#this is about all I have about them and the little bit of world building

[help-itrappedmyself]

Dead on Main short part 2

This was not supposed to be this long. It just kept getting longer, just kept going. I found a cut-off point eventually, but there may actually be a part 3 to what was supposed to be a very short little piece. Whoops. (part 1)

Jason never had the time to be concerned about his words when he was young. Neither did anyone else around him. His dad couldn’t be bothered with anything to do with him, and Jason would have been surprised if Willis actually knew what his words were. His mother was more confused by them then anything else, and even then that was only in her rarer sober moments.

Then Jason moved in with Bruce. Dick wasn’t around much when he lived in the Manor. He had just started tolerating him when Jason had died. Dick probably knew what the words were, but they had never discussed it with each other, and Jason couldn’t begin to guess what his opinion was on them back then. 

Bruce used to entertain his fantasies of trying to think up different scenarios his words could be said in, both of them trying to make the funniest good outcome. It became a game they played when bored on stakeouts, obviously keeping the contents of the words private while playing. To be fair, there were a lot of good and funny scenarios. But they lived in Gotham, and Jason had experienced enough of the world, even at that young age, that he understood the likeliness of a bad scenario.

And then he died. And he didn’t think about his words for a very long time. Too busy training and plotting. Busy coming back to Gotham, enacting his plans and building a criminal empire. He barely remembered them himself until he was back in Gotham, operating as the Red Hood, with a trail of bodies behind him.

Assassin training, heads in a duffel bag, counts of arson, and leader of a gang, Jason was not the same kid he used to be. There were few scenarios in which his words could be said that he couldn’t come to understand. And he was at a point in his life where he could find room for a soulmate again. He was settled, secure as the anti-hero of Crime Alley, tenuous agreement with the Bats and all. He had even been by the Manor to have tea with Alfred. 

Arkham breakouts were old hat to everyone in Gotham. Citizens bunkering down, and Bats readying themselves to round up whoever made it out this time. However, this was the first Arkham breakout since his plan with Bruce and the Joker failed. The first since his agreement with the Bats to use non-lethal means. When Jason heard that it was the Joker that had broken out, he planned to kill him, truce be damned.

The Bats could probably deduce that, it was too soon into the truce for any real change to have been made. And this was the Joker. So now it was a race to see who could get to him first. 

Luckily (in this instance), Jason’s base is much closer to Arkham than the Bats. So while they are all stuck driving in from the better parts of town, Jason is already chasing the Joker down alleys. 

Joker is laughing, practically skipping away as if this is a game, and Jason almost loses him as he turns a corner he didn’t see. Jason can hear the Joker laughing, starting to speak. Probably to taunt him again. Then the sound cuts off with a choke and a thud.

Jason turns the corner to see Joker laid out flat, nose bleeding and neck at a funny ankle. A choked breath escapes him, and he looks around to see a man leaning against the alley wall.

The man’s hands are shaking, breaths choppy, and there's a bit of blood on his right hand.

Jason takes a deep breath, which causes the man to look at him out of the corner of his eye. Jason takes in the scene again. And then again, hardly daring to hope even with the evidence in front of him. 

“Is he dead?�� Jason asks softly. The man turns to face him, and Jason takes a glove off and slowly, hesitantly, checks the Joker’s pulse.

“Look, in my defense…” The man trails off, looking to the heavens for a moment. “I really fucking hate clowns.” 

Jason, hope fully settled in as the Joker remains still and lifeless on the ground, pulse non-existent against his fingertips, almost laughs. Then his brain does a record scratch. Rewind. Replays the words ‘Look, in my defense’ over again, head shooting up to look at the man who just killed the Joker. 

Jason takes his other glove off, standing. He takes a step towards the man, pushing up his sleeve. The man seems nervous at his advance, watching him warily until Jason uncovers the words on his arm. The cover falls to the ground behind him as he takes another step forward. 

The man’s eyes light up in realization, and he also rushes to push up his sleeve. One more step forward and they are right in front of each other. Arms held up, brushing together as they show each other their marks.

Left forearms pressed together in the space in front of them, one reading ‘Is he dead?’ and the other “Look, in my defense.’. 

The man laughs and Jason takes in the sound of it, the happiness in his eyes as he looks up at him. Jason slowly reaches up to remove his helmet, domino still on underneath it, and lets it fall to the alley floor as well.

“You’re amazing.” Jason breaths out, hand reaching up to cup the stranger’s, his soulmate’s cheek. “You have no idea what you’ve just done for me.”

“Little bit of manslaughter.” He laughs. “Didn’t think it would be received this well.”

Jason smiles in response. “I would worship you for this, if you’d let me. I will never stop thanking you.” 

“Oh.” The man gasps, breath hitching. Jason, one hand still on his cheek, thumb stroking underneath his eye, places his other hand on the man’s waist and backs him up to the alley wall. Deliberately slowly, watching the man as he takes a deep breath, licks his lips, and lets himself be moved.

“Tell me your name and I’ll start right now.” Jason whispers.

“Danny.” The word is breathy and low, only heard due to Jason’s close proximity. 

“Danny.” Jason repeats his name like an anthem and a prayer. Prepared to give his life for this man already. And then kisses him, pressing his lips to his softly, reverently. Wanting to hold this moment forever.

[lolaandthens0me]

I get asked this all the time, "So, how did you get into this whole diaper thing in the first place?"

I thought I'd take a moment to talk about it!

I am not a "factory-installed" abdl, but rather an "after-market upgrade".  I was first introduced to diapers and the whole abdl scene through my ex. They, being a longtime DL, told me about their diaper fetish pretty early on in our relationship.  I was only 18 or 19 at the time and thus quite innocent and inexperienced in kink and sexuality in general. I was at first a little confused by the thought of being turned on by diapers, but very open-minded to learn about and discover why this fluffy, absorbent plastic-backed thing did it for them, and for so many others I came to find out!

They encouraged me to do a bit of investigating and education on my own into the world of AB/DL to see if I could find something about it that spoke to or resonated with me.  I popped my online-kink cherry on the Tumblr of old. The Tumblr where porn, especially diaper porn, reigned like golden rays of sunshine. You could find it all and see it all on Tumblr back in the day. I quickly stumbled upon lots of ddlg content, and here was this thing that seemed to incorporate my budding, but long held interest in being submissive *and* my ex's interest in diapers. And ~voila!~ MisterAndLola was born.

We focused on building a ddlg dynamic, including the use of some AB stuff like onesies, cute socks, Goodnites, and calling them Daddy. We started our first Tumblr blog, TheDiaperedandtheDamned.  We began to take some cute pictures and post them on Tumblr and Reddit. I bought a few toys and coloring books, decorated our Guest Room with some decals and fairy lights, and started to try to wet in my pull-ups. 

It turns out, it was a lot harder than I thought! I would practice wetting while sitting on the toilet and when home alone. I was extremely nervous about leaking, and was struggling to get my potty-trained brain and body to let go. My ex had the thought -  why not get some adult diapers and try those?  I would surely not leak using those and it might make me feel safer or more comfy in the thought of "unpotty-training" my mind. The crazy thing is, it worked. And there I was, wearing diapers.  I believe the first couple I tried were ABU Lavenders and DC Amors. I felt extremely silly, but also shyly naughty wearing these crinkly, poofy undergarments. And the thought of peeing my pants, wherever I was, started to turn me on.  The taboo factor of willingly peeing in my "underwear" as a thriving, strong adult woman felt delicious.  I loved the feeling of being naughty. 

The first time I finally full-on wet my diaper, I immediately felt burning humiliation. And that also made me feel deliciously naughty. It turns out, I really have a thing for pee. My own, others’, it excites me and always pushes my button.  I don’t have an inherent fetish for diapers, but I think I do for pee, or more generally, liquids.  Even the feel of my own slippery wetness when I’m aroused does it for me.  And being covered in cum…yup…that does it for me too.

After months of growing and exploring and trying on the role of “little girl”, I realized that I really don’t find a lot of joy or fulfillment in age play.  The ddlg dynamic wasn’t really working for me or my partner at the time. But the fondness and growing arousal for being in and peeing in diapers…that was just beginning. Thus, my diaper kink was born.

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Chapter 5- Miles Between Us

Summary: Frankie's decision to join the Army was the catalyst in the collapse of your friendship. When he's forced to reconcile with his past, packed away in boxes in his childhood basement, he finds pieces of you in everything he's left behind.

Word Count: 5.0K

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader (reader has a name/nickname)

Warnings: Angst, lying, guilt, military deployment, FEELINGS, Frankie's mom not putting up with his shit

A/N: IT'S TIME TO PEEL BACK ANOTHER LAYER OF THE ONION, BABY!!! I hope you guys don't hate me that this is a slow burn- I know this is not how I normally write at all, but it's been really fun to build this story up bit by bit (if you hate it though, please tell me lmao 💀) I'm excited for this chapter and how it hints at next chapter (we're finally getting to some smut y'all, omg) Thank you as always for your kind words, it makes my day to hear what you have to say about these two 🥺💛

All The Things We Never Said Masterlist

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

You, Age 17, Spring of 2006

“You’re late, Morales.” 

“Can’t be late to something we don’t have a set time for, Anderson.” 

It’s true, you and Frankie have never set an official schedule for your afterschool ritual, but it never seems to fail that at 3:45, only 10 minutes after you’ve gotten home from soccer practice,  he’s at the foot of your bed with his forest green Jansport backpack, ready to complain about the homework he doesn’t want to finish and the tests he has no interest in studying for, just so he can keep you company while you stress yourself to death about the same assignments. 

And for as much as he hated school work, Frankie was never late. Never. So to watch him mope into your bedroom an hour later than his usual arrival time, it almost would have been safer to assume he was dead than anything else. 

“What took you so long? Get lost on the way here?” You joke, trying to keep it light while still prodding for an answer about his absence as you write down the answer to the math equation you’re trying to solve. 

“No. Don’t worry about it.” 

There’s been very few occasions you’ve seen Frankie so stoic. Even on his worst days, he’s at least still got a little tolerance left in him for your stupid banter. It’s enough to draw your attention completely away from your homework and onto him. 

“What’s wrong? Why are you being so weird?” 

You can tell then that something’s clearly not right, the way he’s angrily yanking loose papers and textbooks from his backpack and nearly slamming them onto the edge of your bed, making you gnaw anxiously at the end of your pencil you’d been using. 

You’re too nosy for your own good to let up until you find what you’re looking for. 

“Nothing’s wrong.” 

“Well obviously something’s wrong.” 

“What? I’m not allowed to be late, ever?” 

“No? Frankie, I just asked where you were and you’re acting like I’m asking you if you just shot the fucking president or something. What’s going on?” 

“It’s nothing, MacKenzie!”

“If it’s nothing, then why are you so upset about it?” 

“I’m not upset!” 

“You clearly are? Frankie, what the hell are you-” 

“I’m joining the Army, okay?!”

Out of all the things you could have expected to come out of Frankie’s mouth, that would have been at the bottom of your list. In fact, it’s so out of left field, you’re not even quite sure you believe him. 

Your forehead hurts from how tightly your brows are knitted together in confusion, scowling at Frankie with a dumbfounded intensity that probably had you looking like you had just gotten an unsuspecting whiff of the world’s most sour lemon. 

There’s no way he’s being serious. He can’t be. 

“Ha ha, very funny, Francisco.” You mock, frown still splayed across your face, “Now will you please tell me what’s actually going on?” 

His silence makes your heart drop into the pit of your stomach. You can feel the way your face falls, the muscles once tensed in adamant skepticism now sinking into a quiet panic. You can hear each breath as it flows in through your nose and out through your mouth, blood pounding louder and louder in your ears with each pulse of your veins. 

“Frankie, if this is one of your stupid jokes, it’s not funny.” 

“It’s not a joke.” 

His eyes are still peeled to the floor, too afraid to bring himself to look at you. All he can do is stare at his pinky toe, poking out of the hole in his socks that he refuses to replace. You wait for what feels like hours, days, for him to say something, but his silence is deafening. And the sound of Frankie’s silence is the scariest thing you’ve heard in a very long time. 

It’s so terrifying, the only thing you can do to cope is fill the quiet void with your rambling and pray that Frankie Morales is choosing to play the world’s worst joke on you. 

“What- what do you mean? Frankie, I thought- When you and Santi talked about doing the same thing as Will- I thought you were fucking kidding? What about college? We already both got accepted to Florida State, what are you gonna do-” 

“I didn’t get in.” 

Please let him be kidding. Please, please, let this be a sick joke. 

You can feel your confusion starting to bubble into anger, jaw clenching at the way Frankie’s too coward to even look in your general direction, gaze still glued to that stupid fucking hole in his worn down sock. 

“Frankie, what the fuck? We both got accepted back in January? You’ve been lying to me this whole fucking time?” 

“I didn’t wanna lie, okay?!” 

He’s riddled with enough guilt to speak up, trying to keep himself from the brink of tears as he works up enough courage to finally look you in the face. You can hear how hard he gulps, like his heart is bobbing in his throat, trying to buy all the time he can to come up with a reason for his deception that won’t hurt you any more than he already has. 

“I just- fuck,” he sighs, chewing at his bottom and bouncing his leg against the bed so intensely it’ll make him sore the next day, “I didn’t know what to do, Kenz. I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.” 

It’s hard to stay mad at him when you know he means it. It’d be easier if it weren’t for the way his brown eyes flooded with disappointment in himself, spilling out in tears onto his cheeks. For as frustrated as you are, you have enough sympathy to ease up on him enough to at least try to understand. 

“Well, not lying to me about it for the last four months probably would have been a good start.” You huff, the air that puffs from your nostrils still tainted with the let down you’re trying so hard to not let override your conversation. 

You can’t help but let yourself find a spot next to him on the edge of your bed, a peace offering that you hope is enough to signal to him you’re willing to listen to what he has to say. 

“I- I didn’t think you were being serious when you and Santi were talking about it. I- I thought you- I thought the plan was to go to Florida State. Together. What happened, Frankie?” 

It’s quiet for a few more moments. Frankie takes a few, slow deep breaths as he runs his hands through the curls twisting at the nape of his neck. The silence isn’t as bitter as before, but it stings enough to gnaw at the edges of your nails, the anxious habit you can’t seem to break, and certainly have no intention of giving up right now.  

“Stop chewing at your nails, Kenz. You’re gonna be pissed at yourself later.” Frankie sighs, gently grabbing your wrist to pull your hand away from your mouth, trying to fulfill his duty of being the one to stop you from ripping your nail beds to shreds. 

“You’re kinda making it hard not to.” You try your best to attempt a laugh. It’s the only way to keep yourself from crying. “So are you gonna tell me what’s going on or what?” 

“Y-yeah.” Frankie re-adjusts himself on the edge of the bed, twisting the fabric of your comforter between his fingers, trying to ground himself in the reality of the truth he’s forced to tell you, “I- I didn’t get into Florida State. I told you I did because I didn’t know what I was gonna do. You were just so excited when you thought we both got in and I- I panicked and I lied. I didn’t even think I was gonna get in anyways. I didn’t think I was gonna get in anywhere. Even if I did, I don’t know if I even could have afforded it. It’s just me and my mom and neither of us-”

“It’s not too late. I can help you look for scholarships. To help you with tuition. I’m sure that there’s a bunch out there that you could apply for. I’ll even write your essays and stuff for you if you want me to-” 

“I’m pretty sure you can’t do that, Kenz. Plus, you hate cheaters.” 

Frankie tries to reciprocate the same half-assed laugh you gave him. He looks over at you, the small smile he’s forcing to keep between his lips quickly fading as he sees the way you’re pleading with him to realize that you would forge a thousand essays in his name if it meant he wasn’t going to leave you. He’d be a cheater you’d gladly forgive. 

“It’s not even just the money. I just- I- I don’t even like school, Kenzie. I suck at it. If school is already hard now, how much harder is it gonna be when I get to college? To study for a job that I’m probably not even gonna want when I graduate? At least with the Army I can have a job and benefits and hopefully make enough money to help my mom so she’s not working at the hospital 6 days a week. MacKenzie, the only reason I applied to Florida State was because of you. I thought that maybe there would be some miracle I got in and I could figure out how to pay for it and I could magically get smarter and better at school so we could spend the next four years together. I wanted it to happen. I wanted it to happen so bad. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I lied to you. I just- fuck- I just didn’t know how to tell you.” 

Neither of you are quite sure what to say next. That quiet comes back to fill the space between you, allowing enough room for the silent sobs you’re both trying your best to hold in, small sniffles still escaping from each of you. You’re not sure if your brain has fully processed what he’s had to say. The only thing you can understand is the swirling of sadness and confusion in your gut and the pounding ache in your chest. 

You take a scooch closer to him, the outsides of your thighs barely brushing together as you tilt your head to rest against his shoulder. It’s heavy, the weight you can’t help but lean against him, but the arm he wraps behind your back and around your waist tells you that he’ll gladly take it. He’ll take it all, if he has to. 

“Did you already sign a contract to go?” The whisper of your words is so soft, like you’re hoping he can’t hear you. If he can’t hear you, then he doesn’t have to tell you the answer you don’t want to hear. 

“Yeah. Me and Santi did a few weeks ago.” His voice is almost quieter than yours, convinced he has the same idea as you. 

His truth stings worse than the lie he’s been masquerading behind the past four months. You want to scream at him- To curse him with shouts and sobs, question how he could make this choice for himself and leave you in the dark until it’s too late for you to change his mind. You know it’s selfish, the way you want him to stay, the way you would have fought with every bone in your body to keep him from leaving. You know it’s the reason Frankie couldn’t tell you. 

It’s the same reason why Frankie couldn’t bring himself to tell you that if he had given you that chance, he probably would have stayed. 

“Do um- do you know when you have to leave?” 

It hurts to hear the words come out of your mouth. It’s an admittance of defeat. Because once you ask that question, there’s nothing you can do or say that will make him stay. No fighting, no begging, no pleading. You have to accept he’s leaving. 

“Not ‘til the end of the summer.” 

“Where?” 

The more you ask, the more it makes you want to keel over the edge of the bed and vomit, the reality of it all setting in at an alarming pace. 

“Missouri for basic training. I don’t know where after.” 

He doesn’t have to say where. You both know. Even if he doesn’t know the exact longitude and latitude of where the Army will deploy him, there’s nowhere else they’re sending him besides Iraq or Afghanistan or whatever godforsaken, war ridden country in the Middle East he’ll be forced to put his life on the line for. 

And for how much the reality of Frankie leaving scares you, when you’re hit with the reality that Frankie may leave and never come back, you’re absolutely terrified. 

“I don’t want you to go, Frankie.” 

You can’t beg him to stay. There’s no amount of bargaining you can do with him or the powers that be to change what’s been done. All you can do is tell him your truth as you sob into his chest while he holds you. Maybe if you’re not enough to make him stay, you’re at least enough to make him want to come home. 

You’re not sure how long he holds you while you cry. Maybe it’s minutes, maybe it’s hours. However long it is, all the moments you have left with Frankie feel that much more precious. You won’t let any of them slip through your fingers. 

“You promise you’ll come home, right?” 

“I promise, MacKenzie. I promise.” 

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Francisco Morales, it’s that he’ll never break a promise. You just hope the universe is kind enough to let him keep this one, too. 

“I promise that we’ll have a really fun summer together before I leave too, okay? Whatever you wanna do, Kenz, I’ll do it.” 

“Anything?” 

It’s enough to peek your head out from the crook of his neck, trying your best to wipe away your tears with your sleeve, like you hadn’t just stained the better part of Frankie’s sweatshirt with the same wetness. 

“Anything.” 

“Alright, well, I guess we’re gonna go to Dairy Queen and get an extra large blizzard every day until you’re too fat for the Army to want you anymore.” 

The two of you giggle, a quiet symphony of soft snorts and sobs at the idea of rolling an ice cream filled Frankie off to boot camp. It makes him laugh even harder that he wouldn’t put it past you if you really did try. Perhaps it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if you did. 

“Whatever you want, MacKenzie. I’m all yours.” 

Frankie, Present 

Frankie’s convinced he might as well start training for a marathon at this point. 

He’s not really sure how else to spend his time. It’s hard to keep himself occupied when all he can do at home is sit around and wait for your dad to die or stare out the window like a creep to watch your comings and goings. 

At least if he’s running, he can’t think about you. 

Well, he can’t think about you as much. 

It’s been a day and a half since he decided to follow you on your run. He’s already pushed his luck enough that you didn’t damn near kill him for it, let alone that you even gave him a chance to talk to him. 

He let you take the first  shift on the morning yesterday, despite the fact he’d been awake well before the sun rose. The irony wasn’t lost on him at the way he watched you through his bedroom window the same way he did most Saturday and Sunday mornings for the first few years of your friendship. You’d be up at the same ungodly hour as him, except you’d be pacing up and down your driveway, stretching and lunging across its length as you clicked around on the iPod wrapped around your forearm, searching for whatever song would pump you up for your run. 

It wasn’t until you had finally noticed Frankie peering out his bedroom window every weekend that you began to drag him along on your runs with you. 

“If you’re awake too, you might as well come running with me, Morales. It’ll be fun!” 

“Fine. I gotta warn you though, Kenz, I am actually pretty fast.” 

“You barely run the mile in gym class.” 

“Savin’ up all my energy for when I need it most, Anderson.” 

There was once a time where you would have to beg Frankie to come with you on a run. Now, he’d give anything for you to tolerate his existence ten feet behind you. 

But he’ll sacrifice another run alone through all too familiar roads of his childhood subdivision if it helps him kill time and keeps you from hating him anymore than you rightfully deserve to. 

Yesterday, he went on two runs to pass the time. Hell, today, he’d consider adding a third run to his underwhelming schedule just to keep himself busy. Fortunately, (or unfortunately, he can’t tell yet) for him, Maria Morales has other plans. 

And when Maria Morales has plans, it’s in Frankie’s best interest to drop anything else he had in mind for the day. 

Even when it means he’s got a hot date with his basement and a mountain full of boxes in his basement. 

“Okay, anything in this pile to the left is for you to go through.” His mom grunts, lifting up one last box to add to the heap labeled “Francisco’s things” in her perfectly curved cursive, “If you want to take it home, find an empty box to put it in, but not my new clear, plastic bins, entiendes (understand)? Those were expensive.” 

“No clear plastic bins, got it.” Frankie chuckles, following the exaggerated step his mother takes over his scattered belongings. 

“If you see something and you don’t want it now but you want me to keep it for later, you can put it over on the shelf by the stairs. If you think it’s basura (trash), leave it over here and let me look at it first before you throw it away.” 

“Comprendido (got it).” Frankie nods, sizing up the stack his mom has set out for him, “Jesus ma, this is gonna take me all morning to go through.” 

“If you were home more, there would be less things to go through now.” 

“Yeah, well, you got me there.” Frankie grumbles under his breath, grimacing at the harsh reality of his mom’s words. He knows isn’t meant completely out of malice, but he can’t deny it’s certainly got some truth to it as well.  

“Okay, well I need to go run some errands, and I want this pile sorted by the end of the day, so standing here and moping certainly isn’t going to help that. Get to work, mijo (son).” 

His mom will never be one to throw a pity party for anyone, and most definitely won’t be throwing one for her son, based on his own, self-inflicted problem. Frankie helps her step over another makeshift pile scattered for sorting across the basement floor, giving him a quick pat on the back before disappearing upstairs, leaving him to quite literally unpack his past. 

“Fuck. Okay.” He sighs to himself, gently kicking one of the edges of flimsy cardboard at the bottom of the tower, trying to formulate his best plan of attack to make his sorting as painless as possible. 

He’s thankful that his brain has always worked in a way that allows him to analyze things so quickly, doing some quiet calculations in his head as to the most effective and efficient way to sort through god knows what may be hidden in the pile his mom has created for him. 

He runs his hand through the still messy curls of his morning bed head before selecting what feels like the lightest boxes and moving them off to the side, opening up a cardboard container from the next layer. 

Besides the trophies still in his room, every prize he’d ever won for every sport he’d ever played sits in the box below him. Frankie chuckles to himself, picking up some from the top to examine them, thumb gliding over the fake gold plating to read plaques like “Florida Junior Divisional Freestyle Swimming Finalist- 2005” or “Regional Championship Winners- Florida Firebirds 2007” glued to poorly sculpted plastic statues of swimmers. A few more medals and certificates had sunk to the bottom of the box, Frankie quickly grazing through its contents before rehoming it to the “trash” pile, unsure of when he would ever need proof he won several swimming competitions in high school. 

The next few boxes were more of the same- His varsity jacket, old t-shirts he wouldn’t stand a chance fitting into, considering the gangly figure that stretched them more than a decade ago, some old books from high school he’d only kept because of how much you loved them and he promised you that one day, he’d read them, too. 

It’s the shoe box that catches his eye next, sure that no matter how much his mom loved to hoard, whatever was in there most definitely was not a raggedy, holy pair of Converse from high school. 

It’s not until he picks up the box that he knows exactly what’s inside. It’s one of the lightest things he’s picked up in the last hour, but when he knows the weight of its contents, his arms want to tremble. 

It’s with a long deep breath that he brings the shoebox over to an open patch of floor, letting out a grunt and cursing his knees as he sits down cross legged with the box in front of him. He gently flips open the lid, hand running over his face and down the back of his neck when his suspicions are confirmed. 

Open envelopes spill out over the edges of the worn cardboard, the box stuffed to the brim with every letter you’d ever written to him while he was away.

Even if he wanted to, he’s not sure he could ever physically bring himself to throw them out. Those letters have more miles on them than most people’s cars will ever reach in a lifetime, flimsy, stamped pieces of paper following him to every corner of the globe he’s traveled to. 

Some letters he’s read so much, they’re worn on the edges where he’s held the paper, smudging the pen that’s reached the sides of the pages. Others, he’s only read once. He’s not sure he could ever bring himself to read them again. But regardless of their contents, he’d made a promise to you they’d stay with him. 

“Better not get rid of those letters, Morales. Do you know how many hand cramps I’ve given myself trying to find the words to send halfway across the world to you? You better promise me you’ll keep ‘em.”  

His commitment to the folded pieces of paper ring in his ears as his fingers drag across the tops of the open envelopes. He can’t help the way his index finger and thumb pinch the paper below his grasp, carefully tugging a random letter out of its shoebox storage. 

It’s a gut wrenching gamble, the game he’s about to play, a roulette of making his heart ache from joy or pain depending on the one he chooses to pull. He’s already placed his bet as he pulls the lined piece of paper out of the envelope- He’s not getting the money he’s already placed on the table back, so he might as well pray he makes a return on his investment. 

With one more deep breath, he unfolds the tri-fold creases, ready to watch his bet play out before him. 

August 18th, 2006

Frankie, 

I hope I sent this letter to the right place! I looked on the website and it said to send mail to new recruits (that’s you, Morales), to this address, so no one better be holding my letter to you hostage. 

Anyways, how’s training so far? Did they make you shave your head yet? I hope not. I’m not sure why the Army insists on making you all look like Dr. Evil from Austin Powers. I’m sure you’ll still look cute even with short hair! I don’t think I can say the same for Santi, but you didn’t hear that from me… hehehe 

I just moved into my dorm yesterday! My roommate seems pretty nice. Her name is Jessica and she’s from Georgia. She claims that she’s neat and she better be, or I may lose my mind. I’ll send you pictures of my dorm once it’s all set up! It’s kind of a mess right now, but I made sure to put the picture of us from prom up on my desk :)

I don’t start class until next Tuesday. Hopefully I’ll meet some new people in my dorm or on the soccer team so I’m not a total loser with no friends. LOL. 

Have you met anyone new yet? I can’t wait to hear all about your new Army friends! I already started a countdown calendar until we can see each other again. Only 70 days until basic training is done and I can hear about everything in person! 

I miss you a lot. I know that’s dumb to say because it’s only been a week, but still. I wish I would have kissed you again before you got on the plane to leave. I promise I will when I see you. Nothing says perfect place to kiss like South Missouri, romance capital of the USA (haha). 

I know you’re gonna be busy, but write me back when you have time. The return address on the envelope is my dorm address, so use that, or risk Doug and Michelle reading your mail if you send it to my house!!! I can’t wait to hear from you. Miss you, weirdo. 

From, 

Kenz :) <3

His luck of the draw sends a wave of relief through him, smiling down at the curvy loops of your perfectly neat printing signed at the bottom of the page. It makes his heart skip a beat, the same kind of butterflies coming to life in his stomach as they did the first time he read it. He’s earned his money back and then some. He gets how casinos never go broke, because the high of good fortune is enough to have him reaching back into the box to put another gamble on the line. 

October 13th, 2009

Frankie, 

I always feel dumb sending multiple letters before I hear back from you, but you know me, I love to worry. I know you can’t tell me where you are right now (stupid military and their secrets for the safety of society lol) but I’ve been seeing stuff on the news and it makes me scared for you. I just hope wherever you are, you’re safe. 

My dad’s cancer is back. He’s been in the hospital for almost two weeks now. They found a new mass on his liver, but they said hopefully they can target it with radiation before it starts to spread. Cassandra at the front desk asked how you were when I was at the hospital yesterday. I said that you were good. I think she’s only asking because if you’re not there, there’s no one to keep me from burning a hole in the waiting room carpet. 

I wish you were here. I feel really lost right now. I just know if you were here, you’d find a way to make everything better. You always do. 

Sorry this letter isn’t longer. I haven’t been sleeping that great and don’t have enough brainpower to write something decent. Just wanted to let you know what’s going on.  

Counting down the days until you make good on your promise. I hope you come home soon, Frankie. 

Kenzie 

He curses himself for an unlucky draw, heart sinking at the tear stains smearing the blue ink of your trembling letters. An overwhelming wave of guilt washes over him, vivid memories of reading your notes in his bunk alone, wishing there was a way he could fly halfway around the world for a night just to hold you and tell you that everything was going to be okay. 

It’s the addictive itch in the back of his brain that makes him decide to pull one more letter from the box, taking one last gamble to see if he can prove the nagging pit in his stomach to quit while he’s ahead, wrong. 

February 4th, 2011

Hey, 

If you don’t want to write anymore, that’s fine. I was trying to be friendly, but clearly you don’t really care. Just let me know and I’ll stop bombarding you with mail you obviously don’t want. Or I guess you not responding is letting me know. If you want to send anything back you can send it to my parents house. I’m moving into Liam’s house and it’s only 20 minutes away so I can just drive there and pick it up. No need to send you a new address you probably aren’t going to write to, anyways. 

I guess I’ll see you when I see you. 

MacKenzie 

And that’s how Vegas will always stay in business. 

Because now Frankie is forced to walk away, all his money stolen from him at the stupid risk he’s decided to take. The one letter he’d give anything not to read again is the one he had to pull. 

Heat seethes in his chest- he can’t quite explain why. Because he lost at a rigged game he’d set up for himself? That he still hasn’t quite come to terms with the ugly truth of what he put the both of you through? That he wishes with everything in him, he could go back and change what he’s done? 

Or maybe, it’s because now might be the last chance he has to fix what he’s broken, and he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to live with himself if he can’t.

He leaves the pile in the basement unfinished, shoes barely tied to his feet before he bursts out the door in a sprint.

He's not sure where he's going. He's not even sure how long he's run for. All he knows is the pounding of his feet against the pavement, trying to outrun the stupid decisions of his past.

He tells himself if he runs fast enough, he'll beat them.

If he goes far enough, they'll be forgotten.

If he outraces them, you'll be there waiting for him at the finish line.

@chaotic-iguana @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @raspberrybesitos

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @vee-bees-blog @itsokbbygrl

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @jolapeno @ovaryacted

@amanitacowboy @mystickittytaco @anoverwhelmingdin @greenwitchfromthewoods

@witchofthedeepwoods @ericamarie093 @readingiskeepingmegoing @whimsiwitchy @whoaitspascal87

@vickie5446 @katw474 @ravenpoe67 @inthedarkestnight @brittmb115

@harryscherrysugar @wonderpillar @sunnytuliptime @pasc4lfuzz @yesjazzywazzylove-blog

@kungfucapslock @vannabanana1995 @beezusvreeland

@javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[celestie0]

hi my friends! hope you're all doing well. just wanted to come on here and share a little updates w you guys (if you're still here lol)

i guess it's been like a month n a half since i formally went on hiatus, and it's been nice! i got kinda sick for a little bit lmfaooo which was tough to manage w school, but i'm better now

although i took time away from my blog, i still delved in writing here n there. i haven't written anything for kickoff since tbh i'm in such a slump w it. but i still have big plans for stuff that happens after ch13, so hopefully i can just push through this next chapter and get to a better place. thanks so much to anyone that is still interested in the story, it means a lot to me. i know i'm so slow w updates and the story has been going on for almost a year now, but the continued support is so sweet! even though i didn't work on writing it these past one n a half months, i still really love it and plan to finish it.

i'm not sure if many people remember that i had this sort of "apocalypse" gojo x reader au about an asteroid being set to hit the earth in three days, and reader n gojo are ex lovers n the impending end of the world makes them break no-contact...yeah i finished writing the first chapter for it and i really love it so far! it's like set in new york which is really fun haha i love stories where new york is kind of its own "character" if that makes sense...it will definitely be a limited series w only 4 chapters or so, but i kinda wanna finish all 4 chapters before i start posting it bc i don't want it to be a drawn out series in terms of posting since i think it'd be best enjoyed in frequent succession if that makes sense

as for ihm, i think i wrote the most for ihm during my hiatus. i finished three chapters for it, but they are shorter chapters (around 3-4k words). i kinda realized one of my biggest reasons for burnout w my fics were the reaaaaallly long chapters...like didn't i have a 22k chapter for kickoff or sumn lol. idk i can't remember. but anyways, yeah the mindset behind the longer chapters was bc i liked each chapter to kinda have its own conflict, build up, tension then resolution in a sense. but it was exhausting to write that way tbh lol. so i think moving forward, for ihm, i will have shorter chapters. i just don't wanna think to much about things anymore, and write from my heart, bc i have a lot of things planned for ihm, and among the criticism i've received for my writing choices vs my own vision for the story, i've realized during my hiatus that the only way i can finish ihm, or any of my storeis for that matter, is if i just.........stop giving a fuck about it. lol idk if that sounds strange to say, but like, i don't want to over-edit anything. i don't want to think too much about redundancy. i don't want to flower things up or cut stuff out. i'm at the point where imma just write a first draft, check for grammarly errors, and then post it. i guess the reason i'm sharing this is because idk if this means that people may enjoy my writing less since i will admittedly be spending much less time on it than i did before, but tbh i realized i find the most joy while i'm writing, and not while i'm editing. so i want to spend as little time on the latter as possible, and if that changes the quality of my work, then so be it.

anyways, hmm as for hiatus. i guess i'm off hiatus now? i really enjoyed being off of tumblr tbh this app has a lot of questionable content at times (esp in jjk community) and it also did wonders for my studying bc i wasn't spending time doomscrolling or shit posting anymore lmfaooo. but as for writing in particular, i think i will start to post ihm again exclusively. i can't say anything about kickoff or my other projects, but i feel comfortable to start posting ihm again.

sorry, i know that i have kept my replies and ask box off for a long time. but i will open them again once i start posting chapters because i really miss interacting with you guys.

anywho, these are my updates lol i'm like not sure how many of my readers are still here or which ones have moved on but that's ok, i'm grateful to anyone n everyone. hope to see you all soon again!

[a-spes]

DEVIOUS LIES — MASTERLIST (27.842 words)

| Summary (anon request) — When your friend asked you out for a drink, you didn't think much about it. Yet, maybe you should've, because that night ruined your life. It may have been two years since the events, but you still can't stop think about what you've lost. Your job, your friends, your lover, and even your mind was left in that motel room. Tags — Natasha Romanoff x Avenger!R, Wanda Maximoff x Avenger!R, Avengers x Avenger!Reader, Angst Without Comfort, Bittersweet.

| Part one. — 3.842 words. Warnings - Cheating, Mental Health Issues, Suicidal Ideations, Self-depreciation.

It is the last time you’ve seen her, and as pitiful as it is, you have long cherished this last contact with the redhead. No matter how violent and hateful it has been, it was still the last time you’ve touched the love of your life, and you missed it the moment she let go of your arm. Her, and her touch. Despite everything, despite the years, you still needed her presence by your side, and it doesn’t matter if your relationship has to be brutal, you are ready to accept anything if it means being close to her for a few more days.

| Part two. — 8.792 words. Warnings - Mentions of Cheating, Mental Health Issues, Suicidal Ideations, Self-depreciation, Mentions of SA&SH, Manipulation, Toxic Relationship&Friendship, Revenge Porn, NC Use of Drugs.

The pictures, the clothes, the gifts, even your favorite cutlery has been burned a few days after you left them. It is almost as if you’ve never stepped a foot into the building, as if you’ve never existed. The woman was fine with the idea of pretending that nothing happened — She was fine with the idea of erasing every remaining part of your relationship.

| Part three. — 8.929 words. Warnings - Mental Health Issues, Suicidal Ideations, Self-deprecation, Depression, Manipulation, Toxic Friendship, Severe Injuries (R), Mentions of Death, No Happy Ending.

“I am a hero,” you whispered in your breath, “and that’s what heroes do,” you added, repeating the sentence once more. You were trying to find a little bravery in this mantra, the one you needed to push your limits a little further.  Yet, all you find in these words is deep despair, because a part of you knows that they are not true — and you are not a hero. Not anymore. You tried to believe Fury’s lies. You wanted to believe them, and deceive yourself because it gave you a bit of hope, a reason to carry on, but the illusion couldn’t last for eternity. What’s a hero when they are hated by the whole world? A villain.

| The scars in our hearts. - 6.279 words. Warnings - Self-doubt, Self-depreciation, Mental Health Issues, Mention of Bad&Unhealthy Copism Mechanisms, Toxic Relationships&Friendships.

It has been almost three years since you came back, and it still wasn’t enough. Sometimes, you think about letting go of that dream of yours, the one that makes you believe that things could still get back to normal, even when nothing was —; but how could you do something like that? How could you possibly think about abandoning them again when they’ve been willing to give you a second chance? You weren’t ready yet to accept that the home you’ve been longing to return didn’t feel like it anymore, at least not without first trying your hardest to make things right. Thus you kept pushing yourself a bit more everyday, at the cost of your health — which seemed a very small price to pay in exchange for the feeling of being at home again.

[whatifitis]

♡ Nine Lives - LH 44 ♡

Summary: Movie night with you and Lewis leads to yet another silly love declaration from the both of you.

Author's Note: This was a request that asked for a fluffy Lewis fic so here is my attempt at some extra fluffy stuff! Hope y'all like it. Feedback is always appreciated <3

WC: 964

CW: fluff, this whole thing is basically the nine lives song from webkinz so there's no originality i'm sorry 😭, roscoe mention

It was movie night and it was your turn to pick the movie. Well, it’s been your turn to pick the movie. Usually, you and your boyfriend, Lewis, will alternate who gets to pick the movie to make it fair, but the past 5 times, it’s been Lewis’ choice. 

You pointed out the other day that it was meant to be your turn since you hadn’t been able to pick one in ages, to which Lewis argued that the both of you had been mutually agreeing on movies which is a flat out lie. While you do enjoy watching his favorite movie Cool Runnings, it was getting to a point where you got annoyed every time the opening scene played. 

The alternate choice Lewis would give sometimes was Frozen and you could no longer let it go and love was soon gonna be an open door that would be shut in Lewis’ face. 

After some bickering, Lewis finally let you pick the next movie. You had decided that you were going to make him watch your favorite movie of all time, The Three Lives of Thomasina. You had watched the film for the first time as a child, and since then, it always brought you a sense of joy and comfort. 

The two of you prepared for your movie night by doing the usual, setting up a fort built out of couch cushions, pillows and blankets. Tonight you added some fairlights for some extra flair and in celebration of it finally being your turn to pick the movie. You had also gone out earlier in the day and bought a ton of snacks just for tonight, as well as ordering some takeout. 

Once everything was set up, Lewis, Roscoe, and yourself got settled and comfortable in your little fort. You and Lewis immediately dug into the food as you clicked play on the tv. Don’t worry about Roscoe though, you had prepared a special, vegan meal for him so that he was included in the family activity. 

When the opening scene began, Lewis was already, jokingly, sighing exasperatedly, rolling his eyes an excessive amount of times. His arms folded across his chest with a playful smile playing on his lips every time he complains about the movie, side eyeing you from time to time to watch your reactions to his antics. 

Half way through the movie, you and Lewis are cuddled up and the food has been run through. As the movie continues playing, a question pops into your head. 

“If you were a cat, would you live them all with me?” you asked curiously. 

Lewis looks down at you, brows furrowed a bit as he’s unsure where this question came from. Then he smiles, loving all the times you would ask him questions like this. They were just silly questions asked for fun and out of curiosity, but they were also ways he could profess his love to you in new ways. 

“If I had nine lives, I would live them all with you. We would go on more adventures than we do now. I would take you on a trip around the world on a sailing ship. It would be a simple boat built just for two and we’d set sail, just me and you. We'd go round and when we’d reach our destination, we’d start over. You’re the only one for me, darling. Can’t you see?” he tells you. 

“I can. For life two, we could build a home with lots of kids and garden gnomes. We would listen to the pitter-patter of feet running up and down the street.” you tell him, eyes sparkling like the night sky that shines over the two of you through the window.

“For number three, it’d be like now. I’d work a lot because that’s what I was always taught. But we’d buy all the things we’d need for a healthy family. And for life four, you would read because you love to. You’d have your own library that I built just for you. Every now and then, I’d look for your face among them.”, he rubs his thumb on the bare skin of your hip and continues, “For lives five, six, seven and eight, we would try and alleviate the sounds of suffering and the cris of hunger, pain, and forlorn eyes. We’d help people everywhere.”

Your heart is beating warmly in your chest, being reminded of all three love you and Lewis share for not only each other, but for the world that brought you two together. 

With a deep breath, you finish the story, “For life nine, we would be somewhere on a pair of rocking chairs. We’d be happy, slightly grey. If you’re lucky, I’ll bake a cake. And when I wish on a star, I will wish for nine more lives, cause nine lives would not be enough with you.” tears are now streaming down your face. 

Lewis holds the side of your face, wiping away the tears with his hand. He pulls you close to him and presses a kiss to your head, then moving to capture your lips in a soft and comforting kiss. He keeps you there for a moment, reminding you that you are his and he is yours. When you pull apart, Lewis is looking at you with admiration and love in his eyes. 

“You are my one and only love.”

Roscoe lets out a little whine, to which you and Lewis laugh at. 

You sit up and pull Roscoe to sit between Lewis and yourself. 

“How could we forget you, Roscoe? You’re the best thing to ever happen to us. My beautiful, beautiful boy. You would join us for all our lives as well, cause we wouldn’t want to do it without you.”

[qrrieterisunnq]

Hands Full of Flour

FT. BROCK BOESER AND KITCHEN SEX MINORS DNI - 18+ content below the cut — WARNINGS: sex scenes (please keep it safe guys!) — SUMMARY: Brock and his pregnant partner share a playful and passionate evening in their kitchen, blending love, laughter, and desire. Amid tender moments and teasing banter, their connection deepens, reaffirming the strength of their bond. — WORD COUNT: 3,74K

A sweet scent flows through the hallway of Brock’s apartment building as he slowly reaches the door to his. He smiles slightly at the knowledge that you are baking this food with this delicious smell.

Pulling his keys out of his jacket he unlocked the door and grins widely when he hears you singing. He quietly closes the door and lets go of the bag in his hand.

Softly he walks into the kitchen chuckling softly at the sight of your swaying hips.

Brock can say you are in a different world by the way you softly sing and dance around the kitchen. He walks up to you and carefully wraps his hands around your hips. A loud shriek comes from your lips as if you had no idea someone was there with you.

“Fucking shit!” you breathe out, your hand resting on your cheat while you lean in Brock’s chest.

“Sorry baby.” He laughs, nuzzling his nose in the crock of your neck, planting soft kisses there.

“You want me to deliver earlier?!” you look at him with a shake of your head, your hands sliding down to your thirty-week-old belly, that holds your baby boy.

“I’m sorry love.” he giggles moving his hands under your belly and lifting it to reveal some weight from your back.

“Forgiven,” you murmured leaning your weight into Brock's muscular body. “Keep holding please.” you sigh in relief.

“I will. What are you cooking?” Brock murmurs in your ear kissing the side of your head.

“I made lasagna for you and now I’m trying to make some cookies, but it's harder to focus with this little one kicking me non-stop," you chuckle softly, resting your hands on top of Brock's as he cradles your belly. 

Brock grins and presses another kiss to your temple. "He’s probably just excited about the lasagna. I know I am." 

You roll your eyes playfully, but a smile tugs at your lips. "You’re worse than him sometimes, you know that?" 

"I’ll take that as a compliment," Brock teases, swaying with you gently, his strong arms still supporting your belly. "But seriously, you’ve been on your feet too long. Why don’t you sit down for a bit? I’ll finish the cookies." 

"You? Baking?" You raise an eyebrow and glance up at him, amused. "Last time you tried, we almost set off the smoke alarm." 

"Hey, I’ve improved," he says with mock indignation. "Besides, I have a great teacher." 

You laugh softly and let him guide you to a chair by the kitchen table. "Alright, but if you burn these, you're eating them anyway." 

Brock chuckles as he ties an apron around his waist. "Deal. Now, just sit back, relax, and watch me prove I’m more than just a lasagna enthusiast." 

As you sit there, watching him clumsily measure ingredients and fumble with the mixer, you can’t help but feel a swell of love for the man who’s doing everything he can to make your life easier, even if it means battling cookie dough. 

"Hey, don’t look at me like that," Brock says, catching your gaze and grinning. 

"Like what?" 

"Like I’m the luckiest guy in the world. Because I already know I am." 

Your heart melts as you reach for his hand, pulling him close for a quick kiss. "You are. But don’t let the cookies burn, lucky guy." 

With a laugh, Brock turns back to the dough, and you sit back, content, as the sweet scent of your shared love fills the kitchen.

As Brock fusses over the cookie dough, you lean back in the chair, resting a hand on your belly. The rhythmic movements of his hands as he stirs the mixture are oddly calming, even if he’s doing it all wrong.

"You know, you’re supposed to fold the flour in gently, not attack it like a whisk is your enemy," you tease, watching him struggle to keep the mixture from flying out of the bowl.

"Hey, I’m just adding a little flair. This is a performance, not just baking," Brock says with mock seriousness, spinning the whisk dramatically before setting it down.

You laugh, shaking your head. "The performance might need a little work, chef."

Brock flashes a grin. "Noted. But just wait—these cookies are going to blow your mind."

As he continues his chaotic masterpiece, you feel a sharp kick from your belly, and you can’t help but wince slightly. Brock notices immediately and stops mid-motion.

"Hey, are you okay?" he asks, concern etched on his face as he crosses the kitchen to kneel beside you.

"Yeah, I’m fine," you reassure him, though your hand remains on your belly. "Your son is just very... energetic today."

Brock gently places a hand beside yours, his touch soothing. "Hey, little man," he says softly, leaning in to press a kiss to your belly. "Go easy on your mom, alright? She’s doing all the hard work here."

You smile at the sight, your heart swelling. "He probably gets it from you, you know. That energy."

Brock looks up, mock-offended. "Me? I’m the picture of calm and control."

You both burst out laughing, the sound filling the kitchen and mingling with the warm scents of lasagna and cookie dough.

"Alright, alright," Brock says, standing back up. "I’ll finish these cookies, and then we’ll eat like kings. Sounds good?"

You nod, resting your head back. "Sounds perfect. Just try not to burn anything."

"I make no promises," he teases, returning to his chaotic baking.

As you watch him, you can’t help but think how lucky you are. It’s not just about the little things he does—it’s the way he loves you and your growing family with his whole heart. In this moment, with laughter and sweetness filling the air, everything feels exactly as it should.

Brock finishes scooping the last bit of cookie dough onto the tray, looking rather proud of himself. "Not bad, huh?" he asks, holding the tray up for your inspection.

You smirk, tilting your head. "Not bad... for someone who almost mixed half the flour onto the counter."

"Hey, a little mess never hurt anyone," he retorts, sliding the tray into the oven. He turns back toward you, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "But you know what does hurt?"

"What?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

"The fact that you’ve been stealing my attention all evening," he murmurs, his voice dropping into a low, playful tone.

You roll your eyes, laughing softly. "Brock, I was baking. Not seducing you."

"Well, you’ve succeeded at both," he says, stepping closer, his hands finding your hips. He kneels in front of you again, his gaze locking with yours as his fingers gently massage the curve of your sides. "You’re stunning, you know that?"

Your cheeks flush under his heated gaze. "Brock, I’m thirty weeks pregnant. I feel like a waddling penguin."

"You feel like my goddess," he counters, his voice husky. His hands slide under your shirt, gently caressing the soft skin of your belly. "And you’re carrying our baby. That makes you the sexiest woman alive to me."

Your breath catches as he leans in, pressing a slow, reverent kiss just above your belly button. His hands stroke your sides, his touch careful and loving, but there’s a growing intensity in his movements.

"Brock," you whisper, your voice trembling slightly as his lips trail upward, over the curve of your belly and to the swell of your chest.

"Tell me if I should stop," he murmurs against your skin, his lips brushing your collarbone now.

Your fingers weave into his hair, tugging gently. "Don’t stop," you say softly, your voice barely audible but full of meaning.

He grins against your skin, rising to his feet and scooping you into his arms with surprising ease. "Let me take care of you, love," he whispers, his lips finding yours in a deep, passionate kiss.

He carries you to the counter, setting you down gently. His hands cradle your face as he continues kissing you, his touch both worshipful and commanding. You feel the heat building between you, the world outside the kitchen fading away as Brock’s love and desire for you become the only thing you’re aware of.

His kisses trail back to your neck as his hands work to unbutton your shirt, revealing more of your skin to his touch. His movements are deliberate, his focus entirely on you, making you feel beautiful, cherished, and desired despite your protests about your changing body.

"Brock," you murmur again, your voice filled with both need and affection.

"Shh, I’ve got you," he replies, his voice a promise as his hands and lips continue their exploration.

Brock’s lips leave a heated trail down your neck as his hands glide beneath your shirt, his thumbs brushing the sensitive skin along your ribs. His touch is slow, deliberate, like he’s savoring every inch of you.

"You’re so damn beautiful," he murmurs against your skin, his voice low and rough with desire.

Your breath hitches as his hands shift lower, cupping your hips firmly. His body presses closer to yours, and you can feel the heat radiating from him. "Brock," you whisper, your voice trembling with anticipation.

He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his dark eyes filled with hunger and love. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?" he asks, his hands sliding over your thighs, parting them slightly as he steps between them.

You bite your lip, the teasing edge in his voice making your body heat up. "Maybe," you reply, tilting your head coyly, "but I wouldn’t mind a demonstration."

His lips crash into yours, all restraint gone as he claims your mouth with an intensity that leaves you breathless. His hands grip your thighs, pulling you closer to the edge of the counter until there’s no space left between your bodies.

"You drive me insane," he growls against your lips, his teeth grazing your bottom lip before he kisses you deeply again. His hands slide up your back, pulling your shirt over your head and tossing it aside without breaking the kiss.

You shiver at the cool air against your skin, but the warmth of his touch quickly follows. His palms cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over the sensitive peaks through the thin fabric of your bra, sending sparks of pleasure through you.

"Sensitive?" he asks softly, his lips curling into a smirk as he watches your reaction.

You nod, your voice caught in your throat as his lips trail downward, peppering kisses along your collarbone and over the swell of your chest. "Good," he murmurs, his voice dripping with desire.

With one hand, he unclasps your bra, letting it fall away, and takes a moment to admire you. "You’re breathtaking," he whispers before lowering his head, his mouth capturing one of your nipples, his tongue flicking over the sensitive skin while his hand teases the other.

Your fingers grip the edge of the counter as a soft moan escapes your lips. Brock’s free hand slides down your body, caressing the curve of your belly with a reverence that makes your heart ache with love even as your body craves more.

His kisses trail lower, pausing to press gentle, adoring kisses over your belly. "I love you," he whispers against your skin, the intensity of his words sending a shiver down your spine.

"Brock," you gasp, your body arching toward him as his hands grip your hips again, tugging at the waistband of your leggings.

"You trust me?" he asks, his voice low and filled with promise.

"Always," you reply, your eyes locking with his.

With that, Brock kneels before you, his hands sliding your leggings down your legs, his lips never straying far from your skin. His kisses grow hungrier, his breath hot against your thighs as he pulls you closer to the edge of the counter.

The world outside the kitchen disappears as Brock’s focus is entirely on you, his touch and his mouth driving you to a level of pleasure that leaves you breathless, every ounce of tension and discomfort from the day melting away under his care.

Brock’s hands are firm yet gentle as he grips your thighs, spreading them wider to make room for himself. His mouth continues its trail of kisses, leaving you breathless as he moves closer to your most sensitive spots. Each touch sends waves of heat coursing through your body, making you forget everything but him.

“God, you taste like heaven,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire as his lips brush against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. His stubble grazes you lightly, a teasing sensation that leaves you trembling in anticipation.

Your fingers find their way into his hair, tugging gently as your head falls back. “Brock,” you breathe, the sound of his name leaving your lips like a prayer.

He looks up at you from his kneeling position, his dark eyes filled with adoration and lust. “I love seeing you like this,” he says, his voice low and reverent. “Completely mine.”

Before you can respond, his mouth finds its mark, and the pleasure that follows has you crying out his name. Brock doesn’t hold back, his hands gripping your hips to keep you steady as he works, his movements deliberate and skilled.

Your body arches, your hand tightening in his hair as he takes his time, savoring every reaction he pulls from you. Each moan, each shiver, only spurs him on, his own need evident in the way his fingers dig into your skin.

“Brock,” you gasp, your voice trembling as your body climbs higher and higher. “I… I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice a mixture of command and encouragement. “Let go for me, baby. I’ve got you.”

His words push you over the edge, and you fall apart in his hands, the pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave. Brock doesn’t stop until you’re completely undone, his kisses turning soft and soothing as he brings you down from your high.

You’re still catching your breath when he stands, his hands sliding up your body to cradle your face. His lips meet yours in a kiss that’s slow and deep, the taste of you still lingering on his tongue.

“You okay?” he asks softly, his forehead resting against yours as he brushes a strand of hair from your face.

You nod, your cheeks flushed and your body humming. “Better than okay,” you murmur, your hands sliding down his chest.

His grin is full of pride as he kisses you again, his hands steadying you when you lean into him. “Good,” he says, his voice full of love. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

You let out a soft laugh, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. “The cookies, Brock. They’ll burn.”

He smirks, his hands sliding down to grip your hips. “We’ve got time. Trust me.” Brock leans in, his lips brushing yours with a teasing softness. “You really think cookies are the priority right now?” His voice is thick with amusement and desire as his hands find their place on your hips again, pulling you flush against him.

Your laugh is breathless, your fingers tracing the edge of his jaw. “Well, you did promise me cookies…”

“And I delivered,” he murmurs, trailing kisses along your jawline and down your neck. “But I’ve got something even sweeter right here.”

You shiver at the feel of his breath against your skin, your fingers tangling in his hair again. “Brock, you’re impossible,” you whisper, though your body responds eagerly as his hands roam your curves.

He pulls back just enough to lock eyes with you, his gaze burning with intensity. “Only for you.”

Before you can respond, he lifts you effortlessly onto the counter, the cool surface a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his touch. His hands cradle your belly for a moment, his thumbs stroking the soft skin with an intimacy that sends a wave of love through you.

“I love every part of you,” he murmurs, his voice filled with awe as he lowers his lips to your belly. “Both of you.”

The tenderness of his words makes your heart swell, but the way his kisses shift lower reignites the fire between you. His hands slide under your thighs, spreading them wider as his lips claim your skin.

“Brock…” Your voice trembles, and you grip the counter behind you for support as his touch becomes more insistent.

He looks up, his grin wicked. “Still worried about the cookies?”

Your laugh dissolves into a gasp as his mouth finds its mark once more, and all thoughts of burning desserts vanish completely.

Your body trembles beneath Brock's touch, still reeling from the waves of pleasure he's drawn from you. His lips trail up your neck and along your jawline as he rises to his full height, his dark eyes locked on yours.

"You’re incredible," he murmurs, his voice hoarse with both desire and affection. His large hands cradle your face for a moment, his thumbs brushing over your flushed cheeks.

You catch your breath, reaching for him, your fingers curling into his shirt and tugging him closer. "I need you, Brock," you whisper, your voice laced with urgency and longing.

His lips twitch into a smirk, his confidence returning as he pulls you into another searing kiss. This time, it’s deeper, hungrier, leaving no doubt about the fire burning between you.

Effortlessly, Brock scoops you into his arms, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. He carries you a few steps before pressing your back gently against the cool wall, the contrast sending a shiver through your body. His broad chest presses against you, his strength both protective and thrilling.

“Are you sure this is okay?” he murmurs, his lips brushing yours as he pauses for a moment, his hands bracing your hips.

You nod, your fingers threading through his hair. “I want this. I want you. Don’t stop.”

That’s all the reassurance he needs. He adjusts his hold, his hands gripping under your thighs to lift you higher as he positions himself. Slowly, deliberately, he pushes into you, filling you completely.

The sensation pulls a gasp from your lips, your head falling back against the wall as your body adjusts to the delicious stretch. Brock groans low in his throat, his head dipping to your shoulder as he stills for a moment, giving you both time to savor the connection.

“You feel so perfect,” he murmurs, his voice raw with awe and desire. His lips brush against the sensitive skin of your neck, leaving a trail of heated kisses that make your toes curl.

Your hands grip his shoulders, your nails pressing into his skin as you rock your hips against him. The movement draws a sharp inhale from Brock, his control slipping as he begins to move, his thrusts slow but deep.

The rhythm he sets is intoxicating, each motion sending waves of pleasure radiating through your body. You cling to him, your moans soft but urgent as you meet his movements.

“Brock,” you breathe, your voice trembling with both need and love. “Don’t stop. Please.”

He growls softly, his pace quickening, his hips rolling against yours with a precision that leaves you breathless. The wall at your back does nothing to muffle the intensity of his movements, the sheer strength of him grounding you as he drives you higher.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, his hands sliding up to cradle your belly for a moment. The reverence in his touch makes your heart ache with love, even as your body burns with desire. “I can’t believe you’re mine.”

You pull his face back to yours, your lips crashing together in a kiss that’s as messy as it is passionate. Your breaths mingle, the sound of your shared moans filling the space as you lose yourselves completely in each other.

The pressure inside you builds to a breaking point, and you cling to him desperately, your body trembling as you hover on the edge. “Brock,” you gasp, your voice almost breaking. “I’m so close.”

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his hands tightening on your hips as he drives into you with a newfound intensity. “Let go for me, baby. I’m right here.”

His words push you over, and the climax crashes through you like a tidal wave, leaving you crying out his name. Your body tightens around him, drawing a deep groan from his chest as he follows you over the edge, his movements growing erratic before stilling completely.

For a moment, the world seems to stand still. The only sounds are your shared breaths, heavy and uneven as you both come down from the high. Brock holds you close, his forehead resting against yours as he gently lowers you back to your feet.

“You okay?” he asks softly, his hands still steadying you as his eyes search yours.

You nod, your legs still shaky but your heart full. “Better than okay,” you murmur, your hands sliding over his chest as you lean into him.

His lips curve into a boyish grin, and he kisses you softly, his touch full of love. “Good. Because I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.”

The timer on the oven beeps, breaking the moment and pulling a soft laugh from you both.

“You and those cookies,” you tease, resting your head against his chest.

“Hey, I was multitasking,” he jokes, his arms wrapping around you protectively. “And for the record, I’d let them burn if it meant keeping you right here.”

You laugh, swatting his chest lightly. “Go save them. We’ve had enough heat in this kitchen for one night.”

He chuckles, pressing one last kiss to your forehead before stepping away to retrieve the tray of cookies. As he sets them on the counter, the sweet aroma fills the room, mingling with the lingering warmth between you.

You watch him with a smile, your heart full as you take in the sight of the man you love, his hair tousled and his grin contagious.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” you warn playfully. “I’m still holding you to finishing those cookies.”

He turns to you, smirking as he leans against the counter. “Oh, I’ll finish them. After round two.”

[oakskull]

You know I have never been interested in any FiM but your pony moshang post is very detailed and extremely good!! I absolutely love how you write your world building and the designs are also soooo good!!

Do you have any snippets about pony moshangs shenanigans or daily life?

-🥭 anon

sure thing buddy we're off to shenanigans for this one👍👍

Baby SQH:

Shang Qinghua didn't get his cutie mark until the system activated and he got all his memories. Before this point he kept trying to use magic and was extremely confused/ upset. Didn't even really try flying because his family was mostly earth pony farmers. He skipped town for Cang Qiong when he was way too young and payed negative attention to his family.

Disiple Era:

A non-crystal pony wearing the little hair accessories doesn't nessasarily mean anything, but when they are given as a gift it generally has a romantic meaning in the sense of "you're joining my family". A bit of an archaic courting method that was more popular when the northern kingdom was more disconnected from the rest of the realm. Airplane didn't write this persay but in an original story he had MBJ give some hair bands to LBH as a sign of allegience, or something, and had the gay undertones as a way to piss off readers. He doesn't remember this at all and probably wouldn't have remembered if it was in the final novel anyway

it took SQH an embaressing amount of time to figure out how to wear the hair bands. Mobei Jun doesn't know he doesnt really wear them.

[swoleas]

Since Veilguard was released, there is this genre of Dragon Age fans popping up who are explaining Dragon Age lore, who have been talking a lot about Qunari lore. Disappointingly, they've just been taking Bioware's qunari lore at face value for every single game, no matter how much the Qunari lore for each game retcons the lore from game before it.

And I feel like, it needs to be understood that, Qunari were designed to be "Militant Islamic Borg" -- the intent behind them is to be this oriental technologically advanced people who are violent and expansionist savages and made specifically to contrast the rest of Thedas, meant to be White and European. They are routinely called barbarians and savages, real world slurs used against people from the SWANA region, by characters the players are meant to see as sympathetic and intelligent, like Solas. The lore starts and ends with this. And even with Gaider not working on the game, each bit of new Qunari lore introduced is built on 2 things: Racism and Vibes.

Trying to explain Qunari lore without even examining the deeply racist framework within which Qunari lore exists is inadvertently reinforcing the racism and the orientalism and xenophobia in the writing. You cannot separate them.

I have been seeing people calling Qunari society "inherently violent" or "teaching violence" and that this is why they are written as having had the Antaam branch away and go to the South and join the ancient Gods. And No. That is not correct in any sense. But if you rewrite the lore of the Qunari in every single game, of course that would be your takeaway. The real reason they are written this way is so you can have a faceless orcish brute enemy archetype that you can kill in Dragon Age: The Veilguard without any guilt. It's literally not deeper than that.

Why is it that Bioware is so resistant to having us go to Seheron or go to Par Vollen and walk amongst Qunari society and view them in a context where they are just living their lives? Is it possibly because it will draw attention to how alien and inhuman they are intended to be? Is it so they are not humanized in a way that makes every previous inclusion of Qunari seem jarring and uncomfortable to see?

In Origins, we meet Sten, and though he exists to expound on this group of people who exist in Thedas, the Qunari, and introduce us to this bit of world building which isn't directly relevant to the main story, but fleshes out the world beyond Ferelden. The writing was still racist (after all "militant Islamic Borg" refers to their Origins iteration), but you got so little information that you could infer that there may be some nuance there, especially given the way Sten is written in a way that humanizes the Qunari. Later lore shows him as being someone who cares deeply about the world around him and, as Arishok, about diplomacy. And all this not conflicting with his belief in the tenets of the Qun.

And in Dragon Age 2, the game pivots into making them one of the major causes of conflict in the story. This is the first introduction of Qunari as faceless brute enemy archetypes which you can kill without guilt, without explanation of why you can kill them without guilt--at least not immediately. You do not walk into DA2 knowing who Tal-Vashoth are and why they are attacking you--only that they're violent and they yell things in a foreign language at you.

The Arishok in Dragon Age 2 is stubborn, dogmatic, and violent when opposed or crossed. He shows up, sets up a military compound, and stays there for years. Your only representation here is a military leader and his subordinates, contrasted with equally violent mercenaries who the game promises are of a completely different ideology. All shirtless muscular men, who speak in a growling menacing dialect.

Then Bioware turns around and goes. Just kidding! Those weren't the real Qunari; they're a violent offshoot! We promise they are nuanced, you just haven't met those ones yet. They give us Tallis in Mark of the Assassin, but she's an elf, and one who had to pick between slavery and the Qun, and picks the lesser of two evils. Sure, she's sympathetic, but you get the impression that Hawke feels betrayed to find out that she's Qunari, and interrogates her on this--which, is partly, I guess, you, the player, clicking the dialogue options to learn more, but Tallis is on the defensive, trying to convince you Qunari are people, just like you and me.

Inquisition introduces another Ben-Hassrath, like Tallis, in the Iron Bull. And on the surface, his inclusion is quite a lot like Sten in Origins. They both showed up because there was an unknown threat in the South that they were ordered to investigate. Unlike Sten, though, you are given the option to convert him away from the Qun. Not only that, but the game drills into you how there is no free will under the Qun. But then contradicts itself with Bull telling you that under the Qun you DO have the choice to change your role under the Qun and that there is even a word for it, Aqun Athlok, which means transgender, but, in a society where gender is directly related to the role you perform in society, that implies less rigidity and more open-mindedness than every other character wants you to believe.

However, beyond dialogue with Krem and the Iron Bull about gender (and later Taash in the Veilguard), Bioware is not interested in exploring the implications of the existence and acceptance of Aqun Athlok in Qunari culture.

And in the end, if Bull becomes Tal-Vashoth, that's framed as the outcome that is overall most positive--the outcome where he can keep his romantic relationships (whether that's with the Inquisitor or with Dorian), his friendships with the Inquisition and the Chargers, and his individuality. It's reinforced in banter with his companions and dialogue with the Inquisitor. And it all sounds a little too close to how white savior types talk about Muslims who leave SWANA and leave Islam to come to the more enlightened and liberating West.

By the Veilguard, the Qunari lore is already so wishy washy that sure I guess now we have to believe that the Antaam (literally just the Qunari military) broke away from the other Qunari because the other Qunari weren't expansionist and violent enough. I guess that's what we are going with. And that's the reason why, as a gameplay mechanic, we see the return of the Qunari as a faceless brute enemy archetype. And this time, instead of them clearly speaking in normal pitch but in a foreign language (like in DA2), they communicate in inhumanly deep, animal-like grunts and growls. Even when they're not being hostile to you, and you pass them by in Treviso just hanging out? They are still hollering and growling in monstrous deep voices, without a trace of a thought out and well-enunciated language. And how racist do you have to be for you to be more racist than the DA2 Qunari?

I don't even want to get into whatever scraps you get through Taash and their personal quest because it's so irrelevant and detached from everything it feels like putting a bandaid over a stab wound. Nevermind Taash introducing us to a brand new and innovative genre of Qunari who can sniff things out like hunting dogs. Thanks for that one Bioware -- "but nooooo, Nairuz, they're part dragon it makes sense in the lore" -- the ancient Elves can also turn into wolves and dragons and even monsters, but you don't see them growling and sniffing and prowling like animals.

All this to say. Stop trying to make sense of Qunari lore in a way that validates and justify the decisions Bioware made, when they made those decisions out of Islamophobia and racism and orientalism. I am tired of seeing this lore be uncritically parroted by Dragon Age lore accounts.

[sanjisluvbot]

Isekai Yandere Strawhats CH II

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The book stayed on her mind for the next few days. Everywhere she went, it felt like someone was watching her. Y/n found herself rereading the letter and the book whenever she was free. She went over every page and squinted to see if she could find a hint of something more. Her mind kept wandering to the possibility of a connection between Open Your Mind, whoever N.R was, and her journey. 

From the characters to the feeling of fate, the world-building was all familiar but new. She wanted to believe it was just her imagination, but there was a lingering thought of ‘what if’.

What if the author of this silly little book had experienced the same things she did? As she lay in bed, looking at the ceiling, the letters from Law she reread for the nth of times on her nightstand, she began feeling a sliver of excitement.

The letters had been so cryptic, yet so hopeful. The steps she needed to open the portal were clear enough but from the letter from ‘L’ she believed there to be something more to the story. There must be something she was missing. 

The instructions had said she needed to wait for a “month of stabilizing” before attempting to open the portal, the truth was, the thought of really meeting Law again, seeing them all again, filled her with an intoxicating mixture of excitement and fear.

She let out an angry huff at herself there was nothing truly to be excited about, especially when there was a letter from a random ‘L’. The random letter could have been from Luffy and the crew, but, thinking of that world that she once knew, when everything was still shiny, new, and exciting her heart couldn’t help but skip a beat.

She sat up from her bed quickly heading to the kitchen huffing and puffing like a 1940s cartoon character. She’d moved on, hadn’t she? She had a whole new life now—-closer than ever to family and friends—-but how could one forever truly forget the magic of that world?

That feeling of belonging, the constant adventure without the worry of assignments, money, etcetera. The strawhats were her fantasy that jumped off the page and Law jumped right into her heart. Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the teapot boiling.

She hummed pouring the water into her cup anticipating the camomille to calm down her brain. With the cup in her hand, she quietly padded through the hall back to her room to see her phone dimly lit up. 

A text.

Have you started?

Her heart skipped a beat. She glanced at the calendar—April was nearly halfway through. “ Shit.” She whispered. Time was ticking faster than expected she needed to get moving. But where would she begin?

How could she be 100% sure that the portal would work? What happens if Law isn’t on the other side? She felt overwhelmed and quickly sipped the tea to calm herself. “Thank god for camomille,”

She briskly typed back:

I need a little bit more time but I’m working on it.

Don’t Worry.

The warm tea soothed her nerves as she began writing down her plans for the next week when she realized she had no idea who the text was from. She sighed and rubbed her eyes, the weight of the decision hanging heavy on her chest.

There were too many unknowns for this not to be too good to be true. The number of unforeseen variables was enough to send her right to bed that night, leaving her teacup half full. 

She dreamt of them. The smell of the sea air, the wind flowing through her and Nami’s hair as they picked tangerines, the chaos that raved through the boat. Although brief, that world had been hers too, The strawhats scared the shit out of her but the bliss of that dream had fully made up her mind before she was even lucid. 

Y/n was returning to the world of OnePiece to finish what she started.

The last few weeks of April and the early days of March were filled with study sessions, late-night preparations, and endless questions that made the back of her throat itch. Y/n made sure to follow every step diligently: no electronics at night, keep the curtains open during the day, and ensure that the mirror stays spotless.

But the anxiety never truly left her, no matter what tea she drank or what she did to distract her restless mind. 

Despite the lingering doubts, she knew it was only a matter of time before the portal opened. One night after the other, when she knew her mother was asleep and the house was quiet, she stood in front of the mirror.

Making sure it was pristine and hoping to find out which ‘L’ was waiting for her on the other side. Her fingers hesitated to brush against the glass, and for a second, she wondered if this was all a dream and she would wake up in a psych ward. 

On Thursday, March 7th, she felt the hum of power in the air. The little hairs on her neck stood tall and the moon was full shining through her window. She bit her lip till it almost bled and closed her eyes, just as instructed, visualizing the portal opening.

The seconds dragged on, each one stretching over what felt like the course of a thousand years. She opened her eyes and saw…nothing. Her reflection was the same as it always has been. 

But just as she was about to give up, there was a flash of light, and the mirror flickered like an old television screen. Y/n gasped as the image distorted, and for the briefest of moments, she thought she saw something—or someone—on the other side.

A face.

Trafalgar Law.

Her heart raced, her palms clammy with anticipation. She reached out, hand trembling as she touched the mirror once more. The surface felt different now, softer, warmer. There was a crackle of energy, and she heard a faint voice.

“You did it.”

It was Law's voice, unmistakable. Her breath caught in her throat as she took a step forward.

🏷️: @angstylittleb1tch @thepinktiredfreak @littleplantofdeath @chipster-321 @wguvudqhij @elektraeriseros @virgocathaunted @zola-exp

A/N: Idk how long you’ve waited but I hope this was worth the wait and IYLSM FOR WAITING !!!!😭 🫶🏽🫵🏽

[forestfrolickingfairy78]

Legend LU- Spring Support Bunny x Reader: Part 1 (platonic)

Ok, kind of just had this idea a bit randomly. Will try to keep this to three parts but we'll see where it goes.

I kept thinking about Legend in his bunny form and what it would be like if he runs into the modern world and makes friends with a modern reader going through a tought time at school, basically supporting her through it and giving her a confidence boost. Tbh a lot of my own experiences and personal style tend to come through in my writing so it might show. Sorry if there's any typos or spelling errors, it's kind of late and i just wrote this now

Trigger warning:

does go into mental health/depression and anxiety so please don't read this if you're not comfortable with this content. Will keep this balanced with some comedy/seriousness. ENJOY (If you do read)

Spring Support Bunny

I’d been dragging myself through the summer, finding no rest between the shifts from sunrise to sunset, now deep moons forming underneath my eyes.

The only comfort before school was toast, slathered with melting peanut butter and jam carrying the taste of my childhood spring. Before my friend had passed away, before school wasn’t loaded with the stress of exams and pressure of friends turning whispers. Mum is still asleep, past 7am is too early so I go through the day without speaking to anyone and slip my bag across my shoulder, feeling the weight grow each day. On the way my therapist’s voice carries over the blue sky; forcing me to gratitude in the colours of spring, the cold air against my cheek and to keep taking each step slow, reminding me to journal down the little things. Nothing helped. The lump inside my throat was only swelling with each walk closer, stomach churning as school came into view filling me with anxiety.

So much for being the best years of your life.

I keep my head down, placing my headphones above my ears and listen to the steady, gentle lofi beat to keep me going, but the eyes of unseen whispers linger like pinpricks along my skin. Hands clench and unclenchm twisting fabric between my fingers as I try to breathe, eyes on the ground, glancing between the garden beds and the crowd pulling into their friend groups, gathering with coffee cups and conversations around university. I only smile to people, faces that have grown out of our years together finding new groups to join. I tell myself it’s fine. I don’t need friends. All I need is to graduate, and to get good grades and get the hell out of here.

Nobody’s really paying attention to you, most of the thoughts we have about other people’s perception is just from our own insecurities.

My therapist says, bright hazel eyes and plastic lips smiling with a pen flickering in her fingers. I hold onto her words, slowly nodding to myself and glance up, meeting my friend’s gaze. One brow raised, finger twirling a stray curl of hair around her face that used to be pulled into a tight bun. Years ago when we were little, our smiles were more alike, less grown but I watched her blossom.

I smile, but the edge of her lips curl, turning away before mingling with the others. My eyes sting, so stupid I think. It’s me, not her, I remind myself with my therapists’s voice but my legs turn to jelly, and find my way outside of the school, hands wiping away at my cheeks until I’m away from the building and settle near the park, shuffling my bag to the side and lean against the bench, slumping forward.

Finally I feel my breath steady, letting out a deep exhale and look towards the garden bed, soaking up the sunlight. It’s pretty, dozens of types blossoming at this time of year. It was our favourite spot, me and my friends before one of us left too early. I squeeze my eyes shut, pushing away her face and focus on the sway of the flowers. I keep watching, feeling the knot ease and spot a sudden movement. A bird I think, or perhaps a cat but as I keep watching a small pink bunny wriggles between them. I keep looking for longer, wiping my eyes, unblurring the tears. There were bunnies here sometimes, but pink ones? Never seen. The bunny topples over, clumsily navigating between the garden bed before munching on a daisy and bears a look of distaste, colouring its dark eyes. Slowly, I slip off the bench and make my way, crouching, hoping that I won’t spook it away. Was it a new breed? Or a rare species? I go through all the possibilities and finally crouch to it's height, a short distance away. Spring bunny stops, looking up at me, stifled.

“Hi bunny, are you lost?” Of course it doesn’t understand me, but Spring bunny doesn’t move, lowering it’s form and shuffles underneath a hedge. The act surprises me, compared to others they already run out of sight before I get this close.

“Where are your friends?” I look over for any name tags or collars, but there’s none. Bunny doesn’t move as I approach and lean forward curiously looking down. Bunny slowly meets my gaze, but won’t move. It seems too tame to be wild.

“Are you hungry? I’ve got some food.” I know Bunny doesn’t really understand me but it keeps staring, still in place. I quickly retreat to my bag, looking over my shoulder to keep an eye on it and return with a few small strawberries, placing them in my hand reach towards it. Bunny looks up, eyes cautiously with deep, brown glassy eyes and slowly eats them, still looking at me.

“You’re so pretty, bunny, where are you from?” I tilt my head adoringly, admiring it’s shiny pink fur but it’s too intent on eating. Still, it’s presence calms me, knowing that even though it doesn’t understand me, she listens. Bunny takes all the strawberries, still nestled between the flowers. I reach below, deciding to scoop it in my arms, squirming against my grip.

“If I leave you here, I’m worried someone might take you or hurt you. Can we be friends? I promise to give you lots of delicious berries and carrots. Even proper bunny food!”

Legend’s POV (this suits the vibe from here on)

Let me be clear, there’s many times I’ve felt powerless, down right insulted. A dozen near death experiences that I’ve dealt with, but today’s a topper, and in this form I can’t get over the humiliation against this human.

It’s too exhausting to fight back, and my arms quickly feign with exhaustion, resigning defeat. She won’t shut up, talking to me about strawberries, comparing ME to strawberries.

“Can I name you Rose? You’re so pretty, or how about hmm…Azealia?”

Neither I want to tell her. I want her to shut up and let me go but here’s the game plan: Take her food and then find my exit strategy. If I could find my way around a dungeon and fight blood thirsty monsters, then it should be easy to escape from her. It’s real uncomfortable being squished against my will as she carries me, passing through weird narrow lanes and boxed up houses. Metallic monsters pass down concrete lanes, almost making me jump in surprise from their crystalline eyes. I must be ready for anything.

Yet this girl doesn’t seem phased at all, striding down merrily while keeping a tight lock on me.

“We’re almost home, I promise to take care of you Berry. I think I’ll call you Berry!”

 It’s Link, you stupid girl. Who the hell calls their pet Berry?

Once we’re close to the door, I find all my might and leap out of her arms, racing as fast as I can with my stunted legs away from the door and cross onto the road.

Two giant, crystalline eyes face me, belonging to the metallic monster. There’s too many festering in this world.  Death awaits, but if this is how it ends there’s nothing I can do, staring towards it.

“No! Berry!” The girl screams and steps in front of the metallic monster, hands reaching out and grabs me off the floor. A deafening screech echoes, and the monster stops with an aggressive horn blaring across the fields. Another human emerges, yelling at the girl, hurling a string of curses. She still holds me close, profusely apologising to him.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing trying to save that stupid rabbit on the road? You almost made me crash and YOU almost got run over! Just wait till I tell your parents.” She stops apologising, but what stings is the stupid rabbit.

Alright look, I’ve heard worse, seen worse. Fu*k, even Ravio taking over my home infuriates me but I’m used to that bastard. If only I had my sword then he’d regret every word.

“She’s not a stupid rabbit! She’s a living being just like us but you’re too cruel to understand!”

Okay, living being is terrible but acceptable.

The man curses again, slamming the door shut, riding off into his metallic monster. Still inside the girl’s arms I wriggle uncomfortably but pause, fat droplets hitting my head.

Shit. She’s crying.

“I’m so sorry Berry, I promise that won’t happen again, okay? I love you so much.” I stop, defeated.

This is going to be a difficult mission.

[victoriadallonfan]

End of Act 1 - Author Thoughts

So, this concludes Act 1 of Dead Eye. 

​It's been a struggle for me to write this afterthought piece, because I have learned so much from writing this original story.

This was not the first time I've written original fiction, of course. I had a brief attempt at a web serial back in late 2016 (I can't even remember the name of it), I've written numerous short fiction stories for Reddit Writing Prompts, and I've dropped some short stories here in Creative Writing in the past. Not to mention contest submissions over the years IRL (nothing gained unfortunately).

However, what made this different is that I actually committed to the act of finishing an entire arc and do my best to flesh out the characters as much as possible. I kept a plan, I followed it, and I tried to make it enjoyable for the readership.

​Admittedly, going from the hundreds of likes and views of my fanfic to the thirty or dozen on these posts felt initially disheartening. 

Initially.

But then I realized that I wasn't thinking about things in perspective. I was no longer using larger fandoms as a crutch for engagement or relying on readers already having a basic understanding of the characters: I was needing to WORK and gain the TRUST of the readers for a totally experimental project.

And bonus, I got amazing comments and analysis each chapter, with people seeming to really enjoy the mystery and action I wrote. I got people investing in characters in just a little under 30k words, which I think is pretty darn decent!

Is there room for improvement? Yes, absolutely. I ended up unhappy with how little screen time Milian got, but a lot of my plans for him involved future plot points that couldn't fit within 6 chapters that I challenged myself. I struggled a lot with describing the city (because I find building descriptions boring), and perhaps I made the tension between Sabra and Persa a bit too thick?

More things I could discuss on that, but there are also things I'm proud of. I really enjoyed the action set pieces and how I distinguished character behavior. I really like that my magic system (based on me noticing how special eyes are so prevalent in fiction, why not make an entire system set around them?) flowed so easily for me to write, and that it allowed me to do fun things with the world. Giant glowing eyeball in the sky makes me giggle all the time.

​So, what is the plan going forward?

For now, there will be a small intermission. I would like to get back into Janus and HITF, maybe do some other fanworks too, just to flex my brain a bit from being in Persa's pov for so long.

The plan is that after a month or two, I will then return for Dead Eye - Act 2 for another 6 arc continuation.

Finally, I want to say: Thank You

Thank you to everyone who supported me, be it by like, comment, or Ko-Fi donation. It was you who kept me going, and made me achieve a dream of becoming an actual author of original fiction.

I promise I won't let you down!

[tokiro07]

Ichi the Witch ch.11 thoughts

[WitchCon 2024]

(Topics: praise - comedy, narrative progression, world building, thematic analysis - freedom vs. order, predictions)

Make 'Em Laugh

Y'know, for a chapter that was like...90% political dialogue and exposition, this still managed to end up being one of the funnier chapters so far: Desscaras' report being a comic book that makes her look like the hero and Shirabedonna just throwing it away, Ichi straight up leaving the Zoom call to get food, Togeice goofing up her dramatic entrance; and that's not even every funny bit from this chapter

Handled wrong, this could have come off as a super dry and meandering chapter, but for the sake of setting up the conflict of revealing Ichi's existence to the world, I think an in-depth analysis of both sides of the argument was necessary

Better to Ask Permission than Forgiveness

While I agree with Togeice that Shirabedonna's conclusions are being made on too few datapoints (one grateful village and three unusually quick hunts in only two weeks), I'm also inclined to agree with Shirabedonna that this is a tricky situation to maintain

The longer Mantinel tries to hide Ichi, the more contradictions and public distrust are bound to pile up. Coming up with excuses later to explain every little detail will just make discussing it more difficult, and Mantinel will only look more suspicious. On the other hand, coming clean now less than a month in should be fairly understandable given the implications of Ichi being a male Witch that acquired Uroro - some people will be mad, sure, but most people would probably be forgiving of the caution exercised

More than that, though, Mantinel's acquisition of the first male Witch would do wonders for their reputation, as that's a historic discovery. Even if he ends up being dangerous, the narrative wouldn't be too hard to spin in Mantinel's favor, as no one could have predicted how a male Witch would behave

The fun thing about this argument to me, though, is the acknowledgment of other Witch organizations

Frog in the Well

We haven't been shown a world map or anything yet, so we don't really have any sense of scale to this world, but I wouldn't have been too surprised either way if either Mantinel had a monopoly on Witch administration or if they were just one of many such organizations

The acknowledgment of an equivalent of Japan last week was a good clue that there was more to this world than...whatever this one country is called, but we still know nothing about this fantasy-Japan's society other than that they still have sashimi

Do they have their own Witches Association? Do they even have Magiks there in the first place, or are they endemic to the current focus country?

Black Clover kept expanding to reveal that other nations had different relationships with magic, while JJK revealed that Curses pretty much only exist in Japan for...some reason. I would imagine that this is more like the former, but the realization that one nation is hoarding the concept of magic would be pretty wild, wouldn't it?

Then there's the fact that ch.1 told us that there's only a 0.001% chance of a man being able to acquire magic even if he did have the capacity to pass a trial and physically handle casting spells. That seems like a low number, but...it's one in a thousand

For every thousand men, one of them has the capacity to acquire magic. Presumably this number is compounded by the ability to use it, since the narration said there were so many other factors that had to line up perfectly first, but that just means that the chances of finding another man with the potential to overcome those factors aren't actually all that slim

EDIT: It's been brought to my attention that I goofed the math and this is one in a hundred thousand, but my point stands! I thought it was going to be like one in a million or even a billion, and it ended up being a lot more generous than I anticipated! In our world, that would still be 40,000 men with the capacity for magic!

In other words, it's only a matter of time until another male Witch is found

From there, the method for cultivating male Witches will likely start to become more widespread, and eventually the proportion of female to male Witches should approach an equilibrium

That's probably looking too far ahead, though. That's the kind of thing that would probably take several generations to pass, so while we may have like...a dozen male Witches by the end, they probably won't be a normal part of Witch society until a far-flung epilogue

For now, I'd like to focus on the worldbuilding that we actually received this chapter: that Ichi's acquisition rate is ridiculous

Gotta Go Fast

Ichi has three Magiks under his belt in less than two weeks, and Shirabedonna tells us that one week is on the fast end for a hunt. That seems especially strange to me, since one of the first trials we're ever told of was only set for an hour, but I suppose that figure is based on the number of attempts and the prep-time? It's easy to assume "oh, they got it one," but this statement gives the impression that almost no one acquires a Magik on their first try

I do think it kind of skews our perceptions to tell us the upper and lower limits of one week and ten years without also giving us an average or at least a mean. All she says is "some take X amount of time," like that means anything statistically...

It also doesn't help that the first hunt we actually saw would have been over almost immediately had it not been for the circumstances: Desscaras immediately stabbed Uroro's heart, and only failed to pierce it because she was a woman. Now, Desscaras is likely an outlier herself because she's ostensibly the strongest living Witch, but sub-10 minutes is nowhere near a full week!

Again, it's entirely possible that the hunt for Uroro was on a constant timer since Mantinel first started trying, so that would be an extreme circumstance no matter what. I suppose in a sense that would mean Ichi has the record for clearing both the shortest and longest hunts?

But just being fast or lucky doesn't make Ichi an expert, and it's only a matter of time until he hits a wall where his unique perspective fails to compensate for his lack of experience in the field he's so suddenly found himself in

Rising to the Level of Your Incompetence

Togeice is being presented as morally incorrect here, with her talk of reforming Ichi into a "proper Witch" being accompanied by a vision of all of Ichi's best qualities being sanded down to a bland scholarly appearance, but that doesn't mean that she doesn't have a point

Ichi's lack of experience makes him something akin to an outsider artist, which is what allows him to discover unconventional methods within the field, but it also means that he's not familiar with the pitfalls of the profession. Ichi took Hisame's challenge in a different direction than what was intended by the rules; it worked out, but if Hisame hadn't been impressed with this loophole, then that gamble would've gotten everyone present killed. Since she expressed that she wanted to attack another village as a palette cleanser, it's entirely possible that she could have taken this approach as an insult and gone on an even worse rampage after the fact

In fact, Ichi going straight for attacking Hisame could have resulted in her not even bothering to issue her trial, which would have effectively made her invincible in the resulting combat encounter. Perhaps Magiks don't work that way and they have to share their trial in order to maintain their power, but there's no precedent for that yet, so Ichi's ignorant and rash behavior could have sabotaged the entire mission

There's also the possibility that Ichi will continue to acquire stronger and stronger spells that he's less and less equipped to control and will cause some kind of huge disaster. He already used Parthion to create an entire new ecosystem on Druid Mountain, which could well have untold consequences on the local wildlife and nearby settlements, so what's to stop him from naively trying to save a desert village with Poltata and just washing them all away?

Togeice's desire to force her vision of order onto Ichi is obviously wrong and potentially detrimental to Ichi's value, but she is right that he's not capable of wielding his powers effectively or responsibly. Even if Ichi is a perfectly moral and upstanding Witch, if his trump card will only result in him being rendered unconscious for three days, then he's only going to be a liability when the time comes to use it against a major threat

The goal then should be to cultivate Ichi's sense of freedom and experience using magic while also giving him a clear sense of the responsibility that he carries. Fortunately, he's already demonstrated the capacity for that with his strict adherence to Death for Death, but unless he can prove to Togeice that he already has the discipline she's looking for, she won't be able to trust such an unknown with her back

Fortunately, the upcoming challenge provides the perfect opportunity for Togeice to get to know Ichi

Just a Little Guy

It was pointed out to me by @wickedsick that because the mushroom Magik isn't a human-hater, it likely doesn't hold any ill intent towards humans and doesn't go out of his way to hurt them, and therefore shouldn't trigger Death for Death. This would likely prevent Ichi from harming it, and in turn give Togeice the opportunity to take the win

The way I see it, there's five ways that this could go

Ichi loses because the mushroom isn't hurting anyone and he can't bring himself to hunt it -> school arc, Ichi learns valuable lessons, though he doesn't fundamentally change the way that Togeice wants him to

Ichi is just hopelessly outclassed and decides he has plenty to learn from Togeice and Mantinel -> same outcome as above

The circumstances of Ichi's refusal to hunt the mushroom somehow prove to Togeice that he's already plenty disciplined -> she wins, but still lets him go free because she doesn't believe she has anything to teach him after all

The nature of the trial doesn't necessitate Death for Death, and Ichi wins solely through his specific skillset -> Togeice realizes that she was not equipped for this specific scenario and different approaches will always be necessary for different circumstances, so she drops her objection

Togeice accidentally goads the mushroom into triggering Death for Death and realizes that it was her irresponsibility that endangered people, not Ichi's -> same outcome as above

For sure, there are more nuanced outcomes available, but those seem like the most likely either for developing the themes of the story or driving the plot in a specific direction. I'm definitely open to whichever route Nishi chooses to take, as I think that the two broadest outcomes of Ichi going or not going to school both provide interesting opportunities for the story going forward. Whichever she chooses, I have faith in Nishi that it'll be a fun time

Until next time, let's enjoy life!

[hollowsart]

can you explain mites a bit to me? i get the vague idea but ya know

Oh boy, oh boy, I get to info dump!!

The Hollowverse AU Mites:

Mxyzptlk and Bat-Mite are of the same species, they're both Mites, but they can also be called 'imps' due to their appearance. They're from the same 5th dimension and world. Some may call it Zrrrf while others with call it the more aptly referred "Mite World".

Not everyone from Mite World will have a favorite character they idolize and not everyone will dress up as them. Mxy is a good example of this cuz while he has an obsession with Superman, he's not a Super-Mite.. which does also exist.

Mites are cartoonishly proportioned and function on cartoon logic, so they can handle a lot of hardcore slapstick and be just fine.. Well. In our world of the 3rd dimension, at least. It is their own kind that they can be truly damaged by.. or from anyone beyond their 5th dimension. They aren't by nature a species that will fight, but there are exceptions to that as they are all very mischievous.

Mites are quite small, only a couple of inches tall with large heads, large feet, and large hands. They all have tails and wings and some have horns, these can all vary in size and shape depending on the mite. Some mites can be bigger or smaller than others much like humans.

While they may dress up like their faves or even try to imitate them, their own personalities may not line up with that of their idol. And multiple Mites may idolize the same category of character (ie: Green Lantern) but each one idolizes a different person who took up that mantle and will be referred to as the name of the character to differentiate between each other within their designated group (Guy-Mite, Hal-Mite / Bat-Mite, Lady Bat-Mite).

Mites all have a real name and they can vary between nearly incomprehensible like Mxyzptlk or rather mundane and simple like in the case of Elvem the Mysterio-Mite who just prefers his real name as he is too cowardly to impose himself upon the image of his idol, Mysterio.

There are mites for any type of character along the spectrum of hero and villain and all that lies in between. They can be summoned at will if you know the words and "spell" (as is the case with my Mysterio summoning Elvem by a happy accident), or they will willingly choose to pop into the 3rd dimension to interact with their idols on occasion. Not all of them do, however, some just like to sit back in their home world of Mite World and watch their idols on their television-like viewing screens to keep up with their stories and lives.

Mites have their own sort of economy and society that is nearly reminiscent of human civilization.. just.. with some wacky cartoony differences, of course. They meet, they prank, they marry, they have kids-- via hatching!

Baby mites are even smaller than the fully grown ones which certainly is saying something! Only being about an inch in size give or take a few millimeters.

Fun Fact: Mites, compared to their 3rd dimensional counterparts which they idolize, are quite exaggerated in varying directions and aspects and their costumes are handmade by themselves!

Mites are confined by the law of rules and games. They make a rule? They are punished by the laws of the universe to follow their own rules: aka, Mxy gets tricked into saying his own name backwards somehow? bye bye Mxy :>

Mxy is doomed by his own hubris in this regard. While others like Bat-Mite don't have that hubris to create such a game, especially since they're so dedicated to their idol and want to stick around as long as they can.. until Batman goes "Dad Mode" and sternly asks Bat-Mite to please go back home.

[0fps]

really loving wuwa so far, it still lags a bit here and there but it kinda feels like it just has to marinate for a while? first 10 minutes are painful but after it seems like it has its assets cached or something and it isn't as much a problem anymore. it also looks like kuro games has been working overtime putting in patch fixes asfdjlkadfsj god speed to the devs fr

[persephoneflouwers]

Anons ✨