#you get to see the silly thoughts in my head HERE

[witherby]

hello! great work so far :-) im getting into batfam myself and been loving the platonic/familial works you do w littlest wayne! was wondering if you'd ever do an teen y/n or just an older one? I'd love to see you tackle the idea of a robin y/n or jaybe just some angsty kid stuff,,,,,, hope you had a good new years!

-- :33Anon

I love angst with my whole heart and soul, and I'm happy to write it with a slightly older Reader. Hope you don't mind I've commandeered your prompt to showcase the ability you guys voted on.

This one's a long read so I'm splitting it up. This part is roughly 2400+ words.

The Littlest Wayne: Uncertain Home

(Part 1/2)

Masterlist is Here!

Uncle J'onn is looking at you curiously.

He's been doing that a lot, lately. When Daddy brings you to the Watchtower to be babysat so he can go save the world, one of his co-workers that they can afford to spare gets put in charge of keeping an eye on you. Usually it's Uncle Hal, but this time it's J'onn and he's in his natural form, which you don't mind. Green is your favorite color, and his whole body is green! He's nice and calm, and tells you lots of stories and plays any game you want, even if it's hard for him not to cheat and read your mind. He says it's instinct. You don't hold it against him because you still have fun.

Lately, though, when he talks to you, he tilts his head a bit. He usually does that when he can't understand something.

You wipe your face, checking for cookie crumbs. All clean. You search your shirt for any weird marks or stains. All clean. You scrunch your nose and puff out your cheeks, pouting.

"What's wrong, uncle J'onny?" You ask him. Daddy says the way to get honest answers from someone is just to be forthcoming (Dicky told you what forthcoming meant when you asked him later), so you are. "Did I do something wrong?"

That seems to snap his train of thought. J'onn shakes his head and goes back to sorting out the jigsaw puzzle pieces for you. You're good enough at this to do 100-piece puzzles, now, and when you get really stuck you don't even cry anymore!

"Nothing is wrong, Flittermouse," he says, watching you start putting the edges together first like Dami taught you. "You are simply...changing. Differences are not inherently wrong."

"What's inherably mean?"

"Inherently. It means instinctively, or something that is "set in stone." A rule that does not change. I am stating that change is not something that is always wrong. It's not a firm rule."

You pout and try to process all of that in your brain. It was a partial answer. Daddy says that means people might want to hide something from you.

"What's changing?" You ask him. "I got older a week ago. Is that what you mean? I'm four, now. Grandpappy says I'm getting so big and growed up. He says to not do that so fast. I dunno how, though. He's silly."

J'onn hums. His eyes look away from you as he considers what to say. You put one whole edge together before he speaks again.

"You know that I am not a human, correct?"

"Yeah, I know," you say. "I don't care. I love you. And auntie Diana. And uncle Clark. And uncle Barry. And —"

"Thank you," J'onn gently interrupts. "Do you also know that, sometimes, humans are born not entirely human? That sometimes they get special abilities?"

"Yeah, I know that," you repeat.

"I suspect that —" he cuts himself off, hesitates, then starts again. "Little one. You are showing signs of being one of those humans with special abilities."

"I am?" You ask. You perk up. "Can I fly?!"

You immediately abandon the puzzle and climb onto your chair, about to jump off of it to try and fly around, but J'onn catches you by the back of your shirt before you can hit the ground.

"You cannot."

"Aww...then I don't wanna be a megahuman," you complain, stomping your foot.

"Metahuman."

"Whatever."

"I am sorry," J'onn says, "I did not mean to upset you. I do think you are developing powers, however."

"Not fly powers?" You frown.

"No, not flight powers."

"Boring," you say, blowing raspberries. J'onn cracks a smile at your antics and you giggle. "Help me do the puzzle, please!"

"Alright," he relents, sorting more pieces for you. You're both quiet for a while, and you get the whole frame done before he speaks again.

"Little one. Do you know your father's rule about metahumans?"

"Yeah," you say, grinning, because you're a great listener. You pitch your voice down and make it scratchy. It's adorable in your four-year-old tone. "No metas in Gotham. I am Nighttime. Raaahhh."

J'onn huffs in amusement. "Right. He usually means what he says, does he not?"

"Yeah," you agree, "daddy is a bad liar. He lied and said he didn't eated the last cookie once, but he did eated it. Alfie was mad, 'cause it was for Dami, but Dami didn't care. He likes brownies more than cookies. I like brownies, too."

"I figured," J'onn says. He's not looking at you again. This time he's frowning.

"Do you want brownies?" You ask, figuring that was the issue. "I don't have any. I can ask for some when Daddy comes back. I'm good at sharing, 'cause I'm a good noodle, like Jay says."

"No, but thank you for offering to share. Jason is right, you are a good noodle."

You preen. "I know!"

J'onn drops the subject again and helps you complete the puzzle. You squint at every piece in concentration and politely ask him if he can dim the lights so you can work better. He complies, and after another hour and a half, you have a completed image on the table.

"Yay! We did it!"

The sounds of chatter and footsteps appear down the hall moments later, and you spring to your feet in delight.

"Hello!!!" You shout.

A chorus of "hello!" greets you in return from multiple heroes, and the rest of the Justice League files into the room one by one. They don't look too roughed up, so the mission wasn't very dangerous. That's good. You stand by the door and offer them hugs. Everyone complies, to your endless delight.

"Daddy!" You cheer when you see him, running and hugging Batman's legs. He scoops you into his arms and you grin and point at the table. "Uncle J'onny and I dided a whole puzzle! I didn't give up!"

"Good job, Mouse," Bruce says, reaching out to adjust the light. "You did it in the dark?"

"Yeah," you grin, kicking your feet. "Did you punch bad guys?"

"I did."

"Did you win?"

"Yes."

"Can we have ice cream?"

"Maybe after dinner." He carries you down the hall and towards his temporary quarters, the place he'll stay after a particularly tough mission when he can't make it home right away, and deposits you gently on the bed. "I have to debrief with everyone, and then we can pack up and go home."

"Okay, daddy," you say, already digging through the nightstand for a toy to play with. "I stay right here!"

"Good job," he says again, kissing the top of your head, and leaves you alone with a small wave.

--

The next time you need to be at the Watchtower, it's with Uncle Clark and Auntie Diana. The mission wasn't a super dangerous one, so they both got to stay behind and entertain you.

Today, you're a cashier at your world-famous grocery store. You have the best ingredients all over the world.

"Welcome to the groshy store, what do you want stranger?" You demand, getting into character. Clark looks mildly offended.

"Whoa, hello. That's a lot of 'tude for a paying customer," he says.

"You didn't buy nothing yet! Whataya want!"

"Uh. Some carrots please."

"All out."

Clark narrows his eyes at you. "Can you check in the back?"

You turn around. You turn back.

"All out. Whataya want!"

"You barely looked!" He insists.

"FRESH OUTTA CARROTS, BUB. WHATAYA WANT."

"Oh my goodness, now there's yelling. I think I need to speak to a manager."

"Okay!" You shuffle across the room and grab Diana's hand, leading her back to Clark. "This is the manager. Auntie, tell him all the carrots are gone. He can't have any."

Diana covers her mouth to stifle her laughter. "You heard them, stranger. There are no carrots here."

"Well, aside from the blatant nepotism, auntie, I think you're hiding the carrots from me," Clark huffs, crossing his arms. "I need them for my soup. Guess I'll go to the grocery store across town. I hear they're nicer."

"No," you gasp, "wait. Okay maybe I have one secret carrot. I go get it."

You leave their giggling forms and run over to the toy box that was set up for you on the watch tower, thrusting your hands inside to dig around. You squint your eyes, but all the bright colors are hard to distinguish properly. In the dark spaces, deeper into the box, is where you cast your focus. Instinctively, you follow the trail and close your hand around a plastic carrot. You lift your hand triumphantly.

"Okay, got it!" You cry, only to startle when you find both Clark and Diana kneeling beside your toy chest. Diana picks you up around the waist and takes several steps back, and Clark's eyes turn that funny shade of blue they do when he's using x-ray vision. "Umm, I gotted the carrot already. It's in my hand."

"Are you injured?" Diana asks you, expression deadly serious. You frown and shake your head. "You're certain? I could sense something in that box with you."

"No, I'm fine," you promise. Clark stands up and his eyes go back to normal. He shrugs, brows furrowed.

"There's nothing in there but toys."

"Yeah," you nod, "toys and dark spots."

Both heroes look at you. You squirm in Diana's hold shyly.

"Um, want to pay for the carrot?" You ask, holding it up. "It's only ten dollars. Orrr one lollipop." You whisper conspiratorially. "I can be bribed."

Diana and Clark exchange glances. Clark gingerly takes the carrot from you and puts it back in the toy box.

"Sold. Let's go to the kitchen and pick out which flavor you want."

You grin, forgetting about the game, and Diana puts you on the ground so you can follow excitedly after them. With a couple "pretty please's" and your lethal puppy dog eyes, you even manage to get two lollipops. You ask to be hoisted onto the counter so you can swing your feet as you enjoy the candy, and both heroes perch on either side of you.

It's quiet for a while. It feels like that weird, anticipatory quiet you felt with Uncle J'onny, but you don't know what for, so you wait for one of them to speak. You finish off one whole sucker and open the second one when it happens.

"Mouse?" Clark eventually asks, "can you explain what you meant about your toys? That there are dark spots in there?"

"Yeah," you say, "shadows. Dark spots. Light not touching."

"And you can...feel shadows?"

You hum, thinking it over. "Um...yes. Kind of."

Clark and Diana look at each other again. They're frowning. You frown.

"Can you tell us what you mean by that?" She asks.

"Um. I wanted the carrot, for uncle Clark," you say, "so he can buy it at my groshy store. And the dark spots showed me where it was, and I grabbed it."

"Did they also help you complete the jigsaw puzzle, when you were with J'onn?" Diana asks. "It was quite dark when we got back." You nod.

"Yeah. Easier to do in the dark. It's not cheating!" You blurt. "I didn't cheated!"

"Okay, ya' didn't cheat," Clark agrees, gently patting your back. There's a slight drawl in his words which usually shows up when he's stressed out. "We're just curious, is all, darlin'. Seems you've got a... A special talent, we can call it."

"It's a power. They're a metahuman, Kal," Diana says simply, "and you know Bruce's rule."

The rule? Which one? Always brushing your teeth before bedtime? Or maybe no sweets until you finish your dinner? Hmm, but you haven't had dinner yet. That doesn't make sense.

"No metas in Gotham. I'm very aware, Diana."

"Then you see the problem."

Oh. Now you think you know why uncle J'onny was upset that day.

"Now wait a minute," Clark says. He looks genuinely angry, which confuses you. Did they not like that you could ask the dark for help? They had superpowers, too. You figured they would be happy. "They're his kid."

You are. You're Daddy's little Flittermouse, scampering around and bringing joy. That's what everyone tells you. They love you.

"You've seen how hard he works to keep us out of Gotham," Diana says. "We can be trusted to babysit, but we can't enter the city? What does that tell you?"

"That's different. He's territorial, we all know that. He's not a monster, Diana. He would never hurt them —"

"I'm not saying he is. I'm not saying he would. But I am saying that he doesn't bend his own rules. He does not make exceptions."

Oh.

You sit almost numbly on the counter and watch Clark and Diana start to argue over your place in Gotham. Over your place at home.

You think about Daddy's rule about no metas in Gotham. You think about your new ability to interact with shadows.

Oh.

The lollipop tastes like ash on your tongue and the tips of your fingers feel like tv static. When you blink, your eyes sting as they well up with tears. You've been so good about not throwing fits, about not being a crybaby, about being as strong as your super cool daddy and brothers and grandpa.

But you can't call them that anymore, can you? They don't want metas in Gotham, and that's what you are, now. You can't live with your family anymore.

Large, fat tears roll down your cheeks and your bottom lip wobbles. You whimper and both Diana and Clark whip their heads around to look at you in shock.

"No, oh no, don't cry," Diana coos, "you don't need to worry. Your father isn't —"

You bat her hands away when she reaches for you and jump off the counter, running underneath Clark's cape. They don't catch on to what you're doing in time.

Clark practically rips it off and fans it on the floor, floating above it with wide eyes. Diana kneels next to the fabric and frantically pats it, searching for you.

But there's nothing. You've fled into the shadow Clark's body cast and allowed the darkness to swallow you.

[endursent]

WHAT IF astral express sunday would be too nervous to hold readers hand or hugging them bc his brain goes 💥 until he gets used to it and softens up to reader waa 🎉🎉

HES SO SILLY i want him to explode

【 content; sunday x reader , astral express sunday , fluff , character exploration, mild suggestiveness in one section , gn!reader 】

【 note; see sunday mention. NEURON ACTIVATED. i have neglected sunday writing for too long, it's time to sunday post more. 】

【 word count; 1.818 | read on ao3 | masterlist 】

Even after properly defining your relationship as “definitely happening”, Sunday still struggles to adjust to it—not because he doesn’t know what to do specifically, but because he fails to follow through with a lot of it. 

  As soon as he meets your eyes and feels the warmth of your skin at the same time, his brain halts in place like a deer caught in headlights—something about the affection and love in your gaze causes him to freeze, to hesitate and draw back. 

  He wants to enjoy that warmth, he wants to touch your cheek and gaze into your eyes for hours on end, examining every detail of your iris until he has it mapped better than the back of his own hand… but his heart tightens and his arms tingle when he tries. 

  He’s afraid, scared to overstep thresholds whose doors have long since opened wide for his presence. Afraid to take a wrong turn in the endless hallways of his thoughts and what-ifs.

  You don’t push him, you give him time to consider his movement and actions and proceed in the ways he feels comfortable—but you don’t let him pull back too far either. You grasp his hand as it pulls too close to his chest and he swallows when you bring it to yours, you press his palm against your chest and allow him to feel your heartbeat—quickened, excited, yet nervous as well. Sometimes, you’re also nervous. It’s okay to hesitate. 

  Mere moments like brushing his fingers against yours on accident are enough for his head-wings to shoot up into the air. You had simply been reaching for a pistachio in a bowl on a table where you sat with Sunday next to you, and he had coincidentally reached out as well. “A-ah, my apologies,” he pulls his hand back, wings lowering again as one moves halfway up his cheek in a meagre attempt to disguise the dusty red of his cheeks. 

  A small smile tugs on your lips and you take an additional nut to give to him. “It’s okay, here.” He holds his palm open for you to place the pistachio in, but instead of doing so, you peel the shell away with a click and hold it towards his lips. “Open up.”

  Five or so muscles in his face twitch as he leans back, surprised by your sudden approach and the very intimate gesture of trying to feed him—his eyes flicker to the left where Himeko is positively destroying March 7th in a card game, they’re not paying any attention to the two of you at all. 

  Sunday’s lips press together and for a moment you wonder if you might have pushed him a little too far, the red hue of his cheeks deepening as he avoids your eyes… and opens his mouth, just a little—barely enough to fit the small pistachio there.

  Your fingers touch his lips as you manage to set the pistachio on the tip of his tongue hiding only a little behind the bottom row of his teeth, and Sunday thinks he might explode. The way his upper lip lifted a little and a small drop of drool slid under his tongue—thankfully out of sight but definitely not out of mind—when your finger pushed under it to set the nut in his mouth…

  He swallows the pistachio quickly and nervously without chewing it and it almost stops in his throat before he could even realise what he was doing. Sunday might have just perished from embarrassment before the lack of oxygen would kill him were the pistachio to stop in his throat.

  Sunday hasn’t stepped off the Express in a while, he does so rather often, all things considered—usually choosing to at least peek out at the worlds you explore. After all, how can he find himself if he doesn’t look? 

  But he has never experienced a planet like this… you could convince him this is some intergalactically funded horror exhibition if you tried. Long stretches of trees and branches reach into the skies, casting dark shadows on the dull grass that covers the ground as far as one can see. The skies are dark when you hop off the train and practically drag Sunday along.

  He walks close to you, unsure if to reassure himself of your presence among the shadows, or to be ready to give his assistance were you to catch your foot on a root and crash on the ground—you’re walking so fast he can't help but think it’s just a matter of time.

  You feel something touch your thumb and look down, only to see Sunday’s gloved hand retreat. He’s looking ahead and pretending there is nothing strange happening. “Are you scared?” you wonder, tilting your head to get a better look at his face.

  A small frown tugs at his lips, so faint you could barely see it. “Of course not, but I am concerned about us getting lost—do you know where we’re going?” 

  “Kind of,” you sway your hand a little, seeing if you can fish at where he has retracted his to. “Pom-Pom mentioned there a huge city not far from where we dropped down, this world has some real good puddings if I read right.”

  Sunday merely hums in response, following you along. You did finally find the city—high buildings made of darkened wood, but with bright lanterns and strings of lights hanging between buildings to illuminate the streets in a comfortable orange. All the ambiance needs is rain (and for you two be inside a nice café) and it’s perfect.

  The streets, however, are a labyrinth. 

  You get lost only seven minutes after reaching the city, and no matter how you squinted at your phone, you couldn’t wrap your head around the map—and it doesn’t help that despite the darkness, it’s midday, and thus the streets and crowded near shoulder-to-shoulder. This place must be popular despite the gloomy atmosphere. 

  Having almost lost sight of you wandering around trying to get your bearings in the crowd, Sunday gathers his courage and stomps down his thoughts—and takes your hand. 

  You stop where you’re going and turn to look at him. “Hm? Is something wrong?”

  He still avoids your eyes, but his grip is firm. “You’re… still going in the wrong direction.”

  “I am?” you look back down to your phone and tilt it sideways. “Ah! Like this, I get it now… I think.”

  Sunday sighs, stepping closer to you as a person shoulder past your positions—and suddenly the two of you are standing far closer than planned, nearly pressed against the wall of a building that leads to the corner of the street. He can’t stop thinking about your hand against his gloved one, and he also can’t help but notice that your fingers feel cold.

  As you try to figure out the best path towards the mythical pudding, holding your phone out for Sunday to see as well, his fingers and palm engulf yours and try to move some of his heat to you. His thumb rubs over your palm as you speak and the lack of proper reaction from you, yet still laying your hand out to him, helps him find the gesture more natural and comfortable… something he wouldn’t mind indulging in more often. 

  Sunday is a very passive person when it comes to affections, he’s rarely the one to reach out first and needs a bit of a push to even come up with romantic gestures. He considers the time you spend together and the understanding between you to be much more precious and indicative of his affections.

  However, he gets an idea one time from something he saw when scrolling his phone… to leave notes around. Sunday wasn’t sure of it at first—and a little embarrassed that someone else might find them before you do—but gradually began to find it as an easy way to show his attention. 

  Sometimes, the notes have a small message on them (mostly reminding you to sleep more) but other times, there’s no message at all. He came to use it as a ‘I thought of you’ message, where he leaves a blank, small post-it on something. 

  One time you forgot to buy new toothpaste on the Express’ most recent stop and dreaded having to borrow from someone again—until you opened the drawer to fetch your toothbrush and saw a full tube with a small blue post-it on it… now you need to go over to his room and rub his cheeks and thank him for remembering your complaints about always forgetting to buy a new one. 

  Sunday is a surprisingly good caretaker, you caught some sort of cold or flu on a recent trip off the express and have been miserable in bed for days. Up and down, hot and cold, snot-filled and gross on all ends. But he sits down by your bedside and takes your temperature, lays the back of his hand against your heated skin and does all he can to help. 

  One aspect he struggled with was when you got whiny one evening and reached out for a hug…

  While you might mistake his hesitation for disgust, as you are snot-nosed, puffy eyed and half crying from misery—it’s far from what was on his mind. But Sunday feels his chest tighten at the sight of you so miserable, temporary as it is, and he doesn’t have the heart to refuse your embrace. 

  He leans down and lets you wrap your arms around his shoulders, your clammy forehead rubbing into his shirt as he stiffly pats your head and tries to soothe you. “It’s alright… your fever is going down, you’ll be okay soon, just remember to drink the water on the nightstand, okay?” he mumbles by your ear, and the more you nod and thank him for taking care of you, the more his muscles ease and he shifts a bit to lay down with you, allowing you to burrow into the crook of his neck and find comfort in his presence. 

  Sunday rests his chin over your head and rubs your back. “Would you like me to sing for you?”

  You nod into his shoulder and he closes his mouth to hum familiar tunes, the beginning of a familiar song as the vibrations in his chest rumble against you. His voice is soothing, and his singing is surprisingly soft and gentle. 

  As you drift to well-needed sleep, Sunday stays with you until he’s certain you’ve fallen asleep… and then for a while more, just long enough that he can’t imagine tearing himself away from you—or risking waking you up by rising from the bed. Perhaps it’s alright if he stays the night here, after all, he needs to make sure you hydrate through the night.

[lunebulous]

How would Xavier react to seeing you dressed as a bride? - Bonus Chapter

C.w: fluff, non-established relationship, silly, xavier x reader, sfw, corpse bride mentions, not proofread.

Stirring a purple juice that seems to be thicker than it should, Xavier is startled by his own doorbell. He’s not waiting for anyone - didn’t ask for any takeout today - so he knows it’s you. He tries not to smile to himself as he dries his own hands in a dish towel nearby, only then realizing the mess he made in the kitchen. He starts desperately trying to tidy up before you ring again - so this will have to make do. He turns off the oven and rushes to the door. 

“Coming.” He says in a soft and happy voice. And as if you didn’t hear, you start repeatedly ringing it again just to annoy him. 

He opens it. “What’s all this for? Is someone chewing your arm off?” He smiles, just genuinely content in seeing you smiling at him, even if there is a hint of suspiciousness in your eyes. “No, but with the time it took you to answer me, I already could have started decomposing!” You retort, making him softly roll his eyes before taking a look at you. You are so adorable. There is what seems to be a pink photo album in your hands. He furrowed his eyebrows before letting you in. “It’s from the photoshoot my friends and I did, the pictures are ready and Anne just delivered it to me!” You say, taking your shoes off. Xavier giggles to himself when he sees your shark socks, but decides to not tease you about it - for now. “Since you were very kind and brought me food, I wanted to have my first look with you!” You walk towards his sofa, and he follows soon after, gazing at the top of your head. He wishes he could kiss it. “First look, huh. Did you have fun?” He asks, taking the photo album from your hands. It’s a baby pink hard leather cover, his fingers grazing against the texture. There is embroidery in the middle of it: a heart with an arrow through it. First look… Now he could say he had this experience once. “A lot. It was very funny, none of our costumes blended with each other so we were laughing the whole time.” You scoot closer, signaling for him to open it already. 

“What were you again..? Dead bride..?” He places his arm on the back of the couch behind you, giving some space for you to move freely. “Corpse Bride, Xavier! I thought you knew who she was!” You stare at him, slapping his knee playfully. 

“I do!” - He doesn’t. - “I just.. don’t remember the names, that’s all.” He shakes his head, looking down. “And you didn’t look like a corpse.. You looked like a cute-” “I know I didn’t! I wasn’t ready yet. You’ll see! Open it! Hurry!” Xavier sighs softly, his heart beating out of his chest. He doesn’t know if he’s relieved or disappointed he didn’t get to compliment you. But he opens the album anyway. The first few pictures are you and your friends arriving, holding lots of bags. The photos are mostly made of ‘backstage’ moments, just as you and your friends requested. Throughout the pictures you can see the process of you guys taking out the makeup, some of you suddenly in costumes, Sam opening a package of a bald cap while Lexy laughed in disbelief. You haven't appeared in a lot of pictures yet. “Here Lexy is laughing because Sam chose to be Pitbull. It’s an old singer known as Mr. Worldwide. He’s bald, so she had to be too.” you’re grinning from ear to ear. “Pit. Bull..? Why did she choose.. a bald man? Out of so many..” He takes a look at you, meeting your ‘why-not’ gaze. “You girls...” Xavier is smiling too. He’s happy you’re happy with your weird little friends. “It’s the only time she’d have the opportunity to be photographed professionally as a bald man. That’s enough reason, I think. I get her.” You simply say, as he turns one more page. Finally, his pretty girl. You’re still in your normal clothes, painting one of your friend’s face orange. The picture is - in its own way - beautiful. It captures you both smiling to each other, even if your friend is half-orange in it. You’re not wearing that hairpin yet though. “Where did you get that hairpin..? It was pretty.” He stares at you in the photo. “Oh, Anne, the short-haired lady that photographed us gave it to me. First she just wanted to try making a hairstyle on my hair but she decided I should keep it after all.” You answer, mindlessly getting closer to him and turning another page, against his will. He wished he could look at you longer but he’s happy you’re leaning on him now.

“I understand.” Now he’s facing a picture of you, just the way you were when he saw you in-person there. In a bride dress, hairpin in place holding your bun up, with a smile so bright and beautiful it makes his heart clench. You’re leaning against the window, looking to your side and probably laughing at something one of your friends did. The natural light casts an ethereal glow around you. He can’t help but place a hand on his chest, disguising it as an itch. He quickly glances at you as you’re concentrating on the picture beside it. You are so precious to him and you have no idea. But someday he'll show you, by having you wear a white dress again, accompanied by a beautiful blue sapphire ring on your left hand. And you turn the page again. He frowns imperceptibly, letting you have your own special experience. After some chuckles and curious questions, you guys are almost at the end of the photo album, where lies a group picture. Xavier suddenly snorts at the scene. Getting startled by it, you look down to see what made him get that reaction, and your hands immediately press on your mouth, shoulders starting to shake from how much you’re holding back a loud laugh.

It’s you - Corpse Bride - along with Lord Farquaad, Morticia, Lorax, Gojo and Pitbull. There is no possible way this photoshoot made sense and you started thinking that this was the most irresponsible financial decision you have ever made - but worth the laugh. At the same time, all Xavier can see is you, almost melting on his lap over the album - laughing so hard it’s silent. It doesn’t take long before you sit up correctly again and he takes another look at the picture, now chuckling. You try to say something but there’s tears in your eyes and everytime you look at the picture you find something new to laugh at.

Finally getting to the end, he closes the album and you let out a heavy sigh, two tears streaming down your face. Xavier looks at you, and carefully dries them with his thumbs, using a light touch as to not ruin your makeup - just the way you taught him. 

He himself sighs a bit too, feeling a mixture of love and pure admiration for your laugh and your own kind of weirdness. He cradles your face in his hands, the moment suddenly intimate between both of you. Calming down, you look at his eyes, searching for a feeling’s name you don’t even know. 

He is not drying up your tears anymore, just.. holding you with adoring eyes. It makes you blush and panic a little, suddenly getting up. “Xavier, I-!” He looks at you with parted lips and wide eyes, before quickly going back to his smirking face. You try to not feel like there’s a lingering desire to hold each other close as you look down at him in silence for some seconds. “Uhm..Oh!” You start patting your pockets. “Anne said you paid her a sandwich before you came to the studio! She told me how she forgot her money and all, and how lucky she felt when you appeared and offered to pay for her!” You take out an envelope out of the inside pocket of your jacket, as Xavier stares at you with the most confusing expression you have ever seen etched on his face. But you keep going. “So she.. wanted to pay you back. Here it is.” You give him the envelope. Xavier takes it hesitantly, immediately noticing that the envelope feels firmer than it should. He has an idea of what it may be in mind, but he’s not so sure of it. You quickly take the photo album from his lap, breathing deeply as your heart starts calming itself down. You take a last glance at him - he’s staring at the envelope. 

“Tell her I said thank you.” Xavier softly analyzes the envelope, not opening it. “I will. Then.. I should get going.” you point to his door behind you. “I left my windows open and I don't want all of my reports flying down the window.” You blurt out, making things up just to leave. Xavier can tell you’re nervous, so he doesn’t insist. He gets up and accompanies you to the door, waving bye. Slowly walking back to his living room, he opens the envelope. He knew it. It's two pictures of you, his beautiful pretend-bride. Both of them are identical - taken moments apart. You are sitting on a low stool, legs close to your body and a bottle of orange juice at your feet. In one of them you are taking a full bite of the sandwich he brought you, and in the other one your eyes are squinting in pure joy as you chew with round cheeks. There’s a soft blush on your face and he can tell how happy you were. Xavier caresses the picture as if you could feel it. As if you could feel how much he wants you by his side. He’s just waiting for the right moment. For the right moment to hold you close, to kiss your soft lips, to claim you as his. To ask you if he can be your boyfriend, just to wait some more before asking if you’d like to be his wife. But right now, something takes him out of it. He sniffs something. He startles like a cat, running to the kitchen. Shitshitshitshitshit! Instead of turning off the oven, he turned it all the way on. He sighs. “Not again…!” Turning off the oven - correctly, this time -, he takes a look at your pictures again. Turning them, he found out Anne had written “Your future bride looks cute enough to make a grown man cry, indeed.” And he blushes immediately. She still has no idea Xavier isn’t even her boyfriend yet, but it’s not like he’ll correct her anytime soon. He looks at the overheated oven, smelling like burnt iron.

First, he must learn how to cook to be a good husband, after all.

I hope you guys enjoyed this little series - and if it's of interest for anyone, Xavier kept these photos under a pile of clothes in his wardrobe - but he took some pictures of it with his cellphone so he could gaze at his bride anytime he felt like it - constantly.

[weirdagnes]

Mouthwashing: The Musical

cant get it out of my head so dumping some ideas in a non-arranged way:

SONG NUMBERS

The songs ABSOLUTELY has to derive leitmotifs from the original soundtrack. It has to be 80s inspired dark synth-heavy with a little industrial/experimental touch. Maybe some of the songs are titled after the actual track titles (“Heroes”, “Here, On Earth”, “Bad News” - very theatrical titles).

Every character gets a soliloquy (ofc)

I can see Swansea having 3 leading songs. One will probably have the motif of “Close your eyes” (character introduction song), two is the reprise (Daisuke death scene), three is the speech he gives to Jimmy.

Anya’s solo comes in the “Dead Pixel” scene, but maybeee it can be a duet with Curly;

Daisuke will have the silly song and dance number that becomes sad mid song when he talks about his insecurities as intern (but it still ends with a bang).

Jimmy and Curly will absolutely HAVE to duet in the “I want to go home” We ARE home” scene.

I can envision a lengthy number heavy on spoken featuring Anya, Curly, and Jimmy during the scene where Anya reveals her pregnancy and the talk before the crash.

Curly could have a solo song with post-crash actor on upstage while in his headspace, his pre-crash actor sings on downstage.

There has to be a painful Anya, Jimmy, Swansea and Daisuke number on the scene when Anya locked herself in the medbay except this time! we get to hear Anya sing her side of the story (maybe Curly’s precrash actor is standing at the side too while Anya sings her last moments but he’s unseen by her, ya know like implied “audience sees, characters dont” thing)

LIGHTING/SCENES

Lighting has to be the peak highlight of the play, like in the game! Instead of black curtain bg, there’s a projector and screen as background that’ll display the day/night/sunset screentime.

Floor lighting is going to be used a LOT for dramatic scenes, like in Curly’s blood sea hallucination, floor lighting could be red as like, reflection of the blood sea.

Light direction goes INSANEE during crash reveal, imitation of emergency lights.

Can you IMAGINE Swansea’s speech scene on stage with projector and screen??? I cant explain because i never studied stage lighting but OUGH PLS IMAGINE HOW COOL AND DOABLE IT IS -

SET DESIGN

This is kinda hard because with set design, you have to be creative limiting stage props while keeping imagery of the set so changing set isn’t troublesome. There’s 6 sets: lounge, medical bay, cockpit, utility, cargo, and hallucination areas. But we can cut it down to:

SET 1 - LOUNGE + MEDICAL BAY. Both have screentime so they can be the same set, maybe Medical on stage right and Lounge on stage left. I think this format will make the “Anya locks herself” scene flow better. Anya is singing her final thoughts stage right, spotlight focus on her as she slowly moves downstage while the crew changes the set to Utility so after Anya takes the pills, the transition to Jimmy and Daisuke entering the Utility is quick.

SET 2 - UTILITY + COCKPIT. The set is pretty unique because of the cryopod and the vent, but it can share set with the cockpit since they have the common design of pipes and screens. The difference between the set are objects that can be easily taken away or added during set change, which is the pilots’ chairs in the (Cockpit) and the cryopod (Utility).

SET 3 - CARGO + HALLUCINATION AREAS. These set are mostly dark in lighting and not much prop other than boxes or shelves (with wheels underneath for easy pushing) of mouthwash and TVs. Scarce lighting and mostly empty stage allows free space for imagination which is perfect for hallucination scenes. The cargo area doesn’t have much design variety anyway.

[lacucarachapisser]

successfully failed colin zabel x f!reader

warning : husband! colin, pregnancy announcement, silly arguments, cringe-fluff, tooth-rooting, bullying as flirting, reader being mean and so is colin prolly ooc lol and lil bit hurt-comfort.

a/n : another fluff because why not, this man is so cute and i want to spoil him. im sorry this was rushed and cliché and apologies for my broken english and any grammatical errors. 1.4k wc.

it was because of your period tracker apps says you’re late, you ended up biting your t-shirt end, struggling in the bathroom alone to see what the second test pack is gonna tell. yes, the second. you still could not believe the two strips had appeared on the first you have held on your other hand. blame the trust issues you could never overcome along with some sort of dread overwhelming anticipation that rudely kicking in. but here you are alone, accompanied by your own half naked reflection in the mirror. a slight smile occur on your lips, you held the two test packs as it was a big evidence you’d need to shown to your man. your always busy man.

colin, i’m pregnant.

it wont be an easy way to tell, as a matter of factly. gosh, you really want to surprise him with that news, but you have a situation within these past two days. the problem began when you’re craving in the middle of the night but since colin had not home yet, you texted him to get you something from your favorite japanese restaurant, but he was being careless, didn’t checked his phone so he went home with an empty hand, and those stupid thing led into a silly arguments.

“where’s my oyako-don?”

“your oya-what?”

it’s almost 10pm that night and clearly he looked so tired and absolutely exhausted, but you didn’t like how colin use his tone. you have waited him in the company of growling stomach and hoping you can enjoy ayako-don with your love one. instead, you had to swallow his irksome attitude.

“sorry, got no time to check the phone. if you’re hungry, you can eat something from the fridge. i’m tired, i need to sleep,”

“and if you’re sleepy you can always use the couch.”

defense. you can be much more annoying. of course he gets annoyed, and as much with his dismay at that time, he glared with a deep inhales and strong exhales came out from his nose.

“seriously,”

“well, i’m just saying.” you shrugged and pretended didn’t care.

he didn’t say anything as he quickly picked up the quilt you had spread on the top of the couch. he was too tired to make the conversation on. you left him, headed to the bedroom and deliberately slam the door hard so he can hear it.

and that morning, after you found out that you’re pregnant, you realize that you have to talk things out and fix your oyako-don situation. it’s colin’s day off, he probably still asleep and the thought of him still curled up in the couch while you announce the news and give him the evidence make you feel giddy.

you didn’t think much as you put your pants on, hide the test packs on your pocket, wash your hand and walk out from the bathroom to approach your man.

and there he is, curled up at the couch in front of the TV, hugging the quilt like a little kid. you admire him from afar and the stupid fight scene from yesterday suddenly come to your head. you have no idea why you can be so dramatic and moody? and not to mention —the feeling of a slight hatred while seeing his face was also there. no, you could never hate him that’s for sure. was this all happen because of the bean inside you? damn right hormones.

after some considerable thought, you ended up choose to wake him with the coffee scent. you carry those two cute mugs so that you can make him open his eyes from the smell of the coffee you have made. but before you could come closer at him, one of the mug slipped from your hand and scattered around the floor. and that’s how he woke up. never the plan. you cursed to yourself as you pick up all the pieces.

he gets up from the couch and walk towards you. you can feel it from the corner of your eyes when he gets closer to your presence. he squats in front of you when your eyes still searching the little pieces all over the floor.

“that’s your favorite mug,”

“careful,”

you didn’t mean to let your voice came out that harsh but your mouth is a beast. sometimes she acts without your consent.

“cranky,” he comments. your mood is okay when he’s quiets, but when he started saying something, you can’t help but feel lightly annoyed.

“and again someone’s gonna force me drive 3 hours straight just to get to the specific antique shop.”

you glared at him, hoping that he would shush but he scoffs and pretty sure enjoy the teasing very much.

“i can drive myself.”

“not a chance. you probably back with just one side mirror.”

you quickly get up and he follows you.

“you think you’re so funny?”

“uh-huh,” his hostile attitude emerges, you couldn’t quite withstand the tears that seems ready to spill any time.

“what’s wrong with you?” you snapped and you clearly could feel the heat of anger start creeping through your pores.

“what’s wrong with you.” yeah what is wrong with you? it’s all practically a joke. blame the hormones!

his demeanor looks amused and triumph by your reaction, he totally thinks he’s winning.

“this….” you aim the mess you have made on the floor. “i… i was planning on being nice today because i have something to tell you and i wanted to fix whatever happen between us,” you suddenly get very emotional and sentimental, you don’t even know how you should feel anyway, anger and sad taking over the happiness you have had earlier.

you pull out the two test packs from your pocket and burst in tears.

“i-i was going to surprise you..” you mumble, holding up your voice so that it wouldn’t sound too pathetic.

colin slowly takes the test packs and stare at it. he certainly feel bad to tease you in a very sunny day particularly his day off. he supposed to spend time with you doing something fun rather than arguing silly thing. however, he pulls you in his embrace as you start sobbing. see now, you’re winning.

“oh shit.. shit.. baby,” he grasps your body tight, burying your face to his chest, hand instinctively moved to the small of your back brushing it up and down. he squeezes your shoulder dearly, murmuring your name and sorry, shushing you hoping that it could stop the cries as he still stared at the test packs he held on one hand.

“look at me,” he whispered and it makes you sobbed a little harder. “come on, look at me..”

you managed to look up to see his face with tears still gather on the corner of your each eyes. he starts kissing your eyelids alternately. “oh my sweet girl, carrying my child. i’m sorry sweetie,”

an affectionate proud smile come across his lips, his hands cupping your face and the thumbs softly swipe your tears away. he gently pulling you close as his lips brushed against yours in a sweet lingering kiss. a warm presence that sent sparks of electricity flying through you, feeling loved, a heartfelt moment you needed the most.

“i am a terrible husband,”

that’s not true of course. you don’t have the energy to say something so you just shake your head slowly.

“how about we restart. lets make your plan come smooth, like i know nothing and we can create a proper memory. what do you think?”

you exhale and press your lips together. “well..”

“hm? what do you want to tell me baby?” he started his acting and it actually sounds pretty hilarious.

“i-i’m pregnant,”

he picks your body up until you can not touch the floor, spinning and twirling you around happily. your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck, putting all your strength in there. his hand against your waist feel ticklish and you can’t help but giggle. “colin! there still might be piece of break somewhere here,”

but instead responding at your warning, he fondly kisses you. “i can’t believe i’m gonna be a dad. and you’d be absolute great mom.” and he kisses you one more time. gosh you are so full of love, a simple soft smile smearing your face.

“better?”

“m-hm,”

“still i like you being cranky. the c in cranky stands for cute.”

so you fulfill. what he say goes. you pull his ear and pinch it as a punishment.

“aw.. okay.. okay. sorry.”

you could have simply let it go, but it is the right time to get revenge after all his teasing.

“please,” he mutters plea. finally.

“oyako-don.”

“granted!”

this time, you put a hard kiss on his cheeks. and only then do you realize you have the absolute bestest husband.

-

-

-

another notes : thank you so very much for reading, every like reblog and comment are appreciate i can not thank you enough for that. those act itself could makes me alive and motivated so that i can write more for you, for me, for us. ((your comment and reblog actually could pay my bills im not even joking)). love yall sm.

[sabbathbloodysabbeth]

Pretend just for a second that's me bursting through the walls from pure excitement.

Honestly, so many people are putting in so many great points on this post that I can’t respond to each individually. (I wish I could) If you are a writer that has a lot of anxiety I definitely recommend going through the responses of this post! It might help!

I believe that everyone here has great points and honestly, it's helping me a lot. Though I do kind of want to brush up on an area that I know I've been suffering with as a writer and someone who is disabled. Which is partially why I'm making this post now. (I'm in a constant battle with OCD and my ass is normally being handed to me)

Though there is definitely no "Perfect" word length, I know some (such as myself) have problems with fitting in or working without the cursed idea of having the perfect word count. For me, I find myself unable to post a chapter unless it's over 10k words because in my head that is the perfect length. This thought is false but also true at the same time. Apart of me knows that whatever length the chapter is, is perfect. But the other part (let's call it the word goblin) wants to meet a specific goal that is sometimes unachievable.

I'm chronically ill and this bastard (the goblin) wants me to sit down and write a 10k chapter in one sitting and when I don't, he (they/she/it/gob gob? I'm not on a first name or pronoun basis with this thing) begins to jump around in my skull like that DVD logo that never reaches the corner of the tv.

And that's something I'm struggling with right now. I used to be able to write a chapter (over 10k words) and feel proud of it within two days. Now I can barely make it to 4k words in a week but strangely I find that I'm still just as proud, if not more, of the things I'm writing. Even though sometimes I would love for Gregory House to just appear in front of me and bonk me on the head with his silly flamed cane and cure every little problem I have in my head. (Technically Foreman, the neurologist, would be the one who would have to help me but that's beside the point.) I know that without my silly little demon (Tourette's) and his little minions (other disabilities) that I probably would be stuck in the never-ending cycle of burning myself out.

As I write this, I realize that I've kind of lost the point I was making. What I was trying to say before my thoughts went wild was that if you are someone who can't escape the concept of "perfect" or need it to function (because lets be honest, some of us really need to be told what to do, me and decisions are constantly in a boxing ring dodging each other) just know that if you can't meet those standards its ok. It probably doesn't feel ok in the moment but that feeling won't last forever. You'll get back up whether you do it by yourself or someone manhandles you to your feet and smacks some sense back into you. (Or hugs you, what that someone does depends on the person you are. I'm a stubborn and spiteful little bitch so I need to get "smacked around" by someone to realize I don't have to do everything by myself.)

And as someone who needs to visually see that people really don't care that much about word lengths, I'm going to leave some screenshots below and I highly recommend any struggling writers who have OCD, chronic illnesses or are simply just a perfectionist to read them. And maybe it can help :)

Also sorry for the long post, I've been having these thoughts for days now and kind of wanted to release them into the world. But quick conclusion, THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS PERFECT WHEN IT COMES TO WORD COUNT OR IN WRITING. WRITE WHATEVER YOU WANT. WRITE PORN, WRITE FLUFF, WRITE LITERALLY ANYTHING, THE WORLD IS YOURS BABY (the word baby is not being targeted at you as a person or as a reader but is just a word that sounded like it would fit and I felt that it belonged there you know?)

I'm currently writing and trying to figure out what could be a possible middle ground for chapter lengths and just want some general feedback on what the (heavy on quotation) "perfect" length is. But I kind of want to hear why some of these lengths are better than others, or if you're someone who doesn't pay attention to length but the quality what are some things that normally keep you interested in longer chapters (or even shorter chapters) I have my own opinions as a reader but as a writer I'm very interested in what the 'general' opinion is. (I don't think I'll personally cater to the majority, but I really enjoy conversations that revolve around topics like this and its been a while since Ive had a deep conversation with other readers/writers and wanted to start one if anyone wants to discuss :)

[lanceappreciationblog]

Drop the Lance dead parents lore 👀🤲

Alright, alright! This is gonna sound crazy and probably be very long so bare with me.

...

So basically Lance's parents were alive during the era of Pokémon wars.

Lance's father (Draco) was supposed to lead the Blackthorn and ensure their safety during the tragedy, however he wasn't at all interested in becoming a Dragon Master. Instead he was an Anthrozoologist who was much more interested in studying the physical and spiritual bonds of people and Pokémon. After being blessed with the Viridian Forest powers. His father, (Lance's grandfather) was not happy about Draco's path, but supported his son on the sidelines anyway.

Lance's mother (Dracaena) was the Hammerlocke Gym Leader and brute warrior who wielded a Lance as her choice of weapon from Galar. (who also was going through their own tragedy at the time). She traveled to Johto after hearing that the Blackthorn could be the place where she could further strengthen her dragon Pokémon from their Dragon Master (who was Lance's father at the time).

To her disappointment, Draco was not the battle-hungry tough guy she thought he was but he insisted he could help her in other ways.

After years of them bonding and finding ways to stay safe during the war with each other. They fell in love. Opposites attract some may say.

It was a risk, but Dracaena hoped to give birth to her first child in Johto even if times were rough. They swore to protect their child with everything they had and if they had to sacrifice themselves in the war to do so, so be it.

... 9 months later a very disastrous event occurred.

Viridian Forest caught ablaze after some rebels fought to demolish the forest for their own base camp.

Dracaena, Draco, and his grandfather were not far from Kanto to witness the dark smoke and fire rising from where Viridian Forest was. It even affected Blackthorn and its citizens we're getting sick from the smog very quickly.

The three of them went to see what trouble was occurring in Viridian. The rebels already set traps in the flames and smoke was only getting harder to withstand. Dracaena, who refuses to stop fighting with her Dragonite even if her child could be born at any moment. Draco, who still was not the best fighter, tried his hardest to protect his love during the battle with his own Dragonite.

But it wasn't enough. Dracaena had fallen next to a tree, body in intense pain. The child had to be born now. Draco insisted that Dracaena had to fly off with her Dragonite to find the closest hospital with his grandfather to make sure their child is born safely and leave him to fight. Dracaena did not like that.

They promised that they'd stick together and protect this child no matter what. Draco understood. And the three of them did all that they could to help her give birth to her child in the currently hellfire state Viridian Forest was in right now.

...

The good news was, he was born. The bad news... was that the rebels have found them. They tried to aim for Dracaena as the weakest physically in the group. Draco didn't let them get the chance as we channeled every bit of the Viridian Forest power inside of him and obliterated the rebels.

He sat next to his love, held her hand and gazed happily at their new born son. Smiles growing weaker by the second.

"...What's his name, Dracaena?"

With her last breath. Smoke filling both of their lungs trying to breathe out the exhaustion.

"Lance... The strongest weapon I know."

Draco with last breath urges his father to take Lance and make sure he lives a long happy life in Blackthorn.

Lance's grandfather, full of understanding but sorrow, took Lance and Draco and Dracaena's Dragonites off to Blackthorn as the two held their hands together against that tree and spent their last seconds together.

[skitskatdacat63]

For everyone who wanted bullfighter Nando when I mentioned it the other day, here you go :D

+ this one I don't feel like coloring yet(imagine he's in Ferrari colors!!!)

[mygoodfriendjohnathanharker]

Fixed the door that Johnathan had slipped through, not letting that happen again!

[anemicjellyfish]

Tags from my awesome mutual:

Okay, you're not wrong at all. In fact, this is the only thing that was blowing a hole in my speculation about the whole "chest feathers" thing. I almost didn't include the picture of Stella's friends because they both show feathers and I didn't want to dive into them initially because my thoughts were too much effort to tap onto my phone screen.

But! I have another theory about the one on the left of the group, along with an excuse for the one on the right. (This is just headcanon at this point tbh. And I should really be going to bed but I'm gonna keep going because I have no common sense. I hope you don't mind me using a reblog to go a bit more in-depth on my silly ideas.) (Also, I just wanna say that I don't mean any of this in an argumentative way. It's just that I finally found an excuse to sit down and go crazy with talking about characters, birds, and outfits. I could be entirely wrong about everything idk)

Unfortunately, we don't have their names, titles, or much indication of what type of birds they're intended to resemble. My guess for Mr Guy here is that he's a snowy owl. The eyes are a very similar shade of yellow to snowy owl's natural color eyes. And his head/hair feathers being solid white with a speckled breast match up to a snowy owl as well. These are literally the only birds that I personally know of to have primarily white coloration with a speckled breast/rest of body (I'm not a bird expert, and I'm happy to be proven wrong on this point- I actually wouldn't mind learning about more bird species).

But there's something about his chest feathers that makes me think there's a clothing layer there. I think it could possibly be some kind of cravat (Google says a modern term in an Ascot, but idk, I just like period pieces and know it as a cravat).

Because the pattern so closely resembles the one on Stolas' mantle that he wears for his more official "uniform."

But the feathers on Mr Guy On The Left are clearly visible? And I'm not saying they 100% are not visible feathers exposed to us. If I'm proven wrong in the future, that's cool.

I am gonna say, hear me out on this. because he wouldn't be the first character to have visible hair popping up from underneath clothing.

It's speculated (although I'm not sure if it's confirmed) that the black parts of Loona's legs are actually socks. Her fur sticks through in some places, but we see in Seeing Stars that she is wearing some kind of pants/leggings that don't have tufts of fur sticking out. And ripped parts of the pants/leggings reveal the same color underneath as the rest of her fur. Although, it's hard to say for sure. I'm so far behind on things because it's hard to keep up with all the sources of info when they're spread out across platforms.

Mr Guy On The Left also has some feather-like protrusions on his elbow, despite clearly wearing a jacket.

It's getting really late and I'm exhausted, so I'm leaving Guy On The Left Reasoning at that and hoping it makes sense. (When I wake up in the morning and see my stupid posts... yikes.)

As for Lady On the Right?

I think it's just a revealing dress. Her arms are exposed since the dress appears to be a halter-top situation. (I could be mistaken on the halter-top, but this was the only image of her that I have on hand and I don't wanna go looking for more because I'm sleepy.)

Her outfit is revealing, showing a lot of "skin" (feathers) around her chest, and is tightly fitted at the waist. For her, I think it's just a fashion choice.

My conclusion? I don't have one, actually. Until we know a little more about the rest of these bird characters, it's hard to say for sure if Stolas has sensory issues regarding his feathers, especially the ones on his chest.

Stolas and Sensory Issues

So a lot of us see traits of autism in Stolas. I've been thinking about how his wardrobe might be an indicator of it.

Of course, this is screenshot of his latest outfit that I'm using! 😍

The latest addition to his wardrobe has a similarity to previous items: an opening for the feathers on his chest.

While I've loved the jokes about his shirt needing a "boob window," I'm thinking that this is confirming a sensory issue for Stolas in regards to his feathers.

The beloved and/or dreaded royal romper has a similar feature.

Even in LooLoo Land, Stolas' LooLoo shirt has his chest feathers poking out.

Something that some (but certainly not all) autistic individuals struggle with is Sensory Processing Disorder. Since I'm not an expert in this, I'll keep to a minimum discussing the actual aspects of it and reference WebMD.

Sensory processing disorder is a condition in which the brain has trouble receiving and responding to information that comes in through the senses.

Sensory processing disorder may affect one sense, like hearing, touch, or taste. Or it may affect multiple senses.

I'm thinking that clothing pressing down on his feathers may be a triggering sensory input. Similar to the way a shirt tag may be rough to the point where it is a constant irritation. Or a sweater made with infuriatingly scratchy synthetic fabric.

We've already seen Stolas' apprehension toward scrambled eggs in Sinsmas. I've been told by a few people that eggs are a common texture that they dislike.

I don't think it's too far of a leap for Stolas, who is frequently clad in a bathrobe, to have sensory dislikes of both food and restrictive clothing.

But something else in Sinsmas really hammered this home. Stella!

We finally see Stella in anything other than her typical, full-length dress that covers most of her body.

And she has similar, although not as lengthy, chest feathers!

Stella hasn't displayed the same autistic traits that Stolas has. She clearly has no trouble engaging in social situations and doesn't seem to perform any stimming behaviors. The restriction of clothing on her feathers may not trigger any sensory issues if she doesn't have the same sensitivities that Stolas has in regards to her feathers.

We can't see Andrealphus' feathers just yet, but he doesn't seem to be bothered by restrictive clothing at all.

Despite a fluffy bathrobe of his own during the "Spa Day," Andrealphus wears what appears to be a tight, long-sleeved shirt while lounging indoors in his earlier scene in Sinsmas.

(Yes, I'm still using this screenshot, it's too good to put away forever.)

I personally am unsure if the show will ever address if Stolas is intended to be autistic. On one hand, it would be nice for it to be confirmed & canon. But I also think Helluva Boss does an excellent job at the concept of "show, don't tell." They've given us more than enough evidence to come to the conclusion ourselves.

[deadbeandrop]

i always feel like there's such an underappreciated aspect of lumpus being the one to have feelings for slinkman (over the years) which is that there's something so Hilarious about him wanting to dump his head in a vat of acid because he's thinking stupid mushy shit, or Worse, about this Thing again

who also does not pick up on this at all and just thinks he's being weird again

[dirt-str1der]

Theres no season 4 because theyre too scared to animate the canon gay couple. They know its going to change the dr stone mrm ecosystem forever

[sysig]

Guess who :3c (Patreon)

[eternal-reverie]

got the posting anxiety bad tonight

[itsalwaysdark]

i was gonna make a post abt how i dont rly like like. Genre changing covers of songs and then realized upon introspection is that i sort of just dont like rock covers of songs generally

[shxdowedterios]

I'm just saying it would heal me to see Sonic and Shadow fight at the peak of their abilities, man...... like. Early seasons RWBY levels of choreography pacing and camera work. That would fix me a little bit...