#also this is completely unedited so...

[drowninginthoughts27]

First lines of 2024!!!

share the first thing you have written in the new year once you get there <3 (however long it takes & however brief)

Thank you for tagging me @regscupid!!!

Throwing himself onto the bed, he curls his knees up into his chest. Laying there and letting the tears fall, soaking the sheets below him. Still clutching the phone with white knuckles. The mess of the broken vase still littering the floor a mere 20 feet away. 

In light of recent events this is arguable his lowest low. Drunk and alone in France (for not the first time), contemplating his self worth. Sinking deeper and deeper into his depressing state of self pity. Giving him absolutely no motivation to even attempt to go back to square one. 

No pressure tags to @messymoony @spacexcowgirl @kwiwrites @weirdtinkerbellversion @iliketoreadstuf and who ever else wants to do it (sorry if you've already been tagged)

[rejectedbytheempty]

actually, ykw? imagine if simon had a civilian s/o and bc he’s constantly away and the partner is there most of the time anyways, he lets them decorate the place.

they make it so cozy with a million lamps with stained glass lampshades and tapestries on the walls and an unexpected number of stuffed animals on the bed.

one time, simon invites tf 141 to his flat and their jaws dropped, bc ofc simon didn’t warn them about the absolute pinterest board that his place was.

in fact, he hadn’t mentioned a partner at all, or to you that his team would be coming over so you’re still in one of simon’s raggedy old t-shirts with a handful of dry cereal halfway to your mouth.

it’s generally a shock for both parties, simon excluded, who seems to settle himself right in, kissing the top of your head, eyes crinkling slightly as he grins, looking rather like a cat showing off the bird he dragged in.

you had some choice words for him later, but for now, you brushed the crumbs off your face and wiped your hands off on your shirt before sticking your hand out to the team to introduce yourself.

surprisingly, it goes rather well. all things considered. the team is charmed by you and your ability to make ghost blush and smile endlessly. and you’re absolutely enamored with the fact that they keep complimenting your decor.

[canon-gabriel-quotes]

Transcript:

I'd like to congratulate you on getting your CPR certification.

Now remember, when you’re going in for compressions, it should sound like somebody is standing behind you with the worlds largest Dorito and cracking it open!

Go in firm and hard and snap as many ribs as you can on the way down, that means you’re doing it right.

You save that life. Good luck.

Or... Or... Or kill them, I don’t fucking care.

Audio source

[horsemeatluvr23]

the juppet !! i just realised he is jerma posing i swear that was unintentional...... i spent so long digging thru muppet concept art and looking at old puppet designs just to end up doing a rly simple drawing but. i love joehills!! i have only been watching them for like 4 years but their videos r so special to me :3

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 428: Night of the Kouhai

Previously on BnHA: Well at least Spinner is sort of kind of doing okay??

Today on BnHA: I see the check that I sent to Horikoshi finally cleared.

okay first things first, you all know how it is right. I’ve never made a secret of my Kacchan bias on this blog. I promise you I did actually write a recap to 426 and 427 as well, but both of those chapters went HEAVY on the themes and drama and philosophical shit, and my reactions were kind of all over the place, and the Todoroki one in particular was like a million words wrong and it needs a shit ton of editing which I don’t know when I’ll have the spoons for

on the other hand however, a chapter like this which features class 2A cuteness and an absolutely unreasonable amount of Kacchan character development fanservice to hyperfixate on, takes absolutely no spoons at all and in fact actively recharges some of my spoons, so yeah. here we are

anyway so when we last left off Kacchan and Shouto were in terrible danger from a threat more terrifying than any they’ve ever encountered before. so I already knew this chapter was going to be great

“IIDA IS BIG AND STRONG AND AUTHORITATIVE, LET’S HIDE BEHIND HIM, HE WILL PROTECT US” everyone, I’m delighted to announce that the BnHA manga ending arc, despite having its ups and downs until this point, has officially been saved thanks to this panel right here. pack it up folks. this was officially a sweeping success. this panel brought Tomura back to life and teleported Touya’s mind back into his childhood self from roughly ten years ago time travel fix-it style. Horikoshi you beautiful bastard

Shouto trying to explain that he can handle them one on one but just not ALL TOGETHER IN THIS TERRIFYING SWARM LIKE THIS... buddy you don’t have to explain yourself sob. or is he trying to negotiate with them??

meanwhile Kacchan skips the negotiations entirely because he’s already assessed the situation and knows that the best way to handle this is to appeal to Iida Tenya’s boundless love of regulation and social order

y’all it’s killing me that this boy can handle being LITERALLY MURDERED by the greatest evil the world has ever known. but a group of admiring fifteen year old kouhais? no sir. that’s where he taps out

“but I thought Bakugou liked attention” yes well, you see, Shinsou, it’s kinda a “monkey’s paw curls” sort of thing

Kaminari with the BLACK SPEECH BUBBLE lmfao. FRIENDSHIP WITH KACCHAN HAS BEEN CANCELLED. NOW MIDORIYA IS MY BEST FRIEND

“well you see up until recently the ladies all thought Kacchan was a feral troll so they avoided him at all costs” wow Deku this man literally died for you and you just throw him under the bus with zero hesitation just like that

“SOURCE: ME, HIS CHILDHOOD FRIEND” just adding in his credentials in that little footnote there lest anyone question his authority on the subject

wait so is Shinsou surprised that girls used to not like Kacchan? or is he surprised that Kacchan and Deku were childhood friends? I can see how the latter might be surprising (oh Shinsou, sometimes I forget that you effectively just got here. we have so much to catch you up on. you will not BELIEVE how badly the two of these kids just want to hold hands all the time), but ngl, I’m rooting for the former just for the implications. “you’re seriously telling me a certified ten like him never had any girls interested in him?”

Horikoshi, hear me out, I know there are only two chapters left after this, and they’ve both already been written. but if you wanted to rewrite one of them at the last minute in order to add about a dozen more pages solely dedicated to Shinsou interrogating the rest of class 2A about Kacchan’s love life, out of what he insists is just innocent curiosity with no ulterior motives. well, I would not complain about that

anyway so yes Shinsou he is still single, for now. though I don’t really think it’s the girls you need to be worried about

meanwhile Mineta is all, “I just wanted to let all of you know MY opinion, which is that Bakugou isn’t morally upstanding enough for my delicate sensibilities.” yes you heard that right. Mineta of all people is weighing in on which personalities are deserving of being popular. that’s some audacity right there

A WILD DEKU FANBOY APPEARS???!

“IT GAVE ME COURAGE” omg yesssssss. jotting this down for essay material at some future point in time!! because THIS. this right here is the true “what it means to be a hero” in my opinion. a hero is someone who brings reassurance, yes. someone who makes people feel safe. but I think a hero should also be someone who makes people feel brave. someone who inspires other people to be heroic in turn. so yes, this, all of this, inject it into my veins. wtg Deku

having an official fanboy apparently broke Deku’s brain. hang in there bud. I know you’ve still got villain angst to work through, but try to enjoy this. you’re allowed to have nice things

IS MINETA STRANGLING KACCHAN BY HIS FUCKING TIE OMFG. THAT’S WHY HE NEVER USED TO WEAR THEM. also you’ve worn my patience down all the way now Mineta. get the fuck out of my blog

also Kacchan successfully beat the shit out of him with his ONE GOOD ARM so take that Mineta

also shoutout to this KiriBaku moment right here which feels like the first time we’ve had the two of them together in ages. good stuff

I’m LOVING this panel of Ochako staring at Deku all indecipherably, but ngl it’s also giving me just the slightest bit of anxiety, because does this mean we’re finally gonna get answers on what ultimately happened to Toga. it better not be sad. please don’t ruin my happy chapter with depressing things Horikoshi

“tell them no” OH MY GOD AIZAWA’S TURNING DOWN ALL THE INTERVIEW REQUESTS FOR HIS KIDS SO THEY CAN JUST BE KIDS AGAIN FOR A LITTLE WHILE nooooo what is this. “yeah but I’m prioritizing the kids who aren’t up for dishing to the media about all of their horrific trauma.” omfg. it’s been too long since my last Dadzawa feels. I wasn’t ready after all this time

you guys Izuku finally got a new hero costume that’s not in tatters after all this time. all it took was his old costume getting literally torn to shreds. and now he’s back to looking twelve years old again lol

JEANIST AND FATGUM REUNION?!?! RETURN OF KACCHAN’S THIRD DAD, AND A SECOND WACKY UNCLE TO BACK UP GOOD OLD MIC? GOD BLESS

FAT HIRED TAMAKI AS A SIDEKICK D’AWWWW

now they’re putting the kids to work. glorified janitorial duty. Deku you better not be using up any more of your embers on this sob

this motherfucker did not just liken my baby boy Kacchan to “distressed denim” omg. we have less than three chapters left and we’re spending our hard-earned time on this and I TRULY WOULD NOT CHANGE A SINGLE THING

“Kacchan on light duty” PROTECT HIM!!! don’t think I don’t see you over there too in the background, Aizawa. he’s surrounded by dads. they’re not letting him out of their sight again until he’s thirty

meanwhile he’s out here quietly sorting through trash with his one good hand without complaint and without even the barest hint of a gremlin face. with his half-and-half costume so we can’t see how fucked up his arm is. AND NO MORE MASK. we burned the mask. my thank you letters are in the mail, Horikoshi. and you too TomurAFO, this was your actual greatest contribution to society

ANOTHER DAD?!?!?!

dfjsdlfksldkfjl

“don’t worry, I’m gradually recovering” fsdfkslfkj r.i.p. my ability to take this man seriously ever again. do you think his voice is like the normal sexy Edgeshot ASMR voice except all high-pitched like a squirrel in a Disney princess movie. it is, isn’t it

he can make hands now. buddy you’re amazing. mvp of the entire fucking manga. my son literally owes you his life. please let me see you sitting Jeanist’s shoulder like a parrot before this wonderful glorious chapter ends

Kacchan’s little cheek scar is somehow both badass and adorable at the same time. I can’t stress how fucking much this chapter is just surrounding me with “protect him at all costs” feelings.

MORE SOFT KACCHAN FEELS ON THE NEXT PAGE BECAUSE HORIKOSHI WROTE THIS CHAPTER SPECIFICALLY FOR ME, THANK YOU SO MUCH

“are you... [ever] gonna go back to normal?” because if not he’s gonna cry himself to sleep every night for the rest of his life!! no big!! YOU WOULDN’T DO THAT TO HIM WOULD YOU EDGESHOT?

NO HE WOULD NOT. THANK YOU EDGESHOT. ONCE AGAIN YOU ARE A REAL ONE

...or wait. so does he mean he is indeed going to go back to normal eventually? or is it that he’s embracing this new form as an exciting new evolution, hence the “even further”? it kind of feels like the latter, ngl. especially with this weird sad little smile Kacchan gives in response... fuck me. what the hell am I gonna do when this series ends in two weeks. nobody can rip my soul to pieces as utterly and effortlessly as Horikoshi does, man

THEY MADE THE KIDS LUNCH AWWWW. though in fairness there’s something seriously messed up with Japan if any of these kids ever has to pay for another meal again for the REST OF THEIR LIVES. like come on

noooooo goddammit I’m tired of seeing Izuku quietly despairing over things that AREN’T HIS FAULT

I am glad to see this side of the civilian population, though. sure have come a long way since the low point that was the U.A. clown mob. I like this a whole lot better ngl

what’s up with this mysterious bus all of a sudden

OH MY GOD THEY’RE BACK LMAO. QUICKLY BAKUDADS. form a perimeter

they’re apologizing again dsfkjlskdfjlsfd THEY DIDN’T EVEN CONSIDER EVERYONE’S CIRCUMSTANCES!!! holy shit these first years are all collectively my new favorite character

Cementoss couldn’t take the pressure omfg. is this your first year as a homeroom teacher?? YOU CAN MAKE ANYTHING OUT OF CEMENT BUT CAN YOU MAKE YOURSELF A FREAKING SPINE, CEMENTOSS. I love him

Cementoss is telling them to go work in the corner so they don’t bother everyone else lmao. stuck them as far away from Kacchan as possible. good looking out, Cementoss. how many dads are we up to now?? five? six if we count Iida????

“hey so anyway what actually is up with these fucking kouhai though” I don’t know but my greatest regret is that this only became a thing three chapters before the series finale. where has this nonsense been all my life

“I don’t really understand” me neither fella but here in BnHA land we just roll with it

now we’re cutting back to Ochako who’s making yet another mysterious face that makes me think she knows perfectly well how much we all want to know whether Toga is alive or not, and she’s deliberately dragging it out just to fuck with us

okay I honestly can’t tell if Ochako is being fake cheerful or genuinely cheerful. but it’s definitely fake cheerful right??

aaaaand there’s a close up of Deku with FULL LIGHT back in his eyes like the clouds just parted for the first time in an age. accompanied by a THROB sound effect. ohhhh buddy. did my boy just have a hormone. is it finally that time

THEY’RE LETTING THE KIDS GO BACK HOME OMG. if they want. awwww. r.i.p. fanfic dorms. poor Shinsou missing out ONCE AGAIN

THEY DIDN’T CATCH THE CONCLUSION OF THE TOGACHAKO FIGHT ON FILM??! oh hell no. that settles it, she’s definitely still alive

tell me this cheeky motherfucker (Horikoshi, not Ochako lol) isn’t going to try and actually END THE SERIES with Toga’s fate still all ~mysterious~ and ~up in the air~ like I’m starting to get the sneaking suspicion that he’s doing

HORIKOSHI I SAID I DIDN’T WANT A DEPRESSING CHAPTER WHY ARE YOU HITTING ME WITH THESE FEELS AFTER I LET MY GUARD DOWN

YOU REALLY GAVE MY GIRL A SYMBOLIC FRODO STYLE ANGSTY STAB WOUND SO SHE CAN NEVER FORGET THE PAIN OF THAT DAY ARE YOU KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW WITH THIS

DEKU AHHHHHH

oh my god lol. I’m so curious what’s going to happen next week. my money for the record is on them bonding in a STRICTLY PLATONIC WAY over their respective dead(!??!?!) villains rather than a Romance Thing happening. but I wouldn’t be bothered if they do go there though just so long as we don’t get any timeskip epilogues where they’ve all got fucking kids and such now. don’t you do that to me Horikoshi Kouhei. I swear to god two chapters left omfg. this is really happening. the inexorable march of time etc. etc. ahhhhhhhhh

[mamawasatesttube]

i accepted im not finishing the timkon vday fic today and instead launched into yet another new wip instead. i present to you: a snippet of kon vs his deeply repressed medical trauma, featuring core four and what is gonna be some gratuitous kon & clark fambly focus...

The voices are still talking, too loud and too fast to understand. Kon tries to breathe harder, his heart racing—the beeping doesn’t help—and looks around frantically. Where’s the exit? He just came through a door, but he doesn’t know where it went—

A gloved hand settles on his arm, and a cold wipe that smells of alcohol scrubs over his skin. Kon tilts his head to see what’s happening.

A needle glints in the doctor’s other hand. They’re prepping his arm for intravenous injection.

“NO!” He jerks away, terror flaring through his stomach. It’s so poignant it almost drowns out the agony. His TTK flares, too, and the doctor and the needle in their hand fly across the room, far away. A flash of light and a person with chestnut hair catches them, so they’re not hurt.

Good. Kon didn’t mean to hurt anyone. He just—he just wants them to stay away.

He’s safe for the moment. Kon sobs for breath—

“Kon!” The person from before, the one lying and saying it’d be okay, appears again. They grab Kon’s hand and squeeze it. “Kon, she was only trying to help! You’re safe, I swear—”

Kon jerks away. “Don’t—don’t lie to me—” he manages. He needs to get up. He needs to get out of here. He needs… he needs…

When he tries to sit up, pure agony lances through his entire body. It radiates out from his gut and spears up through his chest like lightning, so sharp he can’t breathe and stars sparkle across his blurry vision.

What did they do to him?!

He isn’t safe here, he needs to get out of here! It’s only gonna get worse the longer he stays; they’ll get another doctor, another needle—he has to sit up, he needs to move—

Strong hands clamp onto his shoulders and hold him down. Despite all his strength, they hold him down. Kon cries out, a new wave of ice-cold terror spearing through him. “No! No, no let me go!”

“Cassie, you’re scaring him!” the other voice says, tugging at the new person’s wrists, completely ineffectively. “We need to calm him down, not—"

The new person, Cassie, ignores them. “Kon, listen to me.”

Kon shakes his head, terrified. “No no no no no!”

“Kon, you can’t hurt the doctors. They’re trying to help, okay? You’re badly hurt, and they’re trying to help, but you need to let them do their jobs!”

Another person in surgical scrubs approaches. Kon barely hears what they say over all the roaring in his ears, but it doesn’t matter. He knows how Cadmus operates.

“…you restrain him until we can administer anesthesia?” he overhears. It’s enough. He hyperventilates, sobs for breath, shoves ineffectively at the strong arms holding him down. Desperate, he shoves at Cassie with TTK. Thankfully, that has some effect: she yelps as he shoves himself a few inches off the bed, but then sharp, white-hot pain sears through his entire body, and his vision blacks out.

When he comes to, Cassie is over him again, and—and—

Glowing, golden ropes wind tight around his shoulders, his wrists, his thighs, his legs. He’s completely pinned to the bed. One end of the ropes is wrapped around Cassie’s hands.

He can’t move.

He can’t escape.

No. No no no no this can’t happen again, they’re going to hurt him and he needs to get out but he can’t—he can’t—oh, god, this is happening again and he’s just gonna have to take it, and—and it already hurts so much, he can’t take it—

Kon chokes on another sob. “Please,” he begs. “Please please please please—”

Cassie looks anguished. “I’m sorry, Kon,” she says, but she’s not sorry enough to let him go, so it doesn’t matter. “It’s for your own good, I swear.”

He can’t move. He can’t move and it hurts and he can’t move and it hurts and no matter how hard he struggles, he’s pinned, and it hurts it hurts it hurts so so so bad, and oh, god, he’s trapped. He’s trapped, he can’t—he can’t—

Terrified, Kon does the only thing he can think of.

“SUPERMAN!” he screams. “Kal! Kal-El! Please, please—help me, help me, don’t—don’t let them do this to me again, Kal, Kal—”

There’s a pinch in his arm.

The needle.

Kon falls silent.

It’s… it’s really happening again, isn’t it? No matter how much he fights and screams and pleads. They’re gonna cut him open and hurt him and put him back in the tube. They’re gonna make him just another slab of tissue. An experiment and not a person. It’s happening again. And he can’t stop it. He can’t escape.

He can’t escape.

His chest hurts. A single tear rolls down the side of his face into his hair.

The door slams open. Kon’s gaze snaps over.

“What is going on here?”

Superman stands in the doorway, resplendent in all his glory. He’s an even more welcome sight than the sun, and even though Kon can’t move thanks to the golden ropes, he whimpers, fingers twitching as he yearns to reach for him.

He looks furious.

[pfhwrittes]

i’m trying to dredge through my various B&Q memories (and talking to friends who used to work with me in B&Q) for inspo and i just remembered something that happened and dear god. i’m imagining simon and price’s reaction to being in that situation.

so the store manager decides to reorganise the warehouse. he doesn’t check with price or more importantly simon about this. he just hops on the forklift, puts up the signage to say the forklift is in use and bans everyone from entering the warehouse (not an unreasonable request, pedestrians vs forklifts has never ended well historically, but the balls of that man to ban simon from his warehouse jeeeesus).

you don’t actually know that’s what he’s decided to do until the store manager is barking out over the tannoy “all available staff to the warehouse, that’s all available staff to the warehouse. NOW.” and because you’re a) available and b) nosey as fuck as you’ve never been allowed in simon’s warehouse, off you go.

when you arrive, it’s carnage. there is paint everywhere. for a horrible moment your brain provides you with the elevator scene from the shining but substitutes the river of blood with 625 litres of brilliant white matte emulsion instead.

“what the actual fuck”

aaaaaand that’s soap. he’s materialised out of thin air next to you and is surveying the damage with a visible aura of pure horror. your stomach lurches in sympathy because that’s his stock that’s slowly dripping from the abandoned pallet. and the racking. and the walls. jesus fucking christ. it’s everywhere. everything in a 2 metre radius is covered in paint. including the stock, the store manager, and simon.

simon, who has the store manager pinned by his neck to the wall next to the safety notice board.

you can’t see simon’s face, his shoulders look like they’re carved from granite with tension, but you can certainly hear what he’s shouting in the slowly reddening face of the store manager.

“you useless, dangerous cunt!”

you flinch backwards. you’ve never heard simon so angry.

“you could’ve fucking killed someone! you’re fucking lucky that you didn’t kill yourself!”

you turn wide eyed to stare at soap, who’s mouth is hanging open in shock. you turn back to the scene playing out in front of you as simon roars in rage again.

“what the fuck is wrong with you?! answer me!”

simon shakes the man in his grip but doesn’t actually let go. you watch as the store manager’s face turns puce in a combination of rage and trapped blood flow. oh christ, are you about to witness a murder? you think you’re about to witness a murder. what the fuck.

“simon. that’s enough.” price’s voice is a whip-crack of fury that breaks through the tension of the scene. you release a breath you didn’t even know you were holding as he wades into the fray. price stops behind simon just an arms length away.

you don’t hear what price says to simon, but he drops (actually drops, fucking hell) the store manager who splutters and coughs trying to catch his breath desperately.

“y-you’re - fired! what the fuck -!”

price grabs simon as the enraged man lunges towards the store manager.

“take a walk simon.”

you and soap hastily move out of the way of simon who storms out of the warehouse and onto the shop floor barking a stern “move!” to a mixed crowd of customers and colleagues desperate to get a glimpse at the soap opera levels of drama happening beyond the warehouse doors.

“you, don’t move” price points a threatening finger at the store manager before turning to face you and soap. “johnny, get over here. get the spill kit.”

soap snaps to attention and moves further into the warehouse, skirting the pooling paint as carefully as he can manage. you flex your hands nervously as the full force of price’s attention is aimed at you. god, you want to melt into your black safety boots to avoid his commanding tone and the banked fury that is present on every line on his face.

“love,” price’s tone softens slightly as he addresses you and you’re grateful for it, “go after simon. he needs a clean uniform.”

you nod and spin on your heel, before you leave the warehouse you chance a glance back over your shoulder and see price looming over the store manager.

as you make your way across the shop floor, you have the horrible realisation that someone is definitely getting fired today. you shoot up a prayer to the retail gods that it won’t be simon.

[thesunshinecourts]

countdown to tsc: apr 6., 2024, 07:48 pdt

17. your bed after travelling // jean moreau thinks about belonging

They had an away game against UT Austin, which was more exhausting in flight time than as an actual form of competition.

It’s three hours to Austin from Los Angeles. (“Non-stop flight time is 2 hours, 55 minutes,” Sebastian says, pushing his sunglasses further up the bridge of his nose because he thinks it makes him look cool. It makes Jean want to spit on him. It makes Jean think about Kevin at age thirteen, when he dubiously tested out reading glasses at the recommendation of one of the doctors at Evermore. That kind of makes Jean want to spit on Sebastian more, but he restrains himself. Kevin Day at the beginning of teenagehood is not a crime that anyone should have to answer for, save the man himself and maybe Riko. He can’t, though. He’s dead.

It still thrills Jean, that thought, explicit and direct and true. It had been a fantasy for years, the kind he could never share, and certainly not with Kevin, who had loved Riko as desperately as he had come to fear him. It had been a wish, once or twice, entrusted only into Renee’s steady hands, the kind phrased not as a request, but as an expression of guilt given to the only person to whom he could lay himself bare. It is a fact, a gun pointed by Neil and a trigger squeezed by Ichirou and a new type of shackle on Jean, still heavy, but lacking teeth.

No, Jeremy Knox’s Sunshine Court has no such skin-torn, blood-soaked, jagged edges, except those which Jean brings with him. It’s almost harder to bear.)

Three hours to Austin from Los Angeles, meaning six hours round trip.

Jean is used to playing for that long on the Ravens’ court: a much more punishing endeavour than any training plan Rhemann and his cohort of coaches at USC could come up with. Playing the game against UT is laughably easy for Jean, at least when it comes to stamina and skill. Patience is a different matter, but while the Trojans are no Ravens, they are an exceptional team. When Jean makes his meagre attempts at forbearance, he thinks to himself that he is lucky to not have been a Fox. He would likely have lost his voice, given the arguing necessary to whip them into a vaguely-tolerable shape.

Kevin had always been better at that. Jean is not a natural teacher. He taught Kevin French out of loneliness, and he taught Neil to survive out of necessity. Kevin would always have been more suited to the walking catastrophe that called itself the PSU Foxes Exy team.

Belonging is always easier, Jean thinks, when one has a foothold. Personality aside—and truly, Jean has never met a person more stubborn than Kevin, which is less a compliment and more an expulsion of grief—Kevin would always have been better-suited to the Foxes than Jean, for Kevin had a man who would never turn him away simply because of who his mother was, even without knowing Kevin was his son.

Jean does not envy Kevin his father. Jean prefers not to think of fathers at all.

So no, the game is not especially taxing. The Trojans have a strong roster, and are less inclined to allow personal pique to have a say in which players get substituted, and when. (This isn’t to say that there is no personal pique to be found amongst the Trojans; whilst Jean’s experiences with them thus far have proven—if exasperatingly—that the Day Spirit Award has been rightfully awarded all these years, he’s also discovered that Alvarez has stroppy tendencies when she’s tired, and Jeremy’s occasional remarks about the Ravens are cavalier not out of ignorance, but a quiet disdain for their conduct.

So it’s not that the Trojans are all foolish Golden Retrievers rolling over to show their bellies to the world; it’s mostly that none of them are Riko, and nor are they Foxes. They can afford to offer grace as they move through the world. Jean is not sure he can.)

The flights are infinitely worse, because without an Exy racquet in his hand and the court beneath his feet, there is no escape from Jean’s own head.

The flight to Austin is better, of the two. It’s still not ideal, but Jeremy and Laila sit Jean firmly between them and essentially force him into conversation. It’s mostly grudging, and almost entirely about the upcoming match—there is not a single player at UT who Jean finds compelling, but one of their assistant coaches is a former player who once suggested something rude about Thea, who responded by checking him so hard when he next had the ball that he sprawled to the ground and slid three metres across the court.

Jean enjoys this story. He thinks Laila and Jeremy did too, from the way Laila’s eyes gleamed and how Jeremy’s voice had a laugh in it when he said, not exactly a strategy in our playbook, but I daresay it would have been satisfying to watch.

The flight back to Los Angeles is worse.

The ache from the game is settling into his body now, muscle and flesh and bone. It’s not enough to draw him out of his own head.

One of UT’s dealers had pitched herself right at him, driving herself into his hip. That level of force wouldn’t usually have knocked him over, but there’s an old ache there from Riko’s fingers and favourite toys. Mostly Jean stays standing, but sometimes he gives in.

When Jean had lived in Abby’s spare bedroom, there had been a revolving cast of visitors, though there was more frequency than variety. Renee had visited most, then Wymack. If Jean counts the times he shut his door and refused to let Kevin into his room and Kevin stayed in the kitchen asking Abby questions in a quiet voice that was never quite quiet enough, then Kevin probably takes third place. Otherwise, Jean thinks it would be Aaron.

This was less about Jean, and more about the lesson he could provide in Abby’s hands. Jean didn’t care. His whole life had been made of debt and pain and prodding. Cool fingers re-dressing his wounds—all steady hands and clinical efficiency and blunt responses—was almost a balm in the face of it.

Besides, there was something comforting in his lack of expectation. Jean has no idea what most people want from a doctor. He’s heard grumblings about bedside manner and seen some memes through the Twitter timeline Xavier and Alvarez inflicted upon him, but he found his greatest relief in the way Aaron inspected all his wounds without flinching.

Sometimes Kevin would come quietly into the room, and Aaron would roll his eyes at him, and then look to Jean, as if waiting. Jean did not mind so much if Kevin came in with someone else, like Renee or Aaron or Thea. (Well, he had minded very much the time he came in with Thea, but that was due more to the lack of warning. Thea herself had been someone Jean found himself missing.) He liked it more when Kevin came in with Aaron, which was less to do with their behaviour—Aaron was more likely to tell Kevin to shut up or fuck off, but Renee’s quiet presence was equally effective at keeping him in check—and more to do with the fact that Jean preferred to speak to Renee alone, because she was the person he could trust most in the world.

Once upon a time, that had been Kevin, but then Kevin left Evermore, and left Jean, and the first time Jean heard from him in months was when a terrified Kevin called him to beg Jean to tell him that the rumours were false, that Edgar Allan was not coming south.

The rumours had been true, and Jean Moreau has never been a liar, not even for Kevin.

Jean thinks about this as he thinks about the thudding ache at his hip, where Aaron’s fingers once re-dressed a wound, where Kevin had placed a cool compress years before, where Jean’s younger sister had once drawn a rose when they were five and seven, because a rose had been the only thing she had known how to draw.

He supposes it still might be. He wouldn’t know.

Jeremy shifts in the seat beside him, and Jean cracks open an eyelid to glare at him. He hadn’t even realised he’d shut his eyes, but no matter. He cracks open an eyelid, glaring, and finds Jeremy making a half-apologetic, half-beleaguered expression back at him. It’s an astounding combination, one he would have considered impossible prior to the Trojans, but sometimes Jean wonders if it’s less that Jeremy is particularly talented at facial expressiveness and more that no Raven ever had cause to teach Jean what apology looked like in the lines of a furrowed brow and downturned lips.

“Sorry,” Jeremy whispers, as if the facial expression wasn’t enough. “Were you napping?”

Jeremy has known Jean for several months now, so Jean feels as if this is a foolish question. He makes a derisive noise. Something flickers in his chest when Jeremy shakes his head, looking rueful and amused and sleepy-soft all at once.

Jean ignores it, obviously.

“Right, right, Mr No Naps,” Jeremy says. Jean has suffered many indignities since his arrival in Los Angeles, but being dubbed something that a six year old child would name an especially belligerent cat is a new low.

“We’re not that far now,” Jeremy says, glancing up at the flight map in interest. Jean looks over. He’s right. Twenty minutes or so. “Which means there’s no point in sleeping…” Jeremy continues, almost cajolingly. That gleam from Laila’s eyes earlier seems to have jumped to Jeremy’s as he looks at Jean.

Jean sighs, surrenders. He seems to be doing this a lot lately. Riko never managed to break down that last final inch, that holdout within Jean that refused to lose his accent or stop speaking French to Kevin or any of the tiny rebellions that Neil dismissed but Jean needed in order to have any pieces of himself left for Renee to save that day.

Riko tore every concession from Jean’s bare throat, but the Trojans seem just as adept as getting what they want out of Jean with teeth bared in smiles instead of snarls.

“You should have knocked over that backliner,” Jean says. “He’s a lunk. He would have taken seconds to get up. You could have scored in that time.”

Jeremy, because he is terrible, laughs. “You have such a way with words, Jean,” he says, but he sounds amused. Almost infectiously so. “I ought to be able to score without knocking anyone down,” Jeremy points out.

“Yes,” Jean agrees immediately, “but until that’s the case, you should drop them.”

There is probably something seriously wrong with Jeremy Knox, Jean thinks, watching him laugh. He seems as delighted as ever by Jean’s honesty. He won’t abide unfair barbed statements to his team, but he always seems game to field Jean’s criticisms himself.

It’s only right, Jean thinks. They’re Kevin’s favourite team, and they took Jean in when the backlash would be far greater than whatever meagre thanks they managed to get out of Kevin. Of course there’s something wrong with them.

They pass the rest of the flight in much the same manner, until the descent swoops a little steeper than expected and Jeremy squeezes his eyes shut and grips one hand over his arm rest and the other over Jean’s forearm. Laila wakes up during this, blinking sleepily at Jeremy, before saying, “Oh, babe, your cuticles look awful,” which makes Jean look incredulously at her and Jeremy laugh.

Sleepy chatter gets them through disembarking the plane, and baggage claim, and onto the bus, winding all the way back to campus, traffic egregious even at this hour. Alvarez tows an exhausted Laila by the elbows with an excruciatingly fond expression, Sebastian almost snaps his sunglasses underfoot when they slip off his nose before Derek says, “Dude,” while Emma throws up an arm to stop him in his tracks, and Jeremy half-stumbles into the door before he gets his key in the lock and opens up their room.

Tomorrow, at some point after breakfast and coffee prepared with entirely too much creamer by an overzealous Cox, Jean will marvel at that thought. At the ease with which it sprung to his mind: their room, meaning Jeremy’s and Jean’s, meaning Jean’s, meaning that which belongs.

In the morning, he will think about what it has meant to be Jean Moreau: his first home lost to him through a transaction, where he was an object and not a person, a thing to barter and not a boy with a bed and a family and his own mind; Evermore, his second place to exist, where his bed was so often a landscape of his own destruction; and that bed that he slept in when staying with Abby, crisp and clean and safe and entirely, undeniably unknown to him.

Kevin asked Jean once, when they were younger, to tell him about his home. Jean had looked at him and asked in the blankest possible tone, what home? A home is a space you’re meant to belong, Jean had meant, and there was no place like that for him. There was Riko and his chains, and everyone told Jean that was his place, but he would never call that home.

In the morning, Jean will think about this, and what it means to have a space that belongs to you – to be a boy who owns something for once, instead of just being owned –

In the morning, Jean will think about this, but for now, he kicks off his shoes, peels off his socks, and falls onto his bed, a place he trusts enough to sink into a dreamless sleep, long enough to start to soothe his tired bones.

[septimus-heap]

Okay here's the fic snippet

Is this how it feels to have a mother? Boy 412 found himself wondering, Marcia's arms still warm around him. He'd managed to climb halfway into her lap when he was crying, and she never seemed to like being touched, but she held him now like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He sniffled again, and resisted the urge to vigorously shake his head to rid himself of the thought. It didn't matter if this was what having a mother was like. Marcia was the ExtraOrdinary Wizard. She could not be his mother. She was probably only holding him like this because she pitied him.

But-

But if he was allowed to choose - and he wasn't, that wasn't how mothers worked at all (not that he knew very much about them) - he would choose Marcia, he thought. The first adult he'd ever met who'd been nothing but kind to him, even though he'd tried to get them all killed. Probably the person he trusted most in the whole world.

He could always pretend, right? Marcia didn't need to know. No one ever needed to know, and it would only be for tonight, for right now. Only because he'd had a dream he was back in the Young Army, and curling up against someone who was much bigger than him, and hadn't hesitated to whisper reassurances into the still air of the cottage, had made him feel further from them (further and safer - if there was one place no one could hurt him, it was right here) than ever before.

He leaned back against her, listening to her breathe.

"Better?" she whispered, and he nodded.

He expected her to push him off her then, now that he didn't need the comfort, but she made no such move, only hummed quietly in response. Boy 412 didn't move either. Marcia didn't seem to mind, so he was perfectly content to stay right where he was, warm and comfortable. His eyes seemed to close without his permission, his thoughts going fuzzy.

SO. YEAG. FIC <3 I said it was self indulgent and by god I meant it. This is a snippet from smth that's going to be much longer than this ideally (probably only like 2k words max but that is long for me) so the beginning and end r weird but that's not my problem <333

[smidgen-of-hotboy]

Out in the Cold Field, pt. i

Hello Travelers. Friends. It is an old song, a love song, and we're gonna sing it again. This part of the story takes place BEFORE what Zeph is currently writing. Long before. This is the story of Buddy, Vespa, and Jet.

@ananxiousgenz @urjover @one-joe-spoopy @demonic-panini @waters-and-the-wilde @ceaseless-watchers-special-girl @the-private-eye

“You are going to bed, and when you wake up tomorrow, you’re going to start being grateful for everything. You don’t know how good you got it, Kid, until it’s all gone. Until I’m gone.” 

Having recurring nightmares about her childhood was not what Buddy had planned for her future, but these are the cards she was dealt and had to play with. She let out a long groan and raised her hand to rub feeling back– and raised her hand– and raised her hand–

Something was wrong with her. Everything felt terribly heavy and sharp and not at all normal. She thinks back to the last thing that happened before she woke up:

Docked the Carte Blanche, disembarked, and headed into town. 

Talked with the locals, confirmed her location, and started her trek down the road to find the train tracks. 

She found the tracks but ran out of food. The wind picked up, whisking the scarf around her neck away with it. She could’ve turned back to chase after it but would’ve lost the tracks if she had. In every story she knew the train tracks only revealed themselves to those who were lost. And if you turned away or walked back, they vanished, and would not show again until it was your time. 

With no other choice, Buddy pressed forward. 

The wind picked up, the snow fell heavier, the cold nipped at her skin, and… then she fell. Stumbled more like it, less than graceful, disgrace to her mother (wherever she disappeared to). 

Her knee throbbed. Still is throbbing. But that isn’t it. What happened between then and now and why is she here? She should be dead. She should be… unless…

She isn’t dead. 

Against all odds, somehow, Buddy Aurinko is still alive. And she should be bursting with joy for this second chance. 

So why was she so damn angry. 

“It’s not fair.” Her voice rasps. She licks her lips and clears her throat. “It’s not– fair!” With every last ounce of energy Buddy has left, she pulls on her limbs. Slowly she brings herself up just enough off the cot she’s been laid out on to get a better view of the room. Her eyes jump from one wall to the next and fall on a lone figure huddled in the corner over a small fire. When was the last time she had seen a fire?

The figure’s shoulders rolled back. They stayed seated on a stool, hunched over a pot set on the fire. They turn just enough to look at her. Their face is covered by a thick scarf and goggles. 

"Oh good, you’re awake.” Their voice is low rumble sending chills down her spine. They turn back to the pot to stirs its contents. Buddy frowns, resuming her fight to get her arms to cooperate to pull herself up. A drop of sweat rolls down her temple. “I would not move if I were you. You were lying in the snow for a while.” 

She hisses through clenched teeth as a jolt of pain runs up and down her arms and legs. It doesn’t go away. “It’s frostbite. Because you were out in the cold for so long without proper cover, you developed frostbite. You have frostbite.” 

She grunts, falling back on the cot with a snarl. “Who the hell are you?” She snaps at the large figure. They set their spoon aside and turn around on the stool. They lift their goggles, revealing soft, kind eyes. Wrinkles creep in at the edges. 

“The Unnatural Disaster, but you may call me Jet.” 

Buddy snorts, “And I’m the fucking sun goddess, Aurora.” 

“Pleasure to meet you, Aurora.”

Her frown deepens as she flops back on the cot. “Frostbite… how bad is it?” 

“Terrible. Your right hand was pinned under your body so maybe two of your fingers were affected the worst. And your left arm was stretched out so far, I would be surprised if after a few days you get to keep even one finger. I’m less sure about the damage to your face though. Only time will tell.” 

Buddy hums. The Unnatural Disaster– Jet– had no pulled a knife on her yet. He also had not chopped her into bits, yet. 

“Frostbite…” She tilts her head and can barely make out Jet’s figure past her mess of red curls. “Why did you save me?”

“Because you would have died. I cannot allow that.”

“I didn’t ask to be saved.” 

Jet hums pushing his goggles up into his hair. He crosses his arms while leaning back slightly. “Well, if you can get up and crawl out the front door, I will not stop you. I will not stop you nor will I save you a second time.” 

“You’re joking.” 

“I’m afraid, Aurora, I do not joke.” 

Buddy smirks. Jet seems honest enough. And its hard to tell from this angle but that might just be the hint of a smirk on his face too. 

“Where did you get the fire from? I thought there was no more fire on the Earth.”

“And you would be correct,” Jet nods down at the fire. “This is the last one. My partner stole it from Hades.”

“Partner?” And Hades? Jet knows a way down to Hades. Or at least his partner does. 

“Work partner. Associate. They–”

“They got fire, from Hades? How? No one who goes down there comes back. They haven’t shared any resources with Above in centuries. Not since Persephone died.”Jet frowns and gets up from his stool. He crosses the room to Buddy’s side in two strides. Slowly he brushes her hair back from her face. “Our work allows us to travel to Hades. And my Associate stole this fire from Hades. We are on the lam.” He bends closer and his voice drops to a whisper, “Now why do you care so much about making it to Hades? What happened to make you want to die?”

[silverseaming]

[rockthistowninsideout]

I was rewatching Kizuna for science an Odaiba Day project (yes, I know it's only Jan 20) and was taken aback at how soft Yamato is here. It didn't notice that when I first watched it.

[kukurubean]

I forgot to look at dye channels but phoenixs glow up is definitely the most extreme out of my characters

[plutoastergaby]

I'm so happy to announce that last Monday I was officially (or as close as you can get over here) diagnosed as autistic!

It was almost 5 years ago when I started questioning if I was autistic, and only two years ago did I start going to therapy, where I was diagnosed with ADHD and misdiagnosed with OCD, but my therapist refused to acknowledge and test me for autism (not like she tested for the others either, she just asked me why I thought I was autistic and used that to diagnose the other things).

Then a few months ago I left her because she sucked and started going to my current therapist, which finally acknowledged that I was autistic!

We don't have actual tests that give you a document over here (or they're very rare and expensive, I don't even know where I could find a place for those), so this is as close as it can get to an official diagnosis, and I'm so glad to finally have people believe me!

I'm also super grateful for people online that talk about their experiences and needs, since that was one of the things that made me realize that I was in fact neurodivergent.

I still struggle with imposter syndrome and constantly have to remind myself that I am neurodivergent and have needs that I must take care of, but this is a huge step in feeling more comfortable with the idea of me being neurospicy and properly taking care of myself <3

[sydney-carton-of-sour-milk]

this is from the official trailer for the 1958 AToTC adaptation i'm??? HGHJKLJHGFGHJKK???????????

[VD: Two shots from the aforementioned trailer. First: the storming of the Bastille. Second: a slow-zoom close-up on Sydney Carton looking down pensively. The narrator says quote "This is A Tale of Two Cities – and of Sydney Carton, who is surely the best-loved character ever created" unquote. End VD]