i love ick culture

chiaki kaoru izumi

CHIAKI

Sexuality Headcanon: unlabelled but he’s a boyliker!!!

Gender Headcanon: he/him babygirl teehee

A ship I have with said character: chiakana nd chiakao are my mipys but i do enjoy chiakuro, chiamada, chiaizu nd poly 3a trio :)

A BROTP I have with said character: 3a trio!! also ryusei babbies nd their taichou <3

A NOTP I have with said character: nothing in particular tbh

A random headcanon: he cannot handle spice. he cries at sad commercials on tv. he volunteers at animal shelters and carries groceries for old ladies and helps them cross the street. he’s a hero at heart.

General Opinion over said character: I LOVE HIM !!! speaking as a chiaki kinnie he has the character growth arc i wish i could have. EXCEPT SEE HE DIDN’T GIVE IN TO THE WISH HE FORCED HIMSELF TO BE BETTER!!! he has saved so many ppl!!!! i want someone to save him too baby u don’t have to be relied on all the time... u are enough as u are!!! he is my skrunkly my boywife i am kissing him on the lips (i swear im normal abt him)

KAORU

Sexuality Headcanon: bi bi bi bi bi (he was fighting his demons during !) but he def has a preference for men like. my guy. u are Not Subtle

Gender Headcanon: genderfluid!!! uses she/her w close friends but it usually depends on the day :3

A ship I have with said character: reikao... im basic sorry. also chiakao and kaoizu. and poly 3a trio. and chiarakao

A BROTP I have with said character: 3a trio!!!! kaokana!!!! kaosou!!! undead!!!!

A NOTP I have with said character: kaosou occasionally (just icks me sometimes) but other then that... nothing in particular

A random headcanon: she’s amazing w makeup. he has the best fashion sense out of undead. she and izumi have sleepovers where they do eachother’s nails and shittalk everyone else. she infodumps abt fish. he’s a sexy surfer girl

General Opinion over said character: he was my first enstars babygirl actually her bridal scout is what got me into enstars (which i have on basic teehee). i think he’s just some guy, but she’s also bi as hell. surfer dude w internalised homophobia. love her

IZUMI

Sexuality Headcanon: gay

Gender Headcanon: ftm he/him transmasc

A ship I have with said character: izuleo... sometimes. izukao. chiaizu. 3a trio!! izuritsu occasionally. izuleoash

A BROTP I have with said character: izunaru!!! + 3a trio. knights friendship!!!

A NOTP I have with said character: izukasa. izuleo when not done right.

A random headcanon: he loves sweets but he doesn’t indulge himself which is why he’s so hard on tsukasa. he’s italian on is mother’s side + he can speak italian. president of the naru-kun fan club and co-president of the chia-kun fan club (he shares his title w kaoru)

General Opinion over said character: i have a love-hate relationship w him :) i despise him. im his biggest fan. i want to shove him in a blender. i think we should kiss. i want to see him cry. i want him to be happy.

Meet the Dads

Matilda is @dooffan‘s OC. She does not belong to me. A story where she’s adopted by Vinnie and Balthazar, as requested! Oneshot.

The first time Matilda met her future dads, they were chasing a flaming pistachio cart across the street. Matilda had been sitting on a park bench, doing her best to sew her stuffed Ducky Momo’s arm back onto the body. She had no other choice but to go to the park, where she wouldn’t risk getting in trouble for having a needle. However, she missed the seam completely, yelping when the small needle pricked her thumb. The sight of several tiny drops of blood made her squirm. 

Here there was no one to kiss it better. 

Before she could start crying, a flaming pistachio cart rattled by, startling parkgoers as they pulled their children out of the way. Two strangely dressed men pushed people out of the way, shouting at each other to catch it or else. The mustached one continued to sprint after the cart, but the other stopped to catch his breath. He dragged himself to the bench where Matilda sat, panting. 

Matilda grabbed Ducky Momo and hugged him close to her body. She didn’t like people touching him. 

“Hey,” he said. “Whatcha got there, kid?” 

“My name’s not kid. It’s Matilda,” she said. “And you can’t touch Ducky Momo.”

“I won’t touch him them. But you know there’s blood on your thumb, right?” he asked. 

Matilda stared at her thumb. “I’m a big girl,” she said. “Big girls don’t cry.” But the longer she looked at the blood, the queasier she felt. 

The man dug around in his pocket, pulling out a bandage. He unwrapped it, tossing the paper into a nearby trashcan. “Give me your thumb,” he said gently, introducing himself as he wound the bandage around the small cut. “My name’s Vinnie Dakota, by the way.” 

“Could you, um, would you please,” she stammered, knowing the head of the orphanage was always warning them about stranger danger. However, Matilda would not be satisfied until her needs were met. “Would you kiss it better please?” 

To her surprise, Vinnie followed her request. She hadn’t even needed the puppy dog eyes this time. “How does it feel?” he asked. 

“Better,” Matilda said, her voice soft. “Thanks. I wish I could fix Ducky Momo.” 

Vinnie offered his hand to her. “I know someone who can help. My partner, Balthazar Cavendish. That is, if he doesn’t get us kicked out of the park first. He’ll be happy to mend Ducky Momo for you! Hey, speak of the devil! Here he comes now!” 

A man with a funny looking mustache stalked over to them, grumbling to himself. “Dakota, I swear if you were near one of those blasted food trucks again, I shall shove one of those turkey legs you claim to love so much right up your sorry-” 

Vinnie shushed him. “Don’t swear in front of Matilda. She’s uh, how old are you?” 

“Five.” For emphasis, she held out all five fingers. “Mr. Dakota helped me and you’re being mean to him.” 

Balthazar folded his arms. “Yes, well, we’re on business at the moment. So shoo back to your parents, child.” 

Matilda squeezed Ducky Momo, staring out at all the parents having a good time with their children at the park. She didn’t meet Balthazar’s stern glare, playing with Ducky Momo’s broken wing instead. “I don’t know where they are.” 

“We can help you find them,” Vinnie offered. “What do they look like?” 

“I don’t know,” Matilda whispered, stifling a sob. 

“Their names? Clothing? Where you last saw them?” Balthazar demanded. 

Matilda suddenly threw Ducky Momo at his face, knocking his glasses askew. Balthazar let out a startled gasp. “I don’t know! I said I don’t know, okay? Mrs. Buckley says she doesn’t know what happened to them! But she won’t tell me anything else!” she cried.

“Don’t throw your toys, Matilda,” Vinnie said. “Take a deep breath. Who’s Mrs. Buckley?” 

“She takes care of us at the orphanage,” Matilda said. “But she’s not good at it. She keeps giving me brussel sprouts for dinner. Yuck.” She stuck out her tongue. 

It was so quiet she could hear a bird chirping across the park. “The orphanage a few blocks down?” Balthazar asked softly, his anger vanishing into thin air. He ran his finger down Ducky Momo’s broken wing, his gaze flickering between Matilda and the toy. 

She tensed. There it was. The pity. She’d seen that look in many prospective parents before. The one where they’d tut a variation of ‘poor things’ and create an impossibly long list of characteristics they wanted in a child. They were always disappointed in the end. 

“I got here by myself,” Matilda said, crossing her arms. “It’s not that hard.” 

Balthazar’s mustache quivered. Smiling made him look a lot less scary, she was sure. “Of course you did,” he said. “Now budge over. I believe we have a toy to patch up.” 

“Glad I don’t have to persuade you this time around,” Vinnie grinned. 

Taking out a needle and thread from an inside pocket, Balthazar gave Ducky Momo back to Matilda. “Your idea of persuading involves stuffing me full of homemade lasagna until I burst,” he muttered. “Here. Try to pack all that fluff back into the body as best you can. I’ll handle the needle.” 

Matilda obeyed, gently poking at the stuffing until it went back in. “You’re sick, Ducky Momo. We’re fixing you up now. And if you’re good, you get a lollipop!”

“How’s the patient, doc?” Vinnie asked. “Is he stable?”

She nodded. “He’s in good hands. Doctor Mustache and Doctor Matilda are on the case!”

Balthazar dropped the needle in surprise. “I beg your pardon? What kind of name is that?” 

“A much easier one to say than Bobby Cavdish,” Matilda giggled, giving him Ducky Momo so he could start threading the needle through.

Balthazar cleaned the needle with a handkerchief before sewing the wing back with an expert hand. “It’s Balthazar Cavendish. But if you’re going to deliberately mispronounce it, then it’s only fair that I return fire. I think I should like to call you Magnolia. Or perhaps, Mildred. You certainly look like a Mildred.” 

Matilda stuck her tongue out. “That name is worse than brussel sprouts! Ick!” 

“Have a heart, Balthy!” Vinnie exclaimed. “You wanna borrow mine for a while? I haven’t needed it since the season finale of El Matador de Amor.” 

“I don’t have a heart,” Balthazar muttered. “You stole it.”

He finished stitching the wing, allowing Vinnie to have a look before he gave the toy back to Matilda. She hugged him, flapping the wing now that she no longer had to worry about losing it somewhere. “Ducky Momo says thanks for stitching him up, Doctor Mustache!”

“You’re very welcome, Doctor Magnolia,” Balthazar smirked. 

“Sorry for hitting you in the face with Ducky Momo earlier,” Matilda said. 

Balthazar ruffled her hair. “I’ve survived worse things being thrown at my face. Besides, you have excellent aim for a child.” 

“It’s getting late,” Vinnie said. “We should get you back to the orphanage.”

“Aw, do I have to go back? Can’t I stay with you?” Matilda begged. 

“Who knows?” Balthazar said wistfully. 

Since that day, Matilda often saw Balthazar and Vinnie on a street corner just outside the orphanage selling pistachios. She always stopped by to greet them with a smile, and one of them would take turns playing with her while the other manned the stand. A week later, Balthazar forged a doctor’s note claiming she was brussel sprouts-intolerant and had even signed his name as Dr. Mustache with a pretty flowery scrawl. It didn’t work, but she was happy he tried. 

Vinnie snuck her pistachios when Balthazar wasn’t looking. She enjoyed eating them as Vinnie made up the most wonderful stories about people who lived in a beautiful pistachio utopia. 

This pattern continued for several months, until they were somehow able to convince a social worker that their home was suitable for a child to live in. “All I did was use a common persuasive technique,” Balthazar winked at her. “If all goes well, I’ll show it to you when you’re older.” 

A year later, the adoption was finalized. There was some trouble with the court, but Matilda couldn’t understand most of what they were saying anyway other than snide remarks over their outdated outfits. 

But everything was worth it now that she had two dads to love and cherish her. 

I think Balthazar and Vinnie would likely do some illegal but not too illegal stuff to adopt a child. Adoption isn’t this easy in real life, sadly. It was much easier when I could bypass CPS through the Birth Pistachio system in the Pistachio Guardians AU XD. 

nebraska reading march 2017

HEART BRAKER i still don’t know what i want but i’m trying to keep things entertaining without my glasses i was sure it was a heronimous bosch painting but it was a picture of us on mark’s couch the last time we all saw each other o sweet greedy inconsolable o party princess getting by with a little help from her damn self this is my horse named how to burn a bridge this is how easy it is to shift your paradigm: the more things you do that scare you, the less scary they are y como ser feliz? sit here in the shockwaves of my trail of broken hearts sit here in the trauma puddle of my own brewing mourn a home, mourn a former soul, mourn a worn-out body in some fantasy i will have hidden a hard drive to reinstall from an earlier state; live out all the possibilities be everybody’s wife in turn like i wanted we’ll fall in love one summer and i’ll shape myself around you like a living soft shell and then one of us will die reboot we’ll fall in love one summer and i’ll shape you and one of us will die reboot we’ll fall in love and we’ll die i guess the only comforting eternity is to live forever in a fixed point in history or the good old stand-by: nothing i’ve spent a good decade chasing the numbwave enough to know better walking through the basilica at el escorial and feeling most connected to the mural of the devil with a blurry face scrubbed out by some indignant monk who couldn’t bear to see it among the saints i’ve been having dreams where i have to warn my family the government is coming to put us in camps but they’ve been listening; their agent appears silently around a corner a man in a red t-shirt with no face or head, instead a blur and i’m too horrified to scream i wanna write everything, reflect until my life is an inside-out reflection of reflection live in a house with ice cubes always in the freezer and an animal always lounging on the floor. i feel ick and primed. i’ve looked across a sea and jumped it and what would i say if i could tell you anything? that language is so inexact; that feelings are slippery and i’m maybe not to be trusted with them. maybe still too much of an object to myself, still competing, deeply magic, the sky turns Bosch’s perfect rosy orangepink, the teal blue of his distant mountains. barry crimmins said “my drug of choice is my friends” so i’m gonna need you guys to get me real high and keep me real high LENGUA MATERNA i’ve got notches on notches on my belt yet it’s still hard to trust the simple fact of my voice to be enough to speak without owning or owing; to write like your mother is dead. still there’s no proper decoding into words these reverberations of memory, like i can paint for you but don’t make me speak i can dance for you but don’t make me speak i can exist for you but please don’t make me speak just call me angel of the mealy hometown ease the buildings here are wood and they age like old men cracking and shifting without crumbling splinter finally into the dusty grass i’ve come back talky and touchy but feel like a little fish flirting with the net of an abandoned timeline brings on a sickness that rises from your base holes up the spine and out through your sinuses there is no escape just a gradual ease with this giant blue neon flower, this blooming psychic circuit of memories that crowns you like maria i find myself in beautiful self-imposed exile i find myself a giant i find it hard to focus; then there’s that story about how the blind horse was the only one on whose back you could cross the treacherous mountain pass because she was trusting and couldn’t see what to be afraid of pass the tight rope over fire over the black mountain, over half fish men merrily prodding, these days i’m in spain and satisfied in brief rapid cycles and my lips are the feet of a tree frog and the majority of conversations i have with strangers mention my americanness CAN’T SPELL WOMEN WITHOUT OMEN on july 29th i heard lorena scream in the garden UN BUHO! a dejected baby owl had flown into our walls we put him on the terrace to await the owl rescue but that night he flew into the koi pond and drowned mohamed ali said he loves how people want what they can’t have. is bored of knowing people better than they know themselves. is bored of traveling women, open to thrills. is bored of fucking newlywed women in the ass with their husbands in he next room. texts me two words every six months, “miss you” and i don’t know what he means by that alexius throws a pizza at me in the street because i’m blackout drunk again and he’s infatuated with someone else and doesn’t want to be around me but is too much of a coward to say so so he nudges me until i’m bitter and drunk drunk drunk and hungry for pizza… i often feel left lifting heavy things like endings, the endings are mine , and now i’m panic attacking, ugly crying in sol which is like, the times square of madrid a girl asks me if i’m okay and i say, it’s just a man. a man crouches with intense attention and concern his name is othmane and he has moroccan doe eyes, ossama’s eyes, mohamed ali’s eyes, he walks me home, speaking broken english, points at his eyes whenever i start to weep again, i tell him no sex, tell him i knew loving this guy was dumb from the start, and i did, i did, i promise i did. othmane tells me to be patient, starts repeating, rakk, takk, making the gesture of throwing and pulling he says, you throw out the net, rakk, you wait, and it will always bring something back to you, takk. remember that you have already thrown the net. rakk, takk, rakk, takk. i woke up one morning with my left eye red and puffy, a distortion in the lens never left after that though it’s possible it was already slightly there and i hadn’t been paying attention i went to the eye doctor who had me balance tiny strips of paper on my lower inner eyelids, then based on the papers’ saturation told me my eyes were so dry, están secissimos i feel docile and compliant and humming with asmr when i’m in the doctor’s office and not having a panic attack. i’ll put off going to the doctor forever, i mean i’ll walk on a broken ankle for five months,,,,,,,,,,, nobody will understand it not even i will understand it i woke up one morning and my country had been pulled out from under me i woke up one morning and my country had been handed over i walk past streets named after dictator’s generals i walk past walls that have crumbled for centuries MOONSAULT my trouble is i can see out of both of my eyes at the same time. i can see all the way around the whole tree branch, it wraps and it doesn’t and there’s not much i can do about it i forgot how to be and not even a good fuck or a good feast could bring me back from the edge where the city sits so small and perfect, fully formed in a cloud of silty haze, i can see all the way around the whole world how it’s fig pink and dirty how it’s gray and dirty how it’s dry and dirty i’m overcome with the need to dive between unknowable edges when one color becomes the next between the pollution haze and the sky between the sea haze and the sky between the me and the sky unsure what makes me deign to trust one poison over another my body itself is a margin among margins foldable, stiffening one long dissolve from scene to scene i don’t scream anymore, i just see and dissolve TRYIN TO GET UP THAT GREAT BIG HILL OF HOPE sometimes i sleep poorly but in great black gaps eyes thudding open in the dawn light, waking like a stone drops through water it has been a hypersaturated year this is perhaps the most beautiful time of my life i love my home and friends, the end of summer swims swiftly in great golden honey droplets. feel disconnected like time and reality wheels are spinning out of sync, subtitle track is off i’m not afraid to say anything, sprawl my branches over the garden walls figs, sweet and pink and reptilian, fall into the pond in nebraska my old dog grows new lumps   i’ve learned to see liars a kilometer away but not exactly how to avoid them i love the feeling of standing up and almost blacking out alone, clutching the wall, reality becoming 2D black and white squares for a minute and me grinning for the thrill of it. breathing deep into the blackness. do other people not live as projections of themselves in the imagined feelings of others? i surprise myself at how rarely i get tired of compensating for the gracelessness of men. my home/garden/sanctuary protects me a moth tastes my fingers sun illuminates a globe of champagne-colored sap birds peck at the plums and figs the pretty fish swim and the waterfall muffles the sounds of the bus down the street i wanna be held  called peque, little chicken, honey bun, reminisce i speak cryptically; i tip-toe around, i’ll fuck your husband to save your marriage i’ll fuck anybody with a garden full of ripe tomatoes. i want every day to be like those videos of color blind people who see purple for the first time. i like to get high and ride my bike like a normal 30 year old woman