#this meme took so much more work than I anticipated

[omorisunflower]

Um, this is my first post ever, so if this looks... not right, you know why xD

Saw this meme a while back and I immediately thought of Sokka, because, let's be serious, that's a pretty ingenious way of making money 🤣🤣🤣

[xxknockoutxx]

Izuku

(this is just something to put out for fun but I take heavy inspiration from Glitched they're freaking amazing! I hope they are doing well ❤️‍🩹🥦)

It was another day of sitting at home without a care in the world. Waiting for your husband to come home, this was the one day where you weren't working or out doing chores. The giant house that you and your pro hero husband inhabited was so intimidatingly big, that seeing the house so quiet and empty kinda scared you but in a good way. Like a really secured way.

It wasn't all that lonely I suppose with your husband texting you every once and in a while with memes or compliments or how much he misses you. He's gotten the hang of One for All and is the number 1 hero. All this sounds pretty good for you guys but it's not...

The stronger your hunk of a husband gets, the longer he'll be working and that means less time for you too. This was probably the 3rd day he'd been vacant from the house this week so you were tired of it. I mean who wouldn't be?

I'm just gonna have to make him forget work when he comes back. you thought. Sure it was a lot easier said than done but you are Y/-fuckin-N! Ain't nobody or nothing gonna stop you from getting what you want✨

*Bzzz* Your phone buzzes and you find out it's your husband.

🥦My hero🥦: Hey baby I got some good news! 😁

I'll be home either tonight or next morning! I can't wait to see my precious little Bunny💚

Your heart swelled as you read the text you eagerly texted him back showing your excitement before going back to brainstorming. Shit.... Now you're on a time limit. With little time you began thinking about a dinner; one with a huge table full of different foods and of course dessert but will that be enough for your busy husband to stay home?

Annoyed and stressed, you just focus on that one thing, preparing food. You walked into the kitchen and searched the full fridge for things to cook. thankfully you had the ingredients to try some viral recipe you saw on Pinterest.

After cooking and laying everything out on the table you decided to change into something more anticipating you changed into some tiny pajamas and black lingerie under it. Surely it would do something to him to see those thin, black and green panties.

"Bun! I'm home!" Your heart froze up before running to the front door and hugging and kissing the breath out of Izuku.

"baby! Hiii" "Hey bun... You look so....- He takes in the way that the shirt you were wearing hugs your curves. The way that it just barely shows the outline of your hardening nipples. —Good..."

"I made you a little sumthin-" You help him put his stuff down and drag him towards the kitchen. This food is gonna be so fucking good that he's gonna eat this and then eat me- wait.

As Izuku takes a seat and looks in awe at all the food on the table. After working 22 hour shifts for 3 days straight you get kinda hungry. He waited for you to be seated as you walked to the table with his plate of healthy servings.

"thank you so much, Bunny. I love you."

You smile and join him at the table, in your rightful chair or throne rather; Izuku's lap.

He begins to chow down on all of his food rather quickly, while spouting his compliments about you and the food. "Wow this is so good, Bun" and "You look so pretty today" and "Did you get all dolled up for me?"

At the end of the meal you carefully bring him upstairs and take off his hero gear. Making sure to be slow and to add a sway to your movements. At this point Izuku's eyes were lidded and he still had that same smile of adoration but it seemed almost suspecting.

You pushed him back on the bed and slowly took off the pajamas. (Deku merch obviously) Under it you had your dark green and black lingerie.

"wow.. you were ready for me, weren't you bun?"

He cups your cheek and pulls you onto his lap. You feel his warm, calloused hand touch your face as a familiar sensation of Izuku's bulge rubbing against your sweet spot.

You lean in for a kiss and start playing with the zipper on his hero suit pants. As you do he slips a hand on your waist and deepens the kiss while helping you loosen his pants and takes off his suit.

"lemme help you with that bun..."

✩.･*:｡≻─────────── ⋆♡⋆ ───────────.•*:｡✩

"F-fuck! Wait! Izu...." Of course after working for so long and so hard your husband is gonna be a little pent up. Not being able to come home to see his pretty, loyal wife. The only way to solve that? A fucking mating press. Nothing can compare to the satisfaction of a good fucking. Especially passionate, rough and deep sex.

I mean if you aren't screaming his name at the end is it even considered a good fucking? Clearly he isn't putting in enough effort if you give him a reaction that's anything less than a moan of his name, unintelligible mumbles, or praises. So he'll go for a couple hours. Maybe he'll be satisfied after a few positions, some breeding, and marking. Just to make sure you know you're his.

And right after he would take a shower with you cuddle with you and make sure you were at 100 percent and then only then would he go to sleep with you in his arms. An unbreakable grasp.

Then he'll do the same thing next week.

⏤͟͟͞͞☆𝐊𝐧𝐨𝐱.

[ellesthots]

Fateful Beginnings

XXXVI. “whiplash”

parts: previous / next

plot: sobering up brings a host of emotion to the surface. your next interaction with Bruce takes things a step further.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, hurt/comfort, canon-typical violence, anxiety, panic

words: 7.2k

a/n: hiii !! been a little longer between this and the last chapter, started my final year of grad school and have had to adjust to a lotttt more work! but i got this done and i'm exciiited to keep writing <3 this will not be the new norm! grad school will not take away my fic time !! i refuse !! anyway, the characters took me places in this chapter I wasn’t anticipating 🤭

The night had been lengthy. As daybreak hit, and the ceiling had gone blurry from staring at it so thoroughly, the high-res image of him fuzzed into nothing more than an outline. The shadow of him followed you to the counter, where you ordered the first thing you noticed on the menu, plugged in your card, and waited for your latte in vain.

A girl who couldn’t be more than seventeen walked around the counter with an apologetic smile. “So sorry, but we’re out of oat milk.” She had bright brown eyes that turned down at the corners, and a lopsided grin. You continued to tread water, forcing back memories of your cursed adolescence that had led you here. You nodded at her first suggestion, slinking closer to the wall as you reset your waiting. You wanted to grab her by the shoulders, tell her to get out, to leave. That the city would swallow her up, smother her dreams, break her.

You wished you’d listened when your parents had done that to you.

Wood paneling brought warmth to the small dining area. A speaker nestled between some spider plants wafted lofi music from the far corner. A few friends clustered together with laptops and cheap spiral notebooks on the spindly tables and chairs. Your mind wandered around itself like an echoey ballroom, poking and prodding at each thing out of place. Why had you ever come to Gotham?

Your phone buzzed, but the cinch in your stomach knotted your fingers from grabbing it. It was a hot stove, burning a hole in the pocket of your hoodie so much you could almost smell it smoldering. Prioritizing your attention to the steady tempo of the heartbeat in your ears was the only reason you were still standing.

It buzzed again. Then again, giving you no choice but to stare the horse in the mouth. Mar was responding to the barrage of texts you’d sent her last night to distract; two-player games, memes, entirely too specific questions because you’d hoped she’d free you from the night’s torment. At some point, you’d deliriously tried to telepathically text Walter, so desperate for anything other than the frames of Bruce and you that slammed against your eyelids like hail.

Your thumb slipped and moved you back to your messages menu. The pull you felt toward his name was all too similar to slowing past a car crash, straining your neck against all better judgment to look away. You clicked on it, feeling like you’d fallen back into bed, the sheets coarse against your skin.

You’d taken a shower the second he left, stopping for nothing save locking the door. The water was ice cold, an attempt to shock away the play acting itself out behind every blink. Every movement of your arm across your body felt like a bullet, or a hot knife slicing through the top layers of skin. You fought through body wash like it was his hands gliding over you, wincing as they passed over the gigantic scarlet bruise assaulting your thigh.

You’d been convinced you were losing your mind, and swore not to take weed ever again.

After toweling off, tears stinging your eyes over the endless suffering of that shower, you wanted nothing more than to slip into a state of nonexistence. No thoughts, no hopes, no fears, no consequences. But the phone stared at you, and you stared back, knowing you had to text him.

The barista came out and handed you your coffee, and you startled to the point she apologized again, eyes squinting slightly. You muttered a thank you, and slipped out into the street.

Leaving the café had you feeling like a thief. Like someone was out to get you, breathing down your neck whispering I found you out. I know your secret. Walking past pedestrians felt like they could see right through you. Like you were stripped naked walking through downtown, pining for an alleyway you could slip into for a moment of reprieve.

The main intersection downtown had a notoriously ‘sticky’ walk light—sometimes it would go off too often, creating a horrific hazard for people too trusting, or it would only buzz rarely, leaving you stranded between you and your destination for far too long. After the third light cycle with no signal, you were forced to suffer an indefinite wait, the phone a heavy brick in your hand.

Almondmilk foam caressed your lips as you diverted your attention to the texture and spices in the latte. Still bitterly hot, you relished its sting, fingers tapping anxiously on the inflexible plastic back of your phone case. Burn me. Scald me. You slammed a gulp of it, and for a moment the desire to stare at your screen faded to gray. After a few seconds soothing your tongue against the roof of your mouth, you squinted your eyes open to see if the walk signal was lit. No such luck.

When you thought about rushing into traffic, you made yourself take a deep breath. You needed to get a grip, and tried talking yourself down. So what? You’d been high, had an unprecedented dream, and the thoughts had lingered. The situation didn’t need to be stickier than that. As exposure, you looked through the messages from the night before, the first few of which you’d tossed and turned in bed before sending, suddenly overthinking every syllable you ‘spoke’ to him.

Hey, it’s Y/N. Back yet?

Home safe.

You recalled being shocked he was such a fast texter.

Thanks for following up. Got your number saved.

Does that make two numbers in your phone now?

Three. Running out of storage space at this rate.

1.Alfred

2.Alfred (Cell)

3.Me

How’d you hack my phone?

Lol (laughing out loud)

Thanks. Had no idea.

Now that Bruce Wayne is in the public eye, you gotta know this stuff.

Hope I don’t run into him. Heard he’s a total tool.

That poor journalist he roped into interviewing him.

You know Bruce, desperate to talk.

By this point you’d been grinning in bed, forgetting the turmoil of the past half hour. You’d set your phone on your nightstand, until two minutes later when it lit the room up.

I did have a great time tonight. Sorry if I intruded.

I owe you another bottle. And Skittles.

I liked the company. Wasn’t looking forward to being alone, hence the edible.

I’m sorry for how I acted this morning. If it helps, I’m safe.

It does. Glad you’re feeling better, really.

Appreciate you looking out for me. I’ll try to make it easier.

You’d have been lying if you’d said that didn’t make your stomach flip a little.

You don’t need to feel bad about this morning. It makes sense why you’d feel that way, the pity stuff.

Doesn’t mean you had to be in the crossfire.

How’s your head? Your leg?

Better. I think the weed’s helping somehow.

Good.

If you want to talk about anything, I’m here.

I forget the toll these things take.

By this point it was like a spell had overtaken you, like his kindness was a slippery slope of contagion enveloping you before you’d even realized what you were messing with.

For someone who claims these interactions are so new, you sound pretty normal.

Alfred fills the gaps.

I’m imagining him standing over your shoulder telling you what to say.

I’d sound more British.

In the pause of you laughing to yourself, he sent another text.

Followed up with Gordon before you texted. Miller’s still in custody, no chance of bail. Hope that helps you sleep better tonight.

You distinctly recalled thinking Talking to you is helping me sleep better before promptly throwing your phone across the room on reflex. It thudded into the pink chair of your desk, thankfully unharmed. You laid there, chest heaving, room spinning. Like a petulant, obnoxious visitor looking for any excuse to insert themselves, the mirage came back with a gentle pulse, and you felt his breath on your neck again.

You hadn’t responded the rest of the night, and that was where the text chain ended. By the time you’d gathered your breath enough to walk to your phone, it was too late to respond, made you too self-conscious. You’d hoped he’d leave it at that, and wouldn’t follow up more. You were petrified of the nightmare coming back.

The light turned, and after a triple check to make sure it wasn’t short-circuiting, you pocketed your phone and walked across, flinching at every crunch of a leaf under your shoe. Bruce had certainly been a favorable distraction from the reality of having been held at gunpoint, of being kicked and pummeled into the concrete, but you couldn’t shake the sweat-soaked feeling that clouded every thought about him: whiplash.

Walking home, the feeling was different than he’d ever felt before; rather than harassing himself about why he’d said this, that, or anything else, he felt… peaceful. A bit sore, but a good sore, like flexing a muscle you hadn’t exercised in a while. Simultaneously, he felt like he’d opened up too much for comfort and comfortably stretched his limits. It was disorienting, the usual word for how he felt around you. Rather than ruminating on words or tone, he looked at the flicker of the streetlights off the broken windows, how the puddles created a dew on the jagged edges of the brick in the alleys he slipped through. More than anything, he felt like he’d been cracked open. Like a sliver of light was getting in; the light of wanting to keep you talking on the couch. The light of getting lost in you.

As he drew closer to Wayne Tower, his legs felt more weighted. Maybe it was the alcohol, no, it was absolutely the alcohol, and he’d likely feel horrible in the morning, but for now, as he walked through the damp streets, his head felt less crowded. A nagging thought at the back of his mind was how the hell he’d fallen asleep so quickly. He was always keenly aware of his energy levels, having mapped them endlessly to accurately gauge how much longer he could stay out and fight. He hadn’t felt tired. It hadn’t even been midnight. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d fallen asleep that early. It was ridiculous.

It’d been about ten minutes into the episode that he’d noticed you were sleeping. As quickly as he could remember after, he’d followed your lead. He’d passed a long-abandoned park a half-mile from his house and a swingset creaked in the wind, mimicking the sound in his chest when you’d come back from the bathroom with a yawn. It’d been devastating to leave, but he hoped he’d played it off well enough.

Even cloaked in alcohol’s gentle embrace, he felt the sober him kicking at his walls. In the morning he’d be scared of this, and he knew it, he knew it as well as his feet knew their way home. He pictured himself in the batcave the next morning swearing off alcohol for the rest of his life, planning a campaign to make Gotham a dry town so he’d never again be tempted to fall into this. Or collect all the beers up in his tower so he could drink, drink, and drink the slope of your smile out of his memory.

Alfred was in the kitchen again when he’d entered; a fragment of him wanted to thank him, tell him he was right, that he’d opened some sort of door into something new. Instead he nodded at the man, striding past him like he wasn’t still coming down, like they hadn’t had the confrontation, and went up to bed.

As soon as he sat, his phone buzzed. Before inputting you as a contact, he read your number with focused repetition to commit it to memory. He sat back against his headboard, feeling its squish against the wall. As he responded to your messages, it dawned on him that he hadn't texted like this in ages, if ever.

That poor journalist he roped into interviewing him.

He didn’t realize he was smiling until his cheeks felt weak from the tension, and by then he didn’t care. After he sent the message about Gordon, he stayed up for the next hour waiting for what you might say back. Sleep interrupted his waiting, and he woke up the next morning with his phone still in his hand. He’d startled upon rousing, usually keeping it tucked into his nightstand or face-down on top of it. A few moments of blinking back to the room, and…

He felt like shit. Every feeling came back to him tenfold, alongside a mind-numbing headache. The gentle hold of last night’s vulnerability had degraded into a blanket of knives, puncturing every inch of his body. He ignored Alfred when he stormed down to get lunch, and ate it in a daze. He stomped up the stairs and threw on a hoodie and jacket, tightening the drawstrings and slapping a scarf over his face. He threw on a pair of sunglasses and called it a day, jogging the back alleys downtown, all deliberation gone on whether to visit or not.

In the hour before sleeping, deliberate he had; he’d ached over whether or not to visit you so soon. He owed you another bottle of wine, and some snacks, but he felt like shit inserting himself again. His feet slammed the pavement as he broke into a sprint, his teeth gnashing together with each thudding step. You’d only allowed him to visit because you’d thought he was in crisis, you probably felt violated having someone over while under the influence; probably thought he was irresponsible and opportunistic; maybe you’d even blocked his number by now.

Bruce had to take a detour from the usual route, having to slip onto the main road for a few blocks. He kept his head firmly down, never being out at this time of day and absolutely hating it. Keep to the right. Keep to the wall.

Someone slammed into his shoulder, falling and spilling the contents of their purse about the sidewalk. His head snapped up, noticing the color of your hair, stooping to collect what had fallen. Some lipstick, gum, keys. Did you recognize him? He moved his hand to his sunglasses to pull them down, a sneaky tell just for you, but when he looked up his stomach sank. The stranger grabbed her stuff from him quickly, hastily pulling the bag over her shoulder before rushing off.

Shit. He hurried and slunk more to the wall, the arm of his jacket skipping against the brick. He pulled against the snags when they caught, clipping along to the beat of his chest. He wanted it to be you so badly. Too badly. He felt nauseous.

Possibly in the worst timing of all, he found himself approaching the worst intersection in the city. Whenever he drew up his budget, he needed to lobby for it to be taken care of. Cars whizzed past, most drivers looking anywhere else but right in front of them. A passing thought: if they hadn’t died that night, they probably would’ve died here. How much blood was caked in the potholes and chunks of dry gravel?

The light came on, another force of hand making him interact with the world around him. Except when he did, his eyes dragged up to you at the other side, staring down at your phone while you sipped a coffee. The tips of his fingers went cold.

You were looking forward, but looked right through him. This was possibly the first time he’d ever been disappointed by invisibility; it was a trap, not freedom.

He’d look suspicious following you, but he couldn’t very well pull you to the side on a busy street corner.

He’d talk. He’d say something as you walked past, and you’d know it was him. You’d know his voice. You knew him.

He drew a breath before you walked past, but hesitated when you did. You’d been so close the ends of your hair had flounced against his jacket, could smell the subtle sweetness of your shampoo. He swallowed hard, his breath faltering. A light airiness bounced around his stomach. You were walking fast, he only had a few seconds…

He started walking toward you, but stopped after a few steps. You wouldn’t believe he hadn’t followed you, it would be too suspicious. He turned around with a snap, checking if the signal was still on, and jogged across the street. His head was a mess. He reassured the pit in his stomach that he’d see you on Tuesday for March’s rally, while also wanting to temper his hope, while also not wanting to have it…

“Hey, sorry, I was just in your shop, and—yes! Y/N. Oh my god, thank you, I’m a block away. So sorry, I’ll be right there.”

Bruce looked over his shoulder to see you running across the street, your jacket flapping in the wind behind you, just like your hair, your phone pressed to your ear. At this point the universe was teasing him. Bruce Wayne can’t have simple run-ins. Certainly not with you.

You walked past fellow pedestrians, no one giving you a second glance, like you were another faceless member of the nebulous ‘public’. You were even allowed to say your name out loud, to use your voice without modulation, bare your face, dress how you’d like, go where you pleased. You disappeared a block down into a small café, and he wanted to follow, but he waited. You came out a few seconds later, finishing the pocketing of your card into your pant pocket.

You walked to the intersection a few feet from him. It felt bizarre watching you, like he was watching a movie happen in real time. A woman walked to the waiting area beside you, pushing a stroller with a very loud child inside. You and the woman exchanged grins, and you waved at the baby. Your hair flew into your face and you tucked it behind your ear, saying something he couldn’t make out. The woman’s voice got louder as she recognized you. “Wait, are you the journalist who did the interview with Bruce Wayne?”

Bruce stepped to the side a few feet, playing with his position against the wind to ensure he could hear.

“Yeah! It was wild, really cool he wanted to work with someone from GU.”

“That’s so fun. Congratulations!”

Even though the conversation was polite, it churned Bruce’s stomach to see your coffee trip be affected by your connection to him. She was only one out of many who had passed by without look or comment, but that ratio, and those interruptions, would only increase the more time you spent together. He felt like a monster, too big to hang out, encroaching on all remaining normalcy in your life.

The light turned, and you walked in tandem with the woman and her stroller. The wind was able to lap across your cheeks, not a camera to be seen; no shouting crowds, clamoring strangers. He turned and walked the rest of the way to his car, pulling the keys from his jacket pocket before standing limply by the driver door. Why couldn’t he walk up to you? Why was he wrapped to anonymous completion, having to obscure every inch of available skin for the crime of walking to his car? The scarf was stifling. His eyes sweat behind the sunglasses. At the beck and call of his dead family’s reputation was an excruciating place to live.

He jammed into his seat and restrained every muscle in his foot that wanted to slam on the gas, only letting himself do so once on the outskirts of town. The pedal hit the floor hard, and the world whizzed by in a blurry haze. He had half a mind to slam on the brakes, sending the car toppling over itself into the gravel ditch.

The image of it is what made him coast to a stop, the world slowing enough for him to catch his bearings. Once he was safely pulled to the side, near one of the city’s many graveyards, he pressed his forehead to the wheel, feeling what bubbled under the surface. Grief.

The drive home was slower and more deliberate. Every time his foot itched to slam into a tree, or ram into an alley wall, he counted his breaths. By the time he got back he was drained, but wouldn’t let himself sit in it. His stomach grumbled, ached with emptiness, his meds rotting an ulcer into his abandoned stomach, but he didn’t care.

Not able to enter Wayne Tower by the front, he didn’t see the police car sitting on the curb; instead, Alfred was already in the cave, standing by the elevator so there could be no faux pas. “Detective’s arrived. Wants a statement for this past Thursday.” His cane echoed coolly on the concrete floor.

Bruce would’ve asked if there was another time, or a way to skip altogether, but that wasn’t an option when it came to helping you. He pulled off his disguise and ran a hand through his matted hair before following Alfred up the elevator. It was difficult not to overthink the first extended interaction Gordon would have with Bruce Wayne. At the mayor’s funeral, he’d turned his nose up at Bruce, going so far as to eye him with criminal suspicion. He hadn’t yet figured out what to do if Gordon were to find out, and he didn’t want to have to think on his feet today.

Gordon was sitting at the table in Bruce’s seat. Martinez stood beside him, his energy expanding to fill the dim room. Alfred flipped on the last of the lights, making everyone wince. “Apologies, thought it best to let the light in.”

“Mr. Wayne.” Gordon cleared his throat, Martinez taking the opportunity to speak with the thinly veiled glee of a child on Christmas morning.

“Sir, we’re here to collect your statement sir, about an incident that occurred on…” He continued to talk, but Bruce tuned it out, wanting them to leave already. He situated himself in your seat, clasping his hands together on the table.

“I was walking to a convenience store after the City Hall meeting. Passing by that alleyway, I noticed the shape of a gun being held to someone’s head. The man saw me, as he was facing back, and slammed on the gas as I approached. I didn’t know what was going on, until the journalist that I spoke to earlier this month fell out of the vehicle before crashing.”

Gordon notated everything, his tone light, but suspicious. He had this tone whenever interrogating someone he didn’t fully believe. “Lucky timing, huh?”

Bruce shrugged. “Glad I could help.”

“Of course.” He flipped a page in his mini spiral. “So, after she ‘fell’ out of the vehicle, what happened?”

He shoved down a brittle laugh. Did they really think he was nefariously involved in this? If only Gordon knew… if only they both knew. Martinez continued to have the same reaction to Batman as his partner was having to Bruce now.

“She told me he held her at gunpoint asking to recant her statement. Apparently they’d been in some sort of altercation the night before.” He wondered if he was speaking too matter-of-fact, if he should dull his adjectives and verbs. “Wanted to use her to get to my lawyers. Get him back in school.” He hesitated before saying the next part, trying to glean off pure body language if Gordon knew you hadn’t come back to your apartment that night.

“I wanted to help, so I brought her here for the night. Talked through things,”

“What things?” His pen sat menacingly above the ruled paper.

“About what happened then, and the night before. Got her situated in a room upstairs, took her home in the morning.”

“She trusted you to do that?” He peered over his glasses. Bruce nodded, and Gordon sighed. “Must’ve formed quite the alliance at the interview.”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed, feeling a shift in the room. What did he mean by that? Him too now? His voice was darker, grim, the rose-colored lens fading to purples and blues. “I don’t know what you mean.” He wanted Gordon to say it with his chest.

He didn’t bite. “Did she ask to come here, Mr. Wayne?”

“I told her it would be safest.”

“Didn’t think to report it?” His left hand fiddled with the curled pages at the bottom of the notebook, as if he were going through the motions, unfazed. Another one of his tactics to get people’s guard down. Maybe he’d even start doodling on the seams. “Slipped your mind?”

He grit his teeth. He knew Gordon was reading into the circles under his eyes and the laxity of his skin, both giving away too much to do on not enough sleep. “My priority was to make sure she was alright. It’s traumatic having a gun pointed at your head.”

Martinez’s eyes flashed just so, his chest puffing. Gordon rustled, closing the notebook with a plop. Bruce never liked employing that night in any form of defense, but this was threatening murky waters, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep a rein on his temper with Gordon’s passively placed, blasé accusations about you.

“Thank you for your time Mr. Wayne. We’ll be in touch.” Alfred saw them out, and Bruce waited to hear the door click behind them before pulling himself out of his seat, returning right back from whence he came.

The elevator was rickety, and it unnerved him, which was unusual. His muscles felt tight, his chest and throat constricted. Rumors about the interview had reached the GCPD, infiltrated Gordon, ooh. He walked to the front of his desk, facing the computer that had been untouched the past week and a half, one of the longest breaks yet. He pressed his palms to the edge of the metal and hung his head, coaxing his temperature down.

Clicking the computer on showed where his mind had been the days before the attempt. A dozen tabs with varying searches for Electrum came to life just as the days swept into him. Before he could jump back in, he forced himself into purgatory, opening a new tab to draw up new contingencies. The blank document titled Emergency Plan: Mental glared back at him. He closed his eyes and typed, holding his breath like a ball in his chest until the last word was released onto the page.

- Come on quickly: easily accessible button to phone Alfred

- Unstable reality when it hits: program unique signal to physical distress

- During periods of stress: increase assessment of stress on patrol

- Some form of tranquilizer/sedative readily available

- Orienting item: figure out

He hadn’t stopped hearing what the nurses, psychiatrists, and social workers said to him in Arkham, he’d just stopped caring. Unfortunately, he’d been wrong, not them, adding an entirely new level of shame to the affair. It took longer than he would’ve liked to manage recall as he waded through the memory.

His phone rattled on the table closest to the exit, next to the pile of the day’s disguise. It was easy to pull him away from the computer screen, the back of his thoughts in a constant search for something to distract from the unraveling of his mind, potentially the upheaval of life as he knew it.

It was you.

The sunglasses were a nice touch.

It was like the air got knocked out of him. Your perceptiveness could’ve made him jealous if he weren’t the current victim. He’d worn a different scarf this time, you’d only seen his jacket under struggling streetlights, a dark kitchen after getting your head pounded into pavement.

Had to get my car. Didn’t want to bother you.

Do you believe that I won’t tell now?

I already have for a while.

He put the phone down and told himself it was to focus back on the work, ignoring the squeeze in his gut, the thread you pulled simply by acknowledging him, making him looser, the seams splitting, letting the contents of him jostle and spill out over your lap.

BZZT.

Now I kinda want to prove you wrong.

BRB, calling the president.

Told him. He’s helicoptering over to Wayne Tower as we speak.

Bruce grinned against his will again.

Your fingers were clammy from cradling your phone, the remains of your coffee sitting cold next to you at the kitchen counter. The woman from earlier had commented on how it was ‘so late’ to be having a coffee, but that she understood. It had been difficult hearing her with Anonymous Dock Worker Who Was Definitely Not Bruce standing behind you.

Now you can see me hold my side of the bargain.

Waiting at my apartment in armor. I have a big stick, don’t know if that changes things.

My weakness.

Too bad people don’t try that more often.

Got you all figured out.

More than most.

This conversation was equal parts painful and thrilling. In honesty, you’d ignored him when you saw him on the corner, hyperaware of his presence from the moment you walked past him. You’d suspected it was genuinely to get his car, no secret stalking, but you couldn’t put your finger on why you were so convinced so soon.

This was where things went wrong–when you felt like you knew a person more than you did. This was where charisma and power pulled their initial weight, in making their victims swim in a sense of novel electricity. It was the reason you hadn’t spoken to him on the streetcorner, and why it took pacing your apartment for an hour to finally send him a text back. You were circling the drain, avoiding the swirling waters that you knew could pull you under.

You glanced over at the couch, the cushion still ruffled from where he sat. He can be so sweet. The symphony of his smile and his laugh together, planting a glow deep in your chest, padding you from the familiar, harsher realities of your past experiences with him. You didn’t want to ignore them. It would be irresponsible.

You grabbed your laptop and pulled up the schedule of events for the next three months. Bruce was harsh and unyielding.

SEARCH: Lincoln March

He was a recluse, someone whose most regular social contact was his own butler, who he treated pretty shittily.

Lincoln March - The People’s Candidate

Still, he kept showing up for you, slowly increasing in warmth each time.

Campaign Goals:

But only because you’d lied.

Fully-fund Gotham’s K-12 public schools.

He was only being nice out of guilt. You couldn’t read into it further.

Maternity leave has long been a partially-funded social program in Gotham, but if elected, I plan to expand upon…

He ran another hand through his hair, shutting his computer off. You were only acting this way out of guilt, handling him with gloved hands, every interaction careful and gentle. Impulsive, he crossed the room to don the suit instead of sending you another text. The snap of his armor into place atop his padding was the sound of Bruce Wayne slipping away. Relief washed over him as he dipped his fingers into the tarry paint. He didn’t have anything to do but what Gotham gave him tonight.

He called Gordon once he was on the road. He didn’t answer.

The streets were filled, a typical Saturday night. He slunk round the same alleys, the usual crime spots, even looped around the watchtower in case Gordon was there, messing with a broken bat signal. Nothing. Until he heard some shouting at a nearby subway station. He cut the lights on his car and slipped silently through the corridor, ears ringing with adrenaline.

A small group of men were harassing a young girl with a sparkly pink backpack. She couldn’t be older than thirteen. The men were whistling, one of them tugging on her ponytail. Her face was scrunched up tight with her hands covering her ears. He didn’t even think before jumping in.

His fist connected with the nearest man’s jaw, amplifying a rush of adrenaline through him. Suppressing a grin, he followed it with the other, ducking to dodge a hit from the man behind him. He spun out his right heel, rendering the man unstable, and slammed him against the brick with a jut of his elbow. Every punch he landed was easy, instinctual, bliss. The fighting felt different. He had vastly more energy. While the three men staggered back, he gestured for the girl to run. She mouthed something he couldn’t hear, a hit landing in the plane of his back.

Jaw. Nose. Rib. Kidney. A tooth of the man flew out amid the tunnel of punches, skidding into a puddle. Batman grinned.

“COME ON, MAN!” A hoarse voice, the tallest man of them, shouted out. They ran off, leaving the empty sound of terrified sniffles echoing from the far corner. He studied their clothes, their hair color, and height, giving a quick call on his wrist to the GCPD. The dispatcher confirmed they already sent cars to the area, and he calmed his heaving body before turning around.

The girl was clutching her backpack like a stuffed animal, shoving herself into the metal bars of the subway entrance. He made his voice softer. “They’re gone, you’re safe. Do you know where your parents are?” The only time he wished the suit was less threatening were cases like this. Kids didn’t need to be more scared than they already were.

“LACIE!” The strained shout of a desperate mother arrived at the same time as Gordon’s vehicle. The child raced to their mom, and Gordon sidled up with another notepad for his statement. He gave it, listened while the mother tearfully explained that the kid had gotten off at the wrong stop, and left before anyone could see the blood dripping off the knuckles of his gloves.

Against your better judgment, you loaded up Scypher, clicking to clear but ignoring everything in the ‘Social’ tab and all notifications. You locked your accounts to ‘private’, upset you’d kept them public this long, but paused. What if that makes me look suspicious? You set them public again, noticing a ping on the ‘Crime’ tab.

GC1 News was reporting on a shooting at a nightclub about three miles north. Only minutes before their reporting, you saw a swarm of posts from right after.

BATMAN JUSR SAVED ME

|

Wtf are you okay????????

|

YEA HE TOOK A BULLET FR ME IM HSAKING

You refreshed, frantic. He was fine, right? His suit was meant to take bullets. He was used to taking bullets. He was fine. You could hardly read the screen your hands were shaking so intensely.

Did anyone die?

|

The shooter I think. I was at a bar nearby, so far only one body has been brought out and no one in handcuffs.

You texted him.

Are you okay? I heard about the shooting.

No response. You put your hands over your head and talked yourself down for the second time today. He’s fine. He’s used to this. He knows what he’s doing. He helped someone. He’s just busy.

But two minutes turned into five, which turned into seven, and you could barely breathe.

Text me when you can.

Which turned into ten, then fifteen, with no further mention of his presence online. It was fine. It was fine! You tried to meditate on the image of Batman before you knew his identity. Someone competent, agile, strong, impenetrable. That was still true. That was still him.

Your phone lit up as you were sipping water at the sink, and you nearly tripped rushing over to it. Alfred!

“Miss. Is Bruce with you?”

“No, whe—”

“It says he’s parked about three blocks east of your apartment. I lost the signal to his suit.” You were already out the door.

You didn’t think you’d run that fast before, racing right back to where he’d dropped you off the day prior. Was he bleeding out? Incomprehensible? Unconscious? You ducked through an alley in a shortcut, jumping over piles of trash and dead rats. Your leg was starting to stiffen at the thigh, your knee crunching and grinding as you propelled forward.

You had to clamp your mouth shut after almost shouting "Bruce!” at the masked man standing at his trunk. He spun around, his cape swishing against the bumper of the car with a satisfying crack.

“What are you doing?!” His voice had slipped the octave, going back to Bruce, a slipup that unnerved him on a spiritual level. He surveyed the surrounding area with a paranoid daze, motioning hard for you to get into the passenger seat. The door was heavy, tactical, and the seats the same. The outside of your vision took in all the gadgets, wires making shapes you’d never seen before, but you were centrally focused on the blue of his irises against the backdrop of black.

“Are you okay? Alfred–”

“What did he say?” You were shaking, out of breath, gulping after every word.

“Your suit lost signal and you were parked here, I heard about the shooting online, that you were there,”

It took every available cell in his body to smother an angry rebuttal, his defenses beginning to stack.

“Someone said you got shot,”

He scoffed. “I didn’t get shot,”

“Are you hurt?” You grabbed his wrist and darted your eyes along his chest. His breathing hitched at the contact, even through the layers. His brow furrowed, but you couldn’t see it through the cowl. He felt like you were looking at him, not Batman, even though he was sure you couldn’t see anything but armor right now.

“Are you sure you’re not in shock,” your cheeks were red-hot, inflamed from the sprint and the fear crushing adrenaline through you. All you could see was black, darkness, you couldn’t see anything, you couldn’t get a good look. You fumbled with your phone to find a flashlight, but it fell onto the passenger floor.

“It was a normal patrol,”

A strangled whimper left your panicked, overwhelmed body as you strained to reach the phone. You heard a shick and a button unclasp. “I just need—”

“—To breathe.” A warm, non-gloved hand wrapped around your forearm, applying gentle pressure back towards the seat. Your eyes shot up to his like a deer in headlights, his touch creating a separate raucous within you. He exaggerated the slow movement of his shoulders up and down, opening his mouth on the exhale. You mimicked his breathing, comfortably matching it after a few cycles.

“I’m okay.” He nodded at you as your demeanor settled, his attentive gaze drilling holes in your memory. “I promise.” He let go of your arm and your hand snapped out to grab his. Your breathing hastened the second he broke contact, and only slowed once your fingers interlaced with his. He welcomed your hand with a reassuring squeeze and continued breathing slowly, deeply, guiding you out of the stratosphere. You squeezed back ten times harder, feeling like the barrel was at your temple again.

He let your hands sit together for a few seconds, your eyes trained on his like life support. He nodded again, letting you know he was still here though he was slipping his hand out of yours. Bruce glanced out the windows for onlookers and pulled off his cowl, unclicking the front half of his armor, tossing it to the backseat.

His hair was mussed, sweaty, the paint around his eyes smudged and smeared. He had dirt and faint droplets of red along parts of his jaw, with shadowy stubble underneath. He took your wrist, always with an astounding gentleness, and moved your hand to his chest, gliding your hand across the soft padding. “See?” Your hand moved along the sides of his body, across his stomach, and up to his collarbone. No snags, no wet spots…

Your palm felt like it was on fire, your heart thundering, cranked up to eleven. You slipped your hand past his collarbone, over his shoulder, and glided down his bicep. Still nothing. You shut your eyes, shouting at your brain to believe it, begging your thoughts to stop swirling horrific images, jumping to horrifying conclusions. Including the ego-dystonic impulse that wanted to tug your hand lower, pull him closer.

Bruce couldn’t hear himself think with your hands skimming his torso. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. He didn’t know how helpful he was being now, his breathing way too shallow to help you regulate, his brain going offline. He studied your face, the only part of you he could see clear enough, scouring it to see if this was bringing you even a crumb of peace. He was jolted back into his body when your finger skimmed his exposed neck as you trailed to the thicker padding over his sternum.

You shut your eyes and pressed your fingertips into the padding, seemingly grounding yourself. Your expression drew increasingly relaxed until your hand pulled away, falling almost limp at your side. When you fell back against the headrest, he finally looked away. He flexed his hand against his knee where it sat now, biting the inside of his cheek until it bled. He hardly registered it as he struggled not to pass out.

It was about a minute until he tossed a glance your way again; a minute of sitting at the bottom of the deep end, rationing held breath. He only exhaled when you did, a loud one, now more calmly leaning to nab your phone. “I’m… thank you. That won’t happen again. Freaking out. It was stupid.”

“It wasn’t.”

“You don’t have to be nice,”

“I’d do the same.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re used to it.”

“That’s not a good thing.”

Oh. It was like Alfred had entered his psyche. A Freudian slip. You stared at the ground, evidently unaware of how candid an admission that had been. He was gridlocked. You fiddled with your phone until your shoulders sank, popping the door open without warning. “I’d better get home.”

He let your door shut before opening his, using any opportunity to gather himself before stepping out to the night breeze. He leaned his elbow on the roof of the car as you started down the gravel. “Text me when you get back.”

You gave him a thumbs-up.

He noticed a limp in your gait, feeling the smart in your thigh like it was his own. “And put some ice on that tonight.”

You unlocked your phone as you turned the corner. Bruce heard a buzz from the center console, and fished out his phone after settling into the driver’s side.

Will-do. So attentive.

He noted the concerned texts just before your message.

Just returning the favor.

[rubra-wav]

Why So Blue? Vox x Reader

[ Part 2 - Never Gonna Give It Up ]

A/N Listen man, I don't know jackshit about code or hacking, and that's probably gonna become glaringly obvious throughout this fic 💀

Cw: SFW, gn!reader, intimidation and manipulation, slight mention of blood.

<< [ Part 1 ]

A month went by since the attack on his social media and hijacking of his camera systems had taken place.

The paranoid anticipation of a second attack was deeply present to Vox, but it faded at about the 2 week mark.

Surely, whatever imperfections there were had been mended! Someone would be thrown on the chopping block if not.

All his employees were on edge and were eager not to irritate him even a little bit after last time. Even more than usual. It was excellent to the TV demon, stroking his sadistic power complex even more than it already was.

Every blow done to his ego with the Sinstagram hacking had fallen away, and he was once again power tripping on everything around him. As expected, the home surveillance systems had made him a killing, and he could see places he'd never been able to make it to now.

All of these things put him in a rare string of a genuinely good mood. Everything seemed to be working out.

On the other hand, you worked hard on your next attack that'd far solidify your threat to him, that's for damn sure.

You'd given it a few weeks before you began to really step into your next plot, wanted to lure him into a false sense of security so he'd fall harder off his high horse.

You laid on your stomach in the middle of your living room surrounded by your collection of monitors, clicking away with one hand and typing code out with the other.

The next stage of you trolling him was just gonna be meme material alongside establishing your persona to properly establish your presence in hell.

The more serious pranks up your sleeve would be showing up later down the line. For now, you were just playing games with him for entertainment.

You were barely able to leave home nowadays, opting to befriending people or talking to those you knew before becoming a recluse online.

One of these friends of yours being a certain inventor who ironically very much wanted to be positively noticed by the object of your somewhat despise.

At first, it was because you took pity upon Sir Pentious, having helped to patch him up after he (literally) exploded through the wall of your apartment, however, you came to enjoy his presence.

He was power-hungry, of course. However, he also just wasn't much of a threat at all. He wasn't charming or manipulative - god, was he an awful liar - just good with making things. Pen was a glorified, awkward, and overly goofy fanboy more than anything.

You kept trying to encourage him to work on a business of his own rather than just trying displays of power against Cherri Bomb for the sake of trying to get attention from the Vees, but he just wouldn't listen.

The sound of you receiving a notification from said inventor snapped you out of spacing out at your reflection in the monitor in front of you.

I got the codes you asked for, (Name). 🫡

*Pen included attachments*

Do be careful with these, though. I had to talk to one of my acquaintances in league with lady Velvette's people for these, and they said that it seemed like bad news to have these on you!

Just what are you planning on using them for?

You hummed as you looked at the codes sent, thinking of how you would answer exactly, your eyes wandering absentmindedly to the slightly peeling painting of tree branches on the wall you had done many years ago at this point.

Your eyes snapped back to your monitor as you typed back simply.

Thank you very much! 🧡

And let's just say... tomfoolery.

....

Should I be worried?

You snorted.

Probablyyyyyy~~~

You laughed at the barrage of texts with extremely poor spelling sent to you one after the other half jokingly fretting about you. In the beginning, it was genuine panic from him, but he'd come to know you were smart enough to not kill yourself via being a menace.

Chill out, MUM. I'll be good.

I mean, you most assuredly wouldn't be good, but he didn't need to know that.

You weren't exactly going to reveal you were the one harassing Vox to anyone, even if you were friends. Doing so would be endangering you but also them as well.

You logged the access codes you had gotten from Pentious - ones you couldn't attain normally because they were physically kept in real life - humming and kicking your legs as you cleaned the attack up to make sure there wasn't some missed quotation or something which would fuck the whole thing up.

As you worked hard, a certain someone was about to wake up to the cemented vision of the series of unfortunate events you had in store for him.

-

This time, Vox woke up in a very unconventional way unlike the prior attack.

One of his main maintenance team members booted him up before his scheduled time.

He looked at the employee with confusion, which quickly turned to anger as he realised that this asshole had intruded into his sleeping quarters, he was very confident, without permission.

The embarrassment about his sleep attire of course underlying. It was hardly the same impression as what he wished to show to the world.

He instantly went to start yelling at the obviously shit scared man in front of him, but he was stopped short as he heard familiar lyrics that didn't yet fully register for him.

"What. What the fuck is that?" He asked, Vox looked at the employee who seemed to be grappling to try and explain.

"We're.. o.. angers.. o love.. u.. ow the rules, and...o do I!"

Vox's eyebrow furrowed in disbelief, mouth parting as he fought to comprehend what was going on, straining to hear what the song was.

"A.. ull.. commitments.. -at.. m.. inking of. O.. ouldn't get this.. om any other.. uy."

Seeing as the employee was useless next to him, Vox got out of bed and quickly raced to his bedroom window, ripping the blinds apart and opening the window.

"I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling, gotta make you understand."

Vox looked absolutely dumbfounded out at the scene of hell before him as his still tired brain fully comprehended what he was hearing and seeing.

"Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down. Never gonna run around and desert you!"

Who in the fuck was rickrolling hell.

It was on every single billboard and screen that Vox could see out the window of the tall building he lived in, the image of Rick Astley singing 'Never Gonna Give You Up' with a small message Vox could barely make out at the bottom of the faraway billboard.

"S-sir, it's been playing since 6am, we haven't been able to turn it off! It's everywhere! This hacker- 'U' they call themselves, its the same person as last time it seems!" The frightened employee standing behind the hunched over and now trembling figure of Vox finally found his voice.

Vox let out a cold bark of laughter, slamming his hands against the windowsill as he jerkily moved to face the employee. "What the fuck," Vox began to approach the young man, him shrinking back from the clearly furious overlord. "Do you mean that this has been p-p-playing," Vox glitched as he gripped both hands on the techie's shoulders. "Since 6 in the fucking morning!" He yelled.

His claws dug into his shoulders hard. He was about to go fully apeshit, but the sane part of his brain won over that at the last second.

This was not one of his lowest earners, and he had far more pressing things to do then prey on the refuse lest his image be messed up any more then it already had.

He stiffly unhanded the employee, eyes admiring the way blood had started beading where his claws had dug in before taking a deep breath, composing himself and then forcing a strained smile.

"My apologies," a lie, of course. "I will deal with this accordingly myself since it seems like you and your team are un-a-able to yourselves." He spat the last part out, before striding out of his bedroom with one last 'get out.' directed at the employee shaking like a leaf in a strong breeze.

It was all over the internet and Vox knew he had no chance of dealing away with it like last time.

He could do away with a stupid Sinstagram post pretty easily. It was moreso from one source - the branches from that easily clipped and made to be forgotten about nearly completely with a carefully placed broadcast that was succinct and to the point with his hypnosis ability, and constant content moderation.

This though was a completely different story.

Even after kicking you from his system (he hoped), he found himself unable to even begin to try moderate everything as he did last time. He couldn't escape 'U' becoming a viral meme overnight.

Someone with obviously incredible hacking skills using said skills not to attack or harm Vox or anyone, but to instead Rick Roll the entirety of hell?

Vox became a victim of the meme culture him and Velvette had cultivated to keep eyes on them, and he hated it.

He was terrified, which of course manifested as red hot anger. Anger which grew even worse as something was discovered the afternoon of him finally managing to remove the video loop being broadcasted.

An account on one of the many social media applications he owned. An account he somehow couldn't touch with one single post going absolutely viral - the same as the text that was displayed across the bottom of video you had infected all of his screens with which he couldn't quite see from out of his window the prior morning.

'Never gonna give it up, never gonna let you go. Never gonna let you run away and avoid me~ - U'

If anyone wants to be added to a taglist for when I update this fic lmk - I was unsure if the people I @ last time still wanted to be (sorry)

[ Why So Blue masterlist ]

[reyggtv]

There's only so much I can say on Twitter to truly express my feelings about the show Hilda, and how much of an impact it has left on me to make me the kind of person I am today, so I'm taking to Tumblr to write all about it.

If you don't know who I am already, hi, I am ReyGGTV, though you can just call me Rey. I like to make YouTube videos, memes, talk with other Hilda fans, and make occasionally make art. You may already know me from the Hilda Crack videos I made since several years ago, as well as some more recent big videos of mine like my comparison video between Aster and Hilda. I am 20 years old, and have been a diehard fan of the franchise ever since I was just 14.

Firstly, let's discuss how I actually managed to discover Hilda in the first place. It was 2018, freshman year of high school had just started, during this time, I was still big fan of another animated TV show at the time called Star vs. The Forces of Evil. I was a fan of that show ever since its premiere in January of 2015 when I was only 11 years old. Honestly even if I don't look at it nearly as fondly as I do now, to its credit, the show did most certainly help me get interested into animation as a whole more than any other show I saw at the time.

Not even like 2 months after I got in though, I was kicked out. Not because I did anything wrong, but because for a while, my parents had me enrolled in a school district that I didn't even live anywhere near in at the time, so once they found out that I actually lived much farther from them, that's when they decided to let me go. This was devastating to me, all the friends I made in middle school, were suddenly going to go away, and it was only at the very last minute, at the principal's office that I received this news. I was upset, literally everything was going great and they just wanted to throw everything away for me, in favor for me going to a school that was so bad, it caused my family to move to an entirely new city with a better school by the time Sophomore year came around.

But anyways, about 2 weeks before all this happened, I was in a cartoon Discord server, where someone recommended me to watch this show called... you guessed it, Hilda. I took a lot at the promotional material for a while, and put it at the back of my head, not knowing that I would soon revisit it not long later. Fast forward to when I was out of school, I had like 2 weeks in the beginning of October to just cope with everything. It wasn't long that I just became bored, and wanted to do something better, so I pulled up Netflix wanting to find something new to watch. The suggestion from someone about Hilda just so happened to come up on my mind, so I was like "Eh, sure, why not?". I put it on, and the rest was history. I knew from the very moment I finished watching the intro for the very first time, that this was about to be the show of a lifetime for me.

Despite that however, I did not anticipate just how much impact Hilda would leave on the work that I am now doing nearly 6 years after that very faithful day.

I guess the biggest reason why the show left such a massive impact on me right from the beginning is because of its main title character, Hilda. Look, I may be no blue-haired adventurer from the wilderness that likes to munch on cucumber sandwiches all the time, but Hilda at the time for me, was the most relatable character and the character I found the most comfort in when watching it for the first time. Just like me, Hilda too, was also forced to move away from the place and friends she was always happy to be with, despite all her efforts, all it took was one giant, to come and crush it all, leaving her forced to live a new life in a new environment she was not familiar with at all. But, she moved on. She knew that while this was not the ideal way for things go out, life always comes with surprises. But maybe, just maybe, this could be something that could work out in her favor. This whole becoming friends with other humans and living in the big dirty ol' city, could be the best decision she has ever made. And I think it goes without saying that as the series continued, it was.

This was a message that I desperately needed to hear as I was going through overwhelming times at such a young age, and one that I was so happy to hear and watch once I finally finished the first two episodes of this amazing damn show. It showed me that if an 11-year-old girl from the wilderness can be brave enough to move into the big city, be okay and make the best out of it, maybe I too, will be okay with belonging to a new school, finding new friends, and creating new passions for me to follow for years to come. Hilda inspired me to look towards a bigger and brighter future, rather than doubt the bad that comes with the present. For that, I am forever grateful for the creative and writing team of this show, for helping me go through such a difficult time in my life, and convincing me that even despite all that has happened, there will always be something better to look forward to.

I would be lying if I said that this was the only reason as to why I ended up becoming such a huge fan of the show for the next 5 years. Asides from the writing being so good it literally cured my depression. The animation, worldbuilding, and characters were just unlike anything I have ever seen with my own two eyes. It was simple, yet jaw dropping at the same time. Just a silly kid either helping a Raven jog back his memory, try and fight nightmare spirits or ghosts, or help Jellybean out of a scary situation in which everyone wrongfully accuses him of being a big scary black hound. Even if certain episodes of season 1 didn't always turn out perfect, I would always rewatch every single one of them all day for several hours and for several weeks. I had even skipped multiple days of school especially when it was raining, just so I can head to the living room, cuddle up in some warm blankets, with the heater on during the winter season, and just binge the crap out of it for multiple hours a day. This was just the show that I can always count on to bring back the happiness inside of me. Even when I wasn't necessarily having a bad day, I would still continue to watch it for hours because it just kept on getting better and better with every watch I could get possible, it was almost like an addiction almost, haha.

Hilda was the show for me, and I had no intention of trying to watch anything else.

It was also around this time that I started to also get myself more involved with the show's fandom as well, back when it was a lot more populated and not as niche as it is now. While I'm not gonna say that my reputation in it has always been 100% perfect, at the end of the day, I'm just forever grateful I was able to meet some of the most wonderful people and hundreds of fans like myself because of it like @hkthatgffan, @helgafolk618, and many more I can't list here 'cause most of them are not on Tumblr. So much so that I now have the pleasure of creating hundreds, if not thousands of people who are fans/supporters of ME all across all my social media pages. All because I like to talk about Hilda, literally all the time. And to those reading this who has ever left a nice comment on one of my posts, said hi to me on my Discord server, worked with me on a commission, even went as far as to make fan-art of me or just tuned into any of my content whatsoever, thank you. Your support has left a massive impact on me and what I'm continuing to do now. Because at the end of the day, it's not about any popularity points you get from just talking about a TV show consistently for 6 years, for me at least, it has always been about making thousands, sometimes, even millions, happy with my love for it that is the reason that I'm doing any of this in the first place. I love Hilda, always have, and I want to make people happy the same way Hilda did for me, all those years ago.

Surprisingly enough, even though I was already as big of a fan as I could possibly be by the time November of 2018 rolled around, I still wasn't really a guy interested in getting my hands on Hilda merchandise. I knew that the graphic novels by Luke existed, but the only thing I even managed to get for myself at the time was this old T-shirt I bought from the now defunct official Zazzle store they had up for like a few months lol

I guess that all changed when I got my first ever Hilda plush though when I was 15. While it has now certainly showed its age after nearly 5 years, I loved this thing so much lol. It wasn't official because official Hilda plushies didn't exist at the time. I bought it off an Etsy store from AngelinaLily, and I would literally take this thing out with me everyday to everywhere I went to and take photos of it, especially in the wilderness. It was my favorite pastime. My little Hilda, in the palm of my hand 😆. Hey, when you have to wait more than 2 whole years for a brand-new season, what else are you gonna do to entertain yourself during the hiatus?

I had gotten this in the mail right when I had just exited out the mental hospital because I was actively wanting to h*rt myself and potentially putting myself in danger of committing s*icide. Because while Hilda did definitely help me cope with a lot that I was going through at the time, there was still a lot of overwhelming issues I was experiencing, and my mental health was the lowest that it had ever been. This plush effectively, was a way to help me cope with those thoughts I had, which turned out to be a great thing because I literally couldn't be happier with it.

After that, I just decided that "You know what? What if I just got... ALL of the Hilda merchandise?" Thus... that now leading to my massive hoard of Hilda stuff, that I now have everywhere in my room lol

These photos aren't even all the ones I have!

At 16, I decided to write Luke Pearson an e-mail, thanking him for his work and how much it has inspired me to become the person I am now, explaining everything that I just mentioned in this Tumblr post, and at the end of the day, just wanting him to know, that his creations mean a grave big deal to me, and that I will always appreciate just how much of a positive impact it has left me. I didn't really expect anything to come out of it, but about several weeks later, he said this to me lol

"I just wanted to say thank you for writing and relaying your experience to me. I'm sorry to hear that you've been through such difficult times, but I'm glad that you're able to look back on those times and find yourself in a better place. And if Hilda has played any small part in that, which it seems like it has, then I'm extremely pleased about that and it warms me to hear it. It can be hard to know exactly what good a cartoon can actually do for the world (beyond being a few hours of amusement) which is strange when so many people devote so much of their time and creative energy into making it happen. But hearing something like this goes a long way to making it feel like something genuinely worthwhile. I hope things continue to look up for you and hope you're taking care in these trying times." - All the best, Luke

When I tell you I cried like a baby when I first received this e-mail from him, I really did, lol. Hearing this, from the man who made it all possible, was truly the most inspirational thing I could have ever heard. And I was happy, that he was happy, that I was truly able to tell him for the first time, just how much his creation has meant to not just me, but to soooo many fans just like myself. It was truly something to never forget.

Now I'm 20 years old, still talking about the same ol' dang kids show I fell in love with all those years ago. What's happening now? Well now, I am an aspiring film director and video editor who has been taking film classes in community college for the past like 2 years now, I should've graduated already by now but turns out, college is pretty fricking expensive, and I don't even know if I have the funds to try and even graduate by next year. Asides from that though, I am actually in the works of creating my first ever feature-length Hilda fan-film called The Ultimate Hilda Iceberg. It will basically be one of those iceberg explanation videos you see on YouTube, but with the original source of the iceberg being about Hilda, specifically a version someone made on the r/HildaTheSeries subreddit. I've had the idea for this Iceberg video/fan-film as far back as January 2021, with the current script having started work as far back as nearly 9 months ago. And it's still not even finished! Me, as well as tens of dozens of other Hilda fans like myself, are actively working on it to have it be ready by the time fall of this year comes around, right now as we speak! If you want to support and/or follow this massive project as more updates come around you can either follow the official accounts on Twitter/X (@/HildaIceberg) or on Instagram (@/theultimatehildaiceberg).

Asides from that, the biggest passion project I have for my career moving forward, is directing my own big-budget Hilda movie. Specifically, a live-action Hilda movie. Now now, BEFORE you try and cancel me and tell me that this is the stupidest idea of all time and could taint Hilda's image forever. Let me cook. I am a huge movie bluff, I know which live action remakes are genuinely amazing, and which ones just really suck. My vision for a live-action Hilda movie is to make it sorta like how Who Framed Roger Rabbit was. All of the human characters and outside settings are done with real people and practical assets, whilst creatures like Trolls, Elves, or stuff that would normally be done with CGI, be actually turned into 2D-animation, ideally in the same style as that of the Netflix show. Ideally, I also want it to remain as faithful to at least how the show was as possible in terms of story. Look, if there's gonna be anyone else who knows their Hilda best asides from people like Luke or Andy Coyle, it's gonna be me, just sayin.

In conclusion, I just want to wrap this up by giving a huge shout out to people like @littledigits and literally ANYONE who has ever done any time making this fantastic and wonderful show (I couldn't think of anyone else to tag so I only tagged you Meg so sorry if that bothers you 😅). As this post has indicated several times, this show, has really made the best kind of impact in my life and I'm forever grateful to the creator Luke, the directors Andy Coyle, Megan, etc, the voice actors, artists, editors, composers, everyone who has ever had a part in making this amazing show just, please let me hug you. While I may not have been as enthusiastic with the show's third season overall as I wanted to in my opinion, Hilda will always have a soft spot in my heart, for years and years to come, for just how much it truly inspired me, to not just not only being able to have the luxury to do the things I love to do now, but do so in a way that has made, and hopefully will continue to make thousands, hundreds of thousands if not millions of people happy, because of the love that I will continue to have for this very show. Just because a show is small, doesn't mean it can't leave big enough impacts on people for the better ❤️

[ethicaltreatmentofcowplants]

Asylum Challenge: Day Six - Part I

With Lux's departure, we got a new woof-woof in the mix: Rory Oaklow.

Vlad wisely decided that he was going to read his book literally anywhere other than the kitchen, thank you very much.

DIY time! Someone clogged the upstairs toilet (likely Raj with his SLOB trait) so Lilac fixed it.

If the "Soon" meme were a person...

And come sunrise, the arts class was in session. Vlad resumed his landscape painting but also took some time to scope out the talent nearby. Surely this wasn't a masterpiece in the making.

Spoiler Alert: it *was* a masterpiece in the making.

Between he and L., it appears Ted has come off worse. Actually he's going through an early midlife crisis. Fun times for me, if not for him.

The Watcher was anticipating this showdown, but surprisingly Rory and Vlad ended up... chummy.

Yeah, that was a good one, Vlad.

Scheming Hour with Jacques, Ted and L. GOOD Sim Meredith decided to stay out of it.

Skill hour! Meredith cross-stitched, Rory has the werewolf quirk where she hates being indoors so we sent her to work in the garden, while L. played the piano and our two schemers met over chess.

Lilac was on lunch duty, and once more the chef ignored the perfectly clear countertops in order to work beneath the drying rack.

Vlad's piano critiques continued.

Jacques told himself one hell of a tale, while LAZY Lilac napped in the sauna.

Contemplating world domination over the minibar.

Meredith had the whim to make a new friend, so she bonded with Lilac in the sauna, then cloudgazed with Jacques.

Lilac and Vlad are bonding - or something.

[bleachbleachbleach]

8/12 - 8/18/2024

I wrote a version of Renji 11 what is at this point several years ago (RIP me), and have since just been throwing random stuff/required additions into that Note with no rhyme nor reason, so it took over two hours this week just to sort it all out. But! It is sorted!

Modern-era Renji 11 consists of 3 new scenes and 3 already-existing scenes. I wrote 1.5 of the new scenes. As far as how well I think this Chapter is going, I dunno. As a narrator, Renji’s kind of like, oh hey, here’s a thought I had. And here’s another one! Which feels legit but I’m not sure if it allows the reader to understand which pieces of information are actually important for following the narrative.

You know those reblog memes that like, ask people to identify hallmarks of your writing? The concept is fun, but it wouldn't work in practice because 0.02% of anyone who might see that post would have any familiarity with my writing. SO. I WILL SIMPLY TELL YOU. My hallmarks are that I love an interstice—love having things that should be on the cutting room floor not on the cutting room floor—but am also a firm believer in stories not needing to have every scene the characters experience to exist on the page. This combination means there’s a good chance that actually relevant, defining scenes simply do not exist and only the interstitial nonsense does. I think in certain stories this can be a real thing that works. I think it can also have the effect of nothing hanging together, making any sense, or meaning anything, without certain bits of key information/certain scenes that I simply did not include because they exist in my head and therefore exist everywhere right. I think that’s where this chapter is.

Maybe the remaining 1.5 new scenes will help ameliorate that, but I feel like that’s asking a lot of them. And then, theoretically, you’d think fixing the existing scenes would go more quickly than writing from scratch, but I don’t know that they will. Because the story leading up to this point has changed enough that the characters are in very different headspaces and perceptions of each other than they were when I first wrote those scenes. Well, that’s not true—Kensei and Renji are in a very different place with each other. Renji and Hitsugaya need to have the exact same conversation but, you know… better. And FRANKLY, I do not know whether entirely overhauling Kensei and Renji will be harder or easier than merely line-editing Hitsugaya and Renji. =_=;;

I’d really like to finish Renji 11 by the end of next week, and then take some time to finish out the revisions on Rukias 7 and 10, which are the most related to Renji 11. Then I’d like to go back to do final line edits on Chapters 4, 5, and 8 before heading into the big mess of revision that is Hisagi 9, because those revisions will be most related to Hitsugaya 12.

I’m not anticipating getting much done in September, because I have a major work deadline September 30th, and the rest of autumn will probably be kind of garbage, too, and I probably won't exist. But I would love to finish Part II (so, Chapters 12 and 13) by December. Well, speaking honestly, my original hope was that I would finish Part II by May, but here it is, August, and I am still working on Chapter 11. So: I would LOVE to finish Part II by December.

—

I did a low-res mockup of the fic banner several months ago (okay, this might have been last November). I pulled out some high-res assets to work with on Friday and played around with a new design I thought was fun, but it turns out design-wise the old mockup looks much more polished. Or it would, if I were using higher-quality materials. XD So I’ll probably go back to the old design. The only reason to continue with the new one is that it reflects the clusterfuck spirit of everything that happens in this fic, but I kind of like the way the old banner puts a pretty bow on the clusterfuck lurking beneath the surface. Maybe I’ll solicit opinions once I’ve made a more serious mockup of the first version.

[aphroditestummyrolls]

27 and wesper for the prompt meme 💕

Hiiiii! Thanks for playing ❤️ I was aiming to make these cute little drabbles, about the same length as the WIP game, BUT. That didn’t happen here.

So, enjoy what is essentially a oneshot missing scene from Only Way Out (is through).

27. Accidentally Sleeping In

The kitchen was still cast in deep blue shadow. The night clung to the corners of the room, and the furniture in the adjacent den was nothing but dark silhouettes as the windows gradually lightened. Blinking out over the fields with bleary eyes, it looked like another clear summer’s day on the horizon. A breeze made the jurda dance; the last stars glittered above; and the first fingers of sunlight were going pink as they chased away the darkness.

The house felt still in a way that it hadn’t since the boys came to stay. There was no glow of light under Jesper’s bedroom door, and there was no squeak of mattress springs as they restlessly shifted around and around. Wylan’s usual beleaguered whisper was absent, leaving nothing but the slumbering silence of pre-dawn.

He hoped Jesper had gotten that poor lad to go to sleep and stay asleep. And that he’d still gotten a good night’s rest for himself.

Colm looked at the wall clock— scarcely 5 bells.

He’d give them till the half chime.

He took the coffee pot down from its cupboard as quietly as he could manage, and set the kettle on the fire. He would give them until breakfast was ready. Usually, Jesper was stumbling down the corridor by the time he smelled griddlebreads, anyway. Even after all these years away, it was still like a summoning ritual for even the most exhausted of sons.

Even this exhausted, though? Addy’s voice chimed in from the back of his mind. You’ve never seen him this tired. You know that.

Colm sprinkled flour across the countertop, and unwrapped their breakfast dough from where he’d left it to rise in the hearth’s embers overnight. Perhaps he kneaded into the soft puff of it with more feeling than usual, but he couldn’t help it. He was worried.

He had never been able to hide from his wife— especially not now. And, as usual, she was right.

It had been just over a week since Jesper and his young councilman had docked in Shriftport. They brought with them two haphazardly packed cases of clothes, but Colm considered them lucky that their ship didn’t charge them extra for the bags under their eyes. There was a weight on Wylan’s skinny frame so broad and crushing, it almost surprised the Kaelishman to see the lad walking.

Jesper helped shoulder that weight with all the grace of a man anticipating an explosion, but Colm glowed with pride all the same. They were good partners, those two. He watched them give and take throughout that long, sleepless week— he caught the tail end of long talks and brief check ins. Every morning after they came in from the jurda fields, Colm brought in the post; and every night, he walked past their bedroom door to see the lamps still lit as they worked steadily through the passing hours.

And, he saw the circles under their eyes grow darker with each morning, over griddlebreads and coffee. In the pre-dawn, they seemed as deep as any shadow in the house.

Colm was finally beginning to understand the extent of what Jesper was trying to say in his letter, all those days ago.

Dear Da, it read, I hope you’re well. Good to hear the harvest is coming in strong, and the buyers are already lining up.

Things here are fine— I’m worried about Wylan. This house is starting to feel bloody haunted, and the noses of the council constantly poking in aren’t doing much to help. Everything is piling up. He thinks I don’t know how much this is grating on him, and I don’t know how to tell him he’s scaring me.

I know I’m not much of a communicator—

I understand if you’re still mad, but I’m trying to—

Did you ever have to talk to Ma— that one was so blotted with ink, that Colm had to hold it up to the midday sun to find the words underneath.

I don’t know what to do. You told me to tell you next time I didn’t know what to do, so I’m doing that. He’s not sleeping, he forgets to eat, we spend all day pushing through this damned paperwork, and getting him down to the club can only distract him from the worst of it for so long.

I’m so tired, I don’t even know what I’m trying to say. Help? I suppose?

He signed it with love from the both of them, and Colm had reread it until the parchment feathered at the corners. It was still tucked into the bookshelf in the shadowy den, used as a place marker in a half-interesting novel he gave up on.

The kettle whistled. With floured hands, the Kaelishman turned in the time-honoured route from counter to stove, and then to the coffee maker. He didn’t need to think about it. The motions were as natural as breathing, and he had other things on his mind.

The night before, the three of them spent a few short hours in the den before retiring for the day.

Colm couldn’t even remember what was being said, when Jesper suddenly went very still, and quiet. His grey eyes blinked, wide and sparkling, and he looked over to his young councilman as if he wasn’t sure what he’d see. And then he smiled.

No, he beamed.

Because Wylan Van Eck was deep asleep, his cheek smushed up into Jesper’s shoulder. His thick lashes tickled along his cheek, chapped red lips just a little bit open. He took slow, even breaths against Jesper’s chest, and Colm couldn’t help the clench of emotion that snuck up around his heart.

He looked like a little boy.

And Jesper looked like he’d been given an absolute treasure of a gift.

He kissed his forehead— gently, so gently, as if he’d bolt upright at any second— and didn’t dare to wake him up to shuffle him off to bed.

Colm held open the bedroom door so Jes could fit Wylan and himself through the narrow opening. The smaller lad was laid out in the center of the bed while Jesper fluttered around the room, unlacing Wylan’s boots and slipping his braces from his shoulders. For once, Colm found himself glad that his son was so allergic to making his bed— it made it much easier to slip back in at night.

And that was the last he had seen of either of them. The Kaelishman bid his son goodnight in a whisper, and Jesper smiled. He looked so exhausted,and so relieved.

Oh, he hoped they’d managed some good rest.

By the time the half chime rang through the little farmhouse, each bread had been cooked to golden brown, steaming perfection. Coffee was ready. Plates were on the counter— not that Jesper would use one. Not when there was the option to leave crumbs on the kitchen floor.

But, Jesper wasn’t here. There were no creaking bed springs, or sleepy grumbling voices coming down the corridor. Colm craned his head to peek at the lad’s door, and the glow of the lamp wasn’t there, like it had been so reliably for so many days.

The sun was rising, painting the kitchen and the den with the wash of warm pink, yellow and Zemeni blue sky. Yet, even with the shadows chased away, the house was still heavy with a sleeping hush.

He sighed.

At least when Jesper was awake all night, he didn’t oversleep.

Rolling his eyes, he poured himself a coffee and took a long sip. He stared at the door, willing the light to turn on, and to hear his son roll out of bed and curse at the clock.

They were meant to start the second round of the harvest that morning. The first of the drying blooms were out in the silos, but the growing things of the earth weren’t just going to wait for them to be ready to pick them. The time frame was limited. How many times had he told Jesper that? How many times had he walked the short path from the kitchen to that bedroom door, and given him the wake up call he missed?

This time, though, he raised his hand to knock, and… paused.

Instead, he dared to open the door and poke his head into the room.

The sunrise was a little slower to reach Jesper’s room, turning the peachy dawn into a warm lavender haze through the drapes. The bedside table was stacked with the last of the letters to be sent— signed and sealed with a splatter of red wax. But, on the bed itself, there wasn’t nearly as much formality… or urgency.

The covers had been kicked around. Only a sheet was draped across Jesper’s skinny hips, his gangly limbs starfished out across the mattress. He was utterly dead to the world. His ribs rose and fell in deep pulls of breath, and Colm wished he could see his boy’s sleeping face better. He always looked so sweet and young, finally at rest for once in his wild life.

But, this time, his nose was buried in a nest of wild curls.

While Jesper had sprawled, Wylan had curled up under his arm, cuddled in between his body and the wall. His cheeks were flushed with the warmth of sleep, even in the low light, and he looked just the same as he had when he fell asleep the evening before. He had a cheek squished up against Jesper, lashes fanning his cheeks, and chapped lips slack. Now, though, his fingers twitched and flexed over Jesper’s chest, and he was burrowing impossibly closer to him. A tiny little sigh passed Jesper’s lips— he could see it as it ruffled the red curls obscuring his mouth. Maybe he smeared an unconscious kiss to his forehead. Colm couldn’t tell.

Oh Saints. Colm couldn’t bring himself to wake them.

“Da?”

Grey eyes blinked at him for a long, sleepy moment, not processing much of anything at first. And then, it hit.

“Fuck—!”

“Shh, shh— no.” Colm crossed the small room to stop his son before he moved and woke the both of them. “No, no. It’s alright, Jes.”

Jesper blinked. Wylan made a sleepy little sound, but didn’t wake.

Colm pulled the covers back up over them, and Jesper finally seemed to understand what was happening. His eyes went half lidded. He sighed.

“Get some sleep, son.” He murmured.

Jes just hummed.

They were both asleep again by the time Colm closed the door behind them.

❤️❤️❤️

[kirakirabluemoon]

Happy New Year and I hope everyone has a better year ahead! 🙆🏻‍♀️💖💖💖🌻🌻🌻🍀🍀🍀

I know this Author’s notes looks long, but please don’t panic. It’s just an update, I’m still working on Belladonna. 😊👍🏻💖🙆🏻‍♀️

This is an update to let y’all know how things been going with Belladonna’s Chapter 31. It is still unfortunately incomplete, but I promise I’m trying! 🌚🙏🏻 Still ironing out some details and Chinese New Year is coming, so spring cleaning and stuff is in order. So update is probably after February. 🌚🙏🏻 I’m very sorry. 🙃😔😭🙏🏻

These three paragraphs only regards my health in slightly more detail than the previous post, (why I haven’t been able to update) so you can just skip it if you’d like. 🙆🏻‍♀️💖 As I mentioned previously, my health has been fluctuating since June 2023, I haven’t been feeling very well so my writing took a hit (on top of writer’s block). 😩🫠 The symptoms thankfully wasn’t too serious, all things considered.🤞🏻My fatigue however was the most obvious, there was also low moods, insomnia (caused by heart palpitations) and etc. However, I’ve gotten my blood tested around November and I finally know what’s going on. So at least I now know how to reduce and regulate the symptoms, I’ve seen improvements and hopefully I’ll make a full recovery soon. 🙆🏻‍♀️💖🙏🏻

But then at the end of December, I was tested positive with covid. 🌚🌚🌚🫠🫠🫠 So my fatigue worsened. At this point it’s like a triple layered stack. First from my nightly dreams, second from the issue that started in June, then now from the covid. 🫠 I have tested negative after 6 days, but my doctor did warn me that some symptoms and inflammation will probably persist for about a month after turning negative and to not do strenuous exercises, (even something simple like brisk walk). I found out sometimes just eating a meal brings me shortness of breath and my heart rate would reach 106 or so and then I gotta lie down. Feels like my heart was copying that one meme on Facebook and saying, “If you don’t stop, I will.” 😮‍💨🌚🤣 The same goes for house chores, like changing the bedsheets. So yeah. But I’m still kicking—albeit weakly—AND my low moods had thank god not plagued me lately. 💖😮‍💨🙏🏻 Bless.

I’ll be trying to get a swing back into things while minding my energy, so my health doesn’t decide to give me a sucker punch to the gut. Or a left hook, I don’t know, it’s been years and it still likes to catch me by surprise. 🌚🤷🏻‍♀️🤞🏻 Despite the annoyances, I’m still very thankful it’s nothing too serious. At this point, I’ll just let it throw a fit wherever it wants, and then let it die down whenever, while trying to get on with my life and maintaining inner peace. 🙄😑🤦🏻‍♀️🤌🏻 I’m done trying to control it to go the way I want it to, cuz it backfired, badly. 🌚

Anyways, thank you all so much and I really really appreciate the immense patience, love and support my dear readers has shown for my stories. 💖🙆🏻‍♀️🍀 I know I haven’t been updating as much as I would have liked, nor anticipated, after I graduated from school five-years-turning-six-years ago, in fact I thought I’d be able to churn out more chapters, guess I sorely underestimated the full extent of the symptoms my health could throw at me. 🙃😔

I wish everyone good health—seriously please take good care of yourself, and may all the lovely and nice things in life, be it big or small, be enjoyed, celebrated, and appear whenever you need it. 🥰🙆🏻‍♀️🌈💖🌻🍀

The very best of luck for 2024 and the upcoming Year of the Dragon! God bless everyone! Cheers! 🎆🎇🎉🎊🐉🎊🎉🎆🎇

Until next time! 😘

Ps: My inbox told me I have a new message/submission but when I click on it, there’s nothing there. 🌚🌚🌚 If someone sent me an ask, I’m sorry but Tumblr won’t let me see it. 😭🙏🏻

[storyofmychoices]

Blades 2 Inside Choices Blog: Blades of Light and Shadow 2

We’re so happy to be back in action with the gang we know and love! Where does Blades of Light and Shadow 2 pick up after the first book’s ending?

Emi: I will say that we don't pick up where you're expecting. 

Kathleen: Unless you were expecting to get hucked out the back of the plot truck and onto the action highway at 80mph. (Fury Road theme plays)

Lil: (is overtaken by the Two Towers theme)

Emi: But rest assured, our original four love interests are back and dealing with their own challenges. 

Lil: And they’re definitely going to need help with those challenges whether you’re romancing them or not. Though we support all variations of ‘mancers here. Mono-, multi-, and necro- . 

Emi: Also they get some new looks that can best be described as "sleeves are B.S."

Jay: Don’t forget “badass pirate coat important”.

What kind of new main characters will we meet in the sequel? Or perhaps, any new love interests?

Jay: There is a strange but familiar hooded figure…whose hotness level was of great discussion.

Lil: He’s very constructive with his feedback. And a monster from Book 1 returns, but not in a way you expect. 

Emi: I think we all know I'm obsessed with Valax. I mean, she's a badass purple lady who only has one sleeve. Obviously that makes her my wife.

Tom: EMI YOU HAVE TOO MANY WIVES!!!

Kathleen: Idk I'm still mad that hot scorpion lady didn't win the monster contest.

Lil: Sky whale supremacy how dare. 

Kathleen: Okay I am excited about the dwarves and goblins though. New dwarf friend is just A+ chaos babe and I love her.

Emi: Honestly though, my fave character is the one who's "head empty, no thoughts, falls over a lot."

Making this sequel has been a labor of love. Does the book team have any must-tell stories/bloopers during production?

Jay: There was an accidental floating dwarf? And too many battles with code. Writers, please don’t do it to me again. I cannot take it. The while loop will win.

Kathleen: During one of my editorial passes I had to give Emi a note like "Okay when we first meet the Big Bad maybe we should use that moment to establish that she's really imposing/scary instead of just going off about how hot she is."

Emi: I may have made too many Aerin memes that are now weekly traditions for our team.

Danielle: I was instructed to design a character with “Vision as a hotness bar” as a guide, I ignored them and used Jeff Bridges instead 😏. 

Jay: Danielle also came up with some incredible filenames, my favorite being “tentacle_monster_buff”.

Danielle: It’s accurate, is it not?

Are there any elements that you are particularly proud of?

Tom: The Shadow Realm was fun to make! Think the Upside Down, but more purple. And to make all the awesome new weapons and armor work with the outfits took 150 unique assets! You’re welcome.

Danielle: My first full book!

Lil: The lore guide for Blades was 60 single-spaced pages before we started adding things that came up during active production. I’m really pleased with how much actually ended up being discoverable in the book itself, so be sure to explore every nook and cranny of Morella and beyond! Because they are filled with beauty and chaos. 

Emi: I cannot tell you how many spreadsheets we made to keep track of things. I mean, the outline alone was 100 pages!

Jay: My code built 😭. And that my production planning got it to you a little earlier than y’all had anticipated hehe.

At the end of the first book, we seemed to have wiped out the forces of evil for at least a day or so. What kind of dangers will we face in the second edition?

Lil: Evil never sleeps y’all. It gets its coffee from Aerin. 

Kathleen: (Aerin, walking up to the counter): "I have a large non-fat birthday cake latte with caramel drizzle and four shots of espresso for (squints at label) ...Emile?"

Lil: In all seriousness, you’re really getting it from all sides in this book. There’s rival factions, shifting leadership, societal upheaval, and monsters. So. Many. Monsters. (Thank you for giving us the Shadestalker, by the way. Can’t wait for you to meet the beefy boy.) 

Kathleen: One cool scary thing about book 2 is that THIS TIME, IT'S PERSONAL (like instead of you and your buds racing against bad guys to collect the magic things, you've now got a villain single-mindedly hunting you down so she can steal your <REDACTED> for use in her evil plans).

Emi: Kathleen may have called me out for it but our Big Bad is hot! Both literally and figuratively!

How much do you love QA?

Lil: SO MUCH.

Emi: Pour one out for our poor QA folks who have had to test what is the most complex book we have ever done! You are the real heroes!

Jay: QA peeps are my saviors!! Their work alone cures my anxiety.

Kathleen: Gawd I would be lost without QA my grammar is a disaster

Erin: Everyone on the Blades team is so wonderful to work with. I also tested Book 1, and to be able to contribute to Book 2 means everything to me. It’s absolutely a labor of love.

We know that years of hard work and passion went into this book. What would the Blades team like the readers to take away from this sequel?

Emi: So Kathleen and I actually helped to brainstorm the entire Blades world back when it first came into being, so it felt like coming full circle to be back and expanding it in new and fun ways. I was already in love with all of these characters and they're even closer to my heart now. I can't wait for you all to see what we've come up with!

Jay: Y’all better like it! This book has taken years off my life. *lies down on floor* (But seriously, we’re as excited about Blades 2 as all of you and hope that it brings as much joy to you as it did for us to make. I think the best word to describe the team as we wait for September 1st is giddy.)

Danielle: I hope you like our art :).

Tom: If you don’t, please keep it to yourself, artists are fragile :’} 

Lil: I was one of the few people who was new at Choices when I began working on this book, and it was truly an honor to see this thing come together. These are the minds that brought you The Crown & the Flame, The Cursed Heart, Wake the Dead, and the first Blades. It was amazing to go from watching them work as a fan to taking this epic journey together. 

Kathleen: THE REAL VILLAIN WAS THE IMPERIALISM WE MADE ALONG THE WAY

Lastly, how much does the team love Aerin?

Kathleen: I DON'T love Aerin he KIDNAPPED my WIFE.

Danielle: Which one…

Emi: Aerin is my sweet baby boi with a little dose of evil. He should be protected at all costs but also really needs to go to therapy. I live for the angst of him and Raine though. It's so juicy.

Danielle: Aerin has caused me, personally, a lot of pain.

Lil: Really, one of the fun things about the book is you can decide how much pain Aerin causes you. Unlike us.

Jay: He haunts my dreams and my Wednesdays.

Danielle: Livid and sad and livid and sad

Thank you team for taking us through the fantastical production journey of the Blades of Light and Shadow 2! We can’t wait to dive in and meet up with the gang. Launch day is so close!! 

Thank you, readers, for supporting us and our book teams!

<3 The Choices Community Team

[charlesangels03]

A letter for Hirohiko Araki, a renowned manga artist.

Dear Hirohiko Araki-sensei, First, I would like to introduce myself. I am Elijah Gabriel C. Perez, a huge fan of your work, Jojo's Bizarre Adventure and I am writing this letter to you as gratitude for bringing Jojo to the world. I stumbled upon your work when I was 13 years old on Animax when the the anime adaptation of Part 1: Phantom Blood and Part 2: Battle Tendency aired on the channel at around 11 PM in a Saturday night. At first, there was a lot of things I was confused of. Hamon? Stands? Pillar Men? Not to mention that many memes in fact came from this entire franchise that has been spanning for more than 30 years????! But anyway, I was hooked, really, really hooked, and I have my eyes peeled on the for at least 3 hours. Meaning, I have watched 6 episodes since 11 PM and I caught sleep at around 2 AM. Ever since then, I started watching the anime every 11 PM on Saturdays and I fell on love on its uniqueness from other animes. I fell down the rabbit hole eventually. Months later, I started to read the manga of Part 5: Vento Aureo (Golden Wind) because at the time the anime adaptation of it was just starting. So, I had time to immerse myself in the manga and experience it in all of its glory before the arcs are fully covered in the anime. And my God, I was blown away sensei. Your detailed artstyle using pen and nibs blew me away that each of your characters look like Renaissance statues and the way they pose, oh my, they look so fabulous like runway models. Each hatched line in their form looks so perfect and dynamic. What also amazed me is how your writing also is different from other anime and manga, and it took Western media influences. But besides al of that, when I finished Part 5, I was satisfied and willing to dig deeper into your entire catalogue of works which served as a huge source of inspiration in my art and development as an artist. Fast-forward to today, you have a new part published in your series, Part 9: The Jojolands. I started reading the first 6 chapters and although, the concepts introduced there started to become more complicated especially the "principle of mechanism" but I'm hoping that I'll understand it as the story progresses. Besides that, I am really hoping for the all of the characters' development especially with one of the characters, Dragona Joestar (who presents themself as a woman, however their pronouns are he/him) to really start have their own metamorphosis. Another is that, the main protagonist, Jodio Joestar (the younger brother of Dragona) is somehow boring, besides being reckless and exhibiting antisocial behaviors or that's just his personality. But, please don't let that discourage you sensei, I have high hopes for Part 9, knowing that this is the last part of Jojo's Bizarre Adventure. With all of that said, I am anticipating for Jojolands to become fully flesh out and be the ultimate representation of the magnificence and grandeur of your art and life as a mangaka. May you have more power, Araki-sensei! May you always continue to make art and may your art continue to speak to people from around the world.

Much love from the Philippines, Elijah Gabriel C. Perez

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Elijah's 5th Blogging Entry: Literacy Photo taken from Author's Note of Jojolion Volume 22 Source of photo: https://jojo.fandom.com/wiki/Author%27s_Note_(JoJolion)

[merlinsbudgiesmugglers]

15 for tedromeda if you please!!

Haha I couldn't resist the Tedromeda

#15 - A kiss because I have literally been watching you all night and I can’t take anymore

Kiss Ask Meme

Andromeda hurried along the deserted hallway, the candles flickering shadows across the ancient stone as she took a hidden path to the Slytherin common room.

‘All right, Black?’

Whirling around sharply, Andromeda could just make out the figure at the other end of the hallway, her heart pounded in her chest, but whether from fear or anticipation, she wasn’t sure.

His eyes had been following her all evening, every time she dared to turn in his direction, he was watching her. She tried to ignore it, tried to smile politely with whichever Ministry worker it was that wanted to have a Black working in their department. Tried to laugh at the jokes that her friends made. Clenched her fist so hard she was left with small crescent moons indented in her palm when she forced herself to keep her mouth shut when Lucius made a comment about Slughorn going soft if he was starting to invite mudbloods. 

The party had been far from wrapping up, but Andromeda couldn’t take it anymore. The artifice of it all made her sick. Well-connected people offering jobs to well-connected students. Those with actual talent were invited but overlooked because they had no stories of hunting Graphorns on their family's European estates to impress with.

So she made her excuses and left, claiming exhaustion from a long week and waving off her friends who offered to accompany her.

She knew she wouldn’t end up walking alone.

Ted crossed the space between them, forcing Andromeda to tilt her head back to look at him.

‘You look beautiful tonight.’

They weren’t her best dress robes, which wouldn’t have been appropriate for an event as insignificant as Slug Club, but they were a favourite set. Deep blue with a slight shimmer, they made her feel like she truly belonged with the stars she was named for.

‘Is that why you were watching me?’

He took a step towards her, and Andromeda countered with a step away, finding her back against the stone wall while his easy smile deepened the dimples in his cheeks, ‘See. By my reckoning, the only way you would know I was watching you would be if you were watching right back.’

She couldn’t deny it. She’d barely taken her eyes off him from the moment he’d stepped into Slughorn’s office. He’d forgone the traditional dress robes, instead choosing a smart muggle suit that had filled her head with all sorts of thoughts that her mother would certainly consider inappropriate.

The intensity of his gaze was too much, forcing Andromeda to look away, instead watching her own fingers trace his lapel, the dark wool smooth beneath her skin. 

‘You know I appreciate a well-made article of clothing.’

They were standing so close that she felt more than heard his soft huff of laughter as his hand found her cheek, tilting her face back towards him. Even in the dim light of the corridor, she could make out the soft freckles across his nose. ‘I’ve been wanting to kiss you since the moment I saw you tonight.’ 

Andromeda gripped his jacket tightly, steadying herself as she lifted to her toes in an effort to close the distance between them. A soft plea barely crossing from her lips before he finally, finally gave her the one thing she’d been able to think about all night.

Ted Tonks kissed like a man who had all the time in the world. Like they weren’t sneaking stolen moments in dark corridors, like there wasn’t an entire world of people waiting beyond their hidden corridor who didn’t want them together. He took her breath away, wrapping her in his arms, making her feel like the only place worth being was right here with him.

And right now, that was all she needed.

[flying-elliska]

Anyway ! Better late than never but here's my favorite stuff I read in 2022 :

- Last Night at the Telegraph Club, by Malinda Lo. Without a doubt my favorite read of the year. Somehow it manages to be heartbreaking, tender and uplifting all at once. The writing is beautifully evocative, the details chosen so clever, and I found the main character painfully relatable. It illuminates a type of experience, that of a young Chinese American lesbian in 1950s San Francisco, that has generally fallen through the cracks of history - it's a celebration of the fact that queer people have existed, everywhere through time and space, and have found ways to be happy even though it was scary and hard and they couldn't tell anyone. And it also illustrates the complex intersections between her different identities - the struggle of her immigrant family to build a life in the US during the Red Scare, the racism she experiences in queer spaces, how she struggles to make a future for herself as a woman interested in science, etc, in a way that feels very important and builds on each other. Also, it's a wonderful tribute to queer spaces and how life saving they must have been, the wonder of discovery, having to rely on crumbs of info and representation, how dangerous and uncertain it all was, just, ugh. Reading this made me think of my 17 year old self who would repeatedly go through the street of the only lesbian bar in town on purpose without daring to go in for years. It's like !!!! That specific mix of longing and anxiety and anticipation. Things have gotten so much better, and yet. Ugh. Anyway, the sense of place and geography in this book is brilliant. Also the romance is very sweet, and the end, if frustratingly open ended, took my breath away. Anyway there is a reason why it got so popular and it's one of the best sapphic books I've read - also YA at its best, easy to read uplifting coming of age story that is also well written and doesn't set aside complexity, richness of historical detail or psychological nuance. Destined to be a classic honestly.

- One Last Stop by Casey McQuiston ; already reviewed this one but for me this was the perfect fun enjoyable queer summer romance with an interesting plot and cool characters and vibes. Perfect for what it was honestly.

- Sawkill Girls by Claire Legrand ; also popular for a reason ; clever and inventive and inspiring YA, with a great uplifting kick the patriarchy solidarity between girls + Buffy vibes. Good ace rep and I just found the main couple really compelling, especially Val, the privileged queen bee with the family secretly cursed to serve a horrible monster that takes over their bodies and forces them to commit atrocities, how she's honestly kind of an evil bitch at times and is allowed that moral ambiguity but also gets to be brave and heartbreaking and lovable and redeemed in the end and also empathized with as a victim of abuse, and it's like !!!! This is exactly the treatment that male characters get so often and female characters were denied for a long time. Main couple feels like the meme where the popular shallow girl and the 'not like other girls' edgy loner girl are actually falling in love and also, real people instead of cliches. I feel like the author could have done a bit more with the atmosphere but overall it was great and I would have been obsessed with this book as a teenager.

- A Marvellous Light, Freya Marske : gay Regency fantasy romance, what's not to love? Fascinating characters and cool magic system and just a joy to read. My main caveat is that I read it in the beginning of the year and I don't remember much of it but I did remember having a blast reading it.

- Cultish, Amanda Montell : Cults have been a hyperfixation of mine for a long time, for reasons that range from intellectual/writerly interest in what it says about human behavior and group dynamics, wanting to understand how power abuse works and generally processing some fucked up shit I've experienced and witnessed growing up. And there is a lot of sensationalist, dehumanizing stuff out there, so I liked the book's more compassionate and humanistic approach. People on the whole don't join cults because they're isolated wackos or mentally weak or instable or desperate ; in fact cults tend to go for the strong willed, determined idealists who want to see the best in people and have a lot to gain in joining a movement that promises change and real action for a better world. (Unfortunately this is why a lot of cult victims are oppressed minorities). They prey on people's innate need for group belonging and meaning in an atomized world that offers little, using manipulative mechanisms of language that slowly shift your reality away from you. Far from outlandish, these mechanisms are already used at a lesser degree by a lot of big mainstream institutions and religion, and are everywhere in ads and on social media (I especially liked the bit about how MLMs function like capitalistic cults whose protestant/prosperity gospel ideology is deeply tied into our current system, which is why they've been allowed to proliferate so well). And yeah honestly i think recognizing those techniques in order to be immune to them should be basic education. Also I liked the point that a lot of what makes people vulnerable to cults are also often very useful important qualities in other settings so you can't set them aside entirely. So a very interesting book, even though it's still pop science so it gets judgmental and imprecise in places.

- Getting to Yes, Fisher and Ury : lmao this is not a very tumblr book but this is a book about principled negociation, e.g how it's not being a domineering asshole that makes you a good negotiator but instead you can get to the best outcomes by being methodical, empathetic, knowing exactly when and where to stand your ground and when to be generous, setting good boundaries and communication and showing the example by being fair without being taken advantage of. Obvs very useful in a pro setting but I think in general this is a very affirming book if you're the quiet, shy type who struggles with self-confidence. Like, you don't have to be an obnoxious immoral backstabby asshole to get what you want, you really don't.

Overall this was not a good reading year, with 18 books read down from 34 in 2021 - mostly because there were some months where I completely forgot to read. But, I did have a lot of fun reading and I still think that's the most important. Also I read more queer love stories than straight ones, which I am very happy with and definitely want to continue with.

My main goals for 2023 are to read more and especially all the books sitting unread on my shelves (you know the issue.) I want to get into more intellectually challenging stuff and balance it out with lighter reads, esp. queer adult romance and fantasy. I'd like to write more reviews here again. And yeah I want to keep having fun most of all.

[therealchromodynamic]

@i-looktothe-stars Absolutely! Now, this was a full LL12 build at the time, made for a simple combat-based one-shot. I therefore feel the need to preface this by saying you're very, very unlikely to get a full campaign character to this level, but you can definitely tap into some of the Mimic Gun's real potential. This build used a little bit of homebrew (which I made myself actually; table-approved) but that homebrew stuff isn't really necessary for the build itself. The build was made very casually and somebody way smarter than me could probably make a way better version. Nevertheless: For the build's raw stats: LICENSES: Pegasus 3, Echolight 1, Silvershield 2, Death's Head 3, Napoleon 3. The standout unusual ones are the aforementioned homebrew ones; Echolight (Support/Striker scout frame focused on applying Lock-On) and Silvershield (Defender frame specialising in taking hits, absorbing AOE attacks, and removing debuffs), but the build easily works without their systems. CORE BONUSES: Lesson of the Held Image, Full-Subjectivity Sync, Superior By Design, Universal Compatibility HASE STATS: HULL: 2, AGILITY: 6, SYSTEMS: 6, ENGINEERING: 0 WEAPONS: Autogunx2 (Both Flex Mounts), Mimic Gun SYSTEMS: Sisyphus NHP (Pegasus 3), System Reinforcement Banner (Silvershield 2), Stasis Generator, Stasis Barrier (Napoleon 1 and 2), Intelligent Multitarget Module (Echolight 1), High-Stress Mag Clamps, Core Siphon, Kinetic Compensator (Death's Head 1, 2, 3). Our main focus is that MEME GUN. This bad boy counts as all weapon Types at once apart from Melee; CQB, Rifle, Launcher, Cannon, Nexus. Do note that the Mimic Gun CANNOT be modified by Weapon Mods or Core Bonuses; no Overpower Calibre or Paracausal Mod. Accordingly, to do as much fuckery at once with a single shot, you need to focus on the weapon-specific talents; Vanguard, Crack Shot, Stormbringer, Siege Specialist, and Centimane respectively. Mimic Gun is also the Heavy size, which means it can also benefit from Heavy Gunner. I personally would NOT recommend taking ALL of these Talents, as you won't be left with any points for anything else. The ones I took were Stormbringer 2, Centimane 3, and Heavy Gunner 3, which left me with Talent points left over for Brutal 3 (for those extra benefits on Crit) Leader 2 (for planning out manoeuvres with teammates for extra accuracy), and Spotter 2 (you'll be skirmishing a lot, leaving a Quick Action open for Lock-On shenanigans). My HASE stats ended up being 2/6/6/0; focusing on evasive survivability with high Evasion and E-Defense, but frankly the HASE stats matter less than usual with this build as it's almost entirely based on just the combination of Mimic Gun and those Talents. Lean into Systems more than anything else, though; with Mimic Gun's Skirmish taking up only half of your typically-available Quick Action economy, you have wiggle room for tech attacks, and the 10 Sensor Range of the Pegasus allows for tech attacking from a good distance. Core Bonuses chosen were Lesson of the Held Image (1 free Lock-On per round, works well with Spotter), Full Subjectivity Sync (stack that evasion on baybee), Superior By Design (Immunity to Impaired and +2 Heat Cap is a good buff for literally any build), and Universal Compatibility (couldn't quite work out what else to take) As with the HASE stats, these could easily be shifted around for something that works better for you, especially if you have Homebrew options available. ...this is getting longer than I anticipated so I'll have to split this into two posts. whoops

fondly recalling the time i stacked like 5 talents onto Mimic Gun and applying four different debuffs at once as well as knocking a bitch around

[blackwaxidol]

Mentally I am sort of just petting myself like a kitten so that I calm down enough to not devolve into some kind of fucked-up organism I did not anticipate, or something of the sort.

I didn't sleep last night, so the agony has been sedated out of me a little and I feel more clarity than I have in a while. I definitely think I need to relax and not throw myself at the HRT thing. I don't know how to approach it at all, just that my desperate forcing myself has made me feel like something in my brain is starting to erode in a way I don't know how to describe other than "if you know you know". There's already a problem I can feel, but I just don't want it to get worse and become its own thing, that is all. I'm speaking vaguely, of course. There's this persistent ache in my skull like a vice is pressing into it, not good.

Regardless.. I think the sleeplessness does give me a clear mind at least a little bit. So it is only here that I can see in no uncertain terms that what I was currently doing was, quote, "not fucking working". And that I was acting very erratically, have been doing so for weeks, that I do need HRT so that if absolutely nothing the fuck else I am free from this burden in a way that me just saying "I'll take it easy" doesn't quite relieve. Psychological bedlam aside, I'm worried I will have circulation problems from stress. My immune system is already rotting because this body doesn't tolerate it very well.

I genuinely do not care about the... no, let me try to sound pleasant. Listen i have never been good at the "authentic self" thing... the whole self-expression thing does not it speak to me, I don't feel like a person, I am only certain than I am a human being and generally that is enough to keep me grounded. I'm a human, I'm a biped. Et cetera. I don't think of myself very much in gender beyond that I could probably be a nice effeminate male if I took testosterone, but that takes a lot for me to even unearth as a possibility and it takes sleep deprivation to consider any introspection because it otherwise feels impossible to grasp normally. Like it's under 20 years of thick dust to the point of illegibility or obscurity. A book left in an attic somewhere. I'm sort of talking nonsense here, I am so tired that it feels like my phone is floating and at points I am convinced I am just typing on air. Feels nice to not be fucked up and harrowed, though. I don't know when I stopped being able to grasp basic things like what I want out of gender. Not the phrasing I want, I don't know how to express what I mean here. my gender is just transsexual male, and I put TS male in my carrd as a way to hold my hand against a stovetop until it stopped hurting if that makes sense. Wasn't comfortable withn it at first, trying to make myself comfortable.

What was I going to say that was negative... yes, I don't really care for the specifics of all this. I think it's very clear I don't enjoy being a transsexual and I think how inacecsible transitioning has been for me both psychoflogically and from living in the UK has broken my brain a little bit in a way I am not very proud of at all and would like it to be forgotten. but if nothing else at the current moment I can tell myself to let go of the fact that I can't do anything about it. Being transseuxual. In like, a freeing sense. "You can't change that. Yes transitioning will put you in too deep for plausible deniability but also not transitioning is not going to fix you either. Let it the fuck go." or something. "I'm stuck like this forever :("'to "I'm stuck like this forever 😎🛹" type thing. You know the meme format. Not afraid to admit I'm saying this because I came across a poast about like. "doomer transsexuals" or something and I was like "Well. I don't want to sound like that." Very insecure person I am but. I can haul ass to negate a behaviour if I put my heart to it.

I don't know. I feel like I'm playing air tetris right now. But with concepts. Not really being poetic about this, I'm like seeing the hallucinated shapes click into place in my mind. It's so peaceful. I can't take a nap or anything but I will probably shake off some of the tiredness by micro-sleeping at my desk. Used to be an absolute beast at this when I was in school. If you even care. I know not sleeping is also going to do a number on my physical health and it already is but it was either this or waking up at 5pm and the latter turns me completely fucking evil which is what you've been seeing for the past however many days or weeks.

It's 2:30pm and I usually hit the peak of tiredness around now, and then a second time later in the evening. The last three years of high school I used to be unable to sleep every other day so I'm very very very familiar with how this plays out. Sleep deprivation is its own torture but I'm so used to it that it's like, the easy option. Mm mm glug yummy Ultra Rosá Monster Energy. On the subject of this, I drink my gamer drinks like a camel and I've never had kidney stones so I'm thinking that the people who get kidney stones from energy drinks aren't on the water grindset like I am.

Mmmh sip glug yum I love tap water <- what kidney stone havers should be conditiing conditionihn conditi (the word where you embody a concept themselves) to think. Buy a giant ceramic 1L cup with straw like I did and fill it with filter tap water. I love you all. Bye for now.

[hellsgreatestshow]

🎙/confession meme - To lucifer from Charlie

Get a confession from my muse

He was filled with so much love being included. He was working hard every day in hopes of repairing the strained relationship he had with his sweet little apple pie. He knew things were incredibly hard for her. Even with all she did, it was enough. She suffered far more than he could have ever anticipated.

When Charlie offered for him to run an activity, he was far too eager to prove himself. He went all out dressing creating the booth for secrets to be shared. He took her hand pulling her inside for the first run.

"I'll be honest, I've kept a lot from you to protect you. you aren't ready to know the truth about some things. I just want to protect you." he said knowing he couldn't protect her forever. "But I will tell you, that one my greatest accomplishment in life was having you."