#god this freak is so fun

[t4llhum4n]

Wakey, wakey, eggs and Blake-y (I type at 6pm).

Seriously though, this guy is simultaneously the smartest and stupidest man to ever speak on Redacted's channel. And I want to talk about that.

Well, kind of.

Before I get into character motivations and all that, I wanted to point something out. This? This is how you write a static character and have them still be compelling. Dynamicism is appreciated in characters, sure, but to write a static character who isn't boring? So so cool.

When I go about theorizing for a specific character's future actions, I typically take into account what stage they're at in their development. For example, my thoughts on Hush and how I believe his future actions will play out are based on what stage of development I see Hush being at in that moment. With Blake? It's a whole different ballpark.

Blake's behavior is the constant in my theories about him. His nature hasn't changed at all throughout the course of his story, save for maybe becoming a little more desperate. Even then, that desperation is fueled by feelings that he's had since childhood. Normally, that would become stale in a character (at least in my opinion). Here, though? It's anything but.

Looking into why that is, I can only think that it's because of how his character is revealed to us. We get to see both sides of him, one from "Sunshine" and one from "Bestie." And because of this, we're waiting with bated breath for both worlds to collide. His duality isn't dynamic, but it's still so intriguing. From "Sunshine's" point of view, we're left wondering just how far he's willing to go and how violent he'll allow himself to get. Then, from "Bestie's" point of view, we see a softness that he holds (seemingly) solely for them, and we're waiting for "Bestie" to see his other, darker side.

It's not necessarily Blake as a person that's interesting to me. It's how he acts around others that really gets my character analysis-prone brain whirring. I'm not interested in seeing his growth, because from where I'm standing, it doesn't look like he's going to grow. He's rooted in his obsession with "Bestie," and that, in his own words, is the reason why he's doing all of this. And nothing, not even threats from a being far stronger than him, seems to be able to change that. When his first reaction to a line like, "Watching your lover's death will feel like a mercy in comparison," was a snide, "Charming friend you've got there," I knew any hope for change in this man was lost.

So, with that said, let's talk about the brains on this man. Does he have any? I mean, he must. He got an entire major branch of a multi-establishment political hate group under his thumb, and that doesn't happen on accident. Blake is an intelligent person, no doubt, but he's also (ironically) a very blind person. He doesn't see anything beyond his lover, and he's confident that he will change their fate.

I honestly can not fathom how deep his feelings for "Bestie" are. Call it selfish, but if I were in Blake's place, I would've given up trying to change my lover's fate a long time ago. Instead, I would've cherished and made the most of the time I had with them, until ultimately I had to let them go. Blake, though, is not having that.

This brings up a point of discussion that I really love looking into when it comes to Blake. "Does he want to save 'Bestie' for their sake, or his?" I'm not going to share my stance on that just yet (mostly because both sides make a very compelling argument idk where I stand), but the fact that there's so much to talk about with a character this unchanging is astounding. It's not every day you see a static character who has so much compelling mystery surrounding them. He doesn't grow or evolve, nor does he show signs of ever wanting to, and yet we're still enthralled by his journey.

And the way his obsession is written? It's so good. I don't believe that he was always obsessed with "Bestie." Did he always have a thing for them? Sure. But I really don't think it grew into an obsession until he saw their death, and then he saw that nothing he tried could save them. See, Blake isn't just obsessed with "Bestie." He's also obsessed with changing their fate. Which leaves even more potential for character analysis.

We know that he wants "Bestie" to live. That's the main motivator behind his desire to change a seemingly unchangeable fate. But.. what if there's something else there, too? Can you imagine besting death? Overcoming something that haunted you as a fixed point in a world with no such thing as "fixed points?" The power you would feel getting the better of something like that would be nigh unmatched, and we know that this motherfucker has a god complex.

Blake wants to save "Bestie" so that they can live longer. At the same time, I think part of it turned into a challenge for himself. He's testing himself because if he can pull this off, then he's unstoppable, at least in his eyes. And what he sees in his eyes is the only thing that matters to him.

Could I say more? Yes. Will I? In a future theory, yes. But for now, I'm leaving it here. I really love diving into Blake. Characters with insane amounts of hubris and a god complex to match are some of the most fun to dive into. I hope you enjoyed my little analysis-turned-rant! Writing these is always super fun :D

[chiricat]

i love beat :(

[fantasykiri5]

Day 9 of Hermit-A-Day May: Outfit Swap!!!

I’ll have you know I spun a picker wheel to get this combo and I firmly believe it was the funniest possible outcome. Plus I will jump at any opportunity to draw Pearl’s chunky solar punk boots I love them so much

[kizzer55555]

Little Artist

So I saw this

and had an idea for Danny X Damian. Where Danny likes making various stories he publishes online. Everyone said he needed a hobby and he can’t be an astronount (or join a sport since it would be more suspicious if he left in the middle of a game or practice for a ghost attack) and Ghost Writer got him to try writing, saying it’s relaxing. And honestly? It was. Danny enjoyed making stories. Sometimes he would just type what crazy thing happened to him that day while tweaking names and a few details to not give away his identity. Sometimes he made fanfiction of some stories he liked. And sometimes he tested out making original stories, taking and first hand knowledge from various ghosts and cultures to make his writing more authentic. And after much encouragement from Jazz, he posted some of his work online.

Cue Damian coming across one of his brother’s laptops. He didn’t mean to look for long but he thought the file was for a case and wanted to know more about it. ….then he got invested.

There was an author on this sight who wrote amazing stories. The emotions captured were so vivid, and he even fact checked a few historical facts and languages used. Everything from the dialogue, to the accent, and culture. Each new story completely enraptured him.

It made his fingers twitch for a piece of paper. Some paint, perhaps charcoal?

Damian started putting heavy encryption on his computer and search history. And locked his art room up. Then came a story that truly resonated with him. An original work about a boy from a different place, trying to fit into his new reality and the new rules and expectations placed on him…worried if his family would accept him. It sounded so much like when Damian first came to Wayne Manor. And it sparked his inspiration. He spent days working on his newest piece. Trying different angles and lighting, mixing colors. It looked like a collage between charcoal and watercolor, showing someone leaving a world of darkness into the light, yet this new world was unstable and strange compared to the rigid structure of his old one. When it was finally done, Damian felt like he was both looking at himself and a stranger. The character from the story brought to life.

It felt both freeing and settling, like he finally had a name for what he had been feeling. AstroBoi13’s fics always had that affect on him.

And for the first time, Damian did something he thought he’d never do. He snapped a picture of his masterpiece and sent it to the author. Quickly so he didn’t lose his nerve.

It was fine. It’s just one picture. It’s not like this would be a repeat occurrence.

[yayll]

~ a little something about Beast Dazai and his inability to let you go ~

Your hand trembles as you're about to knock on the massive office doors and you wonder if you're about to make the biggest mistake of your life.

You got too close working for this terribly lonely man, and now you're knocking at his door with the only solution you can think of to put an end to your silly infatuations that have gone on for longer than you'd want to admit and can possibly handle. You open the door slowly, and walk into the elegant and massive office space, your eyes falling right onto the dark haired man in all black hunched over the desk, scribbling away as if he didn't hear you come in. You walk quietly, and when you reach the wooden desk, your voice comes out soft and firm.

"Dazai, sir? I wanted to speak to you about something sensitive, if I may."

You chew on the corner of your bottom lip, but quickly compose yourself when you see the face of the man you've spent so much time with, the unfortunate love of your life. if it weren't for his Maroon scarf, he'd look like nothing but a black void. A burnt Black cat. He looks up, narrowed eyes scan you as he takes a sip of his tea, replying in a monotonous tone.

"What is it?"

"After much consideration, I think.. I need to leave the Port Mafia. We've worked together for quite a while now, and I can assure you it's not about the quality or enjoyment of my work. You don't even have to acknowledge this beyond me simply saying it, I just have to confess something that makes my heart ache. You make my heart ache. I know how unprofessional that sounds and that you have no use for such affections, but I can't keep pretending. It's why I think it's time for me to move onto something else otherwise my work will become disrupt-"

A lifted finger is shoved into your face, signaling you to stop, and so you do. Of course you do. You always had a habit of word vomiting when you were anxious. Dazai is staring down at his tea, and he stays quiet for a long time, trying to pick what emotion he can mask his real outraged ones with. Finally, he flashes you an unbothered look, his eyes half lidded as they taunt you. A cruel smirk curls onto his lips.

"Oh? What an awful time for your honesty! I'm currently drowning in work and responsibilities, ones that you're supposed to aid me with, actually. Thus, I have no use for your confession." He simply says.

You can feel a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. You expected this. Looking down at your shoes, you chew on your lip again.

"I had to tell you.. Like I said, you can just forget about it."

"Well you see, that's the problem. I can't forget it. The moment you uttered those nasty little words to me, I realized I have to carry the weight of finding a new secretary. And I resent that."

He looks away for a brief second, his words are bitter and laced with what sounds like remorse and irritation.

You cross your arms and sigh, your voice comes out lower than your confidence.

"I just thought that we were... I suppose I should have never dared to assume you'd ever see me as more than a-"

He instantly leans over his desk, now placing a finger on your lip, his voice just above a whisper.

"... And though these feelings you have for me may be inconvenient, it doesn't mean that they're unwelcome."

He lets his finger rest on your lips for just a second too long, meanwhile you're frozen in place feeling like your chest is going to collapse in on itself. His voice becomes softer.

"Sit, please."

You sit down, now facing each other. It's quiet for a few moments as you both study each other's expressions. This form of intimacy was unusual to everyone else but the two of you, having spent countless hours in the past working across one another without uttering a single word, yet communicating in perfect sync. You were a part of each other's routines, a never ending spiral. Dazai feels himself teetering on the edge of something dangerous, something peeling away at his very soul. He's usually so arrogant and domineering, but in this instant, he suddenly feels an exhaustion wash over him trying to keep that going. He's kept it going for so long, he forgot that he doesn't like doing it with you. You don't deserve to be a part of all of this, and he doesn't deserve to want you.

Oh how he loathes his true identity: A simple man. A human man. Your man.

When he can't take it anymore, he slowly creeps his bandaged hand on top of yours, applying light pressure, but his eyes don't dare look into yours. Not yet. Finally, you break the silence, staring down with furrowed brows at the way your hands fit around one another. You mutter under your breath, tired of being vague.

"What are we to each other, Dazai? I mean really?"

"Do I really need to spell it out for you?" He snorts, trying to cling to the last of his cruelty but failing as he lets his emotions sway his judgement.

You sigh, flipping your hand over so that your fingers can fully intertwine.

"I just don't know how I could ever take up any space in your mind. I didn't think you noticed whether I stayed or left."

He looks up, flashing you a mildly offended look, his sharp eyes narrowing. He scoffs quietly, dropping your hand and standing up from his desk. He walks over to you, his full height now looming. He bends down and scolds you.

"What an obscene thing to say. You're invaluable. You have always been occupying my mind, every minute, every second, every microsecond. I always notice. I'd notice even if I was on my deathbed."

Your breath catches in your throat, and you finally manage to swallow the lump that's building up as you stare up at your reckoning.

"I just- I'd never try to leash you, sir."

His eyes soften, and he tilts his head slightly. You drive him mad with the way you don't realize what a dog he is for you. His voice comes out strained.

"You wouldn't need to. And don't call me that. You know my name, and as your superior l'm ordering you to address me properly."

Your cheeks flush, and you part your lips, letting out the breath you can't stop holding. A faint smile appears on your face, and you stand up slowly to meet him.

"You're like the moon, you know? You control everything like the tides. You control me, Osamu."

He shakes his head, and sighs deeply. If only you could see how wrong you were. He steps closer, moving his hand up your arm gently as he trails his way to your collarbone with ghost-like strokes.

"Did you know that sometimes when I'm laying in bed, all alone after a long day of controlling things, my only thoughts are about you?"

He confesses, sincerely. Dazai brings his face inches from yours, his voice now becoming a pleading whisper. His hand travels down to your waist, gripping it gently.

"Do you find it hard to believe that you bring me to my knees, the big scary Port Mafia boss? Because if so, you're a great fool! I love spending my time with you. I quite literally need you by my side in my times of need and at any random and mundane moment that passes. It brings me unimaginable joy when you nag me to get more sleep, especially when I don't listen because I can't wait to hear you say it over and over again. I don't like it when you have plans, or when you report to anyone else but me. I want you to stay with me tonight and every single night after and I don't care how awful this sounds. I don't care about you having a life outside of me."

Your throat feels tight, eyes wide at the fervor of his words alone. You reply with a shaky breath.

"Every single night after?"

"Every. Single. Night. After..."

"As if we were together?"

"We are together." He declares as if it were obvious this entire time.

Hearing Dazai be so blunt makes your mind fog over quickly, a whiplash of feelings that you never thought would ever see the light of day suddenly surface. He feels the same, realizing how much he's given away to you in such a short amount of time, but for him it's been rotting inside for years. He's been held together by the glue of your support too long not to kneel for you now. It's over for him, he's run out of masks to wear. He slowly guides your body backwards towards the opulent leather couch at the center of the room. You stop when you feel yourself backing up into the cool pebbled hide, and he slowly lowers you down onto your back with his arms supporting you. He delicately hovers over you, looking deeply into your eyes as he takes in the way your bodies feel against each other. For a moment he worries he might actually be trembling.

His breath hitches when you place a hand on the bandaged side of his face that covers his left eye. You stroke the fabric lightly, eyes twinkling with unfiltered adoration. He thinks about the only other person who's ever looked at him with such reverence, and how painful it is not to be able to tell his best friend he's in love. He leans into your touch, humming softly and closing his eyes as he molds his lips deeply into yours. It's not a kiss of sexual desire. This is a kiss born of romance and intimacy, a mutual oath of surrender. cold bandaged hands instinctively wander your body, starting at the waist down to your hips, and slowly exploring the plush of your thighs, kneading them. He runs them higher, lightly tracing your ribs with his index finger while the other hand cups your face. Dazai's mouth moves gently, and slowly pulls away from yours with a soft whine. His fingers trace your jawline as he stares at you. You taste like milk and honey. Like the moon and rain. He smiles at you, eyes sparkling like the night sky. You feel his heartbeat against your body. Every single pore of your skin is connected.

"Please— don't leave the Port Mafia, and don't leave me alone... Not tonight. Not ever. I'd become a tyrant without you."

"Is that also an order?" You murmur in between shallow breaths, dreamy eyes trained on him.

His eyes flicker over to your lips for a moment, then return to your eyes. His voice drops to something that resembles a soft whimper.

"Noo. No, it's not. I could never demand anything from you. But if you'll allow me to act selfishly, I just want to make you happy, to see you smile. I want you to keep greeting me with that tea you make every morning before our meetings. I also never want to hear you call me 'Sir' again. I am not your boss or your friend... I'm so much more than that. We've always been together. We will always be together— Is this too much?"

You shake your head, smiling uncontrollably at the way Dazai rambles in this moment, it's a side of him you've never seen in all the years you've known him. A stark contrast from the detached and cruel presence that frightens others on an almost daily basis. This seems like a person pretending to be the boss of the Port Mafia, an almost perfect imitation. You're not sure what barriers within him had to break for him to become the mushy and needy mess you see before you and what it all means in the long run, but you dismiss it for now. You get the feeling this might be the real Osamu Dazai. And that excites you.

"Never too much. I'm here and I'm staying. I would always stay."

He chuckles, it's a broken shaky laugh bordering on a sob. He buries himself in your neck, smiling against your soft skin, nibbling on it. He lightly runs his tongue against the mark he leaves, and slowly lifts his gaze to meet yours

"... I know you would. You always do."

You tilt your head, and hum in mild confusion at his odd little comment.

"Do you know something I don't?"

He flashes you a knowing smile and speaks prophetically as he lightly traces a finger over a large vein on your neck, following it down to your soft chest. He murmurs lazily while bringing his lips down to where he won't be able to get them off for the rest of the night.

"I know everything, silly.~"

The Port Mafia can wait, he's going home first.

[momentomori24]

THEY ARE SO INSUFFERABLE AND HORRIFIC AND AWFUL BUT SO AMAZING AND DORKY AND THIS PART IS SO UNFAIRLY FUNNY AND CUTE AND WHOLESOME-- PLEASE, PLEASE HAVE MORE SCREENTIME IN S2. PLEASE LET THEM TAKE OVER THE SHOW. I KNOW THEY'RE HORRIBLE PEOPLE BUT I NEED MORE OF THE VEES.

And the most important scene of them all (to me):

First of all, how is Vox doing that. Second, you just know that these two douchebags are going to bang so hard with Alastor getting his ass kicked replaying in the background after this. I hate them so much.

[juniperhillpatient]

“Christmas movie” isn’t just a genre to me. It’s like a best friend. I wish all movies were more like this actually

[crossbackpoke-check]

blessed be (lorscher bienensegen) | telling the bees (wiþ ymbe)

"Bees" [remixed, abridged], Claudia Emerson // "Letter to Someone Living Fifty Years from Now" [remixed. abridged], Matthew Olzmann // "Letter to my Great, Great Grandchild" [remixed, abridged], J.P. Grasser | Len Redkole, Nina Weiss, Brian Babineau, Christian Peterson, Mitchell Leff, Dave Isaac, Megan DeRuchie

[backpackingspace]

Consider young odysseus and Penelope courting by going on adventures together (committing crimes)

[neonhellscape]

have you considered the implications of him sitting like that as a necron [not pictured: orikan smacking him with his own cane telling him to close his legs]

[m1d-45]

the corner of 1st and 9th

summary: you've given a little too much information to your favorite barista... not that it matters, when he already knows.

word count: 3k

-> warnings: stalking . he is unwell guys

-> gn reader (you/yours) is a hot drink enjoyer . mb

taglist: @samarill || @sarienic || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @ryuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept || @wanderersqt || @rozz-eokkk

< masterlist >

reasons to NOT think that he is stalking you:

you tap your pen on the corner of your paper, eyes glancing between your writing and the clock. there’s no sound but the intermittent ac and the chatter of voices from the common room, a group of your dormmate’s friends that you’re not keen on interacting with. it’s a reminder of the fact that you’re assuredly spending too much time locked up in your room thinking about this, but you can’t stop. you haven’t been able to stop thinking about it, about him.

thoma was a normal barista at an innocuous cafe. and he was definitely, assuredly not stalking you… right?

you go there fairly often

the estate was a dimly unpopular cafe set right near your dorms, perfectly on the way to most of your classes and not too far out of the way if you wanted a quick bite. despite clearly being a family business, it had managed to partner with the university, and accepted the meal plan you were forced to buy. given its proximity to you and the fact that the other options got rather repetitive, you frequented the small shop. it was never too crowded, so it wasn’t impossible to assume that you were one of the few regulars.

there were exactly two consistent baristas that worked there, with the occasional new face only ever showing for a few days. there was no set uniform, as far as you could tell. one was a young girl, likely another student, who constantly yawned and always had to push up her sleeves to work the register. she didn’t talk much; the one time you had complimented her sweater, she looked at you like you were a raccoon that had waltzed in and tried to pay with cash.

the other was the object of your paranoia: thoma, a chatty redhead who always seemed to drag out the conversation longer than he had to. he didn’t wear a name tag, but did introduce himself after you gave your name for your order, like you were meeting as friends and not in a mercantile exchange. when he handed you your receipt, there was a doodle of a dog in a suit at the bottom wishing you a good day.

your schedule was rather uneven, what with waxing and waning stress and assignments and the various misaligned tests you had to take. but still, you had credits to burn and their menu was solid, so you came back whenever you wanted.

2. he’s just being nice

thoma was an occasionally odd guy, but not overtly strange. he smiled and said hello and goodbye in the regular tone someone in customer service would, provided they were either really enthusiastic about their job or desperately trying not to get fired. he wore a plain black tee and jeans and despite the silver tags around his neck, never really screamed ex-military. he seemed rather young to be deployed anyway…

regardless, he was still just a normal guy. it was normal to memorize someone’s order if they came back so often, right? normal. it was normal to ask why you looked tired, or what had happened if you were in a better mood, or to wish you luck if you were about to head to class.

he was a normal, nice guy. he never made a big deal if you came in near closing time—in your defense, their hours seemed to shift from week to week—and still recited your usual back to you in case it had changed.

it never did. his smile was proud whenever you said so.

he was forgiving, from what you could see. whenever another staff member made a mistake, or if a customer dropped something, or if a funny looking bird flew by the window and he spilled whatever he was holding, he was quick to laugh it off. he laughed a lot, actually. rarely was any visit when he was working devoid of it, whether loud and excited or quietly amused. when he wasn’t, he wore an easygoing grin, the kind that implicitly forgave you for tripping over your words or the rug by the front door. he worked quickly and quietly and sometimes you’d find you were given a discount “just because.”

3. you’re probably overthinking things.

the problem had started around the same time midterms did.

the attendees at the tables grew sparser, busy studying or sleeping or praying. there were days when you’d walk in and be the only one there, aside from whoever was at the counter that day. when you walked in, you had just enough time to see the deep frown etched on thoma’s face before it slipped away, customer service smile back on his face.

you debated over whether to ask the entire time you waited. it was the polite thing to do, wasn’t it? it wasn’t as if you were friends, but still. if someone’s sad, you ask why. that’s the normal thing to do..

he still called your name, despite you being the only one there. how did this place stay afloat? surely there was some bigger chain willing to pay the rent. the middle of a college campus was the best spot for a place selling caffeine..

now that you thought about it, why was this place so quiet?

you shook it off and went to pick up your drink, finding a small pastry there instead. you blinked, looking up to correct him, but he was already looking at you with the same smile as always.

“they’re going to go out of date soon,” he explained, “and we over-ordered, anyway. take as many as you want!”

…odd. this didn’t look like a new building. did they not know business slowed around this time?

but not too far out of order. you took the freebie, waited a few minutes longer for your drink, and went on your day.

reasons TO think he is stalking you:

he knows where you are

you, like everyone else, had assignments due, and tests to get to. your free time dwindled to a select few naps, and your, like everyone else’s, trips to the cafe slowed to a stop.

and yet, the next time you visited, he knew.

he knew.

you dragged yourself through the doors on a spur of whim, determined to reward yourself for making it through the past few weeks. god, you were tired. you blinked the exhaustion from your eyes long enough to find the barista on shift; thoma, as usual, greeted you with a smile.

“welcome back! same as usual?”

you nodded, digging through your wallet, but instead of punching in your order as usual, he reached behind him, setting down a to-go cup in front of you.

it was still steaming.

you froze, the sight settling into your exhausted mind, unable to even force your hands to pay.

why the fuck did thoma know you were coming back today?

you didn’t even know you were coming. this was an impulse, an idea you barely thought through.

after what you can only assume is too long, he lets out a laugh. not nervous, or uncomfortable, but the same casual laugh as when he spills something while someone’s watching. your eyes find his, easygoing and bright.

“i hope you’re not too surprised,” he starts, like you’re not keenly aware of every beat of your heart. “i just figured you should get some rest as soon as possible.”

is it worse, you wonder, if he just made the same drink every day until you came back and simply got lucky? that’s the only answer that doesn’t involve you calling student services, but even that makes your skin crawl. you pay as fast as you can and grab the drink, rushing the rest of the trip back to your dorm.

it went cold on your desk, too unnerving to ever take a sip of.

2. he knows your schedule

it took… a lot of mental energy to force yourself back to the estate. you didn’t even want to go, not really, but the other options nearby either didn’t take school credits or simply tasted worse. you didn’t know what it was, but it was always off. too strong, too weak, with an odd aftertaste. it was a different problem every time, one that wore down your resistance.

nothing was better than a (technically not) free pick-me-up. you had all these credits anyway, you might as well use them on something you actually liked, right?

it’s not like you were known for making good decisions, okay? maybe… maybe it was just a fluke? maybe you could ask him about it. there’s even a chance that it’s not him working the counter!

…yeah, not a chance. a quick glance inside shows the same bright copper hair as always… though the girl is at the register this time, and he’s in the back. there’s only a handful of other people inside, so you’re probably fine.

you walked in, the bell ringing, a few patrons looking up on instinct. the girl at the register does the same right as thoma abandoned the order he was working on, tapping her on the shoulder. “sayu, let me handle this one, okay?”

great. sayu, apparently, looks at you with what you can only describe as pity, shrugging and returning to the back counter. you stood a bit further from the counter than normal, but thoma still continued to smile.

“hey there! your usual?”

he looked so normal. you couldn’t ignore how pleasant his smile was, how easily he waved like he wasn’t the reason you stayed up until the sun rose, unable to look away from the cup on your desk. it almost annoyed you, knowing he probably didn’t even think about it. so you grabbed that irritation, twisted it into words, and pushed it through your teeth; “how did you know when i was going to come here?”

for a moment, his smile faltered. his laugh was quieter, nervous, nothing like before. he shrugged, pushing up the bandana around his forehead, green eyes avoiding yours. “ah, lucky guess?”

you’re a lot of things. stupid is.. probably on that list, given your presence here, but you’re not stupid enough to believe him about that. to his credit, he seems to recognize that, shoulders slumping with a sigh.

“okay, that’s a lie. i’m sorry.” he shakes his head, as if chiding himself for trying. “one of my friends happened to see you, and he said you looked upset. i thought you might appreciate the thought…?”

yeah, you might, if that wasn’t a fucking insane thing to do.

he looks sheepish enough, or as much as one can when it’s clear he doesn’t actually feel bad for what he did.

“…don’t do it again. it’s weird.”

it’s comical, how much he brightens, standing straighter like a flower finally put in the sun. “of course! if you don’t mind the wait, then i’m not complaining.”

that should have been it. you paid, you waited, and though sayu is the one that makes your drink it’s thoma that called you up to the counter. it’s a constant, at this point, same as your order and the chipper grin as he handed you your drink instead of leaving it there, a wax bag in his other hand.

“take this as an apology,” he explains, “i really didn’t mean to unnerve you.”

sure. you’re willing to believe that, if only for the sake of normalcy. you took both, the warmth easing your tense hands.

he lingered. he always did. he stood, and waited, and when he had enough of your staring, he spoke. “if there’s anything else i can do, just let me know. i could even give you my notes to study, if you want! i know you’ve got a test coming up.”

you’re learning to hate his smile. it’s so easy, his words soft and fluid with a genuine curiosity that sent chills across your skin.

there’s the possibility that he just also attends school. you’re aware of that. you swallowed your fear and managed the breath to ask what you really, really didn’t want to know. “do you also have ms yae?”

if you had access to a time machine… well, you’d stop yourself from ever stepping foot in the estate to begin with. but if you couldn’t do that, you’d come back to that instant, and keep yourself from ever asking such a stupid question.

some things were better unsaid. never did you understand that more than when thoma replied, eyes as sharp as a blade of grass.

“of course not. but you do, don’t you?”

you put your pen down, the ink from your anxious tapping now covering most of the upper corner of the page.

you hate it. you hate it. you hate that you wrote his name willingly, you hate that you’re so shaken by something you could have easily avoided, you hate that your life has taken such a turn.

you should have just stayed gone. you’ve stopped now, but now he knew you were stuck here for this semester. leaving mid-term would wreak havoc on your transcript, let alone your grades or schedule or however you were supposed to find another college to attend on such short notice.

you refocus on your list. objectively speaking, there’s more reasons to think this is normal, but the downside of lists like this is that they failed to fully capture the way your heart had dropped that day.

it was a month ago. a month, and you haven’t been able to stop looking over your shoulder whenever you went outside. you should really just call someone…

would student services be open at this hour?

you dig through the school’s website for a bit, but only find an address and a phone number for the department head. what “department” this falls under, you’re not sure, and you’re not keen on making a call less than an hour before midnight, so you don’t ask either. no dice. not for a few hours, at least. it’s just you, not really alone in your dorm, both because of the phantoms in your periphery and the fact that the walls are thin, letting you hear the cheers and disappointment of whatever game they’re playing in the common room.

it’s a bit of an anchor. the world is still going to turn, after all, and you need to be ready to meet it; you need to rest. being on edge for so long is wearing you down, and the weight on your shoulders will only grow if you keep sitting here. after a moment to consider the paper, you rip the list of your worries into short shreds, dumping the remains into the trash. you stand, stretch, and begin to tidy up, plugging in your phone and reaching for your water bottle, only to find it empty. you must have forgotten to refill it in your panic.. you look to the door, mentally weighing the benefits of going out and refilling it. there’s people in the common room, and you’re not too keen on being looked at right now, but it’s not as if they’re the ones plaguing you. it’s a common room for a reason, and filling it now will reduce the number of things to do tomorrow morning.

in search of a blessing for your future self, you unlock and open your door, the voices getting louder. some are familiar, but you shelve the memories. you have a mission. you unscrew the cap as you walk, aiming for the small kitchenette against the wall. archons willing, you won’t even have to interact with anybody. you walk, avoiding their eyes and even doing a rather good job at it, in your opinion. you fill your bottle, lingering just long enough to get the cap on without spilling anything, and turn to leave.

in a moment of weakness, you glance at the tv. there’s some sort of pvp game going on, with both players and bystanders crowded around the lone couch, most watching the ebb and flow of victory in earnest.

most, except one. on the floor, hands neatly in his lap, is the last person you want to see. he’s missing his bandana, but he still has that same smile, one gloved hand raised in a familiar wave.

you don’t think about what he’s said or done. you don’t think about the fact that you definitely should have told your roommates not to let him in. no, all you can think about is the fact that he now knows where you live, right down to the suite number.

it takes a lot of effort to drag your eyes away, pulling your feet into the dorm. you don’t want to think about how much effort it will take to leave tomorrow.

you don’t want to think about what could be waiting for you.

[galaxygermdraws]

Redesigned my Legion of Stationery because I missed them. Also they have names now!

(reblogs with tags/comments are appreciated. Thankyu)

[imglowinginthedarkness]

some of the saiki k crew in cool outfits i found on pinterest part 2: electric boogaloo ☆☆☆☆ (sequel to these!)

[cosmocove]

watch it all go by

[bookburners]

Despite Stephanie having the second most normal life pre superhero-ing she somehow managed to match the freak of the three most traumatized members of the Batfamily.

[tamaytsuki]

“just because two characters are close, that doesn't mean they are automatically gay or lesbian”

That’s the worst argument I’ve ever heard. Like???? It doesn’t mean they’re straight either wtf are you talking about????