the world. Even though you’re much wider than him in size, there are parts of your tall roommate that somehow miraculously still make you feel smaller than him.

His keys get thrown on the hall table with a clang. The familiar environment brings you peace, even if Bucky holding your hand is a new sensation which has nervousness prickling your stomach.

He sits on your couch, the one you’ve sat on many a lonely night before you even knew Bucky, his arms outstretched in a way which asks you to curl up on him in a hug.

“No, Bucky I’ll crush you.”

His heart cleaves in two with just how defeated your small voice is. It physically hurts him that you think of yourself like that and not as the most beautiful, voluptuous goddess that he knows you are.

“You’re not gonna crush me. Now c’mere.” His voice is soft but his hands are unyielding as he practically picks you up and deposits you in his lap, not taking no for an answer.

His strong arms snake around you, large hands resting on a pocket of fat on your waist that has always plagued your insecurities, but Bucky holds you tenderly, almost lovingly, and the self doubt slips from your mind and all you can focus on is how close you are to him.

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispers with a kiss to your temple. It almost sounds like he actually believes it - but your mind simply cannot accept that as fact, especially not after the humiliation surging through you from the strangers taunt earlier.

“Bucky, you don’t have to lie.”

“Sunrise, I’m not lying.” He retorts almost instantly, not wanting to allow any time for doubt to creep into your mind.

“You’re my roommate, you can’t very well call me an ugly pig, which is exactly what I am.”

Bucky so badly wants you to be able to see yourself the way he sees you, how vibrant his life becomes when you so much as walk into a room, how all his anxieties fade to nonexistence when you smile at him.

How you are everything he has ever dreamed of.

You sleep one very thin wall away, and all he can ever think of as he falls asleep on his own every night is if you are in the next room thinking of him too, wishing that your dreams will be consumed by him as his are by you.

“Stop. Please stop putting yourself down. You are gorgeous, stunning, and so much more than just my roommate.” He says sincerely, wiping away a stray tear as it trickles over the apple of your cheek. “You are my Sunrise, the stunning star at the centre of my universe that lights up my entire life.”

Never in a million years did you imagine these words coming out of Bucky Barnes’ mouth. You stare at him, jaw slack in utter shock, waiting for the moment where he takes it all back or to clarify that you’ve misinterpreted the intention and in fact he really means that you’re good friends, just very good friends.

This must be your hopeful heart overreacting after such an upsetting day, because surely he cannot actually think of you as more than that.

“It hurts me that you can’t see how impossibly beautiful you are, how you’re the most stunning woman everywhere you go, how I can’t take my eyes off you even for a minute whether it’s lazing around here in your pyjamas or all dolled up for a night out. You will always be the most beautiful woman in any room to me.”

Your chest feels like it’s about to explode any second with how much warmth is ballooning in your lungs. This isn’t happening. Surely you bumped your head getting out of the cab and this is all just a dream your mind has concocted to heal from the anguish sustained earlier.

“You can’t possibly mean that.” You shake your head, attempting to pull yourself out of the hallucination your brain is composing.

Bucky's eyes flit down to your lips, slightly chapped and dehydrated from crying your eyes out, but when they return to your gaze again, there’s a palpable desperation which quivers in his pupils.

“My whole fucking world comes to a standstill when you enter a room and like a magnet I can’t help but be drawn to you. You make my heart beat out of my chest just by smiling at me. There is not a day where I don’t wish to be back home here with you, where it’s just the two of us and the world outside holds no consequence because you’re all I’ve ever needed, all I’ve ever wanted. Can you really not see how powerful the hold you have over me is?”

There should be no doubt, given his confession, how much significance you have in Bucky’s heart, and yet you’re in disbelief, utter shock, unable to truly comprehend why he cares for you in such a way, when there are so many other women who are hotter, skinnier, funnier than you.

If this was written in one of the thousands of romance novels you’ve read, you wouldn’t hesitate to believe how much love the protagonists have for one another, but because it’s happening to you, that you are the heroine of this story, your mind is conditioned to reject the premise altogether.

“Bucky…” You mumble, your mind is spinning too much to form a coherent thought, let alone articulating just how consequential your feelings for the man whose lap you're sitting in are.

“Even if you don’t feel the same way, I need you to know how beautiful you are to me.” And that’s when your brain kicks into gear - you cannot stand any insinuation that your feelings for your roommate are simply platonic, and not the all consuming, devoted love that fills your heart with as much sunshine as on a cloudless summer day.

Especially not after his admission.

“Not feel the same? Bucky, I’ve been in love with you since you mov-”

At the mention of the word ‘love’ Bucky pulls your face close with a hand on either side of your face, and kisses you so forcefully the rest of your sentence is muffled and completely forgotten about.

You haven’t kissed someone in such a long time, and your stomach prickles with nerves as you frantically try remembering the movements you’re meant to make with your lips, where your tongue should be, that you should close your eyes. But as long as it has been, you’re sure the sparks you feel as his warm lips caress yours is because it is James Barnes kissing you, and not just anyone.

He smells and tastes divine, like sweet honey and sharp cinnamon, his lips soft as pillows that move hungrily against yours, like he can’t get enough of you either, and when he moans into your mouth you swear you see the gates of heaven.

When his tongue slips into your mouth, the realisation hits you square in the chest that you’re kissing your Bucky, the man who sleeps in the adjacent room, who cooks you breakfast shirtless in your kitchen, who always thinks to bring home your favourite food after a long day at work where he could arguably only want to think about himself.

The man you love. And who reciprocates that ardent feeling.

The awareness that it’s him knocks all the breath from your lungs and you need to come up for air much sooner than you would have liked, but Bucky gazes up at you with that familiar warmth that you never would have believed was something more than just friendship, but now seems like it was the clue all along that the two of you were never just roommates.

“You love me, huh?” He says in such a playfully taunting tone that makes you smile.

“Yeah… but I’m your Sunrise aren’t I?”

“That you are. My beautiful. Stunning. Gorgeous. Sexy. Perfect Sunrise.” Bucky places sweet kisses to your lips between each adjective, each one lasting a little longer than the previous. “I love you too.”

Maybe you can’t understand why Bucky feels this way about you when there are far more attractive people in the world. But maybe that doesn’t matter.

Perhaps your love for him is part of what makes you the most beautiful person in the world in his eyes, the way his love for you is why you find him the most alluring man you have ever met. And that will forever be enough for you.

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[paper-mario-wiki]

hi, do you have mental illness? can we get a mental illness spread?

i would have said no if you called it anything other than a mental illness spread, but since you did and i think thats funny, heres my haul

adhdtism, the gen-Z classic

the secret third bipolar type, Cyclothymia

hormonal imbalance that caused severe neurodegredation until i started taking progesterone, leading me to learn that i'd been experiencing what were essentially pre-menstrual symptoms every day since i was 13

one of the more mundane socially isolating types of psychosis, Formal Thought Disorder

this isnt a mental disorder but i also have GERD which makes me about as insane as a mental disorder would

balling too hard

[tellafairy]

setting intention (for shifting), a rundown

what is setting intention?

setting intention is telling yourself you will do something. essentially making a plan to carry out a specific action. for example, maybe before class i want to buy a coffee. so when i go to bed the day before, i say to myself "oh tommorow i'll buy a coffee before my class". and the next day before class, i have that reminder in the back of my head — to get coffee, and so i carry it out, and get coffee before class.

to put it another way: let's say youre invited to a party. the party is a few days away, but throughout the days leading up to the party — you buy a gift for the party host, you pick out an outfit to wear, you do your makeup the day of the party, etc etc. by doint all of that; you're setting the intention to attend the party for days leading up to it.

setting intention isn't complicated, we do it 24/7 without realizing. when you say you're going to do something, even something as simple as brushing ur teeth or showering — and then you do it, you're setting intention and carrying it out.

so, how do you set the intention to reality shift?

surely if you could just walk into your dr the same way you can walk into your bathroom and brush your teeth, you would do it right? well... you literally can, a lot of you have just been taught otherwise.

in the beginning of your shifting journey, im sure you heard about the raven method or something similar. im sure creators have told you "you must lay in starfish position and count to 100 or else it won't work". and while methods within themselves aren't necessarily bad or holding you back — the way you complete the method and view it, is.

i think a lot of you go into methods, thinking that completing the steps will make you shift, when really — it's the intention of the method outcome that gets you what you want.

put it this way: when you count to 100, say ur affirmations, etc. are you doing it with the intention to shift once the task is completed? or are you doing it thinking that counting will push you into your dr?

setting intention = something you plan to do. not something you might do, not a possible outcome, something you have a set plan to complete/achieve. saying affirmations or counting with the HOPE of it MAKING you shift, sounds pretty useless — because you're not actually planning to do it. you're not being stubborn enough. youre not persistent, you're simply hoping that when you say 100 you'll shift. but you need to KNOW it will. (if that's the method ur using.. this is just an example)

once again, put it this way: when i say "im going to get coffee after class". would it make sense for me to sit there and hope i go and get a coffee? girl what? no, of course not. im the one who has to make the decision, to get up and go and get the coffee. you're the one who has to make the decision you will shift and persist in it no matter what. intention has to be there no matter what.

to put it into a loa perspective for those manifesting they shift with ease, when you manifest something — you also intend. you think of a desire you want, you intend to manifest it, and then you carry out that intention by persisting in the belief that it is yours. see how simple the concept is?

so, how do you practice setting intention? how do you know you're actually intending?

now, this next part sounds like a process, and it usually is. most people spread reprogramming your mind out between a couple days, maybe even a week. but do not attack me for this.. you guys always complain you've been trying to shift for years! you constantly ask me for challenges or tips on how to shift/reprogram ur brain. so if a few days of this seems like too much work, don't do it. i'm not saying you have to. but remember youve spent so many years *hoping* you'll shift. what's a few more days reprogramming ur mind to work in your favour and in the end, *know* you will shift?  

i can't lie or sugar coat it, a lot of you are still in this 2020 shifting mindset where everything is over complicated. but you need to remember these circumstances don't matter, your mind,life,beliefs,etc can always be altered to benefit you. and that's what my goal with telling you this is, to help you take those steps into actually believing.

practice intention by focusing on your everyday actions before carrying them out. for example, before you shower — affirm "im going to shower" a few minutes before you actually do. just like how your subconscious manifests things by accepting repeated thoughts, beliefs, and assumptions as true. When you consistently repeat basic intentions like “I’m going to shower,” you’re training your subconscious to respond automatically to your commands. this builds trust between your conscious and subconscious mind, making it easier for your subconscious to accept things you've been taught to view as hard or unrealistic (such as reality shifting). This practice strengthens your ability to shift because it reinforces the idea that what you say or assume will happen naturally. 

another strong intention i would recommend practicing to train your mind (and convince yourself you actually have the power to do these things) is intending to wake up at a certain time. for example, before u go to bed, and/or throughout the day : affirm "i will wake up at 5am tomorrow" or similar affirmations.

now, once you feel confident in your understanding of intention — simply use it the same way you did everything else. when you're ready to shift, set the intention. affirm: i will wake up in my dr, i will shift, or similar affirmations that align with YOUR intention. decide that you WILL shift, domt hope dont wish dont "try". KNOW you WILL do it no ifs ands or buts.

what do i do if i don't actually shift after setting the intention tho?

i know this question will be asked so im answering it before u have the chance to say it 🤣 but all i'll say is going back to the coffee analogy; if i wake up and set the intention to get coffee, but i go and they're all sold out. should i decide im never going to go to that coffee shop ever again? should i think the café is never ever gonna sell coffee again? no... that would be silly. so why would anyone do the same for shifting? sure it might be frustrating that they don't have the coffee since you decided you were going to get it. but once you go the next day, or maybe 2 days later, and they're no longer sold out. you get the coffee — and your frustration has passed. you don't erase the concept of coffee, you simply go again.

p.s. im writing this very quick in the car, so i apologize if there's spelling mistakes! please correct me if necessary

[youcantseeus-fan]

I keep seeing people asking why the Gamemakers didn’t simply edit out the scene with the berries or Rue’s death scene since they edited a bunch of stuff out of Haymitch’s Games. And I keep seeing this described as an inconsistency or a plot hole or a retcon. But there’s actually a clear explanation.

Katniss’s big moments in the 74th Games can all be viewed in two ways by the audience. Her rebellion is much more subtle than Haymitch’s and so it doesn’t occur to the Gamemakers to take it off the television until it is already too late. Because they don’t think of it as rebellion at all. And yet to the oppressed people in the districts, the rebellious undercurrents are much more obvious.

This is actually explained multiple times in the original trilogy. Katniss’s stunt with the berries can be viewed as just a silly teenage girl not wanting to live without her boyfriend. And this is how most people in the Capitol view it. But the people in the districts view it as an act of defiance against the Capitol, denying them their victor unless she can bring her ally with her. Which essentially breaks the Games — there’s only supposed to be one victor.

Snow even gives Katniss a good long while to convince all of Panem and not just the Capitol that she really is that lovestruck girl. But she doesn’t manage to do this, of course.

Haymitch, on the other hand, starts his time in the Capitol off by laying a dead girl at Snow’s feet during the tribute parade in order to make Snow “own” it. He does a ton of openly rebellious things and because he’s so obvious about it, almost none of those things end up on television.

People keep saying that this book is less subtle than the original trilogy and it is like … yeah. That’s intentional. I can understand why some readers might prefer more subtlety, but it’s not an example of bad or rushed writing. The writing is accomplishing precisely what it needs to accomplish.

[ianmalcolmreynolds]

Okay, I’m writing this here instead of on Twitter because I don’t want to get Discoursed: I feel like the way some Severance fans talk about Mark’s relationships with Helly and Gemma is a great lightning rod for our weird (and kinda dismaying?) cultural shift about sex, romance, and relationships in fiction.

To be entirely clear off the top, while I’m more invested in Mark and Helly’s relationship, I think the show wants you to feel genuinely conflicted. This is not a ‘Why aren’t you guys on my team’ post or me indicating that every Mark and Gemma fan feels this way. They’re genuinely tragic, I’ve seen many great reads and insights on them, they’re a key part of the show.

But even tracking back to season one, it feels like people were looking for a reason to invalidate or dismiss Mark and Helly’s connection simply because ‘Prestige TV shouldn’t revolve around romance’ or the idea that they were too good for a show about a couple getting together. Mark and Helly and Burt and Irving’s relationship both say something essential about the show and the innies, the idea that people cannot help but fall in love with each other even when every force around them attempts to prevent and stifle that feeling. And I thought the show put some groundwork in on them! Even from the start (“I think we should kill Mark” etc), Helly’s clearly fixated on him and more interested in antagonizing him specifically, and Mark’s willingness to bend rules he used to believe in for her comfort is a pretty key aspect of his path. It’s shown in a veiled way, but I think the show made it earned and a lot of people just basically went ‘Ugh now there’s KISSING?’ And it’s not like there weren’t essential displays of platonic love between the innies either, the show makes time for those as well.

And then this season, I see SO many takes about how Mark and Helly represent lust compared to Mark and Gemma’s genuine love, and it’s hard to feel like that’s not just because we’ve seen one couple have sex and the other hasn’t? There have been so many displays of genuine understanding between Mark and Helly, from him trying to break rules to make her more comfortable in season one to her realizing he was just lashing out after the ORTBO. I mean, even earlier in the episode, she basically said he should leave her behind to have a chance to live! Sure, there’s no wedding band, but how is that not an ultimate display of devotion!

Even if you want to bring up that Mark couldn’t tell Helena and Helly apart, it feels hypocritical to then turn around and say innie Mark should have chosen Gemma because it’s *his* wife. Innies and outties are either one being or two, we can’t just flip-flop for morality and shipping.

I don’t know, maybe I’m reaching for something that isn’t there, but I feel like they’ve set up a genuinely complex story about the humanity of innies and outies that asks great philosophical questions and some fans are resorting to a weirdly puritanical way of talking about it.

[kenwio]

Joker's kid! reader : observations from the sidelines

Route: black fog

Warnings: grammar mistakes, bad writing, angst

Author's note: it was written in hectic conditions. Maybe in the future, I will rewrite it, but I struggle with finding time for anything aside from my studies right now. I'm sorry

Your days in manor went by slowly. All this time, you stayed away from the family of bats. Every time you tried to end up becoming another painful memory, and since it felt like you were the one messing things up, it was your responsibility to prevent things from becoming ugly.

The time of this intentional or not exclusion from made you give up all hope to try become part of them, the part of family. And as much as it was painful, you got used to it. It wasn't something you weren't used to. You had to deal with lots of pain before, maybe a different kind of pain, but still pain.

And you made peace with it. Well, that's what you were saying, trying to convince yourself that it's for the best, and yet the earning for belonging left deep ache in your heart, that sometimes was unbearable to handle. No matter how irrationally it was to expect something more from them, after they gave you a roof over your head, your room, safety and food, you still wanted the warmth that family share, that they all share. Why taking you in at all if they just placed you on a sideline? That question bothered you more than anything else. You couldn't understand that logic, the way they think, the way they act... function even. That's when you felt it, the curiosity, the willingness to learn. And if they placed you to the sideline, why not use it to your advantage. After all, the position you were in allowed you to observe. It would be a perfect position to study them, to find what made them tick, to see what they hold dear, to notice what they avoid. It could be your own since project, the study of almost dysfunctional family. In the meantime, you will also tend to a few of your own things...

One day, you just asked Alfred for a notebook and pen. It surprised me, but he brought them to you. You saw how sometimes while experimenting on you or with his venom your father took notes on various ripped pieces of paper, so you though note taking was essential for experimenting and observations, but since you had resources to use nit ripped papers but something nicer why not use it.

The first obstacle on your way was the fact that I struggled to write, which was essential for your note-taking. Well, you struggled to read, too. But you but knew words, quite a few actually, and you knew basics of writing and reading, you just wasn't trained enough. You decided to train yourself before you start observing everyone and keep an eye on Alfred in a mean time. He may be wary of you, and that's why he won't get close to you, but he helped you either way. He even showed you how to properly hold the pen. On one occasion, he saw you writing. You learned that Alfred was compassionate. He showed care even to you. You saw that even if he was in some sort like you, the character that stayed in the background, you noticed his role was much bigger than that. He had a really big role in this family. He was the one who did most care of the family. He kept track of everyone, their moods, their conditions. And, maybe because of this, he had so many skills that you couldn't keep track of them. He knew tastes and preferences of each and everyone, and it takes either professional or a really caring person for it. And you knew he was both. If only this care is applied to you.... on this, you ended your first observation notebook.

If Alfred was an emotional anchor that was essential for this family to function, Bruce was the sole reason why this family existed at all. But out of all of them, he was the most hard one to observe. He didn't give you time of his day at all. And it confused you. But given the history of taking unfortunate children in, you understood that maybe he took you in for this exact reason - you were unfortunate. And you knew another thing, your father was the bane of the Gotham existence. Given that Bruce was Batman, you figured that he took you in only to prevent you from going to darker path. He didn't need more villainas. He had too many to pay attention already. You don't know why, but taking notes about him was harder than anything.

Soon, your notebooks started filling up with your other notebooks. In each and everyone you wrote about their moral code, their desire for justice and their obsession. The obsession with crime fighting was in blood not only of Bruce but also each and every child of his.

Tim spends nights without sleep, solving cases nights on end. You noted in gray notebook.

Richard, soon you found out, was not only vigilante but a police officer in his city. You wrote in blue journal.

Jason was fighting everything that was wrong in his view. You noted in red notebook.

And Damian just fights everything, showing his despise for criminals. You mentioned in green one.

Ans as much as you hoped that you will only see that cold side of them, so that you could just move on. As much as you tried to concentrate on their crime fighting, while observing them, you knew it wasn't right. You saw other things.

"Alfred loved his family" - you wrote in a white notebook. It was the title for paragraph about things you noticed. Like little moments when he was alone in kitchen baking cookies that all family loved. The sound of light humming made the kitchen more welcoming

"Bruce kept his eye on his kids" - you observed. You noticed him taking some sort of note when he saw one morning that Damian didn't particularly enjoy his meal. You and him both took notes about family members... you wondered if he had notes about you.

"Dick was the one who was raising spirits up" - you concluded one day, when he came over, when Tim needed emotional support. You even caught him looking at you once, as if he was trying to gather strengths to talk to you

"Jason loves library" - you wrote in "Jason Tod likes". You were surprised to see how calm Jason can be when he was paying attention to his book and not something that aggravated him. This sight of him made you want to want to train read more

" TIm is helpful" - you scribbled in "Tim : personality". You also saw how Tim was quick to help others. Even if he went a few nights without a second of shut eye, he was willing to help others.

"Damian loves pets" - you noted one day when you saw Damian taking care of his pets, his dear Titus and Alfred the cat. You were so surprised to see him smiling

But these good sides of them, for you this side, were unreachable. You knew from previous experience that no matter how hard you tried, for you, it won't work. The pages of your plans on how to get along with them half written and covered in tear stains.

Their obsession with the criminal world made it impossible for you to be seen as an innocent human being.

But you also weren't as dangerous as a threat to be considered seriously.

After some time of thinking, you found a solution for your lonely situation... you began a new notebook.

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Thank you for reading! Feel free to let me know what you think about my work! Hope you have a good day

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if i forgot someone or anyone want to be added please let me know

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[senku-ishigami-official]

Thanks for tagging me, this is pretty interesting. Art and science ten billion percent go hand in hand. You can't have one without the other. There are multiple ways to take this.

Think about the colorful paintings you see in museums. Obviously, there's a scientific explanation for the colors. The color and light spectrums were studied by Isaac Newton himself in his famous prism experiment. This is just one example of science within art. As for art within science, let's take our craftspeople Yuzuriha and Kaseki, for example (some people would argue that art and craft are not the same, but that's a dispute for another time. I'm saying they are). Their art form helped us with scientific innovation that would be unimaginable without that skill. The hot air balloon wouldn't have been possible without Yuzuriha's crazy talent.

Let's expand on the similarities between the scientific and artistic processes.

1. They're both hands-on as hell. Science and art are both means of creation and expression. You have to tinker and toy with the materials you have to make something that fulfills the innate human desire to create. You have to use your hands and your brain -- those are the two primary essentials for both art and science.

2. They both go through our beloved trial-and-error system. We know the whole process for science already: find a problem, try to solve it, fail, try again. It's the same for art. Look at the development of art in Europe specifically. Here are some pieces from the medieval, renaissance and modern movements, in that order.

The styles are wildly different because these pieces are products of what the artists learned from artists before them and their own creative spirit/what they figured out themselves through countless trials. It's the same with science. Knowledge builds upon itself.

3. They both make our world ten billion times better, and in practical ways, too. Science helps us learn more about the world so we can use our resources wisely and not have to live like cavemen (who, by the way, also made art, in case you weren't aware). Art helps us with understanding of culture, an equally important aspect to humanity, which also has its scientific origins. And, like user wilwheaton demonstrated for us, each scientific and artistic discovery inspires more discovery. They're the reason for humanity's exponential growth in so many areas.

4. They're both fun! The possibilities are endless. Art and science can both be anything you want it to be if you put your mind to what you're creating. Like I said earlier, it's about expression and creation. It's supposed to be fun, a testament to the real complex and unique nature of humanity.

Every scientist is an artist and every artist is a scientist, even if they don't realize it. They're two sides of the same coin. I'm not big on symbolism but I'm sure there's a metaphor somewhere for how science is art or something more abstract. You can figure that one out.

“the arts and sciences are completely separate fields that should be pitted against each other” the overlap of the arts and sciences make up our entire perceivable reality they r fucking on the couch

[holyblonded]

harper days | always sunny in australia

pairings: harper gorry x sister!reader, mini gorry x teen!reader

summary: you babysit harper, a master manipulator, for the day

warnings: lost children

notes: i had no idea how much i needed harper and chickie written together

“Are you sure I’m the right person for this?” You shifted awkwardly, glancing at Mini with uncertainty. “I mean, if it’s about the cost of a regular babysitter, I’d be happy to chip in and help you pay—”

“Chickie,” Mini interrupted with a small smile, resting a hand on your arm. “Harper loves you. She specifically requested you today and refused anybody else. Please do me a solid?”

You sighed, still not entirely convinced. But before you could come up with another excuse, a small body crashed into your legs, tiny arms wrapping tightly around you.

“Chick! I missed you!” Harper’s voice was filled with excitement, and when you looked down, you were met with her beaming face as she hugged you with all the strength her little body could muster.

You couldn’t help but smile as you ruffled her hair. “I missed you too, Harps.”

Mini folded her arms, raising an eyebrow. “Still think you’re not the right person for this?”

You hesitated for a moment, but Harper was already clinging to you like you were her favorite person in the world, and the thought of letting her down made your stomach twist.

“You really think I can handle it?” you asked, still a little unsure.

Mini nodded firmly. “Absolutely. You’re great with her. And, honestly, she’s probably going to be the one taking care of you by the end of the day.”

Harper nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, Chick, I got this!”

You laughed, finally relenting. “Alright, alright. You win. We’ll have the best day ever.”

Mini sighed in relief. “Thank you. You have no idea how much this helps me.” She crouched down to Harper’s level. “Be good for Chickie, okay?”

Harper gave her mom an exaggerated thumbs-up. “Always!”

Mini shot you a knowing look. “That’s a lie, but good luck.”

After a few more instructions and an over-the-shoulder “Text me if you need anything!”, Mini finally headed out, leaving you alone with Harper, who was already bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“So, Harps, what do you wanna do today?”

Her eyes lit up instantly. “Play at the playground! And play football! And have a picnic!”

You chuckled. “That’s quite a list. But you know what?” You crouched down to her level, grinning. “We’re gonna do all of it.”

Harper let out an excited squeal, grabbing your hand and tugging you toward the door. “Let’s go, Chick! We have so much to do!”

The grocery store was buzzing with people, but you and Harper were on a mission. With a small shopping cart that was definitely not meant to be used as a race car (despite Harper’s best attempts), the two of you navigated the aisles, picking out sandwiches, fruit, juice boxes, and enough snacks to last the entire afternoon.

“Ooh! Chick, can we get the star cookies?” Harper pointed excitedly at a package, eyes wide with hope.

You pretended to think about it, tapping your chin. “Hmm… what’s the magic word?”

Harper beamed. “Please?”

You grabbed the cookies and tossed them in the cart. “That’s my girl.”

After loading up on picnic essentials, you found yourself in the sports section, eyes scanning the shelves for a kiddie football. It didn’t take long before something caught your attention, an Arsenal-branded football, perfectly sized for Harper.

“Harps, check this out!” You held up the ball, and her face lit up.

“IT’S RED!” she cheered.

“Just like our team,” you said, kneeling down in front of her. “Wanna make it official?”

Harper nodded rapidly, so you pulled out your phone and hit record.

“Alright, Harps,” you said, holding the ball up, “who’s your favorite team?”

“ARSENAL!” she shouted.

“And what color is London?”

“RED!”

“And who’s your favorite player?”

Harper giggled before launching herself at you, wrapping her arms around your neck. “You!”

Your heart practically melted, but you still had one more thing to teach her. “Alright, repeat after me—North…”

“NORTH!”

“London…”

“LONDON!”

“Forever.”

“FOREVER!”

You stopped recording and grinned. “Perfect. You’re officially one of us.”

Harper clutched the ball like it was her most prized possession, and you ruffled her hair before steering the cart toward the checkout line.

As you placed your items on the conveyor belt, Harper stood beside you, still bouncing with excitement. You were just about to grab your wallet when she gasped dramatically.

“Chick! Look! It’s Kyra and Charli!”

Your eyes snapped up, but before you could register where exactly she saw them, Harper had already wandered off, her tiny legs carrying her toward the chaos that was Kyra Cooney-Cross and Charli Grant in a store.

By the time you finished paying and looked down, Harper was gone.

Panic surged through you instantly. Your chest tightened, and the air around you suddenly felt too thick.

“Harper?” Your voice wavered as you frantically scanned the store. “Harper?”

Your breathing picked up as worst-case scenarios flooded your mind.

Then, a familiar voice cut through the noise. “Chickie?”

You turned to see Steph standing nearby, a concerned look on her face. She had a basket in one hand, but her focus was entirely on you.

“I—I can’t find Harper,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Steph immediately stepped closer, placing a firm but gentle hand on your shoulder. “Hey, breathe. She’s probably with Kyra and Charli, yeah? Let’s go find them.”

You took a shaky breath, nodding. Steph was right. Harper had said she saw them. And if she was with them, she was safe.

The two of you moved quickly through the aisles, scanning for any sign of Kyra’s unmistakable energy or Charli’s bright blonde hair.

Finally, near the home goods section, you spotted them and sure enough, there was Harper, hoisted up in Kyra’s arms as Charli tried to steady her.

“You got it, Harps?” Kyra asked as the little girl stretched toward a stuffed koala on the highest shelf.

Almost immediately, relief crashed over you. “Harper!”

The three of them froze, turning to face you. Harper beamed. “Chick! Look, I found a koala!”

Kyra and Charli, meanwhile, both looked equally confused.

“Wait,” Charli frowned, looking between you and Harper, “she’s your kid for today?”

Kyra blinked. “How did she even get here?”

Steph crossed her arms. “That’s what we’d all like to know.”

You wasted no time in striding forward and pulling Harper into a tight hug. “You scared me, Harps.”

Harper hugged you back, small arms wrapping around your neck. “Sorry, Chick… I just saw Kyra and Charli and wanted to say hi.”

You sighed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Next time, you tell me first, okay?”

Harper nodded, and you pulled back to give her a soft smile.

Kyra, however, nudged Charli and muttered, “Look at our little Chickie. All grown up.”

You shot her a glare. “Kyra, I swear—”

Steph clapped her hands together. “Alright, enough of that. Harper’s safe, Chickie’s no longer panicking, and Kyra and Charli are somehow still standing after whatever this was.” She looked at you. “Let’s get back to our actual plans, yeah?”

You nodded, taking Harper’s hand. “Yeah. Let’s go have our picnic.”

Harper grinned. “And play football!”

Kyra smirked. “Don’t let her nutmeg you, Chick.”

“Oh, piss off Cooney-Cross,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes. “I taught her.”

With Harper’s hand in yours, you led her back toward the front of the store, your heart finally settling after that brief moment of sheer panic. But one thing was for sure, Harper was going to be glued to your side for the rest of the day.

The park was quiet except for the occasional sounds of kids playing and the rhythmic thud of a football being passed between you and Harper. She was full of energy, her little legs moving as fast as they could to keep up with you. Every time she managed to get the ball past you, she would let out a triumphant cheer, arms raised above her head like she had just won the World Cup.

“You’re getting too good, Harps,” you teased, tapping the ball back toward her. “Might have to start calling you the next Sam Kerr.”

Harper gasped dramatically. “No! I wanna be like you!”

That made you pause, warmth spreading through your chest. “Oh yeah?”

Harper nodded eagerly. “You teach me cool tricks! And you’re the best!”

You laughed, shaking your head as you knelt down. “Alright then, little legend. Let’s learn a new trick.”

For the next thirty minutes, you showed her how to pull off a simple step-over. At first, she kept tripping over her own feet, but after some exaggerated demonstrations (and a few dramatic tumbles on your end just to make her laugh), she finally got it. The moment she successfully pulled it off, she shrieked with joy and immediately demanded you record her doing it so she could show Mini.

After wearing yourselves out, you packed up and headed back to your and Sam’s place, where the second you sat down on the couch, Harper immediately climbed into your lap, demanding Bluey.

Not that you were going to say no.

So there you were, curled up on the couch, Harper tucked into your side as the two of you watched episode after episode. Harper giggled at the show, occasionally quoting lines before they even happened, while you felt yourself slowly sinking deeper into relaxation.

That’s how Mini found you when she came to get Harper.

“Alright, Miss Harper,” Mini sighed, hands on her hips. “Time to get ready for bed.”

Harper clung to you tighter, her little arms wrapping around your torso. “Noooo, I wanna stay with Chick!”

Mini groaned. “Harper…”

You glanced down at the little girl, who was now nuzzling into your hoodie, clearly refusing to budge. With a small chuckle, you looked up at Mini. “I can keep her for the night, if you want.”

Mini exhaled in relief. “If you’re sure? She’s all yours.”

Harper perked up, eyes shining. “YAY!”

Mini shook her head, muttering something about you spoiling her daughter before leaving you and Harper snuggled up once more. At some point, exhaustion won out, and the two of you dozed off.

Sam, who had just come home from rehab, paused at the doorway, a slow smile spreading across her face. You and Harper were curled up in the exact same position, mouths slightly open, Harper’s tiny body cradled in your arms like she belonged there.

Shaking her head in amusement, Sam pulled out her phone, snapped a picture, and immediately sent it to the Matildas group chat.

sam

Found Chickadee and her mini-me. Pretty sure I’m being replaced.

Before she could even put her phone away, replies flooded in.

kyra

LMAOOOO

mini

I literally tried to take her off Chickie but she refused

steph

My heart. This is too cute.

ellie

They even sleep the same????

Sam rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help the fond chuckle that escaped her. She grabbed a blanket and gently draped it over the both of you before ruffling your hair lightly.

“Goodnight, ya little chook,” she murmured before heading to bed.

[mikoyamisheadcanonblog]

******NOTHING SEXUAL HAPPENS IN THIS FIC JUST TWO CHARACTERS ENJOYING A SIMPLE BATH TOGETHER*******

Fem!Reader Taking a Bath With Zoro

⚔️Zoro⚔️

Word Count: 815

Warning: Shower Scene, hinted ideas of sexual desires, mention of nudity.

She stared at the bottle that was sitting in Zoro’s shower bucket as they were getting ready for their bath time. Or really, had she suggested a bath after their little spare together. She was feeling sweaty and dirty and by the smell of her own lover he too was in dire need of a shower, smelling worse than her.

Zoro was mumbling under his breath as he was going over all the training they had done and what he planned to do after the shower. He would have to continue his training if he wanted to get stronger. He watched his girlfriend, in only a towel covering her body but showing her long, lush legs, legs he was familiar with. He quickly pushed any dirty thoughts away.

“The water is warm now,” he told her dipping his hands in the water and feeling it. It was good now perfect for both of them to sit in the bath water and take a quick shower. He frowned when she walked past him and threw a bath bomb changing the beautiful clear water to a seaweed green, along with the fresh scent of the forest.

“It matches your hair,” She joked tugging on his short locks laughing. He ignored the beating of his heart, hearing her beautiful voice. Or how her fingers felt in his hair. It was a comforting feeling, feeling of warmth. He looked away from her quickly.

“It smells like a forest,” he took in the fresh pine scent, as small layer of bubbles surrounded the side of the tub.

“I miss the forest,” she answered casually adding more soap bubbles to the bath. Zoro could feel his eye twitch as he watched his quick bath turn into a bubble bath.

“Why are you adding all those?” he growled clearly annoyed. He had a lot of training to do and this was only going to delay it. He turned to glare at the woman next to him but found himself turning away and glaring at the wall, she looked so beautiful so at peace, “We don’t have time for all this, we need to get back to training,”

She could only smile, use to his quick temper, knew she was playing shy and that he was looking forward to a longer bath. She wanted to relax after all the training, her muscles were a bit sore, and Zoro had a way of pushing his body to the limit and you wanted to follow him in training. He would spare with her, too, as he would insist on wanting her to fight and get better with her sword training, the Grandline was a dangerous place. And she needs to get stronger.

“I like to smell good,” she told him, she moved closer her face nuzzling in his neck and sighed. He froze feeling her breath on his neck his heart rate pulsing through his heartrate once again increases, “you also need a shower you smell terrible,” she breathed before moving away from him.

Gathering everything she needed from special soup for her body, to essential oils for her hair and lotion for after her shower. “I think the bath is ready,” removing her towel. She sat in the water with Zoro following behind her. The hot water felt great on their skin, and she leaned back on Zoro’s chest loving how he felt. He wrapped an arm around her waist and sighed, burring her face in her hair. She smelled like her favorite shampoo. A scent he was very familiar with.

She grabbed the only bottle he brought with him for the shower and read it.  ‘3 in 1 Shampoo’.

“You really only use one bottle when you are in the shower,” she raised an eyebrow a mocking tone in her voice.

“Yeah, better then what you use,” he motioned all her bath products she had carried, “I take quick showers then I am done,” he bragged closing his good eyed. She shook her head and blew some bubbles on his face.

“At least I smell good,” she told him her fingers brushing the bubbles off his nose.

Zoro shook his head, “I smell well enough,” he growled playfully grabbing a handful of water and dropping it on top of her. She could squeal delighted and smile playfully at her handsome swordsmen of a boyfriend.

She couldn’t deny it he always smelled good, he smelled of steel and metal all things that remind her of him. She kissed his cheek, “You still should shower more,” she told him, he always needed a shower near the end of the week.

“Only if you will join me,” he teased back, tilting her chin staring at her with such a smoldering looking that caught her off guard, her breathing stopped. He leaned down and kissed her lips deepening it. “Beautiful,” he whispered only to deepen the kiss.

[iiiidiotnathanieliii]

oh okay we are turning this in a tag game I guess lol

ty for the tag :D

1. what’s your aesthetic?

kinda alt but still casual, if that makes sense

2. what languages do you speak?

English, Dutch, Polish, Spanish (not fluent) and French (not fluent) (average European fr)

3. your favorite books?

Nevermoor 🫶

4. what’s the closest you’ve come to dying?

a kid trying to drown me in a swimming pool 😃

5. is there an afterlife?

I don't know and I don't really care. other things are way more important to me right now.

6. signature/favourite scent?

idek :/

7. current obsession?

Green Day ✨ (and Nevermoor and Jack White III and Imagine Dragons but whatever)

8. describe your taste in music?

REALLY diverse. I enjoy a lot of punk rock artists but I like whatever is catchy and energetic.

9. who do you love the most in this world?

my family and friends <3

10. one secret about yourself?

I can't think of anything right now...

11. your most essential piece of clothing?

zip up hoodies, ties and formal shirts or whatever it's called. my english isn't englishing right now

12. if capitalism wasn’t what controls our world, what would you spend your days doing?

attending concerts of my favorite artists and bands

13. describe the qualities you like in a person?

just kindness, patience and silliness lol

14. describe your tattoos/ones you want to have?

I don't think I would ever want tattoos. I'm way too scared of it lol

15. a story of a memorable night in your life?

I met up with one of my best friends that lives in a different country. we had a three day sleepover AND IT WAS SO FUCKING AMAZING. we did karaoke at 3am and played random games

16. are you religious or spiritual?

no

17. your favourite films?

Rat Race, Night at the Museum and Herbie Fully Loaded

18. what do you daydream about?

honestly: I don't know. I usually forget what I daydream about so I actually have no clue idea if I think of it right now

19. how’s your relationship with your parents?

ok!!

20. do you paint your nails?

nope. I hate how it looks on me + it makes me uncomfortable lol

21. your biggest heartbreak?

can't remember :D

22. diagnosed with anything?

nope :)

23. a story from your childhood?

hey so my bain isn't working. I can't remember anything somehow

24. favourite supernatural being?

none (I can't think of any rn)

25. the story behind a scar of yours?

okay so I was at this organization for kids where you could do some fun activities (I was 8 or smth like that). one of the activities was painting with irons. weird activity, I know. and while I was reaching for paint, I accidentally burned my finger. I got a scar from that, it has faded a lot, but it's still kinda visible

26. do you have siblings?

yes. a half-sister

27. how do you think you’ll die?

I don't know and I don't want to think about that lol

open tags !! (it takes a while to do it so whoever wants to join can joinn :D)

𝔔𝔲𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰

1. what’s your aesthetic?

2. what languages do you speak?

3. your favorite books?

4. what’s the closest you’ve come to dying?

5. is there an afterlife?

6. signature/favourite scent?

7. current obsession?

8. describe your taste in music?

9. who do you love the most in this world?

10. one secret about yourself?

11. your most essential piece of clothing?

12. if capitalism wasn’t what controls our world, what would you spend your days doing?

13. describe the qualities you like in a person?

14. describe your tattoos/ones you want to have?

15. a story of a memorable night in your life?

16. are you religious or spiritual?

17. your favourite films?

18. what do you daydream about?

19. how’s your relationship with your parents?

20. do you paint your nails?

21. your biggest heartbreak?

22. diagnosed with anything?

23. a story from your childhood?

24. favourite supernatural being?

25. the story behind a scar of yours?

26. do you have siblings?

27. how do you think you’ll die?

[gyrovagi]

(nimbly dodging an assortment of hammers that are falling from the sky aimed directly for my head) ok. will contain spoilers for all games at some point but i'll put the avowed ones at the end and mark them for oomfs who haven't finished it yet. Please finish the game so i can tell you about ambrose (i am smiling but you can see me visibly white-knuckling the edge of my desk). anyway

i honestly think this is in large part just the natural conclusion of focusing in on reincarnation as a known, provable, central mechanism of your universe. so this is more scattered 'what's all this then?' thoughts and not, like, an essay with an argument. what IS all this then

because if you know for a fact that reincarnation is real, then birth and death are two sides of the same coin. the god of death has two faces, the god of rebirth/redemption is also the one reaping souls to sow again. which is a concept people on earth are already familiar with, but it's literally true in eora - and what tips it over into something horrific for me is the fact that you don't get a clean slate with the next turn around the wheel. every newborn infant is already a ghost. there's always a chance, however slim, that something from decades, centuries, even millennia ago could come back to haunt you. we don't see people experiencing awakenings and then having a good time! even if aloth comes to accept iselmyr, his awakening was a direct result of the physical abuse he experienced as a child. your fucking soul keeps the score!! and you have no way of escaping samsara other than hoping the god of entropy blasts your souls into bits, a mercy which he fails to extend to some of his most devoted followers in poe1. for his own reasons ❤️

which leads into the Second Fundamental Horror of eora, before we even start thinking about the hollowborn: the wheel of life and death is controlled - was hijacked, even - by gods who are completely unaccountable to the mortals whose lives they play around with. you can dedicate your life to rymrgand and he'll put you back in the game in the exact same position and there's nothing you can do about it. if you're born a godlike, if your child is born a godlike, whatever trials and tribulations arise as a result, a god chose to do that to you. you most likely won't ever get the chance to ask for an explanation, and even if you do, you won't get any answers.

the watcher learns essentially by chance that the ultimate 'function' the godlikes are born for is to act as backup bodies or batteries for the gods. even for the godlike we see that seem more favored by their gods/the people around them, the horror is still there just lurking in the background. a godlike does not exist by chance, they exist as the conscious act of a god who exerts control over their life and death as a matter of course. i feel like i can't put this into words the way i want to - like, it's not an accident, it's not a complication of birth or pregnancy that can just happen and it's nobody's fault. it is someone's fault. without your knowledge or consent a god reached into your womb and forever changed your baby, or a god forever changed you before you were even born. you know this for a fact, and there's nothing you can do about it.

and we still haven't gotten into the fucking hollowborn!!!! which is just right there on the page. what do i need to say about it. a baby that's physically fine - that is, strictly speaking, alive and breathing, with a beating heart, and warmth in its little fingers, but will never be capable of living. fifteen years is a generation. that's a long fucking time for whatever odd percent of babies to just be born... empty. and then woedica in the burned book of law tells you that soul maladies like the hollowborn weren't uncommon before the gods took over the wheel. like. jesus. you have some limited amount of control over trying to make sure an infant's born physically healthy but what can you do to make sure it's born with an intact soul?

[major spoilers for both poe games commence but deadfire is almost 7 years old. if you are oomf who hasn't finished though it's fun to experience it yourself.]

and THEN deadfire leaves eora with the wheel broken - and there's no follow-up of what's developed from that in avowed three years later, most likely to just plain avoid spoiling the game lol/having to refer to any concrete 'worldstate.' but if it didn't immediately result in a new spate of hollowborn births (which it could've! people just might not have put the pieces together on that just yet), eventually like. it's not just that life on eora will die out if kith can't figure something out, it's that 'life' on eora will be soulless. which is if anything more existentially terrifying.

and the gods. the fucking gods. their unnatural, engineered birth directly demanded mass death on an inconceivable level. not just the deaths of willing engwithans, but the unwilling ones, too. not just the end of one civilization, but the devastation of the huana who were left completely in the dark about thaos' intent. how could you possibly expect gods who came into being like that to assign any value to mortal life? the gods were born from death; they are, in fact, still actively parasites latched onto the cycle of death and rebirth, which they twisted from its natural existence and bent and hammered to serve their purpose. they were born horrific and unnatural and then they made all birth horrific and unnatural.

[AVOWED SPOILERS FROM HERE ON]

this is why this one avowed note text makes me so crazy like. go make a bloody birth of them. the goddess who presides over childbirth, who came into being from the deaths of thousands of peoples, says: these people are soulless heretics worshipping a false (true) god. Go make a bloody birth of them. (She was a bloody birth!!!) Kill them so they'll be reborn under our control. The Engwithans had to die for our (unnatural) birth; the Ekidans have to die to pay for their god's (natural) birth.

what avowed ends up bringing to the table is the idea that a 'naturally-born god' is, arguably, no less horrific. sapadal, as far as we know, just coalesced into being from essence in the living lands over time. no mass murder required. but whatever horror they were spared in the nature of their creation, they're instead horrific by nature of being something with the power of a god but all the emotional intelligence and self-control of a child. they didn't choose to be born, they didn't have any control over the circumstances. they're innocent, but that doesn't make them any less dangerous. it was terrifying for the engwithans to realize they could find no gods, but it's also terrifying to think that something that powerful could just be born out of nowhere and wreak destruction without understanding any of it. and of course that if you let them they are just as capable of overriding the autonomy and identity of the godlike they created (by accident) (honestly no less horrific than the godlike the other gods made on purpose)

They were real for this.

[devdozes]

♣ Whatever happened to the Hayloft? (pt.1)

wohooo modern au! anyways uh reader is part of kremnoan national agency and epos is the enemy EDIT: PART TWO IS POSTED!!

The world always had a way of discarding those who had completed their given role, and You learned that lesson the hard way.

You weren’t born in Kremnos, but you had carved a space for yourself in its investigation unit. It wasn’t out of loyalty or duty but because Eurypon had given you something—an offer, that too an undeniable one. You hunted the rot lurking in the shadows, the kind of filth that thrived in places where the law looked away. Because the offer was a mutual win, To absolutely destroy Epos.

Your last mission should have been a victory. You eliminated the threat, wiped out the infection before it could spread further. You expected gratitude, recognition—at the very least, acknowledgment that you had done the right thing.

Instead, you were met with silence. Then, whispers. Then, a sudden decision was handed down as if it were carved in stone: your removal from the unit, the same unit to which Eurypon himself added you in. And then, you were removed by your superiors, and that same decision was approved by that bastard Eurypos himself.

They told you it was protocol, that your methods were reckless, that you had overstepped. But you weren’t stupid. The target you eliminated had been a benefactor, slipping money into the right hands to stay untouchable. The same hands that had signed off on your expulsion.

Disgrace. That’s what they called it. An exile disguised as procedure. You weren’t arrested, weren’t silenced permanently—just thrown out like something inconvenient.

Your badge was taken. Your access revoked. The work you dedicated yourself to, gone in an instant.

No goodbyes. No allies. Just you, standing at the threshold of a city that no longer wanted you.

The mission played over and over in your mind. "Observe the enemy's intentions and eliminate them." That had been your directive. You did exactly that.

You spent weeks following him, watching him slip through the cracks of Kremnos’ justice system, paying his way out of every accusation, every crime. You watched him destroy lives, snuffing out the weak like they were nothing more than pawns in his personal game. And yet, no one ever stopped him. No one ever tried. He wasn’t just another criminal—he was protected. A necessary evil, they called him. Essential to the city’s survival.

You knew better.

The night of the mission still clung to you, vivid in every detail. The air had been thick with rain, your coat heavy with moisture as you pressed into the shadows of the alley. The target had been cornered, his options dwindling with every step you took forward.

"You don’t want to do this," he had said, voice shaking but still laced with arrogance. "You think you’re doing something noble? I keep the wheels turning. Without me, this city crumbles."

You hesitated—not out of doubt, but out of anger. Did he truly believe that? That he was untouchable, that he could buy his way out even now? That the rules didn’t apply to him?

Your grip on your weapon had been steady, your mind clear. "Then let it crumble."

A single shot. A clean execution.

The silence that followed had been deafening. The city continued on, indifferent. No sirens, no rush of justice arriving too late. Just the sound of rain washing away the blood.

You had fulfilled your mission. You had done what you were told.

And yet, they cast you aside like you had betrayed them.

Confusion twisted in your gut, warring with the certainty that you had done the right thing. Hadn’t you? Or had you simply played the role of executioner while the real enemies remained seated in their offices, drinking their fine liquor, counting their bloodstained money?

As the weight of their betrayal settled in, there was no regret.

But the anger remained, burning beneath your skin.

You had done the right thing.

Even if no one else would admit it. They were all money-hungry cowards.

"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!". You threw a pillow at the screen with a frustrated groan. The TV show had been a mindless distraction, something to drown out the thoughts clawing at the back of your mind, but now it was just fueling your frustration. The female lead—who had spent the entire season developing chemistry with the actually interesting, funny, and devastatingly handsome second lead—had just thrown it all away for the blandest, most insufferably boring male lead imaginable.

"Oh, sure! Pick the emotionally constipated guy with all the personality of an unseasoned mashed potato! That makes so much sense!" You snatched the remote, furiously hitting the rewind button just to glare at the scene again. "This man wrote you poetry, He made you laugh! Meanwhile, your so-called true love hasn’t smiled once in twelve episodes and the ONLY thing he did was to accept you and give you flowers, which is the bare fucking MINIMUM!"

You slumped back against your pillows, glaring at the ceiling. Maybe it was the betrayal, the unfairness of it all—both in the show and in your own life—that made your blood boil. The second lead had done everything right. He had been there, had supported her, had actually put in the effort. Your fingers curled into the blanket, irritation and something heavier twisting in your gut. The familiar weight of injustice, of being discarded despite doing exactly what was asked of you.

"Ridiculous," you muttered, reaching for the half-empty bag of chips beside you and stuffing a handful into your mouth. "I swear, if they make him attend her wedding in the finale, I’m going to go batshit insane."

And then the finale aired.

The second lead sat in the audience, watching with a wistful smile as the female lead exchanged vows with the brick wall of a main character.

You stared at the screen, jaw tightening. The remote was in your hand, the power button just within reach.

Click.

The TV screen went black.

Without hesitation, you tossed the remote onto the couch, grabbed your bike keys, and swung on your jacket. Enough of this nonsense. You needed something to cool your frustration before you did something drastic—like throwing your TV out the window.

"I am not dealing with this bullshit anymore, isn't tv supposed to calm you down? why is increasing my already high blood pressure"

You quickly stomp out the door, put on your shoes, and run down the stairs quickly, and jump on your bike. from rage or excitement idk

The ice cream shop was nearly empty when you arrived, save for the cashier—a familiar silver-haired young man with a bright grin that immediately screamed trouble. Caelus.

"Well, well, well! If it isn’t my favorite brooding customer!" Caelus leaned dramatically over the counter, resting his chin on his hands. "What’ll it be tonight? Let me guess—something bitter, to match the look on your face?" that zesty bitch

Before you could retort, the door swung open violently, and a blur of motion tackled you from behind. "[Name]!" Stelle practically jumped on you, clinging to your shoulders like an overgrown koala. Then, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, she stuck her tongue out at Caelus. "Beat you to them first!"

Caelus gasped in mock horror. "Betrayal! I was just about to offer them a special ‘overdramatic protagonist’ discount!"

You groaned, trying to pry Stelle off. "I just wanted ice cream, not sibling chaos."

"Too late!" Stelle grinned. "We come as a package deal!" Caelus scoffed, dramatically flipping an imaginary cape over his shoulder. "Excuse you, I am the main event. You’re just the annoying sidekick."

"Excuse you," Stelle shot back, finally releasing you only to jab a finger into Caelus’s chest. "I am the superior sibling here. I was born first."

"You both are twins." You say with the most tired expression on your face while rubbing your temples.

"And yet I’m still more mature," Caelus countered clearly ignoring your words, flashing a smug grin.

"You literally tried to eat a rock yesterday!"

"It looked edible!"

"It was glowing blue!"

You sighed, rubbing your temples as they continued bickering like children fighting over the last cookie. "Can I please just order my ice cream before you two kill each other?"

Caelus instantly straightened, clearing his throat and putting on his best ‘professional’ expression—though the effect was ruined by Stelle making faces behind his back.

"Of course! What can I get you, dear customer?" He batted his long-ass eyelashes exaggeratedly, voice dripping with fake sweetness.

Before you could respond, Stelle leaned in. "They’ll have the saddest, most depressing flavor you’ve got. Something that really screams ‘I got kicked out of a corrupt government unit and now I’m having an existential crisis over fictional characters.’"

Caelus nodded solemnly, stroking his chin. "Ah, yes. That’s a classic order. I recommend the ‘Betrayal Blackberry’ or the ‘Melancholy Mint.’"

"Or," Stelle added, grinning, "we could go for full self-pity mode and get the ‘Cold and Alone Cookie Dough.’"

You glared at both of them. "You two are the absolute worst."

"Yeah, yeah, we know," Caelus said cheerfully. "So, which depressing flavor will it be?"

"...Cold and Alone Cookie Dough."

They high-fived.

"You guys suck," you muttered, grabbing your ice cream and biting the waffle cone and ice cream with unnecessary force.

"Oh, don’t be like that," Stelle cooed, flopping into the chair across from you and stealing a bite of your ice cream before you could stop her.

Caelus leaned on the counter, watching with the grin of someone who lived purely to be a menace. "So, tell us—was it a TV show or real life that caused this spiral into frozen dairy despair?"

You debated throwing your ice cream at his face.

As you stepped out of the shop, the cool night air wrapped around you, the taste of cookie dough and vanilla lingering on your tongue. The ridiculous bickering between Stelle and Caelus still echoed behind you, but for once, instead of irritation, it left a small smile on your face.

"Try not to get arrested!" Caelus called after you with a cheeky wave.

"And don’t die!" Stelle added, throwing in a thumbs-up.

"You guys act like I can’t handle myself," you scoffed, waving lazily over your shoulder as you stepped onto the sidewalk.

The moment lasted exactly three seconds before someone slammed into you.

Your grip on the ice cream loosened, the cone slipping from your fingers in slow motion, the pale brown-dotted biege scoop tumbling unceremoniously onto the pavement.

You barely registered the loss of your dessert because the person who bumped into you—a hooded stranger—was already darting away, their head ducked low. A second later, shouts erupted from down the street.

"Hey! Stop that guy!"

"He stole my bag!"

"Someone grab him!"

You blinked, staring after the retreating figure.

Then, slowly, your gaze dropped to the fallen ice cream, the way it lay pitifully on the ground, melting into a sad puddle.

Your eye twitched.

Alright. The theft? Definitely a problem.

But ruining your ice cream? That was just personal.

"HEY, YOU SON OF A—" You took off in a sprint, instincts kicking in before you even thought about it.

The stranger whipped his head around in alarm, realizing that not only was he being chased—but that his pursuer was very, very angry.

"Oh, you better start running!" you yelled, pushing forward with even more speed.

"WAIT—WHAT—WHY ARE YOU CHASING ME?!" the thief shouted over his shoulder, dodging past pedestrians.

"YOU RUINED MY ICE CREAM, YOU COWARD!"

That seemed to genuinely throw him off. He stumbled slightly before regaining his pace, muttering something under his breath about lunatics.

Behind you, Stelle and Caelus had stepped outside just in time to witness the scene.

Caelus let out a low whistle. "Aaaand there she goes."

Stelle crossed her arms, grinning. "Do we help?"

Caelus hummed, pretending to think. "...Nah. This seems personal."

You took a sharp turn into the alleyway, cutting off the thief’s path before he could escape into the maze of side streets. He skidded to a stop, looking around frantically like a trapped rat.

"Alright, asshole," you panted, rolling your shoulders as you stepped forward. "You made me drop my ice cream. Now I have to kick your ass on principle."

The thief let out a high-pitched laugh, one that sounded more nervous than anything. "L-Let’s not be hasty now!"

You blinked.

That voice.

That infuriatingly familiar, weaselly voice.

Your eyes narrowed as the thief slowly turned around, hands raised in mock surrender.

Purple hair. Cocky grin. Shady coat.

"Sampo?" you deadpanned.

"Ahahaha... surprise?" Sampo Koski grinned, but the sweat dripping down his forehead told you everything.

You stared at him. Then at the stolen bag slung over his shoulder. Then back at him.

"...You stole someone’s bag?"

"Hey, hey, hey, let’s not use such harsh words!" Sampo waved his hands, stepping back. "I prefer ‘borrowing without permission’—"

Your glare intensified.

He coughed. "Temporarily relocating belongings—"

You cracked your knuckles.

"—IT’S A MISUNDERSTANDING, I SWEAR!"

Before he could bolt again, you lunged, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him close. "You owe me ice cream, you rat bastard."

Sampo held up his hands in surrender. "H-How about I get you two? Three! Three ice creams! My treat!"

"You are so lucky I don’t punch you right now," you growled, releasing him with a shove. "Now return the damn bag before I make you eat pavement."

Sampo chuckled nervously. "Right, right—of course! No problem! Consider it already done!"

Just as he said that, the original owner of the bag—an angry looking woman—came sprinting up, flanked by two security officers.

"There he is!" she shouted, pointing directly at Sampo.

He stiffened. "Ah. Well. This is awkward."

You smirked. "Oh no, please go on. I’d love to see how you talk your way out of this one."

Sampo shot you a pleading look before sighing dramatically. "Alright, alright, no need for handcuffs! It’s all a big miscommunication, I assure you!"

As the officers descended on him, you simply stood back, arms crossed, enjoying every second of his downfall.

. . . .

As the security officers reached for Sampo, he shot you one last desperate look—the kind that screamed "Help me, oh great and merciful person whom I may have slightly inconvenienced!"

You rolled your eyes.

"Hey," you called out to the officers, stepping forward. "This dumbass already realized he messed up. No need to rough him up."

The security guards hesitated. The woman, now clearly an elderly lady with sharp eyes, frowned at you.

"Are you vouching for him?" one of the guards asked, skeptical.

"Pfft— No." You snatched the bag from Sampo’s hands before he could protest and turned to the woman. "Here. Safe and sound."

The old lady blinked, surprised. Then, with a warm smile, she took the bag. "Oh, bless your heart, dear!"

Meanwhile, the guards turned their attention to Sampo again.

"Hey, would you look at the time!" Sampo chirped, already inching away. "I must be going—"

You stuck your foot out.

Sampo tripped but recovered quickly, casting you a betrayed look.

You sighed dramatically. "Alright, alright, he’s harmless. Just let him go."

The officers exchanged glances but ultimately relented, grumbling as they backed off. The elderly woman gave you another grateful nod before walking off, leaving you alone with the notorious conman.

Sampo, ever the opportunist, dusted himself off with a wide grin. "Wow! You actually helped me! Didn’t know you cared so much—"

Your fist cracked against his head lightly—a warning tap, really.

"Ow!"

"You owe me ice cream, Koski." You grabbed his collar before he could escape. "And a damn good explanation."

Sampo chuckled nervously. "Ehehe… w-well, you see—"

You dragged him back toward the ice cream shop.

"Talk. Now."

As the bell chimed upon your return, Caelus and Stelle looked up from behind the counter—only to immediately burst into laughter.

Caelus nearly collapsed onto the register, wheezing. "Oh my god."

Stelle clutched her stomach, barely able to breathe. "What— what is that look on your face—?"

Because, standing at the entrance of the shop, you wore the most dangerously peaceful smile imaginable. A smile that promised violence.

And in your grasp, Sampo Koski dangled half-dragged by the collar of his coat, groaning dramatically. "Mercy! Mercy, I say!"

Caelus wiped a tear from his eye. "Did you adopt a stray, [Name]? Or—wait—did the stray adopt you?!"

"Shut up," you said sweetly, before unceremoniously dumping Sampo onto the floor.

"Oof—!" He sprawled out like a ragdoll. "Rude."

You turned to Caelus, still smiling. "Another one of my usual. On him." You jabbed a thumb at Sampo, who gave a weak thumbs-up from the floor.

Stelle snickered. "You got a sugar daddy now?"

"More like a debt-ridden weasel who owes me for ruining my first ice cream." You crossed your arms. "And I will be collecting."

Sampo scrambled up, brushing himself off. "Now, now! Let’s not be hasty—"

Caelus grinned, already scooping your ice cream. "Oh, no. We love hasty."

Stelle smirked. "So, Koski—" She leaned over the counter. "—care to explain what the fuck just happened?"

Sampo let out a nervous chuckle, straightening his coat as he glanced between you, Stelle, and Caelus—all three of you wearing eerily expectant expressions.

"Now, now," he started, raising his hands in a pacifying gesture. "Surely there’s no need for such hostility! Let’s all take a deep breath, relax, and—"

You grabbed a chair and turned it around, sitting on it backward like you were about to interrogate him. "Talk."

Caelus, ever the opportunist, slid a cup of water across the counter like he was in some kind of detective movie. Stelle leaned in closer, grinning.

"Spill."

Sampo sighed dramatically. "Ahh, what a cruel world! A man can’t even do a little bit of freelance item relocation without being hunted down like a criminal—"

"Because you are one?" you deadpanned.

"Details!" He waved you off. "See, my dear friends, it’s all about perspective! To you, I might look like some shady—albeit handsome—fellow running through the streets, but to others, I am simply a humble entrepreneur!"

Caelus snorted. "Humble, my ass."

You tapped your fingers against the chair. "So what, you just happened to rob an old lady in front of a crowd?"

"*Whoa!*Whoa! Let’s not throw around words like ‘rob,’" Sampo said, looking genuinely offended. "She was the one who had something very valuable, and I simply liberated it for a bit! Then I was going to return it—eventually!"

"Eventually my ass," you muttered.

Stelle grinned. "So, what was in the bag, huh? Stacks of cash? A top-secret government file? The legendary lost treasure of—"

Sampo groaned, rubbing his face. "Ugh, it was a bunch of handmade scarves!"

There was silence.

Then Caelus burst out laughing again. Stelle doubled over, wheezing.

You blinked. "Wait, what?"

Sampo slumped over the table. "I thought it was something else!"

You pinched the bridge of your nose. "You—stole scarves? From an old lady? And got chased down the street for it?"

Sampo threw his arms in the air. "I panicked!"

Caelus wiped a tear from his eye, grinning. "Man, you really are the worst at this."

"I’m usually so good at this!" Sampo groaned, before giving you the most pitiful look possible. "You believe me, don’t you?"

You took your freshly made ice cream from Caelus, making a show of enjoying the first bite. Then, without breaking eye contact, you reached out and grabbed Sampo’s wallet right from his coat.

"Hey—!"

You flipped it open, pulled out enough to cover the ice cream, and slammed the cash onto the counter. "Pleasure doing business with you."

Caelus let out an exaggerated "oohhh!" while Stelle outright clapped.

Sampo sighed, defeated. "You wound me, [Name]. Truly."

You smirked. "Next time, watch where you’re running. Or maybe don’t steal from old ladies."

Sampo pouted. "Lesson learned… probably." that fucking whore

With the sweet taste of victory (and ice cream) on your tongue, you leaned back in your chair, savoring every bite while Sampo sulked dramatically across from you. Stelle was still giggling every now and then, and Caelus had taken it upon himself to reenact Sampo’s very ungraceful escape attempt using napkins and straws.

You took another slow, deliberate spoonful, making a show of enjoying it just to rub salt in Sampo’s wounded pride.

"Mmm. So worth the trouble."

Sampo groaned, slumping over the table. "This is cruel and unusual punishment. Watching someone else enjoy what should’ve been mine."

"You paid for this," you reminded him.

"And yet, somehow, I feel robbed," he sighed.

Stelle grinned. "Now you know how that old lady felt."

Sampo shot her a betrayed look, but before he could get another word in, you set your spoon down, stretching with a satisfied sigh. "Alright, I’m heading home before something else drags me into its nonsense."

"Awww," Stelle whined. "You sure? You could stick around and watch Caelus keep clowning on Sampo."

Caelus, who had been dramatically dropping a napkin “thief” off a table ledge, grinned. "I’ve got at least ten more skits in me."

Sampo groaned louder. "You’re all terrible people."

You laughed, standing up. "I’m sure you’ll survive, Sampo. Or not. Either way, not my problem."

With a final wave to the chaotic duo, you exited the shop, stepping into the cool night air. Your bike was parked nearby, and you swung a leg over it with ease, the quiet hum of the streets a welcome change from all the chaos.

For the first time in a while, a genuine smile settled on your face.

As you settled onto your bike, ready to head home, a flicker of movement in your peripheral vision caught your attention.

A hooded figure stood near the alley across the street, leaning casually against the wall as if waiting for something—or someone. The dim glow of a nearby streetlamp barely illuminated his features, but for a split second, you caught a glimpse of something familiar.

Ash-blonde hair with red tips.

Your grip on the handlebars tightened slightly. A strange sense of recognition stirred in your chest, but you pushed it down. You were tired—you’d had enough surprises for one night.

With a shake of your head, you dismissed the thought. Probably just some random guy. Not your business.

You revved your bike, the engine’s low hum filling the silence. The hooded figure didn’t move, didn’t react.

And so, you turned your attention back to the road and rode off into the night, leaving the stranger—and whatever trouble he might bring behind because you had enough for one fucking night

. . . . .

The ride home was uneventful, the cool night air doing little to wash away the lingering irritation from earlier. You parked your bike, stretched out your sore limbs, and stepped inside. The dim glow of your apartment welcomed you, quiet and still—just the way you liked it.

You tossed your jacket onto the couch, grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, and were about to collapse onto your bed when your phone buzzed.

Unknown Caller.

You stared at the screen, debating whether to pick up. Something about it felt… off.

Against your better judgment, you answered.

A familiar voice crackled through the speaker. "…[Name]?"

You froze.

Aglaea.

It had been months since you last heard her voice. Since she let you walk away without a word. Since she didn’t defend you when you needed her most.

Your grip on the phone tightened. "What do you want?"

There was a pause. A hesitation. Then—

"Eurypon is dead."

The words settled over you like a thick fog. Cold. Heavy.

You blinked once. Then twice.

Dead?

Eurypon—the same bastard who removed you from the unit, who framed you as reckless, who ensured you’d never work in the investigation unit again—was dead?

You weren’t sure how to feel. Shocked? Maybe. But there was no grief. No sadness. Just an empty sort of understanding.

People like Eurypon made enemies. It was only a matter of time.

You exhaled, voice steady, emotionless. "I'm not in the investigation unit anymore, Aglaea. Don’t contact me."

A beat of silence. Then, Aglaea’s voice softened. "I know," she murmured. "I just thought… you should hear it from me. Not the news. Not anyone else."

You didn’t respond.

Another pause. Then, quieter—almost hesitant—she added, "Save my number, [Name]. Even if you don’t want to talk to me. Just… save it."

You sighed, fingers hovering over the screen.

Then, without another word, you declined the call.

But you did save her number.

. . . .

You groaned, throwing yourself onto the couch before grabbing the remote and flicking on the TV. After the chaotic mess of the night, all you wanted was some mindless background noise.

Flipping through the channels, you paused at the news. Maybe they had an update on something actually interesting.

"Breaking News: Former Investigation Unit Director, Eurypon, Found Dead."

Your brows raised slightly. So it was real.

The reporter droned on about the details—Eurypon’s body found in a private residence, a single bullet wound to the head, no signs of forced entry. But what really caught your attention was the next segment.

A figure appeared on the screen, standing at a podium in a sharply pressed uniform, flanked by two other high-ranking officials. His face was one you recognized instantly.

Ash-blonde hair with red tips, slightly messy yet unmistakable. Cold golden eyes staring through the camera with that same unyielding intensity.

Mydei.

Your former teammate.

No. More than that.

Eurypon’s son.

Your lips curled into something between amusement and curiosity. So he was the one stepping into his father’s shoes now?

Then, before you could process anything further—

BZZZT.

Your phone vibrated against your stomach. Another unknown number.

You groaned, throwing a pillow across the room in frustration. "Are you kidding me?"

Swiping the call open, you pressed the phone to your ear. "Whoever this is, I swear—"

"[Name]."

You blinked.

That voice. Low. Steady. Unshaken.

You glanced at the TV again, and there he was—Mydei, standing there like he owned the damn world.

Slowly, you sat up, adjusting your grip on the phone. "You killed Eurypon, didn’t you?"

There was a beat of silence.

Then, calmly, Mydei responded, "Yes."

No hesitation. No guilt. No unnecessary justifications. Just a simple, undeniable confirmation.

You exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking your head. "Well. Can’t say I’m surprised."

Eurypon was a bastard. A snake who sold out his own people for power. You weren’t about to shed any tears over him.

"That’s not why I’m calling." Mydei’s voice was clipped, professional. "We need you back in the investigation unit. There’s a mission that requires your expertise."

Your amusement faded.

And then you laughed.

Loud. Sharp. Unbelieving.

"You think I’d ever go back to that corrupt mess?" you asked, a grin stretching across your face. "You’re funny, Mydei. I don’t do favors for free, and I especially don’t work with the people who threw me out like trash."

There was silence on the other end.

Then, a sigh.

"I expected you to say that," Mydei admitted, his voice still composed. "But it was worth a try."

"You seriously thought I’d agree?"

"I thought you might consider it."

You scoffed, shaking your head. "Hard pass."

Another pause. Then, softer than before—barely noticeable—he said, "…I see."

You almost laughed again. Even now, he was as restrained as ever.

"Tell you what," you said, stretching lazily against the couch. "How about next time you call, you don’t ask me to clean up the investigation unit’s mess? Try something fun for once."

A quiet breath from the other end, like he wanted to say something but thought better of it.

Then, his voice returned to that same controlled, unreadable tone.

"Just wait till 25th April."

And with that, the call ended.

You exhaled, tossing your phone onto the couch beside you.

So Mydei was pulling the strings now.

And he had no qualms about getting blood on his hands.

You weren’t sure if that was better or worse.

April 25th

Your phone buzzed.

You barely spared it a glance, still sprawled out on your couch, half-asleep from last night’s late ride. The screen flashed with an unknown number again.

A groggy sigh left your lips as you grabbed it. "This better not be another waste of my time."

"[Name]."

You sat up instantly.

That voice—steady, composed, unmistakably Mydei.

"You're calling me again?" you said, rubbing your eyes. "What, another mission offer? I already—"

"Check the news."

You blinked.

Something in his tone made you pause. He sounded… amused? Smug, even.

Your brows furrowed as you reached for the remote. The news channel flickered to life on your TV, and within seconds, you were wide awake.

"Investigation Unit Officials Exposed in Widespread Corruption Scandal—Mass Firings Underway."

Your breath hitched.

The screen displayed a list of names, each one making your pulse quicken.

People you used to work with. The same bastards who threw you under the bus. Who framed you, lied, and made sure you'd never step foot in the unit again.

Now? They were gone.

Some were getting arrested. Others were being dragged out of their offices, their faces pale as reporters bombarded them with questions. Their crimes—bribery, evidence tampering, illegal dealings—were being laid out in broad daylight for everyone to see.

You sat there, stunned.

And then, from the phone pressed against your ear—

A quiet chuckle.

"So?" Mydei drawled, clearly enjoying this moment. "What do you think?"

You let out a slow breath, still processing everything.

"You… really went and did it, huh?"

"You sound surprised."

"That’s because I am." You shook your head, watching as another corrupt official was led out in handcuffs. "I knew you were stepping in, but I didn’t think you’d actually clean house."

A hum from the other end of the line. "I said I would handle it."

Your lips twitched. "Didn’t think you’d be this thorough."

There was a pause, then, with that same unwavering authority, Mydei spoke again.

"Come to the Investigation Unit tomorrow at 7 AM. ASAP."

You stiffened. "Wait—what?"

"You’ll be leading the next mission," he continued, completely ignoring your reaction. "Highest-ranking officer. No one above you. No one to control you. You do things your way this time."

Your heart skipped a beat.

"You’re serious?"

"Have I ever wasted my time with jokes?"

He had a point.

Before you could respond, the line cut off.

You lowered the phone slowly, still staring at the news, but your focus had already shifted.

Tomorrow at 7 AM.

You were back in the unit.

And this time, you were the one in charge.

A quiet chuckle slipped past your lips.

It felt good.

HI GUYS ITS ANTOHER SERIESS and ts tension wohoo!! @leonsnewadventures

PART 2!!

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

If we get another Hunger Games book, I think it will be about Annie’s games

Allow me to explain:

Sunrise on the Reaping spoilers ahead!

First of all, I do think that we’ll be seeing a third book to close off this recent run as a prequel trilogy, though I also understand the arguments that the SotR epilogue could arguably function as a goodbye to the characters.

In my opinion, the most likely people we would learn more about in another book, considering how much we already know about everyone else in all 5 books combined, are Mags, Joanna, and Finnick. But we essentially know Finnick’s story; if there was a book for him individually then I can only see the games being a small section of it, and we know enough to know that if we had dedicated and detailed descriptions of what he was put through in the aftermath from his perspective that the book would have to cross the line into adult fiction, a line the franchise already very closely presses against and arguably bends out of shape. I think that this most likely removes him from the running as an option for a POV, and I also think that Joanna is an unlikely candidate simply for how similar her story is to Haymitch’s, leaving Mags as the most likely character that we have more to explore about (I discount Wiress and Beetee on account of how much more we learned about them in sunrise). However, if we were going to have a Mags book I think it would have been written before SotR to keep this series chronological - especially because arguably a lot of the propaganda themes could have been applied to the little we know about her as well.

Of the main cast of victors introduced to us in Catching Fire who go on to remain important characters but who we don’t already know intimately, then, all of whom have been the most likely candidates for further exploration imo, we have to look at Annie. We know very little about Annie’s games, to my recollection, except that she went into hiding after her district-mate was killed and won mostly due to her swimming ability when the arena was flooded by the gamemakers. But you know what we’ve learned from sunrise, if nothing else? We’ve learned that everything we know about every single game except the ones we witnessed firsthand from inside the arena are most likely being lied about. Not knowing any differently, we fell for the Capitol propaganda; we believed that the broadcasts were accurate. Now that we know for a solid fact that, like Haymitch’s, any one of these, probably most to all of them, have been tampered with, we know nothing.

The order of Haymitch’s days and his interactions with others were completely altered in the “highlight reel” and presumably, based on how the audience appears to respond, during the full broadcast as well - at least to an extent, if not quite so much as this. Even if there was more truth to broadcast, which we can cast doubt on now that we also have hard evidence the “live” broadcasts of reapings aren’t actually live, we can safely assume plenty of edits, tampering, and ‘card-stacking’ goes on (remember Plutarch says of the reaping that the footage only wasn’t fully tampered with because there wasn’t enough time, so he just shuffled the deck instead). With this in mind, did Annie really spend the entire games hiding after her district-mate died? I’m not convinced she did.

If Annie was hiding for a large portion of her games, the camera probably wasn’t showing her off that often; there wasn’t much to watch. And if that’s the case, it would be really easy to keep reusing footage of her hiding at any given point, say immediately after the other tribute’s death for example, and either using various short clips far enough apart that no-one questions them or combining this with subtly tampered footage to make it seem as though hours have passed with her barely moving. After all, Annie is from a career district: would the gamemakers not be doing everything they could to drive her out of her hiding place and into the action, to force her to fight? And especially since we now know how embarrassing it was for the gamemakers that they couldn’t reach Wiress’ hiding place, it seems incredibly unlikely to me that they’d let that ever happen again. After the secret spot was found in the 49th arena, they’d be forever making sure there would never again be anywhere accessible to the tributes that was inaccessible to cameras, sponsorship drones, and gamemakers. So why would they leave Annie alone?

But what if they needed to make it look like Annie hadn’t moved? What if they couldn’t let anyone see what she was actually doing? What if part of the trauma responses we see in Annie are a product of punishment after the games, as well as the experiences of the arena itself?

One of Haymitch’s first thoughts when he finds the massive tankard of water under the arena is to wonder if the gamemakers intend to the flood it. Now this I think, in part, was potentially a painful hint to the dry cistern at his house considering the volcano of the arena being about to erupt, but it also made me think immediately of Annie’s games. If this is indeed going to be a trilogy of prequels then, although clearly they don’t immediately follow on from each other, there have to be clear threads that weave them. We saw a lot of threads weaving SotR to Ballad so I’m not going to go on about that here, but it’s true that Mags, the water, and even the beheadings that Haymitch and Annie both witness could be a strong thread to carry between Sunrise and a potential future book that focused around Annie.

Did she flood the arena herself? Did the gamemakers flood it to hide something she’d done, maybe an attempt to break it, forgetting in their panic that she would likely be the only survivor of such an action?

A book exploring Annie’s games would also give us strong potential to explore Mags’ and Finnick’s stories in more detail. Although we know that Finnick was her mentor, Mags would also likely have been a presence for both of them at this time. Annie also won her games at 18, which gives us a new perspective as someone who would have aged out of the reaping of she’d made it through that final year, and more political insight into a career district would be a new and interesting endeavour to learn about. Insight into career districts would carry plenty of weight in the propaganda themes, in the reframing of narratives, and in the exploration of conditioning and manipulation, as well as overcoming it.

Anyway these are just some thoughts I had, but does anyone agree? Does anyone have alternate theories on what might be in store for us with another book? I’d love to hear any thoughts

EDIT: sorry I just posted this and realised I forgot to say that this idea was partially inspired by a video by stillfrombrooklyn on tiktok, who didn’t theorise a new book from this perspective or go into all the same details I have but did question whether what we know about Annie’s games is actually true and raised theories about the footage of her hiding being fake.

[charonsferry]

As someone who's always found those stories interesting I do think it's a great example of how gender as a concept has evolved. But yeah most of the stories do seem to specifically be trans men which says a lot, when transfemininity comes into play it's more of a one-time thing or part of a relationship with a man.

It also speaks volumes about how a woman who is "strong and independent" is essentially not seen as a woman. This is a continued issue today, think of all the "strong" female characters in Hollywood that are devoid of feminine characteristics. To be feminine is socially defined as to submit.

Forcemascing? Yeah that exists it's called conscription

[wolkentage]

Welcome to A Bachelor in Paradise! After Kyle Ward was offered his own bachelor challenge to find the love of his life, Llamar Production is currently looking for 6 contestants.

🏝️ update: all spots are claimed

White beaches, the gentle sound of the sea and palm fronds softly swaying in the wind. A Bachelor in Paradise takes place in the heart of Sulani on a remote island. But instead of a luxurious beach mansion, contestants can expect a simple shelter with the bare essentials. Our bachelor loves adventures and what could be better for an outdoor enthusiast like him than a bachelor challenge featuring some survival elements?

Filming takes place during summer. Aside from monsoons, during that time of the year it tends to be hot and sunny in Sulani. Llama Production recommends for contestants to dress accordingly. Multiple hot weather and bathing outfits are encouraged.

The contestants:

all genders welcome

young adults/adults only

humans only

no romantic traits/romantic aspiration

You have 10 skill points for your sim and you can distribute them the way you prefer: one lvl 10 skill? two lvl 5? It's up to you! Just let me know which skills you want your sim to have and I will add them (or you can add them yourself).

Please include a description of your sim. The description can be as long as you want it to be! Also please note that the German version of game still doesn't support custom pronouns. So please include your sim's pronouns in their description, otherwise I won't be able to see them.

6 spots are available on a first come, first serve basis. Please tag me in your post so I can reblog it! Production starts in May, so applications are open until 30 April or as soon as all 6 spots are filled!

Regarding custom content: Please keep custom content to the minimum. I own all DLCs with the exception of a few kits and Hobbies and Business so there is a wide variety of clothes and hairstyles for you to choose from.

no default replacements, height sliders or body presets

no custom traits

no alpha cc

About the bachelor: Kyle Ward

He's the star of the show and is already quite known among motorbike enthusiasts! Kyle dreamed of becoming a famous motorbike racer, when a severe leg injury forced him to give up his career right before his first international race. But that doesn't stop him from regularly blogging about his biggest passion on social media! He even has a weekly podcast where he talks about the latest news in motorcycle racing.

Kyle still loves going on a ride with his bike, although he's much more careful these days. When he's not tweaking his bike, he loves to explore nature. He's always up for a new adventure, whether it's exploring the depths of the jungle in Selvadorada or surviving on a remote island for his own bachelor challenge.

Some facts about Kyle

Kyle is 25 years old

He grew up in Windenburg

His favorite colour is yellow

He's an "act first, think later" type of guy

Behind the scenes:

This bachelor challenge takes place over 5 (ingame) weeks. At the end of each week the contestant with the lowest relationship score with Kyle will be eliminated and send home. At the end of week 5 only two contestants remain and the final winner is chosen based on their relationship score with Kyle.

Each week all (remaining) contestants get one private date with Kyle. The order in which these dates take place is decided by a spinny wheel.

At the beginning of filming, Llamar Production only provides the bare essentials like shelter and minimal food. Mini-challenges will allow contestants to earn points which can then be turned into goods to make their stay in Sulani more comfortable. On top of that the winner of a mini-challenge also gains +5 bonus-points on their relationship score with Kyle!

All 6 contestants and Kyle will live on the same lot. Kyle has a separate area that only he can access. Outside of private dates and mini-challenges it's up to him whether he wants to hang out with the contestants or not. (But Llama Productions will force encourage him to spend as much time with the contestants as possible.)