#it’s my mental illness i’ll cope however i want to

[ryattcos]

if you catch me smiling at my phone this… if you catch me smiling at my phone that…

fuck no. if you catch me smiling at my phone it’s cuz i’m watching stray kids edits or reading sakuatsu fanfic. lemme be happy and delusional. 💕

[the-100-days-of-junkan]

THE 100 DAYS OF JUNKAN

Hello everybody! I’m Carbonated-Jem! 

I sincerely hope you’re having a good day as this post finds you.

You’re probably wondering what this is. Well this my good compatriot is the result of a very ill advised task I put upon myself at the beginning of this year. There’ll be a TL;DR at the bottom for those who don’t want my full ramblings (sorry about that btw, not very good at this), but I do appreciate anyone who’ll give a silly person like me the time of day.

You see, I am a fan of Danganronpa, and as a result I like to read a lot of gay fanfic (and if I’m feeling daring I’ll even look at fan art, shocking). This series for all its ups and downs is quite important to me and becoming who I am today. Tokomaru especially helped me through a period of a lot of stress and depression, among other things. 

But as you can tell by the name this isn’t a Blog Dedicated to Tokomaru, it’s a blog dedicated to Junkan. Which might be very surprising to anyone who I haven’t divulged this info to personally. 

I try to make it a habit to not delve too deep into fandoms for the sake of my mental health, I look up fanart, read some appreciation posts on tumblr, read fics, and depending on the series make art for others to enjoy. However one thing I tend to become vaguely aware of regardless of whether I want to or not is what ships are and are not controversial. So I am very aware of the fact that saying I ship Junko and Mikan is bare minimum getting some weird looks from a lot of the people reading this.

Before I give a reason why I’m doing this let me just make clear what this is in the first place.

This is the 100 Days of Junkan, a project I undertook (Kind of as a joke) at the beginning of the year. I have made 100 Pieces to post across the next 100 Days. Some are finished art, some are sketches, some are sketches I added color to later, some are multiple images grouped into one day, comics, and far more. I’ve learned a lot through this project artistically, and some of the surprises I have in store will hopefully be worth the effort. I don’t know 100% for sure what day this post will be on, however the event itself will begin October 1st, and if I did the math right will continue all the way till January 9th. 

Why would I put this much time and energy into this ship, knowing that there are a lot of people who downright hate it? Simple, I just like the ship a lot, and wanted to make more art for it.

And I should further note, there are plenty of fans of this ship as well, however they may be disappointed to hear that unless you’re very much like me, you probably won’t enjoy what I’ve made with these two. In canon (much to my chagrin, because I’m not partial to the direction it took in DR3) this is a very abusive relationship. This is not really my thing, anyone who has seen the ship art I’ve done on my main page will know that I much prefer to draw soft, fluffy shipping art. I try to make art which will leave a positive vibe on people for the most part.

That said I understand why there are people who like this ship for how it is represented in canon. Shipping Junkan has taught me to stop being judgy of people for what they ship (I used to really hate Togami x Toko for example, and while it’s still not my thing I can totally understand why people are into it now). Everyone has their own reasons for shipping something, whether it’s an interesting dynamic, they just like seeing the characters kiss, as a coping mechanism, and plenty of other reasons. I have my boundaries of course, but at this point I try to be open minded towards peoples proclivities.

So if I’m not drawing a Canon Compliant Depiction of this ship, what am I actually doing here?

Well I’ve decided that I’m going to draw niche art for an already very niche ship. I like Junkan on the softer side, where regardless of where it's supposed to be in canon or an AU they just actually love eachother, I've seen and have been inspired by a decent amount of Fanfics depicting this exact thing. It's the dynamic that I find the most interesting personally, as I like the directions you can take it with the characters.

So that’s the deal, for 100 Days starting from October 1st you can expect this blog to post a constant flow of soft Junko x Mikan art. If that’s your thing, I sincerely hope you like all this! It’s been my number one goal to give some art to the people who share a similar desire for softer depictions of this Ship, along with all the people who have already made amazing pieces of writing and artwork depicting the same. If this isn’t your thing, I hope you’ll at least stick around to give it a chance, and if I can’t sell you on it like I have with some of my friends, I hope you can at least walk away from this with a shrug.

Apologizing in advance to all those who peruse the Mikan and Junko tag, because this is gonna be flooding those for awhile I imagine. I fully understand if you wanna block me for this, hope you have a lovely day after that! 

Now dear viewer, please watch this long road unwind and behold such sights as: Me slowly memorizing these two to the point that I can draw them almost entirely without reference at this point, inconsistent colors schemes,  inconsistent heights, so much goddamn blushing, AU’s galore, and the unspeakable things I learned how to do for this project! (And by unspeakable I mean I don’t wanna spoil the surprise!) 

Oh! And as an extra bonus to all this, go check out my AO3 account. I have a singular Junkan Fic on there right now, however as a little bonus for this event (and sure, thematic for Halloween) I’m going to be posting a Vampire AU Junkan Fic periodically throughout October. Partially inspired by the fact that Day 30 depicts a scene I came up with way before the actual fic, and I really want to have it written out and available to read before that post comes out.

The other reason is that if I say i’m going to post it here, that means I am required to actually do it by the law of my brain. Which will likely outweigh my complete lack of self confidence in my ability to write anything making me too paranoid to actually let it go public~

Here’s the link!

And if you stumbled upon this post through the Junkan Tag and not my main account, here’s a link to it!

You’ll find plenty of other Danganronpa Art, including Junko and Mikan on their own. I do other stuff but I imagine that’d be the most immediately interesting, but hey you never know. So hopefully if this blog doesn’t provide anything you’d be into, my normal works will catch your attention! 

I’ve also opened an Ask Box for this blog, why? I dunno. I’ll be real it just seemed like the thing to do. But feel free to ask questions and I'll try to respond best I can!

And finally here is the TL,DR for those who didn't wanna read through my mind numbing rambling.

I like Danganronpa, I like drawing Soft Junkan art for a lot of reasons. I’m posting 100 Pieces for 100 Days of this ship, and hopefully ya’ll will enjoy it. If not, that’s okay! I hope you have a great day! 

Reblogs Appreciated!~ Stay hydrated Everyone!~

[anonzentimes]

hi zen!! my friends and i are doing a powerpoint night this monday and like any self-respecting person almost 7 months deep in a dangan hyperfixation (i'm never getting out of here) i am using it as a platform for an all-encompassing kmhn infodump. this powerpoint is going to be the komahina bible and i want to hit Every Stop. i will grab everything i can find. no hesitation. however !! the danganronpa franchise is A Lot. so there's always a chance i will miss something. so! as a fellow kmhn understander and enthusiast, is there any particular Komahina Moment or piece of analysis you feel people often miss or overlook? could be big or small, or involve just one of the two of them, but i'd appreciate the input! <3 have a good one :D

OH MY GOD??? I’LL TRY TO ANSWER IN TIME FOR YOUR POWERPOINT LMAO THAT SOUNDS AWESOME?????? You should record it! Well, you probably will, but I’m still saying it anyways just in case you aren’t, because something that fun going unrecorded sounds like a tragedy!

I’ve had ideas of doing all encompassing komahina rambles for a video or something, but I’m already working on other projects so It’ll be a long time before I even try lmao. Makes me happy someone is trying something similar, and with friends no less! I’d be happy to help in any way I can, I hope you and your friends have fun! :D

ANYWAYS. I’ll say a huge ramble of Komahina things and hope it helps LOL.

This is more of a silly statement, but for a FULL Komahina coverage I think it’s most satisfying to cover the different flavors of komahina, if that makes sense? Like, depending on what approach you’re taking you may not cover kamukoma, since to a degree that’s an entirely different ship, but you’d still cover the canon adjacent other flavors. Basically, try including the canon adjacent variations!!! The Dangan island events are good for analyzing their dynamic with less horrible circumstances bringing them to worst and causing them to hurt each other. The stage plays are also great to mention since there’s some komahina content that is play original, and seeing them physically interact is fun! Can’t forget the Komahina CD too Lol. There’s also smaller things like their anniversary outfits, especially the matching purple ones, their animal outfits, and their Danganronpa S Swimsuits!

Little details that are so special to me are things like the parallel of Nagito waking Hajime up being reserved in Danganronpa 2.5, and there’s also how things like Hajime’s grief for Nagito that’s so compelling, special, and telling about their dynamic.

I think my main thing to actually add on properly is that, a lot of people say Hajime hates Nagito which is absolutely incorrect. I don’t think I’d try so hard or care enough to revive and or wait until a person I hated woke up. Hajime displays he actively cares a lot, they just happen to feel hurt and betrayed by each other due to the circumstances. Komahina is unhealthy but it isn’t toxic, if that phrase makes sense. The beauty of it is that they grow TO be healthier, they learn to love each other, understand each other, and in the process learn to understand and love themselves. Komahina is reciprocal, it gets unhealthy due to circumstances, but it is reciprocal and the beauty of it is them becoming healthier together.

Nagito is not a malicious psychopath, and Hajime is not an overly horny person with no personality, I see them misinterpreted and characterized like that constantly It’s ridiculous. Hajime is awkward, conflicted, introverted, caring, and tries to be positive but ultimately is usually a realist. Hajime gets attached to people easily and deals with discrimination, insecurity, and self esteem. Hajime is relatable enough to where he’s empathetic but unique enough to where he’s special.

Nagito is a mentally ill queer coded man who is an antagonist and an anti-hero. He is morally gray when it comes to his unhealthy coping mechanism and has complicated beliefs, he’s honest, intelligent, struggles with insecurity, struggles with self esteem, has absolute beliefs influenced by hope’s peak, is a parallel and warped version of Makoto while being his own person, and he’s very sweet. Nagito’s love language seems to be mostly playful teasing, he rambles a lot and weirds people out just by saying what he thinks is fact. He has tonal issues and usually isn’t self aware, despite this he also worries about the impression he gives off if he thinks it matters. His beliefs are very hierarchy based and he thinks he’s all the way at the bottom, he doesn’t absolutely hate people like him but he thinks they have no purpose other than to help those more capable and projects onto them. Nagito is a very complex character, he is numb to intense situations due to the immense trauma of it being normal for him. He’s optimistic but also pessimistic, he’s positive but also incredibly anxious, he’s well intentioned but also thinks anything is okay if it’s for hope, there’s a lot to Nagito but in the end once it clicks it really clicks. He is contradictory in a way that perfectly makes sense, creating the perfect character. There’s a lot to him but when you understand him there’s no need for words, you just get it. There’s a feeling to him, an understanding, and I think that’s really special. He really is amazing.

Anyways, the ramble on summarizing both of their characters simply is to more expand on points about their dynamic! Nagito and Hajime are sides of the same coin. Nagito is irrational when it comes to Hajime in the way that he defies his normal behaviors because he usually avoids others and thinks he’s not worth the ultimates time, it means so much to me that Nagito just immediately had a feeling and connection with him. I’ve seen some people not think about it, but genuinely Komaeda feels something upon first sight and it’s irrational given his regular behavior it’s so sweet.

This has been just a lot of me rambling, but hopefully some of it helps! I had fun yapping haha, thanks for you ask!

[nerogurl]

hello! Could I have a match up if it is not too much trouble?

I go by She/her and like men. INTP,  ☀️ Libra / rise Leo, October,

Personality:

I’m introverted, intense, earnest and absent-minded. always wear the heart to my sleeve. Sort of a lone wolf but it’s partly because im not good at starting the conversation.

I tend to cry silently when stressed without much control over it, while trying not to be a bother to others. Drawing is the way I express myself but I also love playing with words. I dislike the change of plan in general,  unless it is pleasant event. Would either plan way ahead or do things (i.g. buy sweets) on a whim.  My soft spot is stuffed animals, and I treat them like they were people. if anyone tries to squeeze the plushie I’ll screech instinctively. 

I make quite a few weird sounds (i.g. a sound like bird’s chirping) so I imagine it’s probably fun to watch if they don’t mind the, well, noises.

I struggled with showing affection verbally, so instead of saying the ‘l words’ I would be staying at their side, listen to their problems , make coffee and do things for them. I get flustered easily, both in a shy way and annoyed way. Is generally touch-aversive with the mouth of a pirate and libido, then gets shy. Not experienced either. The best mental image would probably be a stray cat that shows in front of your door from time to time, runs away when you want to touch it and be back for the neck scratch 3 days later.

small fact: 

Very sensitive to smell and sounds, can smell  someone smoking from far away. 💯 powered by caffeine, good at determining the quality of black tea and coffee. Gets sleepy from 1 beer.

Interest:

I like dark stuff, story that is destined to wither in the end. I also like playing video games (not sure if it exists at that period of time but, yeah!), art, visiting museums, animals (especially 🐢 🐈 🐕 ) , sea (water in general) and sunlight. I joke about being a lizard because I have 0 body heat in winter , completely depends on the weather of the environment. Since I got ill often when I was younger, and spent months in a hospital with good memories of the kindness from others, the smell of rubbing alcohol comforts me. 

Appearance: 150 cm, long black hair, kind of pale due to the amount of time staying indoor. Small frame, thin and cannot see without eyeglasses. scared of people way stronger than me but also somewhat intrigued . (Talk about mixed feelings..)

Hi!!!

Your first match is with Levi. Drug addiction can cause symptoms similar to neudivergence. (As an autistic person myself, I have been mistaken for being on drugs due to my natural body language.) Levi would be intrigued by the contrast between familiar and foreign traits. Your positive reinforcement of love and care with the hospital smell of alcohol, he'd associate with the neglected dying and sick. He recognises the stimming of your bird chirps but not the joy and comfort that comes with it. He identifies with your withdrawn nature and the alexithymia; a characterisation concerning difficulty with verbalising your emotions. However, the ability to be so emotional feels alien. Coping in such fundamentally different ways, he would be both confused and allured. 

The horrors of war being too harrowing for a child to overcome, Levi turned to heroin for the temporary relief. This avoidance behaviour repeats itself in his B ending. Your chirping reminds him of the freedom he tried to achieve by fleeing the army. Running away from his past, he travels all over by motorcycle. Surviving by fleeing from danger, it might seem oxymoron to settle down and face the music. He doesn't understand the way you carry yourself. Your coping mechanisms allow you to function and thrive while his destruct and suppress. Being a similar type of person, he'd want to learn how you achieved something so seemingly unattainable to himself. A bird that has found freedom, he'd want to be like you.

Coming from a similar approach to the world, he would emphasise with your shared complicated relationship with strength. Being a great soldier out of small children meant to fight big scary adults. Just like how he cowers in fear at his presence of Caligura but spits on his shoe anyway. With you by his side, he has someone to protect. Not wanting you to surrender to those shared feelings of helpless that he's all too familiar with, it reminds him he's not that scared child anymore and gathers the will to defend himself. 

This struggle can be found in small animals as well. I think he would like dogs the most. Getting a PTSD service dog would help him keep grounded. Just like protecting you, it makes it so that he *can't* shut down because he has a best friend that relies on him. Combine this with your sensory sensitivity, you and his service dog make a specialised surveillance unit. He'd have to actively try if he wanted to hide a relapse. Now, it is much less likely for him to suddenly fall off the wagon.

I can definitely see you two doing a late night run for dessert to satisfy your sugar cravings. Like driving downtown for icecream at 2:00am. This impulsive behaviour is a distraction from more self-destructive habits. Living in the city would be good for Levi, as long as he has the stability to keep him from spiralling into a relapse.

Travelling all over on a motorcycle, go to museums together to look at really bizarre exhibits. Go to flashy arcades, where he'll be especially good at the shooters. In the Prehevil tavern, Levi can be found on the piano lamenting over how he never learned how to play. A love of music, just how one practises to get the high score at the arcade, he would get really good at rhythm games. Drawing a crowd whenever he plays DDR.

Going out on the town he'd share his jacket with you. With a underweight body type, you'd be struggling in the cold together, a jacket fitting his height would have extra room to share. You two can huddle for warmth together, as you walk down the street.

Your second match is with Tanaka! He can definitely relate to your relationship with strength. Being a latent soul, his standpoint begins with little urgency over his own life and is instead subjected to the world around him. He is raised into his profession, and is one of the first to be killed in multiple ways if left on his own. His character arc is about overcoming his fear by training with Marcoh, and reclaiming his own path through protecting his friends, including you, with his new fighting skills. Being a true gentleman he'll let you borrow his suit jacket if you get too cold. Like how birds dance to wow their mates; salary men can *drink*, and being a lightweight yourself, he'd probably want to show off. 

Being so sheltered his whole life and working as a negotiator, he approaches others with an open mind. A salaryman, he has to adjust and make people feel welcome for negotiations. His first instinct is to approach people from a place of civility and understanding (which is why he was so easily killed by the woodsman). When he hears your chirping he relates to the closest thing to stimming and whistles along with your noises, establishing a parallel play between you. 

The absolute king of Animal Crossing, at first he'd humour it like some novelty he wouldn't think much about. As a child to inherent a conglomerate, he certainly would have been raised by tiger parents that would never let their kid play video games, thinking it a waste of time. Japan has a heavy emphasis on mascot culture that would eventually peak his interest. After some gentle persuasion to give it a try, he'd be hooked. You could give him station-ware with animal crossing characters as a gift. A down to earth guy, he'd probably like blockbuster type games, like Resident Evil or Detroit: Become Human. As a mascot he relates strongly to Luigi, and would get his hands on all of the Luigi's mansion games.

Tdlr; Levi & Tanaka, but overall, I think that Levi is your best match.

[brokentoys]

❝ 𝐧𝐨  𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒, 𝐡𝐮𝐡  ?  𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭  𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.  &&  𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧  𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞  𝐚𝐫𝐞  𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧  𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞  𝐟𝐞𝐝.  𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧  𝐢'𝐦  𝐢𝐧  𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑  𝐆𝐔𝐓.  𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍  𝐈'𝐌  𝐘𝐎𝐔  &&  𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄  𝐌𝐄. ❞

ᴀɴ  ᴏʀɪɢɪɴᴀʟ  ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴏɴ  ᴛʜᴇ ��ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇʀ. ʜᴇᴀᴠɪʟʏ  ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴ  ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ  ᴡɪᴛʜ  ɪɴꜱᴘɪʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴ  ꜰʀᴏᴍ  ᴍᴜʟᴛɪᴘʟᴇ  ᴍᴇᴅɪᴀꜱ. ɪɴᴅɪᴇ  &&  ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇᴅ  ʙʏ  ᴡɪᴋɪᴀ.   ᴇꜱᴛ 09/11/20.  ᴘᴏᴛᴇɴᴛɪᴀʟʟʏ  ꜱᴛʀᴏɴɢ  ᴛʀɪɢɢᴇʀɪɴɢ  ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ  ᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛ.​

EDDIE’S INTERVIEW (ABOUT PAGE) || VERSES

                                                      RULES  BELOW  THE  CUT.

MUTUALS  + FOLLOWING

I’ll only interact if we follow each other. However, non-mutuals can still like posts, reblog posts, & send me asks if they desire to. I only want to write threads with mutuals only because it’s less stressful.

As for DUPLICATES? I don’t mind following other Riddlers, and I’ll happily interact with them! I feel it’d be easy for us to thread; as we could write sibling AUs, or simply have them acknowledge they’re Riddlers from different universes.

This blog is also very accepting of OCs and crossovers.

CANON DIVERGENT

This blog is VERY canon divergent. In fact, I’d call this an ORIGINAL PORTRAYAL. This means this blog does not follow ANY media – not any shows, movies, comics, or games. Although, I do take inspiration from various medias - I like to pluck together my own ideas, and other media ideas to create my favorite version of this character! I suggest reading the about page to get a better understanding!

Although Ed is considered a villain by many, he believes himself to be a vigilante. Because of this, he has his own morals and will only target those he thinks deserves 'punishment' (such as politicians, Arkham staff, GCPD, and some vigilantes). If your muse isn’t a part of these groups (or is a CHILD), Eddie WON'T kidnap or harm them. If you have any more questions, feel free to ask!

NSFW + Triggering content

This blog will frequently contain triggering themes such as drug abuse, religious themes, violence/gore/death, physical, verbal, and sexual abuse. Edward’s portrayal heavily revolves around these themes. Edward’s a victim of physical and verbal abuse by his parents, but this portrayal also depicts him as a victim of CSA/grooming. Edward is addicted to drugs, and uses them to cope. I treat these subjects with respect, if your blog romanticizes rape or p3dophilia, I will refuse to follow.

While I do try to tag triggers, please still be mindful that the above are very important to Ed’s characterization, and will be brought up often on this blog (and possibly in threads). Please use caution before following if those are triggering to you. I understand having one or two, but if your blog lists your triggers as almost all of the content stated above - I’ll likely not follow back. Trauma and life experience is what shapes Eddie, therefore it’s a bit hard not to bring up at least some of it.

As for NSFW threads, this blog will contain them. Since if you tag posts as “NSFW,” they’re almost impossible to find again, I tag them as "spicy" and "NSFT". Be sure to block this tag if you don’t want to see it! I also portray Eddie as a very flirtatious man, Eddie is likely flirt with your muse as long as they’re of age. This is never intended to be force-shipping.

THIS BLOG IS 18+ BECAUSE OF THE NATURE OF THESE THEMES.

GODMODDING + METAGAMING

Godmodding is a no and metagaming is also a no. However, it’s okay to know certain things about Edward - being the Riddler, having an abusive father, and his mental illnesses / basic info just because he’s infamous, and somewhat open about his life.

SHIPPING

This blog is multiship. However, whilst I love to ship with chemistry… I don’t mind pre-established relationships as long as we’ve plotted them out and we’ve reached an agreement. As for friendships? I’m okay with canon blogs (the rogues, prime example) acting like they’re friends with Edward before discussion since well… it makes sense for them to be!

REBLOGGING

Anything but threads are rebloggable! Because typically my partners don’t like threads to be reblogged. Whether you’re a mutual or not, feel free to reblog my ooc posts, my shitposts, memes, my art. (highly encouraged!) I don’t mind at all!!! 🥺🥺🥺 Also, if you sent in a meme or anything in the inbox, you’re very free to turn it into a thread.

MUN EQUAL DOES NOT MUSE

Ed’s a jerk, and has rather extreme views. His words or actions do not reflect the mun's beliefs.

GRAPHICS + ICONS

I made all graphics on the blog unless stated otherwise.

MUN

Hi hi hi! I am the mun, you can call me by Wikia or anything, I am 26 years old. If you made it down here, I just wanna say that there’s no password to send and thank you for reading and respecting my rules! I hope to write with you soon. ❤︎

[antiradqueer]

Idek like if this fits in this blog I don’t even use tumblr for the community; I use it for images and customization and whatnot but I’m accidentally 2 am doomscrolling and…

The transid stuff is truly baffling to me like it’s so beyond me. I dunno if it’s just a new breed of severe mental illness or if it’s just heaps of attention seeking. Either way from what I’ve seen it’s just plain. Just insane. I’m also confused as to what they even are? Are they trans identities as in genders? Or are they just throwing around the word trans because they’re privileged and just. Can?

Firstly, I am black and trans which comes with day to day struggles. I didn’t wake up and stretch and yawn and go yep I’m gonna be trans. If I had a choice, I wouldn’t be trans. I wouldn’t want to put myself through constant oppression just because of who I am and how I feel about my own body and how I want to present MYself. It’s painful and I wouldn’t wish it upon anyone. So WHY are these people deciding they want to make their lives harder? Fully, consciously deciding that they want to change themselves purposely. Now I’ve always known I was trans but I didn’t always identify as trans because it didn’t feel right or I was scared to be judged. You cannot choose who you are but you can choose how you label yourself (which I’ve seen some crazy harmful stuff but that’s a different story.) So the fact that these people are CHOOSING to identify in ways that harm others and erase the trans community just does not make any sense to me.

Now. On to “transrace.” This has got to be some of the most privileged shit I’ve ever heard of in my life. I could probably guarantee you that a fat majority of these radqueers are white. Let’s say there’s a person who is white, but is deciding they want to say they’re black. Firstly, why??? I understand cultural appreciation but why do you want to change who you are to pretend to be someone else because there’s a “desire”? A desire to what? Be discriminated against no matter what? Not be able to graduate/get a job because of your natural hair? So on and so forth? I just don’t understand. These people are begging to be oppressed. And for what. What do they gain.

I don’t think I’ll ever understand, but I also think I’m fine with that. I don’t partake in discourse and I’m all for ‘to each his own.’ While I am not for people ignoring genuine harm being done (like the paraphiles or whatever they’re called aka groomers??? pedos??? traffickers????) I don’t believe that in the long run, it will affect either side. However. Transid people really do need to stop; especially ones acting on it in their actual.. away from the screen lives. I saw a post about a transid that revolves around intrusive thoughts. I suffer from intense intrusive and impulsive thoughts that often cause me to fall into intense episodes of mood swings, anger, confusion, depression, and more. I would NEVER romanticize these thoughts and make an identity for them. If it’s a coping mechanism, sure do whatever helps. But don’t bring that shit to others. Don’t glorify violent thoughts and mock real identities. It’s sickening.

I digress. Im stepping fully away from social media after tonight, but it was nice to be able to write this out and process how backwards we are evolving. Honestly, I will be fine with completely wiping the idea of transids away from my brain and continuing to lead a normal life.

TLDR:: I’m black and trans and I find radqueers/transids sickening, privileged, and harmful. Just my little tangents and tidbits on this subject that is quite new to me.

Bonus! I saw a genuine radqueer transid identity that was called “transartstyle.” Where one desires to have a different art style.

…

Stay safe out there

absolutely great points, i can never really get into breaking down tranrace like you did so first of all thank you,

i do think that alot of the transid/abled etc. stuff is some kind of new either mental illness or some kinda coping mechanism (or hell maybe it just is privilege and attention seeking), something like biid in a way or maybe something even similar to munchausen syndrome but not exactly it either, still doesnt take the harm those lables do away theres other, less harmful lables out there.

thank you so much for your piece here, and hey, dont let radqueers ruin your time online, especially since you dont do online discourse n all, anyway thank you and stay safe

[theflavorofmyautismisspicy]

Here’s some songs I’ve assigned to some of the dwk animated series characters

Leon

Afraid-The Neighborhood

Abandonment issues, especially the fear of being replaced and the fear of your friends secretly hating you…this song was made for him

Ravistettava ennen käyttöä-Apulanta

It’s a Finnish rock song about a guy who thinks there’s something wrong with him and tries to cope with it with reckless and pessimistic behavior so yeah fits him in general

Vanessa

Word Up!-Korn

This just fits her personality since it’s about being unapologetically yourself and not caring about others judging you

(The original version is made by Cameo but I think Korn’s cover of it fits her more)

I Hate My Mom-GRLwood

Pretty self explanatory, mommy issues and and having to face misogyny

Jojo

Duvet-bôa

To quote the anonymous person who send me their assigned Jojo song,

“mental illness. not much else to say”

All though I will add this song would probably specifically fit his life around the time when his mom got send to the hospital since the feeling of being so lost

Thank You Mom-Good Charlotte

Pretty self explanatory, his relationship with his mom even if times weren’t always easy

Deniz

Bitter Choco Decoration-Syudou

Perhaps a bit extreme but it fits his character before the series and even during it, especially at the beginning. Like his masking, identity crisis and trying to be like what other people, especially his dad, always wanted him to be

I’m A Marionette-Ghost

Same theme, however especially his relationship with his dad before the series and at the beginning of it and like the loneliness it’s implied he experienced at that time

Damn I just assigned extreme angst to Deniz. Uuhh good luck next time? I’ll assign something happier then

Markus

Hell Above-Pierce the Veil

Fits his struggles at home through the series and how soccer and his team are his escape from it

The Hand That Feeds-Nine Inch Nails

This just kinda fits the whole “the politicians suck a lot and his dad is working directly with them” struggle he has to navigate through

Raban

How Soon Is Now?-t.A.T.u

This just fits his loser boy (I mean that in the most positive way) personality since it’s about insecurity, feeling isolated and the need to be accepted and loved

Life Itself-Glass Animals

Again fits his personality, like his tendency to keep on trying and stay positive even if others don’t appreciate that

Marlon

I Want My Tears Back-Nightwish

Ah yes angst, Marlon probably had to take responsibility pretty early on his life due to his family situation and now he can mourn the things he lost when having to grow up too fast

Carpe Diem-Joker Out

Fits his personality, he is genuinely a kind person who sees good in others so song about rejecting hate and just having fun with those close to you should fit

(Also it’s in Slovenian but I also included a few Finnish songs and a Japanese one so yeah, language barriers be damned)

Willi

Sunday Morning-The Velvet Underground

Some depression from the 60s, feeling all the years that you’ve wasted hit you during a Saturday-Sunday night, it was pretty much made for him

Tahroja paperilla-Eppu Normaali

A Finnish rock song about a guy reminiscing about their past but also acknowledging that moving forward doesn’t make those experiences any less meaningful. I’d say coaching the team has given him happiness and also some closure with his past so yeah it fits that

Mr Theumer

As Your Father I Expressly Forbid It-Lemon Demon

Honestly the title is pretty self explanatory but not understanding how to bond with your child, criticizing their interests and acting antagonistically towards them is pretty on brand for him

Natasha

Valley of the Dolls-Marina

This fits her just in general, parental issues and only really showing a fake identity to other people

The team as a whole

(Just kinda throwing these here since I’ve already mentioned them in some post)

Kids In The Dark-All Time Low

Mama-My Chemical Romance

Kryptonite-3 Doors Down

Teenagers-My Chemical Romance

Immortals-Fall Out Boy

Party At The End Of The World-My Chemical Romance

Willi’s old team

The Kids from Yesterday-My Chemical Romance

That’s it for now👍👍

[camijhk]

i’m going to be honest to my bros here,

i don’t understand a lot of mental illnesses and i don’t understand how certain traumas or coping mechanisms work because i grew up in an environment where if someone had something worse than depression or anxiety, they’re more difficult to communicate with/more trouble to deal with; and if they don’t immediately go to therapy and get better in like a week then they’re useless and can’t be helped.

it’s a lot more complex and it’s something that i still don’t understand, which is my fault for not educating myself on, and this kind of mindset is extremely harmful to people who do have more complex mental illnesses and traumas.

i’m sorry for being ignorant and i will do better to understand my lovely bros.

this post was initially for two people, but i’ll use this to address all my mutuals and followers and for myself. i do want to be better and wish no ill will to the ones i’ve affected. however you take this post is valid and ill understand.

[ayakh03]

The influence of animation on young minds

Animation is a strong tool that affects children’s behaviours, the way they think and the way they develop emotionally. It’s an immersive way of storytelling through visuals, music, colours, words, and more, that leaves an important impact on young minds. However, this influence can be both negative and positive, depending on the context and how its being taken by the audience.

Animation movies evoke a range of emotions and provoke strong emotional responses. It’s a form of storytelling, and storytelling is essential to the human experience. The use of stories can make sense pf the world around. Now, animation is an grade to storytelling because of its immersive experience. It offers creative freedom making it possible to go beyond the laws of reality. Additionally, animation allows artists to convey messages and abstract ideas through shapes, colours and music without the need of dialogue. Colours and exaggerated shapes can make characters more memorable and engaging. In addition, animation characters can be more expressive helping the audience emotionally connect with the character on a deeper level.

But why is it important for animation to be able to impact us emotionally in so many different way? 

Beyond impacting us emotionally, animation also impacts us psychologically. Many psychological theories are at play in the way animations are perceived and created. For example, a social theory suggests that we learn a lot by perceiving other’s behaviours. Animation is indeed used. A lot as an educational tool specially for children to learn important social skills from characters and their stories. Animation can make us question our beliefs and make us reconsider some of perspective, leading us to growth. 

Another important subject animation can talk about is mental health and illnesses. The portrayal of these complex emotions as simple characters can help individuals of all ages understand and cope with their emotions. It can also help with misunderstanding of certain mental illnesses and the stigma surrounding them. 

These observations can be done very easily, but many studies can actually confirm the importance of animations on viewers, from animation being used in movies to advertisement. 

So, animation being confirmed as very impactful on viewers of every age, it’s impact on young minds is very important. It can be used for the greater good, and can help shape kids’s behaviour and beliefs, socially and emotionally. Animation can allow children to explore cultures and traditions. It can promote the importance of kindness, friendship, teamwork and the importance of mental health and comprehending one’s emotions.

However, the negative impacts of animation on children cannot be ignored. Negative influence on their behaviour, their view o their body image and impact on their lifestyle. But I believe animation can also help with those negative influences. 

Researching about this, and looking deeply into it is important to me, because I hope that in the future, I’ll be able to participate in animation project that will build the future generation’s childhood, the same way animation did with mine. But I want to be able to have a deeper impact on them, talking about more sensitive subjects related to body image, inclusivity, acceptance of other peoples beliefs and sexuality and more. Showcasing mental illness, cultures and diverse characters helps promote understanding and empathising with different communities, societies and identities. With time passing by, children are always the future. I believe that shaping their mind towards kindness and acceptance from an early age is very important. I also believe that animation a is a powerful way to make this possible. 

This is why studying the psychological impact of animation is useful to me, as well as to my dreams and hopes for the future and my career. 

sources:

Anon, (2024). The Cultural Impact of Popular Animated Films and Series: Shaping Hearts and Minds - Educational Voice. [online] Available at: https://educationalvoice.co.uk/animated-films-and-series/.

Hound Studio (2023). The Psychology of Animation: How It Impacts Our Emotions and Behavior - HOUND STUDIO. [online] HOUND STUDIO. Available at: https://hound-studio.com/blog/the-psychology-of-animation-how-it-impacts-our-emotions-and-behavior/.

Praveen, C.K. and Srinivasan, K. (2022). Psychological Impact and Influence of Animation on Viewer’s Visual Attention and Cognition: a Systematic Literature Review, Open Challenges, and Future Research Directions. Computational and Mathematical Methods in Medicine, [online] 2022(8802542), pp.1–29. doi:https://doi.org/10.1155/2022/8802542.

S, K. (2022). Animation Movies: Impact on Children, Positive and Negative. [online] The Oxford School. Available at: https://www.oxfordtvm.com/animation-movies-impact-on-children-positive-and-negative/.

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[prying-pandora666]

Please say this is a satire post. You cannot be serious. Are you actually trying to claim that Zuko’s “I’ll save you from the pirates” was him literally trying to save her and not a threat? He was teaming up with the pirates! He was sarcastically threatening her, not rescuing her! Look at Katara’s terrified expression. Listen to how menacingly Zuko says it. Look at how stiff and uncomfortable Katara’s hands look as Zuko clenches her wrists with force. Listen to the soundtrack making it clear this is a scary situation, not salvation. Katara isn’t a skilled bender here yet so she’s completely helpless among a group of adult men plus an older teen boy who is both physically stronger and a superior bender. This would be terrifying IRL for any 14 year old girl.

You don’t think pirates hurt women??? Do you even know what pirates are??? Pirates were infamous for violence against women, especially sexual violence since at the time women were held equally accountable for these crimes committed against them! Here, an actual source.

And you somehow think him offering to give her back her mother’s necklace only if she betrays what she knows about Aang is just a meaningless trade offer? Tell me, do you honestly not understand the implicit threat to not return it if she doesn’t talk?

He then threatens to burn the waterbending scroll. A rare item from her culture. Precious knowledge that is currently lost to the Southern Water Tribe due to the attempted genocide by The Fire Nation. Something Zuko would know about since we are shown he and Azula were educated on the war and were also perfectly aware of Uncle Iroh’s campaign against Ba Sing Se. Zuko even identified who killed Kya just by a description of a banner. Clearly he knows what they’ve done to Katara’s people and yet he’s threatening to burn a precious cultural artifact in addition to threatening to take away the necklace from her mother if she doesn’t talk.

And simultaneously he has her tied up and defenseless with pirates around, pirates that mean her harm for stealing from them, to intimidate her. With the implicit threat that he will hand her over to the pirates if he doesn’t get what he wants from her.

Have you ever seen that Always Sunny bit about “the implication”? Here it is if you haven’t.

It’s exceedingly clear that Zuko has the pirates and the scroll (which he outright threatens to burn) and the necklace all here to imply to Katara what will happen if she refuses to give Zuko what he wants.

No, Azula and Mai are not abusive to Zuko. Ozai is the abuser. Abuse requires a specific difference in power dynamics. Something neither Azula nor Mai have over Zuko (at least not once Azula brings him home in honor).

Mai and Zuko have an incompatible relationship. Although Mai doesn’t understand Zuko’s emotional needs and lacks the capacity to comfort him the way he needs, she still tries! She comes off dismissive and cold and I can empathize with why Zuko is hurt. (Not counting the comics, she gaslights him there and that’s not okay). But Zuko responds by being controlling and inconsiderate so he’s no prize here either. I’m no fan of this pairing as written but it’s troubling how people use this as an excuse to demonize Mai and frame Zuko as some innocent, abused child instead of the nearly 17 year old (the eldest of the group) who constantly lashes out at others because he can’t cope with his own cognitive dissonance.

And Azula??? She and Zuko’s mutually toxic rivalry is the fault of Ozai pitting them against one another. Azula lashes out at Zuko when he betrays her, just as Zuko lashes out at Iroh. But even then, Azula does make attempts to reach out and help her brother, however misguided. What does Zuko ever do for her? He never even shows her a moment of kindness or understanding, and is happy to exploit her mental illness and suffering to win a fight.

Look, I love Zuko. He is my favorite character. But the whole thing that makes him so wonderful is watching him change specifically because he WAS a villain! Remember that for all her cruel tendencies, Azula never even attacks a single civilian. Zuko burns down an entire village and terrorizes several more. It’s not as if she is uniquely terrible here. Zuko is just as brainwashed and willing to commit terrible acts to earn his father’s love and approval.

And I have no ill-will towards Zutara. I think the fandom is very creative and has some interesting takes. I enjoy the hard work and analysis put in by writers like @burst-of-iridescent, not to mention the countless gorgeous works of fan art. But this BS you’ve written here? This is the ammunition anti-Zutaras use against the entire community. Because you’ve completely downplayed and invalidated Katara’s terror and Zuko’s cruelty here in favor of simping for the aggressor. You are stomping all over Katara’s feelings here just to justify… what? So you can pretend Zuko was always the goodest boy?

If you find yourself at the point where you’re pretending a sarcastic threat is ACTUALLY a sincere offer of salvation? Maybe you need to reassess.

Ok, I REALLY need to show how stupid this post is:

*Sigh* First, NO, Zuko never tried to burn her mother's necklace and never threatened to hand Katara over to pirates who are supposedly "knOwN tO huRt WoMen". In fact, he says he's going to save her from the pirates. And I really don't know where this person got it from that these pirates are known to hurt women, like hello?????? Do you really watched the show?

Also, while I agree that Toph and Katara was never abusive to Zuko, I cant say the same for Azula and Mai. And if it's still not clear to you that they were indeed abusive to Zuko, just rewatch the fucking show instead of lying and implying that all zutarians are "misogynists" and "hypocrites", cause, in your head, "we all only defend Zuko". Thank you.

[limpwristjesus]

TW: aforementioned disordered eating, ideation, intrusive thoughts, starvation and chronic illness stuff

I think this exploration of how starvation and food issues can be extremely isolating and make you feel like you’ve lost your humanity is part of why Tokyo ghoul was so dear to me. At the time I was going through the trauma of nearly starving to death a few times due to various gi issues and navigating chronic illness.

I don’t think people who haven’t experienced starvation realize how it not only consumes all the joy in your life but also gives you terrible mental side effects. My longest lasting one is that my sense of hunger was completely destroyed and now I often can’t tell until I pass out or start ideating because I’m reliving the sensation of my body finally giving up but that’s neither here nor there. At one point I remember reading about the Minnesota starvation study and realize I was experiencing the exact same things.

I was also obsessed with food and would cope with not being able to eat by fantasizing about what I wanted to eat and watching cooking videos to date my hunger. However, the worst part was definitely all the hunger induced intrusive thoughts. I don’t really know how to explain the terror of starving to the point you can’t see people without thinking about eating them and feeling so monstrous because you don’t realize it’s because you’re hungry because you can’t feel it anymore. It took me the longest time for me to put two and two together and realize that this was just another manifestation of my obsession with found Between that and eating being a communal thing I felt like I was losing my humanity

I’m currently working on a story where there’s man eating monsters not too dissimilar to ghouls but it’s a much more robust critique of posthumanism reproducing whiteness, the existential horror of anti transmasculinity, anti Blackness as a cannibalistic institution, internalized lesbophobia, ableism and my experiences with chronic illness. Much like Kaneki, my mc has never had a relationship with food that isn’t disordered and flip flops between navigating starving and the intense hunger of refeeding within an ableist society that encourages her disordered eating. This has a lot of implications for her character development because you cannot grow if you are starving

This post really made me think again because a lot of these things are extremely present in the narrative of Tokyo ghoul even if most people don’t focus on them. I can do a whole other post on my analysis of cannibalism/anthrophagy in fiction but I’ll save that for another time.

I don’t remember if it was your blog but I saw someone talking about Shuu/other characters having an eating disorder. Do you think that's true?

That’s a good question! I definitely have some thoughts about eating disorders in the cast, under the cut because talk of eating disorders of course

Eating disorders are extremely common with ghouls. Most, at some point in their life, will have some issue with food. Some due to the regular problems humans can have such as body image or worry about health, but they have additional social and physical issues that make it worse. They have to eat humans, which they are judged as irredeemable for. They have only one food source and if that food brings back bad memories there’s nothing else. They have all the higher intelligence of a person who wants to be decent and all the instinct and needs of an apex predator that can not survive without killing, and it causes problems.

They have some eds that are unique to ghouls. There are three big ones we can see. The first, I’ll call Anorexia ethica, is the an disorder in which ghouls abstain from eating due to ethical and moral concerns about human or ghoul meat. Unlike humans who often have the health and the wealth to be vegetarian, they are unable to eat anything else and because of this they starve. This is unfortunately common and sometimes fatal due to the ghoul dying of malnutrition, or their starvation making them irrational and easy prey for the doves.

Human Diet Binging Disorder (HDBD) is an issue in which a ghoul is compelled to eat human food, often in large quantities, and makes themself sick. It’s less likely to be fatal on its own, but it can be a comorbidity with Anorexia ethica, in which case it is very dangerous.

The last is Compulsive Cannibalism. It’s often caused by situations in which ghouls are forced to cannibalize and start to crave it, or when a ghoul is attempting to become a kakuja and gets fixated on it. This is rare, but extremely risky as it can be the source of a lot of communicable diseases, and the process of becoming a kakuja can be fatal

Now onto the characters:

For Shuu, I really don’t think he has an eating disorder. Food is a large part of his character and while it’s definitely disturbing the lengths he goes to for the perfect cut of meat and the ways he obsesses, he always eats a healthy amount except for a period in Re, which was really more of a depressive episode than an ED. I can see why people could think that but personally I don’t see it

I think the most clear examples of characters with eating disorders are Rize, Touka, and of course Kaneki. Starting with Rize, hers was a binging issue. It was so extreme she was named for it, and it’s one of those disorders humans and ghouls share. She binged because she, unlike many other points in her life, had power. She had the power to kill, the power to feed herself, and the power to be in control. She devoured as much as possible because of that. It’s not something unique to ghouls, but it’s an example of how eating habits can become extreme when their access to food is so intertwined with their strength and feelings of safety

Touka’s is very interesting. She is a good example of HDBD. She has some affection for humans, if not as a species, as an individual. She is close to Yoriko and learned how sharing food is a sense of community between humans, a community that she wanted to be a part of with Yoriko. So when she was offered food, she ate it. Even when Yoriko wasn’t there to see, she insisted on eating what she was given. She had nothing to gain, she had everything to lose, and even when she needed to make herself throw up to avoid sickness, she forced herself to digest it at the cost of her health. Her body suffered from eating human food, but she continued to do it. This is not something done by someone to be kind, this is disordered behavior

Ken’s is pretty obvious. He became a ghoul and suddenly he couldn’t eat anything but human flesh, and he refused. He had an ethical and moral objection to it, so he starved himself. Even when he was extremely distressed from his hunger, even when his new instincts were ravenous and demanding he eat, he refused at the cost of his health. His circumstances are definitely different from some other ghouls because he used to have other options, and the trauma of the sudden introduction to this life emphasized the problem, but his disorder was extreme enough that he got to the point of the erratic, starved ghoul behavior that nearly cost him and Hide their lives. He had to be subdued and force fed in his sleep, he needed intervention that he was unwilling to get for himself. Later on in the story, after he’s been further traumatized and had his agency stolen from him, he becomes obsessed with getting stronger. Part of that for him was becoming a kakuja, and that cannibalistic fixation was an unhealthy response to the trauma of being powerless and an attempt to prevent it from happening again. Kaneki is the most extreme example of ghouls with eating disorders, and it’s not talked enough about in my opinion that kaneki, at no point since becoming a ghoul, ever ate in a normal, healthy way. He was either starving himself, cannibalizing, or putting off eating as much as possible. We never see Ken stabilize his eating behaviors, and it’s a large part of who he is. For him to eat normally, to not binge other ghouls or starve, is to accept that he is a ghoul and he can live a happy life like that. That he can accept what he is and still be somewhat okay. And He never did. It’s very interesting keeping track of how his eating corresponds to what’s happening in the story, because he always has some unhealthy habit about it that reflects what’s happening to him

(Not sure if you can tell but when I started rewatching tokyo ghoul I had horrific parosmia from Covid and all food tasted like roadkill for a year so I saw kaneki and went “just like me fr”)

In general, eating disorders are a very common and very dangerous part of life for ghouls, and one we get to see in detail. And it’s understandable, who can kill and eat something that looks and feels like you without struggling?

[emerald-chaos]

Daydream

**gif not mine! credit to the owner**

So, I couldn't help myself. This is a continuation of my previous Bucky fic Insomnia because I just really enjoyed the dynamic between Bucky and the reader. I had a lot of fun writing this part and I love building things up between the two of them. If you guys like this or are interested in seeing more - please let me know! I love talking with people and hearing their ideas and such.

Much love xo.

Pairing: Reader x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 2079

Warnings: cursing, struggles with mental illness, mentions of sex (nothing entirely explicit but better safe than sorry), alcohol use, and really poorly written jokes lmao

Fingers threaded into hair.

Hot, opened-mouth kisses marking every surface of your neck.

Nails trailing down his back leaving raised, red lines in their wake.

“Oh my god,” you groaned as you let your head fall back and continued to rock your hips into the man in front of you.

Strong hands tighten their hold on your hips, sure to leave purplish-blue bruises for the morning.

“C’mon, baby,” he grunted, face buried in your neck as he helped your body to grind against his, “I got you. Let go, fuck, let go for me.”

A pair of slender fingers snapped in front of your line of sight, tearing you from your daydream and bringing you harshly back to reality.

“Hmm, what was that?” You blinked a few times before you turned your attention to the redhead who you, apparently, had been having a conversation with.

“Are you serious?” She laughed, “I’ve been talking for the past 10 minutes! I looked over and you had that far off, glossy look in your eyes. Not to mention you’re bleeding.”

A hand found its way to your lower lip and you realized she was right. You had been so lost in wet dreamland that you chewed a layer of skin off of your lip. You hoped she didn’t notice the heat rising in your face as you cleared your throat, grabbing a tissue from the coffee table.

“Sorry,” you muttered, pressing the tissue against your injured lip, “guess I got lost in thought.”

“Is it one of those flashbacks again?” She asked kindly, facial expression softening.

You nodded quickly, knowing fully well that the statement was a lie. Your gaze drifted over the woman’s shoulder to the subject of your previous thoughts. It would be easier to explain the common occurrence of your PTSD than it would be to explain that you were reminiscing on the hot, steamy, passionate sex you had the night before.

Bucky was situated across the room, leaning against the counter as he talked to Rogers and Wilson. The unfortunately tight, black, short-sleeve t-shirt he was wearing left nothing to the imagination. It accentuated every muscle of the body you had gotten to know so intimately not more than 10 hours ago. His muscular arms were crossed at his chest and he was sporting his signature scowl. Everything about the sight sent a shiver down your spine. You finally had a taste and you wanted more.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Your friend’s voice gained your attention once more.

A small smile found its way to your lips as you met her gaze again. Apart from Bucky, Nat had always been a good trauma buddy of yours. From the beginning she had been someone you felt like you could confide in and someone who would understand your troubles. Sometimes you wondered if a requirement of joining the avengers was to have a fucked up, tragic backstory.

“I’m okay, Nat.” You reassured, “Just got lost in my head again.”

“Whatever you say. Maybe the party tonight will help you get your mind off of things,” She mused as she pushed herself from the couch to stand up. She paused briefly before she turned to you again, “you are coming, right?”

“Yeah,” you snorted, “Tony actually threatened me if I didn’t go this time, so, I guess I have to.”

After the last party you skipped out on, Tony cornered you in the hallway and gave you quite the interrogation. Then he went on a spiel about how staying in your room all day and all night was bad for you and that if he didn’t know better he would think you weren’t appreciative of what he’d done for you and blah, blah, blah. Tony really was a good person underneath all that hair gel. All he wanted was to help you break out of your shell and give you the family he knew you were lacking. That didn’t mean he couldn’t be a pushy asshole.

“Good, I’ll see you there. I’m sure Barnes will too.” A devilish grin painted her lips as she watched your jaw drop. Before you had a chance to say anything she was off down the hallway.

Fuckin’ Natasha.

*******

A pile of clothes littered your bed as you slipped another dress over your form. Not once in your life had you ever been concerned about what you were wearing or what you looked like, but there was something about tonight that made you want to turn heads. Your eyes raked down your figure as you twisted from side to side, admiring the way the black dress hugged your body in all the right places. Not to mention the thigh high slit in the dress showed off probably the only body part you weren’t self-conscious about. Tony, being the theatrical and over the top man he was, once said that you shouldn’t show up to his parties if you weren’t dressed to court a royal or to bring a man to his knees. Guess you were shooting for the latter.

As you put the finishing touches on your look for the evening, you felt that familiar heavy feeling settling into your chest. Your body always had a tendency to go into fight or flight mode when you became too familiar with anything or anyone. It felt like every fiber in your body was screaming for you to retreat into sweats and stay in your room, to not allow yourself this opportunity to enjoy the people you’d grown so close to. You know what happens when you let people in.

Grief, trauma, coping - it made it really difficult to live a “normal” life. Everyday tasks are daunting, it can be next to impossible to have intimate friendships or relationships, and not to mention the intrusive thoughts that infect your mind on a daily, if not hourly, basis. Here you were, the happiest you’d been in years. You were finally in a place where you felt loved, comfortable, safe - and yet your mind was trying to self-sabotage again.

You took a moment to close your eyes and take several deep breaths. When you opened your eyes you locked eyes with your reflection in the mirror and made a pact with the girl staring back at you. The intrusive thoughts and self-doubt couldn’t continue to have a hold over you anymore. You gave yourself a small smirk and nod as you made the decision to throw caution to the wind and give the party a try. What’s the worst that could happen?

*******

Come to find out, the worst that could happen would be your competitive nature overcoming the rational, thinking part of your brain; which in turn would lead you to enter in a drinking contest. Thankfully a small portion of your pink, smooth brain was still functional enough to tell you when you’d reached your limit. Now you sat comfortably on the couch, legs tucked underneath you as you joyfully watched your friends argue.

“Dr. Banner, my friend, you are one of the most intelligent people I know. However, you are wrong.” Thor stated simply as he finished the rest of his drink.

“Thor, for the last time, water is not wet!” Bruce retorted, throwing his hands up in frustration.

You let out a loud snort before thinking, “Oh yeah, water. I should drink some water.”

Your feet planted themselves on the floor and slipped back into your pair of shoes. As you made your way to the kitchen you were pleasantly surprised by your balance and coordination, considering how much alcohol you’d consumed. Seems that drinking with Thor has done wonders for your tolerance.

While you were busy searching the refrigerator for a bottle of water, you were also oblivious to the soft sound of footsteps coming into the kitchen. After retrieving the beverage, you closed the door and turned to leave. Instead, you turned right into the chest of a figure that was definitely not there a moment ago. You yelped as you clutched a hand over your chest dramatically, your face filled with horror as though you’d just come face to face with the grim reaper.

“Jesus Christ, Barnes!” you scolded.

Bucky was holding his abdomen as he leaned back, consumed with laughter at your reaction. You huffed and wanted to be offended, but he looked so damn cute laughing that you couldn’t help but join him. You pushed his chest playfully and grumped as you hopped up to sit on the counter, opening the water to gulp about half of it down. Bucky couldn’t help but grin at your pouty state as he finished up his laughing fit.

“My apologies, sweets. Didn’t realize I’d be makin’ ya scream twice in one day.” He teased, grinning even wider as he did so.

Your jaw dropped at the comment, quickly looking around to make sure no one else was in the kitchen to hear what he had said. After seeing that the coast was clear you kicked your foot at him out of annoyance, only for his metal hand to catch it smoothly. The two of you locked eyes, motionless for a moment before he moved closer, sliding his hand from your ankle to your thigh. In the moment, you damned yourself for choosing this particular dress. The closer he got, the faster your breathing became. The contrast between his cold embrace and your flushed, warm skin sent a shiver down your spine. Abandoning the water bottle, you ran your hands up his abdomen and chest until they rested on his shoulders. Following a small nudge from his knee, you parted your legs to allow him space to stand between them. The heat in your face at an all time high as he pressed his flesh hand to your cheek.

“Haven’t been able to stop thinkin’ about you.” Bucky whispered as he stroked the apple of your cheek with his thumb. Each word that left his lips had you feeling way more intoxicated than any liquor you’d had all night.

As quickly as it started, his touch was gone and his back was turned as he opened the fridge. Before you had a chance to open your mouth to ask what the hell just happened, Tony was entering into the kitchen.

“Well, well, well. Surprised to see you here, Annie.” Tony beamed as he laid eyes on you.

Yes, Tony had nicknamed you after little orphan Annie. Yes, he also referred to himself lovingly as Daddy Warbucks. Yes, any person in their right mind would probably be offended, but you were just fucked up enough that you found it kind of hilarious.

“Wish I could say that it’s a pleasure, Tony.” You grumped back, upset that you’d been cockblocked and by Tony no less.

“Never lose that spunk, kid.” Tony winked as he turned to see Bucky retreating from the fridge with a beer in hand. “Inspector Gadget! Good to see you too.”

As much as you didn’t want to encourage him, you couldn’t help but laugh. Much to your dismay, Bucky simply raised his bottle to Tony as if to say “cheers” and padded out of the kitchen.

“He has such a way with words.” Tony teased as you rolled your eyes.

A sigh left your lips as you slipped off the counter and back onto the floor, muttering a “goodnight” before leaving the kitchen and heading back to your room. Although you wanted nothing more than to find Bucky and finish what he had started in the kitchen, you came to the conclusion that you were probably too drunk and definitely too tired.

Back in the comfort of your bedroom, you went about your normal nighttime routine. As you exited the bathroom, you couldn’t help but notice a piece of paper that had been slipped beneath your door. Grabbing the paper from the floor and plopping back onto your soft mattress, you opened it to read the note that was scribbled in black ink.

Never got the chance to tell you how gorgeous you looked tonight. Gotta say, I’m a big fan of that dress.

Sweet dreams.

- B.

When you finished the note, it felt as though you were floating on cloud 9. Even when you laid your head down and tried to welcome sleep, Bucky’s words were still replaying in your head over and over again - like they were lyrics to your new favorite song.

Turns out you were down for Bucky Barnes, and you were down bad.

[keilemlucent]

pretty eyes & starshine: i

(NSFW)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

part i   ||   part ii   ||   part iii

beta’ed: @shadowworks & @keiqos​ (thank you!! 💞)

word count: ~9.4k

Keigo surrenders to losing himself in the blank-walled, temporary home he inhabits. He finds familiarity in the routine of aches, pains and pills. 

You’re his only solace. 

warnings: bodily trauma, medical trauma, PTSD, dissociation, suicidal ideation, alcohol as a coping mechanism and graphic description of sustained injury

a/n: oh wow so here it is, big sad fic :’^) part one!! it’s canon divergent from manga chapter 296 onwards.

this one has been a long time coming. please mind the warnings!! this fic deals a lot with trauma and mental illness in tandem. the warnings are going to change with the coming parts, so please be mindful. i don’t wanna get too sappy, but this piece has been my Baby for the past few months, and i’m excited to finally share. that being said, enjoy loves 💞

Everyone is fucked up after the War.

There is no kindness in an aftermath like this one, not so soon, and certainly not with dried blood of old comrades and mud still caking under its metaphorical fingernails. The world was in shambles, and every hero is along with it.

There is something horrifying about being at the center of it all, Hawks, no, Keigo thinks solemnly, all too often. 

He’s used to the attention he’s getting, touches and poking and prodding by near strangers. Except, he was used to exclamations of how great and powerful and remarkable he was. Now, all the attention he receives is followed by little sighs and sad, broken eyes.

He’s sure he looks equally as sad; Keigo had been nothing but an empty shell since the War had ended and he’d been carted off to his hospital room. Numb despite all of his burns. 

It’s the shock, he tells himself, he’ll snap out of it any day.

Any day.

...

And it is any day.

He wakes up to screaming from the next room over, agonized wails that pierce the air as his morning nurse enters. She’s over-worked and haggard while checking his vitals with a forced smile. They don’t make conversation with him much anymore, and Keigo doesn’t have the energy to try and force it. There isn’t enough in him to pretend that he’s okay enough to banter with folks. 

If he still had his wings, he would’ve wrapped himself up tight in the plumage and let himself rot away in some corner. He’d let the dissociated numbness fade, however long it took, and then succumb to whatever psychological wounds revealed themselves. 

Waste away, all alone.

But he doesn't have that luxury. He is in an overcrowded hospital with swarms of civilians and heroes, all stuffed in one place because the world doesn’t have the time to differentiate between the wounded, nor the space or resources to give different resources. Though, Keigo is a special case, hence why he’s had healers coming to him for the past three weeks since the War trying to coax his body into genesizing a new pair of wings. 

The Commission’s hospital has all the bells-and-whistles that a medical professional could need, but Keigo, and so many others, are facing problems that don’t have good and easy roads to healing. 

That’s assuming healing was even possible.

Keigo is convinced, has been convinced, that there is no way to come back from the War, nor the absence on his back, nor the shouts and cries of pain that echo around the hospital like a new genre of music that Keigo so desperately wants to scrub from his brain.

Things change, it’s inevitable. Everyone falls eventually, and he was just used to flying.

It’s a harder descent. 

...

Keigo doesn’t meet you on any day, he meets you on a lonely night.

The evenings and early mornings were the most peaceful at the hospital. Most folks, three weeks after the end of it all, had serious enough injuries that they had to be somewhat sedated to sleep, either for physical or mental pain keeping them from sleep.

It’s morose, Keigo thinks, quietly and privately, but he craves those hours. All he hears then is the hum of air vents and beeps of his own medical machinery. None of the audible agony of the folks he was sworn to protect.

He’s slept most of the day, not lucid enough to do much else, and the nurses haven’t been giving him sedatives unless he asked (though he always did.) Without forced quiet, he’s antsy, fingers twitching and flaring the new (and growing) pains rooted in his (empty, isn’t that horrifying—) back.

He rouses himself, adjusting his scratching hospital garb (thin sweats and a cheap crew neck with the back almost entirely cut away). With his IV pole at his side, he resolves to take a few laps and quiet himself, hopefully.

(Keigo would need sedatives, he always did, but it was nice to play pretend that he didn’t. It made things easier for a precious hour or two.)

His laps are usually quick, despite how much his body aches when he walks. So much new, burnt tissue that needed to learn how to move, how to live again, kept him throbbing and gritting his teeth.

Masochism be damned, he keeps at it during his sleepless nights. Physical therapy wasn’t an option when the world was caving in with him at the epicenter.

There’s a common room at the end of the foyer of identical (filled) hospital rooms, just a collection of stuffy, uncomfortable couches that face an aged TV and a wide bay of windows. It’s rarely used, just a formality for when the space of the hospital had regularly hurt victims and heroes. When it wasn’t bearing so much weight. 

Sometimes, he would stop to idly regard the mostly barren world around the hospital. Far from the cities, a little hideaway for heroes and their loved ones to heal in privacy. Other than sheer distance, there is a thick, organic shield around the complex.  It’s a towering forest, man-planted with identical types of trees in perfect rows. 

It’s grim in its predictability. 

(When did he get so fucking pensive?)

(Oh yeah, too much time locked in his goddamn skull.)

He hadn’t been planning to have any inner musings that night.

But, that night, he notes that he is not alone. 

On one of the hard couches, you sit, with your own IV-pole companion and injuries, an arm carried in a monochromatic sling and set in a hard cast.

You turn to him, blinking wide eyes at him.

There’s a single lamp on, and the light dances in your eyes with its own unexpected rhythm.

Something compels Keigo to smile, cocky, like he used to, and greet you with a little wave, and a finger to his lips.

Your expressions melts, a hand going over your mouth to stifle a giggle.

It’s like you’re pulling him after that, he finds himself resting across from you.

You must look like a pair, he realizes. You’re greasy, he’s greasy. He’s got a fine layer of built-up stubble that shouldn’t be called anything other than impressive peach fuzz (not that Keigo’s seen it, he’s felt it. The idea of looking in a mirror makes him sick to his stomach. Though you don’t have any pseudo-beard, you’ve got your own unkempt look and feel that makes you two kindred without sharing a word.

It feels comfortable, warm.

“Hi,” you speak first, voice soft and gentle. “Can’t sleep?”

“Nah, who can?” Keigo replies, shaking his head. “But what about you? Midnight oil doesn’t burn without a cause, you know.” 

Your expression is also painful in the way it’s so open, yet worn (most everyone had locked up by now, the ones in the hospital and Keigo imagined the ones outside of it too.) 

“I like the sky— the stars are pretty.” You sigh, wistful. “I watch for shooting stars.”

The thought, the significance of that obvious wanting, makes something pang deep in his chest. Childlike hope in a place like this, foolish as well as frail.

“Trying to get a wish?” Keigo clicked his tongue. “Smart.”

“No, no— wishing doesn’t... suit me, right now.” You snorted, shaking your head, the light in your eyes dancing, “I just think they’re pretty.”

Keigo blinks, unable to stop the way his eyes widen.

Your posture reads nothing but earnestness and vulnerability, so freely given (so undeserved) without a hint of pullback.

“What do you want to be called?”

“... Excuse me?” Keigo is not used to his thoughts being interrupted in the blanket of dark that he feels most comfortable in. Your words shock him enough with their meaning, let alone the way you’re so brazen. 

“I, uh,” You stumble on your words. “I know who you are, but I also saw that whole broadcast, which I’m going to easily assume you don’t want to talk about. But, I don’t know how much you want to be called ‘Hawks’ at this point either.”

His mouth is dry.

“So, I ask instead,” You lean forward, your IV line pulling the slightest bit and you wince. His discomfort must be very fucking apparent, because you backtrack in moments. “... Or, neither. I can call you something else, too.”

“... A nickname, for someone you don’t even know?” Keigo, Hawks, whoever he is now struggles with words. There’s too many, and they’re all too fast, and he doesn’t have his wings to catch up to them or outrun them— 

“Yeah, why not?” You shrug with a lazy smile. “I’ll call you... pretty eyes. How about that?”

Keigo does have pretty eyes. They’re gold, light and glittering amber in the lowlight. Before he, ya’ know, lost them, and when things were good, but awful, but normal, he darkened the organic marks around his canthi with liquid eyeliner. He liked makeup, prettied himself up and accentuated all the good he had. Preening.

None of that is left, just what organically was on his skin, and he hasn’t seen it in its raw state in years, and like fuck if he was going to look in a mirror just to figure out if his natural eyeliner was half as good as that by his own hand. 

“Sure, that works,” He relaxes, mirroring your expression like the practiced... pro he is. “What do I call you, starshine?”

You roll your eyes, but nothing about you fades as you tell him your name, something that calms and fills him, “But, you can call me starshine if you want. Sounds nice.”

It’s sweet.

So, Keigo greets you.

“Nice to meet you, starshine.”

...

That’s the first time you kept each other’s company. Most of it is quiet, you truly do just want to watch the stars. Keigo did with you, tracing the shadows of clouds and moonlight with his eyes.

(Occasionally, his gaze shifts to you, regarding your figure with the same care for only a moment before returning to the sky you both miss.)

Eventually, the quiet heat of it puts him half to sleep, and he bids you goodnight.

You wave goodbye, rising as he away.

The light isn’t in your eyes anymore, and your warmth feels a little too far away.

...

The next days are long.

He slips into that shell-state again, where he’s a husk that stares emptily at the ceiling as the Commission tries to piece him together to a fraction of what he once was. 

They fail, each time, because no healer they’ve brought can regenerate quirk-formed appendages, but he commends their efforts all the same. It’s out of desperation, sure, but he’s heard whispers of the new generation. In recalling his own sidekicks, he isn’t as scared for the future. 

(Everyone else’s future. He’s so terrified of his own that he turns extra numb if he thinks about it.) 

Selfishly, he just wants his wings for himself. They’d keep him plenty company. If he ever did get them back, he’d fly somewhere, faraway and alone to live out his days under his feathers and feel as empty as he wanted. 

They fuss over him all day, not knowing those desires. They are private, and he only puts on his old, self-confident bravado so they don’t lock him up somewhere to have his brain picked and to fill the new holes with pill-shaped gauze. 

As established, Keigo was content to rot.

(He can’t fully parse all of his feelings and they consume him.)

The healers for the week all failed, doing nothing but making his back bow and burn. It’s painful. Obviously, trying to stitch a body back together, or rather making a body make when it was so tired of creating—

(Feather after feather after feather, for how long?)

He’s glad his sessions are in a different room, a spare, horrifyingly metallic exam room across the hospital. It reeks like iron and isopropyl alcohol, but Keigo doesn’t mind. The filmy paper that rolls from the exam table gets soaked with his sweat as opposed to his familiar bed dressings. 

Not to mention, it’s nice, not having to hear his neighbor’s screams and pleadings to God, any god, for reprieve. Calming. 

(He feels less guilty. Less like it was his own hand that scarred up their bodies. If he can’t hear them, he only thinks of his own agony under ‘helping’ hands.)

His body is exhausted at the end of each day, and even his restlessness fades with the necessities of his body.

He doesn’t see you, and practically forgets about you.

It’s a week or so later when he takes one of his strolls, and finds you tucked away into your nook, dimly lit and with a blanket over your lap.

Keigo feels it as he nears you, that comfort that your expression bleeds into his very soul. Even as he watches your healthy hand nervously toy with the thin knit in your lap, it doesn’t dim you.

The lamplight dances in your eyes as you nod to him, “Fancy seeing you here, pretty eyes.” 

“You’d never know it, but I live just down the hallway— me,” He touches his chest proudly, surprised by his own jest. 

You gave a fake gasp, mirroring him easily, “Never knew I had such a well-known soul in my neighborhood. Forgive my transgression.”

Bending at the waist, as much as you can with your right leg extended, straight, you choke on laughter.

Keigo follows you in it, giggling, genuinely giggling, high and light and girlish like he’d never heard from himself before.

He snapped his mouth shut, thickly swallowing and shaking his head.

“No need to be shy,” You assured him with an affectionate turn of the head. “You have a lovely laugh.”

“Now you’re just flirting with me, cute.”

Your head tilted farther, confused, “I’m simply being kind to you.”

Why didn’t he have the snark to reply to that? Probably because he was half-dead and on painkillers for nearly a month. He’d beat himself up about it later, maybe.

There wasn’t an ounce of malice in your tone, just earnestness that tugged at his own insecurities.

You backpedaled. “How was your day?”

Keigo takes a few moments to respond, shaking his head without mind to the way his too-long hair flops in his face. 

The banter isn’t forced, but it’s not welcomed yet.

As comfortable as you feel to him, Keigo isn’t comfortable.

“Same old, same old,” Living hell. “Boring, mostly. Painful, but dull. It’s crazy how much hell smells like cheap disinfectant, huh?” 

You agree, quietly, “I’m pretty sure there’s many hells in this place.”

Keigo doesn’t know how to respond, so he doesn’t. 

You both regard the stars again with growing reverence. Specks of light dance back in your eyes as you both settle into the hard cushions like they were made of goose down and Sherpa. 

...

Your conversations are... disjointed, to say the least. 

There’s an inability for words and phrases to flow between you. There’s starts and stops, stalls like an engine that putters on tarry oil without ever truly firing. There are good feelings, still, safety in silence before words as you stargaze together through the comfort of a window.

It should feel disarming, to be so far from the sky yet have no way to reach it. And it is, but Keigo can swallow the reality these days. It’s easier when there’s someone on the mend close by, sharing in the discomfort of a rawed mind and the comfort of a yellow-toned fluorescent bulb.

It’s unspoken kinship. Keigo never had time for it in the past, but now it was all he had. There had to be some cruel irony in it (as if there wasn’t enough in his life), but he couldn’t make himself mind. 

Everything he’d once excelled at, everything he had was gone. He was barren and stripped (don’t think about it—), exposed to the elements in all the worst ways. At least the hospital was clean and safe, relatively. 

It feels safest with you near.

Sure, your conversations were clearly that of two horribly broken people, but that wasn’t new or surprising. It simply was.

“Do you know constellations?” You ask one night, a colder one, where you’ve got two blankets over your lap. 

Keigo thought for a moment, “A handful, but I never took to stargazing, you know?”

You don’t relate, just chew your lip, the light of the dim lamp dancing across your irises.

“Can I show you some?” 

“...Constellations?”

“What else?” You crack a smile. “Come on, pretty eyes.”

Whatever you’d like, he’d do. 

He can’t refuse, he’s already getting weak for you. 

Shifting, Keigo joins you on your typical couch for the first time. Your IV poles, thrumming and humming their own rhymes harmonize, quietly and mostly imperceptible. 

You regard him even more warmly, so close, a little smile playing on your lips.

“What’s your sign?”

Keigo deadpans, “What?”

“Like... astrology. What’s your sign?”

You wiggle your eyebrows, knowing the double-meaning of your words. 

Flirting again.

Since when had he been so bad at it?

“Capricorn,” He huffs back. He keeps his back off the stone-like cushions of the couch— his scarring had been itchy the whole day prior— so itchy— 

You tap the plastic-y fabric gap between the two of you, grabbing his attention, “Hey, pretty eyes. Stick with me, let me show you where that one is.”

So, you do.

Your light-filled eyes trace the sky’s nighttime freckles, searching until you find what you’re looking for.

“There,” Your finger raises, tracing the patterns in the air. “That’s Capricorn, can you see?”

Not really, the stars are just a meaningless smatter. If there’s some sort of pattern he’s supposed to find, he comes up with none. 

“Not in the slightest,” Keigo rolls his eyes. “Show me again?”

You don’t reply, but rather scoot a bit closer, mirror his hunch and pose with precision and tiny adjustments. 

He doesn’t dare to breathe as you carefully grab his arm, extending it. You lay your cheek over his bicep, watching from the closest view to his own that you could. 

“Do you see now?” 

The only starlight he sees is right in front of him, soft cheek pressed against atrophying muscles. Sharing your heat so graciously as you would so easily come to, you chatter about the stories that are written in the stars, by all cultures, for so long.

Keigo hears, but he’s far more focused on how he wishes you were even closer.

...

After that night, you always share the same couch. 

You face forward, right leg always extended and stiff-looking. Keigo doesn’t mind, hardly notices. He faces you, fragile back bandaged and kept away from the unforgiving grit of the uncomfortable couch. It looks a bit uncomfortable, the posing of it all, but with the words flowing easier, neither of you mind.

You keep showing him stars, the constellations you can remember and see in the night sky. 

Keigo makes fun and crafts his own, connecting new dots and winding stories about them.

“See those three there?” He guides your hand, close enough to share your breath. “That’s the comb of the chicken. Star comb, if you will.”

You snort, rolling your eyes and pulling your hand from his grip, “There’s no cock in the stars, pretty eyes. Chickens can’t fly anyways.”

You both freeze.

Keigo’s mouth goes dry—

Chicken can’t fly.

As much as you’re both learning to be human again, there isn’t talk of your injuries. Maybe, there’s mutual curiosity (you’ve been here two months. just for a broken arm, why?), but like fuck Keigo wants to broach the subject.

“S-sorry,” you stumble over your words, physically retreating. “Shouldn’t have said that.”

It is a fact, chickens can’t fly, but Keigo isn’t a chicken. He’s a debauched, defamed hero whose home is the same set of a milky white, hospital ward walls. Once, a real hero, before the war, before selling his morals just for a chance at rest, before blue flame— burning— 

“Pretty eyes,” Your voice trembles, shaking and lonesome. “Come back here, now. Come on.”

You’re holding his cheeks, unkempt nails pressing (blessedly) a bit too hard into his cheeks. The heat of you is so close, almost scalding him, but he wants more of it, more of the heat that doesn’t burn—

“You’re okay, pretty eyes, s-see?” You hold yourself together, jerking your head to the wide window and glittering stars. “We’re just stargazing.” 

Keigo’s has tears leaking down his face, but neither of you acknowledge them. You release him, quietly spinning another tale about a hero hung in the cosmos. He thanks you for it silently by tugging you into his side. 

(It was the first night you really touched him.)

(The light in your eyes was so close, he wanted it all for himself.)

...

They’re running out of healers to try.

From the weakest to the strongest quirk, no one could revive his dead wings. There was no root to push from the scar tissue, nor resolve left in Keigo to try and make new pins and feathers sprout.

His back isn’t fertile. It’s just as poisoned as the rest of him.

...

He wonders where you disappear to during the day. He takes his strolls then, too. Waves to nurses these days, not charming, just friendly, trying to make a little brightness. 

There’s one day where he asks one of the nurses he knows best for a pair of scissors.

She looks at him, worried, “Don’t tell me we need to put you on psych watch.”

“What? No,” Keigo shakes his head, shaggy hair quivering around the frame of his face. “I just need a bit of a haircut.” 

“... We can ask the Commission to bring someone in—”

“I can do it myself.”

She doesn’t argue with the firmness of his voice, rather, she hands him a pair of safety scissors with bright purple handles. They’re for a child, but Keigo’s fine with that. They’d do. 

When he was younger, and in a pinch (and so poor he tried to eat grass and lick scraps from metallic packaging of discarded junk food wrappers) he’d cut his hair with his own feathers.

Safety scissors would be even easier.

It did mean that he had to confront his own visage, which he had gotten too good at avoiding.

The bathroom in his room is small, it would’ve been claustrophobic if he was still carrying a twenty-five-foot wingspan. 

But, he isn’t. It was just him and the scars on his back that he definitely wasn’t ready to see. 

He’s caught glimpses of himself over the past weeks, but nothing substantial. No view that would’ve given himself time to scrutinize over his imperfection. 

The dull hospital mirror reveals too much about him. It feels too vulnerable, makes his chest tighten, as he stares himself in his ‘pretty eyes’.

Purple stamps below his eyes, probably not from sleeplessness itself, just the sheer exhaustion of living. The one under his left is an odd maroon color, mixing with the scar that is burned into that half of his face.

The skin was once soft, plump cheeks always tended too and well taken care of by expensive skincare products. Now, it’s charred and gaunt. Healing, but still obviously scarred heavy and deep.  The weak beard he’s been growing (accidently) is patchy around the thickened tissue. 

It bothers him— 

It doesn’t look like him in the mirror. 

It helps to take care of himself for the first time in a long while. 

He shaves with the cheap foam and single blade razor they’d given him in the toiletries pack the first days he was there, while he was still numbed out and half-dead. The metal glides over his skin, stripping away the numbness just a little. The stubble and cream slide down the drain and away.

His hair is different. The waves had for so long been pushed back and held that way with the winds of his flights. The longer, feathery patches now hang around his face, dangling down and mingling with the too-long sections that curl over his ears and down his neck.

Wetting his hair, he cuts away what he can. 

It’s blunt, messy, and not elegant. 

All the same, the trim feels good. 

Though, his mood goes sour when the screaming starts for the day.

The far wall of the bathroom was shared by him and his shrieking neighbor, and he took great care to never shower when they were singing their awful chorus. It grates on his ears; he should’ve been a bit empathetic to their suffering, but he didn’t care that much. It was so regular, that the screaming that might’ve once sent each one of his feathers (don’t think about, don’t fucking think about it) sharp as the razor in his hand, didn’t bother him in the slightest.

Just a poke at his temple, a jab and a drop of water that irks him more than anything else.

It is a... somewhat pleasant distraction. He can focus more on his fellow patient than his own haggard appearance, the scar, the lack of red at his back— 

It’s all okay, ‘okay’, until the patient starts babbling.

“M-make it stop!” 

Keigo stills.

A scream tears through the drywall. Even without his wings, it makes him thrum, far-too sensitive.

“Help!” The voice yelps. “HELP!” 

There’s a thud and thump from the other room.

“Please, please!”

Keigo’s heart stutters in his chest, and the razor falls from his hand, clattering into the sink.

“MAKE IT STOP!”

It’s you.

It’s your screaming and shrieking that’s burrowed in his ears. It’s your voice that’s trembling in desperation that has him running out of his room, nearly pulling out his IVs as the pole teeters and follows behind him. 

Why are you screaming?

Why have you always been screaming?

A nurse is trying to stop him, urging him to settle but he can’t. There's an urgency in his chest he hasn’t felt since back before and he has to heed it. He needs to.

He pulls his forearm from the nurse’s grasp, hissing in his own pain, muscles pulling and aching with disuse but he doesn’t care.

The nurses drag him back from your door, and they almost have him, almost have him on the ground.

And then he smells burning—

Cloth.

Flesh.

And something in him snaps.

He clocks the nearest nurse with a tight fist, ignoring his atrophied muscles and kicking with everything he could muster.

They release him, probably out of shock. (He’d been such a model patient, so complacent and quiet until then.) 

Then, he stumbles into your room, and sees you, and wants to die.

...

There’s plenty of times in his life where Keigo felt like an animal. When the Commission first got their hands on him, they took to studying and picking his quirk about to figure out the most efficient way to rebuild it to their needs and uses. Now then, he felt very much like an experiment, only half-human. He was too young to really ‘get’ it, but the feeling persisted.

Sometimes, he felt similarly when he played celebrity. The talk shows, the modeling and media felt hoops he had to jump through just to get a decent night’s sleep. It was an additional job aside from heroics, one he excelled at and entertained him. But that didn’t mean each flash of a camera didn’t suck him dry of a bit of his dignity. 

He was sure you had to be feeling similarly.

You’re writhing and arching in your bed, curls of smoke rising from your papery hospital gown. Every machine in your room is screaming with you, bloody and loud and angry—

And scared. Keigo recognized well, and it drove pins into his heart to realize it was you.

It’s even worse when he realizes some part of you is burning. 

At your bedside, he freezes.

Nylon straps wrap around your wrist, around your cast, and keep you held tight to the bed. You’re tied down, held to the plastic bed frame as you wretch and scream.

You don’t even notice him.

The smoke rises from your burning hospital gown. He rips it away, tears the burning section away with his shaking hand. It’s crass, and Keigo sees a bit too much.  The gauze wrapping your leg below is burning as well, in little veins of char that burns black and smoldering. 

Keigo tears it all away, he tears and tears—

And then he sees the wound.

He was trained, once, to see this type of horror and not bat an eye. That training was gone, and all that remained was his starshine with a writhing, molten wound.

Keigo is numb as the nurses drag him back to his room, trying to decide if he prefers the apathy and numbness to injury that his old heroism gave him, or the blinding pain of empathy when someone you... care about is hurt.

He can’t decide which he’d rather suffer with. 

...

You appear in the common room a few nights later.

Keigo still takes his walks in the late evening, even if you aren’t there. If anything, he needs them more. He’s restless, always listening for the screams or howls from the next room over. His annoyance towards them was gone, and all that remained was a concern that knotted in the pit of his stomach. 

There’s a sigh of relief on his lips when he finds you, nestled into a pile of blankets with your IV pole, watching the stars with sad eyes.

He joins you on your couch, cracking a decent joke that you don’t respond to.

Then, there’s silence.

It’s as loud as the stars are bright. The expanse of sound is filled by the hum of the cold air and distant beeping.

“I’m sorry,” Your voice shakes. “You shouldn’t have seen me like that. It’s not... Easy to look at. Or, I imagine it’s not.”

Keigo wants to rip the apology from your tongue and burn it.

“No, please, it’s alright,” He’s begging too much. “I get it.”

As much as he can, anyways.

You’re quiet again, biting your lip so hard it must be close to breaking skin.

“Can we... talk about things?” You ask, softer. “I can’t keep pretending.”

“...’Pretending’?” Keigo knows, but he selfishly wants to hear you say it.

“Well, you didn’t think I’ve been here for two months for my bum arm, right?” You laugh weakly. “And I’m well-aware that you don’t have wings.”

We just don’t talk about it. 

“It’s nicer to look at the stars and pretend everything’s fine,” Keigo lays the statement down and regrets it.

Your fist tightens, jaw clenching.

And there’s more silence.

It’s deafening to Keigo, he wants to speak, scream, but you’re quiet next to him. He can fill voids with his voice so, so easily, yet he turns in on himself.

“I know, it’s all hard,” Tears drip down from your words, though your cheeks remain dry. “I know, but there was a War two months ago, and we’re still holed up in a place like this, and we never talk about why.”

You turn to him, light dancing slowly in your eyes. Your lips part to speak, but no sound comes out.

“... I didn’t want to ask.” Keigo speaks, gaze shifting down to your leg. He questioned why a broken arm would keep you here, but you can’t just ask that. “It’s bad form to ask a stranger about their injuries unnecessarily when they’re traumatized.”

“But we’re not strangers, not anymore.”

Keigo can’t disagree. 

...

You had been in a conbini when Gigantomakia tore through your little suburb. It was a few miles away, but the ground shook as if the goliath was just outside the automatic doors.

Your demon was near, though.

It was a man from the PLF who tore into you so badly. Just some random, emboldened civilian who ascribed to Destro’s ideology hard enough to think about taking out his frustrations on ‘weaker-quirked’ individuals.

That meant the young couple getting slushies in the corner, the old man behind the cash register, and you.

(You’d told your roommate you’d be home quick to help her study—)

(Your roommate is dead, under several tons of rubble.)

“The old man died before the heroes even started trying to rescue anyone. The couple was begging each other to hold on, but only one of them lasted. He died within a few weeks of being taken here.”

There was just you.

You’d hardly been touched by the man, the fucking villain, who’d set his mark on you. But it was more than enough to leave a writhing scar.

Keigo asks to see it, and quietly, you oblige him.

You’re in a gown, you always have been. The hem of it is pulled up by your visibility shaking fingers, and slowly reveals the scar in the lowlight of the ever-present lamp. He’d seen it once, but that didn’t change how startling it was. 

It’s molten.

The skin is gnarled, twisting and scarred worse than anything Keigo’s ever seen. It was like the gore of a torn flesh was frozen over your right side, from your calf, to your thighs to your pretty hips—

“It goes higher, but that’s not exactly couth to show you,” you joke, but neither of you laugh. 

“... It’s not moving anymore?”

“Oh, yeah. It calms down, when it’s dark. Nighttime and all. It stops being so ornery.” 

Keigo has a laundry list of questions, but with the expression on your face that just bleeds exhaustion into the air, and the fresh burns from the restraints on your wrists, he keeps quiet. 

Maybe, three months ago, he’d jabber on about the injury, try to gode some information out on the villain, profile him, track him and beat the tar out of him for touching you—

But this is the present, and Keigo is a wingless soul. All he has is a prescription for painkillers on a rigid schedule, and the awareness that you both appreciate each other.

Keigo scoots to your uninjured side, lifting his arm up and around your shoulder. It hurts, it fucking hurts, but he doesn’t mind.

You tense for a moment, turning to him with wide eyes, scared like he’s never seen.

Then, you melt into him.

...

Keigo’s busy with healers the week, though none speak his language, literally. They’re international, foreign aid that’s been flown in to try to pick up the disaster of a society that’s been left in the wake of the War and the dissolution of Tartarus.

None of them make progress. 

As much as it burns (haha) him to his core, he’s accepting the reality, slowly but surely. 

...

Endeavor visits him.

It’s the morning after a particularly sweet night with you. You still sit together in the starlight, though you’ve run out of constellations to show him. It’s less quiet than it used to be, just little banter that flows between the two of you. It feels more genuine than his old bluntness, welcome after so much odd tension when you first started enjoying the heat of each other’s presence and the far-off stars.

You’d taken to spending time together during the day as well... As much as you could. Strapping you to your bed was for your own safety. Your broken arm had snapped the first few days at the hospital because of the severity of your spasms and flares. The nurses keep you wrapped up, but Keigo drags a chair close to your bed and talks to you as much as he can.

It helps you relax.

Though the days fill with tension as you try to negate the inevitability of your molten scar coming to life, nights remain calm.

And so, so sweet.

You’ve taken to tucking into his side, telling him little treasured facts about the cosmos. It’s easier to guide his eyes like that, as your cheek rests over his collarbone. 

It lingers with him, the feeling of your casual touch, so tentatively offered and so graciously received.

He traces his own constellations over your gown, mindful of the flesh beneath that heats beneath his palm when he gets too close.

After one of those wonderful, early nights, Enji Todoroki enters his room with all of the gusto one would expect. Which is not very much, but the sheer presence of him is enough to make Keigo quake.

 Just like the little boy from Kyushu, Keigo regards him with stars in his eyes. 

The hero, not a speck of flame on him (thank god) pulls up a chair near his bed. Keigo sits cross-legged and cocks his head to the side.

“What brings you to my neck of the woods, number one?” Keigo smiles.

“Number fifteen.”

“... What?”

“Since my injuries, I’m mostly on bedrest,” Enji replied, folding his hands on his chin. “I’m number fifteen now, and that number will more than likely just drop. I’m not much of a hero with only one lung. I’m planning to officially retire at the end of the month.”

Keigo’s chest goes tight and it feels like he’s joking. He tosses on a tight smile. 

“This is hardly time for a pillar—“

“I’m no pillar. I never was,” Enji sighs, running a hand over his scarred cheek. “The kids can handle this.”

Keigo breaks so easily these days.

“That’s not fair—” He had been tossed into this all too early and god it fucked him up— 

“Hawks,” Enji sighed. “There’s hardly anyone left to fight. They’re either dead, missing part of themselves, or gone.”

“So, you’re giving up?”

“If I didn’t, I’d die.”

Coward.

No, just honest and smart. 

“Since when are you this selfish?” Keigo’s own words surprise him, but he doesn’t back down. “And this wordy, number one? You’ve changed.”

He spits the last phrase like an insult. He hates himself for it and would hate himself even more for it later. 

Enji’s face remains solid and unwavering. The twitch in his brow is the only indication that Keigo’s words were even heard. 

“Since we lost, Keigo. Things have changed.”

Keigo knew, of course, but it didn’t stop the anger from rolling his belly.

“Oh, like I don’t fucking know,” If Keigo still had his wings, they would’ve been extended and fluffed, angry as the pinched skin of his forehead. 

This was his hero, he couldn’t be giving up too— 

“Rest, Hawks,” Enji stand up, “You deserve it.”

Seems Endeavor really died. Enji’s face is worn, his expression neutral and jaw slack. He looks hollowed out and empty, not an ounce or morsel of fight left in him, even for a flightless bird in need of some encouragement. 

There’s more to be said, but Keigo’s too angry to listen and Enji doesn’t have the energy to try. 

Whatever news the old hero had come to bring was left undelivered. 

...

You settle together the next few nights, both so damn tired, even though you’ve done nothing other than lay around a hospital for so-many weeks. 

The air always vibrates between the two of you, that comfortable warmth shared between mingling breath and senses. Light dances in your eyes, twisting and bouncing like something otherworldly.

(Maybe it is.)

Your fingers lace together, held in Keigo’s lap. You trace the others hand in relaxing little lines and shapes, trying to soothe each other’s wounds, always.

“One of the doctors said the scar might start shrinking,” You break the tender silence, nosing into his jaw in the same way an affectionate cat would. “They’re not entirely sure, but it’s been stable for a few days.”

Keigo’s feathery (don’t think about it) eyebrows shot up, “That’s amazing, and there’s only a few spasms this week, too.”

(He kept good tabs on you, he had to.)

You hummed in agreement, a sad smile playing on your lips as it so often did.

With a quick blink, the light bouncing in your eyes faded, and the world felt a bit colder.

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do when I get out of here,” You pressed closer to him. “There’s shelters, and some cities are taking refugees, but I don’t—”

Your jaw clicks shut, brow furrowed and mood soured.

(Keigo, mind you, is still focusing on the lack of light in your eyes and the chill of the air in the room.) 

Something stirs, deep in his gut, but he doesn’t say anything. How Keigo used to have such a mouth, he didn’t know. These days, all he can is act, like somehow the loss of his wings came with the loss of his tongue.

Tugging you by the waist, mindful of the tender scar, he pulls you close, internally resolving.

...

She, the main Suit, visits him.

(It’s his last visitor at the hospital.)

There are no trumpeters, guards, or the like. It’s just the haggard president, matching Keigo with his dark circles and creased with new wrinkles and far-more grey sections in her slicked back hair.

The air stands still as she pulls up a chair, burying her head in her hands.

She, the Main Suit, has never been one to inquire as to how he is. Many of the others at the Commission were sweet, kind to him in youth, but she was all business. 

Some things never change.

She breaks the silence of the room, “... do you want to be done, Hawks?”

The cords in his chest tighten, gaze going sharper.

He doesn’t answer.

They meet each other’s gazes; twenty years of fucked-up emotion being shared between the pair of them.

“We’ve done everything. Every healer, every quirk, every treatment, conventional or otherwise,” she’s too soft. “There’s nothing left to try.”

He knew that, he had to know that, right?

His throat feels sticky as he swallows down bile, the scars on his back burning anew. It’s somatic, it has to be, but his flesh crawls and writhes just like yours. His starshine. He hates the way his mind is racing, just as fast as it always has, but his body lacks the ability to keep up.

He grounds himself in the thought of you, his starshine. Your body. Your heat. 

His narrow pupils refocus on the light tremble in her shoulders. 

“I’m being honest, so I’ll ask again,” She meets his gaze, grey eyes as soulless and full as ever. “Do you want to be done?”

“Well, obviously I can't fight—” 

“I mean it. All of it, Hawks. Maybe a few media appearances, but all this... shit. You’ve done enough.”

You’ve done enough. 

The words bounce around in his skull.

“Do you want to be done?”

Done with being a hero.

That’s all he’d ever been, right? That is him, he is Hawks, for fuck’s sake, no one other than Dabi (may he rot and die and immolate in hell) even called him his actual name in years.

Keigo is Hawks.

His mouth is dry, and he tries to ignore the tears pricking his eyes. He’s not sure why he’s beginning to cry, and definitely not sure why tension is draining from his shoulders as he sighs out an answer.

“I’ll be done.”

You’ve done enough.

...

Hospital beds are a hot commodity, and now that Keigo had thrown in the towel (along with everyone else) to stop trying with his wings, he was to be discharged within a few days.

(“Just a few more days to adjust your body to your new medications—”)

He’d stopped listening after that.

...

Your last night together is so bittersweet, you taste it on each other’s tongues.

You have an episode early in the day. Your screaming wakes the floor, the burning smell of flesh cementing that it was you.

Keigo’s only half-lucid when he shoves into your room, holding your hands while nurses desperately try to administer pain medication.

It’s too much for you, the crawling edges of the scar once again consuming you in the molten, glowing amber veins of heat that tore through you so terribly.

You sleep the day away. Keigo stays with you for much of it, stroking the bones in the back of your hands. 

...

He fucks you for the first time, that night. 

His own IVs have been removed, he’s to be discharged first thing in the morning—

And he wants one more night of stargazing, please, please—

(Why’s he clutching at you so dearly?) 

But you’re not in the common room. 

Rather, you’re under a few thin blankets, eyes tired and lightless. Your arm is out of its cast, laying over the bed clothes. It scares him shitless at first as he tentatively enters. It’s you though, and the moment you see him, it’s like a flame, a good one, heats the room full and wide. A few specks of light dance in between your irises as your skin crinkles in a gentle smile.

You both know he’s leaving tomorrow.

The knowledge settles in the room like a weight that neither of you can move. So, Keigo takes to it and does what he can.

As opposed to his normal perch next to his bed, he sits beside you, removing the restraints on your wrists and helping you to sit up.

Keigo fishes around in his pocket, pulling out a folded square of paper and placing it at your bedside. It’s his phone number, an odd detail. Relationships usually shared far-earlier.

But there is nothing linear or normal about the two of you, or the situation you both sit and stewed in.

You both are making peace with it at your own pace.

The bed creaks as you move to sit beside him, legs dangling from the bed. There’s gooseflesh beneath your gown, the boring pattern obscured by the darkness of the room, but the molten lines of the scar ever-visible.

“I’m glad you’re getting out of here.”

But I wish that you weren’t leaving.

His hand finds your waist, careful like he always is, but so giving in the same breath. 

“I am too. It’ll be nice to be.”

But I’m going to miss you.

It’s inherent, and has been forever. Since the moment you both stargazed in the common room and watched the worlds high above twist and shine without regard to your own hells, you’ve been ensnared in the other and neither of you have a want or need to let go.

Even with the inevitably of progress.

Keigo drowns in these thoughts, and has been since Endeavor visited and he was reminded of the harsh reality just outside of their tree-ringed prison. The reality he has to return to—

He presses his lips to yours, more desperate and needy than he had before.

Keigo had taken his share of you before, little pecks and the rub of the bridge of his nose over your jaw and cheeks. He had been a bit greedier with his hands, uncaring of the eyes of the night nurses when he’d touched you in the common room.

But he’s insatiable that last night.

The sheets of the plastic bed are too scratchy, they’re too harsh for you, and it burns Keigo to his core as he lowers you down. He cradles what he can, as your fingers latch onto his clothes (real clothes) and tug him as close as you can get.

The machines in your room cry, but they’re forgotten. 

You nip at his bottom lip, dragging yours across his clean-shaven jaw before laying into his neck with kiss after kiss. His muscles shake, holding him over you, both of you atrophied but uncaring.

You suck a deep, throbbing bruise on the fragile skin of his neck. It’s something dark that won’t fade for a week. The thought stirs something in his chest, a white-hot feeling that wants to crack his ribs and consume him. He doesn’t give in, he can’t—

“Stay with me, pretty eyes,” you whisper, so sweet and gentle as you push floppy strands of hair from his face. “Stay here, just for a little while longer.”

The reminder jolts him back, back to you, and the way your body (so tired, but unwavering) jumps and rolls under his touch. He’s a glutton for attention, always has been, but your particular brand and sounds keep pulse hot and hard. 

Shaky fingers pull his shirt over his head, sweaty palms push the gown over your hips. By the starlight, you’re both seeing too much of each other, but this is a goodbye, there’s no time to dwell on the discomfort.

Keigo tries to be careful as he adjusts your legs, tries to be mindful of the raw skin and flesh that makes you whine and half-writhe. You clutch at him, still trying to pull him closer despite the proximity and heat, like you need him as opposed to just wanting him. 

There’s no fanfare in it, just more rushed kisses and the swirling of fingertips over covered clit. You catch each other’s gasps in the mingling of breaths you share. It’s choking, suffocating, yet entirely not enough. You beg, quietly, for more. Your fingers latch onto his wrist and urge him to help pull your panties off and away.

More, more, more. 

By the time he slides into you, you're still tense, but so is he, and in a pile of tension and fear and wishful-thinking, you both come undone, and undone, and undone— 

...

Keigo leaves the next morning. 

The press is there, flash bulbs blinding him after so long with just fluorescents and starlight. He manages an easy wave or two, no autographs or gleaming smiles, just business and numbness that he needed to hold onto, so he didn’t fucking break.

He slips into the Commission’s car and leaves behind the hospital, you, and its wall of man-laid greenery and prays to forget it all quickly. He has enough to mourn. 

...

Keigo wants to off himself when he arrives back at his penthouse. 

How can he not?

His ‘home’ (if he couldn’t even call it that) is a dusty, time capsule of everything before. Before he got fucked up with the League, before the PLF, before the war, before Jin—

Every untouched bit of his life from when it was a few, precious fractions better stands unturned. A discarded jacket, wing slits visible and frayed. Scattered dead feathers that make his skin crawl. Memorabilia too, old merchandise that he never cared much about, but he definitely didn’t need to be seeing it now that ‘Hawks’ had burned up and died. 

All disgusting reminders. 

Something burning fills the base of his skull when his gaze fixates on one of the old plumes. He reaches out to touch the spine of it, instinctually expecting a little jolt of feeling from it, like he always had. 

But there’s nothing. It’s dead, decaying, and so is he. 

The reality of it breaks him, quick, hard and hot. He burns alive a second time. 

He clears the liquor cabinet while blaring music from his over-priced stereo system loud enough to make his ears ache and throb. The music isn’t drowning anything out, but it’s better to pretend.

He finds a bottle of old pills and downs them with a few swigs of expensive whiskey and lets go.

...

When he comes to, he’s staring into a smashed mirror, with his own nails crusted in blood from thin welts in the skin of the scar on his face.

Much to his chagrin, he hasn’t forgotten anything. The memories of blue flames, red feathers, and the smell of your skin mixed with isopropyl alcohol feel brighter than ever. He grounds on them as he sobers up, latching onto the pain of his scar tissue and the solace you gave. 

And won’t ever give him again.

Something in him wilts as he defeatedly goes to his phone, arranging any number of things to get him the fuck out.

...

The penthouse is sold, his more important belongings gathered in bland boxes. 

And he leaves. There’s no sentiment holding him there, not anymore.  

Fukuoka is gone and some distant memory as he drives (yes, he forgot that he had that skill) him and his things to his new home.

His penthouse had been immaculate. Crisp interior design, new shapes and colors that were on trend. He was hardly home to appreciate the modern beauty of it, but he’d received enough compliments from random hookups to know that it landed aesthetically.

But honestly?

Who the fuck cared?

His penthouse had been sold to the highest bidder and far behind as he arrives at his new, high home in the sleekness of his far-too fancy, disused car.

...

...

He gets a call from an unknown number, another one, on some snowy day, deep in winter. 

Keigo debates answering it. He almost lets it slip to voicemail. The only calls worth answering are the handful from the Commission that he has to heed, or the odd one from Rumi, Fuyumi, and on occasion, Endeavor.

Not random numbers, he has no patience for it. 

Yet, he answers it lazily.

“Washed up hero, how can I help you?”

“P-Pretty eyes?”

His heart stutters in his chest, he swears— 

“Starshine?” He sounds breathless, the air leached from his chest as he white-knuckles his thighs.

He’d given up on you contacting him, yet there you were, or at least your voice, mechanical and high bouncing around preciously in the walls of the cabin

There’s a moment of silence, nearly, just your light breathing that receiver picks up.

Your voice trembles when you break it, “Y-yeah, it’s me, I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to call—”

You don’t need to be sorry; he would wait for you forever, and then some. 

“I d-don’t actually have a phone? Mine got trashed, uh, back then. I’m on the hospital’s line.”

Keigo hadn’t really considered that, he’s slipped the paper with his number on your bedside without a thought. 

How much had you lost?

“No worries, chickadee,” Keigo is sure his smile is audible. “Why call now? Miss me too much?”

He had no idea.

You laugh, though it soured as you spoke, “I get discharged tomorrow.”

Keigo’s heart seizes again and he’s sure he’s going to go into cardiac arrest.

“The guy who gave me the scar and all? He fucked up a few other people, word eventually got here. Once the scar stops... glowing, it rests. If you make it until then, you’re good.”

And alive.

“The whole injury is stable, has been for a week now,” Surprisingly, there’s no relief in your voice. “They need my bed, so they’re releasing me.”

No, no, no.

Where will you go?

Keigo doesn’t say it, but the question hangs in the air and is quickly answered.

“They got me a spot in one of the shelters close by... It’s only a couple hours by train!” You try to sound happy, but it’s so hollow and unnatural; it makes Keigo physically sit up.

No, no, no.

That won’t do.

“... What won’t do?” 

Keigo hadn’t realized he’d said it out loud.

Something is buried in his chest, something warm and molten, like the old veins of your scar, just kinder and better. It’s full of urges, so seldom used, selectively as needed throughout his career as a hero.

The need to keep something precious safe. 

The thing hasn’t thrashed in months.

Yet now? It’s practically screaming.

“Pretty eyes?” You sound scared through the phone. “A-Are you alright? I can call back—”

“No, don’t, do not.” Keigo lets the flame fill his chest, welcoming it. “You’re not going to that shelter.”

He has something to protect.

“I don’t have another choice—”

Someone.

“You do.” Keigo keeps his voice even, the muscles in his back writhing. If he still had his wings, they’d be puffed out and large. Impassioned with feeling he finally let breath between his ribs. “I’ll come get you, tomorrow.”

“... P-Pardon?”

He doesn’t hesitate, and for a moment, he starts to feel like his old self. 

“Come home with me, starshine.”

++++++

thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed!! 💗

look out for parts 2 and 3!!!💞

ko-fi

[brokentoys]

❝ 𝐧𝐨  𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒, 𝐡𝐮𝐡  ?  𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭  𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.  &&  𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧  𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞  𝐚𝐫𝐞  𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧  𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞  𝐟𝐞𝐝.  𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧  𝐢'𝐦  𝐢𝐧  𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑  𝐆𝐔𝐓.  𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍  𝐈'𝐌  𝐘𝐎𝐔  &&  𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄  𝐌𝐄. ❞

ᴀɴ  ᴏʀɪɢɪɴᴀʟ  ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴏɴ  ᴛʜᴇ  ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇʀ. ʜᴇᴀᴠɪʟʏ  ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴ  ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ  ᴡɪᴛʜ  ɪɴꜱᴘɪʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴ  ꜰʀᴏᴍ  ᴍᴜʟᴛɪᴘʟᴇ  ᴍᴇᴅɪᴀꜱ. ɪɴᴅɪᴇ  &&  ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇᴅ  ʙʏ  ᴡɪᴋɪᴀ.   ᴇꜱᴛ 09/11/20.  ᴘᴏᴛᴇɴᴛɪᴀʟʟʏ  ꜱᴛʀᴏɴɢ  ᴛʀɪɢɢᴇʀɪɴɢ  ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ  ᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛ.​

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MUTUALS  + FOLLOWING

I’ll only interact if we follow each other. However, non-mutuals can still like posts, reblog posts, & send me asks if they desire to. I just want to write threads with mutuals only because it’s less stressful.

As for DUPLICATES? I don’t mind following other Riddlers, and I’ll happily interact with them! I feel it’d be easy for us to thread; as we could write sibling AUs, or simply have them acknowledge they’re Riddlers from different universes.

This blog is also very accepting of OCs and crossovers.

As of now, I use Beta Editor + xKit Rewritten to trim posts by default. Yes, I can still use Legacy, especially if you do or you request it for our thread. But for now, I use Beta by default for all posts as most new blogs are stuck with it, and tumblr has confirmed they plan on removing Legacy from the site as a whole.

CANON DIVERGENT

This blog is VERY canon divergent. In fact, I’d call this an ORIGINAL PORTRAYAL. This means this blog does not follow ANY media – not any shows, movies, comics, or games. Although, I do take inspiration from various medias - I like to pluck together my own ideas, and other media ideas to create my favorite version of this character! I suggest reading the about page to get a better understanding!

Although Ed is considered a villain by many, he believes himself to be a vigilante. Because of this, he has his own morals and will only target those he thinks deserves death (such as politicians, Arkham staff, GCPD, and some vigilantes). If your muse isn’t a part of these groups (or is a CHILD), Eddie WON'T kidnap or harm them. If you have any more questions, feel free to ask!

NSFW + Triggering content

This blog will frequently contain triggering themes such as drug abuse, religious themes, violence/gore, physical, verbal, AND sexual abuse. Edward’s portrayal revolves HEAVILY around these themes. Edward’s a victim of physical and verbal abuse by his parents, but this portrayal also depicts him as a victim of CSA/grooming. Edward is addicted to drugs, and uses them to cope. If your blog romanticizes rape or p3dophilia, I will refuse to follow.

While I do try to tag strong triggers, please still be mindful that the above are very important to Ed’s characterization, and will be brought up often on this blog and in threads. Please use caution before following if those are triggering to you. I understand having one or two, but if your blog lists your triggers as almost all of the content stated above - I’ll likely not follow back. Trauma and life experience is what makes up of who Eddie is, therefore it’s a bit hard not to bring up at least some of it.

As for NSFW threads, this blog will contain them. Since if you tag posts as “NSFW,” they’re almost impossible to find again, I tag them as “spicy”. Be sure to block this tag if you don’t want to see it! I also portray Eddie as hypersexual. Because of this, there will be A LOT of suggestive content on this blog, and Eddie will also very likely flirt with your muse as long as they’re of age. This is never intended to be force-shipping.

THIS BLOG IS 18+ BECAUSE OF THE NATURE OF THESE THEMES.

GODMODDING + METAGAMING

Godmodding is a no and metagaming is also a no. However, it’s okay to know certain things about Edward - being the Riddler, having an abusive father, and his mental illnesses / basic info just because he’s infamous, and somewhat open about his life.

SHIPPING

This blog is multiship. However, while I love to ship with chemistry… I don’t mind pre-established relationships as long as we’ve plotted them out and we’ve reached an agreement. As for friendships? I’m okay with canon blogs (the rogues, prime example) acting like they’re friends with Edward before discussion since well… it makes sense for them to be!

REBLOGGING

Anything but threads are rebloggable! Because typically my partners don’t like threads to be reblogged. Whether you’re a mutual or not, feel free to reblog my ooc posts, my shitposts, memes, my art. (highly encouraged!) I don’t mind at all!!! 🥺🥺🥺 Also, if you sent in a meme or anything in the inbox, you’re very free to turn it into a thread.

MUN EQUAL DOES NOT MUSE

Ed’s a jerk, and has rather extreme views. Of course, I don’t agree with his actions.

GRAPHICS + ICONS

I made my icons, theme background, dash theme, & promos unless stated otherwise. Currently, I don’t have a live action FC for Eddie due to the fact that I just can’t find one that really fits him. If you use a live action FC, I’m likely going to keep using my cartoon one by default - or just reply iconless. This may change, though, if I find a fitting one.

MUN

Hi hi hi! I am the mun, you can call me by Wikia or anything, I am 26 years old. If you made it down here, I just wanna say that there’s no password to send and thank you for reading and respecting my rules! I hope to write with you soon. ❤︎

[albertasunrise]

Just Another Conquest - Part 2

Masterlist

Warnings: You were sweet, innocent and completely infatuated with Javier Peña. After an incident at the Christmas party, you become the talk of the secretary's at the embassy and everything starts falling around you.

Pairings: Javier Peña x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Mentions of abortions, Mentions of Miscarriage.

Notes: Still a few touchy subjects in this chapter.

Part 1

You lay there waiting for the procedure to start, heart in your throat as you desperately tried to avoid his gaze. You weren’t sure why Javier wanted to be there for it, why he’d refused to leave your side since he’d found out you were in the hospital. You guessed he felt guilty, after all, he was the one that had gotten you into this mess so you had tolerated him. Had been civil. He had saved you from possible jail time, after all, flashing his badge and convincing the doctors not to report what you’d tried to do to your unborn child.

‘Right you ready?” The doctor asked in Spanish and you nodded, mixed feelings engulfing you at what was about to happen.

You nodded and she placed the probe on your exposed stomach, so you shut your eyes and waited, praying for it to be over. Javier watched you, his heart twisting as he watched the conflict you were suffering saturate your features. You had said you wanted this baby. That you were going to raise it alone and that he had an out. So why did it look like you didn’t?

Then he heard it and all thoughts disappeared like a puff of smoke.

The rhythmic thump of his child’s heartbeat filled the air and his own heart seemed to expand in his chest. He turned to look at the screen, the doctor pointing out the baby he’d helped create and he sobbed. He cried openly and you opened your eyes to see him staring at that small shape, hand over his mouth as he let his emotions flow freely. So you allowed yourself to look.

It was instant.

The feeling of love you had for this tiny being that you were growing inside of you. This tiny life that the doctor informed you were currently around the size of an olive. She then left the imaging on screen as she started to clean the jelly from your stomach and as soon as she was done, Javier placed a soft kiss there.

“Hello, little one.” He whispered and you swooned “I’m your Papi and I look forward to meeting you.” He finished before he looked up at you “If you’ll let me?”

You were at a loss for words. You’d not expected him to be so welcoming of this baby and a pang of guilt struck you. What if you had succeeded? You would have taken this away from him. You’d never stopped to consider that he might actually want this. Want to be a father.

You’d been too scared to consider it.

You were discharged later that day and Javier took you home, helped you get comfortable before putting away the medications and vitamins you’d been given. You weren’t sure when you dozed off but you’d been surprised to find that he was still there when you woke up later that day, carrying a tray of food with him as he set himself down on the bed beside you.

“Made you some soup.” He said softly as he placed the spoon in the bowl and handed it to you “Wasn’t sure whether you’d be up for anything bigger.”

“Why are you doing this Javier?” You asked, your brows furrowed as you gave him a questioning look.

“Doctor said you were going to be weak for a few more days and that you’d probably need a little extra help.” He replied, placing the bowl down when you didn’t take it.

“I know all of that I was there.” You grumbled, “I mean why are you helping me?”

“Because I care about you.”

“If you cared about me we wouldn’t be in this mess.” You spat and he flinched at the statement.

“You’re right I’m sorry.” He fumbled as he pushed the tray closer to you and stood “You don’t want me here... Fucking idiot.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Not you… I’m a fucking idiot. Thinking that you’d accept help from me.” He elaborated “Or that you’d be willing to let me be a part of this baby’s life. I have no right.” He finished as he shook his head and made his way towards the door “I’ll get Connie to come and help you. She's more qualified anyway.’ He threw over his shoulder as stepped through the doorway, only to be stopped when you called his name.

“You have every right to be a part of this baby’s life.” You started, expression softening a little “I just… I just don’t want you to feel like you are obligated to take care of me just because I’m carrying your child.”

“But that’s exactly what I am.” He turned to face you, tears pooling in those chocolate depths “It is my duty to care for the woman who’s to give me the greatest gift I’ve ever received. So I will do that however you’ll let me. Not because I need to.” He paused, locking eyes with yours “But because I want to.”

You nodded at him, giving him a weak smile before picking up the bowl of soup he left beside you and hummed in delight at the savoury flavours.

“Did you make this yourself?” You asked and he nodded shyly “This is really good. How did you learn to cook like this?”

“I nursed my mum through cancer.” He replied honestly and you looked up at him in shock “Kinda taught myself to cook so that I could take care of her and pops. He uh… Well, he didn’t cope well with her illness. Even worse when she passed.”

“Javier I-”

“I’m glad you like it Hermosa.” He interrupted with a smile, changing the subject “I’ll be just out here if you need anything.” He finished and you nodded, watching him leave whilst your heart ached for him.

~

3 months along…

“So the baby is around the size of a plumb now according to the baby book I got.” Exclaimed Javier excitedly and you smiled sweetly at him.

“You read a baby book?” Snorted Steve as he laughed at Javier’s statement, earning a smack on the arm from his wife.

“I think it’s sweet.” Announced Connie as she gave Javi’s arm a friendly squeeze.

“Have you told work yet?” Steve asked you, taking a swig of his beer.

“No.” You replied, shrugging as you spoke “We wanted to wait another month. Just to be sure everything’s… well you know.”

“Makes sense.” Connie replied as she placed a steaming mug of herbal tea in front of you “So there’s been no complications from…” She trailed off and you caught the hurt that flashed in Javier’s eyes.

“No.’ You replied simply, giving him a regretful look “We’re both very lucky.” You finished as you placed a hand on your slight bump.

“Still can’t believe you tried to get rid of it yourself.” Said Steve, not seeing the glares he then received from you and Connie.

Javier felt his stomach twist at the memory of it. Standing abruptly from his seat and making a b-line for the bathroom, Steve watched his partner leave with confusion etched into his features before finally turning his head to see the angry stares of you and his wife.

“You really do need to work on your mental filter Steve.” Connie growled as she turned to look at you “I’m sorry. You okay?”

“I am but Javi…”

“He’ll be okay,” Steve waved off but you shook your head.

“No… You don’t...” You paused a moment, remembering the conversation you and he had shared a few weeks back ‘It still hurts him to know I tried.”

…

2 weeks prior…

‘So I got this baby book.” Said Javier as he placed a large paper bag down on the table “And don’t be mad, but I got a few other things.”

“Javier I’m not even 3 months along.” You chuckled “There’s still a risk that-”

“That what?” Javier asked, his tone taking you by surprise.

“That I could lose it.” You said, voice cracking a little when you saw the expression that spread across his face “I just don’t want to jinx it.”

“You tried to get rid of it and it came through that. I’m sure-”

“Why are you still holding that over me?” You snapped “I made a mistake Javier. You need to move on.”

“Move on?” He growled, tears forming in his eyes “Move on from the fact you tried to kill our baby?”

“I was scared, Javier!” You yelled “I let you in, gave myself to you and you rejected me. Quite publicly I might add.” You paused as you tried to calm your breathing “I’m then forced to take two months off because I became the talk of the embassy and in that time I find out I’m pregnant. How was I supposed to feel about it all Javier?”

“You should have come and talked to me.” He said, tears streaming down his cheeks “I would have-”

“You would have what?” You pried “Welcomed me with open arms? Told me that we could be a happy family and that you’d made a mistake telling me I was nothing more than a stress relief exercise?”

“I never said that.”

“Oh no… we were just two friends comforting each other right.” You scoffed “Except I was in love with you...” You stopped yourself there, unable to believe that you’d just blurted that out. “I’m glad you want to be a part of this baby's life, Javier. It’s not exactly the sort of situation I’d ever expected to have a child but we have to play with the cards we’re dealt. So why don’t we just agree not to discuss the horrific thing I tried to do and just celebrate and enjoy this experience.” You paused as you took his hands in yours “I’m sorry I nearly took them from you. I know it hurts you and it pains me that I inflicted that on you but they’re here.” You placed his hand on your stomach “Growing inside me, safe and sound. We’re going to be okay.”

He'd simply nodded, unable to say anything else on the matter but he knew that he needed to try and move on as you said. It had all turned out for the best.

Right?

…

Steve sat there in shock, reeling from what you’d just told him. His partner hadn’t talked much about what had happened, it had been Connie in the end that had told him, after gaining your permission of course.

“I should go talk to him.” You said as you pushed yourself to your feet, only to be stopped by Steve.

“Let me.” He said as he stood from his seat “My fault he’s upset.” He finished as he made his way to where Javier had gone.

He found his partner staring down at a sleeping Olivia, shoulders shaking as he desperately tried to keep his internal struggle from slipping to the surface. He didn’t notice his partner step up behind him and tensed when the man's hand landed on his shoulder.

“What you doing in here partner?” He asked softly, glancing at his sleeping daughter before returning his attention to Javier.

“What if I’m no good?” He asked, taking Steve off guard.

“What do you mean brother?”

“What if I don’t make a good father?” He asked, letting out a shuddering breath “She tried to terminate the pregnancy because she didn’t think I’d want this.”

“Well, you did publicly humiliate her.”

“Fuck I know that Steve.” Javier growled as he fell back into the soft armchair beside Olivia’s cot “I made a mistake but something really wonderful has come out of that. I just… I dunno how this is going to work.”

“Do you love her?” He asked, perching on the changing table opposite his companion.

“No.” He replied, shaking his head “I mean she's attractive and we had a great time but no… I don’t love her. I’m not looking for anything more with her.”

“Well, I dunno how to advise you then man.” Steve sighed, scraping a hand over his mouth “All I can say is that you’re an idiot. She's an incredible woman and you’d be lucky to be with someone like her.”

“Trust me I know but… I don’t know I guess I just don’t know her well enough.”

“Well then make an effort to. See where that takes you and if you still don’t feel anything for her then fine but you owe it to her and your baby to at least try and see if there’s something there.” His partner finished as he got to his feet and placed a comforting hand over his shoulder “Just think about it Javi.”

…

“I should see what’s taking them so long.” You said, your nervousness getting the better of you “I’ll be right back.” You said over your shoulder to Connie before getting to your feet and making your way to where you knew Steve and Javier were, stopping when you heard their voices.

“Well, you did publicly humiliate her.”

“Fuck I know that Steve.” You let out a stuttered breath as you continued to listen “I made a mistake but something really wonderful has come out of that. I just… I dunno how this is going to work.”

“Do you love her?” Your breath caught in your throat as you awaited his answer.

“No.”

Your heart shattered.

“I mean she's attractive and we had a great time but no… I don’t love her. I’m not looking for anything more with her.”

You couldn’t listen a moment longer. You made your way back to the kitchen where Connie was finishing up with the dishes, grabbing your cardigan and purse.

“You off?” She asked, noting the change in your demeanour as you headed towards the front door.

“Yeah, I uh…” You paused, trying to keep yourself together but failing miserably “I’m tired. Say good night to Steve from me.” You choked before heading out the door, finally allowing yourself to fall apart the moment you were out of sight.

…

“She gone?” Asked Steve as he and Javier made their way back into the lounge.

“Yeah just a moment ago.” Connie stated as she looked at them both “She seemed pretty upset.” Her concern was evident in her features.

Javier’s stomach dropped. He said nothing, just sprinted out the door where he found you curled up on the ground as your tears fell freely. He was at your side in the blink of an eye, crouching down in front of you as he tried, desperately, to get you to look at him.

“Hermosa.” He pleaded and you finally look at him “What's wrong? Is it the baby?”

“Leave me alone Javier.” You growled, your sadness dissolving into anger.

“What is it?” He asked again and you scoffed at him.

“I think it would be best if we go our separate ways, Javier.” You said as you pushed him away and got to your feet “This isn’t going to work. I’m going to go and you can go back to screwing whoever takes your fancy. You aren’t cut out for this.” You finished as you cradled your small bump.

He recoiled at that, his own insecurities finally breaking free.

“I won’t stop you from seeing them. I’ll send you my address when I’m settled and if you want to come and see them then that's fine.”

“You’re leaving?”

“We both know I can’t stay here.” You growled.

“But the baby.” He sobs “I’ll miss everything.”

“You were going to miss that anyway.” You spat as you made your way over to the stairs “You’re a fool if you think you were actually going to see this through. We both know you can’t commit.”

With that, you left, stalking down the stairs and leaving a broken man in your wake. You were right. Of course, you were. He wasn’t cut out to be a father, he was deceiving himself and yet he'd wanted so desperately to try. Steve’s words floated around in his head. He should try to get to know you, to try and make a go of it but how could he when you wanted nothing to do with him. He wasn't against the idea of a relationship with one woman, he'd tried once before with Lorraine but that had crumbled to the ground.

Could things be different with you?

Sinking to the floor he allowed himself to weep. To mourn the loss of his child for he knew that you’d keep them from him, you were right to. The floor is where Connie found him a short time later and it was where she held him as he cried. When his tears dried up she pulled him inside, comforted him as he slowly turned into a shell of the man he once was and Steve knew this was his fault. He had to fix it. He just wasn’t sure how.

~

2 weeks later…

Steve had worked hard to try and bring the two of you together. You’d not mentioned leaving again but you’d also not spoken to his partner since that night. He had pleaded with you to try, told you how broken Javier had been since then but you struggled to believe the agent. You’d heard what Javier had said, he didn’t want to be with you and that he wasn’t sure how this was going to work. You knew what that meant. So you knew you had to take matters into your own hands.

You had to do right by your unborn child.

Steve continued to plead Javier’s case, however, telling you that the man was terrified to approach you for fear you would slam the door in his face you gave the blonde an opening. If Javier could come to you and make you believe that he was serious you would stay. If he couldn’t you would leave. Little did you know that the two DEA agents would be shipped off to Medellin for two weeks before he even got the chance.

Javier knocked on your door, flowers in hand and he nervously shifted from one foot to the other but when no answer came his brows furrowed in confusion and he knocked again. He'd had time in Medellin to think about things. To think about how he did want to try and make a go of things. Just because he wasn't in love with you now... Didn't mean that wouldn't come with time. He'd started to picture the family he could have with you and his heart had swelled at the idea. Knocking a third and final time he let out a frustrated sigh.

Still nothing.

Resigned to the fact you weren’t home, he sprinted upstairs and knocked on his partner's door, knowing his wife would be home with, hopefully, a little update on how you were. He’d read in the baby book that morning that now, at 14 weeks, the baby was around the size of a nectarine and that had excited him to no end. He had wondered if your bump had gotten any bigger and how you’d been coping with the morning sickness, something that had been a struggle when he’d last spoken to you.

“Javi.” Said Connie as she opened the door, Olivia in her arms “What are you doing here?” She asked as she bounced her fussy baby in her arms.

“Is she here?” He asked, saying your name when Connie gave him a bemused expression.

“You don’t know?” She questioned, her face crumpling at the realisation that he couldn't have.

“Know what?” He asked, his pulse racing as he watched Connie’s expression change to one he struggled to read “Connie where is she?”

“She left.”

Part 3

[samwisethewitch]

Coping with religious trauma

CONTENT WARNING: THIS POST CONTAINS DISCUSSIONS OF MENTAL ILLNESS, TRAUMA RECOVERY, AND HOMOPHOBIA. The advice in this post is intended for an adult audience, not for those who are legal minors.

A lot of people find their way to paganism after having traumatic experiences with organized religion, especially in countries like the United States, where 65% of the population identifies as Christian. (This number is actually at an all-time low — historically, the percentage has been much higher.) Paganism, which is necessarily less dogmatic and hierarchical than the Abrahamic religions, offers a chance to experience religion without having to fit a certain mold. This can be extremely liberating for people who have felt hurt, abused, or ignored by mainstream religion.

To avoid making generalizations that might offend people, I’ll share my own story as an example.

My family joined the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, better known as the Mormons, when I was nine years old. The Mormons are an extremely conservative sect of evangelical Christianity that places a heavy emphasis on maintaining a strong community that upholds their religious values. The problem with that is that Mormon values are inherently racist, sexist, homophobic, and transphobic. As a teenager in the Mormon Church, I was told that as a woman, my only purpose in life was to marry a (Mormon) man and raise (Mormon) children. I was discouraged from pursuing a college education if it meant delaying marriage. I was not allowed to participate in the full extent of religious ritual because I was not a man. I was not allowed to express myself in ways that went against Mormon culture, and I kept my bisexuality secret for fear I would be ostracized. I didn’t have any sort of support system outside the Church, which inevitably made the mental health issues that come with being a queer woman in a conservative Christian setting much, much worse.

I left the Mormons when I was seventeen, and by that time I had some major issues stemming from my time in the Church. I had been extremely depressed and anxious for most of my teen years. I struggled with internalized misogyny and homophobia. I had very low self-esteem. I had anxiety around sex and sexuality that would take years of therapy and self-work to overcome. I wanted to form a connection with the divine, but I wasn’t sure if I was worthy of such a connection.

I was attracted to paganism, specifically Wicca, because it seemed like everything Mormonism wasn’t. Wicca teaches equality between men and women, with a heavy focus on the Goddess in worship. It places an emphasis on doing what is right for you, as long as it doesn’t harm anyone else. It encourages sexuality and healthy sexual expression. Learning about Wicca, and later other types of paganism, helped me develop the kind of healthy spirituality I’d never experienced as a Mormon. Although Wicca is no longer the backbone of my religious practice, it was a necessary and deeply healing step on my spiritual journey.

I’m not sharing my story to gain sympathy or to make anyone feel bad — I’m sharing it because my situation is not an uncommon one in pagan circles. The vast majority of pagans are converts, meaning they didn’t grow up pagan. Some had healthy upbringings in other faiths, or no faith at all, and simply found that paganism was a better fit for them. Others, like myself, had deeply traumatic experiences with organized religion and are attracted to paganism because of the freedom, autonomy, and empowerment it offers.

If you fall into this latter category, this post is for you. Untangling the threads of religious trauma can be an extremely difficult and overwhelming task. In this post, I lay out six steps to recovery based on my own experiences and those of other people, both pagan and non-pagan, who have lived through religious trauma.

While following these steps will help jumpstart your spiritual healing, it’s important to remember that healing is not a linear process — especially healing from emotional, mental, and spiritual trauma. You may have relapses, you may feel like you’re moving in circles, and you may still have bad days in five or ten years. That’s okay. That’s part of the healing process. Go easy on yourself, and let your journey unfold naturally.

Step One: Cut all ties with the group that caused your trauma

Or, at least, cut as many ties as reasonably possible.

Obviously, if you’re still participating in a religious organization that has caused you pain, the first step is to leave! But before you do, make sure you have an exit plan to help you disengage safely and gracefully.

To make your exit plan, start by asking yourself what the best, worst, and most likely case scenarios are, and be honest in your answers. Obviously, the best case scenario is that you leave, everyone accepts it, and all is well. The worst case scenario is that someone tries to prevent you from leaving — you may be harassed by missionaries or concerned churchgoers, for example. But what is the most likely case scenario? That depends on the religious community, their beliefs, and how involved you were in the first place. When making your exit plan, prepare for the most likely scenario, but have a backup plan in case the worst case scenario happens.

Once you’ve prepared yourself for the best, worst, and most likely outcomes, choose a friend, significant other, or family member who can help you make your exit. Ideally, this person is not a member of the group you are trying to leave. Their role is mainly to provide emotional support, although they may also need to be willing to run off any well-meaning missionaries who come calling. This person can also help you transition after you leave. For example, you might make a plan to get coffee with them every week during the time your old religious community holds worship services.

Finally, make your strategy for leaving. Choose a date and don’t put it off! If you have any responsibilities within the group, send in a letter of resignation. Figure out who you’ll need to have conversations with about your leaving — this will likely include any family members or close friends who are still part of the group. Schedule those conversations. Make sure to have them in public places, where people will be less likely to make a scene.

If you feel it is necessary, you may want to request that your name be removed from the group’s membership records so you don’t get emails, phone calls, or friendly visits from them in the future. You may not feel the need to do this, but if contact with the group triggers a mental health crisis, this extra step will help keep you safe.

Of course, it’s not always possible to completely cut ties with a group after leaving. You may have family members, a significant other, or close friends who are still members. If this is the case, you’ll need to establish some clear boundaries. Politely but firmly tell them that, although you’re glad their faith adds value to their lives, you are not willing to be involved in their religious activities. Let them know that this is what is best for your mental and emotional health and that you still value your relationship with them.

Try to make compromises that allow you to preserve the relationship without exposing you to a traumatic religious environment. For example, if your family is Christian and always spends all day on Christmas at church, offer to celebrate with them the day after, once their religious commitments are over.

Hopefully, your loved ones can respect these boundaries. If not, you may need to distance yourself or walk away altogether. If they are knowingly undermining your attempts to take care of yourself, they don’t deserve to be in your life.

During this time, you may find it helpful to read other people’s exit stories online or in books. One of my personal favorites is the book Girl at the End of the World by Elizabeth Esther. Hearing other people’s stories can help you remember that other people have been through similar situations and made it out on the other side. You will too.

Step Two: Seek professional help

I cannot overstate the importance of professional counseling when dealing with trauma of any kind, including religious trauma. Therapists and counselors have the benefit of professional training. They are able to be objective, since they’re approaching the situation from the outside. They can keep you from getting bogged down in your own thoughts and feelings.

I understand that not everyone has access to therapy. I am very lucky to have insurance that covers mental health counseling, but I know not everyone has that privilege. However, there are some options that make therapy more affordable.

There may be an organization in your area that offers free or low-cost therapy — if you live in the U.S., you can find information about these services by checking the National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI) HelpLine or visiting mentalhealth.gov. You can also look for therapists who use a sliding scale for payment, which means they determine an hourly rate based on the client’s income. And finally, if you have a little bit of extra cash you may want to look into therapy apps like BetterHelp or Talkspace, which are typically cheaper than in-person therapy.

If none of those options work for you, the next best option is to join a support group. Support groups allow you to connect with other people whose experiences are similar to yours and, unlike therapy, they allow you to get advice and feedback from multiple people. These groups are often free, although some charge a small fee.

Finding the right group for you is important. You’re unlikely to find a group for people recovering from religious trauma but, depending on the nature of your trauma, you may fit right in with a grief and loss group, an addiction recovery group, or a group for adult survivors of child abuse. If you’re a member of the LGBTQ+ community, you may be able to find a queer support group. (The LGBTQ+ club at my college was an invaluable resource in my recovery!) Depending on your area, you may also be able to find groups for specific mental and emotional issues like depression or anxiety.

Make sure to do your research before attending a meeting. Find out what, if anything, the group charges, who can join, and whether they use a curriculum or have unstructured sessions. See if you can find a statement about their values and philosophy. Make a note of where meetings are held and of who is running the group. Some support groups meet in churches and may or may not have a religious element to their curriculum. It’s best to avoid religious groups — the last thing you need right now is to be preached to.

Getting other people involved in your recovery will make you feel less alone and prevent you from getting stuck in your own head. A good therapist, counselor, or support group can help you realize what you need to work on and give you ideas for how to approach it.

Step Three: Deprogramming

“Deprogramming” refers to the practice of undoing brainwashing and reintroducing healthy thought patterns. This term is normally used in the context of cult survivors and their recovery, but deprogramming techniques can also be helpful for people recovering from a lifetime of toxic religious rhetoric.

To begin the process of deprogramming, familiarize yourself with the way organizations use thought control to shape the behavior of their members. I recommend starting with the work of Steven Hassan — his BITE model is a handy way to classify types of thought control.

The BITE model lays out four types of control. There’s Behavior Control, which controls what members do and how they spend their free time. (For example, requiring members to attend multiple hours-long meetings each week.) There’s Information Control, which restricts members’ access to information. (For example, denying certain aspects of the group’s history.) There’s Thought Control, which shapes the way members think. (For example, classifying certain thoughts as sinful or dirty.) And finally there’s Emotional Control, which manipulates members’ emotions. (For example, instilling fear of damnation or punishment.)

Here’s a simple exercise to get you started with your deprogramming. Divide a blank sheet of paper into four equal sections. Label one section “Behavior,” one “Information,” one “Thought,” and one “Emotions.” Now, in each section, make a list of the ways your old religious group controlled — and maybe still controls — that area of your life. Once you’ve completed your lists, choose a single item from one of your lists to work on undoing.

For example, let’s say that in your “Information” column, you’ve written that you were discouraged from reading certain books because they contained “evil” ideas. (For a lot of people, this was Harry Potter. For me, it was The Golden Compass.) Pick up one of those books, and read it or listen to it as an audiobook. Once you’ve read it, write down your thoughts. Did you enjoy it? Why or why not? Why do you think your group banned it? What was in this book that they didn’t want you to know about? Write it down.

Once you’ve worked on the first thing, choose something else. Keep going until you’ve undone all the items on your lists.

If you want to go further with deprogramming, I recommend the book Recovering Agency by Luna Lindsey. Although this book is specifically written for former Mormons, I genuinely believe it would be helpful to former members of other controlling religious groups as well. Lindsey does an excellent job of explaining how thought control works and of connecting it to real world examples, as well as deconstructing those ideas. Her book has been a huge help in my recovery process, and I highly recommend it.

Step Four: Replace toxic beliefs and practices with healthy ones

This goes hand-in-hand with step three, and if you’re already working on deprogramming then you’ll already have started replacing your unhealthy beliefs. This is the turning point in the recovery process. You’re no longer just undoing what others have done to you — now you get an opportunity to decide what you want to believe and do going forward. This is the time to let go of things like denial of your desires, fear of divine punishment, and holding yourself to unattainable standards. Get used to living in a way that makes you happy, without guilt.

Notice how each step builds on the previous steps. Therapy and deprogramming can help you identify what beliefs and behaviors need to be adjusted or replaced. Your therapist, support group, and/or emotional support person can help you make these changes and follow through on them.

These new beliefs and practices don’t have to be religious — in fact, it’s better if they aren’t. If you can live a healthy, happy, balanced life without religion, you’ll be in a better position to choose a religion that is the right fit for you, if that is something you want.

Your new healthy, non-religious practices may include: mindfulness meditation, nature walks, journaling, reading, exercise, energy work, learning a hobby or craft, or spending time with loves ones — or it might include none of these things, and that’s okay too. Now is the time to find what brings you joy and start doing it every day.

Step Five: Ritual healing

This is an optional step, but it’s one that has been deeply healing for me. You may find it helpful to design and perform a ritual to mark your recovery.

Note that when I say “ritual,” I don’t necessarily mean magic. Rituals serve a psychological purpose as well as a spiritual one. They can act as powerful symbolic events that mark a turning point in our lives or reinforce what we already know and believe. Even if you don’t believe in magic, even if you’re the least spiritual person you know, you can still benefit from ritual.

You might choose to perform a ritual to finalize your healing, or to symbolically throw off the chains of your old religion. It can be elaborate or simple, long or short, joyful or solemn. It might include lighting a candle and saying a few words. It might include ecstatic dance. It might include drawing or painting a representation of all the negative emotions associated with your old religion, then ritually destroying it. The possibilities are literally endless. (If you’re looking for ritual ideas, I recommend the book Light Magic for Dark Times by Lisa Marie Basile.)

One type of ritual that some people find very empowering is unbaptism. An unbaptism is exactly what it sounds like — the opposite of a baptism. The idea is that, if a baptism makes a Christian, an unbaptism makes someone un-Christian, no longer part of that lineage. It is a ritual rejection of Christianity. (Obviously, this only applies if you’re a former Christian, though some of the following suggestions could be adjusted to fit a rejection of other religions.)

If you’re interested in unbaptism, here are some ideas for how it could be done:

A classic method of unbaptism is to recite the Lord’s Prayer backwards under a full moon. (For a non-Christians version, use a significant prayer from whatever religion you have left.)

Run a bath. Add a tiny pinch of sulfur (a.k.a. brimstone) to the water. Get into the bath and say, “By water I was baptized, and by water my baptism is rejected.” Submerge your entire body under the water for several seconds. When you come back up, your unbaptism is complete. (You may want to shower after this one. Sulfur does not smell good.)

The Detroit Satanic Temple has a delightfully dramatic unbaptism ritual. For a DIY version, you will need holy water or some other relic from the faith you were baptized in, a fireproof dish, a black candle, and an apple or other sweet fruit. Light the candle and place it in your fireproof dish. Toss some holy water onto the flame (not enough to extinguish it) and say, “I cast my chains into the dust of hell.” Take a bite of the apple and say, “I savor the fruit of knowledge and disobedience.” Finally, declare proudly, “I am unbaptized.” You can add “in the name of Satan” at the end or leave it out, depending on your comfort level.

Personally, I’ve never felt the need to unbaptize myself. I’ve ritually rejected my Mormon upbringing in other ways. Maybe someday I’ll decide to go for the unbaptism, but I’ve never really felt like I needed it. Likewise, you’ll need to decide for yourself what ritual(s) will work for you.

Step Six: Honor your recovery

Our first reaction to trauma is to hide it away and never speak of it again. When we do this, we do ourselves a disservice. Your recovery is a part of your life story. You had the strength to walk away from a situation that was hurting you, and that deserves to be celebrated! Be proud of yourself for how far you’ve come!

You may choose to honor your recovery by celebrating an important date every year, like the day you decided to leave the group, the date of the last meeting you attended, or the date you were removed from the membership records. Keep this celebration fun and light — get drinks with friends, bake a cake for yourself, or just take a few moments to silently acknowledge your journey.

If you feel like having a party is a bit much, you can also honor your recovery by talking to other people about your experiences. Share your story with others. If you’re feeling shy, try sharing your story anonymously online. (Reddit has several forums specifically for anonymous stories.) You’ll be amazed by how validating it can be to tell people what you’ve been through. `

Another way to honor your recovery is to work for personal and religious freedom for all people. Protest laws with religious motivations. Donate to organizations that campaign for the separation of church and state. Educate people about how to recognize an unhealthy religious organization. Let your own story motivate you to help others who are in similar situations.

And most of all, take joy in your journey. Be proud of yourself for how far you’ve come, but know that your recovery is a lifelong journey. Be gentle and understanding with yourself. You are doing what is right for you, and no god or spirit worthy of worship could ever be upset by that.