#it’s not like society ever was normal about people who aren’t thin but this feels especially worse

[nerdloser222]

Has anyone else noticed the absolute insane amount of pro ed and pro ozempic posting on any social media other than tumblr. I am talking to the level I can look at maybe 2 posts on Instagram before the algorithm is showing that. I’ve heard other people vaguely mention it, but I don’t know if it’s a problem with me and a few others or what.

[troglobite]

late night “staring into a bathroom mirror while i take care of my hives and brush my teeth” thoughts

fatness is basically a disability under the social model of disability but not the medical one

i’m sure something like that has been said or posited before, but i am a lowly piece of shit who has not Done My Reading on everything, so y’know

also thinking a lot abt how ppl talk abt fatness around me

how i didn’t worry abt being fat until my mom projected her insecurities onto me and then being anxious and terrible at socializing i picked them up even more

and also when kids harassed me for being fat and ugly all the time 

and how my thin friend in france who’s back w her abusive ex and didn’t tell me and won’t have a normal conversation w me and who i can barely stand to talk to anymore so i’m just. Avoiding That. bc we’d go months without talking for years before this and it only changed bc of her abusive ex.

ANYWAY 

her

when we were in middle school she’d insist i wasn’t fat

bc that’s a Bad Thing, right? and she can’t admit that her best friend has something Wrong With Them! that’d be terrible!

and now she’s obsessed w fitness and feels bad for eating “too many” carbs when clearly her body handles them just fucking fine and she LOVES food and is so passionate

and she tries so carefully to not say fatphobic things in front of me about how much she eats, but the fact that she’s self-conscious abt it at all belies the fact that she is deeply fatphobic

not in a cruel way. in a truly phobic way. 

i’ve said this before but she went on her daily runs while so sick she could barely function. 

ANYWAY.

point being.

i need people to not spout fatphobic bullshit around me about themselves.

it’s part and parcel with the whole thing of “stop saying self-deprecating shit about yourself. you’re making someone who loves you forced into the position of Disagreeing With You or Insulting You, neither of which they want to do. it’s mean.” and also “stop insulting famous people for physical attributes, bc they’ll almost certainly never see it but all of your friends with those physical attributes WILL see it and be hurt by it.”

same thing

eradicate fatphobia from your life as much as fucking possible

food is not a disease

eating is not a disease

being fat is not a disease

and for the record, diseases ARE NOT A MORAL FAILING.

SO EVEN IF THEY ARE (WHICH THEY FUCKING AREN’T) THAT WOULD BE FINE

fatness is not a moral failing

it is not a failure that needs to be fixed

it is not a bad or ugly thing

it just IS

some people are just fat! everyone’s weight fluctuates ALL THE TIME! it’s NORMAL and FINE!

and fat people apparently live longer when we don’t have doctors trying to kill and starve us or missing severe medical issues bc they just kept recommending diet and exercise

restricting your food intake and what types of food you eat will basically never help your health. ever.

adding in extra foods that your body needs WILL help.

allowing yourself to enjoy foods without guilt WILL help. 

even i, master of being Too Autistic to commit to highly disordered eating and Incapable of ignoring what my body wants re: food and most other things, will occasionally feel that sinking pit of fear and despair of eating the “wrong” thing and how they’ll “add up” and having to reassure myself that i also eat “good” foods.

our society is fucked up and evil and makes NOT feeling that way Very Fucking Difficult. 

but it sucks ass so do your best to counter that bullshit

you deserve to eat food

food is nourishment for your body, mind, heart, and soul. food is cultural. food can be soothing and fulfilling. we quite literally NEED IT TO LIVE.

starvation is never the answer, never the solution. it should never be inflicted upon ANYBODY. EVER. self-imposed or by the inaction and cruelty of the system.

doing it to yourself makes sense in our fucked up shitty evil society. but it won’t help you accomplish what you actually want, which is to feel better and be accepted and loved.

idk how many fat ppl we need to see in wonderful healthy loving relationships before we all believe and accept for ourselves and others that fat people are attractive and worthy of love and relationships.

lizzo and mary lambert are two ppl who i LOVE for this. lizzo was so cute and cagey abt her relationship but now she’s like “no yeah he’s the gemini i keep singing abt lololololol” and it’s ADORABLE. her man is Handsome and sounds sweet af based on her documentary. she’s such a fucking sweetheart and SHE’S HOT AS HELL.

SHE’S POWERFUL AND LOVING AND SWEET AND GOOFY AND HARDWORKING AND TALENTED AND HOT AS FUCKING HELL. BITCH!

and mary lambert is the same, just quiet and different and she has her own wonderful partner and they got married and i’m just!!!! I’M JUST!!!!!! THEY’RE SO SWEET!!!!!!!

fatness doesn’t preclude you from worthiness or love or health or joy or anything.

it’s v much the thing someone was talking abt on twitter

“i used to say i was estranged from my dad bc i’m gay.

now i say that i’m estranged from him bc he’s homophobic.

the reframing has helped.”

ppl do not miss opportunities bc they are fat. they miss them bc other ppl are fatphobic. 

there is nothing wrong w being fat. there is nothing wrong w me for being fat. there is nothing wrong w YOU, whoever is reading this (if anyone at all) for being fat.

BE FAT! IT’S FINE! IT’S BETTER THAN FINE--IT’S GREAT!!!!

it’s just wild bc like my mom has a couple health things rn and so do i, and they are being exacerbated by the weight we’ve gained.

but you wanna know how much that is?

like 10-15 pounds. max. for each of us. 

now THAT is a sustainable abt to lose and keep off--and it’s not to be thin. it’s not bc being thin will magically fix all health problems.

but it’s bc those are pounds that are above what our bodies treat as our natural set point weight.

i hit mine before the pandemic and the sheer VOLUME of stress from grad school and the pandemic has made me gain weight and has also triggered the start and flare up of health issues i didn’t even know that i had. which is scary and awful. and part of it is living in this fucking house bc our allergies were NOT made to live in a fucking fertile valley surrounded by farms. 

point being.

being fat was not a problem for either of us. 

those extra few pounds are from a source outside of what is considered Normal, and are just slightly above what our bodies like to sit at for weight. and the difference in what our bodies prefer is what’s causing issues, not being fat.

the same would be true if we were underweight. 

and i’m just. so fucking tired. of seeing ppl i love hate themselves for something that

1. isn’t an actual problem

2. isn’t a failure

3. isn’t a medical risk

4. is a normal human variation

right now my body has a few aches & pains & difficulties that it wouldn’t have if i was 10-15 pounds lighter and had more muscle mass. 

//shrug

okay. 

i’d still be fat, though. and that wouldn’t be a problem.

being fat can be a lot on a body if it’s above your natural set weight--which again isn’t fully stabilized until LATE into your 20s or even later, afaik--and being significantly UNDER your natural set weight is EQUALLY as bad (if not more in my opinion and based on what i know)

it’s okay to complain abt aches and pains. it’s okay to verbalize struggling w the social issues surrounding being fat. that’s commiseration. that’s dealing w bigotry, personal and systemic. that’s okay.

the solution is never to get thinner, tbh. it won’t solve anything. it causes new problems. 

it reinforces the fatphobia and self-hatred

bc if you can’t maintain it

if you suffer for it

you’ll just ignore all the warning signs of serious health problems

you’ll do ANYTHING to be thin

not healthy, not happy, not safe, not loved

thin

thinness is not a magic pill that fixes everything in your life

it doesn’t make ppl more attractive, or happier, or healthier, or anything.

it can make some bigots treat you better.

but i personally don’t want anything from anyone who would only give it to me under certain conditions (within reason, we live under late stage capitalism and we all need money to live and eat, etc.)

why would i want to change anything abt myself to get the love and affection or acceptance of ppl who wouldn’t accept me As I Am? or under Any conditions?

ppl who will only accept you under their specifications don’t actually accept you.

it’s a hollow and meaningless “victory”

and it’s really fucking late and i should’ve been asleep two hours ago.

i’m tired. i’ve had a headache. a sinus headache that made my eye feel like i’d been punched. my MCAS is truly acting out. my hives are intolerable. the sweating is intolerable. i am tired and headachey and i have Shit To Do. i am constantly dealing w stress that is impossible for me to manage. i am perpetually at my breaking point.

but being fat is not one of the things that’s breaking me. it’s not the root problem. 

if i think a bad thing abt my fat body and how i’ve gotten a very significant belly over the pandemic--

it’s not my body or being fat.

the bad thing is the ppl who made me feel terrible for being fat. 

i could go on.

i feel like trash right now.

but when that happens i really have to hammer it home to myself and anyone who will listen.

my problems with my body are so far beyond whether or not i’m fat. that doesn’t matter. my body is what it is and i will try and take care of it no matter what. 

but also it’s a rat bastard who has to fucking COOL IT with the hives and sweating. lol 

anyway. body neutrality. you are your body. i am my body. they are not separate. you cannot punish your body into fitting a shitty little mold that the world’s Worst Fucking Society created. you cannot punish yourself or your body into experiencing happiness. you will only teach it self-loathing and fear and dissatisfaction. 

the ‘you’ is just as much directed at myself as some hypothetical or general you. 

sometimes i’m autistic and annoying and just have to ramble. sometimes i have a lot of thoughts and feelings. sometimes i want to fucking scream at the world and make it disappear so i can rebuild it better and give power to the people who need and deserve it, so that things can be communal and happy and Good. 

and sometimes me rambling like this is my pathetic tiny futile attempt to make things better.

i just now am thinking abt the volume of student papers where i left comments addressing their blatant misinformation and fatphobia. all i can hope is that i made enough of an impression that it lives in their mind, now, and hopefully has shaped how they treat themselves and others. 

i’m tired of ppl hating themselves for being fat. i’m tired of them doing it at all, feeling that way, and also saying it in front of me--as though i’m not fat or can’t be hurt by their words.

even my mom has stopped. she makes some comments abt being insecure sometimes. but truly i GENUINELY think lizzo--who she legitimately calls her hero, and i think/know it’s true, and it SHOULD be!--has seriously helped her. 

it’s not like my mom has led an empty life. and she’s been fat the whole time. and lizzo is this fucking amazing reminder that being fat is just that--being fat. that’s it. 

it really makes me happy to think abt how much better my mom has gotten abt this stuff. how angry she gets w me abt fatphobic bullshit. we don’t talk abt our weights in a negative way anymore, and we hold space for when we feel shitty abt it, too. 

we can talk abt efforts to lose weight and know that we mean 10-15 pounds bc it will help us feel physically comfortable, and those efforts will also help w a few health things we have going on. 

it’s just. i’m happy abt that. 

i wish that for everyone.

i just wish i could stop everyone’s pain around this sort of thing. it’s so hard to undo. and it’s so insidious. 

GOD I NEED TO FUCKING SLEEP IT’S FUCKING 5 AM ALKSDF ASDLSDJFLASKDFJ

[syntheticsimp]

TwstOCs: Booman Brothers!

SD Model: 

SD Model:

SD Model:

Coffins & Groovy Candy:

Lester Trivia/Info Dump

- Very Fungi! Loves puns and cracking jokes. Has a mental catalogue of jokes/puns ready for any situation. He actually makes people laugh. Would win the title of Class Clown, hands down he has no competition.

- His grin can be pretty unnerving especially since he's hardly ever seen without it. 

- When he's agitated only time will fix his mood. Surprisingly he tends to keep away from people when he's in a less than happy mood if he can. Says its cause he doesn't want to deal with people annoying him, but in reality he just doesn't want to snap at anyone who he feels doesn't deserve it. Will never admit that last part.

- Truly only ever seen with his brothers.In the rare case you find him alone he's either in a bad mood or genuinely enjoying his alone time and might invite you to join him.

- Candy! Candy! Candy! Has an abundance of it. Pulls it out of thin air sometimes. Walking piñata. Want some?~

- Loves video games, manga, anime and idol groups. Things he won't admit #2: Wishes he had someone to chat with about theses things 24/7. Doesn't know it but he's friends with both Lilia and Idia online. Online Alisas: BarrelBoi!

- Founding Member of the Creepy Crawly Society! The reason the club is named the way it is. Elias and Cain came up with a boring name. Which is why Lester changed it when he went to turn in the forms. His name sounds better after all.

- Will pop in the the game board club from time to time. He likes joining them for their club activities when his club doesn't meet. Honorary Member. 

- Somehow will be the first person to the cafeteria.

- Has a Magicam shit post account. Full of weird memes and obscure shit. Also has an insane amount of followers. He doesn't know why. 

- Is fluent in internet lingo. Can translate any obscure internet speech into normal words and vice versa. 

- Keeps up with the latest internet drama. Sometimes the first to know of it. 

- Has a pet Scorpion. Its name is Claws. He hides it in his room.

-’Lester’ is the name given for when interacting with people who aren't family. 

Cain Trivia/Info Dump

- The Jock(-ish) Brother. Loves sports and will pop in to the sports clubs to mess around and play. He's pretty good at most sports and this surprise most who play against him.

- People honestly wonder how he got sorted into Diasmonia and not Octavinelle. 

- Very good gambler, the odds are usually in his favor. People genuinely think he cheats. But he's just good at knowing what is a good bet and what isn't.

- Another who is easy to anger. Will be outright furious and will lash out at the person who put him in a bad mood. Will get payback.

- Gardening is his hobby. Many people find this quite surprising since he's such a punk. Green Thumb! Comes in handy for the Monster plant he houses (hides) in his room. 

- The Monster Plant is his pet. Its name is Seymour. 

- Founding Member of the Creepy Crawly Society! Hates its name since it sounds so damn childish. Has tried to get the name changed but Crowley always gives him the run around. 

- Uses the club time to collect insects to feed Seymour. 

- Super good at picking locks. Even the toughest lock just takes him a few minutes to unlock. 

- Likes to spend time collecting gossip and ‘accidentally’ hearing others woes. This is quite hypocritical of him since he doesn't like people butting in to his ordeals. 

-  Genuinely wishes deep down to be considered approachable because he wants to have an abundance of friends. However since most people find him unnerving he chooses to play the role of the bad guy to fit their standards of him. “If people think I'm a monster then let me be a monster” type of attitude. Won't admit it ever.

- Music Lover! Punk, Rock, Alternative, Pop, Blues. Some of his favorites. Lowkey wants to start a band.

-Horror junkie! Collects horror movie memorabilia. Has seen almost every horror movie at least 5 times.

-’Cain’ is the name given for when interacting with people who aren't family. 

Elias Trivia/Info Dump

- The ‘Diplomatic” Brother. Tries to solve most things by talking and coming up with compromises.

- His temper is much colder than his siblings. If you ever get on his bad side he will most likely give you the cold shoulder and be harsh with his words. His outburst are more methodically cruel compared to that of Cain’s fiery outburst.

- Enjoys a good Tea party. Tea Fanatic. He has a scheduled tea time for himself and even has a tea for every occasion. Tea set collector! Has a tea cabinet in his room to display the sets and the variety of teas he has.

-Tea buddies with Riddle. They try to schedule a meet once a month at the minimum. Will schedule more of their time allows it. Enjoys a good cup of tea with Malleus too!

- Herb collector! Green Thumb as well! Loves concocting herbal remedies for himself and his siblings. Presses Herbs and flowers alike. Has many a books with pressed fauna in them, with notes scribbled on the side. 

- Owns a crystal ball. Incense burner too! Witchy vibes if the hat wasn't a give away. 

- Into cottagecore and gothic aesthetics. Soft boy vibes!

- Book worm! Reads when ever he has a chance. Would start a book club if he wasn't such a socially awkward individual.

- Wishes he was better at communicating with people how he felt. Just like his brothers, wants more friends but knows people are unnerved by him. Which is why he's only truly close to Lester and Cain. Has made some progress with Riddle tho. As well as Lilia and Malleus. 

- Founding Member of the Creepy Crawly Society! ALSO dislikes the name Lester has given it. He would've much preferred it be called the Entomology Club at least. Uses his time in the club to partake in his hobby of pining insects. Hangs them up in his room.

- Has a super nice singing voice which he refuses to share. Has stage fright. He also at some point wished to be in a play at least once. But again, stage fright!

- Avid play reader and attendee. So much so that he has a box full of ticket stubs from shows he's been to.

- Has a large toad as familiar of sorts. Its name is Dr. Finkel or so the toad says. Elias will occasionally bring it to lecture with him and does so by hiding it under his hat.

-’Elias’ is the name given for when interacting with people who aren't family. 

---

DIASOMNIA BOYS IN THE HOUSE!!!! 

Honestly when I came up with their designs I was totally shook. Like honestly in disbelief that they were born from my mind.

BUT now that they're I hope all who come across this post love them as much as I do! Some spooky guys with hearts of gold hidden under the brittle surface!

Debating on who to post next, but it'll come to me eventually.

Anywho! Feel free to ask any questions about these three or any of my other character! 

My inbox is open and I'm ready to answer :)  Thnx for your time!

[angry-geese]

Hi there <3 I've read some of your works and i'm in love with your writing. May I please request a fluff gojo x fem!reader? Like they finished their work in the evening and spend the rest of the night together at home💕 It could be a oneshot or a hc, whichever you feel to write. Thank you so much ^^ I'm sorry just in case my request is somehow not really clear☺️

Of course! here you go <3

Mochi

Gojo Satoru x reader

Warnings: none! entirely fluff! this will quite literally rot your teeth. afab reader

a/n: this ended up being a little longer than I intended lol whoops

Word Count: 2.5k

Satoru Gojo is a busy man.

The strongest can't really take a break. He’s on call 24/7. People are pulling him in all directions simultaneously. With everything that's been going on, between the mess with Sukuna, and everything happening at the school, he’s been short on time.

He needs a break.

He's more tired than he lets on. He’s good at hiding it. Especially around his students. It's hard to pull him away from his work. He's insistent that he’s fine. When you’re around someone for so long, you learn to pick up when they aren't. He can pretend to be fine all he wants. You know otherwise.

Sometimes what the strongest needs is someone to boss him around.

He’s capable of taking care of himself. He’s proven that already. But worrying is in your nature. You care about him, of course you’re going to worry.

You were a first year when you met him, having just transfered schools after an incident involving a curse. In a matter of weeks your life had seemingly been flipped on its head. The switch took some time to get used to. Switching schools your first year, let alone switching to this one in particular, was never going to be easy. Getting used to the way Jujutsu society worked took a while. He was a year above you, and you remember absolutely hating him. Gojo was insufferable- or you found him to be such. But he was friends with Nanami, who was a friend of yours, so you reluctantly hung out with him. Nanami, being in the same year as you, was the first to help you out, extending a hand and helping you get used to the way things worked.

Spending time with him didn't do much to change your views. The two of you couldn't have been more different. You still are. But something about opposites attracts.

The first time you gave him the benefit of the doubt was the first time he saved your life.

It may be a bit of an over exaggeration. You’re certain you would have survived without his help, but that could also be an attempt to preserve your pride. You went after a curse, not expecting it to be as strong as it was. As far as you knew, it shouldn't have been stronger than a grade three. Being a grade two at the time, this should have been well in your ability. There ended up being more than one curse, and they were stronger than anyone had realized. You were in over your head.

It wasn't your fault. You couldn't have known. It's not like you could pick and choose which curses you fought. As a student, that was decided for you.

You had resigned to your fate, separated from the others, injured. Nothing fatal. It left a cool scar, though. But you were well out of your league, put on an assignment far harder than you could deal with. You hate to admit defeat, but you had no other option.

Out of what seemed like thin air came Gojo, taking out both curses like it was nothing. Despite not liking him all that much, it was hard to not be impressed. He was strong. Stronger than you could ever hope to be.

You made it home in one piece.

It was three days before you’d finally confront him.

Getting him alone was hard enough. Being an underclassman, you didn't interact with him a whole lot. You didn't have any classes together. The few times you ran into him were when you hung out with Nanami, who was gone at the time.

When the opportunity presented itself, you took it, cornering him behind the school.

Even back then it was impossible to sneak up on him. He could sense you coming.

“Jesus-” he said, referring to you by your last name, “you look like you want to kill me.”

“You helped me out.” You said. “Why?”

He only shrugged. Not wanting to take that for an answer, you followed him. You were insistent you paid him back. You’d never let a debt like that go unpaid. The first debts are always the hardest to pay back. And when a first debt involves saving your life, well, you’ve got a lifetime to pay back. You only left once Gojo showed up. He needed to talk to Gojo about something, and although you were curious, you didn't feel like sticking around.

Gojo spent the next couple days scheming. You were determined enough you would do just about anything. He could have easily abused his power. It would have been even easier to force you to drop it, but something told him you weren't about to take no for an answer.

You wouldn't.

3pm in the bathrooms. It was hardly a week later. Your last class had ended for the day. You had snuck cigarettes in, blowing the smoke out of the crack in the window. You don't smoke anymore, but you went through nearly a pack a day in high school. There wasn't a specific brand you liked—you didn't necessarily like smoking, but you did it when you were stressed—you just used whatever you got ahold of.

You didn't hear the door open. Gojo wasn't the sneaky type, but he could be when he wanted. You weren't too hard to sneak up on.

If you didn't have contraband that likely would have gotten you expelled, you would have screamed when you saw him. He scared you, not to mention he snuck into the girl’s bathrooms. The two of you would be in equally deep shit if you reported the other. So at that moment you came to a silent agreement.

“You still want to pay me back?” He asked. “Cause I have an idea.”

You perked up at his words.

“Get me mochi from that shop just down the road. You know the one that just opened up?” He asked. “Bring me some and I’ll call us even.”

“That's it?” You asked. It was almost anticlimactic. But despite everything, he was insistent.

Gojo hasn't changed a whole lot since then.

He still has his sweet tooth. He still makes you get him mochi from that shop. It feels like you’re the ones keeping it in business nowadays.

You’re not quite sure who made the first move.

Soon you began spending more time together away from Nanami and Geto. You got along better than anyone—mostly you—ever expected. You weren't the most outwardly affectionate. While you were far from shy, pda wasn't really your thing. Gojo is the opposite. Even now, years after you began dating, he’s still clingy. You’ve gotten used to it. Gojo is possessive, he wants everyone to know you’re his. Not that they don't know already. He can't shut up about you.

Getting him alone has always been hard. Not much has changed in the past few years. He’s only gotten busier. Try to drag him away from work all you want, you rarely succeed.

Tonight he's come willingly. He finished his work early, and all you had left was stuff you could finish in the morning.

Nights at home like this—together—are rare. It feels like you hardly see him anymore. You often fall asleep alone, only to wake up to the other side of the bed being cold. He’s been so occupied with this business with Yuji, that he’s hardly had time for anything else. You sneak away during your breaks, like you’re teenagers again, stealing kisses between classes. You almost don't know what to do.

It almost feels like you should do something to celebrate.

The lights are off when you get home. Your apartment looks empty. Megumi must still be out with his friends.

“What should we do for dinner?” Gojo asks.

“Takeout?” You say. "I don't feel like cooking."

Gojo’s a decent cook, but he doesn't feel like doing so either. He’d get takeout every night if you’d let him. But that's not good for him (or Megumi) so you force him to do otherwise. Because you’re normally home, and you like baking, you’re usually the one to make dinner. There's not much in the fridge. You'll have to get groceries eventually. Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow. It shouldn't take long.

“How does Korean barbeque sound?" He asks. "From that place down the street?”

"Sounds good,"

You find a menu buried in one of your kitchen drawers, stashed with other takeout menus. You pick out something—two meals, plus some sweet buns for dessert—he calls the restaurant. You pay the extra cash to have it delivered. Neither of you feel like going and picking it up. It's more convenient than the alternative.

The tv drones on in the background while you wait. There’s not much on tv at this hour. News, some late night soaps. While you do like your occasional soap opera, none that you normally watch are on. Gojo changes it to the news. The weather. It looks like it'll rain tomorrow morning, but the rest of the day is supposed to be warm.

"We should go to the park tomorrow," you say, "having a picnic sounds nice."

Gojo hums in approval. As long as you make those tea cakes—the ones with honey drizzled on top—he'll agree to tag along. Maybe you'll go check out the bookstore too. It's been a while since you've last gone.

You strip out of your uniform, pulling on some more comfortable clothes; a pair of shorts and one of Gojo's shirts. It smells like him. You can't help but bury your nose in the collar.

When there’s a knock at the door, Gojo is the one to answer. He returns with your food. You gather napkins and utensils. Gojo never saw the point in anything other than stainless steel chopsticks. Or wooden ones—those given to you with takeout—if he wasn't feeling up to doing dishes. You, on the other hand, bought all sorts of colorful ones and stands that may or may not have been lifted from various restaurants. That's one habit from your teenage years you never lost. You'd pocket almost anything that wasn't nailed down. Your apartment has a rather impressive assortment of salt and pepper shakers. Not to mention the box of hotel soaps you never use, but took because you "might" need it. He enables you, taking some whenever he stays out of town, bringing them home for you. Gojo can hardly say no to you.

Gojo settles next to you on the couch, his shoulder pressed to yours. He can't keep his hands off of you. He’s possessive by nature. Everyone has to know you’re his. He always has to be touching you. Not necessarily with his hands, but he presses his thigh against yours while sitting next to you, or his body pressed against yours from behind in public.

The two of you eat in relative silence. Gojo’s attention turns to the tv, but that doesn't stop him from practically laying on top of you. Occasionally he’ll sneak bites of your food, and you of his.

When you’re done, you clear away the empty containers, sitting any leftovers in the fridge. Gojo sprawls out on the couch. He easily takes up any bit of space. The couch can hardly fit all 6-foot-something of Gojo. It hardly fits you. You've been meaning to look for another one, but haven't found the time to.

He opens his arms, and instinctively you go into them. You move so you can rest partially against the arm of the couch, Gojo's head leaning against your shoulder. His arms loop around your waist, his fingers lacing over your stomach.

It doesn't take him long to begin to drift off. He falls asleep in the crook of your neck. The low sound of the tv, combined with the warmth of his body makes you want to drift off to sleep. Sleeping on the couch like this isn't very good for your (or his) back, but you don't want to move.

The next time your eyes open, some late night game show plays, disturbing your sleep with loud music. The clock on the wall reads some time past two. It's hard to read the minute hand. You gently shake Gojo awake. One of his eyes cracks open and he lets out a soft “hm?”

“Come to bed,” you say, your arms wrapping around his neck, “it's late.”

His eyes close, and for a moment you think he’s drifted back off to sleep, when his grip around you tightens, and he’s rolling over on top of you.

“I think I’ll stay here with you, mochi,” he says, planting a wet kiss to your neck. The feeling of his lips on your neck makes you shiver.

And though he doesn't move, there's a look in his eyes that tells you he has something planned. You only notice too late that his grip never loosens, and the mischievous glint to his eyes. You couldn't wiggle out of it if you wanted to. You're effectively trapped.

He litters your neck with kisses, sending you into a giggling fit, and he doesn't stop until you’re begging him to. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes from laughing. Your nails dig into your palms so hard they leave little crescent-shaped indents.

When you finally settle down, he’s pulling you into his arms bridal style, heading for your shared room. The bed is still unmade from this morning. Neither of you bothered to put it away. You were busy, and the thought slipped your mind.

Gojo shoves the covers aside, pulling you to lay on his chest. His fingers gently trace up the curve of your spine as he watches the steady rise and fall of your chest. Goosebumps prickle your exposed skin. He’s careful with how he touches you, loving, and soft. It's like he’s trying to memorize every inch of your body. His heartbeat is audible. Steady, and quet, acting as a lullaby. Your eyes shut, but you’re still awake. The intimacy of the moment doesn't go over your head.

He thinks he could die happy at this moment. Any moment, with you, really. Even during fights, or nights where he doesn't come home until long after you’ve fallen asleep, and you’re left irritated with his lack of time. As long as you’re by his side, he’s content.

He doesn't give much to the thought of settling down. His work will never let him. Neither does he think much about having any biological children. You practically have two already. Settling down isn't really an option for the strongest. This is the closest he’ll get to it.

For now, he just thinks about the park, and the blue sundress you always wear when you go.

Not many people can say they’ve changed who Satoru Gojo is as a person—let alone for the better—but you’ve changed him twice. Once in your meeting behind the school, and once again tonight. He’s found the one.

The first debt is always the hardest to pay back. But you've paid it in full.

[queenxxxsupreme]

A/N: This was an ask from I believe @creatingstuffinpeace but I accidentally deleted the ask right as I was about to post it. I am going to probably make this into a little series with at least one more part because I have an idea, it's just a matter of when I have time to write it out :)

***

Thunder rumbled outside.

You moved around the bookshop, tidying things up.

“But momma! What about Gunnar?” Your son, Cas, tugged at your skirt.

“He’s probably just outback chasing a cat, love.” You brushed your fingers over his hair momentarily before picking up a small stack of books. “Will you help me with putting these back, Cas?”

He took two of the books from you and began to follow you to the other side of the little store.

“But momma! It’s about to storm! Gunnar doesn’t like storms!”

“Cas–,”

“What if he’s hurt? What if someone’s taken him or something’s happened to him? What if he’s lost!” The more the six-year-old thought about all the things that could have happened to his pup, the more frantic he became.

“Casimir.” You placed the books down on a table and knelt down to his level. You took the books from him and put them aside.

Tears welled in his eyes as he gazed at you. His bottom lip quivered.

You cupped his face and brushed your thumb over his cheek.

“I don’t want to take you out in the storm. But if you promise me to stay upstairs until I return, I will go look for Gunnar.”

“You will?”

You nodded.

“Okay.” He sniffled.

You wiped the tears away and leaned in to kiss his forehead.

“Let’s get these books put away. Then I’ll take you upstairs.”

As you stood up, Cas grabbed four of the books and tried to hurry towards the bookshelf they belonged on.

The front door creaked open and the bell above the door chimed, signaling someone was entering.

You glanced to your son once more before turning to greet the customer.

It was a tall figure with broad shoulders and a hood over his head. Something underneath his cloak moved and out poked Gunnar’s head.

“Gunnar!” Cas squealed in delight, running towards you.

The man put Gunnar down and the pup ran to meet Cas.

“I was just about to go searching for him.” You smiled at the stranger, taking little note of his vibrant golden eyes with catlike pupils.

“I found him clear on the other side of town.” His voice was deep but quiet. He gave a tight smile before turning to leave.

“Have you got a hunt to tend to at the moment, Master Witcher?” You asked, messing nervously with your hands. You hoped you weren’t crossing any boundaries by asking this.

“Not with the storm outside.”

“Would you want to stay for dinner? As a thank you for bringing my son’s dog back?”

The man hesitated to answer.

“I don’t want to impose.”

“It wouldn’t be imposing if I invited you.” You smiled just a little. “The rain seems to be coming down awfully heavy out there. And we’d like the company, wouldn’t we, Cas?”

Cas held Gunnar in his lap but was watching the witcher curiously.

“Yeah.” He answered quietly, a shy smile tugging at his lips.

“Your manners, son.” You lightly chided. The witcher turned back to you.

“Yes.” Your son repeated, this time lifting his head a bit.

“You don’t have to do this, m’lady.” The witcher insisted, his voice quiet and a bit on edge.

You could see with the way the poor lighting caught his face that there was something…. unnatural about his features.

“If you feel uncomfortable with the matter, my apologies.” You murmured softly, smiling. “I just wanted to thank you for your kindness. Not many people would bring the dog back, especially not in such weather.”

The man said nothing.

“Please stay, s-sir.” Cas spoke from behind you, his voice timid. “You brought-brought Gunnar back h-home. Let-Let us thank you.”

The witcher looked past you to your son briefly, before nodding his head.

“I am Y/N. This is my son Casimir.”

“Eskel.”

***

You took Eskel upstairs to your home located above the bookstore.

As you prepared dinner, you made conversation with the witcher. He was very polite and well-spoken, though he remained silent unless you asked him a question.

Your son sat by the hearth, watching Gunnar as he ate his dinner. You happened to be looking at your son when he looked into the kitchen. His eyes were focused on Eskel.

The witcher’s eyes flickered over to Cas, shifting ever so slightly in his seat. Was your son making him uncomfortable?

You moved around the table to place a mug of tea in front of the witcher. Golden eyes found you once more, taking in your every move. He turned his head just slightly away from you as if he was trying to keep his right side from you. But you had already seen the scars, the mangled lines that pulled at his face.

“You’ll have to forgive Casimir.” You lowered your voice so that only Eskel could hear you. “He’s young and just a curious boy. He means no harm, I promise you.”

Eskel’s brows furrowed together just slightly. Had he given you the illusion that something was wrong?

“Cas?” You looked up, smiling as your eyes landed on your boy. He perked up and raised his head. “Is everything alright, love?”

“Yes…. Can I get the book about daddy?”

“Of course, love.”

Cas shot up to his feet and ran to his room. Without finishing all of his food, Gunnar followed the boy.

“Your boy did nothing wrong.” Eskel spoke as you moved away from him. His eyes followed you. “There’s no need for any apologies.”

“But I know how cruel children can be, Master Eskel.” You focused on the pot of soup over the fire, stirring the contents steadily. “They are mean and cold because they are raised to be that way by their parents. They see it in the ones they look up to. They see fathers calling women in the streets filthy slurs and mothers degrading anyone who looks different from them or from their idea of what is normal and what is right….”

You trailed off, only realizing with the silence that followed that you had started to ramble.

You turned your head to Eskel, completely embarrassed that you had let yourself start down that path.

“I’m so sorry, Master Eskel. I didn’t mean to lecture you on my views of society.”

“Don’t apologize.” He shook his head, holding a hand up just slightly. A little smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “What you said is true. Children learn from their parents.”

You nodded, turning to check the bread in the oven.

“Momma, here!” Cas ran into the kitchen. He held a thin book high above his head. Gunnar was on his heels, happily wagging his tail.

“Set the book down on the table, Cas.”

Cas chose to stand at the table directly to Eskel’s right. He placed the book down on the wood and opened it up.

“Tell Master Eskel what the book is about, Casimir.” You took the bread out of the stone oven and placed it on the counter top.

Cas turned his head to look at Eskel but only for a split second. He didn’t want to stare for too long. Staring was rude and Casimir was better than that.

“It’s about the tales of a witcher!”

Eskel read some of the words over Cas’s shoulder, but the six year old seemed to just want to flip through the book.

“Momma?”

“Yes, my love?”

“May I ask Master Eskel a question?”

“He’s right beside you, Casimir. Go right ahead.” You paused what you were doing, placing one hand on your hip as you watched your son.

“Master Eskel?” Cas closed his book and rubbed his fingers over the wording on the front cover.

“Yes?” Eskel looked down at him.

“How many witchers do you know?”

“I suppose a handful. There aren’t too many of us left.”

Cas nodded his head. A furrow formed between his brows. You could tell he was deep in thought.

“Casimir? What else would you like to ask Master Eskel?” You moved towards the table, kneeling down so that you were at your son’s level.

“Do you think he knows the one who knew daddy? The one who gave me this?” Cas tapped on the book.

“Oh, love.” You gave him a sad little smile, brushing your fingers over his hair. “The one who gave you that wasn’t a witcher. It was a man who travels with a witcher. A Witcher’s barker or bard. I don’t think Master Eskel knows him. That happened so far away.”

Cas nodded understandingly.

“May I ask who it was?” Eskel asked almost hesitantly.

Your eyes met his. You weren’t sure if you wanted to keep talking about the matter knowing that it would upset Cas, but Eskel was just curious.

“It happened when we lived in Cintra years ago. The witcher’s name was Geralt.” You explained.

“And we had to move far, far away from home.” Cas nodded his head, taking a deep breath. His voice was sad and made your heart break. “Now we live here.”

“This is home.” You leaned forward to kiss his head.

“I’m going to put my book back.”

You watched him leave the kitchen.

“I do know that witcher.” Eskel spoke. He didn’t want to say anything loud enough for Casimir to hear him. He wasn’t sure if you wanted your son to hear what he was saying. “He’s my brother.”

You opened your mouth to speak but nothing came out at first. You weren’t sure what to say. You were surprised. What was the chance that this witcher sitting here at the table knew your dear friend Geralt?

You pulled out the chair directly across from him and sat down. Your eyes fell to the wedding band on your left hand.

“Geralt was great friends with my husband. Geralt saved him on more than one occasion.” A fond smile came to your lips at the memories. “My husband, rest his soul, could never stay out of trouble in his youth.”

“I’m very sorry for your loss.”

Your eyes flickered up to Eskel, offering him a smile.

“Do you know Geralt’s bard, Jaskier? He wrote stories of Geralt and my husband’s journeys together for our son and had a book created so that Cas would have a book to always remember him by. He clings to it.”

“That was very thoughtful of Jaskier.”

“It was. Brought me to tears for nearly a month afterwards.”

Eskel watched as you tapped your fingers absentmindedly against the table. Your eyes were stuck on the hallway but you weren’t watching the hallway. Your mind was elsewhere. You were absent. He knew that look. The look of someone who had lost someone, a part of them.

Silently, the witcher wondered how long ago your husband had passed. Time never made things better, but it did help to numb the ache of a loss. He had plenty of experience with time and with loss.

“How long has it been since you’ve seen Geralt?”

You blinked and straightened your posture, no longer lost in your mind. The sound of Cas coming back to the kitchen made you remember what was happening, where you were, and what you were supposed to be doing.

You stood to your feet and began to finish the last bits of dinner.

“Um, oh…. I’m not sure…. He, um, I think he came to visit just after….” You trailed off, looking at your son then at Eskel. “Just after it happened.”

Eskel nodded understandingly.

Casimir returned to his seat directly next to Eskel.

“Alright, gentleman. Thank you for your patience tonight.” You placed two bowls down in front of them then turned to get yours.

“Thank you for joining us, Master Eskel.” Cas picked up his spoon and began to eat.

“Thank you for having me.” Eskel smiled, golden eyes flickering over to you.

You met his gaze. Your eyes lingered on him for a few heartbeats before finding your soup.

Taglist: @pressedinthepages @mishafaye @whitewolfandthefox @wolfyland07 @belalugosisdead @persephonehemingway @keira-hulmaster @dinonuggs69 @greatestauthorofmygeneration @shadow-hunters-lover @dancingwith-thesunflowers @tedi-fach-las @thecomfortofoldstorries @natkowaa @weathervanes-my-oneandlonely @onlyhenrys @wackylurker @criminaly-supernatural @magpie343 @permanently-exhausted-witcher @genderfluid-ho @the-space-between-heartbeats @havenoffandoms @carriebee1 @ger-bearofrivia @naominami @writingawaymylife @reaganjenelle @theawkwardpedestrian @scarlettwitcher @badassspaceprincess @just-a-sad-donut @summersong69 @an--actual--human--disaster @rubyqueen819 @omgkatinka @vonxcon @mazakeen @bravelittlesunflower @thereagles @Awkward-Turtles-World @menalliha @cotton_mo @maan24 @thefirelordm @monkeymo @krenee1drful @nympha-door-a @unadulteratedtreecrusade @Aquarius-pisces-rose @mentallyscreamingsincebirth @fl0ating @sometimesiwrite @you-fxcking-wish-bish @thanks-bruh-for-nothing @maan2442 @thegaydeath @creatingstuffinpeace @wellthisstinks @andyrazzledazzle @ameliasmistake @winterwolf @caraqas @bluscryn @thefirelordm @y-napotat @henrycavillbesty @ta-ka-shi-ma @sulkyshengshou @spaced-out-state @thecollection @mayday1284 @babietrain @wandering-poetess @redneckstrash

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[vampelune]

kamukomahina gender/body headcanons

a bit of a ramble about my body, gender, and general appearance headcanons for them bcuz someone sent me a curiouscat prompting this 3k words of hyperfixation nonsense

Komaeda:

- He has a naturally lithe body, with a thin waist, broad shoulders and hips, which give him an hourglass. and a rather andrognyous body, which is "lucky" for him, because I hc him as nonbinary and gender non-conforming

- Gender-wise, as I said, I think he's nonbinary. Usually I do view Nagito as AMAB but I indulge in transmasc Nagito from time to time depending on my preference and how much I wish to uh, well, project, lol. But either way I think he would use he/they pronouns in a western sense. In japanese, however, they don't use third person pronouns that other people refer to them with, and in canon he uses the first person pronoun "boku", which is a "soft" masculine pronoun, in comparison to the "hard" masculine pronoun, “ore” (which Hajime uses btw!) which fits quite nicely, in my opinion! Also, in Japanese, you can be 'fluid' with your first person pronouns depending on the situation, so I think he could use more neutral or feminine pronouns should he desire it, too, to play on his gender non-conformity.

- Komaeda is very secure in his gender, regardless of being AMAB or AFAB. He does not care about stigma, or discrimination, he does not care about being "accepted" by broader society. Broader society is sort of meaningless to him, the average person and their ideas about gender and presentation and effeminity mean NOTHING to him. Whether or not a random person the street genders him correctly or treats him with respect is sort of, pointless? Because to him, most ordinary people are pointless nobodies. Their thoughts do not matter to him. I think he is still prone to insecurity, however, when around his "betters" but I just struggle to think he would degrade himself in regards to gender. to him, it's the least of his problems. what he cares about is hope and talent. He could dress femininely or wear makeup or straight up crossdress and not mind it, really. He thinks people would find a problem with it are the problem, because why does it even matter? It speaks to the way Komaeda is detached from societal norms & "normal" people, he did not grow up in normal circumstances, so he doesn't interact with the world normally by any means. he can mask and act normally to the best of his ability, often unintentionally?, but he simply does not fit into broader society and doesn't seek to.

- Komaeda loses weight really easily, and doesn't gain weight that well. This is mainly due to his many illnesses but also the medications he's been put on. He has a low appetite and burns weight rather easily, even though I headcanon that he eats like garbage (mainly junk food & takeout, since he obviously cannot cook). This makes him overall, health wise, not very healthy, and stick thin because of it. A stiff breeze could knock him over, tbh.

- He has a lot of faded scars, self-inflicted or not.

- Pre-despair (in HPA) he is fairly healthy but still lithe, and progressively his body deteriorates through his 2 years of hopes peak before the Tragedy begins.

- During the Tragedy itself, his body is at it's worst. he is almost nothing but bone at times, barely kept together by a need to live so he can see hope triumph. His weight fluctuates but he's very unhealthy. He's not anorexic or on death's door, but he's not well off, either.

- After being put into the neo world program, right after waking up, he's very, very thin and gaunt. he was in a pod on feeding tubs for an indiscernible but at least probably a month's worth of time? So he's just very weak, like he could collapse if he moves too quickly.

- But a while after waking, he goes into remission, and starts to gain more healthy habits due to being rehabilitated and cared for by Hinata, and gains some weight, finally at a healthy, normal weight. I still think he would struggle with putting on too much weight, but I am slightly fond of the idea that he gets a bit of healthy pudge after a while. To him, it's so foreign being healthy, that he honestly think something's wrong with him at first.

Hinata:

- Hinata has a very... average body, true to form. His hips and waist aren't too pronounced but he has a loosely "hourglass" shape, too, just not as exaggerated as Komaeda's in comparison.

- Gender-wise, I am EXTREMELY fond of transmasc Hinata. While I think I portray AMAB Hinata more than transmasc Hinata (in art and writing), I still firmly prefer transmasc Hinata. The reason I think portray otherwise more is just out of comfortability, but I've been getting better at comfortably portraying FTM Hinata. I have some reasons I prefer it and think you can extrapolate it from canon, but let's get into that

- Hinata, in my eyes, has an arc and story that fits perfectly into him just. Being trans. His desire to be someone else, someone better, someone he can proud of, and the way he overcompensates for himself and has an extreme inferiority complex would easily lend to him having similar feelings about his gender. To me, Hinata is a trans man who overperforms his masculinity out of insecurity and a need to pass. I see him as someone who would strictly use "he/him" in a western sense, which is lended to by his use of the "ore" pronoun in canon, which is almost hypermasculine.

- Even if he were AMAB, I think it still works, I think he's still someone who's insecure and tries to assert himself more strongly and therefore performs masculinity in a way to appear more confident than he is.

(side note: I actually read a bit about queerness in Japan and how it relates to gender performance and the use of pronouns, and read a bit about how queer women in japan tend to use "boku" and "ore" to perform masculinity, which I find neat. “Ore” was also sometimes used exclusively to show anger and dominance, which is why it's categorized as a "rough" pronoun. I think Japanese language, gender, and expression, and how those all relate to one another, are extremely interesting and if you get the time you should read about it lol)

- Body-wise, pre-despair, I think Hinata would. not have top surgery, obviously. I think he has a fairly average but leaning a little on the hefty side chest (pre-op) and binds it, hence the '91 cm' (but also he still has 91 cm post-op because bazongas). I also just think he leans on the "twunk" side of things at this point, not buff but not stick thin or without muscle, just kind of average with average strength and all, though I think Hinata would've tried to do sports and stuff to find his talent so he's in shape :)

- My personal, kind of amusing, but also kind of... thematical? Headcanon, is that during the Kamukura project, he also underwent gender transition. to be honest, while it may not make sense in modern Japan, I think we can suspend our disbelief for fiction, and also make the argument that Hinata's "transition" into Kamukura CAN be read, in some part, as relatable or at least familiar to the trans experience. Iit is not out of the realm of possibility, either, to assume that because many bits of society in Danganronpa are advanced (specifically science, is extremely ahead of our understanding, almost sci-fi like at times) certain attitudes about gender and sexuality can be smoothed over more in a Japanese context.

(side note: I also think that science-wise, we can suspend our disbelief, and assume that top surgery and bottom surgery are much more advanced in this universe, given the almost unbelievable levels of science in Danganronpa, such as memory wipe, mind control, completely realistic virtual simulation, um literally everything about Kamukura which is body modification and brain modification to an extreme, etc. I think it's kind of fitting within these to assume that... Hinata/Kamukura could just, gain a functioning penis, lol)

Kamukura:

- Kamukura would have a. "Perfect" body. it's stated, I'm pretty sure, that they modified not only his brain but his body, because he needs to be able to perform every talent under their belt with ease, and his strength, instincts, technique, are all superhuman. So it's clear to me he'd have a buff body. toned muscles and all. He wouldn't really feel a need to keep it up, though, but I think since they're very... artificial (basically fucking steroids?) they wouldn't fade from a lack of keep-up.

- Kamukura also rarely ever is injured, but when he does, his body heals rather fast and can care for himself adequately, because again, his body is modified to a point of almost inhumanity.

- Gender wise, Kamukura genuinely does not care. however, I am not one to think that Kamukura is "a different person" from Hinata, rather, he is separate from Hinata, but an extension of Hinata as well, proven that he experiences some of his emotions even if subconsciously and without understanding them. he isn't a different personality or person developed in Hinata's body, but a very traumatizing, repressed, and manipulated version of Hinata given a new name, with memories repressed. He's like Theseus's ship in human form---if you get rid of everything that makes someone themselves and replace it, bit by bit, is it the same person? Technically, yes, but... truly? Who knows. 

Because of this, I think Kamukura would have a leaning toward masculine gender performance (in canon, in fact, he uses the soft masculine pronoun "boku" in stead of "ore" like Hinata) BUT I think he is still very nonbinary. In a western sense, i think he would use he/they pronouns, but not really care if someone mistook him for a woman, I suppose.

- His appearance, unironically, is very nonbinary or "he/they" to me because he's wearing a suit, the archetypal form of masculinity, but has extremely long hair, which is considered feminine, and speaks softly (dully). Of course, the bishounen "pretty boy" appearance isn't uncommon or considered less masculine in japan, I think, but there is still a different between soft masculinity and rough masculinity in japan, which lends itself to being interpreted sort of gender non-conforming by western audiences :)

- Kamukura, due to his apathy, struggles with self-maintaining, but as we all probably know i am extremely attached to KamuKoma and thus headcanon that Servant helps him, sort of like a royal servant would royalty in the old days, take care of himself by bathing him, brushing his hair out, grooming him, etc. partially out of duty, partially out of appreciation for Kamukura's body, and partially out of maintaining his sort of "perfect" look since Kamukura, especially post-Junko death, is perceived widely by the public as the new leader of the ultimate despair, even if he is ambivalent to such a title.

Post-DR3 Hinata/Kamukura combined:

As I rambled on about previously, I don't think that Kamukura and Hinata are separate people or personality, I really dislike the interpretation that they are like a "split personality" or operate like DID, because they do not "form" like DID, but also in canon, are not portrayed as separate people.

In post-dr3, Hinata instead says that he is both of them, because he is. Kamukura is Hinata, always was, but had been given a new, false identity, had been stripped of his previous self, his memories, his personality, and crafted into something new. but that did not "split" his brain into two people. It simply repressed who he once was, and made him someone he now was. But when Kamukura regains his memories, his past self, through the means of the new world program by restoring his own memories after SDR2 concludes and he wakes up, as well as doing the same for everyone else, he decides to be "Hajime Hinata" who he always was, but carrying and shouldering the weight of what "Izuru Kamukura" had been, become, and done. Hinata *is* Kamukura, he answers for Kamukura's wrongdoings, his crimes, as something he had done as a different person who's mind operated differently, due to being artificially suppressed, modified, into an apathetic tool for the scientists who made him, and later and aimless, bored individual who simply sought meaning he did not have in the unknown of what despair would be at it's climax. And if hope could overcome it.

As such, I think, when Hinata's self is brought back into the mix, and he now deals with Kamukura's apathy and boredom in part, but much less consuming and much less often, I think hinata is less staunchly "masculine", does not overperform it anymore, and is trying to understand what his past means to him, what his present is, and what his future will be. I think that Hinata would still primarily use he/him (or still use "ore" in Japanese, as it's also a means of his personality, which is a bit rough around the edges and blunt), but be more ambivalent to rigid gender expression, still finding comfort and idealness in masculinity, but not be made dysphoric or feel frightened, uncomfortable, with non-comformity or anything like that. being boyish, masculine, is what he enjoys, but he's comfortable in it now, doesn't need to prove himself or overperform it. He can explore nonconformity without feeling like his gender or masculinity is at threat, even if it's not his preference outright.

Body-wise, I think it's safe to say he retains Kamukura's muscle and all, but Kamukura didn't put much effort into the everyday machinations of being a human being in general, and Hinata is much more fond of food than him now, eats more often, and I enjoy the idea that he gains a little pudge and has a kind of "dad bod" almost, post-DR3? lol.

Both for Hinata and Kamukura I don't see their bodies as “bara” or overly buff, masculine, but a kind of comfortable middle ground between twunk and hunk, lmao. I think they're also averagely hairy, not overly so, very lightly. kind of well groomed, and all. Hinata, pre-despair, put not so much effort into his appearance but still some, especially in trying to pass. (In fact I think his hair cut looks like a home job, all choppy and stuff, which fits him in my opinion, something done by his own hands even if messy and imperfect, he still prefers to be in control of it. also fits the trans headcanon tehe).

Izuru put very little if any effort into himself, only the bare minimum necessary to function, but servant helped him upkeep it to a perfect standard. Hinata, post-dr3 now, finds himself putting you know, an average amount of care into himself and his body, enough to be healthy, but not overly critical and conscious of himself.

Komaeda i have always seen as someone who takes a good deal of care about himself, merely if to alleviate the "disgust" of his appearance and body, by practically preening himself. He is someone who is good at cleaning and seems to appreciate clean and well kept spaces, so I think he would have a similar attitude toward himself. even if he is insecure, and of course, struggles with mental health and may slip at times in his routine in keeping himself well-kept, I think he still maintains an appearance for the most part, at least in his later years (teen to young adult). An argument can be made that he cared less in his adolescence because he had much more apathy about the world, but when he gave himself a purpose with hope and talent, I think he would care for himself a little better, even if his was spiralling mentally.

His hair is always washed, it is just very curly and prone to mess, so it often looks like perpetual bedhead, even when he combs and brushes it. His skin is soft even if a little worn by his tendency for accidents & injury, it's still soft and almost luckily so, and he takes pride in moisturizing and cleaning himself. His skin is a little sickly, still, and I think that despite having blemishes, scars, etc. Komaeda manages to look pretty in a strange way, not conventionally beautiful, but almost ethereal? He's just *pretty*, there's no way to explain it, he is nice to look at even with all his "flaws" and imperfections. Even when he's sickly and bony, even when his cheeks are gaunt or his hands shaky and weak, when his hair is a tangled mess or his clothes are dirty, he's nice to look at in a way that's nonconventional, and it's sort of mesmerizing.

Hinata I think is very average but also in a way that's nice to look at it. He's not ground-breaking hot or conventionally attractive, he has a good body, a nice face, and hair you could play with a little if you wanted. I think what's appealing about him is his normalcy, he's not trying too hard or "gifted" gene wise, but he's just kinda nice to look at, he's enjoyable to be around, an understanding person, or at least tries to be even when he fails, and despite having flaws, insecurities, blunt, he is someone you're drawn to because he's one of those people that's just, easy to talk to? An emotional anchor, almost. The kind of guy everyone kind of knows and has talked to at least once, even if you're not friends with him personally, not because he's cool or popular or anything, but because he's a normal dude who's easy to trust and talk to.

Kamukura, on the other hand, is intimidating, appearance wise and personality wise. he looks, strange, anything but normal, his eyes are red and his hair is this dark cloud that envelops him. His face may still be that plain one Hinata has but faces can be changed by the surrounding attributes as well as expression and such is true for him, with his apathetic and cold expression as well as otherwordly characteristics, he comes off as much more beautiful in a dark way, kind of? In a way that's intimidating or a little daunting, but he's still very beautiful. mesmerizing.

okay, thats my ramble. ty.

[get-shiggy-with-it]

Scream Therapy

Pairing: Tomura Shigaraki x gender neutral!reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: extremely vague allusions to mental illness, metaphors about wounds, angst with a relieving ending, let me know if i’ve missed something

AO3 mirror

So you know those tiktoks where people go out into the woods and scream? Just like expel all the shit that’s been holding them down into an open field and let the earth reclaim all their dark, restless energy? Reveal the burdens that have been creaking in their joints and trapped in the prison of their ribs for the trees to swallow?

I’ve been thinking about that and Shigaraki a lot. 

Like the rest of the league too, but mostly Shigs. 

Just imagine: 

It’s late, it always is when shit is going down at the hideout. The League of Villains is practically nocturnal at this point. Shigaraki’s mind is a loud place—lot’s of rabid, train tearing down the track lines of thought that clatter and roar and gush toxic coal smoke.

So as annoyed as he makes himself out to be, he doesn’t actually mind the din of the bar all that much. Twice and Toga chattering in the corner, random bits of too loud laughter and the clink of Kurogiri polishing glasses as he tells off Dabi for the umpteenth time about smoking inside—hell, even Compress rambling about the health benefits of high quality wine to nobody in particular is somewhat...comforting?

That’s not quite the right word, but their noise settles around him a bit like a thick quilt and dampens the rampage inside his head for a while.

He thinks about a lot of things.

Some good, most bad, all obsessive. He’ll get stuck in these loops sometimes, small questions evolve into bigger, more complicated webs, and suddenly it’s been four hours and he’s done nothing but stare at the same spot on the wall just left of his desktop monitor.

Sleep is a terrifying venture for much the same reason. Once he gets caught in that cycling it’s so hard to break out, and that’s when he’ll stumble down the stairs and sequester himself away at the end of the bar.

There he will sit and listen to the incessant white noise of his team—which is frustrating too but infinitely better than whatever anxiety coated sludge his brain will come up with if left to its own devices, so he bears it.

And then there’s you.

Who you are isn’t entirely important.

Maybe you’re just another member of the League, dedicated to helping your boss spread villainy across the city. Maybe you’re a morally ambiguous civilian who just stumbled in much like a stray cat into a depressed college student’s apartment and simply never left.

Whatever the circumstances, where you came from doesn’t matter.

To him, your contributions to the din are just another layer of insulation against the storm. He couldn’t really care less what you do, or where you go when you weren’t there. As long as your voice could offer a different type of grating against his ears than the silent throbbing of his head when he is alone, then your presence is justified.

Shigaraki only takes notice of you when you leave, when your voice is no longer adding to the uproar drowning out whatever new thought spiral he was trying to claw his way out of.

It’s very late then. That odd, in between time when it’s closer to the sunrise than to it’s setting but somehow also the darkest portion of the night. Of course, it’s never totally dark—not with all the light pollution laying an ever present, glowing haze across the horizon—but it’s as close as it gets out here to pitch black.

He catches the tail end of your coat, a glimpse of your shoe soles as you slip up the stairs and climb the wrought iron ladder that leads to the roof. Shigaraki often catches himself wondering how you figured out exactly how to avoid each board that creaked. He thinks sometimes it’s because you like going unnoticed, that too much attention makes you feel just as shaky as he gets when he’s been inside his head too long. Or possibly you just don’t want to wake anyone up in the rare moments that some League members are actually asleep.

Regardless, he watches you go and feels strangely...compelled to follow and because he rarely feels compelled to do anything unless it’s furthering the downfall of hero society, he does.

He takes an unsteady step, then another until the brisk, cusp-of-summer air is washing over him. It bites through his thin black top and the worn holes in his jeans, but the sting feel likes something.

And since he almost always feels nothing at all, it’s good.

You’re stood a few feet from the edge of the building, where the ledge has begun to crumble away from age and poor maintenance. The wind is strong enough that it makes your limp arms sway by your sides. Shigaraki is so thin now, he’s almost afraid for a moment it might blow him away. He’s found himself feeling so insubstantial as of late, it’s shocking when his feet don’t lift off from the roof entirely. He crosses the distance towards you slowly. 

If you hear him approaching, you don’t show it.

Normally he wouldn’t start a conversation of his own volition but he did follow you up here and the silence is getting a bit deafening, even with the breeze.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

It’s simple, but it’s all he can think to say. Funny, with how many words that run through his head, he can never find the right ones when he wants them.

You turn then, and your face is...well it’s a face. He tends not to look at people’s faces much—doesn’t want to see their expressions when they look at him, but from what he can tell you aren’t upset that he’s here at least.

“I love the city at night.”

That’s all you offer in response and he knows somehow that you’ll keep talking even if he doesn’t answer. That you know how much he hates the quiet but can’t ever fill it himself.

“When you’re up high enough, you can pretend the streetlights are stars,” you divulge, as if it’s some sort of great, long kept secret.

Maybe it is.

Maybe you have a lot of secrets. You seem to him like the type of person who would. Who keeps life changing truths tucked under your tongue to drop suddenly over convenience store dinners and cheap beer.

He thinks that maybe he’d like to know them.

“It’s always so alive during the day, the streets I mean,” you continue, eyes trained out on the buildings below, tracing constellations from block to block. “But I can’t shake the feeling that it’s rotting too like….”

You trail off and don’t finish the thought, but you don’t have to. He knows what you mean: like the city is a wound that’s festering. That all the people and the heroes that corral them like cattle are just an infection waiting to spread.

“What are you doing here?” he asks again, because he hasn’t been able to come up with anything else.

Your gaze flits over his face this time, and Shigaraki almost misses the small smile that plays at your lips. He’s close enough now that you could touch him, and you almost do, shoulders just inches away from brushing. But you don’t close the gap.

You touch the others, a lot actually, though he gets the sense you’re the type to ask first. And with his mind running on overdrive every waking second, he gets overstimulated easily. He should probably be thankful you aren’t as familiar with him. That you bother to notice the distance he keeps even when he rarely pays you any mind.

Maybe you’re thankful for that too.

“You know, scream therapy is a very effective and cheap alternative to professional intervention,” you say matter of factly in response.

He waits for you to continue and you do.

“There’s no one out this late but heroes on patrols and they won’t come to help us, so this is a perfect opportunity to give it a try.”

He can feel his brow knitting together and you raise your hand for a second as if to smooth your thumb over the wrinkled skin. Shigaraki doesn’t move, but watches your fingers pause in mid motion and drop back down.

There’s a strange charge in the air between you—a spark he distantly wishes would ignite if only so he could stop churning in his gut.

“How do you do it?”

He’s never asked so many questions of anyone in his life. But he finds he truly wants to know.

And you’re the one that can show him.

You breathe deeply beside him, letting your eyes drift shut and taking a step towards the ledge. With hands balled into righteous little fists, you bend a bit at the waist and you...scream.

Shigaraki isn’t quite sure what he’d expected, but for some reason it wasn’t that.

He’s heard shouts before, cries for help or out of fear, but nothing like this. The sound seems to bubble up from some deep, dank pit inside you and bursts forth from your mouth like a geyser spewing boiling water from the earth. It’s long and low and loudloudloud. It isn’t a sound he could ever imagine you making, but it rumbles in his chest as if it’s his own.

Just watching has a weight lifting from his shoulders.

You keep going even when he knows you should have run out of air. But you aren’t really making the noise, you’re just letting it escape. He’s not sure how he knows that but he does.

Your voice cracks and snaps and rages forth and you scream in a way he feels in his very bones. The garbled, awful sound is so clearly understandable despite the wind that carries it away.

It says: I am free and young and can feel none of it.

And then it’s words. Words that tumble from you in a torrent.

About your family, about what’s been done to you, what you’ve done to yourself.

About the lies and the injustice of it all.

You’re heaving by the end, deflated as though all the screams had left behind an empty space—an abscess drained and ready to heal over or fill back up.

“It’s your turn.”

Shigaraki stares at you, silhouetted by the dull, silver glow of the city and panting. You both look at each other for a moment, reveling in the odd connection that sometimes forms between strangers who know far too much about each other.

He doesn’t think he could top that, but the energy you’ve created is invigorating and he’s determined to ride the wave while he has it.

Taking a step, he joins you by the ledge again, and you back up as if allowing him into the spotlight. The wind will swallow whatever he says, it will eat the words like a starving behemoth and he finds himself ready to feed the beast.

He has to dig deep, scratch at old sores to make them bleed again, tear at scabs so he can let the contaminating thoughts leak out. Once he feels like he’s breached far enough, Shigaraki takes a breath.

And he screams.

His body doubles over with the strength of it, foot slamming down onto the roofing and four fingers fisted in the hem of his shirt.

It hurts coming out, rips at his vocal chords and has his throat raw to bleeding after just the first few seconds but he pushes past it.

He wonders if this is what a runner's high feels like, when you’ve pushed beyond the side stitches and knee aches and your blood finally rushes with all those elusive feel good chemicals he never has enough of.

Whatever it is, the feeling is addicting.

Shigaraki is dimly aware of you in his peripheral, encouraging the tsunami thoughts in his head to be thrust out into the uncaring arms of the city skyline.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t have to search for the words. They simply come. All his frustrations, some he wasn’t even conscious of, spill fresh and steaming like blood. Physically, his body remains but somewhere in the depths of his mind he is younger and hurt and alone and trying desperately to scream.

“I destroy everything I touch!” he roars at the apathetic, grey sidewalk below.

After the last word leaves him, he feels the same weightlessness he’d seen in the sag of your shoulders. The same snapping of the coil slack in his spine.

And suddenly, with this glorious, awful sense of revelation, Shigaraki realizes that everything in his head has gone quiet.

He’s over taken by a silence that requires no filling, a peace that he’d imagined only existed at the bottom of abandoned wells, far away from any chubby child’s hands that may toss foolish wishes down them.

He thinks about kissing you then.

And he knows now that this thought has always been there, but it was drowned like a subway rat in the aftermath of the hurricane brewing in his brainstem. He has always noticed you no matter how hard you try to blend into the background. Your voice has always been a bit better at shutting out the unending, worthless choir in his head.

He wouldn’t have followed anyone else up here—not Dabi, not Spinner, not Compress or even Kurogiri.

He can see that now. In this new enlightened state, everything is so much clearer. Though he is quickly thrust back into the present, into his body once again, as another kind of soft weight settles on his shoulders. Your coat is skin warmed and smells like you and everything he’s ever loved in his own screwy little way. He realizes then that you’ve been trying to talk to him this whole time.

“Shigs,” you call again and tuck the coat tighter around his shoulders, “you were shaking.”

Shigaraki nods, feeling relief from the cold he hadn’t quite been aware of till now. He’s not sure if you’ve ever addressed him so informally before, but he decides he likes the nickname.

It feels a bit like a gift.

“Better, yeah?”

He’s not really sure if it’s better, but it is different and it’s been impossibly long since anything has been different, so he thinks it must be good.

“Yes,” he says.

It’s a general yes, both to your question and to you, whatever that might mean. He doesn’t say anything more because he’s done enough talking and you nod like you understand.

Neither of you moves to leave the roof, but you do inch closer to him this time, closing the gap and tucking him into your side. Your arm is slung gently across his shoulders and he finds the weight of it relieving.

That seems like it shouldn’t make since but it does—a paradox of sorts, weight being a comfort.

Then the sun begins to rise and it’s as if he’s seeing you in a new light.

Your profile outlined by the stark daybreak rays, so horribly strong despite the scream he knows is forming again under the surface.

And Shigaraki wonders if you see him that way too.

[wolf-queer-discourse]

Adventures in Aphobia #4

I am sad to announce another addition to this series. I stumbled on an account with a whole catalog of aphobic posts, so the real hard part was choosing just one to respond to! Here it is:

I’m starting to think aphobic allos are incapable of holding their tongue. “Not to discourse, but—” Own your bigotry, coward. You are making an active choice to create this post that you know ace people will see and feel bad about themselves. Revel in it. Enjoy it for all I care, but don’t lie about it.

Like the last post I covered, this poster seems to think asexual labels are just “too complicated” and “too specific” to exist. Can aphobes stop burdening ace people with their lack of basic comprehension? My patience wears thin. If they wanted to understand asexuality, they could.

Yes, attraction can feel different for everyone. There’s a difference between experiencing attraction in slightly different ways and not experiencing it at all. I’m going to break this down as simply as I can.

Sexual attraction is looking at a person and seeing their body/parts of their body as sexual. This most often leads to the urge to have sex with someone. However, since humans are not crazy sex animals, many secondary motivations cause people to wish to make the choice to abstain from sex in certain contexts. Perhaps they are sexually attracted to a person (again, seeing their body as a desirable sexual thing), however, do not yet trust the person enough to be intimate. Maybe the person has chosen to be celibate for religious reasons, which supersede their instinctual sexual desire.

While these secondary motivations absolutely vary from person to person, they do not erase the fact that the people in these situations are allosexual and experience sexual attraction. Being ace has nothing to do with these secondary motivations. It means no gender or person is sexually appealing.

Asexuality has many harder-to-understand nuisances, of course, I want to be careful not to lambast people who genuinely misunderstand, but honestly, the definition of asexuality in itself is not a hard concept to grasp at all. Aphobes repeatedly use definitions of asexuality that have been called inaccurate dozens of times, just to make the argument that ace and allo people are actually all the same. There is nothing “pathologizing” about the simple acknowledgment that you do not see people sexually. It’s absurd how much aphobes try to pretend that most people seeing other people as sexually appealing isn’t a huge part of society. If you’re not ace, you are very easily blind to that reality because it’s so normalized through your own eyes.

“micromanaging the particulars of our sexual orientation (the term deriving from sex as a word for gender at the time it was created, not sex as the act)”

Ah, the feeling when an aphobe was right for half a second but immediately dropped that idea. Let me slow anyone down who missed it. Yes, the “sexual” in a person’s orientation refers to the gender of the attraction, not the sex act itself. This person has just recognized that someone’s sexuality is about sexual attraction, not literally the act of having sex. Surely this supports ace people, no? Did the poster not just argue that other people are “basically ace” due to not wanting sex in certain contexts? Would the attraction part not disapprove that this isn’t the same thing?

The poster says gay, lesbian, straight and bi are all the labels we need, and that no qualifiers are ever necessary because attraction is more than just the urge to have sex with people. Ah, yes. The Holy Four sexualities. No one has any labels outside of that… Also, this completely excludes aroace people. Most people who argue this are at least willing to acknowledge that some people aren’t attracted to anyone in any way at all. This poster probably forgot to consider this, to be honest, but it’s a pretty big oversight either way.

Yes, attraction as a whole is more than the urge to have sex with someone. But sexual attraction is only about, who’d have guessed it, attractions that are sexual. When we have labels such as heterosexual, bisexual, homosexual, is it any wonder people who don’t experience the sexual part don’t identify with the label?? I have no clue why people against the split attraction model will die on the hill that heterosexual attractions don’t have to be sexual. Of course they do. It’s in the WORD. Why on earth would a heteroromantic ace person identify as a word that so evidently does not match their experience? Why are aphobes obsessed with forcing ace people to choose a word that blatantly suggests the existence of their sexual attraction? Not every hetero attraction is under the heteroSEXUAL umbrella. That’s why separate words, such as heteroromantic, are clearly useful and not hard to understand. The name is exactly what the word means.

“it’d be also super neat if we could stop pretending that it’s somehow more inclusive or easier for people with a fraught relationship to sex to split sexual orientation into Ace and Non-Ace”

Literally blatant aphobia. People with “fraught relationships to sex”? Why the fuck are you refusing to say the word asexual? Aphobes do this so much. They’ll be like “people with sexual disorders...people who are afraid of sex...people who are weirdos”. No. Asexual people. People who do not experience sexual attraction. Get that in your head. And yeah, it’s absolutely easier for ace people to split their orientation when they don’t match. No one is forcing everyone to split their attractions if they’re not split. If yours all fit neatly in one box, good for you. It’s still absolutely more inclusive to allow people to define their sexual orientation in two halves if that’s how they experience their attraction.

It is true that most people’s sexual and romantic orientations are deeply intertwined and not easily ripped apart. But there are exceptions. Clearly alloace people are those exceptions. They exist, and there’s legit no reason to keep crying about how they experience their attraction differently than you.

“As if it’s any help at all to shove e.g. lesbians who struggle with the sexual aspect of lesbian identification off into their own restricted zone away from Normal Lesbianism that requires a special prefix before lesbian.”

Lesbian means sexual and/or romantic attraction.  The and/or is very important. And again, the poster does not say “lesbians who don’t experience sexual attraction”. They instead resort to using insulting language such as “struggle with the sexual aspect of lesbian identification”. What the actual fuck. Ace lesbians are not “struggling” to do anything. They are perfectly healthy and valid the way they are. Funny how the poster accuses ace people of segregating people and pathologizing others when they instead insinuate ace people are struggling to experience something they ought to. Talk about pathologizing. Ace lesbians get to talk about being ace because they are ace, and it matters to a lot of them.

“That their way of feeling attraction is just as much a normal part of lesbianism as anyone else’s, no qualifiers needed.”

What is this projection? Identifying as ace means you’re...not normal?? Jesus, I hope no ace lesbians had to read you saying that they’re not normal lesbians and that they should stop using a useful label to describe themselves.

“The idea of a split romantic and sexual orientation is an unhealthy, pathologizing way of looking at sexual orientations that’s just gonna end up alienating people who feel lost in mainstream depictions of sexuality even more and I am done with pretending that I am okay with that kind of rhetoric being spread.”

Lmao. This person wrote an entire post filled with insulting stands-ins for asexual and repeatedly insinuated there was something wrong with them, but yes, ace people are the ones pathologizing themselves. Okay. And people who feel lost in mainstream depictions, hm. Sounds like you may be referring to a lot of ace people. You really think a word is such a terrible thing, don’t you? Aphobes who think they’re polite really do be like “of course it’s okay not to want sex! Not everyone feels sexual attraction!” Then the person is like, “Yeah, I’m ace,” and suddenly all hell breaks loose.

This person sounds like they’d be against all sexuality labels, since it’s all too CoMplICated, yet...they’re not. This is just something they’re slapping onto ace people, like they’re the ones a step too far.

And of course they end the post decrying themself as the true victim. They’re just so done letting ace people peacefully exist? “Omg, guys ace people existing makes my one brain cell overheat! They need to stop for meeee!”

I’m done pretending I’m okay with this person’s rhetoric being spread. Don’t like the split attraction model? Great. Then don’t use it. Feel like ace people’s experiences are just like yours? Awesome. Sounds like you might be ace! Just do us all a favor and don’t make your shallow mind ace people’s responsibility. 

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Shaw’s S2 R&S - A Gentleman’s Promise

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers from an R&S (君子一诺) which has not been released in EN! 🍒

Features S2 Shaw

In terms of sequencing, this is Shaw’s fourth S2 R&S!

[ Chapter One ]

The first time Teacher Zeng met Shaw was three or four years ago.

Back then, he was just a little over thirty, and was still at an age of surging vigour. Based on the results of his online searches, Teacher Zeng carried a bag, bringing along some tools, and came to this mine shaft alone.

Lifting a torchlight with a weak light, he carefully observed the surroundings, trying to search for the stone tablet with the symbol “8″. Despite walking quite far in, he had not been able to glean anything. It was most likely another instance of “mistaken information”.

But he had to admit - this mine shaft was built too loosely. As a graduate in archaeological studies with practical experience, Teacher Zeng guessed that there was sandy soil underneath. For safety reasons, he decided to leave this place first.

That was when the accident suddenly happened.

Teacher Zeng happened to walk into an exceptionally narrow space. Perhaps the mine shaft was too dark and there wasn’t any space for his feet. Just as he planned to turn around, Teacher Zeng felt the ground beneath his feet soften. Knowing that he had unfortunately stepped onto soil which was too loose, Teacher Zeng reacted quickly, attempting to lunge forward. However, the sinking sandy soil was even faster than his thoughts. He was about to fall -

Before he faced imminent peril, he felt an external force grabbing him suddenly!

In the next second, the sandy soil filled the air, collapsing from above. How could a person’s strength withstand the speed of the collapsing soil? Almost immediately, Teacher Zeng attempted to free himself from the other party’s grip, not wanting to become another person’s liability.

As though sensing Teacher Zeng’s intentions, the other party shouted in a muffled voice, “Hey, grab tight!”

All of a sudden, lightning as bright as daytime appeared out of thin air. In the next second, a loud crackling sound of electrical currents seemed to gather into a ball. Along with a few "boom” sounds, the sandy soil and the wall of the mine were instantly exploded open by lightning.

Taking in light and air once again, Teacher Zeng was still badly shaken up. He subconsciously looked at his “saviour”, who appeared to be a young man of around eighteen or nineteen years of age. His head of bluish purple hair was very striking despite the sand and soil that had fallen on it. And in his palm, there seemed to be some electrical currents releasing buzzing sounds.

Even though he’s an ordinary person, Teacher Zeng had seen enough over the years to guess that this young person was likely an Evolver with an ability related to thunder and lightning.

While a sizeable number of ordinary people had issues against Evolvers, Mr Zeng naturally felt very grateful that his life was saved. He panted loudly, thanking him repeatedly. “Little Bro, I’m truly grateful to you.”

“That’s enough. It wasn’t as exaggerated as you said.”

“But you should consider yourself lucky. Leaving someone in danger isn't my style.” The young man arched his brows while speaking, his tone sounding very flamboyant. He looked Teacher Zeng up and down, his gaze sweeping past his weak handheld torchlight and shovel. While brushing his hair lightly, he casually asked, “You brought quite a number of tools. What are you doing here?”

At the same time, Teacher Zeng also noticed the other party’s protective equipment used in archaeology.

That mine shaft was definitely not a normal site for exploration. But according to Teacher Zeng’s knowledge, there were quite a number of people like him who were searching for the “historical ruins” represented by that special stone tablet. He might have the same goal.

Probably because the earlier rescue left a favourable impression on Teacher Zeng, he deliberated for a moment before testing the waters. “I heard there might be an unusual stone tablet in the vicinity. I came to have a look since I was curious. What about you?”

Hearing this, the man’s brows arched high. He patted the sandy soil off his body, standing up in an agile manner. Only then did Teacher Zeng notice that he was really tall.

Carrying a black bag, his lips hooked into a smile. “It’s good to be curious. Looks like we’re kindred spirits.”

Watching the man’s back as he left with large strides, Teacher Zeng couldn’t help but surmise where exactly he came from, and how he dared to take action alone at such a young age. However, when he thought about the other party’s skills, Teacher Zeng tossed aside the thoughts in his head: He should be concerned about himself first.

With this thought in mind, Teacher Zheng opened the notebook he brought along with him. Out of habit, he hastily made a brief record before preparing to leave.

It’s a pity that this was yet another futile exploration.

-

[ Chapter Two ]

The next time he met Shaw, several years had gone by.

A few years isn’t exactly long, but it was enough to gradually morph Teacher Zeng’s perseverance in the face of returning empty-handed again and again, into a state of giving up on exploration and finding historical ruins.

That morning, Teacher Zeng reached his work department: the Ancient Literature Society of Loveland City. After conducting the routine selection of a theme, he suddenly received a call from the front counter, telling him that someone was looking for him.

Right after stepping out of the elevator, he instantly noticed the especially striking head of bluish purple hair next to the pillar. Teacher Zeng subconsciously furrowed his brows, feeling as though he had seen such a conspicuous hair colour somewhere. Just then, the other party turned his face leisurely, meeting Teacher Zeng’s line of sight.

The young man narrowed his eyes slightly, giving him a contemplative glance from top to bottom, and an almost indiscernible interest appeared in his eyes. On the other hand, Teacher Zeng remained stunned in place, the memories from relatively far away stirring in his mind.

“You’re that...”

Before Teacher Zeng finished speaking, the young man arched his left slit eyebrow. “...it’s really you.” He swept a glance at the surroundings. “This place isn't convenient. Let’s chat somewhere else?”

The desolate flower nursery at a corner.

“The last time we met was an accident, and we didn't get to introduce ourselves.” The 10am sunlight filtered downwards through the clouds, providing a contrast to the glistening colours in the young man’s eyes. “I’m Shaw. The reason why I looked for you today...” 

“The reason why you looked for me today couldn’t be because of what happened a few years ago, right?”

Not expecting Teacher Zeng to be so direct, the corners of Shaw’s lips curled upwards. “Since you’ve already asked, I’ll get straight to the point.” While speaking, he retrieved a slightly yellowed old photograph, holding it before Teacher Zeng.

Once he saw the photo, Teacher Zeng lifted his head in surprise. “Why do you have this photograph?”

There were two people in this old photograph. One of them was an obviously younger version of Teacher Zeng, and the other was, astonishingly, Shaw’s mentor.

[Note] Shaw’s mentor is introduced in his 2020 birthday R&S!

Shaw raised the old photograph. “That old man standing next to you left this to me, and said I could look for a helper based on this photo if I ever needed it. I found it a while ago, and realised the person the old man let me look for was actually a ‘familiar person’.”

Teacher Zeng was stunned. So he’s...

Even though Shaw didn’t make it clear, Teacher Zeng already had an answer in his heart.

Shaw rolled his shoulders casually, then continued. “The old man said that you’re really skilful when it comes to online searches and exploration.”

“I’m not that good, maybe just a little faster in searching than ordinary people.” Suddenly hearing Shaw bringing up his mentor, nostalgia flashed across Teacher Zeng’s eyes. “Come to think of it, I just graduated back then, and many things were based on trial and error. Being guided by your mentor for a while was truly a huge fortune.”

“That old man...” Shaw couldn’t help but laugh, but he quickly returned to the earlier topic. “You should also know that we aren’t the only ones searching for the ruins.”

“The speed of one person is limited, so I’m looking for a ‘helper’. How is it? Are you interested in working together?”

After Shaw finished saying this, Teacher Zeng unexpectedly hesitated, growing quiet.

Along with Teacher Zeng’s silence, Shaw slowly retracted the smile in his eyes.

“Actually, in recent years, I haven’t continued in this matter...” A wave of perplexity appeared in Teacher Zeng’s eyes. “I’ve been disappointed too many times over the years. So many times that I’ve gradually lost my motivation despite being unwilling to.”

Shaw’s tone was very calm. “Anticipating failure is something archaeologists should have gotten used to since a long time ago.”

“You might say that, but what exactly is this so-called “ruins”? Whether or not it truly exists - even this answer is a blank space-”

“It doesn’t count as a blank space.” Shaw interrupted him. “Whether they are those picture scrolls kept by the old man, or the notes he left behind, all the records and markings are traces of the real existence of the ruins. As long as they’re around, it’s worth exploring.”

“The instincts of an archaeologist tells me that the secret hidden within it is definitely related to a certain mysterious civilisation. And we might just be missing that final push.”

Teacher Zeng was left in a daze, and he didn’t speak.

Hearing Shaw bringing up his mentor’s picture scrolls and notes, Teacher Zeng’s own notebook, which already had hairy edges, suddenly flashed in his eyes. Actually, there were many times when he wanted to store the notebook in the bottom of his box. But until now, the notebook remained at the top of his drawer even though he couldn't fathom why.

"Although there are times when I dislike how the old man goes on a wild goose chase,” Despite how Shaw said “dislike”, a small smile appeared in his eyes, “But he said something which was correct. As long as you persevere, there will come a day when the secrets within will be revealed. So, as long as there’s a shred of hope, it doesn’t count as a disappointment.”

After saying this, Shaw kept the photograph, then shrugged when he saw how Teacher Zheng remained stunned in place. “But people who are as stubborn as the old man are truly a rarity of rarities. If it’s too difficult, forget it. I’ve never forced anyone into doing anything.”

“All right, that’s all. I’m off.”

“Wait!”

Teacher Zeng called out to Shaw without realising it. His mouth hung open. For a moment, he had no idea what he wanted to say.

A person’s subconsciousness is always the most honest. It turned out that he had never completely let go of searching for the historical ruins. And what he needed was perhaps a person to give him another push.

With this thought in mind, Teacher Zeng met Shaw’s bright eyes. “If you really need it... I could try helping you out once or twice.”

-

[ Chapter Three ]

After agreeing to Shaw, Teacher Zheng spent the following week using codes and calculations to search almost every corner of the panoramic maps on the internet. He meticulously searched for new locations of the historical ruins, not expecting the progress to go even more smoothly than expected.

“With such speed, you truly live up to your reputation.”

Teacher Zeng sent the location to Shaw. “I’ve found two likely positions. One of them is this abandoned factory building which seems more plausible.” Shaw stared at it fixedly for a few seconds, then curled a corner of his mouth and said, “Okay, got it.”

Next to the railing on the roof, sunlight seemed to be even brighter than usual. Magnificent solar flares leapt in between Shaw’s bluish purple hair. He straightened up, his confident expression even more dazzling to the eyes than the sunlight in between his hair. Shaw kept his phone away. “Since I don't have anything on tomorrow, I might as well take a look first.”

Hearing Shaw saying this so lightly, Teacher Zeng instinctively wanted to give him a cautionary warning. However, since it was only their third meeting, he didn’t really know how to phrase it. 

Tidying the hair on his temples which were blown messy by the breeze, Teacher Zeng finally spoke. “I might be overthinking it, but I feel as though it’s been going too smoothly. In the past, I’ve always had to exert double the time to find hazy markings and traces. In short, be more careful tomorrow.”

Shaw arched his brows. “Got it.” Shaw lowered his head to check the time, then waved his hand. “I have class in the afternoon, so I’m heading off.”

-

That evening, Teacher Zeng slept without a peace of mind, and he woke up just as the sky started to brighten. Rubbing his bleary eyes, he subconsciously tapped open the address that he had discovered earlier, but realised that the markings he saw earlier had vanished!

Were the markings he saw earlier false information by someone on the internet?

Teacher Zeng was startled awake completely. After checking for the third time, he immediately contacted Shaw, but realised that he couldn’t get through no matter what. Feeling anxious, Teacher Zeng rushed to the abandoned building with his quickest speed. 

The moment he entered, he saw countless rusty iron sheets and iron pipes. He keenly detected a strange atmosphere: this place was abnormally quiet.

Just as this thought flashed in his mind, a deafening sound drifted from the building in the next second. Thinking of how he had not contacted Shaw yet, Teacher Zeng trembled with fear, sticking himself against the wall of the staircase, and running up quickly.

-

[ Chapter Four ]

“BOOM-!”

While Teacher Zeng was rushing up, Shaw was facing an unknown attack.

The attacker was hiding in a dark place, and was probably an Evolver who could control metal. The iron pipes in the surroundings were pulled mid-air in an astonishing angle, sent smashing in Shaw’s direction. The air was very quickly mixed with the muffled echos of metal.

Shaw’s eyes keenly swept towards the dark area. As though accurately predicting the other party’s thoughts, he unfurled his palm in contempt, sending crackling lightning towards the iron pipes which are not too far away. With a muffled thud, the attacker was struck down.

Perhaps the consecutive failures had left the attacker in a complete frenzy. In the next second, a loud sound of metal exploded in the air.

But Shaw’s reaction was even faster.

His fingertips instantly crackled with electricity. With a flick of his wrist and a stretch of his arm, along with a frigidly cold “hmph”, the loud sound of electrical currents followed the expanse of metal pipes, striking the attacker like a sharp blade.

Most likely sustaining heavy damage, the attacker no longer cared about anything else, fleeing by jumping from the window in a flurry.

In a single breath, Teacher Zeng ran to the roof of the building, but only made it in time to see the moment a hazy figure leapt out of the window.

Shaw furrowed his brows, lifting his hand in distaste as he wiped the rust off his face. “Tch, I actually let him get away.” He turned his head and saw Teacher Zeng who had suddenly appeared, then pursed his lips. “What are you doing here?”

Teacher Zeng explained softly. “I just found out that this could be a trap, but I couldn’t contact you, so I rushed here without thinking too much... it’s a good thing you’re skilled.”

Shaw casually tidied his drooping fringe, revealing his eyebrows, which were arched high.��After all, they were “co-workers”. Hearing these words blurted out by Teacher Zeng, the initially sharp expression in Shaw’s eyes turned indiscernibly gentler.

While heading down with Shaw, Teacher Zeng released a sigh, then laughed bitterly. “It’s been so many years. From what I know, due to the lack of progress, people who were searching for the historical ruins like me, you, and your mentor, gave up in succession. I just never thought that aside from there being no progress, it actually became even more dangerous...”

“That’s enough. This matter had nothing to do with you. Searching for the ruins isn’t dangerous.” Hearing Teacher Zeng’s self-abasement and guilt, Shaw interrupted him. “In the process of searching, I accidentally made a few enemies. The one from today was probably just targeting me.”

While speaking, they walked out of the abandoned building.

Despite going through this shocking wrestle, it was only daybreak. The rosy dawn served as a foil to the rising sun, elegantly travelling thousands of miles in the sky, the rose red rays of light spilling across the overgrown land, spilling into Shaw’s serious eyes which refused to concede defeat.

“When it comes to things worth persisting in and challenging, I’ve long since mentally prepared myself for protracted warfare.”

Shaw’s lips hooked upwards, an earnest spirit leaping in his eyes. “They will definitely lose.”

Seeing the stubbornness and seriousness hidden in the depths of Shaw’s eyes, Teacher Zeng’s heart suddenly received a jolt.

At first glance, the young man in front of him looked youthful and flamboyant. But his tenacity and dedication far surpassed the imagination of most people, and made Teacher Zeng re-discover the surging emotions he once had in his earlier years.

He’s akin to a giant creature hiding in the deep sea. Once he bit onto a goal, he would never let go.

For some reason, Teacher Zeng found this emotion rather familiar. It’s as though time had flowed backwards to several years ago. Back then, under the guidance and assistance from Shaw’s mentor, he had once seen a similar expression and tone of voice in the other party.

When the faraway memories surged up, Teacher Zeng stopped breathing. What accompanied this was that smiling face reminiscent of a mischievous child, the web pages he found after days and nights of searching, and all the locations he had once explored without a regard for the results...

Emotions he had not felt for a long time suddenly surged in Teacher Zeng’s heart.

-

[ Chapter Five ]

The weather today is very humid, and there doesn’t seem to be a single gust of wind.

After lunch, Teacher Zeng heads to the grocery store to buy a box of cigarettes. Then, he makes his way to the small flower nursery at the corner. Just as he breathes a few mouthfuls of smoke, the sound of footsteps suddenly drifts from behind him.

Teacher Zeng bites on the cigarette bud and turns around: it’s Shaw.

“Good afternoon.” Shaw has a hand stuffed into his pocket, elongating his words teasingly. “Since you’re smoking to entertain yourself, looks like Teacher Zeng has been pretty bored lately.”

Teacher Zeng chuckles softly. “Why are you here today?”

Shaw purses his mouth. “This might sound baffling. This morning, someone dressed in black suddenly attacked my antique store, wanting to search for some leads...”

Teacher Zeng ponders on this.

Slightly irritated, Shaw kicks a pebble at his feet. “It isn’t that easy to defeat me. We have to find the starting point for the ruins first.”

He lifts his eyes and looks at Teacher Zeng, arching his brows. “If I remember correctly, you mentioned being able to help “once or twice” that day. I’m now asking for that second round of assistance.”

Ever since they parted ways the previous time, Teacher Zeng had been giving it much thought. Perhaps Shaw’s persistence moved him, or Shaw’s mentor made him feel sentimental for the past. Regardless, a certain thought in the depths of his heart is especially clear: Actually, he had never let go of searching for the historical ruins. Since that’s the case, he might as well be involved in it entirely, and it wouldn’t put the years of accumulated knowledge to waste. 

Teacher Zeng has a small smile as he speaks leisurely. “Helping out is definitely not a problem. I’ve already been searching for new leads over the past duration. But I’d like to change the conditions.”

Shaw shoots him in glance with deep interest.

Extinguishing the cigarette bud beneath his foot, Teacher Zeng turns his head and says, “If you face more problems, it’d no longer be ‘once or twice’. We’ll work together formally. Can you accept this condition?

Finally, the clouds on the horizon seem to be dispersed by the wind slightly, revealing rays of light.

Shaw arches his brows. “Deal.”

🦈 More S2 content: here

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[twstdreams]

A Bouquet to Share: Flower Foraging

CYOA: Chronic Hanahaki AU

Length: 2K | ao3 link

Warnings: fluff, mentions of flu/cold

next

You’re waiting in front of the mirror for your turn to pass, behind the infamous first years. No one in NRC isn’t aware of the prefect and their friends, mostly how they perpetually get themselves in all sorts of trouble. 

“Hey, wasn’t the prefect going to be in our group?” Jack asks

“Oh, they couldn’t make it because they got sick,” Deuce answers. There’s a pause as the unasked question lingers in the air. If they’re just suffering from a passing virus or if it’s that illness.

“With a normal cold,” Ace clarifies, “Grim’s been complaining about having to take care of them.”

You think you’ve heard ten different iterations of this conversation before. Some with Octa A-kun, another with a Pomefiore duo, the same rumours and inquiries always start flying when winter is broken by spring’s warm touch. Everyone wants to know who has hanahaki and chronic sufferers are always the first suspect. People attempt to deduce who’s sick because of pollen or because of the flowers blooming in their lungs. It’s not a lethal disease with modern magic and technology, but you swear enough drama follows it to make up for the lack of imminent doom.

“Hand!” the ghost before you demands once you’re at the front of the line. You offer the back of your hand and immediately a rose is stamped on it, proof that you’re a student who has access to the Great Seven botanical gardens. Then you step through the mirror and are greeted by the site of a massive glass structure. You’re excited to explore the grounds. Each area is its own biome with unique flora and fauna which flourish in that environment. Personally, you’re hoping to see the aquatics section for fun, but you need to ensure that you complete your assignment first.

“Meet each other in the tropical region in two hours!” you text to Jamil and he responds with an affirmation. You two had already agreed to this prior to the project. Most people are wandering the gardens with their partner, but you know Jamil has his hands full with Kalim. You just hope Jamil will actually get to appreciate a couple flowers too.

Officially, the headmaster says this is a field trip for all grades because botany is useful in several fields of magic. You think it’s because a massive amount of students visiting from a prestigious school gets him some sort of discount, but those aren’t thoughts you voice out loud. Not that you care, the Great Seven Botanical gardens hosts some unique and deadly plants, even more so than the poisonous flowers allowed to bloom on campus. You can't choose a lot of them for your assignment but nothing is stopping you from visiting them if you have extra time. Plus, activities amongst different classes aren’t that common, let alone those in various years. If you’re lucky, you might see Malleus amongst the flowers.

You’ve only met Malleus at night, on late walks while perhaps avoiding a guard or two. The daffodils at the entrance remind you of your first meeting with Malleus. But you can’t recall clearly, was there only one daffodil at the spot where you met or several?

-

Staying up late the night before to cram for a test, only to crash and take a nap afterwards completely messed up your sleep schedule. No amount of staring at your ceiling was going to make you drowsy. Besides, you want to explore the campus and check out some night-blooming flowers. You spotted several during the day but hadn’t gotten the chance to see them underneath the moonlight. 

You slip out of your dorm to enjoy the slight breeze and fresh air entering your lungs. Exploring the campus at night feels a little liminal. Not to say that it was silent, some nocturnal familiars scurry around, a ghost or two floating, and more than a couple of students here and there creating background noise. But it's interesting to see a campus normally overflowing with life morph into something restful and quiet. The closer you get to the Ramshackle dorm, the more this effect becomes more pronounced.

You spot plenty of random vegetation growing on the lawns of the dorm. You’d be willing to bet a week’s worth of lunches that dorm hasn’t had real maintenance for at least a decade. Horrid for the prefect living there, you really do feel bad for them, but lots of fun for your midnight flower foraging trip. Your phone battery is dying fast with the flashlight so you test out a new spell you’ve recently learned. You murmur the incantation and a ball of light forms in the palm of your hand. You try to extend it so it acts as a familiar but the light begins to flicker so you’re stuck with having it illuminate the area around your hand. A little testing, a failure or two, and you’re able to create a soft light to guide you. Your hand is nothing but a glorified flashlight, but you can see your surroundings so it’s not a total fail. Unfortunately, what you thought was some pretty evening primrose is actually daffodils.

“How odd. You’re not one of the Ramshackle inhabitants,” a voice notes. You’re certain a ghost has come to lecture you, but you let out a gasp when you realize a living being is behind you.

“I’m, uh, yeah I don’t live here,” you admit, “Just wanted some fresh air. I couldn’t sleep.” You were honestly hoping to avoid all dorm leaders, you know some don’t take kindly to students leaving their dorm after hours, and you think some greater force must be laughing at you because somehow you’ve stumbled upon the most mysterious and powerful one.

“And you came to this abandoned building to do that?” His voice is even. You’re not sure if there’s an accusation laced in his statement or if his regal airs just make him always seem confident and a bit unfriendly.

“I thought it’d be cool to see the night-blooming flowers too,” you add, “There’s supposed to be some evening primrose and moonflowers beneath a gargoyle but I can’t figure out which one it is.” 

“I can introduce you to the correct gargoyle,” Malleus comments. Your head, which is frantically processing information and doing its best to be logical, tells you that’s probably a social cue to ask him to show you where the gargoyle is. Your mind, however, is still trying to comprehend how the heck you ended up meeting the Malleus Draconia on a weedy lawn.

“I am part of the gargoyle appreciation society,” he continues but the way his lips were pressed into a thin line indicates that you’ve spent a little too long coming up with a response.

“Oh! That’s impressive,”—now isn’t a good time to admit you didn’t know that club existed—“if you don’t mind, then I’d really appreciate it!” He nods once in acknowledgement and you begin trailing after the dragon fae. 

“Do you know about each of the gargoyles?” you ask; you ought to express interest in his passions when he’s doing you a favour. You’re not sure what to expect, but it was most definitely not an encyclopedic infodump about Ramshackle’s gargoyles.

“This is the first gargoyle, located on the entrance to the east building. Are you able to see it?” Before you had a chance to answer, Malleus casts a spell of light that creates fake fireflies which illuminate your surroundings. 

“Now I can. It kind of looks like a crow,” you answer. The gargoyle is easy to see but you think Malleus’ elegant magic is more beautiful. Your lightbulb of a hand is almost embarrassing and you quickly stop the spell.

“It is a crow, which is extremely rare for a gargoyle. This is the only one I’ve ever seen. Its quality means it must have been made by a famous craftsman. It looks like it could take flight at any moment.” He goes on about the history of the gargoyles here; you’ve never really been interested in them but the way Malleus talks about them with such excitement makes you engaged. It’s the way that extensive knowledge is intertwined with informed hypotheses while the excitement in his tone never leaves. Hearing Malleus talk about something he loves feels enchanting and endearing. His bubbling enthusiasm is cute.

“This is the gargoyle with the evening primrose and moonflowers,” Malleus announces. Once he finishes his little spiel about its history, you begin to take pictures of the flowers. You want to ask if you can take a picture of him; there’s something so odd about this experience that you want a picture to prove it is real. However, the fresh air has awaken your brain cells and they let you know that perhaps asking someone you just met for a photo in the dead of night is not the best idea. But well, Malleus has been pretty accommodating so you decide to ask for another favour.

“If you don’t mind, could you teach me that light spell?” you inquire. The surprise is evident in his expression and you wonder if you’re being too selfish.

“Is that so? You want me to help you with your spell? Interesting,” he comments and honestly, the pause makes you so nervous you regret ever opening your mouth, “Very well. Show me what you can do.” Even though you're the one who asked, you're a little surprised that the Malleus Draconia has agreed to some impromptu tutoring.

“I can summon a light but I’m having trouble making it steady after it stops making contact with my body,” you explain while taking out your wand. You murmur the incantation and a soft light envelopes your hand while illuminating your surroundings. As the light starts to float away, its shape begins to morph and looks like a blob of light which never stays a consistent shape, akin to a lava lamp. 

“You have enough magic to power the spell. The changing shape suggests that you’re having trouble imagining the outcome,” Malleus sumrises, “Why don’t you try mimicking the shape of mine?” Malleus adjusts the shape of his firefly lights into simple spheres. Unfortunately, it does not go so smoothly for you. First the light looks like a balloon, then it shrinks to the size of a marble, but when you have it at a reasonable size then the edges of the ball begin to quiver.

“I’m sorry it’s taking me so long,” you mutter. Sure, you don’t expect to be on the same level as someone as infamous as the Diasomnia dorm leader, but this feels embarrassing.

“You aren’t expected to master everything at the beginning. Don’t be shy,” he reassures. His comforting words encourage you to calm down. You take in a deep breath and start again. The light transforms into a uniform sphere—your own little sun for this corner of the world the two of you are tucked away in.

“I did it!” you exclaim, “It’s all thanks to your advice!” You toss the light between your hands before extending it to float beside Malleus’.

“You already completed the basics. I only offered some advice,” he gently protests but a smile remains on his face all the same.

“What’s the incantation to change its colour again?” you ask, and Malleus says it aloud for you to repeat. You alter your spell, dying it in your favourite colour, then allow it to dance in the sky. His luminescent green light merges with yours, and the spells twine with each other.

-

Since then you’ve taken to late-night walks for exercise and hopes of meeting Malleus. You haven’t exactly been charming—

“Are you here to admire gargoyles?” Malleus inquires when the two of you meet in the dead of night yet again.

“No, but I can,” you offer. Admitting to the ruler of the valley of thorns that you have been wandering around at night to see him again because you’re very intrigued and a little enamoured is not ideal. Luckily Malleus never questions your intent.

— but the two of you are on friendly terms now. So far no flowers were blooming in your lungs, but you’d be lying if you said a crush wasn’t taking root in your heart. But before you could linger on any hypothetical flowers, you have to pick an actual flower for your assignment! As a second year, you will have to grow whichever flower you pick back at school. 

Which flower will you choose? Vote here

White and pink carnations

Crimson astilbe (feather flowers)

Purple snapdragons

Orange tiger lilies

[bansheeoftheforest]

Oop, dropped a wing of one of the birds, lemme just leave that on the mat real quick-

Anywhos, the idea of them thinking Hyde Jr. is beating up Jekyll Jr. on the daily is great. They scold him in cat form all the time and constantly baby Jekyll Jr. because 'aww poor darling gets picked on, oh he's so underfed, we need to love him EVEN MORE!!' They try their hardest to hide the existence of both cats from Jekyll becauss yeah, Griffin's cat is here, but they're kind of part of his experimentation, and are also domestic and tame, unlike Hyde Jr., who is this scrappy little cream tabby who shreds everything in sight, people included, and Jekyll Jr., who is so skittish and thin and flees at loud noises or yelling.

What if they think Jekyll Jr. is from a bad owner though?? Highlander's are a pretty specific breed of cat, not usually strays, so they start getting protective of him thinking he got abandoned or something? The angst of Jekyll feeling so loved in cat form but so alone in human form that he starts spending more and more time in cat form. Robert gives him affection in cat form and it eats him up inside but he still guiltily indulges in the attention.

Sidenote I think the Lodgers should be divided on which Jr. is cutest and Jekyll is so embarrasst while Hyde is offended because excuse you, he is a tough alley cat, not a fuzzy little baby. Maijabi especially I want to be super fond of bob tail cats.

Oo wait what if they had Cerebellar Hypoplasia/Wobbly Cat Syndrome? Would it also transfer over to their human form? Would Jekyll use his cane more often for support? Would Hyde learn to use the wobbliness to his advantage in fights? Man I just really love cats and how resilient they are and how they don't let anything stop them from being happy cats. I have a lot of Feelings about wobbly cats in particular, I love them so much and want all of them to get good homes.

Maijabi holding up Jekyll Jr. like 'best quality; his wobbles'.

You are lucky i love this au so much-- /J XD

I mean, Hyde would definitely use the rumors to his advantage and fully state that yes, the cat named after him always beats up the cat named after Jekyll. Isn't Hyde JR just great. He is such a good boy, isn't he. Why are you not giving him a thousand treats. Meanwhile Cat!Henry would just listen to them gushing about how Hyde Jr Is so mean to him and just... Take in all the praises and all the love because Hyde can't do anything about it <3

--

Mmmm angst <3 The Lodgers trying to find Jekyll Junior's owner specifically so they can beat him up for being such a bad owner, although they quickly abandon that idea in case they would have to give Jekyll Jr. up, instead just... Deciding to informally adopt him. Gives him a collar w "Jekyll Jr." on it or just "J Jr.", with the Society's address on the back of the pendant so they can feel like he really is their cat now. Henry not minding it bc this is the most included he has ever felt with the Society, even if he feels bad for the poor Lodger who tried to put a collar on Hyde. Things get a little awkward when Henry tries to transform back into a human and the collar stretches and gets stuck around his neck. Definitely does not hurt but certainly makes him feel weird. Henry (if it is the route where his parents told him he was cursed by God or sm shit) feeling so bad for spending so much time in cat form bc it's supposed to be bad but he just starts feeling more and more upset as a human and the Lodgers only like him if he is a cat. Ends up with Human Henry disappearing for days at a time with the Lodger gushing about how they finally don't have to worry about shaking Jekyll off of their backs while cuddling Jekyll Jr... Henry being so desperate for Robert's affection that he couldn't stop himself for craving it and yet only feeling worse afterward <3

--

I bet the Lodgers would try dressing respective cats up in lil outfits to prove who is cutest. A lodger makes their own camera just to cover an entire wall in photographs of Jekyll Jr. In a tiny cravat and waistcoat matching Henry's normal outfit and Hyde (albeit seconds away from clawing a lodger's face off) in a tiny cape and top hat. Maijabi thinking they all are ridiculous bc both cats are absolutely adorable (but he is definitely biased towards Jekyll Jr. That bobtail, folded ears, and adorable eyes are hard not to love a bit extra.)

--

oh mY GOD WOBBLES. YES. Oh my god Jekyll always having been a bit wobbling bc of the mix between catshifter / human thingy so his joints are weird, having used a cane from a young age just to keep steady when he walks, the only time he is able to move straight is when dancing bc he has the support of his dance partner, Jekyll Jr. just being so wobbly the Lodgers thinks he is injured and beg Jasper to have a look at him. Jasper barely having to see him move for five seconds before he is already giggling and giving the kitty some pets while consoling the Lodgers by telling them that Jr is fine, he is just wobbly. The Lodgers thinking that the Jrs are siblings bc they both are so wobbly but ultimately decide that it's impossible (or at least they aren't from the same litter) since Hyde is a mixed stray and Jekyll is a purebred highlander. Either way Henry spends a lot of his time in cat form getting gushed over how cute he is with his little wobbles. He manages to walk in a straight line and the Lodgers cheer and gives him so many treats. Sometimes just standing gets him tired so he just... Rolls over with the most dramatic meow ever.

Maijabi would be such a cat dad to Jekyll Jr. and absolutely coddle him. So many cuddles <3<3

[girlsgonemildblog]

Valley of the Dolls and Hollywood's Desire to Self-Protect

Poster from imdb.com

Valley of the Dolls (1967) tells the story of three young women working in show business in the 1960s. Originally adapted from Jacqueline Susann’s 1966 book by the same name, the screenplay was written by two women, Helen Deutsch and Dorothy Kingsley. The director for the film, though, was a man, named Mark Robson. The plot centers around three protagonists, Anne Welles, Neely O’Hara, and Jennifer North. Their stories connect and separate several times as they each navigate Hollywood, growing in stardom and fading into oblivion. All three storylines follow two themes, the role of women in the 1960s and the abuse of drugs by these women to deal with the pressures of their culture. The film largely stays true to the novel, but alters some important aspects in order to soften the critique that Susann originally proposed. Valley of the Dolls is an attempted commentary on societal demands on women in the 1960s, but is unsuccessful in its criticism due to continuing to perpetuate several misogynistic standards and Hollywood trying to alleviate itself of guilt.

Valley of the Dolls is one of few movies from its era that centers on multiple female leads without allowing for any male characters to come in and dominate the narrative. The story goes further than to just portray women, and even passes commentary on the harmful expectations put on them by society. There are messages about the workforce, body image, and marriage roles all present. Still, while the film may seem to have a feminist message for most of the plot, it falls short in its final moments. The two women, Neely and Jennifer, who are outwardly ambitious and more sexually promiscuous, are punished for their behavior, while the virginally pure and soft spoken Anne is the one who gets a happy ending, though not in the traditional sense.

The first woman to look at is Neely O’Hara (Patty Duke). Neely, the youngest of the three, is also the most talented and the most ambitious. While her two co-protagonists experience minor stardom, Neely becomes a full-fledged celebrity. As Neely begins her rise to the top, she is forced to work out, despite already being nearly rail thin. During her work-out montage, she even asks her trainer, “you call this acting?” This moment serves to show that for women, being an actor was not strictly about their talent, but also the way they looked. Working out is a part of the job for Neely because if she gains weight, people will no longer want to look at her and thus she won’t be able to be on stage or screen.

The affect of her ambition on her womanhood is also seen through the depiction of her first marriage to her hometown sweetheart, Mel (Martin Milner). When Neely gets her big break, she asks Mel to marry her, flipping the tradition of a man asking a woman. This is the first evidence of the gender role reversal that will be present later. In one scene, after Neely has made it and begun earning more money, the audience sees that Mel is now in charge of keeping house, a job typically meant for the wife at this time. The two get into an argument and Mel, sick of being bossed around by Neely, states, “I am not the butler,” to which Neely retorts, “you’re not the bread winner either.” The two get divorced shortly after. In the beginning of the movie, as Neely is about to be cut out of the broadway show, Mel gives her advice on how to handle the situation in a way that is both best for her career and best for earning money. Mel is more than happy to support Neely’s ambition when she is starting out and he is controlling her success. When Neely grows beyond his grasp, begins to overshadow him, and no longer needs him, the turmoil of their relationship begins. Mel’s male ego cannot handle having a wife who not only is not reliant on him, but who he is reliant on.

In contrast, Jennifer’s fatal flaw is not her ambition but her body. The audience is introduced to Jennifer (Sharon Tate) as she is scantily clad in a leotard with a giant showgirl headpiece on. Her first line is concern that she cannot walk, “I feel a little top heavy,” to which her director replies, “Dear, you are top heavy.” This is met by a chorus of laughter from the men in the room and clear distress from Jennifer’s face. Jennifer’s sin is simply her breasts and her beauty; she is punished for merely existing in her natural form. On the phone with her mother, she states, “I know I don’t have any talent, and I know all I have is my body.” She recognizes that she has no marketable skills, but with the way that society has commodified the female figure, she can use her natural assets to get ahead.

Jennifer’s plot line introduces the character of Miriam (Lee Grant), the sister of Jennifer’s husband, Tony (Tony Scotti). Miriam also manages Tony. This is interesting because all the other women in the film are controlled by men, but Miriam is not only not controlled by a man, but controls one herself. Jennifer, who seems not to have a manager, but operates as an independent, eventually is taken on by Miriam, emphasizing the way that Miriam acts as a male figure, controlling and dominating her world like men normally do. Miriam eventually sells Jennifer into porn. When Jennifer tries to protest, Miriam insists, “Tony wouldn’t know the difference.” Jennifer’s plea of “well, I would,” falls on deaf ears. Miriam views the world like a man, thinking only a husband should be offended by his wife’s immodesty, not recognizing that the woman is also a person with feelings about the exposure of her own body.

Jennifer’s whole life and career is based on her body. When she is diagnosed with breast cancer and must get a mastectomy, she states, “all I ever had was a body. All I know how to do is take off my clothes.” She is realizing that without her breasts, she will have no way of earning a living or supporting herself, as she has done her whole life. This drives her to suicide, deciding she would rather die than lose her body. The message of this scene is clear; despite the fact that society has deemed her figure the only thing that gives her value, her exploitation of it still must be punished by death. Women are supposed to surrender to the forces of the patriarchy, not use them to their own advantage.

The third protagonist, the redeemable protagonist, is Anne Welles (Barbara Parkins). Anne is introduced at the very beginning of the film through her own narration as she tells the listener that her family’s home has been around since the revolution, showing that she represents American tradition. The story of George Washington drinking from their well symbolizes that people like Anne are what give America life. This American idealization is what protects Anne throughout her career. As she enters the office for the first time to the slut shaming of a pregnant cat, the audience immediately knows that this place will not be very friendly to women. This is fortified when her boss tells her she is “too good looking” for her job and talks about getting her “broken in”. This is exemplifying the idea that beautiful women aren’t meant for work while also objectifying them by talking about women like they’re shoes.

Her romantic interest, Lyon (Paul Burke), who is also her boss, calls Anne, “barely pink” when he first meets her, admiring how young she is. He later tells her that jewelry is not for her, and that she should only be gifted flowers, specifically white ones. These are both attempts to preserve Anne’s delicacy, or “pinkness”.  Diamonds and gold are too flashy for a soft spoken woman like Anne, and the white flowers clearly symbolize purity. Constantly throughout the entire film, the audience is reminded of Anne being special and unlike other “bad” women such as Neely or Jennifer. At one point Lyon tells Anne that no other girls compare to her because they can’t “stand up to her image”. Not her actual person or personality, but her image. Anne does not have actual personhood in the eyes of Lyon, but exists only as the idealized woman.

This is further exemplified when she becomes the Gillian Girl. The man who hires her says he wants someone known with Gillian exclusively. The idea here is they want her to be only an image of beauty and innocence; if she works with other brands or as an actress she becomes more than one-dimensional and people can discover that she may have flaws. Anne’s ability to maintain her image of perfection and purity throughout the entire film is why she gets to live happily ever after at the end, unlike her two counterparts. She returns to her hometown and lives out the rest of her life as the embodiment of American tradition.

This movie gets its title from the nickname that Neely gives the pills that she and the other two protagonists all become addicted to. The name, “dolls”, calls to mind a picture of girlhood and female adolescence, highlighting how young Neely is (only 17) when the story begins. Many movies of the 1960s, such as Dennis Hopper’s Easy Rider (1969) were depicting taking psychedelic drugs and having crazy trips. Valley of the Dolls shows a different type of drug use, the abuse of painkillers. Though the main characters are movie stars and models, their drug habit was likely more relatable to the suburban movie-going audience than that of Hopper’s characters. It was all too common for housewives to be prescribed “mother’s little helpers” to deal with what was condescendingly written off as “hysteria”. Another difference between these two movies is that psychedelic trips were portrayed as freeing, eye-opening experiences. In contrast, the painkillers are entrapping for the women and ultimately ruin their careers and end their lives.

The character who has the least interaction with the “dolls” is Anne. This is done to keep the idea of Anne as the “pure”, “good” character. The way she begins to take the drugs is interesting, though; she first picks up the bottle when she realizes that her long-term boyfriend, Lyon, is having an affair with her best friend, Neely. This serves two purposes. This first is that it shows that the pills are not used for pleasure, like psychedelics would be, but for numbing purposes. This also displays the corruptive force of Hollywood; it is not until the plot moves from New York to Hollywood that these women turn sour. Because of this city, Neely betrays her best friend and sweet, innocent Anne is driven to drug use.

Jennifer is seen taking the pills two times, twice as often as Anne is. The first time she takes them is when she learns about Tony’s illness. Again, they are used to numb emotional pain. The second time Jennifer is shown taking the pills is when she purposely overdoses on them to kill herself. This is the most extreme version of numbing difficult emotions a person can take, and the most obvious way that the movie could show that these drugs do not provide enjoyment but rather stop misery. What the “dolls” provide is nothingness, and Jennifer takes this nothingness to its maximum.

Neely is the character whose story is most entangled with drug use. She begins when her trainer gives her diet pills to slim her already thin figure. During this montage, the audience clearly sees Mel, the symbol of her pre-fame life, shake his head and tell her no, but she responds with a shrug, as if to say, “what’s the worst that could happen?” Shortly after, she tells Anne that she takes sleeping pills that are so strong, she has to take red pills to counteract them to wake up in the mornings, but then must take the sleeping pills again at night because the red ones have not yet worn off. Taking the pills is an endless cycle for Neely that will lead her to spiral to rock bottom.

In a following scene, Neely is seen being an absolute mess on the set of a movie, causing them to call for her husband to take her home because she cannot work under such strong influence of drugs and alcohol. When Anne and Lyon go to check on her, Anne lectures her about the danger of drinking while taking the pills, but Neely asserts that she must do so because it makes them work faster. This moment shows the desperation Neely has to stop feeling. Later on, after getting drunk in a dive-bar, having sex with some random nobody, and being robbed the morning after, Neely overdoses and nearly dies. Anne implies that this may have been intentional, despite Neely insisting otherwise. The audience is left to wonder.

During the third act of the movie, after Neely has gone to rehab and gotten clean, her older rival, Helen Lawson (Susan Hayward), brags about how she never needed pills like Neely did. Lawson claims her current sobriety is only temporary and Neely will eventually return to her old bad habits. The character summarizes Neely’s entire story with one line, “nothing can destroy her talent, but she’ll destroy herself.” Lawson’s words come true; Neely’s final scene sees her relapsing on opening night of the show she’s supposed to star in and being replaced by her younger understudy, the very thing she was afraid of. Her story closes on her drunk in an alley, screaming her own name.

To properly analyze this film, one must compare it to its source material, Jacqueline Susann’s novel by the same name. Though the movie stays true to the novel in most major plot points, there are distinct narrative changes and omissions that drastically alter the story. One of the most distinct examples of this is that Lyon refuses to marry Anne until the final scene of the film. In the novel, he marries her when they first reunite in Los Angeles. When he begins his affair with Neely, Anne is pregnant with their first child, which gives Anne a stronger motive to turn to the pills than she has in the movie. The book version of the two women are also much closer friends, which creates a more dramatic change in Neely’s character than in the film. Removing these two extremes makes Neely’s character arc less impactful.

Another aspect that was removed is Tony’s obsession with sex. An important part of Jennifer’s characterization is that she has always been made to feel that her body is her only source of value. This is added to, in the novel, by the fact that sex is the foundation for her relationship with her husband. This is only alluded to in the film with one line when they are walking in the park. In the novel, it is emphasized explicitly at multiple points. One of the reasons Jennifer chooses to kill herself rather than lose her breasts is because she believes she will lose even her husband’s love. The film likely made this change, as well as the marital change, to make the characters of Tony and Neely more sympathetic. While this goal is accomplished, it also softens the harsh realities that Susann was trying to expose in her novel.

One final difference between the film and novel is the ending. In the film, Lyon finally proposes to Anne and she rejects him, getting to move on with her life and live peacefully. She gets a happy ending. The novel ends with Anne and Lyon still married, her discovering that he is having yet another affair with a client, and her returning to the pills. This final note makes it clear that there are no happy endings for women in this city. The change is another example of Hollywood trying to show itself in a more flattering light than the one Susann placed on it.

Valley of the Dolls, the novel, was written by a female author as a way to condemn the mistreatment of women in the 1960s, specifically the mistreatment perpetuated by Hollywood on women in show business. The film adaptation tries to duplicate this commentary, but fails for multiple reasons. The first is that it chooses to save the “good girl” character. In the written work, all three stories ending in tragedy shows how no woman is safe from the effects of the patriarchy. Opting to protect the “pure” character alters the message completely so that it is no longer a criticism but a continuation of the idea that ambitious, promiscuous women deserve punishment and good, virginal women deserve happy endings. In addition, it omits important plot points that provide motivation for the characters self-destructive actions, such as Anne taking the pills for the first time and Jennifer committing suicide. By removing the catalysts, the characters are turned into cliché hysterical women. The film fails to adapt Susann’s novel correctly because it replicates the sensational bits while omitting the message. Unlike the book, the film serves only to entertain and not to critique.

[destiniesfic]

132 Hours, Chapter 11

“Don’t speak for me, Duarte,” Cardan says.

“Don’t boss me around.”

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“But, just, if I had the choice,” I say, “I would rather be apart from society.”

We’ve gone around and around a few different points by now. The latest one is the Ghost reminding me that, since betas are one in a thousand, there are only three hundred thousand in the United States, which is less than the population of Wyoming, and I don’t know anyone from Wyoming. They can and do seek each other out, but in a lot of ways, chemical and social, they’re separated from everyone else.

“Would you?” asks the Ghost.

“Well…” I trail off, thinking of the Bomb and the Roach and how they, very possibly, endured de-designation one way or another. I don’t think that’s something I want for myself, not seriously. Sure, I could do without all the complications of heat, but would I like to go through life with dulled senses, knowing most of the population was experiencing something I never would?

The problem isn’t really that I hate being an omega, it’s that I spent my whole life watching alphas, surviving alphas. Wishing I had what they had.

I look at Cardan, who’s been preoccupied with picking at dirt under his fingernails this entire time. He wears a mask of boredom. I know he’s listening, though. He’s good at playing dumb.

“I want to be like them,” I hear myself say. “No, I want to be better than them. That’s all. That’s what it is. And how am I supposed to be better when I’m—” I gesture at myself. I know I look better now than I did before, but I am far from my peak.

Regarding me steadily, the Ghost says, “There’s power in what you are right now, you know. There’s power in driving people crazy for you. A well-placed omega can ruin a political negotiation, a business merger, a marriage. Start wars.”

“Helen of Troy,” I interject. We all know how that went. “That’s soft power. But I don’t want—want…”

I shiver in my chair and hug my arms to my chest. Cardan’s voice is dark and low when he says, “I don’t think she’s up for this discussion.”

The Ghost gives him an odd look, and I say, “No, I’m fine. It’s fine.” I quash down panic; the meds shouldn’t be wearing off this soon, but there’s nothing I can do about it. “I don’t want soft power. I want to be taken seriously.”

“Well, you got us to take you pretty seriously,” the Ghost replies. “Cardan takes you seriously.”

I snort. “No, he doesn’t.”

“Don’t speak for me, Duarte,” Cardan says.

“Don’t boss me around.”

“I think that when you get to college, or at least out into the real world, you’ll find it’s very different,” the Ghost continues.

“I live in the real world,” I retort.

“No, you live in a bubble. A rich person bubble. When there aren’t as many expectations—when there are just normal people—alphas and omegas don’t have as much trouble with each other.”

I press my lips together so I can’t remind him that my mom married an alpha and it didn’t exactly end well. “But systems of oppression still exist. How many omega presidents have we had?”

The Ghost holds up a hand. “We’ve been over this. I’m not saying they don’t.” He pauses. “It wasn’t a kind thing Madoc did, sending you to Insmire.”

I blink at him. “How did you know—”

“Well, we did have to do our research on you.” He presses his lips together. “Cardan said you went to school together.”

“Oh, right.” I feel foolish, and also defensive. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Cardan pick up his head. “Well, Madoc isn’t kind. I mean, he can be, but—he isn’t.”

“No,” the Ghost agrees. “If he was kind, he would have sent you to the best multi-designation or omega prep school there was. But he didn’t let you have it easy. From what I know of him, he wanted to teach you to fight, on all fronts. And from where I’m sitting, it worked. I bet your sister isn’t a pushover either. Your twin?”

I almost laugh, thinking about Taryn fistfighting anyone. But I guess we did both learn to lie pretty well. I shrug my shoulders.

“You’ve had the worst of it in high school with entitled rich kids. The real world is more balanced, and you’re more than ready for it.” He pauses. “And there is one more thing, but I don’t think you’ll appreciate me saying it.”

“Go on.”

“Mating.”

Cardan makes a choked sound.

“I don’t mean sex,” the Ghost says, with a glance at him. “I mean finding a mate. It’s something I’ve thought about, as someone who can’t have it. Sure, betas get to fall in love like everyone else, but we don’t get to have that… connection. That belonging.”

Neither Cardan nor I speak for a moment. We are both too busy looking at the ground. “It’s a lot of pressure,” I say slowly. “What if you pick the wrong person? How do you know?”

“You might.” The Ghost sits back in his chair, seeming to retreat back into himself. I have the feeling this is the most he’s spoken in one go for a long time. Then he says, “But what if you pick the right one?”

I open my mouth to reply when I am hit by another full-body shiver, and then my cramps return with a vengeance. I whimper and wrap my arms around my abdomen. “Ow.”

“She’s getting worse.” It’s Cardan who says it. He sounds newly panicked. “You have to help her. I can’t do it.”

The Ghost raises his eyebrows. “It’s okay for me to help her now?”

“Yeah, well, you were doing alright, keeping her distracted, so I guess you’re ready for more responsibility.”

I blink up at the Ghost, who’s already standing from his chair. “You were distracting me? How long has it been?”

“A good couple of hours. You like to argue.” He helps me out of my seat. “He’s not as stupid as he looks, is he?”

“No,” I say through gritted teeth. “No, he isn’t.” Standing takes most of my concentration, but I look back over my shoulder at Cardan, who’s rigid like he’s grown roots. His hands have a white-knuckled grip on the side of the chair. He nods at me, and I nod back at him and let the Ghost lead me away.

The door to our cell-room had been left open while we were talking around the table, so it’s no longer as stuffy. I let out a groan of relief when I sink down onto the mattress. My gross, terrible mattress. My itchy blankets. I am so happy to be back in a visceral way that I don’t quite understand. Because it’s my “nest,” I guess. I want to wrap myself up in the blankets and curl up in a little ball, but the Ghost is still standing here.

“We have to lock Cardan in with you at night,” he says quietly. He sounds apologetic. “Especially if it’s only me on watch. There won’t always be eyes on him.”

I shrug. “He hates me. I’ll be fine.”

The Ghost’s mouth presses into a thin line.

“Oh, what?” I scoff. “You’re taking your eyes off him right now.”

“Yeah, because I can feel his eyes boring holes in my shirt.”

I snicker. I have decided that as far as people who’ve shot me go, the Ghost really isn’t so bad. “Hey,” I begin, wincing through another cramp, determined to keep distracting myself. “Why are you doing this? The Bomb said she’s sticking with whoever you work for because she owes them. Same for you?”

“No,” he says flatly. “I’m too far in to get out.”

“That can’t be true. I mean, if you go to the police, bargain for immunity in exchange for testimony…”

He gives me a dour look that says I’m being incredibly naive. “Ask me whose house this was.”

I blink at him, wondering if the connection should be obvious and the fever is slowing down my brain. “Whose house… was it?”

“It was being built as a weekend home for someone’s mistress. It was never finished.”

“Why? What happened to her?”

He looks me over, withdrawing further into himself. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll get you more medicine. You should rest. The second half is going to be harder than the first.”

“It is?” I ask, my voice sounding small and pathetic, but he has already left.

---

I don’t remember much about the next twenty-four hours. Just flashes, impressions, snippets of conversation. People are in and out of the room, making sure my water bottle is full, replacing it if it isn’t, giving me pills, for all the good they do. At first it’s the Ghost, but eventually it’s the Bomb, which means she’s come back. My ears, straining to pick out Cardan’s voice through the closed door, hear the Roach’s laugh, so he’s returned too.

It’s a bad day. It doesn’t take me long to sweat right through my dress, and it takes even less time for my shorts to soak through. The medicine can’t keep my temperature in check anymore, only drive it down to a balmy one hundred. I am miserable, and I am bored. There is nothing for me to do but stare at the wall, and even if there were, I probably couldn’t focus on it. My head feels like it’s being weighed down by a bag of rocks. The only thing that seems fully awake and alive is my libido, spiky and insistent. I didn’t know it was possible to feel this sick and this aroused. Masturbation doesn’t help. Nothing helps.

I am aware of Cardan coming back into the room, hours later. I am aware of his footsteps on the floor, the sound of him sitting heavily on the floor. I get a fresh waft of lavender; he showered again before coming in. Even though I had been dozing and wish again to be unconscious, I do pick up my head to look at him.

“Hi,” I say.

He raises one hand in greeting. “Hey.” He looks less like himself than ever, pale and drawn and wilting, and his brows are drawn. But he’s still handsome. Even the paleness benefits him, setting off his dark hair. Like a vampire. I have the urge to press my mouth to the column of his neck again.

Instead, I ask, “What’s wrong?”

“Aside from everything?” Cardan sighs. “I don’t know. The Bomb and the Roach came back, but something is weird. They wouldn’t talk about it in front of me.”

“Oh,” I say. That should mean something to me, but it doesn’t right now. I can’t fit the pieces together.

He sighs again, a longer sigh this time. “And I’m feeling like a pretty shitty alpha,” he says.

“Why?” I ask, drawing my knees in tighter to my chest. “Because you haven’t boned me yet?”

Another strangled noise escapes him. I’m getting used to those little squawks. “One, never say ‘boned’ again. And two, no.” He sounds sullen. He rakes his hand through his hair. “Because I’m not taking care of you.”

My brain short-circuits. “What?”

“I talked to the Roach about it.” He pauses. “I mean… if we were paired up, if we were doing this on purpose, it should be me. I should be helping you. Instead I have to let other people do it.”

“But we’re not paired up, and that is taking care of me. In these circumstances…”

I trail off, and he shrugs. “Yeah, I guess.”

“It sucks,” I say, as if agreeing with him. “And it’s—I’m just scared.”

He tsks, tossing his hair out of his face. “Nothing scares you.”

I pull the blankets tighter around my shoulders. “That’s not true. I’m scared all the time. It’s why I’m so angry at everything, everyone. At myself.”

Cardan is quiet for a moment, then says, “I guess I get that.”

I wonder if he does. There is a lot I still don’t know about Cardan. “If the last year has shown me anything, it’s that I can’t control anybody else’s behavior. Locke. Taryn. Valerian.” I shift. “Just me. It’s just me. I’m the only thing in my control.”

He smiles, weakly. “Slow down, Hamilton.”

“It’s Burr. And that’s not the lyric.”

“Whatever. Nerd.”

My own smile is transient. “Anyway, now I’m not even in my control. Now I have to be afraid of myself. So that… it just sucks.”

“Yeah.” After another stretch of silence, Cardan asks, “Are you afraid of me?”

I don’t answer him right away. Because the answer, of course, is yes. Yes, I have been afraid of him for such a long time. Yes, I am afraid of what he represents, the power and the system set against me. Yes, I am afraid of the way he affects me, the things I want to do, the vulnerability in me.

But the answer, in some strange way, as we have languished in our cell, has also become no.

“I,” I begin, but then there is another urgent cramp, another painful jolt of arousal on its heels, and I groan. “Oh, god.”

Cardan’s eyes widen in alarm. “You don’t have to answer that,” he says quickly. “Just… just relax. Just chill. I’ll stay over here.”

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” I manage through gritted teeth, clutching my stomach. It is, of course, worse.

Trying to get comfortable, I toss and turn for ages, but I must fall asleep through the pain because the next thing I know, Cardan is gone again, and I am holding a scrap of soft cloth in my arms. On instinct, I bring it to my nose. It smells like Cardan, that musky smell he’s taken on in the last couple of days. Warmth bursts in my chests like a firework. It’s his shirt. He left his shirt with me. What is he wearing now?

It doesn’t matter. I don’t care. I nuzzle the fabric. It is not exactly soft, a little grimy from lack of washing, but saturated with his scent. I am amazed at how my brain calms just from this one, simple thing. My horniness problem is not solved, though, so I slide my hand into my shorts to take care of it, my face still pressed to Cardan’s shirt. It muffles my cries when I come, but I’m honestly too far gone to care if I am heard. After I am finished, I wriggle out of my dress, pull the shirt over my head, and promptly fall back asleep.

I doze fitfully. Someone comes to replace the water bottle, which briefly wakes me long enough that I roll around for a few minutes before I’m out again. I don’t mind that the mattress is lumpy or that the blankets scratch my skin; whenever something begins to bother me too much, I stick my nose in the collar of Cardan’s shirt and breathe in, which is usually enough to soothe me.

I’m not sure whether I’m dreaming or awake when I feel someone press the bottle to my lips and say, “Drink, Jude.” It sounds like the Roach, or maybe Madoc. I open my mouth and manage a couple of swallows of water before putting my head back down and dragging the blankets up over my shoulders.

“Is she still asleep?” I hear Cardan ask. His voice is hushed. The smell of him doesn’t bother me so much now that I have his shirt, but I do scent him and groan softly, pressing my face into the pillow.

“Mostly,” says probably-the-Roach.

There’s a pause, then Cardan asks, “Can I do it?”

“You shouldn’t.”

“I know, but I want to help.” Something shuffles, like he’s kicked at the floor. “She’s only like this because of me.”

The Roach sighs, then says, “All right. Come over, but be careful.”

I hear Cardan’s footsteps on the floor, and then a hand pushes some of my hair off of my sweaty face, dragging down to skim my cheek. I lean into his hand. It feels so good to be touched.

“Jude, hey,” he says quietly. “Can you pick your head up a little higher for me?”

There’s something beneath his voice, a dark undertow that pulls me down. I find that I want to do what he says, which isn’t a remotely comforting thought. But I pick up my head, and he keeps one hand against my jaw as he tips the jug against my mouth. A little water trickles down my neck, wetting the shirt he lent me, but I swallow most of it down.

“That’s good.” He takes the jug away and sets it back down on the floor. I can hear the strain in his words, like he’s fighting with himself. “Really good.”

His hand finds my hair again, and I would do anything for him to just keep running his fingers through it, but then the Roach says, “I think that’s enough.”

Cardan disentangles his fingers from my hair and stands; I hear him step back. “It’s just so weird,” he says. “It’s weird to see her like this. She hates—she never asks for help. I’ve never seen her vulnerable.”

“Well, her body’s treating it like a sickness,” the Roach says. “But we’re looking out for her. Another, what, day or so? Less than a day? And she should be free and clear. And hopefully by then this will all be over and we can let you guys out.”

“Yeah.” There’s a pause, and then, “Thanks.”

The Roach chuckles. “Don’t thank me, kid. We kidnapped you.”

“I know, but.” Cardan hesitates. “Is it weird that in some ways I’d rather be here than home?”

“Pretty weird, yeah.”

“Yeah.” Then, lowering his voice to a whisper, he asks, “Jude?”

I say nothing, do nothing. I want to keep eavesdropping. He wouldn’t be saying half of this if he thought I was awake. So I keep my breathing low and even, and let him say what he wants.

But he says nothing, and for a second I think he’s getting ready to leave me alone again. Then I hear him take a step—toward me—and his hand is briefly back in my hair. I feel warm lips against my forehead, soft and fleeting like the brush of a butterfly’s wings. I have to fight my every instinct not to lean up into the kiss and give myself away, but then his hand and lips are both gone. I hear the quick retreat of his footsteps, the closing of the door.

“It’s not fair,” I whisper to the empty cell. “You can’t just leave me with that.”

But he can, and he did, because he assumed I was asleep. He left me with the memory of a forehead kiss, with a whispered conversation to dissect, and a tingling feeling throughout my entire body.

“I hate you so much,” I say, curling closer around his shirt. There is no answer but my erratic heartbeat, drumming out a truth I am almost, but not quite, ready to hear.

Next

[imaginealpha]

I saved this screenshot over three years ago.

Today, at 10:50 PM, I made a document titled "I'm gonna bang this out in an hour and submit it at 11:58pm because that's just how I am" and wrote this for my school's literary magazine. I submitted it at 1:15 AM, because that's also just how I am. It's a little long, but that's okay.

The screech of the train’s brakes cuts through the night air, startling you from your light doze. There aren’t many people in the station, and no one seems to want to get on. Except you, of course, because you want to be anywhere but here.

A man hangs out the window of the car in front of you. “First time?” he says, his eyes crinkling sympathetically.

“I’ve ridden the train before,” you snap back defensively.

“That’s not what I asked.” He gestures to the open door.

You lean against the window, making sure to keep your head off of it before the slight shaking gives you a headache. The buildings whipping by are quickly replaced by a rolling countryside. You suppose this is when you consider your place in the universe, as one does on the midnight train going anywhere, but you are content to just watch.

A voice breaks the fog in your mind. “I need your ticket, dear.”

An older woman stands by your seat, the only other person in the otherwise empty car. Wordlessly, you fish your ticket stub out of your pocket and hand it over.

She clicks her tongue as she punches a series of holes into it. “It’s a lovely view on the way, dear. Make sure to watch. I believe it’s quite a sight for the soul.”

She hands it back. When you turn back to the window, you don’t hear her leave.

You don’t know how long it’s been since you closed your eyes. When you force them open, a dusty brown expanse stretches outside the glass, the surface pockmarked with tiny craters. The sky is pitch black but twinkling with a million points of light, steady companions in an ever-changing eternity. A blue planet covered in faint green landmasses and swirling white clouds hangs above, too big and too small at the same time. For a moment, you feel a little less lonely.

In the distance in front of you, a single building sits, quite literally in the middle of nowhere. A neon sign blazes brightly, but you can’t quite make it out. Thin tendrils of smoke rise from the front, where a small group of young adults are sitting around in folding chairs.

As you watch, one of them throws back their head and laughs, while another one stands, holding an empty bottle to their mouth like a microphone. You can almost hear them. That could be you someday.

There is a young child across the row.

“How did you get here?” you ask, a little dazedly.

They wrinkle their nose. “That’s not a fair question. I rolled the dice, of course.”

“Of course,” you repeat numbly. “Why isn’t it fair?”

“Because everyone rolls the dice, so you’re gonna get the same answer every time.” They shrug simply. “It’s the only way to get on the train, you know. You roll the dice, and if your number is low enough, you can choose to come on the train and roll again. It says so on your ticket.”

You dig out your ticket. It’s punched so full of holes that you can’t make out any of the text anymore.

“I didn’t roll the dice,” you hear yourself say.

The child just stares at you. “Of course you did.”

“Of course,” you say again, for lack of a better answer. “Where are they, then? So I can roll again?”

“That’s not how it works.” The child is rolling their eyes now, and you vaguely wonder if it is socially acceptable to use them as makeshift dice. (It isn’t, obviously.) “Ask me a more interesting question, please.”

“Who are you? Where are you from? And-” you twist around again to glimpse what is now a never-ending ocean rippling below the train, an electrical storm brewing on the horizon. “-where are we? Where are we going?”

“Everywhere. Nowhere. It’s hard to say, really.” They smile at you, something unreadable in their eyes. “I suppose a better answer would be anywhere. It’s up to you.”

“Me?”

Their smile turns sharp. “It really is your first time, isn’t it?”

The waves outside splutter in response. They go on and on and on and on, with no signs of stopping.

You can make out the thin glistening of water pouring softly down the cavern wall from the lights on the outside of the train.

“What’s it like, where you’re from?” the child asks.

“Pretty,” you say noncommittally. “Elegant, in its own way. Normal.”

They hum and swing their legs, gripping the edge of the seat. “And?”

You watch the walls of the cavern narrow in on the train, and a spark of nervousness flares inside you when you think of the train getting stuck. “Trapped. It was a nice place to grow up, but there wasn’t anywhere to go except where everyone told you to go. Sometimes, those places weren’t very special. Not to me, at least.”

“You have anywhere here.”

“I guess so,” you sigh. “The ride has to end eventually, though. I didn’t really think this through, so I have no idea what I’m going to do when we get to the last stop.”

“There’s only one stop,” the child says casually, “but think about what you want to do when you get there. It’ll be a whole new world for you, if you believe in it.”

Watching the tunnel widen again into a room full of gorgeous glowing crystals towering high above you, you think you’re starting to understand.

A lone streetlight stands outside, its harsh yellow light flickering on the ground. Silhouettes of people pass underneath like shadows, fading away into mist at the edges.

“They look like they’re searching for something. What are their lives like, I wonder?”

You square your shoulders bitterly. “They spend decades locked in a miserable cycle of work and expectations and exhaustion, with no real joy or expression left.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s what society demands. That’s what people demand.”

The child surveys you curiously. “So they’re looking for emotion? All of them?”

All of them. The confirmation is on the tip of your tongue.

You remember the people outside the desert store. “Maybe not all of them,” you amend. “Some of them had higher dice rolls.”

“They all fade away in the end,” the child observes.

“But they’re brighter.” Happier.

“The dice alone don’t change that,” they remind you.

The streetlight dies.

“Can you rig the dice?”

“No,” the child replies. “But low numbers aren’t always a bad thing. If you add them right, you get a bigger number.”

The chunks of ice speeding past the window start moving backwards.

“Do you wanna play a game?”

You decide to humor the kid, for lack of anything better to do. “Sure. What game?”

“You stomp your feet like this.” They stretch their legs to the floor and pound a steady rhythm on the ground. “When I make this sound” - a series of clicks you can’t for the life of you figure out how to do with your mouth - “you knock against the window.” Another beat, their knuckles rapping gently against the glass. “And I’m gonna do my own sounds, and we’re gonna make a song. But you can’t step in the same place twice, or it’ll get boring.”

It takes you a while to get the hang of it. Before long, you are up and out of your seat, hopping across the car in an effort to avoid landing on the same spot you just stepped. The kid is singing a melody that shoots adrenaline through your veins, lights a giddy fire in your chest, and opens a haunting void in your throat all at the same time. You feel more alive than you have ever been in your entire life.

Here, dancing in the soft white light of the train, with a forest whispering outside and brushing the windows with gentle branches, believing in this seems easier than ever.

The child isn’t there when the sun’s rays spill over the horizon, tingeing the sky a pale pink. The country hills rise around the train again, tiny farms dotting the green. Roused from your deeper slumber, you lazily watch the early morning mist climb over the grass. Distantly, a mass of grey clouds hangs in the sky. If you think about it hard enough, they look like looming mountains. An impossible, majestic journey.

“We’re almost at the stop, dear.” The woman is back, speaking quietly. “I’ll take your ticket stub off your hands for you.”

You pull it out and give it to her. “You were right. The view was incredible.”

Her face softens. “It always is.”

The train finally pulls into the station with another screech. The doors slide open with a hiss, and you step back out onto the platform, breathing in the morning air. You take a moment to turn to the man hanging out the side window.

“Hope to see you again sometime,” he bids you, kind eyes now crinkled in a smile. “Next time, I’ll say ‘Second time?’”

“I look forward to it,” you agree with a small huff of laughter.

The ticketmaster gives you a weird look as you leave the station. “Were you in there all night?” he asks, perplexed. “Did your train even come by? There’s none on the schedule.”

You shrug. “No, it did. It was a round trip.”

You climb the stairs to the ground level and step outside. As you head home, you try to hold on to the feelings you found on the train. Looking for emotion, indeed.

Even when you don’t have an anywhere to go, at least you know there’s always another option. You’ll do what you do best: you don’t stop believing.

What do you think @writing-prompt-s?

[pearl-blue-musings]

Perchance to Meet pt. 4

Hi again! 

Back at it again with anotha one. I didn’t put it on the other ones, my bad, but it is a fem reader. I apologize if that makes anyone uncomfortable!

Warnings: language, suggestive language, angst, you’ll probably hate me at the end but oh well 

  Part 5 

Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After that night, Aizawa tried his best to do what was best for him and his girlfriend. Regardless of what that enailed, he would do it. By no means did that mean he worked any less, he did what any over zealous workaholic does.

He began to stretch himself too thin.

On top of his teaching, patrolling, and keeping (Y/n) safe, the pro-hero barely had time for himself. He felt it was worth it, so long as work and personal life never interfered with each other or her work life for that matter, things were fine.

He did his best to believe his own façade until an early on staff meeting. He sent his love a quick text letting her know that he’d be late to her store because of a staff meeting. That’s alright, she responded, I’ve had some extra stuff come up at the shop with the café portion. Be safe baby uwu

Aizawa rolled his eyes, if you ever say that again I’m not picking up sweets on the way home.

Uwu uwu??

You’re lucky I love you

Uwu! 

The man chuckled and put his phone down, preparing himself for the meeting. So far the school year had gone pretty smoothly regardless of his attempts to expel students from the first week. The meeting at hand was just a normal staff meeting, going over the upcoming calendar for the whole school and going into smaller details like who would be at the USJ in the upcoming two weeks. He doesn’t show it, but he’s very excited for his kids to begin training at the USJ and with All Might and Thirteen there they are sure going to learn and grow in the right way.

After the meeting ended, everyone was rounding up their belongings and having idle chit chat. Aizawa is so close to tasting the sweet relief of the end of the day when he’s stopped by a couple teachers.

He’s met with whimsical sapphire eyes that match a grin on the ravenette’s face. “So, when am I going to meet the mystery woman that’s clearly stolen your heart.”

“Nemuri,” Aizawa sighs, “it’s not appropriate to talk about personal relationships during school hours.”

Ruby lips frown and pout, “Aw come on Aizawa! You’ve been together for almost a year now! Why haven’t you brought her to any of the staff outings?”

“Maybe because she’s busy too? I don’t wanna get into it.”

“It’s true!” The loud voice interrupting can only belong to one obnoxious blond. “She runs her own bookstore and bartends to make money for said bookstore! She’s a workaholic just like him. A match made in heaven!”

Upon his arrival, Present Mic had wrapped his arm around his friends shoulders to bring the three of them closer as they walk out of the room. As much as he wants to shove the arm off of his body he doesn’t feel the need to.

“Oh,” Midnight surmises, “so that’s why I haven’t met her! Stop hiding her from us Eraser we want to meet her.”

“You will, eventually.”

Nemuri scoffs, “Eventually?! You’ve been saying that for months.”

“Ah but what if he’s keeping her a secret on purpose?”

A new voice shocks the trio as they turn around to see Principal Nezu walking with a frailer looking All Might. All Might shakes his head and points to Nezu. “I mean, Eraserhead is a very busy man who puts his life on the line for his students and community. Who’s to say he’s not doing it for her safety?”

That makes the three teachers stop and think, but Aizawa’s train of thought isn’t exactly the same as his peers. The principal has a point. Up to this point, he hadn’t been able to bring her because of their crazy schedule and diligence to their respective jobs; granted they always made time for each other. But what if that’s a big part of it? Now that the number one hero is at the school he teaches, having a close connection to his class he might add, doesn’t that put a bigger target on his back for villains?

He’s tried not to think too much about the increase in villain activity since All Might’s presence, however it is now unavoidable. There’s always the possibility of an attack, the press made that pretty obvious, but Aizawa wouldn’t put it past any villain to do their research. Has he been safe enough when he’s been out with (Y/n)? Were they being tailed or followed by anyone on their many dates? Shit, has she gotten any new customers that might be a problem?

How could he have been so stupid and blind to not see the potential danger she’s in just by being with him? He had never felt like this before; never been so pulled into one person. He had avoided dating for this reason but how could she make him forget all of those reasons?

“It’s clear to me you love her and that you have a lot to think about Aizawa,” Nezu finishes, “but you always know what to do! I may not know her but I wish the two of you happiness!”

*****************************

(Y/n) tried her best to hold back her anger and frustration, but it was inevitable. Even with the addition of the café and a couple extra workers, she still needed to pull hours at the club. The struggle was indeed real. She desperately wants to slam her head on her desk but she knows that it’ll only upset Aizawa to see her physically hurt. So she keeps her head up with her arm and continues to look through the books for the last month.

No one had been stealing, everyone was working hard, hell even Kona had taken extra hours to help ease her stress over keeping the business running. But it wasn’t enough. No matter what she did, it wasn’t enough to keep working like this. Her tired eyes bore into the calendar knowing she can’t take much time off soon regardless of how much she wants to. Her time off will come in the form of a conference she’s been invited to attend and hold a small lecture. It’ll talk about how running a business you love while using your quirk for good is still considered heroic in its own right. I mean, she and all her friends knew that but there are still so many people in this society who feel less than because their quirks aren’t heroic…

Her mind begins to wander to her friends, Aizawa, one of her older favorite customers…

Ah yes, she hadn’t seen them in the last couple of years. She couldn’t remember the moms name, but her child always came in with another daycare every now and then, Eri. She had the prettiest white hair and red eyes, and the cutest little horn that was on her head. (Y/n) really missed her, but she assumed because of something with her quirk she stopped showing up, or maybe they moved; they would always come around the same time as if on some schedule.

A deep exhale escapes her mouth as she attempts to focus on the task at hand. She was finally making some headway in organizing the schedule and financial books when she hears an abrupt knock on the window. In a daze, (Y/n) leaves her office to walk toward the front, staring at the turned off ‘Open’ sign in frustration. But who is she to deny someone who might need help?

“Sir,” she yawns, “I’m sorry but we’re closed right now.”

The man in front of her has a menacing look that sends a chill down her spine. The mask covering his face makes it hard to distinguish his figures, and she notices the gloves over his hands. “Are you not (Y/f/n)?”

“Uh, yes? And may I ask who wants to know?”

The man chuckles, “I have a request from someone you may know.” He hands her a piece of paper and she hesitantly takes it. All that is on it are a few words that she is able to identify as a particular book in a children’s fantasy, her quirk coming to her aide. “I have the money already if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

Unsteadiness rises in the young woman. She searches his eyes for any kind of familiarity but fails to find any. “Ah, well sir I have the right book in mind. Could you wait right here?”

The man waits for her as he watches her go inside the store. So this is the place that good for nothing woman would go to? Hmm, it has appeal and he can see why his subject enjoyed it. Anything to put his plan into motion and keep it within his reach.

“Here you are, and may I get your name?”

Upon receiving the book, he exchanges the money and politely bows. “Chisaki Kai.

“And Eri says hello.”

********************************

The drive to the airport was filled with content silence, as (Y/n) leans her head onto Aizawa’s in the car they shared. It was early in the morning so the pro-hero was already adjusted to being up at this hour, however his girlfriend wasn’t. He had debated about escorting her to the airport, Nezu’s words still in his head two weeks later, but figured she’d be happier and more at ease having him see her off. It’s not everyday someone he knows and loves gets invited to talk about something they’re very passionate about.

He’s overly ecstatic about it and is upset he can’t be there for her. But he knows that he’ll do his best to stream her talk when it’s available.

This is what he loves, this equal give and take they have for their relationship. He’s met some of her friends and family, albeit on a tight schedule, and vice versa; minus the pro-heroes. They both have a strong respect for what they do and when they do it. Even though this will be the most time they’ll have together, he’s glad he can see her sleep so peacefully on his shoulder. A content grin adorns his face as he does another thing out of character and snaps a picture of her.

Damn, he really is in love with her. Once he sees the airport in sight, he softly nudges her, “Hey, princess. We’re almost there.”

“Unngg, no…”

Aizawa chuckles at her whining and lightly kisses her forehead. “I wanted a couple extra minutes of you awake before you get out and-“

“Sh, sh,” she interrupts. “You act like I don’t get it,” her words are slurred from being too tired. “You do a lot for me, love. We gotta be safe I understand; gossip is so bad.”

He loves how extra snuggly she is when she’s too tired to function. “You know I’d walk you to the gate if I could,” his voice rumbles huskily that ends up making her mewl.

“I hate when you talk like that.”

“Oh don’t worry, I’ll be sure to call you tonight and talk just like this.”

“Oh sure! Just forget that I’m in the car! Now hurry up your students have a big day coming up!”

The couple giggles at Hizashi’s words, despite their truth. His friend rolls his eyes as he sees where they parked. It’s a bit of a walk to the airport but this gives them privacy from any prying eyes, especially of the villain nature. The two of them step out of the car and gather her overnight luggage from the trunk.

“I’ll only be gone for the night, I’ll be back tomorrow evening.” She leans up to kiss him.

“I know,” he kisses her back, “I just wanted you to finally meet my students and see them in action.”

Her eyes widen at his words, and so did some golden ones at that. “You..? What?”

“Heh, I figured it was way past time I let you into more of my world. I know I’m not the most open person, but I want to keep you safe and where else to do that than at U.A. with other heroes? They’re going to be working on rescues, and since you’ve shared so much of yourself with me, well it’s about time.”

Tears threatened to spill in his girlfriend’s eyes at his words. “Are you sure? I understand we kept our relationship a secret for our safety but, are you sure? I’m content knowing only your family and Yamada and- mmph!”

He silences her with a kiss and chuckles into it. “It’s dangerous yes, but you’re worth it.”

*******************************

The flight back wasn’t as enjoyable as the tired woman had predicted. Since her presentation went well, she was on a high until midway through her flight. Poor (Y/n) got stuck in the middle seat surrounded by the most unbearable people on the planet. She couldn’t wait to get back to Aizawa and just let him ravish her.

Once she had collected her luggage and turned on her phone, she tried to find the raven haired man and his loud blond friend. But after ten minutes of waiting and searching she came up empty handed. “What the hell,” she muttered to herself. She had no missed calls or texts from Shouta so what was up? He promised he’d pick her up but she’s been in the airport for almost an hour now and no such luck.

Getting frustrated she ended up hailing a random taxi and input her address. No matter, he could have had something come up at school which is entirely possible. She wasn’t going to let that get in her way of returning to the man she’s absolutely head over heels for. It might have been just one night away, but it felt like an eternity. Despite all her work, all his work, the world pretty much telling them no they found a way. Sure they had their fair sure of arguments but what couple didn’t? At the end of the day, they loved each other and that’s what was important.

She suddenly began to feel her phone buzz and pouts at the caller I.D. “Yamada, I have half a mind to come to your place and demand you drive me around for the hell of it! I thought you were supposed to pick me up!”

“(Y/n).”

The laugh that was in her throat retreated when she noticed his serious tone. This wasn’t like him. Damn, what happened?

“Hizashi, you’re scaring me,” her voice trembles, “where’s Shouta?”

She can hear him take a deep breath and his voice is not as boisterous as it typically is. “Answer me!” She’s clutching her phone as tears threaten to fall, “where is he?!”

“(Y/n), dear, I’m so sorry. There was an attack yesterday during the training, and he’s injured. Really badly.”

He’s met with silence on the other end and slowly continues. “He’s at the hospital. I’ll send you the address.”

With that he hung up. (Y/n) felt her jaw go slack. Her heart begins to pound faster than before as her breathing increases. The urge to vomit overwhelms her senses as the feeling in her stomach is one she’s never felt. Nothing makes sense. Why? Why didn’t he tell you immediately? Or why didn’t Present Mic tell you earlier? It’s almost 5 pm school ended hours ago, this makes no sense he would’ve told her, he would have he would have-

Her phone lights up with a text from the blond man Here’s the address. I did this for him. Please go to him.

The rest of the ride is a blur after she tells the driver to switch addresses. Her conference didn’t matter, her shitty flight didn’t matter, her new found knowledge didn’t matter… Shouta needed her and fuck why can’t this person drive faster!

She barely recollects paying her driver as she pulls up to the hospital. She runs in with her bags up to the front desk and politely yet frantically asks for her boyfriend. The nurse up front is apprehensive but relaxes upon seeing her stressed out face and Hizashi coming up to vouch for her. He glances into her eyes and gives her a hug in solidarity and apology. The pair of them pass by rooms, quickly going to the elevator to find Aizawa’a room. Along the way, she assumes she passes some of his students as the blond man pushes them out of the way.

Hizashi holds her luggage as she makes her way inside. In the room, she finally sees him and falls to her knees. Her presence is finally announced as an older nurse and a frail looking man turn to her. His face is completely covered in bandages and his arm is clearly broken. It takes everything in her to not wail at the sight.

“Who is it?”

The voice is soft and muffled but she’s able to make out who said it. The elderly looking nurse comes to his side and removes some of the bandages on his face in order for his eyes to be revealed.

It had been a few hours since he had been able to see, but what he was greeted with confirmed his newfound resolve. The sight of his girlfriend’s face covered in tears for him was almost too much.

“Sh-Shouta, why? What happened?”

“Why are you here?”

That sentence alone stunned everyone in the room, including Hizashi who had just walked in.

“What are you talking about? You got attacked! Why else would I be here?”

“You shouldn’t be here,” he coughs out. “This isn’t a place for you.”

Confusion crosses her features at his words. “I don’t? I don’t understand, I thought you wanted me to be part of your life.”

“Present Mic told you I was here didn’t he? I told him not to.” He sighs and tries to lay back down. “Recovery Girl, could you cover me back up?”

“Whoa, whoa wait! I come back from a conference and I find out that you are severely injured and you don’t want me here?! What the hell happened to everything we spoke about literally yesterday? Why didn’t you tell me, or at least have him tell me you were okay or something!

“You’ve been like this for a whole fucking day and if I’m correct, you weren’t planning on telling me?”

He lowers his voice from the yelling and mutters loud enough for her to hear, “this is why pro-heroes don’t date.”

Gasps were heard around the room and Present Mic is most surprised, “Eraserhead come on,” he breathes. “Don’t do this, man. And you need to take a break! You can��t just go back to work like everything is fine!”

“He’s what!?”

Aizawa puts up his in broken hand to silence them, “no she needs to hear this.” He points to the now confused and angry woman in front of him. “You don’t understand that this is my life and I will get hurt.”

(Y/n) shakes her head, “I know that! But you need to rest, I’ve missed you and I’m sure your students would understand. You saved them!”

He interrupts, “I can’t stop being a hero and a teacher because of some injuries. My kids need me.”

“I need you too.”

“But you’re not putting your life on the line every day are you? You just sell books and make drinks, how is that helping people?”

Her heart sank at those words. How could he say something like that? She can slowly but surely feel her heart be torn and repaired by thorny weeds holding it together. She can’t even look at him, knowing that he was aiming to hurt her intentionally with those words. Those words were why she does what she does and he just mocked her. After all this time, it seems his true colors were finally showing. This is why he never let her in, because he’s a coward. A coward too afraid to let anyone come close. It’s a miracle to her now that he has friends.

The silence is deafening after his last questions as all eyes on are on her. (Y/n) straightens her posture and begins to head out of the room. She stops briefly to whip out her keychain. She removes the key to his apartment, struggling to get it off and finally throws it on the ground, the clanking of the metal against the tiles louder than anyone thought. And through her gritted teeth she spat,

“Fuck you Aizawa.”

She grabs her luggage from an unusually quiet Hizashi and storms out, tears cascading down her face.

Once she was out of earshot, Mic turns to his friend and takes a deep breath. “What the hell was that!? That wasn’t what we practiced!”

He’s greeted by silence from his injured and heartbroken friend. Aizawa knew what he was supposed to say, but the attack on his students left him feeling some kind of way. Even though the villains were after All Might, they attacked his students and he couldn’t have that. He told no one of that trip and feared that someone may have overheard him talking to her at the airport. He knew these villains were ruthless and as he said, he would do anything to protect her at all costs.

Aizawa sighs, the weight of his words and actions falling onto him. “It was the right thing. These villains are crazy, attacking students and teachers in broad daylight. Who knows what else they know about us? I can’t get her involved in that.”

The blond shakes his head in disappointment. “No you don’t get it. (Y/n) loves you and would do anything for you. I understand you want to keep her safe but breaking her heart like that…”

Aizawa knows this too well as he speaks to his friend again. “It’s better if she’s not in my life. I don’t want her connected to this and you know she’d throw herself into this to support and be there for me. I can’t have my students and my girlfriend with targets on their backs.

“What kind of hero would I be if I can’t save the ones I care for?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

taglist!: @kiribaku-queen @cupcake-rogue @shinsouskitten @prk-pyo @therealwalmartjesus 

[greenhappyseed]

We need to talk about All Might.

After Chapter 309, everyone seems to be screaming DEATH FLAG (more than normal), and I wouldn’t ordinarily agree given the fakeouts we’ve seen before. However, AM isn’t given much to do yet (except look cute in his sunnies) and doesn’t seem to be in a good position to grow as a person. It makes me sad bc there is a lot of potential with AM, and it all seems pushed aside in favor of Endeavor’s narrative, which I don’t love. As a ::cough cough:: older BnHA fan in a workaholic profession, I want to see the larger hero society narrative use AM to ask if you can be a hero (and therefore of any value to society) when you’re old and/or have less strength/power/endurance than you used to have. What happens when you WERE an equal, and then you lose a step along the way (note there may be a parallel to Bakugo’s/Aizawa’s post-war condition on this theme)? Or, given the focus on teenagers and the role of the “new generation” in rebuilding society, let’s ask whether AM made the right choice in sticking with his teenage ideals through adulthood. Was he right to give up EVERYTHING for his dream, only to crash land into a nightmare? I mean, the dude destroyed himself for years and then watched his life’s work crumble in a matter of weeks. Can he pick himself up, powerless, and still find a new way to help? In BHNA, all of the top heroes have major flaws (a meta for another time!) and a chance at redemption, so I really want to see AM do the same thing.

AM starts the story as the singular, self-proclaimed Symbol of Peace, which was a mission he gave himself as a naive, idealistic middle school student(!!!) Through Nana Shimura, AM received the power to make his teenage ambition a reality and then ... kept at it for 40 years. Alone. Without critical reflection. In Vigilantes, we learn the cost of this relentless pursuit is that AM has no real friends and no social life. Even among other top heroes, he’s not an approachable peer, but the hired gun brought in to clean up the biggest, baddest disasters before he’s immediately called out to the next one. To the extent he socializes after a big win, it’s to talk to the media and sign autographs, not debrief or bond with fellow heroes. The guy has charisma and can do stage banter all day, but he has no idea how to have an actual functioning relationship with colleagues. At the beginning of BNHA, it’s been 20ish years since AM spoke to Torino, 10 years since he spoke to Endeavor, and 5 years since Nighteye. He does keep in touch with Tsukauchi, but he’s more like a “work husband” than a best friend.

When Deku meets him, AM is holding it together on the surface, but is really in mental distress. AM is the first hero in the story whose facade is ripped away (initially to us readers, then eventually to everyone in universe). Unable to do the hero work that defines him for more than 3 hours a day, he seems to spend the rest of his pre-UA time wandering around aimlessly. He’s lost his sense of purpose, has nobody to confide in (he may not “lie” but he definitely doesn’t tell anyone complete truths), and he is indifferent to his own survival. He is certain Nighteye’s prediction is coming true, and he’s looking for a successor because he HAS to before time runs out, not because he wants to. If he can pass on OFA then he can die, ideally in a blaze of glory. And, if not for Deku, he would have let the slime villain kill Bakugo and told himself he can’t save everyone. In Deku he sees his younger self’s ideals and decided his new purpose is to build the next Symbol of Peace, not just do a handoff. With a true successor secured, he can really go for one last big heroic act.

Except it doesn’t work out as planned. Deku — lonely and idealistic himself — desperately needs AM around for approval. And AM, with extra time on his hands, seems to enjoy being needed by his boy, like a parent with a toddler. As hard as they both aim to create the next AM, Deku is his own person (as all children are), which makes the process trickier than either one anticipated. At first AM tries imitating Torino and trains Deku through physical activity and battle, the same way Torino punched a grieving, teenage AM around. AM encourages Deku to sacrifice himself, just because AM also did it for 40 years. But these tactics just don’t work for Deku. AM gets (rightly) scolded by Recovery Girl. Then AM sends Deku to Torino, who teaches Deku Full Cowling and scolds AM for not telling Deku the truth about AFO — and for this one time, Torino is right. Slowly, fuller truths start coming out from AM, and in return Deku learns to protect himself and ask his mentor questions rather than merely imitate. Both begin to grow and change for the better.

After Kamino, Inko uses her leverage to convince AM to stop the blaze of glory nonsense. He wants to be her successor as parent to Deku, and she’s not going to allow it if AM is going to drive her son towards needless self-sacrifice. This seems to take root, and we later see AM openly defy Nighteye’s prediction because he wants to be with Deku. He starts jogging! We even see him confide in Aizawa he has decided to live. Even if he’s not always sure how to give his new life purpose, and he bristles at needing to be protected, he’s accepting his post-pro existence. Progress!

Finally, AM comes into his own as a teacher and member of the old guard with experience to share. He may be using “Teaching for Dummies” as a shortcut, but he’s recognizing his own failings and trying to improve. He tells Deku to quit imitating him, full stop, finally giving Deku permission to become his own hero with his own style. AM takes initiative to teach Deku Air Force, and really guides Deku through the use of the power until Deku becomes proficient. AM also gets actively involved in coaching other students (not as much as he should, but it’s something). AM will similarly counsel Endeavor later, saying Endeavor has to walk his own path and answer for himself why he has his power. AM is building new relationships, new skills, and forming an identity outside of punching things!

Of course, we still see signs AM is a work in progress. Staying up too late at night to do research on prior OFA users for Deku. Diving to protect a woman from a falling streetlight (saved only by a fast-acting Bakugo). At the same time, we see that Deku is coming into his own with his 1A friends. And Deku is no longer looking back to AM for approval (both literally when jumping away and figuratively as part of Deku’s decision-making processes). AM seems both proud and sad, as is natural when a parental figure watches their child become independent.

Fast forward to 309, and a powerless AM leaves all the growth behind to help Deku, Endeavor, Jeanist, and Hawks find the LOV. On the good side, AM isn’t keeping secrets anymore (arguably, telling Jeanist and Hawks about OFA should have involved a consultation with Deku, but okay). Moreover, AM isn’t useless in this fight; he can provide financing, emotional support, police connections, UA connections, and Oracle/guy-in-a-chair backup to the active heroes. But what will this change tell us about AM? Can he ever really get comfortable with this role or is he there just out of duty? Can he actually deliver some hard truths to Deku about AM’s own experience if/when Deku stretches himself too thin? Is this new role respected by the other heroes? If not, will he be tempted to return to battle to be “valuable”? To give his life for Deku so he can claim one last “win” by saving? Or give his life for Deku because he actually loves him and has something personal to fight for? All of these questions bear on where an older, powerless person — that is, an outcast — fits into society and how a lifelong loner can find their role within a group. (Boy, this sounds like a familiar BnHA theme!)

I feel like, if AM dies just to become a vestige, all of these deeper questions are unexplored and we’re just copying Star Wars plot points without any added meaning. I’m not satisfied AT ALL with AM living rent free in Deku’s head and robbing others of his wisdom/experience (which he was just starting to share!!!). Likewise, if AM dies as a plot device so Deku can stand as a hero on his own, or tap into his inner rage or whatever, well, that’s also copied from Star Wars — and it seems to counter what we’re starting to see with Deku calling his own shots and AM supporting. Unlike Torino and AM, who don’t talk for years, I want to see Deku be his own hero AND have his mentor in his life. I want BnHA to keep resisting the absent adult trope, because it’s entirely possible (and realistic!) for grownups to be their own people while having mentors and parental figures in their life. It’s an adjustment for a parental figure to watch their teen become an adult, but it doesn’t mean the parental figure just ghosts and ceases to matter as an influence.

Similarly, if AM turns to sacrifice, it will turn AM’s life story into a cautionary tale with no growth. How can a story about saving people who have done bad things have a good guy succumb to his worst instinct, with nobody to save him? How can AM’s life lesson be “make friends now and learn to give and take in a relationship, otherwise you’ll get too old and it’ll be too late and when you aren’t powerful you’ll have to take a hit to have value”? Even if his sacrifice ultimately allows Deku to win against AFO it feels hollow against the larger narrative. Unlike pre-war Bakugo, we already know AM will self-destruct for others. AM wanting to take on the world alone and die “heroically” is the PROBLEM that drives his pre-Kamino failures, not the solution. And if AM can’t escape this and become comfortable in society post-retirement, who can???

I’m worried we are going to see AM’s growth cut short while Endeavor, Hawks, and the LOV get a shot at redemption, which feels problematic. Of course life isn’t fair, and not everyone gets to have a second act, but it feels wrong for the BNHA narrative to punish someone who is trying (and who wants to help Deku save the villains). Maybe you can argue it’s AM’s fault that the hero society became corrupt, so it’s a cosmic balance for him to die watching it fall. Or maybe the other heroes will realize AM needs their help too (not just Deku) and keep him safe. (Maybe Endeavor will save him in a parallel to Bakugo and Deku.) Much is TBD, but chapters 306-309 make me worry.