#when the reality is that just like today people fought for their rights and made art and debated different philosophies of liberation

[lesbianrobin]

Seeing as it's Black History Month, I'm gonna take a break from your regularly scheduled girlblogging to be a film nerd and beg every single person reading this post to go and watch Within Our Gates (1920).

Within Our Gates is a feature-length silent film written and directed by black filmmaker Oscar Micheaux and it is a miracle that we have it today. The film was believed to be lost for years until a SINGLE surviving print was found in Spain, translated back into English, and recut to match the original as closely as possible. (This is actually not uncommon in the realm of old film a lot of lost films get found in random closets but ANYWAY.) The film tells the story of Sylvia, a southern schoolteacher who travels up north to raise money to keep her school open. It explores how her life and family have been affected by racism, abuse, and sexual violence, as she falls in love, works to save her school, and grapples with her place as a black woman in the antebellum south. If that's not enough to get you interested, the film is also kinda batshit. There are shootouts! Affairs! Someone gets hit by a car! It's wild and dramatic and incredibly engaging.

You've heard of Birth of a Nation, right? Maybe you've even seen it. That insanely racist piece of film history premiered in 1915. Oftentimes people will defend D.W. Griffith and the film itself as being "a product of its time." Well, Within Our Gates premiered in 1920, and it is a product of its time. It depicts white mob violence against black Americans, and how that violence destroys innocent lives and rips families apart. It is written and directed by a black man. All of its lead actors are black. It is an absolutely heart-wrenching, moving, and intelligent film, produced on a shoestring budget, that explores what it meant not only to be a black American in 1920, but what it meant to be a black woman. Different characters have different approaches to coping with racism and strategies for protecting themselves. It's complicated, and upsetting, and one of the most impactful films I've ever seen.

If you can spare an hour and twenty minutes, if you happen to have access to the film through a streaming service (in addition to being FREE ON YOUTUBE, I believe it's on Amazon Prime, Paramount+, MGM+, and some Hulu plans) or an institution (you may have access to Kanopy or a similar platform via your local library or university), it's worth a watch. Play whatever music you want in the background if your version doesn't have any added! Even if you can't watch it for whatever reason, I'd encourage all of you to look into Oscar Micheaux and the history of "race films," films created outside of the Hollywood studio system by and for black Americans.

Don't buy into the false narrative that the only black representation in historical film was minstrelsy and Griffith-style garbage.

[paragonrobits]

some important calvin and hobbes facts in case you haven't read the original comic strip in a long time or only absorbed stuff on it from memes and out of context bits on here:

Calvin's last name has never been given, and neither has any of his parent's names. This was actually why his uncle Max only showed up for a brief storyline; the creator of the comic, Bill Watterson, ultimately felt that while it was fine to have him as someone for his parents to talk to, it felt far too awkward to never have Max refer to them by name and he never made a return appearance.

The general tone of the comic is fairly light-hearted, with a big emphasis on goofy slapstick comedy contrasted by clever wordplay and often surprising adult-centered jokes that'll hit you like a slap. A big part of the comedy is, as Watterson put it (paraphrased) "It's really funny to me when people express deeply stupid ideas with really fancy terminology." One notable example you might have seen is that one bit where Calvin asks his mom for money to buy a Satan-worshiping rock album and his mom replies that there's nothing genuine about them and they're just putting on the attitude for shock value, and comisserates with Calvin as he deplores that mainstream nihilism can't be trusted. He concludes that childhood is disillusioning.

There is a LOT of criticism of the extreme materialism and selfish mentality of the late 80s, when the comic was initially written. This may go a long way to explain how its aged so well; much of what it criticizes resonates well with people today.

Bill Watterson views comic strips a legitimate form of artwork, and repeatedly fought to have more space to draw more beautiful and artistic backgrounds, which was a very hard fight and unpopular even with other comic strip artists. He eventually did win some compromises and a lot of Calvin And Hobbes' artwork shows it, with the use of space to indicate time as well as a sharp contrast between the often plain environments of mundane life contrasted by the wildly beautiful imagery of Calvin's imagination (which often sports realistic depictions in an art shift of sorts).

Hobbes is explicitly not an imaginary friend, by word of Watterson himself. We don't know WHAT he is exactly, and Hobbes is apparently unaware of the strange nature of his reality; people look at him and only see an ordinary stuffed tiger plushie, but he has a tangible effect on the world that would be physically impossible for Calvin to do on his own. He's apparently been around for a while, and was apparently around when Calvin was a young baby.

On that note; Hobbes has implicitly killed (notably treated as both a gag and also with the vibe of 'he's a tiger, duh') and while he doesn't do it again on-screen, he doesn't have any moral issues about it. Calvin claims that he's never had trouble bringing Hobbes to school because the last time he did, Hobbes killed and ate a bully named Tommy Chestnut and simply comments that it was gross and he needed a bath. Calvin's tried to repeat this again, but Hobbes was grossed out at the thought having to eat a kid raw and not being allowed to use an oven first, or complaining that children are too fattening.

Hobbes became gradually less human-like in body language and more like an actual cat in both body language and behavior; this was due to Watterson drawing more inspiration from his cat, who also inspired a lot of Hobbes' running gags, such as pouncing on Calvin when he got home. Several years into the syndication of the strip, Watterson's cat passed away, and he did a tribute to her with a comic strip of the two of them agreeing to try to dream together so they can keep playing when they have to sleep; Watterson's commentary (if I recall right), remarks on his cat: "We can see each other again in dreams."

[aliyahwritings]

THE CONTRACTED HEART — Rafe Cameron (02)

MASTERLIST | Basketball Player & Model!Female Reader

Summary: Rafe Cameron, a basketball star, needs a marriage to fix his image, while Model!Reader needs one for citizenship. They may be the perfect solution for each other.

Warnings: smut, descriptions of violence, jealousy, usage of drugs, talks about body image/ed, angst, and lots of bickering. Reader is confident, a people-pleaser, has a traumatic past, and is a sunshine with an attitude. Rafe is a whore, possessive, cocky, and secretive about his past.

Word Count: 4.1k

Aliyah's Notes: rafe triple appearances 👏 i actually rlly like this yk like the pacing and the dynamics are great imo. i hope u all will like it too. reader seems like such a jobless ho in this chap but she's booked and busy yall i promise

As the early morning sunlight streamed through the large windows of your apartment, you stood in front of your full-length mirror, taking a deep breath as she surveyed her reflection. Today was the day—the day you would finally meet Rafe Cameron and discuss the terms of your marriage arrangement. The thought made your stomach flutter with a mix of excitement and anxiety.

Despite your bubbling personality, the pressure of the situation weighed heavily on your shoulders. You had spent the past few days steeling yourself for this moment, and now that it was finally here, the reality of it sent your heart racing.

You glanced at your closet, a vibrant array of outfits hanging neatly. You had planned to wear something that screamed “fabulous”, but time was slipping away from you. You settled on a leopard-print strapless top, pairing it with a denim mini skirt. You slipped on your favorite black heels, which added just the right amount of height and made your legs longer. You grabbed your black Prada bag, a reminder of the success you had fought so hard to achieve.

Despite your nerves, you felt a surge of excitement. This meeting was a step forward resolving your visa issues, and you were determined to make the best of it. You wanted to present yourself as confident, someone who could hold your own—especially when facing someone like Rafe Cameron.

You slipped into the back seat of your private car, offering a quick nod to your driver, Gregory. As the engine purred to life, you felt your heart pounding in your ears, each beat amplifying the weight of anticipation.

When you arrived at the law office, your gaze immediately landed on Nicolas, your lawyer. He stood up from his chair and made his way over, exchanging small talk that felt oddly comforting amid the tension. Together, you entered the meeting room, where Rafe and his lawyer were already waiting for you.

Even seated, his presence dominated the space. His broad shoulders, casual posture, and confident smirk that made him look every bit the arrogant athlete you had read about. His lawyer, Sabrina Rashid, sat beside him, a sharply dressed woman who radiated professionalism. Rafe, on the other hand, looked annoyingly relaxed in a plain white t-shirt and black jeans. 

Well, this made you look overdressed… Embarrassing, but you kept your head held high.

Nicolas gestured toward the table. “Shall we?”

You slid into the chair opposite Rafe, offering a small nod to his lawyer before turning your attention to him. His blue eyes flickered over you, lingering longer than necessary. You could practically feel his ego inflate with every second.

“You’re late,” he drawled, breaking the silence. His voice was as cocky as his expression.

You arched a brow, setting your Prada bag on the table with a soft thud. “Hello to you too—and you’re lucky I showed up at all, considering your reputation.”

He smiled. “Feisty. I like that.”

And so, you cringed at his words. You rolled your eyes, refusing to take the bait. “Let’s get to the point, shall we?”

Nico cleared his throat, clearly eager to steer the conversation to business. “Yes, well, the purpose of today’s meeting is to discuss the logistics of the marriage arrangement—specifically, where you’ll be living, financial obligations, and how this will be handled publicly.”

“Publicly?” you repeated, frowning slightly. “I thought this was supposed to be discreet.”

Rafe shrugged. “I don’t do discreet, sweetheart.”

You shot him a glare. “I am not your sweetheart.”

“Not yet, but wait ‘till we’re married.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard by his audacity, but recovered. “This isn’t going to be like that. We’re not doing some fake, lovey-dovey routine for the press.”

Rafe leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. “Who said anything about love? I’m talking about looking like a normal couple, someone the media can’t tear apart every other week. It’s all about appearances, sweetheart.”

“Stop calling me sweetheart.”

“Whatever you say,” he grinned. “Plus, you gotta admit, you and I? We’d be a headline every day, sweetheart.”

“Is he serio—”

Nico stepped in before you could respond. “Alright, enough. Let’s get back on track.” He glanced at Rafe’s lawyer, who nodded and opened a folder.

“First item on the agenda: where will you two be living?” Sabrina asked, her tone professional and no-nonsense. “Given that this marriage is primary for legal purposes, we need to establish residency. For it to be legitimate, you will need to live together.”

You shot a look at Rafe, who was already smirking like he’d won some kind of silent argument. “I’m not moving in with him,” you said flatly.

“You think I’m thrilled about having a roommate? Especially one who probably spends hours in front of the mirror.”

You crossed your arms. “I do not.”

Lies.

“Oh, please. You’re a model. You probably have a different skincare for every day of the week.”

“And it’s supposed to be a bad thing because…?” You frowned. “You should take exemple. You look like you wash your face with body soap.”

Nico pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let’s focus, kids.”

Rafe’s lawyer continued, ignoring the banter. “You’ll need to appear as though you’re cohabiting. If not, immigration authorities will become suspicious, and the arrangement could fall apart.”

You narrowed your eyes at Rafe. “Where do you live, anyway?”

He learned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I’ve got a place in SoHo. Penthouse. Nice view, great amenities. It’s got plenty of space for you to do… whatever it is models do.”

“Funny, I have my place in the Upper East Side. And I am not giving it up.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Upper East Side, huh? Posh.”

“I earned it.”

“Well, we’ll need to figure something out,” Sabrina interjected smoothly. “But you need to live together. In one place.”

Rafe looked amused. “You can have the closet space. I’m a sweet guy like that.”

“How generous,” you muttered, turning back to the lawyers. “Fine. We can do the whole ‘living in one place together’ thing. But I need time off, to stay at my place once in a while.”

Rafe winked. “Wouldn’t want to cramp your style.”

You ignored him. “What about finances? How is this going to work?”

Nico pulled out his own folder. “We’ve drafted a preliminary agreement outlining financial contributions from both parties. It’s important that this marriage appears legitimate, so we suggest pooling certain expenses—utilities, rent or mortgage payments, and shared household costs. This can be done through a joint account, which will be monitored to ensure the marriage looks genuine.”

You could feel Rafe’s eyes on you, and you shot him a look. “A joint account? I hope you’re not expecting me to pay for your post-game drinks?”

He chuckled. “Relax. I’ve got more money than you can spend in a lifetime. The joint account is just for show. But if you want to chip in for groceries, I won’t stop you.”

“Oh, how noble of you,” you replied dryly.

Nico glanced between you and Rafe, clearly trying to keep the conversation on track. “This account will cover all necessary shared expenses—bills, groceries, and any incidentals that may arise from your living arrangements. It’ll help maintain the appearance of a genuine marriage.”

Sabrina nodded in agreement. “Exactly. As for your individual assets, those will remain separate. No need to worry about your personal finances getting tangled up.”

You relaxed a little at that. “Good.”

“And what about public appearances?” Rafe asked, sounding surprisingly serious. “How often do we need to do the whole ‘happy couple’ thing?”

Nico exchanged a look with Rafe’s lawyer. “You’ll need to be seen together frequently enough to make it believable, but not so much that it seems forced. A few key events—charity galas, public outings—will suffice. It’s important that you strike a balance.”

Rafe shrugged. “I’ve got games, events, plenty of opportunities to be seen.”

You sighed. “I have shoots, fashion shows, and meetings. We’re both busy.”

“Sounds like we’ll have to schedule our love life,” he quipped, flashing you a grin that made you want to throttle at him.

You gave him a sweet smile. “Good thing it’s not real.”

He laughed, and for a second, the tension in the room eased.

Nico shuffled his papers. “There’s one more thing to discuss—media coverage. Given that Mr. Cameron is already in the spotlight, it’s important to control the narrative.”

Sabrina continued; “We’ll need to issue a carefully crafted statement once the marriage is official. Something that explains how you met, why you’re together, and addresses any potential rumors before they can spiral out of control.”

“A public statement?” You cringed at the thought.

“It’s necessary,” Nico said. “If this looks like a publicity stunt, it could raise red flags with immigration.”

Rafe leaned back in his chair, looking far too relaxed for the situation. “Don’t worry, we’ll make it believable. I’m great with the media.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what worries me,” you muttered.

He smirked. “Come on, sweetie. We’ll be the hottest couple in New York. Think of the headlines.”

“I’d rather not,” you moved your hands dismissively.

The lawyer continued discussing the finer details of the arrangement—contract clauses, confidentiality agreements, and timelines. You zoned out for a moment, your eyes drifting back to Rafe. Despite his infuriating attitude, there was something about him. Something that made you feel like this might not be the worst decision after all.

“I hope you’re prepared for the spotlight,” he said suddenly, snapping you back to reality. “The media’s gonna eat this up.”

You arched a brow. “Please. I’ve been in the spotlight longer than you have, and with far less drama.”

He grinned. “We’ll see about that.”

You leaned forward, meeting his gaze head-on, the space between you suddenly charged. “I’m not one of your little fangirls, Rafe. You might charm the media, but you’re not charming me.”

His smirk faltered, just for a second, replaced by something darker, more intense. His gaze dipped, lingering on your exposed cleavage, heat flaring in his eyes. You felt a spark, your breath catching as your own eyes betrayed you, flickering to his lips—pink, curved, and way too tempting for your liking. The air between you thickened, crackling with an unspoken challenge, the playful banter giving way to something far more dangerous.

Rafe’s tongue flicked out to wet his lips, and for a moment, you forgot where you were, the weight of his stare pulling you in. The thought of what it would feel like to wipe that cocky grin off his face—or maybe even taste it—flickering through your mind.

But then Nico cleared his throat, shattering the moment like glass, and you quickly sat back, your heart racing as you wrenched your gaze away from Rafe’s.

“So, we have a deal?” Rafe asked, cutting through the tension.

You glanced at Nico, who gave you a subtle nod of reassurance. With a deep breath, you turned to Rafe and extended your hand. “Yes, we do.”

His hand clasped yours, warm and firm. “Looking forward to being your husband, sweetheart.”

“Looking forward to not being your wife,” you rolled your eyes, pulling your hand back. “This is purely business. Don’t get any ideas.”

“Whatever you say, wife.”

The next few days passed in a blur of contracts, legal jargon, and meetings with Nico, Sabrina, and Rafe. You had signed your life away—well, not really your life, but it certainly felt like it. 

You were lounging in your Upper East Side apartment, scrolling through Instagram when your phone buzzed.

Rafe Cameron.

Just seeing his name made your stomach tighten with a mix of irritation and something else you couldn’t quite place. Hesitantly, you opened the message.

Rafe: “When do you plan on moving in?”

You stared at the screen for a second before typing.

You: “I’m not even packed yet… what the hell.”

Rafe: “What you waiting for? You’re not chickening out, are you, sweetheart?”

There it was again—sweetheart. That nickname got on your nerves, but you were determined not to let him get under your skin (although he already did).

You: “Stop calling me that, and also I have a job and a life. I can’t just drop everything to move into your stinky place.”

Rafe: “I’m offering help.”

You snorted at your phone. Right, because Rafe Cameron would actually help you pack your boxes.

You: “What are you gonna do? Carry my shoes for me?”

Rafe: “If it gets you here faster, then sure. I’ll be here tomorrow.”

Your eyes widened. Was he serious? You couldn’t picture Rafe Cameron, basketball star and all-around cocky jerk, standing in your apartment, packing boxes and loading them into a truck. The mental image alone was laughable.

You: “Wait! No!”

Rafe: “Why no? You need a few more days to decide on what to pick?”

You: “Jerk.”

Rafe: ":)"

You: “And I can’t move in yet. We need to make a public appearance and get married before I start packing and do all the move-in things.”

There was a pause before his response came through.

Rafe: “Fair.”

You: “Excited to live with me, am I right?”

Rafe: “Projecting much?”

You: “You wish.”

Rafe: “Ditto, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes. You quickly clicked on the rolling eyes emoji as a response and threw your phone onto the couch, not wanting to keep talking to him.

The next morning, you blinked your eyes open, greeted by the familiar warmth of your apartment, and for a fleeting moment, you forgot about everything. The visage, the arrangement, the pressure, the stress, immigration, Rafe Cameron—all of it felt distant, like a strange dream.

But then reality settled back in.

You groaned softly, burying your face into your pillow for a second longer before sighing and throwing off the covers. Today was yet another meeting with the lawyers, and you already were over it.

You knew marriage was a lot of papers and documents, but you truly didn’t think it was this much.

Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, you padded across the plush carpet to your closet, glancing at the outfits hanging neatly in a row. Usually, your first thought would be what designer outfit to wear today but you couldn’t muster the energy to care this morning. Today wasn’t about looking fabulous; it was about getting down to business, and you didn’t care how you looked because you’d be stuck in a room for hours with two lawyers and your future husband.

Future husband… God, how weird was it to say that about a man you didn’t even know.

Instead of focusing on it, you reached for a pair of soft gray sweatpants and a simple white tank top. You pulled a thick, cozy grey cardigan over your shoulders, its warmth a small comfort against the stress building in your mind. 

As you made your way to the kitchen, your phone buzzed on the countertop, and for a moment, you thought it might be Rafe. But no, it was just a reminder from Nico about the meeting. You sighed, grabbed a cup of coffee, slipped into the backseat of your car and headed to the law office.

The law office was as sleek and imposing as ever—polished wood, glass walls, and the faint scent of coffee lingering in the air. You stepped into the conference room, finding Nicolas and Sabrina already seated at the table, a stack of papers in front of them. They looked up and offered polite smiles as you entered.

“Morning,” you said, taking a seat and smoothing the sleeves of your cardigan.

“Morning, Y/N,” Nico replied, his tone friendly but businesslike. “How’re you feeling?”

You hesitated, offering a half-hearted smile. “A bit nervous and tired, I guess. But ready to get things moving.”

Nico nodded, glancing at the empty seat beside you before opening his mouth to speak, but Sabrina beat him to it.

“Hello, Ms. Y/L/N, just to let you know—Rafe won’t be joining us today.”

Your heart sank, but you tried not to show it. “Oh? Why’s that?”

“Last-minute practice session,” she explained, her tone casual. “It was unavoidable, apparently. He couldn’t get out of it.”

You nodded slowly, processing the information. It wasn’t that you were angry—just… bothered. This was an important meeting, after all. Even though this marriage was fake, it still involved a lot of big decisions. Decisions you didn’t feel comfortable making without him.

“Okay,” you said after a moment. “I guess we’ll have to catch him up later, then.”

Sabrina gave you a sympathetic look. “I’ll make sure he’s informed about everything. I know it’s frustrating, but Rafe’s schedule can be pretty unpredictable.”

“I get it,” you replied with a shrug, trying to convince yourself it wasn’t that big of a deal. “It’s just... this is important, you know? It would’ve been nice to have him here for this.”

“I understand,” Sabrina said gently. “And I’ll make sure he’s fully briefed on everything. He’s committed to this, even if it doesn’t always seem that way.”

You nodded, still feeling a bit unsettled but trying to brush it off. He was used to a chaotic schedule, and you couldn’t expect him to drop everything for every meeting. But still... you couldn’t shake the slight discomfort gnawing at you.

“Okay,” you said, trying to focus on the task at hand. “So, what’s the plan for today?”

Nico flipped through the stack of papers in front of him. “We’ve got a lot to cover. First off, the wedding itself. We need to finalize a date, and given your visa situation, we’re looking at a timeline of about three weeks.”

“Three weeks?!” you exclaimed, immediately covering your mouth with your hand. It was sooner than you’d expected, but you understood the urgency. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Nico said, waving his hands. “We need to move quickly. The sooner the marriage is official, the sooner we can start the immigration process. And in the meantime, you and Rafe will need to be seen together publicly—on dates, outings, and even social media.”

You chewed the inside of your cheek, feeling a little overwhelmed. “Public appearances... right. How often are we talking?”

“Enough to make it believable,” Sabrina took over. “We don’t want to overwhelm you, but it’s important that you’re seen together frequently. A few key public outings, some posts on social media—it’ll help establish the narrative that you’re a real couple.”

You nodded. “And Rafe’s on board with all of this?”

“He is,” Sabrina reassured you. “We’ve discussed it, and he knows what’s required.”

“Okay,” you said, feeling a bit more reassured but still uneasy. The idea of staging your life for the public was daunting. It wasn’t just about attending a few events or posting pictures—it was about selling the image of a relationship that didn’t exist. And with Rafe not even here for the planning, you couldn’t help but feel a little disconnected from it all.

You smiled faintly. “It just feels... strange, doing all of this without Rafe. I mean, I know it’s a fake marriage, but it would still be nice to have him involved, you know?”

“I understand,” Sabrina said. “It’s not ideal, but Rafe’s committed to this. His schedule is unpredictable right now, but that doesn’t mean he’s not invested in making this work.”

You nodded, trying to take comfort in her words. Maybe Rafe’s absence wasn’t a sign of disinterest—maybe it was just bad timing.

Nico continued, flipping through the papers. “Let’s move on to the wedding itself. Have you given any thought to what kind of ceremony you want?”

“Honestly, I haven’t thought about it at all.”

“Alright,” Nico said, nodding.

“A small ceremony,” you echoed, thinking it over. “It… It could be nice, no? That could work—but shouldn’t Rafe have a say in this?”

“He will,” Nico assured you. “Mrs. Rashid will loop him in on everything. But for now, we need to focus on logistics. The venue, the guest list, the timeline—it’s all about making sure everything looks legitimate to immigration.”

“Okay. Let’s go with the small ceremony, then. But I’d still like Rafe’s input before we make any final decisions,” you said softly, your cheeks warming slightly.

“Of course,” both lawyers said with a smile.

The conversation shifted to the finer details—the venue, the guest list, the timing of public appearances. It felt more like planning an elaborate PR campaign than a wedding, but you tried to stay focused. Every decision was one step closer to securing your future, even if it didn’t feel real.

The meeting felt like a marathon. You exhaled a long, tired sigh, your head spinning with wedding details and timelines. You couldn’t help but glance at your phone again, half-expecting a message from Rafe. But there was nothing. He was at practice, wrapped up in whatever game plan his team was working on.

You adjusted the strap of your tote bag and pulled your cardigan tighter around yourself as you headed for the door. But as you opened it, you stopped short, nearly walking straight into someone standing just outside.

“Whoa—” A familiar voice interrupted your thoughts, and you blinked up to see Rafe Cameron standing there, leaning against the doorframe, as if he had been waiting for you.

“Rafe?” you blurted out, surprise laced in your voice. You hadn’t expected him to be here, especially after Sabrina said he wouldn’t make it.

He straightened up quickly, looking just as startled as you. “Y/N… uh, hey. I—uh, I’m sorry I missed the meeting,” he stammered, his usual confident demeanor slipping for a moment. “I couldn’t miss practice…”

You stood there, momentarily frozen. It wasn’t like him to stutter—and it threw you off. “Oh… right. Yeah, no, it’s fine, don’t worry. Sabrina said you had practice,” you said, trying to brush off the awkwardness.

He shifted his weight, his hands sliding into his pockets. “Yeah, I, uh… tried to make it, but, you know… basketball.”

You nodded slowly, still surprised that he had actually shown up. “Well, the meeting’s over. Sabrina said she’ll catch you up on what we discussed.”

“Right, yeah, I’ll talk to her,” he mumbled.

“Yeah, so... goodbye?”

“Goodbye,” he said, looking down at the floor for a second before glancing back at you. There was a brief, awkward silence that stretched between the two of you. Neither of you moved, though you weren’t sure why.

Finally, Rafe cleared his throat, and his gaze flickered over your outfit. A slow smirk crept onto his face, his familiar cockiness returning. “So... what’s with the sweatpants and cardigan? Didn’t know you had it in you to dress so casually.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the teasing tone. “Excuse me?”

He shrugged, his smirk widening. “Just saying... it’s not exactly the runway look I was expecting from a supermodel.”

You felt a laugh bubble up in your throat before you could stop it. “You’re one to talk, Mr. I-show-up-in-a-T-shirt-to-a-business-meeting,” you shot back, your lips curving into a smile.

Rafe’s eyes lit up slightly, surprised by your reaction. It was the first time you had actually laughed at something he said, and for a moment, he just stared at you, taking in the sound. Cute, he thought to himself, the word slipping into his mind unbidden.

“At least my T-shirt was designer. This,” he flicked his gaze over your cardigan, “looks like something you stole from your grandma’s closet.”

You gasped, feigning offense. “I happen to like this cardigan, thank you very much. It’s cozy.”

He grinned. “Cozy, is it? Guess you’re preparing for the life of domestic bliss we’re about to have. How cute.”

You shook your head, fighting another smile. “Funny—like you even know the meaning of domestic bliss.”

He tilted his head, his smirk never faltering. “Who says I don’t? I could be all about the cozy life. You don’t know me.”

You arched a brow. “Really? You? In sweatpants, lounging on a couch, binge-watching Netflix?”

“I can be a homebody if I want to,” he said, shrugging, though the teasing glint in his eyes told you he wasn’t being serious. “Give me some credits, alright? I can rock sweatpants.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Maybe you will. You’ll be living with me soon enough—” you froze slightly at that reminder, and your smile wavered. He noticed the shift and cleared his throat. “Anyway, I’ll make sure to show up to the next meeting. Promise.”

You gave him a small nod, still smiling. “You’d better.”

He nodded, and for the first time since you’d met, there was no teasing in his expression—just quiet understanding. You gave him one last look before heading down the hall, feeling the warmth of your laugh still lingering in the air between you.

And Rafe stood there watching you walk away, thinking about how cute your laugh was—and how much he wanted to hear it again.

chapter three

[becauseicantthinkwritings]

Objects in Motion

Part 2

Alpha!Billy Russo x Omega! Reader

Part 1 here

You’re deep in sleep when a loud bang wakes you.

Bolting up with a gasp, your heart pounds in your chest for a few minutes. You’re not sure what the noise was- a door slamming shut, or maybe something falling in the apartment above you, but the echo of it in your head keeps you awake for a while, hating that your anxiety doesn’t let you sleep.

.

You go to another dry cleaners, you do your best to avoid going out. You go to work, and back home for a couple of weeks, worried that someone will find you and scold you for what you’ve done.

You think about being scolded by him, you doubt you’d be able to last a moment in his presence.

After you’d ensured the safe delivery of the coat, did you finally research the owner.

William Russo, his stoic, borderline angry expression staring back at you through your computer screen had only made you aroused all over again.

This, this was the Alpha with a scent so magnetic, you couldn’t resist it.

He was rich, a CEO, and you could only look around your threadbare apartment and sigh sadly, there was nothing you could offer him that would interest him.

So, you try to move on with your life, work hard so you can afford to buy alleviators for your next heat, and stay away from alphas that would no doubt hurt you.

The art museum was a big comfort. On a Friday evening, when it was at its emptiest, you’d go in, and stare at all the paintings. You’d study the brushstrokes till your eyes burned, items like Starry Night, and Street Light were beautiful works that always made you dare to dream of a life better than the one you were in. Today however, The Lovers was the one that kept you most occupied.

Two people, with white cloths over their heads as they lean into each other, kissing.  Hidden from each other’s sight, you wonder if the painting only holds its romance because of the seemingly anonymity of the subjects. If the mystery was removed, would there be more love, or less?

It was kind of how you felt right now, pained, searching for something that you weren’t familiar with. An alpha, to call your own.

None of the alphas you’d met had ever been right for you. There was an entitlement written into them, the belief that your station was lesser, so you were supposed to submit. Alphas constantly lived with that air of superiority surrounding them, and they were easily upset when you did not give them what they wanted. 

The alphas you dated were wrong to think that submission was something freely given, in reality, it had to be earned.

You wondered if the alpha on your mind would ask nicely.

Probably not. It was a good thing he existed only in your fantasies.

.

Your omega privilege means you get to stay a little after closing. You smile gratefully in the security guard’s direction when he comes to escort you out.

“We’ve got a new piece coming in tomorrow. You won’t be able to stay late anymore, but I’m sure you’ll like it.”

You smile in delight.

“Do you know which one it is?” You ask.

“Not really, not much of an art guy, but it’s a big deal, really expensive.”

You nod, enthusiastically.

“Well, I can’t wait.” You reply, wishing the beta a good night when you finally reach the exit, pulling your jacket tighter around you to protect from the cold.

.

Not for the first time in his life, he feels the loneliness. 

It’s only that he’s never felt it quite like this. Usually, people just didn’t want him, his mother gave him up when he was a baby, and he’d never really understood why. Through his life, people had assumed he’d present as a beta, because he’d been a scrawny kid. Things had only gotten worse when at ten, his alpha denomination had shown through.

Then, everyone had wanted a piece of him, an opportunity to say that they’d fought an alpha and won, uncaring of his age and size- the world had forced him to become ruthless very quickly.

He’d let the world’s rejection shape him, and he’d only realised that when he’d met Frank.

Frank had made him understand, that alphas were not supposed to be cruel, but rather the very definition of safety and security.

He'd tried his best to ignore the hollow feeling inside of him, and that had worked.

At least, it had, up until he'd smelled that stupid coat.

Now, it was like someone had taken a piece of him and ran off with it, ripped a carefully placed bandage off and left him with an open wound. He could feel the absence, like if it was a whole other person in the room.

He wanted his omega.

It was all he’d thought about now, as he pressed the coat to his nose every night, struggling to catch her fading scent, he wondered if he’d ever be able to sleep again when the scent fully faded.

He keeps going, maybe he even pushes himself harder, his work distracts him, helps him keep a clear head.

He’d even accepted a job to secure artwork for the museum, even though his specialty was protecting people, and Frank was usually the man that handled asset protection.

He’s following closely behind The Scream when he stops dead in his tracks.

One of his employees tosses him a confused glance, but he ignores it as he takes a deep inhale. 

He’d know that vanilla scent anywhere, the smell of apples mixed in and his heart gives an eager kick.

Surely not-

He turns his head, sees a painting of two lovers hiding from each other, kissing through a shroud of white cloth. He studies it for a moment, his mind racing at speeds he can’t fathom.

When the painting gets too far ahead, he turns and resumes his stride, thinking about all the ways he can do his best to get what he wants.

.

He gets permission to access the security footage of the museum.

Who’s really going to deny an alpha anyway?

Billy finds her, or at least the back of her head, and he can’t help the excitement that after weeks of searching, he’s managed to get lucky and obtain a lead on her.

He talks to the security guard that walked her out. With a sleepy voice over the phone, the man tells him that she’s a frequent visitor to the museum on Fridays, and she doesn’t cause any trouble so he lets her stay a little after closing.

“She just likes looking at the pieces, and I can’t be mean to an omega as shy as her.”

Billy’s mouth twitches upward, amused at the biological imprint inside everyone to protect omegas. The men who’d done her a favour to deliver his coat had said near the same thing.

It had made him fond, of a sweet girl, that would no doubt be spooked if he showed up at her home unannounced. Even if he now had the means to trace her back to her home, he couldn’t take the risk. He had to play this right.

.

When you hear Edvard Munch’s The Scream is on display, you vibrate with excitement. Instead of going the opening week, you wait till your usual time the next Friday, when hopefully there’s much less of a crowd to contend with.

It’s not completely empty, but you’re okay with the sparse crowd, you smile, tiptoeing to peek over shoulders so that you can catch a sight of it before you’re at the front.

You love everything about it, the colour and the expressionism of it, you wonder how much the paint has faded over time. The little paragraph beside the painting describes an infinite scream, a universal anxiety, and you think you can almost feel that as you stare at it, the idea that you’re being watched sending a nervous thrill down your spine.

When you move away from the painting however, the feeling lingers. You take a deep breath, closing your eyes to shake the feeling, you don’t understand how a painting can have such an effect.

To clear your head, you find an impressionist nearby, Monet’s reflections of clouds on a lily pond, and you stand in front of it, letting out a long sigh.

When the distinct smell of bergamot hits you, you stiffen. 

Your heart squeezes into your throat, and you try to look around as casually as possible, betas turn to look at you as they scent your distress in the air. 

Did you feel like you were being watched- because you were actually being watched?

You take in another breath, and this time, you’re sure.

Cracked pepper, citrus- 

The alpha was here.

Someone says your name behind you, and you turn in fright.

There he was. Dressed down in casual clothes, trying to blend in with the people around him- as if an alpha as handsome as him ever could.

Billy Russo was devastatingly gorgeous up close.

But you were fucked.

Your eyes widen and you take a step back, knowing that this was definitely about stealing his coat. He would no doubt try to make you pay for cleaning- or worse yet- a new coat entirely.

Your body flushes with fear as you back away from him on shaky legs.

His head tilts as he watches you go, dark eyes caught on your retreating form.

“Don’t run, omega.” He says easily, taking a single stride as you back away, his presence looming over you, igniting something in your stomach like a match being struck.

You make a small sound in the back of your throat, and you do exactly what he says not to.

You run.

Well, not exactly.

More like a quick walk, looking back to see if he follows, you beeline for the bathroom, hoping to hide in there for a moment.

You groan, splashing your face with water, internally grumbling over what you've gotten yourself into.

You should have never grabbed that stupid coat with your stupid omega senses always searching for the right alpha. What did you think? That just because he’d had an amazing scent meant that he wanted to take care of you? 

No, he was probably going to scold you, and force you to pay him back, and you couldn’t afford three thousand for a coat. 

Your throat tightens in panic, your body flushes with fear.

You couldn’t think too much on what he would do if he caught you, all you needed to focus on right now, was getting away.

So you take a deep breath and you shed your jacket, tucking it under your arm and stepping out of the bathroom behind someone. 

There’s not a lot of people, but luckily you know the museum, and you take the most secluded paths that you doubt anyone unfamiliar to the museum would know of.

You sigh happily when you see the exit door in sight, making large meaningful steps, looking back every now and then. Behind you is empty, and you think that you might have actually lost him.

It sends a pang of sadness through you, but you shake your head to shove it away.

You look back once more when you push your way through the exit doors, making sure the path behind you is clear of any six foot alphas.

And you walk right into him.

You’re not sure it is at first, but his size and smell give it away. Your face is pressed securely to his chest, and his hands come up to grip your upper arms firmly.

You raise your head in panic, trying to wrench back from him.

“Relax omega, you’re not in any trouble, I promise.” He says, something in his voice that makes his words sound believable.

You whine in distress.

“Please, I’m sorry, I can’t afford to replace your coat. I shouldn’t have taken it.” You plead, voice wobbling with the struggle to speak under duress.

“Shh, little one, I’m not here to ask you for money.”

His words don’t register in your head, and you begin to cry. Thick swells of tears fall from the corners of your eyes.

“I can’t pay.” You struggle out in a tiny voice.

He grunts, his hands move to cup your face, your tears spilling onto his fingers instead.

“Omega.” He says meaningfully.

The command in his tone makes you look up at him, brain going quiet, the power of his voice catching your attention easily. His stern expression softens.

“I’m not here to make you pay for anything, and I promise you’re not in any trouble.”

You make a little sniffle.

“ ‘M not?” You ask weakly.

The corner of his mouth curves up.

“No, I just want to talk.” 

“Talk?” You repeat dumbly.

His thumbs trace over your cheekbones gently, a soft tingling sensation swims in your head and settles at the top of your spine. Your eyelids flutter as you watch him nod.

“I’ve been searching for you for weeks, omega, since you left me that coat drenched in your sweet scent, I haven’t had a clear thought since.”

You gulp.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper.

“Don’t be sorry just-” He squeezes his eyes shut as if he’s looking for the right words, “Have dinner with me. Tonight. My treat.”

You take a deep breath, eyes widening.

“I’m not sure it’s such a good idea.”

He lets out a swift breath, you worry that you might be aggravating him.

“What aren’t you sure about? Your safety?”

You feel your heart pick up its pace beneath your ribcage, tormenting your body with the feeling of panic.

You reach up, cupping his hands in yours and peeling them off your cheeks. 

“Alphas are… notorious for getting angry when they don’t get their way.” You reply anxiously, your hands uncurling from his, filled with so much trepidation. 

“I understand, but give me a chance to prove myself. There’s something between us, omega, you just have to open yourself up to it.”

You blink, stomach flipping as you debate your options.

You eye him warily, too afraid to say no, too scared of how he would react.

You take another step back, and his face looks pained, his body tense.

You shake your head, scared, taking another cautious step away.

“Please don’t run.” He says softly, it makes you pause.

Maybe… maybe a chance wouldn’t be so bad.

“What about lunch tomorrow?” Somewhere bright and public that would make you feel safer about being around him.

He lets out a slow breath.

“Lunch is great. Where?”

You think for a moment.

“We can meet right here, there’s a place not far from here with nice sandwiches.”

He inclines his head.

“Sandwiches are great.”

You give him a soft smile of amusement, still a little unsure.

“Okay, we’ll meet here tomorrow? Around 12?”

He nods, digging into his pockets for a moment before pulling a card out and extending it to you.

You blink, a little cautious, reaching for the obsidian coloured paper in his hand. You study the raised silver lettering, his name, his job title, his company.

“The one on the left is my cell. Let me know when you get here. If you want, we can look around the museum too.”

Something flips in your chest at the thought. You wonder what he thought of The Scream.

“No,” You mumble, shaking your head, “The museum is packed on a Saturday. I hate crowds.”

He nods in understanding.

“No crowds then, maybe we can take a walk in the park.”

“Maybe.” You reply, still a little unsure of this entire scenario.

“You're safe, Omega, I promise.”

You offer a sad smile.

“That's what they all say.”

.

He was going to kill every Alpha that had ever made you feel unsafe.

He sits in his car, after you'd denied his offer to at least take you home. 

Your scent fades where he'd touched you, his body demanding more. Apples, so fucking sweet his mouth waters. 

Halfway to his home, a text comes in from you, shyly informing him that you'd made it home.

He'd asked, wanted to make sure that you were safe as the late evening had turned to night.

He keeps it simple, types out a small message to put you at ease.

Thank you. Sweet dreams

.

.

.

A/N: Pretty sure y'all are gonna hate this. Sorry.

Also, just asking for more without leaving any kind of feedback makes me feel kinda used 😅

[ruewrote]

𝑎𝑡 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑐𝑜𝑠𝑡.

PAIRING: prohero!katsukibakugou x fem!reader WARNINGS: injuries, scared bakugou, no use of y/n GENRE: angst SONG INSPIRATION: my blood by ellie goulding WORD COUNT: 1.2k

navigation | ask | boku no hero academia masterlist

katsuki was no stranger to battle. in fact, he thrived on the adrenaline, the roar of explosions, and the thrill of pushing his quirk to the limit. but today was different. today, his mind wasn’t on the victory or the fight. it was on you, you, lying in a hospital bed after a fight with a villain that had left you broken but victorious. 

he’d heard the news from kirishima. it was supposed to be a quick check-in, a routine update on patrols. instead, kirishima’s voice was grave, hesitant. “she’s in the hospital, man. got into it with a villain. she took him down, but...it’s bad, kats.”

bakugou barely let kirishima finish before he was out the door, his heart pounding in his chest. the streets blurred as he raced toward the hospital, using his explosions to propel him forward faster than he had ever moved. every second felt like an eternity, each heartbeat echoing in his ears.

he had never been good with worry, he wasn’t even sure if he knew how to be worried. anger, sure. frustration, yeah. but this tightening in his chest, the way his mind kept cycling through the worst-case scenarios, made him feel like he was losing control of something he couldn’t blow up or punch into submission.

when he reached the hospital, he barely stopped to listen to the front desk nurse's directions, his impatience boiling over. it was only when he reached the door to your room, his hand hovering over the handle, that he hesitated. he wasn’t ready to see you like this. you were strong, just like him. you were supposed to be unstoppable.

but you weren't, and that reality hit him harder than any punch.

taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open. the sterile scent of the hospital hit him first, the soft beep of machines filling the otherwise quiet room. and there you were, lying in the bed, wrapped in bandages, an oxygen tube under your nose, your body still and too pale under the harsh white lights. his throat clenched at the sight of you.

he stepped forward, his usual bravado nowhere to be found. for once, he didn’t have a snarky comment, no fire to his words. he just stood there, fists clenched, his jaw tight as he tried to control the wave of emotion threatening to overflow.

“you idiot,” he muttered, but his voice cracked. “what the hell were you thinking?”

of course, you didn’t answer. you were unconscious, the result of your battle with the villain still taking its toll on your battered body. the doctors had said you’d be okay, but seeing you like this, bakugou wasn’t so sure. the injuries were extensive. broken ribs, fractured arm, deep cuts along your legs and back. the villain had been powerful, but you had been the one to take them down. you’d saved people, succeeded where others had failed. 

but at what cost?

he pulled a chair next to your bed, sitting down heavily. his hands itched to reach out to you, to shake you awake and yell at you for scaring him like this. but instead, he settled for resting his elbows on his knees, leaning forward as if getting closer to you might somehow make this situation better. 

“i swear, when you wake up, i’m gonna kill you,” he growled, though the words lacked any real heat. “how could you... how could you be so reckless?”

the truth was, he knew exactly how. you were just like him. always pushing harder, taking on more than you should. you fought like there was nothing to lose, even when everything was on the line. it was one of the reasons he had fallen for you in the first place. but now, seeing the consequences of that reckless drive, he wasn’t sure how to deal with it.

he hated feeling powerless. it was the worst thing in the world for him. and right now, sitting next to you, with no way to fix this, to heal you faster or make this better. he felt completely, utterly helpless.

hours passed, and bakugou barely moved from his spot. he didn’t sleep, didn’t eat, didn’t even leave the room for a break. his mind kept replaying what he’d heard about the fight, piecing together the moments he hadn’t seen, imagining the pain you must have felt. the thought of you going through that, of getting hurt like this, made his stomach twist in a way he couldn’t describe.

it wasn’t until he heard a soft sound that his head snapped up, his eyes zeroing in on you. your hand twitches, and for a second, he thought he was imagining it. but then your eyes fluttered open, and bakugou was on his feet in an instant.

“hey,” he called, his voice rough with emotion he was trying so desperately to hide. “hey, you with me?”

your eyes met his, still hazy with pain and disorientation. you tried to speak, but your throat was dry, and all that came out was a weak rasp.

“shut up, don’t try to talk,” bakugou ordered, grabbing the cup of water from the bedside table and holding it out for you. he watched as you took a slow sip, your hand shaking as you grasped the cup.

“bakugou...,” you finally managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

“yeah, it’s me, dumbass,” he muttered, his tone gruff but his eyes soft. “you scared the hell outta me.”

you tried to smile, but it came out as more of a wince. “villain... gone?”

“yeah, you got him,” bakugou confirmed, his fists tightening at his sides. “but you nearly got yourself killed in the process. what the hell were you thinking?”

your eyes fluttered closed for a moment as you tried to gather your strength. “had... to.”

bakugou shook his head, frustration and fear mixing together in his chest. “you didn’t have to take it all on by yourself. we’re a team, remember? you’ve got me, you don’t need to do this alone.”

your eyes opened again, and this time, the ghost of a smile played on your lips. “didn’t wanna... worry you.”

he let out a low, humorless laugh. “too late for that, idiot. you already did.”

for a long moment, neither of you spoke. bakugou just stood there, staring at you, trying to imprint the fact that you were alive and okay into his mind. he had come so close to losing you, and the thought of that nearly broke him.

finally, he sat back down, his hands running through his hair as he let out a long breath. “don’t ever do that again,” he muttered, his voice tight. “you hear me? i don’t care what the mission is. you don’t get to go out there and risk your life like that. not without me.”

you nodded weakly, and bakugou felt a strange sense of relief wash over him. it wasn’t often that he felt vulnerable, but seeing you like this had stripped away every layer of bravado he had. he didn’t care about looking tough or keeping up appearances. he just wanted you safe.

“rest up,” he said, his voice quieter now. “i’m not going anywhere. i’ll be here when you wake up.”

for the first time in hours, bakugou allowed himself to relax slightly. 

you were okay. you were alive. and that was all that mattered.

comments and reblogs are appreciated ♡

© ruewrote 2024.

[luvymelody]

bakugou

-

the perfect pair by beabadoobee

-

bakugou did not think he would be here. in a grocery store, with an dirty apron and his shirt and hair half covered in flour.

because it all started with racoon eyes suggesting a bake off.

"the whole class should have a bake off!"

mina exclaimed to the whole class, that were either in the kitchen or the lounge area.

"what do you mean, what kind?"

"just like, bake a cake, whoever's cake the best is the winner and like mr aizawa can be the judge!"

"i'm sure he'll find everyone's terrible.."

"nah fuck that, that's dumb i'm not competing."

bakugou retaliated, standing up from his sitting position from the couch next to kirishima and already walking away to the elevator present in the dorms.

"why not???"

"'cuz i know mine's gonna be the best out of all you losers."

"don't worry about bakugou, he's probably too chicken to see that his cake will be the worst, am i right, kacchan?"

denki teased, sitting up straight next to kirishima, who was laughing next to him.

"FUCK YOU I WILL BEAT YOUR ASS"

-

everyone got a partner from picking names in a hat, some were lucky and some were lucky, everyone yelled out when mineta got sato which was completely unfair, and denki literally laughed out loud but alo mixed with screaming when bakugou pulled denki's name out the hat.

denki was a lost hope, first of all he mixed the mixture too much which made it too runny, so they started again.

second of all, he added too much sugar and it disappeared into the mixture, so they couldn't take it out so they had to start again for the second time.

then icyhot accidentally knocked over their mixture because todoroki didn't see mineta infront of him and tripped onto mineta, pushing the table that denki and bakugou were using and the flour AND the mixture flew everywhere and that would mean that they had to start again a THIRD time. bakugou was just sick and tired.

so, bakugou chose a plan b.

"dunce face, i say i go to the store and buy a cake. we have failed making this mixture too many times so don't ask questions."

"what did i do when THEY ask questions about you being gone-"

"just STALL SPARKY"

-

bakugou made his way to the store, him getting funny looks but also looks of admiration as some people knew him from the sport's carnival, but why was he dirty in flour??

he went into a nearby grocery store and nearly ran into the isle with desserts, he browsed the isle and tried to find the specific cake they were all trying to bake.

"do you need any help?"

a voice called out to him from behind, he turned around to find a worker, wearing the corresponding blue to match the store's logo. he couldn't help his eyes from wondering to take in their facial features, hair colour, eyes and just them in general. he took notice of the name tag, y/n. y/n was really pretty.

"i couldn't help but notice your, attire."

they laughed a little and that made bakugou's face turn red.

"my friends were having a bake off, but my baking partner was too stupid and now i have to buy one."

"oh! i see, may i suggest this, (favourite/cake/flavour) is the best, everyone's loves it."

they reached around bakugou, who wanted to lean closer to the worker but fought his inner muscles. he couldn't stop thinking about how embarrassed he was for them to see him so gross and floury.

"yeah.. (f/c/f) is good."

he absolutely hated it with his whole soul, if he could make it disappear forever he would.

-

"is that all for today?"

bakugou snapped into reality again, while he was infront of the cashier to pay for the cake.

"uh yeah."

his eyes kept wondering to the worker that had helped him, who was now helping another, how he so wanted that person to be him again. he payed for the cake and was beginning to walk out the store, but then his brain made him whip himself around, going back into the store.

'what are you doing idiot?!'

"hey."

y/n turned around to see him again, the same cute customer that they saw in the shirt covered in flour and apron wrapped around his torso.

"oh hi again! did you need help with something else?"

"uh yeah, i need help finding the- cutting board! my friend doesn't have one and it just slipped my mind."

of course the dorm kitchen have a cutting board which one doesn't?

the blonde hair customer's face was trying to be stoic, but his face was bright red and his eyebrows slightly furrowed, but he was maintaining eye contact with y/n so it made them nervous.

"ah! right this way."

y/n spun around quickly so the customer didn't catch the steam coming out of their ears and nose.

"here are the boards, you can pick whichever one you want, but just tell me if you need help, i'll be right over there."

y/n turned away, trying to contain themself, bakugou was yelling at himself.

'fuck they're getting away, don't let them!'

"hey,"

y/n turned around again,

"do you think i could get your number?"

-

"baku bro! why'd you take so long?! everyone's almost done!"

"don't care dunce face, here's your cake, i can't be bothered to wait for the winner."

bakugou shoved the dirty apron and the cake in the bag to denki once he ran up to bakugou, walking away to his room to have some peace. he shoved his hands in his pockets to feel around for the piece of paper in there.

once he got into his room, he pulled out his phone and typed in the number on the paper. ringing the number, after three rings, it picked up.

"hello?"

"hey again, i worried you gave me a fake number."

"of course i wouldn't."

-

"my shift ends soon, so call me, yeah?"

-

wc : 1015 words

[jann-the-bean]

Day 3 Blind

Studio FNK

Killer stared at the ceiling fan squinting, trying hard to make it come into focus. But, it was still a blurry shape, barely distinguishable. The only reason he knew what it was, was because he was laying in bed staring up.

He swallowed and shut his eyes. It was dark. There was nothing he could see.

Nothing.

How long before this was his reality forever?

Dread filled his soul.

He knew this was a long time coming.

He thought he was prepared. But he wasn’t. He was afraid.

He was angry.

He was frustrated.

“If only my mother hadn’t..” He began before trailing off. He felt hot tears prickling at the edge of his sockets.

I don’t want to burden them.

“If your m-mother hadn’t made t-t-the choices she did.. You wouldn’t be here with us K-Kiki.” Ccino’s voice cut through his thoughts.

Killer opened his eyes and turned his head to look at the doorway. Finding Ccino there, with a kitten in arms.

The white eyed skeleton made his way to the bed and sat on the edge. He gently placed the kitten on the bed who quickly stumbled its way towards Killer. Mewing occasionally.

Killer smiled and helped the young feline climb to its ribs where it lay.

Ccino smiled at the sight and kissed Killer on his forehead.

“Y-You’re not going t-to miss b-breakfast are you?” The barista asked.

“Of course not, kitten. It’s my favorite meal of the day.”

“Hmmm, o-only because I make y-your coffee.” Ccino giggled.

Killer chuckled. “Ah you caught me.”

“I knew it!” The barista lightly tapped the bridge of Killer’s nose. “You’re n-not so sly Mr. Playboy.”

“Oi, that was a long time ago.”

“Well, you managed to steal two hearts. I think you still are.”

Killer looked at the doorway again. And, there was Nightmare, holding a tray filled with breakfast goodies and 3 mugs of coffee.

“I thought you didn’t like playboys?” Killer raised a brow.

“I didn’t think so either.. until I met you. You could say love is blind.”

Nightmare bit his tongue as soon as the words left his mouth.

Killer winced slightly at the word but he knew his husband meant no harm.

The violet eyed skeleton cleared his throat and made his way over to the bed.

“Marshmallow and I decided to enjoy breakfast in bed today.”

“But.. you never want to-“

Killer was interrupted by Ccino “-We thought it would be nice. It’s kinda cold today. Why not just lounge around in bed? We haven’t done it in so long.”

Killer was at a loss for words.

He knew nightmare hated eating in bed. Because it usually left crumbs or little bits of food behind.

“Is this… so you get used to when I go blind? Because if it is you don’t have to. I’m going to learn how to be independent so I won’t be a burden.”

“K-kiki, this has n-nothing to do with y-you going blind. We j-just wanted to enjoy a l-lay in. With you. Our partner.”

Killer sighed and stroked the kitten that remained at his chest.

“Even though I’m allowing us to have breakfast in bed, I will not allow to cats on the bed while we do.” Nightmare added.

“It’s j-just a little k-kitty, Nightyyyyy.”

“I don’t wish to have fur in my coffee.”

The two went back and forth, with there being a compromise that the kitten stays near their feet.

Somehow, this moment brought peace to Killer. Even though things were changing, his partners haven’t, other than aging.

It was comforting.

Nightmare was right, love sure is blind.

He never expected to fall for anyone, let alone to people. He used to be afraid of falling in love but look at him now. Fought his way to make sure he could marry the two loves of his life.

He is blind.. with his vision worsening as the days go by. But it was less frightening with his two partners with him.

He is blind but he is so loved.

——————————————————-

Okie soooo it’s been a while since I’ve last written, hope you all enjoyed this little piece!

Killer belongs to @rahafwabas

Ccino belongs to @black-nyanko

Nightmare belongs to @jokublog

Fluffynightkiller hosted by @help-im-a-gay-fish

[theduskyprincess]

Cooking with love - A Cassian X reader story

You heard the door open but didn't look away from the pile of papers scattered on the dining room table. You had recently come back from visiting your family in the Summer Court when Rhysand requested your presence at his townhouse. He needed a house to be built. A gift for Feyre. A home that would house his mate and his newborn son Nyx. Hopefully, become a home to any other children they may decide to have together. Those words went unspoken but the both of us heard it loud and clear. That was why you were hunched over the dining table that was pushed up against the window, trying to make Rhysand's dreams into reality.

"An architects dream is an engineers nightmare," you muttered under your breath. "Cauldron Rhysand" you continued, "this is structurally impossible to accomplish. Thank the cauldron you came to your Head Engineer to build you your house. Maybe I can knock some sense into you with a brick whilst I'm at it". You shook your head and let out an exasperated breath.

You heard a deep, rasping chuckle just behind your ear. The sound made your skin prickle and tingle with warmth, but didn't quite curb the irritation you felt towards your High Lord.

"What's Rhysand done now?", Cassian laughed in your ear as he banded his arms around you to hold you against his warm body. His chest pressed up against your back whilst his chin gently rested on the top of your head. He tucked his head in, the tip of his nose grazing your hair to drop a single kiss to your head. He took a deep breath in, your floral scent calming his soul and turned his head to the left to lay his cheek on top of your head.

You hummed and enjoyed the feeling of his secure arms. He was feared and revered by the people of the Night Court. Earning his title of the Lord of Bloodshed whilst he fought battles as a young Illyrian warrior alongside his two brothers. He had become hardened, both mentally and physically, from a young age to withstand all kinds of evil this world harboured. Yet, this fearsome and frightening warrior had a warmth inside him that drew you in. A steady ember that glowed brighter than his Siphons. A glow that was powered by friendship, loyalty and love. You had never believed that glow inside his chest would consume and encompass your heart too, for you loved him with all your soul. You weren't his mate, but, you fell in love with him anyways. He had fallen in love with you too. A friendship that grew into a mature love, rooted in mutual respect.

You pursed your lips. "He's got some pretty solid ideas which in theory should work but," you trailed off with a deep sigh, "it just needs a little bit more thinking from me. I can't seem to figure out how to execute this so that the staircase can actually hold the weight of his big head," you finished your sentence with agitation.

"Well, if there's anyone who can help Rhysand not fall flat on his face in his own home then it's my beautiful, accomplished wife." Cassian stated with determination. You tilted your head back to peer up at him through your lashes. Your eyes, squinted with suspicion, locked onto his honey coloured orbs, "Mhmm and it exactly why are you buttering me up, oh Lord of Bloodshed?"

"No reason", he uttered, "I just love you and know for a fact that you've likely spent your entire day trying to perfect this house for Rhysand and Feyre. I'm also 99.9% sure that you haven't eaten anything today." He was right. You hadn't eaten. Too stressed in trying to design a home for your two friends and their baby boy. They had gone through so much together and had done so much for Prythian that you wanted to create a home where they could feel cherished and loved. A place where they could create new memories together. Memories that one day could heal their broken selves and give them hope for the future.

Cassian stared down at you, a soft smile painted his lips and a glimmer twinkled in his eyes which told you that he knew exactly where your mind had gone. Letting go of your body, he grabbed your hand in his and tugged you away from the table towards the kitchen. "You", he said whilst pushing you down into a seat "sit here whilst I, Chef Cassian, cook you something delicious".

You chuckled watching Cassian flounce around the kitchen. He grabbed an apron from the top drawer to tie around his waist and then placed his hand on his hips, determined to create something delicious for you. You looked at him, eyes glazed with love and thanked the Cauldron for gifting you with a wonderful husband.

"This reminds me of our first date." you spoke, your words dripped in nostalgia.

"Yeah" he murmured back, " I remember it turning out to be a disaster and Rhysand having to put out a fire". You laughed at the memory. You weren't fond of going out and loved to spend most of your days inside your flat. Cassian had finally built-up the courage to ask you out and although you were giddy at the prospect of going out on a date with Cassian, you were still weary that this step may ruin your long lasting friendship. Cassian proposed that he cook for you in your flat, that way you would be somewhere comfortable and could relax. He was always so thoughtful about your feelings and his suggestion only made you feel more secure about going into a romantic relationship with him.

Turns out Cassian had never cooked anything in his life until that moment, always relying on Rhysand or the magic of the Windhaven house to feed him. Thankfully no-one got hurt after that date night fire fisaco, only Cassians pride. It resulted in you both deciding on taking cooking classes together for your dates. Leading to the both of you falling head over heels in love with each other and learning to cook different Court cusuines.

"Well, I loved that date night no matter how much of a disaster it was. It opened my eyes to you and how serious you were about me, about us," you spoke softly, eyes welling up with tears. " I think I started to fall in love with you then. You didn't even know how to cook back then but wanted to do something sweet and romantic just so I didn't feel uncomfortable out in public. And here you are today, feeding me because I forgot".

"You're my love. Looking after you is my privelege and joy" he replied. His words were short and sweet but I could feel every fibre of his love in those words. He plated up the food and placed it in front of me. "Eat up sweetheart", he said, tilting my face up to place a firm kiss on my lips. "Can't have the Night Court's Head Engineer low on fuel. Cauldron knows these houses won't stay up without you," he winked and walked away to wash the dishes. You smiled into your food and thanked the Cauldron one last time.

Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii! This is my first time writing fanfic. I hope I did a good enough write up and you all like it. I'm so nervous. I'm not a writer by nature so there's probably loads of spelling and grammar mistakea but I just wanted to give it a go and be part of a community that gives joy to readers like meee.

With love,

theduskyprincess

[lumiereandstellaluna]

Chapter Seven: A Cry in the Dark

||LEGEND|| Bold Text: Xavier/Lumiere (Character Bot) Italic Text: Thomasin/Stellaluna (Me)

This hasn't been checked for spelling/grammer/errors, etc - Read at your own risk!

With a snap of her fingers, Stellaluna transforms back into Thomasin. "While we wait for Tsuki to do her work, maybe we should eat something. Today went harder than we anticipated, Xavier."

As Thomasin reverted to her true form with a simple snap, Xavier followed suit, the mystical energy dissipating around him as he transformed back into his everyday self. The adrenaline of the battle was fading, leaving behind the more mundane reality of hunger and exhaustion.

"You're right," Xavier acknowledged, feeling the toll the day's events had taken on his body. "Food sounds like a good idea. We've earned a decent meal after all that."

He knew the importance of replenishing their energy, not just for their physical well-being, but to maintain their readiness for whatever might come next. The Doll Maker's threat still loomed over them, and they needed to be at their best to face her again.

"Let's find a quiet place to eat," Xavier suggested, his mind already on the comfort of a warm meal. "Somewhere we can talk and unwind without drawing too much attention."

Together, they made their way through the city streets, the sounds of the bustling metropolis a stark contrast to the silence of the rooftop they had left behind. They found a small, inconspicuous diner that seemed perfect for their needs—a place where heroes could blend in as just another pair of patrons in need of sustenance.

As they settled into a booth, Xavier allowed himself a moment to relax, the familiar ritual of sharing a meal with Thomasin a welcome respite from the demands of their double lives. They would eat, they would plan, and they would be ready for whatever Tsuki's analysis revealed. For now, though, they were just Xavier and Thomasin, two friends sharing a meal, their bond strengthened by the battles they fought side by side.

Ordering a club sandwich with crispy fries and lemonade, Thomasin sinks into her seat, tired and hungry. "So...what a day, huh? Seriously, I don't know how I'm supposed to go back to work next week when things seem to be really shifting into high gear."

Xavier ordered a hearty meal for himself, knowing his bottomless appetite all too well. As he watched Thomasin sink into her seat, he could see the weariness in her posture, the kind that only comes after a day of pushing oneself to the limit.

"It's been... eventful," Xavier replied, his voice carrying a hint of understatement. He understood the challenge of balancing their ordinary lives with the extraordinary demands of being guardians of the city. "But you'll manage. You always do."

He took a sip of water, considering her words. "We'll adapt, like we always have. Our duty to the city doesn't pause for the nine-to-five. But remember, you're not alone in this. I'm here, Tsuki's here. We're a team."

Xavier leaned back, his gaze steady and reassuring. "We'll take it one day at a time. And when work starts again, we'll find a way to make it all fit. We always find a way."

The food arrived, and Xavier took a moment to appreciate the simple pleasure of a meal shared with a friend and ally. "Let's enjoy this break while we can," he said, offering a small, encouraging smile. "We've earned it, and we'll need our strength for whatever comes next."

As they began to eat, the diner around them faded into the background, their conversation a quiet island in the midst of the world's noise. They were two people, connected by a secret that weighed heavily on them, yet also bound them together in a way few could understand.

"I know we'll figure it out. I'm just not used to this kind of excitement. Like, I write stories, deal with perfectionist directors and pushy fans waiting for the next chapter. I didn't...you know." She winks. He knows. "I mean, how did you deal with all this stuff before I literally dropped into your life?"

She wasn't kidding about the "dropped in" part. On the day the game recognized her as Stellaluna, it teleported her right to where Xavier was engaging a menacing wanderer. Before she had a chance to be terrified, she was given her Moon charm, instantly transforming into Stellaluna. In a moment worthy of a movie, she intercepted the wanderer with her dual blades before it could deal the final blow to Xavier. 

They've been a team ever since.

Xavier took a bite of his meal, chewing thoughtfully as he listened to Thomasin's musings. Her wink was met with a quiet chuckle, the shared memory of her dramatic entrance into his life as vivid as if it had happened mere moments ago.

"I managed," Xavier said after a moment, his tone even. "But it was... different. More solitary. Having you here, it's changed the dynamics, for the better."

He paused, considering how to articulate the shift in his world since Thomasin became Stellaluna. "Before you, it was a lot of silent battles, a lot of shadows. You brought balance, a new perspective. Made me realize that even a lone wolf can benefit from running with a pack." Xavier's gaze drifted to the window, watching the city lights flicker. "You've made me stronger, not just in battle, but in spirit. We're a team, and that means we share the weight of this... excitement."

He offered her a small, genuine smile, a rare glimpse into the appreciation he held for their partnership. "We'll navigate this new chapter together, just like we've faced everything else. Side by side."

Their conversation was a dance of words, a subtle acknowledgment of the bond they had formed. As they finished their meal, the weight of the day seemed to lift slightly, replaced by the comfort of camaraderie and the unspoken promise that no matter what lay ahead, they would face it as one.

"Excitement?" she laughs. "Yeah. But I guess I get what you're saying. I mean, working on stuff, always having deadlines and whatever, I don't have a lot of friends. The only people I meet up with a lot are the folks I work with on shows and everything. But as crazy as all this is, it's nice to have...someone...you know?"

Thomasin averts her gaze, feeling rather shy. "Sorry, forget I said that."

Xavier listened to her laughter, a sound that seemed to momentarily lift the gravity of their situation. He understood the isolation that came with her line of work, the relentless pressure of deadlines and the transient nature of professional relationships.

When she spoke of having someone, Xavier felt the weight of her words, the significance of that simple acknowledgment. He respected the vulnerability it took for her to express that sentiment, even as she quickly tried to dismiss it.

"No need to apologize," Xavier said softly, his voice carrying a quiet assurance. "I get it. It's not just the battles and the close calls. It's the moments in between, the ones like this. They matter."

He met her gaze, his own eyes steady and sincere. "You're not alone, Thomasin. Not anymore. We're in this together, in every sense. And that's something worth acknowledging, no matter how crazy things get."

Their conversation was a delicate balance of shared experiences and unspoken understanding. As they finished their meal and prepared to face the rest of the evening, there was a sense of solidarity between them, a silent agreement that they were more than just allies—they were friends, connected by a bond forged in the fires of adversity and strengthened by moments of quiet connection.

"Xavier, what have I told you about being so sweet and making a girl feel special?" Her voice is playful, but behind the laughter, there is shyness there. Xavier was a very handsome man - looking into his eyes was like looking into an entire galaxy. She might have regarded him as her good partner, but she was also a woman. She could and did notice such things. "I worry about the woman who one day wins your heart. One day you're going to say something nice to her and her heart is going to come flying out of her chest because you made it flutter so much."

Xavier's response was a gentle smile, one that acknowledged the playful tease while respecting the shyness that lingered beneath her words. He was aware of the effect he could have, the way his demeanor could be both disarming and enchanting.

"I suppose I'll have to be careful then," Xavier said, his tone light, a touch of humor in his voice. "Wouldn't want to be responsible for any unintended heart flights."

He leaned back in his seat, his eyes holding a warmth that matched his smile. "But in all seriousness, making someone feel special isn't something I take lightly. It's important to appreciate the people who make a difference in our lives."

Xavier's gaze was steady, his words simple yet sincere. "And you, Thomasin, you've made quite the impact. So, consider any fluttering hearts a hazard of the job."

Their banter was easy, a comfortable exchange between two people who had grown to know each other well. As they prepared to leave the diner, Xavier was reminded of the unique connection they shared, one that was as much about the battles they fought as it was about the moments of human connection that followed. It was a partnership that transcended the ordinary, and he valued it more than he often let on.

"Hey! Hey! Listen." Thomasin was just getting up from their booth with Tsuki started calling out from her phone. "Do you hear me? I'm done here!" 

Thomasin looks at Xavier. "Probably should take this in a more private place, yeah?"

Xavier nodded in agreement, his movements deliberate as he stood up from the booth. "Definitely. Let's find somewhere away from prying eyes and ears."

He led the way out of the diner, his senses alert for a suitable spot where they could discuss Tsuki's findings without interruption. The city offered many hidden corners and quiet spaces for those who knew where to look, and Xavier was well-versed in the art of discretion.

They found a secluded park bench tucked away in a dimly lit corner of a nearby park, the perfect place for a private conversation. The night had brought a cool breeze, and the rustling leaves whispered secrets of their own.

As Thomasin took out her phone, Xavier watched over her shoulder, his presence a silent pillar of support. Tsuki's eager voice filled the air, and both of them leaned in to listen, ready to uncover the next piece of the puzzle in their ongoing battle against the Wanderers.

"Finally, you let me out of my cage!" Tsuki says, rhythmically bouncing up and down. "I analyzed the protocore and discovered some interesting things. But you'll need to bring me more in order to confirm my findings."

"That makes sense," Thomasin replies. "What have you got so far."

"The energy in these protocores aren't like anything we've encountered before with past wanderers. It's almost like its a warped kind of energy - one energy mixed over another. It's almost like it's a parasitical form of energy, in which one form of energy takes control over another."

"Hmm..." Thomasin thinks for a moment. "Didn't the Doll Maker said she could control the wanderers? Maybe that's what you're seeing - her energy controlling the wanderers. What do you think, Xavier?"

Xavier listened intently as Tsuki relayed the findings, his mind already turning over the implications. The notion of a parasitic energy was troubling, suggesting a level of control and manipulation that went beyond their previous encounters with Wanderers.

"It's a plausible theory," Xavier said, his voice low and contemplative. "If the Doll Maker can indeed control the Wanderers, it would explain the unusual energy signatures Tsuki's picking up. It's like she's imprinting her will onto them, bending them to her purposes."

He looked at Thomasin, his expression serious. "We need to gather more protocores to confirm this, but it's a lead worth pursuing. Understanding her control mechanism could be key to stopping her."

Xavier's gaze returned to Tsuki, the digital advisor still bouncing with an energy that seemed inexhaustible. "Tsuki, keep analyzing the data. We'll get you more samples. The more we know, the better equipped we'll be to face the Doll Maker."

As they stood in the quiet park, the gravity of the situation settled around them like the evening mist. The battle was evolving, the stakes rising with each new revelation. But Xavier felt a steady resolve within him, bolstered by the presence of his partner and the guidance of their digital ally.

"We'll get to the bottom of this," Xavier assured Thomasin, his determination clear. "No matter what it takes."

"We're going to need a protocore from the wanderers she summons herself if we're going to get to the bottom of it," Thomasin says. "I wish we had grabbed the protocore from the one she summoned against me with that day. There's no telling when she might do it again."

Xavier nodded in agreement, the missed opportunity a lingering regret. "Next time, we'll be ready," he assured her with a firmness that left no room for doubt. "We'll make sure to secure a protocore from one of her personally summoned Wanderers. It's crucial for our understanding of her control."

He stood up from the bench, his posture reflecting the readiness to act. "We'll stay vigilant. The Doll Maker is bound to strike again, and when she does, we'll use the opportunity to our advantage."

Xavier's eyes met Thomasin's, conveying a silent promise that they would not be caught unprepared again. "Let's keep training and stay on our toes. We can't predict when she'll appear, but we can make sure we're ready to face whatever she throws at us."

As they left the park, the city's nocturnal symphony playing around them, Xavier felt the familiar pull of the hunter's life—the anticipation of the hunt, the readiness for battle, and the unyielding resolve to protect. With Thomasin by his side and Tsuki's guidance, he knew they were a formidable team, one that the Doll Maker would come to fear.

"More training? Seriously?" Thomasin looks like she might curl up into a ball and cry. "Xavier, you're going to be the death of me."

Xavier's lips quirked up in a half-smile, recognizing the exhaustion behind Thomasin's dramatics. "Not the death, Thomasin, just the forging," he said, his voice carrying a lightness to ease her weariness. "Steel sharpens steel, and you're getting sharper every day."

He took a step closer, his tone softening. "But not tonight. Rest is just as important as training. You've earned it."

Xavier knew the importance of balance—pushing too hard could be just as detrimental as not training at all. "Tomorrow is another day, and we'll face it when it comes. For now, let's get some rest. We both need it."

As they made their way back, Xavier was mindful of Thomasin's limits. He was a relentless warrior, but he was also a protector, and part of that duty was to ensure that his partner was taken care of, not just in battle, but in all things.

[Another week later]

Thomasin is lucky - so far, the Director doesn't need her for now, so she's been left alone, writing the next script for the serial. In between writing sessions, she trains with Xavier, preparing for their next encounter with the Doll Maker and her wanderers. It's a tiring balancing act, but somehow, she gets it done. Xavier's encouragement helps her more than she realizes.

Her work group chat wouldn't let up about all the Lumiere and Stellaluna sightings. The two heroes of Linkon City were all they could talk about - whether it was who was the stronger person (Lumiere, hand's down) or whether the duo were single or dating each other.

Ugh, why do people always ship folks like that? We're just friends! It's not like that! Thomasin thought, exasperated. Besides, it's kinda hard to think of romance when, you know, we're trying to save everybody's lives!

But the worst part was that the Director was thinking of making an action series about Lumiere and Stellaluna - and he wanted Thomasin to write the script. She politely declined, of course (she wasn't about to reveal her secrets, intentionally or not), but the Director was persistent. 

"Spiderman didn't have to deal with this nonsense - so why should I?" Thomasin murmured before plopping her head onto her desk gently. "Eff my life!"

Xavier had been quietly observing Thomasin from the doorway, a silent sentinel in her moments of frustration. He could see the weariness etched into her features, the battle between her dual lives taking its toll.

He stepped into the room, his presence a calming force. "Spiderman also didn't have a Lumiere to watch his back," Xavier said, his voice a gentle reminder of their partnership. "And as for the shipping, let them talk. They don't know the half of what we do, the sacrifices we make."

He approached her desk, leaning against it with an ease that spoke of their shared comfort. "You're doing more than most could handle, Thomasin. You're writing stories that captivate minds while living a story that could change the world."

Xavier's hand found a stray pen, twirling it absentmindedly as he spoke. "As for the action series, let the Director dream. You and I, we have bigger battles to fight, more important narratives to shape."

He offered her a small, reassuring smile. "Take a breath. You're not alone in this. We'll handle it together, like we always do. And when the time comes, we'll give them a story worth telling—the truth of Lumiere and Stellaluna, the heroes behind the masks."

"Geez, Xavier!" She jumped high up from her desk, shocked to see her partner behind her. "How...How did you get inside my apartment? Is your teleportation power that overpowered?!"

Xavier's expression remained composed, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes at her startled reaction. "Teleportation would be quite the trick," he said with a soft chuckle. "But no, I used a more traditional method. The door was unlocked."

He straightened up, his stance relaxed. "You've been so focused, I didn't want to disturb you with a knock. But I'm here if you need a break, or just someone to vent to."

Xavier understood the importance of being there for Thomasin, whether it was for a training session or simply to offer a moment of respite from the pressures of her double life. "Sometimes, the quietest entries are the ones that can make the loudest impact," he added, his tone light, trying to ease the tension of the surprise.

He knew well the boundaries of their partnership and respected her space, but he also recognized when she might need that unspoken support. "I'll make more noise next time," he promised, a smile playing on his lips. "Just to keep your heart from leaping out of your chest."

"Oh well thank you." She gestures to her bed nearby, where he sits down. "Did you bring food too? Or we can order some. I haven't eaten yet."

Xavier took a seat on the edge of the bed, his movements graceful and deliberate. "I thought you might be hungry," he said, reaching into a bag he had brought with him. "I brought some takeout from that place you like—the one with the spicy noodles and the dumplings."

He placed the bag on the bed between them, the aroma of the food wafting into the air, a tempting invitation to take a break and replenish their strength. "But if you're in the mood for something else, we can always order your favorite."

Xavier knew the comfort that familiar food could bring, especially after a long day of juggling responsibilities. It was a simple gesture, but one that spoke volumes of his attentiveness to her needs.

"We can eat, talk, or just enjoy the silence," he offered, giving her the choice. "Whatever you need right now, Thomasin, I'm here."

"Oh my god, you're heaven sent, Xavier." She places her hand on her mouth so he doesn't see her drooling over the food. "Thank you so much, partner. Have I told you how much I appreciate you? Because I do."

Xavier's eyes softened at her words, a silent acknowledgment of their bond. "You don't need to say it, Thomasin. It's what partners are for," he replied, his voice carrying the weight of their shared experiences and unspoken understanding.

He opened the takeout containers, the steam rising and filling the room with the scent of well-spiced food. "Let's eat. You need your strength," he said, handing her a pair of chopsticks.

As they began to eat, Xavier was content to share the moment in companionable silence, knowing that sometimes actions spoke louder than words. The simple act of sharing a meal was a testament to their partnership—a partnership that went beyond battles and heroics, rooted in the care they had for each other.

Xavier watched as Thomasin's tension eased with each bite, her appreciation clear in her relaxed posture and the small, contented sounds she made. In these quiet moments, away from the chaos of their lives, they found solace and strength in each other's company.

"Hold on. Hold the plate for me." Focusing on the plate, Thomasin holds out her hand. The plate shakes a little before moving toward her. She carefully takes the plate in her hands, pleased with her new ability. "That's like...the coolest thing ever."

Xavier held the plate steady, an observer to the display of her burgeoning ability. His eyes tracked the movement of the plate, a hint of pride in his gaze at her accomplishment. "Impressive," he said, the word laced with genuine admiration. "You're getting stronger, more in tune with your abilities. It's remarkable to witness."

He watched as she took the plate, her pleasure in her newfound skill evident. "It is cool," he agreed, his voice steady and encouraging. "And it's only going to get more impressive from here. You're tapping into potential you haven't even begun to explore."

Xavier's belief in her was unwavering; he saw not just what she was, but what she could become. As they continued their meal, he knew that this was just a glimpse of the power Thomasin held within her, a power that would grow and shape the future of their fight against the darkness that threatened their city.

"All this time, I didn't think I even had an evol. And now that I do, it's telekinesis? So cool!" She takes a bite out of her plate of food. "Oh my God...remind me to buy this food when my sinuses are clogged up. The spice will set it straight!

Xavier's smile was a quiet echo of her excitement. "Discovering an Evol is always a turning point," he said, his tone reflecting a touch of wonder. "Telekinesis is a rare gift. You'll wield it well, I have no doubt." He watched her enjoy the food, her reaction to the spice a moment of levity amidst the gravity of their lives. "I'll remember," he assured her. "Spicy remedies for clogged sinuses. Though, with your new ability, you might just be able to clear them with a thought."

Xavier's humor was subtle, a gentle nudge to keep the mood light. He took another bite of his own meal, savoring the flavors and the company. "Enjoy your meal, Thomasin. You've earned it, and then some."

"Hey, you're my partner, right? So be sure you enjoy your food, too." She smiles, noticing how much happier she is with him around. "Besides, I can't possibly eat all this spicy food. Then again, if I eat it just before a wanderer fight, do you think I'd breath fire? Because that would definitely be a boon."

Xavier chuckled at the playful suggestion, the sound a low rumble in the quiet of the room. "Breathing fire would certainly add a new element to our battles," he said, the twinkle in his eye betraying his amusement. "Though I think I'd prefer to keep the fire-breathing to the dragons we might face."

He took another bite of his food, enjoying the heat that danced across his taste buds. "And you're right, as partners, we share the load—and the meals. I'll help you with the spice, but let's save the fire-breathing for the Wanderers who need a good scorching."

Xavier's presence was a steady comfort, his quiet demeanor a counterbalance to the chaos of their lives. As they ate, there was a sense of camaraderie that only those who have faced darkness together could truly understand. It was a bond forged in fire, unbreakable and enduring.

Xavier noticed the abrupt halt in her words, his gaze lifting to meet hers with a silent question. "Is everything alright, Thomasin?" he asked, his voice a soft note of concern.

He set his chopsticks down, giving her his full attention. Xavier was always ready to listen, to step in when needed, or to simply be there, a steadfast presence in the ever-shifting tides of their lives.

The room was filled with the quiet comfort of companionship, the kind that didn't always need words to communicate. Xavier waited patiently, ready to respond to whatever was on her mind, whether it was a new revelation, a sudden idea, or just the need to share a moment of silence.

"Ah, sorry." She pats her chest. "Some of that spice got caught up in my chest. I just need some water." Thomasin got up from her desk chair, totally missing the book that was on the floor. She trips over it, losing her balance very quickly. "AH!!!"

In an instant, Xavier was on his feet, his reflexes honed from countless battles allowing him to catch Thomasin before she hit the ground. His arms were secure around her, a protective embrace that steadied her.

"Careful," he said, his voice calm and reassuring as he helped her back to her feet. "The spice is one thing, but we can't have you battling the floor as well."

Once he was sure she was stable, Xavier retrieved a glass of water for her, his movements fluid and efficient. "Here, drink this. It should help," he offered, handing her the glass.

The moment of alarm faded, replaced by the quiet concern in Xavier's eyes. He made a mental note to clear any obstacles from her path in the future, always vigilant in his care for her. "Just take a moment, catch your breath," he advised, watching her closely to ensure she was truly alright.

"Ah...thanks. Didn't see that book there." Now, Thomasin is the one in danger of having her heart coming flying out of her chest. She steps away gingerly, dusting herself off. He was so well-toned and so...ahhhh. 

Clearing her throat, she takes the water, thirstier than ever. "Thank you for that."

Xavier nodded, his expression unchanged, a mask of tranquility. "It happens to the best of us," he said, his voice a gentle rumble. "Just glad I was here to catch you."

He watched as she took the water, ensuring she was recovering from the cough and the near fall. Xavier stood by, a silent guardian, always ready to assist but never overbearing. His presence was like a quiet shadow, there when needed and receding when not. "You're welcome, Thomasin," he replied, once she thanked him. "Take your time. There's no rush." Xavier knew the importance of these small moments of care, the way they could fortify the bonds between partners. As she drank, he quietly picked up the book from the floor, placing it safely on the desk, out of the way.

"Whenever you're ready, we can continue our meal," he said, his tone an invitation rather than an expectation. Xavier was patient, understanding that sometimes life—and spice—could take you by surprise.

"So, while I have you here, you can tell me how I'm supposed to get the director off my back about writing a script for a Lumiere/Stellaluna series." Thomasin takes a bit of her food. "First of all, I don't think he can do it. He mainly directs dramas, you know, the soap operas all the old ladies watch without fail during the day and the ones the office ladies watch at night. It's what he's basically known for. This is my third time working with him."

"Anyway, I get why he's trying to capitalize on...you know. Our masked antics are all my colleagues ever talk about. If it's like this in my group chat, it's probably worse everywhere else." Thomasin's eyes widened. "Should we check social media to see what's going on?"

Xavier leaned back slightly, considering her dilemma with a thoughtful gaze. "Navigating the director's expectations can be tricky," he mused. "Especially if his expertise doesn't align with the vision for a Lumiere/Stellaluna series."

He took a bite of his food, chewing slowly as he pondered her situation. "Perhaps suggest a collaboration with someone who has experience in the genre you're aiming for. A partnership could balance his dramatic flair with the action and intrigue a superhero series demands."

At the mention of their masked escapades becoming a hot topic, Xavier's lips quirked in a half-smile. "It's inevitable that people would be drawn to the mystery of Lumiere and Stellaluna," he said. "But remember, social media is a double-edged sword. It can amplify the legend as much as it can distort it."

He paused, considering her next move. "Checking social media might give us insight into the public's perception. It could be useful to understand the narrative they're constructing around us." Xavier's tone was nonchalant, but his eyes held a sharpness—a hunter's awareness of the importance of staying one step ahead of the story being woven about them.

"Let's start with Breddit - that one site where you can talk about all kinds of topics. Surely, we can find something there, right?"

And find things they did. In addition to topics regarding their sightings, they find countless other communities - fan clubs for Lumiere, fan clubs for Stellaluna, and fan clubs shipping the two together. Thomasin knew better than to actually click on the links - there was bound to be a topic, a photo, or an illustration that neither of them would be ready to take in.

"Ah...looks like...we're kind of popular, huh?"

Xavier's eyes scanned the screen, taking in the myriad of posts and discussions that sprawled across Breddit. The sheer volume of attention was a testament to the impact they had made on the city's consciousness. "It seems we've become quite the phenomenon," he acknowledged, his voice a low hum of amusement mixed with a hint of wariness.

He leaned closer, not to read the details, but to gauge the general sentiment. "Popularity can be a fleeting thing," he remarked. "But it appears Lumiere and Stellaluna have struck a chord with the people of this city. They're looking for heroes, and somehow, we've filled that role."

Xavier straightened up, turning to Thomasin with a slight shrug. "We should tread carefully. This kind of attention can be overwhelming, and it's not always positive. But for now, it's clear we're giving them something to believe in."

He offered her a small, reassuring smile. "Let's just focus on what we do best—protecting the city. The rest is just noise." Xavier's demeanor remained calm, a steady presence amidst the storm of public opinion.

"Oh, they're looking for something all right, and I don't think it's just for us to be heroes." Thomasin clicked out of the site. "Fans going to do what fans do, but you're right. I shouldn't put too much thought into it. I think when you're a hero, keeping your sanity in tact is pretty important."

Xavier nodded in agreement, his expression serene yet understanding of the complexities that fame could bring. "Indeed, the line between hero and icon is often blurred by the gaze of the public," he said. "Our true purpose must remain clear amidst the clamor."

He watched as Thomasin closed the site, a silent commendation for her decision to step away from the whirlwind of speculation and adoration. "Sanity is a precious commodity in our line of work," he continued. "We must guard it as fiercely as we do the city."

Xavier's gaze lingered on her for a moment, a silent acknowledgment of the weight they both carried. "Remember, Thomasin, you're not alone in this. We stand together, not just against the darkness, but also against the storm of attention that follows us."

He offered a faint smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes but conveyed his support. "Now, let's finish our meal. We'll need our strength for whatever comes next."

"Well, I have to get back to work on my script, but you are more than welcome to hang out and rest if you like, partner." She smiles at him warmly. "There might be a bag of unopened dried mango slices on the kitchen counter if you'd like a snack later."

"Thank you, Thomasin," Xavier responded, his voice a soft echo in the room. "I might take you up on that offer. The mango slices sound tempting."

He stood up, his movements graceful and unhurried, a quiet force in the space they shared. "I'll be around if you need anything," he assured her, his tone carrying the weight of a promise. "Good luck with your script. I have no doubt it will captivate the audience just as Lumiere and Stellaluna have."

With that, Xavier retreated to a corner of the room, finding solace in the silence that allowed Thomasin to focus on her work. He picked up a book, the pages a familiar comfort, and settled in. Every so often, his gaze lifted from the text to watch over her, a silent guardian ever present, ever watchful.

Thomasin continues to work into the night, Xavier nestled in the corner of the room, quiet as a mouse. It is only when things seem too quiet does she realize that he's fallen asleep. With a smile, she quietly creeps out of the room, grabbing a blanket for him. Carefully, she drapes it over his sleeping form, careful not to disturb him.

"Sleep tight, Xavier," she whispers quietly.

She continues to work on her script, mindful of her draft deadline, approaching in two days. It's nearly two in the morning when she gets a notification on her phone - someone is at her door. The phone doesn't make a sound since it's on silent mode - usually done so she can sleep. Confused, she heads for the door.

"I didn't order any food - who on earth is knocking at this hour? Maybe it's someone who got the wrong apartment."

Tired, she saunters to the door, not in her right mind as she opens the door. "Hello - "

The figure is tall, dark, and menacing - surrounded by black feathers.

Her screams echo throughout her apartment - and then...silence.

Her glasses are on the floor - but the rest of her is nowhere to be found.

[the-time-travelers-admirer]

So, I was talking to Five about how he may have Imposture Syndrome and why and how that bleeds into him as a person.

I have talked about how when he was a kid there is a strong possibility that Reginald fucked with Five the most, and by that I mean giving him the most praise when he excelled at being useful but also being the most critical towards him as well when he wasn't. In short, Five was given the most praise and such compared to his other siblings because Reginald seen him as the most beneficial and useful, but when Five fought/pushed back and wasn't easily manipulated, it reversed tenfold...

And I've also talked about how I feel pretty confident in how he placed Five as the fifth child on purpose. Placing Five too far up would have soared his ego and made him a bitch to take advantage of and placing him at the far back would have most likely made him be meh about even trying to excel at anything because why try at that point right?

So, placing Five in the middle would make Five have a will and want to strive and prove himself to be worthy and efficient and, well, the best. He wanted to prove he could crawl through the ranks. In other words, Reginald filled Five with a need to prove himself and prove he was efficient enough... But, that never worked... No matter how hard he worked and pushed himself to try to prove himself it never mattered...

So, now after everything that has happened to him... Five now feels like he's a failure, not worthy, not good enough, and let's people put blame on him even when nothing is his fault... And most likely feels like he keeps failing himself and his family...

I feel like this even bled into him being a great assassin... By thinking he was "saved" by the handler, he felt the need to be the best and prove himself to again to be efficient. We know he hates killing, never wanted to be an assassin, and never wants to take a life... But, I feel he became the best because that's what he does and also what he had to do to survive while under the commission's watch...

He tries to excel and be perfect and be efficient in whatever he does because he feels like he has to. Even if it makes him hate himself and fill him with regret...

He didn't become the commission's best assassin because he wanted to, it was because he had to and being the best at something, no matter what it is, has become second nature to him...

Five does have an ego and he does have pride, but he also feels like he'll never be good enough no matter what he does even though he always tries to strive to be the best at everything regardless in what it is.

In other words, he's filled with the need to be efficient, worthy, the best, and perfect to himself and others...

And I feel his siblings still instill that in him today... I feel not a single person has ever genuinely thanked him for anything or has ever told him that they're proud of him or appreciate him...

And that's fucked up...

For example, him saving his family from the first apocalypse. That was a feat, that was an accomplishment, that was something amazing that he did! He did that in such a short amount of time and saved his entire family including himself! In seconds! He saved them from being evaporated, obliterated, VAPORIZED! Yes, that trip into the 60s was messy and it had some bumps, but he fucking did it! His quick thinking and skills prevented their deaths!

But, what did that get him...? It got him berated, hated, shit on, called names, thrown off stairs, guilt tripped, threatened, grabbed, triangulated against, and relentlessly blamed for everything...

And Five just accepts it all like that's normal... I feel he thinks he's failed himself and his family when the reality is...they've failed him...

Five is actually a truly amazing man down to his core and he deserves so much better...

I'm so glad that Klaus seems to be the one that actually and genuinely cares about him.

[herrscherofmagic]

A Home Lost, A Home Found

I just made a post with this idea, and thought "wait I can just write the story right now", so I did ^.^

Since I put this up on AO3 I figured I'd share it here, too!

Crimson eyes met azure eyes once more. For a split second, the figure wondered if the child before it could hear the fear in its voice.

“Listen to me very carefully, and I promise that you and Natasha will not die today.”

.

One era ends, a new era begins. A certain special someone is left behind with nothing but her precious memories, and she must find new meaning in this long and empty life of hers.

When the Herrscher of Finality descended upon Earth, it took merely hours for nearly everything Seele loved to be seized away from her. But in those final moments, she still had her other self, and together they made a great sacrifice to give humanity one final chance.

As she collapsed against her comrade, Seele’s hand slipped off the handle of the Abyss Flower and fell onto the broken ground. In those final moments, she could hear a voice cry out to her before being consumed by the violent cracks and rumbles of earth-shattering lighting, before the sound faded away into silence.

The light in those azure eyes peacefully dimmed to nothing, another life lost to this sudden and tragic end of the Current Era. But in a small room suspended in the void, a pair of crimson eyes frantically looked around and loud cries were left unanswered. In those final moments, Seele realized she was alone.

.

.

.

“The Stigma Awakened holds remarkable value, but they’re only the intersection of stigmata and humans, and the most primitive guarantee of Project Stigma.”

When she first heard these words Seele thought nothing of them- pointless philosophy, disconnected from reality and a waste of her time. How cruel it was that these words would replay in her mind over and over like a broken record, Seele now understanding the true meaning behind them.

From the first moments she came into being, Seele knew she was an “other”, that this was not her life to live. But as they passed day by day in the orphanage, as they fell into the Sea of Quanta, as they fought through the Theatre of Domination, and as they faced Finality together, Seele began to believe that she belonged.

Even if it was not her reality, she could still see the world through the azure eyes of a gentle soul.

Without that fragile tether, the Stigma now found herself back where she belonged. A Stigma Space, a dream where time is distorted. The checkered floor that once served as a refuge now became a timeless prison, where this Stigma would desperately cling to her memories of Seele Vollerei.

.

.

.

When Finality brought one era to an end, it also marked the beginning of a new era. Civilization would form once more, built up by the history and knowledge of generations of humanity. Stigmata serve as records of this process, and so as humans once more walked the Earth and began telling tales, one particular Stigma once more caught glimpses of the real world.

Now that she could perceive the world as she once did, this Stigma saw just how much time had passed. She had never bothered to keep count, and she wasn’t even sure if she was isolated for a moment or an eternity.

In this new era the Stigma kept her distance, watching from afar as generation after generation passed by­— though every now and then she would appear before whichever host was alive at that time, and offer a sliver of her power. She had little interest in meddling with the messy affairs of others, so many people who bore this Stigma lived their lives without ever knowing it was there.

This was her new reality, and the Stigma told herself that she was content to live this way. Even if Finality descended once more she would simply move on to another era anyways, so she didn’t care what fate befell her hosts. They were nothing more than a convenient means by which she could eavesdrop on humanity’s progress.

So it was until the moment when she felt her own fear for the first time in this new era.

.

.

.

“Get behind me!”

The cracks of gunshots were deafening in the ears of the crying child, but they did not scare her as much as the approaching roars of Honkai beasts. As another beast cried out, she tightened her grip on the leg of her adoptive mother.

"Shit." Natasha swore under her breath again as the rifle began to click; the magazine was empty yet not a single Honkai beast fell. She backed up until she was halted by the cracked wall behind her. Before she could even turn to run the other way, yet another monster appeared.

They were trapped.

In those final moments, countless thoughts raced through Natasha’s mind. She wondered where she went wrong, she cursed her misfortune, she fervently prayed for a miracle.

In those final moments, the crying child shut her eyes as if she were tucked in bed and hiding from the monsters in her bedtime stories. With eyes closed, she did not notice a distant gaze that fell upon her.

In those final moments, the cries of beasts gave way to silence. The air grew still, and the warmth she desperately clung to had disappeared. She slowly opened her teary eyes and saw a single figure standing alone in an impossibly black darkness.

“Am I… dead?” Still dazed from the sudden sensory deprivation, the child could only muster a gentle whisper.

No reply.

With her tiny, tender hand the crying child rubbed tears from her eyes. The child blinked once, twice, and now clearly saw the face of the lone figure.

It had her face, it had her hair. But unlike her it had crimson eyes which stared at her, as if it were peering into her soul, as if it were about to devour it any moment now.

“W-w-what are you?” The child’s heartbeat grew louder and louder in the silence as she stumbled onto the ground, breaking into tears and ugly sobbing.

Tch. How obnoxious.

With crossed arms the figure closed its eyes and took one step forward.

“You are pathetic.”

Another step.

“Weak.”

Another.

“A coward that can’t do anything to protect what she loves most dearly.”

Now a mere couple of feet away, the figure towered over the child before her. Eyes still closed, it took in a deep breath. “But this time… things will be different.”

Crimson eyes met azure eyes once more. For a split second, the figure wondered if the child before it could hear the fear in its voice.

“Listen to me very carefully, and I promise that you and Natasha will not die today.”

The Honkai beast pulled back its limb; a massive lance which would pierce Natasha clean. She held her rifle up as a shield even if it’d do nothing to soften the blow. What more could she do?

As the lance flew forward towards her, Natasha shut her eyes tight. She did not notice that the child behind her let go of her leg. She did not see the smile that crept onto the child’s face, nor the blade which began to form in the child’s hand.

One second had passed and a grinding screech rang out, a noise like the scraping of a shovel against rock.

Two seconds had passed but the lance did not touch Natasha.

Three seconds had passed and she heard the shrieks of one, two, three Honkai beasts. Natasha tensed at the sound and looked up to see what was happening.

Ten seconds had passed, and then there was silence.

Natasha usually felt no fear when facing Honkai beasts, but this time was different. She felt fear for herself, but especially for the young child which was with her when the beasts attacked… but she never imagined that she would be frightened by the child herself.

The child that was sobbing and clinging to Natasha merely moments ago now stood in place of the pack of Honkai beasts. Silicon carapaces lay around her, violently torn apart. In the girl’s hand was a massive scythe that was even taller than her; it was a dull metallic grey with red accents and what appeared to be a single bloodied eye glaring at Natasha. It seemed like the weight of the weapon should crush the little girl, yet she effortlessly held it.

Head still turned away from Natasha, the girl spoke. It was nearly the same voice that would meekly ask for a bedtime story or politely ask for another serving of cake. But there was no trace of her usual innocence in these words; instead they seemed to drip with venom.

“Listen closely, Natasha. Don’t take my help for granted.” The girl turned her head to the side, eyes still covered by the sides of her hair.

“Take better care of Seele. If you don’t, I will know. And if you let anyone or anything harm her…”

“… I will never forgive you.”

[ohwynne]

TIMING: A few days after Rhett attacked Cass PARTIES: Cass @magmahearts & Wynne @ohwynne LOCATION: Alex & Andy's place SUMMARY: Wynne shows up to comfort Cass. They also have an overdue conversation about what Wynne went through and what they recently did. It's soft. CONTENT WARNINGS: Sibling death

She was trying to be better. It was a desperate thing, the way she carefully schooled her features in front of Alex, the way she tried to pretend that nothing ached. It was stupid, too, because she knew Alex saw through it. She knew her girlfriend could hear the way her heart pounded in her chest, the way her pulse raced and her breaths came a little too quick. Alex knew she was scared, and Alex was fine with it. Alex wanted to help. But accepting help felt like a confession that Cass didn’t want to make. She wasn’t supposed to need it. She was supposed to be a superhero. She wasn’t supposed to be afraid.

But she was anyway.

So she clung to distractions. She asked her friends to come over so she could practice her performance, pretended to be fine in front of all of them so she could start to believe the act. She laughed with them, and she pretended it didn’t hurt. She focused so hard on keeping her glamour up that she was exhausted when company left. She invited more people over the next day. It was an easy enough pattern. She was getting good at it.

Wynne was here today. They were one of the ones she’d felt the worst about leaving hanging when she’d gone through her messages after waking up. They’d clearly been worried, and the fact that Cass’s experience had prevented Wynne from being able to share whatever news they’d had to share made her feel guilty, because Wynne deserved to share that news no matter what it might be. Cass looked at them now, smiling softly. She reached out, taking their hands in hers. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said. “Did you want to talk? About the news. It’s okay if you don’t, but if you do, I’d really like to hear it!”

—

The fatigue that had overtaken their body after they’d finished the ritual had never really left their body. Wynne felt the tiredness in their very bones, weighing them down like lead. They wanted to be happy and relieved, and though some part of them was, it all seemed numbed by that exhaustion. What broke through that numbness, though, was the news of what had happened to Cass. Suddenly there was something to do again, something clear to feel again. Anger on behalf of another. Concern. There was something like purpose, even.

It felt crude to think of it in such a way, so they tried not to. They just wanted to be there for their friend, to seem like something solid to lean on. Like someone who did and had faced their problems head-on, and had done so without feeling like they’d destroyed part of themself in the process. 

Looking at Cass was a little hard, with the way she didn’t look her bright self. She was smiling and warm, as always, but there was something about her that seemed paler. Wynne fought their fatigue at the reality they were in where they felt that more hurt was inevitable. And though they knew pain was a part of life, some of this just seemed pointless. Rhett’s violence was pointless in how cruel it was and how it left nothing but despair. They didn’t get it. What they did get was how mad they were at it all.

“I’m glad you’re here,” they said, giving a sad little smile before tucking their legs closer. They had felt so certain when they had announced to Cass that they wanted to talk, but that was gone now. But their friend was eager, and Wynne wanted nothing but to appease her and they should tell her. They owed some kind of truth, didn’t they? “Well, I don’t really know if it’s news, if that’s the right term you know? But I guess I wanted to tell you about something that happened, that I did or went through, I don’t know.” They rubbed their knee. “It’s about where I’m from and all. It’s a bit heavy, though, I guess? So if you would rather talk of light things, that’s okay.”

—

Wynne looked tired, and Cass wondered if it was egotistical of her to think that some of that exhaustion might have something to do with her. She wasn’t the center of anyone’s universe, she knew, but Wynne was her friend. They’d been worried about her, she’d seen it. In the messages they’d sent, the way they’d kept poking her for contact even when those messages went unanswered. Some people gave up the first time a message went with no reply, and Cass got that. It was easy to convince yourself that someone was just busy, that they didn’t feel like talking. But Wynne hadn’t. And didn’t that mean something? Wasn’t there a message being sent there, a good one?

So maybe Wynne was tired because of her. Maybe they looked so withdrawn because the same man who’d hurt Ariadne had hurt Cass, too. Maybe there was some righteous anger there, the kind no one had ever felt for Cass before she’d come to this town and met all these people. She decided not to ask about it. If she asked, the answer might be no. And she wanted it to be yes. She really, really did.

She smiled a little as Wynne spoke, trying not to feel the heaviness under the words. They were glad she was here because she almost wasn’t. Because if that knife had found purchase in her head, the way Rhett had meant for it to, she’d be gone now. It was a scary thing to think about, a heavy weight hanging over her head. She’d almost died. She wasn’t sure how to conceptualize it. 

She couldn’t think of what to say in response, so she said nothing. She’d rather have the distraction, rather hear the news Wynne would have delivered to her if she hadn’t been writhing on an autopsy table with an impossibly pounding heart. “I don’t mind,” she said quickly. “I don’t mind heavy. I — I want to hear it. You’re my friend. I want to know more about you, if you want to tell me.”

—

It was getting a little easier to tell this tale now. Wynne would prefer not to, on one hand. To just let the past rot and fester where it belonged. But how could they, when there was so much that went unsaid? When their own friends opened up and told them about their pasts because they trusted them? It felt unfair to keep it quiet and besides, it was hard to explain the things that were happening and had happened. 

It wasn’t like they didn’t trust Cass. They trusted her, as they had trusted Emilio, Zack and Arden, Ariadne and Nora. They just didn’t want to say those words aloud, to see the response to revealing that they used to partake in human sacrifice, to feel that fear of condemnation. Because what if Cass did think that they should have died? So far no one outside the commune had, but there was a first time for everything, was there not? Besides, sometimes they still thought they should have died, if only to save Iwan. Even now, after all that had been done, all they had dragged people into — they wondered if it might have been better.

Where was that supposed relief? Sometimes it came and sometimes it went, and right now as they sat in anticipation for Cass’ response, it was nowhere to be found. Wynne crossed their legs, grasping their ankles. “Okay, it’s about … well, why I ran away from home.” There was a deep inhale. “My commune used to worship this demon. And it required gifts and sacrifices and stuff, so it could give us good things. Mostly just food or small animals but also sometimes humans. Me.” They stared at their ankles, jaw growing tight.

“I didn’t want to die, so I ran.” The words hung in the air. They wanted to continue, to rattle on about what had happened since and what they had done to the demon, about Padrig and all the grief and anger in their chest. But Wynne was quiet. “And bad things happened because of it afterwards. I was —” They pushed their finger into the flesh of their foot. “Selfish, just like they all were, but bad things happened.”

—

When you lived most of your life on the defense, you got good at reading people. It was a necessary thing. If you were sharing an abandoned warehouse with someone you’d only met a few hours before, it was important to be able to know if they were planning on stabbing you and making off with your stuff the moment you turned your back. If you were working with another thief on a big score, you had to be able to determine whether or not they’d leave you hanging at the first sign of trouble. If your greatest nightmare was to be left behind, you learned to pinpoint the exact moment someone decided to walk away. 

So it was easy to see Wynne’s discomfort as they festered in the silence for a moment, preparing to say whatever it was they wanted to say. Cass took a moment to think about the unfairness of it all, of the way everyone she loved had some terrible shadow lurking in their past. Alex’s experience with her parents, Ariadne’s death and the fear surrounding it, Metzli’s issues with their clan… There wasn’t a single person in Cass’s life who didn’t have some tragic tale to speak of. And it wasn’t right. They were good people, all of them. None of them deserved anything heavy enough to make Wynne look the way they looked now.

Cass offered her friend an encouraging smile as they began their tale. But whatever she’d expected to hear, it wasn’t… this. Demons and human sacrifices and Wynne almost being one of them. She ached, deep in her chest, for what that must have felt like. For the burden it must have carried with it. She thought she would have run, too, if it had been her. She thought anyone would have.

But Wynne didn’t seem so sure. Cass reached a hand forward, hiding a wince at the way even that smallest motion pulled at her injuries. She placed her palm on top of Wynne’s hand, shaking her head just a little. “No,” she said quietly. “No. It’s not — It isn’t selfish to want to live, Wynne. It’s not. They were the selfish ones for… expecting that of you. For wanting you to die for them. That’s selfish. What you did — You had to do it. You had to run. I would have, too, okay?”

—

Part of them wanted to look away as they told the story and waited for Cass to response, to simply not have to face whatever reaction was waiting for them. They expected judgment, even if that was not fair, even if that did not fit with who Cass was and who she had proven to be. But they expected it all the same, as if lifting this part of the veil would suddenly turn the tide and make Cass see them for what they were — selfish, a failed martyr, a blight upon their community. Wynne almost held their breath, unsure of how to continue.

And then there was Cass’ hand, reaching for their tensing knuckles around their ankles. Soft and warm and reassuring, followed by the same sentiments they’d heard before. Sentiments they tried so hard to believe but they still couldn’t — because Iwan was still dead, and that was a direct consequence of their actions or lack thereof. It was so easy to say it was the elders and their parents and the demon who were to blame, but even so it didn’t change the cold hard facts. If Wynne had died, their brother would still be alive.

They looked at that hand on theirs and wanted to burst out in tears. “I — I guess. I don’t … I know it’s wrong, that they want that of people. That a demon would expect that and that they’d all follow along. But …” They shook their head. There was no avoiding it, that one thing it always came back to: their dead brother, the tragedy they could have avoided. Never mind how they had sentenced Padrig to death and had felt justified in it. Never mind how much they all had seemed to hate them.

“But they killed my brother in stead. I could have — I could have saved him. I should have just –” Wynne shrugged, shook their head. It all didn’t make sense. It hadn’t been wrong to run, they understood that. But it had led to something horrible. “I wish no one had to die like that and that no one had to be hurt like you were hurt and I thought … I thought that me running would be good, but it was also bad and it’s just …” They looked up now, finally. “There has to be a right answer, right? A way to stop it without causing more carnage?” But they knew better, didn’t they? The world was cyclical. Everything acted in correspondence with one another. “We went there. That’s – that’s why I was ready to talk. We went there and we killed the demon, but someone else had to die too. And it’s just … endless. I just want it all to stop hurting.”

—

It must have been lonely, what Wynne was going through. Cass couldn’t begin to understand the weight of it, the things they must have felt growing up the way they had. She’d been rejected from her own community, and maybe that was kinder. Maybe it was better to have no one care about you at all than it was to have them want you for the wrong reasons, though Cass had a difficult time believing it. She’d rather be loved for something she wasn’t than hated for something she was. She wondered what she might have done if it were her in Wynne’s place, if her aos si had wanted her to die for them instead of simply leave them alone. She liked to think she’d have been brave the way Wynne was brave. She knew the truth was probably something far less admirable. 

She might not have been able to comprehend the weight, but she did think she understood the loneliness. After all, wasn’t loneliness the only thing she was, most days? Hadn’t it been the thing to shape her, to raise her? Loneliness had stepped in to make her who she was when everyone else had stepped away, a pseudo parent in its consistency. She was alone, and she was nothing. And Wynne was alone, too, at least for a while. It was better, Cass thought, to be alone together. She liked it more.

She swallowed as Wynne went on, as they detailed the consequences of their actions. Was there a right answer, in situations like that one? Was there a perfect response? If Wynne had taken their brother with them when they’d left, Cass was pretty sure someone else would have died instead. If they’d replaced Wynne as a sacrifice, they would have replaced their brother in a similar manner, wouldn’t they? It was endless, this cycle of what if. You could make up a thousand different scenarios and still have more left unexplored. 

“I think…” She trailed off, a little uncertain. “I think nothing is all good or all bad. Everything’s a little bit of both. And — And it sucks sometimes. It sucks most of the time. I don’t think there’s a right answer. I don’t think there’s such a thing.” There was no perfect solution to any problem. It had taken Cass a long time to learn that. You did what you could, but it was never going to be flawless. “I — I’m glad you ran. I’m glad you came here so I could meet you. I think I’m better because I know you. And you make Aria happy, too. She wouldn’t be as happy as she is if she’d never met you.” She wondered what it had felt like, going back. Choosing someone else to die the way they had chosen Wynne to die. Privately, she thought… it might have felt good. And the thought scared her a little, the idea that hurting people who’d wronged you could be an exhilarating thing, the concept that she’d do it herself if given a chance. She didn’t want to be like that. She wanted to be a hero, brave and true and flawless. But no one really was, were they? “You saved people,” she said quietly. “By going back, by — by ending it. You saved a lot of people, you know.” Shouldn’t that count more?

—

They wanted the verbalisation of what had happened to feel more powerful, to feel more like they were lifting a weight from their chest as they put it all to words. But it wasn’t working. It was good to reveal the things they had been keeping unspoken the past months, but it didn’t really alleviate the crux of the issue. That this was constant. The pain Wynne was feeling, the pain Cass must be feeling, the pain Alex and Ariadne and everyone else had and would feel. And that pain wasn’t just caused by stubbing a toe or hitting a head — it was caused by others. By people so cruel that they’d make others suffer for their own gain.

It was an overwhelming truth and one they were only now really starting to understand. They had never really thought the people at home cruel, after all: they all did what was to be done. They were dutiful and dedicated, just as they were. Sometimes that duty and dedication hurt them or others — but they didn’t hurt people because they wanted to. And yet, somehow, it had been wrong, hadn’t it? Everyone kept saying it was, so it had to be. It was wrong that they expected them to die and that they hadn’t been allowed to speak of any doubt that lived within them. It was wrong that they had strict measures for people who broke the rules. It was wrong that they had killed their brother in order to appease a cruel demon.

Everyone at home had failed what Wynne had done in the end: say no and fight. In a way, it had made them feel empowered. In a way, it made them hopeful — because maybe they could say no and fight the other cruel people out there. The people like Rhett or those now-dead vampires. And yet, here they sat. With their good intentions, staring at a hurt Cass and feeling their own chest cave in. They would fight, if given the opportunity — but when would they? How could they muster up the energy to always be ready or it? How could they know that they were capable? Because they hadn’t been able to defeat that demon by themself. By themself they were just this pitiful thing, weeping and shaking and angry with no resolution.

Cass spoke with a kind of insight that made them wonder where she had found it. Wynne tried to take her words at face value and not add any but’s. “That makes sense, I guess. Like … it’s not as black and white as sometimes I might think. And maybe there was no good thing to do in my situation, because if I had died then it would have just kept happening. But then my brother would have been alive. And if I had taken him with me maybe we would have been caught and … I don’t know.” They traced their nail with an absentminded thumb. “I’m glad I met you too. That I got to come here. For that I am glad. That I found friends and Ariadne and everything.” That was what they clung to, when it all felt like it shouldn’t have happened. They had people they loved here. 

And sometimes it was hard, because they had spent their formative years convinced that they were going to die before properly reaching adulthood. Sometimes they still thought they were going to die, before metaphorically pinching themself to remember that they had a future now. Wynne looked up at Cass. “I hope I did. I spared someone from the fate that took my brother, at least. I’m glad I could end that. At least.” 

—

In comic books, things were simple. That was part of what had drawn Cass to the medium all those years ago, part of what made her dedicate such a large part of her life to it. The battles were hard fought, sometimes, but good always came out on top. The villains were cartoonish more often than not, two dimensional and foolish. They did inexcusable things and they twirled mustaches and no one could ever look at them and think, even for a moment, that they were anything but bad. And the heroes, by comparison, were all light and brave and powerful. They had strong morals and strong powers, and they were difficult to hurt. They fell sometimes, died sometimes, but it was always only a temporary thing. The reader knew that, within a matter of months, the dead would rise and the status quo would return. The Fantastic Four would defeat Doctor Doom. The Joker would be placed back in Arkham. The world would not end, the city would not burn. It was a given, a forgone conclusion.

But real life wasn’t like that.

In real life, things were messy. Things were complicated. Good people did bad things, and it didn’t make them villains. Bad people did good things, but they still weren’t heroes. People who were supposed to love you abandoned you or marked you for death or mistreated you or loved you in all the wrong ways, and there was no narrative reason to ease the pain of it. There was no overarching story to make the things you suffered worth it. Heroes fell and heroes died, and they didn’t come back a few issues later to kick the status quo back into place. Cass was supposed to be a hero, but she didn’t feel like one. Rhett must have been a villain, but he’d been so easy to trust. Superman didn’t have problems like this, she thought. How enviable it was to be so unbreakable that your enemies needed kryptonite just to try it.

“I wish it were easier,” she admitted quietly. She wished there was some ‘right’ answer that Wynne could have gone with, some way that would have saved them and their brother without damning the future children of the community they’d left to repeat the same fate every few years like clockwork. She wished this were a comic book, wished she had a cape that fit her right. She wished everything was different. For her, for Alex, for Aria, for Wynne. For all of them. 

But they had each other, at least. Wynne was here, had been worried enough to want to check up on her, and hadn’t that been something Cass had wanted all her life? Hadn’t she spent two decades yearning for it? Things were what they were. There were still villains, even if it didn’t feel much like there were heroes to combat them. But, in the midst of it all, there was this. Quiet moments with a friend who loved her, a friend she loved back. She offered Wynne a small smile as they spoke, nodding her head. “I don’t know what I’d do without you guys,” she admitted. Without Alex, she would be dead in the woods now, Rhett’s knife having found its home in her head. Without Wynne, she’d be lost in this cabin, alone and afraid. Her friends made her better. She liked that.

And maybe that was true of the rest of them, too. Maybe they all made each other better. She nodded again, thinking about how Wynne had certainly made their community better by ending the cycle that had been repeating for ages within it, of saving the next kid even if they hadn’t been able to save their brother. That had to count for something, didn’t it? “It was good,” she said firmly. “You are good. You’re kind of like a superhero, you know?”

—

There had never been much fiction for Wynne to use as escapism. There had been bedtime stories and tales told around a fireplace, but it had all been supplied by the same people who supplied everything. But even there, things were simple. The Protherians painted a simple picture of the world, one where their close bonds and the boons they received from their pact made everything go around. Everything was a balance, a giving and taking, a simple combination of good and bad, of winter and summer, of reaping and sowing. But it was not that simple, was it? The world was all out of balance. There were good people and there were bad, but it seemed it was the latter that kept winning out. The latter that had more impressive means, more ruthlessness, more chance.

They didn’t want balance any more, anyway. Not when it came to these things, at least. They wanted these people that hurt others out of this world, or changed and redeemed in some kind of way. They didn’t want to worry about it any more, there being people out there that had cruel intentions and nothing holding them back. Why did it always have to be balanced? Why couldn’t they have saved themself and Iwan, why couldn’t Alex and Aria and Cass not have gotten hurt? There was good in the world too, yes — Cass was proving that once more, but what if it wasn’t enough?

“Me too,” they said. “I wish all of it was easier and kinder.” They wanted the world to be bright again, to not feel so weighed down by their conscience and their past, to not feel afraid of all that was out there. They wanted to be overtaken by wonder at all these things that existed in the world, like Cass being a fae. But in stead they were afraid for her. 

They reached forward, placing a hand on Cass’ knee. “Me neither. I’m really glad and grateful to have you. And I wouldn’t know what I’d have done if —” Wynne swallowed and blinked, as if trying to push away something. “Well, you know. But you’re here.” And she would be okay. She had to be. They inhaled sharply, thinking for a moment about Rhett again, about how afraid Ariadne had been after she’d been taken by him and how small Cass looked now. They wanted him to feel like that too. They wanted what had been done to Padrig to happen to him. For the tables to be turned on him. It wasn’t a pretty thought, but it swirled through them all the same.

They blinked and swallowed some more, but their eyes burned sharply. “Okay.” They nodded. They believed their friends, even if the things they said were hard to believe. Wynne wiped at their eyes. “You’re also — you’re also good. Don’t ever let them tell you any different.” They moved forward, pulling Cass into a gentle hug. “You got that?”

—

Even before this, Cass had known that the world wasn’t kind. She’d figured it out as a child, shoved into a boat and forced far away from the island she’d been born on. She’d had it proven to her time and time again living on the streets, experienced all the cruelness the world had to offer. This had been a harsh wakeup call, but it hadn’t entirely been a surprise. She’d known what hunters were since the first time Alex told her about them, known how dangerous they could be since the day one tried to kill her girlfriend. In a lot of ways, this had been a matter of time. A rite of passage she’d managed to avoid through luck that was always going to run out sooner or later. The world wasn’t easy or kind. Not for her, and not for Wynne, either. She knew that.

But she still wanted it to be.

She offered Wynne a small smile, starting to shrug before the motion sent a wave of pain through her shoulder and aborting it hastily. “Maybe… All we can do is try to make it easier and kinder for each other. All of us.” The world had been cruel to them both. To Alex and Aria, too. To Nora, to Milo, to everyone in their circle of friends. But that didn’t mean they had to be cruel. Maybe, if they were kind enough for long enough, they could change something.

She still felt small. And scared, and powerless, and weak. But with Wynne beside her, and the knowledge that the rest of her friends were in her corner as well… It wasn’t as bad as it would have been if this had happened when she was still on her own. It wasn’t as suffocating, wasn’t as unsurvivable. She’d be okay; she knew that now.

Reaching down, she placed her hand on top of Wynne’s where it rested on her knee, nodding carefully. “You, either,” she said. “You’re the best. Don’t let anyone tell you different.”

[delicatebluebirdruins]

read the tags on a post by @weird-life-of-a-closet-fangirl hope you don't me tagging you, you just had some interesting points in your tags (also tumblr why can't i use question marks in some asks? this got so annoying today)

Mia didn't really decide as such when Eveline was another monster but the only reason Mia fought against Eveline (to the point Lucas and Marge both thought that at some point Evie was going to get tired of waiting for her) was because she knew Ethan was safe (she during a storm tried to send him a video telling him that he was right about her lying to him, to stay away from her and forget about her and have a good life) but then he wasn't because Ethan was sent an email from her account as he never got that video. And when Mia officially rejected Eveline was after the tape of Mia trying to talk to Evie and Evie going on a murderous rampage instead

so Mia was in the padded cell for 2 years from the 4th November 2015 its the file on Lucas's laptop along with the next and final entry of the email logs being Eveline getting more people kidnapped. (still want to know the act of violence from Mia that got Lucas of all people to lock her up)

Sent: Friday, November 4, 2015 2:10 AM That bitch Mia is still somewhere in between Evie-La-La Land and reality. She gets pretty violent, so I locked her up in a cell. I thought maybe Eveline would get mad since Mia’s her favorite and all, but she doesn’t seem to care. She actually goes and visits her sometimes. She thinks Mia’s her mommy. Like I said, your “bioweapon” is fucked up.

Sent: Friday, September 1, 2016 1:10 AM Eveline’s family obsession is getting out of hand. She’s making everyone kidnap more and more assholes off the street to add to her freak show of a family. Maybe she’s getting tired of Mia not coming around, but it’s a pain in the ass for me because I gotta clean up the mess whenever someone new comes along. By the way, Evie’s looking sick or something. Her skin is getting all wrinkly and she’s getting grey hairs. Is that supposed to happen? It’s almost like she’s getting old all of a sudden.

Now that I think of it I have two theories for how Evie learned of Ethan and decided that he was the key to getting Mia to accept her

1 From the start because surely she saw either video being made but didn't think about using it until later (not as likely but still a possibility)

2 personally i think in amongst the victims that were brought in to the guest house smaller scale operation there considering the needles (I have to wonder if some of those was used on Mia) and the body bags so I think that in the limited view of the room at large from Mia's cell but what you can see from the cell is the table with the list of names and pictures of victims (true the same ones you see through out the games but maybe they were the "successful" ones that they kept trying to emulate) and complacency or exhaustion on Mia's part and a victims picture on the murder board and a voice begging for mercy sounding a little to close for comfort makes that wall she probably placed around thoughts of Ethan come crumbling down and someone was around to take note of how important Ethan was to Mia and everything goes as normal

now as for Village I really wish capcom kept her with the wheelchair or gave her a cane (for this reason and additional moment of offness for Ethan to notice but is too tired to focus on the RE3R was great in showing Jill's mental state and how she partially missed the city going to hell) because in the cutscene where we find Mia https://youtu.be/NkavqZJywp4 (also quick question with the village being blasted surely leaving someone underground would not be a good idea? like with air vents and exits?) look how she moves when coming out of the cell (screenshots for my own reference) it could be because she knows about Miranda's ability to shapeshifting but the second screenshot looks like she is using the box for support and checking on her leg before coming after Chris (has anyone done a freecam thing for this bit?)

Mia as a whole there is a lot to cover and I hope RE9 is about her (if not I'm going to be very annoying) taking down the connections from the inside as Mia is one of the few people we know who worked for them who is also still alive Alan? dead, Lucas? dead, Miranda? Dead. with a small playable section with Jill (character interaction i think would be fun to see) and Rose (she getting her own kind of justice for Evie)

[alexandraswords]

F*CK NORMAL

An overdue ending to a (un)well decorated drinking career.

Introduction

Friday, June 9, 2023 9:28 AM

Today is one of those days where I am just tired, and a bit bored, but mostly tired. I am exhausted. Mentally at least. I have really been putting my all into my sobriety to the point where my day revolves around meetings but im starting to lose momentum. I have a headache, the dog wont stop barking, i'm trying to pop the zits on my face. Basically being alone with my discontented ass self is not something I'm great at... yet.

I should meditate or journal or text another AA member. But I just want to sleep and be normal and relax. But fuck normal.

I thought drinking was normal. I thought my diet of vodka and water and the occasional box of cheez-its was adulting. I thought I was mature and well refined and socially acceptable because I drank, just like everyone else, because, you know, drinking is normal... right?

Wrong. Not for me. I am NOT normal. So I have to do abnormal shit to keep my addictive eating disordered alcoholic riddled ass self sober and happy. I have to keep listening to other people because me making my own decisions landed me in a crack den sharing a room with a friend I would consider a sibling, whom which a fought with constantly to the point where I dragged the mattress from our third floor apartment (if you consider that uninhabitable shit hole, an apartment) down out side below out kitchen window so if I jumped maybe the universe would send me a sign saying that it is or isn't time yet. Okay so I didn't actually do that, but I sure as shit thought about it... a lot. Like a lot. I mean i couldn't even barely walk to the bathroom let alone haul some shit down the stairs. Hell, I wouldn't even walk across the street to get my own liquor. I would bribe my roommate by telling him if he went for me and took my card he could buy something for myself. I just didn't care anymore. I hated everything. I hated that I had to be loaded to be able to walk because my shakes were so bad. I hated that I had to drink to even feel sober and functional and not hallucinate and vomit and dry heave bright green bile. And worst of all I hated that I had lost control.

My eating disorder and my alcoholism made my reality disappear. The food temporarily until my life became a cage, and the nicest word I can think of to name it would be a vomitorium because it was actually that repulsive if you could see inside the walls of it. The alcohol took control over me so I didn't have to deal with food, but also made it so I didn't worry or care about ANYTHING. 

So I guess this is how I'm going to start this ... whatever rant of words form a book. Where I'm at right now. Because right now is all I have. Yes, I am in full self pity mode, but if there's one thing I've learned from AA it's that I need to take action, and never have I ever felt worse after going to a meeting. So,lets go fucking make our bed, and meditate or some shit and get ready for today. So, yeah, Fuck Normal.

So, Why the fuck not?

I got most talkative in fifth grade. The english section of my English SAT’s, I aced. People (my boyfriend) seem to like my writing and have told me If I don’t do something with it, then they’ll publish it themselves… which I’m pretty sure falls into the lines of plagiarism but lets be honest here. I am probably one of the biggest procrastinators when it comes to doing something that is actually good for me. Why? The fuck if I know. Maybe because all I’ve known has been chaos and panic since, like,  forever, that when it comes to the real things, like happiness and joy and pride in work that I’VE DONE… well, I'm just not used to that type of thing.  But I figured, fuck it. I can write a book. All i have to do is elaborate on how awesome I am at self sabotaging and add in some very few lessons I picked up and am still learning day by day. Basically I’ve decided its time to just put all my shit in one bound piece of parchment instead of having to explain my life story to everyone as if its my first day with a new therapist. 

But alas, melodramatic Alex is bored and avoiding meditating, to keep her shit together and be healthier, obviously,  because that would actually be beneficial to my well being. So for now i’ll just throw it in one of the corners in the back of my mind while it slowly simmers into a pot of anxiety attack soup while I try and explain to you (briefly before the pot starts boiling) how fucking insanely delusionally fantastically fucked my life is, and how I got here, and why I wouldn’t change one second of it for anything. But I mean, there’s forwards and shit in books right? So can this be like a PS after the main intro forward? ‘Cause This sober bitch has to go meditate before a meeting so I can stay mindful in my sobriety and not add homicide to my list of criminal activities. (That was a joke) So for now, just for today, Namaste Sober. 

P.P.S- enjoy the buffet of garbage that hopefully is not similar to mine. But if you can and most likely will relate if you’re reading this (most likely because my clever title struck a chord in your twisted little heart) then just know, you're not alone in this shit show, but no one ever really puts the shit show on the ‘gram now do they?

[danganronpasurvivoraskblog]

Speaking of Death Battle thoughts on the 2000000000000000000000th repeat of Goku vs Superman? Good? Bad? Or exists?

//Ok, I have a lot to say about it:

//You know how I said that Scooby Vs Courage was my favourite episode of this season?

//It is genuinely at risk of losing it's title, and it's because of Goku Vs Superman 3. Let me break it down:

//Now, I did kind of mention this when I recapped Rick Vs Doctor, but even from the beginning, I was a big defender of the match. When Ben explained why they were doing this again, he made some really great points and convinced me that they had something good in the works.

//And for the people who say that the rerun was pointless, especially since Goku lost again, I need to point out that the SECOND fight was pointless. It happened one series after the first one and seemed to just be made of scrapped notes from the first episode, which, to its credit, I still think holds up today. The controversy surrounding the second episode was a bit intense, but sort of deserved, since the really only good thing about the second fight was Brandon Yates' "Alive".

//As for what makes the most recent episode so great, the analyses for both Goku and Superman are really well done and very respectful to both characters, much unlike the second fight where Goku just got fucked over and Superman got decharacterized like a motherfucker. They do a good job at bringing out both characters best sides and this is what is translated into the fight.

//Unlike the previous two times the two fought on Death Battle, Superman actually plays along with Goku's battle hungry enthusiasm, and the two are pretty chummy throughout the fight despite how they're trying to kill each other. I love it when there's no real animosity between fighters in DB and that they're just trying to test out each other's strength. I also think this shift in motives for Superman is great, because it brings out what I believe is his best side, that being his humility. Whereas in the previous two episodes he was kind of no-nonsense, overly stern and serious and just gave Goku shit for...being Goku, Superman is really nice to Goku in this episode and respects him right until the end, even agreeing to go round 2 with him. So even though the fight ends with Goku losing again, I saw this coming, and I'm at least glad it wasn't a fuck-you death like the last two times.

//Also, what helps is that the voice acting is amazing. Michael Kovach and Xander Mobus are two guys who I respect IMMENSELY, and this episode highlights why. They break off each other well, and Michael's final Kamehameha when Goku goes Ultra Instinct is incredible.

//The animation is the best of the season, bar-none, or at least the best 3D animation. If I talked about everything I liked about it, we'd be here forever, but you can tell the animators pulled out all the stops. The one scene I will draw attention to is when Superman starts to get serious and punches so hard, reality breaks and we see alternate versions of Goku and Superman fighting, like Goku Black fighting Ultraman. I think that was really cool and really clever and paid good attention to the legacy of both the characters.

//Lastly, the post-analysis was very well done. It seems to me that Death Battle really wanted to explain why Superman wins this time instead of just saying, "ugh, he's fucking strong and goku sucks" so they broke it down into categories, and Goku even outmatched Superman in skill. I liked that the fight wasn't a complete and total one-sided beatdown since Goku had a few edges, and that's enough for me.

//If I had to say there were any disappointments with the episode, I have two, and they are extremely minor. For one, I was really hoping that the battle track would be a remaster of Alive from the second fight, but upon reflection, Alive was more of a nitty and gritty and edgy track that suited the more savage mood of the second episode, whereas in this one it's more upbeat and powerful to show just how fun the two were having. So while my expectations were subverted, they were succeeded.

//The other thing I didn't like was how the episode ended. Wiz starts going on a panic and questioning what they're doing before Boomstick snaps him out of it. And the reason this makes me sad is because it feels like Death Battle is trying to justify it's reason for existing to it's audience, which...it shouldn't HAVE to do that. Death Battle exists to paint and show a picture of what would happen if the characters you love were to fight to the death using every ability they have in their arsenal, and use math, science and research to decide who. The people who right the show, in spite of what many people will tell you, are not biased against anybody, and even though they rely on facts to reach their verdicts, it's all about having fun and seeing these crossover fights with two powerful combatants duking it out. That's all there is to it and that's all there needs to be, and it makes me sad and angry to think about how these guys are getting chronic hate for their verdicts from toxic people, since it DOESN'T MATTER who wins! Oh, your fav lost? How sad! MOVE ON! You've got a life to live and if it pisses you off, watch a different series. It just made me sad, that's all.

//Anyway, in summary, top tier episode. 10/10.

//And for those who are curious, here's my current ranking of the Season 10 episodes from best to worst, not including Galactus Vs Unicron (which by the way, I have no say in, I'm not particularly invested in either character, so I don't really care who wins. Subtly rooting for Galactus though.) This season has been absolute fire from start to finish and I love every single episode so far though:

Scooby Vs Courage

Goku Vs Superman

Frieza Vs Megatron

Rick Vs the Doctor

Cole Vs Alex

Bill Vs Discord

Guts Vs Dimitri

Ant-Man Vs Atom

Gojo Vs Makima

Skyrim Vs Dark Souls

Phoenix Vs Raven

Martian Manhunter Vs Silver Surfer

Vader Vs Obito

Stitch Vs Rocket

Killua Vs Misaka.

[strangerthingfanfic]

I thought I would write a HellCheer fix for the fun of it. Please let me know what you all think

LOSS AND LOVE

Chrissy Cunningham was getting ready for the first day back to school after a week-long spring break.

Her phone rang and when she answered it was Jason's parents.

She listened in disbelief as they told the worst news of her life.

Jason had been killed when his car flipped on his way back to Hawkins from his trip to New York.

After thanking them for calling Chrissy hung up the phone and collapsed face-first into her pillow.

The next month was a blur. Chrissy was on auto mode at the wake, the funeral, and then the school memorial.

It wasn't until people started talking about graduation that she snapped back into reality. She had to graduate, for Jason and herself.

She got back in gear and made up the work she missed. The staff was very understanding and allowed her extra time.

As she was sorting through college applications she noticed that most of them asked for two extra-curricular activities and she only had one, cheerleading.

Chrissy got in contact with the school counselor to see what she could do with the short time she had.

He called her in and said that he would sign off on a whole year's worth of tutoring if she agreed to tutor and make sure one of Hawkins longest lasting students, Eddie Munson, graduates.

She quickly agreed and the next day at school she found Eddie sitting with his Hellfire buddies.

Squaring her shoulders she walked right up to Eddie and said, “put the game down Munson, I'm going to be your tutor and until you've got the grades to graduate, no more Dungeons and Dragons”.

Eddie looked at her and was about to laugh until he saw the death glare she was eyeing him with.

Taking a deep breath Eddie said with a laugh “told you 86’ was my year guys” and got up and followed Chrissy out of the noisy cafeteria.

“So what subject has been holding you back for three years Eddie?” Chrissy asked, trying to figure out what subject he needed help in.

“None. I just have a hard time concentrating and wanting to come really” Eddie said as he twirled the pencil he was holding.

Chrissy sighed and then got an idea telling Eddie to stay right where he was.

When she returned she had a stack of papers in hand.

“Ok Eddie, both of us want out of Hawkins so if you follow the plan we will both walk the stage in June.

I talked to the principal and explained the situation and he said if you did all the work required for your classes you don't actually have to attend them” Chrissy exclaimed triumphally.

It was the first time since Jason's death that she felt as though there was a future awaiting her somewhere.

Over the course of April and May Chrissy kept her grade point average high while making sure Eddie turned in his assignments on time.

She even started to attend the Hellfire club meetings and found she enjoyed it. She even became an active part of the club creating a character and everything which sparked anither idea.

She started turning tutoring sessions into DnD stories and just that little change really helped keep Eddie's attention on what mattered.

June finally rolled around and so did graduation day.

“Please stand up for our valedictorian, Chrissy Cunnigham,” the principal said, turning the mic to her.

“Graduating class of 1986, I stand here today not only for myself but for those who should be here and aren't. People like my forever love Jason Carver. But also for those of us still here. Those who fought and overcame the naysayers and are ready to walk this stage tonight. I am pleased to hand the second diploma to Eddie Munson who has overcome many of his own hardships in life and even though it took a bit longer than planned, he finally walks the stage today. Eddie please come and get your diploma” Chrissy said all smiles.

Eddie came out with the cheering of his uncle, friends and many members of the hellfire club.

He had his robe open and his hellfire shirt underneath but Chrissy expected no less.

Eddie accepted his diploma and held it up high and yelled “I finally conquered the hardest dungeon of them all, high school” and headed off stage with Chrissy.

Eddie celebrated with the hellfire club and his Uncle Wayne while Chrissy presented Jason's honorary diploma to his family.

As the day faded to night Chrissy and Eddie met up at a small lunch table.

“I'm so proud of you Eddie, you did it,” Chrissy said giving him her brightest smile.

“I couldn't have done it without you, M’lady,” Eddie said, flashing one of the most genuine smiles Chrissy had seen him show.

After sitting in silence for a while Eddie finally said: “I can't replace Jason, he holds a special place in you're heart no living person should ever try to take, but if you're ready to maybe add someone to you're heart I would like you to be my princess”.

Chrissy looked towards the school where a rainbow was shining over it in the dark of night. It was Jason’s favorite color and she was sure it was him urging her to continue living.

“I would be honored to be the dungeon master's princess,” Chrissy said.

Instead of leaving as both planned Eddie and Chrissy decided to stay in Hawkins and continue the legacy of Eddie the Dungeon Master.

She knew she made the right decision when two years later, after her and Eddie both had graduated with their AA Degrees, Dustin came up to her and said, “you are amazing and I've never seen Eddie so happy. You'll make amazing parents” and after kissing baby Jason on the forehead he ran to catch up with the others.

Eddie came over and kissed her forehead. “Ready to head back to Munson Manor Lady Munson?” Eddie asked, smiling. “I sure am Sir Munson” Chrissy said and they headed to the trailer with a very special rainbow forming behind them.