#also can we talk about how hard the &j costumes are to draw like damn

[montygatorguy]

these creatures seem to have invaded my house

(individuals under the cut)

[therainroguefanfiction]

🔥 ℝise Ⱥbove I̾t ◈ Chapter 011 [A Hero’s Style]

📑 Table of Contents | ◂Backward

Word Count: 2,490 ☁

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〈“It’s the very first breath, When your head’s been drowning underwater, And it’s the lightness in the air when you’re there.” Logic ft. Alessia Cara, “1-800-273-8255″〉

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The door to the nurse’s office slid open and the boy with the messy green hair stepped inside. He was cradling his right hand, the index finger swollen and badly bruised. I sat up on the bed, rising a brow at him. “The fuck happened to you?”

His gaze shot up, a blush covering his freckled cheeks and nose. “A-Ah, it was n-nothing, really!”

My eyes narrowed at him. “Pretty sure a broken finger ain’t ‘nothing’, but okay.”

“W-What about you?” he asked, softly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He refused to meet my gaze. “A-Are you okay, Winchester-san?”

The door slid open again and Granny stepped inside. “Can I help you, deary? What happened?”

He handed her a slip of paper, his green eyes trained on the ground. “I, umm… I got hurt…”

“Well, I can see that.” She brought his hand to her lips and gave it a smooch before having him sit down to wrap it up. He thanked her before swaying out of the room, tiredly. She glanced over at me. “Feeling better?”

“Define ‘better’,” I scoffed, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. “I could go for some tacos, if that’s what you mean.”

“That’s the best I could hope for,” she smiled, patting my arm. “You’re free to go.”

I gave her a lazy salute before leaving the room. I stopped off to change back into my uniform before heading back to class. A couple students still lingered inside, turning to look at me when I slid the door open. Didn’t anyone ever teach these brats it’s rude to stare? I scowled, grabbing my bag from my desk before leaving the room.

“Young Jen!” A woosh of air rushed past me before Toshi appeared in front of me, his large hands on my shoulders. “I was looking for you!”

“Well, you found me. And you know where I live, so.”

“Come with me, please!”

It was a bit hard to avoid drawing attention to myself when I was being dragged along by the most attention-grabbing hero in the fucking world. He led me to a small room with a couch and coffee table, where three cups of steaming tea sat. Aizawa was sitting in an armchair with his eyes closed and arms crossed.

“Please have a seat,” Toshi held out his arm toward the couch and I plopped down on the end closest to Aizawa. He sat beside me, angling his large body, which slowly fizzled out to his skeletal form. He coughed a few times before speaking. “Will you tell me what happened today?”

“With the green-haired kid? Yeah, I was wondering about that, too. A broken finger is pretty crazy, huh?”

“Jen,” Aizawa shifted, giving me a pointed look.

I shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t fucking know. One minute I was fine, the next I’m being subdued by Magic Eraser over here.”

Toshi put his hand on my knee, giving me a kind look. “You know you don’t have to keep secrets from us. You can be honest, you can trust us, we won’t judge you. We just want to help you.”

I clicked my tongue, lifting my leg to rest my ankle on my knee to remove his hand. “That’s pretty unfair, Toshi, when you have so many secrets of your own. Trust you? That’s rich considering you won’t even trust me.”

“What are you talking about, Young J -”

“You know a shit ton more about my dear old mum than you’re willing to tell, aye?” I forced a smile, standing up and shoving my hands in my pockets. “Probably about me, too. And this damned quirk. But that’s fine. I really don’t remember anything that happened so can I go now?”

The two of them exchanged a look.

“This isn’t over,” Aizawa responded, but his voice was softer than it had been earlier.

“Sure, sure.” I waved at them over my shoulder before closing the door behind me.

As I walked home, my phone started to buzz in my pocket as a new message came through. Another a few minutes later. And another. My eye twitched, already annoyed. I swear to god if Murder is spamming me again… but I knew it could only be him. I only have three contacts in my phone – Aizawa never texts me and I knew Toshi would be giving me some space for a while before trying to talk things out.

At that moment, I was overcome by a loneliness fiercer than I had ever felt before.

‘Oi, extra’

‘Dont ignore me’

‘I want a rematch’

The hell is this kid on about now? I replied, ‘U won last time bro…’

‘Its not a win unless i destroy u completely!’

I rubbed the back of my neck, ‘Im really not in the mood for this’

‘Che what crawled up ur ass and died?’

I hesitated, stopping to look up at the sky. The blue was replaced by hues of orange and red as the sun sunk low on the horizon. We’ve only talked a few times, but I felt… a bond with Murder and, right now, he’s the closest thing to a friend that I’ve got. ‘Hey… I wanna tell u somethin’

‘Oh god i dont want ur nudes’

This fuckin’ brat… ‘I said tell not show dumbass’

‘The fuckd u just call me bitch?!’

I slid my key into the lock, stepping into the silent apartment. I kicked my shoes off, pushing them against the wall so Toshi wouldn’t trip when he finally returned home. Falling onto the couch, another message came through.

‘Well r u gonna tell me or nah’

I smiled, sadly and began to tell him my story. I told him about how I got here and about the shadow man with his weird-ass warp quirk, about Gramps and how my mother was apparently a hero. I left out names and key details, of course, but I told him mostly everything that had happened over the past year. He would chime in with some smart ass remark every now and then, but I ignored them and continued to pour my heart out to this guy I had only just met a few days ago.

It felt so goddamn nice to get everything off my chest. It felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders.

That night, I slept better than I had since I arrived here.

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“I am… HERE!” The door to class 1-A slammed open and Toshi leaned into the room, standing on his tiptoes and holding the outside of the doorframe. “Coming through the door like a hero!”

If that’s how heroes make an entrance, count me out. It seemed to impress the other students, though, as a murmur of excitement filled the room. God, these kids are too easily amused.

“I can’t believe it’s really All Might!”

“So he is a teacher! This year is going to be totally awesome!”

“Hey look, is he wearing his silver age costume?”

“I’m getting goosebumps, it’s so retro!”

I fell onto my desk with a sigh. It’s like a bunch of little kids meeting Santa at the mall. I guess I could kind of understand it if he had powers but they didn’t, but they do. They’re no different from him, they’re just younger. I was thankful to be sitting behind Big Boobs – between her tall frame and gravity-defying hair, I was completely hidden from Toshi’s line of sight. We hadn’t talked since yesterday. I was asleep by the time he came home, and he was gone before I woke up.

“Welcome to the most important class at U.A. High – think of it was heroing 101!”

I don’t think ‘heroing’ is a word. Or is it? Scratching my cheek, I pulled out my phone, hiding it under my desk as I typed the word into the Goggle. Oh my god, the first result that comes up says the word ‘heroing’ means the opposite of being a hero! There’s also a mention of something about heroines. I scoff, earning a glare from the Peppermint that sits beside Big Boobs.

“Here, you will learn the basics of being a pro! And what it means to fight in the name of good. Let’s get into it! Today’s lesson, we’ll pull no punches!” He held out a card that said ‘battle’ in large, bold letters.

“Fight training!”

“But one of the keys of being a hero is~” Toshi pointed to the left wall as thin shelves emerged from it, holding numbered cases. “Looking good! There were designed for you based on your quirk registration forms and the request you sent in before school started. Get yourself suited up and then meet me at training ground beta!”

“Yes, sir!”

I waited until he left the room before standing up and grabbing case number twenty-one, following the throng of students as they rushed to the locker rooms to get changed. I went to the back of the room, hoping to avoid the other girls before sliding my shirt off.

“Woah, you have a tattoo? That’s so cool!”

I glanced over at the Punk Girl, earphone jacks hanging from her ear lobes. I grunted in response, turning my back to her. She muttered something about being rude before walking away from me. I glanced over my ‘costume’ before grunting in approval. Honestly, I had expected them to fuck it up, especially since Midnight didn’t approve of it, but I was surprised that they had kept it just as specified.

Black, steel-toe combat boots accompanying black baggy cargo pants with plenty of pockets for knives. A black belt with a silver skull buckle. A white wife beater, over which was a white overshirt, the sleeves stopping just past my elbows. I glanced in the mirror, putting my pendant under the tanktop before tucking the front of it behind the belt buckle. Damn, I really like this look.

I stepped out of the locker room ahead of most of the girls, seeing a few guys leaning against the wall outside, waiting. Fumi was among them, dressed in a black cloak that completely covered his body. He glanced at me when I approached, red eyes scanning my body.

“You look nice, Winchester-san.” He said, politely.

I chuckled. “You can use my first name, it’s easier. And you don’t look so bad yourself, Fumi.”

“Fumi?” he mused, following in step beside me as we headed down the hall.

“Don’t like it?” I asked, glancing at him.

“I don’t particularly mind,”

I hummed.

As the group reached the end of the long hallway, I could hear Toshi’s booming voice before I saw him.

“They say that clothes make the pros, young ladies and gentlemen. And behold – you are the proof! Take this to heart, from now on, you are all heroes in training!” His shadowed eyes scanned the crowd. “This is getting me all revved up! You look so cool! Now, shall we get started, you bunch of newbies?”

My eye twitched. Who the fuck is he callin’ a ‘newbie’? Didn’t that insult die like five years ago? We’ve talked about this, man, don’t try to be hip, you’re just gonna embarrass yourself, bro. I sighed, shaking my head. This is gonna be a long-ass day.

Footsteps came from the tunnel and I glanced over my shoulder. Is that… a green bunny? No, no, no, there’s something familiar about that costume, but what is it? Ugh, this is gonna bug me.

“Now that you’re ready, it’s time for combat training!”

“Sir!” Prep was encased in a suit of armor. “This is the fake city from our entrance exam. Does that mean we will be conducting urban battles again?”

“Not quite!” Toshi held up two fingers and at first, I thought he was flashing us the peace sign. “I’m going to move you two steps ahead! Most of the villain fights you see on the news take place outside. However, statistically speaking, run-ins with the most dastardly evil-doers take place indoors. Think about it! Backroom deals. Home invasions. Secret underground lairs. Truly intelligent criminals stay hidden in the shadows. For this training exercise, you’ll be split into teams of good guys and bad guys, and fight two on two indoor battles!”

Good guys and bad guys? That’s such a gray area, ain’t it? I leaned my arm on Fumi’s shoulder, scratching my cheek. Is anyone truly ‘good’ or ‘bad’, really?

“Isn’t this a little advanced?” Frog-girl asked.

“The best training is what you get on the battlefield! But, remember, you can’t just punch a robot this time. You’re dealing with actual people now.”

Actual people, huh? Should I avoid using my quirk? If I lose control again, there’s no Aizawa around to stop me. Someone could get seriously hurt or… I shook my head. Come on, don’t think that way. Just take a deep breath, you got this.

“Sir, will you be the one deciding who wins?” Probably.

“How much can we hurt the other team?” How villainous.

“Do we need to worry about the losers getting expelled liked earlier?” No, ’cause Toshi ain’t Aizawa.

“Will you be splitting us up based on chance or comparative skill?” Should be obvious it’s gonna be random.

“Isn’t this cape pre chic?” What the fuck is wrong with you, French Fry?

I sweatdropped. These guys are really fucking nuts, aren’t they?

Toshi held his head back, his voice strangled. “I wasn’t finished talking…” He reached into his costume, which I didn’t know had pockets, and pulled out a small notebook about the size of his palm, flipping it open as he held each side with one hand. “Listen up!”

Oh my fucking god, he wrote a script for this? “This class is a hot fucking mess…”

“The situation is this: The villains have hidden a nuclear missile somewhere in their hideout. The heroes must try to foil their plans. To do that, the good guys either have to catch the evildoers or recover the weapon. Likewise, the bad guys succeed if they protect their payload or capture the heroes. Time is limited and we’ll choose teams by drawing lots!” He held up a bright, yellow box.

“Isn’t there a better way?” Prep asked.

“Think about it,” Green Bunny responded from beside him, holding up a gloved finger. “Pros often have to team up with heroes from other agencies on the spot. So maybe that’s the reason we’re seeing that here!”

“Yes, I see. Life is a random series of events… Excuse my rudeness!”

I should really learn these guy’s names, but how can I do that without actually having to interact with them? I wonder if Aizawa or Tosh would let me see the student files… that seems pretty doubtful. Plus, Tosh hasn’t looked at me once so he’s probably still upset with me.

“No sweat! Let’s draw!”

Yup, this is definitely going to be a long-ass fucking day.

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[torreygazette]

my feelings vs. the church calendar

This is going to be not only about the Enneagram but about the Myers-Briggs. I know, it's the horoscope for intellectuals and you already hate it. This is also going to be about the church calendar (also known as the liturgical year). This is not a historical argument: if your denomination already employs it, you probably know more of the history and practice than I do, and if your denomination doesn't, I don't aim to persuade you. This isn't about you, this is about my FEELINGS. Save some time: please close this tab and send your hate mail directly to Joshua.

I'm a 5 and an INFJ.

Most 5s are male, and INFJ is one of the rarer MBTIs.

So being a female 5 INFJ has meant it's been difficult to find others who react to things or process information the same way I typically do. (I know, because being a 5, I immediately read everything I could get my hands on about the Enneagram, that's our thing.)

If you have managed to escape knowing anything about either system, here's the condensed version:

The Enneagram is primarily about how you respond to trauma. 

The MBTI is primarily about how you take in and process information.

The Enneagram has 9 types, the MBTI has 16. 

While a letter or two of your MBTI may shift over time, your original Enneagram number usually doesn't, but you do shift to different numbers in times of strength or insecurity.

That's probably enough to give you a rough idea. I have found the exploration into these methodologies to be fruitful, and as a 5, even damning self-knowledge is still knowledge, and I love collecting knowledge, so I'm all in on this. 

You might have noticed I'm stalling writing about my actual feelings—another 5 tactic. I do not like revealing personal information. I do not even particularly like having feelings since they are generally overwhelming and inconvenient, sometimes even contextually inappropriate. I'm German enough to be incredibly frustrated that emotions are not malleable, that they do not come and go when I say so. They are not LOGICAL, no matter how much I try to control them.

And this is where the INFJ stuff comes in. I feel other people's feelings. Always have, unless they are hiding them, or unless I make a conscious effort to turn off that part of myself. In the right context, I believe this could be called either empathy or discernment of spirits. In the wrong context, it's frightening and exhausting. It was particularly confusing when I was younger and didn't know what was happening, or why certain people made me feel certain ways. It is downright overwhelming in crowded situations (bars, parties, etc.).

I could probably make a living doing "fortune-telling," but that's a terrible use of a spiritual gift and dubious use of empathy.

I=Introverted

N=Intuitive

F=Feeling

J=Judging

So if you feel the feelings of others, how do you know when what you're feeling is actually yours? Sometimes I just don't have the energy left to have my own feelings. I also frequently need to retreat and spend time by myself. Trying to balance this need to have space with the 5 tendency towards unhealthy escapism? Haaaaaahahahaha. I'm going to be fighting for that balance the rest of my life. If you are one of my three or four extremely close friends, sure, I might talk about my feelings if you ask a direct question I can't escape from. I will not be led into it, I know what you're doing, and if you're anyone other than those three or four people, I'm going to deflect. Probably by using humor. Then while you're laughing, I'm going to change the subject back to YOU, and we'll be off to the races. 

Push me too far, with questions, or with your feelings, and you will experience 5 withdrawal coupled with the INFJ door slam. It will be like you never existed. (I'm working on not doing this as much as I used to.)

It's not ideal, but it's the way I am, and at least now I know WHY I act and feel this way. Being vulnerable, allowing myself to be seen, acknowledging that my needs and feelings are real and should be met, these things are HARD for me. I would prefer we didn't talk about me, and yet, I also need that sometimes, and it's almost impossible to accept. At my best, I believe that I am smart and capable (and I prefer to be judged on these grounds rather than anything else! Don't you DARE compliment me on my physical appearance unless you want to get stabbed), but that's a good day, that's 5 moving to 8, you would be better off getting out of my way. In that mode, I know that I have resources, that things will be okay, I can be open and magnanimous. This is the closest I will ever come to extroversion. I get there either by feeling really good, or really angry. 

When 5 goes to 7, in fear or stress or anxiety, I shrink, I shut off, I retreat. You will not see me. I am in hoarding mode: energy, resources, time. In this mode, I am not enough, and I'm going to punish myself for it, because how could I be enough for anyone else? How can I help others (my primary goal!) if I can't help myself? 

It can get emotionally dark quickly this time of year. I always end up a bit adrift around big holidays, not having any real family traditions to fall back on. My family of origin doesn't celebrate much of anything, and I don't have my own family. I don't know what to feel, and I don't know how to feel it. The holidays are a time when I want to feel my own distinct emotions, and sometimes I just can't, because there aren't any. How should I feel? How should I act? ..... and so I turn to the church calendar. Ah, we're in Advent. I know what that means. Having something to model myself on—something to copy—is a relief. Here is the emotional costume, the feelings-uniform, the appropriate one for the right time, that I should wear. 

When your feelings don't necessarily reflect reality, I have found it necessary to do the good actions, and hope the correct feelings follow. Following the church calendar can be part of doing the good actions. In Advent or Lent? Mourn, repent, pray, hope. In the feasts or Christmas or Easter? Lay off your sackcloth and ashes, and rejoice. Interestingly enough, Advent and Lent make the most sense to me. They fit my natural frame of mind. I have difficulty transitioning into seasons of rejoicing. I do not always feel like I deserve good things, or to rejoice. And yet, God calls us to, in so many ways, and sometimes through the church calendar. So much of the church year is what the Roman Catholics call "ordinary time," which I love. How extraordinary that on any given Sunday, you can go to your church and receive word and sacrament, and that is considered ORDINARY. That is what God has ordained for our good. The church calendar is not meant to draw attention away from Sunday worship. But I do think it can add to it. 

Yes, sometimes I am faking it and just hoping I end up making it. Yes, sometimes I feel like an impostor because my feelings won't cooperate.

This calendar is neither commanded nor forbidden. And for me, it shoulders some of the emotional burdens. It is an invitation to follow a slightly different year, not the 12-month hustle, but the rotating, repeating seasons of the church. That rhythm has become homelike to me when my "regular life" calendar is too full of obligations I don't want and empty of many things that I want very much. It takes me OUT of myself and plops me into the more eternal mindset of the church. I continue to meditate on time: we are in it now, but not for much longer. Emanuel! God is with us, and soon, we will be with God.