#things only me and one other person find funny
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“Did you see this?” Lena asks, holding her phone out towards Kara. “It’s about your cousin.”
Kara’s instantly worried. If there’s a news article about Clark, there’s only two things it could be. One, he’s been in a big fight or something else dangerous has happened, or if it’s about Clark, and not Superman, then that could only spell bad news for Clark and his secret identity.
Kara’s heart actually stops for a moment when she sees “Clark Kent” in the headline, but lets out a sigh of relief when she realises it’s not a Daily Planet article, but an article from an online gossip magazine.
Lois Lane and Clark Kent, Metropolis’s Hottest New Couple?
Kara quickly scans the article, which is nothing but gossip, and two photos, one of Clark and Lois holding hands, another of the couple leaning close at a restaurant.
Kara smiles as she hands the phone back to Lena. Despite the lack of privacy some papparazi have, Kara is happy for her cousin.
“So, it’s true then?”
Kara nods. “It is. Clark called me last week. He was so happy they’re soulmates. Anyone with eyes could see they belong together but it’s nice to have it confirmed.”
And nice for Kara too. She’d always wondered if it was still possible that she could have a soulmate, one not from Krypton.
Turns out it is.
“That’s-“ Lena cuts herself off. “Wait, confirmed? What do you mean?”
Kara’s eyes widen as she realises her slip. She’s thought about telling Lena in so many different ways, at so many different times. But fear has always stopped her. What if she told Lena the truth, what if they kissed, and she finds out Lena isn’t her soulmate?
Kara’s never felt this way about anyone before, doesn’t think she could ever feel like this about anyone else either.
“I…do you believe in soulmates?” Kara asks, stalling slightly.
“No.” Lena replies. “Or I didn’t, until you just implied that soulmates are real.”
read the rest on ao3 or under the cut
Kara sighs. There’s no getting out of this. “They’re not real, at least not on Earth. Or not usually. Lois is the only human I’ve seen or heard of that has a soulmate. Clark and Lois are soulmates. All Kryptonian’s have one.”
“Are you…” Lena narrows her eyes. “You’re being serious?”
Kara nods. “The legend goes that Rao picks your soulmate, the person whose soul matches yours, the one most suited to you. But he doesn’t tell you who it is, you have to find that person yourself.”
“How?”
“I don’t know, they just find each other.” Kara had lost hope, with no one but her cousin left on Earth. But then she’d found Lena. Even before Clark had told her about Lois, she’d wondered if Lena could be her soulmate. “And then after your first kiss, a mark appears on your skin with their name, and that’s how you know they’re the one.”
Kara can see Lena’s mind working. “Does that mean Clark and Lois now have the other’s name written on each other?”
Kara laughs. “Yes. It was actually pretty funny when Clark called me, he’d had to explain to a very confused Lois why she now had a tattoo of Clark’s name.”
“So, you have to kiss someone to know?”
Kara nods. “I’m not sure why. I think it gives you a chance to get to know someone before you find out you’re destined to be together.”
“Have you found your soulmate?”
Kara shakes her head, though it feels wrong when she’s pretty sure her soulmate is right in front of her. Not that she knows for sure. “Not yet.”
“Do you wonder, every time you kiss someone, that they’ll be the one?”
“Yes and no. When I was younger, I’d hoped, just to prove I wasn’t alone. Sometimes I know they’re not the one, but now I know there’s someone out there for me, and I just have to wait.”
Lena lets out a little laugh. “I guess it puts more pressure on a first kiss, like there isn’t enough already.”
Kara laughs too. “It really does.” She can’t help but wonder, that without this extra pressure, whether she would have already told Lena how she feels.
“Who knows,” Lena says, still smiling. “It could even be me.”
Kara chokes on nothing. The hand that appears at Kara’s back, soothing up and down as Kara tries to catch her breath, doesn’t help at all.
“It…it could be,” Kara finally manages to get out.
Lena looks amused, clearly enjoying Kara’s struggle, and Kara suddenly wants to do nothing more than kiss that look off of Lena’s face.
Lena shrugs. “We’ve never kissed so you never know.”
“I haven’t kissed a lot of people,” Kara points out unnecessarily. “It could be any of them too.” She’s not sure why she says it, except for the fact she wants to point the focus of the conversation away from Lena and kissing.
“Well, you’re not getting any younger, you need to start crossing people off that list.”
Kara rolls her eyes and suddenly everything feels back to normal, she’s just talking to her best friend, the person besides Alex she trusts most in the universe.
“Are you hungry, we could-“ Kara starts, assuming the conversation is over, at least for now, until Kara can work up the courage to tell Lena how she feels, but Lena isn’t done.
“Kara,” Lena cuts in, looking suddenly serious. “I don’t know if I’m way off here but I know I’m not going to be able to stop thinking about this.” Lena reaches out and takes Kara’s hand and Kara’s breath catches in her chest. “Please tell me you feel this too? Please tell me I’m not the only one who’s fallen in love with their best friend? I didn’t even believe in soulmates before today but I’ve always believed we found each other for a reason, that we belong together. And maybe this is why.”
There are tears in Lena’s eyes by the time she finishes talking and Kara’s own heart is racing as she reaches up to catch a tear before it spills down Lena’s cheek.
And then she doesn’t even think as she leans forward, capturing Lena’s lips in a kiss she’s dreamt about too many times to count.
Lena’s breath catches as their lips meet and now Kara’s crying too as Lena’s hand grips her shirt, holding her close.
The kiss is brief, only because Kara’s forgotten something crucial and she has to tell Lena. “I love you, too,” Kara says as she pulls back, the words brushing Lena’s mouth as she does.
Kara’s whole body is on fire as green eyes meet hers, still so close. Kara doesn’t even need to look down to where her arm is tingling, to know that Lena’s her soulmate. She’s pretty sure deep down she’s known since she first laid eyes on her.
With great effort she does look away from Lena, only because she wants to show Lena the words now written on her skin.
Kara pulls up her sleeve and there it is, in black ink, undeniable against her tan skin. There is Lena’s name, and Kara is crying again.
“That’s going to be tough to hide,” Lena says, and it’s meant to be a joke but it comes out too breathless to be anything but awe. Lena lifts her hand, runs her fingers gently over the name, and Kara’s knees go weak.
“Do you…” Kara asks, because now she wants to see it, needs to see her name on Lena’s skin too.
Lena turns, and she must have had the same feeling as Kara because she lifts up her shirt and there it is, low on Lena’s back, ‘Kara Zor-El’ written clear as day.
Kara reaches out, thumb ghosting over the spot her name is written.
“It is there?” Lena asks, voice filled with such hope that Kara places her hands on her arms, spins her gently until they’re facing each other again.
“Yes.” Kara lifts her hands, cups Lena’s cheek, thumbs catching more tears as they fall. They both know they’re happy tears. “I love you,” Kara repeats, because she can now. She’s going to say it so many times, Lena will get sick of it.
“I love you, too,” Lena repeats, her smile so bright Kara’s knees go weak again. And then Lena leans forward and kisses her again and Kara is lucky she manages to stay upright because Lena’s mouth feels so right and perfect against her own.
---
Two days later, in the CatCo gossip column, there’s a picture of the two of them kissing in Noonan’s, with the title:
Lena Luthor and Kara Danvers, National City’s Hottest New Couple?
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Okay so, Crosshair’s hand.
Has anyone pointed this out? When Crosshair kills Nolan, he doesn't use his shooting hand.
He uses his left. Just as he very significantly has to in the series finale.
I don't know if the writers knew as far back as "The Outpost" that Crosshair was going to lose the use of his shooting hand and by extension everything he believed made him strong, a "superior" clone, and safe from being discarded when he was kind of fascism-pilled. But it feels extra significant in retrospect that his first action taken against the Empire is not done with the hand associated with the terrible things he did as an Imperial sniper. And it's after he just got a difficult lesson about how his own personal strength and skills aren't enough to protect him - he was saved twice by Mayday, then possibly only survived through the night because he wouldn't leave him behind and could share his body heat. He may be using his left hand when he shoots Nolan because his other arm is tired from supporting Mayday all the way back, which only adds to the symbolic touch I love that Mayday is using his rifle as a crutch to help him walk as well (and of course, he's at close range so quite meaningfully Crosshair doesn't use the rifle to shoot here either). It all supports the idea of this as the first huge moment of transformation for Crosshair when he's finally turning his fire on the real enemy out of a desire to protect others, however futile and too late it is in this particular situation.
Going back and noticing this really reinforced for me that Crosshair's hand injury probably isn't just meant as a manifestation of his trauma related to Tantiss. It would make sense considering it's his shooting hand that it also has something to do with his inner conflict regarding his changed relationship with violence and killing.
The Batch were introduced as these stereotypically macho soldier characters, an impression that's softened a little as early as the pilot of TBB but still distinguishes them a little from other clones. In a kind of funny way you can look at the whole series as being about these guys who were only brought up to fight gradually discovering and finding peace with their more traditionally feminine sides - literally because of Omega, a female version of themselves who shows them the possibilities of being a family and living for others instead of for violence.
For Crosshair this journey is much more difficult and like a painful rebirth than it is for anyone else because being a soldier was so much of his identity. He's always been the one to most pointedly distinguish his squad from regs because of their "superior" traits that he thinks will make the Empire value them, and he clearly internalized the way the Kaminoans only care about clones as weapons to be used in war. And it all betrays how little value Crosshair actually believes he has deep down. It was easy to go into S3 being especially worried about his fate because he's believed so long that he's not good for anything but fighting and he's the character it was the hardest to imagine adjusting to a different life.
But in retrospect, it was stupid to think they'd let him off that easy and of course the whole point is that it takes a lot to get him there. What exactly he went through on Tantiss beyond the electroshock torture we've seen is never delved into but personally, I think being a soldier is something that's poisoned for Crosshair after he becomes a victim of the Empire himself and subject to their attempts at reconditioning. He's not psychologically able to be that person anymore, but for a long time is still trying to largely rely on himself and his own strength. He tries to sacrifice himself for others because he's still holding onto that part of himself in a way.
But for once in Star Wars we've gotten a fully realized redemption arc showing that sometimes what's harder than giving your life in a redemptive way is to actually have to figure out how to live with the bad things you've done and be better. Some of the people Crosshair hurt were his family, and he has to learn he can only make things better by being there for them. He has to learn that he actually can survive and figure out a way forward from his life as a soldier if he lets himself rely on them, just like he only survived Barton IV with help from Mayday. As @moonstrider9904 explains so well in this post, that is what's so important about Crosshair losing the hand and making that final shot to save Omega with Hunter's support. Symbolically he's had that toxic part of himself actually cut off and it's the final, most painful part of his rebirth. But because of that he's forced to find that he can live on without it, that he's surrounded by people who love and believe in him anyway, and that having superhuman skills as a killer was never what gave him worth.
No, having his shooting hand cut off doesn't "fix" anything or mean that Crosshair is healed. He's probably only begun to recover from everything he's been through. But all we really need to see is that he's firmly found his place as part of a family instead of a squad, and he's not going to be alone as he deals with all of that.
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PAC || Have you met the one? + Advice
Pile 1 = Bear
Pile 2 = Candy
Pile 3 = Flower
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• Pile 1
Have you met the one?
Of course you have! But I feel like you have only ever seen them in your dreams. It's possible that this is someone that you know of although you haven't met them yet. I dont believe this is a celebrity, so I'm sorry if you were hoping it was (but that may be the fhace doe some of you).
Advice
I feel like in order for you to meet the one you need to become more organized, you need to let go of the things that no longer serve you, specially in the long run. This is a divine connection that can happen at any time but you will only end up making this journey far more troubling for yourself (perhaps you're impatient and meeting the wrong people often) if you do not, and I mean this with love, get it together.
I believe in you, hang in there. You know what to do 🌸
• Pile 2
Have you met the one?
I don't know why I wanna make the joke "have you met the two, the three and the four" lmao, you may be black or perhaps african, if not dont worry take what applies, you remind me of a friend. There's an energy here of "fun-ness" for some of you this is your future spouse coming in, he's a funny man. I'm not getting a more fem-presenting energy here. There's a chance he's the one who's black or of african descent (Asian for some of you). I don't believe that any of you have met this person yet but he's really excited to meet you, some of you are likely to meet him very soon, like very very soon, he wants to say that he's "tall, dark & handsome" and that he "writes music", perhaps he plays an acoustic guitar even, haha, he also says he smells good, there's so much he wants to say here. Perhaps I'll do a future spouse reading next after this one. But if you need me to summarize this.
Yes, you have met the one, you have either met them already/recently or you're about to meet them very soon or in a surprising way (I feel like they're right in front of you but you just dont see them, haha, you'll notice each other soon enough. For some of you this will bet at the mall, at work, bank or like a public space where you're busy with something.)
Advice
I'm not getting any advice for this Pile. All I'm getting is messages from whoever's fs this is. He says "get ready, sexy." Lmao he is a riot.
• Pile 3
Have you met the one?
No unfortunately you have not, the reason I say "unfortunately" is because I feel like for some of you you have recently gone through a break up. You thought they were the one, but they're not. For some of you I'm getting that this person's friend is the one or perhaps someone who was (or is) friends with you. Some of you have soulmates that are friend but you confuse this for romantic love. I'm also getting for some of you that you pursue romantic love only to find that you're stuck in toxic places. I'm sorry you've had to go through this but you're not alone, and things will look up for you, but you have to give up on this search first, you're more likely to meet the one if you stop seeking shiny things in dark spaces, the entire world shines for you, everything is light by sunlight and I know that makes it harder for you to figure out what's good for you if "he's the one" and all this when everything outside shines so much. But this doesnt mean you gave to go to such cold spaces to find something warm. Maybe you dont have to be warm, maybe the temperature outside is enough. What I'm saying sounds cryptic but this is how I'm getting these messages. Stop seeking love outside of yourself, I promise that you'll find it, but you dont have to go to odd places to bump into it. Sometimes the most precious things are found in the most regular places. Learn to love the mundane things in life, I know the slow-paced-ness of it all fan be kinda frustrating but slowing down is not what you need to do, just let yourself be and what how everything flows to you. Some of you live in New York, idk why I'm seeing the park, but there's a chance you'll be finding yourself in the right place at the right time, meeting this perfect someone, after following a string of events that lead you to this "sunny place." (I kept hearing "sunshine state" I looked it up and I got Florida, someone might be from Florida, some of you might move to Florida or perhaps be meeting the one in Florida or maybe the one IS from florida, haha. Either way there's something here about Florida. ((California & Arizona too for some. Take what applies, my love 💛)) )
Advice
Do not be so hard on yourself, you're very strict with how you are. Perhaps you need a routine that's more simple on you, take a walk outside but dont expect anything insane, just take the time to move about at your own pace and see what catches your eye. Follow your instinct. Drink something nice at a nice place. For some of you I'm getting a cafe, maybe you like matcha. Either way, take it easy today. You deserve a break, your mind is too heavy. Some of you might be autistic or perhaps you're in your head often, whatever it is, please let your mind rest, you think too hard, you'll be okay if you take a break for a day. Things dont have to be so complex. (I know this has nothing to do with "the one" but I feel like being kinder to yourself can really help speed that up.)
Take care, y'all 🌤✌
#pac#pick a pile#love reading#the one#pick a card#tarot#definitely did not procrastinate doing this one lmao#future spouse#spirit guides#fs#divination
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Intermediate Shenanigans
Bungo Stray Dogs Chuuya Nakahara & Gender Neutral Reader + Osamu Dazai & Reader + Odasaku X Reader
Summary: Headcanons about taking care of middle schooler Dazai and Chuuya and dating Oda
Beginning Note: Shoutout to all the class clowns/funny people, they're great inspiration for scenarios. @kiwibeanv helped with the stories of said funnies.
Word Count: 2629
(Fluff/Crack)
First off, you're their parent figure and they live with you. All comfy with you and they trust you a lot. Now to move on to their stupidity.
Immaturity at its finest.
It’s constant arguing, pointing fingers, and the like.
They’re always fighting for your attention, pushing against each other so your hand can pet them.
You’re sitting on the couch, watching TV, when Dazai runs into the living room and jumps to the spot next to you. Since you’re leaning against the armrest, there’s only one seat next to you.
Dazai pushes himself under your arm and hugs your waist as he sighs contentedly. You idly rub his arm for a few minutes before Chuuya comes in with an annoyed expression.
“Oi, StinkZai, do your history homework before you go do whatever.”
Dazai whined and buried himself deeper into your side. “I’ll do it later! I’m tired right now.” He closed his eyes.
“Dazai, you need to do your assignments before you eventually forget and never get them done,” you told him. He let out a groan at that, “Why can’t Chuuya do it? Isn’t he supposed to listen to me since I’m smarter?”
“You’re not smarter than me! Even a shrimp can do better than you!” Chuuya sped to the two of you and pulled on Dazai until the latter fell to the floor.
“Ow!- That’s my spot!” The brunette rubbed his arm. Chuuya had stolen his spot in your arms now and smirked at the other.
“Maybe you should’ve done your homework first, you idiot!” He blew a raspberry and rested his head on your shoulder.
You sighed, “If you two continue to fight, I’m simply going to go to my room and relax without either of you.”
They both froze and looked at you then at each other. Despite their inability to cooperate without trouble, they agreed on the fact that your presence was probably the most important thing they want. They begrudgingly decided to keep quiet, moving so Chuuya can sit on one of your knees while Dazai reclaimed his initial place.
Eventually, they get their emo phases. One day, Dazai just randomly started wearing bandages over his eye, saying that he looks better.
“Why are you wasting bandages?” “Because I look so cool and a lot of girls come up to me and say I look nice! I know that so many people have a crush on me, especially when I’m like this!” “Just wait til they find out that this stupid mackerel is actually a bad person and a major turn off!” “Chuuya, don’t say that, please.”
And Chuuya had a Sonic phase. He thought the hedgehog was so cool, he wanted to be like him in as many ways he can.
He then found out about Conker’s Bad Fur Day and asked you if he could get it. You thought it’d be a wholesome game for kids, but when you looked at the plot and ratings, you didn’t buy it for him. He was sad, but got over it.
And then he came across Devil May Cry and decided to watch the gameplay and cutscenes because you might not buy it for him (you may consider, but it still has some scenes that you’re skeptical about.)
Nero from DMC4 is so cool despite the excessive “Kyrie!” throughout the game, Chuuya wants to dress like him. And dye his hair white.
Every time he loves a character, he wants to dye his hair their own hair color, but you never let him because why should he ruin his lovely hair? (He may or may not ask to dye his hair just so you can compliment him.)
Hot Topic is their favorite store because it has so many aesthetics and they love the style of the apparel.
They start simping for characters and reading fanfics. You know what they’re reading because they use the family/shared device and don’t delete the history. Why are there so many lemons? What do they mean? (Unless you’re a fanfic reader yourself)
They kinda know what sex is, they have a faint idea, but they’re probably wrong on a few things.
Hence, Dazai is excited for sex ed! Wooo! His head is smacked by Chuuya because the latter is embarrassed that he just yelled that out and now kids are looking at them.
When they’re learning about it, Dazai’s snickering at the pictures. But not the childbirth, what the actual fuck did they just watch?
Oh boy, now they’re the cringe and immature kids who laugh at everything that can vaguely be related to sex.
Anyways, now to the scenario that was the whole reason for this
You were sitting on the couch, Dazai and Chuuya on the floor and you’re petting their heads. You check your phone, keeping a hand on Chuuya’s head and caressing it. He’s smiling with his eyes closed in bliss. Oh, how he loves this affection.
Until Dazai pushes and climbs on him to be the receiver of your pets. He smiles innocently when you glance over, but smirks at Chuuya, who shoves him as well and takes his spot back.
This continues to go on and you’re about to say something, but then the door is unlocked and opened. Dazai excitedly turns to see Oda coming in. He runs over and hugs the man while Chuuya sets himself in your lap.
After greeting Dazai, Oda is carrying him and walks to you and Chuuya, pressing a kiss to your head and ruffling Chuuya’s hair.
You're in a relationship with Oda, and Dazai loves it.
His two favorite people together, who he might call his parents? How blessed he is!
He doesn’t know who he prefers, so the two of you are equal in his eyes. But when it comes to physical affection, he might go to Oda since Chuuya’s all over you and Dazai’s too tired to do anything. Also, he doesn’t see Oda as often as he does you.
Chuuya thinks Oda is great, but he’s not as close to him as Dazai is. If he had to choose between you or Oda, he’d honestly choose you.
Oda loves coming home to find you three waiting for him on the couch. It warms his heart that he is wanted and loved.
Either he comes home to you all cooking dinner, sleeping in a pile on the floor, playing games (board games or video) , or watching TV.
He still takes care of his adopted children at the curry shop, but he also enjoys the company of Dazai and Chuuya
Sometimes, he would bring those five kids to your house so they can play with Dazai and Chuuya. Everyone has fun, it’s like a party. (Sneaking kisses in the kitchen as everyone else plays video games on the TV)
Oda is a gentleman, whenever you two go out, he always opens the door for you, pulls out your seat, and kisses your hand when you both meet and bid goodbye to each other.
If Dazai ever sees you and Oda share a kiss, he’s cheering in his mind. Whereas Chuuya just brushes it off with an unnoticeable upwards twitch of his lips and an eye roll.
Once, you spotted Oda talking to Dazai outside under the moonlight. You knew the former was telling the teen about the right thing to do. Dazai had expressed his want of being involved in some well known group.
He hinted a little about maybe being a detective or even following Oda’s footsteps of going to the mafia. You really didn’t want him to go with the second option, but at least he’d have Oda to guide him if he’s even alive at that time
Thus, he’s told to prioritize other people’s happiness over his own. It’s tough, but it’s for the better of everyone.
He also says the same to Chuuya, but he goes into more detail with Dazai. You mainly handle Chuu with the lectures since he’s more likely to take your words to heart.
Chuuya has great friends in school, they seem like a lovely bunch, and you trust them. You’ve met them before and they were very nice.
Dazai doesn’t have as many, but you can tell he’s not really clicking with them like Chuuya is with his own. When his mood seems to lower, you go to him when he’s alone and you two cuddle. You can faintly pick up the sound of sniffles and feel your clothing moisten. After the session, you two don’t mention it because you know Dazai doesn’t want to remember that.
With any trauma, you take them to therapy. If it’s affecting either kid negatively, they need to talk about it. Initially, they talk to you, but they go see a professional of that doesn’t work.
Academically, the two of them are good. Dazai’s grades are always A’s even if he procrastinates or doesn’t seem to get his work done.
Chuuya usually gets B’s, but his PE is the best with an A+. He signs up for any sports the school offers if he’s interested.
Dazai’s lowest grade is PE, around a C because he’s not athletic like Chuuya.
Both Dazai and Chuuya have the same PE class and teacher, but their participation and effort are the opposite.
“Okay, everyone needs to do fifteen seconds of push-ups and fifteen sit-ups, let’s go! Get started!” The teacher instructed. They were walking around their class in the gym, ensuring everyone was doing what they were told.
They noticed a student lying face down next to the wall and when they walked by, they pointed at him and asked, “Who is that?”
Chuuya heard their inquiry and answered, “Dazai.”
The teacher was silent for a second before focusing back on the other students, “Let’s go! You should be on the next exercise now!”
Whenever there’s a fundraiser, they’re begging you to please donate so they can get a prize.
“Pleeeaaassseee? You can get a refrigerator stuffed with $200! Or even an iPad!” Dazai’s giving you the puppy eye(s) [depends if he’s bandaged his eye or not] and Chuuya is hugging you and kissing your cheek. “We love you so much, can you pretty please with a cherry on top donate? We’ll pay you back!” (They don’t make money, nor do they have an allowance.)
When it comes to projects, Dazai always waits until the last minute.
“Hey, can we go to the store and buy supplies? I have a project.” He whispered to you.
“Huh...?” You were woken up by him at whatever the time was, so you rubbed your eyes and sat up. Oda was still asleep beside you, a peaceful expression on his face. You kept your voice to not disturb him, “What?” When you checked the time, it was 2 am.
“I need some things for my science project,” Dazai was just standing by your bed, with big eyes, looking as though he had thrown up.
“When’s it due?”
“Tomorrow.” You frowned at that.
“Sorry bud, can’t help you. It’s too late, why aren’t you in bed?”
“I had to work on my project and other assignments,” he shifted in his spot and awkwardly averted his eyes. “I only need two things, glitter markers and a poster board.”
You stared at him tiredly, before sighing. “What happened to the ones I bought at the beginning of school?”
“I lost them.”
You blinked, unmoving. “And you can’t borrow Chuuya’s?”
He shook his head, saying they weren’t what he needed. At last, you moved the covers off your body and made your way to the closet. “Fine, go get ready. You should be thankful I’m even entertaining this idea.”
Dazai silently cheered and sped to his room. Why were you so lenient with these children? They’re gonna be spoiled.
His project was claiming that potatoes can power up devices. A stupid as it sounds, he somehow makes it convincing until it’s actually tested and obviously it doesn’t work. But he still gets a passing grade for the effort.
During one of their classes, Chuuya asked to go to the bathroom and ten minutes later when the teacher was about to ask about his location, he comes back with a lunch tray.
“Where’d you get that?” “I look like a sixth grader.”
He just munched away as everyone stared at him confused before they got back to the lesson.
Another time, the teacher left the room for a few minutes. Since Dazai wondered what their coffee tasted like, he waltzed over to the desk and took a sip and immediately spat it out.
“Ugh! It tastes like shit!” When the teacher came back, the whole class silently agreed to stay quiet and not tell on him.
When it was around Halloween and everyone could wear a costume, Dazai wore a squirrel suit. He brought an acorn prop and clipped it to the front of his pants. When walking up to the stage for the best costume contest, he hit the acorn with his legs, playing with it, until it accidently hit his balls and he crouched to the floor in pain. Of course, the guys winced at it, but it was pretty funny. Someone, Chuuya probably, yelled out, “He busted a nut!”
More nonsense, pantsing sometimes occurred. And Chuuya was the unfortunate target for Dazai. He had snuck up behind the former, and yanked down his pants. Regrettably, Dazai’s fingers also caught onto the waistband of the undergarments and when it came down, he got a face full of balls.
He was so traumatized despite being the one to commit the act.
Food fights can also happen. While Chuuya was peacefully eating his lunch, Dazai threw a tomato slice at him and the fruit made a satisfying splat! on Chuuya’s cheek.
He also tried to throw cheese, but he missed and it landed in the hair of someone who was just walking by. (And somehow did not get in trouble).
For presentations, Chuuya had to do an audio recording, and Dazai just sneezed at the beginning of it, He recorded another but when uploading the audio files, he accidently clicked the sneeze one. Presentation day was funny, but Chuuya didn’t necessarily like it.
If they had online school, Chuuya would be talking to the camera before a ball smack his face. He falls out of frame, and Dazai is just seen running in the background.
There are also interviews or random school news done by the student council. They hate having to work with Dazai and Chuuya together because they always argue. The one time the video went right was when Chuuya had a voice crack.
Rallies also happen, and students would have to cheer as loud as they can for their team. Chuuya and Dazai are the loudest, but they also suffer from voice cracks. After the rally, they lose their voice for about a day.
Rocketry is an elective, and there’s a weird Russian kid named Fyodor. Both the boys don’t really like him. Since he’s associated with rats (Kids call him Rat), they wanted to get a rat plushie. They asked you if you could get them a rat plushie. You decided to buy it for them, not knowing why they actually wanted it.
They taped the plush to the rocket, put more power into it, and they launched it into the air. When it blasted off, they looked at Fyodor with threatening stares.
Occasionally, you and Oda would volunteer to help with some school activities. The first time both of you arrived, so many students had a crush on either of you. They’d go to Chuuya/Dazai and whisper “That’s your parent?”
Oda’s a dilf and you’re also a milf/dilf.
What a happy family you lot are.
#bungou stray dogs#bungo stray dogs x reader#bsd chuuya#chuuya x reader#chuuya nakahara#chuuya nakahara x reader#dazai x reader#bsd dazai#osamu dazai x reader#dazai osamu#bsd odasaku#odasaku x reader#oda sakunosuke#~writing~#~headcanons~
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Clone wars headcanons about everything and nothing
Ahsoka has a decent amount of allergies but only a handful are actually life-threatening and no matter how much she tells Anakin that it never stops him from treating them all the same
And by treating them all the same I mean he’s slapped some snacks out of her hands because he knew she was slightly allergic to it
In his defense the clones are really bad at keeping track of her allergies and because of that they have fed her a couple of things that were lethal to her and ever since then Anakin’s never really trusted them with food
Also in his defense Ahsoka once ate something she was highly allergic to on a dare (the poor clone didn’t know she was allergic) and all she did to remedy the situation was hand said poor clone her EpiPen before passing out
Unfortunately the clone didn’t know how to use the EpiPen so Ahsoka ended up passing out and Anakin and Rex had to rush her off to the med bay because they didn’t know how to use the EpiPen either
Because of this incident the clones weren’t allowed to give Ahsoka food and there were a couple of signs that said “blue to the sky orange to the thigh” around the ship
I feel like everyone in Clone Wars is simultaneously touch-starved and tactile which is a very fun mix especially when I think about Ahsoka and everyone else because I like to think whenever Ahsoka asks for a hug 9.5/10 she gets one
Master Plo is the most used to this cause Ahsoka’s been like this since she was a child and he’ll admit he’s spoiled her with hugs
If you were to ask her what his hugs feel like she would say they feel like childhood or that feeling you get when you smell something that you could only find in your home when you were a kid
Obi-Wan is an interesting can of worms because he’s as tactile and touch-starved as the rest of them but he’s also incredibly touch-adverse which results in him declining hugs 5/10 because he just can't fathom touching someone in that moment
But when he does give Ahsoka a hug she’ll say there’s nothing like it and she would often describe it as a breath of fresh air and very soothing on stressful days
Rex is most likely it give Ahsoka a hug bro is simply the hugger™ and she would describe his hugs as comforting if not a little awkward but grounding none the less kind of like hugging a weighted blanket just out of the drier
She doesn’t get to see Padme nearly as often as she would like which means she tries to get a hug whenever she can and Padme will never decline her hugs if anything she initiates most of them
Ahsoka doesn’t remember her mom or her hugs well but if she had to give an example of what a hug from her mom felt like she would say Padme’s
Anakin honestly isn’t comfortable with touching people he doesn’t know well but when he does feel comfortable with someone he’s clingy
Ahsoka will never admit this half cause it’s embarrassing and half because she fears it would hurt the other’s feelings but Anakin’s hugs are easily her favorite something about the all-encompassing hug makes her feel safe and secure like nothing else
But the funny thing is that sometimes he doesn’t really have the energy to hug Ahsoka so he’ll just put all of his dead weight on her which usually results in one of two reactions from her
one. Is usually her saying “Hug me like you love me” or something along those lines to which he will squeeze the everloving force out of her or two. “Hug me like a normal person” which usually gets the smartass response of “Who said I was a normal person”
So it’s pretty obvious that Anakin and Ahsoka have their bigger competitions but they’ve also got little ones like who can make the funnier face when Obi-Wan is trying to do his work which normally ends with the duo hunched over laughing and Obi-Wan finding another place to work
The: “Who can accurately make the noises Obi-Wan makes while stretching” challenge which just usually results in the clones worriedly checking in on them cause it sounds like they’re in pain
The: “Who can eat more ice cream” challenge always ends with Anakin regretting his life choices and Ahsoka doing the dishes because she feels bad
Long story short they’ve got a lot of challenges cause they’re competitive little weirdos but the funniest part is they rarely keep score of who the winner is so they’re in an endless cycle of useless competitions
Obi-Wan has slowly collected mugs for everyone he’s close with and they have a nice little home in his otherwise empty mug cupboard
Anakin and Padme have matching from Naboo because Obi-Wan took them shopping when they were pretty young
Padme can’t drink tea with them as often as she would like but when she can schedule a small tea break Anakin makes sure to smuggle all their mugs out of Obi-Wan’s kitchen
Ahsoka’s mug is possibly one of Obi-Wan's favorites it’s a good size and practical but’s also got nice intricate color-changing details because they both thought it looked cool
Cody and Obi-Wan’s mugs are pretty similar but their main difference is the childlike handwriting on the bottom of one that says “to: Obi from: Ani”
Rex doesn’t get a mug until later and it’s the most unconventional and inconvenient mug in all of creation the poor dude has to hold it from the sides because his hands don’t fit in the handle
And its design pisses Obi-Wan off every time he sees it the only thing that’s stopping him from smashing it into hundreds of little pieces is that Rex picked it so in the cupboard it stays
Sometimes the group forgets that Ahsoka isn’t human which leads to very funny circumstances
Like Rex losing a decent amount of credits trying to call Ahsoka’s “bluff” of being able to bench twice his weight
Or at the fact that Obi-Wan was once hiding from Ahsoka and Anakin because he didn’t want the duo to see the extent of his injuries from a solo mission
But he forgot that Ahsoka could smell and hear better than the average being so she was able to track him down pretty fast (she was also freaked out cause she could hear his erratic heartbeat and smell the blood so that wasn’t a pleasant experience for her)
Or the number of times when she’s eaten an unholy amount of food just for Anakin to wake up at 3 am to find her scavenging for more cause she’s still hungry
And let me tell you seeing some small hunched-over little creature with reflective eyes at that time of night would make even the chosen one screech like a banshee
#star wars#star wars clone wars#the clone wars#star wars headcanons#anakin skywalker#ahsoka tano#obi wan kenobi#padmé amidala#captain rex#snips and skyguy#disaster siblings#disaster trio#this has so much chaos#literally all of the chaos#I feel like I forget this family is comprised of strange little creatures#I love them dearly#also my sister has finally accepted that she is in fact Anakin#now all i gotta do is convince her to do Halloween costumes#One small step for man and all that bull
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I love your thoughts on Astrid and I think a lot about whether her initial ambition to become powerful for the sake of power turned into the ambition for power so no one else has power over her. I truly do not think she begrudges Wulf his faith any more than she begrudges Caleb his new life though I would not be surprised if both are sources of some pain for her. (in a way the three of them remind me of trees. Caleb lost a part of himself but that allowed new sprouts to come forth. Wulf found faith that allowed the damage to be lessened by giving support to the damaged part of the tree. And Astrid is the one with neither who grows around the damage in the only direction she ever knew though it costs her much more in the long term than the other solutions)
Hi anon,
So I think I say this whenever I get similar asks - completely valid to have your own headcanons, but (and this is foreshadowing for the rest of this ask) I am not much of a people pleaser and I will openly disagree, as I'm about to, and this might be a conversation better had in DMs or replies or something because doing so via anon gets to be a lot of back and forth.
I really respect people who relate to Astrid as a survivor of abuse who finds some measure of peace and who simply acknowledges she, Eadwulf, and Caleb all found separate ways to move forward. I completely understand that can be very meaningful and would never take that interpretation from them.
With that said, I happen to personally prefer a view of Astrid who is capable of that bitterness. I like the possibility that she is not just ambitious (which, that on its own is often considered sufficient to lambast female characters; see the Suvi Kedberiket discourses surrounding Worlds Beyond Number) but also very angry, and at times bitter, and at times resentful.
I think a lot of fans struggle with the gray area between unambigously heroic women and unambiguously villainous ones, both because in that gray area is a complexity women in fiction are frequently denied, and also because it requires a look at specific emotions women aren't supposed to have. Women can be sad; they can be traumatized; and they've been granted such qualities as "determined" or "can use a sword" or "leaders" but I think people really still struggle with anger, and especially anger that is not specifically directed towards abusers (like Beau or Yasha or Vex) nor righteous (like Keyleth) but petty or even simply irrational.
I like Astrid as a woman who might hold a grudge she knows intellectually is unfair but who feels it anyway. I think about how she wanted to kill Trent in the moment, and that Fjord (someone whose story is very much about both forgiveness and the legitimacy of grudges and a desire for power) validates her for it even though it's true that Caleb's method of exposing Trent's crimes is probably more effective. I like her as someone who is incredibly intelligent and who probably has an idea of what the "good" thing to do is and still feels a lot of ugly feelings and possibly always will, even though she has found a much healthier way forward. I don't know quite how this interrogation will go, but it is interesting that she's in hiding in Zadash and has apparently not openly broken with the Assembly.
It's funny, because this is on some level what many people want for much of Bells Hells - they want them to be angry at the gods for neglecting them. It's just...they also want that anger to be righteous. And sometimes anger isn't. Anger is often petty and detrimental and yet still very real. What appeals to me about Astrid is that she is very much a complicated person who does straddle a line between ally and antagonist and is permitted a depth and messiness and moral ambiguity that many fans deliberately try to excise from women (and, for that matter, characters of color/in-world racialized characters and many queer characters). So I do like an Astrid who clearly cares for Caleb and for Eadwulf and does not treat them poorly, but does perhaps nurse some privately-held grudges.
#answered#Anonymous#cr spoilers#cr tag#i don't quite want to main tag this. but i kind of do#i haven't but i may rethink if it takes off
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Masterpostttt
Hihii Im nomi! I draw really random SAMS, LAES, MGAFS(sometimes) art.
sharks 🦈🦈🦈 anyway, i own a sams au
THE DREADED CODE - SAMS AU COMIC
The Dreaded Code (TDC) is an apocalyptic SAMS AU that puts our beloved celestial family into a lot more problems. Our main enemy.. or enemies are .. “The Bots”. Having to deal with keeping their eye out anywhere they go, and try to find a cure. The Bots are robotic Spiders that tear anything or anyone they see.
There are two types of viruses: The Digital and the Human. For each type of infection, the infected person or animatronic will have at least 1 hour before being fully infected. Once fully infected, they will act savage, enraged, and violent like no other. They won’t be able to communicate or act like themselves at all.
|| Our main characters are of course, the celestial family, but in this AU we have a few animators featured as main cast members. (Trust me itll align into the storyline) Some may backstab, some may fall into insanity. There will be 8 villains as the story moves along.
Comic Information:
The comic will include the following: An OST, multiple issues/episodes (they’ll be posted here and on youtube), extra little bits (like funny small comics and such) , some characters who have died in the shows will be alive in the comic. (Ex. Killcode is dead in the show right? He’ll be alive in TDC) Andd, there will be no voice acting (would be cool if it was tho😔) There is a trailer located on my Youtube channel as well for the AU! 🫶
This AU is more on the darker side of things. When I say Im going to make you sob with this comic, I mean it. I am not holding back with the angst. You’re favorite characters are probably going to die. …..☺️🫶teehee
TDC TUMBLR BLOG: https://www.tumblr.com/thedreadedcode
PLEASE NOTE THAT I AM A ONE PERSON TEAM, MEANING IT WILL BE A WHILE UNTIL A FULL ISSUE IS RELEASED. (yes im doing this by myself 🪦👍)
TDC TAG: #TDCSAMS
Below are some character refs! (These are the only ones I have right now, will try to get the others out soon)
I dont really anything else to say, but here are my other socials in case youre interested🦈
Youtube:
Instagram: @/nomzterss_ (the link wont work🪦🪦)
Pinterest:
Discord Server:
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OK so my first Johnlock fic. Canon divergence. Post Reichenbach. Scifi AU. HE (sort of).
English isn't my first language so if you find any mistakes pls tell me!! Thanks so much!!!
I'm Here.
1.
John had just exited the door of 221B Baker Street and was about to call a taxi when he saw the car.
It’s been over a year since he last visited this place-- he only came today because Mrs. Hudson called, and wanted to return some of his personal items left in the apartment. She insisted that paying a visit could better John’s mental conditions, though John wouldn’t agree. Yet she seemed determined about it.
“You should know that he loved this place, John. He loved the time he spent here, with you.” She said.
There weren’t many things he needed to retrieve. A mug, a few of his clothes, and a notebook that hasn’t been written on for ages. But he lingered in the room he was only too familiar with.
“Moving on” was never his thing. Any time he lifted his head up and gazed at the two vacant seats, the dimmed fireplace in between, and the dusty mirror above, everything would rewind inside his head.
His roommate would put his palms together under his chin, his smile as mysterious and proud as always. “You simply see, but not observe,” he’d say in his low and magnetic voice, “What is going on in your funny little brains? So confusing-- the evidence is right in front of you, yet you do not know how to analyse it.”
He might even be sitting on the chair now, looking up banteringly at John. *Sentiment*, he’d say, *you’ve always been like that. Fascinating.*
It took as much courage to come as it took to take up the mind to leave. John felt his heart hallowed out as he stumbled down the last step, opening the door of 221B and said goodbye to Mrs. Hudson. But the hole seemed to have been there for ages-- once, three years ago, it was filled in the echoes of “Afghanistan or Iraq?”-- but now it has reappeared along with the sudden Fall. But revisiting this painfully familiar place reinforced the presence of the hallowed space, as its roars were too much of a sting to be ignored.
A black vehicle was parked by the road. At first John didn’t take notice, nor was he in the mood to care-- probably just a passenger who happened to have reached their destination. But before he could walk away, his phone started ringing.
“Get in the car.”
He knew who it was without asking. But the question was-- he hasn’t heard of the voice in ages. So long, it made him wonder whether it was in his past lives that he’d gotten used to being pulled on a car without reasons.
“...Mycroft? I really couldn’t guess what you possibly could need from me now.”
The voice on the other end sighed after a moment of silence.
“It’s about Sherlock, John.”
The name cut through his heart like a blade. Everyone was still talking about him, as if it’s not over yet. But he was the only one who knew that it was all over. Everything from the past, every memory, every nuanced flutter he felt had been buried into a tomb called time.
Even so, Sherlock’s name was like a spell that could compell John to do anything at his own will. If his friend was in trouble, even after his death, John knew he had to help. It was his deepest and most desperate wish.
John sighed, and pulled open the car door.
2.
The elder Holmes in front of him didn’t change much since their last encounter, which got John wondering in frustration whether Sherlock’s death had effected him so destructively more than anyone. But Mycroft seemed to have been fatigued by his work-- even though all the Holmes had a sort of talent for hiding their true emotions and mental status, John could feel that Mycroft’s workload in the past years have only been increasing.
For a few seconds they just stood there in dead silence until Mycroft took out his empty hand which wasn’t holding the umbrella to break the ice: “Good to see you again, John.”
“Likewise.” John shook his hand and took a deep breath, “So. What you said. About Sherlock. What is it? His will? Or something about the media?”
Mycroft hesitated-- not something he normally does. This fueled the doubt in John’s mind since his arrival. Mycroft only had three reasons to see him: 1, Sherlock wouldn’t accept his help, and he needed John to look after his brother; 2, The government needs Sherlock’s help but he refuses to, so Mycroft needs John to persuade him; 3, Sherlock’s in danger, and he needs John to figure out what’s going on to protect him. This time, however, doesn’t fall into any of the categories.
Then his words froze John on the spot.
“...Sherlock isn’t dead. But, precisely, he isn’t alive either. I’m truly sorry we haven’t told you earlier, John. But now that it’s all settled, we think you have the right to know.”
John blinked, staring puzzled at Mycroft.
“What do you mean by... He’s not dead, but not alive either?”
Mycroft thought for a while before he started: “As Moriarty became to much of a threat to be overlooked, Sherlock and I started to come up with a few possible plans. He saw it coming that Moriarty wouldn’t make things easy for him, and he foresaw that Moriarty was going to hold his dearest friends as hostages-- Moriarty would never stop until he sees Sherlock’s dead body. One way was for Sherlock to fake his death, change his identity and leave the country for a few years, returning after his reputation has been cleared. But Moriarty blocked every way out on that roof of Bartz. He took away Sherlock’s phone and cut all possible communication pathways, so all the plans that required him faking his death wasn’t going to work. But, we still had a plan B. The last resort. A plan that could barely be called one.”
John nodded, signaling him to continue.
“This plan requires the most advanced scientific team at my disposal. It’s an unprecedented risk, a huge, long-shot bet. --preserving human organ at low temperature. This technology has appeared long before, but even a few hours of preservation takes strict environmental conditions and advanced equipment. You’d know best as a doctor. We did it with little hope, but miraculously, it was a success. Within minutes after Sherlock’s fall, we managed to preserve his brain. But what came next was only more complicated and impossible.
A super bio-computer. In fact, the government had a blueprint for this plan several years ago, but due to its high technical difficulties, cost and energy consumption, it was never implemented. Using the human brain to connect sensors for data transmission, after connecting to the Internet interface, you can access all the information currently possessed by humans, and have ultra-high computing power.”
“So... you made him... into a computer? Is that even moral? Did he agree?” Overwhelming information and a series of perplexing nouns rushed into his brain, and for a moment John felt as if his legs were giving up.
“You can put it like this. In other words, he is now basically a computer working for the British Government with self-entertaining software installed.”
John lifted his chin up, staring unbelievably into Mycroft’s calm eyes, to which he responded with a helpless sigh, “It really was the worst move.”
John closed his eyes. Though he’s always considered his roommate “a machine with no human feelings”, it now seemed like an unfortunate prophecy he did not wish to have made. He was now imagining Sherlock’s brain floating in a tank filled with nutrient solution, multiple sensors and intersected data transmitters attached to it, the entire cabin lit with dim lights, performing countless calculations within second -- from the probability of a terrorist attack to the likeness of a traffic accident, from one side of the world to the other-- all the while joyfully extracting interesting cases from documents and cracking them one by one at a rate countless times faster than before. He had to admit that Sherlock was probably enjoying this. But beneath all these absurd yet rational incidents a question still lies, one that he cares too much to ignore.
“Then... can he still feel everything? Feel the world around him? Or... communicate with us?”
“Sadly we’ve never succeeded in doing so. We haven’t completely mastered this technology yet, so all we could do is to solve one problem after another and analyse what we get like a Black Box. For now, what he could know, and what he could feel, remains unknown.”
Not dead, yet not alive either. It was now coming to John how fitting a description it was.
Sherlock was never someone who blended into the society, or someone who’s used to complicated social relationships. On the contrary, he always seemed to be walking on the edge of everything, a sane lunatic, a sober drug addict. This way of being now is like a portrait of him "before death" : an emotionless machine, an observer outside the world.
But without a body, with out the final proof of being “human”, will you remain to be “you”?
John realized he couldn’t come to a conclusion.
3.
Mycroft lead him through winding hallways, one locked room after another, and they finally reached a small door that didn’t seem to stand out at all.
The sign at the entrance reads in large, bold letters: "Experimental Base - Do not enter".
“Whenever you’re ready, John.” Mycroft nodded slightly, and laid his hand on the silver door knob.
John closed his eyes, and nodded after a few deep breaths.
The door opened, giving way to him.
Things were very different from what he had imagined. There was no brain floating in the middle of the tank, no flickering lights and darkened halls, no shrill whining of instruments. It was just an ordinary room, in fact, quite similar to his memory of a high school classroom-- only that where the whiteboard should be, there was a giant display screen; On the desk where the lectern is supposed to be, lies a computer with a small screen and only one input box that took up half the screen.
Then it came to John. Such delicate thing as a brain culture tank could never have been accessible for tour. This was just the operating interface connected to the biocomputer for testing inputs and outputs.
He turned around, but there was no one else left in the room. Mycroft had given him privacy.
John sighed, forcing himself to turn to the blank screen. This *is* Sherlock, he told himself, this is who your best friend is now. Whether you like it or not, it’s him.
And now you’re here to visit.
Slowly, he walked towards the table, and placed his hands on the keyboard. After a few moments of silence, he typed out his first question.
“Tell me about identifying 243 types of ashes.”
Enter.
The cursor on the large screen flashed for a moment, then waves of information began to emerge. John could tell that a considerable percentage of them came from Sherlock’s essay from his website, but other information came from different sources, so its identification methods and usages could be explained clearly to whoever asked the question. The narration seemed Wikipedia-styled, calm and objective, exactly like the answer of a machine.
It *is* a machine, John reminded himself. That’s what he is now.
“You still remembered quite clearly.”
The keyboard clicked as he typed.
“Please tell me the basic structure of the Solar System.”
Again, after a few seconds, it gave a clear and precise answer, even presenting a graph showing the spatial relationship between the sun and the various planets, and giving the orbital parameters of each planet.
“I see you finally have enough memory for this,” he lowered his head, a giggle escaping his lips.
Then he tried asking many other questions -- mostly things that a normal person with a lot of spare time on their hands might Google. He also tried searching some of the cases they investigated together, and Sherlock-- the computer-- gave every single detail without mistake. John marveled at the amount of advanced technology used in this project, but at the same time, he found himself reading the information in his head using Sherlock’s voice, an impulse he couldn’t resist. Every word he read echoed with Sherlock’s voice in his mind like a prerecorded audio.
“Please tell me the stories of Sherlock Holmes.”
This time it took longer for the computer to buffer. Then, Sherlock’s identity, main achievements and relevant information started appearing on the screen. First his personal information, date of birth and death, family relationships and so on. “Working partner: confirmed bachelor John Watson.” Smiling, he shook his head. *These media workers are ever so rude.*
This was followed by a brief synopsis of a series of cases he has solved, many of which derived from John's blog, and some of which even canonical references to his blog's "literature review." The text scrolled along at a pace John’s comfortable with.
Then followed the media’s comments on him. First they were news before Moriarty messed with people’s minds. “The Reichenbach hero”, “Hat-man and Robin”, “Highly intellectual detective”, all of which John was familiar with. Seeing them again pulled on John’s heartstrings. But it was just pain-- it was a bittersweet warmth, a sense of retrieving a long lost possession.
Public opinions seemed to had turned against him overnight. The forces of group polarization were so powerful that all it took is a groundless suspicion to condemn someone once on a pedestal, to hell. There's a fine line between a hero and a demon. John didn't want to read any further -- he clenched his fists, felt the cruel words whirling and screaming in his head, rattling his already fragile nerves again and again.
*No, he's not like that. I know him, and I know him best. He is the wisest and bravest man I have ever known. He would never do such a thing. He would never--*
“THUMP!”
The next thing he knew he punched the desk with his fists.
The output on the screen came to a sudden halt. The cursor stopped at the last unfinished sentence, flashing like a puzzled child’s eyes.
He had an impulse to smash open the obnoxious screen in front of him, and scream to Sherlock himself. But what could he possibly say? What could he possibly do? Not to mention that yelling at a brain that’s already lost its sensing functions cannot solve anything.
It’s too late.
It’s always too late.
*You’re* the mad ones, *you’re* the arrogant people-- he’s gone already, so why on earth does he deserve to be treated by the world like this.
John felt the flames inside slowly consuming every last part of him, burning his throat, and spreading into his stinging eyes.
He shoved back the keyboard, and slowly allowed himself to bend over the table, lying on his arms, until all there was left in the empty room were suppressed, sobbing sounds.
He didn’t know how long it had been-- probably to the point where John worried Mycroft couldn’t wait any longer-- until he finally straightened up, refocusing his sight on the screen from a blurred vision.
The last search record has been cleared, and the screen has returned to a blank, vacant image, like how the universe was before the Big Bang.
He gently pulled the keyboard back in front of him, typed, slowly but solemnly, and not pressing enter.
He heard footstep drawing near-- possibly from Mycroft. Straightening his collar, John took one last look at the screen, turned around, and left.
The unsent message lit a silent white light in the room, like a calm, grieving soul.
“I love you.”
4.
John hasn’t written anything on his blog for a long time.
Occasionally he still helped out Scotland Yard on some trivial matters, but they were nothing compared to the excitement and thrills that constantly struck him when he was on a case with Sherlock. The feeling of blood pumping through his veins once reminded him of what “being alive” feels like. And now, everything was back to normal. Sometimes the thought would hit John, that maybe everything that happened in the last few years was just a dream too good to be true. Maybe he never met such a man after returning from Afghanistan, a man who could tell everything you did yesterday, who liked to talk to skulls in a surprisingly fast pace, who could solve the strangest and hardest cases in the world.
But everything around him was a constant reminder that it was true. Everything did, in fact, happened.
And he couldn’t tell which was more painful.
On the way back, John allowed himself to replay every single memory he had since he met Sherlock like a movie, as he watched the rain picking up outside the car window.
Sherlock taking his phone, asking, *Afghanistan or Iraq*?
Sherlock rushing down the stairs then turning back towards the door, the light flashing dangerous signals inside his eyes, a fascination that took him spellbound. *You’ve seen a lot of blood and injuries, violent deaths, then? Want to see some more?*
Sherlock at Angelo’s, pausing slightly after being asked “do you have a boyfriend, then?”
Sherlock’s look of shock and subtle delight after he blurted out “amazing” without thinking.
Sherlock’s proud and effortless look after every time he solved Moriarty’s puzzles.
Sherlock standing in front of the door of 221B, looking at him with a smile. *I’d be lost without my blogger*.
Sherlock pulling the coat embedded with bombs off him by the pool, for the first time he’s ever seen, in panic and relief.
Sherlock walking behind him in Baskeville, in his most sincere tone, *I don’t have friends; I just got one*.
The Woman looking at him, an either teasing or scornful tone, *Are you jealous? You are a couple.*
Sherlock handcuffed together with him, raising his hand to fire a gun into the sky.
They were dashing as fast as possible on the streets in London as accomplices. He heard Sherlock utter, *take my hand*.
Then he did.
Sherlock standing on the rooftop of Bartz holding his phone, alone.*Goodbye, John*. He said.
Then he did.
...
He felt himself reliving those years as Mycroft parked his car in front of 221B.
Every memory were brand new, yet so fresh they were dipped with bright, red blood, dripping down along John’s heart, dripping into the very depths of his aching soul.
When he came home this time he opened his blog website once again. He wanted a formal farewell to the Sherlock of his past, and he wanted to continue their story. It may be a lot more plain and dull than it used to be, but he believed that Sherlock, now a machine for calculation, could see. No matter if he could comprehend, or if he could remember, every letter John wrote would enter his database through the transmission lines and become a part of him.
Entering username. Password.
Wrong password.
Perhaps he mis-typed a letter.
He deleted it, and tried once more.
Wrong password.
John frowned. He didn’t remember changing his password even once in the past years. Though Sherlock had cracked it within a day, he didn’t really care that much, nor do something about it; even if he changed his password, all Sherlock would have to do was to crack it again. It would be useless. --Furthermore, even if Sherlock saw it, it wasn’t a big deal. He’s Sherlock Holmes.
...He’s Sherlock Holmes.
The sentence echoed louder and louder inside his mind.
*He’s Sherlock Holmes.*
Who could’ve possibly changed John Watson’s password except him? He’s always kept the laptop beside him, and even Moriarty, who once broke into his account, had now killed himself and was no longer here.
“When all the other possibilities are ruled out, and there is only one left, no matter how impossible it is, it’s the truth.”
It was Sherlock who changed it, John. A voice inside his head said ever so firmly.
John could feel his heart racing faster and faster. Yes, Sherlock has access to all the information possible on the internet now. It would only take a few lines of code to alter the password of a blog account. But why would he? And what would he change it into?
*Think, John, think.* He heard Sherlock’s voice.
What is a code that only belongs to them? What is a metaphor that only they knew? What code could only be cracked by John Watson?
His fingers trembled as he started typing.
*Vatican cameos.
...
Logged in.
5.
John could barely contain the tremors in his fingers as he scrolled down the page in great effort.
He clicked into some of his most read blogs immediately. No new messages, no new comments. The numbers of views were still rising.
For a moment he started to doubt whether he himself had changed the password in memory of their past, but forgot about it after grieving day after day.
Until he scrolled back to the top of the page.*
You have one new private message.*
Unknown address. Unknown sender.
The message was simple.
“I’m here.
-- S.H.”
His hand hovered above the keyboard. For the split of a second he seemed to forgot how to breath and how to make his own heart beat. The word spun and collapsed from around him, falling apart into an ocean of chaos and darkness. The only anchor in thunderous waves and dizzying swirls was the computer and the simple message on the screen. It kept him from falling down, and kept him safe and steady.
John felt his phone vibrate inside his pocket.
One new message.
“You should’ve seen the look on your face.
-- S.H.”
A complex wave of emotions flooded him. He felt himself smiling, so uncontrollably like a child who retrieved his favorite, lost toy, but there were uncontrollable tears streaming down his face, dripping hard onto the keyboard in front of him, a symphonic harmony with the pouring rain outside his window.
“You’re a complete jerk.”
“When all that’s left of you is a brain, it’s likely you’ll also become more reckless. No one can ever punch you in the face again.
-- S.H.”
“...Utterly unbelievable.”
“John, for your information, I can still see the messages in the input box even if they weren’t sent.
-- S.H.”
“...”
“John?
-- S.H.”
“I’m here.”
“I heard you.
-- S.H.”
END.
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EDIT: This is a repost from a few days ago, because I hated the fact it was hidden for no reason.
Ok, here’s the first of my stupid JJK fanfic concepts.
The first one was ‘fix it’, for a relative use of the word, where Suguru, after killing the village, does call Satoru for help. He doesn’t know really what kind of help he’s asking for, or even what Satoru could provide, but he is being the bigger person here by asking, right?
It was supposed to be a comedy where Satoru and Shoko scramble around, trying to cover up what Suguru had done. Suguru is not actively helping it this. He’s been convinced to maybe not go and kill all the non-sorcerers, for the twins he had rescued to have a good life at least. But he won’t lie about what he did if someone gets too close to ask, and the twins love the fact they were saved by him and want to brag whenever they could. Satoru and Shoko have to make up so many lies.
Yaga: What happened to the village?!
Suguru: Huh? Oh I kil-
Satoru: -killed the curse! Nasty thing it was, setting the town a blaze and then blowing it up. There’s not even a house left.
Yaga:…. The damage looks like your red attack, Satoru.
Satoru: What? No. What? Ha! No. I wasn’t even there!
Yaga: Then how do you know the houses are gone?
Satoru: …. I read.
It ended up not really funny enough for me? And I also didn’t have much of an idea of how to continue it. Under the cut is what little I had lol
It started with a phone call in the middle of an empty town.
Well, actually, it started a few days before that, with a conversation in an empty classroom.
“You’re back early.” Suguru noted with dull surprise as Satoru walked in. ‘Dull’ seemed to be the only way he felt now a days, and looking at Satoru, he would guess the other boy felt the same way, with how exhaustion seemed to cling to him.
Still, Satoru managed to smile at him, much brighter than Suguru had been capable of lately. “Hey, Suguru!” He said, falling with all his weight in the chair meet to him. The chair tilted back at the force before falling back to all fours. “The higher ups messed up on the ranking of the last curse they sent me to.”
Suguru hated the flash of fear he felt, the most realized emotion he has had in what felt like months, even though he knew nothing would harm Satoru. “Oh?” He asked, in a calm that he didn’t actually feel. Satoru laughed. It didn’t sound like an actual laugh, almost grating against his throat.
“Oh yeah.” He huffed. “A grade 2. They sent me after a grade 2, Suguru! I don’t even have the words to express how outraged and offended I am right now.”
He didn’t sound outraged and offended. He just sounded tired. Still, Suguru settled in, waiting for the rant from his friend that was inevitably coming.
Except, Satoru didn’t. Satoru fell quiet, looking him up and down from behind his glasses.
“I skipped out on sightseeing to maybe catch you before your next mission.” He said. Suguru looked at him in surprise, and maybe a little pleased. Still, Satoru didn’t look happy. “I didn’t mean to get back so late, so imagine my surprise to find you in an empty classroom in the middle of the night.”
“Huh?”
“Suguru.” Wow, he had never heard Satoru sound so disapproving. “Suguru, it’s three am. And you’re sitting in an empty classroom. What’s wrong?”
What wasn’t wrong? Somehow Suguru didn’t Satoru would appreciate that answer.
Also, he hadn’t realized the time. He had sat in there to take a break before going to get dinner, having to work up the nerve to enter the admittedly pretty sparse cafeteria area.
“…Haibara thinks I’m a good person.” Suguru said at last, unable to help himself. Satoru looked at him in surprise, glasses sliding down his nose.
“Uh?” He tilted his head with a frown. “Well, duh. Course he does. That’s because you are a good person, Suguru.”
Suguru had nothing to say to that. Satoru’s frown deepened as the silence stretched on.
“…. Suguru?” He asked almost hesitantly, as if Satoru Gojo was ever hesitant in anything. “Do you… feel like you aren’t a good person?”
He shouldn’t talk about this. He shouldn’t bring it up. He shouldn’t even think about it. But his best friend was here, in reach, in a way that he hadn’t been in a while.
“I think… I think I hate them, Satoru.” He said hoarsely. Satoru paused.
“Eh? Who?”
“Them. The-The Mon-“ Suguru cleared his throat, looking away. “…the non-sorcerers.”
Satoru leaned back in his seat. “Oh.” He said quietly, like he was surprised. He didn’t say anything more.
“Didn’t you feel like this?” Suguru asked desperately. “Last year? When-“
He cut off. Last year, when Suguru found his not dead best friend carrying Riko’s lifeless body, looking at him with equally lifeless eyes, while all those-those cult members just clapped around them at a young girl’s death.
‘Should we kill them all?’ Satoru had asked him. Suguru had answered ‘no’ at the time, but now-
This time, it’s Satoru that goes silent, staring at him for a long moment. “….not really.” He admitted after a while. Suguru gulped, his curses burning in his stomach like acid. “I didn’t feel really anything last year, when I asked. I was pretty out of it. I don’t… think I could actually hate anyone.” He sighed, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “That sounds exhausting to care that much, honestly.”
“Oh.” Suguru said, quietly, and then nothing else. Satoru didn’t let the silence settle this time, leaning forward with a sudden burst of energy.
“Ok!” He clapped his hands, the noise echoing in the empty room. “So you hate them! Let’s put a pin in that for the moment!” He smiled, a little stretched thin, and made a motion with his hands like he was pinning something to a cork board.
Suguru frowned, Yuki’s voice circling in his head. This did not feel like something he should ‘put a pin in’ right now. This felt like he should figure it out as soon as he could, to let one side win out before it tore him apart. “Satoru I-“
“Nope!” Satoru, the annoyance, put up a hand to silence him. “It is much too late for this! So, Haibara thinks you’re a good person, and you do not agree. What do you want to do about that?”
“I thought we were ‘putting a pin in it’. “ Suguru grumbled, crossing his arms. Satoru shook his head.
“You miss understand me!” He huffed. “It’s like you never listen! I know you, Suguru. Ignoring all this ‘hating non-sorcerers’ crap, there’s something else bothering you, right?”
Eh? Honestly, not really. The ‘hating non-sorcerers’ thing was taking up a large amount of his daily bandwidth.
But he could see what Satoru was aiming for- something else to focus on. When the main problem was too much, then let something else be the problem for a bit. It was a tactic usually used on Satoru himself, or Shoko on occasion when her medical classes got too much, but this was the first time it had been used on Suguru himself. It took him a minute to think past his bigger issues as a result, so far out of his comfort zone as he was.
Finally, he settled on, “Fine. I’m worried about Haibara, but it’s finally my own downtime and I’m exhausted. Not only that, but now you’re here, and we never get to hang out anymore.”
“Huh? Worried about Haibara?” Satoru sighed. “Yeah, the higher ups are shit about curse classification. And Haibara’s just a second year too.”
“We’re just third years.” Suguru felt compelled to say. Satoru laughed like he told some great joke, which maybe he did. He was only 17, but he hadn’t felt like a kid in a long time.
After a long moment of nothing but the sound of Satoru’s laughter, he calmed down, leaning forward on his knees as he took deep breaths. Then, he stood up, stretching as he did so. “Well then. Come on.”
“What?” Suguru hurried to stand up as well, to catch up to Satoru as he walked out the classroom door. “Where are we going?”
“To go check on Haibara, of course.” Satoru said, like it was obvious.
“Uh, no? Did you not listen to me?” Suguru asked, closing the door behind them. “I said that I was exhausted and that it was my off day!”
“And that you wanted to spend time with me. I heard you, I swear!” Satoru said, waving a hand. “But considering I found you at three am in an empty classroom, I’m going out on a limb here and saying that you won’t be sleeping tonight.”
Suguru didn’t have anything to say to that. Satoru kept talking, regardless of his lack of answer.
“So, let’s be productive and check on our little Kōhai! We only have two of those, so we gotta protect what we got!”
“Nanami will never like you.”
“Rude! Also probably true.” Satoru laughed, this time sounding much more genuine. “So, look. Well sleep on the train, and then hang out in town after checking on Haibara. And being out means that we can’t be assigned missions all willy nilly!”
They absolutely could. They had cell phones for a reason, and Yaga had their numbers. But Suguru could see the appeal to thinking otherwise, so he didn’t argue.
Satoru then threw something over his shoulder, forcing Suguru to catch it. “Here, catch.”
Suguru opened his hand slowly, falling into step with Satoru as they walked through the empty halls. It was a hair tie- more specifically, it was Suguru’s favorite hair tie, that he thought he had lost ages ago. He frowned, even as he reached up to pull his hair into a bun.
“Why are you stealing my hair ties?” He asked, making quick work of his hair with practiced movements. “What, want little space buns in your hair?”
“Hah! I would rock that and you know it!” Satoru said, hands in his pockets. “I just found that one, you know? And then I thought it would be a good luck charm!”
“That’s so lame.” Suguru rolled his eyes.
“I don’t think so.” Satoru said, with a hum. “I found you tonight, didn’t I?”
Suguru didn’t have an answer to that, and so he stayed silent.
———-
In the middle of a lifeless town of his own doing, Suguru called Satoru.
He was only half aware he was doing it. Standing in the middle of the street with only the half eaten corpses of his victims, and the groaning of his curses swirling around him, he was moving more on autopilot than anything else. Everything seemed both hazy and incredibly clear for the first time in a while, like he was no longer fighting himself but also having a major fucking breakdown.
He had a problem, and so he did the only thing he could think of- calling Satoru. Maybe he shouldn’t be doing this, dragging Satoru in his actions, in his consequences. Maybe he should have done this ages ago, asking Satoru to fix his problems like everyone else in their world seemed too. The thought left a rotten taste in his mouth, somehow even worse than the curses he ate.
A large part of him didn’t actually expect Satoru to pick up. Satoru rarely could answer when he was out on a mission, the veils doing too good of a job in cutting communications, and often forgot to return the missed calls later. So Suguru listened to the ringing once, twice, three times, waiting for the dial tone to start as he watched one of his curses slowly make its way to a body blankly.
Then the ringing went one for a fourth time, then a fifth, before being interrupted by an unexpected click and, “Hey, Suguru!”
Suguru’s mouth felt dry. The curse in front of him reached the body. He didn’t have the care to stop it from sinking its half formed claws into it.
“I got told you were on a mission.” Satoru continued. “Already done?”
Yes. Curse exorcised, curse ingested, village dead. Two out of three things weren’t bad.
“….Suguru?” Satoru’s voice turned confused, sounding almost small over the phone. “Is this a butt dial?”
Oh, right. He should probably answer.
“Can you even hear me-?” Satoru started to asked, only to be cut off.
“I killed everyone in town.” Suguru said bluntly. He finally shooed the curse away from the corpse once it started making a mess. He wanted no chance for any more monkey blood to get on him.
“….huh?” Satoru asked, more of an intake of air than an actual question. “Come, uh, come again? What village?”
“The village I was sent to.” Suguru answered simply, and then wondered why he was doing this. Why did he call Satoru, as if that would help anything.
“Ok, can I ask why?”
“Those monkeys had two girls in a cage, blaming them for what was happening.” Some of the anger came back, remembering what the monkeys had done, and he let his curses go back to the destruction they had been causing. It still didn’t cut through the haze as much as add to it, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about something like that.
“Ah. The pin fell out.” Satoru said, much, much to calm for the situation. Was he in as much of a haze as Suguru? Unlikely. Actually, was this how Satoru felt last year, after killing Fushiguro, standing there surrounded by monkeys clapping for a young girl’s death? Satoru had said that he hadn’t felt much of anything, and maybe Suguru felt like that too. Or maybe Suguru was simply feeling too much, no longer at odds with himself but still drowning in emotion.
“-killed everybody?” Satoru’s voice filtered back in. Suguru blinked, not realizing that he had zoned out, and taking a step back in disgust as some blood splattered onto his shoes.
“The two girls.” He answered, in what he vaguely hoped was an actual answer to whatever Satoru had asked. “I saved them.”
“You certainly did something.” Satoru muttered, voice muffled. Suguru could almost see what he was doing- running around, doing something else while his cell phone was shoved between his ear and his shoulder. Then, clearer, Satoru said, “Suguru, listen, I’ll be there in just a second. Just… don’t do anything else, ok? Put the pin back for a minute.”
“The pin-?” Suguru tried to question, only to be met with the dial tone. He made a face, half heartedly, and slid his phone shut. He couldn’t believe the asshole hung up on him-
The air shook. Suguru held his breath, almost unconsciously, as the cursed energy of the town seemed to spark, dancing around him in ways that made his curses go haywire. There was almost a faint taste of ozone on his tongue, familiar, before everything snapped violently back into place, just like it had been.
Just like it had been, except for Satoru standing there, panting like he had overextended himself. Suguru blinked, mildly interested.
“You figured out how to do that?” He asked. Satoru’s head snapped over to him, like he hadn’t noticed him standing there before, as his breathing got under control.
“Not really.” He said with a half grin, obviously wanting to brag about his new abilities, even as his head tilted to the side to take in the mess Suguru’s curses have left. “This was my first time going so far. But you know what they say- Necessity breeds intervention!”
“I didn’t know you knew that saying.” Suguru answered easily, feeling both more grounded now that Satoru was there, and more out of control at the banter in the middle of a massacre. “You can actually read.”
Satoru pouted, forced, as he walked over. He avoided the bodies and blood easily. Suguru was a little jealous, the monkey blood starting to cool on his clothes.
“So mean Suguru!” He whined, glasses slipping down his nose as he gave him a once over. Satoru made a face. “You look like shit, and it’s not just the blood. When was the last time you slept?”
When was the last time he slept? He couldn’t think of the answer, but he didn’t want to tell Satoru that. He opted to say nothing, which actually might have been the worse thing to do, judging by the expression it caused.
“The fact that you won’t say is terrifying.” Satoru said, pushing his glasses back up. “Was it before this mission.”
Definitely.
“….before Haibara’s mission?” Satoru asked a bit more hesitantly, when Suguru stayed quiet. Suguru still didn’t answer, but that didn’t stop Satoru from looking frustrated and dismayed. “Oh my god. Suguru, what the fuck. No wonder you snapped and killed this village.”
“The monkeys deserved it.” He grumbled, looking away. He didn’t need to justify himself again- Satoru knew why he did it, why he had to do it. Satoru sighed.
“I told you to keep a pin in that!” He snapped, making that same stupid motion of placing a pin in something that he made a few days prior. “Whatever. Where are these girls?”
The two girls (that he still didn’t know the name of, fuck) were safe in a bed in the inn. The same inn where he had checked into what felt like years ago, but was in all honestly simply the night before. Before… everything. He pointed over to it, seeing Satoru follow his finger to the building. It was the most he could do, energy failing him now that someone else was there to take over.
One by one, the curses around them disappeared, going back inside of him as he lost the concentration to keep them out. He could tell Satoru noticed, judging by the way he looked around.
“Suguru.” He looked down, staring as Satoru reached forward to grab his hand. “This is very important. Did you ever tell the school about the curse from Haibara’s mission?”
He shook his head slowly, confused. There had been no time to do so. They had gotten to where Haibara’s mission was just in time to knock the younger boy out of the way from what had been probably a killing move, and then exorcised the curse quickly, in a way that Nanami and Haibara’s simply weren’t capable of. One hit of Red from Satoru and the curse was easy pickings for Suguru to eat, as much as he didn’t want to. When the four of them made it back to the campus, Yaga had new missions for him and Satoru immediately. Suguru never got around with telling anyone about the new curse.
(He briefly thought about the train ride home, with Haibara’s hero worship awkwardly directed at them, and Nanami’s mutterings about just leaving everything to him and Satoru, instead of risking their own lives. Suguru’s mouth felt dry again.)
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End of the road. Oatscurry! (but like, fr this this time)
First of all:
Yippeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Final translation for Charisma House has been posted! Woohoo! Yay! Good work me, clap clap clap, I'm soooo cool! Clap clap clap.
Anyway.
What a road this has been, yep yep. I already made some dramatic post when I quit the first time, and then an other when I came back, and honestly I forgot what I said in these, lol. But I will spare the theatrics, maybe.
Either way, what a long road it's been! One with ups and downs for sure, but definitely a rewarding one. Especially seeing how far my translations have reached people...! I'm still trying to process my impact, which honestly scares me, so I don't think I can ever truly comprehend it, but hey! That's how things are in life. It's not my quote, but something something about how we all carry things from each other that form us as people, no matter how big or small said pieces are (maybe I am making this up). If I was able to be a 'piece' of that through my translations, then I am more than satisified with what I did here.
After all, it is why I translate! To share what I love!
But that's the problem!
I love too many things!
That's right, I discovered something new I want to put all my time into, which comes with a sacrifice. But said sacrifice isn't only because of this. I am making the steps to pursue translating as a genuine career. I'm unsure how life will look like for me going forward, if I'll even have the time for translating season 3.
Which is why I will be stopping with translating Charisma House as a whole.
In order to not burn myself out from fantranslating too many things once again, and in order to also prioritize life stuff. Season 2 is my final contribution to you all.
Also, I'm more than happy enough to let official-kun take over, even if we have our personal grievances with the subtitles (or they are simply not as cool, witty, clever and funny as me <- for your information, I'm jesting.)
So yeah, that's all I had to say I think. I yapped enough. Of course, this isn't all you'll be seeing of me. If you're wondering about other corners of the internet I'm hanging out at, catch me at @82mitsu on here, or on Twitter. There I'm continuing my translator endeavors for 18TRIP! A mobage with a rather colorful cast of characters and interesting setting!
If you're wondering what I'm doing outside of translating, uh... I don't know, if you're playing FFXIV you can find me AFKing in Limsa somewhere, lol. I'm genuinely not that much of an interesting person, so I don't think you gotta know me outside of what I do.
As closure, I once again would love to repeat a quote I had first mentioned in my graduation post:
“The world is filled to the brim with nice things… and all of them are carrying someone’s intentions and feelings.
When those feelings get across and manage to make someone happy… I gain little pieces of confidence,
that I’ll gather together and carry with me as I move on.”
Thank you for reading all my translations.
Thank you for being able to find enjoyment in what I do.
Thank you for using the time of your day to get to know Charisma House through my work.
Thank you for all the kind messages I've received up until now.
Thank you for your patience.
But most importantly, thank you for getting into Charisma House.
OTSUKARISMA!
and one last time,
RIGHTEOUSNESS
IS
GLORIOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUS
Ah, but do remember. I value a good, sweet translation that encapsulates everyone nicely. If official-kun's crimes are so, so bad, in Season 3...
I will be back, with pure vengeance.
I've mentioned it before, how the difference in translation interpretation has made me interested in this field to begin with.
What I never mentioned is that it was fueled by spite.
And we all know how that is the greatest motivator to mankind.
justicerikai, signing off! o7
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Thoughts of an aroace shipper and selfshipper:
[Putting this here on this blog as it mentions self shipping.]
As someone who’s aroace but also comfortable with attraction when it comes to fiction, I honestly feel confused about the whole shipping discourse when it comes to any aroace character that’s on the spectrum. Because, personally, as an aroace, I don’t mind people shipping aroace characters for fun, as long as they’re respectful of their canon identity. Plus, when it comes to fan creations and such, it’s not canon in the first place. At the same time, I understand the frustration with people who don’t want aroace characters to be shipped and feel like it’s erasing aroace spectrum rep. When it comes to the whole “erasing rep” part, it gets muddy and complicated when you’re referring to the whole spectrum.
Although, I do have one thing I’d like to discuss about the whole representation part. When it comes to fandom, people ignore all types of identities and ship what they want. Again, I’m only cool with it as long as the individual isn’t acting like it’s canon canon. That and it’s up to the creator and what they feel comfortable with. If they don’t want their character to be shipped, cool. If they don’t mind their character being shipped, cool.
Then things get a bit more nuanced and somewhat “confusing.” At the same time, shipping characters can help someone figure their own identity. I would’ve never understand that I experience queerplatonic attraction if it weren’t for shipping. I often (unintentionally) put myself in stereotypical black and white boxes. I mean, I thought I wasn’t aroace because of the one and only time I did feel attraction. Later on, I realized my aroace identity is very complicated but I know for a fact that I’m pretty “far down” the end of the spectrum.
Also, specifically, when it comes to OC x canon ships and self inserts of the sort…personally, do whatever you want. It’s for you right? And you just want to have fun. I repeat, as long as you aren’t acting like your ships are canon and recognize the character’s actual identity, I personally think it’s fine.
While these may be my personal beliefs, I also understand the lack of representation. But again, I feel like most aroace representation is lacking no matter what part of the spectrum you’re on. That and while people are going to do what they want anyways on the internet, at the same time, people also need to be respectful of other people’s characters that they don’t own.
Then you have people who can be aroace and fictsexual. Again, if the creator of a character is comfortable with their character being shipped and the person who’s shipping that character acknowledges the character’s canon identity, I think it’s fine for fictiosexuals to do what they want.
Again, this is my personal opinion and I obviously don’t speak for everyone on the aroace spectrum. I just wanted to talk about this and explore this topic.
Anyways, this isn’t as important but I’ll put my further two cents here.
Take me for example. I selfship with Alastor in 2 ways. When it comes to my OC, canonically my OC is aroace as well, and in a QPR. But I also put Alastor in the romantic category. Why? Because I also enjoy writing my oc in romantic situations and I’m lowkey poking fun at myself. It’s for me and it’s purely because I find it fun and well, funny at the same time. Also, I put a tag for it if anyone doesn’t want to deal with seeing that stuff.
Further more, despite my own confusion when it comes to identifying any emotion I feel (I’m sure neurodivergency has a role in that), I also like exploring a range of emotions in what I create because it’s all fictional. It’s not real.
Furthermore, after finding out about what a QPR is, I finally had the words to correctly convey and label my self ships into.
Overall, it also can be cathartic. What if someone is cupioromantic and one way they cope is with shipping/selfshipping? Besides the self shipping, fans like to project parts of themselves onto characters. (I repeat, the ones who are just having fun but also are respectful) I’ve also seen non-aroace people wanting to explore how to write aroace identities as well. As long as they do the research and are respectful, go ahead! If you’re writing an aroace character for the first time, you’re not going to be perfect and that’s okay. Now, obviously, I’m not saying it’s okay to write harmful stereotypes of aroace people.
Shipping can be useful in exposing new identities that some people may not know have/have enough knowledge on. It can also broaden one’s perspective as some people may not understand that being aroace is a spectrum, can fluctuate, and isn’t all black and white.
But yeah. I’d like to hear your thoughts on the matter.
This ain’t for you proshippers.
#aroace#aromantic#asexual#aroace spectrum#shipping#self shipping#fandom#not an imagine#op’s thoughts#op rambles#thoughts#my thoughts
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I cannot believe no one’s gifed POV Ramattra tilting your chin up with his staff yet. Must I do everything around here.
#Overwatch#Ramattra#I'm going to get SO many 'Your gif was used in a post' Notifications from this one I can feel it#I know you'll never see it but y'all using this gif in your Ramattra X Reader posts I see you.#I'm gonna read every single one of them#Best way to find Character X Readers is to be the person making the hot gifs of the character#I get SO MANY posts from that one Alastor gif I clipped and it wasn't even good#It's not good I don't know why people use it fdkjgkdfjkg#I tried to make it slower but using free online tools the only thing I could do was turn down the frame count#And we don't want that now do we#This is the second time I gifed an Overwatch Omnic for me myself and I#This is the higher quality of the two but the other is Max from last year's Blizcon#Funny considering gifs that loop like this bother my eyes and upset my stomach#but SOMEONE'S gotta do it it might as well be me
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hi! your blog is one of my favourites and i absolutely adore reading your thoughts. my grandfather recently passed away and it feels like i lost myself with him. how do i continue living after this? there is this constant weight on my chest and it feels like an emptiness has made a home inside of me. how do i go on when it feels like the world crashed on my shoulders?
hello, love! this is so very sweet and kind of you, and i hope you're treating yourself gently and kindly right now - there aren't words for a loss like this. that heaviness is difficult, and hard, and painful. it's okay if things don't feel okay, right now, or even soon - i think that's something that a lot of the people i know that have gone through similar grief feel: like they should be able to get back to a relative 'normal' in a [insert far too short period of time].
but it's okay if it hurts. that's where i'd like to start. you're allowed to feel that emptiness, that world-crashed feeling that goes beyond words, beyond time. don't feel like you have to rush this to feel some sort of better. things get easier with time, i promise you this, but sometimes painful feelings are important to feel, too. cry, scream, feel your emotions. they're a part of you. grieve.
it's perhaps a little silly, but when i think about death i always think about a couple of space songs: mainly drops of jupiter by train and saturn by sleeping at last. there are perhaps others that speak to the emotions better, but these two have always hit something a little deeper for me, and are popular for a wide-reaching reason.
and while personally i don't know much about grief like this, i do know a lot about love; and i think they're a lot of the same thing.
the people we love are a part of us, and this is why it takes from us so deeply when we lose them, because it does feel like we've lost a part of ourselves in the wake of it. but it's because they were so central to our experiences of living - our lives, that the separation introduces a hollowness - a place where they used to be. a home that now goes unlived in.
an emptiness, like you said.
but just because they're not here physically, doesn't mean he's not still there, in your heart, in your life, your memory. you can hold him close in smaller ways, as well: steal a sweater, or cologne/scent for something a little more physical and long lasting for remembering. hold onto the memories you cherish, the things that made you laugh, the ease of slow mornings and gentle nights. write them all down, slide a few photographs in there, go through it and add more when you miss him. keep them all close, keep them in your heart.
you're not alone, in this. he's still there, with you, it's just - in the little things.
he's with you in the way you see and go about your daily life, in doing what he liked to do, in the ways he interacted with the world that you shared with him. the memories you recall fondly when the night is late or the moment is right and something calls it into you like a melody, an old bell, laughter you'd recognize anywhere.
but i think, perhaps most importantly above all others - talk about him. with your family, your friends, his friends, strangers; stories are how we keep the people we love alive. the connections they've made, the legacies and experiences they've left behind, and so, so many stories.
how lucky, we are - to love so much it takes a piece of us when they go. grief is the other side of the coin, but it does not mean our love goes away. it lives in you. it lives in everyone who knew him, in the smallest pieces of our lives.
the people we love never really leave us, like this: they're in how we cook and the way we fold our newspapers, our laundry, in the radio stations we tune in to and the way we decorate our walls, our photo albums. they're in the way we store our mail, organize our closets, the scribbled notes in the indexes of our books. the meals we love and the drinks we mix, the way we spend time with one another. they've been passed down for generations, for longer than history - and we are all the luckier for it.
think about what you shared with him, and do it intentionally. bring him into your life, like this, again. whether it's crosswords or poetry or sports or anything else. if one doesn't help, try another. something might click.
i hope things feel a little easier for you, as they tend to do only with time. i hope you find joy in your grief, even if it is small and hard to grasp at first. know that your hurt stems from so much love that there isn't a place to put it properly, and that it is something so meaningful and hurting poets and storytellers have been struggling to put it into words and sounds that feel like the fit right for eons, and that it is also just simply yours. sometimes things don't have to make sense. sometimes they just are - unable to be put into words or neat little sentiments, as unfair and tragic as they come.
but i promise it will not feel like this forever. your love is real. and perhaps, on where to begin on from here - i think it's less on finding where to begin and just beginning. and you've already started. you've taken the most important and crucial step: the first one.
wherever you go, after that, from here? you'll figure it out. you always have, and you always do. it'll come, as things always do. love leads us, as does light - and you're never alone in your hurt. in your grief, your missing something dear to you. i think if you talk about it with others, you'll find they have ways of helping you cope as well - and they have so much love of their own to spare, too.
as an aside, here is the song (northern star by dom fera) i was listening to when i wrote this, for no other reason more than it makes me think of connections, and love, and how we hold onto the people we love and how they change us, wonderfully and intrinsically. it's a little more joyous than the others i've mentioned, and plays like a story, and it made me think of what is at the core of this, love and stories and i am here with you, and maybe it'll bring you some joy, if you'd like it. wishing you all my love and ease 💛
#q&a.#birdsong.#wishing u gentle ease; the death of a loved one is near inexplicable to put into words and i hope you take care of yourself gently <3#i hope this will make u laugh: when i was a tiny child in middle school there were times i would go outside in my tiny suburban cul de sac-#in the rain and sing along to my lil ipod nano and i only remember doing this to drops of jupiter. can you imagine going out to get the mai#after a long day of work and you just hear this kid singing train in the streets. in the RAIN.... it makes me laugh like i really.#i really thought i was so cool and deep and emotional ghjkd but i find it v funny that i only remember it w/ that one train track.#and saturn just. it's my fav s.a.l. song for a reason. that slow violin opening? the piano coming in gentle and easy?#it feels like light. like hope. like something new - a dawn after the long dark. that beautiful things can begin again even where#it hurts. and there is nothing more human than a sentiment like that.#how rare and beautiful it is to truly exist. what it is to be alive and get to be here and live with other people. with those we love.#i think your grandfather was so lucky to be able to know you. to have you in his life for the time you had together.#i'm no spiritual person; but i like to believe when you're thinking about him? he's thinking about you too.#the second law of thermodynamics (physics nerd mode) is that no energy has ever been created/destroyed since the beginning of the universe.#so it has to go somewhere - it's that carl sagan quote of 'we're all made of stardust'. because we are. we used to be stars; planets; etc.#i think it's why i think of these space songs - because they're a part of everything; once more; when they go. us and everything else.
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This is a special genre of f1 picture(to ME.)
#ive talked a lot about helmets lately oops#i guess i just rly have an obsession with how they're an extension of the driver#and a representation of them and their only sense of personality and individuality when theyre all geared up#so theres something to me about the separation of helmet from driver like in these pics#of course theres pics of the helmet on its own for model kinda pics(like all the pics i used for my past project posts)#but this is its own genre. helmet doing its own thing. helmet away from the vicinity of its owner#helmet being protected from the elements. it has its own carrying bag. it gets an umbrella. etc etc#the first pic made me on the lookout for pics w a similar vibe. IDK WHY BUT IM RLY OBSESSED WITH IT#having a severe helmet fucker era </3 i look at these and i feel very weird about them 😭#not included cause its a differnt genre but also thinking abt pics where someone other than the driver themselves is holding their helmet#theres something weirdly intimate to me about it. its too reminiscent of that one painting of the germanic warrior holding the roman helmet#<- DO YOU GET WHAT IM IMPLYING HERE.#anyways. i digress. helmet being taken care of and protected is cute to me#its such an extension of the driver so its kinda funny ig that they get their own photoshoots#also yeah these are all nando helmets bcs i couldn't find pics from other drivers that i thought had the same vibe#and i think its interesting how these correlate with whom the photographer is and the level of popularity of the driver#like are you popular enough that someone will see your helmet apart from you and think its important enough for a pic?#and its so interesting comparing pics from the same time from different teams#bcs you can see how different the motivations of the different photographers are based on what the pics are like#well blah blah blah helmet kink blah blah blah#f1#formula 1#fernando alonso#helmet
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TophAbe shippers, it is ON SIGHT, I am NOT SORRY-
#barlow shouts into oblivion#clone high#text post#girly pop that is a CSA victim and the enabler of his CSA#yadda yadda fiction isn’t reality let me ship what I want#okay but this isn’t TomGreg this is a CHILD victim of SA#a CHILD WHO CANNOT CONSENT#romanticizing their relationship means romanticizing/finding Topher’s actions funny/excusing his actions and one of those#actions is the LEVERAGING OF CSA FOR PERSONAL GAIN#if you are going to do that do it AWAY FROM ME#if your argument is wElL cLoNe hIgH iS sAtIrE aNd tHe CSA sCeNe wAs a jOkE-!!!#satire involves or SHOULD involve poking fun at something to draw attention to a point#what was the point of the CSA scene? go on; what message was it trying to say?#oh there isn’t one?#it was just making a funny haha of CSA?#the only thing that could’ve POSSIBLY been the point was that it was ABE’S FAULT for being CSAd for being gullible or that he deserved#because he… didn’t realize Joan liked him? Was oblivious?#cause if that’s the point WOW WE HAVE TO HAVE A WHOLE OTHER#CONVERSATION AND YOU ARE FAR DEEPER IN THAN I THOUGHT#satire criticizes things and no one was being criticized in the CSA scene#sure MOST people would be able to realize that Ms. Grumbles is WRONG but the SCENE didn’t say that or point that out#so there’s no satire it’s just laughing because LOOK HOW DUMB ABE IS FOR LETTING HIMSELD BE CSAED!!!#and that’s not funny to me#tw csa mention#csa mention tw
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tbh i think oda meant to reach wano and make it all about zoro the same way he reached whole cake and made it all about sanji. I mean like, at the very beginning, back when he made him japanese and then said "there is a country that's one piece's japan, btw, and that's not where zoro's dojo is" - I think that's why his original backstory is so simple, it was supposed to follow the same trend as luffy's and sanji's and turn into this whole grand thing once they reached wano and discovered that he's the only direct descendant of one of the last daimyo and also of the greatest samurai ever lived, those are great bases to start some form of conflict on? tbh? and also directly mirror our finding out that sanji is some form of prince himself, but then instead we got to wano and the only thing we found out on page was that kuina's relatives were from there, and everything about zoro is revealed in a sbs family tree with oda going "I don't think I'll ever say this in the manga at this point so here". Imho what happened was that oda wanted to form some kind of conflict between zoro's family rights/what was expected of him in wano and his belonging in the crew, but then the way he evolved as a character through the story made it so that his only plausible reaction to finding out all that would be some form or another of I don't care and you don't really write an arc on that, do you. zoro's so simple minded and goal oriented that it's impossible for him to have any serious drama that's not about luffy, at this point. I do prefer it like this, though? everyone in the fandom likes to draw comparisons and parallels between zoro and sanji one way or another but my favourite one is the narrative foils one and zoro's lack of a proper backstory and complications to his being part of the crew make for a great black-and-white situation with them. something like sanji's story being all about running from his past and zoro's being all about running towards his future, I love that so I'm glad this is the zoro we got in the end
still, would be cool to know what oda had planned for him exactly
#zoro and sanji are funnn characters to keep on total opposite sides of the spectrum#you can draw parallels between every aspect of them and the only things you'll find that they have in common are#their love for luffy and their dislike of each other#starting from their personalities to their designs to their fighting styles to the way oda makes them interact with the plot itself#it's fun so i love it extends to their pasts and how complex they are too#but the build up towards wano and figuring out something more about zoro had been pretty obvious for a time so when we got there#and in the end we didn't find out anything about him#and left the land with no on page explanation as for why the shimotsuki guy had zoro's exact same face#no i mean that was kinda funny and on brand for him since the start ngl but it was sorta disappointing for me anyway#as an hardcore zoro fan yk#so I'm like ???? i wonder!!!! what oda had planned!!!!#for my boy who's apparently extremely important in wano but no one has any clue and they just let him leave like he was no one!#they tried to execute him for owning a sword that was his by birthright anyway without ever knowing..........#no it IS funny that's zoro's brand alright i just mourn the zoro focus we could have had#wano was already long and busy enough tho i get why oda let that go
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