#never imagined how much brain space those two characters would take up

[heatherfield]

I'm halfway through the complete cut of Headless and !! I'm at the Bromtilda wedding!

Ahhhh! (You're probably done now—I'm sorry I wasn't able to answer sooner.)

I can literally remember my whole impressions and journey of the first time I watched "Headless" even though I've watched it countless times since. I remember thinking that Brom and Matilda were literally going to get divorced right away and it would amount to nothing.

I was not prepared.

[bi-bard]

If I Could Hold You for a Minute, I'd Go Through It Again - Charles Rowland Imagine [Dead Boy Detectives]

Title: If I Could Hold You for a Minute, I'd Go Through It Again

Pairing: Charles Rowland X Witch!Reader

Based On: Francesca

Word Count: 3,361 words

Warning(s): physical attack, mentions of family trauma/death/injury

Summary: Whoever claimed that risking your life was only for the living had never seen the true devotion of a ghost before.

Author's Note: Wow, Kyli liked another project that was inspired by Neil Gaiman's work... what a surprise. If you have any characters that you want to see, let me know.

Also, I'M HOME! I MADE IT BACK TO YOU GUYS!

**written in third person p.o.v for sake of storytelling**

UNREAL UNEARTH - HOZIER WRITING CHALLENGE MASTERLIST

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If there was one word that was always used in tandem with (Y/n)'s name, it was chaos.

Or messy.

Or clumsy.

Or wild.

Or any other word that could possibly mean the same thing.

Early on, (Y/n) could excuse it as inexperience. Maybe age would tame whatever beast seemed to be roaring in their brain and their chest. Maybe someone would explain the best way to leash an animal that was so much larger than you.

No one ever did.

Instead, (Y/n) ended up alone. Alone, terrified, and as out of control as ever. A cruel hand had been dealt to them when they were far too young. And now, the teenager was left coping with things that most adults could not handle.

Meeting Edwin and Charles had been the first good thing to happen to (Y/n) ever.

(Y/n)'s isolated life was interrupted quite abruptly by the ghosts. A case had brought the detectives to (Y/n)'s doorstep. They had been wearing disguises at the time, but those were quickly put away when they learned that (Y/n) was a witch.

A partnership of sorts formed between the three of them. With Edwin, it was more sternly a working relationship. He rarely found himself in (Y/n)'s home, especially when there was no case that required their assistance.

With Charles, it was very different. Charles would visit whenever he wanted to. He would usually be the first to ask for help, popping in through a mirror in the main room. He'd take the time to look around the small living space. And when there wasn't a case, he would pop in whenever. It was commonly just as (Y/n) was sitting down to eat or read or do anything.

Charles and (Y/n) developed an interesting friendship. A friendship that was resting precariously on held tongues. Anyone could see how close the two had gotten to crossing the line between friendship and whatever was on the other side. Anyone other than the pair. They were both trapped in a state of denial. Maybe that was for the best for a time.

(Y/n)'s chaos had been largely hidden away from the detectives. Some would call it careful. (Y/n) called it lucky. Incredibly lucky.

And then there was the case of Rory.

Rory was a young spirit. A young but troubled spirit. The boys had been contacted by a friend saying that Rory was becoming violent. The goal was to find what was tying the spirit to this plane and to send them to the other side.

It had all been going well. All things considered, anyway.

The only problem was time. There was this terrifying ticking clock between the trio knowing about the case and the risk of Rory attempting to hurt someone.

(Y/n) had only been there to help find what had been keeping Rory tied to this plane.

It had been going fine. Absolutely fine.

And then, (Y/n) lost control.

There was an intense moment where Edwin and Charles ended up being thrown in different directions. (Y/n) had tried to help. To get the spirit to stop for just long enough for the detectives to recover.

It didn't work.

Something else had overwhelmed (Y/n)'s efforts.

Whatever it had been had hit the spirit straight on. It had angered it... a lot. It ran at a terrified and confused (Y/n), causing the young witch to hit the ground, the scrape of the road below them causing a hiss to escape.

"(Y/n)!" Charles ran over first. "You alright?"

(Y/n) nodded as they pushed themselves up.

"What was that," Edwin asked as he walked over. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

"I... I don't know," (Y/n) said quietly. "It just... It just happened."

"It was reckless! You could have gotten yourself hurt and now we have to worry about the spirit being angry enough to hurt someone else!"

"Edwin-" Charles tried to get his friend to relax.

"What is wrong with you?" Edwin snapped before Charles could even try to stop him from asking.

"I... I don't know," (Y/n) murmured. "I don't know."

"Maybe it's best if you removed yourself from this case."

"Edwin!" Charles scolded.

"They're a risk!" Edwin insisted.

"He's right," (Y/n) turned to Charles. "I'll go home. Good luck."

Charles followed (Y/n) down the street. (Y/n)'s car sat alone on the street. Not much in terms of subtlety, but (Y/n) also hadn't been graced with the ability of travelling by mirror.

"(Y/n)," Charles said as he jogged to keep up with their quick steps. "Will you wait for a second?"

"Go back to the case, Charles," (Y/n) replied, not even looking at him.

"No," he stepped in front of them, attempting to block the path to the car. "Not until I know you're alright."

"I'm fine," (Y/n) insisted. "Edwin's right."

"No, he's not," he shook his head.

"Yes, he is. I am a risk. I always have been. I've hidden it well, but this was bound to happen at some point."

"What," he asked.

"A long time ago, when I was still with my family, I had issues like that happen all the time," (Y/n) explained. "I would... Something would overwhelm me, and I'd end up doing something dangerous or destructive. No one ever helped me with it. They expected me to sort it out on my own. And then... I hurt someone. Someone I cared about. I... I ended up being forced to leave. I still never truly learned to control anything. Tonight was proof of that!"

"We can help you-"

"That's not your job!" (Y/n) ran their hands over their face. "It's not worth the risk. I could get someone hurt, I could get myself, I could put you both in danger- none of it is worth it!"

"That's not your choice to make," Charles replied. "Any risk or danger is fine with me. I'm not leaving you alone, (Y/n)."

"You should."

(Y/n) moved around him and got in the car. Charles stepped back and watched the car drive off. He turned to see that Edwin had watched the interaction. Charles glared at him.

"It's for the best-"

"Let's just finish the case," Charles muttered, cutting Edwin off.

The case went by slowly and tensely. Charles was gruffer than Edwin had ever seen him. And Edwin had no right to question him about it. It was his comment that had caused this tension and anger. How was he meant to poke at it as if he had no idea what was going on inside the head of his best friend?

Charles didn't stick around the office once the case was done. Instead, he immediately went to the mirror, climbing through to try and see (Y/n) as soon as possible.

He ended up walking into (Y/n)'s room. He was somewhat expecting them to be there.

"(Y/n)!" Charles called out as he walked through the doorway. He stopped for a moment at the chaos that had taken over the living room.

It had been clear that some kind of fight had broken out. Between whom or what, Charles had no real idea. There were smaller objects thrown, furniture shifted, garbage scattered.

"(Y/n)," Charles called again as he walked around some of the mess. And then, he saw (Y/n) lying on the floor on the far side of the sofa. "(Y/n)!"

He ran over, rolling them on their back. They seemed to be breathing, but they were completely non-responsive.

"Shit!"

He shifted and carried (Y/n) to their room, leaving them on top of the bed's covers before he ran back through the mirror.

"Edwin!" Charles shouted even though Edwin was in the same room as him. "Something's wrong with (Y/n). I... I went to check on them and they were unconscious, and their living room was just destroyed. I don't know what happened."

"They're alive?"

"For now!"

"Come on," Edwin pushed Charles toward the mirror again.

Edwin let out a sigh as he walked over to (Y/n). He carefully lifted their eyelid to see if their eyes were responsive. However, all that was there was complete redness that had taken over. As if the eye had been filled with blood, but none of it was running out or swelling.

"Witchcraft," Edwin muttered. "I think I've read about this. Give me a moment to find the book in the office."

"(Y/n) was attacked by a witch?" Charles asked. Edwin was already through the mirror.

It was a suffocating matter of minutes before Edwin made it back to (Y/n)'s place.

"What is it?"

"If I am correct, then (Y/n) is currently trapped in a dream-like state," Edwin explained. "This dream-like state is keeping (Y/n) in a state of calmness while their brain slowly swells and presses against the skull. If we do not cure it fast enough, the swelling will kill them."

"How do we cure it?"

"We have to find a way to delicately wake (Y/n) from their dream-state. There is a cure that we can make, but it will take time."

"Is there another way? Something faster?"

"In theory," Edwin relented. "One of us could possess them and find a way to manually ease them out of the dream. The cure is our best option. Less risk."

"We don't have the time! We don't know how long (Y/n)'s been like this!"

"Charles, if either one of us chooses to possess them, then we set off alarms in the afterlife. We cannot take this risk."

Charles clenched his jaw.

"I will go get the cure started. Keep an eye on (Y/n)."

Charles did try to listen. He stood by and made sure that (Y/n) was breathing. He made sure that they were comfortable and that they were not suffering too immensely.

But then, he panicked.

He saw (Y/n)'s breaths becoming shallower and shallower. He heard nothing from Edwin. He was too worried to think of the consequences of his actions critically in any capacity.

He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he was in a field.

He did a circle, trying to find some sign of something or someone. This was (Y/n)'s dream after all. They had to be there somewhere.

He saw something in the distance.

Approaching it, Charles could see a clearly outlined garden with a wooden fence around it. On one end was a gate, on the other end a cabin. A small cabin. The garden was beautiful. Full of flowers in full bloom with a swinging bench seat.

Charles almost chuckled at the vision. Something felt so fitting about something so peaceful being what (Y/n) pictured in a dream. Almost as far from their current life as they could get.

(Y/n) walked out of the cabin a moment later. Their clothes matched the garden. Soft, almost pastel colors. Very perfect, very organized.

He stepped forward, going to get their attention but stopped when he saw himself walking out of the cabin soon after. Well, some dream version of him. The other version of him was dressed exactly the same as he was, but it wasn't him. It couldn't have been him.

He watched as this alternate version of him pulled (Y/n) closer and kissed their head. The pair walked to the swinging bench seat, sitting together. (Y/n) relaxed into the fake Charles's side.

The view made the real Charles freeze where he was.

It felt wrong. Invasive.

He had kept his feelings private for as long as he had known (Y/n). He had been convinced that whatever connection the pair of them had was going to stay stuck in whatever form it was already in. Seeing this was a sign of something different. And he didn't know how to feel about that.

"(Y/n)!" he called from where he stood.

(Y/n) seemed to hear something. They paused and looked around but didn't seem to notice Charles. He could've sworn that they looked directly at him, but their eyes seemed to go right through him. As if he was never there.

(Y/n) leaned back into the seat, smiling as the fake Charles laid a kiss on their cheek as they did so.

The real Charles continued walking forward. He tried to think of a way to "delicately" get (Y/n) out of the dream.

"(Y/n)," he repeated, now standing just outside the gate.

Again, (Y/n) looked around but couldn't seem to spot him and was pulled back into the fake Charles's side.

He opened the gate and walked inside.

Neither (Y/n) nor the fake Charles seemed to acknowledge him in the slightest.

"(Y/n)," he said yet again.

(Y/n) again seemed surprised to hear anything, sitting up straight and going to look around until their eyes landed on Charles. They froze, eyes going wide at the sight of him.

"Hi," he grinned.

(Y/n) looked between him and the fake Charles, who was only looking at (Y/n).

"I'm sorry but I need you to come with me," Charles pressed, holding out his hand.

"What," they asked. "Sorry, but there are two of you. What's going on?"

"That's not me," he explained. "I... I don't know what he is, but he's not me."

(Y/n) stood up, stepping away from the bench. Once they were a few steps away from the real and fake Charles, they turned to look at them. The fake Charles didn't move, as if he were simply a mannequin that had to be moved around. He was staring at the space beside him as if (Y/n) was still there.

"You're in a dream," the real Charles explained. "This whole thing is fake."

(Y/n) ran their hands over their face.

"Do you remember how you got here at all," he asked.

"Yeah, I... I...," they trailed off, finding a blank space where some kind of memory definitely should have been.

"You were attacked," he continued. "Another witch found you and attacked you. You aren't standing outside some cabin in a field. You're lying in bed, unconscious."

There was a long pause before (Y/n) spoke up again, "I remember... I remember getting home. I remember someone being in my living room. It was an old friend..."

"You don't have to explain," Charles stopped them. He drew enough of a conclusion from those few sentences. It was some connection to whoever (Y/n) had hurt. Frankly, he didn't care about that. "We need to go."

He held his hand out to them. They finally took it.

He led them back to the gate to the garden. He didn't have any proof that this plan would work, but he didn't have anything else to go on. He just wanted to make sure (Y/n) had a chance at being okay.

Once (Y/n) stepped through the gate, it felt as if Charles was thrown out of (Y/n)'s mind. Like some explosion had happened.

Charles blinked a few times and spun around as he found himself back in (Y/n)'s room.

He heard (Y/n) grumbling. He grinned.

"Hey," he said quietly, going to sit next to them. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine, I guess," (Y/n) muttered. "My head hurts."

"I'll grab some water-"

"Wait, wait," (Y/n) reached for him as he stood up. He somehow managed to get halfway to the door by the time (Y/n) said anything. "I was... I was stuck in my head."

"And now, you're out."

"You... You popped up. You showed up there. You helped me."

"Yup."

"How?"

He paused for a moment.

"Charles..."

"I... possessed you."

(Y/n) sighed, standing up and placing their head in their hands. "Charles."

"It was to save you-"

"Oh my god!"

"I was trying to help-"

"You possessed me!"

"You need to relax-"

"No!" (Y/n) slapped Charles's hands away as he tried to guide them back to bed. "You possessed me!"

"I know that it's an invasion and it probably feels like you had some privacy violated-"

"My privacy isn't my concern," (Y/n) cut him off. "My concern is that you and Edwin have told me over and over again that possessing people sets off alarms in the afterlife. I don't care how close to death I am; you don't get to take that kind of risk for me."

"That's not just your choice," Charles replied. "I told you before, any risk that I take is my choice. I just saved your life!"

(Y/n) ran their hands over their face as they walked to the window. It was dark out. The moon perched itself perfectly to shine into (Y/n)'s room. There had been countless nights where (Y/n) spent ages just staring up at the sky, somehow feeling less alone when it was in sight.

(Y/n) could hear Charles walking to the window. They saw him out of the corner of their eye.

"I would do it again," he admitted. "No matter how much danger I put myself in. I'll do what I have to in order to save you."

"Why?"

"Because if you died, you wouldn't know how to get away from Death. I'd never see you again," Charles turned to (Y/n), who was still staring out the window. "I can run for eternity. I can escape anything and anyone. And I would do that as long as I knew you were at the end of whatever path I was running. I can't risk not seeing you again. You... You mean too much to me."

Finally, (Y/n) looked over at him.

"I... I love you, (Y/n)," he murmured.

(Y/n) loved him back. They knew that. They had for a long time now. But they couldn't bring themself to say it out loud. It was strange. Charles had seen the dream that (Y/n) had been stuck in. Surely, he knew how (Y/n) felt. So why could they still not admit it to him? Maybe it was they were merely scared of confessing it to themself.

"I'm sorry," Charles said after a few moments of silence. "I shouldn't have said that-"

Charles was cut off when (Y/n) stepped over and kissed him. It was as awkward as one would assume that it would be. It wasn't some perfect, fairytale-like kiss. It was an awkward kiss shared between a person who hadn't been kissed in decades and another who had never been kissed before. And it was short. It lasted a matter of moments before (Y/n) pulled back again. They stared at Charles with wide eyes, as if they had been just as surprised by their actions as he was.

He slowly grinned at them.

(Y/n) looked down for a moment, face becoming warm. "We should... We should get Edwin-"

"In a minute," he muttered.

"Charles-"

He leaned over and kissed them again. When he pulled back, there was a smug smile on his face. "You haven't said it back yet."

"What- oh," (Y/n) felt their face get even warmer as they realized what he meant. "I love you too."

It was quiet. As if it was still some kind of secret that no one other than Charles was allowed to know. Maybe (Y/n) meant for it to be that way.

It was then that Edwin climbed back through the mirror with some jars cradled in his arms.

"Alright, I found some things in the office that should be able to help- oh," Edwin muttered as he saw (Y/n) standing there. "You went through with the possession, I see... Even though I told you not to."

"I panicked," Charles explained.

"I already told him off for it," (Y/n) added.

"I think that (Y/n) should stay at the office for a while. Until we know there's not a threat."

Edwin looked between the pair. "Very well."

"I'll meet you guys there," (Y/n) promised.

(Y/n) felt a kiss get pressed to their head before Charles stepped away. They looked at Edwin, who gave them a shocked look in return.

"Well... I'll see you in a bit," (Y/n) said, trying to ignore the look that they had received.

The ghost boys went to the nearest mirror and climbed through. (Y/n) could hear the two of them muttering to each other. It was going to be a very long visit, (Y/n) could tell.

But (Y/n) couldn't find it in themself to mind much.

It was all worth it to be able to still hear them at all.

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[korolife]

Blog No.004📚　24年6月13日

My Visual Method of Learning Japanese Kanji (漢字) part①

～ Let's Pair-up Similar-lookin' Characters Next to Each Other♥!～

There are many ways to learn Japanese. 📔

This way might not be effective or efficient (or even reasonable) for anyone else, but this is the visual approach that I'm currently developing + sharing for possibly any like-minded students it might resonate with!

【Background】

At first, I did the standard "write it down with repetition until you get it right" on flashcards, notebooks, etc. I don't think I ever got it 'right'ーevery optimistic attempt of "I'm gonna get in some daily lessons in today, and successfully absorb this knowledge!!" was always accompanied with this state of... confusion? and being so, so overwhelmed that neither the meaning, the reading, the stroke order, nor even the appearance of the kanji stuck to me at all. I don't think I've ever made it past the list of N4 kanji, even though most words I come across tend to be scattered around the N3-N1 level.

I've tried studying them strictly in order of the listing / then tried loosely with some doodling / or even a cherry-nitpicky minimalistic approach; just-take-what-is-frequently-used-style... but there just seemed to be no end in sight。

『Issue①:』 I wanted to see ALL of the kanji displayed at once, instead of dreading the 'higher levels' hidden from the limited amount displayed at a time; be it from reference books, screen displays on websites or mobile applications, etc. It's definitely just a personal issue, I think haha I just didn't like the surprise sneak attack from so much identical kanji from differing levels that scrambles my brain everytime I encounter a doppelganger. And boy, there's a LOT of those (as you will see).

I thought about making a series of biiiig posters or scrolls I could stick up on a wall, like those kiddie info posters but completely filled with kanji as decoration + motivation + and a bit of a cheat sheet I could easily access at a glance. But just imagining over 2,000 jumbled characters looming over me while I work on my desk or seeing something like that first thing after waking up………it feels a lot unsettling, I think-

『Issue②:』 They're often arranged according to their frequency of usage, stroke order, or general difficulty of the word. Although it's for practicality, it leaves the visual impact completely all over the place. I don't know if I have any underlying conditions that contribute to something trivial like this greatly bothering me past the point of productivity, but it's not even about aesthetics I have an issue with, I don't think? It's just...the arrangement feels so chaotic, or sometimes oddly restrictive that I keep getting distracted. It's like some kind of puzzle I've been trying to solve for 10 hours straight, but it's just me going in circles back to zero. Speaking of puzzles....

Maybe, to save physical space for literally thousands of characters, I thought about placing one kanji on each of a rubik's cube's faces. But that would take a ridiculous amount of cubes and printer ink/alternatively, manually cutting, pasting, and poorly writing very very tiny 0.5inch labels for...two thousand times, at least. By hand.

I'm still tempted to incorporate this idea in some way, but felt unmotivated and lazy with how flimsy and shoddy my handwritten labels were…also printer ink prices continue to be a goddang scam--

I've unfortunately never been a studious student, especially not when it comes to conventional learning methods. It tends to make me want to try ridiculous ideas to get around my own dysfunctionality, because the other option would be... to continue a system that doesn't work and be frustrated, and accomplish nothing; not even a smile.

Because I was learning Japanese out of my own free will, I wanted to have fun with it, because the whole concept of kanji seems really fun in theory!… but not so much in attempted practice as a clueless outsider with no knowledge apart from the standard English reading and writing system.

Even if perceived as a complete waste of time by a lot of people, I still want to understand each individual character to be able to appreciate and greet them accordingly when I encounter them in the wild.

For fun☆!

【Conventional Systems】

I mostly took inspiration from other existing popular learning systems that many people use:

➊The standard N5-N1 System was alright, but I found myself tempted to skip straight to ～N3 where frequently used characters appeared more, despite being barely at the lowest N5 level myself. I wanted all the characters to be visibly accessible…but it got intensely overwhelming so fast. The hierarchal labeling made finding a N1 character have this weird sense of pressure? Like, "oh sht , this word has N1 kanji. mY ELEMENTARY GRADE DUMBASS AIN'T SUPPOSED TO BE IN HERE--"

➋Then there's pictographs. It's interesting, but I thought a lot of them were a little bit of a reach? haha it's basically a visual mnemonic, right? But other people's mnemonics usually have their 'creative logic' that my own may not agree with, so I just end up getting distracted with the internal logic of the image and how it correlates to the kanji instead of absorbing any actual information. I think it has potential, but I'd need to personalize the visual imagery for it to be effective…or at least, have the mnemonic make enough sense to me and not be abstractly distracting. Even by then, the more strokes there are, the more convoluted it looks to even liken it to anything in the real world...Kanji by itself is already a pictogram, I guess...?

➌Then there's the Heisig method. I liked the concept; the goal is for (mostly) foreigners to easily familiarize the 'look' of the kanji character and attach it to a singular meaning. But personally, it wasn't working with how much my brain was confusing every variation of similar-looking patterns that kept reappearing over a span of different kanji, with the same radical appearing in different positions or orientations. Heisig's compilation was good in a sense that I could see a reoccurring pattern and it was most definitely less chaotic to look at now, but they continue to persist so far away from each other? Then adding that element of "the unknown" with kanji I've yet to encounter or seek out for being 'too advanced' with this doppelganger dilemma was driving me absolutely coconuts.

Plus, since it's a method created with absolute beginners in mind, it falls short with the lack of kun- and on- yomi readings…which were what I needed to learn the most.

I decided to combine these three ideas to make my own way.

【??? Personal System】

This system will continuously be developed from here on out until it can actually be functional, but so far, here's what's been done and being planned:

Apparently these were from 8 months ago good lord-

I pretty much just lined up screenshots of a full kanji listing (I believe it was a Jouyou listing) and just...painstakingly played a Match-3 game, but irl, pretty much... and with more back pain

※Reference used to curate these kanji and their information are primarily from ①an app called 'Satori', and ②another app called 'Yomiwa'. Both apps source information from KANJIDIC and JMDict + mixed with a variety of online dictionaries to cross-reference and check for additional info.

I was working on and off on it because staring at nothing but kanji all day will probably make a few screws loose, but I generally continued anytime I was feeling a little down, stressed out, or just had free time. It was oddly therapeutic when I saw the finished arrangements, though. This feeling of "I can't tell if I like it or hate it" reminded me of my thesis days lmao

I had originally planned to put them on 3x3 rubik's cubes, so I initially had to group them by a full set of 9 characters. But the distribution was so unbalanced that each look-alike group was either lacking or exceeding in numbers, and trying to evenly incorporate 'leftovers' into the other groups just looked forced as hell, visually. So, I gave up on the rubik's cube concept and just tried to match at least a row of just 3 look-alikes to then ascend or descend in complexity with their other cousin-distant-lookalikes.

EXAMPLE:

人　大　木

person・big・tree

▲These three I would consider 'cousins'. I wouldn't classify them together in a row of 3 because there are far more identical characters, but after I gather all of each of their sibling groups, I'd most definitely arrange them next to each other in succession as if the 人 was growing more limbs.

太　大　���

fat・big・dog

▲These three I would consider 'siblings'.

It reminds me of twins that only have differing beauty marks for distinction.

▲And these...are kinda cursed ngl, my double takes had to do their own double takes everytime I would finish grouping something to the 'tree radical' family, and suddenly spotting another one I could've sworn was the exact same character. It made me feel like I was going insane lol I know that the context showing the connecting hiragana is usually a dead giveaway on which kanji it is, regardless of how similar in appearance + how it's going to be read... but man. It's so surreal seeing them all lined up next to each other?? All I see is a forest-

Somewhere along the way, my brain remembered about the elemental periodic table and drew some layouting inspiration from there, too. Ideally, I would love to have all the information already present at a single glance with each character. But with the limited display space, assigning chronological identification numbers on them for now would help in navigating this wide, colorful kanji blanket.

I might've discarded a couple of archaic / overly complex kanji that no one really uses for this list at this moment, but in total, there appears to be 952 rows of trios.

= A total of 2,856 kanji have been included. Unless I miscounted somewhere-

my back hurts-

【Personal Limits + Goals】

I've been learning Japanese the same way I have Englishーvery, very informally; simply picking up what I hear and read in random places and applying them to how my brain interpreted their usage. It's literally like 'playing by ear', musically? except I'm tone deaf as hell-

There are some words (both Eng and Jp) that I surprise even myself when I know how to say it, or suddenly somehow using it during very specific situations, even if I don't know how to define their exact meaning…or even how to pronounce them correctly. Then there's very basic words that are so foreign to me because I have never heard or seen them before, despite possibly being one of the first things teachers introduce in proper lessons.

I can understand verbal Japanese just OK (some common dialects are recognizable too, just as long as it ain't extreme keigo-), my attempt at constructed sentences is weab-level at best and my butchering of the intonations is an atrocity, but most importantly, I can't read most kanji I come across for the life of me without furigana. Even with it, it's usually too dang small in print to even read…

Basically the nutshell of my 'Japanese Reading Practice with Manga' series orz I was so worried about potential copyright infringements, but I misread everything, it just became transformative on its own--

※ADDITIONAL NOTE: There is the onyomi (Orig. Chinese reading used when compounding the character with another to create a word) and the kunyomi (general Japanese reading of the kanji) that I ranked as the 'most important' thing to learn for me...then there's their long-lost wayward sibling: Nanori for Japanese name readings.

It is a ｗｈｏｌｅ new world out there......and I'm good staying indoors, thanks- don't even get me started on kirakira name readings I will cry for those poor unfortunate souls deadass named things like 'PEGASUS' or 'ANGEL LOVE' as their government name good lord

Speaking of names, when I saw Kaedehara Kazuha's name (Genshin Impact) in kanji for the first time :

「楓原万葉」

I read it as "Kazewara Manba"💀he is Manba-kun to me now

ーEven if my overall proficiency is at kindergarten level, for now,

I want to improve at at least recognizing the correct kanji at a regular reading speedーwith no mistaken identities, frantic dictionary pulling-out, or furigana dependency necessary!★

And that's what I want to achieve first and foremost with...whatever this is I'm creating。

+ so I can read manga and novels in peace without constantly squinting at a magnifying glass orz Fluency is kinda moot in my case because... I don't talk to anyone lol-

also, online shtposting in the Jp meme side rly do hit different

　〘ーand I'd like colors to accompany me!〙

『Issue③:』 Every Kanji list overview, regardless of arrangement or method, always gives me anxiety with how sharply white and black it is. That minimalistic uniformity forces you to depend on shapes alone to make inferences... but then you see sht like:

土　VS　士　

(dirt)・(samurai)

末　VS　未

(tip)・(sign of the sheep)

where it's literally the subtlest of LINE LENGTH, a tiny splotch, or the more complex characters that don't even share the same radicals but because they both vaguely have a similar silhouette, they start looking confusing to the brain, I just...............colors are absolutely necessary!! At least, it is definitely the case for my very easily bamboozled noodle that demands distinctive visual variations. I am in the belief that shapes alone will not suffice to memorize the correct information when you have over 2,000 subjects to sift through that... literally copied each other's homework. They kept gaslighting me throughout the process- Ask a Chinese or Japanese friend today if they're doing ok bc holy sht how do ya'll live like this, especially when web browsers tend to squash anything exceeding 14 strokes at regular display font sizes I-

I made the ｺﾛﾚｯﾃKoroLife System (Kororette Life; a wish for a 'colorful life') that pushes more focus on the creative and productive use of colors and patterns for myself, initially for drawing composition purposes... but I found that it was something just as applicable with making everyday tasks way easier and fun to look at.

It eventually took over this project too, and finally gave me what I was looking forーinner peace with a lifetime of beef and animosity with kanji…but in style★

When I said I was a heavy visual learner... this is exactly what I meant-

So…this is my way of arranging nearly 3,000 kanji by rows of 3 visually identical characters that confuses my dyslexic 外人 dumdum the most + making use of colors for subcategorizing them according to their shapes. And, hey, they make for pretty neat stickers!

⇒[FREE TO DOWNLOAD!]

△contains x4 parts of higher quality of each quadrant (transparent bg) + this huge overview display map...or kanji blanket, however you see it as-

Unfortunately there's very little to make of it apart from a display, but as soon as I add some practicality to this system, I will compile them into the 0+ Resource Shop. For now, please feel free to personally use them however you like~! I'm already sticking 'em everywhere-

I divided them into 6 colored categories according to the character's overall perceived 'shape'*: ・Curves (orange)

・Sparks'n'mix (pink)

・Criss-crossing (dark blue)

・Lines (light blue)

・Cubes (yellow) ・囧ﾒ (violet)

・imperfect matches (green)

Highlighted ones are stand-outs, or visually the easiest to digest (to me anyway).

＊these are very arbitrary classifications with flawed, subjective internal logic that has been revised multiple times over. (eg. Even if something has a curve, if I feel like the overall shape has lines that stand out more, then it's in the light blue category instead.)

And with that, I think I'll call it...

The「色々色 / IROIROIRO」 Method!! otherwise known as the 色³ for short!!!

■ 「色」・いろ・(Iro)

➊lit. Color, tint, hue, shade ➋kind, type, variant

■ 「々」・のま・同の字点 / どうのじてん・(noma / dou no jiten)

Kanji repetition mark; placed beside a repeating kanji.

■ 「色色 / 色々�� ・いろ・(Iroiro)

various, all sorts of

■「³」・３乗足す / さんじょうたす・３の立方 / さんのりっほう・(san jyou tasu / san no rihhou)

mathematical term.; Cubed, to the power of 3 pls don't ask me for the actual application specifics, I get a 3/10 average on my math tests-

It's a fun pun! Kinda.

【Preliminary Conclusion】

Is it an effective strategy to master Japanese kanji at all, though? Maybe not. At least, probably not just by this visual display alone. I honestly don't expect anyone else benefitting much from this project, but it personally really reinvigorated me to continue studying Japanese again. It's strange how something that caused me so much feelings of dread and anxiety for the majority of my early teen years, suddenly feels so much fun to work with. All it needed was sleep deprivation, some touch of personalization, and a little bit of color!… ok, well, a lot of color-

It's a complete homebrew, unverified by anyone, and I guess a little insane, but I thought it turned out kinda cool anyway, so I thought I'd share it! What do you think? I'll write up an update about any further developments in this silly lil system the next time. I'm thinking of somehow fitting in all the definitions, readings, stroke orders, and maybe samples of their usage... but also in style★ somehow-

We'll workshop it, even if it takes another additional 8 months!!!

Until then! バイバイ(￣▽￣)／

つづく

➡To be continued...

・・・ホームページALL LINKS・・・

・Art Gallery・Commission Info・Ko-fi shop・

[avelera]

On Fanfiction as Genre

Something something... in the world of original fiction, the genre comes first and the story comes second.

For example, "This satirical religious comedy, Good Omens..."

Whereas in fanfiction, the media itself is the genre, and fanfiction writers write within it. The genre becomes the story, the story becomes the genre.

For example, "This coffee shop AU, set in Good Omens..."

Now, here's the thing. In the world of published original fiction, you would never or at least very rarely roll up to your publisher and say, "Hey! You know that really popular coffee shop romance series I was writing? Well, what if I took the two popular main characters and dropped them into a zombie apocalypse for the next book in the series?"

Your publisher would probably look at you like you have two heads. Even if you're their superstar, they might gently and cautiously point out that the audience has a certain expectation that this series is a coffeeshop romance, and you might lose readers if it suddenly, unexpectedly, became a zombie horror story.

But fanfiction writers do this all the time. In fact, it's largely the basis of most fanfic, "I like the original, yes, but I'd like to do my unique spin where instead of Aziraphale and Crowley being in a satirical religious comedy, they're in a grimdark zombie apocalypse and also they're human now."

Fics can range from canon-adjacent all the way out to barely recognizable as based in the same original story, but readers are largely accepting of this because the genre isn't it "coffee shop romance" suddenly becoming "zombie apocalypse horror". The genre remains the same: Good Omens. Just as a fan of science fiction will be accepting of a story that is rigorously scientific and takes place on Mars (eg "The Martian") and enjoy wildly unscientific magical space opera with laser swords, (the original "Star Wars" trilogy). Some might not enjoy the full breadth of the genre and have their preferences, like more or less scientific, but that is much like fanfic readers preferring more or less canon-adjacent takes on the characters.

This gets interesting because as my writing teacher said, you break genre expectations at your own peril as a writer. Note: Most "genre breaking" works are nothing of the sort, they simply break a few unspoken expectations. You don't say something is a Western and then set it in a stock trader's office in New York City. People who pick up your book expecting a Western aren't going to think it's clever, they're going to think it's annoying, most likely.

This is because genres have certain pleasures associated with them, as my teacher said. In Western, Sci-Fi, and Fantasy, the expected pleasures are largely setting or plot-based. We expect a sci-fi story to take place in space, or to otherwise involve technology real or imagined. We expect fantasy to involve magic in some form. We expect a Western to be set in the Old West or have something to do with cowboys and horses, for the most part, though of course in all examples there are exceptions.

Horror and Romance are particularly interesting, because those pleasures are not based in setting but in the expected emotion the reader can expect. Horror readers expect to be scared by the end, no matter how you achieve it, and Romance readers expect to engage physically, mentally, or emotionally in a story about love and lust. Then you get into interesting mixtures like Sci-Fi Horror, which helps narrow things down.

My final point to all of this is that this is one reason why original fiction publishers and fanfiction readers are often speaking at cross-purposes to one another.

I see a lot of predictions for continuations of media that think with a fanfic writer brain. "I want these characters to talk about their feelings next time," except that the genre of "talking about feelings" they're imagining is more aligned with literary or psychological character study, or the romance genre. Whereas the core media is, for example, a satirical religious comedy. Or a workplace romantic comedy set on a pirate ship. Or it's a comic book action movie about a super soldier punching bad guys.

Yes, you will get elements of that in any good script that provides variety, but the story isn't going to switch genres as seen by original fiction publishers and studios, because they would think that's crazy. They see the story as living within a genre and the audience basing their choice to engage with that story as being based in the expectations of that genre. People want to see a pirate comedy. People want to watch a superhero punch bad guys. To have them suddenly pivot to a deep arthouse film style discussion of feelings and unearthing of trauma isn't just weird to them, it's a betrayal of what the audience is ostensibly there to see.

Where you see deviation of this is in stories that are so well-established that they begin to operate like fanfiction. "I want to see a Superman movie that's a deep exploration of trauma and what it's like to grow up feeling like an alien in the American Midwest." Superman, in this case, is the genre so we can range further afield with what about this story we explore and we can switch genre away from it just being about punching bad guys.

Which is why I sometimes praise a film as being really good fanfiction, but it usually requires a media property with broad household name familiarity to make the story itself into a genre that allows further explorations that dip into less expected genres, like arthouse film takes set in a popular scifi franchise universe. And that's why, very often, fanfiction readers aren't going to get what they hope for from a lot of franchises, especially those who don't have the popularity or confidence to treat their story as the genre itself, rather than as residing within the expectations of its genre.

[starwriterulia]

Tomb of the Goshenite Stargazer Dragon - Chapter 3

SUBJECT MATERIAL WARNINGS FOR THIS FANFICTION ARE INCLUDED IN THE MASTERLIST POST OF MY BLOG AND THE FIRST CHAPTER OF THIS FANFICTION.

Bat dividers by @violetbudd

Scene cut and creator support banners by @cafekitsune

Latest revision: August 18, 2024. Added scene cut "Support your creators by reblogging" banner. Added ⏭️ emoji below end of chapter banner with text explaining its function as a navigational button.

Fandoms: DC Comics, Batfamily centric, no Batcest, Thalassic Space (OC; takes inspiration The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Assassin’s Creed: Black Flag, Silent Hill 2, Silent Hill 3, and other sci-fi, fantasy and horror titles, as well as original concepts, such as the science and lore of the galaxy.)

Chapter summary: Faith shares her full life story with Barbara, who brought soup, and with Dick and Bruce. Bruce tells his wards that he thinks Faith has a story she's withholding. Dick says he sensed that too, and they agree to wait for her to share it.

[In order of appearance] Characters: Faith Lawson (TBA; self-insert), Barbara Gordon (Batgirl), Dick Grayson (Nightwing), Bruce Wayne (Batman).

Word Count: 3966 4486 (really short /still short, for something from me lol) 8165 (August 10 revision)

Content warnings: Extensive discussion about the loss of Faith's adoptive father, discussion about Faith's psychopathic ex-boyfriend Todd, brief light-hearted discussion about the difficulties of living with dwarfism, it's light-hearted because one can imagine how tiring that much talking would be for someone, especially with the flu!, discussion between Bruce, Dick and Barbara about what the story Faith might be hiding is likely about based on existing information.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4

My eyes and throat were so sore, but I couldn't drink too much tea, or I'd throw it up, and my legs and arms were so chafed that I was really uncomfortable, so I couldn’t close my eyes. I wished I had a maternity pillow and a soft light source. I brought my Marley wired headphones with me, and I listened to "🏴‍☠️Pirate Tavern Terrace Ambience: Night Nature Sounds, Seashore Waves & Calm Ocean Breezes 🌌" by Sam'Relaxe - Ambiance Nature. My phone was tucked under and up to the right of my pillow, and I had another pillow between my legs. I groaned and sat up, turning from my left side with a third pillow under my chest, to my right side, facing the door. I fanned my legs out and tucked on arm under the pillow I laid my head on, and the other arm over its lower corner. The bedsheet was too hot. No, my legs were too hot, so the bedsheet was too hot.

I groaned, felt a burp, let it happen. Felt tightness in my chest, too much air, tried to burp it out. The burp came after two bumps of my left fist to my sternum. I sighed. I was too hot, and I was so incredibly uncomfortable.

I couldn't focus on the sound of the waves and birds, couldn't picture myself asleep on the sheltered upper balcony of the tavern, couldn't imagine the sounds of pirates, merfolk, anthros, elves and mages mingling, gambling, singing and dancing below. I couldn't keep my little grip of a peaceful night, and so I let go of it with my gaze to the floor as the bedroom door opened. I painfully looked up and saw Bruce in the glow of the hallway, wearing a charcoal blue shirt and black slacks. I smiled a little. "That's a nice colour on you." I croaked, then coughed, and it hurt. "Ow. May I ask you for a maternity pillow for my back, 'cause scoliosis sucks, and my legs, so they don’t chafe so much, and a soft light source? My brain goes nuts in the dark, and I know we're gonna work on that, but…"

"Yes, I'll get you both of those things, Faith. You're allowed to have a nightlight." His voice was nice. I felt my eyes flutter, caught in emotion.

"Thank you."

Bruce entered the room and sat on the floor, our eyes never breaking contact. "Do you get sick often?"

"No. I think I got this from a customer."

"You don't wear a mask at work?"

"Most people don't. I know, as a Liberal who gives a crap, that I should. But I'm from a small, country town that's still learning to accept queer people. We have Pride, and it's a pretty good turnout, but you get what I mean."

"Mhm."

"You really think people are going to look at me kindly if I wear a mask in 2024?"

"That's the thing, isn't it? You learn that COVID is here to stay, about its long term affects,"

"Mhm." I nodded a little.

"And it makes you want to mask-up. I get your concern. Have you ever had COVID?"

"Nope. As you can imagine, me being a writer with physical disability and a personality disorder, I don't have much reason to go outside. But I need to, and when the snow is gone, I try to go out for walks to one of the parks that are both, like, really close to my apartment."

"Good."

"Ferland Park is the smaller one. It's got a water park, a playground that gets updated every so often, and a nice area for the Farmer's Market, every Thursday in the summer and early fall. Riverside Park has the big loop, a playground, and a sheltered picnic area, and I hear its beach and water is quite nice."

"That sounds nice. Do you like to go to the market or river often?"

"Oh, I go to the market, but I can't swim, I-I've always had anxiety in pools, so I'm like, what's the point of wading?"

Bruce hummed. "Another thing we'll have to teach you."

"Oh yeeeah. The vendors are varied enough, the food vendors are good, and there's even an open mic, if you bring an instrument or just want to sing."

"Nice."

"Yeah, it’s a nice little town."

"You haven’t told me what town it is." He probably already knows which town.

"Oh! Vanderhoof."

"Oh, I love Vanderhoof." Bruce said. I giggled. "I haven't been there in a while."

"Well, swing by some time on a Thursday in summer, and I'll take you to Fields to meet my boss, if she's there! Please buy our socks." I laughed. Bruce chuckled.

"Too many socks?"

I used the cutesy, voice my co-workers and I used. "Oh, so many socks, please help us!" I used my normal voice. "Then again, bringing Bruce Wayne on this Earth, they'll be like, "Oh wow, how did you me-et?"," Bruce chuckled. "If it's on my Earth, they'll be like, "Oh my God, that's so cool! You're gonna be Batgirl!"" Bruce chuckled more. ""And you made a perfect copy of yourself so you could be in both worlds at once? Wow!"" I said, deadpanned, "My boss will want to meet Green Arrow." Bruce laughed in his chest.

"So, along with your goals for your physical health, we've now got two other things to cover."

"Yeah. I'd really like my legs back. I forgot how to run and jump, after I broke my knee."

"Fear."

"Yep. I watch people do it, and I can't figure it out in my head."

"We can help you with that."

"Mhm!"

"And Faith?"

"Mhm?"

"It's OK if you get hurt. We'll all be there to help."

I nodded. "Thanks."

"You also look very uncomfortable and overheated."

"I aaaam. I don't sleep with clothes on. Our bodies sweat, so it's healthier and more comfortable to sleep nude. The first part of that, my mom taught me."

"Hm, well, it's true. You can take your clothes off to sleep, if you want."

"Thank you." I sat up, removed my shirt, "Ugh, ew." And threw it behind me, heard it collide with the wall, and took off my pants and underwear, and threw them in that direction too. I bent my arms in and stretched my shoulders. "Guh." Then rolled my shoulders a little.

"Your muscles sound very tense."

"They usually are." I said, and laid back down, sighing with content.

"Better?"

"Yes. Actually, there's a thin blanket, right?"

"Yep, right here." Bruce stood up and reached over me for a thin fleece blanket. His arm brushed against my lower thigh, and I failed to cover a soft exhale. "Sorry."

"You’re uh-OK." I stifled laughter in my throat and looked down at the bed.

"Faith Indianna." A light redness was in Bruce’s cheeks.

"Oh, of course you know my first middle name, without me telling you." I had three, total. The first one was given to me by my birth mom, and the other two after I was adopted.

"I am Batman."

"You are Batman. Blanket, please." I said. Bruce draped the blanket over my body from the shoulders down. "Oh, perfect. Actually, a little below the shoulders."

"Don’t wanna be too hot under there."

"Nope." I said, as Bruce took hold of the blanket and moved it to the middle of my back, briefly touching my skin and hair. His fingers were large and coarse, but the sensation of a masculine person's skin was lovely, and I didn't care this time when I let out a sigh.

"How about there?"

"That's even better."

"Good." He said, softly. I blushed. Bruce chuckled through his nose, and rose from the bed, walking to the door. "I'll leave you to sleep. Maybe you'll have better luck now."

"Thank you." I closed my eyes, and heard the door close.

Faith stirred from her light sleep as the early morning sun shone through the curtains of the guest room. She said, "Why did I have to submit to the horny thoughts just a little bit when Bruce Wayne is like the gayest bisexual man to ever be a gay-leaning bisexual man?" She giggled and groaned to cringe at herself.

"Like, I’m sure it’s fine, but in retrospect, that was just disrespectful enough that I’m sorry." She looked up at her nightstand, sat up, and grabbed her tea. It was cold, but Faith didn’t care. It helped a little bit. “Oh, how long…?”

She turned on the bedside lamp to check the time. It was 4:53 AM. “Eh, I got a little bit.” There was knocking at the door. Faith scrambled to cover her chest with the blanket. “Hello?”

“Can I come in?” It was a woman’s voice.

‘Barbara?’ Faith thought, her mouth opening all the way. “Uh, yeah girl!”

The door opened, and when Faith saw that it was Barbara, she gasped and lifted her upper lip to smile. “You knew it was me right away, huh?”

“Eh, it was more of a guess. Actually, it was all a guess.” Faith said, as Barbara entered carrying a tray with a steaming bowl and a bun, with a spoon and a little plate with butter on it, a butter knife beside the plate.

“How are ya feeling?” Barbara said, setting the tray down on the bed, at Faith’s feet.

“A little better. I probably wouldn’t have slept much better at home.”

“No?”

“No, I’d have to step outside for some fresh air. It’s still winter, so I can’t have a window open.”

“True. You don’t have a fan?”

“I do, but I didn’t think that would help.”

“Oh, it would, believe me. You can’t be hot all the time when your sick, even though that’s what your body does to fight infection.”

“Oh yeah, right. Could you grab me my shirt from the floor?” Faith pointed to the pile of clothes against the wall. “I don’t wanna get soup droplets on the blankets.”

“Sure.” Barbara went, picked up the black T-shirt, and offered it to Faith. “Here.”

“Thanks.” Faith dropped the blanket and put on the shirt.

“Oh, you had a breast reduction?” Barbara said, sitting on the bed as Faith lifted the tray into her lap.

Faith blew on what she scooped up in her spoon. “Yeah, I used to be an F cup.” She ate what was on her spoon, filled it again, and continued eating at that decent pace.

“Ooh, yeah, I get why you got rid of them. What are you, now?”

“C cup.”

“Nice. Bet your back feels better.” Barbara said. Faith nodded while blowing on her spoon. “You said you have scoliosis, but I’m assuming it’s minor.”

“Yeah. I’ve got it in two places at the small of my back, and surprisingly my adoptive mom has it in three places, at the same area.”

“Oh, OK. Is your dad doing all right?”

“He’s dead.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“It’s all right. Huh, I didn’t tell you guys in the group chat?”

“Nope.”

“Eh, well, I’ve had a rough life, lots to talk about.”

“Does Bruce know?”

“Yeah, he knows.”

“How did he pass?”

“Aortic dissection.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Faith inhaled and exhaled through her nose and stopped eating. Barbara shifted her lips. “When was the last time you saw him?”

 “Early November. Mom, Dad and I went to the Co-op Hardware Store to buy new Christmas trees. Mom found the fully-frothed tree she’d always wanted, and I got a small tree that’s actually about my height.” Faith lifted a spoonful and blew.

“Oh nice. Did you not have one, before?”

“I had one a little shorter than me, and it was kind of skinny, and in a pot, with the lights already in it. Grandma gave it to me.” Faith blew on the spoon again and ate its contents.

“Cute.”

“Dad wasn’t feeling well. He was pale and sweaty.”

“Why hadn’t he seen a doctor?”

Faith set her spoon on the tray. “He thought his blood pressure medications weren’t being paid for, and he had to go to camp for his new job. He left his old job because of his boss, I think. When Dad’s doctor found out, he said that if Dad had called, he could have helped.”

Barbara clicked her tongue. “Oh.”

Faith picked up her spoon and filled it. “He stayed in the car as Mom and I went into the Independent Grocer that I used to work at, trying to get back into his Facebook.” She blew on the spoon. “And he kept trying, even after I failed to help, as Mom and I decorated my new tree with the decorations Grandma gave me. November 27th, I was watching YouTube, and I remember having a dream, though I don’t remember it anymore, and waking up knowing something wasn’t right.” Barbara hummed. Faith ate what was on her spoon. “At 1 PM, my brother, Tanner, texted me that Dad had fallen at his new job. We don’t know how long he was unconscious before the girl who worked at the office found him and took him to the Burns Lake hospital.”

“Are you from Burns Lake?”

Faith shook her head, filling her spoon again. “No, Vanderhoof. He was an hour and a half away. And it was 2021.”

“Oh, so you couldn’t even see him!”

“Doctor didn’t get there until four.”

“Oh no.”

“He woke up twice.” Faith blew on her spoon. “Once in Brie’s truck, once at the hospital. The nurse was pumping a dead man’s chest.” Faith moved her bottom lip with her teeth, eyes watering. “Tanner texted me just before four o’clock, offering to drive me to our grandparents, where Mom was with auntie Penny, her older sister. Auntie Melanie is the little sister.” Faith ate the soup on her spoon. She held the empty spoon in the air as she continued.

“When we got there, Grandma and Grandpa met us at the door. They had just found out that Dad was gone. Tanner softly said, “No.”, and I softly said, “Fuck, why?” as our grandparents hugged us and walked with us to the living room. I sat on mom’s right, Tanner on her other side. We cried for forty-five minutes.” Faith sighed. Barbara sighed sympathetically and rubbed Faith’s back a little. Faith lowered the spoon to the tray.

“Tanner called Dad’s brother and step-mom, Grandma Edie. She’s having a tough battle with cancer. Tanner’s girlfriend, Melanie, came over, and uncle Dale and uncle Daren, auntie Penny and auntie Melanie’s husbands. My grandpa and uncles drank beer for Dad while we all talked and cried. Auntie Ruth and uncle Russ came over when it was dark out. They live on the same street as my grandparents, and they brought pizza and sparkling water.” Faith repleted her spoon, blew once, and ate.

“I forgot my meds, so my brother drove me back to my apartment with Melanie, and a deer ran across the driveway. When I got back, I told Mom about the deer, and that it was Dad, but she shook her head. I wasn’t going to tell her, but as a pagan, I genuinely was shocked and touched that mother nature had sent a sign.”

Barbara hummed. “I like that you remember that.”

Faith sniffled and smiled a little. It sank into a frown as she continued. “We didn’t sleep well. Mom didn’t sleep at all. That morning, older cousins in town came to visit, and brought flowers and cookies. I learned that my dad not only gave money to family and friends in need, but would take time out of his day to help with mechanical problems, if he was able to. He was very much a good example of a family man, a redneck with a heart. He was from Texas, too.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, a small town called Gilmer that’s I think five hours away from Houston?”

“Oh, OK.”

“And, uh. Oh. I know it was November 27th because SNL was doing a Thanksgiving skit.” Barbara gave a hum of intrigue. “Grandpa changed it to fishing, after a while. We watched for Dad. Most of our family loves hunting, fishing and camping. We used to do it every fall, but it takes time and money to go camping.”

“True, you need lots of supplies. What lakes did you usually go to?”

“Mm, Grizzly Lake a few times, but we stopped ‘cause it’s so cramped, so fast. Frank Lake, I remember, uh… there’s a couple I’m not remembering. I liked to play with my toys and the Internet as a kid, but I was only allowed to take books, paper and writing supplies, and my brother and I used to take our bikes, when we had them. I remember the rocky shore of Frank Lake, it was nice. I love rocks.” Faith said with a funny accent and smiled.

“You love rocks, eh?”

“I love rocks. Gimme a rock that’s got some shine, or a cool colour or pattern, or transparent agate, and I will literally be so happy.”

Barbara giggled. “OK, I’ll remember that.”

“I mean, thanks to my Dragon Persona, I can grant you a wish if you give me a rock, gem, flower, plant seeds and saplings, or art of any kind, but you can also just give ‘em to me for fun.” Faith giggled.

Barbara laughed with her. “All right then! You like to garden?”

“I love plants, but I’ve never grown one on my own.” Barbara hummed. “Um.” Faith sighed. “We didn’t see Dad until two weeks later. Or was it three? No, two. I think.”

“They did a good job on him. Mom picked out a nice green and blue flannel for him.” She held up her hands. “But his hands. They were purple.” Faith laid her hands on her lap. “And I just wanted him to hold a cup of coffee, or even just a beer, again.” Barbara gently held Faith’s left hand. “I remember Mom sitting on the chair, her, Tanner, my grandparents and I about six feet away. Mom said, “I love you”, Tanner said, “Goodbye, Dad.”, and I said, “Thank you.”.”

Faith sighed. “We walked out of the room, and Mom had to sit on the bench and cry. Auntie Melanie came in, and then auntie Penny, auntie Ruth and uncle Russ, and they comforted her. We went out while my aunts and uncles saw my dad. I had to stop after I descended the stairs to cry. But when I looked at my brother, I stopped. I just… he was so close with my dad. He lost the most important man in his life, just like my mom. They were married for twenty-four years.”

“Were you close with your dad?” Barbara gingerly asked.

Faith sighed again. “Maybe? In our hearts, we were. I never spent much time with either of my parents because of my personality disorder, and j-just how difficult it was and how long it took for me to feel at home, like I had a family, after how my foster parents treated me. But I know he loved me,” Faith bowed her head and tears began to fall, her voice becoming murky. “And I know I loved him because I miss him every time I see something he liked, every time I don’t know what to make for dinner and I think of his favourite meals that I’m able to make without a barbeque, and whenever I see or hear or think of something that’s just him, and then I see him in my dreams sometimes, and it’s so surreal to almost see his face, but not quite, and hear him, but it’s not quite right either, and I just want to hug him again.” Faith sobbed.

“On Thanksgiving, C-Canadian Thanksgiving, apparently I ignored him? I didn’t even say hello or hug him! He thought he had done something wrong, and I told Mom ‘no’, and Dad dropped something off a few days later, and I hugged him, and told him I loved him, and he said it back. And before then, I missed my mom’s message about there being a barbeque on the weekend near my birthday, so I could have had his food one more time.” Faith cried, wiping her tears with the back of her hands.

“I’m sorry, Faith.” Barbara whispered, rubbing her back.

“My mom was the type of mourner who got rid of most of his stuff, and she regrets that. And she had a hard time finding love, again. Roger treats her OK, but she’s had times where I’ve had to offer my ten cents, and she’s always in awe, and the reason I know what words to say is because I read! And I like video games, and other media. I read people’s comments and watch videos of people talking about stories and characters, and how realistic and compelling they are or are not. Dad was so loved, and when we had his memorial, on his birthday that year, I think? Family, friends, and even strangers came by, and I remember hugging and crying to my mom as I looked at the pictures on the table, ‘cause there was this one of me and Tanner on the beach when we were driving down to Texas in Easter of 2008 or ‘9, and I told her I just wanted to travel and come back with stories, and now Dad would never hear them.” Faith sobbed.

“Thalassic Space exists because I lost him. Sorcery on Grace, planet Grace, was its own thing, I was just gonna do a slightly unique fantasy story, and then I made a whole galaxy so I could have Santa, and if you lost your dad and were close with him, or you just miss him like I do, then he sounds like him. Otherwise, he sounds like a German man, ha ha ha!” Barbara chuckled. “My parents saved me from my foster home. I was trying to take my time with adjusting to adult life after finally getting therapy and going to a group home in Terrace in May and June of 2019 for mental health work, which I only took advantage of during the second and last month I was there because, well, free Internet and food,” Barbara snickered. “But it worked, and I even saw a stop the violence councillor, and talked with her about my feelings and memories about my life as a foster kid, and she helped me realise I needed to talk with my mom about it. So, I did, when I came home, and I have the full picture now. The group home forgot to book my seat, but a kind Christian lady paid for me,”

“Aw.”

“And when the bus pulled up to St. John’s Hospital, and I saw Mom standing at the curb, I gasped, and I got off and hugged her and cried.” Faith sniffled, eyes still watering. “And I chatted with her as we drove to the homestead that my parents, auntie Melanie and uncle Daren bought in 2019, it’s almost seven acres out on Highway 27.”

“Ooh, nice.”

“Yeah, they’ve really made it homely. My parents had a small house built, and my aunt and uncle had a trailer home moved in. Mom started crying and reached over to touch my hair because she missed me talking.” Faith laughed through her tears. “Of the Mr. Men, I have always been Miss Chatterbox.”

“Aw.” Barbara giggled.

“I moved out the next month, in July, and then COVID got serious. It was an interesting first winter, as an adult. I-I hadn’t moved out before because of my anxiety and depression, and my one boyfriend I had, Todd, he was still in town. He’s not anymore.”

“Oh, good.”

“He was a real psycho. Tried to kill his parents and younger brother with poisonous berries from the woods outside their house.”

“Oh!”

“He hid them in his room until his mom found them, and he would’ve gone to juvey had he not cried ‘child abuse’. I think that’s why he was put in the safe home. Either that, or I only remember that because that’s how Todd put it. He said it was ‘cause his parents wouldn’t buy him the Lord of the Rings books.”

“And you were willingly friends with him?”

“Well, both of us were desperate for friends, and in our own ways, social outcasts. It was all fine, or as fine as a friendship with someone like Todd could be. On Halloween, we needed volunteer hours, and handed out candy at the Pumpkin Walk our town has almost every year. The only reason we had a Halloween without one was COVID.”

“Mhm.”

“So, we held hands in the car as our teacher drove me home first, which, if they didn’t want him to know where I lived, he should’ve been dropped off first, but I dunno. The teacher insisted I go home first.” Faith sighed. “He came over like, a week later, on a Saturday.”

“You had him at your house?” Barbara and a young man outside the door said.

“Oops.” Said the young man.

Faith gasped and smiled. “Is that you, Dick Grayson?”

“Yeah.” Dick opened the door, exposing himself.

Faith noticed a figure at the side of the door. ‘That’s definitely Bruce.’

“Sorry for eavesdropping.”

“Eh, it’s kind of a Batkid thing, ain’t it?”

“Yeeeeah.” Dick and Barbara laughed.

“You can sit on the floor if you want. Storytime is gonna take like, fifteen more minutes, if y’all wanna hear everything I remember. Maybe ten, if I continue to try to time-crunch.”

Dick and Barbara laughed more. “Sure.” Dick sat on the floor near the bed.

“Anyway, yeah, I had him over for dinner, and we played video games with my brother. Our house had two sections, a mancave above the garage connected to the other part of the house via a breezeway to the basement and a bridge to the kitchen.”

“Ooh, that’s unique.” Barbara said.

“Yeah, it was a nice house. Surrounded by a fence of tall fir trees. Or were they spruce? We lived there for two years. Then we bought the homestead. Um, over dinner, Todd did mention that he got in trouble as a kid, but didn’t elaborate, so my parents were suspicious. Mom had already been told that I should be careful around him by a teacher, who couldn’t say more,”

“Because it was confidential,” Dick said with Faith. “Right.”

“Mom asked me if he told me anything. I’m not a good liar, and I always get in trouble when I try, so she knew that I knew something, when I told her I didn’t. He was supposed to come over the following Friday, but six o’clock came and went, and I kept trying to call the safe home. He finally picked up at 6:15 saying something had come up.” Faith patted the bed. “He had a black eye on Monday.”

“He punched himself.” Said Dick.

“He first told me that the Bible-thumping ex-friend he told me about at the library, which we frequented, gave him a ‘hello’ present. That day, I went outside with him, and watched him go into an insurance building as I went to the store I now work at for candy.”

“He was paying off a felony, wasn’t he?” Dick said.

“Bet you he was.” Said Barbara.

“When I told my mom this story, she basically said it was bullshit and to ask him what really happened. The next day, he said that a staff lady had punched him, and then he went to the police.”

“Still doesn’t explain the felony.” Said Dick.

“Dick, she’s trying to say all of this as quick as possible.” Barbara said.

“Sorry. Sorry, Faith.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” Faith said, exhaling. “Gives me time to breathe.” Barbara giggled. “Mom didn’t believe that either, of course. OK, I usually don’t say this when I’m telling this story, but I’m missing a day in my memory.”

“You are?” Said Dick.

“I know the last time we went to the library was Thursday, and we hugged goodbye on Friday. So, either Mom found out about Todd’s black eye on Tuesday, not Monday, or I forgot what happened on Wednesday because nothing happened.”

“Hm, OK. Just something to note?”

“Yeah, just a little gap in my usually really good memory.”

Bruce poked his head through the doorway. “Sorry.”

“Hi, no, you’re fine.”

“That’s not important to why Ra’s brought you here, is it?”

“No, it’s just my brain not remembering.”

“OK.” Bruce occupied the doorway.

“Anyway, Thursday,” Bruce came into the room, sitting beside Dick. “Wow, what a nice little story time circle we have going on, here.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Barbara said. She, Dick and Faith laughed. Bruce’s body moved.

“We knew we were going to be broken up, and we sat on the couch at the kids’ section. We didn’t kiss, thank God,”

“No kidding, yeesh!” Barbara said.

“But we did kiss each other’s hair, which was just as awkward and dread-filled as the entire forty-five minutes we sat there. In hindsight, I feel a different kind of dread than I did.”

“Oh yeah.” Said Dick.

“Todd sounds like he was scary.” Bruce said.

“Yeah, and now I can’t read or hear that name without panicking a little, and I don’t like men with particularly triangular faces. Extra red flags if he has blue eyes and curly dark blonde hair. He was cute, but now I realise he looked like an abusive pretty blond who thinks Andrew Tate is all the shit, and I just get the ick.”

Barbara hummed. “Yeah.”

“So, that day, while we were at Valhalla, I think in the morning, he told me the truth. Because none of the staff would drive him to my house, because he’s dangerous, he went outside, where there were cameras, gave himself the black eye, and went to the police, saying that a staff lady did it,”

“Hence the felony.” All four said.

“Yep.” Faith said.

“Knew it.” Said Dick.

“I remember looking at him as we were in the little computer room, asking him why. And he said he just wanted to see me. And my mom knew that was true, he did actually like me, and I felt the same. He just was not a safe person.”

“You can say that again, yeesh.” Said Barbara.

“We weren’t allowed to go outside together on Friday, and before we hugged goodbye, he gave me his favourite necklace: a silver Triforce on a black string.”

Barbara asked, “Do you still have it?”

“No. Some time earlier in that semester, Todd had given me a bunch of his stuff. A couple of D&D books by a famous author, and some banned, older Yu-Gi-Oh! and MTG cards. It was pretty cool stuff. He’d also given me a green bandana that smelled like him to me, but it just smelled like his wool jacket, and rain. When I got home on Friday, my parents had, of course, been asking around, trying to find out what Todd did. His uncle drove a truck for the logging company my dad was the shop foreman of, and that’s how Dad found out.”

“Ahhh.” Said Dick.

“My memory of the lecture is kinda hazy, but I think that’s just because I was so dazed that I had been manipulated so easily by my first close friend since Lisa, and before her, Fenna, both a year, or maybe it was two, after the other. Lisa was a Jehovah’s Witness who was using anime and yaoi to rebel, and Fenna was a wolf girl. Both of them loved writing and reading, like me, and were social outcasts who couldn’t even hang with the punk kids. Lisa stopped rebelling near the end of my tenth-grade year, and I know that because I broke my knee after she dropped out, but that was because she was being bullied. She didn’t tell me, her friend, that she was being bullied. Not my friend.”

“Not your friend, all right.” Barbara said, nodding.

“Fenna and I had an argument. Don’t remember what about, but I said something, as I tended to do, and it hurt her, but I didn’t understand why because I was probably being brutally honest. I haven’t talked to Lisa in years, though she did dye my hair brown the summer I moved out of the homestead. Fenna, I see now and then, and they’re now non-binary and pansexual, so it’s cool to have that in common.”

“Nice.”

“And we get along better. She doesn’t remember what the argument was about, either.”

“Oh, good.”

“Anyway, I remember doing the dishes that night, it was usually my chore, and I’m always mumbling or singing to myself ‘cause my brain is busy and there’s imaginary people in my head, always stirring up some kind of scenario. I don’t think I was, that night. I must have been so quiet that my parents noticed, ‘cause they came in to hug me and tell me they were sorry. Mom kissed me for the first time. The next time was a few weeks after we lost Dad, and we were sitting in her truck after doing something in town together.”

“When I came back from the group home, we finally connected, but I really got to see how emotional and special my mom is, when Dad died. Uh, Mom helped me write a letter to Todd, and she brought his stuff to Valhalla and brought back the rest of my schoolwork for the semester. I kept his bandana, but couldn’t for the night, the day she returned the stuff. I came out of my room crying, and told my mom to hide it, ‘cause I couldn’t have it. And she said, ‘Oh-Kay!’, in a very baffled way, and put it in the master bedroom. I think I remember finding it, later. I just left it there. I think I remember giving it a stank face.”

“Like the one you’re making right now?”

“Yeah.” Faith laughed. “I was so depressed when school started again that I had no energy or desire to do my schoolwork. I handed in the last of it, and a few pages related to poetry weren’t done because I hated it, which is funny because I’m a writer and I write songs, and that was just enough to pass. I was one of the kids whose yearbook picture was taken in the media arts room, instead of the auditorium. I had a blackheads issue on my nose, and I’ve always been a skin picker, and to that extent, a scab picker.”

“Todd’s yearbook quote was about him being excited to travel to Japan and Korea with me. I don’t remember my quote, exactly, but it was about me wanting to publish and something else I wanted to do at the time. And my name isn’t on the back of the book, because they didn’t think I would graduate. Didn’t do prom or grad. I probably would’ve hated both.”

“The one school dance I went to in early tenth grade, I danced alone for most of the time. It was exhausting, boring, and depressing.” Barbara clicked her tongue. “I wanted to see what they were like, is all. I danced with a sort-of friend, a girl who was nice to me, probably because she had seen the little bit of light that my disorder shadowed. But she remembered the shadow again because I probably reminded her of it, so our friendship ended.” Barbara and Dick hummed.

“And grad just sounds boring. I would’ve been looking at the audience, observing people’s hair, clothes, faces and accessories, trying to learn something, and been brought out of la-la land by my name being read aloud.”

“Ah, so you literally zone-out while studying people.” Said Dick.

“Yeah! It’s part of my disorder.”

“What were you trying to learn?” Barbara said.

“How friendship worked.”

“Oh.”

“My books, toys, digital media, the Internet, that was all I had. Because I wasn’t nice to my brother, I didn’t learn from him, and our personalities and interests clashed. He wanted to play racing games on the Wii, and I wanted to play LEGO games because they were telling a story without using words, and I could look up the story online and even ask Mom and Dad if we could watch the movie. Tanner had LEGOs, by the way. It and the video games were supposed to help with his hand-eye coordination and his nystagmus.” Barbara hummed.

“Anyway, if I had done grad, Mom probably would have told me she thought I was going to miss my call, and I would have told her ‘No, I wouldn’t have’, and she would have said, ‘Yes, you would have, Faith’, probably condescendingly. Did I use the right tone, when I said that?”

“Yeah, that sounded right.” Said Dick.

“OK good, I get vocal tones wrong sometimes, when I’m not using my customer service voice. Even that breaks, sometimes. Yeesh. Dad would have been smiling, just glad that I got through it, and Tanner would’ve been awkwardly glad, too. Like I said, I was really mean to him. Then my mom literally slapped me, pulled my hair and called me a cow, some time in tenth grade.”

“Ow.” Said Barbara.”

“Or was it would-have-been-eleventh? Did I tell you I tried homeschooling?”

“Yes, in the group chat.”

“OK, good. Did I tell you that being on QuoteV while I tried homeschooling is how I assumed the title of pansexual?”

“No, you did not.” Said Dick.

“Uh, painful story short. I told you I’m an Internet addict, right?”

“Yeah.”

“OK, Homestuck was popping off in 2015. That’s how, but I was also discovering how awesome American horror movies, Creepypasta and SCP are, and I made a friend.”

“Yay, Faith!” Barbara cheered.

Faith and Barbara giggled. Faith said, “I lost touch with my Homestuck friends, and I even remembering hurting and apologising to one of them that I was pretty close with. But this genderfluid friend, who is now Michael, they weren’t particularly cute or handsome. Buckteeth, big eyes, ovular face. But I trusted them, and we had a lot of good times together.”

“So much that we tried being a couple. For one day. No, five minutes. See, part of my disorder is that I say things out of the blue. I’m an impulsive speaker, and when I was younger, even up to the end of high school, I was an impulsive actor. My mom had a friend over when I came out, and it didn’t go well.”

“Well, of course it wouldn’t, what did you expect, hon?” Said Barbara.

“I was just so excited to give my mom a new word to explain why I was so weird! And she had already suggested I might be autistic, but that made me cry ‘cause 2012-2017 was even less of a friendly time for neurodivergent kids. Not that I had any friends to worry about, I just felt like it made me even more of an ugly duckling.”

“But that means you’re a swan.” Bruce said.

“Oh yeah. Thanks. I’m too used to being mean to myself.”

“Time for that to change, Faith.” Faith lifted her cheeks to smile. Bruce mirrored the motion.

Dick said, “So, how did you react, when you got diagnosed with your disorder?”

“Everything made sense! I felt better! For the record, now that I’m more familiar with how autistic people actually live, how most of them are just friendly people who literally see and interact with the world differently, I-I just feel less stressed, and I think they’re cool! It’s always neat to learn from the person themselves, or whoever is assigned to help them, what their experience is like.”

“Oh, definitely.”

Barbara said, “Would you feel those good thoughts towards yourself, if you were to be diagnosed, today?”

“Yeah. It’d make sense. I think there’s a bit of overlap. I’m probably Level 1, or borderline, and both would be good.”

“Good.”

“Uhhhh, where the heck was I…? Oh! Michael. He commented on one of my K-pop album unboxing videos that I made in 2019, and it was nice to hear he was doing all right. But I turned off the comments of the videos because I was trying to obey my mom’s insistence that I was not gay.”

“For four years, I was vaguely transphobic. Trying to convince myself that my mom was right, but something just felt off, when I tried to look at them meanly. It’s because I loved them. I love queer people, and while I don’t know any neo-pronouns or xeno-genders, if a person with them were to be comfortable around me to share, I would use the heck out of them. Because it’s right, and it’s who they are.”

“Damn right, girl!” Barbara said.

“Damn right!” Faith repeated. She, Barbara and Dick laughed. “All of that, just to please my mom. Just to make her shut up and like me.” Faith was quiet for a few seconds.

“My dream world mom is like that. We argue. I try to kill her, lots of the time, and she tries to kill me back. It’s just like our arguments we had when I was a kid and teen, but without the violence. The same reddened face, the same raised voice, and my tears and stammering. She’s still transphobic.” Faith’s phone vibrated and jingled.

'I believe Chandra just gave Faith an update from the future about that issue.' Bruce thought.

“But I finally stopped giving a shit, when I moved out and reconnected with the community after I turned off the comments. I wish I hadn’t, so I could read the little conversation I had with Michael. But I’ve got my Homestuck friends now, even though I don’t interact with them often ‘cause I’m either at work, doing house work or other things. I’ve always played by myself, and playing with other people is a challenge. I have times where I have to keep my mouth shut so I’m not narcissistic, but sometimes I fail to do that, and I want to apologize, but instead I try to focus, but by then, the topic or joke has changed. All of this because my foster parents didn’t give a damn.”

“That’s rough, Faith.” Said Dick.

“Yeah, that sucks.” Barbara said.

“Thanks. Geez, that’s not even talking about my physical struggles! Basically!” Faith clapped once. Barbara giggled, and Dick snickered. A breath came from Bruce. “Being a dwarf sucks! It’s hard!”

“Short arms! Almost long enough to reach what I need to, but nope! Scoliosis! Mine ain’t debilitating, and it doesn’t affect my posture that much, but I can’t sit or stand for too long, and I can’t sleep on my back, even with smaller boobs! Except for when they were healing after my surgery, but my back did hurt in the morning. I toss and turn about eight times, sometimes less, or much less if I’m exhausted and in pain already, and I sleep on my stomach with my arms tucked under my chest like a penguin.” Faith put her arms straight down over her boobs and giggled. Barbara and Dick laughed. “And no, this doesn’t make them numb! The left one can be, if I sleep with it under a pillow, though.”

“Huh.” Said Barbara.

“Interesting.” Dick said.

“Oh God, my feet. Did I tell you about them, in the group chat?”

“Yep.”

“You did.” Said Barbara.

“Oh, good. ‘Cause they suck, too. Last but not least, my knees. Did I tell you the story?”

“Yes.” Said Barbara, Dick and Bruce.

“And the story of your foster care life, and adoption.” Said Dick.

“Oh wow, I actually told you that, before now? Nice.” Barbara giggled. Faith sighed. “OK! I think that’s all the details you need to know that I didn’t tell y’all, yesterday.”

“Thank you, Faith.” Said Bruce.

“Yeah, thanks.” Dick said. “That was really helpful.”

“And interesting!” Barbara said. “You’ve had such a detailed life, in twenty-four years!”

“I’m going to eat my soup, now.” Faith picked up the spoon and ate.

“Is it cold, now?”

"It's warm, but it’s fine. I’ll puke it up later, and that’ll be fine too. I’ll just keep stuffing my face with soup until my stomach stops being angry, and then the moon will be like IT’S TIME.” Barbara laughed loudly.

“Yep, all right.” Dick said, standing up. “Did you get any sleep?”

“Three hours, give or take.”

“Well, that’s all right, I guess.”

“I’ll get more.”

“Yep.” He said to Barbara, “I’ll be downstairs.”

“OK, babe.”

Dick said to Faith, “See you when you’re not sick, Faith.”

“OK, bye! Thanks for visiting.”

“Bye.” Dick exited the room.

“Got everything you need, hon?” Barbara said.

“I think so. Oh, no. Actually, yeah.”

“Hm?”

“My tea can stay cold for now.”

“Oh, your tea!” Barbara dismounted the bed, stepped around and grabbed the cup. “Sure, I can heat that up for you. I’ll even throw it in a little thermos, so it’ll stay warm.”

“Oh, that’d be great, thank you.”

“Mhm! Back in a sec.” Barbara left the bedroom.

“Do you tell your story often?” Bruce asked.

Faith nodded. “I make friends easily, now. I just don’t talk to them often, er, well, my Homestuck friends, because, like I said,”

“I make myself busy.” “You make yourself busy.”

Bruce said, “That’s OK. It’s good that you don’t have issues making friends, now. Maybe we can help you with your time management, too.”

“Oh, that’d be nice. A real challenge, but I’d like to try that, too.”

“It’s hard to break a habit you’ve had all your life.”

“Yeah. It’s possible, though.”

“Oh yes.” Bruce inhaled and got to his feet. “I’ll be off, too. I was just checking on you when I heard you talking with Barbara, and then Dick was standing there, so I joined him.” Faith giggled. “Oh, and don’t worry about that.”

Faith furrowed her eyebrows. One second later, she inhaled. ‘OH, the skin-grazing thing I was panicking about.’ “Oh, oh good. Thanks.” She chuckled. She furrowed her brow again. ‘Wait, I said that before Barbara came in.’ “There’s a spyhole to this room, isn’t there?”

“What makes you think that?”

“Your parents’ bedroom is to the left of this one. You never go in there. Ooh, no! It’s a spying room.”

Bruce said nothing for two seconds. “The Internet has my house plans.”

“Someone on DeviantArt made them.”

“Well, they’ve got a creative mind.”

“Apparently, it took them a lot of time and research to make it work.”

“I bet it did.” Bruce approached the bed, took the crown of Faith’s head into his hand, and kissed her head. “Have a good rest of your sleep, Faith.”

“Thanks, Bruce.” Faith said. Bruce exited the room, leaving the door cracked open. Dick knew the small head movement Bruce made to pull him aside. Barbara tailed along, out of curiosity.

"There's a story she hasn't told us yet." Bruce said, quietly.

"You think so too?" Said Dick.

"I dunno, I think she got it all out." Barbara said.

Bruce shook his head. "There's a memory she's ashamed of. One that she feels will offend us too greatly."

"Gee, what could that be?" Dick said.

Barbara said. "I guess all there is to do is wait for her to share with us."

"We could also try to coax it out of her." Said Bruce.

"No." Said Dick.

"No!" Barbara said, hushed.

"Bruce, she could probably use Platonia to leave us whenever she wants to. Then it'd be her, without any help or training, against Ra's, and she'd be doomed."

"Exactly." Said Barbara.

Bruce said, "She wouldn't leave out of fear of our reaction. I think it's a story she's been wanting to tell someone who will understand why it wasn't her fault. That it was just another mistake she made as a child, that, I'm guessing, she was disciplined for immediately. This is a story she has likely only told to her closest friends, who she doesn't talk to because of lifestyle and socialisation habits." Dick and Barbara hummed, each nodding.

"She needs a new close friend to share this with." Barbara said.

"Yes."

"She doesn't share it because she was dicisplined without an explanation."

"People with Reactive Attachment Disorder know right from wrong, just like any other child. What matters is how, and how frequently, their guardian corrects their behaviour. Faith was likely disciplined many, many times by her adoptive parents, but it didn't make any difference because they never explained in extensive detail why her actions were wrong, or perhaps did once, but never did again. She'll share her story. And she'll need a hug instead of a scolding."

"Right." Said Dick.

"She's been so willing to share her life story because she was left behind by the people who were supposed to never do so. When I reached over to grab that light blanket for her, my arm brushed her leg, and she made a small lewd gasp, and blushed, and apologised, though I let her know it was fine. I think the story she's afraid to tell us is related to why her hormones are so bottled up, and maybe why she found asexuality to make sense for her identity. It might not be sexual assault, it might just be Internet exposure."

"Mhm." Barbara nodded.

"We should try not to judge if she intitated the act with her Internet addiction and lack of meaningful parental guidance in mind, and tell her that what happened is in the past."

"Absolutely." Said Dick.

"She is obviously very affected by the memory. We have to try to help her move on, as well as conquer her fears. Then we can properly train her body."

"Yeah." Dick nodded.

Barbara bobbed her head, too. "OK."

"I'll be in the cave. Thank you for coming to visit her, Dick, Barbara."

"Our pleasure." Said Dick. Faith finished her soup, put the tray on the nightstand, and laid on the right side of her ribs. Her eyes felt heavy, and her throat was sore from talking. Barbara knocked on the door, making Faith jolt.

“Oops! Sorry, hon!”

“No, you’re fine. Come in.” Faith said. Barbara entered with a small two-tone grey thermos cup.

“Here you are.” Barbara said, switching the places of the cup and the tray.

“Oh, thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome. You going straight to sleep?”

“I think so.” Faith yawned, then nodded, Barbara giggling.

“You’re welcome to text me or Dick anytime you need to get something out, or have a question you don’t wanna ask Bruce for some reason, or anything else, OK? You can even call us, if we’re available. I think you, as a person from Earth-33, know as well as we do, that he’s not exactly the best at extending his emotions.” Faith sleepily bobbed her head in agreement against the pillow. “OK. And we are taking you of the house when you’re done being sick!”

“Yay! Yes, I remember from the group chat.”

“Good. All right, my girl. Have a good rest and get well real soon.” Barbara smiled. Faith mimicked her. Barbara left the bedroom with the tray and closed the door. Faith relaxed her body and fell asleep right away.

Click emoji to navigate to next chapter. ⏭️

[midnightjewel]

Taylor Swift Albums as My Hero Characters

Please take what I say with a grain of salt. You don’t have to agree with me at all but this is my OPINION!

(I apologize for not being able to add a picture for debut I could only add so many pictures and no that’s not debut slander! I love debut!)

Taylor Swift

Izuku

In my opinion, debut is a coming of age album. Songs like “A place in this world” lead me to believe this. No it’s not just because he’s green. To me, Izuku is the embodiment of this album

Fearless

Iida

Iida is fearless in my opinion. While there are times where he can most definitely show fear, fearless demands the attention of a room.

Speak Now

Mina

I bet some people would’ve expected Mina to be lover because she’s pink. It’s just so much deeper than that. “I don’t think you should wait, I think you should speak now” from the speak now world tour fits Mina so well. With songs like dear John it shows how there was a sense of thinking you’re more mature then you actually are then coming to see that you’re a bit naive in my opinion. (I had so much to say I just love this album)

Red

Momo

To me, Red especially Taylor’s Version is somewhat classy. Momo is the definition of class in my humble opinion. There are breakup songs but they’re so mature and beautifully written that I feel like this embodies who she is. To me red is a mature album and that’s why I gave it to her

1989

Hagakure

You might be thinking, why one of the best known albums for someone who’s invisible? Because when you look at the bubbly personalities of the album and the character, you can see that there are many similarities. To me 1989 is free spirited like the breeze on the beach. Hagakure gives me those vibes.

Reputation

Kirishima

“OfC sHe ChOsE ReP fOr KiRiShIma” yeah he’s my favorite and it’s my favorite album. But hear me out. I know Bakugo was the expected character for this but when you really look at reputation past the revengeful tone it’s a love album. Songs like delicate and New Year’s Day embody what I think loving Kirishima would be like. To me, he is a lover in the way reputation loves. I could say more but I’ll just cut myself off.

Lover

Denki

Lover boy himself. This man is a huge flirt in the way that I believe lover is so innocently flirty. I can see insecurities in Denki like we see all throughout the album of lover.

Folklore

Uraraka

Folklore is a beautifully written and mature album with stories that I would never come up with in my wildest dreams. However I believe out of the two sister albums folklore is the one that is immature compared to evermore. It is still beautifully written and in songs like august or maybe even cardigan I can see Uraraka

Evermore

Bakugo

Evermore is such an incredible and underrated album. “Then why’d you pick Bakugo? He’s not underrated!” No but when you listen to the songs in the album there is a sense of regret in songs like Coney Island and Champagne Problems. To me, Bakugo is carrying guilt and regret while hiding it with forms of anger which seems to get overlooked. To me he is a great embodiment of the album.

Midnights

Sero

Ahh midnights. It is obviously for the one and only Hanta Sero. You can’t convince me that the people working on it were sober. Just like the stoner headcannons of Sero that I absolutely adore, this album sounds like floating through space.

TTPD

Todoroki

The tortured poets department is what I imagine Todoroki to be. He is a tortured poet in my brain. The album is incredibly mature with the lingering questions of “why..?” Which complements his character beautifully in my opinion

[sophieakatz]

Thursday Thoughts: Playing the Best Version of Myself

I’m not intending to permanently turn this blog series into a “Sophie listens to podcasts and talks about the Starcruiser” thing, but… this week I found myself once again listening to a podcast episode about Star Wars: Galactic Starcruiser. It was The No Proscenium Podcast this time, and the episode was titled “Last Call at the Sublight Lounge.” One of the panelists, Kathryn, said the following about Halcyon passengers:

“I believe that a lot of the people on the ship were roleplaying that idealized version of themselves… Maybe you’re braver, bolder, more confident, more willing to stand up for what you believe in. Maybe it’s a version of yourself that you want to wish into being, but you’ve never had a chance to articulate it before.”

Funnily enough, this wasn’t the first time I’ve heard someone express this idea about the Starcruiser. On the final night of the show, I met up with a bunch of the performers after closing time. Emotions were running high, understandably, but a lot of those emotions were positive. There was so much love and gratitude in that space – for each other, and for what we had created and accomplished. Everyone kept talking about how much we’d grown because of the Starcruiser. Late in the evening, one of the performers attributed that growth to how we’d created a space where everyone who participated, everyone who came to play, could come be “the best version of yourself” – and playing as the best version of yourself changes you forever.

It gave me pause, when that performer said it, and I’m thinking about it further after hearing Kathryn bring it up again – because when I entered the Starcruiser as a guest, I didn’t think I was playing the best or idealized version of myself. I fully intended to not be myself. Sophie Katz knew too much about the Halcyon and its characters. I spent six months running around that ship, making sure that everyone else knew everything they needed to know about where to be, why they were there, and what to do while they were there. The beats of the whole two-day show are imprinted on my brain. So I thought that in order to have fun, and to avoid ruining anyone else’s fun with metagaming, I had to separate my guest-self from my writer-self.

Shira Alderaani Khesed was a character I made up almost two years ago. I wrote a poem about the destruction of Alderaan in Star Wars, and afterwards I fleshed out the character behind that first-person perspective. She was a woman without a homeworld, the daughter of Alderaanians who just happened to be off planet on their honeymoon when the Empire destroyed their lives. And as far as I could tell before my voyage, playing Shira would be about as far from acting as my real self as I could get without outright sacrificing my morals. Shira was a mechanic; she’d never had the good fortune to be able to pursue art as a career. She was cynical and cowardly, weighed down by the trauma she’d inherited and unable to imagine a better future – in direct contrast to my real-world optimism. She didn’t have a family or community to support her; her late parents kept her intentionally ignorant of her culture, believing that would protect her from her people’s genocide – unlike my real-life parents, wonderful and alive, who raised me to take pride in my culture. I wouldn’t have called Shira my ideal self; I certainly wouldn’t wish to be her or live her life!

I thought I’d successfully separated my real self from my Starcruiser-self.

But the performers on my voyage were quick to prove me wrong.

I mentioned last week that some of the performers dropped hints that they knew me. Gaya said I looked familiar. Raithe said he knew I understood what was going on better than anyone. Lenka outright added a bit to my backstory, saying she remembered how I helped repair the ship before this voyage.

There’s another example of this that I should mention now.

Captain Keevan’s path did not cross much with mine, but at one point late on the first day, I was standing with a friend in the lower concourse when the captain came out of the dining room. She approached us and asked how we were doing, mentioning she’d heard that I’d had some issues with Sammie the mechanic. I responded in character, explaining that Sammie had asked me to do something that I wasn’t comfortable with (lying to First Order Stormtroopers, which from Shira’s cautious-and-cynical point of view was a good way to get killed).

The captain told me that I shouldn’t have to do anything that made me feel uncomfortable or unsafe. Half joking, I looked at my friend and said, “Does that mean telling my friends to not sing anti-First Order fight songs?” (Which, yes, is another thing that happened. Video evidence here. Sophie loved that scene; Shira did not.)

“Well,” said Captain Keevan, “something like that could be a useful distraction, at times. I find that some people work well on the front lines, and their actions make it possible for others to do the important work they need to do in the background.”

“I do well in the background,” I said.

And she smiled and replied, “And I know you’re good at keeping things on schedule.”

As she walked away, I realized something about Shira. I’d thought that by making her a mechanic, I was making her unlike me. I’m not a hands-on hard-science building-things sort of person. I’d even been a bit nervous that someone might ask me something technical that I wouldn’t be able to answer.

But as Lenka had pointed out, as a mechanic, Shira was someone who had helped prepare the ship for this voyage. And as Captain Keevan had pointed out, Shira was someone who worked well in the background, supporting the people who were visible on the front lines.

In other words, Shira was the me I aspire to be, as a professional creative writer – not the person in the spotlight, but the person who makes it possible for other people to do well in the spotlight. The person who builds the world, who takes care of the details in the background, and who, if I’m doing my job right, goes unnoticed. You don’t notice a mechanic unless something breaks; when things go smoothly, you praise the captain. Similarly, you don’t notice a writer unless the dialogue is bad; when shows make you laugh and cry, you praise the actors and directors. That’s how it is. That’s the space I work well in and take pride in. Sure, I want people to know what I can do, and I want to get credit when I do a good job – so that I can continue to do this work that I love and make a living with it. I don’t dream about being a big flashy hero with crowds chanting my name. I want to be quietly essential.

I realized that Shira had an opportunity here – to learn to be that quiet, essential background player.

And as the show progressed, moments kept coming up that developed her story in that direction. When Lt. Croy ordered that a restraining bolt be put on beloved droid SK-620, Shira whispered to Sammie that he needed to go through it, despite the boos of the crowd, to keep the ship safe. The next day, Shira helped lure Lt. Croy and the stormtroopers downstairs to give Lenka and Saja Fen a chance to rescue SK. During the heist, Shira didn’t get one of the many “noisy distraction” jobs; instead, Raithe secretly passed Shira the gem, and she stood far away from the action, quietly keeping it safe while Captain Keevan ordered Raithe to turn out his pockets. Moment by moment, act by act, decision by decision, Shira was learning how much of an impact she could have on the galaxy from the background, even if – perhaps even because – most people didn’t know she was there doing the work that needed to be done.

Everything culminated in a scene that caught me off guard just as much in reality as in character. Shira wound up in the middle of the atrium, with a whole crowd of people’s eyes on her, telling Lt. Croy a series of objectively terrible lies.

It would be impossible for me to exaggerate how uncomfortable I am with improv. I’m fine with public speaking – I’m honestly pretty good at it – but I always prepare a lot in advance. If you’ve ever heard me say something cool, it’s because I spent at least ten minutes beforehand planning it out. I did not plan for this moment. And so, in that moment, even though I objectively knew that no real-world harm would come to me, my fear and Shira’s were one and the same. All I wanted to do was run away.

But I didn’t run away. I kept talking – babbling, really – because I had to keep Croy’s attention on me, so he wouldn’t turn around and see Raithe sneaking up to the mezzanine to steal the coaxium. Because that’s what Shira would have done, after everything she’d been through on that ship. She would play her part. She would make it possible for other people to do the more obviously important and visible job. And, as soon as the job was done and it was safe to do so, she would run away… straight towards Raithe, who promptly handed her the suitcase of coaxium. He knew he could trust her with it.

And me? I want to be trusted. I want to be someone that people can rely on. I may not literally want to be Shira Alderaani Khesed, but I want to have the kind of impact she had on the story unfolding around her, just by being me, hard at work in the background. Building worlds, preparing experiences, and keeping everyone around me on schedule. Relied on and appreciated by the people who matter most. Quietly essential to a life-changing experience, and given the chance to be so again, and again, and again. That’s the best version of me.

You wanna know the best part? Those two days I spent as Shira was not the only chance I had to be that best version of me. I now understand that the role that Shira played on the Halcyon was the role I played with Star Wars: Galactic Starcruiser. I see it now more clearly than ever before. We don’t often get the chance to see ourselves so clearly, and I am so grateful to this cast for helping me see. They gave me such a gift. They gave everyone who set foot on that ship the gift of getting to be – and to learn that we are – our best selves.

I know what I can do for others – for a creative team, for an audience, for the world. I want nothing more than to do it again, and again, and again.

Let’s do it again, together.

[quibbs126]

I didn’t really feel like drawing fankids today (or at least not now), so instead I drew some Ruby Cacao Cookie, a character I’ve been wanting to draw more of but never got around to

And she’s also the only one of the “ocs related to Dark Cacao” that I actually made to be an oc, not just a hypothetical character that just took up space in my brain

So I’ve fleshed out a few more details with Ruby Cacao, and I just want to say them

Not much to really say about the drawings themselves. The first one is just supposed to be Ruby being concerned over her brother, coming back with scratches all over him. She’s supposed to be somewhat strict on him, but given the dangers of the land, it’s pretty justified. As shown in the other picture, she tends to be kind to him

The bottom two pictures are just supposed to be that Gordon Ramsay meme, which also describes her herself, even if it is a slight exaggeration. Like I said, towards Dark Cacao she’s very kind and understanding, trying to support him even if he has trouble doing things (he’s like 5 here), and she’s always the one he goes to when he’s scared or in trouble. However, to everyone else in the tribe, they know her as being quick to anger, very aggressive and willing to commit violence on other children. Granted, part of the reason for her aggression is the fact that everyone else in the village tends to be mean to her little brother (which has a reason, but I’ll explain later), or they’ve basically given up on life and she’s fed up with them all. But regardless she does have a short temper and is quick to anger, as well as just very distrusting of people. Were she to have lived to meet the other Ancients, it’d take some time for her to warm up to them and trust them with her brother. (I realize she kinda sounds like an overprotective parent not letting their kid date someone and having to be won over for their blessing. If polyancients, then yes this would probably happen). Though also later in life she would have mellowed out some, as she’s learned not to just assume the worst of people and that there are good Cookies out there

So I alluded to me having made the backstory to the fate of their village and why it’s so run down, so I might as well talk about it. Basically, just blame the Licorice Sea. So basically, the Cacao Tribe lived right off the coast of the Licorice Sea, which also used to be farther inland, as there was less of a force pushing back on it. Years prior to the time shown here, around when Dark Cacao was baked, there was a major attack from the Licorice Sea on the Cacao Tribe, to which the warriors fought against bravely. In the end, the Cacao warriors were able to push the creatures back, but in the resulting carnage a lot of their village was destroyed and many, both warriors and innocent civilians, crumbled. To the rest of the tribes, this is where the Cacao Tribe met their end, in glorious battle to defend their people. However, they did manage to hold out, but their plight was not over, as soon after, a plague broke out amongst the (I don’t actually know what it does, but I imagine when it was visible, it showed up as splotches of licorice on the dough with it eventually turning the eyes dull. Also it was fatal. Maybe it culminated in the affected melting into licorice? I dunno), caused by the attack and overexposure to the Licorice monsters. As such, the warriors were the ones first affected by the plague, and since it was a slow acting sickness and people didn’t know about it, it quickly spread throughout the tribe. They had to cut themselves off from the rest of the world at that point, hence one reason the other tribes thought they all perished, and try to work out on their own how to stop it. The plague devastated the surviving population, and while a cure (or at least something to help fight off the disease for those who could be saved) was eventually found, by this point so many had succumbed to the disease that the population of the tribe was no more than 20 Cookies. After all the horrible death and misery that those survivors went though in such a short amount of time, they were basically all left severely traumatized and for most of the adults, it left them with a constant state of sorrow and hopelessness, wondering when death was coming for them, or why they were the ones left to survive, some even saying they should have all died when the rest of their tribe did. Dark Cacao and Ruby Cacao lived through this, however they were very young at the time, with Dark Cacao not remembering any of it. As such, he just doesn’t feel or understand that same sense of loss, especially since he still has his sister, and because of that other kids (and to some extent the adults) take out their feelings on him. Ruby Cacao is a bit older, and only vaguely remembers the end of the plague (both of them got the disease, but got it late enough that they weren’t too affected before the cure), but the others don’t pick on her because they know she fights back, and fights hard (she’s got abnormal strength like her brother)

Edit: oh yeah, another thing I wanted to mention but forgot, after making up this backstory, it made me consider making a fic where another Licorice Plague happens, but this time it’s in the aftermath of Episodes 13-14, since they have a pretty big Licorice Sea attack themselves. I think it sounds interesting, since while Dark Cacao knows what it is once he sees the visible symptoms and he’s the only one to have lived through an outbreak like this and knows that there is a cure, he was too young to actually remember any of it, only being told about it and not knowing all the details. So if the Citadel wants to find a cure before it causes devastation to their troops, we might have to do some memory magic stuff to find the answers, which could also lead into other characters learning of the past he keeps secret (if it was like a thing where someone else has to venture in his memories, I’d pick Caramel Arrow for the one to do it), which could be neat. Also, there’s the whole conflict of the fact that to keep the plague from spreading, they’d have to quarantine the entire Citadel, meaning they’d have to completely shut their gates once more, even though they just opened them up again after so long, which could plant fear and doubt back in to the minds of the citizens, and Dark Cacao doesn’t want to do that, but the alternative puts the entire kingdom at risk. I feel like there’s plenty of interesting concepts you could have with this, I’m just not very skilled at writing multi-chapter fics, so I don’t really know how to approach this

But eventually the tribe met their ultimate fate a few years later, when the Licorice Sea attacked the tribe once again, and as there were no warriors and most of them just wanted to die, and as such they and what remained of their village was swallowed up by the sea, with only a few survivors, that being those that still wanted to live and could escape the attack, which weren’t many, but included Dark Cacao and Ruby Cacao

What happened after I’ve already said, them living alone in the mountains (with Dark Cacao becoming more independent as there’s only two of them, so he feels he can’t just hide behind her and has to step up and do his part), Ruby meeting her tragic fate and what happened with Dark Cacao afterwards

I also had some ideas for what Ruby Cacao would look/be like if she had lived, mainly just in that while she uses a large sword like her brother and nephew now, she later ends up preferring dual daggers, sort of like what Caramel Arrow has, only it doesn’t turn into a bow. Also that when she’s a teenager, she wears a cloak made out of a snow lion’s pelt, along with other things made from its fur (Dark Cacao has some too). I’m thinking she’s more of a hunter than her brother. Were she to live, she’d probably go with him and the other Ancients on their journey, and (presumably) get a Soul Jam herself, probably a red one. I’d imagine she and her brother would end up joint ruling the kingdom, or if she doesn’t take ruling role, she’s at least got an important role in the kingdom. I imagine she and Dark Choco would get along, with Ruby Cacao thinking he reminds her of Dark Cacao when he was that young (and then probably teasing Dark Cacao about it, to his embarrassment). Don’t know if she’d have a kid of her own, but if she did they’d probably be named Ruby Choco Cookie.

But yeah, I think that about covers what I wanted to say

To be honest, I want to draw more on this page, so I might edit this later with more sketches and then details about what’s on that. Though most of what’s going through my head for ideas is just them when the Licorice Sea destroyed their village (the final time) and Ruby Cacao hypothetically older. Though I’m also considering drawing them during the Licorice Plague, aka very small Ruby and Dark

[starrbar]

Tagged by @tannoytalks!

To play, tag 9 people you want to get to know better or catch up with, and then answer the following questions:

Four Ships:

(Possible spoilers for the media each ship is from)

—–- Singed + Silco (Arcane): I'm actually so new to this ship, but my brain suddenly decided to hyperfixate on Singed, and Silco was already one of my favorites too, so just... dubiously united villain couple hello??

The fan fics I've read of them so far are delicious as fuck, and the artwork I've seen is juuuust amazing. Wholesome stuff, dark stuff. I love it all.

And I love the idea of Powder occasionally interacting with Singed, and like he's not really her dad (he's Viktor's heh), but he's still a second wise adult figure in her life, and he uses his thorough understanding of what makes Silco tick to help Powder with communicating with him (or hiding certain little things from him huehue).

Singed is the only character that Silco is never once seen so much as manipulating, let alone intimidating or threatening. I like to think Silco knows that Singed is kind of in a league of his own, and that if he tried to boss him around in the wrong way, Singed could very easily end him in his sleep. Or worse. :3

Though I don't think they hold any animosity towards each other. I don't see it as a very tense relationship. If anything, I like to imagine that they care about each other in some sort of way. Sure, it's partially because Silco provides the space, funds, and test subjects while Singed provides vital medical help and, well, Shimmer. But I'm a sap, so maybe there's a slight bit more there, I dunno!

—–- Misaka + Kuroko (A Certain Scientific Railgun): Listen. Surgically remove Kuroko's... egh, Problem. And you have an utterly gorgeous relationship.

OR, at the very least, actually do something with her obsessive nature! Tell a real story with it. I literally went through a similar (not sexual) thing in real life, and I have told the story of how I overcame it. I would ADORE seeing Kuroko remain problematic, but then grow past it, and learn to respect Misaka fully.

But if noooot... there's always the option to just get rid of it entirely because holy shit is Kuroko's admiration and trust in Misaka beautiful. The way Kuroko lays down her life for her, appears in an instant to aid her, forces herself not to pester her for days and weeks despite agonizing over whether Misaka is okay... The way she takes pride and comfort in doing those things for her, how she calls out her name lovingly while fighting for her. It touches my heart so much, man.

And Misaka, despite how often Kuroko annoys her, knows she can rely on her and be vulnerable around her. She values Kuroko's thoughts and cares how she feels about her, past all that Level 5 "Ace of Tokiwadai" stuff. She's protective of all her friends, of course, but I always imagine that she holds herself double responsible for Kuroko's safety. She's who she thinks of first, every time. Misaka recognizes when Kuroko is pushing herself too hard, and she softens in such a genuine, nurturing way to assure her that she can rest easy.

The level of dedication these two have for each other is wonderful, and how could I not ship them?

—–- Aizawa + Toshinori (My Hero Academia): Honestly, I like a lot of MHA ships, but this was my first OTP for that series, and it's simply because despite having a very prickly start, their relationship grows into this very gentle mutual respect and protectiveness of one another, and it's just... so cute! And it hurts me so much.

I've read a lot of fics, written a lot of roleplays, seen a lot of art, and watched a lot of AMVs. I feel such a deep heart-throbbing when I see them together. Caring, protecting, sacrificing, mourning, fighting, regretting, saving, comforting....

Sometimes I don't even know how to describe it, but I have cried over these two so many times. I want them to be happy. I want to see them suffer on the way there. I want them to recognize their own inner demons when they look into the other's eyes, and then commit to being better because of each other. I've seen them through every AU I could think of within—god, however many years I was in love with them. And I can still remember why.

—–- Rouxls Kaard + Spade King (Deltarune): So I find both of these characters unfairly attractive in many fanarts, and they are one of my favorite mutually toxic relationships.

I credit one of my friends and his amazing unfinished series about them for the way I now envision them and how they interact. Spade could likely be called abusive simply due to his violent nature and power over Rouxls (both physical and social), but Rouxls is a manipulative, lying little weasel who is using Spade as much as Spade is using him.

Neither one of them have a damn clue how to treat another person right, though they both try and succeed (more often than not) with Lancer. Perhaps it's his innocence in all this, but unlike their terrible, broken relationship with each other, their relationships with Lancer are actually strong and outwardly loving.

Spade isn't nearly as aggressive with him as everyone else, he does what he thinks will make his son happy, and while he may sometimes be clipped, he isn't dismissive. Meanwhile, Rouxls tells himself Lancer is not his son and shouldn't be his responsibility, but dammit he loves the kid anyway! Lancer's smile brightens his day, and Rouxls will even risk getting himself in trouble with the king in order to give Lancer happiness. He puts off his own wants for him, does what he can to comfort him when he's sad, and frets QUITE heavily about his safety (albeit that one has a double-motive—obviously the king would kill his dumb ass if Lancer got hurt under his watch, but that's beside the point, he sayeth!)

Anyway yeah, Dad and Lesser Dad plz.

I can't overstate how much I love seeing fiction depict complex, nuanced relationships with plenty of toxic elements to examine. It's a way to relate some of their traits to my past mistakes, or even my current flaws. It helps me understand myself better. Also it's hot! x3

And really wholesome if the characters manage to actually improve themselves and start showing real affection and care for each other.

Last Song:

Gomenne Gomenne by Kikuo (My favorite versions are sung by Teto and Kyo V3)

Currently Reading:

Started reading Singed-centric fan fiction, including an adorable fic where Powder shows him her Minecraft world, a dark one where he tortures a test subject, and a delightfully tense one where Silco demands to be burned.

Last Movie:

Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves.

It was actually a genuinely awesome time and I didn't expect it to keep my attention like it did. Great mix of funny and serious! I enjoyed it a lot!

Craving:

Need Singed torture fics or roleplays,,,, I'm offering up my Kib for the slaughter lmao.

Tagging @blackheart-biohazards @thatwordybirb @beeelzybuth @fedorarapture @technicolorgrayscale @perchling @roxalew @50kal179 @spicytree67 (Only if y'all want, ofc!!)

[hangmanbradshaw]

Okay, this chapter must have altered my brain chemistry for real, because there is no other explanation for me to having experienced so many emotions whilst reading.

From the very beginning, can we talk about how everything in Jake’s home and routine reminds him of Bradley, because it is actually thanks to Bradley that that place stopped being just the place he slept at and became an actual home, with little memories and little signs of habits scattered everywhere? No, because I think I could write an actual dissertation about it.

And Javy -my man- immediately seeing through Jake’s trying to brush off the thing with a “it was for the best” 💖💖. Have I already told you how much I love the secondary characters? Probably, but I’ll repeat it because really, they are just awesome! I love Nat’s bluntness, hers not taking b*****t from anyone and saying things how they are; Javy and Cassie’s loving but not suffocating presence; Nick and Carole -who have won parenting at this point-, who show their support when they know its needed and genuinely care, but at the same time are gracious enough not to meddle and let the kids figure stuff out themselves; Harvard and his lovable himbo energy (I would have never imagined to say lovable and himbo in the same sentence, but here we are).

The way you got them back together is just perfect, because it wasn’t some tacky musical rom-com grand gesture, it was an actual open heart confused conversation in which they finally let it all out…or part of it, the rest was spoken in bed and that was so perfect too. And the fact that the secrets they kept and mistakes they made (not telling about Nick and the break up to provide a scoop) were both attempts to protect the other 💔? That’s some tragically poetic stuff right there. They are so perfect for each other, even and maybe especially because they make mistakes...and I am about to get emotional. Again.

I cannot wait to read what will happen next in this story and in the wonderful sequel ideas you have talked about! Especially the IceMav, my beloveds, wedding, because, just from the scene in which the agents tries -and succeeds- to knock some sense into Jake, it’s clear that they are both all and that makes me so happy! Even if it is a couple decades later than what it could have been, it’s so beautiful 💙. I also love the possibility of Bradley and Jake going international simply because it would be fun watching them perhaps in Europe, somewhere I might be familiar with. Plus, here most of us don't care about american football, so no paparazzi to be worried about.

Uhm, for Fanboy’s dating show, can we like sign up? Asking for a friend.

HEHEHEHEHEHE you've come to the right place because I COULD TALK ABOUT THIS ALL DAY. There's SO much to be said about the home aspect- Jake deciding what that meant for him, Bradley helping him make his house into a home. His influence scattered around the space. How going forward, they're going to do that intentionally. Bradley never expected Jake to mold to fit into his already created home, but instead helped Jake build his own?

THANK YOUUUUU omg I love the secondary characters. They're so important, the people that you fill your life with influence you so much and having a support system, and Jake realizing those people are all his family he's choosing, I just! They deserve their times to shine so I can't wait to play around with them more in the sequels and one shots and stuff!

Thank you omg. I honestly wanted to focus more on just the human aspects of this story rather than angst for angst's sake. Two people learning how to love and be in love is complicated enough, and having those realistic moments where they just have to talk it out.

YES EXACTLY! They're gonna go to Europe (still deciding where) and have a little romantic vacay and it's gonna be great cuz no one is gonna care or know who he is so they can just be normal and get up to shenanigans.

Fanboy's show is taking applications- they're currently open.

I have this ridiculous idea about doing a little one shot of an episode of the show, where he brings the guys in to help with the 'date' and you get the little camera confessionals. Bradley's like 'why am I here again' and Harvard's like taking it ridiculously seriously lmao

[brainmuncher]

I'm not going to shame anyone for how they consume media, but this reminds me of some things I think about often.

I completely agree if this is about when some writing has those huge paragraphs with no breaks. In my typography class, we were given multiple reasons why those can be hard to read and encourage someone to pay less attention to the text.

Intimidation

Seeing a huge block of text can be seriously intimidating. When you see a giant block it is easier to see it as a lot of words to read and instinctively want to skim over it instead of actually reading it. When you space out the words it tricks the brain into thinking that it has fewer words than there really are.

Not only that, but you can use those breaks to highlight a point that you want the reader to pay attention to.

Breaking up the text will make the reader feel less overwhelmed by words and encourage them to read over the whole text. For instance, imagine you have two plates in front of you. One has a foot-long sandwich on it and the other has six finger sandwiches on it. Which one do you think would be easier to eat the whole plate?

2. Hard to find information and retain it

Without breaks in a text, it can be hard to find and retain the information within it. If you're making a giant text block sandwich describing the main character, then describing the surroundings, and then lastly what they're doing, there is a good chance that they will mostly only remember the beginning part.

After that, it can become easy for the reader to go on and realize that there is something integral that they missed and have to reread it over and over. Rereading a text multiple times like this can not only aggravate the reader but also exhaust them.

At that point, they will be taking in even less of the information fed to them and be less connected to the work.

I find that trying to limit how many different points you make within a single paragraph can make it easier to find the information later. If there are too many within one paragraph then it can become muddy and hard to find the information you need.

3. Exhaustion

It can be physically and mentally taxing to read giant blocks of text. Without any breaks, it can strain your eyes to figure out where you are on the page. Not to mention that it is harder to not mix up sentences and words within it. It's not accessible to all readers and will alienate disabled readers.

My professor was always very serious about accessibility in our work. If it isn't available for everyone then it will bring the quality of the product down. Blocks of text are hard for even an abled person to read, never mind someone with dyslexia, vision problems, or any other number of things that can make reading harder.

Making something hard to read will only exhaust the reader. Mental exhaustion is a killer in reading. I'll be talking about it more below.

The other way that I took this and the comments attached is that they don't like to sit and read for long periods and skip or skim over the text to finish it faster.

If you find that you do this for reading then there is a good chance that you either

A) Don't like to read as much as you think you do if this is a common occurrence. (I'd recommend trying an audiobook version if you still want to read the book.)

B) Are reading a book that is at a higher reading level than you.

C) Aren't interested in that book.

D) Are mentally exhausted.

Both B and D are signs that you need a break from reading. Whenever I catch myself starting to skim over my book instead of reading it, I take a break and do something else. When I come back to it later, I'm usually in a better space to read the paragraphs fully instead of skimming.

You don't need to push yourself into reading if you aren't feeling up to it. If you have to read it for school or something, try to take breaks whenever you can! It can seriously help you keep away from burning yourself out.

The best way to hate a book is by forcing yourself to read it. I'm so serious about this.

Forcing yourself through the exhaustion to keep on reading something can not only burn you out but also disconnect you from what you are reading. Reading a book when you are in the right headspace for it compared to when you force yourself through it is an entirely different experience.

Remember to take breaks and also break your paragraphs.

Do they know that reading is not mandatory? Nobody is forcing them to read?

[decepti-thots]

Hello! So, I had a dream in which instead of Megatron it was Optimus/Orion who joined the Lost Light. And I’ve been thinking about it... how different would everything turn out? Megatron staying on Cybertron and confronting decepticons (because I believe he would have joined the autobots in this AU?? too) and maybe even going to Earth along with Prowl, Arcee and co, his conflict with Starscream (and Windblade?), his conflict with humans after AHM (awkwaaaard), trying to redeem himself but kind of failing (like remember Optimus annexing the Earth?).

And Orion (who may or may not become a co-captain) dealing with his deeds (because he, too, directly or indirectly killed a lot of people), Brainstorm maybe actually trying to kill him instead of Megatron, Rodimus vs. Optimus, Getaway’s conflict with him (he (believed) that he was “worthy” of the Matrix, after all).

There’s just so much that can be explored!

first off, you guys continue to have way cooler dreams than me, and i continue to be jealous.

second of all, i get that you probably meant this from an in-universe perspective, but my brain immediately jumps to 'what if Megatron was in exRiD and Orion was in MTMTE/LL', which tbh is something i have thought about before, haha. the way the storylines on Cybertron vs the LL go is so tied not just to in-universe plot events but also the genres those comics are in and the approaches they take, it's hard for me to imagine without considering that element.

some not-very-connected thoughts i have, given all the above:

barber is a loooot less sentimental than jro about many TF characters. i don't say this as a value judgement, just an observation. in particular, his approach to OP as a Big Iconic Character TM in exRiD is to make OP central to the lives of other characters and explore his impact on them, rather than necessarily making OP a very conventional protagonist. which definitely fits with a ton of what you bring up here, and ESPECIALLY the stuff re: humans on Earth if Megatron was there, rather than off in space. the entire element of what atrocities Megatron committed during the war mostly being towards non-cybertronians by numbers that gets brought up in EC becomes a lot less hypothetical and lot more immediate with Megatron on Earth. i think that's a storyline for Megatron that would have a very ambiguous tone and be a lot more about how other characters feel about him than in MTMTE/LL, where much of the focus comes from his perspective more directly.

i think megatron-prowl would have been a FASCINATING parallel in this context btw. AND megatron-arcee. honestly, i think megatron would have fit into exRiD surprisingly well thematically. arcee, prowl and megatron in IDW all represent different questions about surprisingly similar themes IMO: culpability, change, agency over your circumstances and actions, and exploitation vs. being explioited. and prowl-megatron especially is very personal, and really brings into focus the 'war left every side with dirty bullshit to deal with', versus arcee having been largely uninvovlved and having a very different outsider perspective, so.

by contrast i feel somewhat less enthusiastic about OP in the LL? partly because I am not sure jro is great at committing to IDW OP as flawed. i won't get too into it here because one day i really want to write meta about it, but the backstory jro fleshed out for OP (the 'one good hero cop' stuff we see first in Chaos Theory and then in Shadowplay, etc) has always been one of the weaker parts of phase two for me. also, I don't think OP fits as well into the themes of MTMTE/LL as megs does for exRiD… there's a lot about what it means to make significance in your life when you have become insignificant, but OP never actually becomes insignificant in IDW. he sort of… tries to, and the issue he has is that he fails. imo anyway.

still, there's definitely some interesting possibilities. for a start, the rodimus-OP stuff would be WILD. the chance to really address some of that Autocracy stuff is so tantalizing, and something there was just never room for anywhere else. likewise the Getaway stuff you mention, especially regarding the MTO subtext coming full bore with the guy who approved that for the autobots right there. OP is not just the guy who has the matrix, he's ALSO the guy who approved the program which created getaway AND the guy who presumably approved it being so… you know. awful and a war crime and all that. (i would totally love a version of events where getaway preys on roddy's insecurities re: OP to depose him, only to turn on roddy himself.)

anyway jkfhjss yeah it's very interesting!! i will say, i didn't mention the starscream-windblade stuff because i genuinely am not sure where i think that would go... mostly because there are kind of two versions of those plots in idw and they have, imo, very different starscreams in particular. barber and scott were kind of telling different stories, especially re: that history with starscream, so... idk.

[fandomlovingfreak]

Glacial Passion (6/?)

Regulus Black/Reader

Rating: SFW, T+, NO LEMON

Trigger Warning: Arranged Marriage

Word Count: 1991

MasterList Link I AO3 Link I Wattpad Link

Summary: Glacial, cold, icy… all words that described Regulus Black’s grey eyes. Was there truly no emotion behind those eyes, or did a caring man exist beneath? Could she defrost those glacial eyes?

Disclaimer: Regulus Black (Walburga Black, Orion Black, and Sirius Black) is a character from Harry Potter by J.K. Rowling. Reader or y/n is not owned by Rowling. This work has not been created for profit or financial compensation, and is a transformative fair use work in accordance with Section 107 of the United States Copyright Act.

Notes: No real notes today! I hope you enjoy. This story took a “lighter tone” than I expected (at least I hadn’t expected it to, maybe you did ! aha!) but I actually like writing happier stories so I guess my brain just went “cowabummer bro, you’re writing some happy fiction even if you didn’t want to”

Enjoy

***

"Where are we going?" (y/n) asks. 

Regulus felt a bit relieved that (y/n) agreed to come along on his little surprise trip. After last night, which he now realized was a complete mistake, he wasn't sure that his wife would willingly agree to go out in public with him. Especially if he promised some sort of surprise.

She hadn't asked him any questions until they were walking outside, her arm tucked nicely within his. Like it was meant to be there.

"If I told you, it would ruin the surprise." Regulus glances over at his wife. She's got a deep frown on her face. It doesn't exactly mar her beautiful face, but it reminds him a bit too much of his mother's annoyed expression. "Just trust me."

Her little huff of annoyance he decides is enough of a response.

Regulus tries to think of Sirius's advice. Get to know (y/n), even the small things he personally thought were unnecessary to know about a person-- moot things about her. And in turn, be vulnerable enough to share small things back.

"So-- uh, (y/n)."

"Yes?" she looks at him with confusion in her eyes.

"I thought we ought to try and start fresh."

"Fresh?"

"I don't know how else to move from here if we don't have a clean slate."

"I hardly think that would work."

Merlin-- "(y/n)," he stops, halting her as well, "I said I would try to give you what you want. If you shut me down, there's no chance I can."

She gives him a look, "Regulus--"

"Listen," he inhales, collecting himself, "I'm not good at this. You'll have to be patient with me, but I'm willing to figure this out. And I probably won't--" He pauses, "I probably will mess up, a lot. But, please. Give me a chance."

(y/n) studies his face, "Okay."

"Okay?"

"I understand that I'm asking you to step outside of your comfort zone, and I appreciate that you're being open with me."

Regulus smiles, muttering, "Sirius was right." Under his breath.

"What?" (y/n) asks.

"Nothing." Regulus takes her hand in his, "this can be like our first date."

(y/n) smiles, amused, "this is silly--"

"I was serious last night that I will try."

"No pretending. You swear you will not pretend with me?"

"That's why I am asking that we start fresh. Give me a chance. I'm not good at this-- relationships. I need time and patience."

She seems to contemplate his words, "Okay. But--"

"Yes?"

(y/n) looks down at her feet for a moment before looking at him again, "If we're going to-- start over, it needs to be slower."

"Slower?" He frowns. What the devil is she talking about, slower?

"I mean," (y/n) purses her lips, "I mean that it has to feel like we're actually starting a new relationship."

Regulus chuckles, "you want me to court you?"

(y/n) smiles, "if those are the words you think describes what we are trying to do, then yes. I think I would like you to court me."

Now he feels silly making the suggestion because he has no idea what courting entails. He can barely flirt!

"I mean-- I can try."

(y/n) grins. He's at a loss for words. Not once in the time he's known her-- been married to her, has he seen her look this happy. Clearly, Sirius's advice was half-decent. For the first time since (y/n) walked down the aisle towards him, he felt something. Hopefully, the beginning of something great between them.

***

"You brought me to— the Eiffel tower?" (Y/n) looks up towards the cloudy sky.

Regulus flushes, "It's not just the Eiffel Tower."

(Y/n) laughs, "it looks like it's just the Eiffel Tower—"

"Just—"Regulus lets out a frustrated sound, "it's more than that." He pulls her towards one of the legs of the metal tower. He supposes that enough muggles are wandering around that they wouldn't notice the disappearance of the young couple. He pulls his wand out of thin air, tapping where the witch at the hotel told him to. The metal of the tower seems to melt and twist, magically revealing an entrance.

"What—"(y/n) grips his hand tighter, "I had no idea."

"Neither did I. It's called Caché à la Vue," Regulus grins, "c'mon, Mrs. Black."

They walk through the entrance, the metal contorting back into shape behind them.

In front of them, a bustling street moves around them. Wizards and Witches bustle around carrying cauldrons, brooms, and colorful bags holding other wizarding tools. A group of young girls rushes by, giggling in their blue Beauxbaton school uniforms. 

"Oh— it feels like Diagon Alley," (y/n) comments as she steps closer to him, her shoulder bumping his arm as she squeezes his hand.

Regulus nods, keeping her close as they walk further into the crowd.

"I didn't expect it to be like this," he glances at (y/n). She's looking around with interest at the many shops and people. 

"Let's go in here," she's pulling him towards a shop that smells of lavender and sage. The shop is small but comforting with its earthy color scheme and almost luminescent glow. 

"Oh wow," (y/n) detaches herself from him for the first time since crossing into Caché à la Vue. Regulus watches her poke around the shop, always keeping a two-foot distance from her.

(y/n) seems to notice the hovering, "Why are you-- being so weird?" She's got an amused smile on her face. Regulus tries to relax, stepping a foot closer.

"I'm just giving you space."

"Don't you want to look too?" (y/n) beckons him closer, reaching for his hand. He obliges his wife, letting her point out small trinkets and items. 

***

The busy street of Caché à la Vue frames Regulus as I sit across from him. Once we had explored nearly every shop on the busy street, Regulus had tugged me towards one of the little Bistros, mumbling about it being a recommendation or something of that sort. I didn't fight his insistence to stop and eat. I hadn't had much for breakfast or lunch back at the hotel.

The afternoon hadn't been awful. In fact, I was enjoying myself more than I expected. It only partly-- honestly, completely, had to do with the sudden changes in how Regulus and I interacted. He suddenly was more sociable and curious about who I was. Which was sort of confusing, but at this moment, I felt more confident in our marriage. That maybe we did have a chance to fall in love, or even just co-exist happily together. If co-existing was all that could come from this, then I wished it to be at least a peaceful union.

Yet, I want to know him as much as he seems to suddenly want to know me, so I ask questions about his childhood and his life. At first, he seems reserved to answer some of my inquiries, making me more curious about the information he is holding back from me. 

"So--" I set down my teacup, "how was it like growing up in Grimmauld Place?"

This seems to be another question he hesitates over as he stares down at his plate for a full thirty seconds, making me nervous.

"Do you want the truth?"

I stiffen. The tone of his voice has me wondering if it was a good question to ask after all, "I would if you don't mind answering."

Regulus takes another moment to collect his thoughts, "I don't really remember much before going to school. My parents are-- you can probably tell they are not the friendliest of people." The understatement of the century. "They weren't good parents, if I'm being honest."

"What do you mean?" I suddenly feel uncomfortable as I continue down this path.

"(y/n), maybe this isn't a conversation for public." Merlin, that only makes me want to press for more information, but the look on his face tells me all I need to know at this moment. He will tell me the truth, but if he's more comfortable doing so behind closed doors, who am I to push him for an answer right now?

"Is it that bad?" I do feel a bit sick over how he's reacting to this question.

He looks down at his hands before looking back at me. His eyes are back to the icy grey I know so well. "It's not great." I have to look away from his eyes. "Do you know I have an older brother?"

"But--" Regulus is the Heir? How could he have--?

"Sirius was disowned when he was sixteen, effectively passing the burden of the House of Black to me."

"Do you still-- are you still in contact with him--Sirius?"

"I am, but privately. Walburga wouldn't approve. She likes to think that Sirius never existed in the first place."

"That's horrible!" I couldn't imagine pretending one's child never existed-- "what did Sirius do?"

"He ran away after refusing-- well refusing to do what we have done, I suppose." I stare at Regulus, shocked.

"I mean, he didn't-- doesn't believe in the Pureblood idealogy."

I pause, reflecting for a moment on his words. Is he saying Sirius ran away when his parents tried to make a match between himself and some Pureblood girl?

"Are you saying he ran away from an arranged marriage?" Regulus nods.

Merlin's-- He was only sixteen? "Your parents, they really tried to-- he was so young--?"

Regulus nods, "Too young, I know." Not that I felt the ages we were are any more acceptable, but sixteen? He would've been in the middle of school! Just a kid!

"I can't blame him for running away--" I let the words slip without thinking, quickly feeling guilty for saying such a thing to the man I'm married to. The man I married for the same reason his brother left the exclusive circle we exist within. "No offense, of course--" 

Instead of looking offended or getting angry, how I expect, Regulus laughs. A real genuine laugh.

"It's not that funny, Regulus!" The words had just slipped out of my mouth before my brain processed my rudeness.

"You are exactly like Sirius. It's freakish." He grins.

"What does that mean?" I'm hopeful he's complimenting me.

Regulus takes my hand in his over the table, "You just remind me of him. Both of you are unapologetically yourselves. I envy that."

I want to tell him I'm nothing like his brother. Sirius was able to leave the life we grew up in. I clearly didn't have the balls to leave. But, I don't want to say that, not when we're getting along so well right now. 

"You can be unapologetically yourself, Regulus."

His smile is small as he looks down at our intertwined fingers, "I'm afraid I can't be. At least not publically."

"I can't exactly be publically myself either, especially now, but maybe in private, yeah? When it's just us."

He gently lifts my hand up to tenderly press a kiss to my knuckles. My breath hitches at the suddenness of his actions, and I feel suddenly warm. "When it's just us." His agreement, the tone of his voice when he agrees-- it's incredibly intimate.

Dumbly, I nod. Regulus smiles, kindness reaching his eyes and thawing out the ice they held earlier.

After a beat of silence, one I could not find words to fill, Regulus speaks. "Was there anything else you wanted to see?"

I find my voice, at last, saying I did not believe so. 

***

I felt delirious with desire watching her squirm after my lips left her knuckles. 

Something about (y/n) fascinated me and made me want her, all of her. I knew she felt the same way, even after the way our relationship started. I could tell by the way her lips parted and her breath hitched that she felt that spark between us. 

That spark gave me some hope that everything was going to turn out just fine.

[cutemisto]

class 1A goes to pride

some 1A headcanons (plus some teachers lol) abt them going to pride and loving it !!

warning: longgggg post

·       Yagi is so awkward bc he doesn’t know what to do ???

·       Eventually he musters up the courage to buy himself a pan flag and wear it as a cape

·       Aizawa and Yamada go together and accidentally run into their students

·       Aizawa is dressed pretty lowkey

·       Meanwhile Yamada is in full pride regalia

·       Platforms, booty shorts, crop top, suspenders, more pins than strictly necessary

·       He’s living his best life

·       The whole of 1A is there except for Kouda and Tokoyami

·       The atmosphere of pride is a bit much for them so they stay at the dorms and eat the rainbow cupcakes Satou made

·       Mina does facetime them for a little bit so they can experience the festival from a safe distance

·       Ochako is texting them so many pictures

·       No cops at pride, only Shouji

·       Hitoshi and Kirishima have both been to pride before and are all about it

·       Of course erasermic would take their son are you kidding ???

·       And Kiri’s moms had this boy in a stroller as they walked around

·       It’s one of his earliest memories

·       Izuku is SO EXCITED

·       He’s got bi flags on his cheeks and one of those “be a nice human” shirts on

·       Todoroki bleached and dyed the red half of his hair rainbow

·       He is unironically wearing rainbow pants he found somewhere

·       Aoyama did his makeup

·       His scar is now a galaxy

·       He’s never been so happy with his appearance

·       Ochako wears her flag like a cape and high fives everyone else who does the same

·       (Yagi is so happy when he gets a high five, but also a bit sheepish)

·       She tried to get Iida to put confetti in his engines so they’d fire out glitter whenever they were on

·       He said no

·       Bummer

·       Iida does not have a label for his sexuality but he does wear his pronouns (he/him) on a pin to help with normalizing it and giving courage to his friends

·       He also brings water and snacks to make sure everyone stays healthy (Momo and Tsuyu do this too)

·       (Also Bakugou but he’ll deny it)

·       Tsu uses they/she pronouns interchangeably and wears them on her shirt like a badge of honor

·       She also has fashioned a lesbian flag into a skirt

·       Lesbian themed flower crown as well bc cottagecore vibesssss

·       She would bring her siblings if they asked

·       WAIT OKAY IMAGINE ERI GOING ONCE SHE GETS A LITTLE BRAVER

·       Anyways lol

·       Hagakure turns herself into modern art

·       She is the color spectrum

·       She’s also wearing so many glow sticks ???

·       Ojirou also has glow sticks around his tail and he’s got a crown of them

·       He wears white so he can have people sign/write messages on his clothes so he has a memorial of the event

·       Satou is chugging sodas and slushie’s and he’s cheering so loud at the parade

·       He’s singing along to all the songs and dancing way harder than he needs to but everyone is into it

·       He’s started so many dance circles on accident

·       JIROU IS A USELESS LESBIAN

·       Girls in tank tops and crop tops and booty shorts and gogo boots ???

·       Her brain is mush

·       Imagine her when she sees Momo, the most beautiful woman EVER, all dressed up for pride in her cute dress

·       She’s dead

·       She’s buried

·       Help her

·       Anyways lmao Jirou has turned the goth meter up to maximum

·       She really said Plus Ultra

·       She goes home with many phone numbers and several new friends!

·       She also plays some music with a street performer or two and it’s amazing

·       Kaminari wears a binder with the trans flag on it and no other shirt

·       Platform shoes? Platform shoes!

·       Sero has little space buns with NB-themed glitter in their hair (courtesy of Mina)

·       Sero is body glitter central

·       It’s not their body glitter, it’s Aoyama’s

·       (Aoyama is also body glitter central btw)

·       Them in heeled boots? Yes yes yes yes yes

·       Mina is the peak of alt fashion

·       She has a pan flag temporary tattooed onto her thigh

·       How are her heels that high? Girlboss powers bby

·       Kiri went on a speech about how manly it is to unapologetically live as your true self and got too excited and accidently ruined his shirt with his quirk so uh no more shirt lol

·       Baku is like the most lowkey dressed with only a rainbow bracelet bc he’s just like that lol

·       (if the bakusquad really wanted him to he would eventually give in and dress up)

·       I will make four companion posts to this:

·       One for the heroes

·       One for the bakusquad

·       One for the dekusquad

·       And one for my personal identity headcanons for a good chunk of the characters

[utakoi]

Office Yandere HCs

Pairings: Assistant!Izuku Midoriya, Investor!Shoto Todoroki, Chauffeur!Hitoshi Shinso x Boss!Fem!reader

Summary: Ever wonder what it would be like to be the boss of some office yanderes and basically have a harem? Well, look no further, cause here it is!

Warnings: smut !!18+ ONLY!! (spunking in food + masturbation + dirty thoughts + oral), yandere themes (noncon)

A/N: Bc my brain kept me up at night with this concept and has made it’s final decision on turning a one shot I was in the middle of writing into a series, I decided to write some messy hcs to take a lil breather from long works (evn tho this is kinda long already). Also, if you think this is the last you’ll hear about office yanderes, no no no, I have some other thoughts for other characters

Assistant!Midoriya Izuku

He is over the moon to hold a position that’s the closest to you

Out of your entire yandere office harem, he gets to spend the most time with you

He also definitely has an advantage since he practically schedules your entire day

For example, Shoto constantly tries to schedule one-on-one meetings with you in the guise of it being a matter of business, but Izuku cock blocks him by filling your day with a bunch of other events in order to make the meetings as short as possible, and sometimes, even cuts them out completely

He doesn’t like doing it often tho since he knows you can get too stressed with too much going on so he reluctantly has to give away some time for you to meet with the other yanderes (he’s still kind of a sweet and considerate bby as a yandere)

Will not give you personal space

Stands close to you during meetings, constantly visits your office to work (even tho his personal office is right next to yours), etc etc

Even if you don’t ask him to, he will fetch your meals and give you snacks throughout the day because he wants to take care of you and show how sweet he is (also because he wants you to imagine how good of a boyfriend he’d be if you just gave him a chance)

Now let’s get to the part that just popped up into my mind and inspired this entire post: if he can hide his cum somewhere in your food, he will do it

That coffee he gave you that tasted a little salty? Izuku spunked inside it.

The sandwich he bought that seemed to have more mayo than usual? He spunked in that, too

Whatever you think doesn’t taste right, it’s definitely because of Izuku

// // // // //

Izuku is thankful for his job because of two specific things: he gets to interact with you for most of the day and his office has a built in personal bathroom.

If he were to be forced to use the regular employee restroom, his lewd acts would have been exposed immediately by anyone who happened to walk in; he was never the best at holding his moans and grunts while jacking himself off after all.

In the privacy of his own bathroom, he could be as loud as he wants with both his breathy, pleasure-ridden voice and the slick sounds of him stroking his lube-covered cock. In fact, he’s even trying to be as loud as possible. 

Since your office is right next to his, there’s a small chance that you may be able to hear him through the walls. He can visualize you entering his office, concern decorating your features, wondering what he could possibly be doing to make such noises. If you were to open his bathroom door, you’d be met by the sight of Izuku sitting on the lid of the toilet, his hand vigorously pumping up and down his shaft. 

And he wouldn’t stop.

He’d just keep going, all the while staring at you right in the eye. He wonders what you’d do then. Would you just stay frozen at your spot, being unable to take your eyes off of him? Or maybe you’d get on your knees, completely turned on and ready to have a taste of his cum? What if you were actually more dominant than he thought and you’d just dig your heels into his dick, punishing him for slacking off his job by not letting him find release?

Fuck, any of those scenarios would be fine by him. 

Unfortunately, as he gets close to reaching his peak, you don’t come into his office at all. That’s alright, though.

He’ll just settle with spunking into your coffee, for now.

Investor!Shoto Todoroki

Needs your attention

Like I said earlier, Shoto will keep trying to schedule meetings with you in the guise of it being a matter of business 

really, he just wants to spend time with you

During the meetings, he will also try to convince you to fire Izuku so that he can get rid of who he deems as someone deliberately keeping the two of you apart (which, for once, is a pretty spot on theory from Shoto)

Will try to spoil you with gifts and make excuses or pass it off as a casual thing so you don’t reject it or deem it as inappropriate for a workplace relationship

The beautiful bouquet of flowers? He was buying flowers for his mother on the way over and  the flower shop had a 2 for 1 deal so why not?

These gourmet chocolates? A fellow business partner of his gave him a box as thanks for his investment. Unfortunately, he’s allergic to one of the ingredients, but it would just be a waste to throw them out, no?

This exquisite diamond necklace? weLL-

You get the point (also, these gifts are definitely inspired by romance movies he saw his sister watching while growing up cuz oof he did not know any means of romance until he met you)

He aims to schedule his meetings with you around lunch time so that he has an excuse to treat you for lunch

He loves providing for you AKA he loves providing for you and showing off how he has the means to take care of you (much like Izuku)

If you were to become his wife, you wouldn’t have to work another day in your life

You can just stay at home and relax

Maybe you can even cook him breakfast and pack lunch for him before he works

That’s basically his dream

He wants you to stay home, waiting for your sweet husband to come back from work

Basically, he’ll take care of your every need, and he means EVERY need

// // // // //

It’s one of those nights again.

Shoto can’t sleep because he’s plagued by thoughts of you. Today, you weren’t able to meet him for lunch because you already had a flood of other appointments to attend (he was willing to bet his entire fortune that it’s because of your stupid assistant’s scheduling that you weren’t able to make it). 

So, needless to say, he was pent up. He can only hop that you fall in love with him sooner. Did his charms just not work on you? Do you not like the cool stoic type? Maybe he just wasn’t giving you the right gifts. Were they not expensive enough to impress you? Not expensive enough to show he could provide for you?

He knows he can take care of you so well. You would never have to work another day in your life. You can just stay home, surrounded by luxurious gifts and servants who’ll be at your beck and call while you wait for his return. 

And once he actually did come home after a long day of work? You’d be bathed in affection. Kisses, hugs, cuddles... and more.

You’d want him just as much as he wants you, right? 

His poor wife, lonely and deprived of the one person she loves for such long hours. He’s got to show that he’s sorry for neglecting you. 

Pushing you down onto the bed, he’d run his hands all over your body, massaging your shoulders, pinching your hardening nipples, brushing over your sensitive thighs... And since he’s also quite needy, he’d be grinding down his still-clothed cock on your pussy, showing off that he’s missed you, too.

Shoto doesn’t even think he’d have the patience to take off your clothes. He’d just keep dry humping you, desperate for his own release. The thin cloth preventing the both of you from making actual skin-on-skin contact would make such great friction. He can practically feel it now.

... And yup, the feeling was definitely not just from his imagination. Without even needing to glance down, Shoto already knows that his thoughts of you has caused him to pop a boner. 

Hopefully, a quick jerk off session can tire him out enough to fall asleep, but with how much his hard cock throbbed, he doubted it.

Chauffeur!Hitoshi Shinso

2nd most envied out of your office harem for his job (he’s right next to Izuku)

Why? Well 1 - he gets one on one time with you daily and 2 - that one on one time is him and you in an enclosed space

Sure, he may not get as much time with you as the others, but he sure makes the best use of it

He’ll be chatting you up, getting to know you personally in order to make the atmosphere less awkward between the two of you (tbh, because he gives off standoffish and cold vibes, y’all are gonna be kinda tense when he’s just gotten his job as a chauffeur)

and he does it so discreetly

He’ll start the conversation of lightly, talking about the weather, how busy you’re going to be that day...

and then somehow it just transitions onto friendlier and more personal topics such as your favorite places to eat, what hobbies you’ve been trying out lately, etc

And he uses that info to his advantage

If he senses that you’re feeling stressed or down, he will drive you over to your favorite places and remind you that you should relax

But not only does he get brownie points for that, but would you really be so mean as to make him wait for you while you eat a meal or walk around the mall when he’s the one who’s trying so hard to cheer you up?

Of course not, you’re going to invite him and thank him for considering how you’re feeling

And if not, well, that’s okay, too, he understands (so long as he gets his brownie points)

As the boss of your own company, you’d often be asked out to meetings or social gatherings that involve drinking

Shinso’s always there whenever you get shit faced, and happily so

You’re drunk and you’re not gonna remember it the next morning, anyway... so why would he waste such a golden opportunity?

// // // // //

Shit, you feel great on his body.

Currently, Shinso is living out one of the best moments of his life. He’d come to pick you up from a drinking session with some investors and was ecstatic to find you drunk out of your mind. Hell, you could barely even slur out your orders for him to drive you home. Now, you’re pressed up against him as he holds you up and guides you to the car. 

Testing out the waters, he cheekily squeezes the flesh of your ass. If you were conscious enough to reprimand him for it, then he could easily just apologize and pass it off as an accident since you were stumbling around so much. 

And if you didn’t mention anything... well then, that was the single indicator he needed to know that you wouldn’t remember anything once you woke up in the morning. 

To his delight, you barely reacted to his touch and even let out a high-pitched giggle at his actions. As quickly as he possibly could, he opens up the back of the limousine and pushes you inside. You plop down onto the seat with a huff, completely inebriated. 

You don’t even register when Shinso crawls in and nudges himself in between your legs. 

When the door slams shut, you flinch a little, prompting Shinso to massage your thighs in an attempt to soothe you. He gazes at you lovingly as you look down at him with your dilated pupils. Fuck, you look way too innocent and adorable for what he’s about to do. 

Quick with his hands, he pulls down your waistband and completely exposes your sex. Before diving into his meal, he places light kisses that trail from your calf all the way up to your thighs. He wishes he could leave marks on your skin, but he wouldn’t want you to panic the next morning when you see clusters of purple and blue spread out all over your legs. 

He eats you out like a man starved, slobbering all over your pussy. All the while, you’re making such cute noises for him. When you gush all over his face, he’s happily lapping it all up, trying not to waste a single drop. 

Once you’ve come down, he dresses you back up as if nothing happened, which, in your mind tomorrow, nothing did. 

Shinso hesitates when he’s about to slide the panties back onto you. Maybe he could get away with just a little souvenir?

[constancelaufeydottir]

𝐎𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐝

Pairing: Neighbour!Bucky x reader

Warnings: Mentions of knife, blood, cursing, murder, mention of cannibalism, dark!Bucky(?), major character death, slight smut, fluff.

Summary: Bucky set his eyes on his sweet and cute neighbour who had suffered from a loss recently, determined to make her his.

Word count: 4.3k

a/n: This is my entry for @ambrosiase hotel indigo writing challenge. It’s my first ever writing challenge, and I had a lot of fun writing this! Honestly, I'm really grateful for this challenge because it motivates me to finish this wip that has been sitting in the draft for too long. Thank you for this lovely challenge mae ♡♡

Not beta’d, all mistakes are my own. If you see any mistakes, do let me know!

Room ⥤ Modern muse

Room service ⥤ neighbour + criminal

“Oh that poor thing.”

Bucky whipped his head in the direction of the voice. It was Mrs. Lockwood, his neighbour on the right.

“Huh?” He didn’t mean to voice out his confusion, but his brain was somewhat short-circuited, barely able to function when his sight was filled with you, and you only.

“That sweet girl over there,” Mrs. Lockwood was referring to you, his sweet neighbour to the left he was staring at, before the old lady came interrupting.

He had been staring for 5, 10 minutes maybe? He swore he wasn’t a pervert, you were just a sight for sore eyes, the healer of the wounds in his soul.

“What about y/n?” He asked, curious to listen to what his neighbour would say about the other neighbour. Also, he was fairly new to the neighbourhood, having just moved in last month, he ought to catch up with the gossip.

“Her boyfriend went missing a few months back, poor girl was devastated. Police suspected it was murder, even suspected y/n!” The old lady shook her head, casting pitying glances at the oblivious girl in the sundress, bathing under the sun with a book in her hand. “She’s such a sweet girl, how could they have suspected her?”

Bucky glanced at you, heart racing when you caught him looking. You shyly waved at him, a small smile plastered on your face hiding the underlying sadness of the loss of your loved one. His hand felt clammy when he raised one of them to wave back, his usual flirty self vanished whenever you were involved in the equation.

“Boy, you are in love aren’t ya,” Mrs. Lockwood teased, “I say go for it. Our lovely y/n definitely needs some lovin’ after what she’d been through and young man, I think you are the right person.” Her eyes crinkled as she patted Bucky encouragingly on the shoulder, like a loving mother cheering up her son.

Bucky, who was usually composed, blushed furiously. That big brain of his still hadn’t regained its functions thus he found himself unable to stop Mrs. Lockwood when she hollered at you.

Clearly immersed in your book, you jumped a little when you heard your name being called.

“Y/n, this young man would love to take you out on a date, what d’ya say?” His eyes widened at the accusation, though it was true that he wanted to date you, he just needed time to gather the guts to ask you out.

He saw you put down your book, walking towards him and Mrs. Lockwood. You were a front yard away from him, shielding the harsh sunlight from your eyes with your hands while leaning onto the fence.

“I’d love to,” you had to speak louder, and Bucky loved your voice as he only heard it only a handful of times now, often you were shy and quiet when you saw him.

“U-uhm, how about Saturday then,” He stuttered like a teenage boy who first received a love letter, suddenly forgetting how to speak, speech lost in the sea of disbelief and excitement, and affection.

You said nothing, only nodding and smiling at him, flashing those pearly whites.

“Great. 6pm. I’ll pick you up,”

“See you soon, James.” He watched as you walked away, a teasing smile on your face before you disappeared into the door. Gosh how he loved the way his name sounded on your lips, and he’d give anything to hear it again, and again.

Saturday came too soon, Bucky was not prepared at all. Well, he had done the reservations for the restaurant he’d planned to bring you to tonight, ironed out the creases and wiped off the non-existent dust on the dress shirt he would be wearing, so why was he nervous?

5:50 pm.

Call him old-fashioned or whatever, he’d prefer early to late and would love to escort you to his car. He stood in front of your porch, palm sweating and if his metal arm could secrete sweats, he was pretty sure it would end up like its counterpart.

You opened the door as soon as he rapped his knuckles on the wooden door, seeming eagerly waiting for him as he was for you.

He took in your outfit, the moderately revealing dress he liked, the one he saw you undress from, through his window countless times.

If it was possible to fall into a deeper love, he would.

The date couldn’t possibly be better than he imagined, it was perfect. Everything was great; the atmosphere of the restaurant, the quality of the food, and most importantly, you.

You were shy at first but opened up fairly quickly, telling him stories about you, and vice versa. You sympathized with him when he told you how he got the metal arm, your fingers grazing the delicate and intricate loops and lines on the metal surface.

His fingers were woven into yours halfway into the dinner, the cool metal fingers of his absently caressing your knuckles as you shared the story about your family, who disappeared mysteriously, then your ex-boyfriend, who went missing 5 months ago, like your family.

It was hard, talking about missing loved ones. Bucky could tell, by the way your hand unconsciously tightened, the lingering sadness in your eyes as you mentioned how happy you were before him. The way your tears were brimming in your eyes, threatening to glide down your face, it wrenched his heart, seeing how broken you were. He would try to pick up every broken piece of you in a heartbeat, mending them back together, fixing you until you were happy again if you would let him in.

He was kind of glad your ex-boyfriend was out of the picture, though it was a selfish thing to say. He desperately wanted to claim you, wanted to be your last and only boyfriend.

He’d been going on dates with you for a few months now. You were perfect, almost too perfect if he would say. You were practically his dream girl, so kind and generous. So sweet and loving. Pretty much everybody in this neighbourhood would agree with him and he sometimes wondered if he really deserved you. A beauty mingling with a beast. No one would ever want to see that, after all, even the beast turned into a handsome prince at the end of the fairytale.

Bucky wondered, if you found out what he did every night after you were asleep or what he took from your closet when you were away, would you still want him? If you found out the beast within him, would you still love him the same?

His thoughts were occupied and it wasn’t until the sharp pain in his fingers that he snapped out of his trance.

“Fuck!” You heard him cursing and went to him, gasping when you saw the streams of blood flowing from the deep cut from two of his fingers.

Hastily reaching out for the clean cloth from one of the drawers, you placed it over the wound, applying pressure on them.

The red quickly seeped through the pristine white cloth, two colours clashing as the red engulfed the white.

Bucky noticed you wincing at the red, gulping at the sight, head slightly turned away. It was obvious you were uncomfortable at the sight of blood, so he took the cloth himself and nudged you to wash the faint hint of blood on your palms.

“Sorry, now you might have to do this alone,” Bucky gestured at the ingredients on the counter, “and sorry for the cloth, blood stains are quite hard to get rid off.”

“Don’t you worry, a little hydrogen peroxide and the cloth will be as good as new,” Bucky let you tend to his wounds and pushed him towards the living room where he would sit at the couch for the next hour while you were busy at the kitchen preparing dinner.

While he was in the living room, he took in the interior of your house. He never got to take a close look, as he always had to sneak in when it was dark. The beige colour walls, cream coloured furnitures, books arranged perfectly on the floating shelves. The pictures and art hung on the clean walls, not one of them is crooked. The square coffee table with only the remote and a display plant on it, and when he shifted himself to sit at the center of the couch, did he realize the coffee table was lined up perfectly in the middle of the TV and the couch.

Bucky’s eyebrows raised, he didn’t depict you as a meticulous person. No wait, whenever he went out with you, you’d arrange the plates to sit between the utensils perfectly. When you get boba, the straws must precisely be in the center of the cup, and if you missed it, your eyebrows would furrow in annoyance subconsciously.

His eyes wandered over to your figure in the kitchen and was not surprised to find you wiping and hanging the cutting board on the ceramic wall, adjusting it with your fingers so it wouldn’t be crooked while waiting for the stew to simmer.

You caught him looking at you and threw a smile at him in which he reciprocated, then continued to let his eyes wander through your living room. This could easily be an IKEA showroom, he thought.

Another week went by, Bucky found himself more and more in love with you, if that was possible in the first place as if he didn’t already dedicate all the space in his heart for you.

You were both in the kitchen again. This time however, he was busy mixing the sugar, flour, and cocoa powder mixture, with you snuggling behind him, arms circling his waist as you watched him do the magic.

He felt sorry for not helping last time so he was making up to you by baking some brownies.

As you both were cleaning up, brownies baking in the oven, Bucky turned to you.

“Hey, I never asked, but what do you do for a living?” He questioned nonchalantly while wiping the huge plastic bowl.

The wet spatula fell from your grip, dropping into the sink of water, droplets of soapy liquid flecked on your shirt.

“O-oh, i’m an artist!” You let out a laugh to conceal your flustered state, “Aspiring artist to be exact.”

“An artist,” he hummed, as if chewing onto the meaning of the word, “could you show me your works?”

Your head whipped towards his direction, mouth parted in surprise. Nobody has ever appreciated your dream. Your family, your friends, your ex-boyfriends, all of them claimed that being an artist would lead you to being unsuccessful, and you deemed to prove them wrong.

“Yes, yes, of course,” you were overjoyed. Abandoning the half-washed utensils, you clasped your hand around his wrist and dragged him to follow you towards the second floor, into a room hidden behind another beige coloured door, where you kept all your works.

Rows of headless mannequins clothed in white dresses painted with red blossoms appeared before him as you pushed open the door.

He was utterly mesmerized. He trailed his gaze across the display, a smile painted his lips as he deduced that every piece of them was unique. No two dresses had the same pattern.

Some had plain red blossoms splattered on it, some had dark red waves littering on the bottom hem; some with brush strokes of red. There was also a different tone of red, bright and dark or somewhat in between.

“Wow, this is just … amazing!” He found himself at a loss for words, “are those blood?”

“Yes, they are.”

“I thought you don’t like blood?” Bucky teased.

“These are animal blood. I’m fine with it as long as it’s not coming out from a human,” you retorted.

He chuckled. Once again admiring the intricate patterns of your works, marvelling at how talented and perfect you were. His heart sank at the thought of the question he frequently found himself asking, how can someone so perfect like you end up with someone less than perfect like him.

You apparently noticed his changed demeanor as you inched yourself closer to pull him into an embrace, placing your chin on his chest, eyes searching for his sad blue ones.

“Are you okay?” He hugged you tighter, sighing.

“I’m fine. I just … I think you’re perfect and you’re everything I've ever wanted. But I'm not sure if I'm perfect enough for you.”

“Oh James, you’re more than enough. I assure you, you’re everything I’ve ever wanted too.”

Bucky felt like his heart was filled to the brim with adoration, butterflies erupted from his stomach. Your assurance was everything to him, keeping his wandering soul anchored and he was grateful for it, grateful for your existence. The more the reason to cage you by his side so you couldn’t ever leave him.

His lips were on yours the next second, his grip on your waist tightened as you deepened the kiss, tongue finding his; busy hands sliding from his stomach to his shoulder.

Both of you were drowning in this ecstasy, unwilling to part away from each other’s touch.

The loud ding of the oven startled the both of you. Momentarily parting from each other, you stared at him with a heated glance. His eyes were hooded, filled with lust, desire.

“Fuck the brownies,” you whispered, molding your soft lips on him once again, the hunger for each other far greater than the stupid brownies, “need you now.”

Bucky didn’t need to be told twice, large hands cupping your bottom as you hopped and hooked your legs behind him, arms instinctively went to his shoulders for support.

He brought the both of you to your room, the one he was all too familiar with, the one with the same cream coloured theme which could definitely pass as another IKEA showroom judging by how perfect the layout was.

The only odd thing that stood out in this far too perfect room was the trail of scratch marks extending from the door frame to the wall outside of the room.

The deep scratch marks were somehow etched deep in his brain, he couldn’t let it go. It felt as if there was a dot of blank ink on a piece of white paper, and even though there was more white than black, you’d only be fixated on the dot of black.

He would ask you about the haunting marks on the wall and your fingers that were tracing patterns on his skin would falter, you’d give him the warm smile he loved while brushing it off saying it was the huge Dobermann your aunt owned which did that.

Even when he was balls deep in you, the vivid image of the scratch marks were there in his head, though you were quick to draw back his attention with a grind on his hips, both of your bodies covered with sheen of perspiration. Strands of your hair sticking to your body, but you pay no care to them as you rocked your hips, chanting his name over and over again like a mantra, like a prayer.

His eyes were on your fucked out state, his grip on you like steel. The cool surface of his metal arm contrasted with your hot flushed body as you chase your high like a traveller chasing the oasis in a desert, desperate for a quench of thirst.

Even when he was chasing the same high, vision blinding with bliss, the marks were still there and this time they were accompanied by the white dresses painted with red, and red only.

Bucky was always a doubtful person. Doubting every single decision he’d ever made. Doubting himself, doubting others. But there was one thing he was certain of, there was something less than innocent lurking underneath your skin. Of course, he was still head over heels for you but he was pretty adamant to find out the sinister in you, hoping it would answer his questions, mainly the recurring image of a certain mark.

Bucky was a lot of things, dumbass , dork, clumsy(per sam), but he was not stupid. Hell, he was far from stupid. Those scratch marks, definitely not the Dobermann.

You were a perfectionist, you couldn’t possibly leave the mark there and acted like nothing happened in the first place. He’d imagine if it was the dog, you’d probably have someone fix the dent the same day, unwilling to allow even a speck of blemish in your flawless house.

Bucky was a lot of things, and being a dumbass was definitely one of them as he was showing up on your porch in the evening unannounced.

He’d considered sneaking in like he used to do but he knew, he saw that you were still in the house. He couldn’t and wouldn’t jeopardize your relationship with him knowing he’d get caught.

He knocked on your door, hearing footsteps paddling, rushing to him.

As you opened the door, your eyes widened at the sight of an awkward Bucky. Although you were quick to throw him an unalarming smile, he still caught the nervousness in you.

There was something off with you. The disheveled hair, thin layer of sweat adorning the crown of your head, unknown wet liquid staining your shirt.

He caught a whiff of the strong smell of chemicals wafting through the door, it smelled a lot like bleach.

“I’m sorry,” he scratched at the back of his neck, “is this not a good time?”

“It’s fine, come on in.”

The smell of bleach invaded his nose the moment he stepped into your house, flooding and overwhelming his senses causing him to wince.

“Were you deep cleaning?”

“Yeah, I accidentally spilled some of the animal blood this morning. Had to use hell lots of hydrogen peroxide to get rid of them. Sorry for the smell.”

“No no, it’s okay. Let me just open the windows and door, okay?” He was getting a little light-headed now, desperately needing some fresh air. “Doll, you need to ventilate every time you use bleach, it’s harmful for your health to inhale all these fumes.”

You blushed at the term of endearment, yet wanting to blame him for not calling you that earlier.

He went over to open the windows, sighing contentedly at the waves of fresh air hitting his face as the wind blew in.

He felt your arms snaking around him, head leaning against his broad back.

“I love you, James. Wouldn’t know what to do without you.”

“I love you too.” He turned around and hugged you, his chin propped on your head, not knowing you had a solemn expression on your face.

He’d spent the evening with you, watching TV on the couch with you in his lap. It was so mundane yet he’d never got bored of this, wanting to do this with you for the rest of his life.

Outside the window, the orange and yellow sky faded into darkness.

“Let’s order take out, how about Thai food?”

“I’ll cook,” you kissed him on the lips and got up from his lap before he could reply anything.

“Ok, you need help?” He heard a faint ‘no, it’s fine’ coming out of the kitchen followed by the clanking of pots and utensils.

His neck stretched to peek at your figure in the kitchen, too busy chopping up ingredients to notice he was no longer at the living room.

He made his way down the basement, where the pungent smell of the bleach was still lingering.

The wood creaked as he stepped on the stairs, announcing his arrival to the darkness surrounding the basement. The soft glow of light illuminated the large space, a wall of tins stacking on each other revealed to him. A few easels of different sizes were propped on the wall with several grey aprons hanging beside them.

He walked closer to examine the insane amount of tins. A small label that said Pig blood was stickered on the body of the white tin.

His eyebrows scrunched up in confusion. Do people really sell animal blood in metal tins, wouldn’t they go bad?

There were loads of questions in Bucky’s head, questions with answers only you could provide.

He noticed a chest freezer sitting in the corner of the basement and his legs brought him to it before he came to realize. The whole basement was so quiet he could hear the soft ringing in his ears, the racing of his heartbeat amplified as his hand inched towards the lid.

There was nothing in the freezer, to his surprise.

The empty freezer stared back at him, as if mocking his fruitless attempt. He was relieved, or disappointed, he couldn’t tell the difference and there was no point in distinguishing them now since you had nothing to hide. He wasn’t even sure what he was expecting to find in the freezer.

“Babe?” You stood behind him with an apron on, a knife in your hand, a second after he closed the door to the basement.

He leaned against the door frame, hand went to his head, eyes squeezed shut as he pretended he was having a headache.

“Felt dizzy all of a sudden, I was just making my way to the bathroom.”

“Oh, okay. I was just about to tell you dinner's almost ready,” a tooth-rotting smile was plastered on your face.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” he watched as you walked away, letting out the breath he’d been holding. His palm was clammy, heart beating rapidly.

“I love you,” You placed your hand on his arm, eyes meeting his.

“I know, doll. I love you too.”

This was seconds before dinner.

“James, I love you.” You whispered, watching him giving you a grin before he stuffed the meatball into his mouth.

“Wow, I'm so loved today. It’s the secon- no, third time you’ve said ‘I love you’ to me today.” He grinned, heart bursting with love. “You know I love you too.”

This was mid-dinner.

“I love you so much, James.”

Bucky was getting suspicious of you. Were you hiding something, perhaps cheating on him? For there were no reasons for you to keep telling him you loved him even though he knew how much you loved him and vice versa.

“I love you,” you kissed his knuckles, “this might be the last time I get to say I love you, James.”

His eyebrows furrowed at your statement, mouth parting to question what you meant. Before he could voice out something, the world faded into nothingness.

A thin film of blurriness clouded his eyes when he opened them, Bucky had this feeling like he was drowning in a swamp and his whole body was bound.

Blinking furiously, he regained his vision. You were sitting on a chair leaning forwards while looking at him endearingly, your elbows propped on your knees, palms supporting your chin.

“Hello, my love,” you were smiling oh so sweetly. The same smile that got him mesmerized and head over heels, except this time he didn’t feel the warm fuzzy feeling exploding in his chest, this time it was the goosebumps crawling on his arms and the chill creeping up his spine.

Now everything made sense, every single of his questions was answered.

You looked down at his body, the one that was once full of life, full of love. You watched as his glassy blue eyes etched with fear quickly reduced into this grey lifeless orbs, still pretty but lacking the element of a beautiful soul.

You weep for him, mourn for him. Mourning the short duration of love shared between the both of you. Mourning for yourself, for falling too hard. Mourning for him who kept you always in his heart.

To be honest, you were a little hesitant to end his life, he was better than the last one. He was perfect, warm, kind, loving, gentle, but not perfect enough. He simply did not reach your expectations, and you, could not bear imperfections, even the slightest. The answer to his downfall was pretty easy, he was too close to the ugly truth. And despite you knowing his love for you outweighs his doubt and fear in you, you simply couldn’t risk it.

Your love for perfection exceeds your love for him.

The melodious music of your ringtone echoed in the ample space of the basement, you brought up your phone to your ears as you answered the call.

“Mrs. Lockwood? Yes. Of course. I did. No no no, I’ll do it for you this time. He would definitely taste delicious I assure you.”

Time to get to work, you sighed as you stood there with a white dress splattered with blood. How artistic, you thought.

You always loved this part of the process, you’d wear the whitest piece of dress you own whenever you work with your projects.

You loved how the blood peppered your clothes, forming blossoms of dark red flowers on the fabric.

You kept every single piece of them, because no two are the same. Every one of them tells a story, of men and women who loved you and who you loved, of those who were once a body with a soul.

Wiping away the tears rolling down your cheeks, you gave Bucky one last loving look and the blade of your butcher knife came in contact with his once pink but now pale skin as you hummed, the sound bouncing off the walls of the basement, forming echoes.

A few blocks away, a baby cried, body covered in mucus. The tiny infant cried, each time louder than the previous, wailing his lungs out, as if mourning. For one soul born, another reaped.