#the last one is less in-character than the others because i ran out of ideas.

[hyperfixation-or-death]

bilal is the only one in his friend group without a sibling. and i think there's a lot of comedic potential in that.

because i have siblings, and several of my friends are only children. and like. you've probably seen some of those posts about The Sibling Experience. they're not too far off.

anyways, my point is that i want to write a fic of bilal having to endure his friends being Absurd Siblings.

like:

"Bilal. Did I ever tell you that Sam bit me once?" "He's lying. Ignore him." "I'm not lying! You know full well I'm not lying!" "Okay, he's not lying. But he's leaving out the very important detail-" "You bit him?" "I was five! And he told me to!" "Wait, why would you tell him to-" "I don't know, I probably wanted to see if it would hurt. Not the point. Point is, he bit me. And never apologized." "I don't need to apologize! You told me to do it!" "I'll bite you, see how you like it-" "You don't even remember it happening, you only know because I told you! And you- stop snapping your teeth at me. You look stupid." "I'm not the one who bit a four year old child." "...I'm going to throw you out the window."

and then later:

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me." "What?" "Camille found a rat and brought it home." Romane glances at her phone. "She named it Sprinkles." She starts walking faster, and hits the call button on her phone. Camille picks up quickly. "Camille, you can't just- no, I know Mom's allergic to dogs. That doesn't mean-" A pause. "Okay, yeah, the picture was cute. But you can't keep it." Another pause. "Keep her, then. Wait, how do you know if- what do you mean the rat's pregnant?" A long pause. "The rat is not giving birth in our house. Mom's going to- no, I didn't tell her! Have some more faith in me, honestly." A pause. "Yeah, I know. Love you too. I'm on my way back. We're putting the rat back outside when I get there." A pause. "Okay. Bye." Romane ends the call, and turns back to Bilal. "The things I put up with. Come on, we have to get there before my mom gets back." "Wait, you're not going to tell your mom? About the pregnant wild rat that's currently in your house?" "Bilal, there is a sacred code of honor that exists in this world." Romane intones dramatically. "Which is?" Bilal stifles a grin. "Don't snitch on your little sister's latest attempt to adopt wild animals if you want her to continue thinking you're cool." "...how often does this happen?" "Too often. Come on, hurry."

and then one day later:

"Romane?" "Yeah?" "Why are you glaring at your phone?" "Texting my mom. Telling her that Camille was the one who keeps pouring popcorn kernels down the sink." "You've been typing for like, nine minutes." "I'm trying to send video evidence, but it's taking forever to send, so I'm writing down the entire conversation I had with Camille this morning about it. For proof. I think Camille's trying to frame me." "What happened to there's a sacred code of honor that exists in this world'?" Romane scoffs. "That was yesterday, and that was different."

and also:

"Hey, Bilal! Want to see something really, really funny?" "Sure." Victor holds up his phone. "Okay, so I was bored yesterday, right?" "I already don't like where this is going." Victor snickers. "Fair. Anyways, I found some candy, like the hard kind, and I melted it down in a pot of boiling water." "...okay. Why?" "I told you, I was bored. And I ate a few drops of it, and it was fine, just tasted like...I don't know, liquid sugar or something. But, then, I added cornstarch to it. And it became the worst texture. It was so gross." Victor grins. "And I took a video of myself eating a bite of it." "You ate it?" "Yeah, it wasn't that bad. I mean, it's basically just sugar and cornstarch." "Okay, but why?" "So I could send it to Sam, act like it's a perfectly normal jello that I made from a box, and see what he says. And he's texting me back right now." "Okay. Can I see the picture of it, though? For context." "Oh, yeah, right." Victor taps an image on his phone, and shows him. It's bright blue sludge with clumps of cornstarch floating around in it. 'Gross' is an understatement. "Ew." "Yeah." A text appears on the screen: Victor. Are you serious. You're going to die. What is that. Victor types back: jello? i made it yesterday? its still in the fridge, did you want some? A pause. LIES. that's not jello. idk what it is but its not jello. also its gonna kill you Victor grins, and sends another text: i'm not going to die because i'm not a coward. unlike you. Another pause. wow okay. i'm not coming to your funeral. i have better things to do with my time. Victor laughs, and types out: you're not invited anyways. also name one better thing you have to do. A long pause. Victor glances at Bilal. "You don't think it'll actually kill me, right?" "Um...no. Like, you said, it's just cornstarch and sugar. I mean, maybe if you ate a whole-" A text appears on the screen, and Bilal glances at it. i have my own funeral to attend and it's going to be better than yours. watch this. There's a video attached. Victor glances down, and hits play. Sam stares deadpan at the camera, and pans it down to the same bowl of blue sludge that was in the photo. "If I die, Romane and Bilal are in my will, and you are not." He then pulls back the phone sets it against something, and proceeds to eat the entire bowl of blue sludge. Victor gapes at the video as it ends. Bilal sighs.

and stuff like that. (yes all of these are based on personal experience with some creative liberties taken.) i think it'd be funny.

[twistedwonderlandshenanigans]

All My Scars

The stories behind one of the scars each of the twst cast has SOME ARE WAY ANGSTIER THAN OTHERS OKAY please read the tw and the tags, and like the stuff in brackets under characters names that have them for a heads up...what Specifically their section covers

TW: SH, abuse, Bad Parents (specified in the reading), references to alcoholism, implied SA survivor, and some OOC stuff bc I like making Cater cry sorry PROCEED WITH CAUTION FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, apologies for inconsistencies

IF YOU DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ. Here's my masterlist to some fluffier stuff if you still want to check out my writing. Thank you!

I'll be doing a fluffier version of this some other time, like dumbest childhood injuries they had or something, so if this ain't for you, please hold! --------------------------------------------------------------------

"How did you get your scar(s)?"

Heartslaybul

Riddle The question caught him off guard. He glanced down at his hand where your thumb ran over the small indentations on the skin between his thumb and pointer finger, a small smile kicking up the corner of his mouth.

"That was Che'nya. When we were kids." You looked at him, your silence prompting him to continue.

He smiled a little more, gently pulling his hand from yours to look at the scars left there, laughing softly, though a bit pained.

"I wasn't prepared to receive very much physical affection, but Che'nya couldn't really help himself. He said if hugs were off the table, he just wanted to nibble." He chuckles softly "Of course he didn't give me much of a warning, though Trey tried to stop him before he bit me. It was a shock at the time, but both of them explained it was an expression of affection...I confirmed it later on in an article on the behaviours of beastmen. Trey was used to getting bites from Che'nya, but usually with less pent up energy. Nonetheless, he helped me take care of it before I had to return home."

His brow furrowed a bit as he sighed.

"Of course, my mother noticed eventually, the divots on my hand. It was the first and only time I ever outright lied to her - lies of omission aside. I know she didn't believe me when I told her it was just me being clumsy with my pencil, but I suppose it was a tender mercy she didn't have time to deal with me that day." He looked at the divots a little longer, a particular softness in his expression.

"They're the only scars I have. I find it rather ironic that the only imperfection I carry in my mother's eyes...is the lasting impression that there is at least one person who cares for me more than she has ever been capable of."

His smile was sad, but he tried to keep things light as he looked at you. "That is not an invitation to try and bite me as well. I know full well you care for me...because you've helped the scars nobody can see, fade."

Trey

"Which ones?" He chuckles softly, pausing his kneading as he held out his arms for you to look over the various marks he had, before he pointed at one, taking matters into his own hand. "My youngest brother likes this one for some reason. He thinks the texture is different and kinda just rubs my arm when he's calming himself down."

He turned his arm so his elbow was pointing out a little bit so he could look at his forearm, pointing to a bigger scar. "This was a burn from bumping against the edge of the oven while trying to take out a tray of cookies in a rush."

He turned his arm yet again, showing off another one. "This one was from me trying to reheat baked potato leftovers. I put butter on it and threw it in the microwave, but I almost dropped the bowl when I took it out and had the bright idea to try and catch it. Splashed hot butter up my arm." He chuckled again, using his shoulder to bump up his glasses. "I have a few from Che'nya as well. Some from my siblings. Some from baking. But they make for good stories should I ever need something to share."

Cater (Heads up for the abusive parent HC's regarding using kids for media Clout) <- you can read by clicking the link

He looks startled, like he's just seen a ghost before trying to laugh it off.

"I uh...oooh sevens don't tell me you saw me eat dirt like two days ago while I was skateboarding! I swear normally I'm better than that, I just- I didn't scar, just a scrape and nothing more, swear! It's sweet you're concerned though."

You gave him a bit of a sad look, before sighing, looking away awkwardly, knowing there was no...delicate way to tell him what you wanted to.

"Look, you don't have to tell me anything you don't want to, but the last time I was babysitting Cheka I...saw what he was watching on his tablet and um...well I unsubscribed him from the channel but there were some videos on there that-"

"Stop."

Cater was hugging himself, balled up as tightly as he could get on the opposite side of the couch, his hair shrouding his face somewhat. He was taking shallow, rapid breaths, and while you wanted nothing more than to reach out and comfort him, you didn't think he would respond well to touch at the moment.

"How much did you see?" His voice was as demanding as he could get it from inside of his little shell.

You cleared your throat a bit. "I didn't go digging into any of the videos, won't watch any if you don't want me to...it was just some of the thumbnails that...worried me that you...might have more than emotional scars to work through..."

You moved slowly to kneel on the floor next to Cater, offering your hand should he want to take it. "I'm sorry, there were better ways for me t-"

"You're right." He sobbed softly, looking out at you, nothing but pain on his face as he tried to hold in another sob, taking your hand in his, and moving it to gently run over his outer forearm.

"I c-cover them up um...a-all the time, it's second nature now but.." he takes a few moments to try and catch his breath.

"These ones were all from the same damned prank video...mom..covered the floor in dish soap in the kitchen...I was like...four, I still loved cookies, so when she said there were some, I came running in...slid and crashed into the oven...."

He sniffled and rubbed at his eyes with his free arm. "I remember watching the doctor pluck glass out from me and my mom was outside the room....just...yelling at my dad..."

He waved his hand over his forearm, letting the faded scars come to light beneath his concealer, trusting you to keep this a secret. His eyes still held unshed tears as he looked away from his arms, and from you.

"And the worst part? That video went viral. People thought it was funny. So of course mom went and did more and more prank videos, even if some people made it popular for the wrong reasons, there was still attention and validation there for her efforts, so it didn't matter. If I was crying, it was cute for me to...fuss, because I was- am the youngest, and nothing I felt really mattered. It was- I just-....I like being who I am now...most of the time...because nobody...nobody sees beyond what I want them to see...er...most people now I guess..." He gave you a bit of a bashful smile, clearly upset and conflicted still, before his face fell again and he gently tugged his hand from yours.

"Just give me a few minutes and everything will be okay again. Promise."

Deuce (with the HC he's deaf/HoH)

He kinda just sighed deeply at your question, shooting you a bit of an unimpressed look.

"I mean you could take a guess where I got most of'm and probably hit the nail on the head." He huffed, rubbing the back of his neck a bit, his eyes drifting to the side awkwardly as he wracked his brain for a scar story that wouldn't dredge up memories he'd rather forget.

"I mean the scar story my mom tells her coworkers about..." He cringes a tiny bit at the idea of relaying the story the same way his mother does, but sighed anyways.

"I was young, like really young, maybe two or three. It was before I was used to my hearing aids, so I didn't have them in at the time. She had just turned a little to greet one of our neighbours who had come out to say hello, only to hear ungodly squawking, followed by giggles...I didn't know the bird I'd managed to grab was giving me a heads up it didn't like being grabbed, besides it's struggling...long story short, it bit me pretty good." He blushed a bit and pointed to a relatively small scar on his cheek. "I don't even know what kind of bird it was. I just know what happened because it was something my mom talked about a lot."

Ace (TW for alcoholic father/abuse/manipulation)

"Mmh?" he sounded rather uninterested. It was a fair question, given the amount of time the two of you hung out, it wasn't like you wouldn't notice the jagged scar on his neck to his collarbone.

He shrugged, trying to play off how uncomfortable the memory was. "Just somethin' that happened when I was a kid."

Your unspoken questions bothered him more than he thought they would, rocking to sit up properly and look at you a little pissy.

"Look, I'm over it, so I'll tell you but I don't want a damn reaction or pity, okay? I was nine, my brother had just gotten his admission letter into NRC, and my dad was drunk off his ass. Threatened my brother with the cost of my life if he quit his job and stopped being his beer fund- not that it was much of a threat, it was a glass bottle or some shit he'd shattered and held to my neck. That was the night my brother made arrangements for me to live with his friends families so he could still come here without making me walk on eggshells around my dad. He still won't tell me if he kept paying the bastard's beer money or not, but my dad's in rehab now, and I don't ever gotta go back to him by myself again. I can just visit my brother now he's got his own place, even if he's got a roommate. So now you know." He got up from the couch, shaking out his hands a bit.

"Now, I'm gonna make some breakfast and I'm using your materials. Ain't no way I'm trekking back to Heartslaybul just for breakfast."

Savanaclaw

Leona

"Don't remember" He stretched on his bed, yawning. "Same shit I told Ruggie. It doesn't affect me now, so what's the point in remembering it? Can't hold on to every dusty memory."

"Aren't scars a symbol of nobility to those from Sunset Savannah?"

You could practically feel the discomfort rolling off of Leona in waves as he turned his back to you more.

"....yeah, they can be..." he sighed, feeling the weight of your next question mounting. "Just chalk it up to some stupid royal tradition that should have been abolished years ago. You don't have to believe it, but I'm done talking now."

Ruggie (Hyena Hierarchy shit ig?)

"Eh?" His ears flick playfully as he snickers. "They ain't a big deal. Growin' up some of the girls would play a little rough, 'nd now I mainly take care of the rugrats they like to chew and bite on anything they can get their little teeth into, not limited to ears and tail."

His ear flicks again and he holds his hands out. "And I mean, my hands ain't scarred but I don't have fingerprints cuz my grandma taught me how to do the hot food flip, you know what I mean." He snickers. "But y'know, just cuz they don't hurt anymore, doesn't mean I won't take a little extra cuddles or pets if you're gonna offer."

Jack

He scratched the back of his head a bit. "You noticed it??" He seemed a little awkward, and now that the fact had fully settled that the only scar he had was the small one on his upper lip, you could kind of understand why.

You nod a bit and he sighs, his hand dropping from behind his head and looking off to the side, a little bit embarrassed.

"It was a frog." He cringed a bit at his wording and at the eyes he felt from you, and he knew you were trying to hold back laughter.

"I- my bigger cousin was showing me a frog he caught and it jumped on my face. I didn't have full awareness of ah...my capabilities and...where my claws were in relation to my face... ended up hurting myself in the process of getting it off of me. I don't remember much else after that....just that I don't...love frogs..." He admitted a little shyly, tail tucked slightly, and clearly embarrassed.

Octavinelle

Azul

He looks at you rather unimpressed, then gestures to the tweels.

"They think I'm a chew toy. They would be the reason for any and ALL of my scars, as I've never been in any other danger where scarring would be an issue."

Jade

The question seems to hit him harder than you expected. Jade was normally hard to read, but his discomfort was apparent with your question. He gave you a practiced, but strained smile.

"The story behind my scars are not something I share willingly with anyone. I will be taking my leave." (but you can read the story here >:D)

Floyd (partial nudity?? but it's just Floyd showing off the scars he has all along his legs enthusiastically)

"Aha! I got a whole buncha scars shrimpy, which ones are ya curious 'bout?" He flopped down next to to you, and took his shirt off, showing off scars on his back.

"Oh didya see the ones on my legs durin' basketball practice?" He tried to pull up his school uniform pant leg, to no avail. He huffed and just slid his pants off, leaving him in his boxers as he showed off the scars all along his legs.

He beamed "It's a helluva lot harder t'see em when I'm in my mer form, blend right in with my scales, but my human body?? I look sick!! And there ain't too many humans who can boast 'bout havin' scars from a shark attack or a tussle with a barracuda! I got a whole buncha stories I could tellya if ya think you can stomach'em-" He snickers.

Scarabia

Kalim

"Ahah....I..I've got a scar?? Where?" For some reason he seemed a little panicked, looking over his arms anxiously. "No, no I shouldn't have any scars I um- I- just-"

His behaviour made you a little worried, so you moved to take his hands in yours, trying to steady him, but he pulled away from you, looking at you rather frantically.

"Just tell me where! I....I can- I'm alright, promise, but I don't have any scars!"

I'm realizing I have an obsession, here's another story

Jamil

"I mean I have a few minor scars on my hands from when I first started learning to cook." You watched his practiced movements as he chopped vegetables at a quick pace, sliding them off the cutting board as necessary to make more room for himself.

"Though I suppose with how intently you watch me work it's not a stretch to assume you noticed them." He gives you a bit of a knowing smirk, before pausing for a moment, and flexing his wrist to show a small scar on the back of his hand.

"That one was from taking care of Najma. She was just learning how to walk and wandered out of my fathers sight. My mother was taking care of something inside the palace, so as soon as I noticed she wasn't toddling around us, my father and I began searching for her. She ended up somehow getting herself wedged between....seven, I can't even remember. I remember putting both hands in, and pulling one one out with a cockroach on it, and the other struggling to pull Najma out until my dad was able to assist." He shook his head and sighed. "I cut myself on the wood around her, needed a couple stitches after....but she was all good, save for a mouthful of sand she had stuffed into her mouth." he chuckled softly.

"But if I have any other scars...you'll have to wait longer for those stories."

Pomefiore

Vil (SA Survivor vaguely implied)

"I do not know what you are referring to potato. I don't have so much as single blemish on my skin."

You met his eyes in the mirror, a silent questioning match ensuing between the two of you. You broke eye contact first, leaving him satisfied as he took a deep breath.

"There is nothing inherently wrong with scars. But the ones I have don't deserve any more thought, the person who inflicted them are no longer a part of my life, and never will be again. It's been over seven years, I know that there isn't a cell on me that has not been replaced by a new one."

He met your eyes back in the mirror. "Never bring this topic up again, unless you require assistance with your own scars."

Rook

"Hm? I've taken great care to cover them all up, mon trickster. Since coming to Pomefiore and being under Vil's supervision, most of my scars have faded to a point they are barely identifiable." He smiled softly at you.

"Though if you've noticed one or two, I assure you the story is lackluster." Despite his casual appearance, Rook seemed to be on..even higher alert than usual, as in you could actually pick up on the tension coming off of him. Despite this, your curiousity got the better of you.

"How can they be lackluster? Aren't most of them from archery or animals?"

Rook met your eyes with a rather cold expression, and regardless of stature, made it feel like he was looking down on you.

"No."

His glare lasted a beat longer, before he beamed, "Ah, it's best I get going. I bid you good day."

Epel (got top surgery over the summer)

"WHATCHYA MEAN HOW'D I GET MA SCARS?!" He has a wide grin on his face, hiking his shirt up.

"I AIN'T GOT NO TITS NO MORE!" He sets his shirt back down, a shit-eating smile on his face. "It was about damn time y'know! Lookit how flat ma ches- look at the scars!! Ain't they cool lookin?? Make me look MANLY an' strong, earlier Sebek done asked who I fought nd I just told'm it was my femin-feminini-.....it ain't funny now, but his face sure was!"

Ignihyde

Idia (TW for SH scars)

The ends of his hair went almost clear, and he looked rather deflated. "....cats. Stray cats. Used to pick them up without trying to bribe them first..." he mumbled, pulling at his sleeve a little more to try and cover them up, before trying to flash you a smile, though he was clearly uncomfortable and upset, so it only lasted a moment before he turned completely away from you.

The silence was heavy between the two of you, knowing the truth was more than the consequences of an angry cat.

He hugged himself more, still away from you.

"I don't do it anymore...Ortho is here now..to ah...remind me to do better...even if he doesn't know about it, his presence is enough."

Ortho

"Scar??" He tilted his head and giggled a little bit. "I don't really get those. When I get scratches Idia helps me buff them out. Why, do you see one?"

He ran a diagnostics test, trying to answer his own question, but came up empty, now trying to look over himself manually for any sort of disfiguration, only to look at you more confused and a little amused.

"What are you talking about?"

Diasomnia

Malleus

He had to hide a slight pout at your question. "Fae do not scar, not easily..."

He could see the way your eyes shifted between his face and his ear, before he sighed. "However...when I was much younger, I was prone to fits of anger, often scaring and sometimes harming the guards that were too slow to react around me." A tiny smile started to form as he thought about it more.

"Besides the initial pain when his weapon brushed past me, the guards face of terror was enough to make me giggle, despite the blood that dripped from the tiny incision." His hand came up to gently hold his ear between two of his fingers, rubbing over the small scar along the edge of it.

"I told him if he agreed to play with me I wouldn't tell my grandmother what he'd done. In a way, he was one of my first friends..but the news inevitably made it's way through the chain of command, and he was soon replaced by another heartless, soulless guard...they were all like that you know....so afraid of me, as a Draconia, to even extend the hand of friendship to a child."

Lilia

"Kheeheehee I've not got a single one, not anymore! I've had more than enough time for all the memories of my glory days fade like the scars that would have told the stories. Besides, having any visible scars would put a damper on my absolutely adorable face!" He batted his eyelashes, resting his cheeks on the 'v' shape his hands made.

Silver

"How did I get my scars?" He repeated, then looked thoughtful for a moment. "I don't have many...ah." He pulled his pant leg up gently and revealed a somewhat...suspicious looking scar on his calf.

"When I was younger, Sebek's yelling wasn't always enough to wake me up. He got fed up and bit me. He was successful in waking me up, so I have a few other scars similar to that one from when we were kids, but when he was about ten he had to stop. It was too much and he had poor control over his bite force."

He touched the side of his face pensively. "Though I was outside a lot as a child too. I'm sure I've got more scars and marks than I've cared to count. But Fa- Lilia was always attentive during our sparing sessions, so I've never received a scar from a blade."

Sebek

He huffed, an annoyed sounding bellow leaving him as he crossed his arms and turned his face away from you.

"I have not had the opportunity to receive a scar but-"

"The opportunity?"

His face flushed a bit, and he looked a little grumpy, "SILENCE, do not interrupt me human. Of course you wouldn't understand! My grandfather has battle scars still, they're a symbol of his bravery and valiance in Briar Valley! If I should ever have the OPPORTUNITY to receive a scar by blade, I would like to have one that matches his."

Extra

Che'nya

"Eh?? Well why'dya wanna knyow?" He chuckles, sitting crisscross against nothing, upside down in front of you.

"I was just curious- you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

He just giggles more, wiping one hand over half his face, evidently using magic to get rid of concealer on that side of his face.

"It's nyat a big deal, all I've got are acne scars and the result of me just pickin' at myah skin." He grinned, pouting playfully and making a peace sign. "'m still absolutely adorrrrrrrrrrrrable though, makeup just is more tolerable than putting lotion on and reminds me not to pick at it." He purred through his own compliment, before using his hand to use magic and put the concealer back on.

Jack Hearts-Trappola (same TW as Ace, only it's implied here, not outright)

He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Don't ask Ace that question, kay? It'll put'm in a funk for the rest of the day even if he denies it." He moved to pour himself a glass off coffee, aware you were still waiting for an answer. He took a sip before looking back to you, and answering best he could.

"The scars I have were mostly caused by glass. Once I got into the entertainment industry, I took up soldering and welding so I've got a few pretty bad burns myself from slag or poor PPE, but I had fun doin' it. So no harm no foul." He grinned, the same wide, shit-eating grin that matched his younger brother's expression so closely, it was uncanny.

Falena

His laugh filled the room, boisterous and light. "Ah, you noticed them?" He had all sorts of scars along his arms, in sets of two or three, headed in the same direction.

"Thank you. Here, scars are a testament to one's nobility, strength and perseverance. I received many from Leona when we used to spar, he was always quick on his feet and caught me off guard many times." He chuckled again. "I was never the best at fighting, but it was an important skill to develop should I ever need to defend my son...and if my wife isn't around to exact her fury." His wife gave him a light, playful shove, making him laugh in response as well.

Najma

"Okay if I tell you, you can't tell Jamil or my parents okay?? Don't go snitching me out." She pulled you up to her room, and to her window, sliding it open to a palm tree just outside.

She pointed down at a ridge on the tree, and then pulled up the cuff of her pants and pointed to a scar from the middle of her calf up to her knee. "That fucking tree bit me when I was just trying to go meet up with some of my girls. Do you know how quiet I had to be so my mom and dad didn't catch on??"

Neige (HC he uses mobility aids (forearm crutches + wheelchair when necessary) when not in public eye)

He laughed softly, settling back into his wheelchair and pulling his leg up across the other one, pointing to a small scar over the front of his ankle.

"I got it when I was really young. I was trying to run away from someone who was chasing me, I don't remember if it was tag or not, but probably! I ended up getting a deeper cut than I thought I did when I tripped over one of those concrete barriers they use for cars. It was already falling apart, so the I guess it was moreso the mix inside the concrete that got me?? I don't remember. I do remember getting ice cream after though." He giggled. "I think I was on my way to a photoshoot. I'll have to see if Vil remembers."

Rollo (vague religious themes, SH, never ask me to write for this man again)

He had a band around his wrist, as if he had a bracelet that had turned into one massive scar. It wasn't entirely unreasonable for you to ask, and now that you knew of his brother, there was no reason to really keep it to himself now.

He sighed, holding his wrist out to you rather disdainfully.

"It's a reminder. Every time I look at it, I can imagine the pain my dear brother was in as fire and magic consumed him. I burnt myself for weeks in the same place so as to remind myself repeatedly what my failure has caused. It serves as a reminder what hell will feel like should I never repent of my sins, or fail in correcting the path so many have fallen to. Magic is no god of mine. I will not let it dictate when life is lost or gained. Not in my life. Not in anyone's if things were to go my way...but I'll show them the right way eventually."

His eyes slid over to you.

"You agree, don't you? You'll walk down the righteous path with me and preach the truth to everyone until they join us too."

--------------------------------------------------------

Free me from my mental prison dear god why do I do this to myself at the worst times of day/night.

[yukkoislost]

okay last magical girl au doodle for a while (maybe) cuz i have another idea and will be cooking up another storm (help)

trying out a new eye style??? idk yet. anyway meet some of the side characters in this au !!

i was gonna draw J in too but then i ran outta space so she and some others gotta wait for a while sorry 😞🙏 it's a lil messy mb

more below cut 👍

aight so ill go w the one w more students rn

doll and V go to the same school,, it's a international/private school. V is older than doll and uzi so she's in a different grade and despite going to the same school, she and doll don't cross paths often.

i was half considering their race and then remembered that they're drones and don't really have a race but doll still speaks russian SO i might as well have fun w it !!!! V is italian.

cuz of their strict school rules, doll has to tie her hair up since she doesnt want to cut her hair,, V already has short hair. their uniforms is as u can see in the pic cuz I CANT DESCRIBE CLOTHES SORRY SOBS

V keeps her glasses !!!! in her normal drone form. how she sees as a magical girl?? uhm. chalk it up to cyn being able to do smt abt her vision, haven't decided yet,,

cant have doll without lizzy or V without her squad so lizzy and N and J are in the same sch too !! N and J are in the same grade as V ofc, J has more classes than N and V because.

lizzy and thad are siblings in this au (cuz it sits well w me idk its a fun thought) and they semi-share eye light colours 👍 lizzy went w her dad while thad stayed w the mom, so they grew up in different environments :)

thad and uzi are in the same school !! same grade etc. uzi's more of a loner student and she likes to eat her meals in the school washrooms (don't ask) but if thad invites her she'll eat in the cafetaria w him (as long as his other friends aren't around, she hates them)

uzi's school doesnt know exactly have uniforms?¿ it js came out when i drew her anyway tho 😭 her school is less strict on dress codes so they can wear whatever,, their school is a public one btw

V's full name is Guinevere

N's full name is Angelus

am i reusing names??? yes. yes i am.

[ohdeerfully]

Thank you so much for adding Sir Pentious to your blog 🥹🎩🐍 I’m new to fic requests, and either a drabble or HCs would be amazing no matter which you pick, so here goes…

Could I please request platonic Pentious with a hotel resident reader who’s new to hell and visibly going through a rough time? Between being dead, dealing with their new demon body, and facing another extermination after just surviving the last one, they’re clearly struggling despite putting on a brave face. And secret softie that he is, Pentious decides he ought to intervene, whether it’s drag them along on activities take their mind off of things, or just stick with them until they open up enough to vent to him?

Thank you very much again!

Signed 🪼 Anon

Hii 🪼! Thanks so much for requesting my very first Sir Pentious oneshot >:3 I hope i wrote him okay! I don't know his character super well, but he's super fun!!!

Do His Egg Bois Know He Eats Egg Sandwiches

Sir Pentious x Reader (platonic)(fluff) TW: reader is depressed ):

join my discord!

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You had been at the hotel for a year or so now, having been found by Charlie during your first night in Hell. Ever since then, even in the comfort of the hotel and surrounded by the kindness–and chaos–of Charlie and her friends, you still couldn’t really believe or cope with where you were. Thinking about it, and the fact this was eternity–it made you feel like shit. And that goddamn tail of yours that kept getting in the way of everything, and the pair of hypersensitive ears that forced you to listen to the “screams of the damned” all night. You wondered if you’d ever get used to the new limbs. 

You currently laid flat on your bed and staring at the ceiling, not really thinking about much in particular. Honestly, the boredom you currently felt was comforting; better than the depressive episodes you’ve been dealing with, at least. It has gotten worse lately because of the impending extermination, but you took care not to think about it too much, less you choke and breakdown in anxiety.

A neat rapping of knocks roused you from your mindless comfort, and you slunk your way to the door. Before opening it, you made sure that your appearance was as neat as possible. You heaved a breath, smiled, and opened the door.

Sir Pentious stood on the other side, his sharp fangs peeking under his lips in a bold smile. “Charlie hass asked me to…” You smiled slightly at that appropriately snake-like lisp of his. “...take you out in town! For some… fun,” His bold smile slowly quivered, becoming more and more uncertain and anxious as his invitation became quiet, nearly dying on his lips. His hands were nervously folded behind himself.

You quirked your brow at him, leaning softly on the doorframe. “Why would Charlie ask you to take me out?” You replied, not intentionally aggressive, “Wouldn’t she usually just… do it herself? Or at least tell me first?” You noticed the way Sir Pentious nervously flicked his tongue a few times as he considered your words.

“Well… I… er,” He struggled for a moment, until suddenly his eyes lit up with an idea. “Well, Charlie wass, and I wass going to take EVERYBODY out! But, eh, they’re all busy.” His head tucked slightly, sheepishly, and you watched as the hood on his neck seemed to squeeze closer to himself. He was so obvious.

You ran your hand through your hair, thinking for a moment. Sir Pentious stared at you expectantly, with a mix of anxiety and excitement in his narrow eyes.

You could either stay inside, locked in your room, waiting for nothing, melting in your own depressive thoughts and worries; or, you could just go out and try to have some fun with the snake standing in front of you. You haven’t been out in town much, despite being in Hell for a year–you were always too worried. You didn’t have the energy to go out in the first place, so the anxiety you felt made it all the more difficult to drag yourself out of bed to explore.

Ah, what the hell.

“Sure,” You accepted, albeit a bit apprehensively. His spine immediately straightened out as you accepted his offer, his eyes practically glowing with pride at himself. He gave you a curt nod, a grin, and turned to slither away.

“Meet me in the lobby in twenty minutess!” He called, before disappearing around a corner.

And, so, you did. You had quickly washed yourself, and scrounged around your dirty laundry to find a decently clean outfit, making note that you should get to work on washing everything when you got back. Hopefully this outing would give you a bit of energy to do some chores.

He was waiting by the bar, his fingers rapping against the countertop. He was obviously trying to be patient; you knew he had a temper. You appreciate him trying, though.

“So,” You began as you came near him. He whipped his head around when he heard your voice. “What’s your idea of… fun?”

“Follow me!” He declared boldly, ushering the both of you out of the hotel. You saw his airship was ready to go, a small ramp leading to the entrance. You nervously smiled at the sight, wondering what he had in store for you. You briefly wondered how Charlie would react knowing Sir Pentious was, very likely, up to no good.

Those eggs of his were already waiting inside, as you saw one peek around the frame of the door. It jumped at the sight of Sir Pentious ascending the ramp, skittering away before coming back with the others. They all watched from the doorway.

Your worries of Charlie were dispelled when Sir Pentious explained that he wanted to go to a strip of stores a few blocks away. You decided not to ask him why he chose to take his airship to just go a few blocks away; he seemed very excited to show off the interior to you, explaining what this button did, and oh, did you notice this lever? Just wait till you see what this knob does! You were genuinely surprised at how complex his build was. Sir Pentious was a lot smarter than everybody gave him credit for.

His eggs were always in your way, and you had to take extreme care not to stumble over or smash one. They were always getting up close to you in order to examine you, or touch your clothes. You were growing irritated at them, honestly, but clenched your jaw to ignore the growing frustration.

It had taken a short time to get to the street, and Sir Pentious ‘parked’ his airship in the air, hanging down a sturdy ladder for the two of you to descend onto the street. You stared down nervously, air whipping at your face.

“Sir Pentious… I don’t think…” You timidly looked down, and then back up to him. He stood there proudly, hands on his hips. He frowned at your apprehension.

“Nonsense!” And he shoved you, his toothy grin quickly disappearing from your vision as you staggered out of the opening below. 

“What the fuck!” You cried, tumbling for a brief moment in the air, your tail whipping wildly to try to straighten yourself out. You were able to grab a rung of the ladder, probably just a few seconds away from smacking into the road. Your heart was beating so hard you were worried it would give out.

“What. The fuck.” You said again, venom practically dripping from your words as you glared at Sir Pentious, who was easily using his two arms to make his way down, tail curled on the ladder for extra stability. If you could kill him with your eyes, you would. 

You continued the last few rungs, arms shaking so hard with adrenaline that you had to make a few attempts to grab the rope with every step.

“Now,” Sir Pentious began, looking around after you were both firmly on the ground. “I believe there iss… some sort of place for foodstuff. There!” And he quickly left you behind after eyeing the shop. You quickly followed when he paused to wave you forward.

It was a pretty standard lunch spot, with the standard Hell foods that you saw for sale in the hotel’s own cafeteria. You ignored the description of the food, knowing that if you thought too hard about what the meat was made out of you would be too sick to eat. Food was another thing in Hell that you just couldn’t get used to.

Sir Pentious ordered some sort of egg sandwich with a soda, and you opted for a salad of sorts with some mystery meat and a colorful array of toppings. You tucked yourself neatly into a chair, poking at the contents of your bowl for a minute before trying it. It really wasn’t that bad.

Sir Pentious was tentatively sipping at his soda, his tiny nostrils flaring at each intake of the carbonated drink. You saw the level of soda go down, up, down again, up again, as he tried desperately to keep the drink in his mouth.

“Do you… not like soda?” You asked behind a laugh. He put on a face of shock at you.

“Of coursse I do! Everybody drinks it! How weird it would be if I couldn’t!” He went back to daintily dragging at the straw. You saw the up and down of the drink continue. You rolled your eyes at his attempt to seem hip. It really wasn’t that serious.

You had ordered some tea, and you pushed the glass towards him.

“Wanna trade?” You asked, and his eyes lit up. “I like soda more than tea.”

“Yess!” He said, a bit too excited for his own taste, obviously, because he immediately lowered his voice. “Of course, only for you. I don’t care either way. But ssince you do,” He swiped at your glass, quickly replacing it with his soda. You honestly weren’t really interested in drinking it, knowing that a lot of it had already been in his mouth and spit back.

After you had both finished, a bit of casual small talk between bites, Sir Pentious paid, to which you thanked him multiple times for, and he simply stuck his nose up and dismissed you, saying it was his responsibility for being the one to offer to take you out.

You actually enjoyed your time with him, which surprised you, because you never thought you’d enjoy the company of the temperamental snake. But, you could tell he tried his best to remain level-headed with you. You wondered if he knew how shitty you’ve been feeling.

When you arrived back at the hotel, you were incredibly thrilled that Sir Pentious was able to park his airship on the ground. No more getting shoved out of tiny holes from the sky. You saw Charlie carefully eyeing the two of you as you came inside, her focus mostly on a conversation with Vaggie. She was likely trying to see if there were any signs of “bad behavior” coming back into her hotel.

Sir Pentious  leads you back to your room, rambling about some invention of his, his words dripping with pride. You were only half listening while you fumbled for the keys to your room.

His words stopped for a moment when you opened the door, and you could tell he was looking at the terrible disarray your room had come to during your periods of doing nothing during depressive episodes. You let out a nervous laugh, closing the door just enough for you to block his line of sight as you leaned against the door.

“Hey, thanks for taking me to get some food,” You smiled at him, and he returned your smile with his own. You could tell there was a softness in his expression, and you kind of hated it, knowing that it was probably coming from a place of pity after seeing the state of your room.

“You know, if you ever need somebody to talk to, I conssider myself a great listener,” He began, and you felt weird hearing the softness and genuineness of his voice. Though you weren’t to sure about the ‘great listener’ part. “Of course I offer my earss to everybody here!” He quickly added, trying to prevent himself from sounding too touchy-feely. You grinned at him and shot him a quick thumbs up.

“Thanks, Pentious,” You backed up into your room, giving him a short wave. “I’ll talk to you later.”

He waved back at you, giving you that fanged grin of his, before you shut the door. You turned on your heel, and stared at the mess you called a room.

Time to do some cleaning, I guess.

[m1ckeyb3rry]

hi mira i’m going to rq for jjk (gojo specifically) :) kinda inspired by a fic idea of mine so if i see you post it maybe it’ll give me inspo to actually write too LOL — this is also a little long sorry, you can shorten as you wish 😓 maybe it’ll get the brain juices going idk

Y/N was really close to geto (i was thinking siblings but do whatever) and when he turned curse user and left, it made Y/N rethink why she was a sorcerer herself. she believed in geto’s ideals, but seeing his mindset 180 made her question if the same thing would happen to her since she was always weaker-minded than him. so she quit dropped out of the school and gojo never saw her since

skipping to the present, Y/N became a sorcerer again after having a conversation with geto some time before he died. with yuji being sukuna’s vessel, she goes to the school herself and sees gojo (their last convo was actually an argument leaving everything [him] behind). gojo’s just really stubborn, but he’s there when Y/N really needs him. from there they only keep encountering each other until they make up, their feelings are all out on the table, etc. etc.

── CHIAROSCURO

Synopsis: You don’t really know who you are without Suguru Geto. Satoru Gojo doesn’t know who he is without either of you.

Event Masterlist

Pairing: Gojo x Reader, Geto & Reader have something less than romantic but more than platonic going on

Chapter Word Count: 6.7k

Content Warnings: angst, mentions of death, flawed y/n character, major time skips, most plot events happen off screen, characters are probably ooc tbh i haven’t written for jjk in months

A/N: finally finished the first of the requests I’ve received so far!! it ended up being way more geto-centric than i had planned for it to be though i’m so sorry angel 😭 and it was also getting way too long so i decided to end it by just hinting the development of the rest of the story you mentioned LMAO i hope that’s okay 😫

Additional: part of my 500 follower event! see the event description and rules to make a request of your own.

Most people grew up with one shadow, but according to your mother, you had lived your entire life with two. The first was the same as the one everyone had, that darkening of the ground in the shape of your figure. The second was the boy who lived next door — or, at least, that was what she told you.

His name was Suguru Geto, and despite his dark features and darker clothing, he had a perpetually sunny demeanor, always quick to offer you a gentle smile whenever you glanced his way. He was polite even when it wasn’t required of him, and though your mother teased you for it, you knew she was secretly grateful for his presence in your life.

The greatest thing Suguru had ever done for you, though, was not teach you manners. It was that he gave you someone to follow. Perhaps it was true that he was your shadow, but it was his in which you cowered when you were frightened, when the brightness of the world was too harsh for your eyes, which, when it came to cruelties and horrors, were as sensitive and new as a child’s.

Suguru was always happy to take on that role. He would stand in front of you, his shoulder blades pinching together as he puffed out his chest and rebuked whichever neighborhood child had dared to tease you. They all ran from him when he was like that, when his brow grew heavy over his eyes and the corners of his mouth twisted into a scowl.

Not you, though. You stayed behind his back, blinking owlishly at the way the others scurried, laughing along when Suguru likened them to mice with a click of his tongue.

Suguru didn’t like those who hurt the ones weaker than them, so you didn’t, either. Suguru thought that the role of the strong was to protect the frail, so you did, too. Whatever Suguru believed, you did as well, because what else was there for you? It was easier for you to hold onto his hand and press against his back, to allow him to tell you where to place your feet, so that there was never even a chance of you falling.

That was why it wasn’t a surprise that, upon Suguru being scouted as a sorcerer, you were extended the same invitation. It was a natural consequence — where he went, you followed, and so when he packed his things and went to Tokyo, it was both of your bags that he was carrying, while you peered around the train station and wondered what kind of place you were going to end up in.

Your new classmate was the one that picked the two of you up. He was tall — taller than even Suguru, though the majority of his body consisted of his legs — and had an unearthly appearance, with pale hair carefully mussed into a seemingly thoughtless style and black glasses which slid down the bridge of his nose to reveal eyes like diamonds.

He was the most brilliant thing you had ever seen. Lowering your eyes, you stepped back into Suguru’s shadow, earning you a scoff from your classmate and a worried exhale from your friend.

“Blech,” he said. “You’re supposed to be my classmate, really? How’re you going to keep up, huh? I’m the strongest sorcerer in the world, you know.”

“I think we’ll manage just fine,” Suguru said pleasantly, though there was an edge to his voice, his teeth like knives when he smiled and offered his hand. “I’m Suguru Geto.”

“Satoru Gojo,” your classmate said, shaking Suguru’s hand firmly. “Looking forward to working with you.”

“Likewise,” Suguru said. “And this is Y/N L/N.”

“Hi,” you said, swallowing even as you said it, pursing your lips and glancing around, wishing for some kind of escape. Gojo hummed and then poked you on the forehead.

“Aw,” he said when you did not visibly react beyond furrowing your brow. “I thought you might fall over or something.”

“I see,” you said. “Um. Well, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “Come on. Let’s go before our teacher gives us all detention for playing hooky.”

Unlike Suguru, Gojo didn’t allow you to follow him around. He made fun of you when you were scared and poked you on the forehead if you cringed away from his taunts. The latter occurred so frequently that you were surprised there was not a permanent indent in your skin.

“One day I’ll get you, pretty Y/N,” he’d always promise you. “Seriously! I mean, you barely have a backbone in the first place, so it’s really a wonder you’re standing at all.”

At first, Suguru used to demand he stop, but as the months went by, his protests grew weaker and weaker. You supposed that it must’ve been nice for him, to stand beside someone for once instead of constantly throwing himself in front of them. You could not blame him, but you found that you missed him more with every passing day.

But what was there to be done about it? After all, you were nothing compared to the two special grade sorcerers. You did what you could and found it was, for the most part, sufficient, but sufficient would never let you exist beside either of them in any way that mattered. So you fell behind, and this time, it was not a conscious choice but an unavoidable circumstance. This time, when you hung back, Suguru continued forward without you.

Empty-minded and weak-hearted. That was what your teacher called you. He sent you on the simplest missions he could, and still you struggled. Sometimes, this meant you would sit alone in the classroom until it was long past dusk, listening to your teacher ramble and shout.

“You are not weak!” he would say, his hands clenched into fists by his side. “By all rights, your technique is perfectly serviceable. You are not weak, Y/N L/N!”

“Yes, sir,” you would respond meekly.

“At least, you should not be,” he’d say. “Yet somehow, inexplicably, you are. Even a Grade 2 curse nearly got the better of you. Your classmates are exorcising special grades on their own! Aren’t you disgusted with yourself?”

Suguru, and sometimes Gojo, would wait outside of the door for you, lingering until they heard the shuffle of your feet, the soft sniffles which announced your arrival. Then Suguru would wrap a casual arm around your shoulders and tell you that it was fine if you were weak, just as long as he was around to protect you, and Gojo would do that infuriating thing where he’d poke you in the forehead and pretend like it was a miracle you hadn’t toppled over yet.

Otherwise, you did not see your classmates. Shoko Ieri was far too busy learning to do things you could never hope to accomplish in your lifetime, and Suguru and Gojo were called on to complete assignments with such unhealthy regularity that their education actually suffered for it. 

You never knew what they did on their missions. You never cared to ask, either. The details would only make you queasy, and in this new world where you were not permitted to shudder and seek out the safety that Suguru so willingly provided you with, you tried to avoid things like that. Harsh things, brilliant things, cruel things — all of them you ran from at an equal pace. Without Suguru there to defend you, you turned into one of those children he had so-despised in your youth. Always running. Always hiding. Always shying away from anything resembling a challenge.

It was after one such mission that Suguru returned differently. You knew he had changed because he crawled into your bed that night instead of his own, drew the blanket up around his shoulders and pressed his weeping eyes against your collarbones.

“It’s no good,” he said after the third time you had asked him what was the matter, your hands nervously skimming over his shoulders, smoothing over his rough hair. “Everything’s been ruined, Y/N. Or maybe it was always like this. Maybe you’re the only one who’s ever understood the world to begin with.”

The next morning, when his feet touched the ground and he slid out of your bed, you were hit with the strangest feeling that you would never see him again. Not in the way you were used to seeing him, anyways. Sitting up in your bed, leaning against your pillows, you watched as he left, though when he went to close the door behind him, you reached out your hand.

“Wait,” you said. He paused, raising his eyebrows.

“Is everything okay?” he said, his knuckles growing white from gripping the handle.

“I want to look at you,” you said. You knew without knowing that the instant the door shut between the two of you, you would lose him forever. Your best friend. Your shadow. You wished that there was a way you could reach out and save him, but the thought of you saving someone was outlandish. Impossible. Laughable. 

“Yeah?” he said. There were heavy bags under his eyes, and it did not reach his irises, but nevertheless, he somehow managed to muster up a smile. It was not gentle as much as it was exhausted, but still, he smiled as best he could at you. “Okay.”

You hugged one of the pillows to your chest. “I miss you a lot.”

“I haven’t gone anywhere,” he said.

“Not yet,” you said. “I think you will someday, though. You’ll go somewhere far away, and I won’t be able to follow you there. You won’t even want me to.”

“What kind of place is that?” he said. “I’ll always want you to follow me around, Y/N. As long as I’m there, not a corner on this planet could be a place I don’t want you to follow me to.”

The door creaked shut. You stared at the blank expanse and thought to yourself that he had always been very good at lying.

From that day forward, there were two opposite phenomena which occurred simultaneously. On the one hand, that blinding radiance of Gojo’s was magnified by the minute, and on the other, Suguru withdrew further and further into a grey sort of monotony that, try as you might, you could not pull him from.

“Gojo,” you said one day, tugging on his sleeve and flinching when he turned to look at you. As per usual, he pressed his finger into your forehead.

“Yikes,” he said. “Seems like you’re still lacking in the spinal department, dear Y/N. But just so you know, I’ve cheated off of your math homework enough times that you really shouldn’t be scared of me.”

“Please help Suguru,” you said.

“Eh?” Gojo said. “What do you mean? Help him with what, his math homework? I’ll just give him yours to copy as well, so why don’t you cut the middle man and show it to him yourself?”

“No, not with — just, he’s going away, and I don’t want him to, but he doesn’t — you’re the only one,” you stammered. 

It was even more difficult to speak with Gojo now than it had been when you had first come to school. That was because it was only recently that you were realizing that that way he made you feel, that shyness, that apprehension, was not because of his gleaming, sharp countenance, but rather something else, something soft in your heart that thudded to life whenever he smirked at you.

“You want me to take his mission for him?” Gojo said, his nose wrinkling. “What, so the two of you can go on a date or something? Forget about it.”

“What?” you said. “No, what — a date — that’s not what I meant!”

It was too late. Gojo was gone, and with him, your last chance at helping Suguru vanished, too. In fact, Gojo avoided you until you went home from the summer break, making a face whenever you glanced his way, and by the time you came back to start the next year, it was too late for anyone to do much of anything.

“Y/N L/N,” Masamichi Yaga said, entering the library where you were writing a paper for your literature class. He cleared his throat uncomfortably, his cheeks a dark, flushed color, his teeth gritted together so hard that a muscle in his jaw twitched periodically. “Do you have a moment? It’s urgent.”

“I was just working on the essay that we were assigned, but it can wait,” you said agreeably, all too eager to give yourself a break from the work. Pushing aside your paper and pen, you stood up, massaging your wrist. “What is it, sir?”

“It’s, er…” His shoulders slumped. “I’m really sorry, Miss L/N.”

You tried to run through the list of things that he could be sorry for, but only one thing came to mind. You froze, your eyes widening. He had been on a mission, hadn’t he? 

“Suguru,” you breathed. “Is it — it’s not about Suguru, is it?”

“In a sense, it is,” Yaga said.

“Is he alright?” you said. “He has to be alright.”

“We believe his condition is fine, considering what he’s done,” Yaga said.

“‘What he’s done?’ Why are you being so vague? What’s going on, sir? Please say it plainly,” you said.

“It’s your parents, Miss L/N,” he said, spitting it out all at once like the phrase itself was poisoned. “They’re dead.”

Your stomach dropped. You had imagined so many things. In your nightmares, you saw your classmates dying, your teachers, even yourself. But never your parents. Your parents, who were so far removed from this awful world. Your parents, who only a month ago had sent you back to school with a pair of new shoes they had saved up to buy. You parents, who had never harmed anyone in their lives. What had they done that was so terrible it warranted such a sudden death? What were they being punished for?

“How — how did it happen?” you said. “Was it a curse?”

“Miss L/N…” Yaga said, his entire self deflating. “I’m really sorry.”

“What? Stop apologizing,” you said, tears gathering in your eyes. “Just tell me. Stop saying sorry and tell me!”

“It was most likely Suguru Geto,” he said, handing you a piece of paper. Your vision swam, and you could barely make out the words. All residents of the village were killed. Jujutsu High investigated. Based on residuals…all 112…the work of Geto’s curse manipulation. Sentenced to death. Sentenced to death. Sentenced to death.

“No,” you said, your voice cracking. “No, why would he do that? My parents loved him, and he loved them, too! We grew up together, so why would he do that?”

“Based on the evidence, he most likely killed his own parents, too,” Yaga said. Your hands wound themselves in your hair as you tugged.

“That’s a lie,” you said. “Suguru isn’t like that. Suguru is good! Suguru looks out for those weaker than himself! He protects people, Yaga. It must be a mistake. It has to be a mistake!”

“Miss L/N—” he began, but you were already running, sprinting as fast as you could. There was no way. There was no way. There was no way. 

Your house and the one beside it — Suguru’s house, a voice in the back of your mind nagged you, that’s Suguru’s house — were blocked off with yellow caution tape. Dozens of police officers were milling about the scene, barking into handheld radios, conversing tensely. One of them noticed you and extended an arm to stop your approach.

“Stay back, ma’am. This is an active crime scene. No outsiders allowed until the investigation has been concluded,” the officer said.

“That’s my house,” you whispered. “Officer, that’s my house. Why are there so many people here? It’s not true, is it?”

The officer didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. The pitying frown on his face told you everything you needed to hear. It was true. It was true. Your parents, your parents were dead, and that meant —

What had it been like for them? Had your mother welcomed him? When she opened the door for him, had her eyes crinkled at the corners in greeting? Had she offered him tea, as she usually did, because she was so fond of him and he was so fond of the drink when made by her hand? And what of your father? Had he reached over to clap Suguru on the back, or had he tried to grab him in an affectionate headlock so that he could mess up his hair with all the zeal of a man half his age?

You threw up. Some of the vomit splattered onto the officer’s shoes, causing him to fold his lips into a thin, disapproving line. Taking a step back, he reached over to pat you on the back as you heaved and hacked, trying to expel the knowledge from your mind and finding that you were entirely unable to.

You walked back to the train station in a trance, your eyes reddened and glazed over, your mouth sour from the taste of the stale crackers the officer had handed you, your hands shoved in your pockets as you tried to remember to breathe through your nose. The officer had offered to escort you to the station, but you had refused. You needed the time to think, and anyways, what did it matter? No ordinary person could hurt you, and no sorcerer would.

“I didn’t think you’d come back alone,” a soft voice said from behind you. You turned around, your insides roiling at the very sound, your ears ringing as you took in Suguru’s casual posture. His hands, too, were in his pockets, and the streetlights cast misshapen, dancing shadows over his face, the effect worsened by the odd tilt of his head.

He was refusing to look at you. That was why he was standing like that. He couldn’t bear to look you in the eyes, and that was the only confirmation you needed. 

“So what?” you said. “I did. Are you going to kill me next?”

“What?” he said. Briefly, he glanced up at you in alarm, and then, like he had remembered he didn’t deserve to feel betrayed by that kind of question, he slouched back down into the same apathy of earlier. “No.”

“Just do it,” you said. “Just do it, you fucking asshole! Why would — you — you killed my parents! You killed my parents, and now you’re just talking to me as if nothing happened? Why? Why would you…?”

His expression did not budge again. “They were filthy monkeys who deserved it.”

“Huh?” you said. The statement was so bizarre that, for a moment, your anger was forgotten. “What the fuck?”

“This world doesn’t need more non-sorcerers running around,” he said. “Every single curse you’ve ever fought, it’s their fault. Those idiots who don’t know how to control the meager amounts of cursed energy they have, they’re the ones who cause curses to manifest. You should be thanking me, Y/N. This’ll make your life that much easier.”

“Do you really think that's the case?” you said.

“Yes,” he said. “With my entire heart, I think that it is.”

You had always, always followed Suguru. When he said to protect the weak, you did so. When he said to take care of others, you did that, too. Whatever he told you to believe, you believed. But how could you do that this time? How could you believe in the person who had murdered your parents?

“You killed my parents because of your stupid theory,” you said numbly. “You killed my parents. Suguru, you killed my parents.”

You didn’t care about the one hundred and twelve villagers. That was the most shameful thing: if it had just been that, then you might still have followed him. He could’ve convinced you — no. You could’ve convinced yourself that it was fine, that he really was looking out for you in that peculiar manner of his. It wouldn’t have been impossible. Even now, your resolve was so weak, and it was only the thought of your parents that allowed you to cling to it at all.

“They asked about you,” he said dully. “I let them. My own parents, I didn’t give them a chance to say anything, but yours…I let them ask. I guess you could consider it my last favor to you.”

The ringing grew louder. You pushed your palms against your ears in an effort to drown it out, but you couldn’t. If anything, it just grew louder and louder, more and more insistent. You couldn’t shake it off. You couldn’t make it go away, just like you couldn’t make Suguru’s words go away.

“It was the only thing they worried about. In their last moments, it wasn’t their own lives they begged for…it was yours,” he said, his gaze far away, his irises unreadable as he recalled that moment. “How strange is that?”

“Shut up,” you said.

“I told them you were okay,” he said.

“Shut up,” you repeated, though it was unsteady and unconvincing. “Shut up, shut up.”

“They were pretty happy about that,” he said, in a tone filled with dreamy recollection. “They didn’t fight much after I promised you’d be okay. What simple creatures they must have been, that even while dying they could only think to rejoice!”

You screamed. It was wordless and brittle, a symptom of your lungs’ collapse as you broke into sobs, fumbling in your purse for your phone. Suguru watched as you unsteadily punched in a number you had never bothered to save, not trying to stop you, maybe not seeing the point.

“Gojo,” you said when he picked up, before he could even say anything. “Gojo, please just — can you come get me? Please come get me.”

“Okay,” he said, to your surprise. He didn’t argue or call it a waste of time or point out that you were still bawling as you spoke. “Where are you? I can be there pretty soon if I steal one of the managers’ cars, I think.”

“By my house,” you said. Suguru did not move, showing you his hands, as if he was giving you permission to do what you wanted. It was your choice. If you just told Gojo that he was with you, then you had no doubt he’d be apprehended within minutes.

“I see,” he said. “I’ll be there as quickly as possible.”

You were the one who hung up, not him. You were the one who made the decision. You were the one who looked at Suguru and then turned your back to him so that, for once, he was the one behind you.

“I can’t reconcile it,” you said, using the ends of your sleeves to blot at your tears as you hiccuped. “I can’t understand it. Even after everything, I still want to follow you. I still want you to be my shadow. I still want to be yours.”

Don’t turn. Don’t turn. Don’t turn. You couldn’t turn around. If you turned around, then that meant your old teacher was right. Empty-minded. Weak-hearted. You could not turn around.

A dry breeze rustled through the leaves on the ground, sounding like footsteps against pavement. Don’t turn.

You turned. You should’ve known better than to expect anything different from yourself. You had never been someone who could stand in the front for very long. You would always turn. You would always run and cower and hide.

Anything you might’ve said died on your tongue as you saw he was already gone. You were alone. You had let him go. You had allowed that mass murderer, that criminal, to walk away from you. What kind of a sorcerer were you? Empty-minded. Weak-hearted. That sort, then. The horrible sort.

When the headlights of the car Gojo had borrowed swung around the corner, you had long since curled up on the grass, your cheek to the mud as you tried to grasp what you had done. 

“Hey,” Gojo said. “Y/N?”

He must’ve gotten out of the car at some point, because suddenly, he was crouching before you, pulling you to your feet, his limbs awkward and gangly as he cocked his head, still wearing those ridiculous sunglasses despite the darkness.

“I’m a piece of shit,” you said, and then you were clutching the collar of his uniform jacket. “Why am I like this?”

“What do you mean?” he said.

“He killed my parents,” you said. “He killed my parents, and I let him walk away.”

“Who?” Gojo said, but it was a rhetorical question. He knew who. You looked up at him miserably, and he shook his head slightly, like he couldn’t quite comprehend what you were saying. “You let who walk away?”

“I don’t think he was planning on seeing me,” you said, letting go of his shirt and pleading with him to understand. “We weren’t supposed to meet.”

“You saw Suguru,” Gojo accused, and now it was his turn to take you by the shoulders, his fingers digging into the muscle of your biceps, his eyes wild. “You saw him, and you didn’t tell me.”

Your lower lip trembled. “He killed my parents, Gojo.”

“That’s not true,” he said.

“It is,” you said. “It is, he told me it is, and I couldn’t even do anything when he said so.”

“Why?” Gojo hissed. “You only had to tell me! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I just didn’t!” you said, and then you were crying again. “I couldn’t. Oh, they’re dead, and he killed them, he killed them, and they only asked about me when he did. Why am I the one who gets to live?”

His hands traveled from your arms to the nape of your neck, the heels of his palms pressing into your jaw as he tried to force you to look at him. But you couldn’t, of course you couldn’t, you hadn’t been able to before and you definitely couldn’t now.

“You know Suguru better than anyone. Don’t you think there’s something else at play?” Gojo said. He wasn’t asking for you. He was asking for himself. He wanted you to reassure him, tell him that it was alright, that his best friend wasn’t the monster you both knew he was. How was it fair? How could you be expected to reassure him?

You shoved him off of you. “No.”

“Then why’d you let him go?” Gojo said. “You must’ve thought that there was a reason, or else you would’ve told me. It’s the only explanation!”

“No, it’s not! The only explanation is that I’m shitty and weak and stupid, and I can’t help but rely on him. No matter what I do, I’ll rely on him! People like you don’t understand what it feels like. You can stand on your own, but I’m not like that!” you said, and then you were grabbing his hand — he always did that, you noticed, always turned his Infinity off for you even now that it was an automatic, constant process — unfurling his fingers and jabbing his index finger at your forehead. “Do you get it? You were right. I don’t have a spine. I don’t have one at all!”

“Pull yourself together, Y/N,” Gojo said. “He’s still out there. We just have to reach him before the others do, and then we can talk to him. If it’s the both of us, then he’ll listen. He’ll explain everything!”

“He already did,” you said. “You just don’t accept it, but that’s different than him not explaining at all.”

“So what, then? You’re just going to go back to the school and live your life as normal?” he said, scowling at you. “How could you even think of doing that? In what world does that make sense? You can’t go back and pretend like nothing happened!”

“It’s true. I can’t,” you said, because it was the fact you had been avoiding since the day you first set foot in the school, which you had always known in the back of your mind despite how you denied it. “I can’t go back at all. I can’t be a sorcerer.”

It was a rare thing to see Satoru Gojo speechless. If it were a lesser occasion, you might have laughed at the way his lips parted and his eyebrows knitted together in such a foreign way.

“Why not?” he said. 

“I’m afraid I’ll follow him,” you said. “No, I know I will. If I stay, then I will definitely follow him.”

“You won’t,” Gojo said. “Follow me instead. Follow me if you have to, but you can’t leave. Not you, too.”

Another rarity: Satoru Gojo was afraid. Not of your absence, but of the changes it would bring. With Haibara gone, Suguru vanished, and then you…what would even become of the school? When so many pieces were taken away from it, could it even be considered the same place?

“I can’t end up like that,” you said. “I can’t even risk it. I became a sorcerer because of him; I’ll leave because of him, too. Anyways, you hate when I follow you. You prefer people who can stand on their own two feet. I know that about you now.”

“If you run away, I won’t forgive you for a long time,” he warned me. 

“Then don’t,” you said, stepping away, though still facing him. “What good is your forgiveness, anyways? It won’t bring my parents back. It won’t bring Suguru back. I don’t even want you to forgive me, Gojo. I want you to hate me until you die.”

It was the last time you saw him for so long that his memory blurred away at the edges. The way he said your name, the way his hair shone in the sun, the slope of his nose and curve of his neck…once, these were things you might’ve been able to list with a great degree of accuracy. Not anymore, though. Now, if you thought of him at all, it was only that final image of him, framed by the headlights of that still-running car. It was not your name he had called out as you walked away from him, but something bitterer, a promise said with such sincerity it was all but a Binding Vow.

“Ten years,” he had said. “That’s how long I’ll hate you for. Not my entire life. Not until I die. Just for the next ten years.”

Life as an ordinary person was easy. Life without Suguru was harder. But you learned. You learned, through the years, how to stand on your own two feet. You learned how to live with only one shadow instead of two. You learned how to let your eyes adjust to light, gradually instead of all at once, so that it was an easy progression and free of pain. 

There were times when you thought you had seen one or the other of the two who you had run from. There, across the street, was it Suguru reading the newspaper? Or in the bakery you walked past on your way to work, was it Gojo who was admiring the displays? They always vanished before you could grow close enough to ascertain their identities, though, remaining ever out of your grasp, existing as nothing more than phantoms in your periphery, refusing to let you forget the past entirely.

The first time you called Gojo was a year after you left the school. You weren’t expecting him to pick up, and when the automated message prompted you to leave a voicemail, you almost hung up in resignation. Something stopped you, though, and despite feeling entirely ridiculous, you cleared your throat.

“Ah, it’s Y/N. But I guess you probably knew that, considering you didn’t pick up. Well, I don’t have anything much to say, but I just wanted to call and make sure you were doing alright. I’m okay. The anniversary of my parents’ deaths is coming up, so I was planning on visiting their graves. I got a new job. Somewhere that I never would’ve expected to work when I was younger. It’s nice. I like my coworkers. They’re nothing compared to you, of course, but they’re fine enough. Anyways. Um. I guess that’s it. I don’t think you’ll call me back, but I just wanted to let you know I’m doing okay.”

It was a routine. Every year, on that day, you’d call him and leave him a voice message. He never once answered — you doubted he listened to the voicemails at all, either — but it soothed you to leave them, to leave one last connection to the world that had taken up so much of your life, and for so long.

More often than not, that time felt like a dream. If it weren’t for the thorned mourner’s bouquets which left pricks in your fingers or the ten calls you had made to Satoru Gojo, you wouldn’t have believed any of it had happened at all. Sorcery, curses, shadows and killers, best friends who betrayed you and boys you ran from, these were all things better suited to storybooks than real life. 

Your mother’s favorite flowers had been roses, and you always made sure to bring some with you when you visited your parents’ graves. Roses for her and white chrysanthemums for your father, who had never had a preference for any particular flowers but was so sentimental that he would weep at any blooms being set by his headstone.

The roses were the ones that made the pads of your fingertips bleed, leaving bright red drops the same shade as their petals on the tissues you brought with you. You’d set the bouquet down and wrap your fingers with the tissues, watching as blood seeped through the thin paper, and then, without fail, you’d cry.

“It’s been so long without you,” you said, when enough time had passed that you could not be considered anything but an adult despite feeling like little more than a child. “It’s been so long, and I still don’t know what to do. Mother, father, I am grown now, yet constantly I wish I could ask you for advice. What was that song you’d always hum when I was tired, father? How did you make that tea of yours, mother? When did you know you loved one another? And a million other, sillier things. If I could think of nothing more pressing, I’d ask you about the weather, the time, and your plans for the weekend. I’d bid you a good morning and a good night. I’d complain about the rain and my job. Just as long as it meant I could talk to you again.”

You could not help it. You wept, bloody tissues fluttering to the ground as you ground your fists into your eyes, trying to stem the flow of your tears. Your breath came in quick, short gasps, and you rocked back and forth from your heels to your toes in an attempt to lull yourself into a state of calm. Back and forth. Back and forth. It was the only thing you could do, but it was not enough.

Someone’s hand settled upon your shoulder, and it had been so long since you had felt even a semblance of physical affection that you did not immediately bat them away. Instead, your own hands fell to your sides, your head hanging as you watched the newcomer set a bouquet beside the one you had brought. Orchids and lilies. Lovely, pale things that contrasted sharply with the red of the roses next to them.

“You said in your voicemail that you’d be here at this time. I hope it’s okay that I came.”

It was Satoru Gojo. He no longer wore the sunglasses you remembered him to; instead, a black blindfold was wrapped around his eyes and forehead, causing his pale hair to stick up like he had been shocked. He did not quite smile when he noticed that you were looking at him, but something resembling that expression crossed his face.

“Gojo,” you said. “Why are you—?”

“It’s been long enough,” he said. “You’re a really hard person to hate, Y/N L/N. I did my best, but it was difficult. I hope that you know that.”

“So you’ve come to, what, tell me you forgive me?” you said. “Thanks, but I don’t need it. It’s as I said: your forgiveness means nothing.”

“Nah,” he said, and then he was grabbing your hand and squeezing it tightly. “I’ve come to bring you back to sorcery with me.”

“What?” you said. “No. I quit.”

“You didn’t quit, you ran,” he reminded you.

“That’s the same thing,” you said. He grinned. It was the kind of grin that would’ve blinded you when you were younger, but you found that it was not so brilliant anymore. You found you liked it even more than you once had.

“Not in my books,” he said.

“Gojo, I’m not strong enough. I can lead a normal life without you and Suguru and the others, but if you throw me back into sorcery, I know I’ll cave,” you said. “I’ll turn back into that cowardly little girl I once was. I’ll seek out that shadow which I’ve spent so long learning to exist without.”

He sighed, and then he poked you in the forehead. “Not the case. See, you didn’t even waver this time! I think you finally did it, Y/N. You grew a spine.”

“Why do you want me to come back?” you said. “I’m not strong like you. I won’t give you anything you don’t already have.”

“It’s selfish,” he said. “I don’t want to tell you because it’s selfish, and you’ll laugh at me.”

“If you don’t tell me, then I won’t even consider it,” you said. Though his eyes were covered by the blindfold, you could sense him rolling them based solely on the way he pouted.

“I’ve spent the last ten years hating you for leaving us — for leaving me behind,” he said. “Everyone else was gone. I needed someone, but you left too, and then I really was alone. I want to drag you back into hell because I can’t face it by myself anymore.”

There were things left unsaid in that. Why you, for one? He could have anyone in the world, so why, after ten years, had he come to find you specifically? Why was it now that he could no longer bear the hell that was sorcery alone? But Gojo was not the sort who ever revealed his true self if he could help it, so you supposed those things would have to go unsaid for a little longer.

“Okay,” you said.

“Okay?” he said.

“Okay,” you said. “I’ll come back, but I have a condition.”

“What is it?” he said.

“The next time I leave, or run away, or quit, don’t hate me for quite as long,” you said. “Don’t hate me at all. I know I told you that I want you to hate me until you die, but I don’t anymore.”

“Okay,” he said.

“Okay?” you said, in a direct mirror of your previous exchange.

“Okay,” he said. “Come on, then. Follow me.”

“Oh, that, too,” you said. “I won’t follow you. If that’s what you’re expecting, then you can forget about it. I cannot allow myself to follow anyone ever again. I cannot be that weak, or I’ll become someone I despise. Someone I don’t want to be, ever again.”

His expression morphed into one of shock, and then he did something so odd as to be beyond all rationality and logic. He beamed at you before patting you on the head. It wasn’t condescending; it was the kind of gesture that was like a promise, or a warning, depending on who you asked. Maybe in this case, it was both.

“It’s alright. Actually, it’s better if you don’t,” he said. “I like you more when you don’t follow anyone at all.”

[justatypicalwizard]

Late night frustration | Bakugo Katsuki

✦ Bnha characters have their quirks but they are all secret heroes living a doubble-life. Katsuki has a had crush on you but instead of asking you out on a date he's stuck listening to you fangirling over Red Riot. Out of frustration he decided to do something very stupid.

✦ Word count: 2,5k

✦ Warnings: none

Secret hero Dynamite on rampage once again [see video]

Stupid fucking media. They just don’t give a time of the day to check how it all happened. All they see are Mina’s boobs and Eiji’s smile. Bakugo grunted while scrolling through a bunch of shorts featuring yesterday's secret hero action. They all showed the two mentioned earlier in a glorifying light or his, not so subtle, bursting out of the convenience store, glass shattering behind him as he grabs the thief by the collar.

Apart from being a college student Bakugo lives a double-life as a secret hero. How did he get his powers? No one knows, including himself. The same with Mina, Kirishima and Denki. There were a bunch of other people who rolled out on the streets after sunset with masked faces but he didn’t know them all, he didn’t care. It's not like he ever even agreed to the idea, his friends convinced him that they should all use their powers to save the world. Honestly he just saw this as an opportunity to manifest his quirk, otherwise too destructive to play with. Over time he got fed up with what people talked about him, he’s not gonna lie, at some point such an amount of hate would touch anyone. Yet, he didn’t stop, didn’t hide behind a fake personality denying he even has any powers. He got out every second night and did what he’s done for years now.

A bag dropping near his face tore him out of his thoughts bubble. Looking up he spotted your smile as you sat down opposite of him, the well used wooden chair creaked under your ass. There was one more reason why he kept trying all the time. After every night action he waited with gritted teeth for your excited text sending him an awesome video of Dynamite that you just found and fell in love with. He wanted you to fangirl over Dynamite so he could drop by in the middle of the night, take his mask off and tell you that it’s him, he’s the secret hero that you’re in love with. But it never came. You never said a positive word about his alter ego, either being neutral or agreeing with some of the opinions on his brutality and carelessness.

Yet, how could you know better? You were not there last night with the shop owner, an old man too shocked to mumble anything into the microphone after onlookers and reporters flooded the crime scene. You didn’t hear him when he grabbed Bakugo by the sleeve just as he was about to run and thanked him. You didn’t know that the old man was grateful, claiming that the window was nothing, repairing it will cost less than what the thief was about to steal. Of course none of them heard that because Katsuki always gets those compliments off-scene. Noone ever listens to the actual victims, they have a forged history that will match their shitty profiles and online channels.

“Did you see yesterday’s action?” Quite close up actually, princess.

“Mhm.” He mumbled, opening a random book to quickly end the topic.

“There’s a lot of shots of Dynamite breaking that window. I mean, I get that he has a very destructive power but was it really necessary to catch the thief bursting through the glass? Maybe he could run up to him on the streets?” And what would it change? Then he’d blast a car standing on the roadside or a street lamp and they aren’t that cheap either! “Well, at least he got the criminal.” Oh finally, some scarce words of compliment. “But look at that, look, look.”

He nearly grabbed your hand as you started to wave it in front of his face. It was a short featuring Red Riot flexing as he ran to help Bakugo tackle down the thief. It was unnecessary as Bakugo’s explosive hand was already on the criminal's neck which paralysed the guy with fear. Yet, Eiji always wanted to help. He sincerely didn’t do it for attention, he just always wanted to make sure he did the best he could. How can he stand back and watch? It was him who handed the tief to the police. Bakugo already learned that they were not keen on being close to Dynamite so it was always Eiji talking to them. That’s how he stole the whole spotlight of the previous night, he jumped on the already disarmed thief, picked him up and handed him to the police. Simple as that. And yet it had you squeaking and scrolling through more phone-made shots from different angles, all painfully exposing Eiji’s flexing muscles in the scarce suit he wore.

“Red Riot is so hot. I can’t believe he lives somewhere there as a normal person.” Oh he actually lived very close by. Your Red Riot was just a few tables away, chewing on a pencil, sweating over a simple maths equation.

Bakugo was seriously in awe that people didn’t see that bulked form in Kirishima. It was obviously good that his cover never blew but apart from covering his face and hair during actions Kiri was nearly all on display. In the daytime he also didn’t bother covering too much, always wearing a hugging shirt that would show off his tremendous muscles. Guess the mass doesn’t really look for the heroes, they just admire them and later forget that they actually exist as said normal people.

“I would totally fuck Red Riot stupid.”

This was enough. Having someone you love, I mean have a crush on, whatever, talking about fucking a different guy in you very face was too much for Bakugo.

“You know what, I got a text from mom, I need to go.” The blonde stood up, pushing the chair from under his knees with such a force it nearly fell down. He looked at your surprised face as you mumbled a ‘okay’ and that you’d ‘do the assignment they were both due’.

As much as Bakugo wanted to spend time with you, he also couldn’t listen to what you said, a painful feeling aching in his chest.

Later that evening Bakugo found himself sitting on a roof, looking at the city below him. It wasn’t supposed to be a patrol night but he couldn’t sit at home, he had to do something, anything to take his mind off of the earlier talk. Eijiro didn’t even do anything bad but the blonde was furious with him. If he saw that dumb face he’d punch him, which of course he didn’t want to do so he distanced himself for the time being.

A cool breeze grazed his form, sneaking under his masked face. He certainly didn’t like the cold, it made him slower and weaker but autumn was taking over. He saw it in your coat, you picked a new one, a warmer one. You wrapped it around yourself tightly, hiding your chin into the large collar. Oh, you were there, again.

Bakugo leaned over the edge of the roof to see you better. It was past sunset, the yellow light of the street lamps giving your silhouette a golden hue. You were walking down a narrow lane in the middle of the park. You must be heading from some shop as your hands were wrapped around big paper bags.

If not his earlier outburst maybe he could have been next to you. Maybe he’d lie that he doesn’t have anything to do and he can go to the shop with you. You’d spend the evening fooling around in some shopping mall, maybe take out something to eat and he could pretend, just for a second, that you were his girlfriend. Later he’d walk you home and give you a goodbye hug because that’s what friends do. And he would keep you close just a split second longer, so that you don’t notice.

Nothing would come true if he keeps on ditching you for the sake of his own anger. So what if you’re fangirling over Red Riot? You’re not stupid enough to fall in love with the unreachable secret hero. Yet, Bakugo couldn’t shake off the creeping feeling that you could meet Eiji at some point, at a party with your mutual friends and talk to him. You could talk to him a lot, laughing at his shitty jokes, unconsciously brushing his biceps with your hand because of course you’d like him. The redhead is a funny, charming himbo that girls love. If Bakugo would sit down on the couch and watch your interaction for afar then he’s sure that Eiji would put down his hand on the counter behind you, narrowing the space between your bodies. He’d flirt with you jokingly just as he does best up to the point when you both sneak out of the party. Then he’d give you a night you’ll never forget because Bakugo knows damn well what girls say after spending an evening with Kirishima. Maybe Eiji would break it to you that he’s Red Riot and after that he’d never get rid of you. It’s a dream come true. For you. A nightmare for Katsuki.

He actually had to cough because the clench in his chest and the turn in his stomach became unbearable. He felt hurt, as if everything that he just imagined actually happened. As if you were already Eiji's girlfriend. He just wanted you so badly right now that he actually leapt down from the roof down onto the park lane, catching your attention with the small explosions.

Katsuki knew that who you saw approaching you right now was Dynamite. He saw the shock in your eyes as they focused on him but not fear. Good, because he was about to do something very stupid.

Bakugo closed the space between you with a few long strides. He grabbed the puffy collar of your coat and with his other hand slid up his mask, just enough to plant his lips onto yours. Katsuki was not innocent, not even a bit. If he was going to kiss you as Dynamite, so that you never know what actually happened, he was going to do it good.

Your lips were already parted, they never actually closed after seeing the secret hero cross your path. Bakugo used it to his advantage, slipping his tongue inside to taste you, grazing his teeth over your lower lip. He swore you moaned quietly but maybe he just imagined it getting way too horny. You were soft, no matter where he grabbed you. Unfortunately it was the coat, it secured you from his touch and he silently cursed it was late autumn and not summer.

Finally he let go of you and you stumbled a bit backwards. Before you could ask any questions he ran away, leaving you gaping behind him.

Bakugo could already imagine the sexual assault headlines after you tell everyone Dynamite kissed you out of nowhere. Or maybe you would first talk to him about it. Either way his hero name was already stained enough so that one more spot won’t change anything. But he did it, he kissed you, he felt it. Now he can play it over and over in his mind, fixating on your taste. Hope he never forgets. But he also felt guilty. He basically stole it away from you and that’s not how he wanted to have the first kiss with you.

Katsuki wandered the streets for some time before the emotions overflooded him and he found himself heading towards Mina’s crumpled up college flat. He just had to yell at someone, to someone. He’d throw it all on Eiji once more, complaining how his crush fangirls over Red Riot, the same as usual. Mina was well aware of the whole drama.

As quiet as possible he jumped up and up until he reached the  window of her unused room. It was open, as always, and he flew through it, landing on the floor, tearing his mask off.

“Racoon fucking eyes…” He was just about to start when he dropped his mask to the ground.

Instead of Mina he saw someone else, someone he really didn’t want to see now. It was you, standing in the middle of the room, picking something out of the same paper bag you carried earlier. Now that he saw it up close it had a print of a home supplies shop. You looked at him, eyes wide as ever, mouth gaping once again.

You were not stupid so of course he couldn’t make you think it was all a dream but he honestly didn’t have any better idea right now.

“Bakugo?” You asked, standing up and walking to him, your scrutinising eyes scanning his costume. “What the fuck? You’re Dynamite?”

Of course you were quick to connect the dots, who wouldn’t when he saw his best friend fly up the window with the, oh so well known, explosions.

“You’re, but, how? Why?” You looked like you didn’t know what to ask about.

“Okay, shut it, I’ll explain the whole damn hero thing…” The blonde also started to throw words at you with the speed of a machine gun.

“What? Hero? Why did you kiss me an hour ago?”

That’s not what he expected. You were more concerned with the kiss than with him being Dynamite? He didn’t know whether he liked it. It would be way easier to explain his secret hero life than what he did that said hour ago.

“I…” No words came out of his throat as he looked at you, at your face, tense and focused.

“Why did you kiss me Katsuki?”

“Because I’m in love with you okay, fuck it.”

“What?”

“I’m. In. Love. With. You.” He spat out every word. “And after hearing, once again, how you’d fuck Red fucking Riot today I had enough. It’s always Red Riot this and Red Riot that, but no one cares about the fact that it was me who caught the thief. Why don’t you just go and actually fuck Red Riot. Now that you know I’m Dynamite might as well just show you the way to his fucking apartment…”

Bakugo didn’t have the chance to end his rumble because he felt the familiar taste once again. You were pressing him up the windowsill, your small form no match for him. Your lips were planted against his. You broke the kiss before he had the time to react.

“Shut up about Red Riot. I was just joking. Why didn’t you tell me you liked me?”

“What?” It was his turn to ask stupid questions.

“I, uh damn, I also like you, crush you very much. I just didn’t think you liked me back, giving your shitty demeanour all the time.”

It would take him some time to explain the whole situation to you. It would also take some time for you to get used to him being a secret hero, though after you agreed to be his girlfriend you noticed he threw himself in crossfire less during his night actions. Who knows, maybe he’ll even gain a bit in the eye of the public soon. Now he doesn't really care for it any more as the only person he ever wanted to impress is already snuggled up beside him in bed, late in the night.

[jupiixer]

Thoughts on Heroes of Olympus series

I just recently finished the 5 books of this saga and honestly I didn't find as much enjoyment reading them as the Percy Jackson saga, or the trials of Apollo (which I did not finish yet so idk about that).

First off, I think Romance was too pushed in the books. In one hand, it's normal that there is a lot of romance, the characters are all teenagers, but on the other hand, it makes it a bit annoying to read because on the contrary of Percybeth, to which we had a 5 book long slowburn, we aren't attached to any of the couples like Jason × Piper and Hazel × Frank. And for me, it felt weird to read about a whole friendgroup consisting of mostly only couples. And then there is Leo, who will bring me to my next point: Calypso × Leo

Honestly, the ship doesn't bother me so much, but it's just that I wish Rick kept Calypso's curse. She isn't allowed outside her island, someone isn't able to find her twice, so why did Leo break that curse? And I don't like the idea of a character getting with the mythological myth, but that's just me.

Also, why were Jason and Leo able to escape the prophecy where one of them would die, I understand the whole thing about the potion which will keep you alive, but it's a literal prophecy. One of them should have died in the end, in place of "everybody is alive and happy, the end!". I know it's a kid's book but why add the prophecy if in the end it's not even real.

Moreover, why was Nico's problems just about Percy? He ran out of camp because of his crush on Percy, he didn't feel in his place because of his crush on Percy, he was cold to everyone because of his crush on Percy. I get it really bothered him, but I think Rick could have went way more deep about Nico's character, because I certainly believe that he has a lot of relatable things that aren't just his crush on Percy. Though I definitely love the development at the end where he finally accepts it and doesn't make it a big deal!

Finally, I think the last book ended things too quickly, for instance, I think the house of Hades goes in depth about everything, Tartarus is I think very well described, and Percy's emotions too, but the last book was fine in the first half, but everything got a bit scraped in the end, the fight against Gaïa was 1 page, and Leo's resurrection + saving Calypso was less than 10 pages.

In overall, I did like the books, but romance was too much involved, and maybe Rick's better in writing to write as first pov.

Anyway, almost finished the first book of trials of Apollo and for now I love it! Xm

[color-craz]

AF MidWeek Round-up!

This is just a simple post compiling all of my attacks so far along with some artists notes! Mostly because I found myself much more active this year than last year (Minus these few couple days due to some appointments). I'll be tagging everyone and linking to other socials so you can see these lovely folks. Of course if you want to attack me, I'm ready to fight! Without further ado, here's all the attacks so far :>

@cosmicdenro @stellarknightz - Weekend Date The name of the game for these first few attacks was to get everyone who I was supposed to last year but ran out of time ^^;;. I decided upon Jesse's Zircon over Jesse the character (one in my bookmarks) b/c it seemed like Turquoise Zircon was less drawn this year but was his icon on AF. So easy pick from me :> (Btw doing Sodalite's stripes and copying Zircon's shape language was really fun!!)

@/clawothy (Twitter) - Chill Cat Another attack from last years bookmarks! It was definitely a soft but enjoyable opening into drawing furries since Claw's so human shaped. It was fun drawing his tail and patterns :>. This is just a nice character design all around.

@twidaisi - Speedy Service Twi was also one from my bookmarks, but also a doorway down an ArtFight rabbit hole. Which will become apparent in the next two pieces. For this one, I had a pretty clear pose in mind so I placed it onto O.R.B.I and went from there!! His design is so neat and he seems so cool! The pose was also pretty fun to do as well, just an overall fun art piece (Also this one got a revenge!!! I still really really love thank you so much!!!!!)

@scratchgeist - Escapism Ho! This was a doozy! Twi had Scratch's profile linked so I ended up hitting him with an attack too. Drawing Scratch's mane turned out to be a pleasant experience despite me originally fearing it. This scene idea also came from a prompt of Scratch going outside. I ended up putting Polish on this because all those scratchy "ink like" lines I actually did manually (take a fuzzy brush and then go over it using a sketchbook eraser). It was nice dipping my toes into BatIM again and trying out more animal feature.

@/stylin.art Instagram @/crypticc0rpse Instagram - Pirates in arms One of those two people were linked on Scratch's profile and the person linked also linked to the other person. But I realized that both Stylin and Crypt had some shared characters. So this ended my little rabbit hole of people by attacking these two lovely fellows at the same time. This little crossing swords idea took me a nice minute to come up with but I liked how it ended up anyway. I really did like drawing James together like this (probably helps that I really like pirates in general). Also yes I know her hand is fucked up I noticed way to late to fix it.

@smoresthehalloweenqueen - Listen to the waves Once I finished up with that I moved onto the next bookmark, which was Smores! Originally I was gonna draw Brutus but then I was like "I like his sona it looks like fun!" So I drew them listening to music because why not :>. I struggled on the arms initially but it came out real clean and nice. Honestly might be my best work so far! (Fun fact, I color picked the waves + background from Seafoam's icon.)

@skittisketch - I got it! Mr. Sascachawean himself! I referenced this pose form the classic Objection point because I thought it would fit his personality. This was also a little bit of a test with a style I had only done in sketches (Basically my human style but omitting a neck which somehow shaves off a lot of time). This was a super fun pose to do with a pretty nice background! (Once again, fucked up hand I know I noticed too late again)

@justpainterrobot - Rare Nightly Sight I had this really really clear picture of what I thought up for this attack and I'm happy that I was able to make it a reality. I put the polish tag on this one because I almost got super super detailed of what the junk was below her (Stuff coming down from Elysium n all that) but due to a lack of references I just went with typical metal and wood. Fun fact, the night sky in the background is based on the one from Deponia itself (The first game's scenes with the professor at night). I think this rewrite of Toni was really cool from what I could find about her. Overall a labor of love type of attack.

@coelpts @swan-swanno - Boss Battle I thought to myself "Hm, I see Coelpts around a lot, lets hit him with an attack." and it turns out Ciel's gay married to Swanno's charater Mikhail, who was the last one in my bookmarks from last year. So another double attack for this one! It was a struggle starting this one mostly because I was debating whether or not to draw Ciel's Lord outfit but I ended up doing so because why not :>. It was a fun experience copying Swanno's more angular style, which is a stark departure from my more rounded shapes (As you can see here). Has a nice venture doing the lighting as well, overall a good experience.

@tailsylennon - Sweet Treats Mitchell showed off Tasily's proflie one day and I saw their sona and was I was like "Lemme draw it!" and did! I ended up following another prompt by her because it was their birthday! (By the time I started on this it was 8 pm and I freaked tf out and got to work). Her sona was really cool and I really loved drawing them. Fun fact, each of the set pieces references the Hallows Souls trio. The chair is decorated after Terra, Markus is the table, and Whistle pallet is used for the tea set :>. It was just a pleasant and cozy attack to make overall.

@ceaseless-enemy - Congratulations!!!! I've actually known about Voila for quite awhile now and thought his design n theaming is quite neat! I actually based the pose off of Ai from Oshi No Ko (I think one of her key arts before the anime released, ifykyk). But I skillfully cut out the legs because I can't draw digitigrade legs... Hooray... Otherwise it was quite nice to work on this attack in particular, especially the eyes and the hair :>.

@killbent - Getting Ready This is another one I had a real clear idea of prior to doing this, specifically because Killbent gave a prompt to give Mr Fairchime pink hair, so i thought a "pre-show" set up would look nice :>. The lighting was another new venture for me, because I usually do cool/night time like lighting but I think it turned out nicely for Fairchime. It was also fun doing the accessories and stuff on the vanity as well. Fun Fact, it's a bit hard to see through the watermark + lighting but the face paint and pallet both have the colors of his make up! Overall a pleasant and warm attack for this year.

And that's all of them so far! I picked up some new bookmarks + I gotta get Twi back for drawing Compact!! So those will probably be compiled by the end of AF so about, early August-ish if I keep up the pace. Anyway, thank you so much for reading and gracing me with the opportunity to draw all of these amazing characters!

Until next time!

-Gappy, Witch of the Stars

[sweetly-yours-and-mine]

Bordeaux

Pairing: Marc Spector x f!Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Summary: She's not exactly sure why she's invited Marc to Bordeaux.

Warnings: mentions of the death of a loved one, written in two hours, poorly edited (author has BDE)

A/N: Couldn't get this idea out of my head ever since I watched Un Beau Matin. Any dialogue I used from the movie is bolded down below. English translations will be given at the end of the fic. French is not my native language, so please excuse any mistakes.

I don't own photos, dividers or characters.

Élodie had invited her, once again, to the villa in Bordeaux. Had tempted her really, with the promise of sunshine and a warm, swimmable, ocean. Two things that were a rarity to come by in London, and a luxury spilled in abundance in the South of France. 

There was also room that would be left empty, Élodie had said, a friend of a friend had cancelled last minute (so much the better for everyone else, if you asked her sister), and if she wanted to, she could bring a friend. 

Friend, being a word heavily insinuated and laden with worries unsaid. 

A word that she bravely took at face value and approached Marc with the offer. 

Though it was easy to play oblivious to her sister’s intentions, it was less possible to ignore her own motivations. 

Why Marc?

At face value, it was because there was a loneliness in him that she felt was reflected in herself. Because he was the only person she dared call a ‘friend’, ever since moving to England and isolating herself on the little island. 

She liked to believe Marc was a friend. They went out for lunch almost every week and usually, Friday evenings, she’d come over and get a little tipsy on wine, tipsy enough that her words would slur and her well-practised English would slip and fall into her mother tongue. Once or twice a month they go and see a play or movie, or to the orchestra, with drinks before and dinner after. 

Those nights, the formal nights, Marc is partial to an all-black getup, a black dress shirt that he leaves unbuttoned, a black suit. It’s an image that alights a squiggly feeling inside of her, one a clumsy child’s hands would make with a broken blue crayon on paper. 

Other than that, sometimes Marc comes over for brunch on Sunday mornings, a concept he’d introduced her to and one that she’s come to grudgingly see the appeal in. He sips coffee with her and eats buttered toast and makes her laugh with crude little pequin peppers of jokes. 

But never, from either side of the conversation, has there been any hint towards inviting more people into their bubble. 

Her excuse is simple, she doesn’t know anyone else to invite. Everyone she knows is on the other side of the Channel. 

Marc’s excuse is not so obvious to her. She squints through the parchment papers of them, and can’t come up with a satisfactory answer. 

She wonders that maybe the reason why she hasn’t bothered herself to find more people she’d be able to call friends was because she was happy with Marc’s quiet companionship. His not-so-smiling-smiles, the way his eyes crinkle when he gives her a belly-laugh like a giant Ferroro Rocher ball, wrapped up in golden paper. 

She’s moved to England for almost a year now, and she’d only been lonely the first two months, before she ran into Marc in a coffee shop, tears in her eyes and ready to call this new chapter over before it was written. 

Sometimes, she tries to reason that it’s because he’s an American, a foreigner in a new continent. That his move was more intense than hers, and together, they found each other in the margins and happily decided to set up camp. 

His Americanness is also a blessing in disguise. The dreaded oral exams of her youth were always in a quite generic, American accent. When moving to London, she’d had a false sense of security that there would be a very short adaptation time to the English accents, since she could understand the unobstructed audio of the woman saying I like bananas very much. What is your favourite fruit? in her BAC listening exams. 

Coming home from work, her head is pounding from the struggle of trying to sort through the various inflections, tones, speeds of the seemingly infinite variations of a single accent. She feels betrayed by the French public education system. Nobody had prepared or warned her about this. 

When she talks to Marc, however, it’s easy to understand him. It relaxes the joints of her brain, soothes it over. It’s the reassurance that she’s not in fact stupid and incompetent, things her coworkers must surely think of her after she’s asked them for the fourth time to repeat themselves. 

She could also argue and say that she had already pushed away many of her own friends, heaping handfuls of time before her move. That the very reason why she changed countries was to start fresh, and that inviting her old university friends to the vacation would be awkward and heavily-charged with betrayal, a step back. 

Despite all this, she hasn’t been able to ignore the true reasons underneath her choice of Marc. 

Quite simply, she could have just said she had no one to invite over. 

It would have resulted in a decently heated exchange or two, about wasting her life, about using her youth to find someone to settle down with before she was too old for it. 

Not a pleasant experience for what should have been easy vacation, to kick back and destress. 

But at least she would have had an easy mind about her own choice.

Yet, looking at Marc now, playing with her niece, she’s not sure she regrets it; even if her mind has been plagued with the why of it ever since they arrived.

He’s letting her niece play with his cheeks, letting her hands push around an imaginary bubble of air in his mouth.

The two of them had been able to surpass the language barrier quite easily it seems. Though little Anaïs, at only five, had been sure to show him that she was quite well-versed in English by rattling off the alphabet and counting to twenty-five for him, the difficulties only starting from seventeen. 

Relaxed and sunkissed is a nice look on him. 

Laughter comes easier to him now, even if their jokes and stories are poorly translated and lose a lot of their mirth in English. The smile lines are deeper than the frowns, the delicate folds around his eyes like embroidery almost always present. 

In London, Marc combs back his hair meticulously. She’s seen him do it, grumbling and swearing under his breath when it doesn’t fall the way he likes it to. 

In Bordeaux, he lets it loose, free from the obligations of work and life and the fresh air and the saltwater bringing out the best of it. His short curls move as if they have a mind of their own. 

She longs to thread her fingers between them, to sink her teeth into the exposed, caramel-like freckled skin of his chest as if it were cotton candy and salt-water taffy. 

She had meant to be reading. 

The sight in front of her, the view of the ocean just a stone’s throw behind the two, was much more appealing at the moment. 

The glassed door opens and there’s the gentle swish of Élodie’s sandals, the faint thud of a tray of lemonade and wine hitting the table beside her. 

“T’as soif?” 

She shakes her head, murmurs her thanks. She’s the type of sleepy that comes from too much rest and sunshine. 

The hinges of the chair squeak as her sister sits down beside her. 

The moment before it happens, she knows it’s coming. They’ve barely had any time alone together since her arrival, and Marc’s presence had already raised quite a lot of eyebrows, undeterred by the fact that they had separate rooms. 

It’s the perfect moment for some older sister grilling. Everyone’s retreated to their own rooms, or to town to stock up on some groceries and alcohol. 

Marc doesn’t understand French, Anaïs too little, and too preoccupied, to understand what they’re truly saying. 

She tsks and sets down her book a tad too harshly on the table, “Putain, Élodie-”

“J’ai rien dit!” she holds her hands up in defence. 

At the sudden sound of an argument in the making, Marc looks at the two of them, a crease forming in his eyebrows that fades as soon as she smiles back at him. 

The momentary distraction gives Anaïs the executive power to decide that a change in pace would be nice, and she pounces on him from behind. 

Marc’s taken aback but then he laughs out, turning behind him, “You’re a bit of a monkey aren’t you!” They tumble together onto the ground, the girl’s excited giggles swirling up into the ocean air. 

The sight warms her heart in ways that his all-black look does, and she knows better than to dive into those emotions. 

“Il est beau, ce Marc, non?” Though the question is teasing, though she’s heard it multiple times from the people in the villa, there’s an undercurrent of sisterly concern and worry. Despite all the troubles Élodie gives her, it’s a sound that pricks tears from her eyes, reminds her just how homesick she’s been this past year. 

She takes an exasperated breath and picks up her book again, “J’en sais rien.”

There’s a heavy pause, almost as if it exists outside of Marc’s happy world. She’s never heard him giggle like that before, it twists at her stomach in unignorable ways. 

“Tu l’aimes?” 

She turns an unread page and hopes the thundering of her heart isn’t too loud. 

Her sister’s eyes soften, out of the corner of her eye she sees her head tilt towards her direction, “C’est son souvenir qui t’empêche?”

“Non,” she concedes and picks at her thumb, then thumbs the corner of her books, letting the pages run under her finger. 

“Alors, c’est quoi ton problème? Chérie, ça fait presque cinq ans depuis sa mort et t’es encore jeune,” she rolls her eyes at this, it’s the same excuse every time. “T’as le droit d’aimer, d’être aimée.”

When it’s clear that she won’t respond, Élodie continues, slyly, “Alors, tu t’en fous que Marie l’aime bien?”

It stings like a bee, her words. The images that arise in her mind against her will are like poison, homebrewed alcohol. 

She stings back, “Élodie, t'es pire que maman. Laisse-moi tranquille.”

That manages to shut off the conversation, though there’s a sour taste in her mouth that also hangs in the air between her and her sister. 

With a squeal, Anaïs runs towards her mother, a grin pressed into her cheeks, “Maman!”

Élodie takes her daughter in her arms, kisses her cheeks, “Bonjour mon ange, tu t'amusais bien?” The girl nods, hugging her back. “T’as soif, alors?”

Marc gets up from the ground, and brushes off the dirt from his shorts. There’s a groan as he tries to stand up, and he rubs his back soothingly to combat against it. 

She treasures the sound he made, the gentle frown in his face and the soft way it faded away with the pain in his back. “Are you thirsty, Marc?” she calls out to him. He comes to stand in front of her, and he nods, an open smile hanging around his face like morning dew. “Wine? Or lemonade?”

As she pours him some wine, her niece some lemonade, Steven looks at her from the wine bottle with a dumbfounded expression, his eyes dark and serious with grief. 

A glance at him makes Marc wonder what kinda stick his alter’s got up his ass now. 

But the wine is refreshing, and it brushes away any thoughts of Steven and of the heated words the sisters had exchanged as he was playing on the ground. 

Thanks for reading, if you liked it, please consider leaving some feedback! I don't usually respond to, but I obsess and re-read reblogs and comments constantly. (Part 2 to this is looking enticing lemme tell you)

Masterlist here, requests here.

Translations:

T'as soif? - Are you thirsty?

Putain, Élodie - Fuck, Elodie

J'ai rien dit! - I didn't say anything!

Il est beau, ce Marc, non? - He's pretty, this Marc, isn't he?

J'en sais rien - I don't know what you're talking about.

Tu l'aimes? - Do you love him?

C’est son souvenir qui t’empêche? - Is it his memory that's stopping you?

Alors, c’est quoi ton problème? Chérie, ça fait presque cinq ans depuis sa mort et t’es encore jeune - So what's your problem? Sweetheart, it's been almost five years since his death, and you're still young,

T’as le droit d’aimer, d’être aimée - You have the right to love, to be loved.

Alors, tu t’en fous que Marie l’aime bien? - So, you don't care that Marie likes him?

Élodie, t'es pire que maman. Laisse-moi tranquille. - Elodie, you're worse than Mom. Leave me alone.

Bonjour mon ange, tu t'amusais bien? - Hello, my angel, were you having fun?

[got-into-worm-by-mistake]

Arc 19, Reflections

Okay, so, Arc 19 > Arc 18, hands down. Not much better, in toto, since it still ran on idiot balls, contrivances and still centered on Echidna.

In terms of important stuff that happens, there's some reveals about Tattletale, good shit there. The portal, sure. And the reveal about Cauldron.

Couldn't we have had them without Echidna, the big stompy plot device with the cheat powers bag?

I'm not normally one to say 'quit talking, get to the action' about my fiction, and I get that the characters doing the talking were ones who couldn't necessarily do much about Echidna directly, but jesus christ the conversations that were being had while this giant monster is rampaging a block over got incredibly annoying, very quickly.

And fine, in 19.7 Tats explains it was her trying to find a new purpose, but I feel like 'survive the BIG STOMPY MONSTER THAT WANTS TO EAT YOU' is a good purpose for the short term, Tats. You don't need to focus on aggravating everyone about Cauldron and the Portal. I mean, hey, maybe if you hadn't kept talking about Cauldron, clone-Eidolon wouldn't have brought it up!

(Unlikely, granted, but still)

and then it brings us back to Echidna. Which again, was way too much focus on these guys. And she's just surviving everything that's throne at her, while also being huge and powerful on her own AND she makes evil clones!

And then, magically, somehow, the second Sundancer gets into the game, that's all it takes? The bitch survives EVERYTHING else everyone threw at her, but Sundancer kills her like that? *snap*?

Like, yes, Sundancer has an insanely powerful power. But still. Legends beams are supposed to be powerful. Eidolon is fucking Eidolon. Alexandria is Alexandria. And they were bringing out a whole bunch of other powerful capes and they couldn't even SCRATCH her?

Now, I'm not saying I don't get why Sundancer was less than willing to do it at first, why she needed time to get around to the idea, but also...

No? Bitch? You could have saved a lot of time and lives if you'd done it sooner.

Also, maybe I just missed it, but it feels like Trickster barely did anything to help Noelle in the fight, which didn't really line up with some of the stuff I'd read before now, but I'll admit I wasn't paying the closest of attention here, since my eyes were glazing over sometimes in the arc.

I'm glad we're finally gone with the Travelers, at least, thank fuck, but still.

I know we're gonna get to Wards!Taylor soon, though we have a few more arcs, and that's great, but what I really need to know, what I'm really desperate to know, is WHY. What did Taylor pick up as a Ward that actually helped the numbers?

Anyway, at least we DO know that the Bay itself is finally in a stable position... for two years. and that's great. But a blind reader... a blind reader is gonna be left waiting for the next shoe to drop on the Bay, right? Because that's all the story has done. Drop shoes on the bay like a centipede coming home from the gym.

And its really tiresome.

And it's only July.

It's

Only

July

All these shit has happened in three months. Way too fucking fast. Too much character growth in too little real time. Let these characters have a goddamn nap.

Maybe he will in the span of Arc 20 and the Arcadia thing, but I honestly doubt it.

I like Worm, I do. I'm bitching a lot, and I definitely didn't really enjoy the last three arcs much, but I hold out hope it will get better. Because there's a lot to like about Worm.

But also, fucking hell Emma is delulu and Sophia is psychotic beyond all belief.

[angelasscribbles]

A Little Healing

Fandom: Heaven’s Secret (Romance Club)

Pairings: Adi x MC

Word Count: 1,255

Rating: MA

Warnings for this chapter: references sexual activity

A/N: This is the follow-up to Solace and completes my ideas about the emotions surrounding their little tryst. Consider it a two-shot. I have ideas for a poly ending with all these characters but I think that will be written in third person and have a different entry point. It will probably be a lot less canon as well, but we'll see.

My other stuff: Master List.

What had I done? Agreeing to help free the boy in the tower was madness. Yet something about him tugged at my very soul. Sleep was elusive as I tossed and turned, contemplating the possible repercussions. Then thoughts of Sammy intruded upon my consciousness, and I gave up on sleep. Without bothering to change into real clothes, I slipped out of my room and down the hall. I needed to see Adi.

I knew I shouldn’t be risking it. I had barely escaped expulsion that very morning. Somehow, I had managed to squeak by without a chaperone. Shepha knows how. I deserved to have one. After all, in the short time I’d been here, I’d managed to sleep with Mimi, Dino, and Lucifer. All forbidden fruit. All tantalizing and delicious.

The demonic spark inside me danced in joy at the thought of breaking the rules and getting away with it. As much as I tried to do the right thing, sometimes the wrong thing delighted me even more. It was like I had both inside me somehow. Was that even possible?

The demons called me a goody-two-shoes, and Dino called me the most demonic angel he’d ever met.

Dino.

The thought of him sent waves of warmth cascading through me. His taste still lingered on my lips from earlier. Out of all my dalliances, he was the only one who had accepted this thing between us without reservation. Oh, he fought it in the beginning, but now? Now he was ready to go all in. The offer was on the table.

“Before I decide to run my whole life into the ground, you have to decide if you really need it. Do you understand what I’m talking about?”

I understood only too well, and I struggled mightily with myself to not ruin his life. Part of me wanted to throw caution to the wind. Why should we be bound by these arbitrary rules? I wanted him. And there was an evil little part of me that delighted in the fact that I could have him if I wanted, that he would come willingly into my arms whenever I asked, personal cost to himself be damned.

Dino would destroy himself for me if I required it. And for that reason alone, I could not ask it of him. I wouldn’t.

Then there was Lucifer. The son of Satan was hotter than any being had a right to be. He was also maddening, frustrating, and infuriating. Sending off mixed signals like a malfunctioning traffic light, he ran so hot and cold I couldn’t keep track of if he liked me or hated me from one moment to the next.

He had certainly seemed to like me last night.

And that was the reason Mimi was mad at me. Angry didn’t begin to cover it. Mimi was furious but because she was jealous that I was with Lucifer, or because she was jealous that he was with me, I wasn’t sure. Mimi herself didn’t seem to know.

I was still trying to decide if having Mimi as a roommate was a gift from heaven or a torment sent from hell. Yes, I had told her that I felt more than friendship for her because I do. But we weren’t exclusive. Thanks to these asinine rules, we couldn’t be anything officially, what we did in the privacy of our room notwithstanding. I’ve always liked both boys and girls but never has any woman set my body on fire the way she does.

She feels it too. We were drawn to each other from the very first moment. There was not an ice cube’s chance in hell of her staying mad at me for long.

Dino had forgiven me for Lucifer. Mimi would too.

I made it to Adi’s door unseen. I raised my hand to knock, then hesitated. I didn’t want to wake him. I turned to go, but before I had a chance, he called out, “Come in.”

Technically, I had fucked Adi too, but what happened between us hadn’t been about love or courtship. It had been about grief, pure and simple. At least that’s what I told myself.

We hadn’t spoken of it. What had happened in that empty ballroom had stayed there.

Until now.

Adi was perched on the edge of his bed. He looked like hell. Dark circles under his red-rimmed eyes, his hair unkempt, clothes rumpled as if he’d slept in them.

I hurried across the room and sat down next to him. “Oh, Adi, what’s wrong?”

“I can’t sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see his face.”

The anguish in his voice was breaking me. “Aw, sweetie, Sammy wouldn’t want you to torture yourself this way.”

He stared into my eyes, trembling as he confessed, “I feel guilty. For what happened with you. It…do you think I betrayed him? His memory?”

“No.” I shook my head emphatically. “It wasn’t like that, and Sammy wasn’t like that. He would understand. He would want you to take comfort wherever and however you can.”

“But what if….what if that was just an excuse? The truth is, I’ve wanted you since the first moment I saw you, even though I was in love with him. What does that say about me?”

“It says you have excellent taste in both men and women.” I teased.

He made a sound that was half laugh, half sob as he wiped the tears from his cheeks. “I’m being serious.”

“So am I.” I chastised him. “People have desires. We aren’t meant to be emotionless machines. You’re a demon, you know this.”

He dropped his eyes to his lap as he whispered, “I hate myself for not being able to save him. For not even knowing he was in danger. For arguing with him the last time I saw him. That was his last memory of me, Vic!”

“Hey!” I pulled him into my arms and let him rest his head on my shoulder as I ran my fingers comfortingly through his hair. “He knew exactly how much you loved him. I promise.”

We clung to each other for a long while, taking solace in each other’s arms.

When we finally pulled apart, I gently placed my fingers on his temples. “Look at me, Adi.” Then I showed him all of my memories of Sammy. All the good times, all the laughter, and all the love. Before I knew it, Adi was laughing despite himself. He relaxed, a little of the misery dropping away as he shared his own memories.

We traded stories about Sammy as the night deepened. There were tears and laughter as we reminisced.

Finally, we curled up on the bed together. Emotionally wrung out, we clung to one another.

The laughter had felt good. A little like healing.

I knew it wasn’t over.

Grief comes in waves. It sneaks up when you least expect it and takes you out just when you think you’ve beaten it. But in that moment, it gripped our hearts a little less. The darkness was a little brighter and the heaviness a little lighter.

I wrapped my body around him, the big spoon to his little spoon as we drifted off to sleep, the warmth of his body soaking into me, comforting and reassuring.

My grief surrounding my losses and my confusion over what to do about my three lovers kept me from being strictly happy, but as I slipped into slumber, I was, at least for the moment, content.

[evieismol]

BIG BEND Chapter Twenty Three

A/n: as i mentioned on the last chapter, I’m posting a more polished, edited version of this story on both ao3 (here) and wattpad (here), if you’d like to check it out! As always, I appreciate any and all support and feedback!

Content warnings: Cursing

Word Count: 2940

Previous Chapter

Zoey

I lay in my tent, staring at the canvas ceiling. It had faded from light green to nearly black as the sun light outside faded.

God, life has a lot of plot twists.

If anyone had asked me if I thought I’d be sort of living in a tent in some random part of Texas last year, I probably wouldn’t have considered it likely. I’d actually thought I was going to be married by now.

Thank God that didn’t happen.

Texas was, at least, one place I was pretty sure he wouldn’t come find me, if only because it was literally on the other side of the country. At least, I hoped so. I tried to push that unsettling thought from my mind. It didn’t work. It never really did. I’d found myself jumping at every crunch of the gravel, half expecting to see a familiar red pick up truck coming up the road.

I had gotten some good news recently, at least. The gift shop at the park was hiring, and I’d had an interview for a position there earlier that morning. It had gone well. More than well - I’d been offered the job. That, in turn, offered some sorely needed hope, given that my savings would only last so long. Better yet, it also offered housing. I hadn’t really been playing on staying at the park for more than a night, at first, but then again, I hadn’t really been planning on any of this. And a job was a job.

It wasn’t like I disliked the park anyways. Pretty much the opposite. From what I’d seen of it so far, it was absolutely gorgeous. It also seemed to have no shortage of interesting characters, from the less than friendly woman I’d bumped into yesterday to the Aphirial the park service had decided to hire. He seemed nice, if not kind of sad.

That’s something I can relate to.

I’d long felt like I didn’t really fit into the world. Of course, he quite literally didn’t fit in, and I considered what that was like. Probably pretty alienating. He had looked like he’d been crying when I ran into him the first time. Also something I could relate to. I’d been doing that a lot in my tent recently. I found myself wondering if he sat outside by that cliff frequently - if I’d find him there again.

Is that weird? I don’t want to seem like I’m stalking him or something. Then again, he did recognize me yesterday and seemed happy enough to talk. I think. I could just go on a walk, get some fresh air, and if I happen to run into him, that wouldn’t be too weird, right?

Totally.

Getting fresh air and stretching my legs did sound like a good idea either way, admittedly. I’d spent most of the afternoon curled up in my tent, a variety of less than fun memories swirling through my mind. I nodded, committing to my decision, and pulled myself up. I fumbled around for my flashlight - it had grown pitch black in the time I’d been laying there. I felt the hard plastic casing after a moment, and switched it on.

Ability to see now returned, I grabbed a hoodie and pulled it on, followed by some socks. I had actually stopped by the visitor center and learned that the only notably dangerous large animals in the area were cougars, but that they didn’t frequently attack people. Just in case, though, I also grabbed the bear spray I’d brought from up north, deciding I probably didn’t need to tempt fate by making a habit of horror movie esque decisions.

The desert air was far cooler than it had been during the day - chilly, almost. That still felt amazing to me. There definitely hadn’t been as much variation in temperature where I’d lived previously. It was mostly just cold or really, really cold for the better part of the year.

I made my way past a few other campsites as I walked down the road. A group of people sat around a fire at one, laughing as they roasted s’mores. I felt a pang of longing at the sight. My relationship with Jake had ended with me being isolated from pretty much everyone but him.

The laughter eventually faded into the night as I continued down the gravel road. I’d been right - the fresh night air was pleasant, and it was nice to stretch my legs. As I found myself nearing the rocky area I’d run into Easton previously, I found myself second guessing the other part of my plan. Did I really even want to socialize? I had neared the ridge from the other night, and felt my old friend anxiety rearing its head full force. Would he even want to talk to me? Maybe he was tired of talking to people, maybe he’d find it annoying and presumptuous that I came out here. Maybe he’d find me annoying - he wouldn’t be the first. It wasn’t too late to go back to my tent. I stopped, about to turn around.

This is stupid. I’m going back.

“Zoey?”

Fuck.

What I’d thought was a rock formation shifted, and I realized with no small amount of awe that it was instead the giant alien I’d previously met as I shone my flashlight in that direction. It illuminated his light blond hair, making it look almost white. Had I been paying closer attention, I might have remembered it hadn’t been there before, but I’d been lost in my thoughts.

Apparently that thing about Aphirials having super senses wasn’t an exaggeration.

“Easton - hi! I didn’t see you,” I said. Okay, so, now it was too late to go back to my tent.

“I don’t get that a lot,” he said, a faint laugh in his tone.

“I was kind of zoning out,” I admitted. “Lost in my thoughts, I guess.”

“Thinking about anything in particular? I mean, you don’t have to tell me,” he said. He didn’t seem annoyed to be talking to me, so far, at least.

“Uh, whether or not I’d run into you again, actually. Sorry, that sounded weird, probably. I just mean, I’ve kind of ended up staying around here longer than I thought I would, and I ended up getting a job at the gift shop for the summer season, so I guess I’m here even longer, and I don’t really know anyone else.”

“That’s awesome! That you might work here, not that you don’t know anyone else, of course.” He sounded genuinely excited when he replied. He paused before continuing. “I don’t really know that many people here well myself.”

“Seriously? You seemed really popular at that ranger talk thingy the other day.”

He gave a slight shrug. “Yeah, I think the novelty wears off quickly.”

“Huh. I’ve never gotten that. Then again, I still think planes are super exciting, like, if something’s cool the first time, I think it just gets cooler the more you think about it, y’know? Anyways, you seem like you’d be fun to hang out with regardless of novelty. Like, as a person, even if I did know other people here.”

“Oh-thanks,” he said, surprise filling his voice. “And, you do too.”

“Thanks,” I said. I wasn’t sure what else to say after that. Small talk had never really been my forté.

“I was getting ready to head inside,” Easton said after a moment.

“Of course, right. Have a nice-“ I tried to keep the disappointment out of my voice. Yep, he definitely thinks I’m annoying.

“You could come. I could make you some hot cocoa or tea or-well, John could, we could watch a movie-if you want to, of course. You don’t have to. Obviously.”

“I’d like to!” I said quickly. Okay, maybe he didn’t think I was totally annoying. And that sounded way better than going back to my tent.

“Okay! Cool! Uh, I have to ask John first, actually. I can call him. It’ll only take a minute.”

“Take your time, I don’t have anywhere to be,” I replied. It was kind of endearing how excited he’d looked when I agreed. As if he’d been pretty sure I was going to find his offer annoying, just like I’d been fearing he found our whole conversation. I watched as he pulled his phone from his pocket. It was at least twice my height, serving as a stark reminder of how much smaller I was in comparison to him.

I wondered, probably later than I should have, how I was supposed to get to his house. The most obvious answer was probably that he could literally pick me up to bring me over there. He had carried John by hand the other day. That prospect was slightly terrifying, now that I was thinking about it. I wasn’t scared of heights, thankfully, but it seemed like literally putting my life in someone’s hands would require a lot of trust. And it occurred to me that I didn’t actually know him that well.

Of course, he picked up plenty of tourists for pictures every day. He’d never hurt any of them. I was more than certain that would have made the news. He didn’t seem like he’d hurt me either, but of course, I had thought that before. And been very wrong before.

Maybe I should make up a reason to go back to my campground. I could say I didn’t realize how late it was getting.

Then I remembered the group of friends that had been laughing around their fire, and how empty my campsite was. And somehow, the idea of going back to my dark tent suddenly seemed even more terrifying than letting a giant pick me up, which maybe said something about how isolated I’d been feeling recently.

Besides, he’s a park ranger. That’s like, the least sketchy job you can have, right?

“John said it’s okay!” Moments after I’d come to a conclusion that I wasn’t going to dip, Easton placed his phone back in his pocket. “And he said he could make you tea or coffee and he has pizza from last night if you want some.”

I smiled. “Cool. I mean, I’m never one to turn down food.”

Especially not recently.

“So, are you just going to pick me up or like-“

“Oh-uh, I can. There’s a trail down the cliffs that way and a human sized elevator at my place, if you want to walk, but, I can carry you if you want. And you’re comfortable with it.”

I immediately felt a little silly at my previous worries - I’d apparently made several assumptions. I’d already come to the conclusion that I was fine with him carrying me, though.

“I’m cool with it. But whatever you want.”

“Okay,” he said, sounding uncertain about where to go from there.

“You can just carry me. It’d be quicker. And I’d probably find a way to fall off the cliffs getting down anyways,” I said. I wasn’t entirely sure why I went with that option. I’d already psyched myself up for that, and I hadn’t psyched myself up for climbing down a desert trail, I guess.

“Are you sure?” He asked. I nodded.

“Yeah. I mean, you can see in the dark, right? So out of the two of us, you’re way less likely to trip over something in the dark.”

“I guess so.” He lowered his hand to the cliff where I stood. He amended his statement quickly. “I mean, I definitely won’t trip over anything, I swear. I don’t know if you’ve heard the whole spiel I give, but you can climb on whenever you’re ready, please stay seated in the middle of my hand once I start moving, I won’t get up until you say you’re settled and ready.”

I nodded. “Sounds good.” Taking a deep breath, I stepped towards his hand. His skin was way warmer than I’d thought it’d be, I thought as I climbed onto his hand. Like, heating pad warm. That made sense, I supposed, given how comparatively ginormous he was. I glanced up at him. He was watching me attentively, which felt somehow reassuring. I half crawled to the center of his palm, quickly realizing it was also far harder to stand on someone’s palm than I would have guessed. After a moment, I glanced back up.

“Okay, I’m ready.”

“Great. I’ll move slowly, and just let me know if you want down at any point,” he said. I nodded, watching the ground grow farther away as he slowly lifted his hand and stood up.

“What’s it like? Being able to carry people literally in one hand?” I asked, looking up at him again.

“Kind of weird,” he said, then once again jumped to amend that statement. He did that a lot, I was noticing. It seemed ironic that an actual giant would be so unsure of his words, if not also relatable. “Not in a bad way. It just feels like…a lot of responsibility. Since you guys are putting so much trust in me.”

“That makes sense. I can’t imagine how anxious I’d be about accidentally dropping someone or something,” I replied.

“Yeah, no shit,” he said, almost half to himself. I couldn’t help but laugh. He looked surprised for half a second, then joined in.

“Sorry,” he said. “I don’t mind carrying you or anything, it’s just…hoping tourists don’t decide to like jump up or something when I’m holding them all day is…”

“Extremely anxiety inducing?”

“Yeah,” he agreed.

We’d arrived at his tiny house - I’d decided I was going to keep calling it a tiny house, even if size wise, it was anything but. He opened the door with his free hand, golden light pouring out to greet us. The interior was just as modern as the outside, seeming almost mismatched with the rustic posters of plants he had adorning the walls. While it was certainly spacious for me, I guessed it was probably smaller than the average dorm room for him. There was a desk to the right of the door. A human sized table sat on top of it. Then there was a bed against the far wall and right wall. Also against the far wall was a small kitchenette, and a door I guessed led to a bathroom.

Also against the right wall was a platform with a railing and a human sized doorway. A walkway along the wall led from it to the desk, where there was another human sized door against the front wall. Probably the elevator he’d mentioned. Moments after we’d stepped inside, John appeared from the door behind the platform. He made his way down the walkway towards the desk.

“I’m going to lower my hand to the desk, and then you can climb off. Just please don’t until I’ve stopped moving.”

I nodded, waiting patiently until he’d firmly placed his hand on the desk. I climbed off, managing to do so semi gracefully. John had made it to the desk as well by that point.

“It was Zoey, right?” He asked. I nodded.

“Yeah. Do I call you John or like Agent-“

He laughed jovially, shaking his head. “Just John is fine.”

“Okay! Also, this-,” I gestured to the building around us, “-is so cool.”

“Isn’t it?” He said. “I have my own little apartment back there,” he said, nodding towards the door he’d come from. “Speaking of which, Easton mentioned you might be hungry?”

“Oh, I mean, only if it’s not an imposition. I’m fine-“

“I have way too much pizza to finish myself anyways,” John said. “You’d be helping me out, really.”

“You could just give it to Easton too.” There I go again, just saying the first thing that came to mind. That did seem like the most obvious solution, though it occurred to me moments later John was probably mostly just trying to make me feel comfortable.

What does Easton eat anyways? It’s got to be a lot of whatever it is.

“It’s pepperoni. He’s a vegetarian,” John replied, seeming to take my literal interpretation and subsequent suggestion in stride at least.

“In that case, yeah, I’d love some,” I said.

“Great. I can bring it down, or you can come with me to heat it up and we can come back here. Whichever you prefer.” John turned, heading towards the walkway.

“Um, I guess I’ll wait here?”

John nodded. “I won’t be long. And I think you were going to make dinner too, Easton?”

Easton quickly glanced between us. “I’m fine. I can eat later.”

“Are you sure?” John asked.

“Yeah. You guys enjoy the pizza, though.”

“Alright. I’ll be right back,” John said. I watched as he headed up the walkway, then turned to look up at Easton. He’d taken a seat on the chair next to the desk.

“You’re not hungry?” I asked.

“Not really,” he replied, changing the subject. “So, any ideas on what movie you want to watch? I don’t have a tv, but I do have a laptop, and it works with earth technology so I have like, Hulu and stuff. I hope that works?”

“I think that’s probably better than a tv - it’s probably IMAX-sized compared to me,” I said. He gave a slight laugh.

“Fair enough.”

“I don’t really watch that many movies, though, so I’m cool with whatever. Wait, have you seen very many earth movies?”

He shook his head. “Only a couple.”

“Damn. Well, we could see what’s new out I guess.”

“That works for me,” Easton said. I smiled. This evening really was looking up

[cleromancy]

an underexplored aspect of red robin 26 (the one where he sets up a weeks-long rubes goldberg scheme to kill captain boomerang only to choke at the last minute) to me is the impact tim thought this would have on his place among the bats. like what he thought would happen *next.* because he absolutely did consider it and wasn't at all surprised by dick and bruce showing up afterwards to talk to him about the choices he made that day.

to start with. why now? there was no particular event that made him decide to do it. tim does say he heard harkness was trying to regain lost power, but in context its not reasoning behind his decision, it was an opportunity to kick his plan off.

and i think its fair to say tim was never gonna be able to go through with it. that was never gonna happen. but he *thought* he could, and he decided he was going to, despite repeatedly questioning what the hell he was doing. he explicitly makes the points that he thinks its wrong, he knows his dad wouldn't want him to, and he doesn't believe itll even be more emotionally satisfying than bringing harkness to justice. and yet thats still the plan! for weeks!

and he does set up an emotional failsafe for himself which he calls plausible deniability, where all he did was manipulate events so that he expects harkness to be killed by victor fries by the end of it.

except ofc when it comes down to it tim cant let fries kill a guy, which he takes to mean he wants to do it himself. any interesting moral questions here about who would potentially be at fault are very tidily sidestepped as irrelevant. bc i mean to tim they kind of are. his veneer of plausible deniability was always an excuse. the interesting thing here for the character is that this means he's willing to do away with that plausible deniability, and intends to follow through regardless. (i went back to delete some images bc i ran out, but he does explicitly say theres a change of plan and he's gonna kill harkness himself.)

this is the point he dispatches dr fries, which he calls in to 911, and follows harkness. bla bla confrontation bla, and harkness fuckin trips off the edge of the roof.

the implication here to me, with the way tims flashback is framed as an interruption and the way harkness goes from saying he has no idea who the hell tim is to saying tim doesn't have the stones, is that harkness was babbling this whole time, and that's just what actually makes it through to tims ears. and i also think the implication here is tim being like ".......heartbreaking: the worst person you know just made a great point." hes like shit! hes fucking right! i *dont* have the stones to do this!

anyway. the next page we have dickie and damian show up. hi boys!!

so to recap. tim decided he was going to murder harkness himself rather than using a proxy, *called 911 knowing the other bats would hear it,* and went off to do the deed.

(side note its always dickie loving hours in this house and. you just know dicks thinking of blockbuster here. oughe.) .....i also get the impression that dicks "timmy down the questionable-choices-well" senses were tingling somehow from the 911 call (which, i cannot stress this enough, only even mentioned fries), and i think him and damian most likely fucking hauled ass to get there, which is also fun to think about hehe

i have a lot of thoughts about whats going through dicks and tims heads here lol. but i want to get back to the point. this is the segue into the reveal that bruce was also there the whole time, he knows what tim had been planning to do, and now hes yelling at him for thinking about killing harkness at all.

AND THE COWL COMES OFF WHEEEEEEE :elmofire:

(ok actually i am going to derail here for a minute i gotta spell it out. tim kept it on when he was talking to dick bc he was lying to dick by omission. he wanted dick to think well of him, and he doesn't believe he earned the praise--most likely thinks dick would think less of him if he knew the extent to which tim had planned the whole thing. the end result--not killing harkness--does not, in tims mind, count. what dick was saying was "I understand how hard it was to not let him die, and i love you," and what tim heard was "i know you were always going to make the right choice, because you care about doing the right thing." and when you interpret it the way i do--that the deciding factor for tim was actually that he *couldn't* do it, not because he changed his mind? yeah, tims not gonna be looking dick in the eye anytime soon.)

but anyway. buce:

and the thing is that if you don't look at it from the *batshit* bruce-and-tim-mutual-god-complex perspective... tims actual non-thoughtcrime actions began and ended with a series of misdemeanors, no matter how successfully he arbitrated the end results. again any actual moral questions around hand crafting a bespoke scenario tailored to end in a mans murder by inciting another to kill him are completely sidestepped, bc to both tim and bruce its cut and dry; its just murder using another person as the weapon. tim never once actually believed the plausible deniability thing and there was no tangible difference to him btwn manipulating an intermediary, doing it himself, or even *just letting harkness go splat.* it was all fucking talking points for the sake of argument, he was preparing to play devils advocate against bruce to defend his own choice bc. this was always the endgame.

and

which like. i cant help but think of batman 424 bc, well, im the jason todd think-abouter:

and im officially out of images for this post but what happens next for tim is bruce flying away vs in jasons he tells bruce "i guess i spooked him. he slipped." and flies off in the back of a big silent panel of Angst Buce. i love how completely fucking opposite these scenarios were for the both of them but ykw actually thats its own fucking post.

all this just to say tim planned to murder a man in cold blood *fully knowing* dick and bruce would find out. tim can't even face dick when dick tells him he did good, and the confrontation with bruce feels almost like tim did the whole damn thing just to prove a point to bruce which is. hilarious bc it WORKED to that end even though tim did not actually kill anybody at all. like that was a pretty significant thing that happened. tim very much did not kill digger harkness.

(i also think its significant that this issue is like immediately after tim tries to give cass her batgirl outfit back and shes like "...No." and hes like "please i miss you so much 😭 just come back to gothammmm i dont care what name you go by you could even be black robin if you want that would be fun right cass we could be red robin and black robin together? no? what if we put your name first? ....no? .....okay just promise youll think about it... bye............" [paraphrased])

anyway. *holds tim drake up under the arms like simba* Perceive him

[crimsoncold]

Hello fellow Jonsa fans + Jon Snow Fans in general...

I'm pretty confident in saying that the treatment/characterization in later seasons (as well as the overall show ending) for the Starks- specifically for Jon Snow- was in a number of ways a massive disappointment for many fans.

And over the years I've waffled back and forth between hope and pessimism on how accurate the show ending of several characters is for predicting what will/would happen to them in the books ...

So to organize my thoughts (and try to come to some conclusion) I've tried my best to formulate possible attitudes, reasonings, justifications, and supporting evidence for why fans might be anything from strongly opposed to the idea that the endings will be the same, to willing to believe the two endings may generally resemble one another, or for thinking/being resigned to the idea that they will essentially be the same in all the core aspects...

So I am curious, after having a couple years to ruminate on how the show handled its characters ...

What are your thoughts on Jon Snow's show character arc and ending, specifically on how it would (or will) compare to his book arc and ending?

... and which of the following opinions/attitudes on the subject do you identity with or agree with the most?

(Warning this post is kinda rambling and long - and im sure other people have phrased their thoughts on this issue much more eloquently/with more supporting evidence/or at least while being less admittedly biased- I really tried my best to be open minded and be non-critical for all the options but I think I failed for the last one lol - but its kinda cluttering up my head and I wanted to put it into words to clear things out a bit

...but I'm also curious about how others feel about this issue so I'll post this write up as is and then I will post a more succint follow up in the form of a poll to see how fans in general are leaning on this issue in a few days....)

Starting out strong with...

ATTITUDE #1: they will NOT be the same because the show choices and ending don't actually fucking make any sense?

His name being ... aegon?...because he is "the prince that was promised"?....ummmm Rheagar already had a child that was his "prince aegon"...who (other than the showrunners) would think it a good choice to name the next son the same thing...also why would Lyanna who has been kept from her family and left to bleed out alone after childbirth give a shit about "Targaryen" prophecy nonsense and choose this name? Her father and eldest brother have been murdered, she presumably wasn't allowed to contact or leave to go back to her family, and she was left by the prince to endure pregnancy and childbirth with improper care, and as a result she is now bleeding to death without knowing what will become of her son... but sure if she names her son something it would be Aegon and not after her deceased father or brother or just literally any other a name that is not from house Targaryen (you know the people responsible for her family's brutal deaths and her own likely impending death).

And if despite book! Lyanna's apparent wisdom shown in her appraisal of Robert's flaws we are supposed to accept uncritically the show idea that she went willingly (or at least that she stayed willingly) with a prince who was being unfaithful to his wife and had abandoned his children in kingslanding and who ran and left his mad King father behind in power who would then go on to gruesomely murder her family... even if we ignore this and the fact that she should rightfully hate Rheagar at this point (or at least see this prophecy nonsense as Rheagar's own brand of madness) why would she choose this name if she needs her son to be protected (i.e. be hidden by his uncle from everyone who would like to wipe out all remaining Targaryens)?

Furthermore....

(Tyrion = known kin slayer/presumed king slayer/a fucking lannister the house who had been complicit in invading and slaughtering nobles and peasants alike in the north and riverlands in support of their rule through a false king/accomplice to a Targaryen lead invasion and the mass slaughter of KL= righteous dude and new Hand to the King?)

(Jaime Lannister= sworn member of the kingsguard/infamously breaks his vows and murders the mad king/his reputation is permanently ruined/for years never tells anyone his motive for killing the king was to prevent him from wiping out the entirety of kingslanding with wildfire/yet still gets to maintain his position and isn't executed or sent to the wall or even stripped of his position because his dad is scary, his family is powerful, and now they have direct ties to the new King?)

(Jon Snow= is a stark both through his mother and the man who raised him as a father/ from a house that is respected even loved in the north- the family that is the heart of the story/he works to make peace with former enemies and band people together against a massive threat beyond the wall that could kill everyone in westeros/kills a known violent and a mass murdering invader who had control over a creature that is the narrative equivalent of a weapon of mass destruction/consequently a queen slayer and kin slayer/is related to both the new King of Westeros and the QITN who were raised with him and presumably love him and want to protect him = is punished for his actions through exile to the Night's watch?

... which doesnt even have a purpose anymore now that wall is destroyed, the dead have been destroyed, and the north has since allied with their former enemies who they were previously using the wall and the Night's Watch to defend against

... and this is upheld in the north and by his family despite the fact that the stark kids held the fervent desire/wish to return to their home but more importantly to be reunited with their remaining family in any way possible... despite the fact that the north is independent and should give absolutely no fucks what the rulings and demands are from armies and lords who previously were you know fucking invading them, fighting against them, or at least were in no way the north's supportive allies?)

This does not track at all... terrible and inconsistent writing/world building..."one million years dungeon" to whoever thought this would be well recieved or an impressive ending... book end and arc for Jon will not be like this at all.

ATTITUDE #2: Not the same (*beyond perhaps a few superficial aspects*) because narratively and thematically it doesn't make for an effective or engrossing story?

Jon's identity, his desire to know who his mother was, his deep underlying wish to live up to the expectations of his father and be the type of son that through his actions reflects well on his father rather than one who brings shame simply through his birth, the curiosity secrets and rumours surrounding his mother and birth that that are shown to reach far beyond the borders and nobles of the north, and the truth around his biological mother and father.... All of these things should have more of an impact emotionally for the character as well as more consequences and impact plot-wise or politically speaking than it ever did in the show!!!

e.g. Jon's identity issues have generally centered around the desire to know about his mother and a desire to be a son that makes his father proud/reflects well on Ned Stark's memory despite his bastard status... an "oooh look at his Trueborn Targaryen Prince name" moment is not a satisfying closure to this question/conflict... yes knowing the identity of his mother is important to him... but so will the fact that Ned (his uncle/foster father) chose to raise him as his own to protect him... and chose to name him Jon after the man who fostered Ned, loved Ned like a son, and who revolted against a king when he called for Jon to execute his two wards Ned and Robert... emotionally speaking it's Jon's stark half (and the fact that Ned isnt his bio father) that should matter to him the most to jon... far more than the "Secret Targaryen prince" thing... there is little catharsis available for Jon in his Targaryen ancetry-with the exception perhaps of what it might mean for his future/his dreams of marriage and children (more on this later)...

Jon's internal conflict should matter (his dreams of being a father/husband and recreating the family he has lost, his desire for lordship over winterfell, his devotion and love of his trueborn siblings, his shame around his birth and the ambitious dreams that he rejects but still holds, his struggle against all these in taking the black/rejecting the offer of lordship of winterfell/and supporting his "sister's" claim, the potential issues caused by the conflict between Jon's determination to protect the rights of his trueborn "siblings", Robb's will that goes against this wish, and the question of who the Notheners will wish to crown when Jon reunites with Sansa or perhaps one of his surviving "brothers", these things need to be adressed with nuance rather than written off as if they never existed like they did in the show

The Stark kids deserve better, they are essentially the heart of the story, they are constantly thinking about/ longing for their dead kin as well as their lost but surviving siblings, some (i.e. Jon and Sansa) are both literally dreaming about recreating their lost family through their own potential marriages...so all of their reunions need to be important emotionally for the characters and should be more meaningful in terms of narrative... anything rather than the nonsensical, unnecessary, and poorly justified or resolved conflict and mistrust the show gave us between the stark kids....anything other than all the Starks (willingly) being separated once again at the end (which writers thought this made for a powerful or emotional end for the starks...and what on earth is wrong with you?)

The many parallels, shared dreams, and increasingly apparent foreshadowing that point towards Jonsa/a Jon and Sansa marriage in the books (too numerous for me to list here) will need to pay off - (Arguably even the show hinted towards a Jonsa romance with the tension, intimacy, longing stares, jealousy and love triangle-esque framing in later seasons. All of this takes more than just actor chemistry... as in writing directing setting framing lighting etc.) and GRRM won't chicken out over some foster sibling/cousin incest like (presumably) the showrunners did.

The book (and show even) established clearly that people who choose to burn other people alive during battle/as a method of execution/or for human sacrifice purposes are being set up as distinct flavour of villain in the story (Stannis and Melisandre, Tyrion and Cersei, Aerys and Daenerys)... Jon himself is shown to unequivocally be against using this sort of inhumane execution on ones enemies in both the book and the show (i.e. recall his plotline with Mance Rayder/Mance Rayder's son) ... why on earth would he ever trust or be emotionally or willingly romantically involved with someone who does this at a large scale (and who comes from a family that previously murdered his own kin in this horrific manner)... this makes no sense for his character or his arc.

While overall the story certainly makes for a remarkably dark/gritty fantasy tale...to end the entire series by just once again hammering home the idea that nothing we do matters, people dont get what they deserve, there are no happy endings in reality, etc. would leave things on a sour note and not be a particularly meaningful or thematically or emotionally satisfying end ...hell A dream of spring (Formerly A Time For Wolves !!!??!!!) implies a hopeful (though given the series perhaps a bittersweet) end that the show ending (particularly the Stark ending) absolutely did not deliver on

So ultimately to be a satisfying story the character arc/book ending for Jon Snow must, by default, be significantly different than that of the show.

ATTITUDE #3: the endings will not be very similar simply because the show already changed too much storywise/characterwise for it to match what happens/will happen in the books

(Almost too many examples to list for this so I'll only mention a couple of the more grevious ones)

They've written off too many hugely impactful characters (remember lady stoneheart?!!?!!!)

and changed plotlines in too many profound ways (e.g. remember when Dorne and House Martell characters mattered, made sense, were consistent? How Jeyne Poole's narrative was simply given to Sansa?? WTF!!!!! Absolutely the most grevious thing the Showrunners inflicted on her that had NO basis on her material from the novel)

or in general just handled plotlines just too poorly (The long night/invading dead gets a lot of build up- multiple books and seasons- and should be handled more effectively than they did in the show- where it was written off resolved rather quickly to get back to the dragons i mean political intrigue...There is no easily defeated big bad in the books... show!Night King does not have a counterpart or exist in the books!)

and they reduced, white washed, or generally dumbed down characters too much (look what they did to Varys and Tyrion... but also look at Jon!!!!!!

Jon Snow of the books is young but smart, he is sneakier and sassier, and under the right circumstances less beholden to "honour" and much more ruthless than Ned or his own show counterpart (ALSO he is notably against people who execute their enemies via burning alive -just putting that out there again)... so we shouldn't expect Book!Jon to have the exact same behavior/choices of show!jon.

... hell even show jon of early seasons was vastly different- more interesting and thought out and still you know treated as a main character- rather than a kowtowing 1 dimensional man they tried turning him into in order to prop up the Dragon Daenerys plotline)

.... and showrunners just made too many narratively unsupported choices (Bron as Lord Paramount of the Reach. Why? Are ALL the Tyrells dead? Are all other noble houses in the reach dead? What is even happening here?)

Based on all we know from comparing the completed show to the published books in an albeit unfinished series... and how obviously they have already been proven to differ significantly... as fans we shouldn't expect or resign ourselves to the idea that show ending = novel ending... because from what we know for a fact happens in the books has already shown to be massively changed in the tv series.

ATTITUDE #4 & #5:

The books will be similar to some (but not all) aspects of show Jon's later seasons plotlines/his overall ending...

OR

the book will be similar to most aspects of later seasons of the tv seasons -in terms of Jon's arc and his overall ending...

BUT!!!!! crucially these things will be handled better or at least with far more nuance than the show

The showrunners had a general outline so one has to accept that at least some (or even all) of the major aspects of plot and character arcs will be consistent .... they will just be better built up to and justified through better writing and the sheer aspect of getting to read and understand a character's thought process rather than trying to decipher meaning through the scowls/stares/and increasingly poorly written dialog of later GOT seasons.

Specifically, for Jon's later seasons narratives... well perhaps he would be willing to work with people who are violent, unhinged, or dangerous in order to fight against the white walkers, he absolutely is willing to make allies with long standing enemies of the north in the interest of saving the north/all of westeros from the dead (i.e. the free folk), he definitely would be willing to lie to them about his loyalty and respond to their romantic or sexual advances if they pushed him... simply in order to stay alive and to fulfill whatever his mission is amongst his people's enemies (refer to his past interactions with Ygritte and the free folk), he is definitely ultimately willing to "betray" said "allies" and "lover" when their intentions and actions violate his own moral principles or are a threat to his people.

He would definitely sacrifice his own honour (through breaking vows, kinslaying, or queen-slaying) if it meant protecting his family and you know protecting the entire population of westeros from an invader pushed over the edge... who has just committed mass murder of innocent civilians (just look what he is willing to do/what vows he is willing to forsake for the saftey of his sisters/cousins in both book and tv show)...

So some of the show canon/plot/and choices would hold up in the books... so long as they are done with better motives/and while being able to look into Jon's thought process (political!Jon theorists rise! this is the only way this plotline makes sense without assassinating his character).

As for the the Stark/Jon Snow ending (Bran ruling the south, an independent North ruled by Sansa, Jon exiled beyond to wall, and Arya leaving westeros and her family behind)... well I can find satisfaction with and confidently stand by the idea of some of the general outcomes holding true (i.e. an independent north, Sansa reclaiming the north and her identity as a Stark, and that of Bran as king).

... Arya's and Jon's endings are perhaps harder to support ...so maybe they will be different in the books?

Having the freedom to explore and go on adventures seems a long held dream of Arya's, and after the very traumatic and dangerous way this dream of her's came true perhaps her once again experiencing freedom from the expectations put on noble born girls and feeling actual inspiration to travel and discover new places (rather than it being based in necessity) will be a satisfying end... so long as it's not a permanent separation from her home and siblings.

As for Jon's exile... well it's perhaps the hardest to support? but it could potentially stand in the books as well- it could fit a more bittersweet tone that could suit the end of the series that was often quite dark...

Also there are potentially some supporting narrative paralells for Jon say marrying or having a child with Sansa before they are ultimately separated (e.g. Bael the bard, King-Beyond-the-Wall having a child with Lord Brandon Stark's only heir and daughter; or perhaps a reversed version of the historical Jonnel and Sansa Stark marriage... in this case a male relative marrying a female heir to protect her claim rather than to steal it... and this time its the wife who remains and keep rulership of winterfell after "losing" their spouse, instead of the reverse happening)... so this could unfold in a manner that simultaneously fulfills the heavy jonsa marriage + children foreshadowing while still in a way corresponding to the general jon snow ending of the show of exile/leaving with the free folk...

On the other hand if Jon and Arya's endings are the same in the book format perhaps these less satisfying fates could still serve to at least provide interesting narrative parallels to the previous stark generation

(Brandon & Lyanna-Robb & Rickon... beloved siblings who died tragically and live on through the love and terrible grief of their siblings,

Ned - Sansa... inheriting what would have gone to their older brother... but are left alone to carry the burden of ruling winterfell/the north and the only surving stark who will marry and have children to carry on the family line

Ned - Sansa & Bran... who survived a war that killed many family members, going on to inherit rulership (in some form) that would otherwise never have been theirs, and perhaps the most lonely aspect they are ultimately separated from their family by duty, vows, or the choices from their surviving sibling(s)....

Benjen- Arya & Jon, surviving non heir/non ruling starks? who ultimately - perhaps through some combination of grief over their losses, desire to find their own purpose beyond what is offered to them as a non heir member of a noble house, or due to vows they have sworn in the past- leave their surviving family and home behind to make their way in life somewhere else, returning to winterfell/their ruling siblings and surviving family only rarely (if at all), thus making for a slightly more bitter than sweet end for the starks who survived the would be annihilation of their house...

So for these reasons I believe some of these (or even all of these) perhaps controversial and unsatisfying show choices, plot points, and endings around the Starks or Jon Snow could also occur in the books... they will just be presented better.... more in character, with more thought out build up and justification, with more emotional nuance, and in a manner that does address or correspond with the foreshadowing in the books.

ATTITUDE #6: I have come to terms that it makes sense that book ending and show ending will essentially be the same for... various reasons?

...ummm because it just makes sense to me? i don't find it an unlikely or unsatisfying end so I'm fine with it and feel certain it will be the same in the books?

Or because the show ending was admittedly a trainwreck but since I am pessimistic I dont expect a happy or even simply a narratively or thematically satisfying ending to the book series at this point, so yes they will be the same?

....because I think that the showrunners despite how crappy they handled the plot/characters in the later seasons (or occasionally through out the entire series) have to be in the know about major plotpoints and overall series ending so fans must just accept that show ending (for the most part) = book ending?

... breaking the format here but im not sure why else Jon or Jonsa fans would feel this way?...

but I am genuinely curious though so i guess please feel free to share any compelling foreshadowing/hints/justifications in the novel series you've found that either

a. supports showrunners choices regarding both some of the questionable show!Jon Snow's actions...

Choosing to go to dragon stone himself to negotiate with an invader rather than sending a representative, bending the knee without better negotiation, clearer threats against his family, or without even listening to the advice of his northern advisors or family,

Willfully ignoring potential allies available to him (e.g. the vale) Instead of you know finding ways to negotiate and make use of them when he needs to or it is necessary for his survival and then choosing later on how to handle the people who are not strictly speaking trustworthy or are ultimately still an enemy (you know like he did in the past?)

Letting himself be crowned KITN without any meaningful internal struggle or backlash and without requiring much persuasion from his family or advisors...despite this occuring in the presence of one of his trueborn "siblings" - you know Sansa (anyone else remember Jon saying that winterfell belongs to her when he rejects Stannis' offer of ruling the winterfell? That feels like its significant)...and despite the fact that he loves and remained loyal to his trueborn "siblings" and had previously defended his "sister"'s claim to winterfell and the north at the expense of his own opportunity to gain rule over winterfell.

Lending support/men to a Targaryen invader with a checkered past regarding her ... -having kept slaves and/or profiting off of slavery -utlizing "former" child soldier/slaves for her army or servants

(Recall slavery being a big no-no in westeros and particularly the north? Like execution or exile levels of bad?)

-her incredibly controversial and destructive past weilding of her weapons of mass destruction dragons and her questionable ability to control her child eating beasts

Or

b. Supports Jon Snow's ultimate fate (of a sort of tragic hero, banished by his cousin/foster brother for doing what was right and necessary ... just because it went against the restrictive and high standards regarding the proper and honourable treatment of royalty and ones kin ....and because letting him free would upset the handful of allies that said late (and im sure so highly venerated) mass murdering invader/would be dictator had by the end of the story,

And Him not being given refuge in the independent north, by the people who supported/elected him king, or by the express invitation the cousin/foster sister who loves him and has both authority equivalent to that of her brother king while also not being beholden to said king's rulings... and instead being essentially in exile from both the southern kingdoms of westeros and from an independent north and thus the entirety of his surviving family.

Yes I'm totally against show Jon Snow's ending and much of his characterization/plotline in later seasons...and generally find it difficult to swallow/believe the idea that book!Jon's arc/end would be the exact same as that of the show!jon

...but i dont actually intend to just be judgemental of/argue with/try to disprove Stark/Jon fans who believe that what happens with book!Jon will be the same as what happend to show!jon.... I may personally find it hard to accept (both emotionally but also based on the ample available evidence of the significant changes the show had already made from the available published source material)

....but I am genuinely curious about how people feel about this idea if they do truly believe things will be the same for book! jon as it was for show!jon (Satisfaction? Happiness? Anger? Disappointment? Resignation? Acceptance? Indifference?)

.... and also about what evidence/foreshadowing they have found in the books that has persuaded them (and is maybe not discussed seriously enough by fandom) and could have rightfully been included in my reasonings for why people believe that the book ending and character arc for Jon Snow will/would be the same of that of the show.

So my closing thoughts...

Have i missed any notable reasons or evidence that you think would sway someone to one attitude/opinion or another?

... have you, like me, also occasionally been on the fence about how closely what happens in the books will resemble what happened in the show?

... has anything in this post (or another fandom post) changed your mind? Or served to further solidify your position/opinion on this topic?

...do you feel more or less certain about your own stance on the comparison between show and book Jon Snow's overall arc/ending?

... is anyone feeling less resigned/pessimistic about what will happen regarding Jon/Jonsa in the books now? (Because that was sort of my goal here in this thought exercise... thinking through arguments that either support or go against the idea that Jon- and Jonsa- will have a happier or more fulfilling arc and ending in the books than they did in the show... and hopefully finding and summarizing enough evidence to persuade myself- and other fans- that the book outcome will be a more positive one than the show, for characters and fans alike!)

- Crimson Cold

[goingferalapparently]

Do you want to hear me talk about The Animatic? No? Well that sucks because I'm talking about it anyway.

I don't know what made me suddenly want to make a full length animatic, but the urge descended upon me and I did anyway, despite my horrible horrible track record.

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I'd actually had a couple voice clips cut out since July (because that's when I started Jealousy), but the bulk of it was done 15/16 August. And! This song (Pentatonix's God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen) is actually the second one I tried piecing together.

The first song was AURORA's Runaway! I swapped songs pretty early on because

Runaway was 4 minutes long and God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen was 2.5 minutes long

3 minutes in, I ran out of voice clips.

I used a lot more voice clips for Runaway than God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen, not just because it's longer but also because the song is significantly slower and thus easier to fit voice clips in it. Not just more voice clips, but the voice clips were longer too.

(God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen had 9 source clips. Runaway had 15.)

Hindsight is 20/20 though, because due to the slow-paced nature of Runaway in comparison to God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen would have resulted in far less frames needing to be drawn, or precise cuts or-

Well, you get the point.

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I have two files for this project! Yes, it was pure Medibang. The reason for the two files is that there were so many layers that the first file was lagging to hell and back and I couldn't even draw a straight line because of how bad it was.

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This was the actual first frame I ever drew for this! If it looks familiar, it's because I was mirroring this. It's my first ever fanart for QSMP.

At the time of starting this, I had maybe 3 pieces of QSMP fanart and was super uncertain of what I was doing, so it definitely happened again - mirroring a piece of fanart into an animatic frame.

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This was the first time I ever drew Cucurucho. I had an idea and it was simple to execute but over time I forgot about the voice box.

This, on the other hand, was the last frame I ever drew. The Cucurucho designs are largely the same, with some minor differences (bigger eyes, more stitches, no voice box, thinner tube).

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This was the first time I successfully drew Cellbit. Emphasis on successfully because even this one bit took me forever. I never really had to redraw any frame once I drafted it, but this. This took me 5 redraws. It was my greatest nightmare.

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I've said it before but these two frames side by side?

It was my favourite part of the animatic for the longest time. Hands down, no debate, I adored it.

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You may notice that most frames had the subjects coloured in a lighter colour, but a couple didn't. Some were intentional, to better show off lighting and backgrounds and depth and stuff.

Some.... were not.

(Oops.)

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Some of my other favourite frames include:

Which would have been better if I hadn't messed up the shading.

Because this was so many characters. And Cellbit.

And the Bagheras, which I really had a ton of fun drawing near the end. Because these two were drawn at the end. The same day, actually. The first one did have a draft already, though.

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Some little details:

Between these two frames, BBH and Cellbit pop up in the background. There's a flash of white immediately after, which is supposed to be the camera flash when BBH takes a photo.

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Jaiden (and Roier) in the early scenes have perfectly normal eyes.

This changes immediately after Bobby's death, albeit rather subtly.

By the time the beginning of the Cucurucho tasks rolls around, the shadows under their eyes have had time to develop and become more prominent.

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Roier does a little rooftop espionage.

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Similar/Similarly located scenes have similarly coloured backgrounds!

It's most prominent with Bobby Fields' Rose/Lavender palette, with a few (not all) examples.

(The words associated with this last image are actually from when Jaiden got stuck on a ladder on her way down from the sunset tree while trying to chase Cucurucho. I just found that funny.)

But the colour thing is also key with Baghera and Jaiden's conversation with Pomme's non-canon death.

The colours used for 1) the gradient background 2) the lineart and 3) the subject base colour are identical in both images, even if they're a third of the video apart.

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Anyway, this was made with Medibang and iMovie, even if I do have Krita and DaVinci Resolve and FlipaClip and-

.........Yeah.

Tried and true basics, I guess.

(Krita and DaVinci both cause my laptop to overheat. I struggle with Krita so incredibly badly, even though I have friends who swear by it.)

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Also I maxed out the image count on this post.

[koduflower2000]

Using KolibriOS to draw something for the OSC on Tumblr: 2024-04-12 03:00

it's been ages since the last time i played with the VM workstation i had on my tablet PC, and now i'm back again with cool things to show here. :D

Back in 2022, before I was an object show fan, there was an application which enabled to run real operating systems on a smartphone or a tablet. It was an emulator which ran operating systems using the x86 or x86_64 processor technology. Of course, I'm talking about Limbo Emulator, in which it has QEMU as the whole framework. It wasn't just based on QEMU, but was basically just QEMU, ported to ARM processors, with a graphical interface. I once created a VM, created a disk and formatted it using DOS, and ran KolibriOS on it.

However, it is to be noted that the VM runs so slow because the tablet has an ARM processor, and ARM processors, including ARM-based ones can operate only in about 1-2 megahertz when emulating x86 or x86_64 chips. The only operating system which can be booted from start to finish in less than a minute is KolibriOS, and let me tell you, it's much more fun to work with.

Then, when I opened Tinypad and wrote something down, I thought to myself, "Hey, what if I made something like a souvenir for the OSC on Tumblr using this operating system? It'll be like the next leap forward to the power of computing. It'll definitely be something like a wonder of lightweight OSes!! It doesn't have to be big, but little. I'm gonna draw something for the OSC!"

I then got an idea. A bright idea. I can draw a TPOT character ship!

When I chose a ship to draw, I considered 2 things:

The ship should be a popular one.

The ship contains characters which are easy to draw.

I had many ideas for that, but the closest ones so far were Fireafy (Firey x Leafy), and Sawty (Saw x Gaty). Both of these ships are popular, but they have either one or both of the characters in each ship which are hard to draw, especially considering the processor is too slow to render curves properly. Even drawing Fubble (Fanny x Bubble) is somewhere between difficult to impossible. Draw a curve very slowly, to the point you would never see the pointer moving, and you get a nice one. Draw it faster, and surprise, it's a collection of lines connected to each other, or in other words, a polygon.

And so, I settled for Coinypin (Coiny x Pin). It took a long time to neaten up everything until I got the result in which I liked. Yeah, I know it's just a bunch of lines and circles, but who cares? I'm happy with it though.

apologies for making a spelling error on the filename, it was supposed to say "tpot coinypin" but i was too lazy to rename it, and then i did it afterwards lol

This is a story in which I did the unthinkable. Next TPOT ship to be drawn on KolibriOS is Sawty (Saw x Gaty), sooner or later, and I hope it turns out fine as the Coinypin one.

The end.

Love,

- Kevin, the real koduflower2000.