Anyway, I Was Out Before And Found Harringrove’s Sleep Masks. You’re Welcome. (also, Someone Who

ICE PICK JOE ?!

Is that you ?!

This is the magic lucky word count. Reblog for creativity juice. It might even work, who knows.

I do not hate Eddie, so please do not take this in a bad way. This has less to do with Eddie, and more to do with the show and fandom hypocrisy.

It bothers me that Eddie is allowed to be a hero, but Billy is not. Billy held back a monster 100 times his size. He died a horrible, painful death in order to save everyone. Eddie died for no narrative reason. I am sorry to say that, but the real reason The Duffers killed Eddie was because they couldn't envision a future for Eddie.

Eddie is allowed to be a hero in this fandom. His death is allowed to be deeply emotional. He is not treated well by his peers who villainize him still, but that's not whose perspective is valued in the story and that's not how the fandom feels. Billy, though, is continually villainized by the narrative and by the fans for failing to cope with his abuse.

How am I supposed to feel deeply moved by any other death on this show when the fans mocked every scene of suffering Billy went through. People mock Billy's traumatic death and spam scenes of it because they think it's funny. So any sadness I am supposed to feel for anyone else is marred by this fandom's utter disregard for Billy.

Eddie's allowed to be dysfunctional, too. The same things Billy is treated as a sociopath for, Eddie can do and it's fun and quirky. I have a really hard time dealing with the fact that people love Eddie so much but then treat Billy so horrifically by laughing about him being abused or saying he deserved it or just condemning this teenager to death because there was no way he could get better.

All I hear when people say Billy was incapable of getting better is The Duffers essentially saying the same thing about Eddie. So even if you criticize them for how they handled Eddie's death, some of you are so unwilling to confront the way you think about traumatized and abused teenagers like Billy, too. It really sours my interactions with this fandom and makes me uncomfortable.

character: how was I created?

author: well, you see, when two characters love each other... the author decides love does not conquer all, thus one (or both) of those characters dies, is heavily injured or suffers greatly impacting traumatic experiences. Hence, a new character is created to fill the whole left in the hearts of the readers. This is how you came to be, dear character. 

reblog if ur mom is smart and beautiful

The beginning of an unlikely duo

Part 2

kind of what happens in this part: Things take a turn when (m/n) realizes that Mitsuki indeed loves to talk, especially about him and to Katsuki of all people.

warnings: don’t really know; I guess bits and pieces of family drama; mentions of getting high; Katsuki (he’s not as much of a firecracker in this one, but still)

“(M/n), what are you doing in my room?” There is a look of surprise on Katsuki’s face, but not for long as it soon falls into one of well nothing really. His face looks almost relaxed, but in a controlled and unnatural way. “That old hag told you to wait here, didn’t she?”

His voice was weirdly calm. From the words of Mitsuki herself, her son was hardly calm. Did something happen?

It’s so weird how life works. (M/n) knows him. He knows Katsuki so well due to Mitsuki —at least he thinks he does— and he can feel that something isn’t right because, again, he knows Katsuki without actually knowing him.

“…yeah.” (M/n) glances at the blonde in front of him, then to the side, then at Katsuki again in a game of hesitation, “Listen… I should probably leave now, right?”

Katsuki stares at him blankly, betraying no feelings on his behalf, “You do whatever the fuck you wanna do.”

(M/n) squints his eyes at the boy in front of him for a short second, “O…kay.” Whatever.

He heads for the door, almost stumbling on his own feet. He doesn’t really want to leave. There is nothing waiting for him back home. Well…. There is, but not in the way that he would wish. There is a reason he is here to begin with. In no way would have Mitsuki been able to force him to stay a little bit longer, even with all her lung power, were (m/n) to want to leave. He is incredibly lonely at home. His parents aren’t home yet, gone at work, and the only company he had is his hamster, Alexander Hamsterton. After a while, that gets a bit boring. And even if he doesn’t really want to stay here either, these days it’s much better than being alone.

As his hand rests on the door handle, (m/n) turns back to look at Katsuki who is already lying down in his bed. The blonde looks unbothered by (m/n)’s still presence in his room.

Is he really doing this?

Yes he is.

The hand that covers Katsuki’s eyes moves to the side as the boy opens his eyes to look at what disturbs him, even though he can already guess. The bed dips slightly at Katsuki’s legs with the weight of (m/n)’s body.

It is a curious situation and the both of them know it. The both of them know each other and they feel at ease next to one another, having met only once. Stories indeed can bring feelings to life.

“She talks about you. A lot.” Katsuki breaks the silence, (m/n)’s head snapping towards the boy almost dizzying. He did not expect that. “Must’ve done something right.” The blonde continues.

Not wanting to let Katsuki do all the talking and feeling strange just letting that information float in the air he speaks, “um….” (M/n) averts his eyes, focusing on his fidgeting fingers —he tried to stop himself, but oh well — “She talks about you too.” He attempts to shrug it off and not give the new information that much importance. At least he tries to make it look that way because on the inside he is close to freaking out. Mitsuki really talked about him to her son? (M/n) doesn’t know, like any other time his neighbor says something remotely flammable, if he should thank her or not.

Again, as he has told himself many times, actually starting a conversation and possibly getting to know Katzuki is most probably going to ruin what image (m/n)’s heart has of the boy and he doesn’t want that. Better to be in love with a mirage—did he seriously just think that — than to be disappointed by the cold reality. Truthfully, (m/n) has never been in love, but he thinks this is how it should feel.

“I figured.” Katsuki sits up, rubbing his eyes as if trying to cast away what troubled him. By the looks of it, it didn’t work.

“…” (m/n) doesn’t really know what else to say. How do you even have a conversation with someone you only talked with in a world far far away from the real one. You don’t. At least he didn’t want to. But now here he is.

“Are you gonna leave or what? Don't you have a hamster to feed or something?” Katsuki’s eyes are like deep, crimson pools as they lock eyes. (M/n) feels lost in them and their intensity. He somehow is certain of the fact that the blonde is not even trying to do this to him, but (m/n) can’t help feeling affected. It’s a strange thing to experience and hard to explain. (M/n) wouldn’t say that it’s like getting high in the bathtub, but it is similar for some reason. Seeing Katsuki in real life, with his eyes and his soft looking lips and his whole being that seems so tense, it is about as close to getting high in his bathroom in an attempt to get away as it gets.

“…what?” (M/n) is confused for a second, forgetting what Katsuki even said. Not for long as his eyes widen and panic settles in at the thought of possibly intruding and certainly embarrassing himself. Didn’t Katsuki say he can do whatever he wants? Guess not, “I mean yes. Of course. I am. Leaving.” He gets up from Katsuki’s soft bed, letting go of the covers he started gripping a short while ago. “Bye.” He says quickly and dares to glance back at the blonde with striking crimson eyes only once. Katsuki is still looking at him with that unnatural blankness.

(M/n) leaves before he has another chance to stammer out something that might bring him further embarrassment.

He says a quick ‘have a great day’ to Mitsuki, getting a ‘see you tomorrow’ back, and is gone out the door.

Alexander Hamsterton stares (m/n) down when he enters his room, munching on whatever something green he decided on.

“Stop judging me.” (M/n) glares at his unspeaking friend. Said friend is not even slightly bothered, choosing to ignore the boy in favor of staring at something else more important.

to be perfectly honest, my mood when it comes to fandom creations these days is basically:

I don't care if it's good. I don't care if it's finished. I don't care if it's cringe. I don't care if someone else did it first. I don't care if no one else cares at all. What I care about is whether or not I cackled with glee while making it.

Why won’t you speak?

“As I am standing over your dead, rotting body, I wonder: are you cold?”

Story: between Dick and Jason, Bruce adopts another hurt boy. M/n was around before Dick left, so he really considers him his older brother. When Jason comes around, M/n can’t help but feel jealous. After all, M/n is weak. He can’t be Robin.

Warnings and additional notes: M/n is using crutches to walk because of a car accident in which he took part at the age of twelve, the car accident that killed his parents. Bruce Wayne takes him under his wing, making sure he gets all the medical support he needs, making sure he is cared for. M/n is envious of Bruce’s soft spot for Jason. Major character death. Canon compliant… ? There are things added by me, of course.

—. —

The large doors of the library open with a burst of uncharacteristic storm.

“When has Batman died and put you in charge.” Jason’s shoes make an almost soundless approach in M/n’s direction.

M/n chuckles, “Oh my, aren’t you an opinionated little brat?”

Jason’s tongue clicks. No. He ain’t doing this shit. He takes a few more steps towards his tormentor.

“ I am Robin.” He points towards his chest. “Me. Not you, M/n. I should be in charge, not you.” He might not be in his suit, but he is Robin. And not even this bastard could take that away from him.

“Yeah, yeah. Listen here, you little asshole. You need to calm down. I don’t like you getting in my face. You annoy me. ” M/n rolls his eyes, and crosses his arms, leaning on the windowsill. The library is getting too crowded for the both of them. “Well, you don’t really have a choice. I’m older, more responsible. Don’t you have to listen to me or something?” Jason locks eyes with his fake brother, watching the words fall from his lips like boredom in the wind.

“You’re only two years older. Don’t act superior just because you’ve been here a little longer than me.” Jason wants to scoff, instead he draws back. Only to rethink his decision and bite. “Even so, I am Robin. And you’re just sickly prickly M/n. Nothing special there.”

There is a crack in M/n’s smile. Small, but noticeably there. Almost makes Jason regret it. Almost.

M/n scoffs, hiding the hurt, “You need to calm down, little asshole. It’s Alfred who holds the rule anyway. Don’t even know why you’d think it’d be useless, little me.” M/n tilts his head tauntingly, picking up his crutches and making his way out of the library. “Congratulations though. You’re pathetic.”

Jason rubs his eyes in exasperation. They will never get along. Never.

“Master M/n, is everything alright?” M/n tries to calm himself, almost bumping into Alfred. He feels like he’s gonna burst, but he can’t let the tears fall.

“Oh, Alfred… Sorry. I didn’t see you there.” M/n forces a smile. And he is sure it doesn’t fool Alfred. The elder man always knows.

“It’s quite alright, Master M/n. My question stands, however. Is everything alright?”

M/n averts his eyes, “Of course.” He stumbles a bit with his crutches as he tries to pass Alfred.

“You should try and get along with Master Jason. He is family. You two are family now, Master M/n.”

M/n doesn’t even feel like protesting. This Jason boy came after Dick left, almost as if their father was trying to replace his oldest son. And M/n can’t bear the thought of that. Of course he doesn’t like Jason. They’ll probably never get along.

“Alright then.” Alfred smiles and helps M/n down the stairs. “How about some tea?”

M/n relaxes slightly in the comfort of Alfred’s warm arms, “That sounds great, Alfred.”

Going down the stairs is becoming harder and harder for M/n. It’s like his legs are becoming lazier and lazier, which is normal considering the doctors already informed them about the changes waiting to happen. M/n doesn’t dwell on it most of the time. However, there are those moments of silence in which he can’t help but want to hit his head with something or accidentally drop one of those candles onto his own clothes. Jason had caught him in one of those moments in the library earlier. M/n gets nastier in terms of behavior around then, and truly he doesn’t have any interest in insulting Jason that much (just a little). The little prick just knows how to find his moments.

They get to the bottom of the stairs, but Alfred doesn’t let go. The man really knows everything.

When Bruce gets home, things haven't necessarily changed in any way. Alfred meets Bruce in the foyer, as it usually is when Bruce comes back from business. And then there is Jason who runs ahead of his brother and forcefully throws himself at Bruce with all his young years and fire thrumming in his veins, like he owns the world and Bruce, as well, with it. The man once young boy himself remembers owning the world once, it was not bare then. Behind, with struggle unfit for a child, M/n staggers forth with his ebony crutches. Jason does not let go of his hugs easily, in fact he holds on as if Bruce would disappear if he ever dared to let go earlier than he should. Thus, the man lets his son hug him tight. Moments later, Jason reluctantly lets go, making way for his older brother, who visibly stumbles on an uprise in the carpet.

M/n yelps as one crutch gets caught in the crimson material. He falls in front of everyone's eyes, but is caught by Alfred who is nearer to him. Bruce wants to reach out, he would've reached out. Yes. If, just so, he were closer to his son. Alas, distance is great in between them.

They head into the living room where Jason tells Bruce all about his exploits around the manor and how Bruce’s bedroom is actually haunted when he isn’t there. That gets a smile out of the man, rare as they are. His life has become increasingly livelier since Jason became part of the family. After all, the quiet of Dick’s departure was sadly difficult for one little M/n to fill, though the efforts were there. Bruce just… couldn’t make himself meet his son halfway.

After dinner Alfred corners him in the emptiness of Bruce’s study (not his, his father’s study). The older man wears that look on his face, the one he shows only to Bruce and especially when he ‘s done something bad, like stealing a cookie when he was younger, or choosing to dress up as a bat.

“You should talk to him more.” Alfred keeps his eyes on Bruce and the man once boy under that gaze doesn’t know if he should look away or try to dominate the stare down. It’s an automatic response, he reckons. It would never work on Alfred, either way.

“Jason is fine, he talks to me now.” That gets another smile out of Bruce. He fears these days he is getting stiffer, body hardening with the darkness and the years. Maybe he is actually growing softer?

“It’s not Jason I’m worried about, sir.” Alfred leans forward and places a tray with two cups and a teapot on it. It smells good, roses and camomile?

“M/n? Should I think there’s something wrong with him?” Bruce raises an eyebrow.

“I don’t know, sir. Should you not?” Alfred continues to look at him, almost as if his eyes harden. It’s hard to tell, even with the bat’s experience.

“Is something wrong with him?” Bruce takes a seat on his father’s old leather chair that was once black but now tints to brown. The chair sighs underneath him with tiredness becoming of age.

“Why don’t you ask him yourself, sir?”

Bruce would ask. He really would. He should… but it’s late. The boy probably sleeps already. “It’s late, Alfred. Some other time, perhaps?”

Alfred scrutinizes him, yet ends in a half concealed sigh. He wasn’t going to tell his Bruce, the stubborn and with years worth of guild child he so much wished fulfillment to about how his son still stands at the dinner table, ashamed to ask for help and beating himself down over how he would never be good enough to help his father the way his younger brother does. No, Alfred shall deal with that himself, as he always does. Foolish master Bruce. He ends with a, “You know best, sir.”

Bruce doesn’t know best. He’s never felt himself as holding the power of knowing whats and ifs and what ifs. The ‘what if’ of the situation, it always arises at the time when his weakness fills him with the dread of what has been. What if he’d said “let’s stay for another movie” the night his parents died. What if he’d spent more time trying to talk with Dick instead of arguing foolishly and towards nothing, like the boy wasn’t the son he so cared for, like he hadn’t been the only once. What if he’d listened to Alfred and talked with M/n more, mended the disruption between him and Jason. What if he’d protected Jason the way he should’ve protected him, the way his soul screamed to keep the boy safe because how can you let someone else suffer when it is you who should have been? It should never have been Jason. Not his Jason. Not his boy. Not his hope and his dreams and the one he holds as if he were holding his younger self. Not the Jason who laughed so hard whenever something remotely funny came to light. Not the Jason who ran to the door to welcome Bruce, jumping into his arms with all his young years and fire thrumming in his veins, like he owns the world and Bruce, as well, with it. ‘Welcome home, dad.’ Not… Not Jason. Not Jason, God, please, not him. Don’t let it be like this, Bruce’s soul screams as it trashes and shoves and splits, stabbing and scratching and killing to get out.

Jason Todd, beloved son and brother, full of fire and full of life

with all his young years and fire thrumming in his veins, like he owns the world and Bruce, as well, with it

The morning Bruce has to come home and let Alfred and M/n know that Jason won’t be home for dinner tonight or any other night, the sun shines on a clear sky. It smiles upon the Wayne lands, over the gardens and the pond. M/n is there with the flowers, reading a book. ‘The three musketeers’ the title reads. Does M/n enjoy reading? Maybe he does. Bruce isn’t around enough to figure out a pattern.

M/n’s eyes raise from the pages, smile a bright one, as the sun above them with a glint in his eyes and hair tussled with sleep and the ends of dreams.

Bruce must look all the wiser and the better and the all powerful because his son’s smile becomes smaller with what Bruce can only read as surprised… a little concern as well.

“Welcome back, dad.” The boy speaks, voice carried by the breeze and the petals of the flowers.

Bruce says nothing. He can’t bring himself to. Because how can you ever begin. How… How do you tell your son his brother has died before they even had the chance to make up after an argument? How do you let your son know, he will be in a quiet house yet again? How do you tell your son you’ve killed his brother?

M/n’s smile falters yet again. And he must sense something because he looks around. Behind Bruce, to the gate, to the flowers and to the door where no one but Alfred stands.

“Where is Jason?” His smile is gone by now, replaced by something akin to curiosity. “Did he get lost?” A small laugh bursts at that.

M/n locks eyes with Bruce again.

Bruce isn’t smiling. His lips haven’t even twitched. In fact, Bruce thinks he is getting worse by the second and it must be showing in some way because M/n forces himself to keep a smile on as he struggles to get up with the help of a crutch. He almost falls twice, but stands almost straight soon, book closed in hand, a finger inside to keep the page. The boy is pretty far into the book. Bruce doesn’t know if it’s the first, the second or the third volume.

“Dad… are you alright?” His son asks him with those alight eyes that speak the language of the sun and the moon. He looks around again, maybe he hopes to see the brother he so is annoyed by. There is no annoyance in his eyes. “Where is Jason, dad? I didn’t see him go inside.”

There’s a shake in Bruce’s eyes, a tremor of the lips. M/n pushes himself forward on the crutch. It gets stuck in the grass for a second, but it does not stop the son from approaching the bat with no suit, no protection.

A shove closer, half a stumble backwards.

“… dad?” Bruce lets his son see his head fall down, down, down, looking at the grass next to his shoes. Bruce thinks he shook his head somewhere in between the burn of the sun on his neck and the thud of ‘The three musketeers’ by Alexandre Dumas, fallen to the earth. For a moment, Bruce imagines the volume as his own head, rolling on the too green grass, blood dried and burned by the sun.

“M/n… Why do you hate me?”

“…”

“Have I… done something that wrong? I know I can be annoying and loud and sometimes want attention, but I don’t mean what I say to you. I never do, not the bad stuff at least.”

“I… I don’t hate you, Jason. How could I? You’re everything I wish I was.”

“Why?”

“Aha… I think I say all I say and blame you all the time because, not so deep down, I’m envious of you.”

“Envious? How could you possibly be envious of me? You’re older and you’re smart… and you don’t get into trouble with the teachers.”

“Ha, well, I suppose I’m envious because dad is close to you, the way he isn’t with me. And… and because you are with him the way I could never manage.”

“But… it’s really not that hard. Just talk to dad, I’m sure it’s gonna be alright.”

“Aren’t you wise.”

“Ha ha. I’m serious, M/n. If you want something, just do it.”

“See? That’s why I’m envious of you.”

… or maybe I admire you for it. Is what M/n imagines late at night, a conversation that could have been between Jason and him, especially close after the funeral, when Dick drinks in his room and their dad drinks in his study and Alfred cleans up the dinner none of them really taste any more, but only eat as unfeeling corpses coveted in a quiet house.

Part 2:

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Why won’t you speak?

“Even dead they ignore you, huh?” This is the second part. If you want to read the first part, the link is at the end. Sorry, it took me a

The beginning of an unlikely duo

Part 1

It’s like really late (or should I say early) right now and I should definitely be sleeping because tomorrow I’m supposed to hang out with some friends, but here I am. I guess I’ll finally write something as it appears that I’ve got a sudden burst of courage (what’s up with that?).

Anywayyy this is just something I’m writing in the heat of the moment. Whatever happens shall happen and all that (☆▽☆)

what this is about (sort of) : male!reader in the world of my hero academia; there will be romance, not bromance 👯‍♂️

warnings : this kid is kind of sad, brief mentions of family problems, he has them ups and downs, brief mention of friends not doing a good job at being friends, I think that’s it though (if there’s anything else worth mentioning, please tell me :))) thanks); btw they’re gay if you didn’t know ;)

When has it started? The endless cycle of nothing and everything that is taking over (m/n)’s life? If he were to ever answer such a question — which he isn’t — he’d probably say when he was born because damn did it feel like it. Everything was chaos. Emotions all over the place, grades going up and down like they’re on a swing, family a mess, friends nowhere in sight.

Whatever the case, there is always time for some really good tea with his neighbor, miss Bakugo. She is a though lady no doubt about that and she always has something to tell (m/n) that will make him question whether it is actually helpful or not. Regardless, she is good company when he’s got nothing else to do — even though it is summer and theoretically he should be having some fun with his friends. (M/n)’s friends stopped being relevant a while ago when they gave him the cold shoulder for some reason, then ghosting him when summer break came around. They weren’t the best of friends, but they were something at least. Now he feels really lonely because those idiots ditched him.

“Anyway, as I was saying, I should introduce you to my son, shouldn’t I? He could really use someone like you.” Mitsuki sighs with a thin layer of annoyance in her voice, shaking her head. Not this again. (M/n) really doesn’t want to talk to Katsuki. It would ruin what opinions he already has on the guy and he isn’t sure if he wants that.

(M/n) averts his eyes awkwardly, knowing fully well that this time he might not get away with just leaving early, “Oh, you don’t need to do that, madam.” His grip on his own fingers tightens considerably.

Mitsuki gasps, “Stop it! How many times do I have to tell you? Call me Mitsuki! And I do need to do that. Katsuki’s so called friends are such little assholes.” Mitsuki sighs once again and, with how often she does it, it might as well be her character trait.

She dropped it after a while, as she always does, with the promise that (m/n) at least says hi to Katsuki when he gets home from wherever he is.

So he waits for the firecracker in his room where he shouldn’t be here Mitsuki told him to stay a while ago. Since (m/n) has a hard time saying no, he is now staring at the suspiciously not so secret lair looking room of one Katsuki Bakugo.

The room is clean, not a surprise considering who the inhabitant was. There isn’t too much stuff that could make it messy either. There’s the desk with some books — it’s not pretense and Katsuki actually does work from the words of Mitsuki, and that earns him (m/n)’s respect. The bed is made, a soft looking teddy bear resting on the blanket. That’s definitely not cute. (M/n) approaches the desk and lets his fingers travel along the cover of a biology book. It looks old, but there are no torn or bended corners. His eyes slip from it to glance again at the room as a whole. It shouldn’t feel relaxing to be here, but it does. It’s probably the smell of vanilla. It reminds (m/n) of his big sister.

The door opens with no warning. The one who opened it is, of course, the blonde firecracker who (m/n) is certainly not attracted to.

They don’t really talk. In fact, they’ve met like once. But Mitsuki talks and (m/n) clings to whatever he can to get his mind off of his own life. Sometimes, if a story is well told, it appears characters can actually spring up to life in one’s heart. (M/n) has an intriguing version of Katsuki in his mind, but a more intimate version of him in his heart. Hurts that Katsuki probably doesn’t know him.

“(M/n), what are you doing in my room?”

Spoke too soon.

must a villain be redeemed? isn't it enough that they're bitter, evil, and most importantly, hot?