#[THIS WAS THE MOST PAINFUL THING IVE EVER WRITTEN I AM DEAD]

[ludux]

Figured I could do a better job responding to this - try it yourself sometime, even if not public, it might reveal somet things about yourself to you, and that's always empowering.

I dunno, I'm ace, sex does nothing for me, what I love is character and context, tension and emotion - sex can be a part of that, but by itself does nothing for me. But Dead Dove content? Whole entire full bag 'o weird intense unusual fun emotions.

Favourite! 'Doomed by the narrative' ; betrayal, betrayal of the innocent, betrayal of trust, abuse of authority - but made most personal. Betrayal and abuse elevated beyond grimdark to a hoarse and raw emotion. SO much room to explore characters in a very short amount of time. How do they react? Why did they do? What do they feel? Regret? Exaltation? Fear? Relief? Arousal? Fearousal? Best when the audience and the villain are in on what's going to happen, but the victim is oblivious right up to the end. Only because it's recent, see: First Sette. Exquisite.

Naw, never against it. Fiction is fiction - being mad about things that aren't real is a sign you're not emotionally mature enough to handle fiction. Reconsider your relationship with reality.

Just light drabs, ace stuff, very platonic. Heinous right?

I'd probably be harrassed if I was a person of any influence or notability but I'm just a nobody, hate away~

Least favourite! Straight up boring sex or non-con or rape, the least interesting and most boring uncreative way to explore a character. I can endure it as part of something more creative, but straight up by itself shuts me down completely. I don't caaaaaaaaare. It's so dull. Do better.

I don't really have favorites! Go browse some tags and find your own.

The appeal for me is stepping at first half an inch, and then whole miles past the tropes you're already familiar with. Haven't you noticed? Most of the fiction you enjoy tends to repeat the same stories over and over, with the same characters in the same situations, just different names and faces, over and over forever. Which is fine, but dead dove allows the exploration of tropes and character types and situations you will NEVER find in popular media.

I'm not sure I understand the question of fandom oriented vs original content. Isn't all content original somehow? I tend to prefer unusual situations with characters I already know, as they come with pre-built context and emotions and motivations, they're a shortcut to exploring wilder creative ideas and situations.

Size dif, species dif, age dif, power dif, evil mad scientist torturer sadist doctor who has fun with it. That's five, right? Sometimes all at once!

Dubcon vs noncon really depends on the characters and situation. Some people would argue that con is impossible and everything is dubcon but that's a dumb boring lazy argument. Really depends how it's written - how great is the power imbalance? If some mad scientist's got you drugged and stripped strapped spread-eagle to a surgery table with an IV in your neck, that's already passed quite a ways past dubcon. But is it well written? Are the characters relatable, are the emotions clear? Is the physicality present, if it's about that? What's the setup, what's the payoff? Those are much more interesting questions.

Not sure it does much for me to be honest? Depends on the characters, the context, the emotions, the motivations. Siblings more interesting than… other kinds, I guess.

Never be ashamed of being into any fiction of any kind ever. It's not real. Shame is a fake idea created to control people through fear and pain - expel it from your life entirely (where safe, some people are violently pro-shame) and you'll be much happier.

Embarrassed about being into? Not sure I am, some just have different social consequences. :) Age difference can be handled poorly but so can size difference, power difference (rape squicks me), species difference, or anything else of contrast. Contrast provides interest and novelty, but like anything it can be done poorly. Some shota stuff is cute, some loli stuff is cute, some furry stuff is cute, some gore stuff is fun. But like most things, most of it is trash. (And some bodies are just aesthetically nice to look at or think about - I'm personally drawn to desexualized ace aesthetics. Think Sette from Unsounded, various cloned or robotic or inhuman bodies from Blame! or Alita, prosthetic bodies from Ghost in the Shell, fundamentally untethered and unquestionably freed from reproductive demands. There’s something profoundly comforting in seeing bodies that can reject reproductive destiny outright, have freedom from imposed biological imperatives without it being any sort of trauma or punishment. )

If you're scared about liking things that aren't real, narrow that down to 'of who', and 'why'. And maybe reconsider some friendships.

Sure, pro anything you enjoy, it's not real, don't worry about it.

Bluesky has less nazi's so it wins by default.

Any problematic ships - only real people I guess. If they're not real, chill the fuck out, go outside and like, fondle a tree or something I dunno, lick grass.

Problematic favs - this'll probably veer more into just characters I love territory; most characters I love tend to be pretty niche or older or unusual. Think like, Ed from Cowboy Bebop, Gosalyn from Darkwing Duck, Buttercup from PPG, Sette (and First Sette) from Unsounded, Cibo from Blame! - characters you can put in almost any situation and they'll surprise you. Even intense and weird and uncomfortable situations will just… bring to light aspects of their strength and resilience or ability to overcome that just - wouldn't ever really get explored normally. I like characters who defy expectations, who are weird, who are 'wrong' in some way, who subvert or create tropes just by existing. Who can BE tested and not just break right away. And now see what happens if you smash them through some real weird grimdark stuff that'd make any censor faint, and you might end up with something special. :)

Dead dove content is good for any society that doesn't want to be controlled by the narrow prejudices of emotionally stunted puritans too afraid of things that aren't real and the depths (or shallowness) of their own imaginations to tolerate the thought that other people might have the emotional maturity they don't to differentiate between things that are and are not real, and be capable of exploring fictional ideas while still being good, kind, civil, normal people while doing so. It is the people who are certain they know better than you do what you should and should not be allowed to read, what you should and should not be allowed to see, what you should and should not be allowed to hear, what you should and should not be allowed to think - they are the true threat to you.

There's your real monster.

[marlenesarchive]

people like shane walsh??? i am sort of on the outskirts of the walking dead fandom, but ive gotten into several internet arguments over me hating shane walsh. he was CLEARLY an antagonist? like, not even just that, he was a bad guy. i looked up his tag on tumblr and there was fanfic?? 😦

shane walsh is a bad guy, and is written as so??? let me remind the folks who forgot-

shane walsh sexually assaulted lori grimes. thats it. no matter if she was 'leading him on' in the previous, he sexually assaulted her. he grabbed her and touched her when she did NOT want it. if you cant remember, rewatch the scene. i was writing out for a different blog about it and rewatched it to refresh my memory - safe to say its worse than i remember. their previous relationship or however you viewed her actions (and his) following that relationship does NOT give him the right to touch her when she says to stop. thats literally the bare minimum.

moreover, he was a man going crazy. he didnt 'adapt' quicker than everyone else, and comparing him to rick in season five (a guy we already know i dont like) when rick was 100% having a bout of craziness himself is weird. shane walsh, no doubt about it, was going crazy. he couldnt handle the world as it fell apart, and was insane. he had ideals far too harsh to perservere any longer than they did, and he never could lead. he was harsh, mean, manipulative, and aggressive.

to ignore these things in trying to defend why you like him is to ignore who he is as a character. these moments, his bouts of psychosis and his actions following his and loris affair, are pivotal to understand him.

also, no, he didnt love lori. shane was obsessed with her, and not in the booktok way most folks (apparently) viewed it. he was crazy, and was convinced that he and lori were meant to be even after lori immediately tried to break it off with him when rick came back. i dont agree with all of lori's actions, but to act as if she were completely hot and cold and not just trying to be civil is INSANE. she had a few moments that j can agree are bad, but she was at least not constantly professing her love for a married man, or trying to kill said married mans childs father.

we literally see shane walsh talking poorly about women the FIRST time we see him - he clearly doesnt respect women ('you and every other pair of boobs on this planet' - direct quote). even more than that, he's never been a father. he wouldnt know how to parent carl, he just wouldnt. not with how aggressive he was, not with how impatient, and not with jumping into the middle of carls life. one or two scenes of carl and shane getting along will NEVER be enough to convince me that he couldve even aimed for being a good parent for carl.

some more on his and lori's affair - even if lori was leading him on (a thing i dont agree happened) he was an adult too. he had full faculties to cut it off on his end too. yes, being led on can be troublesome. BUT, he was a fully grown adult and had full knowledge on the state of rick and lori's relationship, he couldve made the right choice to cut it all off. if not for himself, for his bestfriend. he just couldnt. he lacks the capabilities to do what he doesnt want, he lacks the sense to do whats best for others outside of his own obsessions. that alone is a clear indicator that he wouldnt have been a good leader, if he got obsessed there clearly was no changing his mind. also, if a simple breakup/lead on was enough to egg him on all that much more into a complete mental break, whos to say he would survive any amount of time at the end of the world? people die all the time after the end of the world, people break up, people lose others. if shane couldnt handle that simple departure from lori, what could he handle? he only ever was good at being authoritative when the losses didnt hurt him, when the pain wasnt directed at him - and even then, hes completely lackluster.

no, this isnt to say shane was a poorly written character. a lot of defense i get is 'but hes so well written!' which is essentially my whole point. shane is a very real and well written character, but hes well written to be a bad person. you cannot write out a SA scene and expect for others to move forward as if shane is a good guy. the writers clearly werent aiming for love towards shane. no, this isnt hate to the actor. in fact, i think jon bernthal did an amazing job at potraying such an awful guy, and its part of why the love for shane is so disturbing, because it felt so real.

in conclusion, shane walsh is a bad guy and will forever exist in my heart as a horrible guy. anyone who willingly defends shane or looks past his bad actions are wimps who lack even an ounce of media literacy. anyone who likes shane as a character for what he has done needs to stay far, far away from me! shane walsh, i hate you.

[significant-narratives]

Ok but consider: the splash bros as a narrative foil to austonmitchy ... nearly 10 years of losing in the most heartbreakingly almost fashion and yet you still choose to stay and go back home to each other vs. being undisputably the best and coming back from the dead time after time after years of waiting and longing and reminding the world that you're unstoppable together even if the clock seems to have other plans.

That and klay is the most recent victim of mitchsogyny which is when uber-entitled fans of a team with a Best Guy Ever want to kick said Guy's work wife off of the only one he's ever known because of (1) bad playoff performance that somehow overshadows several good ones !! Men are watching sports for the wrong reasons just enjoy the gay love story and be grateful ugh !!! Ok sorry for ranting ive just been thinking abt both of them a lot and luv ur blog and need them all to stay married forever or i will do something Drastic etc ok that's all bye have a lovely day <333

oh my god anon... your mind... i had never connected those two dots but yes absolutely!! as always i am prone to rambling so i'm sticking the rest of my reply under the cut.

i think you nailed it re: how despite the different trajectory each pairing has taken (years of coming close but not close enough vs literal dynastic success) the enduring love is still there!

i also think the way these two pairings came to be is interesting to compare. auston and mitch written in the stars (auston shattering the glass of the rink off a mitch assist in their first practice together, fast friends since they were rookies etc) vs steph and klay having a slower burn and only really bonding a couple years in (the barcelona trip).

and then, like. auston and mitch sitting in the locker room together, united in their grief and heartbreak in the amazon doc... the effervescent joy that klay and steph take in succeeding together but also watching each other succeed, even all these years later!! both pairs always speaking highly of one another, understanding that they make each other better, and most importantly wanting to climb the metaphorical mountain together. and needing each other in order to do so.

less important but amusing to me: one half getting married and settling down (steph, mitch) and the other still (presumably) happily living that bachelor life (klay, auston)

have to take a quick second to highlight this part of your ask because it made me feel so weepy in wake of Recent Events (which i will circle back to):

being undisputably the best and coming back from the dead time after time after years of waiting and longing and reminding the world that you're unstoppable together even if the clock seems to have other plans

LIKE.... LET'S TALK ABOUT IT FOR REAL... steph is a generational talent, an all time great, changed the way the game is played etc etc BUT. everything he has won at an nba level has been with klay by his side. the warriors were a lottery team for two seasons, everyone said they'd never win again in the 1130 era... and then klay came back and they won again! when steph was out last season, klay played a huge part in keeping the time afloat! i repeat that through the power of true love all things are possible and i think that's beautiful.

and of course, klay as the most recent victim of mitchsogyny is just incredible scholarship, truly. i've been avoiding all warriors-related news/spaces this offseason because people are being so fucking miserable, it's painful to see.

like, with the faction of leafs fans who want mitch gone, i can almost understand why they feel that way (note: that doesn't mean i approve or agree lol). and that's because in the same way that winning cures all, losing poisons everything.

but with warriors fans and klay, it's like? was four championships and coming back from two potentially career-ending injuries not enough for you people? did you guys forget a decade plus of incredible performances that quickly? where is your sense of loyalty! <- this circles back to your point abt how the average sportsfan engages with team sports. they care about the logo, the team as a concept, and maybeee one or two superstar players. but for me personally, and i think for many people on sports tumblr, what good is rooting for a team if the team is completely unrecognizable? i don't want to see nameless players win a title, i want to watch my guys win! i want to get invested in their journeys and their accomplishments and watch them grow together! sports are just stories about people at the end of the day!

please don't apologize anon, i too have been in the trenches with the news that klay is likely to leave as a FA and just... everything... about the mitch situation. i think the most important thing to remember is that no matter what happens, the love will always be there. and when we look back, their names will always be said together.

[jackoshadows]

Q:  What is your favorite line you’ve ever written?

A: “I certainly like ‘Stick ‘em with the pointy end.’ - GRRM

So here are all the times GRRM’s favorite line he has ever written shows up over 5 books:

“You’ll have to work at it every day.” He put the sword in her hands, showed her how to hold it, and stepped back. “How does it feel? Do you like the balance?”

“I think so,” Arya said.

“First lesson,” Jon said. “Stick them with the pointy end.” - Jon II, AGoT

-----

“She was,” Eddard Stark agreed, “beautiful, and willful, and dead before her time.” He lifted the sword, held it out between them. “Arya, what did you think to do with this … Needle? Who did you hope to skewer? Your sister? Septa Mordane? Do you know the first thing about sword fighting?”

All she could think of was the lesson Jon had given her. “Stick them with the pointy end,” she blurted out.

Her father snorted back laughter. “That is the essence of it, I suppose.” - Arya II, AGoT

-----

Everything Syrio Forel had ever taught her vanished in a heartbeat. In that instant of sudden terror, the only lesson Arya could remember was the one Jon Snow had given her, the very first.

She stuck him with the pointy end, driving the blade upward with a wild, hysterical strength. - Arya IV, AGoT

-----

She stood on the end of the dock, pale and goosefleshed and shivering in the fog. In her hand, Needle seemed to whisper to her. Stick them with the pointy end, it said, and, don’t tell Sansa! Mikken’s mark was on the blade. It’s just a sword. If she needed a sword, there were a hundred under the temple. Needle was too small to be a proper sword, it was hardly more than a toy. She’d been a stupid little girl when Jon had it made for her. “It’s just a sword,” she said, aloud this time . . . . . . but it wasn’t. - Arya II, AFfc

-----

Jon felt as stiff as a man of sixty years. Dark dreams, he thought, and guilt. His thoughts kept returning to Arya. There is no way I can help her. I put all kin aside when I said my words. If one of my men told me his sister was in peril, I would tell him that was no concern of his. Once a man had said the words his blood was black. Black as a bastard’s heart. He’d had Mikken make a sword for Arya once, a bravo’s blade, made small to fit her hand. Needle. He wondered if she still had it. Stick them with the pointy end, he’d told her, but if she tried to stick the Bastard, it could mean her life. -

“Snow,” muttered Lord Mormont’s raven. “Snow, snow.”  - Jon VI, ADwD

-----

It had been so long since he had last seen Arya. What would shelook like now? Would he even know her? Arya Underfoot. Her face was always dirty. Would she still have that little sword he’d had Mikken forge for her? Stick them with the pointy end, he’d told her. Wisdom for her wedding night if half of what he heard of Ramsay Snow was true. Bring her home, Mance. I saved your son from Melisandre, and now I am about to save four thousand of your free folk. You owe me this one little girl. - Jon XI, ADwD

-----

Jon fell to his knees. He found the dagger’s hilt and wrenched it free. In the cold night air the wound was smoking. “Ghost,” he whispered. Pain washed over him. Stick them with the pointy end. When the third dagger took him between the shoulder blades, he gave a grunt and fell face-first into the snow. He never felt the fourth knife. Only the cold …- Jon XIII, ADwD

The phrase is first introduced in Jon’s POV chapter when he gifts Needle to Arya and gives her the first lesson. From there, it pops up in Arya POV chapters. It’s there, whispering in her mind when she hides Needle and stops being Arya Stark. Jon Snow picks back up on the phrase, when he worries for Arya married to Ramsay Bolton. It’s his last thought as he dies.

I suspect, with Jon now dead and most probably spending time in a wolf, and Needle making a subtle appearance in Arya’s TWoW sample chapter, the next time ‘Stick them with the pointy end’ shows up on the page will be in an Arya POV chapter, where she reclaims her identity and heads to Westeros.

Maybe after Arya hears what happened to the black bastard at the wall, stabbed to death by mutineers....

He is a man of the Night's Watch, she thought, as he sang about some stupid lady throwing herself off some stupid tower because her stupid prince was dead. The lady should go kill the ones who killed her prince.  - Cat of the Canals, AFfC

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 3/21/2023

i didn't want to sit down and write this bc i was having too much fun playing viddy gaem

listening

IT'S QUICKER AND EASIER TO EAT YOUR YOUNG!!!

"i'm starving...darling,,," is very sexy but the way the lyrics slowly slide into something more and more horrifying until the chorus hits??? mwah. lovely.

my one critique is that this song is...breathy, for lack of a better word? does not showcase the man's magnificent pipes. oh well! there are other songs.

how'd i find this: im gay, also he is one of the most popular indie artists in the World. his first album went platinum six fucking times.

-

reading

i read all of frank miller's sin city bc im on a noir kick and i didn't have a good time. the closest i got to fun was (deadly little, always described as "deadly little") Miho, a mute japanese??? generic asian??? assassin who is tits out not in these panels but in almost all others, rollerblading around mowing down guys with her katana. that was a painful sentence to write.

i read a lot of genre fiction. i read a lot of older genre fiction. they are not written with me, a bisexual "woman", in mind. and that’s ok bc not everything has to be written with me in mind. rarely have i read something that is more For The Boys Only!!! than frank miller’s sin city. felt kind of gross and a little put off the whole time i read these and they made me a little bit upset and afraid of men in a way i have not felt since high school. now it does feel odd to go “i didn’t think this noir was very pleasant >:(“ but miller’s work feels unpleasant and distinct from, say, chandler or hammett in a way i am still having trouble articulating. it is possible that the misogyny in chandler is a flavor i already know and barely register the taste of anymore. it may be that i got tired of looking at miller's women with twelve-inch waists and nipples as full and perky as their mouths.

mostly i think the labor market in sin city is super fucked up. women in sin city exist to have their value extracted from them in a way that is different and worse than normal capitalism. like, i can see how someone would read these comics and go full SWERF. women are literal trophies, both arm candy and in a very upsetting trophy hunting way. especially in the final volume, women are machines of potential profit. aside from one landlady and one cop and one child who grows up to be a prostitute, all the women in this whole city seem to be prostitutes or prostitutes who have married up and out. like there aren’t really even any women on the street just walking or in diners. it’s all dudes.

this is probably a comics vs novels thing, but miller is often sadistic in a way that chandler is not. a guy dies on a page to make cool art. they fuckin mow through dozens of goons a volume. if a guy dies in chandler it’s usually bc chandler's philip marlowe has stumbled across a dead body accident and it becomes a tremendous pain in order to tip off the cops that a body needs retrieving without getting framed for the kill. marlowe (and by extension chandler) is a people person-- he is a detective bc he likes figuring out what makes people tick. he is alert and it's hard to get one over on him but his resting state is congenial. despite his job, he still does believe in the concept of justice.

sin city (more of a comment than a question) says "if people piss you off you should kill them." this is not to make light of the very real Situations that protagonists in sin city find themselves, but there are very few problem solving skills on display other than "apply dick" or "apply gun". VERY RARELY, "apply pussy". that last one almost never works out tho.

aside from All That, it does contain some of the best straight up art (not just comics art) ive ever seen. the command of light and shadow is incredible. the command of negative space is incredible. panels aren’t busy unless they’re showing the chaos of a scene. he doesn't draw every single brick bc that's not important to the scene. it’s really quite stunning.

also the MOVEMENT in this fringe is incredible. do u see what i mean about the nipples tho

-

watching

i gotta lotta fuckin bones to pick with the manda/lorian but they're all spoilery. this shit fucking sucks man. it's twenty fucking twenty three we have had well over a century to master storytelling through the art of the moving image.

all three eps so far have felt very weirdly edited-- like a lot of changes happened after filming and there wasn't enough time for pickups?? this is a gajillion dollar show just reshoot some shit on your little fake stage i am Begging you. at least bo-katan looked hot. god she's awful i love her

again again i say to ye, what if star wars was good? i am slightly terrified that andor may have ruined me for any s/tar wars that follows but by any metric these first three s3 mando eps are simply not good television.

-

playing

ty @pasta-pardner for gifting me Weird West some weeks ago bc it is the new thing i am obsessed with. this first trailer gives a better sense of the Vibes than the launch trailers imo

i find it is scratching a lot of the rpg itches that new vegas does: you wander around beautiful western settings running into weird shit, followed around by a hot butch you've recruited to your cause. unlike new vegas, it is a little less forgiving and you have to really scrap and loot everything that isn't nailed down.

this is a top-down action rpg with a weird little aiming system that is sort of a 3D twinstick? it takes some getting used to, and shooting is not the part of any game i am particularly good at. here's xbox wire's screenshot, which gives a good idea of how isometric it is and what enemy detection looks like. i do wish i could expand the minimap, bc some of the locations like mines or bigger towns can really sprawl.

i have one big annoyance bc it is a thing that made me take a break and sulk for a bit: as you're traveling across the map (not open world, location-based), you can run into Travel Encounters. you can decline to engage with some of them. you cannot save within or between the encounters unless you stop and make camp. if you're on a long journey to a different corner of the map, you might run into three Travel Encounters. if you die on the third, you are catapulted back to your starting point. this is tremendously annoying in the early game, so either take short trips or get good at about-facing and exiting areas quickly.

a writer i admire likes games that let him tell stories about what happened in the game to other people-- this is a game that very much facilitates that. i was ambushed during a Travel Encounter by the some outlaws, bc i accidentally let one escape while i was trying to collect a bounty on his boss, and that specific named grunt came back with a Vendetta. but! i met a dying outlaw from the band who kidnapped my character's husband in a different second encounter, swapped some bandages for a treasure map, and he is now a Friend for Life. so he showed back up to help me during that ambush AGAINST FELLOW OUTLAWS WHO SEEM TO HAVE SOME SORT OF MEMORANDUM OF UNDERSTANDING??? mWAH. DELICIOUS. LOVE SYSTEMS INTEROPERATING.

ive put like six hours into this, and it has five chapters with five different characters. i have not progressed past the first chapter bc i am having so much fun poking around. i am so so so grateful that the first character is a wife seeking revenge and not the other way around. ppl are throwing big baby tantrums in the steam forums about this but you know what? some husbands should be macguffins sometimes. widens their perspective.

i am fascinated by the drips and drabs of lore this game is feeding me. there's an order of witches with huge underground temples that (crucially!) they did not build, but have adopted for their own uses without really understanding who built them and why. i want to know so much more about their whole shit. there are werewolves but idk what their deal is bc i haven't met any yet.

i am a simple woman! i only demand perfect cowboy western-flavored rpgs and so far this is holding up. i will have more thoughts as i go along but goddamn is it fun to play. we truly do love a competent little rpg with interesting lore and good stealth mechanics that lets you loot everything in sight.

-

making

mostly fallow week, wrists hurty

made this tuna-chickpea salad for lunch. it is quite rich for a lunch. there are a lot of components that may be challenging to digest all together for a milennial with tummy troubles.

this would have definitely been improved by solid instead of cheap chunk tuna (or salmon. this would be great with canned salmon) and if i actually chopped the baby spinach instead of going "it's fine" and flinging it all in. or maybe wilting the spinach, but that's a lot of extra work and this would be a very warm, wet salad :/ the point is the chickpeas really want to sink to the bottom. i like that there is no cooking involved, only assembling, but realistically i have only half of these ingredients in my house at any given time. screengrabs from the site bc i paid a dollar but there's no reason you have to

[addzpdf]

bnha chapter 362 has emotionally scarred me and i don't think i'll really recover from this. ever. so, major spoilers for bnha 362 under the cut, because i have thoughts, and i decided to not confine them to my friend's dms for once.

from a person who was a bakugo hater from the beginning of bnha to the sports festival arc, where i began to appreciate his character a little more, to eventually becoming a bakugo lover because i genuinely think he's one of the best written characters, i am d e v a s t a t e d.

i have a track record of liking characters that usually end up dead later on in the series, and this usually ranges from villains to protags to just side characters, and i think this is the most pain/surprise i've felt at one.

bakugo dying was honestly was one of the biggest plot twists ive seen horikoshi execute, because i genuinely do not think anyone expected it? i have never once seen a "bakugo dying" theory, although i'm sure some (or many) exist. whenever i thought of the ending of bnha, i always expected bakugo to be there at the end with deku (which i think was the general consensus of the fandom as well), and it was honestly shocking to see that image shattered by this chapter.

ofc, im saying all of this on the assumption that he's permanently dead, and with no malicious intent or hate to horikoshi for his decision - funnily enough, my favourite character dying is exactly what's gotten me back into actively wanting to keep up with the final arc, especially since my other favourite characters, dabi and todoroki, had what i considered an underwhelming face off (but i still think there's more to come on that front, or, at least, i hope.)

i also think the circumstances around bakugo's death were extremely sad.

his last thoughts were him wondering if he would ever catch up to deku, and that honestly broke my heart. i, personally, never paid much thought to how inferior (?) he had felt to deku in terms of their standing with all might, quirks wise, etc, after their conversation at ground zero that time (which is easily one of my favourite scenes in the whole show). the spotlight kind of faded away from that and onto other things and povs, so i kind of just assumed it was done and over with. bakugo was atoning, trying his best to help deku, cared for him in his own way, and it felt like he was growing and had become a lot more sure of himself, which is he had, and always had been in himself.

after all, this is the kid who went into that sports festival saying he would place first and actually did it.

it's even worse when i realised that bakugo nearly died, and then actually died, to the one person who technically saw him as nothing more than midoriya's best friend - he died to the one person in who's eyes he was never out of his friend's shadow.

but to a lot of other people, he hadn't been in midoriya's shadow. all might may have seen them as a package deal, and also focused more on midoriya for obvious reasons, but i doubt he ever considered bakugo to be secondary or inferior to midoriya. bakugo made himself known and was acknowledged by all of his peers as his own person.

he also had great mentors, like jeanist, who clearly cared for the boy and also acknowledged him as his own person with his own personality, techniques, dreams and goals.

personally, the most heartbreaking acknowledgement was aizawa screaming for someone to save bakugo so that he could become the number one hero in the future (chpt. 360, i think). i think i broke at that point, before bakugo even died.

bakugo had confidence in himself, but perhaps it was fragile when it came to this, and ofc i doubt he had much time to focus on himself aside from training and fighting, seeing as there was a war going on. maybe hearing it from shigaraki just made him wonder again.

i also think the whole sun eater pov in the previous chapter was quite nice to read. and then i got hit with the bakugo dying one chapter later, and that's when it really sunk in that that they were just kids, and even then it's just slightly older kids (the ua big three) fighting to save this one kid who's on the verge of death.

and, well, now bakugo isn't getting a graduation. lol, but like, in pain.

i, do, however, hold out hope for a comeback, possibly soon. not an entire revival, but aside from the "nitroglycerin has revival properties" theories, bakugo was interrupted in the middle of very explosive moves and combos, twice, by shigaraki. i don't think that won't have consequences, and i can only pray that he has an impact even after he's passed on.

in that way, i also felt like i should have expected bakugo to die, but i didn't. in a way, it makes sense. he's one of the main characters who's powerful and impactful emotionally to both the readers and the characters. his conflict with deku just ended, and they reconciled. bakugo gave his apology to deku, and had been atoning for ages before. we didn't get many panels or much spotlight on him after the vigilante arc, and the second we did, i should've seen it coming.

he's been extremely well written and gone through several arcs of character development - and, well, i don't think there's a lot more hori could have done with him, but i think everything is fine if he'd continued being a character just existing with the amount of development he did go through. like, it's alright to stagnate at that point, if that makes sense.

(sighs heavily) honestly, maybe me liking a character is a curse that immediately kills them /j

speaking of them just be kids, though, i think this panel broke me entirely with no hope for resuscitation (like bakugo ahaha /j) :

he's just a kid. like. damn.

also, when we all expected bakugo to have a connection to the second user, i didn't think it'd be like this, and end up with him dying 😭.

and speaking of ofa users, im looking forward to seeing deku absolutely losing it.

i have no idea what the point of this very wordy post was. i guess the only conclusion is that user merakimegumi loves bakugo very much and is quite devastated at his death, but holds out some hope for a revival. i wouldn't even be mad if horikoshi brought him back (maybe storytelling wise, maybe, but i think i'd mostly just cry from relief).

anyways, i still have more thoughts but it's 5 am, i'm procrastinating something, and i'm not able to think quite clearly.

funnily enough, though, a lot of good things have happened after that chapter tho. like damn, bakugo died before bsd S4 released? that's kind of funny 😭 /j

welp, gn.

end.

[lilacandladybugs]

hey since youre talking about christianity, i was wondering if you could answer a question ive been curious about. if god cares about people and if jesus died for our sins, then why does hell exist? and if god cares about us then why did he let so much bad stuff happened in his name, and even cause it, like with the noah’s arch story?

sorry if any of this is wrong ive never read the bible, but ive had bad experiences with christianity in the past and the way you talk about it seems much nicer than the way i know it

I don’t think I can answer this question in a way that doesn’t come across as pretentious or like I’m asking for an argument or just being straight up unsatisfying. But I just am going to try anyway because i'm hoping that maybe this will be comforting or helpful to someone. I’m sorry if this is offensive I am really trying my best, please take this all in the best possible way and be gracious with me 

The thing about this ask is that it’s actually a bunch of different questions, and since each of them individually is really hard to answer so I’m going to narrow it down to just one ( im sorry ;-; ) . The one I’ve thought about the most is “Why does God let bad things happen if he loves us?”

When this question first really occurred to me, I was already a believer. So I was already pretty convinced that God exists logically, from the perspective of history, philosophy, science, and my personal experience. I believed in the /existence/ of the God who is represented in the scriptures. (I doubt anyone wants it but I can give you a list of resources if you want to look into any of that.) The struggle for me was whether or not all that evidence held true in the face of this moral dilemma; the problem of evil in the presence of a loving God.

But I just couldn’t turn my back on the concept of a moral grounding in God. I had a philosophy professor tell me that people are mortal and so we shouldn’t grieve them like they’re immortal, that grief is a choice, and that trauma is a choice. I respected her so much, but I just couldn’t accept that. There’s nothing more unsettling to me than suggesting that cruelty and death and suffering are only wrong because you think they are, and not because they’re violating sacred ancient laws. My friends dying, people hurting me, that isn’t just in my head. It’s /real/. They’re really dead, and it really matters. People really did something wrong when they hurt me, and it isn’t my fault for being hurt. It’s their fault for being cruel. And their cruelty is objectively morally wrong.

I realized that if I became an atheist I would have to accept the fact that there isn’t /objectively/ any difference between right and wrong. There isn’t any theoretical “right way” that the world should be. But to me, there is a right way it should be. There is a right way and it was lost because of sin.

It was I guess comforting that Christianity provided the premises I needed to ask a question like this. Evil exists. And love exists. So how can God exist? What a comforting question, in a way. To get to grieve, to be angry, to wonder what’s going on, to want things to be different. It was validating i guess

Don’t get me wrong i was FURIOUS i was so angry. I was so angry and so conflicted I kind of thought I might just like rip apart at my seams but I just felt caught between a rock and a hard place to be either abandoned by God or to not even be able to think about my experiences in a way that felt coherent.

He showed up though. I remember swearing at him, and laying up at night thinking he wasn’t there, I told him I wouldn’t have to have trauma if he would’ve stepped in, that my friends wouldn’t be dead, that he let it happen to me, that he just /witnessed/ it. And man idk he just showed up. He showed up every time. I almost walked away like five times that summer. And every time he sent someone, there was always someone that showed up and talked to me like out of nowhere. Or music, or scripture, or something someone said in passing. 

The night that it was really bad was when I realized that the only person who could save me was God and I cried out to him, and I just idk I’ve never been so desperate. I went to church the next day against my will and the sermon felt like it was written for me specifically. I cried through the whole thing.

If God is goodness, then how can I say he isn’t with me and around me constantly? In the sunrise and sunset, in the stars, in flowers, and in kind words. In sermons. In friends and family. In all the coincidences that stopped me from becoming an atheist, all of the answered prayers and the impossibilities. That’s why my side blog is called @in-the-whisper. Because I felt him there, even though it hurt, he was with me in the quiet and in the silence, in his whisper in a thousand different ways.

I was posed this question by someone who was there for me in one of those moments where I almost walked away from God, “Is sufficiency abundant?” I guess I thought it was. Where was God? In the peace that surpasses understanding. In the knowledge that everything is finished, that he died for us, that he didn’t abandon us. That whatever terrible things happen, he was willing to take all of the consequences for that onto himself in the person of Jesus. That one day he will set things right, even though it isn’t right right now. 

It comes down to the Gospel (good news, core story of the Christian faith); humanity actively chose to walk away from God in an act of rebellion. We had free will because God created us tenderly to be in a loving relationship with him, and loving relationships must be based on free will and they must be two way. So he let us walk away from him, and away from the sustainer of life our bodies break, our world crumbles, and we die. In order to bridge that gap, he chose to die in our place, so that we could re enter that free will relationship with him if we so choose. He died on the cross, descended into hell, and then in three days he rose from the grave, defeating death. And one day he will return on a white horse to rescue us and to take the world back as his own. If I believed that to be true, then I believed in the greatest intervention in human history that has ever occurred. The God of the Bible isn’t a distant God, "God showed how much he loved us by sending his one and only Son into the world so that we might have eternal life through him." 1 John 4:9 He did the unthinkable for us.

Living in light of the gospel helped me to understand the way that God is present in my life, my present, past, and in my future. It gave me peace. When Horatio G. Spafford’s two daughters and wife died in a shipwreck, he wrote this,

“When peace like a river attendeth my way, when sorrows like sea billows roll, whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say, it is well, it is well with my soul." 

“Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come, let this blest assurance control: that Christ has regarded my helpless estate and has shed His own blood for my soul.

“My sin, oh the bliss of this glorious thought. My sin, not in part, but the whole, is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!

“And Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight The clouds be rolled back as a scroll The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend Even so, it is well with my soul!

“It is well with my soul, it is well, it is well with my soul.”

I don’t have an answer for your question. What I know is that I am willing to rest in the knowledge of my personal experiences and my research that God exists, that he is loving, and that he is powerful, just, and wise. Even the winds and the seas obey him, the mountains are like pebbles to him, thunder rolls at the sound of his voice. He had thought before time began, he gave all knowledge and all wisdom to us. 

Why do bad things happen also brings up the question, why do good things happen? Who do we have to thank when we get up in the morning and can see or hear or move or are alive in general? Why are we so blessed as to have two days and not just one? Where do mornings and complexity and beauty and wonder come from? They come from him. Not because we need it, but because he wants to give it to us. Enjoyment, existence, love, laughter, thought, beauty, heartbreak. The world is just as beautiful as it is terrible, and why should it be beautiful? Because he wants it to be that way.

God is so patient. He is so patient and kind and powerful, and he wants to hear your questions. Some of them, like this one, are in my opinion something that you have to talk to him about directly. He gives us thought and logic and reason and wisdom, and he asks for us to engage him. He will answer.

If any believers are reading this, I want you to know that it is enough to cry out to him in pain. It is enough to want to want to believe in him. He would so much rather hear from you in your anger than never hear from you at all. Seek him out, he will find you. He will chase after you.

I bet that he would chase after me, bet my life on it. I might not know the answer, but I am confident enough in what I do know that I’m willing to bet my existence that God will come true on his promises, that he will deliver me, that everything will be okay, that he is bigger than my trauma, and that he will hold me.

“For my thoughts are not your thoughts,     neither are your ways my ways,” declares the Lord. 9 “As the heavens are higher than the earth,     so are my ways higher than your ways     and my thoughts than your thoughts. 10 As the rain and the snow     come down from heaven, and do not return to it     without watering the earth and making it bud and flourish,     so that it yields seed for the sower and bread for the eater, 11 so is my word that goes out from my mouth:     It will not return to me empty, but will accomplish what I desire     and achieve the purpose for which I sent it. 12 You will go out in joy     and be led forth in peace; the mountains and hills     will burst into song before you, and all the trees of the field     will clap their hands. 13 Instead of the thornbush will grow the juniper,     and instead of briers the myrtle will grow. This will be for the Lord’s renown,     for an everlasting sign,     that will endure forever.” Isaiah 55:8-13

And I’m holding him to that promise.

[timextoxhajima]

HOSTIS, Chapter IV: Vetiti Fructus In, The Forbidden Fruit

Previous Chapter (III: Aemulatio)

Member: Lee Hyunjae (tbz)

Genre (by chapter): angst, drama, comedy

Category: Short Novel/Long Series

“why am i always one step behind you?”

the black rim of the file glistens under the light hanging above the table on your left. translucent curtains were drawn behind and next the the oversized L-shaped couch you were laying on, legs stretched out and laptop sitting on a cushion on your lap. 

the white table was strewn about with freshly printed sheets of data and research you managed to collect in the last week. 

it was day seven of your ten days being mentored by doctor choi. the welcome-party was to be held at the end of the month, not the coming weekend. 

something about the team that was responsible for handling newcomers not being able to host it because everybody was busy... something along those lines.

you didn’t bother noting the reason for a delayed party when the more pressing issue was getting that research file out to doctor kim before lee hyunjae did, and with better content. 

throwing your head back against the pillows, your eyes naturally travel along the ceiling to the glass doors beyond the sofa, lining parallel to your position. the faint dots in the sky above takes you back to the first time you went stargazing with your father. 

you remember your mother didn’t go because she was too busy. 

the brain-juicing brightness off the laptop screen starts to yank on your attention, and you sigh at the sight of the word ‘oncology’. you already did the research online and whatever doctor kim had provided you, and it wasn’t too difficult a task to imagine that lucifer probably had the same type of content written down for that last section as well. 

the frustration empties itself from your chest in the form of a loud groan while your fingers travel to your forehead. 

the only thing left to do was this stupid oncology section, but how were you going to outdo lee hyunjae? sure, the rest of the research report would already be different; every pocket of free time you found in between your rounds with doctor choi, you were working on it. lee hyunjae was nowhere to be found either during those free periods, so what else would he be doing besides filling up the research report?

there was no more room for your own research and understanding of oncology to beat him. you were a neurologist after all, not an oncologist. 

why did doctor kim even include the oncology section when he knew it was going to be difficult for me to get the information?

“arghhhhhhh--” your vision flashes white for a split second at the sudden sitting up, and you place your laptop down off the cushion. the rug covering the living room floor brings comfort to your toes as you stood up and ran your fingers through your hair. 

the painful, but satisfying memory of what happened pre-med school starts to roll in your head like an old VHS tape. the look in lucifer’s eyes when you had him against the locker, the only thing stopping you from driving a test tube down his throat were the long arms of law. 

otherwise, it was sweet, almost diabetic, to watch him crumble and lose to you despite him being the fire starter. 

but then again, you lost the first boy you ever loved because of lee hyunjae. 

you couldn’t even convince yourself that you won.

the VHS tape in your head starts to burn and disintegrate into ashes while the nostalgic fire lights up in your chest, and the thought of losing to him four years ago made you want to get that oncology section done.

your inner ares picks up the file and flips to the last page where the word ‘oncology’ was printed in big, block letters at the top, followed by a bunch of details and information with hypothetical questions listed down. 

the left brow on your face twitches and the muscle movement felt so eerily detached from you, a surge of unstoppable desire erupting inside you like mount vesuvius in 79 AD. 

if you could possess a single power right now, it’ll be pyrokinesis. 

~

the light shining into your office was so bright and warm, it would’ve been a crime not to talk a walk outside. 

you would’ve, but not today. 

lucifer’s office door opens and closes and you notice him heading off in the direction of the washroom, and your peripheral vision captures the oncology page of the hospital website on the computer screen. 

after waiting it out for a safe period of time, you adjust the white coat to hide the color of your breast pocket (where the color differentiated which department you were in) and shoved the staff ID card down the back pocket of your jeans. you grab your file, phone in hand and the gears in your head start to churn out some smart excuse in case anybody were to question why you, a newcomer, looked like you were about to go for a meeting. 

you head for the lift, fingers dancing around while you searched for the floor that connected the east wing over to the north. 

you were already beginning to recite that excuse you built in your head in case doctor kim runs into you while you were walking through the north wing. 

but zeus must’ve decided that one half of his sons deserved some love today, for you run into zero staff who didn’t pay attention to the absence of your staff ID around your neck.

your eyes follow the signs to the west wing, and that was where you started to notice people you really haven’t seen before. 

the atmosphere changed once you got to the office level where all the oncology doctors would be, and most of the staff looked like they had been working without a wink of sleep. 

your vision and attention start to dart around the hallways and doors, trying to look for a name tag on a door that said ‘shin ga hyun’ or something along the lines of oncology research archi--

there we go.

the words ‘research facility’ printed in block letters on the door of the room looked like the word ‘victory’ in another language, and you could only thank zeus for being so kind to you today. 

the lab coat on you and the file case you were holding was enough to prove that you were a staff here, so even if shin ga hyun were to find out you were in her wing, there was nothing she could do about it besides get mad at you for “losing your way while searching for research content”.

the staff ID card slides out from your jeans so you could give yourself access to the dark room, and you notice the only view in was through the little window on the door itself. 

once the door was open, your first step was to get it closed, regardless of whether your eyes could adjust to the orientation of the room. 

relief floods through you, and you quickly wonder why you were so scared of something that wasn’t even illegal. 

a small snort runs through your nose at the thought that you were scared, because frankly, there wasn’t much that could scare you anymore. maybe sometimes, just sometimes, the only thing that could scare you was yourself.

the scent of old paper and files fill your nostrils with every drawer and cabinet you opened, and you start searching for documents with information to grant you access to the oncology database, but not one single sheet of paper satiates your thirst to win. 

your heart was already zipping back and forth in your chest, and the emptiness of the room only reminds you that anybody could come in anytime. your eyes look around the dimly lit room and you note the gap between the lockers behind the desk and the wall where you could run and hide in case someone came in--

“...yes, ga hyun, everything regarding the department’s database have been shifted to your office.”

the pupils on your eyeballs shrink in a second and something similar to a heart attack tears through your chest at the name. the footsteps halt right outside the door and you close the drawer with such calculated strength to prevent yourself from slamming it shut. your heels turn towards the corner and it takes you three incredibly large steps to get you there.

but everything happened so fast that you didn’t even register the fact that you got pulled into that little corner. 

you would’ve rammed your knee so high up this man’s groin if he wasn’t going to scream like a fucking baby if you did. 

“what the fuck are you doing here?!” he mouths angrily at you, ears red and cheeks flushed with fear when the door of the room clicks open. 

“are you sure everything related to the database has been cleared out this room?” shin ga hyun sounded like she’d slit your throat and show no signs of remorse.

“what do you think?!” this silent conversation was going to warrant you a reason to punch him in the face later.

“yes, doctor shin,” the second voice sounded so dead and unbothered, you imagine it had to be someone of a more senior position than shin ga hyun for her to talk to the department head like that. “there may be a few stray sheets here and there but if they weren’t filed properly in the first place, then it’s highly likely they weren’t too important.”

“don’t fucking touch me!” his arm brushes against your shoulder and if you could scream, it would’ve deafened him.

“if you hadn’t come in, we wouldn’t be stuck in this shitty little gap!” 

your eyes widen at his sudden stoppage of mouthing, and you could hear the little breaths coming out after every consonant. 

“will you shut the fuck up?!”

“so you mean to tell me that there is a slight possibility that an important sheet of paper regarding our database is sitting around somewhere inside this room?”

“how can i shut up when i’m stuck in this godforsaken space with you?! i don’t even want to fucking breathe the same air as you!”

oh my fucking god, will he fucking shut his trap-- we are going to get caught--

“oh, my god,” an exasperated sigh fills the room. “ga hyun, you really need to take a chill pill.”

“don’t tell me to ‘take a chill pill’--”

“if you didn’t walk in here like you owned the fucking place, i wouldn’t have touched you!”

your index finger flies up to your lips and you beg him to shut up with your eyes.

but this piece of dumbshit-doctor doesn’t fucking get it--

you had a victory to claim, and you were not going to let him take that away from you. 

the ares inside you wraps your fingers around his face and shoves your lips between his, but your eyes were still wide open, looking out at the glass on the cabinet on the other side of the room to see a taller female trying to drag a shorter female out of the office. 

“you need to take a chill pill. the entire hospital is scared of you, honey. don’t you want to amend that?”

the scanner beeps, and the door clicks open. 

“if nobody’s done anything wrong then there’s no reason for them to be scared of me.”

“fair, but you need to start wearing a smile on your face more often!” the door hisses shut, and the footsteps start to move away. “i’ll get someone to check the database stuff for you then...”

ares leaves your body and your soul gets sucked back into its rightful place, and you don’t think you’ve shoved anyone, or anything for that matter, faster than you shoved lucifer off your face.

wincing in disgust, the back of your hand wipes the corner of your lips as a frown hardens on your forehead, and lucifer was busy sticking out his tongue like he had just eaten something spicy.

“son of a bitch,” the hiss seethes through your teeth as you walk out from the gap, deliberately running your shoulder against his left arm. “don’t you ever assume that i would let the thinnest strand of hair on my body touch you.”

the wrath and rage drips off your tongue like saliva while you walked, turning your head and looking over your shoulder to glare at lee hyunjae. 

“and don’t you ever fucking kiss me again!”

your staff card was barely inches away from the scanner when the words start to eat at your ego. 

“for your fucking information, i did not want my lips to be on yours,” you take two big steps to him who was walking towards you in a fit. “someone just didn’t know how to keep his mouth shut.”

his breath was hitting your cheek rapidly, and you jab your tongue against the inside of your cheek, trying to claw your way through his self-proclaimed glare that he probably thinks scares you off. 

your suck your lips between your teeth and scrunch up your nose with effort, your right hand instinctively deciding that it was a good idea to shove him backwards before you left the room. 

throwing yourself into your own leather seat in your office and the beads of sweat on your forehead coming off onto a tissue, your eyes plaster themselves to the ceiling. 

mission failed.

not only that,

i had to kiss this motherfucking son of a bitch to shut his fucking ass up.

the tissue gets crumpled in your grasp at the thought of underestimating him, and you hurl the lightweight ball barely a metre away from you. 

doctor choi brings you on his final round for the day, and happiness was as simple as finding out that lucifer had been called to handle some boring admin work by the hospital administration because he screwed up somewhere in the system. 

the round was longer than expected, with one of doctor choi’s alzheimer’s patients talking to you about his childhood. doctor choi tries to steer you clear of the patient, worried that you were uncomfortable. but the stories he was telling you brought you back to a time when your parents were still pretty prominent in your life. doctor choi just leaves you with him until the nurses bring around his medicine as a distraction, providing you with a chance to leave before the patient keeps you for the night.

the evening sun paints the floor a tangerine shade, through the glass doors of the offices. and in your hand was the black file with such reluctance and bitterness that you wish you didn’t agree to this whole research department thing in the first place.

most of the research department officers and doctors had evening duties to tend to before they left, so it was pretty quiet and desolate once you reached doctor kim’s desk with the idea of submitting the research report. 

yet the sight of the blue file strikes up a flame of confusion and suspicion. laying down your black file, your fingerpads brush over the cover of the blue one, and ares returns to whisper seductive motivations in your ear. 

you run through the pages, not surprised that most of the data was different from yours, but nothing could’ve prepared you for the five-thousand-word-long report behind the oncology cover sheet. 

motherfucker.

he must’ve found one of those ‘stray sheets’ for the database while he was snooping in the room. 

red bursts of revenge and hatred start to rush through your veins, and you pull apart the rings of the file to remove the ridiculously long report. 

the papers were messily stuffed into your work case and you return the file back to its original position, in time for doctor kim to return to his cubicle.

“ah, i was waiting to see if you were going to submit it today!” he gleams at you, and his warm, elderly aura comforts you, peeling you away from the horrible deed you just carried out. 

“well, yeah... but i have to confess, i didn’t do much for the oncology report at the back.”

“i was already expecting that after i warned you about doctor shin! but nevermind that, i look forward to reading your report.”

“oh but, uh...” you rub the back of your neck. “have you looked through doctor lee’s? it looks pretty thick.”

doctor kim’s palm finds the two files and he shakes his head. “oh, nope. he just gave me this wide smile and told me to read his file like i was reading a book. his confidence is really something else.”

oh, thank god.

“i see,” the sugary taste of satisfaction rubs itself into your taste buds. “i hope we didn’t let you down, doctor kim. we really worked hard on it.”

the smile doesn’t leave his face, and he only gives you a small pat on the shoulder. “i will look forward to reading both reports.” he nods, and you take your cue to bow and bid goodbye. 

~

your living room was barely lit up with the only source of light being the one from the kitchen, and the gentle chirps of crickets outside were muffled through the sliding doors of your living room.

the wine in your glass was practically frolicking about with your little dance of triumph of the day. though part of the reason why you were drinking wine was to force yourself to forget that you kissed lucifer -- ew --, you were also drinking to celebrate. 

“well,” you pout at the little cactus that sat in the middle of the table in your living room. “he should thank me for removing it. doctor kim could figure out that he only got the information from snooping into the oncology department and he could get trouble for it.”

talking to yourself wasn’t a daily routine, but you just couldn’t resist the temptation of convincing yourself that you did nothing wrong. 

which in fact, you did not. 

but the competitiveness seeps through your bones and makes your stomach churn with regret and displeasure again, when the realisation sinks into your head. 

why am i always one step behind you?

with a contorted look of discontentment staring back at you in the reflection of the wine glass, you lift the rim to your lips and down the rest of it like they were shots. 

“i should’ve known he was going to do it,” the wine bottle calls out to you like a siren, and your fingers wrap around the cool, glass surface. “if i did it sooner, i might’ve gotten the fucking database information--”

knock knock

you berate zeus for sending a visitor at such a shitty time, throwing your head backwards and squeezing your eyes shut. 

knock knock knock knock knock knock

“ugh, mom! i told you not to visit me on a weekday!” the release of the wine bottle only fills your stomach with disappointment as you trudged towards the door. 

with enough frustration to fuel your grip around the handle, you yank the heavy door open.

“mom, what are you-- oh.” 

shit.

flares of aching poison start to pierce their way into your eyes upon the eye contact, and your knuckles whiten with the tightening grip on the handle of your door. 

“you’re gonna wish it was your mom, alright.”

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

Chapter V: Monitum

[ludux]

Heck it, let's not play games. 1. I dunno, I'm ace, sex does nothing for me, what I love is character and context, tension and emotion - sex can be a part of that, but by itself does no thing for me. But Dead Dove content? Whole entire full bag 'o weird intense unusual fun emotions.

2. Favourite! 'Doomed by the narrative' ; betrayal, betrayal of the innocent, betrayal of trust, abuse of authority - but made most personal. Betrayal and abuse elevated beyond grimdark to a hoarse and raw emotion. SO much room to explore characters in a very short amount of time. How do they react? Why did they do? What do they feel? Regret? Exaltation? Fear? Relief? Arousal? Fearousal? Best when the audience and the villain are in on what's going to happen, but the victim is oblivious right up to the end. Only because it's recent, see: First Sette. Exquisite.

3. Naw, never against it. Fiction is fiction - being mad about things that aren't real is a sign you're not emotionally mature enough to handle fiction. Reconsider your relationship with reality.

4. Just light drabs, ace stuff, very platonic. Heinous right?

5. I'd probably be harrassed if I was a person of any influence or notability but I'm just a nobody, hate away~

6. Least favourite! Straight up boring sex or non-con or rape, the least interesting and most boring uncreative way to explore a character. I can endure it as part of something more creative, but straight up by itself shuts me down completely. I don't caaaaaaaaare. It's so dull. Do better.

7. I don't really have favorites! Go browse some tags and find your own.

8. The appeal for me is stepping at first half an inch, and then whole miles past the tropes you're already familiar with. Haven't you noticed? Most of the fiction you enjoy tends to repeat the same stories over and over, with the same characters in the same situations, just different names and faces, over and over forever. Which is fine, but dead dove allows the exploration of tropes and character types and situations you will NEVER find in popular media.

9. I'm not sure I understand the question of fandom oriented vs original content. Isn't all content original somehow? I tend to prefer unusual situations with characters I already know, as they come with pre-built context and emotions and motivations, they're a shortcut to exploring wilder creative ideas and situations.

10. Size dif, species dif, age dif, power dif, evil mad scientist torturer sadist doctor who has fun with it. That's five, right? Sometimes all at once!

11. Dubcon vs noncon really depends on the characters and situation. Some people would argue that con is impossible and everything is dubcon but that's a dumb boring lazy argument. Really depends how it's written - how great is the power imbalance? If some mad scientist's got you drugged and stripped strapped spread-eagle to a surgery table with an IV in your neck, that's already passed quite a ways past dubcon. But is it well written? Are the characters relatable, are the emotions clear? Is the physicality present, if it's about that? What's the setup, what's the payoff? Those are much more interesting questions.

12. Not sure it does much for me to be honest? Depends on the characters, the context, the emotions, the motivations. Siblings more interesting than... other kinds, I guess.

13. Never be ashamed of being into any fiction of any kind ever. It's not real. Shame is a fake idea created to control people through fear and pain - expel it from  your life entirely (where safe, some people are violently pro-shame) and you'll be much happier.

14. Embarrassed about being into? Not sure I am, some just have different social consequences. :) Age difference can be handled poorly but so can size difference, power difference (rape squicks me), species difference, or anything else of contrast. Contrast provides interest and novelty, but like anything it can be done poorly. Some shota stuff is cute, some loli stuff is cute, some furry stuff is cute, some gore stuff is fun. But like most things, most of it is trash. And some bodies are just aesthetically nice to look at or think about - I'm personally drawn to ace aesthetics. Think Sette from Unsounded, various cloned or robotic or inhuman bodies from Blame! or Alita, prosthetic bodies from Ghost in the Shell, fundamentally untethered and unquestionably *freed* from reproductive demands. There’s something profoundly comforting in seeing bodies that can reject reproductive destiny outright, have freedom from imposed biological imperatives without it being any sort of trauma or punishment.

15. If you're scared about liking things that aren't real, narrow that down to 'of who', and 'why'. And maybe reconsider some friendships.

16. Sure, pro anything you enjoy, it's not real, don't worry about it.

17. Bluesky has less nazi's so it wins by default.

18. Any problematic ships - only real people I guess. If they're not real, chill the fuck out, go outside and like, fondle a tree or something I dunno, lick grass.

19. Problematic favs - this'll probably veer more into just characters I love territory; most characters I love tend to be pretty niche or older or unusual. Think like, Ed from Cowboy Bebop, Gosalyn from Darkwing Duck, Buttercup from PPG, Sette (and First Sette) from Unsounded, Cibo from Blame! - characters you can put in almost any situation and they'll surprise you. Even intense and weird and uncomfortable situations will just... bring to light aspects of their strength and resilience or ability to overcome that just - wouldn't ever really get explored normally. I like characters who defy expectations, who are weird, who are 'wrong' in some way, who subvert or create tropes just by existing. Who can BE tested and not just break right away. And now see what happens if you smash them through some real weird grimdark stuff that'd make any censor faint, and you might end up with something special. :)

20. Dead dove content is good for any society that doesn't want to be controlled by the narrow prejudices of emotionally stunted puritans too afraid of things that aren't real and the depths (or shallowness) of their own imaginations to tolerate the thought that other people might have the emotional maturity they don't to differentiate between things that are and are not real, and be capable of exploring fictional ideas while still being good, kind, civil, normal people while doing so. It is the people who are certain they know better than you do what you should and should not be allowed to read, what you should and should not be allowed to see, what you should and should not be allowed to hear, what you should and should not be allowed to think - they are the true threat to you.

There's your real monster.

AMA, I'll answer anything, full honesty, dm's accepted~

[kjmsupremacist]

hihi xiami hehe hope you've been doing well!! for the ask game: 8, 9, 30, and 44 !! 💘💘💘

hiiii jo!!!! <33333 im doing good i hope you're also doing well ^^

8. Favorite trope to write.

painful miscommunication? idk i just love to highlight the ways that the maladaptive scripts we all have in our heads get in the way of our happiness (and, usually, how we can overcome it!)

9. Least favorite trope to write.

i... don't really know? I don't have a virulent hatred of any trope, it's just that some aren't my cup of tea..... ig there are certain triggering topics I wouldn't write about just because I don't think it's everyone's job to write about anything, if you know what I mean? if it's not a personal experience that I've had and it's a very sensitive topic, I won't touch it. That's not a trope though.

I guess a trope i dislike is a/b/o skdjfkdsj

30. Favorite line you’ve ever written.

[suddenly can't remember a single word ive written] UH. I think this, from my thorns alt ending: “It’s a collective effort, just like everything is in their little town. It takes a village to raise a child. It takes a village, too, to bury the dead.”

44. Best piece of feedback you’ve ever gotten.

oh how can i choose everyone is always so kind to me... my beta readers are always so helpful (and sweet and funny); I've received some truly wonderful words from some mutuals and all my anons and readers on other platforms as well.

I think, though, the one that touched me the most was the person who came to talk about one of my VERY old works (so old that it is actually only posted on my ao3 haha) it was a subaek one from like 2017, and i wrote it when i was young and sad and it embarrasses me bc it's like. not my best work and you can so tell that it was written by an emo little highschooler haha which is not who i am anymore! but this person said that that fic actually really helped them and made them feel better and more hopeful, which is like really the best thing I could ever hear :')

writer asks; send me a number!

[being-held]

There’s Something Strange About How It All Began by Alexis Pera

A draft piece for a book not yet written. Enjoy.

I.  eight when I first caught fire. It was a cold day in my village, as it usually was, near the shores of the lake where my family’s home was built. It was a small dwelling in my home region of Plivium. It rained a lot in Plivium, unlike the rest of Alienis, and no one knew why, or no one really cared. It was home, no one questions that. But, when  it wasn’t pouring, most Plivumians preferred to be outside. We kind of had to be, or else the work would never be done, the harvest never brought up, and the damages never fixed. So as my parents worked, I was free to roam and explore.

    Yet, out of all the land my parents had, all the forests and rivers and ponds, I loved my father’s garden, beautiful in every sense of the word. He had grown flowers of every color and nurtured trees so full of fruit we could never harvest them all. It was my favorite place in the entire world. I would run through the paths, looking up the entire time as I watched the trees rush by and the leaves brush my legs as I went. Who knows how many times I fell, or tripped, or just ran full on into things. My father would always scold me about being more careful, but he would have a smile on his face because he was more than amused by how happy I was despite having just run into a tree or tripped over some vines. My mother would be more upset, she didn’t like seeing me hurt, even if I wasn’t upset about it, and I always had bruises and scratches but a smile on my face. Of course, that all stopped the day I Specialized.

    Most children didn’t Specialize until they were older, when they were turning into grown men and women, but I didn’t. I was still a child, still scared of the stories my parents told me about Specializing, still carefree and unable to prepare for what would happen.

    Because gaining your Specialty and becoming one with nature was something that usually didn’t come in a nice package with a pretty bow. It was painful and unpredictable, and with my family’s bloodline, my Specialty was to be even more so.

    The wind was strong that day, or so I thought at least, and it kept growing more and more until the chill in my spine wouldn’t go away. Then my small kid brain finally realized that none of the trees or plants were swaying from its force, and that my clothes and hair were still in place. I was then wondering why I was so cold and why it felt like someone was waving cold air on my neck. I didn't have much time to think about it.

    A searing pain had bloomed in my temples, my vision and balance immediately going awry. It was paralyzing, and as I hit the dirt, a terribly cold tingling took over my hands and arms.

    My mother found me first, and she was the one who first saw the visible effects of what was happening. My fingers, hands, and lower arms had turned completely black, right up to my elbows. And though it seemed as if I stuck my hands into a smoldering fire pit, my skin was entirely numb to feeling. The headache had faded and vision only slightly better at that point, so I was left sitting on the ground staring at my arms as if they didn’t belong to me. In that moment, it didn’t feel like they did.

    Then the second wave hit.

    While my vision cleared enough for me to see and the overall pain had deadened to a dull throbbing, my arms sparked and white flames enveloped them. I couldn’t feel it, I couldn’t stop it, I could barely see it, but I screamed and yelled and cried. My mother didn’t know what to do, neither did my father when he finally found us. They couldn’t come near, and my mother learned that the hard way. She hated seeing me in pain, so her motherly instinct to hold me, to comfort me, backfired when she tried. She now has a large burn scar down her right arm, a daily reminder of how dangerous I was.

    Because to the horror of myself, my mother, and my father, I had managed to inherit one of the rarest and most dangerous Specialties known to our world, called Aerdior. The unfortunate ability to conjure heat from one’s skin. My version of it, of course, came with the bonus of flames.

    I don’t remember the rest of that day. I just know that my parents had to reach out to one of our neighbors, who could manipulate water, to put me out. And that that day was when everything became different.

II.

    I can’t count how many times in a day I used to catch fire. At first, it was really often, every hour or so, and that’s how I was forced to learn how to will it away. And eventually I could. And after a month, it would go down to every two hours. And after another month, three to four hours.

    By the time I was nine, I could go at least two days without catching, on a good week.

    I also can’t count how many times I’ve hurt someone or something around me. It would come so suddenly, I never had enough time to get away from whatever I was touching. My father had a couple burns on his shoulders and arms, my mother on her fingers and hands. I banned myself from my father’s garden after I destroyed almost half of my father’s rare Cossia flowers, and later from even going outside when I injured a creature that had come too close. I spent most of my time in my room, where anything that wasn’t or couldn’t be fireproofed had been removed. I cried when my mother wanted to take my books, but my father, who taught me to love and cherish reading, spent almost two weeks trying to figure out a way for me to keep them. He finally found the perfect mixture of plants and special roots to create paper that couldn’t burn. And he then spent the next several months copying all of my favorite books onto the special paper so I could read them. I only have one of those copies now.

    I was terrified and paranoid of my Specialty, and of what I could do. No matter where I was or who I was with, I had to watch what I touched and how I handled things. Before long, I was labeling everything as burnable or unburnable, what I can’t touch and what I can, who I couldn’t take the chance on and who I could. It was an unbearable existence for a nine year old child.

    And then we moved.

    I say moved like it was optional, like we made the choice, but truly, we weren’t just changing scenery, we were running.

    I don’t remember much of it. One day we were happy; my mother, my father, me, and the little baby in my mother’s belly that we were all so excited for. Then the next, I was being dragged through the forest by my parents who kept insisting everything was alright. Right up until it wasn’t.

    My father died that day, protecting us. My mother will only tell me that without him saving us, we wouldn’t have escaped, we wouldn’t have made it to earth, the Connected World.

    It’s been nine years, and she still refuses to tell me more.

    But now, I only catch randomly, with no pattern. A rushing feeling will run down my spine, and then my fingers will start turning black. If I don’t separate myself from my surroundings and put all my willpower into making it go away, I will eventually catch, though it’s much slower on earth.

    My mother would always tell me that it was all a blessing in disguise, that coming to earth was good because I was less likely to hurt others. I used to believe that, and maybe a small part of me still does, but now I know that it doesn’t make a difference. Who am I to have a better life when my father never got to live the rest of his?

III.

    My little sister was born the day we came to earth. Because of the way we came, in the chaos and madness, my mother went into labor not even an hour after arriving. We had come through the Pathway into an old church, which had seemed to be abandoned with no one left to take care of it. I was the only one there to help my mother as she gave birth.

    It was a horribly long, terribly painful, and rather traumatizing experience that I would never like to experience again. But once it was over, we had another problem to handle. Because my little sister didn’t come out crying.

    My mother had pretty much passed out once the baby was out, so I was left to try to understand what was happening. It was, fortunately, not long before I realized that my sister wasn’t dead. She was still moving and her heart still beating, with her face scrunched up as if she wanted to cry but just couldn’t get it out. She was mute, a birth defect common to Plivumians.

    I had shifted my mother into a lying position and covered her with an old curtain I found, then proceeded to wrap my new born sister in the torn up cloth from my shirt. I held her as she slept, and didn’t sleep myself, and that night I named her. I never asked my mother after if she liked the name I picked, or of she was upset that I did, but I was fully convinced that my father would have loved it.

    I named her after my father’s two favorite flowers, the ones which he had spent years growing to be perfect for their blooming season, and the ones I adored more than any of the others. Her name was Pella Cossia, my little sister. And the only thing I thoroughly remember from that day, was the promise I made to her, that I would never let her get hurt, that I would protect her no matter the costs.

    I still keep that promise, and I don’t ever plan on breaking it.

IV.

    We found the dwelling, or town, as the earthans called it, that the church belonged to, and met many people who were confused about who we were and what had happened to us. One person called himself an officer, and he helped us find clothes and food. We also met a lady who gave my mother a job at a restaurant, which at the time was a very strange concept, as we didn’t have restaurants or food suppliers back in Plivium. But we adapted quickly, and it was only a year of taking help and staying in hotels before my mother could finally afford a home.

    It was a small, unkept, dirty place, but we were decent enough at cleaning and home-keeping to get it livable again.

    By the time we found out about school, I was twelve and completely unqualified. But due to the laws of the land, and the strict suggestions of anyone we knew, my mother thought it wise to send me to school. The idea of school seemed promising, an organization built to help children learn and grow in the world, but the actual reality of it was a lot more disappointing. The education part was pretty much an afterthought, as the talking, sports, and teasing took the forefront. I came to be a wallflower, even more so because of the... heat problem. People liked to point out that I wore sweaters and gloves all the time, even when it was warm; little did they know that I couldn’t feel warmth at all, or cold for that matter. The sweaters and gloves were more for a safety precaution(made of a special heat resistant material that took years to find and use), and a comforting mechanism.

    I caught up quickly; in my studies, that is. I was pretty much enthralled with anything I didn’t already know, as we didn’t have education anything close to Earthan education back home, where we learned to read, write, count, and that was it. In Plivium, reading more than what basic training required was like being a genius, which both my father and myself easily overstepped. But on earth, being an avid reader was somewhat normal, and even the small amount of people who actually enjoyed learning maths and science and literature were many more than at home. I also had more than enough time on my hands, as I still stayed cooped up in my bedroom with things least fire-prone. I had more books than clothes, and more library passes than shoes, which I was more than okay with. I enjoyed it, even if school itself was much less than fun and little more than torture.

    Though as high school came, with my Specialty growing stronger and more worrisome, my mother thought it time to pull me out. At that time, I wasn’t attached to school, as long as I got to keep the books and the library trips. My mother obliged, but, unfortunately, she was still listening to coworkers and neighbors. Because apparently, by the time your fifteen, your supposed to have a job. Which, of course, my mother and I thought strange and ridiculous, because the whole employment thing was an entirely different situation at home. But we adapted anyway, and I managed to get a job at a small bookstore in town, but only because it was run by an older lady who majorly needed help.

    I still work there today, and Mrs. Gorgio is like the grandma I never had, feeding me when I forget myself and praying when she knows my mother has a job interview. She instantly fell in love with Pella, and asks about her every day I come in. Pella doesn’t like books as much, preferring music and other loud ways of expressing herself, but she likes Mrs. Gorgio and the fact that the older lady wasn’t shocked to find she can’t speak. Pella comes in once a week, and is continually teaching Mrs. Goegio sign language so that it’s easier for them to communicate. I sometimes watch them interact, sitting in the big cushion chairs in the back of the shop, laughing and smiling and gesturing. It’s rather funny to see Mrs. Gorgio get the movements wrong, in which Pella will simply smile and correct her with gentle fingers.

    When we walk home together, Pella will sign to me the whole way, explaining what they were working on and how Mrs. Gorgio has the best taste in music and why the old lady always wears that rusty necklace around her neck. Though I trip on the bumpy sidewalks and my own feet watching her hands fly, I don’t ever shove it off. I know how much it means to her, and that she looks forward to that one day of the week when I take her.

    It also distracted me, helped me pretend that our lives were normal. And that we weren’t foreigners in disguise, tricking everyone into believing we belonged, when we really truly didn’t.

[chiefbelieverstarlight]

“The Garden of Janus”

I The cloud my bed is tinged with blood and foam. The vault yet blazes with the sun Writhing above the West, brave hippodrome Whose gladiators shock and shun As the blue night devours them, crested comb Of sleep's dead sea That eats the shores of life, rings round eternity! II So, he is gone whose giant sword shed flame Into my bowels; my blood's bewitched; My brain's afloat with ecstasy of shame. That tearing pain is gone, enriched By his life-spasm; but he being gone, the same Myself is gone Sucked by the dragon down below death's horizon. III I woke from this. I lay upon the lawn; They had thrown roses on the moss With all their thorns; we came there at the dawn, My lord and I; God sailed across The sky in's galleon of amber, drawn By singing winds While we wove garlands of the flowers of our minds. IV All day my lover deigned to murder me, Linking his kisses in a chain About my neck; demon-embroidery! Bruises like far-ff mountains stain The valley of my body of ivory! Then last came sleep. I wake, and he is gone; what should I do but weep? V Nay, for I wept enough --- more sacred tears! --- When first he pinned me, gripped My flesh, and as a stallion that rears, Sprang, hero-thewed and satyr-lipped; Crushed, as a grape between his teeth, my fears; Sucked out my life And stamped me with the shame, the monstrous word of wife. VI I will not weep; nay, I will follow him Perchance he is not far, Bathing his limbs in some delicious dim Depth, where the evening star May kiss his mouth, or by the black sky's rim He makes his prayer To the great serpent that is coiled in rapture there. VII I rose to seek him. First my footsteps faint Pressed the starred moss; but soon I wandered, like some sweet sequestered saint, Into the wood, my mind. The moon Was staggered by the trees; with fierce constraint Hardly one ray Pierced to the ragged earth about their roots that lay. VIII I wandered, crying on my Lord. I wandered Eagerly seeking everywhere. The stories of life that on my lips he squandered Grew into shrill cries of despair, Until the dryads frightened and dumfoundered Fled into space --- Like to a demon-king's was grown my maiden face! XI At last I came unto the well, my soul In that still glass, I saw no sign Of him, and yet --- what visions there uproll To cloud that mirror-soul of mine? Above my head there screams a flying scroll Whose word burnt through My being as when stars drop in black disastrous dew. X For in that scroll was written how the globe Of space became; of how the light Broke in that space and wrapped it in a robe Of glory; of how One most white Withdrew that Whole, and hid it in the lobe Of his right Ear, So that the Universe one dewdrop did appear. IX Yea! and the end revealed a word, a spell, An incantation, a device Whereby the Eye of the Most Terrible Wakes from its wilderness of ice To flame, whereby the very core of hell Bursts from its rind, Sweeping the world away into the blank of mind. XII So then I saw my fault; I plunged within The well, and brake the images That I had made, as I must make - Men spin The webs that snare them - while the knee Bend to the tyrant God - or unto Sin The lecher sunder! Ah! came that undulant light from over or from under? XIII It matters not. Come, change! come, Woe! Come, mask! Drive Light, Life, Love into the deep! In vain we labour at the loathsome task Not knowing if we wake or sleep; But in the end we lift the plumed casque Of the dead warrior; Find no chaste corpse therein, but a soft-smiling whore. XIV Then I returned into myself, and took All in my arms, God's universe: Crushed its black juice out, while His anger shook His dumbness pregnant with a curse. I made me ink, and in a little book I wrote one word That God himself, the adder of Thought, had never heard. XV It detonated. Nature, God, mankind Like sulphur, nitre, charcoal, once Blended, in one annihilation blind Were rent into a myriad of suns. Yea! all the mighty fabric of a Mind Stood in the abyss, Belching a Law for "That" more awful than for "This." XVI Vain was the toil. So then I left the wood And came unto the still black sea, That oily monster of beatitude! ('Hath "Thee" for "Me," and "Me" for "Thee!") There as I stood, a mask of solitude Hiding a face Wried as a satyr's, rolled that ocean into space. XVII Then did I build an altar on the shore Of oyster-shells, and ringed it round With star-fish. Thither a green flame I bore Of phosphor foam, and strewed the ground With dew-drops, children of my wand, whose core Was trembling steel Electric that made spin the universal Wheel. XVIII With that a goat came running from the cave That lurked below the tall white cliff. Thy name! cried I. The answer that gave Was but one tempest-whisper - "If!" Ah, then! his tongue to his black palate clave; For on soul's curtain Is written this one certainty that naught is certain! XIX So then I caught that goat up in a kiss. And cried Io Pan! Io Pan! Io Pan! Then all this body's wealth of ambergris, (Narcissus-scented flesh of man!) I burnt before him in the sacrifice; For he was sure - Being the Doubt of Things, the one thing to endure! XX Wherefore, when madness took him at the end, He, doubt-goat, slew the goat of doubt; And that which inward did for ever tend Came at the last to have come out; And I who had the World and God to friend Found all three foes! Drowned in that sea of changes, vacancies, and woes! XXI Yet all that Sea was swallowed up therein; So they were not, and it was not. As who should sweat his soul out through the skin And find (sad fool!) he had begot All that without him that he had left in, And in himself All he had taken out thereof, a mocking elf! XXII But now that all was gone, great Pan appeared. Him then I strove to woo, to win, Kissing his curled lips, playing with his beard, Setting his brain a-shake, a-spin, By that strong wand, and muttering of the weird That only I Knew of all souls alive or dead beneath the sky. XXIII So still I conquered, and the vision passed. Yet still was beaten, for I knew Myself was He, Himself, the first and last; And as an unicorn drinks dew From under oak-leaves, so my strength was cast Into the mire; For all I did was dream, and all I dreamt desire. XXIV More; in this journey I had clean forgotten The quest, my lover. But the tomb Of all these thoughts, the rancid and the rotten, Proved in the end to be my womb Wherein my Lord and lover had begotten A little child To drive me, laughing lion, into the wanton wild! XXV This child hath not one hair upon his head, But he hath wings instead of ears. No eyes hath he, but all his light is shed Within him on the ordered sphere Of nature that he hideth; and in stead Of mouth he hath One minute point of jet; silence, the lightning path! XXVI Also his nostrils are shut up; for he Hath not the need of any breath; Nor can the curtain of eternity Cover that head with life or death. So all his body, a slim almond-tree, Knoweth no bough Nor branch nor twig nor bud, from never until now. XXVII This thought I bred within my bowels, I am. I am in him, as he in me; And like a satyr ravishing a lamb So either seems, or as the sea Swallows the whale that swallows it, the ram Beats its own head Upon the city walls, that fall as it falls dead. XXVIII Come, let me back unto the lilied lawn! Pile me the roses and the thorns, Upon this bed from which he hath withdrawn! He may return. A million morns May follow that first dire daemonic dawn When he did split My spirit with his lightnings and enveloped it! XXIX So I am stretched out naked to the knife, My whole soul twitching with the stress Of the expected yet surprising strife, A martyrdom of blessedness. Though Death came, I could kiss him into life; Though Life came, I Could kiss him into death, and yet nor live nor die! XXX Yet I that am the babe, the sire, the dam, Am also none of these at all; For now that cosmic chaos of I AM Bursts like a bubble. Mystical The night comes down, a soaring wedge of flame Woven therein To be a sign to them who yet have never been. XXXI The universe I measured with my rod. The blacks were balanced with the whites; Satan dropped down even as up soared God; Whores prayed and danced with anchorites. So in my book the even matched the odd: No word I wrote Therein, but sealed it with the signet of the goat. XXXII This also I seal up. Read thou herein Whose eyes are blind! Thou may'st behold Within the wheel (that alway seems to spin All ways) a point of static gold. Then may'st thou out therewith, and fit it in That extreme sphere Whose boundless farness makes it infinitely near.

-- Aleister Crowley

[claire-willz]

I want you to know the number you did on me. I want you to know how badly you fucked me up. I can lie through my teeth and say how over you i am, and how i'm doing good now and I'm in a better mental state and whatever the fuck. I mean I think i am? I'm not 15 and self harming and shit anymore, I don't do the same shit I did back then. I don't know if I'm in a better mental state, or if I've literally just grown up. You fucking broke me. You broke my spirit, you broke my soul.You were so fucking mean to me, I still, 8 years later have your voice in my head mocking everything I do, including writing this bullshit. You fucking ruined me. My life and who I am would have been so different if I had never met you. I mean fuck, i was so desperate to get over you I started sleeping around with anyone who would give me the time of day, which eventually lead me to be a prositute because i thought 'i do it anyway but for free, why not get paid for it?'. In this whatever post I plan to be as vunerable as i can be, and in that, I feel like I'm worth fuck all because I was a prostitute. Because of you. 8 years later and saying your name feels like I'm spitting fire, my stomach turns and i get this rush of emotions, love, hate, heartbreak, guilt.. 6 years ago, I tried to take my own life. I remember thinking how when it worked you would say 'well she was actually strong enough to do it, never thought she would'. But It didnt so.. 5 years ago, I had the biggest depression breakdown to date which cost me not one but two hospital admissions in the space of 24 hours, and I remeber worrying that you would find out because I wanted you to know I had changed even though we hadn't spoken in 2 and a half years. I was depressed, the pressure that you still put over me to be everything i never was that you wanted collapsed me i suppose. Mix that with me trying to be a better person for you and never feeling like it was enough because you fucking hate me and honestly, i see myself the way you do, or did, been too long now, maybe after 8 years you changed your mind? just in case you came back, just in case. I don't remember the sound of your voice, I barely remember what you look like. I don't remember your likes and dislikes, I don't remember your traits and hobbies, But i remember how you made me feel. And I know, because ive been telling myself for years that i need to forgive you, and I think i have, But if i really had, I wouldn't be writing this, so i don't know. Everything I did to the drugs I smoked, the alochol I drank, the people I considered friends and the men i slept with was all to get over you, and in return... I got cripping anxiety as a result from all of it. My psychologists says that to me, you represented everything i wanted at the time even if it wasn't who you were. You represented the love i wanted from my dad, you represented a happy life, you represented acceptance and approval, stability, just everything I didn't have and never did have that subconsiously I always wanted.. and yes, you did put me into therapy, not soley you, but you did. You're right, I am crazy, and i blame you for it, you made me crazy then got mad when I was. But what i wanna know, is how the FUCK do i fix this mess you made, they say time heals all wounds but i disagree, a shitload of water has run under the bridge, every single cell in my body has changed, but the time hasn't healed the wounds its caused a huge infection, the water running under the bridge has stopped running and turned into a lake, the cells in my body still crave you and still yearn for your smell and the sound of your voice saying 'stress less baby'. If i could still remember, it would ring in my ears, but its hard too when your voice is basically forgotten in my memory. I don't know how to get over you, I've tried literally everything. Hypnotism, medication, drugs, alochol, sex (and alot of it), I've tried dating other guys,I've written you letters and burnt them,Ive talked about you in depth to that many fucking people its embarrasing, yet I'm still here. Saturday night and i'm still missing the absolute shit out of you and I'm still hurt over you, stalking any only tumblr profile that has even the hint of your existence then feeling my stomach turn when i remember how it felt when you did the things you did to me. Its like its october 2012 all over again, it feels the exact fucking same and I don't know why. I hate it, I wish it could stop but I really am convinced that I never will. I won't get over you, the damange you did won't heal. I hate you, I hate you so much it literally lets my skin aflame, but I would do absolutely anything to have you back in my life. I don't think I'll get this happy ever after I've been dreaming of, I don't think I'll find someone and get married. I wish you never existed, because this isnt normal. The feelings and everything i go through daily still isn't normal. And i wish it wasn't like this. 24/7 you're torturing me. And i mean youre happy now, you have a wife and a kid, you moved on so long ago I'd be suprised if you ever remembered me. You won't ever read this, and i hope you don't. Maybe this is just another lame attempt to get over you, it won't work, but helps the pain for a little while. Being completly vunerable and honest in a 'letter' isn't something ive done yet. The rest that i wrote were all bullshit on how i forgive you and how i dont love you anymore and how i am doing so much better than you ever thought possible and blah blah blah. All lies, they feel real at the time and maybe they are, but when its moments like these that are so fucking raw the truth just comes out and i'm here, thinking of you and hating everything thats happened. I see my life and three sections, before you, during you, and after you. Before you life was easy, during you.. life was amazing and intense and extreme, after you is pain and denial. Its embarrasment and sadness. Evens bandaids fall off, even stitches get infected. Open wounds sometimes stay open. And its your fault. Maybe if you did come back life would get easier for me, maybe i wouldn't hear your voice, maybe I would go crazy on you again. I know i did awful things to you, but were they that awful? I did them because i was hurt, but you did worse too, and you never owned up to it, and yet youre still the victim in my eyes, even though you moved on and you don't feel the way i feel. I am the victim here, not you and fuck you for thinking that, fuck me for thinking that, I'm just as bad for viewing you that way, I could probably choose not too, but its so embedded into my subconsious i don't see any other way to view you. Because i hate you like you were the bad guy, and love you like you were the victim. It would have been easier if you died, not gonna lie about that. If you had died, my life would be easier. I don't mean that as 'i wish you were dead', but i mean that if you hadnt of left my by choice, it would probbaly be easier to deal with. I know ive changed as a person, i made alot of mistakes and i grew up and grew from them which is something every single person has done and yet i feel your judgement in the harshest way for every single one of them. I carry the guilt for the things that i did as if i did them to you, the one i cared/care about most. I don't know how well this explains everything within me ranting about shit and whatever, but i tried.

[rahabs]

Tagged by the eternal sweetheart that is @allegoriesinmediasres 🖤

Rules: List five fics you have written that you are really proud of.

I have been writing fics across multiple accounts for over twelve years now so many of these will probably be more recent, but some I’m really proud of are, in no particular order (with the exception of my favourite/most meaningful one being the last one because I was Emotional and had to build up to it):

i. Grief Work, a joplittle fic set in Fort Resolution little ways post-canon, wherein Jopson and others live because Edward overruled Le Vesconte via a little bit of violence.  I was really, really proud of how this one came out, and it’s a piece with a more emotional narrative than a plot-driven one, wherein Edward grapples with the weight of everything while waiting for Jopson to wake up.

If this is love, he thought desperately, I want nothing of it. Edward Little strong-arms the men into rescuing Crozier.  It changes everything.

ii. Would You Gain the Tender Creature, another joplittle fic that I wrote for @thegreenmeridian, who was the one to initially send the prompt.  I had a blast with it and what started out as a wee thing ended up being 6k of a very frustrated Thomas Jopson and an endearingly oblivious Edward Little.  Left to my own devices all I produce is sheer angst, so it was really lovely to write something a little more light-hearted, and it’s definitely one of my all-time favourite pieces at the moment.  Also, someone made an actual legitimate gif edit for it, and I think about it daily and also cry about it daily (it’s a very happy cry).

Jopson smiled.  He has dimples, Edward thought with no small amount of despair. For better or for worse, Edward Little was sure Thomas Jopson barely noticed him at all.

iii. Memento Mori, a kylux fic featuring a canon divergeant smuggler Kylo Ren that I wrote for what I think was a kylux minibang of some sort?  This one’s on here because to date it is the only multi-chaptered fic that I have ever completed, even though it took me awhile (in my defence I was finishing up a degree and moving to a new country to begin another at the time, so I got a wee bit sidetracked).  I also put a lot of thought into the plot and the allusions and the mirroring, and ultimately was really, really happy with how the fic came out.

Exhausted by expectations and determined to leave his family's legacy behind, Ben Organa-Solo forged a new identify for himself as a smuggler, far from the reach of the New Republic.  Armitage Hux, an officer with the First Order, was never part of his plan.

iv. And Ghosts Must Do Again (What Gives Them Pain), a more recent PruAus fic that I wrote on a whim because I was in the mood for maximum potential angst.  Deals with impending character death, the death of nations, guilt, and of course a heavy dose of historical tragedy, because ultimately all my favourite things tend to boil down to history.

“Are you afraid?” Austria asked in the dead of night, his face tucked against Prussia’s shoulder, only giving voice to the reality they never acknowledged where he could not be seen; where his own fear could not be known.

v. This Past in Our Lungs, a joplittle fic.  This one is set post-canon, when Edward and Thomas are living together and dealing both with the inevitability of going back to sea, family, and the notion that home doesn’t always mean safe, but this one is important to me because it was such a big step for me and it’s what really catapulted me both back into steady writing and into The Terror itself, and it showed me that my burnout could be defeated after I had struggled for years to produce anything of substance.  It reminded me that writing can be fun, should be fun, and so that’s what it was: 8k of character studies and me just remembering my love of writing, and also of sickfic and angst and hurt/comfort and just all the fun things that I love.  Also features one of my all-time favourite scenes that I’ve written (Edward’s feverdream/nightmare sequence) in a long time.

He wondered if this was what it was to drown. They are free of the ice, but home doesn't always mean safety.

Tagging @sailingsouthernseas, @lux--aurea / @proudspires, @thegreenmeridian, @waistcoat35 (because your richard ellis/thomas barrow fics give me life and I’ve got all the ones I need to catch up on queued up on my Kindle), and anyone else who writes fics who sees this!  Please tag me!  I want to read your fics, and I am sure I have forgotten to tag someone but I have been running errands all day and am just wiped and also have sun brain from the heat wave we’re under.

[fraybaness]

such sweet sorrow

ao3

before she leaves, clary writes eight letters.

I. JACE

Dear Jace,

By the time you read this letter, my memories of you and the Shadow World will be gone.

It was the price the angels made me pay for the runes I’ve created.

It seems strange - and a bit cruel - that after everything you and I have been together, this is how we end. With me a mundane again and you reading a letter stained with tears I won’t remember crying.

But I have no regrets. These have been some of the best times of my life because of the people I was lucky enough to share them with. Because of you. You  were right to think I loved you unconditionally. I do. And I always will. No angel or demon could ever change that.

And even if I don’t remember you, you will always be in my heart.

Love,

Clary

II. SIMON

Dear Simon,

This is really hard to say. I think it’s especially hard to say it to you, but I owe you an explanation. Well, I owe you much more than that, but this is all I can give you for now: when I created that rune today, to stop Jonathan, I made Raziel angry. So by the time you read this, I’m not going to know you’re a daylighter. I’m going to think you’re dead.

The hardest thing to come to terms with these past few hours has been the fact that I will never see you again. I can’t imagine my world without you, Simon Lewis. That can’t possibly be real. Life without you is just a horrible nightmare. But I’m going to have to face that nightmare soon, and I won’t be able to wake up. I’m just sorry that you’re going to lose a friend, too.

Please don’t do anything stupid like come looking for me or try to change this. You can’t change this. I’ve made my choice and I would make it again. Because this sucks. This really fucking sucks and I don’t think I’ve been in this much pain since my mom died but at least this time there is a point to all this pain: I saved people. I saved you. I’d give up anything to keep you safe. I wish I didn’t have to break your heart to do it, but I can’t change that, either.

I love you. I’m going to miss you. I wish we had more time.

Love,

Your Clary, always

III. ISABELLE

Dearest Isabelle,

I scrapped so many drafts of this letter. I don’t know where to begin in telling you what you mean to me. Asking you to be my parabatai was supposed to be my way of telling you how much I love you and how you make me better. A better Shadowhunter, a better friend, a better person overall.

But that’s no longer a possibility, seeing as by the end of the night, I won’t remember you or this life. Apparently Raziel doesn’t approve of my rune mixing angel and demon blood.

I know. I want to be angry too. But I killed my brother this morning and my runes are already disappearing. There isn’t a lot of fight left in me.

Give ‘em hell on my behalf, won’t you?

I should end this letter now, before I go off on tangent after tangent and run out of time and realize I haven’t written to anyone else. But before I do, I just want to thank you for being the kindest, strongest, most amazing woman in the world. I’m very sorry that I will never get to call you my parabatai, but I know that in some way, our souls are already bound together.

Love,

Clary

IV. MAGNUS

Dear Magnus,

A part of me wanted to write this letter and give it to you before anyone else’s. Before anything became permanent. I wanted you to run after and me and tell me that we can fix this, you and me. Point out a loophole, help me come up with a solution, help me do something. But there is nothing either of us can do this time around. Which is why I really hope you didn’t find this until after your honeymoon.

At times, I think you know me better than I know myself, so I doubt there is anything I can say that you don’t already know. But let me just say: thank you. For everything. I couldn’t have done any of it without you.

With love,

Biscuit

 V. ALEC

Dear Alec,

If a couple months ago someone told me that I would be tearfully writing a goodbye letter to Alec Lightwood of all people on his wedding day, I would’ve laughed in their face. But that’s exactly what I’m doing right now, so I guess you were right: nothing in this world is impossible.

All jokes aside, I’m proud of how far we’ve come, both in our weird relationship and as individuals. During my time in the Shadow World, I’ve managed to build a whole new family, and you’re undoubtedly a part of that. You’ve been more like a big brother to me than my own could ever be.

I hope you and Magnus live a long and happy life together (by the way, congratulations! I can't think of a more perfect couple.) and I hope you don’t miss me driving you crazy too much. And I really hope I don’t forget the things I’ve learned from you all.

Love,

Clary

VI. MAIA

Dear Maia,

It seemed plain wrong to write to everyone but you. Truthfully, I don’t even know if you still kinda-sorta like me, or if Luke leaving the pack and you and Simon breaking up means you and I can’t be on good terms anymore. But I hope that’s not the case, because I really like you, and I don’t want you to think I’m an idiot for writing a heartfelt farewell letter to someone who hates my guts.

On the off-chance that you do, in fact, still like me, here is my heartfelt farewell letter:

I don’t know if the others told you, or if you even want to hear, but tonight is my last night in the Shadow World. By tomorrow, I won’t remember any of this, and I won’t remember any of you.

I wish you were going to be at Magnus and Alec’s wedding so we could use some of my borrowed time to get to know each other. I know it sounds like a waste, because I’m going to forget anyway, but I don’t see it that way. I mean, isn’t everyone living on borrowed time in one way or another? I wish I could use mine to do everything I’ve been putting off and get to know everyone I haven’t had a chance to.

Sorry, I’m probably being a little weird and depressing. I initially started writing this to tell you that I wish we’d hung out more, yes, but mostly to say I heard you were alpha now, and that’s how I know the New York pack is going to be just fine, and I’m more than a little disappointed that I won’t be around to see just how amazing you’re going to be.

(Also, Simon’s an idiot for letting you go.)

Sincerely (hoping this wasn’t too weird),

Clary

VII. MARYSE

Dear Maryse,

I’ve recounted this in too many letters tonight, and every time I bring it up or think about it my heart hurts, but here goes: tonight, Raziel is going to take my memories and my powers. I’m going to just be Clary Fray again, and I’m not even going to know what I’ve lost.

But that’s not why I’m writing to you. I’m writing to ask you to give Luke's letter to him when he gets back, and to  say that I’m happy you’re in Luke’s life, and that you were in my life, however briefly. I’ll admit I didn’t like you very much when we first met, but seeing how much you’ve changed and how much Izzy and Alec and Jace and Luke and Magnus love you has certainly changed that. I wish the two of us had the chance to get to know each other, too.

Especially because right now, I could really use a mom.

-Clary

VIII. LUKE

Dad,

I’m sure the others have already told you what’s happened, so I won’t waste ink and precious time going into details. I’ll just say what I need to say. The important things. Which are these: I love you more than I could possibly ever say, I want you to be happy, and you should grow your beard back.

And this: I don’t know what’s going to happen now.

It’s only to you that I can admit just how scared I am, just how badly I wish this wasn’t happening. I don’t want to break your heart any more than I already have but I don’t think I could have said (or written) this to anyone else. And I needed to say it to someone. I'm no stranger to going blindly into dark, dangerous adventures, but I still hate doing it alone.

Selfishly, I hope to see you again. I don’t know if I will even remember you in a few hours (I don’t see how I could ever forget you, but the angels have their ways, I suppose), but I can’t imagine a life without you. You have always kept me grounded in this crazy, messed-up life every day since before I can remember, and even if I’m a whole different person tomorrow, that won’t change, and neither will my love for you.

But, anyways, I didn’t mean to make this letter so depressing. All I want to say is that I love you, and I’m going to be okay, somehow, so please just live your best life and be happy, because you deserve it.

And maybe be a little proud of me? I’m trying very hard not to let anyone down today.

Love,

Clary

 IX. UNWRITTEN

Dear Clary,

You’re going to be okay.

[steeltoss]

Pre Naruto — Naruto Headcanons. Ages 9-15.

I have nothing better to do while my phone is dying.

Age 9

We're starting here since I'm working on something already. Okay so the day her whole clan was obliborated and sent straight to Jesus, Hokkaido was taken from Konoha under the Third's order. From there, she went to an orphanage in Amegakure.

The orphanage wasn't too bad, but Hokkaido couldn't help missing Konohagakure. She wanted to leave the orphange and debated running away.

However, she didn't get to run away as a couple who never had children together spotted this lonely dark haired girl and wanted to adopt her. This led to confusion. Someone genuinely wanted to adopt her, a broken child?

They did adopt her. But she was quiet, confused even.

The lady was one of the most beautiful ladies she had ever seen, complete with Auburn hair and deep green eyes and a pallor complexion. Her new mother's name was Emi Suzuki of the Hidden Rain.

The man was strong, and he looked very mean, but he wasn't. Hokkaido just didn't know that yet. He had short, messy Sandy blonde hair and cocoa colored eyes. This was Shindou Suzuki, a very strong Shinobi of the Hidden Rain.

Upon going to her new home, things were very different. This family was patient with her learning and never pushed her too much, they had accepted her as if she really were their own child. But she didn't want to call them mom or dad because she only ever had one mom and one dad.

Hokkaido was given a nice room with a twin sized bed and a desk for schoolwork, Emi enjoyed buying her stuffed animals, her favorite was her stuffed panda that somehow made her think of Shisui. She slept with it every single night.

Entering the academy, she made two friends that she held close to her heart.

Aito Fugikame, a small and dark haired girl with violet eyes who reminded her of Hinata Hyūga from Konoha, maybe that's why she enjoyed her company so much.

Eiji Yamada, a brunette make who seemed a little idiotic but super friendly and was outcasted for being such a loveable idiot. This was in ways, her Naruto of Amegakure.

She began to adjust to her new life, the pain seemingly subsiding as she always came home to a hot meal and was called Yua, (and it literally means binding love and affection) by Emi.

Things were starting to go great, and for once after the massacre, Hokkaido Uchiha was smiling as she came home. But she missed her brother, Sasuke. She wondered how he was doing in Konoha.

Age 10

Having a good birthday, she blew the candles out on her cake before hiding her face in her hands. She was crying but didn't know why. Sure, she was happy, but how long would it last without her only other blood relative?

The trio [Hokkaido, Aito and Eiji] often roamed the village together and practiced their skills together, she finally perfected her Fireball Jutsu.

That's when people began looking at her all weird, she was an outsider, and they knew just how strong the Uchiha clan was.

Aito's mother wouldn't let her visit nor talk to Hokkaido anymore. This was the downfall.

Hokkaido shut herself off, she barely exited her room unless it was to eat or go to school.

Age 11

Emi had conceived her first daughter this year and she seemed rather focused upon the new baby that was due to arrive in July. Hokkaido was conflicted on how to feel, she was once her foster parents primary focus, and it seemed they had less and less time for her now. She never brought it up. She was still grateful she was given a family.

In July, Emi gave birth to a healthy little girl named Ichika. Hokkaido wanted eagerly on the front steps of their house, but was only met with a sullen faced Shindou and a baby in his arms. Emi was no where around.

Later that evening, Shindou had explained that Emi had passed on, and that Hokkaido was now rightfully the woman of the house.

Even though Emi wasn't her biological mother, Hokkaido was broken again. She had lost two mother's in her life. This was the very first time she cried over someone who wasn't related to her in any way.

But Ichika reminded her so much of Emi. She had beautiful Auburn hair and a buttoned nose, just like Emi. And Hokkaido would constantly talk to the growing child about how amazing their mother was.

At the time, she hadn't even realized she reffered to Emi as her own mother. She just knew she missed her more than anything.

Age 12

Celebrating Ichika's first birthday wasn't how she ever imagined it to be. Emi wasn't there to see her daughter grow up, she hadn't even gotten to see Hokkaido graduate from the Academy and become a genin.

Hokkaido was put in a squad with Aito and Eiji, but things were still tense with herself and Aito. Hokkaido never knew how to process her emotions. She used to go to Itachi or Shisui for things like that. But Shisui had died a year before the massacre.

This year also happens to be the year Hokkaido got her menstrual cycle. She went into a panic, thinking she was dying and bleeding out. After all, she really didn't have a grown female figure to turn to about this.

She was embarassed to even tell Shindou, but he was very calming and understanding. He explained she was becoming a woman and even gave her the birds and bees talk. She was disgusted.

Sasuke is now ten, and she wonders how he's doing. She debated on writing him a letter, but out of nervousness, she doesn't.

Age 13

Hokkaido spent a lot of her time doing activities as she was now co sidered am elder sibling by Ichika. Ichika was walking and talking and every day passing, looked more like Emi.

Hokkaido began training for her chunin exams, which, were coming up very shortly. She spent many hours training with her squad a day and had often had to be retrieved by Shindou.

Shindou often scolded her for overworking herself as he forced her to drink plenty of water and eat her greens. He was only looking out for his eldest after all.

Upon the day of the exams, Hokkaido finds out all three of her squad had to sign up. And they had. They are now officially beginning their journey as chunin.

The first exam, she nearly crapped a brick. The written test was hard and she knew nothing. But she still tried her hardest, hearing and seeing others being disqualified for cheating. Her heart was hammering in her chest.

Afterwards, when she found out the objective was to cheat without being caught, she literally facepalms herself because she hadn't even thought of cheating. And then that damned question was asked.

Back at the exam, the proctor states that the candidates are free to choose whether or not they want to try and solve the tenth question. If they opt out, the entire team will fail. If they choose to answer the question but get it wrong, they will be barred from taking the Chūnin Exams forever.

Hokkaido's heart hit her guts. She was afraid of never becoming a chunin. But she pressed forward, only to find out the tenth question was already asked. The question was to test their determination and bravery.

Since I'm a lazy bastard and ive worked on this almost all damn day, I'm moving forward.

During the one on one fights, Hokkaido was matched against Kabuto Yakushi. [you know. Cuz this mf kept taking the exams cuz he a spying little-]

She lost.

She lost.

She didn't become a chunin on her first try, but congratulated Aito and Eiji upon becoming Chunin.

Age 14

Sasuke was finally old enough to take his own chunin exams and they were being hosted in Konohagakure! Hokkaido was estatic, she was finally going home to Konohagakure, even if it was just for the exams.

The exams started the same, and she passes. She couldn't help but keep glancing toward her brother however, a tugging on her heart. He hadn't even looked her way.

She wondered if he forgot her. He hadnt.

After the written exams, they prepared for the second part. Hokkaido was paired with two Amegakure genin.

However, a red haired sand ninja with a foul attitude caught her eye. Gaara.

Another skip, I'm half dead.

Anyway,, she became a chunin because of the circumstances and after the fight with Gaara and Naruto, Hokkaido goes home back to Amegakure.

Sasuke had changed so much, her little brother was growing up.

Age 15

Hokkaido had been caring for Ichika and tried being a great big sister to the four year old who somehow ended up looking up to her like she had to Itachi. It left her heart hurting a little.

Still, she would sometimes think back to that red haired boy.

She often ignored it because she didn't want to even tell Shindou about a possible boy she liked, let alone one that was so damn destructive.

Things were going well, and she was being sent on a mission to Konohagakure soon. This mission, however, required her to move away for six months. She would be aiding the Fifth Hokage, Tsunade.

She wondered why she was chosen for such a thing...

Okay. That's rushed but there. Heres her OG Naruto Headcanons. Shippuden comes next. Feedback is much appreciated. Nah this isn't proofread either.