#but i wanted to string these together into one coherent essay

[dlldior]

VAIN — a kuro analysis of sebastian's character and his relationship with ciel

hi! so i've been wanting to make an analysis post for SO long but didn't really know where to post it, but tumblr is always here to answer my prayers. i just want to preface this by saying this is all my personal opinion and what i've taken away from the kuroshitsuji manga. there are so many layers to sebastian's character and his relationship with ciel, so many angles to analyse it from, they are extremely complex characters so there isn't one true take of their characterisation.

i'd be happy to discuss any disagreements or even other opinions you might have with my points in a civil manner. that's the beauty of media literacy!

my take on sebastian character!

sebastian is a really interesting character. being the main protagonist of black butler, it's surprising we don't know much of his origin or past—all we have of his character is how he behaves and interacts with characters now, and i'd like to further delve into this.

but from what we do know, sebastian is a hyper narcissist. he's unable to feel shame and thinks he is above everyone else; as illustrated and stated by the creator. most of sebastian's character is revealed through his relationship with ciel—which is the main centrepiece of the story—and how he behaves with him, as ciel is the only person (aside from the obvious exceptions) aware of sebastian's true nature and intentions. despite his "caring" facade towards ciel, sebastian is simply acting on the contract for his own best interest, and even ciel is aware of this fact which is why he rarely lets his guard down around him. his great means to preserve ciel's life is to preserve his soul, after spending the last 3 years cultivating it for him to devour after fulfilling their contract.

sebastian is too wrapped up in his own affairs and self-absored nature to even consider other people's concerns. he only feigns care for ciel due to his duties as a butler and maintaining the "aesthetic". the reason why he's so comfortable being in such a subservient position is because he knows deep down that he is above all humans. the best way i can describe this is a little odd but it's like when celebrities work at minimum wage jobs just because they can, not because they need to but because they know they're above these types of jobs with their level of wealth. they willingly put themselves in these degrading positions as they're comfortable enough with their wealth to be able to for fun. that is sebastian's case. he is comfortable enough with his power and tact as a demon to be able to don a tailcoat and play as a servant to the very species he sees himself above.

on top of that, sebastian appears to believe he is above those of his own kind, claiming that such gluttony goes against his demon "aesthetics" which is why he has invested so much time into cultivating ciel's soul instead of feeding off of multiple contracts. it reveals why sebastian is so into the "butler aesthetic" and finding himself in such a degrading position for one of his own kind. he seems to prioritise elegance, not greed, when it comes to fulfilling contracts.

however, sebastian's true nature is more prominent in the flashback sequence where ciel first summons him. he is extremely cocky, trying to manipulate ciel for a quick and easy kill such as when he was eager to kill everyone who has caused him harm, which does, in fact, reveal that he is not unlike most demons. the reason why sebastian picks such an appearance all ties into his narcissism, he gets off on impressing humans with his supernatural skills and ciel is only one who seems to understand that part of him, but it's always played off for comedic effect. sebastian soaks up in the praise he is given by these "puny" humans, always hanging onto their last words of flattery which reveals his true vain nature and that he is not as elegant and collected as he seems.

the fandom's take on sebastian!

i think the reason why the fandom is so fixated on sebastian's character is due to a myriad of factors. it can be due to how well he's able to play his facade; he's charming in a way and knows how to use his words to get into people's good graces, wielding his "elegance" and "aesthetics" to his advantage. as sebastian is forced to pretend to be human for the sake of their contract, he is able to analyse the qualities in people that others would want to see and apply that to himself. he's able to feign morality and charisma—partly due to his butler aesthetics but also for his own self-serving nature and receiving praise.

another reason why i think sebastian is the most popular character amongst the fandom is, yep, you've guessed it, his appearance. sebastian's appearance is no accident—both in his character's creation and the form he chose for himself in the story—he wields his sexuality and attractiveness to his advantage. his true nature and appearance are disgusting and unsightly, which is why he covers it up with a beautiful face; making it easier to deceive and manipulate.

however, the issue is with the fandom is that i think sebastian has the epidemic of what i like to call "attractive justification syndrome" where the fandom goes to great lengths to justify sebastian's actions and refusing to acknowledge his character for what it is—a self-absorbed, predatory narcissist—because he's attractive. however, sebastian is BEYOND morality and clearly lacks any remorse of his irredeemable actions. he doesn't feel shame and doesn't care to; i feel as though just because he's attractive, fans try too hard to defend him. don't get me wrong, i enjoy sebastian's character as well and i'm no different in admitting he is attractive, but i think he's extremely interesting and does explore different ideas of morality (more so, lack thereof) but i think it's rather off base to try and defend his character.

i think the bigger issue is that people tend to think enjoying his character says something about them, instead of what it says about the story. they're too afraid of liking his character for what it is. as they're scared of what that'd say about them for liking such a terrible person of a character. on tiktok especially, i feel like many fans sometimes try a bit too hard to have a moral high ground that they refuse to acknowledge the darker side of sebastian's character as then there goes their reason for liking him.

the anime adaptation doesn't help with this issue either for why sebastian's true character has been heavily lost. i feel as though they're eager to add some sort of movement or emotional depth to his character, which defeats the purpose of it. sebastian has a very static character, he doesn't have the emotional capabilites to feel empathy, he can sure as hell pretend, but at the end of the day, he's only here for his own best interest.

this is especially evident in the translation change in the public school arc where in the anime, sebastian justifies protecting ciel instead of chasing after undertaker because "he's spend too long raising him", whereas in the manga, sebastian justifies it for the true reason, which is because he's "spent too long cultivating his soul and won't let himself be robbed of it". there is a distinct difference as in the anime, sebastian appears to care for ciel's actual wellbeing, whereas in the manga, sebastian has established the foundation of the contract and how he's only preserving ciel's life for his soul.

anime translation

manga translation

my take on sebastian and ciel's relationship!

it is no surprise to say that their relationship is extremely unhealthy. due to the imbalance of power dynamics between them, there will never reach a point that their relationship turns healthy. it may look like ciel wields the power through their master-servant dynamic, but peeling away at this layer will reveal the foundation of their dynamic, being human-demon. but these are obvious points. sebastian wields his power as a demon to subtly manipulate ciel—his suffering and misery acting as a marinade for his soul. sebastian has no interest in ciel's wellbeing and, in fact, goes out of his way to contribute to his trauma.

a good example of this would be in book of circus during ciel's ptsd attack where he relives his trauma of seeing his brother be murdered in front of him. ciel is completely vulnerable, reaching out helplessly for anyone to help him and sebastian feeds off of his misery, caressing this child's vomit-coated lip and getting him to call his name when he is unable to speak. the scene is extremely grotesque and uncomfortable to watch as we see this adult practically looming over this defenceless, traumatised child who his gripping onto him for support. i usually dislike giving yana credit as she has done a pretty bad job illustrating their relationship with the unnecessary icky fanservice and horrible attempts of incorporating psychosexual elements into the story but i believe this scene was intentionally drawn this way to reveal sebastian's predatory nature. it's supposed to make you feel disgusted as sebastian uses ciel's codependency on him as some sort of power trip, feeding off of his trauma.

i got this point from a wonderful friend who i've analysed the story with, but sebastian is indeed a predator. he is textbook definition grooming ciel. he may not be sexually as grooming falls under the definition of "preparing/training someone for a particular purpose or activity", but his relationship with ciel is for the sole purpose of being able to devour his soul at the end. when sebastian was referring to "cultivating his soul" in the public school arc, he meant spending years using subtle manipulation and grooming tactics to get the desired flavour of ciel's soul.

just because ciel was aware of the terms and conditions of the contract, aware of his impending doom, it doesn't make sebastian's actions of preparing a child for death any more morally fine. the foundation of the contract was never fair; ciel had no choice. it was either sebastian left him to die in the cage, or he was to form a contract with him to gain the power to come back. all the power ciel has is not his, and one day, that power will be stripped from him, and he will have to face the one who gave him this power. it is the reason why ciel does not choose to pursue happiness after coming back, as he knows that if he even gives into the idea, sebastian will automatically assume he's abandoning his revenge and kill him. i'm not saying ciel is devoid of faults either, everyone in this show is morally grey and he can cause his own suffering too, but this is a sebastian-focused rant so i'll go deeper into this some other time.

i think the reason why dadbastian is such a popular headcanon, especially on tumblr, is because it subverts the unhealthy, grotesque aspects of their relationship and provides ciel with a healthy parental figure which he has been needing, giving him the solace he deserves from all his trauma. not to mention, there are scenes in the series where sebastian does act as a parental figure towards ciel. don't get me wrong, i ADORE this headcanon and will go down with it but i think the darker reality of their dynamics in the manga is the reason the headcanon is even more upsetting as we know it will never happen and this child will never get the peace and happiness he deserves.

TLDR; sebastian is a hyper narcissist and is there for nobody's best interest but his own, the only reason he goes to great lengths to preserve ciel's soul is because their contract wouldn't be sustained otherwise. the fandom tries to justify and defend his actions too much due to how well he's built his facade of desired human behaviour and his attractiveness. sebastian contributes to ciel's trauma, subtly manipulating him and mocking him for being taken to his limit. their relationship is extremely unhealthy. dadbastian reigns supreme because it subverts the grotesque factors in their relationship.

thanks for taking the time to read this if you've made it this far! i'd love to hear any of your guys' opinions and takes on their characters.

[jackdaw-kraai]

The thing I think isn't talked about enough in all these conversations about "AI art" is how, even if you work out all the kinks, even if you get it to the point that it works perfectly according to the most lofty goals set, even if all that came true... AI will still disappoint when set next to even just a moderately skilled human artist. Not because of any technical flaws with the product, but because of its fundamental limitations as a tool.

AI, as we understand it right now, without all the grandstanding and doomsday predictions and near-mythological qualities we ascribe to it, works on binary. Down to its core, stripped to its studs, it works on binary code, and you see that reflected in the design. Every choice it makes, every result it produces, is a result of a million, billion "yes or no" questions asked of it that chain together into a coherent response. Endless amounts of "TRUE or FALSE" results spat out when data is fed into it, that string together to form a conversation, or an essay, or a painting, or a comic. At least, when trained on enough data to weigh the odds in favor of what the creators want it to do.

If you ask ChatGPT to tell you something about romance, it filters its endless data banks for what that training data it was given matches your request and what results in those tests were rewarded by its programmers and which were discouraged and based on all that, it begins making TRUE or FALSE choices with the odds weighed by that data. That's how all AI we currently have fundamentally work, and that, in and of itself, is not a bad thing. It's a tool, and tools are hard pressed to be evil. What it is, however, is vastly inferior to the process of a human writer for one simple fact: when asked a question, we have more options than to answer it TRUE or FALSE.

If you ask a human writer to tell you about romance, they too will draw upon all the memories they have stored away of what they know about romance and base an answer off of that. But they will also draw up all the knowledge they have on astronomy, to compare the feeling it creates inside to that of hydrogen fusing, and that of medicine, because it burns so bright inside that it feels like your rib cage feels like it should be alight from the inside until it looks like an inverted x-ray image. A human writer will visualize the way love feels and draw connections an AI couldn't fathom, because it was never trained to do so. And more than that, if a human writer tells you about romance, they won't tell you just about romance.

They will tell you about how romance happens.

They will tell you about what romance between a young Polish woman and a young Polish man living in what would one day be the powiat of Bieszczadzki on the border with Ukraine, but for now are just the Bieszczadzki mountains, in the spring of 1914 would have looked like. And they will tell you about how it looked like all the months afterwards as the young man is drafted into the army and their home is ravaged by WWI as the Bieszczadzki mountains become one of the most bitterly contested regions in the Eastern Front during the war. They will tell you about how romance, how the love blooming from it, cannot fix the damage wrought by senseless battles fought by powers so much greater than the two of them, but how it carries them through the war nonetheless.

And what's more, they will know enough about the history of Poland to parallel the growing love between these two young people with the growing, not-yet-formed modern state of Poland that will once again rise from the ashes of the war after having previously been partitioned by greater powers into non-existence.

A human writer will not only have the knowledge to do that, they will have the skills and manner of thinking necessary to form the thoughts that will lead to such a story and make it into something incredible. An AI, no matter how well you train it, no matter how good you make it at emulating a writer's style, will not be able to form the same thought process. Not because it is flawed, but because it simply isn't built for that.

An AI cannot experience nationalism or patriotism for a country, an AI cannot reason out how people might have lived in the absence of credible historic evidence when it runs up against a gap in its data, an AI will not understand the link between fragile, young love blooming in adversity and a country struggling to be reborn in spite of the greater nations around it that wish it would remain dead. It cannot do this, because it isn't based in "TRUE or FALSE" questions. It's based in the painfully human experience of complicated emotions, difficult thoughts, and yes, even deeply flawed ways of looking at the world that nonetheless are beautiful exactly for having those flaws.

An AI, at its core, with where the technology is right now, is a machine of averages. Even if we polish it to peak performance, that will not change. At peak performance, it will still give you an average of all the possible answers it could give, it will be technically flawless, and it will never be anything even close to a fraction of the lightning in a bottle that a writer with categorically shit technique can capture if their heart and mind are put into it.

And let's be honest here and step a foot outside of the bubble of speculation, just for a bit: AI will never, ever, give you an answer or story that pushes boundaries or makes you think like even the most technically incompetent but passionate authors are able to.

Because in order to push boundaries, in order to deliver a message, you have to be willing to make people uncomfortable. You have to be willing to be messy and raw to the point that your story bleeds. And even if we polished AI to perfection, even if, by some miracle of a completely new and fresh coding base, it could do all those things... the humans pulling the strings of the machine would never allow it to do so. Because if their machine produces stories that push boundaries, that have things to say, that make people uncomfortable, it's not going to be profitable. It's not going to be advertiser-friendly. It's not going to please the stock market. And let's be honest here, in the end, that's what matters to those people.

AI cannot write the stories that people want it to, that they truly want it to, because in the end, the stories we want to hear are not the stories it can tell. The stories we want to hear are, in the end, painfully human, in all the best and worst ways possible. And if you want a human story, if you want to have something like that lightning in a bottle, AI can never be more than a tool in making them instead of the maker itself. A potentially useful and innovative tool, but nothing more than that.

Because if you want human stories, no one but a human will be able to write them. And no one but a human will be able to read them and understand what's being said.

[lavalampstealer]

Some oc art!! For a Good Ending au with Canary and Cardinal :]

small word dump beneath cut because I love them

OKAY so. Their whole deal (usually (in canon timeline)) is that Cardinal (red one) doesn’t make it. But what if he did? What if nothing bad happened ever and they lived happily ever after the end. And then a friend (Medi, @eyesofrhodochrosite) had the idea of, “what if they adopted a kid?”

So his name is Oriole (initial design by Medi as well), say hiiii. I love devastating characters and then playing around with Happy aus for them :] They can have a break from the Horrors. as a treat

Part of me wants to ramble about these guys for a whole essay length post but the other part of me can’t string together properly coherent thoughts about these two(three) besides rotating them in my mind so. enjoy!!

[jeannereames]

where would i be able to read your monograph? especially about the ‘you are nothing without me’ incident

The Protracted Reality of Writing Academic Shit 😂

First, and assuming the asker means my Hephaistion-Krateros book, the quick answer is: It’s still in process, not even close to being in print. In the meantime, a number of my articles are available on academia-edu.

Now, to explain why the book is “still in process,” let me explain the monograph writing progression. IME, the average person uninvolved in academia is often surprised by the sheer complexity and time involved. (After all, why would you know if you don't need to?)

Below, I talk only about academic monographs, although I’ve also edited academic collections, and of course, have published a number of articles. I started to tackle fiction publishing too, but that quickly devolved into a long-ass post (even for me), so I’m sticking only to the topic the asker requested. It's long enough! Maybe I’ll do fiction later, assuming anybody wants to read that. (If so, put it in an ask.)

To write an academic book in the humanities typically takes years. There are several stages just to produce the initial manuscript, never mind getting it into print. I’ll outline the general process below, using my current project to illustrate the steps. One thing I’ve found consistently among both students and non-academics is utter surprise at just how extensive research/writing is. New grad students often think writing a thesis/dissertation is akin to writing a really long term paper. Oh, no. You will write it, submit it, get critique and feedback, go research some more and revise it, get critique and feedback, go and research yet more and revise it again … rinse and repeat. How long? Until it’s cooked. There’s not a set timeframe. It will always take longer than you expect. Always. I’ve been teaching grad students almost 25 years. I have yet to have any require less time than they first assumed.

Writing a monograph (including the thesis/dissertation, which is a type of monograph) is one of the toughest forms of academic writing. Papers/articles are much easier, and not just because they’re shorter, although that’s some of it. They also generally have a simpler point. They’re proving ONE thing, like a string.

A monograph presents a coherent, complex argument like a rope woven from several strings (the chapters). It’s not an edited collection by multiple authors in a single volume (or two), or even a collection of various essays by a single author. Collections may have a general topic, like, say, Macedonian Legacies (the collection we did for Gene Borza), or the one I’m editing now, Macedon and It’s Influences. Just trying to figure out a decent order for the varied papers can prove a challenge in these. If some of the papers actually do bear on each other … bonus! But the papers aren’t necessarily expected to come together at the end in any cogent way. A monograph’s concluding chapter should, however, bring together the chapters into a solid conclusion, like the arch’s capstone, holding it all together.

Yet the researcher may not know the answer to that until done with much of the research. After reading everything, and considering it, she may wind up in a different place from where she started. Like any good, responsible research, the researcher must be prepared to follow the data and facts, not cram them into a preconceived notion. I’ve changed some of my ideas and goals for my current monograph, as I no longer think I can do the project I originally intended because the nature of the sources get in the way too much. But I have a more interesting project as a result.

The first phase is research: pretty much for any academic field, period. How this progresses, and how quickly, varies with the individual, field, and topic. Furthermore, some of us are planners (that’s me), others are pantsers (e.g., they dive in and figure it out as they go: by the seat of the pants). But we all start with a question or observation, then go out to track down information about it. In history, sometimes we just read the primary sources/archival material and see what we find. Something strikes us, so we go on to read more, which produces either refined questions or entirely new ones.

Right now, I’m finishing up the initial stages of the research. Then I’ll start work on the chapters, which, yes, I’ve outlined as a result of my initial research. But those chapters may (and probably will) morph as I write them. It’s during the writing phase that the other, “attendant” research comes into play: chasing down all the references in other secondary sources for smaller points. Rabbit-hole time.

My initial research tends to be more measured. I read a while, stop to think—sometimes do stuff like write replies to asks on Tumblr while my brain churns. 😉 Then I go back and read some more. But the writing phase is where I can lose all track of time while running down just-one-more-citation-then-I’ll-stop. The last time I looked at a clock it was 3pm and now it’s 9pm, I’m weak with hunger, I really have to pee because I’m drinking too much tea, and the cats are mad because I’ve not fed them in hours. 😆 It’s two really different types of research for me.

Anyway, for the initial (pre-writing) stage, there are really two substages. The first is what I think of as archival work: e.g., getting down and dirty with the original (primary) sources, including digging into the Greek and Latin to see what it actually says, and if there’s something noteworthy in the phrasing. At this point, I may not really know what I’m looking for, except in the broadest sense. For my current project, I collected every single mention of Hephaistion and Krateros in the original sources. For all five ATG bios, I read them front to back, tagging all sorts of things, plus large chunks of important other books (e.g., the first part of book 18 of Diodoros, the extant fragments of Arrian’s After Alexander, plus a couple bios, esp. Plutarch’s Eumenes, etc.) in order to get a FLOW, not just collect things piecemeal. There are some passages that may not name Hephaistion or Krateros specifically, but they would include them. Piecemeal will always be incomplete, like trying to see a clear image in a broken mirror (a mistake I made with my dissertation, in fact, but I was young).

Then I assembled all that collected data on huge sheets, arranged by author for each man, so I can cross-reference and compare. I also did a deep-dive across 4 days, grabbing everything in Brill’s New Jacoby (BNJ), so I can also tag the original (lost) author cited in our surviving sources, where we know who it is. Not actually that many, but it’s useful and can prove significant. I want to see where the same information, or anecdote, crosses sources, and how it changes.

All of that (except adding the BNJ entry #s to my big sheets) is now done. The next step is figuring out what it all means. For that—and where I am right now—involves historiographic reading/rereading of secondary sources on the ancient authors. What is Curtius’s methodology? Arrian’s? Plutarch’s? What are the themes of each? What is the story they’re telling? They’re not just cut-and-pasters from the original (now lost) histories; they have agendas. What are they? How do Hephaistion and Krateros fit into those agendas? How do the sources use them? This is, to me, the really interesting piece.

It's also why this book will not be just a cleaned-up version of my dissertation, but a completely new look at Hephaistion, and now Krateros too. I haven’t even consulted my old dissertation chapters. I started over from scratch. Sure, I remember my main conclusions, and as I write, I’m sure I’ll go back to check things, but the same as I’d check anybody else’s.

I’d hoped to start writing by May, but I’m not quite there yet, in part because, between the Netflix series plus helping to write/edit a grant that I didn’t expect to have to do, I lost virtually all of February. Now, about half of April has been eaten by home repair/yard stuff plus small family crises. That’s just the nature of a sabbatical, especially if you don’t have a spousal unit or SO to take care of everything for you while you just write. 😒

Now I hope to start writing by mid/late May. But as this 9th International ATG Symposium is looming in early September, plus I go back to teaching in the fall, I’ll have to knock off by the end of July, if not sooner. Ergo, not a long writing time. I can do some more during winter break, but I probably won’t have a draft done until next summer. If I’m lucky. It is just not possible, at least for me, to write while teaching! As I do plan to present at least one (startling!) piece of my research as the ATG conference, I have a concrete deadline for a subchapter bit. Ha.

So, what happens after a draft is done? Well, if one is smart, one finds a reader or three. One just to read it for sense, but (if possible) another specialist to start poking holes in the arguments, noting secondary sources one forgot, and to offer general pushback in order to refine it all. This assumes your friends/colleagues actually have time to look at it, as they, also, are teaching and writing their own stuff. (I’ll go after my retired colleagues.) At the same time, one may also begin seeking an academic publisher.

It’s important to match the project to what the publisher is already publishing. It can also help, but isn’t necessary, to have an in: somebody known to/trusted by the editor of one’s broad field (ancient history, in my case) who can vouch for the scholarship. Submitting means writing up a summary of the work, perhaps including letters from colleagues/readers, etc., etc. I’m not even close to this stage yet, so I’m primarily going by the experiences of friends. At this point, it starts to dovetail a bit with fiction publishing. You’re on the hunt and do some of the same homework.

Once a publishing house requests the manuscript, they’ll farm it out to 2-3 readers to evaluate. This is the “refereed” part, as the readers will be specialists in the field. The publisher, who can’t be a specialist in everything, may ask for a list of names for these potential readers.

As with academic papers/book chapters, the book will come back from these readers with a vote on publishability, plus suggestions for improvement. The basic choices range from, “Go back to the drawing board; this has major issues and here they are” (e.g., not ready yet for publication). To, “It’s got good bones but here are improvements on chpts X and X, oh, and go read ___ works you forgot,” (e.g., revise and resubmit). To, “this is pretty solid as-is but could use a few more things” (e.g., revise but ready for a contract). You will NEVER get a “Publish it right now.” 🤣 It’s hard to say how much time this revising phase will take, as it depends entirely on the level of revisions requested. This is why it’s often wise to find a reader or three in advance, to make this phase less lengthy. Yes, books do sometimes get turned down entirely, with no “revise-and-resubmit,” but more often it’s one of the three above. And yes, sometimes an author may be unwilling to make the requested changes, so finds a different publisher, with different readers, hoping for a more positive outcome. Sometimes, with the revising stage, there’s a non-binding contract involved, but this seems to be usefully mostly for younger scholars who need some sort of proof for their RPT (Reappointment, Promotion and Tenure) committees.

Once a publisher gets a manuscript they believe is worthy, the author receives a (real) contract and is provided with in-house editors to fix grammar, sense, etc.: copy- and line-editing. What would (in fiction) be called “developmental editing” is what the refereed part entailed. This is the simple part. Getting TO the contract stage is the tough part.

The publishing house will then schedule the book with a publication date and discuss things like page-proofs, cover art, permissions, formatting, etc., including indexing, which most publishers either don’t do, or charge a high fee for. It’s almost always cheaper to hire an indexer separately. I’ve already got mine lined up for the Hephaistion-Krateros book. But that can’t be done until it’s typeset and through page-proofs as one needs, yeah, the page numbers. Ha. From contract to the book hitting shelves can take a full year, or more.

So, with the exception of those folks who are just writing machines, the average monograph is c. 5+ years, at least in the humanities. This assumes the luck to get a sabbatical, not trying to do it all crammed into summers or breaks.

So yes, I’m still a couple years from this book seeing print. And that assumes there’s not a lengthy revise-and-resubmit process because my readers don’t like my conclusions.

[beingdreeyore]

Working from home today, but not by choice. I know I am fortunate to have this option, but this isn't the day I usually do this and it's thrown me out. I didn't want to be here today.

Physio this morning. Usually it feels like catching up with a friend. We laugh and joke the whole time. But this morning I was just moody, difficult to get a smile out of. I know why. It's because I'm exhausted. These 2am wake-ups continue and I don't know why. And my back hurts again.

Things are unsettled inside me. I just want to sleep and be left alone. I didn't feel like that yesterday. Today it's just tipped into too long without enough sleep. Perhaps it's better I'm at home.

I caught Z loudly walking past and peering in my door yesterday. He hesitated, went to stop, gave me an unsure smile. I managed to smile back. "Stop!" my brain willed him. But he didn't. He hesitated and then kept walking. Two more weeks and we will be out of each others lives forever. It begins again. This endless trail of men I wanted to beg to stay in my life, but they all leave. He's just the latest.

How much of this is exhaustion talking? How much would be there anyway?

My last two practice exams have been horrific and I don't know why my marks have dropped so much. Lack of sleep, yes, but that far? It's creating a lot of anxiety. Even now, I'm sitting here writing this instead of a practice essay because I'm too tired to string a coherent sentence together. It's too much of a chore today. Psychiatry has a chequered history. There is good and bad. I know I need the practice, but how many times can I write variations on the same essay, never knowing if it's good enough?

It's just one of those days. These days remind me why sleep interference is used as a torture tactic. The world is awful and nothing makes sense. But it's nothing that can't be fixed with sleep. That's what I keep reminding myself.

It will all be better as soon as I can get some sleep...

[dearcat1]

(Essay)

Part 25 of An Exercise in Patience

It takes longer than Xanxus would like to hunt down Reborn. In a way, it's a good thing. Xanxus had been pissed off enough to be unreasonable after the whole thing was over. Tsunayoshi crying softly against his neck is not Xanxus's idea of fun. Now, at least he's calm enough to be able to string coherent sentences together instead of curse words and growls. It doesn't mean Xanxus is any more welcoming to Reborn creating havoc in his pack. The arcobaleno is stronger, but Xanxus has Mammon on his side and Tsunayoshi looks to him before he looks at Reborn. It's difficult to teach somebody who refuses to listen to you properly. 

Reborn sips his Expresso, smiling at Xanxus with that smug air that's doing nothing for the younger alpha's temper. "And? How did it go?"

Xanxus snorts, taking a seat and ignoring the question. "You crossed a line."

"Did I?" Reborn arches a brow. "I'm doing my job."

"You don't get to mess with my pack's dynamic." The relationships are already shifting as it is, the inclusion of a new member to the pack's core was always going to do that. They don't need the extra drama to top it off.

"Timoteo gave me permission to do as I please." Reborn hums, unbothered.

"Tsunayoshi is Varia, not Main Vongola." And the Independent in the title has weight, as much as Timoteo forgets that. "He doesn't have the authority."

"And what are you going to do about it?" Reborn's smile isn't nice but it's less violent than Xanxus had been expecting.

"You know," Xanxus hums, looking at the somewhat destroyed garden. "I could always tell Tsunayoshi to run all of your lessons through me first. How fast could you teach, I wonder, under those conditions?"

Reborn chuckles, setting his cup down. "Good. Next time don't wait until your omega is paying for your stillness."

Xanxus blinks, staring at Reborn's back as the cursed baby walks away. Well, fuck. He's been played. He clicks his tongue, pours the coffee in a flower pot and walks back inside. The assassin has to talk to his Rain, figure out if Luss is willing to cover dinner tonight and go back to his room before Tsunayoshi decides Xanxus isn't coming. Having read Tsunayoshi’s little report, (and the omega’s English is better than he believes it to be, Xanxus needs to remember to tell him that), Gokudera’s problem is low self-esteem. 

Harsh but not uncommon in particularly explosive Storms. Xanxus doesn’t really care at the moment, not when the brat’s bullshit is smearing all over the omega the Commander is looking after. 

He finds Squalo sharpening his Sword in the kitchen, Lussuria already checking what they have in the fridge. It’s one less thing to worry about, at least. “Shark.”

Squalo huffs but looks up at him. “The brat is off sulking somewhere but I confiscated the explosives, it might take a couple more screaming matches to get the point to sink in, though.”

Fucking Storms. Too stubborn for their own good. “How did he take the punishment?”

“Mammon will see to it that he pays,” Squalo shrugs with an amused smile but sobers up quickly. “I am half-convinced he listened only to what he wanted to hear. He’s saying he’ll do it because Sawada is too good to be forced to.”

“That makes no sense.” Xanxus growls in frustration, ruffling his hair. “I’m not delivering more punishments for this idiot’s refusal to behave.” Not to Tsunayoshi, at least. If Squalo can’t make him listen, of course the omega was going to have a hard time. He’s new to this shit.

“Spanked him?” Lussuria turns to them, wincing a little. If Xanxus knows him, and he does, the Sun is already plotting how to comfort the younger Sky. 

“No.” Xanxus crosses his arms. “Had him write an essay.”

“Huh.”

[julialong183]

Writing Process

My writing process is absolutely chaotic if I am being honest. I can't sit down and write something in full, partially because I am a procrastinator and partially because my brain doesn't like to work on only one thing at once (as I type this, I have switched to two other assignments, responded to a few texts, and ordered myself a coffee because I work best in busy environments - it just scratches that part of my brain that needs things to be going on at all times).

It is a multi-day process most of the time, and I am always working on different parts. My introduction/conclusion are almost always the last things that I write. Most recently, I have been creating bubble brainstorming on whiteboards to determine all of the topics I want to cover when writing.

The actual writing process is very lengthy and I typically just "word vomit" my ideas, so I have many MANY one sentence paragraphs that I eventually string together to make a coherent essay. My friends think I am a bit crazy when I am writing my papers.

[house-of-laminations]

Hi, hello, um, big fan here! I just, I love everything you’ve written and I just, I would love to know your thoughts on Lilith. I think about her constantly and I usually HC my MC thinks about her and kind of tries to talk to her. I feel like that one convo with her just, I don’t know, it makes me wish we could still talk to her. She showed us stuff, she saved us!! I just , I don’t know, I super want to read your thoughts on her.

💛 hello!

I do indeed have Thoughts™ on Lilith! Many of them! Let's see if I can string them together into some coherency - apologies in advance if this comes out essay-like...

In terms of their personal connection, I wrote a little bit here about Lilith's power in relation to MC but a tl;dr of it is that I believe that Lilith's power, her soul for lack of a better word, is MC's soul. However, growing up physically, mentally, and emotionally as a human meant that they don't have the knowledge or capability to utilize any of that power. It's only upon making contact with Lilith's grimoire - her memories - that MC gains the ability to be able to comprehend and access those abilities and memories. The way I see that manifesting beyond just 'sheer power' is deja vu. They experience new places that feel familiar, they remember conversations they've never had. Even their relationships are (comparatively) quick to spark with immortals who have been stuck in this emotional rut for presumably millennia.

I'm not sure if I believe there's enough of Lilith left to have full conversations with but I do think their connection goes deeper than just being able to speak to one another. Lilith's guidance is present in MC's choices and circumstances almost right from the get-go.

Lilith was a powerful angel who willingly ventured into the human world, spurred mostly by her brother's interest and curiosity. There, she fell for a human which ultimately lead to a schism in heaven and her brothers falling. It widened the divide between the three realms and ended in her 'death'. Her happy ending was to live out her days as a human, and after dying her mortal death she continued to watch over her brothers.

MC, meanwhile, was an ordinary human by all rights (canonically at least, leaving behind any personal headcanons). They're forcefully drawn into a realm beyond their own thanks to the curiosity of someone much, much stronger than them. They're surrounded by beings that at any point could consume them - mind, body, and soul. Nevertheless not only does MC's actions and presence ultimately lead to mending the relationships between the brothers, it also begins to bridge the gap between all three realms.

Lilith's love broke the world, but MC's love will build it (kudos to @demonfamilytherapist for that bombass line). There's a line towards the end of S3 (or so I'm told) in which [spoilers] Diavolo is working his hardest in order to allow MC to live with them permanently in devildom as the spouse of a demon lord/prince. Their stories are mirrors of one another.

The symmetry between their lives is something that could be coincidence, could be fate, or could just be an old tattered soul trying to learn from its mistakes. What Lilith helped break, MC is slowly helping to mend.

Sometimes MC feels a sense of comfort, of love and safety. It's not from their lover/s... but rather, from within. This is a contentment beyond mere self confidence. It's a soul who loves itself and who its become, who is grateful for the journey and excited for what's next.

There you go! My own personal thoughts and headcanons about the relationship between Lilith and MC... I'm a sucker for tragedy and angst at heart so I tend to lean away from actual conversations between the two - but that doesn't mean there's nothing between them. I hope this satisfies 💛

[snzunii]

— SEE YOU AGAIN [18]

+ summary. in which you and sanzu are in a very chaotic marriage.

+ tags. romance, fluff, heavy (?) angst, modern au, smau, arrange marriage au, college setting, use of profanities, eventual smut, 18+

+ chapter tags. drinking, smoking, explicit sexual content, fellatio, cunnillingus, drunk sex, rough sex, unprotected sex, praise kink, tit sucking, dumbification, overstimulation, creampie, EIGHTEEN PLUS ONLY !!

+ note. hi helloooo, here's the chapter 18, yaaaaay <333 thanks to @feralfordazai for beta reading, ily kai <3 anyway, hope u enjooooy! feedbacks are always appreciated. lemme know what u think ;)

+ status. on-going

+ masterlist.

Sanzu has known you for years, he thinks it’s safe to say that he has known you his whole life. Ever since the two of you were born, there's been an inconspicuous string that connected your lives together, hanging at the each end of your fingers that no matter what—it could never be broken—you’re the end of his line and he is yours.

That’s how he perceives your lives together, you and him against the world if you must say. To him, you’re one—you’re entwined; you’re the other half of his whole being—ergo, he knows if the other half of him is distraught.

He knows you like the back of his hand, you’re like a book that he reads all over again to the point that he can recite every line, to the point that he knows where every comma is placed after the words.

“What’s wrong?” he asked with an obvious concern laced on his gentle voice, “Tell me, hm?”

“It’s nothing.” he wished he could believe you, he wished that he could ignore the perturbed expression written all over your face, but how can he ignore it if it’s you? “I’m okay, Haru. I promise.”

A frown wrinkles on his forehead as he holds your face, urging you to look at him, “You’re not. Don’t lie to me.”

How come you're running like you’re being chased and didn't even notice him until you bumped into him if you say that you’re ‘okay’?

“It’s…” you paused, it felt like there's some big thing stuck on your throat—restricting you to breath and form coherent words to say. How else would you tell him that his ex was here?

You wanted to laugh, is this the universe’s way of punishing you for hiding something so horrible? For keeping something that you know would haunt you for God knows how long?

Was she here to remind you of the guilt that you’re bottling up inside you?

“It’s what? Come on, baby. You know you can talk to me.”

Naomi’s here. Two words and yet writing a thousand words essay about some random thing was much easier for you to do at this moment. Maybe, just maybe you were afraid to see the look on his face when you tell him that the woman he once loved was here, you’re afraid that there’s still some lingering feelings if he saw her.

The look on his enticing blue eyes was meant for you and you solely, you’re scared shitless to let him glance at her for even a millisecond—fearing that you might see the vivacity that was intended to be yours.

It’s not that you don't trust him, but can you blame yourself for feeling this way for the reason that there’s still a deep-seated thought at the back of your mind that you stole him?

Did I steal you? Am I really the bad guy here?

“Haru.” your voice was trembling, “I… I need to tell you something.”

There’s tears forming at the side of your eyes as you look at the person you love with your whole being for the most of your life. The next thing he knew, you were clinging on to him—arms wrapped around his waist so tight as if he'd go away if you didn't hold him like this. “You can tell me anything, yeah?”

He reciprocated your embrace, gentle hand combing your hair; his other arm pulling you close to him, tightening his hold around your body—planting a small kiss on the side of your head. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“She’s here.” you gripped his shirt, “Naomi’s here.”

Silence was the only form of response that you got from him, you knew it, he’s definitely surprised. You can’t see the look on his face since yours was buried on his chest. You’re afraid to look at him but that fear gradually faded once you heard him chuckle, “And? Is that why you’re crying?”

You heard him sigh once you looked at him with your teary eye, “Come on. I love you. Okay?”

He cupped your face and leaned his forehead on yours, giving your nose a small kiss, “There’s no need to worry because I’m yours, she’s there for all I care. We came here to have fun, so stop crying or else I’ll throw your ass in the pool.”

He gave you his reassuring smile that puts your heart at ease. Yet, the worries are still there. You’re curious as to what reason Naomi told him when they broke up. Did she tell him a lie? But why would she willingly lie to him if she really loved him? Or maybe Naomi doesn’t know anything—maybe, her mother didn’t want her to be involved with that whole threat thing and covered it up.

This whole Naomi thing was messing your mind up that you forgot the whole reason that you’re here with your friends at this very resort.

The constant thinking halted the moment you felt his lips above yours, kissing your lips with such reassurance that he’s only yours. That you’re the one who’s at this moment right now, you’re the one who’s kissing him, the only one who’s at the receiving end of his boundless love and affection.

Senju, on the other hand, was supposed to get his brother to come and find you but instead she finds you together—she lets out a sigh in relief plus a smile which she would never ever show you two—she’s dead set on acting disgusted with the two of you.

You both pulled away, giggling, when you heard that one familiar voice, “Okay, really? You ran off and left me there just to exchange disgusting saliva with my brother?”

…

The whole day with your friends was fun and, you know it, chaotic. There’s just endless teasing and mocking, courtesy of your husband and the Haitanis.

You could say that you almost forgot that your husband’s ex was just a few steps away from the cottage you’re all in. But if Sanzu says that he doesn’t care then you can do it, right? Perhaps they’re just really here to have fun.

You have your own worlds and you wouldn’t let your mind wander off to theirs anymore.

After you all dipped yourselves in the pool and did embarrassing but fun things on the beach, you’re now here sitting around with your friends in your assigned cottage—stuffing yourselves with the leftover food from dinner while drinking different kinds of alcoholic drinks.

“Never have I ever had sex at the back of a nightclub at my dad’s car that I took without saying anything then I thought I was safe until our dad saw the underwear that my one night stand left on the floor of the car-”

“Rindou, that's so specific!” Ran complained at his brother, eliciting a series of laughs from all of you when Ran drank his alcohol anyway. “I fucking hate you.”

Rindou just gave his brother a coy grin, “Sorry.”

Ran raised his eyebrow, staring at his brother with a bit of hatred in his eyes, “Really? Are you though?”

“Dumb assholes, stop that.” Koko put a pin on the brothers’ petty bickering and cleared his throat, you chuckled at the obvious tint of red on his cheeks and the bit of slur in his voice because of all the alcohol he drank—well, you all drank. “My turn. Never have I ever...”

You didn’t pay any attention to Koko once you felt Sanzu’s warm breath on your ear, waiting for him maybe whisper something but all you could feel is him biting and licking your ear—all the while, his large hand strokes your thigh up and down, squeezing it every once in a while—the continual contact stirs something inside you, as if the tip of his fingers emit electricity that ignites the doused heat in your body.

“You're drunk, huh?” you whispered once you turned to him, he gave you a lascivious smirk, he pulled away for a bit—putting the other end of the cigarette stick in between his lips—dragging the smoke inside his mouth.

His other hand that was on your thigh shifted to your chin, you stare at him completely aware as to what he wants to do—the discernable intoxication on you was so satisfying for him to see. The stupefied glint in your eyes, the inebriated demeanor—just fuck. He can't even explain what he feels right at this moment, maybe it’s just the alcohol making him feel like his body’s on fire or maybe it was you, his fucking gorgeous wife that he can’t keep his hands off of.

“Open your mouth, baby.” he ordered, which you obliged without even batting an eyelash—he exhales the smoke inside your mouth, a proud smirk was seen on his face when you dragged the smoke down to your throat and exhaled it back out. “Fuck. Good girl.”

“You know we can see you, right? Get a room.” and suddenly, both your awareness came back when you heard Emma say that, looking at the two of you with her eyebrows raised—you giggled and mumbled a sorry before Haruchiyo pulled you up.

“Oh. He’s gonna get some~” Ran said in a singsong manner, which earned the usual disgusted look from Senju.

The both of you didn’t even gave a single fuck about their teasing and disappeared before their eyes—the next you knew, you were rid off the swimsuit that you were wearing as you kneel in front of your husband; looking up at him with your bit teary eyes while taking his long veiny shaft in your mouth while he was gripping your hair—looking down at you with his mouth slightly ajar.

“So fucking good,” he rasped out, his hold on your hair tightens along with a hiss when you twirled your tongue on his head while bobbing your head up and down his cock, “Fuck, yeah. Just like that. You’re so good, baby- fuck.”

There’s just something about him giving you endless praise while you suck his dick off—it was making your cunt ache in anticipation, leaving your pussy dripping and craving his cock to just rut inside your creamy walls. Just imagining the feeling feels as though you’re reaching your orgasm—but who are you kidding? Nothing beats his actual dick pounding on you senselessly.

You let go of his cock with a pop, exchanging your mouth with your hand as you help yourself up while jerking him off—he pulls you close to him, gripping your waist while he leans his lips above yours—biting your lip when your hand gets a little too tight around his dick.

“H-haru—mhm.” you moaned in his mouth, his fingers sliding up and down your pussy lips. It was your turn to bite his lip when his thumb finally circles on your swollen clit, making your nerves fire up—the sensation permeating on your veins and exudes out of your body in the form of wet creamy juices on Haruchiyo’s fingers. “Yeah- uh… shit-”

He carries you to the bed, gripping your ass cheeks before slamming your back into the mattress. “Come on, angel. Spread your legs for me, hm?”

You’re his good girl indeed, spreading your legs for him as wide as you could—just so he could lap on your pussy folds, licking you with the flat of his tongue, delving it inside your hole while his thumb rubs your clit. “H-haru! Nggh— so good. So so good.”

“I know, baby.” he said with a proud voice and a pussy drunk expression on his handsome face, he had all the rights to be cocky about it—he was eating you out like a full course meal, he loves going down on you—licking and making sure to taste every bits of your cunt. His fingers spread out your folds, giving him a perfect access to your red puffy clit and not long, his tongue laps around your clit.

Which absolutely makes you go wild, thrashing on the bed as you grip his hair in between your fingers—mewling his name so loudly and luciously. “Haru, please. Fuck me—nggh! Want your cock, so bad.”

“Yeah? Tell me more, baby. Tell me how much you want my dick inside you.” he crawls up to your tits, kneading the other mound with his hand while he sucks the other with his warm mouth.

It’s not helping that his cock is resting above your cunt, and now his hips move to grind on your wet pussy—coating his shaft with your juices, a needy whimper escapes your lips along with the twitching of your thighs when his shaft rubs against your clit creating a heavenly friction. “J-just fuck me- ah! Please-”

Fuck, damn it. Even his chuckles were titillating—it was like angels bringing you to your seventh heaven.

“Since you asked for it, yeah?” he grunts, pushing his cock inside your tight cunt. He let out a dragged moan when he felt your walls clasping around his shaft to perfection, you were gripping on the sheets as you bite your lips to contain your lewd moans. You feel so full, it’s amazing how good it feels being stuffed with his cock—him, balls deep in your pussy and the tip of his dick kissing your cervix.

You hooked your arms around his neck, pulling him close to you to give him sloppy kisses, “Mhm—move, H-haru. Fuck me g-good, please?”

And, who the fuck is he to ignore your pleads? Your needy whimpering along with the look in your glossy eyes to just fuck you stupid can’t be simply ignored. The sounds coming out of you were raucous and lewd, not even caring that the people in the cabana next to you might hear your skins hitting each other. Or they probably had—either way, no one can stop you from fucking like wild animals in heat that the bed is so close to breaking.

Your tits were bouncing along the incessant pounding of his cock inside your cunt, your pussy is so perfect for him—and for him only, he fucks you with the thought that he’s the only one who can make you feel like this, dumb and filled to the brim with his fat cock. That alone could make him cum, the thought and the feeling of your pussy bracing his cock. Oh god, it was definitely heaven.

It was perfect, so damn perfect. He stared at your fucked out face while rutting his dick inside you—harder and faster, “Pretty… f-fuck your pussy feels so good, baby.”

You can’t even form comprehensible words, you were so out of your mind that you can’t even tell who you are. You were so insensible that you didn’t even know you were cumming until you felt that tingling sensation on your lower abdomen, traveling down to your cunt to your limbs. He was fucking you with juices seeping out of your pussy uncontrollably.

“Mhm— ‘m cumming! Haru!” you whimpered, gripping his forearm as you feel your cunt getting sensitive with each thrusts, “Ah—Ngghh! Haru—chiyo-”

“Fuck, I’m cumming.” he groaned, pushing his body to yours then he buried his face on your neck—biting and nibbling on your skin. “Fuck fuck, feels so good. Hah—I love you.”

He forcefully slammed his cock inside, his thick cum spurting out of his dick into your velvet walls. Both panting, you looked at each other with a satisfied smile on your face, the alcohol wearing out of your system. “I love you, Haru.”

He kisses every part of your facial features, landing last on your soft lips before giving you an answer, “You know I love you most.”

…

After that mind-numbing sex you had with your husband, naturally, you would fall asleep with you in his arms and when you wake up—you’re still in that position you were the night before—but not today, you woke up with you alone in that bed, craving his arms wrapped around you lovingly.

You looked at the clock and saw that it was three in the morning already, you reached for your phone and sent him texts as to where he is but to no avail, there were no answers.

You decided to get up and find him yourself, you even went to the cottage since you thought that he might be there with your friends but the only people there were the Haitani brothers and Kokonoi.

“He didn't come here?”

Rindou shook his head, “Hm. The last we saw him was when you two left together.”

Of course, you’re a bit worried. It’s late, you don't even know where he is. You thanked Rindou and wandered around the resort looking for your nowhere to be found husband—and you wish you didn't.

You just wished that you didn't wake up from that sleep, you hoped that you should’ve stayed in your room and waited for him to come back—or will he? Will he still come back after this?

Just how dumb are you?

Instead of coming to him, you sent him a text and turned around to walk wherever your feet bring you.

“Hey.” the torpid look on Yuzuha’s face was exchanged with worry once she saw fat tears rolling down your cheeks. She didn't even mind that her head was killing her. “What happened? Why are you crying—come in here.”

The moment that she pulled you close to her was the high sign for you to sob, gripping on her shirt so tightly—just like how your heart was bearing right at this moment.

It felt like a thousand needles were pricking your heart, it was like someone is ripping it apart then brings it back together only to rip it again in front of you.

“Hey, tell me what’s wrong.” Yuzuha says once again as she tries to calm you down but whatever you do you can't shake this tormenting feeling burning your chest.

It was so damn painful that you couldn't even speak without gasping for air, your cries were enough to make Yuzuha feel the distress herself—she didn't even need to know the reason—all she knows is, it was so hard listening to you weep your eyes out.

“I…” you paused, hiccuping—your face was still buried on Yuzuha’s neck, arms still latching on to her as if you were a kid telling her mother that you’ve picked on or had your heart broken by this one man that you love, “He’s… he’s with Naomi and…”

“And what?” Yuzuha asked softly, “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it, you can just cry and I’ll list—”

You bit your lip as the image you saw earlier popped on your mind once again, it was so gut-wrenching, so excruciating that you just wanted to pull your heart out so that you couldn't feel the hurt.

It’s funny how you were the one in that position earlier—it was so funny that you wanted to laugh at yourself for thinking that you’re the only one who gets to do that.

“They’re kissing, Yuzuha.”

+ see you again taglist. @hanmascult @ryouhoe @fl4mepillar @meena-in-a-nutshell @haruphilia @hxked @xxrwzy @sophiesuna @douraken @mapachemapato @kawaii-desv @eriskaitto @smolaf-filipino @hanmasgf @mitsuika @lustiel-winchester @cryszus @babydiamondblog @sseorin @k0ut4r0u @bbloblobb @gulfkfl

+ tokyo revengers taglist. @cosmiclvsh @tojisqueen @imnotjo @r-xochitl @bekky06 @toshiswifey @ninetyeightrins @litle-crow @n-nara @hollowpurpl @iiclal @miyuuuuuposts @haitanilove @aclairysm @awkcasted @yukie35 @Prettylily @chronic-claire-universe @inupiko @chosoisbaby @marixxi @spaceemeeat @shizukuusagii @amaejiki @parca-de-destinos @kuraries @missysimpy @a-astxr @fr00g1es @gwynsapphire @kookie-my-little-sunshine @kqtsukisgf @angtsumu @cakenchill @madarasgf

[ssuckitlosers]

Honestly, essays have just fried my brain this year, I cannot string two words together to make a coherent point mfg 😂😂😂

I still have thoughts about hetalia but even in my head they have this energy lmao

Like I wrote that old headcanon about France and England being two sides of the same of coin, I think in reference to manipulation??? (I think that could be expanded to how they generally conduct themselves socially, which I should probably write down before I forget it lmao)

But so are England and America except for a totally separate coin, I might’ve mentioned that before somewhere. Like we can agree that Alfred and Arthur are kinda similar right? I mean I could ramble about how usuk and pruk are opposites that attract but in different senses but ahem. I feel like Alfred and are different sides of the same coin in how to handle situations/their outlooks. I have extensively thought about this lmao but I highly doubt I ever wrote any of it down so I’ll need to regather those thoughts because I had that articulated to a fine art in my head at some point 😂😂😂

And so are England and Prussia! They’re analytical, I feel like their both very good figuring out a situation but in totally different way.

Goddddd I want to talk about themmmmm but it would require at least like three separate posts to be neat/stand alone and well articulated. And ngl I do kinda just want to ramble about Alfred, Arthur and Gilbert’s similarities and differences in what would undoubtedly be one clusterfuck of a post ahhahahah

[yonymii]

2 arabesques

a/n; this one was hard to write bc I did it while having writers block but I hope it's ok!! I love alisa a lot she is lovely and I would marry her if she was real 🥰🥰😍😁😁 also I got very absorbed like, halfway through so y/ns personality is basically me. yes

wc; 3.9k

warnings; cursing,

genre; fluff, strangers/friends to lovers, romance

pairing; alisa haiba x gn!reader

listen to 2 arabesques here!

She reminded you of the old paintings of angels you’d seen in art galleries as a child. It was weird, seeing something so ethereal reincarnate as a university student. She didn’t belong here; she belonged on a pedestal, deserved to be adored. But life was unfair, you supposed, and not everyone could experience the excitement of such an elaborate life. Perhaps that was why she was studying fashion modeling in the first place (whatever that was). You’d probably never know. She had absolutely no idea who you were.

By the time you’d stopped daydreaming, your final class of the day was over and everyone had left. Only you were left in the lecture hall, sitting at the very back with your head resting ontop of your arms, the shuffling of the professor packing up his things quickly making tiny little noises at the front of the room. He left, the door swinging shut behind him, but it wasn’t locked. 

It didn’t take you long to pack up, seeing as your laptop hadn’t left your bag in the first place. You swung it over your shoulder after your coat, tucking your hands into the sleeves to protect them from the bite of the wind. It had been snowing when you arrived in the morning, and it took and hour to wake up your fingers to be able to type, let alone write anything. 

The hallways were quiet (as usual; it wasn’t as if anyone wanted to stay in school when they didn’t need to). The little shop on the ground floor had a few students in it, but they were in a hurry to leave too. The large exit doors had obviously been open all day and it was absolutely freezing. You were glad you’d put on your big coat in the morning; it was a long walk back to your apartment and you planned on going to a coffee shop before going there.

It had stopped snowing, but the ground was covered in puddles and your boots and feet got soaked in numbingly cold water as you wandered towards the place you usually studied. It was slowly getting darker as you walked and the sun was lowering itself below the tall line of skyscrapers and apartment blocks when you entered the coffee shop and joined the small queue of teenagers and tired-looking adults ordering their drinks. 

It was quiet inside but you were thankful for the warmth the heaters provided, and the low hum of voices under the music wasn’t unwelcome; you payed for your drink quickly and went to sit at your usual spot, the two-seater table in the corner. There was a small, dim light hanging above your head and it lit the space in a soft, golden glow, unlike the rest of the coffee shop that was lit by streetlamps outside. The moon was hid behind a building, only half of it visible, but you still found yourself staring at it for an unnecessary amount of time. It reminded you of her; your friend’s friend. The girl studying fashion modeling. 

To be quite honest, you didn’t see her that often, so it was a mystery as to why she plagued your mind so often. Apparently, her brother played volleyball for a highschool called Nekoma (albeit not very well), and she was half Russian. Not that it mattered to you, though. You supposed that you’d like her anyway. 

Suddenly, you found yourself snapped out of your little trance by the waiter bringing your mug to the table and setting it down a little too loudly. He walked away quickly, avoiding any sort of contact with you, but you weren’t bothered by it. You were focused on your book so the lack of conversation wasn’t disappointing in the slightest. The bell at the door rung again, and because of the small distraction of your drink arriving you raised your head to see who it was, somewhat begrudgingly, despite it being completely of your own accord.

Your eyes were met with a pair of stark green ones that seemed to go right through you; you shivered, not because they were unfriendly. Admittedly, you knew who she was, but your frank lack of energy made it hard to want to communicate with anyone, and so you pretended not to see her, looking back down at your book and swiftly burying yourself in the pages, as if you were trying to hide from her.

You knew your efforts were futile though. She was almost too nice, and it wasn’t like she knew you were already half-asleep and probably weren’t able to form a coherent sentence. At this point, you weren’t even reading. The words were going right over your head. 

You heard her footsteps before her voice, and you didn’t even need to look up to know she was smiling. “Y/n!”. Too loud. You tried not to wince to noticeably.

“Hey, Alisa,” you managed to spit a greeting out. You weren’t sure what you thought about her at this point. You were tired, and it was late, and you had so many essays due that you doubted you’d get more than an hour of sleep over the next few days. Yeah, sure, you loved her but you were so overwhelmed you didn’t think you’d be able to handle talking to one more person. Emotions were confusing (especially when you considered yourself to be in love, whatever that felt like).

“How have you been?”, her voice was like silk, and you had to wait a moment to process what she was saying. Alisa continued, “I haven’t seen you since last month! How have you been?” she looked down at your book, then at your bag that barely held all the paper assigments from your classes. She laughed (the same laugh that gave you heart palpitations. This  was the reason she wasn’t good for you) “You look busy.”

You laughed (it was sort of forced, but that isn’t the point), “Yeah. School tends to keep you busy,” you paused, adding shakily, “I’m used to it, though. Don’t worry about me!” 

The blonde girl frowned as she watched you panic, your eyes darting everywhere but her. It was hard not to worry when you watch someone you consider a friend fall apart in the back corner of a coffee shop. She tried her best to ignore it though, and as soon as you managed to look back at her she continued the conversation.

“I don’t think we have each other’s numbers yet, y/n. Do you mind exchanging? Maybe we could go out together sometime, since i have to get home and look after Lev,” she sighed, and her eyes closed momentarily, “He’s a bit of a handful. For a fifteen-year-old.”

You didn’t have the energy to feel sorry for her but you let her enter her number into your phone, and she listened attentively when you told her yours to make sure she didn’t get it wrong and end up texting a random stranger to make plans. After you watched her leave, take-out cup of coffee in hand, you lay your head on the darkening pages of your book, ear pressed to the paper. You closed your eyes for a moment and then sat up, breathing deeply as you drank the rest of your tea. You closed your book, tucking it into the bottom of your bag and standing up, patting your coat pocket to check that your phone was still in there. 

It was pitch-black when you stepped outside, and the streetlamps made you squint and cover your eyes with one hand; your apartment wasn’t too far away but it was cold and taxis were easy. You flagged one down and climbed into the back, sitting directly behind the driver (it made you feel safer anyway), and you put in your headphones. 

The drive passed quickly, and as soon as you paid for the journey and exited the car you began to walk briskly up the stairs to your place. Your keys were in the same pocket as your phone, and you pulled them out wearily, pushing the silver one into the lock and turning it till you heard the familiar click. 

The door felt extra heavy tonight, and your bag dropped to the floor just as quickly as you dropped onto your bed. The lights were too bright to turn on but the fairy lights lining the walls were fine; you opted for them as you dropped your thick coat next to your bag and shoes. Closing the window from the freezing cold and switching on the little heater, you crawled into bed and let the warmth envelop you. You fell asleep in mere seconds, ignoring the loud vibrations from your phone carry across the room. 

-

Most of the time, when you don’t want to reply to someone’s message or call them back, you just pretend to have not read it or noticed in the first place. It was weird, leaving the notification there, just to remind yourself that she texted you first. When you’d exchanged numbers the previous week, you just assumed that you’d be the first one to reach out. That’s how it had been with every other friend you’d made. You weren’t disappointed; in fact, you were grateful. You hated having to initiate conversations, however you still felt bad for not replying. 

It had been five days since Alisa first messaged you, three since the second time, and fifteen minutes since the last. The latest one read ‘I’m coming over. Be about 20 minutes!’. 

You sighed, reading it once more and then turning your brightness down. Just because you hadn’t replied to any of her texts didn’t mean you weren’t ok. The music barely reached your ears since you were buried so deep under your covers, but that was fine. You weren’t really listening to it anyways.

There was a knock at the door. You didn’t think that the person on the other side realised how thin it was, but you definitely heard them sigh and let out a string of curses after you didn’t reply. It was Alisa, but you knew that. Nobody else would want to check in on you. The doorknob rattled and you winced; too loud. It opened, a little quieter this time, and slowly, the covers were peeled off of your figure. Alisa sighed (again. How sick of you could she possibly be? You only got back in touch less that six days ago) and looked down at you with disdain. 

“You need to get up. Have you missed any classes?” you shook you head in response to her questions. You couldn’t miss classes. It’s not as if you found them particularly difficult. Just a little boring, that’s all. 

You closed your eyes, tapping your fingers against the mattress. The blinds had been opened and now the evening light was pouring into your room unfiltered. Alisa grabbed your wrist gently, pulling you up painfully slowly. You groaned, rubbing your eyes and patting her hand to let her know you can sit up on your own. 

You opened your eyes somewhat begrudgingly, squinting from the still too-bright light. Alisa was stood at your small fridge, rifling through whatever food was left in there. She pulled out a half-full bottle of milk and a packet of ham. “Do you not uhh,” she paused, “have any… other kinds of food? Or is your diet limited to milk and ham sandwiches?” 

“I usually get takeout. Or ham sandwiches. Sort of depends how lazy i’m feeling on that day.” She turned and smiled at you, nodded her head back towards the door. “We can go to mine. I have ‘good’ food there. Lev needs feeding anyways.”. You grinned, “I thought Lev was fifteen?” 

“Yeah, but he’s still incompetent. I’ll teach him to cook later, when i’m not taking care of you.”

You looked down at your lap, and then at the pair of shoes on the floor next to your bed. Sliding them on, you stood, looking at Alisa for approval. “You look fine. When was the last time you changed?”

You hesitated, thinking for a moment, “A few hours ago, when i got back from class.” You grabbed the brush on the bedside table and combed through your hair a few times, evening it out from the mess it was a minute ago. “C’mon,” Alisa opened the door, “Don’t forget your keys! I doubt you wanna get locked out, right?”

-

Alisa’s house was big. She was lucky not to have to live in student accommodation, in all honesty. When you sat down on her large sofa, you heard the voices of two adults nearing. You weren’t sure what to think at this point. You and Alisa barely knew each other, and she’d come to your apartment, dragged you out of bed, invited you into her home where her whole family was. 

“Alisa, darling? Have you brought a friend over?” 

You saw her nod out of the corner of your eye as she made your meal, humming quietly to the tune of the music. There were loud, fast footsteps in the corridor that her parents had exited and looking up, you saw a lanky grey-haired boy with the same stark green eyes as her. He was almost as tall as the ceiling, and when he entered the room he had to duck to get through the threshold. You assumed this was Lev, Alisa’s high school age brother. Volleyball boy. Whatever. He was unimportant, and you were hungry. 

“Ah! Lyovochka! Are your teammates here? Do they want food?” she didn’t look up from the kitchen counter as she spoke but Lev nodded, running back to ask his friends if they wanted food. (He never came back to give any sort of answer, though)

“So!” the sudden appearance of Alisa’s mother was unexpected. She was just as pretty as her daughter, but very obviously older. “What’s your name?”

You stuttered, panicking slightly, avoiding any possible eye contact. You looked to Alisa for help, and caught her gaze as she hurried over, sitting next to you. “This is y/n, mom. We met a while ago but i invited her over for lunch today,” she looked at you and patted your thigh, trying to calm you down slightly, “We might go out to the city later, if that’s okay with them.”

Alisa’s mother raised her eyebrows at your unwillingness to speak; maybe she thought you were being rude, but you didn’t have the capacity to worry about that right now. “Nice to meet you, y/n.” You nodded, slightly dizzy from being so overwhelmed but trying to be as polite as possible nonetheless. Alisa’s dad was stood behind the sofa, a large cup of what you assumed to be tea inbetween his hands. 

Alisa stood and ushered her parents away, towards the door. “Were you going out?” they nodded, grabbing bags and phones on the way out, “We’ll see you later, then!” Her father tried protesting, but Alisa reassured them that Lev was completely fine while you and her were here. 

Once the door was closed, Alisa looked back at you apologetically. “Sorry about them! They can be a little overbearing sometimes.” she gave you a small smile and pulled out two plates. “I think that’s an understatement.” you replied quietly. 

She laughed loudly, earning a smile from you. “I’m glad you’re okay now though.” she looked at you, smile instantly gone from her face. “You are okay, right?” You nodded, and she relaxed, serving your food onto the plates and bringing them round to the coffee table you were sat facing. “It might be a little hot. Wait a bit before you try it.”

You picked up your plate and put it onto your lap, the warmth of it heating your legs, as if the heat of the room wasn’t already enough. Your face felt warm and your hands shook slightly as you reached to pick up the food; you were either hungry or nervous. It was probably best to not think about it too much.

Alisa was staring at the TV that was sat on a polished wooden desk by the wall, her eyes mirroring the images from the screen. From the looks of it, she was watching a documentary on animals in the arctic, probably one you’d seen before. You weren’t looking at it, but the narrator’s voice sounded familiar and when you were little you’d watch stuff like that constantly, sometimes the same one over and over again until you got bored of it then moved on to the next one (which you’d also - metaphorically - beat half to death and then abandon)

After your meal, the two of you were still, to your displeasure, sat it silence. Alisa had turned the show off and was now sat reading a book and you were fiddling with your hands, waiting for her to notice you and let you go home (really, you could leave any moment, but you didn’t want to say anything first). 

You stood up upon hearing Lev shouting from what you assumed was his room, and Alisa’s head immediately snapped up. She checked the time on the clock above the kitchen counter, and gasped, looking at you apologetically. 

“Gosh! Y/n, you should have told me it was so late! I’ll walk you home.”

You shook your head, and the blonde girl in front of you sighed. “Are you sure? It’s getting dark. At least let me call you a taxi, ok?”. You hummed out a noise of approval and she picked up her phone that had been resting precariously on the arm of the sofa. 

As she was speaking to the person on the other end of the line, (a series of yeses followed by her address and then your street. You smiled, tapping your chest and then sliding your arms into the sleeves of your jacket. She opened the door for you and the taxi pulled into her drive as you stepped out of the threshold; you waved at her, thanking her for your stay, and then wandered over to the taxi, sitting in your usual seat (behind the driver) and she only closed the door of her home when the car drove off. Your phone buzzed; ‘text me when you get home safe, ok! -Alisa <3’.    

-

The next month was January.

The holiday season had passed without you seeing Alisa once, except for in a corner shop once, where you pretended not to see her but ended up being approached anyways. That time there was a pink coating her porcelain skin (you weren’t sure whether it was makeup, the cold or an actual blush, but you opted for the last one to satisfy yourself somewhat).

You sort of wished that you’d been able to spend the holidays with her, though. Sometimes, you found yourself thinking about her unconsciously. It was weird, but you ignored it. Stuff like that seemed like a lot of effort to you, and you were not notorious for being invested in relationships, platonic or romantic. 

You only had one class today, and after that you saw her in the hallways. She’d obviously had a class in the same building of you, and as usual, you pretended not to have seen her. You just kept walking, coffee in hand, eyes on the floor. Again, like the first time you’d really talked, you heard her footsteps approaching and accepted your fate. 

“Y/n! Hey!” she kept walking after you; you buried your face into your scarf and tried to get yourself to stop but it felt like your feet were moving on their own. Why were you ignoring her? You liked her, for god’s sake! You barely knew her, you should be using moments like these to get to know her better! What the hell were you doing?

Her hand landed on your shoulder and pulled you back. By now, the pair of you were outside, and your feet were crunching over newly layed snow. It was coming down thickly, you had to squint to see her properly. She looked tired, and her face was pale in comparison to the pink of the tip of her nose and her ears. It was cold, after all, and she didn’t have a scarf of hat or anything. You wanted to lend her yours; that was what people who were close did, wasn’t it? Why did she look so bedraggled anyway? 

“Y/n, seriously, stop.” 

You frowned, confused. You looked sad? And why would she care anyways? You weren’t close, and you could see her friends looking on from the steps of the building. The snow was catching in her hair and it felt like time had stopped; she really did look unreal. “I didn’t know you cared about me so much, Alisa. We’re not close, and we barely ever talk.”

It looked like she was about to cry. Maybe it was the cold?

“I don’t need a reason to care about you, y/n!” she reached a hand up to rub her eyes, “I can’t seem to stop thinking about you, and it’s driving me crazy!” she pointed to her friends on the steps, “They know it!” she was shouting now, and the wind seemed to whistle even louder in your ears, “Everyone else seems to know i’m in love with you except you! And i’m sorry if i didn’t make it obvious enough for you.”

At this point your brain was going overdrive to process what she’d just told you. You knew you probably looked stupid just standing there and staring at he but what else could you do? This wasn’t exactly how you’d pictured your evening going, and despite receiving confessions before this one felt different; you felt like your heart was on fire. It burned, and you were out of breath despite standing completely still. Alisa reached out and took your freezing cold hand into her own. She was surprisingly warm, and there were tears dripping off of her chin onto her coat. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that, you probably never felt the same way. Like you said, right? We barely even know each other.”

You stepped forward (again, it felt like you weren’t in control of your own feet) and with the hand Alisa wasn’t holding, cupped her cold cheek. She looked back at you and you could see her friends out of the corner of your eyes chewing the inside of their cheeks. It was embarrassing to say the least, but necessary. Alisa sniffed, and you looked back down at the ground, shaking your head. “No that’s not what i..” you tried to make your voice louder, “I just didn’t expect you to also feel like that.” 

She laughed (it was probably the most beautiful noise you’d ever had the pleasure of hearing) and leaned in so that your foreheads were touching, her pretty smile still adorning her lips. “I’m glad,” she whispered, and the burning of your cheeks felt like a blazing fire across your face. 

“Call me later, ok?” you nodded as she moved her face away, hand leaving yours reluctantly. “We can go out sometime. If it’s uhh.. okay with you, of course.” You giggled, and Alisa waved, her friends running after her (also giggling and patting Alisa’s head in what looked like celebration). It had stopped snowing, and the sun was shining through the clouds in a golden evening glow, lighting up the city marvellously. You decided to walk home today.

tags; @chqrryvelvet @wissbby

[duskholland]

the 100 ways to say Iove you list - #82 for Peter

82 - ‘I was in the neighbourhood’

masterlist

[-----]

It’s all going wrong.

First off, your presentation in chem was a complete and utter disaster, thanks to your partner’s inability to read over your slides beforehand you took to the floor. Then, someone ran into you in the cafeteria and covered you in their lunch - right in front of your crush’s table. And just when it couldn’t get any worse, your history teacher reminded you that you have an essay due tomorrow - an essay you had completely forgotten about - so you had to cancel your plans with your crush, a really cute boy called Peter Parker, to spend your afternoon bent over dusty books in the library, rushing an essay that’s worth 50% of your final grade. He probably hates you now, and it’s also likely you’ll fail both history and chemistry, and everything just sucks.

You can’t help but cry a little as you walk home. It’s a cold and dark evening in New York, and the bitter tears that roll down your cheeks burn icy cold. The streets are quiet, and you’re glad because if you had to put up with the sympathetic grimaces of strangers, you think that’d push you over the edge.

You’re miserable and shivering and upset, but your solitude doesn’t last long. As you cross over a road and turn a corner, you startle to see a figure standing there, right in your way, staring straight at you as if he’s been waiting for you. But it’s not just a normal person - oh, no, that would be far too simple. The man standing in your path is disguised beneath an iconic red and blue suit that takes your breath away. It’s…

“Spider-Man?!” You exclaim, voice squeaking. You quickly wipe the tears from your eyes as you stare at New York’s favourite hero, your heart leaping in your chest.

“Hi there,” he greets. His voice is high and cute, and you get the strange sense that you’ve heard him speak before. “I was in the neighbourhood and I heard you crying. Are you okay?”

You’re so shocked that it takes you a moment to string together any coherent words. “I, uh, Spider-Man? Um, yeah. Yeah, sorry. I’m fine. Just having a bad day, I guess.” Your words tumble together as you gape at him, but what happens next really takes you off guard.

He opens his arms and beckons your forward. “Do you want a hug?” He offers.

You’re glad that your body moves on natural impulse, otherwise you would’ve been trapped staring at him forever. His warm arms wrap around your figure and your face goes to nestle in his shoulder, and suddenly - fuck - you’re hugging Spider-Man?

“What is happening,” you mumble to yourself, but he chuckles too. You close your eyes and take a quiet, shuddering breath as your tears finally stop, and you let him comfort you. There’s something really familiar about his hold and his stature, but you have so many other things to focus on that you don’t dwell on that for too long. Rather, you just enjoy being held.

“I’ll walk you home,” he offers, after a few minutes of softly rubbing over your back. You peel yourself away from him, your body sagging a little at the loss of heat as a concerned expression replaces your one of bliss.

“Oh, no, really it’s okay. You, uh, probably have better things to do than comfort me.” You can’t help but feel warm embarrassment run to your cheeks as you gaze away, suddenly a little bashful.

Spider-Man reaches out and grabs at your hand, and when he squeezes softly, you feel your heart skip a beat. “I have nothing better to do,” he promises. “Talk to me,” he asks.

And you reluctantly agree to it. His hand stays in yours as you continue on your way, and the contact feels so nice that it makes you feel giddy. “Stupid day,” you say. You recount your experiences, ending angrily with, “-and so now Peter probably hates me because this is the second time I’ve cancelled on him.”

“Peter doesn’t hate you,” Spider-Man consoles, squeezing your hand softly.

You smile weakly. “That’s nice of you to say, but you don’t know him,” you say.

Spider-Man shrugs. “I don’t have to. I know you’re nice and kind and funny, and anyone would be lucky to have you.”

Your smile stretches wider. “Thanks, Spider-Man,” you say, voice quiet. You look up and realise you’re back at your apartment, and your heart falters slightly in your chest. “This is me.”

He drops your hand and steps back, rubbing his hands together. “Take care, Y/N. Have a nice evening.” And before you can question how he knows your name, he’s leapt up into the sky and he’s gone.

You puzzle over his familiarity for a few moments before you’re distracted by the vibrations of your phone buzzing in your pocket. You pull it out slowly, your mind’s cogs whirring at a thousand miles an hour as you try to process everything that’s happened, and then find your eyes widening as you take in the messages flashing up on the screen.

Peter Parker: hey would you want to go out on a date with me sometime?

Peter Parker: no pressure or anything

Peter Parker: just let me know :)

A smile splits over your face. Meeting Spider-Man and getting asked out by Peter?

Maybe today hasn’t been as terrible as it had first appeared.

[knopeleslie]

applying for jobs literally makes me want to die lol

[rocksandrobots]

Of Rocks and Robots Ch. 17 - Moving

Aunt Cass very nearly tipped over the bar stool she had been sitting on as she rushed to the door. 

“Varian!” She exclaimed and flung her arms around the bedraggled boy in relief. 

Guilt pained Varian like a knife. He had been anxious the whole trip back, unsure how he would handle being reprimanded again. He had walked into the Luck Cat fully expecting another lecture and the sight of both Professor Granville and Officer Cruz had only heightened his anxiety. Instead he was met with a tearful hug. Apparently Aunt Cass had been crying when they had entered the cafe, and according to Hiro, she had been crying since he’d disappeared last night. 

“I’m...I’m s-sorry.” He sputtered. “I was just trying to earn some money I’d... I didn’t mean to...I didn’t want to hurt any-” 

He cut his apology short when he felt Aunt Cass wrap her arms tighter around him. She gave him a comforting squeeze to tell him it was alright, but that only made him cry all the more. Why was she being so nice to him? After all the trouble he had caused her, she should be furious at him. But she wasn’t mad at all, just relieved that he was alright. 

When she finally released him from her embrace, Aunt Cass cupped his face in her hands and brushed away his tears using her thumbs. She gave him a warm smile as she sniffled and blinked back tears of her own. However, that smile fell away as she studied his face more intently, which quickly turned into a full on inspection. 

He was covered in dirt, his clothes were still damp in places, and his hair was more disheveled than usual. She picked a twig from his bangs and gave him a concerned look. 

“Where were you?” She asked and Varian felt his cheeks grow hot as he realized how ridiculous his decisions from last night had been. 

“We found him in Muirahara Woods, '' Hiro explained. 

“The woods?” Cass echoed. “You were in the woods all night?” 

All Varian could do was nod sheepishly. 

Aunt Cass looked appalled. 

“When’s the last time you ate?” Was her next question.

Varian thought for a moment. He hadn’t expected that question. “Uh...I had an apple for lunch yesterday.” 

This only horrified Aunt Cass further. She grabbed him by the hand and pulled him over to the closest table. Then she went over to the counter and grabbed a sandwich from the display cooler, nabbed a plate, and poured him a glass of milk. 

Varian didn’t really feel like eating, his stomach was still tied up in knots, but there was no point in protesting. Aunt Cass was insistent and he had already caused enough of a scene. So Varian sat down and forced himself to eat.

He had to admit that the chicken salad sandwich she had made was delicious, and that he had been going hungry for several hours now, but he couldn’t relish the meal. As he sullenly chewed on his food guilt gnawed at his insides and an uncomfortable silence befell the cafe. His friends tried to dispel the awkwardness by joining him at the table and a few even ordered food for themselves so that they could eat with him, but it did little to uplift the pensive mood. 

Aunt Cass served everyone but constantly came back to Varian to hover over him. She would straighten his collar, wipe a smudge of dirt from his cheek, or run her fingers through his hair to tidy it up. It was as if she was afraid he would disappear again and so found excuses to fret over him in order to remind herself that he was really there safe and sound. 

Varian didn’t know how to feel about this new attention. No one had ever fussed over him in such a manner. Perhaps his own mother had when he was little, but he had only been six when she’d died and therefore couldn’t remember much. On the one hand, he felt even more self conscious now than he had when he'd first entered the restaurant. On the other hand, he couldn’t deny that it was comforting to be treated with care and kindness instead of the contempt other adults had given him when he was last in need. 

“Cass,” Chief Cruz interrupted them, “can we have a word with you?” 

Aunt Cass stopped in the middle of refilling his drink and looked towards Cruz and Granville. They had been standing patiently off the side while she had mothered over the teens.

“Oh yes, right. I almost forgot. I’ll meet you both in the kitchen.” She told them. “I’ll be right back. If any of you need anything just holler.” She instructed the gang and then, much to Varian’s surprise, she gave both Hiro and him a quick kiss on top of their heads before walking off. As if he had been her own child, the same as Hiro. 

Varian watched all three adults walk away in increasing alarm and confusion. Usually grown ups discussing things out of earshot of you meant something was wrong and he'd just recently screwed up big time. Plus Aunt Cass’s recent behavior had knocked him for a loop and he no longer knew what to expect. Were they leaving to discuss his punishment or figuring out how to keep him from leaving again? It had to be something to do with him but he didn’t know what. He looked at his friends questioningly but they only shrugged, equally confused. 

By the time the adults returned, Varian was sick to his stomach with worry and he wasn’t sure if the food he’d just eaten had helped or not. 

“Varian,” Aunt Cass stepped forward as if to make some sort of announcement, “Officer Cruz, Professor Granville, and I have been talking about yesterday and we’ve come to a very important decision.” 

That didn’t sound good. 

“Do you want us to leave?” Honey Lemon asked helpfully. 

“No, this concerns some of you as well.” 

Everyone shared worried glances at that. 

Aunt Cass took a deep breath and slowly continued on, “In light of what’s happened, we don’t think you should be living in the dorms anymore.” 

“You’re kicking me out of school?” Varian wailed, terrified. 

“Certainly not!” Granville interjected, “And don’t forget you still have an essay on Einstein's photoelectric effect due on Monday. I fully expect to see it on my desk in the morning.”

Varian had forgotten actually, but he was less concerned with homework at the moment and more concerned with where all of this was going. At least the professor’s usual no nonsense attitude eased his fears of being expelled. 

“A college roommate isn’t enough of an authority figure to be watching over a sixteen year old,” Cruz put in, annoyed, only to notice Wasabi standing across from him, and added apologetically, “No offense.”

Wasabi held up his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, none taken.” He assured the police officer.

Wasabi liked Varian just fine, but he had to admit that the past month of living with him had been stressful. He’d had his fill of trying to halfway parent someone who was only three years younger than himself. 

“Varian,” Aunt Cass bent down to look him in the eye. “I don’t ever want you to feel like you’re not welcome here, or that you can’t come to me or another adult for help and I’m sorry if what I said in the car last night upset you.” 

“No,” Varian’s voice cracked, “no, I’m sorry I ran away.” 

‘Why did you run away, Varian?” 

“I...my dad...and the arrest.” He couldn’t coherently string together words. He couldn’t explain to her what was going on and he tried to look away from her gaze.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Aunt Cass soothed as she stroked his face with the back of her hand to gain his attention once more. “Professor Granville explained to me what’s going on, about your father and what you’ve been through. You don’t have to talk about it right now if you don’t want to.” 

Varian looked first to Granville and then back to Aunt Cass in confusion, and so did the rest of the gang. How much had the Professor given away?

“I’m sorry Varian,” Granville spoke up, ”I know what you said to me was in confidence, but Officer Cruz needed to know about your past record.” She paused to give the officer an irritated look. “However, no one is blaming you. It’s not easy being a refugee from a former soviet country.” 

The heroes clued in on her hint and kept silent as Aunt Cass picked back up the conversion, unaware that they were hiding anything. 

“Those things should never have happened to you.” Aunt Cass told Varian, her own voice now cracking with emotion. “But, without your father around, you need some sort of guardian to look after you.” She took a deep breath to steady herself before announcing her big decision. 

“That’s why I would like to become your foster parent.” 

Everyone looked at her in surprise. Varian glanced over at Hiro who appeared to be even more shocked than the rest of their friends. This was just as much news to him as it was to Varian. Aunt Cass stood back up and reached her arm out to her nephew, motioning him to come join her. He did so and found himself wrapped up in a half hug as she continued to speak with Varian. 

“We would love for you to come live with us here at the Luck Cat.” She smiled. Hiro took a moment more to process what was happening before also giving his own strained smile

“Yeah, of course you’re welcome here.” He agreed. 

His voice sounded cheerful, but Varian could tell that he was still reeling from the decision the same as he was. Varian wanted to decline the offer and spare them both the trouble. Besides, he was only just starting to get used to living in the dorms, and he would now have to upend his life for what would be a third time in less than two months. However, the serious faces of Cruz and Granville told him that he didn’t have much choice in the matter. 

Varian swallowed hard before slowly nodding his head in agreement. 

“Alright.” He said, but his own voice sounded small and far away to him. He barely remembered what happened next. His mind was a blur as everything seemed to be happening at once. 

There were discussions on what to do next; who would sleep where, when he should start packing, and a list of rules and other things that would be expected of him once he moved in. The adults talked about paperwork and formal records while his friends tried to offer optimistic words of encouragement to ease both his and Hiro's discomfort. But for Varian it was too much to take in at one time. 

Fortunately things started to wind down as one by one everyone started to leave. Cruz stated that he was glad that Varian was safe before going back to the station to call off the search party. Granville mentioned that she would gather up the forms that were needed and help Aunt Cass finalize everything as she walked out the door. And finally, Varian himself left, along with Wasabi. It was agreed that he could spend one more night at the dormitories before the move. He heaved a sigh of relief as soon as he was able to escape. Though as he and Wasabi drove away in his car, Varian knew that it was only a temporary respite from the awkwardness.

                                                      -----------------

Hiro stood by while his aunt busied herself with making up Varian’s bed. It had been decided that the other teen would sleep in the ‘guest bedroom’, which was really more of a small office space that Aunt Cass kept a fold-up rolling bed in. She wanted to clean it up and make everything ready before Varian came to stay with them tomorrow. 

Hiro helped where he could, like grabbing things from the attic, taking out the trash, or handing her the sheets as she made the bed up, but for the most part he tried to stay out of her way as she went into a cleaning frenzy. Still he made sure to stay nearby in case she called for him to give her a hand with anything. More importantly though, he just didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts. 

He was still stunned by her announcement today. He understood why this was happening, but at  the same time it was still a major change to all of their lives and he didn’t know what to say or how to process his feelings about it. 

Aunt Cass, however, sensed his discomfort.

“I’m sorry, about not talking to you earlier,” she said as she tucked a sheet corner under the mattress, “about what’s going on. I know this is a big change and it’s all very sudden, and that you didn’t get a chance to have a say in the matter.” 

“It’s okay.” Hiro assured her. True the decision had caught him off guard, but he didn’t want to come across as being unreasonable or bratty by whining. Varian had been through a lot after all and Aunt Cass raising him was probably for the best. 

“No, it’s not okay.” Aunt Cass turned to him and sighed, "and it’s not fair to you. You deserve to know about things that’ll affect your life and if you’re upset you can tell me.” 

She gave him an apologetic smile, but Hiro didn’t respond to it. He didn’t know how to explain to her the swirl of confusing emotions tumbling through him at the moment. He didn’t even have words to identify most of them. 

She sighed again and continued on, “I don’t know how much Varian has told you, but it turns out that Corona isn’t as safe a place as here in San Fansokyo. He’s been through a lot, and he doesn’t have any family right now to take care of him. He may be staying here for quite some time, for the foreseeable future anyways, but,” She rested a hand upon Hiro’s shoulder," he needs us.” 

Hiro met her pleading eyes. She needed him to understand why this was important but mostly she needed him to support her decision. To let her know that this was okay and that she was doing the right thing. She had rushed in, yes, but what else was there to be done? Who else was there to help? 

“He told us, a little.” Hiro admitted. “About his dad being injured and about how he got sent to prison.” Aunt Cass bit her lip at the reminder of Varian’s time in jail, but remained silent and let Hiro continue. “Look, I understand, Aunt Cass, really. It’s...it’s fine. We’ll be fine. We’ll make it work somehow.” 

It was now Hiro’s turn to offer his aunt a small smile, one of encouragement. She returned it and tenderly swept his bangs to one side like she so often did. 

“Thank you,” She said,” Thank you for being so grown up about this. I’m very proud of you.” She gave him a peck on the cheek. “Now, let's get this room fixed up. I’ll grab the duster and you go get the furniture polish, okay.”

                                                       -----------------

Varian did a mental count of his belongings now splayed out upon the couch. He and Wasabi were packing up his things for the move tomorrow and he wanted to make sure that he left nothing behind. Not that he had that much stuff to keep up with. 

"Wasabi?" Varian asked.

"Hmm?" The older teen answered as he folded Varian's clothes neatly into a suitcase. 

"Do you think Aunt Cass would let me stay an extra night here?" 

"Why? That would put us making the move after school on Monday." Wasabi reasoned. 

Varian sighed and gave only a shrug in reply. He had no reason other than the fact he wanted to stay, but no one seemed to care about what he wanted. 

"Look, I know this is a major readjustment," Wasabi continued, "but the adults are right. You need a guardian." 

Varian desperately tried to suppress an eye roll. Yes, he had messed up yesterday, but that didn't mean he couldn't take care of himself. Surely his past was proof enough that he had what it took to live on his own, but now that the truth was out, well mostly out, everyone was even more insistent on coddling him. Varian didn't want to seem ungrateful, but he was starting to become irritated. 

"Can't I just… I don't know, come to you or Professor Granville if I need something?" 

"It doesn't work that way. Granville can't sign off on stuff or pay your bills, and I barely qualify as an adult. Besides we both know you don't listen to me anyways." 

"I listen," Varian protested, "sometimes," he then added after a pause. 

Wasabi gave him a stern look. 

Varian sighed in defeat. "It's just, I was just starting to like it here, alright." 

Wasabi's expression softened at that. "I get you. I'm going to miss having you around too. For what’s worth, you're the best roommate I've had since I started college. But hey, it's not like we won't ever see each other. We'll still meet up at school and such, and yeah you can probably still stay over sometimes. You just gotta get Aunt Cass's permission first." 

Wasabi turned back to his task of organizing Varian's suitcase when Ruddiger popped up from underneath the neatly stacked pile of clothes. The raccoon stood inside the luggage bag, paws outstretched, underwear caught on one ear, with an expression that suggested he was immensely proud of himself for pulling off his little prank. Wasabi fumed at the creature and picked Ruddiger up by the scruff of his neck. 

"Now you I shall not miss." He scolded as he pointed his finger accusingly at the raccoon. Who only huffed at him in response. He then handed Varian his pet before turning back to clean up the mess. 

"It's okay, buddy." Varian reassured as Ruddiger nuzzled his cheek. "You'll like it better at the Lucky Cat anyways. There's more room, and I saw a few other raccoons running around outside. Maybe you'll make a friend there, hun?" 

At least Aunt Cass was allowing him to keep Ruddiger. She had also offered him a part time job at the cafe, since his desire for spending cash is what had led to the whole bot fight fiasco in the first place. 

The only two things that she had requested of him, was that he would tell her where he was going when he went out, which given the circumstances, was fair, and that he would have to attend something called therapy. When asked what that was, Baymax had called it ‘a means of improving an individual's well-being and mental health using psychological methods’, and Hiro had said it just meant he’d have to talk to someone who was paid to listen to his problems. Varian still wasn’t sure what that entailed nor was he too keen on the idea of speaking to some stranger about his past and innermost feelings. He found opening up to people that he actually did like hard enough as it was.

“Hey Wasabi, have you ever gone to therapy?” He asked tentatively, finally giving voice to his thoughts. 

“Yeah, lots of times. In fact there’s a student counselor right here on campus that I see regularly.” He admitted. “I like to go to him sometimes when my OCD starts acting up again. Talking about it tends to help.” 

“OCD?”

“Uh, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, it’s a type of mental illness.” 

“You’re sick? And you didn’t tell me!?” Varian couldn’t stop the fear and concern creeping through his voice. True, this world had better medical treatments than his own, but that didn’t erase all the times he had known someone who had died from an illness, like his own mother for instance. 

“What!? No! Well, yeah. I mean... mental illness is still an illness but… but it’s not like that...” Wasabi stumbled over his words trying to explain the difference to the time displaced teen. “Look, think of it, like, owning a car.” 

Varian just stared blankly at him, not understanding what Wasabi was getting at, still worried over his friend’s health. 

“Your brain is a complex machine. You gotta treat it right. Make sure it’s well fueled, and recharged, and not making any clunky noises while you ride around. Sometimes that means you gotta go to a mechanic for a tune up, or in this case see a doctor to help you look under the hood and figure out what’s wrong. And sometimes what’s wrong can just be some minor thing that merely inconveniences you, like a busted headlight or a window that won’t roll up, and other times it’s something more serious that you need to deal with on the regular, like changing a spark plug now and then or adding oil when it gets low. Usually you can drive around with these things for a while before having to deal with them, but if you don’t deal with them they’ll turn into bigger problems later on. Then you got your emergency situations, like a breakdown or an actual injury. That’s when you need to seek immediate attention.”

Varian mulled over his friend’s words. He’d never thought of his brain as like being one of his inventions before, but it made sense in a way. 

“So which is it for you? Are you in danger or not?” 

“No, for the most part. It’s not as if OCD will kill ya, but every now and then you get overwhelmed and have a panic attack. You feel your chest get tight and your heart rate speeds up, and it’s like the whole world is closing in around you.”

Varian looked at Wasabi in surprise. His friend had perfectly described how it felt while running through the city last night. How could anyone else know that kind of blind fear? What on earth had Wasabi been through to cause such a ‘breakdown’, as he had described it? 

However, instead of prying, Varian asked a different question, “What do you do when you have these attacks?”

‘Well, I try to take deep breaths, maybe do some yoga, anything to get myself away from what’s stressing me out, and if I have a particularly bad one or if they keep happening a lot, that’s when I talk to someone, like the counselor.”

“Could… could I maaaybe come to you, if I have one? You know, ‘get away from it’ like you said?”

“Of course you can. Heck, you can even keep the spare key to the dorm. Drop by anytime you need to, even if I’m not here. Just let someone know where you’re at.” 

“Ok, thanks.” Varian offered up a smile, knowing he had some place familiar to run to when stressed greatly eased his mind. 

“Hey, what are friends for?” Wasabi said, echoing the same words Varian had heard him say during his first night in this new world. 

“You know, before I met you, I didn’t know the answer to that question. You’re the first real friend I’ve ever had, well next to Ruddiger that is.” He admitted sheepishly as he placed his beloved pet down. When he stood back up he noticed Wasabi was blinking back tears. 

“Maaan, come here you knucklehead.” He grabbed Varian into a mock headlock and gently mussed up his hair with his knuckles. Varian had to laugh at the ridiculousness of it. 

“Ahh, no! Noogies! My one weakness!” he feigned and they both started to snicker. 

“Yeah well, next time don’t scare me like you did yesterday.” He let Varian go and added more seriously. “We’re best friends, and nothing’s going to change that, not a panic attack nor a move. Got it?” 

“Got it.” Varian repeated. Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad after all, not when he still had friends he could turn to.

[yukikorogashi]

💞💖💘💕 don't have to do them all if you don't want to, this just seems cute!

Positivity meme (Slowly Accepting)

Send 💞 and my muses will say something nice about your muse

   FOR AS NERVOUS AS SHE WAS, there was no denying just how EXCITED she still was-- as she began making way up to the front of the classroom itself. Having even gone through the effort of asking for both her uncles’ feedback, when it came to both her written and oral presentation. Both-- that have certainly needed quite some reworking, as expected. Still, however, that night would prove itself to be exhausting and yet, surprisingly fun. Especially as she sat there and listened to TWO VERY DIFFERENT POINT OF VIEWS on the subject matter itself. Now rewritten and even typed out from the FAMILY TYPEWRITER itself (That she had an absolutely BALL typing on-- that was, until Uncle Hosea stepped in due to the typos she kept making). she was ready. At least, so she wanted to believe... as she looked over her entire class, and over towards her teacher then. As she straightened the essay held firmly within her very hands, Itsuki would clear her throat, straighten her back one more time, and began:

   “Ah ‘ave dreamed about the day dat ah would get ta find a place ah could call mah very own HOME. An’ yet, little did ah know dat he would come in the form of a man named ARTHUR MORGAN. A kind, an’ hardworkin’ man, WHOM ah had only gotten da chance ta meet wit’. When he had paid a visit to the ORPHANAGE-- jus’ so he could HELP OUT. An’ while he ain’t all dat-- oof, sorry-- is not much of a talker, his ACTIONS always spoke louder than words. The day we got ta meet an’ sit ta-gether at the swings, would be the beginnin’ of the BEST DAYS of mah life. As ah would soon enough, be allowed ta call this man... mah own FATHER.

    Now, as ah had mentioned earlier, mah pa-- mm, ‘cuse me-- father, is a hardworkin’ man. Who always gets up before the crack of every dawn, and works his fingers to the bone. On the ranch that he near singlehandedly takes care of. An’ despite that, mah pa still finds the time ta watch o’er me, an’ help me out wit’ mah homework, whenever need it. Every moment we get to spend ta-gether is an ADVENTURE. Even when it comes ta preparin’ DINNER, you’d ‘ave ta be there ta believe it.

  Ah love my pa, an’ uhm just so grateful ta ‘ave him in mah life. He makes me so PROUD ta be his DAUGHTER.”

   And she could only hope, that he felt the same way about her.

   AND SO WOULD THE REALISATION strike her, so much so like a bolt of lightning shot down from the VERY HANDS OF ZEUS himself. For despite having known the other far longer than she had any other soul in these past few centuries. Kassandra was still far less inclined to openly express herself these days, when compared to how her younger self would most likely have had... so very long ago. Grimacing to herself then as she remembered her attempts. Of the words that she had dared deemed SACCHARINE, Kassandra believed then that it was perhaps for the best that she had long since grown past... such ways.

   “Something nice, you say...” It wasn’t to say that she had nothing at all to say (The complete opposite, in fact), but simply struggled to string those words together in a coherent enough manner, right then and there, “Hm, let me see...” 

   “It has been so long since I have met a man like him. A man as loyal as he. That by the Gods themselves, it almost makes the HEIREIAI’S own actually PALE in comparison.” Remembering back to the very day that he had come to her aid, Kassandra’s first impression of these lands had definitely been salvaged thanks to him. Unlike those MALAKAS to which she had been more than glad to offer a MUCH NEEDED PAY BACK to, later on. “He is a good man...” A wonderful man, A GREAT MAN, in fact. Especially to this Spartan warrior. These few simple words... to which she would continue to struggle in openly expressing, save through a soft gaze from her. Or a touch from calloused fingertips themselves.

   Drifting off for a moment with a gentle purse of her lips, Kassandra’s eyes would then wander off to where he would now stand. As a more evident smile would begin to make its way upon already thoughtful features.

   “... one who has made me smile, if not laugh, so many times now since I have arrived here...” As it became apparent that some playful rough housing had since begun to take place between him and one of the other gang members, Kassandra would snort as she continued to watch them off from the side, “... And one whom I cannot possibly imagine NOT having in my life.”

Send 💖 and my muses will say something nice about you, the mun

   “... Naw way... is dat... is dat rea-leh ya???” Oh Goddess, just look how much they have changed since she had last met them. As Itsuki would begin to amble through the thick snow, so would a brilliant squeal would leave her as she flopped forward and threw her arms around them in greeting, “It is yoooou! Oh, Rory, it’s been AGES! It’s so good ta see ya again!!!” All too abruptly however, would she stop in her hopping (Humorously sluggish considering how much snow there was out here, but all the same as ENERGETIC as it possibly could be), and give the most POWERFUL POUT that she could muster up at them, “Hmph! Took ya long enough ta visit! Didn’ ah tell ya dat ah was gonna cook us the yummiest din-din da next time ya dropped by? ... Wait, ah didn’? ... Well then.” Wasting no more time then, so would the child begin to guide them back to her hut. With their hand held in her well-worn, but all the soft white mitten. It would offer some semblance of warmth from the cold itself, before a far greater source of heat from the fireplace greeted them from beyond the hut’s entrance drapes.

   “C’mon, sit yerself down, now! Ya need a break frum all’a dat hard work ya’ve been puttin’ in, oh, ah can tell! An’ ‘ave ya been gettin’ enough sleep?” Itsuki simply couldn’t take her eyes off them, as she began setting everything up. Grinning over to them every now and then, as she got the bowls and utensils ready. “Omgosh ah jus’... ah nearly didn’ recognise yer fer a second, y’know? But... ah know it’s ya, da moment ah took a good look at dem PEEPERS of yers! Still as purteh as da last time ah saw am, hehe! Oh-- uhm jus’ so glad ta see dat y’ve been doin’ so well fer yerself, y’know? Ah mean-- ah heard ‘bout how yer doin’ fer da sis. But, uhm so glad dat ah can finall-eh see it fer m’self! An’ jus’ tell ya how PROUD ah am of ya! Yer jus’ kickin’ so much BUTT out there, an’ it shows!”

   As she handed a large bowl of OHAW over to them, Itsuki would still continue to chatter excitedly away.

   “Ya gotta share wit’ me what ya’ve been studyin’ over thar, hehe! Please!”

   A KNOWING SMILE would begin to grace her lips, as she acknowledged the other with the slightest nod of her head. "And so, do we finally meet... Come, sit with me.” And as she would say those words, the immortal swore that she could hear IKAROS’ near indignant squawk amidst the red cardinals, bluejays, and goldfinches that have chosen to brave the coldest of seasons itself. To which she would silently offer a half-hearted apology, and a sigh through her nose in remembrance. For it was a pity, seeing as he would have liked them. 

   “... Malaka, it amazes me just how well you are able to withstand this cold during every single year!” The statement would leave her in an almost boisterous sort of bark, one that clearly bore jest (While also most likely causing any nearby to jump). If not a desire to lighten the somewhat awkward air between them. After all, while they have known one another for quite some time now-- it would only be now, that they would be allowed to meet one another FACE-TO-FACE. And all thanks to the FATES themselves-- and of course, one other soul that couldn’t be there, right then. “I have most certainly heard a great deal about you, Rory. A shame that it is only now that we would finally have the chance to meet, no?” For their eyes would bear a striking resemblance to the FIESTY CHILD that she would hold near and dear to her heart, after all this time.

   “Now, let me see... Allow this great and powerful immortal to peer into your very soul~” Even as she would snort at her little half-joke, the woman would continue to study the other intently. Reaching out to brush some strands away from their forehead, as she continued to smile down at them. Her expression almost unreadable, before another eventually nod followed, with this one being one of the UTMOST APPROVAL, "Ah, so the tales are true.” Carrying on in her theatrics, Kassandra would sit back ever so slightly as she lifted the STAFF OF HERMES TRISMEGISTUS up to the skies themselves, “You-- Rory--bear the SOUL OF A WARRIOR. A flame that has burned and braved through much.” As she would settle her free hand back upon their shoulder, that mirthful expression was almost comforting. Once again, knowing for all that she had seen, and yet, bearing such WARMTH that she had since begun to offer to only very few, “There is so much waiting up ahead of you, Rory. So much that we are all so excited to see you accomplish... And so, accept this one piece of advice from me: Keep fighting. Promise me this, will you?”

Send 💘 and the mun will say something nice about your muse

   I will never forget the day when Rory and I started talking about you, after watching that very first trailer that featured you, Mister Morgan. We had such high expectations, and good lord, did you blow it all COMPLETELY OUT OF THE WATER! Heh, like, you aren’t just a handsome outlaw, are you? You ended up being so, SO MUCH more than that. And I thank the lord each day that Rory chose to pick you up as a much. And do SO MUCH JUSTICE when it comes to their HEARTFELT PORTRAYAL of you. We have had so many amazing interactions together, and one of the best things I got to be blessed with over these past years was Itsuki finally getting to have such a wonderful man as her father! And of course, not only that... I see you spending some time with a certain Grecian lady~ Oh, you know the one I’m talking about ~ 😏

   You are most certainly one of the most comforting presences to see now on this site... especially when times are admittedly as rough as they are. And, I hope you know how always make Itsuki’s day, whenever you choose to comment or pop in her inbox to say hi or chastise her, hehe. I just always love seeing you around on my dash, Mister Morgan. And don’t think I forgot those sweet words you left for me on my old blog during one rough day I had. I just wish I had been able to keep a digital copy of it, truth be told. But I will most certainly never ever forget them. 

   Now, forgive me for ending this off like a typical fangirl. But we love you, YES WE DOOOOO!!! And sorry, sir. But I’m gonna have to break social distancing and give you a big ol’ hug now... And of course, thank you so much for the JELLYBEANS! c:

Send 💕 and the mun will say something nice about you, the mun

   WHEW, I’m sorry this took awhile, but I really wanted to make sure that I got all of this done properly (Especially with ol’ Kassandra, hahaha!). But oh man, oh man... Rory, please. You know what this is going to lead to. When it comes to me gushing about you. Say something nice? ONE THING? PUH-LEASE! You are one of my bestest friends, Rory... and I get so choked up, no matter how many times I say that. I thought you were going to be one of those super cool folks that I was going to just admire from afar. But no, the Gods themselves must be smiling down upon me because we ended up talking and well, the rest is history. We have done so SO MUCH together over the years that it still amazes me to this day, tbh... During some days when we reminisce together, another memory pops up that makes us go “HOLY SHIT, OH YEAH!!!” I am just so happy that we can talk about nearly anything, you know? How we can connect on so many things, tbh. No matter what the subject is, I swear-- we always get into some long-ass conversations, and I just love that so much!!! 

   But oh, what the heck am I doing? I’m suppose to be saying nice things about YOU! And the stuff before is just cheating, so get to it, Becky! Like, Rory... you are just an amazing friend to everyone that knows you tbh. A person that everyone is so lucky to have in their corner. I know so many people feel the same way as me, and can never express their gratitude enough for all that you have done for them as a friend. You are just such a kind, patient, genuine, and empathetic person, and that is honestly so damn rare to find in people these days. Which is why I am always so grateful that I can open up to you on my worst days, and especially when you yourself are so wonderful as to reach out to me and give me a hug first... I’m such a weenie that has since started to huddle in her corner. So when I hear you from behind me, tapping gently on my shoulder the way you do... I’m so grateful, Rory. I truly am...

   And not only that, you know by now that I stan TF out of your writing, and think that you are one of the most amazing writers I have ever known! You know I enjoy tf out of every interaction I get to have with you. Ever amazing interaction we get to have between our muses. And honestly, I will always be one of your biggest fans. Who will be booing and hissing at those who are too blind to see quality when its right in front of them! You are honestly such an intelligent, hardworking and talented individual, Rory... And I can’t say that enough, tbh. If you ever wrote and published a book one day, you KNOW I’m gonna be the first one to preorder it! So you better tell me when you do... catfish? B(

   But just in case I don’t find a good Christmas or EOY meme... I hope you know much I cherish you, bud. How proud I am to bear witness to how far you have come over these past years. I am literally already vibrating here for the day you graduate too tbh. Like ohhhh, I think I need to do a video recording to YELL over just how proud I am when that day comes for you!!! Please continue to fight with all your might, okay, bud? We are all cheering you on, and ofc, I’m always here whenever you need a breather from that tough ass battle. I love you so much, and can’t wait to our next chat on Discord!!!

[itachi-uchiha-deserved-better]

Fun Meta asks: 3. 4. 5. 11. 17. 20. 23. 25. -Sorry for asking so many. Curiosities of one writer to another. Feel free to omit any of these.

3) What is that one scene that you’ve always wanted to write but can’t be arsed to write all of the set-up and context it would need? (consider this permission to write it and/or share it anyway)

I have this scene in my head between Itachi and my OC. She’s chasing him down against orders after his massacre of the Uchiha clan because she refuses to believe that things are what they look like. And when she manages to catch him, she’s able to use her mind prison jutsu to stop him from leaving and tells him about how no matter what anyone says, She refuses to believe that he is the monster the village wants to paint him as. As she’s trying to convince him to come back to the village with her, her body is weakening more and more from the chakra poisoning caused by using her jutsu. Eventually he gives her something, a sort of vague acknowledgment that she might not be wrong. He tells her that he may need her help if Sasuke wavers from the path Itachi has set for him but he can’t risk her remembering anything, so he uses Tsukyomi on her, leaving her near death in the forest for her Anbu teammates to find.

4) Share a sentence or paragraph from your writing that you’re really proud of (explain why, if you like)

We know the details of the war. We are unfailingly familiar with the facts. Michael led the nine choirs against Lucifer and his followers. We know that Lucifer’s assault on heaven was swift and viscous, striking for every advantage, exploiting the weakness to be found in soldiers hesitant to lash out against those who once were called brother. We know that in the heat of the battle, Michael called the seven remaining arch angels together. Among the cacophony of blades and bloodshed the seven marched and behind them a solemn silence followed. Together they marched and they struck at the dragon. “Beloved,” they cried, “Why, beloved Lucifer? Why have you done this? You were the first in God’s eyes.” We know that the seven cried as they pierced the dragon’s hide and brought to bear on him the full force of the power of heaven.             We know that our father lost the war, but we know in the way a student knows the facts of history. They may sit and memorize the hows and the whys of history, but they are at their core, disconnected from it. So it is for us. We know what happened during our father’s rebellion. We understand the nature of our father’s sin, the sin which we share by our shared blood. We lack the intimacy of memory. We know, but these events are no more than words on the pages of our minds. 

I wrote this as an intro to a WIP called Children of the Damned, a story that was supposed to be about a group of angels who hadn’t fallen from grace but were cast out of heaven because they were the children of lucifer. They were supposed to be a neutral force, something between demons and angels who’s job was to protect all of humanity- the good and the bad. The project never really went anywhere but I still have the intro draft sitting in my WIP folder. 

5) What character that you’re writing do you most identify with?

I have a character called Zero (she was originally from a DnD campaign that ended up falling apart.) and her whole shtick is that she is a researcher for the Arcanum- basically an orphan who managed to get into the big magic school of the setting and is now a glorified grad student researching for her thesis and has to bounty hunt to fund her research. She is socially awkward, painfully shy, very disenchanted with the world but fascinated with her chosen field of study and constantly stressed out by budgets and deadlines. And since I’m an eternally stressed out grad student I relate to her pretty hard. 

11) What do you envy in other writers?

The ability to see and work towards an overarching plot. I can do drabbles pretty well because my brain works in scenes, but I have a really hard time stringing those individual scenes together into something coherent with an ultimate end goal. 

17) Do you think readers perceive your work - or you - differently to you? What do you think would surprise your readers about your writing or your motivations?

Absolutely I think that people perceive my writing differently than I do. I mean, all of my writing is ultimately informed by my own life experiences and ultimately no one else has experienced my life, so I’m sure that readers are viewing my work through the lenses of their own experience. As for me? Probably? Idk I am pretty vague with my online presence so I really have no idea what people perceive about me. As for surprising people about my motivation....Honestly I really don’t know. My motivation to write is usually because I have a scene in my head that wont leave me be until I put it on paper and sometimes that leads to a larger idea and sometimes I just leave it at that. 

20) Tell us the meta about your writing that you really want to ramble to people about (symbolism you’ve included, character or relationship development that you love, hidden references, callbacks or clues for future scenes?)

So Idk that it’s something most people pick up on, but I am a percussionist at heart and so Cadence in writing is a big thing for me. One of the things they teach you when you learn, say, snare drum for instance, is to use words to identify certain rhythmic patterns. Well my brain took that and sort of applied it to all language. There are things, feelings that you can evoke just by substituting a short word for a longer word. For example- Pain, Hiss, Break: these are all short, sharp words. And using them in a sentence will provoke a different sort of sensation or feeling than words like agony, mournful, shattered, breath which are longer more lyrical words. Idk if it makes any sense to other people, but that kind of cadence drives the imagery in a lot of my writing. I have an essay about it (or did at one point). 

23) What’s the story idea you’ve had in your head for the longest?

The Ichor Blade. Three characters- Matthias, an older man, a healer who’s formed a deal with some kind of dark entity and uses the power of the dark magic he has gained to heal people at the expense of his own life. Zero- an arcane acolyte from the arcana consortum, she is a very adept mage, but clinical in her approach to magic and tasked with hunting down rogue magic users as part of the agreement that funds her research. And Illomenn (I-LL-OMENN), a creature of supernatural origin known as a Hex which are essentially manifestations off all things that trouble the world. Illomenn is a minor hex, the manifestation of bad luck. They are brought together by chance after Matthias and Zero encounter several Major Hex’s- plague, malice, and war. Zero is affected by plague and cannot use most of her magic without it destroying her body. Matthias is trying to help her undo the curse and in the process they find Illomenn and recruit his help in using a relic called the Ichor Blade to destroy the curse and to seal away the hexes from the world. 

25) What part of writing is the most fun?

Honestly? Watching people read what I wrote and listening to their thoughts afterwards. Its kind of like cooking for me. The actual process of making something is fun, but the most satisfying part is knowing that other people enjoyed it.