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hanasnx · 5 months

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Which bruce wayne is ur favourite? (ex. Christian Bale, Robert Patterson) and follow up question why? -🐰

bunny, im so glad you asked. how much time do you have

i don't care about robert pattinson, i did not care about the batman (2022). i'm sure i'll do a full analysis once i'm able to establish my credentials as a lifelong batman fan, but there was a lot that fell so short for me.

christian bale was an exceptional bruce wayne, which is arguably as impossible a role to fill as the role of batman is. i loved bale's aloof and smug nature as bruce, his confidence and faults, but i can not stand his portrayal of batman. not only is the suit design egregious and unflattering, whoever helped him develop his bat-voice was a terrible guide. bale did his best, don't get me wrong, truly i can hear him giving his all and shredding his vocal chords in the process, but it was simply awful to listen to. the dark knight (2008) is still a rewatch-worthy movie of course, but batman begins (2005) & the dark knight rises (2012) was not memorable nor revolutionary. they pale in comparison to the middle of the trilogy.

more (and a TDLR at the bottom) under the cut:

i thought michael keaton's portrayal of both bruce and batman in batman (1989) and batman returns (1992) was boring. any personality he may have tried to bring to batman was washed out by tim burton trying to fit so much of... well... tim burton into something that didn't need any more of that injection. don't get me wrong, stylistically it's appealing, but if you told me that keaton just showed up and started acting as michael keaton instead of bruce wayne i'd believe you because there is no clear distinction between the two. the second movie was way more enjoyable to watch but it was because of elements that had... virtually nothing to do with bruce/batman. it was devito's penguin, and pfieffer's catwoman (and her subplot) that held my attention. i think it's definitely a burton movie, which is fine, and his morbid takes on those characters are interesting, but it was not a defining movie for bruce/batman. it honestly could've been better without batman entirely or benched as a side character / the antagonist.

batman forever (1995) is my secret favorite live action portrayal. val kilmer had bale's charisma when it came to bruce wayne, and gave batman a unique personality that i adored. he didn't shred his vocal chords to give batman a deeper voice either, instead gave himself an elegant yet commanding edge that reminded me of what i admired about kevin conroy's batman voice. as campy as it is, i love so much of what they did with this movie. i often think of it as a standalone vs it being actually a part of the "burtonverse." especially because batman & robin (1997) is supposed to be part of that franchise and i cannot tell you a single thing that happened in that movie besides maybe uma thurman.

another secret live-action favorite of mine was the foundational movie of adam west's portrayal in batman: the movie (1966) and i will elaborate on that another time either by someone's solicitation or my own hyperfixation driven wills.

now that the live-action shit is out of the way, let's get to the real winners.

the dcau or "timmverse" (bruce timm) or "diniverse" (paul dini) is the name for the dc animated universe franchise during 1992 - 2006 which includes loads of favorite shows/movies of mine. which leads me to say: my favorite portrayals of bruce wayne and batman of all time, is kevin conroy's from justice league (2001 - 2004) and justice league unlimited (2004 - 2006). those two might not be as solid as a legend like batman: the animated series (1992 - 1995) where conroy made his debut, but they were one of my introductory pieces to his portrayal and are a source of a lot of love and nostalgia that still hold up today as a twenty-one year old vs elementary school when i first discovered them. i stayed up til the AM watching them which i had never done before that (it was 7am). i would rewatch my favorite episodes over and over again which i have never done for any other show.

as many have already agreed, conroy was the definitive voice of batman for decades. his beginnings in the legendary batman: the animated series (1991 - 1995) put him on the map as bruce's most recognizable VA, and he went on to voice him in many adaptations that i also adore. a few examples are batman beyond (1999 - 2001) and the rocksteady arkham video game series (2009 - 2015). not only did he form a dynamic duo with mark hamill's joker (who is also so important for the joker's character, but i can't elaborate on that here without a terrific tangent) which employed one of the most potent examples of chemistry i've ever seen in media, but i would've trusted conroy's expertise on bruce/batman to the ends of the earth. he cared about that character, and he showed it in every faithful adaptation he performed. trustworthy and admirable, conroy is hands down the best batman by far, and did justice to his characterization that defined my love for the character. without conroy who brought him alive, i doubt i'd be into batman as much as i am or for as long as i have.

i knew that writing this post i'd get emotional. it's been a year since conroy's death in november 2022. i still remember the night before the news and how i had coincidentally imagined a world without him, come to find out the very next day that he had passed away. i remember exactly where i was when i found out, i remember exactly what i did after. he had honestly been a part of life through batman for almost the entirety of it. he was the celebrity i always wanted to meet, no one was important enough to me to go through that trouble. but conroy was worth it to me, and i missed out on the chance before he passed away. i heard he was always so personable and so kind, and who could ask for better from batman, you know? god there's so much more i could say, but i dont want to be disrespectful to his family who i'm sure miss him terribly, and are the ones that experienced that loss. in the grand scheme of things, i was nothing to him and that's fine, but i'm just very proud of him.

TDLR the character bruce wayne / batman portrayals in any live action adaptations fell short when it comes to animated adaptations of his character. batman forever (1995) is my favorite live-action movie, but it's nothing compared to my love for the voice acting of kevin conroy's bruce wayne / batman in justice league (2001 - 2004) / justice league unlimited (2004 - 2006).

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bearsbeetsbeskar · 2 months

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personal updates (and where tf I've been basically the last month and a half - nothing crazy)

hello beauties

i feel like it's been a hot MINUTE since I've consistently posted on my blog here and that's due to many reasons, the main one being school. I'm in the final two weeks of my masters program and everything is due at once, and shit is hitting the fan basically as I hunker down to get these assignments done over the next two days (pray for me y'all)

also I started a little nsfw side blog for the horny thoughts (and maybe some pictures🌚) that kind of took off and went rampant (which I was not anticipating whatsoever), and I've found myself spending more time on there, than here. I won't lie, the stress of school and other shit going on in my life, made it a nice fun outlet for the time being, but's a lot more lonely than the fandom side of tumblr.

if i am being honest though, it's been hard to still be engaged with fandom stuff, be excited about new content, and I honestly can't remember for the life of me the last time I read any sort of pedro fic. I haven't had the desire to read anything or even write anything as of late cause I just don't feel as connected to this blog lately, compared to how often I was posting in the beginning of the new year. I feel like the lack of new pedro content has also contributed to that, and I also wonder if maybe taking a small break from it in the last month or so (and touching grass) kind of made me hyper aware of how much time I was spending online.

I'm not taking a break, but i think it will be better for me to return to posting consistently once I am finally fucking done school after April 5th. and that goes for the fics and WIPs I had on the go, they are definitely not abandoned and I will return to finish them, once I'm wrapped up with this program.

anyways, I love you all so freaking much and I am still so grateful for this lil corner of the internet where we can be feral and hyperfixate over a middle aged man ❤️

#life updates #ramblings #nothing crazy #in the final stretch of grad school but I'm sure everything will calm back down after that!!#i miss you all and I miss pedro so much ugh #personal

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bloominglifedyinglife · 2 years

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@ruiner-of-days

(Edit: I was in the middle of answering your ask, when I accidentally posted it before I was finished with it. I went to go edit it, and ended up DELETING IT!!!! I’M SO SORRY!!! I did manage to copy most of your ask, so I’ll put it right HERE.)

Like is kiki with the wittebros if she isn't in the emperor's coven? Since it seems hunters a descendant of the wittebanes I have to wonder how does he feel about Philip and Caleb? Oh! And how does he feel about Nicholas and Abigail? (Does he even know he's related to them?) Also does eda realize she's technically royalty? And luz must be having a fun time theorizing about the wittebanes and hunter lol, just realized that caleb probably had to see Lorelei die...unless she's also alive? And btw do Caleb Philip and eda interact since their technically family (unless caleb and lorelei didn't have kids I'm assuming they did but if I'm wrong please correct me) also imagine running away from your abusive family only for them to follow you and become rulers of said place you came to escape OOF- (btw I'm sorry if this is too long I just have a lot of questions about this cool au)

Sorry it took so long to respond, I was literally fangirling over someone gaining IMMEDIATE interest in something I created over a hyperfixation. You have no idea how much your single ask means to me!!! Don’t feel sorry about the questions! For Titan’s sake! ASK. ME. MORE.

So to address your questions.

Where is Kikimora?

Kikimora lives with Belos. During the years where Belos was hiding from Caleb, he ended up stumbling upon Kikimora, fresh out of heartbreak. She had been disowned by her family and left with nothing but the clothes on her back. Belos let her stay with him to avoid the boiling rain, and she was going to leave the next day. Until daylight hit and she saw what an absolute MESS Belos lived in. She vowed that he would live in a clean space, and ended up cleaning everything. She was going to leave afterwards, but used the excuse that Belos would ‘just make it messy again’. Eventually, she stopped commenting on leaving, and Belos never saw any reason to kick her out. She soon learned science and chemicals from the books Belos kept and started helping him with his machine building.

As for her magic, she uses illusions, potions, and healing. The latter she learned because Belos had a tendency to have his machines blow up in his face a few times before he got it right. Since she was with Belos, she never had a reason to join the Emperor’s Coven.

How does Hunter feel about Caleb and Philip?

It took a while before he ever met Caleb or Philip. He ended up in the Demon Realm through an actual leak, not the door like Luz. He ended up running into Eda and Luz during ‘Covention’, Hunter using the time while everyone was attending the event to walk around with less people looking at him. He ended up running into Eda, Luz and King on their way home after their Witch’s Duels with Lilith and Amity.

Naturally, Luz is excited to see another human, but Eda is confused as to how he got there due to her having the portal door. She is also confused as to why she looks like her Family Friend. Hunter, a little confused and a little frightened, is not sure what to do. However, Eda ends up taking Hunter and his feathered friend to her home. (to be explained later) She gives him the offer of returning to the Human Realm, but he refuses since he ran away and had no intentions of returning. This meant that Hunter lived with Eda for the most part and didn’t meet the Wittebanes until later.

He finally meets them when he and Luz, coming back from school, return to three new faces in the Owl House. Caleb, Philip, and Kiki end up at the Owl House when their current temporary abode was destroyed by coven scouts, thinking they were Wild Witches.

Caleb was mostly confused as to how Hunter looks almost EXACTLY like him, mostly due to the fact that he’s never fathered a child. Well, not one that survived anyways. And certainly not recently within the last sixteen years.

Its’ lack of any evidence doesn’t really stop Caleb from becoming attached to Hunter and vice versa. Hunter even manages to wiggle his way into Philip’s heart when he learns that Philip likes science and gives him some of his old school books he had in his bag. The older man is fascinated by the updated knowledge and is more willing to let Hunter spend time with him. When he learns that Hunter is very knowledgeable, he finds he likes their science talks. Especially when it leaves Caleb confused by all the different terms they use.

How does Hunter feel about the Emperor and Empress?

Well, Hunter doesn’t know very much about them, no more than Luz knows. The brothers don’t even know who are under those masks the Emperor and Empress wears. Neither brother has seen hide nor hair of their mother or father in about 196 years since they last saw them. During the period when the Emperor’s Coven and the Coven System was being put into play, Caleb was chasing after Philip again on another set of Isles. So Hunter won’t be meeting either of these figures until later.

How does Eda feel about the brothers/being royalty?

Well, in my AU, Eda only knows Caleb as a very long living Family Friend of her family’s. He’s been in and out of the family’s lives for decades, and he’s been that way for so long that her family as of now sees it as normal. Caleb married into the Clawthorne family, his name technically being Caleb Wittebane-Clawthorne. His name and face are in the family albums, but rarely does anyone ever look that far back.

For Eda personally, however, he was a stable rock in her life that wasn’t stifling. When she got cursed, she felt like there was no one she could turn to. She injured her father to point of ruining his carving career, her mother would stop at nothing to see her cursed removed, no matter the method, and her sister was suddenly extremely overbearing. When she ran away, she ended up running into Caleb, who was on his way for a surprise visit to see how Dell was doing after the incident. She begged him to take her away, and he did, without question. Well, at first anyways. He took her somewhere where she could clear her head before questioning her. She admitted her problems, because Caleb was a figure who had always been willing to listen to her and not judge her for her feelings or thoughts.

He helped her through a lot of her problems, and while it didn’t completely stop her desire to keep running from them, it helped her with making a few better choices in her life. She did end up going back ONCE to try and make up with her mother and to talk with her father, a suggestion from Caleb. But she never got to see her father because she had a spat with her mother that lead her to running away and coming upon the portal like in canon. She never told anybody about the portal, except Caleb, who didn’t want anything to do with the portal, and he would never tell Eda why.

She only met Philip until he and Caleb started living together again, she’d heard stories about him from Caleb all the time during his visits, but she had never met him before. By the time she met him she was already an adult and making a name for herself in the Boiling Isles.

Caleb would often make house visits to Eda, which she always appreciated. She would always offer a place for him and his brother to stay, but Caleb would always refuse if his brother did. Caleb spent YEARS chasing after his brother, he refuses to do so again.

How does Luz feel about the Wittebanes?

Since Luz met them at the same time as Hunter, she learns about them as he does. She’s excited to see more humans in the Demon Realm, and she’s always trying to ‘unlock their tragic backstory’. She shows a lot of interest in Caleb’s and Philip’s own way of doing magic. Caleb being rather proficient with Flapjack, and Philip using artificial magic with technology. She did theorize about Hunter’s relation to Caleb, but it trailed off when Caleb said the only child he fathered never made it. She never touched that subject again.

What happened to Caleb’s wife, Lorelei Clawthorne?

I made a small mention earlier in this post, but Lorelei Clawthorne died at the hands of Abigail while she was 3 1/2 months pregnant. Abigail was ruthless and Caleb and his in-laws never got to bury her or the child. Caleb never even knew if he had a daughter or a son.

I hope that answered all of those questions, and possibly even gave you new ones. Don’t be afraid to ask, since you’re probably the only one who does at this point in time.

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shirtlesssammy · 3 years

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5x12: Swap Meat

At a bar, a woman sits alone, enjoying her margarita, when one Sam Fucking Winchester wanders over and asks the barkeep ---NOT at all awkwardly--for a banana daiquiri. He’s either deep undercover or something is seriously hinky. There’s a lot of sugar in banana daiquiris, Sam. Crystal introduces herself and Sam introduces himself as Gary! She then propositions him, much to his cluelessness.

The poor dumb boy puts it together and “would love to have the sex with [her].” We then pan over to see Sam REALLY isn’t Sam at all.

Housatonic, Massachusetts

36 Hours Earlier

Sam and Dean visit Donna, an old babysitter --well, she was a maid at a motel they’d stay at while John went hunting. She looked out for them. It seems that her family house has a poltergeist problem. Bumps and broken items have led to the thing attacking their daughter, Katie.

Katie lifts her shirt to reveal “Murderd Chylde” carved into her abdomen. I'd get some serious vaseline on those wounds if you don’t want scarring, Katie. Yeesh. Sam and Dean tell the family to skedaddle while they take care of things.

They stop at a diner for food next. Dean picks up their order from the counter from Banana Daiquiri Gary! He’s not impressed with Sam’s salad shake, and neither is Dean (but when is he ever?)

They talk about Donna and how she’s got a good thing going. Dean asks Sam if he’d want to settle down at all and have a family, and Sam answers, “no.” Dean looks contemplative about it.

Sam finds lore on the house. A Samuel Pickett owned the house in the 1700s and hung a woman, Maggie Briggs, there for witchcraft. As the brothers talk, we watch Gary hyperfixate on Sam.

Sam goes to check out the town’s archives for where Maggie Briggs was buried. As he’s walking back to the motel, he hears a noise and then gets shot in the neck with a dart. Lights out, Sammy.

He comes to later, wearing Gary’s work uniform. He starts walking but the cops pick him up claiming his family is worried about him. “My brother called you?” Sam asks, incredulous.

No. The cops take him to a suburban house where a worried couple pops out and hugs Sam in relief. He asks who they are and in return they want to know if he’s drunk.

They keep calling him Gary. It’s then that Sam looks in the window of the cop car --and sees his reflection. He looks like Gary!

Meanwhile, Gary is checking out his hot new bod. Dean shows up and wonders where he’s been. Gary placates him with food. He also tells Dean that the maid saw all their weapons and they better get out of there. While Dean uses the restroom, Gary gets rid of all Dean’s phones.

THEN he has the NERVE to ask to drive. He doesn’t get far. And quite frankly, Dean’s spidey sense should be spiking through the ceiling at this point.

Sam keeps trying to reach his brother, with no luck. He calls the motel to learn that the two dudes in room 102 left in the middle of the night. So, Sam starts digging through Gary’s stuff and discovers items of witchcraft. Before he can dig too much further though, he’s called to the family breakfast.

His “dad” starts grilling him about getting drunk the night before. Sam’s got better things to worry about than placating some dude he doesn’t know. He also needs to learn more about Gary, so he starts interviewing the family about what they've noticed in him lately.

The dad wants to know if Sam’s “smoking drugs”. Sam then asks if they’ve ever seen him with a black book recently. His sister, Sydney, reacts to that question. The mom reacts to him eating toast --his allergy to wheat gluten!!

Sydney later reveals to Sam that there IS a book.

Gary and Dean are still working the case. Dean informs Gary that they have to search graves for Maggie’s body. Nerd of Nerd’s Gary knows exactly where Maggie Briggs is buried: Isiah Pickett’s basement. He also reveals that he murdered her and her unborn child before burying them in the basement. Dean connects the ‘murderd chylde’ clue.

Once in the car, Bob Seger starts blasting, and Gary tells Dean to turn it up.

Sam continues to leave messages for Dean. He ALSO has to navigate the tortures of high school again. Sam meets two of Gary’s friends and asks where his locker is (he’s still drunk, after all).

For This is a Look TM Science:

(And let’s pause for a moment to enjoy Sam’s striped hoodie. Definitely one of the top 5 wardrobe choices on this show.)

He finds the book in the back of Gary’s locker.

Gary and Dean find the grave in the basement of the Pickett house. Dean gets to digging while Gary aims his gun at Dean. Before he can shoot, the ghost comes out to play. It starts beating up the both of them but Gary’s able to burn the bones.

Gary’s extremely nosy friends follow Sam out of the school. While it looks like we’re gearing up for some good ol’ Ferris Bueller shenanigans, Trevor shoots Sam in the throat (GAH) with a sedative dart.

Meanwhile, at a bar, Dean orders a burger with extra bacon and a fried egg on top. Excuse me...I need to go eat an entire branchbouquet of kale in retaliation. Mysteriously, Sam orders the same thing. “Who are you and what have you done with my brother?” Dean asks. But it’s just a lighthearted comment and they raise a toast to a successful hunt.

Gary’s over the moon overabout the day he just had. His joy makes Dean suspicious the way nothing else has. Oh, you sweet sad sunflowers. Gary lays out Sam Winchester’s happiness list: 1) gun 2) getting drunk 3) looks like Sam Winchester.

“You ever feel like your whole future is being decided for you?” Gary asks. OH YES, Dean tells him. I forget for a minute that I’m watching a season 5 episode as the Dean-Winchester-feels-trapped-in-the-narrative-sorrow threatens to overwhelm me. But there areis no time for FEELINGS when the narrative must go on! Cut to later in the night, when Gary gets picked up by the woman in the bar from the cold open. Dean puts his thinking face on while Gary ecstatically leaves the bar.

Back at Kid Kidnapperz clubhouse, Sam’s tied up. Trevor calls Gary and asks him if he’s killed Dean yet. “I’m working up to it,” Gary replies while sitting shirtless under a leopard print bedspread in the cougar’s lair. (Just...no on SO MANY LEVELS.) Sam listens to this with great alarm.

Sam demands to know how these rando teenagers know Dean. “Everybody knows Dean. He’s Hell’s most wanted,” Trevor retorts. Sam puts two and two together and comes up with a coupla dumb kids who took a deep dive into witchcraft and started talking to demons.

“You’re just kids,” Sam laments. Trevor and Nora fill in more blanks. They were messing around with a Moste Dark Booke of Witchcraftery, as one does, and suddenly Gary went into a trance and drew a fairly decent picture of Dean. Gary also heard a voice - it was setting a bounty on Dean’s head, and apparently broadcast through the witch trance network.

Gary heard a voice in his head - it was setting a bounty on Dean’s head, and apparently broadcast through the witch trance network. Nora now has second thoughts, so Trevor ups his stupidity game and starts to summon a demon.

That night, Gary creeps into the motel room and grabs Dean’s gun up from a nearby chair. He cocks the pistol. . He aims it at the shape under the covers...and Dean grabs him from behind and demands to know who he really is. (Silly Gary, Dean stopped sleeping under covers after he got back from Hell.)

Back in Trevor’s basement, he finishes the demon summoning. Nora looks up with black eyes.

She’s very interested to learn that they’ve got Dean Winchester in their sights. Trevor tells her where Dean is immediately. She absorbs this and swings her attention to Sam. She realizes it’s Sam “Boy King of Hell” Winchester sitting there and is suddenly VERY interested. Trevor asks her where his reward is, and when he pushes for it she first taunts, then kills him. (All the while Sam is in the background GRINDING HIS TEETH.)

Gary weeps, tied up in the motel room while Dean listens to voicemail after voicemail from Sam. Gary babbles about Sam’s whereabouts but it’s too late. Demon!Nora saunters in and lobs Dean across the room. Wherps. She offers Gary a powerful future but first he’s got to meet “the boss.” All he has to do is say “Yes” and they can have a nice chat together! Very sneaky! Dean attacks her while she’s cooking up her big plan and then Gary and Dean tag team an exorcism, freeing Nora of the demon. Later, Gary performs the incantation to swap bodies with Sam again. (I shake my head yet again that THIS is the ONLY body swap episode we got in the whole fifteen season run. What a goddamn waste of comedy potential.

With Sam restored to normal (or as normal as a Winchester can get), Dean confronts Gary. He tells him that if he were just a little older, he’d be dead right now. With those comforting parting words, they bring Gary and Nora back to their lives. Sam tells Gary to quit his whining about his life. It’s possible to rebel in a “healthy, non-satanic way.” Furthermore, he tells Gary that he wishes he had his life. Once the kids are out of earshot, Dean comments on Sam’s kind words. “Totally lied. Kid’s life sucked ass.” The apple-pie family crap is stressful, Sam decides.

Maybe they just don’t know what they’re missing, Dean rejoins, and I calmly tie an anvil around my ankle and drop it off a cliff into a dramatically large canyon.

They head out into the rainy night...to fight another day!

Doppelquöter:

You ever think that you'd want something like that? Wife, rugrats, the whole nine?

No matter how much you fight it, you can't stop the plan. The stupid, stupid plan

Um, I wouldn't exactly call praying to our dark overlord “goofing around”

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

#spn recap #dean winchester #sam winchester #spn 5x12 #swap meat #supernatural season 5

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ct-multifandom · 3 years

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MLB ideas/hopes/predictions/prompts

Bunnix using her umbrella to fly like Mary Poppins

Ladybug coming up with an overly convoluted Rube Goldberg machine type plan with her lucky charm, but not having some of the components, so she just sends Pegasus to the store in the middle of a battle

Characters who are close slowly finding out about each other’s superhero identities in funny ways

Pigella picking up something massive and like 10x heavier than her and chucking it

I really want one of these heroes’ tools to be a comically large anime-style weapon, but alas I don’t think they’d do it

Season finale boss fight featuring all the new heroes, which is totally gonna happen at some point, but it would look really busy on screen to have them all running around at once, so I’d split them into smaller teams based on their skills to carry out specific parts of Ladybug’s Epic 36-Step Plan™️. It would make for a satisfying “oh yeah, it’s all coming together” montage and also give us some unique character interactions.

Ladybug picking unique combo teams of new heroes based on their skills to fight specific strong villains

Alya starting a school paper and getting the whole team in on it. I love the episodes where the class does one big project together, they’re so cute.

Someone/a group getting akumatized on purpose to disobey Hawkmoth and take advantage of their akuma’s power for a noble goal

Episode from the POV of a boring background character detailing how the life of the average Parisian is affected by LB and CN. Unreliable scheduling, monster traffic jams, the sheer embarrassment of getting got by an akuma...

I want an animal to get akumatized. Someone’s dog who feels lonely when their favorite human gets a new, demanding job and turns into a terrifying Cerberus beast or something.

Mayor Bourgeois allocates some taxpayer dollars into a LB bank account to support her, and she has to make the very important decision on whether to save it for a real emergency or buy 17 hamburgers.

Okay part of me doesn’t want to make kwami/future hero predictions in case I accidentally come up with something way cooler than what will really happen and then be disappointed, but the other part of me is like hee hoo predikshun. So don’t expect these to actually happen lol.

I won’t talk about Multimouse because we kinda know everything about her, but she looks cute and it’s nice to see two heroes who aren’t super skinny.

The silhouette of Minotaurox in the intro doesn’t offer a lot of insight other than his epic horns. I have no idea what his tool might be. His costume looks to be pretty simple/practical, though, which is in line with Ivan’s character. I heard a theory that his power will be increasing in size, and it makes sense looking at Stoneheart and the pattern of flipping the characters’ flaws on their head, but that sounds kind of boring to me, especially compared to all the other creative abilities.

Tigresse’s silhouette makes me think her design will be awesome. Her tail looks like it might be her tool. It kind of resembles Amethyst’s whip from SU so maybe she can use it to grab things like Ladybug does with her yo-yo. I heard a theory that her power will be invisibility which I support because it takes the flaw that turned Juleka into Reflekta (wanting to be invisible out of insecurity) and makes it powerful like the stealth of a tiger.

From the silhouette, Caprikid looks a bit like a beginner’s Trollhunters cosplay, but I’m sure he’ll be cool. I’ve seen people argue whether he’s Nate or Marc and I’m positive he’s Marc (making Nate CC) so if anyone asks for an explanation I’ll make the comprehensive post on why. He’s holding his tool, and I’ve seen debate over which direction it’s in. If he’s holding it pointed up it looks like a giant calligraphy brush, but I think he’s holding it pointed down and the “brush” is just a decoration on the end. I’ve heard a theory that it’s a shepherd’s cane which is my favorite one. Personal idea here: I’d make his power telekinesis. Pretty basic, but I can imagine it being very useful for the type of scenarios we see in the show without it being OP. I like the idea of using a cane to “shepherd” something through the air. This could reflect Reverser’s desire for control, but flip it to be more collected and useful.

I fully support Coq Courage’s ninja pants, they are simply Correct. It’d be cool if his tool was a bow and arrow, and that seems like a pretty popular theory. The shape to the left of his torso looks like it might be a quiver but it’s probably just his other arm. Thumb rings are used in archery, but what little we’ve seen of the miraculous (disguised on Marinette and Chloe) shows a different type of ring. Still tho. Also get ready for my crazy never-gonna-happen idea: the bow can turn into a hang glider. Roosters can fly, but not super well/freely, which could translate to gliding. It’d add some versatility to the way the heroes move around since a lot of the temporary ones can only run, and it would let him reach places LB might not be able to. I’ve heard a theory that his power will be supersonic voice which could contrast how Nathaniel is bad at communicating and quiet until he gets mad and blows up.

Orikko might be the kwami of illumination. Roosters are associated with the sun and Evillustrator’s power was sourced from light. At first I thought his transformation words might be “sunrise” and “sunset” but someone said the activation code could be “rise and shine” which sounds awesome.

Traquemoiselle, believe it or not, is actually in the intro, she’s just hidden at the very top and only a snippet of the head is showing. All we know is that she has round dog ears. Barrk is surprisingly one of the more fleshed-out kwamis as of now, having a few solid lines of characterization in Furious Fu. Kwamis are usually yin-yang to their holder, so Barrk fits Sabrina perfectly, being loyal yet independent while Sabrina is loyal and an absolute doormat. No clue about her tool. Her power is kinda in the name: tracking. Maybe she can track down some one specific thing of her choice, but maybe she can sniff out akumas. As seen in Dark Owl and Gang of Secrets, Hawkmoth can be creative with akuma placement, so she can probably save the team from some close calls.

I have no theories for the transformation words of the other kwamis. Ziggy or Stompp could include “horns” or “charge” and Roaar “stripes” but I can’t think of any phrase including those words that isn’t too similar to an existing one. There are some phrases based on powers, though, not the animal. Or maybe they’ll just give up and give us another iteration of “Sass, scales slither”.

I think the theme for one of these remaining new heroes might be “assertion”. A lot of them struggle with that as their civilian selves, and the animals that are left can all be associated with independence/dominance, not that the animal traits always play into what the heroes are.

Ok last one, long one: in season 3, Luka’s main traits were “cool and nice” which doesn’t make for an interesting, complex major character, and at first he seemed like the perfect love interest, but from an outside perspective the extent of his kindness is kind of disturbing. I’m hoping they can flip this around and turn it into a character flaw where he has practically no boundaries, and it turns into a problem. Maybe he could agree to run random errands for the background characters for nothing in return, and at first it’s just him being nice, but later people start seeing his help as an obligation. They get peeved when he’s unavailable one day and get akumatized into a “boss rush” of classic akumas, effectively trapping and forcing him to help them. Then Tigresse Pourpe comes and helps save the day, expanding on Juleka and Luka’s relationship. The resolution can teach kids that putting yourself first isn’t necessarily selfish, and that sitting back and letting people take advantage of your kindness isn’t heroic.

There’s probably some stuff I forgot which I can put in a different post later, but lmk if you want a separate post about any of these things in more detail! This was just me rambling out all my new hyperfixation thoughts. Also if anyone uses any of the hypotheticals/scenarios as a prompt I’d love to see it.

#miraculous ladybug #mlb #miraculous spoilers #miraculous les aventures de ladybug et chat noir #miraculous season 4 #miraculous lb #too lazy to add all the character tags #long post #brain go brrrr

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arvaamaton · 3 years

Text

Fixation Friday, February 12, 2021

Living with ADHD is living from a hyperfixation to another and doing nothing in the middle.

Today has been one of those days when I didn’t do what I was supposed to when it comes to school work. Except one team meeting.

But I started a marketing campaign for a nonprofit organization and that’s related to one course I’m taking, so technically it’s not too bad.

I also attended an ADHD support group which is always nice. Safe place to share similar experiences. Even though, today I didn’t really feel like going, but it felt mandatory.

After all this I still have some assignments, need to return by Monday and those I really need focus on during the weekend. But first BayleeJae’s Twitch stream and relaxing. It’s the Friday night after all!

DOP 31/100 It’s been a whole month!

#adhd memes #adhd culture #adhd academia #adhdlife #adhdblr #adhd adult #actually adhd #adhd studyblr #adhd brain #nonprofit organization #digitalbusiness #business studyblr #100 days of productivity #100dop

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shadow-scenarios · 4 years

Note

Hello~ may I ask for something slightly specific? I wanted to ask about a scenario in which the reader recently obtains the Meta-Nav but instead of the PT finding out first, Goro does. See, the reader and Goro have recently become acquaintances and reader thinks that the Meta-Nav is something related to illegal activity so she goes to consult their detective friend on this mysterious app! Haha, sorry if this is too specific ;-;

Hey there simulationone, this isn’t too specific!! I like creative ideas that change the plot & this has been my favourite request to write so far.

However, I did change the request slightly. I made it so that the Reader awakened to their Persona & gains the MetaNav!! I hope that’s alright with you. If not, feel free to message me again and I can rewrite it.

{ Post Writing Note: Well, I wrote way too much!! Sorry if there’s less Akechi content than you thought, I got hyperfixated on how it would affect the plot. I’d love to write a Part 2 full of angst with this, so feel free to request it!! }

- Nexus.

Dance with Justice | Goro Akechi

Life at Kosei High was predictable. Like a metronome. Constant pressure to be the best & high achievement boundaries, it was a wonder how she was ever accepted without some sort of moonlighting as a prodigy. These stories of mental shutdowns & psychotic breakdowns made the world look grim & everyone seemed desperate to escape it all.

Comfort was found in the Phantom Thieves and how they manipulated hearts. Dancing the line between immoral & illegal, it was a grey area where the who was less significant than the how. Society grasped onto them as miraculous saviours as they solved cases faster than regular forces ever could: Kamoshida, Madarame, Kaneshiro, Medjed. The world was taken by storm, these renegade rogues looking to change the world & it seemed they were no longer an urban legend.

Their downfall was unexpected, to say the least. Okumura was murdered in cold blood, his mental shutdown playing onscreen during an important meeting where he was about to reveal an important factor in solving this buck-wild case. A calling card was found at the residence, the sigil of their misdeeds. Just when the mystery was about to unravel, the threads gave way to a bigger problem: Did the Phantom Thieves cause the very shutdowns everyone was trying to escape?

Swiftly, the media capitalised. Labelling them as criminals, demanding their arrest. Everything shifted so quickly & she was caught up by the egregious claims of both sides. There was one thing for certain: The Phantoms Thieves had killed someone and regardless of their previous deeds, they needed to be brought to justice.

Naturally, the first viable suspect she found was Yusuke Kitagawa.

He was of the eccentric sort, gaining a scholarship through art. Everything the strange man did was usually for the sake of ‘ Finding true beauty! ’, which was slightly melodramatic. Before Madarame’s case, he was fixated on art singularly. Now? He seemed to have other priorities. Whenever someone would discuss the Phantom Thieves in an art lesson, there was a glimmer in his eye & the paintbrush that had been on the canvas stopped in order to listen in.

A victim of Madarame’s plagiarism, which gave a plausible motive. Despite this, nothing was concrete. She thought about her friend, Akechi. Was this how he solved crimes?

Obviously, the next step was to follow Yusuke around. Sneaking around was rather easy, all she had ever been known as by the student populace was ‘ the girl who was friends with Akechi! ’, so standing out was not much of a problem. There was not much abnormal. Despite being somewhat of a social outcast, he had a small circle of friends. Six in total.

Five of them were clearly wearing the Shujin Academy uniform on the day she spotted them. One was tall in stature with fluffy black hair & thick framed glasses. Reserved in nature but he always appeared to have some sort of witty comeback. Soon he became known as Akira.

Another one was a blonde, around the same height. He wore the uniform much like a delinquent alongside a yellow graphic tee. Obnoxiously loud, as it was never difficult to hear what he was saying even from far away. The person closest to him was Ann. She had platinum blonde hair tied back into pigtails & features of an American.

Makoto was next. Clearly more of a calculating type, she wore the uniform immaculately. Wearing her hair in a French-braid styled headband, she had maroon coloured eyes & was around average height. Most of the time, she was commenting on the boy’s behaviour.

Haru Okumura was someone recognisable due to the news about her father’s death, which was saddening. In her uniform, she wore a fluffy pink turtleneck alongside white tights with flower patterns.

Futaba was just as strange as Yusuke. She used a mixture of gamer jargon whenever she spoke and was never seen in a uniform. About middle school age, she carried around a set of headphones everywhere that regularly rested atop her maple coloured hair.

Stuffed inside of Akira’s bag was also a cat that they tried to hide. Key word: Tried. Six of them & a cat.

They frequented a local cafe in Shibuya, LeBlanc. It was a nice location & she had even gone in there once to listen in. Boss was kind, to say the least. He served coffee with a warm smile & the curry combined perfectly enough to encourage a smile out of her.

On a Friday, the cafe was busy. They had gathered at one table & chatted casually. Most of them looked forelorn. Akira eventually gestured for them to take the conversation outside, where they would disturb fewer people.

Following behind them, she paid Boss & followed, attempting to seem casual. They never noticed. Conspicuously trailing into an alleyway, Ryuji pulled out his phone. Listening in was difficult so she opted to pull out her own phone and record. One of them, presumably Akira, simply said “ Mementos. ”.

Mementos. That singular word triggered something & changed everything. As the world began to violently shift in a strange phenomena, hues of vermillion & mauve dotted her vision. It was hypnotic. Eventually, she snapped out of the trance.

Concealed by masks & flashy outfits were the suspicious group she had been following. It was blatantly obvious by their hair colours. However, the animated cat creature was a surprise. It was reminiscent of the cat Akira carried around but even stranger was that it talked. Then it turned into a bus. Which did not seem all that strange.

Inherently familiar with their environment, they sped off down the escalator, leaving her alone with her thoughts. There were so many reds & greys. Thick red veins ran through the sides in mangled forms. The wall behind her was dilapidated & the only way to proceed was the escalator in front of her.

A fatal mistake, really.

Recalling the details of the awakening are fuzzy at best. These lumbering creatures formed entirely out of shadow began to take notice of her unwanted presence. Cornered, desperate and alone. Insurmountable pain; the voice of someone almost familiar; then freedom & rebellion.

With the pact of her Persona, everything was clearer. Life had previously moved in rhetorical patterns, it was now a whimsical dance. Eliminating the so called enemies with a weapon in hand, she eventually found a way back to the surface. The door at the beginning looked to be a way out, so she threw caution to the wind & took the chance.

Fatigue came first in this dingy alleyway. Adrenaline had been fuelling the push to leave alongside her newly granted power and once that was gone, nothing would spare her from raw exhaustion. Checking her phone in the hopes of finding evidence, the video taken was still there, though it cut off as soon as anyone disappeared.

Even without evidence, she knew that this group was doing something illicit. So she texted the one person she trusted with this secret: Goro Akechi. He was a detective, surely he would have answers.

;; I must speak with you in person as soon as possible. It’s regarding the Phantom Thieves, I have some evidence for you. You’re investigating them, correct?

Knowing full well that Akechi lived a busy life, she did not expect a response for a while. After gathering the strength to stand once again, she headed home. It was the most exhausting experience ever, physically & emotionally. A few minutes after returning home, there was a response from Akechi.

I am indeed investigating them. If you have any evidence regarding them, would it not be more convenient for me to receive it via text? ;;

;; Yes, it would be, but I can barely even believe the evidence presented to me. It’s better for you to see it for yourself. Are you attending school tomorrow?

Indeed I am. Pulling away from the public eye has benefits. If you are free during lunch, we can meet on the rooftop and discuss the supposed evidence that you have found. Does that sound like a compromise? ;;

;; Alright. I’ll see you on the rooftop tomorrow.

The next day was filled with trepidation. Everyone seemed to be mulling about & with how slowly the clock was moving, it was if the school was in a state of chronostasis. Although she did not share many classes with Akechi, there had been a moment where she saw a mop of hazelnut brown hair amongst a crowd, so he was likely to be there.

Sitting on the rooftop alone was slightly boring but she understood why he was late. Every time lunch began, Akechi would be surrounded by people who wanted his attention. It must have been rather annoying.

5. 10. 15. Minutes ticked by. During the winter, it was exceptionally cold so not a single soul came up. The chilly winter breeze nipped at her skin & for a moment she wondered if it was Akechi that she had seen. The brown hair easily could have been mistaken—

The creak of the door announced his presence. With a formal apology, he recalled how his teachers were intent on swarming him with catch up work that he would inevitably never complete. Dismissing it all & moving along with the subject, Akechi got straight to the point:

“ What was it you wished to speak to me about? ”, he asked.

“ I believe I have ascertained the identities of the Phantom Thieves, ” was the only reply she gave.

Looking astounded, he shifted his glove via force of habit & looked directly at her.

“ That’s quite the bold claim, ” he returned to a neutral expression as the mask of the Detective Prince slipped back on, “ Do you have any evidence? ”.

Recalling the story to the best of her ability was tedious. From the suspicious behaviour Yusuke had been demonstrating to the video evidence taken from her phone. Throughout the entire story, he maintained a neutral expression so she was never quite sure what to think.

“ Usually, I would disregard such stories as a strange dream or a vision you had & declare your footage as edited. However, I have... also had an encounter in this strange phenomena as well. ”

Everything began to make more sense as it was explained. Akechi rattled off about the cognitive world, Palaces, Personas & even how ‘ stealing someone’s heart ’ was possible. He explained that his plan was to lend the Phantom Thieves a hand in their next assignment & catch them in the very act. Specifically, their leader.

“ That explains a lot. Let me help you. I have a Persona as well & I can fight in that other world. I want to bring the Phantom Thieves to justice. They killed Okumura & many others if they are the ones behind the mental shutdowns. Tampering with the heart of another is wrong... ”

“... Alright. I suppose it will make things easier if it is the two of us. I hope you are a very good actor,” Akechi extended a reluctant hand for her to shake. His gaze was calculated, cold. Much different from his tone of voice. However, she took his hand & shook it.

With that, a contract was signed. Both herself & the detective would bring about the end of the Phantom Thieves.

Word Count: 1.9k

Publish Date: 27.09.20

#{ crow }#{ you don’t know how much i loved this request }#{ specific requests are always the best ones because you know they care }#{ turns out i’m actually an akechi stan in disguise }#{ i hand out akechi content like i hand out drugs }#goro akechi #akechi x reader #persona 5 royal #persona 5 royal x reader #persona 5 x reader #persona 5 imagines

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alitaimagines · 4 years

Text

“kyoya has been my hyperfixation lately so here you go! I have an hour lecture to listen too and I haven’t and by me writing this, I know I’m going to be rushing last minute to hear it.”

character: kyoya ootori

fandom: ouran high school host club

song recommendation: in your eyes - the weeknd.

being considered a commoner at Ouran was hard, being friends with rich people was even harder. having to live up to the standards that everyone who attended Ouran was something you learned the hard way. it was until you met Haruhi that you felt any shame of being a commoner drift away.

“Haruhi!” you screamed for her. she turned around and gave you a smile realizing it was you, “are we still on for tonight? I know you have arrangements with your club so I didn’t know if we were still going to have the sleepover,” you asked.

Haruhi nodded, “yeah, you can come over around six. I usually leave once Tamaki’s clinginess falters or Kyoya distracts him,” she mentioned. you nodded as you followed her to her class.

“awesome. remember I’m bring the snacks!” you said waving her off. Haruhi couldn’t help but laugh at your loudness, “and I’m buying dinner!” she screamed back before entering her class.

once the evening came and Haruhi was home, being the two of you were next door neighbors, you gave her a few minute to decompress before going next door.

“hey, I already ordered our dinner, what did you bring for snacks?” Haruhi asked as you hauled the medium sized bag onto her coffee table, “anything under the son,” you joked as you dumped it onto the table .

Haruhi gave you a look before noticing how many things you actually brought, “Jesus Christ, you realize it’s only the two of us right?” she asked, “yeah? and? Ouran has been stressing me out so much that I feel like I’m going to go into cardiac arrest,” Haruhi laughed as the two of you reached for the snacks on the table.

Friday sleepovers was a usual for the both of you. being that you didn’t have a lot of friends at Ouran and Haruhi tried to escape the host club at least for the weekend, the two of you found solace in each other.

“I stole my brothers Wii so I can finally kick your ass at Mario Kart again,” you told Haruhi as she laughed, “yeah right. I beat you several times last time. give it up already!”

you gave her the middle finger as you stood up, “I’m going to make our shakes. be useful and set it up,” you jokingly said as she threw the nearest pillow at you.

you made your way to the kitchen and started making the Friday night shakes as you liked to call them. Haruhi always preferred vanilla and you always went with strawberry. the two of you usually traded shakes halfway through so you wouldn’t get grossed out.

just as you finished putting the syrup on your, you made your way to the living, dancing to the music Haruhi had playing as she set up the Wii.

“hey, you ran out of milk so unless-,” you realized that Haruhi wasn’t paying attention you as she had a tall boy in her living room.

“oh hey, this is ( your name ),” she told the boy as you gave him a nervous smile, “I know who she is,” he said as you gave him a bewildered look, “this is ( your name ). you’re a second year in the class next door next to mine. you also live next door to Haruhi and have these sleepovers every night.”

you couldn’t help but look at Haruhi like he was crazy. she put her hand up in the air, “how would you know that?” Kyoya chuckled, “I know every thing about our members so I know every thing about their personal life as well.”

Haruhi gave you a nervous smile as you stared down at the ground in panic and a bit freaked out, “don’t worry, I won’t intrude any longer. I just need you to sign these papers for the club and I’ll leave you guys alone,” Haruhi nodded as she looked down at the papers and quickly signed them.

you on the other hand stayed quiet, not knowing what to say or do. you couldn’t fail to realize the looks Kyoya was giving you ever so often. you were a cute girl, he couldn’t deny that but he knew he probably made you uncomfortable when he told you all those fact.

“would you like a shake? there’s probably enough left for one more,” you asked Kyoya. he stayed silent for a moment before silently shaking his head yes, “no problem! It shouldn’t take long,” you said before running back into the kitchen.

“any preference of choice? vanilla, chocolate, banana, or strawberry?” you asked popping your head back out, “chocolate should be sufficient,” Kyoya said before you gave him a smile and going back into the kitchen.

“but senpai, I thought you didn’t like sweats?” Haruhi asked. Kyoya chuckled again, “I don’t,” was all he said before going back to papers he brought for Haruhi.

Haruhi wasn’t stupid. undeniably, she was one of the smartest in the Host Club so it didn’t take her too long to realize that he was, in someway, interested in you, “senpai, you know how we’re hosting the charity event tomorrow?” Kyoya nodded, “is it okay if she comes? she might not have the money to pay for the ticket but she could be my plus one since they’re allowed in for free?”

Kyoya knew what Haruhi was doing but he decided to play along with it, “sure. make sure she’s dressed appropriately,” before he could say anything else, you walked back out from the kitchen, “here you go! I hope it isn’t too milky or too chocolatey!” you exclaimed as you put the to go lid on the cup, “I didn’t know what else to give you the shake in so I hope you don’t mind that it isn’t in my tumblr.”

Kyoya waved off your concern as he stood up, “we’ll see you both tomorrow,” Kyoya said as you gave him a look, “tomorrow? why would I see the both of you tomorrow?” you asked Haruhi.

she gave you a sheepish smile, “well you know that charity event that’s going on at Ouran tomorrow? I kinda said you were my plus one.” you growled as you slumped into her couch, “do you realize I have nothing to wear tomorrow? how fancy is the damn event anyway?” you asked or more like yelled.

“don’t worry, anything business casual should be fine,” Kyoya mentioned before waving the two of you off. as soon as he left, you couldn’t help but chuck the pillow she threw at you back at her, “since when were you going to tell me this?” you asked as she avoided your eye.

“I was going to tell you later tonight, why are you so nervous about it?” Haruhi asked, “I’m not nervous! I would just like to know about events you’re forcing me to attend a few days in advance!” you muttered.

Haruhi shook her head realizing that it was the nervousness from seeing Kyoya that made you scream at her.

the rest of the night involved you asking questions about tomorrows event. every now and again, you would ask about Kyoya. was he single? did he seem interested in any of the girls in his class? did he want to marry a rich person? Haruhi wanted to ask you why were you invested in Kyoya’s personal life all of a sudden but didn’t bother too.

you got up the next morning earlier than Haruhi. after leaving a few of the snacks on her table, you went back to your house to tell your mother the news. she couldn’t help but laugh knowing the host club usually put Haruhi into antics she didn’t want to be involved in and it was only time before you got involved.

she let you borrow a dress that she had saved for you for an occasion like this. it was a cute white dress with a black blazer over it. it wasn’t exactly your type of style but you realized that you didn’t have another option.

“hey Haruhi!” you screamed as you banged on her door. she slowly walked to the door and laughed at how you were dressed, “don’t tell me that’s how you plan on going?” you gave her a look before telling her that you were only partially dressed, “how long is the event? I need to know if I need to wear heels or not.”

Haruhi ran to her book bag before taking a paper out, “it’s on a beach so I suggest heels or sandals if I were dressed like you,” she suggested as you screamed a thank you at her before returning to your own house.

it didn’t much longer for you to get dressed and being that you were technically going with one of the members hosting the event, you had to be dressed and ready before anyone else.

after grabbing your purse and filling it with a few left over snacks, you made your way back to Haruhi’s apartment. you didn’t know how rich people ate and you were afraid that you would in some capacity regret eating their food so you brought some in case.

“ready to go? we’re taking the bus all the way the beach so we don’t want to miss it.”

“or we could just tell my mom to drop us off. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”

after your mom dropped the both of you off at the extremely nice beach, the two of you walked up to where the host club was. you felt a bit intimidated introducing yourself to everyone but it wasn’t long before all the invitee’s started to arrive.

thankfully they had pulled a separate table for the host club to sit at. once they brought the food out and handed everyone their plates, you realized how wrong you were. the food looked edible enough and you were kind of excited to eat such high standard food.

“hey, the host club has to do a few things, do you mind sitting with Kyoya while we get them done?” Haruhi asked. you shrugged as you took your phone out form your pocket and figured you might as well entertain yourself with that while she was gone.

for a while, the table with just you and Kyoya remained silent. it wasn’t until you set your phone done, not wanting to drain its battery when Kyoya finally spoke up.

“how long have you known Haruhi?” he asked as he set his pen down. you thought for a moment, “well, we didn’t go to the same middle school but when I realized that she was one of the only commoners at Ouran, we just kind of became friends. so maybe just two or two and a half years?” you said.

he nodded, “how did you get into Ouran? the same way Haruhi did?” you nodded, “my marks were high enough in middle school that they gave me a scholarship to attend it. the only thing they couldn’t pay for was uniform so I had to pay on that on my own.”

“how come I’ve never seen you around the host club? you’re rather close with Haruhi,” Kyoya asked again. you couldn’t help but sigh, you felt like you were playing twenty questions, “uhm, no one has really invited me and I don’t want to pay for things I don’t have the money for so I rather save myself the trouble of getting myself into the situation that Haruhi did.”

Kyoya laughed as he noticed how busy the event suddenly got, “guests don’t pay for anything,” he mentioned. you jokingly rolled your eyes, “I’ve heard stories from Haruhi. in the end, I’ll somehow be paying for something.”

“would you like to take a walk on the beach? I can tell you’re as uncomfortable as I am here,” you silently thanked him as you grabbed a few of your things and followed him through the crowd.

the two of you managed to sneak away from the party and made it to the more calmer part of the beach, “it’s a wonderful evening, isn’t it?” you asked as you couldn’t help but laugh at the funny feeling of having your feet on the sand.

“it is. I don’t do this often,” Kyoya mentioned as you gave him a sympathetic look, “I know but you should. walking on the beach or just walking anywhere really relaxes me at times,” you admitted.

Kyoya nodded, “I know you rich people don’t really like to indulge in such commoner habits but taking a walk on the beach really eases a persons head,” Kyoya laughed at your little side comment.

“I get the feeling that you think that ‘rich’ people come from another planet or something,” Kyoya said as you shrugged, “basically. my life in comparisons to yours isn’t exactly the same. not to bash on rich folks or anything but you guys wouldn’t know the half of it,” you explained.

Kyoya shook his head understandingly, “well how about a deal?” you gave him a confused look, “we go on these walks once a week and you can come visit me once a week at the host club,” he offered.

you knew that this was Kyoya’s version of asking you out. although he was a rather blunt person, he would never openly admit his feelings for someone.

“deal,”

you shook hands with him as a warm feeling crossed your face and a small blush crossed his. the two of you realized that if you didn’t head back to the party, everyone would start getting suspicious and you would rather keep your future relationship as private as possible. or at least until Kyoya’s best friend, Tamaki, found out.

ALITA

#ouran high school host club #ouran hshc #ouran hshc x reader #ouran hshc imagine #kyoya ootori imagine #kyoya ootori x reader #kyoya ootori

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princessdianaartemis · 4 years

Text

Brainstorm Vomit

TW: Bullying; Emotion Manipulation Mention; Panic/Anxiety Attacks; Suicide Ideation; Self-Harm Mention; Death; Cursing; Description of Injury; Slight Misogyny; Depression; Anxiety; Description of Dissociation

Being made fun of in the 5th grade made me become a monster: mean, biting, sarcastic - nothing to make tears flow other than the pain that came from wanting love and even that was something no one knew about me. Just a child and already fighting with the desire to be loved. Already fighting down the thoughts of wanting to die, that everything would be fine, or better, without me.

I wasn’t enough. I wasn’t pretty enough to not get bullied; wasn’t normal enough not to be compared to things associated with taunting culture: ‘Lety la Fea’, ‘Harry Potter’s sister’, names that echo for years in this strong memory vault. Not funny enough to be approachable - that was my Feffy - not the right culture, language, look, speech. Did they see me sweet back then, or was I the carry-on for people cooler than me even back then. I shared the world of my imagination when it’s still fun to pretend in the fifth grade, when you can still be a kid, but not for much longer and the imagination had to be silenced when it wouldn't go away.

By sixth grade, I was a new me. Hard, not afraid to manipulate - adults believe anything when you’re sweet - throwing my weight around to get my way. I was told I was too mean and it stung, but anything softer and I’d be trampled to the ground - at least that’s the way it felt. I used the muscle around me to protect me, the sharpness of my tongue. Hate was easier than love, then friendliness - that was meant for paper - and I had seen how the world corrupted softness into cruelty until it disappeared.

I saw that no matter how much I primped and preened, someone would always be more beautiful and I hated every inch of me: every hair, roll, color, zits, glasses, smile, everything. I turned to my imagination to build perfection and pushed everything childish into the safety of home. Paper was my sanctuary, where kindness was allowed, where my childish likes wouldn’t be judged, and the beauty I would never be able to be came to life.

I think 7th grade saw the realest me. Joking around with Darius and Zach, the humor of my friends, the artistry, the sarcasm directed at someone who laughed it off - a father figure I hadn’t given that title to - a friend that wasn’t ashamed of my likes and my heart safe because this time I’d keep it all a secret and maybe life would take pity of find me worth and give me a chance It didn’t matter that if felt impossible when the friends around me encouraged my heart.

With eighth grade came pressure. New people with new ideas that could cost me my friends and so, like a chameleon, I adapted. Swathed in black and safe in a subculture that said it was okay to be dark and quiet and edgy but not fitting in because the darkness hit too close to home and the openness behind hurt culture shocked. Because I’d rather hoard friends: old friends, edgy friends, Latino, Black, white, rather than lose them. Not fitting into any one group but pushing into all of them. Hate mainstream ideas - the football player behind you, the cheerleader next to him because that’s what the media taught. You don’t understand why when you don’t see anything wrong with them other than the entitlement given by others, the privilege of their birth. Collecting friends so that if - when - you’re forgotten, you’d always have someone else there to catch you.

Depression, real depression not what emo culture thought it is, hits in the 9th grade and you think it’s just the leftover from those fake-dark days. You think the pain from lightning through your veins is because of the lightning in the sky and has no correlation to the heaviness in your chest, the tears you hide into pillows, screams and sobs into your palms to not wake the house. You’re 14 and surrounded by children that you still play with, down to their levels of imagination and scraping knees on carpet, and you think it’s okay because they’re still children and you’re just entertaining them.

High school means being flooded with questions about college and your plans after graduation and you’re smart so everyone assumes you know everything you’ll need in order to take those next steps. No one asks if you need help, you face that world blindly and it returns to bite you in the ass. Your head and heart finally agree and for a few blessed months you’re free of liking, of wanting to be loved, yes, there is bitter anger but you hope it teaches you never to fall again. You find a home on the stage and think that maybe there’s some talent in you after all. The words flow from your head and your mouth to the page and you start to think that maybe, maybe, life can be okay.

Tenth grade and fuck up...and you don’t even realize until that you have until it’s too late and you’re drowning. Drowning in a feeling that starts off like a crush but ends up feeling like so much more. You’re scared - you freak out a ‘trusted adult’ trying to figure out your feelings, she thinks you’re gay and afraid (you’re not but that’s a discovery for later). He says you’re aggressive and, for once, you listen, You learn not to smack people in the arm when something stupid comes out of their mouths, the sweetness you buried deep inside starts crawling back out and people like her so you like her, you parade her around and sure, she can still turn a sweet smile into a shark’s grin, but she’s kind, sweet, what he might like - might be looking for. You heal certain wounds and never say ‘love’ because that’s heartbreak ready to happen. People encourage your feelings with playful testing, the harmless pushes of ‘maybe he likes you, too’ that fuels a heart waiting for someone to love it because…

INTERMISSION

It’s easy to put on a happy face and pretend that everything’s okay when people only know one side of the dice that is your life. They don’t see the years of hurt in your own home. The poison dart glare of your mother and its returned one from your grandmother, a cycle of anger they throw each other into, of burning cold silence and explosions and you stuck in the middle. Of fearing our grandmother walking out and leaving you with the weight of caring for others, of the storming out of my mother when she’s had enough, the way grandma looks when she does disappear into the night. They don’t know that you’d sworn to yourself that those three younger than you would never know how it feels to be trapped between them. All they know is that your home life is a mystery - you don’t have a nice house, a nice neighborhood, neighbors that like you. They don’t know about all the times you put yourself before the littles so they don’t get in trouble, don’t get yelled at, don’t fear. They’ve never seen the terrifying flare of your mother’s nose, the disappointment that curls your grandmother’s lip - both of them seeing you as an echo, a step away from making the same mistakes. You feel anger, resentment, more fear than love - but like in every case, you love them because you don’t know better. When have you ever truly felt love that didn’t come without a warning sign - that this feeling is fleeting for anger and fear might be on the horizon.

END INTERMISSION

Those feelings for him is your escape - a place to channel all the hope you feel. You think if he can love you, you can have a world away from the pain you’ve seen and he pays attention in ways no one else has. And still your imagination flourishes. You don’t share your likes because you’ve learned they quickly become obsessions - hyperfixation is not a word you know yet - and that’s not normal. And Junior Year starts beautiful and full of promises, of hope and ends with still more pining for a feeling you think is impossible and for a future that, for once, doesn’t seem like a stretch.

Senior year.

You don’t know what to expect except for what you know from screens and books - the culmination of your life and the beginning of it all. But things soon take a bitter turn, promises sour. You realize that before the heartbreak breaks you, you’ve gotta let go...because the feelings aren’t going away. So you try...and try...everything up to tearing your heartstrings out themselves, but you’re blamed for hoarding, for selfishness in something uncontrollable. But you try because you know that the happiness they’d feel would be enough, but he asks you for advice and you give it…and you get blamed for tilting the situation in your favor. You’re hurt…a friend is lost but you Go ON. Things slowly fall back in place. You make deals that you don’t know, one that people say to believe in: Give me Love returned or take these feelings away before it’s too late. Please. Please. You dance together at prom and you hate the way it feels. You try to pray the feelings away with no answer. He sits next to you in your tiny car, close and just hidden from the world and you’ve never wanted to kiss someone so badly and you pray that these feelings disappear in the next few weeks or you’re doomed. And still they remain. In hindsight, you wish you’d told him to reject you. A clean cut to set you free.

Graduation is supposed to mean the end of one chapter and beginning of the next, but it becomes the difference between a coming-of-age story to a tragedy. It’s hot and full of happiness…and sadness. Wanting desperately for a movie moment, a final act that seals a love that has always been there and making those dreamy romantic notions reality. But the buzz is too much and you lose him in the sea of people. Sourness in your stomach, the words of nights before echo: “Don’t let me make it past graduation. I know that everything will go downhill from there.” Sealed fate. Abu crying in joy, or was it acceptance? Her touching my hair and telling me how long it was getting. A lunch together before I take off to be with friends - so many friends and I think that I will never be forgotten. I said goodbye and rolled my eyes when my grandmother told me to be careful. I should’ve said I love you. I should’ve said something. Party hopping: joy, Joy, JOY because I’m accepted, I’m loved and it feels like I’ve made it. Like I’ve basked in Love meant for me, missing that one piece, but still drunk in joy…and it all crashes down with reality.

Chaos.

Police interviewing Mom, Police interviewing Brother, can’t see the littles and wonder if it’s about them. Then the words: grandmother, car - chaos. Be the strong one, be the steady one: Mom’s hurting, Brother’s hurting, littles are panicking, be the one with strength. Call him. You need his steadiness, his cold detachment - you need someone who doesn’t care but cares enough to keep you balanced. “Distract me,” you say and that droning voice does enough to push you forward. You are strong. So many times being told it and it becomes a mantra. But it’s also your downfall. You bite your tongue that says she won’t make it and ride that thread of Hope until it snaps. Excuse yourself. Pull yourself together in the hospital bathroom, be steady for the rest of them. Ask to see her. Don’t wonder about the bruises, the lifelessness of an eerily quiet body - so different from its snoring slumber, don’t focus on the stumps where legs should be - don’t think that this is the better option than seeing her live crippled. Don’t wonder how exactly it happened. You call him in a garden, May-warm night that feels cold and the stupidly selfish part wishes it’ll happen, that he’ll be there in this dark time and love could blossom.

You have a job to do. Hold yourself strong as mother and brother mourn, keep the younger ones joyful, fed, happy, clean - the world didn’t end, we just have to adapt. Become the missing person and pick up where she left off: distract the kids, fall into the quiet trap of summer. Summer had always been lonely, now it’s a different type of darkness.

The medium comes to your house and you’re a skeptic - this woman has been told about your grandmother beforehand and will tell you what you want to hear. She says vague things at first and you’re still standoffish, then she gets specific - things no one knows - and she echoes familiar words from the deceased: “They’re not your kids.”

But it’s too late.

You’re short on tuition, scholarships you weren’t good for, the things that they didn’t teach you have caught up and you resign yourself to not go to school - get a job to help the house - by some miracle you get the money, you make it in. Far from your dream - away from Spanish moss covered streets or a French castle - and into a world of hours in traffic, walks in a metropolis. Acting is a vague dream, so you turn back to the imagination you pen. You don’t learn to live on your own and instead learn how to care for, serve, others (in your head you feel Chris cackling somewhere, that you’ve served your rightful place as a woman). Everyone else is growing, learning, loving, and you’re still playing with littles, still trying to find connections among peers - both past and present. When everyone is much more applied, talented, artistic, open and you close up.

Your foolish heart still wants him, but your brain knows better - know that you’ll never see him again. That he’ll fall for a lithe and kind thing, traditional, safe - things you’ll never be. You want to rip that bandaid away, push him out of your life and hope that it snuffs out the flame. So you block him - he might’ve reached out to you - but you don’t know - and the question haunts you. You know you need help. It’s not healthy to lock yourself up and cry in the bathroom, mourning alone so no one hears, so you can stay strong, and hope that no one catches you hurt. You wait for your mother to explode in anger - it's been a while and you can sense it in the air. And now Abu isn’t there to protect, to take the brunt, to tell her off - what do you do. The therapist says to create boundaries and be able to live your life and you try - she made you say the word ‘love’ and you hate it - the kids need protection, they need someone to buffer it - your brother is in a dark place and spiraling, no longer the sunshine of the house. Like you predict, mom explodes and you stand up. Tell her you’re all terrified of her - of her anger, of tiptoeing around her. She withdraws and the fear paralyzes you, lives inside of you like ice, but the kids need to eat, need to play, need school, so you go on with your days, And eventually, she speaks and says she’ll do better. For the kid’s sake, you hope so, it’s too late for you.

You find yourself not liking anyone new. Discover a term you identify with: asexual. Because the body and its orifices are disgusting to you even though you still want to be cuddled, coddled, loved. You say demi because you’ve never been attracted at first sight, not until the strands of their being have been exposed to you and things make sense - why you can’t let go, why you can’t build something new when you can’t get to know anyone. Suddenly things make sense.

Your imagination is dimming. The world you're so meticulously poured your lifeblood into now withers and becomes hollow. Poetry mixes into the page, melancholic and sadder than it has any right being. The feelings you’d wished would dissolve come and go in tides, in sighs that replace his name, your heart aches and the heaviness fills your bones like lead. You try to make friends and, despite the privilege etched into the world of the young woman, you think you've made one - and then she drags you under a bus. All the while, you’ve been pushing people away, people that loved you. You still have such a strong love for all those people in your heart, people you’d written to, but your obsession lies in knowing if you’d even meant anything and you come up empty. You were never a friend, just a passing character in their lives. Again, you hide yourself. It’s too late to build up these walls that made you tough and mean, but the cynicism creeps back in.

Someone had once said they’d seen you become less cynical - they'd be sad to see it return, but they’re not around anyway.

You chose your family over yourself, over friends, over making a life, and now...People get engaged. People get married. People have children. They have friends they meet up with - friends they want to meet up with. They have significant others. You know it’s a matter of time before you break. You’re not envious, you’re so happy for them, but you feel so hurt and chillingly alone. A burden on everyone you come across. But you made yourself this way. You’re afraid of being jobless, a financial burden in the household you’re still living in, so you find a job in the one place you can fall back on - school. In the place you think appreciation lies. You want to help kids not become you. You forget the specters of pain hiding in corners - you forget that memories can quickly become tangible. Not ready for the emotional weight this job brings, the kids you cannot help. The kids it’s too late for, the disrespect because people still see a child and that’s all you’ll be - never enough for others. Cynicism settles in your heart, quiet is your friend, self-flagellation your comfort.

It gets better.

Then it gets worse.

Realize how you’re bound to this land when your brother gets to leave. What blood-spilled oath has tethered you to this place and refuses to let you escape? You chose to stay and protect children that didn’t ask for protection. You chose this job. YOU chose your family over yourself, over friends, over making a life, and now YOU’RE TRAPPED and there’s no escape. You try to do things you love, you make an exchange, a deal, with higher beings: If this doesn’t work out. It’s a dream not meant to be.

See unfortunately that’s how I see the relationship with God works. They will never give you anything without taking something else away. It’s an exchange, not a gift.

It doesn’t work, but someone does get that dream and you try not to be upset. To be happy. But bitterness sets in because you wanted a moment to get to shine again, to be more than a shadow and they seem to grow brighter as you dim. Cold settles…colder than it’s ever been. This is depression like you’ve never known and it claws at every strand of joy, every light swallowed. For the first time, you want to draw blood. First, it’s kitten scratches, nails biting into flesh. Then you find a tool of irony - the broken fragments of a happy family picture - and cut deeper. The beads of blood you offer to the Heavens and hope that, for once, it appeases the being that seems to be set on punishing you so soundly.

Am I a scapegoat of some familial fault? Payment for the sins of my parents? My grandparents? For my own cruelty? Am I such a horror that I deserve a lifetime of torture and punishment at my own hands?

You feel lonelier than ever. Push away people because you don’t deserve joy and people don’t want to be brought down by a killjoy like you. Feel the sharp edge of childhood in your face as sneers replace smiles, as stoic faces replace shallow happiness. Fuzziness. You move like a robot. Disconnected between mind and body. Watch yourself, detach from the body. People question the scars and the lies fall easy, swallowed down because it’s easier to accept that self-mutilation. And all the while you’re searching for Home. You don’t know what that is because you say it in the comfort of your bed. Find comfort in sleep, find comfort in your new hyperfixation - in the angel and demon on your shoulders and their love, fictional or maybe hovering over you - it’s the only thing keeping you going. You imagine them loving you and it almost feels real. Until the illusion shatters and the loneliness returns. You’re a bird of paradise, flaunting around in bright colors to hide the numbness inside. And you know for the first time in your life that the chemical imbalance needs to be fixed. Medication helps. Meditation helps. And, for a short bit, religion helps. But there is always numbness underneath.

Then slowly things start to come apart. Blame the distance, blame disease, blame that “everyone is feeling the same”, but you feel less than before. A new void of nothingness - even the sweet brushes of hopeful love extinguished and you want to be alone. Alone keeps you safe. You’re gone and no one notices. You’re gone and want to stay gone. Spirited away by feathered embraces, to a place where there is Love.

Writing comes and writing goes. That world you created, that you loved and filled with people you loved is now an empty chasm or what might’ve been. You can’t enter that headspace because they’re gone and you’re alone and - and they were never real to begin with. She faded with your spirit, the world you thought would always be there is now something you don’t even recognize anymore. It was a world built on the hopes of a girl - with the promise of love and a future that this woman no longer sees. So you pen the outpour of your soul, the things you cannot tell people out loud.

You don’t want people to reach out, because it’s always the same. Offers of help that you can’t take. You’ve always taken care of others but you can’t take care of yourself, can’t let others take care of you because you’re a burden. People that get busy and you can’t drag them away from that just because you’re hurting, that’s not their job - it’s not what they signed up for. Let them be happy. They can be happy. Don’t drag them down with you. So stay in your little corner and hide stare yourself in the eye and see if you can pull yourself out of the hell you created. You don’t want the supportive words that you can’t even process, that you hear but can’t let them sink in anymore. Affirmations mean nothing. Touch is no longer allowed with this fucking virus and it’s all your hungry soul want. You want love - a love you don’t have to share - a type of love you don’t have to share, but your hunger for that needs to be starved.

Plus, you’re only word vomiting, not asking for help, not asking for attention, just letting it all hang out. You haven’t had anything to hide in so long, just that no one listens - no one has the time - and you suck at writing. You can talk about all the new medical shit, the imposter syndrome you had this week, the anxiety, the seasonal depression peeking and shaking hands with the regular depression. But what’s the point. Just write it down, let it all out and hope you can ease your fuzzy mind.

#me #writing #my writing #lots of TW #self reflection #tw: self harm #tw: dissociation #tw: panic attack #tw: anxiety #tw: depression #tw: bullying #tw: death #tw: description of injury

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widonotts · 5 years

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Thanks For Ten ❤️

Starkid has been such a constant fixture in my life that it’s strange to think it’s only been around for ten years. At the same time, I remember the first time I watched A Very Potter Musical, a couple months after it went viral. I was in third grade and had read about it on some Harry Potter fansite, so I pulled up Act 1, Part 1. But I was an eight-year-old nerd who hadn’t yet realized I could be both the Smart Kid and the Theatre Kid—I didn’t see High School Musical until I was in high school myself and thus never learned from Gabriella’s arc—so I was actively suppressing my love for musicals. There’s also the fact I didn’t understand some of the jokes, which I’ll attribute to my youth and purity and also my lack of High School Musical knowledge. I decided the show wasn’t for me and promptly forgot about it.

A couple years later, though, I was raving about Harry Potter to a Girl Scout camp counselor who asked if I’d seen AVPM, and when I told her no, she acknowledged I was probably too young for it. I didn’t take it as a challenge immediately, but that conversation sat in the back of my mind for a while before I revisited it. The second time I watched it, I fell in love, and I fell hard.

So many of my memories of early adolescence involve Starkid, and I look back on those memories with so much fondness. I remember my friend and I unabashedly singing “Granger Danger” during science class; I remember another eleven-year-old friend approaching me at the lunch table, shell-shocked, and when I asked what was wrong, he told me he’d tried to watch Me and My Dick. I remember when the 2014 Summer Season was announced, and somehow (that is, through nonstop chores and yard work), I got to go. I went on GIMP and made my very own T-shirt design by dragging the Brush tool to spell out “Meet me at my place, the Fortress of Friendship!” in block letters inside a crude Superman logo, printing it out on that iron-on transfer paper and carefully applying it to a craft store white t-shirt. I wore it to Ani, where I asked Brian Holden to sign it, and it became my pride and joy.

Everything about the Summer Season was, for lack of a better word, totally awesome. Waiting in line for Ani, a group of older girls were kind enough to talk to me and my mom. She acknowledged that she’d worked in theatre herself, and therefore had seen a lot of risqué performances, and asked them “if there would be anything she’d blush at”; for some reason, those girls and I insisted there would be nothing of the sort. I can’t believe she didn’t drag me out at the first mention of Death Star boobs. But I loved the show, and I adored Trail to Oregon the next day. The Dikrats may have their official canonized names now, but to me, that family will always be Bitch Tits, Little Shit, Rico, Genghis Khan, and Jeff Blim Bacon.

Meeting the Starkids after the shows, though, was by far the best part of the experience, and I don’t know if I really have all the words to describe it. It was beyond inspiring. They all treated me with such humility and kindness; it still stirs me every time I think of it. A couple of them even seemed surprised that I asked for a picture. To know that each person in this group I adored so dearly was so grounded and kind… It was amazing, and looking back on those photos makes me smile despite myself; I was an awkward, gangly, anxious, overeager kid, but in every photo, my eyes are shining with happiness and my lopsided grin is wider than ever.

After a while, I fell out of complete hyperfixation, but Starkid’s shows stayed present with me. I sang the songs, referenced the jokes, dreamed of playing the characters, and watched AVPM every year on July 31st, but it wasn’t the degree of obsession I had in my early teens. I watched Firebringer the moment it was released, and I raved many times about how incredible it would be if they released the rights—and here we are!

Even though a couple years went by without hyperfixating on Starkid, my love for it stuck with me through years of difficulty with mental illness, and that means everything to me. I remember a very hard day when I didn’t know what to do or how to go on. I listened to “Not Alone,” and I cried, and even though I felt isolated and small, I felt at the same time that I was loved and that there was hope for my life and my future. That one moment has stuck with me, but it is not the only time Starkid truly helped me save my life.

Even with all the impact it had on me, it wasn’t until I watched The Guy Who Didn’t Like Musicals that my hyperfixation returned in full force. I had been anticipating its release for a while; when it was announced, I was about to leave my home city to go to college in Chicago, and I was so pumped to see that I would finally be living in good old Chi-Town when a Starkid show was released… only to learn that it would be playing in Los Angeles. But I guess I forgive them for not catering to me specifically, because seeing TGWDLM for the first time (and the ten times since) was extraordinary, and I was immediately in deep.

I’m The Starkid Girl again, and this time, I’m not self-conscious about it. When I was younger, I usually hid my passions, fearful of judgement, and my love for Starkid was no exception (except, of course, for that wonderful impromptu “Granger Danger” karaoke session in the middle of science class). I was a nerd; I knew what it was like to have people make fun of me for the things I found awe-inspiring, so I kept myself hidden, singing “The Coolest Girl” day and night but never quite having the courage to put myself out there in real life. Now, though, I’m going back to Starkid, and I’m not afraid to show it.

It’s wild to be in Chicago now, to live in the same city where so much of Starkid’s work was created. The first time I went to a counselor whom I now visit weekly, I took the L, got off at Belmont, and was amazed to see that my new counselor’s office was one single block away from Stage 773, where I had been so struck with awe at Trail to Oregon and Ani five years before. Every week, I walk past the giant “773” with reverence, and before I get back on the L to go home, I walk past the station to get a coffee at the Starbucks right past the Annoyance, where so many Starkids have performed. Typing it out, it seems silly, but it truly instills me with so much joy and inspiration to know I live in the same world as these people who have done such amazing things, people for whom I hold so much respect and admiration.

Because I myself am now a year into college, I’m even more struck at the ingenuity, dedication, and talent of the college kids who produced a hilarious Harry Potter musical ten years ago, and even more grateful that they took that success and continued to create and perform and inspire people with their productions. Whether it’s with Starkid, associated companies like the Tin Can Bros, or unrelated groups, the work all of these people has done never ceases to embolden me not only as an aspiring actress and creator of art, but also, most importantly, as a person. Starkid is a group of wonderful people who have done wonderful things, inspiring so many people along the way, and I cannot thank them enough for it. Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you.

This has been far too long a note, so I guess I’ll wrap it up before it gets too late. I just have one more episode left in my rewatch of Choose Our Destiny.

— Lelah

#thanks for ten project #starkid #theatre #personal #long post #i'm very tired and couldn't figure out how to submit #so i decided to take the alternate route #christ this is long #words just poured out of me #but i didn't want to abridge it as i wanted all my love to be clear #who do you want me do be—ernest hemingway?#i write in purple prose and i will not be shamed #only 8 gifs left before my 10th anniversary set is finished!#8 out of 48 #we're in the home stretch

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jung-bonhwa · 3 years

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Task: Headcanon Countdown

5 Headcanons About: Mental Health (tw: ableism, mentions of panic attacks)

Bon-Hwa was diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder (“ASD”) when he was 3 years old. ASD is characterized by difficulty in social interaction and communication and by restricted or repetitive patterns of thought and behavior. Upon noticing that he was hitting developmental milestones at a slower than average rate, his parents sought a diagnosis for him. Once he got this diagnosis, he was placed into occupational therapy, physical therapy, and speech/language therapy. However, he was never given any aid with social skills or sensory integration, so he still greatly lacks in those areas.

Jin-Ho and Mi-Gyeong have kept Bon-Hwa’s autism a secret from the world. In Korean culture, autism is considered a “genetic taint,” and they didn’t want his diagnosis to negatively impact their social standing or the lives of his neurotypical siblings. ASD runs in Mi-Gyeong’s family, but most of these relatives never received a formal diagnosis. Very few people outside of the immediate family know about his diagnosis, though people have been able to guess due to his behaviors.

Bon-Hwa has Generalized Anxiety Disorder (“GAD”), but was never given a formal diagnosis. GAD is characterized by feelings of worry, anxiety, or fear that are strong enough to interfere with one’s daily activities. He often feels nervous, even when there is nothing to be nervous about, and perseverates on his past mistakes. Mental health treatment has become less stigmatized in recent years in Korean culture, but is overall looked down upon.

Bon-Hwa’s sister, Boram, also has an undiagnosed case of GAD. The two have confided in one another about their struggles with panic attacks, but neither have felt comfortable enough to seek out treatment. Bon-Hwa and Boram’s anxieties manifest differently, which has caused clashes between the siblings. While Boram will explode the moment something sets her off, Bon-Hwa tries his best to internalize everything and meltdown when no one is around.

When he’s stressed, anxious, or overwhelmed, Bon-Hwa has a few different stimming behaviors that he uses to calm himself. His most common stim is biting his nails and picking at the skin around his nails. This is also his most dangerous stim because he will often do it until he bleeds without noticing. Other stims he does include word/sound repetition, chewing on pens and pencils, and, when he’s on the verge of a meltdown, rocking back and forth on the floor. When he was a child, he had a collection of model trains that he would play with; he still has these trains, but they all live in his childhood home in Seoul. He had a favorite train that he would wheel it around to stim, but once he entered middle school, he wasn’t allowed to bring it to school anymore.

4 Headcanons About: Favorite Things/Hobbies

Bon-Hwa has been an avid reader since childhood, and his favorite genre is fantasy. He has an extensive bookshelf in his childhood bedroom, and has read every book on it at least once. His all-time favorite fantasy series is The Chronicles of Narnia, but has hyperfixated on several series throughout the years. Whenever a popular book series gets a movie adaptation, he will read the book first, and then compare and contrast the movie and book.

Bon-Hwa loves movies, regardless of whether they were adapted from books. He has a habit of rewatching movies for comfort, especially the first Narnia movie, but he tries to watch at least one new movie per month. At the moment, his favorite movie is Train to Busan, but his favorite movie is constantly changing.

Bon-Hwa collected model trains as a child. He first got into this when his maternal grandfather gifted him a train set for his 5th birthday. Whenever his grandpa watched him, they would ride the train together all around the city of Seoul. He hasn’t purchased a new model train since his last year of high school, but he still has every train he ever bought or was gifted in his childhood bedroom in Seoul.

Bon-Hwa’s current hobby is writing short stories and scripts. Although he would like to pursue screenwriting as a career, he doesn’t feel as though he has a choice in the matter of his career. Many of his stories revolve around his mental health struggles and/or mythical creatures. He doesn’t often share these scripts with others out of fear that they’ll dismiss him like his family does.

3 Headcanons About: Languages

Bon-Hwa is fluent in two languages: Korean and English. Korean is his first language, and English is his second. English is considered the “global business language,” so his father thought it would be beneficial for him and his siblings to learn it. All three Jung siblings can fluently speak English, but when they’re alone, they only speak in Korean.

In addition to Korean and English, Bon-Hwa also knows Japanese. He learned Japanese in high school, but does not consider himself fluent in the language. He doesn’t use Japanese in his daily life too often, but doesn’t want to forget how to speak it, so he uses Duolingo as a way to refresh himself.

Bon-Hwa wants to learn Mandarin. He’s visited China a few times on holiday, but had to have his parents translate everything for him. He would like to return to China one day and hold conversations with people on his own without translation. He also started Mandarin lessons on Duolingo recently, but hasn’t gotten very far yet.

2 Headcanons About: Daily Routine

Bon-Hwa is a creature of habit, through and through. Every morning, he wakes up at 6:30 am, takes a shower, and eats breakfast. Every morning, he eats the same thing for breakfast: a bowl of cereal with a side of fruit. The only time he doesn’t eat this meal is if it’s a holiday, birthday, or other special occasion. If he oversleeps or wakes up too early, his entire day is thrown off. One thing he liked about serving in the army was how routine-oriented it was, although it took him a while to adjust from his personal schedule to that of the military.

Since moving to Santa Monica, Bon-Hwa has started taking daily walks in Palisades Park. He still doesn’t know many people or places in the city, but this park is relatively close to his condo and he enjoys the scenery. After he’s done working for the day, he goes to the park and walks around for at least one hour.

1 Headcanon About: Phobia

Bon-Hwa is terrified of snakes. He watched the second Harry Potter movie as a child and was scarred for life by the Basilisk. He hasn’t encountered too many snakes in the real world, but he freaks out whenever he sees one at the zoo. Seeing them in pictures used to scare him as well, but now he can handle that with no fear.

#smrp:task #headcanons #ableism tw

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aroseandapen · 6 years

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Hitting the nail right on the head (or the head on the nail)

Read on AO3

Fandom: Danganronpa V3: Killing Harmony Rating: Teen/Mature? Yeah Pairing: None Word Count: 2366 Summary: In a re-write of a scene from the chapter 3 investigation, Kurochi Ouma finds his brother in the hall lying face-down in his own blood.

Some things to note for this:

I guess this was inspired by the Kokichi-has-a-twin theory, but not actually really related to it (I haven’t even done any research into it actually! And as of right now I’m not interested in jumping into theories and stuff).

Mostly written as I was watching someone play through Chapter 4. As of posting this, I just finished the Chapter 5 trial.

Kurochi is the Ultimate Cryptographer in this. Not relevant in this drabble, though.

Written for Ry! @tricky-leader, who dragged me into hyperfixation hell with this amazing boi.

“I’m going to go back to Angie’s lab,” Kurochi announced, not expecting any response as he turned back to the door. Perhaps he could check the scene again once more—there had to be some clue that pointed towards a victim that wasn’t a vengeful spirit risen from the dead.

“Ah, I’ll come with you—I think I’m done checking on everything in here,” Shuichi said, to his surprise.

“Yes, Angie’s death is the one we should be investigating, it’d be wise to do another look around.” And Maki as well, to his dismay.

Not that he could do anything about it. He shrugged, nudging open the door with an air of nonchalance so as not to betray the tension that he felt. Whenever he looked at Maki, all he could see was her hand around his brother’s throat. Unfortunately, she and Shuichi were investigating together, and Kurochi didn’t think he’d get anywhere if he snapped that no, she could not continue her investigation that would undoubtedly benefit them all during the class trial. So he kept his sighs to himself, and stepped into the hall—

—to find a body on the floor.

His breath tore from his throat in a ragged exhale, the air stolen from his lungs and the heat from his veins. For a good minute, he didn’t understand the scene before him, because it just couldn’t be real. It couldn’t. First Angie… then Tenko… then… but… it couldn’t be—.

A gasp behind him as Shuichi and Maki exited the room startled him, scattered thoughts crashing together like on stretched elastic bands, leaving his mind more tangled than before. His head spun, eyes fixed on the body, the rhythm of his heart in his chest a rapid staccato against his rib cage.

“Kokichi!” He heard his own voice call out his brother’s name, not conscious of saying it himself. The scene looked unreal; the room spun around him. Blood. Kokichi. Kokichi’s blood. On the floor. He gaped, mouth working open and closed without another sound escaping it. Dead, his brother was—.

The bloody face rose from the floor. Kokichi’s trademark grin beamed up at them, like blood didn’t drip down the sides of his face, like a small pool of crimson hadn’t gathered where his head had been resting, and Kurochi didn’t know whether he wanted to cry or shake his brother silly for scaring him like that.

Worse still, Kokichi sprang up from the floor, graceful as ever. His laughter rang out as if he’d told some hilarious joke, but none of them mirrored his actions. Kurochi couldn’t move, feet rooted to the ground. Part of him thought that it had to be a hallucination, his shock forcing his imagination to deny the truth and conjure the image of his newly deceased brother up and on his feet. His eyes fell to the floor, to the blood staining the wood. He felt sick.

“Did I surprise you? Were you going to scream and cry in terror?” Kokichi laughed, carrying on like nothing happened.

Yes you did, you bloody jerk, Kurochi wanted to say, but the unintentional pun stirred a queasy feeling in his stomach. He couldn’t find his voice past the lump in his throat. All he managed was a hard swallow and wide-eyed stare while he waited for the tilted room to right itself. Was the room even askew? Everything in the damn world was screwed up, culminated in his own brother’s death during this hellish game they’d been thrust into. In that moment, nothing felt real to him. Kurochi could vanish from the face of the earth, and it’d still go on indifferent to his plight.

“Wh-what are you doing?”

Kurochi jumped at Shuichi’s voice, head whipping in the direction of the two others in the room. In his surprise, he’d forgotten that Shuichi and Maki had accompanied him out into the hall. He shook his head, trying to clear it of the static building up inside and finding it impossible to do. Only one thought managed to surface in the hopeless mess of thoughts and anxiety in his mind; if Shuichi saw Kokichi move and grin then Kurochi wasn’t seeing ghosts. Kokichi really was alright.

His gaze drifted back to the blood spattered against the floorboard. Not alright, actually. That didn’t seem any level of ‘alright’ to him, but Kokichi was alive for certain, and perhaps that was blessing enough in the middle of a killing game.

When Kokichi didn’t immediately respond, Kurochi’s eyes snapped back to his brother’s face. He looked faint, swaying side to side. A tight ball formed in his chest as he rushed to Kokichi’s side with quick shaky steps, placing a steadying hand on his brother’s shoulder. He could feel Kokichi trembling under his touch with a motion so slight that he wouldn’t have noticed if not for the physical contact.

“Kokichi?”

His brother started. He dipped his shoulder, stepping to the side to subtly pull away from Kurochi’s touch. The grin returned to his face with greater force than before, as if to hold his dazed expression at bay. “Oh, sorry… I’m just a little light-headed from the blood loss. Yeah this is real blood…”

Silence punctuated his admission. Kurochi felt his heart twist in his chest, letting his hand fall to his side, but he didn’t say anything. Shuichi spoke up first, hesitance coloring his tone. “…Okay, so what are you doing?”

An innocent question, and yet a hot flame of anger ran through him. Just like that, Kokichi’s injury no longer mattered, even while the blood remained shiny and wet on his face. Kurochi whirled on Shuoichi, face twisted. For the first time since they woke up in that godforsaken place did he raise his voice at the other, shoving his words at him with a sharp bite to them. “Oh you know, he’s only bleeding from a head wound, what else!”

That seemed to shame him. Shuichi shifted in obvious discomfort, not daring to meet Kurochi’s glare, gaze fixed on Kokichi instead. Good.

“It’s fine, Kurochi!” Kokichi waved him off with a giggle. “I just got curious about something, so I decided to search the empty room next door. Th-then suddenly…”

Once again the grin dropped from his face, his mouth a stiff line as a queer look shadowed it. Kurochi stepped closer on instinct, hand once again on Kokichi’s shoulder with a firm grip on it. Not giving his brother a chance to back out, he reached out with his free hand to push his hair back to check on the wound. Right there on his forehead, no longer bleeding but still fresh. It took a beat longer than last for Kokichi to try and move away again, a hand at his wrist peeling Kurochi’s from his forehead. His hand came away red and sticky.

It took a moment for Kokichi to find his train of thought again to continue. “I-I stepped through the floorboard.”

“You stepped through the floorboard?” This time Shuichi had the witherall to sound concerned, although Kurochi didn’t know whether from worry for Kokichi or for the problematic floorboards themselves. As angry as the thought made him, he at least understood that much. The floorboards fit so well together that stepping through any of them shouldn’t be possible. It made for a dangerous place to walk.

“Geez, that got me good.” If Kokichi couldn’t find it in him to pretend, the pain must be terrible. With the shudders that ran through him, Kurochi feared that Kokichi really would collapse under just the weight of his hand. He clenched his hands into fists, resisting the urge to grab his shoulder again, lest he’d be rebuffed for a third time. “Cuz of this, I-I tripped and fell pretty hard.”

When Kokichi drifted back into a dazed silence, Maki’s cold tone echoed in the quiet hall. “If you’re going to lose consciousness, do it after you tell us everything.”

Kurochi never felt the urge to strike someone as much as he did in that moment. He wanted to punch that condescending expression right off that girl’s face, especially when Kokichi immediately forced a smile back onto his face and apologized for his own faintness. A head injury, he has a concussion, Kurochi wanted to snap at her. Even if she hates his brother’s guts, she could at least show some basic human empathy for a guy that looked like he was about to pass out.

He forced back the desire. Punching the Ultimate Assassin could only end poorly for a tiny, thin-armed boy who literally couldn’t throw a punch to save his life. He swallowed back the sensation of his own uselessness rising in his throat like bile, remembering how easily Maki had wrapped her hand around his brother’s throat. In the end he couldn’t do anything, just like he couldn’t now.

All unaware of how dearly Kurochi wanted to hit Maki, Kokichi told them what had happened, that a crosspiece under the floorboard was missing and caused his foot to fall through when he put his weight on it. Before he could tell them anything more than that, however, the school bell rang out, signaling the end of the investigation.

Maki looked more disappointed than she had any right to at that. “I guess… time is up.”

“Aw maaaan, it’s cuz of you guys, I didn’t have enough time to check on something…”

Kurochi sent his brother an incredulous look. When they’d come out into the hall, they’d found Kokichi face down on the ground. Although he’d played it off like a trick, Kurochi couldn’t help but think that he hadn’t intentionally laid down there waiting for someone to pass him by and think that a third person had died. Especially if he’d wanted to check on something. Kurochi didn’t think that he could’ve gotten to it regardless of their interference.

“What were you trying to check?” Shuichi asked at the same time as Kurochi said, “Maybe you should’ve been getting your head checked.”

“Aww Kurochi, that’s mean! I actually wanted to re-research the seance again, so I brought this document with me.” Kokichi held up The Caged Child, waving it before he flipped open to the page with the seance instructions on it. The three of them shuffled closer to look down at the book with him. “But unfortunately, I couldn’t find anything new that could be used as a clue. Kiyo perfectly reenacted the seance as what was written in the document. He drew his magic circle the same exact way as in this picture.”

Kokichi tilted his head, either thinking about something or fighting back the effects of his head wound. Kurochi wished that he’d been present during the seance, just so he knew firsthand what had happened during it. For the most part however, he was glad that he hadn’t been. Not that he thought that ghosts were real, but maybe it was better not to test out his theories with the supernatural like that.

And Kurochi wasn’t keen on being there when Tenko died.

A beat passed, and Kokichi continued, “Not only that, he used the same exact tools too. Nothing suspicious about this whole thing. Well, I wanted to check the finer details but…” Kokichi grimaced. “I-I’ll tell you about it later… a-at the… class trial so… see ya there…”

With unsteady balance, Kokichi turned and began to make his way down the hall. His footing seemed off, the effects of the blood loss obvious in each shaky step. Kurochi lurched forward, making it to his brother’s side before he could get too far on his own. No way was he going to let him collapse on the way without anyone around to help him back up or to give two shits about him in the slightest. Neither Shuichi nor Maki seemed inclined to care in any case, so Kurochi would have to do that all himself.

Yet they only made it a few steps more before Shuichi cleared his throat, calling out, “Ah… Kokichi?”

Kurochi glanced back over his shoulder while Kokichi slowly turned about to face him. Shuichi wore a sheepish expression, one which Kokichi returned with another forced grin. He wanted to be away before his entire facade broke, Kurochi knew, and Shuichi was making that difficult here. “Yes, Shuichi?”

“Are you… going to be ok?”

A brief silence followed the question. Kurochi looked to his brother to see that a contemplative expression had overtaken his face, mouth pressed into an oddly serious line. Or perhaps that was because of the concussion as well. But after the moment passed, a mischievous smile lit up his eyes. Kokichi shrugged and tucked his hands behind his head. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll die before I even get to the class trial. Nee-heehee, then you’re going to have to figure out who killed Angie without my adorable face there. I hope you cry for me, Shuichi—except no, that’s a lie. An evil overlord like me doesn’t need tears from those on the opposite side of the law, but thank you for your concern Mr. Detective. I’ll see ya soon!”

Kokichi’s grin turned sly just before he spun back around. The movement had him teetering on his feet, losing some of the effect of his little speech. Kurochi reached out to steady him, and Kokichi managed not to topple over. Once he righted himself, he continued down the hall with greater purpose, steps heavy and echoing in the empty hall. “Either in the class trial, or together in Hell!”

As the brothers made their retreat, Kurochi heard Maki speaking to Shuichi, telling him to just ignore Kokichi. She wouldn’t care whether he died or not, even if he was completely innocent. At least Shuichi had proved him wrong just now, even if he had to be properly scolded before he voiced his concern. There was hope for him yet.

Kurochi steered his brother into the bathroom on their way out. Time to get him cleaned up and to check on his injuring before Kokichi went and hurt himself even more.

#danganronpa v3 #ndrv3 #kokichi ouma #new danganronpa v3 #drabble #my first fic in the dr fandom at all at it involves an oc insert into a canon scene haha #but ya know #i like these boys #one shot

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musicprincess655 · 6 years

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Hey guys! I recently hit 500 followers. For the new people, I update this soulmate au every time I hit a multiple of 100 followers. It’s time for SemiShira’s story!

Swans.

When Eita was younger, he’d assumed the swan feather on his right forearm would make his soulmate easy to find. He’d imagined girls with elegant features and queenly faces, boys with regal and princely bearings. Whatever gender his soulmate was, Eita had no doubt they would have a personality and appearance worthy of royalty.

Who else could be represented by a swan feather?

It had taken him almost a month of high school before he’d realized that his mark could apply to almost anyone. Shiratori. Swans.

He was a dumbass.

And okay, it couldn’t refer to just anyone. Since he’d made the horrifying realization that his mark was a feather from his school’s unofficial mascot, he’d been methodically going through people, trying to weed everyone out until he found the person he belonged to.

Satori was out – and thank God, because while Eita loved Satori like a brother, he was just that. Like a brother. Eita couldn’t imagine being his romantic soulmate. He’d considered the possibility that they were platonic soulmates – much less common, but not unheard of – until Satori had seen Wakatoshi’s left hand. Besides the fact that three-way soulmate bonds were even less common than platonic ones, Satori and Wakatoshi’s marks matched each other perfectly and his not at all.

Reon was out for a similar reason. He’d found his soulmate in childhood, a small girl named Ai. While Eita liked them both – especially Ai, who despite her plain face was the life of the party – they very clearly didn’t match with him.

And on and on it went. Even though the wrist was the most common place for soulmate marks, about half the team had marks in different places, and the ones that didn’t also didn’t really match him. And of course, that was just the team. There were a lot of students at Shiratorizawa that Eita had never met.

So here he was, stuck mulling over every person in his school, staring at a pond that would at least partially freeze when winter fully set in. Maybe he’d been right the first time. Maybe his soulmate was a prince or princess that he’d meet after he graduated. Only about 50% of people met their soulmates by the end of high school, and he was in the winter of his third year.

“This is stupid,” he muttered to himself. He’d heard it a thousand times. No one found their soulmate because they were looking. Soulmates always found each other when they least expected it.

But how was he supposed to avoid looking when there was a good chance his soulmate was somewhere around him?

“Oi! Eita!”

Satori was waving from where he and Wakatoshi were perched on the bank of the pond. Once, Eita would have been reluctant to join them. They’d been completely absorbed in each other when they’d first started dating. But now that the honeymoon phase had worn off, Eita didn’t feel like a third wheel hanging out with them anymore.

“What are you two doing out?” Eita asked. “Isn’t it a little cold for a park date?”

“Coats exist,” Satori shrugged. “Besides, the swans only come here in the winter.”

Eita looked back at the pond to see that yes, there were the big white birds that had been haunting his thoughts on the edge of the pond. He sat down almost ruefully, looking at them along with Satori and Wakatoshi.

They really were beautiful. The way they slid around the water slowly was like poetry in motion. Even Eita could put aside his associations with them to enjoy how pretty they were.

“Nasty little fuckers,” Satori commented. “I love seeing them, but I know to keep my distance now.”

“What?” Eita asked. “What do you mean?”

An expression that Eita didn’t recognize passed over Satori’s face, and it took Eita a moment to place it as embarrassment. In the time he’d known Satori, he hadn’t realized his best friend felt enough shame to feel embarrassment.

“One of them went after him in our first year,” Wakatoshi cut in. “It was quite an experience.”

“It wasn’t my fault,” Satori complained. “I just wanted a closer look. I never expected it to bite me.”

“You should’ve known better than to try and touch a swan.”

“I do now!”

“Wait,” Eita interrupted, because once the two of them got started, it was impossible to get their attention anywhere else. He’d never understood how Satori could hold such long conversations with Wakatoshi. Even being friends with both of them, Eita had never been able to draw Wakatoshi into a conversation with more than the necessary information being exchanged. “Swans are mean?”

“They’re territorial, which I know now,” Satori said, with a look thrown Wakatoshi’s direction. “They go after anyone who gets too close pretty aggressively, which no one bothered to tell me until one bit me on the arm.”

“I thought you would know better,” Wakatoshi said blankly, which might have been genuine and might have been Wakatoshi being amused at his boyfriend’s misfortune. Eita had never been great at telling the difference.

“I didn’t know they were aggressive,” Eita said, trying to bring them back to topic.

“Like I said, nasty little fuckers,” Satori said. “They’re pretty to look at, but get too close and you’ll get snapped at.”

Eita froze, his eyes still tracing the movements of the swans closest to him. He knew someone who fit that description perfectly.

He’d always kept an eye on Shirabu since the younger setter was prone to hyperfixating until he hurt himself, but with this new information, he looked closer. He knew Shirabu had a soulmate mark on his left forearm, but he’d never known what it was. Shirabu was weirdly protective of it, never showing it when asked. Besides knowing it took up most of his forearm by the sleeves Shirabu sometimes wore to hide it, Eita knew almost nothing about it.

But now that Eita was paying attention, he could see what he’d missed for two years. Shirabu always wore his blazer or a long-sleeved uniform shirt, but he never covered his arms during practice, rightly assuming that everyone would be more focused on the ball than his soulmate mark. Especially when he was practicing setting, arms poised and turned out to the world, Eita had a good look at his mark.

It was a feather, although Eita could never get a close enough to say what bird it belonged to. All he could really see was that it was about the same size as his, and a little darker.

For the first time, Eita started to consider that his mark might be for Shirabu. It wasn’t that he’d never thought Shirabu was pretty or been attracted to him. It was more his surety that Shirabu would never return the feelings. Shirabu was prickly with everyone – even Kawanishi, who was supposedly his best friend – but he seemed to have a particular aversion to Eita. Eita had always assumed it was their clashing personalities, but maybe there was something else behind it.

So for now, Eita waited and watched. He caught all the glimpses of Shirabu’s mark that he could during practice, and while no one could really tell that marks matched until they were laid side by side, Eita started to think he could recognize something of Shirabu’s mark in his own.

And then practice was over forever for Eita, snuffed out by a nobody team that had risen from their own ashes.

Eita didn’t see much of Shirabu after that.

It wasn’t just that they were avoiding each other. In fact, Eita was looking for Shirabu more than ever with the deadline hanging over his head. However, he had his own problems to deal with. He’d never thought of himself as someone who’d go to university, but one had extended an offer of a volleyball scholarship. It wasn’t anything that would let him go pro, but it would pay for university, and he’d get to play again. It wasn’t an opportunity he was going to give up.

But he still had to pass his final exams if he wanted to keep it, so he spent all of the free time that had once belonged to volleyball on studying. He stared at his books until he went cross eyed, and didn’t spare any time on vanishing younger setters.

Until he was at his graduation ceremony, final exams passed, university scholarship clinched, and no closer to figuring out if Shirabu was really what Eita thought he was.

It wasn’t the end of the world that he hadn’t figured everything out with Shirabu. He had Shirabu’s LINE ID, and they’d even exchanged a few polite messages before, although all relating to volleyball. It wasn’t like he couldn’t keep in touch, even if he wasn’t at the same school anymore.

A spring of something that felt alarmingly like nostalgia welled in Eita’s chest. Despite the struggles, the losses, the pain, he’d had a good three years. He was going to miss Shiratorizawa.

And then he saw the person who’d been haunting his thoughts for months.

Shirabu didn’t look like he was running away anymore. His eyes were set and determined on Eita’s face. It couldn’t have been more obvious that he was waiting for Eita to come to him.

“Take care of yourself,” Eita said, because it seemed like the kind of thing to say when he was more or less saying goodbye. “Keep practicing with Goshiki. I know he annoys you sometimes, but he’s going to be the next ace, and you have to work as well with him as you did with Wakatoshi.”

“I don’t want to talk about Goshiki right now,” Shirabu said. It was time to settle things once and for all.

“Show me your soulmate mark,” Eita said. It wasn’t a question, but Shirabu was perfectly free to leave if he didn’t want to. Eita fully expected him to.

Instead, Shirabu shrugged out of his blazer and rolled up his left sleeve, holding out his arm for Eita to see. Eita held his wrist, turning his arm to see it. A grey and white feather took up most of Shirabu’s forearm.

“I thought it was for Ushijima at first,” Shirabu said, refusing to meet Eita’s eyes. “I saw him my last year in middle school, and…well. An eagle seemed to fit perfectly.”

Eita could understand why Shirabu had jumped to Wakatoshi as a possible match for his mark. He also knew that by the time Shirabu had seen Wakatoshi, he and Satori had already found each other.

“So you’ve been hiding it for years because…?” Eita asked. He resisted the urge to lay his arm alongside Shirabu’s to see if they matched.

“I wanted more time,” Shirabu said. “I was wrong about it being for Ushijima, and then I…I think I figured out who it was really for. And I wanted more time to figure out how I felt about that before they knew and expected things from me I wasn’t ready to give.”

“You figured all that out on your own?” Eita asked. He’d never been in doubt about Shirabu’s intelligence, but he also knew how limited it was when it came to Shirabu himself.

“Taichi helped,” Shirabu said, looking angry about it. “He’s the one who figured out who this belongs to in the first place, and he’s been nothing but smug about it since.”

Eita took that as his cue to roll up his own sleeve and compare his arm to Shirabu’s.

Their marks weren’t the same – in many ways, they were very different people. But the marks matched, in a way that Eita couldn’t articulate no matter how hard he tried. Something about the lines, the slopes of the feathers, made it clear that though they came from different species they very much belonged together.

“So what now?” Shirabu asked. Eita wondered if he’d been feeling the deadline hanging over him as keenly as Eita had and just dealt with it in the opposite way.

“Well, first of all, you better answer my messages,” Eita said. “No leaving me on read for weeks. I know you have LINE and I know you know how to use it. Keep in touch.”

Shirabu blinked.

“You don’t mind that it’s me?” he asked. “I thought you didn’t like me.”

“That’s not true,” Eita told him. “You’re a pain in my ass sometimes, but I’ve never disliked you.”

He ruffled Shirabu’s hair just to see him wrinkle his nose when his stupid ruler bangs got messed up.

“You mean it?” Shirabu asked, fixing his hair with his free hand. “You’re okay that we’re soulmates?”

Eita raised Shirabu’s arm to his face so he could kiss the mark.

“I could do a lot worse.”

There was a smile tugging at the corners of Shirabu’s mouth that he couldn’t seem to quite get a handle on. Eita felt an answering one rise on his own face.

#semishira #hqfanfic #haikyuu!!#soulmate au #my writing

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mewtwo24 · 7 years

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More Jihyun Headcanons

Tbh this is more one headcanon that became two little mini-fics, depicted from both perspectives???? I have no idea all I know is that this is very self-indulgent and I hope you all enjoy. Thank you so much for all of your feedback and kind responses to my last Jihyun headcanon post! <3

A long/hard day at work/school...

MC:

MC was having a no good, very bad, horrible day. Everything that could possibly go wrong had gone wrong; or at the very least she felt the results of the day had been lackluster and that she hadn’t tried hard enough despite being exhausted. Jihyun picks up on this almost as soon as the door opens; because when MC is upset she withdraws into herself not unlike he does. She becomes silent as a ghost, as if she were hoping it might help her disappear; she doesn’t call out a greeting, doesn’t sing or poke her head into the rooms he’s designated to painting and producing photographs with a grin. She tends to drop her belongings next to the couch in the living room and curl up, arms around her legs as she draws them close and buries her face in her knees. If she doesn’t appear within the time range she would be expected--without a message or call she’ll be late--he’ll grow concerned. He knows things happen sometimes, but ever since he found her that way the first time--God he still remembers how his heart dropped in his chest--he always double checks to make sure she’s okay if she’s late.

And so he’ll find her there in the living room, drawn and self-conscious, and his expression will crumple at how familiar the sight of her is. Because he sees so much of himself in that self-deprecation. He knows that there are days where nothing seems to go right and your thoughts just swallow you up into a black hole; drawing you deeper into despair than you ever wanted to be with no way out.

He’ll go straight to the kitchen and pick something rich and fragrant from their tea cabinet (this boi is on a mission)--maybe a surprise flavor he’d been saving for a moment like this should it come again--and he’ll take his time to prepare it as best he can--making sure to add extra honey just how she likes it. And he’ll return to the living room and place the mugs as quietly as possible on the table to keep from startling her, steps even and slow, before he’ll approach her from the other side of the couch.

His voice will be low and soothing, just enough to get her attention. “MC?” He’ll draw closer until he’s sitting next to her with some space between them, and reach out to place a light hand on her back, “Are you all right, darling?”

His tentative murmur next to her ear will be enough to make her look up and snuggle into his arms, burying her face in his chest. The first time it happened he was shook, expecting a lukewarm acknowledgement at best. All he’d ever received for such efforts in the past were tears and apologies, a sharp rebuff followed by the harsh swat of a hand. Nothing at all like this; where a simple embrace was more than enough to bring back her beaming smile. Now his arms came around her without a second thought, an indulgent smile forming as she shifted to press closer and tuck her face into the curve of his neck. He’d move his hand rhythmically across her back in response, drawing comforting shapes and patterns while the other held her tight.

They would stay like that for a long time; MC losing herself in his warmth and acceptance, the gentle calm he radiated working to mute the anxious hyperfixation. And the vice grip on his heart would finally unravel as he brushed a kiss against her hair, feeling like he could breathe again as the tension wracking her frame ebbed slowly.

“I love you,” She would mumble into his chest as soon as she felt better, “So, so much.”

And delighted laughter would always follow at the sight of her rare shyness, bright and relieved. “I love you, too. More than you know,” Her head rose from where it had nestled against his collarbones to narrow her eyes at his tender smile.

“Is that a challenge?” She asked, grinning back as she sat up.

He shook his head, reaching for the mugs on the table. “Nope; I figured I’d save you the dishonor of losing.”

She gaped at his sweet smile and seamlessly accepted the warm mug he offered, “Rude. I’m only letting this slide because the tea smells amazing.”

She felt her heart warm and stutter a bit when he let out peals of laughter; a sound more moving than any music.

“Is it sweet enough? Do you want me to bring more honey?” He managed to ask as soon as he’d calmed, his question sincere when he turned to watch her take her first sip. He noticed her eyes close in bliss as she savored it, glad to see he’d made a wise choice.

She hummed, pretending to think about it for a bit before setting her mug back down and turning to him. She looped her arms around his neck, drawing him close as she tangled a hand in his hair despite the slight widening of his eyes, “Mm, I’m not sure; you tell me.” And she touches her lips to his; a long, slow shifting of warm velvet as he pulls her closer and angles his head a fraction to the right. He shivers when her tongue traces the length of his lower lip, breath shuddering as she chose that moment to retreat and rest her forehead against his, equally out of breath.

“Looks like I better bring some more;” He managed when he regained control over his voice. “Since it’s not nearly as sweet as you.”

She laughed unable to help herself, worries and frustrations far behind her in favor of relaxing with her favorite person in all the world.

Jihyun:

There are days, especially during the first few years of his recovery, in which nothing will come out as he might like. They were subtle things and big things; sometimes it would be a matter of colors clashing or shading not aligning quite right. Sometimes it would be an inability to think of a proper subject or theme for a piece. And sometimes it would just be a matter of the piece itself; it felt empty, devoid of the poetic gravity he was known for. Either way something would be incomplete, enough to bring him to a halt. MC always notices as soon as she comes home in that Jihyun is quiet, but not in the usual way. Instead of the caress of a paint brush or the faint footsteps of a picture developing he would be found reading, music playing softly in the background. Though Jihyun isn’t a very blatant person or a loud one, there’s something about this calm that screams not okay to MC. She can’t quite explain it. Perhaps the harder he tries to hide his inner turmoil, the more evident he is in his reticence; thus it strikes MC as odd.

As soon as the silence of the house hits her MC places her bag on the living room table and heads straight to the room she uses for her studies/work. She’ll often find him there, as if the memory of her presence alone; her fragrance, the ambience, the meticulous organization--that’s so foreign to the house it must be hers--would be enough to pull him out of this exhausted rut. Though he knows it’s no match for the woman herself, he can be reluctant to ask for help or won’t know quite how to broach the subject. He feels pathetic that something so small could stop him on the path he’s decided on, that he isn’t trying hard enough.

She’ll be very deliberate, and make no effort to hide her presence when she enters. She’ll circle to whatever chair he’s sitting in and rest her head gently against his, arms coming around to meet loosely at his chest. A hand--noticeably clear of even the slightest of pigment stains--will come up to overlap both of hers, betraying all the things he’s struggling to say.

“Welcome home, MC,” He’ll look to her with a small smile.

And she’ll sigh happily, “I love coming home to you,” She’ll admit with a light kiss to his cheek, which makes his smile grow a little as he puts down the book to focus entirely on her.

“How was school/work?”

“The usual, it was an easy day today. How was your day?” She would broach the topic carefully, letting him discuss as much as he was comfortable with on his own.

“Ah, just fine,” He’d reply with another blank smile.

And she would pause, trying to think of the best way to help him come to terms with this newest roadblock. Her voice would be quiet, cautious. “It’s okay, you know, to get stuck sometimes. It doesn’t make you any less talented, or amazing.”

“I…” He’d blink with surprise.

And she’d continue to talk him through it. “I may not be able to understand completely, but I think everybody has those moments of doubt. What if I’m not as good at this as I thought I was? As I hoped I’d be?”

She’ll take one of his hands in hers and lay it flat, tracing along his fingers. “I think...you make wonderful things, capture a beauty I could never hope to behold until you show it to me. And I think a lot of people feel the same way when they have the pleasure of seeing what you’ve created,”

And then she’ll interlace their fingers and squeeze his lightly, voice low and smile tender. “So don’t give up. Keep believing in yourself, just like I do. Sometimes the more you seek an answer, the more it eludes you. Take a break, try something new; walk away from what’s confusing you for a bit. You never know what kind of insight some distance can give you.”

She’ll walk in front of him and cup his face with her hands, grinning at the way his cheeks darkened when she kissed his nose. “For now, don’t be too hard on yourself. Come on! Let’s go do something fun!” She’ll carefully remove the book from his shocked hands and tug him out the door.

“Where are we going?” He’ll ask, a little flustered.

And she’ll hear the tremble in his voice and know it isn’t his fault surprises make him nervous. “The beach!” She’ll reply without missing a beat, exasperated laughter following her as they gathered their coats.

“In the middle of the night? In October?” He reaffirms, one eyebrow disappearing behind his hair as the beginnings of her favorite smile tugs at his lips.

“I like to live dangerously,” She calls over her shoulder with a wink as she starts the car and dashes outside, making sure it’s warm for when he climbs in.

With the patience of a saint he’ll follow and the car ride will be full of little sing-alongs and her recounting funny moments in her day, as well as all the little things that reminded her of him and how much she missed him. How the clear sky always reminds her of his soulful eyes and how a song on the radio was one they danced to a few weeks ago, making the midday traffic bearable. And she watches as the creases in his face smooth and his smiles come more naturally, relief blossoming in her chest as he seems to find a way to let go--to love himself again.

When they arrive at the beach she runs to the shore and giggles as the foam at the edge of the water laps at her feet; joyful laughter following the light, bubbling caress. And he’ll follow her footsteps in the sand, taking his time as he revels in the sight of her radiance. They’re far enough from the city that the stars wink at them conspiratorially from afar, and the ethereal glow of a full moon reflecting on the water bathes her in silver silk. It won’t be long until she feels his arms around her, catching her as she splashes and dances from one foam pocket to another. Warm chest pressed against her back, his voice will be soft in her ear.

“Thank you,” She can barely hear him over the water, “I was beating myself up again, wasn’t I?” He’ll admit with a sigh.

And she’ll turn around in his arms and smile patiently at his desolate expression, one she knew well as her fingers traced over the thin scar that climbed the bridge of his nose to the right corner of his brow. “You were, but it’s okay. Healing won’t happen overnight; you’re only human Jihyun.”

She’ll watch as his eyes shine with tears he won’t even try to stop, and stroke his hair when he pulls her close and hides in the curve of her neck. Raw and vulnerable, they stay like that until she can sense the return of his usual calm; like watching the ripples that had been disturbing the surface of a lake dissipate into nothing.

When he retreats she wipes at his face carefully with her sleeve and he lets out a watery laugh, wondering what he could possibly have done to deserve somebody like her. “I love you,” He confesses after taking a final, deep breath to steady his nerves. “So, so much.”

“I love you, too,” She murmurs back without hesitation, nuzzling her nose with his and beaming when his answering grin met his eyes. “More than you know.”

I think I have an idea, he muses when she reaches for his hand, their fingers intertwining effortlessly as they begin to trace the shoreline. Blessed with a warm night, they walk and talk about things both profound and silly until they’re too weary to stand.

Jihyun’s next piece--Maiden in the Moonlight--was said to be the awakening of his potential among modern art historians, and remains a beloved favorite for many of his admirers.

#v mystic messenger #jihyun kim #mystic messenger #more headcanons!!!#mOAR #because I love this man and can never have enough of this pure patoot #hes so cute and sweet and wholesome #bhjakdsdb #anyways hope you all enjoy and thank you so much for all the responses to my original post

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sunsandships · 6 years

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the age gap issue, and how i’ve made my peace with it

or: a meandering word dump as i try to sort out my feelings on CMBYN

disclaimer: these are unedited thoughts. i welcome discussion & people engaging with my thoughts. age gap specific thoughts are towards the end; the beginning is just,, literal word vomit. pls handle gently.

to begin with, both the novel and the movie hit me like a freight train; sort of like that part in Inception where they’re on the first level of the dream in that ugly taxicab and the train just literally slams into them from outta nowhere. descriptors like lush or intimate are probably way overused with respect to CMBYN but they are truly what spring to mind. what struck me, and stuck with me, as i read the novel then watched the movie (in that order) was how difficult it was for me to do in one sitting.

for context: i’m the type of person who usually blazes through a novel, no matter how long, in one sitting. and movies, of course, i usually watch in one sitting as well. but i also have a recorded history of sucking at handling second-hand embarrassment. my freshman year college roommates will testify to my ridiculous behavior when trying to watch She’s The Man. i had to cross the room. at one point, i think i rolled on the floor a little in mortification. when it comes to novels, i usually skim past the section that’s causing me second-hand embarrassment, or just flip forward the page entirely.

call me by your name is not a long book. it took me nearly a week to finish reading. i just couldn’t handle too much of it in one sitting -- i would read somewhere between 5 to 30 pages, and something would be too much, and i would have to go do something else for a few hours. it took me three evenings to finish the movie. and i couldn’t even watch the movie in the daytime; the ambience just felt too wrong. but even in the darkness of my bedroom, with no one else in the world to judge me for what i was watching or feeling while watching it, i couldn’t finish the movie in one go either. i paused in strategic places, and had to return to it the next day.

it’s wrong to call what caused these pauses second hand embarrassment. nothing particularly embarrassing happens, except perhaps elio’s straightforwardly fervent attraction and sexual awakening. yet the fact that i needed to take these pauses remind me of the times i’ve had to pause in a movie or skip forward in a book due to mortifyingly visceral second hand embarrassment. and i think that’s the connecting factor, the reason it took me so long to finish both book and novel, despite loving both. something about the narrative is just so gut-wrenchingly real. the novel reminded me of reading Richard Siken’s Crush for the first time as an angst-ridden middle schooler. when, for no reason i could pinpoint, the prose just kind of socked me in the stomach and makes me feel things like a physical ache in my sternum. CMBYN was something similar; less of a punch in the gut, more of a long, slow burn. like the twinge of muscles after you’ve overexerted yourself exercising the day before. and the movie -- god, the movie -- is shot so beautifully; the elegant piano in the sunlit itallian villa, the sounds of summer in the background, the cerulean sea, the ripe peaches like the world’s best and worst metaphor at the same time. and again, the words that spring to the lips when talking about CMBYN -- lush, sensual, intimate.

and there, that’s another key word -- intimate. the novel and movie both feel a little like voyeurism, like the whole thing was a real, private experience between two real people and you’re spying in on them through an omnipotent camera operator, seeing something not meant to be seen, much less by you.

and maybe that’s why i fell head first into yet another hyperfixation; it’s been a long long time since i read something that made me unflinchingly feel that much. maybe because primarily i’ve been reading trope-laden fanfictions, self-indulgent fics that i can know what to expect of. the equivalent of eating literary fast food for years and then suddenly tasting fresh fruit -- am i cheeky enough to say a peach?

but now, and wow it’s taken me a long time to get to the main point, having stewed in my love of the prose and the movie’s cinematography and the frankly gorgeous acting (and persons) of A.H. and T. C., a little niggling doubt in my hindbrain -- what about the age gap? after all, that was the main reason i’d put off reading the book for so long, when i’d first started seeing buzz around CMBYN months and months ago. especially with all the recent sexual abuse allegations floating around, i was hesitant, weary.

to quote oliver, i know myself. i know my kinks, which yes, sometimes include age gaps; i know intimately that what makes it a kink for me is the inherent power dynamic of an age gap. and i think 99% of my kinks trace back to there being that power dynamic. the other 1% is fear. so, y’know -- it’s not that the age gap, by itself, weirded me out. ya girl ain’t about to kink shame herself. but the difference for me was, in the weird cesspool of fandom, it goes without saying that kinks that push the edge of social norms (heck, kinks that go way beyond the edge) are definitely fictional. fantasy. in the realm of things you can explore with fictional characters. unhealthy power dynamics are just that -- unhealthy. played with in the context of kinky fic, yeah. but definitively not glorified, not romantic, not real.

and by god, CMBYN is all of those - glorified, romantic, achingly real. so why, why when i read the novel and watch the movie, did my concern fade into the background? had fic desensitized me? was my moral compass loose? and of course, much ado has been made about the age of consent being so much lower in italy (14, holy smokes), and the absolute ego of applying U.S.-centric morality to everything, so is it really a non-issue?

maybe the first thing is to place the novel in its own context -- the author is not a teenage boy. the author is a college professor of comparative literature. the author is a married man. the author is even a straight married man, in fact. and yeah, despite setting the novel in the head of a seventeen year old, it’s also framed as older!elio looking back nostalgically. so wow, does the narration not sound like a seventeen year old boy. and oliver, poor oliver, does not get his perspective in. everything is framed by older-elio-recalling-younger-elio’s thoughts. and when you’re reading it, you’re caught up in the narration, the feel of the words, the story, and you’re not thinking about the age gap at all, not really, unless the narrative itself calls your attention to it, and by then you’re in it for the long haul, and suspension of disbelief has kicked in, and it just kind of,,, stops bothering you.

and the movie, wow. the casting. T.C. can definitely pass as younger-than-twenty. maybe not seventeen, precisely, but young-ish. still a teen. meanwhile, A.H. is definitely older than twenty-four. he’s thirty-one and at best passes for late-twenties. so hoo boy, did the movie accentuate that age gap. by the time i watched the movie though, i was already a goner for the book. so i didn’t focus on it too much, or at all. it doesn’t hurt that T.C. and A.H. are both gorgeous by themselves, and that together their chemistry is amazing, and that their acting is just,,, subtle and superbly mind-blowing at the same time.

and so wham bam, i finish the movie. i plunge into hyperfixation pretty quickly. and then suddenly, deep in the CMBYN tag, i read a well-written, non-aggressive review of the novel which does a pretty neat take on why it’s an issue the novel is written by a much older man fantasizing about the sex life of a seventeen year old with a older man. when you put it like that, it’s pretty,,, squicky.

so, the age gap problem. time to face it head on, me.

the age gap presented breaks no laws. canonically, elio’s parents are even aware of what’s developing and approve (and perhaps even encourage? setting them up in a bougie hotel for the overnight Rome trip, hello??). but after i separated a little from the initial euphoria of just existing at the same time as the gorgeousness of CMBYN and thought about it a little more, it just,,, felt weird, in a intrinsic level, the same intrinsic level that felt all the positive feels possible for CMBYN when i was immersed in it and had full suspension of disbelief happening.

why does it feel weird? well me, right now, i’m twenty. and i feel so, so much older than i was when i was seventeen. i would not date someone that is seventeen. i would pretty much find it impossible, i think, to find a emotional or intellectual connection with someone that is seventeen. so much happens in those in-between years, and that’s with just the difference of high school vs. college. elio and oliver are looking at the extra gap of high school - college - grad school. it’s not a trivial age gap. and just because it doesn’t break any laws doesn’t make it a non-issue, i think.

back to that power dynamic; the way the age skew totally definitely allows the older person to take advantage, to abuse. is that what’s happening here? certainly, i had issues with the sex scene (hello, lube? hello, condoms? hello, prep?? i do not believe you can engage in anal, penetrative intercourse without needing to talk through it, yet one of the major things after the sex is elio retreats into himself, into shame over the act itself. i’m not in the camp that the sex was non-consensual; elio was clearly there for it. but i don’t think it was written or handled well, much less realistically -- the author is, unfortunate, a Straight) but i don’t think, on the whole of it, any advantage-taking is happening. oliver doesn’t hold any authority over elio, and elio’s infatuation/desire for oliver is full-blown with no encouragement (or, a less-nice word: manipulation) from oliver.

they don’t pursue a long-term relationship. there’s no mention that they might even try to extend the relationship beyond the summer. when oliver leaves, elio lets him go. canonically, elio takes that whole experience, wraps it in bubble wrap, and puts it on a pedestal. and yeah, years later, when they are both much much older, they reconnect and still feel things but also both have clearly done fine in their individual lives and elio is a drama queen ok. he’s nostalgic. he’s still feeling things. but would he have totally buried all feelings if, at the time of their fling, he’d been twenty instead of seventeen?

though on the flip side, why does elio need to be seventeen at all? would it change the story at all if he was twenty? twenty-two, even? just freshly graduated college, summering with his parents one last summer? maybe there’s something to be said about elio being on the cusp of manhood, or whatever. that it needs to be his first love, not just a love. but hey, i’m twenty, and i haven’t been in any type of relationship, much less love. so clearly, within the realm of possibility. here, i think, is a much deeper critique than the age gap in and of itself. something along the lines of Andre Aciman, and his authorial choices as a Older Straight White Male. i’m not really qualified to touch that, though; i’m really here to just digest my own feelings about the age gap, and why ultimately i’m at peace with it, and why i think i’ve made my peace with being at peace with it.

because, no, i don’t really buy that a seventeen year old and a twenty-four year old can fall in true true love without knowing much about each other beyond bonding on a shallow intellectual level over classical literature and music and idyllic bike rides and swimming. certainly, i would be much happier buying the love part of the equation if elio was twenty, or twenty-one, or twenty-two. but nothing about the relationship is manipulative, or nonconsensual, or coerced. and due to the narrative style, in my head, elio isn’t even quite seventeen - more of a amorphous precocious early twenties, maybe.

maybe also because, at the heart of it, i don’t think CMBYN is a love story. i think it’s a story about desire, and the inevitability of time eroding pretty much everything, and enjoying and holding onto things when they’re in your grasp. and so while i think the age gap makes love a little out of my realm of understanding, it certainly puts no barrier on desire.

#CMBYN #boi am i scared to throw this into the tags #but also this is 2k of word vomit so will anyone even read it hahahahaha #also its 2am #on second thought pls dont read this #i just needed this catharsis tbh

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