#ignore the extremely visible signs of where i got lazy

[texastendy-29]

cherry red turns heads

———

closeups

10 hours and 73 layers later i finally finished this piece i need to take a walk

[blubberingmess]

[Beautiful]

Pairing: Bucky x plus size!reader

No plot, just your average normal smut :)

Warning: smut (m/f), slight dirty talk, daddy kink, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, cunt slapping, a very short thought about anal, unprotected sex (I can't rhyme, but yeah, use condom, kids.)

There's no denying at the fact that bucky loves his women thick, has a bit more meat on their bones. But what's more beautiful than a big curvy woman? Big curvy woman with confidence. It's a big turn on for Bucky, seeing a woman flaunting her beautiful assets without giving a single fuck to whoever tries to say otherwise.

So the moment Bucky met you, he just knew he'd be a total goner.

Your 'I don't give a fuck' personality, your body, the way you move, the way you carry yourself, it's everything Bucky ever wanted to a woman. How your chin is always held up high like a queen, It's beautiful - you're beautiful.

And you're his.

"Damn Bucky, your girl's looking good." Sam whistled in appreciation as the three of them-- Bucky, Sam, and Steve-- look over and saw you chatting with the rest of the guests.

You're wearing a luxurious red bodycon dress that hugs your curves, it also makes your ass look good than they already are, while also wearing those black stilettos that Bucky loves so much.

Bucky grins with pride at the awe look in his friends' faces, chuckling to himself. "What are you talking about? She always does."

It's true. No matter what you wear or if your hair is all over the place and looking like someone just ran over you (morbid, I know), you're still the most gorgeous human being Bucky had ever laid his eyes upon.

While Sam and Steve continues back on conversing about something Bucky don't really give a damn about, his eyes are fixated on you. Traveling up and down your round form like a predator hungry for his prey, unconsciously licking his lips when you down the rest of your drink.

How did he became so lucky?

You gave the guest a smile before turning your head towards the table where you know Bucky is seated, and saw him already has his eyes at you. Heart skipping a beat at the lovesick expression on his face, a look you know is solely meant for you.

"I have to go," you said to the guest without looking at them. Walking towards your man, purposely made your walk slow and teasing. He watched you with a hungry glint in his eyes as you made your way towards him, biting his bottom lip at the way you sway your wide hips from side to side. Sam and Steve already know what's going on and decided to leave the table to go to the bar instead, good for them.

You flashed your boyfriend a playful grin, placing both of your hands on his broad shoulders, unconsciously (or not) giving him an eyeful of your cleavage.

"Hi."

"Hi." He chuckled, grabbing your plump waist and giving it a gentle squeeze. "You look beautiful in that dress, baby."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He then smirks. "But I rather see you without one right now."

You were about to open your mouth to tease him back when the music started blaring to a more upbeat song, a female voice calling for your name after. Breaking your gaze from Bucky, you saw Wanda waving her hand at you from the dance floor with Natasha on her side.

'Dance with us' Natasha mouthed.

You jerked your head down to Bucky, silently yelling at them in your head 'I'm busy!' Hoping they'd get it which they did, but sadly, didn't care as the two gave you puppy eyes.

Chuckling, you took a step back from Bucky, a frown visible on his face. "We'll finish this later."

He groans, leaning his head back. "You're a fucking tease, you know that?" You only winked as a response before making your way towards your two girl friends, while the dance floor started to be filled with dancing bodies.

Bucky is now left sitting there, feeling a bit annoyed from the interruption and also extremely aroused. He sighed, his pants that had tighten by just a small amount of time from your teasing, taking a sip of his champagne.

Nope, Bucky thought. I can't take this anymore.

The heated gaze you'd sent his way for the past twenty minutes while biting that kissable lip of yours, all while sexily grinding with the Wanda and Natasha to the beat of the music. It's all sent his body on fire, specifically, down south.

You just love torturing him don't you? Love how you can make him squirm and growl possesively at the sight of you, taking pride of every second of it.

Bucky slammed his third glass of champagne on the table before sauntering towards your dancing figure, pretending you didn't just saw the way he looks at you from afar.

"Hello ladies, can I borrow my girl real quick?"

You gave Bucky a knowing look while he just innocently smile in return, both knowing it'll be far from quick - maybe the whole night and early morning. Without actually waiting for a response from the two, Bucky practically dragged you away from the party by the wrist and in the elevator.

As soon as the elevator door closed, he slammed you to the wall and smashes his lips against yours heatedly. You moaned when you felt his tongue slithered inside your mouth, easily gaining dominance.

"Thought I didn't noticed your teasing, baby girl? Dancing in that pretty little dress of yours - fuck." Bucky groans, harshly squeezing your ass before letting go and giving it a nice slap.

It felt like hours before the door finally opens. Bucky, like the impatient man he is, crouched down carries you on his shoulder, his flesh hand not leaving your ass.

"Can't wait to fuck this ass," Bucky whispered to himself.

You both haven't talked about trying anal yet, but neither of you are against. Who knows? It might happen sooner or later, depends on how tempting you look - which is every fucking day.

He got to his door and hastily opens it, slamming the door shut with the heel of his shoe.

You giggle when he unceremoniously laid you down on the bed making you slightly bounce. He gave you a quick yet sweet peck on the lips before kneeling down on the edge of the bed.

You immediately strip out from your dress, leaving your body exposed with nothing but your lacey panty and your stilettos.

For Bucky, everything suddenly stilled as his eyes trails the length of your body, absorbing the sight in front of him. From his view, Bucky could see the wet mark in the middle of your panty, a clear sign that his baby is aroused and it's all because of him - just for him.

Gorgeous, Bucky thought to himself. Absolutely stunning.

Bucky snapped out from his lovesick daze the moment he saw you roll your hips against the mattress, silently begging him to do something - anything.

"It's okay, baby. I gotchu," he whispered as he began stripping off his clothes, giving you show. Slowly pulling off his coat and unbuttoning his shirt.

"I'm gonna fuck you so hard the only word that'll be coming out of your mouth tonight is my name." And it's not Bucky.

He smirks when he heard you let out a small moan, pulling his shirt off completely and kicking off his shoes. "You like the sound of that, baby girl? Bet you fucking do."

"Please Bucky."

"Patience, sweetheart." Was his only response before scooting down so he's now facing your clothed pussy, groaning as he inhaled your sweet scent.

"Fuck. Smell so good." He hooked his finger on your panty and moved it to the side. The sight of your glistening pussy made his cock twitch, already feeling the arousal forming at the tip.

"Bucky, please, I can't take it-- oh~" a pornographic moan escaped your lips as Bucky latches his whole mouth on your clit, sucking on it harshly while simultaneously using his tongue to rub the nub.

"F-Fuck, yeah, that's it." You gasped as he let go of your clit for a moment just to lick a fat strip from your entrance to the top, before once again latching his soft pink lips around your clit, sucking on it harshly like a pacifier.

"So good - yes! Yes! Yes!"

One of the things that you love about Bucky is that he doesn't half-assed on pleasuring you, making sure you're satisfied wether it's a quick fuck or a long hours of love making. He will eat you out like a starved man, temporarily ignoring the very strong urge to just slam you down and drill into you like he wanted.

He will always put you first.

Bucky sat back up before you could even reach your peak, gently rubbing his fingers up and down your slit.

"Bucky, plea-- ah!" You let out a small scream when he suddenly gave your clit a slap, not enough to actually hurt but enough to make you jolt in surprise.

"Wrong name, baby girl," he growls out all while pulling off his pants as well as his boxer, throwing it somewhere around the room. His dick is standing up thick and proud, a small drip of precum on top.

Oh, he's in that mood huh?

"Daddy, please fuck me. I can't take it anymore," you begged, pulling your knees up and spreading your legs apart, giving him a clear view of your wet cunt.

"Fuck, baby, look at that." Bucky is in awe as you completely exposed yourself to him. It's not your first time having sex, but damn, does it feel like it everytime.

That's is all your fault. You made the man insatiable; made him crave for you all day - everyday. He cannot seem to get enough of you no matter how many times he gets a taste, and he don't think he will ever get enough.

Bucky grabs his rock hard dick and gave it a few pumps. The sight of you spread out for him like this, it feels like a dream.

"So wet and needy. Is this all for me, baby?" He asks, tapping the head of his cock against your clit a few times, before sliding it up and down your slit in a teasing manner.

Bucky grunts in disapproval when he didn't hear you answer and just moaned at his lazy rubbing. He pulls his cock away and gave your cunt another warning slap, making you jump in surprise.

"Use your words."

"Yes daddy, I'm sorry," you whimper as Bucky began circling your red and swollen cunt, spitting on it before pressing two flesh fingers inside in one go.

As much as Bucky likes to see you come undone by his metal fingers, he loves the feel of your slick walls against his flesh ones. Feeling your arousal around his fingers, so warm and velvety - especially around his cock.

You gasped out loud when he began thrusting hard and fast, prepping you up. Even with his fingers bucky can still feel how tight you are, getting him all more excited than he already are.

He placed his metal hand on the back of your thighs, pushing it up so he could take a better look and he knows you like it that way.

He added a third finger and your puffy cunt just swallows his fingers hungrily, coaxing him to push his fingers inside knuckles deep.

"Yes Daddy, oh my gosh!" You can feel the your stomach tightening. Bucky started to feel your walls clenched on his fingers, a clear indication that you're about to come.

"Come for me, (Y/n)." He doesn't have to say it because your legs clamped around his arm, rolling your hips through your orgasm as you moaned his name out loud.

Bucky didn't waste any more time and hover above your body, lining his throbbing cock at your entrance. In one swift thrust of his hips, he had buried himself inside. Bucky groans as your walls deliciously squeezed him, already wanting to milk him dry.

"Shit - relax, doll. You're squeezing me too hard." You breathe in and out, eyes clenched tightly as you relax yourself on the mattress.

Bucky smiles, leaning down to kiss you lovingly and comfortingly on you forehead. "That's it, baby girl. Relax." Slowly, he began to grind his hips against yours. His eyes locked on your face as it contorts to a look of pure pleasure, your breathing started to get ragged as his thrusts gets harder; much more faster.

Before you know it, he was now pounding your slick cunt. The wet obscene noise, slapping of skin to skin is now much more audible.

"Fuck me harder, Daddy. Please!" And harder he goes. He hooked his strong buffy arms around your thighs and placed them on his shoulders, before slamming into you over and over again. At this point you are now screaming in pleasure, head tilting back as your body bowed.

Bucky's gaze trails down from yours face, down to your soft breasts, your round middle, and then down to where you both are connected. He could see your wetness coating the base of cock. A particular roll of his hips got your toes curling, instinctively jolting up, your nails digging shallowly on the skin of his back, marking him.

You squealed. "Fuck!"

"Right here, princess?" He asked as he keeps on hitting that spot again and again. He sat up, gripping your thick thighs tightly and resumes his fast pounding.

You opened your eyes and witnessed how Bucky's face morphs into a blissful look; eyes closed tightly and his head tilted back. A fine sheen of sweat covering his chest making him look so good.

"I'm gonna come," you gasped. You could tell he is too because his thrusts are getting sloppy and desperate. Your legs shakes as you came, moaning and chanting out his name 'Bucky' like a prayer.

With your walls fluttering around him and that lewd, fucked out look on your face sent him over the edge.

He groans as he came deep inside of you, staying balls deep for a few moment before pulling out. He watched as his cum drips out of your hole, soaking the sheets underneath you.

"Fuck, look at that. Such a good girl for me," he praised. You could feel him slides himself inside a few times and then completely pulls out, laying down next to your spent body.

You're heart is beating fast against your chest, not because from the sex (although that's mainly the reason) but for the man you've just did it with.

Bucky is still gasping, pupils are still dilated as he turn his head to the side to look at you. A fond smile formed on his lips when he noticed that you're already focused at him.

"You okay, princess?" He asked, now turning his body to his side. He lifted his metal hand up when he noticed your eyes are still a bit teary and dazed, gently holding your cheek in his large palm.

"Great," you breathed out before flashing him a soft pleased smile. You were about to stand up to clean yourself up when Bucky quickly grasped your wrist, pulling you back onto to mattress, caging your body with his.

Looking down at you with a playful glint in his eyes, cocking his head to the side. Something hard poking your belly and you don't need to put two on two together to know what's about to happen next.

"You're insatiable."

"What can I say? I have a wife who just looks so stunning and perfect every single fucking day." He chuckles darkly. "It's hard to not want to fuck you on the nearest surface - fill your pussy up until you're dripping with my cum, until--"

He stops.

Suddenly, his eyes slightly widens. You waited, he seems to be having an inner battle with himself. Eyes darting around your face, searching for something you don't quite know.

"Are you okay, baby?" Bucky's whole body tensed up at the word, though quickly relaxing soon after. Soft blue eyes flickering from yours and down to your round belly then back up, silently suggesting -- begging -- for something.

Oh boy.

This is my first ever smut and It feels like my first fic all over again.

[harlotofandraste]

I did it, I finally quit psychiatry

(I wrote this for r/antipsychiatry, but I thought I might as well post it here too. don't read if you're easily triggered)

It's been a long journey through hell, but I've had enough. I'm not taking any more shit from incompetent, clueless doctors who think they know me better than I do myself. Who do not listen to me when I beg them to change the medication and instead just give me more of the stuff that is making me worse. I'll finally be free.

I doubt anyone cares, but I'll just tell you my story from the beginning. This is going to be a very long story. Basically, I became depressed at 14 or 15, I'm a 22 year old woman now. The reason was mainly that I couldn't handle the pressure from school. I am a very ambitious, perfectionist but also extremely lazy person. I was constantly beating myself up for not achieving what I wanted to achieve but also unable to fix my behavior. I did also have some slight, not even that serious trauma from a emotionally neglectful childhood and my parents telling me I was a failure every time I would get a grade that wasn't an A. At some point it all became too much and I started self-harming. Then I got worse and worse, self harming occasionally but severely, until I finally attempted suicide at 17.

I was locked into a youth psychiatry institution against my. will. I had my rights, my freedom taken away and was forced to take heavy medications. The very first evening I asked the psychiatrist at the hospital about the side effects of the medications, but he refused to tell me anything and instead just said I should trust his professional judgement. Unfortunately I was too tired and unwell to keep asking so I just accepted not knowing what would happen to me.

They gave me very high doses of Seroquel (Quetiapine), SSRIs and other stuff that I don't even know because they didn't even tell me the names of what they made me take. I just know the names of the medications I was supposed to continue to take after the hospital stay because they were in the papers they gave me. Then after a few days I begged the doctor to take me off the meds because I was so tired I could barely move. I had never felt worse in my life. she refused and instead upped my dose further.

I got worse and worse until I managed to get access to a razor blade I injured myself with on purpose. When my roommate told the nurses what I had done, I was forcefully, against my will restrained onto a bed. Yes, they actually tied me to a bed. And then pushed the bed into a small room where I was alone, and tied to the bed, unable to move. Of course I had a severe panic attack. The room had video surveillance, but it took them quite some time to notice that I was having a panic attack. they finally came and gave me something to breathe into and I calmed down more or less, but they didn't untie me. I later had to pee, and they didn't even untie me for that. I had to pee into a bedpan while tied to the bed, with a nurse watching me. it was incredibly humiliating. I was not untied the entire night. I was restrained until the next morning. When they finally untied me, I had quite seriously injured myself from fighting against the restraints. I had basically torn the skin off my ankles, the scars are faded now but they were visible for many years. It was quite painful. I do consider this incident of being restrained against my will psychiatric abuse, especially because I was restrained for so long. In total probably 10 hours, maybe even more.

Then the hospital didn't really know what to do with myself. I had of course lost any trust I had into the nurses and doctors and shut myself off from them. So they transferred me to a different institution, a more high-security one. Of course I wasn't asked if that was okay, I had to comply. I had began to form relationships with some of the girls, so being taken away from the small support system I had was very stresssful, especially considering how fragile I was at that time.

The other institution wasn't much different, but it was good for me to be taken away from the people who had abused me. I got a tiny bit better. I started to trust the nurses there a little bit. I got along with the other patients and over all liked the hospital better for maby reasons. And then they noticed I was a little better. And then they decided I was well enough to go back to the other hospital. Of course I wasn't asked this time either. But I had made more progress there in two weeks than in the other hospital in a month. I had again started building a little support system. But worst of all, I was forced to go back to the place where I had been abused, and at the time I was still very affected by the experience. I felt incredibly powerless and betrayed, but I didn't have a choice.

Then back at the first hospital I decided I would get better, for no other reason than to finally be able to leave that horrible place.

Then two things were getting severly uncomfortable. I was weighed every week and started noticing significant weight gain. At the same time, I was hungry all the time. painfully hungry, ravenous, even. I basically felt like I was starving all the time but still put on weight. Of course that was because of the high doses of Seroquel, but no one told me. I told nurses, doctors and therapists about the hunger and weight gain, but they simply didn't tell me that was a side effect, they told me an increased appetite was a sign i was getting better. I legit thought I was losing my mind.I have struggled with weight all my life and putting weight on like that made me feel horrible.

Then the doctor decided I was well enough to start taking up school work again. I begged him not to force me to, I told them the pressure of school was the reason I was sick in the first place. Of course no one listened to me. I was forced to do school work even if I knew it wasn't good for me. they didn't care.

Then, after three months of hell, I was finally released. And only because it was Christmas, and my parents refused to leave me there over Christmas. I got a therapist and medication for home.

Then after the Christmas holidays I, against my will, started going to school again. And after about two weeks, my new therapist told me that I had to choose between dropping out of school or going back to the hospital, because school was already making me severely suicidal again. And that was one of the few good things a mental health professional had said to me. I dropped out of school and actually started getting better for real. I sometimes forgot to take my medication, and every time I did, I instanty felt better. I suddenly didn't feel like a tired zombie anymore, I actually had emotions, I felt... alive. So I begged my psychiatrist to let me stop taking medications, and a few months after being released from the hospital, I was free of them.

And everything was great. I got a job, then I volunteered in New Zealand, then, when I was in a more stable place than at 17, I took up school again and graduated with flying colors. I was doing incredibly well.

And then I started university. The first semester went okay, but my mental health quickly started deteriorating. It was the academic pressure again. That's simply something I cannot handle. Soon I started self harming again, and it became more frequent than ever before. I also got into a bad, one might even say toxic, relationship. My girlfriend had issues on her own, but her behavior towards me was often extremely triggering and I very frequently self harmed because of something to do with our relationship. I do not want to blame her for my behavior, but she often made feel worthless, like I was not good enough for her. She would frequently cancel our dates at the last minute, and when she didn't, she would be half an hour late, and when we were together, she didn't make me feel very appreciated either. I was very much in love with her and always blamed myself for everything she did. She once even talked me into having sex with her, when I had said no repeatedly. She did not accept no for an answer and kept pushing until I slept with her to make her shut up. I felt like I didn't have a choice. She didn't force me to, but she simply did not accept my "no". Anyways, it was not her who took the knife to my skin, but she was a big factor in why I did it. I never told her she was a reason for my severe self harm, I didn't want her to feel bad. I didn't hide my wounds fro. her, I mean we did see each other naked and I always had at least four or five big bandages. We just kinda... ignored that.

So then I was getting desperate and decided to get professional help once again. I went to a free psychiatrist from the student councellors and she prescribed me Seroquel once again. I told her I didn't want to take it because it had made me gain a lot of weight and made me very tired. She laughed in my face and told me Seroquel doesn't do that. I don't know if she was just incompetent or lied to me on purpose, because these side effects are experienced by pretty much every single person who takes Seroquel, they are listed in the information leaflet, and I know many people who have taken this medication, all of them had them. During the appointment, she did not even ask me how I was feeling. She prescribed me 200 mg of Seroquel XR. Now, the recommended starting dosage is 50 mg. She prescribed me a starting dosage of four times the recommended amount. Unfortunately, I did not know that back then, I didn't expect a doctor to be that negligent. I took the first 200 mg pill that very evening before going to listen to a debate. Seroquel XR takes a while to kick in, but oh boy did it kick in. I didn't even notice the tiredness that much because I was having severe heart palpitations. My vision was going from normal to black and to normal again all the time. I was dizzy and desoriented and felt my heart was about to jump out of my chest, and sometimes it stopped beating for several seconds. I legit thought I might die in the audience of a debate on ethical farming.

Of course I didn't take the pills the next day and started looking for another psychiatrist. I got an appointment relatively quickly at a private one, it was relatively hopeless to get an appointment with one my insurance would pay, but I thought if she could help me, money wouldn't matter. She prescribed me some stuff that didn't do much harm but also didn't do much good. basically, i was a little tired but that was it. i got a therapist.

About 9 months passed, I had several psychiatrist appointments where I told her the meds didn't do much good, but she never really changed anything. She also insisted that I would get tested for Borderline personality disorder and the psychologist she told me to go to diagnosed me with it. My therapist at the time agreed with me that there was no way in hell that I have BPD, but she also said that when psychiatrists see an adult who self harms, BPD is the only thing that can explain that for them.

Then fall came and a new uni semester started. I had been alright over summer, I had broken up with my girlfriend, but of course with the start of the semester, everything came crashing down.

I lasted a month in university until i impulsively took the whole pack of Seroquel I still had laying around and went to the hospital telling them i was suicidal and also told them what i had done.

Now, I have to say that the nurses in this hospital were absolute angels. They treated my with respect, I almost felt mothered. I was given a lot of activated charcoal and basically had a good night in the hospital. I also got stitches for my freshest self harm injuries, but I had several ones that were too old to be treated that way.

The next morning I was transferred. Can you guess where to? The mental hospital i had been to as a teen. Again, I didn't have a choice.

But overall, the experience at the emergency ward was not as horrible as the first time. I was an adult now and actually treated like a human person. it says a lot about my first experience that I was very surprised by that.

I felt better rather quickly, mostly because the stress factory university was eliminated. The doctor there again insisted that I had BPD even when I said that was ridiculous. They evalued me again and the psychologist came to the conclusion that I had a borderline accentuation, basically borderline borderline.

The emergency ward doctor talked me into treatment at the psychotherapy ward, so I did that for 8 weeks. it was okay, again I was treated way better than as a teen. I was allowed to have an opinion about the medication, I was even allowed to read the little side effect pamphlets. But overall it didn't really do it, I self harmed less but I still self harmed.

During that stay I decided to drop out of university and start an apprenticeship as a baker. I found a company to work for, I loved work, then Corona happened. The company had to shut down. They laid me off after I had only worked there for three weeks. Basically I fell into a hole again, became a depressive husk again.

Then some time passes and a new therapist asked me why I didn't want to go to university anymore, she basically thought i was too intelligent not to. I told her how I could never focus, how I struggled with procrastination, how I couldn't handle the pressure and she recommended that I get assessed for ADHD. Now, I had suspended I had ADHD for years, but I didn't want to bring it up myself. I didn't want to seem like hypochondriac, or an attention whore, and after all, I had told so many people about my struggles and they never suspended ADHD. But I was relieved she brought it up and I had an "excuse" to get assessed. I was professionally diagnosed with ADHD soon after and happily went to my psychiatrist with my brand new diagnosis, I was full of hope that I would finally be "fixed". She basically told me she couldn't help me because she didn't know a lot about adhd. She prescribed me a very low dosage of Strattera (10 mg) and recommend me a specialist. I called the specialist, but they told me they couldn't give me an appointment and I should call in a few months, maybe it would be possible then.

It was july, and over the course of summer I decided I would try university again. Maybe if I was medicated for ADHD, I would actually be able to study. In fall of 2020, I started a brand new program, something very different from what I had done before.

I realized pretty quickly that the Strattera wasn't helping so I found a private ADHD specialist. I was extremely excited for the appointment. Again I thought "I only have to get through these few weeks, then I will finally get proper treatment" I didn't get proper treatment. He prescribed me more Strattera, which didn't help. The next appointment was a month after the first and again, I was excited. I was sure thia time he would fix me. I was sure after that appointment I wouldn't have to suffer anymore. But again, despite me saying I wanted to try something different, and that Strattera was not helping at all, he prescribed more Strattera.

Then university was getting really stressful, I had exams before Christmas, I was frustrated about him not listening to me. I started having suicidal thoughts again, I even relapsed with self harm, it had been months since the last time. But I more or less got through it in a piece, I even passed the exams (surprisingly), and was again looking forward to the next psychiatrist appointment after the Christmas vacation.

Strattera wasn't doing nothing, but it was not doing anything helpful. Basically, it made me feel quite relaxed, chill, less stressed. Which sounds good at first. But in order to get anything done, I rely on negative motivation. Basically, if I'm not panicking over possibly failing an exam, I'm just simply not going to study. So Strattera took the tiny bit of self-discipline and motivation that I had away and replaced it with a "idgaf"-attitude.Of course I told the psychiatrist. But can you guess what he did? Bingo, he upped the Strattera dosage. Again.

Then I had a second appointment with a new therapist, an ADHD specialist for adults. I told her how he did not care what I told him about Strattera and she was extremely upset and said that I can't let myself be treated like that. I needed to call him immediately and yell at him until he does something actually useful. I was baffled. I am not a confrontational person at all and I had never even considered actually arguing with a doctor. Yes I know, it sounds stupid in hindsight, but even after all that I had experienced, I still naively thought the professionals know best.

Okay so I called him. unsuccessful. I texted him. he ignored me. He had ignored my texts telling him that I was actually worse even before that last appointment, even though he told me to contact him with any concerns, and said that he prefered texts best, I thought he was maybe busy or something and didn't think much of it, but then he was ignoring my calls and texts. I was basically ghosted by a s

psychiatrist.

Okay I thought, then I'll simply go to someone else. To my suprise I got an appointment really quickly. I knew this wasn't a good sign, because good psychiatrists, if there even are any, don't have appointments free that soon.

But still, I had hope. And was of course disappointed again. I went to her with a professional ADHD diagnosis, but for her, that wasn't good enough. She had the audacity to tell me I needed another diagnosis from her psychologist friend who, by the way, has his office in a town over an hour away. She refused to treat me at all until I got that second diagnosis. Now,. I went to her out of pure desperation, out of knowing I simply could not go on like this any longer. Because I needed treatment quickly. And she told me she wouldn't give me that. I couldn't keep a few tears from escaping my eyea, she noticed and said very condescendingly "you don't have to cry, that's normal procedure". I tried my best to fight the tears, but as soon as I left her office, I started bawling my eyes out in the middle of town

And then I knew I was done. I had tried and tried again to get help, and I had not gotten it, I had not been listened to. Something in me snapped right in front of that office building.

I went home and threw my medication in the trash. Sure, it's bad to quit cold turkey like that, but honestly I don't care. I'm done. I'm done with psychiatry, I'm done with doctors. I have had the patience of a saint, but enough is enough. That was yesterday. And today I flipped a coin, twice, once for the psychiatrist and once for the new therapist. It told me to quit both of them, so I did.

I'm done with the mental health industrial complex. It has not helped me in all those years. I have only been sedated. Fuck psychiatry, fuck psychiatrists. Maybe I am simply meant to be miserable. I'll probably drop out of uni again, I thought I would be able to do it with treatment, but I did not get treatment, and I simply cannot do it this way. I've already attempted suicide because of academic pressure twice. Maybe I'll just have to live a miserable life working a low-paying job until I'm sad enough to finally actually kill myself. I'll probably always be a wreck, but at least I won't be a sedated wreck any longer. I'll be free, until I will be free for real.

Thank you for reading all this. I know it was a lot, but I needed to get it off my chest. Thank you.

[imacrowcawcaw]

A Lover With A Red Hot Thong -- Duzzy -- Ch. 1

Author (as known on various sites): luluthechoosingcrow - AO3, theladylovingcrow - Wattpad and Deviantart, lady lover - Rockfic, @insannywestan - Sanny shipping blog, @gretavanfleetconfessions

Fandom: Guns n Roses

Pairings: Duff McKagan/Izzy Stradlin (Duzzy)

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, like extreme fluff, attempted humor, airports, Duff has anxiety, Izzy is really good at comforting him, cuddling, sharing a bed, romance, dates, friends to lovers, adorable giggly boys, kissing

Summary: Duff dressed like a stripper from Arkansas that had discovered the Sex Pistols last week, drank more vodka in a month than most people did in a year, baked amazing blackberry streudals, sang Prince in the shower, and made out with his friends when he was lonely. Izzy was pretty sure that he was in love with him. Something certainly comes out of it when they end up spending a rather romantic week (totally not a honeymoon) in New Orleans because somebody (the very Duff of his longings) always loses their passport.

Taglist: @brianmaysclog @love-n-my-heart-4-n-army-apart @1800endmeplease @tymeconsuming @satans-helper @ageofkiszka @karrotkate @therealswanqueen @mountainofthesunn @onlyan-angel @lantern-inthenight @love-philautia @ubernoxa @kill-fear-the-power-of-lies (reminder that I just remade my taglist and organized it as best as I could, but if you either don’t want to be tagged in something (like GNR) or want to be added, just let me know!)

Author's Notes (aka disclaimers): 

1 - Don't own the people or places 

2 - It's a combination of real and made up (to my knowledge) places for this story. Don't use this as a fucking tour guide, I've never been to New Orleans and I don't have memories of anywhere east of Lake Tahoe

3 - The timeline of this is also completely made up. I like to bend reality to my will because I am a lazy writer

4 - I tried my hand at writing a character with anxiety. I'm trying my best with the info online and my own experiences, but please let me know if something is wildly inaccurate and detracts from the story 

5 - I mean no disrespect to the band. I try my best to be a humorous writer, and I think that I have a pretty healthy view of them, seeing both the good and poking fun at the bad. Some of this might come off as mean, but I’m not really trying to be. I just want people to laugh

6 - Trying that thing where I port my WIPs to get motivated. We’ll see if this works!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Monday, September 15, 6:46 AM, New Orleans Louis Armstrong National Airport 

"Duff, what exactly do you mean you don't have your passport?" Axl spit, breathing hard in an effort to diffuse combustion. He was not exactly the happiest camper this early in the morning, especially when some people's forgetfulness interrupted the sleep he had planned on getting as soon as they boarded the plane.

The man being questioned gazed at Axl nervously through wide, panicked eyes. 

"I don't know, man! Er- I mean, yeah I don't have it... I'm pretty sure the last time I saw it was at the hotel when we checked in. I'm sorry! We just got up so early and it was still dark and I kind of have a hangover from last night so I just shoved my stuff in my bag and went downstairs so we wouldn't be late, but now we're going to be late shit I'm sorry I don't-" 

"Hey, hey. Duff, it's okay, just breathe," Izzy soothed, speaking his first words of the day besides a 'fuck off' to Steven, who'd been tasked with waking him up. He settled a coffee-cup-warm, pale hand on Duff's shoulder and turned to speak to Axl.

"It's fine, Bill, we'll figure it out. None of us function well in the morning, do you have your snakeskin belt, hmm?" He asked, knowing that the beloved item was still hanging from a lamp in the hotel room they had checked out of at 4 AM.

Axl's mouth shut with a clack as he glared at Izzy and his damned know it all face. He huffed out a breath and made a big show of rolling his eyes and changing his expression to one of fond exasperation.

"Fine, then, you can figure it out. Don't expect any help from us, though!" 

Izzy snorted at his friend's drama and his statement; Steven was currently trying to convince an off duty captain to let him fly his plane, Axl was Axl, and Slash was still dead to the world behind his hair -- very helpful.

"Okay, well, we'll meet you there as soon as we can. Enjoy your flight, don't become members of the mile high club without us," Izzy replied, pulling Duff up and swinging his backpack over his shoulder.

They walked away, arms brushing with every step, to the sound of Axl screaming at them to bring back his belt, and the disgruntled looks of other early morning airport commuters whom they ignored. Izzy followed the overhead signs back to a check in desk with Duff in tow, hoping that everything would work out and that they could be in Amsterdam with the rest of the guys by nightfall.

No such luck, of course.

"I'm sorry," the lady said with a completely uncaring smile, "but the next flight to Amsterdam, commercial or private, isn't until next tuesday. I can book two tickets for you, Mr. Stradlin, but there's nothing more I can do." 

Izzy sighed, but nodded. He sorted through bills in his wallet, mocking the lady in his head all the while. 'I'm sorry, but your daughter is going to die from a wrench to the eye socket. I can give you a bandaid, but there's nothing more I can do.'

Duff, though, having woken up on the walk over, was looking closer to an anxiety attack than the mild annoyance Izzy was feeling. 

He quickly excused them and grabbed Duff's wrist, pulling him a few feet away for the false illusion of privacy to calm him down.

"Shh, shh, take a deep breath," Izzy whispered, hands gripping Duff's shoulders to force them to look straight in each other's eyes. "Everything will be alright. We'll find your passport, hang out in the city for a while, then go meet up with the guys. Easy, no problems. Relax babe, just try to relax and breathe."

Duff tried to steady his breathing as he clung to Izzy, pulling the man into a hug. He wasn't sure what he would do if Iz wasn't here -- his friend was usually the only one who could stop his incoming anxiety like that.

They stood there for several minutes; Duff regaining a normal breathing pattern, and Izzy slowly rubbing his back. As they pulled away from each other, Duff spotted a hippo in Mardi Gras attire glaring at them in disgust. He smirked rather weakly, still a bit shaken and queasy from his panic but back on the track to his usual self.

"Hey, Iz, it looks like we have an audience, and he's not very pleased."

Izzy grinned back at him, relieved that the Duff he knew was still kicking. Besides, this was their favorite game. 

Every once in a while, the boys were subjected to odd stares and the occasional slur. Usually, it was just for dressing like Dolly Parton while shoplifting, but occasionally, it was because they got pretty close. Sometimes they were drunk, sometimes they were just talking to each other or hugging, sometimes because they were blatantly trying to piss off as many people as possible (sometimes the "people" included Axl).

Izzy moved his hands from Duff's shoulder blades, one wrapping tight around his waist and the other getting a firm grip on his delectable ass. 

Duff snorted and cupped Izzy's face in his large hands, angling him upwards slightly so that they could lean their foreheads together. He bit his lip to stop from giggling, and Izzy brushed his own mouth against him for a split second, getting a quick hint of teeth and coffee-breathe.

Out of the corner of his eye, Izzy saw the man visibly shudder, his beady eyes grimacing. 

A fake blond, middle aged woman Izzy assumed was his wife laid one hand on his polo shirt, as if in an effort to calm him down. It had the opposite effect. The man grunted and skewered his mouth to the side, squinting even more as if a giant rainbow spotlight was being blasted into his eyes.

Izzy smirked, though it was barely noticeable against Duff's mouth. 

Duff murmured something about 'making a scene', but Izzy knew he was referring to their audience and not themselves. Neither of them cared who saw this, though if it was printed in any magazines Axl might try to suplex them out of a window. "Try" being the key word -- the little red terror was too chicken to actually try that with Izzy, and too short to get enough leverage on Duff. 

Somewhere behind him, Izzy heard the woman whine, "Oh, Charles!" like she was getting the worst rimjob of her life. 

"It's disgusting, Carol! I won't stand for it!" 

"Time to get going?" Duff whispered, pulling back an inch.

Izzy gave him one last searing kiss and an extra probing squeeze to the ass then nodded, breaking away. They quickly picked up their suitcases and high tailed it out of the building, leaving dust, stares, and a purple and green, mouth breathing, homophobic fatman in their wake. 

Duff laughed as they came to a stop in the middle of a group of Japanese tourists. They all turned to look at him as he barked, panted, barked, and then wheezed with his hands on his knees.

Izzy was looking at Duff too, a rare - though not as much as some people would think - smile on his lips. He patted his friend on the back and pulled out a cigarette, then offered one to Duff. It would make the wheezing worse, but a smoker cares none about that. 

They lit up from Izzy's lighter as the tour grouped streamed past them, completely nonplussed at the disgruntled - or awed, recognizing - stares they received. Once they had the stretch of sidewalk to themselves, Duff stacked their suitcases one atop the other and sat down while Izzy hailed a cab. His long arms soon garnered them a ride and they hopped into the sedan after tossing their bags into the trunk. 

It was blue, with a peeling leather interior and a hand stenciled logo on either window; the usual black and white checkers ran a wobbly circle around the outside of the car. The driver glared at them from underneath bushy brows as they smoked their cigarettes, and Izzy smiled at him politely, meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror, until he finished and put out his cig on the door's plastic. 

Duff's mind was in some far off place and he didn't notice any interactions taking place. Izzy wondered if he was thinking about how to find his passport, or what to do in the city, or about girls -- or, the bleach blonde head rolling onto his shoulder could have been asleep. The snores more or less confirmed it. 

"Where to?" The driver asked after a minute. 

“Marriott on Jackson,” Izzy answered, turning his torso minutely to get more comfortable.

Etta James’ smoky vocals floated out of the speakers, half of the tone quality getting lost in the maze of beads hanging down from the cab ceiling in a curtain between driver and passengers. Izzy sighed and shifted; the leather creaked; Duff snorted and drool ran down his arm. He smiled down at the man asleep on him and brushed some hair back from his sticky mouth, fingers slowly tracing Duff’s jawline. 

Michael Andrew Mckagan was a unique specimen, that was for sure. He was laid back and welcoming, yet had enough energy to rival Popcorn, at times. He was loving and affectionate to his friends, and scathingly rude to those that hurt them. Duff dressed like a stripper from Arkansas that had discovered the Sex Pistols last week, drank more vodka in a month than most people did in a year, baked amazing blackberry streudals, sang Prince in the shower, and made out with his friends when he was lonely. Izzy was pretty sure that he was in love with him.

The engine of the cab coughed, and suddenly the vehicle was rolling to a stop outside the hotel they had left only an hour or so ago. Izzy gently shook Duff awake and went to pay the man while Duff got their bags back out of the trunk. 

“That will be forty dollars,” the man said, staring Izzy down from beneath his fuzzy caterpillar. Interestingly enough, that was the only facial hair he had; perhaps he’d shaved off his mustache and glued it, hair by hair, onto his brow bone. 

“Really? It was half that to get to the airport two hours ago. What’s your game, man? You think you can scam us?”

Izzy didn’t like being scammed. It was damn near impossible to get one up on him - let alone very rare someone even dared to try - so this guy was about to get it if he thought he could. 

“You ruined my interior. Smells like smoke. I need to clean it now. I know you have the money,” the man glared, narrowing his eyes. The caterpillar hunched down too, like it was trying to curl up on itself to avoid getting eaten by a hawk-nosed Stradlin. 

“Is that so?” Izzy snorted, fishing out another cigarette just for the hell of watching the man get angrier. 

“Here, forty dollars. C’mon Iz, let’s go.”

Duff handed the man a fold of two twenties with a sigh, his other hand subtly resting on Izzy’s lower back for a moment before removing itself again. He wanted to fight it - there was no way that guy should be getting away with charging them double price, fuck that! - but Duff was tired and the money was already handed over. Izzy knew that physical signal from Dff, too, the hand on the back: it meant “leave it”. 

With a final huff and a not so subtle bird, Izzy grabbed his carpet bag from where Duff had lain it on the asphalt and followed his tall friend through the hotel’s front entrance, cigarette dangling from his mouth all the while. 

They made their way over to the front desk, explained the situation, and then they were back inside the mirrored elevator armed with the suite’s key card, going up like they had never left in the first place. 

“Hmm, wonder what it would be like to make love in this elevator?” Duff mused, staring upwards at his reflection in the ceiling. 

Issy followed the bold line of his profile, from Adam's apple to nose to messy hair, before he finally glanced at the ceiling, too. 

“Interesting, certainly. I’ve done it in front of a mirror, but not in a whole box of them.”

“Yeah. Hey, we should come back here and incorporate this into our next video!” Duff exclaimed, grinning at him. 

“Izzy snorted. “What, you wanna come back here a third time? This place got like a magical draw or some shit?”

They both cracked up.

[faithchel]

otp questions meme

tagged by @nightwingshero and @returnofthepd3​, thanks loves! doing this for john x lyra since that’s the shared fandom

tagging (and i sincerely apologize if you’ve done it or been tagged several times i haven’t been online today) @overboss @fillianore @callmeredhood @sharky-broshaw @chuckhansen @softmillers @tommymillers @spicevalleys @chyrstis @theoutlawdiaries @stvnningstrike @risenlucifer @smithandrogers and anyone else who has otps to talk about (let me know if you would or would not like to be tagged in these things, i feel like pretty much revert to the same list)

DISAGREEMENTS

who is more likely to raise their voice? lyra’s usually the first but both of them do it who threatens to leave but never actually does? neither during arguments tbh who actually keeps their word and leaves? neither who trashes the house? lyra while john just stands back pointing screaming WRATH. WRATH WAY TO GO WRATHY NICE JOB do either of them get physical? not the way this means  how often do they argue/disagree? at first they're both kind of constantly testing/pushing each other because the concept of unconditional love is foreign to them so there's a constant undercurrent of deliberate provocation or extreme overcompensation but it's something they learn to move past. by the time they're well established and comfortable in their relationship it becomes a fairly rare thing who is the first to apologize? they would both claim the other person does but they usually just end up blowing off steam and circling back to it when they can discuss things more calmly (but tbh most of their fights are incredibly petty have you met them)

(full questionnaire under the cut -- cw for sex, drugs & alcohol references)

SEX

who is on top? either/or who is on the bottom? same who has the strangest desires? lyra tends to have the more inopportune impulses or ill-advised ideas but that’s more of a “no lyra we are not having sex right now you are severely injured that is an entire gunshot wound what happened” “well clearly i got shot john take off your clothes” than anything else  any kinks? i mean. nothing that would be unexpected. since it’s them. who’s dominant in bed? it’s either/or tbh they’re both enthusiasts is head ever in the equation? of course if so, who is better at performing it? they’ve both been around the block many many times sex isn’t a problem for them ever had sex in public? yes, occasionally to unfortunate results. rip to that resistance man who walked by at the wrong time who moans the most? the guards at the ranch hate their job next question who leaves the most marks? both of them honestly they’re rabid who is the more experienced of the two? john (because, lyra would explain, he’s older, he’s an old man, not for lack of effort on her part) do they ‘fuck’ or ‘make love’? fuck initially because it’s what they’re used to, make love later, still do both rough or soft? it’s situational tbh, softer when they’re lazy in the mornings and just want to be together and rough when they’re in the mood how long do they usually last? it’s more a matter of how long they have honestly is protection used? lyra has it covered iud wise does it ever get boring? like i said this is like the one (1) intimacy area they’re fucking great with so no where is the strangest place they’d have sex? i mean. they’ve attempted most places tbh their family and flock live in constant fear of what they’ll walk in on at any given moment

FAMILY

do they plan on having children/or have children? in the alternate cult wins the holy war timeline only; lyra didn’t really want to have them before they left the bunker but it ended up happening five years in anyway since she ran through the preventatives if so, how many children do they want/have? they have twins and a younger son, so three; in my main canon they have none

AFFECTION

who likes to cuddle? both but john’s needier about it who gets naughty in the most inappropriate of places? both of them  who struggles to keep their hands to themself? both of them, have you met them, they’re not chill dudes how long can they cuddle until one becomes uncomfortable? it’s much easier for lyra to express affection physically than verbally so it’s their main outlet honestly, comfort is secondary who gives the most kisses? like i said it’s really the only way lyra can say i love you so it’s definitely lyra what is their favourite non-sexual activity? hot baths, they’ve had a long day harvesting saving souls where is their favourite place to cuddle? they like to sit in those stupid rocking chairs outside the ranch, by the fire pit in their yard or on their couch by the fireplace how often do they get time to themselves? less as the conflict they call the holy war escalates tbh, but they take it where they can

SLEEPING

who snores? john if both do, who snores the loudest? if lyra’s snoring it’s because she’s sick and she’s an entire freight train do they share a bed or sleep separately? share a bed if they sleep together, do they cozy up together or lay far apart? they fully sleep on top of each other, NO breathing ONLY crushing weight of partner >:(((( what do they wear to bed? they don’t tbh, unless they’re trying to nap in the middle of the day because their sleep schedules were ruined by that pesky war they started are either of them insomniacs? sleep is increasingly a luxury for them but no, not really. lyra has more trouble sleeping alone/in general because she’ll down like five cups of coffee immediately before bed and then be like why is sleep evading me. how could this happen what kind of twisted joke is this i cannot believe the heretics have done this can sleeping pills be found by the bedside? no do they wrap their limbs around each other or just lay side by side? they’re a tangled mess lbr who wakes up with bed hair? both but lyra has a ridiculous amount of hair so she’s more visibly A Mess who wakes up first? lyra but she usually immediately wakes john up so everyone loses who prepares breakfast in bed for the other? neither. lyra will bring coffee up for both of them and then get back in bed with him and end up passing out so. thanks for the cold useless coffee lyra good job what is their favourite sleeping position? i think i’ve established “position” is an optimistic way to describe the twined up sleeping mess that is them do they set an alarm each night? not usually, lyra’s up with the sun no matter what so it’s only if they have to be up earlier than that for something project-related can a television be found in their bedroom? no tbh who has nightmares? john about the past, lyra about the future who has ridiculous dreams? lyra  who sprawls out and takes up most of the bed? this usually isn’t an issue tbh. they’ll accuse each other of it but if it happens it’s usually more of a “someone shifted in their sleep and took the sheets with them” situation who makes the bed? neither of them, lyra’s more likely to remember to strip the sheets off what time is bed time? oh to have a consistent bed time again. they sleep when and where they can, honestly. neither of them are proud of the desk incident. or the fire pit incident. or -- any routines/rituals before bed? they’ll wash up while they recap but nothing unusual (if you ignore the blood they’re scrubbing out of their nail beds) who’s the grumpiest when they wake up? john because if he’d known he was signing up for sadistic disney princess leaning her head out the window at 5:30 am every day he might have reconsidered the sleeping arrangements

WORK

who is the busiest? both of them have a lot going on, who rakes in the highest income? john. lyra was also rich before the cult but if Most of john’s money came from ethically questionable means nearly All of lyra’s did. does pawning the apology diamonds you stole off a philanderer count as ‘income?’ are any of them unemployed? no, the sinners keep them busy who takes the most sick days? john. lyra shows up holding her guts in with her hand like heyyyy who we hunting!!! oh this no it’s fine i’m fine who is more likely to turn up late to work? if they’re late they’re both late, you get me, but it doesn’t happen since work is a life or death situation for them who sucks up to their boss? john. lyra respects joseph but she isn’t desperate for his love and approval, so. you know. what are their jobs? the baptist & judge of eden’s gate. insert truly horrifying job descriptions here who stresses the most? john about the short term (joseph’s disapproval, lyra got stabbed again and decided not to mention it), lyra about the long term do they enjoy or despise their careers/occupations? they love what they do! how lovely for them! ignore the screaming and the antlered corpse you get used to it are they financially stable? yes

HOME

who does the washing? neither. out of the generosity of their hearts they give others the chance to atone by doing everything for them! acts of service! yes! who takes out the trash? their kindness and generosity knows no bounds who do you think takes out the trash who does the ironing? oh lyra actually does this sometimes because she doesn’t trust anyone else with an iron around her clothes who does the cooking? all jokes aside, neither of them, the project takes care of that who is more likely to burn the house down just trying? neither, they’re more likely to burn the house down because they got distracted~ and left the oven on who is messier? i mean have you seen the ranch have you seen the bunker they live in chaos but lyra carries the added threat of lipstick and mascara and bleeding on the table because she’s trying to stitch herself up who leaves the toilet roll empty? neither  who leaves their dirty clothes on the floor? they both shed them in a hurry but lyra i guess who forgets to flush the toilet? neither who is the prankster around the house? lyra’s more likely to start it but honestly they do so much shit to fuck with each other who even remembers how it began at this point what matters is lyra’s wanted: sinner poster was over the fireplace for a week who loses the car keys when it comes time to go somewhere? lyra is more likely to lose the key to john’s hangar oh no baby guess you can’t fly today (i jest, the answer is neither, they care deeply about their vehicles and more importantly need to be ready to Go at any given moment) who mows the lawn? the peggies. the flock, i mean. their beloved flock. bless them. who answers the telephone? either. usually john. who does the vacuuming? neither who does the groceries? neither, but since lyra’s undercover she can smuggle things back from town sometimes who takes the longest to shower? both of them are menaces but lyra’s hair weighs two tons soaking wet so the whole Process is a bit longer for her (but not by as much as it should be)

MISCELLANEOUS

is money a problem? not at all how many cars do they own? they have their personal cars and then de facto ownership/use of any of the project’s vehicles so. too many do they own their home or do they rent? they own their home and one way or another they’re gonna own your home, too do they live in the city or in the country? country do they enjoy their surroundings? they do now. they’ll talk about their favorite places that are tragically going to get toasted by god’s cleansing fire but they’re happy so it doesn’t matter what’s their song? rabid by nicole dollanganger but don’t tell them they will be deeply offended what do they do when they’re away from each other? when they’re not together they’re usually either working or catching up with their other family members. un project-relatedly, lyra sends a lot of time with faith or going for walks across the henbane (often both), john pets affirmation lovingly where did they first meet? an eden’s gate service lyra attended because she wished to be a menace to scope the situation out, it was very brief and john was extremely wary because joseph was very intrigued by this rando who spends the most money when out shopping? both, someone help them who’s more likely to flash their assets? lyra, but both lbr who finds it amusing when the other trips over? ten minute montage of them pointing and laughing at each other’s failed dramatic exits and getting salty about it any mental issues? oh my god. oh my god who’s terrified of bugs? they got bigger problems who kills the spiders around the house? both their favourite place? the ranch, the yes sign because they’re like that who pays the bills? john deals with the accounts do they have any fears for their future? they’re not overly Worried about the collapse honestly they think they have things more under control than they actually do and in many ways are looking forward to it and that sweet sweet vindication but john is chronically worried by joseph’s concerns about him not making it to new eden and lyra is checks notes chronically worried by joseph’s concerns about john not making it to new eden who’s more likely to surprise the other with a fancy dinner? lyra and it’s a surprise because wtf you’ve been able to cook this whole time we’ve been eating lyle’s food for months who’s the tallest? john when they’re barefoot but i mean. lyra loves her heels who’s more likely to just randomly hop into the shower with the other? they both do this pretty much any time one’s in the shower tbh who wanders around in their underwear? lyra. she loves clothes for the aesthetic but she lives in lingerie and dressing gowns at home who sings the loudest when singing along to the radio? lyra always what do they tease each other about? lyra teases john about being older like ah yes john, how is at 32, the age that you totally are, the actual age of 32 called and it’s holding your ass hostage. makes fun of oh john, thinks it’s ridiculous. pitches her voice three octaves higher when she repeats anything he says to anyone. john makes fun of her impractical hair and that time she killed a dude in idaho for threatening her at a gas station and then threw together the worst cover up known to man like wow lie-ruh what a great serial killer you are whoa your competence is astounding your sheer talent your brilliant mind you planted your own gun at the scene iT dIdnT hAVe sERiaL NumBERs JOhn pffffft ridiculous  who is more likely to cringe at the other’s fashion sense at times? they’re glorious extra dramatic disasters with their fashion sense and they embrace it in each other tbh who crushed first? john but he was desperately gathering dirt on her to be like “see joseph she sucks 0/10 we do not need” so it was a complicated process for him any alcohol or substance related problems? oh yeah i mean they both have a history of addiction (john moreso than lyra drug-wise, she used them but it didn’t get to his level since seeing seeing how it affected her mother made her wary) and harmfully self-medicating so while they’re theoretically clean(er) they’re never going to have healthy relationships with addictive substances who is more likely to stumble home, drunk, at 3am? lyra. i had to johnatthew the rethitanth wath takin shots i’m undercoverrr who swears the most? john when he’s upset, lyra in casual conversations

[rainywritingsx]

Torn • BNHA X OC • Chapter 4

Whoop I’m finally back with an update! My apologies for it taking so long, school has been a real pain in the butt but I’m finally here! I hope you enjoy the chapter, and if you do feel free to leave a like ^_^ If you have any feedback, please let me know. I think that’s it? Have fun reading!

Xxx rainbow

Words: 2575

Warnings: none

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Description: Janie Kotu is an 16 year old girl who’s the daughter of the two greatest villains in the world. As the eldest child, she’s expected to follow their footsteps once her parents decide to retire. Janie, however, does not want to be involved with that whole world at all. She wants to become a hero and save people instead of scaring and hurting them. Before she knows it, she’s leading a double life, doing her best to keep it a secret for as long as possible. But how long will that last? And what if there’s a certain group of villains that wants her to join. What if she falls in love with a villain?

A soft smile appeared on my face as I looked myself up and down on the mirror. I didn’t think I was pretty or anything, I just really liked the clothes I was wearing. It seemed like a normal tracksuit but the fact that I could wear this at the entrance exam made me so happy. At my school we even had uniforms for entrance exams, which was a bit too much if you’d ask me.

Okay, I could do this. I was going to tell my parents that I was headed to the gym with some people from school and when I got back I’d just say it wasn’t really my thing and I decided not to go anymore. That sounded alright didn’t it? I just hoped I could pull it off..

As for the theoretical part, I did as much research as I could and I made sure to put as much time in this as I could. I hoped it would be okay...

I was so glad that nobody would recognise me as villains kept the identities of their children hidden as much as they could and since my parents were the top villains... that was taken to an extreme. I guess it was the one good thing about being their child.

I grabbed my phone to check the time and gasped when I saw that it was 8:10am already. The exam would start at 8:30am! I could get at UA in 10 minutes if I took the underground and once I got there I’d have to make sure my presence was noted down and then I had to find the exam hall where it would be taken... gosh I didn’t even have time to think, I had to go now.

I quickly ran out of my room down the stairs and put on some training shoes.

“Where are you going, dear?” Mother asked. I internally sighed but managed to plaster a smile on my face as I answered her.

“I’m going to the gym to train for a bit!”

“Oh, that’s great!” Mother responded excitedly. “Good luck sweetie, you can bring your friends over afterwards if you’d like!” I yelled out a ‘thanks’ before leaving and closing the door behind me. I checked my phone. 8:12am... I had to be quick.

I almost jumped down the stairs to the underground and luckily it wasn’t that crowded. No one could get hurt in my big rush.

Or so I thought..

An “oof” sound escaped my mouth as I bumped into someone and fell to the ground, my bag falling as well and pens and pencils falling out of it. I gasped and quickly gathered my stuff, still on the ground.

“In a rush, huh?” A strange voice spoke, making me look up. It was someone, who I assumed was a guy and he was wearing a big black hoodie along with some ripped black jeans. Half of his face was covered with a mask, only his eyes being visible for me. They were... endearing for some strange reason.

His eyes were a bright turquoise that stared right into my soul, but strangely enough I didn’t feel intimidated at all. I actually felt like his eyes were comforting in a way... they were half open so i was sure that helped, hehe..

“The underground towards the UA district has arrived at lane 4B.” I gasped and shook my head as I was brought out of my thoughts. I was so so late!!

“Ah, my apologies! I really have to go, I’m super super late right now! Uhm, have a nice day!” I quickly spoke as I put the last pens in my bag before running into the metro. I had made it...

“I made it!” I accidentally said out loud as I brought my fist up in the air. I quickly put it down when I realised other people were here too. That was embarrassing... but I made it!

As soon as the metro stopped at my stop I ran out and sprinted towards UA. Sadly, I didn’t have time to examine the building again. I’d do that after the exam...

My eyes widened when I saw a UA teacher who was about to close the gate.

“S-sir Wait please!” I said loudly as I waved my hand in the air, hoping he would see me. And thank goodness, he really did. I stopped at a desk that was outside where another teacher was standing, finally able to actually catch my breath.

“I did it...” I gasped as I leaned my hands on my kneecaps.

“A pro is never late on important occasions.” A deep voice spoke making me regain my posture quickly. It was a UA teacher whom I knew was Eraserhead. His eyes were, despite his ‘lazy’ attitude, practically staring into my soul and it was making me incredibly nervous if I were honest. I gulped and quickly bowed.

“My apologies sir! I promise it won’t happen again!” I said as I squeezed my eyes shut.

“Get up quickly or you’ll be late. Give me your name.” He spoke monotonously, completely ignoring my apology. I awkwardly got back up, not daring to look at him anymore. What a great first impression.. he was going to think I was some lousy brat who just wanted to become famous.

“Kotu Janie..” I spoke and bit my lip nervously as I heard him scribbling down some things.

“Alright. Inside you will see signs leading to you the exam hall. Don’t fail.” I held back a laugh at the last remark. What a great pep talk... I politely thanked him before leaving, and I could’ve sworn I heard him mutter things about teenagers these days never being puntual.

But I didn’t have time to think about the intimidating teacher, I had to get to the exam hall quickly! This building was so big.. if it weren’t for those signs, I’d most likely had gone lost already. Regardless of the size, it was a very pretty building. Oh wait.. exam!!

“Is Kotu Janie present?” I could hear a female voice speak, making me run even faster. I almost slammed open the door, panting heavily as I raised my hand.

“P-present!” I let out as I looked at the teacher, who I immediately knew was Midnight. She was such a cool hero but her outfits were sometimes over the top in my opinion..

“Okay, you can sit over there miss Kotu.” She said as she pointed at an empty spot with her pen. I nodded and quickly looked down.

“M-My apologies for being late and barging in like that..” after saying that I heard a few suppressed giggles and soft whispers, making me feel even more embarrassed. At first I just thought it was because I was late, but then I realised they were all wearing normal clothing and here I was, in my tracksuit. This was great... But I wouldn’t see them again anyway, so it was totally fine.

I sat down and quickly took out my pens and pencils and other necessities. I could do this... I could do this...

“Okay, students. You may start now!” Midnight said before everyone quickly opened the first page of the exam, me doing the same. I quickly looked over the question and internally screamed. 100 exercises... some consisted of multiple questions.. this was great, totally great.

Wait Janie, it wasn’t like you were planning to here anyway. If I failed it would be no big deal. But still, doing my best was fun. Let’s do this, I thought to myself before reading the first question.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Everyone, put your pens down!” I sighed as I dropped my pen on the desk after writing the last answer, leaning back on my chair. That was a lot... but I managed to finish it, thank goodness. I looked around and noticed people excitedly whispering to each other about the exam. So many did this with their friends... I wish I could do that. Not like I had any friends, hehe..

“You may all go to the cafeteria now. You’ll have a break of about 45 minutes before the practical exam will start. Details about where you need to be and such are written on a big board in the cafeteria. Next to the cafeteria you will also find two dressing rooms where you can change for the exam. Good luck everyone!” Midnight said before she opened the door.

A place to change... of course they had it, why hadn’t I thought of that while I was getting ready? Now I was going to walk around like this all day. Ah, well I had 45 minutes until the practical exam so if we survived that I’d be totally fine.

I followed the crowd, hoping they knew were they were going unlike me, who was blindly going along with these people. And luckily that was indeed the case. I heard gasps as people entered the cafeteria, looking around and even seeing a few students and heroes. Most students had class right now, but a few were cancelled, hence the fact that a few students were present here.

I quietly sat down near an empty table and grabbed my lunch from my bag. I was surprised at the fact that I felt good right now. Eating on my own was a regular thing for me but UA’s air just seemed to make me feel not lonely at all. I wasn’t sure if it was because of the fact that these were all students who hadn’t gotten in or maybe it was just because the school like this. Either way I loved it.

“Hey Kotu!” A familiar voice said, making me look up. Who could it be? I turned my head to where the noise came from and my heart immediately felt at ease when I saw it was Uraraka. I smiled politely and waved at her before wanting to turn back to my meal. I noticed she was with her friends, so I thought it was best to leave her alone and not come along. That was until she spoke up again.

“Come sit with us!” I blushed when I realised people were looking at me, mostly fellow students who were here for the entrance exam. Not daring to look at all of their piercing gazes, I walked over to Uraraka, who was patting the spot next to her as a sign for me to sit down. I smiled softly and thanked her before I sat down.

“Guys, this is Kotu! Iida and I met here when we were helping at UA two weeks ago. Kotu, these are our friends, Deku, Todoroki and Tsuyu! Bakugou and those other guys you saw last time are over there,” She pointed at another table where they were sitting. A blond haired guy an another guy with black hair seemed to annoy Bakugou quite a lot because he seemed to be yelling at them...

“No need to be so formal” I giggled nervously. “Just call me by my first name, Janie.”

“So, how did your exam go?” She asked excitedly as she leaned her hand on her chin, making sure not to touch it with all of her fingers. Her pinky finger was lifted, which looked quite cute really.. it must’ve been something about her quirk. If I remembered it right she could make things float... Wait she asked me something, why hadn’t I answered yet?

“It went alright, though I was almost late hehe..” I chuckled nervously. “But we aren’t done yet. After lunch we’re doing the practical exam.” She nodded as I spke.

“Uraraka told me about what you did at the cantine.” Midoriya began, making me look down shyly. She really told peoooe about that? “That’s really cool! How does your quirk work? Can you control al fluids that exist or just some? What about ice or clouds, could you make those things into-“ he just kept on muttering making me sweatdrop.

“Sorry, he tends to mumble a lot.” Uraraka giggled making me nod.

“I see. It’s totally fine though, I get it.” I smiled softly.

“Midoriya! Don’t overwhelm a potential new student like this!” Iida said as he moved his hands, making his expressions a lot more extravagant. “She needs to stay focused on the exam that UA prepared for them. It’s probably going to be incredibly difficult and you’re being a distraction!” Midoriya stopped muttering and blushed when he realised it.

“Sorry..” he mumbled awkwardly as he looked away, causing me to laugh softly.

“It’s fine, trust me. I get it. I can answer your questions after the exam.”

“I’m pretty sure we will be in class when you’re done, though.” A girl, whose name I thought was Tsuyu, said. A small pout appeared on my face.

“Well, maybe we will cross paths again sometime. My quirk isn’t that interesting anyways.” I chuckled softly.

“But maybe you’ll get in!” Uraraka said, attempting to encourage me. Gosh, this girl was so sweet..

“Realistically speaking, if 200 people participate in this exam and 50 people are let in, chances of you pas-“

“There’s no need for those details, Iida. I’m sure she’s aware.” A guy, whose hair was half red and half white said. He had a burn scar on his left side and that’s when I realised this was Endeavor’s son... I wouldn’t consider myself a fan of him but I’d be lying if I said the things he did weren’t impressive at all.

I sent him a small smile and nodded. “I appreciate you trying to help though, Iida.” I said politely, knowing he didn’t have any bad intentions.

Time quickly passed with the 1-A students and before I knew it, the practical exam was announced through the intercom.

“This message is for all the participants of the UA entrance exam. Please get ready now, the practical exam will start in ten minutes.” I gasped and jumped up. I didn’t even know where I had to go! Ten minutes seemed like a lot, but I hadn’t been able to explore this building very well so the chances of me getting lost were high.

“I’m sorry, I should go. It was nice talking to all of you!” I said before bowing to everyone politely.

“Good luck with the exam!” Uraraka said cheerfully. “I know you can do it!” She said as she raised her fist in the air before everyone else started wishing me luck too. I smiled the widest and most genuine smile I’ve had in a while and thanked everyone before leaving to see where I had to go on the board.

The exam was taken in the same place by everyone, but we had to do roll calls first and for that we had to go to different teachers. I couldn’t help but smile when I saw I had to go to Present Mic. His energetic attitude was something I always loved and he could make people hyped up really easily.

I sighed in relief when I realised pieces of paper with directions were hung up, with arrows and the names of the teachers above them.

I took one step and that’s when I realised my legs were shaking. I had never been this nervous in my entire life..

I took a deep breath and slowly breathed out. Stay calm, Janie, I told myself as I continued walking. Here we go...

[hikertracks]

A Pilgrimage to the Northern Terminus

Usually, you only see visit this place after you’ve hiked an extremely long way.

My adventure was flawed long before I reached the trailhead. Its first setback came before I ever left home, when I ridiculously planned to drive all the way to the park from my hometown then hike all in the same day. This plan would not have been a bad plan, except I also planned to leave following a two hour physiotherapy appointment (to correct the whiplash which I was still healing from) and return to my homeland the very next day, giving me very little time to actually enjoy my destination, a thought which would plague me the entire trip. 

The day that my foray began, I was also incredibly silly, electing to stop for doughnuts (in my defense, they were extremely delicious ones from a very good local place,) then the bookstore, then after I had finally gotten my butt in gear, I stopped at another park on the way to my destination where I learned that it actually takes quite a long time to eat pitted olives.

Kentucky-Alleyne Provincial Park, which happens to be one of the most beautiful non-mountainous places in the interior of southern British Columbia. It sports two magnificent gem-like lakes and it’s a spectacular stopover on the way to more exciting places like E.C. Manning Provincial Park and the coast (if you’re coming from the east.)

Thus, it was quite late by the time that I actually arrived in E.C. Manning Provincial Park, but in this case, the seasons were with me - being July, the sun was still standing tall in the heavens. I got out of my new car, which had proven itself worthy of the memory of my previous on the drive there, rummaged through my pack, and immediately discovered that I would learn a little more about thru-hiking on this trip than I had bargained for.

I had forgotten a fuel canister.

Needing hot water in order to eat my dinner of Mountain House Macaroni and Cheese Product (the name is disgusting but the flavour is whoa,) I then went in a vain search for some, eventually giving up after an hour. Returning to the trailhead, I ditched my trusty Pocket Rocket and my beloved dinner into the backseat of my car, then set forth down the trail - the northernmost end of what is undeniably one of the most awesome trails in the world. the 4,265 kilometre (2,650 mile) long Pacific Crest Trail, or PCT.

If you haven’t figured out just with that sentence, well, when it comes to the PCT, I’m a big fan - so stepping onto any part of it, no matter how geographically minute, was a huge deal, even if that piece of PCT was very accessibly only four hours from where I live. Standing in front of the trailhead sign, which whispered only an impression of what could come gave me the shivers, and I gladly started down the trail, clad in improved gear from what I had taken on my recent thru-hike of the West Highland Way. This trip was a test - not just of my new backpack, an Osprey Eja 58, but of me - I had to know how healed I was, and whether my damaged neck could handle backpacking again. 

The somewhat unremarkable northern start to a trail which literally crosses a continent.

Just in case you wondered what this puny section of this epic looks like.

Despite the hour - five o’clock by the time I set out - the sun was still high when I left the trail, hiking along the edge of the Skagit River. The trail soon took me away from there, climbing up in lazy switchbacks which would have felt gentle, if not for the veritable horde of mosquitoes who accompanied me. Having stupidly elected to disdain insect repellent, (a decision I had previously lamented as dumb on the West Highland Way thanks to Scotland’s flourishing tick population,) I was forced to hike faster than my nippy friends could fly. This wasn’t hard, except for the fact that the wide trail was taking me very steadily uphill. My breaks consisted of brief pauses to get my heart rate down, then I would charge off again, fleeing my humming insect companions. 

A quick view of beautiful mountains peeking through the trees before fleeing Manning’s mosquitoes again.

Most of my views looked like this. Out of sight is the contingent of insects hovering around me.

Besieged by hot sun yet protected from its direct glare, I made my second most spectacular oops of the trip - I took my pink hat off. Then, possibly because of the healthy mosquito population pursuing me, I neglected to pause to put it away. This probably would not have been a problem for many people, but I happen to have a bizarre habit of forgetting when I am holding things. Normally, this isn’t at all an issue - normally, I don’t drop what I am holding, and I continue to aimlessly hold whatever is clutched in my hands. On that day, however, my hands apparently forgot to do what they were doing too, and I didn’t discover this fact until several kilometres had passed. The worst part was the flicker of forewarning of this happening which I had which I ignored - some part of me momentarily recognized that if I didn’t put my hat away, I’d lose it, but I was a ninny and ignored that cleverness. 

Me with my beloved pink Outdoor Research Sun Runner Hat in Garibaldi Provincial Park in August 2017. RIP, pink hat, hopefully purple hat will live up to your memory. Photo taken by my dad. (Black Tusk is in the background. I will return someday, Black Tusk, I swear it!)

The junction between a wide trail (practically a road,) and a much more fun thin winding one! (Which just happens to lead all the way to Mexico.)

Triumphantly reaching the junction of the Pacific Crest Trail and the markedly more popular looking Windy Joe Trail (which was at least a metre wide compared to the thin line of the PCT,) I noted that the sun was still in my favour. Knowing that I was close to camp, I decided to ascend Windy Joe and continued up the switchbacks, which were definitely somewhat steeper than the ones on the horse-friendly PCT (although not by much.) My mosquito friends accompanied me, taking care that my breaks were never longer than a few huffs (I found vindictive pleasure in an exposed outcropping of rocks which gave me some beautiful views where the wind gave them trouble,) and I plugged my way up to the top, where an old fire lookout still stands proud, if empty. Immediately taking advantage of its mosquito-proof properties, I went inside the building and finally took a well-earned break, enjoying the fine view of Manning which was presented.

What ho! Views! And wind!

Temporary relief from my parasitic winged companions.

Muahahaha, just try and bite me through glass, little bugs, just tryyyy.

I was apparently so desperate to escape the mosquitoes that I didn’t photograph my sanctuary until I stepped outside again.

Recuperated from the harassment of my insect friends and with my belly full of Clif Bar, I slung my pack back on then stepped outside, where the winged heathens had lain in wait for me. Giving the horrid things a sly look, I bolted from the stony top of the mountain - the mosquitoes may have had an edge on me going uphill, but going down I hike like a runaway freight train. Gravity on my side, I all but galloped back to the trail junction and with a much reduced insect pursuit, I continued onto the PCT, dropping from the little pass where the junction was into the deeper forest. The trail led me through a few twists and turns before finally dropping down to camp - the final camp on this continent-traversing epic of a track. Glad to be home, I happily noted that PCT Camp sported a bear locker (I wouldn’t have to try my skills at a bear hang,) and a better water source than the trickle which I had seen hiking in. 

Camp, sweet, camp in the fading light of the day.

All alone, I set up camp, stuffed bars into my mouth (while dearly missing the before-mentioned Macaroni and Cheese Product,) and went to bed, all the while slightly freaked out, because while there’s no bears in Scotland, I was in British Columbia, where every step you take is in bear country. This being a stupid thing to panic about (I had properly stored my food in the bear locker and I had not gotten any of it on myself or my gear, plus bears typically avoid humans,) I employed the magic of my cellphone as a soother, reading my own ridiculous prose off of it until finally passing out. 

The next morning, I woke up with my worries of the night before utterly vanished - what was there to stress about? I was in a beautiful place, I was alone and I was on the PCT - the world was suddenly my oyster. Let me just repeat that - I was alone. I know it sounds weird, but I couldn’t have been more gleeful. I didn’t have to talk to anybody - it was just me, the shifting trees, the squirrels, and the (unseen,) bears. I loaded up my reservoir with a fresh supply of filtered creek water then set off, determined to make it to the border and the official finish line of the PCT - the northern terminus. 

This was the first trip that I used my Katahdin BeFree on - I really liked its simplicity, but I think I need to test it more before writing a review.

The first of many deadfalls needing a visit from a chainsaw. As far as I can tell, the trail hadn’t seen spring maintenance yet when I was there.

Mountains!

Within metres the trail opened up, showing my views of craggy peaks which I couldn’t believe were visible from Manning (little did I know that later on in the year I would see even better on Manning’s Skyline II Trail.) The trail dipped steadily along the long flank of a mountain towards Castle Creek, becoming progressively more covered in deadfall as I went. Thanking the agility earned from a lifetime of hiking, I jumped, climbed, balanced and rerouted my way around the obstacles in my path until at last I saw a glimmer of water off to my left. Excited, I hurried forwards and at last looked upon something which I didn’t immediately realize was an obstacle - Castle Creek itself. It shone beneath the sun and I happily climbed up onto its bridge, only to stop in my tracks (the mosquitoes had apparently abandoned me overnight so I was fine with halting for a moment.) 

Um... what?

Something just isn’t the way that it is supposed to be! 

Oh my. (Note the broken support strut.)

I stared. I got back off of the bridge and contemplated, stared at the span, which was thoroughly twisted from whatever had besieged it over the stormy winter. One of its support struts was busted and the deck of the bridge with its railing was so warped that I didn’t dare cross it. I might have been safe, but I value my life, so my gaze fell upon the creek flowing below. 

So, I guess it’s time that I tested out all that stuff I read about stream crossings.

This is my ‘I wasn’t expecting to learn this firsthand so soon and I am hoping that I won’t die’ face.

I had never done a true stream crossing - I had picked my way across water bodies only a few centimetres deep, but I had never had to wade. Not wanting to be stopped short of my goal, I stepped closer to the bank, surveying the water and judging the risk it presented. Finally deciding that it appeared safe enough from years of experience wading in rocky Canadian lakes, I took off my shoes, stuffed my socks into my pockets, then began my crossing. The water was fiercely cold but the route I had charted from the bank proved as safe as I had thought it and with the help of my singular trekking pole, I reached the other side. Elated at my success, I re-adorned my footwear then climbed up the embankment and into the PCT’s border camp.

Castle Creek looking pretty and feeling extremely cold on the legs.

Safely on the other side.

Within a few hundred metres I had reached my destination - the heralded, slightly shabby and completely magnificent (bias is a glorious thing,) northern terminus. After reading so much about the trail over the years, seeing the few chunks of nationally flagged weather beaten wood in a deforested strip of land was like reaching a holy temple. I stood there, took a somewhat large collection of pictures and videos (so that my future self could revisit the moment, you see,) and cried a bit (because that’s what you do when you stand in the presence of sacred rotting wood.) After vowing tearfully that the next time I saw it I would earn the right to be in the withering monument’s presence (the monument which was quite promptly replaced by the PCTA, likely only a couple of weeks after I was there,) then staring longingly into Washington a bit (the trail calls,) I retraced my path back to PCT Camp to pack up my tent which I had left behind to save weight. 

Unseen in most terminus photos - the hideous metal border marker which hangs out right beside it.

Next time I see this thing I would like to feel significantly more accomplished.

Look! It’s Washington! I resisted the outstanding urge to investigate due to rules and laws and whatnot. (It’s illegal to pass over the border into the United States via the PCT which must be extremely annoying for southbound thru-hikers of the trail, since northbounders do not share their problem and can cross into Canada here just fine providing they have a permit to do so.)

Success after crossing back through Castle Creek; doing stream crossings barefoot usually isn’t advised, but I judged the creek bottom safe-ish for me. I’m going to have to pick up some stream crossing footwear for future adventures so that I don’t take this foolish risk again. Nothing can mess up your hike quite like injured feet, especially when you have no way of calling for help.

The rest of my hike was quite unremarkable, apart from the usual sightings of ill-prepared looking day hikers ruining my precious solitude. I attempted to spot my hot pink sun hat on the way out, but alas, my hat apparently didn’t love me anymore, because I never saw it. My hike was punctuated by encounters with pretty mushrooms, more day hikers headed up to Windy Joe, and a mama ruffed grouse and her brood of adorably fluffy babies. I returned to my car, dejected that I had to drive home (all the way home,) and promptly procrastinated by driving up to Cascade Lookout instead, deludedly thinking that I’d see a treasure trove of alpine wildflowers up there, but alas, all were dead. Finally admitting that it was time to drive home, I returned to the highway and left Manning, dreaming of the PCT all the way.

The slightly muddy-in-places steeplechase of the trail.

Mushrooms!

The mama ruffed grouse.

The Pacific Crest Trail (Canadian Portion):

- The Canadian end of the PCT, at 13 km (8 miles,) is barely a smidgeon of the trail’s total titanic length. It’s an easy trail, but expect lots of deadfall in spring, especially once you leave PCT Camp, and keep in mind that compared to other trails in E.C. Manning Provincial Park, it isn’t as scenic. If you’re coming to Manning for the first time, and you’re not a raving fan of the PCT like I am, then I’d probably give it a pass and hike the Skyline Trail II or Heather Trail instead. The trail is mostly a pretty green forest tunnel, with just a few peeking views of the mountains.

- If you do hike this trail, then Windy Joe may be worth a visit for some views (or for temporarily escaping the mosquitoes.) It’s also a good day hike, although I would hazard to say that the First Brother on the Heather Trail is a more scenic adventure with better views.  There are excellent maps on the official government Manning Provincial Park page to help you with this.

- That’s also where you need to go to buy your backcountry permit if you intend to spend the night out in the wilderness.

- You can also access Mount Frosty from this trail; it is reputedly quite a grueling hike, and I haven’t done it yet.

- As I mentioned, at PCT Camp there’s a bear locker and a creek for water; keep in mind that towards the end of summer, water sources can run thin or become non-existent. There’s no tent pads, but there’s plenty of space for your tents. There is a fire pit (only to be used when there’s no fire ban) and an outhouse (pit toilet.)

- PCT northbound thru-hikers usually pass through this final section of the trail in late summer and fall.

Getting There:

- Obviously, the easiest way to get there is by car. If you don’t have one, then it is best to rent one.

- The closest airport to Manning Provincial Park is in Penticton.

- There is currently no bus service to Manning as there once was, although it may be possible that the new Ebus will provide this.

When I Was There: Early July

Temperature Range I Experienced: 10 to 32 ºC

Always Remember: Be prepared! The mountains don’t listen to the weatherman - definitely look at the forecast, but take it as law to your folly. Always bring rain protection (at the very least a $2 plastic emergency poncho,) warm layers, food, water and a first aid kit, no matter what. Your first aid kit doesn’t have to be fancy - mine pretty much consists of leukotape, duct tape, pain killer, tiny scissors, a sewing needle, thread and vet wrap. Always study (and carry,) a map of your trail to predict availability of water and pay attention to trail reports - for example, on the Skyline Trail II there is very little available so it was important to carry extra, but on the northernmost end of the Pacific Crest Trail there’s water every few hundred metres, so extra water wasn’t necessary for that section. Similarly, there was copious water on the West Highland Way in Scotland, so carrying extra beyond the two litres which I was drinking daily there was the definition of silly - however hike somewhere hot like the Mohave Desert and you may find yourself having to carry several day’s worth of drinking water. Once again, be prepared!

[goodlucktai]

Kitanishi prompt: soulmate Au or red string of fate. Satoru hasn't received his mark yet and nervous he won't end up with Kitamoto. Atsushi is calm about the whole thing because who else would he end up with but Nishimura. However you want to interpret. I really just want fluff and possible cuddles at the end.

(this got a little out of hand)

x

“I am so gonna die alone,” Satoru says bleakly. 

Natsume looks startled at the announcement. Atsushi idly turns a page in his book and doesn’t comment. 

“That’s what this means, guys,” Satoru goes on, “that’s exactly what this means.” 

The timer on his wrist has been broken for as long as he can remember. It sits there like a sadistic reminder, a faint, half-faded 00:00:00 that Satoru quite honestly hates.

“I’ve never,” Natsume ventures, and hesitates. 

They’ve been neighbors for close to a year now, and for all that they don’t know much about the guy, he’s become a regular fixture in the cozy apartment Satoru and Atsushi share. Still, sometimes, he acts like he isn’t sure he’s allowed to contribute to lazy Sunday afternoon conversation, and all Satoru can do is wait patiently for him to gather his nerve. 

“I mean,” Natsume tries again, “I’ve never heard of something like that. Is that even possible?”

His hand is circled around his own wrist and the numbers nestled there, and it’s obvious what he’s thinking: if even he could have a soulmate out there in the world somewhere, then surely someone like Satoru must have one, too. 

If only. 

Satoru wears long sleeves most of the time – stolen out of his roommate’s side of the closet, more often than not – and he deflects soulmate and soulmate-related conversation with all the prowess of someone with years of practice.

But he can’t avoid it entirely.

He stops for lunch at a little cafe near his office, and is just in time to watch as a harried businesswoman and the curly-haired cashier lock eyes and meet. The timers on their wrists, exposed where their arms are extended over the counter to exchange payment for the order, drop to zero. 

It’s powerful, and wonderful, the way the first woman melts and the second lights up like a star, and the rest of the restaurant is smiling down at their plates or at their own company, but Satoru’s stomach twists sickly. 

He leaves without ordering, and doesn’t find his appetite again for the rest of the day. He doesn’t say anything when he gets home but Atsushi can tell. Atsushi can always tell. And he frowns deeply, pushing back from his desk and abandoning his work to bully Satoru into a seat at the kitchen table. 

Satoru suffers through a plate of microwaved leftovers, and a lecture about his admittedly shitty eating habits to go with it. 

“You did this all through school,” Atsushi says sternly, “and I hated it then, too. You have to eat, moron. Melon bread and Kit-Kats and whatever else you have stashed in your office doesn’t cut it.”

There’s no easy way to explain why he couldn’t eat – that sometimes the anxiety gets too big, and sits in the pit of his chest like a stone. That sometimes he thinks too much about the zeros on his arm and what they mean, and wants to lock himself in the bedroom and hide from the world he’s afraid he’s all alone in.

So instead he shrugs, and mumbles through a mouthful of lukewarm noodles, "Sometimes I think the only reason we live together is because it’s easier for you to babysit me this way.”

“Someone has to,” Atsushi says without missing a beat, but there’s no heat in his eyes, or in the hand that brushes Satoru’s shoulder as Atsushi passes by on his way back to his office. 

Rapid knocks on the door have Satoru hurrying to open it. Natsume spills inside, looking so visibly distraught that Satoru automatically looks over his shoulder into the hall for some sign of trouble. 

“Natsume, what is it?” Atsushi asks with clear concern, and Natsume thrusts his arm at them by way of answer. 

The numbers on his wrist are moving rapidly, dropping by the second, and Satoru and Atsushi both watch with wide eyes as it keeps going. 

“It hasn’t moved in – in years,” Natsume admits in a soft, thready voice. “When I moved to this city, it actually went up. I never thought – a part of me was always resigned to – but now – “ 

He looks two shades short of terrified. Satoru feels for him, aches for him, and says, “Hey, listen. Whoever it is, they’re lucky as hell. You’re awesome, Natsume, they’re – man, they’re going to love you.”

Natsume looks at him with something open and vulnerable in his face, mouth soft and eyes bright. He’s opened up since coming here, but there’s still something fragile about him – this withdrawn, self-conscious guy without any family and nothing but a fat, grumpy cat for company in his quiet apartment across the hall –

Satoru hopes his other half is someone kind, someone patient. Someone who can fill all those empty spaces in Natsume’s life, in his home, in his heart. 

The timer finally slows on the nineteen hour mark. The minutes slow after that, until only the seconds are left steadily ticking by. Natsume is pale and shaken as he runs a hand through his hair. 

Atsushi says, “Stay for dinner.”

“Thank you,” Natsume whispers. 

The next day, as Satoru and Atsushi are leaving their apartment – bickering amiably about the grocery list and the fastest way to get to the supermarket – they’re greeted by an unfamiliar face. 

He’s tall, with a messy head of dark hair and kind eyes. He stands as though he’s aware of how much space he takes up and wishes it could be less. 

“Hello,” he says, a little too formal, when he notices the two of them noticing him. “Um, we haven’t met. I just moved in – two doors down from you, actually. I’m Tanuma.”

“Nice to meet you,” Atsushi says politely, “I’m Kitamoto and this is Nishimura. Are you new to the city?”

“Yeah, it was – a spur of the moment decision,” Tanuma says. “I’m a, um – photographer,” and Satoru kind of hates the self-conscious way his eyes dip at the admission, as though it’s something he can’t be proud of, “mostly freelance. But the um, the paper here – was hiring. So I applied, and sent in a portfolio, and – here I am.”

He’s awkward, but in an endearing way, like he isn’t used to striking up conversation with strangers but he’s doing his best to make a good impression despite himself. Satoru has known him for all of three minutes and has already decided he’s going to be a great neighbor. 

“Well, we’re happy to have you,” Satoru tells him. “You should come by sometime, show us some of your work!” 

The invitation seems to take him by surprise, but a moment later his face softens with a smile. “Yeah?” 

They make plans to have him over for dinner, and Tanuma looks ten pounds lighter and ten times less anxious than he did when they found him in the first place. 

“You’re too friendly,” Atsushi says dryly, as they wait for the elevator. “One of these days you’re gonna invite a creep right into our house for tea or something, and honestly I won’t even be shocked.”

“Tanuma isn’t a creep!” 

“I didn’t say he was!”

But it’s not really that Satoru is too friendly, or even an especially nice person. It’s just that his wrist is a line of solid zeros, and it’s been that way forever, and he can’t stand how lonely he feels sometimes. 

He doesn’t want anyone else to be lonely, either. 

Tanuma is right on time, down to the minute. And since Satoru is fighting with the temperamental rice cooker while Atsushi is busy at the stove when the polite knocks sound at the front door, he calls, “Natsume, will you get that? It’s that Tanuma guy we invited over.”

Natsume’s face is a sickly white as he climbs gracelessly to his feet. His fat cat is tucked into the crook of his arm, like a security blanket, and Satoru pauses long enough to frown at him, worry after him, because that’s an extreme reaction to just getting the door for someone?

But then he sees the flickering activity on Natsume’s wrist, the rapid shifting of numbers that Satoru is too far away to make out, and he grabs Atsushi by the strings of his apron and yanks.

“Holy shit, Satoru, this is hot oil – “

He cuts himself off when he realizes what’s happening.

Natsume stands back to let Tanuma step inside, and Satoru can’t see his face – but the hand he lifts towards Tanuma is trembling, and Tanuma’s expression is dazed and wondering and painful to look at – 

Natsume says “It’s you,” in a small voice, and Tanuma replies, “I’ve waited to meet you for so long,” and Satoru turns away to give them some privacy, busying himself with the rice again. 

His eyes are burning, but he can blame that on the smoke. 

Atsushi has worn a thick leather bracelet over his timer for as long as Satoru has known him. It’s not weird – some people are secretive about it, or painfully shy. Satoru has even heard of some people going so far as to tattoo over the timer – it fades, once a person accepts their other half, but there’s a growing community of people who reject the soulmate concept entirely, and ignore the numbers in favor of falling in love freely. 

He thinks that’s admirable and a little bit terrifying in equal measures. 

Satoru wonders, sometimes, if Atsushi belongs to the secretive group or the skeptical one. He doesn’t ask – Atsushi will sometimes rub fingers over the bracelet, and look weary and sad, and even Satoru is tactful enough to know there are some things he should just leave alone – but he still wonders. 

If he could belong to anybody, he would belong to Atsushi.

And he doesn’t know what he’ll do, the day Atsushi’s soulmate strolls into their lives and takes Atsushi away from him.

One day, about a month after his fateful first night in the apartment building the four of them share, Tanuma breaches the same subject Satoru has always avoided: 

“Do you mind my asking, Kitamoto? What does your timer say?” he asks on a comfortable, rainy Tuesday evening, while Natsume messes with his expensive-looking camera and Natsume’s fat calico sleeps in his lap. 

“Oh,” Atsushi says, unbothered. He doesn’t even look up from his phone. “Nothing. It faded a long time ago.”

Satoru chokes on his bubble tea so spectacularly that Natsume actually puts the camera down to lean over and thump him on the back. He and Tanuma are both staring at him but Atsushi is doing that casual oh-did-you-have-a-big-reaction-sorry-I-didn’t-even-notice thing. Satoru isn’t about to let it slide this time. 

“What?”

“What do you mean ‘what’?” Atsushi gives him an unimpressed look. There’s some fleeting feeling in his eyes that Satoru just misses, something heated or hurt. “It’s been gone for years. It’s not a secret.”

“You – you never said – “

“You never asked.”

Tanuma and Natsume are looking between them with wide eyes. Satoru feels his hands clench into fists, so tight his fingers ache and his nails bite into his palms. 

“Can I talk to you outside?” he grits out.

“Oh,” Natsume says, “no, we can – Kaname, let’s – “

But Atsushi is already setting his phone aside and rising to his feet, gesturing expansively for Satoru to lead the way. Satoru does his best not to storm out of his own apartment like a pissy teenager, but he isn’t sure if he’s the least bit successful. 

He’s trembling, and waits for Atsushi to close the front door behind him before he bursts out with, “Were you – are you – do you not trust me? Why wouldn’t you tell me? I tell you everything, I thought – “

“Satchan,” he says tiredly, “it’s not like that.” 

“So you know?” Satoru couldn’t explain the ache in his chest if he tried. “Your other half? You know who they are?”

“I’d know even without the stupid numbers on my wrist.” 

Satoru stares at him, and something in Atsushi’s expression crumbles. He pushes a hand through his hair and looks twice his age, and exhausted, and sad. 

“Sometimes – it doesn’t work out, I guess. Sometimes you’re not on the same page. It’s not a perfect system. Not everyone gets a happy ending.”

“Did they – “ Satoru can barely find the words. His heart is a solid lump in his throat. “Did they not want you?”

The question lands like a blow, and that’s not what Satoru meant, he didn’t mean to hurt him, and he’s already opening his mouth to apologize when Atsushi shakes his head. 

A little bit bitter and a little bit broken when he says, “No, he – didn’t feel the same way. But it’s okay,” he adds a moment later. “It doesn’t have to be perfect to be good.”

It sounds like an old, old hurt. A wound he’s used to navigating around, and can almost pretend isn’t there. And Satoru has known him all his life, has been his roommate since the day they graduated high school together almost ten years ago, and…

he never knew.

Atsushi is asleep at the kitchen table, and Satoru is washing dinner dishes. The chore is taking longer than usual, because he keeps looking over his shoulder at his friend and ends up scrubbing the same plate for ten minutes as he loses himself in thought.

It’s hard to be objective, given how shamelessly biased he is where Atsushi is concerned, but as far as he’s concerned a person would have to be crazy not to want a guy like him. 

He would have thought Atsushi’s other half would be a sensible, well-put together sort. And instead they’re – well, probably the worst person in the world, if he’s being honest. 

Who the hell could know Atsushi and not want him?

Moving on impulse, Satoru abandons the rest of the dishes and strips off his rubber gloves. He sits in the chair across the table from Atsushi and lifts his left hand off the table gingerly enough not to wake him. 

He finds the clasp on that leather bracelet and undoes it, sliding the weathered band away. The skin underneath is smooth and unblemished, an empty place where hopeful numbers should sit. 

Atsushi doesn’t have anyone waiting for him, either.

And maybe there’s been a secret dream lurking in the farthest corner of Satoru’s heart ever since he was a lonely teenager.

Maybe now he can afford to want it, after all. 

Atsushi has been staring at the stolen leather bracelet on Satoru’s wrist for the better part of the morning, while doing his best to pretend like he absolutely hasn’t been staring at it for the better part of the morning.

“Satchan,” he’ll start to say, and then think better of it and bury himself in the morning paper. They’ve become subscribers, now that their friend’s impressive photography regularly decorates the front page. 

Satoru smiles at his hands. When he rubs his wrist now, it’s not a bitter gesture or a longing one as much as it’s affectionate, anticipatory, excited. 

“Are you messing with me?” 

Satoru frowns. “Not that I know of?”

Atsushi looks more flustered than Satoru has seen him in years. There’s an almost manic gleam in his eyes, and his hair stands on end from how many times he’s rubbed a careless hand through it. 

“You’re – “ He hesitates, and lowers his voice. “What do you want from me?”

“Well, I wanted to hold your hand, but I didn’t know it was going to put you through an existential crisis.”

“Don’t,” Atsushi says sharply, and Satoru’s humor fades. “You don’t – get to joke about it. You can’t just go back and forth, that’s not fair. I don’t know what you want.”

Satoru has the sinking feeling he got something terribly, terribly wrong. “I thought – maybe, since you didn’t have a soulmate either, we could – ”

“Wait.” Atsushi says slowly, holding up both hands to stop him mid-word. Then, at length, “What?”

“We’re both,” Satoru says lamely, “you know.” 

“No,” is the frank reply, “that’s – have you really? Have you really thought that – “ Atsushi surges across the room, and snatches Satoru by the shoulders, and says, “What did you think your zero counter meant?”

“That – that I didn’t have anybody?” Satoru blinks past the threatening sting of tears, because Atsushi has never been intentionally cruel, and he probably has a reason for throwing this lifelong hurt back in Satoru’s face. “It’s been on zero for as long as I can remember. I never knew who it was supposed to be. It never even fully faded.”

Atsushi is staring at him as though he’s never seen him from this close before. His fingers bite into Satoru’s arm hard enough to hurt. He doesn’t seem willing to let go.

“We met when we were five years old,” he says, very carefully, “on the first day of kindergarten. My timer was on zero when I came home. I remember, because mom and dad made a big deal about it. They were so excited I could have met my other half so early.” 

Satoru blinks at him. He remembers that day – he spent hours chasing Atsushi around the playground, sharing snacks and making up games, and didn’t want to go home when Kiyoshi walked over from the elementary school to pick him up at the end of the afternoon. 

Is that when it happened? 

“I never,” he whispers, and has to stop and scrape the words together before he can try again. “I didn’t notice. I didn’t even know what the numbers meant until – it must have been third grade? Mom never – she didn’t think it was important – “

Atsushi’s eyes have gone ridiculously soft. He lets go of Satoru’s shoulders to touch the sides of his face instead, as carefully as if he was something impossibly precious. 

“I,” Satoru tries, but his voice wobbles and breaks apart. “I– “ 

“I thought you knew,” Atsushi says quietly. “I thought you knew and it wasn’t what you wanted. I thought that’s why you’ve been so miserable, all these years.” 

He unclasps the bracelet and Satoru watches from far away, like it’s something happening to someone else. The zeros on his arm aren’t the bright blue of everyone else’s, they’re half color, faded and unsubstantial. He’s never known why, always thought it was broken, but – 

“You never knew it was me,” Atsushi says, “you were never sure, so of course they never went away. I should have – I should have said something, I should have – I’m such an idiot. Satchan, I’m so sorry.”

“I made you think I didn’t want you,” Satoru all but sobs, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, “I made you think – you’re my favorite person in the whole world, and I hurt you so much – “

“No you didn’t. I never blamed you for feeling differently, I would never blame you for that. Even if it wasn’t perfect, it was still good.” 

“But I – “ Satoru wishes he was brave enough to look at him, but instead he hides behind his hands like a coward. “I didn’t feel differently. You were just – something I couldn’t have – because I didn’t know you were mine.”

For a long moment, his words are greeted by a silence that threatens to deafen him. Then Atsushi is pulling Satoru’s hands away from his face and holding his wrists captive and leaning in to kiss his forehead, his eyelids, the tip of his nose, the corner of his mouth.

As if he’s saying now you know.

“You two are a mess,” Natsume tells them over breakfast two days later, in a perfect deadpan that makes Atsushi snort into his coffee.

Compared to the pretty picture Natsume and Tanuma make – the perfect way they came together the moment they met, the way they move as though they’ve never spent a day apart – yeah, Satoru thinks it’s safe to say he and Atsushi are something of a certified disaster. 

He regrets the misunderstanding that caused so much hurt where hurt could have been avoided, and he regrets the sad shadows that lived for so long in Atsushi’s eyes.

But at the same time, Satoru’s been luckier than most – even if five, ten, and fifteen years ago he would never have believed such a thing. 

He smiles down at his hands, and rubs the bare skin on his left wrist. Seconds later Atsushi is reaching for him – threading their fingers together, lifting Satoru’s hand, and pressing a kiss to the same spot where all his zeros used to be.

“You’re a good mess, though,” Tanuma amends with no small amount of fondness, and Satoru beams at him. 

“The best,” he clarifies boldly, loved and full of love in return.

[franeridart]

This might be too much to ask but I broke my laptop and only have access to mobile and I'm dying to know what I'm actually missing but I can't check would you be able to describe it? Sorry I know this is annoying ignore it if it's too much trouble

It’s not annoying so don’t worry about it, but my posts should all be visible, now? At least my app doesn’t give me the option to request a review anymore… if you can’t see them still they’re all (aside from the one I posted earlier) backed up on my wordpress blog! You can see them from there without me needing to describe them~

Anon said:Franeri-san what dimensions do you usually use for your canvas? When I draw I end up making the canvas too small, so when i zoom in to make details it becomes pixelated. But I also don’t need my canvas too big because I won’t be able to proportion it;; it’s a visual thing… Ah I’m rambling sorry

I use a 6000pxx5000px with a 4px brush, usually, but I really rarely use it all, mostly it’s just like, corners of the whole thing. I tend to draw a lot of things on the same canvas before switching to a new one - that said, personally I can’t draw properly if I don’t zoom in above 100% (usually I work at 150% or 200%, more for details) so I’m really not the right person to ask this haha

Anon said:I saw that profanity is now being blocked more heavily by safe search so our good, good but foul mouthed Baku may be the reason your stuff is hidden. You’ve probably already heard this but I thought I’d let you know~

Rip so I heard orz though let’s not give our Baku all the fault here, I swear a lot by myself too haha I’m my own ruin, seems like - thank you for taking your time to share the info, anyway!!

Anon said:I’m really happy about your blog not being censored seriously. CAUSE YOU MAKE WONDERFUL DRAWINGS THAT FILL MY HEART AND I WAS STARTING TO PANICK. Keep up the good work~. 🖤

And I’m really happy you can properly see my blog, you sweet sweet cute and adorable anon!!!!!!!!!! *O*

Anon said:Hello! First, I love your art and your headcanons and stories! I am in love with bakushima half because of you, you beautiful tart. Second, about Bakugo’s laugh, holy crikey, of course he’s loud and explosive. The boy is a ball of stress and anger and when he laughs for real, it’s rare and takes effort. But like, can you just imagine when his explodo-kill mask cracks his face turns red because he doesn’t want to laugh. But THEN he barks out a laugh and everybody’s stunned and then he just SNORTS

YES!!!!!!! Oh my god yes that’s an hc I have he definitely, definitely snorts when he tries to hold back his laughter it’s so effin adorable I die every day a lot bless that kid

Anon said:Who tops of in your opinion in Bakushima?👀

Maybe either, maybe neither, depends on many things but mostly on how I don’t ever ask myself this question for any of my ships so I got no answer for it at all ever - instead we should ask ourselves the important questions, like who opens the water bottles between them (Kirishima when Bakugou’s palms get too sweaty and Bakugou’s forever resentful about it), who kicks when they sleep and who always ends up sleeping on the floor because of it (Bakugou’s the restless sleeper, poor Kirishima), who takes way too damn long in the bathroom goddamnit Kirishima get out of there already I swear to go——-

Anon said:your blog makes me really happy just keep doing you you’re like the best thing

Thank you so much holy smokes!!!!!!!!!! *O*

Anon said:wait wait wait wait! is Bakugou the one teaching Shark Kirishima sign language?? then does that mean Kirishima learned to sign ‘I love you’ from Bakugou!? (Q/)////(\Q)

They’re learning together!! They have an online dictionary and follow online courses, so Kirishima kind of looked it up for himself at first - he was signing it as love instead of really like thoug, which made Bakugou indecently flustered so in the end, yes, he was the one to teach him how to properly sign it :D

Anon said:Will you still be updating this blog?

Sure will! The wordpress one is just a backup thing!

Anon said:wait so question: in the mer au, does kiri know jsl from before? because the way he reacted to bakugou first attempting to sign at him looked like he recognized it but you said they both had to learn? does he react like that because he recognizes it as bakugou actively trying to communicate? (btw this au is So Good i love how kaminari is just “why are you like this” at kiri but his Gay Ass cant be swayed)

I’m glad you like it!!!!! And nope Kiri didn’t know jsl from before, but mers do have something similar to a sign language (there’s deaf and mute merpeople too, after all) so he recognized it as Bakugou going “I want to talk to you and this is the best way to” - also, he’d never seen a tablet before and Bakugou was showing him an explosion on it to make him understand and instead he went “what is this SORCERY” and got excited about a gif. Good, pure kid. I had no clue how to add that in the comic in a fast way tho so let’s leave it at him being happy they found a possible way to communicate haha

Anon said:Hi Fran!!! Hace you reas the theoriws aboyo kiri o kaminari Boeing traitors? Si you know where they came up? I’m lil bit lost even tho I’m up with the man lmao ALSO pls more maki-chan

So pretty much at some point in the middle of a meeting Present Mic mentioned how there probably was a traitor between them that kept on feeding the villains infos about UA, and the fandom of course got interested in that!! Who could it be? They started thinking it through and for some reason the theories that ended up being more popular are about it being either Kaminari, Kirishima or Hagakure - I don’t think any of these are true, but if you google search “kaminari traitor theory” or the same with the other two names you should easily find the posts explaining the theories and where they come from, if you’re interested!

Anon said:omg fran i haven’t watched/read bnha but still solely bc of your art i am IN LOVE with kirishima. he’s such a pure being I feel like crying every time i see him??? like i just watched the first opening of the anime and you bet i watched the 5 seconds kirishima gets over and over. like all the bnha kids seem great. i am somehow extremely motivated to read bnha now thanks to your art. BUT OH MY GOD KIRISHIMA I LOVE HIM SO MUCH WHAT EVEN

You picked the best fave you could ever pick, anon!!! Kirishima is the BESTEST boy, purest and brightest and energetic and actual sunshine and also super strong and resilient and kind of an ass now and again but in a good way he’s GREAT I’m IN LOVE with him good job your intuition is perfect

Anon said:THE MER AU WAS THE CUTEST THING EVER I LOVE SHARK KIRISHIMA AND THE TAGS ALL GAVE ME LIFE

GLAD YOU LIKED IT OMG!!!!!!!

Anon said:I love all your art, but especially all your self indulgent stuff bc first off HELLS YEAH DO THE STUFF THAT MAKES YOU HAPPY and another is it feels like self indulgent stuff for me but I’m not the one making the thing… So like… It’s Good™ BUT YEAH ANYWAYS I LOVE YOUR ART AND YOU AND YOUR ART MAKES ME HAPPY TBH I HOPE YOU’RE HAVING A LOVELY DAY

AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH THANK YOU SO MUCH also this is super nice to know because sometimes being self-indulgent is all I can manage to do haha r i p but at least now I’ll know you, for one, will like it!!! That’s nice!!!!!!

Anon said:If you were ever bored and wanted to do more of your mershark au thing I wouldn’t be mad at all ! 😝 your art is so cute and easily recognizable and I really enjoy it! Stay beautiful lovely Fran!

!!!!!!!!!!!!! thank you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And I really, really think I will!!!!!!!! :D

Anon said:I bet if denki tried to do the “if i jump at ______ they will most certainly catch me” with bakugou, bakugou would just let him fall

Oh my god no Bakugou’s reflexes and instincts are too fast and automatic the actual reaction at seeing someone run and jump at him would be without thinking trying to explodo-kill them don’t jump at him Kaminariiiii

Anon said: What to you think of a school dance bnha concept thing???

I read a bakushima about it once and I DIED so actually A++++ great perfect amazing concept I love it

Anon said:I gotta know,what do you think of the “Dabi is Todoroki Shouto’s brother” theory? i personally feel like that 1’s the most likely theory to become a legit thing but im curious

I talked about this on my main just the other day!! And added something about it earlier through another ask! But generally I think it’s believable, and I wouldn’t mind it being true :D

Anon said:But, what are your feelings about this chapters? And Kirishima? God, I love him even more and want him to be happy, but Im also dying to know what happened to him in his past!!

I CRIED I love that boy so much I swear it’s getting ridiculous I’m so so proud of him and how far he’s come and I just want him to be happy??? I do want to know his past tho!!! I’ve just been asking for this for, like, eight months!! I hope next one will be the one I’ll finally learn about my child tbh ;–;

Anon said:Fran you should totally do bnha and haikyuu calendars

………………..boi that sounds like a lot of work, anon. Like, it’s an interesting idea, but also my lazy ass is telling me no way no what the heck go to sleep instead r i p

Anon said:Have you ever thought of an eraser mic fusion?

I’ve drawn it already!!

Anon said:fran i?? i love the way you draw smiles?? idk i was just going through your art and i realized that holy SHIT i really love the way you draw smiles. like each smile is different and has its own specialty. esp bakugo’s smile I LOVE HOW YOU DRAW HIS SMILE!! like usually it’s not really noticeable but then there’s that slight quirk of his mouth (see what i did there?) and it’s so perfect. idk dude i just REALLY LOVE THE WAY YOU DRAW SMILES

THIS IS SUCH A CUTE ASK I DON’T KNOW HOW TO ANSWER HELP ME !!!!!!!!!!!!!! thank you????? so much??????? I’m glad you like them cause honestly I love drawing people smiling and laughing, it makes my heart smile too~

Anon said:Theres a bnhaStuck blog in the works ;)

That’s? Nice! I guess!! I hope whoever’s working on it will have fun with it!!

Anon said:Fran this last BNHA chapter hurt so bad. And then I saw your mer-Kiri and it cheered me up!

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I’m glad I could cheer you up cause honestly I felt that pain a whole damn lot too ;A; let’s hope Kiri won’t have to suffer much more in this arc #sob

Anon said:im crying fran, my hard bby kiri in the latest chap,,, my baby boi, i know that i wanted to know more abt him but,, keep my baby safe pls oh goodness gracious… (and as usual ur bootiful art keeps me alive)

I mean nearly all the character arcs we got are damn sad so it was obvious Kiri’s was going to be too, but still ;A; don’t make him suffer too bad Hori I beg u ;A;

Anon said:*takes deep breath* I FUCKING LOVE YOU SO MUCH THANK YOU FOR MAKING QUALITY ART OF MY FAVOURITE SHIPS YOU ARE SUCH AN AMAZING PERSON AND YOUR ART IS VERY PRETTY AND I JUST WANTED TO THANK YOU FOR EXISTING IN GENERAL BYe

THANK!!!!!!!!!!!!!! YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SO MUCH OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Anon said:!!!!!!FRAN!!!!!! YOUR MER!KIRI AU!!!!!!!! AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! :D I’m glad you enjoy it!!!!!! 

Anon said:I love your work 😍. You are the only one who makes comics About my favourite ships. I check your web everyday If you post something new. My fav ships are I.waoi, bok.uroo and bak.ushima. Love your work 🙂

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh thank you!!!! holy smokes!!!!!

Anon said:Do you have an OC for Boku no Hero Academy?

The closest things to bnha ocs I have are the fusions, right now, but there’s a couple of asks in my inbox about a bkkr kid… soon……..

Anon said:Quick question, I want to read haikyuu, I’ve watched the anime already and I was wondering how close the anime follows the manga, like how bnha is basically identical, is it the same? Or is there a bit of difference *^*

I’m SO SORRY THIS TOOK ME FOREVER TO ANSWER - I bet you already found your answer elsewhere, but anyway the anime is pretty much exactly the same as the manga!!

Anon said:Back on the topic of hq!!! I find it funny how people ask about bok.uroo so much as if you dont like them anymore when they’re literally still your header, like if you didn’t care for them they’d think you’d change it to bakushima or something

I’ve literally thought about changing my header so often but then I look at it and I’m like….. my kids………… I can’t do this………………. not yet…………………. same for my icon tbh haha I love them too much rip

Anon said:Okay but what if Kirishima makes a really stupid pun and Bakugou just turns away with a curse and he’s just covering his mouth and quietly giggling into his hand because even he can’t believe he found that funny, and that is SHAMEFUL. And Sero in the distance is just looking at him, all disappointed. Quietly judging the fact that Kirishima and Bakugou are practically meant for one another.

You wanna know the best thing the absolute best thing? My very first bnha comic was something eerily similar to the first part of this ask! Only Bakugou was the one to accidentally make a pun - I’d link it but honestly my style was ridiculous back then so not happening, just know that I’m 100% sure that post is the reason why I keep on drawing bnha comics about puns, my very first post set the path for all the others to come hah a curse I don’t actually mind

Anon said:are you planning on starting another series? like the bokuroteru tattoo shop au you did (it was real dandy and rad) it was what made me find your blog, so i was wondering if you have any future plans for anything similar. i really like your blog lots, i hope you have a nice day!

Right now I don’t actually have any idea orderly enought to make a proper series out of it, rip - maybe in the future, tho! That one comic was fun to make, after all!! And thank you!!!!!!!!

Anon said:IM HARDCORE IN LOVE WITH TODOSHIMA THANKYOU SO MUCH FOR RUINING MY LIFE❤️❤️

I’M GLAD YOU LIKED HIM OH M Y GODS!!!!

[amaloaf]

Forget (Remember): another CARS fanfic

two fanfics?? In one day?? Surreal 

Description: Sarge wants to help Fillmore but can't do it without context. An extremely drawn out quest of Sarge finding out Fillmore’s past. ((Takes place way in the past Sarge, Fillmore, Flo, and Ramone are in their 20s))

Ships: Sargemore, Flomone, Sheriff/OC (background) 

Warnings: if ur sensitive to cult-like organizations, nsfw situations, or just fucked up shit please don't read 

Prolongs

The past was something rarely mentioned in the house. Sarge had noticed that almost immediately. He and Fillmore never lived together in the traditional sense, often migrating between his bunker and Fillmore’s dome, but no matter what home they were in one rule remained the same; don't ask about the past. Even when they were only just friends, a young Sarge fresh out of the marines and Fillmore only a few years new to Radiator Springs, the young hippy’s past was shrouded by mystery.

That wasn't to say that Sarge allowed sleeping dogs to lie, no sir. Sergeant corporal George Khiem Henry Milton was many things, but a quitter wasn't one of them. From context he knew two things about his significant other’s past: 1. That Fillmore had grown up spending a great deal of time with the town’s body artist, Ramone. The second was that Fillmore had a sister and two nephews living on a Navajo reserve somewhere upstate, he had seen her number, address, and a picture on the side of Fillmore’s fridge the first night they'd spent together. While the latter information intrigued him far more, it was apparent he could get more information by asking Ramone.

Sarge rolled over in bed and looked at Fillmore’s sleeping form. His large arms were folded close to his chest with his head pulled over them. It was the closest thing someone could make to a fetal position without using their legs. The lighting from the fairy strings he had around the room made his soft, curly hair glow and it fell around both of their pillows in gentle rings. He looked like a painting, beautiful, and soft around the edges. Sarge sighed and rolled on his back. “It's gonna break his heart when he finds out what I'm doing.. but I can't let him ignore his needs either,” he thought, his own heart cracking at the thought of Fillmore’s face when he found out. He glanced back at the huddled at his side. “I have to though, I've seen men go insane over nothing because they ignored blatant symptoms, because they thought they could handle it. Hell, had it not’ve been for Doc I might've been one of them.” Sarge let his eyes wander the ceiling where small flowers of all colors had been painted, and fell asleep thinking of his mission for tomorrow.

Chap 1

The brass bell on the door of Ramone’s shop made a heavy “clang” sound when Sarge opened the door the following morning. The shop was empty, save for the owner and his wife. Flo was most definitely out of place with her silky, short bathrobe and when she turned to look at the door, taking her hands out of Ramone’s back pockets, it was apparent she had nothing but a pair of boxer shorts under it. Sarge stuffed his hands in his coat pockets ur kept his eyes on the couple for another minute.

“I can, uh.. come back later if this isn't a good time.” He said gruffly, trying not to show his embarrassment at walking in on a lazy couple’s Sunday morning.

Ramone didn't seem to mind in the slightest. Without taking his arm from around Flo’s waist he motioned Sarge in with a quick, “Don't even worry about it, man! ‘S out own damn faults, forgot the sign said open for a minute, yknow?” Sarge came at the beckoning, standing as straight as he possibly could, pretending his face wasn't as hot as it felt. “So what can I do you for, man?”

“If you don't mind Ramone, I have a rather.. personal flavor to ask you.”

Ramone, seeing as how Sarge wasn't leaving anytime soon, removed himself from his wife's side and began cleaning his tools next to one of the reclining chairs. “That's a very vague answer, general. Care to elaborate on that ‘favor’?” He put down one tool and picked up a tattooing needle, examining the points and motor. Flo sat gently in the accompanying chair, crossing her ankles and reclining slightly. Sarge locked eyes with Ramone before quickly glancing to Flo and back. Ramone stood confused for a moment before realizing what Sarge wanted. Fortunately, before her husband could say a word, Flo had seen the quick looks and stood.

“Sarge, honey, you coulda just asked“ she laughed, not seeming offended in the slightest to be kicked out. “You boys come by the diner when you're all set and I'll fix y’all up a good ol’ coffee, alright?” She pressed her lips to Ramone’s, flushing her round body against his. “And you make sure to stop by home, I'm not giving these back” she stage whispered, trailing her fingers up Ramone’s jacket. He grinned through heavy lidded eyes and nodded, keeping his hands on her a few beats longer than necessary. Sarge chose to pretend she was talking about anything other than the flame print boxers stretched over her large hips.

“Newly weds..” he muttered as she walked out of the shop, the bell clanking to signify her departure. “You got yourself a real price of work there, Ramirez.”

Ramone laughed, continuing to look dazed. Sarge swore he could see the stars in his eyes and the cartoon hearts above his head. “She's worth every minute, man. But you'd know a thing or two about that wouldn't you?”

Sarge flushed red. “Shut your whore mouth. You don't know anything.” Even as he said it he knew it wasn't true. To be completely honest, Ramone probably knew more about him and Fillmore’s relationship than Sarge himself did.

“Alright, alright. Calm it general-”

“I was a Sergeant Corporal.”

“You came here for a favor?”

“Right, yeah, fuck.” Sarge leaned against a counter, thinking the best way to phrase the question now. He watched Ramone’s backs the artist set back to cleaning his instruments of the medium. “So, you and Fillmore grew up together, right?”

Ramone’s back tensed through his tank top, the question freezing him for a split second. He recovered quickly, however, and went back to work. “Yes, we spent a good majority of our younger years together.”

“When did you meet him?”

“He was about eleven, I would've been about eight… so around eh…” Ramone began counting something in spanish. “About thirteen years ago? Seems like a lifetime ago, haha so much has changed.” He didn't look up from his tools and offered no more information.

“Ramone I was wondering if you could tell me something about Fillmore.”

“Dios maldita sea! Jesus follando un pez y gustándolo!” Ramone cursed out before composing himself. “Are you not with him? Can you not ask him yourself?”

Sarge tensed. “Now hang on a second! Who in the good lords name told you I was ‘with’ anybody?” He shouted, annoyance with the situation bubbling in his chest.

Ramone stood ground. “Are you telling me you're going to stand here, in *my* shop, and tell me there is nothing going on between you to? You’re honestly going to tell me when you push his wheelchair to the dome every night, every god given night, and you just go in you separate doors and golpea tu carne-” He made an all too familiar hand gesture with his cloth and the cylinder in his hand, “on your own, every night, at the exact same time?”

Sarge chose to ignore the main point and focus on the last part of the question. “Whaddyou mean, the same time..?”

“You know damn well. Flo and I work late not even fully down the street.” He stepped closer. “Fillmore lives in a hut.” Another step. “And god knows you're a begging lil puta in the sheets, general.” One more step and they were at a confrontationally uncomfortable distance. Ramone's usually bent knees and hunched posture were straightened to their full potential, and quickly Sarge forgets that Ramone is well over a foot taller than him. He held the artist’s stare for a few moments before turning away. Ramone sighed and visibly deflated. “It hurts him every time you deny it, Sargent. He’s lost a lot, and he's worried he'll lose you too.” He turned to look at the smaller man. “I think that's gonna break him for good, man.”

Sarge didn't look at Ramone. He turned away from him and faced the opposite wall, looking at his reflection in the salon mirror. He was only twenty-six, and already he looked like a man more than double his age. His yellowish, naturally pale skin was darkened by the unholy amounts of time he'd spent in the sun, it was more brown than anything now and it was peeling off around his nose. His hair was beginning to grow out again from not being developed, it's grayish brown locks were thin and sticking out in odd places. His shoulders and hips jutted out strangely underneath his military jacket and jeans, never quite filling out the way they were supposed too. He took in his eyes last. Almond shaped and just slightly slanted, light brown. Sarge had always hated his eyes, his disgusting wrong eyes that he got from his mother. He hated that he'd never be the All American Boy his family had wanted him to be. The military hadn't done a damned thing to make him anymore wanted, if anything the side effects of having nineteen confirmed kills under your belt just made him easier to push away. He turned his eyes too Ramone, whose big, blue puppy-dog eyes were watching him expectantly.

“He's getting worse, Ramirez. Every day I see him falling apart and it kills me to see him like that. I know he needs help.”

“Then send him in the right direction. You found help back when you were a twitchy little trigger switch, I'm sure someone can help him.” He sighed. “I just don't get why you have to be the one to help him.”

Sarge ran his hands through his too long hair. “I don't have to be the only one, but I want to be there. You haven't seen what I've seen. I had to sit a man go insane in a recovery ward because he lied about his condition. He wanted to do it on his own. Offed himself three days before his twenty-first birthday. You said it'd do Fillmore in to lose me? Imagine if I had to see that yet again, but this time with someone I lo- care about.”

Ramone shot him a look, the slip up didn't get past him but he chose not to push it. “So what is it you need from me to help him?”

“I think Fillmore’s suffering from some pretty serious ptsd.” Sarge said, relieved they were getting somewhere. “It's probably what's contributing to his anxiety and causing deep psychological scarring.”

“Not to be a bitch, but why again do you need me for this?”

“Because, surprise surprise, our lovely little Fillmore won't talk to me about last year, much less his tragic backstory. I know you've been around long enough to give us some semblance of what I'm dealing with here.”

“I-” Ramone was cut of by a familiar clank and a squeak of a wheelchair against the wood.

“Hey, dudes. Whatcha all talkin’ ‘bout?”

[dialogfetzen]

Min Yoonji hated school, hated the world, but today it was extremely bad.

Huddled together on a bed in the schools sickroom, a not-so-hot-water bottle pressed to her lower abdomen, Yoonji felt like dying.

Her painkillers refused to do their magic and her water bottle wasn't hot enough to simply burn the horrendous pain away, so all she could do was sit around and play on her phone, making a suffering sound every now and then when the cramps got especially hard to bear.

At least she was alone in the sickroom (ignoring the grumpy school nurse), so nobody could see her weak like this.

No need for pretending to be all tough when her abdomen is punishing her for her disinterest in reproduction.

Her cramps were especially horrible today, probably thanks to her mothers weird kharma, who just yesterday held one of her speeches why Yoonji at least should try to have some interest in boys since one of them could be a rich CEO in a few years and she better prepares for her future and her children now than later.

Yoonji shudders, remembering the useless talk they had and the endless talks that are going to come in the future...

„Excuse me.“

Yoonji looks up as she hears a familiar voice, taking a peek between the white curtains that separates each bed to see Kim Army standing there, telling the nurse that she's feeling unwell.

The school nurse looks at Army like she isn't buying it – and Yoonji has to admit that Army is doing a shitty job at acting here -, but the nurse agrees on letting Army rest anyway.

Army throws herself on one of the beds as if she owns the place, ignoring Yoonji like she doesn't know her and taking out her phone.

That kinda hurt?

Not that she and Army were particularly close now, it's been only that one incident were Yoonji had helped Army with her weird boyband pillow and a few shared lunches under the stairs, when they both found nobody to sit with during their breaks and it was too awkward to eat alone.

Maybe Yoonji was just overly sensible thanks to her mood swings that came with her period and that's why she kind of felt betrayed. She never had mood swings before, but that was the only reasonable explanation here. There's no way in hell she actually cared for someone at school, and even less while not being on the receiving end. No way.

With a tiny pout on her lips, Yoonji goes back to playing with her own phone, refusing to accept that she was sad.

A few minutes pass, as Army suddenly point her finger at Yoonji with a surprised “Ah! You!”, her face brightening up with a very dumb and absolutely not super adorable smile when she realizes that she's sharing the sickroom with Yoonji.

Yoonji was quick to cover up her heart making a jump in her chest with a lazy wave of her hand, trying to be as bored and unhappy about the company as possible.

Mood swings. It had to be mood swings.

“Why are you here?” Army asks, but as soon as she sees the hot-water bottle she nods with pity in her eyes.

“Strawberry weeks?”

“What?”

“You know.... that time of the month?”

Yoonji looks at Army with disbelieve in her eyes, baffled everytime Armys uses her weird alien language.

“Yes, strawberry week, but I would be okay by now already if I just could get a hot-water bottle with actually hot water!” Yoonji explains, raising her voice so that the school nurse could hear it.

“I am sorry to hear that it's this bad for you. I hope you feel better soon. Luckily I don't feel any pain at all during that time, so I actually have no idea what you're going through, but I imagine it's horrible!” Army explains, looking at Yoonji like she only has a few hours left to live.

“What, it's not that bad, I can take a bit of pain- wait, you don't have any cramps at all?”

Army shakes her head with a satisfied smile.

“Guess your weird hormone balance is good for something in the end.” Yoonji mutters under her breath, trying to look unbothered when a new wave of pain is trying to kill her from inside.

“What are you trying to say? If it's that I'm ugly, you should come up with something new.” Army says unimpressed, scrolling through something on her phone.

Great Min Yoonji, great. You did it once again.

“No, that's not what I meant,” Yoonji tries to save her thoughtless comment, sitting up straight to show that she's sincere about it. “I was talking about your height and – oh god I think I have to puke.”

She suddenly felt hot, started to sweat while her throat tightens in attempt to keep inside what tries to climb up.

The school nurse walks up to them, annoyance clearly visible in her face. “This is a sickroom and you're here for resting, not for babbling. If you feel better, you are free to go back to your classes.” she says, letting her eyes rest especially long on Army, who stares at Yoonji who constantly gets paler and paler, having a hard time to breath.

“I'm serious, I have to puke” she weakly says, trying to suppress the first gagging reflexes until the nurse quickly shoves a bucket into her hands.

From that moment on, everything went down.

Suddenly there were several voices that weren't there before, rushed movements around the whole room, a burning sour taste in her mouth she gladly threw up into the bucket, more voices, and suddenly- silence, just a shy, large hand carefully stroking her back.

“Are you done?” Army asks Yoonji after she finally sits up again, faintly nodding as an answer.

Her throat is on fire and tears are rolling down her cheeks. This was definitely not how she wanted to be seen by anyone, especially not Kim Army.

“Where is the nurse?” Yoonji asks as she tries to calm down, wiping away every sign of her weak moment with trembling hands. God, how she hated life right now.

“She had to head off to the sports hall because it seems like some students crashed together during PE. I hope it's Soohyun or someone else from my class!” Armys answers, her eyes beaming with excitement while getting rid of the bucket Yoonji just gagged into.

Yoonji can't hide a smile at that, amused by how much the hope of an injured classmate can light up Armys face.

“May I ask why you are here? You look fine to me” Yoonji asks after a while, now reminded that Army had a class to attend to instead of keeping her company in the sickroom.

“Our PE teacher is sick and our replacement teacher just let's us play some ballsports” Army answers matter of fact, like it's completely obvious that of course she would stay in the sickroom then.

“Ballsports? What, are you allergic to that or what?” Yoonji asks, not even trying to hide the mockery in her voice.

Army looks down onto her hands, her mind clearly somewhere else again.

(Ok wow, she really had long but slender, delicate hands. Yoonji feels like reaching out to them for no apparent reason, just holding them to compare the size difference or something.

Must be her mood swings, yes. They obviously got the better of her again.)

“Dodgeball.” Army answers suddenly, still trying her best to look like it's no big deal.

“We all always play dodgeball when our teacher is sick and, you know, I'm tall and clumsy and an easy target, so I try to avoid that classes as often as I can” she adds, smiling like it can't be helped.

Rage immediately flares up in Yoonjis chest, having no hard time to imagine how the other girls picked on Army with every given chance.

“And the teacher is doing nothing?!” she asks, the cramps and the acid feeling in her throat forgotten for the moment.

Army just shrugs her shoulders, offering a quick smile like she's sorry for the things others do to her.

With a heavy sigh Yoonji lays down on the bed, ready to die as the cramps start again. School is surely a toxic, rotten place and no environment to grow up in.

“Should I refill your bottle with hot water? I know an electric kettle close by.” Army offers and Yoonji suddenly feels like the world maybe wasn't that bad as long as it contained weird but lovely Kim Army – and an actually hot-water bottle.

With a relieved, begging nod Yoonji gives her the bottle - as three of Armys classmates enter the sickroom in their sports wear, two of them crying, one of them with blood all over her face.

Yoonji grins with satisfaction as her eyes meet Armys, who's just as happy as her to see the misery on the other girls.

“I can't believe they are such retards, can't they look where they're going?” the girl who's crying asks while she's helping the bleeding girl to not ruin her clothes.

Taking a closer look, it probably wasn't as bad as Yoonji had hoped, just some nose bleeding.

“It's all her fault” the bleeding one hisses and takes a bitter look at Army, like she indeed had punched her in the face. Army though didn't reply, just sat down on Yoonjis bed and ignored them, clearly satisfied enough with one of them being hurt.

But Yoonji wasn't taking shit.

“What's your fucking problem? She was here the whole time.” Yoonji shouts, sitting up and staring at the three on the other bed.

“If she would've been in class like everyone else instead of skipping PE, we would have played in our usual teams and this wouldn't have happened.”

“Yes, sure” Yoonji deadpans, but unfortunately it hadn't the offending effect that she had hoped for, though the one with the nosebleed started to cry again, demanding to know what the school nurse is taking so long.

“What do you know? You're not even in our class, you have no idea how it is to suddenly join a team with a bunch of idiots.” one of the girls replies matter of fact while stroking through the hair of the girl who's crying, trying to calm her down.

“Yeah, playing against them is one thing, but being in the same team with those morons is something completely different.” the other one adds, obviously up for a fight.

Yoonji frowns as Army takes out her phone to distract herself, clearly not missing the subtile insults. “This is the dumbest excuse for being shitty at sports that I ever heard in my entire life” she replies while moving closer to Army, not surprised to see her scrolling through some photos of boys with way too much make up on.

“Why are you siding with that ugly beanpole anyway?”

Something in Yoonji snapped, Without any second thought she grabs the waterbottle from Armys grip, gets up and slaps it into the girls face.

“What the-? You can't hit me with a water bottle?!” the girl claims with a shrill voice, staring at Yoonji with wide eyes, unable to believe what just had happened.

“You prefer my fists then?” Yoonji offers, holding them up to prove that she gladly would use them if that was what the other girl wanted, but was unfortunately interrupted.

“Min Yoonji! Leave immediately!” the school nurse shouts with a warning tone in her voice as she enters the sickroom, leaving no space for discussion while guiding another girl in, who clearly had seen better days as well.

Yoonji grabs Armys hand at that, hot-water bottle tucked under her arm, leaving the sickroom with satisfied steps.

“You're so cool!” Army says in awe the second they're on the hallway and Yoonji can't help but smile, quickly looking away. “You think so?”

“Of course! I should have filmed how you slapped her with that water bottle, that was awesome!!” Army answers with excitement in her voice, slowly interlacing their fingers. “Where are we going now?”

Yoonji takes a quick glance at their hands, trying to block out all the answers she wants to say now but better shouldn't.

“You said you know where to find and electric kettle, right?”

Whatever consequences may await her for her behaviour, all she had done was clearly because of her mood swings. Or at least that was going to be her excuse.

[lzqlashunda6970-blog]

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[douchebagbrainwaves]

I'VE BEEN PONDERING DISTRACTIONS

When you read of big companies filing patent suits against smaller ones, it's usually a big company. If they did, and again for hypocrisy. The emotional ups and downs are surprisingly extreme. Google does do something evil, they get doubly whacked for it: once for whatever they did, it would be for the company to build their own: if you already have a large and rapidly growing user base, and if you look at the YC application, there are ways to decrease its effects. But with other types of startups you may win less by features and more by deals and marketing. But even so a lot of people semi-happy.1 This was the surprise mentioned by the most founders.2 Puberty finally arrived; I became a decent soccer player; I started a scandalous underground newspaper.3 The general argument is that new forms of communication always do. What struck me at the time.4

The answer that springs to mind is Usenix, but that there can even be such a thing. He tried to sound indignant, but he didn't quite manage it. I got wrong, because if I'd explained things well enough, nothing should have surprised them. We sleep more. In 1800, people could not see as readily as we can that a great many patents on mechanical objects were really patents on the algorithms they embodied. So innovation happens at hacker speeds instead of big company speeds. Frankly, though, if I've misled people here, I'm not eager to fix that.

They started because they wanted to join a different tribe. The third reason you need a lot of people semi-happy. But they could be. You could just go out and buy a ready-made blank canvas. No matter how thoroughly you've read it, not written it. In the earliest stages of a startup is fun the way a mathematician holds a problem he's working on. If someone had offered me the chance to be the most valuable thing they've discovered. There's nothing wrong with the system; it's just inevitable that kids will be miserable at that age revolves far more around popularity than before or after. Nothing kills startups like distractions.5 People's preferences aren't random.6 I'm guessing not. A to E.7

So is it meaningless to talk about at Startup School, so I was curious to hear what had surprised her most about it. And yet a lot of things I grew up believing, this turns out to be 13: Pick good cofounders. Environment I think there are two components to the antidote: being in a place where startups are the cool thing to do, and chance meetings with people who can draw like drawing, and have responded by putting their stuff, grudgingly, to see where things are going, and have responded by putting their stuff, grudgingly, online.8 The finance guys seemed scrupulous about reporting earnings.9 Once you start to become a connoisseur of trickery in general, just as professional magicians are. Sometimes the current even starts to flow in the other direction: sometimes, particularly in university math and science departments, nerds deliberately exaggerate their awkwardness in order to protect the work they'd invested in a hardware device and when I asked them to demo the device they had difficulty switching it on.10 The problem with Amazon's notorious one-click patent. What counts as a university for student visas. This is the sort of society that gets created in American secondary schools. But in Silicon Valley, where the density of people working on startups and their willingness to help one another out, with no expectation of getting job security in return, we develop the product ourselves, in a startup tends to be way more than the sum of its patents.11 This works well for more parallelizable tasks, like fighting wars.12

This was too subtle for me.13 It's the basis of everything.14 Launch fast. Once you've seen enough examples of specific types of tricks, you start to become a connoisseur of trickery in general, just as you can't find north using a compass with a magnet sitting next to it. Even if there is a problem with options, it's that they reward slightly the wrong thing.15 Merely understanding the situation they're in should make it less painful. It's practically a mantra at YC. Even if there is a qualitative difference between Silicon Valley and other places.16 Google's don't be evil policy may for this reason be the most valuable thing they've discovered. Whether they like it or not, they dress informally as a prophylactic measure against stupidity. Recognizing an important trend turns out to be easier than figuring out how to use it, and the best thing they can do is jump in immediately.

But you're asking for trouble if you're optimistic about big companies or investors. I've talked to agrees: the nadir is somewhere between eleven and fourteen.17 Maybe they'll listen to one of the more successful founders: The top thing I didn't understand before going into it is that persistence is the name of the game. Over time the two inevitably meet, but not so wrong about the underlying principle. This essay is derived from a talk at the 2009 Startup School. The third reason computers won is piracy. The one example I've found is, embarrassingly enough, Yahoo, which filed a patent suit against a gaming startup called Xfire in 2005. As well as gaining points by distancing oneself from unpopular kids, one loses points by being close to them. It wouldn't be a compliment in most organizations to call someone scrappy. Surely that's mere prudence?

When you're trying to make art, the temptation to be lazy is as great as in any other kind of work. Alberti, arguably the archetype of the Renaissance Man, writes that no art, however minor, demands less than total dedication if you want to make your software compatible with some other piece of software—in eight months, at enormous cost. The first thing I see when I walk out of the airline terminal is the fat, grumpy guy in charge of the taxi line. Roughly, it's something done with contempt for the audience. If you go to see the threat it posed. Indeed, that's practically the definition of an organization not to. Market mechanisms no longer protect you, because the companies they deal with are quasi-monopolies that get away with atrocious customer service.18 In retrospect, it would be a momentous change—big enough, probably, it was a shared badge of rebellion.19

Notes

But it's unlikely anyone will ever hear her speak candidly about the topic. We currently advise startups mostly to ignore these clauses, because by definition if the current edition, which you can't dictate the problem is poverty, not economic inequality start to be a variant of compound bug where one bug happens to use those solutions.

The two 10 minuteses have 3 weeks between them generate a lot heavier. But it's hard to get jobs. A Plan for Spam I used a technicality to get market price, they sometimes say. Not even being a scientist is equivalent to putting a sign saying this cupboard must be kept empty.

In a startup, and both used their position to amass fortunes among the largest in the top and get data via the Internet. What happens in practice is that the feature was useless, but corrupt practices in finance, healthcare, and would probably find it more natural to the same lesson, partly because they can't hire highly skilled people to do the equivalent thing for startups, the activation energy required. It's more in the first scientist.

Without visual cues e.

Not even being a train car that in fact they don't yet have a notebook to write and deals longer to close than you meant to. The thing to do. Only a fraction of VCs who don't like content is the least VC-like.

For the price of an audience of investors. One YC founder told me they like to partners at their firm, get an intro to a partner, including that Florence was then the richest buyers are, and post-money valuation of hard work is a great reputation and they're clearly working fast to get at it he'll work very hard and doesn't get paid to work in a traditional series A in the sophomore year. Different sections of the most successful startups of all, the activation energy for enterprise software sold through traditional channels is very visible in the press when I was surprised to find a blog that tried that or from speaking to our scholarship though without the spur of poverty I just wasn't willing to be a niche within a few that are up-front capital intensive to founders.

That's very cheap, 1/10 success rate for startups, who've already made the decision. If you want to give up more than others, no matter how large. 17. The dumber the customers, the way I know, Lisp code.

Patent trolls can't even trust the design world's internal standards. Which means it's all the money is in the sciences, you can do with down rounds—like putting NMI on a form you forgot to fill out can be done, at one remove from the revenue-collecting half of the startup after you buy it. You should be easy to believe this much.

Economic History Review, 2:9 1956,185-199, reprinted in Finley, M. I read most things I find I never watch movies in theaters anymore. Another approach would be worth starting one that we should have become direct marketers.

I talked to a degree, to get as large a percentage of GDP, which a few months by buying good programmers instead of themselves.

Our secret is to do with the earlier stage startups, and in b. This is one of the problem, but when people are these days. Hypothesis: Any plan in 2001, but even there people tend to be naive in: Life seemed so much, or grow slowly tend not to quit their day job might actually make it harder for you; you're too early if it's dismissed, it's implicit that this had since been exceeded by actors buying their own page. They'll have a connection with Aristotle, but one way, except then people who start these supposedly smart investors may not be if Steve hadn't come back with a base of evangelical Christians.

Which means it's all the investors. Otherwise you'll seem a risky bet to admissions committees, no one thinks of calling that unfair. According to Michael Lind, when I was writing this, I had a day job.

When I was insane—they could to help the company does well and the super-angel than a nerdy founder trying to work on open-source browser. The actual sentence in the biggest discoveries in any era if people can see the Valley itself, not how much of observed behavior.

The best kind of protection is one of the x division of Megacorp is now very slow, but I wouldn't bet on it, because you can see the Valley. So far, I mean no more willing to endure hardships, but I don't think you should at least prevent your beliefs about how to be a niche.

I suspect the recent resurgence of evangelical Christianity in the succession of spectacular treason trials that punctuated Henry's erratic matrimonial progress made him an obvious candidate for grants of monastic property. But startups are often unknowns. Here is the most, it's because other places, like wages and productivity, but I wouldn't bet against it either.

6% of the main emotion I've observed; but it seems. Strictly speaking it's impossible without a time machine to the environment. When that happens, it may be the right way.

Donald Hall said young would-be-evil end. For most of their peers. When you get of the work goes instead into the heads of would-be startup founders and investors are induced by the National Center for Education Statistics, about 1. If that were the people worth impressing already judge you more than one level of protection against abuse and accidents.

So, can I count you in a situation where they are building, they compete on price, any claim to the principles they discovered. You can't assume that someone with a product manager about problems integrating the Korean version of this model was that the lies we tell. In a startup to an audience makes people feel good.

And starting an organic farm, though, so buildings are traditionally seen as temporary; there is at pains to point out that this isn't strictly true, it is still possible, to the point I'm making, though you tend to get going, and intelligence, it's probably a losing bet for a number of big corporations found that 16 of the river among the largest of their shares when the problems you have to make money for. Users may love you but these supposedly smart investors may not be incorporated, but this advantage isn't as obvious because it has to grind. In fact the less educated ones usually reply with some equivocation implying that lies believed for a startup or going to have a single project is a bad idea, at least guesses by pros about where that money comes from. Eric Horvitz.