#i do it so often my autocorrect has the words there already

[mymomsaiditwasaphase]

Tomorrow I'll have my last exam and I'll finally be free to binge Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (1987)

[eri-pl]

It will be chaotic, because I can't force myself to make a structured post about it, I don't know why. Also sorry if my autocorrect does something stupid, I'm writing on the phone.

So, the Legendarium and causality, and good deeds, bad deeds and their results. This is the main topic of this post.

Is this post about the Legendarium? About real life? Both? Well, it surely is about the Legendarium, but not only. It's fuzzy. One of the things I like with tolkien is that such discussions get fuzzy and thinking about the books gives me insights about life.

There is a rule which I try to follow when writing or even planning something more serious (in the Legendarium context, but in general too, unless specifically going for a genre that's different): if a long-term success (in something that matters) is achieved by doing something morally wrong, those conditions must be fulfilled (not necessarily all clearly written out, but I must at least have a vague idea):

1. It could have been achieved in a good way, and it wouldn't be lesser. Or it wasn't really that important. (Because I refuse to accept "necessary evil")

2. Either something bad came out of it, or someone has to put effort into it not happening. I'm not sure how to explain it better (see later about handling other people's bad choices)... Anyway this makes the story feel more satisfying, more interesting.

3. How much of 2 is needed is proportional to how bad the thing was. Also if the character couldn't be expected to know much better, point 2 is less intense, though it's often still more interesting to have it.

I wonder how close to canon is this rule. Anyway I like it. Also, I tend to assume at least 1 when interpreting the canon, which likely influences my opinion about the Feanorians and the whole Silmaril business.

I'm not saying this is a 100% rule in real life, or even a technically 100% rule in te Legendarium, because omniscience is tricky… but it is a good rule in writing, I think, and even more so it definitely is a good rule in approaching decisions. If something can't work in a moral way, it won't work anyway or is not worth it. Nothing really worthy can be permanently lost by making the right choice. And so on.

It seems like there would be a symmetrical rule of good deeds not resulting in bad events but then we have the Children of Hurin. And what did Hurin do wrong? I have no idea.

But then, the Men are generally... And you could also look at Maedhros, but then, the exiled Noldor, and SoF in particular are also, hmm, I think "marred" is the word I should use here.

Still, I really prefer if there is something good coming of from good deeds, even distant and not seen by the person doing the good deeds.

Also, there seems to be is another rule, it's outright said. Things always turn out into a good ending, and you can either go with it or fall under it.

Example: gollum. He could have cooperated and jumped with the Ring willingly. He chose to betray Frodo, fell with the Ring anyway.

You also can, obviously, do a creative mix of going along and falling under. (Must I say: the two oldest Feanorians, it is this obvious?)

And falling under makes things more difficult for everyone, not just the person doing it.

Darn, I made this sound ugly and tyrannical. It's not. But I remember when I would say it is, and I can't explain why it is not. It's kinda like when you do a weird thing with your eye muscles and start seeing double. It's just not. I just can't explain it in a way this deserves. My apologies.

Anyway, bad choices make things difficult for everyone. Because we are connected to each other. I've already made a post about it long time ago, but generally...

Maybe if Saruman wasn't such a jerk weed have a Sauron redemption. (Maybe, it's always a maybe)

Maybe if Maglor didn't take pity on the twins, Númenor would fall much earlier and Sauron would be more successful. And so on and do forth.

It's always a maybe, and nobody determines anybody else's choices, but still, we do impact each other. It's hard to think about, because it's over if the places where a) it's worth to try b) there's no guarantee of anything... (Which are most places, I guess). Both on the Silm and in life, people are interconnected. But also everyone is responsible for their decisions.

It's hard to not blame characters (or people) too much. It's hard... In general it's wonderful but difficult, the whole concept.

And another thing tired to this very closely, tied to the interconnectedness (is this a word?) is unearned suffering and Hurin and Nienor and Miriel (both tbh) and Feanor back before he was a jerk and many others.

Sometimes we get the outcome of someone else's bs without even consenting to it. Why? I suppose it's because the connectedness is now important than "not getting random bs thrown in your life". Maybe. Probably. I'm not wise, ok? I'm not sure it's my heart, but something's telling me it's something like this reason.

And what can we do

Argue. Rebel. Just take it. There are many things we can do. I'm not going to go on a rant about what Feanor (or Finwe) should have done and so on because I don't want dfw and others to have a bad time listening to me criticizing their guy, and also I wasn't in his position so I shouldn't be ranting. I should go rant at myself or something.

But the things aren't going to solve themselves or disappear. So yes, just taking it is a very noble and beautiful thing to do (and hard as... Idk what's hard. A Silmaril is hard, I guess)

Because it's so very infuriating when someone else's bs lands on your head.

Oh how I wish I could handle it better.

Back to the Legendarium. Someone handling it better generally yields results, see: the Long Peace. And probably many other situations.

And of course there are situations when the bs you have to handle is your own and if you don't handle it, it will fall of everyone else's heads. This doesn't necessarily make it easier to handle. :( Sometimes someone helps, and that's nice.

Yet another question is how realistic a book should be.

Should it portray lots of undeserved suffering, of badly handled undeserved suffering (CoH), because it's part of life? Should it portray hope triumphing against reason (B&L, and remember that Beren was just as much a Man as Turin was), to give people an escape?

I think (maybe it's rather obvious) that we need both, because depending on personality and circumstances, we need both validation and acknowledgement of our pain, and hope that things can be better. Both kinds of stories are necessary.

It may sound untrue, and sometimes I wish I was a kind of person who can live with only hopeful stories, because the day ones are what I need when I'm not doing well— but no. We do need both, at least in terms of "what most of the story consists of". We need ways to express pain without an immediate answer.

It's a sad song.

But we're gonna sing it anyway.

Until we finally get it right and the sad parts start making sense.

And let's not even get into "sad stories where people mess their lives up so much because that's how freedom works, yes, they can do that" because I have absolutely no idea what to say about those.

[backjustforberena]

I'm so tired of people criticizing Rhaenys just because they can't grasp a nuanced conversation. I keep rolling my eyes when they bring up Jaehaerys or Luke taking Aemond's eye—it wasn't that hard to understand her point.

By the way, I'd like to know your opinion on Corlys when he said, "then we must hope to see our way forward in time." Some people think he was hinting at having a son, especially since he was holding Rhaenys's hips. However, in my opinion, he was already considering his bastards.

I'm on my mobile phone right now, so apologies for any mistakes or autocorrect mishaps that I fail to spot.

It is frustrating to see the criticism of Rhaenys but, as things have gone on, it's become fairly unsurprising to me. Sad, though. I think there are a myriad of reasons why Rhaenys as a character particularly seems to suffer from woeful interpretation from some viewers. This can range simply from her not behaving like however the watcher might have envisioned her character in the book, to having a certain negative opinion of her to be applied every time she speaks or acts, no matter what.

I think a lot is to do with Rhaenys's positioning. You need to engage with Rhaenys to fully appreciate her point of view. Her perspective is not an easy one to come by unless you make the effort to understand some fundamental truths about her. And, on screen, she is a character who is ambiguous, certainly in the first season. She is deliberately cautious and her speech reflects that.

We very rarely see her vulnerable and very rarely see her being inconsiderate of context. We have an idea of her backstory but we have not seen everything she has been through or how major events have shaped her, personally, on an emotional level. We are denied seeing unguarded responses or aftermaths.

She is frequently a vehicle for uncomfortable truths. She mainly shines in 1 vs 1 scenes, and they often include some judgement or passing of information or confrontation. When the scene partner is a favourite character or a character who has had more prominent screentime, it's very easy to discredit Rhaenys because to credit her would be to admit some flaw or ugliness about the other player. So much that I've seen is about what Rhaenys's words mean for that person or that issue rather than what it tells us about Rhaenys. What Rhaenys is thinking of considering. What her perspective is. And to also admit that an audience's perspective on something is different to Rhaenys's, either by proximity (our sense of time between things is different due to the storytelling) or by information (us being aware of things or details Rhaenys isn't - or IS, as as may be the case with various relationships and her past and her claim).

So I think a lot of hate comes from a lack of willingness to engage with what and who Rhaenys is. Rhaenys is usually, frankly, an onion.

On to your question about Rhaenys and Corlys and Corlys's intentions... He is not hinting at having a son with Rhaenys. Rhaenys is in her 50s at least and is a menopausal woman, if we take Eve Best's word for it. She is NOT having a baby. Corlys is just putting his hands on her hip for the same reason she puts her hand in his hair: they want to be close and love one another and they're also always one good reason away from having sex.

Do I think he's considering Alyn and Addam? Actually... no, I don't. Certainly NOT consciously. It's not an option right now, not with Rhaenys living and, and I cannot stress this enough, Corlys is not expecting to lose his wife. Nothing about that conversation suggests that, nor have any of their others. The possibility of HIM dying has come up. Her? No.

I think it's a general feeling of wanting to avoid the issue for the sake of peace with his wife. He just doesn't want to have the conversation. I think he is also still grappling with his own mortality, having nearly died and having had Luke die. He may simply not want to move on from that space yet. He's asking for time. He's still including her with "we", but it's a tricky conversation and not one he's up to having. Nor one that he wants to admit to have to have.

In short: dumbass is trying to deflect.

[aoififi]

Hey there, idiot.

You're dumb. You're just a doll. I've been following your tumblr for a loooong time now, Fifi. A girlfriend of mine once linked me one of your story times to explain a fantasy she was having. You know the ones. Eloquently written exercises in depravity, chronicling the complete deconstruction of a proud, self-reliant, often even dominant person into a simple fucktoy and domestic appliance. And I was hooked. I loved them. Back then I even had legitimate respect for you as a writer of erotica, Fifi. Can you even imagine anymore? People respecting you? I know! Brainwashing is good for you. The girlfriend isn't around anymore, but I continued checking up on your blog every few months. I don't really browse tumblr myself. Not even for the porn. But when I did find my way here, you were a great curator for all things a guy with a maid and bimbo fetish could hope for. Ha. I'm decently sure it's your blog that had me discover those fetishes to begin with. Brainwashing is making you so much better. Of course, you stopped writing story times a long while ago. And I understand that. There were other things you focused on. When you learned to aspire to be less, and to accept Your Natural State. The first time you wrote without autocorrect. When you abandoned the maid thing entirely to become a suckhole. I do miss the story times, but your journey was a delight to watch. Edging melts your mind away. Why I'm telling you all that? I have no idea, to be honest. Narcissim, maybe, or possibly nostalgia? Could even be a misguided attempt to let you know that the things you do here are fun for people. Who knows. By this point, you've probably already drooled a shiny, sticky coat over your keyboard while edging away mindlessly. Just waiting for the boring words to stop and more happy trigger phrases to click into your perception instead. Good girls do it every day. So let's try and end this with something that gooey pink mush your daddy turned your brains into can actually comprehend. Hey Fifi! Tell us your favourite thing your Daddy does to you or makes you do. Oh. And thank you, Fifi. Thank you for being porn.

omg this was such a good thing to read. like, thinking about how bimbofied ive become over the years, and being reminded of it, just feels *so* good, so thank you so much!!

it's pretty hard to just pick one thing though, you know? like everything Daddy does to me or makes me do is good in its own way. like sometimes when my mouth is stuffed and sucking, Daddy helps me keep my mind right in my mouth a d focused on my oral fixation and on their cock fucking me brainless. that really makes me drop *super* hard 💫 Daddys really helpful and smart like that.

[ask-tighnari]

which darshan has the hardest subject?

There is a phenomenon (not really, but this is how my dad likes to explain it to people) where every single Valuka Shuna to attend the Akademiya (admittedly, not many) desperately tries to avoid Haravatat.

Essentially, languages change among humans, we're not even humans. We have a language and writing system that evolved around things not transferable to humans. That has an impact on our ability to learn any human method of communication, it's really hard.

First assessed paper I did in my course (first Amurta paper is on an already researched topic, assessment of your ability to conduct experiments and put together a paper, not sure how the other darshans do it), I was so scared about losing marks because I translated things wrong and not because I got something wrong, that I wrote it up at home, sat in between my parents, having them work together to translate it rather than doing it myself. To this day, we still do not know if it was correct.

So, as a student, Haravatat.

However.

Amurta.

In your first year as an Amurta student, you do "required practicals", monitored and assessed by someone who has graduated. They exist to be sure you can use all equipment appropriately. If you can't, it may affect your results. I am often asked to step in for teachers at Pardis Dhyai because I'm not busy with a research paper for the Akademiya and I'm well aquatinted (? autocorrect, not the word I was hoping for, not sure where I went wrong) with technology we have to use. Every experiment has been proven in multiple papers, we know what they will result in, so we can be sure the students are using stuff properly.

Biology never works how you want it to.

Especially microbiology.

Especially especially mitosis.

Something still quoted around the Akademiya is from when I had to do this and my teacher said "I'd love for you to do scientific drawings for me to judge, but I'm afraid, if we keep trying, there's not going to be any roots left in Teyvat".

I will willingly admit that I did in fact say this when I covered for this experiment with a group last year.

I've done this so many times and I've still never seen an actual cell in mitosis, I've only seen drawings in books & papers. Thankfully, I don't need too much microbiology for botany.

[shadowgamerhalo]

Okie dokie gonna make a post on this. Might as well mention this cause I'm thinking about it.

I have a speech impediment. I don't exactly know why I have it. I don't have any problems with my vocal cords, mouth, or tongue. I have in my native tongue as much as I have it in learning other languages. I'm pretty sure my brain doesn't have damage or anything. I've had it since I was a kid, through my teen years, and it's still here in my adult years, I don't think it'll really change.

The kind I have generally effects th sounds making them sound like s, my s sounds tend to be long and often sounds like hisses, often I mispronounce words like specific becomes pacific, certain syllables like in sigyn I cannot say without stuttering or butchering the word, and it's a toss up on if I can actually pronouce my r correctly it depends on the word, like rural is hard as fuck to say with the r, ratchet isn't hard to say with my r. This worsens with brain fog, and it gets worse when I'm tired. And when it hits a certain point of tired all my words get smoshed together that hardly anyone can understand me. I will know what I said, nobody else will. It just comes out incoherent.

Often times am told to practice to get better at saying things, and also made fun of when inevitably I say something and it sounds off or like something that I didn't mean to say, either swearing, weird wording, or just the way I say a certain word in the sentence.

Some people note that when I mention having a speech impediment that it's barely noticeable. I've once actually told someone to their face the reason why is because I'm focused on sounding 'normal', if I wasn't so very afraid of being made fun of, it would be noticeable.

And I'm tired of it.

I just want to speak and be understood. Want to say the words the way I actually say them and not be made fun of for it. Do you know how exhausting it is to be talking about a serious thing and then it's undercut because apparently a word you said sounded 'funny' and thus they're giggling about it?

Like imagine I was talking about how my mother abused me, and then someone has the gall to go 'the way you say mother is so funny' like bitch, I was talking about abuse don't mention how I pronounce mother differently than you. It's not an exact example that I can remember, but it's pretty damn close to the convos I have had with people.

I've legit cried people finding my way of talking cute, hilarious, or weird. I just want people to stop, my way of talking isn't funny, it's damn tiring to try to sound like everyone else, quit talking over me and let me speak!

Please I want to just want to like my natural voice for once, without being reminded what I can't have with it. I want to not feel guilty that I don't have what others consider a 'valid reason' for why I sound like this.

So that's my emotional screaming into the void for y'all, talking is hard as shit, probably why I ended up a writer over a speaker. Even then writing itself had challenges before I got autocorrect, but really that's a whole other ball game I'm not going to get into right now. Poured enough emotions into this one already.

[waitingformyfavoritesongs]

9:54 am pdt Friday 24 March 2023

They are all liars. They don’t want me around. They plan for me to die. 9/56 am pdt everyone’s fate was decided. They could have prevented a lot of births. They already knew. They don’t care (right eye 👁 ball pain 9:58 am pdt) they lie about the things they never should lie about and they know it. God likes to live heinously and they know it. They smile Bcz they know they got it good. They are not good and they know it. A school 🏫 teacher died of a brain 🧠 tumor.. she wanted euthanasia. & they made her have to fight to get it. 10:01 am pdt I think 💭 she wanted it Bcz maybe they told her it was terminal and she was probably suffering a lot. They like pain for others. 10:02 am pdt 10:03 am pdt now incubus is burning my head brain 🧠 again. He attacked me my brain 🧠 skull 💀 after I wrote on tumblr. 10:04 am pdt

10:08 am pdt I’m stuck in this hell. Until I’m dead 😵.

10:18 am pdt the power out last week affected the whole area I grew up (chest heart ♥️? Pain 10:19 am pdt) and Scott’s Cupertino. I think 💭 the incubus had his miñions steal records to prevent us from finding out that Brendan Lean was living in my neighborhood & the yearbooks associated? ... with me in it. 10:22 am pdt

1:29 pmpdt incubus plans to kill me by making me look 👀 and be authentically crazy by destroying me piece by piece. He plans to hide Melissa cuen and Brendan lean forever. 1:31 pmpdt nothing will come to light. No one will do anything to make this hell end for me. Scott will continue to kill people and make it look like an accident and smile and be happy about it. Even though he has foresight and can prevent death ☠️ he chooses to play dumb and slay. He should have had high beam lights, but he chose low beams. He had a cat 🐱 named Toby and probably thought 💭 he could see well like a cat 🐱 in the dark. He talked about peripheral vision (problems <-accidentally chose from autocorrect back hand 🤚 pain 1:36 pmpdt diarrhea) Bcz he worked at lens crafters he told me and the owner of the store 🏬 went on vacation and never came back. Scott probably scared 😱 him away how I don’t know 🤷🏻‍♀️. 1:37 pmpdt probably the west gate mall. 1:38 pmpdt

3:40 pmpdt 3:41 pmpdt while I was at UCB I was still trying to overcome my shyness. I (vag pain 3:42 pmpdt) still had difficulty with breaking away from conversations. Usually I got stuck with more extroverted (feel diarrhea 3:42 pmpdt 😞) vag acid?pain 3:43 pmpdt) people who have a tendency to talk a lot. I don’t remember every conversation but for some reason I had fear of interrupting and a lot of times I had difficulty deciding (left hip bone 🦴 pain 3:45 pmpdt) in what words to use and I think I would often think 💭 a lot of words sounded rude so I’d procrastinate hoping the other person would end it in time for me to go. Once I got frustrated and I actually did say the rudest thing by blaming him for not ending the conversation sooner. Weird. I am weird. Probably Bcz of my head trauma and lack of sleep 😴 & eczema infection problems. This was the teacher 🧑🏿‍🏫 for the same class I think 💭h that I made the blunder of claiming it was my idea 💡 to draw ✍️ the shadows outside. It was a relatively small progect that we probably only had 30 minutes to do. It was more like a spontaneous short exercise. If pain! Right arm 3:52 pmpdt . It’s weird that I would swing btwn thise two extremes? Opposite sides, polarities? Being afraid to interrupt Bcz I’m afraid of interrupting. I had the same problem in elementary school 🏫 when I was 9 or 10 years old and hesitated for many minutes to interrupt my mom and sister’s? Teacher 👩‍🏫 in the middle of their conversation Bcz I neede to pee and I thought 💭 I was obligated to tell them before going So I ended up peeing in my pants 👖 all over the floor! Frustrated & started getting desperate & having difficulty accepting responsibility makes for weird sh*t to happen. That same teacher almost cut me with a knife 🔪 after that he looked angry too. 3:58 pmpdt I don’t think 🤔 I ever intentionally cut someone with a knife 🔪 out of anger. Or any emotion. I am afraid 😱 of sharp things. 3:59 pmpdt

4:03 pmpdt it was embarrassing 😳 that I peed in my pants 👖 completely drenched. I was already well potty 🚽 trained for years. 4:04 pmpdt

4:05 pmpdt ***blaming (vag sting pain 4:06 pmpdt) him for me being late to meet another teacher 👨🏻‍🏫 Bcz he didn’t end the conversation sooner. 4:07 pmpdt

4:29 pmpdt Bcz he’s a teacher at UCB, & UCB is also called bezerkeley, Bcz it’s a little crazy eccentric? He was probably smart and should have figured something out, so it was probably easy for that guy to rebuttal what I said in class and get proper credit. I’m sure now though that no one really has sympathy or empathy for me. The question though that bugs me is if a bad believe able person was to rise to power and murder a lot of good people would you side with them? Without access to knowledge and technology you don’t know what they’re making up. If we are all really tested then did we all fail? I guess it really is dog 🐶 eat dog 🐶 world 🌎 forever ♾. 4:35 pmpdt if aliens 👽 from a distant planet 🌎 came who was 100% themselves with out being controlled by god (acid throat pain vag acid acid throat mouth 👄 pain !!!! 4:36 pmpdt) what would happen what would you do or know? They kill you but every one assumes you deserved it? So they don’t do anything to find out. 4:37 pmpdt

7:30 🕢 pmpdt when I was 6 years old I played in the bathtub 🛀 with my little pony. It’s paper stick on eyes 👀 washed out in the tub 🛀 or in the sink. Originally had blue eyes 👀 and my dad repainted it in lavender. This was in San Jose after moving from king 👑 city 🌃. 7:35 pmpdt

7:39 pmpdt around the same time but probably on a different day I did something and I don’t want to say what it was. I lied 🤥 when my dad asked if I did it. It was a weird thing to ask about now that I think 🤔 about it. Bcz it was obvious I did it. I basically did it infront of him? Anyways, I think incubus has been giving me a hard time about it about lying 🤥. that reminds me, Q likes the tv 📺 show pretty little liars. She told me I should watch that and Grimm I think 💭? 7:46 pmpdt left hip bone 🦴 pain minutes ago. 7:47 pmpdt if my dad believed (diarrhea 7:48 pmpdt) god possessed people like Egyptian god ra in his daughters mayb my response to him could have sounded like a sarcastic joke. But I was 6 years old. 7:50 pmpdt god comes up 🆙 with weird lying 🤥 reasons for things happening. 7:51 pmpdt makes him look 👀 heinous to me. Maybe 🤔 raping an 11 year old... do you think 🤔 it’s possible garrido was breaking her vagina every time he did it? She said it hurt? It’s not death ☠️ incubus said to me in my head. I think 🤔 I should question 🙋🏻‍♀️ it. 7:54 pmpdt I think 🤔 garrido probably was breaking her opening entrance of her vagina ripping flesh but incubus probably healed it up 🆙 so he could keep doing it. I don’t know 🤷🏻‍♀️ much about p*nis. Is p*nis a hard bone 🦴? 7:57 pmpdt p*nis is weird to me I need to look 👀 it up 🆙. I wonder 💭 (pain acid sharp anus 8 pmpdt) if she bled a lot each time he did it to her? 8 pmpdt

12:28 am pdt incubus attacked my lower back and inside of my skull ☠️ and brain 🧠 while I was laying down with acid I think 💭 again. 12:29 am pdt I really incubus does not care about me. I think 🤔 he tricked me & a lot of people into continuing to neglect me. Before, I think 🤔 he gave them the reason to not treat me well Bcz I was a bad person? My aunt told me god is angry with me and that I am a bad girl. She told me that years ago, & (vag acid pain 12:32 am pdt) 12:33 am pdt and now I think 🤔 they’re continuing the same treatment but for opposite reasons it seems? It seems like a con to me to let me die. Deteriorate. I guess this is karma for something. Was it x (acid throat pain 12:35 am pdt) for Q not x accidentally typed. Left side rib pain. 12:36 am pdt I already was trying to end things with Q . I talked to other people how I felt. One person suggested I try to patch things up 🆙 with Q have a heart ♥️ to heart ♥️ talk. I didn’t want to. He is going to claim probably that it was a test I failed maybe about Q & posting the picture links. I had difficulty accepting that I failed a test even if it was true. I think 🤔 it was not a good test. Bcz I had felt like I didn’t want to sacrifice myself for Q. I had stuff going on all my life a lot of mediocrity I guess and unhappiness. I was already pulling away from Q. I didn’t think 🤔 it was fair or right. It looked like Q had something going on so it actually I don’t know 🤷🏻‍♀️, maybe 🤔 it looked like stuff was already known and she was already being punished for it. But I guess there was a possibility that behati didn’t know? And that it was faked? I don’t know 🤷🏻‍♀️! But he was putting the same lines on me. I am very (lower back pain 12:46 am pdt) if the whole family put the same lines on Q that they’re putting (right arm pain 12:47 am pdt) on me now (left jaw bone 🦴 lower back bones 🦴 pain 12:48 am pdt). Then I guess they duped me again. 12:49 am pdt I don’t think 🤔 I can do something’s anymore and they like to force me into those things. 😞😖😭😤🥵 12:51 am pdt they’re torturing me in every way. I find them totally 💯 heinous to do thise th (throat acid pain 12:52 am pdt) I don’t remember putting acid on anyone. I think 🤔 I was always alone when I worked. I also more than once sweeped 🧹 the (acid anus pain 12:54 pmpdt) floor 12:55 pmpdt

I thought 💭 i was careful there. Once when I was on the phone ☎️ with the guy I fell in love with beginning of college b4 dating my first boyfriend, it might have been after the breakup or b4 dating? My memory is weird Bcz I think 🤔 I remembered still being like a kid but maybe 🤔 it (lower back bones 🦴 pain 12:59 am pdt) was after the breakup (vag acid pain 1 am pdt) maybe 🤔 late 2005 or later I think 🤔 I only remembered the first thing I was most shameful about (acid left of eye 👁 not the eye 1:01 am pdt) the guy I asked me, I think 🤔, if I’ve ever did anything? And I cried and said something like “I can’t tell you!” I felt too much guilt to [not 1:07 am pdt] deny but too much shame to admit. 1:04 am pdt

1:11 am pdt the word guilty has weird stuff attached to it. 1) guilty as in not innocent 😇. 2) guilt (trip) as in feelings that manipulate? Me or you to feel sorry 😞 3) recently I heard about there are people who will do whatever they can to hurt you. These type of people disable us from being able (vag pain 1:16 am pdt) to have fun 🤩. I’m not smart. I don’t know 🤷🏻‍♀️ what god’s complete plans are. But I’ve been given signs 🪧 that I am a sacrifice. Incubus/miñion keep hinting that the sacrifice is needed. I don’t know 🤷🏻‍♀️ how big the universe is, but the joy of life had been sucked out of me a lot. I had to pretend to be happy or be content with stuff like being alone with tv 📺. 😞 good bye 👋 happiness 🎶🎼🎵🎤 utada hikaru. 1:20 am pdt (the world 🌎) they’ve been sending mixed signals but it is very apparent now that I’m dying 😵 and they want to break my back and make me fall. A Doctor 🥼 randomly asked me if I fell . ≈2020? 2019? But with (pain acid right nostril 👃 1:23 am pdt) all the ways every one else was to me it seemed like they were hinting that I was going to (vag pain 1:24 am pdt) and they were looking forward to it. 1:25 am pdt I think 🤔 I would rather get decapitated by a samarai sword 🗡. Something fast. 1:26 am pdt I once did a drawing ✍️ Of my body headless holding my wrist with eczema (right hip bone 🦴 pain skull 💀 bone pain 1:27 am pdt) on my hand 🤚 that resembles the desert 🏜 (diarrhea minute ago 1:28 am pdt)😤🥵1:29 am pdt

[shurisneakers]

harmless (xiii)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader)

Warnings: cursing, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, smidge of angst, guns, little bit of violence, obnoxious flirting, and kidnapping lol

Word count: 6.2k

A/N: welcome to chaos week >:) this is the first of three updates coming out this week (if i can finish the last one in time).  big thank you to my love @no-shit-sherl0ck for the kidnaped!reader idea, and that one anon who suggested the inator that’s used here. i know you wanted to see it in a zoo but i couldn’t really figure out a way to use that so i referenced it a bunch in previous chapters. oh and also @ginevranights​ for this specific imagery 

Previous Part  || Series Masterlist

Who the fuck kidnaps a villain in this day and age?

Saturday started normally enough.

Nat kicked Bucky’s ass in training, evening the score to 120 and 120. He blames it on the lack of sleep. She tells him that it’s his fault he stayed up late to binge watch 911 Lone Star.

He still thinks it was worth it.

The team’s sunshines and rainbows that morning. Someone had cooked up a batch of pancakes and fresh orange juice. Someone else burnt the bacon but left to feed his dog before anyone could complain.

Nat opened up the newspaper. Different sections went to different people until Bucky got stuck with the entertainment section. Fun, considering that he doesn’t even recognise half the names. He’d have to pretend to be interested until the next rotation.

He watches the orange juice levitate in front of him from the corner of his eye and just assumes that Wanda’s getting a refill even though she could have just asked him to pass it. He smells the next batch of bacon burning and figures that Clint is back.

Sam’s beside him, annoying him about how long it takes for him to read about which new celebrity relationship just ended and Bucky retaliates by reading even slower. Fuck you.

He’s on his second stack of pancakes absolutely drenched in maple syrup when the doors to the elevator open and Marie steps out, laptop in her hand.

An instant chorus of hello’s and invitations to have some charred bacon resound through the table. She politely declines them with a small smile, instead opening her laptop and placing it in front of Bucky without further ado. 

He looks at her questioningly, slowly swallowing whatever was in his mouth.

“An email for you.” She tuts her head towards it. “It has a video attachment of your friend.”

Bucky has plans to not watch the video in front of everyone, given that the content could range anywhere from you reading out fanfiction about him to a deep-fake of him singing a Whitney Houston song.

Both of which you have done before and would do again, without any hesitation.

“Aren’t you gonna watch it?” Wanda asks from across the table.

He slowly shakes his head no, cutting his stack into smaller pieces.

“If what’s in it is real, it’s important,” Marie stresses.

“What’s in it?” he inquires instead, hoping that the team would stop staring at him. If Marie was implying strongly that he needed to watch then something was wrong.

“Just watch it, man.” Sam’s statement has everyone agreeing with him. Bucky can’t refuse now, and if the team makes fun of him for the next month about how he looks good belting Greatest Love of All, he’s going to personally assassinate you.

He clicks on the email, noticing it came from a throwaway address. Probably untraceable, if the cards are played right. 

The video opens to grainy footage, which is stupid considering modern technological advancements. If this is one more of your stupid LARPing sessions, it could definitely wait till after lunch. 

But, he instantly recognises your silhouette strapped to a chair and suddenly the room feels very cold around him. His hand automatically clutches onto a bead from the bracelet you gave him that still remained tied to his left arm more often than not.

“Speak,” someone commands off camera.

“About what?” You sound annoyed, exasperated even.

“Why you’re here.”

“I’m here because you have unaddressed feelings of childhood insecurity.”

“I warned you to take this seriously.”

Bucky’s eyes widen slightly but his body relaxes the minute he reads the situation. 

The team’s crowded around him, he can feel it. His attention remains on the screen in front of him.

“Who even are you sending this to?” You don’t sound the least bit threatened. “My roommate’s not at home but my cat is and I don’t think she’d care.”

”You’ve made a complete joke out of villains everywhere. Fraternising with the enemies, the Avengers,” he spits the name with so much vitriol. “You’ve erased what it’s like to be truly evil. Turned us into a laughing stock.”

“If it takes one person to undermine your whole movement then maybe it wasn’t strong enough to begin with.” You look at someone outside the lens, face scrunching in distaste. “Also your costume’s ugly.”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., can you trace this voice?” Bucky asks, receiving an immediate confirmation. “Figure out who it is.”

“On it.”

“Tell them. Tell them we are a serious threat and are to be feared.”

"No,” you say resolutely. “You’re an overgrown manchild. Go watch Teletubbies or something.”

“She does not give a shit,” Clint marvels at the situation, a piece of half eaten burnt toast between his fingers.

You didn’t. And if he knew you in the slightest, which he prided himself on at this point, you already had six different ways of getting out of there.

“She knows she’s going to be fine,” Bucky murmurs, returning back to take a bite of his pancakes. “She’s probably still there just to irritate him.”

He zeroes in on your wrist to see if the teleportation watch was still there but no, your wrists are bare. Guess you forgot.

“You have to.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s how a real villain does it.”

“A real villain- what are you, gatekeeping the villain community?” You scoff. “You sound like a fuckin’ incel.”

“Just send them a message,” the guy bellows, hitting a table.

“She’s going to frustrate them to death.” An accurate observation, Sam.

“Okay, jeez, fine.”

Bucky just knows that you rolled your eyes at that moment.

He had faith in you, or in your abilities at the very least. While every wisecrack could possibly inch you closer towards harm, you probably wouldn’t be making them unless you felt completely secure in your situation.

“Help, I’m totally kidnapped and in danger. Save me because I can’t do it myself. This man is too powerful and strong and sooo scary.”

“Do you think she has a strategy?”

“Definitely.”

“You’re not worried, James?” Wanda asks curiously. “I thought she was your friend.”

“She is my friend.” He reaches over to take the jug of orange from across the table. “That’s why I’m not worried.”

“Are you going to fight the Avengers?” you interrupt his endless tirade. “Because that’s a stupid plan. You get how that’s a stupid plan, right?”

“Let them come. I’m prepared.”

“With what? A stick you found outside? A Nerf gun? Man, you’ve tied my hands with fuckin’ zip ties, you can’t be serious-”

“Shut up,” he roared and the stand shakes slightly from where he stamps his feet. “Our army is enough.”

“Wow,” you exhale. “I wish I had your confidence, I really do. I want to study you under a microscope.”

“I have reinforcements.” It sounds like he turns to the camera to address it directly. “This is a warning. Your friends have an hour to find you or things are gonna turn ugly. This is what real evil looks like.”

“Evil dresses in a dollar store Speedo, apparently.” The man pays you no heed, instead picking up the camera. “Hey, sarge, if you’re watching this, don’t bother. I’m fine, it’s not even the real me-”

The camera cuts to black.

“When was this video sent?” Nat looks at Marie, eyebrows drawn together.

“About ten minutes ago.”

Bucky clicks out of the email, determined to get at least half his breakfast in him before he left to see what’s up with your situation. A notification pops up immediately.

evilkneival123@gmail.com just sent you an email.

A video attachment.

“We got another one,” Bucky informs the team, drawing their attention back to the screen from the informal conversation that had erupted between them about what they could do.

This time, there’s a subject line included.

Attack on the Clone.

"Ain’t that a Star Wars movie?" he asks, craning his neck to look at Clint.

"That's Attack of the Clones," Sam corrects. "Probably autocorrect."

Bucky narrowed his eyes in suspicion at him, jaw sliding outward before falling back into place. Enough times had Sam called him Fucky in the group chat and gotten away with it for him not to be wary.

“Or a code,” Wanda suggests, too many crime thrillers read and podcasts listened in her spare time. She occasionally brought them over to Self Care Saturday, introducing him to the world of true crime as a bit of light content while they snacked on chocolate chip cookies he baked. “Like the Zodiac.”

“For what?” Bucky peers over at her.

“All I remember from that movie is them rolling around a field together,” Clint mutters. “Maybe that’s how you’re supposed to save her.”

“I’m not saving anyone. Look at her, she’s fine.” Is he the only one who saw it?

When he’s met with skeptical looks and no other useful suggestions, he presses play on the video.

This time it's clearer footage. It hardly takes him a second to ascertain where it was.

"That's her lair." It showed the pathway leading up to the flat concrete building, exactly where the intercom should be.

There was a black Sedan parked haphazardly outside, engine still on judging by the sound of the radio blasting an AC/DC song. 

Within a few seconds, someone drags you from the entrance of the lair to the car, despite your very clear protests and opposition, shoving you inside before it takes off in full speed, tires screeching. 

"F.R.I.D.A.Y., track the car from that video. Check all the CCTV and surveillance footage from around the area that you can find," Bucky commands, taking a sip of orange juice.  

"Why would they send us that?" Clint pipes up. "They make their email untraceable but send us a video of the fuckin' abduction itself?"

"I don't know." Bucky shakes his head, setting his glass down. "She probably convinced them to."

It was an unusual scenario, he realised that. But his eyebrows lower in contemplation, his lip caged between his lip before a thought suddenly occurs to him. A laugh in disbelief almost escapes his throat ad he pushes it down with some freshly cut strawberries. 

"And they listened?"

"I don't think you realise how annoying she can be." He knows, though. He knows. "Bet they regret it, though. I should tell them to keep her for a little longer."

"Voice recognition registers voice to someone named Chad, better known by his alias Soul Crusher. Surveillance footage places the car about thirty minutes away. Exact location sent to your phone GPS."

Soul Crusher. That was worse than Dr. Strange.

"I can make that fifteen." Bucky shrugs, setting down his fork and knife. If his hunch is right, the team didn’t really have to get involved. “See you guys later.”

“Do you want any of us coming with you?” Wanda gestures to the crowd at hand.

“I got it.” He pushes away from the table, depositing his plate in the sink, dropping an extra piece of bacon on the ground for Clint’s dog. “She’ll be alright.”

They watch him trail out of the room briskly, heading up to his room to change.

“Is it just me or is he too casual about this?” Clint continues staring long after he leaves.

“Both of them are weirdos.” Nat pulls open the newspaper again, going back to the sport’s section. “Who knows what goes in their heads.”

“Can confirm that not a lot goes on in his.”

Without Bucky to retaliate or grumble, a Steve walking into the room, sweaty and shiny after training becomes the new subject of jokes that morning.

__

For the first time in months, he’s had to bring a weapon or two along with him. Two revolvers and a couple of knives kept out of plain view. He wouldn’t need more than that anyway.

True to his word, it takes only fifteen minutes to get there, thirteen if he didn’t stop for the chain of ducks that crossed the street.

He’s also dressed in a little more leather than he usually reserves for your meetings. A jacket that brings to act as a windbreaker and tightly laced up combat boots make him look like he either stepped off a runway, or more menacing than usual depending on who was looking.

The GPS points him to an old warehouse near a more subdued part of the city. It was abandoned by the looks of it, and had been for a while judging by the lack of upkeep. Prime real estate.

He pulls off his helmet, hanging it on the handlebar along with his backpack before kicking the stand into place. The bike’s a few metres away just in case they decide to blow something up.

Bucky looks up at the warehouse, assessing the most damage he could do to it if at all it was needed. That thing could barely stand on its own, a grenade would absolutely decimate it. That wasn’t good news for you.

He sighs once before putting on his death glare, straightening out his shoulders into a stature that screams stone-cold, and pushes the door open, gun raised.

A mini-army of people ranging from their early twenties to late thirties stood guard at the entrance, all with rifles pointed at him. He counts fifteen, maybe eighteen.

“Oh, hell no,” a voice erupts from the back, followed by the sound of his gun being thrown to the ground. “No one told me that he was coming.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, his death glare not shifting and Glock not lowering.

“I’m out.” The same guy raises his hands up to show he meant no harm, slowly brushing past Bucky as he squeezed out of the building.

“You got five seconds to leave before I shut this door,” Bucky gives the rest of them an ultimatum. Not like there was a point anyway. SHIELD was sending down some people to account for the one day rise in new morons. 

They all looked at each other, swallowing thickly before raising their weapons.

“I hope he’s giving you good insurance.” The second he finishes his sentence they all cry out in what sounds like a fucking war chant, launching themselves at him. 

______

“They’re here.” Someone presses his ear to the door as if the gunshots and screaming weren’t enough. 

“Brilliant. We’re ready.” Chad picks up the knife, running his finger along the sharp end. You try to see if you can use your Twitter-ordained powers of manifestation for a paper cut.

“How much are you asking them for?” You put forth a query instead, when it disappointingly doesn’t work.

“Asking who for what?” Chad stops his dumb intimidation tactic for a second. 

“You know,” you insist like it was obvious, “my ransom. How much did you ask them to pay?”

“We didn’t-” He looks around at the other people in the room for confirmation. “-we didn’t ask for any.”

“Because I’m invaluable?” Your head droops to the side in mock flattery. “Aw, you guys.”

“We didn’t think of it,” someone from the corner behind you speaks up, coming to the aid of their boss.

“Now that’s just rude.” You tut, shifting maybe an inch or two in your bounds to try and get more comfortable. “Leaving aside your lack of preparation, let’s just assume he bursts in here, desperate and ready to bargain. How much would you ask for?”

“Three million,” Chad says confidently, gathering a nod and sounds of agreement from everyone else.

“Are you serious?” Your jaw drops, a scoff escaping you. “That’s all?”

His self-assurance falters a little bit, you can see it under his 5 Minutes Craft mask.

“Three mill-” You stop mid-sentence. “With this wiring? Ridiculous. Make it ten, I demand it.”

“We’ll ask for fifteen mil,” Chad proposes, his teammates agreeing again, a little more delighted than last time.

“Ask for thirty, you coward,” you argued. “Thirty million and a jet.”

“You’re not worth that much.” The dipshit diagonal to you pipes up with his unwanted and, frankly, useless opinion.

“And you are?” You whip around the best you can. “Henchman number four?”

“Megedagik,” he informs, standing up a little taller now that he was given some importance. “It means ‘killer of many’.”

“Did you just say your name was Mega Dick?” 

“Megedagik,” he corrects.

You stare at him hard before turning away. “Alright, other than Mega Dick here, does anyo-”

A knife lands right next to your feet, driven at least an inch into the ground. You look up at the guy you managed to piss off within four sentences, his face now a beet red. 

“These are brand new, asshole,” you barked, shaking your shoes around. “You’re gonna pay if there’s even a scratch on it.”

“Permission to kill her?” Meg growls, casting a side eye at Chad.

The boss man looks at you thoughtfully, assessing the repercussions of what might happen. You raise an eyebrow.

“Slow and painful,” he settles. 

A small smirk makes its way onto your face. 

“Title of your sex tape,” you quip as the man in the corner storms towards you.

_____

It’s all a flurry, really. A bunch of inexperienced newcomers versus one of the most skilled assassins the world had ever seen? Ten minutes tops.

Bucky doesn’t do any serious damage. A couple of broken bones but only out of necessity, a lot of concussions, and maybe a bullet wound, or three, here and there. 

Most of the time he spends thinking about things that have absolutely nothing to do with what was going on. He forgot to take his laundry out of the machine. There was a biscotti recipe he had been procrastinating on trying. His succulents needed watering but he could do that once he was back. Was he wearing his good combat pants or was it the pair that had a hole in the pocket?

His left hand thrust outwards to shove someone away while he stuck his right hand into his pocket to check if it had frayed away. The person he pushed slams into a wall with a loud groan and no, his pants didn’t have a hole in them. 

He stops to take a breather, assess what was going on. There are bodies scattered all around, mostly writhing in pain from minor injuries. Someone very bravely stands up, hands posed in front of him in a regular fighting stance.

“You sure about this?” Bucky asks, reaching for one of the concealed knives he hadn’t had a chance of using yet. It twirls rather nimbly between his fingers for something so dangerous, the hilt finally landing in his palm for a sturdy grip.

The man takes one look at the knife before sitting right back down on the ground. 

“Good choice,” his voice drops to an octave lower than his self-esteem. He’s tired of this old routine but it works like a neat little party trick, often getting him the result he wanted. “Where?”

A few fingers point down the hall to the only room whose door was closed.

He makes sure to step over everyone who was lying along the way, ears tuned in to even the smallest of noises just in case one of them decided to attack him from the back. It doesn’t come.

He doesn’t bother creeping down the hallway. With all the ruckus that just went on outside, he’s pretty sure it’s obvious that they had an intruder. 

Bucky kicks in the large steel door with ease, given that it was barely hanging on its hinges. His gun’s raised, muscles tight, and senses on high alert for any immediate threats. 

It lands with a large thud, reverberating through the room. He’s reminded of your first meeting with him.

There’s a chair in the middle of the room with a person tied to it by a mixture of rope and tape. Others found themselves slithering around on the floor in a similar fashion, trying to get out of their bondages.

“Hey, James,” you call out, drawing his attention to you. You were sitting atop a table, legs swinging back and forth without a care in the world, a blade in your hand. 

“You okay?” He tucks the gun into his waistband when he realises that none of the henchmen are going to be going anywhere soon.

“All good.” You hop off the table with a little spring in your step. “Did you bring your bike? I need a ride back to the lair. I think I left the TV on when I was, you know, getting kidnapped.”

“You coulda teleported back home before all of this even happened.” Bucky does a quick assessment of your body to make sure there weren’t any bruises or anything of the sort. “Avoided the whole thing.”

“Don’t have the watch with me.” Odd, since he knows you consider it one of your essentials but it just fuels his theory further. “Besides, if I just quit before we started, they’d keep messing with me over and over again.”

“Do you want me to punch someone’s face in?” He glances around the room at the ones wiggling about on the floor like fucking worms. “I’d be happy to.”

“Nah, I got a few in myself.” You rotate your wrist, other hand still holding onto the knife. “You know what, maybe I’ll have another go.”

He simply makes a noise in acknowledgement before he places a hand on the hem of your shirt, gently reeling you back. “I think you fixed ‘em up real good. That’s enough for today.”

“Fine but only ‘cause you said so.” You huff, looking past him and at the weirdos on the ground. “You hear that? This man just saved your life. Say ‘thank you’.”

A muffled chorus of what sounded like appreciation echoed through the room. Bucky awkwardly looks around.

“Damn right.” You walk over to the guy in charge of the whole event, bending down to his level. “If you ever try to fuck with us again...”

You stare straight into his eyes, unblinking. You hold up the knife to his Adam’s apple. Chad doesn’t dare to move other than the thick swallow.

You raise your finger and flick him in the forehead. “Get a better costume.”

The corner of Bucky’s lip quirks upward.

“Let’s go, sarge,” you announce, standing upright again and making a motion to follow you. “D’you have an extra helmet I could use?”

“Yeah.” He had brought one along in his bag, assuming that you’d need one once he noticed the watch was missing in the footage.  

“Yay.”

The only storage space on his bike was under his seat and it’s just enough for an extra revolver. Clint asked him if it was his way of flirting with someone, give ‘em a quick spin around the city and then show them his gun. If looks could kill, Clint would be 7 feet under. 

“You sure you wanna ride it, though?” He cringes immediately when he realises what it sounds like, waiting for you to smack the innuendo in his face. “We could wait for SHIELD.”

“Don’t really have another choice, Bucky,” you say absentmindedly, strolling out the room as you tossed the knife behind you.

He frowns at your indifference but turns around for a second to look at Chad. The man in question looks back viciously, his grandeur from that morning basically deflated and left to die along with his reputation.

“Might wanna reconsider the name,” Bucky remarks, doing a quick sweep of the area once more. “Soul Crusher.”

He waits until both of you are outside the cell and the door is shut on the ringleader and his circus clowns, handlebar twisted out of place so that they don’t escape for the time being.

“One second,” he calls, touch gently lingering on your forearm to stop you without even thinking twice about it. A famously uncharacteristic move for him.

"Hm?” You don’t even look like you notice his action.

“You sure you’re good?” he asks seriously, actual concern slipping through the question. “Do you need medical assistance?”

“They couldn’t hurt me anyway.” There’s something strange about the way you say it, almost assuredly. “I’m good.”

“Okay,” he concedes, his hand darting back when he realises it was still on your arm. His eyebrows furrow when he realises how instinctively he had reached out in the first place.  He didn’t touch anyone, ever.

“What are we gonna do about them?” you inquire, stepping over someone on the floor to get to the exit.

“Marie told Agent Hill. They’re sending someone over.”

“They’re sending SHIELD for these wannabes?” Someone groans in protest from somewhere and you elect to ignore them. “Ew.”

“Just to make sure confidential information isn’t compromised in any way.” There’s a large bang that comes from the room they just left. Maybe one of them shot their teammate by accident. They were more than capable of doing it.

“I would never,” you exacted a little more solemnly, pushing the door open with your elbow to let the sunlight flood in.

“I know.” He doesn’t realise how dark it was in the warehouse until he steps out into the noon sun. “I’m pretty sure this is more about the fact that you were abducted.”

“For me?” The smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes the way he kinda likes. Something definitely felt off. “I love being class favourite.”

He doesn’t reply, a small grunt as he twists the handle of the warehouse door upwards, effectively jamming it. 

“Can I drive?” You bat your eyelashes at him innocently, disregarding the loud screaming that came from inside as those less injured probably regrouped for a last ditch attempt. 

“No,” he doesn’t hesitate in replying, handing you a helmet and buckling his own securely.

“But I just got kidnapped,” you complained, watching him swing a leg over the bike and straddle it. Okay then. 

“All the more reason for you not to drive right now.” He mentions for you to get on, squinting at the warehouse a few feet away.

“Fine, but next time I’m driving,” you grumble, climbing on the back.

“Do you even know how to?” His head is tilted to look at you from the corner of his eye, voice heavier on account of the obstruction on his face.

The door starts shaking violently and he knows for a fact that it won’t hold up for much longer. Some of those who he had knocked out probably had been shaken awake again for manpower. 

“I can learn.” You take a pause, mischief seeping into your next words. “You can teach me.”

“No.” He didn’t exactly practice what was considered safe, law abiding driving. He just got from one point to another and that’s all he cared about.

“Then I’ll do it myself.” You sound determined. “I’m going to leave a note for us in the lair.”

“You do that.” He revs the engine when something solid hits the metal door. As guessed, their usage of props to push it down faster was coming into play. “Now, can you hold on to something? We need to go.”

If only those idiots just realised that the windows covered by newspapers were right there, ready to be broken.

“Only if you promise to let me drive next time,” you say defiantly, drawing this whole ordeal out.

“Whatever,” he urges. “I promise. Now can we go?”

“Wait for it...” There’s a devilish smile on your face. “One.”

There’s a loud creak as the door finally gives way.

“Two.” The same people you left tied up in the room burst out, almost stumbling over each other in the process.

“Three,” he completes it on his own, not waiting for you to finish because God knows how long you’d stretch it out just for the drama.

Your excited screech of laughter as he narrowly misses a rod that gets thrown at him like a fucking javelin temporarily distracts him from the brain freeze he gets when your arms wind around his waist to hold yourself in place. 

There’s angry screaming and bullets that whiz past in an attempt to get him to stop but a swift turn around a corner, pulling the both of you out of their sight is enough to get rid of them. 

“We should get a few weapons and go back,” you yell over the wind rushing by, barely audible.

“You do that in your own free time,” he shouts in response, yanking you through narrower lanes and less popular streets.

“Maybe I will, you bore.” 

Still, you shut up for the rest of the ride, only grumbling when he stops the bike to tell you that no, you cannot let go just because you want to throw your hands in the air like in the movies.

You hop off when he finally pulls up on the street outside your lair, adrenaline still pumping through your veins. He waits patiently as you unbuckle the helmet, switching off the engine. 

“You gonna drop me off at my door too, now?” You snicker, fingers pulling off the helmet.

He looks at you for a second before dropping the kickstand into place and dismounting from the motorcycle.

“I was kidding.” You laugh, handing him your headgear that he shoves into his backpack. 

“You’re pretty capable of gettin’ abducted along the way.” An absurd notion, considering it’s a short path from the road to the door. 

“Oh, how chivalrous.” You let him tag along anyway, for his peace of mind. 

“My ma didn’t expect any less.” A couple of sharp lessons from Winifred Barnes and Bucky was nothing short of a damn angel. 

You knock on the door three times, crossing your arms over your chest as you waited. 

“Aren’t you the one with the key?” Bucky questions, one hand on his waist. 

The door swung open in the middle of his sentence revealing... you.

Another you.

“Nah, she has it.” Ex-Kidnapped-You raises your head in acknowledgement at Doorway-You.

“Ah.” He fucking knew it. An unnatural sense of smugness blossoms in his chest. 

“Hey,” the both of you said at the same time.

Doorway-You looked way more relaxed, a little less grimy and dishevelled but exactly the same.

“Buck, I see you met my other half,” the you from the doorway greets him. “Or other whole, actually.”

“Sure did.” He sends a glance at Ex-Kidnapped-You.

“You can go on in. Big first day, huh?” Doorway-You refers to the you beside him.

“You wouldn’t believe,” Ex-Kidnaped-You mutters, pushing past the entrance and disappearing inside.

“She gonna be okay?” His gaze trails after your clone.

“Oh yeah, just needs to recharge.” You turn around to make sure she’s fine. “She’s made of some pretty strong carbon, technically almost indestructible.”

No wonder ‘you’ said they couldn’t hurt you.

“Heya, sarge.” You draw his attention back to you. “Always good to see you.”

“Can’t really say the same about you.” 

“Ever the emotional repressor, Mr Barnes. I like this little leather show you got going, did ya wear it just for me?”

He shifts his balance to his other foot, feet slightly wide apart. “Take it that the clone machine finally worked?”

“I was in the middle of celebrating.” You sigh, recalling the events of that morning. “Teleported home for a second to get some champagne and when I came back she was gone.”

“Irresponsible.” He tsks, head shaking in disappointment. 

“Sorry I didn’t take amateur kidnappers into account for my risk factor analysis, Bucky,” you shoot back, pressing on his name for added annoyance. “Anyway, I did the responsible thing. I sent all the evidence I had to you guys.”

“Real clever.” Bucky looks at you in dry amusement. “Attack on the clone? Really?”

“Hey, always make time for a good pun.” You finger gun, lopsided grin on your face. “Did the team like it?”

“They thought it was a typo.” Or a code. He really had Wanda to thank for his big revelation. “Your video didn’t help either.”

“Don’t tell me they couldn’t make out it was me.” You laugh, crossing your arms over your chest.

He doesn’t reply, pursing his lip inwards in sympathy, but more so to conceal a smile.

The happiness drops from your face slowly, horror taking its place. “Don’t tell me they couldn’t make out it was me.”

“Good job, your machine worked,” he adds helpfully.

“C’mon, there were so many differences,” you whine, the success of your endeavour the last thing on your mind. 

“That is your literal clone,” he points out, only to see you- clone you- walk into the giant box in the corner of the room, bright green light emanating from it like a xerox machine.

“How could they not tell the original apart from a copy?” You look genuinely offended. Insane. “Not even Sam?”

“Guess you’re not unique enough.” A rise and fall of his shoulders signify his attitude towards this whole thing. “Think I like your copy better, too, actually.”

“You’re so mean.” You puff in disbelief. “I’m a 100% original. How many mad scientist teachers do you know?”

“Two.” 

“I don’t mean now, that’s not even the-” You poke at his rock hard chest. “You are so much more annoying than when I first met you.”

He thinks it’s good relationship development.

“I have to deal with you every weekend.” He watches your finger drop from his chest. “Picked it up along the way.”

“Boo hoo, talking like you don’t have deep, deep feelings for me.” You roll your eyes. “I see right through you, Bucky Barnes.”

“Can you see the part that couldn’t give less of a shit?” He gestures to himself. “It’s all of it.”

“You think you’re such a comedian, huh?” You narrow your eyebrows. “How did you know she was a fake then, huh?”

Busted.

“Probably ‘cause you didn’t talk as much today,” he dodges. “Actually had some peace of mind for a change.”

“You knew before you got there, you liar.” You push past his fabrications. “You figured it out before everyone else.”

“You literally put it in the title.”

“Yeah, but the rest of the team saw it too.”

“Rest of the team didn’t know you were building a goddamn clone machine for months.”

“You remembered that?” You pulled away, palm over your heart. “Oh, sarge, you paid attention to me.”

His nose twitches.

“You said it, like, eight hundred times.” He could use both his hands to count the number of references you had offhandedly made in the last three weeks alone.

“Why'd you go save me when you knew it wasn't real?” you continue to challenge relentlessly, knowing fully well that he was fibbing. 

“Because you fuckin’ peer pressured me. Had the whole team around me when you sent your little video during breakfast.”

“Just admit it,” you coo, ignoring all his justifications. “You noticed it was fake me right away but showed up anyway because you’re wildly in love with me.”

“No,” he says stiffly. 

“No as in you won’t admit it you have a crush on me, or no as in you didn’t know it was fake me?”

There was no winning this. 

“Good day to you.” He pulls the motorcycle helmet on to hide the expression that plain as day screamed the former of your two options.

“Also,” you bring up indignantly, “she even got to ride the fucking bike and I’ve been asking to drive it for months now!”

“We-” he chooses his words carefully. “-compromised.”

“Oh, you did?” Your voice lowers at the newfound information, interest piqued. “I’m gonna hold you to that then, whatever it is.”

“Doesn’t count.”

“Absolutely does,” you huff. “A promise is legally binding. Blue’s Clues taught me that.”

“Bye, Y/N.”

“You’re my knight in leathery armour,” you swoon, switching sides immediately, “Kinda.”

“See you next week,” he says in farewell, determined to leave before you made it worse. “Try not to get killed by then.”

“Why, so you can do it yourself? Protective much?” You pull him back when he starts walking away, laughing slightly. “Wait a second, you weirdo.”

He sighs, staying put anyway, arms crossed impatiently over his chest.

You pull out the pen tucked behind your ear and slowly tap him twice on each shoulder in a makeshift knighting ceremony. “For your sacrifice.”

He rolls his eyes at the ludicrousness, tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth.

You ignore his lack of enthusiasm, pressing your fingertips to your lips in a small kiss and then to his nose, given that it was the only part of his face you had access to.

“That was for your bravery.” You grin brightly at him and he sure as hell is glad he’s wearing the stupid helmet because he can feel his cheeks light up a bright crimson.

“Thanks.” His voice sounds gruffer than a second ago. He clears his throat.

“Now you’re my knight in leathery armour,” you fawn, nearly falling over yourself dramatically. “Let’s ride into the sunset together. I love you.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he calls out over his shoulder, turning away to return to his bike. “I despise you.”

“But you don’t.”

He really didn’t.

also i managed to fuck my phone up really bad so all proceeds from my ko-fi go towards getting it fixed

Next part

[dear-galileo]

you spin me right around

modern au!geraskier, written for the @thepassifloradiscord fic and art swap!

8.5k words, mature

read on ao3

“I am going to learn magic,” Jaskier declared into his phone. Triss, on the other end, made a noise of surprise. 

“Really? What brought this on? Oh, I can recommend you to one of my professors-”

“I am going to learn magic, and curse Valdo fucking Marx so that whenever he goes to sing, his dick gets smaller.”

“Is that his middle name?” Triss asked. Jaskier paused, already lost in a conversation that he had started. “Fucking? Valdo Fucking Marx? I can’t tell if his parents had great confidence in him, or simply hated him.”

“I’ve made the word cuck in my phone autocorrect to Valdo.” 

“I can’t imagine how often you text the word cuck.” 

“No, but it’s quicker to type that than Valdo Fucking Marx.” Jaskier said easily. Triss laughed, before composing herself. 

“Why are you cursing him? Or should I say, what did he do today?” 

“He’s into painting .” Jaskier revealed dramatically. He was currently walking through one of the many courtyards of Oxenfurt University. Having spent the past two years at this school studying music previously had granted Jaskier zero shame regarding freshmen overhearing his phone conversations. Let them be entertained, lord knows they need it. 

“He’s-” Triss hesitated on the other side of the phone. He could imagine her sitting at her desk in her dorm, twirling a pencil in one hand, her phone in the other. “He’s into painting? Isn’t that a good thing, since he would drop out of your music classes?”

“No.” Jaskier corrected. “He’s into painting alongside his music- he’s making art to represent his songs.” Triss hummed, and Jaskier could tell from the tone that she wasn’t getting the full picture. “Not only has he stolen three of my songs from freshman year and mangled them with his bloody fucking [__], but he’s making toddler-level finger paintings based off of them.” 

“I might need photographic evidence of these.” Triss said. 

“Already sent one to you. It looked like he shat himself on top of a canvas and called it art. I couldn’t bear to stand around and listen to his lecture on what it represented, so I got out when I could.” 

Triss’s laughter echoed through the phone as she checked the photo. “Dear Gods,” she said, putting the phone back to her ear. “That is truly terrible. But how is this magic worthy?” 

“He’s trying to one up me! I bet you he overheard that I am going for that internship at the record studio, and is trying to beat me out.”

“How would bad artwork help him in that case?” 

Jaskier threw up one of his arms, even though Triss couldn’t see him. A freshman with an overloaded backpack stared at him as she walked by. 

“Fucked if I know! But I refuse to let this slide by, I’ve got to do something.” Triss groaned. 

“No, every time you say you’ve got to do something, you end up doing something ridiculous that very much does not need to be done,” she complained. “And half the time you drag me into it.” 

“How many times must I apologize for setting you up on that fake date with him? I didn’t know he was going to spend the entire two hours at the movie talking.”

“You can stop apologizing when I can smell movie theater popcorn without cringing. He tried to hand feed me popcorn , Jask, that’s not something that one could easily forget. He has sweaty hands.”

“Which is why you were never sent on another spy mission- in fact, I gave up the spy missions sophomore year. That’s growth!” 

“If I didn’t know how much you genuinely hated this man, I would say just fuck him and get it over with,” Triss said with a barely suppressed sigh. This was a discussion that they have had before. 

“Getting back to the point-”

“Oh, goody, there’s a point,” Triss said dryly. Jaskier gasped loudly into the phone, just to get his feelings of betrayal across. 

“Rude! You are spending too much time with Yen. She’s a bad influence.” 

“I actually think that she would help you with the penis shrinking spell, if you gave her a good enough reason to.” 

Jaskier considered this for a moment, but Yen still scared him, even after half a year of her dating Triss, his best friend. 

“No, okay. I have to find another medium, and be better at it than Valdo is.”

“You are going to make shitty paintings?” Triss asked. There was movement on her side of the phone. “Oh- Yen’s here, I’m putting you on speaker.”

“Is he complaining about that greasy fuck again?” Yen’s voice distantly said. 

“Yes! He is!” Jaskier called. Yen’s scoff could have been a general one, or because of Jaskier talking about himself in the third person, it was too hard to tell through the phone. “Listen, so I can’t get into painting, a, because that’s too obvious, I would be blatantly stealing his idea, and b, that’s stupid.” 

“I doubt Valdo owns the market to making paintings based off of songs,” Triss started to say. 

“Hush, my lovely beautiful friend,” Jaskier cut her off. “I was going to try wood carving, but then I remembered the last time I held a knife in the kitchen, I managed to nearly chop off my entire hand, so that’s out. That means ice sculptures are out as well. Perhaps sandcastles?”

“We live nowhere near a beach.” Triss reminded him. Jaskier cursed, scowling. He was on his way across campus, back to his car to get to work, so he didn’t have the time to run back to his apartment to scavenge through his closet of abandoned crafts.

“I have an idea,” Yennefer said, suddenly very close to the phone. “Pottery.”

“Like the art of weed?” Jaskier asked, before remembering he was speaking to a very powerful mage who could create a portal to him to smack him, if she so wanted. Thankfully, Yen chose to ignore the joke. 

“Sculpting with clay. I have an old friend who runs a pottery studio in town. They do open house nights every week, where people can try to make their own pieces.” 

“It’s not a castle made out of fine sediment, but that might still do the trick.” Jaskier declared. “Triss, please kiss your lovely girlfriend for me as a thank you.”

“Please do not give me a kiss from Jaskier,” Yen said to Triss. “Is your problem solved? May I spend time with Triss now?” 

Jaskier made kissy noises into the phone until Yen got the point and hung up. A few minutes later, a text from Triss with an address and a name came through. It was just downtown, and thankfully not too far from his apartment. The name provided was Geralt, which the website unhelpfully gave no more information about. 

read the rest of ao3

[aforrestofstuff]

Chapter 150 Expert Review Time

Hey gamers, it's been a while. I'm on desktop and there's no autocorrect on this motherfucker so if you see a typo on this post, no you didn't. <3

I'm aware there's already a new chapter out as I'm posting this but listen, it's not my fault Murata clocks in at 80 hours a week of drawing ass, okay. A new chapter review will be coming. Not soon, but eventually.

There's a new martial arts technique that has never been brought up or alluded to before also I'm like 70% sure Garou's nuts are hanging out right now unless they got melted off sometime back in which case he can forget about having feral barnyard children. I didn't put any commas in that sentence on purpose.

I did say in a previous review that I wished this fight would result in more character development for both parties, Garou the disenfranchised teenager/monster/criminal/inventor of aggravated assault, and Bang the holder of the only Costco Senior Discount VIP card in the entire country, and my wish came true! All in all, it did have a bit of a rocky start, and while I thought Garou's nonverbal-ness was a mistake, it has really just given the opportunity for a more Silverfang-centric chapter. I'm glad for that. We've already seen enough of Garou's backstory while he was on his way to his 80th concussion, now it's time for the Early Bird Special motherfucker to shine.

The sudden reveal of Explosion Release Fist, while I do think is kinda thrown together, works in this case because it's not obvious ONE brought it out because he wrote himself into a corner, rather a catalyst for Silverfang's own backstory and redemption. I'm side-eyeing Fubuki's bullshit car battery healing powers so hard right now. I STILL THINK TANKTOP MASTER SHOULD'VE DIED BUT WHATEVER. AT LEAST THIS IS DONE BETTER.

*luke skywalker voice* THE SACRED TEXTS

I think that panel of Garou's shit-eating grin while reading the secret technique scroll is so funny. And since there's so much of it on the floor already... does Garou read 10000 words per minute or did Silverfang take like 8 days to get there?

Also, it's in this sequence we finally get a concrete reason for Garou actually fucking shit up at the dojo and leaving... and I was RIGHT.

Garou left due to Silverfang becoming a hero! And I think there's a bit of a miscommunication between them where Silverfang thinks Garou grew distant because he was away more often due to hero work, but I think most of it is because Garou automatically associates heroes with bullies and seeing Bang run with that crowd scared him off. He obviously walks through the world with both fists raised after his childhood, and he must've had a "get them before they get me" thought process that made him want to leave the dojo before Bang would inevitably betray him, as if just joining the Association wasn't already betrayal enough.

It's so good to see Bang wanna rectify things now. I always thought their master/caretaker/father figure and student/son/bastard relationship was really interesting, and while it's clear Silverfang is not good parental material, he still cares about Garou so much.

AND MAYBE GAROU CARES TOO??? Oh my god, my emotionally constipated string bean motherfucker. That's the closest thing we'll ever see to a tear on Garou's face.

Also, hold the fuck up wait why is his eye cracking LMAO his monster transformation just came with glasses I guess. Can't lose sight of those goals amen 🙏🙏🙏🙏

Garou: Ima be real with yall, I get no bitches! absolutely ZEE-RO play!

I was also right about Silverfang being a whore when he was younger but tbh nothing could prepare me for how Street Fighter these two motherfuckers look LMAO

Lots of parallels between young Silverfang and current Garou (except for Garou never getting an ounce of pussy in his life). For example-- body type, personality, fighting style (open hands, cockiness), these panels:

Gives me hope!! I know Garou rehabilitates eventually (sorta), but this just makes it so much more personal for Bang to see his disciple go down the exact same road and try his best to stop it. I'm so happy the manga provided us with this additional context to their relationship. And even when Bomb suggests for Bang to revert back to Explosion whatever Fist, he stays true to himself... which sets a high bar for Garou's inevitable redemption. I can't wait to see how that turns out. This fight/reunion has turned out pretty good so far!! But it's still not over, which leaves plenty of room for fuckups! Fingers crossed Bang doesn't fucking kill this teenager!

I do not see it. I do not see it. I do not see it. I do not see it. I do not see it. I do not see it. I do not

This Genos segment is tragic but we all know these two characters (Genos + Tatsumaki) have unbreakable plot armor and nobody's going to actually die so... unfortunately no tears have been shed on my end. Which sucks, because that's how I water my succulents. Anywho.

In conclusion: don't attempt to fistfight your 80-year-old martial arts master because then you'll be charged for elderly abuse! Garou has been sentenced to prison for 30 years. When he gets out, he will look exactly the same, because Murata is allergic to drawing middle-aged people who don't look 20.

[emilyoracle]

Hello hello and Happy WBW! I see you write about time travelers 👀 Tellus a little bit about how time traveling works AND about those "people who keep the timeline in check"? Who are they? How did they get put in charge of doing just that? -@athenswrites

The answers to these two questions are actually closely connected and asked in the perfect order! Haha

(Also holy shit this answer got away from me and is crazy long I'm very sorry everyone, I AM however trained as a historian so that's my excuse lmao)

So because this is sci-fi fantasy I don't actually delve too deeply into the scientific aspects of time traveling (sorry everyone! not my cup of tea!). But, essentially, there are people who are born "important" and whose existence or death (or both) directly affect history and the timeline in the way it is "supposed" to be. And then there are people who are born "unimportant" whose lives (or deaths) are completely inconsequential to time continuing as it's meant to. These unimportant people have the ability to time travel.

Unimportants (as they're called, to the absolute GRIEF of autocorrect) and their choices cannot affect history, if they were to live their life as normal. But they actually CAN affect history, quite drastically, by abusing their time travel.

In the past, LOADS of people could time travel but as the world has become more globally connected, less and less people are being born with the ability because the chances that SOMETHING in your life, whether it be an action or inaction or word or purchase or etc, has an affect globally, gets exponentially higher. As opposed to like, yknow, an ancient Roman peasant who doesn't leave their 3x3 mile community. And because past time travelers tended to be both 1. illiterate and 2. xenophobic, they often didn't use their time travel much or use it to much detriment. This changed around the start of the 18th century, when literacy and globalization was on the rise. Shit started hitting the fan, because it was a perfect storm with still plenty of people who could time travel, but they were usually also literate to some degree and much more adventurous and independent from their home communities, thus... havoc. The timeline was constantly being changed and bouncing from one direction to another. It created a rift in time, essentially a bubble that existed inside time itself, and every traveler got sucked into it. After some chaos, one person rose above it all and became a sort of leader, delegator, and a general consensus was formed that this person and a group of elected officials from each major region, would form a committee, a "Headquarters of Time," that would manage the actions and choices of travelers and prevent such insanity from happening again. Thus Headquarters was born.

I could go into further detail about how the "rift" in time works, how the Under Realm is actually a branch of HQ that split from them to go rogue in the 1800s, and the "founders" of HQ, etc, but um. This is already crazy long so I won't.

I'm sure you weren't expecting to open this bag of worms with your questions :D;; but thank you. Very little of this (or I guess, a very shallow version) is touched on in the story/narrative itself so it's fun to be able to talk about lol.

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

for @bend-me-shape-me 's SPN advent calendar 2020. prompt: phone calls and late night texts.

Cas isn't a serial texter.

And Dean's a-okay with it.

But for all that's worth, they sure seem to have a ridiculous amount of emotionally significant conversations via, or starting off as, texts. And most often, in the middle of the night.

*

>>> hello, dean. [12:07 am]

Dean jolts up at the sound, realizing he fell asleep still wearing his headphones, with the laptop on his lap (and a new episode of The Good Place playing) and rolls his eyes at himself, hitting pause before he can see what’s happening (because he has good reflexes, and because screw spoilers that’s why) and rummaging for his phone.

At this hour of the night, it has to be something important.

It doesn’t really strike him that Mechanical Engineering majors whose only other selfprofessed skill is air guitar aren't exactly the frontline warriors for midnight emergencies.

Cas's name shows up when he squints at the too-bright screen, and he sits up a little straighter.

<<< hey [12:09 am]

<<< you OK? [12:09 am]

The response is immediate.

>>> do you have peanut butter? [12:09 am]

And as if it's an afterthought, Cas adds.

>>> yes, I'm fine. how are you? [12:10 am]

Dean blinks.

<<< peachy. peanut butter? [12:10 am]

At least this time the response takes a while. Dean wonders if Cas realized it was midnight, and not exactly a time to run inventory on your best friend's stash of condiments.

>>> I ran out. [12:12 am]

Dean sighs, unable to help smiling.

It's not like he's a stranger to Cas's weird cravings when he's high. (There'd been this one time with pie and a traumatized Gas 'N Sip cashier that still sits heavy on Dean's conscience.) But he doesn't think Cas is supposed to be high right now — Dean's usually either invited or informed by an unspoken rule — which just means this is regular "jelly, not jam"-Cas, at his core a weird, persistently sleep-deprived economics major and astronomy nerd, that Dean may or may not have had a crush on for an embarrassingly long time, and who's also prone to grammatically perfect texting, deadpan, Disney references, and bluntness when the occasion calls for it.

<<< pretty sure i have some [12:14 am]

>>> :) [12:14 am]

>>> I'm coming over [12:14 am]

*

And weird as it may sound, that had turned out to be the night Cas told him he was gay. Said it had been a revelating moment, unprecedented and wholly unexpected — and apparently revelations come in pairs because it had been followed by an intense need for peanut butter, and the rest, he explained emphatically, was history.

Dean had just snorted, congratulated him, and brought out the fancier plates for sandwiches — shipped in from home instead of a sale at Target — all the while, repeating to himself in a loop, that this changed nothing between them, nothing at all, and Cas having the capacity to be attracted back to him didn't mean that he ever would be (or for hell's sake, he'd scoffed at his traitorous chick-flick-nonsense brain, is.)

*

The second time had been early — way, way too early and it was by pure chance that Dean was awake to respond at six friggin' am on a Sunday. Like, that’s practically nighttime. 

Goddamn stupidly-fit running-freak.

Dean picks up his phone blearily, tongue in cheek as he clicks on it.

>>> I miss you [6:28 am]

>>> I'd* miss you [6:29 am]

Dean's stomach twists, and he's not sure if it's in a good way, or a bad way, or what-the-sincere-fuck-are-you-talking-about way.

<<< what [6:32 am]

<<< wtf are you talking about? [6:32 am]

Nothing.

<<< cas? [6:33 am]

<<< dude [6:34 am]

<<< cas???? [6:34 am]

Dean swears at his screen, more queasy than irritated. He can't stop fidgeting, so gives up on lying down altogether and hoists himself to his feet. Better to get his friggin' toothbrush since he's already up, and now definitely awake. Cas was so paying for this later.

He comes back, mouth mint-fresh in theory but still tasting awful and of fear and dread, and practically sags when he sees his screen blare with two messages from Cas.

>>> sorry, I had to make a call. [6:42 am]

>>> I'm not taking the job. [6:42 am]

*

And that's how Dean finds out about Michael (Cas's oldest brother, entitled asshole) inviting Cas to join his and Lucifer's (second oldest, bag of dicks) firm the year he graduates — invite, of course, being a loosely used word here for expecting it blindly (out of some crap he calls 'loyalty') and being readily willing to manipulate him into it.

And it's how he finds out that Cas turned them down.

"It's not who I am anymore." Cas had repeated, third time probably, and surer than before, and Dean had nodded earnestly before realizing Cas couldn't see him through the phone, and humming his affirmation instead. "And if I go back there, I'm never getting out again."

Dean'd swallowed.

"I don't want to." Cas had said, voice trembling. "I am — my own person here. It shouldn't be like this but this is the first time I have autonomy, Dean. Here is free will, and here are you. I don't — I can't. I'm not going to let them take it away."

"Good." He'd sounded shaky to even himself. "Don't."

"Yes." Cas had promised. "I'm not going."

*

And eventually they'd moved past the heavy talk into why-didn't-I-hear-about-this-before territory, Dean being righteously annoyed at his best friend for keeping something so huge from him, and Cas making lame (but probably valid) excuses in the name of not knowing how to explain the situation until he knew himself what he was going to do, because Dean may've been the first person he'd confided in about the insane fuckery that been his childhood and adolescence, but that still didn't mean he'd understand this, broken and convoluted.

And then Cas had nicely segued himself out of Dean's target of irritation and added, "They asked Gabriel too, by the way."

"And?" Dean didn't ever have much care for Gabriel (third oldest brother, cares about Cas, still a jerk) but Cas shared an apartment with him, so he had to face him plenty.

"He's running off to Miami."

And Dean had thrown his head back and laughed until Cas had smoothly added, "And I was wondering if you would consider moving in with me." 

At which point, of course, he'd started coughing instead, because holy shit, it actually made sense (Sammy had left for Stanford two months back, and Dean lived alone in a space that had probably been two big even when there were two of them) and might actually happen, but Dean wasn't really sure how much longer he'd be able to hide his crush, sharing a friggin' kitchen with the guy.

*

The third time's after their first date.

(Because, well. It happened.

It happened with Dean leaning across the breakfast table to prove to Cas his bacon was superior (to cookie friggin' crunch, because goddamn is Cas a dork) and Cas taking a bite with their eyes fixed on each other's, and Dean turning red when Cas licked his lips and then, just like that, Cas swearing under his breath (definitely filed for later pondering, that bit), grabbing Dean, and kissing the living daylights out of him.

And Dean had kissed back with everything he had, hands cupping his face, and nearly melting in his arms - but then they'd separated for air and Cas had had an apologetic look on his face and when Dean had tried to lean in to kiss it away, he'd received half a smile and a shake of his head.

"Let's do it the way we're supposed to."

And Dean had known immediately what he'd meant. Let's not fuck this up by becoming best friends and roommates who sleep together. Let's...play safe.

"Okay. Uh," he'd rubbed the back of his neck. "Would you like to go on a date with me?"

"Thursday." Cas had promised with twinkling eyes, though Dean had already known he was going to say that since he knew Cas’s week at least as well as he knew his own, and two days and an anxious half of a thursday later, they went on their first date. Burgers and beer, and Led Zepp, and hands held in the Impala. Four hours later, they were back, and in their respective rooms, and Dean couldn't stop thinking about Cas.)

When his phone vibrates, Dean reaches for the bedside table.

It's at least midnight, it feels like he's been in bed for ages, and the only reason he isn't asleep is because all his brain seems to be capable of at the moment is thinking endlessly about the date. Fortunately, he's not the only one — although he's better at hiding it (practise, he'd say) because his heart is in his mouth the moment he reads Cas's text.

>>> I think I'm falling in love with you [11:43 pm]

>>> already. [11:43 pm]

Dean is very grateful for autocorrect as he types back with too-excited thumbs and a racing heart.

<<< so much for doing it the regular way cas mosby [11:44 pm]

>>> in my defense, it's been years. [11:44 pm]

<<< that part i get [11:44 pm]

<<< me too [11:44 pm]

<<< but youre supposed to wait three days before calling dumbass [11:45 pm]

Jesus, he'd never expected to blush cause of texts, but here they are.

>>> I'm texting. [11:46 pm]

And he guesses he'd never expected to giggle (he's alone there, sue him) cause of them either, but Cas apparently exists to prove him wrong about himself.

<<< good for you [11:46 pm]

He sends, biting his lip, and then lies in the silent darkness for a couple of minute, devoid of text notifications entirely, thinking uneasily — before he gives up.

They're idiots, sure, but nobody is this dumb.

<<< so when the fuck are you coming over then [11:50 pm]

>>> on my way <3 [11:50 pm]

And thinking about the lightening speed of that reply and the fucking heart emoji is enough to sustain him the entire one minute it takes Cas to get there, gently opening Dean's door, and climbing into bed — fitting in Dean's space like it's been made for him, and kissing him in greeting after leaving his phone on the table next to Dean's.

*

As it goes, with the confessions and the midnight cravings (and the grocery lists that keep getting piled onto through the day, and random pickup lines Cas decides are perfect to send Dean daily once he's found a website for puns, courtesy of Claire, and of course, pictures of Grease, which clog Dean's cloud in dozens whenever the ridiculously cute cat does something even slightly out of routine, god bless her lazy soul) Cas might just be a texter.

But Dean's pretty sure he's more than okay with it, so it doesn't really matter.

[gisellelx]

I have just seen your response regarding the Cullen linguistics and when I thought I couldn't love it more, I quickly found your theory regarding their changing terminology. (Your mind is beautiful!!!)

By your own admision, you mentioned it would be reeeeally rare for Carlisle to swear. Do you have any ideas for what kind of behaviour causes each individual to curse?

(And not just, for eg, Bella's general existence)

You're so sweet, @youareonlyastory! My mind is actually dead at this time of year, so I've turned it to vampires for awhile to reboot it. 🥰

(Prev vampire linguistics post)

Some of the characters I've thought about more than others, but here are some observations.

Easy: Jasper and Emmett. Emmett is the only one who swears in canon (“Damn you’re a mess”), and if you extrapolate that there’s lots we don’t see in canon plus that dialogue != real speech, it’s a hop skip and a jump to these two swearing a lot. They are the ones who are the most like to get into it over nothing and suddenly get deep into a very mouthy exchange until someone notices Esme standing there, wide-eyed. She's heard it all by this point, but they still hang their heads and say "oops, sorry" when it's her listening. Jasper swears using more slang original to his era, but fuck, piss, damn, were all already quite common. Emmett is playful and outgoing and likely picks up new slang pretty readily, so he's more likely to use some of the newer constructions like flying fuck or fuckin 'a, or ADJ/ADV as fuck.

Also pretty easy: Edward. I really need to re-read [ETA: oooh that was an autocorrect error in the original post--it turned "reread" into "read" which are not the same thing. I've read that sucker, it's just painful to read it again.] Midnight Sun again just to be on top of it but I keep opening it and putting it down because that boy's head is hard to read. One gets the sense in the original saga that he's a bit stuck up but holy cow, when you’re in his POV it is painful how conceited he is. So Edward swears very little. He thinks casual swearing is beneath him. He swears when things are truly dire, like with the van. He occasionally trades a few words with his brothers and they treat him like a kitten who is hissing at them when he does.

Bella: grew up in peak fuck patois generation and should be a big f-bomb user. However, most of her language comes from the kinds of books she reads--she's a wallflower who hasn't spent much time hanging around her peers. So she knows the words, but doesn't use them very often, especially compared to other women her age. You get a bit of her annoyance with Lauren in the books, and to a lesser extent Jessica; even though she thinks of herself as uninteresting, she also thinks of some of her classmates as vapid. She's going to distance from them linguistically just like she does socially.

Rosalie: Thinks its unladylike and beneath her, much like Edward. She didn't swear as a human and pretended to be scandalized, and she doesn't do it much as a vampire. Emmett can coax her to play with it a little bit when she's hunting or working on cars. And I'm inclined to take an out-of-universe explanation that the Twilight saga was written by someone who doesn't herself swear much if at all, and was written at the beginning of the surge of YA, when people were much more circumspect about what kinds of language belonged in YA books, for the explanation why we don't see her ever think will you fuck off? to Edward in Midnight Sun. I imagine she swears at him in her head with some regularity.

Alice: Alice is hard. She's very fun loving, which means she's pretty likely to embrace new language. And she has no memory of who she was before, so she's not influenced by ideas of what she needed to be as a human, unlike Rosalie, who is still very much clinging to that high society debutante identity. She's much freer to explore. So my guess is she can get up to it with the boys, but probably doesn't usually.

Renesmee: Sounds like a GenZ-er. It drives everyone crazy. In addition to swearing, she uses things like sus and "girls gays and theys" and definitely went through a "yolo" phase. She's constantly trying to figure out where she fits, and trying on all the latest language is a big part of that.

Carlisle: swears with his sons, mostly over sports. Many of the newer terms don't even feel like swearing to him, so he thinks it's funny to try them out. There's a line in one of my short stories where I decided for writing purposes that the best narration was to just say "Carlisle cracked one far into right field and informed them both that they could do something to his genitals that left them with their mouths hanging open." I have a very clear idea of what it was that he said, though and it was shocking. Trash talking with his sons makes him feel young and light.

He swears in anger only when extremely exasperated, usually with Edward, and that's when you get the 17th century swears.

Esme: Largely does not swear. She is moderately amused when Carlisle trash-talks the boys, and just shakes her head disapprovingly at him. She's learned to use a little bit of language in bed, though it happens at intervals best measured in years. When she does, she and Carlisle both find it sexy.

Or is that "they find it sexy AF"? 😉

Thanks for the ask!

[pseudofaux]

You said hc requests/asks were open so here goes! My ask is regarding Ikemen Vampire Vincent and body painting. Would he try it on a SO if they asked? His thoughts? Really I just want to fulfill a gloriously messy and beautiful paint encounter because who wouldn't want to roll around in pretty (non-toxic I hope) paints with a lover? Sweet abs horny, please. Thanks for writing Pseu! Much love. :)

They were, and I’m so happy you came and asked! ♥️♥️ This will be fun!

(I think that “sweet abs horny” was an autocorrect, my phone has done me similarly flirty-dirty, BUT it’s one of the greatest autocorrects of all time because now I am thinking—and I hope everyone else is, too— about Vincent’s sweet abs making his SO horny and... YUM. 🍽 #relatable)

Shady mentioned that “SO” was used on purpose and expressed a preference for a gender neutral character interacting with Vincent here, so that everyone could enjoy reading. What a galaxy-brained sweetheart! I couldn’t think of a way to answer this through headcanons, so it’s just a short one-shot. It turned out soft but definitely intimate and I’ve put it behind a cut.

Would he do it? Short answer: Yes. Of course! He’s a Cybird character.

Long answer...

“Are you sure you wouldn’t mind the mess?” he asks, looking like he wants to follow you on this adventure like so many others, but hesitant for your sake, too. When you tell him you wouldn’t mind at all, and get close enough to whisper to him that you’d really like to try it, actually, he smiles in his sweet way and asks, “Now, then?”

He goes to his cabinet of paints and supplies and brings over one palette and two brushes with thick tips, their deep brown fibers ready for paint. But he sets them down on the worktable beside you without satisfying the brushes just yet and reaches for the buttons of your shirt instead. “Is this alright?” he whispers. After you nod, his fingers touch the first button and work it back out of the buttonhole below your throat. “You smell so nice at this time of day,” he says absently as he works at the other buttons, “I think it’s something about the sunshine...” Vincent tugs the tails of your shirt free and helps you pull your arms free, then folds it up and sets the fabric beside the wide upper curve of the palette on the table.

You ask if you can get his shirt, because you are equals and partners and often mirror each other in this, but he smiles and shakes his head. “Just watch, this time,” he says. “Get to know your canvas.” Then he lowers his eyes and reveals himself to you as his own shirt opens and is removed. You already know that he is beautiful but you rarely have such clear permission to look... so you take it, gladly. Your canvas is worthy of knowing indeed, with very fine hidden hairs of golden cornsilk just above the lower edge formed by his trousers. And there’s a topography to your workspace, dips and valleys you’ve been blessed to touch before, but never with so much freedom and artistic intention.

You ask if it’s alright to touch, voice quiet on purpose but slightly hoarse without you meaning it to be. The words catch in your throat on their way into the air, fearful they may disturb the moment. But Vincent nods even as he’s folding his shirt, and says “Always, of course,” and that’s enough to pull your fingers to him, your north and your dear one, and lay your palm against the muscles of his belly— your canvas, you remind yourself. His body comes toward your hand when he breathes, like you are where his compass points, as well. Your hand slides up and curves to make a circle over his chest and midsection, strong and beautiful. It’s enough to just marvel at him for a moment and fill your eyes with the ways he is lovely, the warmth of him beneath your palm.

What about the paint, you whisper, but you do not look at the paint. You are still very focused on your canvas. “The paint,” he says. “Yes. I... brought cerulean and saffron. I thought... we could...” he trails off and the incomparable blue of his eyes finds yours and looks for reassurance. He seems to find it, because he takes two deep breaths and goes on, his gentle boldness thrilling you as it always does. “When they combine,” he continues, looking at you directly now, telling you something important, “they form beautiful greens. I want to—” he takes another steadying breath—“I want you to paint me, and I want to paint you, too, like you asked. These colors will be so beautiful together. Won’t you mix them with me?”

What are you to say to that earnestness and bravery but yes, of course. And he raises your hand to his mouth to kiss, then guides it to a brush. The swirls and stripes you paint on each other do indeed mix as you press together in the moments that follow, creating a lush, senseless verdancy you are grateful for the chance to know.

(It makes a mess that stains the clothes you left on before you are done, and you cannot get it all off of you with only the supplies in his studio. So you wear the remnants of it underneath your shirts for the rest of the afternoon, a secret spring against your skin.)

[xxm1m1kyuxx]

korekiiyo shiingujii ana1ysiis

spoii1ers for ndrv3!

iit’s quiite hard to wriite 1iike thiis wiith autocorrect on, so from the 1iine break be1ow ii wii11 not be usiing my typiing quiirk Σ(･口･)

word count (exc1udiing author’s notes): 1,611 words

tota1: 1,717 words

for siimp1iiciity's sake, ii've done thiis on computer so that there's not a wa11 of text

~*~

"You wonder, "Who is this?" Yes... I shall make that clear first. My name is Korekiyo Shinguji... I am called the Ultimate Anthropologist."

~*~

Hello everyone, my name is Milo, and today I’ll be doing my best to cover one of my favorite characters in the Danganronpa universe, Korekiyo Shinguji. He is originally from the 3rd mainline game, New Danganronpa v3: Killing Harmony. Since I don’t physically own the game, I’m basing most of this essay entirely on the Danganronpa Wiki page for Shinguji. Please read that if you desire a more lengthy look at his actions from an unbiased perspective since this one leans more towards empathy than hatred. Whoops!

We first properly meet him after talking to everyone else inside of Hope’s Peak. He’s in the main hall and standing away from the doors leading out to the courtyard. When he introduces himself, Shinguji goes on to talk about anthropology and the beauty of humanity. This proceeds to creep Akamatsu out.

Alongside that, in Chapter 3, we are unfortunately forced to see his relationship with his sister. It’s weird and only gets weirder if you spend two of your Free Time events talking to him when you first play as Akamatsu. He’s evaluated that all girls present at the academy would be great “friends” for his sister, barring Iruma and Harukawa. This is because Shinguji believes that Harukawa doesn’t believe in the power of love, and Iruma is just… well, she’s Iruma. Hardly the girl you would want to send home to your parents.

This weird incest plotline is unfortunately present in most Danganronpa games, such as Leon and his cousin (though one-sided on his cousin’s behalf; he didn’t like her), Tsumugi in the Love Hotel (if you consider that canon), and Monotaro & Monophanie (which is then implemented into Gokuharu’s execution, killing them both).

His sister’s name is never disclosed in-game or in any other Danganronpa media, so the fandom dubbed her “Miyadera/Miyatera,” which is an alternate way of reading Shinguji’s last name. The miya character - represented as 宮 - and tera character - 寺 - are both present in Shinguji, 真宮寺. For the rest of this essay/paper, I’ll be referring to his sister as Miyadera, and himself as Shinguji.

I’ll be getting deeper into his mischaracterization later on, but I want to talk about his appearance for now. Mainly, his hair, his mask, and the lipstick he wears. From what we see of Miyadera in Shinguji’s execution, if that is Miyadera at all, we can see that she had long hair, and when Shinguji was turned into a ghost, it was the exact shade of Shinguji’s hair. From here, we can assume that Miyadera looks exactly, if not similar, to Shinguji.

His lipstick and mask are results of representations of his tulpa, Miyadera. Tulpa is defined as “a concept in mysticism and the paranormal of a being or object which is created through spiritual or mental powers.” In much simpler terms, it is an object or living thing that was created/imagined through spiritual/mental abilities. Shinguji gained a tulpa by being beaten half to death by villagers shortly after arriving there. When he was in a state between life and death, he saw his sister, who joined his subconscious and took control of his body whenever his mask was off. It’s why we only see him take off his make once Saihara dubs him the culprit of Chapter 3, and why his voice suddenly took a more feminine tone. A quote from Miyadera, which can be found in the game, is, "Sweet Korekiyo, calm yourself... Their words are all hollow. There is no meaning to any of them... You must teach these ignorant children a lesson."

That statement can be interpreted two ways, one; that she’s trying to calm him down and two; she’s repeating whatever she said to him during childhood. It’s implied that Miyadera passed away from disease sometime before Killing Harmony takes place, which is both a good and bad thing. It’s great because then we have some time frame of how she was and how she acted when Shinguji knew her best.

Whenever I read the quote above, or any of her quotes, to be honest, I am filled with a sense of dread, or even, despair. The following quote especially makes me feel terrible; "Calm yourself, Korekiyo. You mustn't raise your voice. You mustn't stutter. You mustn't lose composure. You mustn't become flustered. You mustn't waver. Look at their horrid faces. This sorry lot is not worth agonizing over."

Have you noticed how she’s setting guidelines on how to defend himself? She’s turning Shinguji’s attention away from Saihara and the trial and to her because she knows that Shinguji trusts her even after all these years.

You might be wondering, “Milo, what the hell does that all have to do with Shinguji?” And I’ll tell you plain and simple: he was abused by Miyadera. Shocking, I know. Having Shinguji rave and rant about being in love with her, only to be a victim? Sadly, it’s very true indeed. Shinguji was most likely groomed and gaslighted into thinking that Miyadera loved him when that was not the case.

Gaslighting is defined as, “[to] manipulate (someone) by psychological means into questioning their own sanity.” From the two quotes I provided, it doesn’t seem to make sense. Miyadera only sounds like a kind, worrisome older sister. Incorrect, I say. She’s emotionally gaslighting him, trying to make him believe that the trial makes no sense and he shouldn’t worry about any of them. I can also bet she used this tactic to control him as a younger person as well.

It’s a well-known fact that children are both impressionable and gullible. If an older sister figure came up to you as a child and told you to do unmentionable things, unfortunately, you might follow her directions. Shinguji states that his sister was a sickly girl who often stayed in the hospital. When she would come home, he’d be at his easiest to manipulate. Why would his dear, sweet, sickly, older sister ever lie to him?

Next, I’m going to be covering his relationships with other students, namely Shuichi Saihara and Rantaro Amami. These will delve further into spoiler territory, so if you didn’t already read the warnings I put in place, here is your extra warning for spoilers for Chapter 3 of Killing Harmony.

To start with, I’ll be exploring his poorer relationships first. Most of the girls fit into this category, namely Iruma, Harukawa, Chabashira, and Yonaga - that means he has a terrible standing with four of the eight girls present at the beginning of Killing Harmony, five if you count Yumeno’s way of dealing with Chabashira’s murder. Shinguji even taunts her once they solve that mystery, stating, “Let me guess, you’ll never forgive me. Himiko, you must hate me so very much right now. Maybe you’d feel better if I was executed by Monokuma…”

Shinguji has a poor relationship with Iruma and Harukawa due to seeing them as “unfit” to be “friends” with Miyadera. He has a poor relationship with Chabashira because he’s a degenerate male, but he still thinks she made a good friend for his sister. His poor relationship with Yonaga is shown in Chapter 3 when Yonaga forms the student council. Once again, I’m making amends to some parts of the characters. I’ll be referring to Yonaga’s god as God, simply because Atua is an actual Polynesian god in real life. Shinguji doesn’t worship any god, and so wants to study Yonaga’s God purely for anthropologic purposes. This displeases Yonaga, who then states that God's business hours are closed for the day. In Chapter 3 when Yumeno brings up Yonaga’s God, he simply asks whether or not they’re done talking about it, cementing his distrust in faith.

Next, I’ll cover his better relationships. Akamatsu isn’t too terribly creeped out by him and instead sees Shinguji as a kind guy who cares about his sister. Akamatsu even apologizes for saying that Shinguji would be into inc*st, this event either taking place in his first or second Free Time event. I’m saving his and Saihara’s relationship for last since I’ll have the most to write about then. Instead, please enjoy the news that in the events of Ultimate Talent Development Plan (UTDP for typing purposes), Shinguji and Amami are actually great friends. In Amami’s first free time event, he tells Akamatsu that Korekiyo has a strong personality, but she’ll be able to understand him plenty if she takes time to. It’s also stated that Amami emphasizes that Shinguji is also the calm and clever type.

Lastly, I’ll be exploring his relationship with Saihara. It’s slightly rocky, if only because Shinguji hasn’t let go of his sister yet, but it’s miles better than his relationship with Chabashira. Slight side note before we begin, I’ll be discounting the Love Hotel scene mostly because I’m a minor and I don’t feel completely comfortable having to watch that simply because I’m writing an analysis. As the game progresses to Chapter 3, Shinguji and Saihara have built trust between themselves. While Saihara still found Shinguji creepy, he [Saihara] never discounted him simply for existing. There was even a point where Shinguji offered to help Saihara communicate with Akamatsu from beyond the grave, though he was turned down.

Korekiyo Shinguji is a misunderstood and somewhat tragic character who usually gets disregarded and uncredited all because people do not like him. However he’s not an “uwu soft twamatized bean <3” either. He’s a strong character who has questionable morals at best and a terrible representation of an abused character at worst.

~*~

thank you for readiing!! p1ease make sure to get a hea1thy amount of s1eep and that you do have a cup of water and some food, you deserve iit!!

sources:

- https://danganronpa.fandom.com/wiki/Korekiyo_Shinguji

- https://www.quotev.com/story/7873923/Danganronpa-Class-Trials/73 (siide note: how fucked up iis iit that ii was on1y ab1e to fiind a transcriiptiion of the triia1 on quotev)

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hi, can I request a first year boys + MC headcanon their group chat? For example, there would be someone who would send several memes, who would constantly complain about the dorm leader, etc. Sorry for my English, it's not my first language

It’s okay, your English is fine!

First years, group chat headcanons coming right up. I’ll also throw in a Grim headcanon as a freebie. (Bonus points if you can tell what Grim’s autocorrected message actually means.)

On a slightly related side note, those Twisted Wonderland Line stickers are super cute and I demand an expansion line to include all of the characters.

Curiouser and Curiouser...

Ace Trappola...

...is the one that does all of the annoying things you can imagine doing in a group chat.

He spams.

He speaks in owo.

He posts shitty memes.

He rings up the whole group chat only to say one thing to make his mic peak and then immediately hang up.

Deuce Spade...

...is the one that constantly shares cute content, ranging from fluffy art work to cute animal videos.

He especially loves sharing videos of baby chicks hatching, no matter how many times Ace complains, “Haven’t we already see this before like 20 times?!”).

Not gonna lie, Deuce is also the type to post those chain messages (you know, the ones that go “Send this to X number of people by X date and you’ll get eternal happiness” or something), and he totally believes they’re real.

Jack  Howl...

...is the one that only writes in the group chat when he deems it necessary. You can only summon him with a ping, and he will immediately ignore you if it isn’t for an urgent matter.

Also, he actually uses proper spelling, punctuation, and grammar.

Jack has better things to do, like study or work out. Plus, as Jack often points out to the rest of the first years, can’t they just meet up to talk or hang out instead of doing it over the phone?

Seriously, kids these days.

Epel Felmier...

...is the one that sounds like a completely different person in the group chat than he does in real life.

I mean, he barely speaks when you see him in person.

Epel is going absolutely feral in the group chat, dropping slang words and curses and complaining about everything he’s kept inside for so long.

Sebek Zigvolt...

...is the one that types in all caps. Not because he doesn’t know how to turn the caps lock off, but because he feels he needs to use all caps to properly convey his emotions. Also, he feels like this encourages people to actually look at and read what he wrote.

He spams a lot of emojis, too (mostly because he thinks they look nice and help to illustrate his points). Especially if the topic at hand is Malleus.

~ BONUS ~

Grim...

...tries to type in the group chat, but his paws always smash multiple keys at once and the end result looks like absolute gibberish.

He also makes a lot of errors thanks to autocorrect, but never bothers to fix them--so everyone just thinks Grim really does want to “duck Croak lee fever leaf ring us two root front decking with onion broods”.

Despite this, he insists that “something like this won’t deter the great Grim-sama!” and he keeps trying...