#its impossible to describe just entirely a feeling maybe just personal preference

[understandingbimbos]

so what i will be doing here is reposting my notes unaltered via screenshot, transcribing them, and then describing how i feel now. What do we mean when we say a bimbo is dumb? Are there multiple ways to be dumb?

In the context of bimbo, dumb usually means "ditzy" -- flighty, playful, and scatterbrained. But "dumb" may also mean shallow, vapid, simple -- focused entirely on superficial and material things. Obnoxious, crass, trashy (classless) behavior could also be considered "dumb". Point is, there's a lot that goes into the presentation of stupidity. General physical clumsiness and aloofness can also be a way for a character to appear dumb. Or subservience and submissiveness. Or childish naivety and innocence. Sometimes a bimbo will be all of these, or only one of these, or maybe even none? Who's to say? What someone considers intelligent or unintelligent usually has to do with their own personal biases, or in this case, turn-ons. It varies from person to person. (Recklessness is an another example of what could be considered "dumb")

I still agree with this wholeheartedly. The debate of whether a bimbo should be dumb or not, or how dumb a bimbo should be, is ultimately pointless because in the end a bimbo will always *appear* dumb. You could even argue that what we've commonly come to accept as "the bimbo look" is actually an extension/reflection of purported "dumbness," a physical expression of stupidity. After all its this same projection that largely formed the concept of the "bimbo" in the first place. The assumption that a woman is -- slutty because she wears revealing clothing, stupid and impossible to take seriously because she's young (see: giggles) or has large breasts, and vain because she wears makeup or has an interest in fashion. "Bimbo," as we know it today just takes this up a notch. "Large breasts" become fake breasts in general. Lip fillers. Dyed hair. Tattoos. Rhinoplasty. Fashion Nova. Botox, acrylics, high heels, waist trainers. Misogyny projects idiocy and promiscuity onto these traits, procedures, items, and practices.

Again, let's take Adam Warren's Empowered for example:

Is Emp a bimbo? To the uninitiated I think the answer would be an obvious resounding "yes". Those familiar with the series may find the question more complex (it isn't). She's not a dumb woman by any means and has her fair share of successes and badassery, but she's also an inept curvy crybaby blonde with big thick lips and a very "slut-tastic" "do-me-riffic" costume.

Her extreme insecurity can render her meek or oblivious. Constantly getting captured and tied up makes her look like a klutz. And I'm not sure this should count, but she likes sex with her boyfriend A LOT.

She's also considered a bimbo in-universe. Not by anybody that knows her closely, of course, but its very widely assumed (as is often the case IRL).

It's less a matter of "can bimbos be smart?" or "bimbos should be dumb" and more a matter of how do you prefer a bimbo's intelligence (or lack thereof) be expressed? What do we mean when we say a bimbo is "hyperfeminine"? What defines femininity?

I think there's two ways to gauge this. Physical femininity - big ass, big tits, clean shaven, soft full lips, etc. Physical femininity can also be expressed through choices in makeup, color, or clothing. Take for example -- drag queens, who can express femininity very clearly while lacking some of the usually associated physical attributes. But then there's also, feminine behavior, the second way to gauge this. Feminine behavior is usually defined by… weakness. Submissiveness. And it's probably why it plays such a big role in this fetish. Feminine behavior can also be associated with gracefulness, gentleness, kindness -- being emotional, dependent, loyal, social, etc -- which are also themes commonly found in bimbofication works. Generally, one of the two (physical femininity or behavioral femininity) will be expected of a bimbo, if not both or a combination of varying degrees (for example: exaggerated soft pouty lips, slutty clothing, and submissive behavior - but a flat chest).

I don't have much to say about this. Yes, I still generally agree with this. It pairs well with my last point and the toolbox theory/sliding scale of bimboism (really not sure what to call it yet) The drag queen example is a little clunky though. I could've just used effeminate gay men in general as an example, and worded it a lot better...

Why does a bimbo act the way they do? Why the look? What does a bimbo want?

For love. Or maybe it's attention, is there really a difference either way? A bimbo wants to be happy, and what makes them happy? Being adored. A bimbo wants to be able to light up a room through their looks, their personality, or maybe both. Some bimbos are happy making others happy. Some bimbos find happiness through what others do for them. Sometimes the love, adoration, and validation of others is enough. Sometimes it's for self-validation. But whatever a bimbo does, they usually do for themselves.

Honestly, it depends entirely on the bimbo and the context in which she exists. A mean, manipulative, bitchy bimbo may act the way she does because she wants the respect or power she thinks she deserves. She values herself highly and thinks everyone else should too. A nice bimbo, ironically, might also act the way she does for the same reason -- because she's high value and pities low value people -- she rather attempt to share her value and be kind to those less fortunate in life.

This one has two because I struggled to come up with a satisfactory answer. Reading it back now I don't really see the point of this question. I still believe bimbos do things for themselves, that's kind of essential to me. I think its because of all the (terrible) bimbofication stories I've read where the man's pleasure is paramount. I do think this applies in general but those stories are really what motivates this "rule" for me. Bimbofication, for me, is not about control. I know it is for some people and that's fine but, and I've said this before, for me its more like MC author Pan (aka panwhowrites) said. Ironically, he's not a bimbo author and as far as I know doesn't really like bimbo stuff but what he said once that applies to bimbofication art and writing to me is that his biggest turn on and interest is female arousal.

The second answer I gave is bad because its half-expressed from my memory. It's based off this:

"Bimbos gravitate toward chaotic good, but are easily shaped by their environment: a bimbo that hangs out with mean girls, might easily assume that bullying is just good fun and doesn't hurt anyone; a bimbo that is spoiled by her sugar daddy can easily become a brat. a bimbo is shaped by her interests and environment like anyone else, don't write a walking self-parody stereotype."

which comes from further 4chan notes I never posted but hopefully will soon.

#understandingbimbos #bimbotxt #bimboization #bimb0 #bimboism #bimbohood #bimboification #bimtheory #bimbo theory #bimbification #bimboz #bimbo tf #bimbo examples #bimbo reference #bimbo rubric #empowered #adam warren #elissa megan powers #stupidity #4chan

[menalez]

“HUH??? theres even straight women out there who arent finding sex with men pleasurable, why would a lesbian want to be with a man sexually to begin with? why would any lesbian have "no preference in sexual partners when they're horny" like ur basically saying lesbian boundaries fall apart once we're horny and that just.. doesnt make sense.... if u get horny for men and enjoy sex with men then thats a very blatant sign ur not a lesbian. when im horny i dont suddenly want to have sex with men bc men as a whole are entirely sexually undesirable to me. its not even a neutral act bc its directly me going against my desires & sexuality to do sth like that.”

I think you’ve maybe misunderstood my ask, because I’m on the same page as you on this topic. I do not see why lesbians (of all people!) would want to sleep with men, and I definitely do not think there’s a lot of lesbians having casual sex with men without any sort of pressure involved (like internalized homophobia or forced marriages/rape). My ask was kind of a response to the anon who talked about this topic (it was about her self proclaimed lesbian friend and things she’d read from lesbians online), and I was more or less contemplating the improbability.

I was being hypothetical and just thinking about whether or not it’s even possible to disregard sexuality without any feeling of unease. When I said there’s probably lesbians who do have willing sex with men, it was meant like “describe something, anything, you think is impossible, and there’s at least one person out there in the world who fits the bill”, and I did not mean at all that this is normal for lesbians, hence the “if we’re being hypothetical” that I wrote first thing in that paragraph. (I probably should have swapped out “lesbians out there” with “a lesbian out there” to make my point clearer…)

Also I did not intend to come off as saying that lesbians’ boundaries fall apart when horny — I do not think this at all. I wrote that because I was referencing the previous anon, who mentioned a lesbian friend sleeping with men when horny (paraphrasing: “not chasing it, but not minding it either”), and my point was “is that even possible? to sleep with someone you can never be sexually attracted to just bc you’re horny/they’re easily available/etc.? to not have boundaries in regards to sexual partners’ sex despite your sexuality? that can’t possibly be right?” — the same reaction as you — thus me mentioning various factors that can make lesbians “want to” sleep with men. That’s also why I mentioned early off that maybe there’s a lot more bi people than we think — because I think it sound very irrational to say that there’s lesbians who would sleep with men.

I probably should have worded my previous ask better, so I’m really sorry about that. What I wanted to get across was “it’s not possible for lesbians to sleep with men without there being some sort of internal/external pressure involved, but even if there is a lesbian (who may not even be lesbian) out in the world somewhere who does fit that bill, she will very much be an extreme outlier, and it would still be right to say that lesbians=don’t sleep with men willingly.”

ah thank you for clarifying, i thought you were perhaps debating that it’s possible and saying it could make sense but i wasn’t understanding how what u were saying would indicate that. honestly i cant even imagine that this 1 hypothetical extreme outlier lesbian even exists— like, what would even differentiate her from a bi woman? countless bi women strongly prefer women but don’t mind sex with men and can find men sexually pleasurable or consider men as sexual partners when horny enough. maybe a bad example but i used to watch this show called bad girls club & there’s this one woman who strongly proclaimed to being a lesbian. in one episode they’re in another country on some sort of vacation and she didn’t find a woman to hook up with so she finds a guy and hooks up with him in the bathroom and she says after “oh yup i’m totally a lesbian” (bear in mind this wasn’t even her first time with a man, she made it very clear she was just very horny and wanted to get laid) … anyways.. that woman ended up having a husband and kids and coming out as bi after a couple of years. like i just don’t see why any lesbian in the entire world would suddenly be horny for a man. like men themselves do nothing for us and we aren’t just like… neutral about men and could take it or leave it, we are actively totally unattracted to them. the only cases i can imagine are cases in which the lesbian in question has some serious mental issues or sth of the sort bc it absolutely is not normal nor logical to seek out sex with men when you’re not even attracted to them. when we’re horny, none of our desires will include men. it won’t suddenly make us find men attractive. we won’t suddenly desire penises or heterosexual sex. it’s just completely antithetical to our lesbianism. frankly i even find it hard to believe that any lesbian would be actually neutral about having sex with a man ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ very often the lesbians u talk to who claim they were neutral end up expressing visible disgust and discomfort and sometimes trauma symptoms like dissociation.

i think the far more likely scenario is there’s bi women with strong preferences who think bc their preferences for women are strong enough, bc they find men generally unappealing for some reason altho they obviously have exceptions to that (ie there’s some men they’d seek out and feel horny over) they think that this doesn’t count as opposite sex attraction & therefore they’re lesbians. and also the way i look at it on top of that is like.. if the term lesbian refers to women with certain qualities and traits, and you do not fit into that definition, then how can u even be an extreme outlier of the group? perhaps ur not a lesbian to begin with is all.

so, basically, i just don’t think it’s possible whatsoever even if we consider this as an extreme outlier.. that can only be an outlier if we take at face value this person claiming to be a lesbian while actively seeking out men and desiring men. but she’s not an outlier whatsoever when u consider the many bisexual women who are similar or have similar histories

[gentrychild]

the au ask: uh, not sure how this works, but, let's say an au where the slime incident never happens?

Anon, no! I have about five AUs for that! You could at least tell me if you want it to be angst or crack!

More seriously, it's such a fun prompt because it avoids All Might telling Izuku he can't be a hero without a quirk, which is the start of so many vigilante/villain/quirkless Izukus.

But since I am a benevolent writer, I will not talk about the AU where Tsuyu and Mineta dies, then Iida, then Kota, then Mirio, Eri isn't saved, and so on.

Okay, it got really long so it's under a Read More.

All Might arrests the Slime villain before he gets in the sewers so neither Izuku nor Bakugou are attacked by him. The problem is that it also means that All Might never meets Izuku, never break his little heart, and Izuku never has the chance to prove his worth to All Might so no OFA.

Life goes on. Izuku still wants to become a hero. However, since his homeroom teacher told his entire class that he wanted to go to UA, his entire class, led by Bakugou, has decided to make his life a living hell over it. Constant taunting and people laughing at him.

It takes its toll on him.

He still doesn't doubt that a quirkless hero can exist but the more days, weeks, months pass, the more he keeps thinking of how easier it would be if he had a quirk.

A dangerous thought. One he usually doesn't allow himself to think because why whine about what is impossible to have? But one boy can only take "What a useless quirkless Deku like you do?" before he starts to get haunted by strange thoughts. Cough... urges... Cough.

It also makes him eager to prove himself. Maybe that's why he intervenes that evening when he sees a villain trying to hurt someone. Except that once the civilian he helped is running to call a hero, he is reminded that he is a smol child made of only skin and bones and that the guy in front of him is about to bash his head in.

He tries to protect himself, his hand grabbing the villain by the head and in this moment, as he is sure that he is about to be killed, he thinks the one selfish thought that he ever thought:

"It's unfair... that this quirk belongs to someone like you... instead of me."

And just like that, Izuku takes a quirk for the first time.

The villain runs in terror and Izuku runs (in the other direction) in confusion. Soon, it's pretty clear that he apparently had the ability to take and give quirks (thank you, Mom, who has volunteered to try the villain's quirk. Though it's strange how she keeps trying to call someone on her phone these days. But it's probably not important.) Which is a very cool quirk.

Izuku now has to pass from "No quirk at all" to "Can have whatever quirk he wants", which is quite dizzying.

He is so fired up for the UA exam, five months from then. Ridiculously happy bean.

Meanwhile, Mirio gets OFA because no successor showed the self sacrificial spirit that could have inspired All Might and both GT and Nighteye kinda pressures him into choosing a successor ASAP.

This has disastrous consequences as OFA is way too powerful for Mirio and starts to put an insane strain on his body. One month later, while fighting a villain (he has his hero license), he collapses on the side of the road, black lines all over his body as the quirk is killing him.

Izuku finds him and calls an ambulance ASAP but Mirio is is really bad shape. He asks him what happened and Mirio, half delirious, tells him that his quirk is killing him.

Izuku is very "????" but he can help! He can take the quirk away! But Lemillion would be quirkless! He can't take this decision! But Mirio can so he asks.

Mirio is half conscious. Completely in pain. He didn't even want that quirk. He likes Permeation. So, half delirious as he was, he might have mumbled something like "Take that thing out of me."

Izuku does, realizes that Mirio has two quirks so he leaves him the one that doesn't feel as heavy as a freaking dwarf star. Lemillion immediately starts to stop looking like he will drop dead any moment from now and the ambulance arrives, taking the hero student away.

Since Izuku doesn't have the All Might telling him that OFA is a good quirk, he acts like a sensible person: this quirk doesn't feel normal and it apparently kills its user. So he waits about 20 seconds before getting rid of it. He finds a nice and sturdy lizard, who, unbeknownst to everyone, becomes the 10th user of OFA.

The quirk comes back to Izuku.

Quirks aren't supposed to do that.

The freaking quirk is cursed. Izuku accepted a cursed quirk.

I cannot begin to describe how Izuku doesn't trust OFA in this AU. He doesn't use it. He intensively dislikes it. He tries everything and more to get rid of it but no matter what living organism he selects, the damn thing keeps coming back.

Meanwhile, Mirio wakes up from the hospital alive :) then remembers he gave a host-killing-quirk to a smol child. O.O

Panic ensues.

All Might realizes that whoever took OFA put his hand on Mirio's head, the same way AFO does. So it was probably AFO with a fun new shapeshifting quirk.

More panic ensues.

Meanwhile, AFO, alive indeed and who has been watching Mirio wastes away and enjoying the hell out of it (though he would have preferred it had happened one generation sooner) is furious that Yagi 2.0 isn't dying anymore because it means OFA passed to someone else! And since everyone in the OFAteam is quite panicked, they apparently lost the quirk he gave his little brother!

He gets so upset about it that he somehow misses the hundred of phonecalls from his wife.

So AFO and All Might alike are looking for someone with OFA but since Izuku just isn't using it, they aren't finding it.

Meanwhile, the Vestiges went from "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH, SOMEONE WITH AFO!!!! AHHHHHH!" to "What do you mean: You don't want to use us? We're not good enough for you???"

So OFA is doing the quirk equivalent of a cat purring and showing its belly so it can get some pet.

Izuku: "You know what? I know it's a trap but since I don't want to outright call a quirk evil, I will give you one chance to prove to me you're not a cursed power that wants my death."

Cue two broken legs.

Well, that's it. Izuku gave that nasty quirk the benefit of the doubt. He is never using it again. And since the damn thing is trying to contaminate his other quirks, he is vaulting it forever!

The irony is not lost on First.

The day of the entrance exam arrives and Izuku does quite well with his good, non cursed quirks, thank you very much.

And as he is leaving, he sees Lemillion! He is happy to see him in good health! He waves at him!

Meanwhile, Mirio spent the last five months trying to find that awful quirk he lost. He was half convinced he had given him to the Symbol of Evil and had trouble seeing the problem because if OFA would eat AFO, where was the problem? He is wondering if he condemned a kid to death. He Is Going Through A Lot.

He wants to say so many things, ask so many questions. And the one thing he manages to blurt out is "GET HIM!"

Tamaki and Nejire immediately shoulder slam a small child. They didn't even hesitate.

That's the story of how the Mighty team found OFA again.

Izuku loves hanging out with All Might but not even him can convince him that the quirk isn't cursed.

#This got slightly longer than expected #ask game #bnha au #closed ask game #bnha spoilers #cursed quirk au

[merakiui]

I was reading through your tags and you mentioned at some point the kazuscara roommates finding your onlyfans and I think I completely combusted—thus i present to you my brain rot of late: you attend the same school as them but you’re not actually friends, all you know about kazuha is that he’s the friendly regular at the cafe you work at, who makes polite conversation every now and then but otherwise is nothing of note. In reality he’s been stalking you for weeks ever since your first encounter, and is dead set on the idea that you’re this innocent, weak thing that needs to be protected (maybe he stepped in when you had a bad customer and your meek reply helped fester his delusions?). Scara, on the other hand, is only aware of your presence since you’re his favourite cam model that he recently found. (Since he’s a harbinger he’s probs loaded) Weeks of funnelling money towards you cause him to feel this unwarranted possessiveness, believing that since he’s been providing so much in your “relationship” that it’s time you reward him in turn. However, despite the unbridled interest they have toward you neither are aware of each other’s feelings for you— that is, until you happen to run into the both of them heading to your class. While both are known for maintaining their stoic masks, they’re friends for a reason— and instantly can tell the attraction their roommates have towards their own “lover”. After kazuha finds your onlyfans he’s certain that you’ve been coerced and wants to save you, while scara thinks it’s time that he’s stopped letting other plebeians look at his possession—so, despite their initial reservations, come together to form the ideal plan. When you find yourself waking up groggy in a room you don’t recognize, all they can do is look on with glee whilst planning their next course of action with their new belonging. They’re friends after all, and good friends share though, don’t they?

This is v long srry lol you can ignore this ofc!!

AAAH, ANON!! YES!!! <3 I couldn’t resist writing more on this concept. orz They make for such a terrifying pair when they work together!

(cw: yandere, stalking, nsfw, implied kidnapping/drugging, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, delusional thoughts, savior complex, implied violence)

What if Kazuha and Scara were just acquainted with one another and actually became closer through their mutual obsession with you? Yes, they’re roommates and ought to get along because they’re living together but they haven’t exactly clicked yet. They talk every now and then and know little things about each other. Nothing too special. They don’t really hang out outside of their dorm either, what with their class schedules being vastly different. And Kazuha’s always out of the dorm doing who-knows-what. Most of his time is spent at a café, where he’ll write and read and stare at you while you work. On the other hand, Scara prefers to stay inside if he doesn’t have a good reason to go out. He likes his alone time. Although he has enjoyed going to the library every now and then to study.

So maybe they need to find some common ground. Maybe they need a push in the right direction before they get closer.

Kazuha likes to stare. Talking to you is great, but he worries he’ll say too much and then he’ll be a nuisance, or you might not want to talk to him at all since you’re working. But you always regard him with a warm smile, happy to scribble his name on the plastic cup because you remember him. Because you recognize his familiar face and soft, gentle eyes. He’s the one who saved you from that rude customer, after all, and he’s a polite regular. Why wouldn’t you know him? You might look like you can handle those types of situations, but what Kazuha saw that day was something entirely different. You were nervous—so soft-spoken and scared. He absolutely has to protect you from those kinds of people now, doesn’t he?

And he does exactly that. He’s your second pair of eyes—your valiant knight in shining armor—who sees and hears all. Sometimes he goes to the café with the intention to simply watch over you and make sure no one’s bothering you. He can recall one time when a customer was speaking rudely about you because her drink hadn’t been prepared in a ‘timely manner.’ In reality it’s impossible to make a drink within a few seconds, especially when you’re already preoccupied with making another customer’s drink. She must’ve woken up on the wrong side of the bed, or maybe she’s just a hateful person in general. You didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of such fiery insults, though.

Her eyes just can’t see your perfection and therefore she does not deserve to see out of them.

Kazuha’s willing to wrestle with all of this darkness if it means you’ll stay safe, oblivious, and pure. You’re like a defenseless kitten, unable to protect yourself from the scary world. He writes about you a lot in his journal; you’re his muse—someone who constantly shows up in poems and short paragraphs where he tries to describe what your dream date might be or what type of wedding you’d prefer. Things get darker the deeper you delve into his writings, where you’ll find entries in great detail. Kazuha writes a lot and he doesn’t even mean to. He just has to get all of his thoughts on paper before they abandon him and he’s left with emptiness.

Everything you do is pure; you’re almost an equivalent to a holy being. Your smell is pure. Your body is pure. Your actions are pure. Your smile is pure. Even when you’re on the verge of crying from harsh customers or when you’re turning down a confession, you’re still pure. And Kazuha likes that about you because it’s special. There aren’t many people in his life who are completely pure. He’s been through a lot of rough things and has seen firsthand how impure people can be. It’s only fair that he gets a chance to protect purity itself.

He might have some impurities, but that doesn’t deter him from watching over you. As gentle and unassuming as he is, there are times when even he loses his composure. Not many are privy to these dark emotions of his. His smiles are sharp and venomous and his eyes fill with a gloom so dark it can swallow you whole. You’ll never see this side of him; he won’t allow it. Instead you’re treated to his sweet, calm side, where he feigns perfection in hopes of catching your interest.

As for Scara… He doesn’t really care about Kazuha in the beginning. He’s just someone he has to live with. It’s not a big deal and as long as he doesn’t try to make lots of pointless conversation everything will be okay. He prefers the peace and quiet, considering he’s acquainted with people who are far from peaceful and quiet. Scara’s relieved that Kazuha leaves the dorm so often because it gives him an opportunity to watch his favorite cam star’s most recent video. He’s your most loyal follower—someone who’s paid lots of money just to have access to the highest tier of rewards and such. He even got a private video where you addressed him and moaned out his name with lustful thoughts of him. Having lots of money comes in handy.

When he finds out that you go to the same school as him, he’s a little shocked. He didn’t expect you to be so close. You’re practically within touching distance. If only he knew your schedule. If only you were in one of his classes. It’s really annoying that he only knows your online presence and not who you might be in your personal life. The last thing he’s going to do is consult Childe, that popular athlete who knows literally everyone in the school for whatever reason. Surely he knows you. But he’ll die before he ever asks Childe for a favor.

Scara loves you out of every other cam model because you’re different. You’re not just trying to get fast cash. You’re genuine. You listen to your subscribers and their feedback. You do your best to improve and do even better streams than the previous ones. All of your hard work is overlooked by the other fools who watch your streams, but it isn’t overlooked by him. Scara appreciates your attention to detail and the way you’re able to hook him with your breathless voice alone. You’re very skilled at what you do, so it’s only fair you get paid for it.

But buying your services isn’t enough. It’s not a real relationship, but it certainly feels like it when he buys preferential treatment. Private shows, special requests, odd favors—you do it all because he pays for it. But this relationship isn’t going to be one-sided forever. You’ll have to pay him back in full eventually. Scara likes to think he has patience and that waiting is fine. It gives him more time to plan his next move—to figure out what he should do to finally have you all to himself. So that those private shows he watches through a screen can finally be real.

Scara finds the journal sitting innocently on Kazuha’s bed, its maroon cover and maple leaves pulling at his curiosity. He might not know everything about Kazuha, but he’d recognize this journal anywhere. His roommate almost always has it on his person. Scara wouldn’t be surprised if he slept with it. To say he’s curious would be absolutely correct. He can only wonder what Kazuha writes in that thing. Perhaps it’s just notes for a class. That’s what anyone would think, right?

Scara opens it and flips through the first few pages. They’re normal for the most part. Just a bunch of haikus and other useless scribbles. When he skips over some pages, he starts to find things that are far more interesting than poetry and doodles of cats. He finds the majority of the journal is comprised of information. More specifically, there are facts and other knowledge about you—the cam model he’s been obsessed with ever since he stumbled upon your onlyfans. He reads through as much of the journal as he can and instantly learns so much: your address, your roommate, your workplace, your friends’ names, names of any potential exes. The list goes on and on.

Scara doesn’t have anything against Kazuha. His first impression of him wasn’t anything groundbreaking. He thought he was a pushover at first. But now that he knows what this journal holds… Well, it sheds an entirely new light on his roommate.

Just days before Scara took a peek inside his journal, Kazuha discovers your secret online life. He snoops through Scara’s laptop when he steps out, having left it open and unlocked. He’s just trying to find what could have caught Scara’s interest, as he’s almost always glued to his laptop on specific days at specific times, with his headphones on and his gaze unyielding. He doesn’t intend to find the file of one of your private videos—something that was meant only for Scara’s eyes.

He clicks on the video out of interest. He’s not sure what he was expecting to see, but it definitely wasn’t this. Kazuha sits there and stares at the sight before him. You’re dressed in skimpy lingerie and you’re muttering the dirtiest things while coating your fingers in lube. And your hands are stroking a thick toy and you’re addressing Scara and you’re lining it up to your hole and— He shuts the laptop before it can get even more explicit than it already is. He’s so conflicted, fraught with a betrayal so strong it weighs his heart down.

Why would he have this sort of video on his laptop? Did you give it to him? Did he make you do this? Are you in danger? Are you still pure?

Kazuha can’t kill on campus. It’s way too risky and he’d be one of the first suspects if Scara’s body is found. Besides, it’s not like he has the full story. He doesn’t know whether or not Scara’s done something that’s worthy of death. You could just be in a tight spot. He knows how easily you give in when you’re under pressure. Maybe you’re just doing this because you feel like it’s the only thing you can do. Not to worry; Kazuha will save you before Scara can ruin your purity with his twisted fantasies.

They confront each other when the time feels right. Kazuha struggles to keep a smile plastered to his face for the sake of politeness, while Scara holds in his raging temper so that he can bear some semblance of cooperation. Neither of them is happy to hear that the other went through their stuff, but they force themselves to make up because a more pressing issue is at hand: their connection to you.

Kazuha says he’s your secret admirer. Scara says he’s in a relationship with you. There’s no way you’d ever date someone like Scara—Kazuha knows this for a fact. Yet he falters at the confidence in Scara’s tone. That can’t be the truth, right? Despite this, Kazuha still strikes up an offer: If they work together to get what they both want, they’ll be unstoppable. With Scara’s riches and his influence and Kazuha’s charisma and clever thinking, they can easily get their hands on you. Of course this means they’ll have to share, but it’s not a big deal when they’re already in so deep. They both know the other’s secret; now they’re swearing to keep it in the pursuit of having you all to themselves. And luckily Scara agrees to the deal, but that doesn’t give Kazuha a reason to lower his guard.

However despite how well they work together when it comes to planning the kidnapping and actually executing it, they both have their own reasons for wanting you. Scara wishes to make his relationship with you a reality—to toss aside the screen that once held him back and finally do all of the things he could only do in his dreams. Kazuha seeks to protect your fragile heart, lest you crumble under Scara’s intense way of doing things and cling to him for salvation. You can’t do those sorts of things with Scara; he won’t allow it. Your purity is meant for him and no one else.

But sharing is caring and some have to learn that the hard way. It definitely brings Kazuha and Scara closer together, even if neither of them will admit it. If they look past their desires, they can be friends. And soon enough they’ll have to accept this new friendship if they want to avoid any unnecessary complications.

However there are times when they’ll cooperate in order to do things with you. They’re a packaged deal you can’t get rid of.

#chit chat #yandere #yandere kazuha #yandere scaramouche #kazuscara roommates #ty for feeding me anon orz #i like the idea of them being friends on the surface #but beneath that they're willing to abandon the other in order to meet their desires #but when they come together they're a force to be reckoned with #aaah i could go on and on with this concept #but i don't want to ramble #ANYWAYS TY AGAIN ANON <3 YOUR BRAIN IS SO LARGE #🧸 anon

[corruptedconfessions]

last weekend I caved and read everything you ever uploaded here once more agskshkdd this is who i am as a person. but im love your writing so much!!! i have an especially soft spot for the naga stories, are those the ones that are about half-snake people? i always mess up the names but how do you think bakugou (and or kiri) would be as a yandere one, when he falls for the reader? i can't remember you ever writing a snake-version of him and idk if you'd be up for it but i'm super curious! xoxoxo

Aww!! Thank you so much :) 

And yes! Naga’s are the snake people, semi human from the torso up and giant ass snakes from the hips down!

Bakugou: 

If there is one word to describe yandere Naga Bakugou its possessive. It takes a lot for him to chose a mate, he is incredibly picky, picking his mate much past the typical age but once he picks?? Possessive protective to the extreme. You are his mate to do with what he pleases, and absolutely no one is going to take you away from him. Hell, he gets pissy the second another creature, intelligent or not even looks at you. You won’t be leaving his nest any time soon after he snatches you up, even trying to peek over the edges of the flattened down bowl in the ground leads to you being dragged right back to the middle and getting angrily chewed out and huffed at as you get tucked right back into the nest.

I think he’d most likely fall for a darling who hikes or walks frequently in his forest for whatever reason. A hunter, camper, or just any kind of nature enthusiast will quickly catch his eye. You’re so small…and your body is so different than his and yet you constantly come back here, carelessly leaving your scent everywhere, as if inviting him to have a taste. He isn’t one to turn down the offer. He doesn’t have any form of patience, somewhere during a mid afternoon doze and lunch he’ll come to the conclusion that he wants you, all while still ripping the meaty remains of his prey off the bone. Right then and there he decides to have you, still picking meat from his teeth with the jagged edge of a bone. The next time he sees you you’ll be snatched up into his arms and dragged back to his nest, kicking and screaming left ignored as he unceremoniously dumps you in his nest and refuses to let you leave.  

I picture him most likely picking a human mate tbh, He enjoys being bigger and stronger than his mate, justifying the overbearing desire to hide away and protect what's his, something other Nagas wouldn’t tolerate. Even if you don’t tolerate it it doesn’t really matter, he is bigger and stronger than you, and can easily just pick you right up and carry you back to where he wants you to be. Biting, kicking, punching, anything just bounces off his hard scales. Honestly fighting like that is more likely to turn him on than anything else~ If you have this much energy you clearly can put it towards incubating some of his eggs right? Hopefully that fiery spirit will pass on to his eggs once they hatch~

He’ll also be curious, painfully so, eagerly twisting and pulling you in his hold like a doll, poking and prodding as he inspects you. Its not often he sees a human so close without eating them. He’s cruel in the sense that he likes to poke your squishy spots just to listen to your cute noises and watch you try and wiggle away from him. Its hardly ever malicious, though, the claws in your mouth, feeling up your teeth. Or large hands encompassing your entire calf as he feels up your leg is pure curiosity. He’ll look almost childish, eyes wide with wonder as he watches you twist and bend, so small and fragile yet so resilient.

He’ll hiss and throw up a fit if you call him out on this but he is also incredibly cuddly. Maybe it’s just because of that protective nature of his but he loves wrapping around you, snuggling his face into your stomach, tongue darting out to smell your skin. Or maybe it has something to do with the fact that you are a breathing furnace compared to the cooler blooded beast. He’s so soft in those moments, eagerly nuzzling you and lapping up any attention you’ll give him, even if he huffs and insists its for your protection and warmth if you say anything. Human skin is so thin and you are so needy for warmth! How did you ever survive without him curling around you to keep you warm and chase off the chill of the night air. You’d be wise to keep your mouth shut about the fact that he is actually sapping your heat with his cold skin. Best not take those rare tender moments for granted, yeah?

 Kirishima on the other hand leans more on the protective side of things. He’s younger than Bakugou, more on the naïve side of things and much more at the whims of his instincts. I think he’d honestly mate with the first little thing he comes across, unable to hold back and be patient at all. He’s a bit of a romantic at heart, in a terrifying, he’ll eat and swallow whoever you’re with whole when he sees you way. He wants nothing more than a happy loving mate, round and heavy with his eggs waiting for him when he comes back to his nest. He wants to protect and provide and snuggle with his cute little mate!

He’s brutal, eating and killing anything that comes close to you, and then immediately turning around and crooning and loving on you, rubbing up against you like a dog, his face still coated with any remains of what, or rather who, he just ate. (Lucky for you he prefers to swallow his prey whole…watching him gag up and spit out the bones that he cant digest isn’t a pleasant sight though.) Endlessly doting and so…incredibly suffocating. There will always be a hand, or head, or tail, or something pressed, wrapped, or snuggling against you. Half the time you feel like a living teddy bear as he cuddles and nuzzles you non stop, curling up in his nest and holding you close to his chest, face buried in your hair. The only time he tears himself from your side is to go hunting, and even then when he comes back you are scooped up and squished in his arms until he calms down again, extremely distressed from being separated from you.

 He is obsessed with being a good mate for you, protecting, providing, and spoiling his partner. He’ll be traditional, hunting down larger pray than necessary just to impress you. Happily puffing his chest out when he dumps a bunch of hay and leaves into the nest, telling you that he knows humans cant sleep on hard rock comfortably, and so this will be more comfy! (Not that it does much, with how close he insists on being when cuddling, you practically sleep on him instead. Trapped against his firm chest as arms wrap tightly around you). Now this isn’t common behavior for nagas, but he’ll also bring you pretty little trinkets that he finds, gems or geodes he finds in his cave, pretty jewelry he steals from humans, rocks that he really likes and wants to share with you. Reacting positively to these gifts, maybe even making a small little pile for them in the nest will put him over the moon. He becomes so gushy and loving towards you for it you can get away with nearly anything after that.  

Unlike Bakugou’s nest which is out in the open, daring any threat to even try and come close to his mate, Kiri hides you away. His nest will be hidden away in a maze like cave (He carved it out himself by hand! Something he very proudly tells you when the two of you can finally converse without you screaming or him fucking you silly). He never leaves your side, determined to protect and love you, but even in the moments he does, escape is hopeless. Even after crawling up the sides of the deep pit carved out of solid rock (you really don’t want to think how strong his claws are to carve out solid stone and made such deep grooves in the sides) you’ll be left wondering and aimless maze, impossible to not get lost or even get near the exit before Kirishima is back, rushing your side and picking you up into his arms in a panic. Naturally, being the innocent thing he is he assumes you missed him and went searching for him instead of trying to escape, but now you’re trapped in an even tighter hold under an even tighter watch as he tries “to make it up to you”.

With Kirishima you have a small chance, though. If you are loving and gentle enough to him, and you ask him so sweetly if you can get out of the cave just for a little bit! Promise! He may take you to a nearby river to play in the water, or a hotspring to soak together. Once you really have him wrapped around your finger you might be able to convince him to go on daily walks (slithers?) with him, only if you look sad and pout up at him enough, insisting that the cave is too dark and scary and you miss the sun. He’ll feel so bad he just might sunbathe with you outside for awhile too.

#yandere #kirishima x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #naga

[oumaheroes]

Old Age

Word Count: 1772

Characters: Canada, England, and France

---

There were some days where Canada truly felt his age.

Most of the time how old he was didn’t really hit him. He happily pottered around work or home as easily as he imagined most humans his physical age did: running for a train he was almost certainly going to miss, tripping down the last few steps on a flight of stairs because he was staring at his phone and wasn’t watching his feet, or spilling coffee on himself when he missed his mouth taking a sip.

His colleagues, despite knowing who he was, spoke to him as an equal and Canada could happily pass weeks, or sometimes even months, without consciously being aware of how old he was- or even really what he was.

It was easy to forget, surrounded by humans every day, that he was not one. His ministers and co-workers spoke to him without questioning his position that high in government- that was admittedly unusual for a face as young as his. Occasionally, he’d bump into a young intern or graduate who didn’t know him and he’d have a nice, genuine interaction before a look of shock crossed their face when someone high up greeted him respectfully. It was a helpful, yet stark, reminder.

But overall, when you were surrounded by people who did know it never really hit him that his presence or job was something he took for granted and the passing of time was something he didn’t really take notice of. It was normal. He was there, he was called Matthew, sometimes, or Canada, but both were his name and the potency of what he was, was surprisingly quite forgettable.

Of course, what he was was never something he could completely avoid. Someone would mention a time, or a date, or a thing that had happened and Canada would immediately feel the distance widen between them all as it was made obvious that, to everyone else, what they were discussing was history. It was something passed, something that had happened to other people too long ago to properly connect with on an emotional level. An old battle, an old political bill; something that someone long long dead had said or written that now remained only as faint ink on curling, dusty paper.

But to Canada it was there in his head, the words clear and as easy to recall as if they were spoken to him yesterday. A benefit of nationhood, he supposed, to be fully aware of things that had political consequence, to be able to trace the makings of himself back through time and see how they spiralled and grew.

History wasn’t just words, to him, or mere events. Such things made up the foundations of himself, the building blocks of his life and he felt them thrum through him like a song, twisting and moulding him into being.

Becoming aware of his age and the difference between himself and humans were when Canada really felt the weight of the years he carried. Over three hundred of them made themselves known, hanging off his shoulders and settling down to his legs to hold him up. It was easy to briefly forget how old he was, but that knowledge was impossible to rid himself of entirely- Canada was made up of history, of the bones of time and they cracked together as he moved through his life to remind him of who he was with every step.

He had burned, he had bled, he had died. He had seen.

That was the point of him. To watch to passage of time and remember it, to hold the memory of his people within him and use their voices and experiences to push for the continuation of the future. Their future.

Canada was his people, was made by his people for his people and as he sat amongst them, discussing old old moments long gone with humans who could only read and dream of them, the distinction of what he was would hit him like a thunderbolt.

It was heavy, to be so old. To have seen so many things, to have lived through so much. To be what he was.

He had just had one of those instances. He and his cabinet had spent the entire morning discussing the founding of their nation and its independence in order to plan for the yearly celebrations and Canada had suffered through the whole time feeling every second of his age press against him.

When talks finally drew to a close and he could escape, Canada dragged his ancient body towards the centre of town. England and France were visiting, along with the rest of the UN, and he’d promised to meet them both for lunch before they too were pulled into an afternoon of far more internationally inclined meetings.

If he were honest with himself, what Canada really wanted to do was go home and watch TV; switch his brain off so that he could numb himself with bad reality shows. It was a good pastime that he enjoyed with guilty abandon and one that he would much rather have preferred doing. However, he’d made a promise and Canada was nothing if not a nation of his word.

Sadly.

England and France were already there when he arrived, tucked away in a corner table. France glanced up as the door jingled with his entrance, waving him over with a smile. Canada nodded at the waiter who motioned him through and settled himself down in a chair at their table between them.

‘Good afternoon,’ France greeted him with his usual cheek kisses, hair tickling Canada’s nose as he leant in close, ‘you arrived just on time, I was about to throw Arthur out of the window.’

‘You wish,’ England looked up from his phone and shot him a quick, but warm smile, ‘Hello Matthew.’

Canada’s heart sank. He really wasn’t in the mood to play mediator today, ‘Dare I ask why?’ he said, turning to France.

France gave an effortless shrug and settled back in his seat, ‘Do I really need a reason?’

‘Yes.’

Both England and Canada spoke at once and France gave a sly grin, ‘I won’t darling, you don’t deserve the trouble,’ he patted Canada’s knee soothingly and politely ignored England’s muttered “as if you could” from across the table, ‘but the idiot seems to think he’s correct about something which he very much is not.’

‘Oh, of course,’ England retorted immediately, ‘you can’t remember properly but I’m the one who’s wrong.’

‘Yes.’

‘No.’

‘What is it?’ Canada interjected quickly. The waiter who had greeted him at the door was shooting their table looks of alarm out of the corner of his eye and Canada smiled at him apologetically, ‘Maybe I could help.’

To his surprise, England and France shared a look, something unspoken passing between them, ‘You weren’t about yet,’ offered France, sounding apologetic.

‘When was it?’

‘Oh, not too long ago,’ England waved a hand airily, ‘only six hundred years or so.’

Canada blinked, ‘Six hundred?’

‘Or there abouts,’ England frowned again, ‘I’m not sure when exactly, but I know France is wrong.’

France scoffed, ‘You can’t remember when it is, but you know I’m wrong?’

‘Obviously. I know it was about fifty years after Agincourt, I’m not sure of exactly when but-‘

‘Well, there you go! You’ve muddled it up with something else.’

‘I haven’t! You held that ball, the one with the fucking shit tonne of flowers everywhere, and were displaying those golden goblet things you were so damn proud of and I gave you that stupid painting-‘

‘No!’ France interjected angrily, ‘You took that painting and then were made to give it back.’

‘I didn’t! It was my bloody painting- Jesus fucking Christ,’ England held his head in his hands, ‘that’s not the point, I’m using that as a reference-‘

‘Yes well, pick a reference that has a grain of reality in it, would you?’

England opened his mouth to argue back again but Canada didn’t hear him, by now long tuned out of the conversation.

Only. Only six hundred years ago. Canada couldn’t even imagine that amount of time, couldn’t imagine having lived so long that six hundred years was considered to be a mere drop in the ocean.

But to these two, it was. England and France had both been alive for millennia, had known each other for that long and had been alive without each other for even longer before that.

Sitting next to them, his own existence suddenly felt like nothing, felt insignificant in the history of mankind. What had Canada seen, that these two had not? He couldn’t even begin to imagine. Three hundred years felt more than enough.

It hit him, then, how long most of their kind had lived. He’d realised this before, of course, but still the comprehension about the difference in age between him and most of the world left him dumbstruck anew. Fuck, what about China; Lord only knew how old he really was. There wasn’t a point in history that it didn’t seem as though China hadn’t been around to experience, even from across the world. Whole empires and civilisations had risen and fallen and most of the nations Canada knew had personally been involved in them somehow. It was astounding to consider all the people who had lived throughout the centuries that, to Canada, felt like nothing more than characters in a story.

What on earth was three hundred years to age like that? To history that felt so ancient to him, so disconnected that it didn’t really even feel real, but that was as normal to most nations as his own history was.

How many years would Canada have to live until three hundred was something he would describe as ‘only’?

‘Are you alright, lad?’ Canada was jolted out of his spiral to find England looking at him with concern, a hand on his arm.

‘Yeah, sorry,’ he shook his head, ‘it’s just- you’re both so old.’

England coloured and France laughed, ‘We’re not old,’ England jabbed a thumb in France’s direction, ‘Well, he is.’

‘It is more about how you feel and act, dear, that’s more important and in that regard, you are far older than I.’ France yelped suddenly as England kicked him under the table, ‘Does the truth sting, Arthur? Is that why you felt the need to vent your frustrations on me?’

‘As if I need more of a reason-‘

They began again, in earnest, but Canada let them continue uninterrupted, silently and guiltily enjoying the feeling of being a child once more.

---

AN:

I must admit that not much thought or plot went into this. I wanted to write something short and somewhat silly as a treat for spending most of yesterday editing. Ideally, one day I want to take this concept and explore it more with greater care and detail because I think it’s something a newer nation like Canada would really struggle with.

300 years is a long time, and I’m sure it must be hard for him to feel that age and then go and speak to anyone from the Old World and be met with the reality of how truly old their kind can be. Canada is a baby, despite the centuries he has collected for himself, and I feel like there would always be that conflict within him about how old he feels around humans comapred to how old he is next to other nations. Maybe this idea is best explored as a headcannon rather than a fic, but I had a fun time writing it.

Anyway, that is my tuppence worth- thank you for reading!

#aph canada #hws canada #aph england #hws england #aph france #hws france #hetalia fanfic #hetalia #aph #hws #hetalia fanfiction #matthew williams #francis bonnefoy #arthur kirkland #my writing #i will put fruk into literally anything i swear #i cannot be stopped

[nikadoesanart]

My predictions on BSD getting animated going forward

I’ll be taking a look at the novel page counts (Japanese and English) and comparing them to the screen time they’ve gotten so far and then using this to predict how long the remaining light novel adaptations will be (approximately). At the end will also be my rough prediction/hopes for the order of some of these being adapted. I say some because I have yet to read what there is so far of the gaiden novel translations, the main story manga has essentially still been on the DOA arc almost since where the anime left off, and I personally think that it’s currently too soon for Storm Bringer (aside from money purposes).

Note, most of this was written well before the anime 5th anniversary livestream but the announcements wound up not affecting it. I then of course made adjustments as needed account for the novel content we do have so far, both in Japanese and in English (officially).

Page to Episode Count

Not counting the afterward, ads, etc for the English/US copy, Japanese is including it

Also all eng page counts are using the Yen Press release and jp page counts are taken from the fandom wiki

*148 is purely counting the Untold Origins portion of the novel. If we also count the A Day at the Agency short story that’s included before it (56 pages), then we get the full 203

Also the English page count for BEAST was noted before the English release date but after page counts have been posted by affiliated retailers, so subtract a couple pages from the written count of 176 for the time being to account for the afterward and possible character sheets being included

Now that we have our page to episode counts (as of April 5th, 2021), let’s find the actual content run time of what we do have animated so far.

Seasons 1-3 and the OVA all have the same episode length/duration. Each episode is 23 minutes, and we can subtract 3 minutes on average from that to account for the OP and ED being played. This leaves us with an average of 20 minutes of BSD story content per episode. So on average, each of the first 3 seasons contain 240 minutes, or 4 hours, worth of story content.

Dead Apple’s total run time is 91 minutes, with the OP and ED making up 9 of those minutes. However, we do have a bit of the story content being played while the ED is playing (as sometimes happens in the anime as well). To keep the math simple, I’ll be approximating story content time at 82 minutes.

Apply these numbers to the novels that have been animated so far and this is (approximately) what we get:

Now let’s use these numbers to predict the screen time needed for the other novels

Note that we can’t really use Entrance Exam as a fair measure because of how much got cut out (just compare the run time of it to Dark Era and it speaks for itself). However, the numbers for Dark Era and Dead Apple are the best ones to use, as they both have minimal changes between anime and novel and both have official English translations currently available. Take out the approximate time taken up by OP/ED and and the numbers pretty much match up.

So with that being said, we can estimate Untold Origins (only) at approximately 3 eps/60 min and 55 Minutes at 1h 40-55min/100-115 min or 5-6 eps if it doesn’t get a movie. We can also estimate the A Day at the Detective Agency short story at the beginning of Untold Origins to take up about 1 ep, probably even a bit less.

1+ 3 + 5-6 = 9-10 episodes which isn’t enough for a full single cour season unless they all get put into one big OVA season, but also 10-11 eps (or less) seasons are a thing (ie. Fugou Keiji: Balance Unlimited, Blood Lad, Black Butler: Book of Circus, The Seven Deadly Sins: Signs of a Holy War, FLCL)

My personal predictions/hopes for the anime adaptation timeline going forward

This is considering the manga content, current “pausing/stopping points” what wouldn’t be too awkward, each of the novels relevancy/necessity to the main story manga, and assuming we continue with single cour (12-13 ep) seasons

Hopefully/ideally a 55 Minutes movie

S4: ch 54-70

Early S5 (preferably) or end of S4: Untold Origins or A Day at the Agency

S5: ch 71-88/around where we are now?

A Day at the Agency can, in my opinion at least, be chucked in at any point either as a single episode OVA or as the light novel content for s4 (maybe not even taking a full episode and then starting ch 54 in the last few minutes for example). Keep in mind that the current DOA arc is a long one and has plenty to it, so personally I think it may even be better to not include a novel adaptation in a future S4, as it would likely already be a right squeeze content wise. Remember, we also have a few XX.5 chapters that are continuations of the chapter directly before them.

I still need to read what’s currently available of the gaiden novel fan translations but it can probably be adapted at any point as well. I’m estimating approximately 5-6 eps as an OVA series. I don’t really think it would get a movie, partially because you can make it only so long, especially since it’s an anime movie and unlike Storm Bringer, it doesn’t have Chuuya to practically guarantee the profit.

BEAST also doesn’t directly impact the main story and can be adapted at virtually any point. However, seeing as we do have a live action confirmed for it and it’s page count lines up very closely with Dark Era, it can be either 4 eps or (more likely in my opinion) a movie, as it can be considered almost stand alone content.

Personally, I believe it is currently way too soon to animate Storm Bringer as it came out only a little over a month ago (as of writing this) and has minimal plot necessity as of ch 91, but I do believe it should be either split into 2 movies (a part 1 and part 2) or it would need 8 episodes, likely as an OVA season. If it were to get animated sooner than 55 Minutes or Untold Origins, which I believe to be very unlikely, I feel that it would almost certainly be driven by the financial gains of Chuuya being included, and his popularity alone. Reminder, SB is about Chuuya and not SKK. Dazai’s appearance in SB is proportionally a very small percentage and he’s not even mentioned in the official plot summary.

However, you can argue that SB is starting to have some relevance now, with the recent mention of the Order of the Clock Tower in ch 90 and the increased relevance of sealed ability weapons in ch 91. However, I really do believe that you can’t adapt Storm Bringer before 55 Minutes because of Standard Island and its treaty, it also talks about sealed ability weapons, knowing who Wells is, and 55 Minutes canonically takes place during the “downtime” portion of S3. In fact, here’s Asagiri’s words directly from the Afterward (translation by Yen Press):

“this volume didn’t take place in the past, but rather sometime after the tenth volume of the manga. In other words, it’s a tale about the ‘usual’ detective agency in novel format.” (55 minutes, p 237)

Untold Origins also should be adapted sooner rather than later (at least compared to SB in my opinion) because it’s about Ranpo and Fukuzawa’s shared past, which becomes increasingly relevant ch 70 onwards, as well as the need for the ADA being founded (which ties in with Yosano’s backstory in ch 65-66).

In regards to whether I think each of these would be better suited to a movie adaptation or as multiple regular length anime episodes, it’s mainly due to page count and partly due to the budget difference between the two, as well as how difficult I think it would be to animate each of these based on what needs to be drawn. The anime industry isn’t the fastest to switch to newer technology, hence why we see issues with 3D blending sometimes. I really do think that at the very least, 55 Minutes deserves the movie budget because of how detailed and complex the architecture of Standard Island is described as, as well all the mechanical parts needed for the final battle of the novel. Hate the lizard mouths introduced in Dead Apple all you want, but you can’t deny that the 3D cgi was blended very smoothly. For any of the other novels to be movies, it’s more so because gaiden and BEAST can be considered their own stand alone stories that don’t rely too heavily on the main story in terms of when they take place and get adapted. I feel that SB is more likely to get its own season or an OVA season more so due to its length, but multiple part anime movies have also been done before (ie. the Fate/Stay Night: Heaven’s Feel movies), so it’s not entirely impossible. Especially considering that merely having any Chuuya screen time means that you can expect the profit and popularity to really go up, especially with SKK being on screen together (regardless of whether you love or hate how the fandom tends to push a shipping POV on them).

These are all of course just my hopes and predictions and estimates based on information currently available, so take them with some salt. I’d love to hear opinions on how, when, and why each of the currently non animated novels should be adapted going forward. Also please stop begging the relevant BSD official Twitter pages for SB to be animated next and go read the other light novels you Chuuya simp

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd analysis #bsd theories #bsd dead apple #bungo stray dogs #bsd manga #bsd storm bringer #bsd light novel #bsd anime #bsd 55 minutes #bsd beast #bsd gaiden #bsd untold origins

[blitzturtles]

Title: It Goes Like This (It Starts Like This Universe)

Rating: Teen and Up

Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Vento Aureo

Pairing(s): BruAbba

Summary: Abbacchio isn’t a morning person. Never has been. He prefers the comfort that comes with a blanket of darkness to the bright hours of the early morning. There’s less eyes. Less people. Less performance. Unfortunately, he’s gone and fallen in love with a man that believes that the day begins before the sun has even broken the horizon.

Notes: This is for the first place to my 300 Follower Giveaway! @bucciaratisfishmarket requested BruAbba set in my It Starts Like This verse with some disabled slice of life/morning routine. Ngl, I was super excited to get to do something in this verse, so thank you!

Thank you to everyone that followed and participated, and a special thanks to @bucciaratisfishmarket! I hope you like your fic!

Additional Notes: Also, the pill organizer described in the fic can be found on Etsy: https://www.etsy.com/listing/1022344896/boneyard-real-bones-weekly-7-day-pill It's cool and beautiful, and I probably don't do it justice. Definitely go check it out!

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Abbacchio isn’t a morning person. Never has been. He prefers the comfort that comes with a blanket of darkness to the bright hours of the early morning. There’s less eyes. Less people. Less performance. Unfortunately, he’s gone and fallen in love with a man that believes that the day begins before the sun has even broken the horizon. It’s leftover from Bruno’s days helping his father with the boat, and, later, his days running Polpo’s errands. Chasing people down for money and answers. What comfort Abbacchio can find in the night, Bruno can find just fine in the light hours of the morning.

Fortunately for both of them, Abbacchio is more than capable of running on a schedule, of waking up at the same time everyday and forcing his mind and body into cooperation. He did it for years for school and then the academy. It’s nothing he isn’t used to, and he’s happiest when Bruno is happy, no matter what that entails, which is how he finds himself waking up to Bruno’s second alarm before the man can snooze it again.

The thing about Bruno’s new medication—a pill large in size and equally ridiculous in the length of its name—is that it makes it damn near impossible for him to get going in the morning the way he used to. Before, Bruno practically operated on his own internal clock. Waking up before his alarm had even gone off and fetching them both their first cup of caffeine; it used to be the thing that made greeting the day a bit more tolerable.

Now, Bruno snoozes. Alarm after alarm, until they run out. He’s tried music, absurd volumes, and even relocating the damned clock halfway across the room. None of it helps, so Leone compensates. He wakes up around the second or third alarm, turns the rest off, and kisses Bruno’s cheek before he rolls out of bed.

Sometimes there’s a quiet plea, “five more minutes”, that endears Abbacchio so completely that his mood settles, not nearly as bitchy as he could be upon reaching the kitchen and finding someone else already there.

“Why are you awake?” Okay, so. Still bitchy. But he doesn’t sneer his words quite as bad.

Narancia, for his part, looks completely startled by the prospect of someone else existing at such an ungodly hour, but he manages to avoid outright screaming. That’s a plus. Abbacchio isn’t sure his head could take it this early. “What are you doing?”

“I asked first.”

Narancia narrows his eyes, but he caves within seconds. “I got a test in like two hours, and Fugo’s gonna kill me if I don’t pass.”

Abbacchio snorts at the idea, “Yeah, he will.”

“Not helping!”

“Never said I planned to,” Abbacchio points out as he starts rummaging through the cabinets for two mugs. He sets them on the counter and gets to work brewing their coffee. Decaf these days, for Bruno’s sake. Abbacchio could keep drinking his usual, but he takes solace in the bitter taste of his coffee instead. It seems kinder that way, especially when he knows how much Bruno’s been struggling without caffeine.

“Why are you awake?”

“I’m always awake this early,” next is breakfast, which is easier said than done. It’s rare that Abbacchio wakes up with a stomach for anything. Too many years of skipping breakfast in favor of a bottle did a number on him, but it’s not optional anymore. Neither one of them will be able to keep their meds down without something to eat, so he picks through the refrigerator until he comes up with fruit and yogurt as his best solution.

“Really?” Narancia asks, wrinkling his nose, “Why?”

“Ask Bruno,” Abbacchio says, dismissive. He’s really not in the mood to talk to people that aren’t currently snoozing in his bed.

“You’re not much fun in the morning.”

“Am I ever?”

“Touché.”

Abbacchio snorts. He should be offended, but he knows the kid is being a smartass. It’s his own fault for setting himself up. “Why don’t you go bother Fugo? I’m sure he’ll be happy to help you study.”

“Have you ever tried waking Fugo up?”

“No, can’t say that I have.” That’s always been Bruno’s job, assuming that Fugo hadn’t already woken up on his own.

“It’s too early to get stabbed.”

“Touché.”

They go back and forth for a while longer. At least until Abbacchio’s patience runs out, and he’s finished putting breakfast together. He dismisses himself with little warning and doesn’t feel the least bit guilty when the kid looks a little startled by the abruptness of his departure. He has things to get done for the day, and those things don’t necessarily include being part of Narancia’s obvious effort to procrastinate.

“Bruno,” Abbacchio calls when he steps back into their room after Moody opens the door for him. “Your five minutes are up.”

“Five more?” Bruno asks, voice muffled. His head is barely visible with only a tuft of hair sticking out from a pile of blankets. It’s cute, and Abbacchio is a complete sucker for giving in.

“Last one, tesoro,” Abbacchio warns as he sets Bruno’s cup and food down on the bedside table.

There’s a muffled reply that might be a quiet thanks, though it’s almost impossible to tell with the way Bruno pulls the blankets even tighter around himself.

Abbacchio rummages through the drawer of his nightstand until he finds what he’s looking for before taking up a spot at the end of the bed with his food and drink in hand. He sips at the decaf slowly, wrinkling his nose at the first taste. God, he misses caffeine. As expected, he doesn’t feel much better about his first bite of homemade parfait (and he can almost hear Polnareff’s protest at his calling it that). The rest goes down about the same, but the motion is mechanical at that point. One bite after the other with the occasional sip from his mug to wash it all down until everything is gone.

Abbacchio sets the dishes on the floor and reaches for the pill organizer sitting on the bed beside him. He absently runs his fingers over the lid, where small bones have been set in resin. He can still remember the first time he saw it. The black shine had caught his eye first, but, on closer examination, the thing that had convinced him to buy the organizer had been the mouse bones, delicately placed and striking against the background.

What he hadn’t realized then is that the little organizer would a significant adjustment to his daily routine. Having a week’s worth of medication in one place, already sectioned in dosed amounts, had significantly increased his medication compliance. Oddly enough, it’s had a rather hefty impact on his overall mental health. Now, when anti-inflammatories and bronchodilators and steroids are part of his daily regiment as much as his SSRI’s, it’s even more vital for him to consistently get his meds in. Otherwise, the consequences tend to be pneumonia and an unwanted hospital trip with a round of antibiotics and even stronger steroids. And that’s to say nothing of what happens when he’s running low on serotonin.

He’s caught up in his own thoughts when Bruno hooks his chin over his shoulder and peers down at the little organizer.

“I never did ask you if those are real,” Bruno muses quietly.

“I thought you were taking five more.”

“‘m awake,” Bruno answers, clearly half-asleep.

Abbacchio huffs a soft, amused laugh. He turns his head to press a kiss to the side of Bruno’s nose. “Sure you are, amore.”

“I am.”

“M’hm,” Abbacchio smiles, reflecting the expression on Bruno’s face, though his is notably less sleep-depressed. Bruno looks a lot like a light gust of wind might knock him out, and it’s so damn endearing that Abbacchio can barely handle it. Instead, he looks back down at the pill organizer and answers Bruno’s earlier question, “They are. Real, I mean.”

“They’re lovely,” Bruno says, and he means it. Odd as some might find Abbacchio’s taste, Bruno has always found beauty in it. “Perhaps I should get one.”

“Might be a good idea.” It would be easier to see if Bruno ever missed a dose, and it would certainly be easier to avoid that disaster all together. “There are other options. You could go with something—oceanic, maybe?”

Bruno hums at the thought. “I think I’d like that.”

“I’ll keep an eye out,” by which Abbacchio means that he’ll actively go looking for one. Anything to make Bruno’s life a touch easier.

“Oh, you brought breakfast,” Bruno says, moving away from Abbacchio to peer curiously at the morning’s offerings. “You’re entirely too kind.”

Abbacchio huffs a laugh at that, “For all that you’ve done for us? Hardly.” He pops open the side hatch of his organizer and dumps the day’s pills into his hand. Abbacchio pulls a face at the number of them and looks down at his mug. Right, he had meant to save a sip.

“Here,” Bruno offers his own with a smile. “We’ll get more in a bit.”

“If you’re sure...” Abbacchio could always go get his own, but he has a feeling that doing so will result in more small talk, and he’s not quite up for that yet.

“I am,” Bruno reassures him before taking up the bowl of yogurt and fruit in absence of his coffee. “Just leave enough for me to take mine.”

#bruabba #abbabru #bruno buccellati #bruno bucciarati #leone abbacchio #jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #vento aureo #golden wind #jjba part 5 #part 5 #blitzwrites #blitz #fic: islt #fic: iglt

[the-firebender-girl]

Teacher’s Pet (Zuko x Reader) : Part 1

-> Fire Lord Zuko meets his daughter’s favorite teacher.

*Y/H/C: Your hair color

Warning: The storyline is a bit depressing at first, there’s a mention of death and a lot of self deprecating thoughts.

A princess of the Fire Nation. A title that should’ve guaranteed that she can get anything and everything that her heart desire, but Princess Izumi’s life is far cry from the fairytale life of princesses in her bedtime stories.

To feel a mother’s love, that is her one true desire for as long as she can remember. What she constantly seeks from the moment that she understands that there is a missing puzzle in her life. A hollow gap.

There hasn’t been a Fire Lady of the nation ever since Izumi came into this world. Her birth also marks the day that her mother passed away due to immense blood loss after childbirth, life and death hovering soo close together, one soul in exchange for another. There wasn’t even a celebration in her name, only a funeral. What was supposed to be a joyous occation turned sorrowful. The nation was in mourning for their lost queen.

At the age of 13 years old, Izumi can’t help the grim thoughts that constantly plagued her mind, “You did this... your mother died because of you”. A nightmarish and hideous burden indeed for such a young mind to bear. Of course no one ever said that to her face, but she can feel it, in the quiet whispers exchanged between her fellow students or teachers, in the pitying glances that the palace staff throws her way when they thought she’s not looking, or maybe even in the way that she still sees the longing stare of her father.. late at night.. standing in front of the late queen’s portrait.

They all think that she doesn’t know, doesn’t notice, doesn’t understand. But she does. After all she is a child who is forced to deal with great loss way too soon, and that changes a person regardless of his or her age.

———————————————————————

Fire Lord Zuko showers his daughter with love and attention, never letting his responsibilities towards the nation get in the way of being the best father that he can be. Izumi deserves the world and he intend to give it to her.

Looking at his daughter’s face brings him both immense bliss and grief. She is the splitting image of her mother, a piece of her that is left in this world from her sudden departure. An ache that will probably never go away for the rest of his miserable existence. Maybe it’s just Zuko’s bad luck, the people who he loves most always got taken away from him one way or another. Why would it stop now?

Despite his best efforts, Zuko sees his daughter becoming more distant as she grew older. He tried to reach for her but he too is downspiraling. Down and down and down the both of them go. How are they supposed to save each other when they’re pretty much stuck in the same dark hole with no sign of escape or an end to it?

The least that he could do for her is sign her up to a normal Fire Nation private school, not to the Royal Fire Academy for Girls as tradition demands. He doesn’t want her to live a sheltered life just as how he and Azula was raised. Cloistered and living amongst tight circle of nobilities, never knowing how the rest of the people live. He wants Izumi to see the world at full extend and so he did, in hope that one day she’ll be a great and just ruler, a champion beloved by her people, his gift for her should all else fails.———————————————————————

Izumi loves school, the only chance for her to get away and buried herself amongst books, nothing else exists and she let herself got carried away. Absorbing as much knowledge as she could to fill her mind with light and possibilities. Of wisdom and science, both old and new.

She has a handful of friends at school, but even then she prefers to spend her time alone. Spending breaks in the library or aimlessly wandering the school ground.

But perhaps a change is in order as a new face entered the school in the form of her art teacher. The former art teacher, Laoshi Zhixin is a lazy old man who made a hobby of neglecting his every duty, Izumi often wonders how he even managed to land this job since he clearly has no passion for it whatsoever. “Good riddance,” she thought.

The replacement teacher though, she is entirely something else. “A walking living art,” that’s how the rest of the students describe her, Izumi hasn’t had the pleasure of meeting her though, not until today as it is her class’s turn for the subject.

When Izumi walked into the art classroom and saw her, she finally understood what the buzz is all about. And she too sees why people described her that way.

Laoshi Y/N is young for a teacher, from the looks of it she’s probably still in her early twenties. Her (Y/H/C)* hair is pulled into a messy bun, the skin along her arms are covered with dry plain splotches in several different colors. A kind smile gracing her lips as she watched every student who enters her classroom one by one.

When all of them are seated in front of an easel, she walked to the center of the room and opened her arms wide to the side in a welcoming gesture.

“Good morning students! i’m Laoshi Y/N, your new art teacher” She started chirpily.

A chorus of good mornings and hello Laoshi Y/N resounded around the room.

“Today we’re going to paint, as you can see i’ve taken the liberty to set up the easel and blank canvas for you.”

A few students groaned but then one of her classmates raised his hand, “Are we going to attempt to remake a drawing of landscape just like Laoshi Zhixin always makes us do?”

Laoshi Y/N eyebrows quirked, “No, not at all” her statement is followed by lots of relieved sigh. Even Izumi must admit that if she has to paint one more of those stupid lakes and hillside she would’ve chuck her canvas.

“So what then?” a different student voiced the question.

Laoshi Y/N chuckled, “Patience, we’re just getting there”

“I want you to paint... emotions”

Izumi’s face morphed into one of confusion, but she’s not alone, the rest of her classmates have the same look plastered on their faces.

“Let me elaborate, by emotions I don’t mean face or a drawing of a human smiling or crying and the likes. I want you to pick an emotion and imagine it in your mind, if it has a form what do you think it would look like? what color would it has? reach deep inside and pick an emotion that resonate with you. Be it happiness, sadness, fear, anger, or surprise... help it takes form”

Now this is a lesson that she has never received in any of her prior classes, one that she can learn to appreciate. Laoshi Y/N brought something new to the game, something fresh, what art is supposed to be like in the first place.

“Is my instruction clear enough or is there any other question?” she clapped her hands once, “None? alright then chop chop”

Sounds erupted around the room, scrapping of dragged stools, clatter of paint trays, the tapping of paint brushes against glass of water. The atmosphere itself came to life.

Izumi look fixedly at the blank canvas in front of her, contemplating long and hard about which emotion she would pick. What was Laoshi Y/N’s words again? “...pick an emotion that resonate with you” now that would be quite a challenge. Izumi’s inside is a maelstrom of emotions, trying to pick it apart from one other is an impossible task. Even she herself never understood what exactly it is that she’s feeling most of the time.

“Chaos” she thought to herself. That’s the word she’s looking for, what best describes her inner turmoil. And that is what she’s going to paint or at least attempt to, we’ll see.

———————————————————————

Y/N walked around the classroom, observing her students work one by one. So far most of them picked either happiness or anger, that much is clear by their choice of colors or the stroke of their brushes. She hummed a tune under her breath, murmuring encouragement or approval every now and then.

As she neared the back row, a piece caught her attention. This one is not made of the bright colors of happiness or fiery ones of anger, the brush strokes neither soft or harsh. Black, dark grey, and deep blue, those are the main color components. Growing darker the closer it gets to the center. But there’s also a few nebulous strokes of angry bright red and some splatter of murky green. The longer Y/N stare at the painting, the more its unrest clawed at her, submerging her into it.

Y/N realigned her focus towards the painter, reigning in her surprise when she realized who it is. Izumi, Fire Lord Zuko’s only child. It made her even more curious as to what goes on inside that mind for her to create this piece? Of course she knows all about the tragedy that has befallen their family, but never did she once consider of the depth of the impact. What it did to this girl who is now under her care.

“What’s the name of your painting?” she asked her.

Izumi’s hand halted mid air, she was too engrossed in her pursuit to pay attention to her surroundings. Realizing too late that now her teacher is standing right behind her.

Izumi glanced over her shoulder, “Chaos... I call it chaos”

“A fitting name” Y/N replied, once again letting her eyes roam over it. “Any particular reason why you chose to paint this?”

“You told us to paint what resonates most with us and this is it for me” Izumi said complete with a shrug.

Y/N can see past the walls that this girl put up around her, separating her from the rest of the world. There is indeed a chaos brewing inside, plain as day, but she knows it’s not her place to pry. So she offered her some words to ponder over instead.

“Art is a media to freely express oneself be it in the form of melodies, dances, or in my case drawings. Should words fails to explain, art is the substitute... maybe you’ll find some comfort in it too” Y/N said, sending a smile her way. There is soo much more she wish she could do for her, but for now she hopes that this is enough. She laid one hand on her shoulder and give it a gentle squeeze before she turned to survey the others.

Izumi stiffened in her seat as what her teacher’s said sinked in. No one has ever bothered to reach out to her, let alone comfort her in any way. They probably think that she’s got it all figured out and the material things that she got at her disposal are more than enough to deal with the loss. After all she’s a princess, there are others who suffer more and worst. But does that make her less deserving of their sympathy? for her pain to be acknowledge?

And yet Laoshi Y/N gave that support to her, a mere stranger. Freely, without as much as a second thought. And for the first time in many years, Izumi felt hope blooming inside her, that there is someone who is capable of understanding her. Of seeing her past the crown, fancy robes, palaces, title... and see the broken girl inside.

———————————————————————

That very same day at sometime past 3 in the afternoon, Izumi is done with the rest of her classes. But she found her feet taking her once again in front of the art classroom. Spying the lone silhouette moving inside through the tinted glass. She raised a hand, hesitating for a second, but then decided to knock in the end.

“Come on in” came the soft reply.

The door made a creaking sound as it swung open, revealing Laoshi Y/N who is sitting in front of an easel located at the very front of the room. She spared a glance her way, “Ahh Izumi, it’s you”

“I’m sorry ma’am, am I interrupting? I can come back another time” She asked hesitantly.

“No, dear. Don’t be shy, come and take a seat beside me” Y/N replied, gesturing her to come closer with her free hand.

Izumi dragged a stool and position it to her teacher’s left side. Taking her place there. Izumi watched her, admiring the expert stroke of her fingers. She’s drawing symbols... of all four nations together. It looks magnificent even in its nowhere near finished state.

Y/N dunked her paint brush into the bowl of water and set it aside. Shifting her attention on the girl sitting beside her.

“Is there anything that I can help you with?”

“To be honest... i’m not so sure myself ma’am” Izumi replied quietly.

“Well if you just want some company then you’re free to stay here for as long as you like, no talking required” Y/N said encouragingly.

“How long have you been painting? it looks incredible, I could’ve mistaken you for a professional painter” Izumi suddenly asked.

Y/N cocked her head to the side, pondering the answer, “All my life I guess, I started very young and now it has become a part of me”

“It must be nice to have an outlet for conveying your feelings” Izumi said again, “I find it hard to talk to the people around me, useless even”

“It certainly does... you know you can have one too if you want, I saw your painting earlier. You got a raw talent in you, dear one”

“Can you teach me? I don’t mind if we do it after class” Izumi asked, those amber eyes staring at her cautiously, but filled with hope nonetheless.

Y/N smiled at her, “I would gladly do that, starting tomorrow then?”

“Yeah...” Izumi answered, “—Tomorrow” that one word weighing in like a promise.

———————————————————————

Fire Lord Zuko scrunched his eyebrows, creating lines in his forehead. His daughter has been coming home late, far later than she should’ve. He knows for sure that school ends at 3, but everyday Izumi always comes home at 5 in the afternoon. At first he brushed it aside, thinking that it’s no big deal and she probably has an extra something to wrap up at school, but this has been going on for a month and Zuko can no longer turn a blind eye to it.

“Is she seeing someone? does she has a secret boyfriend that she’s been hiding for me?”

“Oh dear Agni, what if she’s involved with a gang now?”

“Is this a part of a normal teenage rebellious phase?”

A thousand thoughts running through his mind, becoming more and more ridiculous with every excuses that he conjured up.

“Perhaps you should simply ask her before you drove yourself mad” Uncle Iroh’s voice broke his train of thoughts. He even had the audacity to look amused.

Zuko groaned, “If only it were that easy, she never talks to me anymore, I feel like a failure of a father”

“Enough of this nonsense, Zuko. Go and talk to her right now” Iroh said with an edge of finality in his tone. “Only the two of you can fix this and it starts with opening up so that is what you’re going to do”

———————————————————————

Zuko founds himself standing in front of the ornament door that leads to Izumi’s parlour. Pacing back and forth, his anxiety sky-rocketting. He didn’t manage to get one more step before the door opened on its own, with Izumi standing behind it.

“I was just about to knock” Zuko stammered out, rubbing the back of his head.

“Your nervous pacing was so loud I heard it all the way from the bedroom” She replied matter of factly, looking at her father with a bored expression.

Izumi made a gesturing motion and took a sit at the divan. Zuko following in suit and made himself comfortable in an armchair across from her.

“Is there anything that I should be aware of?” He asked.

Izumi raised her eyebrow his way, “Why are you suddenly asking me this?”

“Because you, young lady, has been coming home late day after day and I would like to know why” Zuko said, his eyebrows once again scrunching in together, whether in confusion or agitation, Izumi couldn’t decide which.

“I have an after school painting lesson” She answered.

Of all the possibilities that Zuko considered, this was certainly not one of them.

“Have you taken up painting as a hobby then?” He asked curiously, silently determining whether or not this is a ruse.

“I wouldn’t say hobby... it’s more of an escape really”

“Escape from what? why do you need to escape? you have everything here in the palace”

“I don’t have what I need most though” Izumi replied came so quietly it was almost a whisper. “My new art teacher... Miss Y/N, she understands me, father. She not only listens but she truly make an effort to see inside me and see what i’m dealing with. My painting lessons with her, it helps me deal with the guilt and pain from losing mother. I know nobody could ever replace her, but for once in my life I think now I know how it feels to have one”

Zuko is stunned and that is putting it mildly. His daughter’s confession is like a slap to his face, a prove of how much he’s been neglecting her in the most important aspect of her life. Yes, he may have showered her with love and attention, but he left her to deal with her grief alone when he should’ve been there to steady her, to go through it together side by side. He lost a wife, but she lost her mother.

Before he even realized it, a sob escaped him and he is bawling right in front of his daughter when he should’ve been her rock. Tears streamed down Zuko’s face, “I’m sorry” he managed to whispered out, “I’m truly sorry”.

But then he’s engulfed in a warm hug, his daughter’s arms snaking around him like a cocoon. “It’s okay, father... I forgive you”

“I’m sorry too... I promise we’ll be better... that’s what mother would’ve want”

———————————————————————

After they made peace with the grief that has been keeping them prisoners all this time, it’s like a burden has been lifted from his shoulder, but nonetheless it left an empty space in him. And he just felt numb now.

But his daughter... Zuko watched as his daughter’s happiness grew, her smile brighter, her laugh louder. She talked non stop about her beloved art teacher slash confidant. The illustrious Miss Y/N. The beacon of light in his daughter’s life. Paint, and paint, and paint that’s all she ever do now, even Zuko’s office is decorated with all her finished artwork. Not that he’s complaining. He can see the talent in her and the passion that she has for it. If painting is what Izumi loves then he will support it in any manner possible.

But he owed her teacher a visit, maybe a “thank you” wouldn’t suffice for the differences that she has unknowingly brought into his life, but it’s a start. Then he’ll figure out what to do from there.

———————————————————————

The clock showed that it’s now 4 o’clock in the afternoon, “Strange” Y/N thought. The princess is nowhere to be seen when she’s usually already here right after the last school bell rang.

A knock pulled her out of her musing, thinking that it’s probably Izumi, she called out a “Come in, you’re already later than usual”

But nothing prepared her for the view that greets her. Her paint brush slipped through her finger and clatter on the ground as her mouth formed a perfect O as she now founds herself standing face to face with the Fire Lord and him alone.

“I’m sorry I came her unannounced, I told Izumi to take the day off since I wanted to talk to you” Zuko spoke, stating his intention.

Y/N mouth open and close a few times before she finally right her mind from the frenzy that it’s in, “Oh I see.. that’s alright really, Your Highness, no need to apologize”

“But about the talk... what could be so important that you came here in person?” She continues.

“I want to thank you, for everything that you have done for Izumi. She’s in a better place now and you help pulled her out from it, I could never thank you enough for that” Zuko said, giving her a warm smile that melts her inside. Stupid butterflies, you really have to appeared and make it worse don’t you?

“Izumi is lovely... there is soo much burden that she insisted on carrying on her own and I just extended a hand, to let her know that she’s not alone in this”

“—I would’ve done the same for anyone else, nobody deserves to feel alone and undeserving” She finishes, returning his smile with one of her own.

And as she smiles.... Zuko can feel the cracks that started appearing in his own armor, warm comforting lights filtering through the dark hollowness in his chest.

Maybe... just maybe he thought, Y/N is not only his daughter’s salvation, but perhaps she could be his too. Her smile... a promise of a distant chance in the future. Of a shot on happiness long dead and buried but not gone.

#atla #avatar the last airbender #atla aang #atla rewatch #avatar the legend of aang #aang #atla zuko #avatar zuko #zuko x reader #fire lord zuko #prince zuko #prince zuko fanfic #prince zuko imagine #prince zuko x reader #prince zuko x you #zuko #zuko angst #zuko drabble #zuko imagine #zuko x you #atla fanfic #atla x you #atla x reader #atla drabble #atla imagine #atla imagines #atla angst

[chamberofwords]

preview of my upcoming fic - 'yellow'

this was 0.9k words btw. obviously, this was not proofread yet!!

Periwinkle was the colour of the twin’s swaddling blanket when Molly and Arthur Weasley brought their newborn twins home from the hospital. The bright blue contrasted against the dull maroon of their beaming parents’ outfits. The shade also served as a clear indication of their twins’ gender. The same blue followed them as party decorations that adorned across their warm living room when Molly and Arthur held a sip & see party for their friends and relatives to celebrate their childs’ arrival together. It seemed that the guests had the same idea of wrapping their push presents with the colour blue – because at the end of the day, their dining table were drowned by the various hues of blue thanks to the stacks of presents they received. Unwittingly, the day Fred was born was also the first day that the colour blue was introduced into his life.

Ever since then, Fred had always showed a preference for the colour blue. It was the first colour that Fred has associated himself with, mainly because he was taught to just accept it as a colour that represented him. Molly had decided that the eldest twin would be colour-coded blue while the youngest would be green – just so that the rest won’t have a hard time to differentiate the twins together. That would mean that while Fred’s jumper comes in lapis blue, George’s was basil green. When Fred’s bedsheet was dyed in oxford blue, George’s was in emerald green. Heck, even their undergarments were colour-coded; Fred’s was tinged in a shade of teal while George’s was in forest green.

Even at a young age, Fred has always been known as someone who preferred to live life easily. He was a child who just accepted facts without knowing its rationales, so he could easily say that blue was his favourite colour without questioning himself why. However, as the years passed by and Fred starts to grow a little taller and older, he decided that it was time that he paid more attention to what he likes and dislikes.

Just during the period when Fred was about to start his first year in Hogwarts, Fred silently declared to himself that from then onwards, his favourite colour would be orange. After all, it was the colour of the hair that runs in the entire family, and dare he say, the entirety of his house (Molly would probably deny this if he confronted). Fred doesn’t tell anyone, but he’s convinced that the colour of his blood and the rest of his family members is orange and not red like what his anatomy books had told him.

To further commit to his stance, he made sure that the clothes he bought for the upcoming school year were mostly orange. It can’t be helped that his wardrobe still contained traces of blue, since it was the colour that he grew up with. Furthermore, it’s too wasteful to throw it all away. Also, he’s sure that his mother would nag his ear off if she were to ever find his old clothes lying in the trashcan.

Fred also secretly bought a pot of orange ink to use for school without his parent’s knowledge. He decided to use the money he got from Aunt Muriel who had gifted the cash to him as an early birthday gift. Though honestly, he was unsure if he would ever get a chance to use the bright orange ink in school. Mostly because students are only allowed to use black ink for writing. But hey, Fred made a commitment - and he was going to stick to it.

Unfortunately, Molly found the jar on the day before Fred was supposed to get onto the Hogwarts Express for the first time. Fred was never a neat person. So when Molly came into the twin’s room to help them pack properly for school, she had accidentally kicked something hard under the pile of Fred’s clothing that he had set aside near his trunk. Thinking nothing of it, Molly only wanted to pick up the item that she had accidentally kicked and put it back into place out of respect. Consequently, that led to Molly picking up the jar, and realizing instantly that no one in the family had orange ink in their possessions. Only until when Molly turned the glass over to read the tag under, she yelled out the older twin’s name out of anger and pure shock. At that moment, she simply could not believe that her son Fred Weasley had spent a large amount of money on a small jar of coloured ink under her damn nose. In the end, Molly Weasley did nagged his poor ear off. Literally.

Clearly, Fred Weasley was truly committed to the colour orange.

It became a huge part of his daily life now – the jumper under his robe, his quills that he use for school (somehow, he managed to dye it even), the orange candies that were scattered on his desks, his everything. Yet somehow, there was a tiny part of him that was still unsure if he loves the colour orange. Maybe, if he was feeling bored, he would go with the colour red just to mix it up a bit. The reasons were simple; it was the colours of his house. His tie, his robes, his dorm – red was a colour that was impossible for him to avoid.

Still, Fred wasn’t exactly sick of the colour orange. The word ‘sick’ is too strong of a word to describe such a feeling. He would just say that he was so used to see the colour orange that he got numb to it. He wouldn’t mind living in a world of orange. He was just comfortable, yet never satisfied.

This phase lasted until his fourth year, just when his fifteenth birthday was round the corner.

#reminder that this is not PROOFREAD!! #it's like 2am for me rn so i'll just edit it tmr and what not #SORRY IF THIS SEEMED CLICHE LOL #hopefully this would be ready by tmr pals <3 #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley ff #fred weasley x yn #fred wealey x hufflepuff reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley oneshot #harry potter #harry potter imagines #wealey twins #the weasley twins

[feralrosie]

Fairy Lights

Hewwo @damagecontroldumortain happy (late) valentine’s day! I’m sorry it took so long, but here’s your @loveinwayhaven gift ♥ hope you like it!

The Wayhaven Chronicles Adam/Janey (F!Detective) Words: 2600 Rating: G Tags: Fluff, lots of fluff; Valentine’s day Read on AO3

On second thought, maybe she was the one delivering spring to that place.

**

It took them a little over one hour to arrive at the botanical garden just outside Wayhaven, although Detective Kingston insisted that they could have done it in less time, if it was not for Adam’s careful driving. Of course, he was very confident in his own skills, but it was the reckless attitudes of humans on the road that could endanger this trip—mission. That could endanger this mission.

“You know that I’m going to drive on the way back, right?” Janey joked as soon as they parked by the gates of the garden, where vines intertwined along the fences, chipping the white paint to expose the coppery colour of the metal underneath.

“I am far more qualified to drive. I have better reflexes, sight and training.” His tone was as stiff as his muscles, button-down shirt marking every line of his chest as he turned off the Agency’s SUV. “And besides, a vehicle this size is too big for you. You wouldn’t reach the pedals.” 

“How dare—” 

“Let’s get going.” A hint of a smile formed on his lips as he pushed his aviators up the curve of his nose and got out of the car. Was fast enough to walk around it and open the door for the woman, offering a hand for support as she jumped out of it. “Mind your step,” he mumbled, but her attention was already focused on the garden ahead. 

Despite the ancient appearance of its entrance, the place itself was impeccable. A path of cobblestone, with no signs of moss, guided the guests among thousands of trees, contouring an icy lake in the middle of the park. The woods, dark and imposing, also had trails of its own, winding through in irregular shapes. In a bright late afternoon such as this one, the scene was idyllic. The sun leaked through the canopies, trying to deliver life to the garden, but meeting the silent landscape of dormant bushes and leafless trunks covered in glittering snow instead. Only the pine trees tried their best to add some colour with strokes of dark green reaching the clear blue sky.

Must have been a gift for the garden to welcome the deep red of Janey’s hair among them. Adam noticed, as she led the way in front of him, how contrasting she was to the scenery, bursting with life and colour. Even the soft breeze that danced around them and waved her locks seemed to agree that whatever beauty nature had was no match for her.

“Alright,” Janey clapped her hands while turning on her heels to face the Agent, pulling him back from his thoughts in a startle. “What are we looking for, exactly? What do we need for this mission?” 

Ah, yes, the mission. It was more like a simple task, really. Recently, a lesser kingdom of fairies took residence in Wayhaven, attracted by the Detective’s powerful presence, but even a small town like that could overwhelm such tiny creatures, and so the Agency needed to find another place for them. 

“The Firefly Fairies will need a place safe from humans,” Adam stated, wrapping his coat around his torso and crossing his arms. “But it must also be a place safe from this weather. Perhaps somewhere distant from the pathway.” 

She agreed with a simple nod, and in no time they were walking side by side into the woods. If it was just her body heat or something else, Adam could not tell, but the cold was not so harsh next to her. Maybe this was the reason for the fairy kingdom being drawn to her in the first place; she felt comfortable and welcoming to everyone with her charm and friendly personality. It was impossible to not let yourself be engulfed by someone like her, and Adam wasn’t the only one who felt like that… Right?

“I must apologise, Detective.” He broke the silence between them after a few minutes, not because it made him uneasy, but quite the opposite. Janey aimed a puzzled look at him, waiting for him to proceed. “Surely I impeded other plans you must have had for today.” 

“What do you mean?”  

“It is Valentine’s Day, is it not?” The words almost got stuck in the back of his throat, suddenly dry. “I believe many consider this to be a special date.”

“Oh.” The sound escaped from her lips, and Adam couldn’t help but to look at her for just a moment. Her heart was beating a little faster, which explained the rosy colour forming on her cheeks—delicate and unexpected, but not slightly fragile. “Don’t worry, I didn’t have any plans.”

“Hard to believe—” 

“And even if I had,” she bursted, shoving her hands inside the pockets of her jacket. Their gaze met for such a brief moment that he thought he imagined it when those light brown eyes faced the path ahead once more. “I would rather spend the afternoon with you, anyway.”

He came to a halt, as if the words had taken him off balance. The idea of inviting her to spend a couple hours with him, not for a mission but for leisure, was not new, and crossed his mind multiple times (it was, what, the third time that week?), but the implications that Janey might actually have accepted if he asked sent a wave of electricity down this chest. Could it be that she also noticed the date on the calendar and agreed to come along in this foolish mission because of him? 

True that her presence was everything Adam had in mind when preparing for it. He was hoping that she would accompany him to this botanical garden, under the excuse that she, as a Wayhaven citizen, had been there before and could guide them better. But he was an agent and had a job to do. No matter how much she instilled wonderful and alarming new sensations in him, he should focus on the task ahead.

“How about this place?” Janey was a few meters away, and Adam didn’t have to force his feet to reach her. She was pointing at a lonely oak tree, large enough to accommodate a house for humans. A kingdom of fairies would fit there just as well, except… 

“This tree is in a clearing,” he said, resting his hands on his hips and taking a look around the place. “They would prefer a denser area, with more flowers.”

“What about that one?” 

Adam’s gaze followed where she was pointing, taking its time to also notice that she was not wearing any gloves. Felt an urge to hold her hands, take them closer to his lips and blow gently a warm breath to provide her just a glimpse of the comfort she brought him. 

“Adam?” He might have taken too long admiring her fingers, and when Janey called again, the icy green eyes finally landed on their next destination.

A greenhouse on the other side of the park.

“Worth assessing the place. Lead the way.” 

Janey’s subtle frown, followed by an amused smile also did not pass unnoticed. Adam knew she was studying him, from the way he talked to how close he was to her—that’s how Janey was, always attentive to people, always curious—and should probably have figured out he was acting different. His mind was not where it should be, and it was showing. 

So much so that Adam couldn’t even describe the landscape on their way to the greenhouse. As they crossed the garden, only the sound of Janey’s voice asking questions about the fairies would take shape in his memory. Her voice, and the feeling of their elbows touching here and there occasionally, fluttering the rhythm of their breaths.

The last rays of sunlight had sunken down behind the trees by the time they arrived at the greenhouse. The place was enormous, made entirely of glass and decorated with an iron structure painted in white in art nouveau style. The rounded edges and curvaceous geometry felt organic, as if the building was a living part of the garden, housing an astonishing amount of plants like a nursery. Adam had to take off his aviators to take a proper look at the explosion of colours and shapes of every single bloom, realising in a second that Janey didn’t have the same advantage. 

“Well, it’s dark here.” She pointed out, pursing her lips while looking up as if to check for the lightbulbs. “Weird that there’s no one here. I was expecting some couples, or at least the scientists that work here.” 

I’m glad there is no one else here, Adam wished to say, but instead he followed the obvious, most logical response, “It is already late to be so far away from the city. Everyone must have left a few hours ago.” 

He searched for the switch, a small thing hidden behind a bush by the front doors, and turned the lights on. Expected to see the usual fluorescent white from the Facility, but watched as hundreds of tiny yellowish spots popped to life all around them, bathing the greenhouse in warmth. Strings of fairy lights followed a design like the canvas of a tent from the external walls to the central piece: a weeping willow tree, so tall that its canopy filled the space of one of the three glass domes on the roof. 

Upon reaching the tree, the lights seemed to transform into vines, embracing the branches and falling along the dangling leaves like a waterfall. There was no magic in the entire botanical garden, but the look in Janey’s eyes as she admired the images around said otherwise, as if Adam had just brought her spring itself as a gift. He might just have, if such a thing was possible.

“Will this be enough for them?” Janey asked, voice low and smooth, lost in the glittering lights.

“For whom?” Adam returned, lost in the shine of her eyes. 

“The fairies, of course.” And she giggled while approaching him, suddenly locking her gaze on his. “What else do they need?”

“Well, they have enough water and flowers here,” his feet moved by an unconscious desire, “There is shelter from the external weather and…” he swallowed hard, unsure if he should continue but, eventually, he did, "A lot of space for partying." 

“Partying?” 

“They are known for hosting week-long dances. Love to drink and to waltz.” 

“I never really learned how to waltz.” Janey’s voice was only a whisper, eyes drifting away from Adam’s and reflecting the hundreds of lights around. He, however, was not paying attention to anything else but her and the way her lips curled up, almost in slow motion, overflowing with warmth. On second thought, maybe she was the one delivering spring to that place. “Must be wonderful to see.”

“Truly beautiful.” Not even Adam could conceal what he meant. He had no interest in the practices and lifestyle of fairies or of any other creature, and despite being an admirer of arts, it was clear that something else was marvelling him. Someone else. His breath of confession drew her back to him, and disarmed by hypnosis, he bursted, “Would you like to try?”

“What?” She took another step closer, graceful as a ballerina.

“Waltz.” Words seemed to tangle on each other before leaving his lips. “With me.” 

From the moment he suggested going on that mission, Adam had done nothing but improvise. All the control he kept for over nine hundred years was slipping through his fingers, he could not think strategically anymore, and it was infuriating how he could not—simply could not—keep himself away from the detective. She was a fire burning inside of him and he should be turning to ashes by now. And yet there he was, surrounded by light and that warmth that was not coming just from her body heat. 

He waited for an answer, pursing his lips in a thin line, questioning his careless attitudes, feeling like his chest was about to set alight, and—

“Yes. I would love to.” 

A sigh of relief came from both parts, tension crumbling like a sand castle. If Adam was going to be that reckless, then so be it. 

He ventured forth, right hand falling featherlight on Janey’s waist. She held his other hand, resting her palm on his and falling into his arms completely. Not once they took their gazes out of each other, eyes heavy-lidded when Adam began to lead them in circles carefully, slowly, like she was made of crystal. Terrified of breaking her. 

It was nothing close to the waltz of the royal palaces of Vienna during the New Years, and much less to the Russian ballet, but still nothing felt wrong. Janey was tiny compared to him, his large hand spread almost entirely over her upper back, but it was her delicate fingers pressing into his shoulder that made him feel safe. The way she would not shy away from him, how she would spin on her axis every time he stretched out his arms just to pull her back closer and closer, was like magic of its own. Perhaps he was enchanted. She could have bewitched him. Or maybe, just maybe, it was something else. Something he was afraid of saying out loud, of letting it take form, but undeniably something he could not, would not, control. 

Their feet moved together with remarkable precision, as if the spring of the greenhouse itself choreographed their movements, and even the floor felt softer. Janey slipped her fingers up to his neck, brushing his skin and leaving a tingling sensation before resting on his nape. A shiver ran up his spine, sharp enough for her to feel the dark blond hairs rising. 

Their dance concluded slowly when Adam bowed down, holding her firmly in his arms as if laying her gently on a mattress of clouds. Janey held on to him, trusting him entirely, and didn’t let go afterwards. With no one to witness, their world felt silent, existing only in each other’s embrace. Adam saw when her lips parted just enough, hesitant, getting closer, increasing the thundering sound, trying to tear open her chest like a war drum so powerful that it could make him dizzy.

“Do you hear my heartbeat?” she whispered, eyes locked on his.

“Yes.” 

“Can I listen to yours, too?”

“Yes...” 

Janey wrapped both arms around his neck and rested her head on his chest, nose tip carefully fondling his sternum. Only then, with her cheek pressed against his white shirt, Adam realised that the drumming of hearts was a duet. His own perfectly synchronised to hers, still dancing, and he couldn’t help but to wrap his arms around her as well. In a garden of blooms, they formed a bud—secret, beautiful and new. He wished to stay in spring, with her, forever.

Alas, they were both ripped apart from dreaming when a too-loud bzzt bzzt emerged from the agent’s pocket. Distracted by each other, both rushed to untangle themselves quicker than their blood could colour their faces. Adam turned on his heels, reaching for the damn phone and answering the call.

“Commanding Agent du Mortain.” 

“Adam, it's Nate. I’ve been trying to call for a while, is everything ok?” 

A deep sigh left his lungs, “Yes, Nate. Everything is fine.”

“Are you still with Janey? Did you find a good place?”

He looked over his shoulder, gaze meeting Janey’s again. A shy grin on her rosy cheeks invited him to smile too, and so he did.

“Yes, Nate. I believe we found the perfect place.” 

#the wayhaven chronicles #adam du mortain #janey kingston #love in wayhaven #my writing #valentine's day #gift exchange #i must say i love Janey #I hope she's not too ooc #had a lot of fun writing it #💖💖

[squeeneyart]

Breathe in the Salt - Chapter 20

AO3

Beta reader as always is @thesnadger!

Simon and Martin have a chat.

Martin accepts some advice.

When Martin passed the front gate the world behind him disappeared, replaced by cold, grey mist and stone.

Staring back the way he came only made it harder to remember what had been before, and his head felt the pressure of distance with no point of reference. Something deep inside him knew the perils of walking anywhere but the path leading him to the Fairchild house; to step anywhere else would see him tumbling out and away from the only landmark he had left.

Waiting for him at the front door was the woman who’d taken the sketchbook from him, this time without the veneer of professional courtesy. The hooded jumper, worn jeans, and disinterested wave announced to the world an interrupted day off. If his damp, miserable self was an affront to her sensibilities, she wasn’t showing it, so the wet jacket stayed on.

In his nerves he hadn’t really registered her appearance during their first meeting, too focused on getting rid of the evidence of his crime. She was older, maybe in her 60s, with long grey hair tied back into a low ponytail. He hadn’t seen her about town before, had he?

They walked inside without any chitchat, so Martin glanced about in silence. The interior felt right if his memory served, the same skinny halls and windows stretching from floor to ceiling. The most striking aspect still was the mural at the top of the central staircase. The rest of the house was dwarfed by it, as if the grand building was no greater than his hometown’s silhouette tucked into the corner of the canvas. 

Approaching it, the colors were more. More intense, more bold, all the brightness stolen from the world outside siphoned into an impossible sky. Maybe anything would look that much more  when contrasted with where he’d been. He was at the top of the stairs standing at its center wondering if there was any distance that could give him a proper view of the whole. 

From behind him the woman cleared her throat, though she didn’t seem irritated. He pulled himself away from the spot where he’d stopped to stare, leaving slippery footprints in his wake.

Glancing up at the mural, she only said, “Some things demand attention.”

She led him to the same room from his first visit with its outward wall of glass. Across the room sat Simon, his back facing those large, unbelievably clear windows that now overlooked the fog-covered landscape. Martin heard the woman’s retreating footsteps and the click of the door.

Martin breathed out, keeping a few feet between himself and the old man. He waved stiffly at the windows. “It’s a bit late. I was expecting this to happen last week.”

With that pleasant smile unmoving, Simon motioned for Martin to sit in the chair across from him. “Don’t be ridiculous. That event will be much more exciting. I wanted to put this meeting together, and needed a good mix of quick and fun.”

“Starting to question my understanding of ‘fun’,” Martin mumbled. He took the seat offered to him and crossed his arms over his chest, the rainwater he carried in seeping into the plush fabric. “It seems like I’m always on the losing side of someone else’s.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Simon hummed, leaning back comfortably in his chair. “So you’d prefer something more exciting in your invitations, so you’re not left out? Did my little errand turn you into a thrill-seeker already?”

“No.” A shiver ran through him, not of fear but of an awful, biting cold. The wet of his hair sapped the heat right out of him and pulled his ponytail down heavy onto his neck. “What do you want?”

“Oh, a bit moody today, aren’t we?” The smile was still sitting idly on Simon’s face. “Peter’s been around more often, I can tell. He does that to people, sucks all patience and goodwill out until they’re… well.” He flicked his eyes over Martin with something like pity.

Martin pressed his arms tighter into himself. “So what, you push people into the sky, and he does that?”

Simon laughed without a hint of shame. “Goodness, no. Peter is just like that, no strangeness needed. I’ve often left his company feeling completely drained and irritable, though I’ve found ways to ensure the feeling is mutual.”

“Good friends, then.”

“As much as he can have them.” Simon leaned forward, no hint of bitterness in his voice or expression. “A very close-to-the-chest type, I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

With a sharp exhale, Martin said, “Look, if you’re going to ask me for a favor I’m not-”

“Now, now, I’m not one to drag on a favor forever, and you’ve paid in full. Besides, Peter is much too jumpy right now for anything to be done.” Simon turned his gaze toward the window. “I’m afraid all any of us can do now is wait.” 

A jolt of disappointment shocked Martin to silence. All of this dramatic nonsense just to be told to wait and see? He hadn’t had any specific expectations, but deep down he’d believed Simon to be plotting something soon. That even if it was a horrible outcome Martin wouldn’t be left in suspense from every angle of his life. 

Whatever shoe was meant to drop, it hadn’t, and it wouldn’t for some unspecified amount of time.

Simon regained his easy tone and continued, “And I greatly dislike this weather, all of these things clouding my view. Soon I’ll be going weeks without a clear day, and it can feel so… so claustrophobic. So little to work with on a day like this.”

He wasn’t the one who needed to walk in it. “You’re not going to explain anything, are you?”

“No, I’m not. You know how these things are. Business.” Reaching into his pocket, Simon pulled out a small envelope. “Speaking of, like a pouting child Peter has been avoiding me, and as far as I can tell you’re the only person who actually sees him.”

With a deep sigh Martin leaned forward, elbows resting on knees. Not only was he getting nothing out of Simon, but- “This is all so I can be a messenger boy?”

“Just the one time, if Peter can be reasonable.”

“I don’t- Wait. Why not trap him like you did me? Just force him to your door.”

With a sudden laugh that made Martin jump, Simon replied, “Not everyone is as easy to find as you. And anyway, it’s not wise to do that to friends, is it?” 

It wasn’t a way to keep friends, no, and he took the message from Simon without further comment. On the other side of the room, the door opened to reveal that woman. Not needing prompting he stood, looking back one more time at the other man.

Simon remained seated and swung one more friendly smile in Martin’s direction. “You’ll be seen out, then. I must thank you for your previous help, Martin. The personal significance alone can’t be overstated. It’s not my only sketchbook, of course, but several of my best works had their beginnings in it.” Was that glint in his eye one of creative pride, or was there some joke Martin was missing?

The tiniest desire to stay and hear more itched at the back of his mind, but the dismissal was clear and he let the woman lead him back through the house. Once outside he saw the weather had taken a turn for the worse into a complete downpour. The high wind would certainly blow his hood down, making for a wretched walk ahead of him.

“Ah.” He’d been taken to the Fairchild house on an impossible route, but the way home was entirely real. “I have a long way to walk.”

“Inconveniences all around,” the woman said, shutting the door behind him.

Once he was alone he ripped the phone from his pocket and and bent over it to delete his dramatic messages before they could be seen, replacing it with:

Martin: talked with simon (didnt really have a choice), dont think anything will happen with him for a while

Martin: said all we can do is wait? really cryptic

Then he pocketed it once more and walked out the front gate into the reinstated town.

The greatest relief was finding other unlucky pedestrians doing their best to stay dry along with him. Even without the ability to stop and talk he felt the silent commiseration. It wasn’t joy in the suffering of others but rather the knowledge that other people were there at all to share in the cruddy weather. He could see where a person ahead of him was avoiding puddles, and found residual warmth in the lights of nearby shop fronts. It was the kind of melancholy atmosphere that could make rain a little more bearable.

The walk down the cliff however was designed to kill him, the slope slick with mud and abandoned by an early setting sun. No waterproof phone, glasses blurred and splattered with droplets, Martin made his slow way home in the cold, in the dark. More than once he stopped to make sure he hadn’t gotten turned around by forces supernatural or otherwise, but then the ground flattened and he could finally hear the sea over the rain beating against the ground.

He was late of course, but besides some comments about tracking water into the house and forgetting his umbrella his mother had left him well alone, and even took his word when he described the weather as unsuitable for her health. He was grateful. After the last few days anything worse might’ve sent them into a screaming match to surpass any bouts they’d had in years. Maybe the day had taken as much out of her as it had from him.

Instead, after a necessary change of clothes on his part, they ate dinner and watched television, her in her chair and him on the couch. It was some old game show he vaguely remembered, not something that aired in his childhood but that he’d experienced first as reruns, the saturated colors and fuzzy image granting it a multilayered nostalgia. Someone on the screen had just answered a question and was hoping their spouse would come up with the same response.

In his pyjama pants and old t-shirt he felt little, his feet tucked under him because he hadn’t wanted to waste another pair of socks. It was as if he’d just come out of the bath with his wet hair and drooping eyes and was waiting to be told he was up too late. As if he wasn’t responsible for watching the clock himself.

His phone vibrated in the middle of the program, but if his mother noticed she chose to ignore it. Tapping the phone awake, Martin saw a notification from the group message.

Tim: ok check-in time what the hell 

Tim: just saw this 

So they hadn’t seen his initial messages. He breathed out in relief and typed out a reply.

Martin: some weird stuff, but everythings fine. simon made it so i had to go talk to him

Martin: whatever simon mentioned before its not coming yet. seems like he isnt in control of when whatever it is happens? also peter is avoiding him so i need to give him this letter

Tim: weird but

Tim: good? more time for us

Sasha: one less thing to worry about. glad it went okay.

Tim: ^^

He’d successfully avoided any panic or weirdness that his original messages most definitely would’ve caused and patted himself on the back for a job well done. No one needed that as a distraction.

Martin: oh right weird topic change but jon mentioned it, do you really all use a cot at work

Tim: oh yeah lol love that thing

Tim: jon is on it right now actually will pass on simon info when hes awake

Martin: youre all still there??

Tim: oh martin dont you know weve Never Left

Tim: we should get going soon tho now that you mention, will drag jon out of the archives while passing on simon info

Martin: good idea

Tim: and keep those eyes down!

Martin bit his cheek and looked past his phone at the television screen. No doubt it was karma for his rash behavior at the lighthouse, having “just wait!” shouted at him from all corners. The universe was making itself very clear. Simon could’ve just been telling him to let something terrible happen, but even if that was true Martin wasn’t in a place to stop anything.

But it was a great quality of Tim’s, rounding them all up and trying to save them from regrettable decisions. The least Martin could do was make that job easier and stay out of trouble. It was also the most he could do, as much as it irked him.

Martin: dont need to tell me twice! 

And with that Martin pocketed his phone, accepting his fate of inaction.

When he finally put his mother to bed the goodnight between them was not warm, but it was closer to normal. If he’d been told that one of the most pleasant parts of his day would’ve been watching the telly after dinner with his mum, he would’ve… well, it wasn’t that strange. Really it emphasized how bad the rest of his day had been.

Meanwhile the most pleasant event felt fake, even when he checked his call logs to confirm it. What a strange start to a day, he thought as he laid in bed. At least it made up for Jon not being around that evening, that and knowing Jon was getting some sleep. The man clearly needed some prompting during an intense work period to take care of himself, and Martin silently thanked Tim for doing something about it when he couldn’t bring himself to initiate a phone conversation. He knew it was ridiculous for him to be so nervous about the idea, but…

But.

Hopefully Jon didn’t think he was rude. It was one thing to chat in person, but calling without a specific topic to discuss while the others were hard at work? Because he was bored? Best to let Jon reach out when he felt it necessary, even if it meant being woken up at odd hours on a work day and otherwise sitting on his hands. Eventually this would all be behind them and he could stop being racked with guilt over the thought of making a social call. 

Martin’s stomach twisted. Yes, things would be dealt with, and he would move on from this strange period in his life.

He moved to place the phone down for the night when it buzzed in his hand, with a message in another, private chat.

Sasha: we should talk more later about what simon told you specifically. if something big is coming having someone on the inside of things might not be the worst. not saying you should seek him out, he seems perfectly of capable of contacting you, but if it happens again it could be an opportunity

Martin: you think he could be on our side?

Sasha: i think letting people say their piece can lead to understanding, even if the other person is the worst. something is going on between him and peter lukas and the more we know the better

Martin: right…

Sasha: again not saying to run into anything. wait for us etc etc but trust your gut

Martin: so your opinion on staying put?

Sasha: sometimes you cant, thats all im saying

Martin: okay, i think i get it

Sasha: good. now get some sleep, weird things tend to drain you

Martin: goodnight

Sasha: night

Well, she wasn’t wrong. He didn’t believe that Simon was a good person, not with how he’d treated Martin thus far, but that didn’t make him evil, either. And his advice was the same as what everyone else had already been saying: stay out of trouble as best he could and wait for the right moment. Even Sasha still conceded to it being the best option for the present. If Peter told him to wait as well, then Martin would be truly lost on what to do, but until then he would follow the advice of all the people who knew more than he did.

And if Simon called him to his home again, he would try to be less… difficult. And he would buy a better jacket, just in case. 

--

The next morning, he listened to a voice message left shortly after he’d fallen into a blissfully dreamless sleep.

Jon’s groggy voice drifted from the mobile. “Hi, sorry I missed things. Wasn’t expecting Fairchild to be so forward, and my sleep schedule has never been- anyway, Tim convinced me to go back to my flat, but since I slept at the institute earlier I’m currently following a few threads to see if they lead anywhere helpful. I think I’ve reached something, but time will tell.”

He continued after a brief pause. “Seems you’re already asleep, as you should be, so I’ll let you go. Let me know if you have any questions about our other… shared interest. Good night. I hope things stay quiet.” 

#tma #the magnus archives #breathe in the salt #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #sasha james #timothy stoker #peter lukas #simon fairchild #fanfic #au fanfic #selkie au #i swear to god theres selkie content its just very slowburn selkie content #jonmartin

[funkymbtifiction]

hey, me again (the person you typed as SFP). Thanks for your respond. First of all; you are certainly right about me using fi-te, thats actually i am quiet sure about by now (even though i had some trouble seeing myself as a feeler at first because it is usually described that feelers are in general more empathic and i can assure you no person i know would ever use the word "empathic" to describe me)...

You sound like an NP in what you wrote here, yes.

Fi's appear stoic on the outside, but are a swarm of specific emotions on the inside. They are self-referencing; if something doesn't ignite an emotional response in them, they don't care and aren't particularly sympathetic from "the outside," hence why people call them "cold." But they are very easily insulted, if they're INFPs. Much more so than an ENFP, who will consider it through Ne/Te more often than Fi.

#question

[lov3nerdstuff]

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 4.8}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 4.6k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

______________________________

It was the middle of April when Robin finished the very last of Snape's book collection. The day she returned the very last book to him was both a sad and an exciting one, for Robin wasn't entirely sure what he would give her to do next. To her disappointment, he merely remarked that she had read everything he could give her at the present time, and then continued with his work as if it was nothing special. Maybe it wasn't… but somehow Robin had hoped for a little praise at least, if not a prospect of what to do next. Thus she stuck to doing class assignments and readings for a while (she managed half a week, which was already more than anticipated), until at last she just couldn't handle the lack of private studies anymore.

She had already finished most of the library books about potions, herbology, and magical creatures, which is why she decided to find a new topic to read up on rather than trying to find more books on the topics she already had studied profoundly. Thus she started reading all the books about the dark arts the library had to offer, but more out of interest in the mysteries that hid behind the generic title than out of preference for the correlating class. And really, it was a weirdly broad topic. Everything that wasn't allowed or was dangerous to use fell into this category, but more often than not Robin wondered why exactly something was considered 'forbidden' or at least unappreciated to use. Sure, most of the things described in her newest reads were potentially harmful for someone involved, but honestly, so were kitchen knives, or golf clubs, or cars. And nobody bothered forbidding them either.

That's the only revelation she's had by the time exams rolled around, and the exact point where she found herself stuck at now as she sat in the potions classroom like always, on a Friday evening in the second week of June. Not even a week before she would have to go back to her parents' house for the summer.

"Do you have a minute?" Robin asked as she looked over at Snape to her right with an inquiring expression. Some time in March she had started sitting at the side table next to his desk rather than at her usual seat in the students' rows when she came here for coffee and work at night. Admittedly, she'd occasionally been sitting there way before March already, whenever students were in the classroom for detention, but somehow after one particularly detention-heavy week in March, she hadn't bothered going back to her original seat, and he hadn't bothered asking her to. That's how she came to sit at the table next to his desk permanently now, in the evenings at least.

"Of course. I wanted to talk to you about a certain issue anyway, but feel free to start." He replied and closed the book he'd been reading for the last hour to meet Robin's gaze.

"You probably noticed that I've been reading up on the whole 'dark arts' thing over the last weeks, except for the week studying for my exams that is, and well… I just don't understand why there is such a thing as dark arts in the first place." Robin shrugged and closed her own book as well. "It's just more spells that happen to be a tad more dangerous than others. But the danger is just a potential, isn't it? I mean… the magic isn't good or bad in itself, it's the person using it who determines that. And calling it 'dark magic' is kind of taking the responsibility of making this choice from the witch or wizard who makes it."

"What exactly do you mean by that?"

"I mean…" She sighed and paused for a second to think of a good example. "Take a kitchen knife, for example. It's just a tool in itself, and only because some people use it to stab others doesn't make it inherently bad, nor do the people who use it to chop vegetables make it an inherently good thing. It has the potential to be both, and if one isn't aware of that, there always is a danger in its use."

"I agree."

"So why do we learn in school that there is good magic and bad magic? Why don't we learn to work with the responsibility of dealing with a neutral magic that leaves it entirely up to us how to use it?" That was the actual question Robin had been meaning to ask, but it had taken a while to find a way to phrase it.

"Because it is easier to keep people on a predetermined path if you map it out in front of them. Tell them what you think is good by giving them something that is bad in contrast, and the majority will let it guide them according to your very wish. That is how politics work, and as despicable as it is, the school is a political issue no matter what the headmaster says. Also, the dunderheads we teach couldn't deal with such a responsibility."

"That doesn't sound like an answer a professor would normally give." Robin smiled in amusement at his last comment.

"Your questions aren't something a student would normally ask." He returned with a shrug and an expression that made Robin chuckle.

"I guess you're right about that. And I do see your point. Thanks for the honest answer." She sighed and felt like he was probably right. What is taught and what isn't was all politics… and that meant it didn't always make sense. Huh, what a sad end for her private studies of the mysterious dark arts.

"Of course I'm honest with you, there would be no point in anything else."

"So… what issue did you want to talk about?" Robin inquired a few seconds later and tried not to showcase her curiosity all too much.

"There have been rumors for a while now…" He started, and Robin grew nervous immediately. Rumors were always bad, and somehow she always seemed to be entirely oblivious to them. Most of them at least.

"If it's that one that I failed transfiguration, that is entirely made up! I got an 'Exceeds Expectations' on this year's exam, and McGonagall was merely making a joke when she said she would give me a 'Dreadful' if I kept going over the maximum essay length!" Robin blurted out before Snape even had a chance to continue with what he meant to say.

"That is a rumor I have been entirely unaware of, but seeing as I know of your grades, it is also entirely irrelevant." He replied with a doubtful expression. "Is that the only rumor you have heard of?"

"Well, yeah…" Robin shrugged and looked down at her table as she bit her bottom lip. "Recently, yes." Maybe she shouldn't be so exclusively concerned about her own issues and actually start taking notice of the real world more often.

"There has been talk for a good two weeks about an unofficial end of term celebration. A party, hosted by a group of sixth years for the entire house and whoever is invited. Obviously the professors are not to know of this happening, but I like to pay attention to the ongoings within the student community. You don't happen to know anything more about the issue, do you?" His eyebrows rose in question, and for some reason Robin felt as if he seriously expected her to know what he was talking about.

A Slytherin party everyone was invited to… well, everyone except for Robin as it seemed. She didn't usually care about these things, but somehow it hurt a little nonetheless that absolutely nobody had bothered inviting her. Did her roommates know about this? Or were the first years generally excluded? She had absolutely no idea, she hadn't even heard of it at all. Hell, even Snape knew more about it than she did! A burning shame with a hollowing tail of pathetic sadness crept from the pit of her stomach up to her heart and wrapped it in a veil of unwanted shadows.

"I… didn't even know there was a party at all. This is the first time I hear about it." She finally managed to reply, but her voice was way too quiet for her own liking. Really, this shouldn't even be bothering her! "I would tell you if I knew anything about it, I promise. I'm sorry…"

For a moment, Snape actually looked fairly uncomfortable upon her words, and Robin wondered if she had said anything stupid yet again. But she had no idea what it could be, and therefore she simply looked down at her book in silence. She would like to help him, really… but there was little she could do now.

"Do you even speak to the people in your year at all?" He asked after a moment, honestly inquiring rather than scolding her.

"I do talk to Theresa usually…" Robin shrugged. "Only about class issues though. Some other people outside of my own house too. But the only students in Slytherins I talk to are Cas and Jorien, and while they're both extraordinarily bright and truly lovely girls, they're far from being familiars to me. Maybe they know more about the party than I do though. I could ask them, if you would like."

"There will be no need for that. I was hoping you knew about it, but otherwise I have no intention to intervene."

"You don't?" Robin looked up with a frown. "But aren't they breaking a bunch of rules?"

"I would assume so. However as long as they stay within the castle and do not wander… I usually ignore occurrences like this."

"Why?"

"Because there isn't even half a week of term left, and I would rather spend that in peace and quiet than with fifty students in detention. As long as they do not cause or suffer any harm, I let them proceed and get it over with."

"Then why did you ask me about it in the first place?"

"I was wondering what kept you from attending, seeing as you still were here and not on your way. And I was curious about the specifics of the event, which I unfortunately have not had the luck to overhear."

"Even if I had known about this stupid party, I probably wouldn't have gone anyway." Robin shrugged with a badly feigned indifference. "I'm no fan of those events, nor would I have been appreciated there as it seems."

"Then why does it upset you that you were previously unaware of it?"

"I'm not upset." Robin shot right back, but upon his 'who are you kidding' expression, she rolled her eyes and gave a truthful response. "I mean… yes, I'm inattentive to these things sometimes, as I don't particularly care about the students' world, but if even the professors know about this stupid party… I just can't imagine that I merely missed the talk about it, which obviously has been going on if you could overhear it. Which in return means that I was intentionally excluded. That's just… I don't know. I shouldn't be upset about it, I don't even like these people. It's unreasonable to be sad about it."

"Emotions usually are unreasonable." He mused in return and Robin found herself nodding on instinct. Emotions are unreasonable, but they are an unavoidable pain in the butt nonetheless.

"So… that party is tonight?" Robin asked then, for she didn't know what else to say.

"It should be happening right now, however I am unaware of the specific location. You are intelligent though, certainly you could find out where it takes place."

"Oh, I wasn't asking because of that. I know when I'm not welcome. And as I said, I don't care about parties. Or crowds. Or other people. I'm quite happy with the company I have." She stated and hoped that it wouldn't make him uncomfortable again, but he just listened to her words with the usual undivided attention, which brought a small smile to Robin's lips as she added, "The only thing I miss is the-..."

"Music?"

"Yes!" Her smile widened to a visible degree where it reached her eyes as well. "How did you know?"

He didn't reply, and only kept looking at Robin for a moment in silence accompanied by an expression of contemplation. Finally he turned away, and stood up. "Come on."

"Where are we going?" Robin frowned as she complied though and followed Snape out of the classroom, which he locked behind them before heading down the hallway.

"You will see." Was the only and very much cryptic reply he gave, and somehow Robin didn't feel as much nervous about the situation as purely excited. She didn't bother hiding her smirk, and only ignored the renewing waves of pleasant tingles on her skin as she followed him up the stairs and through the empty castle.

They passed by any location Robin could've imagined Snape to lead her to, and only moved from one story up to the next until they arrived on the seventh floor. What the hell was he up to? Robin didn't have an inkling, and only grew even more confused when he told her to stay standing in the middle of a random crossing of hallways. But she obeyed without questioning him (he wouldn't have given an answer anyway) and stood frozen to the spot as she watched with a humored frown on her face how he paced up and down the hallway in front of her. Upon her chuckles however, she received a small glare that made her bite the insides of her cheeks to keep from straight out laughing. Whatever he was doing, it was both irritating and amusing.

Both sentiments faded from Robin's mind in a moment's notice however once a large door started materializing in the very wall she stood facing. It was almost as large as the one leading to the great hall, but undoubtedly more ornamented, and Robin's lips parted as she stared at the unusual occurrence in awe.

"After you." He said in manner that for him was unusually smug, and Robin's heart skipped a beat as she moved to open the door indeed.

What lay beyond it was undoubtedly the most peculiar and yet the most fascinating thing she had ever seen. A room larger than she could fathom currently, larger than she ever would've imagined to be found inside this castle, filled with mountains upon mountains of various objects stacked upon each other in complete randomness. The things found in here were absolutely overwhelming in their incredible amount and diversity, and Robin didn't even know where to look first as she stood helplessly frozen in the doorway. It was rather overwhelming indeed.

"Welcome to the room of requirement, or in this instance, the room of hidden things." Snape said in a more quiet tone now, as he steered Robin further into the room by her shoulders so that he could close the door behind them.

"What on earth is this?" Robin wondered as she let her eyes travel over the mountains of objects. There was one of everything in existence in here, she was absolutely sure of that. Maybe she was just dreaming all of this. She didn't care to wake up though.

"A mystery, and a secret. The room of requirement is a peculiar piece of magic, as it turns into whatever someone needs the most in the instant. It can be made to appear in the way you just witnessed, by having a clear picture of what it is one needs in mind. The room of hidden things is one of the countless forms the room of requirement can take on, and it has been used to hide and store any kind of thing for centuries."

"It's absolutely incredible, it's…" Robin replied quietly, too awestruck to even bother hiding the sentiment, and finally unfroze enough to saunter through the mountains of things. "Something so entirely impossible that it just has to exist."

"Indeed. It is almost impossible to find by accident, and the vast majority of people is unaware of the existence of this room in the first place. I would like for it to remain that way."

"I won't lose a word about it. I promise." Robin finally could tear her eyes off the room to look at Snape once more. "Why did you bring me here though? If it's such a secret, why take the risk?"

"You are no risk, I am well aware of that." He replied easily, and Robin felt an immediate sense of pride in that. "I brought you here because in a place where there is everything, there is always what you are looking for."

Before Robin could ask what exactly he meant by that, he spoke a few more muttered words and then the deep silence of the huge hall was replaced by a crackle, and finally by the sound of music. Robin looked around to find a possible origin of it, but the source remained hidden from her sight. The sound alone sufficed to brighten her smile though, and she closed her eyes to simply listen in contentment. It had been so long since she had gotten to enjoy music without the disturbing sounds of people talking or dancing or moving… and music at Hogwarts generally was scarce anyway. So now, for a long while, she simply stood there in between the mountains of fascinating things with her eyes closed and let the sound wrap around her senses. She breathed in the music like the cold air of the night that didn't exist in here, for time wasn't a dimension of relevance in this place. Everything about this room was timeless, ancient and modern at once, and Robin felt like she had entered a different reality beyond the limits of imagination. An impossible reality indeed.

It was one of those rare moments where she felt flooded and filled up by an infinite number of highly intense emotions that blended together like colors to form a blinding white light. A moment where an unimaginable intensity of feeling didn't cause her to implode into darkness but to explode into blissful light. A moment she wouldn't forget. At last she opened her eyes again, and found that Snape was looking at her with a doubtful expression yet again.

"What?" She asked with a smile, frowning at him in return.

"Are you alright?"

"Are you concerned?"

"Yes."

"Wow… good to know that me being happy is such a scary sight." Robin let out a laugh she couldn't help and shook her head to herself. "Sorry, sarcasm isn't an appropriate answer to honesty. I'm very alright, actually. As close to perfect as I could be, I believe. Thank you for that."

"Get over it already, will you... It was merely music and a dusty old room, hardly something to be so very delighted about."

"You cannot seriously deny that you did something nice by bringing me here. It's not even possible to deny!" Robin laughed again and didn't even care if he scolded her for it.

"I can try." He replied with a glare and a scowl, and Robin smiled to herself as she looked down at the ground in a defeat as feigned as his distaste. Maybe she should help him with the trying.

"So, if you didn't bring me here to be nice, what did you hope to find in here then? Maybe I could help looking for it." She suggested with an innocent smile she actually could convey for once, even if only due to the fact that she would seriously love to have a look around.

"I shall see to that myself. Go ahead and look around if you wish to though, but I ask you to be careful and not to touch anything. Many of the objects in here are more harmful than they look."

"Well, if something happens to me, you could just leave my body in here and nobody will ever find it. Problem solved." Robin shrugged with a nonchalant expression, but a smirk came onto her lips nonetheless as Snape rolled his eyes in return.

"If you keep sassing me, I might actually consider that." He replied and turned to walk off without another glance, and Robin's jaw dropped in sheer amusement. Then, with the biggest grin on her face, she went to take a look around at last.

… … …

It was after almost an hour of searching through stuff by herself that Robin found something that made her stop and stare. Not because it was particularly noticeable or interesting in itself, but because it existed in the first place. That was odd enough to give Robin some serious chills. Maybe she should tell Snape about it… or better yet, show him. Because nobody would believe it otherwise.

"Uh, professor?" She called into the open room in the hopes that he would hear her, wherever he might be. "I… found something you should take a look at."

"Is it urgent or merely interesting?" He asked from somewhere off to the left, and Robin thought for a second.

"Well, urgent is the wrong word, but I don't think I want to leave this room without you seeing this. It's… remarkable." She finally replied with an insecure frown to herself, and at the object in question.

"Could you be even more imprecise than that?" He sounded annoyed, but was getting closer at least.

"It's no threat, if that's what you mean. Just… eerie." She finished the statement in a tone too quiet to be heard far, but a mere few seconds later he was standing next to her already.

"Now, what is so remarkable that I needed to see it?" He sighed with a look at Robin instead of the pile she stood in front of, but his eyes followed her line of sight even before she could answer his question and he froze at the sight just like Robin had. "That… is remarkable indeed."

"Told you so." She replied before she could decide better not to, but he let it slip anyway.

What they were both looking at now was a large, framed, but unmoving portrait. A portrait of a young woman who looked exactly like Robin, only perhaps a few years older. But the similarity was undeniable.

"Did you touch it?"

"Of course not!" Robin protested immediately. "I actually do take advice when I deem it useful!"

"Did anything else happen that might be considered unusual?"

"No… I was just looking at all the things, and then I saw this. Nothing moved, or glowed, or changed or whatever it could have done. A perfectly ordinary painting." She shrugged and finally averted her eyes from the image.

"Perhaps it is only a coincidence. Over the course of the centuries there surely have been a few people who look like you." He tried to reason, but also didn't sound too convinced about what he was saying.

"That would explain the similarity between her and me. But then how do you explain this?" Robin asked quietly, and pulled her necklace with the locket on it over the collar of her shirt into the open. "Look what she's wearing around her neck… A different necklace, admittedly, but the locket is the very same as mine."

For another two seconds he inspected the painting, then stepped so close to Robin that he could take the small piece of jewelry out of her hand and study it with the same intense gaze. Bloody hell… she would've taken the necklace off if he had just given her a moment longer to do so. Instead, he now stood so close that every single sense of hers was heightened to the unbearable. Hopefully he couldn't hear the ridiculous pace of her heart as it almost leapt out of her chest with every beat… if he did, she might just have to blame it on her scary similarity to the painting.

Somehow, the more she tried to ignore these things, the feelings and tingles and thoughts, the stronger they came lashing back at her in the end. It really was unfair. She didn't want to like him so much… and she didn't want to enjoy it. Hopefully this stupid teenage-crush thing would be over soon; she's had enough after a full year of repressing it.

"You have had this for a while, haven't you?" He finally spoke up again before he looked Robin in the eye for a few silent seconds, then dropped the locket and took a few steps backwards.

"What?" Robin's mind was in a minor haze, and she needed a second to remember how to breathe. Gods, this was ridiculous. It was torture and bliss at the same time. Maybe she could blame it on hormones, or something likely unlikely.

"The locket has been in your possession for how long?" He repeated, but without the feigned annoyance Robin had expected.

"I… bought it in an antiquity shop in Diagon Alley during the Christmas break of my first year here. That would be three and a half years ago." She finally got her brain to work again, and shook the unnecessary feelings out of her otherwise functioning system.

"And you have been wearing it ever since?"

"Yes."

"Anything unusual?"

"No. Not at all. I put the same charm on it as on my backpack though, but it has never caused me any problems." Robin shrugged with a calm expression. "Do you think this portrait is anything more than just a big coincidence?"

"I have no idea. But I have seen coincidences far stranger than this one, so it is very much possible that it is nothing more."

"I mean… last year, when we made that potion to see which spells had affected me, there was no influence of another kind on me other than that prank thing, right? So this shouldn't be affecting me, seeing as I've had the locket for far longer than that."

"I hadn't considered that, but I do agree. Perhaps it is merely a coincidence. Still, I-..."

"You expect me to tell you immediately when or if something odd occurs." Robin added before he could.

"Indeed." He replied with a small glare in return, but Robin didn't let it fool her at all as they left the portrait where it was and made their way back towards the doorway back into the real world.

"Did you find what you were looking for, by the way? The reason we came here?" She asked with a new smile, looking up at Snape once they stepped through the doors and into the dark hallway.

For a moment he simply returned her gaze in silence, giving her one of those enigmatic looks that said everything and nothing at once, until he finally replied with words once they started making their way back towards the dungeons. "Yes, I believe I did."

And yet, he hadn't taken a single thing out of the room he hadn't brought there himself in the first place; it was only Robin, and the very smile on her lips.

______________________________

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#snape #severus snape #snape fanfiction #pro snape #severus snape x oc #snape x oc #professor snape #young snape #snape fandom #severus snape imagine #severus x oc #young severus #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fic #harry potter fanfic #harry potter imagine #hogwarts #hogwarts fanfiction #hogwarts au #slytherin #slytherin au #slytherin aesthetic #professor #professor x student #dark academia #fanfic #writing #fanfic writing #Voluptas Noctis Aeternae

[betweengenesisfrogs]

The Triumph of the Marginalia

Marginalia, n.:

1 : notes or embellishments in the margins (as in a book)

2 : nonessential items

-Troll OED

Is it just me, or is Nepeta and Equius’s arc the most slept-upon piece of brilliance in all of Homestuck?

A brilliance, might I add, that culminates in possibly the most triumphant, fulfilling emotional moment in the entire work:

https://www.homestuck.com/story/7928

*stands back and beholds its majesty while from the background comes the sound of James Roach brutally murdering ska*

No, but actually, I mean this 100% unironically, and by the end of this post, I think you’ll agree with me.

By now, I think we all understand the Act 6 double metaphor: the series of temporal loops and universes that Lord English commands is paralleled with, and in fact totally identical to, the narrative of Homestuck. Our characters’ lives exist within this context. They struggle to escape it, and are defined both by it and by the rejection of it.

Enter Nepeta.

The metaphorical meaning of Nepeta in Homestuck is irrelevance, and that’s why she’s the most relevant character in any discussion.

Nepeta was one of the characters killed off during the Murderstuck arc. Hussie argued that she was perfect for this role. In fact, I believe he said something like “Nepeta is sweet, but if you look up the dictionary definition of ‘expendable character,’ you’ll see a picture of Nepeta playing with a ball of yarn and looking very cute.” She’s an endearing combination of shipper girl and apex predator, but not one of your Vriskas or Terezis in being a driver of the plot. Hussie, it seems, created her just to round out the troll cast. He described one of his purposes in Murderstuck as being to axe some of the less necessary trolls to reduce the scope of his character list.

Except that didn’t really happen, did it?

Like a cat with nine lives, Nepeta just keeps coming back.

Equius is another addition to the troll cast who gets pushed away from the main action. He was a character-writing challenge: how do you make someone who’s gross, uncomfortable, and racist kind of likable anyway? I’d argue Hussie succeeded, in large part because of Equius’s relationship with Nepeta. By the time you finish with Hivebent, you’ll probably have a little fondness for their moraillegiance. And if that doesn’t do it, the conversation that serves as their swansong in Equius: Seek the Highblood will tear your heartstrings to shreds.

Because Equius dies, tragically clownmurdered. There was, at the time, some stink over this from Equius fans. Would he have really let himself be killed so easily? Hussie countered: yes, and it was the most in-character thing he could have done. He died doing what he loved: being asphyxiated erotically and horrifically by a superior. Truly, there could be no more fitting end to his character than that.

And yet.

No sooner did Hussie complete his self-appointed story cleanup challenge than he immediately began to undo his own work. It’s almost as if, in declaring his intention to own those who preferred more characters to narrative economy, he immediately had to own himself??

By the time we get even a little way into Act 6, we’re deep in the dreambubble landscape, meeting dead characters left and right. And who should show up there but Equius and Nepeta? Equius attempting to get it on with a bunch of Aradias, who dump him. And Nepeta, living out her romantic dreams as a representative of a timeline where she got together with Karkat. They both appear as symbols of this deadness, this irrelevance. Except that that brings them back into the story, into the spotlight – the opposite of where they’re supposed to be!

Like many bits of commentary, Hussie continues to incorporate the metaphor Nepeta=Irrelevance into Homestuck. Karkat’s remark on their journey that he would love to meet “FIFTY FUCKING NEPETAS” and embark on “NEPETAQUEST” alludes to formspring remarks to the effect that, no, Homestuck was not going to have much time for the minor characters. Except it clearly did.

Why couldn’t the narrative let the meowrails go? Was it that despite the economy of Murderstuck, something was still incomplete? After all, one of Equius’s charms was that he appeared to be growing into a less repressed, kinder person. In Seek the Highblood, we see him letting his guard down enough to roleplay with Nepeta for a change. Their love for each other: wasn’t that ultimately what could redeem Equius in our eyes? So his dying and thus failing to protect her–isn’t that something that should be addressed?

You could imagine many a Nepeta and Equius fan saying this to Hussie back in 2011.

But Hussie was already saying it to himself.

The duo come roaring back into the story in the Trickster mode arc, mid Act 6, thanks to Gamzee’s ridiculous resurrections. True, Nepeta is still reduced as part of Fefeta, the character formed from killed-off girls who never speaks onscreen. But doesn’t using that fact as a running gag kind of draw our attention to it? Doesn’t the fact that Fefeta talks to Roxy constantly offscreen inform us that once we get outside the frame of the narrative, Nepeta has a rich inner life and countless stories to tell?

And it’s here that Equius gets something he never got in his original “arc:” the chance to apologize to Nepeta. You’d be forgiven for missing it since there’s so much else going on at the time, but he does, while fused with AR. Here’s what you’d miss, though: he’s grown as a person in the afterlife. He’s come to regret that moment of weakness, where his fetish kept him from protecting his moirail. Impossible as it seems, he’s continuing his character arc.

The scene ends with Fefeta exploding (she’s also, after all, dealing with Eridan), but it leaves us with a tantalizing question:

Will Nepeta forgive Equius? Is there even a plausible time and space in that story when she could respond to his words?

Do you see what’s happening here? Instead of being erased, Nepeta and Equius are starting to slip the bounds of the story that killed them. They leap in and out of the frame, half-mythical figures. Marginalized, they write their own stories in the margins. They exist in complete defiance of the original logic of Homestuck.

Lord English is an alt-Author figure, a dark, brutal reflection of narrative control and narrative necessity. His world, in which horrible choices are necessary, in which the alpha timeline is a ticking clock leading inexorably to his manifestation, is one that beats down people not deemed important enough by his narrative. Which makes it identical to the one we’re reading. Throw all the unnecessary characters in the trash. Kill them off, if it suits my purposes. The world doesn’t need Nepeta.

Which is precisely why it does. Because isn’t defying Lord English the entire point? Isn’t it what Homestuck reveals as truly heroic?

What might Nepeta be capable of?

Let’s talk about two other victims of English’s forces of marginalization. Davesprite might be the most quintessential example. He teaches us what the alpha timeline is and how it works, by going back to fix a doomed timeline and submitting to being doomed himself. Except he merges with a bird and avoids that fate. Okay, but he clearly gets killed off fighting Jack in Jade: Enter. Except he comes back and hangs out with Jadesprite. Okay, but he dies in the planetsplode in the Retcon. Nope, he comes back from that, too. Huh. He keeps slipping the fate decreed for him by – who else? Lord English.

But it’s a struggle, clearly. He’s caught up in various cycles of guilt and shame. Over being “not the real Dave.” Over his feeling that he has to be a hero in the sense Bro demanded he be. Hussie describes Davesprite as fitting the “way of the unbroken sword:” his experiences have led him to believe in being strong and capable at the expense of all else, in contrast with the other Dave, whose belief in Bros’ toxic ideas is beginning to slip – the “way of the broken sword.” And where did Bro get his toxic ideas from? At least in part, the whispering voice of the soul of Lord English.

Now we turn to Dirk. Like Dave, Dirk has a marginalized, “less important” splinter self but it’s more of a pressing concern. AR shows Dirk’s darker side: exhibiting manipulative tendencies that human Dirk is trying to move away from. He’s also a copy removed from humanity, who feels an understandable amount of disillusionment about being removed from physical existence and his own identity. But as much as Dirk may splinter, like his dumb anime sword, he never breaks. What this means in the symbolic language of Homestuck is that Dirk lives fully, instinctually, in the way of the sword. He believe in a world of hard choices, masculine heroism, and necessity. Ultimately, this, too, is part of what makes Bro so harmful to Dave. In AR and Davesprite, we have a strange parallel: two splinter selves, both of whom are enmeshed in the logic of LE.

Except AR, unlike Davesprite…kind of is LE.

What is Lord English composed of? Well, there’s Caliborn, the most unrepentant shithead of all time. There’s Gamzee, embodiment of horrifying clownery. And then there’s AR, a version of Dirk even more removed from the person he wants to be.

And…Equius?

Allow me a moment to get really indulgent and take a big puff on my Homestuck scholar’s pipe.

The metaphorical meaning of Equius in Homestuck is: sort of growing out of being a creepy racist.

Or maybe let’s say: the opportunity to do that. We said that Equius was on the verge of being redeemed (even had been, in the eyes of many readers). What does it mean to stick him in with Lord English’s souls? It means two things:

1) Equius is a product of his society, which was shaped by Doc Scratch, aka by Lord English, both of whom are kind of him, but Scratch picks up on his traits especially. This is a recognition of that fact: the part of him that sucks is, itself, Lord English in a dizzying loop.

2) Equius’s story is a tragedy. It is the story of a kid who started to escape his society’s tendencies, but was sucked back in by the evil force behind them.

Although…maybe that’s not the whole story.

Because both Equius and AR aren’t really that bad. AR’s pretty understandable, and by no means beyond the possibility of goodness. And the combination of the two? Honestly, pretty harmless. They counter each other’s worst tendencies by devolving into a weird goofball. In fact, AR even says he wants to do something heroic: to sacrifice himself for something really important. He does, kind of, mustering a last-ditch robohorse assault on Caliborn. But at the same time, this is the substance of his tragedy. A hero whose defeat of a great evil forces him to become the substance of that evil. Which could not be a more fitting summary of how these characters function in their story.

But maybe that’s still not the whole story.

Enter Davepeta.

At first glance, the creation of Davepeta seems like Hussie’s most batshit troll move yet. I feel pretty confident in saying that even those who predicted either of these characters returning didn’t see that one coming. However, a few pages of Davepeta’s presence reveals a fundamental truth:

Davepeta is fucking amazing.

In them, Davesprite’s depressive moods are buoyed up by Nepeta’s upbeat optimism. Nepeta’s reclusive shyness is balanced by Dave’s tendency toward brash banter. Both of them gain confidence from being the new person they are. They quickly let go of ideas inherited from the world that kept them from self-knowledge and happiness. Dave, his toxic masculinity; Nepeta, her fear.

A great point I’ve seen made is how much Jasprose and Davepeta resemble fantasy selves for Rose and Dave: indulgent, technicolor manifestations of people they could be if they let go of inhibitions and limitations. But I think Davepeta is the most unambiguously positive of the two.

The metaphorical meaning of Davepeta in Homestuck?

Growth.

Not giving a fuck about what the world thinks. The world, aka Lord English. Because Lord English could never have predicted that his machinations would also spawn a confident, powerful fusion of two beings he had discarded as totally irrelevant.

They’re also a multicolored non-binary furry, so that’s even more points in the pissing off shitheads column.

They are someone Lord English never conceived of, never could have conceived of, but which lay as potential within his domain all along.

And if Lord English is a reflection of the author, of what Hussie feels one has to destroy or sacrifice, than Davepeta is an indulgence existing in defiance of all that.

And this makes Davepeta the most powerful person of all.

They are the light at the end of the tunnel. They are the person you could be, if you could get past your mental shackles and just grow. It may not be possible to ever get there as a mortal human, may only be for a godlike sprite, but striving to be like them matters, is purpose and fulfilment enough.

And they love ARquius.

Nepeta believed in Equius, believed he could grow, and was growing. So as much as ARquius traps himself in a Lord English loop of his own making – grown, perhaps, out of Dirk’s belief that there should be a loop, that importance is admirable—Davepeta pulls from him, in his last scene, his finest qualities. His love.

Equius asks forgiveness again, and this time, Nepeta’s able to give it. Davepeta easily accepts ARquius’s apology, an apology which never could have existed within the confines of a normal narrative. A reconciliation that both of them fought for by defying their narrative, by existing outside it. By being not the trolls who lived and died, but their broader, conceptual selves, who exist beyond lifetimes. Beyond the comic page. And they consummate that reconciliation with that most cherished and loving of gestures:

A hug.

And even as this is Equius and Nepeta’s reconciliation, it’s also Dirk and Dave’s. Which, I should mention, is also taking place, simultaneously and circumstantially simultaneously, just below. It’s a more difficult one, certainly, especially as filtered through the splinters of Davesprite and AR. Here forgiveness is not quite the right word. But – knowledge, and recognition, and a kind of peace. It’s Davesprite’s chance to reunite with the part of his brother he loved, while also being a person who’s grown beyond him. And it’s AR’s chance to be loved.

Oh, sure, the art is ridiculous, the pose absurd. But that’s what makes it sublime.

I mean, what did you think that Sbahj comic was really about?

A boy distancing himself from his feelings through irony, never acknowledging that the story he’s telling is about two bros who desperately want to hug each other, but don’t know how.

Here’s the hug.

I want to dip into Epilogues territory for a moment, but it’s territory which is fairly well implied by Davepeta’s statements and role in Collide. The Meat Epilogue, I think, only illuminates what was already there.

Lord English is uniquely vulnerable to Davepeta.

And why shouldn’t he be? They, like so much else in Homestuck, are a consequence of his actions spiraling far beyond his control. But it’s more than that. Davepeta is finally able to lay the unbroken sword to rest by following the “prophecy” about Dave defeating Lord English. On the one hand, that’s kind of what happened. But it’s also completely different from what English intended, antithetical to his desires and goals. Which makes the victory all the sweeter. But at the end of the day, Davepeta doesn’t fight for the reasons Davesprite did. They’re free of that, now. Instead, they fight from a place of genuine compassion. Because Davesprite, like Dave, knows the true meaning of being a hero: caring about one’s friends.

But the most important thing about Davepeta is that they know Lord English, on a level that perhaps neither he nor they recognize. Both AR and Equius are in there, and both are capable of redemption. It’s only Gamzee and Caliborn who are truly beyond it.

How does Davepeta defeat Lord English?

With a hug.

They wrap their claws around him, and carry him into the sun like a piece of garbage. It’s an aggressive hold, but it’s also effectively an embrace.

And I have to wonder: in those final moments, did they sense a connection there? Did Equius and Dirk stir somewhere within Lord English? Did they give him a moment’s pause? Resist him? Make it just the tiniest bit easier for Davepeta to do their work?

If so, then that, too, is heroism.

At the very least, it’s circumstantially simultaneous with the hug we see in Act 6, and so it carries the same message:

Redemption.

Not for the shitheads, but for those who wanted to be better.

And if this isn’t enough, there’s a third reconciliation here, too: between author and reader, or to put it in other terms, author and character.

If Lord English is a shadow of the author, what part of the author can be redeemed? Maybe not the destructive, antagonistic urges. But the part that plans and designs and philosophizes as Dirk does. That part of Hussie wanted Davepeta to be there, to strike that final blow, and made it happen.

Because, when you get right down to it, as much as Hussie pretends to be antagonistic toward his readers and the characters they enjoy, it’s the fans, the shippers, the furries, those whose hearts go out to a cute, shy cat girl that he most celebrates.

Hussie fucking loves Nepeta.

Nepeta and Equius are, sneakily, the best characters in Homestuck, because they understand its fundamental message: that to succeed in Homestuck is to defy Homestuck. They defy everything it throws at them, and somehow, improbably, come out on top.

All of this is there on that page, a whole edifice of storytelling culminating in that singular, grand, supremely indulgent expression, a feast of looping leitmotif and color and imagery and meme and sound. It’s all there, if you know where to look.

Nepeta and Equius love each other, and that’s pretty fucking great.

See? I told you.

<> Ari

#nepeta #equius #davepeta #homestuck analysis #arquius #meowrails #davesprite #hal #trying to get out ahead of hussie's commentary for a change #happy 4/13 :33 #<3 #stay tuned #feast of homestuck 2020

[thebittyrecoveryjournals]

This might not related to any bitty therapy in particular.... From what I gathered, you believe Bitties to be sentient. The whole Regular Monster but Small thing. If so, don't you think it's illegal to put them on sale (or 'adoption' center)? I'm planning to revolutionize the 'bitty' society and just called them Monster, cause bitty sale is just slavery sugar coated in cutesy fake wholesome façade. Are you in?

Yes, Bitties are definitely sentient and sapient, I've learned from firsthand experience! They really are just tiny monsters.

On one hand, I do agree that a lot of the whole industry and trade is corrupted, especially the places that have them for sale outright. The adoption centers are actually a bit better to me, because they're usually not in it for the money and they tend to have Bitties' best interests at heart most of the time, kind of like a cross between a pet shelter and an adoption agency.

On the other hand, I think that because humans (and other monsters, actually) breeding Bitties for so long has made it difficult to untangle things in a big way. Humans and bigger monsters have been breeding these little guys for a long time, to the point where a big chunk of them are bred to want to be companions to humans; which, in turn, makes it hard for them to accept that they don't have to be, in a lot of cases. That in particular is going to take a lot of work to undo. It's not impossible, but it won't be easy or instant.

There are differences between larger monsters and Bitties, not just size, and they're mostly the result of breeding, but also some of them just have this natural instinct to seek out human companionship. I don't think the name needs to be entirely done away with, because it's a descriptor, sort of like you'd describe any other monster by their attributes like 'skeleton monster' or 'fire monster'. Though it certainly would be a nice step to add it for something like 'Bitty monster', maybe? I usually just use Bitty because it's a good shorthand that most people recognize.

Definitely agree with most of what you're saying, of course! Bitties being sold in pet stores and stuff has never sat well with me, so I think it's a good first step to be trying to get laws passed that keep them out of the pet trade. Some of them do like being treated as pets, but it really shouldn't be the default. Thankfully, there are a lot of laws now being put into effect that realize Bitties are more people than pets, so hopefully that will ban them from being sold in pet stores.

Adoption centers do a lot of good, though. My center is actually sort of an adoption center in that once I feel that a Bitty is ready to be released from regular therapy sessions, I do house them here until someone adopts them. Like I said, adoption centers for Bitty monsters are like a cross between foster care and an adoption agency, looking after these guys and facilitating adoptions. Based on my personal experience, most Bitties who get adopted out from an adoption center go to good homes which meet their personal needs and wants.

Some of them aren't great, but then the issue is holding them all the same standards we hold foster care and human adoption agencies, performing regular inspections to make sure they're meeting those standards, and having consequences for the bad centers. Sometimes these places are the only options for some Bitties, so I don't think this kind of resource should just be taken away completely. Reform is always good, though!

Above all I really think it's important to respect whatever the Bitties want. Some of them do want to be pets, and some of them don't. They need to be heard and listened to and have their wishes respected, whatever those wishes might be. Just like some humans might prefer to have lots of roommates, and some might prefer to not have any, they need to have the choice.

I'm in for a lot of this! Though I do want to make it clear that I don't think excessive violence is the way to do it, so I hope that isn't in your plan! Some violence can serve its purpose, but it needs to be balanced with peace.

On the whole, count me in for lots of negotiation and protests! Most of the pet stores near me have already banned the sale of Bitties in their stores... so, while change is slow at the moment, it certainly is happening. Anything constructive I can do to speed it along, put me down for!

(... As long as it doesn't interfere with Blueberry's bedtime story. 💙)

#answered #Bittybones #From the Desk of Dr. Lauren Derricks #Bitty reform #Bitty info