#Salubrious Living | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

eternallyhauntingthehouseoflove · 6 months ago

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Hey, i read the “Bat-boys finding out your pregnant” and may i ask for more? It was sooo cute that i need more of it 😭💕

The Batboys fathers HCs

A/N: this request is long overdue that I’m sure the requester doesn’t even remember it, but I’ve arrived at last. I hope this is what they wanted. The Absolute Power run has restored my love for Nightwing and comics. ❣️

Dick Grayson is a fun dad. At first, Dick suffocated beneath the weight of fatherly duties. He wanted to be better than Bruce. Dick loved him, but he could admit that his boyhood wasn’t a salubrious environment for the young mind. No child should have to carry the weight of Bruce’s mission. Thus, Dick’s mission became ensuring yours and the baby’s lives were secure, safe, and joyous.

Pale beams of sunlight kissed your cheeks good morning. The aroma of maple syrup wafted throughout the house, tickling your nostrils as you carried yourself down the stair steps, footfall by footfall. There Dick stood at the stove, scooting the black spatula beneath a golden pancake and flipping it into the air, causing your baby to burst out into a fit of giggles before the pancake hit the skillet with a sizzle. He was proud of himself for making his baby laugh.

“Well, well, look at mama.” A grin crept across his lips as he spotted you creeping closer, supernovas bursting in his electric blue irises.” You were snoring in a pool of drool when I awoke, so I grabbed the baby and started breakfast.” Vibrant seas of pacifiers, rattles, and toy pianos adorned the house.

Dick attempted to rush the developmental process. Not out of callousness, but sheer excitement to have a child. He had already stocked the baby in dolls, trucks, pacifiers, fruit snacks, apple juice (watered down, of course). He even installed a nightlight that short circuited the house at first, but Bruce helped him fix it. Reading is good for the baby right? Dick is on it. He’s already ordered the best and most classic tales; Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, Alice in Wonderland, Dr. Seuss, Little Red Riding Hood.

Dick Grayson has read multiple novels on fatherhood, motherhood, child development, postpartum depression. He hates surprises, and babies are the breeding ground of surprises. He will pack the go-bag full of onesies, pacifiers, diapers, wipes, toys because he doesn’t want you to be in public and not have the materials.

“Give me a few days to install the new changing table. You’ll love it.” Crimson blush adorned his tanned cheeks, a proud grin dawning on his lips, showcasing his pearlescent teeth.” It broke when I weight checked it, thank god. Damian, albeit reluctantly, is coming out here tomorrow to translate the instructions.”

Jason Todd is the protective, paranoid father because he’d placed a bullet in the worst humanity had to offer, witnessed otherworldly horrors done to the little guys, the folks who lack billions of dollars to hole up on secluded islands and cabins. He can’t eradicate all the scum, can’t caulk the fractures villains seem to keep slipping through—and that terrifies him.

Jason never imagined a life worth living to be possible. He’d thought himself a sentient zombie, an unlucky boy yanked from the eternal peace of a cold, soundless grave and forced to enact vengeance on behalf of the common folk who lack the means to undertake the mission themselves. He never considered Red Hood to be a hero; merely a restless phantom with nothing else to bide his time until the sweet release of the afterlife deigned to shatter his manacles to the mortal world. That was until he’d fallen over the sun, offering endless devotion to his goddess, and you’d rewarded his offering with a daughter, a lovely girl. He’d abduct the moon and wrap it in a silken bow if only you’d give him permission.

“Catch, papa,” your daughter had called out, retrieving the little football and sprinting toward him, tiny feet carrying her over the damp and verdant grass of y’all’s backyard. Jason never brought the both of you to parks—an excess of people to watch, different personalities and behaviors; a myriad of possibilities for tragedy. Too much room for error in a vast, leafy expanse.

“You’ve gotta bring it to me first,” Jason called back, outstretching his muscular arms, awaiting her arrival. He was paranoid and distrustful of the world, not a killjoy. Y’all’s daughter’s bedroom was littered with vivid nail polishes, fluffy scarves, glittering tiaras, and Monster High dolls. Your daughter had always adored Frankie Stein and Frankenstein because they reminded her of Jason and herself, the dolls and humans both sharing pale white streaks of hair. He hadn’t known whether to laugh or weep upon hearing those words from her lips, innocent and completely unaware of the accuracies spanning far past hair color.

“Jason, I love you, but we are not cooping ourselves up in the house this summer.” The words were firm and unyielding—but lacking any true bite.

“ I’ve given you grace. I let a lot slide because I understand your background. But we’re just not doing it this summer. Its too hot to not go to waterparks and enjoy ourselves because of possibilities.” A damn good point rested upon your tongue, and he knew it.

“Fine.” He relented with a jocosely petulant huff.” But we take a gun with us.”

Tim Drake is an ambitious father. It’s been said before, but I don’t believe he’s as active as the fandom would believe. Though, his absence isn’t born of malice or indifference, but ambition, a thirst for a legacy. He wants to be a man his significant other and child can be proud of, a father worth bragging about. There’s also a large chamber seated within his mind that knows not how to be a father, for his parents were cold, choosing to throw dollars at his gripes and needs rather than be present.

One of his greatest fears is disappointing the both of you, like he was disappointed by his own parents, so disappointed he couldn’t even despise them. Tragically, the mission to avoid history’s repetition had placed him before a mirror, his parents gazing back at him, a smug smirk curled on their lips because they know that he’ll be on their end of the glass within a few decades.

Can he be blamed? Tim wants the absolute best for his family. The best grades, the best schools, the best scores, the best scholarships. He’s not naïve enough like Dick to believe hard work and persevere can lift a nobody anywhere. There are no bootstraps to be pulled taut. It’s an illusion, a sauce wealthy people spoon over their meals to disguise the taste of nepotism and privilege. Manipulations the rich regurgitate to excuse themselves from having to acknowledge the unfair, biased system they’ve upheld.

The door to his limousine slammed closed, his child seated beside but, but farther than ever. What could be said? Jerking forward, the limousine rolled into drive, coasting beneath autumn streaked clouds, as though her father had gifted her the sky from a florist. Bruce hadn’t prepared Tim for the teenaged terror years. He couldn’t help but wonder if he himself had been this capricious and fickle as a teen, or if he were merely that bad of a father.

“Do. . . do you want a Milkshake? From that one place by the house, like we used to when you were young.” Tim couldn’t help but raise a hopeful raven shaded brow. He could smell the stench of sweat, an anxious perspiration, cleaving to your school uniform. It must’ve been a test day.” I’ll clear the rest of my schedule for us. . . if you want, of course.” He extended an olive branch, granting her the choice to engage and accept, or set the course for the rest her teenage years.

Damian Wayne does not want children. He doesn’t know how far his taint would bleed, and all he can envision are the ways he could disgrace the mind of a child. His village was rotten and evil. Bad fruits bear worse seeds.

Damian’s devotion was love, the purest kind he knew, a primal desire to protect and cherish that of which he adored. You forged suns in his heart, set the butterflies in his belly aflutter. Beneath a weeping of sheet of violet sky, the both of you had sworn to love the other until Earth imploded—and when it did, he would find you in another universe.

He doesn’t hate children. In fact, he would be a decent babysitter for Dick and Jason, and whenever Tim deigned to grace the BatCave with his presence. But, Damian is staunch in his childfree attitude, and you respect it. Truthfully, you weren’t even sure you wanted kids. No, you and Damian battled crime, traveled the world and experienced culture, learned histories outside of the filth pumped into his mind by the Al Ghuls. Bruce was saddened by Damian’s decision against children, but he ultimately respected it—and him.

Damian knew he was poisoned and rotten and always would be, no matter what emblem was sewn over his breast. He was content with the life the both of you had, and knowing Dick, many more children are to come, so he’d never get lonely.” Beloved, what do you make of Italy? Not the tourist parts where the history is washed, but the ripe lands.”

Bruce Wayne is a weary father. He knew the birth of his youngest child was redemption, his last chance at preserving the Wayne name since Damian had sworn off children. But Bruce was aged, hardened, jaded, weary. He had scars to last a lifetime, some worn on his heart, though majority were worn on his skin.

The Wayne brownstone was eerily silent since Alfred’s death. Bruce’s son sat around the oaken table, coloring a picture of Superman, Wonder Woman, Batman, and Alfred. Bruce’s heavy lids fell over exhausted, dim blue irises, his brain flitting back to the memories of Alfred, gathered at the stove and learning a recipe. I am. . . old, Master Bruce. My time on this earth is not infinite. You must learn more than the ways of fists, the words echoed in his mind. Reminding him that old age wasn’t even the murderer of Alfred Pennyworth.

He fetched an inhale before pulling himself off of the couch, and padding over toward his son at the dinner table.” What’s that? Oh, a pretty picture. A real artistic talent, like Damian.” Bruce was unsure of his fathering more often than not. He knew how it appeared to his son’s school counselors and the principal—old, washed up playboy Bruce Wayne saddled with another young son. That was far from the case, but the masses will believe anything when they’re given nothing.

Bruce fetched a pot and skillet from the creaking cabinets of the brownstone, far from the elegance and cleanliness of the manor. Alfred would’ve been mortified to see the mess, he almost chuckled, but withheld it. Lest his son raise a question, for the explanation would be too complicated and long-winded for his young mind.” So, what do you see for dinner tonight? What makes that belly growl like a lion? Mac and Cheese? Lasagna? Hamburger Helper?”

Bruce knew exactly what his son would choose. Asking was merely a courtesy. Bruce knew him, raised the boy from the minute he was weaned. He knew what his son would do before his son knew what he himself would do. The Batman wasn’t a slacker, wasn’t lazy.

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lullabyes22-blog · 14 days ago

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Snippet - Red Line - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Jinx narrates Ekko's life story.

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

tw: death, police brutality, violence, sickness.

Snippet:

To make a short story long:

One night, many moons ago (twenty years to be precise), the Fissures were hit by what is known as Die Pest—not a mass extermination of rodents, but a deadly contagion known as the Ash Plague. It turned thousands of residents into hacking, howling, hole-riddled wraiths who had little choice but to be quarantined at great expense inside the Skylight Commercia's glass dome, under the Council's decree.

All access to the Bridge was restricted: Fissurefolk were barricaded from crossing over to Topside's salubrious climes, where well-heeled, well-met folks went about their business on the immaculately paved streets while a slow poison whittled down their sunless neighbors, leaving nothing behind but bones.

Two of the soon-to-be-damned were a couple with a young boy, barely a year old. They weren't wedded, this being the Fissures and nobody giving a rat's flea-bitten behind; the only ones in town who kept up the tradition were undertakers and tax collectors, both being in the business of last rites, though one was more lucrative than the other (and a damn sight more sanitary).

Point being: the couple were spared the penance but not the plague. Within weeks of its landfall in the Fissures, it spread through the community like wildfire. The woman died first; her man and baby boy both watched her heave her insides out until all she had left were tears and teeth, and not even a mouthful of either by the time she'd kicked the bucket.

It broke the man hard, her passing. She took everything but his breath.

Then the baby came down with the same fever, and threatened to leave him with nothing.

They say that when a person loses their heart, they have a bottomless hole in its stead. One that can be filled by whatever a heart can hold. This man didn't lose his heart; instead what died in him was cowardice, or maybe common sense.

So he fortified himself on zinfandel, swaddled the baby inside a cloth, and decided to do the impossible.

He slipped out of his family's hovel at sundown. Then he crept into the ginnel—that's a backalley, for the uninitiated—just beyond their stoop to check whether there was any blackshirts lurking. No one save for the Night Watch making their rounds, and he had two blocks on those blokes.

The man snatched up some ash, which was scattered across the streets in the remnants of that frosty Fissure evening. He rubbed it into his skin until his dark flesh held the same pallor as the ill.

Then down he went: as quietly as a rat stalking a scrap. He and his late lady-love were Tausendkünstlers. That's the local nickname for a jack-of-all-trades. In more esoteric circles, it has another meaning. The closest translation is "conjurer," but the wordplay is often lost on folks who don't have an ear for language.

Or a taste for magic.

This man and his partner had spent much of their lives defrauding people blind to the truth that, well, there ain't no such thing as magic. Only the odd miracle, and only if you've got enough coinage to make it happen. The rest's a matter of timing. Luck.

And for the truly savvy: trickery.

Which bought us to this fellow slinking through the shadows: dodging street lamps and dripping lines of laundry alike. To get out of quarantine, he'd need to conjure a few miracles.

And use up the rest of his luck.

So this man sprinted through the streets with his squalling babe against his chest, until he hit the jackpot. In a courtyard by the Black Lanes, there stood a vehicle. It was a rudimentary motorcar, just the wheels and chassis really. The man had been fixing up the innards before his lady-love got sick.

Still, it was good enough to pass a cursory inspection at the Bridgeside, given the sheer volume of vehicles carting supplies upriver each day.

Our fellow had neither papers, nor permits. Not to mention a suspicious lack of supply boxes loaded into his trunk. He just had his hands on the wheel and something foreign banging around in his ribcage.

Maybe that was bravery? Or, as mentioned, magic?

Maybe it was love?

Whatever you call it, the man was in full grip of this feeling. He gunned the engine, and began a laborious ascent up the roughshod streets toward the Bridge. In the passenger seat, the baby wept in fitful bursts, while the man dabbed at his feverish little face with a cloth which, coincidentally, was all that remained of his lady-love's favourite dress.

That dress tells the story of how they met in three distinct panels:

The first panel: Him and a group of ruffians, headed by two epically hard-headed rascals known as Vander and Silco, taking a joyride in his motorcar—cobbled together from a hijacked Enforcer's paddywagon—when they knocked a woman off the sidewalk and ass-backwards into the muck.

They rush out in a panic—him the first to reach her—to find a charming pair of stockinged legs sticking out of a well-stitched woolen skirt, and an even longer seam of swear words flying out of a prettily-plump mouth.

The second panel: A slightly less raucous encounter, and the man apologizing profusely over a pint of ale to this fetching, foul-mouthed lady for his recklessness. Her face is a frigid moue; she's plainly not interested. At least, until they go outside and she sees him fiddling with the motorcar engine. A spark comes alive in her eyes: she's a tinkerer herself. But her passion lies in mechanized textiles—fashionable clothing made from "sensible cloth," a cotton-steel blend that's both stylish and stab-resistant.

She smiles. He chuckles.

Their eyes meet, and on this newfound common ground, a sweeter bargain is struck.

The last panel: they sit, side-by-side, in the musty dimness of Benzo's shop—in the backroom, where the real business is done without a single signature crossing the dotted line—working on a dress. It's got a special pattern of steel-meshed weave. Stab-resistant, as mentioned prior. Also great at keeping shrapnel shards at bay. Better safe than sorry, especially now that she's running with Vander, Silco and his crazy lot, too.

Running with this man in particular, who wants only the best for her, even if that's not always possible to deliver. His love language isn't words; it's the hard work and honest sweat as he works with her on the dress, stitch after loving stitch, even though it leaves his fingertips sore.

It's worth it to see the way her tongue curls prettily between her teeth as she concentrates on aligning the seams. At the warmth of her arm, a smooth line against his own, and how he imagines the fabric unfurling between them, so he can see their shared future, sewn right in the steel flux: a chance encounter woven into courting danger and courting bliss in equal parts.

When the dress is finished, she throws her arms around him and laughs. His fingers ache, but his heart's fit to bursting.

Then she kisses him, and he thinks:

Boom.

Because a boom's always the best start to a love story.

That dress would take all kinds of hits during their days together—burns, bloodstains, the occasional stray bullet from fleeing the Enforcers storming Vander and Silco's underground rallies. Not the ideal lifestyle—nor a choice the man would've made.

But choice was slim pickings in the Undercity. And the past months had brought a lot less carousing, a lot more casing. Not too proud of it, but what else were they to do? There was no money in gadgetry. Not without a rich patron. The only means of true survival was smuggling, safe-cracking, and grand larceny on the wrong side of town.

Not to mention all the legups that came with having Vander and Silco's back, and knowing they had yours.

The couple needed a legup. They needed someone in their corner.

See, they had a whelp on the way. A babe on a hip, soon enough. That'd keep any man's eye on the horizon.

In the passenger seat, the babe squalled. The man was catapulted back to the moment. Ash streaking his forehead, and his dead love's dress a crumpled heap in his fist.

The motorcar's creaky wheels rolled doggedly up the streets.

The man hoped to cross the Bridge before the curfew bell clanged. Hoped to trade the boy a worse fate for a better—the golden cage over the black pit. His plan—if it can be called that—was such: he'd get pulled over at the checkpoint. The guards would demand documentation. When they shone their lanterns at him, they'd see the grey grime smearing his cheeks. Instantly, they'd recoil, as Topsiders did at anything less than spotless.

In that moment, with them rearing away, he'd scoop the boy into his arms, snugly enfolded in his love's dress, and make a mad dash across the Bridge.

All he had to do was cross the red line at the border. Once he did, he'd be under the jurisdiction of Piltover proper, rather than the Wardens. They could gun him down in broad daylight. But the child would be pronounced a ward of the state, which meant they'd place the little thing in an orphanage, where medicks would treat his sickness.

Where he might grow up healthy, happy and bright.

Where he might become someone, like his mother always wished.

The motorcar crept up the crumbling streets, skirting past piles of dead dogs, rats, cats—they'd all perished too. Flies swarmed in clouds over the mangled heaps of fur and flesh.

In the distance, the harbor glowed: a golden hand beckoning.

As the motorcar neared the Bridge's ramparts, the man spotted a squadron of Enforcers posted between two caravels across the road. The line to get past was long and winding. Each carriage took half an hour to inspect.

A long time. Too long!

By the time the man reached the front, the curfew bell would have rung.

Gods, all he needed was to cross that red line. To be given leave to enter the promised land. A small mercy, just a tiny scrap. Please. Why couldn't they give him that?

The man's eyes fixed on the checkpoint, jaw clenched so tight he felt his back teeth chip. The line crept forward one laborious inch at a time. Every bump in the road jostled his bones.

Halfway there, the curfew bell started clanging; the Enforcers lined up on the rampart, barring further entrance. All the vehicles waiting to cross were summarily turned away.

The man's stomach dropped to the car's floor, and then dropped through the floor, and straight down into the Pilt.

In the passenger seat, the baby wailed.

In a world of slim choices and shrinking odds, the man knew he had none left.

When you get only one chance in hell, what've you got to lose? Nothing—which is exactly what he had. He might be waylaid before he got halfway across, sure. A broadside could snaffle him at the wheel; his windows could shatter from a rifle stock bashing the glass in; a hail of lead could leave his guts spilled across the cobblestones.

His body, floating in the Pilt in the aftermath, a knife-edge moon in its reflection...

...but, if there was a chance his son might make it Topside?

He risked it.

Bracing a palm across the baby's chest, the man floored the gas pedal, screeching his way through the barricade like a hot blade through butter. He ploughed right through the middle of the blockade. Crates toppled. Enforcers scattered like loose coins. Shouts rang out, then a chorus of gunshots.

In the passenger seat, the baby let out a hiccupping cry.

We're going to make it, the man thought. Just across the line.

Boom.

An explosion shook the Bridge, knocking the car sideways. Something massive, maybe a gatling gun—had blown out the car's tires. The wheels ruptured, sending the vehicle skidding off the pavement. It plunged, nose-down, into the vertiginous canyon below. Moments later, the gas line ruptured, sending an impressive fireball sky-high over the River.

Sparks rained down. Soot followed.

In the backdraft, the boy's scream rang out—clear, shrill, angry.

Alive.

By some miracle—or maybe old-fashioned Tausendküstler trickery—the man had snatched up the wee lad—snugly enfolded within his mother's dress—into his arms, and leapt from the careening car. They'd hit the cobblestones, rolling and rolling, as the car tipped off the Bridge.

They stopped—a hair shy of the demarcation. Right near the painted line separating the Undercity from Piltover.

The man ran.

One boot missing, his shirtsleeves shredded, his elbows and knees streaked with blood. And still, he held his son to his breast, and ran like hell.

He kept running, even as the Enforcers greeted him with the traditional Topside salutation. Bullets ricocheting at his heels, ripping up stone, metal, meat, as he sprinted across the Bridge. As shouts rose, and sirens skirled, and a storm of brass buttons and spit-shined badges lunged in hot pursuit.

One bullet winged him across the temple. Blood sprayed.

Teeth gritted, he pushed hard. Twenty-five yards from home plate.

Twenty.

Fifteen.

Ten—!

Boom.

A third bullet went clean through his skull.

The man staggered, with less than half a yard to go. The baby squalling in his arms, his big brown eyes raised skyward to the golden city as the night and his father's life seeped away.

Finally, the man fell, tripping over blood-slick cobblestones.

He dropped to the ground inches from the red line, curling around the child in a final embrace, as the Enforcers advanced in jagged silhouettes, with rifles drawn and torches held high.

Which is where Benzo and Vander, in the vicinity after a supply run, found Ekko squalling in his dead father's arms.

Ekko would never cross the red line. Instead, he'd spend much of his early toddlerhood curled around the fraying dress, its bloodstains gone coppery-dark. The last relic of his parents, two Tausendküstler fools, taken in by the illusion of a golden elsewhere beyond the river, and the lie that is Topside's creed:

Progress.

As he grew up, Ekko's whole life would be spent in pursuit of something better. Something real. Something that he'd build right in the Fissures.

Because if a city could change, on the level, it must change together. Honesty, grit and guts would get you halfway there. But cleverness, greased gears and a fistful of audacity was what'd see you past the threshold.

Ekko was a Tausendküstler, too. But no fool. Even on the nights when his fingers ached, like his old man's once had, as he stitched together the threads for a brighter tomorrow.

He just didn't know that a blue-haired girl, who'd lost her own family on the Bridge, would be the match to set the spark in motion. Two ends of a lit fuse. Different sides, same story. Same old fight: getting to the Promised Land, however many yesterdays it took.

Even if the Promised Land was their own doorstep.

But that story is still in progress. For now, there's only the boom.

And a pinch of magic called love to make up for the rest.

#arcane #arcane league of legends #forward but never forget/xoxo #arcane silco #silco #asks #forward (never forget)/xoxo #arcane jinx #jinx #arcane ekko #ekko #arcane vander #vander #arcane timebomb #timebomb #jinx x ekko

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salubriousbean · 9 months ago

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This journey's been so amazing. Everything about the Bad Batch, the writing, the characters, the animation, the music, it's hard to put in words how much I love it. It wonderful and horrible, it makes me cry, it makes me laugh, it makes me angry and sad and hopeful and anxious, it makes me feel and it makes me live. I can't believe it's finally coming to an end.

Let it be know that I, the salubrious bean, declare The Bad Batch: Salubrious.

🫡🫡🫡🫡🫡

A Goodbye to The Bad Batch

I don’t even know what to say first. Because this is goodbye, but it is also everything but. But I suppose I should start at the beginning.

Just a couple of years ago I found my love for Star Wars. My entire life, as far back as I can remember, my dad has tried to get me into the fandom. Now, he’s not a fan the exact same way some of us are, he’d only watched the saga and the Mandalorian, funnily enough I was the one to introduce him to The Clone Wars and beyond, but it’s been a joy in his life for a very long time. I was never interested in it when I was little, but then I got a little older and Star Wars started to capture my interest.

One random weekend, I believe in 2021 or 2022, I decided that I was going to watch all nine saga movies in those forty-eight hours, and then start on my goal to watch every show and the additional movies.

This is, without a shred of doubt, one of the greatest decisions I have ever made, and one that I will never regret. I would not be the person I am had I not given Star Wars a chance.

It would sound ridiculous to anyone anywhere else, but this has become such a safe place for me that I know I can be honest.

Everyone finds that one thing that makes them happy like nothing else. A person, a hobby, a place, a fandom. Mine is the galaxy far, far away that lets me escape from my life whenever I need to.

The Star Wars fandom has its faults, and there is so much hatred.

But more than anything, there is love like no love I have ever experienced before. The love between fans and our love for these movies and shows is something I never expected to have in my life. But somehow, for some reason, it has all found a permanent place in my heart, and I couldn’t be happier.

At this time, the first season of The Bad Batch had just been released. I was branching out, watching The Clone Wars and then jumping to The Book of Boba Fett, though I’m not sure why I chose to watch everything in such a completely random order.

But then I started The Bad Batch.

I had no idea what Crosshair, Tech, Wrecker, Hunter, Echo, and Omega would come to mean to me.

I have dealt with a lot in the last few years. Nothing compared to others, but depression finds a way to wedge into your life. I love to be alone, but I don’t like to be lonely, and I have managed to isolate myself to a point of misery.

I found more comfort in The Bad Batch than anything else in my life, and I will never forget the joy The Bad Batch brought me in these last few years.

I began to write when I found Star Wars, and I was inspired to do so by The Bad Batch. Before, I had never felt so compelled by any one piece of media to add my own part of it to the world, until this. Writing has become another escape, one that gives me an outlet to continue the stories of characters left behind.

What I already knew has been reaffirmed, the lessons I have learned remain with me, and will even after this is over.

That it’s okay to feel afraid, because everyone does, and to make mistakes, provided you learn from them.

That feeling out of place for one reason or another does not make you unworthy of love, and having limitations with affection isn’t something you need to apologize for.

That being goofy, having fun, finding joy in the dark places, is just as vital a part of life as anything else, if not what we need more than anything.

That taking time for yourself, to make sure you don’t fall apart, even while taking care of others, is important.

That our worst moments can be one of two things, what consumes us, or what we grow from.

That being a young woman is not a detriment to your worth, intelligence, talent, or any other aspect of life, but is in fact what makes you strongest.

That what makes us unique and our faults are a part of who we are, but they do not define us, and we are so much more than the ideas people have of us.

My only regret is not making friends when I had the chance. I’m bad at that, opening up and putting myself out there, and I shy away from talking to new people because it makes me uncomfortable. But I wish I had been able to put that aside before it was too late and found people who love The Bad Batch the way I do to continue talking to, even after the show ends.

But to all the people who have supported me and who I have supported, thank you for being part of my Bad Batch experience.

It's very difficult to believe that this is it.

Though The Bad Batch has not been around long, it feels like it has, because as long as I have been watching Star Wars, The Bad Batch has been in its active run, and I’m so grateful I got to be here when it was.

I know that even when the credits roll for the final time, when the greater fandom forgets the show that they never really understood the way we have, I’ll be here, and hopefully, so will all of you. I think that the family brought together by The Bad Batch will endure, even if we go quiet for a while.

We’ll stick around, for the day the Batch comes back. Because I know they will.

Thank you Clone Force 99, the Bad Batch fandom, Dee Bradley Baker, Michelle Ang, the Kiners, and everybody who played a part in telling this story.

The impact The Bad Batch has had on my life has been profound, and I wouldn’t give it up for anything. It’s been a wild ride, and I have enjoyed every second of it. It has been a privilege to be a part of this piece in the ever growing history that makes up Star Wars.

Goodbye, Bad Batch. Until next time.

“Change takes getting used to. You’ll see. Just give it time.”

#the original post is very beautifully written #the bad batch #tbb #star wars #they will live always in our hearts #even if they march away #IT HAS BEEN DECLARED SALUBRIOUS

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coraniaid · 11 days ago

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Anyway, I do think you can preserve almost all of the core of Faith's arc in Season 3 and still present Giles in a much more favorable light than canon with only a very few minor tweaks.

At some point, in one of the early season episodes that Faith doesn't otherwise appear in -- Band Candy, say -- in a scene featuring just Buffy and Giles together, have Buffy comment on Faith's absence, wonder out loud if being alone in her motel room is good for her, and have Giles say something to the effect of "Perhaps you're right to be concerned, but we must respect Faith's wishes. In fact I offered to arrange for more salubrious lodgings when it became clear she would be staying with us for a while, but she assured me she was quite all right where she is." Because, look, of course if an older man she didn't really know offered to set Faith up with a nicer place to stay for free she was going to say no. Of course that doesn't mean she's actually happy living in a motel in the bad part of town, and of course she's still impressed when the Mayor gets her an apartment and clearly doesn't want anything from her in return (or, at least, he's only looking for wholesome family-friendly murder and torture and treason, not what she'd expect him to want). But at least this way we can point to evidence Giles actually tried to do the right thing. The thing that he explicitly volunteered to do.

In Helpless, when Buffy complains about Faith being "off on one of her unannounced walkabouts", don't have Giles -- who at this very moment is not interested in training Buffy but instead setting her up for the events of Cruciamentum -- remark snidely that "Faith is not interested in proper training", but instead explicitly link back to the events of Revelations. Have him remind Buffy that Faith took Mrs Post's betrayal very badly and say that he's deliberately letting her take a break from training for a bit because he thinks it will give her some time to recover emotionally. And, again, Giles wouldn't be right to think this -- Faith would be better off if she was spending time with other people -- but at least we'd get less of an impression that, after Post arrived, Giles decided he was done being Faith's temporary replacement Watcher and that he didn't really care what happened to her afterwards (even after Post was exposed as a fraud).

The key things you need to have happen in Consequences are (a) Faith lies to Giles and says Buffy killed Finch; (b) Giles talks to Buffy privately and they both acknowledge that actually Faith killed Finch; (c) Wesley overhears this conversation and calls in the Council to take Faith back to England. You don't actually need Giles to suggest he was only pretending to be on Faith's side to humor her; you don't need him to be so skeptical when Buffy talks about helping Faith. You could instead have Giles remind Buffy that he himself killed somebody by accident when he was not much older than Faith, and have him say that he pretended to believe her simply because -- knowing what she had to be going through -- he thought it would be better to humor her than provoke a confrontation. Rather than just have him dismiss her as "unstable" and "unwilling to accept responsibility", make the parallels with Giles's own backstory explicit. "In Faith's shoes, I would be -- I was -- unstable. Unpredictable. I needed time to accept responsibility." When Buffy suggests she could talk to her, rather than just sigh and look skeptical, Giles could apolgetically reference his own role in the Cruciamentum a few episodes earlier, and use that as a reason why Faith might not be willing to trust him yet. Instead of just ... nobody suggesting Giles talk to her, even when agreeing that perhaps somebody other than Buffy should.

And really, none of what Buffy and Giles plan at this point really even matters, because all we need to happen next is for Xander to admit that he slept with Faith and that he assumes this means they have "a connection", Buffy and Willow to react to that, and then for Xander to decide to go talk to her alone to prove his point. And then we proceed as before to Faith attacking him, Angel coming to the rescue, and then the rest of the episode as normal (including with Faith going off to tell the Mayor she heard he had a job opening).

In fact arguably I think this version of events actually works better, because after Consequences (and before the reveal in Enemies) the show actually does proceed on the basis that Giles is willing to help Faith and supervize her post-manslaughter evaluation and recovery. It has to, because if he insists she's a lost cause and can't be trusted from the beginning there's no Enemies and no chance for her to betray Buffy and the gang. So there wasn't really any actual story-driven need for Giles to seem so reluctant about trying to help Faith in the first place, was there?

I mean, in the actual show I think nobody knew at the time what Faith's arc was going to be, and that era of the show wasn't quite as dedicated to continuity as it would be later and didn't like throwing in so many references to past episodes. And the show never actually does take Giles's role in the Cruciamentum seriously after Helpless, or have Giles mention Randall's death after season 2 (Ted is the last time he's mentioned, right?). But in hindsight I think something like this -- even if it couldn't have happened -- would better balance the actual story that you want to tell about Faith with the goal of having Giles seem rather more admirable and sympathetic than his treatment of Faith ends up making him look.

#btvs

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transmutationisms · 6 months ago

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i always felt like moralizing about children becoming more adapted to phone by “shortening attention span” or whatever was especially silly because maybe children are adapting to phone because… phone is a vitally important tool in society now and that’s not likely to change anytime soon? they’re literally just adapting to their environment? like just because you think it shouldn’t be that way doesn’t mean it isn’t (coming from someone who has never had a cell phone)

yeah i mean, i think it can be edifying to point out the ways in which this brand of technophobia oversimplifies or just fabricates psychological research, but the political response is arguably even more fundamental. so much of this anxiety about the supposedly deleterious effects of phones (or social media or chat gpt or whatever else) really hinges on assumptions about particular reading practices and skills being uniquely valuable, morally salubrious, indicative of 'intelligence', etc. it's worth asking ourselves where this defensiveness comes from... attention, focus, etc always vary depending on our lives and needs; we talk about these things like fixed psychological characteristics that the smartphone is newly and uniquely threatening to destroy, but in reality they are context-dependent and have always varied (over time, between person, in the same person over time, etc). i don't assume any changes catalysed or reinforced by smartphones etc are inherently good but i also don't assume they're inherently bad; i especially don't assume they're some kind of urgent irreversible damage to the human psyche, because i don't assume that any one particular skill or mode of attention or whatever is universal or necessary to human existence

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howlingday · 10 months ago

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Lord Taurus

Adam: Hello, ningen~!

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Adam: Ha ha... Your threats are as empty as your title.

Adam: All hail Weiss Schnee, heiress to nothing!

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Adam: Well, well, this could be quite salubrious for me.

Corsac: I'm not sure I...

Fennec: ...know what that means.

Adam: It means "beneficial to one's health and well-being," you dolts!

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Yang: Thanks for the assist, Ozp-AGH!

Adam: ...Oops! How rude of me. The pommel of my sword has slipped into your chest~.

Yang: Heh heh... No problem.

Adam: HURGH!

Yang: Sorry 'bout that. My fist just happened to punch your chest "on accident," too.

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Harriet: It's a simple fact; I'm the fastest member of the Ace Operatives!

Adam: So you're a master of retreat, eh? You must be so proud.

Harriet: (Activates Super-Speed) Get ready for a surprise!

Adam: ...

Harriet: (Running in place) My semblance will allow me to dodge your sinister and nefarious attacks with the greatest of ease! JUST TRY AND HIT ME! (Blinks out)

Adam: ...I'm just going to let that play out.

Harriet: (Attacking Adam, Missing)

Adam: (Backhands Harriet)

Harriet: Rgh! B-But how?!

Adam: That's funny, because I was about to ask the same to you. As in, "But how do you expect such pitiful attacks could do any damage to topple a top tier titan like me?"

Adam: (Grips sword) A grievous insult I intend to pay back tenfold.

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Adam: Is Yang not here yet?

Penny: No, but she's on her way!

Adam: Oh, look at that; the toy robot from Atlas. I remember watching you die on-screen before Cinder took over. I guess the Maiden's powers can bring back both the powerful AND the pathetic!

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Weiss: YOU'RE ACTUALLY MAKING ME HOLD ADAM'S HAND?!

Adam: Heh heh heh... There's nothing for you to be scared of Schnee. I won't bite.

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Adam: Well, well, it seems the woman of the hour has finally arrived! I've been waiting a long time for you! And I see your Schnee friend is with you, too. I would be surprised, but ningen never were good at fighting alone, were they?

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Ruby: Huh? It's you...

Adam: Salutations, ningen~!

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Adam: I remember when Nikos' partner was just a shrimpy, little thing. It's so touching to see boys becoming men.

Jaune: Adrian, stay back!

Adrian: But Uncle Jaune-

Jaune: You don't stand a chance against him, so just leave him to me!

Adrian: (Pouts)

Adam: What tender love~! I can barely stomach it. When I'm done with him, I'll kill the brat, too, so you can hold hands together in Hell. (Blinks out)

Jaune: Huh?!

Adam: (Behind him) NOTHING PERSONAL, KID.

Nora/Ren: JAUNE!

Jaune: AUGH! (Falls to the ground)

Adam: ...I'm sorry, but I don't think you understand how this works. Once you're on the ground and can't move, you're supposed to beg me for mercy! Say you'll do anything to spare your nephew's life!

Jaune: Ngh!

Adam: Come on! Let's hear it, boy! Cry for me! Scream! SOAK YOUR FACE IN TEARS AND TEAR OFF YOUR ARMOR IN FRUSTRATION! AHAHAHAHAHA! Not that I would let you live, but it's all part of the fun for me!

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Pyrrha: (Struggling)

Adam: Oh, I do respect powerful fighters. But there's one other facet to my character, which is...

Adam: THERE'S NOTHING I DESPISE MORE THAN NINGEN.

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Adam: That's it, Xiao Long! Keep getting stronger! Be your best lizard!

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Adam: Care to put her to the test?

Adam: (Draws blade)

Willow: (Shakes head)

SHKT!

Adam: (Sheathes, Ahem)

Adam: ...WINTER, LOOK! IT'S SUCH A TRAGEDY!

Winter: Huh?!

Adam: IT'S YOUR MOTHER! SHE'S BEEN FATALLY WOUNDED BY A STRAY ATTACK!

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Ozpin: There must be something you care about! The White Fang?! Loved ones?! Memories?! Everyone has SOMETHING they want to protect-

Adam: You're pissing me off! I don't care about anything or anyone. Hm... Except for myself, of course.

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Adam: I can't stand the sight of your pitiful, broken faces wearing MY masks...

Adam: (Grips handle)

Blake: (Eyes widen) EVERYONE RUN, NOW!

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Yang: You're definitely not a pushover, that's for sure. If you weren't so evil, you'd actually be a fun sparring partner. What a waste of talent.

Adam: It's exactly that kind of small-minded drivel that makes ningen like you so especially intolerable.

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Adam: WAKE UP! Torture isn't any fun if I can't hear you scream! (Stabs Yang's prone body)

Yang: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!

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Adam: Attention, brothers and sisters of the White Fang...

Adam: (Points)

Penny: Huh?!

Adam: I will grant ownership of any human settlement to any one of you who can slice that Atlas toy in half!

Penny: What?!

Adam: Ha ha ha! History repeats, with only certain details that change. And when Xiao Long shows up, she'll give in to her rage again, leaving her wide-open for me cut not just her arm, but her head off, too!

#rwby #dragon ball #dragon ball super #adam taurus #jaune arc #ruby rose #yang xiao long #weiss schnee #nora valkyrie #lie ren #pyrrha nikos #blake belladonna #corsac albain #fennec albain #penny polendina #ozpin #adrian cotta arc #willow schnee #winter schnee

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cynical-tuba · 2 days ago

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Live blogging VTM session..Natanel my Salubri is currently falling 6 stories to his possible final death and I say,

"With Shepherd's Watch activated, does my body count as a projectile?"

No. No the body does not count as a projectile.

#vtm #vampire the masquerade #oc: natanel #wod #world of darkness #Salubri

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we-are-maladaptive · 1 year ago

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Scraped Knees & Silk Sheets

Prince!Shouto ♡ Maid!Reader - Chapter 1 out of ??

-> You've always been kind, wanting nothing more then to spread warmth into a cold castle. When you were a child, you had given some of your kindess to a boy in need. It was because he recognized your kindess, that you live to tell this story today.

fiction contains: fluff, angst, romance, reader is almost executed because endeavor is a piece of shit, eventual smut,, assassination, pining, shouto is a little too in love with reader, shouto is also an extreme romantic, reader is almost killed again because, you guessed it, endeavor is a piece of shit, pining, izuku + bakugou are shouto's right hand men, little bit of violence chapter contains: nothing extreme worth mentioning, shouto n reader are so cute omgomg PROLOUGE

COMMENT ON THIS POST TO BE ADDED TO THE NEXT CHAPTER'S TAGLIST.

chapter word count: 4.4k

Flowers fall salubriously over the skies of Venora, the sun’s warmth spreading over the fingertips of anyone sauntering outside to perform their duties for that day…or to any of the many children that decided to skip around their village knee-level of the citizens with flowers in their hair, engaging in anything that excited their blooming curiosity. Venora is one of- if not the most flourishing of countries, being outstandingly large, and having one of the most capable and efficient militia. It is a strong belief here that everyone has their purpose in life, and everyone has their own “talent” or gift given to them to serve that purpose. Many people are aware of their gifts from an early age, some without, and have hairs turning silver and still letting life lead them in whichever direction the wind blows. All in all, it’s a safe country to live your hopes and dreams in.

Besides, you learned the punishment for breaking some of the laws can be quite severe, and said punishments are severe enough to strike terror into the citizens who consider tampering with them.

“Really?? We get to visit the palace??” A little child squealed into their mother’s lap, that child just so happened to be you. Playing princesses with your friends was entertaining, yes, but it couldn’t compare with the real thing. It played over and over inside your feeble brain, the diamond chandeliers, the gold-plated statues, the doors, the throne room. Just the thought would make any insouciant child like yourself shake with anticipation.

“You mustn't make a scene when we get there, dear. As much as I understand your excitement, the palace can’t be mistaken to you as a place of fun and games, it’s quite serious. Your father is attending a meeting, so you and I get to stay for a while to attend the holiday. If you’re lucky, you might be able to attend the ball with me.” Your mother almost immediately regrets the last few sentences of her speech, now having to deal with a squealing 5-year-old who cannot control their emotions any longer. After a long sigh, she scooped you off her lap, walking over to the bedroom to place you into bed. There were paintings with stars and sparkles adorning the ceiling above your bed, and you convinced your mother to help hang stars from the faded paint spots. The dim lighting in a shade of dark blue truly did make the stars sparkle, including the ones hanging in your room and the stars that dance together in the sky. It made you wonder if they had the same paintings on the palace walls, maybe even more. With a kiss to your forehead, she tucked you in your bed and tried to step away, but failed due to you reaching out your tiny hand to grab onto her yellow sundress. “Do you think I can be a princess? Like the ones in the big palace?” “I'm sure you can, and I bet you’ll be the prettiest princess ever. However… I'm afraid princesses get beauty sleep, and at this rate, you’ll turn into a gremlin with baggy eyes!” She smiled when your body immediately went lax, and you flopped onto your bed sheets and snored as if you’d been sleeping for over a hundred years. With that, she left your room.

Your father was in a state of alamort, putting in as much effort as his soul allowed him to move your family higher status and reputation, but to no avail. His majesty had barely spared a glance at him, and he hoped that this ceremony would be an opportunity to bring his family higher. Your family was by no means struggling with money or bringing food on the table, more so struggling to maintain the reputation that's been withheld in your bloodline for generations.

Nobility was a hard bargain. Your surname was well known in the village you lived in, but it didn’t advance any farther than that. The family’s worth compared to that as a bystander you’d see in royal events, just slightly over a commoner, nothing to ever be placed near the grand royalty of the Todoroki bloodline.

The annual Crescent Moon ceremony was taking place in just a small amount of time, a celebration to symbolize family, fertility, empowerment, and to appreciate life’s lavish graces. It most certainly wasn’t the most important of events, but the meaning behind it gave reason to be very…lavish, and thriftless. A perfect event for a child to witness, as it romanticizes royal life to the utmost degree.

So, in the restless dreams of a 5-year-old girl, you’d be sitting on a throne adorned with diamonds, and a version of yourself that you would assume is an older you. A crown so shiny that if angled towards the sun, would blind anyone looking in your direction. It sits atop your perfectly placed strands of hair, not a single one out of place. Maybe if you thought hard enough, you’d be able to visualize a chromatic ring wrapped around your 4th finger, followed by the lips of a handsome prince pressed against the front of your hand.. is there a prince at the castle? Even a little girl can be bashful sometimes, maybe he’d be like the books, with a prodigious sword attached to his hip and weighty boots that slammed against marble floors, signaling his arrival earlier than his presence could. So.. speaking like a 5-year-old girl, this place is gonna be super duper awesome!!!

This… however..was not very awesome. It'd been almost.. 5 hours now? The sun is still high in the sky, burning down at the wooden carriage you rode in. It was hot, and your mother said that if you whined one more time about the heat, she’d make sure you’d get none of the palace desserts when they got to the capital of Venora, also known as Solaris. It was the diamond of the country, and where the tremendously large castle stays solemn. It’s where the royal family of Venora has resided for years. There are neighboring castles, much smaller, reserved for the high nobles, and your mother promised you’d get to see them when the carriage reached Solaris. Some were located on the way to the main castle, but some were buried deep in the wispy green forests, lakes, and hills that were outspread in Solaris, practically smothering the land. The only exception being the main village, which is said to be the largest city in the country. Your mother said that it’s not the best or most habitable place to live in. Tourists, and merchants, all of them practically suffocate the city, leaving little to no room for long-time inhabitants. If you want to live close to the castle, it’s best if you build your own place.

“Are we there-”

“Don’t even start, missy.” Your mother quipped before you could finish your childish statement.

“But-”

“You know, princesses are very calm and patient people. They ride in royal carriages all the time, simply waving at passersby. How could you be a princess if you can’t even make it to the castle without whining, dear?” Comparing you to a princess is the only way she knew would always get you to behave, it always worked well, proven by the silence the rest of the trip.

However, the mind of a little girl never stayed quiet, and as you peered out of the lights that the wood would allow, you could see your father’s carriage right in front of your own. It seemed that he was a quiet man, always thinking, but never speaking. Unless it was towards your mother about mundane things, he was always in his study, thinking. You couldn’t fathom what he could be up to, what could be so interesting or demanding that a simple nobleman as your father would be locked up inside the silence of his stone-walled office.

Sometimes at home, you’d see fathers - laughing and playing with their children, but that was never the case with yours. In fact, he never really spoke to your mother either. In contrast, your mother was as warm as a white fur blanket, like the ones she said were common in the palace, but rare and expensive to find in your own village. She always spoke with you, seeing as you had no other siblings. Speaking of which, you asked her about that idea once, having siblings. Quickly your mother hushed you of the idea, saying that it wouldn’t be happening anytime soon, almost looking hurt at what you said, so you never mentioned it again.

Having many children was a miracle at this age, why was she so against it-

The sound of faded cheers and chatter dragged you out of the deep reflection of your thoughts. Are we there yet-?

You slammed a hand over your mouth when you realized you had said that last part out loud, slowly turning your gaze over to your mother, who narrowed her eyes at you. Yet the look on her face quickly softened as she sighed, and announced; “Yes, we are here!” Even she couldn’t contain her excitement, yet she quickly had to compose herself and grab you, as you were just about to leap out of the carriage. “We are in Solaris, not near the castle yet. I can’t let you go out into the village, it’s filled with people for the ceremony and you’d surely be trampled. If you want to view the commotion, simply watch through the carriage.” She simply grinned at you as you whined, and pressed your face to the carriage glass.

The sun was still in the sky, but much lower. You had made it to your temporary estate, and you were astounded at the sheer size of the exterior. It was nearly thrice as big as your regular estate, with gardens on each side with their own unique plants, your favorite being the dazzling lilies on the left side, and the charming gladiolus on the right. There was even a butler waiting for you, and you scampered up to him with a smile, which he gladly returned to you. Your mother was, discreetly, also amazed at the size, simply internalizing her emotions, with nothing but soft upturned lips and a slight sparkle in her eyes. Your father, though, had the exact opposite emotions. He looked rather displeased, evident with the slight scowl on his face, what could he be so upset about? You decided to tug on his suit pants, directing his scowl at you, but he loosened his angry face at the sight of your frown.

“Why are you sad, pa? This place is so big!” He lost his scowl completely, opting to look at you with a neutral face instead to not upset you anymore, and walking towards the front door of the estate, lamenting to himself instead “It could have been bigger.”

The inside was just as impressive, ancient paintings with gold plated frames, silverware decorated in intricate patterns and designs carved into the metal. The thing that caught your eye the most, was the stunning piano in the foyer of the estate. You had half the mind to climb the piano stool, and mash your little fingers against the keys, you were almost successful too, if it weren’t for your mother holding the collar of your dress. …

Much to your mother’s delight, the length of the trip ended up giving her a tuckered-out 5 year old. This was good anyway, the ceremony was tomorrow evening, and they wouldn’t be leaving the estate for another 3 weeks, anyway. This part seemed to be the only thing that pleased your father, maybe it was because this gave him more time to talk with The King himself.

Your mother had a very difficult pregnancy regarding your birth. Infact, the birth itself was a blur in her memory. From what the midwives had told her, the bleeding was what almost caused her death. Luckily, her having held onto the strings of consciousness for just a few moments longer was what caused her to recover just enough for the healer to arrive intime. Due to the heavy bleeding, it was highly encouraged, almost demanded of her, that she never conceive again.

This had angered your father to no end. He had at least one child, but it wasn’t a male..an “heir” to his legacy. No matter how many times you had promised him to carry on his legacy, he wouldn’t listen. His anger got so severe, he had almost forced himself onto your mother- completely disregarding her safety, all for the chance of an heir. From what little bit of morals he had left, he stopped.

This was the reason why he was quite desperate in his attempts to raise his family’s status and reputation, but in this day and age, a daughter and a title can only get you so far. He watched as his once peers outgrew him in their own rankings, no longer speaking to him and throwing away their companionships as if it had only been brought together by a scroll, waxed stamp, and word from the king.

Deep down inside, he wanted to be able to disregard people like that- and throw them away. He’d never admit it, though.

The sun hadn’t even risen yet, but the whirlwind of activity never slept on a day such as this one. Your estate was over a mile away from the bustling city, and yet the cheers could be heard as loudly as the chirping birds outside the windowsill. Your mother must have heard it too, as she appeared in front of your doorway.

“I'm glad that trip wore you out enough to have you sleep in early, I'm afraid that was all the amount of soundful sleep you're going to get until the cheers die down in a few days.” She smiled at your little pout, walking over to you and gently pushing your fists away from your eyes as you rubbed them.

“Nonetheless, I bet you’ll be glad to hear that we get to enter the palace early, so it’s best you get yourself ready now, that is if you want to be princess material.”

“…Do I get to pick out my dress?”

“Of course you do.”

The sun was now peeking above the horizon, almost as if it was hiding from the beautiful chaos to come. The fear collides with the sky in an ethereal array of colors, the exact same array of colors as your dress. A shimmering light yellow, something lighter and purer than golden honey, but just as divine. It’s adorned with coral-like pink colored designs, and the prettiest golden shoes to go along with it. A dress, truly, fit for a princess.

The maid finished the final touches of the curls in your hair, so defined that they bounced on your head whenever you jumped in delight, much to the maid’s displeasure.

The sun had finally crept from its hiding place, now sitting lowly in the sky. It’s still well before noon, and you were stepping outside the estate with your mother’s hand holding your own. She wore a dress similar to your own, but fully yellow. Your father stood in front of you both. He was..suspiciously quiet, to say the very least. It was one thing to be in your own head, but his eyes seemed dark, like he was thinking about one thing only.

However, he snapped out of it when he realized the carriage wasn’t coming as soon as he expected it to.

People with high reputations get invited to the castle far far earlier than commoners get the chance to even get close to it. The earlier you get in depends on your status, and clearly your father thought he’d be escorted by now, and his pride would not allow him to go back inside to wait. Even the butler was starting to get concerned, it had now been over an hour waiting outside. Your mother had tried to persuade him 30 minutes ago, but was met with a rather harsh lecture, and didn’t dare to press further. He wouldn’t allow you two to go back inside either.

Finally, after about an hour and thirty minutes, the carriage arrived at your estate. Luckily the sun still wasn’t high enough in the sky, and the air still had a slight chill to it, so you didn’t overheat too much, it was just a little bit too warm for your liking.

The carriage was beyond anything you’d ever seen. It was laced with gold and diamonds beyond comparison to anything you’d ever seen. It was lavish, and the seats were laced with cold silk, much to your delight.

There were no words to describe the castle, none at all. Well, if you could explain it in one way… large. It took nearly 30 minutes to just get out of the carriage, due to the huge lineup at the side entrance. That was another thing your father hated, that he wasn’t “noble” enough to use the grand front entrance. You couldn’t even register his anger though, as you stepped out of the carriage the only thing you could think about was the sheer size and elegance at the massive structure standing proudly before you eyes. You clutched onto your mother tightly, as it felt as though you’d get lost if you so much as moved an inch from her body.

This was the moment you separated from your father, as though he had other plans, and stuck to your mother, heading towards the ladies’ hall, a portion of the castle where all the noblewoman and their ladies-in-waiting sat together for tea, from what you heard. It was strange though, why didn’t your mother have her own lady in waiting?

When inside the hall, you followed you mother to the room where the commotion was coming from, and were surprised by the sheer elegance of the woman inside. Did they go to galas all day? The ballgowns and tiaras they wore told you so, there was no way they could sit in such attire all day without dying.

You were almost intimidated by them as the silence built up and your mother walked in with you in her grasp. However, a breath of relief washed over you as some of the women smiled at you and your mother with a courtly wave, and a small portion just simply decided to ignore your existence, and go back to whatever conversation they were having moments prior.

Your mother seemed even more relieved as you did, surely feeling the anxiety building up about her own place in the room. She was older, but still had the girlish tendencies of wanting to fit in.

One of the noblewoman was very welcoming, opting to stand up from her loveseat and make her way over to your mother with a warm smile and curtsey. She even smiled down at you, which made your heart leap at the thought of being greeted by a princess.

“I see you’ve come right on time, and you’ve brought us a gift, too.” notioning at you, “she’ll fit in well with all of our children, the little girls out in the garden. It’s safe here, if she wants to play with them.”

Your mother curtseyed back, “I’m sure she’d like that, do you want to go [Y/N]?”

“Mhm!” The lady in front of your mother giggled at you, and notioned her head towards the entrance of the side garden. Your mother nodded at you, giving you permission to go, and so you skipped off.

The garden was filled with children playing and flowers of all colors blooming from every direction. Some children opted to go a little too high on the large garden swing, others chased butterflies, which is what you did. You got along well with a blond-haired blue-eyed girl, her hair tied up in pigtails and wearing a bright blue dress with gold accessories on it. She had some freckles on her face too, as she proclaimed to be “the professional of catching butterflies”. She taught you how to do it as well, and ushered you to catch the white and red colored butterfly, what an interesting color.

So you followed it, as it fluttered away into the forest-like part of the garden, with trees for what felt like miles. There were no children here, except for you and the childish butterfly slipping from your grasp at every chance.

Well, you thought you were the only child, until you heard crying from a distance.

A boy, about 8-9 years old, was sitting under an oak tree with tears in his eyes.

You hated it when people cried, you always ended up crying with them, but you’d try to keep your composure for the sake of this boy.

A light tap on his knee had him flinching, looking up at the person who had just dared to disturb him and his privacy. Almost regretting it, as he didn’t want to scare the intruder with the horrid scar on his face, but to his surprise, you didn’t flinch or widen your eyes at all. He was even more surprised at the person who was in front of him-

It was just a child.

“…What do you want?”

“Why are you crying?”

He didn’t answer your question.

“Is it because you're lonely?” “..No.”

“Are you nervous about the ceremony? I know it’s pretty scary, but can’t you believe how big this place is? As long as you have your parents by your side, you won't get lost! What’s your name?”

You didn’t know who he was, he was sure of that now. Giving away his last time would reveal who he was. He’d never had an outsider talk to him like a normal person before, and he wouldn’t admit it, but he enjoyed it. He enjoyed the informality, in contrast to the formality that he was forced to drown in all his life, up until now.

“..Shouto. This place is big..but I am used to it.”

“Oh! Do you come here often?? Oh- and my name is [Y/N]!! Unlike you- I am TERRIFIED! I feel like I might get lost here! Like I might get sucked up into a painting or something!”

“..You can’t get stuck in paintings.”

“Of course not silly! I’m just joking!”

“Oh.”

“Uhm.. is it because of your injury? Does it hurt?” you pointed at the scar on his eye. Clearly this wasn’t the best thing to have said, as the boy looks like he’s going to cry again.

“No.. it doesn’t hurt..well..not in that way I don’t think.” His voice is wobbly.

“Oh no! I’m so sorry Shouto. I hope it doesn’t hurt at all. When you grow up, though, I’m sure people will respect you alot with that super duper awesome scar!

“…What?”

“Well..your scar, it looks cool!”

“It..does?” He looked at you like you had grown a second head. He’d never been told that his scar looked cool before. When the incident happened a few years ago, the only thing he was ever met with was horrid looks and fear.

“Of course it does! It’s like you battled one of those big dragons and came back to tell the story! Or- or you're an amazing knight who battled an entire army!”

“A dragon..an army.” He wasn’t frowning anymore, and maybe it was just your imagination, but you swore you saw his lips turn upwards just slightly, thinking about the idea.

“Yeah! Even better if you saved a princess along the way!” That striked an idea to your head, and you began to climb up the tree he was curled under a few moments prior. Only making it to the middle of the tree, you started to faux cry.

“Heeeelp me Shouto!!" The dragon is going to eeeeatt me!!! I’ll become dinner to a hungry dragon!!!”

He looked at you, “There’s no dragon?”

“You have to pretend, silly.”

“Oh, okay.”

He tried his best to climb up the tree, and to your surprise, he did it alot better than you did. He grabbed your hip and pulled you out of the tree, placing you back on your feet.

“You saved me! You are a true heeeero, knight Shouto! The king will surely reward you for your greatness!” with that, you attempted to flash him your best princess smile, you’ve been practicing.

He giggled at you, which nearly surprised himself. It’d been years since he genuinely smiled, let alone laughed at anything.

His laughter was cut short though, with the sound of someone calling your name, in a rather panicked fashion.

“Oh… I have to go..or my mama will be soo mad at me, Shouto.”

“That’s… okay.” He frowned. “You're going to the event, right..?”

“Mhm!” You beamed up at him.

“..What’s your family's name?”

“Uhm.. my last name?”

“Yes.”

“Ohh! It’s [L/N].”

“I see. [F/N],[L/N] is it?” He thought to himself for a moment, then looked at you.

“Yep! That is mee!” You smiled once, again this time he smiled back.”

“[Y/N]!!!” The voice that was calling you got louder this time, startling you both.

With a final wave and a “Goodbye Shouto!! I’ll see you at the ball!” you ran back in the direction you came from, or, where the voice came from? You hoped you were running in the right direction.

“..Goodbye..[Y/N].”

Now he was left by himself again.

Shouto had his own fears and insecurities, all bundled up inside his broken heart and he didn’t have the strength to piece them back together alone. The people alongside him didn’t do much to help, not even his own prestigious family, the ones who were always supposed to be incharge and handle the country with diamond crowns on their heads.

He knew that the same neglectful family would come looking for him soon after they found out he wasn’t isolated in his room like they had thought he had been doing.

And he didn’t think that the one who would even try to piece his heart back together would be a girl 4 years younger than him. That she would make him happy.

Shouto Todoroki was happy with you, and you alone. Even if it was just for a moment, he remembered it well, and he would for the rest of his life.

AUTHORS NOTE: aerhsbdv eliusbfdv awilsubdf fkdbv its 12:34am please i want to be tumblr and a03 famous i put my whole constanceussy into this

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