#Equipments on secondary side

[spielzeugkaiser]

Is milek an alpha, beta, or omega in this universe? also sorry if this has already been asked but does he get anything special from being half witcher or is it just cats hate him now

Ohhh, good question! That might be a topic later, because Milek has not presented yet (I go with typical omegaverse there, but kind of. Slower? Basically like another puberty added on). His secondary gender is still at question, and...

He's very conflicted. He feels guilty. He worries about Jaskier feeling rejected, or like he is somehow lesser, but... Milek doesn't want to be an omega, if he's completely honest. He has seen how is father is treated, what was expected of him at times - and he knows it's all bullshit, his father is kind and strong, intelligent and independent! But still, he's a little bit scared, and Jaskier should be here for this, and he feels really bad for feeling like this.

The witcher genes haven't helped Milek that much so far! He mostly got a fucked up immune system, his body doesn't react well to the mutations.

[mikkouille]

aight several cutscenes warning u win im going to bed

[elexuscal]

So just over a year ago, I made a resolution to myself to get better at Fitness, since I was getting older and i knew if i didn't, the Consequences would begin to manifest. One problem? Historically i have always hated working out.

i knew there were two main reasons why: 1. lingering trauma from the usual Fat/Neurodivergent Kid Mistreated In PE Class Experience 2. oh my god it's so so so boring i would rather do anything more entertaining.

So. I'm not an expert, and i'm definitely not a professional fitness instructor, BUT i have genuinely come to not just tolerate but actually enjoy exercise this past year. So if these are any problems you personally have contended with, these strategies May Help.

One: Remove Barriers

a lot of flavours of neurodivergence struggle with switching between tasks and executive function generally, especially towards something you don't find fun. So first you gotta identify any barriers keeping you from exercising, and removing or mitigating them.

For me, a hurdle i recognised is that if I could not easily access the equipment, I was unlikely to use it. honestly if i couldn't see it i would probably forget it was there. So my first order of business was making a Work Out Zone. I unrolled my yoga mat and gave it a near-permanent place in my room. my weights came out of the closet and placed on a low shelf where i could easily access them, as did my resistance band. now they were always Right there.

I also realised something I detested was the general feeling of sweaty clothes, and in particular, having to change out of them. So Gross. so i started scheduling my work outs for in the the morning after breakfast or right before my nightly showers, aka: when I am changing in and out of my PJs. I'll do my routine (mostly) naked and not have to contend with the extra steps and laundry that sweaty clothes bring.

two: secondary entertainment

like i said: i found exercise very boring. and while i've gotten better over the past year, and can find it meditative, i still prefer having something else to catch my attention.

i used to like to put on video essays. but then i realised i was so often pausing my work outs because the particular video ended, or the pace got slow, or the topic turned to something dark and depressing out of nowhere and killed the vibe, so then i had to stop to find something else--

No. You need something that will keep you in the zone, and won't knock you out of it. I didn't used to listen to music much, but this year i took advantage of a Spotify subscription my sister gifted me (😔) and started just putting on upbeat rock, hip-hop, and pop mixes. it doesn't need to be my favouirte music ever it just needs to Keep Going.

i do find the loud, rhythmic music is really good for keeping my pace up, but if music doesn't do it for you, you might find audiobooks or autoplaying favourite old tv shows/sitcoms might scratch that itch.

Three: Find Other Motivators

Or, "if you can't make your own motivation, store bought is fine"

Gameification is really good here. You might be someone who'll benefit from a pedometer or step-counter app. I have a friend who swears by the Switch Ring-Fit, and I've also heard of folks who use games like Just Dance, Zombies, Run! and Beat Saber to rely on the sweet sweet endorphins generated by hitting a high score.

(BUT: do beware the dark side of gameification, which is the risk of demotivation if you don't hit your goals. For example, after doing GREAT on exceeding my step goal for a month, I got hit with COVID. For about a week and a half I was barely moving beyond the kitchen and back. My step counts plummeted, there was no way to edit the record out, and that made it harder to get back into the groove. Be mindful relying too much on gameification!)

Even outside of literal games, there are ways to scratch this itch. I used secondary objectives as a way to encourage me to keep up with my daily walks. Walking my roommate's dog when he was working long days is an obvious one, but we don't always have a furry friend at our disposal. Then I would rely on mini-challenges like, "pick up 10 cool rocks to paint", "fill this bag with wood for the fireplace", "take 10 pretty pictures", or "get to the corner store to get more milk".

And of course, consider team sports! Many folks I've talked to feel having set training/play times with a team that relies on them crucial to keep them on track!

Four: Don't Measure Success By Weight Loss

I know. I know. Easier said than done. It does not help that like 80% of workout resources online are going to mention this. but above all else, you must resist the beast. (and while not as dicey, measuring success by visible muscle gain can fall into a similar trap).

The biggest benefits to exercise are invisible. it improves cardiovascular health, brain function, tissue regeneration, immune system function, lung capacity, energy levels, literally our whole body. no matter what external changes your body does or doesn't go through, you're still going to be benefitting from exercise, and you do not want to get demotivated chasing unrealistic/irrelevant goals.

Instead, to track your progress, focus on questions like these:

How is exercise impacting my mood? Do I feel less stressed or anxious?

Am I sleeping better?

Is my balance improving?

Is my stamina increasing?

Am I becoming more flexible?

Can I lift/carry heavier weights?

Is my breath control improving?

Over the last year, I've seen marked improvements in all of these. My joints don't hurt as much; it's easier for me to to get up and move; I don't get winded as easily; I generally feel more relaxed and cheerful. Those are all amazing outcomes, and I hope that everyone on their own fitness journey can find the same joy there as I have.

[skyahri]

Shock |Kakashi Hatake X Reader|

Summary: An uninvited guest on Kakashi’s doorstep might be a little trouble, but it's worth it in the end.

Warnings: canon compliant violence, mentions of blood and death, reader is in shock, medical equipment.

- - - - -

"I'm sorry, I um- I don't know why I'm here."

Out of curiosity, Kakashi cracks his front door open just a bit wider so he can get a better look at you. You're in your anbu attire, blood coating your clothes and splattered on your face. Your hands are shaking and you're shifting on your feet. You look manic- pupils blown and an unreadable expression on your face.

"It's kinda funny that I am, though, right? Knocking on your door in the middle of the night, covered in blood like a lunatic."

He peeks out into the hall, but there's no one else. No secondary footprints or chakra residuals. It's just you, like you said, covered in blood like a lunatic.

"You don't even like me and yet I still came here. I could've gone, well, anywhere else. I probably should've gone home... or the Hokage's office."

In your senseless muttering, you had gotten it right- you should've gone somewhere- anywhere- else. Why come here? While he's never been unnecessarily mean, he'd also never been kind to you, and yet here you are, waking him up at three in the morning, talking his ear off in some sort of haze.

"He'll probably want an update on my mission. He has to send a recovery team for the others, too. I think I need a medic before that, though. I hope he doesn't mind waiting."

He furrows his eyebrows at your rambling. You've always been a talker, but never like this. Never this unorganized and rushed, like your only goal was to fill the silence the night brought-

Wait.

"Recovery team?"

"It's kinda cold out don't you think? Usually, we have a few more weeks until it snows, but I think it's coming sooner this year. I've been trying to knit a blanket between missions, but I don't think I'll finish it before-"

You don't answer. You don't even acknowledge that he's said anything at all. You just keep talking. He's not sure what possessed him to do so (maybe it's his trauma responding to your off handed comment about a recovery team), but against better judgement, Kakashi sets his hand on your back and guides you inside his apartment. He locks the door before sitting you at his dining room table and searching around his cupboards for a cloth. He wets it, rings it out, and turns towards you.

"I found some really pretty yarn in Suna last year. Forest green and dandelion yellow and the most beautiful shade of blue I've ever seen. The woman who makes it gave me a pattern for an Afghan, said it's perfect for winter."

He wipes the cloth across your face, folding it over a few times to get as much blood as possible (why was there so much?) before returning to the sink to rinse it out and start again. He notices how you continue to stare straight ahead, completely unbothered by anything he's doing. Your words never falter, not even when he takes a firm hold of your face to make his task easier.

"I have four chakra natures... never really picked up lightning if I'm being honest. Did you know that? Nevermind, you're Kakashi, of course, you know that."

He tosses the rag into the sink and slowly moves to undo your weapon holster. It's light, and a quick peak in the pocket confirms that there's nothing left in there. He sets it aside, not really caring about the red puddle it's creating on the floor. He removes your gloves and kneels to untie your shoes.

"I copied that mudslide you use, by the way. It's crazy... changes the entire course of a battle in a split second. I'd say I hope you won't mind, but I know you will. You always mind when it comes to me."

He had you stand up and ushered you towards his bathroom. He turned on the faucet and tested the water to make sure it was warm. He grabbed the hem of your shirt and tapped your side, hoping that somewhere in your spaced out mind you'd get the hint and undress yourself. Lucky for him, you did, but not without falter.

"Your apartment's nice by the way. Very clean and organized and looks like someone actually lives here. All I have is a bed and a dresser. I don't have much time to appreciate anything else."

The motion was less than graceful. You used one hand to slip the tight fabric over your head and down your left arm, which stayed at your side despite the obstacle it caused. You expertly unclipped your bra and let it fall forward off your shoulders and to the ground, and had your pants and underwear there a second after. He doesn't stare, partially because he's already seen you naked before in the locker room from time to time, and partially because even in his perverted mind, he knows it's not the time.

"When I retire one day like you, I want my apartment to be just as homey. I'll be able to enjoy it since I'll be home longer than a day at a time."

He isn't too sure what to make of the current situation. He's pushing you under the showerhead, absently listening to you drone on, but all he can think about is how off-putting the whole thing is. You'd been in ops for a long time- long enough to not warrant a reaction like this after just any mission. Despite any sort of way he may have felt about you in the past, you've never been one to be affected by the carnage, a quality he's always appreciative of in his teammates. So what the Hell happened?

"My fifteenth anbu anniversary is coming up in December. Owl said he'd throw me a party, but I guess that's not happening anymore."

Your eyes fall from the wall in front of you to the drain on the ground. The water is muddy- the blood, sweat, and tears acquired from a month-long mission being washed away like nothing.

"I don't think I even like parties. I've never had one, which is why he offered in the first place. He wanted to celebrate my birthday, but I wouldn't tell him when it was. Drove him crazy."

Why is he even doing this? He must be losing it, honestly. Standing behind you, washing your hair as his clothes get completely soaked. This isn't something he's ever done, and even now, it's something he could never imagine doing for anyone else. You used to annoy the shit out of him, following him around in your youth and trying to be overly friendly when he clearly wasn't interested. If sixteen-year-old him had seen him in this moment, he'd surely have a fit.

"It's June 2nd, by the way. I don't think I've ever told anyone that. I don't even know why I told you. It's fine. You probably won't remember and even if you do, you aren't much of a gossip."

When the bulk of the debris is cleared away, he finally gets a good look at what's causing you to favor one arm. A gash curves around your shoulder blade and wraps around your torso, going all the way down to your pubic bone. It's deep and jagged, most likely from a dull kunai.

"I bet I'll get a few days off after this. Gai has been pestering me for a while now to try that new cold soba place. I think I'll go. He'll probably ask you to go, which would be nice, especially if Kurenai and Asuma come."

He hands you a soapy washcloth and watches as you diligently clean your hands. It's interesting, the way you scrub under your fingernails and between your fingers. It's probably muscle memory from years of trying to get the image of blood off your hands. He thinks, for only a moment, that maybe you aren't so different from him, you just put up a different front.

"I can't wait to have a nice meal. I'm so fucking sick of the MREs. It's a dumb thing to care about, but I think it's the smaller stuff that matters in this line of work."

He dries your hair before handing you the towel, leaving you to finish it off so he can grab you some clothes, changing his own while he's in there. Just sweats and a tee, and a pair of briefs if you'll take them. He hands you the bottoms first, withholding the top until he can get a better look at the wound.

"We were gone an extra week. My neighbor's gonna lecture me for sure this time. She always worries that I won't come back."

He thought for a moment, debating on whether or not he should outsource your injury. Honestly, even with immediate medical ninjutsu, this severe of an injury, not to mention how old it seems to be, is sure to leave a pretty nasty scar. Jostling you around to get across the village to the hospital may do more harm than good at this point in time.

"She's got three kids. All super loud, but they're really sweet. They think I'm the coolest person in the world, always saying they wanna be like me when they grow up. God, I hope they realize they should want more."

He grabs the first aid kit from the closet in the restroom and pulls up a chair next to his bed. He pushes you face down onto the mattress, your words becoming slightly muffled by his pillow. He's only ever stitched himself, and even then it was just a few here and there, not a hundred.

Your skin is soft compared to his rough hands. You seem like the kind of person to take care of yourself whenever possible, so he supposes it's not too surprising. He almost feels bad, being an accomplice to the desecration of your otherwise flawless body, but there's nothing to be done. All he can do is try and be as precise and delicate as possible and hope the wound heals nicely.

"Kumo is really nice this time of year. They don't have a lot of greenery but their flowers bloom around this time, just before the first snow falls- AH!"

It was like someone woke you up with a bucket of ice water to the face. You flinch hard when he sticks the needle through your skin. The area is tender, obviously, and the not-so-gentle tug of your flesh is enough to knock you out of your shock.

"Ah, there she is."

In the onslaught of your panic, you don't register, well, anything. You start to get up and the fact that you're half naked on his bed goes over your head. Before you can even prop yourself up onto your elbows, he's pushing your body down, large hands taking up the majority of your uninjured back.

"Relax. You're gonna fuck up the clotting if you keep squirming like that."

You lower yourself, but can't seem to loosen up at all. The blood loss and adrenaline crash are making your head spin. You feel sick and disoriented, and can't seem to to get a grip.

"Seriously, relax. Can't do what I need to if you keep freaking out."

You try to focus on his hands. They're rough from years of training, calloused, and strong as any other man would be, but the way he rubs his thumb back and forth over your spine is soft and doting. Years of unfamiliarity and pushback have left you hardly knowing him at all, but even you can tell this is his way of saying he's calm, and you should be too. Kakashi is a reasonable man, and it's safe to lower your guard around him.

When your breathing evens, he continues with the sutures as if it were nothing, emitting the same energy someone would put towards sudoku. Without the cushion of shock and adrenaline, you can feel how serious the wound really is. You push the unsettling feeling of the cool air against your exposed muscle to the back of your brain, preferring to instead lean into the warmth of his comforter. It has a more natural, woodsy, type of scent, similar to the shampoo he'd washed your hair with.

Kakashi is completely immersed in his work. He still has a ways to go, but he's rather pleased with his progress. Even spacing and perfectly taught, Rin would surely be proud.

"You're different."

He's caught off guard when you speak. If he's being honest, he assumed you'd somehow managed to fall asleep.

"Retirement has mellowed me out."

You don't respond and he doesn't bother to continue the conversation. The silence is comfortable. You hadn't talked to him in over a year, and even before that you were never on friendly terms, but the warmth in the air would lead an outsider to believe you were close.

It isn't long before he's offering you a hand and guiding you into a sitting position. He tugs a black shirt over your head and you pull your arms through, wincing at the stretch of your stitches. Your eyes go to the smear of red on your stomach, and subsequently the bedding. You absentmindedly thumb over the stain on his dark blue duvet cover.

"Don't worry about it. Just lie back down so I can finish the front."

You're too tired to argue with him, so you comply. He's leaning over you now that the injured side isn't directly facing him. His arms are warm against your skin and you have a better view of his face. Of course, he's still wearing that stupid mask, but you can easily make out the contours of his nose and lips. He's entirely focused, eyebrows pulled together and eyes fixed in front of him.

You hiss when he gets to the indent of your hip, knicking the bone. Your hand reaches to stop his, carelessly ignoring the fact that there's a needle sticking out of your skin. He looks up at you- your eyes are squeezed shut and your breathing is heavy.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"'s fine. Just need a second."

He sets the needle driver down and splays his now free hand against your midriff. He's concerned for your comfort, a quality he wasn't aware he had, but that he apparently holds for you. He isn't even sure what he's doing with all of these subtle touches and acts of affection. Yesterday, you were just an annoying girl from his past, not too unlike Gai, and now he's finding himself losing his aloofness in favor of a more intimate moment.

Your hand eventually slides down his, gripping the juncture between his thumb and forefinger, a subtle sign that you're ready, before you fold your arms above your head.

He squeezes your side and resumes his previous position. He's more careful this time, not that he wasn't before. He's done within ten minutes, finishing it off with some dressings and tugging down your his shirt. He tugs the blanket out from under you and goes to grab the spare. It's a quick swap, the dirty one getting tossed in the general vicinity of his washer and the clean one is lazily thrown over you.

He starts to say something, but shuts his mouth when he notices you sleeping. You finally look peaceful. Your lips are chapped, your hair's a mess, and you're paler than usual, but peaceful nonetheless.

He sways his head side to side to side as he contemplates his next move. He could certainly just wait it out and situate himself on the couch with a book until you woke up. Or, he could do what Kurenai would call 'the chivalrous thing to do' and continue to care for you.

With a sigh, he summons Pakkun, who appears in a puff of smoke.

"You think you can keep an eye on her while I take care of some business?"

"You got it boss."

- - - - -

Your eyes felt heavy. It took more willpower than you'd care to admit to force them open, and even more to lift your hands to rub the sleep away. The soreness that spread across your shoulder and hip quickly reminded you where you were and what had happened.

You sat up and swung your feet over the side of Kakashi’s bed, planting them on the floor and setting your face in your hands. You hear footsteps, but don't bother to look up. Your head is swimming, your stomach is in knots, and your body is fighting to not collapse.

"Dinner is almost ready if you're up to it."

"I have to give my report before I can even think of anything else-"

"No need. It's already been handled."

You lift your head to give him a confused look, and that's when you see it. He's a bit uneasy, shuffling awkwardly until he's leaning against the door frame. He won't meet your gaze and you can see his Adam's apple bob up and down.

"Handled?"

"I informed Lord Third of your return. He said not to bother with your full report until tomorrow morning at the earliest."

You turned your gaze back to the floor and sighed in relief, but the feeling didn't last as you began a rather fast paced descent into madness. You mulled over all the events of the day and couldn't help but think of all the things you should've done differently. You should've taken first watch. You should've forced an opening to send someone, or even a summoning, to get back up. You should've said no when the others wanted to camp for the night and insisted on moving forward.

But you didn't, and now the people you spent nearly every day of the past three years with paid the price, slaughtered in the blink of an eye.

While you had never been one to grow unnecessarily fond of your teammates in the past, you couldn't deny the personal affection you'd acquired for your team over the years. It was stupid to get so attached to people who signed up for a job that damn near guarantees death, but you couldn't help it. Not when Sato was convinced that the person responsible for his meal rations had it out for him by giving him all the worst options. Not when Kaito was complaining about another failed date that he definitely ruined by being, well, himself. Not when Yue always made the time to nicely braid your hair after an impromptu bath in the lake.

Especially not when they all went out of their way to ensure you that you were valued and loved.

Kakashi can't see your face, but he doesn't need to. The slight tremble of your frame and the shakiness of your breath tell him all he needs to know. Despite how uncharacteristically nice and patient he's been today, he's still not used to actually caring for people outside of just making sure they don't die. So he does the only thing he can think of and sets his heavy, uncoordinated dog paw of a hand on your head and ruffles your hair, much like he'd do for his ninken.

"Relax."

You can't help but snicker at the action. It's awkward, so much so that you can feel it radiating through his skin. Unlike him, though, you are very well versed in this area. You rub your hands down your face, drying any tears that may have fallen, and pull him closer, wrapping your arms around his waist and laying your head on his firm stomach. He tenses but doesn't make any effort to move. Eventually, you feel his rigid hold on your head loosen, his fingers grazing across your scalp and then running through your hair.

"You suck at comforting people, you know?"

"It worked in the end, didn't it?"

You can't argue with him, not after he had so easily shut down your rapid spiral. Instead, you choose to focus on the moment and can't help but notice how intimate it feels. You're no stranger to physical affection, oftentimes using it to get out of difficult or uncomfortable questions, but never before has it felt like this. It could be that you're wearing his clothes and smell like his soap, or maybe it's the way one of his hands is cupped around the back of your head and pressing you further into his abdomen, but this feeling is definitely different from anything you've experienced up until this point.

Unbeknownst to you, Kakashi is having similar thoughts. His mind is going a thousand miles a minute, trying to push away his avoidant instincts. This past year has given him the opportunity to rewire his brain to be less... guarded, and he's hardly done anything with the newfound sense of freedom. Sure, he's managed to salvage his friendships, but even that much was due to other people's persistence, and not his own doing.

Maybe, just maybe, there's something specific about you. This entire experience has been ridiculously natural. You look like you belong in his apartment, in his clothes. Talking to you doesn't feel forced and there's not that weight he usually associates with social interaction. It's almost like you belong-

"Kakashi?"

Your voice snaps him out of his thoughts. He shifts his gaze down to see you peering up at him. He gives a slight hum to acknowledge you.

"Weren't you cooking?"

Cursing himself under his breath, he pulls back, his hands sliding out of your hair and along the underside of your jaw. He quickly makes his way back into the kitchen, shutting off the stove and removing the pan from the burner. You follow after him and sit at his table. It's funny, really, the way he haphazardly moves around the kitchen like he's never touched a pan before. You shouldn't laugh at him, not after he's been so good to you, and especially because you probably wouldn't fare much better.

He set a plate in front of you and your face instantly lights up. You clap your hands together and thank him profusely for the food. It's quiet for a while. You're enjoying your first real meal in weeks and he's giving you the space to do so.

It's hard to ignore the looks he keeps sending your way. You avoid looking directly at him to preserve the bits of his face that his cupped hand doesn't cover, but you can still feel the holes burning into your skull. You know what he wants, and to be honest, you're surprised. It seems Kurenai was right with that off-handed comment a few months ago- Kakashi had become rather nosey in recent times. Or, maybe, he's always been keen to information, but due to his particular place in the ranks, he's never had to ask for it before.

Growing more uncomfortable under his gaze and sensing he won't be the one to break the ice, you take the initiative.

"Why'd you let me in?"

"I'm trying to be more receptive to people's efforts at friendship."

You nod. You were once on the receiving end of his less-than-amicable approach, and you were glad he was actually allowing people in after everything that happened in his youth.

"Why come here?"

You sigh, nervously running your hands up and down your thighs. Honestly, you hadn't been very present-minded when you knocked on his door last night. The journey back to the village was hard to recall. Even the few hours you spent awake with Kakashi earlier were blurry.

Every other time you've needed someone in the past, you've turned to Kurenai. It was easy to unwind around her. You didn't have to think about anything, just letting her force feed you snacks from a variety of vendors and drag you around to different shops.

That's not always enough, though, and even if you pretend it is, there's always a part of you that seeks out something more. Apparently, last night you had sought out that something.

"Sometimes... it's nice to be around people who understand,"

Kakashi nods. He's been on the receiving end of said behavior, and he knows exactly how exhausting it can be.

"Don't get me wrong, Kurenai and Gai are great, but... they ask so many questions. There's a big difference between regular Shinobi work and ANBU, especially with what I do, and it's just, I don't know. I just don't usually want to talk about the details."

"I get it."

Even though Kakashi is obviously curious, he doesn't pry. He really does get it. Constantly being asked if you're okay, if you wanna talk about it, being offered a shoulder to cry on- it's kind, but it gets old after a while. Especially when you're just trying to spend the limited free time you have as a person and not just an off duty shinobi.

"Can I ask you personal questions? Or are you gonna get all angsty on me?"

"Angsty? I'm not angsty,"

One pointed look from you is all it takes for him to cave.

"Yeah, yeah, just ask your damn questions."

"How's retirement?"

It's kind of complicated. He should be training genin right now, but he sank that ship before it even left the dock. Poor kids didn't even make it a day before they were right back in the academy. Or wait, could you mean personally? That's probably at least a little complicated, too. There's been a lot of change for him this past year, but that doesn't really mean much compared to others when you're practically crawling at the ripe age of twenty-four.

"I'm only asking how you've been doing, Kakashi, there's no need to fret."

He must've taken too long to answer. That's why you're filling in the blanks for him. He should feel embarrassed, but he doesn't. Your teasing tone is enough to subdue any negative connotations your interruption may have offered. Honestly, he's more so just confused as to how you knew exactly what he was thinking.

"... I have a lot of free time."

Man, you really do have to walk him through everything, huh?

"Is that a good thing?"

He shrugs and mulls over it for a moment.

"I'm used to being busy. It's just difficult to get used to. I imagine you'll have an even harder time adjusting once you retire."

"Why's that?"

"You've spent nearly your entire life in ANBU. The cool down from that is gonna be hard after it's been ingrained so deeply."

He's right about that. You'd joined at just seven years old, hadn't even been a genin a year.

"Do personal questions go both ways?"

"I don't see why not."

"Why'd they recruit you so early?"

Damn, he really went right for it. You swallowed hard. Your fingers drummed lightly on the pair of pants he'd lent you.

"It was the only way Lord Third could keep me out of root."

Oh God. Root. Kakashi knew all about Danzo and his followers, courtesy of Tenzo, of course. That place was disgusting and cruel. It was a wonder why it hadn't been shut down already.

"I'm not very smart, so I didn't stick out in the academy, but once I got onto the field and found my calling... let's just say Danzo had taken an interest in me."

Oh, Kakashi knows exactly what you're talking about. It's true. You couldn't do a henge or substitution jutsu to save you're life, but you made up for it tenfold. It's only fitting that the person dubbed 'Calamity' in bingo books be a force of nature, right? You had an abundance of chakra and raw strength that only Tsunade could parallel. All the jutsu you knew were hard hitters- mudslides, tornadoes, tsunamis- anything massive that didn't require a lot of concentration, you could pull off.

"It's fine, though. My fighting style isn't exactly useful on standard missions. Too much collateral damage."

You manage a laugh. It's a little awkward, but genuine nonetheless. Most people get a bit stiff when talking about your unorthodox recruitment, but you don't hold the same sentiment. You'd lucked out with an amazing team right off the bat. They were all men in their late teens and early twenties, eager to take you in as their little sister and raise you into a fine shinobi.

"Why’d you get recruited?"

"Me? Minato-sensei had some personal tasks for me."

"Oh yeah? Is that your mysterious way of saying you were solely recruited for baby duty?"

Now that had taken him aback.

"How did you-"

You, apparently, knew the couple very well. How that fact got past Kakashi all this time is beyond him. You told him about the first time you met Kushina- how she cried because the chest plate on your uniform was too big for little seven-year-old you. You told him about how Minato tried desperately to free you from ANBU during his reign, but couldn't find any loopholes that'd keep you away from Danzo. How they'd sometimes run into you on the street and offer to take you to dinner.

Kakashi shared his own stories of his sensei and his wife, which, in extension, got him to talk about Rin and Obito. Before either of you knew it, it'd been several hours. The last rays of sunshine had disappeared in the midst of your discussion some time ago. The pain of your injuries had dulled and were pushed to the back of your mind, buried in the new found connection.

He hadn't felt that stress-free in decades. There was no pressure when he was talking to you, even when it came to the people he lost. You were just... talking. No prying, no judging, no eggshells- just talking.

It was easy to admit that Kakashi was different from the others. The conversation had revived memories you hadn't even realized existed. This is what was lacking in all of your other encounters- depth. Screw mission details and gossip. These were the kinds of things you wanted to spend your time mulling over.

"Kakashi?"

"Hm?

You smiled at him and he swears his heart might be failing him. It's so soft and genuine, the kind of smile that soul mates share with one another.

"Thank you... for everything."

He doesn't respond. Actually, no more words are spoken between you two as you ready yourself to leave his apartment. There's a peaceful silence as you gather your belongings and head to the door.

When you're finally standing on his welcome mat, you decide that it's now or never with him. Maybe you're being a bit bold, but the Copy Nin is exclusively difficult to connect with and you aren't about to take any chances.

"When Gai inevitably invited you out to dinner-"

"I'll go."

That was surprisingly easy.

Another one of those beautiful smiles lights up your face at his response. He knows that whatever is going to come of this is sure to be troublesome, but he can't find it in himself to care.

"Good."

And just like that you're walking away.

[gojhoes]

Stay With Me

- pairings: megumi x reader - contents: childhood friends to lovers, unrequited love, fluff, high school au, no curse au - wc: 1.4k

Megumi had always been a quiet child. He was an observer, someone who sat back and didn't get caught up in the petty things.

And you were anything but that. You always had been. On the first day of primary school, you bursted into the classroom with a giant blue backpack and a lollipop in hand despite the 'no food in class' rule. Your voice rang high and clear without a trace of anxiety, "good morning!", successfully turning the heads of every kid in the room.

Megumi had been horrified, absolutely stunned by such boisterousness. And he was even more horrified as you sashayed directly over to him and sat in the seat at his left. Megumi gaped at you while you began to unpack your things without batting an eye.

"Hi," you said. "What's your name?"

Almost inaudibly, from both shyness and reservation, Megumi murmured his response.

Your voice was muffled slightly by the sucker in your mouth, but loud and clear you asked, "Isn't that a girl's name?".

And Megumi scowled at you, mad all over again about the stupid femininity of his given name. "So?"

But you were unfazed by his gruff attitude, which only increased as he got older. And ever since then, the two of you had been inseparable. It was more that you led and he followed, but there was something about you that Megumi liked. You were so unafraid to voice any thoughts you had, even when it landed you multiple detentions each week. You moved with confidence and intention in every step, bending to no one's will but your own. It scared him half to death when you'd force him to sneak out with you, agreeing to run off to the bridge at midnight just to sit and talk under the stars.

Throughout primary and secondary school, you and Megumi always ended up in the same class. Where there was one of you, there would be the other, walking side by side, sharing a clementine, or leaning on each other with your backs against a tree trunk.

You spent so much time at each other's houses that you both had a set of clothes and a toothbrush there. On weekends, Megumi's dad would let you stay up late to watch terrible soapy comedies and eat the candy your mom never let you have. And you would eventually drift off, always being the first to fall asleep, until Megumi would gently shake you awake to guide you to his bed. And you would curl into his side as you slept, the strands of your hair tickling his nose, but he never minded. He'd watch the passive rise and fall of your chest, letting your soft breaths lull him to sleep with the image of your face behind his eyelids.

That was the way it was, the way it had always been, and Megumi was happy. Because you were happy, you were close to him, because the two of you were inseparable. Best friends.

Until the first year of upper secondary school, when you alone were put into a higher-level preparatory class on the other side of campus.

"I'm gonna transfer out," you said over the phone. "This is bullshit."

Megumi agreed, humming as he listened to you rant. This was typically how your conversations unfolded; you would call first, ask him how his day was, then you'd launch into an attempt at one story that turned into several smaller ones. And he would listen to every word, murmuring validations as you prattled on and on. The reality was that he could listen to you talk all day. In his mind's eye, he could see your animated expressions as you talked with your hands.

Megumi knew it would be selfish of him to encourage you to transfer. You were on a path to greatness. Your bold personality came equipped with a ruthless ambition; you had to be the best, had to win at every game you ever played. Not to mention the nightmare it was to play you in Scrabble. You were the brightest in your year- you belonged in the preparatory class.

However, despite all the desperate denying he'd been engaging in recently, there was a small voice itching at the back of his mind: you belonged with him.

But Megumi would never, could never voice it. You had been best friends for nearly your entire lives. He wasn't sure exactly when it had happened, but one day when he'd overheard your name whispered by a group of male classmates, he realized that it bothered him to know other people thought about you like that. You were his, his one and only. Didn't everyone know that? Didn't you know that?

And you were popular- of course you were, with your charm and captivating extraverted personality. Everyone knew who you were. You were kind, smart, funny; it was impossible not to love you. And Megumi was just...Megumi, a quiet kid who had been lucky enough to get swooped up under the wing of someone like you. Where you were the sun, he was the moon, and he would never do anything that might eclipse your radiance.

You'd come over to stay the night with him before the first day of the new school year- the first year without you sitting in the desk next to his. Anxiety often got the better of you since starting secondary school, sometimes keeping you up into the small hours of the morning. It was already well past midnight when the two of you laid propped up in his bed watching youtube videos of video games on your laptop.

The side of your body was pressed shamelessly against his under the comforter. Megumi was trying desperately to focus on the video in front of him, but the feeling of your unadulterated warmth was dizzying. He could smell the remnants of the sweet floral perfume you'd started wearing last summer, a scent that nearly took his breath away each time he caught it.

"Are you worried about tomorrow?"

You pressed the spacebar, pausing the video and engulfing the room in silence. Megumi saw you hesitate as he took in the shape of your face. There were shadows under your eyes from an increase in frequency of sleepless nights. You had this idiotic notion that you had to face all of your problems alone. Regardless of the conviction in your voice when you assured him you were fine, Megumi could always tell when you were lying.

You sighed. "I'm just sad we won't be together anymore."

He was right there with you. You closed the laptop and pushed it to the end of the bed past your feet before nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck. Your breath warmed his skin and he froze as he felt your lips brush against it as you spoke. He swallowed hard, trying to keep his hands from shaking as his pulse jumped.

"We'll still hang out," Megumi said reassuringly. "At least we're at the same school."

But it wouldn't be the same and both of you knew it. Maybe if Megumi had applied himself and actually listened when you tried to tutor him then none of this would be happening. He'd be next to you with all the other smart kids, wouldn't have to leave you alone with all the boys who thought you owed them something. And then a horrifying thought crossed his mind, one that he'd been having since your classes were assigned. What if you ended up liking one of them? How could he sit back and watch while some idiot tried to take what was his?

But he couldn't tell you how he felt, couldn't voice the potential cataclysm that was his emotions. So, he laid with you, sliding his arm around your shoulders and pulling you into him snugly as he'd done for the last eight years. Your legs were tangled with his, your bare skin tickling the hair that had started growing in more thickly. One of your hands rested on his chest, the other squished between his arm and your own head.

Your head turned, and you were peering into his eyes with soul-shattering intensity. "Promise you won't forget about me?"

And a small smile tugged at Megumi's lips, the only kind he was capable of, for the only person who could pull one from him. "I could never do that."

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This is such an interesting home- it's also "off market." Not surprising that the 1986 contemporary in Spokane, WA hasn't sold- the interior design is not apt to appeal to many. 4bds, 4ba, $1,091,995. Let's have a look.

Walk thru the entrance double doors and there's an opening for the living room, but the other walls are glass windows. There's another opening down the hall, but inside there are maze-like columns.

The living room has a large window seat and 2 steps up to another area.

The carpet and wood floors look like roads. To the side there's a dining area, but then there's this sitting area with a unique floor.

This is an entertaining area- there's a bar off to the side.

You'll see where it looks down on, later.

The layout here is the kitchen in the middle, dining room to the right, and everyday dining to the left.

Standard white kitchen with a chef's stove.

A den/family room with a nice fireplace and built-ins. Door to the deck. I like the fan. This home is nice, IMO, but there's so much to clean- the carpet.

The deck continues around the side of the house as a terrace.

The primary bedroom is huge with an elevated sitting area.

The en-suite has a glass block wall and one of those annoying step up tubs.

Walk-in closet.

Secondary bedroom is an average size.

It has its own en-suite.

One of the smaller bedrooms is a den.

Rec room beside the indoor pool. Why did they brick up that fireplace?

It's a lap pool. A lot of people want a regular pool. Note the ceiling. Have you seen it before? That's the floor in the living area upstairs, so it's over the pool. Above are windows to the floor above.

The owner has gym equipment off to the side and there's also a hot tub.

The pool room opens to the patio.

One of the other rooms opens to the patio, also, and there's the long terrace above.

.74 acre lot. Maybe if you get friendly w/the neighbors, you can use their pool.

https://www.redfin.com/WA/Spokane/7713-E-Gunning-Ln-99212/home/116240811

[drnikolatesla]

X-Ray Image Taken By Nikola Tesla (1896)

Though not widely known, Nikola Tesla spent a great deal of time intensively researching X-rays, publishing his results during the period between March 11, 1896 to August 11, 1897. He also gave a lecture on April 6, 1897 presenting designs of several different devices that could generate these powerful rays. During this lecture, he shared similar data and conclusions from his earlier experiments with Crookes tubes in 1894. Crookes tubes were invented by British scientist William Crookes in order to study electrical discharges in vacuum tubes. During Tesla’s experiments in 1894, he observed that some of the tubes that produced only feeble visible light had more effect on photographic plates than tubes which were brighter. Since it was obvious that there must be some kind of energy coming from the tubes with feeble light, and their properties were still unknown, Tesla used the term “radiant matter" to describe these radiations. With these tubes, Tesla produced some of the first X-ray imaging, which he called “shadowgraphs,” due to their dark nature, but still did not realize the importance of these radiations. To him, the photographs taken seemed to be spoiled due to unaccountable marks and defects. In March of 1895, a fire broke out in his laboratory, destroying practically all of his equipment and experimental data to date. It took several months before he could resume his work, and in the meantime, a German scientist named Wilhelm Röntgen made his X-ray discovery in the same year (December, 1895). Roentgen first detected the radiation by accident in his experiments where he was testing whether cathode rays emitted from Crookes tubes could pass through glass, and or other solid objects, but was astonished to find that the rays emitted would pass through thinner objects and leave shadows of the more solid objects behind (such as with skin and bones). When Tesla heard this news, it was immediately obvious to him what had been problematic in his laboratory work. Realizing and regretting that he had missed out on making a major scientific discovery, Tesla would say, “I realized that my guiding spirit had again prompted me and that I had failed to comprehend his mysterious signs.” He repeated Röntgen's experiments, and came to much better results than Röntgen and others since he had his newly developed Tesla Coil. With this apparatus, he immediately realized the importance of high voltages for producing powerful rays and suggested using his newly developed single-terminal tubes and connecting them to the secondary coil of the transformer. In 1896, Röntgen acknowledged Tesla’s discoveries and in a lecture before the Physical Medical Society in Wurzburg, Germany, discussed the advantage of using Tesla’s high-frequency transformer in generating X-rays. Tesla would also become one of the first scientists to point out the harms of these rays and developed safer ways to utilize them for medical use. Methods we still use today. On the other side of town, others like Thomas Edison thought these newly discovered rays could cure the blind. Many patients who were experimented upon starting showing terrible illnesses, one being his assistant who later had to have both arms amputated. Edison was quoted in an interview saying, “Don’t talk to me about X-rays…I am afraid of them.”

Nikola Tesla would later give all credit to Röntgen for the discovery, and throughout the next few years, produced some of the best X-ray imaging that even Röntgen praised. In a letter to Tesla, Röntgen wrote, “Dear Sir! You have surprised me tremendously with the beautiful photographs of wonderful discharges, and I tell you thank you very much for that. If only I knew how you make such things!”

[scrapironflotilla]

Why is there not much talk about the first world in Africa

Ya know that's a good question. There's a few reasons that make the war in Africa far less prominent than the war in Europe; scale, strategic importance and colonialism, not necessarily in that order.

Let’s start with an easy one, scale. There just weren’t that many troops fighting the war there compared to the different fronts in Europe and the Middle East.  The Western and Eastern fronts packed millions of men into the trenches on either side, the Italian front had another million on each side, the Balkan theatre had another three million, the Egypt and Palestine campaign had another million, Mesopotamia was another million and the Caucasus another million.

The various European colonies in Africa were garrisoned, like most colonies of this period, by a pretty small number of total troops and an absolutely miniscule number of white, European troops. The vast majority of the soldiers fighting in these campaigns were ‘native’ troops. As an example, German East Africa, which saw the longest campaign of the war in Africa, had a population of around 7.5 million. There were around 5,000 white Germans there in total. The German army in the colony, the Schutztruppe had a strength in 1914 of about 2,700 soldiers of which only 250 where white Germans. Even counting the militia of German settler-farmers only added another 2,700 men. All of this in an area that’s three times the size of modern Germany. Total military casualties for the East Africa Campaign amounted to somewhere around the 55,000 mark (that’s killed, injured, captured and missing), fewer than British casualties on the first day of the Battle of the Somme.

The other African campaigns were even smaller in scope, with total forces on each side often numbering in the hundreds or low thousands, and were usually over by 1916. Germany knew they’d likely lose their colonies, but hoped to recoup the loss in the post-war settlement when (if) they won. They colonies in Africa just weren’t vital to Germany, which brings us to our next point, strategic importance.  

Germany’s geographic position meant that as soon as war was declared they were essentially cut off from their colonies (although there was a failed attempt to resupply the Schutztruppe in East Africa by airship in 1917 https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/LZ_104_(L_59) ). The British and French navies dominated the seas and there was little Germany could do. But, by the same token, the loss of these colonies wasn’t a big blow to the German war effort. Germany’s strength was in Europe, and most of its basic needs could be met from resources within Germany or the territories it conquered. Beating a few thousand German troops in East Africa wasn’t going to bring down the German government or make the German army collapse. There were local and imperial reasons to wage these campaigns, and wage them the British, French, Portuguese and Belgians did. But they were never the main, or even a secondary effort, they were very much an afterthought. And this brings us neatly to the last point, colonialism.

Now, the above refers to military numbers and casualties, and as usual in war, it’s civilians who actually suffer the most. Taking the East Africa Campaign again. Each of the armies fighting there conscripted huge numbers of ‘porters’, local civilians who carried the equipment and supplies. One historian assessed the British effort as “recruiting” 1 million civilian porters. 95,000 of them died during the war. A further 15,000 porters in Belgian service died, 7,000 porters in German service died as did an unknown number of civilian porters in Portuguese service, but it’s likely in the low tens of thousands. An official from the British Colonial Office wrote that the East African campaign had not become a scandal only "... because the people who suffered most were the carriers - and after all, who cares about native carriers?"

The war the European armies fought in Africa was mobile, and far from stable and secure supply lines. As such, the armies often “lived off the land”, which is a nice way of saying they looted and pillaged everything in their path to keep themselves fed and supplied. The German army was probably more ruthless in its pillaging, but that’s largely because they were cut off from any support base and waging a guerilla war. Looting like this had dire consequences for locals and famine spread in the war’s wake. Modern estimates are in the range of 750,000 civilian deaths in Africa from the war, although this is probably a conservative count. About half of these deaths, some 350,000, were in German East Africa. Ludwig Deppe, a German doctor who participated in the East Africa Campaign compared the devastation caused by German forces:

“Behind us we leave destroyed fields, ransacked magazines and for the immediate future, starvation. We are no longer agents of culture, our track is marked by death, plundering and evacuated villages, just like the progress of our own enemies in the Thirty Years War.”

None of the war in Africa painted the European empires in a particularly flattering light and it was pretty easy for them to if not cover it up, at least to deflect attention. The butchery in Europe was on a different scale and much closer to home. The Western Front came to dominate memory of the war for the basic reason that it was in France and Belgium that most of the troops fought and died, and it was on the Western Front that Germany was defeated. It was hard enough to fit sideshows like Italy, Salonika and even Palestine into a narrative of the war, let alone the colonial campaigns in Africa.

[narcissisticpdcultureis]

blog info

- always remember to start off your ask with some variation of "npd culture is..." ("npd system culture is..." "npd + bpd culture is..." ect ect).

- people who don't have npd but do have npd traits are welcome to send in submissions.

- this blog is run by one mod and isn't looking for others.

- i open this blog to be a place where egotypicals can learn about the experiences of pwnpd, but urge them to remember this blog will be mostly unfiltered and show the more unpleasant side of mental illness and trauma. if you cannot respect or handle that, leave.

- if you'd like to claim a sign off, refer to this post.

- the queue can be long, it may take some time to get to your submission. please be patient with me. i also reserve the right to not post certain things for whatever reason.

- there's also a polish version of this blog: @bycie-narcyzem-to. i don't run that blog. it's been inactive for some time as well.

byf

-this blog doesn't have a set dni anymore other than basic criteria, [pd] abuse believers, and transnpd/supporters, but i will block freely.

- i do not want to hear about your abusive relatives with npd, even if you put "but i don't think all pwnpd are abusive!" after it.

- please don't ask me for advice. i'm fine with people asking questions about npd itself, but i may not always answer. keep in mind i'm not a professional, i'm not the end all of information on npd, and it is entirely possible for me to accidentally spread misinformation. if you sent a question that never got answered it's likely i just didn't feel equipped to answer it myself.

-i don't relate to, agree with, or condone the actions of every single submission i post.

notable tags

- info

- resources

- admin lore

- media ; for character who have npd or npd headcanons

- song reccs ; for songs about npd or have npd vibes

- point and laugh at the ableist ; for any hate i decide to respond to, block if you'd like to avoid that

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- supportive creators ; for creators who have explicitly spoken out against anti-npd ableism and shown genuine support for people with npd (people who simply have never spoken on the topic typically do not fall under this tag as there's no way to tell their actual stance)

about the admin [@doomsdayradio]

- collectively go by poker, chorus, and fate

- genderqueer aroacespec mspec lesbian, they/he

- complex did system

- cluster a, b, + c

- audhd, dyscalculia, madd

- white and ethnically jewish

- unsure who's fronting most of the time, switch between i/me and we/us

- we also run @polyfragcultureis and @hpdcultureis

frequent fronters

- 🧋 | they/it/mint/nova | primary host, hpd + npd symptoms holder

- 📻 | he/she | secondary host, persecutor, bpd symptoms holder

- 🌃 | he/it | co-host, soother

- 🎶 | coffin/thou/they/she | co-host, homicidal thoughts holder

[dracomort]

Reincarnation? If you so please

For the ask game

This is really just my Tomarry reincarnation scribbles for any AUs that come to mind.

I'm cracking up rn because the only scene I have polished enough to share is one with secondary-school-student!Tom and dying-in-a-pallative-care-ward!Harry 💀

Anyway, you're welcome:

Scene

“Look at you.” The voice of a teenage boy.

Harry pried one eye open.

There, leaning in the doorway, was none other than Tom Riddle, looking perhaps sixteen at the oldest. He was dressed in a crisp school uniform that looked expensive enough to pay for private palliative care thrice over. His hair was artfully tousled in a way that might have been carefree if it had been anyone other than Tom. On the breast of his blazer was pinned the predictable prefect badge.

“This is perverse,” Harry said. He closed his eyes, wishing Tom away, thinking of Ginny, the children, the grandchildren. Anything other than Tom Riddle.

It didn’t work. He could still hear the soft sound of Tom’s feet on the lino as he approached.

“I won’t disagree.” Tom dropped himself onto the mattress beside Harry, peering down at him with his dark, pretty eyes. “You look hideous. How old are you? One hundred? Two?”

“Eighty-three,” Harry replied, “and not likely to make it to eighty-four.” It was jarring to see his sun-beaten, wrinkled old hands beside Tom’s pale, youthful ones. How would it work in this world? Would Tom continue to live a long, healthy life after Harry had passed? Would he forget him?

“You look much older,” Tom said, matter of fact.

He wasn’t the most conscious of the Toms, Harry mused. He’d met versions of him with varying degrees of knowledge of their shared pasts—some who remembered only when he saw them, some who had known for decades, some who didn’t recognise him in the slightest. This Tom seemed to remember well enough, but he didn’t hold himself with the maturity of a Tom Riddle who recalled a thousand lives. He was a boy, nothing more.

And even from the brief words they’d exchanged, Harry could already tell he had been raised by his father.

“This coming from the lad who didn’t manage to make it to his seventy-eighth birthday?” Harry said.

Tom shrugged, which was not the reaction that an iteration of him closer to Voldemort would have had. If—in his decrepit, geriatric form—Harry had dared voice that to the Librarian Tom, he was certain all the life-saving equipment currently attached to him would have already been severed. But instead, this Tom only watched him curiously, head half-cocked.

Harry was, predictably, charmed by him. However, much to his relief, he felt no great surge of attraction. It was one benefit of being eighty-three and on seven different medications with a total of forty different side effects.

“I saw your name on the door. I remembered it, though I wasn’t sure where from.”

“Almost like a half-forgotten friend from when you were very young?” Harry supplied.

“A friend?” Tom’s lip curled. “I never had friends.” He spoke as if Harry had gravely offended him by even suggesting the possibility.

“No,” Harry said, “neither had I. But that was how I felt when I read your name—the first time.”

“Hm,” Tom said, mouth twitching down. “Why’s it always you, then? What’s so special about you?” He didn’t question his own importance—as Harry recalled doing in iterations further from the core—simply accepting his place at the centre of infinite parallel universes without batting an eye. 

“You marked me as your equal,” Harry said. “Really, it’s all your fault. I’m still waiting on an apology.” His throat was dry, arms too weak to reach for his water, but he didn’t ask Tom to help him. Not this petulant, young version of him.

Tom rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

A nurse came in, almost as if she’d read his mind, bustling about and neatening up Ginny’s bags. She helped him take a sip of water, sparing an incurious glance at Tom. Harry supposed she imagined he was just another grandchild. It was nauseating enough to almost make him laugh.

“We fucked,” Tom said abruptly.

The nurse dropped the cup, the thin plastic straw spinning away somewhere under his bed. “Pardon me?”

It was likely Tom hadn’t even intended to provoke a reaction from the room. The memory had certainly just come to him. Harry had experienced the same many a time. However, while rarely was that an admission one would wish to make in front of a stranger, stating such a thing while in school uniform in front of a mandated reporter was surely near the top of the list of inadvisable decisions.

Tom flicked a disinterested glance at her. “I’m sixteen. If I have a taste for the toothless then that’s none of your business.”

“He’s only joking,” Harry assured her. “You’ve seen my records. I’m not up for any sort of physical activity.”

She did not laugh, leaving in a huff. Harry hoped she wasn’t off to make a call.

“I’m not going to have this conversation with a child,” Harry said. “Come see me in the next life.” 

“We did,” Tom insisted, perhaps not understanding that plausibility was not the roadblock to their conversation. “In an atelier out the back of a piano shop in Paris.”

“Well,” Harry said, memories of a thousand lives blurred and smudged together in his mind, “I suppose we may have.” That it was the closest iteration to this Tom did not mean it sprang quickly to Harry’s mind.

“We did, we—”

The door slid open again and Harry looked up, expecting a police officer or some sort of security. But instead, there stood an exceptionally handsome man who could have been the twin of any of the versions of Tom in his thirties that Harry had met.

“Tommy,” Tom Riddle Sr said, looking tired and rather distracted, “you mustn’t just go about bothering other patients. I’m very sorry, Mr…?” He was dressed in a crisp black suit and had his Blackberry in hand, looking like he had about a thousand things to do that were more important than apologising to Harry.

“Potter,” Harry said. “And that’s quite alright.” He was old enough to be the man’s grandfather. Never had he felt older. He was beginning to understand why Voldemort had paid him little attention or respect in the worlds in which they were fifty years apart in age.

“I was just saying goodbye,” Tom said. Then, with a sly glint in his eye, he dipped his head and kissed Harry square on the mouth. “When do you suppose you’ll die?” he asked, breaking away.

Harry glanced over at Tom’s father, but saw that he was typing out an email on his phone and had missed the exchange entirely.

“The doctors have given me two months.”

Tom’s eyes dropped to his own hand on Harry’s chest for a brief moment, then up at his face again. “This will be the last time I see you, then.”

“In this lifetime.” Harry winked. Tom frowned.

Behind him, Tom’s father cleared his throat. “I hate to interrupt, but we’ve really got to dash. Tommy, will you come say goodbye to your grandfather?”

[five-rivers]

Pollfic continuation from here!

Yes, it looked just like the candle symbol from the visitor badges.  Why–?

Sharp pain spiked along his shoulder blades and spine, then diluted into an almost comfortable stretching, growing sensation.  A similar, but smaller sensation centered on his eyes and temples.

“Danny?  Danny, are you alright?  Oh, you should have taken the health monitor, I knew it–”

Danny waved off their concerns with a few hand symbols, and tried to assess what was happening to his body.

He had experienced many changes during his exploration of the Infinite Realms, but this one felt weirdly brutal.  Maybe because it wasn’t a place applying the changes, or the influence of a particularly powerful ghost, but a kind of magical symbol?  

That was something he’d have to explore later.  

For now, he at least had a theory as to where these ghosts came from.  Taking all their strange traits together, they seemed to be a combination of the five ‘aids’ given to visitors.  Maybe the first of them were people who’d gotten lost too often, and then they learned how to reproduce the changes in others?

Danny, panting slightly, got to his feet, his new wings and antennae twitching uncomfortably.  The main wings were large enough that they brushed the bottom and sides of the sphere while folded, and the secondary set of wings had long, twisty tails, like a luna moth (thank you, Sam, for the childhood bug phase).  Meanwhile, his antennae were large, feathery, and picking up sensations his brain wasn’t entirely equipped to handle, although his core was doing a good job of it.  

Also… was he smaller?  Again?  

Not the time.  But, someday, he would figure out what force of nature always made him tiny, and then they’d be having words.

Danny had to leave before another symbol was drawn on the ice.  It was starting to look like the quill, and he did not want to be soft and fluffy.  

Even if the light it was made of looked very entrancing…

Stop that.  

He raised his hand and spelled out a word.

-NAVIGATE-

“What do you mean, navigate?”

“He means when he gets out, Jack.  He must not be able to see very well.”

Danny could actually see just fine, but that was probably going to be part of the problem, if he was going to be attracted to light like a moth.  He needed his parents to keep him on track.

With that sorted out, he put his hands on the ice (and it was harder to get the angle he wanted, gosh darn it, so his arms probably were shorter), focused, pulled on the deep well of cold energy inside him… even if the term ‘cold energy’ still made the nascent scientist inside him cringe… shut up, it was a useful way to think about it…

The sphere shattered in a wave of ice and force, and Danny picked a direction at random.  Well, almost random.  At first, he veered towards the brightest light source, but remembered himself (and realized that the brightest light source was the people) at the last minute.  

“Wall!” shouted his parents, and he banked.  

“There’s a hallway at your ten o’clock,” said Mom.  He turned, and, yes, he could see a square of… not darkness.  There was too much light going through it.  It must be a pretty common route into and out of this larger space.  

Danny took it anyway.  Simply speaking, there was no way he was going to be able to effectively hide.  He was leaving a literal trail of light as he moved.  The ghosts here would be able to follow him without any trouble.  What he needed was speed, so he could get out of here and find library members who would, hopefully, know how to deal with this, before any pursuers caught up with him.  

He felt telekinesis reach out to him and try to power through his aura, but he he threw off the grasp.  

There was that, too.  He had to stay out of range of their mass telekinesis.  

“If my readings are right–” started Dad.  

“No,” said Mom.  There was a ripping noise.  “Turn right, sweetie!”

“There should be a staircase or something similar–”

“They’re trying to cut you off,” said Mom.  “Left, now right again.”

“Might have to double back–”

“There’s no way.  Keep going, Danny.”

“See if I can find another one–”

Unexpectedly, a ghost popped up in front of Danny.  Far enough away that he could easily avoid them, but that light!  The brightness of the symbol they held in their hands!  It was so… so…

[leodette]

The Greatest Gift of Them All | LN4

fandom: Formula 1

pairing: Lando Norris x OC (not named)

names/faceclaims: -

summary: he gave a 'gift', and because of that she quit; set in between 2021 - 2023

warning: age difference (older woman x younger man), unplanned pregnancy, single mother, mild angst

requested: yes / no

**********

She was hanging the wet laundry outside, letting the gentle summer breeze through her hair. She never used a dryer. Why buy such an expensive piece of equipment, when you have a whole garden outside, with strings tied under the pergola, just waiting for another basket of laundry?

Also, it smelled better. She hated the too-artificial smell of softener, preferring sun and wind against it. That was how she was raised after all.

She took another piece from the basket, shaking it a bit and smiling when she saw what it was. A small dark green T-shirt, with a picture of a red car on the chest. She remembered it when she saw it for the first time - opening a package from her cousin and his wife, taking out that t-shirt and a cat plushie with a big bow around its neck, remembering the tears that rolled down her face when she thanked her cousin for such a pretty gift.

His eyes were green…

She shushed her mind, not allowing herself to walk that path again. Instead, she just hung the t-shirt on the string, making sure it was straight and would require minimal ironing once it was dry when a giggle interrupted her thoughts.

Too high for it to be her father or her brother, she smiled gently as she looked towards a small sandbox under a walnut tree in the middle of the garden. A small boy was sitting there, playing with a yellow plastic ball. His dark curly hair was making a small halo around his head, already growing too quickly and being so unruly that she gave up, his eyes being probably the only thing he got from his mother. Otherwise, he was a carbon copy of his father. His father who had no idea he had a one-year-old son. Who would never know that he had a son if she had anything to say about it.

---

She was always just an average girl from a small town in a small country. There was nothing special about her. She was on the quiet side, didn't like the attention much, experienced bullying all the way through secondary school and high school… and then suddenly, she was at university. And she learned how to fly. How to open her wings and show people around her that she wasn't a scared pigeon, but a beautiful parrot, who found her voice.

And her voice she found. When she changed her job for the second time in two years - claiming one was too stressful and the other too boring - she decided to be bold. Playing the card of herself being outspoken, she managed to send her resume to McLaren while writing another boring article about local politics in early January. Mostly as a joke, a dare, not expecting to hear from them, that email being buried in her sent box, without much more attention.

But, then the answer came. With a request for a video interview.

To say she was shaken would be an understatement. She was. At first? She thought it was a prank, spam, a mistake. But it was not.

And so two days later she connected to a Zoom call with McLaren HR and the head of their communication, being asked about her experiences and about her visions, where she saw herself in five years, and why she wanted to work for them. It was a school book example of a proper job interview for an international corporation. 

In the final, two other people connected, and she was introduced to them, asking her own questions, and then promised to be let know about the results. Which came in another two days.

We are informing you that McLaren Racing would like to offer you a work contract…

She still remembers the words to this day, she even printed the response and put it on her fridge after she stopped jumping around and screaming with excitement.

And so she left her hometown, her home country, and went to the UK, to MTC, to start working for one of the biggest companies in motorsport.

And that was where she met him.

… green eyes and freckles and your smile In the back of my mind…

Is that how Taylor sings it? Probably. But that was how she felt when she was first introduced to him. He was young, only in his third season in Formula 1, but he still took her breath away.

Looking back, she had it coming. She always had a thing for either boys that were younger than her, or much older than her. The same age? Not interested, thank you very much.  (Her therapist said one day that maybe it's the result of her being bullied by boys of the same age. If it was true, she would never know.)

But there she was, seemingly unnoticed easing her way into Lando Norris's life, being the one who kept track of his timeline, who was looking after his things - his passport gave her a number of headaches and few missed flights - and who sometimes had to confiscate his phone.

But otherwise? They were good. They found a common ground.

She was three years older, and sometimes their relationship resembled younger brother and older sister. Or maybe a babysitter. But they were good, having a very similar sense of humor, and few similar interests, and he seemed to enjoy when she talked about her home, about how her country was different from his. He hated it when she spoke her mother tongue, not being able to understand a word she said, and she soon learned to provoke him with it, on purpose calling her parents or her siblings when they were stuck in a car or waiting for like a driver's meeting or for media day. And he hated her for it but still seemed curious. Sometimes though, there was a palable tension. She knew he looked at her as a man would look at woman. She knew that look. But in that time, she wouldn't ever dare to jeopardize her job with something like a mild feeling of a shared attraction.

They managed that for some time until Sochi came. Looking back at it, she should never have gone into his room to check if he was okay. Looking back, she was berating herself for being stupid.

Because the tension that was building between them for the past few months snapped that fateful evening. Some people say that there are two best ways to let the frustration and anger out - punch it out, or shag it out. That evening, they did the second.

She sneaked out of Lando's room in the early morning, her hair a complete mess and her bra missing as she wasn't able to locate it in his messy room. He secretly put it in her back later that day, together with a teasing smile, that she returned with difficulty. They never did it again, and they never spoke about it.

The tension between them changed since that day, especially from her side. It became weird. Yes, she sometimes slept with younger men. But never with those she worked with. Even Daniel seemed to realize something shifted. And when almost two months later she ran out of her hotel room in São Paulo in desperate need of find pharmacy, she knew she was in trouble. Especially when two lines appeared on a cheap plastic stick, changing her life forever. She was scared, freaking out in her hotel bathroom, having a horrible reality check, and on the outside presenting herself as if everything was all right.

She couldn't tell him. He was with Luisa at that time already, the girl being an absolute darling, stunningly pretty, a perfect match to Lando's still-in-my-teenage-years personality.

So she waited. Suffered from nausea in private, kept to herself, no longer mingling around the paddock, going out only when she had to.

She watched together with the rest of the world how the young Dutchman snatched the championship from the more experienced Brit, throwing the world of Formula 1 into controversy that would not stop in the upcoming years.

After that, she handed in her resignation, never telling anyone her true reasons, stating homesickness and never-ending traveling as the main reasons.

She hugged Lando in the privacy of his Adu Dhabi hotel room, wishing him well, He looked sad that she was leaving but promised her that they would keep in touch.

They never did.

Throughout the upcoming weeks, there wasn't a single message from no one of her former co-workers. Not to mention Lando himself. And one evening, her patience reached the limit. She deleted her Twitter and Snapchat, went through her followers on Instagram and threw out everyone who even slightly could connect her to Lando, then put it in private settings. Similar to her Facebook, where she deleted almost everything, keeping it mostly for texting with other people through Messenger.

She, seemingly without care, cut off the last year from her life.

But, well, she did care. She grew angry more and more throughout the following months. She didn't delete Lando's number from her phone. But he didn't call, didn't text, and she wasn't the one who would kick the conversation out. It was like they never existed for one another. Yes, she knew he had a busy schedule. But even in his daily calendar, she knew he spent an ungodly amount of time on his phone.

And as her anger grew, so did her stomach. Her parents never asked anything, just accepted the fact that the father wouldn't be in the picture, not even to pay the child support. She didn't want it. Her grandparents left a small inheritance to their three grandchildren, and she soon found a remote job for a PR company in her hometown. Her mother accompanied her to her ultrasounds, crying softly when she saw the small form of her first grandchild on the screen.

She asked the doctor not to tell her the gender. She wanted to be surprised. And she was, when in the middle of July of the next year, a small form of her son was put on her chest, his dark curly hair still wet with blood and fluids, and her being sweaty and her voice hoarse from screaming in pain.

She named him after her own father, a person who supported her without fail throughout those past seven months, and in his birth certificate she left the space under name of the father blank.

Her baby boy got her surname, and after recovering, she moved with him into a small garden house at her parent’s property, just a few steps away from her family. Besides his looks, he got nothing from his father.

She never told anyone beside her parents who the father of her son was, not even the father himself. He stayed in the darkness, blissfully unaware of that fact.

---

Her mother asked her one evening when she put her son to bed, if she ever planned on telling Lando the truth. She just snorted. She was twenty-six, had a one-year-old child, had a job, and he never once reached out to her. Not a single time.

If she ever had anything to say, he would never know he had a son. Once her boy was a bit bigger and started to ask after his Dad, then she would have to come up with some explanation. But for now? She could keep him blissfully in darkness, enjoying the feeling of being the most important person in his life.

Her and Lando's lives didn't align. They weren't compatible. They were like Sun and Moon, like Heavens and Hell.

Maybe it wasn't her plan - being a single mother, still living at her parent’s property, considering her own mother as her best friend and biggest help. She had imagined her future. But, as she always said - if you want to entertain God, tell Him your plans.

[artbyblastweave]

I prompt you to elaborate on the idea of deliberately making something in a story boring, for I an always interested in your analysis.

In The Boys (Comic version, which I have complicated but more-positive-than-most feelings about) Garth Ennis very deliberately wrote most of the superhuman combat scenes as short, brutal affairs in which whoever was more powerful or better-equipped would just slaughter the other side in a matter of seconds; if the sides were more evenly matched it was then a matter of who swung first. To my memory, there were only a handful of fights blocked like fights instead of like curbstomps. This was in service to Ennis's artistic vision; violence as a swift, brutal thing, only glamourous in the sense of black-comedy dismemberments or the grim satisfaction of being alive when the other guy isn't, and with the majority of all conflicts playing out through via prep-work and intelligence-gathering done in advance of the first punch being thrown.

It was an aggressive refutation of how superhero fights go in more straightforward superhero fiction, with clever tricks, drawn-out dramatic brawls, violence as a palatable form of spectacle, something marketable after-the-fact. A lot of the fights the titular team got involved in consisted basically of jumping distracted supes; one of Homelander's jobs was to just unceremoniously decapitate any earnest upstart supervillain and then have the marketing team at Vought write a comic portraying the fight as something with genre-typical stakes. To this day, I feel like there was a level of honesty about violence in this portrayal. In real life, it's not fun!

But! It did introduce some problems. Namely, a series in which almost every single fight is something Nasty, Brutish and Short created, for me, a form of doublethink about how seriously we should even take the Vought capes as threats. A series in which every fight is deliberately uninteresting (if you aren't entertained by curbstomps) is a series in which every fight is deliberately uninteresting, and from there your enjoyment of the series rides or dies on how interesting you find the non-fight political intrigue, character dynamics, and so forth. The version of Garth Ennis who isn't writing capes is, in my opinion, pretty damn good at that other stuff, so I inched through.

The show patched the majority of my difficulties. It retained the broad thesis that cape fights would largely be curbstomps, and the other broad thesis that capes would largely be useless or counterproductive at their supposed role, but combined this with a number of actual fight scenes. It made Butchers team significantly less powerful, with a significantly greater focus on the sneaky bastardry necessary to flip assets and find weaknesses. It made killing any given supe much, much more of an endeavor, something genuinely very difficult and impressive, and it made every given supe death much more of a plot point or a character beat than it would have been in the comic. The supes being less interesting than typical for their genre, that was preserved- but the situations involving supes that we, the audience, are privy to? All very interesting still!

Now on the other side of the spectrum, you've got Worm, and you've got Jack Slash-as-an-examination-of-Joker. "Your philosophy is ill-considered and fake deep, and you aren't funny" is actually a fairly common clapback against The Joker within officially published DC comics properties, but it butts up against the fact that he's taken pretty seriously as a threat regardless of that fact! Jack Slash is an attempt to reconcile that, to figure out how someone as LOlrandom as Joker could last longer than three minutes as a serious contender, and the answer is "subtle secondary powers that puff up his win rate, in a way that his self-absorption prevents him from recognizing as anything but his own innate talent." He's blatantly shallow. Everyone talking to him is palpably rolling their eyes within the text, but he's got the brute-force necessary to undercut anyone trying to one-up him (Theo's interlude, Tattletale in the parking garage.) It's called out multiple times that's it's mysterious that he's doing so well when he's so mediocre. The candidate he picks for the 9 is a dud. He can't come up with anything more interesting for Cherish than having her do all the other tests over a second time. His big comeback is just Slaughterhouse 9! But More of them! Fuck Yeah!

But! Despite the text being aware of how shallow he is and how thin his ideas are, all of his ideas keep working. It doesn't matter that it's edgelord bullshit- it's edgelord bullshit that everyone else is forced to take seriously and respond to, which is where the actually-great character work in the S9 arc happens. And at this point I think there are basically two camps within the audience. Camp one consists of people who, despite Jacks clear shallowness, nonetheless are entertained and engrossed by the batshit combat scenarios he masterminds, even if he shouldn't be able to mastermind them. I am a counselor at Camp One. Camp Two consists of people who call bullshit on the ability for such a shallow guy to mastermind all that crap and bend everyone to his will, who don't really find anything redemptive in the eventual reveal that it was powers-enabled because they still had to sit through the implausible bullshit. This is a position I have no choice but to respect because it's the position of my cousin, who I adore and want to remain on good terms with at family gatherings. The things we do in service of family, amiright

[bigshymen]

You do male reader right 🌚🌚 this is the same person who gave you a heads up about the tags (🍪🍪)”sorry if I came off a little rude but I wanna request something 😭🙏🏾

But if so can I get a Sam sulek x male reader where the reader and sam are like gym rivals but like they secretly like each other but won’t tell one another but one a guy or a girl flirts with the reader and sam gets jealous you can finish all from there smut or fluff is good. ( like I said last time have a great day and night 🩷)

You didn’t come off as rude at all don’t worry! (this was originally going to be a one shot buttt i got a little carried away with it 😅) Enjoy!

SAM SULEK X BODYBUILDER RIVAL MALE READER (PART 1)

sam sulek x male reader

summary : a friendly-ish rivalry between you and fellow bodybuilder and crush, sam sulek, quickly turns sour when someone else gets involved.

no smut , jealousy, swearing , pinning , rivals to a little something-something , unresolved feelings , eventual comfort and fluff ( trust ) , i hate the oblivious character trope

You swore you weren’t obsessed.

You swore it when you got out of bed in the morning on weekends. Swore it when the first place you hit was the gym. Even swore it when the secondary and only primary thought in your head was him.

Over the sounds of the gym equipment and the grunts of the people working out, there was only one sound you really heard. Sam Sulek.

Around his initial rise to fame, you had been keeping tabs on his content for a bit. The 21yr old bodybuilder impressing you with his obsessive-like discipline and dedication to the sport. You actually wanted to befriend him at first, seeing as you and him both go to the same local gym and have common goals, but that changed.

You’d always had a tight knit friend group of fitness influencers, some having known you since childhood. But since Sam came onto the scene, suddenly he was hot shit now.

They were practically crowding over each other to get a piece of him. Collabs, pictures, autographs… and suddenly you were irrelevant.

Late nights at the ice cream parlor after workouts and group bowling with your friends morphed into crashing at Sam’s after hours and them ditching you to hang out with the HOSSTILE team.

It seemed like they were always busy whenever you wanted to hang with them, texts left on delivered, and voicemails never returned so on and so forth.

You felt abandoned. You thought about joining them and their Sulek-craze but your pride haulted you. As hurt as you felt, there was only room for one renowned bodybuilder here and he just stepped into your territory.

You assured yourself that he had nothing on you as you had been in the game longer, hence you were more seasoned. But his already massive physique at such a young age just poured more salt in the wound.

Although you knew basing your self worth on the opinions of others would only result in you losing in the end, with the type of “friends” you had, envy and resentment only clouded your view.

Despite your well veiled animosity towards the man, he was nothing but friendly to you. Of course, nice guy Sulek was loved and praise endlessly by his supporters and fans for being so humble and just the totally perfect guy.

Was the jealousy obvious now?

It didn’t help that he was also extremely attractive. You didn’t consider yourself bad looking, but next to Sam? He was the perfect combination of boyish and masculine features. Wide, gorgeous brown eyes, full lips that seemed to always have the sides perked up, but simultaneously the jawline and cheekbones akin to a lumberjack-man.

His cheekbones perfectly contoured the acne-scarred plains of his face, and underneath them his reasonably long, bare and sharp jawline curtained by his pretty curls made him sorta resemble a super ripped fairytale prince.

No wonder he was popular with virtually everybody he met. Despite his massive bodybuilder trademarked-muscles the dude was a supersized teddy bear. Hell, a big baby. Who else drinks that much chocolate milk?

What’s worse was that you kind of liked that. More then you wanted your friends back, you wanted his attention. His admiration. You already had made a name for yourself in the industry, and this guy was already trying to take your spot.

The smiles he flashed you when he caught you looking his way gave a pit in your gut, butterflies flying out of your ass whenever he waved you over. But you never did. You always denied his attempts to get to know you, opting for a cold and mysterious persona in contrast to his chummy one.

Apparently, it made you all the more magnetic because to your friends confusion, he became a regular on-looker to your gym workouts. He even went as far to try to out-lift you, Haha!

You had to give it to him, he was trying hard. Some fans even noticed how similar his personal technique he was utilizing became to yours. You would be flattered, if he didn’t seem to mock you as another hit after basically robbing you of your friend group.

Even so, you couldn’t stop yourself from feeling the way you did towards him, anger aside. It was almost impossible to hate the guy. From his looks, additude, and personality… he had you geeking like a teenage girl while watching his videos.

You considered twirling your hair and laying stomach down on the bed while you rocked your muscular legs back in forth to his car talks, giggling whenever he looked at the camera. Positively cooked.

To not entertain these thoughts for longer, you worked even harder at the gym. Trying to forcibly throw him out of your mind, you focused on your gains and nothing else.

For awhile this worked. You curbed the urge to watch his videos and learned to tune him out at the gym. You even met someone new, a fitness guru named Mia who apparently took a liking to you. Don’t get it wrong, you wanted to make new friends and.. maybe get a girlfriend but you knew deep down that’s what your head wanted, not your heart.

And right now the heart wanted some Sulek.

It was subtle at first—smiles here and there. Compliments. You liked the attention you’d admit, but it wasn’t hers you wanted. No doubt she was pretty. All toned muscle, and you could tell those youtube glute workouts payed off. Always looking put together, clear and tanned skin coupled with perfect french tips every time you saw her. Has she ever had a bad hair day?

It came to a head after a hard workout one morning when Mia approached you as you wiped down a bench you had been using previously.

“Great pump today, right?” She praised, her voice warm as it always was.

“Yeah. You too,” you praised back, trying to keep a casual tone.

“Hey, so I was wondering if you wanted to get a drink at the 24th cafe across the street? Would love to pick your brain about some training tips.”

Her invitation took you aback and you couldn’t help but hesitant. Your eyes darted around the gym and just behind Mia, on a machine was Sam. It seemed he was already laser-focused on you when you met his gaze, expression unreadable. It was like a new tension had been released into the air around you, like an airborne virus.

You knew it would be wrong to lead her on when you weren’t really interested, so you didn’t. You still went out to eat with her, accompanied her on hikes, and even met her rowdy french bull dog, Cookie. All while remaining extremely buddy-buddy with her.

All of the time you spent with her in and out of the gym made you happier. She was funny, smart, and really passionate about maintaining physical fitness. With the absence of your former friends, it seemed like the higher power sent her your way as a trade off for your lonely days.

At the same time, every time you laughed with her and she spotted you, you could feel like you had eyes burning into the back of your skull. Now that you thought about it, Sam hadn’t smiled at you or even acknowledged you in how long?

One by one, your friends that previously hanged around him like groupies completely disappeared and he was working out again by his lonesome. To you it looked like the problem solved itself.

That was until a clip of one of Sam’s car talks appeared on your fyp (you thought you had pressed not interested about a thousand times.) that looked pretty recent. You went to click the not interested option again before the caption caught your eye. It read “Sam Sulek is HEARTBROKEN.” Shamefully, you were intrigued, so you kept watching although you expected it to be merely dumb clickbaity nonsense.

“…You guys know I generally take a stoic approach to working out, because it’s a long term thing. I spoke about how, you know, doing this because your girlfriend left you or to prove something like shit ‘oh I’ll show them’ isn’t sustainable.”

He looks into the camera with a solumn expression before the video cuts ahead.

“ …but I’ll admit. I’ve been going through something…” (cut)

“Don’t make fun of me, but I’ve had a bit of a gym crush for awhile now and they’ve met someone and I think their dating.” He abruptly pauses before continuing, “I’m hurt, of course, and I channeled that into my workouts but like I said it’s not good for you in the long run…”

What?

No way.

Noooo way.

You didn’t like the places this was taking your brain. There was a possibly. And would it be wrong to assume? But there was a number of people at the gym. And his behavior does track… but you’re not over him, and your head’s desperate clawing at straws to connect the dots of delusion will only make you more unhappy.

You turned off your phone.

[swagexpertsong]

Hazbin Hotel Zestial X Alastor's Ancestor Female Reader {Part One}

<><><><><><><><><><>

{POV. 2 Person}

You were an ordinary twenty-year-old woman living in New Orleans, Louisiana. At least that's what the people of this town could call you. But if they knew the truth about you, they would definitely change their mind. You called (Y/N) Hartfelt and you were secretly a serial killer under the nickname "Bloody Rose".

You had your first homicide when you were fourteen. Your victim was one of the teachers who taught at your high school. One day he asked you to stay with him after school. Naively, you agreed, thinking he wanted to talk about your grades. Oh how wrong you were.

As soon as you entered the room, he immediately pinned you to the wall. You thrashed around, cried and screamed for help, but no one came. He was too strong and your weak body couldn't handle him. You were about to give up, but suddenly you remembered one thing. Namely, about the penknife that your uncle gave you for Christmas the year before. He gave it to you so that in case of any emergency you would have something to defend yourself. This was exactly the situation.

You somehow managed to wrench your hand from the teacher's grip, reaching into your skirt pocket and taking out your pocket knife. You took a deep swing and plunged the blade into the man's eye. He immediately let go of you and grabbed your bleeding eye. He was screaming and cursing at you, but you didn't care at all. You took one more swing and this time stabbed the pocketknife into his shoulder.

The man fell to the ground, writhing in pain, and then began to retreat, wanting to avoid your next attacks. But you persisted. You walked towards him as he walked backwards. Eventually he reached a dead end.

"P-Please! Stop! H-Have mercy!" - he begged the teacher, holding one hand over his eye and the other on his shoulder. You were slightly surprised that he hadn't fainted yet from blood loss.

"Mercy? Do you even know that word? I don't think so. If you did, you would have let go of me and let me go when I begged. Now I'm going to pay you back. See you on the other side, Mr. Smith." - you said with an evil smile on your face. You took one last swing that finally determined the man's fate. You stuck the blade into his heart, enjoying the sight of the life draining from his body and his skin losing color.

It was only after a few minutes that you realized what you had done. You killed him. You killed a man in cold blood. And you had no remorse. He deserved it. He wanted to take advantage of you and God only knows how many other children he hurt like that.

You looked out into the hall to see if anyone else was at school. Nobody was there. You left the room and went to the bathroom to clean yourself up a bit. You washed the blood from your hands and then changed your clothes. You burned the old one, which was already soaked with scarlet blood, in the smoking room so that no one would find it. Then you went to get cleaning equipment to wash the floors and walls in the room.

When everything was finished, you started hiding the body. Luckily for you, your school was close to the forest. Perfect place to bury a body. But before you hid Mr. Smith's body, you used a penknife to carve a beautiful rose into his skin. On that day, the famous serial killer, "Bloody Rose", was born.

Years passed and your popularity in the city grew with each passing day. By day you were (Y/N) Hartfelt, a famous radio presenter, but by night you were "Bloody Rose", a murderer of justice. This secondary title was given to you by the townspeople because you only killed those who deserved it.

One day, you became curious about your family's history, so you went to your grandmother's attic to look for some photo albums. You searched for a few minutes until you found something interesting. In a rather old black and white photo there was a man who looked very similar to you. You had the same skin color, hair color, eyes and similar facial features. You did some research on him and found out that the man's name was Alastor Hartfelt and he was your several-times-great-uncle. Like you, he had two identities. He was a popular radio host in Louisiana, but also a murderer. Surprisingly, he was not arrested by the police and sent to prison. He died from being shot in the head by a hunter, his dog mistook Alastor for a deer, so the hunter accidentally killed him.

"Hm?~ Apparently we have a lot in common, uncle. But unlike you, I kill those who deserve it. I wonder if we will ever meet." - you said and then closed the photo album.

<><><><><><><><><><>

[contentloadingandstuff]

Can I get NSFW headcanons for Rosaria & Lisa?

NSFW Headcanons - Rosaria & Lisa

A/N: Hello, puppteer! My pleasure. Enjoy!

CW: CBT, pegging, estim, femdom, humiliation, M!Reader.

NSFW under the cut.

Rosaria is as horny and kinky as they come. 

She’s a switch with her whole being. She can be your cruel, sadistic dom, or your bratty sub. It all depends on her mood… which changes pretty often. 

Most of the time, Rosaria is frustrated. Frustrated by everything, from her job to the people surrounding her. And what better thing to take her frustration out on than your manhood? 

Rosaria had plenty of one night stands in the past, so she knows how to handle cock. She also has a very rich imagination. And in a scenario where she has you tied and at her mercy… those are not good things.

Rosaria played with a lot of men in the past, and she knows that the key to male torture is to go for the balls. 

Expect her to give them plenty of ‘love’. With hard and long squeezes, with her dull, metal claws nonetheless. The pain is unbearable, but she just can’t help but chuckle at the sight of your tears and your whining. Also, she likes flicks. Absolutely evil. 

Seeing her boy toy in pain is the biggest turn on for Rosaria. Her favorite thing to do is to tie your hands behind your back, put a ball crusher tightly over your nuts, and make you lick her out while she enjoys a cold glass of wine… a specific fantasy for sure, but what a hot one!

Expect her to use her feet on you a lot. But don’t get your hopes up - no footjobs. Just stomping on your dick and balls, placing her feet on your head, or moving them to your mouth for kissing… she doesn’t like feet, she just loves to humiliate you, and see just how pathetic you can get for just a few strokes to get you off.

When she’s too lazy to mess you up, she will lay on her stomach and spread. She doesn’t care much for her pussy, just for her ass being absolutely ravaged. Sometimes, she just wants to scream her soul out from a merciless fucking. 

Once she knows you can please her just right, expect to see the submissive side of her more. But don’t forget yourself, else… Mistress Rosaria will remind you of your place.

Oh, and the fishnets? Just rip them open. That said, whoever sells them must be a millionaire by now, seeing how much of them you two go through weekly. 

Her thirst is nearly bottomless. The only way to please her is to either give her a nice background of moans and groans of pain for jerking off to, or making her walk funny for a week.

What she doesn’t like is tying herself. She has severe trust issues, so bondage will be a thing for her only after she gets very comfortable.

The body part she likes the most? Your cock, of course. Second favorites are your thighs. They tremble so beautifully when she tortures you…

“Oh… does it hurt? Ha! Like I give a damn… now, spread wide for mistress…”

Her boring work at the library, coupled with the limited time she has, makes Lisa horny. Very horny. 

With all that time on her hands, she went through most of the books in the romance category. It’s by far her favorite genre - especially the more… heated novels. That made her quite kinky and creative in bed.

She is a pleasure dom with just a little hint of a mommy kink. She loves to see you moan and whine in ecstasy, and the knowledge that she is the one pleasuring you makes it worth all the effort. 

Her pleasure is secondary when you’re tied up beneath her, unless some tongue action is what turns you on. Normal sex is going to be out of the equation, since your dick will get quite busy with all of Lisa’s assets and equipment.

The woman has a large collection of toys, mainly geared towards taking care of your desires. From dildos for gentle pegging, just the right length and width to be pleasant but still exciting, to fleshlights in the most exotic of shapes.  

Toyjobs are her favorite way of making you cum your brains out, especially if she spices things up with her vision, and some good old edging torture. A hand-held pussy gives her much more control over the pace, and that’s useful for keeping you needy.

Loves to turn you into a mess with her vision. Give her a probe, a conductive cock ring and some pads and she’ll give you the best hands free orgasm of your life. She knows what’s just the right amount of stimulation to leave you both overwhelmed and begging for more.

On lazy days, when she just wants to care for her boy, she’ll offer her tits to suck on and her hand to keep your dick company. While she’s nursing you, soft words of affirmation and encouragement will fall into your ears. A good boy’s dream, that’s for sure.

The gloves stay on when she entertains you. Not because she is disgusted by you, but because it gives her a confidence boost.

Lisa is the queen of dirty talk. Whether she pegs you, edges you or gets her slit devoured, she finds just the right words to make the experience unforgettable.

This witch loves a flat, soft stomach. It feels great to stroke, and it looks so pretty with your cum all over it. 

She knows just how important your balls are, and how sensitive they can be. Expect just the gentlest touches and squeezes while she’s milking. She’s not afraid to worship them with her tongue and plush lips as well.

“No, you can’t come just yet, dear. Good things come to boys who wait, hehe…”

Thanks for reading!