#getting a good grade in Wire Mother

[scremogirl]

✪⁂✫彡𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓✵✥☆ミ★ ???

𝐀𝐛𝐨𝐯𝐞-𝐀𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞

Yandere Student Council Pres x Nonchalant reader

I’m not sure if I should retitle this to Yandere! Childhood friend x reader or not. There’s not a lot of the fact he’s the SCP shown in the story. I felt like I went a little off track. I got so consumed in writing😭. I already have a post like that on my page so I didn’t want to make it confusing. I don’t know if I should’ve said unemotional reader either. Idk let me know what you think. Have fun reading!

He was at the top of the food chain. Good grades, teachers liked him, students feared him, rich, good looking, and most importantly; the student council president. With that being said, why wouldn’t he leave you alone?

Takenya was a stuck up priss in your opinion. Always lecturing you about things you could do in order of improvement. You weren’t popular but you weren’t one of those weird Naruto kids that sat in the back of the class and ate crayons either. You just existed. Someone so average at everything somehow attracted the most “perfect” guy in school. Your grades were fine; a straight A-B student with the occasional C here and there. Your attendance on the other hand… well maybe he’s not so wrong about that, but who actually wants to be at school anyways?

“I don’t understand why you don’t try harder? You could easily surpass most of our class,”

“You need to come to school. This behavior would never pass in the real world. What would your employer think of you just not showing up?”

“Chocolate for lunch…really? If you want to stay healthy you’ll need to-“

Why does he care so much anyways? Sure, you used to be friends in like what, fifth grade? You used to get bullied in school for being different. You just didn’t like the things that kids your age were supposed to like. But… it never bothered you. You weren’t emotionless per se, it’s just, why care what others have to think?

Mellisa Grey. The girliest of all girls. She used to have it out for you when you were younger. Calling you names and bumping your shoulder whenever you walked by. You put up with it until the end of the year; fifth grade graduation. That evening she and her crew thought it’d be funny to pour milk on the shy little nerdy boy in your class. Some spilled on your dress, that you didn’t mind, but the tears of the boy next to you made you. Something inside of you just snapped. You shot up from your seat grabbing a first full of her hair and slammed her head onto the wooden table. Not stopping until you saw the wire of her pink, sparkly braces fly out her mouth. Well, that was what you wanted to do; the teachers came too early for you to inflict any further damage. The most you got was a broken nose and a lawsuit. She transferred schools after that, and you got the whoopin of a lifetime. You didn’t care. You didn’t feel bad at all. If anything you felt elated seeing her in pain and the rage on her parents faces as the cussed child you out. You didn’t cry or yell when your parents picked you up. You weren’t phased by the belt or the palm of your mothers hand striking you. You didn’t feel anything. So why were you so upset on someone else's behalf anyways?

You knew this kid. I mean, how couldn’t you when he would follow you around 24/7.

“H-Hi… my names Takenya” you just blankly stared. His sheepish gaze barely meets yours from behind his big fat glasses.

“…Do I know you?”

“Well…no. But I know you!”

“Good for you I guess.” You continued to go back and forth on the swing, not acknowledging the boy's existence at all. The swing he sat on remained stationary, never once dropping his gaze from you.

“Uhm… I just wanted to thank you for yesterday,” Hm? What was he talking about? He saw the confusion in your face when you turned around to ask and beat you to the point.

“You probably don’t know me. We’re not in the same class,” Right. So why is he talking to you? Again, before you could ask he cut you off.

“The other day when recess started you helped me pick up all of my stuff after Carter pushed me down; remember? I-I just wanted to say thank you for sticking up for me” Ohhh, you do remember him now. He was that shy little rich kid that transferred here at the end of fourth grade. He didn’t have many friends, let alone any at all. Everyone had grown up with each other and formed friend groups at this poin. He was a little late to the party so he didn’t fit in. He wasn’t worried about the next episode of Ninjago and didn’t find humor in looking up the words penis and vagina in the dictionary at the school library when the teacher wasn’t looking. His hair long, tied back into a neat ponytail and not buzzed into a Mohawk like half the boys in your grade. He had glasses that almost covered the entirety of his upper face. He always ate his pb&js on whole wheat instead of white and preferred celery sticks over fruit snacks. So, just like you, he got bullied just because he was different.

“Oh yea. I remember you now. You’re welcome by the way,” he grinned. The first time you saw him smile ever since he came to your school.

That marked the day of a long friendship.

That was until you went to middle school. You think puberty had something to do with it. He grew into his face more and sized down those jellyfishing glasses. His scrawny figure gained slightly more bulk and dressed in a more modern fashion. His hair remained the same; a bit shorter than before but still longer than most guys. You’ve always liked his hair. He would let you braid it sometimes when he was too distracted playing on his DS. He didn’t get acne like many of the other kids your grade either, skin smooth and clear. All the girls found him to die for. Your nonchalant behavior rubbed off on him and he became more confident in himself. Not letting his elementary school self be reflected into now. He became a bit too obsessed with his studies for a middle schooler; pushing all his ways on you. He would always follow you around blabbing about not attending gym class. He even started hanging around the same snotty rich kids he would complain to you about. You became annoyed. So you cut him off. Just like that. Stopped talking to him, answering his texts, not sitting with him at lunch or in class. Even after all the rejection at his advances, he came running back to you. Not willing to let you go so easily.

The school bell rings signaling the end of 4th pd and beginning of lunch. You were planning to go off campus today and not come back. Keys in hand you make your way to the student parking lot. However, someone’s blocking the exit. He’s gotten taller, about 6’2-6’3; sleeper build accommodating his height. Glasses thinner and sit perfectly on the bridge of his nose. Hair as long as ever, tyed back with that same white ribbon you gave him years ago; revealing an undercut. He fixes the collar of his button up and readjusts his tie and vest.

“And exactly…just where do you think your going?”

“To lunch,”

“The cafeteria is that way,” he points with a slender finger, decorated by a diamond ring. It shimers under the lights above reflecting against his matching earrings.

“Off campus,” he raises his eyebrow, folding his arms.

“Knowing you, you won’t come back. You do realize your request for a half day schedule is still pending right? You also recognize that I’m the one who assists the principal in granting them as well?” You don’t answer him, already knowing we're going with this.

“As I said before, your attendance needs improving before I-… we can grant it,” what a pain in the ass this guy is. You try to walk past him but he stops you, putting a hand on your shoulder.

“I don’t eat school lunch. I’ll be back after,” he gives you an unamused look. Hand gripping your shoulder a little tighter as you try to take another step.

“You know I can’t let you do that. Not unless you don’t want a new schedule,” he pauses.

“Not unless I come with you,” you look up.

“You’re paying?” His eyes widened slightly, shocked at your willingness. But he can’t be too surprised, he knows you don’t care about anything unless you get what you want.

“Of course I am. You need to spend your money on other priorities; like a new math textbook,” you ignore the subtle jab and walk to his car. No need to ask where as he parks next to you everyday to make sure he knows you’ve actually show up. Definitely not because your the first thing he wants to see in the morning.

“I don’t understand why you come to McDonald’s of all places,” he lets out a sigh, handing his card to the drive through worker. He drives up to the next window waiting for the food.

“It’s not healthy. You seriously should consider my offer in taking you to that new place down the street,”. He looks over when he doesn’t get a response; noticing the music blasting from your headphones as you look at the door. He sighs again before taking the food from the workers hand and grabbing your headphones. You turn your head to look at him but your gaze shifts to the bag in his hand. You reach over and grab a fry out of the bag and he s his eyes. Pulling into the parking lot, he silently watches you eat. This brings him so much nostalgia. He misses eating lunch with you everyday. Ranting while you just sit there and chew. He misses having someone listening to him about something that’s not related to school. After you stopped *attempted* talking to him in the beginning of 7th grade, his heart felt like it got ripped out of his chest.

He’s never felt anything his whole life. His father would tell him that one day he’ll find someone who makes him feel everything, makes life worth it. He’d seen the love shared between his parents everyday. He always wanted that. In the fourth grade all of that came true. He saw you getting off the bus making your way to school. He saw the way you helped up Michael Lemitzki, a dorky little boy, after Conner pushed him down. Shaggy hair, braces lining his teeth, comic books all on the floor. How pathetic. You weren’t scared of Conner at all. He was bigger than you and more popular than you, but you didn’t care. You kept a straight face as he threatened you and held your composure. No emotion showing whatsoever.

He thought you were beautiful. It was love at first sight. He was too busy staring at you to hear his father calling out to him. He followed his son's gaze to you. He looked back down at the small boy and gave a knowing smile. Takenya just stared at the other boy hugging you with tears down his face. Why is he touching you like that? Push him away already! That day he purposely made himself a target to the bullying of Melissa and Conner. Hoping that one day, you’ll save him the same way you did Jacob. He got bigger glasses, grew his hair out, and started dressing like the typical “nerd”. He would leave candies in your cubby, prized limited edition Pokémon cards in your backpack, brand new color pencils and markers showed up around you. He started to lose hope though. Why haven’t you noticed him yet!? Sure he’s never actually talked to you.. but still! Could you not see his effort?! Did you not care? He sat alone at recess that fateful day. He was randomly pushed down, papers and crayons flying out his small hands. He wasn’t in the mood for Connors teasing today. To caught up on the fact that the love of his life may never see him they way he’s dreamed of. Oh the dramatic mind of a fifth grader. He clutched the safety scissors that flew out of his pencil pouch watching the dick of an elementary schooler turn around. He was about to get up but stopped as he saw someone bend down beside him. It was you! You helped gather all his things and placed them into his arms. His heart pounded in his chest and the blush on his face spread like wildfire. Before he could say anything you walked away. Taking your place on the swing set. He hurriedly put all his things away before trying to build up the courage to come talk to you. He took to long, however, as the teacher soon yelled for everyone to make their way into the line back to their respective class.

As he reminisces on the past, an alarm rings. Telling him that it’s time to make his way back to school. You’ve already finished all your food and somehow managed to take your headphones back.

“What?” You say snapping him out of his trance. He didn’t even realize he was staring.

“Nothing,”

You make your way back to the school and go your separate ways. He walks you to class ensuring that you get there. Out the corner of his eye he sees someone wave to you. Lemitzki. His hairs more well kept, ditched the glasses for contacts showing of his green eyes. He’s taller and has more muscles now. The only thing that hasn’t changed is the jagged line that makes it’s way across his right cheek, interfering with his dimple as he smiles. It’s been awhile, the scar healed well. The once clutzy boy looks at the door and freezes, hand dropping and going pale. There’s a silent stare off between the two before the late bell rings. Takenya makes his way to class, a slight smile on his face at a sudden memory.

Watching him walk away, a fist tightens. Little does he know someone was planning on getting their revenge.

Hi loves! I hope you guys enjoyed. Take is an OC of mine I’ve had for a while just never had a name for him until now. Like his concept was in my head foreverrrr. He might be a reoccurring character. I really like him. But I did put one shot so I’m not sure. Lemme know what y’all want. Check out this post below for a little more context. Hope you enjoyed.

-Love, Sos❤️

[hailsatanacab]

a father's son

Happy holiday truce, @dashing-through-ecto!! I was your gifter this year, I hope you enjoy the fic! Based on your prompt: "Do you need any help, Dad?"

Word count 2.2k - ao3 link

Things have not been going well for Danny Fenton.

Not only did he fail in intercepting Lancer’s call home, so now Mom and Dad know about his latest grades—he didn’t even get enough answers for an F this time, not when he fell asleep within the first five minutes—but they also caught Jazz taking the trash out for him.

“That’s one of your chores, young man! Heaven knows you don’t have many of them, which is why you need to be responsible and actually do the ones that we give you! It’s just not good enough, Daniel James Fenton, do you hear me?”

The full name.

It’s not often he gets it, but it sucks each and every time he does.

What sucks even more is that now, with what little free time he has, he’s cleaning the lab. It’s just not fair!

Broken glass skitters along the floor as he sweeps it up into the dustpan, ectoplasm still clinging to the bottom of the beaker. 

He can’t even goof off—can’t even use his powers to finish quicker—because his dad is sitting at the workbench tinkering with whatever his newest interest is.

Great. Looks like he’s stuck cleaning the boring, human way.

The lab is quiet, but it isn’t silent. 

Ectoplasm drips, maddeningly, from the gloop stuck on the ceiling. That’s a form of torture, isn’t it? Danny’s pretty sure he’s heard that before, that the constant sound of water droplets will drive someone insane. He can relate, because this is certainly testing him.

Dad’s talking to himself, too, little murmurs about what he’s doing, where he should be soldering, how it should be working and why it isn’t. 

Vaguely, Danny wonders what he’s working on. Sure, it’s probably some ghost thing, but that’s not all they do! His parents made some pretty great advances before the portal switched on and monopolised all of their thoughts.

Yeah, that might be wishful thinking, but stranger things have happened! You never know.

Every 30 seconds, the motor on the ecto-filter whirrs into life, syphoning off the excess, pure ectoplasm from the portal and filtering it into something less volatile. In theory.

Underneath everything, the portal hums.

A droning beat that pulses in the same rhythm as his heart. Sometimes, he catches himself staring at it, leaning closer as it calls to him.

It scares him.

“Shit!” his dad shouts, dropping the soldering iron with a loud clang. 

It’s enough to knock Danny out of whatever daydream he’d lost himself in and he whirls around to see his dad sucking on one of his fingers.

They lock eyes, both widening as they realise what’s happened.

“Ah, I mean, suffering spooks! That really hurt…” He shoves his fingers back into his mouth and his shoulders droop as he considers Danny. “Don’t tell your mother.”

Danny laughs.

“Are you alright?”

“It’d take more than that to put Jack Fenton down! All good, Danno, don’t you worry,” he smiles back before shaking his hand out and turning back to whatever he was working on. “Or, I would be, if this hunk of junk was cooperating with me!”

“What’s up?” Danny asks, curiosity getting the better of him.

Normally, he likes to stay out of the lab, as much as he can. 

Obviously, what Phantom does doesn’t count. Phantom can’t help but come into the lab, set ghosts loose into the Zone, trash whatever weapons his parents have got going on, sneak out into the Zone when he can for some much needed R&R. The ectoplasm just hits different there.

“I’m trying to repurpose this toaster, but the ecto won’t run smoothly through the wiring. I think it keeps getting cooked by the element.”

“Oh? Do you need some help?”

Danny doesn’t like spending time in the lab, because if he’s in the lab then he’s either Phantom and he’s trying hard not to be seen or heard, or he’s Danny and he’s being punished.

But his curiosity is piqued.

“Yeah, come here, have a look! Perhaps another Fenton brain can knock some sense into it!”

So, he does.

Hell, anything beats cleaning the lab.

“You’re trying to run it through here?”

Dad nods and shifts in his seat to give Danny a better view.

“But you can’t, because the ecto is tripping the heating element… which is way higher than a toaster has any right to be, wow. No wonder it’s destabilising the ectoplasm, that would destabilise anything.”

Danny pokes around the casing, wiggling the wires back and forth to get a better look at the absolute mess his dad has made of it all. Sometimes it amazes him that his parents' inventions work at all.

“That’s what I’m thinking! But it has to be that high so we can completely break down the ecto!”

“You want it to break down?”

“Yep!” Dad says, clapping him on the back hard enough that he wheezes. He grins down at him when Danny turns around reproachfully. “Think of it, boyo, if we could figure out how to flash fry that ectoplasm high enough so that it evaporates—which it should do, it’s goopy gross liquid, after all!—then you wouldn’t be stuck down here cleaning for so long! We could take it to the streets after a ghost fight and clean up the whole town!”

Well, it’s not a Nobel Prize level invention… Danny’s pretty sure at this point that his parents would be laughed out by the Nobel committee. But, a quicker cleaning of the lab does sound nice.

It would mean he’d be stuck down here a lot less.

Besides… It's interesting.

“What if we…” Danny trails off and pulls the metal frame towards him, grabbing the tweezers as he goes. Vaguely, he’s aware of his dad leaning over his shoulder, the weight of him watching is a comforting presence that he’s not felt in a long while. 

The real trouble is that you need ectoplasm to affect ectoplasm, and that’s not going to work if the object of the game is to evaporate it. 

So what if they don’t introduce the reactive ecto until the end?

He makes quick work of stripping down what his dad’s already done and starts again, this time focussing on keeping the heat contained separately away from the ectoplasm. Just as he’s piecing together a trigger to concurrently shoot a blast of ecto towards the heated tip, Dad exclaims as he realises where he’s going with it.

“Oh! Danny, you’re a genius! Look at that!” Dad laughs and squints closer at what Danny’s doing. “Just wait until your mother sees this, she’s going to be so happy!”

Danny can’t help but grin as he ductapes everything to a piece of toaster casing to give it the first test try. Dad’s enthusiasm is catching as he whoops when the first puddle of ectoplasm burns off in acrid smoke.

They spend another couple of hours perfecting it, welding a case together and branding it with the Fenton F.

It’s not pretty—but then again, when are his parents’ inventions?—a long stick with a cattle-prod-like taser at the end. Instead of electricity, it launches ectoplasm from one rod and superheats the other. When activated, all you need to do is touch the tip to a puddle and poof! It’s gone.

Danny shivers as he watches another pool go up.

But, no! He’s thinking about it wrong. It’s not a cattle-prod, it’s more like one of those sticks you see people using on the highway to jab at the litter on the floor. It’s for cleaning. It’s going to make his lab cleaning chores way easier! It’s—

“Danny, just look at it!”

Danny looks at it, and then back to his father’s face when he can’t bear to see the smoking ecto anymore. It’s painfully happy and Danny does his best to be happy, too.

“Here!” Dad shoves the contraption into Danny’s arms. “You use that and finish what you’re doing and then when you’re done—I can’t believe I’m saying this, galloping ghouls, I’m so happy, I’m working with my boy—we can get to work transferring it over to the Jack o’ Nine Tails! Imagine it, Danny, with one whip and that pesky poltergeist Phantom will be gone!”

Danny freezes.

It feels as if Dad’s just dumped a bucket of ice water over him.

“Poof! Up in smoke!”

The fumes are getting to him. That must be it. His head is swimming and his stomach is churning. There’s a ringing in his ears and it melds with the sharp, stinging whirr of ectoplasm sizzling. It pulses in time with the portal behind him.

He stumbles, almost goes down—almost throws up—but it doesn’t matter. Dad doesn’t see him, already turned away back to the work bench.

It doesn’t matter.

It doesn’t matter.

You know what, it’s okay! It’ll be okay, Danny can sneak back down here later tonight and he can undo it all, it doesn’t matter!

Take a deep breath, now, finish cleaning the lab, ignore Dad—it doesn’t matter—and get this over with. Being here makes his skin crawl, he needs to finish—

“I’m so proud of you, Danny.”

For the second time, Danny stops.

Dad doesn’t say anything else, just sits with his back to him, opening and closing his hand over a screwdriver with the Jack o’ Nine Tails splayed out in front of him.

It takes longer than Danny wants to find his voice, but he manages to croak out, “What?”

“I’m proud of you, Danno. I know this year hasn’t been easy for you, don’t think we haven’t noticed. Your mom and I have been talking about how you're doing at school. We're not blind. We know kids can be cruel, and that Dash Baxter… But we're so proud of you for not rising to it. We love you so much, Danny.”

A lump grows in Danny’s throat and his eyes prickle.

His fingers bleach white where they grip the Fenton Evaporator too tight.

“Look at what you can do when you try, Danny! This is the boy that I know, this is the Danny that I love. I’m so proud of what we’ve done here today. It’ll make the world a better place, just you wait! Now, come on, boyo, pass me that soldering iron and let’s really get stuck in!”

And… And Danny does.

With shaky limbs and tears threatening to spill, Danny reaches over and passes Dad the soldering iron, watching as he gets to work, and when his dad asks him to get his hands dirty—“Here, run this wire up the rope, there’s a good boy!”—he does.

Danny does it all and he does it well.

He sucks in a deep breath, swipes a hand over his eyes, and he helps his dad.

He laughs when Dad tells his stupid jokes:

“Quick! What’s red, white, and blue all over?”

“I don’t know, Dad, what’s red, white, and blue all over?”

“A ghost that we’ve beaten into oblivion!”

And he hopes that his mom is going to be just as proud as Dad says she will be when she sees what they’ve done.

It’s easy, really.

If he doesn’t think about it, if he tucks his mind away and just lets his hands get on with it, then he’s just helping his dad and he can do that. He can do it.

He can do it.

So, no, he doesn’t sabotage what they’ve built. He doesn’t add in a failsafe. He doesn’t loosen a few screws, or overload the element, or untwist a few wires.

Danny does his best and at the end of the day his dad holds up the new and improved Jack o’ Nine Tails and absolutely beams at him. A work of art, he calls it.

Danny doesn’t sabotage it then and he won’t sabotage it later, because it’s a work of art. This is what he and his dad built. Together.

Danny can’t help but grin back, happiness curling in his belly even as it gives a sickening lurch.

He doesn’t eat dinner that night, he can’t.

He stays downstairs long enough to present the new weapon to Mom—very pointedly ignoring Jazz’s look—and then he heads upstairs. There’s an English essay he needs to get started on, after all.

He doesn’t miss the look Mom and Dad share, the fond tenderness, the love, the hope, all directed at him.

He’s happy.

They’re happy.

They’re proud of him.

And despite it all, he had fun today! 

When he lays down on his bed, he smiles and he can’t stop the laughter bubbling up as he thinks about his dad. At one point, he had been holding up a circular piece of metal he’d cannibalised from the lamp shade to his eyes, moving it back and forth as he pulled his funny faces, and some of that full belly laugh creeps back in as he remembers doing the same back.

He laughs so hard until he cries, and he cries, and he cries. 

Today, he and his dad built a weapon. 

Tomorrow, it'll be used on him, but that's okay. 

It's okay because today, today his dad was proud.

[ladykailitha]

Of Butterflies and Backstrokes Part 9

Hello! This story is moving right along. I'm not sure how much longer it will be but I've finally gotten to the competition part of the story and then we slowly ramp up to the Olympics where the real fun begins.

Some really juicy plot twists at the Olympics I can't wait for you to read. And the ending which I am vibrating to write for you.

In this we have a good therapy session, Max joins the team, and Eddie is a sweetheart. (Which we all knew).

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

~

Steve knew he should have gone to therapy after the first time he tried to get into the water and had a fucking panic attack. But he was newly off his dad’s money and having to work for the first time in his life, he just didn’t have the time or the money to do it.

But now that he was getting paid a lot more as a coach and Dr. Hughes being willing to do the sessions after hours and therefor off the clock made it easier to try.

He wasn’t sure what to expect when he walked into that neat office that Tuesday afternoon, but it certainly wasn’t a forty-something man with neat wire rimmed glasses and curly hair. He had a round face and pleasant smile. He was wearing a nice vest over a blue button up shirt.

Steve smiled and slid into one of the chairs in front of the desk Dr. Hughes was sitting behind. “I thought tweed jackets were standard issue for therapists.”

Dr. Hughes snapped his fingers. “Shucks, I knew there was something I forgot to do!”

Steve laughed and was immediately put at ease. “Eddie said you're the dad of one of his friends...”

Dr. Hughes’s eyes twinkled with mirth. “And you want to know how the son of a psychiatrist and licensed therapist is friends with the local drug dealer?” Steve blushed but nodded anyway. “I have two sons. Twins. My Gethin is everything a white, upper middle class parent could want. He’s quiet, smart, does particularly well in school, straight, dresses neatly. Popular at school, well liked by his teachers. His mother and I are very proud.”

“I’m guess your other son isn’t all that?” Steve huffed, flopping against the back of the chair. He could just picture this kid. Loud and angry and messy. A little bit like Eddie. God, he hoped the kid had some really good friends, because if he knew anything, he knew what it felt like to never be good enough in your parents eyes.

Dr. Hughes chuckled. “My son, Gareth is more like my wife. Loud, fierce, and vibrant. We got him his first drum set when was eight to help him work out his energy and it worked. He’s very good at it. He doesn’t get the grades Geth does, but we go to all his band’s shows, we celebrate his passing his classes. While doesn’t have as many friends as his brother, Gareth has a tight knit group that he can rely on for anything.”

Steve blinked at him with his mouth open.

“I do specialize in behavior analysis after all,” Dr. Hughes said with a tender smile, “I’d be a shit therapist and worse father if I didn’t at least follow what my profession says on the matter.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Steve said after snapping his jaw shut. “I guess I’ve just never seen a parent treat their kids equally before. One parent always has preference especially if one doesn’t fit inside their perfect box.”

“Ah ha!” Dr. Hughes said, leaning back in his chair and gripping the arms of his chair. “The perks about a patient one can look up on the internet is knowing a bit about them before hand. Did you not fit into the box your parents made for you?”

Steve snorted. “Tell you the truth, Dr. Hughes,” he said picking at the skin around his nails, “I don’t think they cared enough to build the fucking box in the first place. My mom was always off with her charities and her clubs and my dad was only there to make sure I made them look good. But nothing was ever enough for them.”

“Do you think that your feelings of abandonment contributed to your trauma in the pool?”

Steve stare at him for a moment, head cocked to the side. He scratched his cheek nervously. “I guess I never really thought about it. I always assumed it was just getting hurt.”

“Trauma is rarely so black and white,” Dr. Hughes said gently. “We’re not going to dive straight into what happened at the Olympics. This first session is really about getting to know each other and deciding we’re the right fit for each other.”

Steve nodded and they got to talking about sports and somehow ended up on Eddie.

“He’s a good kid,” Dr. Hughes said. “A bit rough around the edges, but that is more to due to his circumstances and less to do to his actual personality.”

“I really don’t know him that well,” Steve admitted.

“And yet you offered to train him for the Olympics,” Dr. Hughes pointed out.

Steve snorted. “What’s something you’re good at that isn’t this job?”

“I’m really good at math. Particularly complex equations. My calculus teacher thought I should have been a mathematician.”

Steve nodded again. “So imagine you’re picking one of your sons from school and you pass by the classroom being used for dentition, and the teacher isn’t there. But instead of drawing dick pics on the white board, he’s correcting the teacher’s math. Correctly, I might add. Would you not want to jump in and help him achieve greatness if you could?”

Dr. Hughes pressed his lips together tightly. “And you saw that greatness in Eddie?”

“Oh yeah,” Steve said seriously. “If he had been swimming in ‘08, he would have been on the US team; no doubt.”

Dr. Hughes blinked at him for a moment. “You told me you didn’t know him very well, but I think you know him better than you think you do.”

Steve blushed.

~

He arrived at the pool to find Eddie and Robin waiting for him in front of the rec center. As soon as he stepped onto the curb, Robin threw her arms around him.

“How did your first session go?” she asked anxiously. “Was it hard, are you okay? Tell me everything. Don’t leave anything out.”

Steve laughed and spun them both around. “It was fine. It was more about getting to know each other. Testing the water as it were. It was good. He was nice.”

Eddie grinned. “I’m glad you guys got along. Dr. Hughes was telling me and Gare that not every therapist is a fit for every person and we weren’t sure what we were going to do if it didn’t work out between you.”

“Suffer.”

Robin and Eddie laughed as Steve grinned at them.

“It’s my lot in life,” Steve huffed as he let go of Robin and started walking to the door.

“It’s not a lot,” Robin said.

“But it’s my life!” Eddie finished.

Steve’s grin turned into a fond smile. Yeah, he couldn’t get in the water now and maybe not ever, but he had Robin. And if everything turned out well, maybe Eddie, too.

When they got in to the dressing rooms to change, the other coaches and athletes were conspicuously absent. When Steve asked a passing Joyce about it when they got out, she said with a smile.

“I convinced them to use the other dressing rooms on the other side,” she said brightly. “After all they are closer to the pool they were supposed to be using.”

She patted him on the shoulder and went back to where every it was she was going.

Steve rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He cocked his head back and forth. If that was the case...

He walked up to Robin and Eddie and clapped his hands, rubbing them together. “All right guys, a slight change of plans. As soon as Max gets here, we’ll be using the second main pool today.”

“Where is the goon squad today?” Robin asked.

Steve just grinned. “Not here.”

Max came running up to him in a panic. “I can’t fit my hair under the cap! I don’t want to get chlorine in it. Trust me when I say that red hair and chlorine don’t mix.”

Eddie’s eyes went wide and his hand went shakily to the top of his head. He ran his fingers through his curls nervously. “You don– they wouldn’t make me shave my head, would they?”

Steve’s jaw hardened. “If they try and make you, I will drown them personally. Shaving a man’s hair is fucking pointless because it’s going to be under the cap. If you weren’t swimming with one, then I could see it. But as you won’t, there is no need to do it. Robin will help Max do her hair, and I’ll help you do yours, okay?”

Eddie sat down on the edge of the pool and Steve began braiding Eddie’s hair and gently weaving it. He put the cap on Eddie’s head, starting from the back. Eddie adjusted it so that it sat perfectly over the tips of his ears.

Eddie turned back to thank him, but gulped when he realized how close Steve was. “Right. Um... thanks.”

Steve blushed, stepping away to let Eddie slide into the pool. Robin and Max followed close behind. Steve got up on the lifeguard chair and pulled out his clipboard.

“Since Max is going to be learning the different types of strokes,” he said brightly, “we’ll have Eddie demonstrate each one and then I’ll rate them. And while I’m talking to Eddie, Robin can help Max learn the first one.”

“Sure thing!” Eddie chirped happily. He tussled Max’s cap and she pushed him off of her. “Just you watch me, Red. I’ve got this in the bag.” He looked up at Steve. “Which one do you wanna try out first, Coach?”

“Backstroke is what you’re best at,” Steve said with a smile. “Go on, showoff. I know you want to.”

Eddie grinned and then wadded over to the second line, ducking under the floaties. He pulled his goggles over his eyes, then looked up at Steve, giving him a thumbs up. Steve blew the whistle and off Eddie went. Robin talked Max through everything Eddie was doing and the mechanics of it all. When Eddie touched the return plate he looked up at Steve.

Steve pressed the button on his stopwatch. “Not a bad time and your form was really good.” He then gave Eddie scores on his technique and style, Eddie nodding along.

“Translate!” Max snapped at Robin, causing the two men to snap their heads up to look at her.

Steve blushed in embarrassment as Eddie grinned at her.

“Sorry, Max,” Steve murmured. “It’s been so long since I’ve had a person to talk swim with since– well, since before Tommy decided to shove a stick up his ass.”

Max’s eyes went wide with gleeful surprise at Steve swearing. He wasn’t allowed swear at children so the kids had never heard his more colorful language.

“Steve!” she said in awe. “There are children present.”

Steve laughed. “Like you don’t swear the worst of them. Well, all except Dustin. That kid has the worst potty mouth.”

“Oof,” Robin said with a wince. “I’d say he swears like a sailor, but I think even sailors would blush at his language.”

Max cocked her head to side and then nodded. “Yeah okay. He’s worse than I am. But barely. Like I’m better at coming up with insults then he is. He usually just resorts to ‘your mom!’ when he can’t think of anything.”

“That’s a preeetty piss poor insult,” Eddie cackled. “Like does he even know your mom?”

“I think he does it because his mom is a literal saint,” Robin said solemnly. “Like she always brings us donuts or homemade muffins. No one would dare say it back to him lest the lose access to the most delicious baked goods in existence.”

Eddie eyes went wide. “Those triple chocolate muffins were hers?”

“Oh yeah,” Steve said, nodding. “She can’t decorate for shit, so her cakes aren’t pretty to look at but they are so good you forget the icing was starting to slip off one side a bit.”

“That’s because she gets too excited to share it,” Max said with a fond eye roll, “so she doesn’t wait for it to cool down enough before she starts frosting anything.”

“Right, right,” Eddie said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, “note to self never insult Dustin’s mom. Got it.”

Steve nodded seriously. They got back to swimming and were wrapping up when the goon squad arrived.

They were on their way out, laughing and talking. About what Steve couldn’t make out. Then someone bumped Steve’s hip sending him toward the pool. He let out a shriek of unequivocal terror and squeezed his eyes shut, fearing the absolute worst.

But the splash never came. There was no rushing of water, no feeling of enveloped and choked by the waves. All he felt was cold arms holding him tightly to a broad, flat chest. One that as very wet and very, very naked. His arms were trapped between his chest and the person holding him, but he didn’t struggle.

He leaned into the touch, his eyes still squeezed shut, his heart racing behind his ribs. The arms began moving gently to stroke his back as muttered phrases slowly brought him round again.

He opened his eyes to stare directly into the warmest brown eyes he had ever seen. It was like when he woke up from his panic attack.

“There you are, big boy,” Eddie murmured. “I’ve got you.” He brushed Steve’s hair gently out of his face.

That’s when he realized that there was screaming going on around them.

“I don’t care who your father is, Hannah,” Joyce was shouting, “until he signs my paychecks, I’m in charge here and had Steve fallen in, he could have you charged with assault.” The girl turned pale and immediately everyone shut up. “That’s right, pushing someone in a pool is so dangerous Steve would have every right to have you arrested. Now get out of here.”

After everyone made sure Steve was okay, Robin walked him to the car and shoved him into the passenger side. As she slid behind the wheel she said, “It’s a good thing Eddie had such fast reflexes.”

“Yeah.” And all the way home, Steve thought about those arms wrapped around him, keeping him safe.

~

Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15

Tag List: CLOSED

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10- @aol19 @eriquin @tartarusknight @gloomysoup @morallyundefined

[howlingday]

(This gave me an idea.)

Arc Portal AU - Since mamma arc has a portal to her family and Raven has the same, since both Jaune and Yang are both in close proximity, sometimes the wires would get crossed and one goes to the other. Hijinxs occur.

"Oh, it's YOU."

"Belle." Raven scowled.

"My friends call me Belle." Jaune's mother replied. "To you, it's Isabella."

"Whatever." Raven rolled her eyes. "I'm just here to deliver something to Yang."

"Oh, really? What a coincidence! I'm here for my son, too~!" Her smile may have looked sweet, but there was definitely venom in her voice. "But, of course, that's what a good mother does, doesn't she?"

"Uh, should we... stop them?" Yang asked to Jaune in a whisper, both of whom were having a picnic with their teams on the grounds.

"I don't really want to get in the middle of two scary ladies." Jaune replied. Looking at all of his other friends, they seemed to share the same sentiment and stayed as far away as possible.

"To be honest, I'm more scared of your mom than mine." Yang clarified. At this, Jaune's mother snapped her head to the two, making them flinch. "H-Hi, Mrs. Arc..."

"Oh, sweetie, please, call me Bell~!" She then turned with a vindictive smile to Raven. "Or even MOM." Raven tightened her grip on her sword.

"Uh, I think I'll stick with Mrs. Arc." Yang admitted.

"Oh, you are just so polite. You clearly get that from your father."

"Are you done?" Raven asked, walking up to the three blonds. She tossed a package at Yang's feet. "The post office was down. He called me to deliver this to you."

"So you're a courier pigeon~?" Raven glared at Isabella. The blonde had a glint in her eyes that said, 'try me'.

"Take care of yourself, Yang." Raven the left through the portal.

"Honestly, that woman." Jaune's mother huffed. "Too proud to even tell her own daughter, 'I love you'." She then smiled to her son. "Not like me, of course~!"

"Uh, nope, not at all!" Jaune nervously chuckled. "So, uh, why are you here, Mom? Did you also have something for me?"

"No, I'm just checking in on you. Your grades have been improving, yes?"

"Y-Yes, Mom."

"Good. I'd hate to have to bring your father with me." She looked to Yang. "Jack always cared more about book smarts than I did." She giggled. "In fact, one time, he-"

"MOM!" Jaune yelled, then cleared his throat. "Sorry, but shouldn't you be heading back?"

"Oh, right! I'd hate to interrupt your date."

"It's not a date, Mom."

"So, you say~." She then snapped her fingers. "Oh, right! Your father wanted me to ask you something. I'll go ask him!" She quickly ran through the portal.

"...Wait, Mom-!" But it was too late. Jaune's mother was already through the wrong portal.

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

"Jack, what was it you wanted me to... ask... Jaune..."

Isabella Arc stepped through the portal and found herself somewhere entirely far from her home in Ansel. Instead of the large farmhouse big enough for a family of eight children and their loving mother and father, she was standing in the middle of a bandit encampment filled with ruffians and thieves and criminals of all kinds. Some of them had already brandished their weapons, a couple of them with smiles on their face.

"Whoops~!" She said, undisturbed by the gang of ne'er-do-wells. "Wrong portal~!"

A bandit charged her with an axe, only to find his weapon and some teeth removed with a thundering crack. Her blue eyes gleamed in delight as other bandits began to step away from her. Dropping the axe and turning to a new portal, her exit was undisturbed by the cowering crew of cutthroats.

"I'm sorry, Jack, I didn't mean to-"

"Oh, hey, Bell!" Her husband greeted, a bottle of beer in his hand. "Look who decided to drop by~!" Sitting across from him was the woman she insulted not five minutes ago, wearing a shit-eating grin on her face, the same beer in her hand.

"Hey, Bell~." Raven crooned mockingly.

[egosdelirium]

Thinking so many thoughts about...... James and Remus both being Spiderman in their own universes and somehow meeting when a portal opens a passage between them.

- Earth 48915

Remus is eighteen. Your local nerd, the loner with his nose always stuck in a book, the weird kid who's never really made any friends in school or at church. The one who never attempts to talk to girls. Dirt poor, has recently moved to London with Hope after Lyall suddenly passed away in a car accident (Remus was driving the car). Him and his mum left Wales and their little village behind to go live with Hope's brother, Ben, to try and give their lives a new meaning and get Remus a better education while they're at it. He gets into this private posh Secondary thanks to his uncle's contacts and his outstanding academic records.

There, he meets Sirius Black: the fittest, richest, smartest, most successful boy of the entire school who exclusively hangs out with future runaway model, Mary Mcdonald, and his little brother, Regulus. In addition to his all-rounded perfection, Sirius also belongs to the family funded Black Industries, a multi-million pharmaceutical corporation that is well known for its advanced discoveries and unorthodox research methods.

Remus avoids Sirius (and everybody else) to the best of his capabilities until he gets paired up with him for the end of the first trimester science project. Sirius loathes science, chemistry, and everything that has anything to do with molecules or atoms. He still gets top marks in it, but his real forte his maths: arithmetic, trigonometry, calculus. Sirius's brain is like a computer wired to solve equations. Remus, on the other hand, is 100% the science nerd Orion Black wishes his son was. In the end, their project turns out to be so good that they get paired together for the rest of the year, and Remus keeps falling more and more head over heels in love with his new lab partner and is very pathetic about it.

They start hanging out outside of school too, after Remus catches Sirius crying in the bathrooms one afternoon during footie practice and Sirius breaks down to him about how horribly abusive his parents are to him and Regulus. One night, Sirius has the great idea to sneak into his father's private lab with Remus (who's now become a regular in Sirius' bedroom) to employ his scientific knowledge to understand some top secret project Orion has been very elusive about, and there Remus gets bitten by a modified specimen of Wolf-spider that Sirius mistakenly frees from its box.

Spiderman shenanigans ensue (but Remus' chronic joint pain gets cured, so he's not complaining all that much)

- Earth 48916

James is a high school senior in a prestigious private school in upstate New York. He lives in Brooklyn with his british/punjabi mother and puerto rican father. He's the 'five different vacation houses in five different states' type of rich boy. Straight A's and B's, captain of the soccer team with a fullride scholarship to Columbia University, every girl's and boy's dream boyfriend.

Everyone's but Lily Evan's, no one other than his main academic rival and the girl he's been desperately in (unrequited) love with since ninth grade. She's top of half their classes (mainly the ones James can't be bothered trying to excel at), future valedictorian, exceptionally hardworking and particularly gifted in 'all things science'. She also allegedly hates his guts.

James mainly hangs out his two childhood best friends: Marlene, star player of the female's soccer and basketball team, and Peter, their very own regional chess prodigy. When James is not with them, he's usually surrounded by the guys from his soccer team or the ladies from the 'Crocheting for Charity' club he attends on weekends. He never really dates anybody else, albeit being asked out almost daily, because his mom taught him that perseverance is the only way to truly show the authenticity of one's desires.

James gets bitten on a saturday night, when he overhears Lily Evans argue with Severus Snape, her ex best friend turned new nazi schizo, as he was heading out after his crochet meet-up. The two are fighting about something in the school's science lab and Severus keeps trying to get Lily to look at a small box he's placed on the table, but they just end up screaming at each other and Lily storms out of the room. In his hurry to chase after her, Severus mistakenly hits the box and drops it to the floor. James, who had hidden just behind the corner, enters the lab to check for himself what the whole argument is about, and the genetically modified Golden Silk Orb-Spider that once was in the box bites him.

Spiderman shenanigans ensue. James is thrilled, Marlene is too, Peter not so much.

And Lily is too curious, and way too good at science and genetics to not get roped up into the whole mess, unfortunately for her.

[jtargaryen18]

The House of Shadowed Roses

CHAPTER 1

Words: 5.4k

Pairing: Edward (Loosely based off a "A Different Man") x Live-in Companion Reader M/F

Disclaimer: The author of this work claims no ownership of characters aside from the reader, and original secondary characters mentioned. This work is not intended for those under the age of 18 due to explicit sexual content and darker themes. By reading this work or any works on my blog (jtargaryen18), you agree that you are at least 18 years of age. I do not consent to have my work hosted on any third party app or site.

"You could have flown away A singing bird in an open cage Who will only fly, only fly for freedom..." - "Walk On" U2

A/N: This is my spin on Beauty & the Beast. Edward, at the beginning of the story, has the condition neurofibromatosis as he does in the film. But this isn't going to be used in a negative way, nor are we going to include depictions of him being mistreated by others as a result. (Edward has structured his life in a way to avoid that.)

As you were reading over the short list of rentals into today's paper, you felt your frustation rising. Were you going to find another place to live before you had to leave your current apartment?

It had been a long few years. 

You graduated high school, started college pursuing a degree in business.Your first year in the MBA program was at the smaller Michigan university not far from your hometown. Your grades had been fine. You just realized after five years of business you didn't feel anything about it, one way or another. Did you really want to spend your life like that?

You took a gap year, working part time jobs to pay your bills and to keep your tiny, dark little apartment. You'd started working as a kennel assistant at a local veterinarian's office and what do you know? You found something you loved doing. Sure, you started out walking dogs, scooping poop, and cleaning kennels. But after a few months, you were trusted with other tasks in the clinic. You helped pull kittens or puppies when there was an expectant mother, you looked after animals boarded there. You helped put together prescriptions, sometimes helped the receptionists get vacations or personal days.

It was an easy choice, you were going back to school. The vet-med program was in Virginia but in four years, you'd earn a DVM. It was a job that you knew you'd appreciate and that would allow you to make a real difference. 

The problem was, now you were heading for thirty and the student loans were piling up. After two years in the program, you earned a two-year technician's degree. It was as good a time as any to get some work in the field and pay some of that debt down.

The veterinary hospital in the small Virginia town was even nicer than the first one you'd worked in back home. It was female-owned with three female doctors, two other techs who were guys, and a competent staff of receptionists, kennel assistants, and even a couple of volunteers. After six months, your job there just fortified your desire to achieve a career as a veterinary doctor.

The problem? Living spaces.

You knew the apartment in the old -- really old -- boarding house was probably a risk. The building was a hundred and twenty-five years old, there were drafts, creaking floors, and leaks from the ceiling when it rained. The electric wiring needed repairs often.

When you received the notice that the building where you lived was being condemned, you panicked. You had just a month to make other arrangements which meant your living conditions probably weren't safe. But its affordable rent had really helped you put some money back. 

Where were you supposed to go now?

When someone called your name the next day in the break room, you walked in to see Dave, one of the other techs, sitting at the table eating the lunch he'd packed and scrolling on his phone. He looked at you expectantly when he spotted you.

"Weren't you looking for a place to live?" he asked.

"Sure am," you told him.

"There's an ad in the marketplace," he told you, looking back to his phone. "Room for rent. Looking for someone to help with shopping and small errands. In exchange, will rent space: a bedroom, office or living room, and full bath. Kitchen and laundry can be shared."

When Dave read the address and the rent price per month, you were floored. It sounded like an elderly person looking for a housemate to help them with shopping or cleaning. That would be perfect for you and it was just fifteen minutes away from the hospital. 

"Can you send me that?" you asked him. "When was it posted?"

Dave took another look at the ad he'd read to you. "Says it was posted today."

"Perfect! Thank you," you told him.

Grabbing your phone from your locker, you were going to call right now. Hopefully, it was still available. It had the potential to be a really good deal for you.

Your call went straight to voicemail. A digital voice told you to leave your message at the tone. You did. You probably sounded like an idiot, but you quickly asked if they could call you back about the rental. You left your number and name.

And then nothing. At the end of your shift, there were no messages. The next day, no return call. The day after that? Nothing.

Damn, someone beat you to it. 

You spent the weekend doing laundry and boxing things up. You did your normal search each day in the papers, marketplaces. Maybe something you could afford would come up. You had two weeks now. You were gettting desperate.

You'd been home for maybe an hour Monday when the chime of your phone had you fishing it out of your purse to see who it was. The number was private but since you'd called to ask about another apartment this morning, you assumed it was them.

A deep, rough male voice asked to speak with you. When you confirmed it was you, he mentioned his house on Garden Street. You were floored! It was the house from the ad Dave told you about, the one where the owner was looking for help and offering a really affordable price. 

"Yes," you responded. "I am very interested in your ad."

"Do you live in the area?" he asked. 

His voice was strange. He didn't sound old per se. It was hard to tell. His voice was rough and sounded a little garbled. You had a little trouble understanding him. But there was no way in hell you were going say that. You wanted what he was offering.

You explained your situation and the urgency of it. Then you told him you appreciated his consideration. There was a long moment when he didn't say anything. Was he still there? Was he considering your case?

"I'd like to interview you," he said finally. "Tomorrow."

Really? "Okay, I can do that," you said. "What's a good time?"

Whatever you needed to do, you'd do it. Take the evening off from work even. 

"Come at eight-thirty," he said after a long pause. 

"In the morning?" You wanted to make sure you got it right. 

"No, tomorrow evening," he said. "I'll text you the address."

Okay. It was a little odd. But you needed a place to live. "I'll be there," you told him.

When you got off the phone, when you went to  bed, you could rest easier. Sure, there was a chance that you wouldn't get the place. But there was just as much of a chance that you would. You got a good night's sleep. 

***

Nerves were about to get the best of you as headed down that narrow dirt road in your car, pulling up to what looked like an old southern mansion. Twilight still clung to the deepening colors on the horizon and there was just enough light left to hint at a magnificent old house, a few of the first floor windows were lit up with soft light. There was a huge, elegant weeping willow tree in the front yard and what looked like huge flower beds on either side of the ornate front porch, their colors swallowed by the night.

Summoning your courage, you climbed out of your SUV and headed for the front door. The heat of a hot August day still lingered on the humid air and the chorus of crickets all around you made you feel like you'd entered some enchanting storybook tale.

What a beautiful place. What would it be like to live here?

You had enough time to go home and change out of your scrubs. You went with a strappy summer dress and cute sandals, a soft, summer cardigan lending a demure look to the outfit. You'd ultimately decided to carry a small purse with your phone. If you needed to make notes, you were well prepared.

The soft notes of piano music reached your ears as climbed the stairs to reach the front door. For a moment, you just listened. It sounded like someone was actually playing a piano rather than a recording and you smiled when you recognized the song. "Dream a Little Dream of Me."

You hated to disrupt that but you didn't want to be late either. Your smart watch showed you it was eight-thirty-one. 

Here goes.

Three sharp knocks on the door, announcing your presence. And just as you suspected, the music stopped. Footsteps grew louder as they neared the door. You smiled when the door swung open, anxious to greet your host and hopefully your new landlord.

But all you saw was his back as he walked swiftly away from you down a long shadowy hallway. 

"Come in!" he called back over his shoulder in that strange voice.

You hadn't expected that, hoping you hadn't done something wrong already. With nothing else to do, you quickly closed the front door behind you and followed him down the hall. He'd turned to the right, light from the room casting a spotlight on the floor. Slowly, you went that same route, peering into the room before you walked into it.

You couldn't help but smile to see all the beautiful antique furniture, a gorgeous Tiffany lamp in delicate shades of pink and purple glass adorning a small table by the window. There were no photos on the walls, which you found strange, but there were gorgeous paintings of beautiful nature views. The floor was polished wood, gleaming under your sandals as you slowly walked further into the room. You also spotted the small piano, it's dark wood catching the soft light around it.

Finally, you spotted your host sitting in a shadowy corner of the room in a huge leather chair.  He sat there so still that it startled you a little at first. It took you only a second to understand why. Your host's face... It was horribly disfigured. Swollen and misshapen, covered with bulbous areas beneath his skin. His hands were normal, telling you he probably wasn't that old. He was dressed nicely in slacks and a black dress shirt, looking ready to curl in on himself under your scrutiny.

Only one eye was really open, the other buried in the odd landscape of his face, and it was blue. That one-eyed gaze was fixed on you and you instantly read the fear and anxiety there. 

The poor man. Was it Proteus Syndrome? Or something else?

Instantly, you smiled. Years of seeing all sorts of animal injuries and conditions had you switching into the same objective mode you used at work and school. You noticed a chair sitting off to his left by a beautiful, large window. It was oddly placed several feet from him, but you understood why. You wanted him to feel comfortable with you.

"Thank you for agreeing to speak with me," you said in a tone you would have used with anyone else. Motioning toward the other chair, you asked, "May I?"

"Of course," he said, that fearful gaze on you as you took a seat. "I'm Edward. Thank you for coming out. I appreciate your... kindness."

With a nod, you told him your name, maintaining eye contact as you took a seat. 

"So, your ad mentioned needing help with shopping and small errands," you said, realizing why now.  "What are you looking for there?"

"Not a lot," Edward replied. "As you can imagine, going out can be difficult for me at times. My condition is called neurofibromatosis. I've always had it so I'm used to people's reactions. It's just, the older I get, the more I just... You'd think I'd be used to it by now."

Your heart cracked a little in your chest. You couldn't begin to imagine what life had been like for the man before you. What did you say to that?

"And forgive me, but," Edward paused for a beat. "You're just so lovely."

Saying "thank you" didn't feel right. You certainly didn't see yourself that way so you waited for the uncomfortable silence to pass.

"I'd like a weekly grocery run," he explained. "During spring, I'd like someone who could run to the garden center for me to get supplies. That would be quite a few trips actually. I enjoy gardening. It's a place of peace for me."

That had you smiling. Everything around you, the home, the landscape outside, looked gorgeous. Maybe his condition had condemned him to a life in the shadows because of his appearance. But it sounded like he enjoyed making his environment beautiful and it really was. You found that inspiring.

"It's a little dark outside," you said. "But the flower beds around the porch are gorgeous. I bet they're even more beautiful by day."

Slowly, he nodded. "Thank you."

"That's mostly it," Edward finished. "I might ask for take out once in a while. Not often. I'll make sure you have plenty of money to get everything on my list and whatever you might want for yourself."

None of that sounded like a problem at all for you. It was incredibly generous.

"You'd mentioned you were taking a gap year from college," he said. "How old are you? If you don't mind my asking."

"I'm turning twenty-nine soon," you said. 

Edward nodded, seeming to consider this. "How long do you plan to be here?"

"Oh, a while I'd think," you explained. "I'm about three months into my gap year right now. I'm going to the vet-med college. I still have two or three more years to get my DVM."

"The goal is to be a veterinarian?" he asked.

"It is," you told him. "I really love the hospital where I work now. I'm kind of hoping once I finish my degree that maybe I can stay and work there."

"So you're planning to live here," it wasn't a question, "instead of just passing through."

"I'm hoping to, yes," you said. "I work there full-time as a vet tech. I'm there by six in the morning and I get out around four. Most days. Some days we have last miute emergencies that keep us longer but it's not often. Maybe a couple of times a month. It shouldn't interefere with getting you what you need when you need it. If I get the accomodations that is."

Edward nodded, seemingly considering your words.

"Do you have any pets?" you asked him.

"Not at the moment, no."

That was a shame. The love of a pet could be good for someone like him. 

"If you ever decide you'd like to adopt a dog or cat, let me know. We work closely with the county shelter and a few different rescue leagues. There are a lot of pets in need of good homes."

"I'll keep that in mind," Edward said.

You nodded, feeling a little awkward. You felt like he was smiling. There was no way to know for sure because his face...

"My offer is this," Edward said, pulling you out of your thoughts. "You live here. Like the ad said, you get a bedroom, living room, and full bath. They are very spacious rooms. The kitchen is here on the ground floor and it should be equipped with anything you need. The laundry is in the basement. Washer, dryer, ironing station."

An ironing station? That had you smiling.

Thinking about room in this house, you felt a small spark of excitement growing. Not yet. You didn't know how much he was going to ask for rent. You could just hope that if you were willing to run errands and shop for him, he'd take the price down a little. His house was incredible.

"You run errands for me, help me when I need you, and do the shopping," he went on. "We'll call it even."

What?

"Even?" you asked.

"I don't need your money," Edward said. "I have enough for a couple of lifetimes. My father left me quite an inheritance."

From the looks of everything around you, that appeared to be true. But you could stay for free?

You knew your confusion had to be showing on your face. Edward made a rough sound. Was it a chuckle?

"I have a couple more rules," he said after a moment. 

"Of course," you said, still waiting for the punch line. This man didn't know anything about you and he was just going to let you live in his old-fashioned mansion for free? Just for running his errands and getting his groceries?

"I enjoy a peaceful life here," Edward said. "No loud television or music."

That wasn't an issue. You enjoyed peace yourself. You nodded.

"I don't mind if you have deliveries here," he went on. "But no visitors."

No one at all? That wasn't a huge problem. Still, there was your sister Monica, her husband and your nephew Lucas. They stayed so busy with work and Lucas's little league games that a visit wasn't something you had to worry about right away. But if they wanted to visit? Were you were supposed to just meet them in town?

"Does that pose a problem?" Edward asked, his gaze with that one blue eye intent on you. "Is there a boyfriend?"

"No," you said instantly. Dating was hard these days with an endless array of guys on dating apps looking for Miss Right Now and tasteful nudes. You weren't into one-night stands. You were hoping one day to find someone to be friends first because friendship was the foundation of every great relationship you'd ever witnessed. With the right person, intimacy and love came later, building a beautiful life on top of that all-important foundation. That was what you wanted. And you weren't in a big hurry. Not right now while you were still in school, building an occupation and a life for yourself.

Was that a hint of surprise in that single blue eye?

"No?"

"No," you repeated. You didn't elaborate. You didn't know Edward but for some reason, you sensed that your relationship - or lack thereof - was important to him. 

Edward studied you for a long moment. "I'm surprised."

Okay, you were a little uncomfortable being put on the spot about your personal life. You were looking for a place to live for a while. That usually involved signing a lease and a credit check. But this?

"I've been busy between school and work for a while now," you explained awkwardly. 

"You're beautiful," Edward was blunt. "That's why I was surprised."

Beautiful? 

You blew out an exhale. See? He was just being kind.

"Do you accept the offer?" he asked.

Wouldn't you be stupid to refuse him? Free rent would help you put back money for school that much faster. If you wanted to see your sister, you could go visit her. If you did meet someone? Well, you could evaluate your situation then.

"Yes," you told him. "Thank you... Is there an agreement or lease or something you want me to sign?"

"There will be," he said. "I'll have my attorney put it together for us."

Just like that, huh? No one else was competing with you for this?

"When can I expect you to move in?" Edward asked. 

"Well, I only have two weeks left," you explained. "I don't have a lot so I should be able to get everything packed up this week. I could maybe move in this weekend. If that's okay with you?"

"That sounds perfect," he said in his strangely distorted voice. 

"Would you like for me to run errands or shop for you this week?" you asked, grateful for the offer he made you. He was lonely man and you understood that. Compassion for a beautiful place to stay sounded like a good deal to you. 

"No." You sensed he was smiling again. "Make your preparations. You can move in this weekend and we'll sign the agreement then."

"Thank you," you told him. "I really appreciate this."

"I'm hoping this situation is one we will find mutually beneficial," Edward said softly. 

You nodded, rising to leave. Smoothing the skirt of your dress as you stood, you felt his gaze on you. Again, that sense of foreboding hit you. But why? Edward didn't feel like a threat to you. He was a lonely man looking for companionship maybe, some help in getting the things he needed.

"I'll call Friday," you told him, "to arrange a time for this weekend."

Edward shook his head. "No need. Come anytime you want this weekend."

"Thank you," you said, ready to go. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

You turned to leave, the piano catching your eye as you approached it. That had you turning back.

"You were playing the piano earlier," you said.

Edward nodded.

"Your playing was beautiful," you admitted.

Some emotion flashed in his eye. It was a little frustrating because you really couldn't read his expressions. You only had intuition to go on. But you sensed that you pleased him.

"Thank you," he said, adding your name. "Be careful on your way back to your apartment."

Nodding, you turned back to make your exit. When you walked out the door of Edward's mansion, you felt the cool night air wash over you. It was darker now but the moon was bright overhead. It lit the way back to your SUV. The night was gentle, peaceful when you climbed back into the driver's seat and started the engine. 

With one last look, your gaze roamed over what was going to be your new home. A beautiful old house and a gorgeous southern landscape. Free rent all for being quiet and getting whatever your new landlord needed. 

It was more than you could have hoped for.

You didn't notice Edward standing in the window, watching you leave. 

[interstellar-productions]

I have many thoughts I'm currently trying to get straight in my head involving the foxes, but today I bring you this one.

Warning this is going to be long and might not make a lot of sense, it also might have spoilers for the movie Oppenheimer.

I have no idea how many of you have seen the movie Oppenheimer, but it's probably one of my all time favorite movies. I want to however focus on the sound track today. I'm a music girl and I always have been, its one of the main ways I connect with the world.

The Oppenheimer soundtrack and genuinely one of the best movie soundtracks I've ever heard (in my completely personal opinion). But there's a line in the movie right before one of my favorite tracks plays where a professor asks Oppenheimer if he can "hear the music". This happens because Oppenheimer isn't very good at the practical part of his science, his lab professor isn't at all impressed with him. However the idea of theory is just coming out and the other professor is asking Oppenheimer if he "can hear the music" as a way of asking him if he can see where the strings connect, even if cant make that happen in a lab. Oppenheimer tells him almost desperately that yes he can "hear the music".

Now you may be asking me, Star, wtf does this have to do with the foxes and thus I bring you the idea that the Oppenheimer soundtrack IS the Aaron Minyard soundtrack.

Aaron Minyard is a man built out of blood and violence, not in the same way as Andrew, but he still is. Aaron Minyard has ONLY ever been shown hate and violence and hurt. But he can "hear the music".

When I listen to the Oppenheimer soundtrack while studying I can very clearly see Aaron locked in his dorm, he's learning how to help people through theory, through instinct. He's never put it to practice but he can see it, swirling above his head at night. He can see it when Kevin comes to them in the middle of the night at the winter banquet after Riko broke his hand, he can see it after Andrew comes back from a spare with Renee.

It's like neurons firing, wires connecting. Nuclear fission.

Snap.

Aaron Minyard is 18, in his first year of college, he is 19 in his second, he is 20 in his third.

Aaron Minyard is 16 strung out on whatever his mother brought home and is staring at the TV, his brother sits in a kitchen chair watching in that haunting, deadeyed way of his Aaron hates. There's a day time soap on the TV, some medical drama. Aaron considers it, high as is his and thinks it might be cool. In another universe, another life.

Aaron is 18, he's in his second semester of college, he is sober. He isn't sure this is where he's meant to be at all, his professor is lecturing, the way all his professors in the past have. Aaron is not a bad student, he makes good grades, is attentive to his school work. He's fine.

He listens to the lecture, this professor, this topic, something catches his attention, just like it had that day when he was 16 and high. His eyes narrow, he looks, really looks at what is being presented to him and suddenly, snap.

The music, starts playing in his ears and he can see it. The winding path in front of him. Where he's standing, where he wants to be. Before there had been a massive wall, a cliff really. He'd been sitting at the bottom of a hole, one so deep he couldn't even see the top.

Now he looks and there's no hole, only a pathway forward.

Aaron Minyard is 18, he can hear the music, he can see what he wants to be. It's in front of him, it will take work, hard work, but its there. He can see it.

Aaron Minyard is 18, he hears the music, he runs towards it.

He is 18 and he has finally realized that he's only nothing if he lets himself be nothing. The future is there, in front of him. He can see it swirling above his head at night. It's right there. He hears the music, even if he cant read the sheet, even if he cant play it himself, he can hear it and that is all the start he needs.

Aaron is 18 and he's learning that hearing the music is half the battle, he is 18 and learning the only one holding him back is him.

I have no clue if this makes sense to literally anyone other then me but I'm giving it out anyway because it's been driving me crazy for days and this 5'0 motherfucker needs to leave me alone while I'm trying to study. I need him out of my head please. ( I fear he lives there now and refuses to leave, the guy could at least pay fucking rent)

[fiddles-ifs]

Merry Shitscram everyone !! have backstory

Kaylen's nose is especially oily today; you can see her pores working overtime to clear the sweat out, hair clinging to her forehead from the new choppy pixie cut. It makes her look like a dance mom at fifteen.

"You're so fucking sad I get a charity tax break just for hanging out with you," she says, smacking your roller blades to get you to break. Doesn't work. Never will. And there's no ref to break it up, so she just stops, fingers tightening on her own stick.

The ands -- Kaylen, Aiden, Dylan, and some other douchebag teen from your grade -- like to fight dirty, but their chirps could use some work.

"Nice Letterkenny reference, dipshit," you say. "Are you going to play or not?"

You're barely out of face-off when Aiden comes from left and shoves his bulk up against your shoulder, trying to wrestle the puck away. He's not very fast, but he's pushy, and big. Sandwiched between him and Kaylen -- who is fast, but an opportunistic vulture -- is a disaster until someone from your team manages to help you out of the hole.

But Dylan has his legs wide open, staring dazedly at the powerlines overhead. You do some mental math, just as Aiden and Kaylen get distracted by shoving matches from your side. You're alone in the vast expanse of concrete and sky. You might have just enough time. You wind up, stick blade parallel to the high wires.

The slapshot you punish him with comes in front of a thunderously loud crack, composite hitting asphalt; the puck looks like a bullet. You worry you might has misjudged the angle -- it'll put a dent right in his shin, and you can't deal with that right now, not with parole chilling the sweat on the nape of your neck. But then it zips right between his knee guards, into the net, ripping a hole through the beat up rope. It's fine -- the goal is battle scarred with pockmarks from years of abuse.

And you win.

And that's all that matters.

Your whole team freaks the fuck out, slapping the top of your head, jostling you for good luck. They almost knock you off your skates.

"Fuck you, Robin!"

"You kiss your mother with that mouth, Dylan?" You have to shout to be heard over the sound of teenagers still raging. "Probably not, because she looks like a dog's shaved asshole. Doesn't stop me, though!"

You stick your tongue out and glide back down the pavement -- you'd snow him if there was snow, but alas. You'll make do with kicking a little grit onto his shoes.

"Dick," you hear him mumble, just as Aiden skates up by him to try and balm the wound.

"Yeah, that's probably why their parents dumped them on the side of the road."

Everyone freezes -- except for the ands, who just laugh, the four of them tittering by the net like fucking hyenas.

"What did you say?" Your voice is cold. Sharp. Violence hiding in it. Someone puts a hand on your shoulder -- you don't give a shit who. It doesn't matter. It never matters.

"Ignore him," they say, trying to sand the edges down so you don't get in trouble. Looking out for you. (In your mind's eye, in the present, you try and imagine what Bautista looked like as a teenager with her hand on your shoulder.) "He's stupid."

And they keep laughing, even when you shake off the hands trying to keep you contained.

Nobody's laughing when you break your hockey stick in half over Aiden's head. There's a lot of screaming, actually.

(You look back on it now with a sort of numb-feeling shame, clinically picking the scene apart. Aiden was lucky you didn't seriously hurt him. You had a lot less control in those days.)

Parents come rushing out of apartments, pulling kids apart. Someone has a t-shirt pressed to Aiden's head. Someone else has their arms around you, pinning your hands to your sides while you kick and scream.

"If your little trailer trash foster mutt ever comes near my kid again, I'll call the fucking cops!"

"I am the fucking cops, lady!"

You're only a little bit calmer when your dad sits you down with a long-suffering sigh, hands on your arms like you might lash out again.

"What the hell was that about?"

You keep your head bowed, heavy with shame — your dad doesn’t ever yell like he did outside. Doesn’t like doing it. Says it makes him feel like an ass; and that’s about the one thing you’re embarrassed over. Cracking your stick over Aiden’s dome was darkly satisfying.

You explain, agonizingly stilted, what Aiden said to you.

Dad lets that settle for a bit. Then, he sighs, hangs his head, and gives your arms a gentle squeeze before he looks up again. His glasses are perched right on the tip of his nose, now.

“I’m sorry, kiddo.”

“He’s a douche.”

“I know — but now he’s going to keep coming back.”

“Why?” You don’t mean to sound so wounded.

“Because he’s a douchey teenager, and as long as he thinks he can win, he’s going to keep coming for you. The best thing you can do is walk away.”

(You loved your dad — but he was wrong. The best thing you can do isn’t walk away.

The best thing is to make sure they know they will never win.)

[purple-astronaut]

A modern AU for fire family, but they remember everything that happened in the show, so ursa and ozai are set on being good parents.

Ozai: You're a disappointment zuko.

Zuko: I know i look like you, but I'm not a mirror

Ozai, gasp

Ozai, with watery eyes: I raised you so well, you're gonna kill 1st grade

They high five

Ursa: They are so wired....

Ursa: it's your first day of kindergarten, azula! You are gonna do great....

Azula: Are you gonna cry?

Ursa, sniffing: No.....

Azula, putting up her little arms so ursa can hug her, ursa starts full-on sobbing, and azula is patting her back cause this is normal for them.

Zuko: Are you gonna cry over everything we do?

Ozai, wiping his eyes: Don't be rude to your mother. You guys were babies yesterday!

Zuko: Are you crying, too?! Dad.... if everyone is crying, I'm gonna cry-

Zuko and Ozai are crying, but Ozai is just standing there like his eyes aren't making a river.

Azula: Really, guys? We are gonna be late!

Ursa, letting her go and getting up: Fine! Fine! I'll be ok....

Ursa turns around and looks at ozai and starts laughing

Ursa: It's ok to cry, you big baby!

Ursa and ozai hug each other and keep crying

Azula, walking away: OK, I'm driving myself to school!

Zuko, right behind her: You can't even reach the doorknob!

Azula: Yes, I can!

Azula and zuko leave

Ursa sniffing: We did good this time. Well, we're not done yet... but they're happy

Ozai: Yeah.... we should fine away to kick thier butts

Ursa, laughing: Who? Are past lives? Well, mine just needs a talk, but yours.....

Ozai: He knew what he did wrong. He also just needs a talk. He suffered in prison!

Ursa, rolling her eyes: What ever helps you sleep at night

Ozai: I don’t sleep at night because I'm to busy

Ursa: Doing what?

Ozai: You.

Ursa: Really....?

Ozai starts laughing

[aza-writes]

Revenge or Revolution

Chapter 1

• District 2 • Six Years Before the Revolution •

My calloused, tough fingers work fast as I braid the feathers around the fishing hook. I tell myself to make the wire tighter in my head before my mom says out loud a minute later.

"Tighter, Ivory! Or, do you not care about winning?" my breath gets caught in my throat. I hate when she uses that tone, it means she's disappointed. I hate disappointing her.

"Yes, mom. I'm sorry." I know better than to reply with anything else. I pull tighter before one wire slips from my finger, unraveling the whole thing.

"It's fine." Her tone shifts as she lets out a sigh. She's still disappointed,  but more subtle in showing it while accepting the fact that I still have areas to improve in. I feel worse now. "Just take a break. Go work on your flashcards."

"Yes, mom." I go into my room away from our "future Victor workstation." My mother came up with the idea when I was very little and I gave it to me as a birthday present for my fifth birthday. That was ten years ago. Ever since I've been training.

My mother has been very controlling with all my training and preparation aspects. She wasn't abusive in any way, she wasn't even mean. I felt love from both my mom and dad. They told me they loved me, but only when it was deserved or earned. It makes sense for love to be conditional, you wouldn't want to love an idiot loser who can't even give you something in return. There are many ways to earn love in my family, but most of them come with being the best at something like getting the best grade in the class or winning one of the many stupid contests they hold at school, and there are a lot. It's one of the many ways competitiveness and drive are instilled in kids in District 2. Not that I mind the competitions, they're mostly fun. They're also a way for me to win another medal or trophy for the case in our dining room. I fill with pride when my mom smiles and announces to our family, basically the whole neighborhood since she insisted the windows had to be open to "let in the fresh air," that she was the mom of a winner. 

And it wasn't that my mom was mad if we didn't win or if we came short in one of the many events or training exercises in a career district, she just added another thing on the list of things my sister, Clove, and I need to improve on. She doesn't do it because of reputation or anything, she was just concerned for my sister's and my future. Mostly mine since I'm older. And her efforts aren't in vain. Even at fifteen, I hold the title for the female with the highest ranking in the district, in all aspects. 

Bow and Arrow: Perfect Spear: Perfect Swords: Perfect Axe: Perfect Knife Handling: Beyond Perfection

Most people specialize in one or two things, but my mom insists I'm a "well-rounded tribute" because you never know what the arena will be like or what weapons will be available. It's also why she has us practice specialties of other districts. Climbing trees like Seven, fishing like Four, simple engineering like Three, and stuff like that. It's what allowed me to beat out all of the older students. If there was one thing they weren't good at, I could capitalize on it. 

It's also why my mom pushed on survival skills just as much as combat. "The poor districts may not be able to fight as well, but they are scrappy as hell. They know how to survive on nothing because they have nothing. So you have to outsmart them." Followed by this speech was an extensive lecture about every victor ever, how they won, and why they won. I've sat through that lecture so many times I'm able to pick up on the patterns of each district. One and Two are similar in how they are the strongest in combat, but Two is better with a variety of weapons instead of just one or two. Three was brains, Four always had something to do with water, and Seven was best with close combat. The rest are a scramble of dumb luck since there weren't many victors from those districts. A lot of them only have one or two victors of each gender that are still alive. 

Even now as I study my flashcards I'm learning about the other districts. My flashcards include plants from every district and every region of Panem where the games could potentially happen. I look at the many plants, roots, and barks and name what it is, their identifying features, and how they can be utilized. Eat, poison, medicine. And if it's poison or medicine I have to then state how it would help or hurt someone. I got these flashcards on my fifth birthday along with the "victor station."

I don't know why my mom makes me go through these flashcards, it's been months since I got one wrong. And I only got it wrong because it was one of the new ones added. 

I toss the deck to the side of the bed as I look at the clock on my desk. 4:45. Clove should be finishing up her training soon. If my training is enough to get me in the games, then Clove won't have to go through all of this. Mom will have her victor, she might let Clove stay good enough to earn respect amongst the District, but not high enough to have her be chosen to volunteer. As much as it is an honor to be chosen to volunteer and win the games, in the end, you're still killing people. 

I go through some of my other decks of flashcards for another fifteen-ish minutes. Identifying soil, matching the bite to the bug then the treatment, and other simple survival trivia that I can't learn firsthand in District Two.

Tap... Tap Tap... Tap Tap Tap... Tap Tap... Tap

Right on time. 

Clove's signature knock echoes from my door, indicating mom gave her approval for her to be done with training for the day. She knocks this way to politely ask if I'm in training or not. Instead of walking into my room and risking interrupting me. I don't know why she started it or even when, but it's been our tradition as long as I can remember. A smile grows on my face, excited I finally get to spend more than a few minutes with her. 

"Come in, Clove." My door opens, Clove peaks in with a small smile on her face. 

"Has Mom dismissed you yet?" Her voice is in almost a whisper, worried she's interrupting me. Even though she did her knock and I gave her verbal confirmation to come in, she still asks. 

I nod my head, even though Mom hasn't come into my room and officially declared it yet, but it's the time she usually would come in. "Yes ma'am, I'm all done." In a millisecond she comes in and hops on my bed next to me. 

Fragments of her uniform are still on, just not as prestige as it was at the beginning of the day. Her shoes, tie, and jacket are off, and her school dress pants have been replaced with softer trousers. The only thing that remains the same from the morning is her hair up and her collared frilly tank top that the younger grades wear, reminding me of her short time between the end of the school day and training. Since I'm older and it's a more formal part of my day, I have designated time to train, but for her, she goes directly from school to a private trainer. Most kids don't start practicing until they turn ten, sometimes they wait until they're twelve. Like me, Clove started her training when she turned five and started weapon and then combat training two years ago when she turned eight. Our training has been almost identical, starting with practice weapons and survival skills starting at five, then combat training beginning when we turned eight. Although we were trained in all weapons, there was an emphasis on knife handling. It was a long and short-distance weapon that provided an extra level of protection. 

Clove sits right next to me on my bed, our shoulders touching. "How was your day?" Her voice is soft. Well, as soft as hers can be. She isn't annoyingly loud, but she isn't weak by any standards. She is confident in herself and her abilities. She's the smallest girl in her grade but she scores higher than them in every aspect. I hope this doesn't mean anything though, that my training is enough for me to gain the win for our family and she can slow down her training. Maybe she can even enjoy her childhood without thinking of how every second she isn't training, she is failing our parents. 

"My day was good. School is school. Training is training." She leans her head on my shoulder and I rest my head on hers. I'm not a fan of any kind of physical touch, but I like Clove's. Her's was comforting. "How was yours?"

Her hands reach for mine. "It was good. I got the highest grade on my history test." 

"Atta girl." 

She smiles softly, relishing in the praise. "Thanks." She sits up and looks at me. I can't make out her expression. It's worrying but also very matter-of-fact. "Mom was mumbling to herself at the victors station. What happened?"

I meet her gaze, a small smirk appears on my face. "I can't make a fishhook." I giggle a bit, trying to make her not nervous. Anytime I'm not doing something perfect, Clove worries. I get it. I have high expectations this year. Not just my family, but the whole district. If I won these games I would get the title of "Youngest Female Victor" ever, giving another "only," "ever," or "first" victor to add to their collection. It's still hard for my district to talk about the 65th Games. Saying it's not fair that the youngest victor is from District 4. They might be able to tolerate District 1, but 4 is unacceptable. Me winning might start a chain reaction of children training at the age of five, producing younger and younger victors. 

Clove's eyes search mine, trying to see if I'm worried or not and if she should be worried too. "But you'll get it, right?" She sounds like mom. So much like mom. 

"I'll get it. Besides, it's not something I 'need' to know."

"Don't say that. You need to know everything so you get in. So you win." Her voice is earnest, stressed. As many people come home to District 2, there are even more that don't.

"Trust me, I'll be okay. And if I need to fish I'll use a spear or something." I snuggle into her, trying to calm her nerves but she is as stiff as a board. Even my reassuring words aren't fixing her anxiety, but I know what will. "Clove?" a mischievous smile grows on my face, " Do you want to grab the nail polish?" 

Her eyes immediately light up and she runs into her room. I hate the feeling of nail polish, but Clove is still at the age where she likes to do girly things. Mom might also like it, an added bit of "flair" for the cameras when I get reaped. Making my stylist appreciate me more thinking "she'll be so easy to work with." 

My life has been planned around these stylist, stylists I don't even know. My mom crafted my appearance around them. She had me grow my hair out so if they want to cut it they can. I keep my skin as clean as possible so it will be easier for them to do makeup. My whole life revolves around the games. 

Clove comes back holding a large, dark red box. "Can I do yours first?" Her smile is wide, we finally have sister time that doesn't revolve around training. Time to relax. 

••••••

Series Masterlist

[nyaboshi]

I EXCITEDLY INVITE YOU TO TELL ME EVERYTHING ABOUT CEDRIC!! (Or just as much as you want to share :] ) I’M SUPER CURIOUS NOW!

AHHH LET ME COPY/PASTE FROM A CHARACTER SHEET I DID FOR HIM BECAUSE MY CAPACITY TO YAP LONG PARAGRAPHS IS SMALL RN

TW later in the post for emotional neglect and abuse

Cedric is a highly intelligent individual who tends to keep to himself. This is more out of habit than truly enjoying being alone. In reality, Cedric is an incredibly lonely person who longs for companionship. His rough background has caused him to be rather emotionless though, which makes it difficult for him to interact with and get along with others. His expression and voice are completely blank 90% of the time. It's rare that he shows any kind of emotion, with the emotion he's feeling having to be super strong for it to affect him in that way. His past has led him to develop a condition that affects his ability to register his emotions. As such, he cannot read the emotions in others, tends to be completely logical with his thinking, and has difficulty understanding others' point of views. Despite this seemingly cold exterior, he does have a softer way of acting. Cedric understands right from wrong and tries to act in a way that would be interpreted as good. He helps others not out of compassion or sympathy, but because he knows it would be right. That, and his subconscious wishes people would look through the tough shell thrown over his heart and actually try to reach out to him. He could never express this desire, however, as he doesn't know he even has it.

Cedric is the oldest of two. He was born sickly and his parents considered him a failure. They did the bare minimum to take care of him, raising him until he was about 5 years old. At that point, his mother had a second child who was much healthier. They raised him up on a pedestal and practically forgot about Cedric other than making sure to keep him alive. He was forced to stay in his room for majority of the day, and when his younger brother was old enough to be given his own room they moved him up to the attic. Cedric stayed isolated for majority of his life, only leaving his room for the bare necessities and for school later on. He tried a couple times to seek emotional dependency from his parents, but they had all but cut him out of their lives at that point. He gave up when he was around 8. This isolation greatly stunted his emotional and social skills, leading to him closing off and hardening up to vastly unhealthy amounts. At the age of 18, his parents used his adulthood as an excuse to kick him out. Cedric's only saving factor was his ability to get a full-ride scholarship to a university due to his intelligence and promising grades. Following the interest he had gathered from watching multiple documentaries as a child, he enrolled in school for biological sciences and has been working to complete his Master's degree on campus.

Alexithymia

Way, way too into biology. Particularly the intricate bodily functions and makeup of living creatures. He will talk for hours about it, including all the nitty gritty details, and he will have absolutely 0 clue that he's disturbing anyone.

He's not a fan of reading books of fiction (particularly anything with fantasy aspects) because his imagination is basically nonexistent.

Despite what one may assume, he would love to have a family someday. Cedric is envious of healthy parent/child relationships and would love to be part of one, whether he's the parent or the child. Again, this is an emotion of his he doesn't understand, and thus can't talk about.

Cedric is completely unaware of how wrong it was for his parents to treat him that way. His brain was wired to think, "Oh. I wasn't the ideal specimen, so I was thus discarded." Because of this, he tends to write off anyone that doesn't meet the exact requirements of what he may need for a project. He doesn't understand why this may upset others.

It would take SOOOOO much therapy to fix him. He thinks therapy is useless anyways, because he doesn't understand emotions enough to realize that it's possible for there to be something wrong with them.

He's so touch starved that touch feels "painful" to him. In reality, he's just not used to it at all and his nerves automatically assume he's being attacked. If he were to be coaxed into fully accepting affection, he'd melt.

Loves classical music.

Real big on fulfilling debts. If you do something kind for him, there's no talking him out of repaying you with something he believes is perfectly equal to the favor he received. This is also true in the opposite direction, which means he may try to force someone into doing something for him because he thinks it's the proper thing to do. If they hardcore shut him down though, he won't press. He might just keep offering different routes to "repay their debts" until they agree to something.

Surprisingly, he's very gentle with people. Never lays a hand on them, always speaks with what he believes is a respectful tone (which may sound curt to others, but he's just a straightforward guy). The only thing stopping him from being likable is the fact that he literally acts like an emotionless doll.

His solution to trying to understand others is to write down every little detail he discovers about them. This way, he can maximize his "consideracy" for others. This tends to have the opposite effect, because it makes him seem super stalkerish. Especially since he specializes in a scientific field that dissects things.

Although he's utterly fascinated by all things biological, plants are his main focus. He could tell you anything and everything about plants, and he keeps a whole bunch in a greenhouse he rents. It's his top hyperfixation.

He doesn't have any contact with his parents whatsoever. Not because he doesn't want to, but because they don't want to, and Cedric sees nothing wrong with that (even if it does severely hurt him deep down).

I haven't drawn him yet, but here's an AI image I generated because I REALLY wanted to see him visualized

AI really wanted his shirt to be open at the collar, but he would actually wear much more reserved clothing XDDD

HE'S MY BABY BOY THANK YOU FOR ASKING ABOUT HIM

[girlypopfr21]

Teacher!Eren x Student!reader (Reader is 19! Eren is 23!)

“FUH-fuck-“ his big, veiny hand covered your plump lips, as he put his other hand up to his face brushing his index finger against his lips signaling to tone it down. How did you get into this situation? It all went downhill so quick, all in a matter of minutes. How did you go from venting to your history teacher, to fucking your teacher?? As much as you tell yourself it was an accident. You know you had different intentions. How could you resist the strong cologne on his neck wetting your lower area? or his kind words? and the way he put his arms around your waist?

15 mins earlier

“The camps were surrounded by barbed-wire fences patrolled b-“

*knock knock*

Students turned there heads towards the noise, your face was visible through the thin window on the door. “Someone be so kind and open the door for miss y/n.” Mr. Jeager sighed. 𝑳𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏. A blond headed boy stood up opening the door for you. You walked in, full of emberassment as you layed eyes on mr jeager, his face full of disappointment. You’d been coming to class late almost every day. What was the point of even coming this time there was only 15 minutes of class left? You sat down on your seat looking around at everyone, they looked back. The boys in the back whispered giving you side eyes and smirks. You’d recently been dumped. Yup. Your boyfriend cheated on you with a cheerleader and still had the balls to dump you, that’s right you didn’t dump him he dumped YOU. All his little friends were in the back talking about you watching your every move to report to him. How embarrassing. Of course after the break up the girl gets all the criticism, and hate, rumors spread like ants when you leave spilled orange juice on the floor. You’d been skipping school for days, in hopes to let the depression slowly start to dread off, it was finally gone but the longing for someone was still there. Not for 𝒋𝒆𝒂𝒏, just for someone to be there. You hated being alone. It was- “y/n?” You flinched, looking down at a veiny hand on your desk slowly looking up you stared into mr jeagers concerned eyes . He didn’t know what to do anymore. He’d given you an A even for the time you didn’t spend on class, he’d talked to you multiple times, you’d never really open up about the situation. He’d even called your mother. Yet none of his efforts helped. Let’s be honest he’d never do this for any other student, sure he cared for all his students but you. You had a 𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒍 place in his heart. In all honesty you were a teachers pet. Not the type to remind the teacher there was homework, or the one who never gets in trouble, not the one who tried to act older and take over when the teacher wasn’t there. Just the type to help teachers clean up a mess, or send over papers from other classes. The type to give the teachers little gifts on their birthdays. Mr. Jeager would never forget the first time he met you. He was freshly 23, he’d never been a teacher and the job actually scared the shit out of him. He was teaching seniors after all they have very strong opinions of people, and their little remarks can be heart-wrenching. The guys weren’t giving him a break, always roasting him, and the girls never payed attention in class, all on there phones. They thought because he had zero expirience they could easily do what they wanted. But you. You always listened. Always glued to the screen as he explained the project. You would stay after class and help him grade paper work. You gave him tips on how to get on certain students good side, or how to get there attention. You would bring in small gifts for him and tried to lift his mood up when he’d feel dumb for trying to make the class fun. He always thought you were so much more mature then them, after all you were older, you failed a year. He liked how much you tried in school never giving up even after failing a grade. Slowly his feelings for you grew. He tried gaslighting himself into thinking he only liked you as a favorite student, but it was more then that. *ding ding* your eyes stayed glued to Mr. Jeager, you could hear chairs moving and feet rushing towards the door. School was finally over. “Miss would you mind staying for a while? I’d like to talk.” you hummed a quiet yes at his question. Jeager started walking back to his desk, opening a closet and storing his jacket in it. “Tell me y/n what’s your favorite season?” You looked at his back wondering in confusion what this was leading too. “I guess I’d have to say f/s” you replied

“Interesting, mines spring, I’m so glad it’s finally here. It’s perfect for going out instead of staying 𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆 all the time isn’t it?” You replied yes quietly yet again. “So then tell me why such an excellent and outgoing student like you has been no where to be spotted for so long?” The man turned around giving you a serious look. He walked towards you looking down at your sitting figure. You stood up as well moving away from the seat. “Sir I don’t want to speak on it.” You said ready to leave. “Well I guess we’ll have to get the principal and your parents into a meeting, I’m sorry y/n but you’ve missed to many days.” You looked up at him terrified. “ sir! Please don’t.” You put your hand on his chest gripping his white tied up shirt. A suprised look came upon his face. “So tell me.” He demanded. Hesitantly you looked down. “It’s just..I broke up with my boyfriend. It’s been rough, he cheated a-and I just don’t want to be in school. I don’t want to have to see his face ever again.” You choked, your voice filled with sadness and a tint of anger. A quiet gasp erupted from your lips as you felt mr jeagers arms around your waist. you ungripped his shirt putting your hands around his neck. Hugging him back. “I see.” Eren hated seeing you heart broken over some stupid guy. After a few moments of silence he pulled away, yet you still didn’t let go, the only moment you let go of him was when you moved your arms away from around his neck and put them around his waist. Nuzzling your face on his chest. Jeager put his hand on your head, petting your hair. “Boys just don’t know how treat beautiful girls like you, they have no charm anymore.” A small chuckle left erens lips. You hummed in confusion as you stopped whimpering and crying. Slowly you looked up at him. “Let me show you how a 𝒎𝒂𝒏 does it, yea?” He gazed at you. You hummed yes, the second he said that. Almost like muscle memory. He backed you up till your leg hit the desk behind you. He pushed you down softly till you were sat on the table. He came in closer, and closer till your lips connected. Your cheeks felt warm. Who knew how red you were. The small peck in the lips quickly turned into a make out session, you put your hand behind his neck, softly toying with his hair, with the other hand you slowly went down on yourself. Putting friction against your finger and panties. 𝑳𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒊𝒍𝒚 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒂 𝒔𝒌𝒊𝒓𝒕 𝒕𝒐𝒅𝒂𝒚. You moved your hips back and forth to feel something, yet it wasn’t as good as jeagers lips crashed agaisnt yours. He looked down to see your hands on yourself, an attempt to please yourself. He chuckled separating his lips from yours. His hand grabbed your wrist. Holding a tight grip onto it You looked into his eyes in confusion. “Such a shame you don’t even know how to please yourself, are you that pure?” He smirked giving you a peck in the forhead before placing his hand under your skirt. Effortlessly he managed to take off your panties off as you were sitting. “So pretty.” He held up your f/c panties with kittens on them. You blushed, how emberassing. “No need to be emberassed, I didn’t expect lingerie.” A moan escaped from your lips. Fuck he was so sexy. Your legs opened. You grabbed his hand placing it back under your skirt. “Quiet with words, but loud with actions.” Eren smirked at your shyness, he found it adorable. You gasped loudly feeling his fingers rub agaisnt your clit. 𝑭𝒖𝒄𝒌! He rubbed and rubbed, going faster the louder the moans got. You tried to suppress the moans but it was so hard. Your whimpers came to a stop when he pulled his fingers away from your wet clit. You groaned in desperation, a small chuckle escaped erens lips. “Shh baby, I’ll show you an even better pleasure. This is nothing compared to what’s next.” There was more? You were 19, yet you barely had any expirience. The boys in school had no expirence. Jean didn’t even know how to finger you. And you, you didn’t even try. The guys in college all drank and did drugs.

You were scared to get some kind of disease. The guys in highschool were to unexpirenced, and the ones in college were to unhygienic. But then there’s eren. He was perfect. He had expirence, he knew how to talk, he knew the perfect moves to make. You watched him quickly unbuckle his belt, he didn’t even pull his pants all the way down. The truth is eren wanted this for a long, long time. He’d see you come to school in your mini skirts, tank tops. Shorts. It excited him seeing your perfect figure. Even the imperfections you saw in yourself seemed gorgeous in his eyes. No boy could handle such a goddess, he thought. Jeagers black boxers were tight. You could see the huge bump on them. You knew it was big. He finally pulled them down. Fuck. It was huge. You were excited yet scared. You compared to him was like a bunny and a fox. He was much bigger. And You were fragile. He knew that. He didn’t want to break you. So he took his time. “Mr. Je-“ “call me eren.” he put his hand on your cheek caressing it. “Eren.” You whispered

He moaned loudly. He’d been wanting to hear your pretty mouth say his name. He never imagined it to sound so good. You opened your legs wide, giving him a signal to continue. “Ready?” Eren licked his lips. You just whined in impatience. He rubbed his cock against your folds slowly, finally inserting himself inside you, catching you by suprise. A loud gasp escaped your lips. As the pain entered your body. You clinged to erens shoulders. Gripping them with your long nails, it just turned him on even more. “Fuckk- you feel s-so fucking good baby.” You just moaned at his compliments. He was so good with words, and even better with his cock. “Please eren, faster.” The pain quickly left, and your body was filled with so much pleasure. His cock crashing inside your warm walls was true glory. “Baby, you like this big cock huh? You like your teachers dick so much don’t you baby?” Eren put his forhead against yours, you looked into each other’s eyes. Those green orbs were mesmerizing. You could look into them forever. “Yes sir, fuck I love your cock so much.” You put your head up chuckling in pleasure. “Mm baby cmon, cum on my big cock baby, I know you can do it.” Eren put his hand on your cheek. You didn’t need to hear any more. You let your juices go by, covering his dick. The liquid fell down your leg, dripping from erens cock aswell. He pulled out from you, you held his cock jacking him off. his cum squirted onto your hand. After a few momment of silence, putting back on and adjusting your clothes. You felt two strong arms around your waist feeling a chest on your back. “Meet me tomorrow after school for tutoring, you have a lot to catch on.” Eren whispered into your ear. A smile formed on your lips.

[killervelveteenrabbit]

Danganronpa Cooking Headcanons!

Makoto made only average grades in high-school Home Ec, so he's inclined to discount his cooking skills. He can make his own meals if his mom is out of town or he doesn't have any pocket money for the school cafeteria. But he'd sooner pick up something at the corner store on his way to school. He doesn't share the food he makes with others, so he hasn't figured out that he's actually a better cook than he realizes. Curry over rice or noodles is his favorite food, and he always makes his own rather than using cheap storebought packs.

Aoi loves doughnuts so much she learned how to make them herself. Yeast doughnuts, cake doughnuts, deep-fried or baked, with all kinds of glazes and toppings… she's even mastered a recipe she found online for making them out of potatoes. Naturally, the skills Aoi picked up have translated into baking projects like cookies and pies. These usually turn out well so long as she doesn't absent-mindedly leave out an ingredient or forget she has something in the oven. She's flirted with the idea of opening her own bakery once she scores a few gold medals and retires from professional swimming.

The only thing Byakuya can make for dinner are reservations, and he usually has a servant on hand to make the phone call. Byakuya claims cooking is peasant-work beneath his station. But put him in a kitchen and you'll discover the truth: he's never been in a position to cook for himself, so the poor bastard can't even operate a coffeemaker. Microwaves frustrate him in particular--the one time he tried to use one, he didn't take the aluminum foil off the plate. To this day, he prefers to believe the machine was defective, something off with the wiring.

Celestia doesn't cook; she is cooked for… and you better damn sight not screw it up! As a child, Taeko loved making her favorite gyoza with her mother. Even if they weren't evenly fried or the stuffing came out of them after the first bite, Taeko enjoyed the experience of making them almost as much as eating them. But that was a lifetime ago. Ask her to prepare some gyoza these days, she'll scream at you for mistaking her for the help, distracting both you and herself from the fact that she's forgotten how.

Chihiro enjoys baking; he regards it as a combination of science and art that forces him to train different parts of his brain. Plus, you can eat the results if the experiment is a success! A video "she" posted of "her" attempt at baking chocolate-chip-oatmeal-raisin cookies briefly went viral, if only because it stood out from "her" usual gadget reviews and programming guides. "She" even received a few marriage proposals from fans afterward. As far as Chihiro's concerned, it's to the good if his fans liked it… and the demonstration of domestic skills helps him maintain the masquerade.

Quite frankly, Hifumi thinks cooking is "women's work", something females are supposed to do for the men they love. Furthermore, this junk-food junkie buys most of his food from vending machines and convenience stores, something he can shovel down while creating his latest Princess Piggles epic. He can fix himself a sandwich or boil up some tea or coffee if he absolutely has to, but that's it. Anything that requires actual effort, like Celestia's favorite royal milk tea, and Hifumi is out of his element.

Junko's analytical prowess allows her to pick up things quickly, and if she wanted to learn how to cook, she could do so almost overnight. But she doesn't want to. The aggravation she causes people by making them wait on her causes them despair, and not getting the food she needs and that feeling of hunger that results creates despair in her. Honestly, the only reason she would ever cook something for anyone is for the opportunity to adulterate it or poison it. Junko dresses to kill and cooks pretty much the same way.

As a cook, Kiyotaka is hyper-competent but spectacularly uncreative. He goes straight by the cookbook, following recipes exactly as written… and his insistance on "the proper way to make such-and-such" renders him unable (or at least unwilling) to innovate his own dishes. He noticeably fumbles when improvising alternatives to unavailable ingredients or equipment. Finally, he avoids preparing anything he deems unhealthy, lest he weaken the body and spirit of the people who eat it. You'll eat healthy and well with Taka in the kitchen… just don't expect dessert, unless it's fresh fruit or yogurt.

Kyoko's overprotective grandfather would allow her to make her own food, but not to use the stove, the oven, or particularly sharp knives for fear she might accidentally hurt herself. After all, she was destined to be a detective, not someone's housewife. She understands the processes of cooking, and even the science behind fermentation, heat transfer, why coriander tastes like soap to her, etc.. But she herself rarely cooks, relying on family servants for her meals. Oh, and Kyoko finds most instant foods greasy and disgusting… especially cup ramen.

So one time there was this girl at school Leon liked, and she was really into cooking, baking, stuff like that. So he figured he'd learn how to cook and totally impress her with his Mad Kitchen Skillz. He blew all his cash on cookbooks and utensils and ingredients--but pretty much everything he made got burned or half-cooked or just plain tasted like shit. While recovering from food poisoning from his own undercooked chicken yakisoba, Leon found out his dream girl was now dating an upperclassman. Eh. At least he can follow the directions on a box of cake mix. Hope you like it crunchy.

The Owada brothers both learned the basics of cooking at their mother's insistence. She knew one day they'd have to grow up, stop running wild in the street, and take care of themselves. Her lessons came in handy when first Daiya, then Mondo, had to look after their biker brothers with less involved parents. Mondo privately wishes he could learn how to do more stuff in the kitchen--making things instead of breaking them--even though it might seem a little sissified. Um… no, Mondo has no strong opinions about butter… why do you ask?

Life as a transient mercenary taught Mukuro basic survival skills, including how to set up a serviceable field kitchen, purify water, and hunt and forage enough provisions to support herself and her team. Ever the team player, Mukuro will readily volunteer to help with mess duty and even may take command to get the job done… unless Junko orders her not to. In fact, as long as her sister is around, letting her handle food is dangerous. She'll follow her sister's lead in making it inedible or potentially deadly.

When she's not chugging protein drinks, Sakura appreciates a nice big meal to give her strength for the day's training and fights. She enjoys preparing a large Japanese-style breakfast--several bowls of rice and miso, with tsukemono and natto made from cucumbers and soybeans grown in the dojo's gardens. She won't buy pre-packaged foodstuffs without checking the nutritional label. Too much sugar or sodium, and it goes back on the store shelf. Everyone she cooks for will eat the same thing she does, no exceptions. And are you really gonna argue with her about it?

Sayaka got tired of waiting for her dad to get home from the office with some cheap sushi pack he picked up on the way. So she taught herself how to make simple tasty meals that wouldn't require her to operate the stove and risk starting an apartment fire. She took the same Home Ec courses Makoto did in middle school and not surprisingly made better grades in them. Now Sayaka enjoys preparing low-calorie snacks for her bandmates when they have spare time. It helps her focus on something besides the dance step she flubbed in rehearsal or the way the label's new PR guy keeps leering at her.

One of Toko's early novels, "Fresh Baked Love", centers on a shy girl who wins the heart and appetite of her crush by becoming an award-winning chef. It's based on a longstanding fantasy of hers. As is, the only thing she makes consistently well are chocolates. Every year Toko prepares a huge bagful for her dream boy of the moment… and every year it ends up in the trash, unopened. BTW, her chocolatiering expertise does not carry over to her Genocide Jack alter… and if that switch has flipped, the question of who's preparing dessert is the least of your problems.

Yasuhiro's mother always treasured and complimented her son's attempts at cooking, even if they were barely edible. Consequently, Hiro labors under the delusion that he's a whiz in the kitchen. But he fails to notice how everything he makes always comes out burnt, underdone, dried out, soaked in too much sauce, bitter, crumbly, or some combination of the above. You can let him help with meal prep, but don't leave him unsupervised, always have backup ingredients ready in case he messes something up… and make sure he's wearing a hairnet, kerchief, or something similar.

Hajime is mostly indifferent about food, cooking it or eating it--unless you're talking about mochi. Then he gets weirdly finicky and sensitive about the virtues of kusamochi (his favorite) over sakuramochi (which he can't stand). In line with his non-Ultimate status, he's an average cook, capable of boiling rice, making sandwiches, and working the okonomiyaki stand at the school festival so long as he has help. His Izuru alter, being the Ultimate Everything, has the potential to be a master chef… but he has other priorities.

When you grow up foraging, scavenging, or even fighting for every meal, you learn how to improvise. Put Akane in a kitchen and she'll start looking through cabinets and containers, rifling through the fridge like a raccoon in a trashcan, quickly coming up with a combination of this, that, and the other thing that will feed her and everybody else in the house. Ideally, she'll find meat and plenty of it. If there isn't any, she'll find it, somehow, even if she has to kill it herself. Nothing Akane makes is remotely gourmet, but no one is going to starve on her watch.

Whatever can be said of the "Ultimate Imposter", to say they enjoy fast food is an understatement. The Imposter is practically a scholar on the merits of this chain's cheeseburgers versus another, the harmony between pizza toppings and sauces… they could pretty much write a dissertation on KFC in Japan compared to the US. But the idea of preparing their own meals is a foreign concept. Privately, they're too intimidated to try. So much effort and preparation--if they tried to replicate the foods they supposedly know so much about and fail, it would be just too embarrassing.

The eating of food, and the preparation of it for eating, is a fundamentally human concern. Hence, engaging AI Chiaki in conversation about cooking and food might inadvertently expose her status. She's learned enough from all the cooking simulation games she's played… but she doesn't have a favorite food or a least favorite. She doesn't know where milk and eggs come from, and she doesn't realize that food can spoil or not taste good. Critically, asking her to recall memories associates with certain foods generates verbatim repeated responses.

The real-life Chiaki is about as adept at cooking as her AI counterpart. She gets so engrossed in gaming that she'll forget to eat, then wonder why her stomach hurts. Then she'll take a break to grab an energy drink and a nut-and-cheese protein pack from the corner store. If she's at home, she'll raid the kitchen for cup ramen or condensed soup she'll eat straight out of the can. Preparing anything from scratch doesn't appeal to her at all. The few times she's tried have proven that it isn't as easy IRL as Cooking Mama makes it look.

Bodyguards at the Kuzuryu compound have learned not to comment on any late-night bumps and clatters coming from the kitchen. The housekeeper turns a blind eye to the occasional empty containers of sugar, flour, baking powder, and eggs that weren't in the trash when she clocked out the previous night. Everyone knows about the young master's sweet tooth, and everyone knows Fuyuhiko is above asking anyone to make the treats he secretly craves and devours in secret. Rivals aren't going to stop calling him "baby gangsta" if they see him nomming on a fried dough cookie.

Cease your labors, mortals, and behold the handiwork of the Dark Devas of Destruction! Tanaka the Forbidden One bids you gain strength and vigor from this ambrosia from the gods, his special STIR-FRIED GINGER TOFU WITH DAIKON RADISH AND SPRING ONIONS! Seriously, watching Gundham in the kitchen is like watching a cross between "Ratatouille" and "Fist of the North Star". Gundham gives the orders and the hamsters do the rest. Be forewarned that eating his mother's terrible cooking has imbued him with low standards for taste. Also, watch out for the odd bit of hamster fur in your salad.

As an arbiter and ambassador of Japanese culture, Hiyoko's family has trained her to whip up delicious full-course meals on demand. She will enthusiastically debate the merits of certain types of miso and curry over others, seasonal variations on sukiyaki, etc., all while explaining how even the worst of Japanese cooking shames the fatty, greasy slop that passes for Western "cuisine". Just… don't actually ask her to cook. That is beneath her. Hiyoko will, however, instruct you how to prepare dishes according to Saionji family standards… while telling you in excruciating detail how you're doing it all wrong.

Her voice is loud, her fashion is loud, and her music is loud… so it makes sense that Ibuki likes her food loud, too. Her standard cooking technique involves flavor-blasting everything to a degree Guy Fieri would find excessive. Sauces! Gravies! Dressing! Hot peppers! And mouth-burning, sinus-clearing amounts of spices, the more obscure the better. Each meal, regardless of what it is, comes with a side of heavily seasoned rice. It's all prepared while she blasts noise metal out of the speakers she's hooked up--which is fine, since you might not want to hear about how she "kicked up" those croquettes.

If you're fixing a propane grill--or modding it out so it can cook fifty burgers at once and alert you when each one has reached 74 degrees C in internal temperature--it makes sense that you know how the food the equipment prepares is supposed to taste. Kazuichi is indifferent about food and drink; all he cares about is that the cola isn't diet and you brought enough grub to share. But he knows what things are supposed to taste like and how to use and fix the machines so they taste that way. If that counts as knowing how to cook… then Kazuichi knows how to cook.

Mahiru's mother was more often "on assignment" than not, and her shiftless father wouldn't even take his discarded takeout containers out to the trash. Ever the resourceful one, Mahiru pulled up some recipes on her laptop, printed them out, bought the necessary provisions, and after considerable trial and error taught herself how to prepare basic dinners for two. And ever the photographer, Mahiru takes photos of everything she makes before she digs in, even if it doesn't look as pretty and put-together as the online examples.

Mikan will be the first to tell you she's an awful cook and anything she makes is unfit for human consumption. On this point, she exaggerates. She only thinks she can't cook because she inevitably drops a plate, spills the salad dressing, slices herself with a knife, or falls over in a heap and somehow ends up with the kitchen trashcan spilling all over her. With some assistance, she can pull off a lunch or dinner that is fit to eat and, more importantly, is healthy, low-fat, properly portioned, and high in fiber to help you maintain regular bowel movements.

Dinner time. Nagito is cooking, so you steel yourself for the worst. You're pleasantly surprised to discover nothing amiss. The garden salad, the roast chicken, the side potatoes, and the chocolate cake are all wonderful. But your nagging suspicions compel you to peek inside the kitchen. Sure enough, various ingredients are splattering the counters and walls. There are scorch marks on the ceiling, which drips with fire extinguisher foam. A cabinet door is hanging by its hinges. The dishwasher is halfway open, revealing the exploded remains of the toaster.

Eager to prove herself worthy of being the Ultimate Gangster's little sister, Natsumi actively seeks new ways to protect her family against rivals and upstarts. One of these, oddly enough, involves playing the part of hostess. She's read how Lucrezia Borgia and other poisoners took out their enemies undetected, and lately she's been… experimenting. Recently, a former "business partner" of her father's spent two weeks in intensive care with stomach inflammation. No one except Fuyu has made the connection to the purin custard Natsumi prepared for dessert when he came by for supper.

You get out of the human body what you put into it. Different bodies require different meals to help them reach their potential as athletes. One of Nekomaru's hidden talents is finding out what food they need. Count on him to help you bulk up, slim down, or otherwise condition yourself for your chosen sport. The one common element to all Nekomaru's diet plans is an efficient digestive system, not weighed down with excess material in the gut. With him as your coach, you'll eat like an champion, perform like a champion… and shit like a champion!

Ryota can draw food that looks so mouth-watering you'll want to eat it right off the screen. But actually making it? The most difficult part will be pulling him away from his computer set-up and out of his room. Once you get him in the kitchen, he can follow instructions, but he may rush things and cut corners so he can get this distraction out of his way, with disastrous results. Furthermore, he'll whine the entire time that he doesn't have time for this and he can't do anything that injures his hands and whipping this batter by hand is exhausting. Maybe you should just send the boy back to his studio.

Sworn to protect the Kazuryu bloodline, Peko is prepared for any contingency. She's trained to recognize when food has been tampered with and has occasionally functioned as a taste-tester. She can also prepare simple meals from edible berries and plants in case she and her charges are ever trapped in the wilderness. Peko would like to learn more advanced cooking techniques--like how to make those cookies the young master likes. But she's never pursued that interest. Her blade is meant for protecting the family, not chopping vegetables.

The Kingdom of Novaselic requires its royals and heirs to be reasonably self-sufficient, so Sonia's picked up a few "commoner" skills like meal prep. But she's far better at planning dinners than preparing them. And by "dinner", Sonia means grand banquets full of distinguished guests. To her, fifty people counts as an intimate gathering. Bring the appetizers out at five, the main at six, dessert and coffee come out right after the applause stops from the ambassador's speech… oh, and the Grand Duchess is allergic to fennel, so can we find an alternative to that soup that still complements the veal?

Teruteru's reputation in this arena precedes him, does it not? Give the guy enough time and he can put together a seven-course meal in the Sahara Desert. But Teruteru keeps meals for family friends simple yet succulent, from the miso soup to the castella served for dessert. Every dish is one he learned at his mother's knee and as a backup chef at the family restaurant, yet flawlessly executed. Even his renditions of basics like fish ball soup explode with a kaleidoscope of flavor. Don't forget to pre-order his new cookbook "Meals My Mama Taught Me" wherever books are sold!

Komaru does okay in her Home Ec classes, but within the humble kitchen of the Naegi household, she becomes a culinary nightmare. Her sense of taste is quite frankly not normal (favorite foods include sparrow’s nest, tuna eyeballs, and kangaroo meat) and this completely warps the way she cooks. Her family, Makoto included, usually take one bite of whatever she's cooked, try not to retch, tell her it’s good but they’re not hungry right now, and discreetly sneak the abomination, container and all, into the outside garbage. Komaru’s never realized why her family goes through pots and pans so quickly.

None of the Warrior of Hope kids would be any help in the kitchen. Masaru primarily eats whatever he can shoplift. Nagisa’s parents provided their lab rat with such meager rations that he has no concept of what makes a decent meal. Kotoko had servants preparing her meals, and her mother was interested in teaching her… other skills besides the domestic. Monaca will feign helplessness to get out of kitchen duty—you don’t expect a little girl in a wheelchair to fend for herself, do you? Jataro might be able to help, if you can convince him cooking can be a form of art and if you can get him to focus.

Outside of its potential role in poisoning cases, Shuichi gives little thought to food. His parents were either too busy working or traveling to spend time with him (cooking or otherwise), and his aunt took care of dinner when he moved in with her and his uncle. Home Ec is his least favorite subject in school, and at home he’d sooner do laundry than help in the kitchen. He’ll grudgingly fix simple snacks to keep his belly from rumbling, or he’ll pick up something from the corner store. Maybe the right person could show him how fun cooking can be, and how it can distract him and help him relax.

One of Kaede’s worst fears is something happening to her hands that stops her from playing the piano. This includes cutting or burning her fingers while cooking. Hence, she avoids excessive kitchenwork. She can whip up a few sandwiches or appetizers, using pre-sliced meats and cheeses. Clean oven mitts and potholders are a must, and she avoids using any cutlery sharper than a butter knife. Perhaps the only reason to have her in the kitchen at all is meal-planning. She’s been hosted at many high-class dinners by her wealthy patrons, and she knows what makes a successful soiree.

The natives on the island where Angie lives happily cook for her—providing needed sustenance to the oracle of Atua is a high honor. But sometimes Angie receives messages from Atua calling on her to return the favor, so she prepares huge meals for the people attending her festivals. If you love Polynesian cooking and plenty of it, Angie’s your girl. She can prepare slow-cooked pork cooked in a dug-out oven, poke and ceviche made with wild-caught fish, and grilled chicken in any number of sweet and savory sauces, all with generous sides of coconut rice and her favorite avocados.

In mountains, Gonta learn how to hunt food and make fire to cook food. But Gonta no good in kitchen. Gonta really no good in fancy kitchen back home. Break everything. Burn and cut hands. Gonta like to cook outdoors around fire pit, where smoke go up in air and not make beeping sound. Plenty of room to move around and not knock things over. Gonta good at barbecue! Gonta know how to cook any kind of meat tender and safe enough to eat while not burnt. Bug friends help Gonta find fresh fruit and vegetables to go with meat. You not go hungry in woods when Gonta with you!

Himiko may specialize in grand spectacles, but no mage is worth her wand without knowing a few magic potions. There’s one she keeps handy for curing minor illnesses. It requires a whole chicken, roasted and deboned. Then she forms a dough and cuts it into noodles. For the base she'll need butter, celery, carrots, garlic, assorted spices, and the best chicken stock available. Himiko carefully mixes the concoction, bringing it to a boil before letting it cool. Those uninitiated to her magic circle can’t speak for its curative powers, but they agree it’s the best homemade chicken soup they’ve ever had.

Between his regressive gender attitudes and his inherent machismo, Kaito disregards cooking as girly and undignified. He'll only fix his own meals if there isn’t a female around to do it for him. His grandmother did all the cooking for him, and the only thing he learned from her was not to touch a hot stove. With some reverse psychology—telling Kaito he can’t do something always flips a switch—he might try his hand at “manly” culinary arts like grilling. Don’t try talking him into anything more, or you’ll be subjected to a lengthy diatribe on the superiority of freeze-dried food.

Cooking is a part of the human experience that Kiibo was designed to replicate. He can follow the instructions in a recipe to produce decent meals, but he might not notice if the eggs have gone bad or a malfunctioning broiler has undercooked the fish. His "experiments" to create new dishes humans will enjoy resemble current AI attempts to replicate art and writing. Recent creations include pudding-filled rice balls, beer-battered steak in a strawberry-marmalade reduction, an "eggplant cake" with a peanut-butter glaze, and something called a "chickenloaf" served with bechamel sauce.

She doesn’t make a big deal about it, but Kirumi’s culinary abilities almost match Teruteru's. What she lacks in delicacy and nuance, she makes up for in resourcefulness. Her larder is always stocked with ample supplies of vegetables, pasta, cheese, eggs, beans, and a variety of meats and seafood. This way, Kirumi can fix any number of hearty, energy-packed meals and snacks for important people making important decisions, often late at night. For more formal functions, she is equally capable of finding a suitable caterer or commanding an entire kitchen staff to prepare state dinners.

Any city where D.I.C.E. sets up shop, all the best grocery stores and fine-dining establishments are burglarized within the week. They lose their best cuts of meat, their priciest liquor… and every last bottle of soda. Kokichi's army of merry pranksters marches on its stomach. If he's somehow dragooned into feeding people outside his organization, they can expect "fun" additions and improvizations on whatever's being served. Sorry, Kokichi, but no one else found the creamed spinach-filled-bonbons as funny as you did. Especially considering the spinach was cooked in Carolina Reaper hot sauce.

Korekiyo's world travels have exposed him to the culinary delights of a hundred or more cultures. But as his beanpole physique suggests, food is not a priority for him. He eats whatever's available--since sometimes he's had to eat grubs and insects just to survive or sample utterly vile local delicacies, like live octopus in Korea or surströmming that one time in Sweden. There is this chocolate mille crepe cake he makes, his beloved sister's favorite. Kiyo will occasionally prepare one, but only for very special girls, the kind his sister would have liked…

You need help preparing dinner, and Maki's the only one available. She sighs bitterly, but despite her initial reluctance she immediately sets to work. By the time she's done, she's taken over, preparing omurice for the main with sides of potato salad and yakitori and a giant bowl of zosui. She seals the deal with coconut thumbprint cookies with red bean jam. She confides in you that she used to cook like this all the time for other kids at the orphanage… and honestly, she's just happy to prepare dishes she doesn't have to spike with arsenic or cyanide.

The brilliant inventor Miu Irumi has better things to do than fuck around in the kitchen preparing num-nums for numb-nuts. She has been known to prepare special baked goods for boys she likes--pie with her her hair in it, cookies containing her fingernails, chocolate made with her blood, etc. So maybe it's better for all concerned that she stays in her workshop. She's memorized the numbers of every takeout place in the neighborhood that delivers, so all she has to do is answer the door, wolf down lunch while watching some kiddie show, and then go back to her current project.

Rantaro is basically a teenage Anthony Bourdain, having been a hundred or more places across the globe and picking up at least one recipe or cooking style everywhere he's been. Linguine carbonara from Italy, churrasco from Brazil, pad thai from Thailand, Nashville hot chicken from America… would you care for some jollof rice, and if so do you prefer it Nigerian or Ghanaian style? Rantaro has sworn to prepare all these dishes for his gaggle of sisters once he finally tracks them down--he's come a long way since the days of fixing them riceballs and pancakes.

Ryoma has a few favorite recipes he'll share if asked. They're surprisingly good for someone whose palate has been exposed to a steady diet of prison food. But… you might notice a theme. Turkey meatballs? Salmon patties? Sardine omelettes? And then there's his special tuna and rice. Yep, you're eating homemade cat food, the same recipes Ryoma lovingly prepared for his beloved Russian Blue a lifetime ago. Storebought industrial kibble just wouldn't do. Stop complaining--you've had a full serving of protein, fiber, and vitamin D. At least he didn't sneak a vitamin pill into it.

Tenko's master tried teaching her how to cook, thinking it would encourage focus, discipline, patience, etc. He failed miserably, but some of the cooking lessons stuck. She's particularly good at the art of nabemono--preparing hot pot dishes. She takes care in selecting the appropriate pot, seasoning the stock just right, and picking out only the choicest cuts of meat and vegetables… especially tripe, her favorite of all. If you identify as male, make sure to thank her appropriately after the meal to keep her from knife-handing you in the face.

Anyone can tell you that the fabric and accessories required for serious cosplay cost serious cash. Tsumugi paid those costs and her dues by bartending at various clubs and bars, using a skillful application of makeup to convince employers she was an adult. She's learned how to fix any number of cocktails on demand and she knows a few tricks of the trade, like substituting the cheap stuff for top-shelf liquor once patrons have their buzz on. She can also fix a fair number of pub snacks, especially the salty stuff that makes people thirsty.

[iceicewifey]

shamelessly copied Sinner /j /lh and did one of those Araki style character sheets for Shay to see if i could share her info easier and I'll say it worked 😳

had to redo the template because I'm stupid and the layout kind of confused me plus I'll never pass up an opportunity to make my own version of whatever thing fjdnfjdgb but I hope it makes sense. alot of the info can be found in her mini bio, but it was still fun to fill this out. plain text under the cut because it's alot to read. thanks again to sinner for both posting theirs and providing the original template ♡

editing because this is so outdated already 😭

Name / Nicknames

Shayleigh Disa Malmsteen / Shay, Spanky (childhood nickname), Dee (from Hol Horse)

Age

23 (SDC)

Sex

CIS Female

Birthday / Zodiac Sign

August 12th, 1965 / Leo

Blood Type

O-

Birthplace

Miami, FL USA

Height

5'4" / 162cm

Weight

~137lbs / 62kg

Sexual Orientation

M-spec

Hair Color

Platinum blonde

Eye Color

Pale icy blue // Pink (Manga)

Eyesight / Colorblindness / Wears Glasses?

Slight myopia Not enough to warrant glasses.

Dominant Hand

Left

Type of Voice

High pitched / "soprano" A bit scratchy from smoking

Medical History

Minor nerve damage from particularly deep scar in right forearm, partially perforated septum (corrected; from cocaine use) Uterine Arteriovenous Malformation — required surgery

Scars / Birthmarks / Tattoos

Numerous scars on hands, arms, torso, shoulders, back, legs, and left eyebrow // Barbed wire tat around right wrist, palm tree on left ankle, devil tail on lower back

Other Defining Physical Features: Nose, Eye Shape, Chest Size, Legs, Moles, etc.

Slightly downturned doe eyes, small slits in eyebrows (left has hair displaced by scars, right is shaved to match). Larger than average chest (~E cup)

Race

Caucasian

Religion

N/A

Nationality

American

Ancestral Background

½ Swedish on father's side

Criminal Record / Education

Criminal record is extensive. Dropped out of high school during 11th grade but stopped attending long before then.

Formative Experiences as a Baby or Young Child

Grew up without birth mother (passed away soon after she and her twin sister were born), Father worked as motorcycle mechanic and would frequently bring his daughters to work; fostered her love of motorcycles at a young age. Dealt with abusive stepmother for ~7 years.

Sexual History / Lovers

Several boyfriends & a girlfriend during high school years, numerous ‘flings’ throughout mid 80’s. Not on good terms with any exes.

Thoughts Towards Romance / Marriage

Says she’s indifferent. Would like to get married, but wants it to be with “the right person.” Has trauma from parents about relationships.

People the Subject Looks Up To / Idolizes

Evel Knievel, Lemmy Kilmister

People the Subject Hates

Her father. Stepmother, Lydia. Stepbrother, Adam. Half brother, Viggo. Estefania, Jotaro Kujo, Polnareff, Nukesaku

Personality Traits / Habits / Fav. Sayings

Tends to hide her true emotions, acts apathetic. Cautious around new people, especially if they know who she is and she doesn’t recognize them. Her defense mechanism tends to make it so she comes off as rude or abrasive. // Honestly just enjoys telling people that annoy her to shut up.

Dreams for the Future

Wants to eventually return to Miami. Wants to build her own custom Harley, right down to the paint job. Wants “a buncha badass lookin’ tats” to cover her more prominent body scars.

Fears

Drowning, being strangled, seeing more of her friends die in front of her, upsetting DIO and having to face his wrath.

Most Traumatic Experiences

The years of emotional and verbal abuse from her stepmother and stepbrother. Her first night in jail. Witnessing the deaths of some of her closest friends at the hands of the gang they once belonged to.

Relationships - Incl. Behavior

Neneh is the first best friend she’s ever had; loves her dearly and would kill for her if she asked. Misses her dearly while in Cairo. Gets along well with other Terence T. D’Arby, Kenny G., Enya, and most other mansion residents. On DIO’s better side. Romantically involved with Vanilla Ice.

Familial Relationships - Incl. Behavior

Hasn’t seen her sister since 17, misses her. Got along very well with Swedish grandparents, used to visit every Christmas as a child; visits slowed and eventually stopped upon her father remarrying. Positive relationships with maternal aunt, Caroline and her daughter, Rita. Gets along well with ‘pseudo father’, Ozzy, misses him while in Cairo. The gloves she wears to hide her scarred hands were a gift from him.

Problematic Relationships

Relationship with father was good as a young child but has deteriorated. Misses how he used to be, hurt that he chose a new partner over his daughters. Never had positive relationships with stepmother or stepbrother. Never really got along with former “boss”, Estefania despite trying. Feels no remorse for her death. Her murder is the reason she ends up in Cairo.

Education / Work History

John F. Kennedy Middle School (Miami, FL) Elizabeth Cobb Middle School (Tallahassee, FL) Lincoln High School (dropped out; Tallahassee) Has never been formally employed or had a ‘legal’ job.

Economic Class

Grew up middle class, struggled with money after being kicked out.

Pets / Plants

Never had pets. Had a monstera clipping that grew in the motel room she lived in.

Personality

STUBBORN. Hates being told what to do and will often do the opposite. Tends to clash with authority figures. Has a bit of a sharp tongue, she’s wary of strangers and tends to speak her mind freely, even if what she says isn’t exactly polite. Used to act out rudely for attention from a bad home life but grew out of that phase. Rarely rude to strangers without reason nowadays. Insanely devoted to friends and loved ones, likes going the extra mile to show that she loves and cares for them. Very outgoing, a bubbly ‘people person’ and a bit of a ‘party girl‘. She’s typically laid back and enjoys being surrounded by those she loves. ‘Bitchiness’ is a defense mechanism stemming from trauma; “If I don‘t care, I can’t get hurt.” She’s a spitfire with a feisty side and a terrible temper, never one to back down from a fight and will start one if she’s worked up.

Strengths

Loyal to the end, skilled with knives and using her stand, won’t quit until the task is done or it kills her, can seemingly sense when someone is upset, can pick things up with her feet

Weaknesses

Hedonistic, lower physical strength than muscular male opponents, argumentative, easy to anger, extensive criminal record, bottles feelings Deep down she’s scared and hurt, hiding behind a façade to escape any future pain

Special Skills / Fighting Style(s)

Mostly accustomed to street fighting. Fights dirty; punching, hitting, slapping, kicking, biting, hair pulling, nothing is off limits. Skilled with using switchblades. Likes to use her stand to trip non-stand user and see their confusion when they stumble.

Weapon(s)

Wields twin automatic “stiletto” switchblades, keeps them hidden in her boots

Driver's License / Vehicle of Choice / Driving Language

Obtained learner’s in 1981 and full license in 1983 but had been illegally driving since she was ~14 // Prefers motorcycles over cars. Favorite bike is the 1973 Harley Davidson FL Electra-Glide // Typical Florida Driver™. Has a lead foot and tends to speed. Tends to get a bit aggressive at times and will partake in road rage if provoked.

Hobbies / Recreations

Likes to draw things she thinks are cool; skulls, motorcycles, tigers, devils, playing cards. Tinkering with her bike, watching trash TV, riding motorcycles with friends, swimming, etc. Often upset she can’t do much of this in Cairo

Likes & Dislikes

Likes metal music, leather pants, motorcycles, billiards, chicken shawarma Dislikes formal clothing, being bossed around, running out of hairspray, driving in the rain, prudes

Food / Clothing / Shelter

Had a few outfits (a lot of them shoplifted) and mostly ate instant or microwaveable food while living in a motel paid for with money from ““odd jobs”” // Kept most of the same clothing upon moving to Cairo, despite her style clashing with local culture. Lives and works in DIO’s mansion

Motives / Passions

Self preservation, making “a shit ton of money”, has thought about killing her stepmother in the past but doesn’t want to deal with the consequences

Favorite Color / Locations / People

Dark teal, black, hot pink // South Miami Beach, Aunt Carol’s house // Neneh, Terence, Vanilla, and Enya

Fashion Style

Wears a lot of tight and overly revealing clothing after years of being forced to dress “like a proper girl” as a child. Likes wearing leather and wants to look like the girls in the metal magazines (i.e. Doro Pesch)

Used Substances

Tobacco, alcohol, marijuana (formerly), cocaine (formerly addicted)

Perfume / Cologne?

Used to wear “City Girl” perfume, but prefers scented lotions.

Any Accessories?

Crescent moon earring worn only on her left ear (twin sister wears the other), two hoops on right ear // stud on left side of nose // black leather fingerless gloves to hide scars

Supernatural Abilities / Attuned to Spirits?

Not necessarily sensitive to spirits but sometimes feels what she assumes is her mother’s presence when she sits on the beach alone at night. She can’t explain it, but it’s somewhat comforting and tends to happen when she’s stressed or upset.

Accent / Dialect

Miami accent; pronounces the ‘L’ in “salmon” // speaks in short form and slang often (i.e. wanna, gonna, ain’t) // drops the ‘g’ on words that end in ‘-ing’ (i.e. swimmin’ )

Anything Else?

Knows how to juggle. Allergic to shellfish. Not a serious reaction but the kind that makes her throat tingle. Used to think it happened to everyone, not just her.             ↓ “Everybody’s throat tingles after crab cakes. It’s part of the experience.”

[shioritsumi]

Appropos of nothing, i've been developing my Tokyo Debunker MC character on my own. I took what little characterization they give you in story and went from there....

so ta-dah!

Ayame Kishiwagi First year high school student Brown hair, Pink eyes (slight brown eye mutation)

Important character notes: -Inferiority complex ahoy! -Jack of all trades, master of none, a million times more depressed than a master of one -Shoehorned into the role of born follower -Can't anyone plz tell her what to do, she needs clear and concise instructions or she'll be completely lost, just ask her mom she knows this for certain....right?

In summary, Ayame's mother was an overachiever older sister of a pair of siblings. Her aunt was always a sweet but unmotivated student who never really made any kind of drama or impression on anyone. Ayame's mother, however, was dramatic, always winning, always succeeding, always getting top grades and awards and it was all that mattered. And yet....her younger sister got married first. Had a daughter first.

And Ayame's cousin Sakura is....perfect. She's never failed at anything she tried. And Ayame's mother HATES it. She never lost anything to her sister growing up, and now her sister has the most perfect child while she has....Ayame. She never lets Ayame live it down that she can't measure up to her cousin. (who is three years older by the way)

No matter what Ayame does, Sakura already did it and better. She picked up sewing. Sakura was able to make a pillow with tassels when she'd only just started who cares about your tiny cross-stitch pattern? She picked up baking. Sakura can make SOURDOUGH. She picked up drawing. Sakura can make detailed full body drawings with only a few minutes of reference work.

No matter what hobby she picks up, she's immediately compared to her older cousin and immediately becomes discouraged bc she will never measure up to Sakura. Not in her parents' eyes, and by extension, not in hers either. There's no point in even continuing to pursue these hobbies since she'll never be good enough.

Her parents live abroad, simply wiring money into her account each month for utilities and groceries and that's where she is when the story starts. She went to a concert for her favorite band, one of the few things she had for herself....and the band broke up. Without the band, she didn't really have any hobbies or interests all her own. She was already facing a miserable existance just living day to day feeling inadequate in her own skin and trying to desperately catch up to a cousin several years ahead with a million times more confidence and success.

She tends to kowtow to any strong personalities and she clings to anyone willing to take charge first. (Which means her attachment to Kaito is troublesome bc they're both insecure and natural followers so neither of them ever properly takes charge of any situation, including their own.) She's so beaten down into submission by her parents, she can't even stand up for herself most of the time. She can't speak up on her opinions, and when she does (when it slips out) she instinctively apologizes for "speaking out of turn" and will automatically assume a lack of immediate support means they hated everything she said and probably even everything she thinks.

She's touch starved, but also hates being touched. She yearns for affection, but doesn't believe she deserves it. She craves positive affirmation, but can't see herself as someone who's earned it. Her self-esteem is low, and her courage is lower. When she encounters Haku on the train, she's almost willing to believe that maybe she deserved to be killed by that thing and treated like cannon fodder by Taiga.

And then Haku sits her down and holds her hands gently and tells her everything will be okay and she doesn't believe it but at least someone tried saying it. And then one after another she meets people who call her...important. Valuable.

When Leo calls her useless, dead weight, she weakens....she knows that. She KNOWS she's useless, okay? She knows she's always been useless. The only value she has is a magic ring that chose her for some dumb reason because it could have should have chosen someone who has some kind of WORTH instead of her! She doesn't cry in Vagastrom because she's heartbroken, she simply listens and nods vaguely because she agrees.

Hotarubi makes Ayame bawl because they won't stop complimenting her and reassuring her and calling her important and beautiful and valuable and maybe Zenji can't touch her but he won't stop trying to embrace her and she can recognize the love in the attempt and she wanted this SO BADLY but she doesn't know how to convince herself she deserves it.

For the record: Her cousin Sakura is actually a super sweet girl who graduated high school early, attends a prestigious university, and honestly loves her cousin a whole lot. But she doesn't get to see Ayame too often partly because her aunt doesn't like to see Sakura succeeding while Ayame fails (in her perspective) and Ayame just feels infinitely inferior to Sakura so she doesn't like spending a lot of time with her. Sakura wonders often if she's done something to offend her aunt and cousin....

[scryptids]

sabrina carpenter / she/her  ———  no way is that GILLY ROSSI.. they’re a 25-year-old SYNTH notoriously known for being IMPULSIVE  &  PROVOCATIVE but there are some people who have seen them being FRIENDLY  &  HUMBLE.  if you ask me, they remind me a lot of a wardrobe full of pink and frills, expensive perfume bottles lined up on a vanity, impulsive decisions that could put her life in danger, and soft music playing in the background, but that could just be because they’re considered the HOPELESS ROMANTIC around town. just keep an eye on them  &  see if their true colors shine through..

full name: gilly nicole rossi birthdate: may 11th age: 25 height: 4’11” occupation: unemployed ship status: in a relationship with rafe o’shea bio:

gilly rossi wasn’t born, she was made

the youngest daughter of attentive parents, she was surrounded by devotion and love the second she was brought home

the rossi couple wasn’t able to conceive naturally no matter how hard they tried, and after a few years of trial and error, they brought danny home, and a few years after that they welcomed gilly into the family

she was always the more girly of the two; while danny seemed to be more of a tomboy, gilly was all pink and frills

whenever their mother took them shopping and couldn’t find her youngest daughter, she always knew to look in the section that had the most pink, usually finding gilly with an armload of dresses and sequined clothing items

soon enough her closets were full of clothes, some that would never get worn because there was simply too much

even gilly’s interests were incredibly girly; she loved romance movies and books, and hoped that someday she’d meet her prince charming

as she got older, gilly became a social butterfly, which was both a positive and negative thing

she could befriend just about anyone she met no matter what side of town they grew up on, and she had a fairly large friend group that she split her time evenly with

gilly was always surrounded by people, and that was how she liked it

but with that variety of friends came a variety of less than desirable situations she found herself in

gilly was caught sneaking out on more than one occasion, often landing her with a few weeks of grounding and heavy chores around the house

but the punishments never lasted; a simple bat of her lashes and a promise to never do it again clearing her of any wrongdoings

some would say that the rossi parents were too easy on their youngest daughter, but since she managed to keep good grades and even take on some extracurriculars (shamelessly, she was a cheerleader), they figured she could have a little freedom

after graduation, gilly decided that college and the job market just weren’t for her

her parents were happy to hand money over to her within reason, and while danny went off to do bigger and better things with her life, gilly was content living at home

she was still young and had her whole life ahead of her, so why jump into the workforce so quickly?

but years passed and gilly still didn’t have a job, but she made up for it when it came to her social life

she was always with one person or another, seeking out adventures in the form of dive bars and areas that she generally shouldn’t be in

gilly’s life was all fun and games, so it wasn’t a shock when she met rafe o’shea at a costume party

she was dressed as a faerie and he vaguely looked like peter pan, and she just couldn’t stay away from him no matter how many people warned her

they claimed he was bad news, but the two were nothing short of obsessed with each other

gilly didn’t mind that rafe was an underground fighter, nor did she mind that he participated in illegal activities

in fact, she liked tagging along with him despite the warnings, her reckless side always popping out

so far nothing bad has happened, and gilly feels as though she’s riding an infinite luck train

she has since moved out of her parents place and in with rafe, but they still wire her money to ensure that their daughter is financially stable

if she wasn’t happy before, she certainly is now, feeling as though life has just worked out for her in the best ways

but gilly has always been and will always be humble; she’s a very sweet but sassy individual, and she’ll befriend just about anyone that crosses her path