#figured i’d get my worst post out of the way so now everything i post will technically be better

[fishfission-dc]

Tim Drake is the Grover Cleveland of Robins

[teaboot]

Sorry if this comes off as rude, or too personal, but how do you still have the mental strength to be like you are, after everything you've gone through? Like, not to make suffering a competition, but from what you've shared, it seems like you've had to deal with so much more than most, and yet you're still able to create, engage in the things you love and enjoy, and even wish better for the people who'd only want the worst for you. As someone who hasn't been able to do any of those for a while now, or feel anything beyond a sticky sense of resentment, I'd appreciate the words of someone who's been in shit miles deeper, if that isn't too much trouble. Sorry if this whole thing sounds weird, and thanks for being one of the weird funny guys on my dash, you've given me lots of laughs when I've needed them.

Oh, wow. Uh.

I think first off- not to minimize my experiences cause my therapist says not to do that- but I have a LOT of friends and loved ones who have been through much worse and are also doing good now, so that kinda helps. Knowing that if they got through things, I can too, and they don’t think less of ME for struggling.

Secondly… I think I used to not be so happy about life. I was really angry, really sharp and ascerbic, and when people who met me matched my energy, they’d be sharp and ascerbic back. And so I’d trap myself in this place where life ALREADY sucked, and then everyone around me was awful, so I’D be awful, and it would turn into this absolute mire of bad feeding bad.

And then one day I think after a long good cry in a public toilet, I just felt… better? Not BETTER, because I still had all my problems, but I think I was riding that post-cry high you get sometimes and the sun just looked brighter, and the annoying kids around me were just… less aggravating. The dumb teen boys being idiots were less “stupid morons with no depth who don’t care and can’t think” were just… regular old dumbasses having fun. And then I said hello to someone with a smile, and they smiled back, and we had this great conversation I never would have had otherwise, and I figured out that people are kind to you when you’re kind first.

Which seems obvious, but like… it’s hard to see anyone else when you’re hurting. And so when people are cruel or rude to me, I just think… wow. People probably see you being an asshole and treat you like an asshole. You probably see your own bad attitude reflected back at you everywhere you go, just like I did, and you probably have no idea. Every stranger you meet is a rude bitch who hates your face, and you’ll never be able to go anywhere that isn’t full of tense, defensive, cranky bastards until you figure out that YOU are causing the bulk of it. Like a dog trying to run from the shit on its tail.

And the idea of living your whole life where nobody is happy to see you, nobody truly enjoys your company, everyone is walking on eggshells and waiting for you to snap on them…. That’s a pretty sad and painful way to live your whole entire life.

So like. I try to treat people kindly, and in return I get to see happy people wherever I go. I try to make them laugh, and listen to them talk, and once they do they aren’t frightening or annoying or strange anymore.

most people, at least.

So like… I don’t think “look on the bright side” is the right answer, but maybe… find something good to believe in, and hold on.

I believe that people at large are good and kind or at least trying their best, and that those who can’t or aren’t are… sort of pitiable.

They don’t know where their pain is coming from, and they can’t make it go away, and it’s been like that so long they probably think the whole world is just LIKE that. So they never really get to experience the good things. And that’s… kind of like a hell, I think, in a way.

I don’t believe in karma. I don’t think I’m religious. I just think that we all want similar things, and we all fear similar things, and the ways we go about getting to or running from those things is different.

….if any of that makes sense.

[glossykissies]

i think this was like one of the first scott fics u posted but reader was in college for like fashion design? i think 😭 but anyways reader got a bad grade in one of her classes and scott says she cant touch him cos u cant reward bad behavior!!!

it’s funny because scott thinks he’s handling it the right way.

it’s how he was raised — it’s why he ended up in the working environment he did. his mother was a sweet woman, but his father was hard, never impressed, always pushing scott to achieve more. of course there were times he resented him for being so cold and unyielding, but he supposed he had him to thank for everything. now as a grown adult, scott saw himself in his old man, rearing his ugly head when least expected.

you’d come home to scott, all wired up and manic looking for a distraction. the project you thought you’d been slaving over ended up bringing you your worst grade yet. it wasn’t failable, and you knew you’d be able to pull yourself back — but it was certainly a wake up call. you felt ashamed.

you’d mentioned it in passing to scott as you were toeing your shoes off, thinking that if you treated it as a casual thing, it would be less damning. you were known to work hard, and you’d hate if scott thought any less of you. if there was anyone who’s opinion mattered to you over your professor, it was him.

“— and i’m gonna have to retake that class because i flopped so hard, anyway i had icecream for lunch—”

“hold on.” scott frowns, arms folded over his chest as he leans a shoulder against the wall, narrowing his eyes at you. “retake the class? explain.”

he makes note of the way you swallow and avoid his eyes as you gather up an excuse. “its fine, i failed the class. its fine.” you shrug a shoulder, and scott stares before shaking his head with a sigh.

“look — i told you, if you’re gonna be here all the time you can’t let it interfere with your projects. i think — i think it’s best if you start spending some weekends from home so you can get back on top of—”

“no!” you bark, eyes wide and desperate, which actually silences him in surprise. you are incredibly quick to adjust yourself, releasing a tense chuckle to let it be known that you were on your best behaviour, smile straining your cheeks and not quite meeting your eyes. “scott it’s not that serious, i swear. i’m passing all my other classes, this happens to everyone atleast once.” you figure your tone is reassuring enough, especially as he doesn’t follow you into the kitchen to make your daily green tea.

you spend a little longer than usual in the kitchen as you sip away at your drink, giving your boyfriend time to hopefully forget about the bad grade you received so you could potentially start the evening over, feeling things were a little chaotic. the hot liquid seems to soothe your nerves momentarily too, aiming to leave the day behind as you eventually slink out into the living room, eeking out your distraction as you join scott on the couch.

he’s watching some kind of documentary, naturally manspreading with that concentrated frown like a man much older than he was. you let a mischievous smile slip as you wriggle up to his side, stroking at his arm. this was nothing unusual from your usual behaviour, so scott doesn’t react — continuing on with his show.

“scotty.” you breathe in his ear, beginning to dot kisses gently along his jawline.

“hm?”

“missed you. needed daddy all day.” you pout as a manicured hand rises to rest on his broad chest before sliding slowly down his stomach toward his belt. you nearly jump out of your skin when he grabs your wrist and moves it away.

“no.” he hums, voice low. you blink your wide eyes at him in confusion — maybe you were just spoilt, because it wasn’t often you heard that word so firmly.

“huh?”

it’s only then scott looks at you, raising his eyebrows. “you think i’m gonna reward you for failing a class? you know, if i had been you — i’d already be at the desk with my laptop out, getting to work so i don’t fail my class again.” he’s stern, and whilst you’re used to his blunt ways you’re stunned by how cruel he was being. to him, he wanted the best for you and this was how he showed it in the moment, but to you it was the ultimate rejection.

it’s unnoticeable to the human eye, but he softens when you’re so quick to submit without argument despite his words, bashfully climbing off the couch to silently grab your bag and head to the bedroom where scott’s desk was. he watches you go, arms crossed — before he sighs, closing his eyes. that wasn’t him, it was his father. you didn’t deserve that.

he thinks up what to say to you, standing up to retrieve you approximately seven minutes later. he finds you at the desk where he suggested, laptop open on an empty document, crying quietly into your hands. scott closes his eyes for a moment, taking a breath before starting towards you.

“hey. hey.” his voice is quiet as he scoops you off the chair, replacing you with himself as he cradles you on his lap. “c’mon.” he whispers, feeling you wrack with another silent sob into your hands.

“i’m sorry.” you squeak.

“you don’t have to be sorr—”

“you’re disappointed in me. i’m disappointed in me too i just wanted to forget for a few hours.” you cry like a baby, stripped down to your most vulnerable self and his jaw clenches, mad that he was the one to upset you like this. this relationship shit was harder than it looked.

“hey i’m not, okay? i’m not. i was… hard on you because i think you can be great. okay? i think you are great. most talented girl i know. i don’t wanna get in the way of that, you know?” his large hand slides up your back to pull you closer and he feels you nod.

“i know. i’m sorry i get so upset about stupid stuff. i tried to be a big girl about it. i tried to… start—” you pull away to gesture to the empty document and he breathes out a chuckle, pulling you back to his chest.

“i know. i see… and it’s not stupid. i was mean. you should have kicked my ass.” he shakes his head but hears you giggle against his shirt, likely staining it with tears and mascara.

“next time.” comes out muffled.

“great.” he sarks before pulling you back to mop up your face, trying not to grimace at any snot or drool as he swipes it away with his thumb. “look. get started on… all this tomorrow. i’ll help in any way i can. what do you need right now? hm?” he jogs you on his lap with his knee once to signify that he wants a verbal and decisive answer. you press your lips together, glancing down at his belt once more. “oh yeah?” he confirms in that deep voice that makes between your legs ooze. “still after that?”

you nod, and he squeezes you hip. “alright. i think i can provide.”

[casssmalefantasy]

team usa: the series — paige bueckers x oc!

v. the elephant in the room—tension still lingers. things go unspoken. and somewhere between silence, stares, and a big win… the truth finally slips out.

s: things aren’t the same after the almost kiss. ivy’s avoiding it. paige is circling around it. the tension hasn’t died down—it’s just gotten quieter, but a conversation with azzi, changes everything.

w: slow burn, mutual pining, post-argument tension, emotional vulnerability, confessions, lots of jealousy, azzi being a real one, implied queer feelings, brief misunderstanding, fluff build-up, a kiss

word count: 3.1K

last part | next part

part five: “the elephant in the room”

paige’s pov

there’s been this… space between us.

not like, physical. ivy’s still there—sweat-slicked and sharp in every drill, brushing past me in the halls, slumped beside me in the back row of film review—but it’s like her energy’s shifted. like she’s pulled something back. tightened up.

and the worst part?

i get it.

we haven’t talked about it. the almost kiss. the way ivy looked at me in that hotel room like she wanted to close the space between us, but didn’t. like she couldn’t, but it’s all i’ve been thinking about.

and somehow, things have started to feel like before again. not the same, but almost. shared glances during warmups. a barely-there smile when ivy passes my water after a hard quarter. small things. things that make me wonder if we’re slowly, maybe, coming back to each other.

—

azzi’s voice cuts through post-practice haze.

“okay, no. seriously,” azzi said, dropping down on the bench next to me after practice, her elbow nudging mine. “what’s going on with you and ivy?”

i blinked, dragging my jersey over my head and shaking sweat from my hair. “what?”

“don’t ‘what’ me,” she said, like she was personally offended. “i’m friends with both of you, and the vibe is weird.

i snorted. “we’re good.”

“paige. come on. you barely make eye contact when there’s people around. and when no one’s looking? you’re practically laser-focused on her like she’s gonna disappear.”

i let out a slow breath and stared at the wall across from us. “we… almost kissed again.”

azzi’s head whipped toward me. “i’m sorry, what?”

“a few nights ago,” i said, voice low. “after the game. we got into it—like, arguing—but then it shifted. i don’t know. it got quiet. and then we were just… close. like, close close.

“and?”

“reese walked in,” i muttered. “we didn’t actually do anything. but it was—yeah. it was something.”

azzi stared at me. “and you didn’t think to tell me?”

“i didn’t even know how to talk about it,” i said, running a hand through my hair. “it’s complicated, az. after the first kiss, we both agreed we’d focus on the team, and figure everything else out later.”

azzi gave me a look like i’d grown a second head. “right. because pushing it all down is definitely going well.”

“i like her,” i said, voice quieter now. “more than i’ve liked anyone in… probably ever. and she said that too—she likes me. but then she said we needed to focus. and i get it. this team, this summer—it matters. i don’t wanna be a distraction.”

azzi raised an eyebrow. “okay, but do you really think ignoring each other is making things easier? because from where i’m sitting, it just looks painful.”

i shrugged. “it is.”

she leaned in a little. “so what do you want, p?”

i hesitated, the words catching in my throat. then—“i want this to be real.”

azzi softened, her voice quieter. “then stop pretending it’s not. talk to her.”

“what if she doesn’t want to anymore?” i asked. “what if i already blew it?”

“then you say that. and you deal with it. but at least you’ll know. you can’t keep sitting here staring at her like she hung the moon and then ducking your head like a middle schooler when she looks back.”

“thanks for the pep talk, coach.”

“anytime,” she grinned.

i cracked a smile despite myself.

maybe she was right. maybe it was time to stop avoiding the thing that had already happened.

ivy’s pov

i didn’t mean to be nosy, but when i walked past the court and saw azzi and paige deep in conversation—close, laughing, paige looking more relaxed than she has in days—i freeze.

and it shouldn’t bother me. it really shouldn’t.

they’re friends. teammates. just like her and i. just like her and i are supposed to be.

but all i could think about was how we were right back at square one and paige wasn’t talking to me.

i didn’t know how we got here. one minute we were... whatever we were, and the next it was like someone flipped a switch. she barely looked at me unless she had to. and when she did, it was like she regretted it.

across the court, as i look at her still sitting with azzi. laughing. completely at ease. like nothing was wrong. i was still stuck in the moment her eyes almost closed and her face tilted toward mine and we were this close to—

i swallowed hard.

and then reese walked in.

the memory burned like it had just happened yesterday. we hadn’t talked about it. not once. not even a “so, uh… that was a thing” half-joke. just silence. a weird, painful silence that settled between us like fog. i thought maybe she’d say something after. anything. but she didn’t.

so i didn’t either.

maybe she regretted it. maybe she was regretting everything. the first kiss—the almost kiss.. maybe she realized we weren’t worth the risk and yet i can’t be fully mad at her.

i’m the one who said the team should be our main focus. and i meant it, but it didn’t mean we couldn’t be us.

i looked over again at them. i wish i was able not to feel jealous, but i do anyway.

i know there’s nothing going on.

i know azzi is both of our friends.

yet a part of me still feels funny and doubtful.

i told myself it didn’t matter. that it wasn’t even that deep. that we had bigger things to focus on. team usa, for god’s sake. this wasn’t the time to be caught up in something messy and unspoken and confusing. i should be locked in, dialed in, focused.

but all i could think about was how quiet our room had gotten lately. how different it felt. how much it hurt to be around her when she was trying so hard not to be around me.

and the truth is… it does matter.

i do care.

i leave before they can see me.

—

ivy’s pov

"you good?" azzi’s voice snaps me out of whatever staring contest i was having with the floor tiles.

"yeah," i lie, pulling my hoodie tighter around me as i sit down beside her in the hotel dining area.

she squints at me. "that’s a terrible lie. try again."

i let out a laugh. "what do you want, az?"

"to stop watching you and paige act like you're in a slow burn teen drama when you could just—i don't know—talk?"

i blink. "she say something?"

azzi smirks. "i’m not gonna spill all her secrets, but let’s just say she’s not exactly subtle. and i’m tired of both of you looking like you're dying inside every time you're in the same room."

i roll my eyes. "we’re fine."

"okay, but are you?" she tilts her head. "because last time i checked, people who are just friends don’t almost kiss in a hotel for the second time and then pretend it never happened."

my stomach flips.

"she told you about that?" i ask quietly.

“eventually,” azzi says, tossing a grape into her mouth like we’re not talking about my entire emotional downfall. “you two have been circling each other since day one. it’s like watching two magnets try not to touch.”

i let out something that might pass as a laugh, but she nudges me with her knee like she’s not buying it.

“seriously. i say this with love—and maybe a tiny bit of desperation—but she likes you, ivy. and you like her. so whatever game of emotional dodgeball you two have been playing? i’m begging. retire it.”

i stare at the carpet for a second, words caught in my throat. “you think i don’t want to fix it?” i finally say, quiet. “i do. it’s just... it’s scary.”

“of course it is,” she says, softer now. “but you and paige are literally fearless on the court. don’t act like telling the truth is somehow scarier than dropping thirty on france.”

i smile, even though it feels shaky. there’s a beat of silence before i speak again.

“thank you,” i say, and my voice barely makes it out.

and i know i’m not thanking her just for this talk—it’s for everything. for being patient with me. for never making it weird, even when i almost did.

she looks over. “for what?”

i shake my head. “just... in general.”

she studies me for a second, then nods. “you don’t have to say anything.” a small grin tugs at her lips. “i already got the message with your ‘thank you for absolutely nothing, azzi’ energy last week.”

i groan, but it’s light. “i didn’t mean it like that.”

“i know,” she says, bumping my shoulder. “you’re allowed to feel what you feel, ivy. just don’t let it make you lose something that could be real.”

and i do feel guilty—because azzi has never given me a reason to doubt her. she’s been nothing but solid, nothing but honest. of course paige would go to her. of course she’d lean on someone who knows her inside and out. azzi’s not the problem.

the problem is me, standing still while everything around me spins.

“i just want it to stop being this messy,” i murmur, almost to myself.

“then clean it up,” she says, straight-faced. “because i swear to god, if i have to keep being the emotional middleman for two people who are obviously in love, i’m charging therapy rates.”

i snort. “you’re the worst.”

“and yet,” she says, standing up with a dramatic stretch, “still the best thing that ever happened to you.”

i roll my eyes, but i don’t disagree.

✦ ✦ ✦

travel day

ivy’s pov

there’s an edge to the air. the kind that only comes when everything matters.

we’re playing spain—arguably the toughest team we’ll face all summer. i’m locked in from the second my feet hit the court. no distractions. no second thoughts.

just basketball.

i’m not thinking about paige this time.

well i am, but today, i’m channeling it.

all the tension. the confusion. the maybe-something between us. it burns in my chest and comes out in my game—fast, focused, on fire.

by halftime, i’m the leading scorer. by the fourth quarter, i’m feeling unstoppable.

paige’s pov

watching ivy play like that?

effortlessly. fueled. confident.

yeah. i’m gone.

i’ve never seen her this dialed in. it’s not just about the points. it’s the way ivy moves. like she’s got something to prove and no one’s gonna stop her.

and me?

i want to talk. finally. for real this time.

—

ivy’s pov

i’m drying my hair with a towel when i hear a knock.

it’s soft. tentative.

i open the door to find paige on the other side, still in her warm-ups, eyes a little uncertain.

“you were insane today,” she says. “like… unstoppable.”

i smile, just a little. “thanks.”

“can we talk?” paige asks, voice lower now.

“yeah i’ll be out in a second”

i get out the bathroom and sit on the edge of the bed, quietly.

“we can’t keep pretending,” paige says.

i look at her. “pretending what?”

“that we’re just teammates. that there’s nothing going on. that we don’t—” paige exhales. “feel something.”

“i know,” i admit.

“i miss you,” she says. “not just how we were before. i mean… all of it.”

“me too,” i whisper.

we’re so close. i can feel our knees almost touching.

“i don’t wanna be in this weird in-between,” paige says. “i want to figure it out. with you. whatever this is.”

i nod. “okay. yeah. me too.”

our eyes meet.

the air shifts.

and then—

paige leans in and i meet her halfway.

and this time, we kiss.

it’s soft. steady. like finally exhaling.

author’s note: confessions confessions. ik yall been waiting for the kiss lol.

[taekooktimeline]

Hello 👋🏽

As always, if there’s anything I could’ve written better, please let me know. I won’t move these pieces to their respective spots in the 2024/2025 chapters for a few days to give people time to review and provide feedback. I’m super busy this week so please be patient if it takes me time to respond (I’m working 40 hours, applying at colleges and volunteering at the hospital for 12 hours).

I’m always in my head about my posts, hoping I’ve worded everything the best they can be worded, but I’m especially anxious for these posts. My head is not with social media at all. Usually, I will throw pieces together as news comes out and clean them up at a later date. With these new posts, I had to go back and remember what happened because I didn’t leave any notes with pictures and links.

Long story short, and not to get dark or political, but just to clarify why I’m inactive and my headspace isn’t great: not only am I still trying to figure out my medical mysteries a year later, I’m now dealing with my country completely collapsing into chaos and garbage, something I never thought I’d say since I’m in a Western (and what I thought was decently progressive) country. I had fears this would happen but it’s so much worse than I thought. Apparently, we’re going to let illegal and unconstitutional things happen and not use checks and balances. I’m embarrassed, angry and ashamed at the state of things. There’s a lot of real, daily stressors that I’m dealing with because I’m in a targeted group, which has led to some hard and fast decisions to apply for another college degree and pursue fallback options as my “just in case” plan B. I had planned to pursue Japanese college courses for fun and now that’s either on the back burner or going to be juggled with part time school around full time work. I’m conflicted on what to do and next steps with a lot of things. My family refuses to immigrate. I’m spending a lot of days tense, crying, stressed, and wondering what I should do. I’ve worked really hard to get to a good place in my life and the threat of it being taken away is very real. It sucks and it’s sad. I’ve been mourning about it all and bracing for worst case to happen. Things that seemed right and safe no longer feel that way. It’s hard to focus on social media and leisure activities when I’m battling constant, in real issues that must take precedence.

Also, this post isn’t meant to stir up political arguments so just know if you agree with what’s happening, I’m not going to respond. We can mutually block each other and move on. I’ve cut off family and friends who let this happen so I have no problem doing it with SM friends too. This post is meant to explain in more depth why I’m not active on SM, why I’d appreciate being left alone (not tagged in drama, which is never appreciated anyway), and why I’d really be grateful for feedback on these newer posts.

I’ll still update the timeline. I’m very much excited for Taekook to come back, I’ll always cheer them on and support them in all the ways I can. But I’m not going to be active on TW and IG for the foreseeable future. I’ve got one baby splice / video / edit thing (I’m not sure what to call it) that I’ve sat on for months so maybe I’ll find energy to post that soon as a just because, but otherwise, my accounts will stay locked up and inactive besides updating the timeline.

Take care, wishing you the best, thank you for reading 💜💚

[galaxymagitech]

hello!! i'm a big fan of your fic "Bleed the Poison Out" (and i'm definitely putting it on multiple fic rec lists). it has such a good portrayal of bruce and dick's relationship <3

so for the ask game: ✰ NEW SHAPES ☹ EVIL TWIN ♡ SMALL THINGS

Thank you so much!!! That is one of my favorite fics I’ve written, and probably in my top three of Bruce & Dick fics to write, so I’m really glad you enjoyed it. Sorry for taking so long :(

Bleed the Poison Out | Ask Game

♡ SMALL THINGS: pick a fic and I’ll tell you my favorite minor detail from it!

Hmm. This fic means a lot to me, so it’s difficult to find something that feels minor, but…I think I’d go with the soft rug that has the pizza sauce and blood stains. The fic can feel very isolating (to me, at least), like Bruce and Dick are the only two people in the world—even when other people come up, they’re a distraction tactic. But the rug is just there, and a sign of Dick’s connections beyond just Bruce. Even if he never talked to Bruce again (although he will talk to Bruce again), he would still have a family.

✰ NEW SHAPES: send me a fic and I’ll give you an alternate direction the fic could have gone!

Well, when I first started planning this fic (for last year's Dick Grayson Anniversary Week), I was trying to make it an actual heartwarming, complete apology that, while not fixing everything, left a very solid foundation. But every single fully sincere apology I could think of felt utterly ridiculous. I genuinely could not suspend my disbelief enough to believe that Bruce could apologize in a way that doesn’t make things worse. So, I ended up pulling out a draft that was permanently consigned to my notes. It was a personal thing, not fit for posting, but I figured I could try to fix it up.

After that, I think the main thing that nearly went differently was that I almost cut it off because I couldn’t think of an ending. Instead of getting through to Bruce, Dick would have forced down his feelings in the end, accepted Bruce’s apology (and lack of apology for the incidents they disagree on) and then Bruce would leave. And Dick would be alone.

But then I found a turning point, where Dick voices something that's just so out of place that it forces Bruce to confront how his actions are so messed up that they've created these really messed-up (but realistic, I think) thought processes. That, despite not meaning to, he hurt his son.

☹ EVIL TWIN: send me a fic or scene and I’ll give you the unhappy ending version of it!

This was really fun. My first thought was that the conversation escalated and Bruce got violent again, but I figured that's boring, and I could do better. So I challenged myself to imagine the actual worst dumpster fire of an ending possible. And then I worked back from there to light that fire.

That turning point I mentioned in the previous question? It could very easily have sent the conversation careening in the opposite direction. So I’ve started the story from there. Enjoy your dumpster fire ending!

***

“I want you to hit me again,” Dick admits. For a moment, there’s silence. And then—

“What.” Bruce’s voice is flat and cold. Dick flinches at the sound of it.

He—it made sense in his head. If Bruce just…just hit him. Now. After Spyral. Not under mind control. No Court of Owls, or dead sons, or dead friends, or justification. If Bruce just hit him, Dick would know. He would know that this is what Bruce does, that Bruce hits him, that it’s a thing, and Dick can be angry all he wants and it won’t be just stupid, childish resentment.

But sitting in the silence and listening to the words echo in his ears, Dick knows there has to be something wrong with him, something that makes him push and poke and prod and provoke until Bruce loses his patience. After all, what kind of kid—not that Dick is a kid, but he sure feels like one right now—what kind of kid wants his father to hit him? What kind of kid says that out loud?

When Bruce speaks again, his words dig their claws into Dick’s heart and scoop out the rot hiding inside. Because, as much as Dick wishes he wasn’t, Bruce is right. “If you’re looking for whatever villain you’ve built up in your head, Dick, you’re not going to get it.”

“Villain,” Dick echoes. Everything is cold, not just Bruce’s voice. The air in his apartment. The air in his lungs. The cavity Bruce has carved into his chest where his heart is supposed to beat.

“That’s what this is about, isn’t it?” Bruce asks. “I fired you. I’m to blame for Jason’s death. I’m to blame for everything, aren’t I?” Dick’s fists clench, thumbs trapped against the wood of the table. “I made mistakes. I’ll be the first to admit that. But—”

“Mistakes?” Dick can’t keep the hysteria out of his tone. He was trying to be calm. Reasonable. He alwaystries. But something about arguing with Bruce turns him into a timebomb. And sooner or later, he explodes. And even if he calms down, even if he tries to reel himself in, he just explodes again. And again. And again. Until one of them leaves. “You want to talk about Jason’s death? Because you blamed me for that too, and then you hit me, and the first time you even thought to apologize is half a decade later! You beat me until I agreed to leave my family behind and go on that godforsaken mission and even now, you can’t even acknowledge what you did! All you can say is that you made mistakes!”

“What do you even want me to say, then?” Bruce asks. His face is contorted with something that Dick has only seen a few times before. In the cave, after Jason’s death. As Batman pulled him from Blüdhaven’s wreckage. In the cave again, after the Crime Syndicate. It’s a face Dick has only ever seen on Batman in their worst moments together. But now, Bruce is wearing it, and Dick can’t force his lungs to breathe. “You’re acting like a child, right now.”

“Maybe stop treating me like one then!” Dick screams.

He doesn’t mean it in the way he meant it at twelve, at sixteen, at nineteen. He doesn’t mean that Bruce isn’t giving him enough responsibility or independence, or that Bruce doesn’t trust him.

Dick means that he will never be able to say anything to convince Bruce that he did more than just make a mistake. No matter what, Dick’s words will always be less trustworthy, less valid, less real. Bruce will hold a court session in his head and Dick’s thoughts will never be anything other than an unreliable eyewitness testimony.

That’s unfair to Bruce. Dick has no way of proving that he’s right—about Bruce hitting him after Gordon’s supposed death, about the events before Spyral being more than just a brutal spar, about Bruce’s actions being a step above mistake and crossing over into something he doesn’t want to name. Why should Bruce trust him, when he accidentally lied about not agreeing to spar? Why should Bruce trust him, when he took the most thorough apology Bruce has ever given and pushed and prodded until he made it another argument, just like he always does?

But it still stings.

Bruce’s response stings even more.

“I tried to apologize,” Bruce says. “I sat here while you accused me of one terrible thing after the next. But—”

Dick can’t help but interrupt. (That’s wrong. He needs to take responsibility; he can help it. He just doesn’t.)“It’s not an apology if—”

“—playing the victim—”

“—you’re arguing with me—”

“—own up to my flaws but—” 

“—every other second!”

“I won’t apologize for something I never did!” Bruce roars, hands slamming into the table as he stands. The surface trembles, and Dick wonders if this will be it, and the kitchen table will finally crack. He’ll get a bigger one, this time. One with room for enough chairs for everyone.

His mind, Dick realizes, is not totally there. He can hear everything Bruce is saying. He can see the kitchen around them. But right now, the world doesn’t feel entirely real. “I didn’t ask you to!” Dick yells back. He thinks at least. He can’t really tell. His voice sounds too-loud and too-quiet at the same time. “I didn’t ask you to break into my apartment when I just wanted to sleep and try to talk about it, okay? Nothing’s stopping you from leaving!”

“I was trying to make things right!” Bruce screams, stepping forwards. Dick scrambles out of his chair and takes a step back, towards the corner of the kitchen. Away from the door. Not that Dick could reach the door anyway—Bruce is blocking the exits.

Dick remembers noticing that, when Bruce sat down. That Bruce put himself between Dick and the exits. Because he both of them appreciate being able to watch all the entrances, but he doesn’t know that right now, Dick feels like a cornered animal. Bruce would never have thought that Dick needed an exit to feel safe. “This?” Dick sweeps an arm out. “This is not making things right! This is making things worse, like you always do!”

Bruce takes another step forward. This time, Dick refuses to give any more ground. There’s not much further he can retreat in the corner anyway. Bruce opens his mouth, presumably to scream something else, before he abruptly pauses. When he speaks again, his voice is cutting, but no longer a scream. A knife, instead of a club. A knife that buries itself in Dick’s chest and twists. “That’s what this is, isn’t it? You said you want me to hit you. And so you do this.” Bruce shakes his head. “This isn’t you, Dick. There’s something wrong with you, right now, making you act like this. Have you been exposed to any—”

Bruce says more, but Dick can’t hear it over the blood rushing in his ears. All he knows is that he needs to get out. He needs to get out. He needs to get out.

He can’t get out. The exits are blocked.

He needs to—

Over the next few weeks, Dick will look back on this moment and replay it over and over again in his head. He will try to tell himself that he was just acting instinctively, that he wasn’t thinking, that his vigilante brain perceived a threat and lashed out. But he’ll know better.

Dick hand forms a practiced fist and strikes Bruce in the face.

No. Dick needs to take responsibility. Dick strikes Bruce in the face.

And for a moment, the world freezes. Bruce, with his head thrown to the side. Dick, with a fist raised, blood beginning to well from where one of his knuckles scraped against a tooth. And the room, empty, with no one to bear witness. Just like always.

Except it’s entirely different.

Dick sucks a breath of air into the vacuum of his lungs. Bruce slowly lifts his head. For a moment, they both stare at each other.

And then Dick collapses against the wall, barely remaining upright. His mind is filled with a cacophony of voices, all screaming the same thing. “I’m sorry,” Dick says. “I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean to. I swear, I’m sorry.”

Dick hit him. Not to fight him while he was making a mistake. He just hit him. During an argument.

Bruce has never hit Dick outside costume. Even during the spar, they wore their cowl and mask.

Dick didn’t just hit Bruce, didn’t just make a horrible—a horrible mistake. He crossed a line.

“I’m sorry,” Dick repeats. It’s all he can do. He knows how it sounds. ‘I didn’t mean to’s and ‘I’m sorry’s. “I’m sorry, I’m—”

“Are you done?” Bruce asks, wiping away the blood from a cut on his lower lip. His voice isn’t warm, but it isn’t cold either. It just is. Are you done? Are you done being a problem? Are you done escalating every fucking argument you get into? Are you done playing the victim, when you just struck someone you love and made him bleed?

“Please,” Dick says. He doesn’t know what he’s pleading for. Forgiveness? That would make it worse. If Bruce forgave him. What he did— “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Bruce says quietly. “I’m sorry too.” Bruce shouldn’t be apologizing. Dick hit him. This is all wrong.

Bruce was right. Dick keeps playing the victim, when all he’s done is create the problems.

Bruce helps Dick into his chair at the table and steps back. Dick’s skin crawls the whole time, but he can’t think of anything except the impact of Bruce’s skin beneath his fist. “I’ll see you next week,” Bruce says. “There’s a case that could use another pair of hands.”

Dick looks down. When he looks back up, Bruce is gone. He doesn’t know quite how long it was between.

All this time, Dick held grievances against Bruce for, what? Treating him like an equal? Like someone he could speak to honestly? Like someone who could stand up for himself if he didn’t want to spar?

Bruce wanted to apologize. And Dick responded by hitting him.

It’s clear, now, where the poison lies. Seeping into Dick’s blood. Dripping from the cut on his knuckle. Pulsing within his very veins.

[honeyjars-sims]

Part 2 Prologue #1: Growth Mindset

Author's Note: I made some changes to my plans so the next few posts will be the prologue to Part 2 of Safe Harbor. They will fill in some gaps from the last chapter and set things up for the next chapter!

I’m preparing for my therapy appointment but this time instead of making the drive to Evergreen Harbor, I’m logging into our meeting on my PC. 

“So how are things going in San Sequoia?” Khadija asks me once we’re both settled in.

“It’s going great,” I tell her. It’s a little weird seeing her on the screen instead of in person, but before long our conversation feels as comfortable as ever.

“I’m glad to hear it! Is everything going okay with your roommate? I know you were a little apprehensive moving in with someone you don’t know that well.”

“Yeah, Paul’s pretty cool. I figured he would be, being Lucy’s brother and all. And everyone in the community has been welcoming.”

“So no secret cult activity?”

“Nope,” I laugh. “If anyone’s performing any rituals, they’re doing a good job of keeping it under wraps.” My impression of my neighbors so far has been that they’re mostly wannabe bohemians–they like the idea of a homesteading lifestyle but don’t want to fully commit to a life without modern luxuries. Pretentious, maybe, but not harmful.

“It sounds like you like it there.”

“I do. It’s different, but it’s fun. I’ve been helping out with the animals; you know, cleaning the chicken coop and milking the goat, stuff like that. I even helped hatch a chick!”

Khadija laughs. “I have to say, I never expected you to be out in the field doing labor.”

“I didn’t expect it either, but it’s not that bad. I guess I’ve been doing a lot of new stuff lately. Paul convinced me to join a yoga class and I think it’s helped me relax. And would you believe I’ve been doing cross-stitch?”

“Cross-stitch? I wouldn’t have pictured that either, but it sounds nice.”

“Yeah, it takes a lot of patience because I messed up a lot at first, but it's kind of relaxing in a way.”

“Relaxation seems to be a big focus for you right now.”

“I guess so. I’ve been trying to find new ways to regulate my emotions like you suggested. Honestly, I’m feeling really good right now.”

“I can tell. I’m really proud of your progress, Johnny. I can see you’re really putting in the work.”

“Yep, even when it comes to the hard stuff, like having to talk to Lacey, I’ve been able to work through my feelings and do what I need to.”

“Oh yeah, how did that go by the way?”

“It was okay. I just told her what I said to you, that I think she’s a really great person and I value her friendship, but I just don’t have romantic feelings for her. And I apologized for leading her on.”

“How did she take it?”

“Pretty well, I guess. I could tell she was disappointed, maybe even hurt, but she was cool about it. Work was a little awkward for a bit but I think we’ve worked past the worst of it.”

I'm glad that Lacey and I are still friends, but I do feel bad still about how everything went down with her. She's everything that I thought I wanted, but for some reason, it just wasn't clicking for me. The whole thing makes me more empathetic to what Lexie went through when she broke up with me; it really doesn't feel much better to be on the other side of things.

“Well, I’m proud of you for doing the right thing, even if it was difficult. I think it says a lot that you’re trusting your own feelings and not getting hung up on what you think you should do. I’d like to see you do that more often. How does that sound to you?”

“Good, but a little scary,” I answer. 

“A little fear is understandable as long as it’s not keeping you from growing. I think you can work through it, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I think so.” I wasn't sure I'd ever get to this place, but for once in my life, I actually feel like I can handle whatever's coming my way. And I can't wait to take it on.

Previous | Beginning of story | Beginning of chapter | Next

[the-fuck-did-u-say]

Percy x Lee I hear you say...

Any thoughts and headcanons for them?

Ok ok my first ask… totally not panicking…

This is a ship I most definitely haven’t thought through yet and I don’t really post about it, but this is easily one of my otps. So this is most likely going to sound rather scattered and not very detailed. But even so this is kinda a long one by my standards so do bear with me.

I’d love to think that Lee got the absolute worst first impression of him. He’s best friends with the twins after all, so it’s almost inevitable. The literal minute their friendship started on Hogwarts Express the twins were talking about Percy. Lee, in his young excited 11 year old mind, just goes with their flow while chipping in with tidbits of his own life every now and then. At this point all three of them are already pretty smug that they’ve already made friends.

The entire train ride Percy’s been avoiding the twins (understandably). He’s been dreading the day they come to Hogwarts and is just trying to stop shit from hitting the fan before they even make it off the train. And if they do get into something, it won’t be his mess to clear up so long as he stays away.

It basically stays that way for the entire sorting ceremony and the first week or so. Of course Percy can’t fully avoid the twins without nothing short of a restraining order, so they do have a few conversations in which so he tries to end as quickly as possible. But during those short meetings Lee is getting absolutely shoved down Percy’s throat.

The same thing is happening to Lee, but instead of being painted as someone fun and chill and interesting, like how he’s been described to Percy, Fred and George are telling him the exact opposite (boring, uptight, boring again for emphasis). But it’s still that hazy feeling where they’re still getting used to school and magic and all that. Like no matter what blood type you make him, Hogwarts is majestic. Why focus on your best friends’ brother, especially since they’ve so explicitly stated how uninteresting they are?

But then something wakes him up from his daydream. The prank. (Dun dun dun)

I’m not %100 decided on what the prank actually is, because note that this is still a half baked idea I’ve become obsessed with. Just know it was big. Lee knew they were planning something but he wasn’t in any rush to ask. He assumed it was just another harmless petty everyday thing that they were up to. How wrong he was.

He goes on a walk to explore the school grounds after dinner and gets back right before curfew, to sounds of screaming in his ear and cheering in the common room. Cheering all around the castle, for that matter. The twins had pulled something in the Great Hall, something to cement their role as the resident troublemakers. Their very first prank of many to come.

Sound familiar? This is what Fred and George were referencing when they made that dramatic exit dropping out of school. They wanted to end the way they started. But anyway-

It didn’t take long to figure out the prank was on Percy, no less, though he was nowhere in sight. Everyone’s patting the twins on the back and congratulating them, even Charlie and Bill, who’re happy they’ve settled alright. Bill does seem somewhat concerned but still convinced it’s all in good fun. He asks Charlie where Percy is and he offhandedly mentions that he’s barricaded himself in his dorm to “sulk”.

Lee laughs along with everyone else but at the same time he’s confused af. Percy couldn’t be that pure and holy that he doesn’t even retaliate? Or even respond at all?

(Right let’s wrap this up, everything’s somewhat unclear from now I’m sorry 😔)

So Lee starts paying more attention to Percy’s actions and he’s even more fascinated than ever. His eyes had always lingered slightly longer on Percy, but he’s never really noticed it before now. And soon, he starts noticing more. He’s completely memorised the brisk way he walks. The way his mouth tightens whenever he hears the whispers behind his back. Along with other things.

Of course those other things really didn’t help when the hormones came knocking on his door, and atp he’s having a crisis. He’s never had a problem with gay men, he’s just never thought he was… one of them. (Not quite internalised homophobia, just straight up bafflement) But it’s getting more and more likely. He starts looking at pretty boys the way he looks at pretty girls, though neither the same way he looks at Percy.

And at the age of 12, Lee Jordan comes out as bisexual.

He’s now accepted his raging crush on Percy. He’s definitely liked an other few people (exhibit A, Angelina). With those types of relationships he’s very flirty and unserious, (as we can see in canon) and has had one relationship throughout school (idk who with), which he quickly ended because he realised his crush wasn’t going away and it wasn’t fair on his partner. He’s no longer in a crisis, just a numb pain knowing his love is probably unrequited. Even if it wasn’t, no way in hell would Fred and George allow it.

And back to Percy! He… hasn’t noticed. He still sees Lee as his younger brothers’ best friend. Someone brings up the idea of Lee having a crush on Percy (which gave Lee a heart attack btw when he finds out) and Percy just waves it off. In an “I guess that’s kinda sweet” and “I don’t really believe it” way, devastating Lee.

After the war, where the age gap is less relevant, that lovesick git FINALLY confesses and Percy is like “wait you’re serious”. And then Lee kind of accidentally-on-purpose seduces him over the next few months? Basically Lee making genuine moves on him and Percy seeing the appeal? It’s really hard to explain and I know I’m wording this poorly 😭

Everyone’s reaction would be hilarious, especially Fred and George’s. And of course I want them to find out last. And be outraged that everyone kept it a secret from them.

But this is only one version of it and honestly it’s just entertaining no matter the context. This is such a rare pair (7works on ao3, five where they’re the main ship), nothing is impossible, these are just bad Ideas.

Thank if you made it through this long ass post and sorry this is kinda late :/

[ninadove]

hi!

i’m so sorry if you’ve already made a post or answered an ask like this before, but i remember you saying a couple times how the lovesquare is queer-coded.

i think that’s such an interesting observation, and i was wondering if you’d be willing to elaborate on that a little more?

i’d love to hear your thoughts!! and thank you for taking the time to read this. :)

Absolutely Anon! Thanks for dropping by! ❤️🖤

I’m sure there are a lot of wonderful, more complete posts on the topic out there — my Sentikids tunnel vision means I don’t always grant other characters/relationships the attention they deserve. That being said, here are some things that popped into my head:

1. Secret identities

You know ‘em, you love ‘em. Secret identities are the core of the show — the very reason the Love Square is a square! Hiding part or the entirety of who you are for safety reasons is a theme most queer people unfortunately relate to, and the great thing is that we get two very different perspectives on the matter from our two protagonists.

For Adrien, Chat Noir means freedom: being away from his father’s grasp (read: from a power structure that tries to sculpt him into something perfect and bland — more on that later) allows him to become bolder, funnier, more like himself or at least more like the person he wants to be — which very prominently features being in love with Ladybug, aka exploring romantic connections outside of Kagami, the only acceptable option for Adrien.

And yet… Chat Noir is also something dangerous. When Chat Noir gets rejected, Adrien tries to renounce his Miraculous, aka to bury this part of himself as far down as possible; when Chat Noir gets unmasked by Ladybug, the object of his affections, IT’S THE LITERAL END THE WORLD (twice and a half now). There’s an entire post to be made about Cat Walker and Aspik and Adrien folding himself into what he thinks Ladybug’s perfect partner should be.

The point is: Adrien being himself puts him (and the people he loves) in harm’s way, both emotionally and physically. You see the themes, I see the themes, we cry together and hold hands.

Marinette, on the other hand, fucking hates being Ladybug for most of the series. She wants to be a normal girl (!) with a normal life (!!) and it’s just not happening. The reason? There’s something about her that no one knows yet (!!!) ‘cause she has a secret (!!!!).

If anything, being Ladybug keeps getting in the way of her romantic shenanigans: she can’t be with Adrien/Chat Noir because Apocalypse, she can’t be with Cat Walker because her Lucky Charm doesn’t like him, she can’t be with Luka because she has to lie all the time! Not only that, it endangers her friendships as well, as seen in The Gang of Secrets. Look at the wording of her talk with Alya in this episode:

“I won’t try to figure it out our force it out of you. If you can’t tell me what’s in your heart… it’s your right.”

“Will we still be friends?”

“Marinette, I’m your best friend, and I’ll always be. That’s why it kills me that I can’t help you with whatever’s making you feel so alone.”

[…] “You know why I broke up with Luka? Not because I don’t like him! He’s amazing! It’s because there’s something that I can’t tell him. You know why I have to forget Adrien? For the exact same reason. You’re right! I keep secrets, I lie all the time, I lie to my friends, to my parents, everyone, and the worst thing is I can’t do it any other way. […] I tell you, things will never be the same between us again, it will mess up everything — maybe even destroy it!

“Marinette, I’m your very best friend.”

“And I… I’m Ladybug.”

If this isn’t a coming out scene, I don’t know what is.

Of course, Marinette progressively steps into her role as a superheroine and learns to navigate her relationships accordingly — but she’s still carrying this secret that sets her apart from the rest of the world. It’s the othering, isolating part of queerness, and it’s really well portrayed throughout the seasons.

2. The Adrigaminette-to-Lukadrinette pipeline

I cannot not mention it, because what the hell was going on here.

Adrigaminette felt less like a love triangle and more like the girls voting themselves out of the polycule in quick succession. We got an entire episode of the three of them running around, holding hands and jumping in ballpits together. Both Adrien and Kagami went heart eyes over Marinette’s loose hair.

Then André came in with his cart and clown shoes and said “Nah you can’t all share the Magical Ice Cream Of Romance. :( Yeah sorry my ice cream is for two people and two people only. :( Also I guess I could serve Marigami and Marigami only but the flavours would taste gross together. :( Don’t look into the subtext too much” HE JUST HAD TO RUIN IT FOR THEM DIDN’T HE

I’m really happy he ruined it for them, for bird reasons, but still. Adrigami is also the one time we get to see Chat Noir ruin Adrien’s love life, and most of the fuel for my aroace Adrien thoughts, but I digress — LUKADRINETTE

Luka is in the unique position of knowing both Ladybug and Chat Noir’s identities, aka the most secret part of their souls, and immediately went in repression mode in Wishmaker upon finding out his two crushes were basically soulmates. It pays off in Migration, when he becomes their de facto safe place, the one person they know has both of their backs no matter what. Just look at the way they all look at each other:

With Marinette knowing she does not have to lie to him anymore and Adrien being Adrien. I’m sorry but in my mind they both independently proposed to him right then and there. This is the timeline I live in now.

Parenthesis over. Let’s get back to business:

3. Feligami Adrinette

By which I mean the themes explored throughout their relationship.

Adrinette’s story has always been about rescuing Adrien from the abusive environment he grew up in, as Marc and Nathaniel so helpfully drove across through their delightful storyboards:

(Note the gender role reversal here, blurring the lines between Marinette and Ladybug as she takes on the role of the knight in shining armour, while Adrien is the princess locked away in her tower… Adrien’s gender deserves another other essay in itself, but for today, let’s just agree that he is Not Cis.)

In S5, this theme escalates into a full-on Romeo and Juliet situation. Gabriel and Tomoe are of course the main obstacles to Adrinette’s happy ending: given A. Gabriel’s history of forcing his son into a mold, B. the strict expectations placed on Tsurugi women and C. the oppressive, uniformly white world they want to create through Perfect Alliance (Perfect!!! Alliance!!! Rings!!! Marriage!!!), it’s not a stretch to see them as the messengers of a certain vision of masculinity, femininity and relationships. You see it, I see it, Marinette doesn’t see it because she’s too busy sobbing on the floor, which finally brings me to my favourite thing ever:

“But Nina!” I hear you protest, “you’re making everything about Feligami again!” To which I reply: first of all, yes I am. Second of all, you can’t stop me. Third of all —

Third of all, characters don’t exist in a vacuum, and this is particularly true of the Adrinette & Feligami quartet. Kagami’s name literally means mirror; Felix is a foil to Adrien, of course, but also to Marinette (and Gabriel and Emilie and a bunch of other characters and I love him so much but let’s not stray too far from the point). Of course Feligami is going to parallel and contrast Adrinette, especially since Felix is Aware of the Themes and Motifs and has decided to make it everyone’s problem.

So in June (!) 2023, a little thing called Representation (!!) aired.

There are sooo many things to say about the queer-coding of the Senti-lore in general and of Felix and Feligami in particular. Today, though, I want to draw your attention to the way the kids talk about themselves at the end of the play, drawing clear narrative links to the Love Square (and most specifically Ladybug):

“You know what it’s like to not be able to love the one you want.”

“To constantly fight to save the people you love.”

“To have to lie all the time and never reveal who you truly are.”

[Wipes a single tear away] They grow up so fast…

At the end of the day, this is what both Feligami and the Love Square are all about: embracing who you are and the love you feel, no matter its form, in a world that perpetually tries to enslave and/or kill you for it. I don’t know about you, but I find it hella queer in nature.

Thank you for coming to my DUUSUTalk! 💙🦚

[mintywolf]

(I wrote this on the train coming home on August 26th although I am just getting around to posting it now because time is a weird soup.)

So okay.

****

I haven’t written a personal journal post in a long time but I want to write down EVERYTHING I can remember about my adventure to NYC to see the Critical Role cast so I don’t forget. It was SUCH a moving experience and I’m so glad I went even though I was scared.

So okay my big goal for this year was to finish the first chapter of my C3 prequel fan comic A Long Road Home (southerngothiccomic.com), have a print edition made, and meet Laura and Marisha at a convention so I could give copies of it to them in person. When the CR cast announced they were going to be at Anime NYC this year I figured that was the closest they were probably going to get to me in Virginia. (And getting autographs at NYCC is reportedly like hunting a unicorn so I figured this would be my best chance.)

I was also terrified, and almost talked myself out of it because I was nervous about giving them the comic, even though I already had a badge and it was what I really, really wanted to do. I know the cast loves to see fanart — and also, it has been revealed, reads the fanfic — but it’s also a pretty well-known taboo for a fan to show their fanfic to a creator and a graphic novel is an unholy hybrid of the two. I was also worried that it would seem presumptuous of me to present them with a fanmade prequel graphic novel because there’s almost certainly going to be an official one at some point, and afraid that at best they might politely tell me they couldn’t accept it (for the reasons that comic writers aren’t “allowed” to read fanfic), and at worst they might be kind of annoyed that it exists. Either way I’d be REALLY sad, and in the weeks leading up to the con I worked myself up into an irrational panic about this. Fortunately my friends managed to talk me into not backing out (and spoilers: it turned out okay in the end!) but I was still very scared.

Also I was so focused on the comic stuff that I forgot until after GenCon earlier this month to think of what I wanted to actually have autographed. I decided to get a big print of the chapter one cover from INPRNT, assuming that since I ordered it two weeks in advance with an eta of 5-7 days that would be plenty of time for it to get to me. Well, reader, it was not. (But please do not let me dissuade you from using INPRNT! To their credit when I contacted them and asked if I could upgrade to rush delivery, they expedited it for free. Unfortunately even with rush shipping it just missed me, arriving at my house while I was on the train to NYC.)

Pâté on the train going to see his biological parents. (Laura and Marisha.)

When I saw that it wasn’t going to arrive in time I was starting to panic because there is nowhere near me to have art prints made. It’s a 15 minute drive (past the alpaca farm) just to get to the nearest grocery store. Grasping at straws I was kind of like Should I . . . draw something? On paper?? With real media that I haven’t used in like 10 years??? I only have 3 days!!!

Fortunately my life was saved by @emphaticembroiderer who had the brilliant suggestion of sending my art ahead to a print shop in NYC and picking it up before the convention. There are indeed MANY of those in New York and I managed to find one that was open on Saturdays and able to make my print on short notice. (567 Framing on W 14th street. The owner, Jack Hu, did excellent work and was very kind!) By that point I was frazzled and didn’t want two of the same print so I decided to be self-indulgent and had this one made. Not my showiest piece but it is one of my favorite things I’ve drawn. (This turned out to be the correct decision.) It’s a 6 1/2 hour train ride from here to there (and it got a little delayed along the way) so by the time I got there it was after 5 and the print shop closed at 6:30 so I zoomed over there straight from the train station to pick it up. It turned out BEAUTIFULLY, and the owner was pleased with how happy I was with it and that he’d been able to help.

He enjoys that he is included.

Then I went and checked in to my hotel and that point really just wanted to lie down on a bed but I had plans to take Pâté to see Hadestown on Broadway that night because I wanted to make the most of my trip. (Also it’s important for our scrungly son to receive a cultural education.) In keeping with the theme of the weekend I wore the Laudna-themed sundress I made for GenCon with one of the poppies in my hair. An usher told me they liked my ensemble. :) I had decided to go for a front row mezzanine seat because I didn’t know when I’d ever have this opportunity again and I didn’t want to risk my miniature self being stuck behind a tall person. It was perfect; I could see everything and the performance was AMAZING. Pâté had a very good time too.

The next day was the CR panel and autographs!! I decided to wear my 1950s Laudna cosplay from GenCon. I had some doubts about it when I got there because without the rest of 50s Bells Hells the theme isn’t as clear and outside of a DnD-focused convention the recognizability of a CR character is kind of low, let alone an AU variant on one. But once I found the Critters my Pâté poodle skirt was appreciated. :)

This is Rach @dadrielle, Astoria @astoriacolumnstaircase, Abby @overnighttosunflowers, and me as 50s Hells at GenCon!

And okay I know this said a lot but it’s true, CR fans are the NICEST fandom to be a part of. <3 If you’re ever standing in line for a CR thing by the time you get there you will have new friends. (For comparison the other-fandoms cosplayers I saw at the hotel and on the way to the con didn’t even return my smiles, even though we were all clearly going to the same place.) I fell in with a group of people who were near me in line (including an amazing Owlbearman cosplayer) and we decided to all sit together. The panel was really great. I don’t remember everything that was asked because of everything ELSE that happened later that day but they hinted that Big Things are coming (including multiple live shows!! Please come to Richmond! Or DC! Or at least somewhere on the East Coast!) for the 10th anniversary and Momlan stepped up to the mic during the Q&A segment and revealed that Sam has achieved his childhood dream . . . to become a minotaur. :D

With the mindset of making the most of this trip I had intended to try to get a spot in line to ask a question but I was hesitant about being on camera (even in cosplay) and while I was dithering about it like 50 people got in line. (I was also Suffering by that point because my rockabilly Laudna shoes have like 3 inch heels and after walking from the hotel to the convention center I didn’t have the fortitude to dart over to the line in them.)

My question, which I hope to submit next time there’s a Q&A opportunity, was this: For Marisha. We’ve seen Delilah’s influence manifesting in Laudna’s fashion choices recently. Now that she has the means and the freedom to do so, what kind of clothes would she choose for herself?

(Because I am a little sad that — until a possible post-campaign oneshot — we’ll never get to see a high-level Laudna costume that’s totally of her own design and I’m really eager to know what it would look like! Let her be spooky and free!)

Afterwards the cosplayers were being rounded up for a photo shoot but I was anxious to get a good spot in line for my autograph with Laura at 2pm so I stealthed away with Ken (@elissabrat), a Jester fan I had met in line, who knew where they were and had one with Travis at the same time. When we got there we were told No, go away and come back in an hour and a half, because it was still only 12. So we went to the Artists Alley where we found a girl named Lea whom we had also met in the panel line and collected a few other stray Critters (Ken has a boisterous and inviting personality and importantly, is very tall, preventing the rest of us from getting lost in the crowd) and we wandered around seeking out all the CR fan artists we could find. (There were a lot! It was great. I got some prints.)

by Cait May and Maliveth

Around 1 we decided to go back and see what the line situation was. Before we parted ways I exchanged twitter handles with Lea, who looked at my profile and said “Wait . . . this is you?”

She told me she was a big fan of my comic and looks forward to it every week! and we were both kind of like !!! at each other for a moment. I had never met someone who recognized my art in the wild before. (On ANY other day this would have been the most amazing thing that happened to me, haha.) I was so touched to meet her. <3

I took out the two books I was carrying and explained why I was there and we all got hyped up about it. And it made it feel a little less daunting, to know that there was someone there who understood the quest I was on and how close I was to the end of it.

I was like 5th in line for Laura and since it was still early I got to participate in that bonding experience integral to every con, sitting on the floor in cosplay, with a very good Vex behind me. (Hilariously, even after the dig at them — or maybe unaware of it — in the most recent episode, there were a lot of Funko Pop resellers around us, haha.)

I sent word to Southern Gothic Discord to remember me fondly in case I died here. In fact I'm not entirely sure that I didn't.

It felt like there was a disproportionate amount of fanfare revealing my print because I kept it how it was packed by the printer, wrapped in paper in between two pieces of cardboard so it wouldn’t get bent, so there was this whole ceremony of peeling back the tape, turning under one of the cardboard protectors, unfolding the paper, and turning over the print. But Laura loved it. She made like a happy sob when she saw it (it was really cute) and she looked at it for a long time taking in all the details and said it was beautiful. <3 <3 <3 (No matter how much we love and ship Imogen and Laudna, NO ONE loves them or is shipping them harder than Laura Bailey. She asked if I was going to bring it to Marisha too and was careful picking out a spot so there'd be room for both of their signatures. :))

I told her I was really happy to meet her because I’ve been a fan since BloodRayne (so, um. 20 years) and she said “oh wow, that was OG days!” And she gave me just a really kind look like she understood how much it meant to me to be there.

Then I gave her the comic. You all were right, I was worried about nothing! because she is the sweetest and she loved it. I very nervously pushed it across the table and said it was a comic I had made and wanted to give her. She picked it up and started turning the pages and was surprised when she saw what it was. “Wait, this is a whole novel! You made this?”

I confessed that I had, and she asked how long it had taken, I told her about a year (it was actually longer; in the moment I kind of forgot not how many pages there are in the first chapter but how many weeks are in a year) and she looked just really impressed that I had made it and touched by how much work had gone into it. She said she couldn’t wait to read it and seemed really excited to hear that it’s still going online! (So no pressure on me there if she's keeping up with it now, haha. o.o) And she kept looking between the book and me like she couldn’t believe it.

Then she asked me if I would sign it for her. :')

Somehow I survived long enough to do so! (a little wobbly because my hands were shaking) and someone (I think it was the ticket scanner) made a joke about how I was the first person to give an autograph at a signing, haha. And then she came around the table and gave me a hug. <3 <3 <3

After that my soul was still on the ethereal plane but the rest of me managed to find my way (after a brief wrong turn) to Marisha’s line. (There was a really good Keyleth and Caduceus in line behind me and they kindly noticed and returned the Pâté sticker that fell out of Marisha’s book).

She recognized my cosplay as 1950s Laudna right away! which was very validating after my earlier indecision haha. She loved the Pâté skirt and thought the scissors embroidery on my collar was adorable. She really liked the art too and was kind of like “Awww” about the book like in an “aww it’s an Imogen and Laudna thing” kind of way (she also liked the glass bottle windchimes on the cover and I love that she noticed that detail because Laudna’s penchant for turning things other people have thrown away into arts and crafts is one of my favorite aspects of her character) until she opened it and started looking through it.

Then she said, “Wait, this is actually really good," and she asked me seriously if Liam “Art Dad” knew about it (I said he had liked some of my other art on Twitter but I didn’t know if he knew about the comic) and then she said — still looking at it, more to herself than me — “We’ll have to add it to our art catalogue.” I don’t know exactly what that means (and I don’t want to get my hopes up too high by speculating; I was too !!! in the moment to ask and now I’m going to be wondering) but . . . it sounds . . . exciting??

They also both enjoyed Pâté and his lil sunglasses. :)

I had gone up with the intention of asking my other burning question: How does being cold-blooded affect Laudna in cold climates? If she gets too cold will she enter a state of brumation like a lizard? Will she freeze solid?

But I forgot. And it really wouldn’t have been the right moment. Maybe when I come back with Volume Two. :)

You’re supposed to pay extra to get a quote put on there but they both did it anyway without even asking. I think they must be really pleased when someone brings them something personal that they’ve made to have signed and not something they’re planning to sell.

After that I just kind of floated away from the con even though it was only like 2:30 haha. Nothing else could have happened there that would have equaled or improved upon that experience. Although I did adopt a Tentacle Kitty. The vendor (correctly) guessed “you look like you’d vibe with our spooky collection” so I had to get a new buddy for Pâté. (50s Laudna, still readily identifiable as a witch wherever she goes.) Also I saw a very chill emotional support pomeranian in a backpack.

(On the way back I saw the mark of the Traveler graffiti’d in green on the sidewalk. Truly a blessed day. :P)

Afterwards I just sat on the bed in my hotel room amid the floof of my crinoline wondering what even is my life for the next few hours and being like !!!! at Discord. Then I met up with Abby (whom it was wonderful to see again!! thank you so much for coming to see me) for dinner and had a really lovely time going over the What Just Happened of it all and talking about Imodna over strawberry pancakes. As one does. Perfect ending to an amazing day. <3

It was SUCH an incredible, exhilarating experience, thank you everyone who pushed me into not giving up out of fear. Laura and Marisha are SO nice and gracious in person and it was just so rewarding, after all the work and love and time I’ve put into this comic, to be able to finally bring it to the people who inspired it! And to see it appreciated and admired by them! It was more than I ever could have imagined.

This fandom is the best. My heart is so happy and full of love right now. <3 <3 <3

[coolingrosa]

Survivors guilt within yourself (Online edition)

This may be TMI and too much dumping bout my life, but I think it’s important to talk about, especially with so many young artists looking to make it big online.

I have this weird feeling towards stepping away from the internet.

I’m not saying this is me leaving, as I never want to stop making content. However, I have definitely drifted from the online life style including discord conversations, tiktok drama, constant YouTube posts, etc.

Why? Well, I want to make a YouTube video about this one day, but to boil it down: The internet was my coping mechanism for many years.

Now that I’m out of my abusive household, I can actually STATE now publicly how I was living in a mentally and physically abusive environment for all my eighteen years of existing. Just to brush the top of it as I won’t dive too deep (that’s for a future YouTube video), but I want to give some context as to what I was dealing with: I lived in a household where my brother was a diagnosed sociopath, my father was a narcissist, and the family members around were passive to the abuse my sister, brother, and I faced. These disorders do NOT automatically make you a bad person, evident by how though my brother was not a good role model and was disruptive to my development, he was a better father figure to me than my own father and shielded my sister and I from the brunt of the abuse for many years until he moved out. However, my father is a substance abuser as well, as with this disorder, such things do not mix well. I will not go any further about the abuse besides the fact that I draw my sona with body scars for a reason. They were not self inflicted and never were, even though some assume they are. Anyone in similar environments knows how desperate you are to find a way out. My way out was online. From the ages of eleven to seventeen, I became cripplingly dependent on online life. All my friends were online. I consumed content daily to distract from my life outside my room. All was okay and stable for a bit until I began posting at fourteen.

At first, posting was very simple. I’d come home from school and draw something quick and send it on its way. However, as time went on, the attachment to online life- to my online persona- became addictive. I began posting everyday. My only focus and drawing attempts were at tiktoks or YouTube videos. I became so absorbed with likes and comments and creating content that I began to slip away from the small number of real life friends I had, until I blinked and realized that they were all gone.

I was sixteen when this hit, and it only pushed me to get more absorbed into my content, especially when I got back into Undertale.

The worst times in my life were covered up by spam posting on my TikTok- five videos in one day that hid the pain and suffering I was trying to bury. All my friends became online, and I preferred being called Rosa than my real name. I was addicted. I could never be seen without a device to draw on, to post on, or to talk on. If I didn’t have a device, I was forced to confront the reality of my living situation, and I didn’t want to do that.

This began crumbling, though, when my online life began to feel unsafe as well. Many things happened at once that made it terrifying to even look at my phone. The turmoil from losing this safe space I had spent years indulging in was soul crushing, and though it sounds silly to be so upset over losing the comfort of the internet, it was life shattering. It forced me to confront everything I had been ignoring. It forced me to be alive.

Now that I’m in college, I’ve been offline a lot, and the weird sense of survivor guilt I have towards my fifteen year old self is strange. It feels like that young girl is inside me and angry at me for leaving behind a old comfort of mine- something that was so dear- something that defined who I was and for a very long time was the only thing keeping me here.

I survived. And I have other ways to cope. And the guilt of finding those things and people is strong. But I’m happy that I found it. Though fifteen year old me is angry, I’m happy.

So…why do I say all this? Why pour my heart out after stating that my closeness to online life is what made me blind to my real life?

Because I know there are people out there who were or are thinking like me.

Building a platform for yourself is an incredible feat, and I’m forever grateful for all my followers and supporters, but creating my account is also my biggest regret. I want to say to young creators starting out to find a balance. Don’t let the numbers define you. Don’t let who you are online dictate who you are in real life. Don’t forget there even IS a real life. What happens online is minuscule to the joys of going outside and breathing in the air. Seeing the trees sway in the breeze. Though being online can be an escape, it can also be a trap. Don’t fall too deep, because when your able to swim out to safety in the future, it’ll be harder to breach the surface.

So, if I don’t post as often- if I don’t reply to comments or dms as often- it’s not me leaving or being hateful. I’m finally living. I’m breathing and allowing myself to crawl out of the rut I’ve been rotting in for years now. I’m finally alive.

So for me, take a walk outside today without your phone. Remember what it’s like to be human. It sounds silly, but I think many of us forget what it’s like to live as we did as kids. Before the internet was popularized, and walking down the street of your neighborhood was just another Saturday afternoon.

[hydeingpurples]

Hey man! I always love hearing about others’ transition. I’m a trans guy myself who is just now identifying that way very recently and is navigating getting ready to start T and top surgery whenever I’m able as I am saving up. I’d love to hear about your journey and where you are now. 😊

🏳️‍⚧️ Testosterone and Top Surgery 🏳️‍⚧️ (UK) : Discovering Myself, Hormones, Top surgery, Where I Am Now

Hey buddy! I'm more than happy to tell my story so far. I'll pack as much into this post as I can, as it may be helpful to others too, so it may be a bit long, but I'll do it in sections 😊

🕵🏻 Discovering Myself 🧐

This bit was tough. I think it is for a lot of us. I knew deep down for several years that I wasn't a girl. I was terrified of the thoughts that were buzzing around my head, terrified of the things I was feeling. I buried it so deep. At university, I started to let go a bit. Friends around me came out as non-binary and trans, I figured it wasn't so bad. I experimented with pronouns and identities, and eventually I admitted to myself that I was just a guy. I came out to my family aged 21 by letter and it went really well.

Things were still a bit scary though. Trying a binder on for the first time was both exciting and daunting. It felt so freeing and right, but scary too because it meant that, maybe, I needed to get rid of my chest.

💊 Hormones 💉

Over time, the dysphoria got worse and worse. I was becoming extremely jealous of my best friend who was on testosterone (T) and features that other men had that I didn't. I struggled most with my period. At its worst, I spent hours in my flat toilet and the toilets at work crying and withering in disgust and vile discomfort. I'll never forget those feelings.

I knew I'd make it to the other end though one day because my friend had. And, fortunately, April 2023, that day came.

📝 Testosterone Prescription 😄

After jumping through a load of loopholes and sending my blood tests off, my GP/Doctor booked me an appointment. I thought it was just to talk to me about my blood tests.

I sat down and he talked to me for a bit. Nothing much, nothing special. Then, he started printing something out. He whipped it from the printer and handed me this lil slip of paper. It was a prescription letter.

You know how people say the world can stop? Or go in slow motion? That's exactly what happened. I must have spent an entire lifetime staring down in silence, in awe, at this little piece of paper. My eyes were welling up with joy. I looked at him and all I could do was thank him, over and over and over again. A great smile beamed on his face.

Upon leaving, everything was blurry. It was like I had tunnel vision. All I could see was this piece of paper. I stormed out of the building, called my Mom, and violently cried with joy.

"Slow down, I can't understand you", she said.

"I've got it. I've got it. I have a testosterone prescription!" I spluttered.

It took me a while to calm down, haha. I've never been so joyous.

🌱 Testosterone Effects Timeline 📊

⚠️Please note everyone's changes, intensity of changes, and rates of changes are different⚠️

Week 1: no voice drop, but my throat felt different; increased discharge downstairs; a little sweatier and took me longer to cool down.

Week 2-3: some hot flashes but not many; needed bigger meals.

After 1 month: period stopped (🥳); small amount of increased hair growth on legs; head hair started growing faster; more and slightly more intense hot flashes; subtle voice changes, easier to talk at my lowest level.

2 months: stamina increase, longer work time and shorter recovery time; voice slightly deeper; upper lip hair started coming through darker; increased peach fuzz hair growth on face, arms, legs, stomach, especially legs; increased spots on back.

Up to 6 months: how I felt and processed emotions changed (found it A LOT easier to process emotions, less chaotic mind); even more hair growth and a few random beard hairs; further stamina increase; my sweat and pee changed how they smelt which was weird; further voice changes; sometimes I had sudden bouts of strong hunger but not often.

Up to 12 months: increased downstairs discharge stopped; even more body hair (thicker, darker, curly), especially on legs; a few more beard hairs on chin; back spots decreased; voice a little deeper; face shape changes, boarder shoulders.

Up to 17 months (now): almost every area on my legs is hair; hair growth on butt and up butt; a few more beard hairs (that grow back pretty quick after shaving); warmer, more and longer got flashes, difficulties cooling down (I'm also extremely heat averse though so 🤷🏻); masculinising hairline (i.e receding at the front to look more masculine); much more noticeable voice changes, difficulties reaching higher tones, much easier to talk low.

Extra: I haven't experienced any bottom growth or change in libido at all. I've identified as asexual for a while now and still do, no changes at all. It's fairly common to experience bottom growth and some report a change in libido too, I just haven't 🤷🏻

🧑🏻‍⚕️ Top Surgery 😷 - double incision

I was terrified I wasn't going to get to this stage. I moved from Wales to England and both have different medical systems, so I was petrified of my surgery referral getting lost.

Fortunately, it didn't get lost. Once it was booked in, I had my consultation where I met the surgeon and her team, I was measured, told about the process and what could go wrong and what the solutions were.

Now I had a new fear: was this right? The self doubt was ridiculous. What if I regretted it? What if I hated my results?

The morning of the surgery answered these questions. My plan was that if it felt wrong on the morning, I knew I had the power to back out.

At 8:30am I was called to my surgery. I wrapped my arms around my Mom, a giant smile swallowing my face, and I said, "see you later!", and pranced down the corridor with the nurse. I was SO excited.

Going under anaesthetic was perfectly alright. It was insanely fast which I wasn't expecting. They started the anaesthetic and all I had time for was a few sentences before I was out.

🛏️ Recovery 🏥

💫I've got a big list of tips and tricks for top surgery recovery which might be best for another post because it's huge💫

Recovery actually wasn't too bad. When I woke up, the only discomfort I felt was a prickly feeling around the surgery site which they quickly sorted with painkillers. The day after anaesthetic was a bit rocky, I slept a lot and felt a bit icky, basically like a hangover. After that, all I felt was a dull aching in my abdomen for 3/4 days, otherwise no pain. I couldn't actually feel anything around my nipples or incisions, it was totally numb. The trickiest part was actually keeping myself busy so my Tourette's didn't damage the surgery site.

Once things had healed up a bit more and my stitches were out/dissolved away, I really started to appreciate my new chest. Unlike some people, I didn't have a super euphoria moment. For me, it's simply been total peace and relief since. I no longer think about my chest in any capacity. It feels natural, normal, right, and that, to me, means it was absolutely the right decision. It was what I needed.

🙋🏻 Where am I Now? 🙋🏻

It's been just over 10 months since my top surgery and my scars are fading very well. I'm very happy with the results. I've regained a substantial amount of sensation too in both my nipples and the incision scars. I've done a huge amount of scary care which I'm happy to talk about in another post so this one doesn't get any longer.

I'm fortunate enough to have had all of my records changed, I have a male passport, and I recently passed my driving test and have a full driver's license with my new name on it!

But, I think more importantly, I now feel more confident, I care about what I wear and how I look, I've found my style and what I like to wear, I look after my personal hygiene, and I feel like myself.

And that is where I am now 😊

I hope you've found this helpful in some way. There's a lot of information here. It was nice to type that story out. If you'd like anything else in more detail or have any questions, go for it!

[i-like-turkey]

I saw your Bluesky account was no longer active. I had also noticed you hadn’t posted since thanksgiving. I hope you’re ok and Pupperoni is also doing ok. Holidays can be brutal. Please know you are valued. And you are important.

Thanks for checking in on me!

Short answer: My pup is doing great. I’m not. But I’m alive and fully intend to stay that way.

Long answer: 2024 is officially in the running for the worst year of my life. It started with two massive losses in February and then another one in early May. I dealt with my dog grief by going out and getting a puppy. She is the only reason I got through those early days cause instead of not sleeping cause I’m bawling my eyes out, I was not sleeping cause I was getting up multiple times to take her potty. And then during the day I was too busy chasing her around to feel much of anything.

But then May hit and her behavior started changing. Instead of my biggest worries being a noise complaint cause she’d bark herself to sleep in her crate, it was can I get her out of my apartment without her biting my arms down to the bone and ripping my clothes to shreds and accidentally strangling me with the strap to her treat bag?

So this last summer was fucking hell. I tweeted a bit about it, but y’all don’t know half the story. Imagine being ten minutes from your car and your dog is so scared that she’s lost her fucking mind and the only thing she can do at that moment is attack YOU. She doesn’t care about sticks or treats or sniffing grass or anything else. All she wants is to bite YOU. And now you've gotta figure out how to get her back to your car without losing a finger or having someone call animal services on you.

I was bleeding daily and sleeping maybe 3-4 hours a night even though my pup was finally sleeping through the night cause I was stressed and cause was on a mission for answers. I was constantly Googling dog training and behavior and getting tips and seeing horror stories about dogs that had to get put down because they were acting like my pup. And that thought was killing me cause I couldn’t fathom losing another dog so soon after I said goodbye to my first baby.

So I wasn’t myself this summer. I was quick to anger and couldn’t think rationally and more stressed out than I’d ever been at any point in my life, law school included. Those days are now just a blur of horribleness and I’m glad that we got my pup’s medication figured out and that we're through them.

But getting through them has brought clarity and time and the mental state to actually deal with my grief and process all of the other things that I’ve lost throughout the year. I used the analogy for grief last chapter of a semi-truck of elephants strapped to Kate’s back. That’s appropriate for me here especially in December, but Kate’s swiss cheese analogy actually fits my situation better. I’m full of holes. I’ve lost big, massive chunks of my life and they aren’t coming back and there's no replacement for them. I’m empty and I’m lonely and I need to get my shit together because I can’t keep going on like this.

And that means I need to leave fandom. I’ve tried to put on a brave face and pretend that everything is ok, but I can’t do that anymore. Opening social media is just a reminder of the past and what’s gone and what’s not coming back and how sad and lonely I am. So it’s time to go. I deactivated bluesky. I haven’t opened IG in ages. Idk what I’m gonna do about it yet. I’ll figure it out. I might delete or I just might let it be a zombie account. My twitter accounts can live on as zombies. I will keep tumblr because it predated my participation in the Kacy fandom, but I don’t think I will be around much. I need to focus my scant free hours on cultivating real life connections.

[dragonshoard]

I've been brainstorming the conditions under which BB!Jinx would meet Vi, and one option I've come across is post-Shurima conflict and Silco's death (still up in the air on how THAT happens). Vi is released as a result of Caitlyn's newest project to burn out the corruption in Piltover's judicial system. Vi comes back to Zaun to try and find Powder, eventually running into Sevika who reveals that Silco killed Powder. As a note, Sevika does NOT know that Powder was revived and genuinely isn't lying to Vi knowingly. Not many Zaunites who knew Powder have actually seen Jinx's face at this point other than a few individuals.

Vi crashes out. Hard. Going down the drinking and fighting route she did post-Cait break up.

I've mentioned before that Vi is also spirit-blessed in this AU. She's tempered iron and bedrock, an untapped potential forged to serve as a reliable foundation; someone capable of carrying the world on her shoulders even on the worst days.

(Some of this is pretty literal: her bones are very difficult to break and she's very good at taking hits.)

This connection to the arcane draws Jinx to her, who is somewhat disappointed at the state she finds her spirit-sister (ha). Jinx takes to patching her up when Vi gets especially banged up.

Here's a snippet of one of their interactions. Tis a work in progress.

Why is Jinx wearing a veil in addition to her feather cloak? Haven't figured that out quite yet - probably something along the lines of it not being entirely safe for her face to be out there at the moment or a religious trial of some sort. Either way, I realized it was way too easy for the hood of her cloak to be knocked down so I had to add an extra layer of security.

--x--

“Ya know, this is the fourth time I’ve had to drag you to the church in a month.” 

The arm in her grasp jerked away in an attempt to escape, but Jinx was used to dealing with unruly patients. It was easy to adjust her grip to keep a better hold of the injured limb and continue wrapping it in clean bandages. 

“Stop tensing. You’re going to end up with loose bandages and then where will all of my hard work have gone, huh,” Jinx scolded, pinching the singular uninjured part of the exposed shoulder.

“It’s not like I asked for your help.” The arm tensed again before visibly, forcefully, relaxing. If there was one thing Jinx appreciated her unwilling patient for, it was that despite complaining the brawler actually listened to instructions. 

“Don’t be ungrateful, shithead.”  snip

“I just don’t get why you’re going through all the trouble. You could do your hand-wavey healing magic and I’d be out of your hair in half the time.”

Jinx frowned, tempted to give the cocky bastard another pinch for the audacity but eventually settled for rolling her eyes. The humor was lost, of course, with the thick veil covering everything nose up, but it was the thought that counted! 

“Only people who don’t go around picking fights and making a mess of their pretty faces get a fancy healing session with me.” She slapped the adhesive just a bit harder on the bandage than necessary, feeling a glow of satisfaction at the responding flinch. “You, get to heal the old fashion way. Slowly,” Jinx cackled. 

“And here I thought you religious folk were supposed to be kind and worldly,.”

“Excuse you, I am the kindest person you will ever meet. I could’ve left your scruffy ass where I found it instead of hauling you all the way to my side of town.”

Jinx was careful with the remaining materials, quickly packing away the salvaged remains and sterilizing the needles she had used with a lighter. With a cursory look at her first aid pouch, Jinx realized that she would have to restock soon. 

“Seriously, you don’t have to keep wasting your supplies on me. I’ll get by.” 

Now, that sounded far too depressing for this early in the day. And that was disregarding the blatant day drinking that the older woman took part in. Jinx looked back up to make a joke but stopped short at the look on the other’s face. 

Ah, it was one of those days.

“Vi - “ she began, stopping for a second to try and find the right words.

She wasn’t - good at talking; had never picked up the talent despite how often she’d needed it - too cutting, too sarcastic, and entirely lacking in patience. She’d gotten better over the years, but it didn’t change that in times like these Jinx just wasn’t the best person to turn to, especially when dealing with jobs that went beyond the body. 

[onelatenight-longago]

Stepping Into The (Spot) Light

Warnings/Tags: Fem!Reader, Depictions of Violence and Torture, semi-soft Buggy, he's a danger but also a marshmallow of a man, life on the Big Top, becoming one of the crew, sexual tension and teasing, romance, finding freedom and found family

Description: Buggy plays the hero just the one time and now he's a got a new crew member who will change everything for him.

A/N: I'm going to double post this story, first in 1st person then again in 2nd person.

Chp. 1 - First Person (below) Chp. 1 - Second Person

Chapter 1 (in 1st Person)

To explain how I met him, how I had come to love him, I’d have to explain how I had first found him. Or rather how he had found me. 

I was orphaned as a child. Left to roam the streets of the worst side of Loguetown. I learned very early on how to steal berry and food and I only ever took what I needed, never more. I fought for my survival every day. Though I knew living as a thief would catch up with me one day, I had just figured it would have been later rather than sooner. 

The night it had all changed was the night I had hidden away in a dock storehouse, I needed shelter from the rain and food to get me through the next few days. I was still a small child then and had found myself surrounded by heavy crates too difficult to open. I had resigned myself to another night without food and crawled my way to the far back of the crates, determined to find a spot hidden away and safe enough to sleep in for the night. Only when I came to the perfect spot it was instead occupied by a small box with a latched lid. The box was so unassuming that I could have never believed that it held something as powerful as it did. 

My curiosity had gotten the better of me and I dared to open the small box. I was overjoyed at finding that it contained some kind of fruit. I was too happy for a meal to stop and wonder why one fruit had been packaged just so in a well made box lined with expensive and lush fabric.  The fruit itself was oddly shaped and bitter and it's skin rough and difficult to chew but I was a begger at best and beggers could not be choosers. And when I had finished my meal I curled up, still tucked away within the piled crates and slept through the night, grateful for the food and roof over my head. 

It would be another nine days before I had realized just what I had done. Nine days before I realized the cost of my seemingly 'free' meal. It would be another cold night, only I had found myself trapped in an alleyway, cornered by a drunk and violent Marine. I was scared for my life. As a vagrant, I was accustomed to being called nasty things, but the look in that Marine’s eyes surely meant that if he had gotten his hands on me I would have suffered far worse than just nasty words slung my way. 

I tried to run and when that did not work I tried to fight but I had not yet learned to hold my own. Crying and screaming, crumpled into the cold brick corner I was certain that I would meet my end. I closed my eyes and braced myself for the impending hit or kick but when all that came was the solid thump of the Marine’s body down in front of me I opened my eyes to the sight of a blood red feather boa wrapped tight around his neck, his lips turned blue, and his eyes rolled back into his head. He was dead and I was certain it was my fault, although I had not understood how. I reached out to touch the feather boa but just as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone. 

As years passed I learned to master the skill the Devil Fruit had given me. Learning that it was known as the Boa Boa Fruit, granting me the ability to conjure feather boas as I pleased. I began to perform for berry. First conjuring the boas and having them dance about like dragons. As my skills developed so did my body, with each year an inch more grown into my hips and bosom. The berry I could make nearly doubled then when I instead danced myself, surrounded by the boas and moving in time with them. I could leave a crowd of thirty plus entranced and ready to hand over all their berry to me.

They say the Devil Fruits are cursed, and that once consumed the sea would no longer favor you but I didn’t heed the warning. I had no plans to sail the sea, no desire to enter its waters. I was certain the curse of the Devil Fruit would not affect me. I was wrong. Karma caught up with me anyway. 

I had come to find long term employment at a particular pirate bar, finally having stable employment and someplace to call my own even if it was but a single room above the bar. One night, said bar was overturned by another Devil Fruit Eater, a pirate captain named Wasp. He could conduct electricity on will. It was then I was taken captive, learning the hard way the cost of eating a Devil Fruit. 

This was how I found myself a slave to Captain Wasp, a sick man who used me for his own gain. He strung me along with him town to town forcing me to dance. I tried too many times to escape to fight back but with each attempt Wasp would electrocute me within an inch of my life.

It was in one of these escape attempts that I first saw him.

I had planned for weeks for this moment. As I danced and Wasp’s goons picked the pockets of the entranced crowd, I watched carefully for my opening. The moment in which Wasp’s men would return to him with their spoils and he’d be distracted counting, his back quietly turned away from the crowd and ultimately away from me. I would make a run for it, turning through alleyway after alleyway, moving between and through the buildings until I was certain I could successfully hide away. What I hadn’t planned for was some over-eager onlooker to grab me, pulling me back as I made a run for it. 

The pain was unbearable as the electricity crept through my body, Wasp cackling louder than I could scream. The crowd that had surrounded me quickly dissipated with panicked shouts and I was left laying in the dirt, crying out for help, my voice strangled with pain. It was then I met his eyes from across the roadway as he sat outside some bar, watching on with a blank expression. I mouthed ‘help me’, praying to any entity that he would listen, that he’d answer my plea. 

The next thing I noticed was the red smoke crawling across town, Wasp was distracted and I quickly pulled myself from the ground stumbling my way into a run. I didn’t look back, I didn’t stop, I just kept running. I didn't know how long it took but I had finally found a shop to hide in, its original occupants now missing. My breath was becoming labored and I felt so close to fainting. 

“Hello little Dove.” A cutting and rough voice called out to me, there was someone else in the shop with me after all. “You called and I came” The voice continued but I had begun to lose consciousness, the last I heard was his laugh ringing out around me.

[scary-grace]

Love Like Ghosts (Chapter 4) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

You knew the empty house in a quiet neighborhood was too good to be true, but you were so desperate to get out of your tiny apartment that you didn't care, and now you find yourself sharing space with something inhuman and immensely powerful. As you struggle to coexist with a ghost whose intentions you're unsure of, you find yourself drawn unwillingly into the upside world of spirits and conjurers, and becoming part of a neighborhood whose existence depends on your house staying exactly as it is, forever. But ghosts can change, just like people can. And as your feelings and your ghost's become more complex and intertwined, everything else begins to crumble. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21

Chapter 4

You don’t see Tomura the next morning, but when you come home from work, Phantom is loose in the yard, and Hizashi is hanging out just beyond the fence, studying an empty jar. “I came to get this, since we’re out,” he remarks. He has sharp teeth, just like Himiko. “So, what happened last night?”

You play dumb for all you’re worth. “Something happened last night?”

“Of course it did. The vibes coming off this house are impressively horny,” Hizashi says, and you cringe so hard you’re surprised you don’t explode. “I’ve been there. Consequence of spending too much time embodied – you start feeling things a normal human body feels, and going incorporeal doesn’t make it go away. That was a nasty shock for me, too.”

You really don’t want to ask Hizashi any questions at all, but you’ve got one – and it’s a subject change, so you seize it. “Is it true that ghosts’ power levels are stagnant? Are you just stuck with what you started with?”

“That’s not what I thought you were going to ask.” Hizashi tosses the jar from one hand to the other. “I’m guessing you’re asking because of our sexually frustrated friend in there?”

“I’ll pay you to never say that again,” you say, and Hizashi laughs. “Yes. He said –”

“That he didn’t want to come here. I’d buy that, easy.” Hizashi glances over his shoulder at the house, then beckons you away down the block. You’re not sure how far you have to go to be out of Tomura’s earshot, but you stop when Hizashi does. “Here’s the thing. He and I are the oldest ghosts in this neighborhood, but we’re not the same kind of old. I chose to be here.”

“Why?” you ask. Hizashi stares at you. “Did you come here to hurt people?”

“I came here because I wanted to be people,” Hizashi says. You stare. “Ask him what it’s like in the world between and you’ll understand. But to answer your question, we don’t spend our whole existences at the same power level. There are two kinds of ghostly power. There’s what you get right at the start. Then there’s your potential. Conjurers – the worst ones, anyway – they want potential. That’s why they grab the youngest ghosts.”

His expression darkens, and your legs almost give out beneath you. Is this how Tomura makes other people feel? You’re surprised that anyone’s ever set foot in your house. Hizashi doesn’t notice what he’s doing to you, or if he notices, he doesn’t care. “Eri had low surface power but massive potential. Her conjurer bound her in the worst situation possible, figuring she’d have to tap into that potential to take control of her environment and make it her own. She found another way out, but your ghost didn’t.”

He glances back at your house. “Based on how strong your ghost is now, his potential was massive. He probably hasn’t even found his limit yet. What’s weird is that he hasn’t used it.”

“Did you use yours?”

Hizashi grins his sharp-toothed grin. “Why do you think it took them so long to burn my opera house down?”

You’ve wondered, every so often, what it would have been like to be haunted by Hizashi instead of Tomura. Now you’re pretty sure you’d have had a breakdown. Aizawa must have nerves of steel. “Anyway,” Hizashi says, “he’s not smart enough to tell a lie that big. He’s telling the truth.”

He tosses the jar at you and you barely catch it in time. “And whatever you did last night, don’t do it again. I can handle his mood, but it’s messing with the little ones.”

You cringe. The last thing you want is for Eri and Himiko to pick up on whatever Tomura’s doing – even if they do know all about sex from observing humans already. But you also don’t know how to fix this problem you apparently caused. “What am I supposed to do about it?”

“Ask Keigo,” Hizashi says, already walking away. “He’ll know.”

Keigo? You’ve talked to Keigo some, since he’s the only person in the neighborhood who’s actually in your age range, but it’s occurring to you now that you’ve never actually met Keigo’s ghost. You pull out your phone, considering texting him, but there’s no point when his house is across the street and his car’s in the driveway. You walk back to your house, retrieve Phantom’s spare leash from your car, and take her with you when you head across the street to knock on Keigo’s door.

Keigo answers it pretty fast. There’s a handprint-shaped hole burned in his shirt, still smoking faintly, and it draws your attention like a magnet. “Uh, what is that?”

“Ask Dabi,” Keigo says.

“Ask her damn ghost. It’s all his fault.”

“No, it isn’t. You can control your behavior, you just don’t want to.” Keigo rolls his eyes. “I saw you talking to Hizashi. I’m guessing he sent you?”

“Yeah. Can we talk?”

“Yeah. Just let me get my shoes. And a new shirt.” Keigo ducks back into the house, and you wait on the steps, wondering if you’ll get a glimpse of the former ghost who lives here. Keigo’s voice issues from within the house, but he’s not talking to you. “Don’t go out there if you’re just going to get into a pissing contest with the guy across the street. He could crush you with both hands tied behind his back.”

“He can’t cross that fence, and I didn’t give up my powers like an idiot. That means I can do whatever I want with his human –”

“He’d blow that house apart and come get you, and you know it.” Keigo reappears. “Sorry about him. He’s in a mood. Let’s go.”

“Hey, who said you could leave? I didn’t say you could leave! Get back here –”

“I’ll be back when I feel like it! Bye-bye!” Keigo waves and then slams the door. He hurries down the steps and you follow him. He doesn’t stop until you’re at the top of the street. “Sorry about that. I’m guessing you’ve got questions.”

You have a lot of questions. “Aizawa said Tomura was the only ghost left in the neighborhood.”

“He is,” Keigo says. “You know how ghosts have to want to be embodied more than they’ve ever wanted anything for it to work? Dabi tried to change his mind halfway.”

“Oh,” you say. “So that makes him half ghost?”

“It makes him a scar wraith. Half of him is permanently materialized, half of him isn’t, and most of the time he’s a total bitch about it.” Keigo crouches down to tie his shoes. “He lost half of his ghostly powers and picked up most of the downsides of being embodied. He’s going to be like that until he makes up his mind.”

“Oh,” you say again. “That’s, um – is that why your house is always on fire?”

“You got it.” Keigo straightens up again. “I know we got out of there in a hurry, but you’re not actually in danger from him. I just wanted to teach him a lesson. Like you do to yours when you leave.”

Is that what you’re trying to do? You don’t know if you’re trying to punish Tomura or just trying to figure out a game plan before you go back in. In this case it’s definitely the latter. “Hizashi says my ghost is, um –”

“Horny,” Keigo says. Your face heats up. He starts walking, and you follow him. “Yeah, they get like that sometimes. And they don’t like it. Usually they dematerialize to get away from feelings they don’t like, but it doesn’t work, and that pisses them off, too.”

Phantom stops to sniff a tree, and you let her for a second before tugging her along. “Why?”

“Maybe you don’t know, because you’re a girl –”

“Girls get horny too,” you say. This is maybe the dumbest conversation you’ve ever had, excepting the one you had with Tomura about why Phantom can’t have dead birds even though she really wants them. “Are you saying it’s because they have to do something about it? They don’t. They can just wait for it to go away.”

“Yeah, but waiting for it to go away is uncomfortable,” Keigo says. You’re not going to argue that one. Being horny when you don’t want to be is deeply unpleasant. “And ghosts suck at tolerating discomfort. Yours is pretty inexperienced with everything from what I’ve heard, so he probably doesn’t know what to do, and unless you want to leave a copy of The Joy of Sex lying around –”

“I don’t.” You shudder. “I don’t want him getting ideas.”

“Then you’re going to have to explain,” Keigo says patiently. You give him a pained look, and he sighs. “Tell him to materialize fully and get it out of his system. That’ll solve the initial problem.”

The thought of heading back to your house and telling Tomura he needs to masturbate makes you want to die. But you’re even unhappier about Keigo’s second sentence. “What do you mean, the initial problem?”

“Hizashi and Magne gave me the ghost sex talk when we moved here. Kind of late, but it helped, sort of.” Keigo rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Once ghosts figure out how it works, they go one of two ways. Either they decide it’s gross and they’re not interested – that’s what Magne did – or they decide they’re really into it, which is what Hizashi did. And they can’t generate that feeling on their own the way people do, so they go after the people who made them feel that way the first time.”

That sinks in fast, but you’ve got no idea what to think or say or do about it. What comes out is the last thing you wanted to tell anyone. “I just held his hand. That was it! I was just trying to prove that there’s a difference between physical contact that hurts and stuff that doesn’t hurt because he won’t quit scratching his neck until it bleeds – and I’m pretty sure he hated it –”

“If he hated it, then you’re fine,” Keigo says. “Honestly, most of the adult former ghosts I’ve met aren’t into it even after they embody themselves permanently. Hizashi’s only like that because he spent enough time embodied to get used to it before he made it official. If it was a common thing Aizawa would have written a guidebook on it by now.”

Aizawa does have a lot of guidebooks. It took you a while to realize that most of the literature he sent you home with was stuff he’d written himself. “Although,” Keigo muses, “I guess Aizawa never hooked up with an actual ghost. He and Hizashi didn’t bang until after Hizashi was embodied.”

“So, um –” You can’t believe you’re about to ask this. “Did you, uh –”

“Did me and Dabi hook up before he fucked up his embodiment? Yeah,” Keigo says. You thought he’d be embarrassed, or proud. Instead he looks sad. “He didn’t use to be like this, or go by Dabi. His real name is Touya, and he was a lot, sure, but he wasn’t like this. I wouldn’t have gotten into it with him if he’d been like this the whole time.”

“I get it,” you say. You’ve had bad relationships before. “Do you think he’d go back if he embodied himself all the way?”

“Probably? I don’t think he’ll do that, though.” Keigo sighs. “They almost never decide consciously that they’re going to embody themselves. It happens because of how they feel. The little ones, they embodied themselves because they wanted to be with their families. They wanted to be seen and loved more than they wanted to be powerful. Magne jumped because Spinner didn’t have anybody but her, and as far as I can tell, she’s sort of surprised she did it. Hizashi did it on purpose, but Hizashi’s different – and from what he’s said, he’d probably have done it unconsciously at some point. He loves Aizawa that much.”

Now you get why Keigo looks so sad. “I bet Touya just got nervous,” you say. “I mean, it’s kind of a big decision, right? The biggest one they’ll ever make. And it’s not like he left. Even after you left his old haunt he stayed with you. That’s got to mean something.”

“Maybe.” Keigo smiles halfway. “A guy can hope, right?”

“Of course,” you say. Personally, you’re hoping for something different from Tomura.

You spend way too long pacing up and down the street after you say goodbye to Keigo, trying to work up your nerve. But eventually the weird tension from the house becomes perceptible to you even from outside it, and you remember what Hizashi said about the kids. You order yourself to suck it up, unlatch the front gate, and make your way inside. You can tell Tomura’s watching you, marking you closely, while you give Phantom a treat and some water. Once you’ve gotten her settled, you make your way upstairs to your room and shut the door. You can’t look at him while you have this conversation. You squeeze your eyes shut and speak up. “I know how to fix your problem.”

“What problem?” Tomura’s voice sounds tight and uncomfortable. “I don’t have a problem. You have a problem. You hung out with that guy across the street –”

“Because I needed help with you,” you say. It’s quiet for a second. “I figured out a solution to your problem. So you won’t feel the way you’re feeling anymore. I know it’s uncomfortable.”

“No, you don’t. Humans don’t feel like this.”

You manage to laugh at that one. “Humans feel like this all the time, Tomura. Half the dumb decisions people make in movies are because they feel like this.”

It’s quiet again. “How do I fix it?”

You bury your face in your head. “You have to materialize all the way. Then you have to touch yourself.”

“What do you mean, touch myself? You said I wasn’t supposed to scratch.”

“Not there.” You’re pretty sure your face is melting off from sheer embarrassment. “You know where that feeling is? The one you don’t like? You have to touch yourself there to make it go away.”

“Why?”

“It –” You chicken out. “You’ll figure it out once you try it. Go in the bathroom and shut the door.”

“Why do I have to go in there?”

“Privacy,” you say. There’s no way to tell him that you don’t want to have to clean ghost cum off the hardwood floors.

You hear footsteps down the hall, followed by the bathroom door opening and closing. “This is stupid,” Tomura says. You couldn’t agree more. “I’m doing it. It still feels – weird –”

That catch in his voice is something you really could have gone without hearing. “You don’t have to narrate,” you say. “You deserve privacy. I’m giving you privacy. I can leave the house –”

“No, don’t.” Tomura sounds pretty sure about that. “This was your idea. Don’t you want to – ugh.”

You don’t want to know what that was about. At all. You think about getting your headphones, except if you don’t respond when he talks to you, he’ll come looking to see why, and you really don’t want him to come talk to you in whatever state he’s in at the moment. Maybe it’s over already. Maybe he’s one of the vast majority of ghosts who think it’s gross and this will never happen to you again. You’re sure that’s it. It’s over already. It –

A low sigh echoes through the house, and you freeze in place. There’s a few uneven breaths, and then another sigh, followed by a sharper sound, somewhere between a gasp and a whimper. “What is this?” Tomura asks, his voice strained in an entirely different way than before. When you don’t respond, he says your name, followed by another one of those sharper sounds. “I don’t understand. Why – ah –”

You clamp your hands down over your ears, but it’s like your ears are attuned specifically to him. You can hear everything. Every ragged breath, every whimper, every needy, desperate moan, and suddenly you’re sure that you got the other kind of ghost, the kind that finds sex and lust fascinating instead of gross. You’ve made a mistake. Not just in telling him to solve the problem like this, but in sticking around to listen. Because listening to this, knowing that you touched his hand and turned him on so badly that it’s been permeating the neighborhood all day, is doing something to you, too.

Your face is flushed, but it’s not just from embarrassment. When you touch your wrist to feel for your pulse, it’s fast. And worse than all of that, you’re wet. Knowing it’ll make things worse doesn’t stop you from sliding one hand down the front of your jeans, recoiling when you realize just how wet you are. This is a disaster. You can’t let him know.

There’s only one solution you can think of. No time to get to the bed, or to do anything more than sink to the floor, unzipping your jeans just far enough to give your hand room to move. You shove the heel of your other hand against your mouth, because you’re not loud but you’ve never done anything like this before and you’re not sure what will happen. You squeeze your eyes shut as you brush your fingers between your legs, the sound you make muffled by your hand and drowned out by the almost-agonized moan that issues from the bathroom down the hall. “I can’t,” Tomura pants. “I can’t – stop – how does it stop –”

“You’ll know.” You think your voice is steady enough. How is he still going? The first time you masturbated, you were so wound up that you were done almost faster than you could think. And he’s a guy. “Just keep going.”

“Keep talking.” Tomura’s voice is just as raspy and ragged as his breathing is. It shouldn’t be hot. You shouldn’t find this hot. “Is this –”

He breaks off in a whine. “How it’s supposed to feel?” you ask. You increase the pressure of your fingers against your clit in spite of the fact that he’s clearly expecting you to talk and you don’t want him to know what you’re doing. “Like you’re going to fall apart, but it feels so good you don’t care?”

“Yeah. Ah –”

“Like that,” you say. You find yourself spreading your legs wider, giving more space for your hand to move. “Exactly like that, Tomura. Don’t stop.”

You’re telling him how to touch himself, but it’s all wrong. It sounds the same as what you’d be telling him to do if he was here, if the fingers slipping inside you were his. What is wrong with you? Thoughts flash through your mind, thoughts you shouldn’t have, and your breathing turns shallow and harsh. “Say something,” Tomura whines, begs. You picture what he must look like right now, face red and hair stuck to his neck and forehead with sweat, completely at the mercy of a body and a need, and crook your fingers, shuddering. “Come on. I need you. Don’t leave me. Please –”

“I’m here.” The strain in your voice would let anyone else know exactly what you’re doing, but Tomura doesn’t know – and even if he did, the sounds you hear tell you that he’s lost in his own touch, chasing his own high. You might as well not be here. All you are is a friendly voice, a guide in uncharted territory. “You’re doing great. You’re almost done, aren’t you? You know what you like by now. Do that, and keep doing it. Don’t stop until –”

The sound he makes is inarticulate and absolutely filthy. Your muscles clench around your fingers, and you rub desperately at your clit with your free hand. Without a hand over your mouth to muffle yourself, you’re reduced to biting your lip until it bleeds as you listen to Tomura shuddering through the first orgasm of his existence. And that’s what tips you over the edge, really – the thought that it’s his first, the thought that it’s because of you. Blood spills into your mouth as your hips jerk against your hands, your vocal cords straining with the effort of holding back the sounds you want to make. You can’t remember the last time you came this hard. All you want to do is sprawl out on the floor and go to sleep.

But you can’t. You need to hide the evidence. You can’t let Tomura know what you just did. You zip and button your jeans, cringing at the slickness of your fingers, and leave your room, hurrying to the downstairs bathroom to splash water on your face. You get a glimpse of what you look like in the mirror and stare in horror. Your face is flushed and your eyes are dilated and there’s a drop of blood at the corner of your mouth that you smear away with the back of your hand. You look like a mess. The only thing that will save you is that Tomura doesn’t know what to look for.

His voice drifts through the house, still unsteady. “There’s a mess in here.”

“I’ll clean it later,” you say. “Since it’s my fault.”

The floor creaks once or twice, then stops, and you know Tomura’s dematerialized. It’s not a surprise. You can’t imagine how much energy he burned through, and sure enough, when you look out the kitchen window, you see a line of dead blackberry bushes along the back fence. Sex stuff takes more life-force than anything else. All the more reason for this to never happen again.

Tomura’s presence slips into the room, surrounding you like he does sometimes. Usually you shoo him away, or threaten to leave until he slinks off, sulking. Today you can’t. You coped okay with your first orgasm, but you were alone. You know you’d have felt weird if you hadn’t been, and if the person who talked you through it had ignored you afterward. You let him settle in, staring fixedly at the dead bushes along the fence. Only one or two are still alive.

Tomura’s voice rasps against your ear. “Do I have to do that every time?”

“There’s not going to be another time,” you say. “It’s my fault for touching you like that last night, and you told me not to do it again. So we’re good.”

“It felt good.” Tomura sounds sure about that. Your stomach twists. “It only felt bad because I didn’t know what to do. Now I know.”

“I’m still not touching you like that again. You said no. I can’t ask you to respect my  boundaries when I don’t respect yours.”

“What if I take it back?” Tomura asks. The twist in your stomach is painful this time. “What if I want you to touch me?”

“Then it starts being about what I want,” you say. “And I don’t want to.”

It’s a lie. You’re lying. Another human would know you were, would know by the heat of your body and the flush in your cheeks and the heavy, painful sound of your heartbeat. “You don’t want to,” Tomura repeats. His presence slips away again, going to some place far enough that you can barely feel it. “I didn’t say I wanted it. Like I’d ever want you to touch me.”

His voice is the last thing to vanish. You want to stick your head under the faucet and drown. “Fine.”

There’s something wrong with your house, but you knew that when you bought it, and after the hand-touching incident and everything that followed, the atmosphere in your house feels worse than it ever has before. You don’t know where Tomura’s going, but there are times when his presence vanishes almost completely, and when it does, you can barely stand the emptiness he leaves behind. You never lived alone until you lived here, and you thought you loved it. Now you realize that you were never living here alone at all. Until now.

The jar of bugs start piling up on the front porch, and rather than letting them die, you let them go. You don’t tell the others to stop bringing them. Some part of you is hoping Tomura will come back, that you can go back to the way things were before, but you don’t need one of Aizawa’s guidebooks to tell you that it’s not happening. You rejected him. And if there’s anything you’ve taught Tomura about how humans work, it’s that no means no.

You start spending extra time at work. Sometimes you bring Phantom with you, with Mr. Yagi’s permission, and it makes you popular with your coworkers like you never were before. You still hate it, but it makes it easier to be at work. And it means you don’t have to go home until you’re ready.

At least, most days you don’t. But you woke up with a splitting headache today, and a sore throat, and because you weren’t coughing, you decided that you didn’t have an excuse to skip work. You leave Phantom at home and drag yourself into the office, and you get through four hours of your workday before Mr. Yagi spots you and sends you home. Your pleas not to go home fall on deaf ears, and you drive home slowly, struggling to keep your eyes fixed on the road in front of you.

When you get home, Phantom greets you anxiously. She knows you’re not feeling well, and when you sit down in the front hall to pet her, you realize that you’re going to have a hard time getting up. It doesn’t matter. You can take a break. You let your eyes fall shut.

When you wake up, it’s to grey, rainy, late-afternoon light falling over your face, the sound of Phantom whining in your ear, and a voice you haven’t heard in three weeks. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Tomura,” you mumble. You were hoping sleep would make you feel better, but it feels like your headache’s actually gotten worse. “I’m fine. Just wanted to sit down.”

“Don’t be stupid. And don’t lie.” Even the sound of Tomura’s footsteps across the floor hurts your head, not to mention Phantom’s whining. “You fell asleep on the floor. You’re making this weird face. You don’t look right. What’s wrong with you?”

He almost sounds worried. “My boss sent me home. He thinks I’m sick.”

“Are you sick?” Tomura asks. You think about lying, decide not to, and nod. The pain that splits your skull makes you want to throw up. “Can you fix it?”

You have cold medicine somewhere, and pain relievers, but you’d have to get up to get them, and you’re so dizzy. Maybe you should call somebody for help, but who would you call? Nobody in your neighborhood is going to set foot in your house, and you don’t have any friends from work. And all your old friends have started to slip away, courtesy of your new world, your new friends, your new life. Who do you have to call? Nobody. The thought makes you sad, and feeling sad makes you even more tired than before.

“Wake up,” Tomura snaps at you. Phantom whines and licks your face. “Stop it. Wake up!”

Phantom’s worried. Tomura’s mad at you. Somewhere in your clouded mind, it occurs to you that you need help. That maybe it doesn’t matter who you call as long as you call somebody. You pull your phone out of your backpack and get as far as unlocking it. Then your head starts to ache worse than before, a dull pounding that fills every crevice and corner of your skull. Everything feels hot and humid and awful. You shut your eyes again. Anything to make it stop.

You’re cold when you wake up again. Well, some of you is cold. There’s a small warm patch on your stomach, but the rest of you is cold. Not regular cold. Tomura’s cold. He’s materialized, completely or close enough, and he’s holding onto you awkwardly with one arm while Phantom rests her head on your stomach. You can hear Tomura’s voice. He sounds pissed. “If I knew what was wrong with her I’d say it,” he snaps at whoever he’s talking to. “She keeps falling asleep. She’s not supposed to be home yet. She’s too warm.”

“So she’s sick.” That’s Keigo’s voice. Is Keigo here? Why did Tomura let Keigo in the house? “And she’s sleeping a lot?”

“I said that already. Stop repeating what I already said.”

“What are her symptoms?” That’s Aizawa’s voice. It starts to dawn on you slowly what’s happening here, and you almost laugh. “Symptoms. You named some of them already. Fatigue. Fever. Is she coughing?”

“No.”

“Does her breathing sound different than it usually does?” Jin’s mom is talking. Now you know for sure. “Does she have a rash?”

“Her breathing sounds normal,” Tomura says. He’s on the phone. He somehow unlocked your phone, went into your text messages, and conference-called the entire ghost friends group chat. You’d laugh if you weren’t worried it would make your head explode. “What’s a rash?”

“It would be on her skin. Does her skin look like it usually looks?”

An ice-cold hand brushes over your cheek. “It’s too hot. Her face is red. The rest of it looks okay.”

“Check for bites. We brought over tons of bugs. If enough of them bit her –”

“Hitoshi, hang up the phone,” Aizawa orders. “You’re supposed to be at school.”

“You’re supposed to be driving,” Shinsou fires back. “You’re picking up Eri from school early because she’s sick.”

Eri’s sick. You claw your way out of semi-consciousness and grasp the phone. “Does she have what I have?”

“Oh, good. You’re alive,” Keigo says. “Your ghost was pretty panicked.”

“I wasn’t panicked. Shut up.” Tomura’s grip on you tightens. “Someone else is sick?”

“She fell asleep in class. She has a headache and a fever,” Aizawa says. He sounds unhappy. “When would she possibly have been exposed?”

“We brought over some bugs last night,” Shinsou says. “Maybe it was then.”

“It could have gone the other way, too,” Jin’s mom says. “Kids get sick a lot easier than adults.”

“Good point. Maybe Eri got it first and brought it –”

“But Shinsou isn’t sick. If Shinsou lives with her and isn’t sick, how come –”

“I don’t care,” Tomura says loudly. “I don’t care about your sick kid. I want to know how to fix my human.”

Tomura’s making a great first impression. You’ll be doing damage control with Aizawa later, once you feel less like a puddle of body aches and sweat. “If she’s got what Eri’s got, it’s probably the flu,” Jin’s mom says. “She should have cold medicine on hand. Most people do. Pain relievers for the headache and body aches, cough drops if she has a sore throat. And she’ll need to eat. Do you know how humans eat?”

“I’m not stupid. I know how food works.”

“Don’t cook,” Aizawa, Shinsou, and Keigo all say at once. Keigo keeps talking. “You’re not embodied. You don’t have tastebuds. Whatever you end up cooking is going to be –”

There’s a scuffle on Keigo’s end of the line. “It’s going to be fuck awful,” Dabi announces, and Shinsou snickers. “Go ahead and poison your human. See if I care.”

“The next time you even look at my human I’m going to disintegrate your ugly face.”

“My ugly face? Have you seen what you look like? I’m surprised your human hasn’t gone blind.”

Tomura snarls. “At least I never set my human on fire –”

“You’re both pretty,” you mumble, and Keigo cracks up laughing. “I’m not that sick. I can heat up a can of soup in the microwave.”

“You’re so stupid. You fell asleep on the floor,” Tomura snaps at you. “You can’t do anything. I’m going to have to drag you everywhere.”

“No one made you touch me,” you protest. “If you weren’t here –”

“Well, I am here. So shut up and let me –”

“If you two are going to have a domestic, hang up the phone first,” Hizashi says loudly. You didn’t realize he was there. You jump, and your head collides with Tomura’s chin. He swears and so do you. “One of us will stop by later to make sure neither of you are dead. Goodbye.”

There’s a click as he hangs up the phone. Shinsou hangs up a second later. Jin’s mother hangs up after promising to bring over some food, and Keigo stays on the phone a little longer. “I’ll drop by in an hour or two, like Hizashi says. Can you promise not to kill me if I set foot in the house?”

“The only person I’m going to kill is your idiot ghost.”

“Cool,” Keigo says. You can hear Dabi arguing in the background that it’s not cool at all. “Bye.”

He hangs up the phone, too. Now it’s just you and Tomura and Phantom, piled up on the couch in the living room. You don’t remember getting to the living room. Tomura must have dragged you, like he said. You thought he was so mad at you that he was never going to show himself again. Apparently not.

“What’s a domestic?” Tomura asks after a while.

“A fight,” you say. “Just another word for fight.”

“Then why didn’t he just say a fight?”

You really don’t want to get into this right now. “A domestic is a kind of fight. The kind couples have. He was making fun of us by pretending we’re a couple.”

“I don’t like him,” Tomura says after a moment. “I can kill him for you.”

“Don’t do that,” you say.

“He scares you.” Tomura scratches at his neck with the hand that’s not gripping your shoulder. “If I can’t not scare you, I might as well be the only thing that does.”

Maybe you’re just sick and stupid, but you don’t hate the sound of that. “That’s kind of sweet.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Tomura says. He slides out from behind you and drops you onto the couch with a thud. You see a patchy flush on his face before he turns away. “I’m getting your medicine. Stay there.”

You’re not really in a position to go anywhere. You scratch behind Phantom’s ears with a shaky hand and close your eyes again.

When you wake up, you find that Tomura’s turned your medicine cabinet inside out and brought you absolutely everything. Sorting through it is the first laugh you’ve had in a while, and once you’ve got a double dose of painkillers on board, you’re willing to risk it. “Why did you bring this?” you ask, waving a box of band-aids at him. “You’ve seen me use these. You know they’re not for this.”

“How am I supposed to know that? You use stuff that’s not for the stuff you’re using it for all the time.” Tomura snatches the band-aids away and picks up another box. “What are these?”

“You definitely didn’t need to bring those,” you say. “They’re condoms.”

“What?”

It figures. He didn’t know male from female until Hizashi told him, but he clearly has certain associations with condoms, and he doesn’t like them. Probably because of all the movies you didn’t know he was watching with you. “Relax. Does that box look open to you?”

“No,” Tomura says, inspecting it from all angles. “If it’s not open, why do you have it?”

“In case I need it,” you say. “I don’t need it right now.”

In fact, you’re having a hard time imagining that you’ll ever need condoms again. You can’t exactly bring anybody home to hook up with, not with Tomura constantly lurking around, and you like sleeping in your own bed too much to spend the night at anybody else’s house. Beyond that, if you ever wanted to get serious with anybody, you’d have to explain about your house, about Tomura. There’s no way to explain that. No way to explain him in a way that won’t end any relationship instantly. Maybe it’s just that you’re sick, but you find that you don’t mind the thought.

You choose a box of cold medicine and swallow a dose of it, then pop a cough drop into your mouth to soothe your throat. Tomura watches you the entire time, only partially materialized. “Does that taste good?”

“No. It numbs my throat so it hurts less.”

“What do you do when things hurt?”

You were going to try to fall asleep again as soon as you’re done with your cough drop, but Tomura’s in a mood to talk. And as much as you hate to admit it, you miss talking to Tomura. “There are different kinds of hurt, for people. If it hurts physically, like this does, I can take medicine. I can put ice on a bruise or use a heating pad for cramps. There are ointments that have numbing agents in them, same as the cough drops. There are lots of things to do when something physically hurts.”

“If something hurts my body, I can dematerialize,” Tomura says. You wish it was that easy for you. If you could evaporate right now, you’d do it in a heartbeat. “What about other kinds of hurting?”

“Um –” You break off, trying to wrap your head around it. “Emotions hurt sometimes. The bad ones, usually. Being sad or angry or lonely or scared – all of those can feel like they hurt. They can hurt a lot.”

“How do you make them go away?”

“You can’t,” you say. Tomura’s expression darkens. “There’s not medicine that fixes feelings, at least not all the way. You just have to live with them until they stop. Or until you get used to them.”

“That’s stupid,” Tomura says.

“You’re telling me.” You close your eyes. “I guess talking about them helps sometimes. Not for everybody, not all the time, but it can make you feel less alone.”

“I didn’t hate being alone before,” Tomura says. You open your eyes and find him scowling, his face flushed. “Now I do.”

You want to remind him that he’s the one who pulled away, that he’s the one who left, but there’s no point. You roll over instead, facing the back of the couch, and the words slip out of your mouth before you can stop them. “I missed you.”

You couldn’t have picked a dumber thing to say. Tomura’s got the emotional maturity of a frat guy – he gets mad easily and takes “no” poorly and makes you explain your boundaries five billion times before he even thinks about respecting them. Telling a guy like him that you missed him is a one-way ticket to being mocked for being needy and clingy and pathetic. You can already feel your eyes burning in anticipation of being humiliated.

But Tomura’s not a human man. He’s a ghost. The rush of air filling a previously occupied space tells you he’s dematerialized, but the cold settles around you, and his voice rasps in your ear. “I missed you too. Idiot.”

“You’re the one who left,” you answer. “You’re an idiot, too.”

You’re expecting him to slip away again. Instead the cold spot envelops you more securely than before. “Shut up.”

You fall asleep like that, and when you wake up, it’s to the sound of the fire alarm going off. Tomura’s watched you cook plenty of times and probably should know better, but apparently when you mentioned sticking a can of soup in the microwave, he took it literally. You should be pissed. You probably will be, once the cold medicine wears off. But at the moment, when you’re dizzy and sleepy and feverish, all you can think to do is be pleased that he tried at all.