#the only thing i like about being a woman is being weird at it

[enigmaris]

If Lois Lane had a nickle for every time she had to help an overpowered boy from the midwest with the power of journalism, she'd have two nickles. Which isn't a lot but its weird that its happened twice.

Danny watched as Lois pulled out her phone and pulled up a recording app.

“What are you doing?”

“You came to a journalist and are surprised to get an interview?” She asked him, her tone clearly joking. “What you’ve given me here is great kid, but newspaper clippings and copies of federal laws don’t get the public’s attention. I need a story, Phantom’s the story.”

“I’m not Phantom.”

Lois looked at him, less than impressed. Slowly, she turned the screen of her computer until it was visible to both of them. There, in full clarity, was a front-page story from his hometown newspaper. ‘Danny Phantom saves Bus Full of Children!’ and there was a picture of him in his ghost form, his face crystal clear on her screen.

"Phantom’s a ghost. I’m just a dumb kid.” Danny tried again.

Lois pinched the bridge of her nose with her right hand and muttered to herself.

“Why do all you midwestern boys have the same schtick?”

“I’m sorry?” Danny said, unsure if he should be apologizing or not.

“Changing your last name from Fenton to Phantom does not a secret identity make kid. It might work for most civilians, but anyone familiar with the hero game will clock you from a mile away.”

“I’m not Phantom.”

“Sure, kid. But I’m sure you have a way for me to interview him, right? Because I want to talk to him before I do anything else about your town.”

Danny hugged himself and looked down at his knees.

“Is it really that bad?”

“Not the worst I’ve seen. Wonder Woman’s is paper thin. I'm pretty sure most people in DC know who she is outside of the cape and just don’t say anything because she scares them.”

Danny snorted involuntarily at that, looking back up at the woman.

“What’s going on in your town, Phantom? Why come to a journalist and not the Justice League?”

“The Anti-Ecto Acts got passed like a year ago. They state that only being that produces or contains ectoplasm above a certain amount is considered non-sapient and is to be turned over to the government for disposal.” Danny said. “I put the whole thing in there for you to read, but it's long. Amity Park has a lot of ectoplasm in it. It's seeped into the air and water. Normal human people have it in them now. At first, those agents were just firing at me whenever I finished a ghost fight. I could deal with that. Their aim is terrible anyway. But then they figured out that humans can become contaminated with ectoplasm. They decided that meant the entire town was under their jurisdiction. They've decided that means that no one in town counts as human anymore, that we don’t have rights, that they’re doing us a favor by not just exterminating the entire town like the law says.”

Danny leaned forward, putting his hands on the desk in front of Lois Lane. He looked right into her bright eyes and spoke seriously.

“When it was just ghosts under attack, I didn’t think anyone would care. I’ve tried calling the Justice League for help, but they’ve brushed me off. People need to know what’s happening. Anyone can become ecto-contaminated. You just have to be in the right place at the wrong time. It’s not right what’s happening to Amity, Miss Lane. I came to you because if anyone could get the world to listen, to believe, then it's got to be you.”

And Lois Lane smiled. It was a proud, eager smile. The kind of smile Danny had seen on Sam right after she convinced the school to serve a vegan lunch. He barely held back from shivering.

“Well then, Mr. Phantom.” Lois said, before tapping onto the recording app on her phone and starting a recording. “Let’s begin.”

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

Weird black neglected!reader and the things the hate about the batboys do that disgust reader

So basically, there was a post ask what the bafamily does that disgust readers, or what disgusts readers—that's something like that. I can't find the ask because I answered it by accident when I wasn't finished, so whoever asked, you know who you are.

What disgusts readers the most about Bruce is his playboy persona; it irks readers to their core. Readers have always held Bruce to high expectations because their mom only spoke well of him. But all that changes when they attend a gala and see Bruce flirting with a girl decades younger than him. It makes their blood boil. Readers know the next girl is just the woman of the month, maybe day. When they were younger, a lot of the ladies would try to be nice to readers just to get on Bruce's good side. And Bruce tries to tell the reader it's just a fling and it means nothing, so no one will think he's the bad guy, but you don't care (he could be loyal, and loyal to your mother). Making the bat really guilty.

Dick, with his fake smiles and womanizing ways, makes it hard for the reader to support someone who hides their feelings or opinions when reporters or paparazzi approach him. He feels compelled to smile even while seething inside. Not only that, the reader dislikes when Dick attempts to fix everyone else's problems just to elevate himself and suppress his feelings; his womanizing tendencies are even more off-putting. The reader once looked up to Dick as a younger sibling would to an older brother, but his constant flirting with anyone within a five-mile radius has turned that admiration into disdain. This makes your poor older brother feel horrible and like a bad remodel.

Jason's nonchalance or indifference to things is perplexing, especially since you know deep down he is passionate about something he cares about. Yet, he'll never express this, at least not with you. He acts as if nothing is wrong when there is indeed something wrong. Deep down, a little Robin is screaming out and asking for help, but he'll never let it out. This type of denial disgusts the reader. Being your true self is the best self you can be; being passionate and headstrong is the best feeling in the world. Yet, he refuses to embrace it; he would rather stay constant than move forward. Jason really wants to make connections; he desperately wants to be a part of something. He wants to confide in the reader, but it might be a little too late for that.

Tim, a hypocrite and a smart-ass, reader is okay with being corrected; it just shows that they needs to learn. However, nitpicking every little thing he does really irks them. Telling the reader that something is wrong is not actual criticism; it’s just a way to put someone down. Boy, he is such a hypocrite! Timothy will literally tell you that monsters are bad, yet he goes and downs six Red Bulls before a patrol. Sure, he needs the energy, but he could eat a protein bar like a regular person. Not to mention, he is always telling you that something is really unhealthy, only for him to eat little to nothing at all. You always snap at him, and he’ll try to tell you he’s looking out for you like a brother should, but you don’t care. He really just wants you to be better than him, and be more responsible but the reader doesn't care for that.

Damian, pretentious and with a God complex, is literally an Arabian prince, so what did you expect from that little twerp? He thinks he’s better when he’s not that special. He’ll show off to readers every day and in every way. You pick up new hobbies, and it's his hobby now, and he’ll be better at it than you, probably discouraging you in the process and making you give up. If you're good, he'll try to be twice as good. Some younger siblings want to be like their big brother or sister or whatever, and it’s cute, but this isn’t cute; this is just stupid, and you hate it because Alfred always makes you hang out with the hellspawn. He’ll show off to your friends or brag about being Robin or how he used to live before the manor, and you want to hit the living daylights out of him. But even if you're taller, the kid was trained to kill at birth, so there’s no way. But all of this is because he really wants your attention and praise. You’re the only person in the house who doesn’t praise him or give him the time of day. He’s your younger brother; he shouldn’t be ignored like this. He’s royalty! Why are you rolling your eyes while he’s telling you about all the places he's been? You should be clapping and smiling—don’t ignore him!

[genderqueerdykes]

Every time a trans woman speaks up for trans men it's like drinking water after going without it for days. A girl I hang out with mentioned how some trans women in the area are really rude, especially to trans men, and it was like I was finally not crazy anymore. It's weird feeling like I can't trust my experiences of transandrophobia until a trans woman confirms that, yes, trans women can be transphobic too

god i feel it so hard. it's really a wonderful thing that makes the bonds that trans people have so much stronger. it's such a wonderful display of compassion and solidarity. sometimes all it takes is someone else going, no, i see it too, and i don't think it's right. obviously we're not saying all trans women are rude as hell to trans men, but there are behaviors that need to be challenged.

i feel like there was way stronger transfem/transmasc solidarity ~10 - 15 years ago before terf rhetoric became as wide spread as it is now. i remember going to a queer conference when i was around 19 and while there were no groups for transmascs there, all of the transfem people i met were so, so chill, and so kind. to everyone, not just other transfems. i had transfems gently asking me questions on what it's like to be transmasculine, what things make me feel euphoric or dysphoric, how i realized i was a man, and so on! conversations were very open and honest. and these trans women and transfems took the time to educate me on their experiences, too- there was more genuine conversation and exchange of information. we were focusing on helping each other understand. it was genuinely wonderful to learn about tranfemininity as I taught others about transmasculinity. that honest, open dialogue created an environment where sharing and listening were the norm

this divisiveness we've seen lately is so manufactured. and a lot of trans men feel the same way you do, that they can't trust themselves on this matter. it's okay, you're not the only one being made to feel that way

and i know that so many trans women appreciate it when trans men genuinely stand up for us, too. like. it shouldn't have gotten to the point where people only really want to listen to trans women when it comes to trans men, but that solidarity is so huge right now. like seriously, to every trans woman who stands up against this behavior and sticks up for trans men: thank you. we would have had your back regardless, but this makes the bond stronger than steel. we will always have your backs no matter what. thank you for having ours. we owe so much to the trans women who stand up against this behavior. thank y'all, from the bottoms of all of our hearts. thank you for understanding what trans solidarity is all about.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I feel like the Ghost Marriage event shouldn't have happened. I mean, it's a little sus that this dead chick was proposing to a bunch of TEENAGERS in the first place, but not only that, but she was a royal, and as I understand only a few of the students at NIght Raven were of noble/royal decent.

Personally, I don't think there's a huge issue here?? Depiction of something doesn't automatically mean endorsement or condonment of it. Ghost Marriage clearly depicts Eliza wanting to quickly get hitched to one of the NRC students as a patently bad thing; it is in no way promoting what she's trying to do. (Small correction though: she's not proposing to anyone, Eliza is just outright kidnapping the one she deems to be her ideal groom; it is the other NRC students who are proposing to her in an effort to rescue Idia.) The mere existence of Ghost Marriage is NOT Twst saying, "Hey, it's okay for minors to marry adults and this is what we should be doing!" That's like claiming that Sebek being depicted as racist or Epel believing in gender norms is promoting racism or gender norms. If you look at the context surrounding these situations, you'll quickly realize that these depictions are, in fact, NOT promotions. Sebek, Epel, and Eliza are constantly told their viewpoints are wrong or clowned on for expositing their beliefs.

When it comes to age, the devs kept Eliza's pretty ambiguous. Just because she is dead doesn't mean she's like 80+ years old. They never put a number to it, but they allude that she "died young", but she isn't exactly a child since her attendants speak of her childhood like it's a thing of the past (ie "[...] ever since you were a little girl"). Judging by her immaturity and even her looks, you could honestly argue that Eliza is roughly the same age as the NRC students or is at least a fellow teenager herself. (Furthermore, in the original Japanese text, Eliza promises to visit the school again with a baby; this was scrubbed from EN--why? Maybe because they didn't want to imply a young woman close to the boys' age getting pregnant so soon.) Whoever she marries wouldn't be left alive; her kiss will literally kill them, also rendering them a ghost too. As a married couple, both Eliza and her groom would be dead; it would not be a situation where one is dead and the other is left alive. I don't find it problematic that students potentially younger/older than her proposed because the intention was never to go through with the marriage, it's to trick her so she puts on a magical ring that will dispel her from the world of the living. Again, CONTEXT MATTERS. No one here is actually seriously wanting this legally binding marriage except Eliza herself. Idia (the intended groom) is 18, so he could marry if he wanted to. It might be weird if Eliza was younger than him, but I think that even if that's the case, it's fine because she's supposed to be viewed as immature and unrealistic about love. Eliza is MEANT to be seen as a little cuckoo, not an example to live up to (literally ALL the other characters, including Idia, see her as unhinged); the writing in this event isn't trying to tell you that you should aspire to be like Eliza. On the contrary, you shouldn't be like her, and Ace even calls her out for this at the end of the event. I would take issue with Ghost Marriage if it had done the opposite and tried to promote her behavior as "good" or "desirable" when it very obviously is not.

I don't think the typical rules for nobility and their marriages apply in this case. Eliza is dead and technically has no country, wealth, or anything to her name. She is chained to this mortal coil because of her unfulfilled desire to marry the perfect prince--so that's the desire she seeks to fulfill. Her retainers help her because they lament that she was not able to achieve her dream when she was still alive and they feel guilty for not being able to help her flee before their kingdom was brought to ruin. Eliza doesn't have to heavily vet lineages or even necessarily marry another royal. That kind of stuff is only really important if you have countries to rule over, assets that could be impacted, politics that could shift. You know, actual things at stake that are dependent on who she marries. But Eliza currently has nothing but her own desire fueling her, so nothing is riding on who she marries. She's just driven by her own selfish longing to find her perfect prince because... oh yeah, everyone in her country is already dead and this is literally all she has to "live" for left 💀 (though if we really wanted to get technical, Idia may not be nobility but he’s still pretty rich and influential; he’s close to being a noble without the actual title attached to it.)

[scary-grace]

#3 for roommates to lovers!! :D

Hi! Thank you so much for this prompt! As I alluded to, I went through two other versions of this fic before settling on this one, so if this ends up not being your speed, that's okay -- let me know and I'll post one of the others.

Prompt: “i’m guessing that the fact you’re already home will tell me everything i need to know about how your date went.” No quirks AU, female reader, Shigaraki and the reader are roommates, approximately 3k. ANGST. But with a happy ending.

CASUAL

You hear the key in the lock on the front door and try to scramble up off the couch, at which point the four shots of vodka you’ve taken announce their presence. The first thing to go is your balance, and you bump into the coffee table before tipping backwards onto the couch again. The next is your dignity, when you realize that your roommate and his Valentine’s Day date are about to walk in and see you, on the couch in your pajamas and totally trashed. The third is your control over your emotions. Your face heats up and your throat goes tight and your eyes start to sting, and that’s all before Tomura even opens the door.

Tomura snagged himself a date for Valentine’s Day. A really hot date, Spinner took pains to tell you, like it was something for you to be excited about. Some cosplayer whose DMs he slid into, who dresses up as the slutty version of all his favorite video game characters, who flirts with guys and girls alike but never seems to settle down. Tomura’s friends are all amazed that he was able to pull it off, but you aren’t. You’ve been roommates with Tomura long enough to know that there’s more to him than meets the eye.

And you know he’s got some degree of game. You’d have to, since it worked pretty well on you.

Or maybe your game, as weird and offbeat as it is, worked pretty well on him. However it happened, you’ve been fucking him for the last six months. It started as hooking up to blow off steam, because neither of you had been on a date in forever and you were both too lazy or bad at dating apps to find a booty call. Just a roommates-with-benefits thing. A little recreation. Casual.

You’re not sure where it went off the rails, but over the past six months, you’ve slid from not hanging out except when you’re fucking to hanging out all the time, from bitching about your friends and their love lives to trading loaded glances when it comes up, from texting each other hey you up from your rooms to sleeping in the same bed. It started out as casual, but it’s not casual anymore. At least not to you. You were trying to think of how to raise the subject with Tomura, and thinking maybe of doing it tonight, until he announced out of nowhere that he’s got this date.

You didn’t find out until a couple days ago, and since then you’ve been seething, or at least you tell yourself that the throbbing ache in your chest is seething instead of heartbreak. You’ve played it cool around Tomura, razzing him over the restaurant he picked, offering to let him borrow your hair products if he wants to do something special with it – except then he took you up on it, the bastard, and he left for his date smelling like your leave-in conditioner. Part of you is pleased by that, by the thought that his date might catch the scent and wonder if she really is the only one he’s into. The rest of you thinks about her getting close enough to smell his hair and decides to throw up about it.

You lock your jaw and swallow hard. As terrible as this is going to be, the only thing worse than them walking in on you in the midst of a single-woman cringefest is if they walk in on you throwing up. What’s taking them so long to walk in on you, anyway? Tomura’s still trying to unlock the fucking door. You picture his date pressed back against the door, the two of them unwilling to stop kissing long enough to get into the apartment, and a surge of disgust and anger and hurt hits you harder than the vodka did. Fuck this. You’ve had enough.

This time you’re more careful as you get off the couch, and you’re steady enough on your feet as you cross the room to the front door. Deadbolt off, latch turned, two seconds to brace yourself, and you wrench open the door. You’re expecting the two of them to fall over onto you, so wrapped up in each other that they barely notice the shift from vertical to horizontal. But you don’t see any cosplayer in the hallway, or smell anyone’s perfume. The only person there is Tomura, still dressed for his date, trying to unlock the door with the wrong key.

The two of you look at each other for a moment. You can’t speak for him, but your mind’s gone totally blank. Except for one thing. “That’s the laundry-room key. Not the apartment key.”

Tomura keeps staring at you for another few seconds, then looks down at the key like he’s never seen it before. “They look the same.”

“Yeah. And you’ve lived her for two years. When are you going to suck it up and label them?” Your frustration is starting to spill over, and it gets worse with every second Tomura spends looking at you. Why is he looking at you like that? Like he’s hurt – like you’re being mean to him for no reason, when you’re not even being that mean. You could be meaner. He’s the one who went out and got a hot date without even telling you, when – “Wait, what time is it?”

Tomura glances at his watch, then holds it out to show you. Seven-thirty. Huh. “You’re back early.”

“Yeah.” Tomura takes off his watch and drops it into his coat pocket. “Are you going to let me in or what?”

You stand aside, the wheels turning in your head with painful slowness. Tomura’s date was supposed to start at six. He’s back at seven-thirty. He’s back alone. That’s not what happens with a Valentine’s Day date where things go according to plan, and everything about the way Tomura’s acting right now says that things went off the rails. The last three days, you’ve been proceeding under the assumption that Tomura’s Valentine’s Day would be fuck-on-the-first-date good. It never crossed your mind that it might go badly.

“Are you going to close the door or just stand there like that all night?” Tomura sounds tired, but there’s an edge to his voice. “I guess I don’t have to ask what you’ve been doing. You can’t hold your liquor for shit.”

“And I guess since you’re back already, I don’t have to ask about how your date went,” you return fire without thinking. You shut the door, maybe harder than you meant to, and turn to face Tomura with your arms crossed over your chest, doing everything in your power not to cry. “Want to tell me about it?”

“Do you care?” Tomura picks up the vodka bottle, uncaps it, and takes a long sip. “I don’t think you give a shit.”

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t,” you snap on autopilot, but the longer you think about it, the more confused you get. “What have I ever done to make you think I don’t care about you?”

Tomura doesn’t answer. He’s too busy drinking half your vodka in a single swallow, unnerving you even more. “Hey. Stop. Whatever happened on your date, it’s not worth a hangover. I’ll help you, but –”

“Don’t worry about that. You’re off the hook.”

“What?” You’ve always helped Tomura with hangovers, way before you started sleeping together. His body reacts to alcohol like it’s actual poison, and there’s no point since you met him that you’ve ignored him when he needs help. “I’m not on the hook, Tomura. I do that stuff because I want to.”

“So stop wanting to,” Tomura says, but at least he puts the bottle down. “It shouldn’t be that hard for you. You’re good at not doing things you don’t want.”

“What are you talking about?” You can’t wrap your head around it. Tomura’s pissed at you. He’s the one who went on the date. Even if it didn’t go well, he still went on the date, so where does he get off being mad at you? “If you’re going to do this, say what you mean. It’ll be a lot faster, and after what you put me through –”

“What I put you through?” Tomura’s laughter goes jagged. “What do you tell your friends about me?”

“Nothing –”

“Right. Because it’s casual,” Tomura sneers. You’d believe it a lot more if you didn’t see his shoulders go tense, see the tendons in his neck stand out, hear the catch in his breathing. “Because I’m just some loser who’s still hanging around.”

“Because I don’t want to hear them tell me it’s a bad idea!” Your voice pitches upwards, fraying at the edges in a way you hate. “I don’t want to let them take something that makes me happy and ruin it. But maybe I should have, because I hate that I let this drag on so long, and if they’d told me it was a bad idea and I’d listened, then I wouldn’t be –”

“If it’s such a bad idea, then –”

All at once you’re fed up with this. Tired of pretending it’s fine. Tired of listening to him tear into you over something that isn’t even close to true. “I wouldn’t be losing my shit because you went out with someone else on fucking Valentine’s Day!”

Tomura blinks. “What?”

“You heard me.” You can’t look at him right now. You slump back against the door, your arms crossed over your chest, eyes averted. “Don’t come after me when you’re the one being casual. I’m not the one who went out and got a hot date.”

“That’s what you’re mad about?” Tomura demands. You nod, your eyes stinging. “Were you ever going to say that?”

“And out myself as the one who caught feelings? Are you joking?”

“No!” Tomura explodes. You look at him and find him scratching at his neck, hard. “That’s what I wanted you to do!”

It’s your turn to stare blankly, and Tomura’s the one who can’t meet your gaze. He spins away from you, still scratching. “I haven’t slept in my own bed in a month and a half. I can’t fall asleep without you anymore. You make tea for me if you’re the one who wakes up first and I kiss you goodbye if I leave before you do and even the stuff I hate doing is fun if you’re doing it with me. Except it feels like that because I’m in love with you. And you’re only doing it to blow off steam.”

The stinging in your eyes hits fever pitch. You blink and tears slip down your cheeks. “Tomura –”

“I thought if I told you I had a date, you’d say something. So I’d know one way or the other.” Tomura’s scratching slows, from frantic scrabbles to hard digs. “But you acted like you didn’t care at all. So I went on the date and she could tell I wasn’t into it and she gave me a hard time for leading her on –”

You hated his date on principle up until a few seconds ago. Now you’re actually starting to feel bad for her. Being on the other end of Tomura’s disinterest feels awful. “If you liked me, why didn’t you just say it?”

“I didn’t want to out myself, either.”

You both caught feelings. Neither of you wanted to admit it, but now you both have, which would be really nice except for how you got here. “So we’ve been yelling at each other over nothing.”

“I guess.” Tomura’s hand slows still further, the scratches lightening again. “Now what?”

“Uh –” You try to think, but you’re coming up sort of empty. “We just ruined our first Valentine’s Day together. Should we have make-up sex or something?”

Tomura snorts. “There’s not anything to make up. We were both stupid and we both hurt each other. We’re even.”

“That’s not exactly a no on the make-up sex.” You lever yourself off the door and cross the room to him, reaching up to pull his hand away from the side of his neck. The first time you ever tried that, he got mad at you, but ever since he’s let you do it. He lets you do it today, and you kiss his hand. “I just want us to feel better. It doesn’t matter how we do it.”

Tomura’s fingers curl and uncurl, like he can’t decide whether he wants to hold on. “I said I love you. Do you love me, or did you just catch feelings?”

You had that one coming, probably. “I love you,” you admit, and his grip on your hand tightens. “I should probably have warned you before we started hooking up, but I’m kind of shit at this casual thing.”

“Same.” Tomura leans back against you ever so slightly and you plant your feet in a hurry. “What movie were you watching?”

“Something dumb. We can watch something else.”

“Yeah. When we get back.”

“When we get back?” you ask. “From where?”

“It’s still Valentine’s Day,” Tomura says. “And you’re my girlfriend, so I should probably take you out.”

You’re his girlfriend. You’ve never had a shorter define-the-relationship talk in your life, and part of you can’t think past what a relief it is. But you and Tomura have never gone out, anywhere – whatever’s going on with you has stayed here in your apartment, barely even referenced when you’re outside of it. And you’re not exactly at your best. “I’m in my pajamas,” you start, only to realize how dumb it sounds. “I can change. It won’t take long, and I’ll be ready to go.”

Tomura’s grip on your hand tightens for a brief second before he lets you go. “Wait here.”

He disappears into his room, and you take the opportunity to cap the bottle of vodka and wipe your eyes. You never really got into it with the crying, and you can feel it lurking somewhere in the background, ready to ambush you when you least expect it. It’s been a hard night. Maybe it’s okay if you cry a little bit. Crying in front of your roommate-with-benefits is one thing. It’s probably okay to cry in front of your boyfriend.

The door to Tomura’s room opens. “Okay,” Tomura says, and your jaw drops at the sight of him. “Now we can go.”

You didn’t think much about what he was doing in there, but you assumed he was changing out of his fancy date clothes into something more casual. But Tomura’s skipped straight over casual. He’s wearing pajama pants and the League of Legends hoodie you got him for his birthday last year, and you can see the hem of a comically oversized t-shirt sticking out beneath it. As you watch in shock, he tucks his keys and his phone into the front pocket of the hoodie and heads for the door. “Are you coming?”

“Um, yes.” You find your own phone and wallet, detouring to your room to grab a sweater. “Tomura –”

“You look good like that,” Tomura says. He looks you up and down in a way that makes you think that make-up sex might not be entirely off the table. “I was just getting on your level. Where do you want to go?”

“I’m not sure,” you admit. “Let’s figure it out on the way.”

There are other things to figure out on the way, too. Like whose room is going to be your room together, and what you’re going to do with the other one. Like what you’re going to tell your friends, or how Tomura’s going to explain blowing his date with an objectively hot cosplayer so he can go out with you. Like holding hands – which way you like better, and how tight is too tight to hold on, and how fast is it acceptable to grab each other’s hands back after you have to let go.

“This is what got me in trouble,” Tomura says, inspecting your laced fingers as the two of you wait for the train. “Holding hands.”

“How did it get you in trouble?” you ask. “We never really do that at home, except –”

You trail off, your face flushing, and Tomura elaborates. “It was like the third time we hooked up or something. You probably don’t remember.”

You do. It was the fourth time you hooked up, the first time it was spontaneous instead of planned, and you were blowing him on the couch, whichever movie you’d been watching completely forgotten. Tomura was being himself about it, twitching and squirming and making all kinds of pretty sounds that he kept trying to hide, and you glanced sideways at one point and saw his hand, scrabbling desperately at the couch cushions. You had a free hand, so you reached out and held it. You remember being startled at how tightly Tomura held on, surprised at how quickly he stopped trying to be quiet, and when you finally drew back, you were surprised again at how reluctant he was to let you go.

It was weird, but you wrote it off, until the next time you hooked up with him and he went for your hand while he was eating you out. Then it was your turn to hold on too tight.

“I was probably reading into it,” Tomura continues, snapping you out of a set of memories that you’d really rather not be wandering through on a train, “but you doing that – it didn’t seem all that casual to me.”

“Maybe it was never that casual,” you admit. You don’t think you’d have started hooking up with him in the first place if you hadn’t already liked him at least a little bit. “I think I’ll be fine if I never hear the word ‘casual’ again.”

“Casual.”

“Shut up.”

“Casual,” Tomura says again, and you nudge him with your shoulder a little harder than necessary. You’d elbow him, but you’d have to let go of his hand. “We’re going out on Valentine’s Day. Is it casual now?”

He’s joking – mostly. You can tell by the way his grip on your hand tightens, the way his red eyes search your face with a little more urgency than before. “No,” you say, and you kiss him, feeling his lips curve into a smile against yours. “It’s not casual at all.”

[microwavedautism]

Okay so. I have issues with how ftm headcanons are treated in fandom.

...Before I begin, I write this with no intention of shaming trans men or transmascs or any trans people who allign with men or masculinity, you can headcanon your gender however you like after all. Everyone else who headcanons things like this though... well I won't say I'm not judging at least.

Ah.. also, please do not expect intelligent writing, I'm literally just a dude talking about my feelings towards things. I will probably word things wrong.

With that disclaimer out of the way, here I go!

I notice that near everytime a ftm headcanon gets popular, it's always a character who is in canon male. This alone is not a problem of course, the issue is, most of these guys are feminine in appearance, have flamboyant / weak / 'girly' / other 'unmasculine' traits, or both.

For example, Izuku Midoriya (Mha/bnha), who has extreme compassion and cries often (..and is often characterized in fandom as innocent, small, weak or fragile despite not being so in canon.. wonder why that is) (I want to make a post ranting about Bnha specific headcanons now...), or Leonardo (Rottmnt specifically), who is flamboyant and mostly belived to be queer.

Neither of them are exactly pictures of masculinity, are they? Yet they are the most popular ftm headcanons in their fandoms. When they are being depicted as ftm, they somehow become more feminine or more sensitive or weaker.

Not to say that anyone who IS those things is bad or anything, I would never so much as hint that someone is bad for being comfortable in their own self.

The problem is when that is the ONLY type of trans guy's being depicted (dare I say it's still a problem when it's the majority...?). If you only can handle a trans man when he looks like a woman or acts like a little girl... that's fucking weird!

I don't actually have much more to say besides that. It's just really uncomfortable to constantly have my representation be twinks and characters with non standard masculinity. I want more fat trans guys being headcannoned, more buff guys, more older guys, more literally anything except for the cookiecutter feminine guy. PLEASE.

[shxllyblog]

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You never really minded that Grimmjow was staying in your house until he is bleeding on your floor.

You had two bags in your hand filled with a variety of different ingredients and self indulgent sweets that you tried to stop yourself from buying and clearly failed. You fumble for the keys to your apartment in your pockets before unlocking the door and stepping in, you haven’t seen Grimmjow for at least a week now. You had suspected he was off doing some fighting or shit which he would later brag to you about. Chucking the keys at the table next to your door you put down the bags in your hands, your arms feeling instant relief. You were about to take off your shoes until you hear the sound of heavy breathing and you pause. 

“Grimmjow?” You call out, normally he would have the TV on some weird challenge shows which you weren’t interested in or figuring out how to play gta which you admittedly regret buying.

You make your way over to the livingroom and your eyes widen at seeing Grimmjow bloody and breathing heavily on your floor.

“What the- are you ok?!” You say quickly as you rush over to him, kneeling down next to his chest assessing his wound, it was deep. “Fuck- fuck!?” What do espada’s use to heal themselves? You don’t know anything about the Soul Society or Hueco Mundo that he keeps on going on about. You didn’t realise you were zoning out until Grimmjow grabs you and buys the arm. 

“Just stop the bleeding.” He hisses at you making you feel somewhat dumb, you get to your feet before rushing over to your bathroom grab a towel to put pressure on the wound. You had only seen this shit on TV and never actually imagined you doing it. It’s not like you were going to call an ambulance for a guy who is already dead and is going to die again (not on your watch).

You run back over to him to see him no longer lying on the floor but sitting up, you pray he doesn’t stain the couch but now is not the time for that. 

“What happened to you?!” You ask as you use the towel to apply pressure on the deepest cut which draws a low groan from him. 

“Fucking prick Nnoitra.” He mutters between groans, you knew he wasn’t going to admit being defeated by someone, that just the type of person he is. You could already suss out what was going on, the once white towel turns a black colour. You hadn’t known that arrancar blood was black, it’s not everyday Grimmjow bleeds out on your floor.

“You're fine, you’ll be fine.” You whisper words that he probably doesn’t need but it does make him look calmer, if that's even possible this guy had a permanent scowl on his face.

“Tough fight huh.” You say as you press harder onto the wound, it wasn’t bleeding as much now but it would still hurt like shit.

“I didn’t lose. I was caught off guard.” He says as he looks away from you. The sound of your laugh is what makes Grimmjow finally look at you, your laugh will be the death of him. Unless you don’t kill him by how hard you're pressing down on his wound. 

“What are you laughing about woman?” He sneered at you, making you laugh even more. You stop laughing as he grabs your arm making you look up at him, as you smile hesitantly.

“Nothing.” You say as you look into his blue eyes as he searched in yours for a reason why you find him ‘losing’ so amusing. 

“Bullshit.” He says as your eyes show a single sign of sadness. His grip on his hand tightens as he stares at you. 

You sigh before crossing your legs on your wooden floor. 

“You have been the most interesting thing in my life and- It’s just so absurd that you are here bleeding on my floor as if it's normal to everyone else.” You finally get out with it, you know that Grimmjow isn’t really the person you would talk to about it but, it's that or your friends thinking you're schizophrenic. But it’s his response which makes you surprised. 

“Who else am I going to go to?” He says softly in a way that it doesn’t even sound like him, you blink before smiling you never knew that Grimmjow trusted you this much.

You smile as you look up at him. 

“I knew you trusted me.” 

[saoirseyun]

— .ᐟ ౨ৎ . . . 𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞! 002

𝖲𝖸𝖭𝖮𝖯𝖲𝖨𝖲 — you were prepared, to say less. becoming newlyweds to a distinguished noble named Osamu Dazai... Yet who knew it'd be this difficult alone needing to finalize and insure responsibility right from the get go?

𝖢𝖮𝖭𝖳𝖤𝖭𝖳 𝖶𝖠𝖱𝖭𝖨𝖭𝖦 — unreliable narrator, actually no one is reliable in this fic, there are more questions than answers, nlh-esque end monologues, british english usage (i forgot to change keyboards), historical inaccuracies, rash judgement, sexism-ish?, some word vomits, dazai being weird and vague, please tell me if I missed anything!

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖧𝖮𝖱'𝖲 𝖭𝖮𝖳𝖤 — once again, so sorry for the long wait!!! a couple of issues popped up here and there which is why this took so long to write & finish. I apologize there's any errors!

𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖣 𝖢𝖮𝖴𝖭𝖳 — 4.1k words, proofread

CHECK OUT HALF AN HOUR FOR LOVE, OVERVIEW.

Japanese terminology; kotatsu - Japanese 'heating' table shūgen - Traditional Japanese wedding

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐀𝐘

The grooming sunrise sparks the horizon in its youth and began highlights of warmth, soothing... Canvas through the open scene and fallen comfort in amidst of everything that awaits you beyond the safety and silken textures and exquisite drawn cushions of a shared bed with Dazai, allures the weak body flat to sink in the bed... The cruelest harshest temptations that is reminiscent of your years being a shinzō. Honest for life begets a wishful longing to once again become those bygone days... Maybe companied with Dazai Osamu in imagine where a love—in a sense that is full and developed... There wouldn't be such hesitation as to now—or if... Otherwise, better thought; he waited. No, no. Seems the less likely too. You've caught close glimpse of that man and the acts he pulled upon seconds after invitation to his exquisite room. It doesn't hurt anyone, however, no harm to think. A move that stirs to form in light of having felt a touch of skin-to-skin and sense closure in romance and affection. You open your eyes to behold Dazai's smirk and come to realize his fingers rake your strands of hair in await for you to finally muster enough energy to snap from sleep. Lie between both his arms in bed—now since when had this been decided? It's distinctively clear on the back of your head you went out in search of the guestroom. Perhaps it's couple's perks, who knows, it's the first time for ever you've been married to such luxury... Or it is natural, you're only the more ignorant. Let's put things in perspective, you don't know anything to start with. Albeit places to point your secondary fears for the engagement with this supposed man... "...Good morning, Jun'ai." But the chronic absorb in your limbs and soreness in the lids of those poor eyes from wake, Dazai notices in surprise. "...Still tired? I don't blame you." The man undone a piece of his kimono a slight second to wrap bandages from the chest up until it reaches Dazai's neck. Applies the same on his arms. Untellable right now but never once you saw scars or wounds of some kind of Dazai last night. Shutter of those eyes in similarly of a crane's feathers spread flight, left to no time thinking when observed the guy to prepare his schedule for the day.

"...Jun'ai-chan?" He takes the moment and turn a shoulder to your exhausted body lie aimless on the featherlight blankets and sheets. By some miracle you do manage to open your eyes yet again for Dazai as he calls out for your name in an inexplicable reason. "Will you come with me later to converse about our matrimony details?" A reluctant nod was forced out of you and Dazai appreciates the sluggish bit of effort in asserting and answer. Who knew songs of poetry would not only tire the vocal chords but the mind and body too... "In case I still have not been able to, let me tell you how loveable of a woman you are—Jun'ai." It's the way he laze those fingers intent to the soft skins and pleasure of kept affection and embrace lures you in return of comfort, safety. Polarize the love spent hidden in a mere glint of contact of another beloved's skin press against yours—in this case, him.

Taken much of potential to spend more time in bed as you stare at Dazai leave the shared space. A sigh out of those lungs, he wasn't bad in any means—you knew—it's of how strange Dazai Osamu can act by occasion, it's ridiculous, or the inexperience of genuine love is speaking. Overall a well intent man. You toss and turn and decides to further contemplate of your satisfaction in the place. Not convinced yet so in case of anything Ōnami still has the structure hit your back at the faulty.

〝It beckons you to think even during sleep, however. The bliss—mindless, akin to the shared moment of your most favorites of things, of your most favorites of many other things stacked on top and so on forth. Only to uncover the affections lost as a mere manipulative love to bomb upon unsuspectingly... Were perhaps those favorite things do mean something beyond being preference?〟

An hour half sharp passes. A short nap visits you all the while wasted to overthink.

Hence waking in a second and able to this time take on the challenge of your day. After pouring yourself a fresh glass from last night that now tastes room temperatured of mild disgust in warm and cool breeze. Legs hang from the bed covers before an elegant stands to your feets. Must one always remain gorgeous even going through a ruckus sleep. It seems to be approximately 9:00 am. Whatever does feel like 9‘o clock... It might've been midday but oh well. Dazai Osamu indubitably had high relevance of workload to do anyways besides on that. Is what everyone would have, logically—thus most initially hoped! He didn't excuse to sample... Where was he heading. It isn't your problem to dwell nor shan't it be—Dazai has requested of you to 'join him later' with Dazai Masako more. Better... Leap forth on start.

Begins by you and those fingers ran through the unkempt hair which pops away from the scalp, what a dreading nightmare in itself to face... Regardless the joked fears takes your own step to the vanity and brush. Ah, a second thought—which one is supposedly yours...? The staff must've been considerate enough to unpack and organise your own items in a sustainable and efficient manner around the shared room.

With two to compare and oh lord have mercy upon thee how many things does Dazai Osamu truly have—it'll be a moment.

...Nevermind! You noticed a ruined spot on one, not as sudden and beautiful crack in metaphor of age. Perhaps you're actually a mess when it comes to handling personal belongings. Either what was the case, you've fixated towards combing your hair and start the soon melting day. Good point, however! What shall you unravel? Attend the vocal point of that kind hearted sister Masako, follow after Dazai Osamu, or explore the mansion grounds first? A sigh to your heart as you've taken a liking to wearing a separate kimono from the ones you used for nightly affairs. "This should be a fine fit." Is what one would mutter just seeing its elegant and wonderful patterns and subtle feelings of colors. You fold the fabrics into one and another—a single side for side as you eventually come to tie the belt.

The design does seem akin to Dazai Osamu's. Not too obvious, vague. A niche design choice. How can something like that happen?

You urge your legs out of the bedroom and into the same spot where you've enter in hopes to find them there. Sure enough, Masako and Osamu sat front numb near the kotatsu. In wait for your arrival—the two siblings seem to banter a little on the latest state of their duties. "Jun'ai~ Here now, my belladonna." Dazai cuts the conversation in an instant when you walked in. "Right on the exact second! We were about to discuss our marriage conditions and final statements." Dazai says. He escorts your hand next to his, sitting close together. You hope a tad bit that the two didn't wait that long—that either they've only started about a while ago, let's say 20 minutes. Masako nods, seems to approve the looking pair of you and her younger brother—safe to say a cute couple. "Very well. Then... I'm sure as a soon-to-be wife of his, you are indeed expected to carry on forward alongside Osamu's own duties, am I not wrong?" Masako watches as you smile gentle in confirm, the confident face Dazai made intensify. He held that wrist of yours tight, caress across a finger and Dazai being content. What a lovestruck fool.

"Good. I've figured to at least given half of what was originally at hand, you see. A partner of a noble shall be honest—and willing to assist their beloved in the sake of this household. I know that it can be difficult, yes? Consider this for a size: Osamu must help you with the basics until you can safely say you understand."

Not bad! You smirk slight at the thought, cover the devious glint with the long butterfly-like sleeve of your elegant kimono. Besides... This Dazai Osamu is reluctant too anyways, right? He is your husband, after all, he'd be a horrible one at that if not. Not to mention a potential disgrace coming from the family.

"Isn't that lovely? It'd be exciting too, don't you think? In my personal opinion, at the least." But you nod in sync aftermath of Dazai speaking his mind. "No, no. I'm as certain that I have the same feeling." Well, who wouldn't, after all? In some other life you're probably forced to figure things out by yourself. Isn't that quite a nightmare? Masako gleams in delight to the small reciprocated banter of two cherished people—even when the arrangement wasn't so natural. Let's... Be honest. "Both of the pair seems utmost pleased! Feel open to begin the session anytime if you will, only report to me until nightfall."

Dazai and you exchanged a blunt chuckle to mischief over Masako's remarks, right until papers then present before the two of you in a slide of two of Masako's mere fingers with initials and requirements of sure about the wedding. Furthermore, the more you look, the more it seems to resemble contracts...

"May I orientate the following: statements and policies that will take effect soon after the ceremony has been communed. Any questions?"

Skim reading. It appears to topic about the House of Peers, long story short to cut chase—received status in nobility and legalization of the event in itself. Excuse you? Why is that mentioned only the second paragraph in? Is something as marrying off to relations a promiscuous woman so looked down upon by social means, standards? It's unheard... Consider the other times courtesans were sold out your brothel to marry. Second speaking, it seems more the sensible. "...It mentions about legality, is it a crime to engage a sex worker?" You weren't familiar too much with the country's law... Masako shakes her head, put worries to arrest.

"It is, howeverexcept not allowed in our cases for clan nobles marry the weak and unfortunate, those at the bottom... It's a bad picture painted. So do us a favour and upheld this family code's honor and discipline during the wedding."

"Right. Memorize daily mundane routines to maintain duty and order in the household alongside avoid potential rumors spread, what I'm getting. How will it be...?"

"The wedding is private." Dazai so casually adds without effort, spontaneous to then and there say. Fixate the loose sleeve of his own clothing of kimono tightly again. A revealed wrist of his own hand buried in bandages, that's too much for a virgin noble's liking. "On top of that, it's no suspicion. We'll play off as the stereotypical tradition to present family members instead. And... You'll configure to stay at the mansion always, no matter what."

Shūgen which refers to the classic in brought together liveliness in one's house by the lovers families. Come in as one in one to celebrate the special occasion of a new embark generation fills prosperity.

He was right on the trail, yes. No one would be of suspect anyway if such thing exists since the Edo period and later ancient times of Japan. To think the westernisation version will so come as the case but this is the safest betting. As... "Societal expectations to see the best versions of its leaders..." You murmur quiet, Dazai leans in to the nook of your own shoulder—to pick up your brief and casual almost words for this certain meeting, bold. "...Disrupting, is it not? I hate men in our lives who do. But it is also men instinct to hope what is potentially great for both sides to flourish peace and what is remains right until its end. Your kind are different, I don't presume they're human... Neither is you." Strikes a nerve in your veins for a second upon heard, tense sharp eyes as you prompted to lean to your own side to the left. Ignore that noble's face, what an odd comment... Compared to his lovey-dovey gestures and remarks much you were soon getting used to. Dazai Osamu who flares a kind grin—drawled fake and oblivious to his own tongue. "Though worry not much of your little head, wife."

"Please, my dearly beloved Jun'ai, go on ahead without me. I'll handle care with the rest of these papers."

Possibly wanting you to relax first for a while... Before he could. None addressed the line about humanity, the system... What's all that about? Your head stubborn to bicker while persuaded to stand and leave the few more apers unchecked, thus, more uncertain instructions...

To that you may leave the room and once again enter the halls, pick up the sight of more maidens and menservants alike alinged prestige in a rush with all sorts of assets in their grasp. Just so then, must you encounter another—an established, refined elder man who might as well look about six or so years more than you? The house crest of Dazai imprints to his own stylish fabrics, the gentleman bows in apology. "...On behalf of my father, please obey mercy for such my faults on clashing."

Appears just the same as Dazai Osamu, but a softer and gentle appeal to his face ratio and a lot more restrained in a way you can't put it to words... The older brother, Dazai Setsujoku. As he so introduces himself. "You must be my younger brother's lady-in-waiting, am I correct?" He offers a smile, arms placed behind the back and a proper, formal bow presents.

It's off-putting how kind he is. Akin to his sister, is your husband the only one who acts as such like that yesterday midday? Blasphemous, if you didn't knew better he's probably an entertainer.

Now, now, let's not make fun of your man once more again. It's temptation.

"Yes, indeed. Indeed that I am, Setsujoku-dono" And yet he dismiss such status referral from you. "Please. We'll be family, no? Refer to me by my first without such status difference..." Setsujoku assures without placing worry in your senses. Odd, his sister Dazai Masako nor Dazai Osamu didn't do the same. You won't complain to him, after all, tradition to wait the least of three nights for lovebirds to call by each other's birth names. How romantic. For Masako, you wouldn't dare. "Right. I haven't introduced to you my name... Jun'ai shall it be, then."

"Ah—but that is the false name you'd come to use back in the brothel, yes? What is exactly your first name, if you do not exactly mind me wondering about." Persistent, that's one thing for sure to describe about this peculiar man. Setsujoku spoke in levels of courtesy and respect, it's not to be bothered of, surely? You muster the courage and whisper him your full name, sparkles in his eyes tell of appreciation and bonded trust as soon-to-be in-law relatives. Setsujoku smiles so sweet and darling. Charm of an elder adult, "What a lovely name. [L/N]-san." You snort down a single horrific scoff to the nobleman's words. "Now who's using the honorifics...?" Folded arms from each side of your body, you inquire playful and harmless joking. "Touché." Is when the moment the older brother hid away the mouth with a sleeve of his rich, textured kimono of class and laugh beneath shame and judgement. It's an odd gesture.

Setsujoku offers a second or so... Uncounted smile in condolences. Whatever his intent be. "I assume you'd want to discuss further about the agreement of engagement with my incompetent brother. For now, you may make yourself feel at home in our house. You have my word." Humbly can all you do to turn the offer in a stead rush. "My apologies. I still must have myself to prepare later afternoon." It's an odd way for you to say it to such intriguing style but Setsujoku didn't mind. "Right. Next time, do keep mind not being so tense, we're family." And this he turns back to face you and does an interesting gesture. Cross an arm and scissors two of his fingers by the wrist, "See you later." He says. You nod affirmed as you watch the royal skip off to some else where in the place.

Yet it bugs you on the way out of the area—why is a man like him suddenly have to be at his parents' room at a time like this? You found the thought moving and interesting to discuss another chance, you kept it in your head.

No, no, no, no. Keep that head of yours straight now... All they ask is to remain await in the comforts and haven of the bedroom chambers for practice duties. "This shall be life." You admire the strims and fabric the kimono was made out of, rich fibers and absolute gorgeous to the storytelling patterns. "And it's mine." But other than coincidence to be as pretty to that nobleman Dazai Osamu's fitted standards thus drove the son of nobility into falling for you... Was the love maternal? Even after those glances in his brown accented eyes glamorous to behold—sublime touches of skin against skin and held. It could all be an act! You can't just let your guard down, no exceptions the slightest bits, you— "Jun'ai? My apologies, had I made you wait a week?"

"...Sincerely, no. Fear not."

"As I hope for."

Dazai comes to gather a few strands in your hair into his grasp careful and timid, tuck aside them behind your ear and observe your face—look up in expectancy of something, anything, that could may happen. Before he curls those fingers into a fist, away from your face. You sigh, turn to confront with determinate eyes. "Would you mind discuss about what you've converse thoroughly this whole time? Those weird papers, the wedding, about—"

"Hush."

Unanswered.

So many questions, only to be silenced with a finger kissing your nosey lips eager to beg whenever there was an opportunity to pull out what you need to know. This man... Dazai Osamu dares to close in the distance in a second... Third... Maybe forth, you've lost count as to how many exactly but it was many. Dazai proceeds to strum gentle the tips of his digits away your cheeks. "Sorry, I still can't come to believe that I'm marrying the woman of my dreams." The ring finger of yours lends into his free palm. Fallen flat against the end and deep chopped lines of skin, it meets the longer sleeve beneath traditional noble fabric. Dazai gestures you to listen in his nonsense. "...Jun'ai, as soon as you take my surname, I swear with bloodied hands and fingers cut, I'll gift you the entire world. All you ever wanted, at your possession, from my heart with love. One of many things I'd want to do with you, don't you know?"

He, final, turns to leave the quarters before instruct to follow whenever you do ever feel like such.

...What in the world was that for?! On the Gods, no! Is this man for sure not going to be bothered or even willing to talk about what just happened between the privacy of two of you? Ridiculous. But kept no fear any longer now please. No longer to judge... You must twist the knot between the bones of your dominant whichever where it was. And chase after your darling. He... Must've had a cheap sake somewhere in pocket of his outfit to bluntly confess outright. Especially to how mindless Dazai Osamu sounded to be. Remains that is to complete understand the chores in wait for you after finalization of those forbid papers. Well, a lot's been on your mind.

〝So just like this; left on by itself. He's, as if, thrown you off with that brief met of fleeting love—no near the enough second to comprehend clear that wasted last minute affection. Will there be time to process it all, the complexity to initiate and experience genuine love? Perhaps it even wasn't love to start with. Perhaps a much more foreign being. Perhaps that love itself was too foreign—and alien. To where it all suddenly felt meaningless and untold apart from anything else. Perhaps your lack of understanding was the reason behind the distant felt.〟

Distracted and far thoughts clog your necessary usual thinking. Dazai's vague and yet oh so loved attitude changes frequent. To which hardens what is and what isn't the case of his personality.

Close approximate love, those Papers, the Responsibility, some Secrets, and... finally Marriage.

Dazai Osamu who then insists that it'd be able to handle under the deadline that is today. All finished and none left to remain and worry over about even after the wedding ceremony, but who's to know, truly. That's the downward spiral part. "Anyway..." He chirps to alert once more on your attention. Since that look implies greatly about your lack of focus. "The abode fancies guests every so often, please be more cautious if so... Your first housewife duties would theoretically shall become one with me alongside greets of strangers and forlon faces." Dazai exclaims gentle. To hold your hand literally and both too metaphorical as he spoke. The emphasis on cautious. About what, towards something—and yet you slit your own tongue in silence and obedience. "Next would land you into the closures of office spaces. Keep indulge the affairs of the real world and local news, will you?"

"Won't be a struggle in the slightest possibility."

What's in the slightest difficulty that is handling basic chores practically required for all households? Ah, assuming the signed papers and high intel on hand in order to prosper. "Great to hear." Dazai rewards a that sweet, calling smile. "But, just fear less to approach me if there's ever really a chance to have questions, all right?" Utter nonsense and yet it's taken to heart. Sure, if that is you so wish in communicate!

"I have a good one," You perk. Tension. Stepped an inch or so closer to his face. How it all sounded like a bad idea in picture and on paper both ways. "Why is it that... No one must know of my origins? My story that's real and natured to what's the truth... I can't be expected to ramble on a fake one, no, I'm not the greatest liar of all, so you know—if anything, the story I'd make up is clear fictional. No matter how hard I try there'd be a slip in the cracks! Why not keep it vague or untold instead? Must there be none of a better plan in mind instead of failure to meet expectations results to fake those all?"

"As it's... established, a stain for the upbringing of this family." Dazai clarifies with a troubled, heavy heart. "...Jun'ai, must I ask. Was it a sin for man to revolve into their selfish desires, disregard the impacts of all that is society?"

Society... Society, a garbage capsule excuse of a word if you've ever heard one. Society to present what's right—includes the balance and rules, creation that is laws. Society to accept others like them exclusive—kinship to the bone without mere considered regards on the others unsociable. What's society, the people and while community that forms a humongous culture upon pieces of land—connection; love and harmony or rather a plural for men perfections to come fall as one in unity, the sake of keeping things equal?

"How 'society' views it baffles me to an early grave. So what you've provided scandalous services to a thousand or so men before? I can remain the more apathetic. You're that feeling and sense of freedom I can hardly get... I'd cherish it—thus makes me cherish you... Us... Cheers to the star-crossed lovers that are prolonged to meet then suffer. It rebels order and is most certainly taboo. If there's one thing that'd befall us, I'd propose to get away from this all. To insure your safeness." Oh, dear lovely Jun-ai, if only your name belongs to another hierarchy that withstands the pillars of status near his. None of this would have occured, simply mustn't!

You twist your head at Dazai's implication. "So what exactly do you mean?"

He held you again. "Leave this life behind if all goes downhill. I'll follow suit, after time thrown in bars."

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @wasdy-san , @inojuuy , @imkwikly , @nonexistence1199 , @emyyy007 , @coilai , @writingandmusing , @hypocritic-trash-baby , @3lectraheart

[xcaffeineandcuddlesx]

thank you so much @shyamanuensis for the tag !!

(go follow her ! she’s like my online idol)

here’s a snippet of what i’m working on right now ! (yes, as in currently writing as i got this) :)

a one shot, kind of. might use in a later fic.

context: ending of fifth year. mc and sebastian try to figure out how they can live with themselves and each other after the sheer amount of grief, regret, and disgust they’re feeling. mc contemplates how much the “hero of hogwarts” title is truly earned and sebastian battles with his inner turmoil after he grieves the death of his uncle and loss of his sister.

please ignore any typos or inconsistencies !

~

“please, i need you to be honest with me. am i good?… am i a good person?” his voice cracks and it’s a painful reminder that things weren’t supposed to happen as they did.

the end of our fifth year is coming too quickly to an end. the classes are becoming shorter, more of a blur as the days fade away like smoke in the wind. it’s disorientating and the disassociation we’re experiencing is weighing heavily on every aspect of our lives. most days, it’s like i’m floating through the halls, like i’m in a weird sensory deprived dream as the faces and voices turn unrecognizable, like muffled buzzing, not even sure of the day of the week. the o.w.l.s came and went, i think, and now the both of us are left wandering the castle, trying to pick up the broken pieces of our youth.

the students are ecstatic about the upcoming summer, and every mention of their plans gouges a small part of me out, carving deep until i’m hollow. i hear them talk over meals about their family’s summer houses or trips they’ve planned, the promises of exchanged owls and slumber parties. all the while, i’m being congratulated by faces i’m not even sure i’ve seen.

my first year introduced into a world of whimsy and i become the “hero of hogwarts”. most have no idea the things i had to do to earn such a title. it’s made me sick. physically, mentally, emotionally sick. the late nights, overloaded course work, expectations, favors, expeditions with classmates, watching the cruelty of poachers, raids, battles, trials, death threats from adults in full confidence of them knowing i’m only a student, the blood on my hands.

i couldn’t just stop it once i had begun. i couldn’t just return to safety behind the castle’s walls and resume classwork as though the safety of every man, woman, and child in the school, neighbouring towns, and highlands were at stake and i was the only one trusted to, expected to, come to the rescue.

i didn’t sign up for this. neither did he.

we weren’t supposed to face the world the way we did. we weren’t supposed to do the adult’s jobs, no matter how grown we believed we were. we weren’t supposed to be heroes, we were supposed to be kids.

that’s what we are; kids.

he’s just a boy. a crestfallen, scared, mournful, alone, and traumatized boy.

now isn’t the time to define what “good” means or to explain that the world isn’t comprised of black and white or “good” or “bad”, but of horribly muddied shades of grey that are entirely up to perception. he doesn’t want to hear about the intricacies of morality. he wants to be reminded he’s still capable of being loved.

i can’t possibly look at him the same way. nor can he look at me the same way. i’m nowhere near a saint, but perhaps our histories is what makes us perfect for each other. after all, the pot shouldn’t dare be the one to call the kettle black.

~

ellie, they’ve already gone through enough, can’t you just let them enjoy their last bit of school before mc has to return to the muggle world and sebastian is at a loss without any family to turn to?

no. no, of course not. there’s so much untapped emotional depth to these students and i plan to make everyone feel how gut wrenching this story should have and could have been. whump is so underrated :)

if you’ve read this far, stay happy and hydrated

tags of some authors i’ve recently enjoyed and you should check out (hopefully they’ve not been tagged already): @applinsandoranges @rosewoodcafe

xoxo ellie

WIP WEDNESDAY!

Thank you @leaswhum for the tag! I loved reading your little snippet! I can't wait for more!

Here is mine!

Diana stood at the water’s edge, her bare feet sinking into the white sand. The waves lapped at her ankles, leaving behind glowing trails as they retreated. Even the ocean itself sought to cling to her presence. She lifted a hand, fingers outstretched, and beckoned for the sea. The tide returned swirling and lapping at her ankles as though she was a part of it.

Extending her hand toward the sky, the water rose in a graceful arc that caught the final rays of the setting sun. Like liquid crystal, the water shimmered, refracting the light into a cascade of colors. A brilliant rainbow unfurled across the twilight, bridging the gap between the heavens and the sea, pulsing with hues more vivid than mere mortals could comprehend.

And then-

The rainbow exploded into thousands of shimmering stars, each droplet igniting as it drifted upward, embedding itself into the darkening heavens. The sky inhaled, and the stars settled into their place, constellations of Diana’s own making. Unique and as brilliant as her.

The sea had given birth to the cosmos.

And Ominis could do nothing but watch in reverence.

She was not yearning for riches. Not for power. Not even for love.

She was dreaming in creation.

NPT: @whalesongsblog @amethystandemma @shyamanuensis @ravenwind-75

[gideonisms]

I love it when genuinely strange women make art. Huge fan of listening to songs by a woman who has felt out of place in every circumstance since birth and reading books by a woman whose interpersonal relationships have clearly been complicated enough to be basically indescribable with modern terminology

[inkskinned]

okay is she being actually immature or is it just a woman over 30 expressing a human experience you find to be immature.

like yeah. at certain ages... let shit go. im not defending the real immature shit. im not defending the karen you're picturing. i worked in retail i hate those people too. (once somebody got mad at me because she didn't like how our winter window decor was a snowman smoking a pipe. i wish i was joking).

but men at 57 will write books about how 17 year old girls are soooo sexy. they will invent worlds where women have to be naked for "armor reasons." they will write songs that treat women as objects. people rush to defend them. meanwhile a woman at 35 will be like "heartbreak is hard, actually" or "i feel betrayed by a friend" or "i am struggling with something emotionally." immediately people will say stuff like this woman is 35 by the way. by the way this woman is SO OLD to be experiencing this. BY THE WAY.

im 31, almost 32. the other day a poet was blasted online because at her "big age", she had written a poem about feeling unloved. top comment was "this woman is 29 by the way." this woman is too old to still be useful, by the way. she has to behave better . maybe if she was a good wife and mother she could stop existing loudly, and the story could continue on without her. this woman has served her purpose, by the way. she's so cringe, by the way. at 29 - so old! - she still hasn't figured out that her existence should be one of shame.

[ghost-bard]

how do i talk about taash being a realistic character while also acknowledging that they absolutely couldve and shouldve been written better in every aspect

[dykedvonte]

Mini rant below and in the tags, the only time I’ll talk about this and my personal take on it.

The way people talk about hypothetical male Anya on Twitter and the idea of how Mouthwashing would play out if the genders were swapped makes me remember how people still don’t take sexual assault and rape with male victims with the same gravity, especially when the perpetrator is female.

[suguruuuuu-chan]

T4t Zosan save me....save me t4t Zosan...

[ethanscrocs]

the other day i was explaining to my bf how i don't mind "genderbent" merlin art if it's not annoyingly heterosexual because she's transfem to me but "genderbent" arthur art just feels so very unrealistic. if he was born a girl he would just transition to be honest... people will try to do genderbending but "trans positive" by just saying it's lesbian merthur but then they're both conventionally feminine cis women and truly i don't think that works with their characters... merlin who defies every boundary and societal norm? arthur pendragon? arthur would never be a cis woman he would just transition sorry...

actually hold on. arthur is assumed to be a "tomboy" crossdresser and he pretty much only takes on the role of a princess when his father expects it. considered a harmless fancy. gets to the point where everyone even his knights call him prince arthur but as a "joke" because of how masculine he is. merlin gets assigned as the princess' maidservant and eventually arthur is like Merlin... you must understand... this isn't playing dress up, to me. this is who i am. and merlin's like Ohhh Okay. Lol. Me Too it's okay i get it. and then she walks away and it takes arthur days to realize that merlin was implying she's transfem

there's your yuri merthur if it was awesome and transgender. butch transmasc he/him lesbian arthur and genderfluid trans girl merlin. love wins!

[zaddyazula]

obviously i love strangelove’s character but she wasn’t written well… as a woman or as a lesbian…