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rageprufrock · 1 month

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Superposition | The Devil Judge WIP

Just a sneak peek into the inevitable outcome of me finding out that I can write a story about a 17 year age gap.

After the fire, Yohan wakes up every morning knowing that Isaac is dead.

Elijah wakes up every morning convinced her father is alive.

It's the crush damage of new grief each day, too big for her tiny body and too heavy for her to carry. It's worse than all of Yohan's years under his father's belt; it's not until he loses Isaac and Heejin, until Elijah cries herself unconscious in his arms, that Yohan realizes that his father had been a clumsy jailer, that for all his cruelty he'd been a blunt instrument compared to all the ways suffering can visit itself upon a person.

It's a miracle Elijah is alive, surviving multiple complex fractures and then delayed treatment. They save the flesh and bone of her legs, piece her back together with literal pins and needles. Her x-rays are difficult to look at; the scarring across her ghost-pale skin is worse. She hurts, in a relentless way that is at first impossible to explain to a child, and then is so ordinary she goes quiet with it, turns it inward. She stops crying. She's too weak and immobile for her once-infamous tantrums. She goes quiet instead. She throws books, toys, anything that Yohan brings into her beautifully appointed private room to try to distract her.

"It will be hard, and it will take time," her doctors say, with an infuriating paternalism, as if their performed empathy could dampen constant burn of searing fire across Yohan's shoulders, cut into the shell of him. "But she's young and she's resilient—she'll surprise you."

For the first six months, Yohan spends his limited waking, functional hours desperately trying to hold back the flood with his bare hands. He wakes and he's in too much pain to function. He sleeps and his doctors adjust his pain management regimen. He wakes and he tries to comfort Elijah. He sleeps and he dreams about the skin grafts he's been informed are needed. He wakes and he calls Lawyer Ko. He sleeps when he knows Isaac's Social Responsibility Fund donation is canceled. He loses hours and entire days in the labyrinth of the hospital, winding between the VIP ward and the children's wing, meeting with Elijah's orthopedic surgeon, her occupational therapists, the revolving cast of nurses that transport her from procedure to scan to bedside. He arranges Isaac and Heejin's funeral, and ends up back as a patient when Elijah's meltdown at the gravesite has him tearing one of his barely healed graft sites trying to contain her flailing arms, to swallow all of her screaming pain into the bottomless well in the base of his spine.

It's eight months and six days after the fire that Yohan hears Elijah laugh again.

***

Later, he'll get a comprehensive readout from the hospital grapevine, but the day he meets Gaon for the first time, all he knows is that he's been summoned by the terrifying peds nurses because Elijah and her new friend have committed some kind of juvenile crime.

Yohan's not ignorant to the fact that Elijah is a nightmare child, but he's still a little confused about how a five year old who is—frankly—abysmal with her new wheelchair is any kind of threat to society. He fetches up at to the pediatric OT clinic fully prepared to act like a complete entitled asshole about this, because while Elijah is a monster, she's his monster and therefore completely innocent of all sin, original or otherwise.

Except halfway down the hallway there, he hears the sharp cackle of Elijah's laughter, a goblin shriek of pure wicked joy. It lands like a punch, like a blessing, it leaves him lightheaded.

When he rushes the door, it's to find Elijah in full glory, giggling so hard she can't speak. Her hair is tied up in a series of tiny ponytails that frame her face like a lion's mane, her face is covered in marker, and she's clutching a filthy orange cat to her chest.

"Kang Yohan-sshi," says one of the nurses, who is trying and failing to look severe, from the way her mouth keeps wobbling and her voice is trembling. "As you can see, we have a situation."

"I—where did she get the cat?" Yohan asks, faint.

Another nurse, who is making no effort to hide her grin, says, "Apparently, they found him behind a trash can in the garden and snuck him into the hospital."

Yohan slants his eyes toward her. "They?"

"I'm really not sure how you missed her very obvious partner in crime," the nurse tells him, actively laughing now, and when Yohan turns to look again—turns to see anything other than the miracle of Elijah's smiling face—he sort of understands her point.

Because sitting next to Elijah is a skinny teenaged boy wearing Elijah's headband, all of his short hair pushed back and sticking out like a massive frill around his thin face, his nose colored black and whiskers drawn across his cheeks. He looks less embarrassed than he probably should be, and more incriminating, he's holding some contraption made out of stolen hospital supplies that looks like one those little fishing toys for cats—a single inflated glove hanging from the end—that the fat orange on Elijah's lap keeps reaching for with outstretched paws.

Standing in the doorway, surrounded by staff and other parents who are barely containing their hysterics, the whole thing is even more batshit. Nurse Woo Yeji, the iron fist of the pediatrics ward, is looming over Elijah and the kid on the ground, hands on her hips as she booms out:

"Kang Elijah-sshi, give me that creature immediately."

Elijah narrows her bright little eyes. "Oh no," Yohan mutters.

"My cat," she declares, her chin stuck out in defiance.

"He was so sick and skinny, we had to rescue him," the boy chimes in, with the admirable application of a pair of doleful, sweet eyes. It might be more effective if his face wasn't covered in washable marker and he didn't have a purple heart drawn over his left eyebrow.

"That cat is at least 4 kilograms overweight," Nurse Yeji tells them both, unmoved. "And let me say: Kim Gaon, I thought you had better judgment than this."

The boy, Gaon, takes the comment with the ease of long familiarity with disappointment, but Yohan still sees his eyes go briefly flinty, briefly cold, before he pastes on a smile and says, "I rode my motorcycle into a wall. If you thought I had good judgement, that's your own fault."

"Yah! Kim Gaon!" the nurse yells, which just sets Elijah off again into pealing laughter.

And from the back of the room, Yohan watches the way this mouthy kid, this little punk, glances over to his niece, watches how the fake grin on his face dissolves for something softer—something run through with tenderness too old for his years.

***

Kim Gaon is 17, orphaned, and a frequent flight risk from the group home he's been remanded to with both his parents dead. In the 13 months since his father had died by suicide, and the 10 months since his mother had followed, he's been picked up by the local cops at least a half-dozen times: for smoking, for drinking, for fighting. Yohan looks up photos of Gaon's once-happy family, reads SNS posts mourning the closure of their family restaurant, the police reports about the suicides, the note in Gaon's hospital file that notes that he's going into arrears for his parents' funeral costs. Kim Gaon's social worker talks about him with a sort of resigned apology, approaches Yohan's interest like another black mark in the boy's service jacket. She looks at Yohan's suit and briefcase, takes his business card and calls him Lawyer Kang, spills the whole of Gaon's history, reassures Yohan that however self-destructive, however volatile, Kim Gaon's never displayed any violent tendencies toward children, that Lawyer Kang should feel free to reach out immediately if he feels concern that Gaon has become Elijah's friend.

"If you'd like me to speak to him, to tell him you're not comfortable with him spending time with you niece, I completely understand," his social worker says.

Kim Gaon has been treated for two different STIs and tried to kill himself with a motorcycle three months ago. The only people he has left in the world are a childhood friend from down the street and Judge Min Jeongho, who used to eat lunch at the Kim's restaurant every day.

Kim Gaon is 17 and entirely alone.

Yohan smiles at her. "No need," he reassures her. "I'll handle this on my own."

***

Too much of Kim Gaon's character reference is ultimately hearsay. Yohan doesn't trust himself, exactly, but he trusts his judgement, so he watches quietly from the sidelines, collecting data. Yohan hears all the nurses talk about how Gaon is achingly polite, how they can't understand how such a nice boy could be such an evident wild child he would ride motorcycles with reckless lack of self preservation. He watches Gaon do other peoples' homework, quizzing them on Joseon history and showing a middle schooler who's learning how to write with his left hand trigonometry. Kim Gaon plays Smash Brothers with a flock of elementary school kids and ruthlessly kicks their asses every single time.

The Kim Gaon that's considered a neighborhood menace, the one sends his teachers into a blind fury, that's the protective armor. Yohan knows from defensive adaptations.

But being a nice kid isn't the same as belonging in Elijah's life in any meaningful way, Yohan acknowledges, and spends a pointless day drafting soul-killing discovery motions and wondering why he's devoting so much time to this distraction. Maybe it's how Elijah's sleeping through the nights better, communicating her pain and what she needs better. Maybe it's how she tells stories about her friend Gaon, and it briefly feels as if they've traveled backward through time, that Yohan's watching her for the night, hearing and becoming deeply invested in all of her day care drama.

"Elijah-ah, why do you like Gaon so much?" Yohan asks her one night, midway through the intricate ritual of her bedtime routine.

From her bed, Elijah says, "Gaon is funny and cats like him and also his parents are dead, so someone has to take care of him," and without missing a beat, points her sparkling princess wand toward the closet, commanding, "Check there, too."

Yohan climbs off of the floor where he'd been checking under the bed and goes.

"Would you want to see Gaon even outside of the hospital?" he asks her, doing a careful four-point inspection of the closet: more clothes than one child could ever wear, 200 pairs of shoes, a stuffed sheep the size of a horse—no monsters. "Closet's clear."

Elijah makes a considering noise. "Gaon-oppa said he was a really good cook, so I want to eat his food," she decides, and shy now, she waves Yohan toward her, tiny hands flapping. "Samchon, come here. I want to tell you a secret."

Yohan cherishes every secret he has with Elijah. Since she was born, he's kept so many for her: that she stole a cookie, that she's really really not scared of thunder, that she loves her uncle best, that church is boring.

"I'm ready," Yohan promises, and sits at the edge of her bed with his most serious expression.

Elijah looks left and right, as if there are spies around every corner, before she cups her hands around her mouth and Yohan curls over her so that she can whisper:

"Sometimes I forget I'm sad about Mom and Dad, but Gaon-oppa says that's okay because I never forget that I love them."

It lands somewhere in Yohan's soft underbelly, in the forever ache of his scare tissue. He looks down into Elijah's solemn little face, her riverstone eyes, and he wonders what kind of benevolent God allows this—forces children to patch one another's broken hearts. He used to wish that he would have died instead, that he could trade himself for Isaac, for Heejin, but he's comforted Elijah through too many nightmares of his own death to entertain it any longer. Love's always been a chain, whether wrapped around his wrist with a cross or trapping him in his father's house.

"You will, you always will," he whispers back.

"And they love me, too, of course, in heaven," she tells him, with the haughty confidence of a spoilt only child, who'd grown up with three adults circling around her in constant adulation.

"And I love you here, on Earth," he says, and does not add, your grandfather loves you, too, from where he's burning in hell.

Elijah goes suddenly quiet, thoughtful and a little distant, and Yohan waits patiently until she says at last, "Gaon doesn't think his parents love him in heaven."

Yohan stills. "Did he say that?"

"He told his friend, the unni that visits sometimes," Elijah reports, and staring dead into Yohan's eyes, she adds, "I was hiding behind a curtain listening. He also said he can't be her boyfriend."

"Okay, well, time for little goblins to go to sleep," Yohan says, because he absolutely cannot start laughing about this because somewhere out there, in the beautiful hereafter that Isaac so fervently believed in, he would be furious if Yohan encouraged this kind of behavior.

***

For all Yohan's been investigating the mystery of Kim Gaon, he's wholly unprepared to be confronted by the reality of the boy while sitting in the hospital cafe at half past five, working his way through a stack of files for court the next day.

"Kang Yohan-sshi?" comes a voice, and when Yohan looks up, it's into the shaggy bangs and thin face of the boy who makes Elijah laugh, standing awkwardly at the edge of his table.

"Ah," he says, flipping his pen across his knuckles. "You're Kim Gaon."

Gaon's eyes round. "You recognize me?"

"The nurses tell me you're friends with Elijah," Yohan says, and waves at one of the empty chairs at the table, shuffles a few folders around to make room. "Please."

It takes more than a little maneuvering for Gaon to take the offered seat, between his backpack and his crutches, his leg still in its cast, and Yohan offers him a steadying arm, takes his bag, helps shift the table this way and that way. Gaon looks mortified the whole time by these small courtesies, stumbling over thank yous and apologies. It tells on him in ways Gaon can't possibly know, but that Yohan can't possibly ignore.

"What brings you to my temporary office?" Yohan asks, when he's sure the kid isn't going to tip over and break anything else, and is only in immediate danger of blushing to death.

Gaon squares his shoulders, and taking a deep breath, says, "I wanted to talk to you about a cat."

This is how Yohan learns that the orange furball that he's first seen that day in the OT room all those many weeks ago is a stray that's been named Gam, and that Elijah's youthful enthusiasm for petty hospital-based crime has undergone a metamorphosis toward more elaborate heists.

"Not that I don't admire her ambition, but I'm pretty sure you'd notice the yowling lump in her sweater when you pick her up from OT," Gaon says, still nervous and too polite, darting wary little glances upward at Yohan. "I tried to talk her out of it, but she started arguing about how cold it was going to get and I had to admit defeat."

Yohan feels the corners of his mouth curl up, reflexive. "There's wisdom in recognizing when you're beaten," he says. "And I appreciate your letting me know."

"Sure," Gaon says before going quiet for a long measure, some unfinished sentence still hidden behind his lashes. Yohan's patient, waits him out, and is rewarded when a half-minute passes and Gaon says, with a brittle courage and poorly concealed vulnerability, "I—I'd take him with me if I could. I like Gam. But the house where I have to stay won't allow pets."

Yohan can hear a universe in between the confession here: that Gaon must have been worried about the cold weather long before Elijah even noticed, that he'd tried to find an answer all on his own. Yohan feels, tugging in the hollow underneath his breastbone, a hurtful recognition of a younger version of himself, all those raw edges fraying, and maybe—sitting here—he can understand a little of Isaac's quiet sadness, the way Yohan had carried all his suffering alone, as a matter of course, without ever trying to ask for help.

He looks at the slope of Gaon's shoulders, the wrinkled collar of his school uniform shirt, his terrible haircut, the little divot of a piercing in his ear. Yohan thinks about the sunburst of Elijah's laughter and all the terrible things he's willing to do to sustain it; it's strange to realize he hadn't anticipated something so easy, something that wouldn't hurt at all.

"Do me a favor," Yohan sighs.

Gaon's head darts up. "Um—if I can?" he says.

"Back me up when I tell her that I thought long and hard about this, and that I'm going to be a strict taskmaster about this cat," Yohan says, with a rueful certainty that there's no way in hell that Elijah is going to buy this narrative, because it looks like the sun is rising in the brightness of Gaon's eyes, the pink happiness of his too-thin cheeks. This kid couldn't lie effectively if his life depended on it. In this light, Gaon looks a little like Isaac, if Isaac was too thin and too hopeful, all gamine pleasure; it makes Yohan feel his bones creak just to look at him.

"I will, I absolutely will," Gaon promises, smiling now and still shy, but so achingly sweet that it makes Yohan want to buy him hot chocolate, to tell him he's done a good job, to ask if he's eaten dinner.

He forebears, and starts packing up his work documents instead.

"Come on," he tells Gaon. "If I'm going to make a fool of myself trying to trap a feral hospital cat, you're coming with me."

Yohan ends up scratched to hell and back, his hand-tailored wool trousers covered in mud, while Gaon laughs at him with a wide-open happiness that makes something in Yohan's chest feel too big for his rib cage. He decides not to think about it in favor of fetching Elijah from her PT and ferrying her down to his car, where Gaon is waiting for them both, a sulking Gam zipped into the front of his hoodie like an uncooperative child. His smile could light every building in Gangnam. Elijah's shriek of pure joy when she spots him leaves Yohan half-deaf for the drive home, and so the warm patter of Elijah and Gaon talking in the backseat rolls over him in indistinct syllable noises until he drops Gaon off at his group home and helps him to the door.

"Thank you, for today," Gaon tells him, starry and still rosy, covered in cat hair.

"Elijah's already drawing up plans for shared custody, so don't be a stranger," Yohan warns.

He'd been ordered by Elijah to participate in an exchange of contact information with Gaon because everybody in the car had a unique and unaddressed relationship with the trauma of abandonment, and so of course Gam could not be suddenly bereft of one of his humans.

"I won't, I promise," Gaon swears, and nods back toward the car, where Elijah is holding Gam up against the window and waving his paw at them. "You should get her home."

Elijah talks nonstop during the drive out of the urban density of Seoul into the forested beyond where their family home is perched on a melodramatic cliff above a lake. Yohan hears about her nurses, her rivalry with another little boy in OT who sounds like he has a world-ending crush on her Gaon-oppa, and listens to the way Elijah sometimes stops mid-sentence when Gam meows at her and then replies, as if she can understand cat.

Whatever is bubbling in his veins, its too violent to be the warm kindness of joy. This ferocity feels like some holy gratitude, feels like the way Isaac used to talk about God. Yohan has never any good at faith, but he thinks—to himself, so loudly he hears it over the roar of blood in his ears and the chattering happiness of Elijah, vividly alive—he thinks, thank you, thank you, to whoever is listening: to God, to fate, to fortune, to the fucking cat—to Gaon, waving at Elijah with both hands, a smile on his face and Gam curled close against his chest.

#the devil judge #wip #fanfic

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takes1 · 5 months

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For a request, would you be interested in a bully Dabi x male reader (maybe in a college AU or something. You can decide if you want it to be in the LOV instead)? Reader is constantly picked on and demeaned by him, but one day maybe in a private area reader is cornered, some suggestive content goes on/maybe noncon depending what you want to do, and the reader speaks up when the situation almost goes too far (and normally he is quiet. He’s that nerdy kid afraid to disappoint his parents/and a virgin. So he is scared of what was going on in that scenario.) After, you can decide what goes on from there!

Also to add, my bad about asking make characters. I did read the rules but had no idea what afab of amab means, should of looked it up before asking lol 😂

you're okay! no worries :) i really liked writing this, it's very different from my other stuff. i'm so sorry this has taken so long! will write a part 2 soon and probably end it there!

warnings. barely sfw, slight noncon themes, creepy vibes

details. male!reader / college au / frat au / inexperienced!reader / loser!reader / corruptionkink!dabi / loser!reader / degradation / praise / power play / slight noncon / yandere!dabi / 1.2k words

🤍 scenario series. more dabi and others here.

more links. my ao3 / dabi headcanons / requests open

"No, mom--,"

You almost tripped over your untied shoelace for the third time in the past two minutes but continued to ignore it. Stopping to fix it was scarier than getting a face full of dirty cement.

"No, it's-, okay, uppercase L, did you try the uppercase L yet?"

A rush of adrenaline plumped your veins for a fleeting moment and you gripped your cracked phone like a lifeline. The sound of shoes other than your beat-up Vans scraped across the sidewalk. You turned and there was nothing but the drip of residual rain from gutters, and some trash brushing by a garbage can.

Of course, a Mcdonald's wrapper would be responsible for your fatal heart attack. Or your mother, who didn't understand how to capitalize a letter on her keyboard to enter her bank password.

There was another half mile to your dorm building. When she called you halfway through your journey back from your last late class, you were relieved to have something else on your mind other than the threat of seeing a Brother around.

Pledge Week was Hell. Actual Hell. This must've been your divine punishment for being such a giant fucking loser your entire life-- a cruel joke from God designed to say, 'Look at this dumbass! He's paying hundreds of dollars to get hazed for a week, then ostracized for the smallest hope of feeling like he's a part of something!'

"It's the left side, mom. It says shift on it," You sighed.

This was the first week you hadn't commuted home for the weekend. With no social skills to bank on, there was nothing to do on the weekends except drive two hours home. At least you could be comfortable there. Not necessarily wanted, until they had a technology issue that required a Cybersecurity major -or just any person with brain cells- to fix, but you had your own quiet room.

It didn't change the fact that the Brothers of Alpha Sigma Phi betted on you to join them as a joke. You didn't have any connections or lineage like the other Pledges, but it was funny to pick the scrawny kid and see how long he'd last.

You didn't know how you lasted this long. It was a sort of tolerance that you built up, because Alpha Sig gave you something to do, somewhere to be.

A semester as a Pledge; running errands, attending parties but not allowed to drink, getting shit on at every turn because that was just the culture here and you thought, maybe after you graduate to become a Brother in a couple of days, you would have some real friends.

Another thudding sound of footsteps much heavier than yours. This time, they didn't stop, and neither did you.

The orange glow of streetlamps every 15 feet became markers for your sanity. Only nine more to go before you were at your building.

Your stomach was in your throat. The hand in your pocket clutched your knife.

"You got it?" Your voice was uneven but your mother didn't notice. You wished she would stay on the phone longer, but there was nothing else to talk about.

Even the other seven Pledges didn't associate with you. If they did, they got screwed with more. This week had become a sick kind of lonely, fast.

It was like clockwork. As soon as your phone left your ear, a voice much closer than you anticipated shocked your muscles still.

"Hey, Pledge," It was by far the worst Brother imaginable; the one who seemed to take personal pleasure in your torment above anyone else, "The fuck do ya think you're talkin' to?"

You kept your hand in your pocket. Pulling a knife on him would erase all progress, possibly even make this whole semester's worth of work useless, but you weren't about to surrender your only line of defense when you weren't sure if it would get violent.

Dabi was deceptively glittery under the streetlamp. His piercings gave you something else to look at to avoid eye contact.

"My mom--," You could barely get your words out.

"You're not supposed to speak to anyone this week," He lowered his voice and approached slow because he knew you wouldn't move.

Narrowed eyes watched another student on the other side of the deserted street.

Two years ago, Alpha Sig had been under an investigation for hazing (rightfully so, you could imagine), so the older Brothers were careful about what they said and did in public. In private, everything was still on the table.

So far, the worst thing you were forced to do was the bottling line. This was an activity where they made you and the other Pledges stand in a line to drink an entire bottle of various combined liquors. Each of you had to drink a fair amount, or the last man had to drink whatever was left. You were the last man.

This was already after a knowledge test about the fraternity. If a Pledge got a question wrong about the history of Alpha Sig, he was forced to drink.

Eventually, they made you drink whenever somebody else got a question wrong because you were answering everything correctly.

You had never thrown up so violently at the end of one night before. You weren't sure how you made it back to your dorm, but you woke up at 3 in the afternoon the next morning and didn't bother going to the rest of your classes.

"That includes calling your mommy," Dabi mocked, close enough to be in striking distance.

Every Pledge knew to stay far away from this crazy bastard. He was joked to be so masochistic that he was the one responsible for the investigation in the first place.

But he sought you out so much you had almost seen him every day this week. Enough to count every piercing on his face, wonder what each of his tattoos meant and why he had so many.

He took a glance down to your hand.

"Whaddya got a hard-on or something?"

You shot your hand out of your pocket, knife-less, defenseless, and embarrassed, sparking a smirk across his face.

Your dick was not hard right now, but it wasn't opposed to getting off at the thought of Dabi's big hands, among other things.

It was worth wondering if they could all tell. You weren't flamboyant, but you supposed that not being straight wasn't their only reason to shun you.

You wondered if they knew about Dabi's equality tattoo, a small but mighty symbol under his arm that you managed to get a glimpse of at one party after staring at him too long. He made you his personal servant many times for that problem throughout the semester.

It gave you the chance to pick up on things that weren't so traditional about him.

In truth, it only made your staring worse because you were certain he was more similar to you than anyone would care to think.

He closed the distance between you and sized you up while you put your hands behind your back. You couldn't believe you had forgotten to until now; that was what your class was supposed to do when a Brother called on them.

Dabi's breath was warm and minty on the side of your face when he muttered, "You're gonna show me your dorm, Pledge."

A big, strong hand shoved you hard. Back into the direction you had been walking. There was not much you could do now, other than shakily guide him back to the one place you felt safe.

taglist:

none. reply to be added for part 2!

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sprout-senior · 5 months

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this is. so fucking stupid

i put way too much effort into this

edit: picture formatting

transcription/image ID and more under the cut

[panel one: Error is looking at blue, who is in the foreground about to eat a brownie with a very wide open mouth, with horror. his hands are on either side of his head.]

Error: oh no! Blue’s gonna eat that WEED BROWNIE!

[panel two: Error eats the brownie, accompanied by the word CHOMP. Blue watches with surprise.]

[panel three: Blue is grinning, while Error looks very distressed, holding his hands in front of him.]

Blue: wow Error! did you just eat my forever weed brownie? [the words forever weed brownie are in green.]

Error: it was the only way to-

[Error cuts himself off, and the next panel displays him looking like a photorealistic skeleton, a vast contrast from the extremely round and simplistic style of the previous panels.]

Error: w h a t [the word what, spaced out for dramatic effect]

[end comic transcription]

anyway yeah i’m getting back into traditional art at least for the time being since i can’t find my damn stylus. this is the first page in my new sketchbook

[image ID: a sketchbook page, featuring several doodles. in the top left, there is a cute bunny man holding up a peace sign, winking, and smiling with his mouth open. he is on a neon orange background, drawn with purple ballpoint pen, with the caption “WAOW!”. next to this, in the top right, is a simplistic drawing of a lavender bush, colored with bright purple and green markers. below the bunny man are three small doodles of various expressions. one looks concerned and a little disgusted, captioned “yeesh”. the second is a somewhat curious looking one with its eyes popping out of its head, captioned “idk”. the third and final expression is a top down view of a face with very large sparkling eyes, captioned “forced to eat cement at age six”. the bottom half of the page features the comic transcribed above, with numbers and arrows clarifying the order of events. end sketchbook page transcription]

one final block of text to round out the post: i’m doing image descriptions/transcriptions now! i gave up on alt text a while ago, because it was such a pain to format and difficult to work with for me, and i forgot that i have free will and can type that information in the actual post. please let me know how i did! accessibility is important to me, so if my descriptions are lacking in any way or could stand to be improved, i would so so appreciate it if you could tell me what to do to improve! thanks!

#utmv #undertale au #utmv art #error sans #swap sans #blueberry sans #error sans art #swap sans art #blueberry sans art #tagging blue as blueberry bc he kinda looks like him in this style #sprouts sketches

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lericekrispie · 2 years

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A bad bitch's guide to practical fashion

Hello! Just some realistic tips and tricks I've learned through living life to help me with some of my conditions while still slaying. Things I deal with that you may be able to relate to-

Anxiety, Adhd, Sensory Issues, Heavyset, Lite Eczema, Acne

Keep a spare change of clothes in your car/bag

Sometimes, I want to wear an outfit that's outside of my comfort zone. Maybe it's wearing something that shows off my curves more, or a fabric that I can barely tolerate. And I push myself out of my comfort zone to try something new! But sometimes I realize halfway through the day that if I don't change right this second, I will have a panic attack and die. Keeping a pair of SAFE clothes in your car/bag is always a good idea! I have sweats, a sweatshirt, and shorts in my car at all times. Also great if you are chaffing/having a bad skin day and need to change unexpectedly.

Buy clothes that fit you

I have this problem of always trying on things and thinking hmmm... maybe it'll fit in a year, once I start working out, loose some weight... NO! Clothes fit you, you aren't supposed to fit clothes! If you do loose some weight, then you get to go shopping again :) and buy more clothes. But you are shopping for present you right now, your beautiful, amazing, fashionable self.

Cut your tags/clothes up

I was told by my parents to not cut my tags, and I was always afraid to. But I'm telling you, you bought those clothes, these are yours, do whatever you want with what you own. Cut the tag if it'll make you feel better. If the arms are too tight cut a slit. On the same note, if you want to tie something shorter with a hair-tie, fucking do it! If it's not short enough crop it. I promise the clothes police won't come after you.

don't put up with terrible fabrics

Don't buy something if you know wearing it is going to be a chore b/c of the sensation. Also, here are some tips for some fabrics

leggings under jeans if you can tolerate leggings > jeans

fishnets under jeans w/ holes if fishnets > jeans

colorful sweatpants (neon green, orange, red, ect.) as a comfy fashion statement

a nice turtleneck under a t-shirt if turtleneck > shirt

long socks (men's section rocks) to avoid blisters on ankles

don't put up with terrible jewelry

I personally love jewelry, but can only keep some things on for so long.

try gloves instead of rings. you can make gloves out of fishnets/tights

try woven/braided bracelets that are not removable w/o scissors > metal clunky bracelets (anklets too)

try skin markers/henna > annoying hand jewelry

If you are trying to branch out but are self-conscious, try to find a safety jacket

just a jacket that you can slip on and off, something light, that you can zip up if you get self-conscious and will make you feel better, but something you can carry/tie around your waist if you are feeling yourself.

My makeup if I'm having bad acne/can't handle the feeling

Concealer- over redness

Body stick/blush- on eyes and cheeks, and nose

Vaseline/Chapstick on lips, can put Vaseline on eyelids for shine (can clog pores be careful)

Mascara

Takes like 15 minutes also if ur in a rush!

For my fellas with boobas who hate bras

here are alternatives!

Trans tape- havn't tried but have heard good things

Breast petals- personally they are expensive, so I mostly use bandaids. Always a toss up if you are going to rip up the nip. NOT FUN! DO NOT RECCOMEND! Only do so if you don't care about having scabs on the girls. Or are poor, like me, and have to use bandaids.

Just don't wear a bra. I mostly go for this option, I feel so free. Very gender affirming, love a bad-bitch who doesn't wear a bra. I save so much money. You have no idea. SO MUCH MONEY. I also love never feeling the pain of a bra, the idea of putting one on is so foreign to me now. I never realized how much pain I was in b4.

This is my advice for now, hope it helps! If you have anything to share pls feel free to! <3

#text post #fashion advice #mine #practical fashion #fashion #sensory issues #living with adhd #adhd post #anxeity #eczema #beauty tips

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messed-up-little-driftwood · 2 days

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let's talk about being mentally ill and living w the Driftwood/Firefly's cause I need the comfort (100% self indulgent):

Warnings: (mental illness depictions, mention of self-h4rm, mention of ED if you squint. gender neutral reader, lemme know if I missed any♡)

- Baby, who is actually really good abt it?? You've locked yourself in your room for the day? Well she's coming with you and you're having a Tim Burton marathon. Don't want to? That sucks; she's tying your ass down and peeling your eyelids open A Clockwork Orange style to force you to be distracted from your mind by discussing the Burton multi-verse with childish excitement. She's beside you in bed, hands on your arm, squeezing excitedly whenever she makes a connection, and even though you wish you could just sleep and disappear, her presence is impossible to ignore and be grumpy about.

- Not eating or refusing to???? Not in Mama's house you're not. She'll ziptie you to a chair and force-feed you your fav meal with the most loving, motherly care, mixed with a multitude of swearing like a trucker. If you refuse, get ready for the airplane: "vroom vroom motherfucker, open up" and "what, don't like the pasta?? here honey, have some pie instead" and "if you don't eat, I'm going to put Otis on feeding duty. and he will not be as patient as me".

- Self-harming?? NOPE, not on Tiny's watch. Tiny will lift you (he can. doesn't matter how big you are, he is bigger and stronger) to his room, sit you on the floor, and wordlessly drop crafting supplies and colouring pages on the floor. You're making a paper skeleton chain whether you like it or not with kiddie scissors that barely cut paper, and colouring with little washable markers that leave streaks. He'll pet your head too, to keep you focused should your mind get any alternative ideas. He'll also let you colour on him if you ask nicely:)

- You're curled up on the couch dissociating from the world? Rufus is a shit-disturber, and will start messing with you to bring you back. If you have long hair, he's pinching it between his fingers and pulling at it lightly. Sits in front of you and just. Stares. Until you're uncomfortable enough to say something rude, and then he's throwing you over his shoulder and yeeting your depressed ass in his truck for a ride. Maybe he'll stop at your fav food chain if he's in a good mood, while he makes you listen to some death metal band that's louder than the thoughts in your head and keeps you grounded. Definitely the type to call you 'little one'.

- In a non-verbal / nothing nice to say about yourself / 'don't talk to me or I'll bite you', mood? Otis is your boy. That's his state of being, and he also finds it relaxing when someone else is a spiteful grump like him; so he's more than happy to work on his artistry and have you listen to his musings and rambles. He'll like it even more if you vent a little (add fuel to the fire), and give him more juice to be angry at the world, increasing his motivation for his work. He's a fully grown angsty teenager — this man gets the rage, and enjoys your little venting sessions (and maybe you) even if he'd rather eat glass than say it out loud.

- Spaulding acts like nothing is any different. Little lighter on the teasing, but we know how he is, and he'll tell you to 'suck it up' and is outwardly brash and mean. BUT, he'll mess with Otis more and though he gets a kick out of it; it's a subtle way to give you even a small smile when Otis is all razzed up. Stirs the pot to cause drama like the meddler he is.

- Avoid Hugo at all costs. Will make things worse.

#otis driftwood #slasher fandom #comfort #baby firefly #rufus jr #tiny driftwood #captain spaulding #man i wish i had them #they match my little fucked up vibes #mama firefly

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karinyosa · 1 day

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before you are 12 options. you have one week to respond. do not disappoint me.

#poll #hyperspecific poll #polls #karinyo.txt #what would you take from my room

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alolanrain · 1 year

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I’m just going to start piling my Ta!au quotes into one post instead of spamming everyone's timeline with it.

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(after a missions, Ash had a nightmare and can’t sleep and neither could Rowan)

Ash: That’s a terrible story.

Rowan: not all of us fight Gods and win, my boy. so take what I have.

Ash:.... tell me how you survived the Dragalge again?

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(later in the Alola timeline-think before Kukui announces the first league)

Ash: You're an asshole, you know that?

Lillie: Mankey see, Mankey do.

Ash: *flashbacks to all the times he’s used the exact phrase* *deep sigh* fair enough.

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(on a simple date after a long stake out mission)

Ash:*tired AF* Are you going to keep looking at me like that or are you actually going to kiss me?

Raihan: Can’t I enjoy looking at my meal before digging into it?

Ash... *tired, flustered and now angry because he’s flustered*

Raihan: *too pleased, the smug bastard* that’s what I thought.

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(after noticing Meowth working at the new malasada truck outside of school, completely ignoring James and Jessie who ignore him in return)

Ash: hey-not here to pick a fight, put your claw’s away-do you know Lillie’s brother?

Meowth: *suspicious but interested* the emo kid?

Ash: yeah.

Meowth:... why?

Ash: would it be insulting to you if I call him a ragged wet Meowth?

Meowth: *instantly relaxing* if you don’t call him that I will.

Ash: *grabbing the malasada's James hands him without making him pay* let’s tag team him then.

Meowth: sounds perfect to me, now get going. you’re holding up the line Twerp.

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(meeting and conversing with Goh and Chloe for the first time)

Goh: my mission is to catch Mew and then go on my first Pokémon journey!

Ash: *bites tongue and thank the legendries he’s where sunglasses to hide his uncontrollable flash of anger*

Chloe: Don’t listen to him-

Goh: Hey!

Chloe: -he’s the dumb one

Ash: *silently already picking favorites* I see.

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(after a prank war)

Gary: does my life truly mean so little to you?

Ash: *w/ neon green hair and permanent marker on his face* YES!

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(on a random Tuesday in Alola)

Ash:*swinging in a hammock with sunglasses and his hat* Are you here to kill me? *slurps annoyingly loud at his drink*

Mewtwo:... no but I’m thinking about it now.

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(after loosing the kids in the forest for a while)

Ash: where have you been!?

Lana: *sopping wet*

Mallow: *beginning of a rash on her lips*

Kiawe:*looks like he got into a fight with something and lost*

Sophocles: *also looks like he got into a fight with something and lost*

Lillie: *covered in flowers with a few Cutiefly buzzing around her*

Lana: I think you already know.

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(Champion meeting in Kalos-Lance is sick and Ash is his second by Orange Isles proxy)

Diantha: You're late. As usual.

Ash: *not high as a kite but not sober either* be happy that I’m even here in the first place.

Rose: it’s really innapro-

Ash&Diantha: not a word out of you.

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(Kiawe and Lillie hanging out with Ash even though he’s cleaning all his knives)

Ash: Put that down! You're like a child.

Kiawe: *pouting and placing down a sheathed knife* I’m a teenager, not a child.

Ash: uh-huh.

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(Ash begrudgingly letting Lana indulge the rain before class one day)

Ash: Well, don't stand there in the rain all day. Come on.

Lana: but I like the rain.

Ash: okay-let me rephrase then so you understand. Don’t make me give you detention-

Lana: *darts on past*

Ash: *smirking and start to trail behind* that’s what I thought.

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(after being trailed by some mercenaries from a Gala)

Rowan: we’re safe now, aren’t we boy?

Ash: *checks around corner of the alleyway they ducked into to loose their trackers* Yeah... yeah I think so old-

Goons: *appearing on the other side of the alleyway* there they are!

Ash&Rowan: *in unison* fuckshitfuckingtitballs-

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(in Hisui)

Ash: I swear it wasn't me.

Cyllene: *annoyed but in a motherly way* now why don’t I believe that?

Ash:.... because I’m your favorite survey member? *Growlith eyes and slight cheeky smile*

Cyllene: get out of my sight.

Ash: *squeaks* yes, Captain!

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(after an intense debrief after a mission going tits-up as Ash was unknowingly stalked by another mercenary)

Gary: Who did you piss off this time?

Ash: *slumping down in a chair next to Gary and the large as computer screens* it’s more like who I haven’t pissed off.

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(after first trimester of finals)

Kukui: *walks into the classroom, see’s Ash blank face and staring at the other doorway where Kukui originally left though*

Ash:

Kukui:

Ash:

Kukui: you gonna keep staring or what?

Ash: *broken out of the strongest dissociation spell in a long time**jumping out of his seat and making a fool of himself while falling down onto the floor* cheese and crackers on balls, you motherfucker-

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