#and it should have zero compression

[maxshortt]

Welp, in addition to my latest art-series - I made the desktop versions as well (for 16:9 screens), avaliable for download for free: HERE

[ratcandy]

oh god help me .my l egs

[not-a-space-alien]

It's honestly such a shame that we've made such a huge thing out of swimming and swimsuits and looking good in swimsuits and fat people not looking good in swimsuits. Swimming is actually the perfect exercise for fat people because it puts zero pressure on the joints, which is a much bigger concern for us than it is for skinny people, and lets you exercise basically every muscle group without straining too much and risking injury. Yet somehow this is one of the least accessible exercises to fat people due to nothing more than a culture of body shaming. The work to unlearn all the shame to be comfortable in a bathing suit in front of strangers is huge even for conventionally attractive people, but I could probably count on one hand the number of fat people I've met who were confident enough to get in a bathing suit and go swimming in public.

And what is the exercise that somehow everyone thinks they should do instead? Jogging. It's more accessible, sure, it's easy and costs nothing to go outside and run. But I need you to understand telling a fat person to go running is basically telling them to go destroy their knees. Not to mention it's probably one of the most physically uncomfortable exercises to do when you have a body that jiggles even with compression garments.

Imagine a world where everyone had the ability and equal access to whatever exercise fit them best and helped them be happy and healthiest. Imagine a world where fat people go swimming.

[empty-movement]

Chiho Saito’s 1999 Revolutionary Girl Utena Original Illustration Collection

IT’S HERE. IT’S DONE. IT’S FINISHED. NOW…IT’S YOURS. Happy Holidays, my friends.

Vanna here! I have posted some already about this project, and the responses I got, public and otherwise, have been absolutely incredible. Y’all have been reblogging and hyping this before it even finished…I haven’t felt so encouraged about an Utena project since the musicals! (Yes, streams soon, I promise.) You can read the other post to get more details, and catch my post here with more details about the process if you’re interested. The long and short of it?

This is the first artbook I ever scanned. I did it in 2001. In Photoshop, using multiple scans per page that took hours to process. But it was 2001. A half megabyte file that was 1250px wide was considered extremely hardcore and impressive. That’s just always been the business I’m in when it comes to Utena art, you know? 

It’s now the latest artbook I’ve scanned, and so much of the process, and effort involved, is unchanged. What has changed, is the result. Welcome to your new desktop background. Your new phone background. Your new poster print. 

What I’ve done here is attempt to create definitive digitized images of Chiho Saito’s work as offered by this book--I have removed the print moiré of the original scans, and used my literal decades of experience to try and tease out as much information from them as possible. Without being physically in front of the original artwork (which is a thing I’ve had the great fortune to get to do) this is The Most Chiho Saito you are ever going to get. I’ve tried my best to make sure there is a way to get it that works for everyone:

Do you just wanna scope 'em out? Look at some disaster gays? Grab your favorite one or two? This is the path for you! Check out the ‘compressed’ (not very) 10k ‘web friendly’ (not really) copy at the Bibliothèque, the media archiving wing of the Something Eternal forums at Empty Movement*. All the following links are also available from here. Do you want these copies? All of them? Don't just grab them individually, friend. This batch is 375MB and can be downloaded as a zip of the individual files here on our Google Drive.

Do you like digital archiving? Are you looking for a copy that preserves the archival quality of the effort but sits nice and comfy in a single file? This is for you. A minimally compressed 10k, 513MB version worked into a PDF is now up, shiny and chrome, on the Internet Archive. Do you like the idea of the minimal compression, but want the individual files in a zip? Yep I did that too, here's the drive link.

Are you looking to print these in a larger size? This is probably the only reason on Earth you’d ever want them, and yet a bunch of you are going to go straight for these. Here are the zero-compression JPG full size copies, most of them are 15k across, like simply a ridiculous size. Pick your fave and download it from our Google Drive! 

I am genuinely really proud of this work.** I was able to tease out so much new detail from these…her incredible layering techniques, the faintest brush of her highlights, and the full range of her delicate hand at whites and blacks… details commonly lost in digitization. I sincerely hope you find something here that you’re looking for, as an artist looking for inspiration, as a weeb looking for a desktop, as an archiver excited to see incredible 90s manga artwork saved forever in the digital realm. I feel like I have already said so much about them, and could keep going, but you know what? This work speaks for itself. Enjoy, use, explore, and definitely tell us what you think!

We love y’all. ~ Vanna & Yasha

* AHEM ASTERISK AHEM

You might be wondering what any of that is. Something Eternal? Biblewhatawhat??? EmptyMovement.com? You might even have done a double take at the word ‘forum.’ And you should!!!

I have a confession. This artbook was my ‘side project’ as I worked on this, *the main project.* For a couple years I’ve been banging around with a new domain, and originally I had other plans for it, but Elon Musk ruined my Twitter and Discord is well along on its way to enshittification, and well….we joke on the Discord a lot about ‘reject modernity, embrace forums’ and you know what? We’re right. So Yasha and I are putting our money where our mouths are once again, and doing something insane. We are launching, in 2023, a website forum. Obviously, this is not the official ‘launch’ per se, but I cannot announce the artbook without directing you to the forum, since it sits on the attached very cool gallery system. Oops! Told on myself. Another post more focused on the forum will be forthcoming, but if you are just that motivated to get in right away, you absolutely can! (This will help stagger new arrivals anyway, which is good for us!) If you would rather wait for the ‘official’ launch, by all means that’s coming, including a lengthy screed about how and why we’re doing this. In either case, remember: this is a couple weebs trying to make internet magic happen, we are not website developers by trade. Give us grace as we iron things out and grow into this cool new website thingie…hopefully along with some of you! :D

If you do join up, naturally, there is a thread about this project!

** If you like this kind of content, consider helping us pay for it! We do have a Patreon! If you’re wanting to use these in some public-facing distributive way, all we ask is for credit back to Empty Movement (ohtori.nu or emptymovement.com, either will work.) 

I would like to say ‘don’t just slap these files on RedBubble to get easy money’ but I know that saying this won’t effectively prevent it. Y’all that do that suck, but you’re not worth letting it rain on the rest of this parade. :)

[drgnflyteabox]

Malewife Gaz comes back from deployment desperate for his mean, office siren gf <3

MDNI / dub con-ish / public sex / overstim / anal play / grinding / Kyle is kinda gross lol I luv him / he eats it from the back :D / they're both switches / squirting

Reader works in an office, but it's not clear what she does. She does have her own private office though ;) you go girl!

You're ignoring him.

Your phone isn't turned off, it's not even on silent, but you haven't flipped it right side up despite the near constant buzzing. Kyle has been texting, calling, but you're cross at the moment and don't feel like having it out with him on a work day.

You should turn your phone off. It's distracting, and a little inappropriate to have it making so much noise even through the walls cushioning your personal office.

The thing is, it's a little gratifying that he's desperately trying to reach you. Part of it is the satisfaction that he's a little anxious and wants to make it up, and part of it is wanting him to be extra sorry when you gets home.

Kyle had been able to call you all through the past month despite being on deployment. At least twice a week, you'd be laid up in bed or tucked away on lunch in your office telling him about your day. A rare treat for someone of his vocation, and something you appreciated greatly. The expectation you always set for yourself was zero contact - something to keep you from being hurt or placing more stress on him. Truly, your workaholic tendencies made you perfect for somebody that spent so much time deployed. When he came back, he made you take a break. There was a balance.

Typically you'd get a window of time for when he'd be back home. Your favourite thing to do was to cook a British classic for the occasion, usually bangers and mash - his favourite. You always had his preferred beer too, a brand you noticed he copied from Price. So cute. Yesterday morning he'd sent you a message that he'd be home for 9pm, a little late for dinner but the boys wanted to catch up at their favourite pub before they separated.

Only last night you'd sat at the table waiting for two full hours by yourself before giving up. His meal was packed in the fridge while you'd eaten yours by yourself on the couch with a glass of wine, texts going unanswered.

The worst part wasn't that he hadn't shown up. Sometimes that happened, when missions ran long or he'd gotten too into his cups with his team. It was annoying, but your tradition was to spend the day together when he got back, and you didn't mind having breakfast with him instead. You just didn't appreciate that he didn't even call or text about it, and that in the morning you found him sprawled on the couch with just his boxers and a mess of clothing tossed on the ground from the door to the living room couch. Socks, pants, his tank top.

So, petty as you are, you go to work and forego the tradition. Ignoring him. You dressed nice, too, black stockings and as tarty as you could without getting a call from HR. He hadn't seen you leave, but you wanted to get home and remind him what he was missing.

Your office phone rang once, twice, "hello?" The secretary at the front of the building was a nice enough lady, but she rarely called you directly. "Your lunch is here - the deliveryman is just waiting."

"Deliveryman?" You say skeptically. You hadn't ordered lunch. You'd brought Kyle's leftovers.

"Yep. Should I send him up?" Though you probably know who it is, you tell her you'll be down in the lobby instead. You'd prefer to be safe than sorry, in case it isn't Kyle.

It is.

He looks like a kicked puppy, holding some kind of takeout bag in one hand and a coffee in the other. He knows you love Los Vaqueros, the little coffeeshop next door. It's probably a macadamia nut latte, your favourite.

"Babe," he starts, sounding a little rough. Probably battling a hangover. He's wearing your favourite shirt, a tight black compression shirt that shows off his tits. Grey running sweats. Oh, he's good. "Is your phone dead?"

"I've got a pretty busy day today, Kyle," you're a little snotty about it. Your hip is cocked to the side. You want him to work a little. "I was in the middle of a meeting."

"You can't be that mad at me. I brought you macadamia and a caesar wrap. Come on, baby." He shifts the bag into the same hand as the coffee, using the other to show you his palm in apology.

You peer at him a little warily. It's times like this you wish he wasn't so tall, so that you could look at him all judgemental secretary like. You settle for arching a brow and squinting. "Go away now, I'll see you at home. I better not see any dirty socks on my floor, either."

"I cleaned them this morning, I swear."

"Good. Now scram, and give me that coffee." You reach for the coffee, but he intercept and grabs your elbow. Pulling you closer. "What- kyle--" his hands slides up to your upper back, making you shiver. When you don't pull away, he grins like a schoolboy and starts steering you down the hall. "I have work -!"

"I know, baby, but I really wanna make it up to you. Let me make it up to you." He's speaking quietly as to not alert the secretary a few feet away. He's leading you to the bathroom.

"No! Kyle, I'm at work. Goddammit, I have things to do-"

"No you don't." When you've turned the corner and are out of sight, he slides his hand from your back to your ass, squeezing hard, making you squeak. "And I need you. I woke up so hard. I need your pussy." He's close to whining, tucking his face close to your ear, smelling your hair.

Your voice goes high pitched, flustered, not expecting him to try and cajole you into fucking in a public bathroom. At your workplace no less. "We can't!"

He used to do this when you first started dating; get needy, corner you in some barely secluded place and get you both off one way or another. Quick and dirty. He swore he never fucked anyone else while deployed, and if it wasn't the trust you had in him it was how desperate he seemed to get when he got back that assured you of his faithfulness. Sometimes it was your favourite, just how whiney and flustered he would get. As a treat, if he'd been very good during dinner, you'd wake him up by sucking him off the morning he got back. Surely he had missed that this morning, what with how fast he'd led you to the employee bathroom. Good.

He locks the door behind you, and you let him kiss you a little. You don't see him put your food down, but he must because both his hands squeeze your waist. You rub your thighs together to soothe the pulsing arousal building in your belly.

You hand goes to his chest, pushing him. He's so strong, it takes you slapping his chest and shoulders to move back, panting. "We can't, I'm serious. Do you want me to get fired?"

He licks his lips, not even looking you in the eye. "You won't get fired, baby. Just be quiet. Let me take care of you-" you interrupt him by grabbing his face and squeezing his cheeks hard, making his lips pucker up.

"Can you not think with your cock? Couldn't you have dropped lunch off and waited for me back home like a good boy?"

He slides his big hands down your waist to your hips, tilting his hard cock so its pressed against you. Despite you holding him, he walks you both forward until your back hits the wall and he can grind against you hard. "Kyle- I'm not kidding," you say sternly, but don't move away. His cock rubs deliciously against your mons, not quite where you want it, but a good enough tease that your breath shudders out in a moan.

"Please, please, let me," he begs, grinding. Pressing his body right up to yours. You acquiesce a little, moving your hand from his face to down his pants and into his boxers. "Hrmmn-nn fuck, fuck," he whines. Bypassing his dick, you feel him start to hump desperately, like a dog. He shudders hard and you're squashed against the wall as you palm his balls, playing with them a little. You feel wetness drip down your wrist.

"Did you just come?" Honestly, you're delighted, but you make sure your tone is disappointed. Mean. Your pussy squeezes, wets your panties a little more. "Bad boy. I thought you were going to make it up to me?"

"Oh fuck, thank you baby. I'm sorry, I'll make it up to you still. Just give me a second."

"No way. Get to work." It's easy to bully him a little when he's so fresh from his orgasm. You push him onto his knees and lift a heel to rest it on that big, muscular thigh.

Your tits feel squashed in your bra as you breathe hard, looking down at him. He pushes his forehead against your stomach, pushing your skirt up while murmuring something into the fabric. You palm yourself, pinch your own nipples through the fabric. Feeling empowered, your hand goes to his hair and you grind your panty covered pussy right on his nose.

"Go on."

He licks you through the fabric, long laps of his tongue. Sucks on where your clit is, wetting the fabric. Kyle grips your thighs and pulls them wider apart, making you teeter dangerously on one heel, the other digging into his leg. He mouths at your panties and bites gently at you while your scratch his scalp and neck.

He moans, and finally pushes your underwear down. You clench as your wetness is exposed to the air, cooling you. Your clit stands up, peeking out of your hood. He gives it a little lick, directly on the underside where you're most sensitive. It makes you jump, not expecting it. He doesn't let you move away, instead wrapping his lips around you and sucking, hard.

"Oh Jesus--" your knees buckle a little, "Kyle, fuck," he pulls back and turns you around forcefully, making you arch. His hand finds your ankle and lifts your leg up and out, tongue finding your cunt once again. He eats you out like he's making out with you, like a sloppy kiss. His other hand squeezes where your ass and thigh meet, spreading you open.

"I missed you so much," he says. "I missed this pretty little cunt. Oh, jesus, I'm hard again." Of course he is - his refractory period has always been quick. This is a new record, though. "Can I fuck you, baby?"

You have to really force your words out, with how he spreads your asscheeks and licks your other hole. "Nn- no. You haven't - haven't earned it yet."

Kyle doesn't say anything to that, just curls his tongue in your ass and let's your ankle go to pinch your clit between two fingers, twisting it. You shout, then go still, remembering where you are. "Kyle --!" It sneaks up on you, how fast your orgasm comes. From your toes to your nipples, electricity shoots through you and tightens your skin. You tremble violently, soaking his fingers and his face. He stands up while you go through the aftershocks, hands stroking your belly and holding you from behind, crowding you and making you feel safe.

Kyle kisses your nape, sucks your earlobe a little. Waits like a gentleman. You lean back against him and squeeze his fingers.

"I'm gonna fuck you now." He's not asking anymore, and you're boneless, so you just spread your legs and let him push his cock into you slowly, enjoying the stretch. It makes you rise onto your tiptoes, letting him take your weight. He rocks into you slowly at first, hands roaming from your stomach to your tits to your throat. Pinching and squeezing, having earned your submission.

"I missed you too," you admit finally, breathily. "I love you, big boy."

Kyle hums, sucking a mark into your neck, picking up his pace. "I love you too." He nibbles on you a little. His thumb finds your asshole again, pushing in, making you whine high and thin. "You gonna be a good girl and come all over my cock? I've been waiting for this, you know. Your pussy feels like home."

Your cunt drips on him, making wet little sounds while he fucks you hard against the wall. You're still sensitive from coming earlier, so you squirm on his cock, squeezing around him. "Come inside me, please," you beg. You need to feel it. He uses his free hand to push your face into the wall, bucking into you once, twice, then holding himself taut as a bowstring. His hips grind minutely against your ass while he comes, flooding your pussy.

Kyle doesn't let you go, just pulls his cock and thumb out quickly, taking advantage of your stupor to cup your pussy and roughly squeeze your clit. You yelp, jumping, but keep your legs spread. Your peak is building again, and he knows it. Two of his big fingers find your stretched hole and push in, curling and rubbing viciously until the pressure builds and builds and your pussy contracts, pleasure slicing through your abdomen painfully. You cover your mouth with your hands just barely in time to shout, knees buckling with your orgasm.

If not for Kyle holding you up, you'd have fallen down to the floor. You shake, feeling cored. He nuzzles you sweetly, licking your ear. His hand pets your pussy gently until you push him away, way too sensitive.

"Can I take you home, babygirl?"

"Yes please," your voice is a croak.

Kyle is a little inconsiderate in this but I hope it didn't read as angst and more playfulness between established partners <3<3 I feel like Kyle is a very noble character and he puts a lot of pressure on himself. Always worrying about what the right thing is. I figure with reader he can let go a little :') reader is a little miffed but she's soft for her man <3

Also I wrote this on my phone between shifts during a 13 hour day so please forgive any typos or grammar mistakes

[cripplecharacters]

I had a second question! This one much simpler but again, struggling with research because of the enshittification of the internet. If you have an amputated limb stump, can you put weight on it? If you have an arm stump, can you lean on the end of the stump? If you have leg stumps, can you kneel on your bed with the end of the stump in the sheets and shuffle around? I know stumps are very resilient and heal well, but I do not know how much weight that they can handle. I'm really curious if a person who has no legs above the knee could put their weight on the ends of the stumps if they were on a bed or something. Thank you! Sorry if this is a little confusing or rambly. Autism makes you try and be specific. And take your time! I'm not in a rush. I'm not going anywhere. Thank you for everything you do!

Hello,

(Just to remind you, we do not have amputee mods)

No, it's not going to work the same way.

The reason we have hands and feet shaped the way they are is to distribute weight for both comfort and balance. If you're standing on your feet, your weight is spread out between two large surfaces that are evenly distributing it. These wide surfaces also help with balance and make walking easier.

To walk on two leg stumps would feel like walking on your tip toes, like a ballerina. In approximately two seconds, it would get painful because that surface is not meant to do this. And because the stump is a fairly small and round surface, balancing is going to be nigh impossible even when simply standing. Trying to walk, because the stumps are not designed for movement like the feet are, would probably end in a fall. Maybe it's possible with training like it is possible for ballerinas, but it would be so painful, difficult, and impractical that they probably either wouldn't bother or would try before quickly deciding to do literally anything else.

It's the same problem with arm stumps. If you lean against a shelf and put your weight on your hand, the weight is spread out and your fingers and wide palm are helping you balance. But if you were to put that weight on only the heel of your hand and keep your palm and fingers off of the surface, it would start hurting very quickly and the balance wouldn't be good, you would need to rely on your legs to try and keep balance. Leaning on a counter with a stump would yield similar results. It would be better to just lean with your back to the counter.

Plus, doing this too much and/or long term will injure someone. There will be bruises, compression of thing like veins and nerves that should not be compressed, unusual stress on bones and muscles, and you could even break a bone or mess up a joint. Your character is not going to want to do that.

What they could do instead of putting a prosthetic leg every time they need to get up is instead use a wheelchair or crutches so they don't need to bother turning on the lights. For moving around on the bed, they're going to have an easier time just scooting rather than trying to move on a soft surface with zero balance. There are easier ways to move.

Trying to walk on stumps is probably the least viable option the character would have. It would not work.

Mod Aaron

[shadeops21]

Cosplay Guide 2.0 - Release V1.0

Hello everyone!

With MWIII around the corner and me only about 10% through the MWII multiplayer operators, I realise that I am NOT going to finish the complete guide in time for release, not with the time I have available.

SO, I am going to release the guide in stages, first with all the 'story' characters added (that I could get assets for) and then later with Multiplayer operators, and then with additional faction AI/NPCs after that.

In parallel, I will also work on MWIII loadouts as a separate project as assets for that become available too. Honestly cannot give an ETA for when to start expecting those, but they will be coming at some point.

Now, without further ado, I preset to you:

THE [UN]OFFICIAL MODERN WARFARE COSPLAY GUIDE

Clicking to the above will take you to a Google Drive download link, where the PDF will be hosted. As versions are posted, I will announce this via posts like this and provide new links, and delete the old version too.

V1.0 is story characters only, and total size is 525MB. Pages are 5100x3300px size, so quality should be fairly high with minimal compression artifacing.

This has been the culmination of literal months of work on my part, and if you would like to show your appreciation, I have enabled tipping on this post (and will on future posts for version updates). I have zero intentions on pay-walling content, as I believe knowledge and information like this should be shared freely. But my research and ASD-borne levels of focus are driven by copius amounts of tea and sugary foods, so if you want to 'fuel' me and keep this going, I won't say no!

A huge thanks to everyone that has reached out to provide their own insight on gear and equipment, either via notes and reblogs on the different guide posts I've made, or via my ask box, or through my DMs. You've helped fill my blind spots and further enhance the accuracy of my research. Many thanks to those, you all know who you are!

Thank you for your support! Seeing the daily batch of likes and reblog notifications for these guides, even after all this time, serves to motivate me and keep this project going!

[the-kr8tor]

Bad Idea, Right?

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.6k

Synopsis: A visit from your ex makes you question the break up.

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (she is mentioned wearing heels though), ex! Hobie, CW injury, TW blood, Hurt/comfort.

Navigation

Hobie Masterlist

Your ankle hurts like you've run a marathon. The new heels you've bought doesn't help one bit, you should've chosen a more comfortable pair if you only knew your date was about to ditch you in the middle of dinner. Now your wallet is lighter and you didn't even get a proper date in. You could've taken a taxi home but just thinking about the surge prices has you risking the dimly lit streets.

You sigh as you finally see your front door, hobbling to it, you unlock it quickly so you could change into your PJ's, watch that new episode and have your feet up with a hot compress right over your aching feet.

The smell of iron and the familiar leather smacks you right over your face. You haven't smelt that in months, turning the corner, you already know who's waiting for you. But you wouldn't have foreseen the state that he's in.

“Holy shit, Hobie!” You run to him, blisters be damned.

Kneeling next to him, you assess the damages like you always used to. He's currently sitting up, his back slouched. His face has seen better days but there's still that charm you've always loved behind his eyes. The suit looks worse, marred by bloodied slashes and tattered cloth.

“‘m okay,” he holds your elbow, the feeling so familiar it brings you back to five months ago, a time before you broke up, before *he broke it off, inevitably shattering your heart into tiny pieces.

“Just a scratch, love.” Hobie looks softly at you, his eye bruised and battered as he clutches at his bleeding side.

“You're bleeding all over my new couch.” Sure enough, your once white couch has specks of blood on it. “What are you doing here? You should go to a hospital in the state you're in!”

He heaves a shaky breath. “I didn't know where else to go.” Squeezing your elbow, his head hit the cushion in a quiet thump.

You hold his cheek gently. This is a bad idea, right? But you know if you don't treat him his wounds would fester, you know him enough to know that he really won't go to a hospital no matter how much you beg.

“Okay, okay, just–” you fight the tears in your eyes. There might not be a relationship between you two anymore but you can't bear seeing him in pain. “I'll get the kit.” Standing up, before you could rummage for the first aid, Hobie catches your hand in his. Thumb rubbing softly over your palm, you swear you felt electricity pass through you.

“Y/N, I–”

“I'll get the first aid.” You cut him off without looking at his face, if you did you might've collapsed to your knees in front of him, kissing him like you used to. Sliding your hands off him, you walk off without looking behind.

Going over to the piles and piles of boxes in the corner, you open one that's labeled ‘medical stuff’ immediately, your eyes zero in on the things you needed.

“You haven't unpacked?” Hobie croaks out, “it's been six months–”

“Five, just five actually.” Turning around, your arms are full of bandages, painkillers and antiseptic and anything else you might need, your tone is full of passive aggressiveness.

“Felt like six to me” he coughs out.

You walk briskly to him, you've got to get your priorities straight rather than biting back at him.

“Stop talking, you're making it worse.”

“My injuries or our relationship?”

You pause, kneeling down to set the materials on the floor as gentle as you can with your arms full. “Both, now shut it, Hobart.”

“‘m sorry”

“Hobie, please.” You look at him, your eyes glistening in the light. “Please just– let me work, okay?”

“Okay” he nods, observing you prepare the materials just like you always do it. But this time you're not completely calm and not making jokes to keep him smiling and awake. You're silent, fingers shaking while you sanitize your hands.

The sound of the clock in the living room becomes annoying as the silence goes on. Hobie's suit now lay discarded on the floor leaving him in only his boxers. He grimaces with every stitch you do in his abdomen. Your touch keeps him awake though, sending little sparks as you gently put the needle in his skin, your gloves bloodied, face fully concentrating, only showing emotion with a frown when he sucks his teeth in when the pain flares up again.

Hobie doesn't want you to hurry up though, because once you're done, he'd have to leave and he doesn't want to. He doesn't want to leave you again since he made the biggest mistake of his life five months ago because of a stupid argument. He admits it to himself every morning he wakes up without you beside him, your side of the bed cold, your things not where they usually are. He can't help but look beside him, wishing the space isn't empty anymore.

He was wrong and he wants you back. He'd be lying if said he was doing well these past five months, he'd be lying too if he said he wasn't thinking of you when he was being pummeled to the ground.

You hate seeing him like this, hell it was the main reason why the fateful fight happened. With a shuddered breath from Hobie, you look up at him to check, maybe you shouldn't have when he looks at you like the last five months didn't happen. Like the last three years together still continued on to this day.

“You look nice.” He flicks his eyes down to your new shoes. “Fancy. Did you go on a date?” He mentally readies himself for your reply.

“I did.” Thinking of getting him back, you could say ‘yeah, I did and it went so well! We're getting married tomorrow by the way!’ or ‘yeah and he's right outside right now waiting for me’ but you don't, you don't have the heart to hurt him with your words, even if he did do that to you.

“Didn't go well” you continue without looking at him, concentrating on closing his wound. “He left me during dinner.”

“That fuckin’ wanker.” He clicks his tongue, his words full of venom for the man. “You deserve better, love”

You look at him directly in the eyes. “Yeah I do.”

His face drops, anger dissipating. “Y/N–”

“What are you really doing here, Hobie? You have friends that could help you better than I could and you still went to me.” Your bottom lip wobbles but you bravely continue on. “You said it yourself, you don't want to do anything with me” your voice wavers.

“I didn't mean it.”

“Then why did you say it? I only told you to be more careful because I hate coming home to you beaten and bloody. I would never tell you to stop being spiderman, I know the city needs you more than I do, but my god, I needed you too.”

“‘m so fucking sorry.” He reaches out to hold your cheek but retracts it back apprehensively.

“I came home tired and angry and I let it all out on you.”

You want to hold him, you do but it's a bad idea, you're trying to move on, you're currently failing at it based on the number of dates you've rejected and all the boxes of things you haven't even tried to unpack because of that damned bit of hope. You'd do anything to see the dimples of his cheeks again. You know it's been hard being spiderman for him, juggling his personal life with being a vigilante; and you hate how you added in another problem for him, but you know the space was needed even though it wasn't wanted. One thing is for certain though, you still love him.

Closing his wound, you pack it in with bandages, the awkward silence is deafening. The package of medical tape crinkles as he watches you with a frown and broken heart.

“You called me selfish” you break the silence, your hands staying over his wound gently, the bandages acting as a wall between you and his skin.

“I did, ‘m sorry” he thinks twice before holding your hand over his bandages. His fingers intertwining with yours slowly.

Unsurprisingly, you let him. Your eyes flicking over to his shining one, his frown makes you crave his smile.

“But…” You continue with hitched breath, “you said you love me in the same breath.”

“I meant it, I still love you.” Hobie takes your hand, lifting it to kiss your knuckles. You feel his dry broken lips, you want to hurt the one who did this to him.

Coming closer to him, you lay your forehead atop his carefully so as to not exacerbate his injuries. “I still have no idea how you made that whole sentence hurtful but full of love.”

“I'm a lyrical genius, love” he chuckles lowly, raising up to chase your lips.

“Not much of a genius that day though.” You lean away but his hand on the back of your head prevents you from getting away. For the first time in months, you smile.

“I'm a blubbering idiot then.” Hobie slides his hand down to your shoulders, just holding you like it's supposed to be. He has every curve of you memorized, roaming his hand, kneading to ease your muscles.

“That you are, Hobie Brown, my lovable idiot.” You close the distance, kissing him like you've never kissed him before.

Maybe this isn't such a bad idea after all.

[bnhaobservation]

The LoV has failed as a villain group compared with all MHA movies villains! All MHA movies villains are much better than them!

I'm not sure if you're sarcastically echoing the annoyance of those who think the story did dirt to the league or you're criticizing them but I'll take your words as honest and a chance for me to discuss a bit of the League.

I wouldn't really say the movie Villains are better than the League for the simple fact that, in the end, due to being characters in a movie, they're way too quickly defeated and forgotten and hardly do any damage. They don't get to kill someone important, they don't really make countless schemes, they don't manage to escape capture and remain active and if they impact society that impact last an incredibly short amount of time because everything must be returned to zero for the story to manage to fit into the storyline of the anime.

But Horikoshi's choice to go for the League as the main Villain group is surely... odd.

Let's compare it with the other Villain groups, All for One's, Overhaul's, Re-Destro.

Re-Destro is a powerful businessman with plenty of men working under him, enough they rightfully define themselves a Army. He also has plenty of elite fighters, even if few get properly introduced and plenty of money and resources as he's in the support item industry and his underlings are also people of power.

Overhaul has less men but he's still a powerful Yakuza boss with enough money and underlings to look like a threat plus 10 elite fighters (the eight bullets, Chronostasis and Mimic) and resources to produce his Quirk-cancelling bullets.

All for One in his golden age was better off than Re-Destro in every mean possible, after he fell he still has enough money to support Garaki's research and his hospitals and orphanages in which they also do human experimentation secretly, have allies all around the globe, finance the League and dispose of Nomu.

As for Shigaraki without All for One's support... his league is moneyless, they live in a trash hideout, since Kurogiri leaves to search for Machia and Magne dies early on, he's left with 5 underlings. Of them initially only Dabi has a strong offensive power because Twice, due to his trauma, can't really fight, Himiko hadn't had her Quirk awakening yet and so she, Compress and Spinner aren't really that big of a threat.

The fact that the police fears them makes the situation hilarious and the police incompetent, not them a threat.

The moment the league gain enough power to effectively be a threat, the story immediately bring them back by having the Heroes make a surprise strike that erases most of their newly aquired assets.

Shigaraki's modding is interrupted, Garaki is taken captive, the Nomu factory is lost, most of the army is gone, Twice is dead and the plit between the League and the Meta Liberation Army becomes clear as Shigaraki cares to have Machia bring to him only the League which makes sense as the MLA never truly cared for Shigaraki and Co and only tailed after him because Re-Destro told them to do so.

And they're up facing an overwhelmingly number of Heroes.

At the same time the story sabotages them, Dabi's name doesn't mean cremation just in reference to how Touya almost died burned alive, his fire is hot enough he can cremate people but... not Hawks apparently, even if, considering how close Hawks was to him and the time he was exposed to fire, should have reduced Hawks to a charred corpse. I'll say Touya's fire damages Touya more than it damages others which is ridicule when Horikoshi reveals Touya HAS some fire resistance while Hawks has none...

On the other side the less powerful fire of Endeavor works just fine to burn Shigaraki consistently, good to him he has regeneration... to bad the fact Garaki hadn't finished modding him causes troubles.

Also Shigaraki hits Gran Torino as hard as he can and the old man survives to it! Deku ruins his arms but... it's okay, they'll heal just fine.

Bakugou's get stabbed in place of Deku but doesn't die like Twice, no he can fight and will recover.

And hey, the Heroes now have new technology and Eri controls her power so Best Jeanist is back from death and Lemillion have his Quirk back.

Compress instead is captured, Shigaraki gets possessed and they've to escape.

In the second war the Heroes overwhelm the Villains again, both in numbers and in times the narrative depicts them in advantage. @stillness-in-green did count the cliffhangers and the Heroes were definitely more often in advantage than the Villains.

Never mentioning that the Heroes get even better off than in the first war. In the first war they had some minor casualties... here they don't have even that, the deaths are all on the Villain side, Machia, AFO, Himiko, Shigaraki, and, even if delayed as he gets to live a little longer, Touya.

Bakugou gets resurrected and his arm will recover, Midoriya gets his arms back, Edgeshot survives and manages to regrow his arms.

The ones who take the worst deal are Enji, who gets wounded so seriously he's unable to use his legs, loses his arm and can't be a Hero (but he had already decided to Quirk), Fuyumi and Rei that get scarred (but they're no Heroes), Hawks who lost his Quirk (but he still becomes the HPSC president).

The LOV is a much more interesting Villain group than many others and I love the choice to make them all outcasts but... after the lost AFO's patronage they aren't genuinely given a chance to shine as a real threat that overwhelms the Heroes. The moment they might be capable to do it, the story turns the tables so fast you wonder if you dreamt it.

So it's not so much a LOV failure as a story failure. An enemy threat must be a believable threat and the LOV often doesn't get the chance to look as such even if the story insists it is.

[nevertheless-moving]

binged dungeon meshi anime + manga after numerous tumblr posts and leg injury. thoughts based on fandom > manga> anime ride:

[SPOILERS FOR MANGA]

senshi pantyshot fanservice much appreciated but... should really be more lingering and inexplicably glistening if its gonna match up to fanservice in other animes

no yeah TOTALLY get why toshiro just said fuck it and went home after... all that. days of no food. blase dark magic/you were too late reveal. long repressed slapfight that he probably felt equally guilty and angry about. girl he loved appeared as GIANT MONSTER and BRUTALLY killed HIS FAMILY.

girl he loved STOPPED TO PULL HER TITS OUT midway through BRUTALLY KILLING HIS FAMILY.

i'd go home too

also , Maricelle, all the love in the world, but i get why everyone was mad about the dark magic. i mean it looked bad. WE know that thistle interfered but the situation looked BAD ngl maricelle i would not want you healing me either after falin appearance.

feel like changeling maricelle should have been half half-foot/half-dwarf or something like that. would have been fun half-elf reveal to party. actually bothers me that she wasn't? the more i think about it. i mean itzumi was still cat/kobold.

incredibly belated but looking back at changeling episode...is senshi shirtless the whole time???

okay nevermind did some extensive research and i'm fairly sure he wasn't

also thinking back about senshi — he absolutely knew what he was doing with setting off the traps and pissing chilchuck off...my man was living here for decades.

kabru/laois is both more and less textually present than i would have thought based on fandom.

like on one hand they barely interact. on the other hand they barely interact and Kabru is VERY much obsessed . they have ONE (1) conversation. much hilarity has been observed about that dialogue so i digress

and there is ZERO new information between that interaction and kabru planning on putting the man on a THRONE. at some unclear point his career goal becomes having his lips at this man's ear and a dagger at his neck ???

i cannot stress this enough: he invests SO EARLY in king Laios. willing to sacrifice his life for this to be realized. goal oriented. unhinged. good for him.

you could say it's just him being practical and choosing the best option based on available information but incredibly relevant new information becomes available and Kabru is STILL locked in

i'm crying over kabru 'compressing' mithran's backstory. sure as a meta framing device fine. but in universe? BONKERS. narrative critiquing clinically depressed man's tragic backstory. Super normal move.

so much nuance and different perspectives on fantasy interracial marriages and adoptions and its SO SO GOOD.

gnawing on the walls kinda worldbuilding seriously

so thistle was a teenager when this all started. that's what i'm getting. that's... man there's a lot of layers of tragedy.

wait so if elves and half-foots look ambiguously young do tallmen look ambiguously old?? wrinkly gangly old old wrinkly fuckers??? or burning the candle at both ends terrible looking tall child???

hey i'm starting to think that the monster who controls all monsters... might not be a good guy

'Delgal' holding thistle at the end ... i'm not crying. you're crying.

impossible to say if laois won the final battle on purpose or not

genuinely no idea

11/10 no notes about that fact

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Oh? Crewel-sensei! Are you actually joining us in class today? - Kalim, beaming

Zzzzz- h-huh? Did I miss... Trein-sensei's class...? - Silver, sleepy

If he doesn’t scare you, no evil thing will.

Crewel warily surveyed the classroom. Each group of students had been presented with a cage full of mice. The assignment for the day: to command the mice to execute a trick of one's choosing. They scampered around on their tiny feet, clawing at their confinement and chorusing in soft squeaks.

A few brave students had already taken to freeing the mice, to varying degrees of success. Some rodents had escaped and now skittered across the floors while being chased down. Others, aggravated, had clawed or bitten their students, sending them to the nurse’s office.

Class 2-A may as well be an unkept dog kennel, Crewel grumbled to himself.

“I’m participating today to brush up on Animal Languages,” he explained bluntly. “Pardon the intrusion. Please do not let my presence distract you from your learning.”

“Hahah, of course not! Make yourself home, cuz my classroom is your classroom!” Kalim chirped. “Since we’re in the same group, let’s do our best to help each other out.”

“Agreed.” Silver nodded. “We’re honored to be working with you, Crewel-sensei.”

They’re good boys—but let’s see whether their technical abilities are on par with their kind-heartedness.

"Lead the charge. I will stand by and support your vision.”

“Let’s have the mice dress up and have a parade!” Kalim immediately suggested. His entire face lit up with determination. “Maybe some of them could be horses pulling a little toy carriage, and other mice could ride the carriage.”

“That’s far too complex for your level of skill!” Crewel pointed out. “Start simpler. Instructing them to do a single thing is enough to fulfill the requirements. For dogs… ‘sit’ and ‘stay’ are common first commands. Extrapolate that thinking to mice. The vocabulary should also be within your reach.”

There was a long pause. Then Silver spoke up.

“So… we could ask them to sit or to stay?”

“Do not so blatantly superimpose the orders for dogs onto a different animal!” Crewel snapped. “Are you still half asleep?!”

“He might be! Hey, Silver.” Kalim nudged his classmate (whose head was beginning to loll) on the arm. The knight startled—but his eyelids still fluttered, threatening to shut. “Stick with us! We need you awake for this, buddy.”

“Ngh… I’m sorry, I’m trying… I’m trying so hard, but… I don’t think I can… hold… it off…………….. Zzzzz…”

Silver drifted off, slouching forward in his seat. Kalim grasped onto his shoulders, keeping him upright.

“Wh-Whoa…! Don’t worry, Silver! I’ve gotcha!!”

Crewel facepalmed. “… This is quickly devolving into a disaster.”

"I'll say!" Kalim agreed. "How's Silver going to nap well without a pillow and a blanket? A desk and chair are really uncomfortable to sleep on."

"That's what you're concerned about?"

"Hmm? Yeah. Did you mean something else, sensei?"

"You'll be receiving a zero on this assignment from old Trein if you don't come up with something," Crewel lectured him as he removed the lid from their box of mice. "Find a way to wake Silver up this instant!"

"Aaah, what should I do...? I feel bad waking him up when he's having a good dream... Are you sure we can't just make Silver as comfortable as we can?"

"YES, I AM SURE."

As Crewel and Kalim clashed, the mice were frenzied. They had collected in one corner of the box in one massive wriggling heap, spilling out onto the counter like liquid when Crewel tipped the container over. They darted in front of Silver in frantic rows, then compressed their small, furry bodies together, forming something resembling a pillow.

"What the..."

"Oh!" Kalim brightened with realization. "Did you guys want to help out? That's so nice of you!"

He was met with a sea of excitable squeaking.

"Gahahah! I don't get it, but thanks a ton! Silver appreciates it too. I'll lay him down now, okay?"

Crewel watched, jaw hanging open, as Kalim gently placed Silver upon the bed of lab rodents. It was like a scene right out of a fairy tale. Kalim, the prince. Silver, the princess. And the mice? Their animal companions that saved the day.

Footsteps approached from behind.

"Asim, how does your group fare?" Trein inquired. "I hope you were not too heavily relying on Crewel-sensei's expertise to get by."

"No, sir! We're just making sure Silver gets proper rest in." Kalim gestured to his snoozing peer. "See?"

Trein took note of the pillow of mice, his brows creasing in confusion. "... Well, it's certainly an unconventional 'trick' you've shown me, but I suppose I will allow it. It's a creative solution for the task."

"Wait, really? Cool, thanks!!'

Crewel blinked.

Just what am I looking at here? Did these two just pass by failing to use any of the course's teachings in the assignment?!

"... Unbelievable." He shook his head in disbelief.

These pups are truly something else.

[ckret2]

if D-0 is the source of Bill's power, and D-0 is currently compressed into a pre-Big Bang singularity, does that mean if Bill set it off in a new Big Bang, he'd lose all his powers?

D-0 is not currently compressed into a pre-Big Bang singularity. D-0 is the Nightmare Realm. D-0 in its natural state should be a singularity—since it's zero-dimensional—but it's not, because of all the crap stuffed in it.

Euclydia's matter is compressed into a pre-Big Bang singularity, which Bill keeps in his hat and sometimes shows off to six-fingered nerds.

Euclydia's energy is stored in Dimension Zero/the Nightmare Realm.

In this post I had a separate bullet point that specifically said "Euclydia's matter and energy are being stored separately," and it looks like that point got deleted while I was editing the post, so I've edited it back in for clarity.

But: yes, the energy being stored inside Dimension Zero is the energy Bill would have to spend to detonate Euclydia's speck into a Big Bang. Think of the energy in Dimension Zero & the mass in the speck as a match & a stick of dynamite. I've been watching a lot of Looney Tunes this weekend.

As to whether he'd lose his powers, though: since this is goofy made-up sci-fi magic, it doesn't matter/it could be either.

"Yes, he would spend all his energy setting off the Big Bang and he wouldn't have that energy anymore."

or

"No, that energy is still under his control, so if he set off a Big Bang he'd just have power over that universe the same way that he currently has power over the Nightmare Realm."

or even

"It's been a trillion years since then and crap keeps falling into the Nightmare Realm, so Bill's absorbed enough additional energy he can set off a Big Bang and still have godlike power."

or maybe

"He's absorbed some energy over the past trillion years but also spent just as much, so if he set off a Big Bang he'd only have a tiny pool of energy left over."

or possibly even more things I haven't mentioned.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯ This is a "you'll find out" deal. I made a big deal out of putting a matchbook and a stick of dynamite on Chekov's mantle for a reason.

[goodlucktai]

Ooh would you write a sequel to the one where Luffy tells the crew about Sabo and paints their flag, then Robin goes and calls Sabo to come n visit them??? 💕

sequel to this

x

Luffy is holding his hand so hard it’s beginning to hurt, but it doesn’t even cross Usopp’s mind to let go. 

The man who boards them looks nothing like Luffy, or even Usopp’s memories of Ace. He’s very pale and fair-haired, with a graceful, willowy sort of frame that Usopp’s storyteller mind leaps to associate with princes and castles. 

The man looks extremely nervous. He holds himself absolutely still with picture-perfect posture, like it was something drilled into him at a young age. Once his eyes find Luffy, they don’t look anywhere else. 

He came alone. The solitary figure he strikes on the opposite side of the deck tugs at Usopp’s heart. 

Robin makes a disapproving sound under her breath when he stays rooted where he’s at and strides across the grass to meet him. 

“Sabo,” she greets him, holding out her hands. He seizes them with equal parts gratitude and desperation but he still doesn’t look at her.

Next to him, clustered as close as they are together, Usopp feels the jolt go through Luffy like a surge of electricity. 

It was the name, Usopp thinks. None of them have said it out loud since that shocking conversation with Robin, which Luffy had absorbed without speaking for four very long minutes before bolting from the room to hide with Sunny on the figurehead for the rest of the afternoon. 

Usopp tries to imagine being told his mother was alive, after growing up and apart from her for half his life. He tries to imagine the shock and disbelief, and how it would fold slowly into reluctant hope, and how much it would hurt to claw open a wound that’s ten years healed and how ready he would be to do exactly that if there was even a chance he might see her again. 

Luffy lost Ace two years ago. It happened right in front of him. It happened in the worst, most traumatizing way it possibly could have. And it happened when his crew had been forced apart and flung to the far corners of the world and he was left to bear that impossible grief all alone. 

Take care of him for me, Ace had said, smiling with his teeth beneath an unrelenting desert sun, all reds and golds and warmth. 

Usopp holds Luffy’s hand tighter, the rubber skin and bones compressing in a familiar way beneath the unrelenting grip of his fingers. 

The morning after The Conversation With Robin, all of them packed around a breakfast table laden with hearty biscuits and gravy, strip steak and eggs, and cinnamon rolls the size of their heads—Sanji’s unspoken spoiling of their captain after the previous afternoon’s bombshell; he even let Luffy try his coffee, which never fucking happens. They were all poised to do and say and be exactly what their captain needed, if he’d only give them a cue. 

Luffy, for his part, breezed into the galley bright and early, like it was any other day, and he hadn't spent all of last night all by himself. He called out cheerful greetings, tussled playfully with Zoro, fought with Franky over the spicy potato hash, filled his plate, and then, in the red flag of all red flags, ate exactly zero bites of food before turning to Robin. 

“Hey, Robin,” he said, “why didn’t Sabo come find me?”

The only sound in the kitchen was the unobtrusive steaming from the medley of pans on the stovetop and the sharp clunk of the glass Nami accidentally set down too hard.

Robin smiled at Luffy, the special way she smiled that was reserved solely for him. She grew an extra hand and nudged his plate towards him.

“I told you, captain,” she said. “He had amnesia. The only thing he remembered from his childhood was his desperation not to return to Goa Kingdom.”

“Retrograde amnesia is a medical condition,” Chopper piped up, desperate to be helpful. He’d been on the edge of his seat all morning, ready to fly to Luffy at the first tiniest indication that he should. “Several different things can cause it, like disease or injury, but it sounds like S—like his memory loss was probably caused by trauma.”

“Yeah,” Luffy said easily, accepting what they told him without question. He scooted food around on his otherwise untouched plate, expression giving nothing away. “But after that. Robin said that seeing Ace in the newspaper made him remember. That was two years ago.”

Dread sank in Usopp’s stomach like a stone. He glanced quickly around the table and found his friends’ faces mirroring what his own probably looked like. 

“He didn’t come find me,” Luffy said. “Does he hate me?”

“No,” Zoro said at once, his tone a guarantee that it would be the last thing Sabo ever did if it was true.

“Why would you think that?” Sanji forced out between gritted teeth. 

“Because I let Ace die,” their captain said frankly. “He was right in front of me and I couldn't save him. Now Sabo doesn’t want to see me.”

Everyone started talking at once, and Chopper upset his apple juice in his scramble to finally fling himself into Luffy’s arms, and Usopp decided that getting his ass beat by Mr. 4 and Miss Christmas hurt a hell of a lot less than this. 

Robin rose gracefully and rounded the table. An extra arm bloomed out of the table to grip the back of Luffy’s chair and wrench it around, facing it towards her.

She kneeled and took his hands, and then her wrists grew hands so that she could hold Chopper’s little hooves too. But her eyes were all for Luffy when she said, “He loves you. He’s making a better world for you.”

Luffy stared back at her and finally his blank expression cracked. His mouth twisted a little, brows furrowing above shiny brown eyes. 

“Then why didn’t he come?” 

“Because despite your separation, you two are more alike than anyone could have guessed,” Robin said warmly. “And he’s afraid you hate him, too.”

And now they’re both here, standing beneath the cloudy sky, and Luffy—wild, relentless, unassuming Luffy—doesn’t seem to know what to do. He’s always the one who makes the first move, who barrels right in with a noisy laugh, but instead he just clutches at Usopp’s hand and presses his opposite shoulder into Zoro’s and drinks in the sight of the man across the deck. 

Studying him, Usopp realizes. Recognizing him.  

Then Luffy blinks, and the wetness in his eyes falls down his cheeks, and the blond man jerks like he’s been punched in the gut. 

“I, um,” he says, digging hastily into one of his inner coat pockets, “I brought you something.” 

He tosses the gift over and Luffy lets go of Usopp’s hand to catch it. It turns out to be an old brass monocular telescope, shining dully in Luffy’s hands. Worn and scuffed in quite a few places, easily decades old. Luffy studies it very quietly. 

“All of my things were lost when my ship was shot down,” the man says. “Nothing could be salvaged. But that was in my pocket. It must have been important if it was the only thing I was carrying with me, so I kept it all these years.”

He tries on a smile. It pulls at the side of his face discolored and puckered by burn scars. It seems like a miracle he’s standing there and smiling at all. 

“You wanted a telescope when we were kids, remember? I finally brought you one. I’m sorry it took me so long.”

“Sabo took forever,” Luffy says. He sounds young. 

It’s the way he sounded in Alabasta, when Ace showed up and interjected himself in the chase between the Straw Hats and Smoker’s men—like it was his body’s natural response to plant itself like a tree between Luffy and whatever danger was behind him. Luffy ran away laughing, bright and untroubled and certain of his safety. 

Peak little sibling energy, Usopp had later thought wryly. It explained so much of who his captain was as a person to know he was the baby of his family of monsters and mad men. 

Luffy sounds that way now, his face all screwed up, blotchy and streaked with tears. 

“He took forever,” he says again, emphatic and bewildered and hurt. “I missed him so much and he was too busy being stupid to come tell me he’s alive. I thought—”

Robin steps out of the way in time to avoid being trampled when their guest moves the way a missile shot from a cannon moves. Luffy lurches forward, too, but he doesn’t have time to make it a single step before he’s being snatched up in bigger arms and hauled into an embrace that looks like it might leave a bruise. One gloved hand on the back of Luffy’s head cradles it against a broad shoulder and the other grips the back of Luffy’s jacket hard enough it starts to tear. 

“Robin told me,” the man gasps, like he’s not getting enough air. “I don’t hate you, how could I hate you? You’re my brother. I’m so—I’m so grateful you survived, Lu. I don’t know what I would have done if you—if—” 

He can’t say it, can’t speak the words into existence, as if the world would be a dark, unlivable place if Luffy weren’t in it. In that instant, Usopp understands this stranger completely. 

Sabo pulls back, but only so he can hold Luffy’s head in his hands. Luffy goes on tiptoe to knock their foreheads together, a gesture Usopp has seen him do with his nakama, and always chalked up to Luffy’s weird feral energy. It’s a gesture that makes Sabo’s next breath sound like a sob. Or maybe a laugh. 

Luffy laughs with him, wet and choked. Neither of them are self-conscious about the state of themselves. They sit right there, a graceless collapse into the warm grass, somewhat on top of each other like clumsy, half-grown wolf cubs. 

Usopp feels a weight lifted. He thinks he must be smiling like an absolute idiot and his own eyes are definitely damp, but he’s unselfconscious, too. A person learns a thing or two about what appearances actually matter, sailing with this crew. And tears come easily when you live honestly, the way Luffy always has. 

He’s rattling at a million words a minute now, speaking in an Eastern language Usopp is unfamiliar with—probably a regional dialect from the island he grew up on.

Sabo follows along effortlessly, interjecting now and then in the same language, but content, for the most part, just to listen to his little brother talk.

He absorbs every second of Luffy’s presence the same needy way plants unfurl to soak up sunlight. 

[changingplumbob]

Me? Forget something? Surely not.

Please send any questions in via the ask box or message and I will add them to this post!

Can I make my sim and have you give them a trait from a pack I do not own?

Absolutely! Just let me know in either your sim post or the notes you send me with the download link and I can make the change for you. Please note I do not own Lovestruck or Life & Death so I cannot add those traits.

Similarly if you want them to like an activity that you don't have the pack for such as nectar making I can also add this in for you.

Does Deanna have an exact age in your game?

Yes she does, in my rotational save unlike my SBL I give my sims exact ages. Deanna is 21 and a half so would probably be comfortable flirting with anyone between 20 and 30.

Why are submissions open for so long?

Because real life exists and I would like people who have busier lives to be able to submit a sim if they wish. I will not be playing with any of them for introductions until next year so I can give a long window.

What if I submit a sim then want to withdraw them?

This is absolutely fine IF you do so before December 25th. This is so I can figure the schedule out with the numbers. If after the introductions you wish to withdraw your sim for your own or someone else's use I am happy to write them out of the competition with a flu or something.

Help! I've already sent you my sim but I want to change something about them! Can I edit them?

Again if it is before December 25th feel free to change your sim as much as you like. I will be adding the final versions to my game after December 25th so if you get the urge to change a trait, or on second thought you really don't like that dress, go for it. Just make sure I have the link to your final version by Christmas.

Can I put my sim on the gallery instead of SFS?

If your sim has no custom content and you would prefer to send them in via the gallery that is fine. Just let me know when they're up and what your gallery ID is.

How do I put my sim on SFS?

Once your sim is complete in CAS, save them to your library and take a note of the time. In your documents head to where your sims 4 folder is and go to the Tray folder. If you sort by file creation date you should be able to see several files that were all made at the time you saved your sim to your library. These are your sims tray files, if someone puts them in their own Tray folder they will show up in that person's library. Select them all and copy and paste to a separate location on your computer. There select them all and by right clicking you should get the option to compress to zip file. Once you have the zip file make a SFS account. If you do not have one me and many other simmers are able to get a code for you to use to make an account. There upload the zip file of your sim, there's a big upload file button. Once it is up there will be an option on the same line as the file to copy the link. That link is what I will need to download the folder. If you want to check, like I do sometimes, you can open a new tab or window and paste the link in there to see where it will lead. You should see a regular SFS page with the name of the file and the options to download or heart.

Can my spellcaster have xp and known spells?

Yes! So the skills that the contestants will be choosing to work on are things that may impact their performance in a challenge. That's why skills such as fitness will be set to zero. Since not everyone is an occult there won't be any occult specific challenges. Feel free to have your spellcaster know spells and/or be higher rank than apprentice.

[thankssteveditko]

About Marvel's timeline

Here's something else important to keep in mind as I made my way through these comics: the way Marvel handles its timeline.

Marvel's comics have always been set in a fictionalized version of the present day real world that just so happens to also have superheroes and aliens and magic and whatnot. They've never been shy about referencing real world events or pop culture to ground the comics in our reality. The first ever Spider-Man story mentioned that he should go on The Ed Sullivan Show. Iron Man's classic origin story involves the Vietnam War. In the far, far future, I'm gonna have to cover the infamous 9/11 issue of Spider-Man where Marvel's heroes AND villains mourn at Ground Zero.

Marvel's main universe has also never had a true full-on reboot. They'll do their big dumb crossover events that Change Everything Forever™, sure. (God, I am not looking forward to having to worry about crossover events.) But, like... the stuff that came before still happened, for the most part.

So, combine these two facts, and you've got 60+ years of comics referencing then-current events that are basically all still in continuity... but the characters haven't aged 60 years. Things operate on a floating timeline - or a "sliding timescale," as Marvel seems to prefer. But unlike, say, The Simpsons, where the characters never age, some time HAS passed for Marvel's cast! Spider-Man isn't 17 forever, he's grown up over the course of the series. There's of course some timey-wimey nonsense that was invented decades later to explain this bizarre chronology, but basically, the characters get a year older about once every four real world years.

So, long story short: those 60+ years of comics get compressed to about, say, 15 years of in-universe history.

What of all the topical references, then? Just... don't think about it too hard. Marvel continuity supernerds will tell you those aren't supposed to be literal, and most get retconned out with enough time. (A few years back they invented a fictional all-purpose southeast Asian war that can perpetually be pulled forward with the sliding timescale, to replace outdated references to the Vietnam War and the Korean War.) If you go on the Marvel wiki and try to edit references to real world history into a character's biography they'll bust your fuckin' kneecaps.

On the other hand: it's funnier if you take them literally. So as we go through these early Spider-Man comics where characters reference things like twist music, just remember that - at the time of writing this in 2023 - the events of those comics are now considered to be set in about 2008 or 2009.

[aizawaskittenwhore]

august first—r. braun

summary: you fuck reiner as a birthday gift. that’s pretty much it.

notes/content warnings: rough sex, facefucking, degradation, choking, some angst cause relationships are messy, unprotected p in v sex cause we raw dog over here, armin is a sweetheart and eren needs to go to bed, i think i covered everything but let me know if i missed anythin!

this was meant to be a birthday piece for rei 😔*stares in september * to be completely honest i have zero idea how long this ended up being but it’s been taking up space in my drafts and i kinda freestyled it so enjoy sexies <3

the floor is sticky with liquor, limestone tiles splotched with little islands of red as reiner’s body meets it, it’s surface tacky beneath his flushed skin. his head lolls back against the dial of his dishwasher, seeming to relish in the surrounding moment. the apartment is quiet with the din of murmured voices, gentle rustling of keys , someone slipping on a jacket, a faint “who’s riding with jean?” uttered from one of the many intoxicated partygoers; as for who , he does not know.

all reiner is aware of is the thrum of his heartbeat in his ears, body warm with the coat of whiskey, the glow of his solar return pervading the sallows of his face from the previous year’s torment; as if filling a once-deflated balloon with air yet again.

confetti has woven itself into the carpet, solo cups littering the surrounding dining room, a cake still sits on the table, half-eaten. “happy birthday reiner” it read, for a total of ten minutes. only reiner’s name remains due to your insistence that the birthday boy should get to eat his own name, and in pure self-adoring leo fashion, he co-signed.

and there his name sits, beneath its hard plastic shell as his gifts are sprawled around, some big, some small; though reiner had insisted that presents weren’t necessary by any means, you all came together to at least get him a few things to remember the day by. and what a day it had been. he was grateful. and so, so drunk.

his body suddenly takes a dive to the right—he had failed to realize his passive swaying from side to side and lost his balance—his face finds itself directly in your lap, nose mere inches away from knocking over a rather tall bottle of grey goose lingering not too far from your current position. you’re not much better than he is, face flushed and your smile dazed, as you begin to card your fingers through his hair, seemingly unaffected by his sudden landing.

“hey, we’re gonna head out.” armin says, footsteps lightly sticking with every step he takes further into the kitchen. he grimaces at the noise, but says nothing, in favor of checking on the pair of you. yet before he can utter the words “are you guys alright?” a hefty grip on armin’s wrist from the stockier blond sends armin to his knees, discombobulating the shorter man momentarily before he was met with a fierce hug.

“thank you..for coming.” reiner had been struggling to properly pronounce his syllables since the fourth round of tequila shots with eren, but those four words were the most coherent he’d been all night. the sentiment wasn’t lost on armin, and he returned the embrace, even if his lungs felt the slightest bit compressed the longer they hugged. “n-no problem!” armin pats his back thrice and shifts his gaze to you once reiner pulls away and nestles into your lap yet again. “would you like a ride home? you and sasha live not too far from each other, so it’s on our way.” he offers, so thoughtful as always. you begin to nod your head, thinking of the throbbing sensation that’ll soon swim within your temples, your lack of a change of clothes, along with numerous other things—

“i don’t mind if you stay..” reiner mumbles, a hand swirling patterns into your thigh. “never have, you used to sleep over all the time. i still got your toothbrush, s’ in my bathroom” he’s drunk, there’s no nuance , it sounds so scandalous when he says it like that and yet your heart picks up when he says your toothbrush is still in your space in his bathroom. you contemplate his words, given that it’s two minutes shy of one am (from what you can make out via a blurred glance at the microwave), and it is rather late..

armin surveys the two of you with a knowing glance, choosing to once again say nothing. he’s always been one for reading between the lines, clearly there’s some unspoken tension between you and the birthday boy, a history even. “n-not like that.” you laugh, pulse quickening as you try to divert armin’s attention from reiner’s hand attempting to work its way up your thigh, minuscule movements of his hand feeling like leaps and bounds over your already heated skin. “there was a time where i was going through some shit, so reiner let me hang here for a little while. it’s not nearly as..uh..intimate as it sounds.” your voice is low, your head leaned towards armin.

“i don’t mind sleeping here though. it’s one in the morning, and you’ve already gotta take sasha and eren’s drunk ass home. i’ll be good here.” a smile, and a gentle hand on armin’s shoulder is enough for him to leave you with reiner for the night.

“text me if you need anything, okay?”

mikasa‘s jacket and eren’s vomit crusted dress shirt clink amongst armin’s keys as he makes his way to the door (the shirt is tied in a plastic bag, he’s not a psycho).

‘maybe the mad dog jello shots were a bit much’, you think, saying your goodbyes to everyone as they stumble down the remainder of the driveway, jean corralling each person into their designated cars, and silently regretting his decision to double up with armin tonight to drive. it doesn’t help that he’s shoeless, considering eren yacked all over those too. it’s not funny, but it is, and you laugh as the door clicks behind you.

parties have a very poignant atmosphere.

they fill the space and somehow suck the air out of it once it’s over. but what you feel right now has nothing to do with the party and everything to do with the tension between you and reiner. who seems to have disappeared from his spot on the kitchen floor and made his way to the shower, leaving behind a trail of clothes in his wake. his loft is spacious, open floor plans met with a man’s taste in furniture (which equates to the bare minimum, sadly) and sumptuous windows that stretch from floor to ceiling. it’s one way glass, can’t see in but you can see out, rather convenient considering reiner had a very bad habit of never wanting to wear clothes around the house. case and point, the calvin klein boxers strewn across his floor. ‘jesus, even when he���s drunk he’s a slob.’ you think, grimacing as you reach for them in an attempt to chuck them into the nearby hamper—

“sorry for the mess.” he mutters, stepping out of shower as a plume of steam clings to the nearby mirror. towel hanging from his waist, hair slick with water. the scent of his soap and deodorant envelop you as he walks past, rifling through his dresser in an attempt to find clothes for the both of you. from the quick glance at his figure you’d allowed yourself, you quickly deduce that reiner finally made good on that crossfit membership he’d been blabbing about for the last three months. he was always handsome, always with a body that looked like it was carved from stone but the torso you’re looking at (and shouldn’t be) has gotten a major upgrade. ‘this is a bad idea’ you think to yourself, wondering how you allowed a spur of the moment decision lead you back into a bedroom you swore you’d never step foot in again.

you weren’t lying to armin when you said that the conditions of you staying with reiner weren’t romantic, that part was true; but the last time you were in this house, this room, things weren’t exactly…platonic.

“i found these, pretty sure you forgot em when you were leaving.”

a grey t-shirt and a pair of panties plop onto the bed where you sit, and you cringe upon the realization that you’d even left anything here to begin with. he offers you a pair of his sweatpants to help preserve your dignity, but you decline, knowing there’s no way they’d fit you.

“you remember where the towels are, yeah?”

you nod. third door to the left, past the coffee maker.

“cool. use whatever’s in there, i don’t care. i’ll be in the living room, so if you need somethin’ just yell.”

you give him a thumbs up as you disappear into the bathroom, the humidity mimicking the haziness of your mind as it begins to wander, your hands slippery with soap as you run the cloth over the curve of your hip, the same way he did that night.

“fuckkkk.” the sight before you is delicious, blonde burrowing it’s way between your thighs as reiner tongues your clit; a man starved. lust has taken over the bedroom, coiling around the two of you and winding so tight you feel as though you might burst, but if this is what it feels like to be consumed, you don’t mind one bit. he’s rutting against the bed desperately, your moans sending him into a frenzy; his mouth pools with your essence and he can barely contain himself. he adds his ring and middle finger to the equation, sensing you need more, just the slightest bit extra to bring you to paradise and you keen with pleasure.

“don’t stop..m’ gonna cum..” you’re shaking now, thighs shuddering around his ears and your pulse begins to throb so hard you can feel it in your temples, each wave of dopamine crashing over you, into you; you’ve never gotten head like that before. trust, you’d remember if you had. his tongue wanders in the mess you’ve made between your legs, and his face is no exception. your slick glistens in the cropped cut of his facial hair, and before you can utter a word of embarrassment, his tongue is giving you a taste of what he’d worked so hard to pull from you. the kiss is filthy, lips slotted together with strings of saliva; they break like bubbles when you pull away for air.

“shit!” lost in reverie, you’d failed to notice the increasing temperature of the shower water until it scalds your skin, shocking you back to the present moment. soft linen wraps around your body, soothing the harsh burn, legs still shining with droplets as you towel off, noting that you smell just like reiner does; but you’d rather not ride that train of thought. you make your way to the kitchen for a glass of water, brow raising as you realize his slice of cake is missing.

“the fuck?”

“what’s wrong?” floats from the living room.

“the hell happened to your cake?” you peer around the corner, and find the answer to your question stuffing his face. “nevermind.” you laugh, taking a seat on the couch, a cushion separating the both of you. he gestures with his left hand, offering a fork full; you take it, given that you’re both still not sober and this slice of sponge cake is the closest thing you’ve had to food in the last few hours. buttercream icing coats the roof of your mouth and you moan in sheer joy.

“oh my god.”

“right? shits’ so good” reiner mumbles, already on his last bite. his eyes are closed in bliss and you can’t help but feel jealous, you ache to be the cause of his expression rather than some slice of confectionery. little do you know, when your head turns, his eyes rake up the expanse of your bare thighs, resolve crumbling little by little. you’re beautiful, beyond it. he fights the urge to caress you and settles for a loaded question:

“why’d you say that to armin?”

“say what?” you respond. you’re avoiding his gaze intentionally, you know exactly what he’s asking about, this just isn’t the time.

“that it ‘wasn’t like that’ when i said you could stay the night.” the fork clatters against the cardboard of the cake box, filling the silence for a second, but it does nothing to ease the awkwardness of this interaction. “because it’s the truth? i didn’t start staying here so we could be fuck buddies—“

“—but that’s what happened, right?”

“reiner. don’t start this again.” you warn, tone firm. it’s not that you don’t want to talk about this, it’s been weighing on your heart since the night you left, but what could you say? you were running from the problems in your relationship and escaped into the arms of someone you called a friend, and very quickly that became much more than a friendship. the man your boyfriend couldn’t stand became your shoulder to cry on, and dick to ride. and in the end, everyone got hurt. you included.

“how’s galliard?” his voice seems harmless, but you sense the smugness that lies beneath.

“really? now?”

“it’s just a question.”

a pause.

“i haven’t seen him since..you know. we’ve spoken though. he seems to be doing alright, i think.” you answer. you briefly remember a photo dump he posted coming across your feed, he was in the netherlands with his brother last you heard, but that’s as much as you know. you’ve kept your distance from your ex since the fallout of your breakup, and for good reason. considering the last time you’d spoken, he’d told you that he “hopes it was worth it” and that you were dead to him.

you couldn’t be mad. if the roles were reversed, you’d have probably said the same.

the relationship (despite its relatively short run of five months) was volatile, and galliard has never had a desire to communicate with people in a way that isn’t riddled with hostility and aggression. it was the source of many arguments, and “i’m sorry” voicemails. one night you got sick of it, the pettiness, tit for tat, the pointed indirect insults in front of friends, the building of resentment every day you stayed together; so you left, needing to clear some space in your already heavy heart. a bag hurriedly packed, you’d found yourself at the door of a friend who you knew would have questions, but would never judge.

but friends don’t do the things you have done with one another.

“why did you invite me tonight?” since we’re asking loaded questions.

the text came as a surprise, a simple invitation and an address linked in a text message: ‘hey. my friends are throwing me a birthday party tonight. my house. i was wondering if you wanted to come. it’s cool if not, here’s my address tho in case you forgot it’

“i wanted to see you.”

“bullshit.” you scoff.

“why would i lie? you know how i feel about you.”

a pause.

“prove it.” the reposado speaks for you now, and you’re feeling dangerously curious to see just how far reiner will go. intoxication makes for a great truth serum, you’ve learned. he balks at your challenge, pupils shattering and reforming all at once as he attempts to snap himself out of whatever daydream he’s conjured. it has to be, there’s no way you’re sat so prettily on his couch making “fuck me” eyes, with a sliver of your panties visible beneath that thin fucking shirt. it’s a dream. has to be.

a chuckle. “you’re fuckin with me, right?” reiner’s fidgeting slightly, trying not to draw your attention to his increasing arousal.

“not even a little bit.” you’re so close he can feel your breath ghosting along his lips, a hair away from unleashing the pent up sexual tension between the both of you, but you don’t move any further. “i feel kinda bad..you invited me to your party, and i didn’t even get you a gift.” you pout.

“you can make it up to me.”

he’s finally gotten the courage to make the first move, securing both hands around your waist and tugging you into his lap. your clit pulses almost rhythmically when your lips meet, and the noises he’s making aren’t helping. “take these off.” he groans, plucking the waistband of your panties. you oblige his request, but the cool air still makes you shiver when your back hits the couch, legs spread. his eyes rake up your body, once, twice, before his middle and ring fingers take their place spreading your lips; they trace circles around your clit once they’ve spread enough of your juices around to slicken things up, but he’s just getting started. all the little gasps and cracks in your voice drive him insane, and while reiner loves to tease, he couldn’t wait any longer to taste you. locking himself between your thighs, his arms securing your legs around his head, he makes sure to hold on to your hips when he begins to suck on your clit. there’s no running for you, not when you’ve been dangling this pussy in front of him all evening. his tongue is fluid, slippery when it strokes your sensitive nub from every direction, he’s everywhere and somehow you still want more. “feels so good..don’t stop—” you beg, hips bucking into his face. he loves seeing you so fucked out, so desperate to cum all over his tongue, it only encourages him more as his fingers curl against that spot that makes your vision dip, and you gush all over his lips and jaw. your face burns with arousal and mild embarrassment, but he couldn’t be more pleased.

“can’t believe you let me eat this pussy ..and you made me watch you cum all over my face…such a slut.” he mumbles, his tongue still running laps around your clit. still throbbing, still sensitive. your body shivers and shakes with the continuous sensation, but reiner couldn’t care less. he licks and sucks with reckless abandon for a minute or two longer, before finally detaching himself from you, and giving your body reprieve. you struggle to catch your breath, your attention now drawn to the tented fabric below reiner’s torso. knowing it’s a shitty thing to think of in the current moment, you can’t help but lament at just how much thicker he is than your ex.

then again, reiner braun has never been, especially physically, average.

you splay your hands across his length as he pulls you in, neurons firing when you taste yourself on his tongue. he groans into your mouth, his eyes fluttering when you’re stroking and twisting your hand like that—

a brief disconnection of your lips forces his eyes open, but it’s worth it when he gets to sear the mental image of you spitting into his dick into his eyelids for eternity. your hand strokes the hottest noises out of him, the schlick-schlick of your motions only getting faster when filth begins to pour from his lips.

“mhm. just like that—fuck, i missed my nasty girl.”

you don’t think you’ve ever been this turned on before. and that’s saying a lot, genuinely. your tongue winds around his tip, settling against the underside of his shaft as you descend; the remainder of his dick is in your right hand as you work him over. your efforts matter little though, as reiner has other plans for your tight, tight throat. his hand settles at the base of your neck, winding his fingers at the root of your hair, and grips. rocking you backwards and forwards, he bullies his cock into your throat, and he nearly cums when he watches your eyes well up with tears; at first you panic at the activation of your gag reflex, but your throat slowly relaxes once you realize resistance is futile.

“take it…ah, shit—just like that mama, feels so fuckin good..such a good girl when im fuckin your face” he praises through gritted teeth, pumping himself with your throat a few more times before stopping, and changing your position so that the two of you were in missionary. you’d be lying if you said it didn’t get you soaked whenever he’d handle you so roughly, the way your eyes would glaze over and your body would become completely pliant for him and him only. for him to be such a typically serious and quiet man, reiner was so mean, so cocky when he fucked; even teasing you for the way you whine when he puts the tip in: “what’s the matter? can’t take the real thing? i know it’s—”

he retreats, and slams back in, taking a ruthless pace. “a lot bigger than those little boys you whore around with.” he finishes with a whisper, folding your knees into your tits as he throws your legs over his shoulders. “m’ n-not a whore..” you whine, voice cracking.

“no? you haven’t seen me in three whole months, you come over for a few hours and the first thing you let me do was stretch out this tight little cunt.” he taunts, a thumb circling your clit. “y-yeah..m-missed you..missed this dick—“ you babble, eyes rolling.

“i know baby, i know, let me in, let daddy make you feel good.”

“j-just like that, fuck fuck fuck” you feel like you’re on the verge of collapse, his cock is pummeling it’s way into your stomach, his sweat is glistening in the glow of his lights and it’s taking everything in you not to beg this man to cum in you here and now. “only whores know how to take dick and still be able to beg for more.” he taunts, his little hair trick from before making an encore appearance as he forces you to watch yourself be debauched, a thick white ring forming at the base of his length like a badge of honor. he was fucking into you so fast and so deep it made you dizzy, but you were too far gone. “love when you fuck me like this’, love when you slut me out” you mumble, teetering on the edge of cumming, you’re so close you can taste it—

“fuck, you’re so fuckin’ nasty, such a good girl for me, always lettin’ me get my way.” reiner moans, a hand wrapped around your throat and a good squeeze has your vision exploding, you melt and your body goes limp, senses still firing off as he coats your insides with sticky white seed.

the aftercare is, to be real, half assed. you’re both exhausted, but reiner still makes sure you’re wiped down with a hot towel, and carries you to bed upon your insistence that you’d, quote, “love to enjoy the sleep part of being fucked to sleep”. you doze off quickly, and reiner follows suit shortly after; the both of you failing to hear reiner’s phone emit a soft ding!

eren 2:23am

you owe me that 20 dollars

your apple watch is still synced to my phone from leg day man…not judging tho. get in there soldier 🫡