#the last doodle i did with like school sports events in mind

[ren-lui]

P.E. funtimes

[bushdivingbushranger]

What was going to an all girls school like, if you don't mind me asking? :)

OK anon im so sorry this is so long and so convuluted I actually got so carried away jdbKJBGKSDBGH. i'm not even sure i properly answered your question i just got overwhelmed with Love for my same-sex schooling DHGKJSDFBHG anyway, if there's anything more you want to know lmk and I will try to be concise next time 💀

Essentially, my own experience at a single-sex secondary school was fantastic—however, I know my experience isn’t universal, especially since my school was a little bit different to most, I think.

That being said, I still think that sending your daughters to female-only secondary schools is something every parent should strive to do if they can. No other learning environment will ever be as good for girls as a same-sex school.

In terms of school staff, mine was about 95% female, and 5% male. The few male teachers we had were genuinely competent men and decent teachers, they were also watched like hawks. Our principal was female, all leadership positions in the school (such as House Leaders, Year Level Co-Ordinators, Department Heads, even the chaplain) were held by women. Our school psychologists, our nurses, our library technicians, our café ladies, our career advisors, our tutors—all were women. Our school houses (think like Harry Potter houses) were named after important women in our country’s history.

I went to a co-ed primary school. And whilst at twelve you might not have the words to describe it, graduating from a co-ed space, into an all-female space is really a giant weight off of your shoulders. You don’t realise how suffocating co-education is until you’re no longer having to bear it. It feels so much more natural, so much more free! You are welcomed as you are. You can be loud and unashamed of it. We joked frequently with each other and our teachers, laughed loudly and cared not whether our laughs were ‘ugly’. I found that teachers were far more supportive than they were in my co-ed school. For example, in a co-ed school I had been told frequently to ‘pipe down’ or to ‘reel it in’ from teachers, and more vexingly to ‘shut up’ from boys due to my boisterous personality. In high school? My teachers encouraged me to audition for the play because I had ‘great projection’. In every school programme (more on those later) that I was involved in, I was the one asked to give speeches about them at assembly. I was asked to be the lead of our house chants during our sports festivals. I was asked to join the debate team because of my passionate nature, which in primary school, had me known as ‘difficult’.

Likewise, I had a friend who was by nature quiet, and loved to draw. In primary school she’d doodled on the back of a work booklet, and when her teacher returned it, she’d taken off two points and had written a comment saying something about teachers in high school not accepting work that was drawn on.

Do you know what happened when she got to high school? Our English teacher had seen the eye she’d drawn on the back of our Romeo and Juliet test and had written, ‘beautiful!’ above it. The next test, she drew a two-headed cat with witches’ hats on both heads (I remember the left head was called Turpentine and the right head was called Esmeralda). Our teacher wrote, ‘wonderful!’ above it, with a smiley face.

The next day she got an email from our art teacher that had a PDF flyer of information on both in-school and local art competitions.

Anyway, she had questions and that teacher answered every single one of them. She also personally helped her select the works she wanted to submit. She ended up having two pieces shown in the school gallery, along forty pieces made by other girls. About five years later for our final year, on that art teacher’s recommendation (and tutelage!) she took all of the visual art subjects on offer. When she graduated, her final piece was shown at a public exhibition in our state’s capital city, that honoured the best pieces done by select graduating students in the state.

So yeah. Our teachers were pretty amazing. Of course, there was the odd teacher or two you would butt heads with but that’s just a universal school experience. Our humanities classes, like history, for example, often had a unit that would focus on the female experience of a certain time period. For example, when learning about WW2, we did projects on female resistance fighters et cetera.

We had health classes that were actually focused on female health. We learnt about female anatomy (even the clitoris! Though we were all about thirteen/fourteen at this time so we found it incredibly awkward to talk about), as well as symptoms of PCOS during our menstrual unit. We learnt about contraceptive methods and devices (however, as a Catholic school they did have to tell us that whilst these methods are available, the church-sanctioned method is of course, abstinence).

Whilst the majority of the girls shaved their legs and wore makeup, as someone who did neither of those things I rarely felt judgement about it (albeit, I think there was a little for my lack of makeup, but this only lasted the first two years). A good portion of our staff also did not wear makeup, I don’t recall this ever being commented on. And, by the time we’d reached about our third year, a good portion of my year level and the ones above did not wear makeup on a daily basis. Leg hair was not looked down upon by any of us I don’t think by this year either. In fact, if you were particularly hairy often your hairless friends asked to rub your legs!

We were never short of female role-models, our staff made sure of that. We had multiple days per year when guest speakers would come and talk to us, mostly these were women who were experts in their fields—whether that be neuroscience or computer science, linguistics and literature or mathematics, politics, et cetera. The only times we really had male guest speakers was when police officers (one male one female) came to give us an assembly about sexual peer-pressure and laws around sharing nudes that was basically, “these are common (male) manipulation tactics used to pressure you into doing something you don’t want to do, don’t fall for them”.

We were encouraged to take STEM subjects, and those of us that had taken interest in computer programming were sent to coding programmes in the city during school hours! That’s how keen our teachers were to get more women into the field! This was the same with the girls interested in politics, who got to go to Model UN events, as well as mock parliaments in the country’s capitol.

We had a lot of programmes generally. A few overseas ones for girls who were in LOTE (languages other than English) classes. A few interstate ones, too. And of course, local programmes and excursions. Most of them (aside from the LOTE ones which focused on immersion) were volunteer programmes aimed at helping women and girls. The rest were about furthering our own skills or learning new ones. Majority of these were year-level based, but a few depended on the clubs/groups/classes you were in. For example, I was part of the Writer’s Club, and we took an excursion to the state Writer’s Festival and listened to female writers as well as feminist panels. We also had self-defence programmes every year.

In terms of peers I generally found everyone to be quite amiable by the time we’d reached our third/fourth year. There’s a common myth about all girls schools being filled with ‘catty’ girls who are constantly bitching about one another, but I really did not find that to ring true. There were a few fights and arguments in the earlier years, I was part of quite a lot lol but that’s honestly… just something that happens at school, at any school. Largely, we were good to each other. If someone was crying there was always someone who’d ask her what was wrong. If you missed the notes on the slide, there was always a girl willing to share her notes with you.

I think going to an all-girl’s school, and not having that much interaction with the opposite sex generally for that six-year period truly does something, I think, to your psyche. We are socialised to look down on our fellow woman, socialised to look down upon ourselves. But actually being constantly surrounded by women, and almost ONLY women, really helps to undo that. Even now I could not describe the fierce love I have for all those women and girls I came in contact with during my time there—even the ones I bickered with. Each and every single woman I met there enriched my life in some way or another. I think that is the effect of consistently spending time in any female-only space: developing a true appreciation for women. It is the only reasonable conclusion to come to.

I have been out of high school for two years, and in university for one. Among the many men I have met since, none of them have even been able to hold a candle to the any women and girls I know.

Anyway. TLDR: it slapped, send your daughters to same-sex schools!!

[antler-steve]

Flowers Event | Blue Rose (female reader)

For the BNHarem flowers event, please follow the link and check out the other stories and writers. I’m writing Tokoyami this time round, because he’s the best birb boy. Male reader version here. Credit to @bnhcs​ for making me a pretty birb banner!

I did not wonder at the lily’s white,

Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;

They were but sweet, but figures of delight,

Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.

  Yet seemed it winter still, and, you away,

  As with your shadow I with these did play.

~Sonnet 98

"Tokoyami?" You stared at the bird-headed boy as he stood at the door to your club's room, staring intently at the sign you had posted.

"You know my name?" he asked, eyes widening a little in surprise. For all of his avian features, his face was expressive, and up close you could see a faint iridescent sheen to his black feathers.

"Well, of course," you swallowed, staring up at him. "You- you were in the sports festival last year. And then that other thing- you were on the news! Class 2-A, right?" Pretty much everyone in the school knew the names of the students in the hero course classes. They were like celebrities, even the ones that weren't interning with top heroes like Tokoyami was. Not that they ever mingled with the students from the other courses, or left their dorms for reasons not related to their hero work.

Tokoyami nodded, peering again at the sign on the door behind you. "This is the poetry club?"

"Y-yes." You swallowed again, his continued presence beginning to fluster you. What was he doing here? "I'm the club president. Did you want to speak to Mr Yamada?" you asked. Your supervising teacher was one of the staff who taught the hero course students, maybe Tokoyami was looking for him.

The next words out of Tokoyami's beak were the last thing you had expected. "I would like to join your club. Please," he added, punctuating his statement with a deep bow.

You were at a loss. Hero course students never mingled with the general course. They certainly never joined the afterschool clubs. You stared down at the feathers on the back of Tokoyami's head. "You're on the hero course," you said, stupidly. "Won't you be too busy for this kind of thing? Don't you have more important things to do?"

He glanced up at you, expression fierce. "Club president," he said. "The hero I interned with told me that I should try to experience normal  highschool life."

"And you're doing that by joining a club?"

He nodded. "Yes."

"The poetry club?" you questioned, looking at his broad shoulders and serious face. Surely he'd be better suited to something like Rugby club, or Lacrosse or something. Not poetry.

"Poetry is very important to me. It is-" he closed his eyes, releasing a breath, a little gravel in his voice. "-a conduit for relief. A channel for dark energy. A great and beautiful thing. Please, club president. Let me join you."

That was the moment that you fell in love with Fumikage Tokoyami, whether you liked it or not.

***

It was an impossible sort of love, one that beat in your heart and your throat, filling the margins of your school notebooks with idle doodles, the sound of his deep voice in the back of your mind.

Tokoyami was so close, sitting patiently in the poetry club room with the other members as you ran each meeting, his eyes intent on you as you ran down the agenda or read a piece of poetry for the group. You watched him with his black notebook in his hands, scribbling something as he consulted one of the books from the club's collection, Dark Shadow at his shoulder. It seemed like he was another club member, someone you could talk to. But at the same time he was untouchable, a student on the hero course, the guy who placed third in the sports festival, the guy who'd gotten an internship with a top hero without being the hero's son. He was so far out of your reach it was laughable. A lowly general course student had no chance with him. It was a blue rose, something that could never exist naturally. So you stuffed your feelings down deep, squashing them against the bottom of your heart, and tried to forget.

***

Spring turned to summer and exams approached, the student dorms becoming stuffier and less bearable with every passing day. Everyone was feeling the heat and humidity, cramming together in the common areas to form study groups. Half the students in your class were wearing sweatbands as they pored over textbooks and example exams, several of the groups blasting online tutorial videos for different subjects or lo-fi music. It was chaos, no way to concentrate. The final straw came when one of the study groups started to sing the names of chemical processes as a way to memorise them, and you slammed the textbook in front of you shut with a bang.

You needed some air.

You'd been up on the school roof before to eat lunch, but not at night. Everything took on a strange cast in the darkness, the shadows longer and the noises the school heating systems made more sinister. This late at night it was finally cool enough to think, and you closed your eyes as you approached the edge of the roof, a cold breeze lifting your hair. From the top of the school building, you could see the forest that surrounded UA, and past it to the city, sprawling bright across the landscape as if the god in charge of decorating the sky with stars had spilled some on the ground.

You sat down, enjoying the crispness of the night air on your skin, and the relative quiet of the rooftop. You hadn't realised just how hemmed in the dormitories'd had you feeling until you were away from them, the motions and voices of your classmates impinging on your brain, crowding out your other thoughts. You breathed deep, and looked up at the sky. What you expected to see was the stars.

What you saw instead was darkness.

Inky blackness, like staring down into a deep well, like the darkness you imagined when you were four years old and had to sleep by yourself for the first time. The darkness was terrifying, shifting and flickering, and growing larger by the second. No, not larger, you realised with a mounting sense of panic. Closer. The darkness was coming closer and closer to you, but you couldn't look away. Couldn't tear your eyes from it. Instead you stood fixated as it descended around you. And at its centre, a boy.

His feathers blended perfectly with the iridescent blackness. He was dressed in a black hoodie and trousers, arms outstretched as he glared down, his beak a flash of yellow against the blackness. Watching him, you could see that his descent wasn't a controlled one, but a fall. He was  about to hit the roof. And you had nothing around you to soften the landing.

You moved without thinking, holding your arms out to catch him. His eyes widened in surprise as he crashed into you. Feathers flying, the impact knocked you to the ground, the air out of your lungs, and you opened your eyes to see Tokoyami's face staring down at you.

"Club president," he stammered, quickly removing himself from you, and offering a hand to help you up. "My apologies. I lost control of my quirk. I shouldn't- I could never-" His feathers stood on end, which you guessed meant he was flustered.

"It's okay, Tokoyami," you said, sitting up, your face hot. "It's at least part my fault, really." You swallowed, not daring to meet his eye. "And, ah, you don't need to call me club president all the time, you know. You can call me y/n ."

"Y/n, " Tokoyami repeated. He regarded you for a second. "In that case, you should call me Fumikage. What were you doing up here? Leaving the dormitories after dark is against the rules."

"I-" The heat of embarrassment was burning your cheeks. Admit to Fumikage Tokoyami, hero course student, that the noise and heat in the general studies dorms was just too much for you? Impossible. "I could ask you the same question," you said, more sharply than you intended.

"She's got you there," rumbled Dark Shadow from the darkness behind him.

Fumikage's feathers fluffed up in indignation. "I also-" he said, and he gave you something akin to a glare. "-do not have an excuse." His chest deflated slightly, and he glanced up at you almost shyly. "The hero I interned with last year taught me to fly. I missed the feeling of it. A selfish thing."

"Oh-" you bit your lip. "You can fly? What does it feel like?"

"You didn't know?" the look he gave you was puzzled, until it hit his bird brain that you weren't a hero course student, so of course you hadn't seen his abilities in action. "I'm sorry," he said, expression wry. "I'm used to the people around me knowing everything about me."

"That must be nice, to be so close to your classmates."

Fumikage nodded. "It is. Friendship is a treasure. Flying, though-" he sat back, looking up at the sky, now showing the stars and moon in their full glory once more. "The first time I flew, it was as if I had spent my whole life caged, not once thinking to look for a door or a key." His hand went to the crook of his elbow, as if remembering something. "And now, the whole time I am on the ground, the sky is there, in the back of my mind." He paused, his tone shifting slightly. "I felt myself a pure part of the abyss-" he said. It was part of a poem, a quote from an old book you remembered reading.

"I wheeled with the stars, my heart broke loose on the wind," you said, finishing the quote for him.

Fumikage's eyes were wide as he stared at you, his beak slightly open. "You know that poem?"

"Of course, the writer was very famous."

"Yes," he said. "But you knew it by heart."

You felt yourself smile. "I am the president of the poetry club, after all."

"Even so," he murmured. "Fumikage-" you swallowed, at that moment aware of his proximity, his height, and the sheer breadth of his shoulders. You paused, your heart beating fast as you mustered up your courage. "Do you- come up here often?"

Fumikage gave you a wary look, but nodded. "I don't usually fall out of the sky, however."

"That was just for me, huh."

Fumikage's feathers fluffed again. "Please forgive my lack of control, club pres- I mean y/n!" He clamped a hand over his beak, feathers at maximum fluff, and your laughter rang out over the rooftop.

***

You talked for what seemed like hours, Dark Shadow making the occasional pithy comment, and Fumikage insisted on walking you back to your dorm. You walked side by side through the school grounds, the shadows around Fumikage seeming larger than life, flickering over the grass of the school lawns, and dancing around your feet. He walked close to you, and for a moment you hoped against hope that he would take your hand in his, but his hands remained firmly in the pockets of his hoodie as he walked you to the door of your dormitory, and bowed his head slightly as he bid you a good night.

***

The dorms were quiet as you headed to bed, lost in your own thoughts. You'd see him again at that week's poetry club meeting- what would you say to him? Your love for him was still impossible, of course. You were still a fool for wanting him. But you'd shared a moment with him, on a rooftop at night, and your heart clung to that as you stared at the ceiling of your bedroom, beating too fast for you to get to sleep.

Fumikage didn't turn up to the next poetry club meeting, or the meeting after that. The club decided on a project for the school festival, a poetry slam, without him, and shortly after that you received a message through Mr Yamada stating that Fumikage had internship responsibilities. You tried to play it off, put it to the back of your mind. He was a hero course student after all. He was bound to get busy from time to time. But your mind played havoc with the situation. What if he didn't want to see you after the rooftop? What if he was seeing someone? Try as you might, you couldn't tamp down your feelings anymore.

When you saw Fumikage again, you were halfway through a club meeting, halfway through a poem, halfway through a stanza. It took all the control you had not to stop dead as he slipped in through the club-room door, shoulders hunched and head held low. He looked rushed, his uniform wrinkled and sweaty, and he gave you an awkward glance as he took a chair.

You wanted to ask him where he'd been, how he was, but how could you? You were club president. You had responsibility. You pressed your lips into a strict line and continued the reading as you fixed your eyes on a point in space that was not Fumikage.

You'd wanted writing to be the main focus of the poetry club when you had founded it last year, but Mr Yamada had insisted that poetry was also a spoken art form, so you tried to lead by example. To your relief, no-one seemed to notice your discomfort, or seemed to hear the way your heart hammered in your chest, and the club meeting went as it usually did.

Afterwards, however, Fumikage lingered, his eyes on you as you started clearing the club area. He cleared his throat, and you stopped dead, two volumes of Wordsworth in your arms.

"I wanted to apologise," he said. "For my absence."

You practically dropped the books you were holding. "It's okay," you said. "You're on the hero course, you're busy-"

Fumikage shook his head. "I had a responsibility to the club," he said. "I made an oath."

You smiled, putting down your books. "I hardly think putting your name on the club membership sheet counts as an oath, Fumikage."

That seemed to stump him. "Even so," he said, raising his hands. "I made a commitment."

"Then as club president, I absolve you," you said, waving a hand. "Okay?"

Fumikage gave you an inscrutable look. If you didn't know better, you might think he was smiling. You shook your head, doing your best to ignore the way your heart hammered in your chest.

"You know," you said, sidling up to him. "We're doing a poetry slam for the school festival."

"I know," said Fumikage, not meeting your eye. "Mr Yamada told me."

"If you wanted to make it up to the club, you could always help us out," you said. The bird headed boy was silent. There was something he wasn't telling you. "Fumikage?" you asked, but his eyes were grave.

"I'm sorry, y/n. I-" he shook his head."My class is holding an event at the same time."

Of course. The kids from the hero courses always ran their own events at the festival, and so Tokoyami would be expected to help class 2A. You'd looked forward to performing alongside him, but now you were cursing your own stupidity. You should have realised sooner.

"But," he said, looking at you sidelong. "I have written something for the occasion. Maybe you could read it out on my behalf."

"Fumikage-" you spluttered, as he took a leaf from his black notebook, folded over, and handed it to you. He'd been scribbling in that book all year, but he'd never read something of his own out in your club meetings, always preferring to quote Keats or Goethe.

"I trust you will do it justice, club president," he said, and you felt a chill run through your body as you promised him you would.

***

For the next few weeks you were caught up in the chaos that came with the school festival, building the sets and costumes for your club's event. The other club members rehearsed the poems they had written, until their performance was polished to your satisfaction, but Fumikage's poem remained in your presidential folder, clipped to the itinerary for the festival. You promised yourself you would read it, but between being club president and your other responsibilities, you were hitting your bed at the end of every day and falling straight into a dead sleep, not rousing until the alarm on your bedside table chimed at you.   The morning of the school festival rolled round, and you were woken by the sound of support course students drilling something outside your window.

You did your normal morning rituals, put on your uniform and grabbed your bag. It was going to be a hard day, but hopefully all the work you'd put into your club's contribution would pay off.

For the event, you'd decorated the room you'd been given like an old style jazz club, a stage at the front and a bar at the side, with two or thee-person tables dotted over the floor. One of your club members had a friend in the support course, and so you'd borrowed a smoke generator for the atmosphere. Mr Yamada had been very excited about the whole setup, heaping praise on it in english and promising to bring the other teachers to see it.

It had taken you and the other members weeks to complete the decorations, each of the posters on the walls celebrating a famous poet, and the drinks from the bar named after epic poems. Each of the tables had a flower from one of Shakespeare's sonnets in a glass jar, the quote wound round the stem on a little paper ribbon. That had been your idea.

You looked down at your itinerary, checking to see if you had missed anything, and your heart sank. Fumikage's poem was still clipped to the inside of your folder, neatly folded in half. Guilt filled you as you stared at it. You'd promised to perform it for him, and you hadn't even read it yet. You didn't have time to read it now, not with the other club members rushed around you, applying the finishing touches to the set. You needed to fold the napkins on the tables, and make sure the bar had enough orange juice to serve to guests. After that you'd need to do soundcheck, and you were running out of time.

***

Being up on stage was scarier than you expected, the burnt smell from the smoke machine filling your nose as you walked towards the microphone. Your club's event had a good turnout, lots of couples on the tables, and Mr Yamada was there as promised, sharing a table with Mr Aizawa and another teacher you didn't recognise. The pressure of performing hit you harder than you expected, and you felt your hands begin to shake as you unfolded Fumikage's poem.

He'd chosen iambic pentameter, your favourite meter, and the poem was written in his precise, jagged script.

"My love's eyes reflect the full dark night sky-"

You felt like you were about to choke. His love? Fumikage had a love? You felt your throat constrict and hurt, your eyes beginning to cloud with tears. Of course he had a love. How could someone as thoughtful and sweet and talented as him not have a love? You thumbed away your tears, breathing in. You could do this. You could read Fumikage's poem about his girlfriend on stage without crying. And you would do it, for him and for the club.

You cleared your throat and started again from the top, enunciating clearly.

"My love's eyes reflect the full dark night sky

She looks to the stars but sees me flying

I blot out the moon and stars from on high

Only my own darkness under my wing

Yet still she looks, and I am stilled by her

When she speaks her words are everything

Bring me to Shakespeare's globe theatre

Or to gregorian monks worshipping

To the cadence of her breath, or to some

Dark domain, real or phantasmagoric

For her and only her I come undone

And come to earth, my fall meteoric

I'm grounded, wound tight, as if by some black art

Her name on my lips, carved deep on my heart."

y/n

You stared at your own name, written neatly at the bottom of the poem. He had written it about you. You were his love. You were the one who was carved deep on his heart. Your hands trembled as you stared down at your clipboard, the audience applauding.

You rushed off the stage, feeling like steam was about to pour from your ears. Luckily the next performer was already heading onto the stage, and no-one seemed to notice you hiding behind the full-sized cut-out of Sylvia Plath you'd put at the bar.

You barely remembered the events of the next half hour, still reeling from the revelation that after all your pining, Fumikage liked you. He liked you, and he had written you a sonnet. You weren't hyperventilating. You weren't. You were just breathing in some extra air, that was all. Fumikage had written you a confession, and you'd just read it out in front of thirty people like it was no big thing.

Finally the event ended, and you stepped up onto the stage again to thank everyone coming on behalf of the club before collapsing face first onto the empty bar with a glass of apple juice in your hand, your only companion the smoke machine.

"Club president?" a familiar deep voice called from behind you. Fumikage.

You looked up to see him standing at the door, shadow curling in the smoke around his feet. He wore a formal shirt with the sleeves rolled, a cravat hanging untied around his neck, and he carried a guitar. "I told you you could use my name," you reminded him.

He clutched the guitar like it was a shield, looking away. "I thought-" he said, slowly. "I thought that maybe you wouldn't want me to. After the poem."

He was scared. The hero course student, the sports festival ranker, the intern for the number two hero, was scared of you rejecting him. In all your idle daydreams, you had never imagined this moment. You stared at him in shocked silence.

Fumikage stared back, his eyes full of doubt. "My sincerest apologies, I overstepped, I-"

"Fumikage!" You interrupted him, and he stood there stupidly, beak open. "I liked the poem!"

"I-I-" Fumikage blinked. "You did?" he said, and there was so much hope in his voice that your heart did a little somersault at the sound of it. All of your feelings, all of the daydreams and pining and frustration that you had hammered down over the year came flooding into you all at once.

"Yes, Fumikage!" you yelled, slamming your apple juice down on the bar. "Because I like you too!"

"I-ah-" Fumikage shut his beak. "Oh."

"I've liked you all year!" you said, exasperated.

Now it was Fumikage's turn to stare. "Oh," he said, as if the mysteries of the universe had just been revealed to him.

"So what should we do about it?"

"I. Um. Well." Fumikage shuffled a bit, rubbing the back of his head. "The second year support students are putting on fireworks next. Maybe we could watch them together? Or we could stay here, and I could show you the songs I've been learning to play." He paused. "If that's not too forward, I mean-"

You found yourself smiling, the most you'd smiled since meeting him on the rooftop. "No. That sounds perfect."

Fumikage's expression was a mirror to yours, one of surprise and joy.

Guitar in his arms, he climbed up onto the bar, eyes fixed with yours as he crossed his legs. He settled the guitar in his lap and played a couple of chords, adjusting the tension on the strings very slightly as he did. You could see he was a little flustered just being this close to you, and honestly you felt the same, your ears feeling hot as you looked up at him from your seat at the bar.

Fumikage closed his eyes, his quirk coiling out of him and settling round his shoulders as he took a breath, and his fingers found their place. "This is a song from an old band called Joy Division," he said, and he started to play.

For a few moments his music filled the air, and it was as if you were the only two people in the world.

[retvenkos]

“so what if we’re wild, we only live once.”

requested

BUCKLE IN FAM, BECAUSE THE NEWSIES IN HIGH SCHOOL FOR A MODERN AU WOULD OBVIOUSLY INCLUDE…

(also, keep in mind that this is based off of my experience in the american school system, any classes are ones that are offered at my own school.)

Bill

so he’s obviously head of the journalism staff

and he definitely is a part of yearbook too

and what is he interested in most??

chemistry

no one really understands why, but they don’t question it as long as he helps them with homework

and bill is 10/10 that guy who always has his homework done and let’s you borrow it

his worst class is by far history

he’s in choir and plays the piano for like, every song

he actually has a really nice set of pipes (he’s a tenor, too)

he’s terrible with dates

Darcy

so darcy is on yearbook because he can take the most stunning photos

and he is also a part of journalism, and his niche is critiquing

plays?? restaurants?? sports??

and yes, he goes to sporting events

and yes, romeo gives him a wink everytime he sees him at the baseball games

it’s a ship to end all ships

he isn’t quite sure what he wants to do in the future

i forgot to mention - these are headcanons for when each one is a senior in high school, i’m not working out ages in relation to each other. find someone more motivated for that

but he does know he wants to go to a really nice college

he’s definitely on chess club, and he’s a member of key club too

Katherine

journalism, guys. and she’s not into heavy creative writing, more like articles and interviews and such

president of debate

and her style game is strong - she, bill, and darcy are the three best dressed. facts.

she makes such pretty notes

and she slays in argument writing

english is obviously her favorite class, but a close second is her research class

and she actually sucks at cooking - she took culinary arts as a sophomore and set off the fire alarm twice

she has a free period in her schedule where she goes to the library and slaves over math

it doesn’t come easy to her

definitely has an old-school planner that is always full

Sarah

okay, i don’t know much about sarah - full disclosure, but i’ll try

so first of all, this girl is really put together

she has her schedule mapped out two months in advance, she remembers everyone’s birthday, and she already knows the vacation days during the year

she has library aide for one of her periods and knows every adult in the building by first name

she also happens to be an aide when kath has her free period and she is either the embodiment of the heart eye emoji or trying to help katherine with math

she loves psychology and already has plans to study it

she is in key club with darcy and also just volunteers a whole lot

her favorite is visiting and helping out animal shelters

she goes there so much that they finally just give her a job there

she doodles a lot on the side of her notes - it keeps her from falling asleep in science

the master of the messy top knot

Davey

okay, this boy does not know when to stop

he is taking all of the advanced classes he possibly can, and he’s stressing over them way too much

jack makes him like, 10 cups of stress relief tea daily

there’s also a running bet that the whole school is in on about whether he or kath will be valedictorian

specs says that davey will do it if he doesn’t have a heart attack before final exams

race says he’ll be so busy he’ll forget to even show up to graduation

also, while we’re at it, we need to talk about this boy’s notes. they are the hardest thing to decipher in this world, but if you can read his chicken scratch then you have a goldmine of helpful ways to study

he loves mnemonics with a burning passion and uses them at every chance he can get

his favorite class is chinese or math

and he’s definitely a part of future business leaders of america, mesa, and book club

Les

yes, this is for when les is a senior

he’s obviously not in the same year as the rest of the gang, but les as an 18 year old is gold

okay, first of all… heartthrob who genuinely doesn’t know it

he’s not actually officially part of any club, but he’s always staying after school afterward to like, float into the different club meetings

but he’s definitely an sbo - probably vice president or activities

he’s a part of band and definitely plays the saxophone

you know that means he starts off every class period by playing careless whisper

the teachers all really love him

he actually gets pretty good grades

and he is way overly competitive in review games, especially ones in history

he will wreck you

always goes off campus at lunch and walks into his next period a couple minutes late with a shake

Jack

did someone say art?????

jack does literally every form of it, and he does them all so well

davey seethes at this, but loves it when jack helps in in ceramics

he’s also really supportive of younger artists who are still perfecting their art, so he’s obviously the head of the art club

and he’s the paint master for drama club and all of their productions

he frequently falls asleep in english class

he’s also the president of latinos in action - chosen unanimously even though he wasn’t going for the position

y’all can fite me on latino! jack kelly

also, his signature style is a blue sweatshirt, and all of his clothes have paint on them

he’s also that kid who never has a pencil on him, and never returns the ones he is given just because he always forgets

Crutchie

so i don’t know where the headcanon about crutchie being on the swim team originated, but it is dear to my heart and lives on in this post

he is the nice™ jock

also, he wants to go into the medical field for sure

he had medical terminology as last class of the day and it makes his day 10 times more bright

he uses highlighters so much (but only the yellow ones)

also, crutchie is lowkey a style icon???

all of his teachers love him

he’s that kid that always raises his hand in a group discussion, and it’s one of two things: a lame pun that gets more groans than laughs, or a really insightful bit of knowledge 

there is no in-between

definitely volunteers with sarah at the animal shelters and is a part of french club, even though he’s only ever gone to like, two meetings

Albert

albert wrestles, no one can convince me otherwise

but he’s also on dance co.

we love a well rounded boy - especially when he’ll pull up if you question his life choices

he is soooo salty, and he has no filter. Even in front of teachers.

anyone in his history class can attest to this - especially when they are going through america’s messy past

literally does not care about the majority of his classes

but he maintains a good gpa so he can be on the wrestling team

also, he failed his driving test twice, and when he got his license it didn’t make a difference since no one would trust him with a car anymore

but he’s actually really good in his business and marketing class

he frequently helps in the little store that the business class runs during lunch and stuff because he’s really good with money and change

Race

a part of dance company

and he hates the early morning practices with a passion but will just chug energy drinks to get through it

this boy doesn’t sleep… unless it’s in english

the most surprising thing about him is that he’s really good at math??

and he doesn’t even try - he’ll be talking all class period and then finish the homework in class in like, 10 minutes flat

it’s the same thing with physics

but it’s not like you can ask him for help, because he doesn’t really listen to the professor or follow their methods and steps

like i said earlier, race just doesn’t care

or so you think, but his shirt is always matching the color of his shoes and headphones, but then his hair is literal mess and he wears like, he only owns like, two different pairs of joggers

he’s honestly such a mystery

Buttons

okay, so buttons kills it at fashion, which is why he aces his fashion design class

he’s head costumer for all of the drama departments musicals and plays

he’s also really into art history, and he gets inspiration from art all the time

he’s definitely a part of key club and is a part of national honors society although he’s only ever gone to a couple meetings for both

he gets pretty decent grades in everything but physics, but he definitely tries to study for all of his classes

he goes stag to every school dance and deliberately tries to get his ships together for a song

coffee??? he only ever drinks it black

it’s how he stops romeo from taking his

he’s also a dork who color codes his notes because they help him study better

but he has no idea how to take notes for math class, so he kinda just does example problems and then is confused on how it ever did it in the first place

Elmer

so this is one musically talented boy

he plays the guitar, trumpet, and drums

it’s also an inside joke with him and jojo that they both play the castanets

but he’s definitely a part of any band the school offers - as well as pit for the musical

he’s a really chill, laid-back student that gets their work done and just hangs out

he is very nice and definitely a teacher aid for one of the english teachers

and he’s also a part of the poetry club

it’s to improve his songwriting as well as give him a place to destress

He’s definitely the guy who will always lend you his notes if you missed a day, but he’s also not that great at taking notes because his mind is always on something else

he’s also an attendance office aide for one of his periods

Henry

he took ballroom as a joke with mike, and he really ended up liking it

but he’s not a part of dance co. because their style is totally different from ballroom

He also has a lot of energy, so he’s that kid that’s always bouncing his leg up and down and making the desk behind him shake

but no one ever asks for him to stop because he has the biggest smile that you just can’t shut down??

he knows this, though, and he definitely uses it on teachers to get extensions on his work, and he does, like 80% of the time

his worst class is probably english because he can’t just sit down and read for long periods of time

but during the shakespeare unit he kills it because he’s always first to volunteer to read or do a part

his handwriting is very messy and he uses so many abbreviations not even davey knows what they’re saying

always races to be first in the lunch line

always one of the first people to be in class

Hot Shot

he has auto shop as his first class of the day and absolutely loves it

but he’s also that kid that hangs out with his friends in the middle of the hallway, bottlenecking the whole thing during passing time

thinks he’s the cool™ kid

wears leather jackets exclusively

he hates any core class

but secretly really likes his humanities class

he’s taking italian with spot and the poor teacher just can’t handle these two together

he’s also secretly good at basketball

the coach found out somehow and asks him every year to be on the team

but hot shot would rather die than be on a school team

Ike

has a youtube channel where he mostly posts prank videos  especially those that involve the school

he ran for sbo and was elected as treasury, even though mike is the one who went to all of the meetings for like, two months straight

he is the epitome of a class clown, but it’s always in good fun

he always is wearing a black t-shirt under his sbo sweater

and since he’s an sbo he has to go to all the sports game to support and stuff and he cheers the absolute loudest

he does gymnastics with mike after school every day and at every sbo meeting he brings up how it needs to be a part of the sports at school

he never takes notes but can retain everything

his worst class is anything science related

but he’s secretly really good a history

A proud member of spanish club

Mike

mike is definitely the more artsy twin

he takes drawing and ceramics but can’t paint for the life of him

he’s a part of the art club with jack and is basically second in command there

he does gymnastics with ike after school and is on dance co.

he struggles with math and science but gets by okay

has a free period for first where he could be sleeping in or studying but instead he goes to auto shop to talk to hot shot

he definitely has a crush. hot shot won’t admit it, but he loves mike being there.

he usually wears bright colors with his dance co. jacket

doesn’t really like coffee, but he always has a coke on him - it’s his one weakness

is also a part of spanish club

Kenny

okay, so i know, like, nothing about kenny, so i’m just going with my gut based off of his photo

film is his passion and he wants to be a director one day

is 10/10 that kid in your photography class that spends 90% of the time making stop-motion videos

he’s very nice and is always lending jack pencils even though he knows he’ll never get them back

also, there’s a running gag that he and darcy are the same person, ike runs conspiracy theory videos on his youtube channel

his two favorite classes are film (duh) and theatre

he’s a part of the ensemble of every musical the school puts on

he’s even directed a show a couple of times for the spotlight showcase

he is like that background kind of kid that is a part of the big groups and is totally included but just doesn’t have a huge role in the big stuff

he hates having to write essays because he says it’s sucking the creativity out of writing

also likes psychology

JoJo

co-captain of the soccer team

also a madrigal with bill and specs (he’s a baritone)

always tries out for the school musicals, and he usually gets a main part

he takes quite a few advanced classes and it is not rare to find him passed out on one of the other newsies’ couch

he manages to keep a good gpa with his schedule

his favorite class besides madrigals is probably latinos in action, which he has the same period as jack

while he doesn’t play any instruments himself you can always find him hanging out in the band room at lunch

he is absolutely terrible in math but is taking college math now so he can get it done with and never have to do again for as long as he lives

his aspirations are pretty much all over the place at the moment, but he smiles through the uncertainty

“i feel like it’s fine”

Romeo

on the baseball team

a shameless flirt, especially with darcy

did someone say president of the asian american club??

he’s also a part of drama club because he has a passion for theatre

he can’t when it comes to math, though

so instead of getting frustrated he just writes notes in the calculators for people to find

he’ll also fall asleep in that class

he’s definitely a partner in crime with ike and frequently is a guest on his youtube channel

studying??? who’s she???

really good at debate, though. katherine keeps telling him he should join the club but he says his skills are beyond that of a club

Finch

on the track team and one of the fastest runners

it’s a good outlet for all of his energy

he takes notes in all of his classes since he learned all the strategies from avid, but he never looks back at them

surprisingly gets really good test scores, though

you know he takes wildlife biology and he memorizes like, every type of bird call

he can even mimic some of them - it’s how he wakes romeo up in math.

he also goes out every day for lunch, and his next period is english which he has with like, all of the boys, so he’s always throwing fries across the room for henry or mush to catch in their mouths

he beats his own school records every year so he’s like, constantly the athlete of the month

definitely goes to all of the different sports games and cheers very loud

carries a huge water bottle that he fills up during french class to get out of presentations

Kid Blink

first of all, this kid does not do any kind of sport because his depth perception rivals that of mine

which means it  s u c k s 

however, he kills it at math and physics is his one true love

If you need a study partner for either, he’s your guy. just know that he explains nothing and goes pretty fast. keep up and you can do math with him.

he lowkey hates history because it’s about a whole bunch of dead people who were problematic

he’s a part of mesa

he takes american sign language and it’s one of his favorite classes

he and smalls are constantly having conversations from across the room

a lot of the time it’s about the teacher, and one time they were caught by their chemistry teacher who knew asl

they got detention for like, a week because of it

Mush

here comes the heartthrob!!!!

very handsome, and his strong suit is engineering. which always shocks people.

which means he’s definitely a part of mesa and the engineering and technology club

he’s definitely the person to go to if you need help in physics. he explains things really well

the only bad part about it is that he also goes off on tangents when he’s explaining and you can get confused if you listen too long

he’s actually kind of a style icon, his hair is probably the best out of everyone

he always has headphones in, but one earbud is out so he can hear the teacher and whatnot

he cannot act for the life of him

but he has a good-natured laugh that makes up for the cringe 

he also cannot dance

Smalls

okay, so smalls is a part of the asian american club, key club, and poetry club 

even though he cannot write to save his life, they let him come because he’s uber supportive

there’s also a joke that he and spot are a part of the short™ club

lowkey, smalls started this joke because he finds it hilarious when spot gets upset

he actually takes interior design and it’s his favorite class

he’s really good with color

he also takes woodworking and makes the guys stuff for it

davey has a bookshelf and jack has a desk

takes asl with kid blink and loves it

is the kid who always has to stand up to take notes because seating charts always put him in the back, despite his height

Sniper

okay, so sniper is a cheerleader but don’t let that fool you - she’s also on the wrestling team and will take you down

albert is like her older brother and helps her with her business class

she regrets having taken it, but she needed another cte credit and thought it would be safer than welding

she has a criminal law class that she loves with all of her heart

she writes in all capitals

she’s also that kid that writes all of her essays handwritten to spite her english teacher which, on the first day of school, complain about her writing in all caps

she’s good with history and has it with albert and it’s her personal goal to get him to laugh at her comments in that class

studying??? sounds studious. and not a part of her aesthetic.

has an attendance office aide period where she mostly does the homework for her next class period

is that kid that always almost swears in class debates

Specs

first, our boy is president for madrigals (he’s a low bass)

then he’s a proud part of the book club

his thing is psychology, and he goes in hard, he and sarah sit next to each other and talk in hushed whispers about all the cool stuff they learn

he takes very neat notes

but only has to look at them two or three times before he’s ready to take a test

is always an ensemble member in the school musicals

he is also a library aide and constantly smells like old books

very organized

his locker always has everything you could possibly need - a jacket, hat, bag of trail mix, water, etc.

the mom friend™

Spot

first of all, he’s that kid who always sits in the same seat. if you’re sitting in his seat, you’re dead. don’t @ him.

he hates science with a burning passion and is so glad he finished all of his credits for it in junior year

is actually a bit of a history buff

but he never participates in class, just writes really good essays and aces every test

and speaking of writing

he’s actually really into creative writing

who did you think started the writing club???

but he’s no less tough

he always wears a leather jacket, a red shirt, cuffs the bottom of his jeans, and has his pen tucked behind his ear

he doesn’t really take notes, and he only writes in pen

Tommy Boy

captain of dance company

is having none of race’s idiocy at practices either

but he’s actually really funny and nice, all the teachers love him

can’t write a summary in english for the life of him but will write a 10 page essay on why dance company is a part of the performing arts and deserves just as much recognition as theatre, choir, and band

only ever eats out of the vending machines for lunch

is a part of french club

really likes culinary arts because his one weakness is sugar

can’t do any form of art other than dance

but he doesn’t need to - he’s that good

notes??? what are those???

AND FLUFF ENSUES.

[nsfwviolets]

so tumblr is annoying & decided to delete my intro post !! but since i had the opportunity to rewrite vi’s intro post, i decided to make some minor tweaks here & there. & without further ado, here is violet ( again ) !!

a TAYLOR HILL lookalike was strolling down broadway street in their giuseppe zanotti high heels. violet lennox just had a birthday party for her twenty second birthday. she has been living in new york city for fourteen years. i hear she tends to be melodramatic at parties, but also kind of benevolent.

basics ;;

full name:  violet ( soft & sweet ) faith ( unquestioning belief and complete trust in god ) lennox ( northern irish / scottish last name ).

nicknames: vi, v.

age: twenty-two.

birthday: 25 may 1996. 

zodiac: gemini. 

gender: cisfemale. 

pronouns: she / her / hers. 

sexual orientation: bisexual ( in the closet ). 

nationality: american. 

hometown: aspen, colorado. 

parents: diane galindo ( brooke shields ) & richard lennox ( rob lowe ). 

siblings: older sister ( lily collins ). 

pet(s): 6 month old miniature labradoodle named tate. 

religion: roman catholic. 

height: 5′10.

occupation: instagram model / model / socialite.

positive traits: honest, loyal, passionate, responsible, authentic, affectionate, reliable, kindhearted, & courageous. 

negative traits: loud, manipulative, stubborn, materialistic, selfish, abrasive, hypocritical, insecure, & dramatic. 

hobbies: shopping, audrey hepburn movie marathons, traveling, being the center of attention, photography, spontaneous dance parties, working out, massages, doodling, pilates, online shopping, & journaling. 

habits: interrupting someone mid sentence, excessive hair tucking, shoulder rolling, lip biting, & impatiently tap her heels or nails when she is at a loss for words or annoyed. 

aesthetics: silk dresses, red lingerie, lip gloss, lipstick stained coffee mugs, matte nail polish, glitter, dainty jewelry, diamonds, snow days, satin sheets, impulsive shopping sprees, romantic comedy binge watches, ocean waves, lolita, bright lights, day drinking, champagne for breakfast, iced matcha, lingerie as outerwear, yves saint laurent black opium perfume sprayed on the nape of her neck & her decolletage, lavender oil, freckled skin, acrylic nails, snow blanketing trees, hardwood mahogany floors, hgtv reruns, vintage chanel, pretty in pink, rose gold accents, bubble baths after a long day, half naked pictures, & rose water. 

style inspo: taylor hill, kylie jenner, candice swanepoel, josephine skriver, kendall jenner, blair waldorf, & cher horowitz. 

muse inspo: brooke davis ( one tree hill ), cher horowitz ( clueless ), blair waldorf ( gossip girl ), gabrielle solis ( desperate housewives ), mini mcguinness ( skins ), holly golightly ( breakfast at tiffany’s ), kelly kapoor ( the office ), rachel green ( friends ), & mona-lisa saperstein ( parks & recreation ).

background ;;

violet faith lennox is diane galindo’s & richard lennox’s youngest child. born three weeks early on 25 may 1996 at aspen valley hospital in aspen, colorado. the very moment they held their daughter ( who they lovingly referred to as a ‘ blessing ‘ ) in their open arms, they knew that their family was finally complete.

her mother ( diane ) is her parents’ pride & joy. as the eldest daughter of wealthy wall street executives, she has done nothing but make her family proud her entire life. growing up, her dream in life was to help her father’s business but her career quickly changed course when she decided to pursue a career in medicine. the new york native eventually ended up going to harvard medical school in boston, massachusetts where she would end up meeting her future husband. to this day, dr. galindo is one of the most recognizable names in medicine & is world renowned for her work as a reproductive endocrinologist ( fertility specialist ). 

her father on the other hand ( richard ) was born to an influential family in los angeles, california. from an early age, he was exposed to the spotlight due to the fact that his own father was governor of california & hoped to become president one day. however, things seemed to go off course the day the former governor was caught in his own cheating scandal all while being married to a former pageant queen. scandal erupted when the politician not only cheated on his stunning wife with a young secretary but when his mistress announced to the world that she was pregnant. the entire news circuit covered this affair for months & the governor resigned from his position when news broke that he urged his mistress to get an abortion.

following the scandal, the family fell out of the public spotlight. they spent years trying to repaint their public image after it was tarnished for nothing but selfish desire. approximately ten years later, the family made news again but this time about their newly found faith in god joining the long list of religious right wing politicians. richard’s father felt as if the only way to redeem himself was to devote himself to god. after years of distancing themselves from the catholic church, the family dove right back in which became the start of their fundamental catholic values that ruled every aspect of their lives.

as the only son in the family, richard’s parents had high expectations for him. however, he seemed to have different plans for himself that didn’t involve making his family proud or practicing what they preached. as an undergraduate student at yale, his interests were far & few between. his days only seemed to consist of sleeping with random women & binge drinking to his heart’s content. he knew that he didn’t have to be an astounding student because he had a giant trust fund waiting for him at home. but after a drunk driving accident that resulted in a 40 year old woman’s hospitalization & his own arrest, richard knew he had to clean up his act. 

he eventually followed his family’s lead & became an ultra religious catholic. he even managed to boost up his grades & get an academic scholarship to harvard law school where he met diane.

diane didn’t come from a strong religious background. in fact, she liked to tell people that she only believed in science & didn’t have faith or trust in a superior figure. but when she met a young richard lennox, her entire world was turned upside down. she let him into her life, converted to catholicism, & the two got married after three years of dating. 

flash forward to 1992. the married couple is moving to aspen, colorado for diane’s new job at an upscale hospital. they even received a generous check from richard’s parents to buy a mansion in the mountains !!

life for the couple in colorado was serene. they eventually welcome their first child into the world ( a daughter ) & a few months later, their families moved to help them raise their children. both diane & richard always wanted a big family due to their catholic faith. they both agreed they would stop after 6 kids, however, their minds were quickly changed when she became pregnant with violet.

her pregnancy was extremely difficult to say the least. between being on bed rest for months & frequent hospitalizations, she didn’t know if she could do this again. on top of her own health issues, she also had problems with her unborn child. there was even a night where they thought they would lose violet after diane experienced unexplainable bleeding & her fellow colleagues at the hospital couldn’t detect a heartbeat.

luckily, they were able to find a heartbeat after 6 minutes of deafening silence & hushed prayers for a miracle. after that night, they knew that their daughter was a blessing which is why they agreed to give her the middle name faith which symbolizes their unrequited devotion to god. 

eventually, violet was born !! she was born three weeks early & spent a week in the icu but overall she was healthy. she was a bit underweight but she was miraculously healthy. but after everything the family had been through, they decided that violet would be their last child. 

as a child, violet did every thing her parents had asked of her. their faith played a large role in her upbringing which is why she spent every sunday inside of church. 

by the time she was 8 years old, her family decided to move to new york city due to the fact that her mom received a prestigious job on the upper east side. at the age of 8, violet was already a competitive gymnast who’s likes included spending time with her family, competing, & going to school. even then she knew she could do everything she loved in another state which is why she didn’t put up much of a fight when she was told that they would be moving across the country. 

moving from snowy open colorado to the upper east side of manhattan was definitely a culture shock for violet even at an early age. nonetheless, she eventually got used to new york city life & to this day she doesn’t think she would survive a week in colorado. 

even after she moved to a new part of the country, violet remained devoted to gymnastics & her family. she had dreams of one day going to the olympics for gymnastics & everyone who knew her saw her potential. she even competed in world events & became a household name !! although, her parents often emphasized that school & religion come first which is why they made her & her sister attend a private catholic school all the way through high school.

in high school, she was a classic goody two shoes church girl. she was a strong student who received perfect grades in order to please her parents. for the longest time, she didn’t have time for anything other than school & sports but that changed by the time she was 16.

despite attending an all girls school, violet met her first boyfriend through one of her mutual friends. & like all stereotypical teen romances, it was love at first site. she was so infatuated with him that she was willing to put everything in her life on the back burner in order to focus on him. 

& by the time she was 18, she received numerous academic & sports scholarships to prestigious colleges. however, violet decided to take a gap year in order to spend more time with her boyfriend of two years. she knew that she would eventually go to college but she wanted to make some time for herself first. her parents weren’t exactly happy about her decision due to the fact that she has big shoes to fill but they eventually came around the idea & were even happy for their daughter & her wholesome catholic boyfriend.

during her gap year, they spent an entire year traveling the world. they went to bali, greece, peru, brazil, iceland, dubai, thailand, argentina, & morocco. throughout the course of the year, violet documented her travel on her instagram & other social media platforms which is when she started gaining a lot of followers who wanted to watch her travel the world with the love of her life. before her influx of instagram followers, not a lot of people outside the world of gymnastics knew who she was. people of course knew who her parents were ( a famous doctor & lawyer ) but the world did not really know who exactly violet lennox was.

by the end of her gap year violet already had over 1 million followers on instagram !! & she was already getting paid doing what she loves which is travel the world. & since all of this happened during her year off, violet ended up telling her parents that she didn’t want to go to college which damaged their relationship as a result. 

since her parents were so unsupportive of her decision to not go to college & ultimately quit gymnastics, violet ended up moving out of her house & moved in with her boyfriend at only the age of 19. & because her parents were completely unsupportive of her decision not to attend college, they cut her off financially & she was forced to make a living for herself. by this point, her career as a social media influencer was booming so she was already making a lot of money just through promoting detox teas, teeth whitening kits, etc.

it may seem as if life for violet was perfect by this point despite her falling out with her parents. however, that was not the case. even though she fooled the entire world by thinking that she had a perfect relationship, her boyfriend was incredibly abusive towards her & had been ever since the two started dating. although he was never physically abusive, he was mentally, emotionally, & verbally abusive. for years violet made excuses for him & blamed herself for their problems which only made her feel more miserable than she already was. this was her first real relationship & she genuinely thought that they were destined to be together even though she was severely unhappy.

he would constantly cheat, manipulate her, make fun of her appearance & insecurities, & wouldn’t let her do anything without his permission. the two were together for three years & there even was a time where violet became pregnant but quickly had an abortion without him knowing as soon as she found out. just three months after living together, she finally found the courage to break up with him. although it wasn’t easy at first, she’s thankful that she finally got out of a dangerous relationship. she also understands the dangers of social media better than anyone else because she fooled the world into thinking that she was in a happy loving relationship when that was far from the truth.

when violet told the world about their breakup ( most likely in an instagram live or an instagram story ) she ended up losing millions of followers. the majority of her followers only followed her to watch her travel the world with her boyfriend so once they found out that they were no longer together ; they didn’t see the point in following her anymore. 

for an entire year following her breakup, violet began to spiral out of control. she started using drugs, alcohol, & partying as coping mechanisms in order to help her move on & forget about everything she had endured. that of course didn’t work but that didn’t stop her from partying every single night of the week & ending up in a stranger’s bed. eventually, she even leaked her own sex tape & naked pictures to the press in hopes that the press coverage would help make up for the millions of followers she lost on instagram. 

& as she expected, the world would not stop talking about her sex tape for months. she gained the most followers she has ever done & eventually she got real modeling jobs as a result of her popularity. she hasn’t exactly told the world that she was the one who leaked the 20 minute video but everyone in their immediate circle knows she did it & also knows that she has other videos lying around for ‘ emergency ‘ situations. 

however, her parents cut off all contact with her following her scandal & it is still something that cuts deep two years later. she tells herself & everyone around her that she doesn’t need a family but everyone knows that’s a lie. it’s just a lie she keeps on telling herself to feel better about herself. 

violet managed to clean up her act & went from being a social media influencer to an actual model. many people don’t respect her name due to her troubling past with her sex tape & being an instagram model but that doesn’t seem to stop her. she has been featured in the love advent calendar, the victoria’s secret fashion show, & many fashion weeks since then. she is also the youngest global ambassador for lancôme & ralph lauren !! as of recently, she has been doing a lot of work with victoria’s secret & has been featured in many catalogs & even became the newest face for one of their fragrances. although she has become more of an actual model rather an instagram model, she still stays loyal to her social media platforms which is why she has over 100 million followers. 

she lives a happy life after being so unhappy for so long but she still seeks her parents approval even though they have no contact with her. 

personality ;; 

for someone who is incredibly smart, she pretends to be dumb sometimes. she doesn’t think that guys like smart girls so she dumbs herself down. but she could also be a ditz at times ( unintentionally ).

she likes to think of herself as approachable but she also knows that she can be intimidating. nonetheless, she tries to be nice to everyone who comes her way unless they say the wrong thing to her & then she switches on her mean girl switch that comes far too easy for her. 

even though violet is a lot to deal with, she is a nice person !! although she does have a flair for the dramatics & denies being dramatic all the time. she also likes to think of herself as a ‘ good girl ‘ even though she is far from one. she loves sex & isn’t afraid to shy away from that but she still tells people that she’s good or an angel because it makes herself feel better about herself.

she also goes to confession 1-2 times a week to pray for her sins in order to get into heaven. she thinks with the amount of adultery she commits on a daily basis she needs to pray for her sins otherwise she won’t go to heaven & she thinks she looks way better in white than in red. 

if you do her wrong, she will go out of her way to make your life a living hell. she is incredibly protective over the people in her life so she will do just about anything for them including berating people. revenge might as well be her last name !! 

she may be loud and unnecessary at times but she is kind hearted and does mean well. even if she does have a bad way of showing it at times. 

miscellaneous ;;

since she comes from a strict traditional upbringing, she was taught that being anything other than straight is wrong. so when violet first started experimenting with girls & even developed feelings for one, she told herself that she was going to hell. this is one of the reasons why she has not come out of the closet or has even come to terms with her sexuality. she denies all past same sex encounters & relationships which isn’t healthy. but since her parents disowned her following her sex tape, she knows that they would hate her more than they already do. if they ever found out that their daughter was anything but straight they would lose their minds & she’s still hoping that one day they could repair their relationship. apparently being bisexual is worse than having a sex tape !!

when she was a competitive gymnast for the united states national team, she was often put on strict diets in order to keep up. as a result of the strict dieting & unrealistic body images, violet developed bulimia as early as 12 years old. so when she quit gymnastics after deciding not to attend college, she was happy. she loved the sport but hated the pressure. even to this day, the sport isn’t actually sure what happened to her because she was an olympic hopeful. they all thought that she could have been the next gold medalist but she values her own mental health & sanity over a couple of medals. & even though she sought help for her eating disorder that reared ugly heads at times, she did slip up a lot while she was with her boyfriend who would make fun of her appearance. even now she isn’t 100% but she is better than she has ever been.

she also had another abortion with sebastian after a one night stand. she doesn’t like to talk about it but she does wonder what her life would look like if she did have the baby or if she could ever get pregnant again.

is extremely flirty & alluring.

violet also believes that the world revolves around her. many people may find her confidence to be annoying or superficial but she takes pride in it because it took her so long to learn how to love herself after being with her first boyfriend.

speaking of relationships, she’s terrible at them. she often runs away when things become too serious, manipulates the people she’s with, or breaks up with them for no reason. her logic is that she wants to hurt someone before they have the chance to hurt her. she still has yet to understand that the rest of the world isn’t like her ex but her past still haunts her every time she catches feelings.

she likes to tell people that monogamy isn’t the life for her which is why she prefers casual sex. she is also a proud sugar baby & has many sugar daddies !! most of them are old & married but she is a sucker for anyone who buys her nice things. 

also has an instagram account for her dog !! 

her most used emojis in her phone are the martini glass, the suggestive face, & the pink glitter heart.

she’s a gemini which means that she is expressive, quick-witted, sociable, and affectionate. 

her favorite tv show is gossip girl. 

her favorite movie is the notebook.

has a passion for photography but hasn’t explored it seriously. she understands that she makes a living off of being another pretty face but she also wants to explore other aspects of her career like photography & maybe even acting.

she often considers going to college or even going back to gymnastics a lot but she not made up her mind yet. she is happy right now as a model but she does miss aspects of her old life.

as an instagram model, she is like kendall jenner or gigi hadid. in other words, she has a large following & people book her for photo shoots & fashion shows in order to boost their own notoriety because it looks better on their part. her walk is average at best but she does have a beautiful face. people hate instagram models working in the real modeling business as it is so they despise an instagram model with a sex tape !!

she lives in a townhouse in chelsea that has been featured in architectural digest twice. her home is filled with hardwood floors, marble, gold accents, & constantly smells like lavender. 

the last concert she went to was lana del rey.

the last song she listened to was everybody loves you by charlotte lawrence.

the last show she binge watched was you.

the last movie that made her cry was tangled.

loves wellness shots after dogpound workouts.

this is her !!

also violet !!

alskdfj violet af 

i can’t Believe this is vi 

very violet

taylor also looks like her alskdjf 

lsdfj vi is kelly

more musings !!

violet on a friday night

alskdfjals

gets daily massages by her french masseuse.

all & all, she is a mess but she loves the people in her life !! 

[teresa60521-blog]

Side Effects

chapter 5: week 12

Summer break was right around the corner and Uraraka was ready to finally lay down and relax. No more worrying about passing written exams, no more worrying about passing physical exams. Just her, her bed or her couch, a nice cup of juice and fun anime to watch. Or manga to read. Uraraka was going to be spending her break doing one of those two things. It was going to be glorious.

There was also the possibility of hanging out with Bakugou, far, far away from everybody else. She didn’t mind being so secretive about it but she did wish they could hold hands in public or he would wrap an arm around her shoulder like he did when they cuddled in bed.

Uraraka would take what she could get though. Anything was better than nothing.

She hummed to herself as she walked down to the classroom for the final day before summer began. They had taken their exams already and had gotten their results and now they just had some finishing touches to do. Uraraka was ready for the easiest day of the term.

The classroom was abuzz as she walked in and took her seat behind Iida. Midoriya was already sitting at his desk and Iida was talking as loudly as ever to him, waving his hands in the choppy way that he did. Bakugou had his feet kicked up onto his own desk across the room with headphones in so he didn’t have to talk to anybody. Kaminari and Mineta were doodling on the chalkboard while Sero kept lookout for Aizawa.

Everything was in place.

(Except the fact that she was pregnant but, you know, happy thoughts.)

“Do you have any summer plans, Ochako-chan?” Tsuyu’s voice came up beside her and Uraraka yelped, almost knocking her things to the floor.

“Tsu, you scared me!” Uraraka laughed and then she shook her head. “Not really. I think I’m just going to use it for training and relaxing.”

“That’s no fun!” Mina slapped her hands on Uraraka’s desk, coming out of nowhere. Uraraka blinked at her in shock. “We’re going to have a girls week at the end of break at Yao-momo’s house!”

“Huh?” Momo turned in her seat to stare at Mina incredulously. “I did not agree to this, Ashido-san….” She eyed Uraraka nervously and Uraraka looked away, almost whistling in innocence. There was still a tension between them as they had not spoken since the incident.

“Aw come on, you have a pool! It’ll be fun, please!”

“You should invite the boys so we can see you guys in bikinis~” Mineta chimed in and everybody glared at him, the small boy shrinking into himself.

Momo sighed. “I suppose I could accomodate you girls .”

“Wahoo!” Mina cheered, Hagakure chiming in, throwing her invisible arms into the air. Uraraka was beginning to sweat thinking about it, knowing she would definitely be showing at that point. She didn’t want to be a party pooper so she didn’t decline right away but even in the future she knew Momo would be relieved that she wouldn’t be showing up to her house. There was an extreme guilt that followed Uraraka around like a sad little cloud about blackmailing and lying to Momo. The raven haired girl was extremely kind and didn’t deserve that kind of treatment.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Ochako-chan?” Tsuyu asked, pulling Uraraka from her reverie. A bright smile fixed itself onto Uraraka’s face.

“Yes, I promise! I, um, had trouble sleeping last night.” Uraraka lied and looked away, fiddling with her pen. It wasn’t really a lie, she and Bakugou had stopped visiting each other and it was becoming increasingly harder to sleep without his warmth at her side. But she had to get used to it if she was going to spend an entire summer without him.

Tsuyu didn’t look convinced but Aizawa stepped in, in that moment and everybody scrambled to take their seats. Aizawa looked as haggard as ever, gray scarf hanging loosely from around his neck and covering his mouth. Uraraka wondered if he ever slept at night or if the only time he slept was when he would worm into his sleeping bag while other teachers took over lessons of the day.

Aizawa made his morning announcements as he always did and listed the day’s events and what he expected of everyone over the summer. Everybody groaned at the prospect of summer work because what the heck, it was summer . It was the only time of the year that they could really relax. Winter break was always too short and was always busy spent visiting shrines and doing holiday festivities.

“Oh, Uraraka.” Aizawa announced, looking at the brunette in the back of the room. All eyes turned to her and she felt the embarrassment creeping up her neck, choking her like a noose. “Please see me in my office before lunch.” He continued speaking then as if he hadn’t just targeted her in the middle of class. She could still feel the questioning eyes of some of her peers on her and she met Bakugou’s, then Midoriya’s before ducking her head down.

What could Aizawa sensei possibly want to see her for? She wasn’t a bad student, she had good grades, never spoke out in class or talked back to her teachers. She really couldn’t pin what exactly she had done wrong.

Unless…

Uraraka touched her stomach absentmindedly. Could it be that… they knew about her pregnancy? She had told Recovery Girl because she needed some advice and how to go about being healthy while the baby grew inside of her. She didn’t want to rely on the internet when there was a professional who was kind and willing to help her. Was it possible that Recovery Girl had told her teachers?

Who else she told?

Uraraka shook her head and resisted the urge to slap herself in the face to wake her up from her thoughts. No, she wasn’t going to freak out about this right now. She was fine, everything was fine. There was no reason to panic. Her mind continued to buzz all throughout the morning lectures and Uraraka felt increasingly short of breath. The only thoughts that plagued her mind was what Aizawa could possibly want to talk to her about. She had always been a good student, her grades never dropped. She was middle of the pack but that didn’t mean she wasn’t an exemplary student. Had she done something wrong, something that she didn’t know about? She couldn’t think of any other option but the pregnancy.

Uraraka ducked her head, grasping tightly at strands of her hair. Were they going to tell her that she couldn’t partake in the hero course anymore? Would she be moved to general studies? Were they going to tell her parents? Oh god, she didn’t want her parents to find out this way. She didn’t want her parents knowing just yet. Was she even clear to tell people? There was some myth about luck when it came to telling people in the first trimester.

Uraraka jerked in her seat when the lunch bell rang and she exhaled, grabbing her things. She wanted to be the first from the classroom but she couldn’t escape the taunts of her classmates. Kaminari made some snarky remark about how the good girl was no longer the little angel they thought she was. Kirishima effectively slapped him in the back of the head while Jirou stabbed him with her earphone jack. Thankful that her friends had come to her defense, Uraraka, red faced, practically ran to the teacher’s lounge where Aizawa was staring blankly at his computer.

“Um, Aizawa sensei…” Uraraka began, shifting in place. “You wanted to see me?”

Aizawa dragged droopy eyes from the computer to look at her. “Ah, yes. Come with me.” He stood, muscles popping as he stretched before slouching over and walking out of the room. Uraraka’s mouth fell open in question but she silently followed him. They walked through the halls without a word and Uraraka avoided the gazes of her classmates that were still making their way to lunch.

They turned the corner and Aizawa knocked on a large wooden door. Uraraka’s eyes widened as she recognized that it was the principal’s office. Aizawa opened the door moments later and ushered Uraraka inside, stepping in behind her.

“Uraraka Ochako!” Mr. Principal cheered in the gentle voice that he always sported. Uraraka bowed respectfully and took a seat when she was told. “It is lovely to see you sweetheart.”

“U-Um, likewise, Mr. Principal…” She glanced at him nervously and then cast a wary look at Aizawa, who sat beside her on the couch. Aizawa offered no help, looking like he might go to sleep rather than pay attention to what was going to occur in this meeting.

“Now, I know you might be worried about why I called you in here but no need to fret, everything is alright!” The lilt in his voice said otherwise but Uraraka swallowed down her complaints. “It has been brought to my attention, Uraraka-chan, that you have become pregnant! How far along are you?”

“T-Twelve weeks.” Uraraka’s voice was small. Her fears were confirmed; the principal knew, Aizawa sensei knew, the whole staff probably knew. She hoped that it didn’t leak to her classmates. She hadn’t thought that far ahead in what she would do. She close her eyes and just tried to focus on the principal’s words.

“That is very exciting!” Mr. Principal sang. “But, you know, you are a very rare case in this country, Uraraka-chan. Teen pregnancy only has a rate of 4% and we do not treat it very lightly. In all of my years here at Yuuei Academy I can say that I have never had to deal with such a case before! I would have to unfortunately blame the dorms here, they do promote a lot of fraternizing and we may have to amp up some security.” He grinned over at Aizawa who only huffed in acknowledgement.

“Now, you are an exemplary student here at Yuuei Academy, Uraraka-chan, and we are offering you your seat in the top class when you return to school. But I must ask-”

“When I return to school?” Uraraka interrupted, confused. Was… was she being asked to leave ?

“But I must ask,” Mr. Principal continued over her, the grit in his teeth prominent. He was still smiling though, “that you leave and do not come back for the remainder of this school year. We can send you your school work and accommodate the fact that you are pregnant. But we cannot ask you to stay, as it would prove to be bad for our reputation.”

“How so, Mr. Principal?” Anger slowly trickled into her veins and her head began to feel light. She tried not to snap but the rubber band was being stretched more and more.

“Well, I’m afraid some of the parents who allow their children to stay here will view the dorms as a breeding ground for their children. If you’re pregnant then somebody else might see it fit to be pregnant themselves.”

“I didn’t ask to be pregnant. It was an accident!” Uraraka’s voice rose and Aizawa placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. It was a quiet plea to lower her voice. They all knew what the principal was like when his temper was tested.

“I know but you know how parents are!” Mr. Principal jumped down from his seat to pour himself some more tea. “We have already contacted your parents to come pick you up and gather all of your things. We are giving you the option to come back for one day after break to tell the class that you won’t be returning but otherwise, you must not come back. We don’t want you to fall behind, Uraraka-chan, so we will do everything possible to see that you’re right on track! You already have a temporary license so you are fit for hero work already.”

“This isn’t fair.” Uraraka argued, eyes welling with tears.

Mr. Principal tutted and then took a sip of his tea. “I am very sorry, Uraraka-chan but I cannot offer any other options. We cannot have a pregnant student being a liability to our hero course. And we are looking out for your wellbeing. How are you supposed to partake in the heroics course with a swollen belly! You have to look after a child now. Unless you want to get an abortion, then by all means you will be welcomed back. But otherwise, we cannot let you stay.”

Uraraka’s mind was running at a mile a second. They had notified her parents and she was being forced to leave the school unless she got an abortion. That thought alone scared her. After seeing her child, though it was just a circle of cells and didn’t have any human features at the moment, she couldn’t do it. She spent so much time thinking about this potential baby that she felt a connection with it and that scared her even more than an abortion.

“I… I understand Mr. Principal.” She sucked down the wetness in her voice and stood, bowing. “May I be excused now?”

“You may. Good luck in the future, Uraraka-chan!” Mr. Principal called as she darted from the room. It was the last knife that was shoved into her back. She felt sick and she hid in the bathroom, locking a stall door behind her as she sat on the toilet. She dropped her bag to the floor and placed her head in her hands, the tears flowing freely.

She was being kicked out of school all because of a mistake that was not entirely her fault. She wanted to curse Bakugou to hell and back but… she couldn’t. This was her mess now and she had to face the consequences. Did she want to bring shame to the school? No. Did she think the principal was being extreme? Yes, yes she did. But she would go quietly and then she would come back as if nothing happened, no matter happened between now and then.

The biggest things would be telling Bakugou, her parents, and her classmates. It was nerve wracking. Her parents already knew it seemed, although the school could have just told them that she was being kicked out and left Uraraka to do the dirty work. She didn’t know how they’d react or if they’d even help her; they were pressed tight for cash already.

The whole reason Uraraka wanted to be a hero was to help her parents make money. Was this baby worth messing up her life plans? The principal had offered her, her seat back but it wouldn’t be the same. She would be behind in the heroics course and would have to work extra hard in order to be on par with everybody else.

Uraraka sniffed and wiped her eyes. She couldn’t spend the entire lunch crying in the bathroom and she needed to eat. She had to be brave. But this was scary, scarier than when they got attacked by the League of Villains (both times) back in her first year. No amount of villain break-ins could prepare her for pregnancy.

Uraraka splashed some cold water on her face and squared her shoulders, staring at her reflection for a moment. She understood why people said that pregnant women glowed; it seemed as if all of her acne had vanished. She didn’t have much to begin with but now her skin was ultra clear. One thing she could thankful for she guessed. She took a deep breath before stepping out into the empty hall and rushing towards the cafeteria. She found her usual table and sat in the seat.

“Uraraka-san!” Midoriya almost choked on his water saying her name and Uraraka laughed lightly.

“I’m sorry to scare you, Deku-kun!”

“N-No it’s okay!” Midoriya wiped his mouth and his eyes were wide, eager to know why she had been called down. Everybody at the table was eying her the same way.

“I don’t really want to talk about it.” Uraraka mumbled and opened her bento box, shoving food into her mouth so she wouldn’t have to elaborate. Everybody shrunk in defeat but let her beat, chatting away as they finished their meals. Midoriya and Tsuyu eyed her suspiciously, detecting that something was off. But they let her be.

It wasn’t until the end of the day when class was already out for summer and her classmates were laughing joyously around her in the dorms that she was cornered.

“What’d that rat face want?” Bakugou slid into her room as she was packing some things. Uraraka jumped and dropped the picture frame in her hand onto the mattress. It bounced to the edge but didn’t fall off.

“He’s not a rat, he’s a bear.” Uraraka said calmly and Bakugou only shrugged, leaning against the door.

“So?”

“So, I don’t want to talk about it.” Uraraka shoved more things into a box. She figured she would be allowed to come back and get the rest of her things during the new term.

“Don’t be like that.” Bakugou grumbled.

Uraraka turned to face him. ���Don’t be like what ?”

“All bitchy.” Bakugou crossed his arms over his chest.

Uraraka narrowed his eyes. “Just because we’re dating doesn’t mean that you get to call me a bitch.”

Bakugou scoffed. “I didn’t call you a bitch, I said you were bitchy. Totally different.”

“Not really.” She closed the box with an angry thud and shoved some more things into her backpack.

“What the fuck ever. I came here to invite you to my house over break.”

Uraraka hesitated a moment before continuing to shove her necessities into a bag. “What for?”

“So you can meet my parents? Isn’t that some shit couples do?” Bakugou’s voice lost the gruffness and took on something more… embarrassed. She turned to him and saw him looking at the wall, avoiding eye contact.

“Aw, you want me to meet your parents?” Uraraka teased, anger slowly fading.

Bakugou scowled. “I told my mom about you and now she won’t stop nagging me about inviting you over for dinner. Said it’s the ‘right thing to do’ or some shit. And now my old man is starting to bug me too. So you better come over so they’ll get off my ass.”

“Does this mean I get to see your baby pictures?” Uraraka grinned and Bakugou glared.

“Hell no. You’re not going anywhere near my baby pictures.” Bakugou sized her up as she grew closer, only to peck him on the cheek.

“Aw come on, you don’t want to show me all the pictures from when you were happy and not a brat?”

“You know what, forget I said anything, you and my mom would get along great and I don’t need that.”

“Nope, you already invited me so I will definitely be over!” Uraraka giggled. The pregnancy was out of her head for a moment and her irritated attitude was gone. But then her phone chimed and her father had sent her a dull message about him being there to pick her up. Her mood plummeted once more and soon she was rushing to gather her things.

“Do you need help?” Bakugou offered and any other time she would’ve teased him, again, but now she just wanted to get out of his sight.

“Nope, I’m fine! I’ll see you over break, Katsuki.” She rushed out of the dorms, leaving Bakugou standing there confused as all hell. Upon getting to the car, her parents embraced her with warm smiles and soft kisses to the forehead. Her father’s arms were tight around her as he hugged her. Uraraka thought her heart was going fall out her mouth.

There was nothing said about her pregnancy or her getting kicked out. They only drove her back to the apartment and left her there, not saying a word.

Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad after all.

[marshmallowgoop]

First I want to thank you for writing these super detailed KLK posts! Whenever I'm sad or just bored I turn to your blog and I always find something new to read and to light up my mood! I have a (really pointless) question: What do you think are the hobbies of the pratagonists? We don't really see them in Slice of Life situations, so what for example did Ryuko do all day before the events of the series when she didn't have to fight all the time? (Sorry for my bad english!)

I’m super flattered and touched to hear that my work has such a positive influence on you! Thank you!

Your question isn’t “really pointless” at all. In creating characters, I think it’s actually pretty crucial to consider what they’d enjoy doing in their free time. Of course no one is defined by their hobbies, but someone’s passions and interests do speak a lot about what kind of person they are.

You’re right that Kill la Kill doesn’t especially delve into the protagonist’s day-to-day lives, but we do get some pieces here and there. 

Ryuko

In regards to Ryuko, one reason that I love the first ending sequence so much is because it’s a great look at what things were like for her before she finds herself in a fantasy-action-comedy anime, lol.

Ryuko’s loneliness is easily the most striking part of the ED—I mean, it’s just about palpable—but you also get a sense of what kind of girl she is, too. And she’s curious! She walks around town, grabs some coffee, shops a bit, sees what’s up. Ryuko may not have any friends, but that doesn’t stop her from getting out and about. She comes off as the type who both wants to see the world and is fascinated by it. I bet she’d go on hikes or just wander around for fun.

So, maybe kinda related, while I don’t especially see Ryuko as studious (she falls asleep in class and when she’s supposed to be cramming in the first Drama CD, lol), I can imagine that she’d enjoy reading for pleasure. You know—opening her mind up and learning some stuff! Animators Kengo Saito and Sushio have even drawn fanart of Ryuko doing just that:

[Source]

[Source]

Plus, one of the stickers on Ryuko’s guitar case is of her favorite mascot character, Kuri-chan, from a 4-panel manga series of the same name. Considering that Ryuko only has one other sticker on her guitar case (which just notes her year in high school), I think it’s pretty evident that she’s got some passion for stories.

And speaking of Ryuko’s guitar case, one of my favorite headcanons is that Ryuko plays guitar and sings! She had to get that case from somewhere, and her voice actress, Ami Koshimizu, is an accomplished singer. Given how devoted Ryuko is to her quest to find out who killed her dad, she’s clearly got a lotta strong emotions, and I could really imagine Ryuko expressing those emotions through music.

She’d just… probably keep it to herself and be too shy to let anyone hear her. But hopefully that’d change after the events of Kill la Kill!

Senketsu

And okay, I know I’m probably one of the only people in the entire world thinking about what the hobbies of a sailor uniform are, but hey. 

Even more than Ryuko, I really see Senketsu as a total bookworm. Plus, he’s definitely about a million times more studious than she is (even if he falls asleep in class too, lol). I mean, the kid did all that cramming for Ryuko in the first Drama CD without even being asked to! He’s obviously super into reading and learning.

Considering how much Senketsu talks about romance in his episode preview narrations, I also totally headcanon him as a hopeless romantic. I bet he begs Ryuko to read tons of shoujo manga with him and cries at all the sappy parts. bermuda_irmk over on Twitter drew some amazing fanart of this, and I completely accept it as Canon.

Satsuki

Now, I 1000% see Satsuki as the studious type. When it’s canon that she has the highest grades in Honnouji Academy, I can completely see her as the kind of girl who spends practically all of her free time with her nose in a book, just trying to understand and learn everything she can.

Before and during the events of the series, I’d also imagine that Satsuki devotes an incredible amount of time to learning combat. She’d probably read on the subject and train with sword masters to the point of total exhaustion. While I’m sure that Satsuki has a boatload of natural talents and skills, given how alarmingly prepared she is for everything, I figure she’d still go completely overboard in her training and studies. While it’s a sad comparison, I could see her as being a bit like Azula from Avatar: The Last Airbender: immensely talented but still hard working and utterly determined to not let even a single hair be out of place.

The light novel reveals that Satsuki used to be a happy and bubbly girl before her father literally put the entire world on her shoulders and abandoned her, so as a child, I’d imagine that Satsuki would partake in more… light-hearted hobbies. Maybe she’d beg her dad to read fairytales to her or make her own clothes for her dolls. In fact, Shiro is playing with a string doll he made himself when he meets Satsuki, and when Soroi introduced Shiro to Satsuki in the first place so that she could have someone to play with, I don’t think it’s too outlandish to consider that they played with dolls together as kids. At least a little bit!

Plus, when Soichiro/Isshin clearly has some sewing and crafting skills—he made Senketsu and the Scissor Blades, after all—I could imagine these father-daughter projects where Satsuki and her dad would make things together. Maybe Soichiro would even nerd out about science with her! And unlike Ryuko, who’s not exactly the most studious and doesn’t really seem to have an interest in science, I could definitely see Satsuki being inspired by it.

After the events of the series, I’d like to think that Satsuki would finally be able to relax and return to doing what she loved as a child, such as reading stories just for fun and pleasure. Like with Ryuko, Sushio has also drawn fanart of Satsuki seemingly doing just that:

[Source]

Mako

Mako strikes me as a super artistic kind of girl. In “Mako’s Story,” there are many illustrations where she’s building or creating—be it drawing with chalk, arranging colored leaves, or sculpting snowmen and snow forts. I get the sense that she’d like to spend her free time doodling in sketchbooks or shaping clay.

Given her final “Hallelujah!” in episode 24, Mako also clearly has a passion for fashion. If she had the resources, I could totally see her designing clothes, and I bet she’s quite thrifty and uses what she does have to come up with some fun outfits and styles. Sushio’s definitely drawn fanart of as much! I mean, just look at Mako’s Nonon makeover:

Nonon: What is this.

[Source]

Like Ryuko, I could also easily picture Mako as a singer. I mean, she does actually sing a few times in the show! Plus, if nothing else, given her “Hallelujahs!,” she certainly loves to perform. Her voice actress, Aya Suzaki, is also quite an accomplished singer, too!

[Source]

It’s also worth it to note that Mako was once in the Tennis Club, so there’s clearly some interest in sports as well. I think she’d like to be active and running around, so things like tennis, track, or basketball might be up her alley.

[Source]

Others

This post has become quite a monster, so maybe I ought to write about my headcanons for other characters’ hobbies elsewhere, but I will say that for characters like the Elite Four and Shiro, we already get a good sense of what they like to do in their free time based off of the clubs they’re in charge of and what we learn about them in the light novel. Uzu is super dedicated to kendo and konnyaku (because his parents run a konnyaku shop), Gama is interested in metalworking like his uncle, Houka is super into IT (and apparently is amazing at the stock market, lol), Nonon loves classical music and insists that it sounds best on record players, and Shiro is passionate about sewing and Life Fiber research.

While I kinda wrote a book here, I hope it’s still at least kind of interesting! I’m also curious about what others think on the subject, too! After all, a lot of the appeal of Sushio’s post-series fanart for me is that we get some insight into what these characters’ lives would be like after the battle.

And, well. I can’t get enough of it! It’s so sweet.

[Source]

[Source]

[flightyrock]

Laundry Day

Summary: It’s laundry day for a certain pair of half ghosts.  But when Vlad digs deeper than he should, he finds more than dirty laundry, testing the bonds between father and son.

OR

A shameless fluff fic in which Vlad is too hard on himself (as usual), Daniel does his best to reassure him, and Vlad proves he is father of the year material.

Featuring: accidental naps, hugs galore, and rambling internal monologues.

Characters: Vlad Masters, Daniel Masters

Tags and Warnings: Father/son relationships, Backstory, Emotional fluff/pain, Really Long Flashbacks, invasion of privacy, miscommunication, allusions to suicide, hopelessness, fake science, grey ethics, fake medical jargon, dehumanization, Vlad’s special brand of angst, mild body horror, clichéd tropes, happy ending, cuteness

If you’re concerned, feel free to PM me and I will be more than happy to provide a detailed summary or tell you what parts to avoid.  All of the iffy ones, save for the emotional hurt/comfort, only last for a few paragraphs.  Most of them are contained in the flashbacks, which are in italics. But on a whole, it’s father/son fluff and feels.  Be safe!

Word Count: ~10,500

I’ll also make this available on AO3 for your viewing pleasure, since I know some people (myself included) prefer that format better.  But tumblr makes it easier to share, so that won’t be linked for awhile; I’m thinking a week?

Some notes before we dive in, since this is the first fic I’ve written in this particular universe, so there are a few (read: a lot) of things I need to cover.  Explanation and story under the cut!

Update:  This isn’t posting right, so I’m going to remove the links for now.  If this works, I’ll make a separate post with the links.

This fic takes place in what I’ve nicknamed the “Perfect Son AU,” an alternate universe to Danny Phantom where Vlad successfully created a clone, which he named Daniel.  It’s a working title, and someone else might have already come up with something better, but I’m running with it for now.

I did not create Daniel; he was originally introduced as an unnamed character along with a possible future version of Vlad in Butch Hartman’s second “Danny Phantom: 10 Years Later video.” All we’re told is that he’s a mixed clone of Danny and Vlad.

Of course, this premise has tons of potential, and several artists have created content for him.  I fell head over heels for @schnivel‘s interpretation; the designs and characterization are just incredible, and gave me that creative itch. I live for that cute picture of Vlad and Daniel at a Packer’s game.  There are also a bunch of doodles, and the tags provide fun details, hinting at character dynamics and firmly establishing Daniel’s presence in-universe.  The rest of his art is awesome, too; it’s incredibly expressive (facial expressions and body language are always SPOT ON), and he has some really neat OCs, so be sure to check him out!

Schnivel also took the time to chat with me, and answered many of my questions regarding Daniel’s characterization.  Thank you so much!

I discovered that other artists loved this version of the character as well, and during one of schnivel’s discussions with prom during one of @promsien‘s streams, she had the fun idea that Vlad knits Daniel sweaters, and heaven help anyone who ruins one of those.

Needless to say, this (and other details surrounding the fallout) gave me…ideas.  This incident is only hinted at in this fic, which started out as a cute 1500 word fluff piece I thought up on the bus back to school after Thanksgiving break.  But then plot and angst snuck in, and the characters just weren’t quite right, so four rewrites, 9000 words, and about two months later, here we are; the longest piece I’ve ever written.  

Keep in mind that this is just my interpretation of schnivel’s canon, based on details from several sources, so the events described here may or may not have occurred; essentially, it’s a fanfic of schnivel’s AU.

This story takes place after about a year after Daniel’s creation, in the transition period between schnivel’s 16 y/o and post puberty designs.  While not necessary to enjoy the story, I strongly recommend taking a look at these before you begin reading; you won’t be sorry.   Some other quick details to keep in mind:

1.  Daniel is still in high school, and is enrolled in Casper High.

2.  Daniel =/= Danny

3.  Yes, Daniel knows Danny and they do not get along.

4. Vlad and Daniel live together, and share a healthy (and frequently adorable) father/son relationship.  They get along incredibly well most of the time, and genuinely care about each other.  Vlad is finally happy (mostly), and it’s my favorite thing ever.  Do me a favor and do not tag this as ship, please and thank you.

5. Danny is not in this fic, but he is referenced a couple of times; once, confusingly, as Daniel.  (I’m sorry; blame Vlad.)  It’s not mentioned in this fic, but he doesn’t call Danny “Daniel” anymore, for obvious reasons.

Alright, enough notes!  I’ve rambled long enough!   Kudos to you for reading this far; I do think the context is necessary to fully appreciate this story, so if you skimmed, I completely understand, but I urge you to check out the five-point list and links  [sorry guys, removed these to see if they were the problem] above. And remember to check out @schnivel and @promsien.  Thanks, guys!  So, without further ado, enjoy!

“Daniel, laundry!”

The amiable call echoed off the interior walls of a luxurious but tasteful mansion overlooking Amity Park; walls that had changed extensively in the past year.  Previously, the nondescript barriers existed out of necessity, stabilizing the considerable load of the structure and dividing too much space into too many cold, empty rooms.  

One wall in particular, located between the entry and the main staircase, changed dramatically, and now proudly announced to visitors that two shared the space, and quite happily at that.

An eclectic selection of frames housing amateur photographs were mounted artfully in a quantity bordering on excessive.  From this, an outsider could reasonably assume that the curator was either an overly-enthusiastic hobbyist or a new parent.

In this case, both assumptions would be correct.  Indeed, most of the photos focused on a single boy, specifically, a teenager, sporting unique, striped locks and a smile.  

But this wasn’t your average, awkward, get-me-out-of-here, oh-my-god-are-we-still-not-done-taking-pictures-yet kind of smile that most teenagers plastered on instinctively to escape the camera: No, this was a genuine, candid expression of happiness that would make any photographer worth their salt dissolve into blissful tears.  It would have been hard to believe the boy was truly a teenager, if not for the distinctive, almost puppy-like proportions that suggested there was still growing left to do.

He was occasionally joined by an older gentleman wearing a smile of his own; more guarded, but no less genuine.  In these photos, the boy veritably beamed at the camera or the man himself, expression all the brighter in his company, leaving no doubt just who was responsible for cultivating such joy.  Likewise, the boy coaxed the man out of his shell, steadily transforming a shyly quirked corner of the mouth into a joyful grin as the series progressed.

The gentleman in question was currently strolling around the house, dressed casually in socks, slacks, and a button-down.  His sleeves were neatly rolled above the elbows, exposing muscular forearms that strained to maintain an awkward hold on the large basket of casual wear.  His burden couldn’t have been too cumbersome, however, as he took a moment to admire the photo wall, as he always did.

He shifted the basket, clamping it against his left hip with the same arm, freeing his right to compulsively straighten an already perfectly-aligned portrait of the boy, providing an excuse to linger.  

It was one of his favorites; a candid shot he had snagged during one of their first snows together.  He was quite proud of it.  Daniel kneeled on the plush window seat, dwarfed by the dual floor-to-ceiling windows.  His features were alight with childlike wonder and the soft, winter sun, breath fogging the glass as he peered out of the pane, entranced by dancing flakes.  Vlad’s eyes grew misty, recalling cold, damp clothes, laughter, and hot chocolate   His shoulders softened a touch, mouth pulling upward fondly.

The reverie was broken by an uncomfortable burn in his forearms as the basket slipped slowly downwards under gravity’s influence, prompting him to readjust his hold and resume his search.  

It was that time of year again; the relentless heatwave had broken at last.  Residents of Amity Park gave a collective sigh of relief, enjoying cool days and brisk evenings just shy of uncomfortable as summer gave way to autumn.  Full suits were no longer suffocating.  And football season was in full swing.

In short, life couldn’t be better.  There was something invigorating about the crisp, cool air that accompanied the changing seasons, putting Vlad in the rare mood to do some tidying.  Housework was a small pleasure he had rediscovered recently; busy hands left the mind free for reflection, something that Vlad wasn’t as eager to avoid these days.  The reason for this?  Well…

“Daniel!” he called again, perplexed by the continued lack of response from his young charge.  No, his son, he reminded himself, distracted for a moment by the thrill of excitement and anxiety that still shot through him at that thought.  Against all odds, he was a father.  

He savored the feeling as he searched, peeking around the corner to the living room on a whim, and bit back another call.  Warm affection swelled in his chest at the rare and, admittedly, adorable sight.

His son, Daniel, was sprawled lengthwise across the couch, out like a light.  Sleep had hit him hard and fast; the awkward position of his limbs was telling, and looked anything but comfortable.  

A socked foot was braced on the floor while its twin was slung over the couch’s far arm, still trapped in a sneaker, laces tangled from an abandoned attempt at removal.  One arm hung limply to the side, while the other was likely going numb, trapped against the back and beneath the Maddies, who were taking full advantage of their human’s compromised position.  

The opportunistic felines were curled up on the half-ghost’s broad chest, passive-aggressively close to one another, soaking up the warmth.  Like many cats, they managed to radiate smug bliss even from the depths of slumber, much to Vlad’s amusement.  

He really couldn’t blame them.  Naps for Daniel were a rare occurrence, after all; the boy rarely slowed down long enough.

But Vlad had almost forgotten what else autumn meant; school was once again in full swing.  A ridiculous amount of coursework accompanied Daniel’s ambitious class load, pushing the limits of an already-taxing daily schedule.

In addition to coursework, he participated in several extracurricular activities, made time for friends, and dedicated himself to a rigorous training and tutoring regimen of Vlad’s own design. No wonder the boy was exhausted.

Not that he had so much as hinted at fatigue, eager to prove himself.  

Vlad mentally shook his head, pride mixing with fond exasperation.  He had, admittedly, forgotten just how difficult it was to be a teenager (though he thinks he can be excused for this oversight given that it’s been over twenty years since then; twenty long years).  He vaguely recalled expectations to tackle a workload any self-respecting, paid employee would strike over.  

Daniel, like many teenagers, did that and more with only a fraction of useable energy at his disposal at any given time, resources diverted to accommodate the emotional and physical stress the body underwent as it matured.  Puberty had hit Daniel late and with a vengeance.  The boy had been shooting up like a weed lately, the gap between his cuff and ankle widening at an alarming rate (not surprising given the state of the pantry at the end of any given week; the teen had to be burning through massive amounts of energy in the process).  

As his coach, Vlad had noticed he was struggling physically; his center of balance shifted so rapidly he just couldn’t keep up.  Daniel’s frustration was all but tangible at times, face heating with anger and humiliation when he fumbled through warm-ups and drills that had once been simple. Recently, more often than not, he left their practice sessions drained and irritable, shower doing little to dispel a dark mood that carried over into their evening lessons.

Vlad wondered if he was sleeping enough.

Judging from his current state alone, the poor boy needed all the rest he could get.  Vlad quelled a rush of remorse for pushing him so hard, reminding himself that Daniel had set the pace.  

Insisted, really.  He was normally eager, almost desperate, to improve, diving into training with a single-minded intensity that rivaled Vlad’s own.  Daniel had protested furiously when Vlad had suggested they take it a bit easier during the school year, pushing himself even harder.

Vlad chuckled fondly; Daniel was his son, after all.  But perhaps he could persuade him to revise their schedule to an every other day kind of thing; in hindsight, it was a bit ambitious to have lessons and physical training on the same day…

Musing about schedules, he set the basket aside and approached, debating whether the merits of repositioning gangly limbs into a more comfortable position outweighed the risk of waking the boy.  

No, better to let him rest. He was young, after all; he probably wouldn’t suffer from the stiff neck Vlad wouldn’t admit to getting if he slept at the demonstrated awkward though, admittedly, impressive angle.  (His neck definitely did not twinge in sympathy. He wasn’t old.)

He settled for carefully prying off the remaining shoe before unfurling a fuzzy throw that hung over the back of the couch, settling it gently over long legs, careful not to disturb the felines.  They, of course, would have no such qualms about waking Daniel in their subsequent bid for freedom should they be trapped beneath the heavy fabric.

His fond gaze migrated upward upon completion of his task, settling on Daniel’s face, relaxed in slumber. It was a rare treat to observe his son in such a peaceful state, and he was somewhat tempted to take a picture (too bad his camera was in his room).  

Daniel looked so young this way.  The man’s eyebrows bunched, oddly nostalgic as he took in the boy’s strengthening features, an early sign that he wouldn’t be one for much longer.  Soon, soft lines would vanish completely, giving way to the strong jaw and defined cheeks that were already taking shape.  

He would miss these days. Vlad felt an irrational surge of longing and loss, feeling absurdly cheated out of the early years, of a tiny Daniel smiling at him, of endless questions and childlike wonder (which was absolutely insane, considering he didn’t even like children.  There was a reason he’d decided to create a teenaged clone).  But if that was the case, Vlad supposed he wouldn’t be the Daniel he knew now.  It was probably for the best.

He sighed, and ran a gentle hand through thick stripped locks, marveling at the silky softness as it slid through his fingers.  It really was getting long, Vlad thought idly, scratching lightly across the scalp, delighted when the crease between Daniel’s eyes smoothed, and he sunk deeper into sleep with a content sigh.

Vlad lingered for a moment before withdrawing reluctantly, gathering up the basket again with a sigh of his own.  A nap would do the boy good, he reminded himself, so he’d best leave Daniel to it.

Of course, this meant he was back to square one with the laundry.  He was looking for Daniel in the first place to gather his dirty clothes so Vlad could start a load or two before dinner.

Well, perhaps he could still do that.  He could always take a detour into the boy’s room himself.  He was certain Daniel wouldn’t mind the intrusion; after all, he was simply retrieving laundry, so he wouldn’t be there long.

Decision made, he turned back, pausing to empty his basket in the laundry room before ascending the stairs once again to the wing that housed their personal quarters, hesitating for a moment before cracking open the door and entering Daniel’s room.  

It was strange, being here without the room’s main occupant.  He felt a bit like an intruder.  The space was shockingly well-kempt for belonging to a teenager, not that he was surprised; Daniel was hardly your average teenager.  

As expected, his dirty laundry was in the hamper, and Vlad wasted no time in sorting through it.  

Something was off, though. Vlad lived with his son, so of course he noticed that Daniel had started sweater season as soon as he no longer ran the risk of suffering heat stroke.  That meant there should be about two weeks’ worth of ripening knitwear, as none had been sent out recently.  But there were none to be found in the hamper, and, despite the fibers’ natural resistance to sweat and grime, it was certainly time for a wash.

Most, if not all, of Daniel’s sweaters were handmade, knitted by Vlad himself, so required special care.  He supposed Daniel could be keeping such garments separate in a display of caution. Conscientious, as always.  

Not that it was necessary; Vlad only hired the best, and, of course, always ran a brief inspection of the sorted garments before they were taken to the proper cleaning facilities. Details meant everything in his line of work, and his appearance was one of many he monitored personally.  Sure, he was a billionaire, and could afford purchase a new wardrobe any time he wished, but it hadn’t always been this way. He was taught to take pride in his possessions, and waste was unthinkable; far be it for him to neglect his roots.

Shaking himself out of his musings (he certainly was distracted today), he got back to the task at hand; finding the sweaters.  He supposed he could simply wait and ask Daniel during their evening session, but leaving the job half-done would bother him.

Vlad was a completionist to a fault, and knew that if he put this off, he ran the risk of losing his productive mood.  Not to mention the thought of the laundry sitting half-finished would torture him all evening; it would have been better to have not started at all.  And he wouldn’t wake the boy.  But this also toed the line of invasion of privacy.  

He weighed his options, and decided that a taking a brief look couldn’t hurt; he was already here, after all. In such a neat space, there weren’t exactly an abundance of hiding places.

He checked the walk-in closet first.  A thorough search left him baffled by the complete lack of sweaters, dirty or otherwise. He had checked the drawers (meticulously folded), hangers (formal wear was sorted by degree of formality then color), and even the floor (his shoes were lined up so perfectly he put showrooms to shame).

Daniel clearly treasured his possessions, and Vlad felt a rush of pride.  His son kept his space in perfect order, and everything had a logical place.  Except for the sweaters, it would seem.  Which didn’t make any sense.

His frustration grew as he continued to pace the room and failed to find a single one.  He was running out of ideas, and was uncomfortable at the thought of exploring much further.  On a whim, he ducked his head under the bed, admittedly feeling a bit foolish; this was one of the oldest clichés in the book.

But his eyes were immediately drawn to a large cedar chest, a copy of the one he himself used for keepsakes.  He had forgotten the boy had one as well; Daniel had been delighted with the gift, especially when Vlad had shown him the contents of its twin in his private study.

Vlad slid the heavy container out, running a hand across the sanded, weighty lid, hesitating for only a moment before giving in to his curiosity and lifting it before he could change his mind.

Sure enough, here were Daniel’s sweaters.  He let out a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding.  Mystery solved.  The quantity bordered on insane, way more than he remembered making, Vlad observed somewhat sheepishly.  What could he say?  He was a stress knitter.  

But he was particularly fascinated with the way the garments were packed.  Despite the large quantity, each sweater was folded with a degree of precision that spoke wordless volumes of care.  Handmade garments often had quirks; small flaws that made each piece unique, making it nearly impossible to pack them away neatly.  Daniel had somehow managed it by treating each sweater as an individual, modifying his folding technique slightly to ensure optimal fit.  Even the dirty ones were carefully folded, and placed on the smaller, right-hand side of the central divider.  It made his closet look sloppy in comparison.

Reluctant to ruin what was clearly several hours of work, Vlad carefully flipped through layers of sweaters, separated with tissue paper, the garments growing smaller as he descended. He was sure most of these didn’t have a hope of fitting Daniel any longer.  

One stood out from the others, though.  It rested at the very bottom of the heavy chest, and was individually wrapped, obscured by many layers of delicate tissue and tied loosely with string.  This deviation from the established system sparked Vlad’s curiosity further, overriding common sense, and before he knew it, he was carefully removing the wrappings.

He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but it wasn’t this.  

He drew in a sharp breath, unnerved, and delicately traced the ragged edge of a black-rimmed tear with shaking fingers, transfixed.  It extended downward from right shoulder to sternum in a great slice, like it had been severed with a hot knife.  

Bafflingly, someone had also gone to great lengths to attempt repair; the edges were joined with neat, if pointless, stitches.  Only the lack of patching material revealed that this was a rush job.  Admirable effort, but an exercise in futility nonetheless; nothing could hope to fix the charred edges.  

The garment was utterly ruined.  No wonder Daniel kept this one covered so well; it likely brought back unpleasant memories, but the boy clearly didn’t have the heart to get rid of it.

Upon closer inspection, Vlad realized he recognized this sweater.  The vague unease grew into a feeling far more unpleasant.

It was the first one he’d ever made for Daniel, not that he’d known that at the time.  It had been started with his own dimensions in mind, but modified on a whim; gold and green, stitched together with hands bathed in the eerie green glow of the incubation chamber.  

He had been a different person then, twisted by hatred and blinded by his obsession with the Fentons.

Each stitch had been formed in bitter anger, to keep him grounded, patient.  Clicking needles helped to cover up the maddening hiss of the central air system and the relentless beep of monitoring equipment.

He knew at his core that this would be the last plot, his last attempt to take what was rightfully his; should he fail yet again, the fallout would be devastating.  He would be unable to stop himself from giving up, from descending irrevocably into madness.  Because at the end of the day, hate was all he had, his only constant along with his pride. But hatred took energy, and he was tired.  So tired.

Lips curled in disgust as he ran the clumsily-constructed fabric sitting in his lap through his fingers, reliving the turmoil through the record of amateurish mistakes that littered the garment.  Each pucker and twist, invisible to the untrained eye, glared at him accusingly, reminding him of sins he could never atone for.  Made him sick with guilt as they whispered to him, reminded him of a time when Daniel had been merely an “it” and “the clone,” a tool he had every intention to use for revenge.

He was practically living in the dim, sterile, underground room, on standby to respond in a moment should the clone destabilize again.  He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept in his own bed (he kept a cot down here), gotten more than two consecutive hours of sleep, or eaten something more substantial than the occasional protein bar. He carefully refrained from imagining the state of the companies he was neglecting.

But this stage of the project was too unpredictable to leave unattended, the clone’s outline in the cloudy fluid filling the tube bobbing peacefully up and down, blissfully unaware that its existence could end in an instant.  But he wouldn’t let that happen.  He would have his prize.  With a completely obedient half ghost by his side, he would rule.  He had taken no chances, had combined a stolen sample of the Fenton boy’s DNA with his own.  It was his ultimate weapon.  No one would be able to stop him. No one could keep him from his rightful place.

But throughout human history, it is in moments like these that astounding things can happen.  Picture a person building a perfect pyramid, finally reaching the absolute top, standing on that tiny, sharp pinnacle, at the very highest they can go.

It is when we are at this peak, feel the most unstoppable, have the firmest foundation, are the most confident in our convictions, that the smallest breeze can topple us over and force us to rethink the foundations of our self-constructed realities as we fall, force us to shift our reality; rebuild, or cease to exist.  

It is the small things that shake us to the core, that have the power to change us forever.

Be it stroke of luck, fate, divine intervention or pure coincidence, one such moment occurred in that sterile lab when a rare set of circumstances coincided.  The fluid ensconcing the clone ran clear for several minutes, reflex prompted new eyes to flutter open, and Vlad happened to look up.  

And looked into a familiar set of blue eyes that he hadn’t seen anywhere other than a mirror since his mother had passed away all those years ago (he had searched for her desperately after he learned the nature of his transformation, to no avail).  They may have been obscured by fluid, but the shape and shade were unmistakable; they were her eyes.  His eyes. Staring unseeingly back at him.

It was…disturbing, to say the least.  Blame it on sleep deprivation if you will, but he felt his mother’s eyes cut right through him, accusingly, judging him for his behavior in her absence.  Forcing himself to do something he had done his very best to avoid, in a way only she ever could.  

So Vlad Masters took an honest look at himself for the first time in several decades.  

And he wept, because he knew that she didn’t like what she saw, was disappointed in him.  He had known this, on some level; it was why he had been putting off this realization for years.  But, he was surprised to find that she wasn’t disappointed he had fallen so far; no, because she knew and he knew now, too, that he had fallen.  Which meant that he was capable of picking himself back up and hadn’t. He had chosen not to, had chosen temporary comfort over the harder but healthier path.  But he could do better.  He would do better.  If not for her than for himself.

And on that paradigm shift, he rebuilt his world.  The eyes closed.  

And Vlad, with fresh eyes, truly looked into the face of the being he created for the first time.  But dread overtook him when he realized he wasn’t seeing the face of a clone.  No, instead, he was looking into the face of a child.

It took him back to the first time he had met young Daniel at the college reunion, blindsided by an irrational rush of paternal pride and unspeakable longing to get to know this boy, realizing that he wasn’t, didn’t have to be alone anymore. (How wrong he was).

That familiar, fierce longing again surged to the surface, become part of his world once again.  A desire he had buried long ago when the hopelessness simply became too much to bear.

All he had ever wanted was someone to love.

He thanked everything he could think of that he hadn’t started the programming, that is, the brainwashing, yet. And he wouldn’t.  He’d keep the basic learning protocols, so the boy could communicate, have basic knowledge about the world, but nothing else. If he wanted a son, he’d earn his trust and affection the old-fashioned way.  The right way.

But he was forgetting something.  New hope warred with sick dread.  But why? What threatened his happiness now? Because this being he created wasn’t a tool, this was a child.  His child. So still.  So fragile.  

The realization opened the floodgates, and he fought to keep the rush of panic at bay. What had he done!?

Once again, in a display of arrogance and ignorance, he had put someone at risk.  He already cared too much about the boy, was once again on the verge of losing everything. Because the child, Daniel, was dangerously unstable.  He could die.

Vlad couldn’t let that happen.  

For the first time in years, he was truly terrified of the consequences of failure.  Because he wasn’t used to consequences.  In an instant, the project had evolved into a horrible tightrope walk between life and death. He hoped the anxiety wouldn’t kill him first.

It was touch and go for a small eternity.  Vlad lost sleep, hair, and his lunch to far more close calls than he cared to recall.  He was certain he aged about twenty years that month, trapped in a micro-hell of his own design; he still had nightmares about that innocent face devolving into ectoplasm, but awake, screaming in agony from the confines of the tube at a pitch that made his hair stand on end…

Vlad mentally shook himself. No.  He thought about this quite enough at night, no sense in dwelling on it during waking hours as well.  

Preoccupied with the stressful task of keeping Daniel alive, sleeping in the lab even after the boy had stabilized out of sheer paranoia, he realized he was woefully unprepared to care for a child; embarrassingly so.  He panicked when Daniel emerged from the tube, realizing he hadn’t given a thought about basic needs.  Like clothing, for example.  

His “newborn” was freezing; his small frame shook uncontrollably in the thin sterile gown as he was propped upright on a cot so Vlad could monitor his vitals, a pile of medical blankets doing little to combat the chill. The boy was in tears; uncomfortable and confused, agoraphobic and overwhelmed by this strange new world, so Vlad had grabbed the completed sweater instinctively and helped the boy into it, hoping the warm weight would ground him, rambling about inconsequential things to distract from the alarming machines as he worked to reattach feeds and wires.

He cringed; in hindsight, he had risked further overstimulation that way, and the outcome could have been disastrous.  His palms still grew slick with cold sweat, and his blood pressure skyrocketed whenever he thought about everything that could have gone wrong, all the mistakes he had made in those early days.  He cursed his stupidity.  

Vlad shook off his self-disgust in favor of gathering up the old sweaters, having forgotten his original task, otherwise occupied with the chaos of his memories.  They didn’t fit Daniel any longer, so there really wasn’t any sense in keeping them.  

It was embarrassing how amateurish they looked now.  They were an unwelcome reminder of a time when he was at an absolute low.  He just wanted them gone.  Especially that first one.  The marred fabric seemed to mock him.  Yes, better to dispose of it, and bury the anxiety and fear that came with it.

He gathered his legs under him with mild difficulty, surprised to discover he was a bit stiff—he had been kneeling on the floor longer than he thought—and glanced up at the doorway.

Only to lock eyes with Daniel, who stood, gaping, in the doorway, hand frozen in an abandoned attempt to straighten tousled locks.  Tension radiated from his too-still frame, and wide eyes flickered from confusion to shock to panic.

Vlad froze as well, uneasy; he had never seen this look in the boy’s eyes before, and never cared to again.  Sick dread pooled heavily in his stomach as all other thoughts evaporated; he knew without a doubt that something was very wrong.

“Dad,” Daniel whispered, hand dropping abruptly.  “What are you doing with those?”

His gaze lowered, fixed on the pile of sweaters in Vlad’s arms.  Vlad looked down as well, and blinked, bemused by the sudden lack of sweaters there.

Daniel hugged the garments to his chest tenderly, like a young child would cuddle a favorite stuffed toy for reassurance after a scare.  In moments like these, Vlad was reminded of how new to the world the boy really was; it was too easy to forget when he wore the skin of a teenager.

A familiar, irrational stab of loss joined the budding guilt and self-loathing; that strange yearning for early years that never occurred.  

Nostalgia must be a theme today, he thought idly.

Reason returned as he watched Daniel drop carefully to his knees a deliberate distance away to begin refolding the stack.  Vlad’s inquisitive and concerned gaze was studiously avoided as the boy focused entirely on the task at hand.

Careful hands guided handmade fabric into precise creases reverently, deep blue eyes gleaming with a look of concentration so intense, it might have been comical under different circumstances.  If he didn’t recognize the carefully constructed front for what it was.

Upset was an understatement; and despite an admirable effort, Daniel was unable to conceal the slight tremble that made his hands clumsy and slow, an obvious tell that only intensified the harder he tried to hide it.  

Overall, he gave the impression of one who had survived a close shave.  As the shock slowly abated, Vlad’s mental alarm bells became more insistent.  This reaction was a bit extreme, even for someone experiencing the emotional fragility that was part and parcel of an unplanned nap.  Something wasn’t quite right; he was missing some crucial detail.

“Daniel, what…” Vlad trailed off, at a loss, hands reaching toward the boy helplessly, then falling short, uncertain.  “What did I—”

“You were going to get rid of them, weren’t you.”

It wasn’t a question. The words were tight, clipped. His eyes remained fixed studiously downward, even though it was obvious that he wasn’t truly looking at the abandoned sweater in front of him, fists clenched in an a futile attempt to suppress trembling fingers.

Daniel abruptly rocked back on his heels and wiped roughly at his face, shattering the invisible barrier between them, allowing Vlad to finally take action.  He scrambled in his haste to close the gap.  

He gathered the boy clumsily into his arms, and Daniel practically melted into the firm embrace before returning it fiercely, clinging to him in turn.  A striped head filled his peripheral vision, resting its comfortable weight on his shoulder, and soaked the light fabric covering it in warm wetness.

It was unclear how long they remained that way, respecting an unspoken agreement to set aside the circumstances for awhile in favor of comforting another; indulging in the unique security that came from holding a kindred spirit close.  

After a while, Daniel pulled away reluctantly, sniffling wetly and wiping halfheartedly at his nose. Vlad produced a fresh handkerchief and settled into a cross-legged position, facing the teen, waiting patiently for him to collect himself while he gathered his own thoughts.

“I apologize, Daniel,” he began, slowly, when the sniffles had eased, and the boy settled into a similar position, rolling edges of soft fabric anxiously between his fingers as he met Vlad’s gaze.

“I didn’t mean to upset you. I know that I am at fault here, but I do admit that I’m not entirely sure what exactly I did to cause you this much distress.  Regardless, I should not have been in your room or searched through your things without your express permission.  I knew better, but I did it anyway.  I invaded your privacy, and for that, I am sorry.”

Daniel maintained eye contact, reddened and puffy appearance doing nothing to diminish the sincerity evident in their depths.

“I forgive you.”

There was no hesitation. The honest declaration mowed through Vlad’s emotional barriers, and his vision blurred as identical blue eyes prickled with tears of their own.  

He bit his lip.  His mistakes had long entrapped him, clinging fast and weighing him down.  Experience taught him that, once made, he would never be rid of them.  This knowledge, this fear, were iron shackles. It was his curse.  But this boy…

Never before had he known such forgiveness.  

Daniel absolutely hated to see his dad cry.  There was just something fundamentally wrong about seeing someone you cared about in distress.  So he was quick to reassure, hoping to fend off the flood and the inevitable interrogation.

“There’s really no harm done.  They’re all here, they’re safe.”

Honestly, this assurance was just as much for himself.  Of course, he would have forgiven Vlad regardless of the outcome; his dad was way more important to him than keepsakes, but this had come completely out of left field.  

He had always been so careful, and seeing his collection spread across the floor had been the last thing he had expected after trudging upstairs to finish his homework before training, cursing himself bitterly for falling asleep.    

He had really only meant to rest his eyes for a second or two, having gone distractingly cross-eyed while undoing his laces, falling instead into the deep kind of sleep that left one feeling fuzzy-headed and irritable upon waking instead of rested.

Daniel looked over at his favorite sweater, the one he had taken the most care to preserve.  As always, fury at the damage was tempered with fond warmth.  He flushed lightly, briefly recalling the circumstances of its repair.

His dad, who had since pulled himself together, followed his line of sight, brows drawing together in confusion, focused on the blackened article.  

“Why keep these?  Most are much too small, and this one,” he pulled the garment closer, “is damaged beyond repair.”

Daniel’s hands twitched instinctively, ready to come to the rescue at any moment.  

Honestly?  The thought of getting rid of them had never even crossed his mind, so he hadn’t.  And he felt much too strongly about the garments to ever consider it.

But his dad was looking at him expectantly, obviously waiting for an answer.  He had no idea how to put his jumbled thoughts and feelings on the matter into words, so he called upon the time-tested art of stalling.

“But you made them for me,” he settled on a basic truth, trying to buy a bit of time as he scrambled, struggling to string his thoughts into a pattern his dad would accept.

“I can make more, you know,” Vlad pointed out reasonably.  “There’s no sense holding on to something that’s outlived its usefulness. At this point, they’re just clutter—”

“They’re important to me!” Daniel snapped, and Vlad blanched, drawing back in shock.  

Daniel’s eyes widened, immediately regretting his outburst.

He didn’t mean to yell at his father!  But that statement hit distressingly close to home.  It was like Vlad wasn’t talking about the sweaters at all.  For a moment, his nightmares were playing out before his eyes…

He forcefully shoved his insecurities to the back of his mind in favor of running damage control; he had hurt his dad, and he looked on guiltily as his father struggled to school his features into a neutral position.

“I’m sorry, Dad!” Daniel rushed to explain, mentally kicking himself for his tone.

“I would never get rid of these.  I just can’t. You spent so much time on them, and it makes me feel cared for, kind of important, you know?”  

He traced the hem of the special one, eyes softening as his face heated up, but he was determined to get this out before he could talk himself out of it.  “Not to mention they’re basically portable hugs.  You’re with me all day this way.”

He hadn’t exactly wanted to give quite that much away.  But if he had to choose between his pride and his dad, his dad would win every time. It was the truth, after all, and he knew he had made the right choice when his dad’s eyes softened, and he was swallowed in his embrace once again.

Daniel had learned a long time ago that his father’s hugs went beyond the physical; they were part of an extensive nonverbal language, expressing what words simply could not.  

Because he maintained a stern public image, a necessity in his line of work, most people didn’t realize that his father was a very emotional man.  Daniel had seen how often he was misunderstood and slighted by his peers (to Daniel’s fury) because they never experienced this.  

For someone who claimed to have little experience in the area of affection, he sure didn’t act like it. Daniel still had no idea how he managed it, how exactly he coordinated the variations of timing and pressure into such clear but complex expressions.  This time, Vlad was conveying relief, awe, gratitude, and as always, more than anything, love.

The guilt intensified, sitting heavy and low in his stomach.  He didn’t deserve this.  He’s such a hypocrite, furious when others fail to appreciate his father, but hasn’t he done the same thing?  Vlad cared so much, almost too much, about other people; he would do anything for the ones he loved, for Daniel.  Anything.  And yet, Daniel was upset because he had tried to declutter.

Of course, Daniel is fully aware that this isn’t exactly the reason he’s upset, but he’s very careful to avoid the thought.  Now is not the time to think about this.  It’s much easier to tell himself he’s simply sentimental.  Nothing else.  

Vlad’s grip tightens almost imperceptibly, seeking reassurance, and Daniel pushed aside the painful train of thought, eager to provide it.  

He returned the embrace fiercely; he loves his dad more than anything, and he was determined to convey this. He knows he can’t hold a candle to Vlad’s raw skill in this area, but that doesn’t stop him from trying.

He must have succeeded to some degree, because he feels his dad relax a bit.  Daniel sighed, settling his head once again onto a broad shoulder, still a bit damp from earlier, and takes the opportunity to burn this moment into his memory, to add it to his collection.  

He savored the slight tickle of grey locks on his upper check, sprung loose from their ties; the pleasant burn of cologne mixed with a scent that was simply Vlad drying his sinuses and coating the back of his tongue; the unnatural heat radiating through his silky shirt, warm and comfortable. For a small eternity, he knows nothing but safety, comfort, and love, and basks in the feeling.  

They eventually break apart and, once again, take a moment to collect themselves before Vlad looks again to Daniel’s favorite sweater.

“What happened?” he ventured, concerned by the implication that someone had attacked his son in human form (and rightfully so), but reluctant to upset Daniel further.

Daniel gathered it up with a sigh, reluctant to delve into complicated memories again.  He began to refold the garment, grateful for the excuse to avoid eye contact as he, fumbled for an answer that would satisfy his father, struck with an annoying sense of déjà vu.

“I took care of it. Doesn’t exactly fix this, though.”

Vlad sighed; he knew that truth all too well.

They kneeled there awkwardly for a moment, neither entirely what to do, caught in that strange limbo that followed any major argument; that period where you tell yourself everything’s okay now, but you know deep down that it’s a lie.  Because the cycle of injury, apology, and forgiveness isn’t some magic fix, and no relationship pops back to how it was before even though the issue has been resolved.  Things weren’t really okay yet, and they probably wouldn’t be for a little while.

Honestly, the invasion of privacy didn’t sting nearly as much as his own insecurities; he’d move on. But would Vlad?

Daniel glanced surreptitiously his father.  Vlad was an expert at the practiced neutral face, but Daniel knew better; his poor father would be beating himself up about this for days.  

Sure, he was still a bit shaken, but nothing had happened.  Vlad was just too hard on himself.  He had been a mess for weeks that time he had broken Daniel’s nose after opening a door too quickly, despite the fact it had healed without a scare in a matter of days. He had hated the way his father had tiptoed around him, hated that tortured look in his eyes as the incident no doubt looped in his mind, on repeat; over and over again.

If only there was a way to reassure his dad that he still had Daniel’s trust, a way to break through his uncertainly.  He played with a loose hem pensively, cursing the circumstances that had led Vlad to rummage through his sweater box in the first place…

Sweaters.  It was so obvious.

He gathered up the unwearable sweaters into a neat pile again.  He was embarrassed by how reluctant he was to go through with this, but if he had to choose between his dad’s happiness and sweaters that didn’t even fit anymore, well…

There really wasn’t a choice at all.

He got to his feet, and hefted the pile (there really were a lot of them), depositing them in his father’s arms.  He smiled wryly as his dad looked down at the pile, bewildered, before raising his gaze and quirking an eyebrow inquisitively.

“Take them.”

Vlad blinked, lips parted slightly to respond, before they shut again.  He glanced to the side, brows furrowed in concentration as he tried to reconcile the large volume of mixed messages he had received that afternoon.

“What?” he asked, settling on the explanation that, somehow, he had simply misheard.

“Take them.” Daniel maintained firm eye contact, staring into blue pools identical to his own.  “You were right, they don’t even fit me anymore.”

“But, Daniel, those are yours,” Vlad sputtered, intelligently.

Daniel smiled softly.

“They were.  But now I want you to have them.”

Vlad looked helplessly at the pile, as if it held the answer to the puzzle that was currently throwing him for a loop.

“But why, Daniel?  You told me you love those sweaters.”

He left his father on the floor and walked to the door, grabbing his backpack on the way.  He’d do some homework at the kitchen table for a while, give his dad some time alone to process.  He paused in the doorway, a melancholy smile pulling at his lips as he gave his answer over his shoulder.

“I do.  But I love you more.”

                                                      ><><

This particular project normally would have taken months; Vlad had it done in one.  But not because he had rushed; no, he made absolutely certain it was perfect.  Nothing less for Daniel.  He didn’t sleep much anyways.

Daniel’s demonstration had the intended effect; knowing he still had his son’s trust even after his mistake meant the world to him.  

It had been a shock, at first.  He hadn’t known what to think when the boy handed his treasured pile of clothing over with barely an explanation.  It had been more difficult than he’d like to admit, allowing his son to walk away after sharing such a sentiment, leaving him on the floor to collect his thoughts. But after the shock (finally) wore off, the implications of the gesture warmed him to the core.  

(He also was trying his best not to dwell on the implication that someone attacked Daniel.  His son.  In human form, no less.  Because if he thought about that for too long, it took him to a dark place.  He trusted Daniel.  He did.  But surely it hadn’t been out of line to investigate the incident himself, not that he found anything, to his frustration.)

By the time training had begun that evening, Daniel appeared to have forgotten all about the incident. To the untrained eye, that is. Vlad had to give credit where credit was due; he had admirable focus during training and finished all his homework, but he’d caught a glimpse of him with the cedar chest out again later that evening on his way to bed; reorganizing.

Vlad truly had no idea the boy was so fond of the sweaters.  He could have kicked himself.  He thought he knew his son so well; how had he missed something so important to him?  Sure, he always beamed and hugged him whenever Vlad presented him with a new one (which may have contributed to the vast number now that he thinks about it, hmm…) but then again, Daniel always thanked him for gifts, equally delighted be it a motorbike or a new toothbrush.

In hindsight, though, the favoritism for knitwear was obvious, in the way his eyes would light up just that much brighter, how he’d wear it the very next day.  And his words…

They’re basically portable hugs.  You’re with me all day this way.

He had replayed this exchange countless times over the past month, the warmth in his chest just as strong as day one.  Never before had he known such happiness.  Such love.

His eyes prickled a bit. It was strange kind of responsibility, to have such a significant role in the happiness of someone else.  He both cherished and feared it in equal measure, terrified he would wake up one day, and he’d realize he’d imagined this whole thing. Or worse, that he would drive Daniel away himself one day, just like every other important person in his life. He’d be alone again.

For years, he chased a mirage of this feeling, feeding his obsession with a woman who would never return his affections, and later, her son.  At some point, he had given up, resigned himself to a lifetime of loneliness and swore revenge instead. He had cursed his failures, then.

Now, he thanked whatever power was responsible for those failures; any “victory” he may have achieved during that time, which now felt like lifetimes ago, would have been a mockery of the affection he craved, a mere taste that would have eventually driven him mad with longing.  Daniel had freely given him what he’d never dreamed could exist.  And it meant the world to him.

He didn’t deserve Daniel. But for some unknown reason, he had decided to stay.  He was the first person who had chosen Vlad above all others, and Vlad longed to show him how much he meant to him.  

He would continue to make the boy sweaters.  Socks. Hats.  Scarves.  Heck, he’d learn how to sew properly and make all his clothes, if it meant this much to him. But one step at a time.

On that note, Vlad put the finishing touches on the piece, feeling the strange mixture of melancholy and satisfaction he experienced whenever he completed a long-term project.  

And to his delight, it turned out much better than he had hoped.  He had conducted extensive research regarding design and technique; it was pretty far out of his comfort zone, and he only had one chance to get it right.  But it was worth it.  Anything for Daniel.

He took a moment to appreciate the fruits of his labor before packing it away with the utmost care.

Everything had to be perfect.

                                                     ><><

Something was up. Daniel’s eyes narrowed as he watched his dad make breakfast.  The change was subtle.  Only someone who saw the man on a daily basis would notice the difference; he was almost twitchy, movements sharp and almost harried as he fixed Daniel’s plate.  

His Dad placed the food in front of him with a quiet “good morning” and a tired smile.  Daniel noted the bruises under his eyes were darker than usual.  Daniel thanked him before focusing on his plate, inhaling sharply at its contents.

Pancakes.  In fun shapes.

Oh no.  It was worse than he thought.

He kept stealing glances at his dad as he ate, watched him worry at the handle of his coffee mug and pick at his own pancakes.  Daniel hated to leave him like this, but really, there wasn’t anything to be done when Vlad was in one of these moods.  And his dad wouldn’t want him to miss school.

If he lingered a bit during his goodbye hug, his dad didn’t comment.  Just bid him to have a good day, like usual.

Daniel tried to go about his day as he normally did, but was unable to shake the concern for his father. They texted as per their habit during his lunch break, in between laughing with his friends, but Vlad seemed a bit…distracted, he supposed.

(His friends could have told him that Vlad wasn’t the only one, but, like all good friends, they didn’t comment, opting instead to respect his privacy, confident that he would talk when and if he wanted to.)

Needless to say, Daniel wasn’t entirely sure what to expect when he crossed the Masters’ threshold that afternoon, hanging his jacket on the rack and shouldering his backpack, anxious to check on his father.

“Dad, I’m home!”

No answer.

He deposited his keys in the dish, and moved through the entryway, calling twice more, trying not to worry when he was met with silence.  

While uncommon, it wasn’t unheard of for Daniel to get home before Vlad.  But with the mood his dad was in that day, he was on edge.  Normally, he would text Daniel when he was working late.

Daniel sighed, running his fingers lightly along the wall of pictures as he made his way down the hall and up the staircase, deciding to distract himself with a bit of schoolwork while he waited for his dad to get back.  He hoped he was alright.

Daniel deposited his backpack beside his desk, taking a moment to kick off his shoes before pulling out his phone to text his dad, making his way over to sit on his bed, glancing up to check the height (his muscle memory wasn’t the most reliable these days; he was running into furniture and walls so often that his dad often joked about childproofing) only to stop short.  There was already something sitting there.

It was a box of medium size, just short of being too large to hold comfortably with two hands, wrapped simply but neatly in white paper.  Resting on top was a light green envelope, with his name inked in gold in a familiar hand.

He furrowed his brows, perplexed, and set aside his phone to pick up the envelope.  Unless he was very much mistaken, this was a present from his dad. Strange.

Not that surprise presents were an unusual occurrence; on the contrary, his dad loved giving him gifts, much more than Daniel enjoyed receiving them.  The quantity had been truly ridiculous at first.  It took a while for him to convince his father to relax, admitting that while he appreciated the thought and attention, he felt guilty that he was unable to reciprocate.  So they had compromised, agreeing to save gifting for special occasions.

Of course, Vlad pushed the boundaries of this rule, but it made him so happy to do nice things for Daniel that the teenager didn’t have the heart to call him out.  As long as he didn’t go overboard, Daniel had decided he could live with the occasional surprise.

He picked at the flap of the heavy paper envelope.  

But, unlike any other time his dad gave him a gift, he wasn’t here.  Daniel knew from experience that the real fun of gift-giving came from watching the recipient’s reaction.  

And his dad’s absence was clearly intentional.  Vlad was a master of presentation; the private location combined with the open and inviting position of the box and envelope was not coincidental.  Not to mention his unusual absence from the house at large.  And no audience meant no pressure, no need to control his reactions with the feelings of other in mind, free to be himself.

Which meant it was a gift intended for Daniel and Daniel alone.  He was touched.  And intrigued.

He finally managed to get a thumb under the tight seal, prying the glue apart slowly, careful to leave the envelope intact.  He pulled out a sheet of simple off-white stationary, revealing a message in his father’s distinctive hand.  

Daniel chuckled a bit; for someone so detail-oriented, his handwriting was atrocious.  He sat down, and began to read.

Dear Daniel,

I apologize for violating your privacy and your trust about a month ago.  I have no excuse.  I allowed my curiosity to overrule my common sense and overstepped your boundaries.  Worse, I used this knowledge to impose my will when it was neither wanted nor necessary, failing to respect your space, and by extension, you.  I am sorry, Daniel, for this, and any similar past missteps that I failed to recognize.

I cannot promise you that something similar will not happen again; I promise to try my best, but as much as I pretend otherwise, truly, I have no idea what I’m doing.  You are the first person I have shared a space with in over twenty years, and those past examples did not end well.  Despite my best efforts to the contrary, I successfully drove away everyone close to me.  I hurt people.  I’d like to think that I’m a bit wiser now, but I know that’s not entirely true.

To be completely honest, I’m terrified, Daniel.  You are my only son.  I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I hurt you as well.  And I did hurt you, that day.  Others have left for far less.

Imagine my surprise when you forgave me so easily.  I simply couldn’t believe that it could be that easy.  You know that I trust you, Daniel, but you have to understand that years of evidence to the contrary are not so easily ignored.  

And then you decided to prove that there were no hard feelings; you gave the subject of my betrayal back to me, as a sign of good faith.  Your prized possessions.  Given freely.

I suspect you don’t have any idea clue how truly special you are.  So selfless, so kind.  If I hadn’t had such an involved role in your creation, I never would have believed that you were my child.

So thank you, Daniel.  Thank you for being you.

Daniel blinked back tears, taken aback by the forthright nature of the letter.  It was just so honest, so Vlad that he wasn’t sure if he should shake his head or cry.  Honestly, he was a bit disappointed; he had thought that his show of trust with the old sweaters had been enough to assure him of Daniel’s sincerity, and relieve him of guilt.

He loved the man, but it killed him how stubborn he could be.  He didn’t need to apologize again; Daniel had been tired that day, and overreacted, reading farther into the situation than he should have.  They were just a bunch of old sweaters.  This was his dad.  Why couldn’t his dad see that?

He decided to move on, rubbing at his eyes, unable to suppress a snort at the next line:

Now, because I know you, I’m certain that unlike every other teenager in existence, you read the card first. So do me a favor, please; open up the box before you read the rest.

He shook his head.  No one knew him like his dad.  He’d worry about the implications of his predictability later.

For now, he took the box into his lap; it had heft, but wasn’t heavy, per se.  He turned the package over, searching for the seams, and methodically pried tape away from the wrappings, careful not to tear the paper, savoring the anticipation.

He set the paper aside, and grasped the lid of the oversized white cardboard clothing box, prying it away from the bottom half, and brushed aside green and yellow tissue paper.  His hands began to shake.

He was greeted with something familiar, yet new.  He traced the old knit pattern, yarn soft from wear, but freshly laundered.  He tried a couple of times to lift the bulky block of fabric from the box, but it was packed tight, and he was unable to find purchase.  So he gave up and turned the box over onto the sheets instead, then unfolded its contents, eager to see the piece in its entirety.  He gaped.

They were all here. All of his old sweaters, the ones that he had given to Vlad that day.  The ones that he reluctantly put aside one by one when he could no longer slip into their warm embrace.  He had mourned the loss of the memories that went with each one, resigned to enjoy them as mere keepsakes.  

He didn’t regret giving them to his dad, but he had missed them.

Here they were, but not as they were; the torsos had been divested of the sleeves and divided in half down the sides, former front and back forming large patches that were sewn methodically onto an oversized sheet of ultra-soft fabric.  Parts of the sleeves had been repurposed into artful borders to separate individual sweaters.  The construction had been stuffed lightly, and formed a type of quilt.

Overall, the effect was stunning, striking a perfect balance between respect for the past and celebration of a new era.  

As far as he could tell, every salvageable part of his collection had a place.

In the middle, framed like a piece of art, was the front of his favorite sweater.  His first one, complete with mar and repair job.  He traced his friend’s handiwork reverently, taking a moment to reflect before taking action.

He arranged the quilt on top of his comforter, admiring the personal touch it brought to his space.  He itched to burrow under it immediately, but he knew better; there was no way he’d be able to avoid falling asleep right now if he was that warm.

It was, without question, the most thoughtful gift he had ever received.  So much time and care had been poured into this.  He had no idea how his dad had managed to organize the diverse collection into the aesthetically-pleasing and functional piece of art resting on his bed. He felt a rush of concern for his dad.  When had he found time to sleep this month?

With a jolt, Daniel remembered that he still had half a letter to read.  

He bit his bottom lip, conflicted, and decided to take a calculated risk; he burrowed socked feet under the quilt and shimmied down to his hips, sighing in delight.  The warm weight was unbelievably comfortable, and his feeling of nostalgia only intensified with contact. He had missed this.  His dad’s voice colored the rest of the text.

Life is full of change.  I often did my best to resist it, believing it could bring only pain.  You have taught me that this isn’t always the case.  Change can bring pain, but it often brings benefits as well.  Especially when it brings about growth.

Take your sweaters for example. You were, and still are, incredibly fond of them, despite the fit becoming uncomfortable as you outgrew them.  To continue to grow unhindered, you had to take the small sweaters off.

You’ll continue to grow in many different ways.  I look forward to seeing who you will become.  

But you will find that you will outgrow more than old sweaters in the course of your life.  Mindsets, routines, places.  At some point, you’ll realize that they’re no longer as comfortable as you remember, but moving on can be hard.  

When you reach the point of no return, Daniel, you must promise me you won’t linger.  Trying to fit into that “old sweater” again, as tempting as it is, will only bring you pain.

I regret to say I speak from experience.  I was stuck, for many years, trying to fit into my own “sweater,” denying the restriction because it was all I had.  I was stuck, longing to change my circumstances, but unwilling to release my hold on the “then” and embrace the “now.”  

It was painful, to say the least. I wallowed in anger for years, refusing to share blame, placing it fully on the shoulders of my friends, pushing them away.  Then I wondered why I was always unhappy and alone, with only my dark thoughts to keep me company.

I was still that person when you came along.  No hope, intent on using you as a tool for revenge and conquest.  But you were greater than I ever dreamed, far more than I could ever hope: A person.  My son.

It terrified me; you were too good for this world, too good for me.  And I was ashamed, thought myself unworthy to be your father, terrified I’d ruin you. That I’d fail you.

Please don’t make my mistakes.  Make your own.  Grow.  Live.  

Let this quilt remind you that it’s okay to remember the past, but not to dwell on it.  With some imagination, your memories can grow with you.   The past has its place, but life can only continue when you let go.

You taught me this, Daniel.  Let me return the favor.

And no matter what else in your life may change, you can rest easy with the knowledge that I will always be here for you, for as long as you’ll have me.

I am so proud of you, son.  I can’t wait to see what kind of man you’ll become.  

I love you.

-Vlad

An ugly mix of tears and snot streamed unchecked down Daniel’s face, dripping off his chin onto his shirt, arms carefully outstretched to preserve the letter.  

Sure, parts were a bit embarrassing. And sad.  But while his dad expressed his love often enough verbally, it was a different experience altogether see it in writing.  It felt more authentic, somehow.  Perhaps it was the deliberation that was required to record such a sentiment on paper; completely separate from the heat of the moment.  Sincere.

Today had been a roller coaster of emotion, from pancakes to quilts; he was exhausted.

When he first slid under the blanket, he had thought he’d never want to get up, reminded of his dad’s embrace.  But now, he found himself longing for nothing less than the real thing, confident he knew where his dad had been hiding under the circumstances.

In his haste, he elected to phase out from under the quilt, pausing only to set the letter carefully on his desk before phasing through several walls into Vlad’s private study.

Sure enough, there he was. Daniel barely registered that the man was staring blankly, hunched over an old photo album before it was lost from sight as he released the transformation and buried him in a hug from behind, over his shoulders and the desk chair.

Vlad tensed at first, so lost in thought that he hadn’t heard the boy come in.

“Thank you,” Daniel whispered.

Vlad relaxed, closing the book before turning around with a tentative smile.

Daniel let go, and Vlad stood so he could hug his son properly.

A/N: Thanks so much for reading!  I hope you had just as much fun as I did writing it!  I’m pretty new to writing fiction (I normally write research papers), so I’d appreciate any feedback you’d be willing to give me.  Feel free to point out any mistakes or oversights!  Overall, I’m really happy with how this turned out.  I guess fifth times’ the charm and all that.  I was concerned about the pacing being too slow, so I’m curious to see what you guys think.

I’m also open to requests!  Feel free to hit me up.  I have a few more shorts planned in this universe, namely, the story of how Daniel’s favorite sweater was damaged and an, admittedly, crack-ish short where Vlad and Daniel react to the sketch that started it all (Vlad commissions a family portrait, but has mixed feelings about the result); but after that, nothing’s planned, but I do have a couple of vague ideas.

Thanks for reading!

[all-the-cliches-lwa]

Light Learning

So, about two months ago, @kodraws drew something (link here) for Dianakko Week, and I absolutely adored it. 

 Fast forward to a few weeks ago, and I was looking at my lockscreen (it’s my lockscreen now) and I was like “… what might have happened to make this happen?”

And then I hit 1000 followers a while ago (and thanks a lot for that btw! I’m not sure what I’ve done to deserve it, barring screaming into tags, but I hope you all enjoy my screaming), and like I considered if I wanted to write a 1000 follower appreciation fic. Then I opened my phone.

 So now I have a fanfic chapter inspired by fanart inspired by fanfic. I’ve gone full circle! 

 … So how many of you have read Learning to Fly? Cause this is kinda like a pre-epilogue epilogue, if that makes any sense, and I most definitely treat it as such (this is riddled with call-backs... in hindsight perhaps not the best thing to do for a “1000 follower fic”... seeing as I’m not sure everyone’s read the fic). It takes place about 2.5 months after the main events of the fic and 1.5 months before the epilogue.

Not 100% sure if I recaptured the tone but I had a lot of fun playing with this. 

I hope you enjoy reading this! And seriously, thanks for the follows.

ff.net link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12486574/16/Learning-to-Fly

Word Count: 6746 words

Summary: Ever since Akko and Diana started dating, life has gotten in the way of any more private tutoring sessions. But now, two and half months later, Akko finally has the chance to learn from her favorite tutor, and Diana has the chance to teach her favorite student.

A lone spark lit up in the darkness. Though it started as a soft, almost dim ball of light, it continued to grow bigger and brighter until its light rivaled that of the sun.

And that’s when Diana woke up, the enchantment she had cast upon herself before going to sleep having done exactly what it was intended to do: wake her up in the middle of the night.

It only took her a moment for her consciousness to fully return to her from sleep’s embrace… and while she was reluctant at first to escape it, she quickly broke free from its alluring grasp, knowing full well that another, more blissful embrace would be soon taking its place.

Diana removed her covers from atop her, grabbed her wand from the desk, and jumped off of her bed. She imbued magic into her wand, creating a gentle green glow. With the light illuminating the dark room, Diana turned towards the mirror on her wall and ensured that her uniform wasn’t excessively wrinkled and that there was not a single hair out of place.

While perfection was unnecessary, Diana wanted to appear at least somewhat presentable.

She ran a hand down her skirt, straightening out any wrinkles. Thoroughly satisfied, Diana maneuvered around her bed and walked up to her table. She smiled at the calendar, filled with scribbled hearts and even more crosses and x’s. However, the most prominent doodle on the calendar was the big red heart encircling today’s date.

She reached out and tapped the date with her finger, causing the heart to shine a bright red.

The signal sent, Diana quietly moved towards the exit of her room. It was late after all, and Hannah and Barbara had retired for the night quite a while ago. Diana did not wish to wake them by making any excess sound.

Diana carefully opened door, meticulously controlling her force so that not a single noise was made. When she made the tiniest opening, Diana peeked through it, ensuring no one from the night patrol was outside.

After all, it was past curfew. And sure, this wasn’t the first time she’d broken curfew, but that did not mean she wouldn’t be taking the necessary precautions.

She squinted, looking for any sign of the familiar green light that signaled a patrol member was passing by.

She’d had enough obstacles over the past months. Getting caught was not something that she would allo-

“Diana?”

Diana jumped at the call of her name and quickly whipped her head towards the voice. She visibly relaxed when she saw that it was Hannah, who was sitting up on her bed.

“My apologies,” Diana said, “I had not intended to wake you.”

“What’s going on?” Barbara mumbled as she shifted towards the door, “Are you going somewhere Diana?”

“There isn’t, like, something terrible happening, right Diana?” Hanna asked, her eyes widening and her voice filled with dread.

“No, nothing of the sort,” Diana quickly said, her hand waving their worries away. “I simply wished to go for a night stroll.”

Hannah and Barbara blinked at Diana slowly, confused at first, their sleep-muddled minds not comprehending what exactly was happening. After all, why would Diana go on a stroll this late?

Then the gears quickly began turning, and they both began to sport a smug grin. Smug grins that quickly revealed to Diana that she had been read quite easily, much to her own embarrassment.

“A night stroll, huh Diana?”

“Y-yes Barbara,” Diana stammered, still trying to keep up this excuse.

“So… you’re breaking curfew, to go on a stroll?” Hannah innocently asked.

“… Yes.”

“I see… then you wouldn’t mind if we joined you right?”

“Excuse me?” Diana gasped, her face beginning to pale.

As much as she loved her team, that was the absolute last thing she wanted or needed from them tonight.

“I mean, you wouldn’t mind it right?” Barbara asked.

“Yeah, it’s just a night stroll right Diana?” Hannah continued.

“… I simply wish to be alone for the night.” Diana finished.

“Alone?” Hannah and Barbara echoed.

“Yes. Alone,” Diana said, her cheeks aflame.

“… Right, if you say so Diana,” Hannah said, tucking herself back into bed. "Have fun on your little 'stroll'"

Diana sighed in relief and smiled, happy that her friends appeared to satisfied with her reasoni-

“Oh, and tell Ak~ko we said hi~,” Hannah and Barbara sang together, their voices light and teasing.

Diana quickly squeaked an “okay” before dashing outside of the room, the sound of giggles the last thing she heard escape her room.

Akko had been up all night with only a dim candlelight illuminating the room.

That was okay though. It was late, and her friends were sleeping.

Akko, however, was way too excited to sleep. Her heart had been racing for hours, and she could barely contain her anticipation, having been bouncing on her bed ever since classes had ended for the day.

It had gotten so bad that Akko needed to grab the thing in her room that could soothe her the most. Something filled with meaning and importance.

The premium Shiny Chariot card.

The card never failed to relax Akko or make her happy whenever she was stressed or sad.

… Unfortunately, the card seemed to have actually had the opposite effect, making Akko even more giddy, the card a perfect reminder of just who exactly she had been waiting to see.

And that was when she saw it out of the corner of her eye: a red spark of light shining off of the calendar Diana had given her a few days ago. A grin broke on her face as she watched a bright red heart form on today’s date.

In an instant, Akko leapt off of her bed, grabbed her wand, and bolted out of the room, only making sure to lightly close the door, so as to not wake up her roommates.

Although a nice thought, the gesture was wholly pointless, seeing as  her two friends slowly rose up out of their slumber, looking towards the door Akko had just sprinted out of.

“Where does that idiot think she’s going?” Sucy muttered.

“Well, you know Akko.” Lotte said with a chuckle.

Sucy sighed.

“Should we follow her and make sure she doesn’t get herself, and us, in trouble?”

Lotte hummed and shook her head. “I don’t think we’ll need to,” Lotte said, turning towards Sucy. “If she ran out that quickly, she’ll probably already be with someone who’ll do that for us.”

Sucy looked up to Lotte and smiled.

“Figures Akko could get even Diana to break the rules.”

Lotte giggled at the thought before wishing Sucy another good night as they both leaned back down onto their beds.  

It had been far too long.

It was as if, the very moment after they had realized and accepted the feelings they had for one another and finally became a couple, fate itself had decided to thrust their lives into chaos.

Never mind tutoring. Between Professor Croix’s abrupt tenure into the school, the Faerie strike, the journey to unlock the Seven Words of Arcturus, the Wild Hunt, Diana leaving Luna Nova and Akko bringing her back, and, of course, the unlocking of the Grand Triskelion, Akko and Diana barely had enough time to be alone together.

And, given how stressful and tiring all of this was, the time they spent alone was usually spent cuddling with one another, neither witch having much left in terms of energy.

One would think that, after releasing the Grand Triskelion, essentially completing the quest that had, for so long, been a large part in both of their school lives, the both of them would have more time with one another.

Unfortunately, people who thought that had never met the press, and they certainly had never met Wangari or anyone else on the Luna Nova News staff.

It had already been a week since the missile crisis, but Akko and Diana were still the headline of the daily school newspaper. While their privacy in their rooms had been respected - Wangari may have been dedicated to getting the latest and greatest scoop, but she wasn’t some sort of criminal -, any moment in the public space of Luna Nova was fair game.

Which made having those promised private tutoring sessions… very complicated.

There wasn’t a waking moment outside of their rooms where the both of them weren’t swarmed by reporters.

And that was why Akko had hatched this plan:

“If meeting up during the day wouldn’t be possible… what about at night? When everyone was asleep!”

Diana admitted the plan could work. It was certainly something that she had never thought of. There was only one problem with it.

“Curfew will have long passed.”

Akko groaned, collapsing atop Diana’s lap, the back of her hand landing dramatically atop her forehead.

“C'mon Dianaaaa, you’ve broken curfew before! And we both know you enjoyed it!”

Diana coughed, a faint blush finding a home on her face.

It was certainly true, after all. The first, and only, time she had actually broken curfew, as opposed to work around it via her duties or permission slips, was in fact a very special moment in her life. In both of their lives. It was one she never regretted doing, and one that, if given another chance, she would do all over again.

That being said, there was one, rather important difference.

“Akko…I broke curfew that night so that I could ensure your safe return to your dorm. What you are suggesting we do tomorrow and what I did then are two completely different matters.”

“They’re not that different… You’ll still be ‘ensuring my safe return’ to my dorm!” Akko protested. “It’ll just… you know, be after we spend like a couple of hours together.”

Diana sighed, bringing her hand up to interlock with Akko’s hand, which was still resting dramatically on her forehead.

She did admit, it was rather tempting. She did miss getting to have an exclusive look at Akko’s magic after all. Not to mention, Diana wanted to do everything in her power to help Akko grow into the kind of witch she wanted to become, one who could continue spreading the joys of magic around the world.

And… really, past curfew would be the only time she would get for this until the news from the Grand Triskelion had died down… and considering Wangari was only now asking either Akko or Diana about the sudden kiss they shared in the stratosphere atop the Shooting Star… that could take quite a while.

Such was the burden of being the school’s “power couple”, as Wangari so kindly put it.

Still, she was a Cavendish.

While the whole idea of strictly following tradition and rules had less meaning to her now than it had months ago- dating Akko did have that effect on her- she still acknowledged tradition’s and rules’ place in her life.

Seeing as she didn’t have to break any of them at this point in time, Diana had no intentions of doing so. Sure she wished to continue watching Akko improve, but that would come in time.  All she needed was a bit of patience.

“Akko, you know tha-”

“Pleeeeeeeease?” Akko interrupted with a long drawn out plea as she shook both of their hands around frantically.

Diana rolled her eyes and giggled at her girlfriend’s silliness.

She then turned downwards to look at her girlfriend’s face so that she could continue explaining why they could not just break rules whenever they wished.

It only took her a moment to realize that doing so was a huge error in judgment.

Diana’s mind short-circuited when she saw Akko looking up at her with wide, almost teary puppy-dog eyes.

Diana felt her resolve quickly crumbling under the weight of the adorable look her girlfriend was sending her. She knew that if she subjected herself to this any longer, she’d succumb to the pressure.

And so she quickly closed her eyes, blocking off her sight.

Unfortunately, cutting off one sense tended to heighten the others, and when a whimper hit her ears with crystal clarity, Diana resolve very nearly broke.

For some unjustifiable reason, the sound made Diana peek open her eyes just a little bit. Perhaps she fooled herself into thinking she wanted to make sure Akko wasn’t actually crying, but they both knew Akko wouldn’t actually be crying over something like this.

She opened just a slight crevice through her eyelids, but unfortunately even that was too much.

Akko was looking up at her with those same wide red eyes… only now Akko's lower lip was jutted out, sending Diana the saddest pout she'd ever witnessed.

The sight made her heart clench, and it was all Diana could do to hold onto the slightest bit of her resolve, trying desperately to keep it together.

And then Akko’s lip quivered.

“… Fine.” Diana groaned in utter defeat, the last bits of her resolve having been crumbled, smashed into dust, and blown away by the fierce cuteness that was Akko Kagari.

Immediately, Akko’s eyes brightened up, her pout disappearing, replaced by a face splitting grin.

“Thank you thank you!” Akko cheered, bouncing off of Diana’s lap to wrap her in a tight hug. “Thank youuuuuuuuu”

Diana chuckled, resigning herself to her decision and immediately thinking of ways to coordinate the late night rendezvous.

She had already agreed to it. She may as well make the most of it.

As reluctant as she may have been when she had started planning this out with Akko the day prior, Diana could not deny she was excited for the first time she’d get to tutor Akko with another spell in months.

She was already on the field where they had met so many times before. She had just finished casting an enchantment that would pacify the frigid winter wind into a more cool evening breeze until her and Akko were finished for the night.

With nothing else left to do, Diana stood by and tried her best to contain her own elation. Her heart raced with every passing second, just waiting for the moment when Akko would jump up from the bushes and-

“Diana!”

Diana quickly turned towards the voice and was immediately tackled by her girlfriend, who had jumped at her with all of her weight.

“Akko?!” Diana yelped as she fell backwards onto the ground.

“Ehehe, sorry~” Akko giggled against Diana’s collar. “I just missed you soooo much!”

Diana melted as the pleasant tune of Akko’s happiness surrounded her. It only took a moment to wrap her arms around Akko’s waist, finally returning a hug of her own.

They may have only just seen each other earlier in the day… but that didn’t make Akko’s words any less true.

“And I missed you too,” Diana whispered softly.

Nor hers.

“Ahhhhhhh, I’m sooo excited!” Akko cheered, all but vibrating in Diana’s arms. “It’s been forever since I got to learn a spell from my favorite tutor.”

“Oh? What about Chariot?” Diana teased without missing a beat. She delighted in seeing the sudden widening of Akko’s eyes and the quick flush of Akko’s cheeks.

“… That’s different,” Akko said, quickly hiding her face in the crook of Diana’s neck. “She’s my favorite teacher.”

Diana hummed in amusement, a sound that grew into melodious laughter when she felt Akko pout against her neck.

She really did miss this.

However…

“Akko, we must begin soon,” Diana said, interrupting their moment together. “It is rather late after all.”

“Okay,” Akko said, lifting herself up until her face was inches above Diana’s. “I hope we have time for kisses though~”

“Perhaps,” Diana smiled, “but first: lessons. We must stay focused.”

Diana’s heart was soaring, and she was struggling to hide the grin that was constantly threatening to overtake her face.

After all, here she was, presented with a perfect view of one of the most adorable sights she had ever known: Akko bouncing in her seat, the silver shine of the moonlight lighting up every bounce of her hair and intensifying the bright light of Akko’s eyes. Akko’s smile was so wide, it was a wonder her cheeks were not in pain, and Diana found it hard not to watch Akko’s little nose as she moved up and down.

But as adorable as all of this was, Diana had a task to do, and she was going to perform it with the utmost perfection.

She cleared her throat and prepared to begin.

“Akko, are you ready?”

“Ready as ever!”

“Very well,” Diana said as she released her wand from the knot in her sash, “then I shall demonstrate tonight’s spell. I am sure you don’t need another lesson about how this spell works?”

“I dunnoooo” Akko drawled, “will it end the same way the last one did? Cause if it will, I don’t think a refresher could hurt~” Akko teased.

Diana’s face quickly turned scarlet, and she could just tell Akko was enjoying the way words were beginning to fail her, with only sputters escaping her lips.

Diana had to pause the lesson for a moment to gather her bearings from Akko's teasing. Considering they had literally started a minute ago, Diana realized this might be happening quite often should she not put a stop to it immediately.

Diana took a deep breath, using the time to contemplate a countermeasure.

After a moment, she managed to think of one. It was dire, and Diana was unsure she’d be able to hold herself to it.

However, she knew if they were to get anywhere tonight, it would have to be done.

“Akko,” Diana said as she exhaled her breath, “just for that transgression, you shall receive no kisses until you have adequately performed the spell.”

“W-What?!” Akko quickly jumped off from her seat on the grass, “You… You can’t just do that!”

“I can, and I just did,” Diana said, satisfied to see shock written all over Akko’s face. “Now shall I continue? Or do you wish to stall?”

“… Fine,” Akko mumbled after a long, resigned sigh.  She crossed her arms and sat back down with a grumble and a pout.

… The pout made Diana realize how difficult this condition might actually be on her, but she shook it off. After all, she was Akko’s tutor.

Not only that, she had spent at least one month tutoring Akko without experiencing the sweet taste of Akko’s lips, or the soft warmth of Akko’s skin against her own lips. She was sure she could do it again.

“Very well, then I shall demonstrate the spell once more.”

Diana took a deep breath, focusing magic into the tip of her wand. It glowed a bright green, and as Diana waved it around, a trail of light followed her every movement.

“Stellaetus”

At the call of the spell, the light separated from her wand and grew into a large orb above her. The orb then exploded in a bright flash, and leaving behind a sea of stars that surrounded both witches, floating and flittering around.

As Diana’s magic danced, Akko’s arms dropped to her sides, all feelings of frustration and stubbornness melting away. Diana’s magic was beautiful, and Akko couldn’t help but marvel at its brilliance, even moreso since it had been a while since she had experienced it personally.

Each individual green spark of light moved and swayed around in a slow, rhythmic waltz, one Akko's eyes couldn’t help but follow. No matter how Akko had felt before, seeing Diana’s magic cast in such a display would always mesmerize her.

“Woooow” Akko breathed out, her eyes sparkling in the glow of Diana’s spell as her focus danced between a countless number of shimmering lights.

Diana smiled inwardly, satisfied that she had successfully brought out Akko’s child-like love for magic.

“While I don’t expect something of this level quite yet, by the end of today, I would like to see you produce something to this effect,” Diana said, hoping to similarly bear witness to the brilliance only Akko’s magic could encapsulate. However, seeing as this was Akko, Diana needed to clarify one thing, “ It is also important to note that, while my spell did conjure a large orb of light, that is wholly unnecessary. The light can directly stream from your wand.”

Though still entranced by the brilliantly shining lights surrounding her, one thing in Diana’s lecture had caught her attention.

“The large orb thing is 'unnecessary’?”

“Well… yes,” Diana answered, “Purely for show.”

Akko pondered on this for a moment, before sending Diana a cheeky grin.

For what seemed like the fifth time tonight, Diana’s face felt enflamed.

“Then why did you do it?” Akko asked innocently, as if she didn’t already know the answer. “You don’t seem like the kind of person who would do something unnecessarily.”

“Akko…” Diana chided, though it was far too weak to have any sort of lasting impact.

“Was my girlfriend showing off for me?” Akko teased, sauntering towards a flustered Diana… a flustered Diana who refused to answer… seeing as the answer was an obvious yes.

She had simply wanted to see that child-like look of awe on Akko’s adorable face. The way Akko’s face lit up was always something truly magical in and of itself.

Diana’s eyes quickly widened when she noticed the repercussions of her own train of thought.

“Oh! What’s thiiiiis?” Akko gasped in delight, crossing her eyes for a moment. “I think I see some glitter on my nose~ Does somebodyyy wanna kiss it and make them go away?”

Diana continued to feel heat rushing into her face, rising up into the tips of her ears, upon hearing Akko’s insinuation. After all… the answer was a resounding yes. And as much as it embarrassed her in these circumstances, Diana knew her first instinct would have been to walk up to Akko, cup her face, and kiss the glitter and that smirk off of her adorable, magic-covered, giggling face.

But Diana had to hold herself back. She had just restricted kisses as a reprimand of sorts against Akko’s teasing. She would not fall apart at the nearest opportunity… no matter how much she truly wanted to.

Apparently allowing her emotions to run visibly free wasn’t the wisest decision while trying to seriously teach Akko. It gave Akko far too much to tease her about so long as she was trying to be focused. And judging by the playful smile on her face, Akko was not going to stop teasing anytime soon either, which would really be an obstacle for progress, seeing how easily flustered Diana was… at least when it came to Akko.

So she did the only other logical thing.

Diana instantly ceased her spell. All the lights faded away, leaving Akko sorely disappointed.

Watching Akko visibly deflate caused Diana much grief, but it was a necessary sacrifice. A grave one, yes, but necessary.

“Dianaaaa, why did you-”

“Akko, we need to focus. And you clearly would not be able to focus whilst that spell was active.”

“That’s cause it was showing just how unfocused you were!”

“… Akko just hurry up and begin practice,” Diana deflected, “Or do you wish to delay your kisses further?”

Akko pouted but listened to her girlfriend, taking a stance with her wand.

Akko was frustrated.

Three hours later, and Akko was nowhere near where she wanted to be, both in regards to the spell and in regards to where she literally was.

In regards to the spell, it was a far cry from what Diana had managed to do. Akko could barely manage to keep the sparkles lit up for any longer than a few seconds… not to mention they always drifted downwards to the ground instead of floating around them.

That being said, there was some progress being made there. At the very least, her magic had stopped exploding in a blinding flash the second she tried to cast the spell, seeing as she had abandoned trying to mimic Diana’s earlier showing, at Diana’s request of course.

… Speaking of Diana.

Yes. Akko knew she would have to be practicing magic.

Yes, Akko knew she couldn’t hug and kiss Diana as much as she could have if she had decided to spend this time alone together cuddling.

She expected that and was okay with that. She wanted to practice magic, and she wanted Diana to be there to help her…

What she wasn’t okay with was Diana being out of arm’s reach the entire time.

It was their first time working together like this as a couple… Akko thought that maybe there could be some hugs, cuddles, and kisses in between attempts.

But then Diana made that darn condition of no kisses… and she even seemed to take it a step further.

And being so close to her girlfriend without being able to so much as hold her hand was making Akko very very frustrated. 

“Stellaetus!” Akko yelled, pouring as much magic into the tip of her wand as she could. 

Light flittered from its point, shimmering in the air, and for a moment Akko thought that maybe, just maybe this was it. And then she’d finally get that darn kiss she’d been waiting way too long fo-

And then the lights slowly drifted down towards the ground, dissipating into nothingness.

Akko let out a loud cry, falling backwards onto the grass. Akko pouted as she looked up to the sky, so full of stars.

Ordinarily, she’d have appreciated the view. The stars were extraordinarily bright tonight… but given her circumstances, that fact in and of itself almost made it feel like the stars themselves were taunting her.  

“Akko… being frustrated only makes the spell more difficult to cast,” Diana said as she crouched beside Akko.

“But Dianaaa, that’s so complicated!” Akko groaned, lying her head down on the grass. “Trying to focus all of my happy emotions into my magic is so haaard!”

“Really?” Diana questioned, looking genuinely confused. “I personally believed it would be rather simple for you.” Diana admitted. “After all, your magic is always brimming with your excitement and energy. Like during the Samhain festival. Or your first flight. Or when we unleashed the Grand Triskelion.”

Akko sighed.

It was true. Especially considering that was the only way the Shiny Rod would really… work. That being said…

“But Diana! I wasn’t even really trying back then…” Akko bemoaned. “It just… sorta…”

“Happened?”

Akko opened her eyes to see Diana looking straight into her eyes. There were a lot of feelings she could pick out. Curiosity. Concern. Love. But beyond all that, Akko could see the glimmer of belief. A belief in her and her magic, one that had not left those eyes ever since she managed to lift her broom off the ground on their second day as tutor and tutee.

“… Yeah,” Akko said, turning away from Diana's intense gaze. “Trying to do it on purpose is really…”

“Then try not to think about it.”

“What?” Akko sat up from her spot and turned to Diana.

“Well, that may not be the easiest thing to do… I suppose telling you how to power the spell all those months ago may have been an error on my part,” Diana sighed, looking down towards the ground. “After all, it was something you always did instinctively… telling you may have caused you to overthink it.”

“… It’s fine. It was worth it anyway.” Akko muttered as she slowly leaned against Diana.

Despite the utter failure of this session, Akko couldn’t help the growing smile on her face, finally able to lean onto Diana like this.

She was nice and soft and so very warm.

“… Perhaps… we should pick this up another time?” Diana offered, her cheeks sporting the faintest blush. “It’s getting rather… late after all… and I am sure you wished to do more than just... uhm, practice magic all night.”

“Yeah, okay. That would be nice.” Akko said sleepily. Despite how wonderful it felt being able to rest on Diana again, Akko couldn’t ignore the pang in her chest. “… I’m sorry I wasn’t able to do it tonight.”

“… It is quite alright. It was my fault anyway.” Diana said, leaning her head atop Akko’s. “I will just need to think of another, more creative way to teach you this spell.” Diana chuckled when she heard Akko whine the tiniest bit. “If this helps in anyway Akko… I never once thought about focusing my emotions while performing this spell.”

“Hm? You didn’t?”

“Not at all,” Diana smiled. “Just as you said… it just sort of happened as I thought about other things and what I wanted to do with this spell.”

That piqued Akko’s curiosity.

With a grumble, Akko lazily lifted her head off of Diana’s shoulder and looked right into Diana’s shining blue eyes.

“What did you think about?”

Diana’s eyes widened.

“What do you me-”

“What were you thinking about when you cast the spell,” Akko said, suddenly moving her face closer to Diana’s, “and what did you want it to do?”

Diana bit her lip and turned away, thinking back to times she had performed the spell in earnest. The first time many years ago… and all the times she had recently cast it.

“W-Well…” Diana muttered, a subtle heat rising into her cheeks, “when I first cast the spell… I thought of my mother.”

“Your mom?” Akko asked, urging Diana to continue.

“Yes… When I first regained my ability to use magic, I knew I wanted to show my mother something spectacular, to show her that my magic had truly returned.” Diana said. “But at the time, most of those spells were far too complex and required much more magic than I was capable of utilizing… except for one.”

“The Stellaetus.”

Diana smiled.

“That is correct… so while I practiced it, I was single mindedly focused on how much I wanted to make my mother smile… and how happy my mother had always made me. From there, it just clicked.”

After listening to Diana’s short little story, Akko looked at her girlfriend in awe.

At first, Akko imagined a seven year old Diana practicing magic in secret for the sole purpose of making her mother smile and found the thought absurdly cute. But the more Akko thought about what she had just been told, the more she found herself struck speechless by how pure Diana’s motivations were… and here she was focused on casting it to get a kiss.

“And all the other times?” Akko muttered.

Diana’s face heated up further, and she quickly turned towards the ground in an attempt to hide herself.

Even after all these months, Diana was still shy about speaking about her feelings, about how much she adored being with Akko and especially about how she felt before they started dating: how absurdly obvious the things she did made her crush on Akko seem… and how oblivious the both of them were to the implications of it all.

Right down to her motivations for all the little acts of magic she had staged for Akko.

Diana took a deep breath and mumbled her answer.

“… I simply thought about how wondrous you saw magic… and how much I wished to bring that out in you myself.”

Akko’s heart skipped a beat.

Sure she always teased Diana about it, but hearing her actually admit that she did everything for the sake of essentially making her smile… Akko couldn’t even begin to put to words how happy that made her feel.

And then it hit her.

“Diana?”

“Yes Akko?

"Can I try one more time?”

Diana turned her head curiously.

“… Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Akko said, grunting as she stood up onto her feet. “But uh, this time, you mind standing… riiight in front of me?”

Diana quirked a brow, but listened to Akko. She stood up and moved right in front of Akko.

“Good, thank you.” Akko smiled up at her girlfriend.. “Now…”

With one quick motion, Akko brought her arms up and wrapped them around Diana’s waist. She then tightened her grip, pressing the both of them against each other.

“A-Akko?” Diana gasped in surprise.

Diana’s heart hammered against her chest. She could feel warmth spreading from the point on her collarbone where Akko was nuzzling her head outwards, a significant portion of it finding its way into her face.

“Shhh,” Akko whispered, still nuzzling against Diana’s chest. “Hold me toooo.”

“Ak-Akko, I… I” Diana stammered and stuttered, still thrown off by Akko’s sudden affection. “I fail to see how thi-”

“Shhh, just trust me and hold me.” Akko muttered.

Diana sighed but relented, wrapping her arms around Akko’s waist.

Akko’s smile widened.

Being right here like this with Diana, in each other’s arms, felt so soft… so warm. Akko took in a deep breath, taking in the relaxing scent of lavender, and sighed blissfully.

Hearing Diana’s story made her realize what she was doing wrong… this is what she should have been focused on. This feeling.

Being with Diana made Akko so happy, and she knew she’d likely never be able to show just how much it did.

But, maybe if Akko could show even a fraction of how happy she felt…

Akko loosened her hold around Diana’s waist, extending her wand out behind Diana.

“A-Akko?”

Akko looked up into Diana’s eyes, her lips still turned up in a soft smile.

“Stellaetus,” Akko whispered.

For a moment, nothing happened. It was just the both of them growing lost in each other’s gaze.

And then a tiny flicker of blue light came into view, floating between the both of them.

And then another.

And another, until the both of them were practically swarmed by the floating stars.

Diana looked around at the circles of light floating around them. They were all so bright, yet so gentle, and they each radiated warmth not unlike what she felt emanating from the girl wrapped in her arms.

Diana then looked down at her girlfriend, and the sight she saw filled her chest with a fuzzy warmth.

Akko was looking around with awe at the lights she had created. Her eyes were wide, and they shined brightly under the light of her own magic. The smile that was on her face widened as more shimmers and glimmers of light surrounded the both of them.

When Akko turned her attention back to Diana, she couldn’t stop the giggle that bubbled in her chest.

It only took a moment for Diana to realize what that meant. Diana crossed her eyes to confirm what she already knew.

It seemed all of the stars had been congregating around her the entire time, if the sparkles on her nose were any indication. A few more looks around herself revealed the stars had attached themselves onto more than just her nose.

Diana turned her attention back on Akko and smiled softly.

“It appears there is glitter all around me Akko.” Diana whispered.

Akko giggled.

“There’s a lot on your lips too!”

Diana chuckled and shook her head, because of course there would be.

“Is that so?” Diana said playfully.

Akko nodded excitedly.

She then looked up at Diana and gave a smile so bright, it could even put the sun to shame.

“Sooooo, do I get my reward now?”

Diana gazed softly at Akko and raised her left hand to lift Akko’s chin towards her.

“Very well,” Diana warmly said, “I suppose you have earned it.”

The way Akko giggled and bounced on the balls of her feet made Diana’s heart do flips, and she was suddenly very glad she’d finally be able to kiss her girlfriend.

Diana closed her eyes and tilted her head to the side. Then she leaned forward to press their lips together.

Even through her shut eyelids, Diana could see the light of Akko’s spell growing more and more intense as the both of them pressed closer, deepening the kiss.

And Diana most definitely deepened the kiss, and she would continue doing so until Akko wished to separate. After all, Akko had worked very hard. What kind of girlfriend would she be if she didn’t adequately reward her for a job well done?

Besides, Diana would be lying if she said she was not looking forward to this either. Just like Akko, Diana had been growing rather frustrated with the, annoyingly necessary and self-imposed, distance between the both of them. She had simply been better at hiding it.

Now, feeling Akko’s lips against her own, Diana couldn’t even fathom how she had managed to hold out the entire time. All she knew was that, had she faltered even once in that time, she would not have been able to pull away, leaving their tutoring session entirely forgotten. The warmth and love she felt blooming in her chest as they continued to press against each other were far too comforting,  the jolt of electricity that coursed through her veins with each touch of Akko’s lips too addicting. Diana found it difficult to think of anything else.

Akko was having similar thoughts, or lack thereof, to be more accurate. From the moment she felt Diana’s impossibly soft lips touch hers, Akko had been single-mindedly determined to drink in as much of it as she could. Though she had forgotten it for a bit as she cast the Stellaetus spell, she had waited hours for a chance to kiss her girlfriend, and now that she had that chance, she was going to get as much as Diana was willing to give, resolving to only separate once Diana chose to.

Spurred on by the pleasant feelings of warmth and love both girls felt, coupled with their determination to keep going until the other was ready to stop, Diana and Akko continued to deepen the kiss, not even taking a moment’s breath if it meant separating.

They slowly began to feel lightheaded, but they both ignored it, still pressing forward to lose themselves in this kiss. Even when their lungs began to burn, they both just shut their eyes tight to try and bear it to keep themselves connected.

It was only when their lungs absolutely demanded air that they finally did separate, their chests heaving as they gasped for air.

Their faces were flushed, and their hearts were beating wildly against their ribs. Looking at each other, their eyes found themselves still drawn to the other’s lips, their own lips still tingling with the sensations of the previous kiss, and they both knew that even that earlier kiss had not been enough.

Yet despite that, a mischievous glint still found itself in  Akko’s darkened irises.

“Hey… Hey Diana?” Akko panted out through staggered breaths.

“Yes, Yes Akko?” Diana shakily said as she tried to catch her breath.

“That, That was a really stupid plan,” Akko said through a strained giggle.

Diana turned her head in confusion, her mind still rather addled by their kiss.

“I’m just saying,” Akko continued, her lips curling up into an impish smirk, “if you just let me have my hugs and kisses earlier, I probably would have gotten the hang of the spell quicker.”

It took a moment for Diana to register that Akko was teasing her, and when she did, she had to fight to not roll her eyes. Ordinarily, she’d make some retort in her defense, perhaps citing how ridiculously quickly they found themselves lost in their kiss earlier, but said kiss dulled her thoughts enough that a proper retort was difficult to conjure up.  

Unable to be bothered to think up a coherent response, Diana decided she would simply allow Akko’s claim to go unchallenged. Besides, despite how sure she was that, had she allowed herself Akko’s kisses earlier, the entire tutoring session would have been long forgotten, there was some credence in the claim, considering how quickly Akko had managed to successfully cast the spell once they were together.

Still, she couldn’t just ignore the fact that Akko was already teasing her. After all, if Akko had somehow already gathered the energy and breath to tease her…

“Akko?”

“Yeah Diana?”

Diana simply cupped Akko’s cheeks and smiled.

“Be quiet.”

All Akko could do was giggle, her lips switching from a smirk to a happy grin as Diana re-captured them with her own.

[chickenfriedhorror]

Review: Poltergeist III

Let me start by saying that if Carol Anne was my daughter, I'd drive her out to the middle of nowhere, leave her, and hope for the best.  

OH WAIT!  That's just what her lovely parents did in Poltergeist III, only they replaced "middle of nowhere" with "Chicago" and "hope for the best" with "foist her on your sister, her husband, and his daughter, because we can't take it anymore."

Following the events of Poltergeist and Poltergeist II, the story opens with Carol Anne (Heather O'Rourke) in a posh high-rise penthouse in the heart of Chicago, living with her aunt, her uncle, and step-cousin.  She is obviously a burden on the family, but they all try to put on happy faces as she sits around and plays with that damn Speak-n-Spell all the time. I swear, when she's not dealing with the threat of ghosts, the kid does nothing else!  I lost interest in mine when I realized it wouldn't "say" curse words, but she can't get enough of it! Well, I suppose this is what happens when televisions, clown dolls, and toy phones are off-limits to little girls who attract evil spirits from the other side. Ahem, back to the story. This is only the beginning, for there is danger afoot, and strange things begin happening with gusto, which everyone promptly ignores.

Carol Anne has the dubious honor of being enrolled in a special school for gifted children, lorded over by the insidious Dr. Satan-er-Seaton, rather.  Seaton. Dr. Seaton (Richard Fire) likes to impress other psychiatrists with his acumen and impeccable goatee and makes Carole Anne out to be some Mesmer-esque master of minds, has inadvertently awakened the ghost of that crazy Reverend Kane, who will stop at nothing to get Carol Anne to lead them into the light.

This, of course, has alerted Tangina (Zelda Rubenstein), who gets on a plane immediately to help her, because Dr. Seaton is an asshole.

Bruce (Tom Skerritt) and Pat (Nancy Allen) have fights over Carol Anne between dealing with the various technical problems the building is going through; he likes her there, she wants her gone, and resents her sister for foisting her crazy child off onto them during a most stressful time in their yuppie lives.  If it weren't for all the ghosts and such, this could have been a movie of the week about the benefits of acceptance and family change. It's not, but they sure forget that this is supposed to be a horror movie often.

Donna (Lara Flynn Boyle) is miffed because she has to watch Carol Anne and her red footie pajamas all night, but Carol Anne uses her mental might to convince Donna to go ahead to the party. She's just gonna be sitting around, you know, playing with her speak and spell, maybe slipping into the liquor cabinet...wait, that didn't happen.  I wish it did, for it would have given her a little more character depth. Donna applies too much eyeliner, and Carol Anne leans into the bathroom door to give her some makeup tips. Then, there's a knock at the mysteriously closed bathroom door, and she opens it to see...CAROL ANNE! What just happened? Never mind, she has a party to attend.  After arriving at the party with her collar popped and deeming it dullsville, she uses a handy set of master keys to break into the pool and throw a better party. She and her afro-sporting boyfriend Scott (Kip Wentz) sneak off to rob the grocery store of their cheese-doodles and Coors Light while upstairs, Carol Ann has run into some trouble.

Kane begins to torment Carol Ann in the apartment, and I can't say that the special effects were all that 'special,' because 90% of them are done with dry ice fog and flashing lights, but they're scary enough for Carol Anne, and she runs away.  She's seen on the security monitors by Donna and Scott, who were trying to make out in the security room holding armloads of groceries, and they follow her to the parking garage.

Carole Anne doesn't really know how to vade a threat, and goofs around running backwards until she steps into a puddle.  WATCH OUT, IT'S A REFLECTIVE SURFACE! Oops, too late; zombie hands jerk her down, Donna and Scott arrive just in time to provide a not quite convincing rescue attempt, and they all get pulled into the puddle.

Let me warn you right now: throughout the rest of the movie, you will hear the name "Carol Anne" about EIGHTEEN MILLION TIMES.  

From this point on, things get a little flaky.  Scott reappears and is crazy, screaming about Donna.  Dr. Seaton comes to the building and tries to analyze him.  Tangina comes in and rubs her necklace a little. She spouts some exposition about love and how it'll set the girls free or something, (I don't know, I quit listening for a minute), until she started talking about the evil beyond the bedroom door.  I thought for sure she was talking about the Speak-N-Spell, but no, she meant Kane and the mirrors. She and Dr. Seaton face-off, then something spooky happens and the evil reaches out and deep-fries Tangina. We immediately have an excellent Lara Flynn Boyle freak-out as she climbs out of the still-steaming corpse of our favorite magical little person. Arguably the best part of the movie, second only to when she pushes Dr. Seaton down the elevator shaft after he goes chasing after the reflection of Carol Anne. Come to find out, that's not really Donna or Scott, but dopplegangers who like to make out sloppily, then rip each other's faces off.

The last half of the movie is spent following Bruce and Pat around, watching them get locked into large freezers, fighting undead livestock, almost drowning, snatching a necklace from an apparition of Tangina, being teleported into frozen, snowy parking garages, and being chased by possessed cars. I'm not sure what mirrors and ice have in common, but for some reason they go together like peanut butter and jelly in this flick.  Are they playing up the idea that ghosts suck the heat out of the environment for energy? It isn't ever explained.

During the final showdown in Carol Anne's foggy room, Carol Anne shows up and spouts some angsty mess about how nobody loves her or wants her but Kane, but it's a ruse to get the magical necklace from Pat.  She disappears, Pat gets strangled by her own reflection, pimp-slapped by Kane, sees the whole family lying around dead, and freaks out. Tangina appears yet again, spouting more about this love thing, and how it'll save everyone, and how she can end this whole thing by leading him into the light, and could have done it all along.  SHOULDN'T SHE HAVE DONE THAT TWO FLIPPING MOVIES AGO?? Why'd she leave this poor girl to be tormented? Question for the ages, I suppose.

If there's one thing I hate, its when horror movies try to have some kind of redeeming value.  I wanna be scared, not actually learn anything (except for maybe a few new ways that I could potentially die or enter an alternate dimension).

3 out of 10.  When the scariest thing in the movie is a Speak-n-Spell, it's the best you can do.

Watch out for:

-Gratuitous One-way mirrors

-Disembodied hand coffee-mug flinging

-Elevator shaft Swan Dive

-Undead livestock

-Chicken-fried psychic

-Corpse burrowing

-Face peeling

-Necklace rubbing

-Decapitation by shovel

-Face peeling

-Head melting

[amtushinfosolutionspage]

Bad at Sport Sunday Comics- Chicago Alternative Comics Expo Roundup #1

By Max Morris

Well hey there, welcome back to another installment of Sunday Comics at Bad at Sports. This week I’m providing you with our top picks from last weekend’s Chicago Alternative Comics Expo! CAKE is always a potent Chicago event- local talent brings out their best, and out of town publishers and artist flock in with a stock of debuts and work that’s fresh to the eyes.

When it came to my own picks, I chose to angle toward the self-published and the stapled. While there was some great work brought out by publishers such as 2D Cloud (Sec by Margot Ferrick, Extended Play by Jake Terrell) and Fantagraphics (Songy of Paradise by Gary Panter) that I picked up, one of the special things about comics shows such as CAKE are the books that fully embrace the special nature of publication, taking advantage of effects and formats that can sometimes best work in a smaller edition. It was quite a challenge to pick through the mountain of books I purchased, was given, or traded to receive, but here is a smattering of what I felt stood out at the show.

Spine by Noel Freibert, published by Bred Press

Freibert, the RL Stein of the art comic, does it again with a satisfying narrative of suburban fright and folly. The novelty of production is tickling enough- the front of the spiral-bound book features an embroidered patch on the cover, but in order to remove one must permanently damage the book. I considered if this is a commentary on the state-of-affairs for the merchandise-obsessed art book/comic book fair market. However,when it comes down to it, I believe Noel also really likes patches and destruction

I also enjoyed the printing choice, initially seeming like a standard xerox copy on white paper, but on closer investigation shows 2-color print- black ink over dark grey. The choice is absurdly subtle, and an appropriate one from maverick Chicago publisher Brad Rohloff. Available for purchase at store.brohloff.me , for more of Freibert’s work head to cutcross.storenvy.com, and be on the lookout for his full length out from Koyama Books this fall.

Various Titles by SBTL CLNG/Carolina Hicks, self-published

An artist I was particularly excited to see in advance on the CAKE Exhibitor list this year was Carolia Hicks, who publishes under the name of SBTL CLNG (Subtle Ceiling). I first encountered Carolina’s work at Chicago Zine Fest 2016, who’s table stood out just by the sheer amount of content on the table. Their work has a Ray Johnson link approach to application, with expressive and seeming coded doodling. But rather than being cryptic, the books are no-holds-barred personal revelation- explorations of sex, love, despair, politics, and philosophy are laid out on the page raw.

The way the thoughts are presented on the page move the way thoughts move through the mind- flashes of memory interspersed with documentations of interior monologue, but with an element of depth and intensity outside the trappings of a regular PerZine. The books themselves are often a mish-mash of recycled material- images are taped directly to the page, fragments are copied onto lined notebook paper, and some sections appear to be hand-colored, making each book both reproduced but also one of a kind. For more of Hick’s work, head to http://ift.tt/2sEnH6W.

Sicker Book by Haejin Park and Open Letter to Sleep by Alyssa Berg – both self-published

When Krystal and myself decided to do this list, we agreed to do a Top 3 list, but I decided to cheat/cop out due to these to pleasant discoveries I made at CAKE this year. An important part of the comics festival experience is that of discovery- traveling across hundreds of exhibitor spaces looking for the unexpected. Parks’ book I found at a table shared with Paige Mehrer, whose Ex Votos was very close to making into my hot picks for the weekend. Sicker Book is less of a comic, and more like a wonderfully illustrated ecstatic koan- the colors are bright, complementing the enigmatic text, outlining a traumatic-sounding hospital visit. The production is insane, a 20 page booklet, with each insert page smaller as the book progresses, and held together delicately with a single staple in the center.

Berg’s book shares a similar approach to content, perhaps both indebted to contemporary schools of comic poetics. Berg’s book quotes Sappho and Leonard Cohen, its contents a testimonial of lonesome insomnia, a slow-and-stormy downer jam. The key takeaway from this is the drawing and printing- thick with layers of riso-ink, this book is a fantastic accomplishment in bookmaking. The mark-making is loose, and matches well with the color- one particular full page splash of an oncoming thundercloud was worth the purchase alone.

These two books represent what is exciting in small press: where rather than being shackled to the restrictions of larger-press formats and printing, an individual artist can express something more original and refreshing. For more of Park’s work, head to www.haejinart.com. For Berg, go to alyssa-berg.tumblr.com.

I felt some special mentions were required- Apple ‘69, by Brian Blomerth, printed by Tan and Loose, a bad-vibes tech-trip; Inktoby by Andy Pratt, who never met a comics page that couldn’t be filled with overwhelming detail; Stereo Sniffer by Keith Herzik, always debuting something bright and ferocious at CAKE: Combed Clap of Thunder by Zach Vaupen and Retrofit, a new book for the first time a couple of years, a black-metal cyber-mangaka, work both high in quality and evil; Fool of Memory by Ben Marcus, an adventure into Shojo-Dystopia; Tintering by Conor Stechschulte, which we previewed last week on the blog, an exploration in joy and suffering for intuitive artists; Garbage Island #3 by Max Huffman, a laugh and a half; Pallor Pink, and excellent anthology edited by Yewon Kwon and a swell group of kiddies; In the Middle of the Night by Nicole Del Rio, a small wandering of bizarre doodles just trying to get by; Gabe Howell, who had a full spread of dark books, well paired with neighboring table Caroline Cash’s bounce; Needy by Chloe Perkis, which needs no further description; Idiot Phone by George Porteus, a rubber-legged misadventure; Sophie McMahon’s full color Dreaming of Johnny, reminding us all of the horror of the pastel color palette; Enrique “Henry” Guerra’s Casino Knights, a neon-lit shortie; Walker Tate’s newest ludicrous voyage; Hiromi Ueyoshi’s animist wrangle WWWF #3; and Lale Westvind, who did not have a new book at CAKE this year, but was thrilled to finally lay hands on Mary (which I still can’t tell is body-horror or body-worship).

All this is just the tip of the iceberg of the many books I received from friends, foes, and everything in-between. If I didn’t write about your book, that means I either hated it, have not read it yet, or I think Krystal will have it in her write-up. Also very special shout out to Alicia Obermeyer for Pubes and ‘tudes, and to my B@S Sunday’s partner-in-crime Krystal DiFronzo her CAKE debut of Tongue Breaks! Thanks to everything that was great at this year’s CAKE! Keep your peeper’s peeled for Krystal’s post next week on her own picks from CAKE 2017.

Bad at Sports Sunday Comics with Ben Marcus

Bad At Sports Sunday Comics with Gabe Howell

Bad At Sport Comic Sundays (On Tuesday) with Believed Behavior

Bad at Sports Sunday Comics with Julia Gfrörer

Bad at Sports Sunday Comics with Conor Stechschulte

Bad at Sport Sunday Comics- Chicago Alternative Comics Expo Roundup #1 published first on http://ift.tt/2rcdcDH

[flauntpage]

Bad at Sport Sunday Comics- Chicago Alternative Comics Expo Roundup #1

By Max Morris

Well hey there, welcome back to another installment of Sunday Comics at Bad at Sports. This week I’m providing you with our top picks from last weekend’s Chicago Alternative Comics Expo! CAKE is always a potent Chicago event- local talent brings out their best, and out of town publishers and artist flock in with a stock of debuts and work that’s fresh to the eyes.

When it came to my own picks, I chose to angle toward the self-published and the stapled. While there was some great work brought out by publishers such as 2D Cloud (Sec by Margot Ferrick, Extended Play by Jake Terrell) and Fantagraphics (Songy of Paradise by Gary Panter) that I picked up, one of the special things about comics shows such as CAKE are the books that fully embrace the special nature of publication, taking advantage of effects and formats that can sometimes best work in a smaller edition. It was quite a challenge to pick through the mountain of books I purchased, was given, or traded to receive, but here is a smattering of what I felt stood out at the show.

Spine by Noel Freibert, published by Bred Press

Freibert, the RL Stein of the art comic, does it again with a satisfying narrative of suburban fright and folly. The novelty of production is tickling enough- the front of the spiral-bound book features an embroidered patch on the cover, but in order to remove one must permanently damage the book. I considered if this is a commentary on the state-of-affairs for the merchandise-obsessed art book/comic book fair market. However,when it comes down to it, I believe Noel also really likes patches and destruction

I also enjoyed the printing choice, initially seeming like a standard xerox copy on white paper, but on closer investigation shows 2-color print- black ink over dark grey. The choice is absurdly subtle, and an appropriate one from maverick Chicago publisher Brad Rohloff. Available for purchase at store.brohloff.me , for more of Freibert’s work head to cutcross.storenvy.com, and be on the lookout for his full length out from Koyama Books this fall.

Various Titles by SBTL CLNG/Carolina Hicks, self-published

An artist I was particularly excited to see in advance on the CAKE Exhibitor list this year was Carolia Hicks, who publishes under the name of SBTL CLNG (Subtle Ceiling). I first encountered Carolina’s work at Chicago Zine Fest 2016, who’s table stood out just by the sheer amount of content on the table. Their work has a Ray Johnson link approach to application, with expressive and seeming coded doodling. But rather than being cryptic, the books are no-holds-barred personal revelation- explorations of sex, love, despair, politics, and philosophy are laid out on the page raw.

The way the thoughts are presented on the page move the way thoughts move through the mind- flashes of memory interspersed with documentations of interior monologue, but with an element of depth and intensity outside the trappings of a regular PerZine. The books themselves are often a mish-mash of recycled material- images are taped directly to the page, fragments are copied onto lined notebook paper, and some sections appear to be hand-colored, making each book both reproduced but also one of a kind. For more of Hick’s work, head to http://ift.tt/2sEnH6W.

Sicker Book by Haejin Park and Open Letter to Sleep by Alyssa Berg – both self-published

When Krystal and myself decided to do this list, we agreed to do a Top 3 list, but I decided to cheat/cop out due to these to pleasant discoveries I made at CAKE this year. An important part of the comics festival experience is that of discovery- traveling across hundreds of exhibitor spaces looking for the unexpected. Parks’ book I found at a table shared with Paige Mehrer, whose Ex Votos was very close to making into my hot picks for the weekend. Sicker Book is less of a comic, and more like a wonderfully illustrated ecstatic koan- the colors are bright, complementing the enigmatic text, outlining a traumatic-sounding hospital visit. The production is insane, a 20 page booklet, with each insert page smaller as the book progresses, and held together delicately with a single staple in the center.

Berg’s book shares a similar approach to content, perhaps both indebted to contemporary schools of comic poetics. Berg’s book quotes Sappho and Leonard Cohen, its contents a testimonial of lonesome insomnia, a slow-and-stormy downer jam. The key takeaway from this is the drawing and printing- thick with layers of riso-ink, this book is a fantastic accomplishment in bookmaking. The mark-making is loose, and matches well with the color- one particular full page splash of an oncoming thundercloud was worth the purchase alone.

These two books represent what is exciting in small press: where rather than being shackled to the restrictions of larger-press formats and printing, an individual artist can express something more original and refreshing. For more of Park’s work, head to www.haejinart.com. For Berg, go to alyssa-berg.tumblr.com.

I felt some special mentions were required- Apple ‘69, by Brian Blomerth, printed by Tan and Loose, a bad-vibes tech-trip; Inktoby by Andy Pratt, who never met a comics page that couldn’t be filled with overwhelming detail; Stereo Sniffer by Keith Herzik, always debuting something bright and ferocious at CAKE: Combed Clap of Thunder by Zach Vaupen and Retrofit, a new book for the first time a couple of years, a black-metal cyber-mangaka, work both high in quality and evil; Fool of Memory by Ben Marcus, an adventure into Shojo-Dystopia; Tintering by Conor Stechschulte, which we previewed last week on the blog, an exploration in joy and suffering for intuitive artists; Garbage Island #3 by Max Huffman, a laugh and a half; Pallor Pink, and excellent anthology edited by Yewon Kwon and a swell group of kiddies; In the Middle of the Night by Nicole Del Rio, a small wandering of bizarre doodles just trying to get by; Gabe Howell, who had a full spread of dark books, well paired with neighboring table Caroline Cash’s bounce; Needy by Chloe Perkis, which needs no further description; Idiot Phone by George Porteus, a rubber-legged misadventure; Sophie McMahon’s full color Dreaming of Johnny, reminding us all of the horror of the pastel color palette; Enrique “Henry” Guerra’s Casino Knights, a neon-lit shortie; Walker Tate’s newest ludicrous voyage; Hiromi Ueyoshi’s animist wrangle WWWF #3; and Lale Westvind, who did not have a new book at CAKE this year, but was thrilled to finally lay hands on Mary (which I still can’t tell is body-horror or body-worship).

All this is just the tip of the iceberg of the many books I received from friends, foes, and everything in-between. If I didn’t write about your book, that means I either hated it, have not read it yet, or I think Krystal will have it in her write-up. Also very special shout out to Alicia Obermeyer for Pubes and ‘tudes, and to my B@S Sunday’s partner-in-crime Krystal DiFronzo her CAKE debut of Tongue Breaks! Thanks to everything that was great at this year’s CAKE! Keep your peeper’s peeled for Krystal’s post next week on her own picks from CAKE 2017.

Bad at Sports Sunday Comics with Ben Marcus

Bad At Sports Sunday Comics with Gabe Howell

Bad At Sport Comic Sundays (On Tuesday) with Believed Behavior

Bad at Sports Sunday Comics with Julia Gfrörer

Bad at Sports Sunday Comics with Conor Stechschulte

Bad at Sport Sunday Comics- Chicago Alternative Comics Expo Roundup #1 published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv

[antler-steve]

Flowers Event | Blue Rose (male reader)

For the BNHarem flowers event, please follow the link and check out the other stories and writers. I’m writing Tokoyami this time round, because he’s the best birb boy. This is the same story as the female reader story, but I had to change the poem slightly. Credit to @bnhcs​ for making me a pretty birb banner!

I did not wonder at the lily’s white,

Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;

They were but sweet, but figures of delight,

Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.

  Yet seemed it winter still, and, you away,

  As with your shadow I with these did play.

~Sonnet 98

"Tokoyami?" You stared at the bird-headed boy as he stood at the door to your club's room, staring intently at the sign you had posted.

"You know my name?" he asked, eyes widening a little in surprise. For all of his avian features, his face was expressive, and up close you could see a faint iridescent sheen to his black feathers.

"Well, of course," you swallowed, staring up at him. "You- you were in the sports festival last year. And then that other thing- you were on the news! Class 2-A, right?" Pretty much everyone in the school knew the names of the students in the hero course classes. They were like celebrities, even the ones that weren't interning with top heroes like Tokoyami was. Not that they ever mingled with the students from the other courses, or left their dorms for reasons not related to their hero work.

Tokoyami nodded, peering again at the sign on the door behind you. "This is the poetry club?"

"Y-yes." You swallowed again, his continued presence beginning to fluster you. What was he doing here? "I'm the club president. Did you want to speak to Mr Yamada?" you asked. Your supervising teacher was one of the staff who taught the hero course students, maybe Tokoyami was looking for him.

The next words out of Tokoyami's beak were the last thing you had expected. "I would like to join your club. Please," he added, punctuating his statement with a deep bow.

You were at a loss. Hero course students never mingled with the general course. They certainly never joined the afterschool clubs. You stared down at the feathers on the back of Tokoyami's head. "You're on the hero course," you said, stupidly. "Won't you be too busy for this kind of thing? Don't you have more important things to do?"

He glanced up at you, expression fierce. "Club president," he said. "The hero I interned with told me that I should try to experience normal  highschool life."

"And you're doing that by joining a club?"

He nodded. "Yes."

"The poetry club?" you questioned, looking at his broad shoulders and serious face. Surely he'd be better suited to something like Rugby club, or Lacrosse or something. Not poetry.

"Poetry is very important to me. It is-" he closed his eyes, releasing a breath, a little gravel in his voice. "-a conduit for relief. A channel for dark energy. A great and beautiful thing. Please, club president. Let me join you."

That was the moment that you fell in love with Fumikage Tokoyami, whether you liked it or not.

🎕🎕🎕

It was an impossible sort of love, one that beat in your heart and your throat, filling the margins of your school notebooks with idle doodles, the sound of his deep voice in the back of your mind.

Tokoyami was so close, sitting patiently in the poetry club room with the other members as you ran each meeting, his eyes intent on you as you ran down the agenda or read a piece of poetry for the group. You watched him with his black notebook in his hands, scribbling something as he consulted one of the books from the club's collection, Dark Shadow at his shoulder. It seemed like he was another club member, someone you could talk to. But at the same time he was untouchable, a student on the hero course, the guy who placed third in the sports festival, the guy who'd gotten an internship with a top hero without being the hero's son. He was so far out of your reach it was laughable. A lowly general course student had no chance with him. It was a blue rose, something that could never exist naturally. So you stuffed your feelings down deep, squashing them against the bottom of your heart, and tried to forget.

🎕🎕🎕

Spring turned to summer and exams approached, the student dorms becoming stuffier and less bearable with every passing day. Everyone was feeling the heat and humidity, cramming together in the common areas to form study groups. Half the students in your class were wearing sweatbands as they pored over textbooks and example exams, several of the groups blasting online tutorial videos for different subjects or lo-fi music. It was chaos, no way to concentrate. The final straw came when one of the study groups started to sing the names of chemical processes as a way to memorise them, and you slammed the textbook in front of you shut with a bang.

You needed some air.

You'd been up on the school roof before to eat lunch, but not at night. Everything took on a strange cast in the darkness, the shadows longer and the noises the school heating systems made more sinister. This late at night it was finally cool enough to think, and you closed your eyes as you approached the edge of the roof, a cold breeze lifting your hair. From the top of the school building, you could see the forest that surrounded UA, and past it to the city, sprawling bright across the landscape as if the god in charge of decorating the sky with stars had spilled some on the ground.

You sat down, enjoying the crispness of the night air on your skin, and the relative quiet of the rooftop. You hadn't realised just how hemmed in the dormitories'd had you feeling until you were away from them, the motions and voices of your classmates impinging on your brain, crowding out your other thoughts. You breathed deep, and looked up at the sky. What you expected to see was the stars.

What you saw instead was darkness.

Inky blackness, like staring down into a deep well, like the darkness you imagined when you were four years old and had to sleep by yourself for the first time. The darkness was terrifying, shifting and flickering, and growing larger by the second. No, not larger, you realised with a mounting sense of panic. Closer. The darkness was coming closer and closer to you, but you couldn't look away. Couldn't tear your eyes from it. Instead you stood fixated as it descended around you. And at its centre, a boy.

His feathers blended perfectly with the iridescent blackness. He was dressed in a black hoodie and trousers, arms outstretched as he glared down, his beak a flash of yellow against the blackness. Watching him, you could see that his descent wasn't a controlled one, but a fall. He was  about to hit the roof. And you had nothing around you to soften the landing.

You moved without thinking, holding your arms out to catch him. His eyes widened in surprise as he crashed into you. Feathers flying, the impact knocked you to the ground, the air out of your lungs, and you opened your eyes to see Tokoyami's face staring down at you.

"Club president," he stammered, quickly removing himself from you, and offering a hand to help you up. "My apologies. I lost control of my quirk. I shouldn't- I could never-" His feathers stood on end, which you guessed meant he was flustered.

"It's okay, Tokoyami," you said, sitting up, your face hot. "It's at least part my fault, really." You swallowed, not daring to meet his eye. "And, ah, you don't need to call me club president all the time, you know. You can call me y/n ."

"Y/n, " Tokoyami repeated. He regarded you for a second. "In that case, you should call me Fumikage. What were you doing up here? Leaving the dormitories after dark is against the rules."

"I-" The heat of embarrassment was burning your cheeks. Admit to Fumikage Tokoyami, hero course student, that the noise and heat in the general studies dorms was just too much for you? Impossible. "I could ask you the same question," you said, more sharply than you intended.

"He's got you there," rumbled Dark Shadow from the darkness behind him.

Fumikage's feathers fluffed up in indignation. "I also-" he said, and he gave you something akin to a glare. "-do not have an excuse." His chest deflated slightly, and he glanced up at you almost shyly. "The hero I interned with last year taught me to fly. I missed the feeling of it. A selfish thing."

"Oh-" you bit your lip. "You can fly? What does it feel like?"

"You didn't know?" the look he gave you was puzzled, until it hit his bird brain that you weren't a hero course student, so of course you hadn't seen his abilities in action. "I'm sorry," he said, expression wry. "I'm used to the people around me knowing everything about me."

"That must be nice, to be so close to your classmates."

Fumikage nodded. "It is. Friendship is a treasure. Flying, though-" he sat back, looking up at the sky, now showing the stars and moon in their full glory once more. "The first time I flew, it was as if I had spent my whole life caged, not once thinking to look for a door or a key." His hand went to the crook of his elbow, as if remembering something. "And now, the whole time I am on the ground, the sky is there, in the back of my mind." He paused, his tone shifting slightly. "I felt myself a pure part of the abyss-" he said. It was part of a poem, a quote from an old book you remembered reading.

"I wheeled with the stars, my heart broke loose on the wind," you said, finishing the quote for him.

Fumikage's eyes were wide as he stared at you, his beak slightly open. "You know that poem?"

"Of course, the writer was very famous."

"Yes," he said. "But you knew it by heart."

You felt yourself smile. "I am the president of the poetry club, after all."

"Even so," he murmured. "Fumikage-" you swallowed, at that moment aware of his proximity, his height, and the sheer breadth of his shoulders. You paused, your heart beating fast as you mustered up your courage. "Do you- come up here often?"

Fumikage gave you a wary look, but nodded. "I don't usually fall out of the sky, however."

"That was just for me, huh."

Fumikage's feathers fluffed again. "Please forgive my lack of control, club pres- I mean y/n!" He clamped a hand over his beak, feathers at maximum fluff, and your laughter rang out over the rooftop.

🎕🎕🎕

You talked for what seemed like hours, Dark Shadow making the occasional pithy comment, and Fumikage insisted on walking you back to your dorm. You walked side by side through the school grounds, the shadows around Fumikage seeming larger than life, flickering over the grass of the school lawns, and dancing around your feet. He walked close to you, and for a moment you hoped against hope that he would take your hand in his, but his hands remained firmly in the pockets of his hoodie as he walked you to the door of your dormitory, and bowed his head slightly as he bid you a good night.

🎕🎕🎕

The dorms were quiet as you headed to bed, lost in your own thoughts. You'd see him again at that week's poetry club meeting- what would you say to him? Your love for him was still impossible, of course. You were still a fool for wanting him. But you'd shared a moment with him, on a rooftop at night, and your heart clung to that as you stared at the ceiling of your bedroom, beating too fast for you to get to sleep.

Fumikage didn't turn up to the next poetry club meeting, or the meeting after that. The club decided on a project for the school festival, a poetry slam, without him, and shortly after that you received a message through Mr Yamada stating that Fumikage had internship responsibilities. You tried to play it off, put it to the back of your mind. He was a hero course student after all. He was bound to get busy from time to time. But your mind played havoc with the situation. What if he didn't want to see you after the rooftop? What if he was seeing someone? Try as you might, you couldn't tamp down your feelings anymore.

When you saw Fumikage again, you were halfway through a club meeting, halfway through a poem, halfway through a stanza. It took all the control you had not to stop dead as he slipped in through the club-room door, shoulders hunched and head held low. He looked rushed, his uniform wrinkled and sweaty, and he gave you an awkward glance as he took a chair.

You wanted to ask him where he'd been, how he was, but how could you? You were club president. You had responsibility. You pressed your lips into a strict line and continued the reading as you fixed your eyes on a point in space that was not Fumikage.

You'd wanted writing to be the main focus of the poetry club when you had founded it last year, but Mr Yamada had insisted that poetry was also a spoken art form, so you tried to lead by example. To your relief, no-one seemed to notice your discomfort, or seemed to hear the way your heart hammered in your chest, and the club meeting went as it usually did.

Afterwards, however, Fumikage lingered, his eyes on you as you started clearing the club area. He cleared his throat, and you stopped dead, two volumes of Wordsworth in your arms.

"I wanted to apologise," he said. "For my absence."

You practically dropped the books you were holding. "It's okay," you said. "You're on the hero course, you're busy-"

Fumikage shook his head. "I had a responsibility to the club," he said. "I made an oath."

You smiled, putting down your books. "I hardly think putting your name on the club membership sheet counts as an oath, Fumikage."

That seemed to stump him. "Even so," he said, raising his hands. "I made a commitment."

"Then as club president, I absolve you," you said, waving a hand. "Okay?"

Fumikage gave you an inscrutable look. If you didn't know better, you might think he was smiling. You shook your head, doing your best to ignore the way your heart hammered in your chest.

"You know," you said, sidling up to him. "We're doing a poetry slam for the school festival."

"I know," said Fumikage, not meeting your eye. "Mr Yamada told me."

"If you wanted to make it up to the club, you could always help us out," you said. The bird headed boy was silent. There was something he wasn't telling you. "Fumikage?" you asked, but his eyes were grave.

"I'm sorry, y/n. I-" he shook his head."My class is holding an event at the same time."

Of course. The kids from the hero courses always ran their own events at the festival, and so Tokoyami would be expected to help class 2A. You'd looked forward to performing alongside him, but now you were cursing your own stupidity. You should have realised sooner.

"But," he said, looking at you sidelong. "I have written something for the occasion. Maybe you could read it out on my behalf."

"Fumikage-" you spluttered, as he took a leaf from his black notebook, folded over, and handed it to you. He'd been scribbling in that book all year, but he'd never read something of his own out in your club meetings, always preferring to quote Keats or Goethe.

"I trust you will do it justice, club president," he said, and you felt a chill run through your body as you promised him you would.

🎕🎕🎕

For the next few weeks you were caught up in the chaos that came with the school festival, building the sets and costumes for your club's event. The other club members rehearsed the poems they had written, until their performance was polished to your satisfaction, but Fumikage's poem remained in your presidential folder, clipped to the itinerary for the festival. You promised yourself you would read it, but between being club president and your other responsibilities, you were hitting your bed at the end of every day and falling straight into a dead sleep, not rousing until the alarm on your bedside table chimed at you.   The morning of the school festival rolled round, and you were woken by the sound of support course students drilling something outside your window.

You did your normal morning rituals, put on your uniform and grabbed your bag. It was going to be a hard day, but hopefully all the work you'd put into your club's contribution would pay off.

For the event, you'd decorated the room you'd been given like an old style jazz club, a stage at the front and a bar at the side, with two or thee-person tables dotted over the floor. One of your club members had a friend in the support course, and so you'd borrowed a smoke generator for the atmosphere. Mr Yamada had been very excited about the whole setup, heaping praise on it in english and promising to bring the other teachers to see it.

It had taken you and the other members weeks to complete the decorations, each of the posters on the walls celebrating a famous poet, and the drinks from the bar named after epic poems. Each of the tables had a flower from one of Shakespeare's sonnets in a glass jar, the quote wound round the stem on a little paper ribbon. That had been your idea.

You looked down at your itinerary, checking to see if you had missed anything, and your heart sank. Fumikage's poem was still clipped to the inside of your folder, neatly folded in half. Guilt filled you as you stared at it. You'd promised to perform it for him, and you hadn't even read it yet. You didn't have time to read it now, not with the other club members rushed around you, applying the finishing touches to the set. You needed to fold the napkins on the tables, and make sure the bar had enough orange juice to serve to guests. After that you'd need to do soundcheck, and you were running out of time.

🎕🎕🎕

Being up on stage was scarier than you expected, the burnt smell from the smoke machine filling your nose as you walked towards the microphone. Your club's event had a good turnout, lots of couples on the tables, and Mr Yamada was there as promised, sharing a table with Mr Aizawa and another teacher you didn't recognise. The pressure of performing hit you harder than you expected, and you felt your hands begin to shake as you unfolded Fumikage's poem.

He'd chosen iambic pentameter, your favourite meter, and the poem was written in his precise, jagged script.

"My love's eyes reflect the full dark night sky-"

You felt like you were about to choke. His love? Fumikage had a love? You felt your throat constrict and hurt, your eyes beginning to cloud with tears. Of course he had a love. How could someone as thoughtful and sweet and talented as him not have a love? You thumbed away your tears, breathing in. You could do this. You could read Fumikage's poem about his inamorato on stage without crying. And you would do it, for him and for the club.

You cleared your throat and started again from the top, enunciating clearly.

"My love's eyes reflect the full dark night sky

He looks to the stars but sees me flying

I blot out the moon and stars from on high

Only my own darkness under my wing

Yet still he looks, and I am stilled by him

When he speaks his words are everything

They bring me to Munich with James Baldwin

Or to gregorian monks worshipping

To the cadence of his breath, or to some

Dark domain, real or phantasmagoric

For him and only him I come undone

And come to earth, my fall meteoric

I'm grounded, wound tight, as if by some black art

His name on my lips, carved deep on my heart."

y/n

You stared at your own name, written neatly at the bottom of the poem, in silence. He had written it about you. You were his love. You were the one who was carved deep on his heart. Your hands trembled as you stared down at your clipboard, the audience applauding.

You rushed off the stage, feeling like steam was about to pour from your ears. Luckily the next performer was already heading onto the stage, and no-one seemed to notice you hiding behind the full-sized cut-out of Sylvia Plath you'd put at the bar.

You barely remembered the events of the next half hour, still reeling from the revelation that after all your pining, Fumikage liked you. He liked you, and he had written you a sonnet. You weren't hyperventilating. You weren't. You were just breathing in some extra air, that was all. Fumikage had written you a confession, and you'd just read it out in front of thirty people like it was no big thing.

Finally the event ended, and you stepped up onto the stage again to thank everyone coming on behalf of the club before collapsing face first onto the empty bar with a glass of apple juice in your hand, your only companion the smoke machine.

"Club president?" a familiar deep voice called from behind you. Fumikage.

You looked up to see him standing at the door, shadow curling in the smoke around his feet. He wore a formal shirt with the sleeves rolled, a cravat hanging untied around his neck, and he carried a guitar. "I told you you could use my name," you reminded him.

He clutched the guitar like it was a shield, looking away. "I thought-" he said, slowly. "I thought that maybe you wouldn't want me to. After the poem."

He was scared. The hero course student, the sports festival ranker, the intern for the number two hero, was scared of you rejecting him. In all your idle daydreams, you had never imagined this moment. You stared at him in shocked silence.

Fumikage stared back, his eyes full of doubt. "My sincerest apologies, I overstepped, I-"

"Fumikage!" You interrupted him, and he stood there stupidly, beak open. "I liked the poem!"

"I-I-" Fumikage blinked. "You did?" he said, and there was so much hope in his voice that your heart did a little somersault at the sound of it. All of your feelings, all of the daydreams and pining and frustration that you had hammered down over the year came flooding into you all at once.

"Yes, Fumikage!" you yelled, slamming your apple juice down on the bar. "Because I like you too!"

"I-ah-" Fumikage shut his beak. "Oh."

"I've liked you all year!" you said, exasperated.

Now it was Fumikage's turn to stare. "Oh," he said, as if the mysteries of the universe had just been revealed to him.

"So what should we do about it?"

"I. Um. Well." Fumikage shuffled a bit, rubbing the back of his head. "The second year support students are putting on fireworks next. Maybe we could watch them together? Or we could stay here, and I could show you the songs I've been learning to play." He paused. "If that's not too forward, I mean-"

You found yourself smiling, the most you'd smiled since meeting him on the rooftop. "No. That sounds perfect."

Fumikage's expression was a mirror to yours, one of surprise and joy.

Guitar in his arms, he climbed up onto the bar, eyes fixed with yours as he crossed his legs. He settled the guitar in his lap and played a couple of chords, adjusting the tension on the strings very slightly as he did. You could see he was a little flustered just being this close to you, and honestly you felt the same, your ears feeling hot as you looked up at him from your seat at the bar.

Fumikage closed his eyes, his quirk coiling out of him and settling round his shoulders as he took a breath, and his fingers found their place. "This is a song from an old band called Joy Division," he said, and he started to play.

For a few moments his music filled the air, and it was as if you were the only two people in the world.

[nofomoartworld]

Bad at Sport Sunday Comics- Chicago Alternative Comics Expo Roundup #1

By Max Morris

Well hey there, welcome back to another installment of Sunday Comics at Bad at Sports. This week I’m providing you with our top picks from last weekend’s Chicago Alternative Comics Expo! CAKE is always a potent Chicago event- local talent brings out their best, and out of town publishers and artist flock in with a stock of debuts and work that’s fresh to the eyes.

When it came to my own picks, I chose to angle toward the self-published and the stapled. While there was some great work brought out by publishers such as 2D Cloud (Sec by Margot Ferrick, Extended Play by Jake Terrell) and Fantagraphics (Songy of Paradise by Gary Panter) that I picked up, one of the special things about comics shows such as CAKE are the books that fully embrace the special nature of publication, taking advantage of effects and formats that can sometimes best work in a smaller edition. It was quite a challenge to pick through the mountain of books I purchased, was given, or traded to receive, but here is a smattering of what I felt stood out at the show.

Spine by Noel Freibert, published by Bred Press

Freibert, the RL Stein of the art comic, does it again with a satisfying narrative of suburban fright and folly. The novelty of production is tickling enough- the front of the spiral-bound book features an embroidered patch on the cover, but in order to remove one must permanently damage the book. I considered if this is a commentary on the state-of-affairs for the merchandise-obsessed art book/comic book fair market. However,when it comes down to it, I believe Noel also really likes patches and destruction

I also enjoyed the printing choice, initially seeming like a standard xerox copy on white paper, but on closer investigation shows 2-color print- black ink over dark grey. The choice is absurdly subtle, and an appropriate one from maverick Chicago publisher Brad Rohloff. Available for purchase at store.brohloff.me , for more of Freibert’s work head to cutcross.storenvy.com, and be on the lookout for his full length out from Koyama Books this fall.

Various Titles by SBTL CLNG/Carolina Hicks, self-published

An artist I was particularly excited to see in advance on the CAKE Exhibitor list this year was Carolia Hicks, who publishes under the name of SBTL CLNG (Subtle Ceiling). I first encountered Carolina’s work at Chicago Zine Fest 2016, who’s table stood out just by the sheer amount of content on the table. Their work has a Ray Johnson link approach to application, with expressive and seeming coded doodling. But rather than being cryptic, the books are no-holds-barred personal revelation- explorations of sex, love, despair, politics, and philosophy are laid out on the page raw.

The way the thoughts are presented on the page move the way thoughts move through the mind- flashes of memory interspersed with documentations of interior monologue, but with an element of depth and intensity outside the trappings of a regular PerZine. The books themselves are often a mish-mash of recycled material- images are taped directly to the page, fragments are copied onto lined notebook paper, and some sections appear to be hand-colored, making each book both reproduced but also one of a kind. For more of Hick’s work, head to http://ift.tt/2sEnH6W.

Sicker Book by Haejin Park and Open Letter to Sleep by Alyssa Berg – both self-published

When Krystal and myself decided to do this list, we agreed to do a Top 3 list, but I decided to cheat/cop out due to these to pleasant discoveries I made at CAKE this year. An important part of the comics festival experience is that of discovery- traveling across hundreds of exhibitor spaces looking for the unexpected. Parks’ book I found at a table shared with Paige Mehrer, whose Ex Votos was very close to making into my hot picks for the weekend. Sicker Book is less of a comic, and more like a wonderfully illustrated ecstatic koan- the colors are bright, complementing the enigmatic text, outlining a traumatic-sounding hospital visit. The production is insane, a 20 page booklet, with each insert page smaller as the book progresses, and held together delicately with a single staple in the center.

Berg’s book shares a similar approach to content, perhaps both indebted to contemporary schools of comic poetics. Berg’s book quotes Sappho and Leonard Cohen, its contents a testimonial of lonesome insomnia, a slow-and-stormy downer jam. The key takeaway from this is the drawing and printing- thick with layers of riso-ink, this book is a fantastic accomplishment in bookmaking. The mark-making is loose, and matches well with the color- one particular full page splash of an oncoming thundercloud was worth the purchase alone.

These two books represent what is exciting in small press: where rather than being shackled to the restrictions of larger-press formats and printing, an individual artist can express something more original and refreshing. For more of Park’s work, head to www.haejinart.com. For Berg, go to alyssa-berg.tumblr.com.

I felt some special mentions were required- Apple ‘69, by Brian Blomerth, printed by Tan and Loose, a bad-vibes tech-trip; Inktoby by Andy Pratt, who never met a comics page that couldn’t be filled with overwhelming detail; Stereo Sniffer by Keith Herzik, always debuting something bright and ferocious at CAKE: Combed Clap of Thunder by Zach Vaupen and Retrofit, a new book for the first time a couple of years, a black-metal cyber-mangaka, work both high in quality and evil; Fool of Memory by Ben Marcus, an adventure into Shojo-Dystopia; Tintering by Conor Stechschulte, which we previewed last week on the blog, an exploration in joy and suffering for intuitive artists; Garbage Island #3 by Max Huffman, a laugh and a half; Pallor Pink, and excellent anthology edited by Yewon Kwon and a swell group of kiddies; In the Middle of the Night by Nicole Del Rio, a small wandering of bizarre doodles just trying to get by; Gabe Howell, who had a full spread of dark books, well paired with neighboring table Caroline Cash’s bounce; Needy by Chloe Perkis, which needs no further description; Idiot Phone by George Porteus, a rubber-legged misadventure; Sophie McMahon’s full color Dreaming of Johnny, reminding us all of the horror of the pastel color palette; Enrique “Henry” Guerra’s Casino Knights, a neon-lit shortie; Walker Tate’s newest ludicrous voyage; Hiromi Ueyoshi’s animist wrangle WWWF #3; and Lale Westvind, who did not have a new book at CAKE this year, but was thrilled to finally lay hands on Mary (which I still can’t tell is body-horror or body-worship).

All this is just the tip of the iceberg of the many books I received from friends, foes, and everything in-between. If I didn’t write about your book, that means I either hated it, have not read it yet, or I think Krystal will have it in her write-up. Also very special shout out to Alicia Obermeyer for Pubes and ‘tudes, and to my B@S Sunday’s partner-in-crime Krystal DiFronzo her CAKE debut of Tongue Breaks! Thanks to everything that was great at this year’s CAKE! Keep your peeper’s peeled for Krystal’s post next week on her own picks from CAKE 2017.

Bad at Sports Sunday Comics with Ben Marcus

Bad At Sports Sunday Comics with Gabe Howell

Bad At Sport Comic Sundays (On Tuesday) with Believed Behavior

Bad at Sports Sunday Comics with Julia Gfrörer

Bad at Sports Sunday Comics with Conor Stechschulte

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